“I’d
like to show it to someone, if I could. I promise I’ll bring it back.” He
smiled and crossed his heart with his fingers. “Can you ask your dad if I could
borrow it for a couple of days?”
She
did not dare speak to her father, who by now looked like he was suffering a
seizure. His eyes were red and bulging, his expression frantic, his whole body
tense. If she had spoken to him at that moment, even if he tried, he could not
have controlled his voice. She had never seen him look so angry.
“There
is a similar one on the porch,” Latesha said. “When you bring it back, could
you just slip it into our mailbox?”
“I
will do that,” Peter said. “Thank you.”
Latesha
walked into the porch, moved a broken chair out of the way, then lifted a sign
off the wall. It was identical to the one that had caught Peter’s attention,
except that on this one was written the word
Beechwood
. Just as she was turning to leave, the door flung open
and her father stared at her with an insane look. There were dried spots of
saliva at the corners of his mouth and his whole body was literally trembling.
Latesha looked at him for only a moment, then rushed down the steps like a
child trying to avoid her parent’s angry rebuke. She turned the corner and
walked by the window only to see Mr. Thomas stopping his chair there. He
pointed his finger at her and several times mouthed the word “No!” Latesha
turned away from him and walked up to Peter, handing him the sign.
“Thank
you,” he said, accepting it with a look of fascination. “I’ll bring it back
soon. I promise.”
“All
right,” Latesha said softly. “I believe you.”
Peter
put the sign on the seat of his truck. When he returned, they looked at each
other and didn’t know what to say. He gestured with his hand and Latesha
nodded, moving forward. She did not look back at the house, though she knew her
father was watching and going ballistic inside. After a few steps, however,
Latesha felt remarkably calm and even enjoyed walking side by side with this
strange being that had so unexpectedly come into her life.
It
was a quiet evening and few cars passed, but numerous residents noticed Latesha
and the white man. They stopped whatever they were doing and gawked in awe.
Both Peter and Latesha were conscious of the looks, but neither acknowledged
them.
“The
beech trees around here are splendid,” Peter said as they strolled down the
road.
Latesha
enjoyed his soft, gentle manner. “Beechwood was founded in the early nineteen
hundreds,” she said proudly, furtively glancing at him. “Some of these trees
were already old then.”
“Sounds
like you’ve done some research.”
“My
mother wrote the history of our family.” Latesha paused. “She died from breast
cancer three years ago.”
“I’m
sorry,” Peter said softly. “That must have been very hard on you.”
“Very
hard,” she said. “Do you still see your mother?”
“Almost
every day,” he answered. “If I don’t call or drop by she accuses me of
neglect.”
A
hint of sunshine appeared on Latesha’s face. “I live with my father.”
“He’s
lucky to have you.”
“I’m
lucky to have him. He needs a little extra help because he’s in a wheelchair.”
“Oh?”
“My
father was a carpenter,” Latesha explained, “but his company put him up high on
some staging that broke. He was nearly killed. It took months of rehabilitation
to get him to where he is now.”
“Will
he ever walk again?”
“Never,”
Latesha said with a resigned look. “My father was an outstanding running back
in high school football, but he ripped up his knee. He learned to live with
that. This is a different story, though. It devastated him.”
“I
understand,” Peter said as they neared the community center. “That would be
very traumatic for anyone.”
“He’s
given up,” Latesha admitted with a sad look. “I hate to see him this way, but
there’s nothing I can do.”
Peter
stopped and listened to the crickets chirping next to the river. Latesha
stopped beside him and smiled at their loud singing. Together they looked like
children discovering something new and wondrous, and what it made it even more
special was that their relationship was new and wondrous. Where it would lead,
no one knew, but just being with him was pleasing to Latesha. She felt a timid
rapture, an innocent joy never before experienced.
Latesha
suddenly became flustered and made a strange face. “Excuse me. I shouldn’t be
talking so openly about my personal life.” Her expression grew solemn. “I don’t
know what got into me.” She pointed at the Beechwood Community Center. “We’re
in the process of renovating our center. Everyone’s pitching in.”
