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Chris Carr at: andy_dick35@hotmail.com
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Getting To The Good
By "J"
October, 2000 ©
Chapter XXX
"Maya, what are you doing here?"
It was hard to hide my irritation upon finding her sitting on the front porch, but I
managed somehow, to sound pleasant. She got off the porch and wrapped her arms around my
neck and pressed her lips against mine. The girl was fast--and persistent. I tried not to
respond, but damn if she didn't know how to push all the right buttons.
"I came to see you, baby."
I sighed. "Maya, we've got to talk," I said. I guided her back to the porch
steps, where we both sat together. She stared at me as if I were a dream. Her look made me
nervous because I knew that it was a look borne of love for me. But it was time to be
real. I did not love her, and couldn't love her as long as Akil had such a strong hold on
my heart. After talking with his Aunt Dora, I was determined to do right by him. Talking
to Maya would be a major step in that direction.
"Maya, you've been a really good friend to me lately. We've had a lot of fun together
and you've made me feel real special, even though I know I'm not."
She scooted closer. "Don't be silly, baby. You ARE special. I love you so much."
She kissed me again, allowing her tongue to linger inside my top lip for a sweet minute.
"You taste so good, Trace."
"Maya, don't." I backed away to create some distance between us. Maya had a
tendency to touch and kiss without warning, and her spontaneity was weakening my resolve
to say what needed to be said tonight.
Her forehead wrinkled. "What's the matter?"
Her questioning eyes probed mine for an answer, but I was paralyzed momentarily and had to
look away. Where were the words? How to begin? There was no easy way to get things done,
so I just began to talk. "I don't want to hurt you, Maya, because I do care about
you. You have a real sweet personality, you're beautiful inside and out, and you make me
feel so good about being me. I appreciate you for that," I said.
"But...I don't love you, Maya."
Her eyes left mine, wandering about while she processed what I'd said. "Just give
yourself some time," she said weakly. "Let me show you how much I love you,
Tracy, and you'll feel the same way about me as I feel about you."
"No." I said it so abruptly, that one word had the power of ten. Maya's gaze
fell into her lap, and I knew that "no" had cut to the heart of what I was
trying to say.
She shook her head back and forth, still withholding her eyes from mine. "Why? Am I
not pretty enough? Do you think I'm a ho? I know the guys talk, but Tracy, it's not true.
What is it? Please tell me. I can change."
I took a deep breath, savoring the expansion and exhalation of air. She was going to make
this even more difficult than necessary, but I should have expected as much. She'd been
heartbroken by Craig's rejection, so what was to keep her from feeling the same when the
shoe was on my foot?
I reached for her hands and rubbed them gently between mine. "It ain't about you,
Maya, you've got to believe me when I say that," I said. "I...there's someone
else."
She pulled her hands from mine and lifted her head, her dewy eyes narrowing as she stared
at me. "Someone else? But...you made love to ME, you made that commitment to
ME."
I shut my eyes as that night returned to my conscious in all its luscious glory. No amount
of regret could diminish what transpired between Maya and I in the front seat of my mom's
car the night of Homecoming, well over a month ago. But I had been weak, and Maya came on
so strong, I allowed my weakness to submit to her desires, partly to satisfy my libido,
but also to validate my manhood after Craig and Ryan Carter stomped all over it.
"That was a mistake," I said softly. Maya shot up. I could feel her eyes burning
down on me.
"No! Don't give me this shit, Tracy. You wanted it.
You wanted ME. I know it, I know you did."
I slowly lifted my eyes to look up at hers. "It never should have happened. I...I
made the mistake of leading you on, Maya, but the truth is, I don't have the kind of
feelings for you that you have for me, and I...I never will."
Her lips began to tremble and tears rolled across her cheeks, collecting in the corners of
her mouth.
"After the way Craig treated me, how? How can you do this, Tracy? How can you
disrespect me this way?"
I stood. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
She backhanded me so quickly, I didn't see it coming.
"Go to hell," she spat, running to the car parked at the curb in front of the house. She jumped inside and sped off, leaving me to taste the bitterness of blood on my lip.
Chapter XXXI
Turning 17 did little to lift my spirits. Maya was still very angry with me. She refused
to speak to me in class at school, and her frequent phone calls ceased, of course. What
made me feel so pathetic was the look she gave me. I recognized it as the very
same one she gave Craig the night of Homecoming. It was a look of disgust that bordered on
hatred. She had lumped me in his category. More than anything, I felt embarrassed about
that.
