What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day

by Pearl Cleage

  I figured out why I've been so evil. I'm attracted to Eddie. Not curious about. Not affectionate toward. Attracted to, as in sexually. Talk about bad timing. I thought at first it was some kind of residual crush left over from my girlhood or just a Pavlovian response to a fine brother in close proximity, but it isn't. It's him specifically for real. Damn.

  Riding back from Ludington, I felt that thump of pulse between my legs that always alerts my sexual body to the presence of prey. I used to love that feeling. It announced the beginning of another round of first dates, late-night phone calls, slowly dawning (on his part) realizations of mutual interest, increasingly intense flirtation, and, finally, the sex. This process took a little time or a lot, depending on the brother's tolerance and ability to play the game—everybody is not amused by extended foreplay— and whether my own interest was cerebral and sexual, or pretty much focused solely on how he'd be in bed.

  Men in whom I had no sexual interest were in another category altogether. I never allowed them to start the give-and-take everybody has to agree to if the seduction is to have some integrity to it. I think it's cruel to encourage men when you have no real interest in them, no matter how many dinners they pay for or how many long-stemmed roses they have delivered to the office for maximum impressing of your girlfriends. It's no crime not to lust after somebody just because they're lusting after you. It's only a crime when you use it against them.

  So now that I've admitted the facts, what am I going to do? First of all, I have no intention of having sex with Eddie Jefferson. I'm only going to be here a couple of months and I don't need the complications sex always introduces. Sex changes everything between a man and a woman, and even though you say it won't, you know damn well it will. Great sex will make you overlook many a terrible weakness for the sake of all that feel good. It definitely adds something exciting to the mix, but whether or not it's worth the price you pay is the question to which I've never found an even halfway decent answer.

  If you ask somebody who's hooked up with a man they love and the sex is good and he's not acting a fool, the sister will tell you the rewards are so sweet they are worth a little compromise. But ask somebody who just got her heart broken for the third time since Christmas and she'll tell you nothing beats curling up in bed alone with a magazine and a pint of Haagen-Dazs.

  And that's not even counting all the safe-sex precautions that are now a part of my life for damn ever. Have you ever tried to figure out how to have any kind of satisfactory oral exchange while holding a latex dental dam over your sweet spot? I'm just not up for all that right now. Me and Wild Eddie seem to have the beginnings of a beautiful friendship. I'm going to leave it at that. Old habits are hard to break, but not impossible.

  8

  I had to have my doctor call from Atlanta to refill my damn prescriptions and the pharmacist in town didn't waste any time spreading the news that I had "caught the HIV." I went to the drugstore to pick it up and walked in on Gerry Anderson telling these two other old biddies how sad it was and how she just hoped I wasn't contagious since we had so many young people in town and all.

  The druggist was standing there with the bottle of pills in his hand, showing it to them and holding it like it might explode if he jiggled it too hard. I was walking down a side aisle, so they didn't see me until I stopped right in front of them and they gasped and fell back like they had seen Dracula coming up the front walk. I wanted to grab the back of Gerry's head and give her a big, wet kiss, but I thought she might have a heart attack and I'd get prosecuted for murder, so I held out my hand to the pharmacist and said, "Don't you have to take some kind of oath to stay out of people's business when you fill their prescriptions?"

  He dropped it in my hand like a hot potato and mum-Died something about how he was going to send Tyrone, his delivery boy, out to the house with it, but first he wanted to 3e sure it was all right with his grandmother.

  "Why wouldn't it be?" I said to him, and when he didn't answer, I turned to Gerry. "Why wouldn't it be?"

  She looked flustered for a second, but she recovered quickly, offering me a sad smile. "Well, dear, my job is to err on the side of caution. Tyrone is our only grandchild . . ."

  "That's not the way you get it," I said, handing the pharmacist the money, which he took carefully so there wouldn't be any possibility of him accidentally touching me.

  "Well, they really don't know, now do they, dear?" Gerry said, pressing her luck.

