Chapter Thirty Two - Louis Berry's Novel - Erstwhile

Chapter Thirty-Two

Merlin’s was filled with patrons when Richard walked through the door. There were so many people there that he found himself in a state of confusion. Everyone’s voice echoed through his head and it hurt. The seat next to Jake was the only one empty and the two old men who always occupied the last booth against the far wall were there. Richard saw that one of them had his hand on a small stack of paper on the table in front of him. It was held together with a black Acco clip, fastened in the upper left corner. The old man drummed his fingers on the stack as he made eye contact with Richard. It confused him. Was the old man extending an invitation, or simply staring? He shook away the thought and walked to the seat he normally occupied and sat down.
Merlin saw him and began to make a drink without the two men exchanging a word. The blackness of his depression clouded his mind and made it heavy. He had no desire to talk to any of his friends. He only wanted to drink in peace and sort through the many thoughts that disturbed him. There was no way that he could concentrate. The sound of pool balls cracking as they slammed into one another on the table behind him ricocheted off the inner walls of his skull. He teetered between madness and lucidity.
Merlin placed the drink on the bar in front of Richard. He immediately picked it up and drank it in one long swallow. The bartender shook his head as his friend reached across and placed the empty on the far edge of the counter, silently requesting another.
“What are you doing here so early in the morning?” Jake asked.
“Just need a drink,” Richard replied. “What about you?”
Jake laughed. “Don’t you know? I live here. This place is like my living room.”
Richard took the second drink that Merlin placed in front of him and drank half in a single gulp. Logic crept into his mind and he decided not to drink it too rapidly. He needed his wits about him to accomplish the task at hand. In the corner of the bar sat a beautiful dark-skinned woman. Jet-black, wavy hair hung well below her shoulders. Her eyes were light brown and bright. She appeared to be very tall, judging from how high she sat relative to the top of the bar. Richard found himself wondering how long her legs were. They ex-changed smiles.
He looked around the room and noticed that Gaylord and Two-Guns were seated in the booth next to the two old men. He found it odd that Two-Guns wore his holsters, guns and all. He finished his second drink and held the glass up, signifying his desire for an-other. Merlin obliged. Richard looked at the woman at the end of the bar. She smiled at him, again. Pointing toward the end of the bar, he motioned to Merlin that he would take his drink there. He got up and walked the familiar path to the end of the bar and around its edge. The young lady spun around on top of her chair to face him as he approached her from behind. There wasn't a seat available next to her.
He extended his hand. “I’m Richard.”
The young lady took his hand in hers and gave one exaggerated shake. “Neferet.”
Richard knew this name, or at least its meaning. “Your name means beautiful woman. And I would say it is quite apropos.”
“You are correct, and thank you,” she said.
“Are you visiting from out of town?”
“You could say that.”
He shrugged his shoulders and furrowed his brow, not understanding what other option there could be.
“Actually, I came here to see you,” she admit-ted.
“Me?”
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“I would never forget a beautiful woman like you.”
She smiled. “Okay, it’s a little unfair of me be-cause I’ve changed my name. It used to be Marianne, Marianne Massarat.”
He recognized the name as that of a high school classmate. “The name you chose shows that you definitely don’t lack any confidence.” He thought about Sara and the affect he had on her self esteem.
“No thanks to you,” Neferet said.
Richard dropped his head and shook it. He could not believe the day he was having. “And exactly how did I destroy your confidence?”
“You wouldn’t go out with me because you couldn’t understand that I wasn’t black. I’m Egyptian, asshole!”
Richard drew in a deep breath and exhaled every bit of air in his lungs. He tried to remain calm. “Marianne, it sounds to me like you’re the one that has a problem, because you didn’t want to be thought of as black.”
“I didn’t care what people thought of me. You’re the only one I ever gave a damn about.”
“Can’t it simply be explained that I was not interested in dating you, for no other reason than just not … being … interested?”
“Yeah, you weren’t interested because you thought I was black,” she insisted.
“Look Marianne, I just told you I thought you were a beautiful woman.” Richard’s response bordered on pleading. “I came over to talk to you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and why did you come over here?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Because you’re trying to prove to yourself that you aren’t a racist. I’m not a stupid little school-girl that you can toy with, Richard.”
