The boy kept bobbing his head to the beat, completely oblivious to her presence as she took quiet steps toward him. Once she placed her hand on his shoulder, he jumped a bit in his seat, then looked up at her, his mouth hanging open. He snatched off his headphones and focused on her, but didn’t say a word.
“Brian, I want things to be better between us.” There was no need for some ‘After-School-Special’ soft introduction, a cushy ride before she brought down the hammer. No…she preferred at this point to get right into it.
The music continued to play in a hush in the background, offering some odd soundtrack to their serious conversation. She glanced at his laptop and read the title of the song: ‘Collard Greens’ by SchoolBoy Q featuring Kendrick Lamar.
“Can you turn that off, please?” She leaned back a bit and crossed her arms, waiting. Huffing and rolling his eyes, he turned toward his desk and hit ‘Pause’ on his iTunes library. When he turned back toward her, his eyes hooded, sleepy, indolent, uncaring, no information sharing, daring…barely staring. Something inside the boy had died, and in the casket lay a little something called happiness…
“Brian, I know you’re angry, and I understand it. I’m still your mother though, and you’re going to have to remember that. There is a right way and a wrong way to handle things, to talk to people.”
“Yeah, but to talk to someone, they gotta call. That’s how conversations work.”
“What are you talking about?” She sat down on his bed, folded her hands together and anticipated for him to gather his thoughts and explain it all to her.
“He don’t call me, he ignores me.” The boy covered his face. His long fingers masked those gorgeous eyes of his, blocking her from witnessing his poignant discomfort. “It seems like everybody else’s father is in the picture except mine. You know how bad this looks, Mama?” His fingers slowly slid from his face, revealing the wet mess, more proof of his collapsed core. “It’s just me and two other black kids in school, ya know? And I don’t have a father. Well,” he laughed lightly, “I do, but I may as well not have one. That’s what they expect, that’s what they think of me.” He pointed to himself, speaking softly.
“I still make better grades than most of them, but they want to ask me why I don’t play basketball. They talk about affirmative action, like you and Dad got your jobs because somebody had a quota to fill, had mercy on you or somethin’. They look surprised when I say my parents went to college, got degrees and paid for their own shit, I mean, stuff. No full rides, no big time scholarships, nothin’. They look surprised when they find out I’m smart, not some damn dummy. They look surprised when they find out I listen to all sorts of music, not just rap. Mama, you just don’t understand,” he moaned, wiping another tear from his face before averting his gaze, as if he couldn’t stomach the conversation one second longer.
She reached out and gripped the boy’s trembling hand, held it tight.
“Are you angry with me, Brian?”
He looked at her for a long while, almost as if the answer dangled on the tip of his tongue, but he was just too afraid to respond.
“Come on now, you can tell me,” she urged.
“Yeah Mama…yeah, I am.”
“Why?” Her voice cracked as she held his hand a bit tighter.
“There isn’t any point in trying to explain it to you. You from somewhere else, got a different mindset. I couldn’t make you understand it, no matter how hard I try.”
“Brian, you haven’t even given me a chance!”
“I have, Mama! That’s the whole point!” He snatched his hand away from her grip, grabbed his headphones and turned his music back on, dismissing her presence, wishing her away with his body language alone. He rocked hard back and forth in his desk chair, closed his eyes, and disappeared right in front of her…
Slowly, she rose from his bed, feeling defeated, torn up inside…at square one. She’d been so close to getting through to him, but then, the tenuous rope slipped from her fingers, just like her marriage. She walked to his door, reluctantly curled her hand around the knob, and threw him a look over her shoulder. He continued to move about in his chair, rocking to and fro, dancing the unreturned love away.
