Invisible Life

by E. Lynn Harris

  No black man in his right mind would choose to be gay. I had always been proud of being black. My parents had instilled a great deal of pride in me regarding my race. When they didn’t feel I was learning enough in school, they would give me special assignments. I would have to give them reports on important African Americans at least once a month. I was required to read Ebony, Essence and Black Enterprise monthly.

  The only thing I was told regarding sex was what to do if somebody touched me in my private area. I didn’t ever recall hearing the word gay or homosexual in my home. You heard people call some men sissy or funny, but never gay or homosexual. The first time I made love with Kelvin caused the same kind of wonderment as that which I had experienced when I learned the magic relationship between my hands and my sex. Both experiences caught me by surprise. Maybe my sexual experiences with women were learned behavior.

  Christmas Day had always been a big day in our house for as long as I could remember. Even though this was the first time I had been home in years, the day started like so many Christmases of the past. Mama was busy preparing her Christmas dinner and Pops was fixing the gadgets he had bought for Kirby. This year it was video games for Kirby, and Mama bought a new personal computer for Pops. Mama’s present from Pops was always a trip to someplace after the holidays. After all these years there still appeared to be fire in their relationship.

  There was very little under the tree for me, since they had already sent my gifts to New York. With Quinn being over the night before, I hadn’t even opened the boxes.

  “Merry Christmas, son. I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day,” Pops said as I walked into the family room wearing only my pajama bottoms.

  “Merry Christmas, Pops. What time is it?” I asked.

  “Eleven-thirty,” he replied.

  “Where’s Mama and Kirby?”

  “Went to the 7-Eleven to get cranberry sauce and some batteries for one of Kirby’s games.”

  “Any coffee?”

  “Yeah, I’m on my third cup. You see the computer your mama got me?”

  “Where is it?” I asked, still not quite awake.

  “Look in the dining room. It’s a PS/2,” Pops said proudly.

  “Let me get my coffee first. We have some of those in my office.”

  “So do we,” Pops boasted.

  While I was finishing my first cup of the stale-tasting coffee, I heard the door open and Kirby running through the hallway into the den.

  “Ray-Ray,” he called out. “Look what Santa brought me.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A Gameboy!” he said, holding it up toward my face.

  “You must have been a good boy for Santa to bring you that,” I said. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Mama said not to.”

  “That’s right. I figured you wanted to catch up on some sleep,” Mama said as she walked in holding a brown paper bag.

  “Good morning and Merry Christmas, Ma,” I said, giving her a kiss on the left side of her face.

  “Good morning, or should I say good afternoon to you, Mr. Sleepyhead? How did you sleep?”

  “Great. Who’s coming to dinner?” I asked.

  “Oh, the usual. Uncle James and Aunt Mabel, their crew, Mrs. Vance and her family and Cousin Marcus and his family,” Mama said.

  “Need any help?”

  “No, I have everything under control. You just relax.”

  “Okay. I’m going to take a shower and go help Pops with his Christmas present.”

  “I thinks he likes it. I started to give you a call when I was shopping for it, but it’s the kind we have at school. I knew that’s what he had at his office,” she said.

  “Yeah, I think you got the right thing. Maybe now you’ll have him at home more,” I said.

  “That’s not what I had in mind,” Mama said, laughing slyly.

  After I finished my shower, I went into Pops’s office in the basement, where he had moved his new computer and placed it where he used to keep his electric typewriter. His small, cramped office was filled with his and Mama’s degrees from Alabama State and his law degree from Howard University. There were shelves of law books and pictures of Mama, Kirby and me when I was in high school. I looked at the picture of me with my football jacket on and wondered if that was the way Pops chose to remember me.

  As I looked at the picture closely and then at the picture of my father with Mama, I realized how much we looked alike. I was always told that my green eyes had come from my great grandmother on my father’s side, and that my features were almost identical to those of my great-great grandfather, whom I had never met. While I was studying the picture, Pops came into the office and rubbed the back of my shoulders.

  “Long time ago, right?” he said as he went over to his desk.

  “Not that long ago,” I said.

  I don’t know if it was because it was Christmas or what, but Pops appeared more relaxed than he had the previous evening. I looked around his office and admired all the citations and pictures that were on the wall. There were pictures of him when he was elected to the school board and clippings of articles written about him and his involvement in the civil rights movement. I thought back to coming to his office when I was in high school to type school papers or just to read some of the books he had on his shelves. Though he never once pressured me, I knew Pops wanted me to become a lawyer. It had been the same way with football and swimming. In fact, Pops never pressured me about anything. He just had this way about him, one that made me think his silence and the way he would look at you were his way of getting you to do things that he wanted. My pops was a man of great knowledge and patience. Eventually he always got his way.

  My relationship with my father had changed drastically since my graduation from law school. I think he was shocked at my friendship with Kyle and JJ and my sudden lack of interest in the opposite sex. Though we had never talked about it, I realized that if Mama knew, Pops knew. When I called home and he answered the phone, I would sometimes hang up. When I would speak to him, it was always short and to the point. Most of the time our conversation centered around legal issues or sports. My mother wanted me to take the first step and make peace. I knew Pops would take my new sexual orientation as a personal slap in the face against him. That it would cause him a great deal of pain and concern. Not to mention his anger.

