BOMAW 1-3 (5 page)

"It means to take advantage of someone in a bad way!" Mary Jo explained with accusing eyes on Everett.

"Ma'am, I did not exploit her! Arrgh! Excuse me!" he blasted, turning for the door after Sylvie, who was marching down the small downtown sidewalk heading for home.

"Sylvie! Sylvia! Will you wait! Would you at least let me explain?" he shouted to her, jogging to catch up to her.

"As far as I see, there's nothing to explain. What took place is quite obvious," she fired out, never breaking her stride.

"Sylvie, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for this to come out and offend you. It was funny, and I simply shared the humor in it. I didn't mean for them to know about your state of undress; that just came out, kinda...I don't know." He shrugged with the lift of his hands, keeping with her purposeful strides. "Will you stop and please listen to me!" He leapt in front of her, stopping her forward motion. "Come on, Sylvia, you must admit...it was funny...I couldn't resist," he petitioned for her to understand.

"No! You listen to me, Everett Styles. You may be oh-so-cute and fascinating to all the other women you've encountered in your life, and I'm happy for you. But as for me, leave me alone! Stay away from me, and keep me and my stupid blundering acts out of your conversations. I, sir, will do likewise where you're concerned. Now excuse me." She stepped around him and continued down the road leading out of town.

Everett stood watching her walk away, then blurted suddenly, shouting so that she would hear him,
"You know what, Sylvia Payne? The name fits! Fine...I'll stay on my side of the road and you stay on yours! And the next time a bat comes at you...you better have your clothes on, because you'll be outside until someone else comes to your rescue! It won't be me!" and quietly added, "That's tellin' her boy." to himself, giving his own personal, little pat on the back.

Sylvia stopped, turned with her hands on her hips. "That's perfectly fine with me, Everett Styles! That's perfectly fine with me!"

Two weeks later…

"Grandma, grandma...look at me. See, look what I can do," Sylvia's three year old grandson
called out to her as he did several summersaults, showing her his gymnastic abilities. She was pulling bulbs from the soil in the flower bed along the front of her house, which badly needed her attention. She was trying to decide if she'd be doing this again next fall. She hadn't counted on what had started out as four bulbs, being this difficult to pull up. Her friend Erica had told her that the bulbs would multiply, but for heaven’s sake! She was on the third cluster, which had originated from one of the four bulbs, and she had now been digging around it for ten minutes.

The other two had taken her fifteen minutes or more to dig out. To her amazement, they had produced what appeared to be fifteen to twenty more bulbs each. Her back was aching and she was seriously considering leaving them to expire over the winter. As tempted as she was to leave them, she could not abandon something whose beauty had brought her so much pleasure, especially over the summer. They should not have to face a freezing winter, just because her back was expressing a little ache. Sighing, she continued trenching, tugging, and shoveling out more dirt.

"Grandma, are you watching? You didn't see me!" Isaac exclaimed from the center of the front yard, disappointment obvious in his stance. Raising up back on her haunches with her hand to the small of her back, Sylvie turned looking over her shoulder towards her grandson. His look was of impatient petulance. "I'm sorry, baby, do it again. I'm watching now." Isaac plopped down on the lawn, crossing his arms with his brows drawn and his bottom lip rolled out and under. "No! Grandma, I did it soooo good and you wasn't watchin' me. It ain't gonna work again!" he whined. Sylvie stretched her back, put down her digging utensils and turned, crawling across the lawn toward her grandsons.

Darren, the baby...eleven months old and into everything, was held up from his usual adventures due to the marvelous invention—the playpen. Now he stood peering over the top of it, laughing out loud at the funny prowling crawl that his grandma was performing. Tears falling from his eyes as he laughed, he obviously thought she was doing this to entertain him, and was succeeding. Isaac also thought it funny because his petulance transformed into a struggle not to laugh, and engaged him in whatever plans his grandmother had as she slowly made her way towards them.

