Overcoming

by H. R. Kitte-Rojas

  The speed of his words, and the force of passion behind them, surprised her.

  He grinned at her. "Sorry. I know that's probably not so interesting to you. What is it that makes you want to be a nurse?"

  "It's OK," she said, swallowing a mouthful of veal, then chasing it with iced tea, while she pondered his question. "Maybe it's as simple as just wanting to help people," she said, gaze floating up toward the moon and stars. "When I see somebody hurting, my heart goes out to them. Then when you find what it is they need, and give it to them, and see the pain go away, it just..." She gestured as if paddling water. "I don't know. It just makes me feel like I really did something good-like I fixed part of the world."

  Miles nodded. "Yeah. I know that feeling. Life is good when you feel that."

  "You feel that way when you give somebody cable?" She immediately felt stupid for asking such a lame question.

  "Not really. More like when somebody's car is broken down and I'm able to make it run again. Or when I figure some problem out, or build a better mousetrap. Stuff like that."

  "What if there's a problem with somebody's cable, and you fix it?" She was still trying to dig herself out of the hole from that last dumb question.

  Miles shrugged. "Yeah, kinda'. That happens sometimes-especially on standby. I should be transferring to Service, soon. Over there, every job requires troubleshooting, so hopefully that'll be more up my alley."

  "Oh. Transferring to Service? They're over on Libra Street, right?"

  "Yeah. I don't know when it'll happen, though."

  It was just conversation, sort of. No big deal. So why did it bother her that he would be working out of a different office? And perhaps not calling Customer Service nearly as much.

  "Do you have plans to go to nursing school?" he asked.

  She nodded. "I'm taking gen ed courses online right now, to get that out of the way. Then I can physically go to school and start right away with the hands-on. That's my plan, anyway."

  He finished his platter and reached for a menu. "I forgot to ask how old your girl is."

  "Five." She couldn't help the proud smile, when Katina's image took form in her mind. "How is it you don't have kids, if you were married?"

  He shrugged. "Just didn't happen."

  The way he said it--so indifferently--made her flinch. "You don't like kids? Don't you want any of your own?"

  "I did. Or thought I did. But really, it's better that I didn't. I'd probably make a horrible parent."

  Sadness hung over his words, but she didn't feel comfortable digging for the source. "You're still hungry?"

  He winked over the menu. "Dessert. They make a mean apple pie a la mode, and an ice cream fudge cake, too. Want some?"

  She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, shaking her head. Like I need my butt to get any bigger.

  "Don't know what you're missin'," he said, and licked his lips.

  "I guess you don't need kids of your own," she said, "since, evidently, you're still a kid yourself."

  He stuck his tongue out at her.

  He ordered the fudge brownie Sunday, and convinced her to take a sample bite. It was so rich, she could almost feel the fat cells partying in her body.

  After finishing his decadent dessert, Miles produced a folding razor knife and opened it, then pressed the point of the blade into his thumb.

  "Are you a masochist?" she quipped.

  He flashed a perfunctory grin before going back to an intense, studious expression while poking and prodding with the knife. "This one broke off under my skin, so far back that I can't dig it out."

  "A splinter?" she asked.

  "Not really," he replied, through gritted teeth. "It's a sliver of wire from the braid. I get them from time to time, but can usually tug them out. I thought I got all of this one, but my thumb stayed sore all the time. Part of it is still in there."

  "Braid?"

  He frowned at her. "You don't remember when I showed you how we prep coax? There's the center conductor, the dielectric, the foil..."

  "Oh, right," she said. "The foil, then the braided wire, then the jacket."

  He put his thumb between his teeth and gnawed at it. Then, looking slightly disgusted, he gave up and put his knife away.

  Miles asked for one check. Shauna tried to see it so she could figure out her part of the bill, but he shooed her away, angrily. "You already did that for lunch. Not this time." All her protests were in vain. But she didn't feel guilty that he had spent some of his hardearned pay for her supper, as she often did with Clarence, who could afford it. She felt good about it.

