Ain't No Sunshine (5 page)

"No...
uh
...yeah, I'm sick.  I just don't want you to catch it.  I think I better go home."  I went to stand up but realized that something was going on in my pants.  I sat back down and put a towel over my lap.  Oh my God, I had an erection. How could just looking at Ruthie evoke such a response? My face reddened even more at the thought of how badly I wanted her to touch me...to touch it.

"I thought you were leaving," she said, looking at me like I was crazy.

"I am.  I will…in a minute.  I...I think I want to watch the lake for a while, first," I lied.  All I wanted to watch was her and her soft, caramel skin.  Her sopping-wet hair hung down to the middle of her back, touching the little latch that kept her bathing suit top on.  I wanted that latch to break so badly.  I thought that maybe if I stared at it long enough it would, but it didn't.  Ruthie finally got tired of trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

"Well, I'm going home.  Feel better, okay?"  She stood and walked away from me. I watched as a single drop of water rolled down her back and over the swell of her butt. It was the luckiest drop of water I had ever seen in my life.

That day, I distinctly remember missing Matthew more than usual. Not a day went by that I didn't think about him or wonder what he would look like at a certain age. Sometimes I would momentarily forget the sound of his voice or what he was like. I'd try to talk about him to my mother, but she would usually just start crying and leave the room.

I knew if Matthew were there, I'd be able to talk to him about what I was feeling for Ruthie. Without Matthew, I had no one. I had no one to tell me how to make it stop.

Usually, I told Ruthie all my problems. We didn't have any secrets between us.   But how could I tell her this?  How do you tell your best friend that you are sexually attracted to her?  I had just decided that this was one thing I would keep to myself when I heard a knock on my door.  It was Ruthie. She hated coming to my house.  My father made her feel uncomfortable, but she always made the sacrifice if I was sick or if she thought I needed her.

"Are you still not feeling good?  I brought you some soup."  She stepped into my room.  "I made it myself.  Do you want to try some?  It's normal, I promise."  Ruthie was not the best cook.  She was much too creative.  When Ruthie cooked, by the time she finished adding garnish and trying to make the food look pretty, it was pretty much unrecognizable and inedible.  I was quite often forced to be the taste tester.  I would try to be positive, but she always knew when I was lying.   Once in a while she did create something truly delicious, but those times were few and far between.  Her failures in the kitchen never discouraged her from trying again, though.  She always said that one success was worth a thousand failures.  My stomach disagreed.

"Um...no...I mean yes...um."  I felt like an idiot.  I couldn't even formulate a complete sentence around her anymore.  I had to get control of myself.

"Huh?"

"No, I am not still sick and yes, I would like to try some of your soup." 

"Good."  Ruthie plopped down on my bed and handed me the bowl and a spoon.  The thought of her next to me on my bed made me excited again.  I closed my eyes and tried to get a hold of myself. 

"Stephen, what's wrong?  Why are you acting so strange?" 

I opened my eyes, but when I looked at her, sitting on my bed, so close to me that I could feel her warmth, I had to turn away.

Ruthie grabbed my chin and gently turned my face toward her. She stared deep in my eyes like she was trying to read my soul.  Her striking, light brown eyes were so beautiful.  They were the type of eyes that you could spot from across the room.  She took her little hand and wiped away the beads of sweat that were beginning to form above my brow. She smelled so good.  When had she started wearing perfume?  Or maybe it wasn't perfume.  Maybe she just naturally smelled like flowers.  Suddenly, I had the urge to kiss her.  My lips tingled with anticipation.  I think she finally figured out what I was thinking.  Her eyes expanded to twice their size.

"I
gotta
go." She quickly jumped off my bed, nearly tipping over the soup in my hands.

"Don't go," I pleaded.  Now I had done it.  I had scared her away. What if she didn't feel the same way?  I'm such an idiot, I thought.  Ruthie stopped in the doorway and smiled at me.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Stephen," she said as she bounced out the door.  I knew we would be okay.

I wasn't the only one to notice how Ruthie had changed nearly overnight.  Whenever she was around, my father couldn't take his eyes off of her. 

"Ruth, come sit with me for a moment," he said to her as she was trying to sneak out of my house unnoticed.

"I really can't, sir.  I have to get back to my grandmother.  She's not feeling well."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  She will be in my prayers. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, we're fine.  I just need to get back."

"Why don't you sit and talk to me for a while and then I'll give you a ride back.  I'll even take you into town and we can pick up some groceries."  Ruthie wanted to protest, but he grabbed her hands and led her to the sofa.  He sat next to her and started stroking her hair.

"What did you and Stephen do today?" 
he
asked.

"We went swimming in the lake, but Stephen got sick and came home," Ruthie replied.  She was so tense and nervous; she looked like she wanted to cry.

"That's nice."  He wasn't even listening to her.  "You are a beautiful child.  Do you know that?"  I couldn't take it anymore.  I came into the living room as loudly as possible.

"Ruthie, you're still here.  Um...isn't it your turn to walk Goldie?"  I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Oh, I forgot.  Come here, Yellowbird." Recognizing a way out, she bolted off the sofa.  "Excuse me, Reverend Phillips." 

My father stared after her. Then he put his face in his hands...and cried.

 Ruthie and I got a lot closer that summer.  Our hugs became longer and more meaningful, and we would hold hands when no one was around.  We had this unstated commitment to each other.  Once, my father caught us watching TV together. We weren't doing anything wrong.  I don't even think we were touching, but he could sense that there was something between us and he didn't like it.  Maybe it was the way she smiled at me or the way I would move the loose strands of hair out of her face when they got in the way.