My parents surprised me with a birthday dinner at my favorite restaurant, Robert's
Steakhouse. My brother, Omar, was the suprise fourth party at the table. Since my birthday
usually fell within the week before Thanksgiving, it wasn't uncommon for ALL four of my
brothers to be around, but seeing Omar was a particular treat.
At 21, Omar was third oldest, the middle Diggs boy, sandwiched between my oldest brothers
Rick Jr. (R.J.) and Eric, and me and Duane. He was a senior at Grambling, where he was
studying to be a high school history teacher. I guess I felt closest to Omar because he
never teased me or made me feel like "a kid" or the baby of the family. He took
me under his wing when I was very little, and took me with him everywhere. He was the one
who taught me how to ride a bike--and the one who cleaned me up each time I fell and
scraped my knees and elbows, the one who made me wipe away my tears and keep riding.
He was tall like all the men in our family, but pretty thin compared to R.J., Eric and
Duane. Unlike the others, Omar never went out for football or basketball, the only two
sports that existed in Dad's mind. Instead, Omar excelled in track and field, his
specialties being the 800-meter relay and the triple jump. His upper body wasn't
especially developed, but he had perfect muscle definition in his calves, his thighs and
behind. He had the body of a dancer, and in fact, he was just that. When Omar was 14, Dad
refused to pay for him to take modern dance lessons. Omar got a paper route and earned the
money for the
lessons himself. He's been dancing ever since.
People used to say we looked alike, but I never saw it. I always felt like the ugly
duckling, the odd man out around my brothers. It seemed no matter what I did, I never
managed to shine as brightly as any of them. But whereas the others would throw that in my
face, Omar would encourage me to stick with whatever I did do and make the best of it.
He looked happier during dinner than I'd seen in sometime, and I couldn't help wondering
if the change I noticed in his demeanor had anything to do with love.
Dad, and mom, to a lesser extent, had been grilling Omar about his love life. Dad had
married mom at 19, and my brother R.J. married at the same age. Eric had been in a serious
relationship with his college sweetheart for about five years now. But Omar rarely dated.
I suppose that's part of what gave Dad such "worry" over Omar.
When we got home from dinner, everybody went their separate ways, but I followed Omar up
to the room he shared with Eric at one time.
"So how much did mom have to pay you to come home for my birthday?" I asked.
"Not a dime, T-Boy." T-Boy was the nickname he'd given me long ago, and he was
the only one who could get away with calling me that. "What's wrong with me wanting
to see my baby bro?"
"Nothing, I guess," I said. I sat on the edge of his bed as he hoisted his small
suitcase next to me and began to unpack. He smiled at me.
"Okay, that does it. What's with all the smiling? You haven't stopped cheesing since
we left the restaurant. What's the deal?"
He started laughing. "I can't keep nothing from you, can I?"
"Nope. So tell me."
He unpacked a few shirts that were hanging on hangers and put them in the closet. "I
met somebody."
"I knew it," I said. "Tell me more."
Omar poked his head around the closet door. "First, let me tell you part of the
reason why I came home for Thanksgiving break so early," he said. "I've been
talking to Marv. He told me about your problems."
If my face reflected what I felt inside, it probably looked like a skyscraper was
crumbling floor by floor to the ground. I felt embarrassment stinging my cheeks. How could
Marv do this without asking me? I stood up. "I don't know what he told you, but
I--"
"It's cool, T. You ain't got to pretend with me," he said.
"What are you talking about?" I tried to wiggle out of this uncomfortable
situation.
"Tell me something, T-Boy. Did Dad really say--did he really say he would rather have
a dead son than a gay one?"
Not an exact quote, but that summed it up. I nodded.
"Damn." Omar threw a hanger on the floor. "I was hoping that maybe you
misunderstood what he said, or that it wasn't as harsh as Marv made it sound."
I could feel a storm coming, so I walked toward my brother. "Why, Mar-Mar?" I
sometimes called him that out of affection. When I first learned to talk, I couldn't
pronounce Omar's name correctly; it always came out as "Mar-Mar." "Why
would that matter...to you?"
Omar closed the closet door and shut it tightly. He remained standing in front of it,
staring at as if transfixed. Finally, he turned to face me. With a weak--almost
non-existent--smile, he replied.
"Because, T-Boy. I came home to tell Mom and Dad that I met this dude at school, that
we're in love, and that I plan to spend the rest of my life with him."
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