“Are
you doing anything?”
“Yes,”
she said with an embarrassed laugh, still hyper-conscious of his presence and
every word he spoke.
“Why
did you laugh?”
Latesha
rolled her eyes. “I’m just trying to figure out how I came to be walking to the
store with you. You’re a complete stranger to me.”
“Not
a complete stranger,” Peter said with a soft smile. “We have a history, an
entertaining one at that, and we’ve spoken at length. You know how I feel about
things. I told you.”
“I
suppose you did,” she replied thoughtfully.
“So,”
Peter continued, “what’s your contribution to the community center?”
“A
private citizen donated the bulk of the money for the renovations, but she
stipulated that we have to perform her favorite play on her birthday. That’s
September twenty-seventh, fourteen days from now. Unfortunately, the director
quit and left, so I agreed to take over, if you can believe that.”
“What
play are you doing?”
“
Romeo and Juliet
.”
“Oh,”
Peter said with a sigh. “I’ve seen posters on the university campus that looked
remarkably similar to those for the Forevermore Matchmaking Service. Would it
be presumptuous of me to assume they were created by the same person?”
“It
was me,” she confessed.
“A
matchmaker and a director,” he noted in a playful way. “You’re obviously very
ambitious.”
“Or
foolhardy,” Latesha said. “I haven’t seen any of the rehearsals or heard one
actor recite so much as a single line.” She looked at him as if seeking
reassurance. “Was I crazy to take this on, or was I crazy?”
Peter
laughed boisterously. “You’ll be fine.”
Latesha
felt more comfortable with each passing stride and consciously enjoyed every
moment. Their light banter was fun and natural, and everything between them
just seemed to click into place, like some kind of inexplicable magic trick
which cannot be explained.
Latesha,
seeing him up close, now concluded that he was the most handsome man she had
ever seen. But his attractiveness far exceeded his physical characteristics. It
was his style, his intelligence, his self-assurance, that so deeply affected
her. He was polite. He strolled with a relaxed gait, moving in synchrony with
her, not overwhelming, not holding her back, just calm, soft, gentle.
“It’s
a beautiful evening,” Latesha said with a nice smile as she glanced at him.
“It’s
wonderful,” he replied with no effort to conceal his pleasure.
She
smiled again but did not speak. They approached the community center and some
of the boys playing street hockey started heatedly arguing over whether a shot
had been a goal or not. Latesha immediately walked up to them and addressed
them in a maternal voice. The goal, or non-goal, was immensely important to
them, however, and the dispute threatened to become serious. Though all of them
were surprised to see a man with Latesha, especially a white man, the
controversy at hand was of far more concern.
Peter
noticed a tear in the webbing. “The ball may have gone through,” he said,
showing them the hole. “This has to be fixed.”
The
boys inspected it, saw the tear for the first time, and agreed that the hole
may have caused the problem. Latesha held an impromptu summit, and the boys,
regaining their composure, agreed that the ball definitely may have gone
through the hole, but without instant replay it could not be conclusively
determined that it was a goal. The boys looked at each other and begrudgingly
relented, leaving Latesha mightily pleased that she had played the peacemaker.
“I
have some twine in the truck,” Peter told them. “I can fix that in a minute.”
He turned to Latesha with a hopeful look. “Can you wait here, Latesha? I’ll be
right back.”
The
boys looked at her strangely, as if shocked that the stranger had called
Latesha by name. She examined the tear in the net and nodded. “All right, I’ll
wait.”
“Excellent,”
he said with delight. “It won’t take but a few minutes.”
*
* * *
Peter
hurried back to the truck and picked a ball of heavy twine from a box behind
his front seat. Just as he was turning to leave, he noticed Latesha’s father
out of the corner of his eye. Mr. Thomas was staring out the window with a
lethal scowl. He looked directly into Peter’s eyes with a hateful glare and
shook his head. His lips were tightly pressed together and if looks could kill,
Peter would have been dead. But Peter pretended he did not see Mr. Thomas, even
though both of them knew he had. And the silent message had rung loud and
clear. Peter was not welcome in Beechwood, at least not by Mr. Thomas, and the
elder man did not want him anywhere near his cherished princess.
