by Curtis Bunn
“Yeah, I apologize. I realized today that I had the ringer off by accident. Not sure how I did that. But I noticed I had two missed calls from you when I was on my way to meet you today.”
“OK. Still, you seem more upbeat than usual.”
“I do? Well, I’m glad. I have to admit, Rodney: I feel better about my life than I have in a long time. Walking with you and taking your diet advice has helped me lose weight. I think a lot of my self-esteem issues centered around just not feeling good about how I looked.
“Now, you have me obsessed with walking and eating right and so the weight is coming off. Probably the biggest thing is that I am proud of myself. I’m doing something to make myself look better and be healthier. And I feel better. It’s a big thing for me.”
I was proud to have a small role in Brenda’s jovial state. It gave me a sense of purpose, which was another feeling I had dismissed.
“This is where I walked a few weeks ago and met some interesting people,” she said.
“Yeah, and that’s why I took you to the shelter—so you would be scared straight into not taking that walk again at night by yourself.”
“Let me ask you something,” she said. “What will it take for you to get off the streets?”
That was a good question because I had not pondered it. Once I found myself on the streets, I believed it was where I belonged—considering what had happened—and where I would stay.
“Who said I wanted to get off the streets?”
That was the best I could come up with on short notice.
“No one,” Brenda said. She knew how to talk to me: She never applied pressure and always projected calmness.
Then she added: “I’m thinking that I see you in a leadership role, working with kids or leading young entrepreneurs or some kind of project manager with people you direct. And that person has a place he calls home.”
Words could not formulate in my head. I got where she was going in her first comment. “I am not sure about who I am right now,” I said. “I . . . You spend two years living on the streets, and it becomes a way of life. The great author Thomas Wolfe wrote a book, You Can’t Go Home Again. He’s right. The only home I knew is gone.”
Brenda did not respond. Instead, she pulled out her cell phone. We walked for a few minutes, and I had to prevent her from strolling into traffic, as her head was glued to her phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. I’m looking for something. OK, this. This is from Thomas Wolfe’s You Can’t Go Home Again: ‘The human mind is a fearful instrument of adaptation, and in nothing is this more clearly shown than in its mysterious powers of resilience, self-protection, and self-healing. Unless an event completely shatters the order of one’s life, the mind, if it has youth and health and time enough, accepts the inevitable and gets itself ready for the next happening like a grimly dutiful American tourist who, on arriving at a new town, looks around him, takes his bearings, and says, Well, where do I go from here?’
“What do you think of that, Rodney?”
We had stopped to sit on a short wall in front of the SunTrust Building. He looked at the passing traffic.
“It’s interesting for sure.”
“Interesting?” Brenda said. “It’s more than interesting. It’s inspiring. You brought up the book, not me. And in it, it is saying you have the ‘mysterious powers of resilience, self-protection and self-healing.’ That’s what you’re doing.
“Anyone who lives on the streets when he doesn’t have to, and makes it, is resilient. You’ve done so by defending yourself, just like a few minutes ago is one example, which is self-protection. And slowly, you’ve healed more and more each day.”
I said, “Yeah, that’s true. But I focused on the part where he wrote, ‘Unless an event completely shatters the order of one’s life . . .’ ”
“My point exactly. It goes on to say, ‘It accepts the inevitable and gets itself ready for the next happening . . .’ And it ends, with the man looking around, getting his bearings and then he says, ‘Well, where do I go from here?’
“You see all this? This passage of the book is about you. Someone who was wrecked by an ‘event’ in his life and instead of giving in to the grief, stands up, gathers himself, gets his bearings and wonders where he goes—not where he stays.
“This is you. You have to adopt this same position. Where do I go, which is the same as asking what do I do? And I say you get yourself all the way together and live your life.”
“That’s so easy to say.”
“You’ve been through some things, I’ve been through some things. But we’re still here, Rodney. And since we’re here, why not make the best of it?”
She made sense in my rational mind. But my mind was not always rational, and I couldn’t control when it wasn’t.
“I’m not saying you don’t make a good case. I’m just saying I’m not ready to make any dramatic changes right now.”
“Well, I understand, I guess. But I think if you continue the therapy sessions, you’ll get there. It’s just a matter of time.”
“These are like therapy sessions, really,” I told her. “We talk and walk and talk and walk. And I have opened up to you more than anyone in the last two years. Do you know they used to call me ‘Silent Night’ at the shelter?”
“ ‘Silent Night’?”
“Yeah, because I hardly spoke when I got there. I can’t really remember how I got there. It’s not that clear.”
I could see Brenda’s mind churning. One thing I liked about her was that she thought about what she wanted to say before saying it. Wasn’t sure if she was like that in her everyday life, but that’s how she was with me. Too many people I had dealt with said stupid shit and then, instead of saying they were wrong, would try to justify it.
“How did you end up there? I mean, after the funeral, what did you do? How did you go about leaving your home?”
