Full Figured 14, page 17
“Is this area soundproof?” Eboneé asked, changing the topic. “I can’t hear anything coming from the other side of the wall. And if you don’t mind me asking, how are you able to have this space all to yourself?”
“Yes, it is soundproof. And let’s just say, some perks can be negotiated when you get promotions. Now, take in all the benefits you enjoy for being the exceptionally beautiful woman that caught my eye and made my heart skip a beat.”
Their dinner consisted of pounded yam and egusi soup, along with abacha and ugba. The head chef just so happened to be from Kasim’s hometown in Nigeria, which made it easy for Kasim to request a couple of his favorite African dishes. Eboneé was the first American woman that Kasim had shown any interest in; he’d almost always gravitated toward African women, primarily Nigerian ones. Eboneé exceeded his expectations of an American woman: She didn’t ask questions about the meal, other than wanting to know the name and origin of each dish. She didn’t pick at her food or ask for a salad, as most of the American women that he’d had business meetings with in restaurants did. Eboneé did what his mom and all the Nigerian women that Kasim knew did: she fed her curves. And that intrigued him all the more.
The evening could not get any better in Kasim’s eyes. It felt as if God had extended the hours for them, because time was moving slowly. His and Eboneé’s interaction epitomized everything that he’d thought had been lost in the world of dating. There wasn’t an awkward moment of silence, and they laughed and talked for hours. She didn’t pick up her phone at all. He didn’t bother to check his, either. The two of them just couldn’t get enough of one another. They devoured every minute that they shared together. Kasim felt as if he’d known her all his life. He didn’t want the night to end.
When the clock struck midnight, he realized that all good things had to end. “The evening has gotten far away from us, so how about I get you a hotel room for the night? I can come and personally serve you breakfast in bed in the morning, or we can come up here and have breakfast and watch the sun rise together. No strings attached.”
Without responding, Eboneé sprang from where she sat, and made her way over to the railing and gazed at the skyline. Kasim could feel her nerves and thought perhaps he’d overstepped his boundaries. However, his heart disagreed, cuing him to follow behind her.
“I know this is a lot, and it might appear sudden or too soon. But it feels so right,” he said as he gripped her waist from behind.
Eboneé turned to face him, and the instant their eyes met, nervousness ran through her. Kasim moved closer. Her gaze moved from his dark, penetrating eyes to his thick lips, causing her to lick her own. Kasim was drawn to Eboneé’s beauty and couldn’t stop himself from tasting her. He leaned in and kissed her. The sweetness of the wine she had drunk was on her tongue as he sucked on it. When she whimpered against his mouth, his body reacted. Boldness filled Eboneé, and she pulled him closer. Their bodies molded against each other, but that wasn’t enough for Kasim. Desire coursed through him as he pressed Eboneé harder against the railing. With little effort, she positioned herself to accept his weight against her. Unable to resist the burning desire for one another, Kasim and Eboneé surrendered to the flames and became one. Kasim couldn’t drink enough of her to quench his thirst. The more of Eboneé that he consumed, the thirstier he became. He took a swim in her until the sun came up.
CHAPTER THREE
Parish Hargrove-Campbell’s father, Dennis Hargrove, a Vietnam war hero, had his life taken the day Parish was born. He was a decorated helicopter pilot and lost his life when his aircraft was shot down. Learning of her father’s bravery and dedication, Parish had yearned from the age of eight to follow in his footsteps and serve in the Marine Corps. Parish had refused to have a graduation party upon graduating high school. Instead, she had requested that her mom, Phoebe, have a marines recruiter come to their home as a graduation present, and she’d wanted her whole family to be in attendance. It meant the world to Paris to honor her father by becoming a marine. Parish didn’t allow her size or her gender to get in the way of making her dream a reality. She knew her father had yearned for a son to follow in his footsteps, and she made it her mission to prove to her deceased father that she could live up to those expectations.
