It
wasn’t always this bad. Or at least that’s what they tell me. The way it is now
is the only way I have ever known. My grandparents tell me there used to be
freedom of speech. That there was freedom of religion. That there used to be
many different kinds of people and our country was known as the melting pot of
the world where everyone was allowed to pursue happiness.
Happiness… I don’t believe I’ll ever
know true happiness. I’m a woman after all. We’re not trusted to make decisions
for ourselves. We’re not allowed to vote. But it didn’t used to be like this.
We used to get to vote just like men and we used to get to make our own
decisions. We used to have a say in who we married and when we had children.
Now your father makes all your decisions including who you marry. After you’re
married, then your husband makes all your decisions.
Luckily for me and my mother, my
father is a very loving, kind and gentle man. He is very much about doing his
best to protect us and make us happy. I know not all homes are love filled like
ours. In many homes, a wife is just another piece of property a man owns. She
is a servant to do his bidding.
There were so many freedoms before
Drumpft became president and turned himself into our dictator. Changed the name
of our country to Drumpftland after himself. We’re not even allowed to say the
name of the country we were before and it isn’t taught in school for those that
can afford to send their children to school. There are no public schools in
Drumpftland.
The wall between us and Mexico was
meant to keep Mexicans out. But they don’t want to be here. Now it keeps us in.
Everyday people are shot by our own homeland security trying to escape into
Mexico and Canada. Most of the indigenous people escaped into Canada before the
wall on the Canadian border was built to keep us from fleeing what was once a
land of freedom.
My father was a little boy when
Drumpft made himself dictator. He says people didn’t even take him seriously
when he ran for president. Drumpft was a business tycoon and TV personality.
Yet he developed a cult following. Dad says people were shocked and appalled
because they didn’t realize so many hate filled people still existed in our
country. They thought we had gotten past all of that. Apparently not.
Still most didn’t take Drumpft
seriously. They just assumed there was no way Drumpft could win. They didn’t
believe someone so Hitler like could possibly become president. After all, this
was a land of freedom and opportunity. Someone like Hitler couldn’t possibly come
into power here.
I asked my grandparents what
happened. How did such a person manage to become president? And they told me
that people simply took their right to vote for granted. That too many assumed
that their vote didn’t count and didn’t matter. So they failed to exercise
their right to vote. They didn’t bother with voting at all when it mattered
most. Yet Drumpft’s mindless cult followers voted.
All those angry, hate filled bigots
exercised their right to vote while too many others failed to go vote telling
themselves it didn’t matter anyway. And of course it doesn’t count if you don’t
show up and do it. Then it was too late.
There were executions in the
streets. Drumpft executed many of the very same people that support him. He
called it “culling the herd.” He had nothing but contempt for people who are
poor, uneducated and simple minded. He was most offend by those he perceived as
weak minded.
As for people of color, if you
proved to be useful you were allowed to live. But Canada accepted refugees. And
African countries accepted refugees to keep Drumpft from executing thousands of
people of color. Muslims who refused to convert to Christianity were deported
unless Drumpft decided they were terrorists. Then they were executed. If you
were lucky, they just put a bullet in your head. The unlucky ones were raped
and beaten to death.
My paternal grandfather is a doctor,
a surgeon. And my paternal grandmother was a nurse which made them useful and
valuable. So even though they were people of color, my grandmother was black
and my grandfather, granddaddy, black and native, they were not deported nor
executed. But their home was taken from them. Luckily my granddaddy’s best
friend, another doctor volunteered to take them in. Saving them from being crammed
into a tiny apartment. My father remembers watching many conversations between
his parents and my maternal grandparents.
My mother is my father’s best friend
and the daughter of his father’s best friend. Even though she is half
Caucasian, they were allowed to marry because the plan is to breed out the
remaining people of color in Drumpftland. My parents didn’t plan to have
children. Drumpftland is not an easy place for an interracial child to grow up.
I was a happy accident. My father could have asked for an abortion. A woman
can’t ask for one, but a man can. All birth control decisions are made by men.
Even if you are unmarried, the biological father can order an abortion for you
whether you want it or not. But after discussing it, they decided to have me.
Yet despite having advantages many
don’t, sometimes I wish I either had never been born or had been born a boy.
All socialist’s programs like public schools are gone. Social security,
welfare, food stamps etcetera were all abolished by Drumpft. I am fortunate
that my family was able to afford private school for me. If you can’t afford
private school, you must home school your children. Something that becomes the
wife’s responsibility since women are not permitted to work full-time. They may
work part-time outside the home except when they have children at home under
the age of six and if your husband or father permits you. If your husband of
father gives you permission and you have no children under the age of six, then
you may work part-time outside your home.
I was an excellent student and
earned a scholarship to be university educated. Of course I couldn’t go away to
study. The other way to become well educated if you are male is to be a devote
member of the church. The church likes its leaders to be well educated. And
they will oversee university studies for those who can’t go away because they
are female or whose families can’t afford the expense of sending their child
away to study at the university locations near their district. Every district has
at least one church, more than one in large highly populated districts.
I wanted to study political science.
I wanted to learn how to make things better for everyone, how to make a
difference. Except I am female, so I was allowed to study medicine and I’m a
pediatrician. Most women only become nurses or nurse’s assistants etc. I work
at our local clinic/hospital/urgent care with my parents and grandparents
part-time, twenty-four hours a week, four six hour days a week. That’s the
maximum a female is permitted to work outside her home.
Nearly everyone has Sunday off. And
they expect you to attend church every Sunday. If you are absent more than once
in a great while, homeland security will show up at your home. And you better
have a good reason for missing a lot of church. I was tired and didn’t feel
like it or I just over slept are not acceptable excuses.
This Sunday my family and I slip
into the pew at the back of the congregation hall. We’re the only family of
color in our district. If we sit anywhere else, we get stared at. Which doesn’t
make sense. We’re not strangers to anyone here. We’re their doctors. We know
everyone here. Still, people wrinkle their noses at us as if we smell like
shit. But if we sit in this very last pew at the back of the hall, they just
ignore us.
“Ava,” Bryant Cross calls to me.
“Ava! I saved seats for you and your family up front with us.”
Now every single unmarried young
woman in the church is giving me the evil eye. I hear one say to another in a
harsh angry tone, “I don’t know what he sees in her.”
Perhaps if one of them had been even
remotely kind to Bryant when we were children, he might be interested in one of
them. And the last few years have been difficult to say the least making me
wish he was interested in anyone but me. They want him for all the wrong
reasons, because his family is the most powerful in our district and the most
affluent in our district. They’re related to the Drumpft’s. Their father’s
mother’s mother was a daughter to our First Lord Drumpft. Drumpft Junior
succeeded him as dictator when he passed away and is our current Lord Drumpft.
Bryant sometimes likes to brag that he could be our country’s Lord one day.
I could care less about his family’s
power and money. It won’t change the fact that Bryant has been cruel the last
few years. He claimed me as his girlfriend when we were in kindergarten. The
good thing about him claiming me is I’m seen as his property even though we’re
not married yet. I’m still his future wife so most men would not dare put their
hands on me. An older married man can’t force me to be his mistress. I know in
some districts affluent men basically have a harem of mistresses that live in
their homes until he tires of them or their families secure husbands for them.
I am Bryant’s fiancé even though he never proposed so I never said yes or no.
Sometimes I feel as if he’s my stalker with full access to me and I can’t do a
damn thing about it.
‘Nigger whore,” someone says in a
loud whisper.
My father pats my shoulder
comfortingly as he says softly, “Let’s go. Bryant and his family are waiting.”
I don’t look at anyone as we make
our way to the front pew. There’s no point in that. They would only be
motivated to say more angry hateful things. Besides, there isn’t anything
interesting to see. Every woman is
dressed nearly identically as well as every man. Women in ankle length skirts
of beige, off white or light grey with matching tops and flats. No make-up.
Make-up is forbidden so a man can be sure he is choosing a truly beautiful
woman. The men are all in the same style of dress casual slacks with button
down white dress shirts, a comfortable pair of loafers. For men and women a
sweater may be worn over the shirt as long as it is plain, muted and subdued.
Nothing fancy is permitted and no bright bold colors are to be worn to church.
So there’s nothing interesting for me to see. I just watch my small feet in
their plain white flats because there are no friendly faces for me to wave to
or smile at. Just angry scowls, evil cold eyes and noses wrinkled in disgust
are all I would see.
The only friendly face are the
Crosses’ already seated in the front pew and Pastor Cross, he seems to like me
and my family. Yet I often doubt they truly like us. I suspect they just enjoy
the meek submissive demeanor we are forced to display at church. That it
somehow makes them feel superior. But I know that Bryant is not quite like the
rest of his family.
Bryant lifts my chin, leans over and
gives me a quick kiss, “You look lovely today as always Ava.”
“Thank you Bryant,” I respond softly
as he takes my small hand and we sit down.
Bryant ask me concerned, “Why do you
look so sad? You have a beautiful smile. I love your smile.”
I whisper to him softly, “You know
we don’t like to sit at the front. Everyone stares at us when we sit at the
front.”
Bryant looks back at the unfriendly
faces. Many of the young women try to make eyes at him by smiling and batting
their eyelashes. But Bryant ask with an angry sneer, “What in the hell are you
all looking at?”
They all look away. At least he
didn’t drop an f-bomb this morning. That’s his favorite word. But they’ll be
careful about how they look at us for the next couple of weeks and be
deliberately friendly. After all, they don’t want to offend the Crosses’
favorite pets. Mr. and Mrs. Cross like being able to say their son is engaged
to an intelligent young doctor, that he’s snagged himself the most worthy
female in the district.
Pastor Cross begins the sermon with
the Love Thy Neighbor stuff. He has to do it every couple of weeks to remind
them that we’re their neighbors and the good doctors that look after them and
take good care of them and their families. He has to remind them that to be
unkind and rude is un-Christ like. That it’s not what Jesus would do. And he
sounds truly sincere, worried and concerned. I actually think he believes.
My family and I are actually
atheists. But it’s illegal to be atheists. Just like it’s illegal to be
homosexual. Illegal to say anything negative about the Drumpfts and their
family. Illegal to obtain birth control without your father or husband’s
permission. But there’s no expectation of being a virgin when you marry. Men
have the right to test drive you like they would a car. And sex is a physical
need that men need to fill. So women are their sex toys.
Most young women my age have been
with several different men or more and are currently being used by several
different men or more. A woman’s virginity is often lost immediately after
puberty. Once you start to look good to men and they start to want you, you’re
not a virgin for much longer. I don’t know how much of it is actually
consensual. I’m sure a lot of it is not consensual. But most of the young women
seem to be enjoying their very active sex lives. But I’m not.
Luckily for me, Bryant isn’t good at
sharing. Plus he doesn’t have any close friends or associates to share me with
and he wouldn’t if he did. But he does have two older brothers that he shares
me with because they insist upon it. And the older we get, the less he wants to
share me with them. The more he wants me all to himself. So he’s been pushing
the marriage thing with my parents who know I’m not in a hurry to be Bryant’s
wife. The last few years have been difficult with him to say the least so I’m
not in a hurry to put myself entirely at his mercy. But before things got
difficult with him, I did look forward to being his wife.
Pastor Cross announces, “We have a
new resident to our little district. Ava’s grandfathers, Dr. Reed and Dr.
Washington are retiring to part-time. So this new resident is a replacement of
a sort that will start in our clinic tomorrow. His name is Dr. Dunston Walker.
Would you please stand for us Dr. Walker?”
Dr. Walker is quite tall. Taller
even than my father and grandfathers who were the tallest men in the district.
And he could almost pass for Caucasian. But his naturally lightly tan skin tone
gives away that he’s not. His smooth black hair is longish. He has perfect
cheek bones and well-shaped lips. He’s a work of living breathing art and I
find the way all the young women are looking at him amusing. They need to push
their tongues back into their mouths.
Pastor Cross informs our new resident,
“This is the Reed and Washington family. You’ll be joining their household. I
know they have room for you. I’ll introduce you to them properly before Sunday
school begins.”
Dr. Walker makes eye contact with me
and smiles. It’s a dazzling smile and I naturally smile back. Something that
doesn’t sit well with Bryant because he stands, smacks me full force and
orders, “Don’t smile at him.”
“Bryant,” Pastor Cross calls to him
firmly, “That was uncalled for.”
“She was looking at him,” responds
Bryant angry.
“Of course she did,” responds Pastor
Cross irritated. “I had him stand so everyone could get a look at him. Her
behavior was perfectly normal.”
“She smiled at him,” states Bryant
angrily.
“Bryant, you’re over reacting,”
Pastor Cross tells him. “And you can’t expect her to never look at him or never
speak to him. He’s going to be living in their house with them.”
“I don’t want him living in their
house with them,” wines Bryant in a spoiled childish tone. “I don’t want him
near my Ava.”
“Bryant,” his father’s tone
authoritative, “her family will never agree to let her marry you if you keep
having these jealous outburst.”
Bryant insist, “But there would be
no reason for me to be jealous in we were married already. I wouldn’t be
worried if I knew she was mine.”
My grandfather, Dr. Lance Reed,
tells him, “Bryant, we won’t give her permission to marry someone who’s
abusive.”
The word abusive seems to register
with Bryant. He quickly sits back down beside me, puts his arms around me and
apologizes as sincerely as is possible for him, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
He lifts my chin and a trickle of blood escapes the corner of my mouth. He
request urgently, “Mom, I need a tissue, quick.”
Mrs. Cross quickly materializes a
handkerchief from her clutch purse and hands it to Bryant, who gently wipes the
blood from my chin and lips along with the silent tears on my cheeks. He’s
capable of gentle loving gestures. But the last few years, he’s just been prone
to do the opposite of gentle and loving.
I look him in his blue eyes because
I know he likes it when I make eye contact with him. He thinks my failure to
make eye contact with him the last few years is the result of shyness. And I’m
not going to tell him he’s wrong even though he is. I’ve been having trouble making
eye contact with him and avoiding looking him in his stunning blue eyes because
they have come to terrify me. There’s a vacantness there now. His eyes may be
stunningly blue but they’re like staring into an endless black abyss. They are
empty and cold as if he has become soulless, but his eyes weren’t always like
that.
Bryant smiles pleased I made eye
contact with him. His smile is a confusing cross between winning and crazed
lunatic. It scares me as much as looking into his eyes. I rewarded him with an
affectionate companionable pat on his knee. And since it has become rare for me
to initiate any physical contact between us, that simple show of affection
delights him. He kisses me deeply and holds me close. I force myself to relax
into him. I do my best to please him and make him happy. But his jealous
outburst and rages are becoming more frequent and seem to be triggered by
nothing most of the time.
Pastor Cross finishes his sermon. No
collection plates are passed. Your ten percent tithing was removed from your
wages before they were deposited into your account just like your taxes. As a
woman, I am a dependent and I will always be a dependent. I will not be
permitted to live on my own and no tax exemptions are available to me.
Pastor Cross motions Dr. Walker over
to introduce him to us. Bryant and his family stand with us. Bryant has a firm
possessive hold on the back of my neck. I’m not sure if his hold on the back of
my neck is supposed to remind me that I’m his or to demonstrate to Dr. Walker that
I’m his.
“Now Dr. Walker,” Pastor Cross
informs him, “this is Dr. Lance Reed and his wife Lupe. He is the official head
of the household. Then we have Dr. Eugene Washington. His wife is no longer
with us. His son, Dr. Simon Washington and his wife Irena. Irena is Dr. Reed’s
daughter. And this is Dr. Ava Washington. Simon and Irena are her parents which
makes Dr. Reed and Lupe Ava’s maternal grandparents and Eugene her paternal
grandparent.”
“Why must he be moved into their
home,” ask Bryant angrily.
“Bryant,” Pastor Cross being
patient, “I cannot ask an all-white household to take in a non-white male. The
Reed-Washington household is already a multicultural, multiracial household.”
“He looks white to me,” state
Bryant. “He just has a great tan.”
“Except he’s not white,” Pastor
Cross tells Bryant. “That’s not just a great tan. That’s his natural skin
coloration.”
“I don’t like it,” states Bryant
stomping his foot as his grip on the back of my neck tightens. “I don’t want
him there,” giving me a violent shake as his grip tightens enough to force a
pained squeak out of me.
Dr. Walker tells Bryant upset and
concerned, “You’re hurting her!”
Bryant releases my neck to pull me
against him allowing me to slip under his arm submissively. I want to thank Dr.
Walker but I don’t dare open my mouth until I’ve been addressed directly.
Bryant tells Dr. Walker, “It’s none
of your concern.”
Dr. Walker responds firmly, “Someone
needs to be concerned.”
My maternal grandfather, my poppa,
Dr. Lance Reed, assures Dr. Walker, “Oh, believe me, we are concerned.”
Pastor Cross decides to push
forward, “Since they’re here, let me introduce you to some of my relatives.
This my cousin, Byron Cross and his wife Lilith. Byron is our districts head
administrator. And these are their three sons. Blake is the oldest. Bronson is
their middle child. And Bryant is their youngest. He and Ava have known one
another since kindergarten.”
Mrs. Cross request as she fans
herself while smiling way too brightly, “Dr. Walker, tell us a little about
yourself. As our Bryant pointed out, you can pass for white. Where do you get
your beautiful tan skin from?”
“When European invaders insisted
Natives have last names,” Dr. Walker informs them, “our family’s last name was
Spiritwalker. But after Drumpft Senior took over this country and renamed it
Drumpftland, our name was shortened to Walker because Spiritwalker was too
native. Or at least that’s what the nice white folks who changed it told my
grandparents.”
As a white woman, Mrs. Cross doesn’t
have to wait to be addressed to speak. She may speak freely almost any time she
wants. She responds, “I thought all natives migrated to Canada.”
Dr. Walker explains, “The
reservation natives managed to escape into Canada. But many natives no longer
lived on reservations. We were just typical citizens.”
Fanning herself Mrs. Cross claims,
“Please excuse me, hot flashes. So are you full native?”
“No,” answers Dr. Walker, “My
father’s a quarter white and my mother’s half white.”
“Interesting,” comments Mrs. Cross.
If she got caught having an affair it could spell disaster for her and whomever
she’s having the affair with.
“Interesting indeed,” responds Mr.
Cross not fooled by his wife’s claim to be having hot flashes.
“Sunday school is about to begin,”
reminds Pastor Cross. “After Sunday School you may collect your bags and go
home with the Reeds and Washingtons.”
“Thank you Pastor Cross,” responds
Dr. Walker appreciatively.
“Just stick with us,” directs my
poppa.
