“Pshhht! Not me!” He shook his head. “Frieda is crazy. I gave them what they needed and nothing more. I gave no names. I simply supplied the treasure map. I left out the part about the cameras though. The security people set them up that way so they wouldn’t be on tape for their little meetings, and you and I have benefitted from it. I can’t have us on tape visiting each other for our nightly visits, now, can I?” He laughed.
“Oh no, we can’t have that!” Taryn teased.
“Anyway, Frieda and the rest of them have to find their own solutions. She’s a goddamn idiot.” A bad flavor rolled over his tongue as he relived the bullshit proposal.
“Look, you can’t blame her, can you?” she said on a whisper, seemingly feeling sorry for the woman.
“Yeah, I can. I don’t like that sneaky sort of shit. I hate that type of thing, Taryn. It’s not cool…not cool at all. Just ask me. I told her ‘no’ flat out, but just be real about the shit.” He looked back up towards the sky and saw more birds fluttering about, circling the grounds. A few landed, poking a bit at the hard soil, searching for a morsel or two.
Spring is definitely coming…
“Right, I get that, but Frieda hasn’t been here but for a year and a half, and this has been going on for at least four or five according to some of my friends. She got in here and thought she was going to change the world. Don’t you remember being bright eyed and bushy tailed before reality came and yanked you back into the real deal?”
He looked at the woman and grimaced, refusing to acknowledge that her words held a bit of merit. He enjoyed the flavor of his anger towards Frieda, wanted to savor it a bit longer. How dare Taryn come playing the flute of the Devil’s advocate, forcing him to hear a brand, new song.
“She just didn’t know any better. Once she realized you were coming, she probably figured someone in your position would want to help. She just didn’t think it out is all; she doesn’t understand that whole ‘snitches get stitches’ mentality.” Her lips kinked in a lopsided smirk.
“It’s not even about that, because being a snitch is a good thing if you can save lives.” He sat straight, looked her dead in the eye. “It’s about integrity and me needing to feel safe. I chose this place for a lot of reasons, Taryn. One of which was that I wanted some anonymity, wanted to feel secure. I had to focus on my recovery. Now again, I’m not unfamiliar with how these places are. I’ve had too many people I arrested that were court mandated for rehab and I know even the best of the best rehabilitation centers can have problems like this. It happens, you know? But how you address it is paramount to me.
He paused briefly to rally his thoughts. “We as addicts choose to get high,” he said. “It was my choice to keep drinking day in and day out. It was my choice to buy cocaine once a month, and nibble off it bit-by-bit, thinking that somehow that didn’t make me a real cocaine user. But when a person like me chooses to leave that behind, and come to a place like this,” he pointed towards the front doors, “I expect for security, the owners of the facility and the employees to be proactive about ensuring that this sort of thing doesn’t happen; and if by some slim chance it does, they should be vigilant in their approach to stop it and ensure it doesn’t happen again. This is just fucking ridiculous…”
He turned away, feeling all warm and angry within once more.
“I hear you, baby…I hear you.” She gingerly patted his shoulder, giving reassurance, understanding him through and through. She now had to realize it wasn’t just the incidents he described that had him in such a state. He recognized that the woman understood his pain; he could see it in her eyes…
And in those eyes he also saw that she loved him, cared for him, and was his friend, sincere in all that she offered to him. He was happy as hell for her, but he would miss the fuck out of her, too. Regardless, he refused to tell her so…not just yet, anyway. He didn’t want her to feel held back, guilty, her peace disturbed. She needed to finish her process, ‘as is’, with no complications, especially from the likes of him. He’d already disrupted her center, burst into her world demanding entry into her life, her body, and her mind. He’d needed her shoulder to lie on over and over again.
He’d sucked her energy through a straw, and asked for second and third helpings while she lay there helplessly, being his willing host. He’d become attached to her in ways he’d never dreamed possible. It had become a handicap of sorts, leaving him in a state of gratitude as well as despair. He didn’t feel whole without her, but she could never know this… No, he wouldn’t anchor her, keep her all to himself.
