Authors: Nate Allen
He did it in part out of a desire to better understand what she was looking for, what she found attractive about each man, but also to make sure she was safe and that there weren’t any unsavory types in the bunch. Two men of interest showed up in the emails. Rae and Vincent had history, or so their communications would suggest, he appeared to be one of the men she
landed
on when she’d previously “fallen” outside the marriage. Jake found his profile on one of the social networks, created a fake account and sent him a friend request pretending to be a guy he went to college with. It worked, and once he had access to the guy’s profile, he found him to be, like Tony, relatively harmless. But one guy raised the hair on the dawg’s back, and that was William Barry.
William Barry was a bad man. He was that good-looking bastard that the rest of us men hate. He could read women, their weaknesses, their sensitivities, and he used it to his advantage. The type of man who could beat a woman, and have her
apologize
as if she had it coming. And he had done just that, and somehow his name popped up in Rae’s inbox. The guy had been kind enough to include a couple of photos, the kind of profile pictures the dating websites discourage you from posting, his body littered with tattoo’s of the jailhouse variety. He had also included his phone number, a 704 area code, a reverse-lookup of which came up with nothing, it was obviously a cell number, but concerned, Jake performed a North Carolina Department of Corrections Offender search and found he had a small list of convictions, but they were of a nature that worried him… Drug Possession; done time:
Assault on a Female;
done time …served 44 months, and while he had been out of jail for a couple of years now, that last one was the sort of crime that doesn’t happen as a mistake, Jake thought. It represented a flaw in a man’s character with a high rate of recidivism, and somehow he had managed to get into Rae’s life.
She had met him through her father’s church, volunteering for a community outreach helping revitalize a part of southeast Raleigh for lower income families, and he was working construction. She had the ability to turn her apparent
lack of attention
on and off like a faucet when she found someone she wanted to take notice, and like a predator he sensed her hemorrhaging
neediness
. There was a reference to some upcoming availability in the email she had sent. So using the woman’s email account he’d been visiting daily for the past four months he wrote the man, following her note with another accelerating the date and arranging a meeting, and then of course erased any evidence of its existence and its subsequent reply. He had concocted a plan to intervene and discourage the suitor. In a manner of speaking, it was a plan that was about as logical and ridiculous as a female astronaut strapping on an adult diaper and driving cross-country to kidnap and potentially kill a rival for her lover’s affections, but ridiculous enough that it might in fact work.
He got there before the agreed upon time to avoid missing him or drawing unnecessary attention to himself, that
psychasthenia
thing perhaps. He thought he recognized Barry, he was a big fucker too, a product of the Tarheel state’s prison yard workout facilities, and all kinds of imaginary nastiness was going through Jake’s head. Maybe we should be providing inmates something other than free weights to make themselves more menacing Jake pondered. He appeared to be a generous man, as in he was
giving
it in prison, and someone else was on the receiving end. He had the man’s phone number, and using a prepaid phone card he’d purchased with cash at the Western Union near Rhonda’s office, he gave the man a call so he could identify him for certain before hanging up.
He watched as the fella had a number of drinks, ignored the attention of a few local patrons, and continued glancing at his phone, the “Unknown Caller” ID of the phone card origin prohibiting him from returning the call, not knowing of the ruse or the fact that she was never coming. After an hour or so he appeared to have grown frustrated and tired of waiting, squared his bill, and left. Plan in motion, Jake followed and placed the call to 911 before he deliberately bumped into him at a “Stop” sign just minutes from the bar, slight enough to do minimal damage, but enough to require an introduction.
He knew the man was on probation, and hoped to delay him with the necessary exchange of contact info until the police arrived, DWI=probation violation, hopefully revocation… go directly to jail, do not pass “GO” or collect on Mrs. Johnston’s offer. But there was an unusual uneasiness about the man, Jake sensed the apprehension about him, and as he returned to his car “
to get his registration and insurance info
,” Jake followed him.
