Keon: Lyle 1

KEON

Lyle 1

Timothy Lee

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Timothy Lee

Published by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

What readers are saying about

Keon – Lyle 1

This is one of the best written stories that I ever had the pleasure to read. The story had me beaming with so much emotion in so many ways that no other book compares. This author amazingly put so much emotion in the words that leave life lasting effects. I'll certainly be buying the rest of the series no questions asked.

Loved this story. Good job. A box of tissues were at hand. Well written, going to get the rest of the series

Thank you Timothy Lee for an exceptionally beautiful love story. I laughed, I cried and I may never recover!!!! Wonderful and beautifully written.

Quite an engaging read. The characters were likable and their situations very real. I really loved the secondary characters, especially Levi :)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About the Author

Other Titles

Chapter 1

In the darkness of the room he prayed; God, make it go away. Please, make the pain go away. While it was entirely possible to actually feel physically worse at the moment he doubted the same could be said about his feelings of inadequacy, helplessness and overall vulnerability. With no light being shed at the end of the tunnel these sensations were not likely to be improving anytime soon. God did not answer his prayers. He never answered his prayers. God was not listening, or had moved on to somebody else that He cared more about. Or just plain didn’t exist. It was just that simple.

Tired sad eyes looked through the thin badly-stained sheet hanging over the window to the dimly lit darkness beyond from the small filthy rundown hotel room he had called home for month after endless month. There was no money for fancy surroundings or classy friends or, more often than not, sometimes even for food. Some weeks were difficult to get through because of his inability to feed himself adequately, and although the first weeks after receiving his monthly paycheck were feast, famine bared its sharp bloody teeth religiously toward the end of every month. That was when Keon Tabari would really start praying again. Praying hard. But, as usual, God never came knocking at the door with baskets of fruit or floating in through the broken window delivering meats and cheeses instead of the rain that the wind so often blew in.

His parents had always taught him that life was good. That there was love in the world, in all that surrounded him, in life. That there were people who took care of people who needed to be taken care of. Keon wanted to believe in everything they had told him, in everything they had instilled in his brain right from the beginning. Yet day after long lonely miserable day his prayers, his hopes, his dreams went unanswered as assuredly as what little heat the radiator produced would escape through the sharp jagged holes in the window pane.

As was so often the case Keon would awaken in the middle of the night, this due mostly to the sounds of a gunshot out on the street or a fight resulting from some drug deal gone bad out in the hallway. These were times when Keon would start praying again for God to help him. To get his life back on track. To release him from the pain and misery that had become a daily routine for him. Where was God? Where was help? Where was life?

On this particular cold dark morning Keon was uncertain as to what had awakened him. As his head cleared from the sleep that so mercifully took him from this misery, at least temporarily, the futility of his situation immediately consumed his soul, as it so often did. Again he wished for a miracle, the miracle – any miracle – that would lift him out of this hell. As usual, however, miracles were few and far between in his neck of the city and any that might have been lurking about in the vicinity were certainly not making a beeline to his door. While it seemed pointless to even wish for a better life at this juncture, Keon could not help but hold onto the tiniest thread of hope that any day now he would awaken to a brand new tomorrow where it was possible to smile once again and feel the type of joy experienced in the past.

A car alarm from seven floors below all at once broke the relative quiet of the night and with a sigh Keon closed his eyes again, pulled the thin blanket up around his chin and tried to fall asleep. Keeping him from an immediate lapse back into a peaceful escape was the casual reminder that this existence seemed so blatantly unnecessary. He figured that, when the whole world seems to have given up hope on you and when that little part of the world that did know you existed continually admonished you and made you know what a loss you were, it made it that much more difficult to continue to hunt for reasons to keep on living.

It would only be a couple more hours before the sky started to lighten outside and Keon wanted nothing more at the moment to be able to clear his mind of the images before him - images of his current situation - and drift off to sleep just for a few hours. Even one hour more would be better than none since, when he slept, the whole ugly world disappeared and he was once again able to escape into a happy fantasy realm where hunger, disparity and fear were non-existent.