  I looked at her and all of a sudden I felt my eyes start burning. This is the reason I left Atlanta in the first damn place! Couldn't go anywhere without running into that wall of ignorance that can't stop pretending even when it's life and death to keep it up.

  I took a deep breath. I sure didn't intend to cry in front of this crowd. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

  "Keep the change," I said, walking right past Gerry and her friends and out the front door.

  When I got outside, Tyrone and Frank and the girl he'd been slapping around at the liquor store were leaning on Gerry's car, which was parked right in front of mine. Looking at them made me feel tired. The games they were playing were so tired and they were playing them at such a rudimentary level that it was exhausting to watch.

  Frank started a loud stage whisper as I searched my purse for the keys, cursing myself for not already having them in hand.

  "I read about a bitch in Texas, man. Houston, I think it was Houston. When she found out she had that shit, she started giving away as much pussy as she could to pay back all the muthafuckas she thought might a give it to her."

  I finally found my keys and clicked the locks open.

  "That's some cold shit, man." Frank laughed and shook his head. "I'd have to ice a bitch tried to fuck me with some AIDS. That's some death pussy for sure. I don't need no part of that shit, you know what I'm sayin'?"

  He looked at me as I got in and slammed the door.

  Yeah, I thought. I know exactly what you're saying.

  9

  By the time I got home, the house was full of all twenty-six nembers of The Sewing Circus and their total of thirty-three :hildren, including Imani, who was observing everything from he crook of Joyce's arm. The members always shared a pot-uck meal and the kitchen was now a beehive of female food ictivity as the women laid out the communal feast. Joyce ladn't found a new place, and the Rev was still ducking the neeting he had promised, but from the overflow crowd, it ooked like being evicted from the fellowship hall was the best hing that had ever happened to TSC.

  I could hear them talking and teasing, calling their chil-Iren, asking for a pan or a platter. Patrice asked who bought he jumbo hot dogs and Tomika answered something I ouldn't hear that made them all burst out laughing and start aying, "Hush, girl! Talking nasty in front of these kids! What's vrong with you?"

  I had told Joyce I was going to run into town and pick ip my prescription, and be back in time for the meeting, but he last thing I needed tonight was a house full of bad haircuts nd fussy two-year-olds. What I really wanted was a chance o watch the sunset and have a good long cry, which is what told Joyce, except about the crying, of course. There was tothing she could do, so what was the point in worrying her? told her I was just tired, but that was the wrong thing to say.

  "What is it?" Joyce has a way of looking at me real lard and asking me what's wrong that is guaranteed to make ne start crying before I get the first sentence out.

  "Nothing," I said quickly. "I just need some time to tiyself. Okay?"

  She looked at me and nodded. "Okay," she said. "We'll >e here."

  I managed a smile at that. "That's what I'm afraid of," I said.

  Joyce gave me a quick hug and headed back inside and I started walking. Frank's nasty mouth had upset me more than I wanted it to, and about halfway home I had to stop the car and get myself together with some deep breaths. I also indulged some really ugly wishes for bad stuff to happen to Frank, but I'm not proud of that, even though he deserves it.

  I figured I'
d walk down by the lake until it got too dark and then cut through somebody's yard and take the road back to Joyce's. If I knew anything about Gerry Anderson, I knew she'd find a way to use me being positive in her fight against Joyce, and I had no interest in letting that happen. I figured the simplest solution was for me to go on to San Francisco a little sooner than I had planned. Joyce and I already had a great visit. I'd had a chance to meet Imani and remeet Eddie. But now it was starting to get weird and I just didn't have the energy or the inclination for high drama. Maybe I'd come back Christmas when things settled down a little. I still hadn't given up trying to get Joyce to move to the coast with me. No reason Imani couldn't be a California girl.

  My brain was clicking along a mile a minute. If the man on that meditation tape wants me to think of my mind as a monkey, that's cool, but now the one I have in residence had invited all her monkey friends over for the evening. I was trying to think about everything at the same time and all I could hear was Frank's voice talking about death pussy and how scared I was that he was right and that even in the progressive, AIDS-informed haven that was San Francisco, nobody was ever going to want to hold me again. Not ever.

