Chapter 22
Michelle knew it was too late to go to the gym. The eighty-two-year-old owner, Doug Eiid, had locked the doors over an hour ago. Still, she found herself parked on Commerce Street in downtown Dallas, across from the large white stone municipal building, parallel to the entrance of her small slice of heaven, staring at the singular glass door bearing the gym’s operating hours: Monday–Friday, 11–8 p.m. and Saturday, 11–6 p.m.
On a regular day, Michelle had no issues with the hours but this Friday, she wished 9:30 would allow her inside. She desperately needed to punch something, and there was a heavy bag with her name on it.
Established in 1962, Doug’s Gym was the oldest gym in the nation, and it looked the part, too. Just beyond the plain glass door was a long, tattered but sturdy wooden staircase leading upstairs to the one-room gym with a beautiful aged wood floor to match. The gym, with equipment older than Michelle, offered very few of the amenities that a modern fitness center would: no central air, no flat screens mounted on the wall, no refreshment area. Some of the machines were probably the first generation of their kind, and some might not even be in production anymore, but that was the beauty of the gym.
Michelle loved the austerity, the simplicity of it. Portions of the walls were transformed into Doug’s personal scrapbooks, with old Polaroid photographs taped to its blotchy, brown covering. Nothing had changed in the fifty years the gym had been in operation, and anyone that ventured to join appreciated its history.
The people who joined Doug’s gym understood immediately that it was much more than a gym, easily ingratiating themselves into its familial atmosphere. Though Doug personally trained each of his members using fundamental weight lifting and cardio techniques, they also supported one another. There was one person who Michelle worked out with fairly often, a young jazz musician by the name of Grayson Hines. The atmosphere at Doug’s didn’t really allow for any two people to remain strangers for long. It fostered connectivity. The fact that they were the same age and both shared a love for jazz gave life to their blooming friendship.
As she sat there in front of Doug’s Gym, craving a good workout, his name sprang to her mind. A training session was not possible, but Michelle figured some company would be nice. The two had never had a conversation outside of the gym, and Michelle was not certain if he would even come. This would be the first test of their friendship, revealing whether its legs were strong enough to tread into deeper waters.
Her anger had subsided not long after she left her mother’s, but she did not want to speak to any of them. Armand had been calling and texting non-stop since she left him at their house. His efforts to communicate with her were so incessant that Michelle turned her phone off, removing the battery and chucking it into the backseat of the Audi.
By the time she had reached her childhood home, her nerves were vapors, making the craziness that ensued even more likely. Climbing into the backseat, she fished for her the slim piece of lithium. She needed a distraction, and Grayson was on her short list of friends. The only name on the list, as a matter of fact.
Capitalizing on the few minutes lost fumbling in the dark for the battery, Michelle powered her cell on and placed the call. Rather than the usual burr of a ringing phone, a sample of a common jazz standard, “Naima,” rang in her ears. Michelle was pleasantly surprised and reclined in the seat, resting her cranium on the headrest, allowing the smooth tunes to massage her mental while she anticipated his answering. He played beautifully, and even though her car’s Bluetooth pushed the notes out of her factory speakers, they did not do it justice. The basic sound system failed to capture the essence and unmistakable brilliance of her most beloved jazz ballad.
“This is Grayson Hines.”
Startled by the interruption of her groove session, Michelle sat up in her seat, botching her opening as she failed to do both at once. “Gray . . . Gray . . . Grayson, hi. . . . This is Michelle.”
Grayson’s jovial demeanor marked his tone. “Michelle, my belle, this is a pleasant surprise. Everything okay?”
“Yes and no. That is kind of why I’m calling.”
“My interest is piqued. What’s up?”
“Do you think you could come up here?”
“Here?”
“The gym.”
“The gym is closed. Doug locked up already.”
“I know. I just . . . I had a really rough night, and I could use someone to talk to.”
Grayson waited before answering. Michelle bit her lip, afraid of what the silence might indicate. She really didn’t want to be alone right now.
“Where are you?”
“Sitting outside.”
“What made you call me? I mean, I’m flattered that you would think of me, but . . .”
Michelle was having second thoughts, but she made the call. As nauseating as she found the idea of opening her life up to a virtual stranger, it was necessary. Michelle, the loner, was trading her emotional solitude for the rawness of the human connection.
“I have never felt so alone in my life, Grayson. Ever. So if you could just . . .”
“I’m on my way.”
Sighing with relief, Michelle wiped the tears collecting on her face, whispering, “Thank you,” into the empty phone line. Michelle was on the verge of a dramatic shift in consciousness. It was too early to tell whether it would lead her down a better path or send her flying off a cliff with no chute. Either way, it was happening, and she decided that leaning into the curve rather than fighting the transition would be more beneficial.
The sharp blue lettering of the sign for the neighboring Oqua Lounge caught her eye for the millionth time. Michelle did not venture out very much, but seeing it with each visit to the gym tempted her to break her rules. Exhaling, she closed her eyes and relaxed again, hoping Grayson arrived before she lost her nerve.
