by M. T. Pope
“I’m going get this big-ass burger and fries and a side of mozzarella sticks.”
“Damn, your ass is greedy.” I smirked.
“You got that right, especially when someone else is paying.” He laughed. “Oh, I do believe that I will be ordering me one these delectable desserts up on here, too.”
“I bet you will.” A depressed feeling came over me once again. I was trying my best to keep up the appearance of happiness, but I was failing.
“Yo, what’s really going on?” His demeanor changed to that of sincere concern.
“Nothing, I’ll be all right,” I mumbled half-heartedly.
“Yo, you can talk to me about what you want to talk about. You already know I won’t judge you.”
“I know you won’t. It’s just hard for me to talk about. I just don’t want to even think about it.”
“Kraig, what is it? It can’t be that bad.” He looked even more concerned. He looked me in the eyes and I couldn’t keep looking at him in his face so I looked away for a bit. I looked at the room, the people roaming about, the children who hopped up and down in their seats in anticipation for the fun they were about to have after they had eaten.
I looked at some of the couples at the table around us and saw the contentment in their eyes. I couldn’t tell what was really going on, but they looked happy, happier than I did at that moment. Why was it so hard to talk about myself to others, what I was going through and dealing with on a daily basis? Here I had a best friend sitting right in front of me and I couldn’t even share one of my painful memories with him.
He knew everything about me except for some very painful things in my past. I thought that telling him that I was gay would have deterred him from any type of relationship with me but he looked at me like I was a regular person, like I was the average guy, like I was his best friend. How can I hold back with something like this, knowing that he has never judged me at anytime we’ve been friends? So it was now or never, so I spilled my guts.
“I . . . I . . . I don’t know who my father is. I want to know who my father is and my mother is holding something back on me. All she gave me was a raggedy picture that I can barely see.
“Man, I feel like I am incomplete. I feel like a foster child. Why would she hold something so crucial about me from me? I have a right to know, don’t I? It’s not her call to hold this information from me. I just want to twist my hands around my mother’s neck until she gives up all the information that I want and need to know. Am I wrong for feeling that way? Am I? Am I?” My chest heaved a little as I came back down off of my emotional high.
“Wow.” Carlos looked at me in amazement. For a few seconds there was just silence. All that I could hear now was my heart beating and the commotion of game bells ringing and people laughing and chattering.
“Dude, that is some heavy stuff.” I know what you are saying: why didn’t I just spill my guts and tell Carlos about the whole Jarrod situation? I didn’t think he was ready for that, and from the response he just gave me about this I knew I would have to wait awhile before I felt it was time to get it all out. “But, your mom is so cool. Why is she holding out like that?”
“Man, I don’t even know. I just can’t put my finger on it, but my mother has some serious issues with my father and I don’t think it ended well for them. The sad thing is I can’t remember anything about him to save my life. I have no memories of him at all.”
“None?” He looked shocked. “Shit, I remember my bastard of a father, even though he left us as soon as he got us here to America. His ass boasted about bringing his family to the land of the free, to only up and leave us so he could be free. I know all about it. I just don’t want to know about his sorry ass.” He shook his head. That was another thing that me and Carlos had in common: estranged fathers. Well, I really didn’t know if my father was estranged, but it was all that I could go by until I had more proof in my hands.
“Man, that is what’s wrong with the world today, all of these men just up and leaving their kids behind to fend for themselves.” I partially blamed my madness and lifestyle on the father who was not in my life.
“Homie, you ain’t never lied.” Carlos smirked in disappointment. “Kraig, I just wish that he was there for me when I graduated high school and college. I need somebody to teach me what I am doing wrong with the ladies. I don’t have a clue as to what I am doing. I’m fucked up. If my father was around I would have known that Nicole was a ho. Her ass even had the name Hoover tattooed right above her pussy. I had to let that girl go as soon as I saw that shit.”
“Wow, that is crazy. Well, at least you are somewhat normal. I sleep with men and my mother has a lesbian lover. Try swallowing that pill every day when you wake up.”
“True that.” He nodded. “You do have me beat in that department.” He laughed a little and so did I. But the truth was there was still a sting of resentment in me that made me want to go off on somebody—anybody. It was like having a puzzle on the table and you got two pieces missing that would make it complete. You look and look for the missing piece: under the table, in the trash, you start questioning people, and pretty soon you get downright desperate for closure. You threaten to knock the whole puzzle on the floor into its former pieces and try to move on to something else, but in the back of your mind the lost pieces are lurking for you to find them and give you what they want: a sense of being and completion. I wanted my whole life to be complete. I didn’t want to go on in life in this seeming rat race, never finding my true worth. It’s like slow torture, it’s like a thousand pine needles were being pressed into the skin one at a time, day by day, and I was one who wanted to die instantly. Don’t torture me. Slit my wrist and get the shit over with.
A couple of minutes later we were being served our food and we conversed more about future plans for our lives.
After about an hour and a half of playing games and acting a fool, we made our way out to the parking lot to go home. I was now even more exhausted and I was ready to just go to bed, wake up tomorrow, and start fresh. I was walking slowly and my mind was still clouded with frustration.