In a calm tone that masked the turmoil inside, he responded, “I came over because you smiled at me. I thought you wanted to get to know me. Instead you’ve done nothing but berate me. So, I’m going back over to my seat.”
Richard strolled across the floor on legs numbed by alcohol. When he rounded the corner of the bar, he looked at the booths along the wall. The old man was still drumming his fingers on top of the stack of paper. They made eye contact and the elder motioned with his right hand for Richard to come over. He did. “Yes, sir?” he inquired, as he approached the booth.
The old man slid further into the booth, making room for Richard. He slapped the seat next to him, for the first time removing his left hand from the stack of paper. “Sit down.” Richard sat silently, waiting for the man to speak. “Do you know who I am?” the old man asked. Richard shook his head. The man slid the stack toward him. The name on the top of the page, Wilbur, was that of his late grandfather; a man that he had loved and respected more than any other. “I always in-tended to write down some of what I considered important details about my life so that future generations could hopefully benefit from my experiences. I always hoped that it would be relevant enough for each person who read it to get something out of it.” The man paused. “I think there are a couple of things in here you need to read. You don’t have to read the entire thing. I’ve underlined what I think is important.”
“I don’t want to read what you’ve written,” Richard said. “Aren’t you saying you wish you had done a better job communicating?”
 Wilbur nodded.
 “Well then, let’s communicate with one another.”
 “Okay.” His grandfather pulled the stack toward him and held it with both hands. “Often during my life-time I wished that more opportunity had been available for my father and me to spend time together; that we could have known each other better. Since his death there have been many questions about his parents, grandparents, his childhood, his youth and about the times and customs of his generation that I would like to have known about. It wasn’t to be: he was always busy making a living for his family. The world economy had a lot to do with it and I was concerned and busy with things about growing up, myself.”
 “Did you have a poor relationship with your father?”
 “Oh no!” Wilbur insisted. “I just wish I had more time to spend with him for purely selfish reasons. And I wished that I had the intestinal fortitude to ask him some very hard questions. But I didn’t and the opportunity passed all too quickly.” He paused, thinking of what it was he wanted to say to his grandson. “We were living on our farm in Altamonte Springs, our first home in Florida that Dad had bought, sight unseen, from a friend of his in Canada so that we could live in a warmer and less severe climate, especially for mother’s sake. She could not endure the cold Canadian winters.” Wilbur took a sip of tea. “Wesley Thomas, a black man, probably in his thirties, lived not far away and came regularly to help Dad with the many, and always odd jobs around the house and yard.  He dropped by to see us one morning and I asked him if he wanted to be white like me. I do not know what he said, but I thought he would never quit laughing and hollering.”
 “What brought that on?” Richard asked.
 “I’ll tell you,” Wilbur said. “My brother Harry, about sixteen at the time, had sang, danced and played his trumpet in a Minstrel show held at Altamonte Springs Hotel the night before – a town-sponsored affair in which Harry played the part of End-Man for which they had blackened his face, neck and hands. I was not taken to the show, but watched Harry out in the back yard near the tool house upon his return, with soap and water, remove the burnt cork or whatever from his face and hands. I guess I thought that if the black could be washed away from my brother, that we could make Wesley white too.”
 Richard could not help but laugh at the story. “How did that affect you?”
 “It hurt my feelings that Wesley laughed at me, but later on I realized what a good thing it was that he had such a good humor about my ignorance.”
 “I have never thought of you as an ignorant man,” Richard stated, flatly.
 “And I have Wesley to thank for that. I respect-ed him so much that the ignorance I displayed in front of him hurt me deeply. From that moment forward I promised myself that I would never be ignorant of any-thing. If I ever encountered someone or something that I did not understand, or had a base of knowledge, I would educate myself.”

Richard smiled. “I feel like I have benefited from your determination. Thank you.”
Wilbur continued with another story, “I know you have heard many times how Sue and I met and how I picked her out from the very start to be my wife and your grandmother.”
Richard smiled. “I do love that story. Wasn’t it on a trip to Daytona Beach put together by your college fraternity?”
Wilbur smiled at the timeless memory. “Yes!”
Richard finished the story he had heard and admired numerous times. “And at the end of the even-ing you kissed through a plate glass window.”
The smile on Wilbur’s face grew wider. “I was so lucky to find your grandmother at such an early age. But no matter how long it takes, you will always know when you have found the right one.”
