Peace~A Five Part Series

Peace of Mind
Part 1

      My Sunday mornings haven’t been like this since “never”.  NEVER ever has tranquility and serenity been a friend of mine on a morning as glorious as the one I just had with this man.  He lay on his stomach with his smooth athletic back exposed to his waist.  His skin, a sweet caramel…is soft and glistening from the massaging oils of the night before.  I just couldn’t resist planting a light kiss between his angular shoulder blades.   

      This ever so lightly planted display of contentment on my part caused my “homie-lover-friend” to awaken from his slumber and he rolled to his side.  Still sleepy, his ageless face and head reminds me of a young boy still naive to the ways of the world; a boy that hasn’t been tainted with the prejudices of manhood.  His face remained worriless and with lids still closed, he bids me a lazy and sultry “good morning.”

      His voice, low and resonating, causes my center to stir …the emotions that I have battled with shifts from side to side.  Once again, I evaluate and marvel at how this man has made me feel over the last several months.  My feelings and my emotions are safe and secure….the woes of infidelity and wondering when the next argument would arise are gone…and I am feeling rejuvenated from the escape. 
       
    His pinky knuckle brushes my intentionally exposed thigh and I hand him the morning sports section for his perusal.  The readjustment of his massive frame in the bed rocks me like a rocking chair and I must admit I don’t mind that his attention has gone from dreamland to sports page.  Just knowing that he is truly satisfied lying next to me magnifies my ever present and continuous mental orgasm.  I choose a book by my favorite author Valerie Wilson Wesley and just like that, we fall into a measure of contentment – he with his sports reports and me with my mystery novel.

      When I first met him, I had no idea that he would make such an impact in my life.  We met through a mutual friend at my college homecoming.  His voice immediately commanded my attention.  The bass and silkiness of Barry White and the articulation of a master orator.  His hands were perfectly imperfect.  Large, long and erotically soft yet strong enough to bring any part of my body to his full command.  He towered above me like a Louisiana live oak and it was clear to me that I would never have to worry about a thing whenever I was in his company.  His gear was impeccable and it was clear that the leather jacket and slacks were patiently and precisely chosen to showcase his stature.  His name is Malcolm, and just as majestic as his name is, so are his personality and his presence. 

    I now sit here Indian style, pretending to enjoy Valerie’s web of suspense when all along, I want to snatch the New York Times away and have my way with him.

    I am not your everyday bombshell.  I don’t meet the expectations of someone as surreal as Malcolm, but I do alright.  My skin is that of a Hershey dark chocolate candy bar and my hair, not yet showing signs of my late thirties, is a rendition of the short 1986 Anita Baker “doo.”  My size- let’s just say that I am no Anita.  I am more like, Monique minus the sassiness.  Jeans and a t shirt are my attire and I would prefer K Swiss to a pair of Gucci pumps any day.  I am your typical Louisiana country girl who enjoys a beer and a house party with family and friends.    Lately my self confidence has kicked in and I’m starting to feel like I can hold my own if someone cared to look at my mind, heart, and soul as opposed to my ass. 

      This room is no typical male dominated bedroom.  The walls are a pristine and immaculate white.  The gauzy curtains billow in the breeze and allow the morning freshness to permeate the room.  The immense room encapsulates hard mahogany furniture that is simple yet elegant in nature.  The only pieces are a king sized bed with a head board that resembles a Zulu crown and a beautifully crafted dresser. 

        The pedestal of this bed is 4 feet from the floor which would certainly be an accomplishment for an average sized person to enter …but not for him.    It is just right for a 6 foot 7 frame…and I am reminded of Goldilocks and what she must have felt like looking at the three beds and wondering which one she could and couldn’t rest in. 

      The African inspired dresser has the most intricate design.  Simple lines and rounded corners with a meticulous groove showcase the mastery of the village elder who expertly carved this masterpiece.  The furniture is strategically placed in the room as if to protect its king but primarily, it serves to reflect its master as he peacefully slumbers. 

      I gingerly recline in this vastness only to contemplate what has led me to this place.  His lingering fragrance from this morning mingles with my own Lauren Style.  Even our chosen fragrances are in sync as they also anticipate another more personal union. 

                                                ~          ~          ~

        The morning progressed and eventually I got up out of my heaven to begin breakfast.  The house was unusually quiet and my bare feet submerged themselves into the cream colored Berber carpet.  I retrieved the cast iron skillet from the overhead rack.  I began humming one of my Ledisi favorites “I Think of You.”  With each stride, my pace increased as I expertly fried several pieces of bacon, prepared the grits with cheese, scrambled the extra large eggs, unthawed the frozen orange juice and added a little champagne for Mimosas with our morning meal. 

      I’m not quite sure at what point my fate refused being my own.  A cool draft washed over the area where I stood.  The mood subtly changed.  I ignored the switch in the barometer of the moment and proceeded in the preparation of my lover’s nourishment.  The rattle of the pots and the frying of the bacon lulled me back into contentment.

      The quiet creak of the bedroom door occurred without my awareness of it.  As I had cuddled the night before, dreaming of brighter tomorrows and glorious instants, moments were being designed that my Malcolm and I would encounter our demise. 

                                                ~          ~          ~

        His forehead glistened with perspiration and he wallowed in anticipation.  His actions were deliberate, calculated and were surmounting to a precise outcome.  Careful not to arouse suspicion, the weapon of choice was a 9mm handgun with a silencer.  The very carpet that engulfed my toes earlier this morning shrouded his movements in the bedroom and around the “thronial” bed.  He placed the gun on the African dresser.  Gingerly and almost gracefully, he advanced towards our haven.  Barely whispering a breath, he gradually inhaled…….exhaled…..  And he became perfectly still….savoring the moment. 

        The stillness snapped!  The curtains caught the wind as if applauding his performance.  He must deviate from his plan.  Vigilant about obtaining a perfect outcome, he took a moment to weigh the risk of his actions.  He must proceed today!  Not taking any chances, he retrieved his gun, and turned slightly to survey the area before leaving the bedroom.  The empty bed looked inviting and he wished he could return.  Not now, maybe later….at the end.

        He made his way back to the entrance of the dining area, just a few feet from where I stood and again he paused. 

                                                ~          ~          ~

        There she is, he thought…looking as beautiful as the night before.  Large round hips, full figured, hair slightly tossed and sexy….maybe when this was all over, he would run his fingers through her mane.

        The smell of the pork and the freshly scrambled eggs made his mouth water.  They could have breakfast together…just one last time. 

                                                ~          ~          ~

        At that moment, I turned around and I saw him standing there with this perplexed look on his face.  I asked him simply, “Would you like to eat now…..sit down baby.” 

        I began to prepare the plates, gathering silverware, looking through several cabinets before finding the right one.  I began rambling because he was so quiet…too quiet.  With my back turned, I asked him, “So who is playing first today?  Are your friends coming by……I think I will go to the mall while they are here….pick up a few things…” 

        Still nothing. 

        With baited breath I ask the question that, at that instant, I knew the answer to, “Is something wrong baby?” 

        I had to ask him again because he wouldn’t speak to me.  My eyes travelled the full length of this gorgeously tall man.  As my sight neared his middle thigh, my earlier happiness turned to horror as I saw the lights of the ceiling fan in the kitchen reflecting on the barrel of the 9MM gun.  Malcolm held a gun in his hand. 

        It seemed as if every episode of “Law and Order”, “48 Hour Mystery”, and “CSI” that I had seen in my lonelier days flashed before my eyes.  Surely something I had seen would make a difference in whether I would live today.  How do I calm him?  I’m going to die today!  I could just kick his ass for doing some shit like this this morning!  You have got to be joking….this is a joke……right?  Please…..

        “Baby….put that gun away….what type of jelly do you want with your biscuits?”

        That was a dumb question because I hadn’t even prepared biscuits. Here I was, about to meet my maker, and I was asking dumb questions.  Just then, he stepped closer, minimizing the distance between he and I. 

        Never in a million years would I have imagined that this man would have the capacity to do something as hideous as taking a life...my life.  He and I had shared so many thoughts and perspectives together…provoking and interesting.    Snap out of it girl!  You are not dealing with him anymore! 

        “Will you give me a glass of juice, please?” he asked.

        A glass of juice!  Did he have any idea what feat that would be?  My hands were trembling uncontrollably by now and I had already begun to brace myself against the kitchen counter.  I had to steady myself to prevent myself from falling in a heap at his feet.  I had to remain calm……I don’t know why….all I know is I had to do it.  With the help of a spirit much stronger than mine, I did as he requested.  Never once removing my eyes, now filled with tears, from his dilated pupils. 

      What began to scare me more than anything else was how he looked at me.  His eyes began to sink into his skull and they took on a life of their own.  It warranted no explanation as they changed like the seasons.  Once calm and calculating to borderline insanity.  I didn’t know who I was looking at anymore.  It wasn’t Malcolm and that almost sent me over the edge.  Through these moments, I felt like if I could just keep talking to Malcolm…to my friend….sanity would prevail and we could walk out of this and get help.  I knew in my heart that my friend couldn’t conceive the magnitude of his actions.    Now, I don’t know who I am with in this place.  I don’t know this man that has transformed himself before me. 