…And no matter how she tried, they simply couldn’t groove to the same rhythm. He had his own secret song and he refused to tell her the damn lyrics. He’d flown a million tunes away, and she remained a reluctant solo act, hating every bit of the lonely, muted melody as it tortured his heart, and tormented her poor, tired soul…
*
I know what you mean. My mother is one of those people that is funny but doesn’t mean to be. –FINDERKEEPER
Doesn’t that make it even funnier? So since you brought her up, tell me more about your mom. –Sapphire Storm
My mom? Ok. –FINDERKEEPER
Well? –Sapphire Storm
No, she doesn’t live in a well. She lives in a house. –FINDERKEEPER
Would you stop it! I’m serious. LOL –Sapphire Storm
I thought you were Sapphire Storm. –FINDERKEEPER
I wish you could see my face right now. –Sapphire Storm
Alright, alright. She is an Irish woman everyone seems to love. She has a heart made of pure gold wrapped around milk chocolate and she is honest, but really nice with her delivery of bad news. Basically my polar opposite. –FINDERKEEPER
LOL! Milk chocolate, huh? –Sapphire Storm
Yeah, she thinks everybody is good; just mess up every now and again. Not true. Most people are assholes. –FINDERKEEPER
I hate to agree with you, but it seems that way sometimes. So you’re Irish through and through? –Sapphire Storm
Yes. Both parents. I’m third generation in the United States. –FINDERKEEPER
That’s great. Do you identify with your culture? Participate in any celebrations? –Sapphire Storm
What is this? The Ethnic Elevation Secret Society? Do I have to pass a litany of tests? –FINDERKEEPER
Yes. –Sapphire Storm
Well, I’ll fail. I don’t drink green beer, I don’t find four leaf clovers lucky or cute. I have no pot of gold, rainbows or lucky charms. I’m not red headed, either. –FINDERKEEPER
Do you have shoes with buckles? LOL –Sapphire Storm
Irish Pilgrim? Why yes, and I wear them every day while doing a little drunken merry jig at the subway for gold coins. –FINDERKEEPER
LMAO! –Sapphire Storm
Look at you using the ‘LMAO’. You learn fast, grasshopper. In all seriousness, no, not really. I’m American. I don’t get into all of that, but I mean, that’s not completely true. I like my culture and do identify with it. I will do things from time to time; go to local festivals, stuff like that. –FINDERKEEPER
What do you like to do? –Sapphire Storm
Sean pressed his fingertips against his lower lip and grunted as he crossed his ankles. He truly didn’t find himself all that interesting as of late, and wished to continue to delve in Sapphire’s secret treasure trove of dating disasters.
We’re supposed to be talking about YOU. I’m your personal, pocket comedian, remember? –FINDERKEEPER
Oh come on, FINDERKEEPER! –Sapphire Storm
Fine. Let me give you the rundown. I’m in my thirties.
And? –Sapphire Storm
That’s it. –FINDERKEEPER
That’s not a run down! LOL –Sapphire Storm
Sure it is. You are far more exciting to talk about. I look forward to hearing about your dates not just because they’re usually funny, but also because I find them educational and enlightening, I should say. They give me hope, actually. There. I’ve said it. And I mean it. –FINDERKEEPER
Well, don’t go writing my memoirs. I’m never going out again. –Sapphire Storm
Oh, cruel world! I pity the raindrops that compete with thy-ith tears. Is thy-ith a word? –FINDERKEEPER
No. –Sapphire Storm
She and this make believe thy-ith shall never show her face-ith again! –FINDERKEEPER
LOL. That’s right. No more dates for me, Mister Thy-ith. I’m exhausted. –Sapphire Storm
That’s because you’ve been running around in my mind all day. –FINDERKEEPER
Ha! Right. –Sapphire Storm
Well, I’d love to harass you a while longer, but I have an exam early in the morning and then work. I have to get some shuteye, Sapphire Storm. Tomorrow? Same Bat Channel, same Bat time? –FINDERKEEPER
Are you offering me a date? –Sapphire Storm
If you mean the fruit, then yes. I can buy some dates and offer you one, possibly will it to you telepathically. –FINDERKEEPER
LOL. You suck. But I like you any-ith-way. –Sapphire Storm
You’re alright-ith yourself… –FINDERKEEPER
‡
Chapter Six
“And that is exactly why the den area dimensions you provided let me know in advance how we should proceed. Your appearance of space would be compromised with such a darker color, Mrs. Vander,” Treasure explained from her seat at the small desk in the warehouse. The distinct scent of sawdust made her itch as she looked about the place, not focusing on anything specific.
