Black Thing
When I got home from work the next day, I found a message from Robert on my
voicemail:
"Hey, G-Hopper. It's Robert. Carve out some time on Saturday for me, if
your little Zen master will let you. I've got tickets to the antique car
show."
I didn't call him back right away. I was in a funk and didn't feel like
talking. The dream was weighing on me.
I took a shower to revive myself, and it did a little bit of good, but
there was a new message on my voicemail, this time from Kevin:
"Charles. It's Kevin. Give me a call. I think we need to talk."
That couldn't be good.
I didn't call him back right away, either. I went to bed early that night.
"Robert, am I nuts?"
"Yes. But that's old news. I wouldn't worry about it too much."
The secretary brought in a thick file from the Hintz case and set it on my
desk. I silently nodded my thanks and waited until she left before turning
back to the phone.
"No, I'm serious. Is something wrong with me?"
"I don't think so. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I'm beginning to question this whole interracial thing. I mean,
isn't there something wrong with being attracted to black guys and not
white guys?"
"I sure hope not, since that would put me in exactly the same fix, just the
other way around."
He continued. "Look, life is a confused mess, and it doesn't make sense to
overanalyze everything. You're attracted to black guys. Go with it.
"There's nothing wrong with that. What's wrong is when people lose sight of
the fact that they're dealing with people. Fantasy's great, but it can't
replace real human connection, and it shouldn't. We all have needs that go
deeper than fucking. Even if the fucking is pretty deep, as in your
foot-long fantasies."
"Bitch."
"Thank you. Anyway, I think you're worrying too much. It's good that you're
thinking through the cobwebs, but don't get too hung up on yourself in the
process. Life is too short to spend it all tied up in knots."
"Thanks. I have been a mess lately. Plus, I'm worried about the Kevin
thing."
"Well, don't be. Just wait to see what he has to say, and don't put words
in his mouth ahead of time."
"But what if he says 'no go'?"
"Then it'll be a 'no go,' and that'll suck. But you'll survive in any
case. You're a big boy, Charlie, and I know things will turn out okay one
way or the other."
"I wish I could be sure of that."
"You can't be. But that's more just a question of faith than anything
else. Have a little faith."
"I'll do my best. I've got to get back to work. I'll see you on Saturday."
"I can't wait. They're going to have modified clown cars at the show."
"Yeesh."
"Bye, Sweetie."
"Bye."
We met at the same coffee shop as before. We even sat at the same table.
"This is really hard for me," he began.
Oh, shit.
"I think you're a really nice guy and a good person."
Double shit.
"But I really don't think this is a good idea."
Shit, shit, shit.
He continued as I felt myself shrink into nothing, "When we met, we were
both looking for a hook-up. But I think this whole thing has turned into
something more complicated, and I don't want to lead you on or hurt you."
Too late.
He could see it in my face. "You're getting attached, and it won't
work. I'm only twenty-five. You're forty. I need someone closer to my own
age for anything serious. If we were just hooking up, that would be
different."
"Lots of couples are of different ages," I said.
"I know. I'm only talking about what I need for myself, not what might work
for other people. And I think you're attractive, don't get me wrong. If it
was just a hook-up, the age difference wouldn't be a problem. But you know
as well as I do that it wouldn't be just a hook-up for you. It would be for
me, though, and that's not fair to either of us."
He was right, of course.
"This hurts now, but if we took it further, it would just hurt even
worse. And I can't do that. I was probably wrong to insist on the check-up
from the neck-up."
He was wrong about that. Way wrong.
"No," I said. "The check-up was a good thing. You should keep doing the
check-up."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
We hugged and parted. I went to the restroom to compose myself.
I went back to the bookstore that night. It wasn't the same.
There were a few possibilities there, but somehow the whole place just left
me with a sour feeling inside. The flourescent lights, which I had never
really noticed before, seemed to cast a sickly glow on the whole seedy
mess.
