Tears from a Lost Love Affair

I often think of her on still, azure nights. I recall exactly how she looked then. The moments we spent together were brief but passionate. At first, the attraction was subtle and unexpected, but it quickly grew into a love affair. Sadly, our relationship ended. She left me and ventured into a world where women too often become jaded. The bond we shared, however, I will never forget. It was special�"bitter-sweet.  

This is the story of a woman I encountered years ago. She came into my life at a time when I had a poor sense of self.  

As I remember, I had just recently arrived in Georgia. It was June, the summer of 2009. I relocated from Mobile, Alabama, to the Peach State, initially staying in the city of Riverdale. I took up residence in a boarding house. Lodgers of every kind came through. Among the residents, I met a Peruvian woman named Martha. We became sexually involved. Shortly after, we decided to move into an apartment together�"partly out of necessity, but mostly because we wanted to copulate freely. We moved to the Jonesboro area.  

Living with Martha was pleasant at first. There were sultry days and nights of sex-driven interaction. But there was a shift in this dynamic. I suppose it began on one particular morning, for it was then my life would change.  

That morning, I decided to walk to the convenience store next to the apartment where Martha and I lived. Upon arriving, I went inside and noticed people standing in line, waiting to check out. Walking to the back, I grabbed a few items, then made my way to the front and took my place in line.  

Suddenly, I heard loud quarreling behind me. I turned to look and saw a strikingly beautiful woman. Her hair lay neatly against her upper back, a cinnamon-brown hue that matched her eyes. She wore a short one-piece outfit that accentuated her caramel skin tone. There, in the store, our eyes met. It was an instant attraction. She distanced herself from the male she had been arguing with who I assumed was her boyfriend. I stared at her intently, completely distracted by her presence.  

"Hey, sir! Sir!" someone spoke sharply. It was the store clerk.  

"Are you ready or what?" he said impatiently. He was a short Indian man, likely of the Hindi tradition. "Come on, come on," he added, waving his hand. I realized the people who had been in front of me were gone. Embarrassed, I quickly walked up to the counter. Placing my items on it, the cashier scanned them. The total came to six dollars. I paid and exited the store.  

As I walked back to my apartment, I thought about the woman I had just seen. She had an inexplicable effect on me. I couldn’t erase her from my thoughts. I didn’t think I would see her again, though I was sure she lived nearby. I just had no idea where. I couldn’t place her nationality. She was Hispanic, that much I knew, but what kind? She did not appear to be Mexican�"perhaps Dominican or Cuban? Whatever her national origin, I had never encountered beauty like hers before.  

Later that evening, Martha and I walked to the Walmart grocery store. Although she owned a van, she didn’t have gas in the tank, so we went on foot. Returning late, we entered through the apartment gate. It was then that I saw the woman from the convenience store. She walked beside the same individual who had been with her earlier. I observed them closely, wondering if they were romantically involved. I especially studied her. She wore a blue jean dress. Her fingernails and toenails were well-kept, clear, and without polish.  

Martha engaged in conversation with the woman and man. She often did this with strangers, as she would tell me, “to make friends.” I just thought she was being nosy. As Martha introduced herself and me to them, I stood silently by. I soon learned they were indeed in a relationship. The woman’s name was Diadra, or “Dee,” as those who knew her called her. Of Puerto Rican descent, she could have been a model. Surprisingly, she peddled drugs in the area. Her boyfriend’s name was Marcos, also a drug dealer, of African American background. The two were from New York and had moved down South, staying at Marcos’s sister’s place. Martha spoke with the couple briefly before we parted ways.  

The following morning, I stepped onto my back patio. Birds chirped, and a light breeze swayed the trees gently. I watched the motion of the leaves as they rustled. The sun had just begun to rise toward a clear summer sky, its rays falling everywhere. In the early quiet hours, I mused.  

Unexpectedly, the woman from last night�"now known to me as Diadra�"appeared. She was walking alone, looking flustered, her face expressing conflicting emotions. I read the story at a glance: she had argued with her partner again. Marcos had put her out of his sister’s apartment. She wandered aimlessly in the morning light. I felt compassion for her, a visceral sense of pity. She looked lost and abandoned, drowning in unrequited love.  

