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A Life On a Boat, by D. Hamilton, ( A True Story by a friend of Yumi Kito’s)

Photo: Interior of Great Lakes Coffee Brewing Co. in Detroit

I don’t want to end it here because the story isn’t over. Darrell would not only gain the love of Alana in short order. But there was the issue of her pregnancy, and her swelling lymph nodes. In the case of the swelling lymph nodes in her neck and armpits, Darrell thought these might be early signs of cancer. So he picked up a book at Midnight Special (now closed) on macrobiotic diet for Cancer. Even with these challenges Alana made the Dean’s List. From the instructions within that book she and Darrell planned all of their meals.

Darrell bought a 1974 Volkswagon Bug and tuned it up with a beach friend named Dennis. This opened up the couples world. As the spring turned to summer, and the semester wound to a close Alana’s father, Dr. Steve Lennquist, visited and treated them both to a day at Catalina. He was so impressed with Darrell’s charm and wit that he invited him to visit their home with Alana for the summer. All expenses were paid! He referred to Darrell as a “very good man,” when speaking to Alana.

In June of 1988 Darrell and Alana flew to her home Linkoping, which is in southern Sweden. Before they set sail for Norway they celebrated Midsommer Holiday, on Harstena Island, which occurs on the 21st of that month. Alana advised Darrell that something special was going to happen to him because he celebrated it with them. To this day he does not know what she meant.

Next he sailed with the family in the Baltic sea toward Norway, and received a few lessons in navigation and map reading, along with piloting a 36 foot Slope sailboat. But the sea water’s became harry and weather reports were grim. So they turned back. Darrell spent the rest of the summer at the family home painting parts of the interior so that he could return to Los Angeles with enough money to pay for rent and fall enrollment. Everything worked out perfectly.

The entire trip was wonderful, but it his return to Los Angeles that presented him with a couple of unwanted challenges. The first one had to do with Jay who was still only 19 years old at the time. Darrell referred to him as his little brother because Jay’s birthday and age was the same as his younger brother’s, Carl Patrick Hamilton. Carl Patrick died the day after he was born from birth complications. The two of them had a great deal in common so Darrell anointed him his baby brother. Before their trip to Sweden Darrell gave Jay the keys to his studio apartment in Venice, which he and Alana moved to prior to leaving.

When Darrell returned alone, he found a big ugly black oil spot in the middle of their main room carpet, which was where he an Alana studied and slept. Jay went over there to address the issue and told Darrell that the stain was motor oil from an engine he and his friend were trying to repair. It was the first time Darrell had every yelled at Jay for bringing a motor in the unit to work on, and leaving black toxic oil on the rug. He was sure he would never see his rental deposit again when he and Alana moved. Darrell that there was and issue with the telephone. He had requested Pac Bell to temporarily turn off his land-line until the day of this return. When he attempted make an outbound call there was not signal on the line.

That was not Jay’s doing, however. That is all I learned about the situation. The rest of the story is in Darrell’s laptop. He promised to let me read the remainder of the story when we meet again. It was already late afternoon and he wanted go to Wholefoods for dinner before it become to late. He said he wouldn’t publish the rest of this love story on Social Media it is a part of an book. We exchanged telephone numbers, shared a hug, and said goodbye.

Excerpts - FINI

A Life On a Boat, Pt. VI, by D. Hamilton (a True Story)

Photo: Interior of the Rose Cafe Original Seating 1980′s.

As the weather became warmer, and the sun dominated the sky the Marine layer from the ocean obscured the view of people who rose early. Darrell and Alana rode bicycles to school Monday thru Friday on the bicycle path at the beach. They exited the bike path and entered the thoroughfare at Pico Boulevard until they were able to lock their bikes up at Santa Monica College.

They stayed as close together as possible for the sake of security. Over the next few weeks Darrell would pick up the telephone at home and find several answer machine recordings from Mike. But he didn’t answer them. After consulting with Professor Phillips of the Psychology Department, it was better to extinguish all interaction with Mike. This meant that Alana would have to avoid feeling sorry or guilt over leaving her past lover and put him the past.