Peter
jogged back to the community center and adeptly fixed the net. The boys
examined it, nodded at the fine workmanship, thanked him and were soon again
engaged in their spirited contest.
“That
was nice of you,” Latesha said when they started walking toward the store.
“I
like helping out,” he replied with a subdued laugh, still visualizing Mr.
Thomas.
Though
he tried to hide it, Peter betrayed an incredible pleasure every time he looked
at Latesha’s face. Everything about her magnetically attracted him, from her
lips, full and soft, to her eyes, which sparkled like stars. Latesha had
impossibly smooth skin, the color of rich, creamy chocolate, and her raven
hair, now adorned with red beads, fascinated him.
Latesha
stopped and faced him when they were alone near a stand of trees. “Look, Peter,
there’s something I have to tell you. You’re a really nice guy and it was sweet
of you to bring the jellybeans, but there’s a problem.”
”I’m
white,” he noted with a smirk.
Latesha
had a pained look on her face. “It’s my father,” she blurted out. “Under
different circumstances we might actually have been able to be friends, but my
father has this thing about us staying in our own community, even for
friendships.” She paused with a sad look in her eyes. “When I interviewed you
on the phone, I liked your answers. You’re a quality person.”
Peter
made a sour face, like someone who thought he had a good chance to make the
team, only to discover later that he had actually been the first one cut. “No
need to be gentle,” he said shortly. “I’m a big boy. I can take it.”
Latesha
smirked.
“I’m
a quality person,” Peter responded listlessly, “but the color of my skin makes
me ugly to you.”
She
was shocked by his direct manner.
“Just
say it.”
“I
didn’t say you’re ugly.”
“But
you’re thinking it, aren’t you?”
“You
don’t know what I’m thinking,” Latesha snapped. “We hardly know each other. For
all intents and purposes, you’re a complete stranger to me.”
Peter
looked deeply into her eyes. “I don’t think so,” he said. “But that’s neither
here nor there. I just want you to admit it before I leave. Just say it,
Latesha. The color of my skin makes me ugly to you.”
“Don’t
put words in my mouth,” she shot back. “I can speak for myself.”
“Well,
then, before I go, tell me what
you
think, in your own words.”
There
was an unnaturally long and tense pause. The whole time they kept staring at
each other, neither averting his or her gaze, neither giving quarter. The
atmosphere was thick, like the cliché of being able to cut it with a knife. At
that moment in time, the entire world disappeared. They were totally absorbed
in each other.
“You’re
far from ugly,” Latesha suddenly said, making a strange face. “You’re a
handsome man. All right? Do I have to spell it out for you?”
He
was greatly surprised by her comment. “You think I’m nice-looking?”
“You’re
easy on the eyes.” She sighed with exasperation. “All right?”
All
fell quiet and the two of them looked like deer in headlights. Just then a red
muscle car carrying three white men sped past and blared its horn. The
passenger stuck his head out the window, looked directly at them, and screamed
like a crazed animal. He tried to look insane, contorting his face and chomping
his jaws. Then he pulled his head in, laughing with his friends, and stuck his
hand out the window, pointing his thumb downwards.
“Idiot,”
Latesha mumbled angrily. “We’d better get going,” she said irritably with a
determined look on her face.
“Tell
me what you’re thinking,” Peter asked.
Latesha
pouted her lips. “I’m nervous at being seen with you. Okay?”
“Do
you want me to leave?”
She
ignored the question and continued to walk toward the store. “No one is used to
seeing me with any man. Cut me some slack, will you? This is my home.”
He
walked beside her. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. A woman as pretty as
you must have men flocking to her door.”
“You’re
a nice-looking man, but I don’t assume that means you have a dozen women in
your life.”
“I
said men must be flocking to your door, but I never said you opened it.”