BOMAW Vol. 10-12 (144 page)

"How much more? Is that the last one?" Vivian asked. They were guarding the truck after packing in the house and he was bringing it out to be loaded on. Paul stopped at the back of the truck, looking in. "I'm afraid, that while there are four more bags in the house, this is the last one that will fit. I've never seen anybody, with so many clothes and shoes in all my life. I thought gran' had clothes, but you've got even her beat."

Sheila laughed, "I told her she gone end up leaving some of that stuff behind."

Jake had been looking into the truck bed, trying to shift a few things, but it was pretty well loaded, "What the hell is all this?" He asked as Paul forced the case he had in among the other things loaded. "All my stuff!" Vivian answered looking in, wondering what was the big deal. "Just clothes? Landsakes, you're just one lil'skinny body with an ass, how many clothes do you need?" Jake asked.

"I beg your pardon, I am not skinny, and it's not just clothes, there are some other necessities as well."

"Like what?" He started pulling at some of the bags.

"Get out of my stuff." Vivian swatted at his hand, leaning into the truck-bed beside him. "Can't you squeeze the rest into the back seat of the cab?"

"It's full already - with more of your stuff." Paul informed her.

"Already? There has to be more room." Vivian questioned.

"Vivian Cooke, you don't need half of this shit in this truck where you're going!" Jake announced.

"Don't call my stuff shit, I need all of it!"

"No you don't!"

"Yes I do!"

"And all these other bags and boxes, what's this?" Jake reached in the truck-bed again, opening the top of one. Vivian ran closing it back, moving his hands away. "Get out of there, those are my beauty supplies."

"Beauty supplies?!" Jake parroted.

Sheila shook her head grinning, enjoying just watching them.

"Loads and loads of the stuff." Paul informed his father.

"Not loads and loads." Vivian defended.

"Beauty supplies for what?!"

"For me! It's all the stuff I need, shampoos-..."

"They sell shampoo in Wisconsin at the IGA."

"I don't use grocery store shampoo on my hair." Vivian informed him.

"You've got a afro, what more do you need?"

"Excuse me, just because I have an afro, doesn't mean I don't have to take good care of my hair. I have a special shampoo, conditioners, softeners, cremes, hot oil treatment, leave in conditioners, skin cream and moisturizers. You don't want me getting dry and ashy do you?"

"Darlin' I could give a shit - don't matter to me." Jake answered incredulously.

"Well it matters to me, black ain't pretty ashy."

Sheila was dying laughing.

"What the hell is ashy?" Again Jake.

"What I'll be if I don't have all this stuff!"

"Good God'o'mighty! Look at all this stuff, you've got enough here to open your own store."

"I can't be running out of stuff, quit opening boxes, and get out of that bag."

"What's all this!"

"Get - out Jake!"

Jake stood leaning with one hand to the truck, the other on his hip, looking from Sheila, his expression of disbelief was clear, and then at Paul as Vivian stood next to him, putting her things back as they were before he got into them. Sighing deep, Jake nodded in silent greeting as two guys passed them on the street, having nodded as well, striding on their way. Jake then turned to Vivian, finally announcing. "Lil'girl - time to make up your mind, what stays, what goes."

"I need everything."

Ignoring that, he suggested, "Leave some clothing behind."

"What?!" She objected.

"Leave all of your fancy dress suits and work clothes behind. Bring your jeans, grubbies, and a few nice sets to go out in. Leave the rest."

"Jake!"

"Times awastin'! Let's go, Paul, pull those big bags out with the clothing and shoes in it." He directed, doing the same.

"Wait a minute here!" Vivian fussed.

"You can get the rest later. It's either half the clothes, or all that other shit you got in there."

"Quit calling my stuff shit!"

"O-o-oh! Excuse me, beauty supplies." Jake crouched down to her height, fluttering his fingers and batting his eyelashes, cracking Paul and Sheila up.

"You need to stop - you look gay, doin' that, careful!" Vivian teased.

Jake stood back straight, deepening his voice, "Hey! Bullshit. Get in that house and pull some clothes out so we can get going here."

A moment later, they had all her cases back in the house, with Paul and Sheila out waiting by the truck and watching it, while Jake supervised Vivian on what was going and what was not. They could hear them every now and then out by the truck and laughed shaking their heads. "You ready to get back home now?" She asked.

