by Daniel Black
She jolted upward and looked about. Drool dribbled from the corners of her mouth. She wiped it away and sighed heavily, disappointed that the dream was not real, but anxious to make it so. The boxes were the beginning. All she needed now were markers and sticks. This had to work. Her future rested upon it. So she straightened the blue comforter upon the bed and headed out to complete what she had begun.
Chapter 12
Legion remembered, although not exactly, the name of the law firm because it was a name e’d never heard before: Lewanski or Lewandowski or Leufanowski or something like that. E recalled having seen a business card the night of the first encounter, and with es client’s name upon it, Legion assumed it to be the place of his employment. The name left no particular impression, except that it was different, but now that difference bridged his sordid past with Lazarus’s uncertain future. The man was definitely a lawyer. So if he couldn’t help, he might know someone who could.
Two law firms in Atlanta were listed in the yellow pages under the strange name, though spelled differently, so Legion took the address of the first and lingered just outside the parking gate, hoping to find the man e’d once abandoned. Hours passed as BMWs, Mercedes, and Acuras entered and exited, none with the man Legion sought. By 11:00 A.M., e concluded it must be the other firm and began walking away. At a nearby stoplight, e saw him, talking on his cell, oblivious to the world around him. “Hey!” Legion screamed, flailing his arms without getting the man’s attention. Only by slapping the hood of the car did Legion startle the driver.
“What the fuck!” the man yelled, lowering his window. Rage reverberated in his voice.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I know this is crazy, but I need your help.” Legion fidgeted uneasily.
The man blinked and scowled. “What?” Legion had hoped he’d be happy to see em, but instead fury boiled in his eyes. “You treated me like shit and now you want—”
Legion squeezed es head. “I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you. I swear. But you gotta help me. I don’t have nobody else.”
“Fuck you,” the man said as the light turned green.
Legion held out hope. “I’ll be at our spot tomorrow night at ten!”
The man sped away.
Legion meant to say this would be a real transaction, professional in every way, and that e would pay cash—except e knew e couldn’t. Where would e get cash from, enough to compensate a high-class lawyer? E was fooling emself. E knew it wasn’t possible. Yet e loved the idea because then e wouldn’t risk reigniting in the man’s heart feelings e couldn’t reciprocate. E’d do es best this time, e decided, to honor the man’s emotions, although e couldn’t promise anything. Lazarus’s need was paramount, so whatever e had to endure e’d endure.
Yes, he’d said, “Fuck you,” and Legion had felt the sting in his stomach, and, yes, e’d seen rage in the man’s eyes, but Legion had read it all as sign of the man’s pending desire for e. Anger is really love inverted, e’d once heard, and as long as it persists there’s always hope. Indifference is finality, and nowhere in the man’s disposition did Legion sense an ending of things. So e roamed the streets, rehearsing what e’d say, practicing the performance of humility, trying hard to figure out how to plead without begging. The very idea of begging sickened em and conjured memories of a humiliated son—a reduced version of his original self—who’d begged a father simply to leave em alone. The petition increased his father’s determination to fix Legion, to make em something acceptable, to shift em from monster to man, so Legion grew to loathe the act of asking. For anything. At any time. But now e had no choice. E’d have to swallow years of pride and independence in order to secure the assistance Lazarus so desperately needed, and, in fact, e might even have to love the man—or pretend to—in exchange for legal services far beyond his purse. But what if the man’s no was final? What if his rejection meant he wanted nothing to do with Legion? Ever. How would Legion help Lazarus then?
E knew how to force the man’s assistance, but it was an option e didn’t want to consider. Yet, e reneged on es promise and imagined himself where e’d once been—in the man’s backseat on es knees engaging in an act so vile the memory made him cringe. It was all for the sake of money. Good money. Still, it didn’t lessen the abhorrent nature of things, and although Legion had sworn e wouldn’t do it again, at least not that way, now e knew e would—if it came to it.
It’s for my father, Legion thought to say, hoping to appeal to the man’s sense of paternal duty. Surely he had a father, too, one whom, Legion hoped, he loved and would protect at all costs. Even if he didn’t, he’d undoubtedly dreamed of one, so Legion negotiated the conversation in es head as if e and the man were Horus and Seth in battle for Osiris’s re-membering. Legion knew it wouldn’t be as easy as e imagined, but framing things around the importance of family gave at least the illusion of selflessness. The man was angry with Legion, but surely he’d respect (and, Legion hoped, support) es attempt to save es father.
By 9:45 the following night, Legion stood alone, losing hope that the man would come. Their spot was a short, dead-end street called Tucker with one abandoned house and several vacant, overgrown lots. It was off of Metropolitan and Abernathy, tucked away behind an old warehouse where no respectable person would ever go. Legion had discovered the place accidentally, years prior, after es saved, sanctified aunt Ruthie Mae put em out for saying that perhaps there was no God. “If there’s no God, you have no home,” she’d whispered as if e’d blasphemed. She then proceeded to sling es few belongings onto the street. E’d gathered a change of clothes but left everything else—the fashion magazines, romance novels, collection of baseball cards—and roamed the West End, declaring to the heavens es frustration about an aunt who loved God but not em.
