When I started down Elmore Street, I talked myself out of looking back. I drove with my eyes staring at the open road that stretched out before me, looking, at times, in the rearview mirror as my mother and all I was leaving behind became miniatures, and finally disappeared out of sight as I turned left on Dulcaster Drive, and then right onto Ponder Terrace. I could have turned right on Camden Court and headed back home, which would have delighted my mother, but instead I turned left and headed toward happiness and my own love. When I realized the decision I made, the tears came. The more the tears flowed, the faster I drove.
I drove in silence until thoughts flooded my mind. I tried unsuccessfully to drown them in music, but everything on the radio reminded me of the very thing I was trying to get away from. There was one other person I needed to talk to about my decision.
My sister Devaan and I had been close growing up. She was always protective (not that I thought I needed her protection), and believed her purpose on earth was to save me from everything (not that I thought I needed to be saved). One day she did. I was sitting on the floor in front of my bed, weakly calling my sister’s name. I knew if anyone would hear me, she would, especially since her bedroom was right next door to mine, and she always slept with her door open, unlike my mother. I had slid the knife smoothly across one wrist, but pain and fear had stopped me from doing the same to the other.
I sat there watching blood discharge from my arm, coloring the carpet around me. When I felt myself slipping away, I yelled louder. Devaan walked in, saw me and dialed 911, summoning the paramedics to the house before waking my mother. When I woke, my sister stood holding my hand, while my mother was asleep in a visitor’s chair in the corner of the room with a bleach-white hospital sheet thrown over her. That night wasn’t something my sister or mother ever talked about. I still have the marking from that desperate attempt to keep my father in our lives, and even then, he never returned.
Devaan was five years older, and had she been at the house as I was leaving, she wouldn’t have allowed my planned departure to occur—at least, she would have tried her hardest to persuade me to stay.
“Hello,” I answered, adjusting the Bluetooth to my ear.
“What is this I’m hearing? You’ve left home?” Devaan began in a soft, comforting tone.
“Is that all she told you?” I asked.
“Yes. And that you would tell me the rest. What’s going on?” she asked, her voice becoming overwhelmed with emotions. “You could have at least called to say goodbye.”
I apologized to her for leaving without her knowing, not that I needed to consult with her first. I had a plan, and I was going to be okay. But I decided to make one last promise to her.
“If this doesn’t work, I promise I will come back home,” I said.
If I drove the posted speed limit, I calculated the drive from home to D.C. to be about six hours without traffic. There shouldn’t be much traffic on this Sunday afternoon. That was the thought I had as I drove down I-91 and onto I-95, heading towards New York. An hour later, I was driving into a sea of brake lights as I approached the George Washington Bridge. Until then, I was making good on time. Great, I thought. I hadn’t planned on making any stops, other than filling up on gas at one of the gas stations on the Jersey Turnpike. I had enough gas to take me that far, and it was always so much cheaper. I rarely allowed the gas needle to go below half a tank—that was part of my emergency plan, along with bottle water, Tylenol, and a flashlight I kept in the trunk of my car. Still in traffic, my car hadn’t moved more than ten feet in the last twenty minutes, and I wondered what was causing this jam. As I approached, it became clear. I guess deciding whether to take the upper or lower level of the bridge was a bigger decision than I thought.
I needed something to take my mind from the snails-pace traffic. I fondled with the radio dial before settling on “It Don’t Hurt Now”, my mother’s favorite Teddy Pendergrass song I’d adopted. I found myself singing out loud and tapping my feet as he sung, “Well there’s no more sleepless nights, no more heartaches, and no more fights… I found someone to ease my pain.” Before I would sing those words hoping I would find someone to ease pain that came so easily. Now I was singing in truth because I had found that someone in Trevor.
I met Trevor Rene Harrison when his head and heart belonged to someone else. He was standing with a wall built around him, looking like he was trying to hide his own pain. The dancing lights took turns brightening his light brown sugar complexion. I took my time getting close enough to stare into his dark brown eyes. He looked like love was missing. Once I made it past his pretend rough exterior, he made something inside me come alive again. We danced to music that made us both feel good. We disconnected ourselves from the outside world, and for a moment, shut out the hurt. Damn, the DJ had us falling in love, though we weren’t sure that was a place we were ready to be, or needed to be. The first month was a rocky start, but the past year-and-a-half had been filled with amazing love. Here I was allowing love that, against my will, was taking me to Washington, D.C.
4
Happy Days, Lonely Nights
Jackson…
Before Trevor, I thought I was happy. At least, I had spent time convincing myself I had found the happiness I’d been looking for. As I loved, I concentrated only on those behaviors that supported that thought, and avoided, even dismissed, the ones that proved otherwise. Needless to say, I fell in love with blind eyes and deaf ears. My UCONN education had prepared me for many things, but dealing with bullshit came with experience—three bad ones, but it’s time to stop counting.
Loving Trevor was easy, even from a distant. Everything was perfect, which was good, since perfect hadn’t existed for me in a long time. I waited for Trevor’s heart to open up to me, and now that it had, I was going to love him right. I was entering a new situation with this new man, and I was entering with optimism. How else was I supposed to think about the new life I was getting ready to start?