In the surrounding semi-darkness of his room Keon tried to think back to happier times. Times that seemed so long ago now. Times when he was living with his mom and dad in the house in the middle of the suburbs on the northern side of the city. The well-trimmed green lawn and colorful flowerbed that his mother loved to tend were often images of great comfort to him. Even when the sun had become unbearably hot and the air humid he remembered it as being far better than his situation now. Keon fondly remembered hopping off the school bus and racing home to find his mother there, pruning and digging and rearranging, sometimes adding yet another colorful perennial or two to the mix. As these thoughts of the past were resurrected within his weary mind he remembered her looking up to see him trotting up the front walk, wiping her brow with the back of her gloved hand and squinting at the sun in her eyes. He could even hear her voice asking him to get her a cool glass of lemonade, but that voice had long since been silenced and was getting fainter day by day.

Even more prominent were the memories of Keon’s younger brother, Anton. The two boys had occupied a bed together as long as Keon could remember which was just fine since he and Anton had always been close to one another. Anton was only a year younger and yet Keon felt that he needed to watch over his brother and protect him from any hostile outside forces, perceived or real... until that day. But Keon did not want to think about that day right now. He merely wanted to sleep.

Outside, the car alarm finally silenced after running through about 20 different sounds and Keon began to feel a light haze of sleep overtaking him at last. This was interrupted by the familiar ticking of Ralph’s toenails scampering across the floor toward his bed. Keon raised himself on one elbow and looked down at the two little pink eyes faintly visible in the dim illumination of the room that looked up at him expectantly.

I don’t have any food for you, Ralph, Keon explained, trying to sound as sincere as possible and hoping the white mouse would understand. If I had something I’d give it to you. Go to another room and try to find some food, Ralph.

The little eyes stared up at him a moment longer before finally blinking, and with apparent recognition the creature’s four little legs carried him back behind the broken wooden dresser and through the wall. Ralph, as Keon had come to name him, appeared right after he had moved into the room and immediately the two struck up a friendship, the result of offerings of food. At one point Ralph stopped coming in and Keon feared that he had been trapped in some other room by a neighbor, never to be seen again. Eventually, though, the furry guy did show up, much to Keon’s relief, to which the mouse was rewarded a couple small scraps of cheese and bread. Now unable to feed the one who depended upon him, Keon pushed aside his underlying guilt and slowly lay back down, closing his eyes again and relishing the peace in the room – something that was always in short supply, day or night. Just one more hour of sleep.

Unexpectedly a cloud washed across his mind and Keon dreamed of a big room in which sat a large table filled to the brim with cooked beef and poultry, fresh vegetables and fruit, and breads looking and smelling as if they had just been removed from the oven. That aroma was almost euphoric. Unable to contain himself he scurried over to the table and filled a plate to overflowing, but just as he raised a morsel to his mouth fate, or circumstance, or just plain dumb luck woke him up. It was always the same with that particular dream in that he never remained in the vision long enough to actually taste the abundance of food before awakening. Nevertheless, he did enjoy the brief elation the dream afforded him before exiting back into the harsh reality of what he barely called a life.

Gradually opening his eyes Keon became aware of the daylight filtering through the yellowed sheet covering the window with the offering of yet another day. In the briefest of moments while straddling the line between sleep and consciousness Keon experienced a flash of reminiscence. It was a moment of pure joy in his childhood when the smell of bacon hanging in the air beckoned his brother and himself out of their bed in the morning more effectively than had it been a call from their mother. All too quickly, however, came the stark recognition of the dingy, potted and pealing wallpaper covering the walls of his small room while the musty, dank smells replaced the sweet pungency of bacon. To this Keon immediately remembered where he was, his heart sinking with the fading recollection.

Movement upon the dresser across the room caught his attention where he instantly identified two cockroaches scurrying across the top on their endless quest for food and Keon shook his head before raising himself on his arms. Folding back the dirty, dank blanket that was covering him he grunted while pushing himself to a sitting position. With some degree of effort over the weakness that prevailed by his lack of nutrition he pushed his legs over the side of the bed with his left hand.

To his left sat his wheelchair; silver and black, sturdy, reliable. Pulling it a little closer, he heaved himself in and then wheeled himself out the room and down to the end of the hallway lined with doors on either side. Each displayed descending room numbers that were inconsistent with one another as most of the brass digits had fallen or been stolen and then replaced haphazardly over time. As was usually the case Keon had to wait for whoever was already in the bathroom, and in so doing he cast his eyes downward at no preconceived angle, falling upon a pile of mouse excrement in the corner by the door.

