Meet Sable St.James...she's closing doors and cleaning out her closet"

Dréa Riley Presents
Closing Doors: A Series of New Beginnings
Sable’s Standards
By Dréa Riley

The End
I’ll bet you saw those words up there and wondered, “what the hell, I just opened this book. How is it the end already?”
I know, the end comes at the end and the middle comes before that. And before that we have the beginning. But sometimes the end isn’t always the end. Sometimes it’s the beginning. The very first step in the journey of a thousdand miles, or two blocks.
I mean weren’t you excited about the end. Seriously, you saw the book. Saw the cover and thought, “boy I wonder what happens to them in the end.” It’s why we read books and watch movies. The middle is fun and dandy, we get to know all about a character and what they do. Who their friends and family are? We watch them grow and change and cheer them on boo their antagonists. But, if we are unsatisfied with the ending, well now, that’s a whole new beast isn’t it. We don’t want the character to be left hanging. All issues need to be resolved by the last period of the last paragraph and make it a happily ever after please, and thank you.
That’s how we all like for the end to—well end. By now you’re probably confused and really questioning some things so I will just go ahead and tell you, there is a happy ending. Take it on faith. Or Take my word. Or skip to the last page. I wouldn’t lie to you. Who am I, you ask? Ahh, there it is, the question I’ve been waiting for. I am Sable Louise St. James. And I know there is a happy ending, because this is my story. This is how my ending became a happy beginning.



The History leason.
Sable Louise St. James was the middle daughter of Winston and Jeanavier St. James. Her sisters are JeanMarie and Diamond consecutively. Don’t let the names fool you. There is no blue blood running through the family tree though if you let her mama tell it, they were related to the Queen. No one rightly knew which Queen that was, no one had ever been brave enough to question Mama St. James to her face. Her word was law. For all her put upon airs, she could be right nasty if you crossed her.
Winston worked the majority of his life in a beef plant. Nightshift. He didn’t pay too much attention to either of the girls as they grew up. Never said much about the differences his wife made between them. Oh he pampered JeanMarie and Diamond more than Sable, but that’s because they were his. They favored mama with their light skin and good hair. Sable took after her daddy, her biological father that is.
He must have been a dark man. Sable always thought that because all her mamas family was real light complexioned. Mama took a great deal of pride in that. And Daddy--well, Winston's family was mostly Native American, so paper bag brown ran long and deep through them.
Sable’s sperm donor, well he had to be dark because she was dark. She had smooth almond colored skin that gets a little blotchy when the weather changes and what the beauticians call “ethinic hair”. Now to hear her sisters tell it, her hair alternated between being a cotton ball and a brill-o pad, but either way it was coarse and short and lacking any shine to it. Her nose was wide and flat and her lips were big enough to fit her face. There was nothing remarkable about her eyes. They were black and evenly situated on either side of her round face. Her brows were full and dark and her short lashes curled thickly into themselves. She’d likely never win any beauty contests but she didn’t scare small children on site either.
At 5’5 Sable was little on the short side and lord knows what kind of obese category the doctors would put her in. She often thought she could get away with claiming to be curvy, or voluptuous or any of those other sexy sounding adjectives, but Sable was the kind of girl to call a spade a spade. She was fat. With an F not a PH or any fun acronym to follow it. Sure, it bothered her, but not enough for her to rush out and join a gym. And since she wasn’t really in the market for a man, well, she guess that statement said it all. Sable wasn’t catching anything but a cold. Her girlfriends would say she was not catching because she didn’t take pride in herself. All the extra weight is not helping her cause. Though, mostly they told her to just get out there. Dress up a little. Smile more often. Sable was not a smiler. That’s not saying she walked around frowning all the time, but she just didn’t smile.
If she were being witty she’d say something back like “I am not fat, I am pleasantly, plump” or “this is just cushion for the pushin’, real men love curves.” She often had a come back to any suggestion about her love life or lack their of. She loved her friends and hated that the worried over her, but Sable was used to being in the back ground. And at nearly thirty years old, she wasn’t sure that the spot light was for her.
No, Sable didn’t want to be the center of attention. What she did want however was to be carefree. She wanted to enjoy life, not just exist.
Looking into the mirror, she tipped her head this way and that. Squinting, then opening her eye’s wide. She took inventory of all her features. Noted that if she sucked her tummy in just a bit and pulled her shoulder back she kinda had what could maybe someday be considered a shape.
Sighing deeply and gasping for air. She mentally chastised herself. “Yeah, since round is a shape you qualify. Stop playing, you ain’t starting no exercising and will switch doctors in a heartbeat if they tell you to stop eating fried foods.”

“I know that’s right” she spoke to herself, “but it would be nice to …” she let the sentence fall short. Sable had stopped wishing for life to be different when she was in junior high. Her mama was right. She was meant to be plane. Her sister’s were the smart, beautiful ones. She was just Sable. Simple and brown. Ten years ago the thought would have made Sable cry. She hadn’t cried since her mamma had finally died.
Standing at the foot of her mother’s death bed, she’d watched as her mama had held her sisters hand’s and spoke to them each. She’d told them how proud of them she was and how beautiful they were. She’d told them how much she’d always loved them. She’d had no words for Sable. Sable, who’d given up her education to come home and care for her ailing mother. Sable who’d worked two jobs to pay for the medicine that she’d needed, because Winston had left them for his mistress years and years before. No comfort for Sable, forged letters from her sisters when the refused to come home to even visit the deathly woman. Sable, who had been the one to feed and bathe her when she couldn’t do so on her own. NO, Jeanavier, had left this world with a sneer on her face and a look of distaste in her eyes. She’d never a day in her life shown Sable any love, and even in death, she stayed true to her form.

Shaking off the cobwebs of memory, Sable artfully tied a silk scarf in her hair and grabbed her car keys. Memories almost always did two things for Sable. Made her sad and late for work. She hurried from her tiny bedroom grabbing a demin jacket along the way. It didn’t take her long to exit and lock her tiny apartment. Moments after that, she was in her tiny used compact and heady for her job. At least at work she could listen to the happenings of her co-workers and friends lives and for a few moments not dwell on hers.