Jalen
"Fucking asshole!" I walked across my bedroom and turned down the volume of my Kanye West cd. Eyes squinting in confusion. The scream had to have come from outside. Definitely not from my parent's room. My hand was still on the radio's knob when I heard the sobbing. Then the groaning. Then a sound like a whole stack of looseleaf paper being torn in half. "Triflin' piece of shit!" That was undoubtedly my mom's voice. But since when did she start talking like that? I flung the history book I'd been studying across my desk and crept out of the bedroom. I shortened my steps as I drew closer to the end of the hallway and to the origin of all those unusual sounds. My parent's door was opened, but I didn't see my mom. She was in there though and so was a terrible odor. There was a long trail of clothes leading to my dad's walk-in closet. The sobbing, the groaning, the ripping continued. Carefully, I made my way through the colorful mess which I realized was a combination of my father's fine linens. My mom sat indian-style at the very end of it all with her back to me. At least I thought this person was my mother. She brought the butcher knife up and down and up and down as she slashed at my father's dress shirts. Something had gone wrong. And I had to help her with whatever it was. I took a step towards her and gently placed my hand on her shoulder.
"Mom?" I whispered. She spun around and two things hurt meóthe pained way that she looked and the knife that sliced into my forearm. I howled and whatever she had been doing before I walked in suddenly came to an end when she saw the blood dropping to the carpet.
"Oh my God! Baby, I didn't mean to do that!" Mom stood and pushed past me. She rushed into the bathroom and I could hear her knocking things over. Even when she returned with a bottle of alcohol and began to swab the shallow cut, I didn't feel the burn as I took in her appearance. She smelled awful. Her clothes were frumpy and filthy. Two thick lines ran down her cheeks from obvious tears that had washed away her makeup.
"Mom, what happened?"
"I'm sorry, baby. Let me finish cleaning this, okay?"
"Mom, why were you cutting up Daddy's clothes? What's wrong with you?" At first, she focused on cleaning the wound but soon realized that I wasn't paying attention to what she was doing. I was more concerned with what she had done. She paused and looked up at me. Her eyes blinked rapidly the way that they do when someone's trying not to cry. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. During that time, I think she tried to determine whether or not she was going to tell me the real reason behind her actions. That was strange, because me and Mom were always honest with each other. Everything came out in a rush of air.
"I think your father's cheating on me." I snatched my arm away and frowned. Of course I didn't hear her correctly. My parents taught me to take school seriously and to live the life of a good Christian. They were very young when they had meómy mom wasn't even out of high schoolóbut they got married as soon as she was old enough. Daddy never abandoned me, his wife, his education, or his faith in God. He grew up to be a powerful man that people loved, respected, and listened to. And I wanted to be just like him. There was no way he was messing with another woman. Mom was losing her mind, and for the first time ever, I was furious with her.
"Why would you say something like that?" She stared back at me with a defiant look on her face and rubbed my arm a little harder. "And what is that smell? Smells likeó"
"It's just a feeling I have, okayÖwhy did I say anything?" "So you're cutting up his clothes over a feeling?"
"I really don't want to talk about this with you."
"Don't you think I have a right to know wassup? I come into the bedroom and see you cutting up Daddy's clothes like a psycho! Then you make a stupid accusationó"
"Shutup, Jalen!" Her motherly instincts kept her hands moving and she studied the cut after it was clean and the bleeding stopped. "You won't need stitches."
"I don't care about stitches. I want to know why you think Daddy could do something like that to you and this family?" Mom bit her lip and looked down at her feet. She released a sigh.
"You know what, I shouldn't have said that." She went to the bathroom to get some gauze and tape this time. When she returned, she wrapped my arm and looked at me with some regret. I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew she couldn't possibly believe that Daddy was a cheater.
"What drove you to do all this Mom? You know Daddy would never hurt you like that." She gave me a sad smile.
"You're probably right, baby."
"Of course, I'm rightÖso what was it?"
"Huh?"