I sighed and did an obligatory "whore lap" around the arcade. Near the
men's room (a special kind of disgusting in itself), I passed a homeboy who
was standing next to the change machine.
He was wearing a pullover far too warm for the season. His shoulders were
slightly slumped forward in a posture of resignation.
I looked at his face. His lips were blistered from crackpipe burns. His
eyes were slightly red. He looked exhausted.
He turned his face to me without any change in expression, his eyes seeming
to look straight through the nothing standing in front of him. A perfect
blank.
We held our gaze for a few short moments, and I moved on, leaving him in
his spiritually embalmed state. He'd get his crack money from someone, but
it would have to be from someone else.
The smell of the place bothered me, a subtle potpourri of cum, piss, and
shit. It had never bothered me before.
It was time to leave the bookstore. For good.
I took my car to the pier and parked it. A full moon cast a horizontal
column of sheer light across the bay. I sat on the hood and watched the
subtle rip of the waves as they passed through the shaft of light.
It was late, and I was tired. I got in my car and drove home.
There was another message from Robert on my voicemail when I got home:
"Charles, it's Robert. Don't forget about Saturday."
That was weird. We had just spoken that morning, and he knew perfectly well
that I was going to the car show with him.
I shucked my clothes and climbed into the bed.
I lay awake for a while, thinking of the water in the moonlight. The Otis
Redding song drifted lightly through my mind.
Sitting on the dock of the bay...
...wasting time.
Was that all I had been doing all these years, wasting time? Had I just
been playing with paper dolls and amusing myself in all my sexual
misadventures? Had all this expenditure of carnal energy been for nothing?
I drifted to sleep, the moonlight bathing my bedroom in its cold blue
light.
To sleep...
Perchance, to dream...
Kevin came to me that night. I knew I was dreaming, but I didn't care. He
seemed real enough, although there was also an unreality to him.
Illuminated by the moonlight of my dream, Kevin stood in the doorway to my
bedroom. I motioned him in.
He stood in front of me and pulled something from his pocket. It was a jade
stone, luminescent green in the blue moonlight.
"Snatch the pebble from my hand, Grasshopper," he said softly.
I reached for it, and he kept his hand still, letting me take it into my
hand without offering any resistance.
"That's no fair," I said. "You just let me have it."
He laughed gently, "You already had it."
He moved to the window and faced me, now silhouetted against the moonlight
sky and began removing his clothes. A cloud passed in front of the moon and
obscured everything. I could see his vague form, but the details were lost
to me.
He stood naked in the darkness, but I could not see him. "Lie down," he
said.
I lay on my back, and he moved over me, resting his naked body on mine. He
felt heavier than I had expected from looking at his slim build. His cock
pressed against mine. Not monstrous like the men in the nightmare, but
full...nice.
He nestled his face into the side of my neck, and I felt his gentle breath
caressing me. He moved up, gave my ear a little nibble and whispered, "It's
going to be okay. You'll see." His voice had a reassuring maturity to it
far beyond his twenty-five years. He kissed my neck.
Tears welled up from deep inside me, and I let them run down the side of my
face. How was it going to be okay?
"We'll talk about it after the car show, Grasshopper," he murmured into my
neck, as if reading my mind.
He said nothing more but held me tenderly. His face brushed against mine,
scratching it slightly with his whiskers, which I had not noticed
before. It felt good. We kissed, and he lay back on the pillow.
I became calm. Somewhere in the distance, a train rolled dully by. Not like
the nightmare. Not terrifying. Not coming after me. Just rolling by in the
distance. And then it rolled away.
I felt peace. The gentle breathing next to me now gave way to the shallow
rhythm of sleep. The cloud abandoned its blockade of the moon, and its cool
gentle light glowed softly in the bedroom.
I turned to the sleeping moonlit man of my dreams and watched his quiet
breathing. I leaned forward, kissed his forehead, and gazed at him, finally
knowing that which I must have known all along but had also somehow
missed. I whispered his name, for now I knew it.
Not Kevin.
Robert.
THE END
