But it was the grief that got him.
That raw, gnawing pain that most humans experienced at least once in their life, some more than others, changing them forever. He had to see it over and over again, in its ugliest, and most vulnerable form. He heard the stories behind how it all came to be. That was far more potent and important than the death of flesh and blood.
Axel rinsed his hair, wrung it dry with a few hard squeezes of his hands looped around the long, heavy tresses, then turned the water off. He stepped out of the shower, dried off, and wrapped a black towel around his waist.
Music was playing in his bedroom, and he could hear it better now that the shower was turned off: ‘Goldlink,’ by Crew, an extended version on the WBTF The Beat 107.9 FM. Making his way there, he never got over the beauty of the multi-colored lights. Several of the windows throughout his home were made of colorful stained glass. He’d installed them himself after obtaining them from an old Catholic church that had been doing renovations after being struck by lightning. He walked across the room, suffused in sunny streams of red, gold, and green filtering through. Opening his dresser, he grabbed a pair of boxer-briefs from the drawer.
Jesus with a halo was held by his mother, Mary, both looking down upon him, along with several saints, whose eyes seemed to focus on his movements. Thoughts of Ms. Florence came to mind.
Since the evening of that dream, he’d on occasion had trouble sleeping. He’d wake up abruptly with no sound reason as to why. Neither Legend nor Caspian had returned his calls.
I can’t control that. I can’t make ’em call me back. Is she angry with me about that?
He’d thought of a million justifications to categorize it all as a dream and nothing more, but that didn’t explain the white feather on his floor, and the odd sensation he had when he first looked into English’s eyes. When he realized she was a history buff, that drew him to her even more. Ms. Florence had also had a sophistication about her, despite her often-whimsical attire, as well as knowledge, intelligence, and the ability to attract others to her. He was coming to terms with something he’d never considered long enough to admit to himself, let alone anyone else.
He’d had a crush on Ms. Florence, and somehow, someway, this played on his future attraction to certain women. Hence, he got rock hard when in the presence of a gorgeous nerd. He shook the thoughts away and continued with his grooming. He bobbed his head to the music as he sprayed on deodorant and cologne, discarded the towel on his bed, and put on the rest of his clothing—a dark red long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and a pair of black and white Adidas. Grabbing the towel once more, he dried off his hair, then stood in front of his dresser mirror while running a fine-toothed comb through his beard. When he was done, he gathered his tresses and arranged them into a low, loose manbun.
He picked up his phone to check movie times at a local theater, planning to follow up with English and ask if she wanted to catch a flick. He was feeling her, enjoying their time together. They’d been out a couple more times, and he was definitely interested in Dr. English Price. His reservations about her were gone, and she was no doubt a viable candidate. There was just one problem…
She plays hard to get, and I’m tired of it. We’re not kids… too many games. It’s getting old. He still hadn’t gotten invited inside her house, and she kept skirting around coming to his home. Still, although he was a little sexually frustrated, she was a bit of a tease, so it was just a matter of time before she caved in. The woman had enjoyed wearing tight and short clothing for their more recent dates, playing with him, kissing him all over his face, flirting, saying sexual suggestive things, letting him feel on her ass and suck on her neck. He had her practically drooling in his truck as he kissed and held her, but she still managed to gain her composure and wiggle away.
He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her—there was no way she could keep this charade up much longer, as far as he was concerned.
As he got online, he noticed several missed calls from a number he didn’t recognize, and someone had left a voicemail. He played the message, putting it on speaker as he gathered some clothing from the floor that he’d tossed there the night before.
“Hey, Axel, this is Gee. I’m callin’ from work. The gas station. Look, some guy was around here asking about you. Wonderin’ if I knew you and askin’ where you hang out. Never seen him before, and neither had Henry. I told him I didn’t know who he was talking about. I didn’t like his vibe at all. Call me.”