The life force dwelling within Portia’s belly exerted an unnamed power over everything around it, most especially Darren and Portia. Moments after they felt the kicking fetus, there was a sea change in their feelings – about each other as well as the baby itself.
It began with Darren, who was impelled to act in a forward-thinking action. He spent the day at work consumed by other thoughts – mostly those of abstinence. He had officially given up pot and beer only twelve hours and already felt the pangs of temptation as soon as he arrived at work. Marijuana’s gorgeous aroma drifted off the clothing of most of his co-worker’s clothing.
Before Darren finished his first car of the day, Ramona’s cousin Jimmy, who worked as a paint applicator at 27th Street, came over to Darren’s stall.
“Hey, come on, let’s tap a one-hitter.”
“Nah, I can’t,” replied Darren.
Jimmy looked at the clipboard on the work board at the end of Darren’s stall.
“This Corvette is only waiting on a one-layer flame appliqué. You can do that in your sleep. Come on, it’ll take five minutes at most.”
“Come on, man, I’m not in the mood,” said Darren.
“I’ll be out back if you change your mind.”
Darren went back to his work as soon as Jimmy left. He finished the appliqué and had the car moved to the finisher. He went over to the paint shop to pick up another car, but none were ready for detailing. He cleaned his stall and inventoried it, too. He organized and re-organized the decal bins. Finally, he sat down on the bench and flipped through a couple of the Import Car magazines.
After he finished with them, he fidgeted with the decal bins again. Finally, his cellphone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from Portia.
Wacha doin’?
Bored.
When U eat lunch?
L8r – noon or 1.
What do U want?
Pizza sub sounds good.
See U @ noon.
Darren connected his cell to the web and flipped through the NA.org website. He quickly found a listing of meetings in Homewood South. In fact, the listing was so long he could go to a different church every day of the week. He picked the Saturday night meeting and wrote the address on the inside of his left wrist in pen.
He put his cell away and looked for some more work. He dragged the dust mop back and forth across the length of the studio until Jimmy walked by.
“What are you doing? That’s Alberto’s job.”
“I was just bored.”
“Let’s get our drink on.”
“Didn’t you just go out back?”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy, “What better to follow a smoke than a drink?”
“I’m fine.”
“Whatever.”
Darren struggled with Jimmy as well as almost everyone else at the Body Shop. Truly, the only holdout was Alberto. Unfortunately, Alberto spoke about ten words of English, so he couldn’t even use him for support.
Portia spent the entire morning preparing for her trip to 27th Street. She packed her books with a change of clothes for work and headed to the Pizzeria. When she arrived, she realized she had no idea what kind of sub Darren liked, so she gave him a call.
“Hey.”
“Hey, I’m in line at the pizza place. What kind of sub do you want?”
“I’ll take any.”
“Any?”
“Yeah, you choose.”
“Alright.”
Portia picked out two meatball subs, loaded with extra cheese, and boarded the crosstown bus. The smell of Italian spices and ragu filled the bus. Other passengers struck up conversations about the contents of her little white paper bag. Their mouths watered as she simply replied, “Meatball subs.”
When she arrived at 27th Street, she jumped off the bus and headed into the Body Shop. Darren was sitting on the bench, waiting for his next piece of work to arrive from the Paint Shop.
“Hungry?” said Portia.
Darren nodded enthusiastically, “What ‘cha got?”
“Cheesy meatball subs.”
Darren frowned.
“What?”
“I’m lactose intolerant.”
“Aw, man, are you kiddin’ me?”
Darren stood stone-faced for a moment. Then, he let loose a little smile.
“Nah, those are perfect.”
Portia slugged him gently in the shoulder.
“That’s not funny. Okay, it’s a little funny.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Darren.
“Where do you want to go?”
“It’s a great day. Let’s hit the park.”
Darren drove the short distance from the Body Shop to Homewood Park. People lazed about. Some were drinking. Some were smoking. Some were grilling out. Ten-speed bicycles carried the dealers from group to group, keeping commerce alive in Homewood.
Portia found an empty picnic table beneath a big old Oak tree and sat down. Darren placed the giant cups of soda on the picnic table as he sat down. She unwrapped the subs and made herself at home beside Darren.
They relaxed as they watched the people in the park. Gusts of wind blew over them and they had to use everything they had as paperweights to keep the sub wrappers from blowing away.
“I’m going to a N.A. meeting tonight. You want to go with me?”
“I can’t. I’ve got to work tonight.”
“That’s okay. I’m just checking it out anyway.”