“Yes, I see that…” the woman said woefully on the other end of the line. She knew the poor lady was disappointed, yet Treasure had full confidence that her design plans would not only meet the client’s expectations, but possibly supersede them.
“So, what do we do from here?”
“Well, I will have my own painters re-prime the room to remove the eggplant color. Then, we will go over the walls with the ‘Sunny Afternoon’ color I suggested. Not only will it make the room look larger, it will liven it up. I’d suggest pairing the white furniture we just picked out with touches of color from the throw pillows to complement the new wall color. Also, to place the vibrant artwork purchased from the gallery in key locations. Oh, and you can keep the matching eggplant pillows from your previous design. Those will make great pop tones. Since you wanted to maintain a rather clean appearance, I would steer away from purchasing additional art with small, abstract brushstrokes and too much color. Let’s stick to basic nonfigurative art in muted tones and I can take care of that for you later this week if you wish.”
“That sounds perfect, Treasure. Just work your magic.” The older woman laughed lightly.
“Fantastic.” Treasure smiled into the phone. “I will email you some samples of accent pieces this evening and have the painters over tomorrow afternoon, is that fine?’
“Yes, thank you.”
“Perfect. Goodbye, Mrs. Vander. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks, Treasure.” The woman ended the call.
She looked down at her watch, then back out into the warehouse. Various construction people moseyed about. Their paint-splotched pants for some odd reason piqued her errant attention.
Ahhhh, yes…
That reminded her of the ‘package’ she’d received that morning as she pulled out of her driveway. The trash collectors had been there a bit earlier than usual, and she was pleased to see that her debris was in fact gone. However, tied to one of the large steely gray lids, she’d found a tiny brown teddy bear with glossy black eyes and a white tulle bow wrapped around his fuzzy neck. The bear tenderly held a handwritten letter, on that notorious orange paper she’d grown to despise. He’d written all over the thing, both sides full of his surprisingly clear and concise handwriting. She’d kept that note all the same, tucked it away like the clandestine numbers for that evening’s Powerball. Pulling the damn thing out of her purse, she re-read it, this time slower…much slower:
To the sexy woman at 25 Lyons Place,
This little bear reminded me of you.
Because a teddy is lingerie and I saw yours and guess what I ate for lunch? Some smores.
And then I did some chores.
Some people have big pores.
I like to drink Coors.
I really didn’t eat any smores… but I can if you’re into that sort of camp food experience, that sorta thing, you know, if it turns you on.
This was supposed to be a rhyme, but the only word I could think of that rhymes with lunch is ‘munch’ and ‘hunch’ so I skipped that and tried smores and it just sounded stupid. I don’t have any more paper, I can’t rewrite this. That’s a lie. I do have more paper, but the driver is waiting on me so I don’t have time to rewrite this or he’ll figure out that I’m trying to hit on you. I already hid the bear from his view. See, I tried to rhyme a word with ‘lunch’ like I said, then that would just be turned into something sexual no matter what word I used, and I’m not trying to come at you like that. I guess I already did though since I mentioned your lingerie. I can’t write poetry so the hell with that. This will be my second time inviting you out on a date. It will be the last time, too, just like that warning I gave you that you never saw.
You’re probably married, but I didn’t see a ring on your finger. I looked. And if you are, it’s all right by me if you leave him for the garbage collector. I’m just kidding. I’m not interested in women with husbands, but to sweeten the pot, I have an eBay business. Yeah, I’m kind of a big deal for online auctions, but don’t let my stardom go to your head. I’ve probably got some of your crap for sale and other stuff from your neighbors that would knock your robe off, again! Call me.