Pastor Wimbly is teaching Sunday
school. He usually does. My family along with Dr. Walker sit at the back while
I’m stuck sitting at the front with Bryant and his family.
There’s a rumor that Pastor Wimbly
is secretly homosexual. But I know he’s not. He likes to admire my bottom and
will give it an affectionate pat when the opportunity presents itself. The
clergy may marry, but most don’t. Few see a pastor as a step up in the world
for their daughters. Yet it is acknowledged that they are men with the needs of
men. So several young women will stay for about an hour after Sunday school to
provide service to them. But Wimbly’s not in the habit of taking advantage of
that opportunity. They think it’s because he’s a homo. I know it’s because they
don’t appeal to him. He likes for me to stay after Sunday school to help clean
up. And we do clean up like we’re supposed to, but that’s when I service him.
The first time he approached me to
service him I was very surprised. Afterward he asked me who had taken my
virginity and I informed him Bryant’s older brother Blake had. He’s told me
many times he’s sorry that Bryant is fixated on me. He understands that I have
a long hard road ahead of me with Bryant. That being Bryant’s girlfriend while
having its pluses also has lots of minuses. As a plus I have never had to go
with the other young women after Sunday school to service the pastors. As a
minus, both of Bryant’s older brothers make sure they get to use me regularly
and his father has found opportunities to impose himself upon me too.
But I don’t mind Pastor Wimbly. He’s
gentle and kind. And most importantly, he’s quick, very quick. He doesn’t try
to drag it out and I appreciate that. After all, I’m not enjoying it. So why
torture me by taking your time.
Pastor Wimbly’s lesson today is on
the Evils of Riches and Greed. It’s his favorite topic to do a lesson on. Many
people in our district are poor and they think if they can find a way into a
position of power that will provide financial wealth that all their problems
will be solved. But suffering in poverty greatly makes you as short sighted as
someone with too much wealth and power. The poor are desperately looking for a
way up. While the rich and powerful are constantly working to not just keep
what they have, but are also greedily trampling those below to have more, more,
more. They never have enough. If Mrs. Cross didn’t have a dress code to follow
on Sunday like the rest of us, she’ld show up in a new outfit every Sunday.
The poor believe the rich are happy.
But I’ve spent more than enough time with the Crosses to know they’re not
happy. They’re miserable. The only happy one is Pastor Cross who lives a
minimalistic life style serving God. The rest of them are a mess. Mr. Cross is
constantly stressed out. And Mrs. Cross is almost constantly drunk. Hard liqueur
and beer may not be available, but wine is. She’ll have her first class when
she gets home from church and by the time they have dinner, she’ll have gone
through two bottles. It will have been the cheap stuff because Mr. Cross fusses
when she goes through the expensive stuff like water.
Pastor Wimbly calls on me and my
family frequently. I find it amusing that the secret-atheists know scripture
better than the so called believers. They’ll walk out of here untouched by
Pastor Wimbly’s sincere words.
Pastor Wimbly ask, “What does Jesus
mean by ‘for it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than
for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God?’”
The supposed believers avoid Pastor
Wimbly’s wise old eyes. As usual, they don’t want to participate. They don’t
wish to be called on.
Yet Pastor Wimbly still seems
pleased. He’s not deterred yet. I know my family like myself are paying
attention. So I’m expecting him to call on one of us. Instead he calls, “Dr.
Walker, I know you are new here with us. But would you like to try to answer my
question?”
“Of course Pastor,” agrees Dr.
Walker. “Jesus means, just like you literally cannot walk a whole camel through
the eye of a sewing needle, a rich man or woman that has spent their life
seeking riches and has only lived their life as if riches and being rich is
what life is all about, cannot enter heaven. They cannot enter into the kingdom
of God because they have spent their life with riches as their god.”
Pastor Wimbly is very pleased,
“Thank you Dr. Walker. Now if a rich man cannot enter heaven, what happens to
him when his life is over? He can’t get into heaven. So where does he go?”
He looks around and gets the same
eye avoidance at before. So he calls on me knowing I will answer without
hesitation, “Ava, what happens to a rich man when he dies?”
“He goes to hell Pastor,” I answer
without a blink. “He lived a selfish self-serving life devoid of faith and
charity. So he goes to hell for all eternity. No second chances and no do
overs. And anyone foolish enough to follow such a man will go to hell too. The
path he walks may lead you to riches in this life, but it will only lead you to
hell when this life is over.”
“Says the gold digging nigger,”
snarks a young woman.
“You shut your fucking mouth or I’ll
shut it for you,” Bryant threatens the young woman.
“Ms. Cook,” Pastor Wimbly tells her,
“if you cannot say something nice, you should not say anything at all.”
“But niggers don’t go to heaven,”
insist the young woman’s father, “not even if they’re good niggers.”
“Nonsense,” states Pastor Wimbly.
“Absolute nonsense. No one is denied access to heaven based on the color of
their skin. And nowhere in the Bible does it say such a thing. It’s how you
live your life here that determines if you are worthy of heaven or not. How you
live it. Not the color of your skin. And nasty unkind words spoken out of
jealousy and greed will not open heaven to you. God created us all and he wants
us all to join him in heaven.”
“Why did God create them,” ask a
young man.
Pastor Wimbly answers with
conviction, “Because God loves diversity. The world would be a boring place
without it. And your personal malfunction with diversity, your mental illness
that makes you hate people not the same
as yourself, is your personal problem that will keep you out of heaven, not
God’s will. You are commanded to love your neighbors as yourselves and there
are no exception clauses listed. And in Mathew 5:44 you are also commanded to
love your enemy. ‘Bless them that curse you, do good to those that hate you and
pray for those who despitefully use you and persecute you.’ For once in your
selfish lives try to do a little of what Jesus would do.”
Pastor Wimbly takes a deep breath and
closes his eyes, “Heavenly Father, give me strength.” He takes another deep
breath and opens his eyes. He checks the time. “Class is over in five minutes.
You may as well go home. Be well. Walk with God. And try to do what Jesus would
do.”
A couple of young women hiss at me
as they walk past us. Bryant raises a hand to strike the nearest one.
I take his hand as I say, “That’s
not what Jesus would do.” I bring his hand to my lips and kiss it.
Bryant gently touches the side of my
face he smacked earlier and says sadly, “It’s bruising.”
I respond softly, “It’ll heal.”
Mrs. Cross turns my face to the side
to look at it and sighs sadly, “This is not how you treat someone you love.”
“Really Bryant,” his brother Blake
tells him, “you need to get your temper under control. After all, she’s just a
little thing.”
Pastor Wimbly ask me concerned, “Are
you alright Ava?”
I answer softly as I glance at some
young women glaring at me meanly, “They act as if I have a choice.”
Pastor Wimbly pats my shoulder
comfortingly, “Don’t pay them any mind. They’re not worth your tears. I do hope
to get through to them one day, but I fear I never will. Are you able to stay
and help clean up?”
Bryant answers for me, “Not today
Pastor.” He knows I would go straight home afterward and find chores to keep me
busy at home.
My family pauses to hug and kiss me.
Poppa tells Bryant firmly, “I want her home in time for dinner please.”
“Yes Dr. Reed,” agrees Bryant.
My family along with Dr. Walker walk
home without me. I ride in the limo with Bryant and his family to their home,
my future home. I don’t know why they take the limo to church every Sunday.
They live close enough to walk like most everyone else. But their house is the
largest in the district and sits up on a hill for all to see. It’s too much
house for Mrs. Cross to keep clean on her own. But the help has Sunday off. Mr.
Cross drove the limo himself. His parents are very elderly and in poor health
so they are excused from attending church. Mrs. Cross’s relatives look after
his parents and are excused because they provide their care. Mrs. Cross was
once just a receptionist. I’ve heard rumors of how she seduced Mr. Cross and
managed to catch him as her husband. But those are just rumors. I don’t know
how she actually managed it. Perhaps her blow jobs leave his cock gold plated.
But this really is too much house
for them, or for most anyone. It feels especially empty on Sundays when there
is no help around. No cooks in the kitchen. No maids going around dusting,
sweeping, mopping and collecting dirty clothes, changing sheets and doing
laundry. No butler to answer the front doors and oversee the rest of the help.
A breezeway attaches the large
multivehicle garage to the oversized house. We enter the house through it into
a large mudroom where we take off our shoes, hang our sweaters and jackets. The
floors on the main level are heated so there’s no need for house slippers
during the winter. But it’s late spring, the weather is beautiful and
everything’s in full bloom.
“Mr. Cross, would you like me to run
to the cottage to check on the elder Mr. and Mrs. Cross,” I offer as we step
into the kitchen. I like his parents. If they were ever bigoted, age and
illness have washed it away. They are always all cheerful smiles and truly delight
to see me. They love visitors.
“No, I’ll check on them myself after
lunch,” answers Mr. Cross. He directs, “Go ahead and give Lilith a hand with
lunch please.”
“As you wish sir,” I agree.
“As you wish sir,” mocks Blake
teasingly.
I simply roll my eyes at him.
There’s no point in responding.
Bronson grabs my ass as I walk by
him and I slap his hand away irritatedly. He and Blake both laugh at me
hilariously.
“That’s enough you two,” scolds Mr.
Cross frowning at them. “You’re behaving like little boys instead of grown
men.”
“Would you like a glass of wine
Ava,” offers Mrs. Cross.
“No thank you Mrs. Cross,” I
decline.
“We really are overdue for having
your family over for dinner,” she says as she sets the timer for the biscuits
and cornbread that just need to be baked for twenty minutes. “Do you drink at
all?”
“Yes madam,” I answer, “we have a
half a glass of wine with dinner every night except Sunday. And of course we
drink the sacrament wine when we take sacrament with everyone else. And my father
and grandfathers each have a glass Saturday night as they share a cigar and
discuss things at the clinic. That’s girl time for me, Mom and Abuela.”
“Abuela,” questions Bronson, “what
the hell is that?”
“It’s Spanish for grandmother,” I
inform Bronson.
“You speak Spanish,” ask Blake
interested.
“Only a little,” but I am more
fluent than I’m admitting. I know many white people feel threatened when they
hear a language they don’t understand.
“Are your grandfathers looking
forward to retirement,” ask Mr. Cross.
It’s not full-fledged retirement and
Mr. Cross understands that. Very few get to retire completely. They’ll both
still be working part-time. Still I nod affirmatively even though their
nosiness is quite unusual. They’ve never really asked me much of anything about
myself before beyond pleasant polite things like, how are you? Except for
Bryant, we used to be very close. Still I share, “Papa’s looking forward to
more time with Abuela and he’ll only work Thursday, Friday and Saturday.
Granddaddy seems a little sad but says he’s looking forward to more time
gardening and breeding rabbits. But he’ll only work Monday, Tuesday and
Wednesday.”
“Did you know about Dr. Walker,” ask
Bryant accusingly.
I admit, “I knew they were looking
for someone. But I didn’t know who, what, where, when or anything else until
today. I thought they were looking for a white doctor who would live in staff
housing next door to the clinic, urgent care and hospital. I know they hope to
attract a second doctor here preferably a male pediatrician who can work
full-time since I can only work part-time and won’t be able to work at all for
a while once we start a family. And while the small community to look after is
appealing, our remote rural location is not.”
Mr. Cross confirms, “Allen (his
cousin Pastor Cross) mentioned they were trying to find a white doctor. But
thus far they haven’t been able to find one willing to relocate here or the
couple that showed interest would be retiring soon themselves. Being a doctor
isn’t lucrative like it once was. They’re not permitted to have a private
practice anymore where they could charge quite a bit per visit. As public
servants they’re paid an hourly wage like factory and utility workers plus full
health coverage. Of course they’re paid significantly more than factory workers
and such. But ambitious white males are studying political science and law
where things are extremely lucrative and come with power and social status.
Doctors are highly respected of course, but it’s not the same as being a
government official.”
“Maybe by the time their first child
is ready to begin its university education, Bryant will finally have earned his
political science and law degree,” teases Blake.
“Leave your brother alone,” orders
Mrs. Cross. “He’s doing the best he can. Not everything comes easily to
everyone. Some of us have to work harder than others.”
“Come on Mom,” insist Blake. “We all
know the smartest person in this room is her,” he points to me. “He never even
mastered tying his own shoes. She began university courses while he was still
struggling to get his high school diploma. He couldn’t handle taking courses
full-time so he was dropped to half-time and he was still flunking out. Now
he’s down to one or two classes at a time and she still has to help him. He’s
still barely passing with Ds. The only smart thing he does is hang onto her.
And he doesn’t hang onto her because he’s smart. He hangs on to her because he
actually loves her.”
“He is too smart,” I defend even
though it’s kind of true that Bryant never completely mastered tying his own
shoes. The teacher made me tie his shoes beginning in kindergarten and I
continued to tie his shoes until sixth grade when they finally stopped buying
him shoes with laces. We both had IEPs, Individual Educational Plans. But mine
was because I learned so much quicker than everyone else. I was half way to my
doctorate when I graduated high school. Bryant’s IEP was because he’s dyslexic
and he struggles with things that require a lot of reading and writing. “His
strengths simply lie elsewhere. He’s mechanically inclined. He can take apart
an engine and put it back together. I can’t do that and neither can you. But
what would it look like if a Cross became a mechanic instead of a politician?
It’s not his fault he’s not being allowed to work with his strengths.”
“Bravo,” says Blake clapping amused.
“She may not have a choice when it comes to being stuck with you, Bryant. But
she obviously cares for you more than you think she does. Just think, behind
the scenes she’ll be able to do your job for you so you don’t look like a
whoppingly giant dumbass in front of the world.”
“That’s enough Blake,” orders Mr.
Cross in a bored tone.
“Yes, that’s quite enough,” agrees
Mrs. Cross. “Let’s have lunch and discuss something pleasant like wedding
plans.”
“I’m not hungry,” states Bryant
crossing his arms over his chest defiantly like a child.
“Are you feeling ill,” I ask
concerned as I step up to him and feel his forehead with the back of my hand.
Bryant takes my hand and kisses my
palm, “No. I just don’t want to eat with them.”
I suggests, “We can eat beside the
pool and go for a swim afterwards.” One of the things I do love about their
home is the large swimming pool.
“I just want to go up to my room,”
Bryant tells me in a defeated tone.
“Really,” question Blake frustrated,
“Really? You’re going to hide with her in your room all day because you’re mad
and don’t want to share her with us.”
“That needs to stop anyway,” Mr.
Cross tells Blake and Bronson. “She’s his fiancé. She’s going to be his wife as
soon as he learns to control his temper. You need to find your own girlfriends,
young women who will make good wives like Ave will.”
“There aren’t any others like Ava,”
Blake tells their father irritatedly. “They’re all boney pasty white gold
digging whores. And I know when the opportunity presents itself, you’ll make
Ava have sex with you again.”
Bryant didn’t know. I know he didn’t
know. And I don’t know how Blake knows. I’ve never told anyone. But there was a
witness of a sort, the chauffeur. Mr. Cross made him stand outside the limo and
wait, I begged and cried profusely the first time. Perhaps the chauffeur heard
me. Maybe he told someone and Blake over heard. All I can do is look at the ground
as Bryant stares at me.
“Is that true,” Bryant ask me.
I can feel my eyes welling up. I’m
not going to answer him. I don’t want to talk about it. Instead I tell him,
“I’ll prepare a tray to take upstairs to your room with us,” and I busy myself
with that.
“Damn it Byron,” exclaims Mrs. Cross
angrily. “You just has to bang her too. Bryant has never been interested in
anyone else. He’s always loved her and has never been with anyone else. It’s
not bad enough Blake and Bronson won’t leave her alone. She went through
puberty before Bryant and Blake just had to take her virginity.”
Blake inserts defensively, “He
couldn’t do anything with her yet.”
“It was wrong,” states Mrs. Cross
with conviction. “The way you use her and abuse her is wrong.”
“We don’t smack her around,”
exclaims Bronson, “That’s Bryant.”
“But you’re still one of her
abusers,” she tells Bronson, “She doesn’t want you climbing on top of her, but
you do it anyway.”
“So does Dad,” points out Bronson.
“You’re setting such a wonderful example
for our sons,” she says sarcastically to Mr. Cross. “This whole family is going
to hell. The only good person in this room is her. I’m just a gold digging
whore like those young women they want nothing to do with. I just wanted a
better life for myself and my family. I didn’t know it would make me the mother
of three sons I can’t stand, I hate watching this wonderful, beautiful,
intelligent young woman try to survive the unwanted attention she gets from
us.” She grabs the wine bottle and drinks straight from it.
“How in the hell did you find out,”
Mr. Cross demands irritatedly from Blake. “I know she never told a soul… The
chauffeur…”
Blake shakes his head. The chauffer
is grateful his daughter isn’t beautiful like Ava, but he hasn’t told anyone.
You forget the limo has cameras. Bronson and I watched. And I copied it before
you came home and erased it. I have a copy of every time. I think of them as my
insurance policies. She really screamed, cried and begged you not to the first
time. But since she knows you’re going to bang her no matter what, she doesn’t
beg and scream any more. She still request, ‘Please don’t Mr. Cross. It would
break Bryant’s heart if he ever found out.’ But you don’t really give a shit
about any of us, least of all Bryant. After all, he’s not going to bring
notoriety to the family name. Not without her guiding him. And her family will
never let Mr. Slap Happy here marry her. He can’t get her off and he can’t
treat her right. But the next time the opportunity presents itself, you’ll push
yourself between those golden thighs of hers and ignore her tears as you bang
her as hard as you possibly can.”
I’m crying silently as I sit two
root beers from the refrigerator onto the tray next to two empty upside down
cups with the rest of the food. Bryant steps over to me. I flinch when he
raises his hands, but he only gently thumbs away some of my tears. I’m so
grateful he didn’t slap me I grab his hands and kiss them.
Mr. Cross wouldn’t go to jail for
raping me. Men have needs. But it would sully his reputation for everyone to
learn he had raped his son’s fiancé. It wouldn’t change anything beyond that.
But Mr. Cross does value his reputation highly. He’s quite proud that he has
thus far been scandal free. That’s because I don’t want to talk about what
happened. I just want to pretend it doesn’t happen. And the maids he diddles
are well paid, willing and no one can prove an aborted fetus that was immediately
incinerated is yours.
Bryant directs me, “Go up to my
room. I’ll bring the tray.” He’s never carried the tray before. I’ve always
followed him up the back steps with the tray. But I nod agreeingly and head up
the back steps ahead of him.
From the top of the stairs I hear
him tell them, “I love you too family. Have a nice day.”
