A Kind Face

by Joseph Cavano

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August 30, 2011

She wasn’t surprised he chose her. Guys like him usually did. Maybe it was because she was older. Softer. Not so intimidating. Maybe it was simply because she had a kind face. Or maybe – just maybe – it was because after twenty years in the life, she still saw them as she saw herself--- people doing their best to muddle through. Something like that changes everything. Makes it all less tawdry. Adds a soupçon of class.

Ebony had met hundreds like him. First timers. You could smell it in their breath. Instant courage. On sale at the corner market, so much per fluid ounce. You could see it, too, in their faces. Fear and excitement in equal proportions. Tonight she felt it in his hands. Wet. Clammy. She noticed it the minute Miss Etta introduced him. She was glad when they finally arrived at the door to her room and she could let go. “Make yourself to home,” she said.

The young man (he couldn’t have been more than eighteen) scanned the room, as if he expected to find an intruder in every corner. She was surprised he didn’t look under the bed.

There wasn’t much to see. A bed frame and mattress— a small dresser with clock - a basin - a faded blue towel.

“The clock is running, Sweetie. Might as well start.”

The young man hesitated. He had not expected things to start so soon. His feet began tapping out an arrhythmic beat. I thought maybe we could talk a little.”

Ebony nodded. She looked relieved. Some days she got lucky. Sometimes a first-timer lost his nerve and decided to put it off for another day. Usually, he’d spend his dime talking about whatever was on his mind. Ebony liked those times. She enjoyed listening to their stories.

“Sure, Baby,” she said. “But it’s gonna cost you just the same.”

“That’s ok,” he said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “I’ve got plenty.”

Ebony smiled. She felt kind of sorry for him. He was having a rough time. “It’s your party, Honey. You start.”

The young man took a deep breath. “Well, let’s see.” He stopped tapping and grinned. “Why don’t we talk about you? Why not tell me something about yourself. So I can get to know you, you know?”

Ebony rose from the bed and walked to the dresser. She glanced at the clock. Then she turned to him. “Ok, Sweetie. Here goes. Reader’s Digest Version.” She leaned against the dresser and stretched her arms.

“I was born black, I grew up black, and I’m gonna die black. End of story.” She shrugged her shoulders, walked back to the bed, and sat next to him. “Sorry, Sweetie. That’s all there is.”

The boy glanced at his watch. He had been in the room exactly ten minutes. He had been keeping track.

“Come on,” he said. “That can’t be all. There has to be more than that. Some nice times. Interesting times. High points, you know?”

She liked him. He was just a boy really. She wanted to say something nice. Something to make him feel good —cheer him up. Still, it was usually better to tell the truth. He’d find out sooner or later anyway. “High points are for other people,” she said. “I know mostly the other kind.”

The young man’s eyes brightened. He turned to her. He looked like a drowning man who has just been tossed a rope. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You said ‘mostly.’ I heard you. Plain as day.”

Ebony stared.

“Don’t you see? Mostly! That means there had to be other times. High points! He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “It follows.”

Ebony laughed. She couldn’t help it. He was young and silly but she really liked him. “Maybe in your world,” she said. “Where I’m from there are only two kinds of points.” She reached over and playfully poked him. “The low and the not as.” She got up and stretched her back. It had been bothering her for a few days. “For folks like me, the only high point comes after we’ve left this sorry world. Returned to our Lord.”

The young man sighed. He stared at the floor as if searching for a way out.

Ebony watched as he started tapping his feet again. She wished she had told him a lie. “What’s wrong with me,” she shouted. “I must be losing my mind.”

She jumped from the bed and hurried to the dresser. She retrieved a key, and stooped to unlock the bottom drawer. “Sometimes being here makes me forget.”

She took out a black pocketbook and took out a small brown wallet, undid the clasp and pulled out a photo. She passed it to him. “There you go,” she said. “There’s your high point. Your genuine twenty-four karat, high as you can go high-point.”

The young man studied the photo. It was a picture of a young man in a blue graduation robe. He had a cap on his head. A single tassel hung from one side.

“Your son?” he asked.

Ebony nodded. “My only child. Benjamin. He shall lead, you know. “

The young boy studied it. He looked about his age. “He’s very intelligent looking,” he said. “You must be proud.

“Very proud,” she said. That was his college graduation day. He’s a teacher now. Way up north. Detroit.”

The young man passed back the photo. Ebony held it to the light. She thought about her boy, and how she had kept his picture tucked away inside her wallet - kept it hidden inside a black pocketbook she kept locked in a bottom drawer. He’s better off there. Better for me too. Better to never see him again than for him to watch me, day after day, lying on that bed, making my way. She wondered if he had been with a woman. She was pretty sure he had. She hoped it had been a girl friend, someone he cared for - maybe even loved. And if he had not been so fortunate? Then someone kind. Maybe someone with a nice smile. A kind face.

She glanced at him sitting beside her, hands clasped now, staring absently at the four walls. He was twisting his ring. She looked at the clock, but knew it didn’t matter. It could be Benjamin sitting beside her. No girlfriend to love him. Not even a precocious neighborhood girl to gently induct him into life’s oldest club.

She reached over and kissed him on the cheek. “Sweetie,” she said, “this is still your party.” Then, she gently coaxed him onto his back and lay beside him.