In my vision of the New C. of C. when I imagined “my turn to speak my mind,” the speaking aspect was metaphorical. The challenge was just to get to where everyone had found a seat, cleared his throat and blown his nose. When it really was finally time for me to say what’s what, a higher order would kick in. What do I think? Why am I alive? Bottom line: I need to believe in something greater than myself, which, Come on; can’t be that hard to find!
It’s after midnight, but Stephanie has joined Maggie and Carlos in the apartment. So I guess they’re anxious, too. Maggie’s calling, “Come out, Malcolm. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
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But I’m drowsy and naked, and wish they would go away. With my door closed, the covers over my head, I’m still aware of Carlos coolly reviewing the plans. Maggie murmurs agreeably and Stephanie mutters. Stephanie, I found out, visits her sister, the one with MS, in a nursing home every night after her shift. She’s worked with me for twelve years and until a few weeks ago, I knew only that she has a relentlessly sour disposition and wears—every time I’ve ever seen her—a cheap black skirt, white nylon blouse, white stockings, and off-brand aerobic shoes.
Maggie’s perpetual motion—I can hear her boots on the floor—seems at this remove like a peculiar, feminine form of anger. Why doesn’t Carlos shoo the females away? They linger and fuss and he says nothing, even though it’s late.
They fume and sputter and I have to pee but do not want to see or be seen. If they weren’t here, John Coltrane’s saxophone would fill the apartment. If Maggie and Stephanie weren’t here, Carlos would be curled beside me, feeding me. He’d be getting ready to take his bath. The windows would have misted up and he’d start circling the rooms. The robe would slip from his thin brown frame and the glint from the iron balls in his hands would break through the blanket dimness.
If the women weren’t here, I’d be swirling Metaxa in a glass, watching him. Drunk but still drinking, stuffed but still eating, I’d suck in every detail: Carlos’s tantalizing, unspoken bribes hanging in the air; me stupefied with the awful hope that he might pull me from the chair, might hold me, might sway with me while the horns sounded and the bells chimed.
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