Beckham

It’s been another busy week at C&C during the day, and in Sully’s bed every night. He hasn’t slept over with me again, because his place just seems more convenient. He has food he can eat, his prayer rug, and while I guess we could bring it all next door, it just seems easier to stay there.

Today, we’re heading to the party, and he seems nervous. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’ve just never met anyone’s parents before.”

“They’re going to love you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they love me, and you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“Does your mom love me?” I ask, because he didn’t seem too excited about me meeting her.

“She hasn’t said anything about it, so I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“Our relationship is complicated right now. I’ll explain it to you another day, okay.”

I’m not going to push him when he’s already nervous, so I let it go. “Okay.”

We arrive at the park, and I tell him where he should leave the truck. It’s Dylan’s truck, because he decided a truck was better to bring here than his Porsche. I didn’t disagree with him.

I kiss his cheek when he helps me out, and take his free hand when he offers it. His other hand is holding the cupcakes we picked up. If this party goes until dark, I’ll get to try one here. If not, I’ll just take it home with us.

“What’s going on?” one of the guys I grew up with asks.

“Nothing much,” I reply, walking past him.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“No.”

“Bitch.”

Sully starts to turn, but I stop him. “He’s not worth it.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come.”

“They aren’t all like him. He’s just mad, because he couldn’t get in my pants back in high school.”

“I can sympathize with him, because your pants are a very nice place to be inside of.”

“Aww, you say the sweetest things.”

“Beckham!” my father yells, practically running over to hug me. I let go of Sully to hug him back, before hugging my mom, too.

“I’m a little confused here,” she says, glaring at Sully. “I’m pretty sure he’s the guy who got you fired.”

I take his hand again. “He’s redeemed himself. Mom and Dad, this is Sully.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Williams. I’m sorry our first encounter was so unpleasant.”

He holds out his hand, and they both shake it, even though my mom gives me a look, telling she’s going to want more of an explanation later. I’ll withstand all the grilling she wants to throw my way, because I know he’s who I want to be with.

“Why don’t you take the cupcakes over to the dessert table, and grab yourselves some food? We saved you seats,” my dad tells us.

“We can’t eat,” I say.

My mom looks at me like I’m insane. “What?”

“It’s Ramadan, Sully’s holy month. We don’t eat or drink during the daylight hours.”

“His religion isn’t yours!”

I see Sully flinch, making me harden my voice. “No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t support him.”

Before this escalates, I grab Sully’s hand, and lead him to the dessert table. He helps me make room, as I try to think of something to say. My parents aren’t racists, but while there are people of many colors here, none that I know of are Muslim. They just don’t understand, but I hope they’ll try.

“Don’t touch our food.”

My head whips around to see the guy from earlier, along with a few of his friends. They’ve always been mean, but I didn’t expect this.

“He can touch whatever he wants.”

“Beckham, leave it,” Sully says.

“She’s not one of yours to order around,” a woman says, joining them.

“Shut up,” I growl at her.

“What? Are you going to start covering yourself up, and praying to some Al-ah.”

“It is Allah, and our God is the same one,” Sully says quietly.

“My God doesn’t believe in killing innocent people,” one of the men tells him.

“Nor does mine.”

They won’t stop. “Lies. He probably poisoned our food. Does he have a gun?”

Sully lifts his hands, so his t-shirt lifts past his abs. He has on a pair of basketball shorts with Dylan’s name on them, and there’s no place he could easily hide a weapon. I pull at his arm, because he doesn’t need to do this.

“Leave. Him. Alone.”

“I cannot believe you would bring one of them here! We have children! What were you thinking, Beckham?”

This came from the sweet old woman who used to babysit me. “He is a good man, and I wanted my parents and the people I thought I respected to meet him. I didn’t expect this level of hate and bigotry from all of you.”

“It’s not worth it, Beckham.”

I look up at Sully, and see the indifference on his face. It’s not real, though. He feels this hate, as I do. I know he does.

“You are worth it.”

I need him to believe that. There is a bigger crowd around us now, and they just won’t leave him alone.

“What have you done to her? Have you brainwashed her somehow?”

“Where is your turban?”

“Do you have friends coming to shoot us?”

“How dare you wear Gallagher’s name, terrorist!”

“Someone take the children inside!”

“Shut up!” I roar. “All of you, just shut up!”

“We’re going to go inside,” my father says, leading us away.

The crowd continues taunting Sully, and at one point I turn, ready to fight them all. He stops me once again. “It’s not worth it.”

It’s all he keeps saying, and I want to throw up. When he escapes to the bathroom, I turn on my parents.

