by William Poe
The monotony was interrupted by a guard pulling back the metal shutter and informing me that I had a visitor. I stood in front of the bunk until he unlatched the door, and then I marched forward with my arms outstretched. The guard slipped handcuffs onto my wrists and shepherded me to a booth where inmates spoke to visitors sitting opposite a Plexiglas window.
Dean had come to visit. He held the receiver of the old phone to his ear while resting his elbow on the ledge. He motioned for me to pick up the phone on my side.
“Are you okay?” Dean asked. “Do you need anything?”
“Is Vivian all right?” I asked, ignoring his questions.
“She called,” Dean said. “Well, Connie called for her. It’s difficult for your mother, you know—you being in here and all, seeing you in court.”
I’d never seen him so circumspect.
Dean continued, “Connie said you didn’t recognize Vivian, that you said something cruel.”
“That whole morning is a blur,” I demurred.
“Simon,” Dean said, “Do you even know why you were arrested?”
“Not really,” I confessed.
“They say you rented a van and that it was impounded during a drug bust in Atlanta. The district attorney there wants to pursue charges, accusing you of being an accomplice. You should be glad that Arkansas doesn’t cotton to extraditing one of its own.”
The Memphis Mafioso, BT, Violet, Sean, Thad, my belongings—a flood of disjointed images flooded my thoughts.
“Atlanta?” I asked.
“Did you lose your credit card or something?”
“Someone paid me to rent them a van. I needed cash.”
“You were conned,” Dean reasoned. “Anyway, the public defender had it all worked out. You were supposed to plead guilty to a misdemeanor. But you spoke too quickly and claimed innocence. Now the lawyer isn’t sure what to do.”
I couldn’t even remember the court appearance.
“Are they feeding you well enough in there? Should you see a doctor?”
“What happened to Sean?” I asked, changing the subject.
“He brought your car to my place. I held onto the keys and wouldn’t let him drive it.”
“Is he okay?”
“He stayed for a few days, but then he disappeared. I haven’t heard anything since.”
The phone slipped from my hand, but I caught it.
“Thanks for coming to see me,” I said. I looked around at the stark walls and admitted to Dean that everything was a blur since the day I was arrested.
“I’ll get you help,” Dean promised as he stood up to leave.
“The judge wants to see you, boy,” a mountain of a guard said as he opened the cell door and motioned for me to come out.
Sensing that this would be the end of my ordeal, I wanted to offer Riddle a few words of comfort. From what I knew of his case, he likely would be in prison for the rest of his life. He was asleep, though, and I dared not wake him, having made that mistake once before and nearly gotten a black eye for it.
The public defender was ready to argue my case, but the judge dismissed all charges before he even got started. All the judge cared about was the fact that no one appeared to represent the rental company, and there were no formal charges stemming from any arrests in Atlanta.
Following the dismissal, I was taken back to the jail, where the guard returned my street clothes and personal affects. I signed a form and stepped through a gate to freedom—and to friends and family.
“We’re glad to have you back,” Dean said as he gave me a hug.
Connie and Derek were with him. Connie’s eyes virtually simmered with disdain. Derek wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her away before she said something hurtful, I supposed. At the car, released from Derek’s grip, she could hold back no longer. “We went through all your things from Los Angeles.”
Derek shot her a disapproving glance and said under his breath, “Not now.”
“Not now?” Connie repeated. “He may be my brother, but he nearly killed our mother!” Her gaze locked on me. “We found your videos—and those magazines. Is that how you made your living out there? Selling trash?” Overcome with vengefulness, she ended her tirade, saying, “I can’t believe you’ve sunk so low.”
“And I can’t believe you went through my things,” I muttered.
Connie harrumphed and turned away.
“We were looking for the rental agreement on the van,” Derek said. “We didn’t mean to pry.”
“But Vivian wanted me to be guilty,” I said.
“No, Simon,” Derek said. “You misunderstood. The public defender told us that under the circumstances, if you pleaded guilty, the judge would give you time served. But now, it’s good you didn’t do that, since the charges were dropped.”
