Tears on a Sunday Afternoon

by Michael Presley

  I had flipped open a bottle of Heineken and taken a long swig when I encountered Lauren.

  “How was the movie?” Her robe was open, exposing her bra and panties. She looked like Dracula’s bride before she was fed.

  I grunted. I neither felt like seeing her body nor engaging in any pathetic conversation.

  “Donald, you know the situation we’re in. You’re not going anywhere and I’m not going anywhere. The sooner you come to that realization, the better things will be. We can be a normal family.”

  She went over to the electric kettle, filled it up with water and turned it on.

  “Normal!” I was heated. “This shit could never be normal. Like Kunta Kinte in Roots, I’ll always run away from this shit. You’re fucking crazy; talking about normal. If you look around, you’ll see that there isn’t a single normal aspect of our life. That bitch upstairs uses you as her punching bag. Emerald can’t come into your room and you have to come up with all these lame excuses why your eyes are bruised or your lips are swollen. Wake up; this is not fucking normal.”

  Lauren calmly poured the hot water over the tea bag in the cup. “And what you do is better than my situation? Putting your dick into each and every pussy you find is normal? I’m surprised that your dick hasn’t fallen clear off yet. If you die from AIDS, what will become of your precious son? If you love him and you want to save him from all this evil, don’t you think your behavior should change? Do you think that you would be any different if I wasn’t a lesbian? Hell to the naw! You would still be doing what you’re doing. You bastard; you’re sicker than me. You always have been.”

  “I doubt that,” I said, finishing up the beer. “Emerald is the only reason I’m here. Every night I pray that our brilliant kid doesn’t get fucked up in the head because of our situation. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  “Oh, and you think that if you take him out of this house and go out on your own with him he will be better off? Donald, you’ve got issues too. Just because your mother killed herself after your birth, you feel entitled to do what you do.”

  I was stunned as I got up from the island. “I never told you about my mother.”

  “You didn’t have to tell me. My father knew everything about you before I took my wedding vows.”

  “What does my mother’s incident have to do with this?”

  “Nothing, Donald, it means nothing at all. But the fact that you think that somehow you are in a better situation than me is ridiculous. You will be right next to me burning in hell.”

  I dumped the empty bottle into the garbage can. “To be honest with you, I don’t know if my son living with me will be the best thing for him. What I’m certain of is that I refuse to let him grow up in this house with you and your whatever the fuck you want to call her. For as long as I’m able to breathe, I will try to get him out of this house. Your other choice is to get that bitch out. You might need her, but Emerald doesn’t.”

  “Annette stays and, as we all know, you’re not going anywhere. My father will never allow you to leave with Emerald and, without him, you’re going nowhere. So go to your room, reach into the cooler and drink yourself to sleep, like you do every night.” She sounded like a mother sending a disobedient child to bed.

  The gust of wind from her robe was the only indication that she had left. A minute later, I heard the door to the master bedroom slam.

  I walked slowly up the stairs. Lauren was certain that I had no choice but to endure this living. In the room, I reached into the cooler and took out another Heineken. I went into the closet and unlocked the safe. I took the gun out and checked for the bullets in the magazine. I returned the magazine to the chamber. I took the gun and walked toward my bed. I sat down on the bed, my head drooped low, the gun in my right hand.

  The bar was cloudy, not like most dimly lit bars. This one had gray smoke coming from the floor. I wondered if they had recently installed a smoking gadget to attract new customers. Judging from the number of customers in there at the present moment, they definitely needed to try something else. The smoking gadget wasn’t working. The bartender had brought my drink and disappeared into the back. Hennessy on the rocks guaranteed to increase your blood pressure. In other words, the black man killer drink. I tried to look at the time on my watch but the smoke was too much, so I gave up and picked up my drink once more. She had chosen the bar so I could only wait for her arrival. It wasn’t clear to me if I was hungry or simply nervous. My stomach had begun to boil to indicate an abnormality in my being. I had called her because I desperately needed someone to talk to. I couldn’t ever remember a time when I needed her so much. She needed to be there for me; I needed to look at her and explain my predicament.

  “Hello, Donald,” she said as she sat down next to me.

  I looked over at her. As always, I was awestruck by her beauty. Her face was a perfect photograph. Her smile was a content one that made the viewer certain that she was confident in her appearance.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said.

  “You seem troubled, Donald. Is there anything your mother can do?” she asked.

  “Would you like a drink?” I asked, hoping the bartender would reappear. I hadn’t seen him since he had poured me that first drink. It wasn’t that I wanted a refill or anything like that. My drink seemed to have stayed the same since he had poured it; even the ice cubes seemed not to have melted.

  “Mama didn’t tell you? Your mother never drank. I’m never thirsty. How’s Mama doing? I hope she’s doing well. She’s a very good woman. One day I’ll have to sit down with her and talk. I’m sure a lot has happened since I left. She’ll tell me all the bad things you did, Donald. I hope you’ve been a good boy.”

  My mother lifted her hand and ran her fingers through my hair. I felt a cool breeze rifling through my curly hair.

  “Mom, I found Daddy,” I said, looking at her for an immediate reaction.

