Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

  He calmly thanked her for the information, and stated he would not be attending the funeral for he’d already attended his mother’s ‘funeral’ years prior. Still, once he hung up that phone, he walked into his bathroom, quietly locked the door, fell to his damn knees and cried harder than he had in his whole life. Between that news, school, work and the pressure, sometimes he didn’t think he was going to make it. Sometimes he’d think, ‘I’m ready to give up.’ But something inside would push him forward, to see this thing through. He’d look at the love of his life doing what she loved—being his inspiration—and then, he’d remind himself, If my wife can leave it all behind, start clean and work herself to death but love every second it, so can I…

  They’d argue every now and again about his rigorous schedule and dumb shit that newlyweds say and do while trying to adjust, but then she’d kiss his lips, wink, and tell him all was forgiven. She’d state it was all worth it; that she had his back, his front, and everywhere else, too….

  She missed her husband, and how could he find fault with the woman? She was doing everything she could to keep things afloat and she deserved acknowledgement, for she was faithful, loving and patient. When he heard his name called to receive his certification, he was certain he’d fallen into a dream he never wished to wake from. Was Brent daydreaming again?

  “Pilot Brent Jeremy Patterson…”

  In less than four months, he’d be finished with his bachelors. The accelerated online courses became his bitch. He asked for more work in order to speed up the process, and got an A on practically every paper he wrote, every team building activity, and every assignment he turned in. And lucky for him, Benjamin had pulled so many damn strings, the business was tied up tight like a damn puppet doing a tap dance special. Brent practically had a job waiting for him; he just had to complete a few more hours, and it was a done deal. This was no luck—this was nothing short of divine intervention. Pimps ended up in one of two places, in prison or dead, just like gangbangers. Death could come from stress, a self inflicted end to it all, a whore who decided he needed to drink some ‘act right’ juice, a dangerous john, or another pimp who determined he didn’t want the competition. Brent realized that if he was going to die, it needed to be for something worthwhile, and peddling pussy simply wasn’t it. He preferred to pilot planes. That ‘double ‘P’ sounded much better…

  He looked out in the audience, and there near the front stood his beautiful Paris, her heavy stomach jetting out in the designer mint green maternity outfit that paired nicely with her skin tone. ‘A Day in Paris’ was doing so well, she had to hire five people over the past twelve months to assist, and she probably needed more. Despite his rigorous schedule and exhaustion, he’d kept his promise. He went to every single doctor’s appointment. Sometimes he’d have to meet her there and scurry back off, but he was there, damn it, and that meant the world to her.

  When he looked at the sonogram and the nurse said the baby was a boy, he began to laugh uncontrollably—the sound of pure joy—and didn’t stop for at least five minutes. He would have been pleased with whatever sex the baby was, but with a boy, he knew he could take the curse by the neck and toss it into the depths of Hell. His surname meant something. Here was another generation of Patterson men, like himself, his father and his grandfather before him—but this boy would be different. Yes, times were changing because Brent would make sure his son felt loved…

  The loud applause shook him out of his thoughts, and confetti shaped like tiny airplanes fell from the rafters of the auditorium. He grabbed his graduation hat and tossed it in the air, watched it fly up, surrounded by sparkling shades of red, gold, and glittery pearl. Soon he felt the wonderful hardness of Paris’ stomach bumping against his side. She smiled and clutched him close.

  “Congratulations, baby!” she yelled, practically rendering him deaf, but he didn’t mind. Everything was just right…just right indeed.

  *

  “…AND THEY LIVED happily ever after.”

  “Read it again, Daddy!” Ian begged as he grabbed his short toes with one hand and pointed with the other to the big book chock full of fairy tales and glossy, colorful paintings.

  “Noooo, Sir!” Brent shook his head at his precocious two-year-old. “It’s late. Time to go to bed, buddy.” He patted the thick cream comforter.

  The boy began to pout, roughing up his covers as he kicked his little light tan legs to and fro in a silly fit.

  “Settle down.” He grinned as he leaned over and kissed his son’s forehead.

  “When you comin’ back, Daddy?” the little boy asked, his big light brown eyes shining up at him while he yawned and got established between the sheets.

  “In two days, Ian. Then, I’ll be home for a week, and gone another two days.” He knew the kid wouldn’t remember and ask him all over again, but he didn’t mind; his son just needed the reassurance. The little boy nodded and yawned again, his poker straight jet-black hair sticking straight up at the top like a porcupine’s quills. He’d gotten into the hair gel again…

  Brent leaned over and kissed his cheek, pulled the Spider-Man print sheets and the comforter snugly over his son’s long, thin body, and headed out to the master suite bedroom. When he walked inside, he placed his finger up to his lips, also reminding himself to keep quiet. There, on her side of the bed, sat Paris, holding their month old son, Camden.

  He slid off his slippers and got under the cool white sheets, his tired bones welcoming the reprieve. Leaning forward gently, he kissed Paris’ cheek and took hold to little Camden, whose eyes looked like mirrors of a peaceful blue sky. Cradling him just so in the football position, he began to slowly rock the baby back and forth against him.

