BOMAW 1-3

by Mercedes Keyes

  She cocked her head to the side and rolled her eyes. "Oh, brother...you just can't help yourself, can you?" She smirked, walking by him to the kitchen. "Just because you're a good looking man, and no doubt you've charmed women everywhere, you think ‘it's surely got to impress her’," she finished, entering the kitchen with him close behind. "What would you like to drink?" she offered, not waiting for his reply to her estimation of him.

  "You're so sure about me, aren't you?"

  "Not sure, no. A beer? A Pepsi? Tea, a wine cooler, or ice water?" she asked again, holding the refrigerator open and waiting. "I have seltzer water as well," she added as an afterthought.

  "Pepsi on ice. I only drink while entertaining, special occasions, so not often." Her eyes widened in surprise by that answer. So much so, that she almost said to him,Good answer. That impressed her. The six pack of beer had been in her refrigerator since she moved into the house. There were three of the four initial coolers left from when her real estate agent brought them to toast her getting the house and closing. She handed him the Pepsi poured over ice. "Thank you," he murmured.

  "You're welcome."

  In the Living Room…

  "So, what made you move here...to this small town?" Everett asked, sitting on the sofa across the room from Sylvia, who sat comfortably on the love seat with her legs crossed up on the seat Indian style. "The house. The population. The seclusion. A true small-town, farming community. I grew up in the big city with crowds of people. Sirens, traffic, noise, a high crime rate and the feelings of insecurity were beyond what I wanted to continue to be exposed to. And last, my kids moved to La Crosse to attend college and now they live there. So here I am...what about you?"

  He drank more of his Pepsi, looking comfortable and at ease. "The peaceful solitude, and I too, needed to get out of the rat race. The type of people I began to find myself in the midst of, didn't sit well with me. I didn't grow up in California, I grew up in a farming community, much like this one. Rising early in the morning to get the cows milked, cleaning out the stalls, removing the old hay, replacing it with the clean, doing stuff like that. That was my life. Nothing like what I live now."

  Sylvia was surprised. This she had not expected to hear from him. "I see I've surprised you," he observed and stated. She nodded softly. "Yes, you have. That was the last thing I expected to hear. I always wanted the kind of life you just described, but it was not meant to be. My life was quite different," she announced. He finished his beverage. "Well, farming is hard work. Back-breaking sometimes, and it's a dirty job." Sylvia smiled. "But someone has to do it," she inserted. "Did you hate it so much, that…that's why you left it?"

  "No, I didn't hate it at all, but for a hobby sometimes on lazy evenings I would sit and draw on the front porch, or off by this stream that flowed out past our backyard. My mom noted how good I was, and for Christmas she bought me my first art set, sketching pads, and later came my first canvas and tripod. I painted a lot of pictures of our surroundings, country scenes, things like that." He started grinning then, and deep dimples showed up in his cheeks. Sylvia smiled, admiring him and those dimples.

  "Why are you suddenly grinning?"

  He chuckled, remembering back. "I painted my first nude at 14. I went down to the stream, further than I usually go and there was the neighbor's wife stretched out, butt-naked for all the world to see, taking a nap by the stream. I quietly set up, and started painting her."

  Sylvia's mouth widened with an exclaiming gasp. "Oh, my goodness, no you didn't!" She chuckled.

  "Yes, I did." He laughed, shaking his head. "My mother later found the portrait hidden under my bed. Needless to say...she was not happy. Got my art stuff taken away from me for a month," he finished, shaking his head, then focused on Sylvia sitting across from him. He stared. She stared. They were quiet. She grew nervous.

  "Let me paint you?" he asked softly in the dimly lit room. She smiled softly, shaking her head. "I don't think that's a good idea. As a matter of fact, I think it's late. You should go now. I need my sleep; the boys will be up early tomorrow." Her legs unfolded as she slowly rose from her seat. She stood a moment looking down at him as he stared up at her. Saying nothing more she went to get his jacket from the hall closet. Setting his glass on the coffee table, disappointed, Everett sighed and rose.

  Standing before him now, she handed him his jacket. "Thanks for the flowers. That was a very nice gesture. Sorry I've been such a...well, not a nice person." She smiled looking up at him, but decided she was much too close for comfort and stepped back, then turned leading the way to the kitchen door. Putting on his jacket where he stood, Everett finally turned and joined her at the door.

