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Martin, Revisited
Chapter Sixteen
THE SPIRIT OF A GOOD MAN
Copyright 2016 - 2020 Christina M. Guerrero
INTERMEDIATE DRAFT
PROLOGUE, FIRST SECTION - Martin - Thoughts while falling asleep. Which led to a short story. Which led to a novel.
CHAPTER ONE - The English Rose - Martin in love.
CHAPTER TWO - The Mooch Message - You may think words don't matter. But they do.
CHAPTER THREE - Congratulations - Time to celebrate. Or is it?
CHAPTER FOUR - The Heart Of Man - Who we are.
INTERLUDE NUMBER ONE - Turning A Writing Project Into A Novel - A few things to consider
CHAPTER FIVE - The Dead Thing - The green spaceship theory.
CHAPTER SIX - TBD
CHAPTER SEVEN - TBD
CHAPTER EIGHT part one - Their Children, Again - Life as a child.
CHAPTER EIGHT part two - Their Children, Once More - Growing up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN- A Scent Of Roses - Pondering infinity.
IN PROGRESS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - The Spirit Of A Good Man - Don't underestimate people. You'd be surprised what they're capable of.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - G-Rated Swear Words - What pays the bills is not easy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - His Place Full Of Space - What makes a place a home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Hallelujah - In search of the truth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Recovery - The body, soul, and spirit need time to recover from injustice.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - A Bit Of Heaven - The holidays are difficult for some.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - Who's The Hero? - Looking for hope.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - Zombie Caleb And The Holidays - Dealing with flashbacks.
CHAPTER UNKNOWN - The Mystery Of Spasiba - Are babies paying attention?
Draft Four:
There may be many levels of editing. The next step is to reduce "he" from the beginning of every other sentence.
They are filming a science fiction show. Must. Describe. More.
Repetitive phrases: Lost in thought ... for a moment ... and others.
DISCLAIMER
Except for the first section of the prologue and the interludes, this is a work of fiction.
The rest is either a product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, things, or events is coincidental and unintentional.
Martin unlocked the door to his apartment.
He opened the door but remained in the hallway, reluctant to return to life by himself. He wanted India present as his wife, and Carter present for friendship and companionship.
“Some day,” he said.
He entered, closed and locked the door, put a few things away, washed up, and went to bed, where he stared into the darkness.
He thought about India and smiled. Their time together felt good and natural. They would be busy for the next few days and would not be able to spend much time together. “However,” India had said, “That will allow us to reflect on our time together and think about where we’d like this to go.” Martin had agreed, although he wouldn’t have minded enjoying her presence until his last breath.
He thought about Carter and felt more joy. Once again Martin muttered, “How often do you get to meet and hang out with your heroes? So far, I like him.”
He checked his phone again. No response since morning. Suddenly, the screen flashed with a message from Carter: “The get-together was mostly disturbing. But I think it will be helpful. So far they appear to be interested in my well-being. It was a bad day after that.”
Martin considered offering help or visiting. But he needed sleep.
He responded, “Bad day? Will you be up for tomorrow?”
“Yes. What’s the new schedule like?”
“More of the same. Yet fascinating.”
“Are the other actors okay with this?”
“Seem to be. They’ve been helpful. I think almost all of them are like us ... from the background.”
“Then maybe it will be a good team.”
“I hope so.”
“I better get to sleep. You too. I miss sharing a room at the hospital. It was like being brothers, only better.”
Martin studied this for a while. He felt that platonic ache.
He typed, then put his phone aside, got comfortable and fell asleep.
* * * * *
Carter waited half an hour before checking his phone.
He had sent the message out of longing and out of appreciation, and to see if Martin felt the same way. Now he felt embarrassed.
He checked the phone and felt better.
Martin had sent, “I miss it too. But I hope you understand why I don’t like the word ‘brother.’ How about ‘best friends?’”
Carter smiled. He sent, “It was just a word that I could not think of any better synonyms for. I’m not too fond of it, either,” and a thumbs-up Emoji.
* * * * *
On the set the next day they spoke in low voices between takes.
“This is nooot filming. It’s science fiction aalgebra,” Carter said.
Martin looked through a script and a set of instructions. “I think I have the basic idea.”
“I I I dooon’t but I I I I’m willing to give it a chance.”
“Shh. Here they come gain.”
When it was time to leave they went to makeup to get their faces cleaned off, and to wardrobe to change into their clothes. As he changed, Martin kept a nonchalant eye on Carter, wanting to have dinner together but feeling shy about saying so.
Carter changed faster and more efficiently, politely refusing help from a wardrobe assistant. He smiled, laughed and chatted but Martin thought he looked tired and serious.
Afterwards Carter sat nearby, studying his crutches.
Martin adjusted his shoes, feeling a bit of hope. He almost asked about dinner when Carter said, “Maaartin, if you don’t have plans you aaare welcome tooo join me. I’m going to aaa cafe and coffee shop near my place.”
Martin pretended to give this some consideration. “I’d like to.”
“Awesome. I prefer the taxi but I know youuuu have a bus pass. I I I I’ll ride the bus with you.”