  That's when I saw Eddie. I came around a small path of pine trees that keeps you from being able to see his house until you're right up in front of it. He was standing on his dock in a pair of black pajama pants and no shirt, moving slowly from one position to another, placing and replacing his arms and legs in positions that should have looked strange with their weird postures and arms-akimbo transitions, but when he did them, they didn't look strange at all. In fact, it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen another person do up close. I just stood there. It was pretty dark now, so he didn't even notice me and I relaxed into watching.

  Eddie's body was more muscular than I had thought. He always wore loose clothes and I was surprised at the power in his chest and back. He leaned forward from the waist and his hair fell across his cheeks so I couldn't see his face. Then he turned his body slightly, leaned back, and turned his face more toward me. His eyes were closed, but he looked so perfectly peaceful that I never wanted him to stop and I never wanted to stop watching.

  So I stood there at the edge of the trees until he finished. I don't know how long it was, but I was crying by the time he got through, although I can't tell you why. He stood for a minute, then slipped on one of those black dashiki-look-ing things he always wears and smiled in my direction like he had seen me there all along.

  "Ava," he said, and it wasn't a question. I jumped and wondered suddenly if I had invaded his privacy in some terrible way.

  I wiped my face quickly and tried to explain. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-. . . The Sewing Circus is at our house and I was just out walking and . . ."

  "Do you want to come in?" he said, walking toward me.

  "Yes," I said, grateful for his outstretched hand. "I'd love to come in."

  10

  Eddie's house was as soothing as it had been the first time I was there. He put on a record of what sounded like birds and bells and flutes.

  "It's Brazilian," he said. "If you don't like it, let me know."

  I was standing by the door watching him move around the room, tossing a couple of pillows down near the low futon couch, lighting large fat candles and a stick of Blue Pearl incense. The full moon rising over the lake was shining in the large windows that Eddie had just replaced, and I realized this wasn't a house. This was a haven.

  "Do you need more light?" he said, turning up a flame under the teakettle. I shook my head.

  "Do you have anything stronger than tea?" I said, knowing he probably didn't. Him and Joyce drink so much tea, they should be Chinese.

  He smiled apologetically. "Let me put some shoes on. I'll go over to the liquor store and get whatever you want. Won't take me but a minute."

  "That's okay," I said, figuring tea would probably be my best bet anyhow. I was still feeling weepy and a drink now would probably push me into crying and confessing more than Eddie wanted or needed to know. "Tea is fine."

  He nodded and set out two cups, opened a cabinet and took out a box with a delicate white flower painted on the front.

  "Chamomile," he said, dropping a bag in each cup. "The soothing effects of this tea are legendary."

  "Do I look like I need to be soothed?"

  "Everybody needs to be soothed," he said. "Have a seat." And he waited while I decided to settle on the couch. He sat down at the other end and put both cups on a low

  ible in front of us. Almost everything he had done since we /alked in the door should have felt like seduction, for which was definitely not in the mood, but with Eddie, it felt natural. Jot like we weren't a man and a woman, but like that wasn't 11 there was to it. I didn't feel like he was trying to help me elax so he could trick me into bed. I felt like he really wanted ne to be comfortable.

  We both just sipped our tea for a while. The Brazilian )ird band was still cooing and strumming and chiming softly, [he monkeys in my head were settling down for the night, at ast. I sighed so loudly that Eddie grinned at me.

  "Okay," I said. "So a little soothing doesn't have to be i bad thing."

  He laughed out loud. "That's what my grandmother ased to call a left-handed compliment."

  His laugh lit up his face and crinkled his eyes at the corners. I was glad we weren't kids anymore. If you're living an interesting life, your face should get more interesting, too. Eddie's face was seasoned without being craggy and his eyes were as clear as Imani's. Of course, he saw me in the dark.

