Tietam Brown (21 page)

January 5, 1986 / Afternoon

I was released from the hospital after three days of care. My injuries, while extensive, did not need much care, just some old-fashioned rest. My father was there to get me, and he played the dutiful father up until his car door shut, at which point all talking ceased.

We pulled into the drive without having exchanged a word. I was busy anyway. Busy thinking about Terri, my angel, and our new start together. Thinking also about forgiveness, and what a gift it was. A gift to others, but to one's self as well. Forgiveness, after all, was about healing. Healing wounds. What about the wounds my father had inflicted, not only physically but mentally as well? Should he be forgiven? Or did he even want that at all?

There was a decency to my father. I had seen it. Seen it enough to know it existed. But it was a side of him that had needed to be coaxed out, by Holly, and I guess to some extent by me. But like some hermit crab, he'd retreated back into his shell of drinking and women, and I wasn't sure if he'd ever want to come back.

The manger still stood in our small front yard. The manger where our substitute Mary had stood, before she fell under the spell of my father's inexplicable charm.

Then, through the door and on my way up the stairs, which I climbed with great effort, I peered at the gifts, which were still under the tree, except for the one empty space where Holly's present had been.

“Hey Andy,” my father called up just as I was opening my door.

“Yeah,” I called back.

“We need to talk, I'll be up in a while.”

A while was an hour. Tietam knocked softly, and I told him, “Come in.” I was sore as hell but dead set on defiance, as I had vowed to not let my dad ever unnerve me again. But my heart was full, and my hopes were high, not for my father, but for the letter from Terri, which would surely be coming.

He came shuffling in, looking not like a monster, but like a small balding man. But when it came to my father, I had learned that looks could deceive.

“What do you want?” I said, feigning disinterest and hoping he bought it. I lay prone on my bed, reading a magazine.

“Well, I'd like to say, ‘Sorry.' ”

I grew quickly defiant. “Sorry for what, Dad—my shoulder? It's a little too late. Or for raping our neighbor? Are you sorry for that? Or for my Christmas Eve blow job? Or maybe you thought that was cool? Whatever it is, I don't want your sorrow.”

“I'm sorry for Terri.”

He had caught me off guard, and I dropped my defenses, and the magazine, too. “Terri?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“I know about Baskin.”

I struggled for a second to think of what I could say. While I was struggling, Tietam continued.

“I know what happened that night, and I think it's my fault.”

“Your fault, but how, besides, how could you know.” I looked hard at my father, and saw a true sense of remorse. But I saw something else, some other emotion. But I just couldn't place it.

“I was there that night, Andy. In the hospital hall, outside your door. I wanted to see you, when I heard what had happened. But I heard your girlfriend inside, and it just tore me up. It tore me all up, because I could have stopped it.”

“Stopped it?” I said. “How, you weren't there.”

“No, but I knew about his past.”

“What past?” I asked.

“Do you remember New Year's Eve, when you came back from New York . . . You came home and heard a message, didn't you? I know you did, because I heard it too, that sweet voice must have broke your heart. Claiming that Baskin kid was a Christian, that he'd turned his life over to the Lord. I knew that it was just a crock about Baskin finding God. But not her words. No, they were the truth. I mean, she wanted to believe.”

I nodded slowly, and I sat up on my bed. I forgot all about my pain, and focused on my father.

“Andy, do you remember Baskin's mother?”

“Yeah. How could I forget?”

“Do you remember that first night I brought her home?”

I told him I did.

“You know I didn't think much of it, I thought she'd be just like all the rest. You know, we'd have some fun, I'd do my deck, go back for round two.”

“I know, Dad, I was listening.”

He smiled for just a second, then said, “That's right, I forgot.”

I smiled too. Damn that Tietam. He had that way about him. Sometimes even now, in spite of everything the thought of Tietam makes me smile.

“Well I go to leave, and she calls me back, tears are running down her face. She says she needs someone to talk to. Talking's really not my thing, but I did the best I could.

