Abby Ch. 01

Abby, a young divorcee, encounters her first black man, an older black man. (Explores the way that mild taboos like hidden racism and age gaps intensify sexual settings. (At least for me.) Hope you enjoy.

"God, this just isn't FAIR," Abby yelled into the empty room as she struggled to lift another heavy box and carry it up the stairs to her son's bedroom. After the divorce they'd sold the house, which was mostly paid for. Her half had given her a generous down payment on a place to live with Tyler and left money in the bank to spare. It was smaller, but plenty for the two of them, and they were well away from that drunken, violent bastard of a husband and father.

A new city, a new job, a new life. It all sounded so good, starting over. But she'd tried to save some money by going with a cheaper moving company. Now very few of the boxes were in the rooms they'd been labeled for and neither of the beds had been reassembled. The four men had dumped things pretty willy-nilly and left, grumbling, because she had rightfully declined to tip them.

It was a good thing her job didn't start for another two weeks. It was summer vacation and Tyler was out of school, staying with her parents until she could get the house set up, so she had the solitude to work as hard as it would take to be sure he had a nice place to lay his head when she picked him up from Grandma and Grampa. She only hoped they wouldn't spoil him too much.

But this work was back-breaking. The packers had put too much in boxes that were too large and it was nearly impossible for Abby to move them. In some cases she'd taken to opening them where they were and carrying the contents off into the room where they belonged. It wasn't that she was out of shape or feeling her 34 years, the boxes were just too damned heavy! After several years of pilates and planking and god knows what else to try to keep herself in her impossible husband's favor, Abby was a fit woman who still got carded when she tried to buy a bottle of wine. But these big boxes were so awkward. She couldn't get her arms around the bigger, heavier ones to get them off the stacks.

So she muddled along the best she could, cursing herself for her choice of movers, a group of college hunks whose yard sign she'd seen in a neighbor's yard. And she cursed her judgment in men and the husband who'd swept her off her feet while she was still in college. She should have gotten a clue when he tried to get her to stop short of finishing her degree. He turned out to be a controlling alcoholic who could be charming as long as he got his way, but when he didn't or when he was angry he turned into a monster. Abby had endured several beatings and kept trying to make things work. But when he'd turned on their son when he yelled at him to stop hitting his mother, she knew she had to leave.

Fortunately the ER records were clear evidence of Abby's plight, and the judge had awarded her sufficient alimony that she and Tyler could live comfortably on her entry-level job until she acquired some experience. They had changed cities, moved far away with the judge's permission. Tyler's father was only granted visitation with supervision, so they didn't expect to see or hear from him much.

Moving into a larger city had seemed a good idea when she looked for places to go. More jobs, more anonymity, but the housing markets had also been more expensive. Abby hadn't wanted anything spectacular, but she did want three bedrooms, one for herself, one for Tyler and a leftover guest-bedroom and office, because she hoped to be working from home at least part of the time. Women who were good at coding were still a rarity, so she thought she'd be able to negotiate some work flexibility, and she'd been right.

In order to find the space she'd wanted at a price she wanted to pay had meant that she had chosen a house in a poorer neighborhood. It had once been an all white suburb when white flight drove people out of the downtown districts, but in recent decades gentrification had drawn the white wealth back into the city and new rail lines had caused high-end developments to spring up farther from the city center, so Abby's new home found itself on a block of slightly-run-down two story capes occupied mostly by people of color. "Niggers," her ex would have called them. This house had been well maintained, but it was 23 years old and needed some paint and sprucing up. The yard was patchy, but not too bad. The whole effect was "comfortable but a little seedy." Still, she'd gotten a deal on the place that left her with six figures in her new bank account, so she was pleased with it.

Living around this many black people presented a few challenges for Abby. She never had. She'd gone to private school as a child and even in college she'd been in an all white sorority that pretty much kept themselves to other white frats. She didn't hate them or anything, but they just felt a little foreign to her. Something she'd have to get over she told herself. It might take a while, but she would shed those hidden racist attitudes she'd grown up with.

