That One Man
a short story about
That One Man
by E.D. Augustine
Jerric was misunderstood. He’d let people do that. A young woman behind the counter was blaspheming God in her head. Her unconsciously bit lip was making it clear. She’d been waiting for him to speak. That all seemed to take an extraordinary length of time within her perception.
That man stuck people, nearly all of them, into a repressed silence of wanting.
If they didn’t want his gorgeous face, they’d want his perfectly formed body. If they didn’t need the control of his gaze, they’d crave his manhood. If the didn’t want to take his ass, they’d want him to own theirs. There wasn’t a part of Jerric people didn’t want to clean with their tongue.
People were scared of Jerric. Folks saw him through projection. He tried for a long time to be seen as what he was. The way the stole his heart over again, women of all make, to leave him behind out of their own self-hatred was a burden. Jeric wore many, and most, because people thought it to be privilege that they saw him as an object.
Jerric had been waiting for someone to figure out he was the kindest man. He’d been waiting for a woman to have courage. He didn’t like anyone most of the time. Even Jerric’s accomplices saw him wrong. They all thought him a fool for how they’d not want to acknowledge his overbearing intelligence.
Folks of Hartford were looking for any reason to leave themself unwitnessed. To be so aggressively taken by his willful mind, challenged so, would have them breaking in all ways they deserved.
Those few women who would stand up to him, who saw him their match, were the worst of sorts quite often. They’d think themselves equal, or him lesser. The girls inside them weren’t prepared to find the one who deserved that leading place. Egoic sense of ownership would drive them all mad for double-standards he’d not abide.
Jerric was the most honest sort. He’d tell them right to their faces. Each and every grown woman unseeing herself the little girl they’d become in his presence became a fright. They wanted to own him. If they couldn’t have every bit, they’d seek out to destroy him by means he’d have no issue avoiding consequence of. It was only the way it continued to wound his heart that troubled Jeric. He’d lose track of it. He wouldn’t realize himself striking people down by action. Jeric was letting people get what they asked for and trying to enjoy it. Intelligence was what he found attractive. Deference to his own, and Jeric’s bleedingly caring heart, was what he needed.
Respect would be his healing. To be seen would free his path. That girl in the gas station was not going to be the one. He’d tried to avoid places like that, especially back home in Hartford. His nerves were jangling though.
“Get me a pack of cigarettes—honey.”
She’d flinched, her eyes spat off to the side, it seemed like there was some trouble inside that girl. She this way and that, checked the front door, took a quick glance at her feet, then back up for less than fraction of a second at his eyes still trained on her, and tried to smile while rotating like buoy in the water. Jerric thought she was sweetheart. He was going to be nice to that one if she didn’t hang herself.
“You can pick it out yourself.”
Spotlights were bright on all who Jerric trained his eyes upon. He’d been the star. He wasn’t given the chance to be seen except for how people would want him. It made sweet girls like that, even from his hometown, especially those he’d want, turn into the worst devils they had. If it was only fear, insecurity, and obvious abuse taken on from parents who’d not let a person grow up right, Jerric would take it easy on people. He wouldn’t give them so much rope to hang themselves on.
That girl was going for the wrong type of cigarettes.
“Not those-hon.”
She’d frozen. She was confused. That girl didn’t know he was teasing her. If she would have asked, he’d have told her.
Jerric was only getting Marlboro Whites.
“Not those either-babe.”
It took that girl some time to get her outstretched hand in the right arena of choosing. Jerric started giving her hints with disaffirming mutters. She’d finally found the Marlboros.
“Oh yeah—there yah go.”
Jerric watched her turn, that sway in her hips, how closely she’d placed her foot before kicking out her ass, and knew it worked. The way he spoke was stricken with a balance from something held in secret.
“Give it to me, honey. Give it to me good.”
She didn’t know how to take that. Jerric liked that. He wasn’t going to let her off that easy when she started ringing him up without response but hanging her lip.
“You know it. I know it. Set that down.”
Jerric was pretty sure the girl came her pants. She shuddered enough. When he was walking out of the store he felt ready. There was business to take care of in Hartford.
Billie Jean was late. As usual it took less time for her to arrive than would her man. Jerric and her were competing. Sometimes, it would prove them of one mind when they would find each other at home in sweats to share a smile most devious about the plans abandoned.
When either of them arrived at their meeting spot, usually their favorite find of a river to sit beside, occasionally the deli counter, every other occasion; meeting at the Low Crawler, that length stayed would be of choice. There was no expectation held between the two. They lived free of phones and cords.
Billie would attract a sort they worked at Low Crawler. Together it would be unspoken — the discovery of what their target wanted was easy.
Usually, unless they were a really sweet lady, especially sweet, and honest, with some liar’s heart shining brightly, those people would get the last thing they wanted.
Billie left in Jerric’s hands. He had a strongest pair. Something in their grip had told of a burden they carried. Tightness held was of some need to lash in rage towards a target. Many weeks would see Billie staying home entirely. She could do her make-up but enjoyed the excuse to be taken care of. Nothing in her sought for more than a good beating from Jerric, or a choking session at dusk in the grass. It didn’t really seem to matter how he touched her. Billie just exploded all over, every time.
Jerric had been later than Billie usually hung around.
They skipped rocks and didn’t talk except for about the garden. She had less to do than usual that week. It kept Billie Jean thinking to be troubled with something which kept her in body. Jerric didn’t love it. Not ever. But he was a good man to his lady.
When she went down on him there, with her black dress and heels dipping into the lake, Jerric hadn’t taken much time at all to give his lady a special meal.
