“You know, kid, that your father’s gay.”
“That’s bullshit. He can’t be gay.”
“Why not?”
“You’re crazy,” Alex said. “There’s no way.”
“But it’s true,” Lester said. “Sorry you had to hear it from me.”
“My dad’s not gay!”
“Suit yourself.” Lester pulled his stick out of the sand and started collecting his clothes.
“Fuck you,” Alex said. “You never met him.” He started walking away, toward the concrete struts supporting the pier. Then, briefly, he turned back and yelled, “And you never will!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alex maintained a southward course along the beach, not caring enough to move away from the occasional surge of water spreading out in front of him and lapping over his high-top sneakers, not caring when he passed right by his father’s condo without breaking his robotic stride. The sun gradually gave way to a crescent moon above his left shoulder, dark sky all around. How could his father be gay? The question formed an endless loop, stranded in the no-man’s-land of Alex’s brain.
He kept walking. He could feel and hear the groaning of his stomach. Last thing he ate was breakfast at the pier, over twelve hours ago. He should find something to eat. But somehow suffering was better. It was more appropriate.
In the spirit of further suffering, he veered left so that every sloshing step kicked up a spray of water. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more pain, more suffering. He wanted to be closer to the source that made everything rotten. So he charged into the water, plowing ahead until the ocean floor under his shoes was no more. The night was black. He lowered his head below the surface and screamed as loud as his lungs could deliver.
His first screams were mindless babble. Then he shouted one string of obscenities after another—some above the waterline, most below the surface. Then he yelled, “Come eat me, you asshole sharks!” To punctuate his tirade, he flopped around like a toddler in a tub.
If he stayed like this, it wouldn’t matter. Shark or no shark, he’d drown from pure exhaustion. To check the depth, he shot himself down like a pogo stick. It was at least twenty feet when his shoes finally struck bottom. Deeper than he’d expected. He propelled himself back up. When his head finally poked through the surface, he turned to face the brightly lit coastline. “No way!” He was nearly half a mile out.
He didn’t want to die after all.
As he began swimming toward the shore, his mind flashed back to how feeble Lester had looked just a couple of hours earlier trying to make it to dry land. There was no comparison. Alex would not have to be dredged ashore by a stick. He was strong. But he would find a way to get stronger. If there was any lesson from his ocean scare, this was it. And by the time he made it to shallow water, the lesson became a promise. He would do whatever it took to get stronger.
But the ocean wasn’t quite through with him. When he turned his head to suck air, a wave broke against his face causing him to snort saltwater. He hacked and coughed his way ashore. Kneeling on wet sand, he coughed until he was nearly crying.
“You okay?” It was a woman’s scratchy voice.
He coughed a little more and said, “I’m fine.” Then he stood up to see where the voice had come from.
The beach was a narrow ribbon of sand, no more than thirty feet from water to waist-high barrier wall. The woman was sitting on a concrete bench in an open section of wall where the sidewalk had expanded. To her left was a shopping cart. A blanket was spread across her lap and over the cart.
“Come here,” she said. “Let me have a look at ya.”
He couldn’t think of a workable excuse, so he squished his way up the sand. The breeze felt cool against his wet clothing. “Hello,” he said.
“Nice night for a swim?” Her face was big and round like a harvest moon, and her smile revealed gaps where there should have been teeth. As he got closer, he could see the scraggly beginnings of a beard.
“I guess so,” he said, looking beyond to the road and the stretch of shops and bars and hotels. “I was just walking. I didn’t think I’d go in.”
“So you’re impulsive,” she said. “And you’re nothing but skin and bones. Have a seat. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“You don’t need to bother.”
“Have a seat.” She patted the empty side of bench then leaned the other way to her cart, pulling back the blanket. Alex sat at the edge of the bench, ready to spring if necessary. He angled himself to see what she was getting, fearing it might be dog food or a slice of discarded pizza.
“You’re in luck,” she said. “I’ve got the mother lode: Ding Dongs, Swiss Cake Rolls, Tostitos and Combos.” She shoveled her hand through an elaborate pile of stuff. “What’ll it be?”
“How’d you get all that?”
“These here are the nearly-expired. I get’em when the stores can’t sell’em. They’d go to waste otherwise. You wouldn’t believe all the things you can get for free just because of the date on the package.”
“Are they safe to eat?”
“Course they are,” she said. “They got preservatives. They’re good as new.” She pulled out a box with the face of Little Debbie and set it in the space between them. “Open up, help yourself.”
He was beyond hungry. If the woman’s hearing was even halfway decent, she could tell by the groans coming out of his stomach. He opened the box lid and pulled out a package of Swiss Cake Rolls. There were twelve, all unopened, ready to be devoured. He pulled apart the clear wrapping and stuffed an entire cake roll into his mouth.
It was good and sweet.
The woman was staring at him. “See what I’m saying?” The night breeze trailed past the woman and into Alex’s nostrils, carrying the aroma of Log Cabin syrup mixed with sheets that hadn’t been washed in a month.
“Yeah,” he said, still chewing. “They’re good.”
