The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception

by Brother Dash

  “Hmmm, okay. So do you love this girl?”

  “Rayne?”

  “No, Chase. Your fiancée.”

  “Of course. I love Jenae. That’s why I agreed to this crazy scheme in the first place.”

  “You can tell yourself that. I mean I believe you love her. That part is obvious. You’re in love with Jenae, but you love this life I gave you, maybe a little too much. That’s why you agreed to Eugene’s demands. You were afraid of Professor Chase Archibald returning to Tevarus Augustus Huxley.”

  “By the way your mother must have been reading some interesting books when you were born. Tevarus Augustus. That’s quite a name.”

  “My name is Chase,” Chase says.

  “Of course it is,” Bam says, like he’s humoring a child.

  “So what now Bam? I can’t keep doing this.”

  “This Dean Ganges of yours. Has she brought up Eugene again since the restaurant?”

  “Not lately no. But she did pull me aside that night and said that I need to get my personal affairs in order, if I’m going to take over as Chair of the department.”

  “And Devantay? What about him? You seem to have taken a shine to him,” Bam says.

  “Yes, he’s a special child. He’s really intelligent. Clever, in fact. I guess I have taken to him the way you took to me. He’s had a rough start to his young life. Drug addicted prostitute mom. Father committed suicide. Crazy relatives with their own addictions and dysfunctions. No one has wanted him. And those that have wanted him? Well…let’s just say that it was for all the wrong reasons grown men want little boys. All he has known is foster care and group homes for the past few years.”

  “But you see something in him don’t you?” Bam says with a gleam in his eye, pointing his finger and waiting for Chase to agree.

  “Yes, yes I do. I see something very special in him.”

  “Aha, yes. You have the same eye,” Bam pumps his fist high. “The same eye I do,” he says. From behind the curtain a throat clears with a tepid sounding, ahem.

  “Buh-Buh-Bam. I’m sorry but visiting hours ended a little while ago and dinner is going to start soon. I’m sorry but—“

  “Relax, young man. I know you still need to do at least a little bit of your job. We are done anyway,” Bam says as the guard retreats.

  “Done? But wait what about—?”

  Chase’s words get cut off as Bam rises and spreads his arms wide. They embrace. Although Bam is almost six inches shorter, Chase still feels smothered. Bam steps back. He stiff arms Chase by his shoulders like he’s holding a baby with a dirty diaper.

  “You won’t have to worry about Eugene, or your career, or your engagement. And no more of this banging chicks for tricks. Unless you’re like most men and want the sex without the responsibility?”

  “No, no. I just want my life back Bam. My life,” Chase says.

  “I will take care of that. I will make sure you get your life back. Don’t let a few pebbles down a mountain turn into boulders. We will do a course correction. I’ll fix everything. Start living again,” he says.

  Chase radiates a smile. He breathes the biggest sigh of relief he has ever felt. He knows that Bam’s word is like the sunrise and the sunset. A guarantee.

  “No more stressing, Chase. Go back to Brooklyn with a southern smile,” Bam says.

  They bro-hug one last time as Bam calls for the guard. He escorts Chase back through the corridors and locked doors. Chase flashes the back of his palm under the UV light to re-enter the lobby. He’s jubilant as the lobby guard hands him his NYC cap. He squares it on his head, cracks a smug smile and struts out the door. The humidity is like a cool shower. The blazing sun is his cold drink of iced lemon tea. There is no more discomfort. No more anxiety. He high steps into the visitor lot and sashays up to the jeep. The driver seat is empty. In the backseat the cabbie snores; white spittle spills from the corners of his open mouth like an overflowing toilet. Chase raps on the window three times.

  “Huh…wha…oh…oh sorry, sorry suh. I was just gittin’ a li’l bit of shut-eye, you see. I didn’t quite know how longs y’all was gonna be in there. Everything okay suh? Didn’t get arrested did ya’? Hahahaha, that was a funny.”

  “Oh everything is mighty fine. Mighty fine as you all say in the South,” Chase says.

  “Well, well now. I sees we done made an’ impression on ya’. Mighty fine indeed suh. You about ret-tago?”

  “Quite ready,” Chase says. The driver climbs from the back and jumps behind the wheel. Chase hesitates before getting in.

  “You know, do you mind if I ride shotgun?” Chase says. The driver’s white teeth shine bright.

