Page 77 of Rhet

Now here I am, sitting on a century year old couch talking to a woman who’s referring to me as my grandfather. I should leave, this is fucking ridiculous. What the hell am I turning into? A dribbling old pussy that’s what. The preacher on the TV shouts about Jesus and salvation and part of me wants to pray to get my senses back.

“I was so happy when Mr. Mitchell told me you sent me the kitchen set as a birthday gift.” I look into the beautiful dark eyes of Zeeta’s mom. I often hear the words black don’t crack, I have no idea what her age is, but her hair is wavy with streaks of gray sitting in between the black. Her skin looks drawn, but smooth. She’s a beautiful woman.

I get tired of saying I am not my grandfather, so I just play along.

“I’m happy that you like it.” I look around as Zeeta flits around the room taking pictures down. She must be embarrassed of her childhood pics.

“Do you know that Mrs. Braun had her baby last week?” Zeeta’s mother asks as she touches my arm softly.

“Yes. I do.” I reply, looking into a set of glazed eyes, I feel a sense of pity. Pity? Me?

I really don’t know what the hell to do in this situation, but I want to get the hell out of this mini-Twilight zone Zee’s mom has me in.

“Mom, this is Mr. Banners’ grandson.” Zeeta touches her shoulder softly.

I see the dismay come over her face. I’ll stay in this freaking weird conversation if it means taking away that confused look on her face.

“You’re not Jared? You don’t work in Banner’s variety store next toWoolworth?” she asks her hand coming up to her mouth in horror.

“No ma’am that store was closed down, and my grandfather died years ago.” I bite the inside of my cheek. I feel like I just made the situation worst.

She nods and looks up at Zeeta. “Mr. Mitchell is dead isn’t he?”

Zeeta inhales. “Yes, mama he is.”

The joy disappears from her mom’s face as she turns to me. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t feel sorry. I enjoy keeping the company of a gorgeous woman. This was a delight.” I smile at her to make her feel comfortable.

“I think I’m going to my room to lay down.” She gets up and Zeeta escorts her out of the living room.

When they are out of sight. I dig my elbows into my knees and drag my hand down my face. I need to get out of here.

I will look like a real pussy if I disappear. I need to see this shit through. I get up and start to pace her small living room, stopping to look at the trophies of a Dante Mitchell. It must be her brother.

He must have been great. I look at a picture of a baby who I think is Zeeta and a pretty boy. His eyes look familiar. Like I have seen them before.

“Hey, you, okay?” Zeeta ask as she re-enters the room.

“Why do you use Woods and not Mitchell?” I ask her

Her face goes blank, then she blinks fast, like that question threw her off. My senses become alert, but I think about the fact that I arrived here uninvited.

“It’s my mom’s maiden name. I love Woods more that Mitchell,” she explains.

“I can understand that.” I continue gazing around the living room. The coffee table sits in the middle of the living room. It has a vase with faux flowers and an old copy of Reader Digest. To the left of me there is an end table holding a lamp and a glass of water.

I remain silent because Christ on a cupcake, I’m making a fool of myself. She stares at me as if to saywhat next.

“Um are you hungry?” she asks scratching the back of her neck.

“Yes.” I felt like I was starving, all day for her attention.

“Well, we have some fried chicken, rice, and stew peas. Or I can make you something else if you want.”

I walk to her and invade her space. “I’m not interested in peas or rice. Mostly, I’m hungry for the pussy you denied me last night.” This isn’t what I wanted to say but it comes out. I take a whiff of her hair; it smells clean and exotic.

“Ha. Ha. You must be high on melatonin. Come help me with these boxes.” She turns and points to a box on the floor, with a step stool hanging out of it as she picks up another. “Bring that with you.”

---