“To Paradise” by Zakiya Moore – A Short Story

Woke Dancer // Pulp Fiction Edition, Vol. 3

Catalina always longed for an alternate day where she woke up at noon, stared up at the sky, dared to create something for herself until her eyes closed. She remembered how beautiful her life had become when she had met Kofi. This alternate day was her reality when he was around, illuminating the deficits of her life.

She stopped by the thrift shop before she found her way into Meridian Park, away from the busy streets around her, a strange silence. She had gotten a red and orange vest with brown designs inside, small enough to form as a crop top. It had only one button left, but she’d thought to sew the other buttons on it, using some of the brown seashells she had found at the beach on her last day off, three weeks prior. It would go perfectly with the brown leather pants she’d found there as well – real leather – and the Balenciaga clutch she had been hiding in the store for weeks until she could save enough to get it.

This was how she used her free time: piecing together clothes with long scavenger hunts of thrifting and soon after re-purposing. Creating new looks and aesthetics entirely. There was never anywhere for her to wear the clothes though, or enough time to find them, but this was the only time where she toyed with that little alternate world as a possibility. 

The day had been cut short because work ended before it even started. The boss wanted to take his wife on a trip, so he let Catalina and the others have the rest of the day off. Her usual day ended somewhere around one in the morning, where she could gather almost five hundred dollars in tips if she found the right tables. To her family, she was rich – as fuck. At least that was what her parents thought when she’d send them money. And on Thursdays like today, she could make almost seven hundred. The weekends were where she made her rent.

D.C. was so beautiful when the weather was decent. So half the year, it was ugly. But when it was beautiful, it was a haze. Filled with laughter and loud drums and countless adventures tucked away at every corner. Jazz filled the corners at night, and she was inundated with countless thrift stores to help her borderline shopping addiction, or rather, fashion addiction. It was a city’s paradise, but like her home, one that couldn’t be experienced by her fully. The long rides home to the outskirts of the Maryland/Northeast D.C. border proved that. Somehow, the bricks in the homes around her made her jittery. Disconnected because no one was never in them; they were out working just like she was. No one spoke on the streets unless she was in D.C. at night, when everyone was drunk.

It had been so long since Catalina had seen him. As far as she’d remembered, he’d made his way into sweet nostalgia, holding the place of her first love. She liked him there, as a memory, and far away enough so life could move forward. So she could love again, and not compare every man to him when she laid to bed with them. She wasn’t sure what she was comparing it to; they had never made love before. They hadn’t even kissed. But there was something about the feeling as if you had already done that intimate thing before it occurred. Maybe that was the fantasy mixing with nostalgia, both too rosy and unforgiving to the harder truths of why they parted ways in the first place. 

It took everything in her to try to remember how a soul bond could become a human enemy, like a stranger she’d never met. It was deeper than the drama, though; Kofi had saw life without her. And what no one told her about love was that it lasted forever, even when it was quiet, especially when it was loud. And when he crossed paths with her on his way to his family’s home, she remembered all the horrible things they had done to each other before they cut ties. It was all so clear.

“Wow,” were his first words to her. 

“I thought you wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me,” Catalina said.    

“It’s always good to see you, come on,” Kofi said.  

His eyes were like candy, a rush. His deep brown eyes looked almost black, like diamonds as they shimmered. They stood there a moment, shifting. She began to walk without saying anything. 

“I sent you a message a few months ago, but never heard back,” Kofi said. 

She continued to stare at him as they paced forward. 

“I wasn’t interested in talking to you,” Catalina said.  

The pulse of winds surrounded them, the breeze pushing past the leafy trees. Stony stairwells stood quietly in the distance.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Kofi said, moving closer. 

She gripped her patterned saddle around her shoulder, and the small plastic bag got drenched in the sweat between her palms. No one had come into the park that day; the universe was saving it just for them. She distanced herself as he slowly inched toward her. Maybe he was what she had been after. An alternate. 