      All at once, the resolve to leave this world brought about serenity to my body.  My involuntary movements became controlled and “peace” threw its shawl around my shoulders. 

      I finished preparing the meals, our last meal as one, and I sat them on the table before us.  I mixed the Mimosas a little stronger than usual and made sure that the fine crystal goblets were used.  As I washed the pots that I had used, I felt his eyes travel with my every more.  The gun, always making a silent statement, was the third wheel of the morning.  I turned on the small radio on the counter.  Chaka Kahn’s rendition of “My Funny Valentine” was beginning and I instantly thought of “Waiting to Exhale” and I could see the Arizona skyline in my mind.
 
        Because of where the kitchen was in Malcolm’s house, it faced south, avoiding the morning sun.  This position in the home always kept this space cool and so in keeping with this theme; I found a candle and lit it.    The flames flickered back and forth beckoning us to sit down at the table.  We sat directly across from each other and began to eat in silence. 

      Several minutes passed and we kept taking bites.  This peacefulness was almost too much to bare.  We almost began recapturing those moments that defined us and kept the fires tendered and burning in our relationship.  This feeling was how it always was between us…even when we never said a word.

      Once we were done, I cleared the table of the plates and refilled the goblets with more Mimosa….making them a little stronger than before.

      Malcolm began to speak.

      “You are not the first one, you know.”

      There was an almost infinite pause.

      “When I was ten, after my mother and father were killed, I was taken to a foster home for the next eight years of my life.  I excelled in school because I just had to make Mommy and Daddy proud.  I convinced myself that they were watching over me protecting me from evil things.”

      “But Mommy and Daddy must have been sleeping at some point because bad things began to happen to me and it wouldn’t stop.  They convinced me it was the right thing to do.  They told me not to tell or they would put me out and who would take care of me then.  I did everything they told me to and it kept happening to me….over and over and over again.”

        His eyes were fixed on my face and I was in a trance.  His voice was a deep and quiet whisper.  I had to strain to hear him but I let him continue without saying a word.  Tears streaked down the beautiful face that I had held in my hands just hours before.  Lips that had kissed me and assured me, now quivered.    His strength and massiveness withered and broke like a branch in a raging storm.  He continued.

        “They took me in the wooded area behind their house and made me do things to people.  I would have to sharpen the knives every week.  They would be so sharp; I would wrap leather around them to protect my hands.  The only way they wouldn’t bother me was if I did EVERYTHING that they told me to do.  And I did!”

        “They would take homeless people and drug them and kill them.  I would kill them!  They told me, if I didn’t do it they would.  I felt like it was my responsibility to make sure that their deaths were as painless as possible.  I learned techniques.  I learned which arteries would bring about an immediate death and bring them peace of mind.    I did the right thing didn’t I baby?  I mean, I did what I was supposed to right?”

        His eyes were pleading now.  Begging almost for me to make it alright for him.  And so I did.  I did exactly what I knew my man, my friend, wanted me to do. 

        Sade’s Live CD was the featured selection this Sunday morning on the radio and her recorded concert became our score.

        I made a final Mimosa this time and added my love to the mixture.  This was my Malcolm and for him I would do anything.  He had lived a tortured existence and it was up to me to make sure that he never had to live like that anymore.

        The last cocktail I made sent us to a place that we had never been before.  He looked at me and I could see that young man that did what those horrible people forced him to do so many years ago.

        He placed the gun on the kitchen table now and I picked it up.  I was surprised that he let me touch it.  I didn’t handle it too much because I didn’t want to bother the gleam that seemed to have me hypnotized.  We were both mesmerized by its beauty and power.  I laid it back on the table.

        Malcolm took my hand in his and held it as gently as he could.  His eyes bore into mine and without words I knew what he wanted me to do.  “By Your Side” began and it was more symbolic than I thought it could be.

        He handed me the gun. 

        The tears fell from my eyes now, ironically, as his tears began to dry.  The next moments were the most precious that I had ever spent with him.  More wonderful than the first moment I met him.  Our bodies were close now.  He wiped my tears away with his kisses and wrapped his arms around me and held me as if we were exchanging critical oxygen needed for life.  With each passing minute, our souls connected even more and we danced a slow and soothing dance.  He kissed me for what seemed like an eternity.  With this kiss, we said everything that needed to be said.  He gave and I received.  He relaxed and kissed me lightly on my forehead. 

        Looking into the wells of my soul he whispered with conviction, “Go ahead baby, give me peace of mind.”

        And that is what I did.

*************************************************************************************************


Rest In Peace
Part 2


  I know that my present fate began long before that Sunday morning when I awoke next to Malcolm.  It started with him and it seems like it is ending with him too.  But I don’t mind.  I would do it all again if it meant that my man would have what he is enjoying now, peace of mind.  I was the only one who could give him what he needed.  It is what is getting me through this whole ordeal. 

        When he placed the gun in my hand that morning, everything was so clear.    Everything made unlimited sense.  For that moment in time, we were one.  Our souls were consumed within the other and there was absolutely nothing that could separate us.  The world ceased to exist around us.  There was no kitchen, no meal just eaten, no air even…..just the flickering of the candle that I had lit.  It was a beautiful moment in time.  It was the perfect moment to die. 

        Time seemed to slow to a crawl.  While everything happened in slow motion, each action was precise and crystal clear.  All thought processes seem premeditated and controlled.  I guess they were in a way because the whole blueprint began in the recesses of Malcolm’s mind many years ago.  Each evening he was told to report to the wooded area behind his hell, and with each life he extinguished, it made an indelible addition to the outline of his last morning.

        The adrenalin that raced through my veins assisted me in supporting his dead weight as he slumped against me.  I gently laid him on the kitchen travertine floor.  A small trickle of vibrant red ‘life’ oozed on the floor collecting in a puddle at his and my feet.  His face was peaceful and his eyes were fixed on my face. 

        Once that moment was over, I knew I had to call and report that my friend was no longer among the living.  This is when all hell began to break loose.  The police arrived and immediately began their inquisition.  I had the right to remain silent and I exercised that right; not because of any legal implications, but because I didn’t want the day to end.  Speaking would start the clock again.  It’s as if explaining what happened gave them access to what Malcolm and I shared.  And frankly, it was none of their business.  That piece of time, when life and death tethered with one another, belonged to us.  I didn’t want it tainted with innuendo, insensitivity, and police procedure.  I was the last person he saw in his life and I flourished in that reality. 

        Rest in peace Malcolm Emmitt.


~          ~          ~
                           
          Today was a rainy Monday morning.  The window sill that had become my avenue to the world below seeped with warm air from the March winds.  The breeze whistled and beckoned for my attention.  People made their way about their business taking each step for granted.  The small pools of water, collecting on the roof and travelling down the window pains, had more sovereignty than I.  Although dreary, life was much too precious to have to be imprisoned in this God forsaken room.  Bleak and monochrome, the walls and ceiling were an uninspiring dingy grey.  The floors, once someone’s pride and joy, were now dull and yellow from wax buildup and not enough cleaning solution of any kind.  The two metal chairs and table were hard and uncomfortable.    It was really doing a number on my tailbone.  Probably the original pieces installed when this courthouse opened its prestigious doors circa 1950.

        I’ve been sitting here for over two hours and still my attorney has not made an appearance.  Miranda guaranteed me ‘the right to an attorney.’  I guess what it doesn’t cover is that he or she is on time.  But what can you expect from a public defender? 

        My attorney walked in. 

        At first I was unimpressed with him.  He was a short African American man, mid to late 40’s with a diminishing hairline.  His suit was a well worn navy blue pinstripe that definitely had seen better days.  His face held no expression and his words were very direct.

        “Good Morning Ms. Avia Michaels.  I will be representing you.  Records show that you are being charged with murder.  Have you thought of what you might like to plead?”

        I looked at him and decided I liked him after all.  He was clearly allowing me to participate in the proceedings of my case.  I figured it wouldn’t hurt to break my silence and assist him in my defense. 

        “Not guilty.”

        He began shuffling papers and jotting notes.  A female officer entered the room and proceeded to cuff me and escort me to my arraignment.  This process, unlike my previous delay, proceeded rather expeditiously and my plea was entered and bail was set.    Much too high to post, I spent the next 9 months incarcerated.

~          ~          ~

        My trial was scheduled on a cold December morning.  Actually it was ironic that while this season brings about an air of good will amongst men, those that surrounded me all had a measure of doom and dismay in their lives.  Either they were imprisoned or they were doing the imprisoning which can not be much better.  Songs were playing at each store front promising glowing fires, fun snow ball fights, and other glorious results if you could just make it home for Christmas.  Bells were being tolled by people pretending to be Santa’s helpers and you could find them on every corner begging for loose change.  Snow had begun to fall that morning and as uniformed escorts took me from the detention center to the courthouse, my eyes took a moment to adjust to civilization.  Funny how you take everything for granted in life.  The bustling of bodies on the streets, all with self consuming looks on their faces, were enough to make you want to shout to everyone, “wake up and live”. 