  There was always a great deal of worry when I would mention I was sick, if only with a minor cold. As much as I loved and respected my father, I couldn’t allow him to run my life. Nobody, not even Raymond Winston Tyler, Sr., got to vote on my life. I acknowledged to myself that my father was the last of a dying breed. A strong, confident, self-made, proud black man.

  After Pops and I had been in his office playing with his new toy for a while, we both appeared to have relaxed. Like the old days, we were father and son sharing something in common. Just when we were loading the software into Pops’s computer and testing it, we began to hear the doorbell ringing upstairs repeatedly. Minutes later Kirby burst through the door and I could tell that our time alone was about to end.

  “Daddy, Ray-Ray, Mama said to come upstairs, company’s here,” Kirby said, still holding on to his new Gameboy.

  “Tell her we’ll be up in a minute,” Pops said.

  “Okay, but she said now,” Kirby demanded.

  “Let me see that,” I asked Kirby, reaching for the toy he was holding tight.

  “Promise not to break it?” he asked seriously.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” I assured him.

  As I played a few games with Kirby’s new toy, he came over and sat between my legs. A few minutes later he had straddled one of my thighs, rocking as if he were on a toy horse.

  “Let’s play cowboy, Ray-Ray,” he suggested.

  “Not now, mister. I promise to give you a pony ride later on.”

  “All right,” he said as he giggled and attempted to give me a high five.

  “We better get ups
tairs before your mother puts out a warrant for us,” Pops said.

  As the three of us started out the door, I felt an instant closeness with my father and my little brother. At first it was like a chill, followed by a sudden surge of warmth. The feeling was electric. All three of our bodies were touching in some way. I had picked Kirby up in my arms and was carrying him out of the office. Pops arms were around my shoulders, his huge hands palming Kirby’s head, and Kirby was playfully pushing him away. As I enjoyed this moment, I wished that things could always be this way between the three of us. It would have been perfect had there been someone there to take a picture of the three of us at that moment. But since there was no one there, except for us three Tyler men, I’d have to settle for the picture in my mind and keep it in my own special memory bank.

  The dining room table was arranged to perfection. Mama had made all my favorites. Besides the traditional turkey and dressing, there were a glazed ham, mashed potatoes, stringbean casserole, candied yams, turnip greens and Mama’s famous macaroni and cheese. The table was set with the good dishes and crystal goblets filled with white Zinfandel wine. The smell of homemade rolls and rum pound cake came out of the kitchen each time Mama emerged with another piping-hot dish. My mother could cook! Her best dish, and my favorite, was her fabulous fried chicken.

  It was great seeing all my relatives and Mrs. Vance from the old neighborhood, who was just like a member of the family. She had been one of my first babysitters and she still watched Kirby at times, but it was obvious that she was getting up in years. She still kissed me on the cheeks and patted me on the butt, as she had done ever since I could remember. My cousin Marcus sat at the opposite end of the table with his wife and two sons, one of whom was around Kirby’s age. Aunt Mabel and Uncle James were sitting down at my end. She was a full-bodied woman with an off-black Dutch boy wig. Uncle James was a small-framed man and looked as though he would jump if you said boo. After Pops gave a moving prayer, mentioning how happy he was to have both of his sons at home, all the dinner conversation seemed directed at me and New York. When was I moving back down South? How much was I paying for rent? Had I met any famous people? Had I ever been robbed? I prayed that they would change the subject and talk about something else.

  The more wine Aunt Mabel drank, the more she talked and the more questions she asked. She had slacked up a bit with the questions when out of the blue she looked at me and said, “So, Ray junior, when are you getting married?”

  “I don’t know, Aunt Mabel. I haven’t found the right person yet,” I answered back between bites of ham. Mama and Pops exchanged glances that I wasn’t supposed to see.

  “Who was that girl you dated in high school and at the university?” she asked.

  “You mean Sela?”

  “Yeah, Sela, pretty girl. I mean beautiful. What is she doing now?” she quizzed.

  “She’s teaching school,” Mama said.

  “What happened to you two? Why not marry her?” Aunt Mabel asked.

  “Leave the boy alone, Mabel,” Uncle James said.

  “Shut up fool, before I slap you cockeyed,” she retorted.

  Uncle James rolled his eyes and everyone at the table tried to keep from laughing.

  “Let’s go into the den,” Pops said, getting up from the table. “I have something I want you to hear, James.”

  I thanked Pops to myself and stayed in the dining room and helped Mama clear the table. When we finished, I went into the den, where the conversation seemed even livelier and louder. Pops had put on a Joe Sample CD that I had sent him last Christmas and was nursing a glass of Old Grandad. He and Uncle James were engaged in a deep debate about who was going to win the upcoming Super Bowl and Aunt Mabel had passed out on the sofa.