“Same things I’ve always done,” she said. “Taking care of my younger cousins, working -” 

“Even when you were in school, you were always hustling,” Kofi said. “You’d think your uncle would understand that you had other things to do.”

“Survival wasn’t something I could defer,” Catalina said. “I had to do it.” 

“You didn’t have to do anything.” 

He played with his white button up, releasing some of the top bottoms to reveal his hairy chest. 

They passed the busy whirl of the street, ducking into a record store to hear dollar records. She looked everywhere but at him with the large, black headphones wrapped around her ears tightly. There was a pair for each of them as they closed their eyes briefly to listen. They got lost in the blur of music, pauses, tunes again. Feeling the doo-wop and old flow of scats transport her – not sure if closer to him or somewhere else.

“I just have responsibilities, Kofi. You never understood that,” Catalina said, taking off the headphones. The humidity filled the small store. 

“You’re so much better than that, though. You know that.

“Come with me to Miami this weekend.”

She leaned across the record sleeves, over Nina and Ella. Life had been imploding, ready to open up, ready to breathe. 

“I haven’t been since -” she said. 

“I know,” he said. “Come with me. Just for a few days.” 

“I can’t. I have to work these shifts this weekend. Rent is due on Monday. My tío already kicked me out once before. Papi had to force him to let me come back.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that. I got you. I just want to see you.” 

“Seeing me, and helping me out like that are different.” 

“You won’t get kicked out,” he said. “And if you do, I’ll help you. You’d never have to worry about that stuff with me.” 

“Yes, right because your parents always got it.” 

He pulled her in close, holding onto the collar of her t-shirt. 

“They’re immigrants, just like yours,” he said. “We’re not so different.” 

“No, except my parents were forced to leave, and I’m here. And your parents are rich.”

“I didn’t make them rich.” 

His aura had been child-like, optimistic about what was to come for him. The record store seemed to be spinning, some type of high they were both on when they were in the same room and listening to classics. She stepped closer, and sighed; that was her version of a yes. And it was then she knew that whatever happened when they were alone once again would be an explosion. 

There was something inside of her, beating like an animal in a cage, resenting poverty and struggle. This version of poverty seemed even more cruel than Colombia to Catalina, surrounded by wealth but never being able to touch it. She thought once she had become an American that the wealth the tourists had had back home would transfer to her, but it never did.

Miami sounded different, where the grass was greener.

Catalina had a few thousand saved from her rent stash, and savings, but Kofi paid for everything: her flight, her food, even took her shopping for new clothes before they got on the plane. So all she had before she snuck away from her uncle’s with her money was the last outfit she had bought, wearing it with the one button, loving it better that way for its spontaneity. 

“You always did take care of me,” Catalina said, looking into the leather seat in front of her, feeling the tight air of the elevated plane. “So is this what it would’ve been like if we had gotten together?” 

“Not exactly,” Kofi said, chuckling. “I’ve really missed you.” 

She turned over, and wrapped her leg over his lap. 

“Why didn’t we work again?” she laughed a bit.

“Love is a funny thing,” Kofi said. 

“Liar. You never loved me.” 

“That’s nonsense woman. You left me -” 

“- you cut me off, remember?” 

“He was also my best friend.” 

“A friend that pursued me. And I wasn’t the only person messing with someone’s friend.” 

“Alright,” he pushed her leg off. “You want the truth?” 

“I already know the truth.” 

“I just couldn’t understand you, Cat. One day you laid into my chest so delicately, and other days, you ignored me, looking right into my face and looking right through me.” 

“That’s not what happened.” 

“Then what did?” 

“You had a girlfriend fool.” 

The plane shook a bit. 

“That was after you started flirting with my best friend. I wasn’t going to wait around and watch that, Catalina. I ain’t that kind of man. Then after -” 

The flight attendant came with two plates: a plate of salmon and mashed potatoes for Catalina, and a t-bone steak and potatoes for Kofi – with two glasses of honey wine. 