        I definitely had to wake up because of what was happening to me and in me.  I was carrying Malcolm’s child and everything had changed concerning my perspective about life and love.  One thing had remained the same though.  The love I had and have for my child’s father carries me daily.  It inflates my heart and soul and with it, I nourish my growing son with it.  I realized early on that keeping to myself was my way of hanging on to my friend.  To truly give him what he was searching for, I had to let him go so that he could become my angel.  What a beautiful gift he left for me.
         

~          ~          ~


        The day came that my trial began, and one after another, the prosecution presented information to make sure that I would never see the light of day.  We were claiming temporary insanity as my defense, which by all accounts was true.  The jest of the DA’s case was that I was perfectly sane before, during, and after Malcolm’s death.  We recessed for lunch and once again, I was shuttled off to what seemed like the same room I started in many months ago while waiting for this drama to begin. 

        After lunch, my co workers were forced to testify against me.  One by one, each told of my proficiency at work and how I had excelled with each of my tasks.    Photos were submitted into evidence showing how immaculate the house was.  The dishes were washed, Mimosas had high levels of alcohol, and the scene was more seductive than that of a battle of wills. 

        I couldn’t believe it!  We were going down in flames.  My attorney, throughout this whole proceeding never objected to anything.  He just sat there.  Anytime I fidgeted in my seat, he would glace in my direction as if to say ‘calm down’.  It was extremely difficult to sit quietly by while my life and the future of who would raise my child were at stake.  If I delivered my child while in jail, he would be turned over to social services and I couldn’t have that.  My date of delivery was five days away and I was praying this would all be over by then.  The case lingered for days……

        Finally the prosecution rested.  It was our turn and my hapless attorney, believe it or not, came to life.  That little man presented document after document of my disposition and state of mind during and following the incident.  A prestigious doctor who I had met with a couple of times testified that I had experienced a dissociative episode that left me without the ability to make critical decisions.  I simply had snapped!

        The questions that my counselor asked were clear and simple for the jury to understand.  As his cross examination and closing arguments were made, I tried to pay close attention to the faces of the jurors.  My baby refused to be still.    He kicked violently.  What was he trying to tell me?  Was he in distress?  I prayed that God would just allow the judgment to be in my favor…..today!

          “God please allow me to carry this child until this is over!  Please!!!!” I prayed.

          With each word of my prayer, the pain worsened to a point that it was unbearable.  It was as if my spine was being ripped out of me and my breath taken away.  Doubling over, the warmth of what had protected my baby these last months eased down my leg.  My water had broken!  I was in labor! 

          The paramedics were called and I was whisked away to the emergency room. The last thing I remembered was the faces of my judges.  Those twelve people invisibly held my future.  As I was wheeled away, I saw that some were disgusted and some were concerned.  Some would not look at me at all. 

          “God…please………” I prayed.

            My baby, Malcolm Jared Emmitt, Jr. was born that evening healthy and sleeping peacefully.    I saw Malcolm all over again in every single feature that he had.  His long torso, his fingers, his eyes.  They all belonged to his father.  That night between nursing my son and being awakened for temperatures and blood pressures, I dreamed of Malcolm sitting in my room and holding my hand.  I felt him kiss me on the forehead and he thanked me for giving him a son.  In my mind and in my heart he held our son for the first time. 
                 
              The jury still had not returned with a verdict.  Because of their indecisiveness, my son would have to be turned over to social services until I could be released.  At five that evening, when I checked out, the couple that would take my son would arrive. 

        My heart began to twist.  On the hour, I made my attorney phone me.  He never had good news and with each call, I became more and more agitated.  My son and my freedom.  I could not fathom living without either any longer.

        I held Malcolm Jr.  all day.  He slept without worries on my breast.  Midday, 2:00, 3:00…..time marched on without missing a beat and I couldn’t believe it was happening to me. 

        4:45……the phone shrilled in my room and I grabbed it!

        “Yes…..tell me you have good news!”

        My attorney began cumbersomely by saying, “The jury has a verdict…..BUT….the judge will not hear it until tomorrow.”

        “Tomorrow!  But what about my baby? “

        “I’m afraid he will have to spend the night in foster care until tomorrow pending what the decision is.”

        Just then, the couple who would take care of my son walked in my room with the guard.  I had not put my son down all day and he was infused on my chest.  He snored lightly and even smiled when I moved.  His heartbeat and mine were in sync and to separate us would cause each of our hearts to skip every other necessary beat. 

        The couple moved cautiously towards me and I tried to be brave.  The tears began to flow endless down my cheeks.  The salt from my tears mingles with the fingers of my son and we bonded.  He understood my pain and he comprehended what was happening.  He let me know that he would be alright.  But I didn’t accept that.

              The couple looked more like grandparents.  Their hair had grayed wonderfully and the man’s portliness and her plumpness reminded of a black modern day Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus.  You would think that this would ease my mind some but it didn’t.  My heart beat faster and faster and I held Malcolm Jared closer to my bosom.  He continued to sleep and comfort me.

        I introduced myself and the lady began to gather my baby’s blanket, bottles, and diapers.  Her husband began making small talk trying to ease the tension in the room but it wasn’t working.  I held my baby closer interlocking my arms to protect him.  Something didn’t feel right.  My mother’s intuition was kicking in immediately.

        “What is the little fella's name?”  He asked.

        “Malcolm…..Malcolm Jared Emmitt, Jr., “I stammered, “And yours?”

        The lady stopped in mid stride.  She dropped the clothes that she held in her hands.  His grip tightened on the bed rail and his eyes met those of his wife’s. 

        I looked from one to the other.    With more force, agitation, and moments away from screaming, I asked again. “What are your names?”

        He looked away……..James and Grace Emmitt.  We were the foster parents of Malcolm.

        This can’t be happening!  These demons!!!!  I can’t give them my child!  I won’t give them my child!  The officer assumed my protest and incredulous behavior was posing a threat to the couple and my baby and she came near to get my son.  Because my ankles were shackled to the bed, I couldn’t do anything without jeopardizing the safety of Malcolm Jared. 

        I must have sounded like an incoherent fool because I began to sob uncontrollably and rock back and forth in a feeble attempt to stop them from taking my baby.  I could not release my only son to monsters responsible for my lover’s mental demise.

        Not missing another beat, Mrs. Emmitt skillfully extracted my son from my arms and began moving towards the door of my room.

        “He will be just fine dear.  You needn’t worry about a thing. “

        Mr. Emmitt, still somewhat unsettled by the turn of events said while backing out of the room, “Malcolm was a troubled boy.  We did the best that we could.”  And as if on cue, he also exited the room.

        I lay there so out of control that they gave me a sedative and I remained an extra day.  I had nightmares on top of nightmares that night.  Malcolm scolded and shook me to no end asking me why I let the Emmitts have his son.  Malcolm’s mother and father were even in my dreams trying to stab me for allowing the Emmitts to remove their grandchild.  I awoke screaming it wasn’t my fault.  I wanted to tell them it wasn’t my fault.  But even in my dreams I didn’t get a chance.

~          ~          ~          ~
Randall~~~

            My brother Malcolm and I were sent to foster care when my mother and father were killed in an accident.  When they sent me off to boarding school, I couldn’t understand why they would incur the expense of an education for a child they barely knew.  I was 5 at the time.  The only occasions I could come home would be for holidays after I was 13 years old.    School breaks, meanwhile, were spent with a few of the other students who did not go home and with caretakers and staff that took a liking to me.  I always knew I had a brother but I never got a chance to talk to him or see him.  There is a 5 year difference between us so by the time I was allowed to come home, he had already begun college.  Momma Grace said that Malcolm would never return her letters or calls so she stopped trying to contact him.  I never could understand that.  I saw how indifferent she was when we spoke of my brother.  I didn’t understand that either.  So, after a while, I stopped asking.  In the recesses of mind, I always knew somehow, something would bring us back together again. 

          It was December and I had decided to come home for the holidays in hopes of finding my brother.  When I knocked on the door at my childhood residence, they didn’t hug me, show any displays of joy or even express any ‘glad to see you’s.’  After the lack of attention and family contact in previous years, I was now numb to this display of coldness.  Everything had remained the same.  So I made up my mind, again, that I didn’t and wouldn’t care and began constructing my plan to uncover the mystery of my past. 

        I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water when my dear, sweet foster mother made her impetuous pronouncement.

        “Randall, your brother is dead,” she said callously.  “The girl that killed him is on trial for his murder.”  There was no further explanation.  She continued in her moodiness and her husband cowardly read his newspaper as he always did.  I left the room.

          Just like that!  The wind in my sail was depleted.  I fell into the nearest chair like a bag of bricks.  My arms became heavy as two cinder blocks, my legs refused to move.  My heart, trying to jumpstart itself, had dropped into the acid pits of my stomach.  I’m astonished I didn’t become sick and faint from the sheer magnitude of this bomb and the disruption going on in my digestive system.  So many things raced through my mind…shock, anger, a sense of loss, hate, loneliness, regret and despair.  I immediately regressed to that little five year old boy.  My brother’s voice rang in the corners of memory telling me mommy and daddy had gone away.  That was the most vivid memory I had of him and I had hoped that reuniting with him again would bring about a happier memory to replace that announcement …or at least attempt to counteract the severity of it.  So here I was even more alone in the world than I ever thought I was before this voyage began.