“You said nothing! I know you don’t believe what they were saying, but you didn’t speak up!”

“We have to live here with them, work with them. How would it look if we said something?” my mother asks.

“It would look like you think what they were doing was wrong! You know that was wrong.”

“Yes,” my dad says.

“You raised me to be open-minded, and accept everyone!”

“People are scared, Beckham. If we told them they were wrong, they would treat us as they treated Sully. He can drive away, but we can’t.”

“What if you could? I can get you an apartment somewhere else!”

“This is our home. Good, or bad, this is it.”

My mom won’t look at me. “You need to leave. For our sakes, and for Sully’s.”

“She is right. We should leave,” Sully says, coming out of the bathroom. “We never should’ve come.”

* * *

Sully

When I walked out of the bathroom, and heard Beckham’s mother say we needed to leave, I knew she was right. We shouldn’t have ever been there. I shouldn’t have been there.

Beckham was naïve to think her people would accept me. No, not hers, but those she grew up with. I cannot connect those people to her, or group her with them, because she is not one of them. She stood up for me.

But, at what cost? She is now associated with a Muslim, a terrorist in their eyes. When the man commented about me wearing Dylan’s name, I could’ve mentioned my connection, but I didn’t. While she was naïve about how they’d react, so was I. For so many years, money sheltered me from that, so much so that I forgot what it was like to be so hated.

I forgot, and it’s now hurt more than me. There is no way to take back what was said in front of Beckham. No way to make her forget those words.

“I am so angry. I cannot believe they had the nerve to say those things! You should’ve let me punch them, at least the women! Why didn’t you let me punch them?”

“Violence would only leave to more violence, and as I kept telling you, it’s just not worth it.”

“And, as I told you, you are worth it.”

No, I’m not, and it’s best that she learns it now, while things are new, and not after we’ve declared our love for each other. I have no doubt what I feel for her is love, but I can never tell her that.

“I need to be alone,” I say, when we arrive back at the apartments.

“Don’t shut me out, Sully. I know today was bad, but we can get through this together.”

“I have to take the truck back.”

“No, you told Dylan you’d bring it back tomorrow.”

“I’d rather just do it now.”

“Please, Sully. Don’t do this.”

“I can walk you inside, if you’d like.”

She shakes her head. “What I’d like is for you to talk to me instead of running away.”

I don’t respond, so she opens her door, and jumps down. I wait until she’s in the elevator, and then I drive to my sister. She’s the only one who will understand, and I need her now.

I don’t remember the drive, but I make it there somehow. When she opens the door, I collapse into her arms, sobbing.

“Sully, what happened?”

“They said things, things like what the bullies said when we were younger,” I tell her as she leads me to the couch. “I forgot how ugly people can be, how much they hate us.”

“You’ve been insulated from it for a long time.”

“People look at me when I shop, or go out to eat, but the money kept me safe. It bought me friends, and safety.”

“Did they threaten you?”

“Not with what they said, but I felt it. I felt the hate. It was so strong, I thought it would choke me. It was like when we were little, and first moved here.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

I lie down, and place my head on her lap, because the tears keep coming. “I felt like a little boy again, wanting to be liked, but being mocked instead. I wanted to be part of Beckham’s life, but I can’t. Those are the people she grew up with, and they hate me.”

“What did she do?”

“She told them to shut up, and I had to stop her from punching some of them.”

“Good for her!”

“No, it’s not good. They will never accept her again if she’s attached to me.”

“You think she wants to be accepted by those people?”

“Her parents are worried about their friends no longer accepting them. How can I be with her if I can’t see her parents?”

“What did she say about that?”

“She was angry, but they wouldn’t listen to her. She’s so naïve. So privileged.”

“Privileged? She grew up very poor, Sully.”

“You know what I mean. She is white.”

“Yes, and you also know we may have tan skin, but we have lived a very privileged life. We’ve been largely protected from the racism, and bigotry so many of our people face. This one experience is just that, an experience. Ugly as it is, it’s our life.”

“I don’t want it to be my life. I don’t want to feel like that scared, little boy again. I don’t want to feel dirty like I did when they were saying the things they said. I can’t do it, I simply can’t.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, I do. I can live my life the way I used to, instead of this new way. I can go back to the way things were.”

“No, you can’t. You have a job, and a wonderful girlfriend. You can’t give that up for fake friends, and excess.”

“I have to, Nev. I can’t ask Beckham to give up her family, but I can never go back to that place again.”

There’s no choice. I have to do this, and I know exactly where to start.