Japanese Wife For Haitian Scholar

"Edgar, You don't know what it's been like, trying to take care of our son and running things without you," my wife Chiyoko "Chi-Chi" Tanaka-Magloire said to me, tossing aside her briefcase full of legal documents. With a sad little shrug of her shoulders, she sat me down and talked to me. I've been gone for quite some time. One of the perks and drawbacks of being an executive for the Boston Engineering Innovation Center is that I have to travel all over the country. Those trips unfortunately take me away from my family, which sucks.

"It's alright, sweetie, I'm here," I said as I gathered Chi-Chi into my arms, and she smiled and looked up at me. In that moment, I saw the woman I fell in love with all those years at Northeastern University. How I remember those days. It's been twenty years, but you never forget how you met the love of your life, that's for damn sure.

"Aaron needs you, and I need you," Chi-Chi says to me, and I smile and nod. Our son Aaron is a senior at Boston Latin Academy, and pretty soon he'll be graduating and hopefully heading off to college. I don't know what's going on with our lad. All of a sudden, he's acting up, and hanging out with suspicious characters, and smoking. Before, he was like an angel. Now he's a moody mess that I barely recognize as my own flesh and blood.

The name is Edgar Magloire, and I was born in the town of Les Cayes, southern Haiti, and raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. My parents, Marianne and Eliphet Magloire left the island of Haiti in the ninth summer of my life, and have lived in New England ever since. I barely remember our old life in Haiti, though my culture and heritage will always be part of me. I am the son of two worlds, Haiti and America. I can't escape that fact.

I grew up poor in the Dorchester area of Boston, and dreamed of making it out of the hood. I'm talking about the Dorchester of the late 1980s and early 1990s, not today's gentrified Dorchester with its gay couples, yuppies and booming Latino population. Nope, the Dorchester I grew up was mostly African-American, Afro-Caribbean or some variety of Black, and proudly so. Nevertheless, it was a tough place to live in.

My parents and I didn't have it easy, being recent immigrants from the Caribbean and all. A lot of people say 'black is black', but they don't know the conflicts between different black cultures. Since I spoke with a French accent during my early years in Boston, I got teased a lot by the African-American gals and guys at school. I was the weirdo who went to church every weekend, tucked my shirt in my pants while everyone went around sagging, and oh yeah, I liked school and didn't believe in smoking, drinking our cussing.

My parents, being typical Haitians, were strict, and didn't want me to hang out with the wrong crowd. School, church, and work, that's where I spent my time. I never went anywhere else because they wouldn't let me. They feared that I would end up on the wrong side of the law. In those days, I hated them for being so hard on me. My friends could do whatever and go wherever they wanted, while my parents turned me into a recluse. It really sucked, man.

Nowadays, I'm thankful for their hard work and shining example. I have seen what happened to a lot of the "cool" brothers I went to high school with. A lot of them are in jail, dead, or running from the mommas of brats they can't afford to take care of. After graduating from Dorchester High School, I had scholarship offers from schools like Boston College, Boston University and Tufts University, but I chose Northeastern University.

In 1996, at the age of eighteen, I started my freshman year at Northeastern University. While checking out an Intro to Engineering book at the library, I met the woman destined to change my life forever. There she was, the tall, lovely young Asian woman with the long black hair and sharp features who would smile frostily at the guys who would come into the campus library where she worked, just to check her out.

"Good morning, ma'am, I was wondering if I could check this one out," I said to the young woman working at the circulation desk, whose name tag read Chiyoko. She looked me up and down, which I pretty much expected. I was well aware that I stood out on the Northeastern University campus. I dressed well, spoke the English language without butchering it, and generally moved about with cautious confidence. Yeah, I was a stranger in a strange land.

Boston might call itself a liberal town, but in those days, you didn't see a lot of young black men at the city's elite colleges and universities. Only a sprinkling of us were allowed to attend Boston University, Boston College, the fabled Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Northeastern University and almighty Harvard. That's just the way things were.

