BOMAW 1-3 (23 page)

“
What
isn’t so?” Now the hand went to her hip, as the opposite one dropped for a stance prepping for battle. Both stood suddenly sizing the other up, instant dislike was like a clanging bell in the dead of the night. Sherry, the woman by the soda machine, stood a bit shorter than Sylvia and could be considered very pretty with a beautiful figure, if her manner, dress and overall skuzziness didn’t paint her otherwise. Wearing a well-worn black leather jacket that had seen better days, her blonde hair needed washing and combing, especially in the back. Her clothes looked like she’d worn them two or three days, tossed them, couldn’t find anything to wear a week later and found those again to wear. Her eyes were an absolutely beautiful blue, long lashes and all, with full lips beneath a small cute nose. But her decorum and etiquette was what a dictionary would definitely define as the product of white trash. It didn’t help her much that she was a chain smoker. She pulled her cigarettes out of her rear pocket to tap upside down on her hand, then turning them up to peel away the string and plastic cellophane that sealed them closed.

“No smoking in here, Sherry,” Maggie warned tactfully.

“I know, I know…I’ll just crack the door open so it all goes out,” she informed Maggie.

“Along with my heat. I guess you gonna have to wait until you leave, which won’t be long since I’m about to close.”

“I know what time you close, Maggie. Man, what’s gotten into you all o'sudden?”

Sylvia shook her off, turning to pay for the groceries Maggie bagged, dismissing Sherry, who wasn’t ready yet to be dismissed.

“Hey…so is it true?” she offended the second time.

“Excuse me, but I have a name and
hey
is not it,” Sylvia returned, looking back at Sherry, her eyes narrowed with warning.

“Don’t know it, so can’t use it, now can I? So,
hey
is gonna have to do. But—oh wait…lemme think…Sylvia, right? Oh…now I remember, I do recall now havin’ heard it somewhere. Imagine that…both o’us name start with a 'S'. Seems we got somethin’ in common. That and the fact that
Shawn
must be wantin’ us both, his name got that same o’S', ‘magine that? He is livin’ with you now, ain’t he? That’s what I hear.”

Heat so intense washed over Sylvia that she felt burned. She had called him Shawn! Not Everett, but the name that only family used, or so he’d lead her to believe. Feeling intense betrayal and shame build, Sylvia fought it with little success as the fact that she’d let him kiss her, only to find that he must have done the same with this girl/woman. As if she stood on a hot plate suddenly turned on, anger was burning so, she felt herself shake with it. Absolute humiliation froze a shell over her that had taken Shawn months to melt and break through. It took her a moment to respond, when she did, her dislike was plain to see.

“I don’t know what you’ve
heard,
but
Shawn
has not, does not…nor will ever be found to live with me. As for him wanting us both, that sounds like a problem for you and him to work out! I’ll thank you to leave me out of your concocted trios.”

“Hey…fine by me! Never done a trio with no nigger no way, don’t plan on—”

“Sherry! Not in my store!” Maggie yelled, rigidly angry, slamming the palm of her hand on the counter. “I will not have that crap here! And you will not bring it here! Seeing as how all you bought was the cigarettes and the soda, you can now
leave!
”

An icy heat stole over Sylvia. Such a small word. Yet it held the power to paralyze her into shock as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She felt the stinging of prickly pins all over her body and face, laced with humiliation.

“Sorry, sorry…” Sherry conceded with her palms raised in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t mean to offend…how’s a body suppose to know what to call’em? Seein’ as how they’re always changing what they are? First they coloreds, then they black and proud, then they negroes, and now they Africans from America. I’m just stickin’ with what I know they called,” she explained with sly cleverness, holding the door open about to exit.

“
Goodbye,
Sherry,” Maggie repeated firmly. Sherry did a mocking bow before both women and departed.

“That little bitch! I am so sorry, Sylvia…so sorry. Please believe me, I had no idea she was going to do that.”