“Did you and Sue ever have any rough times?” Richard and his cousins always called their grandmother by her first name. It was her wish.
“Oh boy, did we,” Wilbur said. “Another thing I wish I had done a better job of was teaching your mother and her siblings that arguing is a part of marriage, and important because if you’re arguing, you’re communicating. The challenge is to learn from each other.”
Richard seemed indifferent to his grandfather’s advice. He saw that Wilbur’s mood suddenly became very melancholy. “What’s the matter?”
“There is one more thing that I have to share with you. It was the worst time of my life.” Wilbur took a sip of tea, and felt obligated to start by saying, “But if I can overcome it, you can overcome any obstacle you encounter. I had something horrible happen to me as a boy that my family never talked about, which had a profound affect on me and was the reason I never felt comfortable discussing painful topics.”
“What was it?”
Wilbur hesitated briefly as he took a deep breath. “At Scout meetings and other places, Allen Cahoon, James Godfrey and I talked about and planned a canoe trip from Wekiva Springs down to Lake Monroe and down the St. John’s River to Jacksonville. I wasn’t sure we could surmount the many difficulties bound to be connected with such an undertaking. Apparently, the others didn’t feel this way as much as I did. With the help of troop leaders, especially Oscar Bernard and others, we obtained drawings and specifications for building canoes. James’ parents allowed us to use the whole bottom floor of their two car garage apartment for the actual building. We were given most of the material needed – lumber from the McCormick Lumber Co., dad gave us the special canvas needed and someone else the green paint. Oscar Bernard was employed by the lumber co., which was a big help … brass screws, putty, hand picked cedar slating for the ribs and oak streamers for the framework came easily, so construction began and continued erratically. Working on our project was very irregular. Sometimes only one or two of us would be available in the mornings or afternoons. It took probably eight weeks to complete the two canoes. I believe this was in the spring of 1923. James, Allen and I were fifteen.”
“That was quite an undertaking. I admire your determination.”
Wilbur continued without acknowledging his grandson’s compliment. “Plans for the trip to Jacksonville began to take shape. The three of us, all Eagle Scouts, and one other, probably ‘Red’ Caruthers, were to make the trip. We checked with our parents for details and permission. They all reluctantly agreed with the stipulation that no guns were to be taken. Making the trip a reality progressed slowly as summer wore on. James could not make it. He was registered in Camp Idlewild with his brother, Frederick in New Hampshire on Lake Winnipesauke. Allen could not go because he was working in a machine shop, so it looked as though the trip was off until later when it would be more feasible and possible. Dad’s business had been profitable to the extent that he organized a move from his East Pine Street store to a much larger and better location on the corner of Orange Avenue and Washington Street. His specialty was in imported fabrics for whom he had established a large clientele among the wealthy women of Central Florida. The need for a dressmaker developed and as a result Mrs. Gilstrap, I believe she was from Alabama, was employed. She moved to Orlando with her daughter, Ruth, a beautiful girl, probably eighteen years old and her son Mark about my age, fifteen or sixteen. He was good looking too and very personable, but chancy, always wanting to do this or that and be on the go. Somehow the canoe trip gathered interest again and was beginning to bear fruit. Red Caruthers, Mark and I were to take one of the canoes. Being ten feet long and with a wide center beam and storage compartments in both the bow and stern the three of us could travel comfortably with light gear; food, bedding, clothes and all the other necessities. The date was set. We were to push off at Wekiva Springs early one Wednesday morning. I’m not sure, but I believe Harold hauled us with the canoe and our gear to the springs in his truck. Anyway, we got started down the Wekiva River enjoying the scenery and occasionally stopping along the banks to fish. I was completely absorbed in the excitement of such an adventure. Was it real? Were we really going to Jacksonville by canoe? Yes, we were! For lunch we had sandwiches prepared for this, our first meal without stopping. As the afternoon wore on we began to look for ideal places to spend our first night under the stars. At about four in the afternoon we saw a bridge ahead. ‘Maybe this would be the place,’ and it was. The river here was flowing slowly east from west. To our right was a sandy beach and an opening among the back-ground of trees and bushes. It could have been a boat landing. The bridge crossed the river going north and south. Checking our map we determined where we were. Sanford was three to five miles to the south. After landing and exploring the area we went up a steep bank to the road. There was only one house about a hundred yards north of the bridge on the right hand side. I assumed that the people living there were farmers.”