Darrell had a number of loyal friends. Some of them were Ethiopian, a few of them were Central American, some were white Americans. He explained the new situation to all of his closet friends and realized quickly how supportive they were. One day Mike went up to the little campus sneaking behind trees and hedges until he found the building that contained the French classes. Anytime Darrell had spoken to him he used a french broken accent or Franglaise as Darrell explained to Alana. He managed to get close to Darrell’s intermediate class. His mistake was that he asked one of Darrell’s buddies if he was in the class. Darrell’s friend told him he didn’t know Darrell. Afraid he might be spotted Mike retreated from the building uncertain of who he was looking for. After class the friend told Darrell about the visitor.

The next day Darrell placed two 12″ inch galvanized pieces of pipe in his Eddie Bauer shoulder briefcase. He called the Santa Monica Police Department and learned that they could do nothing unless Alana or he were actually being harmed. This was bad news for Alana who was deeply worried when she learned Mike had been to the campus. After they rode to campus at 8:00 a.m. Darrell went directly to security and explained the situation. They were very familiar with him and trusted that he wasn’t making the situation up. They also believed that Mike had left harassing calls on Darrell’s home phone. But they were limited to doing anything like restraining MIke from entering the campus unless he were active in a crime. Like battery. Undaunted Darrell showed the Security Director his two pipes,along with the photo of Mike, Alana had given him, and explained what would happen to Mike if he had any intention of hurting he or Alana.

The Security Director explained to Alana who was with Darrell at that time that it might be helpful if she call her former boyfriend and explain the probability of getting his brains beaten out if he tried anything foolish. “Don’t say anything that might invoke violence, just tell him that she had gone to security and the Santa Monica police and left a copy of his photo with both.”

Darrell didn’t like the idea of her contacting Mike, what could he do? Mike had persisted in calling, leaving irresponsible messages that would levy suspicion against himself it the situation escalated into violence. The police thought Mike wouldn’t do anything simply because he was an actor, he had gotten behind on his utility bills, his rent had become chronically late, and on those factors he should have expected a girlfriend from an affluent Euro-family to leave him for the sake of the discomfort and stress that would arise. People intent on doing harm to other’s just do it, they don’t hide behind trees, and leave a dozen messages on the answer machine.

Nevertheless Alana made the call later that day after school. She thought MIke was cool about it. She followed the instructions of the Security Director and didn’t mention that Darrell and his friends were waiting for Mike. Mike thought that Alana was empathetic toward him, and wanted to be helpful. In truth she was terrified, and the throbbing in her neck and armpit aggravated her again.

About a week later during the weekend as Darrell sat at the old oak desk in a Captain’s rocking chair studying the phone rang. He answered. It was a woman who called herself Charlene White. She claimed to have a head-shot of Darrell and her Art Director for a model and actor’s magazine wanted to put Darrell on the cover! Darrell was unenthusiastic over the prospect. First of all he wasn’t a model, second of all he had given up acting to return to school full-time to study Medicine, and was serious about it. Third, he hadn’t sent out a head-shot to anyone in four years. At that time he sent it to a half dozen agents. He told Charlene that he wasn’t interested.

Like a pro salesperson Charlene didn’t take no for an answer and mentioned the perks of having Darrell’s photo published on the cover of the monthly magazine. Darrell had learned enough about show-business to disavow any interest in being a part of it. Charlene accepted his rejection but wasn’t deterred. Later that night while in bed Darrell asked Alana if she knew Charlene White. Alana thought carefully for a moment and said “no”. Afterward she and Darrell fell into a comfortable sleep until dawn the next morning.

It was at breakfast over fried eggs, ham, and sliced potatoes that Alana spooked Darrell with a scream. Her body jolted and rocked the little kitchenette table. “Did you say the woman’s name was Charlene?

“Yeah, Darrell responded with a mouth full of food. Charlene White”

“Charlene White was Mike’s old girlfriend. She always resented me because she blamed me for taking Mike from her.”

“Charlene was trying to lure Darrell to a building in Century City away from the campus, campus security, and his friends,” he told her. "Well, I told her no I wasn’t interested and I meant it. If she calls again let me talk to her. Got to give Mike credit, he’s tenacious. But he’s still a loser.” Overall the situation made Alana uncomfortable, but she kept her cool, like Darrell.”

A Life On a Boat, By D. Hamilton, Pt. V, (A True Story)

Photo: Venice, CA, canals

On there way to the Rose Cafe, Alana continued to talk about what a nice gentleman Mike was. Four years before he made a very positive impression upon her. When her father told her what he thought of Mike, it gave her the impression that her father was prejudiced, which he wasn’t. But that was what she thought and decided to rebel against her father’s wish that she’d come home to Sweden. She didn’t wish to go back to Sweden yet, but now being home with her family didn’t seem so farfetched.

