‘I don’t know Sharon. Maybe it was just nerves.’

Sharon began to laugh a little about the conversation, which calmed my nerves tremendously.

‘Derrick was telling me about how he doesn’t like other men around me.’

‘He was talking about me, wasn’t he?’

‘He didn’t say, but I’m sure he was,’ she replied.

‘Did you tell him that he didn’t need to worry about that?’

‘No.’

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We talked, as if we hadn’t been fighting more than 30 minutes before. She smiled and laughed so much. It was as if she missed laughing and smiling.

Once we caught up, we decided to go for a walk through the neighborhood. It was like we were younger again, as we played around and held hands. She didn’t want the day to end and I had to be back home before six or face my dad. She needed to talk to me about “something important.” I told her to call me once the Black Demon pulled up in the driveway. She gave me another hug and it was time to get to the prison. Driving away, my eyes could see her still in the street watching me pull away. That one vision has stayed with me because it was the last day she was the person who helped me survive the teenage years.

Walking through the door, I made sure that my shower, chores and whatever else was out of the way to allow me to speak with her on the phone. We had the tendency to stay on the phone for a long time. When the phone rang, my body dived across the couch to catch it on the second ring.

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One Saturday afternoon while watching television, my mom yelled from upstairs that there was someone on the telephone. Picking up the phone, a soft voice said “hello.” Sharon was on the other end of the phone. Thoughts before this phone call made me think that she had forgotten all about me because of her boyfriend.

‘Hi. What’s up?’ I responded.

‘Nothing. Just calling to see what you up to.’

‘The same. Are you okay? Is something wrong?’

‘I can’t miss you and want to call you?’ She said strongly.

‘Didn’t mean it like that. Simply asked a question.’

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As a result, Sharon became untrusting of men, so we spent plenty of time together compensating for her loss. It was so hard to even try to get a girlfriend with her always around or pretending to be my girlfriend as a joke. Part of me wanted to be there for her, but things were changing so fast. When you are in high school, things change so fast that you are trying to keep up. Much of my time was spent joking with her and watching television. We would go swimming, shopping or to the putt-putt range to hang loose. Many a day went by with us just enjoying one another. Some would already say we were together and I guess we were in a sense. She didn’t trust being with anyone and I didn’t trust her being with anyone.

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Something inside told me that she felt as if she had impurities running through her body. She was literally trying to wash the pain away. The heat from the shower overpowered my senses. Turning off the shower, I decided to run water in the bath for her to soak. Her hand towel draped across the basin called to me, as I placed the soap in the middle and lathered. My hand extended and began to wash her arm. At first, she was hesitant to allow me to do so, but with a soft “please,” her body eased up and I continued to wash. Her arms stayed wrapped around her legs for the most part, so it was important for me to not violate her space. My hands gently rubbed and massaged her back. It did not seem to matter that I was unaware of how to rub her, but it seemed to be working. The heat from the lingering steam began to hinder both of our senses, so I dried her body off and removed her from the bathtub. The tears flowed from her eyes, but she trusted me to help her. We walked from the bathroom to the bedroom to find her something to slide on her body. The lotion I applied to her body was a cocoa cream that seemed to relax her a bit and add a shine to her already caramel skin. I knew the time with her would be limited, yet it was important for me to spend as much time with her as possible. She thanked me over and over, but still seemed quite distant, which could be expected.

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At the time, my car was a beat down 1979 Chevy Blazer, that ran when it felt like it, but at least my legs weren’t walking. What is that our parents always say “A beat up ride, beats a long walk anytime.” The steering wheel wasn’t in alignment and the seat was broken, which made it seem as though I was “pimpin.” The highlight of the truck was the 8-track player that had Jeffrey Osborne and LTD in the deck. As long as the radio worked, it was on time.

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We had a great relationship in which her parents recognized. Her mother was very outgoing and positive, often inviting me to lunch with the family. There were only so many times my stomach could handle Ponderosa and them damn wings though. I assume that since there were only the three of them that they enjoyed having some one else around. At least that is what her mother expressed. Her dad was a man of few words. It didn’t bother me because my dad didn’t talk much either, so it felt natural. Is it a common thing for men to not talk much? I must be different because it’s hard to shut up once I’m going.

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Sharon made life fun for a young boy that was forced to stay at home all the time. The idea of having a female friend was cool; however, I also didn’t want to come off being gay. As I was growing up you would always hear guys call other guys gay for hanging with women. When you are young, that word carries so much negativity, like punk or sissy. After a while, the words mean nothing if you don’t allow them to mean something. Sharon was so important that those words fell by the wayside. She would be my introduction into a world of enjoyment, which was scarce in my life.

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