Something Real

by J. J. Murray

  "Oh," she says in the tiniest voice. She blinks at me. "I wasn't sure" Then she tears into the stall next to mine and slams the door behind her. For some reason, it is the funniest thing I have ever seen, and as I hunch down to look in the little mirror to dry away the last of my tears with a paper towel, I get the giggles so bad that I have to hold on to the little sink to keep from falling out.

  The little girl flushes and comes out. "What's so funny?" she asks with the nastiest little attitude.

  "Everything," I say. "Everything on God's green earth is funny."

  She frowns. "You need Jesus, yo"

  I get the giggles something fierce then, and the little girl flies from that bathroom. I recover and look in the mirror at this strange woman I've become. "Too late, child," I say. "Too late."

  `twenty

  By the time I leave the bathroom, the resource room is empty except for the smell of greasy fries and one stank man. I go to the office to look for Dee.

  "You lookin' for Dee?" Mrs. Holland asks. I nod. "Mr. Baxter took 'em out of school for the rest of the day."

  "Oh" They just ate and ran.

  "They all looked so happy, Ruth. I'm proud of you"

  "Thanks"

  When I get home, I call Tonya and leave a message for her to pick me up. I check outside every now and then for Fred but don't see anything except coarse yellow grass where he used to sit. Then I just sit and wait.

  And think.

  A man reached out to me over fifteen years ago, and I held on to him for dear life ... and got the worst hurtin' I've ever had. Another man, a very different man in every respect, is reaching out to me now ... and I'm runnin' away. I want him, Lord, I really do, but I can't get hurt like that again. Like they say so many times in the movies, I'm gettin' too old for this shit. I laugh. Sorry I curse so much, Lord, but I've had a lot to curse about.

  I mess with my hair for a spell, and even my hair seems to be running away from my brush. Dag, I should have taken Dewey up on his offer, and he probably wouldn't have been late picking me up since it's his bowling night. I would have been able to walk in with him, would have walked in a with a smile, would have had (damn!) the eyes of four hundred bowlers on me and him. As scary as that sounds, I'd like to see that, like to see their reactions, like to feel their eyes. We make a nice couple, Dewey and me. We fit together. We ain't matching bookends, but we both got freckles, big hands and feet, young faces, and some fat, some insulation. Add his children, and we make us a handsome family. Big Penny, her shiny nickel white man, and her little pennies. There's something almost ... right about the whole thing. It ain't right to run away from something so right.

  I hear a horn blow outside and see Tonya's Mustang at the curb. I throw on a coat, skip down the stairs, and get to sit in the front seat for a change.

  "How you been, girl?" Tonya asks.

  "Better," I say.

  "Haven't seen you in a couple days. What you been doin'?"

  I fill her in on most of the previous three days' activities, and she's strangely silent. "So, what you think about all this, Tonya?"

  "I'm jealous," she says as she turns into the parking lot at Mountainside.

  Y•

  "I don't think I've ever been in love, I mean, really in love."

  "Be thankful," I say as I get out. "Cuz it scares the livin' shit out of me ""

  We walk in and find Naomi poring over a piece of paper on lane thirty-eight. I take a deep breath and say, "Hey, Naomi."

  "Hey," she says, but she doesn't look up.

  "I'm, um, here if y'all need me to bowl tonight."

  "Uh-huh" She looks up at me with a tight little smile on her face. "But everybody's supposed to be here, so. .

  Naomi don't want me to bowl, and suddenly I want to bowl in the worst way.

  Tonya rolls her eyes and grabs my arm. "C'mon. Let's get you some shoes and a ball. Just in case"

  Tonya pays for the shoe rental, and I find a purple ball like the one I used with Dewey, placing it on the ball rack. An announcement comes on, all garbled and full of static, and our side of the bowling alley fills with the sound of practicing bowlers. I back away to a table behind lane thirtyeight, but Tonya pushes me back to the lane where Naomi's already throwing a practice ball.

  "Throw a few," she says. "Show Naomi what you got."

  I stand in line behind a distinguished black man with a ready smile. "You bowlin' tonight, Mrs. Borum?"