Being that passing the time was a necessity in his current situation, Keon placed his mind in neutral while the dreariness of his surroundings took a back seat to the nothingness filling his brain. This caused him not to immediately comprehend the sound of a door slam shut from behind or the footsteps approaching him. It was also this complacent state of mind that retarded his awareness of the bathroom door opening before him until a woman had cleared the doorway, stepping out with only a towel wrapped around herself. With responsiveness finally back in gear Keon started to wheel himself toward the open doorway, but was instantly halted and his chair thrust against the wall harshly.

Git’cher cripple ass out ma’ way, muthafucka!

Quickly glancing up, Keon caught a glimpse of the tall dark man who had breezed past him and slammed the door. He had not seen this hulk directly but knew it to be the guy two doors down from his own room who seemed to have it out for Keon for no apparent reason other than just needing somebody to lord over. This had been a familiar routine when they would meet in the hallway, elevator, or lobby, and Keon was continually having to assume the role of the spiritual scratching post. While it was true that the big guy never struck Keon, it was also true that the boy was continuously being shoved around and talked down to. Because of the frequency, Keon learned to take the abuse in stride. This was not to say that the big man did not always scare the living hell out of the Keon, but with the guy towering over him from way up there, and Keon in his wheelchair way down here, there was not much he could do but take it.

Fifteen minutes later Keon wheeled himself back into his room, closed the door behind him and began the ritual of getting dressed, his hair still damp from the shower. Hunger was a way of life for the young man so he merely ignored the rumbling noises going on in his stomach. Slipping his shirt over his head he briefly caught the scent of stale sweat as a sleeve brushed across his nose. Not having a mirror with which to view the finished, completed product after he was through dressing, Keon just assumed himself to look like hell in his filthy clothing - not that he really actually wanted to have it accurately confirmed for him by a reflection.

This was the second Tuesday of the month which meant that his welfare check would be down at the front desk as it was each month at this time. Keon was looking forward to cashing it, and with what was left after paying his room rent, to getting something to eat. After all, it had been two days since his last real meal. He did have a couple leftover crackers yesterday to tide him over but Keon longed for something more substantial and today was the day.

I’ll have something for you tonight, Ralph, he told the white mouse that had emerged again and eyed him from beneath the dresser. But I have to get my check cashed first. I’ll bring back a piece of bread. Okay?

The mouse wiggled its whiskers in seeming acknowledgement and then swiftly darted back into the wall. This small joy in a time when joy was nonexistent caused Keon to smile before wheeling himself out the door and over to the elevator. It was a noisy contraption that could be heard starting up from three floors above or below and he was getting pretty adept at knowing which floor it was on by the noise it made on its approach.

His quiet anticipation of the arrival of the car was interrupted by a couple who started screaming from the other end of the hall. Instinctively, Keon tried to ignore it, but with the slamming of their door igniting his curiosity he involuntarily glanced back to see a woman being thrown against the opposite wall by a man clearly twice her size. She bounced off the stained, graffiti-riddled concrete barrier and slumped to the floor, crying and screaming at the top of her lungs. In response, the man yelled back with his arms flailing about dramatically as he leaned over in order to amplify his intimidation by getting directly in her face. This verbal tirade continued for another five seconds before the man suddenly glanced quickly down the hall to see Keon looking back at him.

What the fuck you lookin’ at? I'm onta put the smack down on yo ass, cracker! This ain’t none o’ yo muthafuckin’ business! he yelled at the boy waiting for the elevator who turned rapidly back to the scraped, dented, graffiti painted steel door before him.

Having had to quickly evolve from the safety and security of his once-happy world to this one in which unpredictability and potential harm abounded around every corner, Keon now knew to mind his own business. Thusly, he silently reprimanding himself for having looked in the first place and focused his attention on the lit up-arrow above him while the shouting match and slug-fest continued to his back. This was a daily routine in the hotel to which he had grown familiar, although somewhat reluctantly at first. In fact, it had taken him two weeks before he felt safe enough to travel outside his room without first listening at the door to hear if it was in his best interest to exit. Even at that he held his bodily functions until the very last moment before making that trip down the hall to the bathroom. The best times to emerge were early in the morning or late at night when most of the activity out in the hall had calmed down.

