Mourning Glory Read Online Free PDF Page B

but briefly. The risk of humiliation or
worse, rejection, would be too much to bear. There were bars, some probably
just opening, but the prospect of both lonely drinking and the possibility of
small talk and flirtatious innuendo made her nauseous. There was always the
comfort of food, but events had demolished her appetite, and she had no desire
to threaten one of her last remaining assets, her figure.
    She pulled into her parking space and sat for a moment in
the car, unable to gather the energy to emerge. On a weekday, with most of the
residents off to work, the area seemed desolate. Most of the cars were gone.
She noted a motorcycle parked nearby that she had never seen before. At least
on Sundays, she had the sense that she was not alone, that others shared her
fate.
    Fighting off a wave of self-pity, she got out of the car
and let herself into her apartment. But she had barely shut the door behind her
when she heard odd sounds emanating from her bedroom. Frightened, she held
herself still, feeling the pounding of her heart against her rib cage.
    But fear quickly turned to shock and anger as she observed
what was happening. Jackie was strenuously engaged in a pretzel-like sexual
escapade with a young hard body with a shiny shaved head. Their clothes were
strewn about the room, testifying to their abandon.
    They were so focused on their activity that they did not
respond to her presence, and since she was too stunned to announce herself she
was forced to witness more of this sexual theater than she might have wished.
    "Oh, no!"
    It was Jackie herself who sounded the alarm and began a
panicky extrication of the young man's firm embrace. The sight of a glistening
naked male penis emerging from the sex of her daughter finally broke the spell
of paralysis, and Grace sprung into action.
    She grabbed the young man by his ear and pulled him
screeching from the bed as Jackie escaped into the bathroom. In an effort to
free himself, the young man punched her in the stomach, blasting the air out of
her. She doubled up in pain and fell to her knees.
    "You were killin' me, lady," he cried. "Bet
you're her mama, right?"
    Grace nodded, unable to find her voice. She looked up at
him, suffering the indignity of watching him pull on his pants.
    "Hell, we was only balling."
    Grace's breath came back finally, but she could only shake
her head in despair. On her knees, barely able to accept the reality of what
she had witnessed, she felt a profound loss of dignity, a sense of acute
degradation.
    "Where's the harm in that?" the young man
continued, tightening his belt. She noted that his large silver belt buckle
sported a raised black swastika. Only when he turned slightly did she see the
leather sheath that hung on the belt. In it she could see the handle of a
knife, also emblazoned with a swastika. He must have seen her look of fear.
Apparently to enjoy it further, he pulled the monster out of its sheath,
brandishing it, making circles in the air.
    She was too angry for tears, and the image of the young man
who stood above her playing with this terrible weapon only increased her
desolation. He was scruffy, unkempt, with recently shaved head scarred with
razor nicks. His body was tightly muscled and slender, and he observed her
through small, intense, angry eyes, half hidden behind high cheekbones. He was
hardly from the world Jackie claimed to aspire to enter. Smiling crookedly, he
grabbed his crotch, a conspicuous bundle in his tight jeans.
    "Got some left, Mama. Want some?"
    "Get the hell out of here," she cried to the
young man, staggering to her feet, finally finding her strength. As she watched
him, she noted an odd tattoo crawling across a muscled arm, a dagger, not
unlike the one that hung from his belt, complete with swastika and encircled by
a coiled snake and the words death before dishonor. The illustration seemed
even more intimidating than the real thing, and she felt a shiver of fear
ratchet up her spine.
    She watched him slide