"Isaac Anthony Prescott, if you don't get up from that ground and show your grandma how absolutely wonderful you just executed, what was probably the most perfect somersault ever done in the history of all men and little boys—who have ever done somersaults—I will simply grab you right here in this front yard, body slam you to the grass, and blow the loudest, wettest, zerberts on your belly that you have ever experienced in all of your life!" Sylvie threatened as she slowly crawled to an expectant Isaac, who was now laughing and growing weak as he made an attempt at getting up from the ground to get away from her; but to succeed in that would cheat him from the gut-wrenching joy and fun of the laughter it would provide.

Clipping along at a moderate speed, this was the scene that Everett Styles rode up on his Harley to see. Sylvie dressed in sweats, her hair wild from the fall wind blowing, with leaves and dry grass clinging to her as she rolled on her front lawn with a small boy. He glanced up to see another younger child standing in a playpen, smiling and laughing at the antics that he probably wanted to be in on. His presence was quickly noted, however, by the child wrapped in Sylvia's arms whom he heard loud and clear. "Grandma! Grandma! A motorcycle! I wanna see da motorcycle!" Isaac exclaimed with full animation, jumping to his feet.

With dread, Sylvia didn't have to turn around to see who the motorcycle belonged to. Slowly she came to her feet, dusting off her sweat pants as she did. The rumbling, roaring noise of it was scaring Darren. She made a sad face and walked up to him. Reaching into the playpen, she picked him up, consoling him as his head dodged around hers, which was blocking him from seeing the spectacle. Resigned, Sylvia turned around and was shocked to see Isaac in the road at the motorcycle talking to Everett Styles. "Isaac Prescott! What are you doing in that road? Who told you you could go in the road and talk to that man! You don't know him!"

"It's a motorcycle, grandma!" he shot back, as if that was enough to explain what was apparent to the eye. Sylvie was furious as she marched the short way across her yard. Holding Darren close to her, her eyes shooting back and forth between Isaac and Everett, stopping to look both directions on the road before crossing over to them herself. "Do you mind turning that off, please? It's scaring my grandson!"

Sighing, Everett complied. As the roar of the engine died, her voice filled the void with a forced, controlled shrillness. "How could you sit here and let him dart across the road that way!" she shot, now standing next to his motorcycle, reaching down to take Isaac's hand.

"Excuse me? I didn't let him do anything! I wasn't expecting it!" he returned, incredulous.

"He could have gotten hit by a car or a truck!"

"Hold it just a minute here, lady! First of all, you should not have turned your back on him! And second, it happened before I could react. Suddenly he was here! That is not my fault!" he continued in his own defense.

"Well if you hadn't come charging up the danged road on this motorcycle, startling the baby and impressing upon him all this shiny, noisy metal, he wouldn't have!"

"Excuse me, Sylvia Payne, but this is a free country! I have every right to ride my motorcycle in whatever fashion I choose! How was I suppose to know that children would be present when I came up or down it? Or whatever the hell I did—"

"Please mind your mouth and your language, my grandchildren are present!" Sylvie snapped in return.

"Grandma, I wanna ride the motorcycle!" Isaac cried, growing upset with the dispute between the adults, simply because he understood already at this age that this could mean he wouldn't get to ride. He was right.

"And you, little boy, aren't riding anything. You better hope I don't get you back to the house and spank your butt! You know better than to leave that yard, crossing this road...without me or someone with you. So you just pipe down...it's naptime for you!" With that, Sylvia looked up at Everett once more. "If you will now excuse me, I'll get back to
my
side of the road." With that said, she turned, looked again and headed across the road with Isaac in tow.

"Sylvia Payne, Sylvia Payne, you know what…as I said the last time, your name...is truly fitting!" he yelled the last part at her as she made her way across her front lawn to her side door, ignoring him all the way.