“Let’s go back inside.” He sighed, got to his feet. She slowly stood and removed her empty cup from the bench. Pausing, he looked down at her and opened his mouth to speak but only to find she said the exact same words at the exact same time.
“I love you…”
Today is the day Ma took me to the roller skating rink. I was five. She took me to the Roxy in Manhattan. I didn’t know we were in Manhattan; if so, I would’ve asked her to take me to see my father. I thought Manhattan was where all the men lived… MANhattan…get it? I was silly like that…
The memory put him in such a good mood, he was practically leaping about … in the vein for fun and games. Tonight, he hid from himself behind a partition that led to the miniature bathroom, then he leaped out in front of the full-length mirror in his room, bursting out into hysterical laughter as if he didn’t see himself coming. He was feeling damn good, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so alert, alive and happy. Was it the nostalgia? Had to have been… all those lights at the Roxy, all the people skating about, moving to the loud music. He was cuddled close to some of the best things he’d experienced in his entire life. So, he went along Reminiscence Lane in a happy-go-lucky sort of fashion and dug up an oldie but goodie…
Nick hid under his small bed with the thin, almost translucent superman sheets in disarray. He gripped his pillow with both hands, his tiny fingers pushing and prodding the cotton while surrounded by darkness and intermittent light as his bedroom door swung open and closed several times.
“Niiiiicky! ¿Dónde estás?” (Nicky, where are you?) He giggled, his eyes widened as he caught himself, released his grip on the pillow, and shoved both fists over his puckered lips. Still, continued to giggle as he heard his mother’s footsteps going up and down the hall in search of her little boy.
Will she find me in time?
She never did…
He wiggled his little self out of there, raced to her and startled her so, causing the petite woman to jump in the air and burst out in laughter.
“Ahhh, Nicky!” She spun in his direction. “Your brother is asleep. You made me wake him with my screaming!” She laughed.
She then took her turn to hide, and though she was on her way to work and the babysitter had arrived, a teenager that lived next door named Carlota, Ma still fulfilled her promise. He found her several minutes later in her tiny bedroom closet, hunkered down amongst a hodgepodge of colorful scarves passed down from her grandmother and assorted skinny belts with buckles that shimmered just so. He smiled wide at her, not because he’d won the game, but because he never felt so relieved.
Here she is…
Even in moments of pretend, he missed her…never wanted her to go. Ma was kind, sweet, and a good cook. She took care of him and his brother, rubbed his head, and told him fantastic stories about growing up as a little girl in Puerto Rico. And here they were, playing hide-and-seek… But she truly never needed to be found. The woman was always right by his side.
…Yeah, he knew it was a game, but as the hours passed when she was away, he’d get a little melancholy, go a bit stir crazy. When he was especially young, he’d wait for her to get home, asking the baby sitter over and over again what time it was as he sat perched by the door, listening closely to anyone who passed by there, going to a different apartment. He was always disappointed if the shadows kept on moving, but would damn near jump out of his skin when he heard her keys
and the silhouette would stop…
Sometimes she’d run a little late. He hated that the most…
“…Is it eight yet?”
He couldn’t tell time, but he knew if the babysitter said 8:00 P.M., Ma would be home very soon after that, and he’d grow excited, his heart beating with renewed enthusiasm. Where did that little boy go? What happened to Nicky? So innocent… so much promise…
Hide-and-seek…
Had he hid from himself? Indeed he had.
Had he sought after his true self? Perhaps, though time would tell.
Had he found his purpose in life? He’d already known it… Getting there was the hardest part.