“She says her son is a real bad kid. Says he has no hope. Strangles cats, things like that, says she's scared of him. Said those steroids made him wild, so he couldn't control himself. Said he forced himself on his own mom, that he was just too strong to stop.

“The whole thing kind of freaked me out. Which is why I took the shower and came into your room. Remember that night?”

“Yeah, I remember,” I said, thinking of my mother's picture and the tears on Tietam's face.

“Andy, I think that lady needs some help, needs to talk to someone who can help her. Instead she wants to talk to me. Like I'm some kind of doctor. That was the night you got the kiss from Terri. Remember?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You know, if there's a God, I'll pay for this, might pay for a lot of things I've done. But there she was, drunk as hell, and she's looking to be held. And instead I—”

“What did you do, Dad?” I blurted out. I really had to know. And despite knowing he was a monster, I felt some sympathy for him.

“I made her call me Clem.”

Oh man. He was right. God would make him pay.

“I may have been a little rough with her. All she wanted was a hug. Then you came home with your eye all swelled, and I went running for the coach. Thinking I would hook him quick; instead, he nearly killed me. I don't know how I finally stopped him. Some kind of miracle, I thought. When I was driving home, I got to thinking that maybe it was a sign. Maybe I had paid the price for what I did to Mrs. Baskin. So I tried to change my life. Which is why I was so weak, I think, when . . . Holly came around.”

I had made a vow that I wouldn't cry, but I found it hard to keep. For my eyes filled up when I thought of her, hanging on our tree.

“You know, she was drawing lots of pictures for books for little kids.”

“Yeah, she told me about her art.”

“Then her sister calls her. Says she's in a lot of debt. Gambling, drugs, things like that.”

I struggled with my tears. Tried not to let them fall.

“Got involved with some bad people. Needed money fast . . . I guess the rest is history.”

I thought of Eddie Edwards. Thought of that verse in Luke. “Could you forgive her?”

Tietam smiled just slightly. A smile of sadness and regret. “Sorry, kid. That's something I can't do. Not after seeing her like that.”

Now I was a counselor, a philosopher, a shrink. Thinking of all that I had learned during one monstrous week. Thinking of Holly, thinking of Eddie, thinking once again of Luke. “Dad, nobody's perfect. We all make mistakes.”

“You're damn right,” said Tietam. “We all make mistakes. And I made the biggest.” My last words had made him angry, his eyes glared just a bit. I began to speak, but didn't. I let Tietam finish first. I could see his right arm shaking. I knew I'd touched a nerve.

“Do you know what my mistake was, Andy?”

I decided not to ask.

“It was thinking she was different. But she was just the same. Just like Sugling, just like Baskin, just like Terri.”

“Just like Terri?” I yelled out. I stood up from the bed. The sudden move made my head spin and I almost lost my footing. It was just an instinctual move, I didn't want to cause a scene. But my instinct was to defend the girl I loved. “Take it back, Dad, take it back!”

My dad was now a different man. I no longer felt his pain. Now I could feel his hatred as he got close to me, almost nose to nose. For a moment I thought he'd hit me, but I didn't give a damn. Then I remembered Tietam didn't punch, with one notable exception. Instead he turned his back to me and said words in a whisper. So low I couldn't make them out, so I asked him to repeat them.

His back stayed turned, and his voice only rose the slightest bit, but this time his voice got through. He said, “I saw her grab your balls.”

He had caught me unprepared. I tried to react in some brave way, but instead I just said, “So?”

Tietam wheeled around and fired his words like bullets, rapidfire and deadly. “So . . . she let you feel her up, right in front of me. So . . . what if she felt up Baskin, let him grab her tits. Listen, kid, that's carte blanche, he's got the go-ahead. Some girl feels my nuts, I take her home, that's just the way it is. Now maybe ‘No' means ‘No' to you, but not to me, and I doubt it did for Baskin. She touches nuts, that pussy's his, and don't think that cock-teaser didn't know it. To cry about it afterward is wrong—he was well within his rights.”

