Echoes of a Distant Summer (55 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, thoughts like I’ve wasted a lot of time resenting my dysfunctional family. The truth is I didn’t even have it as bad as some others in my family. I wasn’t abandoned in an orphanage. I didn’t suffer that level of isolation. Then there’s the realization of all that has been lost as a result of Elroy’s absence and all that could’ve been had he been part of our family. My father and mother might both be alive. I’ve wasted so much time trying to understand my grandparents’ intentions when they can’t even explain their actions.” Jackson shook his head resignedly. “There’s been so much unnecessary pain and unpleasantness. And I’ve come too late to remedy this injustice. At best I’m putting a bandage on a wound that’s scarred over but will never heal.”

Jackson grimaced and rubbed his neck. “Damn! I’ve really got a crick in my neck. Hmmm, let me take you home.” He started the ignition and pulled slowly out into the night traffic.

Elizabeth observed, “You sound like you could use a hot tub or a therapeutic massage. That’s the therapy I use whenever my work or my life gets me uptight or depressed. I think some deep-tissue work might help you release tension and I know just the place on Judah and Ninth.”

“It’s not the deep-tissue work I had hoped you would offer me,” Jackson replied with a sad smile. “But if you recommend it, let’s do it.”

It was a short, twenty-minute drive to the hot tub and massage parlor.
Upon arriving at the parlor, Elizabeth went to the women’s side while Jackson went to the men’s. Due to the fact Elizabeth took time to wrap her hair in towels to protect it from the ambient moisture in the air, she did not get her massage immediately. While she waited in a terry-cloth robe for her masseuse to finish with another client, she thought about Jackson and the way he had stormed into her life. There was no denying that she was attracted to him. She liked everything that she had seen so far. And the more she saw of him, the more she liked him. He seemed to be perfect in all ways save one: He appeared to be a man caught in circumstances not of his making. Perhaps he was being naive, but he felt there was a possibility everything would end peacefully. She wanted to believe him and she felt optimistic that he would rid himself of all the entanglements.

Elizabeth realized that she was rationalizing, that she was intellectually removing the impediments that would prevent the two of them from getting together. She was risking being hurt and disappointed, yet she did not want to stop. She told herself that her heart was strong enough to deal with whatever consequences resulted. She had taken risks before and survived. Even though these palliatives offered no real comfort, she felt not fear but excitement when she thought of Jackson. The prospect of seeing him later thrilled her, made subtle tremors pulse through her body. As she waited to be called in for her massage, she even allowed herself to wonder what making love with him would be like, to be skin to skin with him, to open herself to him. The thought of intimacy with him filled her with expectation and tingling anticipation. The sound of her name being called broke her reverie.

Immersed in the room’s soft light, the air scented with a trace of sandalwood incense, she let herself drift with the rhythms of the masseuse’s hands and the soft tones of the Shankar raga playing on the PA system. Although it seemed to pass quickly Elizabeth was relaxed when her massage session was over. She slipped on her robe and felt better able to deal with the vicissitudes of her imperfect world. She went out into the common area expecting to find Jackson dressed and waiting but he was nowhere to be seen. She went to the counter and inquired of the young woman who was working behind it as to Jackson’s whereabouts. She was informed that he was in room five in the hot tub section. Elizabeth tightened her robe and headed toward room five. She did not have a clear picture in her mind exactly what she would do
when she entered the room, but there was a tartness in her mouth that made her tongue hurt.

She knocked on a solid wooden door that had a large brass “5” mounted upon it. There was no answer. She pushed the door open and entered into semidarkness as the blaring sounds of jazz fusion swept around her. The music was so loud that it had muffled both her knock and the closing of the door. Elizabeth slid the lock across the door and turned around. Jackson was sitting in a large oaken hot tub against the far wall with his head laid back. His arms were resting on the rim of the tub as he stared up at the ceiling. The muscles in his chest, shoulders, and arms were apparent even in the soft light of the wall sconces.

She did not know how long she stood there watching him, but suddenly she noticed that he was staring back at her. No words were spoken. They merely stared at each other for uncounted seconds. Old questions rushed past her, borne on an anxious breeze. Was this truly the man? The one to grow old with? What was truly in his heart? Then Jackson smiled and the wind changed. The questions were whisked away and certainty returned. She wanted this. She wanted to be with him.