Everett sat on his motorcycle staring for long moments at her yard, the house and her car, thinking about their encounters thus far. Shaking his head, he restarted his bike and drove it into his yard, parking it next to his garage. While he made sure to lock it up as he usually did then covered it with the canvas, he thought about her grandsons. They were white. Both blonds, one straight-haired, the baby with curly hair, brown eyes, and very fair skin. He was intrigued by it, knowing as he did that such families existed, as in the case of his brother. His wife, however, was Spanish, not Black, yet she was on the dark side. In his brother's family there was a slight case if it, where the members were of the same blood, but racially different in physical attributes, just not as strong in contrast as there was between Sylvia and her grandsons. Again, his curiosity was pricked. He was an artist. The surroundings of their homes were dense in beauty and color and she added to it. He couldn't quite put his finger to it yet, but Sylvia Payne was slowly gaining way under his skin. Her grandsons added another dimension. The artist in him wanted to capture them on canvas, but she was such a mean pistol. No, that wasn't true. He also remembered standing in his doorway watching her as she stood in his studio, gazing longingly at a portrait he'd painted. Right there, right then, there had been no anger or meanness in her gaze, but one of longing...of loneliness. One that she worked hard at trying to hide.

Standing now within his kitchen peering out of its window, he felt the need within him suddenly strengthen to break through this wall she'd placed around herself. Problem was, he had no idea as to how he would do it, but do it he would. Once he succeeded in getting through, what next? Where would that place him in her life? Where would that place her in his?

"Hell!" Everett raked his hand through his hair. "Leave it alone, man, just leave her alone," he counseled himself. "She's one of those, if you broke through, it's for keeps. It's all the way or no way. I'm not ready for that," he finished in decision.

An hour and a half later, he was sitting at his dinner table, turning over scalloped potatoes that never seemed so tasteless. Either cheek resting on his knuckles, she was still on his mind. In fact, had been on his mind for the last two weeks that had gone by. Truth to be told, he'd been thinking of little else since the first day he looked up into her dark eyes. They went on with their separate lives, trying to pretend the other didn't exist...just across the road—but he knew that she was there. A vibrantly attractive woman with no man in attendance, due to her own personal choice, of course. Just sitting there. Living there...right across the road from him.

"Ah hell," he exclaimed, running his palm over his face, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

Later that Evening…

Finally, Darren and Isaac were asleep. Stopping every so many feet Sylvia bent to pick up a squeaky toy, an ABC electronic learning center toy, stuffed animals, blocks, and countless Lego circles and squares. How different her life had become since her own children reached their adulthood and moved out of the safe haven of their parent's home. Stopping at the playpen, she dropped in the armful and turned to gather more. Shaking her head, she remembered a time when her children were small. They were the ones who had to pick up their toys before they took their bedtime baths. Now here she was doing it. She was turning into a true grandparent. "Not!" she declared. Tomorrow Isaac would pick up behind himself. She blew at a strand of hair hanging over her brow. It bothered her to scold him for approaching Everett and the motorcycle. She knew that she was right in correcting him strongly for crossing the road, but there had been more motive than that in her ire. It had been him. The presence of Everett Styles. That was where her discomfort lay. He was on her mind far more than she cared for him to be. His presence was wrecking carefully laid plans to be alone. To isolate herself. She was both glad that he kept his distance and angry that he had no problem doing so. Throwing her head back, Sylvia laughed out loud at herself, her reasoning...and the burden of being such a complex woman.

"Why can't I be just like so many other women?" she asked herself. "Why can't I just see a man and simply want him for what he can provide me with for the here and now? Why?" She stopped in the middle of the floor and thought about it for a moment.
What would he do if I just up and called him
?
What would he think?
Shaking her head, she decided against it. She wasn't so forward, nor could she find anything in her to be that way. "I mean, just look at him. The kind of man he is. He had a drawer full of condoms, for goodness sake! What does that tell you?"
That he practices safe sex, maybe?
"No! That he probably jumps anything in a skirt!"
Um-hm, and you need to convince yourself of that to keep from thinking about him.
"Not that it's working," she admitted out loud. After cleaning up the living room, dining room and the kitchen, she went to check on the boys once again. Just as she was closing the door to the room they slept in, she heard a gentle tapping at her kitchen door.