–Sean
212-675-0804
Treasure giggled at the pest’s sense of humor. He was funny…damn funny. That time she flashed him must have been one of the most embarrassing experiences of her existence; yet, a part of her felt great satisfaction in knowing that some younger guy was turned on by her unfortunate ‘disrobing’. She’d been assaulted by the wind, none the wiser until it was far too late. She couldn’t take the kid seriously, though. He couldn’t have been more than thirty, way too young. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit he was so damn sexy. Tall, muscular as hell, with some of the greenest, loveliest eyes she’d ever seen. His velvety, dark brown hair with subtle highlights was a bit of a mess, but it seemed intentional, as if he’d ruffled a dab of gel in the slightly wavy tresses.
The shortness of the length exposed his masculinity, and it had a damn smell. Yes, his manliness had some sort of aroma that wafted in the airway after his brutish ass was long gone. No, it wasn’t the stinking trash he hauled about, it was the way he looked at her, the way he provoked her to keep talking shit and dare to be surprised that he had an equally smart ass rebuttal at each and every turn.
She’d met her match, though she could tell he was still keeping his responses somewhat reserved.
How very unprofessional of him…
He insulted her, got sassy, and then had the audacity to try to hit on her…
What.fucking.nerve.
She rolled the paper back and forth in her grip, turning it so many different directions but loose as she drowned in her own complicated contemplations. It was a wonder she wasn’t practicing origami for she’d folded the thing up like a taco when all was said and done.
…but he’s so damn fine. And that smirk, that damn crooked, all-knowing smirk!
She felt silly looking at a sanitation engineer that way and as soon as that thought crossed her mind, she felt ashamed for thinking he wasn’t worthy of beauty due to his profession…
I wasn’t always that way. How did I get like this? Regardless, this is about sensibility. I’m not being stuck-up or snooty; these are real life concerns!
What would be the point of calling the guy? He couldn’t possibly make more than $25,000 a year…
He had to have been smelly too, hauling all that trash in the sauna-like heat, and he was rather rude, lest she forget—she reminded herself for good measure…but…he was hilarious. The bastard made her laugh, and laugh hard, when she entered her home after her strip tease! That proved an almost impossible feat as of late. And to add to the forbidden, boiling pot, he was not only attractive… he was strong…
Sexy…
He picked up her stuffed trash bins and lo
ose bags like they were nothing, all the more reason for her to scoff at his alleged issues with the weight requirements of the rubbish laid out along the sidewalk. That really chapped her ass—he must’ve enjoyed having that sort of impact, that sort of power over others. But in a way, she understood the need to control one’s environment when everything else appeared to be blowing away in the goddamn wind.
What if I took a chance? Stepped out of my comfort zone? It would only be a date…not like we were getting hitched or anything.
She sat there thinking about it, continuously twirling the orange piece of paper around and around.
No, I can’t do that. What would my children think? I bet Brian is the one that threw the first note away. He is the one that usually brings the trash bins in…
She warmed with embarrassment, her cheeks more than likely flushed with color.
Yeah, I bet Brian saw what that man wrote…
But soon, her face creased with another smile as her thoughts sunk into the basement of naughty considerations. Without another second to talk herself out of things, she grabbed her cell phone from her purse and dialed the number.
I can’t believe I’m doing this! He can’t be any worse than anyone else I’ve dated as of late though…
“Hello?”
She could distinctly hear the deafening rush of traffic, honking cars, and an assortment of metropolitan noises she’d grown accustomed to while growing up in Brooklyn. The abundant background chatter and a mixture of mingled, faint music made her feel a slight twinge of nostalgia.
“Hello?” he repeated, her frozen state now compromised, melting from sudden discomfiture.
His voice… God, that slightly hoarse, deep, sexy voice!
Rough and masculine, just as she remembered, and he’d only said one word.
Simply cocky…
He even said ‘hello’ with arrogance.
“Uh…” She stumbled over her own tongue, thinking better of her choice to throw her hat in the ring of burning chance.
“Who is this? Look, I don’t have all day. Some of us have to work for a living,” he belted.
The Fight Within Page 10
