Golden Boy

by R. G. Lawrence

  She stood, waiting for her friend to get up. She looked once at Andy, then at the retreating figure of Rod and Tammy, bent down and ran her hand through Andy's hair and walked down the path, a few yards into the woods, Gretta a step behind.

  “What was that all about?" Gretta asked as soon as they were out of hearing range, whispering as Jody unzipped her pants, pushing them down, squatted and peed, the girl concentrating on the clumsy maneuver. When she had fastened her pants back, she explained to Gretta the circumstances concerning Tony's death, and the guilt that Rod still carried with him.

  "Oh God, I can't imagine something like that happening. That poor boy, no wonder he would like to have a chance for a few moments in the past," Gretta said. The girls sat down on a large log, sipping at the beers they had carried with them. "I think I'd like to check out the future, see if I become a librarian, or get to appear in commercials, or maybe sing in clubs, sing the blues or something," Gretta said, speaking softly, the woods making her feel eerie. "Chances are I'll probably be married about four times with ten kids to support. Maybe I wouldn't want to see that. I know I don't really have anything in the past to change.

  "There's nothing you'd change?" Jody asked.

  Slowly, obviously embarrassed, the black girl answered. "Well...maybe...maybe I'd change something about my dad, but I don't think I could do anything about that. He was bad, not to me or my mom, but a real bad-ass. He's in prison now, and I don't think he's ever gonna get out. But there's not one thing I could do to change that, that's just who he is, the way he rolls. What about you, Jody, what would you like to change about your life?"

  The redhead was listening closely to her friend, amazed how anyone with a parent in prison could talk about it so matter-of-factly.

  “I didn't know your dad was in prison, Gretta. I mean, you're so nice and everything...no, I don't mean that like it sounds. Oh, I don't know what I mean." She was embarrassed, stumbling over her words, her reaction making Gretta smile sadly, knowingly.

  "Try to understand, Jody, that when someone goes to prison, his family isn't guilty, although society doesn't necessarily see it that way. My dad shot some guy in a bar, drunk like he always was, but I didn't shoot anyone. My mom didn't shoot anyone, my mom is a saint. But being the family of a convict, man, the stigma associated with that is unbelievable. Not one day went by in school that someone or something didn't remind me that my dad was in the joint. That's why I need to get out of this town. No matter what I do, where I go, it's the same ol' story. Down where me and Shauna live, where you guys call nigger town, everyone knows who my dad is, everyone associates me with him. It's crazy, it's so stupid, but I go in this club sometimes, Drew's Blues Bar, and it's so weird, 'cause people in there show me respect because of my dad, show me respect because my drunken, alcoholic father shot a man. Shot him dead. And what's really crazy about it is that I like it. It's probably the only place in this town where I'm treated like anything but some nigger girl with big titties. I know I shouldn't like it, but it's like a drug, the looks and stuff, the respect." She was rambling, but her dialogue had hypnotized Jody, riveted the girl's attention.

  "And that's the crazy, ignorant thing," she continued. "It's only 'cause my dad's in prison, not 'cause I work my ass off at the library, or 'cause my mama has worked two jobs, sometimes three to support me...or because I graduated high school, the first person in my family to ever do that. No, none of that shit, no sir, girl, its cause my daddy killed some chump in a bar fight. I gotta get out of here, Jody. I hate Radford, hate those people, I got to move away, as far away as I can, and never look back, never think about my daddy or any of this shit again. Gotta go some place where the people are gonna look at me different, respect me for being Gretta Hughes, not Haley Hughes' little girl. Not cause I got big titties, not cause they expect to get in my pants 'cause my daddy's in prison and I’m poor trash, like 'cause you're the kid of a convict that makes you a whore. Oh shit, I’m goin’ on and on. I'm sorry, girl. I didn't need to lay all this shit on you."

  She was speaking softly, crying to herself, crying because of the beer, because of her daddy, crying because it seemed the perfect thing to do, maybe the first good thing that had happened tonight. Lord knows she had held it in for long enough.