When Alana was born her father, Steven, had wanted a boy. She would learn as she grew up that her academic excellence, and ambitious behavior, were frowned upon by her father. For a while she tried being a boy, but gave that up when she realized that she liked boys, and from an intellectual standpoint she could compete with them. Eventually she became tired of Steven’s favoritism toward her two younger sisters, and criticism toward her. When she turned 18 she applied for a student Visa, school loans, bought a one-way ticket to Los Angeles, and set out on her own.

Steven was a dominant old-fashioned patriarch, much like his father and his grand-father. Both had been high-ranking officers in the Swedish Royal Navy. While Steven had served the minimum two-year mandatory enlistment in the Navy also he sought to continue his education in Medical School and worked feverishly hard to become one of Northern Europe’s best endocrinologist. He could be a dominant force to reckon with where family issues were concerned.

Alana and Darrell had ordered large chicken salads after grabbing those little round tables with the high chairs attendees were accustomed to at the Rose. After eating half his salad Darrell mentioned psychological term; “Distancing”. Alana inquired the meaning of it.

Distancing is what siblings do to get away from their family. Only they don’t always no the reason for going so far away. The excuse can be higher education, work training, travel. but deep down the reasons are psychological. “I’ve distanced myself from my family nucleus, because of some ongoing problems, someday before Mother Hamilton dies I will have to return to face them, he said.

“Why, Alana asked.”

“Well, I haven’t thought it through. I only learned about the term last semester. I guess, for me, getting away from Detroit, and reaching for higher goals, where the competition is stiffer was my excuse.”

“What is your goal,” she asked with a mouth full of pasta and white cheddar sauce?

“I tell people I returned to school to become a medical doctor, but I love writing novels, magazine articles, business, reports, poems, lyrics, anything to to put the best food on the table, and provide for my family.” Darrell took a swig from his glass of Orangeboom beer. “I’ve published a few poems, written a few short-stories, but it isn’t putting food on the table, and I haven’t met anyone who wants to marry me. Taking care of Mr. Day is my Ace-In-the-Hole for the time being. That is why I returned to college. I think a University structure is good for me right not. Since I’ve returned I have had to rewrite my first essays in English I and II honors classes or fail! I didn’t realize being a serious writer could be so complicated.” He lit a cigarette, but he didn’t drag on it. He seldom did. Then he put a cap-on-the-bottle of their topic by telling Alana that, when she realizes why she really moved so far away she will likely return to resolve the issues. “Freud wrote that many adult psychological problems begin in adolescence with a parent. I’d say your relationship with your father could shed light on resolving your problems with him. Maybe your mother also.”

Alana became quiet and ate. Darrell ordered another beer. There was more he could tell her about Distancing. Hell, of 45 million people who lived in L.A. there were millions who had run away from home for all kinds of reasons. Which is why his primary Psychology teacher, Mr. Phillips believed in conjunction with Distancing, that L.A. gets all the losers. By her having the courage to leave Mike her proverbial psychological cauldron had been tipped upside down and some of the refuse had emptied out. Being emptied provided her with room to take in new knowledge. Somehow he knew his relationship with her may not have seemed like a rebound. His earnest charm, and calm demeanor, gave her hope of having finally met the man of her life.

After eating dinner a fog was setting in. They walked barefoot in the cooling sand, hand in hand. “A kiss for desert, Alana required softly?” Darrell obliged her again and again. Noticing her large nipples becoming erect from the cooler breeze off the ocean. When it became impossible for them to see more than ten feet ahead of them Darrell decided it was time to get back into the house. “The men are going to come, he warned.”

“What men was he talking about, she asked.”

“When there is a heavy fog the fags come down to beach and meet each other. I guess they do it because they have nowhere else to go. And its difficult to see what they are doing. It’s best we leave or take the chance of bumping into some lurid activity. It’s too much for my young, innocent brain, he joked.”

Back at the house they finished their evening by watching television. The entire day had been one of discovery for them both. Darrell had never had a girlfriend, who had become his roommate without a great deal of heartache. Alana had never had a boyfriend/roommate who talked to her with as much intelligence, and listened to her without becoming a primate. It easy to think that the trauma was all over...but...

