Baby Brother's Blues (11 page)

18

B
aby Brother’s plan wasn’t a very good one, but preparing for the future had never been his strong suit. After the well-dressed brother in the BMW had dropped him off at Union Station with two hundred dollars in his pocket, he realized there was no reason for him to be there at all. He had no place to go and no time to get there. The day stretched out in front of him with no design he could decipher, so he decided to focus on more immediate concerns.

He hadn’t had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon and the smell of eggs and fried potatoes from a coffee shop already open for business made his stomach growl. He went inside, ordered a big country breakfast, which he polished off with dispatch. As he lingered over a second cup of black coffee, his plan began to take shape.
He would go to New York.

When he left Iraq, the idea of not returning to his unit at the end of his leave hadn’t even crossed his mind. He knew he didn’t want to be there, but nobody with an ounce of sense would spend time in hell by choice. He knew the fear he felt was with him twenty-four hours a day because the enemy never, ever slept and every ordinary moment might be a soldier’s last one. He remembered when they hit a mess hall a few months ago. Baby Brother had seen the pictures. Those guys were just on their way to breakfast, laughing and talking and shooting the shit and
BAM!
Game over,
jack.
No second chances.

Baby Brother sipped his coffee and made himself focus on his plan. He had showered and shaved, but he needed to get out of his uniform. If he wasn’t going back, the sooner he stopped looking like a soldier, the better. He could probably get some jeans and a big white T-shirt with the money he had left from last night. Might even find a cheap pair of sneakers. He should have made that faggot give up one of those Italian suits he had lined up in his closet, Baby Brother thought. They were about the same size, but he didn’t want to stir up a lot of questions about why he needed civilian clothes if he was on his way back to Iraq. Everybody in D.C. worked for the government one way or another. He didn’t need a stranger all up in his business who might feel it was his patriotic duty to report a runaway soldier in an Armani suit.

The waitress refilled Baby Brother’s coffee cup and gave him a dazzling smile as she bussed his table. Baby Brother smiled back, wondering if he could get her to give him a break on the check on the strength of his dimples. Her smile made him relax a little.
What was he worried about?
That guy was never going to report on him. He had more stake in keeping his own secrets than he did busting an army deserter he’d picked up only for sex.

The guy had requested that Baby Brother wear a condom, which was a first. None of the men he had been with for money bothered with protection, and since he wasn’t the one on his knees, he figured it was every man for himself. This guy gave him a rubber that smelled like grape soda. The funny thing was that the condom was the only part of the exchange that made Baby Brother feel like a whore. He didn’t like seeing himself as that kind of hustler, but the way things were going…

“Is this seat taken?”

Baby Brother looked up into the face of a young woman with a cup of coffee in her hand and a beautiful smile on her strikingly sweet face. She was tall and slender with caramel skin and the kind of big, curly, old-school Afro that people always hoped to find in the box with the blowout kit. Her eyes were big and green and her full lips and square white teeth sent his mind tumbling into fantasies where condoms were not allowed.

“No,” he said, scrambling to his feet, wondering how long she’d been standing there. “Sit down if you want.”

“Thanks.” She slid into the chair across the table from him and stashed a small suitcase under her chair.

He watched her with a growing appreciation of how pretty she was. She didn’t look like a prostitute, but women this fine didn’t usually ask strangers in half-empty coffee shops if they minded company unless they were preparing to make a business transaction.

“I’m Zora,” she said, reaching across the table to shake his hand firmly.

Even her fingers were fine,
he thought, releasing them slowly.

“My girlfriend is picking me up and she’s running late. I just hate to sit in restaurants by myself, even if it’s just for coffee. I don’t know why, but I thought you might be that way, too.”

This girl was no hooker. She looked more like a college student.

“I’m Wes,” he said, following her lead and providing no last name.

“Nice to meet you, Wes,” she said, tearing open four sugars and dumping them into her coffee. She followed that up with three small packets of hazelnut-flavored fake cream, and then stirred the whole thing vigorously.