Richard was enthralled, hanging on every word as the story in his mind began to take shape.
“The three of us went back to the landing, took what gear we needed from the canoe which we had pulled up on land, to fix a place to cook and pitch our tent. With this done, we proceeded to set out our trot-line across the river, which I guess was about fifty yards wide at this point. Our trotline, which we had put together before leaving home with hooks, weights and all, was seventy-five yards long. Tying one end to a large myrtle tree at the shoreline down river a ways, we took the canoe and strung out the line to the other side. After adjusting the tension, we baited the hooks with bacon rind and part of a catfish we had caught on the way. Talking among ourselves while cooking supper we discussed what we would do with so many fish we were going to catch on the trotline. Of course, there were a lot of interesting stories told around the camp-fire; some true, I guess. Coming down the river before reaching our campsite Mark pulled from his luggage up front a pistol and asked if he might shoot at a turtle sunning on a log. I was shocked. Somehow, we had failed to impress upon him that no guns were to be brought along. I think he shot at the turtle once before we were out of range. The question came up about bullets. He had brought only those in the cylinder of the pistol. We agreed that as long as we had the gun and we might need it further along, one of us should catch a ride into Sanford to get more shells or bullets. We all slept well that night and were awakened by the rising sun. We each had a hand in cooking breakfast. When we finished a coin was flipped to see who would go into Sanford for the bullets. It turned out that Red was to go, so after cleaning up camp we got in the canoe to check the trotline. I can’t remember what we had on the line. We had pulled ourselves across the river by checking the line as we went. Mark was in the bow of the canoe holding on to branches at the shoreline and suddenly he said, ‘There’s a snake!’ I looked where he had pointed and saw the slim green snake on a bush about ten feet away. He took his pistol and fired at it twice, but the snake was still there. I must have said something like, ‘Mark, you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. Let me have that gun.’ As he passed it back to me the gun suddenly went off. The canoe rolled over as his weight shifted quickly to the left. I was frantic; Mark had been shot. I know I must have said, ‘God help us!’ Before I knew it we were both in the river. I was trying to keep his head above water and yelling for help at the same time. The water was so deep where we were that I could not touch bottom. I was yelling constantly for help while treading water. As I began to feel myself tiring, something told me to take Mark across to the other side. I put my arm across his chest with his head up above the water and swam to the other side where we had camped. I remember pulling him up on the shore, but nothing else after that until Harold came to me and said, ‘We must go home.’ I must have been in shock. As Harold helped me up to take me home, I realized that there were a lot of people there, where we had camped. I learned later that the farmers across the road had heard me yell for help. They were there with the sheriff and others; I would say maybe thirty in all. I asked Harold where Mark was. He replied that he had been taken to the hospital. On our way back home we stopped at the hospital in Sanford. Harold told me to stay in the car while he went in to check on Mark’s condition. It was not long before he came out, started the car and was driving down the street when he told me that Mark was dead.”
A chill ran down Richard’s spine, and judging by the look on Wilbur’s face, he was experiencing the same pain he had many years earlier.
“As time went on, I was to become a different person; for better or worse I do not know. I do know, however, that for me things were different, much different. I felt guilt, not knowing exactly how it happened. I was unsure whether or not it was my fault, or why it even happened. I had never been afraid to talk before a class or group even before the school assembly on Wednesday mornings but after this happened it was different. I avoided talking when-ever I could and when it became necessary and demanding like talking before the Athletic Association meetings when I was president, it was a chore and I hated it. Harry Hughes, one of my classmates, stopped me on the sidewalk of Orange Avenue near the Angebuilt Hotel downtown to ask me how Mark was killed. I flushed up inside, so much so that I could hardly talk. It lasted only a short while, probably only a few minutes until I was able to answer him and other raw questions he posed. At first, I began to hate Harry Hughes who I had liked and thought a lot of. I didn’t hate him long and later on, was glad that he had con-fronted me. It opened up a small passage in my psyche to let some of what I had been storing up inside come out. However, not much came out until years later.”
“I’ve never heard that story,” Richard said, overcome with sympathy for this man he had known his whole life, and a man that he wished to model his life after.
