Untitled

Untitled

A Story by S. R Brooks

 

In the time that it took Brazil to get to Nic’s job across town, she had worked herself up so bad, she was seeing red and there was no talking her down. She could see Nic through the clear glass at the 24 hour diner Nic worked at for barely minimum wage. The sight of her best friend broke Brazil’s heart. Her eyes welled up as she fought to push the boulder in her throat back. Nic looked defeated standing with her shoulders slumped and her eyes red and tired. The smile she presented to her table of patrons looked weary. Brazil threw on her shades, got out of her car and went inside. Nic had gone through the splintered shutter doors marked Employees Only missing Brazil’s entrance by a few seconds. Brazil grabbed a menu and took a both in the back of the diner where she could observe the reason for her visit. Nic had called Brazil just 30 minutes earlier just to say hi or so she said. Brazil had been inside the town plaza for a little retail therapy when Nic’s phone call set off a vibration on her leg that made her jump at the strange sensation. Something in Nic’s voice told Brazil that this wasn’t a social call.

            “What’s wrong honey?” Brazil asked setting down a green and white polo she had been holding up to her body in the mirror.

            “Sometime I just wonder if I should just say f**k men and be with women.” Nic said with her voice breaking.

“It won’t be no easier Nic. In fact, you’re likely to get hurt worse and cut deeper. P***y is one hell of a drug.” Brazil said chuckling at her own joke. Instead of laughing with her like Brazil thought she would, Nic let out a shaky sigh that cut Brazil’s humor short and furrowed her brow.

            “Anything would be better than this.” Nic said.

            “Hang on Veronica. I’m coming.” Brazil hung up the phone and took her selection to the counter. So now she was sitting in the back of a diner with less than a satisfactory grade, watching her best friend fall apart. Nic’s eyes were red and swollen which meant either she had been crying or losing sleep. Neither option set well with Brazil. She had always been very protective of Veronica Nicole Wilson, fighting all of her battles since elementary school. Now that they were grown, Brazil did her best to sit back and let Nic live her life. There were times, like today, that Brazil felt so helpless watching Nic suffer. Nic sauntered back out to the patrons, tray in hand, head held high and shoulders slumped over. Brazil immediately noticed Nic’s face bruised and colored black and blue. Did Rick do this to her? She wondered. Is this why she was talking about switching teams on the phone? Nic had been so supportive when Brazil came out about her attraction to women way back when they were 15.

            “Bout time! I was getting tired of watching you drool over my mama and sisters!” had been her only comment then and since then. Nic had never much approved of the females that Brazil brought around. A commotion near the Employees Only door snapped Brazil out of her trip down memory lane. Nic was exchanging words with a male co-worker about getting through the door that he was blocking with her hands full of dirty dishes. As she was passing, he bumped her hard, knocking her into a counter and then to the floor. The loud crash of the ceramic plates, glass cups and metal silverware got the whole diner’s attention. All eyes were on Nic who was trying to get up off the floor with a pained grimace on her face. Brazil’s blood boiled but she forced her body still. She knew if she got up she would be going to jail. Brazil looked at the guy who stood nearby laughing. He was a white male maybe 6’2 and probably packing a serious punch behind his 280lbs frame at least. Too bad for him that Brazil, even with her 150lbs soak and wet, was never worried about taking on any opponent. The guy whose nametag read Dave picked up his tray and walked out onto the floor. Brazil slid her shades back on, ran her fingers through her single twists and slid out of the booth. Dave walked towards Brazil unaware of the sucker punch he received to his fat gut until it came full force from Brazil. Soda and tea flew everywhere along with the tray. Dave slipped in the mess flying backwards onto his back bumping his head on the linoleum flooring. Brazil stood over him shaking the beverages from her fingertips onto his face.

            “Damn man…what a mess.” Brazil commented. Her words coming off cold blooded as if to warn him that things could get worse. She then grabbed Nic by the hand. “Come on Nic. You’re not working here no more.”

            Once the pair had gotten in the car and driven several minutes down the street, Nic finally spoke.

            “Thanks Brazil but now what am I going to do for money?” She was asking it rhetorically so Brazil didn’t bother to respond. Instead, she asked a more pressing question.

            “What happened to your face Nic?”

“Got into it last night…”

“And he fucked your face up like that?”

“No. I slapped him so he slammed me on the couch. I hit my face on the table trying to get up and get him. He was more concerned about my face than mad about me hitting him. No one wants to deal with you Brazilian Bomber.” Brazil smiled at the sound of the nickname she’d earned knocking out the neighborhood bully when they were 12.

