Loose Ends
Page 39
CHAPTER 39: ZEKE
Wish I knew that was the last time I was going to get any. But I didn’t. I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me. Well, yeah I do. Anyway, once it started, I wanted it to be over. We were on the same page. She told me to hurry up. Said it sexy, but tell a man to hurry up and I guarantee he won’t be able to, no matter how sexy you tell him.
No, not you. You know what I mean.
Men have it lucky because they can’t get pregnant, but the trade off is they can’t fake the big O, unless they’re lucky enough to get a total idiot. Wish I could’ve grunted and made a goofy face and put an end it, but that’s a luxury only woman can afford. I’ve been meaning to talk to God about that.
I closed my eyes and lingered over a series of sexy actresses. That helped. Then she tells me never mind. Take my time. See? Changing on me again. Anyway, ten seconds later it was over. Sorry if that was a lousy sex scene.
I rolled off and she dressed. Dressed under the covers, if you can believe it. For the second time, she asked if I wanted any coffee. Her pillow talk was always pretty bad. For the second time, I ignored the question and for the fifth time, I told her I needed to talk. I got out that I’d done some bad things. She said, “Haven’t we all?”
What a perfect opening to follow with, “Yeah, and if you want to keep them from Adam, you won’t repeat what I’m going to tell you.” Yeah, I should’ve said that. But hell, I try to ignore should’ves, especially small ones like that. In this place, should’ves will drive you nuts. Should’ves become the real punishment if you let them, right?
So, she put on her pants and shirt under the blanket. She did everything under the blanket. Like God can’t see through a blanket? Then she said she wants to take a shower. Then why’d she dress? She said she had a lot on her mind. Like I didn’t? She promised to listen to me after her shower. She looked at me, I mean really looked at me, and told me not to leave. Women are crazy. Tell me I’m wrong. That’s one reason why I never took a wife. Have to admit, though, lately I’ve been playing with the idea of tying the knot with someone on the outside. Prison changes a man in many ways.
My beans ached. I smelled like patchouli. I breathed in wheezes.
See, I was pretty naive back then. I assumed grace was easy, like it was a big cake and everyone was welcome to take a slice whenever they wanted. No. I was learning you have to work for it. That’s why it means so much.
And if God had tested me, I had failed. Like, maybe God wanted me to confess and feel his grace, but he tempted me with sex and I should’ve resisted and I didn’t.
So I was scared. Pissing off God can do that. I mean, what if he said, “Sorry. You had your chance,” then gave me a cardiac arrest before I could square myself? It could’ve happened. Could happen to any of us at any moment. That’s why you gotta get on the ball. Getting ready to die, that’s what life’s all about.
I watched my heart pound under the sheet. She was taking fucking forever. I couldn’t wait. I confessed to the ceiling. I didn’t worry whether it was big stuff or small stuff. I rattled off whatever came to mind. “Killed Bradshaw. Failed to report my gambling winnings. Hated my dad. Never went to church.” It felt like the list took a long time to get through but it was probably over in a minute, minute and a half.
And it didn’t do anything. I was still convinced that if I died at that moment, I’d go to hell. Apologizing to God never works. Try it. Pour your heart out to God and it’s like talking to...well, a ceiling.
See, a confession’s one thing, but I needed forgiveness too. Without both parts, nothing would change. And in the here and now on this puny globe, only another person can forgive you. You gotta wait to die for God to forgive, gotta stand before Saint Peter to get your eternal grade card. The white ceiling stared back at me with its swirly plaster design, doing what it does, which doesn’t include dispensing forgiveness.
Brenda must’ve fallen down the drain. I dressed and had a smoke in her backyard, praying I’d live long enough to tell her what I told the ceiling.