Fifteen Years (3 page)

Craig was the one person who Josiah had trusted with his complete life’s story. How he was born with tremors that were caused by the cocaine in his bloodstream. How as a child, he was left at home alone more times than the state ever knew about. He was only six years old the first time he’d been taken from Reeva, and the pattern continued with Josiah being removed from his home a half-dozen times. Those six separations totaled nine years that he’d spent in the households of foster families because of his mother’s substance dependence.

Craig and Josiah had been best friends since they were line brothers pledging Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. as sophomores at UNC. They were so different, yet so much alike. Except for his physical makeup, nothing about Craig said he was Caucasian. His mother divorced his biological father when he was two years old, and by the time Craig was five, his mom had remarried. His stepfather was black, and by all definitions, so were Craig’s two younger
sisters. His mother’s remarriage changed everything. It resulted in him relocating to a predominately black neighborhood and subsequently, attending predominately black public schools for all of his formative years. Craig had told Josiah that he and his mother were the only two white members of the church he grew up in but that nothing about it felt unnatural to him.

Craig was definitely a product of his environment, and he seemed to have no qualms about it. He was the only white male on Josiah’s line, pledging Alpha Phi Alpha, and ultimately became the only white Alpha man on the campus of UNC. He wore the label with pride. He largely hung out with black students, had the vernacular of an African American, and was only attracted to black women. But no one ever accused him of “trying to be black,” at least not openly. He was just being Craig Wilson. It was who he was.

He was also the only person Josiah had told the entire twelve-year-old story of how his mother had been strangled by an unknown john who police figured had paid for his time with her, and then killed her to get his money back. He took any other money that she’d had on her person at the time too. Alcohol and drugs were in Reeva’s system at the time of her death, so she probably never even had a fighting chance. Her lifeless body was found in one of those big green trash bins that could be found all over the city. Reeva’s naked corpse was wrapped in the same blanket on which the police determined she’d performed her last sexual assignment. To her murderous client, she’d been nothing more than garbage.

Josiah pushed his plate toward the center of the table. “Let’s go.” The memories were making him sick to his stomach. His appetite was completely gone, and the remaining fried chicken fingers that he loved wouldn’t get eaten today.

Looking down at his plate of baby back ribs, Craig frowned.
He’d ordered a full rack and only had a chance to eat half of them. “Man, we just got here.” It was an overstatement to say the least. “I’m not done eating.”

“We’ve been here plenty long enough for you to have finished your food,” Josiah said. “If you weren’t wasting time messing with those girls’ minds, then you could have been done by now. I’ve got to get back to work.”

“So do I, but I don’t want to go back still feeling hungry.”

Josiah flagged down the waiter that was passing their table. He barely looked old enough to legally hold down a job, and Josiah immediately thought of himself as a teen. He couldn’t help wondering if the kid was doing what he had done for years. Working to protect a mother and support a household. “Can you find our server and ask her to bring us our checks and a carryout container, please?” Josiah handed the boy ten dollars for his troubles.

“Heck, yeah,” the waiter said, grinning, then folding the crisp bill before shoving it in the pocket of his uniform. He almost broke into a trot as he scurried to fulfill the simple request.

Craig snatched his napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table. “JT, what’s up with you? I know we’re on the clock, but come on, man. We’ve got time to finish our meals.”

“I
am
finished. I wasn’t gawking instead of eating.”

“You got two strips left. You never leave any chicken on your plate.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

“I ain’t even trying to believe this.” Craig mumbled. Then in what sounded like a last-ditch effort to change his friend’s mind, he picked up his fork and added, “Ribs don’t taste good reheated anyway. It’ll only take me a few minutes to finish up.”

Josiah reached across the table and stopped him just as he was about to dig into the meat. In an unyielding tone, he warned,
“Unless you plan to walk back to your job or get one of your weave-wearing groupies over there to give you a ride back, you’ll prepare that food for takeout.”

Jerking away in matched annoyance, Craig said, “Get your hands from over my food. Didn’t your mama ever teach you any manners?”

Josiah’s stare turned menacing and he could tell from the way Craig’s face fell that he immediately regretted his thoughtless words. An apology was forming on Craig’s lips, but Josiah didn’t even want to hear it. He slammed his napkin on the table and began vacating the booth.

“Hey, JT, man, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I’ll be waiting in the car,” Josiah said, avoiding the inquisitive eyes of the patrons around them as he stormed away from the table.

“What about your bill?” Craig called.

Without looking back, Josiah growled, “Pay it.”

In the confines of his Audi R8, Josiah immediately switched on his stereo player and advanced it to the final track of the current CD. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to think of more pleasant things. The music from saxophonist Antonio Allen’s CD
The Air I Breathe
always provided calmness, and his six-minute rendition of “I Love the Lord” was definitely the order of the day.

Just two minutes in, the fires of Josiah’s temperament had been doused, and the resulting smoke had lessened significantly. With a clearer mind, he realized that he was far more frustrated with himself than he was angry with his friend. After twelve years, Josiah couldn’t believe that little mentions of his mother still ruffled him so.

The smooth music massaged his soul.

“I’ll hasten to His throne … I’ll hasten to His throne,”
the guest vocalist on the CD sang.

Hastening to God’s throne was something that Josiah felt he’d spent the bulk of his life doing. But after all the prayer and fasting that he’d done from childhood until now, and with all of the success that he’d obtained since burying Reeva Mae Tucker, days like this one, where Josiah felt angry, lost, abandoned, and without identity, still surfaced all too often.

