KISS: Chapter 1, The Origin of Kiss Lavinia

Life aint fair. Now you hear that from all these people throughout your life but for me, I lived, breathed…was that statement. I was born during a tornado warning. Now if that isn’t unlucky, I don’t know what is. I couldn’t even be born on a bird filled drinking lemonade leaves gently falling from the trees kinda day. But I digress.

My name is Kiss Lavinia Tomwell but most people call me Kissy. I was born in an old raggedy barn in Nightingale, Georgia during one of the worst series of storms in the Southeast. While the air was swirling and growling with fury, my mother matched the gusts outside with cries of her own. The first person I ended up seeing was an old white lady who happened to see my pregnant mother walking in the storm and pulled her inside before the worst of it. She saw me and took one look at my dark brown skin and wide eyes and said I looked like a Hershey’s Kiss. I guess my mom thought it would be cute to name me that. I don’t blame her though, she was only fifteen at the time. And so now I’m here… Kiss.

My mother still lived with her father and stepmother in a little blue house on the corner of Wicker Avenue and Harrison Circle. The next morning when the storm had died down, my mother brought me back to that house. My grandfather and Grandnanny were not that shocked to see me in her arms. After her getting pregnant in the first place, I believe they always got themselves ready for odd events.

The first fifteen years of my life were spent in that baby blue house with the porch. My grandfather was a nice man but he was distant. He made sure that my momma knew I was a mistake and in the process that became real clear to me too. He always bought me little pieces of apple candy and licorice or would pat my head when I ran past him to go out and play, but I would always cringe at the way he looked at my mother, like a traitor. I still loved him though like my own father. He was only thirty five when I was born, still king of the world. Every day he would get up and dress in a nice blue or brown suit with matching high gloss Stacy Adams smelling like Ivory soap. His six five slender frame commanded attention but his playful wink and chuckle always made a winning impression. In the little town we lived in, I could name on one hand the people who didn’t like Lester T. Tomwell. He had dimples in each cheek, almond colored skin, and big dark brown eyes. He made sure to get to know each one of the customers who came into his liquor store and never forgot to say hello to a familiar face. He was the It of Nightingale alright.

Now my grandnanny, I call her that because she said she wasn’t ever anyone’s mama and she will never be referred to that way, was Mrs. Lillie Tomwell. She was the member of my life I could have done without. One thing I have to give her was the fact that she was beautiful. She was a real gold color that changed to red in the summer and yellow in the dead of winter. She had the legs of a dancer and hips of a nurturer. Her hair was jet black thick and long and she always let it swing. She was granddaddy’s prize and she always reminded him of that. If he didn’t come home with something for her, you always knew a fight was coming.

And she never liked my momma. You see my momma was competition to her –every bit as pretty and even lighter. They were only separated by a decade so she felt picking on Momma was fair game. Since granddaddy and momma hardly spoke, she would constantly find ways to torment and tease her husband’s teenager. She would only pick on me in dark places though. She knew granddaddy didn’t like her messing with me but she did it anyway. She found ways.

My momma was the saving grace of the house. The only one who I didn’t have to be polite to, just could sit down and talk about anything. She always made me feel that way. She’d sit me down on the bed and whisper real soft.

“I see you poppyseed. Momma sees you. What do you want her to see?”

She asked me that question every night and every night I would shrug and shake my head. She would smile and tuck me into bed.

We were more friends than anything else. I thought of Momma as her name not as her title. We would talk and laugh together for hours. She was still very much a kid. Sometimes I felt like I needed to protect her. She felt like she needed to protect me. We needed to protect each other.

Stormy Weather

It is the dark rainy evening portrayed in horror movies. I sit by the mountain cliff, legs dangling off the side. My drenched hair and clothing cling to my skin but I feel no rain. They will come for me soon.

Knowing I had little time, my mind drifted back to the past few hours. The beautiful redhead in black is sitting in my parlor as I come in from Mother’s. I pause briefly to hide my shock and ask politely who she is. Her eyes widen and she calls my husband’s name. Happier than ever, he leisurely strolls into the room with her refill of champagne. Only after he saw me did his face and the glass drop. Instantly, rage overtakes me. How dare he? How dare she? Tears of anger blind me as I race from the room. My husband, Jason follows me through the house frantically calling my name. As I pass the guest bedroom, I see the letter opener gleaming red from the sunset. I grab it and hide beside the night stand. My husband’s calls grow louder and louder.

“Maam? What are you doing out in this weather?”