  I went into my room, closed the door and turned on the television. I dialed my phone number in New York and punched in my secret code when my answering machine picked up. The little voice on the other end announced that I had four messages. As I waited for the first message to play, I noticed Bo Jackson in second-skin shorts on a television commercial. I listened to my messages and watched the television. I discovered that all four of the messages were from Quinn. As I listened to Quinn’s eloquent deep voice and watched Bo Jackson’s perfect body, I realized that I had developed a noticeable erection in my pants. Bo Jackson’s body, Quinn’s voice. I could suddenly imagine Quinn’s face in my mind—his nose, his eyes, his lips. I put them all together and pictured Quinn’s face. It seemed as though Quinn’s last message and Bo’s commercial ended at precisely the same time. I reached into my pants and removed my penis, placed it into the palm of my hand and beat myself into a guilty pleasure. Relieved, I looked up at the ceiling of this room where I had spent so many nights doing the exact same thing. Only then the pictures in my mind were of Sela or Janet Jackson. How times had changed.

  Five

  I had planned to stay at home only a couple of days, but before I knew it, it was Thursday. Five enjoyable days and my visit home had been quite successful. I had been able to spend an equal amount of time with Mama, Pops and Kirby. No questions about my personal life, just work, the family and the good times.

  Mama and I had long talks early in the mornings and late at night, when the house was quiet. I even went to the Outlet Shopper’s Mall with her to help load purchases. Pops and I went to a high school basketball game and he took me down to his office to show me their computer setup and introduced me to the other partners. Kirby and I played touch football and went to the movies. On the way home we stopped at McDonald’s and Kirby told me that he had two girlfriends in his fourth-grade class.

  “Two?” I asked, trying to keep my smile hidden.

  “Yeah, Tomekia and Shenikwa,” he said proudly. I started laughing so hard that I had to grab my sides. I don’t know if I was laughing at my playboy of a little brother or the names my peers were giving their children.

  Sela and I agreed to meet on the Thursday before I was to leave. I had decided to travel back to New York on Saturday morning. That way I would get back in time for New Year’s Day, even though I didn’t have a clue as to what I was going to do. With Kyle and JJ out of town, my choices were limited. There were several more messages from Quinn, but he never left a number where I could reach him. In the back of my mind I was hoping to bring the New Year in with him. But without speaking with him directly, I wouldn’t take anything for granted.

  Sela and I agreed to meet at Lakewood Mall in the middle of town. It was anchored by J. C. Penney’s and the new Winfrey Hotel. I arrived about fifteen minutes early and was standing in front of Wendy’s when a very attractive blonde walked up to me.

  “Raymond Tyler?” she said with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me?” she said, putting her hand on her hips in a playful huff.

  “Margo,” I said, smiling.

  I reached for her and gave her a big hug and she hugged me back very tightly. “It’s been a long time,” I said.

  “Yeah, I think the last time I saw you was at Debbie Blass’s graduation party,” she said.

  “What have you been up to?” I asked.

  “Well, I pledged Chi Omega at Auburn and married Eddie Sudderth. We own a little card store on the lower level of the mall,” Margo said. “What are you doing?”

  “I live in New York City,” I responded proudly. “I’m home for the holidays.”

  “New York City. Well, I’m impressed. Are you married?”

  There was that question again. “No, not yet. I’ve been really busy with work and all.”

  “What do you do?” she asked.

  “I’m a lawyer, litigation.”

  “Gee, that’s neat. I never knew you wanted to be a lawyer.”

  “It pays the bills.”

  “I guess it must be exciting living in New York. Eddie and I have thought about going up there for a visit.”

  “Here’s my card and I’ll put my home number on the ba
ck and you guys give me a call if you decide to come up,” I said, taking a card from my wallet and a pen from my jacket.

  “That would be great. You remember Eddie, don’t you?”

  “Of course. He was our placekicker. Won the game against Central our senior year. Yeah, I remember ole Eddie. Please tell him hello for me.”

  “I will,” she said, slipping the card into her purse.

  “You still look great,” I said.

  “I think you’re even more handsome than you were in high school,” she said, now turning a light shade of red.

  “Thank you.”

  Margo Lawson had played an important part in my sexual development. She was the first girl, or the first person for that matter, to give me head. It happened quite innocently the summer before my junior year. One evening when she was coming from summer drill team practice and I from football practice, she drove alongside me in a shiny red Firebird and offered me a ride … the long way home. When I thought back on it, I realized that it was another secret I had kept from Sela and my parents too. Although by the time I was in high school, black and white kids were getting along pretty well, dating was still strictly taboo. It wasn’t as though Margo and I dated. I don’t think anyone at Southeast knew, but it did last about six months. The only interracial mixing that did occur happened at night and it was usually some poor trashy white girl and a black athlete.

  Margo was white, but she was anything but trashy. She had long golden blond hair and stirring blue eyes. She wasn’t shaped like most white girls I knew, meaning she had a wonderful ass. Most people in our class thought she favored Cybill Shepherd and should pursue modeling, but I guess she never followed up on it. I didn’t know what her parents did, but they lived in one of the wealthiest sections of town.

  “What ever happened to that girl from Northeast that you used to date?” Margo quizzed.

  “Funny you should ask. That’s who I’m waiting for.”