The End of the Line (9 page)

“Why
do you think that is, Mr. Elsworth?”

“I
suppose it’s the same reason I don’t have a woman in my life, Ms. Thomas.
Neither of us has ever found the right person.”

“How
do you know I haven’t found the right person? That’s an assumption.”

“You’re
right,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Maybe you have found the right person. Maybe
the right person has come into your life. That’s something only you can know,
Ms. Thomas.”

“How
would I know if such a person came into my life?” she asked with great
seriousness.

“You
would feel it.”

“How
would I feel it?”

“Well,”
Peter began slowly, “you would enjoy being with the man. It would be fun
talking with him, fun just being with him. You would enjoy something as simple
as, oh, let me think, something as simple as walking to the store with him.”

She
crooked an eyebrow.

“He
would be something new and fresh in your life. You would feel safe and
comfortable with him. You would enjoy talking with him on the phone. You would
think he is handsome, and he would think you are beautiful.”

Latesha
heard all his words but said nothing in return, choosing instead to walk with
an aloof expression.

“That’s
how you would feel it.”

“It
sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”

“I’m
going to be straight with you,” Peter suddenly said in an emotional rush.

They
stopped yet again and Latesha faced him with a perplexed look, as if she was
not sure whether to run or listen.

“The
real reason I came here was to ask the matchmaker out on a date.”

“A
friendship between us is impossible,” Latesha said in a firm tone.

“Sometimes
you have to take chances.”

“Impossible!”
she exclaimed.

Peter
looked shell-shocked. “All right.”

“Maybe
you better leave,” Latesha muttered, looking away.

“As
you wish.” He turned to walk back to the truck.

Latesha
caught him by the arm. “In a perfect world where everyone was color blind, yes,
I would go out with you. There. Happy?”

“Does
that make you a racist?” he asked point-blank.

Latesha
looked offended, but something suddenly seemed to strike her. “Maybe I am a
racist,” she admitted, laughing uncomfortably. “I don’t think of myself as a
racist, I think of myself as having black pride. But on the other hand, I could
never imagine dating a white man.” She reflected for a few seconds. “Does that
make me a racist?”

“You
tell me,” Peter said calmly.

“All
right,” Latesha said, apparently enjoying the intensity of their interaction.
“I don’t disrespect you because you’re white, and I don’t look down on you
because you’re white, but I think it would be wise for us to end our
relationship before it gets started.”

“Too
late. It’s already started.”

“Equal
but separate,” she said. “You live in your white world and I live in my black
world.”

“That’s
a pile of crap and you know it,” Peter snapped.

“Listen
here, buddy, don’t be talking to me like that.”

“It’s
bullshit,” Peter said, turning to walk away.

Latesha
was visibly angry and pulled him around to face her. “Don’t come into my world
and tell me how things work. Save your lectures.”

“It’s
all so simple, isn’t it?” Peter said calmly but sharply. “Everything is black
and white in your little, insulated world. All nice and tidy. Just like little
pieces of a puzzle that snap together. Always was, always will be.”

“That’s
right,” Latesha shot back, her eyes flashing. “Always was, always will be.”

“That’s
garbage, Latesha,” Peter said with emotional force. “Garbage. Life isn’t black
and white, it’s gray. Black and white works well on a piano, or in the law, but
not in human relationships. We are much too complicated to be reduced to
simple, mindless formulas. We are not algorithms, we’re flesh and blood, hopes
and dreams.”

“Another
philosopher,” Latesha said in a sarcastic tone. “It must be nice to live in a
world of ideas, but some of us live in the real world.” She nodded with her jaw
firmly set. “And it’s a world of black and white, whether you like that or
not.”

“I
won’t pressure you,” he said. “You go ahead and live in your little box, afraid
to color outside the lines. Live your whole life like that if you want to. But
that’s not for me. I’m not going to be restricted or painted into a corner by
my petty prejudices.”

“You’d
better go,” Latesha said sharply.