"I asked you what would make you do something like this? This isn't you." Her eyes danced about and she finally picked a wall where she could place them. She took a deep breath. "I went to the church to surprise your father with some dinner andÖand I saw him there with someone else." "Well, who was she? And what were they doing?" "A woman was cryingÖ.and he was holding her closeÖit got me sickÖnow that I think about it, one of the members did just have a death in the family. IÖI think it was her." Despite the way she smelled, I put my arms around her in a tight embrace. Being the First Lady of the church and a successful businesswoman couldn't be easy. Since a lot of women had always been infatuated with Daddy and his status, Mom was never into jealousy. It had to be stress. I helped her out at the shop sometimes after school, but I could see now that I would have to put in more work. I didn't want to witness any more of these episodes. Maybe she was having one of those mid-life crises. "Mom, I think you need to be easy for a while. Relax for once. You got yourself too worked up tonight. And, in case you haven't noticed, they don't call you the First Lady for no reason. That means there isn't a second or third." She didn't say anything but held me tighter in appreciation. When she finally let me go, she cupped my face in her hands. "Thanks, Jay." A small smile touched my lips when I realized I'd given her some reassurance and I turned to go. Before I could leave, she caught my good arm. "One more thingÖI'm going to clean up in here and go to bed early tonight butÖplease don't tell your father about this. I just allowed the devil to get to me." I gave her an uncomfortable nod, but I understood. Mom was a woman who had it all together. Sometimes I think she worked to keep up with Daddy. I know I did. "I won't. And I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you. I love you, Mom."
The Magician
I called myself The Magician for two very simple reasons. I never gave away any of my secrets and I made people disappear. My profession started off in a crazy way. I mean, I'm sure people wonder what it takes to be a hitmanÖor hitwoman in my case. I guess the politically correct term is "contract killer". Although I knew guys who would, I never did children. Yes, I killed women because I am one. It wasn't so difficult because I didn't feel like I overpowered the weaker sex. The first time I ever killed someone, I got away with it. And the whole neighborhood knew. The victim was my stepfather. I never told my mom about the molestations. We had never had much of a relationship from the time I was threeóI was the only constant reminder of a husband who had left her. My stepfather said if I ever told anybody, he would tell my mom I had come on to him and she would love me even less. I believed him. I remember the night he crept into my bedroom when I was twelve. He was raping me for the umpteenth time. Too bad he didn't know I was ready for him that time. He had only gotten in about three thrusts before I felt under my pillow for the carving knife. As though I had done it a hundred times before, I released a carnal cry and rammed the knife into the side of his throat. My white nightgown was a bright red by the time the police came to our home. That was the last time I saw my mother. Glaring at me with hatred while I shivered at an officer's side. She thought I had been jealous of my stepfather and refused to listen to my cries despite my broken body. I became the property of the state until the age of eighteen. I never could shake the rapes, so I decided to seek the help of a support group. I met a woman there who was being raped by her own husband, but she was scared to leave him. Her name was Andrea. Andrea was sure that she couldn't attend too many meetings because her husband might get suspicious. In the meantime, she and I formed a very close bond. So close that I told her I wouldn't mind killing her husband for her. For us. I remembered the sweet revenge I felt when I'd killed for the first time. And how much sweeter it felt when I got away with righting a wrong my way. My friend told me that she would pay me one thousand dollars for my good deed if I was serious. Personal feelings weren't the only reasons why I couldn't have been more serious. I was already working two jobs to put myself through pre-med school. In the back of my mind I always felt as though I had to grow up to be somebody to get even with my mother. Andrea and I had planned it perfectly. Her husband worked in some industrial park at an automotive warehouse. His graveyard shift ended at about seven in the morning. It