10 p.m. on the dot, Mike called after they had crawled into bed together. The lights were out, Mr. Day was asleep, the other caretaker was in his room. It was quiet. With the bedroom windows slightly open Darrell could hear the evening waves coming into the shoreline at the beach. It always lulled him to sleep. But tonight he would have to deal with Mike or not. He decided not to ever deal with him. He whispered to Alana who it was and motioned his first finger over his lips for her to stay quiet. He was very cordial but firm with Mike. He lied and told him that Alana wasn’t there. Jay dropped her off to a elderly couple down the street who needed a caretaker. So he assumed she’s doing fine, but he couldn’t give out their number. She isn’t my lover, she’s a friend, and I only see her on campus two days week. “Now I have an exam early in the morning and I need to get some sleep, Mike. He hung up and pulled the land-line cord out of the jack.

Having occasional insomnia made it necessary for him to be abrupt to anyone who disturbed his ability to sleep, including girlfriends. But she gave him a few more kisses around his neck and ears, murmured a few sweet-nothings in a sexy breath. He became relaxed and aroused. He put her warm hand between his legs. Helping her stroke and caress his animal. He kissed and caressed, pinched and plucked her from head to toe. The toe sucking caused her legs to draw upward and he nose-dived in-between her legs where a bush of blond curly hair buried his lips. His tongue drew wet invisible angles and curves around her pussy. In time the sheet and mattress beneath her were soaking wet. He fetched a clean towel to place beneath her after. She urged him not to use the prophylactic he had taken out of the old side table drawer. She wanted to feel him skin to skin. Foolishly he obliged her by putting the prophylactic back in the drawer. He humped her like a dog. Fast and deep until he skirted potent sperm into her as she gripped his butt with her hands. Then he rolled over to his side of the bed. Breathing deeply until asleep. Unaware that he had gotten her pregnant.

(To be continued)

A Life On a Boat, by D. Hamilton, A True Story.

photo: Residence in Linkoping, Sweden

Darrell smelled like lots of cigarettes, when Alana burst into the front door. He jumped up from the old sofa and welcomed her with a big hug. She draped herself all over him. Trembling, as tears and mucus dripped down her nose and around her mouth. Her face was a smeared with mascara and lipstick, which had mixed into a smudge of black and red around her cheek. But she didn’t care. She was still trying to calm herself. But couldn’t. Not until she arrived to her new home 12 miles west of where she had been living. There was tension along the side of her neck, and in one of her armpits. For the moment she would ignore it. She sang an overture of mournful thank you’s, to Darrell.

After settling down with a beer Darrell whisked her off to his bedroom. He gave her a clean wash-cloth and towel and some French-tilled soap. They spoke very little, and they kissed a lot. She was in physical need of affection having avoided sex with Mike for months due growing aggression. They sat on the bed and talked caressing each other all the while. Her sniffs had fewer snorts, and her draining sinuses had dried up during her second beer, which she sucked down. Eventually they stretched out on the bed together. They were hungry for each other. Darrell had not felt a kiss, nor a hug since his last girlfriend, and that was over 3 years before.

While necking and petting, squeezing, and rubbing each other with her clothing on the floor Alana admitted, “I’ve been a fool, Darrell. My father came out to visit Mike and me when we moved into together. He took Mike out for lunch and they had a man-to-man talk. Before my father went back to Sweden he told me, that Mike is the kind of man who hits his women, and he hates white people. I didn’t believe him. I was sick of his dominance, and his always being right.

Then Darrell asked her how old she was. “Twenty-three, she answered.”

“Well I’m thirty-two and when I was twenty-three and in love with my very first girlfriend I was a fool for love too. Our breaking up wasn’t as traumatic, but I guarantee it was just as hurtful. I thought she was the love of my life. I bought her two engagement rings because her father took the first one off her finger in an outrage, and never gave it back His anger was the result of nothing more than my having darker skin. None of her other relatives understood his commitment to bigotry. But that’s life. Everyone else in her family thought our getting married would be tough, but they believed we belonged together and should marry, rather than live in sin.”

“Hungry? Darrell asked after a brief pause.

“Yeah, but before we eat I need to wash up.”

“You can do anything you want. You know where the bathroom is. Knock yourself out. If you want you can put on one of my t-shirts, and shorts. There in the closet. Then we can walk over to the Rose Cafe for some coffee and dinner.

“Okay.” Then she long deep burp found its way out of her throat.

“ Thank goodness that didn’t come out of the other end,” Darrell said pinching his nose.

