In the Nick of Time (41 page)

“I
want to
kiss you right now…” He offered a lopsided smile.

“I want a bit more than that,” she said in a sassy tone. “Don’t stop…I know there’s more. Keep going, baby.”

Sliding a bit closer, he placed his hand on her upper thigh as he stared down between his knees. He needed something to hold onto. Needed
someone
to love.

“I was doing real well, and I was proud of myself but then, Mom got sick. She uh…she wasn’t feeling right. I made her go to the doctor one morning when I found her covered in sweat, just kinda lying in the bed. She’d missed work… That woman
never
missed work.”

He swallowed, hating himself for writing this part in the letter. He’d written it so he’d have to talk about it now…just as he’d promised. A moment of silence led to another, and then another. He overdosed on the procrastination; hungry for it, but never satisfied. Then, he felt a soft hand touch his shoulder, the same one that had caressed him along the side of his face while he made love to her all through the night. The same hand that had held his as they walked through the falling snow, and their worlds collided, becoming one. The same warm hand he’d explored and memorized to the point that he’d fallen in love… She held his world in her hands, and his heart, too…

“Got her to the doctor… He had me take her to the emergency room immediately. They…they ran some tests, and I knew as soon as the doctor came out and grabbed me that…it was real bad news. He said she had non-Hodgkin lymphoma and it was stage 4. It was in her bone marrow, her spinal cord.” He looked up at the ceiling and slowly closed his eyes as the tears tried to escape. There it was—her other hand, touching him…

“It had spread
every
where! The doctors were in shock that she was still alive, walking around, working just the day before. My mother said she was always in pain, and didn’t know any different. Taryn, I couldn’t talk to her in the end!” A tear streamed his face. “They had her on so much goddamn medication, she had gone away somewhere. She was gone before she was gone, if you know what I mean. She died before we knew what hit us. I never got to say goodbye… but, she died holding my hand and the last thing she
did
say to me, was, ‘Nicky”… He punched his leg over and over, choked on a breath, and fought the tears. “Nicky, I love you.’” He pushed forward, swallowing his pain. “I was left trying to grieve, but I couldn’t; it hurt too much. I can’t even explain to you the kind of shit I was feeling.” He shook his head. “I’m trying, but there just are no words… no words for a pain like that.”

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his shoulder.

“I planned her funeral, went through the motions like some damn robot and then, the following month, someone shot and killed Frederic.” His eyes watered once more. “Damn it! I can’t do this, Taryn!!! I can’t do this!” He shook in his seat, and once again, he felt her embrace.

“Yes you can! Come on, Nick!” She grabbed him by both arms, turned him towards her, and laid a kiss on his cheek. They no longer cared. People walked past the room, undoubtedly seeing them locked in their embrace, but he grabbed her arms, made her keep holding on to him, refused to let her go.

“Damn it!” The tears came, stung his eyes. His heart hurt so deeply, for he’d never said these words, explained this pain to anyone else, especially not in this way. He sniffed, quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and gently removed himself from her hug, loath to get her in trouble.

“So, uh,” he said with a sniff. “The guy that shot him was in a gang. They were trying to get someone else. He was at the wrong place, at the wrong time. He was out and about, just walking down the damn street on his way somewhere and the bullets rang out. It happened; they took his damn life. He was such a good person! I’d just spoken to him that morning. He and I were going to meet up and chill the next day. Taryn, Jesus! The little bit of innocence I may have had left was gone at that point. How could these things keep happening?!

“He deserved so much better than that. He, my mother, and Jonathan were the
only
people that genuinely wanted me around and wished the best for me …and now, they
all
were gone!” The tears flowed now, and he didn’t stop them. “I was all alone! I didn’t have anybody… I didn’t fit in anywhere anymore. I was in a real bad spot, Taryn, real bad… back-to-back deaths like that. First Jonathan, some years prior… several other friends after that. Then my mother, then my mentor, but I struggled on, forged ahead somehow. I’m not sure how, but I am pretty certain I just turned everything inside of me off. I never fully dealt with it. I refused. I got all messed up inside, started having real bad, dark thoughts. In that same timeframe, my boss drew even closer to me, told me I was his son and I had a family—to never think I didn’t have one. It’s like he saw I needed to hear that…but he wasn’t my father, he wasn’t my mother… he wasn’t Jonathan and he wasn’t Frederic.

“I was breaking down, Taryn. I was a walking war…cracking on the inside. I was about to blow, and didn’t realize it. I believed I let my mother down, because I wasted so much time playing and being foolish that she never got to see my full potential. That motivated me even more, made me want to be
really
good at my job. Plus, it was a good distraction. I listened to the citizens, tried to be fair, you know? In their faces, in their
lives
, I saw myself, Jonathan, Frederic, and my mother. I liked talking to the teenagers and young adults, too, and would explain to them that not everyone thinks they are destined for a life of bullshit. I wanted to see them grow up and get jobs and be happy, have families of their own.