She stumped me. I had been in such a fog, such pain, that I hadn’t given that much thought. I only knew I could not go back to my home without my family and that I didn’t deserve to have anything but discomfort. Since I didn’t have the courage (or weakness, depending on your side on the argument of suicide), I could not kill myself. So the idea was to suffer.
“I’m not sure. I literally don’t recall all that went into me being out here,” I told her. “I just knew that life in that house without my family was something I could not bear. The funeral was a blur. I cried the entire time. I don’t remember the repast and I don’t remember going home afterward.
“I do recall telling myself that I didn’t deserve to live. Guilt beat me down. I felt so guilty I could hardly breathe. I cried and walked in the light rain until I fell down on the grass, up against a tree.
“I slept there. I wandered the streets for three days and I did not eat. I couldn’t eat; didn’t have an appetite. A cop woke me up one night and told me I couldn’t sleep wherever I was. There was this guy who told me about the shelter. I had seen it before and I knew where it was. But I did not go there for at least three weeks. I just wandered around Downtown and Midtown Atlanta. It was a blur that I don’t quite recall. I was under the radar—I didn’t want anyone to say a word to me. So I avoided contact with people, except when I finally got hungry and began asking people for money.”
“Rodney, this breaks my heart,” Brenda said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It is what it is,” I said. “I wasn’t sure what to do, other than to stay away from family and the few friends I had. I threw away my cell phone—slid it right into a gutter. I was just out there in the world. Had nothing but my pain.”
“I wish you had talked to someone—a friend, a doctor, a coworker, someone—who could have helped you.”
“I couldn’t think straight. And, Brenda, I was humiliated. I fell asleep and my entire family was killed. And I lived. It was the worst-case scenario as far as I was concerned. Living was not a gift. It was a curse that carried a burden I
can never escape.”
“Well, I’m not going to push it. But I said to you before: Your family would not want this life for you. They know how much you love them. They know it was an accident. They would never want you on the streets.”
“That may be true. But I’m the one who has to deal with what happened. Not them. Not you. Not the therapist. Not anyone else.”
“OK, Rodney. You know I care about you. You’re so smart. You will figure it out. One day.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN: ARE YOU IN OR ARE YOU OUT?
BRENDA
I felt horrible lying to Rodney. But I could not pull myself to tell him about Norman. I was afraid he would react as he had when I told him at the park.
It was a tough position for me because I felt closer to Rodney each day, with each walk and talk. The way we opened up to each other changed our lives.
Norman was the confirmation of my change. After that night together, we saw each other more and more, and the intimacy increased at the same time.
The day after Rodney accidentally hit me during the fight with Skip, Norman noticed a small bruise on my face.
“What happened here?” he asked.
I told him the story and he sat up in bed and turned on the light on the nightstand.
“OK, something has to give here,” he started. “It’s bad enough that you’re spending time with this homeless guy, but now you’re telling me he hit you in the face?”
“I told you it was an accident; he was defending himself against someone and I got in the way.”
“But what if you hadn’t seen that guy coming at him with a knife? What if he had stabbed both of you?”
“But I did see him and he didn’t.”
“The point is you’re putting yourself in harm’s way with this guy. I read up on bipolar disorder and it says most are very smart, but that when they have an episode, it could be violent. So why wouldn’t he eventually attack you?
“You said he does stuff and doesn’t recall he did it. He could hurt you and claim he didn’t remember. Who knows what will set him off?”
Norman irritated me with his thoughts, but there was a sincerity and concern in them that prevented me from going off on him and endeared me to him.
“Thank you for being concerned. But Rodney is not violent. He ran away from me. He didn’t try to hurt me. But I still haven’t told him about us, although I know I need to.”
“See, that right there, I don’t like. You’re hiding our relationship from him because you think he can’t handle it? Well, he has to handle it. I don’t like being anybody’s secret.”
“Is that what we have? A relationship?”
“You don’t think so?”
“You never asked me. You never said, ‘Be my girl, my woman.’ You didn’t do as we did as kids and ask for ‘a chance.’ None of that.
“Because we’ve slept together a few times does not mean we’re in a relationship.”
“So wait—women are always looking to be in a relationship. Most of the time you can’t have sex unless you proclaim you’re in a relationship. And you’re telling me you don’t want to be in one?”
I had done exactly what I had intended—to take him off the subject of Rodney and me not telling him about Norman.
“I never said I didn’t want to be in a relationship with you, Norman. I said you didn’t ask me to be in one with you. You can’t assume anything with me. I’m an official kind of woman. I need to be asked if you want me to be in a relationship with you.”
“So we’re just having sex to be having sex?”
“We had sex because we’re grown and made a decision to do so. That’s what grown folks do—decide what they want to do. Sharing my body with you means I like you a lot and care about you. But until we have a conversation about a relationship, there is not a relationship.”
“Well, do you want one?”
“Want what?”
“OK, now you’re playing.”
“You have to say what you mean to me.”