  “Mind? Why I don’t mind at all. We can talk the whole way back to Savannah. The whoooole way,” he says. Chase hops in the front passenger seat. As he settles, in he feels something poke the seat of his pants. He reaches behind, and pulls the spine of a book that was stuck in the crease of the seat.

  “Oh, sorry about that suh. I do some reading in betweens fares.”

  Chase looks at the cover of the book. It is stained with coffee rings and has jagged edges. But it isn’t the condition of the book that strikes him. It is the very title itself:

  Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field

  by Walter Scott, Esq.

  The novel is noteworthy because it contains a well known quote often, though erroneously, attributed to William Shakespeare. The famous quote goes:

  “Oh what a tangled web we weave,

  When first we practice to deceive.”

  As a professor of creative writing, Chase knows the phrase well. He shrugs and tosses it in the back seat. The driver turns the key in the ignition. The engine roars and shifts into gear. Chase and his chatty chauffeur, chug back to Savannah Airport. No sleep ’til Brooklyn.

  14 Revelations 1

  

  Gotham. Funk for the senses. White smoke, from molten tar on asphalt, chokes his nostrils. He coughs but nothing breaks his stride. His gallop is cheerful. He churns, leaps and bounds like a 1970’s soap commercial. Spring is rebirth. It has been five weeks, two days and eight hours since a trip to a prison in Georgia gave him a new lease on life. Gone are the gate crashers and veiled threats. No random women. No obese goons. And the love of his life does not withdraw from his caresses. She luxuriates in them. All is right as rain. His legs circle the corner of Catherine Slip, stride down Water Street and turn at the halal food cart on South Street. Mmmm that smells sinfully good. He considers turning back to grab a lamb gyro. A fragile voice cries out.

  "Buff Puff," he hears. He turns only to see a line for the food cart and a pony-tailed mother, jogging behind a three wheeled baby buggy. “Buff Puff,” echoes again, followed by several sickly coughs. Crouched with her knees to her chest, next to an orange construction cylinder, is Miss Pat. Her red stringy hair is soiled and matted to her age spotted, and thinning scalp. It seems to weigh her neck down to the cement, as if each follicle is attached to an anchor. Her skin is an oily, pale, leather. Her bony limbs are like the elbows of a plastic hanger. They poke out of the moth eaten sleeves of her grimy sweater. And she smells like eggs.

  “Miss Pat?” he says.

  Her head wobbles as her eyes struggle to meet his. Chase bends on one knee and touches her shoulder. It is cold and prickly. It feels like a shattered ball of glass a two year old has attempted to glue back together. Her voice is strained.

  “Aww, Buff Puff. Look at you. Don't look so sad,” she wheezes.

  Chase takes out a half-filled aluminum canteen from his fanny pack. He cups her chin and trickles a bit of the water into her mouth. She scrunches her already wrinkled face as if she swallowed a lemon, and spits out a shower of liquid like an open fire hydrant.

  "Yuck. That's water,” she cackles. Chase stares back in disbelief.

  “Of course it’s water. What did you think I was giving you?” Chase says.

  "You ain't got no wine?" she says.

  “No, Miss Pat. No alcohol.”


  "Bah," she says and brushes the flask away.

  "Miss Pat you need to drink something."

  "It don't matter no way," she says. Her voice trails.

  "What do you mean? Of course it matters."

  “No, Buff Puff," she says and curls into a violent fit of coughs.

  "Miss Pat, let me help you up. We need to get you to a hospital.” She slaps his arms away.

  "I told you it's too late for that. My time is up Buff Puff."

  "Miss Pat stop talking crazy."

  The frail, spunky, woman continues hacking and wheezing. She motions with a crinkled finger for Chase to come closer.

  "It's time for me to go, Buff Puff."

  "Go? Where can you possibly go? I told you we need to—“

  "Shhh. We all have to go. My time...my time is done. I'm going home," she says.

  “Home? Where?" Chase whispers.

  "A dirt road and a tin shack. But the sun is warm. So…so...warm." She closes her eyes.

  "Miss Pat, you’re drifting.” Chase shakes her. Her eyes lift.

  "Buff Puff. I got something to tell you.”

  ”Yes, Miss Pat?"

  “Buff Pu—Chase. Chase we all got to go home. You need to go home too—COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH—Oooh. Look at that face. You look so confused,” she says.