It was difficult for Parish to conceal her excitement throughout the entire process. She sailed through the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, passing the test with flying colors. The second step was the required physical examination, and for the first time in her life, doubts flashed in her mind. Parish thought her weight might hinder her from becoming a marine. Refusing to allow her nagging thoughts to stand in her way, Parish vanquished her fears by telling herself, This is a basic medical examination, and I am in good health. She did in fact ace the physical exam, causing her to become even more ecstatic. Now the third step in the process stared Parish in the face, making it difficult for her to contain the tears that fell when she met with the Service Enlistment Counsel. Everything that happened that day was a blur, and afterward, Parish had trouble recalling the details, including the moment she took the oath of enlistment. The only thing that she’d been able to digest was that she would soon be on her way to South Carolina for boot camp.
The twelve-week basic training, also known as boot camp, started off somewhat challenging for Parish. Although she had received a clean bill of health, she wasn’t as physically fit as she should have been for the rigorous training. She fell behind during several of the drills on the first day, thus inciting the drill instructors. In private, fellow trainees taunted her. They’d tell her, “You don’t have to be in shape to get in, but you have to get in shape to stay in.” Parish wasn’t accustomed to the level of ridicule she endured, and it pained her more than the physical activity that she’d been struggling to keep up with.
“This is the marines. It is what you’ve always wanted. They’re just doing their job to toughen you up,” she kept saying aloud to herself.
No later than her seventh week of boot camp, Parish’s drill instructors began to single her out for additional training. She’d heard about some of the hazing that had taken place in the Marine Corps, and she knew that the policies against it were strictly enforced. However, somehow those policies didn’t make her experience as a trainee any better. On the evening of Parish’s forty-ninth day of boot camp, her birthday, she was awakened four hours before the usual 5:00 a.m. roll call.
“Up and at ’em, fresh blood,” the senior drill instructor and commanding officer demanded.
Dazed by slumber, Parish rose slowly to her feet and saluted her superiors. In acknowledgment, they simultaneously grabbed each of her arms and escorted her from the squad bay, up the ladder well, and into the fitness room. When she motioned toward the footlocker to retrieve her gear, they shoved her through the door. Upon entering the fitness room, they circled her, and that was when she caught sight of those who had been awaiting her arrival. Eight men were lined up in two lines, facing one another, and in that double line were three drill instructors, two recruits, as well as the guide, the squad leader, and the scribe.
“The real D-Day has been set before you, fresh blood,” the commanding officer announced, then took a wooden paddle and struck her on her backside. “You are to walk all the way through. Stay on your feet, and your knees better not touch the floor, or your punishment will be more severe,” he threatened.
With tears obscuring her vision, Parish did her best and tried to walk the gauntlet. Every step that she took, she was either struck with the wooden paddle or kicked. Each person that Parish walked by used all their might to strike her and send her to her knees. It was hard for her to stay on her feet. She slipped a few times, and even though she tried to prevent any part of her body from hitting the floor, it was impossible. With each fall, she was either kicked in the stomach or the backside. They made it their business to avoid touching her face. By the time she reached the end of the line, all eight men were excused. Parish was left with the two superiors who had chaperoned her to the ordeal.
“On your feet, fresh blood,” the commanding officer demanded.
Wobbly, tattered, and bruised, Parish mustered up as much strength as she could and pulled herself to her feet. The instant she was able to catch her balance, her hands were pulled behind her back, while her cheeks were squeezed together, pursing her lips to receive a fifth of Jack Daniel’s, which was forced down her throat. At the drop of the empty bottle, the sweatpants and T-shirt that Parish was wearing were stripped from her.
“Please, don’t do this to me,” she slurred as the senior drill instructor’s pants dropped to his feet.
Parish had never had a drink in her life. The alcohol immediately affected her. She became incoherent and then blacked out as her skivvies were pulled off her. By the time she came to, Parish lay soiled on the maple-wood planks where her superiors had left her. Upon opening her eyes, Parish tried to get her bearings, but flashbacks of the gauntlet walk filled her mind.
“Somebody, please help me,” she called, straining her voice.
“Hello. Is there someone in there?” a male voice shouted from the doorway.
