Nice Guys Don't Finish Last (10 page)

My
shirt became drenched from my tears, as I laid on the loveseat in shock. Did I hear Ms. Bridget correctly? Did she say my mentor & father figure, Mr. Roger died in a car accident? This cannot be happening. I don’t even know how I can pull myself together to drive to the hospital; I’d probably crash fighting to concentrate on the road. I was with him earlier today mixing a track, he can’t really be gone. Somebody please pinch me to awake, this has to be a dream.

I needed someone to help me through this time because I have never been good with loss. Death is a rarity in my life, so I never know what to expect. My mother would not answer my calls nor respond to my texts, and I’m guessing Abdul is still mad at me because he will not respond either.

I don’t know how to deal with it; I’m used to everything going my way & not being affected by someone leaving my life. After my father left, I learned how to cover any tracks of being hurt by something or someone. Momentarily, I may have lost two important people in my life. One of them, I will never be able to say a thing to him anymore and the other, he does not want to be bothered with me.

Maybe I deserve it, I have taken him for granted and can admit I caused chaos! Roger would constantly insist I was being hard on Abdul, I ignored it. The focus transitioned to the mistakes he did to catapult the dirt I bury.

My mother spoiled me all my life & taught me to hurt someone before they beat me to it. Her egotistical traits scoured on me, I must learn to forgive & forget the negative events from the past. She has instilled this “no nonsense” stance in me that makes anything intolerable.

As a child, I witnessed my mom work as a full time secretary for a law firm & attend school. While I was left under the supervision of a nanny as the only child, therefore, her goal was to ensure I had the best of both worlds. The finest education, tutors, singing lessons, awards and kept my head in the books. What single mother wouldn’t?

At times, I wish she would have allowed me to do the normal activities & not shield me. Because of all the things she taught me, I never learned how to love from her. She has showered my love with materialistic aspects that one quality I never possessed is affection.

Abdul perceives the relationship between my mother and I as perfect, but the affectionate love is missing, which is why I never knew how to be that way with him. I think I sometimes wanted a chase, and he lacks the “chase”. I want to be the cat sometimes, but he won’t ever allow me to be. It gets boring being the mouse often!

I looked around the dining room area looking for my keys; Abdul would always say I had a bad short-term memory because I never knew where I put anything. I remember walking in the house with my keys in my hand when I came from the studio, but don’t remember where in the hell they are.

“New message,” my phone alerted but I ignored it as I searched for the keys to get to John Hopkins Hospital, as soon as possible to accompany Ms. Bridget and the family.

“New message,” the phone alerted again. I ignored it, still searching for my keys & noticed it was lying under the love seat I sat on. I grabbed my phone & headed towards the door, and read the messages on my phone.

“I am sorry to hear that about Roger, what hospital is his body at,” my mother asked in the message, but I went to the next message before responding.

I arrived to the hospital at twelve thirty three a.m. and noticed Ms. Bridget & the Bennett family crying in the lobby. How was I going to gather my inner self to see his lifeless body?