“I
am going,” he said proudly, “but not before I tell you something.” He took a
deep breath and stared into her eyes. “I like you, Latesha. I like you a lot.
But if I’m not good enough for you, so be it.” He started to walk away.

“Wait!”
Latesha called after he took a dozen steps.

Peter
turned and looked at her.

She
met his gaze, but merely lifted her eyebrows as if inviting him to speak.

“If
I had my way, we wouldn’t be apologizing to anyone,” Peter said.

Latesha
smirked. “Friendship is complicated,” she said painfully, “especially when men
and women are involved.”

“Men
and women are human beings, Latesha, and there is nothing insidious about human
beings forming friendships. It’s positive, not negative.”Latesha stared at him.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, obviously upset.

“A
chance,” was all he said. “I just want a chance. Is that too much to ask?”

*
* * *

Latesha
felt a rush of emotion. She was suddenly important, like the star of the show,
and what made it even more fascinating was the fact that standing before her
was a man who was doing everything right. Who was he? Why did she love looking
into his eyes and gazing at his face? Why did she like the intensity of their
exchanges? How had this man so unexpectedly entered her life? He was now inside
her world, and his words swirled in her mind. And how nice it felt to be
special, to have a man think so much of her that he was willing to lay it all
on the line for her, for Latesha Rashida Thomas.

“Why
are you so interested in me?” Latesha asked, every nerve in her body prickly
with a sticky heat.

“I
liked you from the moment I saw you. From the very first moment.”

“I
have nothing to offer you.”

“I’m
not asking for anything but your friendship.”

“I’m
sorry,” she said, biting her lip. “It’s impossible.”

“As
you wish,” Peter said with a sad look. “Goodbye. It was a great pleasure to
meet you.”

Peter
turned and started walking back to his truck. Latesha watched him and suddenly
she felt incredibly, painfully alone. She was never more aware of a feeling of
solitude than at that precise moment. She knew that he was leaving forever. She
would never see him again, never again hear his voice. The feeling of
excitement and pleasure she felt with him would never be repeated. It was over.
The brief, bold experiment had failed. The line between them was so strong, so
insurmountable, that their friendship was doomed before it even started.

“Wait!”
Latesha called. “You’ve been a gentleman from the moment we met. “You’ve been
very nice to me. I don’t know why you came here, but - ”

“You
know why I came here,” he said, slowly turning to her. “You know exactly why I
came here.”

Latesha
was extremely flustered. “We need to talk,” she said, rubbing her hands. “I
don’t like standing here on the side of the road.” She pointed at a picnic
table in an area enclosed by trees. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

“Yes,”
Peter said, following Latesha down a path and sitting opposite her at the table.

“Tell
me the truth,” Latesha said, her heart in her throat. “Do you really like me or
is this some kind of game you’re playing?”

“I
don’t play games. I really like you.”

“I
mean, do you like me in that special way? The way a man likes a woman, when
he’s interested in her, you know.”

“I
like you in that way,” Peter told her. “I like you the way a man likes a woman,
Latesha.”

Latesha
furrowed her brows and sighed. “All right,” she stammered, “I’ll admit that I
enjoy your friendship. I looked forward to talking with you on the phone. I
like looking at you. But I never asked you to come here and I never expected
it.”

“I’m
sorry, but I just had to take a chance. My matchmaker encouraged it.”

Latesha
sighed. “It’s just that life is not as simple as we’d like it to be.”

“Maybe
that’s a good thing. Sometimes when life is too simple and routinized it
becomes boring. Sure, it’s safe, but you can live alone in a room your whole
life and be safe. Sometimes you have to express yourself and not be afraid.”

She
surrendered a smile.

“Will
you take a chance with me?” Peter asked. “Dinner? A movie? A walk in the park?”

“We
can walk to the store together,” she offered, abruptly standing up and hurrying
back toward the road.

Peter
followed and soon they were walking side by side, this time in complete
silence, but both incredibly aware of each other’s presence. Latesha could feel
his masculine aura and she knew perfectly well that Peter could obviously feel
her feminine spirit.