When he pushed his way through the doors, the chaplain saw Parish lying on the floor.
Kwame Campbell was the newly appointed chaplain for the recruit depot of Dove Island. The former chaplain had resigned without warning. Although Kwame had been raised in a Pentecostal household and had attended church all his twenty years of life, he had chosen to find his own faith. He had refused to piggyback on his grandparents’ religious beliefs. He was their only grandchild. They had stood on the Bible, and when he was in their home, he had had to serve the one and true living God. And God alone. If his parents had been alive, they would have had the same house rule.
After years of trying to conceive, Kwame’s parents had found themselves pregnant with their first child at fifty years of age. They had used the Bible story of Abraham and Sarah as a testament of their own miracle child. The word declaring that she’d birth a male child had been given to Kwame’s mother, Deborah, in a dream, and she had structured her life around that word. As with Sarah, the word had been fulfilled, and Deborah had given her husband, Anderson, a son in his old age. In an untimely death, Deborah passed away a week after giving birth to Kwame. Because of her prolonged labor, Deborah suffered postpartum hemorrhaging, which proved fatal. Kwame’s family’s grief intensified a year later, on his birthday. His father had a stroke and joined his wife in heaven.
At the tender age of fourteen, Kwame was able to digest fully the causes of his parents’ deaths, and he blamed himself and God. Hence, his desire to change faiths and become a Catholic. Shortly after graduating high school, Kwame went to seminary school and learned that he’d be able to join the Chaplain Candidate Program. All while training in the ministry. He hadn’t been certain what he wanted to do, but he’d known he wanted to do the opposite of what his parents had done or would have done.
“Dear God.” He turned his head in embarrassment now.
“Please don’t come any closer,” Parish said, using her hands to try to conceal her bare flesh. Shame and fear consumed her, causing her to beg for help and reject it at the same time.
* * *
With the assistance of Chaplain Campbell, Parish was hospitalized at Dove Island’s off-site medical facility. She no longer felt safe at the same location as her superiors. Everything that Parish had dreamed of had turned into a living nightmare. All at the hands of men whose core values were supposed to be honor, commitment, and courage. Parish struggled to comprehend how they could have felt courageous when stripping her of the only sacred thing she’d saved to give to her husband on their wedding night. Becoming a marine and getting married were the most important things that Parish had envisioned for her life, and those men had stopped her from accomplishing either.
The morning following Parish’s assault, she wasn’t in any condition mentally, physically, or emotionally to report for roll call. Although she’d been hospitalized, her superiors determined that she had gone AWOL. Chaplain Campbell had accompanied Parish when she sought medical attention, and while Parish had undergone an examination, he had notified the general officer by phone of what had taken place. He had told the general officer that although it wasn’t his place, he felt led to inform him that Parish had been sexually assaulted. After he ended the call, something didn’t sat right with him. Chaplain Campbell felt the general officer had been short with him and hadn’t sounded as concerned as he should have.
The medical team had informed Parish that she had broken two ribs and had a fractured wrist, and that they’d have to keep her for seventy-two hours due to her unrelenting headaches. During her hospital stay, Parish received a letter of reprimand from the general officer. He discharged her for going AWOL as well as for having had a blood alcohol level of .08 percent. Parish’s medical records were public knowledge, and the general officer had delved into them after her arrival at the hospital.
“How could they do this to me? I was raped. They poured the alcohol down my throat, and I’m the one being punished,” Parish choked out as she wept.
“I am here with you. I will help you every step of the way. They will not get away with this,” Chaplain Campbell told her.
“They already did.” She tossed the letter from the general officer in his direction.
“We will talk to someone about this and pray. There’s nothing that’s too hard for God—” He stopped speaking, attempting to swallow back his words, when he realized what he was spewing out of his mouth.
“Pray? You don’t even believe in God anymore.” Her lip trembled.
Chaplain Campbell had never openly discussed his conflicting beliefs with anyone, because that would have given them life. But there was something about Parish that made him feel comfortable, and he had felt compelled to open up to her. He had confessed everything that he’d gone through with losing his parents. Although she was sound asleep when he’d divulged it all, he’d felt relief from getting it off his chest. At least he had thought she was asleep.