(To be Continued)

A Life On A Boat, by D. Hamilton, Pt. III ( A True Story)

The problem with planning the extraction of Alana from Mike’s apartment for a future date was that she needed to be removed from the danger that night. Mike was furious. Even though he didn’t know what she was up to, and hadn’t seen or talked to Darrell his psychic energy was working overtime. As soon as she walked into the apartment Mike wanted to know who Darrell was. Alana acted innocent. Mike showed her Darrell’s number on his Pac-Bell phone statement. He asked her to call it. She followed his instructions to appease him. To her surprise Darrell had changed his voice mail. To a French accent and a woman’s voice. He pronounced his name differently also; Dah-rail.

“I dialed a wrong number. I was trying to dial a study-partner at school. What’s the big deal, she muttered walking into the bedroom.”

“If I find out you’re fucking somebody else, swear to god I gonna...” Mike screamed. He threw a coffee cup at the wall for dramatic affect! It startled her for a moment. Suddenly courage surged through her and she began pulling her undies, active wear, and socks out of the chest drawers. Angrily she balled everything up and threw her things into plastic grocery bags. Dresses, blouses, pajamas, her tattered robe, sneakers, as much as she could take. She rumbled through the spacious apartment with limited furnishings as she did so.

“What the fuck! What are you doing? Packing, he asked vehemently?”

“That’s right, I’m leaving, she snorted.”

“How are you going to take care of yourself, ain’t got no job. Where you going to, Mike’s voice calmed a bit.”

As she went to the rotary phone he grabbed her shoulder. Alana jerked away thrusting his had off of her shoulder afraid that it was getting physical. “None of your business. You don’t care. You think I’m a punching bag, clumsily she dialed Darrell’s number, and had to redial due to her nervousness. Mike grabbed the phone from her had, but her grip was too tight and she held on. He slapped her on her ear. Alana began to cry silently. Darrell’s phone had already picked up the phone and could here them bickering. He repeated, “Hello, several times, however Alana had to kick Mike in the testicles as hard as she could in order to get him to back off. He was on the ground groaning, “bitch, I’ll kill you, fuckin’ bitch, Mike repeated in pain.

Finally Alana answered the phone sobbing almost unable to speak. “Hello, I want to leave as soon as possible, she said. Not wasting another second Darrell told her he was calling Jay. “Hold on as long as he can.” Then he hung up. To buy herself more time she kicked Mike in the testicles again 3 times, them stomped on his neck. “You fuckin’beech,” her foreign dialect took over her speech. Terrified she ran into the bedroom and locked the door. Mike groveled on the nappy carpet in excruciating pain.

Jay got the call to move out, and grabbed his keys. He had been nailing two and a half inch galvanized nails into the heaviest end of a Louisville slugger when he got the call. He threw on his old Army B.D.U jacket climbed into the old Pontiac he borrowed from his buddy. Twisted the ignition and stomped on the gas pedal. The good point about going to get Alana was that she didn’t live far away. By avoiding the main avenues and boulevards he zig-zagged up and down residential streets and made it to the 1950′s style apartment building in 15 minutes. To Alana it seemed like an hour. Jay could hear Mike yelling at her to come unlock the door. He walked through the entrance with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. His fist squeezed the bottom of the bat as he practiced a few swings.

At Mike’s door he realized crashing the door might be a mistake. Stay calm he thought. Be nice. He leaned the bat next to the door to free his hands. He knocked loud enough for him to be heard above the belligerent screams. Mike opened the door slightly.

“What, he asked Jay, his dark face a startling contrast between his skin and the glossy painted door frame.”

Jay was unhurried, deliberate, and surprisingly calm even after Mike opened the door for him to enter. He walked slowly looking around impressed with Mike’s massive biceps, “ I here to pick up Alana, he said in a phony Mexican dialect.” Alana yelled, “Darrell!”

Jay rotated over to an easy chair, pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Mike began laughing hysterically. Alana entered with living room with five plastic bags filled with clothing. Her hair was disheveled and her mascara a bit smeared, she sobbing and gasping for breath.

Mike stopped laughing for a moment to ask, “is this what you’re leaving me for.” “This is Darrell?” “Come on you can do better than this, Alana.”

