Thank You Ch. 2

Lydia had to trace her memory all the way back to last year's trip to the Bay for the last time she didn't feel the need to set the alarm clock on a weekday morning. With her husband usually up and out the door by 6 am, the ability to lay uninterrupted in bed until 11 o' clock rarely came.

It was a good thing Lydia Benson had the luxury to do that because, as she rested in a lump under the covers, she knew even before she opened her eyes to peek out, she was in the midst of her first serious hangover in nearly a decade.

When Lydia finally swung her feet off the edge of the bed and tried raising herself up, the cobweb-like taste in her mouth and the distant tingling in her extremities made her quickly realize that she was going to have a difficult time accomplishing any of substance for a while.

Feeling every bit of her 41 years of age, Lydia limped out of bed and started the slow trek to the bathroom. As she grazed the side of the nightstand on her way up, she accidentally knocked off the remote control that was resting on the edge. Instinctively, Lydia reached down to pick it up but as soon as her back bent, the haze of dizziness that followed told her to stay standing up. Looking down at the innocent piece of black plastic on the floor, the foggy memory of what she had done with the thing before she went to sleep caused her to disgustedly turn her head as she resumed her arduous trip to the safety of a hot shower.

After dragging herself into the tub and pulling the shower curtain secure, Lydia allowed the soothing water to have its way with her for nearly 15 minutes. Once she finally pulled herself out of the invigorating cascade, Lydia's next goal was to get the raw, bitter taste of the vodka's residue out of her mouth. Swirling mouthwash around her throat for almost a minute, Lydia finally spit it down the sink and looked into the fogged up mirror in front of her to assess the damage.

"UUGGGGHHH," was all Lydia managed to groan as she began the formidable task of making herself presentable.

After slipping on the loosest fitting sweater and leggings she could, a haggard but slowly improving Lydia decided to make a quick trip to Starbucks to get some caffeine to juice herself up as she planned out the course of the rest of the day.

* * * * *

Sitting alone in a corner booth, sipping gently at her steaming cappuccino, Lydia decided the first thing on her agenda should be crafting a simple reply to the Kenyan boy that had sent her and Jefferey the kind letter of appreciation.

After getting the words, "Dear Kwame," down on her flowery pink stationary, Lydia found herself stuck over what to write next.

She didn't think a simple "Thank You" was nearly good enough to express her joy over receiving the letter. On the other hand, Lydia's head still throbbed and pulsed too much from her lingering hangover to come up with anything creative and fitting enough to explain her appreciation to the young boy.

Lydia decided to shelve the barely started reply for the moment and shoved it back into her purse until she could come up with something more suitable to mail back to the exchange student.

Being the church treasurer, Lydia looked at her watch and decided her next stop for the afternoon would be to swing by the church so she could catch up on some accumulated accounting work.

* * * * *

Lydia couldn't help but feel a little weird walking into her church with the stubborn remnants of her hangover still dancing through her body. After hearing some of the gossip about other members of the parish however, Lydia figured a little overindulgence with the bottle was way down the list of indiscretions and she walked through those stained glass doors, burdened with only a modest amount of shame.

As Lydia sat down at her makeshift desk to organize a few financial statements, she made small talk with two older ladies that were milling about.

"Are you and Jefferey coming to the Thursday night social tomorrow night, Lydia?" one of the elderly women, Patrice, asked.

"Ahhh..." Lydia replied, without looking up from her figures. "I haven't even really thought about it Patrice...Jefferey's out of town on business...I don't guess I have anything else planned."

"Reverend Dudley is bringing in an associate of his to speak about warding off temptation and vice," Myrtle, the other older woman, offered sanctimoniously, as if she sarcastically thought many in the church's flock needed to hear what the speaker had to say.

"We could ALL use a little help with that Myrtle," Lydia answered, looking up at the sour older woman as if to say, "don't throw rocks..."

Looking down at the kinder older woman, Lydia said," Yeah Patrice...mark me down...I'll be there...it'll give me a chance to socialize with a few of the folks I haven't seen in a while...Jefferey's always in such a hurry to leave after the speaker finishes."

Lydia dropped her head and went back to work as the two older ladies shuffled off to another part of the church. Fiddling with her pencil, thankful not to have anymore distractions, a bullet of an idea burst through the haze of Lydia's slowly subsiding malaise.