  "Thanks for inviting me in. For the Pepsi. For granting us peace, and a last request...please, let me give Isaac a ride on my motorcycle, grandma?" Sylvia grinned, looking up into very beautiful blue-gray eyes. She couldn't decide what color they were from one moment to the next. She sighed and blew out, giving in to her need to exhale. "Sure...I know that will be the highlight of his visit here. Thank you for offering. I guess I'll see you tomorrow sometime." He nodded, staring into her eyes.

  "You can count on it, lady...you can count on it." He turned and left. Closing and locking the door behind him, Sylvia suddenly ran across the room and clicked on her front lights to give him visual aid in his crossing the road, then ran to her big windows to watch him. He stopped midway through her front yard, turning to wave at her. She climbed on the loveseat, parting the curtains so that he could see her, and waved back. He turned and took off at a lope across the yard, the road and onto his driveway, up to his porch...stopping at his door and next he was gone within. Sylvia sat there staring for moments longer than she realized. Unaware, that he too, stood in his window out of her view, watching her silhouette there. Long moments went by with both gazing longingly, to be back with the other.

  Chapter Seven

  Bright and early, Sylvia found herself at the kitchen sink filling a pot to start boiling water for grits. Darren was the first to awake; thank goodness Isaac was still asleep. Her preference was that they wake at separate times, as it made her task easier to deal with them and their morning needs. Content in his high chair, Darren sat making baby chatter mixed in with a few words as he followed his grandma around the kitchen with his eyes, patiently waiting for his instant oatmeal. Having placed the pot on the eye to start heating after adding salt and butter, Sylvie went to the fridge locating the bacon. Closing it to walk over to the stove, she stopped dead in her tracks. First caught with her peripheral vision, she turned to see an early morning visitor. The neighbor. He'd just stepped up to the door, following with his tap, tap, tapping.

  Smiling in gladness before she realized it, she walked to the door, opening it and looked up into a bright smile with his silhouette blocking out the morning sunrays. Upon seeing her, his smile became even bigger, showing straight white teeth. With a sigh, Sylvie reached, unlatching the screen door. Turning away, leaving him to enter as she went to the stove opening the bacon to lay out in the pan.

  "Good morning!" he started immediately upon entering, carefully closing the door behind him.

  "Good morning to you, and please tell me, sir, why you're up so early and over here? Isaac's not up yet," Sylvie asked, then informed him after finishing laying out the bacon, having automatically included enough to fry up for him.

  "I'm hungry!" he shot simply, directly. Surprising Sylvie, who couldn't help chuckling.

  "Oh, are you now? And what, dear sir, has that to do with me?" She was grinning.

  "Well, are you not about to prepare breakfast?" he asked as if it were a perfectly normal thing to be at her place in the morning for breakfast, and the discussion about it usual.

  "Yes, I am preparing breakfast, but who invited you?"

  "You did," he answered, walking around her to take a seat at the kitchen table next to Darren. "Good morning, lil’ fella, you hungry, too?" he asked, turning away from Sylvie, who stood incredulous with arms
crossed under her breasts.

  "Excuse me, but when exactly did I do this?"

  He looked at her with the most engaging smile. "I was sleeping, and as I slept, this subliminal message from you woke me. You said—this is what you said…” Standing with his hands on his hips, trying to gesture as she would, working his neck trying to imitate her with a high pitch to his voice. "…Everett Styles, get yo’ tail outta dat bed an' get ova here so you can get yo'self some breakfast! An' don't lemme have'ta call you agin!" Resuming his normal voice, “That's what you told me. So here I am." He flexed his brows mannishly, grinning.

  Sylvie was laughing, so stunned and distracted by him, she forgot the bacon.

  "Woman, you gone burn my bacon! Would you pay attention!" he reprimanded, kidding.

  Still laughing, Sylvie rushed to the stove, flipping the bacon. A couple of slices had to be removed after being scorched. She lowered the burner's heat and wiped at the tears squeezing from her eyes. "You are one crazy white man, you done lost your min'. Come up in here, 'cause you done had a dream...and I do stress dream! Thinking I'm gone fix you breakfast and talkin' smack about my bacon." Still she was grinning, with one hand on hip.

  "Now look here, you stop fighting this," he directed.

  "Fighting what?" This turned her away from the stove.

  "This here set-up. This arrangement. You need to stop fighting it," he furthered.

  "And you need to wake up and smell the coffee," she corrected him in her fashion.