I step into his room and wait for
him. He carries in the tray and I can hear Blake and Bronson rushing up the
back steps. Blake makes it in the door before Bryant can close it and lock it.
And of course Bronson follows him in.
“What,” ask Bryant in an unfriendly
tone.
“I need to talk with you,” Blake
tells Bryant.
“What? You didn’t say enough
downstairs,” asks Bryant.
“I’m sorry,” apologizes Blake. “I
know you’re upset. I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But I
need to talk with you about Ava.”
“I though that’s what the
conversation was about downstairs,” Bryant tells Blake hotly, “her and about
how stupid I am.”
Blake shuts the door and ask Bryant,
“You love her right?”
“Yes I love her,” answers Bryant
without hesitation.
“And you want her to be safe right,”
ask Blake.
“Yes of course,” answers Bryant.
“And
you want to marry her,” ask Blake.
“Yes,
you know I want that more than anything,” answers Bryant.
“But
her family is never going to let you marry her,” Blake tells Bryant. “She needs
a husband to protect her. And you can’t even protect her from yourself. You’ve
slapped her around too much. They don’t trust you anymore and are never going to
trust you again at this point.”
Bryant
knows that’s true and ask Blake, “What do I do? I love her. I go crazy on the
days I don’t get to see her.”
“You
know you’re not the only one who loves her,” Blake tells Bryant, “You know that
don’t you?”
“I
know lots of men want her,” responds Bryant.
“Yes
a lot of men want her,” confirms Blake. “But they just want her. They just want
to bang her a few times. They don’t love her. They’re not in love with her.”
“Pastor
Wimbly’s in love with her,” comments Bronson.
Blake
takes a deep breath, “Yes, but he’s an old man. He’s too old for them to marry
her to. He’ll die while she’s still young and then she’ll need a new husband.”
“What
are you talking about Blake,” ask Bryant. “Get to the point.”
“I
think they’re looking for a husband for her,” Blake informs Bryant. “They are
never going to let you marry her. I saw the look in their eyes today. They’ve
had enough of you slapping her around for nothing. To protect her from you they
will marry her to someone else right out from underneath you. They’ll send her
to another district if they have to.”
Tears
start to leak from Bryant’s eyes. He grabs me by my upper arms, shakes me and
demands, “Is that what they’re planning? To send you away from me?”
“I
don’t know,” I answer afraid. “They’ve never discussed such a thing with me or
in front of me.”
“Bryant,”
Blake orders him, “look what you’re doing. Let her go. You keep focusing your
anger on her even though you’re not angry with her. This is exactly why they
won’t let you marry her.”
Bryant
releases me, but he’s beside himself, “I don’t know what to do. I can’t lose
her.”
“And
you don’t have to lose her,” Blake tells Bryant assuringly. “You don’t have to
lose her. We don’t have to lose her. I love her too. I’m in love with her and
we don’t have to lose her.”
Bryant narrows his eyes at Blake suspiciously,
“It sounds like you have an idea I’m not going to like.”
“No.
You’re not going to like it,” confirms Blake.
“Well,
spit it out,” orders Bryant.
“You
step aside and let me marry her,” answers Blake.
Bryant
shakes his head, “No. No way. Out of the question.”
“Just
think about it,” Blake tells Bryant. “As my wife she would still be here under
the same roof as you. You would see her every day and have access to her every
day. Yes, she would technically be my legal wife, but I would still share her
with you.”
“You
still can’t marry her.” Bryant reminds Blake, “You’re Dad’s successor. You’re
the one that’s set up to follow in his footsteps. He will not let you have a
nonwhite wife.”
“But
I have my insurance policies,” Blake reminds Bryant. “He doesn’t want everyone
to know he’s been raping your fiancé. Most of them believe he’s never cheated
on Mom, that he’s an honest man. He doesn’t want to lose the respect he gets
for that.”
“Insurance
policies,” questions Bronson confused as usual.
No
Bryant is not the dumb one. The dumb one is actually Bronson. His hair may be
light brown, but he’s dumb enough to try and scratch and sniff a sticker at the
bottom of a pool. Blake is the smartest. He’s especially gifted at reading
people. So if he believes my family is trying to find me a husband elsewhere,
they probably are.
Blake
ignores Bronson and tells Bryant, “I have my insurance policies. Dad has to
agree and he has to leave her alone. She’ll be here under our roof as my wife,
but I’ll be sharing her with you and we won’t lose her.”
Bryant
takes a deep breath, “I have to think about it.”
Blake
nods acceptingly. Then he smiles winningly at me, “I need a little brown sugar before
I go.”
I
look away from him. Blake is the devilishly handsome one. They all have the
same piercing blue eyes. But they’re more striking on Blake because he has dark
brown hair like their father. Bryant’s hair is golden blond. Bryant is the most
innocent looking one.
Blake
and Bronson having finally satisfied themselves leave me and Bryant alone.
Blake made sure to give me a deep kiss and tell me that he loves me. His happy
thought for the day is he believes he almost got me to orgasm.
Bryant
ask me, “What do you think of Blake’s plan?”
It
sounds like a loaded question. I shrug and share honestly, “I’m not sure what
to think. I think he’s being honest when he says he loves me. He hasn’t been
with anyone else but me for years. And I know he’s getting offers. And he’s
really good at reading people. My family isn’t happy with you. My father want
to knock you on your ass so bad he can taste it. If you weren’t a Cross, he
would have beaten you senseless a couple of years ago.”
When
I finished my education without him and started working at the clinic part-time
is when Bryant started losing his temper with me. That was four years ago. I
guess that’s when he realized just how smart I am. But I don’t think he’s dumb.
I’ve never thought that. I can’t take an engine apart and put it back together.
And so he never really got good at tying his shoes. That’s a manual dexterity
thing. He technically knows how. And I really didn’t mind tying them for him.
Bryant
says to me thoughtfully, “I haven’t given you many choices have I?”
Another
loaded question that I counter with another question, “What do you mean?”
He
answers, “I never asked you to be my girlfriend. And I never proposed to you.”
“No,
you didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend,” but I admit, “but I would have said
yes if you had asked. And an actual proposal would have been nice so I could
have said yes before you put your engagement ring on my finger. But I still
would have said yes if you had asked me.”
“But
there’s something else,” says Bryant. “I know there’s more. Tell me. I promise
I won’t get mad.”
I
take a deep breath. He usually keeps a promise, “When you began losing your
temper with me, I would have broken up with you if I could have. But I can’t
walk away from you like you can walk away from me.”
“You
have no choice,” he says to himself. “You’re stuck with me and my foul moods.”
I
inform him, “I only feel stuck when you’re treating me badly. Most of the time
I’m happy to be with you.”
Bryant
shakes his head sadly, “I don’t know how I’m going to be a good husband when
I’m not even a good fiancé. I’ve failed to protect you from my brothers, from
my own father and from myself.”
I
inform Bryant, “You protect me more than you realize. I am not passed around
the way most of the young women are because of you. I don’t even want to think
about how many times or by how many different men would have rape me if it
wasn’t for you. My father knew he couldn’t always be there for me and protect
me from everyone. So he made sure I had all my shots and a birth control
implant and prepared me as best he could for the worst that could happen. He
told me, ‘Don’t ever try to fight them. Just let them have their way. Your life
is too precious to lose over it. So just let them have their way.’ It tore him
up inside to tell me that. But the worst never happened because of you. I’ve
never been gang raped and left for dead. You would insist the men who did such
a thing to me were hunted down and executed. And they like breathing so they
leave me alone.”
Bryant
lays his head on my breasts and I pull my finders through his golden blond
hair. I tell him, “You worry too much. It’s going to be alright. We’ll find a
way to make it work.”
“I
think the only way may be Blake’s way,” he says sadly.
“If
that’s what you choose,” I tell him, “we’ll work with it and cope as best we
can.”
“That’s
how you do it,” says Bryant thoughtfully. “Everyday you work with it and cope
as best you can. You’re like a little bird in a cage. You’ve never known true
freedom yet you continue to sing sweetly. But I can set you free,” and his
hands tighten around my neck.
I’m
on the ground with a sheet around me when my parents find me. I hear my father
say distressed, “My baby, please not my baby,” as he scoops me up in his arms.
I hear my mother crying as he says, “If there is a God, please don’t take my
sweet baby girl from me.”
People
think that atheist don’t pray, but we do. Or at least in my family we do. Just
because we don’t think there is a God, doesn’t mean we don’t hope that there
isn’t one. We don’t want this to be all that there is either. We hope there’s a
heaven as much as we hope there’s not a hell. The Holy Bible with all its many
inconsistencies and contradictions isn’t proof there’s a God for us. In my
family, we believe Jesus was a real person. That he was probably the first
self-actualized person. A self-actualized person speaking at that time would
have amazed many people and frighten many others. Perhaps every religion has
some part of it right. But here in Drumpftland you practice the religion they
tell you to or die.
I
hear voices talking. They sound far away. Lights are shined in my eyes, Dr.
Walker is looking at me. I reach up and touch his hair. I remember saying, “so
pretty,” as I touched it.
I
wake up in a hospital bed in a private hospital room. My parents are sleeping
squeezed together in a recliner. My poppa and Abuela are in the second
recliner. And my granddaddy is curled up on a loveseat he’s too tall to stretch
out on.
I’m
thirsty so I’m trying to reach a pitcher and a cup as Dr. Walker steps into the
room. “Let me get that for you,” and he pours me a cup of water.
I
manage a rough raspy, “Thank you.” The water feels wonderful on my throat. But
a few swallows later I’m ready to talk and ask Dr. Walker, “How long have I
been here?”
“When
you weren’t home in time for dinner on Sunday,” Dr. Walker informs me, “your
parents left to walk to the Cross’s home. And I think your father planned to
give them a piece of his mind. They found you on the sidewalk about half way there.
It’s now Tuesday just after four am.”
I
nod my understanding as my family gathers around my hospital bed. They’re all
smiling delightedly at me.
“Oh
she’s going to be fine,” declares my granddaddy with a big cheesy grin.
My
mother tells me, “You gave us a good scare. When we found you laying there like
that, we thought you were dead. I nearly had a nervous breakdown.”
I
squeeze my mother’s hand assuringly, “But I’m still here for you to fuss at.
And you can clean my room like you’ve been threatening to and I can’t stop
you.”
My
mother admits, “I cleaned it yesterday.”
I
give her hands an affectionate pat as I respond amused, “Of course you did. Now
I won’t be able to find anything.”
My
Abuela defends, “Everything out everywhere is not an organizational system.”
I
tell her, “But it’s a system that works for me.”
“I
get it,” my granddaddy tells me. “Your office here is neat as a pin. But home
is where you get to relax.”
“Thank
you,” I respond managing a loving smile, “finally somebody understands.”
“Do
you remember what happened,” ask Poppa.
I
have to think about that for a minute, “I think I remember most of it.”
“You
don’t have to talk about it yet,” my mother tells me. “A detective is waiting
to talk to you. I’m sure he’ll be by later to ask you questions. We’ll listen
while you talk to him. We’re not going to leave you alone with him.”
“And
of course we’ll be coming and going until you’re released,” my father informs
me.
I
yawn tiredly. “I don’t know how I’m possibly sleepy.”
“You
need rest to heal,” my Abuela tells me, “So just rest.”
I
want to ask some questions about my injuries, but I’m back to sleep before I
can ask anything else.
By
dinner time I am ready to go home whether they think I should or not and I’m
sure most of the nurses would let me walk out if I could. Dr. Walker steps into
the room followed by a very buff serious looking man as a very empty bedpan
bounces off the wall by the door.
“I
hate bedpans,” I state angrily. “I just need some help getting to the
bathroom.”
The
shocked nurse responds, “But Dr. Washington, they don’t want you getting out of
bed yet.”
“I
don’t care what they want,” I tell the nurse angrily. “If you’re not going to
help me then get the hell out of my way. I’ll crawl to the damn bathroom if I
have to.”
“Oh
Ava,” says my mother still in her white nurse shoes and hospital whites,
“you’re setting a bad example for the other patients.”
“I’m
not just another patient,” I respond irritated. “Now are you going to help me
or not.”
The
serious buff man ask Dr. Walker, “Are you sure he was abusing her and not the
other way around?”
Dr.
Walker tells him amused, “Doctors make the worst patients. And this is her
domain, the clinic, urgent care and hospital. She’s used to being in charge
here. Outside of here, she’s submissive to Mr. Cross. But inside here for the
last few years, she’s been the boss.”
The
nurse tells the man, “No one wants to be stuck on bedpan duty for a month.”
Dr.
Walker motions the nurse out of the room. Then he steps up in front of me. I’m
sitting on the edge of the bed. My right foot and ankle are in a splint so I’m
afraid if I slip off the bed too fast my legs won’t support me and I’ll hit the
floor with an inglorious thud.
He
leans over and tells me, “Now put your arms around my neck,” and he helps me
off the bed. “Are you steady,” He ask me as I clutch my IV pole.
I
nod, “I can make it,” as my father steps into the room.
“You’re
supposed to stay in bed,” states my father irritated.
I
sneer at him, “I need to pee.”
“Didn’t
someone come with a bedpan,” ask my father.
I
tell my father in a very unfriendly tone, “You use the damn bedpan,” as I
slowly and cautiously make my way to the bathroom with Dr. Walker’s assistance.
Daddy
gives Dr. Walker an irritated look to which Dr. Walker responds, “If I didn’t
help her she was going to crawl to the bathroom.”
My
mother tells my father, “You know she would do it. She’s every bit as stubborn
and head strong as you are.”
I
sigh blissfully as my bladder empties into the toilet. I hear my granddad enter
the room and ask, “You let her out of bed? She’s not supposed to be out of bed
yet.”
“I
didn’t let her out of bed,” responds my father defensively. “They let her out
of bed.”
Dr.
Walker informs my granddad, “She threatened to crawl if she had to, to get to
the bathroom.”
My
granddad sighs, “And she would have.”
My
mother says sarcastically, “Don’t know where she gets that kind of stubbornness
from.”
“Oh
he’s not that bad,” defends my granddad. “He’s not as stubborn as his mother
was. Ava takes after her.”
I
wash my hands before exiting the bathroom and slowly make my way back to my
hospital bed where Dr. Walker helps me back into bed as my Abuela and poppa
come in carrying a couple of large picnic baskets.
“Food,”
I say ecstatically. “Abuela, I love you.”
“She’s
not supposed to start on solid food until tomorrow morning,” protest my father.
“She has two head injuries.”
“She
called me and said she’s hungry,” Abuela informs my dad.
Poppa
shrugs helplessly, “I know when I can’t win an argument with my wife.”
“I
am starving,” I tell my father as Abuela makes me a plate, “and I can’t get any
real food around here. I don’t want another damn bowl of jello. Next person
that brings me another bowl of jello is going to wear it.”
Daddy
reminds me, “But you may just vomit it all back up.”
I
ask him, “You want to try to bring me another bowl of jello?” He folds his arms
frustrated and I shrug, “If I vomit, it’s my own fault.”
“Don’t
worry Simon,” Abuela assures my father, “I didn’t make her anything heavy, just
chicken and rice and rice pudding.”
“Don’t
you men have any control over your own women,” ask the buff serious man.
My
mother and grandmother laugh hysterically. I laugh too only to hold my ribs and
complain, “Oh, it hurts. It hurts.”
“Serves
you right for getting out of bed,” states my father.
The
buff serious man says to Dr. Walker, “And this is your host family. How are you
coping?”
“Actually,”
shares Dr. Walker with a pleased smile, “I feel right at home.”
I
focus on the serious stranger and look him in his hazel eyes. He has the
typical flat top most homeland security have so that much I’m sure of. I ask
him flatly, “So who the hell are you and what do you want?”
His
eyebrows furrow for a moment. Then he shows me his badge, “I’m Detective Robert
Reynolds of Homeland Security.”
I
take his badge and look at it. “Sent you in from out of town. Don’t trust the
local officers to do their job properly or you’re here to keep things as quiet
as possible. Doesn’t matter either way to me. You just need to remember that
out there on the streets and while at church I may have to be a quiet and
submissive female and those lily white nurses working get to call me ‘nigger
whore’ and ‘gold digger’ out there and even during church services, but in here
I am the boss and they jump to kiss my red, white and black ass. And if they
piss me off too badly out there, they’ll find themselves on bedpan duty for a
month in here.”
“But
you’re only permitted to work part-time,” points out Detective Reynolds, “How
can you possibly run this hospital and its adjoining clinic and urgent care?”
“Population
wise,” I inform him, “this is a small district. Small enough for everybody to
know everyone. The haves are strangers to the have nots because they choose not
to know them. They prefer to pretend the have nots have enough and ignore them
unless one looks good enough to have sex with. She may elevate her family for a
time playing cute little mistress to a fat old fart with too much money. We
provide health care to everyone in the district. We know everyone that lives
here and all their dirty little secrets. And as long as you’re on top of things
like I am, things are easily managed here.” I direct at my father and
grandfathers, “And three somebodies better stay on top of things while I’m
incapacitated.”
All
three of them start talking and nodding at once insisting, “Don’t worry. We’ve
got it under control.”
I
inform Detective Reynolds, “They let me take the administrative and hospital
management courses so I could assist in running our health care center. After
all I’m only permitted to work part-time and like yourself they weren’t
expecting me to run things. But within six months of starting here I was
running the whole shebang.”
Detective
Reynolds gives my father a what were you thinking look to which my father
responds, “She’s better at it than us. Plus pediatrics is never over worked.
She has more time for it than us.”
Detective
Reynolds shakes his head in disbelief. I tell him, “You weren’t sent here to
judge us. You were sent here to do a job.” I toss his badge to him, “Now do
your job.”
Detective
Reynolds takes a deep breath, pulls out an electronic note pad and refers to
it, “Dr. Eugene Washington?”
“Yes,
that’s me, detective,” answers my granddad.
“You
lost your wife some years ago,” states Reynolds.
Granddad
nods affirmatively, “My beautiful Veronica was raped and murdered in this quiet
little district when Ava was three. They never arrested anyone. But within six
months after her rape and murder, several men relocated to other districts.”
Detective
Reynolds nods as he looks at his digital pad. “Yes. Three of those men were
arrested and executed for murder in their new districts. And a fourth was
arrested and executed for the rape and murder of a child. It was determined
that the local homeland security officers and detectives failed to do their
jobs properly here while investigating your wife’s murder allowing her murders
to get away and murder again. Thus, I am here because we don’t trust local security
officers to do their jobs properly.”
