“Yeah.”
“Well, that happened a year ago. And, well...” It’s proving harder than I thought. The wound is still so raw. Fuck it!
“So, you’ve read a lot more in the last year.”
I nod, still not able to speak.
“Look, Blaze, no need to get into that stuff with me if it’s hard to think back to. It’s cool.”
I close my eyes, heave in three deep breaths. “There’s a little more. Her boyfriend at the time—the dude who made all these shelves for me— Oh, and the same dude who painted those floating heads downstairs—”
“That’s some cool graffiti.”
I laugh. “Yeah. He did it on a dare. She and I dared him.”
Savannah’s amber eyes stare at me.
Her raven black hair caresses me.
Her smile washes over my thoughts like the face of a corpse against a shattered windscreen.
I can’t. I just can’t.
I stop talking. I’m thrust deep into a flashback and the world disappears.
When I pull out of it, I notice my palms are soaking, and I’m somehow standing, being held by Declan’s rock-solid arms. And I’m crying.
I just can’t do it, can’t talk about her. And I’m going to stop trying to, for now at least. I think Deck understands. I’m strong otherwise. I can take her brother’s insolent attitude, his coke-powdered hands on my wrists. I can take barely making the rent (and sometimes not making it at all.)
But I can’t talk about Savva. So I won’t.
I go to the bathroom and when I come back Deck doesn’t even ask me about it. He doesn’t tell me it’s OK, and he doesn’t tell me he’ll be there for me. He acts as if it never happened. And that’s exactly what I need. Because being reminded about how weak I am doesn’t make me any stronger when her face rams itself into my mind like an Amtrak train.
Pretending I’m strong about it actually helps me get through the day.
So, Declan says nothing. Except: “I can’t fucking believe you have Danielle Steele and Stephen King on the same bookshelf. You should be hanged by the Genre Police.”
-2-
“They’re technically not on the same shelf. They’re all on one big shelf that’s separated by a bunch of little shelves.”
“With labels. Don’t forget the labels. Romance. Horror. I liked this one: Weird.” He pulls out American Gods by Neil Gaiman from the “Weird” shelf, then puts it back.
“I’m very organized when it comes to my books.”
“You know you can get Kindle and Nook books on your phone there.” He points at my iPhone on the table. “For free.”
“It’s not the same.”
“As what?”
“As actually holding a book in your hands. There’s a certain felling to it, like you really own something when you do that.”
“I’m just too stupid to read them without a dictionary.”
“You want some coffee?”
“I’ll make it,” he says. “It’s the least I could do after crying all over your clothes yesterday.” He grabs the French Press near the sink. Stops. Turns. “I really do wanna thank you for that, Blaze. Like I told you yesterday, pops and I weren’t close. But...” His eyes quiver briefly. Thinking of the moment of impact, perhaps. “...that shit stays with you forever, you know. And, you saw me last week. It’s not like I don’t drop or anything. I mean, getting drunk is one thing. But...”
Taking drugs is so much more effective when it comes to forgetting the past. “I hear you. And...I’m glad...you didn’t drop...because of it.” Because my best friend and I dropped Es all the time. And then that became H. And I can’t have that happen to you.
He says nothing to that, probably sensing my heart-gripping panic.
He comes around the kitchen island. “Blaze, technically I’ve stopped dropping. And I can tell this is a heavy subject for you. So, I’ll promise you something: So long as you and I are together, I won’t drop.”
“Or smoke weed.”
He puts his hand up like a good Boy Scout. “I will not inhale, drink, or swallow any illegal substances whatsoever, so long as we are together.”
So long as we are together. It’s the first time I consider that we might not be together. Because the last six days have made me feel like Deck and I simply belong. Like we’re now a single unit. We’ve been together every day, spent almost every night together since Sunday.
Not all romances have a happy ending, I said to him a few days ago.
In such a short time he’s grown on me as much as Savva grew on me over fifteen years.