Jay felt it was better to say as little as possible. Instead he pulled his drivers license out of his wallet and handed it politely to Mike. “I not Darrell, he squinted as the Camel cigarette smoke caused his left eye to tear.” My name is Allejondro Jamal Hernandez., he answered with a silent “J”. Giggling, Jay added, Darrell crazy jar-head, man.

Mike handed Jay his drivers license. “Let’s go, honey.” Quickly Alana marched out the door with little Jay, while they exited the building Mike followed saying things, like, “she has aids, man.” “She’s crazy, you’ll see Jay she’ll fuck you over too.”

As Mike talked loudly in an attempt to insult Alana. He noticed a white van in the entrance of the driveway to the apartment. It was dark and the windows to the van were tinted black. The silence was deafening. The passenger side window opened electronically and a tan hand dropped a half smoked cigarette. Next the engine started, and the tinted window drew to a close, while Jay threw Alana’s bags into the sedan, he climbed behind the drivers wheel. Mike had finally become silent unnerved by the white van. He assumed that Darrell must be behind the wheel frustrated that he could not see anything beyond the tint.

Meanwhile, as Jay sped through the same short-cuts he had used to get to her former apartment he was able to get onto the freeway going west to the Venice beach. He said nothing as Alana sobbed. She was really shaken up. Every time it seemed as if her crying would stop, another series of tears welled up from her. She tried to inhale deeply and managed to say, “I’m scared.”

Jay relaxed. He felt good. At least a damn good woman had been saved before it was too late. He was proud of himself and told her not to worry. She placed her soft white hand on his shoulder murmuring that she would try not to. Then she sobbed again.

Alana asked Jay if that was Darrell in the van as she turned around to look out of the back window, followed by peering into the side-view mirror.

Jay coughed, then told her, “I don’t know who that was, but did you see how scared Mike was when he saw that hand come out of the window?” “That surprised me too.”

(To be continued March 2nd, 2020.)

A Life On a Boat, by D. Hamilton pt. II (A true story)

After several encounters D. finally asked Alana for her phone number, but she mentioned that it might be better for her to take his number instead. She called him two days later. At that time she explained that she lived with a black man named Mike. Which is why she asked for D.’s number first. Afterward the two of them would instinctively coordinate their close encounters to converse more, and embrace each other publicly. Until one day Alana explained that she would have to break up with Mike before she had sex with D.

The reason she wanted to break up was quite simple. Mike had slapped her in public and humiliated her in the parking lot of a breakfast diner because she didn’t agree with Mike. That was the last straw. But with only a few hundred dollars left from her college loans, and being a foreign student she wasn’t sure how to separate herself from Mike quickly and forever. Until she met D. She was hopeful that D. would have the resources to help out. After class one spring day in Venice, CA. D. and Alana walked barefoot in the sand and talked.

D. listened to her carefully, like a father listening to one of his troubled daughter. Then, he spoke after she explained everything about she and Mike’s relationship. “First of all Mike has been abusing you emotionally for some time. He is hitting you now because you have become more independent. His hitting you could accelerate and become an all out battering, you know? Finally, this is a black man who hates white people.” He paused and looked out over the Pacific and squinted. He had the gaze of seaman who was accustomed to looking for far off shorelines.

“Do you want him to hit and beat you, Alana, D. asked?”

Alana’s face frowned, “what do you mean by that? I’m not that kind of woman, she snapped.”

“Good, then I will help you. There is room at the house where I live. I care for an elderly man, Mr. Day, who had a stroke. All the bedrooms are in use. You will have to sleep in my room with me. She nodded in agreement. When you are ready to leave call me. Before that pack clothing and toiletries. Pack them in plastic grocery bags if need be. I will call a friend who can help by driving over there and helping you leave.. Call during the day, not night-time and try to do it when Mike isn’t there. Otherwise he could get angry and hurt you. With that D. looked into her eyes, Alana seemed comforted despite longing to be free. “Will I need money, I only have $400.00, she said?” No. Don’t bring anything you don’t use. “I will be ready to leave on Saturday after 4:00 pm.,she replied.”

The house has everything. We can pick up other things later. “But bring you sleepwear, a robe, the old man and his other caretaker live at the house too. His son lives in the garage; he converted into an apartment. He buys groceries for us. When he see’s how good you look he will want to fuck you or get a blowjob, or force you to pay rent. So you need to dress appropriately when in the house especially when I go out on errands.” D. slid his arms around her trim waist and kissed her as the setting sun turned orange, and the tide rolled over their naked feet.