Baby Brother watched her take a long swallow of this concoction and his expression must have mirrored his disapproval.

“What can I say? I like a little coffee with my sugar and cream,” she said, grinning at him. “It’s a Southern thing.”

“I see.”

From her accent, it sounded to Baby Brother like Zora was
a Southern thing
herself. She shrugged out of her coat and her breasts swayed under her sweater. It didn’t look to him like she was wearing a bra.

“You coming or going?” she said, taking another sip of her sugar and cream.

“I’m going to New York,” he said, immediately sorry he had told her the truth.
That was the problem with fine women. They could get all your secrets out of you just by being fine!
If he was going to be a fugitive, he had to learn to keep his mouth shut.

She draped her coat on the back of her chair. “What’s in New York?”

Baby Brother tried to reclaim his cool by being vague. “I need to get lost for a while. New York’s a big place.”

She nodded slowly. “Won’t your uncle be worried?”

“My uncle?”

“Your uncle Sam,” she said, pointing at his uniform with one slender finger. “That’s not a Halloween costume, is it?”

She was wearing a gauzy peasant blouse, and underneath, he could see a lacy camisole. He got so distracted, he forgot to answer her question.

“Should I put my coat back on?” she said, a little sarcastic, but kind of sweet, too. Truly fine women know what kind of effect they have on mortal men. This girl was probably used to it.

“It’s just been a while since I’ve seen a woman as fine as yourself,” he said. “Threw me off for a minute.”

She tossed her head and her earrings made a little tinkling sound. “Oh yeah?”

He gave her his best movie-star smile. “Yeah.”

“Then I’ve got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“I want to know where you’ve been that there weren’t any fine women.” She smiled to acknowledge the flattery.

“I didn’t say there weren’t any fine women. There’s fine women everywhere. I said
as fine as you.
”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She smiled back at him. “Where’ve you been?”

“Iraq,” he said, watching her face for a response. “I’ve been stationed outside of Fallujah.”

Her face grew suddenly serious. “You’ve been in the war?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Are you out now?” She sounded concerned.

He shook his head. “In my dreams. I’m supposed to be on my way back in a couple of days. I just got a pass to come home for my mom’s funeral.”

A combat soldier, home from the war to bury his mother.
It was a perfect storm as far as sympathy sex was concerned. Her eyes were full of compassion. He made his face look properly sorrowful.

“Aren’t you going back?” she said quietly.

That threw him a little and he immediately got paranoid. His eyes shifted nervously in his handsome face. “What do you mean?” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Relax,” she said quickly. “It’s just that you said, ‘I’m supposed to go back.’ ” Her voice was gentle, but he was still wary.

“Yeah, so?”

“So the way you said it, it just sounded like you might not.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care what I do?”

She leaned toward him and crossed her arms in front of her on the table. One slender wrist held five chunky bangles and the other sported a big old Timex watch with a fake gold band that was easily four sizes too big for her. She wore no rings.

“Because we’re the same age and I know how I’d feel if they were trying to get me to fly around the world and kill people for them.”

She got that right, Baby Brother thought. “How do you know we’re the same age?”

“I’m nineteen. How old are you?”

She was right, but he just looked at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look,” she said, “I work with a group, African American Students Against the War, and we’re always talking about what we can do about it, but we never talk to anybody who’s really been there. When I saw you sitting here by yourself, with your uniform on and everything, I just thought maybe you could help me understand.”

He looked at her lovely face and he knew she was clueless. Nothing she had ever seen or read or thought could possibly give her even an inkling of what he’d seen and done. Suddenly her innocence made him angry.

“You think I can help you understand?” he snapped. “Tell you some stories about the war to share with your girlfriends?”

She bristled at his tone. “It’s not like that. We’re just trying to help.”

