Kevin Harris

She still remembered his stink—a combination of body odor and cheap cologne—after he placed his hand over her mouth, pressing it down firmly enough so she couldn’t scream or even sink her teeth into the palm of his hand. Hours before, she had covered a story in downtown Baltimore that involved a white cop who had killed an unarmed teenaged Black boy, one of three caught robbing a liquor store. After talking to witnesses, Sabrina Hawkins was walking down the stairwell back to her car in the garage when suddenly someone lunged from the shadows.  As he squeezed her jaws with one hand and unzipped his fly with the other, she caught a glimpse of the swastika on the meaty part of his pale forearm. The last thing she remembered was that he also wore a red baseball cap that was so low, the brim of it overshadowed his eyes.

       That was a year ago. Sabrina had been reluctant to cover hard news stories in downtown Baltimore for weeks, preferring instead to do lighthearted feature stories. She sought therapy before she went back to her normal daily routine. However, to this day, she wondered if the attack had been random or if she had been followed because she was covering a sensitive topic —excessive force used by a white police officer on an unarmed Black perpetrator. At any rate, some time had passed since that awful day, and she refused to allow what had happened to deter her from having a life and career and perhaps even a family to call her own. So, with some reluctance, she reopened her dating profile, complete with photos of herself, her hair braided as she had it styled now, along with the following:

Single Black Female. Reporter. Age 35. No Children. Seeking Male Between 25

and 45. Race Preference: None.

After a week she had gotten several responses, but the one that caught her attention the most was from a man named “Trevor.” He was a single white male, 36, and a U.S. Navy Consultant with the Food and Drug Administration. According to his own profile, he had one child living at home. A single parent. He also did not reveal the age and sex of the child. This was intriguing. Although she was not a stranger to dating white men, much less men separated or divorced, she had never dated any with custody of any children.

     Sabrina had always wanted to be a working professional instead of a stay-at-home mom; however, she loved children and wanted to know what it was like to raise a family, especially since many of her peers, working professionals or not, had their own families. At nearly forty, she still had time, but not forever. And she preferred not to have the distraction of an older child when starting a family of her own. So, in response to Trevor’s icebreaking message expressing interest in her, she inquired about the age of the child living with him, to which he replied, “I have a ten-year-son.” That was acceptable—it meant he was not a rebellious teenager like the boys who had robbed that liquor store, nor an adult set in his ways. Like her rapist.

      Sabrina had  grown up in a lower-middle-class, all-black neighborhood in northeast Washington, DC, where many of her childhood peers either didn’t have the same ambitions or lacked the opportunities she had growing up. Her family had taught her not to be prejudiced against any skin color, nationality, or religious faith; she still held the values and teachings of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., to this day, especially after witnessing the election and reelection of Barack Obama. She kept hope alive even amid the political chaos before, during, and after the Donald J. Trump administration and the neo-Nazis, Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, and other white supremacists among his supporters. Therefore, she wasn’t about to let one rapist, Trump supporter or not, stop her from pursuing her own happiness as an intelligent, college-educated, strong black woman with a career at The Baltimore Sun. And she was ready to start a family with the right man—a kind, intelligent, and sensitive one with no tolerance for bigotry and hatred, who shared the values and beliefs she wanted to pass on to their children. Sabrina filled in much about herself and the type of man she sought in two entries: About Myself and The One I’m Looking For.

     “So, you don’t even know his politics?” asked Beverly, Sabrina’s white colleague at the Sun, the two reporters having drinks at a table at a local bar at the Inner Harbor.

      “He didn’t include it in his profile, and I didn’t ask,” Sabrina replied, sipping her Merlot. “I was too caught up in the fact that he actually dug my profile!”

      Beverly cocked her head back laughing. “I hear you, girl, especially if he’s as dreamy as you say his photos are. Still, it would help to know he’s not one of those crazy Trump supporters.”

