Denise flinched at the idea of what they might be calling her. Jody taught her better than what they summed her up to be, so all she could chalk it up to was that it had to be something in her own actions that caused it. She'd never done what they'd said she'd done. She'd never felt the desire. Only the pity tossed to others for their indulgence. But not in the case of Denise Collins. The one man she'd been with lived all the way in Utah. He didn't as much abandon her as he submitted to the inappropriate nature of their relationship. Of course he acknowledged this fallacy in the aftermath of their carnal connection. As they laid in the nude and the guilt washed over him like peircing sound waves from feed back in cheap amplifiers, he couldn't help but think of the consequences for his actions. Not the type of consequences that leave a person with inner shame. But the type that turned ones' life into flood of disaster.
Yet, Denise failed to see the harm in this; for she was thirteen and believed herself to be in love; for him to be in love; for a love had been created, so she thought. So the age difference and relations could not have been so bad. At least this is how Denise would justify it twelve years later, while comparing her adult expeiences with her childhood lover. She had to. It was all she knew.
But that is not why they called her what they called her. It was the white guy that stirred up the questions. Not from the white guy himself, but the neighborhood talkers -- Mae and Joanie. They thrived on the gossip, and hardly found a flaw in Denise until this one. "I'll bet he be givin' her money," said Mae. " Thass why she be around 'im." "I heard he ain't got no money," Joanie responded "Girl, he a white man. Course he got money. White people'll're suppose to have money." "I heard different." "You heard wrong." "How you know what I heard if you ain't heard it?" "It ain't what I want to hear, so it must be wrong." But that was to name a few. Gavin did have money. But he wouldn't, outright, give his money to Denise. Rather, he would not allow for her to pay her way through their time out together. Gavin would insists she ride along and indulge. This could have been a possible envy for Mae and Joanie; then again Mae and Joanie were not known for their tendency to covet, but rather their tendency for pity. They were proof in the idea that black culture does not keep a hidden agenda when conveying action. The agenda is in the action and there is nothing to de-code. Mae and Joanie would never think in terms of envy in regards to Denise (no matter how much Denise tried to tell herself that); but rather a crying shame for her standards; and not any standards that were bad for her. Just her standards in general. Nothing was too low or too high for Mae and Joanie. Nothing truly impressed them. They left behind the capacity of being impressed back in their twenties. Black women over thirty loose the naivette that white women carry on into their thirties and forties (during the crisis of "finding" themselves, getting into therapy, and turning to organic food). Black women loose the ability to tolorate much beyond their own impervious psychology. The "mm-mm's" become more definate. Being ahead of you is key to life; and all that makes them stand up and say "That's good. That's real good" is sign of success from a young person; cuz in that young person, there is the idea of hope. Outside of that, black women like Mae and Joanie ( two years away from their forties) cared not for what you "could have been"; but rather "what you are, based on what you did, while avoiding who you could have been and settling for this." In a way, this is how they saw Denise. Though they never chalked Denise up to have been anything outside of what they saw in front of them.
The white man was enough to sum up Denise in one breath. Because of the gossip, Denise found herself counting the months until she'd finish Junior College which would enable her to transfer out the neighborhood and off to a much more "progressive" surrounding. She longed to be amongst those who would allow her to be who she was. She longed for the freedom she day dreamed about, while drinking Buttery Nipple shots on hot afternoons with Gavin.
Jody could not tolorate this.
She could tolorate the day time drinking (for Jody had her day), yet she had a low tolorence for Gavin. She did not trust his kindness. In Jody's experience kindness was a prelude to betrayal. For human kindness does not exist, Jody would say; and to be fooled by it is to beg for pain. Jody cringed at the fact that her own daughter never took her word. James took her word. Cory took her word. Hell, even Vanessa, with her old hard head self, took her word. But Denise managed to march uncomfortably to a different drum. "What is that music you're listenin' to?" Jody would ask in a rage. "It's Steely Dan, Ma'." "Turn that off." "Why?" "That ain't what we listen to in this house." "But I like it." "Well un-like it and turn it off. I'm not raisin' no confused child." Steely Dan was to blame, as far as Jody was concerned (a name she purposly mispronounced "Silly Dan"). It was this type of open mindedness that caused for Denise to be lost to begin with. In fact, Jody would support the neighborhood gossip for the sake of teaching Denise a lesson; in that it DOES matter what others think, because it's other people who determine your place in society, not you. "Like a person in office, you have to be voted in; and if you're not pleasing the people, you're bound to be voted out!" Denise would try and emphasis the importance of being an individual. "Girl please!" Jody snapped. "Black folks don't care nothin' about no individual. We care about what we relate to. And if you act different, we gon' question you for it." "You" as in her own daughter not excluded.