A neo-eclectic colonial on a cul-de-sac was where Trevor called home. This composition of brick, floor-to-ceiling windows, and red French doors stood erect with money-green grass, winter shrubs, and strategically placed Eastern redbuds at the end of the driveway on either side. When I pulled my car into the driveway of 1084 Willow Crest Court, I pulled up the parking bake and headed to the door. Before I could extend my finger to ring the doorbell, the door swung open. Trevor’s smile extended from one side of his face to the next. He stood in the doorway wearing only FAMU basketball shorts, which hung below his behind, exposing blue beagle print boxers.
“What took you so long?” Trevor asked. I didn’t respond. I pulled him close to me and smiled. Trevor had made himself a prisoner in his own home for as long as it took me to get there.
“I didn’t have the road to myself. And I drove as fast as I...” Before I could complete my thought, Trevor’s lips were already on mine. I became overwhelmed with passion. He placed one hand at the back of my head and another under my chin. His kiss was breathtaking, just as it was when we first met. “And it’s nice to see you, too,” I said, after I had a moment to finally catch my breath. I began walking back to the car to grab a small carry-on bag since we had agreed I would stay my first night with him.
“Jackson,” he called out as if he wasn’t going to see me again.
“I’m coming right back. I’m just going to grab some things from the car.’’
“Look, you’ve had a long drive, and I’m sure you want to get out of those clothes. I’ll get that stuff for you.” Trevor kissed me again as he grabbed the keys from my hand and headed towards the car.
I was standing under the shower with my arms folded across my chest. I hung my head with my chin resting between my collarbones, allowing the water to massage my head and the back of my neck, wondering if I had made the right decision.
“Hey, do you need anything?” Trevor asked
“A towel and washcloth would be nice, unless yo
u expect me to use my hands,” I said, jokingly. The shower muffled his response.
I heard the bathroom door open and then close. I wasn’t sure if Trevor was in the bathroom or not, but I didn’t think I was alone.
“The towel is on the towel rack when you get out,” he said, confirming my curiosity.
“Thank you. Where’s my washcloth?” The shower door opened, and Trevor was standing in front of me with the washcloth clenched between his teeth. I smiled. He was staring up into my eyes, and then at my 6’9” muscular frame.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Trevor asked. My eyes became immediately filled with lust.
Of course I didn’t mind. If I did, watching the water flow over every manly curve of Trevor’s body had taken my voice away for the moment. His eyes went from my eyes and then to my now hardened penis.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, smiling.
I reached around Trevor for the shower gel that had sat in the soap holder. I began to lather my hands, and before too long, I was massaging parts of his body he probably didn’t know hurt.
He felt tense.
“Ooh, yes. Right there, baby,” Trevor directed as my thumb dug into the muscles in his shoulders.
“Right here?” I asked, making sure I was following his commands as I aimed to please him. Trevor didn’t repeat. He closed his eyes, inhaled, held his breath momentarily, and then allowed it to escape his body once again. Before long, I allowed my hands to slide down his body and rested them at his waist. He opened his eyes and stared up at me. If he hoped his expression had given me the permission I needed to invade his body, it had. When I obliged, he closed his eyes, again, and enjoyed it all.
When I stepped into the dining room finally fully dressed, I was met with quite a surprise. Trevor was a man of perfection, and that’s exactly how dinner went. The rack of lamb with caramelized shallots, the lemon-butter green beans with pine nuts, the perfectly sliced hasselback potatoes, seasoned with paprika and thyme leaves, all tasted as if they came from the kitchen of some five-star restaurant. The candles stayed lit throughout, and their constant glow brightened the face of my new love. It pleased me to see him smile like he had been since I arrived. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon chilled on ice in a corner on the table, and it wasn’t long before that bottle was sitting empty on the table. So while I drove, Mr. I-can’t-boil-hot-water transformed himself into America’s top chef. To simply say I was impressed would be an understatement.
After dinner, Trevor and I settled in the chaise lounge. His head rested comfortably in my lap. I leaned over and smiled, kissing him from time to time. I loved kissing his lips. His face was in close proximity to my manhood, but his eyes remained fixed on mine.
“So the house is ready for you to move in?” he asked.
“Everything should be delivered tomorrow. But if moving in means I won’t have this, then I’d rather just stay here.” I smiled.
I was ready to make 2634 Lansing Crossing home. A rebuilt section in SE DC, near to the Barracks and M Street, the community was close-knit. I had met a few neighbors on several early morning stakeouts of the neighborhood when I visited Trevor. There was the young couple that waived politely as they jogged past. I met Jaris and Celeste Woolford, an elderly couple from across the street that held a long political conversation as my agent, Trevor, and I removed the “SOLD” sign posted in the front of the yard. They were cordial too, and I thought they must be the eyes of the neighborhood, the ones who see and hear everything.
“You might get tired of seeing me and need your space other than a room on the other side of this house.”
“Oh, you’re right. I might need to get away from you at times.” I stroked Trevor’s head and stared at him. When he raised his head and kissed me, I tasted love on his lips. When I thought he might stop, I held on to the back of his neck and kept his lips pressed against mine.