Roughly thirty minutes later, Michelle peeped Grayson walking toward her car in her rearview mirror. Readying herself for his arrival, she hit the switch to unlock the doors and lifted her seat to the upright position. He lightly tapped on the passenger window with his knuckle, requesting permission to join her. Michelle waved him in and offered a half smile.
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you would come.”
“I told you I would.”
Michelle took a deep breath. An awkward situation grew into an uncomfortable one while she struggled with her decision to open up. She looked at her trembling hands and couldn’t recall the last time her nerves had gotten to her like this. Oxygen imbued with her indecision chafed her lips, drying her throat as it traveled to her lungs. Rendered mute by her embarrassment, Michelle directed her attention outside the small quarters of the car.
Grayson gently grabbed hold of Michelle’s hand. “It’s okay.”
With tears streaming down her face, she examined the truth resting in his chestnut-colored eyes. Satisfied with what she saw there, Michelle hastily dried her eyes, embarrassed by her inability to control her emotions.
Noting her state, Grayson took it upon himself to generate conversation. “I usually take a stroll through the park around this time.”
Michelle checked his dark-gray men’s skinny jeans, loosely laced red-and-white vintage Chucks, fresh white cotton V-neck tee, and doubted that very seriously.
Grayson caught the question in her once-over. “My family recently expanded to include a puppy in need of a home.”
Michelle raised her eyes in surprise. “You don’t seem like the dog type.”
“I’m not really certain what that means, but Common is the child I feared having too soon.”
Michelle cringed a little, thinking about how young her mother was when she and her sister were conceived.
Grayson kept talking. “He was a rescue effort. Police raided a house, trashed the place, and arrested a handful of people, including his owner.”
That tidbit snatched Michelle out of her head and forced her into their dialogue. “That sounds like a fascinating story.”<
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“I mean, it is pretty incredible, but I can share it at another time.” Patting her on the knee, he reminded her of why he was there. “I came here for you.”
“I would appreciate your sharing it with me now,” Michelle stated, figuring it might give her the time required to gather her thoughts. “I could use a good story.”
“No problem. As you know, I do a lot of community service type of activities.”
“I am aware.”
“Well, I used to visit this neighborhood in South Dallas near Rosewood and Hatcher. Tried to be of some service to the people there. Gentrification is slowly making its way through the area, and the people are getting pushed out. I went to this particular neighborhood to see if there was anything I could do to help them prepare for what was coming.”
“Did the city ask you to do that?”
Grayson shook his head. “Nothing like that. I just wanted to help.”
“That is commendable, but how did you know that was happening?”
“I’m resourceful.”
Realizing she had started to interrogate him a bit, she muted the last of her questions.
“SWAT swooped in pretty deep with an armored truck and a Humvee. It was like something out of a film, and you could see it all from up the street. The commotion got my attention, and I tiptoed in that direction to get a closer look. I recognized this old guy, and my heart kinda sunk.” Grayson shook his head as he spoke. “He was a decent guy, not any trouble, but unfortunately he loved that pipe better than he loved himself.”
Michelle watched his eyes dart about as he traveled into that moment.
“Sad situation. I was standing on the sidewalk, watching the badges move, when I heard a faint whimpering sound. I couldn’t really make it out at first, but when I closed my eyes, I recognized it easily. I searched the yard. Everyone was stretched out like dominoes, flat on their stomachs, cuffed with the plastic wire, baking in the Texas sun, but I didn’t see any animals. The whimpering stopped, so I leaned against a tree near the front of the house and waited. The old man looked up at me, into me with a look so intense it literally pulled me. My legs moved toward him before I could object. It was as if he and I were the only ones there. Before I knew it, an officer shoved me hard toward the sidewalk, ordering me to keep my distance.”
“What was your plan, Grayson? Walking into a yard swarming with officers?”
Grayson shrugged his shoulders. “I wanted to comfort him, I guess. He deserved better than that.”
“What are you talking about? You said he was on drugs. That’s what happens.”
Grayson looked at Michelle, taken aback by her rush to judgment, but didn’t respond to it. “Not long afterwards, the barking started up again, and I look up to see an officer coming from the back of the house with this puppy. He had the most beautiful ocean blue eyes I had ever seen. This may sound corny, but I think he noticed me at the same time I noticed him. The old man started grunting a little bit and moving around. The puppy started barking frantically. I told the officer the puppy belonged to me.”
“You lied?”
“I did. I couldn’t leave him there. The old man stopped moving, and I took it as a symbol of his support. Felt like it was the right thing to do, so I said it again with more authority this time: ‘I have been looking for him all day. I came into the yard because I thought I heard him. May I have him, please?’
‘This is your dog? What’s your name, young man?’
‘Grayson, but if I could just have my dog, I’d like to get home.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The dog. What is his name?’
“I looked at the old man lying there like a piece of wood, helpless and stripped of his dignity, and felt a deep, soulful connection to him. He felt familiar, and I figured the puppy was his, so I said, ‘Common. His name is Common. ’”
“That is a beautiful story.” The untruth slipped from her lips before she could stop it. What else could she say after a tale like that? It had everything in it. Her inner journalist was mildly impressed with his impromptu storytelling skills. Besides, fact or fiction, the story had lifted her spirit.