Just before midnight, all those years ago, e passed the Salvation Army school and saw a beautiful, sparkling black Rolls-Royce floating down Metropolitan Avenue. It moved slowly, like a carriage bearing precious royalty. E’d seen such cars in magazines, but never in person, and e wondered who, with apparent awe, had fumbled upon this rejected part of town. Others also gawked, dreaming, surely, of being a passenger in such luxury, while knowing they never would be. Legion followed the car until it turned on Tucker and expelled a prostitute who entered the only house on the street. The windows of the car were tinted, so Legion couldn’t see the driver, but the prostitute turned and frowned her displeasure. E backed away. Later, e returned to the street, several times a week, intrigued by both the car and the woman, wondering what it was about her that elicited the company of the elite. E never knew, but e saw other cars, too, especially late at night. That’s how e’d met the man in the black Mercedes who, in the midst of light rain, had lowered his window and asked, “How much?”
Legion blinked away raindrops and shivered from the abruptness of the question.
“Well?”
E didn’t answer. Instead, e clutched the tattered jacket around es throat, shook his head, and began to walk away.
Cruising at a snail’s pace, the man followed, intrigued by one who looked desperate but apparently wasn’t. “Fine. We don’t have to do anything. Just get in. I’d like the company.”
It was the yearning that beckoned Legion, the pleading in the man’s voice for something human, something real, something intimate. So Legion stared at him and into the car, trying hard to sense whether the man meant em harm. Sensing he didn’t, Legion opened the door of the passenger side and got in.
They were silent at first, as awkward seconds passed slowly; then Legion said, “Nice car.” It was clean—actually meticulous—and smelled of pine-scented, tree-shaped air fresheners dangling from the rearview mirror. A Wendy’s cup rested in the cupholder and a package of Wrigley’s gum sat in the extended ashtray. The man offered Legion a piece, but Legion refused. “No, thank you.”
More silent time transpired, until the man said, “What’s your name?”
Legion thought to offer a fake one, since there wa
s no established trust, but suddenly every human name other than his own vanished from his brain. “Legion.”
The man frowned. “Never heard of that one before.”
Legion smiled slightly. “Then you don’t read your Bible.”
They chuckled.
“You’re right. I haven’t been to church since I was a little boy. Guess you don’t have to go to church to read the Bible, but I always associated the two.”
Legion nodded. “Most people do. I ain’t sure one has anything to do with the other though.” E shrugged.
Legion couldn’t tell if the man’s pause meant e’d said something insulting or profound. Either way, the man stared into the rain, rearranging something in his mind, Legion assumed, so Legion rubbed his thighs nervously until the man sighed and said, “God, the Bible, church … it’s a mess.”
“Yep, it is.”
“You a churchgoer?” He swiveled to face Legion.
“No. Not now. I was raised in the church, though.”
“Why’d you leave it?”
“I don’t know,” Legion lied. “Just got tired of it, I guess.”
In the man’s presence, Legion’s normally belligerent self melted into something submissive and acquiescing.
The man smiled. “You’re lying. People raised in the church tend not to leave it. That’s what research says. They change churches, but they don’t leave the institution altogether. Not usually.”
Legion beheld innocence in the man’s eyes. “Okay. You’re right. I didn’t leave the church. I got put out of my aunt’s house, so I ain’t never went back. She loved the Lord, she claimed, and since I couldn’t see how she loved the Lord and treated me like shit, I left the church. Well, her church. And I haven’t looked for another one.” Legion didn’t know why he was saying all of this, but it felt good. “Me and God are cool, though. God doesn’t require that I go to church to talk to Him. So…”
“I feel you. I’m more spiritual than religious. I meditate all the time. It keeps me centered.”
Legion nodded.
“Why did your aunt put you out?”
“Long story. We disagreed on some things, and she said I couldn’t live there anymore.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Why didn’t you live with your parents?”
Legion turned and looked through the passenger window.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to answer that.”
Flashbacks of a turbulent, abusive life rushed Legion’s consciousness. Eventually e said, “They put me out, too.”
The man laughed out loud. “Damn. You must’ve been a rebellious kid!”
Turning, once again, to face him, Legion said, “Actually, I wasn’t. I was pretty shy and kept to myself. Did everything I could to please them.” E paused. “Still failed.”
Realizing he’d been insensitive, the man touched Legion’s thigh and said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” Legion smiled and blinked moisture from es eyes. “What do you do?”
Now the man hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal, but decided to trust Legion, since e had done the same. “I’m a lawyer.”
“What kind?”
“Criminal.”
“Oh, you get the fun cases.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Legion ventured further. “You married?”
The man chewed his inner jaw. “Not yet.”
“Engaged?”
“Something like that.”
Legion nodded.