  

Instinctively, Diadra turned in my direction and, noticing me, began walking toward me. Then, as if an afterthought, she abruptly paused and went around to my front door instead. I knew she was going to talk to Martha. Diadra didn’t want to arouse her suspicions. I detected this through her sudden change. Martha appeared at the patio door minutes later. I was certain she would invite Diadra inside our apartment. I even anticipated it.    

“I’m going to let her stay here,” she began. “I hope you respect me by keeping your penis in your pants.” 

“What?” I responded. 

“Just respect me,” Martha demanded. She turned and walked away. The woman I had been intimate with harbored insecurities. The fact that Diadra was more appealing than her ignited her jealousy. 

Martha could not compete with Diadra in form or appearance. Furthermore, she was an older woman in her forties, while Diadra had just reached thirty-one. Martha thought I would be more attracted to her because she was younger in addition to her beauty. Her fears proved true. I knew I wanted Diadra from the first time I saw her. She was exotic to me, like a desert cassia. 

Sometime around nightfall, Martha, Diadra, and I sat around the dining table and talked. I noticed the bitter-sad expression on Diadra’s face. While conversing with my guest, I learned that she was in an abusive relationship. Diadra told Martha and me that Marcos would grow jealous whenever he thought she was around other men. It seemed to border on paranoia. 

“He feels me to see if I’ve had sex with someone besides him,” she said, her voice laced with exasperation. “I can’t even stand to sleep next to him,” she added. 

Curious, I wanted to know how Diadra’s partner had gotten injured. “What happened to your man?” I asked, noticing he was walking on crutches. 

“He slapped me, so I cut him with a knife,” she replied�"her answer blunt and honest. 

As the three of us continued to converse, we lost track of time. Early morning arrived just before dawn. Martha and I decided to go to bed. Before we retired, she inflated the blow-up mattress she kept in the closet. I stole a furtive glance at our guest as she settled comfortably. I was fascinated by everything about her. How I wanted to strike the chords of her heart. I would play the sweetest melodies to woo her and search the depths of her soul like the ocean. 

Diadra’s form was flawless�"there was nothing to add or take away. She had eyelashes like the strings of a violin, and her lips were delicately shaped, brown as a Livian strand. Her beauty was perfect. I was Diadra’s captive, though she didn’t know it. 

As time passed, confrontations between Diadra and Marcos escalated. There were instances when she showed up with bruises on her body. She would come to my apartment crying, and Martha would tend to her injuries. Diadra would return to Marcos days later. Eventually, she stopped coming for a while. 

I still saw her, though. I usually sat outside on the front porch. At a certain time of night, Diadra would pass my way on her way to Marcos’s sister’s apartment, which was situated just across from mine. I found myself watching her. Her footsteps fell softly in the shadows of dusk. Lovelorn, the moonlight played on her hair poetically. In the gloaming, she moved quintessentially�"the essence of beauty. How I longed to hold her in my arms. 

Martha was wary of my nightly routine. “You go outside to look for her,” she stated. “You don’t think I know what you’re doing?” 

“What are you talking about?” I tried to deflect attention from myself. 

“You like Diadra,” she plainly uttered. 

“Don’t be silly,” I replied. “I do not like her.” 

Though I told Martha that I didn’t want Diadra, she never believed me. 

I think Diadra may have known that I was attracted to her. Whenever she passed my way, she seemed to speak to me with subtle messages. Her body movements suggested that she was willing to engage with me. It must have been true, for she and I started to develop a strong chemistry. We would steal glances at each other or brush arms in flirtatious gestures. Martha didn’t hide her resentment. She argued over trivial things. I knew the underlying cause�"Diadra consumed her thoughts. It was evident as she began to treat Diadra with blatant scorn. Eventually, Martha didn’t want her to come to the apartment at all. I was caught in a dilemma. I still wanted Diadra to come around, yet there could be no peace with Martha upset. I was sure constant tension would arise. Other complications also prevented Diadra from coming over. 