        I am 30 years old.  My life is open ended and deficient of any normalcy.  I am a corporate auditor and I make a successful living at my job.  I have travelled the world, dated the most beautiful women, and visited over half of the greatest wonders of the world.  My company’s corporate jet is at my disposal and my Black American Express goes without saying.  Yet at the end of the day, I have never had a serious, lasting relationship.  I want desperately to have children and I yearn for clarity and closure when it comes to my family and who I am.  I haven’t had any examples of compassion or a true sense of what a relationship feels like or should be.  The textbook answers to all of the above are the only things that I have to fall back on; and frankly, I want the real thing.  It is time to know what is going on with Randall Emmitt. 

          When Grace and James returned that afternoon from their outing, they immediately put this child down in a crib.  I didn’t know what was going on nor did I ask.  I supposed that they were just doing what they have always done; taking in children who temporarily needed a place to stay for the money.  God have mercy on this unassuming soul.  They didn’t check on him as you should do with a newborn.  She didn’t give him any human contact while he was there.  As a matter of fact, I changed him when it was obvious that the little tyke needed attention.  I offered to feed him even though, I felt had I not taken it upon myself, neither of them would have lifted a finger to do it themselves.  I decided since the little man would only be around for a day or so, he would occupy my time as I went about my own quest for answers.

          I was prepared after Grace’s declaration about my brother that I no longer had a link to these people.  I was going to stay in a hotel while I pursued my research but the baby came along and I knew somehow he needed me.  I went into the only room in the house that offered any kind of comfort, my brother’s room.  I placed the crib by the bed, made him and I comfortable, and that is where I spent my first and final evening at “home”. 

          They never questioned my actions.

          Usually I am a heavy sleeper but that night I did not sleep soundly at all.  I kept watch all night over my new friend.  He, however, slept like a log only waking during my awkward changing expeditions and when he was hungry.  Thank goodness for pre mixed cans of formula otherwise we both would have both been up a creek without a paddle.    I could fit what I knew about babies in a thimble.  Knowing to burp after a feeding and changing them pretty much summed up my list.  It seemed we complimented each other because that night, that is all he required. 

        During one of my trips into the kitchen, I ran across the instructions from Social Services regarding little man.  He was to be returned to the County Women’s Detention Center by 6:00 pm the next evening.  I made a mental note and proceeded back to our bedroom. 

        The following morning, I didn’t get much done.  I was the primary caretaker of “little man” and based on his actions, he concurred with my accepting this new responsibility.  I wanted to visit the county records office, the florist and the cemetery.  I knew it was possible that Grace and James could supply me with some of the information I sought but my pride made that appeal a last resort.  My new schedule item would be to return little man to his mother.  I intended to make sure he at least was with someone who loved him.  This was paramount and the only thing that would clear my conscious.

        Needless to say, babies have an agenda all of their own.  He decided early on that I was his carrier station too and he wanted to be held any time he caught wind of my scent.  The obvious gratification he got out of me holding him was enough to make me chalk this up to a loss work day and concluded that my immediate objective was to take care of him.  Surprisingly, I was good at this task of taking care of him despite my lack of experience.    This practice session just confirmed that I really wanted to be a father. 

        Around 4:30 that afternoon, I began gathering his things and getting him ready to be reunited with his mother.  He slept through the entire wayward process.  Once I retrieved the car seat and conveyed that I would be returning little man to his mother, I could almost hear the expulsion of used oxygen from Grace and James’ lungs.  Just as well.  No one should have to begin life surrounded by heartless people. 

        My new friend and I continued on, securing ourselves in our seats.  We were going to see his mother. 


*          *          *

        When I entered the courtroom the next morning, there was no life in me whatsoever.  I couldn’t walk with any measure of pride or confidence.  I was defeated and utterly consumed with the return of my son.  I couldn’t even pick my head up to look at the jurors as they filed in.  Some looked at me and wondered what the hell had happened.  Others thoughts it was just the stress of the proceedings.  No one could have imagined how my whole being anguished over those murderers having my boy. 

      Last night, I prayed so fervently, God must have asked who this person was talking to Him like that.  I begged and pleaded, and promised inconceivable things if He would just return Malcolm Jared to me.  I promised Malcolm and his mother and father that I would let no harm come to Malcolm Jared.  He was their legacy and I would use my last breath to protect him. 

      The jury found me not guilty by reason of insanity and it was ordered that I participate in outpatient counseling since my “episode” was temporary.  It was all I could do not to jump out of my seat once they had read the verdict.   

          I had to return to the detention center to gather my things.  This took all of about 60 minutes.  One hour too long.  As I exited the holding cell, I was told that the Emmitts were waiting with my son in the lobby.  All of me did not expect them to show. 

                                      *          *          *

          Little man and I arrived at the detention center with time to spare.  This was a good thing because as I drove there, I remembered; I did not know this young lad’s name.  The only thing I did have was the hand written note explaining what time to have the child back.  There was a name on it but I didn’t know if it was that of the mother or the contact person.  So I approached the receptionist and gave her the name listed.  “I am searching for Ms. Avia Michaels please.”

        I was asked to take a seat and told that she would be completed with discharge shortly.  I sat on edge not knowing and fully understanding what was imperative about me needing to complete this transaction.  It was so unlike me to be so unprepared and take on a personal responsibility clearly not my own.  As I contemplated this thought, I instantly knew that it was because I could not in good conscious leave this new life in the hands of those thoughtless people.  As I looked in his tiny face, he reminded me of myself.  Helpless, unloved, and dependent on the mercy of others.  God, I prayed that his mother was ready for this. 

          Just as I marinated in this notion, I noticed the most frazzled, anxious, and in her own way, beautiful woman.  She was clearly looking for someone.  I glanced to the receptionist but she was already occupied with someone else. 

        I stood without knowing why.  I held little man protectively in my arms.  He was wrapped in a faded blue receiving blanket.  At that moment, he opened his eyes as if to reassure me that he trusted that I would give him to the right person.  Then he closed his eyes again, yawned and smiled. 


*          *          *
       

              I walked out, burdened with the couple of bags that I had.    The things that I had accumulated in the last 9 months plus the gifts the inmates had made for my makeshift baby shower were all in the bags that I held.  I gave away many of my books hoping they would give hope and inspiration to another soul. 

            Answering my prayers in true fashion, my angels were hovering invisibly in the corner of the lobby.  Looking like a package left from God, my son was wrapped tightly in a blue blanket.    I don’t even remember walking towards them.  I just remember thinking and vowing never to let anyone take him from me again. 

*          *          *

          She cautiously eased towards me – not even making eye contact with me.  It was if she sensed little man belonged to her.  Her paced increased.  As she got closer tears began to flow and she trembled with joy.  I had her son.  She guardedly extended her arms and I placed the sleeping bundle with his creator.  She held him as if he was an internal part of her being.  He was and instantly I felt jealous of their bond.  I without explanation missed him.  Minutes passed and their reunion continued.  I felt like I was an intruder and I began to back away.



*          *          *

        I looked around for a something to dry my eyes with.  I didn’t even notice who had handed me a tissue or who had stood patiently by while I loved my son and dried my tears.  Assuming that the Emmitts knew that I knew their secret, I rationalized that they had had Social Services to return Malcolm Jared to me. 

        I looked up to see this rather tall man.  If I had been a woman who wasn’t a mother, my legs would have given way to the shock of what I had just seen.  If I was not a person with such a dark complexion, pale would be a word you could use to describe me. 


*          *          *
       
        All the while I couldn’t take my eyes off of her face.  Her tear streaked cheeks were dark and puffy.  Her eyes were deep set and her hair was a bit tossed.  I could tell that she’d hurried getting dressed.  The apparent weight loss showed in the haphazardly way that her clothing hung on her frame.  Her eyes travelled to mine and the spell was broken.

*          *          *

          He led me to a chair.  I didn’t want him to speak to me because any other coincidences would have left me hollow with shock.  His smile was familiar and warm.  His touch was steady and friendly.  I nearly had a stroke right then and there.

          This man had the most stunning smile.  This man was as tall as a Louisiana live oak and just as gorgeous.  I must be dreaming.  This can’t be happening.  I couldn’t stop staring and I couldn’t blink……All I could whisper was….”Malcolm…..”


*          *          *

          She did a double take as if she had seen a ghost.  She eased into a chair and I took the opportunity to extend my hand.  Seconds passed without her returning the gesture and she whispered a name that, although wasn’t mine, I identified immediately. 

            “Malcolm…..”

            “No,” I replied.  “I am Randall Emmitt.  Is that the baby's name?”  Making small talk I continued, “I have….had a brother named Malcolm…”  I don’t know why I was volunteering all of this information.  It was a coincidence that the names were the same.    “What is your name?”  I asked.

          “Avia Michaels.  My son is Malcolm Jared Emmitt, Jr.” she whispered.