“Regarding the accident that took Mark’s life; it was, and still is, strange to me that neither dad, mother or other members of the family mentioned it to me or asked questions. I know that everyone grieved immensely, but I guess they could not bring themselves to the point of discussing it and did not want to further hurt me. After Harold had brought me home that day and I was in my bedroom, mother came in, sat on the edge of the bed with me and hugged me. I felt comforted and relieved, but I do not remember our saying a word to each other that day. One day when I was visiting my sisters, Norah and Phyllis, I asked Norah how mother had taken the accident. She told me that at one point she had become hysterical and that it had been very difficult for her to endure. At the time, I guess I was thankful for not having to discuss it, pushing the thoughts far away into the recesses of my mind. Now I know differently. It would have been much better for all of us if it had been openly discussed.”
Richard realized then how poignant it was that he insisted on his grandfather telling the story versus reading it.
“You see son, I’m afraid that I have failed your mother and you by not encouraging any of our family to be more open about our feelings. I did a horrible thing and kept it inside all those years, telling no one other than your grandmother, who I swore to secrecy.”
“So what lesson am I supposed to take away from this?” Richard’s inquiry bordered on sarcasm.
“There was not a day that went by that I did not give thanks for having your grandmother in my life. She knew every sordid detail of the man I was, and she loved me regardless. Richard, you cannot be the best person you want to be if you allow yourself to be ignorant; you cannot allow the ones you love to be ignorant of the man you are. No matter how ugly, how painful it might be, if you want someone to love you without question, they have to know you and be free of uncertainty.”
The only person to ever fill that void in Richard’s life had been Susan, and he was not sure she would be there to listen to the things he had to say. He looked across the table at the second old man. “You look familiar to me,” Richard said. The man flashed a familiar smile. Then it dawned on him. “You’re my other grandfather, aren’t you? You died when I was five years old.”
Without a word, the man nodded.
“What life lessons do you have for me?” Richard asked.
The man shrugged.
“It figures, from you!” Richard stood. He picked up the manuscript from in front of Wilbur. “I appreciate all the effort you put into this.” He held it up. “But I’m sure it’s too late for me.” With that, he tossed the text back onto the table, walked back over to the bar and sat next to Jake. He placed his empty glass on the bar. Merlin picked it up and began making an-other drink.
Hours passed and the drinks flowed freely. Richard’s pores oozed the alcohol that he consumed. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down at his shiny hand. Every breath was deliberate as he labored to draw in life-giving oxygen and expel the waste. His body was numb and he could not feel the stool beneath him. Merlin placed a fresh drink in front of him. It be-came difficult for him to focus on anything. Faces seemed familiar but were not immediately recognizable. The thoughts that entered his mind were dark and had been held well below his consciousness, until he asked. “Jake, have you ever killed anyone?”
Jake looked at Richard, astonished at the question. “I paid for an abortion for your sister, Sahara.”
He took another large sip from his drink, ignoring Jake’s response. “I have.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way my friend, but I’m not sure I believe you.”
“It’s true.” He drank. “It was a kid that I killed. I was a kid. People that young should not be allowed to make a decision involving the life of a fetus. If only I could be sure that child has forgiven me, I might be able to live with myself.”
Jake listened, intently.
“It’s a trait that obviously runs in the family.” At that moment Richard was more hurt to have learned that the man he loved and respected more than any other had been responsible for taking a boy’s life. It could have easily been his grandfather that was killed that day. If that had been the case, Richard would not have to deal with the pain he felt.
“You’ve got murderers in your family?”
“Yep, and it’s always some poor kid who won’t get the opportunity to live out his life.” He held his glass up in sarcastic salute.
Jake was not sure how to respond to his friend’s glibness. Richard swayed involuntarily on his stool. Be-fore the discussion could continue, there was a raucous commotion behind the two men. Jake spun around on his stool as did Richard, but more slowly. He came to rest facing the pool table and looked over to the booth where his grandfathers sat. They were no longer there. He shifted his gaze to the booth where Gaylord and Two-Guns were seated when he entered the bar and strained to focus on them through his blood-shot, burning eyes.
Standing on top of the pool table was a young man wearing battered jeans and sandals. He had a ponytail that was neatly braided and hung to the middle of his back. He began to yell, “You fucking rednecks have got to be the most ignorant lot of people that I have ever come across in my life!”