Yet, Denise continued along her path. In those afternoons with Gavin drinking Buttery Nipples and conversing about the random acts that pass by the windows. For Denise would take these afternoons as a perminant vacation. A time to blow out the candel of reality and blissfully smile in the presence of her live action imagination. For Gavin had no call to judge her. He wasn't even sure how to judge her. He, simply, was not raised that way. And he certainly was not interested in learning. "Sometimes I think everyone thinks I'm some kind of easy girl," Denise would say. "Easy how?" "Easy like bein' with you. Easy like bein' loose. Easy like..." "Slutty?" "Yeah. But I'm not. Maybe I was once. But I wasn't really. I just needed to explore myself. Explore him a bit." "Who was it?" Denise smiled behind her Buttery Nipple shot, glaring down at the table. Gavin smiled along with her, as his curiosity raised even higher, causing him to order two more shots. This erupted laughter between the two of them. For it was past three in the afternoon; by five o'clock, Jody's judgement would begin. But Denise took steps to release this from her mind. The steps of the drinking. The steps of laughter. "I don't want to get you jealous" Denise said. "I don't get jealous. I find it interesting." For Gavin to find Denise's sex life "interesting" was his cover up for "erotic." In the back of his mind he remembered his ex-girlfriend Tanya. A relationship that began in the middle of Tanya's marriage. It was Gavin and Tanya's relationship that ended her marriage. Gavin recalled the nights that Tanya would be in bed with him, and they'd talk graphically about what Tanya did with her husband the night before; what she did with the UPS guy one week previous; what she would be willing to do with his best friend Martin. When Tanya's marriage ended, Gavin's jealousy was channeled into his sex with Tanya and masturbation when she was not around. He often envisioned her with other men. Shamelessly cheating, with no regrets as she did her husband, and Gavin found the arousal in this. He needed to. It was the only way for him to control his tendancies towards a jealous rage. "Interesting?" Denise asked, with a puzzled scrunched up look about her face. "How is that interesting?" "It helps me get to know you." "Maybe you can get to know me yourself." "That too." Denise laughed out loud about this, as the Bartender delivered their shots and Gavin reminded the Bartender to add it to the tab. "What do you take me for?" "I take you for whatever you offer," said Gavin. "Yeah, but I ain't never heard of a man who wants to hear about his woman's sex life." "You haven't been with the right men." "I've only been with one man." "When was this?" "When I was thirteen." This caught Gavin by surprise. "You were thirteen?" Denise was suddenly embarassed again. "See? I knew I shouldn't have said anything." "No, no, no. I wanna hear it. How old was he?" "He was my Uncle." Denise did not realize that this had come out. Gavin hardly realized that his reaction was nonchalaunt and still interested; his look was an erge for her to press forward, but Denise was frozen with shame. "I can't believe I just said that," she said. "How'd it happen?" "I can't talk about this anymore." "Why not?" "Because it's wrong!" Gavin allowed himself to back off. He did not want to press Denise into a territory that would damage the afternoon. He never told her he had a room waiting for them; nor did he tell her about the bottle of Coppola Pino` in his trunk. He just rubbed her arm to give her comfort. Denise worked to pull herself together, while attempting to welcome Gavin's touch. She felt more judgement in his touch than she ever felt from the gossiping women in the neighborhood. She hated herself for her loss of control. She felt this was aided by Gavin rather than avoided; and soon she found herself mad at him. "Will you take me home?" she asked. Gavin was reluctant, but he complied. But Denise would not let Gavin drop her off at her house. She could not bare the look on Jody's face. Instead she asked for Gavin to drop her off five blocks away, on the main street near the gas station, where she would buy a bottle water and use the walk home to gather her thoughts. Gavin could not apologize to her enough. He worried that he'd crossed a line. "It isn't you," she assured him. "I just have to really take in what I let happen." "It's not your fault." "Where I come from, it doesn't matter if it's my fault. It's