     “Amen to that!” Sabrina replied, putting on a brave face. “It’s hard to tell with this Trevor guy. What I mean is, I most certainly don’t think he’s a neo-Nazi or any kind of nationalist, but he’s still a mystery. One of the things that makes him different from most men who reply favorably to my email is that he’s not only white, but also a single father with a ten-year old son.”

     “Okay.... So, is he divorced?”

     “Try separated.”   

      “And with child custody, too? Sounds like he has more on the ball than the mother, whoever she is, if he’s been awarded the child. At any rate, girl, it’s good to see you’re getting back on that horse again. You really had me worried for a while. I’m glad you’re putting--everything behind you. But … are you sure you’re ready?” Beverly’s uncharacteristically concerned expression was enough to make Sabrina nervous, largely because it reminded her of another woman’s expression, her therapist, whom she was still seeing on occasion.

     “Yes, Beverly, I’m ready. It’s been over a year. I’m okay…really. At any rate I’m saving my questions for when Trevor and I finally meet. He’s already asked me out on a date, and I accepted.”

      “You don’t say!” Beverly said, smiling. “I’m excited for you, Sabrina. Just don’t forget to share all the disgusting details afterward.”

      “Girlfriend, have you no morals?” Sabrina winked.

     “You know me so well.”

      They both laughed, clicking their both almost half-full glasses. However, Sabrina couldn’t quite shake Beverly’s expression, much less her own mild apprehension of dating again, despite her determination to move forward.

                                                            *            *             *

      It was a beautiful, sunny day, with the seagulls gliding overhead and the scent of saltwater coming from the harbor. Sabrina, dressed in blue jeans and a floral-designed sleeveless blouse for the July weather, had agreed to let Trevor pick her up from her apartment in Glen Burnie to have seafood at the Inner Harbor. They were there now facing each other over an umbrella table on a patio. He was dressed almost as casually as she, in white pants and a navy-blue short-sleeved T-shirt, revealing at least one Navy tattoo: an anchor on his left bicep, but no brands, much less anti-Semitic ones—thank God! He looked like someone about to go sailing. His blond hair was neatly cut with an M-style covering his forehead, giving him the appearance of a rich playboy who owns a yacht, which signified some freedom beyond the regimen of the Navy. He also had blue eyes, not too light or too dark, but with a royal hue like one of the many cinematic versions of Superman.

    “I knew how much you like seafood, so I couldn’t think of a better place. They serve some of the best crabs here in Baltimore,” Trevor said.

     “Aww, that’s so sweet!” she said, in an exaggerated higher-than-normal voice to express her gratitude. “I feel bad now because I’m so underdressed.”

     “What you’re wearing is fine,” he said, fanning his hand.

     “Sure, but you’re acting like such a gentleman, making me feel like a little ol’ lady,” she replied in a mockingly exaggerated Southern belle accent.

     “Well, had I known you’d be putting on airs like that, young lady, I would’ve asked you to dress more formally,” he quipped, which made her laugh.

      “Well, I do declare, Mister Trevor, are yew tryin’ to impress little ol’ me?” Sabrina joked, fluttering her eyelashes.

      “Now what, I say, what gives  y’all that idea, Miss Sabrina, ma’am?” he replied in an obvious Foghorn Leghorn drawl, befitting a Southern lawyer or well-to-do gentleman.

     When the waiter came, they both ordered blue crabs and beer. When he left, Sabrina began asking questions.

    “So, tell me more about yourself, Trevor,” she began, clasping her hands together.

    “What do you want to know?”  The right side of his mouth curled up.

    “Well, for starters, how long has it been since you and your wife separated?”

    “It’s been nearly two years now,” he said, his smile gradually fading. “But why bring her into this? I thought you wanted to know more about me.”

     “Well, I just thought—if you two are only separated, would it pose a problem for us getting to know each other better?”

    “Fair enough,” Trevor replied. “I can understand your reluctance. But I wouldn’t be here if that were the case.”

    “I’m sorry,” Sabrina said. “It’s just the investigative reporter in me that I haven’t mastered shutting off yet,” she added, taking his wrists. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

     Trevor laughed. “I guess it’s a stalemate. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable either, especially after we have just ordered our meals.”