She went to a new stack of boxes and tried to move the top one. It wouldn't budge. "Office" it said on the side. She was sure it was full of her books. "How the hell do you fill a medium sized box with books?" she screamed. Try as she might, she couldn't lift it, and it was too high to open and unpack in place. She'd need a ladder and she didn't have one yet. "Fuck it! I quit!" she screamed and slapped the box, then she stomped into the kitchen and grabbed a beer, went to her new front porch and sat in the swing that needed a new coat of paint and sat down to drink it and cool down. "Maybe I can cut a hole in the side of the damned thing without ruining what's inside," she muttered to herself, staring into space.

"Cut a whole in the side of what?" said a deep voice from the sidewark. Abby nearly jumped out of her skin. With a hand over her mouth she stifled a yelp and looked up to see a nice, somewhat older black man looking at her quizzically from the direction of the street. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud," she answered. "Ain't nothin' to apologize for honey, but you're lookin' pretty perturbed about now, and I was a little worried you was gonna do somethin' you'd regret later. So what's the big problem?"

"Oh, nothing really. I just can't get this one box moved and it's up so high I can't unpack it, so I'm trying to figure out how to get the stuff out of it. I'm just moving in, but then you probably knew that."

"Oh yes, we knew that. Saw the truck yesterday, saw them lazy assed boys puttin' your stuff in the house. They wasn't too careful with it, you know, you should check your stuff for scratches and what not. Yeah, you movin' in was all over the block before long. First white family moved IN to the neighborhood in nobody remembers. We still got a few but most of 'em move out, not in, so it kinda got our attention."

Abby became suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the reality that she was a minority in her own neighborhood for the first time. Apparently, the new tension in her limbs was visible to the man on the sidewalk, because he said, "Oh, now, don't you worry none, we're glad to have you here. Fact is my Beverly said she was gonna fix y'all a casserole and bring it over some time!" Abby smiled, finding that the corners of her eyes burned as her eyes moistened. "Oh, thanks, that's really amazing, but um, it's just me for right now, Tyler won't be joining me for a couple weeks. Could she bring us something then?"

"I"ll tell her, I'm sure that will work. But you all alone in that house? No wonder you look so tired. How about tomorrow I come by tomorrow and give a hand. I can at least move some boxes around, even if I can't put stuff away!" He smiled warmly. Abby felt a tiny sliver of something frightening shoot from her chest right through her toes.

"Oh, I couldn't put you out that way. Thank you though."

"Don't think nothin' of it. I retired from the Marines after 31 years a couple months ago. I'm dyin' for somethin' to do!" He laughed heartily this time. "Beverly says I'm failin' at retirement! Oh, and my name's Jake. I"ll see ya after breakfast!" He didn't even pause to get Abby's name. Maybe he knew it, maybe it didn't matter to him. Whatever the reason, it screamed a kind of low-key confidence that kept Abby from protesting further. Instead she watched him as he walked away without looking back, shaking her head slightly.

That night the newly single mother took a couple more glasses of wine to unwind than usual. She was unsettled about having a man who is essentially a stranger in her new home. She also had to admit that it was nice to actually have a connection with the neighborhood already, and that it seemed that her neighbors looked kindly on her arrival. But then, this stranger, this new neighbor, was a black man. It wasn't as though her parents had been overt racists. She'd never been taught that "colored people" were dirty or anything. But they'd kept her separate from them, and that shaped her thinking more than she wanted to admit.

And so it wasn't too troubling when she realized that her husband carried a hidden but more virulent variety of prejudice. He had a very real animus toward all sorts of non-white ethnicities, but black people were the ones he hated the most. Still, he didn't talk about it much because they had little reason to in their suburban false paradise. They almost never encountered any, so it was easy for her to overlook the occasional "N" bomb when he'd drop it.

As she drifted off to sleep that night she lay on her mattress on the floor of her bedroom and wondered what her ex-husband would have to say about a black man helping her unpack the next day. She was pretty sure he'd hate it, which she liked. She was also pretty sure she didn't know how she felt about it yet. She didn't like that.