He had recognized Jake from the bar, and apparently had some cause for concern, an understandable aversion to returning to prison perhaps, as mentioned earlier, sometimes the
strong
become the
prey
in certain circumstances, and with his left leg on the ground outside the vehicle, his right on the floorboard as he leaned across the front seat and opened the glove box, it wasn’t papers but a flash of
gun-barrel
blue that he pulled from the compartment. This ain’t happening Jake thought to himself, and in an
Oh-My-God
moment, he kicked the door shut on the man’s extended leg, heard the crack of the bone, the man dropped the flashlight, …that’s right it was a flashlight, and not a pistol. Dragged his broken shin into the car, slammed the door and sped away.
What the fuck? Aside from the concern he had unjustly broken the man’s leg, the bastard had driven away. All manners of questions were running through his mind as he ran back to his truck and proceeded to chase the man. It had the atmosphere of a scene from the
Matrix
, everything seemingly happening in slow motion, except for his racing thoughts. The absurdity of the moment didn’t escape him, like the episode from the show
The Soprano’s
where Paulie and Christopher drive to the “pine barrens” to bury the body of the Russian mobster they had “killed” only to open the trunk and have the man jump out and flee and find themselves chasing him blindly through the darkness of the New Jersey forest.
In a similar vein he was now pursuing a man whom he had rear-ended …intentionally, after forewarning the police, a man whose leg he had broken because he was getting a flashlight from the glove box. The thought of bailing crossed his mind as he kept the dispatcher updated on their whereabouts, but there was a high degree of possibility that might make things worse. It must’ve been like that period of time between when the suicidal man steps from the ledge and kisses the pavement, a conversation with himself contemplating his decision all the way down, all of which was moot. The plan had begun as a humanitarian effort, it was teed up to be potentially heroic, albeit unknown and undetectable, like a SEAL Team 6 operation, but it was quickly evolving into “
Black Hawk Down
” and looking more likely that he might have gotten involuntarily committed …or arrested as the case turned out to be.
Jake had kept 911 abreast of their location, an awkward conversation to be sure, and eventually RPD corralled Barry into an office building parking lot, his car crippled as he tried to jump the curb and drive off through the woods. Jake followed excitedly like
Gomer Pyle
making a citizen’s arrest, his behavior wasn’t easily understandable, …but inexplicable wasn’t a crime. Leaving the scene of an accident, assault, and DWI however were. Rhonda was the first call he made, and she met him at the Wake County Detention Center. Barry had been arrested, “Thank God,” DWI and drugs in the car, and after his wounds were tended to, it would be enough to send him back to prison. At least he would no longer be a variable in their equation, and more importantly no threat to Rae. But Jake was now one of Wake County’s
Slammer Magazine
thumbnails …alongside William Barry, and he couldn’t even tell her the why of it all. It was a dangerous time to be lovers apparently.
Though they had been in contact on a daily/weekly basis, it had now been four weeks since he’d
plowed her flowerbed
at Easter, and Rae was the
second
call he made, waiting until after he was back at home the next morning and she had taken the children to school. He obviously left the details out, telling her only that he had gotten the DWI. She said she was “worried sick” about him and would pay him a visit that coming weekend, after all he was a captive audience, in North Carolina you automatically lose your license for ten days following a DWI arrest.
He recognized the tone of her voice though, it was the tone she often used when she spoke about Glen, of indifference and detachment as if she took some obscene pleasure in the man’s difficulties because they stood as a reminder of how good she had it. He thought he could hear her smiling at the news, perhaps not overtly, but like she had when she first saw him that October night at Leon’s, unaware of it herself, and that genuineness made it all the more unpalatable. As if she thought the universe had a finite amount of misfortune and the more that befell him, the less likely it was to visit her. He still wanted to see her though and would write her in the interim, it went something like this:
What can I say? You wrote me once very early on that you “
want a relationship of total openness and honesty because I know that commitment will come naturally and freely from such an approach.
” However, it takes two to make this happen. Commitment, that’s a scary word, kinda like stress. I’ve avoided it as much as I could ;)) …it implies responsibility, and we both have our share of those, especially you.
