Adelphius Befouled

Adelphius Befouled

Bernie Gabriel Brogden

*Trigger Warning: Contains elements of sexual violence, physical abuse, harassment of LGBTQ individuals, derogatory language, and underage prostitution

“Are you taking or giving? ...Come on man, this doesn’t have to be an all day affair. Taking? Giving? ...That’s a hundred … Okay, then turn around, act like you’ve done this before. Now you want to be bashful? … Shoot, there goes my beeper. Got to make this quick … shhhhhhhhhh, somebody, anybody, the police might hear you. And I ain’t trying to get locked up.”

Melanie couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of a scruffy, rag strewn, well not rag strewn but rather bummy looking middle-aged man who, as she approached and made eye contact with him, darted in the direction of the wooded area behind the baseball field. He wore pink sandals. That’s funny, she thought. Him. With pink sandals. Pink Sandals. Wow. A flurry of amplified footsteps filled the lot and juggled her eardrums as the body of a man evaporated in the distance. She reached to open the car door. A young man exited the vehicle. Melanie laid her eyes on him.

“What are you doing?”  

“Hustling.”

“I find it hard to believe there was no better place to go do your ‘unspeakables.’ Remember what Mr. Domovitch always tells us when he needs a respite from the routine monotony in life, “the best place to go is where trees converse with human vibrations.”

“On school grounds though, Adelphius. Come on man, think. Besides, you said you’d do your business at night time, so you won’t get caught again.”

His eyes latched onto the cuticles of his thumb while he fiddled them.

“What’s wrong?”

He continued to fiddle.

“What’s wrong Delph?”

“Mel, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I know it’s a lot of things I don’t understand but I’ll try. Say, I didn’t rattle you did I? I’m only concerned. I just don’t want you to get in trouble, or hurt yourself. You never--”

“Look, I have to tell you a secret. You’ll find out when the time is right.”

When evening arrived, Mel and Delph parted ways. After kissing the most genuine thing he’s ever had, the youngster hopped in his yellow hatchback and drove aimlessly around town. Lovelorn. Melanie pranced home, with twinkles embedded in her eyes, singing in the navy blue air, listening to her echoes bounce around the nearby creek.

Later that night several classmates, acquaintances really, surrounded Mel on her front porch. Mel called them up shortly after receiving an urgent phone call from Delph. She led them to the sidewalk to avoid disturbing her parents.

“I just talked to Delph. He told me not to worry because he was going to get away.” 

“What happened?”

“He told me not to say anything. But I just can’t do it. Delph’s been kidnapped.” 

The faces of these particular high school seniors, in the light of this bit of news, were blank. The boy tried hard to sound concerned again. 

“Who kidnapped him?”

“Domovitch”

The ground shook with laughter.

“Again? He always says he was kidnapped by Domovitch. Look new girl, he’s the teacher’s pet. He’s gay. He does the nasty with old men--”

“Calm down. It ain’t no secret he’s probably doing it with Domovitch. Tomorrow, he’s gonna say how he broke out of the house when Teach was sleep, just to make it look like he don’t live there.”

“He doesn’t live there.”

The laughter -- an ensemble of different pitches, volumes and sounds -- grew louder.

“That’s what he told you.”

“He told me he’s homeless.”

“He’s been homeless for six years and counting, right inside Teach’s home. We ain’t never really known where he came from but in 6th grade he showed up on the scene.

He drew on his vivid memory about his encounter with Delph. 

“Sports is inferior to all other areas of society. To say advanced specialized eye-hand coordination techniques combined with teamwork trumps analytical reasoning, educated debate, or even classical music is, quite frankly, preposterous. Sports is only good for massaging your egotistical and instinctive athletic nature by all sorts of means. Besides, I’m not pretty good in basketball and I stole the ball quite easily away from you which means, again, I hate to be so blunt, you suck. All else, any aspect of life that involves some higher process of thought is far more respectable.”

“Is not.”

“Is too, because Adelphius is never wrong."

A quiet red-headed girl, follower type, type that probably was cut from the cheerleader squad, motioned her lips in preparation to say something. 

“That’s not the half. He insulted my intelligence in a rather blatant way when I told him I was going to be a US Senator. He then said, ‘Politics is not for you, hun. Only the smart ones prevail in that arena.'"

A lanky guy, shy or timid, one or the other, with sprouts of facial hair spread scattershot on his cheeks and chin, raised his hand before realizing the informality of the meeting and awkwardly uttered a mumble. After clearing his throat, he reluctantly revealed his encounter. 

“He told me I’d never be able to attain my dream. I remember to a T, he said, ‘A rapper? You’re going to be a rapper. You couldn’t wrap Christmas gifts if I gave you the paper, the tape, a pen, the ribbon and the actual present."

Refusing to digest the collective’s commentary, Mel made an urgent appeal.

“But he needs your help. Don’t you understand Mr. Domovitch is doing something wrong?”

“For your information, Mr. D and Delph always had a tight bond, if you know what I mean. This isn’t something new,” said one guy.

“And Delph is a prostitute anyways, why should we help his just because he’s giving it up for free?” said another.