Without any curtains yet on her windows, the morning sun woke Abby early. Still, she'd gotten a good night's sleep. The cable guy wasn't due for another day, so she'd had little to do once it grew quiet. A little light reading and her exhaustion had overtaken her. She'd slept hard.

The master bathroom was fortunately the first room she'd set up completely, so showering and getting prepared for the day were a pleasant return to near-normalcy. She dressed for the heat, a pair of cut off denim shorts that she didn't mind getting dirty and a similarly well-worn tee shirt over her Converse low tops. "Certainly not going to dress up for a "helper" I didn't even ask for," she thought when she remembered she wouldn't be alone today.

A quick bagel and some coffee, and she was well into unpacking some other boxes when the doorbell rang. It was still only a little past 8:30. "Early, too." she thought. "What if I hadn't been ready?" She wiped a bit of sweat from her brow with the arm of her tee shirt and went to the door. "Hello again," she said as she pulled it open. "Jake, right?"

"That'd be it ma'am, yes. I don't believe I caught your name yesterday. Did I miss it?"

Abby blushed at her rudeness from the day before. "Oh, I must've forgotten to tell you, I'm Abby. Good to meet you." She held out her hand formally and he took it. When they shook hands hers nearly disappeared in the huge paw that he offered. That and the touch of his rough palm made her heart skip briefly with alarm, but he released hers quickly and waited patiently to be invited inside.

"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry, come in, come in. I still have some coffee. Would you like some?"

"No thanks, ma'am, I've been up for a good while. All those military years don't leave you too quickly, if you know what I mean. I can't sleep much past six any day unless I'm sick as a dog. So I'm ready to go if you'll just tell me what you want me to do."

"Well, I suppose it's just your military background speaking, but the first thing I'd like you to do is stop calling me "ma'am." My name is Abby. "Ma'am" makes me feel like I'm old!"

Jake laughed. "Old like me, huh? Not to worry, I'll call you by whatever you like, I just don't presume 'til I get the invite. Abby it is. So, what's to be done?"

Abby's first task for him was to move that box of books that she'd been unable to budge the day before. He pulled it off the stack and carried it to her office as though it weighed nothing. Then she told him which room was which and asked if he'd just set about making sure each box was in the room for which it was labeled. That kept him busy while she set about unpacking boxes in Tyler's room. His shelves were pretty much where she wanted them, so getting his room set up wasn't too difficult. Then she started on the boxes in the kitchen, and was on her hands and knees reaching into one of them to pull out a heavy mixer when Jake reappeared. "Well, that's all done. Your movers were pretty bad about reading labels, weren't they?" He chuckled. His laugh emanated from some place in his chest. It was a deep, throaty laugh that felt good in Abby's ears.

"That's putting it kindly." She looked at her watch. It had been two hours! "Would you like something to drink? I have lemonade and tea in the fridge?"

"Glass o' lemonade sounds good, just about now, thanks." His face was wet with perspiration. Without thinking he lifted his gray tee shirt from his waist and wiped it away, exposing his abdomen. It was amazingly trim for his age, thought Abby, and she shook herself mentally. She shouldn't be looking at him like that. He was black, for goodness sake. And at least 25 years older than she was. And married!

She got up and fixed them both something to drink, which they enjoyed together on her front porch swing. "So, I don't mean to be rude, but it seems like there's no Mr. Abby in the picture, am I right?"

"No, no Mr. Abby. This is me, moving out on my own now the divorce is final and the old house is sold. Needed a change of scenery, a new city."'

"Well, this here's a close knit neighborhood for the most part, so you came to a good place. We look after each other 'round here." As he began the next sentence he turned and put his massive hand on her shoulder and looked her square in the face. "So you need anything, anything at all, you just let one of us know. We'll all be better'n pleased to help you get settled in. Ain't too often we get to help white folks move in instead of out!" With that, he chuckled and removed his hand.

Abby wasn't quite sure what to say in that moment. When he'd touched her, her heart had started to hammer in her chest, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes on his. There was a strange buzzing in her ears that made it hard to focus on what he'd been saying. Then the last bit that reminded her that she was among a dwindling minority in the neighborhood. Through a strange half-smile she finally thanked him and said she'd be sure to let him or some neighbor know should need arise.

