The Matter Is Life (12 page)

The next week passed. No call. No visit. When, finally, he did come, all the anger she had planned, vanished. She loved him who loved her beauty. For the first time, he had brought her something … a lovely golden mirror. “A magic mirror” he said. “So you can see your beauty framed by me.” Vanity looked into that mirror all the time. All the time. Like a fairy princess … preparing for her prince.

In the following months they kinda had a relationship, least a year and a half. He still came to her at his will. She was always ready because he took so long. Sometime, when
he and his regular girl were on the outs, yea, you know he had one, he would stay a day or two. Til he and his regular girl were together again. The regular girl woulda missed him for the two days and be eager to mend things. He would have lain around, eaten, watched TV, made love once, slept … and thought. He would then have to go see about his other regular old ladies, also.

Sometimes he would come to Vanity and sleep only on top of the covers, while she lay beneath them, body smoldering, longing for him to enter her. But he would not get into bed … let lone into her, tho she begged.

Jody did not kiss her from the feet up. For the first time she longed to kiss him from the feet up, but was afraid her beauty would not look good from that distance. He kissed her lips … when she asked him, or when she seemed to be gettin tired of longing for him, ready to quit her grief. He would not see her for five, six, seven, eight days at a time. Let her suffer.

He made dates with her. Then she would do a lot of cleaning. Herself! Cooking, setting the table, puttin out flowers, all of it. Then, looking out the window, sittin, waitin for him, … He did not come. Then … she looking into that magic mirror … to see what was wrong. She saw lines, wrinkles that were not there. In that mirror, when he did not come, and she could not … her beauty faded, faded.

She began to buy him clothes, lay them all out on the bed. If he didn’t come … she would want to throw them all away, give them away. But, she never did, because she had the good sense to know she really wanted this man and would need something to lure him. She “forced” money on
him, which he never asked for, just needed, but he took. He folded away, smiling, hundreds of dollars that disappeared deep into his pockets, never to be seen again.

Valentine’s Day. No card. He didn’t call.

Birthday. No card first year. Only a card the next year … late.

Christmas. The second time. A handkerchief. Not wrapped.

Easter. No card. No eggs. Not even his.

Thanksgiving. Said he had to work, needed the money. She cried, again, for she had cooked a full, good meal … for him. She couldn’t eat.

All the time, he was having a good time with the money from his other little old ladies and his woman. Yet … he really was with nobody in his heart. Nobody at all. Vanity spent so much money on him to ease the worry he said was on his mind, made me sick! I mean, really sick, I got ill.

Vanity asked that man to marry her. Marry her! She wanted a lifetime of all that pain. That’s what she was askin for! He said he had never planned to marry. He didn’t trust women to be true to him. Now! She tried to convince him of her love and faithfulness. He thought about that, a long, long time. Sometimes, he looked into that golden mirror he had given Vanity. Looking at his own beauty. Thinking of marryin Vanity. Of livin in the dark, cause Vanity kept her house darkened. She thought she looked better that way.

Once or twice, when he had come to Vanity, he had been a little sick. She cared for him better than anyone else he knew. Vanity! Caring for somebody else! In a day or so, he always felt better and left with some money.

When she spoke to him of marriage again, he thought a
moment, then asked for the use of the little roomette she had in her yard in the back. She gladly gave it to him, tho she said he could stay in the house with her til he decided. Til HE decided. Her Guardian Angel just stayed quiet and grieved all the time now.

He took the roomette, but did not LIVE in it. He used it a lot. He liked to be alone, he said, so she often just looked out at the little house, glad he was out there, close. She would cook and take him food. Sometimes he didn’t let her in, said he would be on in her house, later.

Often, when he did come in later, he would be so shinin and sweet to her. He kissed a lot and spoke much of her beauty. But he didn’t make love much. He sure talk to her tho!

“My lord! You are so beautiful! So beautiful to me! How do I deserve you? You could have anyone in the world you want you are so beautiful.”

Vanity’s answer, always, was, “But I only want you.”

She began to pester him about lettin her come visit him in the little house. “What did he do there? Couldn’t she be with him? She would be quiet, not bother him. He wouldn’t have to make love to her. She wouldn’t ask him or touch him.” Can you magin a woman sayin that to her man?