He rolled right over her objection. “I got some stories for you. How about a guy getting blown up on the day before he was scheduled to go home to his wife and kid? How about a guy getting shot in the head the first time he ever went out on patrol? How about guys dying over there every day, scared to death, crying like little bitches, shitting their pants? Ain’t no heroes when you ridin’ in a convoy and you see the truck right beside you blown to kingdom come and your buddy’s brains all over the road and somebody holdin’ what’s left of their leg in their hand, screamin’ for their mama, and the Iraqi kids standin’ around, laughin’, hopin’ we all die so they can take what’s left of what we got. And you know what else? That ain’t even nothin’ special. That’s just an ordinary day, every day.”

She was watching him intently. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were round as silver dollars. He leaned over then and grabbed her hands and she let him. It was as if they were alone in the midst of the early-morning commuters and camera-laden tourists from around the world. Suddenly he felt nineteen, young and vulnerable and stupid for getting himself in this position in the first place.

“I’m not goin’ out like that,” he whispered between tightly clenched teeth. “If I’m goin’ down, I’m goin’ down for something I believe in.”

“What do you believe in?” she said softly.

Baby Brother sat back slowly. “I believe in saving my own ass.
Period.
”

The chirp of Zora’s cellphone startled them both. She fumbled in her coat pocket.

“Hello?… Yeah, I’m still here. Where are you?… Out front where?… Okay. I’m on my way.”

She flipped the phone closed and looked at Baby Brother. “I’ve got to go. My girlfriend’s here to pick me up.”

He didn’t say anything as she slipped her arms into her coat and picked up her bag. He could have gone to college. His father was always on him about it, but he never cared about the future. Not until he didn’t see one. When she stood up to go, he did, too.

“It was good to meet you,” Zora said, extending her hand again. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”

He took her hand and held it. “What do
you
believe in?”

“I believe in you,” she said. “A lot of us do. If you decide not to go back. There are people who can help you.”

“Help me how?”

“Legally, financially, whatever you need.”

That sounded promising. “Oh yeah? So where are all these people who want to help me?”

“We’re everywhere,” she said. “I’m up here for a conference of other students from all over the country who are working for peace and I volunteer with a program in Atlanta that works with veterans.”

“Do they work with deserters?”

Her cellphone chirped again. “Listen, I gotta go, but take this.”

She fumbled in her backpack for a pen and a scrap of notebook paper, scribbled down a name and a telephone number, and handed it to him. Assuming it was her number, he took it gladly, but when he took a look, he frowned.

“Samson Epps?”

“He’s in charge of the vet program I was telling you about. If New York doesn’t work out, think about Atlanta.”

“Is that where you’ll be?” This woman was getting ready to walk out of his life and she was much too fine to let her go that easy. He needed more information fast.

“I’m in school at Spelman,” she said. “I’ve got another year before I graduate.”

“So I can’t get
your
number?”

“If you get to Atlanta, call Dr. Epps. He’ll know where to find me.”

“So I gotta go through Samson to get to you?”

She smiled. “I have to go.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t know you.”

“But don’t I have an honest face?”

“You have a
baby face.
That’s not the same thing.”

Her cellphone chirp was getting more frequent and more insistent. “I really gotta go.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he said, picking up her bag and tossing twenty dollars on the table to cover the check and tip the waitress whose inviting smile had faded from his mind the minute Zora had sat down across from him.

“Okay,” she said, giving him another great smile.

They were about the same height, and as he allowed her to pass out of the restaurant before him, he glanced down at her behind to see if it was as exemplary as her breasts. It was.

“So when is this meeting you’re going to?”

“This afternoon,” she said. “Three o’clock at Ira Aldridge Theater on the Howard campus.”

“Do I need a ticket to get in?”

Her hair bounced when she walked just like her behind.

“Tell them I invited you. I’ll be there early since I’m on the program. If you have any trouble, tell anybody with an AASAW badge to come get me.” She pronounced the acronym like it was a word.