"Humm...Church meeting tomorrow night...Jeff's out of town...I don't have any other plans...I wonder if what's his name...yeah Kwame...if Kwame would like to come down," Lydia coyly wondered to herself as she tapped her pencil led on the desk. "Why not invite him down to meet a few of us...that's much better than a postcard and this way everyone in the church can get the same feeling of accomplishment as I did when I got his letter."

The first thing Lydia Benson did when she returned home, an hour or so later, was look Kwame's number back up, and this time he was actually in his dorm room when she called.

After a little shy hemming and hawing, the young Kenyan boy tentatively accepted Lydia's open invitation to come down and sit in with the members of Lydia's church as well as the opportunity to eat some home cooked food at the pot luck buffet afterwards.

* * * * *

What Lydia Benson saw when she turned her head towards the back of the church nearly took her breath away.

Hearing several members of her congregation behind her audibly gasp when they saw Kwame walk into the room, Lydia instantly felt two inches tall because of the awkwardness the exchange student must of felt when he walked through the church doors.

A smooth, dark black face in a sea of white, the 18 year old boy took four steps inside the room before Lydia and her welcoming party met him in the center aisle.

"You must be Kwame," Lydia exclaimed, offering her slightly shaking hand to the Kenyan student, who in return shook it.

The contrast between the two couldn't be more apparent. The lanky but broad shouldered teenager was easily a foot taller than the 5 foot 2 inch, 41 year old woman. He was also as dark skinned as anyone Lydia had ever met before and the sheer texture and color of his hand gripping hers was as vivid and striking as anything she had even seen.

"I'm Lydia...Lydia Benson," she gushed proudly. "Welcome to our church!"

Even though Lydia had informed several of her closer friends in the church that a special guest might be coming, the sight of a young black man standing passively in front of the churches doors, smiling nervously and shaking hands with several members of the parish was quite a surreal scene.

After leading Kwame around the room, introducing him to as many people as possible along with explaining the wonderful reason why she had invited him, everyone took their seats for the sermon that finally ended at a quarter till 9.

At the conclusion of the speech, the now starving churchgoers crowded around the buffet table set up by several of the ladies who had each brought a covered dish.

"Eat up, Kwame," a few of the ladies chided, noticing the lack of bulk on his tall frame.

"This is the first real food I've had since I got off the plane from Kenya," Kwame added sweetly in his thick, broken English. "Thank You!"

Kwame Noel must have uttered the words, "Thank You" at least a dozen times during his stay at the church and he was such a hit that several of the parish members begged him to go to the front of the room and say a few words.

Unable to fend off the jovial offers, the 18 year old college Freshman finally relented and went up to the banquet room podium even though he didn't have a clue what he was going to say.

Watching the shy, almost gangly young man take his place behind the microphone, Lydia felt a strange, almost tangible sense of accomplishment as Kwame made a brief but heartfelt and eloquent statement.

Feeling genuine concern for how difficult the setting was and how out of place he must have felt, Lydia was struck by Kwame's natural poise. "He seems like the son of a business man instead of a peasant," she couldn't help thinking to herself.

When the church filled with the pleasant sounds of shouts and applause as Kwame headed back to his place beside Lydia, Mrs. Benson internally bubbled with pride, realizing she was the one responsible for bringing such a find to the congregation's meeting.

* * * * *

Once most everyone had said their goodbye's and filed out of the dining area, Lydia looked over at Kwame and saw the obvious haggard, just been put through the washer, look in his dark eyes.

"Wasn't expecting anything quite like that," Kwame beamed with exhausted pride.

"You were great," Lydia immediately replied. Looking at her watch, she added, "Looks like we should probably be getting out of here...its getting late."

"Yes Ma'am...I think the last bus back to campus comes by here at 10 o'clock...and its a really long walk back to the dorm from here," Kwame huffed matter-of-factly.

"Nonsense," Lydia burst out passionately. "You are not taking a city bus back to campus...I'm parked right outside...I know UMBC's campus like the back of my hand...and please...call me Lydia...OK?" the 41 year old church treasurer offered in a motherly tone.