“Sounds good.”
They entered the elevator with several of the other actors. One said, “What do you guys think? Do you think you’ll like the new position?”
Martin smiled as he chose his words. Carter said, “It’s complicated. As usual.”
The others nodded and laughed.
Martin said, “Why can’t they shoot a normal TV show?”
A voice said, “Exactly.”
The doors opened. One of the others said, “We should all get together soon. Let’s chat about it tomorrow?”
They separated outside; Martin and Carter went to the bus stop, where they had a short wait. Once on the bus, Martin glanced from front to back and saw two familiar faces; he pretended not to have noticed. A fantasy came to mind: Steele telling them to trail him and study how much of a “mooch” he really was.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. “Please. Take this seat.” A petite, blond, pregnant yet rather fit and sturdy woman stood and gestured as she held onto a small blond boy who watched with great interest.
Martin considered arguing. Then he imagined the bus coming to an abrupt stop, and himself flying through the windshield while everyone else remained stationary. He sat just as the boy said, “I don’t want to stand up.”
The woman said, “Arthur! Be nice.”
Carter sat next to Martin and said, “Heee can sit here between us.”
Arthur stumbled as the bus started to move. Carter swiftly picked him up and placed him on the seat.
Arthur said, “You’re strong.”
Carter said, “Thaaank you.”
“Do you have CP?”
“Yes.”
“I learned about CP on TV. Do you have a TV?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Arthur!” The woman said.
Carter said, “It’s oookaayyy. I don’t haaave a TV because I I never waaatched much when I I I I had one. Do you waaatch a lot of TV?”
“Yes.” Arthur looked at Martin, seemed to find something lacking, then turned back to Carter. “Are you friends?”
“Yes. Heeee’s my best friend.”
Arthur looked at Martin, seemed to be more impressed, and said, “You’re quiet.”
Martin smiled. “Sometimes I am.”
Carter said, “He is quiet. But that’s okay with me.”
After a few blocks Arthur said, “Do you want a TV for Christmas?”
“No. Do you?”
“No. We have a lot.”
Carter whispered, “Maaaartin. Get off and get on a different bus.”
Martin nodded.
As they both stood, Arthur said, “Bye. I liked talking to you.”
“I liked taaaalking to youuu too.”
As they pretended to walk away from the bus stop, Martin said, “Thanks. I I don’t want to be trailed.”
“Meee either.”
They backtracked, walked a few blocks, took another bus and viewed the coffee shop from across its one-way street.
Carter said, “Ready? Waaatch out for cars,” and jaywalked once again.
Martin said, “You think so? I never thought about doing that.”
Carter laughed.
As they approached the other curb, a car zoomed toward them. Martin stepped out of danger just in time; the car stopped only a few inches away.
An irritated voice voice called out, “Hey, buddy! I really think you should use the crosswalk.”
Carter turned, raised his middle finger and shouted, “I I I really think youuuu should biiiiite meeeeee.”
Martin laughed.
The man’s voice changed from irritated to friendly. “Hey. You got a friend. Nice.” The car sped away.
Inside, Martin admired the dark tan, chocolate brown, and gold decor. To his right, several people ordered from a wide, tall area. He thought about Disneyland and imagined good old Walt designing this coffee shop.
“Comfortable,” he said to Carter, who nodded.
A cashier promised to deliver their order to their destination. They went to the eating area and found a nook with two big wide chairs and a big end table.
Martin sat and continued assessing Carter, who moved a bit stiffly but capably; he sat and gave Martin a serious yet pleasant look.
Their food and drinks arrived and they were busy for a while.
Carter broke the companionable silence with,”Whyyyy dooo you think they were on the bus?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really want to know. But I’ll guess they’re trailing us in order to understand the error of their ways.”
“Will you be okay?”
“Not for a while. How about you?”
Carter was a bad liar -- his face had become expressionless, and he was clenching his jaw -- but he said relatively smoothly as he examined his sandwich, “I I I am ... okay. I am concerned about youuu.”
For a moment, Martin was lost in thought. He had been strong for Carter, who had returned the favor many times, but it still felt unusual, and as if it might turn sinister at any moment. For a few seconds, Martin wanted to run. Then he remembered his intentions: to stick with this and simply break it off if it turned bad. He also remembered their history: so far, they were doing well; they were supporting each other socially and emotionally; they had been able to discuss weird or awkward topics without degenerating into contention; they could be mostly straightforward. Right now, Carter appeared to be profoundly upset, and he had changed from somewhat cheerful to emotionless during the exchange with the boy. Martin also felt troubled; he did not want anyone following him around town, no matter how public the venue. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? What if they did to him, what had happened to Carter? He shivered, not wanting to think of such violence. However, Martin knew about violence and battery and flashbacks and surviving despite those things. When he was dealing with flashbacks, he wanted to be comforted and listened to; he would do his best when Carter needed the same treatment.
“Thank you,” Martin said. “I’m feeling unsettled but that’s nothing unusual.”
* * * * *
Carter forced himself to focus on Martin.
