Tears on a Sunday Afternoon (18 page)

“Julie, I had to ask.”

“Donald, I don’t know what your opinion of me is, but it was enough that I had to go from Brian to you. I’ve never had two men in one year, much less slept with two men at the same time. I haven’t been with Brian since I’ve been with you and I doubt I’ll ever be with him again.”

“Julie, it’s just the life that I have lived. I usually have to ask these questions.” It was comical that Julie had said that she hadn’t slept with two men in one year. I had personally slept with more than five women in a week. It was our difference and our strength. Julie and I were on the same planet but, even though we both lived in New York, our days and nights were not the same. Did a person’s environment shape him or did he shape his environment? I didn’t know. There were so many people whose lives might have been worse or better than mine, yet their directions were drastically different from mine.

The anger was still in her voice. “Donald, I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

I thought about saying something to make her feel better but it might have backfired and made it worse. “Okay,” I said and hung up the phone.

I dialed Brian’s number to make arrangements to meet him.

“What’s up, Brian?” I asked when he came on the phone.

“I don’t know what’s going on with Julie. I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t want me to come over. She won’t even call me unless I call her. Donald, I think I’ve lost her. You’re her friend. She hasn’t told you anything?”

“Not a damn thing,” I said. “Brian, why don’t you give her some time? Sometimes you have to let a woman go for her to come back to you.”

“Yeah. I know that one and if she doesn’t come back, hunt her down and shoot her,” he said as muffled laughter came over the phone.

“Well, I wasn’t thinking of that extreme, but I guess that would work, providing you’re willing to go to jail over some pussy.”

“Donald, there you go again, thinking of women as pieces of meat. If you ever really fall in love, I’m sure that your opinion will change.”

“Maybe you’re right, Brian, but I believe my grandmother when she said whenever that happens I will be fucked. But, like you said, maybe I need to.”

“You are finally listening! Donald, in this world of trials and tribulations, love is the only thing we’ve got. Now, I’m begging you, please talk to Julie. I need to know what’s going on,” he pleaded.

If there was a place for sinners and liars, I needed to be first in line. “I hear you, Brian. I promise I’ll talk to her tomorrow. And I’ll see you tomorrow to return the thing.”

“See you tomorrow,” Brian said and hung up the phone.

I reached into the closet with a napkin and took the gun with two magazines and put it in a black shoulder bag. I had to get to the park at least two hours ahead of the meeting. When we had left the park the first time, I had made a note of where Malcolm was parked. With humans being creatures of habit, I was certain that he would park there again. I knew he would not bring any of his guards with him; he did not perceive me as a physical threat. I was going to make sure that was the last mistake he ever made. I was a man and I was capable of killing, just like him.

I
walked into the church a few minutes after the service had started.

The scent of incense permeated the air. I had accepted the fact that I was beautiful and wherever I went women’s eyes would zoom in on me like bees to a hive. I ignored their lustful eyes in the church of the Lord and took a seat between a young boy dressed in a baby-blue suit and a young woman in a red and white dress. Her ample bosom was uplifted by the currently popular Wonderbra. She smiled; certain that she had won a prize. I smiled back in acknowledgment that we happened to be at the same place at the same time. The young boy, who could not have been more than six years old, nudged me to direct my attention to his mother; a woman whose best days had long passed. I returned her joyful smile, then directed my attention to the front of the church.

The pastor, an old white man in his late sixties, had a lot to say about the weakness in our characters. He called on his parishioners to leave the sex, drugs and meanness alone. He urged us to love each other and help each other. There were a lot of amens muttered in the church as each main point was acknowledged. I agreed with everything he had to say, including the fact that we were totally self-obsessed with our pitiful appearance. Throughout the service, I was aware of the closing of space between the lady in red and white and myself, until her ample chest was resting comfortably on my arm.

The service continued into a series of announcements and information decimation. After fifteen minutes of preaching and an hour and forty-five minutes of church affairs, the service was finally over.

The lady in red had a name. “My name is Cindi.”

“Donald.” I stood and waited for her to do the same. She didn’t seem like she was in a hurry to go anywhere. The six-year-old boy had shimmied himself out and was now waiting for his mother at the end of the pew.

“Excuse me,” the boy’s mother said to me, her smile no longer visible. It had been replaced with an angry scowl that begged for an explanation of my audacity in keeping her from her appointed task.

