by Dr. Xyz
He never yelled back. He took it all in and left the house. He wouldn’t come back for days. When he did return, he tried to cheer his queen with flowers. Ophelia loved yellow roses. It would soothe the beast within for a bit and she’d forget anger and remember that Eli was the light of her life. They’d make long luxurious passionate love for hours. But somehow, the magic the flowers brought to their relationship always wore off and she’d resume her monologues about his joblessness and worthlessness.
Desperate and frustrated, he could see their love dying. He couldn’t pull it together and do what she wanted him to do: conform to the regular world. He wanted it to be like it was before her mother had visited and destroyed their peace. But it wasn’t ever to happen like that for them again.
In a desperate attempt to please Ophelia the only way he knew how, he started an abstract painting of a bowl of yellow roses. She fell in love with the piece as he worked on it a little each day. Ophelia was convinced it would be a masterpiece as it represented his best work. She prayed that it would reinvigorate his passion for art and their lives together. She was confident that times would be good again.
At work, she had grown quite attached to an infant whose psychotic mother had brutally abused her at birth. Ophelia was part of the team that had revived the little girl in the emergency room. She immediately bonded with the baby and never missed an opportunity to visit with her during three months of repeated grueling and painful surgeries. The operations repaired damage caused when the insane mother shoved an object down the infant’s throat.
Ophelia even brought Eli around to visit on several occasions. The little girl with the almost hypnotic, sparkling brown eyes, whose life had started in such a tragic twisted way, had captured both of their hearts.
So when Eli started the yellow roses painting, Ophelia was convinced things were turning the corner for them and they could become the little girl’s foster family. They had applied and sailed through the interviews with flying colors. On the day she had received word that they had been accepted, she had almost skipped the entire way home. She was happy she had ignored her mother’s warning about not marrying Eli. Though they were probably never going to know the kind of wealth she had grown up in, there would always be more than enough love for her, Eli, Tarik, the new baby girl and whoever else joined their brood in the future. The thought of having or adopting more children had made her smile widen. Growing up as an only child, Ophelia had always wanted a big family.
On that same day, as luck would have it, while Ophelia celebrated her good news…Eli was hosting a celebration of his own. While caring for Tarik, some of his artist friends had stopped by to see the new work he was always bragging about. One of his buddies had brought some drugs and the party got started. He was so happy that his friends had agreed that it was his best work, that he had done the one thing that he swore he would never do: get high around Tarik. A little bit of grass had led to a tab of acid, a line of coke and whatever else his friends had in their portable pharmacies. It didn’t take long for Eli to totally forget that Tarik was unattended.
Eli and his friends were completely stoned when the toddler woke up from his nap and crawled off the daybed that Eli, in his negligence, had let him sleep on. Walking freely around without supervision, Tarik sampled the loose drugs that were all within his reach. Eli, totally out of it, had seen Tarik stumble around the living room. He’d laughed out loud at his son’s clumsiness as he kept falling down. He’d picked Tarik up, put him into the crib, and resumed his drug taking. He’d never checked on his son again.
Two hours after the party had been in full swing, Ophelia walked up the stairs to their apartment. The stench of marijuana greeted her so strongly, she almost got a contact high. A cold chill went through her. As she grabbed the knob, she hesitated…because Ophelia knew what was waiting for her on the other side of that door.
Entering, she heard an old scratched-up Isaac Hayes record, “By the Time I Get to Phoenix,” skip over and over again. Cocaine, acid and weed were all over the coffee table. Eli and three of his buddies were in a drug-induced slumber. Almost paralyzed, afraid of what she was looking at, she rushed into Tarik’s room. Her baby. Her beautiful baby boy. She screamed for what seemed like hours, when she found her beloved son in a coma. Dialing 9-1-1, her fingers moved around the keypad as if they were attached to lead weights.