Granddad
says, “I bet the murdered women were white and the child was white too.”
Reynolds
mouth sets in a grim line but admits, “Yes that’s true.” Then he pushes
forward, “Do you think this incident could possibly be connected to your wife’s
murder?”
Granddad
shakes his head, “No, I don’t believe so. This appears to be some sort of
domestic matter.”
“Mrs.
Lupe Reed?”
“Yes
detective,” answers my Abuela.
“Are
your parents deceased,” asks Reynolds.
“I
don’t know,” answers Abuela. “They were deported back to Mexico for being
illegals when our daughter Irena was a little girl. And we’re a closed country
now. Nothing is imported in nor exported out. I have no way of contacting them.
And they have no way of contacting me if they’re still alive.”
“But
you weren’t deported,” questions Reynolds.
Abuela
shakes her head, “I’m an anchor baby. I was born here and I married another
citizen. Plus, I’m a nurse practitioner. That gives me value here.”
He
consults his digital pad and turns to me, “Dr. Ava Washington.”
I
respond with a drab, “Yep.”
He ask me, “How long have you known Mr. Bryant
Cross?”
I
answer, “Since kindergarten.”
“Would
you say you and he are close?”
“Since
I am his only friend,” I inform Reynolds, “I would say yes, we’re close.”
“Do
you have a lot of friends?”
“No,
not outside my family I don’t,” I answer.
He
ask me, “Is Mr. Cross close to his family?”
I
inform him, “No, they’re not a close family. But they manage to tolerate each
other.”
“Do
you think they love each other?”
I
nod my head slightly, “Yes they love each other. They just don’t like each
other.”
“Do
they like you?”
I
nod with a slight bobble, “They seem to like me better than they like each
other.”
“Do
they permit you to speak freely in their home?”
I
inform him, “Yes I may speak freely in their home. I am already regarded as a
member of the family and they are anxious to have me be an official member of
the family.”
Reynolds
request of me, “Tell me about the Crosses.”
I
take a moment to collect my thoughts, “Mr. Cross is a hard worker. He and Mrs.
Cross have that in common. He is very much about running our district smoothly
and well. And she is very much about making their family look like it’s running
well which is very much a full-time job.
Blake
is their oldest and their smartest. He has been carefully and meticulously
groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’s sharp. He’s sociable. He’s
athletic and friendly. But you have to be on your toes with him. He reads people
expertly. He can tell by facial expressions and body language what’s going on
in someone’s head. And he’s not above using what he knows about you to
manipulate you.
Bronson
is their middle child. And he’s their dumb one. He’s a dumb blond with light
brown hair. He’s very friendly, very outgoing and very athletic. People mistake
the stupid things that fall out of his mouth for jokes. They think he’s just
being funny. They don’t realize he’s just that stupid. He made it through
school because hopeful girls did his homework and young women hoping to become
his wife did his homework and papers for his university courses. But he does
have excellent recall that allows him to remember facts and pass tests on his
own. He doesn’t understand the answers. He just knows how he’s supposed to
answer. Blake can see Bronson’s life clearly. Bronson will marry and divorce a
few times and squeak by and be well liked because he’s naturally friendly and
outgoing and people mistake his stupidity for humor.
Bryant…”
I feel my eyes well up with tears. “Bryant is having a hard life. He is a
square peg and his family is a round hole pounding him with a hammer trying to
make him fit. They want him to be like Blake and Bronson, friendly, outgoing,
athletic, able to give inspiring speeches and toasts. Instead, he’s dyslexic
and thoughtful. But people mistake his thoughtfulness, his taking his time to
consider his answer, as slow witted and dumb. If it involves reading and
writing, because of his dyslexia he struggles terribly with it. He’s
mechanically inclined. That’s where his strength is. But they are trying to
make him a Cross, make him fit into that round hole no matter what it takes.
His parents don’t understand him and are frustrated with him. They just don’t
get that he’s never going to be a Cross the way they believe he should be. They
can’t accept his natural inclination is to be Joe the Mechanic and there is
nothing wrong with being Joe the Mechanic. His brothers often tease him
mercilessly. And I think he’s finally cracking under the pressure.”
“You
know his family well,” states Reynolds.
I
nod agreeingly, “But they don’t know me half as well as I know them and they
don’t really know my family at all. They have us sit with them at church on
Sunday, but they’ve never had us all over for dinner nor accepted having dinner
with us. They just know the basics. That we’re all good hard working people.”
Reynolds
request, “Tell me about the incident at church last Sunday.”
I
respond, “I know these people. I know they like to gossip. You can’t tell me a
couple dozen people haven’t told you a couple dozen versions of it already.”
“True,”
he confirms with a nod, “but I want to hear about it from you.”
I
breathe in deeply through my nose, “When Pastor Cross ask Dr. Walker to stand
so everyone could get a look at him and meet our new doctor, I naturally looked
over at him too. Dr. Walker smiled at me and I automatically smiled back.
Bryant just snapped. He hopped up and smacked me full force and ordered me not
to smile at Dr. Walker. He was always a little possessive and insecure, but
since I finished my degree and began working he’s been very, very insecure and
needy.”
“Was
he physically abusive before that,” inquires Reynolds.
I
shake my head, “No, he wasn’t. Before I started working he was a little
possessive, but I was looking forward to being his wife.”
“But
you don’t look forward to it now,” Reynolds stating more than asking.
But
I confirm, “No. I’m afraid he’s begun a habit he can’t break. That I’m just
going to go from being a battered fiancé to being a battered wife.”
“Why
do you think he’s so insecure,” ask Reynolds.
I
share, “He’s acutely aware that there are a number of men in our district that
while saying one thing out in public in front of the women and at church,
privately feel different. Things have been whispered to me and to him. He
worries that I’ll be raped and murdered like my grandmother was. And it
frustrates him that I don’t listen to him and won’t quit my job like he wants
me to. I love my job, I don’t want to quit my job.”
“What
kind of things have been said to you and him,” ask Reynolds.
I
ask because I’ld rather not repeat any of that filth, “You really don’t want to
hear any of that sick crap do you?”
He
responds with a firm nod, “I asked.”
“Alright,”
I agree but not happily so, “To me: ‘Bet you’re a sweet little fuck. I’ld like
to fuck your tight little hole bloody. I bet that fine ass of yours sure gives
a good bounce when your asshole’s being fucked.’ To him I once overheard, ‘You
don’t fuck no one but her, her hole must be incredibly tight.’ And I hope
you’ve heard enough because I think if I tell you one more my father will
faint.”
Reynolds
puts a hand up in surrender, “That’s fine. So did the rest of church on Sunday
go well?”
I
shrug, “It was typical for what it’s been like the last couple of years. Bryant
made it known he wasn’t happy about Dr. Walker joining our household. And I
think Bryant only dropped one F-bomb that morning. That’s very good for him.
Peggy-Sue nearly got smacked in the mouth by Bryant for hissing at me. But
nothing too out of the ordinary happened. And I rode home with Bryant and his
family and Bryant was supposed to have me home in time for dinner.”
“Anything
out of the ordinary happen before the altercation between you and Bryant
Cross,” ask Reynolds.
“Not
that I recall,” I shrug. “As I was helping Mrs. Cross with lunch his brothers
teased him. Mrs. Cross noted our families are overdue for getting to know each
other. They asked me some questions about myself and my family they hadn’t ever
asked before. Bryant asked me if I had prior knowledge of Dr. Walker joining
our household, but I didn’t… There was some kind of argument or disagreement…”
I can’t tell the man everything. I mean I could and I probably should. Damn my
head hurts.
But
Daddy helps me out unintentionally with, “Don’t push it. You’ve got two
different knots on your head. If you don’t remember everything that’s okay. It
may come back to you later.”
“I
just remember Mrs. Cross was so upset she started drinking wine straight from
the bottle. And Bryant was so upset he didn’t want to eat lunch with his family
so I made a tray to take up to his room. Blake and Bronson made it into the
room the room before Bryant could shut and lock the door.”
“What
did they want,” ask Reynolds.
“Besides
me,” I respond, “Blake wanted to talk with Bryant.”
“About
what,” ask Reynolds.
“Me,”
I answer. Then I explain, “Blake told Bryant that he believes my family is so
fed up with Bryant that he thinks they’ve begun looking for someone to marry me
out from under Bryant.”
“Did
that upset Bryant,” asks Reynolds.
I
nod, “He gave me a panicked shake. That’s how I got the fingertip bruises on my
arms. But all I could tell Bryant was they haven’t discussed such a thing with
me. But Blake has a plan.”
Reynolds
ask, “What’s Blake’s plan?”
I
inform him, “For Bryant to step aside so he can marry me. And he promised to
continue to share me with Bryant even after I’m his wife.”
“So
Bryant’s been sharing you with his brothers,” states Reynolds.
I
tell him, “He really didn’t get much of a choice in the matter. Bryant is only
older than me by a couple of months. But I went through puberty before him and
Bryant didn’t go through puberty for another two years. But Blake managed to
trick me into playing Find the Pussy in the Dark. He led me to believe he had a
kitten hidden in a large walk in closet. And I was still a gullible kid. After
I went in to look for it, he shut the door behind himself trapping me in the
dark closet with him. By the time Bryant went through puberty, Blake had been
having sex with me for two years. Bryant was upset when he found out. But Blake
manipulated him into sharing me. And when Bronson found out he didn’t want to
be left out. Bronson’s opportunistic when it comes to getting laid and gets
laid every chance he can get. With a maid at home, a woman or girl at church,
he does it every chance he gets with anyone who’s willing. Blake was like that
at first too. Diddling the maids and girls at school and church too. But for
around a decade now, Blake has only been having sex with me and Bryant has only
ever been with me.”
“Is
Blake in love with you too,” ask my mom.
I
shrug, “He says he is. And if I look at his behavior he seems to be telling the
truth. And now he thinks Bryant is losing me. So he wants Bryant to step aside
so he can marry me and they don’t lose me.”
“Blake’s
clever devil,” states my granddad.
“Scary
clever,” states my poppa.
“How
does Bryant feel about Blake’s plan,” ask Reynolds.
I
shake my head, “He doesn’t like it, not one little bit. And since Blake’s the
one that’s supposed to follow in their father’s footsteps, Bryant doesn’t think
Mr. Cross will allow him to marry a nonwhite woman. But Bryant agreed to think
about it.”
“What
else happened,” ask Reynolds.
“After
Blake and Bronson satisfied themselves they left the room. Bryant and I were
finally alone. We were lying in bed together talking, he asked me what I
thought of Blake’s plan and I had to acknowledge that Blake is really good at
reading people and that he’s certainly right about my family not being happy
with him. Then he asked me something I felt was a loaded question. Something
about him not giving me any choices. I acknowledged he had never asked me to be
his girlfriend and had never proposed. But I admitted if he had asked I would
have said yes. But I also admitted I would break up with him if I could over
his losing his temper with me. But he wasn’t mad. He acknowledged that I was
stuck with him and I told him I only felt stuck when he’s mistreating me and
most of the time I’m happy with him. He said something about not being a good
fiancé and not being a good husband or father and failing to protect me. He
finally compared me to a bird in a cage singing sweetly.” I shake my head because
it’s fuzzy, “He said something about setting me free and started choking me. He
was crying as he said, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to set you free.’ I
got my hand on a root beer bottle on the nightstand and hit him in the head
with it. He grabbed his head in pain and I tumbled off the bed away from him
gasping for air. Then he was kicking me. Kicking me and yelling, ‘Let me set
you free.’ Then he was sitting on me choking me again.” I wipe away some tears,
“I realized I still had the root beer bottle in my hand. I hadn’t let go of it.
And this time I hit him with everything I had. The bottle broke and he fell
unconscious.” I sob as I ask, “Is he alright? Nobody will talk to me about
him.”
Reynolds
informs me, “He’s alright. But he’s not really talking to anyone. He woke up
Monday morning. He believes he killed you. All he’s said so far is ‘I strangled
my fiancé, Dr. Ava Washington. I wish to be executed immediately.’”
“Is
anyone going to tell him I’m alive,” I ask.
“We’ll
tell him,” assures Reynolds. “We’re just still piecing things together. Do you
remember how you got out of the Cross house?”
I
inform him, “I pushed Bryant off of me. I checked his pulse. He was breathing
and his pulse was strong and steady. I was partially twisted up in the flat
sheet so I held on to it. And I just wanted to go home. I started down the
front stairs, tripped and fell down them. I may have laid unconscious at the
bottom of the stairs for a few minutes. I just remember trying to focus on the
front doors and they were fuzzy. But I had to go home. So I pulled myself up,
limped to the front doors, let myself out and limped down the driveway. All I
could think was I wanted to go home. I need to get home. I held on to that
damned sheet as I limped and when I was about half way home, I tripped again. I
heard my father’s voice. I heard my mother crying. There were bright lights
hurting my eyes. I touched Dr. Walker’s pretty hair. And then I woke up here
around four am this morning.”
Reynolds
reminds me, “You said you were limping after you fell down the stairs. Do you
remember if you we limping before you fell down the stairs?”
I
have to think about it for a minute, “Slightly. I think that’s why I fell down
the stairs. But it was worse after I fell down the stairs.”
“The
sidewalks uneven,” states my dad in realization.
“What’s
that Dr. Washington,” ask Detective Reynolds.
My
dad explains, “Where I found her the side walk is uneven. People trip there all
the time. They usually catch themselves before they actually fall and just keep
going. But she was injured and disoriented. So when she tripped there on the
uneven sidewalk she went down.”
Detective
Reynolds nods his understanding, “I think I have everything I need for now. But
I may have more questions later.”
I
ask Reynolds, “So how many steroids does it take to get that swollen.”
He
looks down at himself and admits, “Okay, maybe I’ve overdone it a little. But
it’s supposed to make the bad guys think twice about trying to fight me.”
I
tell him, “I’m sure it works.”
He
shakes his head with an amused grin, “Have a good night folks.”
And
we all call good night as he leaves.
I’ve
never been hospitalized before save the first few days of my life after I was
born. And being a doctor who’s accustomed to giving orders and directions, I’m
a horrible patient who’s not following her orders. I’m no fan of the bland
hospital food. But luckily I have my beautiful Abuela to bring me good food.
I’m going to live and my family knowing that they can’t all be in the room with
me twenty-four, seven have adjusted their schedules so they can take turns
visiting me so that I’m never alone in my hospital room. And on my second
conscious day in the hospital, I get visitors.
I
wasn’t expecting visitors. After all, the only close friend I have outside my
family is Bryant if you count him. But my first visitors are other currently
hospitalized patients and patients in for treatments bringing me their charts
to check over for them.
“Mr.
Peters everything looks perfectly in order,” I assure the elderly gentleman. “I
wouldn’t do anything any differently than Dr. Walker.” I hand him his chart,
“Just relax and get some rest.”
He
rolls his wheel chair out of my hospital room door past Dr. Walker who’s
smiling amused. Dr. Walker ask me, “How am I doing Doctor?”
I
tell him pleased, “Very well. Thus far I’m very happy with your work and I
don’t think I’m going to need to retrain you.”
Dr.
Walker chuckles, “I’m glad to hear that.”
“This
is the room,” says a man’s voice.
“Pastor
Cross,” I say surprised as he steps into my hospital room.
“We
heard you regained consciousness yesterday,” shares Pastor Cross as Pastor
Wimbly rushes past him to me.
Pastor
Wimbly is in tears as he hugs me and covers my face in kisses. I wipe his tears
from his wizen face as I tell him, “Don’t cry Wimbly. I’m going to make a full
recovery. They may let me go home in another day or two.”
“I’ll
let you visit,” Dr. Walker tells Pastor Cross before exiting the room.
Pastor
Wimbly kisses my fingers, “If only I were a younger man. I’m too old to make
you a proper husband.”
“Oh
Wimbly,” I tell him from my heart, “I think you would make any woman a fine
husband.”
Pastor
Cross lifts my chin to have a good look at my face. He doesn’t look pleased.
“List your injuries for me please Ava.”
“Two
head contusions, stitches here, black eye, bruised ribs, one rib fractured on
this side and two fractured on this side. My right foot is broken and my right
ankle strained. And I have quite a lot of bruises and a few places with stitches
here and there.”
“The
bruises on your neck,” ask Pastor Wimbly concerned.
I
inform them, “He tried to strangle me.”
“Did
you two have an argument,” ask Pastor Wimbly.
I
shake my head, “No. No argument. No disagreement. He just decided to set me free.”
“Set
you free,” questions Pastor Cross in disbelief.
I
shrug, “That’s what he kept saying. I think he had a psychotic break.”
Pastor
Cross nods agreeingly, “He has been having a hard time for quite some time. You
and your family have been amazingly tolerant.”
I
tell Pastor Cross, “He’s been unhappy for so long. I was hoping he’ld pull
through it. But he seems to have forgotten what it’s like to be happy. Have
they let you see him? I don’t want him treated badly.”
“They
haven’t let anyone see him since they took him into custody,” shares Pastor
Cross. “But they’re going to let family see him today. That includes me. When
they found him they thought you had both been attacked by intruders.” Pastor
Cross shakes his head sadly, “Except when he regained consciousness Monday
morning he confessed to your murder and requested immediate execution. To my
knowledge he hasn’t struggled or put up a fight of any kind. But he’s not
talking to anyone either. He just keeps requesting to be executed.”
Pastor
Wimbly says to Pastor Cross, “Whatever’s gone wrong inside his head, he still
loves her and want to be with her. He thinks she’s dead so he’s asking to be
executed so he can be with her.”
I
squeeze Pastor Wimbly’s hand, “I think you’re right.”
Most
young women would be turned off by Pastor Wimbly’s wizen face. But I think he’s
adorably cute. I can see the once devastatingly handsome young man he once was.
Pastor Cross looks at the way we’re holding hands with soft understanding in
his eyes.
Pastor
Cross informs me, “There have been complaints that you have never been included
in the rotation with the other young women to provide service for the clergy.
But you’ve been servicing Pastor Wimbly haven’t you?”
I
blush as I nod yes, “I was a little uncomfortable with it at first. I knew
Bryant wouldn’t like it. He’s been stuck sharing me with his older brothers
since I went through puberty. The last thing he would ever want is to share me
with one more man. That’s the biggest reason why he’s been in such a hurry to marry
me. So he can tell his brothers no because I’m his wife. But Wimbly is no
chore. He often comforts me when I’m very upset.”
Pastor
Cross tells Wimbly, “And here we all thought you weren’t seeking service with
the young women because you were no longer able to perform.”
