The Birth of Bane (14 page)

“
Eeew!” she
squeaked, breaking our savaging of one another. “I’m sorry!” She
had as if to back out.

“
Mom!”

She
stopped.

I could tell she
was upset. Seeing Myra with her shirt pulled up around her neck
didn’t help either. I got up as my girlfriend quickly readjusted
herself. Though, my mom had been the one busting-in on us, I still
felt bad. Maybe as remorseful as a seventeen-year-old could feel
while experiencing the full-blown urges of puberty. Plus, I had a
willing partner, which made things even more tempting. So, I guess
I was actually somewhere between regret that she’d caught us and
frustrated with myself for not having heard her come up the stairs
or walk down the hall. I’d been caught up in the moment.

“
You two
shouldn‘t be behaving that way,” she said when she found her
voice.

“
Sorry.” It was
Myra, speaking for the both of us.

My mother looked
disappointed when her eyes met mine. A moment later, grim
determination settled within. “I hope you both realize there is
more to being together with someone than just being physical with
them.” Her orbs were burning and found us individually.

I felt my face
twist, admonished. “
Mom
.”

Why did it have
to sound like a plea?

“
This isn’t all
we do, Mrs. Favor,” ventured Myra, trying to explain, but the way
she worded it, it sounded like she was admitting we did more than
merely make out. She made it seem like we sometimes screwed our
brains out.

I winced. I knew
she was trying to alleviate some of my mother’s worry, but she…
well, sometimes, especially when we were young, Myra lacked the
words necessary to get her point across.

She had placed
us on ground that was more unstable than ever.

My mother raised
her eyebrows. “Are you having sex with my son?”

I felt my jaw
hit the floor. Though, I’d been thinking along the same line of
thought, never in a million years did I think my mom would actually
voice the question. Specifically, one of that nature.

Myra’s eyes
bulged out of their sockets. She blushed furiously.

“
Well, that
certainly answers my question.” She made to leave, but again
stopped as a second thought crossed her mind. “Are you using
protection?”

My girlfriend
and I exchanged an uneasy glance.

I didn’t know
what to do. I was typically honest with my mother. We’d always had
an open relationship. I always told her what I was feeling, how I
was feeling, etc. We just hadn’t broached the subject of sex in
detail yet, and the gap it had forged between us was showing. I
swallowed.
If I lied now, she
would never trust us. That left only one thing left,
right?

“
We haven’t
actually gone…” I paused to swallow again. I saw Myra bow her head
at the corner of my peripheral vision. “We haven’t done it yet, but
-.” I couldn’t continue.

“
You were
tempted?” prompted my mom.

My face was
stricken.

“
You
tried
?” Her voice
cracked.

I could only
nod.

She crossed her
arms below her breasts, filling and un-filling with a great huffs
of air.

I was chewing
the inside of my cheek, more nervous than I could ever remember. My
father, during one of his rages, hadn’t affected me like this.
Maybe it was because I cared so much about Myra and I had a huge
amount of respect for my mother. I couldn’t give two shits about
that butt-wipe, so it had to be my fear of being told I couldn’t
see my girl anymore and the idea of truly disappointing my mom at
the same time.

Of course, my
mother would never tell me to stay away from Myra.
Right?

She strode
toward my desk and took a seat on the office chair I used when I
did my homework. “Look, I know the both of you will be turning
eighteen next year,” she began.

I actually
exhaled with relief, knowing this would be a lecture and not a
tirade with unlimited possible outcomes.

She gestured
with her hand. “And, I know you guys really like each other. I can
see that.” She turned toward Myra, her chin pointing directly at
her. “You should feel lucky, my dear. My son has never been this
focused on a single girl until you came along.”

My girlfriend
had the temerity to smile back at my mom. “I do feel
lucky.”

“
But, young
lady, you must understand, with that degree of intensity, there are
bound to be doors opening or boundaries crossed you’ve never been
willing to breach prior to being with my son.” She glanced over at
me. “And, I’m sure the same goes for him.”

My lips melted
into a lopsided grin. There was no denying I wanted Myra. Though, I
had wanted many girls, it had always been more of a conceptual
notion. With my girlfriend, it was real. It was something I could
touch and feel, and taste. Myra made those thoughts tangible. My
mother was one hundred percent accurate. Myra and I had been
steadily progressing down the road toward a deeper sort of intimacy
for quite some time. If her anatomy had been more accommodating our
conversation would’ve been entirely different. Possibly a more
confrontational one, but what my mom had said would’ve still rang
true. Myra and I were hot for one another. It was carnal, basis,
like breathing or the beating of one’s heart.

“
I just haven’t
felt this way about a boy before,” admitted my
girlfriend.

You
see?

I was surprised
she’d be this forthcoming with
my
mom, but it shouldn’t
have been too much of a shock. My mom had a way with people,
especially us teens. She could relate to us and we could understand
what she was saying. Though I didn’t know it at the time, it’s a
very rare trait among adults.

Pillar, my
wonderful mom, sighed, not unlike I’d seen Myra do scores of times.
“We all do, sweetie.”

A thoughtful
silence befell us.

My mom is the
absolute coolest person ever
, I
was thinking when:

“
You guys need
to be careful.” Her voice was soft, measured as if she were
thinking about each and every word before she said them. “I cannot
stop you from doing what you’re gonna do. I know. I was once your
age. But, you have to be aware that with physical contact there are
consequences, and these kinds of consequences can change your life
– forever.”