  "Don't know," I say. "I'm just a sub"

  "I'm Ernest" He steps aside with the nicest little bow. "After you"

  "Thank you" A polite, older black man at this meat market? I pick up my ball, line up my feet, and imagine that the pins are all little Naomis with bad attitudes and tight-lipped smiles. A big step and some pitter-pats and I launch that purple ball down the lane knocking the living shit out of every pin. And the sound is loud, as loud as a head-on car wreck. I turn to look at Naomi waiting in line behind Ernest, but she's looking away.

  Ernest gives me some dap. "You'll be bowlin' tonight."

  I see Yvonne and Bill come through the door, but I get in line on the other lane anyway because I need all the practice I can get. If Mike shows, I'll just sit down and watch or drift down to Dewey's side. No big deal. Hell, I only threw one strike. But when I throw another strike on my next ball, the sound just as deafening, I decide that I have to bowl tonight. I see Tonya talking to Naomi, waving her hands and rolling her neck like only Tonya can. Naomi ain't havin' it, shaking her head slowly and looking toward the door. Ho wants Mike to come roll his measly ninety.

  I pick up my ball for my third practice ball, and an announcement comes on as I'm lining up my feet. The bowlers to either side of me put down their balls, and the whole alley becomes silent. Not me. I don't care if shadow bowling is over. I intend to make a statement. A loud one. I rocket that ball down the lane as hard as I can and hurt those pins so bad that one even flies out so far on the lane that the guard-thing can't collect it. If my right hand was a gun, I'd be blowin' the smoke off it. I turn and stare a hole in Naomi's head as I stalk toward her.

  "Am I bowlin' tonight?" I ask her.

  "Mike's supposed to be coming," she says.

  "He'll be late," Tonya says. "C'mon, Naomi. Let Ruth bowl. She's on a roll."

  "We'll wait for Mike," Naomi says.

  "Naomi-" Tonya starts to say, but I silence her with a hand.

  "It's okay, Tonya," I say. "I wouldn't want to beat Naomi, you know, embarrass her in front of all these people."

  "Excuse me?" Naomi says.

  I put my fat nose an inch from hers. "I would kick your tight little ass tonight, Naomi."

  "You really think so?"

  "Up one lane and down the next"

  Another crackly announcement starts the balls flying again. "We'll see about that" She rushes to the little computer and plugs my name in for Mike, who bowls last. Tonya gives me a little dap, and Naomi's and my grudge match begins.

  For whatever reason, everybody but Naomi has a good game. Tonya doesn't wiggle as much and puts a bunch of spares together. Bill gets several strikes in a row, and Yvonne doesn't fall, picking up several tricky splits. Me? I bowl my damn weight, a one-ninety, my best game ever, and I beat a fussin' and cussin' Naomi by thirty pins. And even though the team wins by forty-seven pins, Naomi is pissed, and because Mike has arrived, she tries to put him back up on the blue screen for the second game.

  "Nah, girl," Tonya says to Naomi. "Once a sub bowls for someone, the sub bowls every game. You know that. You want us to forfeit? Besides, Mike drunk as a brewery. Didn't you see him stumblin' in here? Ruth has to stay up there."

  Naomi blinks at Tonya. "But Mike is an official member of this team, Tonya, so we should make every effort to-"

  "You want to win?" Tonya asks.

  "Of course, but-"

  If you don't want us to forfeit, you have to keep Ruth up there"

  Naomi wrinkles up her lips. "Ask Mike if it's all right."

  "What I got
to ask him for? Ruth subbed in, so she got to stay." She looks at Mike, who is swaying in his chair. "Boy can't even sit up straight. He probably be pukin' by the end of the evening."

  Naomi sighs and punches my name back into the computer with deliberate slowness.

  I don't bowl as well the second game, and Naomi has a better game, beating me by a bunch. But the team wins again, and Naomi seems more relaxed, almost giving me dap a few times before remembering.

  Till Dewey drops by in between games.

  "How you doin'?" he asks me, his hands deep in his pockets.

  "A one-ninety and a one-fifty-something," I tell him. "How 'bout you?"

  He shrugs. "Off night. We just finished and lost every game ""

  "Too bad."

  "Um, can I get y'all anything?"

  All this competition has made me hungry. "Two hot pretzels and a large Coke"

  He smiles. "Okay."