“I was happy-go-lucky for a while, but it was all an act. Like I said, I had never really grieved the loss of my mother; I’d just tucked the situation away. Everything that was painful for me, I’d just push aside.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Things began to mount. Because I was collecting trouble, as Frieda tells us, I had no idea I was about to be crushed by own state of denial. The summer rolled around that year, and crime soared through the damn roof. I was a rookie, but making a name for myself. I liked that, but I was being tested to the limit.

“Every hour it seemed, I was looking at a dead body or calling for back up or for an ambulance because someone had been shot or stabbed or beaten beyond recognition. Me and Tomas, that’s my partner, were constantly doing vertical patrols, because these assholes would work in packs, like wolves, and it was like we had to close the whole damn block down. It happened over and over again with no breaks in between—worse than when I was little and that is because it seemed even
more
people were on drugs. Whenever you have an impoverished area, and you add alcoholism, joblessness, depression, mental illness and drugs, you will have
more
violence and crimes of all nature including rape, domestic disputes, drug dealing, prostitution, manslaughter, homicides, and armed robberies.”

She nodded in understanding, her eyes wide, as if he were telling a gripping tale. He imagined, to her, he possibly was…but this was no movie or action packed story; this was the account of his life. His autobiography.

“So, if I fast forward a little, things got worse and worse. Most of my friends from back in the day by this time were dead or in jail, some in prison with long life sentences. Juvie was gone—long gone. They were too old now, still acting like children, yet they were grown men looking for the same shit I’d been searching for,” he said. “Somehow, we tried to find that in each other, but you can’t get food from another starving man with nothing. We couldn’t feed each other anything but hope and pain. My hands were empty, and so were theirs… but our stomachs still growled, and desperation set in…

“Eventually I did eat, my soul got fed, and that’s all I wanted the whole time. I ate and ate, through helping people out on the streets, but it seemed to never be enough because once again, I had people believing in me, but I didn’t believe in
myself.
I always felt like I was falling short, Taryn, like I hadn’t done enough, didn’t shine bright enough. It began to get to me, and then I would drink a bit more, and a bit more after that.

“It got to the point where I
needed
the alcohol just to get through the day. I played the role, though. I stayed afloat, kept up appearances. I was miserable and didn’t even know it. I had no clue what would make me happy though, because
whatever
it was, it continued to elude me. I started dreaming about Jonathan a lot too, and his death kept replaying in my mind, especially when I was real stressed out. It was torturing me.” He pointed to his head, showing her the trauma, pointing out how his brain had fucked him over, wouldn’t let him rest.

“See, I could run from Ma, still. I could run from Frederic, but I couldn’t run from Jonathan, because he was like me, and I was like him. We even kinda favored. But death is mean, it’s cruel but wise. It knows what it’s doin’; we just don’t know, and we hate it, because every time it steps up to bat, it doesn’t just take the person, it kills a part of their loved ones, too. Sounds a bit like addiction, huh?” He smirked.

“Yes, baby, it does. Addiction is a form of death. Thankfully, for us, it doesn’t have to be.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Death is not just a killer, but a thief like me, too. It steals shit…steals joy, steals hope. It’s cunning, and no one can fuck with it and be okay. Everybody gotta talk with Death, have a meeting with him, and no one gets up from the table once the conversation is over…”

They were quiet for a short time.

“I would think I saw my mother sometimes, and I’d talk to her, tell her I was sorry.” He looked down into his lap, smiled a bit. “I would wonder if that man I’d seen was really my dad, too, or whether it was just wishful thinking. For years, Taryn, I went back and forth about that… back and forth. Were the rumors true? I don’t know, I don’t think I even want to know and even if I did, I may
never
know for certain.” He paused, sucked his teeth. “What would make me stop being so miserable? Messed up about this? Having women around didn’t help. That was just a fleeting distraction. Sex didn’t give me the high I needed. Women talked back, got attitudes, sought answers, called all the time, wanted commitments and explanations.” He chuckled. “They’d say things…” He smirked in her direction, and she smirked back. “You
all
would say things, and we’d argue. No, that didn’t appeal to me. The alcohol did though.

“Alcohol ruined several of my relationships, too, and at the time, I may have been unknowingly grateful for that side effect. I had trouble keeping a relationship going for the long haul, or I’d attract women to me that were just as damaged and fucked up as I was but they had no ambition to change their path, and try to be better.” He placed his fingertips together, recalling all his past failed romantic associations. “The more fucked up the woman was, the
more
I liked her,
wanted
her, had to have her. If a good woman was attracted to me, I’d find a way to push her away, get rid of her, ruin everything.” He fixed her with an intent gaze. “Like you…even though you have your struggles, I can see you’re a
real
good woman. I would have run from you back then. You have too much potential that you probably wouldn’t squander; you want
more
out of life, and you’d demand more out of me, too. You are not what I wanted back then, shit, even a few months ago… but you are
exactly
who I want right
now
… I’m so happy with you.” He turned away, continued. “Sober eyes see things clearly…”