The rain has eased because I make out a police officer’s uniform. He is a thirty something bald man with pale skin and a whiny voice. I hear myself tell him that I was just out for a stroll. He tells me to come with him. I oblige and get into the cruiser, looking out the window to tune out the officer’s chatter.

My breathing slows as I hear the footsteps bringing Jason closer to my hiding place. Images of the woman and my husband streak through my mind like marathon runners. I can feel my sanity leaving my body. The maniacal personality of a scorned woman overtakes my body and murder overtakes my mind. I press my body into the wall as the door opens. A scream tears from my throat. It wasn’t Jason.

“Coffee Miss?”

“What? Thank You.” I did not remember getting out of the car or walking into the building. I tell myself to get a grip. Time never moves backwards.

“We’ll keep you here ‘til the rain dies back down.”

I cup the lukewarm coffee into my hands and look around the walls of the small town police station. The walls are a dingy white and all the chairs have ripped seat cushions. This place looks as dull as I feel. This is where I belong. Leaning back in the seat, I watch three other officers enter the room. They pause at the sight of me while the bald man tells them the story. I do not smile or blink; my mind carries me back once more.

Her hair is the most beautiful red I have ever seen. Her eyes are bright and her figure is flawless. At least he picked a gorgeous mistress. She walks toward me explaining the situation and trying to say soothing words. Her name was Regina. The name fit her youthful dignified aura. I am more irritated at her tone than the discovery of her in my house. I clutch the opener and lunge forward at her. A scuffle erupts. I fight like a madwoman; she fights like a guilty child. It ends in her blood. I stumble away as if in a dream. Gasping for breath, I drop the letter opener and lean on the wall for support. What had I done? The tears of anger return as tears of despair. I went from eating teacake with my mother this morning to a slain woman by my feet at nightfall.

I sniffle as my mind connects with my body. The officers are staring blankly at me. They probably know the situation and soon will put me behind bars. Instead of angry words or the click of handcuffs, I feel the warmth of a blanket against my shoulders. Another officer wraps my soaked hair with a coverlet and sits down in front of me.

At once they start asking me why a beautiful woman is sitting by herself in the rain. Where did you come from? Who are you? Are you married? I sip the bitter coffee as I tell them my name is Alexandra Mellon Jeffrey and I am still married. I live on 122 Sunny Haven and I was just out for a stroll.

After telling them several miscellaneous facts about me, they begin to bombard me with their pasts. I listen intently trying to gather names. Only one officer catches my attention. Lieutenant William Jones has prominent features and a stately presence. He talks of his deceased mother and beautiful young sister. His mother is the daughter of the millionaire of Charleston, Richard De Pointes. His sister is all he has in the world and he feels more like a father than a brother. They lived together outside of Charleston because his sister loves the country. Running fingers through his fire red hair, he eagerly shares his hopes and dreams for his eighteen year old darling. I tell William his love for his sister is respectable and I wish them happiness. He kindly smiles and says thank you. I ask him if he has any pictures of his family and he dashes off to search for his photos.

An officer named Kyle continues with a story of his Cocker Spaniel when the front door opens. My husband looks relieved to see me and immediately rushes to my side. Apparently finding a shovel does not take that long. I introduce him to the men coldly.

“Thank you, officers, for rescuing my wife. The rain must have gotten her off course. Now that the rain has let up, I can assist her to the car. We are going to take a trip to her mother’s.” I raise an eyebrow and push his hand off my shoulders. My mother only lives ten minutes away and Jason hates her. I see the young woman’s clear blue eyes in my head, suddenly wishing my husband had been outside that door.

I stand and thank the man that brought me to the station. As Jason and I leave and walk to the car, he whispers that everything is taken care of. He adamantly states how sorry he is and this was the first and final betrayal of my love. No one will ever know of his transgressions or mine. The sound of his voice turns my stomach and only cowardice stops me from running back into the station. As we pull away from the station, the young man runs out waving a photograph. I watch him slowly fade from sight in the drizzling rain, too exhausted to ask Jason to stop the car.

Watching the car speed into the darkness, William Jones finally lowers the photograph as his friend comes to his side. Alexandra was such a beautiful woman that he could not help fondness for her. He prayed silently that she would find comfort for the problems ailing her. Wanting to get home, he goes inside to collect his belongings. One of the officers stops him placing a hand on his shoulder.

“That Alexandra is a sweetheart.”

“Yeah, too bad I didn’t get to give her the picture. Regina would have loved her.”