Thunder and Lightening Chapter 11 By Lazlo Zalezac Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2004 Jerry slowly eased the engine block back into the engine compartment of the Camaro, pleased with how easily the repair had gone with Martin helping him. Crawling under the car, he tightened the motor mounts. The hard part of the repair was done. Next weekend, he would start working on putting the rest of the engine together. Crawling out from under the car, he looked up at Martin. With a grin, he said, "Since you and I both have tomorrow off, we'll do your engine tomorrow if that's okay with you." "Sounds great to me," replied Martin amazed at what he had learned over the course of the day. All of the parts that they sold out of the store started making sense to him. He had heard people say that the rings on their car were shot, but now he knew what they were, where they were located, and what it meant when someone said they were shot. "Good, I'll pickup my son tomorrow and he can help us as well." "Getting along with him?" asked Martin. Standing up from the ground, Jerry looked around for a rag. At the moment, he was angry with himself for throwing away all of the clothes that had been left in the house. They'd have made great rags for use when working on the car. Finding the scrap of cloth that he had used earlier, he started to wipe his hands off. Looking over at Martin, he said, "Yeah. To tell the truth, I met him for the first time last week, too." "Huh? I know you lived with the kid. What do you mean that you'd never met your son before?" asked Martin. He had made the call to invite the son the meet Jerry at the mall. "We lived in the same house for thirteen years, but had never really talked until last week," answered Jerry clarifying his previous answer. He wondered if he was ever going to have a chance to actually sit down and talk to his daughter. It was actually doubtful since Bill had said that she was just like her mother. There was no reason for her to even want to know her father. Martin shrugged and said, "I don't know who my father is. Even though you didn't talk, at least he knew who you were." There was some truth to that, but the question was the difference between who he was and how his wife presented him in the house. "I don't know if he knew me when I lived there. My wife never said anything nice about me. As far as she was concerned, I was a loser and no better than white trash." "That's harsh," replied Martin. If Jerry was the manager of the store and that meant he was a loser, what did working for him make everyone else in the store? "What did she want that you didn't give her?" "A new car every year, membership in country clubs, a house in the Hampton's, and God only knows what else," snorted Jerry. The woman had never worked a day in her life and had a very twisted sense of reality. Looking up, he said, "She figures that an average working man makes half a million a year." "Shit, she should come here sometime," Martin joked as he looked around the neighborhood. He added, "I think if you took all of the money everyone in this area makes and put it in a pot, you wouldn't come anywhere near that fuckin' amount." There was probably a great deal of truth in that statement. A third of the neighborhood was on social security while half of them were working menial jobs. It was hard to say what the final sixth of the neighborhood did for money although prostitution and drugs were not that uncommon. "You might be right. I don't know how much money the people around here earn. I do know that it is barely enough to cover the basics." Shaking his head, Martin said, "It's not that bad. We have kids who wear shoes that cost a hundred and fifty dollars. I'm sure you've noticed all of the gold chains people wear around here." Jerry threw the rag over to Martin so that he could wipe his hands and get the majority of the grease off his hands. Martin started wiping his hands as Jerry said, "I guess a lot of people confuse their wants and needs. How come you aren't wearing expensive shoes or gold chains?" "Mom." Laughing aloud, Jerry said, "She doesn't look that tough to me." "You ain't had her washin' your mouth out with soap for swearing," rebuked Martin. "Hell, you and your brother swear more than I do," replied Jerry surprised at the revelation. "Bullshit. You've never heard either one of us take the Lord's name in vain," replied Martin as he looked at Jerry as though challenging him to say otherwise. The comment made him realize that people had different ideas about what it meant to swear. The vulgar language used in this neighborhood was viewed as color, intended to make their statements more interesting and flamboyant. "That's true." Martin looked down at the engine seeing it in a totally different way than he had the day before. The day before, it had been just a hunk of metal. Now, it was a machine that produced power according to principles that he understood. It was as though someone had cast a magic spell, changing him, the car or both. Looking at the grease on his hands, he wondered if the spell couldn't have been a little cleaner. Announcing his presence with the little whir of the scooter, Abe rode into the yard, coming to a stop by the car. He looked at the two adults standing by the car and asked, "You done for the day?" "Yes, we are. What's up, little brother?" "Mom wanted to know if you two were interested in eating dinner anytime soon?" Since Abe had gotten the scooter, it was if the guy had forgotten to walk. Jerry asked, "You drove from your house to here, just to ask that?" "Fuck no, I'm on my way to the store to pick up some greens," replied Abe with a grin at the suggestion. "When will dinner be ready?" asked Martin. "It'll be 'bout