“You live around here?”
“No, I’m from Albany, just outside of Albany, New York.” He started on the second roll.
“We get a lot of you folks down here, mostly in winter.” She reached inside her jacket. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do ya?”
“No, go ahead,” he said. Actually, he welcomed it—anything to cancel out the prevailing stench. She pulled out a cigarette, stuck it in her mouth and flicked a disposable lighter.
She inhaled and exhaled a couple of times then said, “What brings ya down?”
“My father lives here.” He pointed to the box between them. “Mind if I have another?”
“Help yourself. I got vodka too. Would ya care for a taste?”
He wouldn’t mind, even though he had never drunk vodka before. But he couldn’t fathom putting his lips around the same bottle she drank from. Plus, he thought of his new pledge. “No thanks,” he said, “I’m trying to get into shape.”
“Well, those things won’t help.” She pointed to the snack roll going into his mouth.
“I oh,” he mumbled, his mouth full. He’d have to pick up his efforts tomorrow.
“Your dad know your whereabouts?”
“I’m not staying with him.”
“Who ya staying with, your girlfriend?” A vaguely familiar tune rang out of the woman’s shopping cart.
“You got a cell phone?” he asked.
She pulled it out. “It’s my daughter. She’s the only one who calls, and I mean only.” She flipped it open and brought it to her face. “Hi Joey.”
Funny, Alex thought, everyone in the world had a cell phone but him. Even a homeless woman. He wondered if this put him into the category of the disenfranchised.
“I’m talking with a fine young man.” She looked over at Alex and gave a little smile. He could do without her smile. “I’m fine, sweetie. Call ya later.” She closed the phone.
“What was that song?” Alex asked. “Your ring-tone?”
“You recognize that one?”
“Sort of, but I can’t place it.”
> “It’s my all-time favorite: Some Enchanted Evening by Perry Como.” She looked down at the phone as if Perry himself was there in miniature. “I can sing a bit of it if you like.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Really, I can sing it.” She cleared her viscous throat and began, Some enchanted evening…you may see a stranger…you may see a stranger…across an empty BEACH. And somehow you know… She broke into hoarse laughter.
Alex smiled. “You did a change-up.”
“Just for you, skinny.”
“Mind if I use that phone?”
“You want to call your father?”
“No,” Alex said, “my mother.”
“Why, do I remind you of her?”
“Not one bit,” Alex said. “And that’s good for you.”
She smiled her ghastly smile and handed him the phone.
He dialed his mother’s cell. After two rings, he heard her say hello.
“It’s me, mom.”
“Hang on a second, Alex.” There were people talking in the background. Then his mother said, “King, non-smoking, and a view of the ocean would be nice.”
“Where are you?”
“We’re checking in at the Howard Johnson’s. Your father and I had a bit of a disagreement. You’re staying here too, right?”
“Um…yeah,” he said, wondering where she got that information. “I’ve got a question. Then I’m hanging up.”
“Okay, Alex, what is it?”
“Is my father gay?”
There was a pause. Someone else was speaking to her. “Queen will be fine,” she said. “I’m sorry, Alex.”
“Answer the question, mom!”
“I thought you would’ve known by now,” she said, “which shows how much you don’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe it either, trust me—”
He had heard enough. He closed the phone, passed it back to the woman and lowered his face into his hands.
She placed a hand on Alex’s wet back and said, “That’s a tough pill to swallow.”
IT WAS just after midnight when Alex made his way back to the motel. He closed the door gently and kept the lights off so he wouldn’t awaken Lester. The old man was smart. He had switched to the far bed, away from the clattering air conditioner.
Alex slipped into the first bed and tried to rid his mind of the day’s craziness. It was probably three o’clock when sleep finally took over.
He woke to the sound of Lester in the shower. Then the damn telephone rang. It was probably a wake-up call meant for another room. He picked it up just to make it stop and left the receiver on the nightstand.
A tiny voice said, “Alex, I know you’re there.” It was his mother. How the hell had she found him? He sat up and stared at the phone. “Our plane leaves at 2:18. You’ll have plenty of time for your brunch.”
He thought of disguising his voice and telling her she had the wrong number. But there was an easier strategy. He hung up the phone.
One more stressful thing and his brain was liable to explode. Everything seemed to hit him at once, like a multiple-car pileup, or multiple boxers attacking the same heavy bag. He just sat on the bed, paralyzed, staring at the phone. The shower stopped. He pictured his mother and Bill tailing them to brunch then saying Good luck to Lester as they handed Alex his plane ticket. The old man would be left to fend for himself.
Forget brunch, he and Lester needed to get the hell out of there.
In a little while, Lester came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of wrinkled boxers. “Who called?” he asked.
“Wrong number.”
“Missed you last night.” There was no trace of anger in the old man’s voice, which made Alex feel even guiltier about his verbal assault.
“I took a long walk and went in the ocean,” Alex said. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Went in with your sneakers on?” He elbowed to the silhouetted sneakers perched on the windowsill while buttoning up a white shirt.
“Yeah, it was kind of impulsive.”