“Forget it, Maggie. You’re not responsible for what other people say and do,” Sylvia answered stiffly. She knew that Maggie was not party to that, but she was white. At that moment…she felt defensive. A wall suddenly shot up from the floor to surround her. For the first time since she moved to this small town, she felt like a minority…like she didn’t belong. How could such a small word wreck her peace? But it had…in just a matter of a few seconds. She couldn’t help but wonder if the word had shocked her because she’d forgotten she was black. She’d forgotten that she was different from the majority of the people in this town. She’d allowed herself to slip into a false sense of security and now it was shattered…in a matter of seconds. Maggie could feel and see the immediate damage of what the word just did…she herself felt humiliated and hurt because she really liked Sylvia. Her face was red with embarrassment at what just happened in her store. She felt equally victimized…because what happened went against everything she felt and believed.

“God, I feel awful! This is why in the larger cities, they don’t allow loitering. I try to make my store welcome to anyone around town to linger about
because
it is a small town. But no more. No more. God, I’m so sorry…that little tramp, she’s not worth the dirt you kick off your shoes.”

“Forget it, Maggie. You need to close up and I need to get home. Got things to do.” She faked a smile, despite her racing mind. Trying to dull a pain in her chest so sharp, she struggled to numb it, ignore it. It wasn't working. She felt moisture gathering in her throat, bubbling up in her mouth, which she swallowed back as she grabbed the plastic bags by the loop handles off the store counter and headed for the door as Maggie followed her there. Stopping for her to open it, Maggie put her hand on her shoulder.

“Honey, I don’t know what’s going on with that one, but I don’t for a minute hold value on a thing she says. Don’t you. She ain’t nothin’ but trash, always been, always will be.”

“Yeah, maybe, but as they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” she returned, unable to mask the pain washing over her. Surely Maggie knew, as most of the people in this town, that Shawn was pursuing her. Nothing around this place could be kept a secret for any time period more than a week. Right away, Sylvia’s pride kicked in to stiffen her spine and square her shoulders.

“Oh, well, good luck to them. Long as they leave me out of it, what do I care?” she lied.

Maggie shook her head. “Listen here, girl. I don’t know that man all that well, but I sure don’t for a moment think he would give a flying hoot about the likes of her, when someone like you is right next to him.”

“We’re just neighbors, Maggie…just Neighbors. Gotta go now! You have a nice night,” Sylvia replied, not wanting to hear anything more for Shawn’s side. She was done with him. Stepping down the steps from the store, she walked to the corner and around it to go to her car, and was brought up short by three figures standing there against the building next to where her car was parked. Smoke was hovering around them, since all three had cigarettes lit.

“Hey…I thought you’d never finish in that store. Now since you out here, we can finish our discussion uninterrupted. So…where he been? I ain’t seen him around lately,” Sherry asked as Sylvia took in the two men with Sherry. Immediate fear shot and ricocheted through her to see Sherry and two white males there, following on the tail of boldly being called a nigger by her. Here she was, a lone black woman out at night.

One of the men looked to be in his late twenties, short dark hair, wide, round face. Looking as though he ought to be overweight, but he wasn’t. He reminded one of a grown-up version of Charlie Brown, wearing faded, dirty denim jeans, jacket, and shirt. It was a very cool night, yet he acted unaffected by the cold. The other was tall and whipcord lean; long, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail away from a thin face and thin mustache. He wore light-colored faded denim as well, and a Harley Davidson leather jacket. His eyes, cold ice blue, stared at her. Sylvia felt a frosty frisson shoot straight up her spine. She couldn’t help staring back at him, and realizing that she was, she suddenly tore her eyes away as adrenaline—chased by fear—coursed through her body.

“Yooohooo, helloooo, I think I ask you a question? Hey! Oh, you don’t like that, do you? You wanna be called by your name…Sylvia, don’cha?”

“Don’t see why not, that’s such a pretty name, Sylvia. Can I call you Sylvia?” the blonde asked, shifting his shoulder against the building.

