Don't Cry Out (3)
Denis drove me to the city. Every city has its nice part; Bruce wasn’t in it. Growing up where I did, I hadn’t known many blacks. I wasn’t prejudiced, but I also wasn’t comfortable. Denis introduced me to Bruce at the little garage he ran. The first thing he ever said to me was, “hello there white girl,” which became my nickname for years. Denis explained the situation to Bruce, and he seemed to understand. He asked a few questions, made a couple suggestions, then pointed to a beat up looking van and said, “Get in. Dinner will be ready soon, and you should settle in before then.” I had a home again. Denis said his good-byes, and promised to stop the next day. Bruce made me nervous. He never did, or said, anything to make me feel that way, but I was rapidly learning not to trust people. When we got to the house he invited me in. “Come on in and meet Heather.” I walked through the door and was met by a young blonde woman. “Who’ve we got here?” “This is Denis’s girl.” “Well, that’s an odd name for her to have. My name’s Heather.” She held out her hand to me, and I shook it. “My name’s Leanne. It’s nice to meet you.” “She’s going to stay in the room upstairs for a while,” Bruce said. “How come?” “She needs a place, and I said she could have it.” “Well, she’s gonna need some stuff to stay up there. I think we can come up with a cot, and some blankets, but she’s gonna have to eat her meals with us.” I was brought into the house and told the rules. They had three dogs, but one of them was a watchdog, so I was never to use the back stairs without letting them know first. I was welcome as long as I wanted, but I would have to help with the work, and finally, no drugs, unless I shared. We ate dinner together and I answered a lot of questions about myself. By the end of the meal I knew I was safe with them. We retired to the living room, after the dishes were done, and smoked a huge bowl of pot. At first I considered turning it down, but then I thought, why not? We gathered some blankets, a folding cot, and went up stairs. It was a large, three bedroom apartment. It had been an after hours place, before Bruce bought the house. There were windows missing glass, holes in the walls, and no heat, but it was mine if I wanted it, free, until I could afford to put a little bit into helping fix it up. I knew it would need a lot of work, but I had a place of my own. I spent most of the night smiling in the back bedroom, and the rest of it looking around. The next morning I went downstairs and knocked on the door. Heather answered and invited me in. We talked for about and hour before Bruce woke up. He came out of the bedroom and headed for the bathroom, naked. I didn’t know what to do. A couple seconds later Heather started to laugh hysterically. I looked over to see she was laughing at me. “What’s so funny out there?” Bruce yelled from the bathroom. “You just scared this poor girl half to death! She ain’t never seen no naked black man strut through the house before!” “Well, if she ain’t payin’ rent, I ain’t sleepin’ dressed, so she better get used to it.” We all laughed and laughed over it for weeks. From the very start they never viewed me as a tenant. I was just myself. Bruce asked if I had any working clothes. I blushed and told him I left everything behind. He went into the bedroom and came out with a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. “Let’s see how these fit ya.” I went in the bathroom and put them on. The pants were too big, so I was holding them up when I came out. He looked me up and down and shook his head. “Can’t have your britches falling down.” He went into the hall and found a piece of rope. He tied it around my waist and looked me over again. “That’ll do for now I guess.” He turned and walked to the front door. After he opened it he turned back and said, “Well, hurry up! I ain’t gonna wait all day for you.” I hurried after him. We went to the garage where we had met the day before. He parked the van, looked at me and said, “com on then.” I followed him into the garage. He went over to a truck parked there, and he told me to watch him. He put brake pads on the truck, put the tire back on, wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket, and then turned to me. “Did you see what I did?” “Well, yeah, I guess.” “Good. You do the other side while I strip this engine.” “What? You’re kidding, right? I can’t do this!” “You said you watched me, now try. If you screw up, I just won’t pay you for it.” “Pay?” “Well, how the hell do you think you’re going buy new clothes? You ain’t that cute white girl!” Well, I put them on, wrong, but I put them on. He showed me what I did wrong, and helped me to get it right. I worked there for months. I learned how to do a lot of things, as well as how to figure out what to do with what I had. Bruce’s friends would stop by to chat, and I got to know most of them pretty well. Soon everyone started kidding him about his pet white girl, and I loved it! I saw Denis the next day, just like he promised, and every day after for almost two years. He moved his stuff in, without my consent, within days of my getting there. I didn’t put up much of a fight about it. I was afraid of what might happen. I was there because of Denis, and I could be homeless again just as easy. My best memory of that year is Christmas. I had a ratty looking tree all the needles fell off of before New Years. It was decorated with nothing but white lights and tinsel. The only present under the tree was a white teddy bear from Denis. I sat under that tree, with the Christmas lights on, and sang silent night. I made it to the end of the year. Life was as hard as I ever could have imagined, but I was somehow managing to do it. I had a very special New Years resolution that year. I resolved to make myself independent, and to never put myself in a position where I had to rely on anyone, ever again. I was tired of being scared all the time, and I was determined to make things work. 3 I worked for Bruce during the day, and spent the night getting high and having sex with Denis. He was starting to spend less and less time out. I was slowly making the climb up the independence ladder, and he was descending. It didn’t take long before I was supporting him. In early February I got a