an hour after I get back from the store. She just wanted to know whether to cook for three or four," answered Abe with a smile at Jerry. Puzzled, Jerry asked, "What's with the smile?" "She said that you had nothin' in your kitchen when she checked out your house. Figured you needed some real down home cookin'." Grinning, Martin teased, "Giving my Momma a tour of your house? You dog!" "Oh, come on guys. She came over looking for Abe." The two brothers shook their heads at the obvious discomfort being exhibited by Jerry. Martin said, "He's got a whole string of women trying to feed him. There's that pretty little lady that came into the store Tuesday. Now he's got Momma trying to feed him." "It's that skinny-assed body of his, all skin and bones. They all figured he's so skinny they just have to feed him." Jerry looked at the two young Blacks with amusement. No one had ever called him skinny before and he doubted that anyone would ever again. Shaking his head, he said, "I'll come. Let me clean up before I come over there." "Oh no! He's gonna get clean before comin' over. Must want to impress Momma!" The teasing tone in Abe's voice let everyone know that he wasn't serious. Despite having wiped his hands on the rag, his hands still retained a little of the grease and oil on them. Smiling, he held out his hands towards Abe as though he was going to wipe them off on his face. Laughing, he said, "I'll just clean my hands off on you!" Abe backed up laughing and elbowed his brother. His brother held out his dirty hands and said, "I'm next!" Running off, Abe returned to his scooter and drove off shouting over his shoulder, "You have to catch me first." Jerry laughed as his young neighbor drove off and waved him away as though he was too much trouble. Martin had watched Jerry interact with his brother and asked, "You really do like him, don't you?" "Yes, I do," replied Jerry without hesitation. He looked down at his grotesque dirty hands and added, "He's a good kid. I hope that we can keep him out of trouble." The idea that some white guy would actually care about his little brother really surprised Martin. He never thought that whites would even bother to learn anything about a Black, much less actually like one. Blacks had to learn about Whites and had to pretend to like them, as that was the only way that a Black could succeed around Whites. At least, that is what many of the kids he had grown up with had said. It never occurred to him that there could be real feelings between the races. The weird thing was that he liked Jerry despite the fact that he was white and his boss. Jerry didn't act like the proverbial 'The Man' who was trying to keep him down. As far as he could tell, Jerry was helping him learn the job and worked beside him the whole time. His thoughts were interrupted when Jerry broke the silence. "I better start cleaning up." Martin looked down at his own hands and replied, "Yeah, same here. Better change my clothes too. These are pretty dirty." "I told you to wear old clothes that you wouldn't mind having to throw them out when we are done." "Shit, I pulled these out of the trash can," replied Martin with a laugh. The statement wasn't far from the truth. "Wear them tomorrow because looking at that motor, you're going to get a lot dirtier working on that engine," commented Jerry as he looked at the motor. The oil had been sitting in it for a long time and they were going to have to work to clean out the residue. "Sure thing. I'll see you in about an hour." "Right," replied Jerry as he went into his house. The cool air in the house was a shock to his system after a long day working in the hot humid outdoors. His clothes were damp from sweat and the cool air chilled him. As he walked towards the empty bedroom, he unbuttoned his shirt removing it about the time that he reached the door. Tossing his shirt on the floor, he finished undressing in the empty bedroom leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. They would be dry by the time he put them on again the next morning. Walking naked out of the bedroom, he headed into the bathroom to scrub the dirt off his hands and then wash the sweat off his body. Intending to ask him to bring some drinks over to go with the dinner, Sharon stared through the window at his naked body. She had known that he had hairy arms, but his naked body was still a shock to her. His hair was so thick on his back that it looked like a rug rather than a human back. The hair continued on down his legs, thick like fur. Blushing in embarrassment, she returned to the house forgetting her errand. Jerry scrubbed his hands with a stiff brush and lots of soap working the grease out from the cracks and crevices formed by the calluses. It seemed like he was wearing the bristles off the brush rather than removing the grease, but in time his hands had become clean. Satisfied with the result, he turned on the shower spinning both knobs wide open. There was only cold water since the hot water heater in the house didn't work. He rushed under the water braced for the shock. It took a minute for him to acclimate to the water temperature. Lathering up, he looked down at his cock seeing that it had shrunk under the assault of the frigid water. He knew that the situation would only get worse when winter came, the water and the house would be much colder. The shower was as short as possible while allowing him to get clean. He turned off the water and stepped out onto the towel that he had used the day before, hair and body still wet. The towel absorbed the water that dripped off him as he reached for a clean towel. He scrubbed his body with the towel, leaving the hair on his body damp. It was impossible to dry off completely with that much hair on his