She told him one day, “I always look so beautiful to you when you come out of your hideaway. If I was in there with you, and I was quiet, I could look beautiful to you longer. In there.”

He said no, and no, and no, no, so many times. Til he looked at her one night, thoughtfully. She was sittin there with little tears in her still lovely eyes, waiting, waiting for
any little sign he loved her. I hate to think she was such a fool!, but I don’t know bout this kinda love!

He answered, touching her cheek, “Soon.”

“Soon” came one night when he needed some money and asked for it for the first time. She hesitated, cause she thought that would help him leave. He read her mind, said, “I will let you come with me to my hideaway.” She gave him the money. He left. He was back soon this time.

He looked at her another long time. Then sighed, and said, “Give me one half hour, then come.”

She did. Her Guardian Angel cried aloud, screamed to her, “Beware!” then wept again.

The little hideaway was darkened. Persian type blankets and carpets covered everything. A small, low table on the floor was draped, covered with little saucers and things. He sat her down beside it, smiled down at her, warily. He then picked up a pipe. A pipe he used for free-basing cocaine.

The Guardian Angel could not come in, but he pounded at the door and screamed for Vanity to hear. She did not hear. She was looking at the man she loved, smiling. Just like a lady.

Jody fixed the pipe. Used a lighter to heat the stem til he reached the rock inside and melted it. Drew the first breath, blew it out. Took another breath, closed his eyes and held it in. Opened his eyes, smiled, and handed the pipe to her. Said, “Do what I do.”

His hand reached out, slowly. His beautiful, powerful, strong hand that had held her, stroked her, seemed to love her. He held that hand out to her with the cocaine-rock, crack, in the pipe. She already loved that hand. She remembered
only the pleasure it had held for her. Her eyes, lovely tho wrinkled around, misted, than clung to his smiling face.

She took the hand, that then gently removed itself from the pipe, leaving it in her once lovelier hand, then gently raising it to her once lovelier lips. Her eyes held to his own. Just like a lady.

Then? Then … she slowly finished lifting the pipe to her lips, closed her eyes with the imprint of his smiling face in them, pursed her lips and drew her first breath from the pipe. The magic pipe. She opened her eyes, the smoke wafting slowly through her body, inundating her brain, while looking at this gorgeous man. Then she smiled, raised her beautiful head, parted her lips … and blew … her … life … and all her beauty … away. Forever.

Just like a fool.

The devil slapped his knee, leaned back and laughed.

The Guardian Angel gave up. On its knees, beside the garden house door, it wept. The angel’s voice was silenced by the golden pipe, the golden man. The golden pipe had a new voice to whisper in her ears. The Guardian Angel could only come back if she sought it. It will wait, even for nothing.

So … I’m just sittin here, lookin into this magic golden mirror Vanity has gave me because she could not bear to look into it anymore. She could not see the self she sought. The golden pipe has lied.

PLUS, I know she needed the money I pressed into her thin little hands. Almost all her beautiful things are gone … sold for that wisp of smoke. And that man she can never have for her own.

I am ponderin … ahhh, ponderin … thinkin about life … and death. Love.

Ahhhh, but so much happened. So much I didn’t know about til way much later. My heart aches for her, but … it was HER choice, HER life.

In tryin to understand what had happened to my friend’s mind, her life, I searched, asked questions of them people who knew her then, were her friends. Friends? I will tell you what I found out. It was pitiful. And if you got youngsters, you better listen to this first, then decide do you want them to hear this truth. This is just one day in the later life of Vanity, just fore she died from a heart attack, a broken, busted-heart attack.

Early one wintry morning after bein out all night til bout 5:00
A.M
.… Vanity went inside the shell of her large, once beautiful house, empty now. Everything being sold, piece by piece. First, by Jody, then, at last, when her need was great and she started doin crack without Jody, she sold her own things, her own self. So the house was empty now.

The house note hadn’t been paid in thirteen months and was soon to be foreclosed on. Gone. All her usta-be dreams. Gone.