job at a local flower shop, stocking supplies and processing flowers for storage. It was hard work, but I was having a blast. I worked with a man named Rodger. He taught me about the machinery and chemicals in the business. Periodically I would finish my work early and ride with him on deliveries. The pay was ok, and I liked most of the people, except for the owner. He and I never got along. His wife had hired me, and she was the one who normally gave me my orders. I would order vases and oasis foam, and she would order seasonal items. We worked together making decisions on what was needed. Everything went well, unless Mr. D. stepped in. I would be working on a project, and he would tell me to go do something else, or I was doing things wrong. When I would ask him a question about anything, he would tell me to talk to his wife, but it never failed he would change things days later, blaming me for not “getting it right.” I learned to avoid Mr. D. and he would usually forget about me. Rodger and I would joke about Mr. D. all the time. Rodger would pretend to be him. He would push out his stomach, put his hands behind his back, and strut back and forth across the floor saying different things. “Where are the roses? I told you to take care of the roses. I don’t care if they haven’t arrived yet, I want them ready now!” For valentines that year, Mr. D. decided we should have a special on long stem roses. He made some phone calls and ordered what he thought we would use. Well, he over estimated, by about ten thousand roses. We had roses everywhere! We had roses in the coolers. We had roses in the prep. room. We had roses in the arranging area. We even had roses in the bathrooms! Mr. D. walked into the store, started bitching about how things looked, then called me upstairs. “Move these things somewhere,” he spouted. I looked around, scratched my head, and asked, “Do you have a somewhere in mind, because I’m out of ideas.” I thought he was going to explode all over the room. His face was purple, and I could count the veins sticking out of his neck. He looked at me, took a deep breath, and turned around to stormed out of the store. I didn’t see him again for two weeks. While I was at the flower shop working, Denis was at the apartment smoking pot and drinking beer. I would get home at the end of the day, and there would be a mess from one end of the place to the other. Denis would be sitting there asking what was for dinner. I often had to summon all of my strength not to bash his brains in. On the weekends I helped Bruce at the garage. Denis would bring his car over and ask me to stop what I was doing to help him. If I told him no, I would have to listen to him comment about how I was selfish, and if I did try and help, he would push me out of the way after a few minutes, telling me I was screwing things up. Most of the time Denis would leave the garage before the day’s work was done. Bruce would give me a ride and I would wait for Denis to come home. He was always drunk, and usually had pot with him. He was drinking every day by the time spring arrived. When he needed money he would drive out and steal it from his parents, rather than working. Eventually I started to notice my money disappearing. When I asked Denis about the missing money, he pulled his hand back in a fist to hit me. He didn’t swing, but he was willing to. The ground rules were set, and I no longer had the strength to fight. I was afraid of loosing what little I had, again. When you haven’t moved forward, you can’t afford to move back. I decided it was easier to live with things how they were. I smoked and drank to make the rest go away. I went through the motions day after day, work, clean, cook, sex, all of which were mixed with getting high. I was feeling like less and less of a person. One evening, in late March, Denis came home and told me he had a surprise for me. “I got us a bed.” “How did you pay for it?” “A friend of mine was getting rid of it, so I said we could use it. It’s even a double.” “How did you get it here? It wouldn’t fit in your car.” “Me,” Pat said as he turned the corner from the stairs. I wanted to run over, hug him, and beg him to take me away. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I felt like I was floating above the ground. “Thank you,” was all I said. Pat and Denis carried up the mattress and box spring and put them in the bedroom. I asked Pat to stay for a cup of coffee. Denis told us he would be right back in; he had to move his car from where it was parked. As the door latched behind him, Pat grabbed me and kissed me. I looked into his eyes and started to cry. “I missed you.” Pat gave me his phone number before he left. I hid it away. The next morning I memorized it and threw away the paper it was written on. I didn’t want Denis to know I had it because he could be the jealous type. I called Pat a couple of times per week from the pay phone across the street. I’d tell him about my day, and he would tell me about his. As much as I wanted to be with him, I couldn’t handle the rejection if he didn’t feel the same. I worked, cooked, cleaned, and looked forward to the next time I would talk to Pat, but I never told him how I really felt. I slowly earned enough money to put glass in the windows at the front of the house. The day the boards came down was wonderful. I had sunlight again. Having grown up on a farm, you spend a lot of time in the sun, but I hadn’t realized till then how much it affected me. I started scrubbing the floors, and washing the walls. When I was done I painted, and waxed the wood. I was frenzied in my mission, and my mission was to make this building my home. I wanted to wash all of the past away, and make what couldn’t be washed pretty, with a nice shine, to cover what was underneath. Everything dark would have to go, and everything fresh and light was brought out. I made the place look pretty good, and knowing it made me feel good. I found an old rug, in the garbage, on the good side of town. I brought it home, and cleaned it up. There was a hole on the edge of it, most likely the reason it had been thrown away, but I put a box over the hole and covered the box with a piece of cloth. There was a chair not far from where the rug had been, and it could accompany the box. I took some