Disoriented, Eli could not comprehend why police and paramedics were in his house. As far as he was concerned, Tarik was just taking a little nap. It didn’t take authorities long to figure out what had happened. There were drugs in full sight when they entered the apartment. The police arrested both Eli and Ophelia for possession of narcotics and child endangerment. Paramedics rushed Tarik to the hospital where a team of doctors and nurses successfully resuscitated him. After a short stay, he made a complete recovery.
Ophelia’s parents took Tarik home when they discharged him from the hospital. They retained a cracker-jack attorney that got their daughter out of jail and successfully cleared her of all charges. Eli’s confession of guilt made it easy for the lawyer to convince the prosecution that Ophelia was innocent. He and his cronies were sentenced to a maximum of five years in jail.
She never forgave Eli for the hell he put her through, and he never forgave himself. He signed divorce papers, and it was over. Ophelia went on with life—without Eli. All the dreams they shared were flushed down the toilet. The same toilet the drugs should have gone in the first place. They would never be foster parents to the beautiful little infant girl she and Eli had grown so attached to. Fortunately, a family from upstate New York adopted the baby.
When the young, now divorced woman returned from the lawyer’s office, the first thing she saw when she rummaged through closets, trying to discard all traces of Eli’s existence, was the yellow rose painting. She couldn’t throw it away. As much as she wanted to break free of their relationship by eliminating all reminders of him, she didn’t have the heart to let go of his artwork. It captured what had been really good about Eli: beautiful-looking; a generous, vulnerable soul, but totally lacking discipline. Hence, it being unfinished. So she had framed it and had always carried it everywhere she had moved.
Six months after the divorce was final, she met a man twenty years her senior. A good old soul, Richard Singleton. He was an architect who owned a very successful firm. Tarik was crazy about him. Pops, as she always called him, was crazy about the both of them. He intuitively knew she’d never love him as much as he loved her, but he was confident that he had enough love for the both of them. They married and like Pops predicted, they lived happily together.
Pops adopted Tarik. On the day Eli signed the papers surrendering parental rights, he tried to hang himself in jail. A guard found him just in time. His first thought when he was revived was disappointment that he couldn’t even handle a simple suicide, let alone something complicated like fatherhood.
Ophelia and her new husband bought a brownstone in the Stuyvesant Heights section of Brooklyn. Pops turned the house into a showcase. It was always the highlight of the annual brownstone tour. He was proud of his handiwork and the supportive wife he’d found in Ophelia.
On Tarik’s seventh birthday, Eli had been free and out of jail a few years when Ophelia finally allowed him to see their son. Against her better judgment, she let the ex-con attend the birthday party. Crippling anxiety visited with him the day of the event. He took a little hit of this and a little swig of that to give him the courage to make it through. He arrived disheveled and slightly inebriated.
When he first laid eyes on his son, Eli forced himself to sober up. Big crocodile tears tumbled out of his eyes when he realized how magnificent his boy was and how stupidity had kept him away. He wanted to hug him like he did when he was small. He reached out at him. Tarik could smell the liquor on him and immediately recoiled and yelled out, “Mama, a wino tried to touch me, MAMA!”
Ophelia rushed to his side and saw Eli. She hadn’t seen him in five y
ears. Her heart ached when their eyes met. He brought yellow roses for her. She took them. She then could see that he had been drinking.
Tarik, protective as always, stood between Eli and Ophelia. “Mama, keep away from the old smelly wino.”
“Tarik, calm down, baby…this is Eli, Eli Griffith…your… your…”
Eli, now completely sober, butted in. “I’m an old…old friend of your mother. She told me about your birthday…thought I’d come. Happy Birthday, Tarik.” He extended his hand.
Tarik rejected it. He did not understand how this bum could be one of his mama’s friends. He decided to try the polite route. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Griface.”
“That’s Griffith, Tarik.”
Eli interceded by stating, “Ophelia, it’s close enough. In fact, he pronounces it better than most.”