Without taking her eyes off Jackson, Elizabeth untied the belt of her robe. She let the robe hang partially open, allowing her long, dark legs to be exposed, as she walked over to the hot tub. She felt his eyes follow her. Her skin was prickling and sensitive underneath the robe. She felt the rough nap of the terry cloth rubbing against her nipples, making them hard. Adjacent to the steps leading into the hot tub was a wide wooden bench with a large futon on it. Elizabeth let the robe slide off her shoulders. She stood still for a moment, allowing him to admire her naked beauty, until she saw the arousal in his eyes. As she climbed the steps to enter the hot tub, she knew that she had passed the point of no return.

T
he 1965 metallic green Mercury Cougar turned onto Tunnel Road and headed up the hill on the tortuous, winding street as it climbed high above the entrance to the Caldecott Tunnel and Highway 24. The sun had just recently set and there was still a line of lavender on the western horizon below a sky of deepening blue. On the highway below, the lights of the rush-hour traffic inched along slowly through the tunnel toward Contra Costa while the lights of the opposite-bound traffic whizzed westward. Inside the Cougar the radio was booming with the bass beat of hip-hop tunes.

Rhasan Tremain leaned forward from the backseat and tapped the driver, Fox Malone, on the shoulder. “Fox, we got to be cool with the sounds around my uncle’s crib, man. I don’t want his neighbors calling and complaining to him that me and a bunch of my friends came to his house playing loud music.”

“It’s all good, Dog,” Fox replied. “I’ll turn it down when we get near his house. Right now, we’re just a bunch of niggers from the flats. People don’t know who we’re going to visit.”

Wayman, who was sitting up in the front next to Fox, said, “I ain’t no nigger. Shit! I’m going to college! I’m planning on kicking butt with the books to escape all that West Oakland nigger shit!”

Fox glanced at Wayman as he steered the car, negotiating the tight, twisting curves of the road as it climbed higher above the freeway. “Don’t fool yourself, Dog. Soon as a white cop sees you, you ain’t nothing but a nigger. It don’t matter whether you got money or not, or whether you got an education. Everything is based on the color of your skin. Ain’t that right, Deshawn?”

Deshawn Edwards, a dark-skinned, well-muscled young man who was sitting in the back next to Rhasan, said, “Goddamn straight! But I wish it was only the police that pulled that shit. Hell, I could be working in a nice job right now! But as soon as that white woman saw my black face walking through the door, my chances were shit.”

Rhasan elbowed him. “Did you have your head tie on, Deshawn? Were you wearing your gang colors? Because you can scare anybody when you put your street stuff on.”

Deshawn waved dismissively. “Man, I had on one of my church suits.
That bitch wasn’t gon’ give me a damn thing. When I walked out of there, I just wanted to slap the shit out of her!”

Wayman shook his head and said, “Knowing you, I bet you didn’t hide your feelings either.”

“Fuck no, man!” Deshawn confirmed. “Ain’t no way I’m gon’ smile when a door’s slammed in my face. Didn’t even give me a damn chance. If it keep on like this, I’m gon’ end up working for Fox’s brother.”

“That’s cool; we always got openings for strong young brothers!” Fox confirmed with a nod of his head. He looked in his rearview mirror and saw Rhasan shaking his head. “Don’t say nothing, Rhasan! The drug biz is the only equal-opportunity employer that hires homeboys whether they graduate high school or not!”

“It’s a dead end and it’s hurting our people, man!” Rhasan protested. “We all know at least ten people who’ve been killed and twice that many who’re in jail. And the money isn’t good enough to change your life, or for you to escape Oakland.”

Fox countered, “For most brothers, there ain’t no other alternatives. Who the hell wants to work at one them fast food outlets? Come home smelling like greasy fries! Or being a goddamn janitor! Hell, ain’t everybody got an uncle like you, willing to take off work and spend time with you. Willing to get you tutors and whatever. Willing to take you to Yosemite, Hawaii, and every damn place. Man, you is lucky you got him standing behind you. Ain’t everybody got family like that.”