“Is Thad still in town?” I asked.
“He’s at our house,” Derek said. “He didn’t want to leave town until he knew you’d be all right. The night you were arrested, he called to talk to you. We had just gotten word from Dean that you were in jail.”
“Tell Thad he can go back to Los Angeles. I’ll stay at Dean’s. I need to get my car and all.”
“And all means that Sean kid, right?” Connie spewed.
Derek grabbed her forearm.
“It might be best for Simon to stay with me for a few days,” Dean said to Derek, almost imperceptibly tilting his head toward Connie.
Derek gave Dean a handshake and said, “Simon needs more friends like you.” Then he put a hand on my shoulder. “We’re praying for you, Simon.”
The way I recoiled, he may as well have sprinkled holy water on a vampire. I ran to catch up with Dean, who’d already started down the street toward his car.
I wanted to retrieve Cicero, find Sean, and be on my way to New York. It was the only dream I had left—to find a studio and paint. Religious fantasies had played enough of a part in my life, and I had endured the numbing effects of drugs far too long. It was time to seize my destiny and become the artist I should have been.
“I put the video equipment in the bedroom,” Dean said as we passed the Cougar parked in his yard. “You were trying to get drug money, weren’t you?”
A rejoinder formed in my mind, but I kept silent.
“Let me get you help, Simon.”
“I don’t need any help,” I said, trying to sound as though I had no idea what he meant. “I’ll be leaving soon. You can have the VCRs if you want them.”
“Putting the house in order?” Dean asked. I detected something close to alarm in his voice.
“Just getting rid of things I won’t need,” I said. “Take my computer if you want it. You can go to Vivian’s and pick it up. I’ll leave a letter saying it was a gift.”
“You’ve been through a lot recently,” Dean said. “Stay here for a few days and relax.”
Without replying, I went to shower. I smelled like the jail—sweaty and fecal—and couldn’t wait to get cleaned up.
Afterward, I quietly opened the door to listen as Dean spoke on the phone. What I heard infuriated me. I stormed into the bedroom, found my keys, and dashed out the front door.
He’s displaying the classic signs, Dean had said. I was a counselor. I know when someone is contemplating suicide.
Dean stood helpless in the doorway as I drove off. Never again will I have to deal with this, I thought. Not Dean’s dripping concern or Derek’s egregious sympathy. I’d be free of Vivian’s debilitating worry and oblivious to Connie’s despicable schadenfreude.
I still had the two hundred dollars cash from the pawnshop. I went directly to BT’s. Sean would be there. I was sure of it. I banged on the apartment door. My heart sank with each unanswered knock. When I finally accepted that no one was at home, I returned to my car, slumped toward the passenger seat, and began to sob, but only for a moment. I pulled myself upright and started the hunt anew.
Dante’s Club was closed, but I spotted a group huddled around the barrel across the stree
t. As I approached, BT waved. He pulled away from the group and approached the window.
“Where the hell you been?” he asked, evidently unaware of the trouble caused by the Memphis people. “That dude of yours been coming around here. He keeps trying to tell me you’ll pay later if I give him something. He never did say where you was.”
“Been in jail,” I said without further explanation.
BT smiled. “I know what that’s like.”
“Got anything on you?” I asked.
“Nah. But I know where to get some. How much you spending?”
“I can part with a hundred.”
“Tells you what. You and me, let’s take a ride. They’s a fellow comes and parks up the street about this time of day.”
We drove up Sixth Street to a liquor store. A swarthy, handsome man sat in the driver’s seat of a white pickup.
“Who’s that guy?” I asked as BT was getting out of the car.
“That’s Gabriel.”
The voices broke their silence. Blow Gabriel’s horn, they sang. The end approaches.
BT returned within moments. “The fellow I was lookin’ for ain’t around,” he said. “But Gabriel’s got a hundred hisself. If you two go in together, we got us some booyah.”
