The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (10 page)

Sylvia wanted blood not logic and interpretations of each discourse.

“Who is this fool, Peter?” Sylvia asked. Peter, his eyes still lowered, finally spoke: “Just listen, Sill. Please, give me a chance to explain.”

“I wish you would explain but the only conversation I’m getting is from this stranger, excuse me, your friend or should I say
your
lover. Why the hell am I here anyway, Peter? Take me home this instant. Here I am with Victoria’s Secret lingerie on and for what? There are no men here just little boys and faggots. Damn, Peter you could have at least gotten a good lookin’ faggot,” Sylvia laughed.

“You two are pathetic. Grandpa over there tryin’ to look like Ricardo Mon-talban with his smokin’ jacket on and you standing there lookin’ like Tattoo. You two don’t even make gay bashin’ fun. Damn you both to hell! Just take me home,” she was crying now but then caught herself abruptly. “What the hell am I crying for? I don’t have any questions about my sexuality. I’ve always been very much a woman. See!” Sylvia dropped the shawl from her shoulders. “Is this what you want to be? A goddamn woman?” She was crying again and on the verge of hysterics. “Please take me home, Peter. Please! Just take me home!”

“Perhaps we should step into my study, Sylvia, maybe have a cup of tea and see if we can come to an understanding. Maybe we can resolve our differences. Communication is the key, you know,” Dr. Marchus said with an air of authority.

Sylvia glared at him. “If you say another word to me Dr. Marchus or whatever the hell your name is I will knock the living shit out of you. Do you understand? Now Peter bring your punk-ass on or give me the keys.” And with that said, Sylvia turned and walked out the door.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Shipp, despite your misgivings about me,” Dr. Mar-chus said.

Sylvia spun around as soon as she got outside the front door. If Peter even thinks about kissing that man in front of me again I’ll beat both their sorry asses, she thought to herself. But there was no pretense of affection this time as both men walked to the door.

“You know Sylvia, I honestly believed from what Peter told me about you that you would be a bit more understanding. But I honestly can understand your hurt as a Black woman. Still, I somehow thought that with all the prejudice and injustice that Black people have endured...

Well, I guess I just didn’t figure that you would be as closed minded as most. I must admit that I am sorry that there was no communication. Perhaps, if there had been some dialogue then you would have understood the dilemma that Peter is undergoing. Again, I am sorry. I’m sorry for Peter. He really does love you. He fought with the idea of asking you to marry him but I thought it best that he tell you that he had homosexual tendencies. He’s a bit naive, you know and he honestly believed that he could overcome his homosexuality if he were to marry you,” the doctor said.

Sylvia shocked, turned to Peter. Was this true? Peter, obviously dejected by the whole turn of events sat in the car his head resting on his hands atop the steering wheel. The doctor continued, “He’s struggled with this since he returned to school. I did no more than play devil’s advocate. There is no doubt that I love Peter. Yet, at my age and in my infinite wisdom, I have come to learn that one cannot possess another and if Peter chooses to leave me there is nothing I can do to hold him. But if I truly love this young man I certainly wouldn’t want to see him hurt. Should he be happier with you then I must bow out as gracefully as a jilted lover can. But I’d be willing to bet that had he told you of his homosexuality some years down the road it may have had a far more devastating effect on both of you than it would today. It is my belief that people should be up front with each other from the outset of any relationship. Peter agreed but was so afraid of losing you that he kept it a secret until now. I guess he knew you better than I after all. From all he told me, I continued to tell him that if you were as open-minded as he professed you to be that you would find some happy medium, some way in which you two could work this out.

He was so anxious to leave here and find somewhere to start over with you in a place where his past would not follow him, a place where you two could throw down stakes and settle down and raise a family. I actually grew jealous knowing that I wasn’t included in his plans.

I so hated constantly hearing how absolutely gorgeous you were and what a fantastic teacher you were that I even went so far as to threaten to cut him out of my will. I have no children, no heir apparent and have amassed a small fortune all of which is bequeathed to Peter. Yet, it did little good to threaten him when it came to you my dear. So, what was I to do? I simply accepted the fact that you were now a part of our lives and Peter would be leaving when he could come to grips with the skeletons that plagued him. You know, Sylvia, I have considerable influence in the region due to my wealth I suppose. And when you first became a threat to my happiness, I had you investigated out of pure anger and malice.”