Kwame certainly didn't mind the offer. Riding the city buses or walking the streets of Baltimore after dark were two things he had found out weren't the best of ideas.

Smiling broadly, Kwame gladly accepted Lydia's offer, "That would be wonderful, thank you very much."

* * * * *

Sitting behind the wheel of her silver BMW, streaking through the Baltimore night, Lydia couldn't help but notice Kwame's curious posture when she looked over at the young man in the passenger seat.

For the next few miles, Lydia alternated her focus back and forth from the road to Kwame, who was still restless beside her. Not wanting the young African student to feel as if he were a lab experiment by the way she was silently watching him, Lydia tried her best to make as much small talk as she could as she drove him home.

"I think you were a big hit at the meeting tonight...it really filled everyone, including myself, with a great feeling of appreciation for all the work we do...to see that it really does make a difference," Lydia honestly offered.

That comment brought a smile to Kwame's youthful face as he shifted his gaze towards Lydia in the driver's seat.

"It has certainly been an enlightening night for me as well," Kwame continued, trying to stretch his long legs in the floorboard. "This is the first time I've ever been in a BMW."

"Really," Lydia replied, glad a conversation between the two strangers had been initiated. "Its a nice car...I could take it or leave it though. My husband Jefferey seems to like it...he always feels like he has to keep pace with his friends at the country club."

As her flip and snobbish comments about her attitude concerning the family's car hung in the air, Lydia immediately felt shallow for the way the words came out. Realizing Kwame probably hadn't even seen a BMW in person until he arrived in the States, she felt sorry for the way her seemingly innocuous comments sounded.

Looking over at Kwame to see if there was any hint of hurt in the way the statement was taken, Lydia was very relieved to see there was still a serene expression on his onyx like face. Tracing her eyes down the length of his seated body however, Lydia could see Kwame was still awkwardly fidgeting with his legs.

"If you need some leg room...you can ease the seat back some Kwame...there's a button on your right, "Lydia offered the 6 foot 2 inch young man, assuming that was the reason for his obvious discomfort.

"Nah Lydia...I've got plenty of room...I ahh...its just...ahh...I kind of should have used the bathroom before we left the church...no hurry though," Kwame replied meekly.

Realizing she could use a pitstop as well, Lydia decided to get off the next offramp. They were closer, by about 4 miles, to Benson's house than they were to the UMBC campus.

"I didn't want to say anything," Lydia told Kwame with a touch of embarrassment, "But I've kinda got to go to. Tell you what...to save us both the agony of having to hold it until we get across town, and so we don't have to take a chance on getting killed at one of these 7-11's, my house is just about a mile from here...why don't we just stop by there real quick?"

"Sounds real good to me," Kwame quickly came back, sighing with relief.

Glancing down at the clock, Lydia saw that it was almost 10:15. "It'll be nearly midnight before I get back from dropping him off...I guess there goes calling Jefferey tonight...and there goes another good night's sleep too," Lydia told herself ruefully, as the familiar drowsiness that descended on her at that time of the evening started to set in.

Trying her best to hold a yawn in, Lydia glanced over at Kwame once again and couldn't help but notice his wide eyed, wondrous gaze as he watched the seemingly nonstop array of 200,000 - 500,000 dollar homes whiz by at 45 mph as they neared the Benson homestead.

"WOW...is this really where you live?" Kwame exclaimed as Lydia wheeled her Beamer into the dark house's driveway.

"Yep," Lydia answered proudly, knowing just how much hard work went into making her home what it was.

"Its a mansion," Kwame continued.

"Well...not quite," Lydia smiled, looking over at Kwame and seeing that he was still visibly rubbing his legs together. "We'll be inside in less than a minute...I just have to enter the security code, unlock the door and we are in."

Once inside, Lydia switched on the living room light allowing the immaculately kept house to fill with vivid color. A quick sigh of admiration burst from Kwame's lips when he saw his surroundings. "What a beautiful room," he gleamed as Lydia pointed him towards the spiral staircase.

"Just go right up the steps and to your right...its the second door you come to. I'd let you use the bathroom down here but we have to get the plumber in to fix it," Lydia offered kindly. "Take your time...I can hold it for a few seconds."

