by Lori Johnson
Dante was still staring at the ceiling and thinking about Reuben when he noticed the spider. He followed its jerky movements, praying all the while it wouldn’t fall into the tangle of sheets covering him and Laylah. As the spider inched its way across the plaster, Dante noticed it pass over the long-forgotten words Reuben had carved above Dante’s bed when they were kids: No way, you f-ing nitwit!
He smiled and thought about the “That’s my car!” game he and Reuben had played as boys. Whenever Dante managed to call dibs on a really nice car before Reuben, he’d get mad and tell Dante, “No way, you f-ing nitwit!” One day he’d taken a Swiss Army Knife and etched the words into the ceiling above Dante’s bed.
He felt Laylah stir beside him and stretch her limbs. “Reuben could really be a jerk sometimes, couldn’t he? I’m surprised you never spackled over that.”
His smile sank into a frown as Laylah abandoned the bed for the bathroom. He couldn’t recall having told her about the words carved above his bed. How did she know Reuben was responsible? And what made her so sure he, Dante, was the statement’s target? Might Reuben have told her? Possibly. Had she, perhaps, overhead Reuben hurl the verbal taunt at him? Maybe. Dante had certainly never invited her into his bedroom prior to his Big Mama’s hospitalization. Neither she nor his uncle Mack would have ever permitted such a thing. And even back when he and Laylah first started fooling around, the thought of sneaking her past his uncle and aunt would have never occurred to him. But it certainly would have to....
Dante threw back the sheet and sat up on the side of the bed. How else would Laylah have known about the meaning behind the message carved into the ceiling above his bed unless she’d asked Reuben about it, after having lain there on her back staring up at it? He rubbed his hands over his head and up and down his face while reflecting on that period during his teens when he’d believed in earnest that the puppy love between him and Laylah was the real thing and might actually last.
He remembered how whenever he’d return from a date with her, Reuben would either whisper across their darkened bedroom or else come over and snarl into his ear, “Nigga, please. You really think you’re the first somebody to tap that?” Dante had always written it off as just vicious teasing or even jealously on Reuben’s part. Now, he wondered. He glanced up at the words hovering over his head. When had it really started between Reuben and Laylah? And more important, when had it actually ended?
He waited until after they’d both showered, dressed, and downed half a pot of coffee and she’d spoken on the phone with her boys before he cleared his throat and said, “Just for the record, when was the last time you were with Reuben?”
Laylah, who’d been standing at the kitchen sink, swiveled toward him and said, “What?”
Dante leaned back in one of the old kitchen chairs until its front legs were inches off the floor. “I’m saying, when was the last time you slept with him?”
Laylah finished rinsing out their coffee mugs before she said, “Reuben’s dead, Dante. Don’t you think it would be best to let him rest in peace?”
The front legs of Dante’s chair hit the wooden floorboards with a sickening thud. “Do you really think I give a damn how Reuben rests?” he asked. “Right now, it’s my own peace of mind that most concerns me.”
Laylah crossed her arms and glared at him. “It might not be wise to ask questions you really don’t want to know the answers to.”
Dante stood and returned her angry pose. “When, Laylah?” he asked in a quiet voice. “When was the last time you screwed him, fucked him, whatever you want to call it? When and where?”
She looked away. “A month before he died, okay? In Montreal.”
He thought about all of the places to which he’d traveled at Laylah’s request and on her dime, Montreal among them. He threw back his head and laughed. “Wow! And all of these years you had me believing I was the only one. That Reuben was a mistake and you and I were really gonna be together one day. Tell the truth, Laylah, it was never me, was it? It was always Reuben, wasn’t it?”
Her folded arms fell to her sides and her eyes pleaded with him. “You don’t understand, Dante. It wasn’t like that at all.”
He slapped an opened hand against the tabletop. “The hell it wasn’t!”
She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Let’s talk about it.”