     Sabrina laughed, too. “Okay, then, for now, let’s forget about your wife and your son….”

     “My son?” he asked, with an arched eyebrow.

     “You told me you have a ten-year-old son, right?”

     “Yes, Christopher. What about him?”

     “Oh—nothing.”

     “He’s staying with his aunt right now.”

     The waiter returned with their orders.

    “My, these look good,” she said.

   “They taste even better,” he replied, winking.

    Sabrina broke off a thick crab leg with lots of white sticking out, dipped it in sauce and sampled it. “Mmmmmm!”

    Sabrina texted Trevor later that day, telling him how much she enjoyed lunch and his company. He texted back saying he enjoyed her company as well and asked if he could see her again soon. She replied “Sure, I’d like that.” It wasn’t long before he called to ask her over to his place for dinner, to which she replied, “I’ll need to get back with you.”

  “Wow, you must have really made an impression on him, girl!” said Beverly at the same bar where they’d had drinks before.

      “He says he makes a mean spaghetti dinner,” Sabrina said. “He’s really very charming but I’m not sure if I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

      “You’re still thinking about—last year, aren’t you?”

      “I can’t help it…” Sabrina sighed. “I don’t want to tell Trevor about what happened… at least not yet.”

      “But you like him, right?”

       Sabrina nodded. “And he wants to have dinner with me alone while his son Christopher is staying with his aunt for the night.”

       “Oooooo!”

        “Oh, stop it!” Sabrina replied, shoving Beverly playfully on her left shoulder.

        “But seriously, Sabrina. If you really like this man maybe you should try to move forward with your life. You even said it yourself!”

        “I know… and you’re right. I think I’ve waited long enough to feel normal again, so why not?”

       “That’s my girl! Besides, a man willing to cook dinner for you sounds like a winner to me. Let’s have another round,” Beverly said, lifting her glass for a toast and winking.

*                *                *

      Sabrina found herself in a lip-locking, tongue-kissing embrace on Trevor’s living room couch inside his house in Catonsville—despite her initial reluctance to be touched again. It was not long after enjoying his spaghetti dinner and after having more than enough red wine. She couldn’t resist his crooked smile, his blond hair, his piercing blue eyes, which watched her with the same attraction and fascination that she felt. She did, however, still have some questions about him and needed some answers.

    Although she had dated white men before, she had never met one as handsome as Trevor. While they kissed, she allowed him to gently slip his hand underneath her blouse before he skillfully undid her bra. She got a whiff of what seemed to be expensive cologne blending in with his pleasant scent. That triggered a memory--which put in her mind the image of the branded swastika.

     “Stop! Please…stop!” she breathed, pushing hard at his chest.

     “Whoa! Why… what’s the matter?” Trevor said, his brows furrowing, but nevertheless stopping his advances.

      “I’m sorry… I… I thought I was ready for this again, but maybe it’s too soon.”

      “Ready? For what?”

      “I guess I should’ve been more straightforward… about the last man who touched me. It was more than a year ago, but I cannot get him out of my head.”

      “Sabrina….?”

      “Trevor, a man raped me. It happened over a year ago, but sometimes I still see him… smell him even.”

       “Oh, dear God!” Trevor said.

       “I’m sorry to bring this up now. I thought I was over it. But…”

       “I truly understand, Sabrina… although I cannot imagine what that must’ve been like for you.”

      “Thank you, Trevor,” she smiled, taking his hand.

      Trevor exhaled. “Okay, so…now what? Do you feeling comfortable telling me about this man? About what happened?”

      Sabrina held Trevor’s hand tenderly, telling him all about the horrific day she had covered a news story involving a liquor store robbery involving Black teenagers and about how the white police officers arriving at the scene handled it, shooting one of them who was unarmed. She also told him about how her day ended just hours after the incident with the man whom she described in full detail, down to the swastika and the brim of his cap covering much of his eyes.

      “My God, Sabrina. That’s horrible!”