was six in the morning when I arrived. I lay in the cab of his truck in the dead of winter for one hour to make sure everything went as planned. The gun was stolen. I bought it off some kid in the streets months prior to even meeting Andrea. The silencer was homemade. Recently. Just took me a few weeks to master the art of creating it from a pvc pipe. Don't know what made me plan to purchase the gun in the first placeóI had never planned to hurt anybody but my stepfather. Yet the weapon was power. And with the anger I carried around for years, the gun dared anyone to try me. Thinking about it now, when I made the illegal purchase, I had already decided that I didn't want to get caught for something I might do again. When Andrea's husband finally did make it to his truck, it was so dark that it took him a while to get his key in the lock. The phlegm wrestled in his chest as he cleared his throat. Different smells crawled all over me now. I ignored them. Heightened senses was all. Lumber. Gasoline. Quick, small breaths coated with Black and Mild smoke. Metal clashing. Still couldn't get the key in. I rose from my hiding place. You're Daddy's special girl, Dulce. He always used to say that to me. Right before showing me how special I really was. You make Daddy feel so good. Sweat bathing me. Musty armpits. Slight alcohol breath mixed with peppermint. Nothing trembled but my heart. I knew what I was doing. Preparing myself to do this. I love you, Dulce. Daddy loves you. Always said that. Right before he was about to climax. The black envelope of dawn was the only thing that kept Andrea's husband from noticing me. Wasn't hard for me to see him, though. It was never too hard if you made a note of the general area in which to expect someone. Totally different when they didn't expect you. I didn't stand completely. I'm five foot four, but still wasn't small enough for me to remain completely hidden on my feet. My knees were a much better option. I shot him a smug smile. Murder. Redemption. It would seem as though I were prepared for both just by looking at my position. Kneeling as if to pray and all the while just wanting this man dead. My ragged wool pea coat did nothing to stop the cold from massaging my bones with her calloused fingers. She was the only reason I shivered, because nothing else was going to stop me from pulling the trigger. But I had to remember the plan. Can't stray from the plan. Straying from the plan is a killer's death sentence. "Get on the ground." I could see the shape of his head shifting into different angles. Like a bird becoming aware of its surroundings.
"Who the hell is that?"
"Never mind that, hijo de puta!" I hissed. He paused. The Spanish had confused him. I believe it scared him tooóalthough he didn't know the language, there was no doubt in my mind that he knew it was threatening. "When someone has a gun, you get on the fucking ground and ask no questions!" He glanced around again. This time he was looking for someone to help. What he didn't know was the information his own wife had given me. He bought the truck a year before with money from their joint account. Of course his arrogance hadn't allowed him to let her know about the purchase. He controlled everything in Andrea's household just like he controlled her body. The hard-earned money she'd saved over the years went down the drain and ended up in her driveway in the form of his brand new 2005 F-150. He bragged to all his friends at work the next day. Even parked his truck at the far end of the parking lot everyday so that no one would dare hit it with a stray car door. No one would dare help him that morning either. I cocked the gun. "Does that sound like I'm going to ask you again?" He shook his head. "Alright, then. You know what to do. And I want you to put your hands on your head while you're doing it. Be very careful, or I'll make this painful." Quivering hands went on top of that enormous head. A man his size could easily overpower Andrea. I wouldn't have minded making him suffer. But she wanted it to be quick, logical, and most of all, neat. His knees hit the ground and he went face down. I smirked, watching him sputter as gravel engulfed his mouth.
"What's this all about? Can you tell me that? Why are you doing this? You want money? My wallet's in my back pocket."
"Fucking, marricon! People like you are all alike!" My Spanish lilt grew stronger. Olive face reddening. The cold breeze had my bronze hair flapping around my face like a door that wouldn't remain shut. "You prey on the weak because you're fucking cowards!"
"What are you talking about?" Can't get to personal. Continue with the plan.