Darren dropped Portia off at the Pet Store before returning to work. Since these were the dog days of August, there was little (if any) going on at the store. Bill left early and Portia spent a fair amount of time studying while neighborhood kids played with the puppies. She could have very well closed the store early and joined Darren at his first N.A. meeting. However, Darren didn’t need to rely on her as much as he’d imagined.
He drove to the church after work, arriving just before the 7 o’ clock meeting. He waited in the parking lot for a few minutes, watching people drift into the lot and enter the back doors of the church. He finally mustered up enough will power and entered the church right at 7 p.m.
Small hand-written signs pointed the way to the study room. It was at the end of a hall, just beyond the choir robes and cleaning supplies. A small group, about ten people, sat in folding chairs that were arranged in a circle. Others stood and talked, waiting for the meeting to start.
Darren walked meekly around the perimeter of the room, looking at the pamphlets and brochures arranged on one of the tables. He picked up a handful and walked meekly toward the group. They were quiet, but unassuming. A young woman stood up and held out a hand.
“Hi, I’m Maya, welcome to N.A. What’s your name?”
“Darren Miller.”
“Last names aren’t necessary. Grab a chair and sit anywyhere you’d like. This is your first meeting, right?”
Darren nodded.
“You can be a casual observer, if you want. This isn’t one of those places you have to feel awkward or even obligated to say a thing. You work at your pace and your pace alone. We’re here for each other. That’s all you need to know.”
Darren grabbed a chair and moved it towards the circle. Chairs parted like the Red Sea. Darren sat between two people of very different origins. One looked just like would’ve imagined, had he imagined anything at all. His hair was long and stringy. He had a scraggly beard, too. He wore several layers: two layers of long sleeve shirts and an army jacket over them. His jeans were old and ratty. Neither him nor his clothes looked like they’d been washed in weeks. To Darren’s left sat a slender young black girl. She was around twenty years old. She wore black dress slacks and a soft blue silk buttoned shirt. She looked more like a librarian than a drug addict.
The group settled down as Maya turned on the microphone and adjusted the volume on a small radio.
“Test, test, test, pfffff. Test.”
“Alright, that’s good. Everyone welcome to the N.A. I thought I’d start things off tonight with a reading from Psalms and then we’ll go straight into open discussion.”
She removed the bookmark from the bible and began reading. Darren inhaled deeply. He never believed in or particularly liked religion. He thought it was all white noise – like a room full of indecipherable conversations, each one vying for his attention, but none striking just the right note.
"I know I quote Psalm 40 a lot, but it's probably my favorite. For those who have heard it, bear with me. For those who haven't, here it is:
'I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock...'"
One of the members raised a hand.
"Yes, Clint?"
"I've always liked it, too. It always reminds me I'm not alone, and you know how I feel about God. I feel his presence when I'm with people or when I’m alone. I don't know what it is or isn't, and I don't know that I care, but there is a feeling of unity - and when I come here, it's like church to me."
"Thanks, Clint. Does anyone else have feelings on this Psalm or anything else?"
"Yeah, Maya, I do."
It was the girl sitting beside Darren.
"Go ahead, Dorie."
"Last week, I went out on a first date. Out of nowhere, the guy ordered a glass of wine for me. I told him I was an alcoholic and he got offended about it. How does anyone else deal with that?"
"It's amazing," Maya replied, "But I still get lots of peer pressure from some friends who know what I'm going through and what I do. Some people are just oblivious. I try to be sympathetic, but sometimes, there's no getting through to them. Just like the old saying, 'you can never go through a mountain, only over it or around it or let it stand in your way.'"
"I know, but it's discouraging. I almost drank just to keep him quiet. I was glad I had the Lord to carry me."
Darren spindled the pamphlets in his hands as he pondered on the conversations and confessions that went on around him. It was surreal – a somewhat ‘out of body experience’ for Darren as he listened to these strangers divulging their secrets, and it drew him closer.
He cleared his throat.
“Yes, Darren?”
“Can I talk?”
“Of course you can.”
“I feel some of these feelings, but others I don’t feel at all.”
“Everyone has his or her own special experiences.”
“I mean about God. I don’t believe in God, but everyone here seems to believe in God. I don’t know if I could make that work for me.”
“God, Allah, the Prime Mover, the All-Knowing, Mother Nature, whatever you want to call it, it’s just a higher power.”
“I still don’t know.”
“Well, you will,” said Maya.
Darren remained silent for the rest of the meeting, lingering in his thoughts as the rest of the group went onward. After the meeting, several people came up to Darren, the most notable being Clint.
“Darren, God is a blessing you should never deny.”
Darren nodded, but didn’t really respond. He figured it was better just to keep his mouth shut. He went about his business, going out to his car alone and driving home.