body. Letting his hair air dry, he wandered through the house. Stopping in the kitchen, he pulled a soft drink out of the kitchen to replace the fluids lost sweating. As he drank half of it in one large gulp, he realized that he should probably take something over with him when he went to dinner. Normally, one took wine over to give to the hostess, but he didn't know if that would be appropriate with the two boys unable to drink it. He decided that he would go to the store and buy some soft drinks. At least he knew what the boys liked and assumed that their mother would like the same. The trip to the store ate up the time from when he finished washing to when he was supposed to arrive next door. He had gone to the local convenience store and faced the normal long line of people. The fact that he couldn't understand the man behind the counter didn't bother him nearly as much as it once did. It was just another poor slob trying to do the best he could to get by in a tough world. Jerry knocked on the door carrying a sack containing six-pack of Pepsi, a four-pack of wine coolers, and a cake. It seemed to him that this was a reasonable compromise between showing up with wine for dinner and soft drinks for the two boys. When Martin answered the door, he looked at the sack and said, "I thought Mom didn't have a chance to tell you to bring drinks." "I just figured it would be bad manners to show up empty handed," replied Jerry totally unaware that Sharon had even considered coming over. He decided that she must have come over while he was in the shower and he hadn't heard her knock on the door. "Come on in. We'll be eating soon." Jerry came into the house. The house was very much like his, two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen with room for a table. The living room was filled with furniture; all of it well used but not in bad shape. Blankets covered any worn spots. There was a large television and a nice stereo system with a large number of CDs on a shelf next to it. If life is tough, it helps to have entertainment in the house to take the edge off the worst times. He asked, "Do you have cable?" "Nah, Mom can't afford it," replied Martin as he considered contributing to the bills now that he worked so that they could have cable. "I can understand that. I can't even afford a television yet," remarked Jerry. "Shit, you need a television? I can find one of those for you at way below retail prices." The television would be stolen merchandise; Jerry had no doubt about that. Still, the idea of getting something in the house that would give him something to do beside stare at the wall at night was attractive. Shaking his head, Jerry replied, "I don't think I could live with myself if I were to buy a stolen television." "Fuck," swore Martin perturbed that Jerry would assume that it would be a stolen television. He asked, "Why in the hell not?" "If it belonged to someone else, then I'd feel really bad for the previous owner since their home would have been violated by some thief. If it were stolen out of a store, I'd feel bad for the storeowner who is just trying to earn a living to feed his family. I'd feel bad no matter what." Martin shook his head and said, "Maybe we can find one at a pawn shop. Would that let you watch it in peace?" "Yeah, I could watch it in peace," answered Jerry as he considered the idea of purchasing a television from a pawnshop. He would never have thought it of without the suggestion from Martin. Looking up at Martin, he smiled as he said, "I would never have thought of going to a pawnshop for a television." "Never?" "Never." "Shit, if you're gonna be poor then you had better start thinkin' like a poor man," replied Martin looking at Jerry as if the man were a fool. Ignoring the look that Martin was giving him, Jerry replied, "If you want to stop being poor, you had better stop thinking like a poor man." Sharon called them into the kitchen for dinner. Jerry carried his paper bag with him and set it on the table. Looking over at Sharon, he said, "I brought some drinks and a dessert. I hope that's okay." The comment made Sharon blush, which if Jerry had not been looking at her he would have missed. As it was, her reaction confused him. She recovered enough to ask, "What did you get?" "I brought soft drinks for Abe and Martin and wine coolers for you and I. While I was at the store, I picked up a chocolate cake." He looked around at the two boys and said, "I hope that is okay. I know they are both under the legal drinking age." "That's great. I haven't had a wine cooler in ages," replied Sharon surprised by his considerate behavior and realized that she hadn't needed to go over to request that he bring something over. That thought reminded her of what she had seen through the window of his house. The three men sat down around the table as Sharon brought out a wonderful pot roast with carrots and potatoes. It was a real home cooked meal with meat that fell apart under the fork. She had cooked up a pot of turnip greens complete with strips of bacon. Jerry couldn't believe how good the meal tasted. He ate with an appetite that befitted a man his size. The dinner conversation flowed easily and with lots of joking on everyone's part. Jerry drank a single wine cooler, fearing the loss of control that alcohol could trigger. For Jerry, this was the first relaxed evening he had spent with others in years. The rage had been pushed well into the background. Returning home, Jerry was surprised to see the front door of his house wide open. Entering it with great care to be quiet, he heard a noise from the room where he stored his tools. Walking over to block the door, he saw the young man that had talked about smoking grass as his future occupation. The