He felt dreadful; he was simultaneously back in the playroom as a child, and in the coffee shop; the boy on the bus had brought back memories of being young and small and happy.
He tried to focus on Martin, who held a coffee cup in two big hands. Today Martin’s shirt was a light rosy tan with a brown, pink and off-white tie over jeans and brown wingtips; his hair was slicked back as usual, emphasizing his big blue eyes and clean shaven light skin.
Carter said, “I I I feel unsettled often too.”
Martin nodded and sipped. “I will be okay. At the moment, as long as they’re not in my face, I don’t care what they’re up to.”
Carter reviewed a series of thoughts that sometimes followed disturbing incidents: 1. Not everyone is violent; 2. Sometimes people betray and turn violent without warning; 3. It’s okay to take your time recovering from betrayal and/or violence; those who care about you will understand.
Tears moistened his eyes. Before his tiny body had been battered, the beauty of the playroom’s colors, and the sense of belonging, and the comfortable routine -- which allowed for healthy habits -- were inspiring and sweet. His unbroken little body could have remained so. He had been a healthy, happy, child with great energy despite having cerebral palsy.
God help the children, he thought yet again.
He studied Martin’s happy chewing, not wanting to ruin the evening.
Carter said with forced kindness, “Mayyybee taaalking about the food will make us feel better.”
Martin smiled; he sat up straighter. “I like that. And I like this sandwich. A lot of food for the price. Would you like a sample?”
Carter admired the thick roast beef. “Please.” He cut off a piece of his own vegetarian sandwich and they shared.
Martin held out a small cup of au jus. “Have a little. You know what, Carter? I think we would have been good friends as children.”
And with that Carter felt the tears flow. He continued to eat but he imagined himself and Martin growing up together, being companions, having fun, helping each other.
“Hey,” Martin said. “What’s wrong?”
“Thaaat boy. He was about five. Who would haaarm a child?”
Martin’s face grew somber. “Some people think that’s fine and dandy. I don’t.”
“What would you haaaave done if she haaaaad suddenly slugged him?”
“Stood between them. Taken the blows for him. You?”
“Protected him and called the police.”
Carter felt out of control despite crying silently. He remembered Kramer saying, “You’re still mourning. You lost a lot on that day alone. It may take a lifetime. Be patient and be good to yourself.”
Martin said gently, “Work through it.”
Carter felt sick and disgusted. He felt breathless and angry, fatigued and irritable. He wished he had simply gone home. He remembered the whispers behind his back in the playroom: “No, you do it.” “No, YOU do it. The winner gets ten dollars.” “That’s not a lot of money.” “It is to the poor.” “We’re not poor.” “Just do it. I have fifty dollars that I saved. You need it more than I do.” Carter had been sitting there, his back to them, playing with his building blocks, thinking they were making a bet over what they were building with their toys. There had been the usual sounds in a children’s playroom that muffled the inception of the crimes: one of his crutches had been taken. His back had been turned as they planned. A few minutes later, his tiny body had been beaten and his right shoulder separated; he had been thrown and almost killed ....
With a sudden wave of nausea, Carter pushed his food away and rubbed his shoulder. Yet again, he thought about advice from Kramer: “It may help to simply go about your normal routine for as long as possible. I think that you have good perspectives on everything, and I am here to fine-tune those perspectives. If you are out and about, and you have a flashback, remember to be in the moment: both back then and now. This is your life and body, and both were damaged, and it’s okay to be outraged by that, and to feel upset how it has affected your life as an adult.”
Carter did not feel better. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I I I thought I would be okay.”
“It’s okay. Why don’t you rest. I’ll eat your leftovers.”
Carter managed to smile. He sat with his arms crossed and his eyes closed.
The coffee shop bustled around him. The scents of roasted beans and baked bread comforted him. Voices chatted: to the far left a group of voices sounded like a diverse group as they discussed LGBTQ issues. Nearer were two women who were planning a dinner party. Just ahead, a boy whined over and over that the scents were “stinky, Daddy” and his daddy promised they would be leaving soon. To the right, two female voices whispered; one commented, “I think the one with his arms folded is cuter.”
Carter opened his eyes just a bit. One woman was visible from the nook. She had long curly brown hair and big round features. She glanced at him frequently. He shut his eyes, thinking he’d rather chat with Amelia again and learn more about her.
A friendly tenor voice interrupted his thoughts: “Hello, gentlemen. You’re welcome to join us.”
Carter opened his eyes. A medium-sized, mostly square man had entered the nook. He was in his mid-twenties and had short blond hair, ice blue eyes and zero body fat. His T-shirt, khaki pants and chukka boots were all military green. A Freemason tattoo covered the top of his right hand.
The man said, “We meet infrequently and have friendly conversations. A great way to meet others in the neighborhood. All are welcome.”
Martin said, “Thank you. I’m not sure. My friend isn’t feeling well.”
“Perhaps another time, then. I’m Kane.”
“Martin.”
They shook hands.
Carter sat forward on his chair. “Caaaa ... aaa ... arter.” To honor the efforts of Kramer, he decided to force himself to get some sort of enjoyment out of the rest of the day.