  "No...no..." Jody started, stopped, then started again. "No, oh shit, Gretta, I'm sorry, it's...it was my fault. Sometimes I'm so fricking insensitive, I...I just haven't ever been around anything but St. Margaret's, you know, that kind of crap. I'm sorry, Gretta, for saying that, and for the way, the things that have happened to you. God, what am I doing, how am I ever gonna do anything, be anything when I don't even know how to talk to people. Oh Gretta, I hope you get away, if that's what you want to do. And if you want to be a singer, or whatever you want, I hope you do it, I hope you show these narrow-minded assholes that you are more than just your father's child. Gretta, you are so cool, so special. I wish we could have known each other all the way through school; we could have been such good friends. Now you're going away, and I'm going away, and neither one of us is ever coming back. Damn it, why does it always have to be so complicated. And listen to me, the nun; I better learn to talk without using a cuss word in every other sentence."

  "A nun. You? No way, girl. You ain't gonna cut off that gorgeous red hair. No, no, no. you can't do that. Not for nothin'. Why you want to do that for?"

  "I don't think I have anything to say about it. It's the way it is, you know, a God thing. He called me, and I had to be sure. Until now, I was wavering, fighting it, but not anymore. That's what I'm supposed to do; I think I know that now. I know it after talking to you. And don't ask me to explain that, cause I can't. it's the way it is. I feel it. It's like tonight was the sign I was waiting on. You. You're the sign; at least I think you are. I’m being called, and I got to answer."

  She turned, looking the other girl in the eyes, opened her arms and hugged Gretta to her, the embrace that of two friends, an embrace that for a sudden, unsuspecting moment turned into something else, an unfamiliar heat, Jody bending forward and kissing the black girl on the lips, sisterly at first, then Jody's mouth opening slightly, just enough, the kiss turning into something more, both girls feeling it, feeling the heat, responding.

  Jody pulled away, shocked at herself, embarrassment from a girl who didn't embarrass easily. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I don't know what that was all about," she mumbled, knowing exactly what it was about.

  “Don't you ever be sorry," Gretta said, conviction in her voice. "Girl, that was the most beautiful thing you could ever have done for me. Go be a nun, if that's what you want, but don't you ever be sorry you kissed me. Or that I kissed you back." She bent forward, kissing Jody softly on the cheek, holding her head close to her, this second moment of intimacy stronger than anything either girl had ever known.

  Taking Jody by the hand, Gretta led her back to the campfire, sitting down side by side, still holding hands, still feeling the power of the moment, Jody needing the understanding Gretta was offering, the black girl needing to give it.

  17

  The stranger followed Gretta and Jody out of the woods, standing unnoticed at first, having positioned himself up the path in the shadows, not ten feet from where Susie sat next to Andy. At first glance he might be mistaken for a bum, but closer inspection showed him to be immaculately clean, sporting shoulder length, thick white hair, a long, flowing white beard and mustache, wearing a plaid short sleeve shirt, bib overalls, and black, highly polished army boots. His face was free of wrinkles except when in deep thought or when caught with his infrequent smile. The man knelt on one knee, carefully studying the group around the fire with burning, golden eyes, looking from one face to the next, staring so intently it was as if he were attempting to read into the teenager's souls. If a person had to guess the man's age, they might say he was 50, someone else might guess 70, still another 30. He was neither young nor old and handsome in a manly, outdoor way.

  He was finally noticed, first by Susie, then
quickly by the remainder of the group. The blonde girl gave a gasp, recoiling closer to Andy, touching his arm, his gaze following hers, his eyes immediately meeting the strangers stare, lost in the intensity of the man's straw-colored eyes. After a moment, tearing his eyes away from the steady gaze, Andy stood, confronting the man silently, thoughts of crazed killers passing through his head.

  Jody's immediate thought was that the man had been on the same path with Gretta and her, had watched her pee on the ground, had seen her pull her pants down, suddenly embarrassed at the thought that he had seen her nakedness...or worse, had witnessed the embrace between her and Gretta, was privy to their kiss. The uneasiness caused her to flush and look away from the man, look around at her friends, then back, her jade-green eyes cast down, a deep, scarlet blush warming her cheeks. She felt a hand on her arm, looked up and found the man's hand resting on her, a light and intimate touch, a familiar touch, not knowing how he had moved that close to her without her awareness. Those golden eyes were smiling at her with kindness and understanding. She heard a whisper; even though she failed to see his lips move.