          Both of us seemed to be astounded by what we were saying to each other.  I took a seat next to her.  We sat in silence for what seemed like hours but what were only a few minutes.  I had so many questions but I had to remain cool, calm, and collected.  My selfishness forced my patience and I continued to wait for Avia to catch up to the realization that I had already arrived….she held my nephew and most importantly, she needed to tell me why she had killed my brother! 

*

************************************************************************************************



Pieces of Me
Part 3

Randall

          I didn’t know whether to hug or slap the hell out of her. Either way, I needed her and it was the kind of need that made your heart heavy with the intensity of the emotion. There was something about her that took my breath. At that space in time, there was no detention center waiting room, just my nephew and my brother’s murdering girlfriend. So how do I proceed? I mean, it’s obvious she won’t be serving time for this hideous crime and I don’t know why. If I come at her the wrong way, all of the potential answers she houses could disappear along with the only blood relative I have left in creation. How do I go forth? What was Malcolm like? Did he ever speak about me? What happened that she had to take his life? Where is he buried? Where is she taking my nephew? Damn, this is hard!!! Shit!!!! Corporate American definitely did not prepare me for this. This wasn’t a topic for the water cooler for sure.

          The human spirit can be so fickle. Whereas we are passionate about life and death and the untimeliness of both, the face of a newborn baby can completely change any reasoning associated with the previous. Every absolute comes from just knowing that there is a DNA link that lies within the veins of another. Absolute connection, ride or die mentality. That is what I felt every time I looked at Malcolm Jared. What was even more eerie was how he looked at me. His gaze was assuring and direct. I have tangled with many corporate moguls with millions to frivolously spend and none have had more power than the eyes and touch of this little person before me. Within twenty four hours he had turned my whole life around and I knew without a doubt that if and until I received my own gift from heaven in the form of children I would do all in my power to make sure that my brother’s legacy endured and prospered.

              There had to be a sensible explanation otherwise I didn’t know if I could make sense of any parts of this enormously wild dilemma. My nerves of steel were like liquid mercury. As I sat next to this woman, I aged twenty years and regressed thirty years in the next moment. I wasn’t sure how to feel or what to make of it all.

              Being this uncertain and overjoyed about my relationship as Malcolm Jared’s uncle still didn’t solve my quandary concerning his mother. One question still stuck in my craw…how did this seemingly sweet, passive woman kill my brother? Even though I had these questions playing racquet ball in my mind I still didn’t have the nerve to just ask her. Maybe it was her maternal position with my nephew that kept me at bay. That was currently a powerful position to have and I just kept hoping that she would eventually volunteer the information.

            As the lobby cleared and night began to fall, moves had to be made by both of us. She must have thought the same because her eyes fell to her son’s things that I had brought to her. She fumbled with the two meager bags plus her new additions and she had this ‘I’ll do what I have to do- I don’t need your help’ look on her face.

            There was no way I was going to let her out of my sight so I spoke as kindly as possible and asked, “Do you already have a place to stay?”

* * *
Avia

              Have you ever seen the maze that scientist sometime put a mouse in to see what their reaction is or what the affect of something is on them? Well that is how I felt. I felt like God has me in this maze call life. It’s circular, revolving, and has a whole lot of dead ends. And every time I think I see the end of the maze and something good might come my way, something happens and I end up right back where I started. God knows I thank Him for my son but I don’t know what I am going to do next in life.

            When this trial started, I had to relinquish my lease and my employer, though supportive, just couldn’t hold my job indefinitely. Now I am homeless, unemployed and the mother of a beautiful being with no parental experience or references whatsoever. This light that is shining in my arms is depending on me to be the master of our destinies for a while and I have no idea where to turn.

            Randall seems nice enough but how was I suppose to ask him to assist me when I am the one who took the life of his brother regardless of the circumstances. I owe him an explanation but now was not the time or place. I had bigger fish to fry and I was not in the mood to go into that in depth conversation in spite of how necessary.

          I was hesitant at first but then I began to rely on a new part of me that I didn’t have prior to the birth of my son, mother’s intuition. It is a powerful thing and something that hasn’t steered me wrong since the day my son was born. So I accepted Randall’s offer of a place to stay for a while. I needed a good night’s sleep, a chance to exhale and contemplate what would be the next move for Malcolm Jared and me.

        Randall rented beautiful adjoining suites. I didn’t mind so much because I knew he wanted to be near Malcolm Jared. I could see already that my son had an attentive uncle. One thing puzzled me as I watched their interaction. Malcolm never spoke of Randall. If he hadn’t resembled Malcolm so much, I would never have thought that he was his brother. So what was their relationship like if any?

          Over the next few days, Randall was thoughtful and helpful. He wasn’t pushy regarding the situation that had caused us to collide and I appreciated the space he had given me. But it was time to come clean about all that I knew and maybe fill in some of the pieces for him.

          So that afternoon, over lattes and croissants, he told his part of the story and I told mine. He shared how he had been sent away to boarding schools and I told of what Malcolm had gone through under the auspices of Grace and James Emmitt. I felt for Randall as my words destroyed the last bit of wishful thinking he had concerning whether the Emmitts were ever concerned for him and his brother. He stared straight ahead and after a while, one lone tear became a fugitive and crossed his freshly shaven cheek. I kept talking because I was afraid that any hesitation on my part would result in the omission of an important fact. I relayed them just as Malcolm had confessed them to me. I owed it to Randall and Malcolm to be as exact as possible. When I finished, the tension in the room needed to be cut with a chainsaw and it held me captive in my seat. Randall, sat as a zombie of some sort, not moving or speaking. I don’t even think he breathed the entire time I regurgitated this awful reality. This was his family, his blood. Malcolm had ultimately committed suicide by proxy.

          Randall walked to the balcony of the suite and for a moment, I thought he might take his own life too. The night swallowed him and the swirling evening winds were his comforter and they dried his tears. I could tell he was a strong, prideful man in the world in resided. The life he lived and the profession he practiced involved power and respect. He demanded it and it was given without question. But tonight, under the midnight sky, his shoulders bowed in shame and longing, and the length of his neck sloped in submission and defeat.


* * *

Randall

            With each of her words, my entire world began to crumble. Everything, no matter how awful and cruel, could not compare to the inhumane world my brother endured. It is so amazing that he survived as long as he did. But why didn’t he look for me? I know that is a question only two sons of bitches can answer for me. Before this is over, they will give me answers. They will, without a doubt, give me closure to this hideous piece of mess I call life.


* * *



Grace and James


              We were not always the horrid people I know in my heart we are today. My wife Gracie especially is no longer the ray of sun she was when I met her almost sixty years ago. Life back then was so simple and serene. We were still in high school when we met but I instantly knew that she would be my wife. She was quiet and loving. She tutored me because I was not the swiftest bird in the pack and from there she took care of me. Admiration turned into respect and love and at the age of 16, we were married after church service on Easter morning.

          I insisted that she complete school since she had more of a chance of finishing than I did. But true to form, she loved me and took care of me when I was sick and I made every attempt to provide her with the best that I could. We started off with a one bed room apartment but soon I was able to get a job at the plant in town. We made a good living.

            We had a daughter named Amanda who, pardon my bias, was the most beautiful little girl you’d ever want to meet. She was popular and smart, just like her mother. Although our family was small, we were blessed. Gracie and I worked overtime to make sure that our little girl had the very best of everything. We were totally prepared for any career path she chose. She was going places and she was going to be better than her parents. She could become anything she wanted to.

          Amanda was in her junior year in high school. We allowed her to date at 17 and she brought home this little fellow named William. I was her father so in my opinion he didn’t measure up. My wife liked him and so Amanda began to court this young man. He came by after school and after church on Sundays. Amanda’s grades immediately began to slip. Gracie has always been the disciplinarian in the house and she grounded Amanda. We noticed then that Amanda would sneak out of the house at night and use the phone once we were asleep. One thing led to another and before we knew it, Amanda was with child.

        We were so disappointed. So was Amanda. She cried for days. Not because she was pregnant but because William didn’t want to date her anymore. She wouldn’t eat for days. All she would do was sit in her room. Well, I decided William was going to do something about this and he and I had a talk about him making my baby an honest woman. Next thing you know William was gone.

          Amanda had a little girl but I guess the miserable pregnancy she had and missing William took its toll on her because she didn’t even live to see the little bundle. I thought for sure we would raise Amanda’s baby since her mother was gone but Gracie said no. She was not raising that which had taken her child. Nothing I said would convince her to change her mind so I went along with it. Gracie knew best and I didn’t want to go against what she said.

        I realized a new side to my wife that I had never seen before. Vindictiveness. A hate so strong that I was sure I was married to a different woman. I don’t know how to explain this transformation. It was like coming home and finding another person in your house. Her thoughts were dark and sinister, downright hateful. But I loved her and I was committed to her.

          Gracie was vigilant about William and his family. She blamed them for our misery and pain. She passed their house even when it was out of the way of where we were going. She sent pictures of our daughter to them on her birthday and would be graduation days. They got a restraining order against her but that didn’t stop her. She was obsessed and there was nothing I could do. William’s parent over the years passed away and William got married. She kept up with all of this. She knew where his parents were buried, William’s wedding, his wife’s family, and the children that they eventually had.