I
giggle, “Wimbly is not having any trouble performing.”
Pastor
Wimbly adds, “I just don’t like any of those rude mean selfish little bitches.”
Pastor
Cross and I are both shocked silent for a moment. Then I state amused, “Wimbly,
I can’t believe you said that.”
Pastor
Wimbly shrugs, “They’re lost and they don’t want to be found. I know the
sermons and lessons are wasted on them. They want heaven to be an entitlement
instead of something that’s earned through good works. They’re so willfully
stupid they don’t even realize I told then they’re all going to hell last
Sunday.”
“You
told them they’re going to hell during your last lesson,” questions Pastor
Cross shocked.
“Not
directly,” I defend.
Pastor
Wimbly informs Pastor Cross, “Ava answered a question of mine perfectly and got
called a ‘gold digging nigger whore.’ And that was followed by niggers don’t go
to heaven, not even if they’re good ones. I explained that skin color has
nothing to do with it. That it’s how you live your life that determines if
you’re going to heaven or hell, not your skin. Then I got asked why God created
them.” He rolls his old grey eyes, “They simply choose to ignore that God’s
first people were people of color and nowhere in the Bible does it say only white
people go to heaven. They ignore that scientists discovered white people
evolved from people of color. That pale skin is a genetic mutation. They insist
on believing that being pigmently challenged makes them superior. So I simply
told them that their chosen mental illness in this area will keep them out of
heaven. There are no exemptions from loving thy neighbor and loving thy enemy.”
I
tell Pastor Cross, “They think he’s going senile and it was just him going on
in an old crazy person rant. They never listen to what he’s saying.”
Pastor
Cross takes a deep breath and sighs sadly with a heavy heart. “I know exactly
how you feel Pastor Wimbly. It’s why many of the clergy aren’t in a hurry to
lead Sunday services or teach Sunday school lessons. They feel like they’re
beating their heads against a brick wall. And I hate that word, that damn
N-word. I’m sure there’s a special place in hell for the man that came up with
that word. And that mind set we’re battling is making it next to impossible to
find young men who are appropriate for sharing the word of God. But we can’t
give up. We may be reaching more than we think. I’ve seen little ones abandon
their parents to go sit in Ava’s lap and hold her hand.”
Pastor
Wimbly nods agreeingly, “You’re right. I know you’re right.”
Pastor
Cross checks the time, “We need to get going. They’ll be bringing Ava lunch
soon and I need to be ready to visit Bryant. I’m hoping I’ll find the right
words to help him.”
Pastor
Wimbly nods agreeingly to Pastor Cross. Then he gently touches my hair and
face. He tenderly kisses me good-bye, “Hope to see you again soon.”
I
tell him with a warm loving smile, “You will.”
Pastor
Cross lets Pastor Wimbly exit ahead of him. He pauses in the door to tell me,
“I will note your service to Pastor Wimbly. And I will note that you’re not
appropriate for providing service with the other young women. Your service to
Pastor Wimbly is more than enough.” Then he leaves.
Abuela
brings me lunch. Dr. Walker eats with us. I like him. His personality is very
much like my granddad’s personality, gentle and kind, thoughtful and patient.
He has a tendency to be soft spoken that makes you listen more intently. He’s
the first new person to the district that wasn’t born here since before I was
born. So some will be leery of him. Some will never accept him because he’s not
a white man and he understands that clearly.
The
medications make me sleep for a couple of hours after lunch. Arguing outside my
hospital room door wakes me up. The door is barely open a crack and I
distinctly hear my father yell, “No. I don’t want any of you near my daughter.”
I
recognized Mrs. Cross’s voice, “Listen, I know you don’t know us and that’s our
fault. We’ve deliberately kept you at a distance. And we don’t know Ava as well
as we should. We are a broken dysfunctional mess. I don’t like my sons, but I
love them. And I don’t know what came over Bryant because he loves her. He’s
begging to be executed because he’s sure he killed her. She’s part of our
family.”
“Just
ask her if she’ll see us,” request Mr. Cross. “If she says no she doesn’t want
to see us, we’ll leave.”
My
dad reminds Mr. and Mrs. Cross angrily, “It’s my decision. I’m her father. I
don’t need to ask her anything.”
I
finally call out, “What’s going on out there?”
“Damn
it,” exclaims my father mad.
“Ava,”
calls Mrs. Cross, “we’re here to see you.”
“Dad,
it’s alright. Let them in.”
My
dad steps in the door blocking their path, “Are you sure about this?”
I
nod, “Yeah, Dad. It’s fine. If it makes you feel better, you can stay in the
room with us.”
My
dad steps all the way into the room and opens the door for them. He makes an
enter motion with his hand unhappily. Blake and Bronson rush in a head of their
parents, but stop shocked just a couple of feet from my bed. Bronson’s eyes are
wide with shocked disbelief as he covers his open mouth with both of his hands.
Blake’s eyes well over with tears. Mrs. Cross being a woman lets out a shocked
sob. Mr. Cross’s eyes well up but he’s got it under control. My dad sits on the
loveseat with an angry frustrate plop. Bryant began losing his temper with me
and slapping me around four years ago. The slapping has very slowly increased
in frequency, but it’s usually not full force. Usually the worst is my cheek is
pink for a day. Yet over the past year I’ve worn a bruise shaped hand print
several time, occasionally accompanied by a split lip. But Bryant never
actually beat me before, so his parents and brothers are shocked.
Blake
comes all the way to my hospital bed first. He takes my small hand and brings
it to his lips. Then he holds it to his cheek with his eyes closed for a few
moments. He tells me sincerely, “I’m so sorry. I know Bryant’s been troubled
the last few years. But I didn’t think asking him to step aside so I can marry
you would send him over the edge.”
I
tell Blake, “I don’t think that’s what did it,” as Bronson goes around to the
other side of my bed where he grabs the doctor’s stool and sits on it next to
my bed. I’m short so there’s plenty of room across the foot of my bed where Mr.
and Mrs. Cross each sit on a corner.
“Why
would you do that,” Mrs. Cross asks Blake.
“Because
he’s losing her,” explains Blake. “I can see her family is fed up with Blake
and his unpredictable temper.”
“Lost,”
states my father. “He’s lost her. He’s never going to marry my daughter. None
of you are. I’ld marry her to Pastor Wimbly if it wouldn’t leave her a young
beautiful widow and vulnerable all over again.”
Mr.
Cross reminds Blake, “You’re my oldest. You’re slated to follow in my footsteps.
I can’t allow you to marry Ava anyway.”
Blake
says to his father with narrowed serious eyes, “Insurance policies,” which puts
a frustrated look on Mr. Cross’s face.
“Blake,
I didn’t know you were in love with Ava,” states Mrs. Cross surprised.
Blake
responds to her irritated, “It’s hard to know anything when your head is stuck
inside a wine bottle.”
Mrs.
Cross admits, “You got me there.”
Blake
tells his parents annoyed, “If either of you were paying any attention, you
would of noticed Ava’s the only woman I’ve been sleeping with for years.”
My
father informs Blake firmly, “I don’t care how in love with her you are. You’re
not marrying her.”
Bronson
inserts “I know Pastor Wimbly loves Ava. I’ve seen him pat her bottom and steal
kisses from her. But he’s too old to get it up.”
I
inform Bronson, “He’s not too old to get it up.”
“What,”
ask Bronson confused.
I
roll my eyes and inform Bronson, “Pastor Wimbly gets it up just fine.”
Bronson
ask me, “How do you know he can get it up.”
Mrs.
Cross tells Bronson matter-of-factly, “There’s only one way for her to know.
Are you trying to be funny? This isn’t the time to be funny.”
I
inform Mr. and Mrs. Cross, “He’s not trying to be funny. He’s never trying to
be funny. He’s your stupid one.”
Blake
nods his agreement with me, “If either of you were paying any attention, you
might have figured out for yourselves that Bronson’s the stupid one.”
“But,”
says Mr. Cross confused, “his grades were always decent. Not good, but decent.
He usually averaged at least a C.”
Blake
informs his parents, “Girls that like him have always helped him with his work
and done it for him. He’s never written his own essays or anything.”
Bronson
counters, “I rewrote them in my own hand.”
I
inform Mr. and Mrs. Cross, “He has excellent recall. He remembers facts,
figures, dates and stuff. He knows the answer to two plus two is four but he
doesn’t necessarily understand why the answer is four.”
“I
know why,” inserts Bronson enthusiastically. Then using his fingers, “Because
if you have two things and you have two more, then you count them together,
it’s four things. See?”
My
dad starts laughing, “You don’t even know which one of your kids is the stupid
one.”
I
inform them, “He’s not trying to be funny. The stupid stuff that comes out of
his mouth is what he’s actually thinking. It’s almost like a super power he
doesn’t even know he has. He says something stupid, but it makes people laugh.
So they think he’s being funny on purpose.”
“Wait,”
request Bronson confused. “I thought Bryant was the stupid one.”
“No
dear,” I tell Bronson sweetly. “Bryant’s not stupid. But don’t worry about it.
You did an excellent job of explaining why two plus two equals four.”
And
I know he won’t worry about it. He smiles winningly at me for telling him he
did a great job and ask me, “Can I have a kiss?”
I
nod yes and give him a kiss. Then he rest his head on my lap. I pull my fingers
through his hair and comment to Blake, “Best puppy ever.”
Blake
scruffs up Bronson’s hair and says with a warm smile, “Yeah, I like him.”
“I
like puppies,” comments Bronson. Then he tells me, “I love you Ava.”
I
have no trouble responding, “I love you too Bronson.”
Blake
ask me, “Why is it easy for you to tell Bronson you love him, but you have
trouble saying it to me and Bryant?”
I
take a moment to think how to explain it, “When you or Bryant tell me you love
me, it’s this intense serious thing. I love you both, but not with the same
intenseness or passion you have for me. And I don’t want to tell you a lie. But
when Bronson says it, it’s childlike, not serious and passionate. So I have no
trouble saying it back.”
Blake
take a deep breath, “I think I understand.”
Mr.
Cross ask me, “So what happened after Blake and Bronson left you and Bryant
alone.”
I
take a deep breath and exhale heavily, “I don’t know. Parts of it are fuzzy.
But there was no argument or anything like that. One minute we were laying
together cozily just talking and the next he was straggling me with his bare
hands as he went on about setting me free. When I hit him with the root beer
bottle the first time it wasn’t hard enough to knock him out and I think I just
made him mad. He kicked me repeatedly. He made a fist and pulled back, but I
don’t really remember the blow. I saw stars. Then he was sitting on me
straggling me again. The second time I hit him with the root beer bottle I gave
it everything I had and knocked him out. Still, there are injuries I’m not sure
whether they came from Bryant or when I fell down the front staircase.”
“You
fell down the front stairs,” state Mrs. Cross with a gasp.
I
nod, “I tripped and I lost my balance. Tumbled all the way to the bottom.”
“You
must have been terrified,” says Mrs. Cross.
I
nod agreeingly. I was terrified.
Blake
ask me, “Can you make some room for me so I can hold you?”
I
nod and scoot over so Blake can slide onto the bed with me and hold me. It
feels good to be held. And I don’t mind the slow thorough kiss either.
Mr.
Cross slides off his corner of my hospital bed and joins my father on the loveseat.
He tells my father, “We’re overdue for a proper conversation with one another.”
My
dad responds, “That’s true.”
“Ava,”
Mrs. Cross says my name softly, “I’m sorry we’ve failed to get to know you
properly. We don’t know you half as well as you know us. And we’ve not tried to
get to know your family at all.”
I
shrug, “They feel they know more about all of you than they would like to
anyway. After all, we’re our districts doctors. We know everyone and all their
dirty little secrets: who cheats on her husband, who’s secretly homosexual or
bisexual. And just so you know, your pool boy’s bisexual.” I point to her and I
point at Bronson’s head on my lap because they both screw the pool boy.
“Oh
dear god,” exclaims Mrs. Cross. “I really need to sober up so I know what’s
going on around me. So is Bronson bi???”
I
shake my head, “He’s not truly interested in men like that. He’s not seeking
them out for sex like he does women. But he’s very opportunistic when it comes
to sex. So when the pool boy offers to blow him or be done analy, Bronson just
goes with it. Just thought you might like to know where the mouth of the pool
boy has sometimes been just before you’ve kissed him.”
Mrs.
Cross states looking a little green, “I think I’m going to be sick.” Then she rushes
into the bathroom and shuts the door.
Blake
and I tune out her retching to listen to our fathers talk. There’s no telling
how much Bronson is absorbing until he says something that indicates he heard
every word that was said.
My
father informs Mr. Cross, “We’re not pressing charges. We just want Bryant to
get the help he needs. We love him. We don’t know Blake or Bronson well. They
only visited us with Bryant occasionally. But Bryant used to spend time with us
regularly. He really took us putting off the wedding until he’s finished his
studies the wrong way. Stopped spending time with us and taking Ava to your
home all the time. We understand his learning disability and the pressure he’s
under. We didn’t want to add to that pressure by letting them get married and
then he would be coping with working part-time, school part-time and a family
of his own full-time. I know he wants Ava to have his baby and Ava would do it
for him if I let her. But I know he’s not ready for all that. He doesn’t want
Ava to work because he selfishly wants to keep her all to himself. But Ava
needs to work and the hospital, clinic and urgent care need her. People like
her who want to serve by taking care of others are becoming hard to come by.
Being a doctor may allow you to live a comfortable life, but it doesn’t make
you rich and powerful.”
Mr.
Cross questions, “My boys have spent time with your family?”
My
dad nods, “Yes, but mostly just Bryant. About two weeks after kindergarten he
showed up at our front door. I asked him if he was lost and he ask me if Ava
Washington lived there. I answered yes and he told me, ‘Then I’m not lost.’
Walked on in calling for Ava who excitedly came running, gave him a hug, got
his hand, started showing him around the house and introduced him to everyone.
I called your home and spoke to your wife. She didn’t even know he was missing.
Thought he was playing in his room.”
“I
didn’t know that,” admits Mr. Cross.
Mrs.
Cross has come out of the bathroom. She still looks pale as she sits in the recliner
nearest the loveseat. She informs her husband, “I didn’t tell you back then
because I was afraid you’ld get mad, a Cross boy befriending and playing with
the only child of color in our small town. But she was the only friend he had.
The other children wouldn’t have anything to do with him. They picked on and
bullied both of them. They sat together because no one else would sit with
them. The teacher didn’t want to waste her time with him because as she told
me, there were children with real potential she needed to focus on. Ava helped
him with his school work and tied his shoes when they came untied. She played
with him when other children wouldn’t. I let him go to Ava’s after school for
over a month before he finally mentioned her in front of you. I was terrified
you were going to forbid him from having anything to do with her when you met
her.”
“Why
would I do that,” ask Mr. Cross. “She was a beautiful, intelligent, friendly,
kind child. Bryant adored her and she adored him.”
“Because
she’s part black,” answers Mrs. Cross frankly, “and you’re a Cross and Crosses
are related to Drumpfts and Drumpfts aren’t fond of people of color. But
they’re especially not fond of blacks and Mexicans and she’s part black and
Mexican, two strikes.”
Mr.
Cross nods his understanding, “I see why you thought that. But just because
Crosses are related to Drumpfts doesn’t mean we think like them. In public I
let it look like I don’t disagree with the Drumpfts, but you’ve never actually
heard me say I do agree with them. Yet I can’t openly say I don’t agree either.
Drumpft Senior had one of his own grandsons executed for being openly gay. My
grandmother being Drumpft Jr.’s older sister isn’t going to protect us.”
“You
two aren’t a couple who talks much are you,” ask my father.
“Very
true,” admits Mr. Cross. “You and your wife married each other because you’re
in love?”
“Yes
of course,” answers my father.
“I
think that’s wonderful,” says Mr. Cross sincerely. “I had hoped for that when I
was a young man. And I hope for loving marriages for my sons. But Lilith and I
are not married for love. I know the rumor is that she seduced me and she may
have believed that herself at one time. She married me because I’m from a rich,
powerful family and she believed that would provide her with a lavish, opulent,
cushy life. Yet she long ago discovered that it isn’t half as easy as less
fortunate people think it is and she drinks a lot of wine to cope. I married
her because I was expected to marry and have a family, carry on the Cross name
and such. I needed a wife who was reasonably pretty, reasonably intelligent,
photographed well and would look good on my arm during formal functions. Lilith
checked all the boxes so I married her. We don’t talk more than necessary and
usually only when it’s necessary. She’s given me three sons I love very much
and I love her for that if nothing else. Her tubes were tied after Bryant was
born and she is now free to have discrete affairs as I have my discrete
affairs. And once in a while we still bone each other.”
My
father shakes his head, “That’s just sad.”
Mr.
Cross nods agreeingly, “Indeed it is. The one bright spot in our miserable
lives is your daughter. That big house on the hill is cold and lonely when
she’s not there. Without her we all go to our neutral corners and only interact
when necessary. With her, we come together and interact almost like a real
family. And I understand Bryant has become too unstable to marry her. But Blake
is stable and more in love with her than I was aware of before today. He loves
her enough to blackmail me to let him marry her. Until today I just thought she
was his favorite sex toy and favorite way to annoy Bryant.”
“Well
I just learned yesterday that Bryant’s been stuck sharing her for years with
his older brothers,” shares my father unhappily. “Quite frankly I’m shocked and
appalled that this has been going on in your home. It certainly hasn’t been
good for Bryant’s mental health and I don’t like the effect it’s had on Ava.
She’s become distant and quiet over the years. She was a happy sing-songy
child. Here she’s been protecting us from knowing what she’s been going through
in your home. Protecting us from suffering with her because there really isn’t
anything we could do to stop it. All we could do was get her an implant as soon
as she went through puberty to protect her from an unwanted pregnancy because
we knew someone would take advantage of her first chance he got and she would
be entered into the service rotation for the pastors when she turned sixteen.
We were grateful when we discovered how much being Bryant’s girlfriend and
later his fiancé protected her, kept her out of the rotation from the pastors
and such. Except he couldn’t protect her from his own brothers. I can’t imagine
how much that has eaten at him. But I understand better why he was pushing so
hard to marry her sooner rather than later.”
“Yes
it’s been a bone of contention between them,” admits Mr. Cross. “He wanted it
to stop. But with Blake being in love with her too, it wasn’t going to stop.
And Bronson is practically Blake’s shadow. The women Blake rejects turn to
Bronson with open legs as a back-up plan. But I want you to seriously consider
allowing Ava to marry Blake instead of Bryant.”