“I thought you were—” he began, but she interrupted him.
“I heard every word. But it isn’t God’s fault or yours. Just like what happened to me isn’t God’s fault. I just wish God had shielded me and had not allowed them to rape me,” she whimpered.
Tears blurred Chaplain Campbell’s vision as he spoke in a barely audible and breathy voice. “I’m beginning to believe that. You’ve been so strong through all of this. Even through your pain, I can see and feel your strength. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time. I blamed myself for what happened to me. While talking to you last night—even though I thought you were asleep—I felt a sense of relief, and I realized that I have been running from myself. I’ve tried to avoid living or being the person that I was meant to be.”
“I am far from strong. Things like this happen only to weak people. How could I have allowed this to happen to me?”
“How could you have prevented it? is the question. They abused their authority, just like the man I looked up to abused his.” He dropped his head in his hands.
“I refuse to believe God punished you or me. God didn’t abuse you. He doesn’t move like that. I hate everything they did to me. I feel worthless and don’t know what to do. The only thing I have right now is God. Please don’t say He did this to me. I can’t handle that right now.”
“I wasn’t referencing God this time,” he replied. He took a deep breath before he continued. “I’ve never uttered what I am about to say a single time in my life.” He took another deep breath and exhaled. “But my grandfather sexually abused me for most of my childhood.” His eyes were red and glossy as he tried to contain the tears that threatened to fall. Chaplain Campbell failed miserably: the tears ran from his eyes, leaving salty tracks on his cheeks.
Parish tapped the right side of the bed, inviting Chaplain Campbell to sit next to her. Once he was within arm’s reach, Parish embraced him as tightly as she could, doing her best to avoid causing herself any additional discomfort. Through a fresh round of tears, she said, “I don’t have words to make things better or right for either of us. All I know is I am grateful that you’re here with me. I don’t think I would have made it off that floor if you hadn’t come to my rescue. The marines were really all that I had. Now I have nothing.”
“I know we’ve only just met, but you have me. And you have your family, don’t you?”
“I cannot go home. I can’t break my mother’s heart. She is convinced that the marines took my dad’s life. She cannot find out that they killed me too.” Her eyes showed her pain.
CHAPTER FOUR
After Kasim and Eboneé’s first encounter, their lives became entwined. Aside from their work schedules, they spent every waking moment together. It seemed so surreal for Eboneé because she hadn’t ever wanted or craved the presence of a man the way that she did Kasim’s. She no longer picked up breakfast on the run, neither did she prepare it at home any longer. Her breakfast was either served in bed by Kasim, or he’d have it prepared and served to her on the rooftop while she took in the city skyline. Because Eboneé was her own boss, she wasn’t always pressed for time. She often allowed breakfast to stretch into lunch. Her newly hired staff were to blame, she’d confess. They had been hands on so much so that they’d alleviated a lot of the burden, affording her the convenience of working remotely from Kasim’s bed and or from his rooftop sanctuary, which had become her newfound place of tranquility. And Kasim devoured every moment of their time together.
Every date included mouthwatering cuisine at a top-of-the-line restaurant, African cuisine personally made by the chef at the Hilton Hotel Kasim worked for, or several dishes that he’d prepared and served to her in his birthday suit at his cobblestone loft. Eboneé was struck by the way Kasim made a fuss over her eating. Kasim made sure that she ate and that she ate very well. He enjoyed feeding her as if she were a baby. He’d explain to her often that she was his baby and that it was his job to plump her up and keep her that way. His philosophy about food was the complete opposite of that of any of the other men that she’d been with. In all her previous relationships, the men would embrace Eboneé’s curves upon meeting her. However, once the “getting to know you” phase had passed, they’d encourage her to attend the gym more often and lose weight. As well as suggest that she’d be mindful of her portion sizes and her carbohydrate intake. Kasim was worlds apart from them. He’d feed her every carb there was, and the only workout he required of her was in the bedroom.
