Afraid to Love (5 page)

The missed call light was flashing and when I clicked view, I saw a picture of my dad pop up.

“I did call you last night, didn't I?” I said to no one in particular as I click to call back button.

“Hey, Son,” my dad said as he answered the phone.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to blink the morning fog from my brain.

“You called last night?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” I said, and then went on to explain about the letter.

“That's real good news,” he said. “Your mother would have been proud.”

“I hope so,” I said.

“I know so,” he laughed. “Speaking of your mother, her birthday is on Tuesday this year, so your Aunt Janet and I thought we'd have her dinner party on Sunday. If you can make it, of course.”

I blinked. How had I forgotten that it was almost Mom's birthday?

“Of course, I'll be there,” I said with a smile. “Would it be okay if I brought a friend?”

I knew it was sort of a dick move to assume that Cynthia will want to come, but I asked the question before my mind caught up to the assumption I would making.

“Not Randy,” he said.

“No, not Randy. Not any of the guys,” I said.

“A girl?” he asked. I could hear the chuckle in his voice.

“Yeah, a lady,” I said.

“It's good to hear you're dating again, finally,” he said.

“I just met her, but I like her,” I admit.

“Every relationship has to start somewhere,” he said.

“I'll call you Saturday night to find out what time the dinner party is, but I've got to get out to put the manuscript in the mail. I don't want to keep them waiting too long, I don't want the editor to forget about me,” I said.

“Okay, I'll talk to you then.”

“Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, Son,” Dad said and hung up.

I quickly dressed and combed my hair. I caught myself humming as I brush my teeth. It took me a minute to realize that I was humming one of Mom's favorite songs. I laughed and shook my head.

“It's a good song,” I told my reflection.

After I dropped the manuscript off at the post office, I headed to the library. I spent most of the day reading a new science fiction book and then I wandered the shelves. One of the librarians smiled at me. We went on a few dates a year or so back, but I never told anyone because nothing came of them. Mostly, she was only too delighted to be dating a writer. It made her feel in the know and special that she could carry her love of books into a romantic relationship. She should have had coffee with my books instead of me. She might have been happier that way.

I left the library without checking out the books I chose because I didn't want to talk to her. I usually didn't come to the library on the days she worked because she thought I still liked her.

I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around. I considered stopping by my dad's place for dinner, but then I didn’t really want to see him upset. I like to remember my parents as they both were before my mother died. I settled for taking a taxi to the Chinese restaurant and having their sweet and sour special.

That night, I fell asleep before I had time to take my clothes off. I woke early the next morning, but allowed myself to lounge around thinking more about Charles and his gambling debt. How the hell did he get into such a mess?

I didn't really care about Charles. I was just using him to keep my mind from wandering to Cynthia too often. Tonight was only our real first date and I didn't want to seem desperate. Women always complain about men who like them too much.

Around noon, I ordered a pizza and began to write. The words flowed effortlessly, but my mind was farther away than I wanted to admit. I couldn't wait to see Cynthia. I hadn't been this excited since I was in Europe and had a date with a gorgeous German woman named Ana. Things were going great until I realized she was a dominatrix and would much rather paddle my ass than have a romantic dinner. She was beautiful and I'm always up for new experiences, but I politely declined that one. That was my first lesson in being too excited too soon.

Around three o'clock, I headed into the shower and got dressed. I still had two hours before I had to meet Cynthia at the Italian restaurant. It was only about a thirty minute walk from my house so I decided not to take a taxi.

My dad was always telling me to buy a car, but I didn't really need one. I enjoyed wandering aimlessly around the city by foot. Besides, what would happen to it if I decided to take off to Europe again? I knew I wouldn't be buying a car any time soon. I wouldn't buy a car unless I planned on settling down, and I didn't see that option in my future.

I left early with one of my favorite books tucked under my arm. I'd order a coffee and wait at the outside tables for Cynthia to arrive. The Italian restaurant always had its fair share of interesting customers, so I knew I wouldn't have an opportunity to be bored.

I was so consumed in my book I almost didn't notice when Cynthia joined me. Only the sound of the metal chair scraping against the concrete sidewalk let me know that I was no longer alone. I smiled and glanced up at her, but I could tell she had another bad day.

“That bad, huh?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” Cynthia sighed.

“Want to talk about it?” I asked.

“Not really,” she said.

“That's fine,” I smiled at her hoping she would return it, but she didn't. “I have some good news.”

“What's that?” Cynthia asked, arching a penciled on eyebrow.

“A publisher asked to see my latest manuscript,” I said.

Cynthia's frown slowly merged into a smile and I almost sighed in relief.

“That's great news, Mark,” she said.

“I know!” I laughed.

“What's this one about?” she asked.

All the tension left me as I launched into discussing my book. I told her about the world that overlapped our own and how it was threatening to crash into us if the balance wasn't restored.

“Sounds complex,” she laughed.

“It's not as complex as it sounds,” I promised her.

“I'll have to read it sometime,” she said.

“I'd like that,” I smiled.

We ordered dinner and as the evening went on I could see Cynthia relaxing. I watched her lean back comfortably in her chair as the stress of her day faded away. I was still curious to know what happened, but didn't want to ruin her good mood.

“She did it again today,” Cynthia sighed.

“Who?” I asked.

“Her name is Sandra,” Cynthia said, “the hag that thinks I'm too ghetto to work in the hospital with her and her white friends.”

“Okay, two questions on that one,” I laughed. “What did she say today, and what does it mean to be 'too ghetto'?”

“Too ghetto implies I'm too black to work in the hospital,” she said.

“I'm still not sure I get it, but okay,” I nodded.

“I don't think you'd get it unless you were black,” she laughed.