Tarik looked at the bum and back at his mama. Something was funny about them being together. He thought on it for a second. The kids at the party called out for him to join them. He decided that the bum wouldn’t hurt his mama, and, if he tried, well, he wasn’t too far away. He could still protect her. He still wished Pops had been there. He would pick this time to be late. Tarik ran off to join the kids.
“He’s beautiful, Ophelia; just like you.”
Ophelia beamed with pride as they looked after Tarik. Refocusing on Eli, her face registered cold disgust. “He does not know about you. We thought it was easier this way. And now, well, I can tell you’ve been drinking, or that you’re high on something. What is wrong with you? No show for six years and this is how you come? Like a bum!” Shouting now, she added, “Don’t…don’t come again…don’t ever call me…or Tarik again! You are dead to us…you understand…DEAD!”
Ophelia turned and stormed away. That was the last time she had seen Eli.
Revisiting her life with Eli was like watching a gothic ghetto soap opera. But with all the bad thoughts, good memories of Eli and the love they once shared still found an opportunity to resurface. She had realized for a long time that if her mom hadn’t interfered and created conflict in their home, they probably would have done all right together.
And wouldn’t you know it, Mr. Moms were all very acceptable these days. But back then a man had to work outside the home and bring in the bacon. She didn’t lament too long. Life hadn’t turned out too bad for her after all. Pops was gone now, but they had lived a good life together when he was alive. No complaints…no real regrets.
But she had to get something right. It meant seeing Eli one more time. She got off her rocking chair, went down to the kitchen, and boiled up some chicken soup to take to him. And then she remembered how he always liked egg salad sandwiches. She made him those, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Eli woke up that morning happy but much weaker than the day before. Each day he seemed to wake up with less and less energy, like he was melting away. He took a birdbath and changed into clean clothes. He was tired, but still glowing from the concert. He even hummed some of Tarik’s tunes. He giggled at his sick self.
A knock on the door brought him off the “concert stage.” Who could that be? Meals on Wheels wasn’t due until tomorrow. They had left double amounts yesterday. He was still strong enough to use the microwave and make simple meals. But he knew that soon would pass. He figured he’d have to go to the hospice in two months. Probably less. Definitely not more.
He opened the door and almost had a stroke. It was Ophelia. She carried a pot and just ignored him, and pushed her way through the door. “Where’s your kitchen, Eli?”
Speechless, Eli pointed to his small kitchen.
They had a good “brunch,” as Ophelia called it. She cleaned the pots, pans, dishes, and straightened up. “Ophelia, please you don’t have to do that, plus you’re not doing a good job!” They both laughed. It was their private joke back in the day. Ophelia didn’t have a clue how things worked in a kitchen. Eli outshone her in every way. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was now considered a domestic goddess.
“So, does he know about me?”
“Tarik? Oh, yes. Pops and I told him when he was thirteen.”
“How did he take it?”
“Not well. Called us liars and went on a rampage for two years that found his little butt in a juvenile detention center for six months.”
Eli was distressed at this news. He felt responsible. Ophelia added, “But he came out a changed young man. Never had any trouble from him. He even wanted to meet with you. But we couldn’t find you…”
“I’ve wasted so many years; so many.” The tone of their meeting had turned too gloomy for Ophelia. Wanting to pep things up, she asked, “Do you have any idea why I came by today?”
“I’d thought you just wanted to show off your chicken soup, maybe?”
She laughed. She got up and looked for her pocketbook.
“You leaving, Ophelia?”
“No. I left something in the car.” She rushed out the door and returned a few minutes later, carrying something behind her back. “There’s a project you started, and I think it only right that you…” She pulled the yellow rose painting out for Eli to see. “Finish it!”
Seeing the original painting for the first time in years, Eli laughed through tears. He raised his bony body off the leather recliner, and pulled out an updated version of the same painting.
That made Ophelia chuckle. In fact, the two laughed and talked for the remainder of the afternoon.
“What happened to you, Eli? I never heard from you after that scene at Tarik’s birthday party.”