“I hope that’s a long time...that we’re together.” I hope I don’t need to consider us not being together.
“Me too.” He smiles gently, moves down to kiss me.
The kettle stops boiling and he eases back to grab it. I hold him, still smiling internally from the kiss. I look down at his brown Palladium boots. “Deck...”
He eases his hands over my own. “I know.”
“What? What do you know?”
“I just know, OK? And I feel the same way about you. Don’t ask me why, but I do. And by whatever luck of good fortune, we’ve catapulted through six months of relationship bullshit in the period of six days. And it thrills me...and scares me. Because, before you, it was all just sex. Just bodies connecting like a damn RCA cable in the back of your Bowers & Wilkins speakers. Male to female. I’m scared as well, Blaze. I never planned for this. As I’m sure you didn’t. And I know you’re broken. I know life has slammed you—again and again—”
“And you.”
“Bastid, I tell you. And we can’t stand in the way of life. And he—or she—is one strong motherfucker. I’m at its mercy. When shit happens in my life, as I can see in yours, it ain’t no small shit. It’s like...a fucking train wreck times a billion. And I can’t make that shit go away. But I can promise you this— No, I will promise you this: You can count on me, Blaze.” I look up at him, his azure eyes redolent with passion. Quivering. And watery.
Intense.
“I can’t change life. Life’s gonna come at us, OK? It came at me on Thursday. You were there for me.” He puts my hand to his heart, closes his eyes. A tear breaks loose—this one’s for his father, I know that. “Thank you again, Blaze.”
I croak, “No sweat.”
He wipes the tear away, and focuses on me once more: “So, all I’m saying is, life’s gonna come at us. And if it ain’t something we did, damn, it could be any shit. Terrorism or— Who knows. All I know about life is that it’s random. And all you got when it slams you, is your friends. And those close to you—those who get you through.”
“The boys—they were there for you when your mom passed, weren’t they?”
He nods.
“Deck, I’m gonna say it all now as well: This last week...everything changed. And it wasn’t only you. It was the gig at House Market, the hopes of making it all the way—finally! But it was mostly you. My priorities changed. And...” Now it’s my own eyes that feel warm, and prickly. “...I ain’t gonna bullshit you... I’m fucking scared, Deck—”
“I know—”
“No, you gotta get that. I am scared, dude. I...I wasn’t a virgin when we fucked, baby. Oh, and I’m gonna call you baby. Because that’s what you are.” I put my hand to his cheek. “I’ve put all my trust in you—”
“You can, Blaze. I swear to you, you can.”
“—and let you in. And it just happened and...now I’m scared. Because, like you say, it’s six months in six days. I don’t think our brains were built to work with that speed—”
“But we’re doing it!”
“You’re far too enthusiastic. Didn’t nobody ever tell you you shouldn’t drive too fast on the highway?”
“I got a lot of speeding tickets in my life.”
“Stop making jokes about this!” I hit his chest, but the bastard’s making me laugh. I continue my analogy: “When you drive fast, you get hit fast.”
To that co
mment, he says nothing at first. I’m hoping for some reassurance. I’m hoping for him to tell me that we’re not going too fast, that we have airbags installed. I’m hoping for him to tell me there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Instead, he says, “I know.” And then he hugs me. “But if I hit a wall, I want you right by my side with me.”
That reminds me of Romeo and Juliet. And that scares me even more. Because I feel the same. Right by my side.
I hold him tighter, waiting for the inevitable piano to fall on our mutual heads.
-3-
He sets the kettle going again because we forgot about the coffee. When he looks around confusedly, I say, “Above your head.”
He finds the red tub of Folgers Classic Roast, looks at it for a second. “This any good?”
“It’s cheap.”
He laughs. “Story of Bushwick. Any luck finding a new place?”
It’s like a brick being thrown at my head. “Oh, god, I haven’t even thought about it. But I got six months, or five months and three weeks.” What I don’t have, is a freaking steady job.
“Well, I’m sure by that time you’ll be rolling in the big dough, mixing at Club Pacha.”