"Well hello there," Chiyoko said, and I saw a glimmer of interest in her lovely brown eyes. I stand six feet three inches tall, with dark brown skin and curly black hair. I am built like a college football player, but I couldn't throw a ball to save my life. I've always been good with numbers, and I like working with my hands. I honestly can't tell you how often people have asked me if I was part of the lackluster Northeastern University football team. Yeah, welcome to my life.

"Going to borrow this one a lot, I'm afraid, they tell me that the professors barely use these expensive books they expect us to buy," I said pleasantly, and this time, Chiyoko actually smiled at me. My heart fluttered in my chest, and I felt nervous, but I decided to play it cool. I looked Chiyoko in the eye, and held her gaze.

"Smart choice, sir, I'm in law and believe me, I wish someone warned me our profs barely use the textbooks," Chiyoko replied, and then she laughed. I looked at her, taking in her lovely if understated appearance. Chiyoko stood five-foot-ten, which is tall for a woman, and she's a bit curvy, unlike the usually short and slender Asian ladies I saw walking around town.

"The name is Edgar," I said pleasantly, and I held out my hand. After a brief hesitation, Chiyoko shook it, and thus we were formally introduced. I couldn't know it at the time, but Chiyoko and I were destined to meet. We became friends, and began hanging out. Really hanging out. This was in the days before the cell phone craze and the madness of social media, when guys and girls actually took time to get to know one another.

"Thanks for introducing me to Haitian cuisine," Chiyoko said to me, a few days later, as we sat inside Highland Creole Cuisine. I looked at her and smiled, then took a bite out of my delicious plate of brown rice, goat meat and fried plantains. Chiyoko slowly bit into her fish, and smiled appreciatively. I inwardly gave myself a thumbs up, for things appeared to be going well.

"You're very welcome, mademoiselle," I said to Chiyoko, who winked at me. Sitting with her inside this little Haitian restaurant in the Highland Avenue area of Boston, I felt happy as can be. I looked alright in a blue silk shirt, black tie and black silk pants. Chiyoko looked fantastic in a dark green shirt, black dress and high-heeled black shoes. Her long black hair was pulled into a bun, and she looked lovely.

The more I learned about the lovely Chiyoko, the more fascinated I became. Born in the City of Utsunomiya, northern Japan, and raised in the City of Boston's South End since the tenth summer of her life, Chiyoko is a wonderful mixture of Japanese and American. Fiercely proud of her culture, yet thoroughly American. Well, I like what I see, ladies and gentlemen.

"Tell me more about yourself," Chiyoko said, and her lovely brown eyes intensely bore into mine, and I suddenly realized I knew what a deer caught in headlights might feel. Only in a good way. I took a sip of my Pepsi, then looked at Chiyoko, leaned back in my chair, smiled and then answered the lady's question as best I can.

"Well, Chiyoko, I'm a small-town guy from the Caribbean who wants to take Boston's business world by storm, and show them what intelligent men of my color can do," I said casually, well aware that I sounded a bit full of myself. You know what? Fuck this. America has a problem when a black man carries himself with confidence and authority, and I won't stand for it. I've played friendly and meek for far too long, dammit.

"I like your style and confidence, Edgar, I want to be a lawyer even though my family tried to push me into nursing," Chiyoko said, and I saw an intensity in her eyes that wasn't there before. Gently I touched her hand, and for a moment, Chiyoko looked at me, and I worried I was doing something wrong. I'm from the Caribbean and where I'm from, people are affectionate. Sorry...not sorry.

"Cool," I said, and I breathed a sigh of relief as Chiyoko gently squeezed my hand, and smiled at me. Looking into Chiyoko's eyes, I swear, I knew right then and there that this lady was going to be part of my life. Never mind that we're literally from opposite ends of the Earth. I saw in her someone ambitious, fearless and strong, like me. Birds of a feather can always spot one another, you know?

"Glad I met you, Edgar, " Chiyoko said to me, and we went for a walk down Highland Avenue, and much of greater Boston, after exiting the restaurant. People stared at us, for they weren't used to seeing couples like Chiyoko and I. Boston is supposedly liberal and friendly, but the different minority groups, like the Blacks, the Chinese, the Latinos and the Arabs, aren't in love with one another.