“Here.” I tossed Carlos the keys as we approached my truck. I really didn’t feel like driving. I was putting my life in the hands of the ghetto Puerto Rican Mario Andretti, but I didn’t care. That was just how tired I was. As soon as we got on Route 100, I was out like a light.
I didn’t know how long I was asleep but I knew that the truck had stopped. I sluggishly woke up and looked around.
“Where are we?” I questioned Carlos as I looked around at what was darkness and trees. A road marker on the side of the road said that we were on I-695. Then I noticed the flashing blue and red lights behind us, and knew that we had gotten pulled over.
“Sorry.” Carlos frowned as I looked at him. I was slouched in the chair so I pulled myself up and peeked behind us to see the police officer coming toward us. Carlos looked nervous; he wasn’t the street-boy type he tried to be and police intimidated him. His fingers jittered as he pushed the button to roll down the driver side window.
“Good evening, fellas.” He greeted us and then flashed his flashlight in our faces. I never liked to be in situations like this. Most people didn’t. There was one thing that a person never forgot when he got pulled over: an officer searching you and the truck with his flashlight before asking you if he could search the car. The twist with this situation was that we both were minorities. Not a good look for us at all, which meant there was an automatic assumption of guilt. Innocent until proven guilty was never on the table and you knew it. “Do you know that that you were doing eighty miles an hour in a fifty-five zone?”
“Eighty?” I looked at Carlos in shock. He drove fast, but damn was his ass trying to get us home in ten minutes? Arundel Mills Mall was at least a half hour to forty-minute drive to Edmondson Village. I looked at my watch and saw that only ten minutes had gone by, and we were already on 695, which was like twenty minutes from Arundel Mills Mall.
“No, sir.” I looked at Carlos, heated. He put on that “I’m super sorry” frown that was not working at the moment. “I didn’t know that we were driving that fast.” I shot Carlos another stare.
“Well you were.” He looked at me suspiciously. “What’s the rush, fellas? There is not a lot of traffic out here tonight.”
“N . . . no rush,” Carlos stammered. “I guess I just misjudged my speed.”
“Sir”—he moved his flashlight toward the speedometer—“can you put the truck in park and then push down on the accelerator for a sec?” I looked as Carlos pushed down on the accelerator with his foot and the speed needle moved slightly. Carlos and I looked at each other quickly, knowing exactly what the officer was getting at. “Looks to be working just fine . . . Is this your truck, sir?”
“It’s my truck, sir,” I interjected. Carlos looked like he was about to throw up.
“Can I see both your driver’s licenses?” He paused. “And your registration, sir.” He looked at me like I was going to reach under my seat for a gun or something. Racial profiling was a muthafucka, but from a black cop it was downright sickening.
“Sure, sir.” I went to reach for my glove compartment and paused. “Can I get it out of my glove compartment?” I didn’t need to be on the news for getting shot by a cop who assumed I was pulling out a gun or something. Being a statistic was not in my plans.
“Go ahead.” He gave me the okay. I opened the compartment and out of the side of my eye I saw him slowly reach for his gun holster. I heard the snap of the holster, because I had some good-ass ears. That was a sign that his ass didn’t trust us and he was racial profiling us. My heart started to race and I thought it was going to pop out of my chest. I know dude isn’t about to try to cap us out here in the middle of the highway!
I looked at Carlos, who had tears threatening to fall, as I handed him my license and registration.
“Stay put, fellas. I’ll be right back.” He said it as a warning and a threat. At least that was the way I felt when he said it. It was like he wanted us to give him a reason to act out on us. Police carried Tasers and metal batons nowadays. I didn’t want to get personal with either.
“You okay, Carlos?” One of his legs was bouncing really hard and uncontrollably.
“Yeah, I just want this shit to be over with. I’m not trying to get arrested and go to jail. No offense, but I’m not a bend-over boy. I’ma go down fighting if a nigga try and take my cookies.” This fool gone already; he had us in jail doing hard time with boyfriends and shit. I ignored the last part because I knew that the gay slide that he just threw at me was only because he was emotional.
“Dude, cool it.” I pushed down his hand that was bouncing on his thigh. “We didn’t do nothing wrong, so chill. You don’t have any shit on you, do you?” The last statement was out of panic too. I just didn’t want anything unexpected to happen. We both vowed after we got set up for weed the first time that it was the last and only time we would deal with narcotics of any kind.
“Nah, man. I don’t do that shit. My job tests us on the regular.” He looked at me like he was confused as to why I asked that question.
“Sorry about that, dude, I know you didn’t. I was just panicking too.”
I looked at the officer in the rearview mirror as he walked toward the car. He looked disappointed. I guessed it was because he didn’t have anything on us. He couldn’t, and I was glad that he was going to be walking away with a lemon face.
He handed us back our licenses and my registration. “Fellas, I need you to step from the vehicle and put your hands on the side of the truck.”
“What!” had flown from my mouth and into the air with shock before I could actually think about what to say or not to say to him.
“You heard me . . . out of the vehicle . . . now.” Again, he reached for his gun like he was going to do something. We did as we were told.