“Guess it was,” Lester said. “Your mom said something about breakfast at your dad’s place. I can drop you off if you don’t want me there.”
“I’m not going,” Alex said. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Lester had to sit halfway on the bed to put on his slacks. “Mind my asking why?”
“I should’ve believed you. And I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“If that’s an apology, then I accept.”
“It is. I’m sorry I said that. I won’t do it again.”
“It’s okay, kid.” The old man zipped up and squared himself in front of Alex. “So what’s next?”
“Any place but here.” Alex rose from the bed. “Did you tell my mother where we’re staying?”
“I told her the Howard Johnson’s.” Lester fed his belt through the loops. “I didn’t want her calling all hours waking me up.”
“Smart move,” Alex said. He guessed that once his mother had discovered there was no Alex Riley or Lester Bray staying at the Howard Johnson’s, she and Bill frantically cruised up and down A1A checking motel parking lots. The old Caddy stuck out like one of those lunar modules on the beach.
“Take it you’re not planning on getting on that plane,” Lester said.
“Nope.” Alex went over and grabbed his wet sneakers from the windowsill. His mother had probably seen them too.
“And you’re not planning on staying down here with your father.”
“Nope.”
“So, what’ll it be?”
“I thought we were going to see your sister in Alabama.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Lester said. “But your mom being down here…” he let out a fatigued sigh. “She’ll be one pissed-off broad by the time we’re through with her.”
“She’ll get over it,” Alex said. “It’s not like her career’s in jeopardy.”
When they were both packed and ready, Lester walked into the bathroom and grabbed two hand towels. “These come with us,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t want anymore crumbs or greasy fingers touching my interior.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Alex drove while eating an egg sandwich. A towel lay across his lap to catch crumbs. His shoes remained wet and would probably reek by the time they reached their stopover. The speedometer held steady at seventy-two. He took a bite and focused on the flat stretch of turnpike, and he checked the rearview mirror. No red Mustang, thank God.
Driving had become enjoyable for Alex. He liked the feeling of progress, of relentless motion toward his objective. It hardly mattered that they were headed to some nowhere town to see an ancient woman he had no interest in meeting. What mattered was that he wasn’t standing still. And he wasn’t wallowing in the drama of his parents.
“What’s the town like?” he asked to fill the silence.
“It’s poor, and it’s black,” Lester said. “Blacker than you’ve ever seen.”
“Why is that?”
“First, you gotta know about the region. It’s the Bible Belt, the Black Belt and the Poor Belt all wrapped up into one.”
Alex wanted to get it straight. “So the people are religious, black and poor.”
“That’s mostly how it is. You’ll fit right in.”
“You think that’s funny?”
“Oh and there’s football,” Lester added. “We Alabamians love our football—worship it.”
Alex hardly knew the difference between a line of scrimmage and a tight end. He made a silent pledge not to bring up the sport and expose himself as an idiot. But his greater concern was the Black Belt part of the equation. He pictured an army of black people with clubs and knives headed in his direction. “Is it tough for white people there?”
Lester wiped the last of his breakfast off his fingers. “If I’m not mistaken, you sound a bit scared.”
“I’m not scared.” It was a lie. “I just want to be prepared so I don
’t say anything stupid.”
“Best thing you can do is be yourself. And put your racism aside.”
“I’m not a racist,” Alex said.
“Not in the strictest sense. But everyone carries some degree of racism. Think about it. You’ll see what I mean.”
Near Fort Pierce, the turnpike curved westward, away from the populated coastline. Alex kept his eyes on the highway and pondered the extent of his racism. Up until Lester, he had minimal contact with black people. There were probably eight or nine in his entire high school, and he couldn’t recall exchanging more than a perfunctory greeting with any of them. His neighborhood was even whiter than his school. The only personal experiences he had with black people were when he was shopping or eating at restaurants. But for the sake of conversation he came up with something. “How come black people don’t get out of the way on the sidewalk…or on the street?”
“Aha,” Lester said. “That’s your racism talking.”
The idea made Alex cringe. His mother calling him a racist was one thing—ridiculous. Lester’s accusation held some weight. “All right, so even if you’re a tiny bit right, what am I supposed to do about it?”
“Understand it.” The old man folded his towel and placed it in the center console. “I’ll tell you something; I come from a race of people who’ve been oppressed for 350 years. You come from a 350-year line of oppressors. That’s the difference between you and me.”
“What does that have to do with standing in the middle of the street?”
“Well, kid, since I’m the only black person in the car,” Lester glanced toward the backseat as if checking for stowaways, “I’ll speak on behalf of the entire race. Here’s what I think. I think it’s about public spaces—streets and sidewalks, libraries and youth centers. We like to congregate, and we don’t take that privilege lightly. Now that we’ve got our freedom to roam, we roam. We’re out there doing our thing, walking our freedom walk.”
“But it’s rude to just stand there and block other people.”
“I’d call it a small price. Step aside or wait. And while you’re waiting, think about getting life from the shitty end of the stick.”
Cadillac Chronicles Page 10