Outcast

by Lewis Ericson

“Well, with any luck, Tirrell, maybe we can both make it through to the other side.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears, Sean.”

  After breakfast all the men went about their various chores until it was time for a required counseling session. They were asked to participate in a trust lesson. Trust being a foreign concept for Tirrell, he chose just to sit and listen.

  Sean started. “I used to shoot heroin and I was dumb enough to share a needle. Classic, right? I told myself what we all tell ourselves. ‘I can stop anytime I want. I can handle it—just this one last time and no more.’ But there was always another time, and another reason to use because all I wanted was the feeling that it gave me. The feeling I couldn’t live without. I traded my addiction for my fiancée and a good job makin’ a pretty decent salary; none of that mattered then. Now, I have AIDS and I’m an outcast to my family and so-called friends . . . Suddenly everything matters.”

  Tirrell squirmed and then got up and left the room. Mr. Preston was passing in the hall outside with some local volunteers who were dropping off clothing and food donations.

  “You all right, Tirrell?”

  He shook his head.

  “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

  Mr. Preston saw the volunteers to the door and came back to find Tirrell sitting on the floor. His arms were extended outward with his elbows resting on his knees. He stared blankly forward. Mr. Preston sat down next to him.

  “There’s this guy in there named Sean. Did you know he had AIDS?”

  “Would it surprise you to know that he’s not the only one? A lot of addicts wind up sick or dead.”

  Tirrell turned to face him.

  “Does that freak you out?” Mr. Preston asked.

  “Not really. I’ve done some shit that I never thought I would find myself doin’.”

  “Is that why you left the session, because you didn’t wanna talk about it?”

  “Yeah. Plus I was thinkin’ about today bein’ my birthday and I’m stuck in this place. It’s not as if I got anything to celebrate anyway.”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

  Tirrell laughed. “Is that what this is?”

  “What are you now? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

  Tirrell turned to face Mr. Preston. “Damn, do I look that old?”

  “I was just askin’.”

  “I’m twenty-three. Birthdays ain’t never meant that much to me before, but I miss my family. Ain’t that a trip?”

  “Not at all.”

  “When I was growin’ up, Noonie—that’s what we call my grandmother—she would go out of her way to try to make my birthday special. She would bake me a German chocolate cake, from scratch, and cook all my favorite food for dinner. She’d invite Kevin and Jacqui, that’s my half sister. Kevin wouldn’t come. Jacqui came sometimes, and my boy Marquis—never really had that many friends my grandmother would let in her house. I took her for granted. I took a lot of shit for granted. You know I only went into the Army because she wanted me to. ‘Your grandfather served his country. It made a man out of him,’ she said. So, I signed up. I thought it was the least I could do considerin’ all she did for me. I hated it, though. I guess in a way I hated . . .”

  “You hated what?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “You hated her for makin’ you feel like you had to go? It was your choice to go. You can’t be pissed off at your grandmother.”

  Tears filled Tirrell’s eyes. “Man, I don’t hate my grandmother. Why would you say some fucked-up shit like that? She’s the only good thing in my life. The Army just wasn’t gonna do it for me, that’s all. I was never gonna get all the commendations and shit like my granddaddy got, and I didn’t want to be in no damn war I didn’t believe in. I saw too many of my boys get deployed and I know what that shit did to them. I didn’t want the same thing happenin’ to me.”

  “So you let them kick you out.”

  “It was either that, or get locked up for tryin’a kill this dude. They gave me a choice. I took a dishonorable.”

  “If that’s all they did to you, you’re lucky. Somebody must’ve been lookin’ out for you.”

  “I guess.”

  “I did a turn in the Army too. It wasn’t my thing either. But if I’d done what you did, I know my country ass would still be kickin’ rocks somewhere in a government hellhole.”

  Tirrell scoffed. “It don’t matter. Whatever I do I’ll still be a screw-up.”

  “So you get high and that’s s’pposed to change things?”

  “I get high for the same reason everybody else does. So I don’t have to deal with not livin’ up to bein’ what everybody thinks I should be, and just bein’ what they expect me to be.”

  “How about you stop bein’ so concerned about how other people see you, and change the way you see yourself? That’s the only way this is gonna work.”

  “Wow! Why didn’t I think of that before,” Tirrell sneered.

  “After you turned in that file incriminatin’ those dealers, you had to know what might go down. What did you think they would do, welcome you into the fold? Did you really think this one thing was gonna somehow magically wipe away all the other shit you did?”

  “I don’t wanna talk about this no more.”

  “You feel guilty, don’t you? ’Cause instead of makin’ things better, you made ’em worse and got your grandmother shot in the process.”

  Tirrell got up off the floor and brushed himself off. “To hell with you, man.”

  “Uncoverin’ truth and peelin’ that onion is hard, ain’t it?”

  “Truth is bullshit. Just like this program. Just like you.” Tirrell ran up the hall and out the door.

  Mr. Preston let him go.