I took out a hundred dollars and handed it to BT.
“We gots to drive a ways. Gabriel said we could go in his truck. Says he gets nervous riding around in other folks’ cars. Not that he thinks you’re a narc or nothin’.”
“Guess that’s okay,” I said. “Let me park over here.” I found a spot where I hoped no one would bother the car. The white truck pulled alongside.
“My name’s Gabriel,” the driver said. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Same here,” I said, grasping his soft hand.
Gabriel’s hair fell in strands over his ears and brushed against his collar in the back. With his high cheekbones, aristocratic nose, and lips that invited kissing, he was a beguiling creature.
BT directed us to Highland Court. We stopped one block from where the police had pulled me over. Returning to the site of my arrest felt as though I was tempting fate. BT told Gabriel to back into a parking space between two vans. Then he disappeared with our money into one of the apartments. He said he would only be a few minutes, but a half hour later he had not returned. I kept trying to break the ice with Gabriel.
“Are you from Little Rock?” I asked, but because of his accent, I was sure he wasn’t.
“Fort Worth, actually,” Gabriel responded. “Just moved here.”
Gabriel’s voice was mesmerizing. I was thrilled when, at one point, he asked, “What are you doing after we get drugs?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “The friend I’m staying with doesn’t do drugs.”
The look on Gabriel’s face made him look like a young boy who wants to ask for something but doesn’t want to be disappointed and therefore holds back. He turned toward me and stared directly into my eyes.
“I thought I’d get a room downtown. Want to join me? I have pipes and stuff.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, stumbling over my words. “We can smoke together. That’d be great.”
My fantasies about what might happen in the hotel had me sweating. I was happy when BT finally returned. He first came to my window and dropped ten rocks into my hand.
“I’m impressed, BT. These are big as marbles.”
“Okay with you?” I asked Gabriel, showing him what I had.
“I’ll be staying here,” BT said. “Y’all go on about your business.”
Gabriel started the engine and sped away.
“Thought I’d get a room at the Little Rock Hotel,” Gabriel said once we were back on the main road.
A lump formed in my throat. He was planning to stay at Little Rock’s gay hotel. I rolled the drugs around my palm.
“Careful with those,” Gabriel said. “Reach under the seat. There’s a bag with my stuff in it.”
I felt under the seat and located a pouch. Inside were two crack pipes and a small container. I placed the rocks in it.
Gabriel rested his bronze hand on the seat beside me. He had on a ring of yellow and white gold in a weave pattern.
“Is that a wedding ring?” I asked, crestfallen.
Gabriel smiled, his lips widening to reveal perfectly straight, ivory-white teeth that shone against his dark skin and short-cropped goatee.
“I’m not married and don’t plan to be.”
I found myself blathering. In the midst of chatter about Los Angeles and the film industry, I blurted out, “And you know I’m gay, don’t you?”
Without skipping a beat, Gabriel said, “That’s okay. I go both ways.”
At the Little Rock Hotel, Gabriel left me in the truck while he went inside to get a room. I pulled down the visor and checked myself in the mirror. What a sad comparison I was to Gabriel. My hair was stringy beyond the help of a brush. My shirt stank with sweat. The cuffs of my jeans were frayed and dirty. I had often been aroused by hustlers just as unkempt, but never imagined I’d wind up in such a state myself.
Gabriel returned with the room key and parked in an alley behind the hotel. I carried a bag with the paraphernalia and drugs and followed him through the lobby. An antique elevator took us to the sixth floor where we found our room at the end of a long corridor.
“The guy at the desk said this is the quietest room they have,” Gabriel told me as he slipped the key in the lock.
A voice whispered, The sixth floor is where Satan lives. I tried to ignore it. When you blow Gabriel’s horn, the end will come.
Don’t listen to it!
“What?” Gabriel asked, shutting the door behind us.
“Nothing at all,” I said, not having realized I’d spoken aloud. “Let’s fire up that pipe.”
Gabriel sat on the bed, shucked off his shoes and socks, and leaned against the headboard.