  As they drove toward the office, they sat in darkness punctuated by the flash of passing lights. They were silent, but the silence was comfortable. Shauna's lips curled up at the ends, of their own accord, as she remembered highlights of the day. A couple times, she caught Miles glancing thoughtfully at her.

  He pulled his van right next to her car, and shut down the engine. Shauna's pulse sped up again. Goodbye time. What kind of goodbye would it be? What kind of goodbye did she want it to be? She had more questions than answers.

  Miles met her gaze, then looked quickly away. Shy again. "I really enjoyed your company," he said. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. I always enjoy our conversations."

  "Me, too."

  Not knowing how to break the ensuing silence, Shauna unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the door and said, "Well, good night."

  She stepped down onto the asphalt, shut the door behind her and walked around to her own driver's door, digging in her purse for the keys. Miles sat, waiting, until she was safely inside, and the engine started. Then he started his own engine, turning his headlights back on.

  Feeling a strange compulsion, Shauna tapped her horn, lightly.

  Miles' van had just begun moving, but stopped abruptly, now. She beckoned to him, rolling her widow down. His door opened and he stepped down, walking up to her window with a curious face.

  Shauna extended her hand out the window. "I enjoyed myself, Miles."

  He hesitated, but shook her hand.

  Trying to ignore the electric tingle of his touch, she said, "And you didn't offend me. Not at any time."

  He tried to break the handshake early again, but she held on for a couple extra seconds while she examined his eyes.

  "Glad to hear that," he said, with obvious relief.

  She pulled his hand inside and turned on her dome light. "Be still," she said.

  He looked perplexed, but she was all business as she rotated his wrist up, lifted his thumb for examination and squeezed at the skin with her fingernails. Now that he realized what she was doing, he relaxed. After several progressive squeezes, she worked the wire fragment out far enough to pluck it.

  She showed it to him, triumphantly. "Another victory for truth, justice, and French manicures."

  His eyes were not on the wire, but on her face. "Thank-you," he said.

  "How's it feel now?" she asked, giving the cured pad of flesh a soft rub.

  "Much better. Still a little sore, but that's probably from me digging at it."

  "This is how I cauterize boo-boos and medicate pain for my daughter," she said, and kissed it.

  Now she let go, put her car in gear, backed out and drove away.

  She held her hand against her cheek for at least half of the drive to Mum's house.

  8

  "She has a boyfriend," Miles muttered under his breath, watching Shauna's tail lights swing out onto Broadcast Lane. "That woman has got to have a boyfriend. More likely, she's got about fifty of 'em. All handsome, well-paid GQ studs, breakin' down her door. And all with a distinct pigmentation advantage over you, Bowser."

  He returned to his van and began the drive toward home. He felt excited, sad, and higher than a kite, all at once. He missed his turn to the freeway onramp, turned around, then missed it again.

  "At least fifty," he continued, "maybe a hundred. And if they catch you goin' for a swim in those big brown eyes of hers, you're
gonna start a race war up in here."

  His reasoning didn't dampen the rush. And, he realized, he was talking to himself again. He thought he had licked that habit for good.

  He scrolled through the recently dialed numbers on his Nextel display until he found hers--from when she'd guided him to the wall fish locations. He held it atop the dash, staring at it as he drove. If I was black, he thought, I would call her right now, and to blazes with her boyfriends.

  He sighed and tossed the Nextel into the passenger seat. Was she for real, with that line about helping people? Okay, maybe people so angelic did exist, but they were either married to maybe people so angelic did exist, but they were either married to pound redheads with cystic acne.

  Even slummed-down in blue jeans and sneakers, Shauna radiated class and dignity. And the locomotion of her walk--the natural wag of her perfectly flaring hips, the way her arms swung, wrists rotating on the backswing so that the knuckles on her tiny hands lined up with the axis of her shoulders...it hypnotized him.

  Without being asked, she fetched him a bottle of water when he came down out of the attic. Just because she knew he was hot and thirsty.