My
father shakes his head, “That would put her under the same roof as Bryant. Next
time he may succeed at setting her free. I can’t risk her life like that.”
Blake
suggest, “What if I relocate to your home instead of Ava relocating to ours? I
want Ava to be safe just as much as you do.”
“What
about that,” ask Mr. Cross. “Will you consider allowing Blake to marry Ava if
he relocates to your home instead of she to ours?”
“I
will consider it,” agrees my father, “but I need to inform you we think we’ve
found a suitable husband for Ava.”
“I
knew it,” states Blake frustrated. “I should have made my move months ago.”
“Is
he someone from our district,” ask Mrs. Cross concerned.
My
father shakes his head, “No. He’s from another district.”
“Are
you sure about this,” ask Mr. Cross. “Do you really want to send her to a
stranger in another district?”
“No,”
admits my father, “but I do want her safe from Bryant. We love Bryant. And
we’ve greatly missed his presence in our household the last few years. But we
have to do what’s best for Ava. We have to protect her. We’ve been searching
for over a year and we believe we’ve finally found someone. I’ll still consider
the marriage to Blake, but I need to discuss it with her mother and
grandparents. It’s their home too. And I ask that you seriously consider what
is right for Bryant. He’s not like Blake and Bronson. I know he’s been working
part-time at the municipal building and he hates it. Why not let him work
part-time in his maternal grandfather’s garage instead? He’s a good mechanic.
It would be good for his self-esteem. Consider letting him drop out of the
university or at least let him study what he’s interested in. He hates
political science and law. For the love of God man, stop worrying so much about
what’s right for the Cross name and do what’s right for your son.”
Mr.
Cross nods agreeingly, “I guess in many ways Lilith and I are failing miserably
as parents when it comes to Bryant.”
“Not
just when it comes to Bryant,” my dad points out, “for all three of them. You
didn’t know who your dumb one is, you’ve been torturing Bryant with his
weaknesses instead of building on his strengths, holding him to unrealistic
expectations and you failed to recognize your oldest child is in love. And I’m
supposed to let my daughter, my baby girl, our only child, marry into this mess
you call a family? I’ll seriously consider Blake’s proposal. But I’m going to
do what’s best for my daughter. And I hope you’re going to start doing what’s
best for your sons.”
From
out of nowhere Bronson ask me, “Ava, did you have sex with Pastor Wimbly?”
I
answer a little amused, “Yes Bronson, I have. I service him at least once a
month.”
“But
that’s gross,” states Bronson.
“How
is it gross,” I ask curious.
“It’s
gross old man sex,” answers Bronson. “He’s old. Old people shouldn’t have sex.
It’s gross. Just ewe.”
I
shake my head amused and tell him, “You won’t think it’s so gross when you’re
an old man.”
“But
I’m not an old man,” responds Bronson.
I
inform Bronson, “If you’re lucky enough to live as long as Pastor Wimbly,
you’ll become on old man.”
“It
has something to do with your age,” ask Bronson.
“Yes,” I confirm for him, “it has
everything to do with your age.”
“If I don’t celebrate my birthdays
will that stop it,” ask Bronson.
“No,”
I tell Bronson, “even if you don’t celebrate them, you still get one year older
every year.”
“Is
there any way to stop it from happening,” ask Bronson.
I
tell him, “No. It happens slowly. For the most part you won’t even realize it’s
happening. You just wake up one day, look in the mirror and your outside no
longer matches your inside. But it’s not a bad thing.” I don’t dare tell him if
he dies young he won’t grow old.
“It’s
not a bad thing,” questions Bronson.
“No,”
I assure him, “it’s not a bad thing. It’s perfectly natural.”
“Alright
then,” responds Bronson agreeably, “if it’s not a bad thing, I guess I can do
it. Can I have another kiss?”
I
take his face in my small hands and kiss him. He can tie his shoes, read and
write, walk and talk, and for the most part he seems perfectly normal. He’s even
house broken. But if you spent enough time with Bronson, you would come to
recognize that there’s just some part of him that’s stuck as a ten year old
boy. There are some things he just doesn’t absorb. He just doesn’t understand
them, isn’t capable of understanding them and he’s not capable of being overly
concerned about it. All you can do is explain things as simply as possible for
him. He might come back to it later, but usually not. It’s sort of an out of
sight out of mind thing and he’s very agreeable.
“Did
you get to visit with Bryant today,” I ask them. “Pastor Cross came by earlier
with Pastor Wimbly and said you were going to get to see Bryant.”
Blake
answers flatly, “We saw him.”
“How
is he,” I ask because I need to know. “They aren’t mistreating him are they?”
“No,
they’re not mistreating him,” answers Mr. Cross.
“I
feel like there’s more to it,” I state concerned.
Mrs.
Cross informs me, “He doesn’t believe you’re alive. He was told you are and we
told him you are. Pastor Cross even shared that he visited you this morning
himself and that you are very much alive. But he thinks it’s a trick so he’ll
stop asking to be executed. He thinks we’re trying to prevent him from joining
you. So he’s on suicide watch. They’re afraid he might hurt himself.”
I
nod understandingly as I shed a few silent tears. Even if I had majored in
psychology, I don’t think I could help him. Yet I still want to help him. I
want my old friend back. I miss him.
Blake
brushes my tears away, “There’s nothing you can do for him right now. Just get
better yourself.”
I
nod agreeingly to Blake and accept his loving devouring kisses. His gentle
touch is comforting. And it might seem strange that I am so worried and
concerned for a man who has felt more like a stalker than a boyfriend or fiancé
the last few years and just tried to kill me a few days ago, but Bryant wasn’t
always like this. The real Bryant wouldn’t dream of harming a hair on my head.
“It’s
getting close to dinner time,” my father reminds the Crosses. “Ava’s Abuela
will be bringing her dinner soon. And you need to eat yourselves.”
Mr.
Cross nods agreeingly as he stands, “Let’s get home in time for dinner.” He
comes to my bedside and kisses my forehead. “Even if they don’t let you marry
Blake, you’ll always be a member of this family. We love you no matter what.”
“Thank
you, Mr. Cross,” I respond appreciatively.
Mrs.
Cross kisses my cheeks, “I almost got the daughter I always wanted. I know your
father and grandfathers will discuss Blake’s proposal and give it serious
consideration. But I know what I would do if I were them.” She accepts Mr.
Cross’s offered hand.
Blake
slips off my bed, takes my round face in his hands and kisses me thoroughly,
“There are a few things I wish I had done differently with you. But I can’t go
back and change the things I did when I was a dumb, horny teenager. All I can
try to do now is better. Rest and heal. I love you.”
He’s
giving me strong eye contact waiting for me to say it back, “You know it’s not
like I don’t care for you at all.”
“Just
say it,” request Blake with love filled eyes.
I
finally cave in, “Alright, I love you too.”
Blake
smiles beatifically and kisses me again.
Bronson
hugs me tightly, “When you and Bryant come home, we can all go swimming
together in the pool.”
My
eyes well over with big tears, “I’m sorry Bronson. I don’t think I’ll get to
come home.”
Bronson
says confused, “But if you don’t come home Blake and Bryant will both be
unhappy and miss you. I will be sad and miss you too.”
I
don’t know what to say to him. But my dad points to my neck ask him patiently,
“Do you see these bruises on Ava’s neck?”
Bronson
nods yes. I can tell he’s listening carefully.
My
father explains, “These bruises are strangulation marks.”
“Strangulation
marks,” repeats Bronson in serious thought. “But that’s like hanging someone,”
finding a frame of reference for it in his mind that he understands, “like they
used to do in the wild, wild west for bad guys. Hang them and they died. I
don’t want Ava to die.”
“I
don’t want Ava to die either,” my father tells Bronson, “but Bryant did that to
her. He strangled her. She’s not safe with Bryant any more. She’ll be safer at
home with me and her mother.”
Bronson
nods agreeingly, “Okay, as long as she’s safe there. I want Ava to be safe. I
love her and Blake loves her. And I know Bryant loves her too. But he hasn’t
been himself lately. I think something broke in his head.”
My
father tells Bronson with a somewhat amused smile, “I think you’re right. So we
better keep a little distance between him and Ava until he gets better.”
Bronson
ask my dad, “Is it alright if I visit Ava at your house?”
“Of
course,” answers my father, “we’ld love for you to come visit Ava at our house.
It’s been way to long since your last visit. You can even bring Blake with
you.”
Bronson
ask seriously, “I don’t have to bring him do I?”
My
father chuckles, “You don’t have to, but you can if you want to. You’re both
welcome to visit.”
Bronson
hugs my father unexpectedly, “Thank you, Dr. Washington.”
My
dad pats his back, “You’re welcome son.”
Then
Bronson hugs me and kisses me again. And this time he also rubs his face in my
crotch. I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that in front of my father as my
face flushes red with embarrassment. But Bronson’s not embarrassed. He’s happy as
a clam as he waves cheerfully to us as he follows the rest of his family out of
my hospital room.
I
shake my head embarrassed and amused as my as my father says to me, “How in the
hell did they miss that boy is a grade A doofus?”
I
respond smiling, “I’m telling you it’s like a super power he’s not even aware
of. He’s friendly, outgoing, athletic with excellent recall. He reads fine when
he’s reads out loud even though he may not fully understand what he’s reading.
And his hand writing seems perfectly normal. It’s actually a little too nice
for a guy’s handwriting. So when he says something totally asinine that doesn’t
make any sense out of the blue, people assume he’s joking.”
“Hey,”
greets Dr. Walker cheerfully as he enters my hospital room with my Abuela
carrying a large picnic basket and small cooler for her. He shares, “We just
past the Crosses as we were coming down the hall. Were they visiting?”
My
father answers, “Yeah, they just left.”
Abuela
tells us, “You should have seen the dirty look Blake gave Dunston.”
I
ask surprised, “Why on earth would Blake give Dr. Walker a dirty look?”
“Dunston,”
Dr. Walker directs me. “I’m not on the clock right now. So call me Dunston or
Dunny.”
So
I restate, “Why give Dunston a dirty look? They’ve never had a conversation.”
Dad
informs Abuela, “Blake is sharp. He figured out we’re looking for a husband for
Ava because we decided Bryant’s become too unstable. So I informed him we began
looking over a year ago. So he’s kicking himself. He’s in love with Ava too and
finally asked Bryant last Sunday to step aside so he can marry her.”
Abuela’s
eyebrows furrow with serious thought, “But he’s their oldest. He’s been groomed
to follow in his father’s footsteps. Cross can’t let him marry Ava.”
“Apparently,”
Dad informs Abuela as he helps her and Dr. Walker make our plates, “he has
something over his father’s head so Cross won’t deny him marrying Ava.”
“Insurance
policies,” I insert. “He calls them his insurance policies.”
“Oh,”
says my father in surprised realization, “so Blake blackmailed his father right
here in front of me to marry you.”
“Wow,
that was bold,” states Dr. Walker.
“Sure
was,” agrees my father. “I’m not sure if I should think better of him or
worse.”
Abuela
ask me, “Ava, do you know what Blake has on his father?”
I
nod yes, but I don’t answer. I just want to concentrate on the food that’s been
placed in front of me.
“Well,”
questions my father expectantly.
“Well
what,” I respond innocently.
Dad
ask me frustrated, “What does Blake have on his father?”
“Video
recordings,” I answer with a shrug as if it’s not important.
“Recordings
of what,” ask my father a bit demandingly.
I
ask him, “Isn’t this a bit like gossiping?”
“Just
spill it,” orders my father.
So
I inform them, “Video recordings of Mr. Cross being inappropriate with
someone.”
“With
another man,” questions Abuela.
My mouth falls open from shock
that she asked such a thing, “Abuela, no. He’s not gay or even bi. It’s a young
woman. And I’m not going to tell you who so don’t ask.”
“But
you know who,” ask my father.
“Yes
I do,” I admit. “But I’m not telling you who.” I would be mortified for my
family to know. As much as they try to protect me, I do my best to protect
them. We are a close family. We have very few secrets from one another. But
just like all families, we have secrets just the same. Secrets that we each
keep to protect the hearts of those we love.
Abuela
then shocks me by asking, “Have you seen any of the videos?”
“No,”
I answer a little high pitched. “What’s with you tonight? Why would I watch
something like that? If Blake offered, I would not watch any of them.”
“Then
how do you know Blake’s not bluffing,” ask Abuela.
I
state matter-of-factly, “Blake doesn’t bluff. If he’s going to lose he wants to
do it with dignity, not possibly looking like a fool.”
Abuela
ask me, “Do you think Blake asking Bryant to step aside so he can marry you
himself set Bryant off on Sunday?”
I
answer, “I think it was a combination of things not one specific thing, I know
he was feeling like he failed to protect me properly.” I shrug, “He’s
suffering. That’s the one thing I know for certain. He’s suffering.”
Dr.
Walker suggests, “Maybe he assumes you were suffering too in the same way he
is. Maybe that’s what he was trying to set you free from, suffering.”
I
nod agreeingly, “He was a sensitive boy. I think that’s probably about as close
as we’re going to get to knowing what was happening in his head last Sunday.”
Blake
slips back into my hospital room after visiting hours. I’m mostly asleep from
the pain meds. He strips down to his boxer briefs and carefully climbs in bed
with me. He curls up with me hugging me back against himself. He whispers to
me, “I love you, Ava.”
I
mumble back, “Love you too, Blake.” Then I sleep soundly for the night. I don’t
even wake up needing any pain meds.
Then
I’m awoken by my poppa exclaiming, “What the hell!”
I
feel Blake lift his head behind me. He asks, “What time is it?”
I
mumble, “Too early.”
My
Abuela informs him, “Six am.”
“Can’t
you Cross boys even leave my granddaughter alone while she’s recovering in a
hospital bed,” ask my poppa angrily. “Did you have to come and impose yourself
on her while she’s recovering?”
Blake
stretches as he sits up, “What do you mean impose?”
Abuela
informs Poppa, “Ava’s still has on her hospital gowns. She’s not naked.”
Blake
slips of my hospital bed and Abuela tells Poppa, “He’s wearing his underwear.
He’s not naked either. I don’t think they did anything.”
“What
would we be doing,” ask Blake getting dressed. “Ava’s injured. I just wanted to
be near her. I’ve been so worried about her the last few days I’ve not slept
well. And when I couldn’t sleep last night, I came here to sleep with her. I
didn’t think that would hurt anything.” Then he steps into the bathroom to relieve
himself.”
Poppa
ask me directly,” Did he impose himself on you?”
I
shake my head,” No, Poppa. We just slept.”
Abuela
opens the curtains and blinds and I squint at the bright morning sunlight and
complain, “Why does it have to be so damn bright? My eyeballs are melting.”
Abuela
tells me, “You’re eyeballs are fine, vampire.”
“Ava,”
Blake calls as he’s washing his hands, “Is this your tooth brush?”
“Yes,
it’s mine,” I call back. Then I hear him brushing his teeth.
Poppa
asks me, “Has he ever been cruel to you?”
I
shake my head, “No. He likes to tease Bryant and Bronson, but he’s not cruel
about it. It’s just typical big brother stuff.”
Blake
comes out of the bathroom and to my bedside, “Can I do anything for you before
I leave for work?”
“Help
me out of bed and to the bathroom,” I request.
Blake
stays in the bathroom as I relieve myself, wash my hands and brush my teeth.
Then he helps me back to my hospital bed and into it. He takes my hand and
kisses my fingers.
I
asks Blake, “Why did you give Dr. Walker a dirty look on your way out last
night?”
“He
told you that,” assumes Blake.
I
shake my head, “Abuela told me when they came in with my dinner last night.”
Blake
shrugs, “I guess I just don’t like him.”
I
ask Blake, “How can you dislike someone you’ve yet to have a conversation with?
He hasn’t even lived here a whole week yet.”
Blake
shrugs again as he’s holding my hand, “He’s not from here and I guess that
makes me uneasy.”
“Well
we’re all from the same planet,” I tell Blake. “Does that make you feel
better?”
Blake
smiles amused, “Not exactly. I really don’t like that they just moved some
strange guy into your home. What if he takes a shine to you?”
“Blake
Cross,” I tell him amused, “you’re sounding insecure.”
Blake
sighs and admits, “Maybe just a little. There wasn’t anyone better than me,
Bryant and Bronson in our district for your family to choose for you until he
showed up. He’s a doctor like you, your dad and your grandfathers which means
he’s smart like all of you.”
“You’re
smart too,” I tell him.
Blake
admits, “I’m smart enough to know I’m not as smart as you. I like to think I’m
perfect, but I know I’m not. And until he arrived, I was the best looking guy
in the district and the best they could do for a husband for you here. I know
I’m technically not good enough for you and that you deserve better, but I love
you and want you anyway. I can’t do any better than you.”
“Goodness,”
I tell Blake, “whoever they think they’ve found for me, he’s probably in
another district. And I know they’re not in a hurry to send my away. Give them
time to consider your proposal. I think they’ll like the idea of keeping me
under their roof. Of course after putting up with me while I’m recovering, they
may be anxious to get rid of me.”
Blake
manages a smile for me, “They may want to keep you under their roof, but
they’ll do whatever they feel is best for you. And I can’t blame them for that.
I better get going. I need to grab something to eat before I head to work.”
“Here,”
offers Abuela, “have a breakfast burrito.”
Blake
accepts the breakfast burrito and I happily accept one too. He is visibly
impressed with it and tells Abuela, “Mrs. Reed, this is delicious.” He finishes
his breakfast burrito, kisses me good-bye and heads to work.
After
Blake is gone Poppa says, “That was really mature of him to admit his
insecurities when it comes to you, Ava. And brave of him to admit you deserve
better than him. I knew he was the sharpest of their three boys, but I didn’t
know he was sharp enough to know he can’t do better than you. We’ve got a hard
decision ahead of us.”
They
will ask me questions to help them make their decision on what’s best for me.
Truth is in this area I have no idea what’s best for me. My Doctorate’s didn’t
come with that information. Caring for infants and children is much easier than
trying to decide who I should be stuck spending my life with. And I will be
stuck with him. I can’t get a divorce unless he decides he wants one. Plus, I
really don’t have much choice in the matter. I expected to become Bryant’s wife
whether that’s what I wanted or not so I just accepted it. I really try not to
have any hopes or dreams in this area because it’s easier to accept whatever
decision is made for me if I don’t have any.
Around
ten am a gentle hand on my shoulder wakes me. I blink my brown eyes open to a
smiling Dr. Walker who informs me, “Detective Reynolds needs to speak to you.
Are you up to it?”