  "Well, you don't have any on, so how can I? I, ah, like it black, by the way," he informed her. Sylvie stood once again with her mouth open and speechless. "I'll take instant or brewed. Whichever. I prefer brewed, but if instant is all you have, that's fine," he went on, just as bold as you please. "And while you're standing there, where is Darren's breakfast? I could be feeding him while you're cooking my breakfast. And, are you gonna let Isaac sleep all morning?" Sylvie was still too stunned to respond. "Well, come on, woman, don't just stand there." That snapped her to as she went into action, getting Darren's oatmeal out of the microwave. With a slice of buttered toast in hand, she gave him a piece or two of her mind.

  "Now you listen here, Everett Styles...I don't know what kind of game you playing, but it don't wash with me,” she said, stirring the oatmeal, walking to the silverware drawer to remove Darren's baby spoon. "You ain't settin' me up, and there sho' ain't no arrangement! Here…you know how to feed a baby?" she asked, handing him the bowl and laying the toast on the tray.

  "I had four younger siblings, two brothers and two sisters to feed; just like riding a bike. You get back to that stove and get my coffee on." He couldn't keep the grin from his face.

  "All right, don't make me go off on you up in here. Ordering me around, you must be crazy," this said as she started the water running to fill the coffee pot. "And I'm not fixing this coffee because you told me to. I'm a nice person and I know how to be a gracious host when I invite someone for a meal—"

  "See, I told you you invited me!"

  "Look! I did not invite you!"

  "That's what you just said!"

  That stopped her, she glared at him, fighting not to smile. "Everett Styles, you want this pot upside your head?"

  He feigned a look of fear. "No, ma'am."

  Sylvie headed for the coffee maker to fill it with the water. "You best leave me alone then and not push it." Everett grinned, turning to Darren winking at him, then began feeding him. "Ummm, ma'am…by the way, the bacon's burning again." Sylvie quickly put the pot down and dashed across the kitchen to the smoking pan. "Doggone you, Everett Styles, you made me burn my bacon!"

  He acted stunned. "How'd I make you burn the bacon? I think you just one of these new millennium women with no domestic skills." Taking the pan to the sink, she dropped it in and turned, cocking her hip with hands on them to do battle.

  "Oh no—you did not—say that to me!"

  He turned, spooning another mouthful to an observing Darren and then lifted his toast to his mouth so he could take a bite out of it. "Well, I'm just going by what I see. Bacon burned. No coffee on. I gotta feed the baby or else he'd be starving. Lucky for him, man invented microwaves and instant oatmeal...can I have a bowl? I'm hungry!"

  Finger up and pointed dead aim at him. "You listen here, Mr. Styles, you about to get tossed out of here on your ear!" she warned. He leaned up to look towards the stove again. "What you got boiling in that pot over there?" he continued in his teasing antagonism.

  "Don't you worry about it! I was making some grits!" she growled, going to the counter grabbing the container which held grits and spooned in the proper amount. "I don't know if you oughta attempt that. Not just anybody can make good grits," he stated, shaking his head, spooning in more oatmeal for Darren.

  She turned, looking down her nose at him. "Like you know anything about grits!" she accused.

  "I know plenty about grits. My mama made the best grits anywhere, and I followed in her footsteps. Having to feed four younger brothers and sisters," he reminded her once again.

  "You eat grits and know how to cook 'em?"

  "Black folks aren't the only ones who eat grits, you know. There's many white folks that eat grits! Collard greens, turnip greens, mustard greens—"

  "Get outta here!" she blasted, stunned.

  "Wash 'em, cut 'em up, fry up that salt pork, get that fat to moving—"

  "Get outta here!" she repeated, dumbfounded.

  "Peel up a couple of big white turnips, chop'em up and put'em in with the greens, pour in the fat and salt pork, some chopped onions and garlic—I like a little crushed red pepper myself—and pour in the water...not too much! Man, lemme tell ya...some corn bread, that's all you need! That's all we could afford, but it was good."

  "Oh, my goodness!"

  "Um-hm. You be a good girl…be nice to me, I might cook you some. If you can't fry no bacon and cook no grits...which are about to boil over," he inserted to warn her, "I know you can't handle no greens," he finished, punctuating his litany with the last spoon of oatmeal to Darren's open and waiting mouth. Then winked at him for finishing to the last drop. Sylvie was running to the sink to get a towel for all the water and grits that boiled over. "Listen here, white man, you done push me too far, early this morning! Talkin' about my cookin'. This all your fault, distracting me!"