When the flight attendant left, Kofi pulled the reclined seat up, rolling his sponge over his coils a few strokes to refresh the back of his hair.  

“I couldn’t keep waiting months for you,” Kofi said in a whisper. 

“I was scared, Kofi,” Catalina finally said. “Life was hitting so hard. I was sleeping in my car, school, work, still sending money home and having enough for food and rent. I didn’t want to do anything because I felt like I couldn’t do anything but what I had already been doing.”

“Cat, you don’t think I knew that? But you just left me hanging, and he could get your attention? You could have sex with him, but not me? Of all fucking people. You know I would’ve helped you, but you was wrong for that.”

“I didn’t want your help. Plus you never talked about feelings for me either. You were a flirt with everyone everywhere we went, and you weren’t the easiest person to get a hold of, but suddenly you’re in a relationship? We both did our own dirt, Kofi.” 

“Then everything just blew up in our face.” 

“Yeah, it did.” 

“It doesn’t change what you did.” 

They both knew that it wasn’t just about not having sex or mixing company, but it didn’t help clear the waters of how they both felt. That night when they ended their friendship, well, it was the wrapping of a caterpillar into a cocoon, and it changed everything. Imagine having to walk away from something you knew would fly one day. What if someone had already gotten to it first? What if you waited too long to acknowledge it, to take it, then it was gone? Just up and flew away.  

“You were dating her before we met, and you know it,” Catalina said sharply. Kofi tucked his head down in resolve.

They ate in silence, then both started snickering, one after the other. 

“Remember when we pretended to be that old couple at that really nice restaurant?” Kofi said. 

“It was so nice,” Catalina said. “Your sister put me in this black dress and did my makeup, and suddenly these people thought I was rich.” 

“You always fit in better in those spaces with me anyway. You ordered an entire lobster and two extra sides of mashed potatoes.” 

“I hadn’t eaten in like four days.” 

“Hey, that’s what insurance is for. I have no idea why we did that. Some silly ass kids we were.”

“Yeah, your parents were funding your lifestyle then, but they weren’t going to pay for a lobster.”

“Now look at us.” 

The plane descended after a while, and the two put on their seatbelts. 

“I am sorry, Kofi. I tried to apologize, but you shut me out. And every time I saw you, it killed me. Seeing you with her, her being so perfect. Sex with him was easy; it was a consolation prize to make up for what had happened that night. And what didn’t happen.” 

“You’re such a complicated woman, Catalina,” Kofi said, sipping the last of his wine.

Miami was warm like D.C. in the Springtime, and the first place they went to was the beach. 

The blues captured the air in a filter-like scenery, gold floating off of the sea. 

The water became a reflection for them, and they floated all day long. Swimming up and down into the depths and back, strong and fast. Until day became night. They lounged under the blurry night sky, counting the stars. The temperature had never changed. When they finally got out of the water, they cut an entire watermelon at the beach on a wooden cutting board, and sat there in the darkness eating every bit, the juices falling down their chin’s. 

They cruised the city with the hood down, the air filling their lungs as they watched the landscape of the water. They made a stop to a small boutique, where he bought her a red dress, and this time she owned it, the straps wrapping around her neck. He slipped diamond earrings into her ears.  

As the night grew, they followed where the music took them, until they were surrounded by green lights and a feast of drunken horniness. The ring of the funk music shook them to the core, and it pulsed, and it pulsed, until they could feel their entire bodies swaying against the other’s, brushing pieces of skin, his arms poking from his sleeves, and chest revealed so slightly. 

When they left, their entire bodies radiated pure heat.

“I never tried Cuban food before,” Kofi said. 

“No,” Catalina said with a snicker. 

“Come on, I’ve never had it. It’s Miami. Your aunt’s food smells alright, although she never let me have any. I’m sure it’s good.” 