  “Did Ian fight going to bed again?” she whispered as she reached past a vase full of cream calla lilies to grab a small glass of water.

  “Of course.” He shot her a look out the corner of his eye. “He wouldn’t be Ian if he hadn’t.”

  She took a sip of her water and crossed her ankles. He looked down at her feet, the way the skin was so smooth, so soft, the light creamy brown contrasting with her French pedicure. He never got tired of looking at the woman, as was evident from the arrival of their second child—a ‘surprise’ baby and proof that he simply couldn’t keep his damn hands off her. He caressed along the baby’s cheek, checking out his vibrant blue eyes, just like his own. He could see his reflection mirrored back to him. He lived in his children, and his children lived in him. He reached for his wife, but kept his eye on their newborn. She set her glass down and took his hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Camden and Ian, my wonderful boys.” He bent low and kissed the baby’s forehead as he rolled in thoughts. He turned to Paris, who made him feel like a man with her mere presence. “Thank you for my children, Pussycat.” He choked it out; his voice cracked, while his heart swelled in the moment.

  Her pretty smile grew larger. She squeezed his hand a bit harder, tighter. After a few moments, Camden fell asleep in his arms. Brent gingerly got up from the bed and carried the little one across the room.

  “Be right back,” he whispered, moving slow and steady, like a timid old man.

  Paris nodded and grabbed her glass of water again.

  “Alright, little guy.” He placed him down in his crib and turned on the little music mobile, then simply stood there and stared.

  What a phenomenon… He’s perfect. I made this baby. I created something beautiful. I made both of them. Thank you…God.

  He kissed his son gently on the cheek and quietly crept away. When he returned to Paris, her eyes were half opened and she was slumped in the bed, looking as if she’d be out like a light in another five minutes, dismissed from the land of the alert.

  “Oh, seems I’m too late to tell you a bedtime story, too!” he teased as he removed his robe, revealing nothing more than his light gray boxer shorts.

  She grinned and tossed about as his weight shifted the bed.

  “Yeah, tell me a bed
time story.” She yawned and immediately took her place on his chest.

  “Okay.” He grinned mischievously, while working up a quick outline in his mind. “Once upon a time, there was a princess named Paris. She lived in a place called the Orchard, and there was nothing but flowers, sweet fruits and lush, green plants all around her.”

  The woman chuckled lightly against him.

  “She was so beautiful that she attracted suitors from all over the world. One day, a prince came into town, Prince Smoke. He had heard that Princess Paris’ fruit was the sweetest in the whole galaxy. His favorite food was fruit, so he wanted to find out for himself if her produce was all it was trumped up to be.”

  “You are so crazy, Brent.” She chuckled a bit louder, causing him to follow suit.

  “So, he approached Princess Paris, and said, ‘Hello foxy lady, may I have a bite of your fuzzy peach?’ The princess proceeded to smack him, thinking he was putting the moves on her, that peach was just another word for pussy. You see, Prince Smoke was known to be a playboy, and a pervert, too.”

  “Now see!” She popped up from his chest, tears in her eyes from laughter. “Everything started off just fine, and then you went there.”

  “Lie down and stop interrupting this excellent story tellin’ I’m delivering. I’m in the middle of greatness, and you’re getting me off track.”

  She cracked up even harder and resumed her post.

  “Well, she was right. He did want some of her peach, but he wanted to taste the fruit, too. You see, Prince Smoke was greedy. He’d never seen a woman as pretty as Princess Paris before, so he said:

  “Princess Paris please let me partake of your peach

  “I’ll lick and suck it, above, around and beneath

  “I bet it’s juicy, and oh, so sweet

  “Princess Paris, pull down your panties so I can eat!”

  Grabbing Paris by her shoulders, he flung her playfully onto the other side of the bed. The woman laughed, kicked and screamed as they tussled about.

  “You’re gonna make me wake the baby!” She giggled. He shot a glance across the room, noting their baby was in la-la land.

  “Camden is fast asleep, back to the story! And she could do crazy shit with bananas! Princess Paris had a sold out show with her just sitting on a stage, deep throating a damn banana, peel and all! The shit was unbelievable!”

  “Brent!” The woman was turning red and her neck strained as she tried in vain to escape his snare while her stomach caved over and over from laughter. “You son of a bitch!” She cackled. “Ahhhhhh!” She crawled towards the footboard but he yanked her back, a huge grin on his face. “Brent, I can’t yet!” Her eyes welled with tears as her laughter made her choke over her own words. “Two more weeks, baby, just two more…” she panted, holding up two fingers. But it was all a lie. The look in her eyes let him know she wanted it just as much as he did.

  “…But we didn’t wait long after Ian was born.”

  Her face twisted like a knot.

  “You would remember that.” She smirked.

  “You damn straight…”

  And then Prince Smoke disappeared under the cool sheets, to get a taste of his very favorite fruit on Earth…Parisian style…

  *

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, the Captain has turned on the ‘Fasten Seat Belt’ sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please return to your seats and keep your seat belts fastened. Thank you.”

  Brent kept steady as the gray clouds and limited visibility proved to be a bit more volatile than originally surmised. It seemed however, the more irritating something was, the calmer he became when he sat in that cockpit. The plane bumped a bit and jerked, and he could hear some of the passengers sighing, more than likely gripping their arm rests for comfort.