still my shame." Gavin pushed on, attempting to calm Denise of her guilt. His life had been much different from hers. In his world a mistake is just a mistake, but usually forgotten or if remembered, remembered with laughter. Yet Gavin could not grasp the worry that palgued Denise. One would think this event with her Uncle happened hours ago for the way she harbored it. "I will call you in a few days," she said. "Why so long?" "Because that's the way I need to do it right now." And she was out the car. Gavin did not stay around to see her off. He drove down the main street toward the freeway, while Denise waved off the idea of bottle water and started the journey home. Jody's voice rattled through her head. The tone. The look of disappointment. The shaking of the head and the "mm" under breath. The beaming sun ignited Denise's lush-ful swagger that she worked to control as would a "normal" person. This work caused Denise more internal worry. She was not sure she would be able to bare the comments from the neighborhood women. The intoxication would raise her worries even higher. It was not what she had done, it was what they believed she had done. Who she'd done.
Charlie Beckem. The High School sophmore who stood 6'3 and muscles like a grown man. This was the rumor through the neighborhood, that Charlie and Denise "had a thing." It wasn't a "thing" that lasted very long, but it was a "thing" no less. It was not suppose to get out. Nor was Denise suppose to ever return for a second time with Charlie. But both of these "suppose to's" went belly up. Charlie promised not to talk about it, and Denise believed him. She did not think about the fact that Charlie was a fifteen year old who had just slept with a twenty-one year old woman. She ignored the idea that he would run and brag about his accomplishment. For an act like this does not go quietly. Not in a black neighborhood. Not, really, in a white neighborhood (though, in a white neighborhood, the rumor can take longer to surface). This was the first thing Charlie did when they'd finished. After Denise snuck herself out through his bedroom window, and did everything she could to get as far away from his house as possible without being noticed, he was on the phone with Tyron Power. Tyron was immediatly on the phone with Brian, who in return was on the phone with Mike and Jason. By sunset the news had transfered over twenty times through the phone wires and internet and by dawn had traveled around the school, catching the ear of Cece, a neice of one of the gossiping women, which floated back to the neighborhood, through a text message, before lunch time. So by the time Denise was off the bus from her day of class at the Junior College, she found herself confronted by the shaking heads she walked passed, and the unsubtle comments: "I hear you like doin' a little tutorin'." "Little revisit to the years you missed?" "Ain't the ugly duckling no mo' is you?" It was a week later that Denise had gotten fed up with the jabs. She went to Charlie's house and tapped at his window with intentions of having a talk with him. This led to the second seduction, which led to the second round of phone calls, hallway talk and text messaging, that landed right back in the neighborhood, this time in the ears of Jody. But Jody never commented directly. Just like she never commented on catching Denise with Eric when she was thirteen. She would not allow herself to give attention to the realities. She wanted to comfort herself with denial. With the calm of judging her daughter's actions. "You know you damaged for what you did," Jody once said to her. "You gon' have to answer to God." God was not Denise's worry. It was Charlie's parents. His parents that never pressed charges, but chose a silent approach instead. Though the whole neighborhood knew about what Denise had done, it's been said: "We don't call the police in the ghetto. We just let them come to us." But they never did. It was nearly four o'clock and Denise was four blocks from home, but she decided to cross the street to the tucked away hooker-motel, get a room and sleep until she sobered up. She ignored the stuffiness of the room and the noise of the rickity bed. She blocked out the loud talking hookers and stressed out nickel pinching pimps. She closed her eyes to a vision of her Uncle. Of Gavin. Of Charlie. She aloud her head to spin as much as it needed, until the mini-dreams stopped, and there was only darkness.
No comments:
Post a Comment