After he walked Alana to the house he lived in and introduced her to the other caretaker, and Mr. Day, who had lost his speech due to the stroke, he walked her to a nearby bus-stop on Lincoln boulevard and instructed her to take the Wilshire number 2 which would take her to UCLA, where she could transfer and take another bus back to her neighborhood. Then he raced back to his house just off the Speedway boardwalk, and called his friend Jay. It didn’t take long for Jay to agree that he would help. Naturally, he was curious as to Alana’s appearance. He wanted to know if he could come over and meet Alana before he put his life in danger? They agreed.

Alana’s class schedule wouldn’t allow her to visit D. at his house. But she could be available if Jay would come up to the college and meet them at lunch the next day. Jay agreed. After he met Alana, Jay seemed to ignore the danger he might be getting himself into. He thought Alana was so beautiful, and that D. deserved her, “a Cosmic gift, he laughed, punching D. simultaneously. She had supplied a picture of Mike who was 6′6″ 210 pounds and very well muscled, dark-skinned and chiseled. Jay was 5′7″ very slight, but not underfed, and had never lifted heavy in his life. He thought it was better for D. not to show himself to Mike, which worried Alana. She was certain D. could handle Mike, but Jay? D. assured her that Jay knows how to handle himself.

As providence would have it Mike began calling D.’s telephone that evening while he studied for his physiology exam. His number was a near-zone call. When he received his new phone bill it was printed on his statement. Alana didn’t know this when she called. And she had not arrived home yet. Mike asked for Darrell, which is D’s birth name. D. intuitively knew who it was, and said hello as if he were an old woman. Mike would return the call several times getting angrier each time. D. lied each time. “Wrong fucking number you asshole” He hung up on Mike again for the fourth time.

(To be continued next Monday, March 2nd, 2020.)

A Life On A Boat, D. Hamilton. (A friend and writer of Yumi Kito’s)

I walked into Great Lakes Coffee Co. The place which is one of shops affirming Detroit’s comeback. I sat at the window a couple of empty high-stools from a red-skinned, good-looking man with sunglasses, and a laptop. He busily typed as the sun slowly inserted itself into the previously overcast sky.

An acquaintance of his, whom I did not meet, walked up to him and in typical urban black colloquialisms, greeted him. Rather than shaking hands D. held out his fist. His friend balled his fist and they bumped knuckles. I had never really paid close attention to two minority men. I live in the suburbs only a few miles from the Detroit border. Anyway, D. caught me starring at them and grinned. He had a smile that looked like a million-bucks. And the whites of his eyes betrayed his age. They were clear like a newborns. I spoke to him and he held out his fist again. So I made the best fist I could and reciprocated. I felt as though I had been initiated, into what I don’t know. I mean I am basically a square afraid of city life. but I was new in town, and seriously needed a friend.

As the sun took over the day-light sky D.’s face became aglow. Beautiful, I thought. I started some small-talk to break the ice. That led to an epic tale that D. wrote here for anyone who cares to read it. He get’s to the point about “Privacy”, and the lack of it these days.

Not too long ago D. had written a paper an alternative treatment for Anorexia Nervosa. One of the professor’s assistants was a pretty Swedish woman. She helped the professor correct his class papers in Advance Psychiatric Studies, at a Los Angeles University. Her name was Alana, and she was beautiful, sensitive, fresh, and really smart. The reason she took particular notice with D.’s essay was that he used an Abstract from a medical magazine that her father, then one of the top Endocrinologist in western civilization, had published. D. used that article for his paper. She couldn’t help but feel biased toward him when she saw how he looked. Brains and brawn, thought, too good to be true.

For the record he is about 6'2″, and tapered like a swimmer, which he was. He dressed traditionally casual. In navy blue, khaki, with sneakers, and he wore RayBan sunglasses, like JFK. He spoke perfect English. Which Alana didn’t expect. In her own limited travel experience, and by her living with an African-American boyfriend, she assumed that D. would speak like other black men.

He didn’t. He sounded like a colleague of her father’s a the hospital. Not nerdy, or like a geek, but smoothly assured in an instant of what he needed to say. This drew Alana even closer to him. She had grown up with intelligent professionals, and adored them. They always seemed to be passing each other on the small campus in between classes. But she saw him frequently in the library. She decided if she was going to get to know him better she’d have to meet him in the library. (To be Continued - Tomorrow 02-28-2020.)