“Hey dear,” Ms. Bridget said as she stood up to hug me and continued to cry.
“Hello Ms. Bridget, I am sorry about this loss. You know he was like a father to me,” I said laying my head on her shoulder.
“Yes, and you were like the son he never had. Of course, after having four girls,” she laughed while crying.
“Yeah,” I laughed with tears in my eyes.
“Do you want to see his body as you last remembered him,” she asked.
“Oh no, I don’t think I can do that. Was he in a bad condition,” I asked.
“Why don’t you come in, and see,” she exclaimed grabbing my hand to lead me to the emergency room his body laid in.
There he was lying on the hospital bed with a neck-brace on, and his eyes were closed. His face channeled the definition of peace with a permanent smile. For a split second, I thought he was asleep but when the idea of him never awaking & or critiquing a song anymore, it literally killed me.
“Nicolas, are you okay,” she asked.
“Yes, I’m fine---I just…” I suddenly felt the chunks rush my esophagus and vomited in the plastic trash can in the room.
“Come on, sweetheart. I don’t think you should no longer be in here,” Ms. Bridget said rubbing my shoulders & walking me out of the room.
“I am so sorry, I just can’t do this. I could never deal with death, Ms. Bridget. I don’t know how to.”
“Well, the best way to deal with any situation is to allow yourself to express your emotions. If you feel like you need to cry, then cry! If you feel like you want to laugh, then laugh! It will make life easier for you, if you face the truths & not live in denial,” she said. I found myself questioning God about why he took an angel so early from us, but who am I to question God? If there even is a God! But it has to be, right?
“Thank you, Ms. Bridget. Is there anything you need before I leave,” I asked.
“I don’t believe so, but I will give you a call to inform you about the funeral arrangements and so on,” she said.
“Okay, well you take care. And tell the girls, I love them,” I said.
“Okay dear, be safe & take care. I’m about to tell the doctors to retrieve his body,” she hesitantly said.
“Okay, bye Ms. Bridget,” I hugged her and strolled outside the Shock Trauma unit of the hospital.
I got in the car & turned the engine only to hear Mariah Carey’s “We Belong Together” playing on the radio. It felt like a convulsion of emotions suddenly spilled out of a cup, and attacked me all at once.
My phone vibrated against the passenger seat, it revealed Ms. Bridget calling.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Nico, did you leave yet,” Ms. Bridget asked.
“No, I didn’t. What’s wrong,” I asked.
“The ambulance just brought Abdul in Intensive Care, I think you need to get back in here, baby,” she said.
“Oh my God, I’ll be right in,” I yelled. This can NOT be real; I must be dreaming… can someone wake me up now! I can’t have two people in my life leave me on the same night.

“
Yes, chile!
He had the nerve to call me a hypocrite because of my views on gay marriage. I don’t believe in that,” I said on the phone.

Tyrell said.
“What the hell you are supposed to be on my side,
bitch.”
“I am not taking sides. I am being a friend & your
actions contradict your beliefs, but you are young.”
“Young? Bitch, you are only about two years older than
me. What do you mean,” I laughed.
“Well those two years make a difference! What I mean
is you say one thing, and do another. If you engage in sexual
contact with dudes, why you resist gay marriage,” he asked. “You sound similar to Jeremy! Being attracted to guys
does not mean I think what I do is right, and gay marriage is
wrong!”
“Wrong is wrong! There is no in between, they remain
the same. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself,
young bro.”
“Let me find out you are turning into a preacher, cunt,” I
laughed.
“Let me find out you are turning into me with this
terminology you are using lately. I suppose it’s cute for you,” he
said.
“Ugh whatever, you always think somebody want to be
like you.”
“Subsequently, everything didn’t work out for you &
Jeremy, where does this place Abdul,” he asked.
“What about him? I have not heard from him,” I said. “I’m so sick of that Beyonska hoe, she needs to sit down
& have a baby,” he sighed as ‘Access Hollywood’ played on his
telephone end.
“Don’t talk about her, at least she has talent unlike that
alien with a mic you like.”
“At least Rihanna can dress… Beyonce is country as
shit. I’m tired of her & that damn sequins,” he cried. “Well tell the tone deaf bitch to be a model then,
Riyawna has no choice but to have a sense of style thanks to her
stylist.”
“I have to call you back. Antoine is calling me on the
other line,” he insisted. .
“Ard, bye bitch,” I ended the call.

The time is 1:00 a.m. and Jeremy hasn’t called me back from our date, my defensive mechanisms may have flustered him. Raging thoughts of “Delmar scares away yet another one,” attacked my brain throughout the early morning. However, he disrespected me and I don’t know when these guys are going to learn.

I am in a pornographic mood, but it’s nobody to call. Everyone in my contacts are wallops, and the dudes on ‘Black Gay Chat’ are either bottoms or running around with the
House in Virginia
, as Ty would call it! I can’t take the stress, even on FaceBook there’s no one worthy of my attention. Maybe I should just call Abdul, and see what he’s up to. But I have no doubt in my mind that he isn’t going to answer the phone for me. Or I should’ve just told Ty to come by because I wouldn’t mind going down under again.

Lately, I have been discerning about sex ten times more than usual, and alert of my surroundings. Hanging around Ty has brought further understanding of the lifestyle!

