TWO SHIPS DOCKED AT NOON©

TWO SHIPS DOCKED AT NOON©
By Agnes B. Levine


The boiling noon sun, yellow, not orange, high in the sky. Praise His name. I made it to my destination. The Coca-Cola machine outside of Dale's Crabs in the northern suburbs. Sweat beading in the nape of my locks and shaven pits. The cool white cotton, sleeveless shirt was sweaty under my voluptuous breasts. It was white this morning, but dingy white now. My three-shaded, window-paned, denim skirt still allowed a sexy breeze across my brown-toned lap as I swung my short legs over the gray wooden picnic bench. Whew!

Psssst! The refreshing, cool sound of soda escaping from the cold can. "Shit." It ain't as cold as the can, but what the hell. The fizz was all I needed to be free from the heat and the rich, spicy aroma of Dale's crabs will get me the rest of the way.

The gray wooden table vibrated and I looked up and across the angled view at the chocolate big-haired, small-framed woman who had just flopped on the far end of the other grey wooden picnic bench. Her make-up was sweaty and matted, but her ship just docked too, so who cared.
"Hey, how you doing?" She asked politely, but not sincerely.

"Fine, and you?" I responded cordially, half-heartedly. I got thoughts to think. She got issues to issue. No time for strangers' conversations when our ships will be pulling out in a matter of twenty minutes or so.

She whipped out a Newport and flicked her lighter. I gulped more warm soda and inhaled deeply. Two aromas now. I love Newports. I love crabs. Old Bay seasoning, too. Newports. Coca-Cola. Stay ship.

"Hot as hell again, ain't it?" I asked.

"You ain't lying," she answered and inhaled again. I watched her manicured nails hold it firmly. I wrapped mine around the can of coke.

"It's gonna rain tomorrow, thank goodness," she said.

"Oh, no! Really!" I faked a disastrous cry when actually I could have cared less. I was in a somber mood.

"Yeah, heard it on the news. Like all I need is rain tomorrow. Ipromised my twins I'd take them to AFRAM tomorrow," she explained.

“That ain't no reason not to go," I said and slid the red, empty can away from me.

"Gurl, I'm looking for excuses," she laughed. "Don't burst my bubble!" More laughter. She flicked her cigarette butt off at a distance and glanced at her shiny gold watch with the black leather band. "I should be ashamed of myself for sitting up here taking a slick day and spending money I don't have on crabs. You know? I don't even know where I'm gonna get my rent money from and I been ducking Rent-A-Center all week. I'm playing hookie, but I don't care. I just don't, you know? I laid around all morning moping and I said, what-the-hell, and here I am getting crabs. And I'm gonna go home and eat these damn crabs all by myself before I get my twins and I decided I ain't worryin’ 'bout no rent, 'bout no rental appliances, ‘bout no nothing t’day. You know what I mean?" Then she shuffled herself off the bench in one moist-eyed sigh of relief at unburdening her passengers.

"Do I know what you mean? I don't even have a job to take a slick day from! Geez! I remember them rental appliance store days, and you get all the way to the last month before you own it and they try everything to repo their shit! Man, they took my refrigerator back and I went weeks with a cooler and ice, but you know what -- I ain't never had but a week's worth of food anyway, so I just said fuck 'em!" I said.

Our shipwrecked selves laughed our hearts out. "That's what I said when they left another message this morning. That's what I said to the phone company last week when they turned my phone off. I mean, damn, I got a cell phone anyway!" More passengers unloaded. Her spirits were lifting again. It was in her voice tone. It was in the way she snatched up another Newport. It was in the way it spilled down the table onto me. I counted out change for another warm soda. Neither of us concerned about the time, Dale finished steaming our unaffordable crabs. The crabs served as our therapeutic self-gratification to ease the frustrations of survival.

"Then VISA cancelled my credit card and I can't write a check no where, no how," she added with laughter. “Fuck ‘em.”

"A check! Credit card? What are they again? I'm lucky if the pay-phones take my quarters and I can pay attention at Social Services!" I said through weary laughter.

"Gurrrlll...." She was in hysterics. "And I am so sick of eviction notices. It ain't like I ain't trying, you know what I mean? Shit! My niece does my nails and hair for a l’il somethin,’ somethin.’ I work every damn day and overtime and there's never a way out." She confessed.

"Who you telling?" I shot back. "I used to wallpaper my walls with eviction notices and turn-offs, then I ran out of glue. Now I frame doctor bills and skip meals so I can fill prescriptions." It felt good to testify.

Oh, my companion and I were laughing hysterically all over the bench as a few white passers-by looked on curiously. We had no business there in the first place. Not at that hour. And having secret fun, too. What was going on?

Finally, our therapy session was interrupted by a twenty- something Caucasian female. Adorned in a long white apron dusted with Old Bay Seasoning, red shorts, and a white tee-shirt, she appeared through the doorway.

"Are you ladies waiting on crabs? A dozen and half and a dozen?" She asked. She was totally oblivious to our need to unburden our weary cargo.

"Yes," we said in unison and began collecting ourselves from the gray wooden picnic bench. I paid for my order first and immediately pricked myself with one of the pointy little creatures in the big brown, steaming hot bag. A reminder of my reality. This selfish want would hurt financially.

Being sisterly, I turned and touched my nameless friend on the arm tenderly. "Since they say we all look alike, I'll see you and the twins tomorrow." I whispered and winked my eye.
"Gurrll, stop! You know we will. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. Andtomorrow, love ya. Take care."




"Cooling Well Water: A Collection of Work From An African-American Bi-Polar Woman."
ISBN 0-9754612-06
www/myspace.com/agnesblevine
www.authorsden.com/agnesblevine
www.blackplanet.com/agnesblevine
http://www.levineoliverpublisher.com/