An awkward pause in conversation in that moment caused her to get to her feet. "Well, I'd better get back at it. I thank you for moving all that stuff, I'll take it from here."

"Oh, I don't gotta go now or anything," said Jake and as he stood. Abby became uncomfortable aware of his presence, standing so close. "Looks like most rooms in your house don't got the furniture where you want it. And some things still gotta be put back together. I can at least help you get that done before I go, right?"

"Oh, uh, yes, sure, thanks." Abby stumbled over her words, astonished at her lack of composure. Something about this large black man was making her light-headed, simple-minded. "Can we finish Tyler's room first?"

"Absolutely," replied Jake and he started off toward the correct room without waiting to be led. Abby found herself following her new neighbor through her own home. A strange sensation, but she liked how quietly authoritative he could be. It was somehow comforting.

Jake helped her shift a couple of shelving units that she'd already filled with Tyler's things, then move his dresser and desk onto the correct walls. Then they set about assembling his bed, which had large under-bed drawers which were already crammed with the detritus of his youth.

"Prob'ly be a good idea to get your room set up next, seein' as how you been sleepin' on the floor!" Jake said though a chuckle when they'd finished Tyler's bed. "Can't have that! Pretty lady sleepin' on the floor!"

"Uh, yes, okay," stammered Abby, but his large black frame had already turned to head to her room without waiting for a response.

She watched him go and felt a strange combination of admiration and unease. His calm assurance was comforting to be around, but she felt her own fierce independence melting away in his presence.

Abby followed quickly and they began to put her room in order. It took considerably more doing. There was a mirror to mount on the long low chest of drawers. There were some wall-mounted shelves to put up and a TV and its table to get arranged, even though they wouldn't work for another day. Lastly, he helped her assemble the large four-poster bed she'd bought for her new home. White with gold gilding, it was large but still feminine. Add to that the new queen mattress with its memory-foam pillow top, and the bed rather dominated the room. Still, once it was put together, Abby felt some pride in this thing that she'd done on her own, for herself. "Don't be lookin' too satisfied yet, Abby, it ain't made up yet. Marine can't leave a room with a bed that ain't squared away!"

She laughed and patted his shoulder as she gathered a new set of sheets from an open box. "Right! Let's do this!" She opened the plastic cover to the sheet and pulled out the fitted one. "God I hate trying to figure out which is the top on these!"

Jake laughed, nodded his agreement. They laughed together and unfolded the sheet. A couple of abortive attempts later, they had it on and were just tucking in the top sheet when Jake pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "Hm... Let's see if I can bounce it." He dropped it near the foot of the bed and it plopped without a bounce. "Not tight enough," he muttered and redid both the bottom corners. This time it bounced. Not much, but it did. "Perfect. Now you're squared away!"

Abby did a quick turn, saw her new space, nearly complete but for one last box to be unpacked, and felt a rush of pride and accomplishment as well as a health dose of gratitude. "Oh, thank you, Jake!" she said and rush into his arms and hugged him tightly. "I couldn't have done this without out." Then she chuckled, still with her arms around his thick chest. "At least, not so fast!" and she looked up into his coal black face.

"You're very welcome, Abby," he said in a low voice that sounded like distant thunder. Then he lowered his head and kissed her, barely touching his lips to hers at first, but she she didn't pull back, pressing them to hers more and more firmly until she felt his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth. At first it felt so good that she started to respond, then quite suddenly she pulled back in horror.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me!" she gasped.

Jake looked supremely unperturbed. "Oh, don't apologize. Us black men, we're kinda used to that. White lady on her own, hasn't had a man in a while, the reputation black men have, then you spend a lot of time alone with a black guy and it often happens."

"But, but.." Abby stammered, "but I've never, never EVER done anything like that before."

"What, kissed a guy you barely know, or kissed a black man?"

And before she could stop herself, she started to echo her ex husband, "Kissed a ni... a black man." She blushed at what she'd almost said, looked up, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that, I don't use that word, really. I don't know where that came from."