“I’ll hasten to His throne … I’ll hasten to His throne …”

Josiah winced when he heard the passenger door of his car jerk open, abruptly snatching him from the comforting arms of the song lyrics. He sat up and began reaching for the gearshift as Craig climbed onto the black leather of the two-seater coupé.

“You all right, man?” Craig’s voice was so filled with concern that it made Josiah turn to look at him.

It wasn’t until he noticed how distorted Craig’s image was that Josiah realized his eyes were overflowing. Engulfed by embarrassment, he used quick motions to erase the evidence with his hands. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Josiah cleared his throat and looked straight ahead as he shifted into reverse. Inwardly, he prayed that Craig wouldn’t insist on talking about it.

For the duration of the ride to Craig’s job at Chapel Hill High School where he taught physical education, all that could be heard was the continued flow of music, but as soon as Josiah parked in a vacant space to let his friend out, Craig verbalized the thoughts that he’d apparently kept at bay throughout the ride.

“Maybe you should talk to Bishop Lumpkin about this.” Craig had his hand on the door handle, but made no attempt to exit. “I can get Dani to help set up a meeting for you.”

Josiah should have known that he wasn’t going to get off that easily. This wasn’t the first time they’d visited this topic of
conversation. “I don’t need to talk to anybody.”

“JT, why do you keep fighting me on this? Something about your mother’s death torments you, and it needs to be addressed.”

Whipping around to face Craig, Josiah scowled.
“Something
about my mother’s death? What do you mean
something
about her death? Is the reality of her being dead not enough within itself to be an issue? Your mother is alive, Craig; you can’t possibly relate to what I’m feeling. My mother isn’t just dead—she was
murdered.”

“I know that, and I ain’t trying to pretend that it shouldn’t still have some type of effect on you. I’m just saying, man. It’s been twelve years. It’s not like the guy who killed her didn’t get caught. And on top of that, he met a pretty gruesome death himself, right? He got gutted in prison, so it’s not like he’s walking around living it up. His lifestyle led to his justice. So at some point, isn’t it supposed to get easier?”

“What makes you think it hasn’t gotten easier?”

Craig sat back in his seat and blew out a puff of air before turning to face Josiah again. “If it’s easier now, what was it like before? A few minutes ago, you were crying. What were you doing before it got easier? Screaming? Pulling out plugs of hair?”

Josiah shook his head. No one would ever truly understand, and he was tired of failing in his attempts to make them. Josiah couldn’t fault them though. Half the time, he didn’t even understand it himself. All he knew for sure was that losing Reeva had made his already miserable life, at times, unbearable.

Staring out the front windshield at the cars parked across the lot from them, Josiah tried to will away the sadness in his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“I just hate it when you get like this.” It was obvious from Craig’s declaration that Josiah had failed to mask the misery. “Like I said, I’m not meaning to be unsympathetic to what you’re dealing
with, but you’re just gonna have to forgive me for not understanding it. You lost your mother, yes. But God has given you a great life, an awesome life, actually. You’re the poster child for what it’s like to have favor. You’re what all the articles in the Black magazines talk about. You’re an African-American male who didn’t let circumstances turn you into some kind of deadbeat who accuses the white man of being the reason for your lifelong failure. After all you suffered through, you not only finished high school at the top of your class, but you went to college and graduated magna cum laude.
Magna cum laude,”
Craig stressed. He paused just long enough to take a breath. “Then the first job you land is one that allows you to work in the field that you’ve dreamed of since when? Elementary school? And you just got a promotion, for crying out loud.

“Between your absent dad, your murdered mom, and having to live half your childhood in foster homes, you had it rough; Lord knows you did. But JT, don’t look at where you’ve been, look at how far you’ve come. What’s that Scripture that Bishop Lumpkin preached on in Bible study the other week? Philippians something. I don’t recall the exact location, but he talked about forgetting those things behind you and looking only to those things that lie ahead. Your history might be cloudy, man, but your future is so bright you gotta squint just to glance at it. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

By the time Craig finished his homily, he sounded like he was out of breath. Josiah had heard every word, but if their job was to make him feel better, the words had failed miserably.

The blaring sounds of a warning bell echoed into the yard of the school, prompting Craig to end his talk whether he wanted to or not. From the corner of his eye, Josiah saw his friend hesitate before reaching toward the floor to retrieve the bag in which his carryout container had been placed. With the bag secure in his hand, he paused, then looked at Josiah as though he wanted to add
to the sermon he’d already preached.

“Bye. See you at church Sunday.” Josiah’s tone made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss it any longer.

“Yeah.” Craig opened the door and stepped from the car. He looked at Josiah one last time. “Hey, man, I’m sure sorry I’m gonna miss your dinner tomorrow night. This birthday outing with Dani … well, I had already planned it and—”

“I know, Craig. I told you before that it’s cool.” He tossed a brief glance at Craig and then set his eyes straight ahead again.

“See ya,” Craig said after releasing a labored sigh.

“See ya.”

Josiah wasted no time pulling from the parking space. From his rearview mirror, as he navigated his car onto High School Road to head back toward work, he watched his friend disappear into the redbrick building. With a meeting on the schedule for this afternoon to discuss new software, Josiah didn’t have time for a pity party.

Ten minutes was more than enough time to put on a mask of bravery. Josiah had twelve years of experience of putting on a brave front. By now, he was a pro at it.