“What about you? You got someone special?”
“Nope.”
“Handsome as you are, I find that hard to believe. And look at your body.” The man touched Legion’s thighs, abs, arms, and chest. “Only a fool would let you go.”
Legion almost believed it, almost thought the man could love him, but ultimately knew better. “Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. The only reason I stopped and spoke to you was because I couldn’t figure out why such a young, handsome man was walkin’ this street.”
“Get outta here! You couldn’t see me in the rain.”
“Yes, I could. When you first looked at the car, I saw your face. You couldn’t see me, but I saw you.”
Legion didn’t tell the man that no one had ever called em handsome before and that now e didn’t know how to respond. Or whether even to take the man seriously. “Okay. Well, thank you.”
The man touched es hand again. “May I kiss you?”
Under normal circumstances, Legion would’ve leapt from the car and dashed away, having already imagined an unfavorable outcome, but the declaration of es beauty left em entrapped. So e leaned toward the man slowly, cautiously, like one begging another to be careful with something fragile and precious, and when their lips met tears formed, which Legion couldn’t restrain. The man touched es face so lightly his hands felt like feathers, and, as the kiss lingered, Legion melted into the man’s sincerity. That’s really what got Legion—the man’s sensual touch—and, having never felt it before, Legion surrendered and allowed emself to know human ecstasy. Tears streamed because e’d concluded this wasn’t for em—that no one would ever find em alluring, especially once they discovered everything—but now, in this moment, e’d been introduced to a different possibility and e never wanted to let it go. No, e didn’t know the man, and, no, e couldn’t have him—he’d be married soon—but e could have the moment, and, so, without reservation, e relaxed and participated in the construction of a fantasy. The man paused at one point and asked if Legion was okay, and when Legion nodded he kissed em again, more thoroughly than before, and Legion wondered how much of the man e could keep. When they released, each sank into his respective seat, exhausted with elation, and ran different scenarios of lives neither could have. The man thought of the wife and children he’d always longed for, and tried to imagine how Legion could coexist with them. Of course e couldn’t. But there was something the man felt with Legion, something about the vulnerability of a man that excited his senses and made him know himself better. Legion considered a life where the man would have home-cooked meals and ironed clothes and perhaps even adopted children and, together, the family would sit around the table and share stories of their day. This couldn’t happen, either. The man was already contracted to another life, and if he was attracted to Legion’s maleness that, too, at some point, would be an insurmountable complication, which the man would undoubtedly read as deception. So Legion’s hope returned to its original size as e grabbed the door handle.
“Please don’t go. Not yet. Stay a little while longer.”
Against es spirit’s wisdom, e stayed. They spoke of other things, lighter and easier to manage than their imaginations, until the man said he, too, had to go.
“I want to see you again.” It was more a plea than a request.
“I’m okay with that.”
That’s when Legion looked down and saw, beneath the center armrest, the man’s business card. They met every Saturday night until the man fell in love. When Legion was broke and starving, the man provided money enough to last a week or two, and Legion buried his head between the man’s legs so as to earn es keep. The man made it clear that Legion didn’t have to do it, that he’d give em the money anyway—if e really needed it—but Legion didn’t trust his word. The man never offered anything until after he’d been satisfied, and once when Legion asked for money without performing es duty the man said he didn’t have it. Legion understood that no one gives money for nothing. No one.
So the exchange continued until the day the man confessed his love. He announced it casually, like one speaking of inclement weather, and said that, for the first time, he wanted to taste Legion. That’s when Legion knew things had to end. The man couldn’t see em nude, Legion believed, without being horrified, so instead of wasting time pondering the impossibility of someone knowing all of em and loving em still, e sprang from the car and spri
nted away. The man tried to follow, shouting, “Wait! Wait! It doesn’t have to be this way!” but Legion knew it did, so e ran faster until vanishing into southwest Atlanta. Never, ever did Legion weep the way e wept that night, angry with emself for not taking the risk, furious with God for making em bear a truth no other man, as far as e knew, had to bear. Yet when the wailing ended, the conclusion was the same. It would always be the same—until people became more like God. Or God created more people like Legion.
Now here e was again, years later, needing the man as much as the man once needed em. It was 10:15 P.M. Legion almost walked away but then the car turned onto the street slowly, apprehensively, as Legion took a deep, uncertain breath. They met at the dead end. At first, neither moved. Then, the man lowered his window slightly and said, “Get in.” Legion didn’t want to, but if e wanted the man’s help e had no choice.
E closed the door softly, as if a bang might inflame the man’s fury. E’d prepared to be lambasted, but instead the man whispered, “I missed you.”
Legion’s eyes closed. “I’m sorry.”
The man reached for es hand and Legion surrendered. “Why did you leave me? Especially like that.”
“It’s complicated. I can’t explain it.”
“But you could’ve said something!” he said louder, dropping Legion’s hand. “You could’ve told me you didn’t like me or you’d gotten tired of me or whatever. You just ran away.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”