  "Miss Pat I am home. I live here."

  "You don't live here boy!” she shouts. The outburst causes her to teeter like a buoy on an ocean wave. Chase steadies her.

  “Okay, Miss Pat. Where do you think my home is?”

  “Death. Death is your home. You need to die Chase. You can’t live until you die."

  Miss Pat launches into a tantrum of coughs and gurgles. She collapses on her side shivering and choking on her tongue.

  "Miss Pat. Miss Pat. Oh no. Somebody, somebody help. Hello, somebody help. Call an ambulance. I said somebo—.“ Chase looks up to see that the street is empty. The food cart has vanished. In fact, everyone has disappeared. There are no cars, no speeding cabs, not even a barking dog. Only emptiness. An eerie stillness. He turns to lift Miss Pat but all of a sudden, she isn’t there. There is only a pile of grubby clothes and a greasy bed sheet. Chase is confused. He starts to hyperventilate as his eyes dart from empty corner to vacant street. He screams her name. His breath turns white and powdery. The sky turns grey and cloudy. The street blurs and darkens.

  "Miss Pat. Miss Pat. Miss Paaaaaat.”

  And all…goes…BLACK….

  A bright light spills into his vision like a thick milk of molasses.

  He mumbles Miss Pat’s name over and over.

  “Babe,” a voice says.

  “Missss Puh, Puh, Paaat.”

  “Babe…Babe…wake up.”

  Chase’s eyes pop open. He squints as the shock of a bright sun blinds him. A damp, cool, softness wipes the perspiration from his forehead. A gentle and loving coo, snaps him out of his stupor.

  “Sweetheart, it's okay. It's okay. You're here. You're here with me,” she says smoothing a wet cloth across his brow. His breaths slow as his eyes yawn to Jenae's warm glow. He caresses her cheek.

  “You were dreaming babe. Pretty intense too," she says.

  "Was I talking?"

  “Only, just before you woke up. You started shuffling and mumbling and then you screamed that Miss Pat name. Wasn’t that the bag lady you used to dream about all the time last year? She popped up again?"

  A groggy Chase sits up.

  "Umm. Yeah. Yeah, I guess she did. I don't remember much though. I just remember...I think…Babe? I think she died."

  "Died? Wow. Well, I hope that means maybe you'll actually start running in real life now," she quips.

  “Oh here we go,” Chase says.

  “Look, I love my buff man and his muscles, but you gotta do more than lift weights. How is it that the only time you do cardio is when you’re jogging across the Brooklyn Bridge…in your dreams? Your dreams, Chase? Really? And always running into that nasty homeless lady."

  “Babe, I don't control my dreams."

  "I know, I know. But maybe your dreams are signs. Like you should go jogging across the bridge in real life maybe?”

  “What? I'm not healthy enough for you anymore?" he says and starts to tickle her sides. She bursts into an uncontrolled laughter.

  "Chase...Chase...stop...stop," she laughs. "Oooh boy you're gonna get it, uh hahaha…haaaaeeee,” she says in a high pitched scream. Chase climbs on top of her. His bare chest compresses against her camisole clad bosom. He dances his fingers up her sides, over her shoulders and weaves them through her bushy curls. He kisses the tip of her nose as she wraps her arms around his back.

  “Oh, you know what? I do remember something. So weird babe. She said I needed to die to live, or something crazy. I don't know.”

  “Well, maybe that’s your subconscious talking. You been keeping a secret?”

  "Oh are you getting slick young lady? Huh? Huh?" He tickles her underarms and mows her neck with his teeth.

  “CRUNCHA CRUNCHA CRUNCHA CRUNCHA,” he growls on her skin.

  “Ayyy…you crazy man…AH…Chase! Baby…wait…huh-hah-haaa,” she laughs and pops and jerks from his fiddling fingers, like a fish out of water. Her knees spread and spring towards the headboard. Chase’s waist sinks between her legs as they jostle on the soft mattress.

  "Okay, okay, huh, huh, huh…babe…babe I give up…stop…st-st-st—“ Jenae swallows and tries to catch her breath. “Stop, okay, okay. You win…Whew…You win,” she says. Chase finally stops tickling. “Aaaaah…finally,” she says. Her arms plop at her sides. Chase can feel her heart thumping, like a drum solo, on his chest.