“Carter.” The man’s grip was brief and firm.
“Aaaare youuu a Maaaason?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whaaaat’s thaaat like?”
“I like it. If you care to join us, we could chat about it. Or if you’re around on another day and we’re here, just join us. What do you think?”
Carter’s spirits lifted. When he fantasized about being someone else, he imagined himself to be more muscular and fit and friendly, like this man; he believed he saw similar admiration on Martin’s face.
“Maaaartin. Wee could finish eating and then ....”
Martin said, “Okay, give us a few minutes, Kane.”
“No problem.”
* * * * *
Carter ate slowly and reluctantly; he did not have much of an appetite but he needed the calories. “Whaaaat do you think about going over there and meeting new people?”
“Seems okay. Let's check it out further.”
When they finished eating, they stood and moved slowly through the first floor of the coffee shop. Carter saw a large mirror on the wall; once again he was surprised at how much he and Martin looked like each other: tall, long dark brown hair, dark blue eyes, clean-shaven, slim, and they both had cerebral palsy. Just as he thought this, a woman said with a smile, “Excuse me. I just had to ask. Are you two twins?”
Carter said, “Noooo. We aaaaare good friends.” He shivered at the word 'twin' and exchanged a grim glance with Martin, then managed a small smile for the woman.
“You could pass for twins,” she said.
They went to the furthest corner of the downstairs room of the coffee shop. A table filled most of the corner. Close to the table was a sliding glass door which opened to a patio where diners ate, drank and chatted.
“This place is big,” Martin said.
“I I I I I knowwww. I like it.”
Kane stood up to Carter's right and said, “Hey! We have two chairs right here for you.”
Once seated, they were introduced. Carter had been correct earlier about the group being diverse: there were a few women who might have once been men; two women holding hands, several heterosexual couples, a few men holding hands, and a few men who appeared to be single.
Kane said, “We have a few rules: no phones, keep discussion of jobs and salaries general, disagree politely. It's a way to meet people in the neighborhood. Martin, looks like you ordered the beef sandwich.”
“That's my favorite,” said one of the women. A lively conversation ensued about the menu.
Carter observed for a while until the topic split into several related subjects. Martin became engrossed in a discussion about privately-owned coffee shops.
“Carter, are you feeling better?” Kane asked.
“Yes. Thaaaank you.”
Amanda, a tall, muscular, black, hoarse-voiced woman sitting across from Carter, said, “I'm getting too personal and I'm sorry but I saw you on the news. I'm glad you're out of the hospital and socializing. You won. Don't ever let anyone push you around. You be who you want to be.” She wiped under her eyes with a tissue.
Carter felt a brief moment of joy. He smiled and held out his right hand and they high-fived. He admired her big lavender trapezoidal earrings and said, “Whoooo makes those earrings?”
“I do, honey. We can talk about it some other time or Mr. Kane here will banish me.”
Kane nodded seriously at Amanda then said softly, “Not banish. Maybe reprimand.”
Carter said, “Howww long haaaaave youuu both lived in the neighborhood?”
She said, “A few months.” Her face grew solemn.
Kane was still watching her; he turned to Carter and said, “Three and a half years. You?”
“A long time. Whaaaat's up with the maaaan who tells people to hurry up?”
Amanda's face relaxed with a smile. “That's Rex. He's a hoot. Has an attitude but means no harm.”
Carter suddenly felt dreadful; so far this felt good, and many good times in the past had ended abruptly in chaos and pain. He also had a sudden, unreasonable fear that Martin was not feeling well. To handle this, he coached himself: It is normal to have unexpected flashbacks of terrible times, and it is normal to want to have flashback-free days. It is all normal. Don’t let anyone tell you anything different.
He said, “I I I I told Rex to biiiiiite me. Twice.” He glanced at Martin, who appeared to be healthy and enjoying himself.
Amanda and Kane grinned; Kane said, “Then he’s getting back exactly what he puts out. He can handle it.”
Carter sipped the last of his hot chocolate, wishing for just a bit more. He said to Kane, “Did youuuu serve in the military?”
“Yes, sir. Still do. Shaped me up and gave me discipline.”
“Did youuuu neeeed it?”
“I did. Have you or your friend served?”
“Nooooo. I I I would have liiiiked to. He doesn't think he could have. He's too stubborn.”
“I think stubborn can be a good quality, or turned into a good one.”
Carter smiled in agreement.
Kane turned to Amanda and said, “Sure you don't want an espresso?”
“I changed my mind. I'll take a double. With whipped cream.” She pulled out a small purse.
“Carter? Something else to drink?”
“Yes. Thaaaat sounds good. What she's having.” He took a few dollars out of his pocket and gave them to Kane.
Martin said, “I’ll go with you, Kane.” He struggled briefly with his crutches.
“Cool. You may have to carry some back.”
Martin said, “I think I could balance a small cup on my head ....”
As they walked away, Amanda said, “Sounds so sweet to be called ‘she’.”