Watching Kwame disappear up the steps, Lydia felt even more shallow after seeing the young African boy's wondrous reaction to the ritzy layout of the Benson house. Lydia felt an odd need to share with the poor young man her own hardscrabble upbringing and how it took a lot of work to achieve such a fine life. Each time however she thought about explaining the "American Dream" to him, Lydia knew she would inevitably come across as condescending.

Listening to the sounds of Kwame's heavy footsteps pass overhead, it struck Lydia just how empty and quiet the house was. Even though she had heard Jefferey walk upstairs many times, the young man up there now was easily 4 inches taller and 30 pounds heavier than her husband.

Not even realizing that a rash of goosebumps had raised over her shoulders and back, Lydia rubbed her dry lips together, tempted to make a quick trip to her husband's liquor cabinet, just as she had done the night before. Without even taking one step in that direction however, Lydia's consciously reminded herself that she still had to drive the 18 year old boy home.

Hearing Kwame's footsteps come to rest directly above her in the upstairs bathroom, Lydia literally shivered when she heard his pounding urine stream collide with the water in the bowl.

"Damn," Lydia thought, as she paced the spacious living room. "He must have had to go really bad... it sounds like a racehorse peeing up there."

Feeling her feet beneath her throb from being in high heels for over 5 straight hours, Lydia made a quick internal note to change into a more comfortable pair of shoes when she went upstairs.

"Why do I even think I can wear these things anymore?" Lydia asked herself as she turned to make her way up the steps, assuming Kwame would be finished with his business in a matter of seconds.

Without thinking twice, Lydia started up the carpeted staircase for her turn to pee. As she rounded the last turn however, about 4 steps from the top, Lydia suddenly realized Kwame hadn't closed the door to the bathroom completely.

Stopping dead in her tracks, Lydia instantly bowed her head and waited for the young man to finish. "He just must have been in a hurry to get in there...no big deal," Lydia told herself as she waited, twirling her gold necklace between her fingers to pass the time.

Standing there with her arms folded and eyes glued on the floor for several seconds, when the sounds of the toilet's whoosh roared through the silent house, Lydia instinctively looked up.

When Lydia cast her gaze upwards, the first thing to catch her eyes was the mirrored light from the crack in the bathroom door reflecting in the glass of a picture frame on the other side of the hall.

Even though the slightly distorted image was reversed, Lydia could clearly see Kwame still standing at the commode, his limp penis hanging down at a grotesquely vivid length from the opening in his pants, as he shook its heavy girth like a fat hose to get all the urine out of it.

A vocal "GAAAAAA", escaped Lydia's lips before she was able to get her hands up to cover her mouth. Stunned, her brain desperately signaled her neck muscles to turn away from what she was seeing in the reflection but her temporary paralysis held.

Tettering as she stood there on the edge of the step, Lydia face was flushed from the sight of the unbelievable club-like appendage hanging from the boy's dress pants.

When Kwame nonchalantly lifted his manhood and shoved it back into his slacks, zipping his pants up quickly behind it, Lydia had to flail her arms out to balance herself from falling as her heels dipped off the edge of the step.

By the time Kwame had washed his hands in the sink, dried them off and prepared to exit the bathroom, Lydia had regained enough composure to stand her ground and wait for the teenager to call down and say he was done.

Lydia pulled her quivering hands away from her mouth and patted her chest reassuringly as she forced her weak legs to climb the remaining stairs. Trying to paint an expression of assumed confidence on her face, Lydia lifted her eyes when she sensed Kwame's presence at the top of the steps.

"God...I feel better," Kwame sighed when he saw Lydia round the last spiral of the staircase.

"I'll just be a second in there myself...K...K...Kwame...tell you what...there is a TV either downstairs in the den or right down there in the bedroom...the maid always watches it in there...you're welcome to. Just make yourself at home," Lydia offered with shaken kindness as she passed the towering black boy and disappeared into the bathroom.

Closing the door behind her, Lydia collapsed backwards and let the door support her weight for a few moments as she collected her breath. "Get that out of your mind...right now, "Lydia angrily told herself, but in the classic case of telling somebody not to think about a pink elephant, the vision of the 18 year old's penis hanging down lewdly in his hand, would not leave the shuddering 41 year old churchgoing woman alone.