kid was bending down to pick up the toolbox. It was only thing of value in the entire house. Jerry cleared his throat as he positioned himself in the center of the door knowing there was no way the kid could get past him. At the sound, the kid turned and saw Jerry filling the doorway. A very real look of terror crossed his face as he looked at Jerry seeing just how large the man actually was. Frantically, he searched for something to use as a weapon. His hands fumbled with latch on the toolbox seeking a hammer. A scream of terror ripped through the night as Jerry walked over and picked the kid up by his belt. Belt loops popped, not intended for the purpose of holding up the full weight of the kid. Bent over at the waist, the kid thrashed around, his arms and legs unable to connect with anything. Shaking him, Jerry bellowed, "What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?" The kid screamed, believing that he was going to get killed by this monster. Jerry shook the kid, stressing the belt and rattling the kid even more. With another bellow, he asked, "What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?" As the kid screamed in terror, Jerry accidentally dropped him to the floor. The kid bounced and then tried to scramble away. Jerry bent down and picked him up using the belt again. His action was accompanied by another scream of terror. A wet spot appeared on the pants of the kid as his bladder let loose. Jerry carried the kid out of the bedroom and through the house. The kid's body hit a couple of the walls leaving dents and scratches. Unsure what to do with the kid, Jerry carried him to the porch. Standing there, he threw the kid into the middle of the yard. As the kid rolled to a stop, Jerry shouted, "If I ever see you anywhere near here, I'm going to turn you into a wet red spot." The kid scrambled away from the yard, tripping over himself as he went. His body was a mass of bruises, cuts, and scrapes. He was screaming even as he limped away; an ankle twisted from one of the falls he had taken in his mad dash to escape. Looking over his shoulder, all he could see was the mammoth outline of the huge man illuminated from the rear by the light coming through the door. The sight would give him nightmares. The screams in the dark of the night had brought entire block outside to see what was happening. A few of the old folks, dressed in night robes, stood on their porches while the rest watched through their windows. The teenagers had gathered at the edge of his property daring each other to help the kid. The crowed watched the proceedings, shocked at how far Jerry had thrown the kid. The other adults were gathered in their yards watching to see what the white man would say next. At least he hadn't called the cops, as that would have been the second worst thing he could have done. There was a lot of muttering as people wondered what would be the long-term consequences of the white man's actions. Abe, Martin, and Sharon came over and looked at Jerry standing on his porch looking huge and dangerous. They had watched him throw the kid into the yard, amazed at the demonstration of raw strength. Abe and Martin had seen him angry once and that was etched in their minds forever. Looking over at him, they could see that he wasn't angry. Kenny had been lucky, even though he probably didn't think so at the moment. Breathing heavily, Jerry was relieved that his rage hadn't gotten away from him. Even without the rage, he realized that he could be a very dangerous person. Looking around at his audience, he shouted, "Sorry folks. The show is over." In light of all the things that could have gone wrong, Jerry had handled himself well. Looking over at Jerry, Abe whispered, "At least you didn't call him a nigger." A shudder of anxiety went through Sharon as she said, "That would have been a horrible mistake." The comments brought a laugh of relief to Jerry as he looked over at the trio. He said, "I didn't even think of that. All I saw was a stupid punk kid." The trio relaxed a little, but looked around the block at some of the angry faces hidden in the dark. Someone was going to say that Jerry had been too rough on the kid and try to make an issue of it. They wouldn't appreciate the big man hurting the kid even if he had broken into the house. Big white men were not supposed to beat up young black kids. Jerry didn't care that he had been rough, it was more important to him that he hadn't been murderous. The Spencers returned to the house satisfied that there was nothing more to be seen here. The family chatted quietly, wondering what was going to happen. Martin wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of the man getting chased out of the neighborhood. There was still a lot that he could learn from the man, including automotive repair. Abe was prepared to defend his friend against the outrage of the neighbors. Turning his attention to the front door, Jerry inspected the damage caused by the kid when he had broken into the house. He had kicked the door open and, in the process, ruined the frame. It took him about twenty minutes to fix the frame. It wasn't repaired completely, just enough to keep the door closed. Examining his repair, he knew that he needed to get a deadbolt to secure it in the future. Muttering to himself, he said, "I'll have to stop by a hardware store tomorrow." He went into the house and checked the door of the bedroom. The frame was broken on it also. The interior door was much weaker than the other door. The kid had just busted his way into the place without caring about any damage that he might cause. Checking around the room, he was satisfied that the kid didn't get away with any of his tools. Another twenty minutes was spent fixing the