"Not really, I wouldn't mind staying longer to be honest, but - oh well."

"What, you didn't get done at - what's her name? Jackie right?" she asked, knowing full well her name.

"Yeah - it's all done."

"Was she satisfied with all you did?" She smiled, knowing full well he hadn't a clue of what she was really asking.

"She seemed happy with it, no complaints."

"Em, I imagine if you work anything like your daddy, there would be no complaints."

"Yeah, I'm a lot like my dad, no complaints." It was Paul's turn to mean something other than what he figured she would know, believing the statement went over her head, the famous grin was there as well. Sheila shot him a narrowed eyed glare wondering if he was messing with her, and couldn't help but laugh when he blushed a bit, chuckling.

"Em mm, you too much like your daddy for me, you might not look like him, but I see him in you."

"That's what my mama always said, I guess it must be true."

While they spoke in companionable low tones, waiting for Vivian and Jake to get done, inside the house, thanks to Jake, it was taking them longer than it normally would.

"Would you stop grabbing my butt!" Vivian swatted his hand off of her for the third time.

"I can't help it, you keep puttin' it in my face." He spoke in a low, sultry voice, full of suggestion.

"Hang on a minute, my butt is pointed away from you, reason you had to reach over here to grab it." She pointed out. He was on his knees amidst her cases while she stood bending over, transferring things from various ones, to the main one she would be taking.

"But you keep bending over like that, and - emmm - it's puttin' somethin' on my mind."

"My bending over is not putting anything on your mind that isn't always there anyway."

"I was thinking about you, on the road, the closer I got, the quicker I wanted to reach you. An' all you give me, was that lil'kiss."

"If I'm not mistaken, we were out on the sidewalk." She reminded him, walking to the case to place more things in it, having to cross his path to get to it. Once more, she found his large hand, palming the cheek of her firm rump. "Jake, I'm trying to hurry up and pack this stuff."

"You didn't miss me?" He asked in a low husky tone. His manner, his voice, his heavy lidded eyes, had her juices flowing, the juncture of her thighs throbbing, her heart thudding. "I told you I missed you outside."

"No, I mean, you ready for me again? You know what I mean, look'it, I've been like this on and off halfway here. C'mere, give me a real kiss."

"Nooo Jake, now stop." He'd taken hold of her wrist, pulling her towards where he knelt. His other hand went boldly up the center of her thighs, touching her rising heat, rubbing it as if he had full rights to. Vivian squeezed her thighs together, trapping his hand there. "Get your hand out of there! You know Sheila and Paul right outside, sss-ach! Oooh stop Jake, don't..."

"I am so fuckin' horny, I swear to god - let's go in the bathroom, I swear I'll be quick, I won't hurt you baby, please - just a quickie before we head out?" He pleaded and wouldn't take his hand away, turned upward cupping her, his middle fingers stroking her through her jeans.

"Stop you gettin' me - ssss oooh shit - you gettin' me - oh... Jake, stop now." She whimpered.

"I bet you wet as hell all ready, aren't you? Baby I promise, it will be quick."

"Jake - now stop - we can't with them out there, now let me finish." She had to struggle out of his arms, but he wouldn't let her wrist go. "C'mere give me a kiss at least, a real kiss."

"No, and look at you, you need to chill before one of them come in here and see you like that. Go pee or something, make it go down."

"Takin' a piss is not gonna fix this." He gripped the bold, long bulge that lay beneath his jeans, showing how hard it already was, "Baby there are eighty trillion swimmers in here ready to go - and you gone get every - one of'em. I promise you that, hurry up - because when we get home, you know what to expect."

"Deg! Do you have to be like that?"

He stood suddenly beside her, grabbing and palming the cheeks of her face and pulling her to him as he kissed her mouth forcefully, firmly, thrusting his tongue in and kissing her so that she almost went weak in the knees, gripping his strong forearms, intending to push him away, but ended up holding on instead. The kiss was as close to sex as he could get, turning his head one way and then the other, boldly taking her mouth, sucking her tongue into his mouth to entwine the two, then back to loving her lips, inhaling her scent deep into his nostrils with his nose rubbing against hers, by the time he turned her loose, she was dizzy and out of breath, even staggering a bit as he released her - her lips throbbed from the pressure, feeling swollen.

"Now let's go, get it moving, we're heading out."

