And yet, bear it she did. Accepting it, after a time, as one more cross her Father in heaven had decided she should carry, for reasons known only to Him. Gunner didn’t understand it, this woman’s refusal to shuck her faith under the weight of all her losses, but he envied it too. Because he was going to have as much trouble dealing with the senseless circumstances of Nina’s death as anyone, and he had no such crutch to lean on. He and God were not that close.
All Gunner had with which to fuel his recovery from Nina’s passing was hope. The vague and smokelike wish that tomorrow would be better than yesterday, and that all of his best days—and prospects for love—weren’t behind him.
It was a hope he held for the entire world.
Saturday night at the Great Western Forum, Gunner and Gaylon Brown watched the Lakers run over and around the San Antonio Spurs for just over three quarters. Two minutes into the final period, Cedric Ceballos already had 31 points, and Nick Van Exel had 25; together with the team’s new sixth man off the bench, a, new/old power forward named Earvin “Magic” Johnson, the pair had forged an 86–71 Lakers lead, and all was well with Showtime.
Then, during a time-out, Gaylon said, “I like the bitch on the end.” Pointing to one of the Laker Girls.
Gunner told him to grab his jacket and come on, it was time to go.
The boy must have asked Gunner fifty times what he had done to make the man so angry, before he received an answer. They were in the car, moving east on Manchester Boulevard, headed for home. Gunner’s eyes were on the road, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
“I don’t like the word ‘bitch,’” he said. “And I don’t like ‘ho,’ either.”
Gaylon just looked at him.
“That was a woman you were talking about back there. Not a bitch, or a ho. A woman. Someone who deserves respect, same as you and me. Do you understand?”
The seven-year-old shook his head, confused.
Gunner took a deep breath, said, “All right. Listen to me. Listen to me carefully. Most of the hate in this world starts with one thing, Gaylon. Do you know what that is?”
Gaylon shook his head again.
“Names. The names we give ourselves, and the names we give to others. I’m talking about ugly names. Names like nigger and kike, and faggot and gook—and bitch and ho. Names like that. Names that do nothing but hurt people, and degrade people. Do you know what ‘degrade’ means?”
“No …”
“It means to shame. To tear someone down and make them feel bad about themselves.”
“Oh.”
“A real man doesn’t treat people that way. A real man doesn’t use degrading names for women. He doesn’t use degrading names for anyone.”
“So how come everybody says it? That’s what everybody says, ‘bitch.’”
“You ever hear me say it?”
“No. But—”
“But nothing. You want to do what everybody else does, get your ass out of my car right now. You don’t want to be any better or smarter than those knotheads you run around with, later for you, I’ll find somebody else to hang with.”
He jerked the car over two lanes of traffic to the curb and reached across the boy’s lap to open his door.
Gaylon looked at him wild-eyed, afraid to move.
“It’s like this, Gaylon. I picked you to be my ’boy because I think you’re smarter than everybody else. I think you’ve got a good brain, and a good heart, and I don’t want to see either go to waste. But if you don’t want to listen to me when I tell you something, I’ve got no time for you. Because I’ve got enough disappointments in my life without you disappointing me too. You hear what I’m saying? You can’t follow me, and your homies, too. You’ve got to choose between us. And you’ve got to choose right now, before I spend another minute messing around with you.”
He killed the Cobra’s ignition and waited, locking his gaze onto Gaylon’s own.
The boy remained silent.
“A woman is not a bitch,” Gunner said. “Say it.”
“A woman is not a bitch,” Gaylon repeated, not doing much more than exhaling the words.
“Say it again.”
Gaylon did, louder this time.
“A woman is a beautiful creature, and if you treat her like one, she’ll love you,” Gunner said. “Don’t you want to be loved?”
The boy nodded his head.
“Hell yes, you do. We all do. That’s what makes life worth living, love.”
“My momma loves me,” Gaylon said.
“I know she does. And she’s waiting for us. Close that door so we can go, huh?”
Gaylon did as he was told and Gunner started the car.
They rode in silence the rest of the way home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author wishes to thank yet another member of the online services universe, Prodigy subscriber
Lorraine Thompson,
for sharing her medical expertise with me.
If I sound like I know what I’m writing about this time, it’s at least partly her fault.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1996 by Gar Anthony Haywood
This edition published in 2012 by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
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It's Not a Pretty Sight Page 25