7. Isaac
7
Isaac
A thin puff of smoke drifted through the air, floating lazily over my balcony toward the tall trees across the courtyard. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to smoke out here, but nobody ever complained.
This was the best part of my day. Or maybe it was the only part of my day that I actually enjoyed. I’d just finished yet another boring ass Wednesday at my brother’s company, and getting high was the only thing on tonight’s agenda besides eating, which wasn’t even all that urgent.
I enjoyed this shit, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t sustainable.
I make it a point to never want more for people than they want for themselves.
My mama’s words had been beating my ass for days now. I couldn’t shake them no matter how hard I tried. I heard them in my fucking sleep.
My high wasn’t even taking the edge off, which let me know this was a dire situation.
Her voice was always soft, but sturdy, like the canvases I used to paint on. And consequential. She never had to raise her belt or her hands to me.
Sometimes, like now, it felt like a slap would have hurt less.
I stayed outside until the sun began bowing to the night, then retreated back inside my place. I found myself staring at the futon, remembering exactly where Officer Davis sat, how she looked, how she smelled, how she sounded.
I hadn’t been able to shake her , either.
I’d been so resolved to leave her be, but there was something about her. Something good. She looked good, yeah, but there was a light in her that I’d never seen in a woman before. Most women were jaded like me, although it was also possible that I only attracted women who mirrored myself back to me.
Either way, I was intrigued.
I went to my room, laid on my bed, and dialed her number.
“This is Davis.”
“Officer.”
She paused. It took a minute, but when she spoke again, her voice sounded brighter. “Mr. Jackson.”
“Just checking in with you. As you instructed,” I added.
“Yes. How are things?”
“Same shit, different day.”
“Are you at work?” she said.
“I’m at home. In my bedroom.”
The silence was deafening.
I stared up at my ceiling fan and waited. I meant for that shit to be loaded. I wanted her to think about being in my bedroom. With me. If I could get her to water the seed I planted, we could both have the time of our lives.
“ I’m at work,” she finally said, and the warning in that was loud and clear.
What little hope I had deflated again.
“You know, when I was there, I forgot to ask you something.”
“What’s that, Officer?”
“How’s your mental health?”
I paused to think. Gaither never asked me no shit like that.
“It’s alright, I guess.”
“Are you sleeping okay?”
Shorty was straddling the line between too personal and too clinical. It was wild. And confusing. Which let me know I needed to set a boundary with her. I ain’t never let a woman run mental circles around me, and I wasn’t about to start now.
“Look, I didn’t call you for this.”
“It’s relevant, Mr. Jackson.”
“To what? Is insomnia a crime now?”
“So, you’re not sleeping, then?”
Fuck.
She was good at this.
I sat up and put my glasses back on.
“I didn’t call you to be interrogated about my sleeping habits. If you’re that curious, you’re welcome to come see for yourself some time.”
“That’s…inappropriate.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t feel good, does it?”
She sighed. “Fine. On a less personal note, is there anything you need help with, that maybe I can assist you with?”
“I’m good.”
“You don’t sound good.”
“How would you know? You don’t even know me.”
“I’m trying to get to know you, but you’re making it extremely difficult.”
Okay.
We had another seed.
The glasses came off again.
I propped my pillow against my headboard and leaned back, getting myself back comfortable.
“Why do you wanna know me, Officer Davis?”
“Because if I know you, I’ll better understand how to give you what you need. When you have the tools, you stay out of jail. It’s that simple.”
“I’m a black man in America. It’s never that simple.”
“Fair enough. But—”
“That’s what I need most, by the way. To stay out.”
“Good!” She sounded like she’d just won the lottery. “I love it! That gives us something to work towards.”
“Or it’s my next failure.”
“Are you just incapable of thinking positively?”
“I’m incapable of ignoring reality.”
After a long pause, her voice met my ears again, but quieter this time.
“I believe we create our own reality.”
I shook my head. “Do you have a list of these?”
“These, what?”
“These empty ass platitudes. What’s next, live laugh love? The serenity prayer? John 3:16?”
She was quiet.
I was content to wait, because I was genuinely curious about this shit. For somebody in such a gritty profession, she sure did hold a lot of hope. But was it real, or some fake-it-til-you-make-it type shit? That was the question. Because ain’t nothing realer than jail, and if I was gonna have somebody in my corner, it needed to be somebody who understood that.
“You’re not a failure, Mr. Jackson.”
“Not yet.”
“Oh. I see. If you keep telling yourself you’re gonna fail, your hopes won’t be dashed if it actually happens. Gotcha. I’ve dealt with your type before.”
“My type?”
“No offense.”
“None taken, you’re just wrong as two left feet.”
“Then correct me.”
My eyebrows went up at that. It had a little bite to it, and the idea that she might like subtle correction was enough to wake my dick up a little bit.
But the bigger picture was more important.
There was a possibility I could learn something here. Something that might actually help me stay free.
“It’s not nihilism, if that’s what you think.” I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I actually feel shit on a very deep level, and it can be…disturbing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes I feel this…this sense of impending doom. And I guess there’s a little voice in the back of my head that’s telling me I’m a fuckup, and that bad shit is what I deserve. Sometimes it’s my brother’s voice. Sometimes it’s mine. Sometimes it’s random, and I think that must be God himself warning me that the worst is yet to come.”
“Is there any room for my voice in there?”
“That depends. What would it say?”
“It would tell you that you—“
“Can do anything I set my mind to? Bullshit.”
She chuckled. “No. I was gonna say you’re an intelligent, attractive, able-bodied young man. You have the whole world out in front of you. Don’t down yourself, and don’t limit yourself.”
I let my head fall back against the pillow. “So, you find me attractive, Officer?”
“ That’s what you heard?”
“It stuck out.”
She sighed. I knew she was sick of me at this point.
And I liked that.
Because I also like a little correction.
“My point was that you have a lot going for you, Mr. Jackson. I’d like to help you harness your strengths so we can keep you out. Okay?”
I closed my eyes and listened to her voice echoing in my head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay, then. So, think about your strengths, and we’ll reconvene next time. Anything else I can do for you today?”
“You rushing me off the phone, Officer?”
She took a slow breath. “No, I…I’m getting ready to head home. Just asking if there’s anything else you need before I go.”
“Yeah. One question. Who you rushin’ home to?”
Her voice was smaller. Softer. “My dogs.”
“Hm. I don’t like dogs.”
“Do you like anything ?”
“Oh, I can think of a few things I like very much.”
I sensed the wanting in her silence. We both breathed through it, tense and labored. The unspoken words lingered in a fragile equilibrium that begged to be disturbed. I could almost taste it.
“Well, on that note, I bid you goodnight. I’m glad you checked in. We’ll speak again soon.”
I exhaled.
Not tonight.
“Yes, we will. Goodnight, Officer.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Jackson.”
I set my phone down beside me and closed my eyes. My high had worn off at some point, and I hadn’t even noticed. Probably because something had replaced it.
One conversation with that woman had me more charged up than a hit of cocaine, which I’m ashamed to say I tried once or twice back in the day.
Yeah, I was gonna have to rethink this whole leaving her alone thing.