*

An hour later, Sheila returned home after they'd finally gotten back on the road. Due to Vivian having to repack and then Paul reload the truck, Jake insisted they needed to get right on the road. Sheila understood and promised Jake to tell Dennis hello and goodbye, and that they'd be back down in a few weeks. Vivian had hugged her tightly, making her promise that once the house was done, they would have to come up. With Sheila responding, "Now girl, you ain't even got to say that, you know we gone be up there all the time."

Entering her home, she noted right away it was mostly dark and quiet. The first thing she did was check on her boys, they were in bed, quietly watching TV, she asked them not to stay up too late watching and to turn it off when they started getting sleepy, as well asking, "Where's your dad?"

"In the basement." Tyrese answered.

She went to her room next, undressing, getting comfortable in her night clothes thinking about when he'd arrived home earlier from the police station downtown. He'd been quiet then, not saying much, distant. Feeling better in her pajamas - she turned out the light in her bedroom before leaving it and then went into the kitchen, clicking on the light to check it. All cleaned up. She smiled, turning that light back off and went looking for her husband, heading down the basement steps. She found him sitting forward on the sofa, with his favorite dark blue lights cast from his lava lamp, throwing reflective subdued lights of various changing shades of blue, amidst strange shapes against the walls and ceiling. In the background, R & B played, more bluesy songs than not, at the moment, Sam Cooke's - Change Gone Come played. She sighed, seeing him this way - he held a can of Budweiser, with a few empty cans crushed on the table. He knew she was there, but didn't look up, as long as they'd been together, they knew each other well.

Moving towards him, Sheila felt a lump in her throat, to see him so down. She took a seat on the sofa next to him, sitting forward as he was, her hand at the back of his head and neck, rubbing, caressing, scratching a certain spot on his scalp that made him close his eyes from the pleasure. She was right, smiling as he closed his eyes giving a low moan of bliss, her other hand rubbed his arm, soothing him. She sat a moment just doing that with his head dropping forward and down to give her greater access. A few moments passed before she murmured softly, "What's wrong baby - why you so down?"

Dennis sat for the moment unable speak, feeling a bit drowsy, the beer was working on him. He suddenly straightened up, drank the rest of what was left in the can, crushed it in his hand, let go a closed mouth belch, and placed it on the coffee table and then took his wife's hand from his arm, caressing her fingers, entwining his much darker hand with hers. Looking at their hands together, thinking, trying to come up with the words to express what he was feeling. "I so ... so ... fear for us."

"Fear for us, what's wrong with us?"

"Not you and I - us, - the black male. How did we come from being rulers, kings, warriors, hunters to - now - this, the slowly but surely diminishing branch - shit - the root, being pulled up so, it's only a matter of time, before - we'll be a rare sight. At the rate we're being killed off, it's staggering, scary."

"What's making you think of stuff like that Dennis?"

"We are so screwed up, in this country. I sat there at that police station today, and looked at one John Doe after another. Three big books, three - just covering the black male from his late twenties to forties. All dead - so many. I couldn't believe it. Dead from a shooting. Dead from drug overdose. Found dead of natural causes. Dead from stabbing. Dead from hit and run. Drowning, strangling, you name it. And if that's not bad enough, there is no one claiming them. I mean come on! What is happening to our people? To the strong proud black males that used to love his mother, his woman and above all things, raised his sons, guarded his daughters? We, those that used to be that way, are becoming less and less, rare. Replaced by a bunch of selfish damn fools only interested in rapping and gang-banging, getting high, and bragging about all their bitches - dissin' our own women. After seeing so many today, it forced me, to think about all the ones in jail and drug dealing, so they're on the way. Of us all, too few are in school, in college, marrying and having children. And you know what - it hurts - it hurts like hell. How can a people, who excel at everything they put their minds to, fall to such a disgraceful low? And I know we can blame the white man for a lot of it, you know, I did my sociology and psychology in school, I've done the research, so I get it, what the white man has done to us, but damn, at some point, we need to realize, that's gettin' old, you know what I'm saying? It's gettin' old, we need to get the fuck up off the pity pot already - talkin' about what the white man owes us, yeah well maybe so - be we owe it to ourselves to say, whether you give me, my due or not, don't matter, because I'm gone do what I got to do anyway. You know what I'm saying? I'm still gone rise, where's that gone?" His eyes watered up, trying not to look at his wife.