Nick backed away from the memories as if leaving a friend behind. He glared at himself in the mirror, his smile slowly fading. Time was fading, too. It had a way of doing that. Time was cruel yet loving for it never undid itself, reversed, allowed do-overs or gave extensions. There were twenty-four hours in a day, take it or leave it. This time, however, instead of focusing on all that he didn’t have, wasn’t doing, and the self-inflicted torment he was accustomed to, he focused on what was transpiring. After a grueling day of going over his goal updates as well as classes focused on maintaining sobriety now that he had graduated the treatment initiation and early abstinence, he was enjoying his newfound self-discovery, and planned to make full use of it.
He waved the thin white sheet in the air above his head, and then again, and once again. The long chain around his neck swayed to and fro from his dance-like movements. The light from the overhead ceiling fixture filtered through the fabric, and he beamed at it, taking notice of how cocooned and safe he felt under the thing. He felt like a child again, hiding here and there, and everywhere, as his mother’s shoes clip clopped up and down that hall, day after day, looking for her baby boy…
He gingerly laid the sheet along the floor, pulling it straight at all four corners, then double backed toward the right lower one that seemed to have a mind of its own. Soon, he was on all fours, scooting about as he reached out under his bed, straining and struggling to pull out his small collection of cherished items that he’d gathered over the course of a few days. He set the things out just so, then glanced at his phone that sat on his nightstand.
She’ll be here in a minute.
He got to his feet, dusted off his knees with a few swift and hard swipes, and made his way back over to the mirror. He looked into his bluish-gray eyes, and pilfered away his long, dark hair from his view. It had grown so much over the past few weeks; it was hard for him to see if he didn’t gel it down or pull it back in a short ponytail. He ran his hand over his thick, gray long sleeved shirt and turned from side to side, sizing himself up, flirting with himself, turning this way and that, a bit apprehensive, as if he’d never been alone with a woman before…
In a way, this was new. He was fully sober, to the damn bone. He had a good grasp on what he wanted and where he was going. Every day proved yet another crucial step forward. Sometimes they were big ones, sometimes small, but they were steps nevertheless. He was a work in progress, with intermittent pauses, and light at the end of a very long, torturous tunnel. He not only felt good physically; he found himself in a wonderful space emotionally and mentally, and his thinking was so clear, the fact at times alarmed him. He had no idea he’d been living in such a fog…
…Just imagine the type of man I can be now?
Just then, a gentle rap sounded at his door. He looked down at the threshold…
There’s her shadow…
His lips crimped in a smile.
And then the thing opened ever so slowly. There she stood with her short-cropped dark hair, the illustrious curls highlighted like a halo from the fluorescent hall lights just behind her. She looked like a damn movie star, and he wanted her to write her autograph all over his heart. He stood in the midst of greatness, and as the woman closed the door softly behind her, he couldn’t help but swallow his own tongue, for he felt suddenly speechless.
“You look pretty, Taryn.” He nodded, as if repeating the words over and over in his mind while he stared into her pretty, brown eyes.
“Thank you.” She cracked a smile, let her oversized green bag slide lazily off her shoulder and hit the foot of his bed. “So.” She shrugged. “I think I got over here undetected. I guess we’ll find out in a bit.”
He nodded, though inside, he prayed that they wouldn’t be interrupted. To help ensure it, he made his way towards his room door, locked it, then returned to his old spot.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” He pointed to the floor, and her sights drifted towards his display. As she shifted her weight to one hip, her slouchy red and orange plaid sweater slid off her shoulder just a bit, exposing a black camisole strap.
“I can’t believe you…” She shook her head as she slid her flat, wine red ballet style shoes off with her toes, wiggling them just so. Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ played softly in the background. She made her way towards his set up, sat cross legged and took it all in. He joined her, sitting up close and personal, breathing in the scent if her hair, her skin, and losing himself in the shine of her perfect lips. They stared at each other, so many words unsaid hovering in the space between them. Pressing his eyes closed, he leaned in and brushed his lips against her own, stifling their mutual moans. The balminess of her body flooded his frame while the suppleness of her kiss warmed him from the top of his cranium to the tips of his toes. Ushering his hands around her waist, he brought her in closer, flush against his chest. He tilted his head to the right and worked his tongue within the sweet confines of her awaiting mouth.
