Eva : Part 1

Choose Me
by Xenia Ruiz

Two people. Two voices. Two unforgettable walks along life's most difficult roads. And two hearts struggling to understand God's divine plan-and the blessing of love...

Eva: "I've survived Mr. Not-Right, Mr. All-Wrong, and Mr. No-Way. I've had one bad marriage and had to raise my sons on my own. It took me a long time to learn how to be independent and find out who I was. I became celibate to clear my head and to get back to what I thought God would want me to do with my life. And I was through with romance unless I found a good Christian man (and I wasn't going to count on that happening any time soon ... if ever.) But I didn't expect someone like Adam, a social worker committed to the community and spreading the Word through his poetry. He's also a man struggling with an illness that almost killed him and shook his faith. And he is challenging me in ways inspiring and tempting-and I pray to God that I will have enough strength to find a way for us..."

Adam: "I'll admit it, I had let my Christian walk slide. No, let's be honest-I found my faith was not where it used to be. Then I got sick, and it took everything I had to hang on until my cancer went into remission. Suddenly, there were too many doubts, too many questions ... too much unresolved anger. Eva has more than enough love to help me look to something beyond my strength and come to terms with my past. But we both have so much distrust-and so much to overcome. And I know we're going to need an extraordinary love and trust to walk through this thing together and into the blessing God has planned."

With its unique format, Choose Me is a moving, insightful, and challenging novel. It shows us the decisions we can change, the mistakes we can't always undo, and how faith helps us find the smallest-and sweetest-ways to reach for the stars.

Chapter 1

ALEAD US NOT into temptation . . .

Most days I truly believe that prayer is a very powerful thing. I am a staunch believer that prayer has the ability to heal wounds, grant blessings, and rescue a person from the deepest, darkest troubles in a way that defies earthly logic.

. . . but deliver us from evil . . .

The line from the Lord's Prayer was running through my mind because at the moment, I could not take my eyes off an almost perfect image of one of God's finer creations standing a few feet away from me in the Native American book section. I was farther down the aisle, in the Latin American section where Border's Bookstore had decided it belonged, along with the various "others" - African American, Asian American, and Women's Studies.

Just then, the man looked up and I looked away to where a couple was busy groping each other as if they were in the corner of some dark club instead of a bright bookstore chain that sold a variety of books, coffee, and biscotti. Lately it seemed couples such as these were taunting me wherever I went.

Please Lord, lead ME not into temptation . . . I prayed. A big part of me deeply believed in the power of these words. I believed that if I kept repeating them over and over, I could cast away the temptation, will this man away from me. But another part of me wanted him to stay right where he was. I wanted him to try to give me his best line so I could shoot him down, to prove once again how powerful was my endurance. But what I really wanted was to have an intelligent conversation with a man, something I hadn't had in a while.

That other part of me, the carnal side, the part that wasn't dead, couldn't help but steal looks at him, taking inventory - one peek at a time. He was about five-nine, not very tall, with a pleasant chiseled face, like it had been sculpted by a surgeon's knife, and probably was. I've heard of people who have their cheek fat sucked out, or their back molars removed so they can obtain such statuesque definition. His curly, close-cropped hair glistened in the sun that blazed through the plate-glass windows. Even though he was dressed in blue sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt - his biceps, forearms, and back fighting for space - he looked debonair. Bam-Bam, my sister, Maya, would coin him, referring to a man's muscled physique bursting at the seams.

I have always been attracted to Black men. Perhaps because to me they resemble the café con leche to coffee-colored cousins and uncles in my Afro-Latin family. Or maybe because they were the first ones to notice me when the Latin boys in high school had passed me by. And it wasn't that I had a preference for Black men as some men and women had accused. Back when I was in the world and it came to men, I didn't discriminate as far as their ethnicity. But I felt a special connection when it came to Black men that went beyond the physical - something along the lines of kinship, something I didn't feel instantaneously with Latinos or men of other nationalities.

This man, although not exactly cover-model fine, had an attractive quality about him. Or maybe I was getting so desperate that any man would do it for me. After all, it had been five years since I had been with a man.

I wondered why he was in the Native American section, then I realized my hidden prejudices that came from living in America all my life were showing their true colors. Maybe he found out he had a Native American grandparent. Or perhaps he was one of those people obsessed with Native Americans, as if they were some kind of extinct species. As I wrestled with my carnal nature, I knew I should take my behind straight to the Spirituality-Religion section and nourish my soul. But my feet were not listening to reason and I could not move.

The next time I glanced up, he was looking right at me and I knew my cover was blown. Having gone directly from work to my boxing class, I was still clad in my Lycra capris and tank shirt with my warm-up jacket tied around my waist. My hair was pulled back and up into the usual hasty ponytail I used when exercising or when I was in between touch-ups. I felt exposed. Losing my courage, I started to slowly inch farther away, scanning the shelves like I was searching for a specific book. When I looked up again, he was walking away and I thought that I had never seen a back as beautiful as his. The shoulders were slightly hunched, the blades poking out, enticing me. I wondered why God had made men's bodies so appealing, but yet expected women to practice restraint. I had hoped for some supernatural courage to overtake me that would allow me to engage the man in conversation over a book, or on the topic of God, or perhaps invite him for a cup of coffee, but it was too late. He was about to turn the corner, headed toward the exit. I felt disappointment, but at the same time, relief.

"Excuse me, sir? Can I ask you a question?"

I whipped around to find my best, and soon-to-be-dead, friend, Simone, going after Bam-Bam like she had no shame. I grabbed her T-shirt, which was tied in a knot at the back of her waist, and tried to usher her in the opposite direction. But she resisted and, having several inches of height and toned muscle on me, I lost the tug-of-war.

"I'm going to hurt you," I whispered viciously, knowing eyes were upon us from all directions.

"Shut up, here he comes."

When I turned around, Bam-Bam was sauntering toward us, so I pulled out the nearest book, The Latina's Bible.

Copyright © 2005 by Xenia Ruiz

About the Author

A graduate of Northwestern University, Xenia Ruiz received First Prize in the university's Iota Sigma Epsilon Fiction Contest for her short story, "Pops." She currently lives in Chicago with her son and daughter.