“It’s really not. Cubans are cool, but they simply cannot cook. Ham sandwiches? Ew.”

Kofi picked her up and twisted her around, her dress blowing up around her in a river. They laughed all the way to the hotel, where they ordered three pizzas and two dozen chocolate chip cookies, and more bottles of honey wine to drink their lives away. 

The bed was plush and airy, and enveloped their lean bodies into the mattress.

“Do you ever miss Colombia?” Kofi asked, crawling his fingers around her chest.  

“Everyday. I know why I had to leave, but there’s something so pure in Colombia. I just want to go back and listen to the rain and talk to my grandmother. But then, I saw my uncle’s house, and I knew. His house was nicer than any house I’d ever seen. And it had two stories. I had never seen a house with stairs inside.”  

“Low maintenance, I see.”

“I don’t ask for much.” 

She whisked on top of him. 

“But I’ll give it to you, as much as you can have,” Kofi licked his lips. 

“Why didn’t you want to go all the way before? When you two had broken up?” Catalina’s voice lowered into a whisper. 

“I still loved her, and didn’t want to hurt her. And I felt some strange feelings for you, and didn’t want to hurt you either.” 

“So that’s why you got back together, because you didn’t want to hurt her?”

“I loved her, and that was that. It was better to let you go since you didn’t seem interested, anyway. I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“So it’s been five years since I last saw you. Are those strange feelings still there?” 

“I was with her a long time.”

Catalina tried to get off of him, but his hands gripped around her waist. 

“Strange because they just wouldn’t go away,” Kofi pulled Catalina’s chin toward him, catching his reflection in her eyes.

He turned her around on her back, and observed her like a flower, every layer and shades of color blending into the cream sheets – in her eyes, lips, nipples that he could see through the small white tank top she had changed into. Dark brown with dark green streaks, then rose brown, then brown as chocolate. 

“What do you want from me, Catalina?” 

She pulled his face toward her and kissed every part of his lips. 

That night and the entire weekend had been a melding of two parts.

He made her feel like they had eclipsed life, going back into that in-between time, where the pieces of existence floated, and time stopped indefinitely. They could be just like this forever.

It was the kind of longing that once attained made her back arch in ecstasy. To which she was filled, entirely, and he was enveloped into peace.

And it was nice, but what would happen when the weekend ended? was her next question. She had always thought about what came next. 

~

She felt the sun prickle through the curtains and rose out of bed. 5:30am.

“I didn’t want to tell you before, but I’m moving out to Miami for a few months,” Kofi said, sitting boxes of breakfast on the bed. 

She drowsily sat up, feeling drunk off the night version of him. 

“What for?” 

He handed her a coffee with some cream and Panela.

“This better not be from a Cuban spot,” Catalina laughed, and he smirked. 

“What do you have against Cubans?”

“Where did you find Panela?”

“I have my ways. And man, I do love your accent. Your Spanish threw me off at first. I thought you were Black when we met.”

Her head fell back in laughter.

“Not all South Americans look the same. That’s like saying all Africans look the same, then how would you feel?”

He kissed her.

“So you’ll be living here?” she asked.

“I have an opportunity to shoot my first feature. I just landed a grant a few months ago, and my crew is ready. That’s why I came back home to D.C. To let my parents know.” 

“That’s kind of poetic. Your favorite film was shot here.” 

“And Miami is even more beautiful in person, especially with you in it.”

He kneeled down on the bed with her, and smiled. 

“I want to take care of you. I was thinking maybe you could get into the fashion scene a bit, and in some of your off time, come to set, dance all night long together.

“Do more of what we did last night. Because that – was phenomenal.” 

She smiled at him. 

“It’ll only be for three months, then I’m going back to L.A. to cut the film together.”

“Your first short film got a lot of awards last time; I remember. Even though you never let me see it.” 

“I know, but we can see it today though.