“That s**t can’t be healthy Nic. He shouldn’t be putting his hands on you.”

“I put my hands on him.” Nic retorted.

“He also shouldn’t be messing with other women.” Brazil continued.

“We’re in an open relationship.”

“Stop making excuses Veronica. You could catch something.”

“Mind your damn business Brazilian! Don’t nobody say nothing about all them nasty hoes you’re messing with!”

“Why you getting mad at me! If I wasn’t your friend, I’d be laughing at you with everybody else!”

“If you were my friend, you’d support me like I support you and your carpet-munching ways!”

Brazil took Nic’s words in like a slap in the face. They rode the rest of the way to Nic’s house in silence.

            As soon as they turned down Memory Lane to Nic’s house, they’d forgotten all about their disagreement at the sight of the scene before them. Nic’s mom’s house and Brazil’s mom stayed right next to each other with Nic’s house 3 doors down. The tragedy was unfolding at her mom’s house. Brazil whipped into her momma’s driveway and threw the car into park before it had completely stopped. Nic had already bolted from the car with Brazil on her heels. Brazil spotted her mom in the midst of the commotion of fire fighters, policeman and EMS. Nic ran ahead to  get information but was stopped by 2 officers. Brazil reached her mom and asked what was going on. Virginia Johnson looked at her daughter with tears spilling from her eyes but said nothing. Instead, she pointed toward the rooftop where the cause of the commotion was standing naked with a pistol in his hand. It was Malachai, Nic’s 13 year old brother. A scrawny little guy with a complexion the color of oak wood, sad eyes and hair that drew up into tight curls no matter how much he combed and brushed. Malachai stood on the top of his mother’s roof in all his glory with the pistol in hand staring down on the scene. Brazil could see his silent tears falling but he never made a sound as the offices and Nic tried to coax him down. Malachai addressed his mother.

            “Mama, before I do this, I want to let you know why. Mama, I’m gay and that’s the reason daddy left us when I was 7.”

            “Son, your father left because he’s a worthless piece of s**t and well, you can’t be gay son. That’s an abomination and this is a Christian home. I raised you better than that.” Debra Wilson replied looking embarrassed that he’d told everyone something so vulgar.

            “I am gay mama! Remember the day he left? You came in and he was hitting me in my face with that soda bottle. Remember? What you didn’t know is that he had been beating me for 2 hours straight before you got home and stopped him. He beat me with anything he could get hi s hands on. He said he would make me a man one way or another. Real men loved women and no son of his was gonna be a f*g! Remember how he started screaming at you that you’d slept with another man and I wasn’t his? That was why.”

            “Oh stop all these dramatics Malachai. You just need to pray so God can make you normal again.” She said. By that time, all the residents of Memory Lane were out on their porches or in their yards to speculate.

            “Look daddy! A freckle faced boy exclaimed with excitement. The f*g’s gonna do it!”

            “Good. One less queer bringing down my property value.” Muttered the boy’s father shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand for a better look. Nic’s mom spoke again.

            “Malachai, you know you go to hell for suicide.” This came out more like a warning to a child playing in the street rather than a mother’s plea to her son.

“Mama, haven’t you done enough? Nic screamed. Leave him alone!” She was still being held by the two officers; whom wept openly for the little boy.

            “If I can’t help being gay, I’ll go to hell too so…” and with a loud crack from the gun, Malachai was gone. His tiny body lay in the grass where he had fallen from the rooftop broken, just like the heart of the little boy who only seconds before lived inside of it. Nic’s knees buckled and she let out a wail that pierced through Brazil’s heart. Brazil was in shock. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t move to comfort her friend. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Malachai. A few officers swore under their breath. Some wept as if he were their child lain to rest so horribly. One slammed his hat down on the ground throwing his hands toward the sky as if to ask God why. The freckled boy and his father cheered. Debra Wilson did nothing. One officer took her by the shoulders and shook her.

            “For God’s sake woman! That’s your son out there! You don’t have even one tear for him!” he cried.

            “For God’s sake my son made a choice to rid himself of a terrible sin. The rest is between him and eternal damnation. Now, I’ll go make funeral arrangements. It’s going to cost me a fortune.” Then Debra Wilson walked into her home closing the door behind her.

© 2013 S. R Brooks


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Added on March 18, 2013
Last Updated on March 18, 2013

Author

S. R Brooks
S. R Brooks

Durham, NC



About
S. R Brooks is a writer from the small town of Durham,NC whose passion for fiction started at a very young age. Starting in high school, she began to hone in on her writing skills and was rewarded wit.. more..

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