          About 13 years later, Gracie got a new attitude. I thought finally she had tackled her demons and was moving on. Each day she would stop by the family pictures on the wall, which hadn’t been updated since Amanda left, and she would quietly stare at our daughter’s picture. But lately, she smiled when she saw the pictures. I thought at last, things were getting better.

        Later that month, Gracie brought home two little boys about 10 and 5 years old. She hadn’t discussed it with me. Maybe this is what she needed to take her mind off of Amanda…redirect her energy. I didn’t question it just as long as it brought back my Gracie.

        At the barbershop, I heard William and his wife had died in a mysterious car accident. They were survived by two sons.




* * *

Randall

        As the days passed, more permanent arrangements had to be made involving my nephew and his mother. Any other time, I would have had arrangements made by my assistant but just as with Malcolm Jared, I had a subconscious and mandatory need to take care of this matter myself. Over the past few days I had surrendered to my nephew and it was as if he were my own. Even more extraordinary was the connection that we were creating. He had the most intense stare. If I were a person who believed in spirits I would swear he was acting as a messenger for my brother. Whenever I held him or fed him, I was at rest. Everything around the two of us evaporated. When I spoke, his eyes would open and attempt to focus on everything that I said. It was remarkable and just as it should be. I had fallen in love for the first time in my life.

          Avia on the other hand left a lot for me to tackle especially when it involved understanding her. I was torn and divided in how to handle her. She took my brother’s life and I was mad as hell about it. Every time I thought of his last moments something in me exploded. But at the same time, I was, believe it or not, glad she was there. I saw the love she had for him in her eyes and I heard it in her voice whenever she spoke of him. My brother was lucky….in a lot of ways….he didn’t have to suffer anymore and he knew what it felt like to be loved unconditionally and unequivocally.

          I began to encourage her to speak more about Malcolm. It was the only way I would ever know anything about him. As time passed, she shared their times together and his aspirations in life. We sat for hours on end taking turns holding Malcolm Jared and talking about his father. I envied Malcolm.

          One afternoon we went to the cemetery where my brother’s remains were buried. I can’t say that I was sad that day. It was more like I was visiting an old friend. We walked lazily through the tombstones. Often we would notice the stamps of time that each tenant had been promised to this earth. Other times we would notice how small the graves were indicating the children there. Oddly enough, I wasn’t sad or teary about being there. It was peaceful and comforting. Among these sleeping souls there were many who are kept alive through memories and loved ones left behind. My brother had that now. He had a son, a lover and a brother. I really think we all have that aspiration….to be loved even after we are gone. Over the years, I have often thought of what it would be like to be deceased and sleeping in one of these graves. I always knew that I would not have a marker from just knowing how trifling the Emmitts were. But now, I was loved by Malcolm’s son….I would make sure of that. At the end of this day, Malcolm had found a way to circumvent time and circumstance by providing me with a piece of him when it became obvious that he and I would never meet. Karma had blessed us with its intervention by bringing Malcolm Jared into the world.

            The sun was setting over the rolling hills of the cemetery. Rows and rows of memoirs all standing perfectly still waiting to reunite with their loved ones in the here after. I felt Malcolm’s spirit and I can say with conviction that on that day, his soul was present with me. Through his son and Avia’s memories, he was forever with me now. His stone was small yet intimate. An encryption was a passage from the twenty third book of Psalm…Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

              The day I witnessed Avia smile and heard her laugh was the day the I no longer blamed her for killing Malcolm. Her expression of joy was pure and deep and honest. Everything about her was honest….just guarded…which was perfectly normal considering the circumstances. There was no way malice was incorporated in what she had done. She loved my brother and I think I was beginning to love her.

*          *          *

Avia

            The trip to Malcolm’s gravesite proved to be a turning point for me. It was finally closure to a love affair that had gone on long past the death of Malcolm more than a year ago. To make sure that I kept sanity in my corner, I in turn, held on to pieces of Malcolm so that I could be complete. But more and more each day, I’m not as dependent on him anymore. I was apprehensive at first…thinking that I was disrespecting him and our relationship. I know that is not true anymore. I have to be whole and focused in order to raise our son and for that Malcolm can’t possible be upset. At his grave, I finally said goodbye.

          Releasing this pressure renewed me to a certain degree. I felt the sun and I welcomed the sunset in anticipation of the next day. Malcolm Jared was growing like a weed and the world in which we lived kept expanding opening doors and showing us bright and shiny new things. This rebirth was expressed on my face and I began to see my potential. I was able to gain employment with a small firm that was appreciative of the requirements of motherhood. We had our own apartment now and we were totally self sufficient.

            I had to thank Randall. Without him I couldn’t have done anything. He babysat for me, gave me and my child a place to stay and daily, sometimes too much, called to make sure everything was okay. Having him listen to me when I shared my feelings about Malcolm was like having a best friend. He was attentive and reassuring even though his hearing stories about his brother second hand was probably just as painful. Into the wee hours of the morning, he would tell me of his international excursions. Trips to places I would never see in my lifetime. He told stories so vividly, it wasn’t hard to visualize myself right there with him. Even when he called after the baby and I had moved, he constantly spoke of his ongoing travels and businesses and we would find little surprises via Federal Express of souvenirs representing places unimaginable.

              Lately, I was beginning to anticipate his daily calls. I emailed him and he responded almost instantly. He was never too busy for us. This kind of attention was sweet and addicting. I felt like a school girl rushing to get home after picking up Malcolm Jared from daycare. I didn’t need caller ID because he was the only one to ever call….the only I cared to have call. When our conversations came to an end, we were hesitant in hanging up. Several times we played the adolescent phone game of “you hang up first”.

            Everything culminated with Randall and me on a recent visit to my apartment. At his insistence, he grilled steaks on the patio and we settled in for a movie and a bottle of wine. The baby who had battled in play land with Uncle Randall was sleeping peacefully in his room. The lights were low and the movie began its introduction. The after aroma of steaks and the fragrance from the vanilla bean candle was our aphrodisiac. Relaxing and reclining on the oversized couch was more out of habit for the both of us but never at the same time. He rubbed my feet tired from the project work I was involved in and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. Midway through the credits of the movie I awoke to the seductive and stimulating stare of a very sexy man.

            Many times in the past, I felt guilty and ashamed for glancing in his direction when he was helping me with Malcolm Jared. I extinguished the thoughts by saying that I just missed Malcolm. But tonight was different. Malcolm had to have given his blessings because everything was coming together too beautifully. I didn’t trust my voice to tell him what I was feeling in my core. With a move as smooth as ice, Randall’s hand escaped my calves and moved relentlessly toward my thigh. My heartbeat quickened but I remained exactly where I was…..waiting on him to continue this journey. There was something about the way he continued to look at me. And with a lot more strength than I, he spoke in a voice so controlled and serious that I thought he was addressing one of his employees.

                “Avia, I never thought that I would feel this way about anyone. I have been with women who would give their life to have me as their husband. But I want to dedicate the rest of my life to giving you what you need as a woman and as my best friend.”

              The kiss Randall and I shared was magical and surreal. It was different and one of many more that night. Our love and friendship combined to cause a beautiful catastrophic explosion. His love was more than I needed and then some. As if reading an instructional manual, he knew where to touch me and he knew what would send me to a place that I couldn’t return. While loving my body, he loved me with his heart.


            The next morning, Randall’s flight left amidst clouds and lots of rain. He refused my offer of a ride and chose a taxi instead. Being with him this weekend brought home a lot of things. It was beginning to be important to me to find out who Avia was. I have a child and I have no history to share with him. Like Malcolm and Randall, I was in the social services system and I lived in foster homes. While I never experienced anything like they did, I have often wondered who I was and where my parents are. With Malcolm, I gave him my all and when he died, it was if pieces of me were lost. Randall made me recognize the value of me and somehow I found those pieces, made them my own and put them together again. But like a jigsaw puzzle, when all of the available pieces are there, you realize, there are some missing. In order to go forth in any relationship whether it is with my son or with a man, I have to be as whole as I can be. I have to find the missing pieces of me.


*************************************************************************************************
Can’t Hold My Peace
Part 4

Avia

          As the morning sunrise makes its appearance, I am already a participant in today’s agenda by mere association with Malcolm Jared.  Since he is an early riser, I am drafted to be the same.  When he looks at me, I spontaneously come alive to give him the best first of the morning experience that he can possibly have.  His eyes are wide with anticipation and his smile, contagious and gorgeous, are the prerequisite to my mornings.  My complaints and groans are irrelevant. 

          Randall and I knew that we were destined to be together.  I have to admit, I felt weird, not really understanding why.  By all accounts, we had come to terms with Malcolm’s death and both of us knew without a doubt that we would both be involved in the raising of Malcolm Jared.  Both of us had loose ends to tie and double knot and just alike neither one of us wanted to partake in the avenue that would lead each of us to our truths.

            I have to admit that I had a head start to my destiny.  I had honest foster parents that were willing to assist me with my journey. 