I say nothing.
He makes the coffee, but picks up on the eerie quiet. He turns, leans back. “You know, Blaze, I’ve been picking up a weird vibe from you about your music since Thursday. If I’m dreaming—”
“You’re not dreaming.” I answered before even thinking. Then, again, realizing there’s no going back: “You’re not dreaming.”
“What’s the deal, then? It’s not those haters online, is it? You know that shit—”
“No, no. The online buzz is now completely dead. It’s as if I never even mixed last Saturday.”
He pours me a cup. “So what is it?”
I take a sip, steel myself.
And then I tell him about Xavier.
-4-
At first, his eyes express rage. Then, when I detail how I swung the mug in a wide arc, connecting with Xavier’s temple, thereby cutting him so he bled all over his pink Pierre Cardin, Declan starts to laugh.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just... I know it’s serious. It’s just, the thought of you connecting with his head is, well, too hilarious.”
It lightens my mood. “Tell me about it.”
“You wanna play football? We could use a secret weapon such as yourself. Someone to crack the opponent’s head when the stakes are down.”
“That’s how you play? When the stakes are down, you fight?”
He shrugs. “Keeps it interesting. Why do you think Skate and I were so down when that Brad dude—from right here in Bushwick—left? He was a good player. But he was also one helluva fighter. So, anyway, this doesn’t mean you’ve lost your gig. You say that club owner— What’s his name?”
“Gavin.”
“Yeah, him. He hasn’t called you?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean shit. Xavier’s been behind this whole thing from the start. He’s wanted—” I stop. I just can’t tell him that Xavier is the slimeball who took my virginity. “He was Savannah’s brother.” The fist to my throat when I think of her hits fast and hard. But I ride over it.
“Oh.” Deck’s eyes are wide. “Xavier is the brother? Shit. That changes shit. A lot.” He looks out the window, at her apartment.
“Tell me about it. So, he’s wanted to”—I think of how best to word this—“rekindle the friendship. That’s why he got me this gig at House Market. And at Sacrament—Gavin’s club.”
Deck stares at me. “The ‘friendship’? Blaze, guy to girl, let me just tell you that when a guy wants to rekindle the ‘friendship’—”
I put my hand up to stop him. “I know. Please, don’t remind me.” I’m looking down at my workbench-style kitchen counter.
“Did you guys ever, uhm, hook up?”
I look up at him, say nothing.
His jaw clenches. “Right. No need to answer.”
I wait awhile. “Deck...there is a need to answer. I was high. But not so high. I mean, I knew what I was doing when we did it. I’ve known him since I was five. Only in the last year haven’t we spoken...” I hope he can deduce the rest. Because Savva’s face looms dark and deadly, far in the distance...
He takes a loud sip from his coffee. “OK, so, let’s assume you still have the gig until you hear otherwise. But let’s prepare your business plan in case you don’t.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Oh, and Blaze, a coke-head just blew my father’s brains out while trying to pop one in my best friend’s own head. And I’m sure there were people who knew her since she was five as well. They’re not the same people on that shit. You have to keep that in mind. And this dude’s a dealer as well. I don’t wanna be telling you what to do. It’s your life but...well...I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be goin’ out for coffee with him again.”
“No need to mention it.”
If I were Declan, I’d be telling me to never see Xavier again at all. Because isn’t that the logical conclusion? But Deck doesn’t say that. I can’t help wondering if he’s thinking it while he grinds his teeth and looks at his coffee cup, then at me. Maybe he doesn’t want to come across as one of those overbearing men, especially this soon in the relationship.
Soon? Who am I fucking kidding. It’s not soon. It is what it is. Time has nothing to do with how you feel about someone. You either hate them, or love them. And much of that can be determined within the first five minutes of meeting them.
Like, right now, I know I love Declan. We’re talking Real Love. The shit you hear about in stories like Tristan and Isolde and movies like Love Actually. Love that’s thick and palpable. So thick it might as well be a blanket around your shoulders.