Peter
noticed the little shack across the road for the first time. “What’s that,
Latesha?”

“That’s
my history.”

“What
do you mean?” he asked, staring at it.

“It’s
a station from the Underground Railroad,” she said, searching his face for some
sign of recognition. “Have you ever heard of the Underground Railroad?”

“Of
course. It was used by people trying to escape to freedom. But I had no idea
there were any stations in Nova Scotia.”

“They
call it ‘The End of the Line’ station because this one was the last one on the
Underground Railroad. From here, you were on your own. It was no longer about
freedom, it was about survival. There’s a trail behind the station that goes
all way to Lake Park. It’s seldom used now, but it’s the same trail runaways used
to travel from here to town.”

“Have
you ever walked that trail?”

“Once
with my mother, but I was only about ten. I don’t remember it.”

Peter
craned his head so he could see the shack through the trees. “The foundation of
that building looks really old. How well do you know its history?”

 
“I know the whole history because my mother
compiled it over years of research and gave the book to me.”

“I
think I’ll walk that trail sometime,” Peter said, deeply interested. “It would
be fascinating.”

Latesha
nodded casually and then strolled into the store. The clerk was surprised to
see her with the white man, but made no comment, a fact for which Latesha was
grateful. He inquired after her father’s health, congratulated her on being
named director of the play, and rung in Peter’s bottle of water and a pack of
Love Hearts.

Peter
opened the door for Latesha and she thanked him, then they left the store
together. A group of black teenagers had just arrived and were gathered around
a portable stereo on the picnic bench. It was tuned to the local radio station
and as they milled about in a loose group, “Lovers in a Dangerous Time,” sung
by the Barenaked Ladies, played.

“I
love that song,” Latesha said as they lingered in the parking lot, ignoring the
surprised looks of the half dozen teenagers.

“Me,
too.” Peter opened his package of Love Hearts. “Want one?”

“Okay,”
Latesha replied like a little girl. She laughed as he revealed the first candy.
“Oh, good, a pink one. They’re my favorites.”

Latesha
looked at the little circle and picked it out with her long fingers. It was
upside down so she turned it around. Peter also saw it. Inside the heart was
spelled the words: I love you. Latesha looked at the little candy, seemed
especially mortified, and then passed it to Peter as if it was a hot potato.
She thought he would quickly pop it into his mouth, ending the agonizingly
awkward moment.

“I
love you,” he read, looking down at it, then into her eyes.

Latesha
was incredibly embarrassed, but Peter acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
He took out another candy, turned it over, and they could both read the words:
“Be my girlfriend.” He handed it to her. She accepted it without saying
anything, though when their eyes met, it was obvious something intriguing was
happening.

The
red muscle car that had passed them earlier suddenly came up the road from the
opposite direction and pulled into the far left parking spot of the Beechwood
General Store. The same three white men were inside. The passenger was a tall,
lanky man with a shaved head and the huge tattoo of a swastika on his neck. All
three men were in their late twenties or early thirties and had beer bottles
between their knees. The front seat passenger slowly turned to Peter with a
sour expression, as if he had just eaten a handful of salt, and squinted. Peter
looked back at him and unconsciously shuffled in front of Latesha, moving to
protect her. She felt comforted by that gesture, though the men in the car sent
a shiver up her spine. “Check out Arnold,” the front seat passenger called out,
glaring at Peter.

Peter
stared back at him.

“White
people not good enough for you, Benedick?” the passenger asked, gesturing
toward Latesha.

Peter
gritted his teeth and Latesha recoiled from the men, moving away a few steps
with a frightened expression. “Come on, Peter,” she said, obviously upset.
“Let’s leave.”

“Yeah,
leave,” the white man said to Peter. “Hang onto Aunt Jemima’s apron strings and
haul your sorry, faggot ass out of here, pretty boy.”

Peter
didn’t move. “Go to hell.”

“You
want me to get out and kick you upside the head?” the tattooed man challenged.