On the white side, the Irish and the Italians sometimes settle their differences quite violently, though they generally get along okay. They have to stick together if they don't want to get overtaken by the minorities, I guess. At the end of the day, Boston is a city of neighborhoods, and cliques. That's all there is to it. I like this town, but I harbor no illusions about how things work around here. We have vastly different peoples with competing agendas sharing the same space. Anyone else tell you different, they're lying, trust me.

Chiyoko and I were both born outside America, and we're the naturalized offspring of immigrant families. Typically, people from such backgrounds stick to their own kind, but against all odds, Chiyoko and I fell in love. My Haitian parents were stunned when I brought her home, for they expected me to bring home a nice Haitian gal from our church. Chiyoko's strict Japanese family weren't thrilled to meet me either. They expected her to bring home either a nice Japanese lad or a white dude. Well, both of our families got a surprise.

Chiyoko and I stuck together no matter what the fates and our families threw at us. I graduated with my bachelor's degree in civil engineering from Northeastern University in the summer of 2000, and Chiyoko graduated with her criminal justice degree that same year. We both stuck around Northeastern, and three years later, my lady got her law degree. That's right, my Chiyoko had her J.D. from the Northeastern University School of Law. Since her family was outside the country, and couldn't be bothered, I took Chiyoko out to celebrate.

"My beloved Chi-Chi, do me the honor of marrying me," I said to Chiyoko as I dropped down on one knee, right in front of the fountain located inside the lower level of Copley Mall, Boston's busiest shopping center. Clad in a stylish green dress, Chiyoko looked fantastic. We dined earlier in the food court, and went for a walk around the mall. Copley Mall had become our favorite hangout, due to its proximity to the Northeastern University campus.

"Oh my God, yes!" Chiyoko all but shrieked, and then she leapt into my arms. I wish I could say something cool like we kissed and everyone clapped, but I tripped and nearly fell into the vast fountain, and people were half-clapping and half-laughing. Definitely a proposal to remember, let me tell you. All that matters is that my lady said yes, and I couldn't be happier.

"Let's have a quickie," Chi-Chi whispered into my ear, as we headed for the exit. We stood near the food court where we dined earlier, and Chiyoko had apparently noticed the bright yellow, closed for cleaning sign on the door of the men's washroom. I looked at Chiyoko and grinned, and my lady spurred me on by smacking me on the ass. What do you think I said?

"Oh yes," I whispered, and Chi-Chi winked at me as she sucked on my dick. I leaned against the washroom sink as Chiyoko knelt before me and sucked my dick like her life depended on it. I can't get enough of this lady, seriously. Classy, freaky, intellectual and sensual, Chi-Chi is indeed the perfect woman. Hey, that's my opinion, alright?

"Babe, you haven't felt anything yet," Chi-Chi paused to reply, and then she massaged my balls while sucking my dick. Moments later, having deemed me hard enough, Chi-Chi rolled a condom on my dick, and then told me to fuck her. I grinned and bent Chiyoko over the washroom counter, and ran my hands all over her sexy golden ass. Whoever says Asian girls lack booty hasn't met my lady!

"I love that sweet, thick ass of yours," I said as I bent down to kiss Chi-Chi's ass, and then I eased into her cunt from behind. Gripping her hips, I began pumping my dick into Chiyoko's ass. I looked in the mirror, and saw myself fucking Chiyoko, and it turned me on even more. Chi-Chi pressed her ass against my groin, driving my dick even deeper into her cunt. Passionately we went at it, and my lady gave as good as she got, her ass grinding on my groin and her cunt muscles gripping my dick tightly.

"Hmmm, I'm totally going to make you cum," Chi-Chi hissed, and I laughed and smacked her ass, even as I felt weakness in the knees. Chiyoko's pussy gripped my dick like a vise, and it wasn't long before I came. Afterwards, I pulled out and kissed my sweetie on the lips. We readjusted our clothes and exited the men's washroom as if nothing had happened. Yup, my Chi-Chi and I are freaky like that!