“Cindi, we’re blocking the pew,” I said.

Cindi looked over at the restless mother, rolling her eyes, and continued to rummage through her red bag. “I’ve got it,” she said, pulling out a red phone. She then stood up and walked out of the pew. I followed behind her with the now irate mother behind me. I stopped outside of the pew to glance at my watch. I had come to the church to go to confessional. It was my minor bid at salvation. The capacity-filled church was now inhabited by a sprinkling of people. I was about to head to the confessional booth when Cindi blocked my way.

“You weren’t going to leave before saying bye and taking my number, were you?” She pushed her hips back to accentuate her big, fat ass.

I reached out my hand and took her hand and shook it firmly. “Cindi, it was a pleasure meeting you. I must go.”

“You’re married, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, very happily married,” I said.

“So, can we be friends?” she asked, not losing that “you’re mine” look on her face.

I put my left hand over my eyes and appeared to be in deep thought. “I don’t think my wife would like that.” I made my way toward the confessional booth without waiting for a response from Cindi.

In direct contrast to the big open church, the confessional booth was cramped and smelled of wilted flowers. I did the customary kneeling, then took a seat next to the porous screen. A small scraping sound indicated the priest was sliding his screen back.

“I’m sorry, Father, for I have sinned,” I said.

There was an outline of a man’s face behind the screen. “What have you done, my son?”

“Where should I begin, dear father?”

“Wherever you wish, my son.”

“Well, Father, I have slept with hundreds of women, lied to men and women and cheated on my wife on numerous occasions. I got married to my wife because she had money and hated my father because he raped my mother. I killed my father and I see no end in sight for my horrible behavior.”

“Why are you here, my son?” the priest asked.

“Father, I have recently fallen in love with a beautiful woman whom I would like to spend the rest of my life with. But my lust for the flesh seems to be a never-ending battle. I’ve been good lately but I don’t know how long I can continue. Later on today, I have to settle a matter that will free my body but tie up my soul. And tomorrow will mark a total change in the direction of my life.”

As I spoke to the priest, I began to feel much more relaxed and the words came out effortlessly as the tremor in my hands subsided.

“Son, listen to that guide that God has given you and follow it. If your guide is telling you that it is wrong, do not do it. Your past sins can only be forgiven by your prayers and the direction of your future. Pray to the Lord for guidance so that the little voice will steer you away from the bad. Pray to the Lord so that little voice will stop you before your misdeeds. Son, you have done bad deeds but God has welcomed worse into His garden. Go forth today and be blessed.” He pulled the screen back and only his presence was felt behind the screen.

“Thank you, Father,” I said and rose from the wooden bench. I walked out of the booth, relieved that I was no longer the only one weighted by my troubles. I half expected to see Cindi rising from one of the pews. I was happy when I walked outside in the company of myself. I didn’t know what I was hoping to find in church, but I felt I had to tell my tale. I knew that there wouldn’t be any intervention by God to change my actions, yet I was drawn by the only savior of man. As I walked down the street toward my car, I realized that only man could stop himself. There was no lightning bolt that would come crashing down from the sky and leave me in a molten heap. I had escaped the punishment of God and now I had to continue to create my reality.

The sun had made its descent about an hour ago and the cool fall warranted a light jacket. I parked my car on 88th Street, a driveway away from Seaview Avenue. There were lots of parking spaces on Seaview Avenue, the street that bordered the park with the Atlantic Ocean, but I didn’t park my car anyplace on that street. It was like going to fuck a man’s wife and parking in his driveway, which was a no-no. In the event of a quick getaway, there should be some maneuvering possible. While in the car, I had slipped the gun into my waistband and it was now nudging against my bare skin. I took it and a small pillow to the arranged meeting place. I threw the pillow a few feet away from where our meeting was supposed to be held.

I went into the park and did a few stretches. There were about two other people running in the park. I watched one of them speed by me as if he was about to catch a moving bus. The other was a woman in her late fifties; her pace on the track meant that time was not of the essence to her. She was most likely of the opinion that whenever you finished, it was a good thing. The hood was over my head as I started the jog around the park. The increase in the air pressure felt good as my heart pumped blood through my body. The gun nudging against my skin was becoming unbearable. I made it around the park twice, then I jogged off the track to wait for the arrival of Mr. Malcolm. As expected, he was punctual, parking his black 2006 Chrysler 300 behind a black Mazda 626. I watched him get out of the car with a black bag. He adjusted his black slacks, then started the trek across the park. He had a fedora pulled down over his eyes. I waited for him to go to the arranged meeting place before I started walking over to join him.