“Brenda, I like you and I care about you and would like to know if you’d like to officially be in a relationship with me.”
“Now that was nice, Norman. Thank you. But tell me, what does being in a relationship with you mean?”
“Come on now. You’re pushing it. You know what being in a relationship means.”
“I know what it means to me. I need to know what it means to you.”
Norman was exasperated. I could see it in his face. And he breathed heavily. But he made me smile.
“A relationship means we are dating. We’re together. And we’re not dating anyone else.”
“Monogamous?”
“Yes.”
“I would love to be in a relationship with you, Norman. But I have to tell you something.”
He gave me a side-eyed look that said, What now?
I just came out with it.
“I’m married.”
“Come on. Stop it. I was just at your place.”
“Technically, I’m married. I’ve been separated from my husband for about two years. I just think it’s important to be up front.”
“So what’s the deal? Why aren’t you divorced? And why are you telling me this now? Your husband could have rolled up on me and shot me and or confronted me and I wouldn’t have known what the hell for.”
“No, that would never happen,” I said. I did not want to tell him that Troy walked out on me, but I had to. He deserved the truth.
“I haven’t seen or talked to him since he left. He walked out on me and never looked back. I haven’t been able to find him to serve him divorce papers.”
“Oh, wow. That’s crazy. What happened? He just left?”
“I don’t know what happened, to be honest. He basically said he didn’t want to be married anymore. And that was that.”
“That’s crazy. How did you handle that?”
“I can be honest with you and tell you it hurt my confidence and self-esteem. If you had met me four or five months ago, I wouldn’t have looked like this. I was at least forty pounds heavier. I walked with my head down and shoulders slumped. But my relationship with Rodney turned my life around.”
“The homeless guy? How did a homeless man turn your life around?”
“You ask that with so much sarcasm, and that’s not fair. Rodney is extremely smart. His family—wife and daughters—were killed and it messed him up. Anyway, we met and we walk and discuss our lives. I had gained a lot of weight, trying to eat away my misery. Walking with Rodney helped me lose a lot of weight and talking with him helped me find myself.”
“You know what?” Norman asked.
I braced myself.
“I saw you and, uh, Rodney the other day, at J.R. Crickets in the parking lot,” he said. “I was driving by on Courtland and there you were. I only saw you all for a quick second, but I can tell he has an interest in you.”
“Cut it out. That’s not true. And you couldn’t tell anything about how he feels in a glimpse.”
“I had more than a glimpse. I was at the light. I saw you walk across Courtland and him move to the outside. I think he was trying to avoid being seen by someone.”
“What? Norman, he was being a gentleman. He knows the man should walk on the outside and the woman inside, away from the traffic. You don’t know that?”
“Never heard that before.”
“Oh, my goodness. That’s a problem for me, Norman. We’re being honest here and just talked about starting a relationship. But I need a gentleman in my life. You think it’s OK for the man to walk inside?”
“I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t know it was some law or rule or—”
“Etiquette. It’s etiquette. Pure and simple.”
“Well, OK. I don’t know everything.”
“How old are you?”
“You’re not going to stand in judgment of me because I didn’t know one thing. Not happening. And haven’t I been a gentleman? Haven’t I opened the door for you?”
“You have, but I didn’t say anything, but it bothered me.”
“What?”
“When we got into your car, you just jumped in. You didn’t open the door for me. That’s an important part of being a gentleman. Troy, my husband, never let me touch the car door handle.”
“Well, I ain’t Troy and I ain’t the homeless guy—”
“Rodney.”
“I ain’t Rodney, either. I’m Norman. What you see is what you get.”
“So you’re telling me you’re not going to open the car door for me or walk on the outside?”
“No, I’m not telling you that. I’m saying I’m me.”
“And I’m asking are you going to be more chivalrous?”
“Seems like you’re trying to change me, Brenda.”
“You can call it that if you like. I’m trying to receive what I should receive from a man I’m in a relationship with. That’s all. If that’s too much to ask, we can forget the conversation about being in a relationship. One thing I’m not going to do is accept less than I deserve.”
“Well, I don’t like ultimatums. They get you nowhere with me.”
“I don’t like them, either. But this is important to me. And I’m not asking you to change the oil in my car or to cook me breakfast in bed every morning. I’m asking you to be a gentleman. I do not understand why that’s such a problem.”
“It’s not a problem. But—”
“If it’s not a problem, then why are we going back and forth about this?”
“Because I don’t do well with people trying to control me.”
“I can’t speak to other women you have dealt with, but I am not controlling. I would like my man to treat me the way I’m supposed to be treated.”
I had reached my tipping point. I was not going to argue with that man another second.
“So, that’s it? You’re not going to be a complete gentleman because you think that’s trying to control you? Just tell me yes or no, so we can move on, one way or another.”
“I’m saying I am a gentleman.”
“And?”
“And I don’t have a problem walking on the outside or opening the door for you.”