The enthusiasm I had with Martha initially, was purely sexual. I never saw myself in a long-term relationship with her. She was unfortunate in that she couldn’t match Diadra’s style, beauty, or personality. 

At first, Diadra and I had casual conversations, which led into more intimate ones. Soon, we were kissing each other�"of course, when Martha was not around. I had fallen for Diadra, and with each day that passed, I developed a deeper love for her. Since I met her, she had elevated my self-esteem; before, I had a low opinion of myself, but Diadra helped me by boosting my confidence. She did this without speaking any hopeful words. Her presence alone caused me to see myself in a more positive light. 

The appeal between us was undeniable. It became intensely passionate the more we saw each other. The prelude to this was triggered by an incident. One day, Martha drove to the grocery store, and I was waiting for her to return. Hours passed, and night fell, but still, there was no sign of Martha. Finally, I decided to call her on her cellphone. She didn’t answer, however. I called again, but I was redirected to her voicemail. I wondered where she could be. At that moment, I heard someone knocking on my patio door. I walked over and looked out�"it was Diadra. I opened the door to let her inside. 

“Do you have a driver’s license?” she asked. 

“No, why?” I questioned. 

“Martha just got arrested.” 

“Geez, for what?” 

“She had expired tags on her van,” Diadra answered. 

In the state of Georgia, expired tags are considered a traffic violation. However, it can be much worse than that. A motorist can be arrested for having expired tags. Diadra continued, “I passed by and saw the cops put her in handcuffs. They said if she knew someone with a license, they could drive her van to a safe area.” I would have moved the van myself, but the only problem was that my driver’s license had been suspended. Diadra couldn’t drive either; her license was revoked. We had no other choice but to let the city tow Martha’s van away. She was taken to jail. 

Diadra began coming to my apartment more frequently. She and I conversed about many things�"her home state in New York, her sister, and her children. She had three girls from a previous relationship. I wanted to learn more about her. She aroused both my physical and intellectual being. I felt like a phantom on a dreamless night. It was as if I had known Diadra for a long time, even though it had only been a few months. The emotional resonance could not be mistaken. Diadra slipped away from Marcos often when she came to my place. She usually ended up spending the night. Her companion searched for her but never could ascertain her whereabouts. Whenever Diadra returned, he and she argued until Marcos hit her. Diadra found a sense of peace at my place, and here, through the night, she lay in my arms. 

One starry twilight evening, I sat on my front porch, watching the last rays of the sun vanish from the sky, leaving a blue luster behind. Diadra had left my apartment earlier but came back a few hours later. Before, she wore blue jeans and a black body shirt. Now, she was in a black cutout dress. Her hair was pinned up on her head, dyed with a tint of henna. I could see the strands coming undone, falling on her shoulder. It was natural and effortless. She looked temptingly seductive. 

“What’s going on, beautiful?” I finally said, but Diadra was quiet. Unlike earlier, she wouldn’t talk. Yet she stood close to me, open to my touch. I didn’t have to pry into the matter�"I could sense she wanted to give herself to me. 

Diadra’s arms were bruised from the many beatings Marcos had given her. I took her right arm. “Why don’t you leave him, Dee?” She remained silent. I can treat you better, I assured her. “And what, you’re going to be my knight in shining armor?” she responded with somewhat teasing sarcasm. I can be, I said. 

I softly caressed the contours of Diadra’s face with my hand. Lifting her chin as she raised her eyes to meet mine, I kissed her under a clear moon. I then grabbed her hand and pulled her inside my apartment. Lying her on the master bed in my bedroom, I made the most passionate love to her. The occasion, her beauty, and the ambience only increased the intensity of the moment. Diadra was everything I desired, and through the night we shared each other. 

As the morning came, I could see the sunlight falling through my bedroom window. Its rays touched Diadra’s face as she slumbered. She seemed so peaceful. I was awake, watching her chest rise and fall, inhaling and exhaling while she slept. I tenderly stroked her hair, awaking her to the day just beginning. “How do you feel?” I asked her. “I hope I did not hurt you last night.” Sleep still in her eyes, Diadra gave me a satisfying smile. “You were fantastic.” 