Chi-Chi and I got married in a quaint little chapel in Brockton, and the wedding was attended mostly by our friends from university since our close-minded parents couldn't be bothered. We got ourselves a house in Milton, and began our lives together. Chi-Chi began working for a mid-sized law firm located in the Brighton neighborhood of Boston, and I got hired by the Boston Engineering Innovation Center as a marketing executive. Six months after our wedding, our lives changed...again.

"Ed, um, I went to the doctor's office and, well, I'm pregnant," Chi-Chi said casually as I walked into our living room, where I found her sitting down, a glass of orange juice in one hand, and a legal pad in the other. Alright, I wasn't expecting such news and I'd had a terrible day at work dealing with some narrow-minded bozos who simply aren't used to dealing with intelligent black men in positions of power. I even considered quitting. That flew out the window the moment Chi-Chi told me she was knocked up.

"Oh Chi-Chi, that's wonderful news, I'm so happy," I said as I gathered my wife into my arms, and kissed her on the forehead. Chi-Chi looked at me, and her lovely brown eyes were full of worry. I held her tight and assured her that everything would be alright. All of a sudden, our four-bedroom house located near the Milton/Avon line felt small. As it has been said, having a son or daughter changes everything. Were we ready?

"I'm happy too, we're going to be a family," Chi-Chi said, and she put a brave smile on, even though, like me, she was full of worry and questions. Chiyoko and I are recent university graduates just getting started on our careers. My engineering degree and her law degree from Northeastern University didn't come cheap, nor did our recently purchased house in Milton. We've got a small fortune in student loans to pay back, among other things. Damn.

"We'll make this work," I said, and Chiyoko and I exchanged a passionate kiss, then went to the bedroom. Nine months later, our son Aaron Taizo Magloire was born. Our little biracial angel, born of the unlikely union of parents hailing from the island of Haiti, in the heart of the Caribbean, and the State of Japan. At last, Chi-Chi and I had a family of our own, replacing the ones we lost.

I'd like to say that our parents evenly came around, but they didn't. My parents never got over the fact that their proud Haitian-American son married an "etranje", a foreign woman from the State of Japan. As for Chi-Chi's parents, they considered me an unwelcome intruder into their family's pristine bloodline. Never mind that I was friendly, polite and respectful in my interactions with them, and that I love their daughter Chiyoko more than I love myself. The way I see it, Chi-Chi and I have a family of our own, and that's all that matters.

"Yo, Moms, what's the deal? I'm home," a familiar masculine voice shouted, snatching me out of my trip down memory lane. I scratched my head and looked at my wife, and Chi-Chi smiled and shrugged. A moment later, our son Aaron walked into the living room, clad in a green T-shirt featuring NBA legend Paul Pierce, black pants that were hanging way too low on his bum, and dirty white sneakers.

"Welcome home, son, now get them shoes off your feet, you and I need to have a talk," I said, looking into Aaron's emerald eyes. Standing six-foot-one, lean and athletic, with caramel-hued skin and a thick Afro, his features a mixture of the African and the Asiatic, our son Aaron Taizo Magloire has grown into a handsome young man. Chi-Chi and I produced a fine specimen, seriously.

I love my son Aaron and couldn't be prouder of him. Too bad he's acting a fool by cutting school, and even though he's gotten accepted everywhere from Bridgewater State University to UMass Boston, he hasn't decided on a school yet. Aaron is eighteen years old, and will graduate from Boston Latin Academy in a couple of months. The clock is ticking, for real, as the millennials say in today's lexicon.

"Um, Dad, I was just chilling with Drake," Aaron said, and he bit his lip as his mother Chi-Chi looked on and shook his head. I crossed my arms and looked at Aaron pointedly, and he groaned then took off his shoes. I smiled and walked up to him, and looked into his eyes. Aaron looks a lot like his grandpa, my father Eliphet Magloire, whom he's of course never met.

"I understand that, son, we just need to have a little talk, for starters, don't use the term "Yo" in this house, " I said, and Aaron shook his head, looked away and apologized. I winked at Chi-Chi as I put my arm around Aaron's shoulder, and walked him into my study, for a much-needed and timely father/son chat. Chi-Chi smiled at me and went back to looking at her legal documents. Daddy's home at last. All is right with our world.