Myra and I
exchanged a warm glance. Suddenly, we were both glad we’d decided
to wait a while. It didn’t mean we were above doing other things,
things that might make my mother’s hair stand on end, but for now
intercourse was something we were contemplating, not practicing.
Even in my wildest dreams I don’t think I would’ve considered being
relieved I
hadn’t
had sex with the girl of my
dreams.

“
Do you guys
promise you’ll be smart?”

“
Yes,” I
answered at once.

Yea, my mother
was bitchin’!

“
We will,” said
my girlfriend on the heels of my retort.

“
Good.” My
mother beckoned Myra.

The teenage girl
walked from the bed to stand before her.

My
m
om grabbed her by both hands.
“Take
care
of yourself, ok?” she said, her look suddenly
pointed.

My girlfriend
nodded emphatically. “I will.”

“
You know what
I’m talking about, right?”

“
Yes.”

I had no clue
what they were saying to one another, but whatever it was, it had
to be a
girlie
-thing. It went over
my head like a fart in the wind.

My mother got up
and smoothed out the sweat pants she was wearing. I hadn’t noticed
she was wearing a matching set, complete with a tank-top colored
the same and thin-soled Nikes. She held out a sheaf of papers to
me. “Read this, while I make us all some lunch.”

“
What is
it?”

“
It’s what I
came up to show you before I saw… what I didn’t want to see.” She
wriggled the pages at me.

I came toward
her. “Doesn’t really answer my question, does it?”

She pretended to
whack me over the head with them. “Don’t push it, young man.” She
smiling broadly, her face was cheerful again. “It’s a
history.”

“
Of what?” asked
Myra. She loved stories, any kind. It didn’t matter if they were
fictional or not, she loved them all. I guess that’s why she’s the
perfect wife. She’s always willing to read what I’ve wrote,
regardless if it’s droll or not.

“
Of the house,
this house to be exact.”

“
Where did you
find it?” My girlfriend came to stand next to me, her tiny shoulder
rubbing against by bicep.

“
Not another
dream,” I interjected before my mom could answer.

“
No! It wasn’t
in a dream. I found it with all the property tax information Jessie
left for me when we closed escrow.”

She put the
three yellowed pages into my hand.

I stared down at
them. They were typed, the ageless Remington font staring back at
me from a bygone era.

“
Read it to
Myra. She’ll like it.” With that she was gone.

*****

According to the
pages I was holding, the ground floor of the house had taken two
whole years to build and was finished in 1909 by Mr. Marion Gates
and his colleagues. He was a bold architect and one of the first
building contractors to be licensed and bonded to work in this
portion of the fledgling city of Los Angeles. He had built it for
his new bride, Florence Witherton-Gates and presented it to her as
a wedding gift upon its’ completion, though she’d watched it being
built from the moment the very first brick was laid into what would
later become the basement. Apparently, she and Mr. Gates had
“camped” on the site until the house was completed.

I remember
thinking two years was an awful long time to be living out of a
tent. But, then Myra had said, people were different back then, and
I, finding no fault in her assessment, had to agree. They were.
They were hardier than we are now, could endure so much more
without batting an eye. The more I thought about it, the more it
reminded me of the brave men, women and children who trekked across
the vast North American continent, looking for a better life than
their ancestors had in Europe, one of their own making. Mr. and
Mrs. Gates seemed much like them, taking chances, gambling for
something more rewarding out of life.

“
It’s kinda
romantic,” I said one whim.

Myra had looked
at me through glittering eyes. “Yes, it is.” She was staring
now.

I smiled, my
brow fluttering in question.

“
Are you really
that
adorable?” she asked
playfully.

I turned smug.
“But, of course!”

She laughed and
squirmed onto my lap. “No wonder I want to jump your
bones.”

We kissed for a
time before I went on reading.

Having enjoyed
their rustic existence until the spring of 1909, the Gates had
conceived their first child, Franklin, while still living within
their spacious tent. He had been walked across the finished
threshold of their new home when he was months old.

On the winter of
1912, Elizabeth (a mentally challenged child) was born in the
Master Suite. To care for her special needs, the Gates had
sectioned off a portion of that chamber, creating the sunroom where
Florence could sit with her new child and relax in the rays of the
early morning sun.

In the summer of
1914, Mrs. Gates planted what was to become the towering elm in
what was her front yard back then.

The following
year, Jackson Michael was born. He would prove to be the last of
the Gates children.

In December
1918, three years later, Florence planted the area’s vey first
magnolia tree to commemorate the end of the Great War. It was
nothing short of incredible to think that all of the magnolia’s
lining the various streets around Lincoln Drive had come from the
tree Mrs. Gates had put in the ground all of those years prior. In
this part of the neighborhood, they are virtually everywhere. Some
of them are fifty to sixty feet tall!

By then, they
had outgrown the house and Mr. Gates, taking advantage of the
demolition of a local country club, had used the discarded lumber
to build the second story and the attic. This had taken a year to
finish, circa the spring of 1920, but at least the boys no longer
had to share a room and Elizabeth had more space to herself, which
she guarded fiercely.

During that
time, Mr. Gates also had the root cellar installed, so the family
could store its’ “underground vegetables”, which (as we assumed)
also stored more illicit products as well - those of the liquid
sort.