  Tirrell stood out in front of a MARTA station like a disenfranchised beggar asking for spare change. The inhumanity was more callous because he was on the receiving end now. An hour went by—then two—before he finally had enough money for a couple of tokens to ride the train. He rode to the Kensington station, hoping to find Tasha home from the salon. He figured if she cared enough to show up at the hospital there was maybe a small part of her that had some compassion left for him.

  He spied her car parked out in front of her building and it excited him. He was even more so when he noted that Darnell’s wasn’t there.

  He was unkempt and in desperate need of a shave and haircut. In an attempt to make his appearance more suitable, he tucked in his shirt and smoothed down his hair with the palms of his hands before he knocked.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Tirrell.”

  There was no immediate response. He didn’t know whether to leave or knock again. The door finally opened.

  “Can I come in? I promise not to do anything stupid.” Tasha moved back and allowed him inside.

  Tirrell started to sit, but opted to stand. He walked over to the large patio doors and peered out. “Where’s Darnell?”

  “Out of town.”

  “Did I catch you at a bad time? You’re not expectin’ company, are you?”

  “I wasn’t expectin’ you. But, if you’re referring to Rickey, we’re not seein’ each other anymore.”

  He resisted the urge to gloat.

  “Why are you here, Tirrell?”

  “I’m glad you’re home. I really wanted to see you.”

  “I heard that Miss Betty was breathin’ on her own now.”

  “Is she? I wouldn’t know.”

  “Kevin still won’t let you see her?”

  “To tell you the truth I haven’t tried since the last time.”

  “Why not?”

  Tirrell turned to face her. “Look at me. I hardly recognize myself. I know she won’t.”

  “What have you been doin’ to yourself? Where have you been stayin’?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You look hungry. You want somethin’ to eat?”

  Tirrell chuckled. “It’s not gonna be a salad is it?”

&n
bsp; Tasha laughed. “I think I could come up with somethin’ better than that. Tell you what, why don’t I go get my clippers and give you a trim, and you can take a shower while I fix you some food.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Tirrell took off his shirt and followed Tasha into her bedroom. She sat him down in a chair, removed a nylon cape from her bag, and snapped it around his neck. He closed his eyes and lost himself in her touch. There was nothing sexual about it, just her closeness, and her closeness made him yearn for her. She followed the haircut by trimming the stubble on his face. He reached out and caressed her hand.

  “Stop,” she chided. “You’re gonna make me mess up.”

  Tasha vacuumed the loose hair on the rug when she finished. Tirrell stripped and climbed in the shower.

  He called out from the bathroom. “You wanna join me?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Tirrell removed the bandage from his leg and luxuriated in the hot water. There was no one pounding at the door waiting to be next. It was the best shower he’d had in a long time.

  He cleared the steam from the mirror after he toweled off and took stock of his weight loss. In spite of everything that had gone down between them, he was overwhelmed by Tasha’s kindness. He found a pair of Darnell’s old blue jeans and a shirt and sweater laid out for him on her bed. As he dressed he spied her open purse on the nightstand. His nerve endings tingled, visualizing the celebratory high he could have. If I only take ten or twenty dollars she won’t miss it, he reasoned. Just as he reached in, his conscience got the better of him and he withdrew quickly and left her room.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I threw the clothes you had on in the trash. Sorry, I didn’t think you’d wanna put on any of Darnell’s underwear.”

  “No.” Tirrell smiled. “I think I can handle not wearin’ any at all, if you can.”

  He sat down to a hot plate of leftover spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, and a salad—the salad made him laugh. She laughed too.

  “I was thinkin’ about goin’ to see Miss Betty if you wanna come.”

  “You really want me to go with you?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  “That’s what’s up.”

  Tirrell ate his fill and pushed back from the table.

  “You want some more?”

  “No, I’m full. Thanks. I couldn’t eat anything else.”

  “Nothing? Not even this?” Tasha turned around with a cupcake on a plate and a single candle on top. She set it in front of him. “Happy Birthday.”

  “I can’t believe you remembered.”

  “We were together for almost three years. How could I forget?”

  His emotions crashed like ferocious waves on the seashore.

  “You should probably make a wish and blow out the candle, unless you like wax with your chocolate.”

  Tirrell took Tasha’s hand and kissed it.

  She pulled it away. “I need to finish the dishes. We should get goin’ soon if we’re gonna make it to the hospital before visitin’ hours are over.”

  Tasha let Tirrell have time alone with Betty while she waited outside to warn him if Kevin was coming.

  The room was overrun with flowers and cards from the hotel where Betty worked and from the church and her neighbors on Eastland Avenue. Tirrell sat at the side of her bed and caressed her forehead. He took her hand and gently squeezed, willing her to open her eyes—grateful that she was still alive. He hadn’t felt that God was in the prayer-answering mode of late; still, he knew that Betty believed. He quoted the 23 Psalm. Other than “Jesus wept,” it was the only passage he’d ever memorized. “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for the Lord is with me.’”

  When he got up to leave he took the chip he’d been given from the NA meeting, put it in her hand, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I love you, Noonie.”