Friday and Saturday nights were always the worst in the massive bare concrete hotel with loud music and drunken and drugged people who banged on doors and walls - if for no other reason than just to make sure nobody forgot they were alive and well. Consequently, Keon rarely ventured outside of his hovel on those days, taking bathroom breaks and showing his face only when absolutely necessary.

His eyes followed a cockroach as it scurried along the wall just before the elevator door opened. To his relief at finding the little room to be empty, he rolled himself in quickly, turned and punched the ‘Lobby’ button hoping the door would close before somebody else emerged from their room and sprint down the hall to join him. The door rumbled closed and he felt himself being lowered slowly, roughly. The floor of the metal car was littered with garbage and vomit that had not been cleaned up in weeks. Still more spray-painted graffiti covered the metal walls and the smell was reminiscent of an outhouse.

While his eyes casually scanned over the car and its contents Keon thought back to the better days and wondered what he had done back then that had been so horrible that he would deserve this life. Thumbing through the recollections of his past he did not readily remember ever raising his voice to his parents or to his little brother - even his Aunt Andrea, for that matter - nor had he harmed any type of animal. Comically, he would even avoid stepping on ants on the sidewalk, this sending him on a winding path across the narrow cement walkway bordering the houses on his street. This practice always brought more than one snicker from his brother as he would follow Keon home after school daily. Anton really admired his older brother and looked forward to spending as much time with him as he could, little knowing that their time together was going to be painfully short. Anton did not see it coming. Nobody saw it coming.

What would Anton think of his big brother now, Keon thought? He would be able to see what a failure I am… what a complete waste of flesh I’ve become without even having the guts or decency to kill myself and get it over with.

Certainly, if his parents were not already dead his living situation would almost certainly put them in their graves, but things were what they were. Ever since the accident Keon had lost control of his life which seemed to have become a runaway train that could not be stopped. He had no control over his past, of course. How could he? He could not have done anything to stop the accident that loomed over them all in the car that fateful day on the freeway. Still, there was that constant nagging feeling in the back of his mind that maybe there was something he could have done to stop it. He had not been driving, and most certainly did not see it coming until the last moment, and he could not have predicted it. So why did he feel responsible?

The elevator shuddered to a halt with a grinding moan and the steel door slid open to reveal the lobby floor, allowing him to wheel himself out and over to the front desk. Behind the wide, tall barrier stood a very rotund man with a white beard and orange mustache and teeth from his years of smoking. His greasy T-shirt did not support his position as desk clerk but certainly blended in with the surroundings and clientele. He was talking on the phone and glanced down at Keon a moment before looking away to continue his conversation undisturbed. This left the man in the wheelchair to wait patiently while eyeing the small stack of mail on the counter just out of his reach and hoping that his check was there. They were usually very prompt at delivering the checks on time. This was not to say that the occasional slip-up did not happen, of course, but normally it was there on the scheduled days and by the time those days rolled around Keon was more than ready for it.

While he waited he cast his eyes around the small lobby. Dirty concrete walls (though these strangely devoid of graffiti) and two large windows on the street-side, one with GROSHER HOTEL painted over the upper portion of the glass. In front of the windows had been set two worn wooden benches which, although normally occupied with bored albeit somewhat rowdy tenants, were empty this morning. This he figured was undoubtedly due to the fact that it was a payday and most others were off getting booze or drugs, some possibly even purchasing a smattering of food. While cooking in the rooms was strictly forbidden, having food in them was not - for those few who actually followed the rules.

Keon knew that tonight, as was the case every second Tuesday night of the month, would be the worst with people being drunk and high. With voices raising to be heard above the music that had been set to ear-splitting levels it became impossible for anybody to sleep on that floor... or any other floor of the 20 story hotel for that matter. Past experience had proven the ruckus to last all night long, so inasmuch as Keon was thrilled that he would finally be able to afford food again he also dreaded the night.

Ideally, he could sleep during the day and stay awake along with the rest of the reprobates, but try as he might he just could not doze off during the daylight hours. Truth be known, it was better that he stayed awake at these times, anyway. Who knew who might stumble into his room or pound to be let in by those too strung out to read the room number. The continual threat of a stray bullet entering through the wooden door preyed on his mind at all times, and while he had not yet been the victim of such a terrifying event it had happened to a resident above on the 19th floor a couple months ago, killing a woman as she slept.