No one said a word. Everyone sat quietly, listening, which seemed to frustrate and incite the young man further. He picked up a ball from the table and threw it through the plate glass window at the front of the building. Looking around the room, it seemed surreal to the young man that no one was trying to stop him. Maybe I’m getting through to them, he thought. “You display this Confederate flag with pride! It’s a symbol of hatred and oppression! Don’t you dumb-fucks know that?” He stomped his feet all over the flag that adorned the felt on top of the table where he stood.
Still, no one responded so the young man jumped from atop the table to an empty one in a booth against the wall where the flag hung. He took a lighter from his pocket and lit the banner, then jumped back across to the pool table and admired the flames as they engulfed the flag. Miraculously, the wall was un-scarred. Everyone watched silently as it burned until nothing but ashes remained, scattered across the tables and floor. The kid looked around the room. When there was no response he dejectedly hopped off the pool table and walked through the front door and onto the street.
Richard turned to Jake. “I admire that kid. He has the passion to speak his mind. I’d be a lot better off if I could do that.”
“He walked out! He certainly didn’t have too much conviction for his principles, did he?”
Richard ignored Jake and looked over at the booth where Gaylord and Two-Guns had been sitting, wondering if they had any reaction to the young man’s speech. They were gone. He thought it was odd, be-cause the only person he saw leave the bar was the kid, so he looked from side-to-side. The bar seemed a lot emptier than when he got there. “I’m going for a piss,” Richard said to Jake as he stood from his stool and walked toward the end of the bar. He walked into the bathroom and became disoriented as he looked around. It was not the bathroom that he had known at Merlin’s. Instead, Richard found himself in the back room of the store. He rubbed his lower right eye-lid as it began to twitch, nervously. Knowing exactly what he was looking for, he walked to the cabinet that hung on the wall above the toilet. Every experience he ever had swirled through his mind like a vortex. He could not make sense of anything any longer and all he wanted was peace. When he and Susan first came to Erstwhile, Richard worried that the decision to move was his and that she would not be happy. He realized that he had lived his life oblivious to how his actions affected those around him. Never once had he considered himself a selfish person, but it was apparent to him that he was, and that ate away at the very foundation of his being. No longer did he believe in himself. How could he have let down so many people in his life, and done so consistently. He opened the cabinet. Inside, on the top shelf, was a nine-millimeter gun. He removed it and held it in his open hand, steadying it by placing his middle finger through the trigger-guard. His hand was remarkably steady, but his eye continued to twitch. He pushed the cartridge release button. The sleeve fell into his open hand and he could tell that there were at least two bullets in the magazine. He placed the cartridge on the back of the toilet, and then with his free hand he pulled back on the slide to see if there was a bullet in the chamber. There was not. He replaced the magazine and repeated the motion on the slide, chambering one. With his thumb, Richard flipped the safety into the ‘hot’ position. He pointed the barrel of the gun toward his forehead, but held it away to look at the rifling. Making what he realized was his final decision; he pressed the gun hard against his forehead and pulled back the hammer with his index finger. His eyes were closed.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” a voice with a soft southern accent came from in front of him.
Richard opened his eyes to see his cousin, Taylor Watts. “The same fucking thing you did, only I’m going to do it with a gun.” His cousin committed suicide after a bad motorcycle accident left him physically unable to lead a normal life. The once vibrant and impressive young man became dependent on a cane. He suffered a trauma to his head that left his vision severely diminished. It was the young, strong Taylor that stood before Richard.
“Just because I did it, you think that’s the answer?”
“Oh no, there are a million reasons why, and not one why not,” Richard said as he dropped the gun away from his head and onto his lap. He gently released the hammer against the firing pin.
“I can think of one reason why not that will far outweigh a trillion reasons why,” Taylor said.
“What’s that?”
“Susan.”
He laughed. “Haven’t you been paying attention?” Richard placed the gun against his head, again. This time he rested it on his temple so that he could look his cousin in the eyes.
“Richard, you don’t want to do that,” Taylor said in a calm voice.
He closed his eyes, pulled back on the hammer and then heard another voice say, “Richard, you need to live with your mistakes, not die from them.”