  "It's all right, little girl, to love, to show love. It's truly all right."

  The confirmation that he had spied on her sent a surge of anger coursing through the redhead's body. "What the hell were you doing spying on me? And don't touch me," she screamed.

  He smiled and pulled his hand away from her, as if shocked by a surge of electricity. He moved back several steps.

  "Listen, mister, I don't want to be rude, but this is a private party. I don't know who you are, or what you're doing here, but we'd appreciate you moving on now." Andy was talking in a low, even voice, but the threat was there, no mistaking his meaning. He wasn't a fighter, but he felt himself shift into a protective mode.

  "And excuse me for intruding. I heard you talking, and I was drawn to your conversation. I was attracted to your discussion about wishes for the future. Wishes hold sort of a fascination for me. At this point, in your young lives, wishes are often desired. Fear, uncertainty of the future, I think I understand exactly what you were talking about." His voice carried a calming, soothing capacity, hypnotic almost, holding each of their attention.

  "Wishes are oftentimes dreams, those dreams which you hope for, dreams that have haunted you. Is that right, Rodney Littleton?"

  Rod and Tammy had returned silently to the campfire, holding hands. They had been watching the stranger, listening to the exchange, wondering where he had come from, and now how he knew Rod’s name.

  "You okay, Rod?" Andy asked softly, concern in his voice.

  "Yeah. I'm fine. Now," he answered, smiling sheepishly. "In fact, I'm real good, thanks to you guys. What's going on here?"

  The stranger walked to the beer cooler, apparently unconcerned by the threat presented by Andy, reached inside and removed a beer, pulling the tab open. He took a healthy pull and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was tall, several inches taller than either boy, standing about six-foot-seven or eight, well-built, strong looking, a powerful man. He looked around, once again meeting each pair of eyes with his intense stare, his golden eyes steady, gleaming, his white hair seemingly fluorescent, glowing in the firelight, reflecting the moonlight.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," Rod said to the man. "You said something to me, I think."

  "We were talking about dreams and wishes. Specifically wishes that might take away pain, exorcise demons. I asked if you were familiar with anything like that. Pain...and demons?"

  Rod stared, not asking how the man knew who he was or what he was thinking. He suddenly went cold, forgetting the lake, forgetting Tammy, once again seeing Tony, watching his brother drown, the demons returning in force, blocking out everything else. Rod looked at Andy for help, his friend stunned that the man was taking so many liberties with the group, with his friends.

  "Who are you?" Andy asked, his voice going hard. "And what do you want?"

  "Oh, does it matter, does a name matter? I'm a traveler, making a stop here in this lovely park. And I've been fortunate to stumble upon such delightful company. And I thank you for that, this opportunity to rest my tired bones, to quench my thirst, to take a moment and enjoy each of your youthfulness."

  "Listen, bud..."

  "Wait, Andy, he's not hurting anything, let him talk." Rod was speaking, a rising level of intensity in his voice.

  Andy started to say something, then thought better of it, looked at his friend, at the stranger, and then sat back down next to Susie. The stranger settled down on a log, sipping his beer and not saying anything, the silence in direct contrast to the previous few moments. Finally, when he finished the drink he looked directly at Tammy. Those golden eyes seemed to bore straight through her. "And you, beautiful girl, what is it that you wish for? What is it that you want?"

  Rodney had sat down next to the girl, taking her hand back into his. She sat up straight, staring back into the stranger's gaze, shaking her head. "I don't want anything, I don't have a wish, I have everything I need."

  "Not altogether true, is it, pretty girl, not true at all. But quite all right, at least for the moment. I think we'll talk later. Maybe...but then, maybe not."

  Dismissing Tammy with a turn, he stared hard at Jody. The redhead's green eyes were blazing, meeting the man's look, the anger still very much present, the girl spoiling for a fight.

  "Don't you even talk to me. Anyone who hides in the woods to get their jollies spying on people is a perv. You...you need professional help, mister. I think it's time for us to go."