  When she made a mistake and caused damage, she was overcome with remorse. Those tears were real. She knew she messed up. She admitted it. She apologized for it. She meant it. No "sister" he'd ever known would react that way. Hell, no female of any color he'd spent time with would react that way. As good a time as he always had with Rita, she rode too far up her high horse to admit being wrong about anything during conversation.

  Had the customer said anything derogatory to Shauna, Miles probably would have taken a swing at him.

  Maybe that's what all these crazy feelings were about: Shauna brought out the cave man in him. He wanted to protect her.

  Maybe there were other girls out there like Shauna, but he just hadn't met them.

  He experienced intellectual attraction to some girls, physical attraction to others. Never both simultaneously. And with Shauna there was a third attraction...something he didn't fully understand, but was there, and just as powerful.

  "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he barked at himself. This was way too much obsession about a girl he barely knew, and was probably off-limits anyway.

  Why off-limits? Interracial couples were not so uncommon now as when Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura mashed lips on national TV. It was no big taboo, except to bigots...or perhaps females of color who couldn't see beyond paychecks, wardrobes and status symbol transportation.

  Shauna wasn't like that. He'd bet money on it.

  Was he bigoted? Well, he did need to be careful about judging people based on what others, who happened to share skin color or ethnic identity, had done. The angry cable thief who called Miles "honky" and "cracker" probably hated him on sight because of what some other Caucasian had done to him in the past. It wasn't fair; but then it wouldn't be fair with the shoe on the other foot, either.

  Miles got a vibe from Shauna. It felt like she was attracted, too, if his instincts weren't haywire. The way her perfectly-formed hand felt inside his when they shook goodbye...it was like an energy transfer...like the two of them closed a circuit...a closed-loop system. Had he imagined that? Could she not have felt it?

  He had been cool and easy all day, right up until then. Until she pulled the splinter, it was just a nice day with pleasant company, and he was able to convince himself she was off-limits; uninterested; just a friendly, fun personality; blah blah blah.

  And she kissed his thumb. That was either a major signal from a woman being very forward, or it was just a motherly instinct from someone who found him unthreatening because there was no hope of attraction. Maybe she had no clue what sensation her lips on his skin…even from such an innocent gesture…had caused

  He reached for his Nextel to stare at her number some more, and jumped when an incoming call rang in.

  "Hello?"

  "Well hello, Boy-Toy," Rita said, huskily. "I know you haven't forgotten how to get to my house, right?"

  "I'm on standby, Rita. And I thought you had work to catch up on."

  "That's not all I need to catch up on. You're not on a call right now, are you?"

  "No. But they could call any time."

  "Then come over and leave your phone on. If they call you out in the middle of the night, I'll make sure you leave with a smile on your face."

  Only a few seconds ago, Rita had been far from his thoughts. Now her words stirred his loins.

  "I'm on my way," he said.

  She cackled a goodbye and hung up.

  When she opened the front door, he charged in, slammed the door behind them and forced her up against the wall. He kissed her savagely, and began tearing her clothes off. She cried out--something between shocked protest and an orgasmic moan.

  They didn't make it to the bedroom until later.

  When Miles crawled out of bed the next morning, the burden of guilt weighed down on his soul. He washed thoroughly in the shower, but still felt dirty on the inside.

  Frustrated by his haywire emotions, Miles avoided Rita, and breakfast, to slip out of the house quietly. He wanted no conversation, or any other noise, that morning.

  As luck would have it, Frank was still home, and outside, when Miles stepped out Rita's door. Frank saw him and gave him a theatric "what's up" gesture, grinning slyly.

  "I haven't seen much of you," Frank said, "but I've sure been seeing a lot of your van, parked in my neighbor's driveway."

  "Sorry, Frank. Haven't had any time to hang out."

  "I kinda' guessed that. Is she wearing you out, or what?"

  This would be an opportunity to joke, brag, and needle each other under normal circumstances, but Miles wasn't feeling the flippancy required. "No. We're both going strong."

