“Then there was the day he whacked a racist cop with his walking stick. He did it to protect me—me of all people. I didn’t even have a friend before Lester. And this old man protected me. He showed me what it means to have a true friend.” Alex glanced over at the casket. “By the way, his stick is there now. He wanted it with him.”
He looked back at the audience. “But friendship is also a two-way street. And I was lucky enough to be able to do something good for Lester. With some help—some pretty big help—I was able to spring him from jail. That’s when I learned how it feels to help somebody I like. And I realized something even simpler—that I could be a good friend to other people. I didn’t know that before Lester.”
The oval-face woman blotted her eyes with a tissue.
“I came away a better person because of Lester. It’ll be hard to find another friend like him.” He nodded to the audience. “But I’m going to try.” Then he turned and took a final look inside the casket. The stick was right where he had put it. It had a ring of grease near the top from where the old man’s hand had been so many times. Everything looked appropriate now.
THERE MUST have been ten or even fifteen people who came up to Alex and told him what a fine speech he had given. Rebecca’s praise was the sweetest. She gave him a hug and said, “You did him proud, Alex. He’d feel so honored right now.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. He looked across the chapel and saw his mother exchanging business cards with a goateed man. She was doing what she did best. Networking.
He went over to the table in the front lounge and leaned over the registry. Dozens of people had written nice things about Lester. The book would be sent down to Earlene in Alabama. Alex could envision the old woman’s hysterical tears saturating the pages.
He reached for the pen and flipped to the next page. “I liked your speech,” someone said, directly behind him. It was a strangely familiar voice. “Very well done.”
Alex turned around and could hardly believe what he saw. “No way,” he said, dropping the pen. It was his father dressed in a black suit and black bowtie. “You were a true friend to him,” he said.
Alex was too dumbfounded to give an intelligent response. He just stood there absorbing his father’s presence.
“I thought it was time I paid you a visit.” In place of his father’s martini glass earring was a small diamond.
“I was just thinking about you,” Alex finally said.
“Really?” He reached for Alex’s shoulder. “Was it in a good way or bad?”
“Good,” Alex said, still amazed by the sight of his father. “It was definitely good. But embarrassing.”
“Tell me if you want.” He pointed to the door. “How about we go outside for some air?”
Alex followed his father out the front door and down to the sidewalk. It was still cloudy, but no rain. They walked next to each other. Alex brought up the pain of losing Lester. “I’ve got this aching feeling that just sits right here.” He pointed to the center of his chest.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” his father said. “It’ll get easier, less painful, but you’ll never forget.”
“Sounds like you’ve lost some people close to you.”
“I have,” his father said, “but this is Lester’s day. Let it be his alone.”
Until now, Alex had done a good job fending off his tears. But these words from his father caused him to cry. They walked a little while in silence.
Alex sniffled and said, “There’s something I forgot to do. I forgot to thank you for paying Lester’s fine…so thank you.”
His father nodded. “You’re certainly welcome.”
“There’s another thing too.” As he walked, Alex looked down at the dividers in the sidewalk. “I’m sorry about missing the breakfast.” The words came out with surprising ease.
“One thing about breakfast,” his father said, “it happens everyday. But I appreciate your apology.”
“And I’m sorry about leaving without saying goodbye.”
“Apology accepted again,” his father said. “You know, Alex, I never imagined you apologizing to me. It’s always the other way around—me apologizing to you, for doing what I did, even for being who I am.”
“You don’t need to apologize for being gay,” Alex said.
“You’re right. It’s not something I can control and therefore doesn’t require an apology. But of all the people in the world, you’re the one who’s paid the greatest price.”
Alex had a pretty good bullshit meter, and he could feel it firing away. “Being gay shouldn’t be an excuse,” he said, recalling Dale at the Days Inn and how that man never would have abandoned his child. “The biggest thing for me is that you weren’t around all these years. I wish you would’ve been.”
“I know.” His father stopped and turned toward Alex. Tears filled the corners of the man’s eyes. “I’ll be sorry about that for the rest of my life.”
Alex expected his father to reach out and hug him. But there was no hug, not even the slightest suggestion. And Alex was glad. A hug implied forgiveness—that the wound was healed, which would have been false no matter how sincere his father was. A hug would have sidetracked Alex from his quest. The road between now and forgiveness would require a lot of time, a lot of words and a lot more than a simple hug.
As they resumed walking, Alex asked, “What was I like as a baby?”
“You were the most beautiful boy in the world. I’m not exaggerating.”
“That’s what all parents say.”
“Maybe, but in this case it was true.”
“Anything else you remember?”
“Let me see,” his father said. “I remember that you were happy, always smiling…for the most part.”
“When wasn’t I smiling?”
“That was usually when I was changing your diaper. You could poop like a champion from day one. And, my God, was it messy.”
Alex smiled at the mental picture.
“Then one day you discovered you had a penis, and you had to play with it, even when it was covered in poop.” His father shook his head. “But I found a solution. I put this little school bus on your chest to distract you. Every time you started reaching for yourself, I grabbed the bus and put it on your chest.”
“I’m not sure that technique would work anymore.”
His father laughed. “You’re a good kid, Alex.”
They had walked a three block loop and were now approaching the shiny Cadillac, which Alex had cleaned and waxed on Lester’s behalf. “That’s his car,” Alex said. “He gave it to me.”
“It’s a true classic.”
“It’s a gas-guzzling tank. But I like it.”
His father’s face changed expression. “There’s supposed to be something in the trunk for you. I’m wondering if your mother kept her word.”
“I doubt it.” Alex pulled the keys out of his pocket, not expecting to see anything but the rubber mat that kept things from sliding around. He inserted the key and raised the trunk. There was a tan plastic box with grooves on two sides that held hanging files. He pulled the box closer and studied the tabs. The first read One to Two. It was his mother’s handwriting. The last was Sixteen.
“Supposed to be all the letters I sent,” his father said. “She swore they were all there, all in order. Looks like she might’ve told me the truth.”
Alex could hardly believe it. He pulled out the first file and counted twelve letters. She had kept them all. “Amazing,” he said.
“You’ll have to thank her, I guess.”
Now wasn’t the time to read letters. He returned the file to its place. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like thanking her.”
“It’s up to you.”
The way his father said it made Alex feel that he had been a little hard on his mother these past several weeks. She really hadn’t done a bad job raising him. And now here was something genuinely nice she had done for him. Of course, he was going to thank he
r.
Alex made sure the box wasn’t at risk of tipping over. He closed the trunk and looked at his father. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“You name it.”
“Teach me how to parallel park.”
His father smiled and stepped toward the passenger door. “You’re on, son.”
ALEX KNEW exactly what he would be doing over the next few days. He would read and re-read his father’s letters. He would get his official driver’s license, and he’d take a job washing dishes until the end of summer. In his spare time, he’d run and he’d draw. He would draw everything meaningful in his life. And he would continue to perfect his talent until he could no longer hold a pencil.
But that was getting way ahead of himself.
In the fall, he’d join the cross-country team and try to make friends with Britney Garrand. His first question would be to ask her about the turtles in her yearbook. He hoped she still wore braces. Otherwise her beauty would be too overwhelming.
Cadillac Chronicles Page 21