"The wallet in your back pocket? Slowly remove it and toss it about two feet to your left." He followed my instructions. I leapt out of the cab of the truck and landed with the skill of a ballerina. He turned his head to the side as my feet catapulted even more gravel into his face. His entire body shook now, like he was an epileptic who had fallen to the ground. The immense fear I instilled in him excited me. The excitement coursed through my veins like heroin in fact. I knew if I didn't squeeze the trigger I was headed for an overdose. So that's what I did. There was not much to it. No long, drawn-out conversation. No telling him who sent me like they do in the movies. Just blew the back of his head off and watched the bloody spittle flow from his mouth as the sun began to rise. I picked up the wallet, tucked it in my pocket and dashed around the side of the warehouse. I crept along the peeling aluminum wall, going back the same way I had come in through the weeds. The bus stop was still several yards away. I slipped the gun in my coat, a pair of reading glasses over my eyes, and a newspaper from that same coat into my hands. I saw several men, and a few women, milling around on the curb of the boulevard that ran through the industrial park. Eyes drooping with fatigue and arms hanging like noodles. They never gave me more than a sideways glance and an extended yawn. They were too concerned with getting home to their beds, husbands and wives, or a hot meal. And yet Andrea was walking into work. She was greeting her coworkers. She was sitting down at her computer. Maybe she was enjoying a bagel. All while her husband was getting robbed and killed. And now, as the Number Twenty pulled up, I joined the group of mindless zombies. And I enjoyed yesterday's newspaper all the way home. Andrea's husband would make it on the front page the next day. So, I didn't start off being a cold-blooded murderer for no reason. But as the killings continued, I grew numb and decided to make a living at the one thing I had learned to be good at. After a while, it wasn't about vengeanceóthat would have made me a vigilante. It soon came down to being strictly business. No one expected me to drop out of med school. I was one of the top students. But no doctor in the country made money like I did, though my studies did teach me how to neatly dismember someone. I'll admit, I became addicted to the good life. I'm sure my neighbors wondered what the quiet Dominican girl did next door. I was the poster child for corporate America as I left my oceanfront condo every morning. Shoulder-length hair pulled back into a neat bun. Sleepy eyes awakened with peach-hued makeup and pursed lips enhanced with the same color. Crisp white linen suit. Confident quick steps and no conversation. But I didn't work for white-collar men. Unless they wanted me to take out a rival who could sometimes be their own partner. And when I left my home every morning, I was usually headed to my "office"óit was in an abandoned shack in the rural area of Virginia Beach known as Pungo. Very rarely did I go there unless a client specifically asked for torture. My briefcase held no papers. Only tools and a picture of my target.
Quincy
I did love Lavender. Perhaps not the way I should have, but I loved her. The first time I saw her, I thought that she embodied every bit of her name. Beautiful. Smelled nice. It seemed that every guy in high school took notice, and that was why I followed suit. Though Lavender was the new girl, I found out a lot about her from a fellow track star named Sheila. They shared the same English class and I told Sheila I was interested in Lavender. Sheila seemed surprisedóa reaction that temporarily irritated meóbut she was a longtime friend and promised to hook me up. "Why now?" she had asked. I laughed. I hoped I sounded more confident and less uncomfortable. "She's not only fine but she's smartÖat least from what you say. Editor of her newspaper at her last school and on the Principal's List every time. You know there aren't too many girls here I can bring home to my father." And I wasn't exaggerating. He was the deacon of our church and a very stern man with high expectations. "Quincy, you can run faster." "Quincy, this essay is unacceptable." "Quincy, set a good example for the youth at church." And I didn't disappoint. But to receive his full approval, I chose a career path way before I graduated high school. I knew if I became a messenger of God, I would command my father's full respect. Of course, there was a small matter at hand that would get out of hand if I let it. It could ruin everything. People started to believe I was a fag. I hated to think of myself that way, but the word started to travel under the breaths of some of my classmates. I was careful. So careful for so many years at hiding it. What could have gone wrong? I figured it out when an uneasy Sheila revealed the source of my misfortunes. I had worked on a group history project with a guy named Denard who was openly gay. Everyone called him "Fruit Rollup" and he was proud of it. He was the first person I ever despised in my lifetime. Prancing about with his limp wrists, working that neck of his when he told somebody off. I was furious when our teacher put us in a group together. Everyone else in our group seemed relieved because despite Denard's preferences, he was a certified genius. There was no way we would make a bad grade. Since Denard didn't have a car and lived in my neighborhood, I agreed to pick him up one afternoon so that our group could meet at the library. He appeared at his door shirtless. "Wassup, Quincy. You can come in, I'm almost ready." The first thing I noticed was Denard's chest. He may have been feminine but his body certainly wasn't. He was clearly a person who worked out every day. His pecs and washboard abs proved that. I glanced away and when I looked back at him, he smirked. "Well, don't stand there and let all those damned mosquitoes in my momma's house." Embarrassed, I closed the door behind me. Behind us. Denard bounded up the staircase and after twiddling my thumbs for a few seconds, I followed him. There was no plan of action on my part. And I was nervous about something I didn't even know would happen. When I made it down the hallway to Denard's room, his door was slightly ajar and he was still changing his clothes. My mouth watered, watching the bulge in his underwear jostling about as he pulled up a fresh pair of jeans. I made a slight step forward and Denard noticed it from the corner of his eye. He winked at me with that eye. "You see something you like, Mr. Wallace?" I stood there motionless, trying to wrinkle up my nose or give him some sign of disgust. But I couldn't hide my attraction, and Denard knew it. He allowed his jeans to fall to the floor, and then his boxers. "Cat, or should I say dick, got your tongue?"