“You dress well,” I said, as I took a razor blade from the pouch Gabriel had set down and cut slices from one of the rocks.
“I go to college at Philander Smith,” Gabriel said. “Everyone there dresses well—better than me, most of them. Mind if I get more comfortable?”
“Not at all,” I said, trying to keep my voice at a steady pitch.
Gabriel rolled to the other side of the bed and took off his shirt and trousers. By the time he bounced back against the headboard, he wore only a pair of silk boxers. He plunged his toes under my thigh as I readied the drugs.
“Got cold feet,” Gabriel laughed nervously.
I took off my shoes and socks, then my shirt and jeans. Naked to my jockeys, I sat on the edge of the bed and handed Gabriel one of the pipes, loaded with drugs.
“Want me to light it for you?” I asked.
“Sure,” Gabriel said. He held the stem to his lips.
I waved a flame over the rock. Sparks sprayed the air as smoke swirled into the spherical chamber. Gabriel’s body tensed, and he sank into the pillows. I took the pipe from him and placed it on the table. Then, taking a chance, I pressed my lips against his. Gabriel exhaled into my mouth with a smoky wet kiss. The drug had an arousing affect, and there was no hint of paranoia in Gabriel’s eyes. I ran my hands over his chest, catching his nipples and gently pinching. By the time I worked my way to the elastic band supporting his boxers, Gabriel’s horn was peeking through the fly.
Just high enough from the secondhand smoke to feel ravenous, I pulled off the boxers, spread Gabriel’s legs, and worshipped his body, kissing my way from his feet to his thighs. Gabriel moaned like a Pentecostal speaking in tongues. I did a blast, mustering all my will not to get paranoid. Gabriel pushed me deeper between his legs, and I finally exhaled. Smoke rose up to surround Gabriel’s erection.
“Lick it,” Gabriel pleaded.
Gabriel has come for the end of time.
All became black, like the void of death. I heard laughter, cruel and harsh. From a tiny pinpoint of light, Gabriel’s eyes emerged from the darkness, then a fa
ce with horns and ears like swine. A hand reached from above us and broke off one of the horns. Someone commanded that I open my mouth and a chorus of voices blared forth, though I was sure my mouth was not moving.
Then the darkness melted away. I was wrapped tightly in a blanket on the floor beside the bed. I called out for Gabriel, but the room was empty. I wriggled free of my cocoon and quickly dressed. The drugs and the pipes were gone. There was no evidence that anyone else had occupied the room. From the walls sprang winged creatures. They wore luminescent robes hued in rainbow colors. I rose from my lowly position and soared among them. They sang, You have met the joys of heaven and known the depths of hell. You are the dark soul seeking light.
An insistent knocking caught my attention, and all of a sudden, an upright creature took form within the room. It attempted to communicate, but the primitive speech was unintelligible.
A species called human, said one of the bright beings hovering around me. Pay no heed.
The creature persisted in its desire to convey meaning. The angels led me to the door and soared into the night. I was ready to fly away with them, but the upright creature caught me by the shirt and pulled me back. The angels returned to lead me onward to the elevator. How primitive to use a machine, I thought, when I am borne on the wings of angels.
I was on the streets of an abandoned city. A new angel, a slender giant with a single bright eye, lit the way before me.
You must be cleansed, the angel said, baptized in the river of your birth.
The being led me to a muddy embankment near the Arkansas River, a point called La Petit Roche.
Upon this rock you must shed the torment of your flesh and rise anew.
I stripped bare for the baptism.
When I looked upon the surface of the gently flowing water, each painting that I had burned upon joining the church rose from the waves. I tried to grab them, but they dissolved upon touch.
The angels sang, Art is Isaac in a dream, stop the heart and hear God scream.
I lowered myself into the freezing water. The angels departed, spiraling through the sky in a scene straight from the pages of William Blake. Only one remained by the time I climbed, shivering, from the water. The being wrapped me in a linen shroud.