Rhasan replied, “When he came to get us out of juvie, he made all four of us the same offer, the same promise. Only two of us took him up on it. At first, Fox, you went along with the program. You went to the after-school tutoring. You went to Hawaii with us, but then you dropped out. And Deshawn never—”

“Don’t go there!” Deshawn interjected angrily. “You know I had an after-school job! You knew if I didn’t work, me and my little sisters weren’t gon’ have a damn shirt or pair of pants to wear. If I didn’t get home before the mail arrived, my mother was gon’ cash her welfare check and spend it on cheap weed and liquor. I had responsibilities! I couldn’t stay after school.”

“My uncle offered to help you with—”

“Don’t you get it? I was ashamed! Your family was willing to do everything for you, while mine wouldn’t amount to a pile of shit on a busy street. I couldn’t take charity, especially from somebody who wasn’t family. I know I ain’t got no money and no education, but I got
pride. I’m gon’ do for myself and I ain’t afraid of hard work. All I need is a chance. Just let these white fucks give me a damn chance!” The intensity of Deshawn’s words momentarily stifled the conversation and left only the sound of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five rapping to a funky beat.

Fox patted his steering wheel. “You see my ride.” He waved his hand at the Mercury Cougar. “Ain’t nobody who went to Berkeley High or Oakland Tech got a ride cherried out like this but drug dealers like me!”

Wayman challenged, “There were some white boys at Berkeley with classy rides.”

“Ain’t nobody talking about whites!” Fox retorted. “Shit, they start off with advantages! I’m talking about homies!”

Rhasan said, “My uncle Jax says if you’re prepared to work and sacrifice, this is one of the few countries in the world where you can change your station in life.”

Wayman interjected, “He says racism is like gravity, you just have to keep on pushing against it.”

Fox gave Wayman a sideways glance then said, “It sounds like both you boys swallowed everything the man said and got it memorized. Damn!”

Deshawn added, “No disrespect to your uncle, but you can’t change the most important thing: You still gon’ be a nigger! No matter how much money you got. No matter what your achievements. You still a nigger, and a nigger ain’t shit!”

Wayman couldn’t contain himself. He turned to face Deshawn. “It’s that ‘a nigger ain’t shit’ attitude that’s the problem! If you believe it, you can’t be anything more. I’m not a nigger now and I don’t ever plan on being one.”

Fox laughed and gestured over his back to Rhasan and said, “That sounds like some more shit straight out of the mouth of Rhasan’s Uncle Jax. I heard him say the very same damn thing!”

Rhasan asked, “Do you disagree? Do you think he’s wrong?”

“Naw, Dog,” Fox answered. “Your uncle is cool with me. Ain’t no lie, he’s a down brother and he ain’t forgot where he came from. All Deshawn is saying is, the whites don’t see shit else but the color of your skin and the kink in your hair!”

Wayman maintained, “Skin color and kink don’t mean nigger!”

“Hey, Fox, we’re coming to the turn before my uncle’s house. We
need to cut the music down. He’s the second house on the right after this turn.”

“I remember where it is!” Fox answered indignantly, turning the music down to a more reasonable level.

Deshawn mused, “Shit, I wish I had me an uncle that would lend me his BMW for the weekend.”

Fox teased, “Dog, you wish you had an uncle who had something worth lending!”

“Here it is.” Rhasan pointed across Deshawn’s chest. “Just pull to the edge of the driveway and I’ll get out.”

Fox looked in the direction that Rhasan had pointed and said, “Your uncle’s house is the only one on this curve of the hill. We can turn the music up as loud as we want.”

Deshawn observed, “Ain’t no lights. Don’t look like he’s home anyway.”

“That’s okay. I know where the key is. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Rhasan opened the car door and stepped out into the night air. The gloaming was gone and the shadows of night had fallen. Rhasan walked quickly down the driveway toward the darkened house, and headed down some stairs located on the right side of the structure.

“Damn! He’s even got a key to his uncle’s house!” Deshawn said with a shade of awe. “That’s some kind of trust. In my uncle’s house you got to get a key to open the refrigerator and that’s after you’ve shown some ID to get in the house.”

“Hey! Look at that!” Fox interjected, pointing at the house. “There’s some fat white guy following Rhasan down the driveway!”

Deshawn asked, “Is he a cop?”

“Don’t think so,” Fox replied, reaching under his dashboard. He pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. He flipped open the cylinder to check the ammunition. “Undercover cops are generally in pretty good shape. I don’t know who that fat fuck is.”