“Thanks. He catches a little cabin fever when he’s left alone during the day. We try to go for a walk every night.”
“I am sorry. My mess interrupted your routine.”
“Stop that, Michelle. I could have said no. I wanted to be here for you.”
Michelle did not respond.
“So, how about that walk?”
Michelle remained silent. Grayson’s pleasantness refreshed her, and she was no longer sure if she needed to talk anymore.
“I don’t know what’s going on, Michelle, but you can talk to me about whatever it is. I wouldn’t betray your confidence.”
Michelle shifted in her seat and glanced over at Grayson.
“I’m not that dude.”
She had no reason to doubt his words, except for the fact that everyone she loved had done the opposite—people she never would have thought would be capable of such things. Each memory reactivated the pain, elevating it as it passed through her mind and waged war on her heart. Michelle wished she could forget it all.
“I am not going to pretend like this is easy for me. It isn’t.”
“Focus on the walking aspect. No pressure to open up.”
“I don’t want you feeling like you wasted your time coming.”
“You missed our workout this afternoon,” Grayson stated playfully nudging her arm with his finger. “Walk with me to make up for it?”
Any fear lingering within her evaporated with that question. Instinctively she knew, deep down in her gut, that she was safe with him. That her thoughts would be safe. Like the gentleman he had always presented himself to be, his gentle prodding eased her anxiety, pulling her away from her own thoughts and forcing her to focus on his words.
“Sure. Where do you walk?”
“I usually take him to Belo Garden Park up the street, but I was thinking that Klyde Warren might be a nice change. It’s a little bigger.”
“That park off of Woodall Rogers? The one that used to be a parking lot?”
“That is the one.”
“That’s cool, but do you think we’ll be able to find parking in the mass exodus of people that seem to always be there?”
Grayson chuckled. “Yeah, there are a lot of events there, but it’s really beautiful, especially at night. If you don’t want to drive, we can take my Vespa.”
“You have a Vespa?” Michelle asked in surprise. “In Dallas?”
“I’ll pretend like your astonishment wasn’t a blow to my ego at all.” Grayson laughed a little harder this time. “A summer in Paris, France was a graduation gift from my parents. I fell in love with the city, the culture, and the Vespa. I couldn’t take the city with me, so I took a piece of it.”
Michelle nodded her head in acknowledgement. “I think I understand that, but I don’t mind driving. We’re already in the car, but I definitely want to see your Vespa—”
“Steely,” Grayson interrupted. “His name is Steely.”
Michelle shook her head in amusement. “Steely. I would like to see Steely one day. The closest I have come to a Vespa was a scene in the remake of 2000 Alfie.”
“We can make that happen, captain.”
Grayson buckled his seatbelt as Michelle pulled out onto Commerce, heading north toward Cesar Chavez Boulevard.
“So, did you ever find out what happened to the old man?”
“I did, actually. He died in custody not too long after the arrest. Massive heart failure.”
“That is awful. I am so sorry, Grayson.”
“It’s okay really. I didn’t even know his name at the time.”
“Then how did you find out?”
Grayson was silent for an uncomfortable period of time. Michelle, navigating down Elm Street, could not see the slight tears forming in his eyes. She simply kept driving and hoped he w
ould respond without her having to pose the question a second time.
“Obituary. I saw a blurb in the paper.”
Michelle didn’t quite understand why, after everything else he had shared, that seemed to be the most difficult, but she decided to let it go as they neared the park. Grayson was the compassionate, kind guy she imagined him to be. Michelle took a deep breath as she eased into a parking spot, preparing to ease into the next phase of her life.
Chapter 23
“Thank you for being here.”
Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Lisa did not rush to respond, signaling to Frank, despite the obvious, that here was not a favorable space. The thought hurt but had no merit. Not only had she come of her own volition, but she also petitioned hospital staff to be allowed to do so. Though he longed to see her, he had yet to verbalize his desire. Either fear of legal punitive measures or emotional trappings kept him silent.
Surprised was too small a word to describe his reaction to her coming. Elation filled him after opening his eyes and finding her bedside, but it steadily dissipated in the subsequent hours of silence. Five days of muted communication—his words could not provoke even one word from her, causing him to postulate that her goal was not to support him, but rather to punish him with her presence. If so, it was working.
“Lisa, will you please say something? Anything. Curse me out. Scream. Something.”
Frank’s bed was in the center of the room. Lisa sat to his right, close enough to touch him if she felt compelled to do so, but she never did. The chair she had occupied for the last few days screeched as she stood.
“Wait, please. I don’t want you to leave. I won’t push, okay? If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, but please stay. All I could think about was getting back to you. Your face replaced the bars of the cell that caged me. So, please. Stay.”
Pausing, Lisa circled the room with her eyes, resting them on everything but Frank. After a few painful minutes, she slowly lowered herself back into her seat. He wanted to thank her but kept his mouth closed. The pensive look on her face spoke volumes about the things he imagined flowing through her mind. Part of him feared what may come out if she did speak to him.
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