I began to wonder if there was a future for Diadra and me. We had become intimate, but would she have a serious relationship with me? Or was I just there to console her? I wanted to make sense of last night. I asked Diadra plainly, “What about Marcos? What about Martha?” Dee responded with light banter. We laughed together. Some weeks later, Marcos struck Diadra in the face with his fist. Her lip bleeding, she ran to my apartment. I took her in and cleaned the blood off. After soothing Diadra to sleep, I left her inside my place and went in search of Marcos. 

Until then, I had never tried to engage with him. But furious at what had been done to Diadra, I was determined to make sure he never touched her again. I walked to Marcos’s sister’s apartment and pounded on the door. 

“Come outside, coward! You want to punch someone? Punch me!” I shouted. 

No one opened the door. I kept banging on it, but still, there was no answer. Finally, I decided to leave�"but not before leaving a note. I found a piece of paper on the ground, pulled a pen from my pocket, and scrawled some words on it: Stay away from Dee. She is with me now. 

In the days that followed, Diadra broke up with Marcos. She never went back to him. He found out who she was seeing and attempted to win her back, but it was too late�"Diadra had lost all interest in him. He even cried for her to return, but she refused to see him. 

On a few occasions, Marcos and I nearly fought. But nothing ever happened�"he feared me because of the rumors about my military expertise. 

Around that time, Martha was released from jail. One evening, she appeared at my door. She stood outside without knocking. I went to the peephole and looked through it. I was shocked to see her on the other side. I hadn’t expected her to be out so soon. Hesitantly, I opened the door. 

Martha brushed past me, her eyes scanning the place. She walked to the patio door, then turned to face me. 

“I heard you were with Diadra. This is what you do to me while I’m in jail? You cheat?” 

“Nothing happened between us,” I said, making a weak attempt to deny it. 

“That’s not what I heard,” Martha shot back. “Someone told me she was here every night.” 

I didn’t know what to say. How did she find out? I wondered. I fumbled with my words. 

“No, er... I mean, yes, we were�"” 

“I hate you!” Martha yelled. 

At this point, Diadra showed up at the patio door. Looking through the glass pane, she noticed Martha in the apartment. Both women caught sight of each other. Martha cast a disdainful glare at the one outside. Diadra dropped her head, avoiding eye contact. It was an awkward moment�"at least for her. 

As I went to open the door, Martha grabbed my arm. 

“I don’t want her in here,” she remonstrated. 

I stepped onto the patio to talk to Diadra. 

“Martha knows about us,” I informed her. “You need to leave. I’ll call you later.” 

“When? I need to talk to you.” There was pleading in Diadra’s eyes as she said it. 

“Tonight.” 

I clasped her hand in mine for a moment. I wanted to kiss her, as I had done so many times before. But I didn’t want to escalate the situation between Martha and me, so I refrained. 

Reluctantly, I let go of Diadra’s hand. She slowly turned and walked away. I watched her for a minute before trying to go back inside. But when I tried to open the patio door, it was locked. Martha had depressed the latch to keep me out. 

“Go be with your w***e!” she cried emphatically from the kitchen window. 

I had to call the cops just to get back in. 

Martha and I were evicted from our apartment a few months later. Besides the heated exchanges, which had become more frequent, we could no longer afford the rent. Although we were still together, we no longer slept in the same bed. The physical attraction between us had vanished. Martha and I simply tolerated each other. We accepted guesthouse accommodations at a Motel 6, where she and I slept in separate beds. 

During this period, I had not seen Diadra for a few weeks. I tried to contact her on her cellphone, but it was disconnected. I couldn’t find Diadra anywhere�"she seemed to have disappeared, and I already missed her. 

Late one Monday evening, I stepped outside into the motel hallway. Martha and I had been arguing again. I left her in the room, needing to escape her presence, and headed to the smoking area to enjoy a cigarette (as I had been smoking at the time). When I reached the elevator and pressed the button, signaling it to go down, the doors opened. As I stepped forward to enter, I ran straight into Diadra as she was coming off. 

“I’ve been looking all over for you, Dee. Where have you been?” I asked, my voice laced with concern. 

I was hoping she hadn’t returned to Marcos. 