  "You sure?" Frank asked, expression sobering as he picked up on Miles' melancholy vibe. "Everything OK?"

  "Yeah. It's all cool."

  Frank shook his head. "Come in and grab some breakfast."

  Miles still had time before needing to leave for work. Apparently, so did Frank. They nuked some breakfast burritos and toasted Pop Tarts, seating themselves at the kitchen counter.

  "So, are you two fighting?" Frank asked.

  "No."

  "Do you not like her?"

  "Oh, I like her," Miles said, blowing on his burrito to cool it. "She's incredible. Her husband must've been crazy to let her go."

  "Oh yeah?" Frank's eyes lit up. "I was wondering what she'd be like. Didn't guess you would smash that before I could, though."

  "I don't know what the rest of it was like with her," Miles said, "but the guy had nothing to complain about between the sheets."

  "It's 'the rest of it' that always spells doom," Frank said, with that bitter, cynical tone he sometimes got.

  Miles chewed and swallowed a mouthful of burrito, then chased it with a gulp of orange juice. "You've been with all kinds of women, haven't you, Frank?"

  Frank considered the question and made a face. "No. I wouldn't say that."

  Miles stopped eating to frown at him. "You're shacked up with a different woman every month, just about."

  Frank nodded, sadly. "Yeah, but seems like they all turn out to be the same one."

  "You ever been with a black woman?"

  This question surprised Frank into silence for a moment. "I dated a couple. By 'been with,' you mean sex?"

  "I didn't know you ever did the one without the other," Miles said. "It's weird to hear you delineating."

  "Well, it's weird to hear you use such big words this early in the morning."

  "Anyway, if you dated them--however far it went--it's safe to say you were attracted to them. Right?"

  "Oh, yeah." Frank sipped at his orange juice, then pursed his lips briefly. "You got the hots for a black chick?"

  "It's not just the hots, Frank. It's not just sexual."

  "Ooh, bad timing," Frank said, smearing butter on a Pop Tart. "With you and Rita just now getting so
friendly."

  "I know. But back to the other girl: how can I know if she'll give a white man a chance?"

  Frank puffed his cheeks, set down his food, and leaned back. He stared into empty space for a moment before speaking. "I was a freshman in college. Pretty dumb when it came to women, to be honest. Didn't have a girlfriend at the time. But I was pretty happy about being in school, and pretty busy, so I wasn't really on the hunt. Well, I noticed this girl a few times. The video program had a little corner of the building where English and History was taught. Mass Communications didn't get its own building, all consolidated, until years later. Anyway, I saw this girl in the lobby a few times on my way to the editing suite."

  Miles leaned forward, forgetting the rest of his food, too. "I'm assuming that, one: this story will eventually lead to some modicum of an answer to my question; and two: the girl was black?"

  "She was black," Frank said. "She didn't look like a supermodel or anything, but there was definitely something I noticed. She had a really nice hairstyle that complimented her face just perfect. To me, hands-down, she was the university champion for looks."

  "You put moves on her?"

  Frank scoffed. "Are you kidding? I was clueless, remember? You'll see how bad in a minute. But she'd be there studying, and I'd just check her out as I walked by. I would have tried to sketch her, if I'd been that kind of artist. Well, one night, not long before winter break, I was pulling an all-nighter, trying to get a project together for a final grade in Video Production 102. I had to leave the editing suite several times that night to use the bathroom, raid the vending machines, stretch my legs...and this girl was there in the lobby."

  "Studying?" Miles asked.

  "No. Reading a paperback. She must have been a great student if she didn't need to cram like everyone else, and she could afford to stay up so late reading recreationally. As I went by, I tried to see what book she was reading. You know I love to read, so seeing that she did, too, that earned her some points in my book. I wondered why, if she lived on campus, why she didn't just read in her room. I wondered all kinds of stuff, but like the socially retarded dork I was, I didn't step up and ask her."

  "All these times you looked at her," Miles said, "did she ever know, or look back at you?"