  The temperature had dropped nearly ten degrees by the time Tasha and Tirrell left the hospital. While walking through the parking garage to her car, Tasha noticed that Tirrell had broken out into a sweat. He sat shivering in the passenger seat.

  She cranked up the heat. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I will be.”

  “Are you comin’ down with somethin’?”

  “No. Nothin’ like that, but it’s nice to know you still care, Tasha.”

  “You’re not yourself, that’s all I was sayin’.”

  “Who am I then?”

  “What I meant was, the way you looked when you came over. The clothes you had on. That’s not the Tirrell I remember.”

  “A lot’s changed.”

  “Are you still seeing that woman you were with at that party?”

  Tirrell turned and glared out the window.

  “Sorry, it’s none of my business.” She placed her hand on the gear shift to put the car in drive. He put his hand on top of hers.

  “Tirrell, your hands are freezing.”

  He cupped them to his mouth and blew into them. “They’ll warm up in a minute.”

  They sat silently, not even listening to the radio, as Tasha navigated away from the hospital.

  Tirrell finally looked at her and then looked away. “Do you ever wonder what could have happened between us if we’d stayed together? I mean, if I could have loved you like you deserved to be loved?”

  “Tirrell, don’t.”

  “I think about it a lot, especially lately. I think about when we first met. I think about the baby we could’ve had together. But you were right, I would’ve been a fucked-up father. I was selfish and arrogant as hell. If I was in your shoes I would have probably had an abortion too. You did the world a favor.”

  Tirrell’s thoughts tapered off. Moments passed before he spoke again. “Man, what I wouldn’t give for some . . .”

  “For some what?”

  “Never mind. Forget it.” He turned, reached up, and stroked the side of her face. “Despite all my shit we were good together for the most part.”

  She pulled his hand away and held on to it. “When we weren’t in bed together we were toxic. I was insecure and I was doin’ a lousy job tryin’ not to show it, and you were eatin’ it up. I guess I did change some after I lost the weight. I finally got it. I didn’t need you or any man to make me feel good about who I was. I should thank you for not bein’ able to give me what I thought I wanted, otherwise, I may never have found it myself.”

  Tirrell directed her to drive him to the train station so that she wouldn’t have to see where he was headed.

  “One day I hope you find whatever it is that’s gonna make you happy, Tirrell.”

  “You don’t know how much it means to me what you did today.” He took her hand again and ran it over his face. She didn’t pull back. “I still love the smell of that lotion you wear. You think some day you’ll forgive me and we can be friends?”

  “Tirrell, we can’t go back down that road again.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. Forget I said anything.”

  He softly touched his fingers to her lips, trembling, hesitant, and kissed her.

  Tirrell arrived back at The Mission with minutes to spare before curfew. Mr. Preston was standing out front having a cigarette when he walked up.

  “You missed a meeting, and you’re real close to bein’ locked out for the night.”

  “I wasn’t somewhere usin’ if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

  “Did I say anything about that?”

  “You were waitin’ on me, weren’t you?”

  “You’re awfully full of yourself, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “I didn’t think I would see you back here at all after the way you stormed out of here this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, well I thought about it. After I spent some time with an old friend I decided that I needed to.”

  “A girl?”

  Tirrell laughed. “Yeah. She took me to the hospital to see my gran
dmother.”

  Mr. Preston offered Tirrell a cigarette. “Looks like it did you some good. Got your hair cut. Got a shave.”

  “Yeah. I think it helped more than I thought it would.”

  “You came back, so that must mean that you don’t think me or the program is bullshit anymore.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “No big deal. It comes with the territory.”

  Tirrell squashed the remainder of the cigarette. “I guess I better get inside.”

  “Tirrell.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Happy birthday, man.”

  Tirrell flashed a crooked smile. “See you in the mornin’.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  28

  Alex was justifiably uneasy as she sat in a Fulton County jail cell. Every time a guard walked by, or she heard a loud noise, she wondered if it was someone coming for her who was sent by Xavier Rivera. If he didn’t know before, there would be no way he couldn’t know now.

  “You got a visitor,” a female officer said, sliding open the iron bars.

  “Is it my lawyer?”

  “No. It’s some federal agent with ADA Ellis.”

  The mannish guard cuffed Alex and led her to a holding room. She felt exposed without the visage of makeup and the designer duds she’d been accustomed to. The orange jumpsuit, harsh lighting, and yellowing walls were telling and did little for her. She was determined not to show her angst.

  “Ms. Solomon, I’m Detective Cobb. This is Special Agent Oliver from the FBI, and I assume you already know ADA Ellis.”

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  “Maybe the better question is what can we do for you?” Detective Cobb responded.

  “For starters you could let me out of here.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Because you don’t have anything to hold me on.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Agent Oliver said. He pushed some papers across the table toward her. “These look familiar?”

  Alex glanced down then looked back up. “Should they?”

  “This is a spreadsheet we printed from a file obtained by Tirrell Ellis. There are some interesting names on this list: major players, dates, financial transactions.”