  She looked a little puzzled. “So, how do you know that he’s your father?”

  “I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent positive that it’s him.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Donald. I never knew your father too well. Except for him ordering me around, I never really spoke to him. Because of what he did to me, I know he’s an evil man, but that’s about it. What are you going to do with him?”

  She had asked the question I didn’t know the answer to. “I don’t know,” I said, certain she could read my mind.

  “When are you going to see him?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Where?”

  “I heard he likes hunting and tomorrow is supposed to be a big deer hunting day. People come from all over the country to hunt in upstate New York.”

  “You got a gun?”

  “Yeah, I bought one.”

  “Are you going to use it?”

  “I don’t know; I was hoping you could tell me what to do.”

  “Animals are tough to kill and sometimes killing them could cause more harm than good. They sometimes fight back and you can also get hurt. You have to think about what you have to lose.”

  “Mom, I thought about it. I lost you.”

  “Boy, that was a long time ago. Don’t do it for me; I’m sure you have other people that you need to protect.”

  I held the glass in my hand as tears ran down my eyes. “Mom, someone has to pay for what they did to us. We can’t let him get away with it. Someone’s got to pay.”

  Again the cool breeze ran through my hair and my shoulders felt cold.

  “It’s okay, Son. Everything will work itself out. It’s okay.”

  The loud knocking on the door jolted me awake. I looked at the door and wondered why it was locked. I always kept my door unlocked just in case my son needed to come in. As I got off the bed, the gun fell from my hand onto the floor. Slowly, realization of my actions came back to me. I had gotten up and locked the door after I had removed the gun from the safe. I quickly returned the gun to the safe and wiped the sweat off my face. I looked ov
er at the clock. It was 9:00 p.m. I must have dozed off.

  I opened the door and my son came in.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “What are you still doing up, Emerald?”

  “Daddy, why was the door locked?”

  “I must’ve locked it by accident. I’m sorry, Son.”

  “Daddy, can you take me to school in the morning?”

  “No, Emerald, I have to leave to go on some business later tonight.”

  Emerald’s face looked sad. “I wanted you to take me to school.”

  “I’m sorry. I promise that I will take you to school the day after tomorrow.” I felt terrible, disappointing my son, but I had to take care of business.

  “You promise.”

  “I do. Now come give your dad a kiss and I will see you tomorrow.”

  After my son left I started to get ready for my trip to upstate New York. I was going hunting. The FedEx package Donna had sent to me was on the table in my room. I hadn’t opened it, because I knew it contained the wig that I was to use in the robbery. Donna had said she would order it and I would pick it up from her. I wondered what had made her change her mind on the procedure. She had obviously ordered it and sent it directly to me. Could this be a ploy on her part? I took the package and tossed it into the back of the Hummer. I had already hidden the gun under the spare tire. I was dealing with the root of all evil; yet my time to contemplate various actions was limited. The wig had arrived at a perfect time. It gave me an opportunity to prove Donna’s theory. Tomorrow morning, I was going to be a blond white man.

  Chapter 7

  14TH DAY

  I was glad I didn’t drink any more Heinekens because the trip upstate was going to take at least two hours. The only good thing was that I was leaving at night, therefore the traffic should be very light. From the FDR I was going to jump onto the George Washington Bridge to the Palisades Parkway onto the 87 thruway and head toward upstate New York. Fisher’s Hunting Park was approximately two hours away from New York City. Even though the Hummer averaged less than ten miles per gallon, the large capacity of the tank made it possible to drive for hours without refueling.

  At 10:00 p.m., I got off the Palisades at a rest stop ten minutes from the George Washington Bridge. There was only one other car parked about ten car lengths from me. I waited fifteen minutes for the other car to leave. Even though the Hummer was a few feet above the ground, the windows weren’t tinted; therefore anyone could look in. And even though New Yorkers wouldn’t come to your rescue if a crime was being committed, they were very curious people. I walked to the back of the truck, opened it and pulled out the package. I looked over at incoming traffic and saw a car’s right signal light on. I quickly got back into the car and waited. The green Honda Accord seemed to have changed its mind and kept going with its right signal light still on. I sat down in the passenger side, a nervous wreck. I hadn’t done anything wrong; yet my forehead was sweating profusely. I placed the black fitted stockings over my head, using my right hand to secure my hair underneath. I then slipped the blond wig over my head and adjusted it while looking in the mirror.

  The transformation was immediate. The person looking back at me was no longer a light-skinned black man but a white man. I quickly discarded the box in a garbage bin that was filled with McDonald’s and Burger King bags. I walked confidently back around the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. I looked into my rear view mirror and pulled out of the scenic rest stop. I changed the radio station to CD 101.9 and settled in for the ride to Fisher’s Hunting Park.

  As the city, with its smog and human congestion lay behind me, I was feeling good about the openness of the suburbs. Houses were no longer yards apart but often as much as a mile. Most tourists had never heard about these suburbs, where white picket fences and cows and pigs are a common part of everyday life. No, they preferred to think of New York as a congested and polluted place, where people would rather shoot you than say good morning. I cracked the window to take in some of the freshness of the outdoors; knowing that as fast as I was leaving, I would be returning to the city of my birth. In the back of the car were a hunting bag, raincoat and dark sunglasses. The clouds, followed by a light drizzle, had made the night darker than usual.