door. Although it took time and effort to repair the damages, he appreciated the chance to fill the evening with something to do. Living alone was a lot harder than he had expected. The evenings were the worst time of day for him since there was nothing for him to do. The inactivity caused the time to pass with a slowness that was excruciating. Returning to the living room, he sat on the futon and stared at the wall wondering what kind of project he could undertake to fill his evenings. He stood up and walked around the house looking at the overall condition of it. The fact of the matter was that it should have been condemned as unfit for human occupation. The floors bowed, the wallboard was rotten in places, there were stains on the ceiling from where the roof leaked, and the appliances didn't work. Having seen the house next door, he knew that this house wasn't unique in terms of its condition. It wasn't worth his money to fix this house to a great condition, but it was worth his time to fix it enough to live in comfortably. He needed to put a little sealant around the windows and doors to keep out the draft. Some weather stripping would help keep the house a little warmer in the cold weather as well. Thinking about it, he decided that would take him a couple of weeks of effort. The last room he visited was the room where he stored his tools. He went over to the closet and removed the stack of Polaroid pictures. As he held them in his hand, he realized that every time he had tried to masturbate while looking at them something had interrupted him. He stripped out of his clothes, dropping them on the floor. Walking around the house naked, he went into the bathroom carrying the pictures with him. Sitting on the toilet seat, he flipped through the pictures one at a time. He took his time to study each picture, appreciating the female form shown within the pictures. With each picture, his cock stood up more erect as he imagined that he was the photographer and Sharon was the subject. His hand snaked down and started pulling on his cock, but the calluses tended to be unpleasant. There wasn't any lube in the house so he soaped up his hands and stood at the sink. He used the strokes that assured that he would come in the fastest time possible. Eyes closed, he imagined that Sharon was spread open in front of him. His come shot out into the sink, leaving little rivulets of thick cream as it ran down the curved sides. Soapy water dripped from the end of his cock into the sink. The cool of the basin contrasted sharply with the heat of his hand around his male member. The soap burned the hole at the end of his cock. He opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. It didn't matter if he was fourteen or forty, he was still embarrassed and ashamed of masturbating. Looking down at his cock, he saw that the last few spurts hadn't been strong enough to make it into the sink. His hand was covered with globs of come. Turning the tap to get a reasonable flow of, he washed his cock and hands. His erection was subsiding, but it wasn't entirely gone. The cold water shrank his member, leaving the head swollen and the shaft thin. It was always like that after jacking off. Swirling water around the sink, he washed away the traces of come. This was the part of masturbating that he hated, cleaning up afterwards. In that respect, he felt like women must have it easier. Turning the tap, he shut down the flow of water leaving the room quiet except for the sound of his breathing. Using a bath towel, he dried off. Stepping out of the bathroom, he walked around the house naked enjoying the freedom of living alone. In the past, he always had to wear clothes around the house. Before the kids were born, his wife thought that it was perverse to walk around without clothes. She didn't undress in front of him and they only made love in the dark. After the kids, the excuse was that it would harm the kids to see him naked. He even had to wear pajamas in bed, just in case the kids came in the bedroom. Now he could walk around naked as much as he wanted. It wasn't that he was a nudist, but there was something freeing about being undressed on occasion. With nothing left to do, it was time for him to get to bed despite the early hour. Unfolding the Futon, he spread a sheet over it and lay down. Sleep didn't come immediately as his mind replayed the past week. It had its ups and downs, but overall it was a good week. He hadn't broken anything when possessed by his rage, had lunch with a pretty young lady, and had made real progress on getting his car fixed. It could have been much worse. Getting up in the morning, he headed to the bathroom for his morning piss. Seat up, he stood at the toilet to drain his bladder. His piss shot out in two directions and he struggled to get his stream under control. That was another consequence of jacking off, his first piss afterwards went everywhere. Looking down at the mess he made, he swore and went to get a mop. It took him a few minutes to clean up the floor and a few more to put up the cleaning supplies. He swore, "Damn, this morning isn't starting out good at all." Going through the rest of his morning activities, it wasn't until he went to brush his teeth that he noticed the stack of pictures on the sink. He grabbed them and took them back to the closet thinking that it would be best if nobody found them. It was almost a shame to get dressed, but he had a lot of work to do that day. This was Labor Day. Even though the auto parts store was closed, other stores were open and running specials. One of the hardware stores was open early and he decided that he would stop there to pick up some things before getting his son from the mall. It was going to be a busy day.