I loved Savva similarly. A little less intensely, I admit. Because the sexual need wasn’t there. (And it seems to be always there around Deck. Especially since Thursday night...)
Now, Xavier? You see, here’s the weakness: Because the love I felt for him was far from anything compared to these other two people in my life. And, English being English, perhaps Love is not even the correct word for it. But, similarly, it is. A human compassion. A brotherly love. And, like it or not, the puppy love you will always feel for the first person to ever enter you.
Because, drugged up as we were, Xavier—Jekyll that night—had been gentle with me. Kind. And loving. You can’t take the chemical aspect away from that memory. We were high on E. OK. I understand that.
It doesn’t change that he was my first.
It doesn’t change that he was my best friend’s brother. That I’ve known him since I was five (he was eight then.) That, in those early years, he protected me.
Deep down, I hope I can change him. I hope I can pull him out of what he’s into. Because I believe in him.
And we shared what we shared.
No, I won’t be having coffee with him any time soon. But never?
I look up at Deck’s fearful eyes as they peer into me. Somehow, I sense he knows all of this already.
-5-
Tolek? Him I never loved. Not even a little. Not even when I was rolling on E. And I was high on E a lot with him. He used to buy it for me. Lots of it. I was a new user back then, you see. I didn’t fully understand its effects on me and hadn’t learned my limits. Once, Tolek (who knew E’s limits very well indeed, almost as well as he probably knows the limits of Rohypnol) gave me seven pills in the period of two hours.
I dropped them all.
Let me tell you, that you will fall in love with your grandmother’s stinky toe when you’re baked on that much Adam.
Tolek’s hand made it as far as my left breast that night. That is, until Xavier’s Ruger Double Action revolver pushed sweetly and delicately against Tolek’s throat. That hand slipped out of my bra faster than you can say click-click-BOOM.
Perhaps you’ve been wondering how I could even consider seeing Xavier again after how he laid h
is hands on me on Thursday. And hurt me. I understand that sentiment on your part. I hope this explains it a bit. Because there’s a history there.
They’re not the same people on that shit. Declan’s words.
And that’s what makes it harder. Because sometimes the real person underneath it all is such an angel, such a good person, that you can’t help try get that angel out again—at least one more time—until the end of your days. I think people will always seek shining beauty no matter the level of darkness they face, and believe in its existence until their very last breaths.
Even if it’s the very thing that kills them.
And isn’t that what real love is anyway?
-6-
Deck shows me how to create a Google AdWords account. He sets up my “campaigns” and “ad groups” and “ads” and “ad text” and “site links” and “mobile ads” and locally targets them all to both Brooklyn and the city—Manhattan—by actual location and not “by intent.”
Huh? Yeah, I hear you. I just kinda stare at him while the green and gray background starts filling up with keywords and negative keywords and broad match keywords and expansive broad match keywords and “I’ll never be able to manage this. It’s so confusing.”
“I know it backwards. I’ll take care of it for you.”
He also gets me seventy five dollars bonus credit to start off with. He tells me he’ll check out the “campaigns” each day over the next few weeks because “Google has a knack of convincing you how easy it all is and suggesting you add a bazillion keywords ‘to increase click-through rate’ which basically just swallows all your money up.” Then he rattles off a bunch of stuff about “automated rules” and “optimum position”...
I fade out a little. “You really know this shit, huh?”
He sits back, stretches his arms. “Necessity. I was staying at Trev’s place when I started my moving biz. Dad and I had had a fallout and, well, Trev put me up. I didn’t wanna put his mom out. She’s a sweet lady, will always help you, but, well, they don’t have a lot. And I knew I was a burden on them. Either way, I lived down in East New York for six months. But in the third month of that, I was paying them a little rent—not much, but a little—as a thank you. Anyway, there ain’t nuthin like necessity to make you learn stuff quick. I think I operated on five or six hours sleep in those days.”
Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) Page 4