But only moments have no strings Rae, …relationships, friendships, (the good ones at least) cannot escape them or they have no true value, or strength. Would you trust yourself to drive across a bridge that wasn’t sound? Honesty, openness, acceptance, …trust, are all strings of varying lengths, and widths.
I know you’ve got other interests. But you are showing me that you recognize the value of our friendship, and are caring for it when I need it most. You’ve said it several times, “Actions speak louder than words” … and I know it sounds like I’m writing this past-tense, but knowing that you’ll be coming, and that you want to be here for me, is keeping me from “falling apart”… until I can “fall apart” safely with you. I’m continuing to find “positives” that are arising out of this “shit” that I stepped in, and the fact that our friendship will inevitably be stronger because of it is one I hold dear. If I were writing this on a piece of stationary, it would have a tear stain now.
I am aching for Saturday. As always…I will be here if you need me …even if I have to take a cab ;) …and I say this sincerely my friend, as never before…
Love,
-Jake
It sounded overdramatic and it was, but it was incomplete, some of the more important details missing, like telling someone you had a kidney removed, but being incapable of telling them you had given it to them. But she never made it anyway, swing and a miss… “Strike two.” Love may not keep score, but what about friendship? Just as the evidence was mounting to make a case for the lack of it, so was his desire and determination to prove otherwise.
As for Rhonda and Chunk, he had some explaining to do, but his mind was somewhere else. The disappointment hidden by failed attempts at humor, and for the first time in the relationship he had that moment where he had to face the reality that she was more important in his life than he was in hers. He had known it was there but had been able to avoid looking at it because it lacked any detriment.
He understood that try as you might, you can’t convince someone to feel something they’re not naturally inclined to, but emotion was the constant in his equation with her, not the variable, and he couldn’t take it out. Like some thesis for his Psych major he was
deducing
from his years of experience with women, narrowing it down to a specificity towards her, and in so doing placing great significance on it. She conversely was
inducing
from her experience with him and applying it broadly to others, and thereby denying any significance. Perhaps it in fact had none for her, or perhaps, she had to behave as if it had none in order to complete the task of raising her kids as she saw it, at Glen’s expense.
They were in a romantic Catch-22, she a long way from the finish line, and his patience was not that patient. The relationship was an island in both their lives; however for him it was a destination, for her it was a layover, an airport hub to other destinations, but he had proven he could manipulate her situation so that she had fewer choices and
flights
, thereby maintaining his value to her.
He had danced around their verbal agreement like a tax lawyer looking for loopholes. He hadn’t directly stepped in her business with Tony he rationalized …only tossed a number of rocks over the proverbial fence. Though it’s
doubtful
the woman would’ve agreed. Even this disaster with Barry had taken place outside her perimeter as he saw it. But he was about to trespass, to act instead of react. He told himself he was doing it for her sake, and he truly believed it.
A church near where he lived had a saying on the sign out front that read: “What angers you controls you.” He’d remembered that one, he had found it to be true in his life. As consumed as he could be with things, anger was difficult to let go of, and his anger was like a pinball, while he could batter it around and forget about it for a time with the wonderful distractions of his son and their life together, work, and his friends, like the pinball, it always returned to the hole at the bottom of the table, he could not dispose of, nor ignore it.
The man who had purposely avoided serious relationships was now involved with a married woman, a married woman who was sleeping with other men besides her husband,
besides him
…and that’s a hard mouthful for any man to swallow.
To love someone, and know that was going on is contrary to a man’s nature, …that bears repeating, for a man to love a woman as he seemed to, and know what was going on and put up with it, to have seen it with his own eyes, is contrary to a man’s nature. While it has all the appearance of a weakness or lack of self-respect, it must’ve taken an incredible strength. His tolerance as such would wear thin, but not out. A product of his competitive nature, and the notion he could win her over. But there’s no pride or blue ribbon to be had in the “stomaching that plate of shit” contest…