A Smoking, Deadly Summer in Indy

The River Promenade Fantasy A Short Story By E. Marvin Neville Martin Morris trudged his way into his house on Brooks Lane, a stone’s throw from historic Crispus Attucks in downtown Indianapolis after his daily after work five-mile run. As he walked in, his live-in girlfriend of five years, Regina Chatman, screamed out to him. “What took you so long?” “What’re you talking about?” “I know how long it takes for you to make your run! You’re two hours late!” “I called you at work, Regina. I left a voice message telling you that I had to work a ten hour day,” Martin sighed. “I didn’t get a voice message, Martin,” she answered. “Did you check them?” “You’re really pissing me off now.” “I left it, Regina. If you don’t know what happened, I don’t have a chance of knowing.” “Martin, if I ever find out you’re cheating on me, you know I’ll kill you and the bitch you’re fucking.” “I heard all one-hundred thirty seven thousand times you’ve said that before.” “Don’t get smart, Martin.” Martin sighed again as he made his way to the shower. He truly loved Regina regardless of her need to be abrasive. She was good for him, even though she acted as though her job as a legal secretary at a downtown law firm was better than his job as a forklift driver at the Target Distribution Center near Indianapolis International Airport. He earned six dollars per hour more than did she, but that didn’t matter to her. And, in a way, it didn’t matter to him. She managed the finances like the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, and even though he hated being on a seventy-five dollar per week allowance, he loved the fact that their credit cards were at a five percent balance, and they had a decent amount of funds in their savings. Martin had never been very good at managing money. Regina made sure that there was always money available. Martin had a ten-year old son whose mother Martin had broken up with because he’d cheated on her with Regina. Regina made sure that Martin never had to go near a courthouse regarding child support, but she also never let it slip from her mind that he was capable of not only cheating, but cheating to an end of leaving her for another woman. Martin, on the other hand, wasn’t a habitual cheater. He’d loved his son’s mother, and then he fell in love with Regina. He wasn’t a sophisticated guy. He met Regina at Black Expo 2003, at the job fair. They both liked their jobs, but they also wanted to explore their respective options. The meeting of Martin and Regina seemed to be pure chance. He was buying a bottle of three-dollar Dasani water from a nearby dispenser, and she walked up telling him how he was wasting money when there was perfectly good fountain water less than one-hundred yards away. He argued his position that bottled water was less laden with bacteria and sediments. She argued that scientific research that she’d seen on TV stated that there was virtually no difference between the two, other than the cost. The battle had never ended between them. Regina was always crashing through walls while Martin built defenses against offenses. That dynamic created a strange kind of balance that neither of them could explain to outsiders. It was as if they really didn’t want to be together, but they had to be together in order for their respective lives to work. Their sex life was like a conduit to that dynamic. Neither of them were titans in the sack. Martin had decent penile resistance to ejaculation, but it was Regina who made their sex life good. It took ten minutes when she was on top of him and fifteen minutes doggy style – her preferred position – for her to orgasm. She was often embarrassed that she came so fast, and tried many times to hold off, which was typically male. Martin ran with the fumble every time. He was almost always free to pump away at her, knowing she’d already been sexually satisfied. Even better, Regina was infertile because she’d had one too many abortions in her youth. The only reason to worry about protection was because of STD’s, and they’d been together long enough that, even when she vehemently accused Martin of cheating, she never asked him to use a condom. But he did wonder whether or not her constant anger with him was rooted in her inability to have children, in addition to the fact that she’d had so many failed relationships. It didn’t matter much now. Martin Morris and Regina Chatman had a good balance. They owned both of their vehicles outright, and they were in route to owning their home in fifteen years or less. It was a good balance. After dinner, Martin and Regina cleaned up the kitchen, showered together, went to bed and had their sex. Breathlessly, Regina mentioned that she wanted to travel to Chicago on the weekend after the Brickyard 400 NASCAR race at the end of July. She really wanted to go on the weekend of the race, but she didn’t want to deal with any traffic. Martin liked the idea. He liked visiting Chicago. It was a great place to party and have fun, especially in the warm months of the year. “It’s a date,” he said. Regina smiled, turned over, and fell asleep almost immediately. Martin got off work at his regular time the next day, and put yesterday’s dinner in the oven at low temperature so that it would be ready for he and Regina by the time they both got home. Regina did almost all of the cooking. Martin made sure that the leftovers weren’t ruined. He was good at that. He went for his run. He loved running. He’d run cross country in high school, and had even won a few races, but he was good enough at running to simply stay in shape, and reap the enjoyment. And enjoy it he did. He ran his way out of the Flanner House Homes on Brooks Lane, up Tenth Street between Wishard Hospital and Fall Creek, past the VA Hospital at Porto Allegre Street, and up New York Street toward the River Promenade. It was his usual route, and the River Promenade was his favorite part of the run. The River Promenade was far and away the most beautiful part of Indy to Martin. When he and Regina first moved into the Flanner House Homes area, he ran the canal. It was a good run, but his problem with it was that there were so many beautiful White women, and, more importantly, so many couples who seemed to be so in love. That was a huge distraction for him. He loved Regina, but he never felt the love that he thought he saw between the couples that he encountered on his runs on the canal. At least he didn’t think he had. He just didn’t know. One thing that he did yearn for, though, was for that heavy hitting love – that love that wasn’t just about efficiency. He wasn’t stupid. He and Regina had an excellent relationship where feelings were secondary to a business model. That was a good thing. But he fantasized constantly about how it would feel to be head over heels in love – how the people he saw at the canal who cuddled, spoke softly to one another, and even simply held hands while walking together felt as they navigated the perilous waters of love. How did it feel to want to live for someone other than a direct blood relative? How did it feel to be willing to die for that person? At the River Promenade, a half mile stretch of White River State Park that lied between the top of the White River Delta and the Indianapolis Zoo, with trees and foliage that rendered it beautiful without obscuring the view of downtown Indy, there were almost entirely exercisers. It was a terrific place for lovers, but only the lovers who were excruciatingly serious about exercising seemed to take advantage of it. There were mostly lone exercisers. It was perfect for Martin. Martin was running past one of two River Promenade monuments when he saw something that nearly turned his heart into chicken noodle soup. A woman more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen in his life was running toward him from the opposite direction. He couldn’t assign a nationality to her.