“If youuuuu don't mind me aaasking, when did you know?” Carter said.
“At age eight. A little late to the program. I've been happy ever since.”
Carter nodded.
“And you, honey? Are you living it up?”
Carter laughed. “Aaaaas weeeeell aaaaas I I I I caaaaaan.” He realized he was exhausted from meeting the boy on the bus, and his speech was showing it.
“You know what I like. A really good art exhibit. Have you been to one?”
They chatted about art. Kane and Martin returned with their drinks, receipts and exact change.
Carter sipped slowly, enjoying the flavors of coffee mixed with cream. He observed as Martin sat, still with an uneasy feeling that something was not right. But Martin socialized well; he smiled and chatted.
After a while, Martin tapped Carter's thigh.
Carter said to Kane, “It waaaas nice talking to you. We have to go.”
“Pleasure talking to you, sir. If you two would like, let's chat again.”
Carter pushed away from the table, using his hands and arms for leverage to stand up, then took his crutches and moved around the chair.
They said goodbye to everyone then went outside, got on the bus, and rode in silence for a while.
“I like them,” Martin said.
“Me toooo. Whyyyy did you go to get drinks?”
“Well. I know they were nice but you shouldn’t let anyone handle your food or drink when you’ve just met them.”
“I I I I I forgot about that.”
Martin's head bowed, and his brow wrinkled.
“Heyyy,” Carter said.
“He reminds me of my dad. Doesn't look much like him. But his spirit. The spirit of a good man.” Martin cried silently, wiping his eyes and face.
“Soooo far.”
“Do you think they're all trustworthy?”
“Weeeeee'll find out.”
As they got closer to Martin's stop Carter said, “Will you be okayyyyy by yourself?”
Martin's face grew still as he slowly wiped his cheeks and nodded.
Carter said, “I could watch over you ... the way you watched over me.”
Martin smiled faintly. “My place isn't that fancy.”
"If youuu have a spare couch thaaaat’s all I need." After some thought Carter added, "I've spent a lot of nights ooooooon couches and I I I once spent the night in jail."
He glanced around. The bus was full despite the late hour. A few people appeared to have heard his last few sentences; they looked him over, looked away.
Martin said, “I find that hard to believe.”
A slim black man said, “Excuse me for being nosy. But I don't believe it either.”
A hispanic woman said, “You spent the night in jail. You sure they had the right person?"
Carter said, “Yes. It waaaas just vagrancy. Aaaaand they dropped the charges.”
Martin tapped his thigh. As they stood up the black man said, “God bless.”
* * * * *
Once outside, Martin said, “It's an okay neighborhood.” They went inside a small brownstone to his floor and he unlocked his front door.
Inside he gestured. “Please take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
Carter looked around. They stood in a small living room. To the far left, in its own space, was a small kitchen. To the right was a bedroom in front with its own bathroom, and a half bath to the far right.
“Nooooo,” Carter said. “I I I I’ll take the couch.”
“Please make yourself at home. Without stealing anything. There's water in the fridge and a few snack things if you like to eat late.”
“I think I I I I I'll take the TV and walk out with it. While you're ooooout of the room.” Carter laughed as he admired a flat screen TV that covered about six square feet of wall to his right. “Why dooooo youuuuu have such a large TV?”
“It was a gift from someone whom I did not want to offend. It's grown on me.”
“I I I think it'll fit over my shoulder if I I I use the straaaaaps from my crutches.”
Martin admired Carter's deadpan delivery, then said, “Good luck with that. Here, let me get you a few things.” He went to his dresser and took out extra pajamas and a robe, and brought them to Carter. “If you need them. And there are things in the other bathroom: a supply of new toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, facial cleanser, moisturizer. I keep it stocked because I hate when I’m at someone else’s place and there’s nothing in the bathroom except one empty soap container.”
Carter nodded. “Yeah, me too. Thaaanks.”
“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Okayyy.”
Martin went into his bedroom and shut the door. After some thought he locked it then stood there and wept as quietly as possible. He started shaking, so sat on his bed until the tremors passed. He took his phone and sent his mother a photo of his father and a message: “I miss him.” He went into the bathroom, washed up, changed into pajamas, returned to his bed and took out a photo album. He sniffed loudly as he turned the pages. On the last page was a photo of his father looking serious. “What were you thinking in that photo?” Martin once asked. His father's reply, “Wondering whether I could get away with proposing to your mother only three months after meeting her.” He had waited a few more weeks then proposed.
Martin said, “Happily married for more than twenty years until his death.” He checked his phone and found, “Me too,” from his mother. She had included a photo of the three of them.
A message came through from Carter: “Are you well?”
Martin put everything away and opened the bedroom door. Carter was sitting on the couch, squinting, still in his day clothes. He appeared to be tired, but he sat up straight, with his crutches nearby as if he needed to leave immediately. The TV was still on the wall. A bottle of water was half empty, on a coaster on the coffee table.
“Sorry, Carter. I'm curious about your jail time. And please relax. Sit back, put your feet up.”