chipped vases from the garbage at work and filled them with old flowers that had been thrown away. They usually didn’t last more than a day or two, but they were free, and I liked to look at them. There were a few I dried and made into a wreath for my front door. One day, on my way to work, I passed a refrigerator with a sign on it that said, “FREE!!! WORKS OK!!!” As soon as I got to work I called Denis and told him to go get it. We had been keeping cold items in the attic, and the frozen things outside on the balcony, but the warm weather was starting and I couldn’t afford to buy milk and eggs every day. A refrigerator was something I needed, and the price was right. I helped Denis carry the refrigerator up the stairs and put it in the kitchen. I can still picture it, standing against the wall, near the window. I ran up to the attic, got the quart of milk and the carton of eggs, ran back down, and put them in my new refrigerator. It may be hard to imagine glass, a rug with a hole in it, a beat up chair with a rip in the arm, a cardboard box, some chipped vases, dead flowers, and a free refrigerator making someone so blissfully happy, but they did. They may not have been worth anything to anyone else, but they meant everything to me. Slowly I obtained all of the things I wanted, or needed. A mismatched, chipped set of dishes. A couple pieces of silverware. A dented, scratched frying pan. A wobbly table and chairs. Coffee mugs from the dollar store. A lamp from a garage sale. These things were brought to my home, and displayed as though they were fine pieces of art. Denis had been talked into taking a class to learn how to fix lawn mower engines. His father told him if he took it he would pay for the class, and give him a hundred dollars a week. The class was on Tuesday nights, once per week, for six months. It was a deal even Denis couldn’t pass up. One Tuesday morning in May, Denis asked if I wanted his parents sofa. They’d taken it out of what was left of their house. If I wanted it I could have it. There was a catch though; I had to get it that night, or it was going out to the garbage the next day. I told him I would love to have it. He told me I had better find a way to go and get it, because he had his class, so he couldn’t. I asked if I could use his van, a beat up yellow monstrosity his father had bought him. The very idea of my using the van sent him into a rage. He got up and started yelling at me, telling me I was using him, and asking why I couldn’t do anything for myself. When I pointed out I didn’t have a car, and couldn’t exactly bring a sofa on the bus, he told me it was my problem, not his. I said I was sorry for asking, and would try and find a way on my own. I called Pat. I knew he would help me out again, just like he always had before. I talked with him briefly on the phone, and he agreed to help, but he wanted my help also. He had been seeing Sue for a long while. She was the one he had started to date before we broke up. Till that call I always thought Pat and I would get back together. Then I knew I had to move forward, alone. She was pregnant. He found out the night before, and was scared to death. He asked me to talk to her and find out what she wanted to do. He knew he wasn’t ready to be a father yet, but he no longer controlled his own future. What a thing to ask me. I knew it wasn’t my place to get involved, but I also knew her choice would affect me in a profound way. I needed to know her, in some form, so I could decide what I was going to do. We decided our plans for the evening, and hung up the phone. I walked to work. I lived quite a distance from my job, but the distance was welcome that day. The air was damp, and there was a chill that hung in the air. These things went unnoticed. All I could think of was my own loss. The trees were just starting to get their leaves, and the air was less acrid than normal, thanks to the flowers blooming in trimmed little squares of lawn. I lifted my face to the newly risen sun, and drank in the peace that danced briefly through all my confusion. By the time I arrived at work I was centered again. I had learned how to focus on one thing, and make it the only object in my view. I knew I controlled very little, but what I could control was now pulled tightly around me like a shield. I was determined to remain strong in the face of this tempest. The day passed quickly with little to mark it as unusual. It was special though, and would alter the course of my future. Soon I would know where I was going, and perhaps what would be there when I arrived. When the day at work finished, my long journey began. I raced ahead, welcoming any news that came. As long as the guessing was through I could map out the path ahead. Pat picked me up around four. Denis would be at school when I returned, and that was a welcoming thought. The ride out of the city was strangely quiet. The further we drove, the more it felt like I was falling off a cliff and there was no one who could rescue me. I would be alone, and there would be nothing but cold, and dark, waiting for me. “What do you want to know from her?” “I’m not sure. I guess I want to know what she wants to do. I need to know what’s next.” “Don’t you think you should be the one to ask her?” “Yes, but I am afraid of the answer.” I knew the feeling. Every inch of me despised her for what she took from me, but I also understood Pat had given it willingly. I knew the one thing that mattered to me in all this, and at last I found the nerve to ask. There was one question that made all the difference, and I had to know the answer. “Do you love her?” We pulled into the driveway and put the truck in park. I took a deep breath, and held it, bracing for the answer. We both sat motionless, staring out the windshield. “I don’t know.” Warm and moist, down my cheek, a single tear flowed. Only one betrayed my trust, and it was destroyed quickly, leaving no trace of its existence. “I’ll be back,” I said tenderly as I opened the door. The distance to his apartment seemed unconquerably long, but I made the journey alone. I reached it at last, and retreated inside myself. I was ready to face the conqueror. I knew what I expected on the other side, and I wanted to shield myself from the blow.
Copyright © 2003 Sylvia Browne |