            My foster mother, in anticipation of my quest, had obtained all of my legal documents.  So one Saturday morning, she and I sat side by side and navigated through the papers.  Unlike most foster placements, my mother was open to my finding her whenever I was of age and to knowing her.  This led me to the clerk of courts office where I would at last obtain the name of my birth parents.

I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.  As with the many messages that come to a person in life, you can sometimes find yourself pondering which ones are for you and which ones are not.  Along the way, I had received a memorandum that simply stated that people will enter your life either for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  I initially disregarded that message not knowing how significant it would be.  I realized the impact when I walked into the clerk of court’s office one sunny afternoon.

        The office was like a huge mausoleum of facts just waiting for someone to unlock the doors.  There were three horseshoe shaped exposed levels to this library of sorts.  Each floor comprising of shelves upon shelves of information that dated back to the city’s birth.  The sky light that vertically travelled the center of the building cast a haze of light over ever floor.  Its illumination gave hope to whoever would enter subliminally saying whatever your search entailed, you would surely find your answer here. 

        The obvious matriarch of this collection approached me with the warmest smile.  Instantly, I knew that no matter what the result of my search was, her pleasant disposition would make my quest fruitful.  As I explained the reason behind my visit, you could see the filing folders in her mind sifting through the data.  She was a walking card catalog.  But more than that, she not only recalled my adoption but she also said the strangest thing. 
       
        “Twenty-five years or so ago, a new department was installed here.  Open adoptions were gaining popularity and our leader at the time started this department so that individuals such as yourself would have no problem locating their parent’s names.” 

        She was a talkative bank of facts and she continued.  “You know sweetie, there was so much going on back then.  If my recollection serves me correctly, and I'm sure it does, you may have been one of our first files.  But there were so many heartbreaking stories regarding open adoption…..”  She shook her head slightly as if reminiscing about an old friend.  She came closer to me, leaned in and whispered, “I really shouldn’t say this because some files are confidential but I remember the saddest incident.  It involved two absolutely precious little boys.  I can’t rightly recall their names but their parents died in a mysterious accident and they were adopted instantly.  I always wait for one of those young men to come in here requesting their information……how very sad.”

        “My inquisitive nature didn’t have time to take root in the report but in the recesses of my mind I wondered if it was more than a fluke that the story resembled that of Malcolm and Randall.  I filed the statement away and followed the nice lady to the names of my mother and father. 

        The corridor got long and narrow.  I recognize it was merely my imagination.  My nerves are finally kicking in.  Everything began passing me in slow motion.  I saw the lady reach for a particular file.  The edges were in immaculate condition considering the file was more than a quarter of a century old. 

        “Would you like to view this information in private sweetie?”

        “No ma’am….I’d prefer you stay if you don’t mind…..I guess ….I’m more nervous than I thought.  “Plus,” I joked, “I need someone here just in case I faint.”

        “Sure thing sweetie.”  With a smile, she handed me my past.  She must have been through this before.

        I didn’t seem right that the key to my history would lie neatly in a manila folder and as I opened the file….hands trembling uncontrollably, I was glad that I had asked my escort to stay.  Initiators of the file, in their infinite wisdom, included genealogical information that also included the parents of my parents.  Right under the time stamp of my birth, the hospital and the delivery doctor’s name was my father’s name William Houser.  His parent’s names were next and the following information almost made me pass out.  My mother’s name was …Amanda Denise Emmitt… and my grandparents….. Grace and James Emmitt!


        “Are you okay dear….Would you like some water or something else to drink?”  She asked me with motherly concern.

        I was utterly speechless!  What the hell was going on?  My eyes frantically sped read the rest of the information.  My mother was relatively young when she had me….17 to be exact and my father the same age. 

        I couldn’t walk fast enough as I tried to find the exit to the now library of horror.    I was finally able to take in air once I navigated the maze of corridors and burst through the heavy double doors that led to the parking lot.  I sat in my car, not knowing what to do next.  Even though the keys were in my hand, my fingers were numb and sweaty.  My forehead, now drenched with sweat, was parked against the steering wheel.  My sobs were broken and hollow and full of dissipating dreams.  Any positive thoughts concerning knowing who I was and where I had come from had crashed.  Causing me to snap back to my sick reality, my cellular phone rang an irritating ring. 

        It was Randall.  “What’s going on baby?”

        I couldn’t respond immediately and with instinct, patience and understanding that I had grown to appreciate and love, he waited knowing that the news that I had found must not have been very good. 

        After a few minutes, Randall began his monologue.  “Avia, whatever you have found out about the past does not define who you are today or who you will be in the future.  You are a beautiful person and someone that is and has always been loved by good people.  You are blessed beyond compare and for this you are fortunate.  If the news that you have just gotten makes your heart hurt now, it will not last forever.  Go ahead and cry baby…. I will be there for you in the morning.”

        My only response was, “Okay.”  And the call was disconnected.


       
Randall

        The new love of my life was hurting and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  It was a helpless feeling and one that I was not use to experiencing.  I was accustomed to having a solution or knowing someone who knew the solution.  I was totally out of my league on this one and I didn’t like it.  “The only good thing was at least there was someone important enough to me to feel this way about. 

        Unlike Avia, I had hired a private investigator to research my past.  I didn’t have the time or the emotional fortitude to do what she thrived on.  I wanted something to make sense to me about how my brother and I had come to live with the Emmitts.  Waiting for the results of the investigators’ search was the reason I couldn’t make a flight tonight.  I wanted to have the findings in hand when I finally confronted the Emmitts and closed this chapter to my life. 

        I was livid!!!  I could tell this afternoon was a downward slope with no turning back.  Each minute was more pitiful than the last and all I wanted to do was console Avia and hold Malcolm Jared.  Little did I know that from now on, it wouldn’t be that simple.

        When my secretary led the investigator into my office the grim look on his face was a far cry from the mostly professional looks that people entering my office tend to have.  I would even describe it as confused. 

        He began with “Good Afternoon Mr. Emmitt,” and the mountain slide began.  “Mr. Emmitt as you know, our mission was to verify the facts regarding your and your brother’s placement in foster care and if and where any relatives of your parents might be living.  We were successful in finding definitively the information you wanted but I’m afraid it isn’t good.”  He handed me the folder of doom.


        I should have just taken the flight the next day as planned but I really wanted to take care of Avia and Malcolm so I conjured up a reservation change and took the flight that same day.    With the way my luck was happening lately, it would only be consistent if nothing went the way it was planned.  The flight was horrible.  Delays, bad weather, turbulence and the poorest service imaginable best described my flight back home.  My luggage was on the following flight and there were no more rentals in the area until the next day.  With the promise that my luggage would be delivered to me later in the evening, I left the airport in a taxi….pissed!

        My first stop….the Emmitts!

Avia

        It was easier to focus on other things when the world you lived in didn’t go as expected.  I had begun to count the hours until Randall would be back.  Malcolm and I missed him, and since the escalation of our relationship to the next level, we had agreed that taking things slowly would be best.  But deep down inside, it wasn’t that simple.  I found myself thinking of him all of the time.  I envisioned different scenarios where he and I were together having the purest form of fun.  Our interactions were always stimulating and thought provoking.  I was accustomed to him now and I didn’t want it to end.    I think loving Malcolm prepared me for Randall.  Females expect to receive what they are use to receiving.  When I met Malcolm, I was coming off of a love hate relationship that wasn’t healthy.  My partnership with Malcolm was meaningful and healthy and I grew from knowing him.  Randall is an extension of that plus something different.  This time I am the teacher and he is an attentive pupil.  He wants to love completely and doesn’t mind working overtime to accomplish and conquer his apprehensiveness. 

        No matter how my meeting with the Emmitts went I was determined to walk away from it positively.  Every detestable feeling that I had inside and had carried for myself subconsciously because of Malcolm in the last year would be left at their doorstep when I was through with them.  I just needed to get some things off of my chest.


Randall


        The taxi took me directly to the Emmitt house.  There were some things that needed to be said and I wanted to be totally done with them when I left that house this time.  To give myself to Avia and Malcolm, I had to be free and clear of the bullshit once and for all.



Avia

        When I arrived at the house, a cold feeling went through my bones.  Everything that Malcolm told me was vivid and I thought of him and all that he had gone through in this hell hole.  The yard was freshly manicured and everything seemed normal.  As I neared the front door, the flowers that bordered the walkway were in bloom and welcoming.  The door was reminiscent of the Elizabeth Arden red door logo and the house was as if it had been painted this morning.  Everything was in place. 

        Just like the little rubber drain stopper in the bottom of the tub, someone had pulled my plug and all of the confidence I had in my drive over slide down the drain.  The sky opened up and rain began to pour out of nowhere.  This unexpected happening snapped me out of my self absorption and I urgently knocked on the door. 

Mr. Emmitt

        I received two confirmation letters from the clerk of courts each explaining that someone had requested information of the maternal and paternal whereabouts of any family members.    I expected the letter from Randall but something was confusing about the second letter.  Although my recollection was still in take, a wave of hope and dread engulfed my body and I lost my composure.  I couldn’t continue living this life knowing and feeling the things that my wife and I had done.  We had been blessed with so many things that I didn’t feel I deserved to live without giving closure to the young folks we had destroyed. 