  I had made a decision to confront my father. I wanted him to tell me why my entrance to this earth had to be under such dire circumstances. It was odd but I had not missed my father even once while growing up. I had never cried out for him, even though many of my friends and classmates would talk about their fathers. Maybe it was because there were so many other kids in the same boat as me. We did not have fathers but the mothers and grand-parents who raised us were doing a phenomenal job. A single-parent household usually meant one available parent whereas I had none. I’m not sure if it was the way that my mom exited the earth that caused me to want her so much, or if it was her picture that stood on my grandma’s wall that kept knocking in my head. I needed my mother to be with me in the worst way.

  The hours went by as the Hummer boomed its way upstate. I pulled into the Seek Motel, located about two miles away from Fisher’s. The meeting with my father could turn ugly so I was taking all the necessary precautions, just in case. As advertised, the motel was cheap with no amenities. An elderly black man sat behind the front desk.

  “Good afternoon,” I said, walking up to him.

  “Forty dollars a night, and no loud music or cussing. You’re welcome to bring as many people into the room as you like, but there’s only hot water for two showers a day. There are sheets and towels in the closet for a week. No maid service and checkout is at one.” He turned his attention back to watching a small, outdated white television set with a blurry picture.

  I reached into my pocket. “Okay.”

  “No credit cards,” he said, not taking his eyes off the TV. “And you pay each day.”

  I took out my wallet and laid two crisp twenty-dollar bills on the counter.

  “What’s your name, Boy?” the old man said, getting up from his chair. “Not too many white men with good teeth rent rooms here. Are you trying to fool around on the Mrs.?”

  “Not at all. It seems like all the other hotels around here are booked. Is there something happening in town today?”

  “I guess you’re really not from these parts. Today’s the start of the hunting season. Fisher’s Hunting Park is a couple of miles from here. They gonna have a good season, seeing as all the big hotel rooms are sold out.”

  I held my hand out for the keys. He slammed them down on the counter.

  “Thank you.” I picked up the two rusty silver keys with the number ten on the keychain.

  “I should raise the price. Wherever there is one white guy, another one is sure to follow. Have yourself a good night. I’ll be here in the morning. It’s sixty dollars for tomorrow.”

  “Bastard,” I whispered loud enough for him to hear.

  “White people; they want it all for themselves,” he said as I pulled the door shut.

  The hotel room was surprisingly clean for the price. However, the walls were painted a hideous brown color and the drawings of airplanes adorning the ceiling did nothing to enlighten the room. The small, blue closet on the side of the bed contained five wire hangers, towels and a set of white sheets. I put my overnight bag on the only chair in the room. I went into the bathroom that consisted of a standup shower and a washbasin with a small oval mirror above it. Next to the washbasin was an unopened bar of Irish Spring soap. I opened it and washed my hands. There were no towels in the bathroom; therefore I had to walk back into the bedroom to retrieve a small towel from the closet. There was a “Not Working” sign on top of the 19-inch TV located at the foot of the bed. I pushed it to the side of the room and sat down on the bed. I took the folder that Bill had given me out of the bag. It contained a complete rundown on the hunting event. There was a large club area where most of the hunters hung out before heading out into the woods. He suggested that I approach my father at the event. Apparen
tly, he was quite the talker, so getting his attention should be easy. I took the picture of my father, sitting at a bar with a Budweiser in his hand, out of the folder and slipped it into my shirt pocket.

  The rain had subsided as I drove to the hunter’s meeting place. I parked my truck in a lot filled with pickup trucks, SUV’s and vans. I parked the Hummer behind a pickup truck that had a bumper sticker which read, “I hunt for my food.” I laughed. I didn’t think there was anyone in America who hunted for food. Steal and kill for food but never hunt. Most of these so-called hunters had paid exorbitant amounts of money for their hunting equipment. A deer or two would never be enough to cover such costs. I had paid about four hundred dollars for my camouflage outfit, boots and shoulder bag; probably a third of the rest of them.

  “You ready, Son?” The voice came from an old man sitting in the passenger side of a pickup truck. The door was open and the man was cleaning a brown rifle with a telescopic sight at the top.

  “Yeah, been waiting for this all year.” I tried to sound convincing, but did not know what else to say.

  “Me too, my friend. It’s going to be a good year. So, what you carrying?” He looked through the sights of the gun.

  My cell phone rang at the same time that I was trying to fabricate a response. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Got to go.”

  The old man grunted and continued inspecting his rifle.

  I looked down at the phone number. It was Brian. I hadn’t told Brian about this trip and I wasn’t about to now.

  “What’s up, Brian?” I continued walking toward the restaurant.

  “I’m in love!”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear. His excitement had created a high pitch in his voice. I had never heard Brian so excited. He had spoken to me about women before but never like this. This was a new Brian.

  I asked the dumbest question in the world. “With whom?”