I
nod as I sit the bed up, “Sure.” I rub my eyes and stretch as much as my sore
body will allow, “Good morning Detective Reynolds.”
“Good
morning, Dr. Washington,” returns Detective Reynolds.
“Just
Ava is fine, Detective Reynolds.”
Detective
Reynolds nods acceptingly, “So how are you feeling today?”
I
think for a moment, “Mostly groggy. Between the anti-inflammatory medication
and the pain meds, I’m doing a lot of sleeping. And I find being a patient a
little unsettling to say the least. But as long as no one tries to make me use
a bedpan, I think we’ll all survive my injuries.”
Detective
Reynolds smiles amused, “That sounds like the safest approach. Ava, Bryant
doesn’t believe you’re alive. He thinks we’re trying to trick him for some
reason. And he can’t be evaluated properly by the specialist that accompanied
me and my partner here if he won’t speak to us. He won’t even speak to his family. He just
keeps requesting to be executed. So we would really appreciate it if you would
come over to the psych ward with me and talk to him. You won’t be alone with
him. Both my partner and I will be in the room with you. The specialist will
observe from the observation room. Dr. Walker can stay in the room with you
too.”
I
nod agreeingly as I answer, “I’ld like to see Bryant.”
“Are
you sure,” Dr. Walker ask me concerned. “You don’t have to do it.”
I
assure him, “It’s alright Dunston. I want to see Bryant.”
He
doesn’t look happy as he tells me, “Alright then. I’ll go get a wheelchair for
you.”
“Detective
Reynolds, would you please assist me out of the bed and over to the lavatory.”
He doesn’t hesitate to assist me out of the bed and over to the lavatory. The
lavatory’s not spacious, but it’s functional and wide enough for a wheel chair
to maneuver in. I’m grateful for the bars to hold onto and put my weight on.
After relieving myself, I wash my hands and face and brush my teeth. I check
the two French braids Abuela and Dr. Walker put in my hair last night to ensure
they’re not coming loose.
Dr.
Walker is waiting by the lavatory door with a wheelchair. I am happy to plant
myself in it. Even with assistance, my short trip to the lavatory and back to
my hospital bed is exhausting.
Dr.
Walker lays a blanket over my lap and tucks it around my legs and feet. Then he
places a throw over my shoulders. Hospitals are chilly places for a reason.
Most viruses and bacteria thrive in warm moist environments. The hospital’s
cooler temperature discourages the growth of most viruses and bacteria.
“Are
you comfortable,” Dr. Walker ask me concerned.
I
nod, “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” Then Detective Reynolds leads the way.
Dr.
Walker tells me, “If you change your mind just let me know and I’ll take you
back to your room. I understand if you’re scared.”
“But
I’m not scared,” I inform him. I probably should be, but I’m not. “I know it
must seem strange, odd or even crazy that I’m not afraid to be in the same room
with him. I know one would expect that I would never want to see him again
after last Sunday. And the last few years he’s felt more like a stalker than a
fiancé or boyfriend… I don’t expect you to understand, but he wasn’t always
like this. He was a sweet kind little boy. Before we started kindergarten
together we only saw each other in passing at church and in the Little Sunday
Schoolers’ class on Sunday with our mothers. He would always wave to me with
one hand tucked under his arm so everyone didn’t see and I would give him a
little wave back. After we started kindergarten it didn’t take long for the
teachers to get tired of tying his shoes for him. People like to gossip that he
never learned to tie his shoes, but that’s not true. He knew how. He just
didn’t have the manual dexterity to get them tied tightly. So the teachers had
me tying his shoes so they didn’t have to. The other children wanted nothing to
do with either of us just for different reasons. Me because I was a little
brown child to put it nicely, so don’t play with her. They would tell me I was
dirty and go home and wash your ass. And him because he was quiet and
thoughtful. So all we had was each other growing up. He didn’t care that I have
brown skin.” I smile, “He loves my brown skin. He wasn’t dumb enough to think I
was dirty. And I always appreciated that he wasn’t the typical loud mouth pushy
little boy.” I frown sadly, “We were best friends. I’m losing my best friend
and it hurts. My family just wanted to give him time to finish earning his
degree and get comfortable with my working here so he wouldn’t make me quit and
would let me come back when our children were old enough. I’m this district’s only
pediatrician. I fill a vital role here even if it’s only part-time.” I tear up,
“Even if they let me marry Blake instead of Bryant, Bryant will still be broken
hearted.”
Dunston
pats my shoulder companionably, “I think I understand.”
Our
psych ward isn’t huge, but it has rooms and cells for those that are sick and
injured to be kept in for homeland security. Besides his head injury, Bryant is
on suicide watch. No one has managed to harm themselves seriously in one of our
padded rooms to my knowledge. But Detective Reynolds leads us to a homeland
security interview room within our hospital. This is the first time one of
these rooms has gotten used since I started here. The table and the chair are
bolted to the floor so they can’t be over turned during a fit of rage.
Detective
Reynolds knocks on the door and another detective that’s nearly as buff as
Reynolds answers the door. Reynolds makes quick introductions, “This is Dr. Ava
Washington. Ava, this is Detective Parker.
“Good
morning Detective,” I greet pleasantly.
He
glances down at me in the wheelchair unimpressed and doesn’t bother to respond.
He simply steps back out of the way and allows Detective Reynolds to step
inside the room. Then Reynolds allows Dr. Walker to push me into the room.
I
never imagined seeing Bryant like this. His feet are cuffed to an eyebolt in
the floor and his hands are cuffed to the table in front of him. I can see the
sweet little boy I grew up with. He’s so lost and scared. But he’s there in his
eyes. I see him. He’s there. His eyes have been terrifyingly empty the last few
years. But he’s back. He’s there, I see him. And I try to take control of the
wheelchair to go to him as he calls wide eyed and shocked, “Ava!”
Dr.
Walker retains a hold of the wheelchair preventing me from going to Bryant. I
demand frustrated, “Let me go.”
Dr.
Walker tells me softly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I
ask the detectives, “Has Bryant given you any trouble? Has he been violent?”
Both
detectives shake their heads no. Detective Reynolds shares, “He’s actually been
quite docile. We just haven’t been able to get him to talk to us. He’s just
kept confessing to your murder and requesting execution.”
“And
if he becomes violent and tries to hurt me,” I ask them, “are you both
confident you can stop him?”
They
both nod their heads and Detective Parker answers confidently, “Of course.”
I
look back at Dr. Walker and tell him, “It’s alright, Dunston. You’re here and
so are these two detectives. It’s alright.”
Dunston
reluctantly releases my wheelchair. I roll it over to Bryant and take his tear
streaked face in my small hands. I wipe his tears lovingly as he says my name
softly, “Ava… My beautiful Ava.”
I
am so happy to look into his eyes and see him. I kiss him lovingly and ask him,
“Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”
Bryant
rest his head on my shoulder, “I don’t know Ava. I remember everything. But it
feels like a bad dream, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.”
“Could
you at least uncuff his hands,” I demand of the detectives. “We’re not going
anywhere. He’s still chained to the floor by his ankles.”
Detective
Reynolds frowns but he uncuffs Bryant’s hands.
Bryant’s
hands are trembling as he gently touches my face and hair. He kisses me
lovingly and holds me tightly, “I can’t believe I hurt you.” He sobs softly,
“But I remember doing it.”
I
inform him, “You weren’t yourself. You haven’t been yourself for a while. And
it wasn’t all you Sunday. I fell down the front staircase. I’m not sure when
some of my injuries occurred.”
Bryant
tells me, “I remember choking you. I remember kicking you and punching you. And
what was going through my mind doesn’t make sense to me now. You are the one
person who has always loved me unconditionally.” He tenderly kisses the bruises
on my neck. “I’m so frustrated and tired of sharing you with Blake and Bronson,
I feel like I’ve trapped you with my dysfunctional family and I don’t know how
to let you go. I love you so much. All I ever wanted was to spend my life with
you. But for you, spending your life with me means being stuck with my
dysfunctional family.” He sobs again, “But your family will never let us marry
now.”
I
caress away his tears and kiss him lovingly, “But I still love you. And above
all my family wants me to have a happy life. They need to see you’re yourself
again.”
“Has
Blake asked to marry you yet,” ask Bryant.
“Yesterday.”
I answer sadly.
“How
did your dad respond,” ask Bryant concerned.
“Initially
he refused,” I share, “They’re lucky they got in the room to see me. But Blake
offered to relocate to our family home to be my husband. Daddy agreed to think
about it.”
Bryant
ask me, “Is Blake right about your family looking outside of our district for a
husband for you.”
I
nod yes.
“Have
they found someone,” ask Bryant worried.
“They
think they have,” I answer. “But I haven’t asked any questions. I’m afraid of
the answers I might get. I just know I’m our districts only pediatrician. I
know our district needs me. So I don’t know what they’re trying to work out.”
“It’s
not like you not to ask questions,” notes Bryant. “Why haven’t you asked?"
I
admit, “Because I’m afraid of the answers. What if they’re trying to arrange a
marriage for me in another district? I know in some districts I would be much
safer than here. They may be trying to make a trade. There are districts with
more people of color than ours, many more. That means more health care
providers. They’re probably trying to trade me for a male pediatrician that can
provide full-time care.”
“I
doubt that,” says Bryant thoughtfully. “But maybe another district would be
good for you. Maybe you would be safer in a district with more people of color.
Here, you’re a novelty. Men’s mouths may be saying they don’t want you in front
of their wives, mothers and daughters here, but their dicks are saying
something else when you walk by.”
That’s
too true. I’ve seen the rising interests of men that contradict the ugly things
falling out of their mouths. Still I tell Bryant sincerely, “But this is my
home.”
Bryant
gently caresses tears from my cheeks and kisses me tenderly, “It may not feel
like home at first. You may feel homesickness the likes of which you’ve never
been able to imagine. But in time, your homesickness will wane and it will come
to feel like home.” He manages a weak smile for me, “And you’ll wonder how you
ever missed this awful place.”
I
still tell Bryant with a slight sob, “But it’s not all awful.”
Bryant
hugs me, “The things I remember from the last few years are awful. The things I
know you’ve had to endure because I love you are awful. I love you, Ava. And
how you have managed to endure me and my family with such strength and dignity,
I’ll never know. But I do know you deserve better.” He kisses me lovingly and
tells Dunston, “Doctor, please take the woman I love back to her hospital room.
Make sure she rest. She’ll work herself half to death if you let her. And give
her better loving care than you’ve ever given before in your life.”
“Will
do,” responds Dunston confidently as he pulls me and my wheelchair back away from
Bryant.
Bryant
tells the detectives, “I don’t know if I can answer all of your questions. I’m
not sure I remember everything clearly. It feels like a terrible nightmare. I
don’t know how reliable and accurate I’ll be.”
“Just
do your best,” Detective Parker tells Bryant as Detective Reynolds lets Dunston
out of the room with me.
Detective
Reynolds tells me, “Thank you, Dr. Washington.”
I
point a stern finger up at him, “You just listen to me you big thick goon. You
better not harm a hair on his head. He’s suffered enough.”
Detective
Reynolds smiles understandingly and somewhat amused at me, “You really do love
him.”
“Of
course I do,” I respond a bit insulted. “Do I really seem like a gold digger to
you?”
Detective
Reynolds shakes his head, “No, I know you’re not. My apologies that I may be a
little narrow minded in areas concerning women and colored folk like
yourselves. Get some rest, Dr. Washington. Good day Dr. Walker.”
“Good
day, Detective,” returns Dunston.
I
go home Monday. It feels strange to miss church on Sunday. I am to stay off my
right foot which means a wheelchair came home with me. And schedules are
shuffled so someone is always home with me. But Dunston sees to most of my
care. I find him to be an extremely knowledgeable and competent doctor with a
warm caring bedside manner. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that he is gorgeous
eye candy. I think he’s the first man I’ve ever really found attractive. And I
hate to admit it, but I’m attracted to him. He’s in the bedroom by mine which puts
him sharing the Jack and Jill bathroom with me.
When
Poppa bought this triplex he intended for it to also house Abuela’s parents and
he planned to rent out the basement apartment. He says it just needed a little
work. Abuela always rolls her eyes when he says that which tells me it needed
more than just a little work. But the renovations Poppa and Granddaddy did make
it feel like one large home that just has a kitchen, living, dining and three
bedrooms on each floor.
Originally
Abuela’s parents were on the main floor so they didn’t have to go up and down
too many steps. Poppa, Abuela and Mom when she was a little girl, lived on the
top floor and Poppa rented out the basement apartment to another doctor and his
wife. Abuela’s parents were deported to Mexico for being illegal aliens. The
doctor and his wife were here legally, but not citizens yet. They were from
Nigeria. And when things started to get bad, returned to Nigeria on their own.
I know Abuela is tortured by not knowing what’s going on with her family in
Mexico. But there’s no mail received from other countries. No phone calls. No
contact what so ever. But occasionally someone hacks into our television
service and a message is seen by everyone watching TV. It’s usually just people
quickly saying to family members trapped here that they’re safe and well where
they are and send their love. But they wouldn’t do it if they knew how much
trouble it got their family members trapped here into. They get picked up,
detained and interviewed. I’ve heard those interviews sometimes involve
torture. But Abuela’s parents were deported when my mother was a little girl.
They have most likely passed away by now. I can only imagine how tortured
Abuela is by not knowing what’s become of them.
Dunston
and I have quickly become friends. I feel a little guilty about my attraction
for him. Bryant is still hospitalized in the detention center of the psych
ward. Blake comes to see me and he usually comes alone. But I know Bronson
likes to come with him. And Mrs. Cross has visited too. And a couple of times a
week I get a call from a young mother checking with me that Dunston, my father
or one of my grandfathers has advised her correctly.
I
don’t think my father is planning to let me return to work even after my foot
is healed. I overheard him talking with Granddaddy, Poppa and Dunston. My
relationship with Bryant protected me from the advances of unwanted men. But
that relationship is technically over. Daddy won’t let me marry Bryant. And
it’s not safe for me to go anywhere unescorted as a single woman in
Drumpftland. The men don’t bother each other’s wives not so much out of respect
as it is an unsaid agreement that if I don’t bother yours, you don’t bother
mine. But if you’re a beautiful woman, even being married may not protect you.
If you’re lucky, you’re just raped. Not so lucky, beaten and raped. Or the
worst that could happen as with my grandmother, murdered so you can’t tell
anyone who raped you. And Daddy’s been getting calls from other fathers
inquiring about his plans for me and asking him to consider their sons. And
he’s been telling them that Blake has already proposed. But he admits that he
is still undecided concerning Blake.
I’ve
been home from the hospital for nearly a month and a half. I’ve gone from wheelchair
to crutches. My ankle was badly strained and is healing quite slowly. It would
have been better if I had broken it along with my foot. Breaks heal stronger
than sprains and strains. My ankle may trouble me off and on for the rest of my
life, ache when it rains and such.
I
got to go to church Sunday. It felt a little strange after not attending for
nearly two months. I have to admit that I did miss it. But Pastor Wimbly was
delighted to see me, and I was delighted to see him. He only made it to visit
me a couple of times. Of course there were some shocked gasps when he gave me a
deep loving kiss in front of everyone. With me technically unattached, he
doesn’t need to hide his affection for me. Blake wasn’t pleased though. He
didn’t say anything at church. But I could tell by his face. Just like I could
tell by his face he was bothered to come to church and find Dunston sitting
with his arm around me. Mr. Cross asked Blake if he was coming and he said no,
that he was sitting at the back with me. He glared at Dunston as he sat by me,
took my hand and gave me a kiss. But Dunston didn’t remove his arm.
Tonight
is going to be interesting to say the least. The Crosses have asked to come
have dinner with us. Mr. Cross wishes to speak with my father and grandfathers.
I’m sure it’s about Blake’s proposal. And I’m afraid Mr. Cross isn’t going to
like Daddy’s answer. Mr. Cross will look to Poppa to override Daddy. Poppa
being my only Caucasian male relative in the household and Daddy’s
father-in-law can override Daddy’s decisions regarding me. But Poppa won’t
override Daddy. Any decision that was made regarding me my parents and
grandparents made together. They’ll all be in agreement on whatever decision
they’ve made.
“Hello,”
calls Blake opening the front door, “We’re here.”
My
father invites in a friendly tone, “Come in. Come in.”
“I
brought a desert dish,” shares Mrs. Cross.
“Thank
you, that’s wonderful,” my mother says pleasantly as she accepts the dish.
“Since
I became Byron’s wife I haven’t done much cooking,” shares Mrs. Cross. “But I
do still have a few things I can do.”
Blake
steals a quick loving kiss from me as Abuela informs our guests, “Dinner is
almost ready.”
“Here,”
directs my father, “make yourselves at home. We need to set the dining table.
It’s been a while since we’ve had guests. My apologies that we’re a little
rusty at it.”
“No
worries,” responds Mr. Cross. “We’ve had guests way too often. It’s nice to be
the guests instead of the host. Ava, you are looking remarkably well. How are
you feeling my dear?”
“For
the most part I feel fine,” I answer as I sit on the loveseat with Blake and
Bronson. Yet I admit, “But I miss Bryant and Daddy won’t let me go see him. How
is he doing?”
“He
misses you,” Mrs. Cross informs me. “But he’s being cooperative and actively
participating in therapy. Somedays he seems a little lost, but he hasn’t had any
violent episodes. You were everything to him and he’s just not sure how he’s
supposed to live without you.”
My
father addresses Mr. and Mrs. Cross, “I want you to understand that we’re all
fond of Bryant. We’ve missed him the last few years and we still think of him
as a member of this family. When they let him go home, he’ll be welcome here if
he wants to visit us. And as much as I want to forgive and forget and welcome
him back with open arms, I need to do what’s best for Ava. They both need time
to learn how to live without each other.”
“Alright,”
calls Granddaddy, “dinners ready.”
For
the most part, I’m quiet through dinner. I’m trying to get a sense of what’s
going to become of me marriage wise. Mr. Cross is sure laying it on thick. I’m
playing it cute and mute as I sit between Dunston and Blake. And every time
Dunston touches my hand or my arm as he checks to see if he can get me
anything, Blake glares at him. I’m not sure what exactly is bothering Blake.
He’s very good at reading people. Maybe he noticed I’m attracted to Dunston and
he’s worried because it makes me all warm and tingling when Dunston touches me.
At
the end of the meal, the men separate from the women. I don’t like it. I can’t
hear everything they’re saying perfectly.
“Ava,
you’re very quiet,” notes Mrs. Cross.
“My
apologies,” I say sincerely. “It just makes me uneasy when decisions are being
made about my life without my input.”