“I don't know about that,” I said, “I have black friends and have even dated a girl from Nigeria for a while. My doctor is an ancient black man, so I'm not sure what you mean by too black to work at the hospital.”

“And how much trouble do you think he's received for being black?” she asked.

“Maybe a lot in the beginning, but not much now. He's really respected by his peers and loved by his patients,” I said.

“I bet his peers secretly hate him,” she said.

“Maybe, but he’s really successful and that's the easiest way to make people hate you,” I said.

Cynthia shook her head and laughed.

“You don't agree?” I asked her.

“I do, but it's worse when you're black and successful,” she said.

“Do you really believe that?” I asked her.

“It's true, don't you think?” Cynthia asked.

“I don't think so,” I shook my head.

I should have pitied her for such a narrow outlook on life, but I was angry. It was as if she was casting years of cruelty and sin onto a race of people. She was acting as if the people she encountered everyday were the same ones who enslaved her ancestors.

“Didn't think you would,” Cynthia said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

I'm not one to lose my temper, but I was coming close to it.

“Nothing,” she said. “Never mind.”

We finished our meal in silence and left without making plans to meet again. I walked home angry and depressed. What the hell had happened? I had figured out the mystery behind the woman and I wasn't happy about it. I thought about walking away, but I knew I had to help her. I was already in too deep. I was already falling for the ebony beauty who was a captive of her own beliefs. Sighing, I realized I would be attending my mother's dinner party alone again this year.

                                                        Chapter 5: Cynthia

I really don't know what had happened at the restaurant. I hadn't planned on getting into an argument with Mark, but either way I was mad as hell. I found a package waiting for me on the porch and it took me a minute to realize that it was the book I ordered. I kicked it through the door and left it on the floor. I wasn't so sure that I wanted to read it. I still liked Mark, and that was a bad sign. I was losing the perfect self-control I had mastered while I was in college.

I paced the floors and kicked the sofa, only to regret it when I spent the rest of the evening nursing my throbbing toe.

I don't remember going to bed, but I woke up there the next morning. I spent the day reading the book and finished it around super time. It was actually really good, better than I had expected, in fact, but I wasn't going to order its sequel. I didn't want to get in any deeper than I already was.

Sunday night, I lay awake dreading the next day. I didn't want to go back to work. For the first time in my life, I really wanted to quit something. During school, quitting was never an option because if I quit I was throwing away everything. If I quit my job at the hospital I might not find another one, but I still had the credentials.

The week was worse than the one before it and the next made me sick to my stomach. I took to crying myself to sleep every night and dreaming about the hostilities I faced at work.

Sandra haunted my dreams just as much as she did my waking hours. I avoided answering Sasha's phone calls and she was beginning to leave me angry messages. She had never liked when I avoided her. I missed her, but what was I supposed to tell her? I didn't want the life I had worked so hard for? That I hated myself for even trying? She wouldn't understand.

I wanted to talk to Mark, but my pride wouldn't let me. I hadn't even kissed him, but his presence still clung to me like one of those small spiky burrs that stick to your socks when you walk through high grass. You may not be aware of them at first, but that doesn't mean they don't stay anyway.

My father's voice continued to echo in my head, but his phantom words were no longer empowering.

“Don't let them keep you down,” he'd say, and it felt like a blow to the gut. They were walking on me, stifling my oxygen, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was alone and afraid.

Wednesday morning, I took the long route to work on purpose. I had left early to try enjoy the drive, but an accident on the highway made me a half an hour late to work. I called and Heather told me it was okay, but Sandra couldn't resist putting in her cheap two cents when I stopped in the break room to lock up my purse.

“I guess you don't care I needed to leave early to take my grandson to school,” she said.

Her hands were on her hips and her head was swaying side to side.

“Sorry,” I muttered and started to leave.

“Sorry doesn't cut it, miss thang!” she said and stepped in front of me, “You don't care about anyone but your damn self! You walk around here like you own the damn place! You might have been queen of the ghetto, but here you're no different than anyone else!”

“What did I ever do to you?” I yelled. I couldn't take anymore of Sandra's torment.

“What did you do?” she asked, “Like you don't know!”

I crossed my arms and remained silent.

“You walk around here with your nose up, not paying for the coffee you drink, you don't check with Heather before you leave, like yesterday when you left before Beatrice showed up!”

Sandra was yelling and shaking her finger in my face. I wanted to slap her. I was going to back hand the bitch so hard her dead granny would feel it.

“Sandra!” Heather's voice called breathlessly from the doorway.

The chubby woman must have ran all the way from the nurses’ station.

“I'm outta here,” Sandra said and turned on her heels.

“Are you okay?” Heather asked.

I nodded and retrieved my purse from my locker. I was done.

“I'm going home,” I said and walked passed her.

“I'll call Jamie in,” she said. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” I said and didn't look back.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Heather said again.

My fight or flight instincts were playing with my head and I wanted to run to my car. It took all my strength and concentration on every step to force myself to walk calmly. I hit the button on my key chain and unlocked the door. When I arrived at my car, I wrenched the door open and threw myself into the driver's seat. Hot angry tears fell down my cheeks and my hands were shaking. I knew I was too upset to drive, but I left anyway. I needed to get as far away from the hospital as I could.

Tears blurred my vision and I didn't see the broken beer bottle laying on the side of the street when I went to turn. I heard the crunch and knew I was in trouble. My heart thumped against my ribcage in the seconds between the crunch and the pop. I managed to come to a stop, but air was quickly hissing out of my tire.

I had a spare in the trunk, but not the tools to change it. I gathered my strength and forced myself out of the car to assess the damage. I frowned when a quick glance at the tire confirmed my fear. I retrieved my cell phone from my car and called my insurance company. I had full coverage so I thought they would send someone to help me, but it wasn't meant to be.