  "Mmmhmm. Talk junk again Attorney Dixon, and you’ll get some more," he says with a gentle kiss.

  “Whatever, handsome man.”

  "You know I want to tell you something," he says.

  "We can talk later. We can work on your cardio right now,” she says and french kisses him with an aggressive tongue.

  “Mmm-Mmm-Babe-Wait-Babe-Mmm-Mmm-Wait-Wait,” he says.

  "Ugh," she says as she squeezes and freezes his head in her palms, with a scowl. “Dude, you are sooo killing my vibe right now," she says.

  “Babe, I know, I know. But I just need to say this to you."

  “Now he wants to be sensitive,” she says aloud. “Okay talk. But you can feel the mood my body is in right now can’t you?” she says.

  "Yes. And I promise I will address every nook and cranny of your gorgeousness with copious amounts of attention…in a minute,” he says.

  “Alright, go ahead. Make it quick,” she says locking her legs around his waist.

  ”So we had our rough patch a few months ago right?” he says.

  “Right, we did. But you got it together after you came back from your conference in Boston. We’re good,” she says. Chase bites his bottom lip as this reminds him of the lie he told Jenae to cover for his trip to see Bam at the prison in Georgia.

  ”I just want you to know that I got it together. Everything has been better between us right?"

  "Yes. Chase. I said we’re good. And babe, I sooo appreciate this warm and fuzzy moment you're having right now. Really I do. But we're good. Now come and give mama your copious amounts of attention," she says.

  Her nails dig down his back and clamp his rear. She peels his boxers back and smacks her lips onto his mouth. They kiss passionately for all of about two seconds. Chase pops his lips off.

  "But you do know that I love you right? I want you to know that. I mean, I really, really worked on some stuff. I know I was wrong. I was being evasive and impatient and I was acting like—“

  "Oh good Lord, boy!” Jenae rolls her eyes back and flops her head onto the pillow.

  "Babe I know, I know. I just wanted you to underst—“

  The doorbell rings.

  "You've got to be kidding me," Jenae says. "Are you expecting someone? Devantay maybe? I know it better not be that damn Tanaka and his bagels.”


  “No, it shouldn’t be either one of them. Maybe it's UPS or something. I'll get it.” Chase rolls off the bed and opens the birch dresser. He tosses on a yellow tee and a pair of cotton lounge pants. He pauses in the wall mirror as he eyes Jenae’s frustrated and pouty face.

  “Just hold that thought," he says and blows her a kiss.

  "Hmph," she grunts. She frowns her left cheek and tufts her arms like a toddler.

  Chase scampers down the two flights of stairs to the front entrance. As he walks towards the door he sees the silhouette of two figures through the double window pane. His suspicions of who is at the door are confirmed.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Eugene Merriweather and Boy-Boy. I mean Man-Man,” Chase says.

  "Chase," Eugene says.

  “Chase, is it? No funny names. No more calling me playboy?"

  “Look, I'm just here to apologize okay?" Eugene says.

  "I'm sorry. To uh…what did you say? Didn't quite catch that," Chase cups his hand to his ear.

  "I apologize," Eugene says gritting his teeth.

  "Apologize? That didn't sound too convincing. Hey fat boy, maybe you can help him out. What did he say?…Helloooo I can’t hear you?”

  "He apologizes," Man-Man says. Chase rifles his gaze from one to the other with the smuggest of grins.

  “Look, let's not drag this out. I’ve been gone for a few weeks. I went to Jesup and spoke with Bam. I was ordered to apologize so I did. And you won't be seeing either one of us again, okay?" Eugene says.

  "No, no, no. You don't get off that easily. You nearly destroyed my life you bratty little shit. And why? For money? Envy? You’ve always had it out for me.” Eugene taps Man-Man’s shoulder and they both start to leave.

  “Whoa, whoa don’t you walk away from me,” Chase says. "Unless you want me to tell that to Bam?” They turn back around.

  “Fine, say what you gotta say man,” Eugene says.

  “Look at what you did Eugene. And why? I’ll tell you why. Because you're a jealous, evil, little man with daddy issues that’s why. I had nothing to do with Bam looking out for me when we were all in prison. I had nothing to do with him treating me like his son. And when I got out I built a life for myself. You tried to take that away from me. All because daddy never gave you a hug?”