  She stood, waiting for the support of her friends, sure that all they needed was a nudge to get them moving. "Come on, guys. Let's get back to town." Nobody moved.

  "Sit down, Jody."

  Again, the quiet voice inside her head, the lips not moving, a command rather than a request. For a moment, she thought she was going crazy. Then she heard it again, deep inside her brain.

  "It all right, Jody, trust me in this. My work is not done yet. Sit down now."

  She sat.

  "So, what is this all about, what exactly do you mean, you're a traveler? You travel around like a bum, jumping trains or what? You look like some hippy from the sixties who got stuck in a time warp." Andy, standing again, speaking in a tone his friends didn't recognize, belligerent, bordering on aggression.

  Rod thought for one moment that he might have to restrain his friend, not sure he could do that, and not sure he would try. There was something about the stranger that soothed Rod, calmed him, and he felt he needed the man tonight, as odd as that sounded.

  "A bum? No, I'm not a bum. And yes, as a matter of fact I was around during the sixties. A hippie? Maybe. But that's something you children wouldn't know a lot about, a different era, one of strange and wonderful turbulence, of growth, of terrible dissension that could easily have molded the people into something good. Instead, it failed miserably. So very sad, the sixties. For a brief moment, one shining instant it was almost like the American Revolution, an entire people standing together against a repulsive injustice."

  He was speaking with such conviction, such passion that the group of youngsters couldn't help but be drawn to the speech, mesmerized by this stranger.

  "But unlike that earlier time, the sixties was poisoned, diseased by self-serving parasites who put their individual desires above the common cause. Those maggot vermin of the sixties made the carpetbaggers of the post-Civil War look like preachers. Not a Washington or a Jefferson in sight during those wonderful years of the sixties, the only hope for this country buried in Arlington Cemetery. But, of course, that's another story." He smiled, the first smile the group had seen cross his face, a sad, forlorn smile, the wrinkles appearing around his mournful eyes, a tiny dimple in his left cheek.

  "A traveler, at least when talking about a traveler like myself, is a person who is placed somewhere for a very specific, or possibly in this case, a number of specific purposes. Sometimes I'm not sure what my purpose is at the start of a
journey...but that's not important. Try to understand, I'm someone who balances things out, who brings a little sanity to some obviously insane times. You see, occasionally people on this planet, and for that matter, in other places, have been driven to self-destruct...and to take the rest of their world with them. It's during these crises that the leaders might need a strong dose of reality, a wakeup call. I'm that dose, so to speak. And that, my young friends, is as simple as I can make it."

  "You're making no sense at all," Andy snapped crossly, making no attempt to hide his disdain.

  "Let him talk," Susie whispered, intrigued.

  "What are you doing now, here in Radford?" Shauna asked quietly.

  "I've come to see you, each one of you, come to make a deal with you. Might I have another brew, please?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood and moved to the cooler, retrieved a Budweiser and returned to his seat.

  "A deal? What kind of bullshit is this," Andy asked. "Listen, fella, we're sitting here minding our own business, trying to have a little get together, we really don't need all this craziness from you, these riddles."

  "It's easy, really quite simple," the stranger continued, ignoring the outburst from Andy. "Everyone wants some kind of a wish; they talk about it every day of their lives. Wishing for a chance to see into the future, a chance to check out how life is going to be for them. Who was it, Charles Kettering I believe, who wrote…’We should all be concerned about the future because we will have to spend the rest of our lives there…’ Very apropos, I think."

  He had their attention again. "Wishes are a very real part of the human psyche, a natural part of the soul. You each were making wishes just now, wishes about the future, wishes built on your natural curiosity and fears of the unknown. It's normal, especially at your young ages. Do you not think Washington wished to know how his revolution was going to end? Or Lincoln, before issuing the Emancipation Proclamation, maybe a hedge against his decisions, choices that changed history? And Lee at Appomattox, there was a gallant man? Jack Kennedy during the Cuban missile crisis might have wished for one little look, now that was a frightening week. And I'm here to make you a once-in-a-lifetime offer, a deal, a bargain, just like they might have had. One tiny, brief glimpse at history. Your history. Sounds kind of exciting, doesn't it?"