“Why, you bastard,” Sylvia shouted. “You son of a bitch!” The doctor ignored her.

“I was hoping to find some dirt, something to persuade Peter that you were not the person he thought you were. I hired a private investigator that learned of your ordeal when you were in college as well as your stint in the mental ward. By the time, I received the information I was so ashamed that I never told Peter. Knowing Peter, do you think either of these incidents would have changed the way he felt about you? I think not. That is one of the reasons he still doesn’t know. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t told him either. What if he were to ask you to marry him? Would you tell him that you are not able to bear children? I doubt it very seriously. Do you know why? Because after meeting you I’m painfully aware of one thing if nothing else. And that’s that you are not half the woman that he is man. You’re out for Sylvia and Peter’s nothing more to you than a prime candidate for a husband and a meal ticket,” the doctor said.

No, he didn’t just go there, Sylvia thought to herself. This goddamn bearded, old geezer with an appetite for young Black men didn’t just call me a ‘gold digger,’ did he? Sylvia was beside herself with anger but Dr. Marchus was hardly finished.

“You’ve go to admit, he’s a helluva catch. Young, bright and good looking, Peter finished in the top five-percent of his class as an undergrad and came out first in the Master’s program. I bet you didn’t know that, did you?”

“No I didn’t,” Sylvia heard herself mumble in spite of herself.

“He’s got companies recruiting him from as far away as Hawaii. But More-house was in a bind and was desperate to find a professor of engineering. When they couldn’t find one, they asked Peter. So, he put off his career plans and took the position. He could have made twice what he’s making here but he has this thing about giving something back to the community. Actually, I think he was waiting to see if he had exhausted all of his options concerning you. Anyway, after you guys got back together again he couldn’t wait to leave. I know he wished he hadn’t taken the teaching position now but he’s committed to his students and the college. He had it all planned so perfectly. He was throwing out options to you, mentioning different cities hoping you would bite so he could get a feel for where you might want to relocate. Sure, he had his preferences but he wanted to go where he was sure you’d be most happy.

Once the school year ended, Peter was going to propose and start packing but from what he tells me you grew angry every time he brought the subject of relocating up. I’m truly sorry that things didn’t work out between you two, and I’m not being facetious by any means but after meeting you I’m glad they didn’t.” Knocking the ashes from his pipe, the doctor turned and walked back into the house.

“Fuck you,” was all Sylvia could manage as she made her way to the Lexus.

Peter was not there smiling or holding the door as she’d become so accustomed to. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice her as she wrapped her shawl around herself and closed the car door. She didn’t care. The mere thought of him sleeping with that old geezer gave her the willies. It was revolting and to think she was willing to give herself to this faggot only an hour or so ago with no protection.
Hell, he probably had AIDS.

The ride home seemed to take forever. When they finally did arrive Sylvia jumped out of the car without so much as looking back and Peter pulled away before she could turn the key in the lock.

“Why you bastard,” she yelled after the departing car. “You no-good bastard!”

Once inside, Sill fell down on the very same living room sofa she had hoped would be the start of something beautiful and cried like a baby.

But by the time Monday rolled around, Peter was just another bad memory and she was back in front of her classroom doing what she did best, teaching.

“I’m young, bight and intelligent and most men find me attractive. I have my whole life in front of me. I hardly have time to look back or have regrets and I have twenty-six beautiful beaming faces that look to me for guidance and depend on me. I’ve got to keep pushing on, if not for me then for them. Besides I’m not sure that I ever loved Peter anyway.” Hearing the sound of her own voice frightened her and it took her a few minutes to regain her composure.

She considered how she’d felt straddling him last Friday night and wondered if God himself weren’t punishing her for using Peter or at least having ulterior motives. What was even more disturbing were the thoughts she’d had about the rape and the fact that she had all intentions of making Peter pay for something he had nothing at all to do with. But then again he was a man and they were all worthless in her eyes. Sylvia felt herself smile and knew immediately that she still had some unresolved issues and was frightened once more.

Searching for the business card Dr. Reid had given her the last time home and not being able to locate it she promised herself to find it when she got home that evening and set up an appointment. At least that’s what she told herself.

The weeks following Peter’s admission were uneventful. She seldom thought of Peter now, and after a week, she stopped checking her voice-mail to see if he had called. The only thing that really perturbed her was why she couldn’t seem to keep a man. Why? Why? Why? She sighed wearily.