"Put your clothes on, Denard." It was mild, low, and unconvincing. He came so close to me that we could've been Siamese twins. "I was just looking for the bathroom."
"I always knew there was something about you Quincy."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"We've been going to school together for years, and you've always been afraid to look at me."
"You think you're so smart don't you? Apparently only in the classroom, because I'm not afraid of anything. And you look like a fool right now. Put your clothes on."
"You're the damned fool if you think you can play me. I know I make you nervous, just like you are right now. And maybe that's because I have something to offer you that none of these bitches can. You just don't want to admit it, and that's what you're afraid of." I decided to take an approach that I normally wouldn't.
"I said put your damned clothes on before I knock your ass out!" Denard's eyes widened in mock surprise.
"I know church boy didn't just come out of his mouth like that?" A faint smile touched his lips. With surprising speed, he groped my crotch and left his hand there. "Just like I thought. Hard as a rock." Denard began to massage me through my khakis and I caught his wrist. "Showed up early today, huh? Do you want to knock my ass out, or get up in it?" My right eye twitched, and I loosened my grip. Denard took that as a cue and closed his bedroom door behind us. I received my first, and best, blowjob that day. And I paid for it later. Sheila told me that Denard had shared our little secret with a few of his girlfriends. It took me a while to convince her that he was lying. He was proud to be the first one to have had Quincy Wallace. And this time, I really was going to hurt him. I had to persuade everyone. Quickly. There was no way I could let my father find out. For a long time everybody, including my father, thought I was just a focused kid and didn't have time for girls. But God forbid everyone think that I could make time for boys. That's where Lavender came in. She was in the limelight, and I had to snatch the opportunity while she was feeling me. If there was anyone who could save my reputation, it was her. An average girl wouldn't do. In the meantime, I caught Denard in the boy's bathroom after school the same day Sheila put me on to his gossip. He grinned at me as he took a piss in front of one of the urinals.
"It was that good that you had to come looking for me after hours?" "Yes," I said, and walked over to him. After he finished, he gave it a shake, but I motioned for him to leave it out. He quickly obeyed and sighed as this time, I did all the groping. Just when Denard threw his head back in satisfaction, I gave his throbbing erection a sudden harsh twist.
"Aaagh!" he cried. I pinned his body against the wall and placed a hand over his mouth while I maintained my grip with the other. Denard's eyes widened in fear and then squinted in pain. I gritted my teeth.
"You want to run around telling lies about people, huh?" A tear ran from the corner of both his eyes. I applied pressure against his head with the hand I had over his mouth. "I asked you a question! Nod your head yes, or shake your head no." Denard slowly shook his head and I could hear his muffled whimpers. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one walked in on us. I turned back to Denard. "That's good. Because you're going to tell everyone what really happened. Everyone you lied to." He looked at me in confusion. "You will tell all your friends that you lied. That you were upset because I turned you down. Understand? I said do you understand?!" He quickly nodded his head and I released him. Denard stared at me like he wanted to spit in my face. But I knew I had shaken him up. I panted heavily. "The next time you run your mouth about me, I'll break it off!" I never had to worry about looking away from Denard againóhe didn't give me so much as a peek after that day. The rumors stopped. A couple of weeks later, Lavender and I were official. A bunch of my homeboys who had started to avoid me apologized for believing Denard.
"Especially after you pulled that," they would joke whenever Lavender was around. My father never heard about the sexual encounter with Denard, but he would certainly be angry about the one I planned to have with Lavender. I was nervous about every move I made around her because I always thought I might slip up. So I tried to show her as much affection as possible. And the two virgins ended up dealing with a pregnancy three months into the relationship. I don't think my father forgave me even after Lavender and I were married. At least not until I went to school for theology and started to preach and spread the word. That's when his look of pride returned. And Lavender and I lived happily ever afterÖ At least until I met Deacon Ronald Gray. After he joined my congregation, my sermon wasn't the only thing I began to enjoy doing at church. The man ignited a fire inside of me that I couldn't put out with holy water.