“Why should we help him period, he acts like he don’t need us, you know, the way he treats us and everything. Sometimes I wish--”

The peer paused to think.

“…he was somewhere trees converse with human vibrations. I don’t even know of such a place but I sure wouldn’t miss him if he was there.”

On the opposite side of town, Adelphius found himself in a familiar position. 

“Take off your clothes, Delph.”

“Please. No. I can’t. I beg you. It’s different now Mister D.

“Take off your clothes, Delph. The whole town knows what you do.”  

“That’s different Mister D. You can’t do this to me anymore. I’m not the lil’ boy you adopted. I know this is wrong. It’s wrong. And I met a girl. She’s a really nice girl. I’m in love. This, this, I can’t do it. I, I--”

“Take off your damn clothes, now. What’s the matter with you? You know not to give me any backtalk. Don’t make me tell you again. Or I’ll…”

The downtrodden boy looked down at his crossed hands and played with his thumbs, refusing to acknowledge the older man’s invective in any other way. All Delph heard was blah, blah, blah, muffled purposeless verbiage. After a bevy of routine slaps and smacks, the younger man submitted and surrendered his body for the gratification of the older man. After Mr. Domovitch fell asleep, Delph bolted for the front door entrance, promptly exiting. He hated feeling so small, so helpless, so used, so manipulated. It was mandatory he left, that was obvious, for the act of leaving was the only thing left that lied in his control.

Delph received a page just as he climbed into the yellow hatchback. He didn’t want to call the number back. Even though he said the opposite a million times, he didn’t need to whore his body for money. He simply needed to push someone around. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Less than five minutes passed before the yellow hatchback gained a new passenger. Other than the yellow car, the one thing that stood out most in this neighborhood was the silhouette looming in the window of the home Delph had just left. 

“Why is your arm sleeve stained with blood, is everything all right?” oozed the concerned client with the colorful footwear.

“Shut up. Don’t ask any questions. Just tell me, taking or giving?”

Adelphius knew the time had come to be completely honest with Melanie. Deciding to walk over to Melanie’s, to project humility, he left his parked car in front of Mister D’s. He mulled over what he anticipated to say in the imminent, uncomfortable conversation destined to happen. He sought umbrage in the hackneyed “I’ll let the chips falls where they may” phrase. He spotted Melanie at the corner of her block. He quickly forgot everything he planned to say, and duly started prepping the white type of fibs. Can’t blame him. He didn’t expect to see a saddened Mel so he commissioned every source of energy in him to give her the best greeting ever. He ran over to her and gave a healthy hug, squeezing her a little too affectionately, taking into account the disclosures revealed earlier.

An anonymous voice rang out, “Got kidnapped again?”

Delph didn’t respond.

“Answer,” Mel commanded.

He gave a deep sigh and stared down at his interlocked fingers, his thumbs flirting with each other.

She started walking briskly to her front porch, speaking to her former friend who walked behind her, “You can’t because you’re a liar, aren’t you.”

He looked at the back of her head intently but cautiously. 

Melanie spun around, “You can tell me how you sell your body but you can’t trust me with info about Teach? Am I supposed to believe this? I liked you. I don’t care about what you do. Well, didn’t. I saw passed that. Now I can’t even trust you, I feel like, I feel, I just don’t know. What, well, what are you doing here Delph? What do you want?”

After fifteen minutes elapsed, several guests prepared to leave. One classmate was placing her coat over her shoulder when a knock at the door ripped through the silence. No one answered. A voice erupted on the other side of the entrance door.

“Hello my students. You must help me out. Where is Adelphius? I must find him. 

Mel said, “He just left--”

“Shhh. Don’t say nothing Mel,” the crowd inside the foyer warned.

“Ah, Mel, you must be the source of Delph’s concerns. He says you’re the love of his life. Well if you truly love him, you would tell me where he is so we can help him.”

“He doesn’t need your help. Leave before I call the cops.”

“I already did.”

“We’ll tell them what you do to him and what you’ve been doing to him over the years.”

“You won’t say anything. None of you. I won’t allow you to when I’m done with him. I know he was here. What did he say to you? Tell me.”

In unison, the less-than-worried teens said, “No.”

The older man realized his predicament and quickly left from outside of the residence.

“Did you guys hear about the man who got killed tonight? Check this, he was wearing pink sandals.”

Mel blurted, “Pink sandals.”

She had to reiterate.

“Did you say pink sandals? Domovitch is going to kill Delph.”

The majority of the guests left upon hearing the ghastly news, ignoring the magnitude of Mel’s prediction. Only the future senator, the shy rapper and the athlete stayed behind. 

The four passed the crime scene, where the friendly client lay mangled to death in the middle of the sidewalk. The frozen breath of the policeman directed the quartet around the bordered-off scene. The rapper shook hands with one of the cops, apparently a nod of gratitude for the instructions. They walked up to Mr. Domovitch’s house. The yellow hatchback was still parked on the street. The house was eerily dark. It appeared vacant.

“I don’t think he’s in there. Maybe we should just tell the cops.” said the rapper.