5
You Know How to Love Me
Trevor…
I smiled whenever I say Jackson’s name. After Kelvin, I felt my heart was irreparable, but in time it had been mended by my own self-love, and the love Jackson was giving to me. I knew Jackson loved me, but I didn’t know he was going to fall as deep as he did. With his love, I knew I had avoided the pain of falling out of love when love didn’t work.
It’s already been a long week. I spent Monday with Jackson. The trucks came one after the other, and I watched him as he directed deliveries into one room and then another. On some days, nights seem to come sooner than on others. Jackson didn’t seem like he was missing home yet, but there were times he was reminded he had no one close by to call family. I had introduced him to my father and his fiancée Natalie, and her son Adrian. Being around them made his first week of settling in easier than he thought it would have been. Jackson knew my father and I were close, but now he was able to see just how close we were, even alike in many ways. Sometimes I’ll catch him staring at my interactions with my father, looking as if he were wishing he and his own father were as close. Jackson rarely talked about him.
I loved my nights with Jackson. They were usually quiet, which I didn’t mind. I loved listening to him breathe. Some nights I pretended I could read his thoughts when we lay there in the hush of the night. Jackson always had a story to tell. I loved listening to the stories he told about crazy coworkers trying to figure him out, or equally crazy friends, the few he’d kept close to him. Sometimes those stories kept us awake longer than we intended.
Dinner, as usual, was delicious. The half bottle of Ramandolo left over from Sunday’s dinner now sat empty in the kitchen sink. That wine did something to Jackson. He admitted he always liked the way a few glasses of wine made him feel. It gave him a sexual feeling, which he didn’t mind since I was right there next to him and didn’t object to giving him that sexual healing. Drinking wine did something to me, too. Jackson was lying down in bed, naked, like he always was whenever I was with him, if he wasn’t in boxers that usually hung just below his waist, revealing that v-shape that seemed to go on forever. I rested my head in the center of his chest, my right hand gently massaging where his heart was beating rapidly.
“I love being here with you,” Jackson said, his hand moving across my back.
“Are you sure this is where you want to be?” I had no reason for asking that question, but I was curious how he would respond.
“Hmm… let me see.” Jackson paused. “I can’t think of anywhere else I want to be other than here with you.” He sounded genuine.
“Are you trying to make me blush? ‘Cause if you are, it’s working.”
“Not trying to make you blush at all. I’m trying to make you happy. I wouldn’t be here if you, if this, weren’t what I wanted. Just promise me this?” Jackson paused.
“Anything.” I didn’t usually make promises, but I didn’t intend on breaking anything with Jackson.
“If you wake one morning feeling that right here, with me, isn’t where you want to be, promise you’ll tell me,”
Jackson said, and I could sense a change in him, as if a moment of sadness had set in.
“You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t intend on not being here with you. I love you, Jackson-Chase Demetrius Bradley.” I smiled and kissed him. “If this is where you want me, then this is where I will be.”
“I love you, too, Trevor, Trevor Harrison,” Jackson said, and kissed the top of my head as he chuckled, remembering my introduction the first time we met. As he laughed, something else about that night made me beam. I thought about how we danced, and how we moved about the crowded dance floor as if we were attached, like a couple of teenagers or early twenty-somethings. I thought about how in meeting Jackson, I had met the chance to love again. Just when I thought I would never be happy again, I had met Jackson.
As I looked into his eyes, I began searching for any hint of a man who might hurt me. We were lying in the dark, in silence. I was breathing hard, deep. Jackson’s heartbeat had slowed, and as he drifted off to s
leep, he held me tight. I took a deep breath and exhaled, allowing my body to soften into his. He hugged me tighter whenever my body shifted, as if he thought I was moving away from him. I smiled.
“Goodnight, Trevor,” he spoke, sounding heavy-eyed.
6
This Love Is So
Jackson …
I was more tired than I thought. I was tired from the drive on Sunday, from unpacking all week, and spending time with Trevor’s immediate family until late last night took its toll on me. But I wasn’t too tired to dream.
Dreams of my father came too frequent, and I had all but convinced myself that was the only way I was ever going to see him again. The dreams always started and ended the same way, and in the middle there was nothing but confusion.
I was a young boy walking through the woods beside my father. It was dark, wet, and I had nothing shielding me from the elements. I had no idea how we got there. He was trying to explain something to me, but while his mouth moved, sound did not exit. “Talk louder,” I said, but he just disappeared. There I was standing in the dark, damp woods by myself, turning around and screaming, “Dad, where are you? I’m scared, dad.” He never answered, and he never returned.
That’s what happened in the last dream, and the dream before that. And although in the beginning of my dreams I am always fully clothed, in the end I was naked as the day I was born.
I woke feeling cold from sweat that came even though the night had cooled. I lay in bed staring through the darkness, trying to untangle the mysteries embedded in these dreams until sleep returned.
I slept through Trevor getting ready for work. I was dead to the world for a good eight hours, and enjoyed every minute of it. My mother always told me I could sleep through an earthquake. Apparently, she was right.