Under the Cypress Moon (3 page)

Mark nodded a bit as if to say that he understood Shylah's unspoken words.  Getting up from the table, he wasn't sure how he could even look at the woman he loved.  He wondered if it would affect his friendship with Shylah's brother.  Even if it didn't, Mark was sure that he could not come to the King home for a very long time.

Mark slowly walked away, so dejected that he felt like going home and either drinking heavily or crawling into bed and never coming out.  He walked aimlessly toward his truck, only to be stopped by T.L. who had finished cleaning the fish and had come out of the garage to take the meat into the house.

"So?"

"So what," Mark replied.

"So, how did it go with my sister?"

"How do you think," Mark responded, a tone in his voice that said everything that T.L. wondered.

Without another word, Mark hopped up into his truck and sped off, shooting rocks everywhere, some of which nearly hit T.L. in the face.  T.L. was certain that Mark had no intention of hitting him, and now, he kind of wondered about the money to have the hallway wall fixed, but that could be sorted out later.

T.L. stormed into the house and flung the fish onto the table in front of his sister.  Shylah was quite used to T.L.'s fits, but she knew that this one had to have something to do with her conversation with Mark.

"What the hell is your problem," T.L. demanded sharply.

"What do you mean?"

"Mark pours his heart out to you, tells you how much he's in love with you, and you turn him away like he's some piece of trash or dead animal layin' around on the road?!  Do you realize that that is my best friend, my only real friend I've ever had?!"

Shylah was now angry.  She was angry with her brother, maybe a little with herself, and wondering what Mark said to T.L. and if she should also be mad at Mark.  "I did not say one mean word to him!  I tried to let him down easy!  I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to say to the poor guy!  I told him that we all love him but that I don't love him the way he wants me to.  What was I supposed to say.  You tell me!  Wait... you knew about this?!"

"He told me."

"Told you?  When?"  Shylah was so confused that she felt like she might scream just to let out some of her frustration.

"Last night, at the bar."

"And I'm guessin' you told him to ask me out," Shylah responded a little coldly.  She didn't really know why she was upset.

T.L., his teeth running across his top teeth, unable to say anything, finally stormed off, letting out an "Ugh!"

Shylah sat back, confused, scared, more than perturbed.  Rarely did anything get to her this badly.  Most of the time, she was so easy going that nothing could get to her, but this was different.  She had hurt someone very special to her.  She broke the heart of a good man, one of the few good men in the world, she knew.  Shylah had never had good luck when it came to men, and it was rare for a woman to find such a caring man, no matter how hard she tried.  Perhaps, Mark could be everything that she ever needed, but for some reason, she just couldn't say yes.  She would spend the entire rest of the day and night thinking it all over, running the issue around and around in her brain, debating the pros and cons of it all, attempting to figure out if maybe there were actually some way for giving it some small chance.

Mark, however, would do all that he could to try to forget it all.  He hurried home, slamming the doors of his truck and his house, causing a great alarm to his aging and usually irritable father, Thomas.  "What is goin' on down there," Thomas shouted as soon as Mark got in the door."

"Nothin," Mark shouted back.

"It don't sound like nothin'!"

"None of your damn business, old man," Mark snapped.

"Don't you ever talk to me like that, boy, or take that tone with me!  You know who you're talkin' to?  I brought you in.  I can take you out!"

Mark had about as much fear of his father, in any way, as he did of a gnat, but all in all, he knew that there was nothing he could do when it came to Thomas Crady, Jr., nothing at all.  Mark had no desire whatsoever to remain in the house.  He wanted his own place more than anything else, save to have Shylah.  He only moved back in so that he could look after his father in his advanced age and general sickness.  He gave up his spacious apartment in town for an even more spacious but haunting house in the country, complete with a domineering father whose very sight made Mark cringe and long for any place where Thomas was not.

Mark scampered off to his room, luckily, a floor below that of his father.  He did not want to see anyone, especially his father.  The man was a pain that cannot be described with words.  He made Mark's life miserable, and now was definitely not the time to have to deal with anyone that made him feel such a way.

There was nothing that Mark wanted to do really.  He thought of watching TV.  He thought of listening to music.  There was a chance that doing either would only cause his father to complain.  Thomas liked things to be very quiet at all times.  Mark seldom got to have the slightest bit of fun.  He had much more of it at work than he ever did at home, unless he could somehow secret himself away from the house and into the woods or out somewhere on the four wheeler.

It didn't even matter now.  Mark couldn't help but feel sorry for himself.  His heart had been crushed.  His will was broken.  He felt no urge, no need, no hope to carry on any longer.  If it weren't for believing suicide to be utterly wrong and unforgivable, he might just do it, might give in to the temptation and put a bullet in his mouth.
  He didn't even own a gun, but his father did, and it would take little effort to go get it and put it to use.

Mark shuddered at the thought of doing that.  He wanted his pain to end, but he didn't want to go that route, no matter how
closely he felt driven to it.  He slide into bed and pulled the covers high, even covering his entire face, feeling as though maybe, just maybe, if he stayed there under the soft, inviting cover canopy, that no one would ever find him, and he would never have to again face the world or take the chance of being hurt by another person.  He fought hard to not break down and cry.  He could feel tears forming, pushing, and aching to be released.  A good cry might even make him feel a little better, but it was the last thing that he wanted or could allow. 

Chapter 2

A new day dawned, much as it always did.  It was Sunday, and before long, the church bells would ring.  Mark woke up feeling a little better, feeling a little more relief.  He didn't know if he would go to church or not.  Part of him desperately wanted to, but he didn't think that he could face Shylah or T.L.