He opened his eyes and looked beyond Taylor. Standing there was Freddy Wilson. Freddy had been Richard’s best friend in high school. The two lost touch when they attended different colleges. One weekend during Richard’s senior year, he had gotten a call from Freddy asking if they could get together. He declined the invitation because he had a date that he didn’t want to break. The next weekend Richard got a different kind of call. Freddy’s brother told him that he had committed suicide. He always blamed himself for his friend’s death; for not being there. Friendships after that were difficult.
Richard was surprised to see the two of them together. Taylor had grown up in and embraced the tradition of the Old South. The last time the three of them were together, Taylor and Freddy had gotten into a huge fist-fight over the racial epithets that seemed to roll endlessly from Taylor’s tongue. “I’m surprised to see you here, Freddy,” he said.
“I could say the same about you,” his friend responded. “Haven’t you learned anything from the two of us?”
“That you’re both leaders and visionaries,” Richard said, sarcastically.
“Don’t be curt with us, Richard,” Taylor chimed-in.
“Why are you here?” he pleaded as he looked at the two of them. “This would be a lot easier without having to deal with you both.”
“In that case, we aren’t leaving,” Freddy said.
Richard stood and walked from the bathroom into the storage room. Freddy and Taylor followed. He placed the gun on the sill of a high window that opened onto a back-alley, and stared through it. “Haven’t you guys been paying attention to everything that has gone on? I’ve never been a good friend to anyone.” He turned and looked at Freddy. “You should know that.”
“You can’t blame yourself for what I did.”
Richard continued as if he had not heard his friend. “I cheated on the best woman I’ve ever known; and she’s only the latest in a long line of people I’ve let down. I have killed someone, a human being. That is how selfish I am. There is not a single person that I have ever known that is better off having known me.”
“I am better off having known you.” A voice that was neither Freddy nor Taylor came from behind Richard. He turned to see David Archer standing in the doorway to the bathroom. The legacy that David’s family bestowed upon him was that of addiction. He found it extraordinarily difficult to avoid drugs and alcohol, and Richard’s greatest regret was that he had been David’s enabler for many years. The two men’s relationship became strained later in life because he had seen the destructive side of his friend’s dependency. Richard confronted him one day and apologized for the role he played in making his life more of a challenge than it needed to be. They had not spoken in over ten years and Richard missed the friendship terribly.
“I tried very hard to be a good friend to you, after losing these two.” He pointed at Freddy and Taylor. “For the longest time I thought that meant getting high with you, and chasing women.” His tone became melancholy. “Finally, I realized what my lifestyle was doing to me, and I knew that it was doing the same to you. I’ll never forget the last time we spoke on the phone. Do you remember what you asked me?”
David shook his head and said nothing.
“You said, ‘All of my friends are telling me that I have to stop using drugs, and I know that I can count on you to be my savior. You know I have this under control, don’t you?’ That statement pierced my soul. I thought that you and I were very close, but when it came down to brass tacks, all of your friends wanted you to quit using drugs, but good old Richard would be there to get high with you. Do you even recall what I said next?”
“You pleaded with me to stop using drugs.”
“And what did you do next?”
“I hung up on you.”
“Were you ever aware that I came to your father’s restaurant several times to try and patch up our relationship? Twice I remember seeing you through the window, but when I got inside the hostess told me that you weren’t there.”
He nodded.
Richard’s eyes dropped to the floor at his feet. “I’ve lost three people that I have considered best friends. But, that was all right because I thought I had found the best of mates when I met Susan. She played me the fool just like you did, David. I’m not sure why. All you wanted was someone to get high with. There is nothing that I can give her that she couldn’t get some-where else.” He thought about her infidelity and his heart ached. “And she’s already started to seek it out.”
Richard thought about the circumstances that surrounded the deaths of Freddy and Taylor. They were both young when they decided to take their own lives and he was not sure that either would have committed such a heinous act if they had the wisdom associated with age. They were young, emotional, and impetuous. He was sure that neither of them completely thought through their last day. Had they thought about all of the people they left behind? Richard missed having conversations with both of them about the challenges he had faced at the different stages in his life.
A sudden change of heart caused Richard to question whether he would have even been friends with David if he had been made to expect more from him-self; to hold himself to a higher standard. But then he realized that he would have missed out on the love that he still felt for him.