Sylvia gave them all one last look then proceeded on to her car. As she walked around to the driver’s side, she announced, “I’m not Mr. Styles’ keeper. I suppose he’s around, since he wants you… one would think you’d already know where he is. Good evening,” she finished, opening her car door, feigning a bravery she didn’t really feel. The blonde man suddenly came away from the building to walk to the front of her car. Sylvia’s heart leapt into her throat.

Just then, the Camp Daniels police squad car turned the corner. The blonde altered his direction; instead of stopping in front of Sylvia’s car, he kept walking as if that had been his intent. The squad car stopped beside Sylvia. The window rolled down just as Sherry and the other man started following the blonde. “Ms. Payne? Everything okay here?” the officer asked, staring at the departing trio.

With the lump lodged in her throat, Sylvia could barely swallow it to speak. She started nodding yes then finally answered, voice trembling, her eyes on the three. “Yes, I’m fine. Just stopped to pick up a few things from the store, that’s all,” she informed him.

“Well, let’s get going. I’ll follow you home,” he announced.

She felt tears well up in her eyes. Nodding vigorously, she got right into her car, slammed the door and started it right up.

Now in her doorway, she waved at the officer with a smile for escorting her home. Inside, she closed the door and locked it. Setting her bags down, she hung up her coat then picked up the bags to empty the contents; a bunch of cleansers she didn’t need and mousetraps.

Leaving them on the counter, she walked to her bedroom trying to ignore her nervous, jumpy stomach. The butterflies were fluttering madly, and her mind was awash with images of a man that was no better than what she first estimated him to be. Now this…she wasn’t sure how to deal with possible racial harassment, if that is what was about to start. She was a woman alone…she couldn’t afford this. All because of Shawn Everett McPherson coming into her life. Regardless of what Maggie said, Sherry knew his real name.

Shawn.
She knew it. How would she know his name like that if he hadn’t told her what it was? For the next couple of hours, her mind waged war with the things he’d said and done to her, against what took place today. Though she refused to give in to them, a lone tear slid down her cheek every so often, as she fought back the rest when one would slip through against her will. Here it was starting already.

Drama.

The very thing in her life she was trying to avoid. It was one thing to write about it, but another thing entirely to be caught up in the center of it yourself. Again and again she beat herself up over the matter, wondering, had she learned anything at all in her late thirty-something years of life? She stood in her front picture window, looking across the road at his house. The lights were on because she’d left them on when she took off for the store. She stood watching as if she could conjure an image of him walking across his window. Of course it never happened, but she wished he were there. Just as she was glad that he was not. It was now 10:30pm, she turned from the window, the phone rang. Her heart started pounding. She knew who it was and slowly approached the phone to read the caller ID. It said
California Call
. That was all…it was indeed him. She stood as it rang the fourth time, then her answering machine picked it up.

“Hmmm? It’s 8:30 here, and 10:30 there…and just where are you, beautiful lady? In the shower? Emmm, I like that idea. Must be. I’ll call again in a half an hour or…you can call me…yeah right,
not
. I’ll call you back…”

Beep.

Another lone tear slid down. “Don’t bother. Please, just don’t bother.” She reached down, cleared the message so the machine would stop beeping. Turning, she walked away into her bedroom where she closed the door. Truly taking a shower, washing herself from the head down. Her hair didn’t need washing, but doing so took time wetting down the thick mass. Lathering it up, giving her scalp a thorough scrubbing and rinsing. Lathering it up again, rinsing then squeezing it out and now, adding the conditioner. Getting it all through her hair, then…to shower her body, shave her underarms and legs…well…it was definitely going to take longer than half an hour.

An hour and a half later, she was ready for bed. She could hear the beeping of her answering machine from her bedroom. With her bathrobe wrapped around her and her hair blown dry and straight on her shoulders, she walked into the living room and sat by the phone and answering machine. Two more messages. She sat staring at the number two for maybe five minutes before she slowly reached over and pressed play.