“That day was a huge turning point in my life; one of the biggest.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it”
“No, no. I want to go down memory lane with you. You see, that night after Tarik’s party, I was in such unbelievable pain. It was the kind of pain substance abusers like me can’t handle. I went to a party with my buddies. Begged them to hook me up with some shit that would take a man’s mind off everything. And oh boy, did they ever hook me up.”
Eli paused as he reflected back to that fateful evening a long time ago. “That night I replaced you with a new mistress; heroin. And she was one demanding, cruel bitch. I stole for her. She pimped me out, Ophelia, stabbed me in the back, and gave me this AIDS. And…” Eli paused to catch his breath.
Thinking he was in trouble, Ophelia rushed to his side. He held up a trembling, bony hand to signal that he was okay. Ophelia hesitantly moved back to her seat. It was obvious to her that revealing his story was taking a toll on him.
She had counseled and held the hands of many AIDS sufferers over the last twenty years. But it was different watching Eli suffer, a man she once loved, and seeing him in such a weakened state. Ophelia couldn’t handle her own grief any more and tried to stop him. “Eli, this might be what the kids call too much information. T-M-I. We can talk about this some other…”
“NO! I want to tell you NOW! I need to tell you that if I had taken care of my responsibilities the way I took care of that monkey on my back, you and me would be celebrating our thirtieth wedding anniversary. And that ain’t no lie; no lie at all. Because, Ophelia, I…I…”
He looked away from her. The pain of the truth was cutting him deep, but he had to tell her. “Ophelia, I never really stopped loving you. Not for one day; not for one hour; not for one second.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The voices stopped. As mysteriously as they appeared, they disappeared. Like they never ever happened. Carlos relaxed. He blamed the strange scene in the hotel on the hangover and lack of sleep. He vowed to slow way down on alcohol consumption. In fact, he stopped cold turkey…no beer…no wine…simple tap water did just fine. He never wanted to experience the “voices” again. He never wanted to think about what happened the day his father killed his mother.
All he wanted to do was embrace the good feelings he had about the negotiations with Jeff Moses and the other executives at Mo-Sound records. The meetings moved forward without a
hitch. Carlos worked overtime that week with Tarik and their attorney and family friend, Uncle “Link” Powell. They made sure Tarik’s debut ran smoothly. Mo-Sound agreed to distribute Infinity’s CD, Introducing: Tarik and to pick up the bill for the international publicity tour. After that they just had to wait until the entire world fell in love with Tarik’s unique sound.
He hadn’t seen Nicola since the fiasco in the hotel. The few times he could reach her by phone, they never really discussed their last encounter. She brushed it off as an innocent occurrence and swore up and down it would make their first love- making session all the sweeter. His ego and pride couldn’t buy that. He wanted to make it up to her.
Waiting for Nicola made him hornier than he’d been all his young life. He masturbated; something he hadn’t done since he got out of junior high school. There were always nasty girls around who took care of business for him. The thought of cheating on Nicola never entered his mind. She had changed him. He was a faithful man.
On Friday evening, after they sent the contract back to the company, with all of their amendments, Nicola was the first one that he called.
“Hey, beautiful. Good news! The contract is all but signed!”
“Hi, Carlos. I’m real happy for you. Look, I’m a little busy and…”
“Hey, how’s ’bout I slide on up to Harlem and we can finish what we tried to start the other evening. I can be there in…”
Nicola looked down between her legs at Miles, the red-headed midget. His head bobbed up and down as he tongue-whipped her clit. His younger, fraternal twin brothers, Tony and Ernie, also vertically challenged, each held a breast in their mouth as they performed phenomenal sucking maneuvers on her engorged responsive nipples.
“Uh…uh…ruh…Carlos…I’m a little busy, baby. I’m not even in the city. I’m at my beach house in the Hamptons. Wait a second.” She muted the phone to give out “instructions.” “Ernie…now, baby…that’s too hard…little easier…my left tit is just a wee bit more sensitive than my right…”