The lectric company had turned off the lights. The gas company had done turned off the gas … and it was cold, cold, cold in that house. The water was the only thing on cause Jody knew how to turn it back on after the water company turned it off. So Vanity could drink water out a paper cup or a leftover tin can. Didn’t need no water for cookin cause wasn’t nothin to cook. She didn’t have no appetite anyway for nothin but more crack … them bumps,
them hits of rock. She was thin, thin, thin. Skin and bones. Somehow, she managed to keep her phone workin, cause she had to be able to get them calls from them fellows who might give her a bump. A Bump!

This particular night, and I know now there were lots of these kinda nights, she had been workin for that crack. She didn’t call it “workin,” but I do.

Jody was no longer the only man in her life. Now, she had had all kinds of men. All kinds. Kinds she wouldn’t even use to spit on! Them “Bumps” had sucked and bumped all her pride out of her brain. That shit must be some powerful, cause you remember how full of pride she was!

Now … from the lowest person in a garbage can, man or woman, to the crack dealer who was the highest she could get, even they only wanted to use her for a half-hour or hour. Not even them so much anymore cause they had all already tore her down, stripped whatever little dignity she mighta had left. Yes, the bottom was as high as Vanity could go now. Them old days was gone. Like her beauty. Like her health. Like her life. Gone. No future to it. Nothin meant nothin to her now but that next bump, that next rock. Low-life crack users called her a “Rock Star,” laughin and graspin their crotches. I heard about em!

See, she had a big reputation, well deserved, they say. She was known, far and wide, as the best “head” in the city … and anything else you wanted you could get from her if she needed that crack! Her! Can you magin?! Her?

Anyway, she had come into that empty house that dark wintry morning. She closed the door, leanin back against it. Tired. Worn. She looked at the phone tho. It wasn’t ringin. Then she felt her hunger. She hadn’t eaten in bout five days.
She didn’t have no energy. Her mouth tasted like sex from goin down on eight men in the last ten hours. Two others had refused her head, preferred anal sex. So, besides her mouth feeling used, stretched and bad, her rectum was bleedin a little.

Little pains shot through it now and again, cause of the huge … organ … one man had smashed into her, hard. She had cried out, but he laughed and stuck his chest out in front of the other men (yes, chile, they do it in front of everybody!) and thrust harder. She wanted to scream and tell him to stop!, BUT she wanted that rock he had promised her. That crack. If this is what it cost, well, she didn’t have no money, so … this is what it cost!

When he, finally, finished and it was time to give her her reward, her bump, he decided to tease her … and degrade her even more. He melted the crack on a pipe, took him a big deep puff of it, blew the smoke at her to make her want it more. He was smart, he knew what he was doin. He leaned toward her, offering the pipe with the crack to her then, pullin back when she reached for it. She loooooooonnnggggeeed for that pipe.

Involuntary, she snarled and lunged to snatch the pipe. He saw her comin … He caught her in the top of her long, used-to-be-pretty, hair and pulled her face down to his penis what was still coated from that anal sex they had just finished.

He told her, “Lick it clean.”

That stopped her a moment, brought her back to some ooold reality, the times before she ever thought about crack. When she was beautiful and only dealt with the best of people. She felt disgust. She started to say “No!” and shake
his hand from her head. BUT … then … her eyes fell upon that pipe in his hand. As he knew they would. She remembered that big rock he had just melted in that pipe. All thoughts of disgust just flew away. She closed her eyes … leaned over into the man’s lap … and cleaned him with her tongue … her mouth that sits right in her face.

When he had had another orgasm, this time in her mouth making her swallow it, he let go her hair he had been pullin. She raised her head, lookin down at the large, limp penis … for the rough spots that felt like sores to her tongue. They were there. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and almost gagged. But didn’t. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the sores now. She needed that pipe now.

She sat up, didn’t even pull her clothes straight fore she asked, “Give me my hit now?”

He, that piece of cancer sore, looked down at her with contempt, looked at the other fellows with laughter. He sank back comfortably, flicked his bic and heated his pipe stem, moving the fire to the end where the cocaine-rock was, then he took a pull, a hit. He thought it was a real good one, so he kicked back and let the death hidden inside the good feeling reach into his body and brain, chippin away at what was left of his sanity. He did not know that in six months he would be dyin from just what he was doin now … and from them sores. He would be slave to the King Crack then. He was already, just didn’t blive it, but he would do anything for it too!