  "Um-hm," he mumbled.

  "Don't be 'um-hmming' me! I was doing just fine before you come up in here, trying to run something. That's what I get for being nice and lettin' yo' butt in!" she fussed, turning from the sink to say something further to him, but saw Isaac coming from the hallway rubbing his eyes.

  "Oh, great!"

  Following the direction of her stare, Everett turned in his chair to see Isaac trying to wake up, shaky and stumbling in his early morning toddler steps. "Good Morning, baby," Sylvia called to him. Isaac stopped halfway to them and looked at Everett, then bugged eyed, looked up at his approaching grandmother. "I'm gon' ride the moto'cycle, grandma!" Sylvia stopped in her tracks, looked back at a grinning Everett, then back at her grandson. "Good morning, grandma." Her tone and look gave him a clear hint of what should first be his greeting.

  "Mornin', grandma," he repeated, then, "Am I gone ride a moto'cycle?" Everett and Sylvia chuckled at his persistence and excitement.

  "Yes, you can ride the motorcycle today...but I think you should say good morning to Mr. Styles." Without hesitation, Isaac was right there at his lap, looking up into his blue-gray eyes.

  "Good mornin', Minner 'tiles." Followed by the biggest smile his grandma had ever seen. Everett chuckled and stroked his hand over Isaac's head fondly. "Good morning, Isaac...you sleep good?" Isaac bobbed his head in agreement with only one obvious thing on his mind.

  "I'mo ride yo’ moto'cycle?"

  Everett picked him up on his lap, holding him there he said, "As soon as I cook us breakfast. 'Cause your grandma...well, let's just say, I need a little something more than instant microwave oatmeal."

  "Y
ou know what? Have at it! Let's see what you can do!" Sylvia challenged, having enough of his criticism.

  "You're on, baby! Take a seat right here, and I'm gonna give you a little schooling on how to fix breakfast and conduct a conversation at the same time. Have a seat..."

  Chapter Eight

  Sitting on Everett's small front porch with Darren perched between her thighs, they sat waiting and watching for him and Isaac to return. He jabbered away as she thought over the morning so far. Everett had indeed whipped up a delicious breakfast for them, and kept her laughing as well Isaac and Darren in the process. To her amazement, he was totally unaffected by his macho, handsome male image. He was silly, funny...animated with the boys, free and easy, teasing and torturing her. With absolutely no fear of her, their racial difference, or what he might inadvertently say to offend her. She was surprised as well to discover that he was not Italian as she first thought, but Irish. He was a talker, and enjoyed speaking about his life as a young man growing up on a farm with watchful, disciplining parents—who were not rich, but loving, kind and supportive. He spoke as if he missed having someone listen to this side of him, about the life that he obviously missed, longed for, and she was just as delighted with the fact that he felt comfortable enough with her to show this side of himself.

  "Ohhh, Darren. What's happening here, baby? Hm? Now you know grandma don't need this kinda pressure startin' up in her life. That's right. I'm comfortable, got a nice house. I have you guys over every now and then...and by the way...where is your mama and daddy?" Darren looked up at her, smiling and laughing as usual. He was a happy, easy baby to care for. She hugged him to her, running her fingers through his silky, blond hair, sighing deeply. Just then, they could hear the motorcycle's rumbling exhaust as it came roaring up the road towards the driveway. Isaac sitting in front with a harness strapping him to Everett. His little head swallowed up in the helmet. Everett wore his shades and no helmet. He was as handsome as any woman's dream. Sylvia sensed that he just may be dangerous to her heart...to her peace. Darren's little pudgy hands shot up into the air waving his hands in circle, his dexterity in waving the correct way still undeveloped. Sylvia smiled hearing Isaac cry out in his happy excitement. "Grandma! Grandma! I ride the moto'cycle! I ridin' the moto'cycle!" he announced as Everett guided the bike into his short driveway to stop next to the porch where she and Darren sat waiting. Looking up from Isaac, her smile and gaze was drawn to the man who sat silent and still...the bike still running, his one hand resting on the handle bar, the other on his thigh...through the dark shades, she knew he stared at her. In her mind's eye, she saw beyond the darkness of the glasses to blue-gray eyes, sensing what they would relay were he to remove his eye protection. As if to confirm it, he reached up and slowly removed them. Sylvia felt her heart skip a beat, with the fluttering in her stomach following suit.