  "And don't forget the mustard"

  "Sure."

  He turns to Tonya and Naomi. "Y'all want anything?"

  "No thanks," Tonya says, and Naomi walks away with a scowl.

  During the last game, I match Naomi strike for strike, spare for spare through the first nine frames, and NYTBM is crushing the other team. Dewey delivers the pretzels, and I sit next to him in between turns. Though I get dap from both teams, gettin' dap from Dewey is a little more, well, sensuous. I hold on to his warm hand a little longer each time, and even squeeze it. I can't believe I'm flirtin' with him using dap, but it seems to be workin'.

  "Shouldn't you be gettin' home?" I ask him.

  "Mama's watchin' the kids," he says.

  "And you're watchin' me"

  His face turns a delicious shade of red. "Yup."

  I squeeze his hand under the table. "You thinkin' bad thoughts about what you see, Mr. Baxter?"

  He nods.

  "How bad?"

  He gulps. "Real bad."

  "Good"

  He squeezes my hand. "Are you, uh, thinkin', um-"

  I put my lips next to his ears. "Think of the wickedest thing you can and multiply it by infinity."

  "Oh ... shit," he whispers.

  I stand to bowl the last frame, releasing his hand slowly. "Now double it, Mr. Baxter."

  I leave him nodding and gulping and lean over Tonya. "Dewey's givin' me a ride," I say with a wink.

  She doesn't catch my meaning right off, but then she smiles. "You gotta tell me everything, okay?"

  I shake my head. "No I don't. You'll just have to use your imagination." I look at the scores. "What I got to do to beat Naomi?"

  "You gotta strike out. You get two strikes and a nine, and y'all will tie at one-ninety-nine. Three strikes and you get a two hundred"

  Three strikes in a row. I started the evening that way; I can end that way. First ball: strike. Second ball: strike. I pick up the ball and rub on it. That's all I do-really-but it's enough to get me thinkin' about what's to come later with Dewey. I mean, I got my fingers in a purple ball about to knock down some thick pins standing erect at the other end of an oily alley ... Sorry, Lord. But bowling can be a sexual sport.

  I line up my feet, watch the arrows instead of the pins, release the ball, see an explosion-but I leave one pin dead center in the middle. The booty pin. I laugh, and when I turn, I see Dewey laughing, too. So I tied with Naomi, big deal. I look around and don't even see her. Wench didn't even stay around to congratulate me for helping her team finally sweep a night of bowling.

  "Roll one more girl," Tonya says.

  I point at the screen. "Game's over."

  "I know," she whispers, "but you can't go home with Dewey and leave that pin there. It ain't good luck."

  "What if I miss it?"

  "Don't "

  I pick up my ball, go through my routine, and roll that ball as slowly as I can down the lane. Instead of watching the ball, I turn to watch the expression in Dewey's eyes, but damn if he ain't lookin' right back into mine. He ain't lookin' at the ball-he's lookin' at me. Maybe he's really seeing me for the very first time. I hear the pin drop behind me.

  I'm gettin' me some tonight, oh, yes.

  We don't get any stares as Dewey and I leave Mountainside, probably because the parking lot is so dark. He opens my door and waits till I'm settled before closing it. Such a gentleman. On the way to Vine, I take his hand, keeping him from shifting into fourth gear.

  "Dewey, how come you ain't tried to kiss me yet?" I ask.

  "Well, I-"

  "Well, I nothin'. You gonna kiss me or what?"

  "Now? While I'm drivin'?"

  "Hell yes. I got your son to speak, I got your daughter to behave, and I got you starin' at my ass. I deserve more than a kiss, Dewey Baxter, but I'll settle for one. Now."

  He pulls into a church parking lot, an empty Presbyterian parking lot with very straight white lines. Bet it didn't take them six months to decide to paint those. "This okay?"

  "No" He starts to shift into reverse, but I bump the gear shift into neutral. "The place is okay, but it ain't okay that you ain't kissin' me yet"

  "Oh."

  And then ... We do us some necking and play us some tonsil hockey. Like everything else about him so far, his tongue is huge and very tasty. The damn gear shift keeps getting in the way of my leg, but we manage to swap a whole lot of juicy, wet, loud kisses, his hands pressin' all over me, my hands explorin' all over him. Whenever I come up for airwhich ain't often-I check out the windows fogging up around us. We puttin' out some heat!