“I needed to think,” she responded in almost a whisper. 

“You should have called me or something,” I gently chided her. 

Tears began to fall from her eyes. She hugged me tightly. 

“What’s wrong, Dee? Talk to me,” I urged her, inviting her to confide in me. 

She only looked at me, shook her head, and said nothing. Placing her hands over her eyes, she cried bitterly. I rested her head on my shoulder as she wept for a while. When she finally regained her composure, she kissed me on the cheek. I could still feel her emotional pain. 

"Phillip," she spoke softly, "you’re a good person. I don’t want to hurt you." 

It was a lingering allusion to something I couldn’t place, and it filled me with dread. 

"Diadra, what’s wrong?" I asked again. 

Suddenly, she said she had to leave to take care of something. I knew where she was going�"she was making a quick drug sale. She had done this often when I was around but usually returned to me shortly after. 

"Meet me back by the elevator," I told her. 

"Okay," she replied, her voice trembling. 

That night, we kissed long and passionately before finally parting ways. 

Outside, I lit a cigarette. Taking a long puff, I exhaled as I formed rings of smoke. I thought about Diadra. When I saw her by the elevator, she had a vacant look on her face. Her countenance showed depression and hopelessness. It had not registered in my mind until now. What was causing Diadra to appear so despondent? I questioned within myself. It was still a mystery to me. I could only hope she would tell me when I should meet her by the elevator. Suddenly, in an intuitive moment, the thought dawned upon me that Diadra was about to slip into prostitution. With a deep sense of clarity, I could see she had given up on herself. 

I dropped my cigarette on the ground and rushed back to the elevator. I needed to get back to the second floor where I had met Diadra minutes ago. I would attempt to turn her away from a world of almost secret solicitation. Arriving, I searched around for Diadra but could not find her. I looked on every floor of the motel, scouring for any sign of her. My urgency grew with each effort to find her somewhere in the corridors of the motel. After hours of searching, I finally gave up. I never saw her anymore that night nor in the days following. Diadra was gone again, and it seemed this time for good. 

Martha and I moved around. We stayed in different motels before she and I found a place with an El Salvadorian couple. Finally, Martha and I moved into another apartment. Shortly after, we had a terrible argument. I decided it was enough for me. I separated from Martha and caught the first Greyhound bus back to Alabama. 

I did not stay away from Georgia for long. I still thought about Diadra, and I wanted to know what had happened in the motel that night. I questioned myself constantly. In 2012, I made a trip back to Georgia. I arrived in the city of Jonesboro in the late afternoon. Since my absence, the area had changed drastically. As I looked around, I could only see a shadow of the past. Restaurants that once flourished were now closed. Hotels lacked decency, and drugs and prostitution ran rampant. Jonesboro had become a ghetto. 

I booked a room at the Econo Lodge. Once I put my luggage away, I decided to walk through the city and look for Diadra. I began down Tara Blvd, where Martha and I had formerly lived. It was where Diadra and I had met. I followed my earlier intuition and assumed Diadra had become involved with prostitution. I came across people who I thought might know her. I encountered prostitutes, pimps, drug addicts, and drug dealers. Many seemed acquainted with her, yet none could point me in her direction. Some appeared cautious�"perhaps they assumed I was a police officer. Others may have had more jealous motives. Whatever the reason, no one could tell me her whereabouts. 

Eventually, I met someone who gave me information about Diadra. He was a young Black man in his twenties. He basically confirmed what I had suspected�"Diadra had become a sex worker. “I saw her tricking,” he told me. I later came across another man who seemed to know Diadra personally. He was older, around fifty. I never knew his real name�"only his street alias: Detroit. Supposedly, he was Diadra’s pimp. Muscular and of average height, he had recently been released from prison. 

Detroit wore a neatly trimmed afro, salt-and-pepper in color. He approached me to see if I was looking for a “lady of the Eve.” 

“Are you straight? You need a woman?” 

“No,” I responded. 

He was about to walk away when I considered that he might know Diadra. 

“Hey, do you know a female named Dee? She’s Puerto Rican.” 

“I know her,” he said, with a look of surprise on his face. “How do you know her?” 

