I watched in horror as Paris nodded off in Kiki's passenger seat. I stepped
away from the car and backed into the brick wall. I looked over at Kiki and then back to
Paris. I shook my head and walked passed Kiki to my apartment. I was in shock. All of
my worst fears and all of vicious rumors seemed to be coming true.
"I can't believe it," I said to myself. "I just can't fuckin' believe it."
Kiki followed me into the apartment. I just sat on my couch and stared at the blank
TV screen.
"She needs your hands," she said leaning in the doorway. "I'm trying
to get her into a facility but I'm still waiting to hear back from somebody. I..."
Her voice trailed off into thin air.
'The Hands' were a nickname I had been given recently because every time I went to a
party I either ended up playing music or giving massages. I could always be found in a
corner with some woman draped over my shoulders listening to a song or getting her back
rubbed.
I figured Paris didn't need to hear a new version of an old Hendrix song so I began
preparing the cleansing. I walked into the kitchen to check on the pot of hot water for
tea. I set up the massage table in the living room and programmed the Chopin CD.
There was a tinge of bitterness in my system. I thought of Paris sitting in the car
on a path of total self destruction. I hoped that this was rock bottom and she could
start moving back up from her self imposed torture.
Then I thought about my Dad; a man who never drank, never smoked, and never did
drugs. I thought of him trapped in the prison of his own body and realized the irony was
lost on me alone. I was helping a person who wanted to destroy herself get better and
the person was struggling to get better was being destroyed by his own body. I wanted to
put a chair through a wall.
'If she died,' I thought to myself, 'would that balance out the universe and give
him more time?' I shook off the thought. You help who you can when you can and maybe if
you're lucky karma helps you.
The whistling hot water brought me back to my senses. I poured a cup of cleansing
tea. It was tea my father would drink when he first got sick to keep his strength up. I
turned up the heat in the apartment to make the massage more comfortable.
I opened the door to get Paris.
"Be careful," said Kiki putting her hand on my shoulder. "She's been
ruthless. She ripped into me about how I used to strip and how I raise my kids
and..."
"About your what? How you raise your what? Kids?!?" I stammered
emphasizing the s in kids. I looked her up and down. She couldn't be bigger than a size
two. She was maybe 100 lbs soaking wet holding a brick.
"I didn't know you had kids. How old are they?" I asked a bit
bewildered. I pictured cute little Eurasian toddlers running around her little paradise
in the woods when they weren't spending weekends with their father.
"Sixteen and seventeen," she said proudly. My eyebrows must have touched
the 9 foot ceilings. "They're my babies."
I thought back to the kiss in her house and rested my head in the door jam. It
struck me that I was older than she was.
"You don't look old enough to have a two year old."
"Thank you," She said as we walked to the car.
"Here's the plan," I said leaning with my back against the brick.
"I'm the man with the hands." I stepped away from the wall and towards the
car. I looked over at Kiki and then back to Paris. You help who you can when you can
and maybe if you're lucky karma helps you.
That Beautiful Black Man
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