|
|
|
Alternative Gaye CallingThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Patrick O. | |
| Thursday, 10 April 2008 | |
|
Share it:      Alternative Gaye Calling
Just as soon as he pushes open the door, the light inside the girls' bathroom goes out. "Not again!" he says loudly in disgust. "Turn on the light Dad."
After a few long seconds in darkness during which to his right an odd metallic thud is heard against the hardwood floor followed by some unidentifiable scuffling; the single 60-watt bulb is switched back on. From the doorway of the poorly lit girls' restroom of his Dad's church he now stands before a barefooted man dressed in a short red leather skirt, a black velvet cowboy vest worn over an over-stuffed red lace bra and to top it off a really bad black afro wig sits crooked upon his head.
"Oh no," Marvin shouts in disbelief. Instinctively he rolls his eyes as he steps in and shuts the door; keeping his right-hand on the door knob and leaning into the door to barricade it. Looking his Dad up and down, numerous memories of similar surprises are suppressed, "Dad you said," calmer now in his disappointment. "Man look at you. You said were done with this ****!"
Wide- surprised eyes are quickly replaced with a relaxed unconcerned expression on the face of Marvin Gaye Sr. upon seeing it is his son. An awkward few moments in dimly lit silence end with a nasty belch from the senior Gaye. "It aint nothing, not to you," Marvin Sr. replies in a raspy unsteady voice. Bending down to his left he pulls a pair of boots out of the large paper bag on the floor. Shoving a hand inside one boot and searching a bit, he freezes in place; looking back up at his son for a brief second.
Releasing his grip on the doorknob Marvin Jr. points down at his Dad, "Those are Mom's cowboy boots aren't they? You stole 'em didn't you? Man, you call yourself a preacher!" Marvin Jr. questions his Dad harshly.
His stare stiffens upon his son, taking his hand from inside the boot he points back up to him, "It aint nothing to you, nothing!" bellows Marvin Sr., amidst a spray of phlegm. Losing his balance in the exchange, he falls backward onto his butt. Instantly scurrying, he fails to sit back up but he manages to roll forward on his side, reaching frantically forward, pulling the boots to his chest.
"Dad, look at you, on the bathroom floor, and in your church too," appeals Marvin Jr. taking a step forward. "You're killing us with this. Dressing like this, disappearing for days to who knows where, you're killing yourself!"
"Oh, you care?" Marvin Sr. snaps back. "Never have you. Not when you were here, not after leaving for Motown and your whores and your drugs and, and." Unable to finish his intended sentence he shoves his hand back into a boot. "Nothing to you I am." From the boot he pulls a dirty mason jar. Hurriedly twisting off the top, losing his grip on it, the cap falls to the floor and rolls away out of sight under the partition of the nearest stall. "Never would drink with me neither, would you? Cause you're nothing, that's what you are."
Scenes like this Marvin Jr. did not miss. Although they had been fewer for him since making it big in music and spending much less time near home. He never understood his Dad and throughout his own adult life found him an absolutely miserable man to be around. But since he was in town and his Mom had asked him to, he decided to help look for his Dad who had been missing for two days now. Luck, or fate perhaps, made him stop at the church before going on to the usual places to look for him. He still had some sheet music stored in a locker he kept in the basement of his Dad's church where he had been introduced to music as a youth.
Those happier days of singing in front of the congregation, singing for his family, they seemed so long ago. It had been years since he had a kind thought for his Dad, and if it weren't for Mom's pleading he wouldn't have thought twice about not helping the others who were looking for him now. But here his Dad is, in the place he worshiped most of all, defiling it as well with the very behavior which had helped wreck their relationship and has all but ended his marriage to Mom.
Staring down at his Dad still, watching him chug gulps of bourbon from his jar between burps, he regrets answering the phone when Mom called. "Dad, I'm doing this for Mom, trust me this is not for me, it's for her." Marvin Jr. insisted, placing a hand back on the doorknob.
"You aint nothing to me, you aint nothing to nobody," Marvin Sr. shouts defiantly. "You sing those songs, those sad sinful songs, you aint no good," An evil grin flashes across his face before going for another gulp.
"Funny, are you through?" Marvin Jr. shoots back thinking that if he allows him to get his venom out he'll grow bored and come along.
"No. Through with you yes, for a long time now. You've been through for what? Two years, or is it three?" Marvin Sr. eggs his son on. "You know what I mean, uh-huh, since that Michael beat you back with that, that pathetic song. Um, Thriller was it? Yeah, since that song, you've been through!" A half-laugh punctuates his self congratulation on getting out that smack down.
Clenching his teeth, Marvin Jr. doesn't feel he can take much more. His Dad knew what buttons to push and was hitting them hard. "Enough Dad, put the two-cent swill away, time to go." Marvin Jr. tells his Dad sternly while telling himself to think of Mom, just do this for her, and then get out of town.
"Enough? I'll tell you what enough was," Marvin Sr. continued his attack. "You taking the alter I preached from, singing to my people and taking all my applause. They came to see ME, hear my words, until you took them all from me!"
A long sigh is the best Marvin Jr. can give back now. All interest to argue further lost, he waves his hand forward and back encouraging him to get it out. "Dad, you know that's not true, but blame me, AGAIN, if you need to, go ahead, get it out so we can go!"
Snapping of his head back for a final chug, he whips himself forward; "Pthwhaaww..." A scattered stream of bourbon and spit flies from Marvin Sr., much of it landing on Marvin Juniors shoes and left pant leg.
"What," first the bourbon hit him and then the foul odor hits him harder, "Oh no you..." Marvin Jr. takes two steps back, looks down at his new shoes, back to his Dad and then back to his shoes, "You don't get to spit piss water on me old man," Marvin Jr. charges his Dad.
Marvin Sr. chucks the jar with one hand and fumbles the other into a boot. Two seconds is what it takes for Marvin Jr. to close his eyes while attempting to dodge the jar, jerk his head back from the jars impact upon his jaw, and reopen his eyes; and it is two seconds too many.
Marvin Jr. never hears the shots ring out and he likely doesn't feel the first, or any, of the four slugs slam into torso, lift him and slam him into the sinks against the far wall.
"Trust you huh? Trust me, that ain't piss," Marvin Sr. whispers with chagrin. "Doesn't matter no more though cause you aint nothing, not no more." Copyright 2008 Patrick O. |
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
via Email