I removed the gun as I walked down the small path that led to the clearing. I saw Mr. Malcolm ahead of me; his face turned in the opposite direction.

“I see you made it,” I said, hoping not to spook him.

“Yes, I have it all here for you,” he said, still facing away from me.

I picked up the pillow and put it in front of the gun. I moved swiftly toward Mr. Malcolm, my finger on the trigger. As I approached, he began to turn around. I reached forward with both hands, my left hand holding the pillow and my right hand, the gun. The blood circulated in my body three times as fast as when I was running earlier. As soon as I made contact against him with the pillow, I jammed the gun into it and pulled the trigger. My hand jerked as three bullets left the barrel of the gun and Mr. Malcolm pitched forward. In his right hand, he was clutching a forty-five pistol; definitely a relic from his younger days. He had fallen forward on his face with his mouth and eyes wide open. I reached down and disengaged his fingers from the black bag he was carrying. I unzipped the bag and opened it to find a bag full of torn newspapers. I smiled because my prediction had come true. I went through the bag, then later his pockets. I removed his wallet and his keys. I made one last look around the area, then exited the parking lot in the opposite direction from where I had come in.

It took me a minute to make the complete circle back to my car. I got in and drove off. It took me about two minutes to get onto the Belt Parkway; then I exited to a rest area overlooking the sea. I got out of the car and ignored the couple humping in a white Toyota Camry. I walked out to the water and under the cover of the night, I threw Mr. Malcolm’s belongings into Jamaica Bay. I lashed out with my right hand to crush a mosquito that had made preparation to use my neck for dinner. The small red blotch of blood was barely visible in the center of my palm. The mosquito, like me, was trying to survive and in the process it had lost its life. I had begun the cleansing and whereas it wasn’t as spiritual as in BLACKFUNK, nevertheless, I hoped it would be equally as effective. Sometimes you had to start anew and only take what you couldn’t leave behind. I was on my way to that new start.

I drove to Brian’s apartment, being ever so obedient to the driving laws of our city. Brian was waiting for me at the door when I reached out to knock on it.

“You took care of your business?” he asked as he let me into his apartment.

“Yeah, I had to show the old man that I wasn’t going to be a punk anymore,” I said, handing Brian the bag with the gun.

“I feel you, my brother. Sometimes, when they don’t listen to the words, the sword has to be brandished.”

I laughed at Brian’s attempt at being poetic. “Brian, you’ve been reading the spoken word?”

“No, Man, these guys aren’t saying anything new. You want one?”

“No, I don’t feel like alcohol this evening. I want something much lighter. Do you have any orange juice or lemonade?”

Brian paused for a second. “Yeah, I have some orange juice. Foodtown had it on sale, two for five, so I picked up a couple. You don’t think the old man will bother you anymore?”

“No, Man, we came to an understanding today. He now realizes how much I love my son. I don’t think I’ll need to have another conversation with him. You heard from Julie?”

“Yeah, she surprised me and gave me a call today. I was totally shocked. Nothing has changed though. She told me that she’ll talk to me tomorrow.”

“I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself. Now is the time to dip into that black book.” I took the glass of orange juice from Brian.

“I tried, Man, but I couldn’t do it. I had this girl, Niki, over last night. You know, the emergency fuck, but I couldn’t go through with it. She’s cool though. She told me to call her whenever.” Brian sat down at the table, opposite me, with a Heiny in his hand.

“Well, a lot of things will be decided tomorrow. I think I’m going to go home and get some sleep.” I drank the rest of the orange juice.

“You nervous about tomorrow?” Brian asked.

“I thought I was going to be, but I’m not. I guess the shit I’ve been going through has created a certain resolve in my mind.”

“Don’t start acting like President Bush and go and start another war. I get very concerned when the word ‘resolve’ starts getting thrown around.”

“Brian, you’re an idiot,” I said, getting up from the table.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Brian said as I walked to the door. I had one more stop to make before I went home.