  "Was that t'ai chi you were doing?"

  He nodded.

  "I didn't mean to bother you," I said.

  "You didn't bother me at all."

  I wanted to tell him how beautiful he looked out there, but I didn't want to tip the balance of things, so I settled for "How long have you been doing it?"

  "A long time," he said. "Probably twenty years. I learned it in 'Nam. Helped me stay sane."

  "Maybe I should take it up."

  "I tried to teach Joyce," he said. "But she quit before she had a chance to get good at it."

  "She told me. We were thinking of trying it together.

  Safety in numbers."

  "First fifty lessons free," he said. v

  I was surprised. "How many lessons does it take to learn it?"

  "About five."

  Now I laughed. "It's a deal," I said.

  The album finished and the tone arm lifted off with a click and returned to its rest. The sound was comfortingly old-fashioned and I sighed again.

  "Do you have a preference?" he said, standing up in one long, graceful motion.

  "Something soothing," I said.

  "My specialty," he said, reaching for something around what looked to be the Js. He put on another album, lowered the dust cover, put a little more hot water in our tea, and sat back down next to me. The music was another dreamy blend of flutes and what seemed to be the sound of water bubbling over rocks.

  "How can you have music like this and the collected works of George Clinton?" I said.

  "Just lucky, I guess."

  "Are you?"

  "What? Lucky?" He considered his answer. "Hard to say. I'm alive. That's a big stroke of luck because I know none of that is promised. I lived through something that took out a lot of brothers smarter than me and had more heart than me, so I guess that's lucky." He stopped again, picking his works carefully. "But the stuff that landed me there in the first place wasn't so lucky, so I guess I'm about even. How about you?"

  "Lucky?" Frank's taunting voice came back strong: death pussy. I took a sip of tea, but I felt my damn eyes fill up all of a sudden like I was going to start crying again. I tried to take a deep breath, but I hadn't been ready to hear that voice back in my head again. Death pussy. I felt a damn tear slide over the curve of my cheek on the side nearest to Eddie. He was turned toward me, so I know he saw it, but he didn't say anything. I felt a tear on the other side and then a couple of more
. I put the cup down and wiped my face without looking at him. Damn!

  Eddie got up and picked up one of the red pillows and dropped it down near my feet. "Can I sit here?" he said. I nodded.

  "Can I take your shoes off?"

  I was a little surprised, but when I nodded again, he slipped off my sandals, picked up my left foot, and rubbed it lightly all over. Then he put it down and did the same thing with my right one. Then he picked up my left again and started massaging it gently. He kneaded the ball of my foot, stroked my arch, and pulled each toe out gently. His hands were large and warm. The palms were hard without being rough and his fingers were long and slender. He had put one foot down and picked up the other before he said anything else, which was okay with me. The more he rubbed my feet, the more I felt my face relax, my neck, my shoulders, the small of my back. I put my head against the soft pillows on the back of the couch and closed my eyes. I wasn't crying anymore, but I didn't trust my voice yet. I was not about to risk a quaver. "I saw the worst things you can see human beings do to each other every day, the whole time I was in 'Nam," he said, curling my toes over softly and rubbing them slowly. "And I did my share. By the time I got back to the world, I was a bad man."

  His hands on my feet never changed their pace or their pressure.

  "I think maybe one of the reasons I had to go to jail was to make me think about 'Nam. On the outside, I could drink it away, or smoke it away, or snort it away, or sex it away, but in the joint, it was just me and my memories."

  He was quiet for a minute, twisting each of my toes back and forth gently. I wanted to ask him what he'd been in jail for, but I didn't have the energy to ask the question.

  "The thing about it is, thinking about 'Nam made me

  think about everything. It was like doing LSD and looking at something so close that you see everything in it. All the good. All the bad. Everything."

  He took both my feet in his hands and held them very gently. "First I got mad at them for sending me. Then I got mad at me for going. Then I got real mad at being a big enough fool to get myself locked up for ten years."