Well, whatever the reason there was no need to worry about that now. She had been neglecting her kids ever since she and Peter had gotten back together. Now it was time to get back in the swing of things and pick up the pace. The hell with men. She was through this time. After Peter there would be no more. From now on there could only be one man in her life and that would be her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. To hell with those roguish fools running around like dogs off their chains. The only man she would put her faith in from now on was the Lord.

Never again would she be subjected to the human frailties of love and sex. No longer would she feel compelled to look for happiness in another human being. No longer would she trust any man or allow him to jeopardize her emotional well being. For her those days were long gone.

CHAPTER 7
 

The third grade class at Community Elementary School 73X made unbelievable strides with the re-energized Ms. Shipp at the helm. And by the time spring rolled into Fulton County, Georgia with its peach trees in full blossom, her class ranked behind only Mr. Oscevedo’s in growth according to those damn standardized tests she hated so much. And there was good reason. She spent every waking hour finding new and creative ways to motivate her students to reach for higher goals. And it was paying off. The culmination of her efforts came during the annual spring concert when she had each of her students dress as slaves and recite a part of the Declaration of Independence.

Parents and teachers applauded her efforts for weeks afterward. Even the usually rather stoic, Mr. Cooper, seemed inspired by her students’ efforts. Yet, and still, there was a void, an eerie emptiness in her life that she couldn’t quite seem to figure out or to fill. She hated to think that she needed a man to be happy but that’s the way it was beginning to look. She pulled out the card Dr. Reid gave her the last time she’d seen him and seriously considered calling the number of the therapist on more than one occasion. Each time she thought of the very painful and probing questions that he would inevitably ask she would neatly fold the tiny piece of paper up and place it back in her wallet.
No need to revisit old haunts,
she told herself.

Sensing something slightly amiss in her daughter during their weekly phone conversations Mrs. Shipp suggested Sylvia find a church if she hadn’t found one yet. “Just place your troubles in the hands of the Lord, sweetheart,” she would tell her apropos of nothing.

A devout Methodist, Mrs. Shipp, was a firm believer in the power of prayer and had become ‘born again’ during her daughter’s protracted hospital stay.

She sensed Sylvia’s loneliness but feared asking about Peter. Her maternal instincts told her the pair was no together any longer. But then it didn’t take a NASA scientist to figure that one out.

The last time Sylvia came home, she was alone and didn’t mention Peter’s name once. The older woman had long ago learned not to pry into her daughter’s private affairs knowing that if something was bothering Sill and she wanted to talk then she would in her own good time.

In actuality, Sylvia had been to quite a few churches since her move to Atlanta. She was just having difficulty finding one that fit her. Most of the Black churches she went to were no different from the ones in Elizabethtown where the preacher seemed enamored by the sound of his own voice. All too often she would walk away at the end of service still wondering what it was the minister was trying to convey.

At others, there was the typical ceremonial grunting and hollering that she so despised followed by a chorus of amen’s. It reminded her of those old James Brown records her daddy used to be so fond of and that new girl. What’s her name? The one who never said nothin’ but baby, baby, baby. Oh, yeah. Ashanti! In any case, those churches always left her hungry, always wanting for more. She had even gone so far as entertaining the idea of converting to Catholicism after reading an article in the
Atlanta Constitution
about the growing number of Black Catholics in Atlanta. But after entering a small Catholic Church one Sunday morning and feeling every head turned to view the new arrival she had second thoughts. After all she was not there to be judged by her peers for her outward appearance. That’s not what church was all about. Despite that, she still wasn’t sure if she could be a part of a religion where the faithful didn’t have enough respect to dress not so much for one another but for their God. As open-minded as she appeared to be, she was still shocked to find many of the parishioners in faded jeans and dirty sneakers. When she finally got past the dress code or lack thereof and the
horrible
singing coming from what was supposed to be a choir, the incessant genuflecting and shaking hands, the whole affair was over. She wasn’t sure, after all the standing and kneeling if she was coming from Gold’s Gym for her afternoon workout or if she’d just been the twenty-third customer through Burger King’s drive through window. And just like dining at one of those fast food chains, she found herself still to be hungry five minutes later and struggling to remember what she’d consumed in the way of a message. That’s what the Catholic Church reminded her of: A fast food joint, a gym and just about everything but God.