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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

“I loved her very much, but she’d changed. She was too different. And I loved her for staying as long as she did, after I just lost my mom and all. When it was time for her to go, we both knew it.”

13

13

I stayed with Lewis for a little over two weeks after he returned from California. Those weeks were very difficult for both of us. I wanted Boyd. I wanted to hear him, to see him, to touch him. At times I imagined I saw his truck drive by outside Lewis’s house as I sat alone at night, the television chattering mindlessly into the empty room. The television was on for Lewis, a special effect so he might be com­forted, thinking I was being entertained.

I was not entertained. I was tortured. All night long I paced the front room, waiting . . . waiting. I would meditate for hours, delving into the internal music, losing myself in that peaceful place, but the longer I kept myself imprisoned at night—confined to Lewis’s dreadful living room—the less frequently I could locate that place where I mentally soaked my feet and renewed my strength. I hated staying there, yet I was not ready to leave. My emotions and, undoubtedly, Lewis’s were in constant, painful tur­moil.

And then one evening when I awoke, it was time to go. I believed that mysterious forces had been busy, the delay had been fruitful; arrangements had been made, contacts had been activated, the path had been cleared. My prudent behavior in waiting would be rewarded. This Truth rang true. There was a power in the music, a power in the universe. The forces that controlled all things reassured me that I truly owned my own place in the world. As different as I might be, my niche had been gently carved and prepared.

I dined with Lewis that night, then held his hands and looked into his eyes. All my will focused right there, at that moment, wishing for a happy and fulfilling life for Lewis. He was a good man. I wished for rapid appreciation on his home, and a wife and sons to keep his level of respectability right where he felt most comfortable.

No words were necessary between us. We hugged, then I packed. I declined his offer of a ride to the bus station, but took the offered sheepskin jacket and a hundred dollars.

At the door we kissed, and I stepped down the walk, then down the sidewalk, willing myself not to look back and not to run, but to walk calmly. I heard Lewis’s front door close behind me, and I had a moment of sadness as I imagined him entering his lonesome living room with the plastic couch and orange carpeting and the little touches of life he and I had bought when times were better between us.