"Ruth, please leave," he said. Ruthie could tell from his tone of voice that he meant business.  She was practically off the sofa before he finished the sentence.

"What's going on between you two?" 

"Nothing, Father; we're just friends. She's my best friend."  She's my only friend, I thought.

"It better stay that way.  Anything else would be inappropriate and I will not allow that.  Do you understand?"  When I didn't answer right away he grabbed my neck forcefully and squeezed.

"I said, 'do you understand?'"  He had such a tight grip on me that I nearly passed out.

"Yes, I understand." But I really didn't understand. I couldn't quite tell if he was angry because I was getting close to a colored person or if he was angry because I was getting close to Ruthie.  I saw the way he looked at her when he thought I wasn't paying attention.  And he continued buying things for her.  It was like he was obsessed.  If I didn't know any better, I would think
he
was in love with her.  But that was absurd.  She was just a child in comparison to him.  But I had heard of people like that who were obsessed with little children and who abused them.  If he ever touched my Ruthie I didn’t know what I'd do to him.  Maybe I was overreacting.  Maybe he just liked Ruthie.  She was a likeable girl.  As racial barriers had slowly started to melt away, people in town had become more accepting of colored people, especially Ruthie.  Everyone loved her.  Maybe he liked Ruthie as a person, but just didn't ever want a colored person to be a part of his family.  That definitely wouldn't fit the picture-perfect family image that he had worked so hard to create.

Soon after that I went on my first date.  Unfortunately, it wasn't with Ruthie.  Mary Elizabeth Myers invited me to the Sadie Hawkins dance.  She was a pretty blonde girl who attended my father's church.  It was probably her parents' dream for their daughter go to a dance with the perfect Stephen Phillips. I bet my father even talked to them and arranged for her to ask me.  He was trying to get Ruthie off my mind.  "Did you have a good time, tonight?" she asked as we ate ice cream after the dance.  We stopped at the same little ice cream shop that Ruthie, Matthew, and I used to frequent on Friday afternoons before he died.  I didn't like going there; it reminded me too much of Matthew and made me miss him, but Mary Elizabeth insisted on extending the date.  She said they had the 'best chocolate malts' in town.  She failed to realize they sold the only chocolate malts in town.  Her question was the first time in thirty minutes that she had given me the opportunity to contribute to the conversation; even so,   she barely gave me time to respond.

"It was okay."  It was
not
okay.  The dance was just an excuse for all the rich white parents in town to pair off their children.  All the girls wore what looked like the same white dress and all the boys wore tuxedos.  When we walked in, we were introduced as "Ms. Mary Elizabeth Myers and her escort, Mr. Stephen Andrew Phillips."  It made it seem like I was just one of her accessories.  The whole evening felt like a betrothal.

"I thought it was wonderful.  They really did an excellent job turning town hall into a formal venue.  I mean, did you see all the twinkle lights? It must have taken them hours to do.  And the purple lilies were just exquisite.  And everyone looked just lovely.  Did you see Mary Louise Roman? Didn't she look great? We were both wearing empire-cut dresses.  What are the chances of that?  Isn't that funny?  And our names are so similar.  Did you notice that?  She is Mary Louise and I am Mary Elizabeth. I wonder if our parents did that on purpose.  They’re friends, you know.  We could practically be sisters except that I have blonde hair and she has red hair.  I usually don't like red hair, but hers is nice.  It’s a darker red, not that bright, hideous red like Julia Jordan.  Ugh, her hair is so disgusting!  If Mary Louise's hair ever got that color I would have to insist that she dye it to an appropriate shade.  I would
not
be able to tolerate it.  Wouldn't that shade of red be just disgusting on someone with Mary Louise's complexion?"

She paused, waiting for me to answer, I guess.  I didn't know what to say.  I didn't know what hair color would look good with Mary Louise's complexion, nor did I care. Thankfully, she started talking again before I had time to say anything."What a silly question to ask.  You're a boy.  You don't notice things like that.  You probably have no idea about any of that stuff."  She wasn't completely right about that. I did notice things like complexion and hair color, just not on people like her, Mary Louise, or Julia.  They were vapid morons with whom I had nothing in common.  They had no idea what real life was like.  They hadn't been forced to face the sadness and pain that Ruthie and I encountered every day.  They lived in their own little bubble of polite society, where nothing was ever unpleasant.  I think our common suffering is what drew Ruthie and me together.  We understood each other and could comfort each other, although
  I
think Ruthie did more for me than I did for her. 

While I didn't notice things about most girls, Ruthie was special.  I noticed every little thing about her.  I noticed that she had a beautiful, soft brown complexion; one like no other.  And if the sun hit her at just the right time, she glowed like a golden goddess.  And I noticed how her normally dark-brown hair changed to varying shades of light brown, bronze, and blonde depending on how the light hit it.  And those eyes, oh my God, those eyes.  They were hauntingly beautiful;
  I
saw them in my sleep.

"But you do know when a girl is pretty or not, don't you?" Mary Elizabeth added, interrupting my daydream about Ruthie.  She was twisting one of her blonde curls with her finger and tilting her head to the side, trying her best to look cute.  "Do you think I'm pretty?"  Somehow I had to answer her without giving away that I was really thinking about Ruthie.