Darren did not work Sunday. However, Portia did. It was the last Sunday in August, which meant Inventory Day. After they closed the shop around 5pm, Portia and Bill counted every thing on every shelf and cleaned the Pet Store.
Darren decided not to visit Portia at work. Instead, he sat down to read his N.A. pamphlets. He found himself reaching into the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of beer, purely out of habit. He cracked it open and poured out the contents. He did the same for each and every bottle, dumping the empties into the trash. He took the full trash bag and threw it in the dumpster outside.
He read through the pamphlets twice, but still felt distracted by everything else. He went to the kitchen again and made a tall pitcher of grape Kool-Aid. He filled a glass with ice and went to the living room and played video games.
Marcus came home just before midnight with a girl-in-tow. They went straight to the back for about an hour before Marcus emerged from the bedroom for a break.
“Hey, where’s all my beer?”
“I threw it out.”
“What do you mean, ‘you threw it out?’”
“I didn’t want it tempting me.”
Marcus circled around the living room and stopped next to the couch. He noticed the rumpled pamphlets as he looked at Darren.
“What makes you think you can quit cold turkey?”
Darren shrugged.
“It’s for her, isn’t it?”
Darren quickly glanced up at Marcus, still keeping his attention on the game.
“She doesn’t like you, you know.”
Darren continued playing until Marcus reached down and jerked the power cable from the game box. Darren snatched the cord from Marcus’ hands and inserted it back into the game console. He fidgeted with the game until it finally restarted.
“You owe me a six-pack of beer, asshole.”
Marcus returned to his bedroom. Before too long, exaggerated sounds came from Marcus’ bedroom. The sex was rough, loud, and intent on proving to Darren who was the Alpha Male in the apartment. Darren turned off his game and went for a late night drive.
The only people around at this time of night in Homewood South were the creatures of the night: dealers and hookers and cabbies and police. Darren careened from one highway to another, passing time while he listened to the radio. He crossed all three rivers, riding over just about every bridge in Pittsburgh. He never realized how much he’d loved Pittsburgh’s bridges until that very moment. Pittsburgh was an old man’s castle, complete with moats and drawbridges – transporting travelers in and out as efficiently and eloquently as could be imagined.
Before Darren went home, he bought Marcus’ six-pack and returned it to the refrigerator. He went straight to bed and fell asleep.
He awakened early on Monday morning, his muscles tight and his head groggy.
“Must be the sobriety,” he thought. He grabbed the remainder of the Kool-Aid from the coffee table in the living room and drank it. He toasted some bread and ate it, too. It did help.
He stopped for fast food, and ate it on his way to work. When he arrived at the Body Shop, the stalls in the front were empty. Not even Alberto was cleaning or running errands. Darren went back to the Paint Shop and sorted through the clipboards. With only two decals to place today, it would be another long grind. Until now, he never realized how much time he did nothing at all at the shop.
He texted Portia, but she was busy at school. He went to the back of the shop. Everyone stood around the back door, smoking and drinking, including Calvin, the shop manager.
“Calvin, I’m going to take off for a bit. I’ve only got two jobs. I’ll finish them this afternoon.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Darren scanned the NA database for another meeting. He found one across town, in one of the rich suburbs. Darren drove through downtown Pittsburgh and over the Ohio River to McKees Rocks. For him, it was a foreign land – full of six-bedroom, two-story homes, with manicured lawns and manicured families, too. Most of the children went to private schools and most of them ended up in Ivy League universities.
Darren found St. Matthews, a big Catholic cathedral, sitting on a corner lot, facing the town square. The police station, post office, and library occupied the opposite corners. It was definitely a foreign land; even the buildings looked manicured.
Darren found a parking space on the street in front of the post office. He looked at his watch; there were still twenty minutes until the meeting began.
He watched the passing traffic. An old lady came out of the post office, only to be greeted by a police officer at the crosswalk. They talked for a bit, waiting for the signal to change. When the light turned from red to green, they crossed the street together. He escorted her up the walk to St. Matthews, holding the door as she entered.
Darren put his keys into the ignition and started the car. He drove east, crossing over the Ohio River as he headed back home to Homewood South.
He returned to 27th Street and finished his work and it wasn’t even 3 o’clock. He called Portia.
“What ‘cha doin’?”
“Just studying. What about you?”
“Nothing much. Bored, I guess.”
“I only have one more class. How about we go out tonight after that?”
“I’ll pick you up at school.”
“Nah, they’ve got it all chopped up with dump trucks and construction crews. There’s no place to park.”
“I can meet you somewhere nearby.”