       Trevor squeezed Sabrina’s hand tenderly and slowly, gingerly, took her in his arms while she demurred. “I think you’re a very strong, brave young woman. Just put that horrible man out of your mind. You’re in good hands, now. I’m nothing like that monster you described.  I could never hurt you…. Ever.”

      “Thank you,” she said, feeling Trevor’s warmth and tenderness. She shut her eyes trying to think less about the past and take in this moment. She then opened her eyes again, looking up into Trevor’s face, his expression revealing concern, before he kissed her forehead. Slowly, he pecked her lips, which she didn’t resist. It wasn’t long before they were kissing again, slowly at first, and then with more alacrity.

       From the corner of her eye, Sabrina saw a framed photo on the coffee table--a little boy, five or six years old, with blond hair like Trevor’s, staring at her with blue eyes and a naughty grin.

     “Mmmm… Wait!” she breathed.

     “What… what’s the matter?”

     “Nothing, sorry, it’s… um…. this photo. Christopher, I presume?”

     Trevor grinned, cocking his head back and chuckling. “Ah, yes…. He was only six when that photo was taken. Like I said, he’s ten now.”

     “He’s cute,” Sabrina said, taking the small photo behind the glass in a wooden frame into her hands and smiling. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but notice him staring at me while we were in the middle of….”

     “Forgive me,” Trevor said. “Had I known things were going in this direction, I would’ve put it face down or moved it. But I assure you his aunt won’t bring him back until noon tomorrow.”

    “It’s okay… really,” Sabrina replied, peering down at the boy’s portrait. “He reminds me of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone in this photo,” she said, giggling.

    “I get that a lot from everyone who sees this photo of him, although I can’t see it myself, really,” he said, as Sabrina sensed a bitterness in his otherwise easy-going tone.

     “I’m sorry, I meant that in the most complimentary way. I thought Macaulay Culkin was adorable and funny in that movie. Have you seen it?”

     “Ah, yes, I have…. Not exactly my favorite film, I dare say.”

     “Well, I was only trying to compliment how adorable he looks in this photo, that’s all.”

     “Oh, thank you. I appreciate it,” Trevor said. “Anyway, enough talk about my son’s photo. I think we were in the middle of something here?” he said, twirling Sabrina’s white lace bra on one finger.

     Sabrina bowed her head, letting out another giggle. “I see you don’t waste time, do you?”

     “Forgive me for being so abrupt, but my sister will be back with Christopher tomorrow and as much as I love him to death, he can be quite the handful, so much so I rarely go out on dates anymore since my wife and I separated,” he said, taking both of Sabrina’s hands. “I guess since you’ve never had children, you cannot possibly imagine how refreshing this is.”

    Taken aback by this and watching his handsome face closely, Sabrina replied. “Okay, then, shut up and kiss me.”

     He obliged.

                                                               *            *             *

     Sabrina woke up the following morning in Trevor’s bedroom, but without Trevor next to her. Groggy, she heard Trevor’s voice outside, thinking he was on his smartphone talking to someone—but then she heard other voices, too.

     “Shit!” she whispered loudly to herself, realizing that Trevor wasn’t alone before she realized what was happening.

      “You weren’t supposed to be back until noon!” she overheard Trevor say.

      “I’m sorry, something came up. I couldn’t keep Christopher, so I had to bring him back.”

      “Well, damn it, Emily, you should have called first!”

      “I see. Looks like you’ve had company…,” Emily said slyly. “Do you always drink with two wine glasses and leave two empty plates in the sink?”

      Frantically, and without bothering to listen any further to the conversation, Sabrina scrambled for her clothes and rushed to throw them all back on. She was just pulling up her skin-tight jeans over her panties when she turned toward the bedroom door and saw a blond boy, four years older than in the photo on Trevor’s coffee table. He stood before her with the same piercing blue eyes, only this time he wasn’t grinning.

     “Well…. This is awkward,” Sabrina said, fastening her jeans and forcing a smile. “Uhm, you must be Christopher. You father told me a lot about you.”