  It’s going to be okay…

  He smiled inwardly and kept the pace, certain it would all be over soon. In exactly seven minutes, he heard a short round of loud applause. He’d pulled them through, safely and securely. Smiling wide, he prepared for landing.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have just been cleared to land at the Jacksonville International Airport. The temperature is a pleasant 74 degrees. Please make sure one last time your seat belt is securely fastened. The flight attendants are currently walking around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining snack items and cup containers. Thank you.”

  He flipped the switch and continued on. For a split second, he had a déjà vu moment. For just a glimmer in his memory, he recalled making the exact same declaration in a dream as a little boy. How beautiful…

  He quickly looked at the small mirror to his left, then straight ahead. Yeah, that was him. This wasn’t some damn childhood dream or a daydream he’d manufactured in his mind, during a time of stress. This was really happening. He flew planes for a living, making damn good money, and he worked hard off his own sweat and tears, no one else’s. He got a hold of himself, feeling his emotions swelling in his gut like yeast. Glancing to his right, he checked out the framed photo of his family. His heart pumped hard and fast at the sight of Paris with both of their babies sitting on her lap. Those three people were the prize, and he’d won, damn it. He won!

  The wheels bumped onto the ground, but he handled it so smoothly by gripping the tiller and side stick controllers. After a few moments, he came to a complete stop and made his departure announcement.

  “…On behalf of LAX Airlines and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice stay and if you wish to pick up any extra souvenirs during your adventures, I’ll be more than happy to take them off your hands. You know where to find me!”

  This caused a cabin full of chuckles as people got situated and ready to depart the craft. He lowered his head, taking the precious time to search within.

  “God, this is my fourth time praying to you. The first time, I asked you to allow me to become a pilot, and promised you from that point on, I would not go back to my old ways. The second time, I thanked you for my son, Ian. The third time, I thanked you for my second child, Camden. Now, I’m thanking you for agreeing to do this deal with me… Not only did you bless me, you threw in some extra stuff I didn’t even expect. I’m still struggling with my beliefs, but I appreciate you being patient. Before I sign off, I want to thank you for letting me land this plane safely. I have all these peoples’ lives in my hands, and I take that very seriously. Amen…”

  He left the cockpit to watch the passengers unboard. The people in first class were first in line. He waved and said goodbye to them. A flight attendant stood by his side, doing the same. With all passengers gone, he turned back around and grabbed the photo of his family. He studied it, up close and personal.

  Slipping his phone out of a small compartment, he dialed his wife.

  “Hey, baby, we landed.”

  “Oh, good. I miss you already, honey.”

  “I miss you, too…ran into a little turbulence. We knew a storm was coming but it cleared out pretty fast.”

  “Thank goodness, but I’m not surprised you could handle it.” He heard what sounded like a door closing.

  “What are you doing?’

  “Fixing myself and Ian a bowl of cereal. Camden is taking a nap. I’m going to miss this, being home with the boys, but duty calls!” She chuckled lightly. “The maternity leave I assigned myself is almost up. At least I can set my own hours, though.”

  “Yeah…” He grinned as he stared at her photo, falling in love with her a little more right then and there.

  “I miss the shop too, but everything seems to be okay,” she added, still sounding a bit winded.

  “Of course it is. You trained them yourself… Well, I have to go, just wanted you to know that I made it safely. I’ll call you again this evening from the hotel. Stay up for me so I can read Ian a bedtime story over the phone and wish you goodnight.”

>   “Okay, baby…and Brent?”

  “Yes, baby?”

  “I love you…”

  “And I love you too, Pussycat.”

  He disconnected the call, and got to his feet, taking note of two flight attendants checking the overhead bins for the final time.

  “See you later, Claire and Tina.”

  “Yes, you too, Brent!”

  He left, dragging his carry-on behind him. As he made his way through the airport, he could feel the stares upon him. His shiny black size thirteen shoes beat against the floor like hard rain on a shutter, and his hat rested atop his neatly combed hair. He looked damn dashing, and women dug a man in uniform. He kept his eyes straight ahead though, for he only planned an emergency landing for one woman, and one woman only—destination Paris. As he continued to walk, people seemed to move out of his way, without him having to sway in either direction. He felt important, wanted and appreciated. He felt like everyone in there knew that he was loved hard and strong by someone, and that meant he had it all.

  He bypassed security, waving his ID casually as he navigated the area, and drew closer to the trams. As he waited, he observed his reflection in the glass doors. Each part of his journey had revealed a new chapter of his soul. The smoke would clear, and make his real essence appear.

  He popped his collar as the doors opened, and quickly boarded. As he stood there holding onto the pole, a woman leaned into him, her eyes large and full of naïve magic. Her type would be jonesing for something, and he knew exactly what it was. Regardless, he was no longer tempted by such displays.

  “I suppose we can’t smoke in here, can we?” She grinned, exposing a mouth full of teeth. She stared him up and down as if he possessed the last cock on Earth. “I’m so nervous about my plane ride, I could sure use a cigarette, Captain.”