I
hear my father tell Mr. Cross, “I like Blake.”
Mrs.
Cross ask me, “Your father isn’t going to give you permission to marry Blake is
he?”
I
sigh sadly, “I’m afraid not.”
My
mother informs Mrs. Cross, “Blake has many fine qualities. We like him. But he
seems uncomfortable here with us while he’s visiting Ava. And while he
obviously cares for her greatly, there seems to be a lack of respect for her
and her feelings. And he doesn’t seem to care what marrying Ava will do to
Bryant. You only seem to look out for each other as far as protecting your
family name is concerned. Other than that, you really don’t operate like a
loving caring family. We don’t feel you and Mr. Cross have set a proper example
of being caring parents. And without that example, how is Blake supposed to
know how to be a loving caring husband and father?”
Mrs.
Cross opens her mouth to say something, but then we hear Mr. Cross begin to
laugh loudly in the other room. Mr. Cross isn’t a man with a sense of humor.
Then
we hear Mr. Cross state way too pleased, “That’s just fine. Since you will not
permit Blake to marry Ava and she is now completely unattached, I am claiming
her as my mistress.”
I
start to cry. Legally, a man can only have one wife. But he can claim as many
mistresses as he wants. Mr. Cross has never had an official mistress before.
Just occasional secret rendezvous on top of using me against my will when the
opportunity has presented itself. I guess I’m the first one he’s ever wanted to
keep.
As
he strides into the room triumphantly, Mrs. Cross pleads, “Don’t do this Byron.
Think of how this will affect Bryant.”
Mr.
Cross responds coldly, “Bryant’s not a damn child anymore. He blew it with Ava.
And they won’t accept Blake either. She’s finally completely unattached. And I’m
claiming her before anyone else can.”
“Please
Dr. Washington,” pleads Blake, “let me marry Ava. I will live here. I will
never force her to live under the same roof as my father.”
“The
decision was made,” Mr. Cross tells Blake triumphantly. “And being my mistress
will protect her the same as if she were my wife. She won’t even have to endure
that old coot Pastor Wimbly.”
As
I’m sobbing “no,” Mr. Cross yanks me up from my chair, tosses me over his
shoulder like a sack of potatoes and slaps my ass. He informs my father, “I
want her birth control implant removed immediately. I know she’s going to be a
wonderful mother and give me fine sons. I’ll send help to assist in packing her
clothes and personal items. I think she’s going to love the large bedroom I have
waiting for her.”
“Byron,
stop this,” demands Mrs. Cross.
Then
Dunston orders Mr. Cross, “Put her down.”
“Like
hell I will,” responds Mr. Cross. “This is my prize.”
Dunston
orders, “Put my fiancé down.”
“Your
fiancé,” questions Mr. Cross in disbelief.
“Yes,”
answers Dunston firmly, “my fiancé. What do you think I relocated to this
little nothing nowhere district for? The good weather?”
Dunston
takes me from Mr. Cross and carefully places me on the sofa. He kneels on one
knee in front of me and ask concerned, “Are you alright?”
I
nod jerkily as he gently wipes tears from my face. He assures me, “It’s
alright. You’re not going anywhere with him.”
I
grasp Dunston’s hand and hold it to my cheek. I don’t even know how to start to
express how grateful I am to him. I just sob some more.
Mr. Cross checks with my
father and grandfathers, “You’re giving her to him?”
My
father nods, “She’s already been given to him. It was decided months ago,
before Bryant lost it all together and tried to kill her. Then there were
transfer papers and such. The paperwork to transfer Dunston here took nearly
three months. We love Bryant and we kept hoping he would pull himself together,
but that just didn’t happen.”
“Why
wasn’t an announcement made,” demands Mr. Cross angrily.
“Those
that needed to know, did know,” answers my father. “Pastor Cross helped us find
Dunston for Ava. And an announcement wasn’t done so they could get to know each
other without any outside pressure. Plus we wanted to make sure Dunston was
right for Ava. We wanted their relationship to grow and develop naturally.”
Dunston
tells Mr. Cross, “Ava has endured enough from your family. You and your sons
have been imposing yourselves and taking from her for years. I don’t want our
relationship to be like that. She deserves to receive as much love as she
gives. I want her to be comfortable with me, feel safe and secure with me and
know that I am here for her and I’m not going to demand anything of her. I want
to make her happy. I’ll never take her against her will.”
Dunston
and I are married a week later. And we’re married for a month before our
wedding is consummated. I didn’t know sex could be this wonderful. And I often
feel guilty that I just never enjoyed it fully with Bryant. We’ve been married
about three months when Bryant is allowed to go home. The guilt really hit me
hard when I saw him back in church for the first time. Settling in as Dunston’s
wife has been easy for me. Loving Dunston is so easy. And I feel guilty that it
was never easy with Bryant, but I don’t blame him for that. I know it’s not his
fault nor mine.
My
birth control implant expired about the same time Bryant came home and Dunston
didn’t have it renewed. And as I sit here at the back of the church very
pregnant with our first child, I’m quite content. I miss work, but women with
children under the age of six aren’t permitted to work outside the home. And
I’m okay with that. I’m looking forward to being a mother. The other young
women who are all hoping to snag Blake or Bronson just ignore me now. Not that
Blake or Bronson are showing any serious interest in any of them.
Well
this is different. There’s a young woman with the Crosses that isn’t from our
district. A young light skinned black woman. Her skin is more yellow than mine.
My hair is curly but won’t do a cute fro like hers. Her fro is just a little
darker brown than her skin. She’s smiling as she’s holding Bryant’s arm.
There’s a lot of whispering among the young women in the church. Not that any
of them want Bryant any more, not after he tried to kill me. But I doubt this
young woman knows anything about it.
Pastor
Cross announces that the young woman’s name is Amber and that she and Bryant
are to be married today after Sunday school.
My
father whispers to us, “Byron is screwing up. He wants it to look like Bryant
is bouncing back from losing Ava and making a full recovery. But I don’t think
Bryant is ready for this. He looks numb.”
My
dad’s right. Bryant does look numb.
Someone
hisses at Amber.
We
haven’t spoken for months, yet the Crosses approach us on the way to Sunday
school.
Mr.
Cross looks a little uncomfortable as he says to my parents and grandparents,
“I know we haven’t spoken for a while. And I have no right to ask anything of
you. But Amber has no friends or family here beyond us. And I’m hoping you’ll
allow Ava to be her friend.”
My
father nods agreeingly, “Sure. Amber, welcome to our little district. I’m Dr.
Simon Washington and this is my wife, Irena. She’s a pediatric nurse. My
father, Dr. Eugene Washington. My mother is deceased. My father-in-law, Dr.
Lance Reed and my mother-in-law, Lupe. She’s a nurse practitioner. This is my
son-in-law, Dr. Dunston Walker. And of course, this is my daughter, Ava. She’s
a pediatrician.”
Amber
is just as cute as a button as she shakes my hand with both of hers, “You’re a
doctor. That’s wonderful. I’m just a nursing assistant.”
I
smile warmly, “Welcome to our district. I hope for the most part you’ll be
happy here.”
“Thank
you,” returns Amber smiling brightly. “Are you due soon?”
I
nod, “Two more months.”
“You
must be so excited,” says Amber excited for me.
I
admit, “I am. I didn’t think I would be. I was initially concerned with
Dunston’s decision to have a child. My childhood here was rather lonely. Bryant
was my only friend while we were growing up. So I worry about our child not
having friends.”
“So
you and Bryant used to be close friends,” inquires Amber interested.
I
nod, “We were best friends.”
Amber
shares, “I think Mr. Cross is hoping for a grandchild right away. Our children
will be able to be friends.”
I
return her infectious smile, “That would be grand.” I turn to Bryant, “Bryant,
she’s lovely.”
Bryant
reaches over and lays a hand on my swelling abdomen, “Pregnancy suites you,
Ava. He’s treating you well.”
He
looks very sad as I inform him, “Very well. He’s a loving, doting husband.”
“Good,”
says Bryant with a firm nod. “I’m glad.”
Bronson
says sadly. “We miss you Ava.”
I
push up on my toes and kiss his cheek, “I miss you too.”
Bronson
ask me, “Do you still love us Ava?”
I
answer without hesitation, “Of course I still love you all. I’m sorry we don’t
get to spend time together anymore.”
Blake
leans over kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear softly, “I love you. I’ll
always love you. And I miss you so much.”
My
eyes well up with tears. I know my relationship with them wasn’t a healthy one,
but I miss them too.
“Once
Amber has settled in,” my father suggests, “you should bring her for a visit.”
“That’s
very kind of you,” says Mrs. Cross who looks very sad and like she might have
had a couple of glasses of wine before church.
Another
district resident pauses by us in the hall outside the Sunday school room and
says to Mr. Cross, “Really Cross? You didn’t think one nigger whore in our
district was enough. You had to import one from another district for Bryant.”
Mr.
Cross responds unruffled, “We’re doing our part to breed them out. What are you
doing to prove your patriotism?”
The
man does dome deep grumbling as he tries to come up with a response.
My
poppa says, “He’s raised a sorry excuse for a son that we would never consider
allowing to marry Ava, but he still had the nerve to call us requesting Ava for
that bully he raised.”
The
man takes a deep frustrated breath and walks away from us into the Sunday
school room.
“Jackass,”
comments Mr. Cross irritated.
Amber
ask concerned, “Are many people here rude like that?”
I
ask curious, “Did you have white friends in your home district?”
Amber
nods, “Yes. No one back home would come up and say something like that. I’ve
actually never heard the N-word before.”
I
inform Amber sadly, “You won’t have any white friends here outside of your
family. Don’t bother trying to make friends with any of the young white women
here. That hiss earlier was nothing. You would think they would know that’s not
keeping the Sabbath holy, but many don’t read and write and they’re never
paying attention during the Sunday school lessons.”
“How
are we doing today,” ask Pastor Wimbly all smiles as he comes up to us. He
gives me a quick kiss.
“We
were just getting acquainted with Bryant’s bride to be,” shares Poppa.
“Well
isn’t she lovely,” Wimbly greets her warmly, “Welcome to our little district.”
“I
didn’t realize there were districts this small,” shares Amber.
Wimbly
shares, “This district was originally meant to be a retirement community. So it
was designed to be very walkable and electric vehicle friendly. But it’s also
very rural and isolated. Physical size wise, we’re not that small. But it’s
mostly farmland. Some of the farm families have to endure an hour long carriage
ride to be here Sundays which seems to leave them grumpy. But they’re exempt
from attending when the weather is bad. I think they hope and pray for rain
every Sunday.” Then he tells Amber softly, “A word of caution. We have a
shortage of good, honest, reasonable people. Don’t bother trying to associate
with or befriend any of them. If they’re being nice they’re up to something.
But Ava and her family are good people. You can always count on them.”
“Thank
you, Pastor,” responds Amber with a concerned look on her face. Things are
going to be very different here from her home district.
We
stay after Sunday school and witness Bryant and Amber’s wedding. Weddings here
in Drumpftland are not big fancy affairs. Your church clothes are also your
wedding attire. It’s kept small and simple to remind you that the greatest joys
in life often come from the little things. Vows for the bride and groom are
different. The groom is asked if he accepts the bride as his wife. He is asked
if he will love her, honor her, keep her counsel and cleave to her and only
her. He is asked those things. He has the option to say no and not accept the
bride that was usually chosen for him by his parents.
Bryant
says “I will,” but he doesn’t look happy about it.
Amber
on the other hand has a big excited smile. Her vows are different. She is told
she is to love, honor and obey her husband. She is directed to bear him as many
children as he desires, keep his home clean and harmonious. The only question
she is asked is, “Do you understand your wifely duties?”
Amber
of course says she does happily. They are pronounced husband and wife. Bryant
is told he may take his wife home and enjoy her.
The
next evening, we’re in the middle of dinner when the doorbell sounds. We rarely
get to sit down to dinner all together any day other than Sunday. Poppa says
he’ll get it and heads to the front door. I hear men’s voices, but I can’t make
out what’s being said.
Poppa
returns to the dinner table but he doesn’t sit down. He’s pale and looks
shocked as he’s just standing there staring at nothing.
Abuela
ask him, “Lance, what’s wrong?”
Poppa
begins with “Bryant,” but he doesn’t continue.
“Is
Bryant alright,” I ask concerned. “Has there been an accident?”
Poppa
shakes his head, “Not an accident.”
“Pop,”
questions Dad concerned.
Poppa
finally finds his tongue, “Bryant was found with the body of his new bride a
few hours ago. They’re not sure if he did it this morning, sometime during the
night, or yesterday sometime after they were married. They just know she’s been
dead for hours. It looks like he strangled her, but her body’s being sent for a
full autopsy. Bryant’s not responding to anyone. They want us to bring Ava to
see if he’ll respond to her.”
We’re
all in shock.
“I
knew he wasn’t ready to begin a new relationship,” says Dad, “that he wasn’t
over Ava yet. But I didn’t think he would hurt the girl.”
Dunston
ask Poppa, “When do they want us to bring Ava?”
“Now,”
answers Poppa.
“Let’s
quickly get the food into the frig,” directs Mom. “We’ve all lost our
appetites.”
A
short time later I find myself at the hospital. We pass Mrs. Cross in tears as
Blake tries to console her. Bronson looks as if he’s seen a ghost. Mr. Cross
looks like a lost puppy.
Dunston
and I are let into the same interrogation room where Bryant is once again
sitting with his hands cuffed to the table and his feet cuffed to the floor.
He’s staring at nothing as he rocks slightly. I don’t try to rush to him this
time. I cling to Dunston as we sit across from Bryant. His eyes are empty.
There’s no sign my Bryant is in there at all. He doesn’t seem to know we’re
there. So Dunston nods toward Bryant for me to go ahead and try to talk to him.
“Bryant,”
I say softly afraid of a violent reaction.
Bryant’s
head turns slowly in our direction. He focuses on us and smiles. “Ava,” he says
smiling, “My beautiful Ava.”
“Hello
Bryant,” I return with a nervous smile.
Bryant
tells me, “I miss you, Ava.”
My
eyes well up with tears, “I miss you too Bryant.”
Bryant
asks me, “Is he treating you well?”
I
nod, “Yes, very well. Dunston’s a good husband.”
“He
better treat you well,” states Bryant.
“He
does,” I respond.
“Good,”
states Bryant. “I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy. But I still
wish I was the one making you happy, that we were having a baby.”
Now
the tears spill from my eyes, “I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Yeah,”
acknowledges Bryant, “that sucks,” as a detective is motioning for me to ask
about Amber.
So
I ask, “How’s Amber?”
“Who,”
ask Bryant.
“Amber,
your wife,” I remind him, “You were just married yesterday. I really like her.
She’s absolutely lovely. Is she settling in okay?”
Bryant
says, “Oh, her. I set her free.”
“Set
her free,” I question.
“Yeah,”
Bryant tells me, “She didn’t belong with my mess of a family any more than you
did. I knew I couldn’t protect her properly from my brothers and my dad. So I
set her free to make sure she’ld be safe. Sent her back into the loving arms of
God. She’s free now.”
I
ask, “Why didn’t you just refuse to marry her?”
Bryant
informs me, “Dad said you were making us look bad with how well you’re doing
with Dr. Walker. He said I had to show everyone that I’m over you and moving
forward with my life. Except I’m not over you. Yelled at me about being a
Cross. And I am a Cross. No escaping that. So I married her like Dad told me
to. But I didn’t have to leave her stuck being a Cross like my mom. So I set
her free.”
I
take a deep breath and blow it out.
“I’m
sorry Ava,” apologizes Bryant, “I know you don’t approve. That you would find a
way to endure with strength and dignity. But I really believe setting her free
was the best thing I could do for her.”
“I
can’t say I understand Bryant,” because I don’t understand, “but they may put
you down for this.”
Bryant
shrugs uncaringly, “That may be for the best. Probably better than spending the
rest of my life in a nut house. Certainly better than being stuck in that cold oversized
house with my family.”
I
tell him, “Your family’s not the worst.”
Bryant
responds, “They’re far from the best though. Your family’s the best. I hope Dr.
Walker knows how lucky he is.”
“I
have an idea of how lucky I am,” Dunston tells Bryant.
Bryant
tells Dunston firmly, “You better take good care of her. You better love her
with your whole heart and soul. Because if you ever mistreat her, I’ll send you
into the loving arms of God.”
Dunston
tells Bryant sincerely, “I do love her with my whole heart and soul. And I
promise I will always take good care of her and treat her well.”
Bryant
nods acceptingly to Dunston, “It’s getting late. You better get her home to
bed.”
Dunston
helps me rise. I pause by the door, “I’m sorry Bryant. I feel like I failed
you. I was hoping for a long happy life for you and Amber since I couldn’t do
it for you. But I’ll always love you. And I’m always going to miss you.”
Bryant
gives me a smile that’s half full of love and yet half deranged, “I’ll always
love you too Ava. You’re the one person who’s never failed me. Good night and
sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. I’m so glad you’re free.”
Bryant
has never understood that here in Drumpftland no one is free. Everyone in
Drumpftland is a slave of one kind or another. Slave to their own ignorance.
Slave to their own hatred and bigotry. Slave to their daily survival. Even
Drumpft Jr. is a slave. Slave to holding on to being Drumpftland’s dictator.
Slave to holding onto and maintaining his family’s power and wealth.
Not
one person in Drumpftland is truly free and casualties here are high. Most will
only count the dead like Amber as a casualty. But your life, your very self,
can be lost without dying. Bryant has lost himself. And I believe he’s lost for
good this time. But it’s not his fault. He gave everything he had trying to be
the type of slave they demanded he be. He gave until he had nothing left of
himself to give. Drumpftland stole everything from him.
Perhaps
Bryant’s right. Perhaps putting him down would be a kindness. Even though when
I looked into his beautiful blue eyes they were cold and empty, I fear that
somewhere, deep down where I cannot see, he’s in there, a prisoner within
himself, screaming in unheard agony to be set free. I hate the thought that he
may be stuck inside himself suffering. Bryant has suffered enough.
Many people my grandparents’ age
once had the opportunity to vote, to choose. Poppa says they took it for
granted and didn’t vote. I wonder how many of them that didn’t bother voting wish
they had. I wonder if they see that their lack of involvement led to the
Drumpftland we exist in today, where we are forbidden to say the name of the
country it was before. Or are they still telling themselves that it doesn’t
matter and their vote wouldn’t have made a difference anyway? It’s certainly
too late for it to make a difference for my Bryant.