He shrugged her off. “No, I’m through talking, Laylah.” He reached around her and snatched open the cabinet beneath the sink. On pulling out his Big Mama’s gardening trowel and pruning shears, he jabbed them in the uneasy space between him and Laylah. “And I’m more than done waiting for you to get your shit together and do right by me.”
On noticing her eyes widen and her gaze latch onto the shear’s razor sharpened blades and the trowel’s flat and pointed metal face, he lowered the tools and said, “I’m going for a walk. And while I’m gone, I suggest you call your father, Ace, or one of your other admiring fans or flunkies and have them come and get you.”
He ended up in the family cemetery. He stared at the graves for a moment, paying particular attention to the ones he knew best—his Big Mama, his uncle Mack, his cousin Reuben, his aunt Miriam, they were all there. He knew that one day he and his mother, Helen, would be, too. He turned and walked to a spot situated between the stone bench, where he’d last sat and conversed with the woman whose love he’d never doubted, and a majestic-looking weeping willow, a tree almost identical to the one in the backyard of the house that now claimed him as owner.
He put down the bucket he’d brought along to make carrying his items eaiser and dropped onto his knees beside it. He pulled out the trowel and shoved it into the ground. He dug until he found the large polyethylene jar with the screw-top lid he’d buried there one bright spring day in the twilight of his youth. He used the gardening shears to break the jar’s seal and dumped the contents on the grass beside him. Beneath the crumpled wads of archival paper he found the deflated football and the two tiny sets of knitted baby booties, one pair pink and the other blue. He picked up the delicate items and gently placed them in the bottom of the deep dirt hole. He reached into the bucket for the copy of The Metamorphosis he’d grabbed before leaving the house and placed it into the hole with the other items. A light breeze descended and swept across his glistening brow as he removed the chain bearing the ring from around his neck. On placing the jewelry atop the book, he carefully refilled the pit with the rock and earth he’d removed.
He’d brushed off his hands over the dark patch and had nearly risen to his feet when he remembered the baby’s breath he’d pulled from one of his Big Mama’s gardens. He eased the collection of tiny white flowers and greenery from the bucket. He paused, lowered his face, and inhaled a bit of the scent before arranging it atop what was now, for all practical purposes, a grave.
On his return to the house, Dante spied Ace’s town car in the drive and Laylah seated in one of the rockers on the front porch with an opened book in her lap. As Dante walked up the path that led to the porch steps, he barely noticed Ace or heard the greeting he muttered as he scurried past him with Laylah’s bags. When Dante reached the landing, Laylah closed the book and rose from the chair.
He’d expected hostility or hurt, but her eyes glowed with warmth and tenderness. She pressed the book to her chest and said, “It was his way of warning you. He didn’t want you to end up like him. You know, one morning you wake up only to discover you’ve turned into something monstrously grotesque? That’s why he left you the books. He feared one day it would happen to you too.”
She tossed the paperback into the rocking chair and before stepping off the porch, she kissed Dante on the cheek and whispered, “It was never our intent to hurt you. Forgive us for all of the times we did.”
CHAPTER 36
Nearly a month and a half had passed since Dante’s disappearance. At school, the spring semester had ended and, after a brief break, the summer semester had begun. For Aliesha, the days and weeks had rolled one into anothe
r, monotonous and indistinguishable, until one Sunday, near the end of service when she’d looked up and spotted Kenneth in one of Garden View’s back-row pews.
She’d heard from Mrs. Phillips that he’d been going to grief counseling and regularly attending AA meetings. After the slashed painting incident, she’d fully expected to hear from him at some point, if only to have him personally offer an apology. But he hadn’t called, not even to let her know he would be at church that day. She hesitated when she saw him, but her palms stayed dry and her heart didn’t begin to flutter. She acknowledged him with a nod. No smile. No “How are you doing?” Just a nod. Kenneth returned the gesture and added a wave, before he turned and left the building.