“Thaaaank youuuu.” Carter leaned over and began untying his wingtips. “I can tell you now or when you haaaaave time for it.” He removed both shoes, rubbed his purple argyle-sock-covered feet, and rested them on his jacket, on the coffee table. A light scent of smoky cedar drifted in the air, then sweetly faded.
“What’s that scent?” Martin asked as he sat in his recliner.
“I I I I created it. At a perfume shop. I add a tinyyyy bit to some of my clothes and socks.”
Martin realized he usually smelled something pleasant when Carter was around, even in the hospital. “I like it. Tell me about that shop some time. What about your jail time? Would you tell me now?”
Carter grinned. "Okay."
* * * * *
At age seventeen, Carter was walking home from work one day, feeling uneasy and absolutely certain that he was about to find out why.
As he approached his apartment building he saw several large signs on the doors. They were all variations and explanations of the same thing: “This building has been condemned.”
As he stared, a voice behind him said, “You're kidding.”
He turned. One of his neighbors -- a black woman in her mid-thirties -- was holding two bags of groceries.
“Juuuuust like that?" He said angrily. “Theyyyy can shut it down with noooo warning?”
She shook her head; her long shiny hair shimmered. “I have to cook dinner for company tonight. I don’t have time for this.” She took out a cell phone and called the number on the notices. After a few minutes she hung up and said, “The place is not up to code. And things are so bad we're not to go inside. A moving service will be free to all tenants soon. We won’t get reimbursed for this month’s pro-rated rent for a few weeks. Do you have any idea how much it costs to get a new apartment? I can NOT believe this. I just got out of debt. May the Lord give me patience.”
Carter used his own phone to locate a storage space nearby. A few minutes later, a moving service arrived, and he was number one on the list to be moved. He supervised the transition to the storage space, then assessed his financial situation versus a new apartment. It was not good. The landlord was offering only moving services, not another place to stay.
He considered calling his lawyer.
A rebellious voice taunted: Hughes is not your friend. He is your lawyer. Try to handle this yourself before asking him for help because he may do some things for free, but there may be fees you don’t want to pay.
A wiser voice counseled: Why don’t you pay the fees rather than do what you’re thinking? Hughes is there to help you. And there are others you can call. It doesn’t hurt to ask.
The taunting voice provided a vision: Hughes swimming in a huge pool of money, doing back flips off a diving board, going underneath glimmering shimmering folds of green currency, surfacing for air, while Carter kept throwing in more and more currency and coins and checks and money orders, and shouting desperately, “It's getting low! Give me more! ! I need more to fill the pool!”
Carter disregarded both voices. While sitting in his new storage space and eating leftovers, he remembered a place near a park where he hoped he could stay overnight. There were walls and shrubbery around, and he rarely saw evidence of human habitation in the area. He just needed a few nights without any financial woes. New apartment fees plus new Hughes fees would equal a dent in Carter’s budget that he did not want.
He did not want any of this. He just wanted to go home.
Call Hughes! the wise voice said. Maybe he won’t charge you! It doesn’t hurt to ask!
He ignored this and marched stubbornly toward the bus. He took the bus to the park, got off, and walked purposefully toward his destination, vaguely thinking that his coordination seemed to be improving, and wondering if some day he would not have to use crutches.
After checking around, he saw a security guard near a few buildings not far from the park. He strolled slowly, waited for the guard to turn his back, then slipped into the shrubbery, sat, pulled his hood over his head, put his crutches between his legs, and closed his eyes. It was only late evening, but he could use the extra sleep until around six in the morning.
A bright shining light woke him up.
Somewhere behind the light a rather pleasant tenor voice said, “Sir, would you stand up please?”
Carter sighed. “Whyyy?”
“Because you're not supposed to be sleeping here.”
“I I I I'm not bothering anyone.”
“I know. But you'll have to move along or I'll have to arrest you for vagrancy.”
“I'm tired.”
“I'm sure you are but you'll have to move along.”
Carter stood and moved toward the light.
The police officer said kindly, “I can take you to a shelter if you'd like.”
“No.” Carter asked for a ride to a hotel that was his second choice after the park.
He waited for the police to leave, then went into a nearby alley and found a clean spot on the ground. He sat and resumed sleeping.
A bright light woke him up again. It was the same officer. “Sir, you can't sleep out here.”
Carter stood up wearily. He considered telling the officer to bite him but changed his mind. Just as he was about to move the officer said, “I'm arresting you for vagrancy. I’m not going to handcuff you, so please stay ahead of me with your hands on your crutches and move slowly, and then get in the car. I'll take your crutches and give them back to you at the station.”
Carter got in the car. He remained silent through the whole process then went wordlessly into a cell, where he found two other men, and where his crutches were taken away again.
The officer said, “Gentlemen. This is Carter. Anyone touches him, I'm adding additional charges of assault and battery to your woes. Carter, that goes for you too; some actions have consequences.”
“Okayyy.” Carter remembered a time long ago when ‘sir’ had been a frequent word in his vocabulary; he repressed a jaded snicker at his explanation for not using it anymore; under oath he would state “it was literally beaten out of me.”