  I reach up and touch his face, and he stops tickling my teeth with his tongue. "Why don't you wear cologne?" I ask. "Never have"

  "I'll buy you some" Why am I thinkin' this shit at this moment?

  "Burns my skin."

  "Well, you need something. You smell too ... plain." I smile. "We'll find you something nice." I take a deep breath and say what I have never said to anyone in my life: "Wanna go back to my apartment?"

  He nods, but he says, "But I should be getting back to the kids."

  Damn. "Yeah"

  "Mama has a long drive."

  Why'd he have to bring that wench into this warm, steamy truck? "You know that she hates my ass, don't you?"

  He laughs, but he doesn't let go of me, caressing my shoulders. "Mama really don't like anyone."

  "Cuz she's a racist."

  Dewey shakes his head. "I don't think you can call Mama a racist."

  Yes you can. "She told me just the other day that whites and coloreds shouldn't mix."

  "She said that?" I nod. "Mama will say anything to make a person mad"

  "It worked."

  "She used to push Tiff's buttons, too, saying that at least her children are halfway intelligent."

  "Now, that's racist."

  Dewey shrugs. "Maybe"

  "Maybe? Dewey, that is extremely racist!"

  "Not if Mama was really referring to the black half of my children as being intelligent, right?"

  I smile. "True, but that's not how I'd take it if I was their mama"

  He nods. "Tiff didn't take too kindly to that kind of thing either, and she used to go off, let me tell you, especially when Mama would be sweet to her one day and contrary as a hedgehog the next day." Maybe Dewey's mama is one of them manic-depressives or got that bipolar disorder. "Fact is, Mama likes pushing everybody's buttons. And what she said to you-she's just lookin' for the button to set you off."

  "Well, she found it. And it sounded racist."

  "Believe me, my mama ain't no racist. She's just mean. A racist is supposed to hate one race and say their race is the best, right?" I nod. "That ain't Mama at all. You should hear her cuss white people. Cracker this, and cracker that. Believe me, Ruth, my mama hates everybody."

  "She can't hate everybody." Can she? Dewey's mama is a human racist?

  "She sure is trying to"

  "But why?"

  "Mama's always been ornery as a snake, but when Daddy died, she became completely hateful to everyone, even me sometimes. She
spent that first year after Daddy's death sayin' everybody was goin' to hell, even told a few folks right to their faces" Nanna sounds almost like the average preacher! "Mama don't have many friends left." He squeezes my hand. "She's just testing you, Ruth"

  Am I passin' the test? "Why she gotta test me?"

  "Cuz she can." He kisses and nibbles at that little dip between my neck and my shoulders, and I close my eyes. Please, just end this conversation and keep doing that! But he stops nibbling. "In a way, her bein' hateful to you is a good sign."

  "How is her bein' hateful good?"

  He kisses that spot again. Thank you! "Mama wouldn't test you if she wasn't worried that you might steal me away." He sucks a little on the space under my earlobe; then he whispers, "You must be gettin' to her."

  And this man is gettin' to me. I want to know more about Nanna, but I am just too moist to be doin' anythin' but some humpin'. You can't sit and chat when you're juicy, and once you start you some foreplay, you got to finish the job. That's in the rule book, I'm sure. "Please come to my apartment. Just for a few minutes."

  "I don't know, Ruth. I'm liable to do something I shouldn't."

  "Really? Like what?"

  He turns red. "You know."

  "Then, drive me to my apartment, and when we get there, take me inside" -I put my hand on his leg, dragging my nails across his jeans "and do you some you know on me as best as you know how."

  There must be a little NASCAR in every white man because Dewey breaks every speed record getting us to Vine. He parks the truck with a jerk and leaps out before I can even get the seat belt off. This boy wants some, too! He's halfway up the porch stairs before he remembers to come back and open my door. I step out and take his hand, and he practically pushes me up all those stairs, his hand wandering to my ass by the time we get to the top.

  Once inside with the door closed, he slams me against the door, removing my blouse with fast fingers and an even faster tongue. This ain't gonna be just a few minutes, no sir. And my nipples are about to fly off and break them some windows.