The following Monday night, in need of a little something to spice up her mood, Aliesha stopped by Nelson’s. She’d just finished placing a take-out order at the counter—barbecued smoke sausage, baked beans, coleslaw, and a thick slice of lemon pound cake—when she heard, “Say yo, Miz Professor!”
She recognized the voice in an instant and, while familiar, it unfortunately wasn’t Dante’s. She turned and took in the long-legged figure bounding toward her. He flashed his trademark grin and spread his arms. Her own face lit up in a grin, and she willingly granted the affection he sought.
“What’s up, Doc?!” he said, on releasing her. “Good seeing you again.”
“Same here,” Aliesha said. “So where have you been and what have you been up to? I mean, besides using that mouth of yours to create all kinds of agitation?”
“Just hanging,” he said. “You know I don’t work at Wally’s anymore, right?”
“Yes, I heard. Actually, I heard you went and got yourself fired. You must have really showed out to make Wally mad enough to hand you your walking papers.”
“Naw, see that was all D.’s doing. He told Wally if he didn’t give me the boot, I’d probably keep goofing off around there instead of trying to get my butt into somebody’s college. And he was right. But don’t worry, it’s not like I’m hurting for money or anything. I’m still clocking some part-time hours over at my unc’s detailing business. And if all goes well, this fall, you just might see me over there at Wells.”
“Really?!” Aliesha said.
“Yeah, I’m taking a couple of classes at the community college this summer and I’m working on transferring to a four-year institution either this fall or next spring.”
“Good for you!” Aliesha said, genuinely pleased and happy for him. “Make sure you let me know when you plan to be on campus.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. “I’d be happy to give you a tour or treat you to lunch even.”
“Oh, you know it!” Yazz said. On pocketing the card, his face fell somber. “I guess you heard about D. quitting and everything.”
“Yes,” Aliesha said, suddenly feeling awkward about acknowledging the man who’d exited her life without saying so much as “I’m gone.” She shifted her handbag from one arm to the other and finally said, “So, where’s Dante working these days?”
“Well, when I saw him at his auntie’s funeral, he was talking about taking a break from it all.”
His auntie’s funeral?! Her purse slid down her arm. “Wait, his aunt passed? You don’t mean the one who raised him, his Big Mama, do you?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Dude took it pretty hard. What? You didn’t know?”
Aliesha shook her head. “I haven’t seen or spoken with Dante in quite some time. Next time you see him, be sure to give him my condolences and tell him . . . tell him I said, ‘Hello.’”
Yazz scratched his head and looked puzzled. “Okay, sure. I’ll do that.”
“Pick up for Eaton!” the man behind the counter barked.
“Well, that’s my order,” Aliesha said. “It was great catching up with you, Yazz. You take care.” She gave him another hug. “And don’t forget to give me a call in advance when you decide to stop by the campus.”
She turned and paid for her order. On removing the plastic sack full of food from the counter and swiveling around with it, she nearly collided with the tall, gangly youth who hadn’t moved from his spot behind her.
He looked up from the cell phone he’d been tinkering with and caught her before either her bags or her body landed on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a pen or a pencil, would you?”
She gave him a pen from her purse and watched as he took what she recognized as a Wally’s Cool Cuts business card from his wallet. He glanced at his phone and scribbled something on the card before passing it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A number where you can reach Dante.”
She smiled. “You sure that’s wise? Isn’t this in direct violation of one of your ‘Brother Man rules’?”
Yazz laughed and said, “Possibly. But since D. did me the favor of getting me fired, I figured this is the least I could do for him.”
Once she moved beyond the initial shock, the news of Dante’s Big Mama’s death saddened her. She remembered the image she’d seen of the small, proud woman seated between the two young boys. She recalled as well the affection she’d always heard in Dante’s voice whenever he’d spoken of her. No doubt he had taken it hard, especially having just buried his cousin.
She spent minutes on end staring at the seven digits on the card Yazz had given her. As much as she longed to talk to Dante, as much as she ached to hear his voice again, as diligent and persistent as she’d been in her search for him, now that she had his number, she couldn’t bring herself to dial it.