The officer said, “This is Moses.” He gestured toward a medium-sized black man. “And Ernesto.” He indicated a small hispanic man.
Carter looked around. The cell was at the intersection of several halls, with bars on three sides, and a wall behind him. He could hear voices some distance to his left, reciting incidents and names. To his immediate left was a toilet that was sparkling clean but empty. A sign taped to it announced: “Out of order. Please ask to use the restroom down the hall.” Despite the cleanliness, a scent of sewage mixed with heavy male sweat wafted through the air, alternating with an odd citrusy scent. Across from him were the other men. To his right and beyond his vision were sounds of busy police station offices.
After a while a large white bald man -- who was wearing a flowery pink dress and pink ballet slippers -- was introduced as Graham, escorted in, and also warned. When the officer stepped away, Graham stared at Carter, who felt self-conscious without his crutches: His feet and lower legs turned inward a bit, and his hands and facial features had slight tics when he was tired. Graham visibly winced at each tic and said in a prissy voice, “Seriously. What could YOU possibly have done? Why are you in here?”
Carter said, “Biiiiiiite me.” He added his middle finger, which wavered.
Graham looked him over. “No thanks, hon. You’re not my type.”
Ernesto said, “Leave him alone, man. He didn't do anything to you. Sit down.”
Moses nodded.
Graham said, “Hmph. Snooty snoots in this precinct, just as I expected.” A few minutes later he said, “Seriously, what'd you do, Mr. Skinny? Attitude someone to death?”
Carter stared sideways, ready for a fight. He had great upper body strength. He could get in a few good swings before--
“Help! Help!” Graham shouted.
An officer strolled over. “Problem?”
“He's threatening me, officer!”
“Tell me what he did.”
“He told me to bite him. Then he looked at me strange.”
“If he batters you, let me know.” The officer disappeared.
The others laughed.
Ernesto said, “Leave him alone, man. He can barely walk and talk.”
“Yeah but he's got evil eyes.”
Moses observed as if he were at a tennis match, but remained silent.
Carter closed his eyes, hoping to get some sleep but the scene repeated itself seven times during the next hour: Graham asking the same questions over and over, and the others telling him to stop.
“But he's harassing me!” Graham told the police officer the seventh time. Graham pointed at Carter, who was just sitting and twitching and trying to sleep, and thinking perhaps he should have called Hughes before making any decisions.
The officer said, “That'll be enough. There's a camera on you and I can hear and see everything. You start up again and I'm moving you elsewhere.”
“Are you threatening me?”
The officer left.
Carter changed his mind and sat still with his eyes open, just to study the behavior patterns of his cellmates, still thinking about Hughes. There was a pay phone, but he felt stupid now, and did not want to explain his reasoning to Hughes, or to anybody. He might get out of here relatively safely, or he might be battered even more than he had ever been; it was his fault and he was prepared to accept the consequences. He wanted to be himself, without having to explain. Dimly, vaguely, he recalled a child development book he had read shortly after emancipating; and reading about the developing adolescent: he might be making rash decisions as a teenager and young adult, and the decision-making process might be easier after that.
Graham said, rather reasonably, “Mr. Skinny Dude, what are you in for?”
Carter said reluctantly but nicely, “Vaaaaagrancy. Just thaaaat.”
“Finally. An answer.”
Carter closed his eyes and slept for a while but Graham started up again, this time on the black man: “Moses. What are you in for?”
Moses hesitated. He seemed to settle for, “Drugs” and said so in a calm, measured deep voice.
“And you?”
Ernesto also hesitated and said too reasonably, “Same as him.”
Carter wondered if they had been making out in public.
“Same as he,” Graham said.
“Just chill, man.”
“I'm not a man.”
“Well, whatever you want to be--”
An officer appeared at the door and unlocked it. “Gentlemen. This is Tunner. Be nice and get along.”
A tall, slim, pale man walked in. He nodded at everyone, then sat to Carter's right.
“What are you in for?" Graham asked.
Tunner nodded. “I'd rather not say.”
“Fair enough. I'm in for ....” Graham appeared to be considering a list of possible offenses. “Prostitution.”
Carter did not believe that, and he wondered why each person was being introduced. He decided he’d rather not know, then closed his eyes again, and believed he got about an hour of sleep. When he woke, he checked the light outside a small window in one of the offices and saw that it was still dark.
Graham was gone. A young, heavyset black boy had taken Graham's place, and was rocking back and forth.
“You okay, boy?” Moses asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“You need any meds or something like that?”
“No, sir. Just nervous.”
Graham appeared at the door, along with a police officer, and was escorted back in. “Thank you, officer. I feel better now.” Graham sat and was silent for a long time.
To Carter's right, Tunner was sleeping against the wall with his arms crossed, and making hardly any sounds.
Carter was about to ask to use the restroom when a police officer tapped the bars. “Anyone else need to use the facilities?”
Tunner said, “Me.” He stood, rubbing his eyes.
Carter said, “I I I do.”
The officer said, “Carter goes next. He was here before you.”
“Okay.”