     “Yeah? Well, he never mentioned any colored woman.”

     “Um, excuse me?”

     “Last one he brought here was a Jew bitch. A kike. I don’t want another mom. Got it? And she’ll be back.”

      Sabrina felt a chill.

     “Christopher! Get back here, now!” shouted Trevor.

     “I gotta use the bathroom, Dad!” Christopher shouted back before he quickly turned the corner, leaving the bedroom door open. Trevor appeared at the threshold in his royal blue robe.

     “Oh God, Sabrina! My apologies. I wasn’t expecting them back so soon!” he said.

     “It’s … it’s all right….” Sabrina said, first slipping on her low-heeled shoes and then looking around for her purse. Realizing that she had left it in the living room, she rushed past Trevor. He chased after her as she went straight to the foot of the couch. Sitting there was a chubby, fiftyish blond woman, presumably the boy’s aunt. The woman stood up, acknowledging her presence, but Sabrina said nothing, as she grabbed her purse and headed straight for the front door, with Trevor chasing after her.

     “Wait, Sabrina, please don’t rush off like this…. At least let me drive you home,” he said.

     “No need. I’ll call Uber,” she replied. “Will you let me out, please?”

     “Trevor, who is this?” asked the woman.

     “Never mind, Emily,” Trevor said, fanning his hand. He unlocked the door. Sabrina headed outside. He followed her out, still in his robe and slippers.

     “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

      “I don’t think so, Trevor,” she said, pulling out her smartphone ready to call Uber. “By the way, that’s one helluva son you got there.”

      “Why, what happened? Did he say something to upset you? I’ll have a chat with him. What did he say?”

       “I don’t want to talk about it,” Sabrina said, shaking her head. “I need some space. So please, go back inside.”

       “Not until you tell me what happened.”

       Just then, Emily opened the front door and stuck her head past the screen door. “Trevor, you better come back in. It’s Christopher.”

        Trevor exhaled, rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine, let me just say goodbye to Sabrina first.” He turned back to Sabrina, who was already calling an Uber. “Listen, I’ll call you, okay? I can explain everything.”

      “Thanks, but I don’t think this is going to work, Trevor. I’m sorry. Go look after your boy. He really has some serious issues. But I guess you already know that.”

       Trevor stood hands on hips, before he sighed heavily, bowing his head. “I’m sorry about whatever my son said to you and for you finding out everything like this. I was going to tell you how close he is to his mother and, sadly, she’s—passed on her views,” he said.

       “I’m sorry, too, Trevor….”

       Her Uber arrived.  She got in the back, looking through the window and watching Trevor standing outside in his robe before he turned away to go back inside his house. Sabrina realized now why Trevor had gotten upset when she had likened Christopher to Macaulay Culkin. As a slightly older boy who was then about Christopher’s age, Culkin played another role, a bad seed in the film The Good Son. All the questions she had wanted to ask about the boy’s mother, about Christopher himself, about the separation, as far as Sabrina was concerned, all seemed to be answered.

            As the ride continued, she pondered her future and whether she still wanted to bring children into the world. It disturbed her that a man like Trevor had fathered a ten-year-old boy who spewed such racist and anti-Semitic remarks in front of her. It disturbed her even more that a man like Trevor could marry a woman who apparently had shaped the boy in her image. She also wondered exactly what kind of hold Christopher had on Trevor for his aunt to call Trevor back into the house on the boy’s behalf? She could only imagine the boy demanding that his father never date another woman to replace his mother, much less, in the boy’s own words, a “colored woman” or a “Jew bitch,” while either throwing a temper tantrum or evoking sympathy in a manipulative way. It reminded her eerily of a Twilight Zone episode, “It’s a Good Life,” in which a spoiled six-year-old boy--a true monster--had control of not only the small farm town in Illinois where he had been raised, but also the contiguous United States. It wasn’t hard for Sabrina to imagine Christopher having the same power over Trevor or even his Aunt Emily. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine what an older Christopher could do—though it was getting hard to imagine where it would all stop.