The soft heat of her hand radiated into his cheek when she cradled it. The woman held him so gently, so tenderly, he didn’t dare open his eyes just yet; instead, he simply embraced the moment, the sensations, refusing to be bogged down by the limitations of his own eyes. No, his other senses were on patrol, making the rounds, and he enjoyed what they told him, time and again. He let his hands wander from her waist, maneuver up her spine, until he’d reached the back of her delicate neck. He placed one hand on her shoulder, and the other at her nape. Upon sprawling his fingers just so, the feather fringe of soft, wayward hairs tickled his digits.
He smiled into her kiss, unable to keep his happiness at bay…
Hair.
It glides, flows, sits.
Covers legs, scalps, and arm pits.
It grows, doesn’t grow,
It’s coarse, doesn’t flow.
It’s wiry, silky, and curled.
The topic of discussion for many women and girls.
It’s prickly, holds scents and odors.
Can be short as a grain of rice or down past one’s shoulders.
It can be twisted, plucked and pulled.
Hair Club for Men have some people fooled.
It’s coiled, straightened, and steamed.
Covered in Herbal Essence and Pantene.
It’s washed, dried, plaited.
Bad hair day? Then it’s hat-ed.
It’s braided and dyed.
Long Emo bangs can cover one eye…
It is often bought and sought. Envied, coveted, too.
Jealousies brew, if you have none,
And then the ‘hair wars’ ensue…
Yeah…hair….
He opened his eyes, slowly, so slowly, and perused his prize. He found the woman to be just as alluring as the first day he’d laid eyes on her. Her scalp now fully covered with three-inch, curly spirals haphazardly framing her face in a sexy sort of way. He gently pulled her chin down and pressed his mouth against her scalp. The lax curls felt soft under his lips. Releasing her, he sat back and drowned in her eyes…
Without hesitation, she reached up, opened her blouse, and cast it aside. Within the a blink of an eye, her camisole was gone, too. There she sat, before him, brave, confident, naked from the waist up.
Sexy as fuck…
Warrior…
He reached for
her and laid her down upon her back. Brushing his hands over the side of her face, he stared down into her eyes and his body surged with the deepest of emotions…
Love. Deep, true, heavy love…
“I’m…” He looked away from her for a spell, then back down into her eyes. “I’m in love with you…and being sober and in love is…well, different. It’s an experience I’ve never had before.” He swallowed. “It feels so good, Taryn…so good.” He layered her face with kisses and showered her with affection, turning her to her side then onto her stomach. Gently, he wrapped his fingers around, the crimped cotton of the elastic band on her pants and ushered them down, exposing a delicate pair of sheer light pink panties.
“Mmmm, these are nice.” He grinned, took notice of her cheeks plumping from an obvious smile as she cocked her head to the side.
“You like them? They are from the Spring Victoria’s Secret collection. I modeled for them once…nice show.”
“Well lucky me… I get a back stage pass.” He exhaled deeply. “The real thing is better than anything captured on film, and I’ve got the genuine article.” He slid the flimsy lace over her slightly arched ass, down her thighs to her ankles, then tossed them aside.
“Now.” He paused, hovered over her like a cloud about to pour the hell down. “I’ve got some seltzer water, crackers and cheese spread, blueberries, those little strawberry applesauce cups you like, and some snicker fun size candy bars.”
“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “I saw… You spoil me, you know that?” She tossed him a flirty glance from over her shoulder and winked.
“You’re damn straight I do. I went all out, top of the line,” he joked. “Anyway, I have something else for you, but it can wait until later.”
“You do?” Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked over her shoulder again, showcasing a becoming frown and sultry lips parted ever so slightly.
In the Nick of Time Page 33