Late on the following Tuesday afternoon, Aliesha cut short her lecture and dismissed her Intro class early. She watched as the six or so students who’d been nodding and dozing in her class of twenty suddenly perked up and beat most of the more alert students to the door. She could hardly blame them. Who wanted to be cooped up in some artificially lit and air-conditioned room, reviewing the definitions of words like ethnography or taking notes on the lives of long-dead thinkers and scholars, like Boaz and Herskovits, when they could be outside breathing in the fresh air and soaking up the sun?
Uppermost in her own mind was getting home so she could change into a pair of shorts, hop on her bike, and embark upon a leisurely ride around the neighborhood. She could already feel the early summer breeze caressing her face and bare legs. But she found her plans temporarily thwarted upon arriving at her office and discovering Tamara and Kristen loitering outside of her closed door.
Aliesha couldn’t help but break into a smile whenever she spotted the two of them together. They’d become quite the odd couple, if not the best of buddies in the days since their first awkward meeting at the mall. Aliesha also drew a considerable amount of pleasure in knowing how much grief the unlikely pairing was undoubtedly causing Shelton. It was better payback than any she could have ever orchestrated on her own, and it wasn’t like it didn’t serve his arrogant, monkey butt right.
She opened her office door and listened as the two young women trailing behind her continued their ongoing debate about the various ways in which Tamara’s research at the Black-owned and primarily Black-patronized strip club might have differed had Kristen been conducting the interviews with the dancers and their customers. In truth, Aliesha was as eager as Tamara for Kristen to officially join the graduate program. She already had a project in mind that the two of them could easily work on together. She’d intended to break into their conversation and share a bit of her own thoughts and plans when her phone rang.
While the two headstrong friends sat and loudly debated some obscure point, Aliesha reached across her desk and hoped whoever was calling wouldn’t keep her on the line too long. “Yes, this is Dr. Eaton speaking. How may I help you?”
“Well, that depends on how long it’s been since your last decent haircut.”
She fumbled and nearly dropped the receiver at the sound of the familiar baritone and tease-filled voice. She sat up straight, then leaned back in her chair
before she summoned up a soft, “It’s been a while. Too long, actually.”
He chuckled. “I’m at a new shop now. Why don’t you come on down sometime this week and let me take care of you?”
She felt her jaws stiffen. A wave of heat crept up her neck and over her face. Just like that! No, I’m sorry I vanished into thin air on you. No, I meant to call you, baby, but . . . Still, she tried to be patient and give him the benefit of the doubt. She said, “I guess Yazz told you he ran into me at Nelson’s?”
“No, I haven’t seen Yazz in a while.”
She jerked forward against her desk, dropped her head, and in the most fierce whisper she could muster let him have it. “Seriously, after forty days of me not hearing a word from you, the day after I see Yazz, you decide to call, just out of the blue? Exactly what kind of fool do you take me for? And why in the hell do you insist on playing these games with me?”
Her torrent of angry words drew the attention of both Tamara and Kristen, the latter of whom hurriedly rose and mouthed a quiet, “We’ll check back with you later.”
A scowling and hot-faced Aliesha watched as Kristen verbally prodded and physically pushed a slow-moving and slightly amused-looking Tamara out of the office.
Dante said, “Aliesha, I know I’ve got a lot of work to do in order to regain your trust.”
She left her desk and went over and locked the door. “Yeah, right. You know what? I really don’t have time for this.”
“Okay, but hold up a sec! I mean, you wanna call me back later or what?”
“Call you back?!” she said, abandoning her whisper in exchange for her normal speaking voice. She started pacing in the cramped, cluttered space. “Oh, so now I’m suppose to call you? With what, Dante? The number Yazz gave me from the meeting that you claim you don’t know anything about? What am I suppose to think, Dante, after you disappear and stay gone for days on end without leaving me the slightest clue as to your whereabouts or how to get in touch with you? Do you have any idea how worried sick I was?”