Two officers entered; one observed the others; one assisted Carter with his crutches. He went out into the hallway, down to a restroom, took care of business, returned, and sat next to Tunner, who left.
Moses said, “May I please borrow a couple of quarters from someone.”
Carter fished out several. “Here.”
“You sure, man?”
“Yeeees. Just taaaake them.”
“Thank you.” Moses went to a pay phone in a corner, inserted coins, listened and then said, “Hey, baby. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, yell all you want.” The voice yelled loud enough to be heard by all: “I tell you not to do that and you do it anyway ....”
Carter closed his eyes.
Graham said loudly, “Wish I could afford to just give money away.”
Carter said without opening his eyes, “If youuuu saved, youuuuu could.”
“I DO save money.”
“Good for youuuu.”
“And why were you picked up for vagrancy?”
Bite me, Carter thought. With great patience he lied, “I I I raaaan away. And I I I had no place to go.”
“There are shelters, you know.”
“I I I I I'm not goooood enough for jail?”
“Everyone is good enough for jail.”
Carter slept for what felt like five seconds.
Graham woke him up with, “Mr. Skinny Dude, they're all gone.”
Carter looked around. About ten hispanic men were sitting on the benches; one was using the payphone. They all wore white T-shirts and black pants.
Graham, to his right, said, “They won't tell me who they are.”
A small man stared at the two of them, then said, “Hey. I saw you on TV.”
“Me?” Graham said.
Carter shook his head and made a furtive, slicing movement near his neck with his left hand. Graham was so enamored with the possibility of being famous that he stared straight ahead, happily smiling.
The small man hesitated then said, “Yeah. You. You look a little bit like that Ru Paul, only white.”
“Well, thank you!”
“No problemo.”
Carter closed his eyes. A voice in his ear woke him: “I keep your secret, you do me a favor. Okay? I hear you have quarters.”
Carter nodded. He took out several more quarters and offered them.
“Just two, Flaco. Thank you.”
“Deeee naaaadaaa.”
“Oh, ¿habla español?”
“Poquito.”
A couple of the hispanic men turned and frowned at Carter, then resumed muttering in Spanish.
To Carter’s right, Graham muttered, “ ... hallowed be thy name.” He moved a tiny bit closer to Carter, who frowned and moved away.
Another vision taunted Carter: a list of everyone he had met recently and a question next to the list: “In order of preference, list who will be your new best friend.” Carter almost screamed with laughter; he gently touched his mouth as he coughed a couple of times.
The small man was watching; he said, “Flaco. I’ll sit here. You can take my place over there.” He glared impressively at Graham, who said, “You don’t have to be so mean--”
“Carter.” The police officer spoke gently, but his voice cut through the noise.
Two officers entered, assisted Carter with his crutches, and accompanied him down the hallway to a large office, where he sat.
A different officer said, “We're letting you go. The officer who arrested you is new. We don't usually arrest people for vagrancy nowadays. And there's someone who wants to talk to you. You’re free to go, and your old friend is on your way out.”
Carter got up again, wearily, and saw a large gray-haired police officer sitting at a desk near the exit. The man said, “Hello. The last time I saw you, you were a lot smaller.”
Carter recognized the face; the hair had turned gray.
He said, “Youuuuu helped me. Before and after. Back then.”
“Yes, I did. And I took care of some other things too, when you found your own place. Have you hit some hard times?”
“Nooooo. My building was condemned. I waaanted to save some money. Just fooor one night.”
“You need a place to stay?”
“Noooo. I’m going to get a hotel room or have an apaaaartment by tonight.”
“By tonight.” The officer nodded. “You’ve gotten out of some tight situations before. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for. Here’s my card. Just in case you need any more help.”
“Thaaaaank you.”
Carter left the station. He went to his storage space where he took a nap, then made a few phone calls, none of them to Hughes. By sundown, he had a new apartment.
Inside his new place, he sat on the floor and resumed thinking.
The wise voice continued its ongoing, encyclopedic monologue, in an oddly upper-crust English tone: Well, Carter, my dear boy. You may have just experienced the entirety of rebellious adolescence in a few hours. You wanted to handle this on your own? You did an okay job but you could have avoided some of that unpleasantness. You do have all the legal rights afforded to those eighteen and older. How about letting Hughes in on things next time? He’s never let you down. There’s adolescence, and then there’s ... well ... I won’t be critical. Just be wiser next time, hm?
* * * * *
Carter said, “There's more, but noooot now.”
Martin said, “Really. It wasn't more violent than that?”
“Violent? There waaaas an absence of violence, but it was noooot peaceful. It was bright aaaaaand it was noisy. Aaaaaand it smelled bad. I remember that smell every dayyyyy. Nothing takes it awayyyy.”
“Thus, one explanation for the cedar chips scent.”
“Yeah.”
Martin smiled, then laughed. “Bite me seems to be one of your favorite phrases.”
Carter nodded. “Yes. It’s my all time, number one.” He stretched, yawned, and added, “Aaaaall that to say thaaaat I'm not picky about sleeping on a couch. I I I I I'll be fine.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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