Chapter 9
Right to Remain Silent
Carlos and I were about two maybe three feet away from each other on the right side of my truck. The lights of the police truck were still flashing and the few cars that were on the highway were zooming on by us without a care in the world. The cop was in the front of my truck searching for whatever he thought that we had. I had my hands on the side of the truck with my head down along with the assume-the-position stance. I briefly looked at Carlos and he had the same stance as me.
Minutes later Officer Asshole finished looking in my truck and approached us.
“So, fellas, you guys are good. I guess I got to search you punks because I didn’t find shit in your truck.” Fuck! Dude must have a quota or something.
“We don’t have anything, man. Just leave us alone and let us go.” I spoke gruffly with my head still down. I wasn’t trying to be punked by a cop who didn’t have anything on us.
“Dude, just keep ya ass quiet and I’ll get this shit over with. I’m just doing my job against you street drug runners,” he hissed. “Turn your head the other way while I search this dirty muthafuckin’ Mexican over here.”
Damn, what is his problem? I knew Carlos wanted to jump on him from some past episodes in our neighborhood when guys used to tease him about being a dirty Mexican. Even though he was Puerto Rican and looked nothing like a Mexican.
I lifted my head a little to see him go over and begin to search Carlos. He looked my way real quick and I quickly put it back down. I just couldn’t believe that this racist bullshit was happening right now. I was beyond heated.
“I didn’t find anything on your illegal alien buddy over there, so you must have the stuff on you. I’m going to love doing the searching on your punk ass. I bet you got a whole lot of shit on you. You niggas always do.”
You niggas? You black too, muthafucka!
He began to search me, starting under my arms, and he moved down to my waist. Then he moved down to my legs, one and then the other. The whole time I was looking at Carlos who still had his head down. I heard him sniff back some tears and I was even angrier now.
“You sure you don’t have anything on you?” he said angrily as he searched inside my jacket pockets.
“Nah, man, you know we don’t have shit. You’re just getting your kicks by pulling us over. You know this shit is wrong.” I huffed.
“I don’t know shit about you.” He was behind me and he leaned into my ear and spoke roughly to me. He was so close that his hot breath went down the back of my shirt. He was turning me on. All of a sudden I had switched gears and the proximity of his body had got me worked up sexually. That’s when my ass got a mind of its own and pushed back toward his crotch. What the fuck did I just do? I hope he don’t bust me in the head for that move. I looked at Carlos, who was to the left of me, to see if he saw me do it. His head was still down. Only a couple of minutes had passed by but it seemed like we had been standing out there on the side of the road a lot longer.
“What the fuck did you just do?” he whispered into my right ear. I was glad that we weren’t on the side where the traffic could see us.
I shook my head from side to side in fear and regret. “I’m . . . I’m sorry . . . It was an accident.” My tone was very low and pleading for a pass. I was hoping that he wouldn’t beat my ass out here on the side of the road. I had no defense. Cars were whisking by us and all I heard was my heart beating against my chest.
“Um hmm . . . I bet.” He was still in my ear. His hand had moved around to my crotch and he started to rub it. All of this was being done while I was looking at Carlos. My mind was racing, because I didn’t know what was going on. One minute we were being searched for drugs and narcotics and now he was leaning over me, fondling.
“Is it in here?” he whispered in my ear as he continued to rub and squeeze my crotch and balls. I started to get really hot and turned on and I pressed my ass up against his lap even harder than before. His dick was hard as a rock. I was completely turned on now.
“Or maybe here?” He pulled back a little to squeeze my
ass. I was still looking at Carlos and he was still looking at the ground. He was squeezing like it was a woman’s breast and kneading it like it was dough. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. I was being felt up by a cop on the side of the road with my best friend standing only a few feet away from me.
“No, it’s not there.” He pulled away a little and then whispered into my ear again. Carlos was still looking at the ground. He was oblivious to what was going on right now with me and the cop. “Do I have to take you back to the station and search each of your body cavities with my tools?”
I can’t believe this bitch is getting off on all of this. I shook my head no. I knew what he wanted and I already had spotted the ring on his finger. He was a married man looking for some extracurricular activities and he had me in mind.
“Okay, fellas, stand up straight and lean up against the truck with your backs to it,” he said as he pulled out his flashlight again and shined it into our eyes. This time I got to get a real good look at his face. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I couldn’t believe my mind. I must have been dreaming or maybe I was imagining things; this muthafucka looks just like the Jarrod from college. He was a little huskier than I remembered, but he still looked like the bastard who turned me out. I looked at his badge and it read J. STARKS. I didn’t know his last name, though. There couldn’t be two bastards who looked like him out here in the world. The saying “everybody has a twin” popped into my head and made me think again. I wasn’t sure now. But my gut was telling me different. It was him. I knew it was. I looked at him gruffly. I couldn’t believe I didn’t recognize him at first. Maybe I was still a little groggy the first couple of minutes. His voice was deeper than I remembered it. He had that same old mole on his chin and that same old tired haircut. I was so mixed up on the inside.
“Okay, get in the truck and wait for me to release you,” he instructed me and Carlos. I walked around the truck to the driver’s side with a lot on my mind.