Tyrell probably think I am this promiscuous bottom, who goes around sleeping with people, but I have never had sexual intercourse with anyone. I’ve only given & received oral sex! The feigning for sex is a distraction, in hopes of actually making love to that special person, but I am terrified to be penetrated. When people talk about it, it makes me curious to know what exactly goes on during sex. Every time I think I’m ready to have sex with someone, I hold back. I start to think about my childhood and how it may has affected me.

When I was five years old, my mother would always drop me off to the neighbor who lived down the street from me. He would babysit me when my mother & father had to preach every Tuesday night. I think his name was Mr. John, and he would always ask me if I wanted a grape blow pop.

One day, he took me for a walk and he promised me that he would give me a grape blow pop when we made it back in the house. He held my hand the entire time, and I smiled anxiously waiting to get some candy. I vaguely remember what he look like, but I believe he was dark skin & about six feet tall.

“Are you ready to get your blow pop,” he asked while I sat on his lap.
“Yes, where is it,” I asked.
“Well, you have to lift up real quick, so I can give it to you,” he said as I lifted from his lap and watched him rise from the couch. An image of face is growing clearer; he had an uncanny resemblance of Big Foot from “Harry and the Hendersons”. I looked up at him eager to receive my treat, as he pulled the blow pop out of his pocket.
“Here you go, Mar Mar,” he said, as he handed it to me. “Now, what do you say when someone gives you something,” he asked.
“Thank you, Mr. John,” I said innocently. “Can we wrestle like we did the other time I came over,” I asked.
“Well sure we can. You beat me up the last time, I don’t think I can take another butt whipping from you,” he laughed as he lifted me in the air with the lollipop still in my mouth. “Let me put you down before you choke.”
“Mr. John, my butt still hurts from the other time,” I cried.
“It does? It wasn’t supposed to be sore that long,” he said as he patted my head like I was a dog.
“Yes.”
“Well, let me see it again. I think I can make it better for you, Delmar. Do you want me to help you feel better,” I remember him saying as his voice echoed in my ear.

“Calvaryyyyy,” the phone rang causing me to forget my last thought.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Hey girl, I’m back,” Tyrell said.
“That was fast, what was your boo talking about,” I asked.
“Nothing, he wanted me to come over East to see him. But I don’t feel like driving tonight, a bitch is tired,” he said.
“Tired from what? You ain’t working any damn where,” I laughed.
“No you won’t try it, miss thang. But any luck on finding a piece,” he asked.
“Yeah, this boy on FaceBook hit me up saying he’d like to see me tonight. He said he see me on Morgan’s campus frequently. But I don’t think I have!”
“Hmmm… what’s his name,” he asked.
“Deandre Timmons.”
“Deandre Timmons? Tylisa baby’s father? BITCH, I didn’t know he messed around,” he said.
“Tylisa? What Tylisa?”
“The one with the long hair and pretty eyes, she used to sing Soprano at Milford,” he said.
“That Tylisa! Oh my gosh, that is the boy that got her pregnant,” I asked.
“Girl, he is the trade & I think he’s a drug dealer. I say you go for it.”
“I think I am. He is really cute.”
“Just be careful though because he looks like a dusty boy who probably has crabs or something though.”
“Boy shut up. He don’t look dirty, he is so cute. I wonder if he got a big dick,” I said.
“Tylisa used to say it was small, but the stroke was ovah.”
“Really? Hmmm, I can work with that,” I pictured a skinny dick with big balls and received a message on FaceBook!

“Well, give me your address shawty. I’ll be over there in 10, I’m just about to drop my homeboy off and I’ll be there,” the message said.

Why
are these lights so bright? I don’t know if I am alive or at the end of the tunnel. The right side of my body is numb, and it feels like my head was crushed by a brick. What the hell is going on?

“Cover the wound, there’s a lot of external bleeding from the chest,” a woman shouted as her voice faded in & out while my vision remained blurry, the chatter I heard around me was muffled and it became apparent I was not in Heaven.

“We need you to hold on, young man,” a man yelled as I could see a part of his head, but his face was distorted. It was then I realized that I was at a hospital and was surrounded by doctors holding oxygen masks, trying to save my life.