“No. Not yet. He has a ‘rep’ with them. They wouldn’t take us seriously.”

“Do you think Domovitch found him? Where could he be?” the shy boy wanted to know. 

“Where trees converse--”

“We know, where the trees converse with humans, but, where’s that?” said the athlete. “How do trees talk? Where do trees go to converse? I don’t get it.”

“I think I know where,” said Melanie.

The four arrived at the bank of the creek in the middle of the cold autumn night.

The lanky rhyme technician, on the verge of exasperation, devised what he called a “bait ‘em” plan. The rapper began to harmonize a memorized poem aloud. His poem echoed across the creek, fading into a faint whisper. The other three scattered throughout different sections of the creek area. After several minutes passed, Mr. Domovitch surfaced clutching the head of Delph under his arm. A large red gash glowed under Delph’s arm. With a knife in his free hand, Mr. Domovitch wielded the bladed weapon in front of the rapper’s face, prodding him for his reasons of being present. Holding Mel’s cell phone in hand, the politician reemerged from behind a bush and stood directly before the teacher.

“You can just hand over Delph and I won’t call the cops. If you decide not to let him go, I swear I’ll do it.”

Teach pointed the blade at Delph.

“No, don’t!” Melanie bellowed.

The teacher appeared mildly amused, “Let’s negotiate, shall we. You hand over the phone and I’ll hand over Delph.”

“Okay, him first.

The teacher thrust Delph to the dirt, extending his hand.

“Stupid idiots, I’m going to kill you both.”

Suddenly, the athlete, hanging from a tree branch, pelted the teacher on the top of his head with a perfectly aimed rock, knocking Domovitch to the ground. The teenagers surrounded the professor, kicking him and beating him to the verge of senselessness. The sounds of pain conversed with trees, bouncing off the trunks, disappearing into the blue nighttime. Flashing red, white and blue lights were bouncing too. The handshake between the rhymer and the policeman, evidently, was more than a handshake. Mel emerged from behind a tree and picked a battered Delph off of the ground.

Barely standing, the young man looked each savior into their eyes, and said, “Thank You.”

The next day, after school, behind the dump in the parking lot, the five had a reunion of sorts. 

“I doubted your abilities. I insulted you. I didn’t deserve a fraction of a fraction of what your hearts gave me, in courage, in spite of fear, in the face of the unknown, unpredictable reality I somehow got you all involved in. I appreciate it.”

He continued, “Even then, I still feel I had some control of the situation. I knew something good was going to happen.”

In silent amazement, and amusement, the crew lightly giggled at the young man’s ironic, contradictory conclusion. Delph extended his gratitude to his new friends. He turned to Melanie next to him, bit his bottom lip, and managed to squeeze a gentle smile while caressing her iris with his pupil, his corner eye hidden to her. She returned the favor.

“Our love will volley off one another 's soul for everlasting time. You’re my ping. I’m your pong,” he said matter-of-factly, and believe it or not, judging by the expression on his face, he was really serious.

Politics and sports and hip hop music were topics gleaned upon during the banter and taking place inside of the yellow hatchback. 

“One-two y’all, here I go. Here I go--,”

Delph cut him off rudely, but friendly, his face besmirched with a smirk, “Here we go.” 

The rapper smiled towards Adelphius and continued to rap. The politician talked. The athlete tried to listen, and tried harder to understand. Melanie, well, she was not lovelorn anymore either, as witnessed by the liveliness leaking from her demeanor and her speech. The inevitable lull in conversation was rudely awakened by an unknown force. The front end of the yellow hatchback shook and rattled. The car levitated about three feet above the ground. The five individuals remained calm as the vehicle was lifted into the air. They’d been through worse. The latch to the dump box was positioned directly beneath the front chassis, steadily scraping the underside of the antiquated bumper in the process. It was only a matter of time before the dump truck placed the dumpster back down. Suspended in mid-air, the crew felt an impulse to laugh. They laughed some more, hung in mid-air at the mercy of a machine, having no control whatsoever of the detritus apparatus, unable to stop the herky-jerky movement. It was a thrill much more subdued than the previous night’s outing and very much welcomed. 

A smiling, shaking Melanie looked at a smiling, shaking Delph and said facetiously as smoothly as possible, “What else can you do but enjoy the ride?”   

She peered out the car window, down at the parking lot below. Delph peered too. A pair of peering peers peering interrupted by the sound of a beep.

“Damn. Who is paging me in the daytime? I thought I told all my clients--”

He stopped himself short, and then glanced at everyone. He reminisced about his prior moments provoking them, insulting them, discouraging them - and lying to her. He tossed the pager out of the car window. And placed his eyes back on his twiddling fingers. Melanie reached above her head to unleash her chignon then moved his hands, pounced across the driver seat and laid a big smooch, a French one, passionately, gently sucking the lips of her lover while a wrestling match took place behind her teeth. 

They looked at each other, sharing an intimate tranquility only they knew of. Their mutual stare seemed to last forever. And fittingly, their glorious moment failed to come to an end, even when the hatchback landed and their noggins clashed.

• #ReedsyTalk #280 #TalkThatTalk