The First Church of Christ was what some might call progressive.  The congregation was split pretty evenly between white and black parishioners.  Most churches in the area were predominantly black or predominantly white, but the First Church of Christ was different, one of the reasons that Mark loved it so much.  It wasn't the church that he grew up attending, but it definitely felt like home.  It was warm and inviting, and so were most of the people that attended it. 

A mixed church with a black preacher didn't spell out much welcome to many among the local white population, but Mark didn't care.  In fact, some, on occasion, gave the parishioners of the church a great deal of trouble for their attending, many of the black members asked why they would attend a church with "so many white folk" or the white members asked why they would attend a church full of a different and much more derogatorily named group of persons.

After nearly an hour of serious debate within himself, Mark decided that it would be best to make his way out of the house and to the church.  If he stuck around home, he would likely have to speak to his father, become angry, and even think long and protracted thoughts about Shylah.  Seeing her probably would not make matters any better, but oh well.

When Mark got out of his truck in the church parking lot, there was T.L.  Mark did not know if his friend was waiting for him or if he had just not wanted to go inside yet. 

"What up, fool," asked T.L.  "You feelin' better?  The way you left my house, I thought I might not see you again for a good while."

"Nope.  You know I wouldn't stay away, man."

"Well, you know, given the whole mess with Shylah, I didn't know.  So, we good?"

"Yep.  Yep.  Ain't no thang," Mark replied, a big smile on his face.  He knew that no matter what happened or did not happen, he could never turn his back on his best friend.

"Let's get our butts inside and find us some seats!"  T.L. seemed rather chipper when he said this.  Mark, however, was dreading seeing the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

Little did either Mark or T.L. know, but Shylah had put a considerable amount of thought into everything.  She secluded herself in her room and weighed out every possibility that she could conceive and had come to the conclusion that giving Mark the chance that he so desperately sought might be alright, might not be the disaster that she feared.  She didn't particularly hold tremendous feelings for the man, but she figured that they would come later.  She knew that she really liked Mark in a lot of ways, could trust him thoroughly, and that her family was crazy about him.  All in all, she couldn't ask for a better man.

When Mark entered the church, he instantly locked eyes on Shylah, though, facing forward in a pew at the middle of the chapel, she could not see Mark.  Mark felt the same overwhelming feelings of anxiety and fear as he walked slowly down the aisle.  He always sat with the Kings, or, sometimes, just he and T.L. 

"Hey, T.L.?"

"Yeah?

"Can we sit away from your family?"

"Ok?  But why?  Shylah?"

"Yeah."

"Alright.  Whatever, man.  But you know, at some point, you're gonna have to talk to her again.  You can't exactly write her off.  Even if you don't ever get her, she's gonna be a part of your life, unless you're plannin' on dumpin' me as your friend."

"Hell... I mean heck no!  You know me, T.L.  We go back too far, man.  You're my brother from another mother."  Mark laughed a little, which only caused T.L. to laugh, too.  The two were as close as close could be and sometimes seemed to almost be one and the same, cut from the same cloth, molded from the same clay.

Mark and T.L. took seats across the aisle and a few pews up from where Shylah and her parents sat, creating a general curiosity among the three of them.  Darius was a little upset about the hole in his wall, but T.L. assured him that Mark would pay every penny of the repair and that it was an accident, though he couldn't exactly tell him why it had happened.

"Why are them boys sittin' way up there," Darius asked of his wife, as if she had some answer that he did not.

"Now, Darius King, do you think I'm Miss Cleo or somethin'?  I don't have a clue."  Mrs. King had a way about her that no matter what she said, people did not get irritated by it or get mad at her.  Her husband only laughed at her remark and squeezed her arm a little, followed by an intent and loving pull by the shoulder toward him and a kiss on the top of her head.

Shylah saw what her father did, and somehow, unbeknownst to her why, it made her want something similar, want a man that would be that loving after so long together.  With a lump in her throat, Shylah realized that Mark's profession to her the previous day had gotten her thinking of him in ways that she never thought possible, almost wanting him like he wanted her.  It was all strange.  How did he have so much power over her and so quickly, she wondered.

The church was abuzz as more and more people wandered in, many greeting person after person.  Even Darius, comfortable as he was, soon got up from his seat to speak to several others.  The place was a great mix and conflagration of people of opposite colors and all shades between.  It seemed a realization of the dream spoken of by the doctor of the same name as Darius, his wife, and children.

Mark and T.L., however, remained seated where they were.  Shylah stared at Mark, wondered what must be running through his mind, wondered if he still harbored the same feelings as the day before or if her rejection had made him forget it all.  A large part of her hoped that this was not the case, hoped that Mark felt exactly the same.  She thought that she might have to affirm to him that it was not pointless and would not prove fruitless, display to him the possibilities before them both.

"Who you starin' at," asked Mrs. King of her daughter.

"Nobody, Mama."

"Girl, don't lie.  Your mouth says nobody, but your eyes say somebody.  Now, either you're starin' at the minister's wife, your brother, or Mark.  Which one is it?"

Shylah thought of lying to her mother but did not want to, especially  not in church.  "Please drop it, Mama."

"Oh, so you have a reason to keep from tellin' me?  That means it's important.  So, let me see.  If it was your brother, you would probably tell me.  If it's the minister's wife, she must've done somethin' to make you mad, but I cannot see Mrs. Hill doin' that.  My mind tells me you've been starin' at Mark.  Since you don't wanna talk about it, I say you fancy that man."

"Mama?"

"You think I got to be this age bein' stupid?"  Mrs. King chuckled hard.  She kind of liked the idea
of her daughter liking Mark.  She knew that there were few good men in the area, let alone the entire world, and there could not be a better one than Mark Crady, despite the horrendous and callous nature of his father.  "So, tell me, Shylah, what is it about the man?  Why after so long do you like him?  How bad is it?"