It was as if he'd thrown a knockout punch, for his words had staggered me. Literally. My knees had buckled and I went down, just collapsing on my bed. But the tirade seemed to comfort him, for when he spoke next, he had mellowed.

“Look, Andy, I don't want to hurt you. I've done enough of that already. And I really did like Terri. But she will break your heart. Over and over. Because that's what women do.”

I tried to catch my breath as he walked away. He looked down at my phonograph and stared at it awhile. Just stood and stared without a sound. A pause that filled the air with greater tension with every passing second. I have thought about the way he chose to break the pause. I've thought of it for years. And I have no doubt that in his heart he knew his words would send him past the point of no return. A point from which he knew for sure our relationship was over.

“Nat King Cole.” Three simple words. One special name. “I never did care for that nigger.”

I dared not say a word. Just sat on my bed looking at my old canvas sneakers, wishing they were ruby slippers so I could tap my heels and get the hell out of my room.

“Yeah,” he continued, “never did like him much, reminds me of your mother.”

He picked the record up, examined the scratches, turned it gently in his hands. “Hey look there—Kathy Collins, your mother's maiden name. Well isn't that sweet. From mother to son. A gift.” And then, with one flick of his wrist, he shot the record at the wall, inches from my head, where it hit with a smack and shattered.

My heart, which had been so full only one night before, seemed on the verge of breaking once again. I wished for a second that I could snap, force myself to. Just thrust my fist into his mouth. Lodge it there so it couldn't hurt me anymore. Instead I felt my stomach get weak, I felt my nerves start to fail, and felt my throat start to close, making swallowing difficult.

“Dad,” I cried. “Why?” They were the only words I could get out.

“Why?” my father said, mocking me. “Why? Well I'll tell you why, Andy, my boy, my only boy. Because it's about time that you learned about your mother.”

He sat down beside me, put his arm around me. His touch was like ice, the touch of a man whose heart had grown cold. His words, when he spoke, were like lethal darts, sticking in deep, killing me slowly, from the inside on out.

“You think I'm stupid?” he asked. “You must think so, Andy, if you think for a second I don't know where you've been.” My stomach got weaker. “So you gave me a call just to let me know you were okay. Well isn't that nice. Had to check out the city, huh, isn't that what you said? Well Andy, do you know how easy it is to check out phone records? I call in a favor, and I find out you were calling from a house owned by an Edwards.”

My heart was now pounding, my voice was dry, my throat continued to tighten, and my brain started to hurt. I didn't know where he was going, but I knew it wasn't anywhere good.

“Now Andy, let me ask you, what was a nice white boy like you doing with a dirty nigger like Edwards—what did the two of you have to talk about?”

I looked down at my shoes, afraid to look up, still wishing for a special power to get me out of this room.

“Damn it, boy, I'm talking to you,” he said, grabbing my bad arm with just enough force to make me scream out in pain. Pain I wish I could have just swallowed, but it was too late.

“Hey, did Edwards tell you about the little gift I left, my calling card, fifty-two cards to be exact.”

I didn't say a word, but he knew nonetheless.

“Funny thing about that nigger, talking about Eddie, not his wife, though I suppose she was one also. Yeah, funny thing is, he's religious, right, thinks sex is a sin. And he lives in Georgia. Believe it or not, they got laws down there. Laws that make certain acts illegal. But nobody pays attention to the laws, I mean why should they, right, kid? . . . Oh I see, you're not going to talk. Well that's fine, just listen. So where was I . . . oh yeah, talking about Edwards. Anyway, Edwards is the only guy who listens, thinks he can't do stuff 'cause it's against state law. Ridiculous, right? Now why didn't he just get his knob polished in Tennessee, is what I'm thinking, right? I mean it's a two-hour trip. Go see Ruby Falls, maybe check out Chickamauga, then go to a hotel, put that black dick in her mouth.

“Except Edwards won't do it. He's too good a Christian, whatever that means. His wife, meanwhile, is dying for it. I can tell. Call it a gift, but I always can tell. So one night in Atlanta, I do a number on this kid from Texas . . . Eddie tell you about that?”