“Then after L.A. The world. You were always talking about traveling. This is it. I’ve saved up enough, have these grants, my parents can help. It’s right here.”

She took something out of her bag and set them down. 

“Some of my designs,” she said. “Maybe I could sell them to a few high end boutiques, get a bit of extra start up money and a nice commission once it starts selling.” 

He watched the reds and oranges splashing into an exciting dress that flowed like water. And a jean set that had a star at the butt, bedazzled, with a firm butt drawn into the design. 

“Butt-lifting jeans,” she said. “You don’t even know how I’m going to shake things up. The Columbian girls know all about this.” 

“This is incredible, love,” Kofi said. “You’re amazing, not gone lie. We’re going to be dope.” 

“We are.”

“So let’s try again.” 

She nodded, stunned out of words. They spent the rest of the Sunday in bed, reminiscing, eating, thinking about their future together and making love until the sun set. 

She stopped through the lobby to get more coffee packs when she ran into an old lady with a long, windy tongue. The woman talked like she had burned her throat with something hot. 

She pulled Catalina toward her with an odd strength, Catalina unable to pull herself away from her stiff fingers. 

“That boy you’re here with, he’s no good for you,” the old woman said, her black drape holding many holes at the seams. “You have to get away before it’s too late. A woman’s freedom should never be tied to a man.” 

She pushed the grip away, and before Catalina could process what she had said, the woman disappeared in a flash. And it brought Catalina back to reality, in those D.C. streets, at work. 

“Bruja,” Catalina muttered. 

Miami had been spoiled a bit in that moment. Or rather, just Kofi in Miami. Was that lady right? She reminded Catalina of the spiritual women she’d see on the streets, so eager to tell her fate. But really, what did Catalina have outside of Kofi? 

And what is self-sabotage, and why does it only happen when the thing you’ve always wanted is in your hands? This was the question that bothered her the most as she finished off her letter to him, sitting it on the nightstand.  

Dear Kofi, it read, I’d like to remember everything beautiful about your soul, your body, your heart, your dreams, and how all of it blended into my everything. 

She told him that freedom couldn’t be following him around the world, even though it seemed so easy to just take it. Why couldn’t she do that? Why couldn’t she stay with the man she loved every time she had him? 

It was only after she had left the room silently at three in the morning that she realized she was the problem. She had only had dreams, but he was the one that acted on his. She wanted to do the same. And she couldn’t do it if she started a life with him, because she knew she’d want to give him everything that was in her heart, and that was the entire world, none left for her. 

She didn’t want to leave, and she paced back and forth before she actually did.

How could it hurt worse than before to have to leave him again? Everything shattered into a million pieces when she left the hotel, and she remembered crying in his apartment elevator so many years ago, circling a random parking lot filled with snow in the middle of winter crying and playing sad songs the entire night, to stalking his family’s home to see if he’d ever come home. She remembered watching silently for years of him being in love and happy with someone else, school seeming to take forever to end. The cycle of her responsibilities weighing on her like cement. 

Oh, how she loved him. But she wanted something for herself, to bring into their communion if he’d still have her by then. She hoped he’d understand. That this time it wasn’t messy or revenge or confusing or dark or sexy or quasi-romantic. She wanted to have something to give, because she had nothing, and she’d give that too. She made sure he knew that this wasn’t the end for them, that she would see him again one day.

But she had never had that thing – isolation. She had never had an entire space around for just herself, so she wanted to see who she could become when she was alone.

Without all that love, or the pressure of her responsibilities or dreams deferred, maybe she could breathe again. 

She pulled her hair out of its normal tight ponytail. She hadn’t worn her hair out since she was a little girl, its wildness exhilarating. And she felt the rush as she slid back on her pants and vest. She kept the little red dress, for good luck, but she left everything else. Everything except her money, that dress, and her visa.

Cover image by Steve Johnson on Unsplash