“She used to stay in my apartment.” 

I gave him only a little information about my connection with Diadra. 

I could tell Detroit was either wary of my claim or jealous. Watching him, he seemed intimidated by the idea that someone other than him knew Dee. She was a prize he didn’t want to lose. Still, I pressed on. 

“How does she look?” I asked. 

“She has brown hair and sometimes dyes it reddish.” 

“Yeah, she’s Puerto Rican. Can you get her for me?” 

“I can do that,” he replied. 

But I never saw Detroit again, and he never returned with Diadra. I believe he had no intention of letting her see me. She was the most beautiful woman who had ever worked for him. He probably had feelings for her himself. 

On a summer nightfall, I left my hotel room to walk to the Texaco gas station. I had been drinking a lot of alcohol that evening. I was going back for more. Inside the gas station, there was a cooler section where beverages were kept. As I strolled into the early night, I could feel an aura of excitement. There was a sense of mystery that coincided with an element of fun and gaiety. People were out and about for various reasons. A large majority were in search of amusement, while others had to work. Still, there were not a few shopping or dining out. It was Saturday, and many would enjoy the non-lackadaisical night. 

I had just reached the store grounds when I happened to look to my right. I noticed a tow truck pulling into a vacant lot nearby. For some reason, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the vehicle. It stopped and parked for a minute. The passenger-side door opened, and a young woman stepped out. She was apparently a streetwalker. Closing the door, she began walking in the same direction as me. The driver of the tow truck sped away. 

It was not unusual for prostitutes to be in this area. They were known as the local women. Some lonely strangers required their services; some passersby gave heed to their solicitations. The woman had arrived at the Texaco before me. She stood in front of the entrance. I made it to where she was sitting. As I was about to pass her, I could feel her watching me. Still, I did not look at her. I was intoxicated, yet her gaze seemed to beckon me. 

Making my way inside the gas station, I quickly grabbed a beer. Standing in line, I waited to be rung up by the cashier. Suddenly, the same woman came rushing into the store. She stared at me with an intensity hauntingly familiar. However, in a drunken stupor, my mind would not let me make sense of what was happening. 

The customers focused their attention on the lady. She elicited curiosity from all of them. Then they fixed their gaze on me. I did not give myself a chance to discover who she was, for the interest shown by those in the store embarrassed me. I quickly looked at the woman, only to turn away again. I glanced at her once more. With bowed shoulders, head hung low, and a look of dejection, she walked to the women’s restroom. 

Walking back to the hotel, I could not help but replay that woman’s stare over and over in my mind. She seemed cut with pain, and for some unknown reason, I appeared to be the cause. I ruminated over the woman constantly that night. When I became sober the next day, I realized the woman I saw might have been Dee. Indeed, I became convinced it was her. Regret came over me immediately. I was certain I had destroyed any lingering hope in her. She would let hurt fester into hatred for men. 

I needed to find Diadra and tell her many things. I would apologize for my lack of sensitivity. I wanted to let her know that I still desired her. She may be disgraced by society’s standards, and many shallow minds would doubtless judge her a lazy, worthless female. I nonetheless saw her as beautiful and innocent. True, Diadra had lost her womanhood. But while she retained any morality, there was hope I could help her see a better way. 

She was a scarlet lily branded with the color of shame. She carried with her the label: prostitute. Yet beneath the shame was the delicacy of the woman. I made many more inquiries about Diadra. I was either given misleading information or no one seemed able to tell me of her whereabouts. Her footsteps were elusive. I did not want to leave Jonesboro without seeing Diadra. Other obligations, however, called me away. I never saw Diadra after that fateful night. 

Finally, I left the state of Georgia�"and Dee�"in the merciless streets. As of now, I still think about Diadra and the moment I passed her by. I’m sure I damaged her. If I could only take it all back, I would clasp her in my arms and make her see the value she holds within. 

Sometimes, I look out across the picturesque sky on summer evenings and visualize Diadra and me�"two souls who found love for a brief moment in time. In a world of chaos, there emerged beauty and sadness, passion and pain. Now, it is only my tears from a lost love affair.