Keon glanced up to the desk clerk with a smile but continued to be ignored by the man who was still gabbing on the phone. Turning his attention to the window he gazed out to the building on the other side of the street. He surmised that it had once been an office building although this once proud structure was now a ghost of its former self with graffiti and gang tagging covering the walls and the lower-floored windows having been boarded up. Not surprisingly, the boards were being replaced weekly due to the building being a favorite sanctuary for the homeless on cold wintry days.

Unmercifully for those trying to escape the bitter weather, the police would show up periodically and flush everybody out again. There were rarely any arrests, however, since it would fill up the jails to capacity. To overflowing, in fact. Only those who flat-out refused to leave were hauled in, but Keon had seen from his upstairs window that most went quietly in search of another haven which usually meant the Salvation Army seven blocks away.

Keon remembered starting out there. Right after finding himself alone and on the streets he was directed by a policeman to the S.A. where he spent a little time before the checks started coming in and he was able to afford the $50-a-week room at his hotel. After paying the two hundred for his room every payday, though, his $250 paycheck did not get him too much farther so he had to be creative with his food purchases. His diet was sorely in need of nutrition which accounted for his lack of energy and weight, but when you have to stretch $50 across the vast expanse of four weeks you eat what you can get your hands on cheaply. This consisted mostly of crackers, cheese and bread. Cold soup was a luxury as was the occasional sweet treat that served to remind him that there were still pleasures to be had in life, no matter how bad it looked from the inside.

Yeah? the desk clerk asked harshly, turning to him and hanging up the phone.

Keon looked up with a smile. I wanted to see if my check was here.

The man eyed him with indifference before thumbing through the stack before him. Pulling out a yellowish envelope he handed it to Keon. Rent’s due today, he reminded with a harsh glance down.

I’ll go cash this and be right back with it. Taking the envelope he immediately wheeled himself toward the front doors.

Outside it was cold, windy and clear. The sun only shone on the tops of the buildings during the winter months, never making it down to the street level which resulted in the air feeling that much colder. Turning to the right Keon headed for the bank two blocks away, shivering in his short sleeved shirt that did absolutely nothing to beat back the cold. He had not been able to afford a jacket, but what was the use anyway? He was in his room most of the time where the temperature was at least tolerable. Even with the broken window the radiator seemed to do the trick, and when it was not working as it should he had his blanket to bundle up with.

Pushing himself along he passed others huddled in entryways, down staircases to lower-level doors, even over storm grates where a little bit of steam escaped. Passing an alley he eyed the camp of cardboard boxes serving as shelter for a select few and Keon was again very grateful that he had qualified for his measly salary because of his handicap and that was able to at least afford a room with a bathroom down the hall. The occupants of these boxes stayed inside their cardboard encasements for the most part, coming to the surface occasionally to beg on street corners for enough money to get another bottle of cheap wine. The area smelled like a sewer with human excrement littering the alleyway, but nobody seemed to notice…or care.

A red light on the corner meant another 60 seconds to be spent in the freezing wind, and while waiting for the light to change he absentmindedly lifted the dirty collar of his t-shirt higher up his neck in some attempt to ward off the cold although it did no good. This weather was going to get to him no matter what he did. His only hope was for the light to change as quickly as possible. The passing traffic created its own wind, adding to that already present against his chest, and in order to direct his attention away from the cold he thought back, as he so often did, to a better time. To life at home with his parents, his brother.

School was no walk in the park for Keon. He struggled just like most students did to bring home grades that were parentally and academically acceptable. Anton, on the other hand, had more problems than Keon with his schoolwork so the elder sibling would tutor his brother nightly which, in the end, paid off. But, considering the end, it really mattered very little anyway.

Keon had obtained a job as a cashier in a convenience market and moved out of the family house shortly after graduation into his own little apartment. In order to make ends meet he took in a roommate, a guy from his graduating class. They lived together and shared their lives for over a year before Reed joined the Army and moved out, after which Keon managed to hold his own at the same apartment for a number of years.

At age 23 he found the need for another roommate and that was when he