        When Randall arrived I first thought he was coming for something of Malcolm’s.  He had a tired defeated look on his face and I wanted to be a father, for once, to him so I invited him in.  Without a word he crossed the threshold and sat at the kitchen table…waiting for me.  His massive stature was just like his brother’s.    I offered him coffee and after pouring the aromatic liquid, we sat across from each other…almost like the father and son we should have been. 

        His gaze was enough to make me break down.  There was so much that we withheld from him all for nothing.  I couldn’t hold his looks and my eyes drifted to the rim of my coffee cup searching for words that could sum up sufficiently what had gone wrong in the last 25 or so years.  I don’t even think that was possible but I tried.  Before I could begin, there was an insistent knock at the door.  I wouldn’t have moved but something told me to answer the door.

        The storm had arrived and I knew that whoever was on the other side of the door was getting soaked.  I open the door to give them some relief. 

        Avia entered despite our first meeting at the hospital.  I didn’t understand what would bring her here but I was glad to see her too.  I owed her an explanation as well.  The adage “killing two birds with one stone” was something that didn’t seem appropriate to say in this case but that is what I was going to do.  She needed to hear this story too so that she could share it with Malcolm’s son when the time was right for him. 

        I lead her to the kitchen and both she and Randall were shocked to see the other there. 

        They seemed really familiar with each other but I assumed it was from their meeting at the return of her son.  They stared at one another for a while.  So I took the opportunity to fix her a cup of coffee too and I took my seat again.  To begin the story that should never have happened and should have been told many years ago. 


                                      *          *          *

        After admitting to being a passive force throughout the years, I was making things as right as I could for once in my life.  “We hurt and killed people because we were hurting.  It was a dark period for us and we used what we did, what we made Malcolm do, to retaliate against God for taking our daughter.  It was a cruel thing that we did but even more so to use our daughter’s death to justify it.” 

              I avoided their looks of shock and sadness.  Avia cried without sound and Randall sat back with his arms folded, processing the facts as I told them. 

              “Even more callous was our plan to include Malcolm in destroying William, your father.  He got our daughter, Amanda, pregnant and left her.  Just like that…he left our baby girl and she couldn’t handle that……my baby died of a broken heart…….Grace separated you after adopting you because she wanted William’s entire family to suffer for what she felt he had done.”  I couldn’t hold it in any longer and almost 50 years of tears escaped from my heart. 




                                      ~          ~          ~
                           
            I couldn’t believe what I was hearing…..my father was also Randall and Malcolm’s father……we were half siblings!  Had I not been sitting down I don’t think I would be conscious right now.  No one knew how I fit into this equation and quite frankly, I’m just now figuring it out too.

        Grace entered the kitchen out of nowhere and let out a cackle that I’m sure was heard in the next blocked.  She laughed and fell against the door jam of the kitchen.  Her husband looked at her like he could slap her and Randall and I turned in our seats to witness what a cold hearted witch really looked like up close and in person. 
       
        Just as that hideous wail of a laugh began it sadistically ended…. with these parting words…. “Have I missed the family reunion?  I couldn’t have planned this any better myself.    My grand daughter murdered her half brother and has fallen for the other half brother.  Well Avia that makes your son, your nephew too.  And look at you James….too weak to keep your damn mouth shut!"

          "All of you people can get out of my house!”


*************************************************************************************************


Peace Within ~
Part 5

            Have you ever noticed how spontaneously the weather changes from one extreme to another? As Randall and I walked out of Grace and James’ house that afternoon, the sky that was screaming and crying upon my entering this cruel sanctuary had done an about face. Eerily beautiful is the only way that I can describe it. Everything stood perfectly still. The sun peaked from behind motionless clouds as if it were a child playing hide and seek. The trees were our honor guard as we exited our pasts.

          What began as a mission to develop a foundation for our future together ended with the realization that we would not be moving forward as one, at least not as lovers. We looked at each other ….two deer caught in headlights, tricked by fate into thinking we were made for each other. Devastated. Destiny had reared its ugly head again.

          The most precious cause that would motivate us to be parent and uncle at this point was Malcolm Jared. This brought our storms to an end and gave us a new, brighter beginning. We would love again, just not each other.


James

        After retirement, I had taken up several hobbies. A lot of the times, I tinkered with things in my shop out back. Sometimes I sat in the old rocking chair and nodded, usually escaping to a place where Amanda and her kids lived and called me Pawpaw. I have asked God for forgiveness many times. I know you are only supposed to ask Him one time but I somehow just wanted Him to know how sincere I was and how much I really wanted to make it to heaven so I can see my little girl again.

          I have been on this earth for over 70 years, closer to leaving than I really care to be. Of those, ninety percent of it has been spent totally devoted to Gracie. Even after the loss of Amanda, I just couldn’t fathom her heart being as dark as it was. There had to be a light somewhere. Someplace deep inside, my Gracie was waiting for me and we would walk to the light together. But today, at my own kitchen table, with our “children” present, she made a liar out of me.

          This truth had me defeated and weak. I guess, disappointed was putting it mildly.

          My movements were beginning to be despairing. It was like being underwater …everything was dreamlike…

          If I didn’t know any better, I would tell you Malcolm was still alive…..him and Amanda still came from time to time and talked to me. Lots and lots of grandbabies…all were calling me……



            “…Hey Dad… where is the knife is that I use to use?”

            “Daddy……can you come visit……Daddy come on……we are having so much fun….”


            I always knew I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch but I use to watch Malcolm polish and sharpen that knife every week. He was such a little fella…trying to please us so he wouldn’t lose his only family…..He almost took pride in making sure they felt no pain. He sure would study that anatomy book….finding those special places to cut the folks we brought to him…..He was careful to do things right….making sure to be respectful. He was some little boy.

              In my shop in the far north corner of the room, on top of the old wood burning stove, was an old box. I believe I made that box just for Malcolm for his 12th birthday. I don’t believe I’ve bothered it since he left here to go to college. Underneath the piles of organized junk, I kept it there. I don’t know why but I did. Maybe so were wouldn’t get into trouble… maybe so we would.

            A chill was running in my bones so I moved everything out of the way, and I moved that box. I got that ole stove to burning just to get that coolness out of the air the way my mother use to do when I was a little boy. Maybe Gracie would enjoy a fire.

              “Daddy…..”

              No matter how mad we made each other, we never let it interfere with our duties as husband and wife. So that night, in spite of her tirade, she cooked dinner as usual. At six sharp, we had our meal. Afterwards I invited her to the shop for night toddy.

              When we walked the path to the shop, Mother Nature was at it again. The storms had passed and the breeze was brisk and chilling to the bones. The cumulus clouds were scattered across the midnight blue blanket and the full moon was like one large eye looking down on us. The trees that lined our property were waving and shouting with their limbs, each trying to attract our attention. The leaves, once attached to the trees, were one by one being plucked away only to flail aimlessly in the wind. I found comfort in this night air.

              In the midst of it all, I heard it again, the both of them whispering, “Daddy….”

              Since I only had one chair in the shop, I offered it to Gracie and I sat on the box I had made for Malcolm. I looked in her eyes as she rocked back in forth in my chair. Was my Gracie still there somewhere?

              “James, it is too cool in here….I don’t know why you wanted to come out here with the night air turning cool the way it is. Throw another log in that stove!”

                I did as she asked.

              “So what do you think James? Did all of our hard work pay off or what? Did you see the looks on their faces? Bastards! My only regret is not doing away with that baby when I had the chance!”

              “Just wait a minute Gracie…….”

              “Shut up James! You have been a sniveling dumb ass since I met you in school. The only reason I married is because I felt sorry for you and because my father said you would be a good provider. Just my luck, my only child gets knocked up………but that’s alright! I’ve got the last laugh don’t I?

              She wouldn’t stop laughing….

              All at once, it made perfect sense. She would never be my Gracie again. She would never stop being the incessant bitch she has molded herself into over the years. She had shattered so many lives and she didn’t even care. She showed no remorse and above all, she didn’t love me anymore, if she ever did.

              Without forethought, I put another log on the fire and went back to take me seat on the box. The box.... I opened it slowly. The hinges were a bit rusty but the wood was the same rich pine that it was when I made it. The gloss was covered with dust. My fingers glided over the smoothness of the planks. Each dark knot told a story of a young boy with lost innocence, a young girl with a broken heart, another boy left to fiend for himself and a baby, my grand baby that I allowed another person to raise. Each knot told how dysfunctional we all had become and how it all didn’t have to happen. It never had to be this way.

            Inside, the knife that was always so sharp, lay in its manger, waiting for it final act….to be used in a positive way. She was so into her solo speech that she didn’t even notice what I had in my hand. The piece of leather that protected my son’s hands so many years ago, awaited its turn to protect and to serve again…. worn and smooth from the oil and sweat of Malcolm’s hands. I carefully wrapped the leather swatch around the handle and with a steady stroke……Peace really did lie within.


            Taking Gracie apart was easier than I thought it would be. On some level I think she knew something was going to happen. Either way, it was done and I felt good about my decision. The fire roared loudly, waiting for its meal. Piece by piece, I burned the person whose heart had become so cold in the fire.