“I’ll just come over to your place.”
“Alright, I’ll see you tonight.”
Portia went to her Biology class while Darren went home and cleaned up around the house. Today, Biology class had labs – specifically, ornithology labs. Trays sat on each lab table, with different bird body parts in each tray. Some had feathers, others had cards with skeletal sketches.
Two trays sat on Portia’s table. One tray had an assortment of beaks. A small wire was attached to each beak, with a small tag. The tag named the bird, a general description of the bird’s diet, and a listed tool. The other tray was filled with tools and food items: jawed and needle-nosed pliers, pairs of tweezers, and a set of straws.
“I want each set of lab partners to investigate the variety of biological functions among different birds. Each person in the group will be selecting a bird breed and writing about each of their biological functions, from wings to feet to body structures to beak shapes. Each group will proceed from station to station and follow the note cards and do each demonstration. I expect everyone to take copious notes and share them. Each student is responsible for a five-page report on their bird.”
Needless to say, today’s class was right up Portia’s alley. She eagerly volunteered to be the note-taker for her group. She also picked Hummingbird as her bird breed. The group began with beaks, cracking hazelnuts with nutcrackers, eating sunflower seeds and Gummi worms with tweezers and needle nose pliers, and sipping orange Kool-Aid out of Dixie Cups with their straws.
Class ran long, but Portia didn’t mind one bit. By the time she’d finished, she had thirty pages scribbled in her notebook. She sat after class with one of the other girls, trading notes and working on their reports, which weren’t even due for two weeks.
She left school an hour late. Evening bus schedules were less frequent, and with the construction, busses were re-routed and Portia had to find the new bus route on her own.
She arrived at Darren’s house around 8:30, much later than either Darren or her had planned. Darren, too anxious to wait, had tried calling but Portia’s cell was dead. He drove towards the community college to search for her.
Portia got off the bus and walked to Darren’s apartment. The cloudy eyes of the tempest arose as Portia knocked on the door to Darren’s apartment. After all, this was a place of important history for Portia. She’d been with two brothers in this very place.
Portia was taken by surprise when Marcus answered the door.
“Uh…”
“He’s not here,” said Marcus.
“We were supposed to meet up.”
“Come in,” he said, turning away from Portia and leaving the door wide open.
Portia sat in the darkness of the living room and waited while Marcus went back to his bedroom. She picked up the crumpled pamphlets and sorted through them.
“You don’t think he’s really going to quit, do you?”
Marcus stood behind her.
“I think so.”
“You always were a naïve little girl,” said Marcus as he went to the kitchen.
“At least he tries.”
“You want a beer while you wait?”
“You know I don’t like beer.”
“I’ve got wine.”
“No, thanks.”
Marcus popped a beer open and plopped down on the couch besied Portia. She moved to the arm and sat there. Marcus snorted and wiped his chin as took a swig from the bottle. They sat, in near silence, as Portia waited for Darren.
“Can I use your phone?”
“I guess. You know where it’s at.”
Portia went to the kitchen and called Darren. There was no answer. She called the number again.
“No luck?” said Marcus, who now stood in the doorway.
Portia began to dial again. Marcus clamped his hand over the phone and placed it on the hook.
“Why don’t you go to bed with me tonight?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Come on, Marcus.”
“He’s not your type. You don’t even like him.”
“What do you know?”
“I know exactly what you like.”
Marcus pressed Portia against the refrigerator and laid a kiss across her lips. For a split second, Portia swooned, then shoved Marcus away.
“See? You like it.”
“No, Marcus.”
Portia cut around Marcus and headed to the front door. Marcus snatched her by the arm and she stepped to the side. She stepped across the kitchen, putting the kitchen table between her and Marcus. They feinted left and right, like boxers in a ring. Marcus grabbed the edge of the small table and pushed it slowly towards Portia. She grabbed the other edge of the table, keeping him as far away as possible.
“Where’s your beloved stoner now?”
Marcus snapped the table back, forcing Portia’s hands off the opposite edge. He then used the table to shove her against the kitchen wall. He snapped the table again, popping Portia squarely in the belly.
A sudden pain hit her hips as a fuse lit in her belly. Vomit rose in her throat and she swallowed it down. Blood immediately filled her panties.
“Oh my god, Marcus! I’m losing the baby!”
Marcus snapped the table again, crushing the girl between the table and the wall. She reached out, trying to push the table off her belly. It was no use. Marcus pulled the table away from the wall. Portia collapsed onto the kitchen floor.
“That’ll fuckin’ teach ya,” said Marcus.
He left the girl bleeding on the kitchen floor, got into his car, and sped away.
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