Lasting Impression - His Side

By Patricia Myatt

Artest Collins believed that life wasn't about how to survive the storm, but rather, how to dance in the rain. That was before his NFL career ended with one man murdered and him on the run, leaving behind his one true love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9780978597559

Book preview

One

Standing in the rain, in the middle of the Baltimore City College Boys High School football field, Artest watched as the wet t-shirt clung to Tyra’s firm breast, curved hips and butt. In slow motion, her breast bounced up and down like two well rounded molds of jell-o. She brushed her wet, long, limp hair away from her oval shaped face with the back of her hand and he smiled at how sexy she looked; hourglass figure, Cinnaminson complexion surrounding slanted brown eyes.

How had they gone from the prom after party to being almost naked, playing football? As strange as the moment felt, he planned to enjoy every minute. This is going to be one hell of a game. He thought.

They took their positions as Tyra moved from side-to-side looking for a clear throw to Marsha, while Artest waved his arms around trying to block her view.

10, 24, 32, hut! She yelled.

Confused Artest asked, What was that?

What was what?

What you just called out? The order should be something like Blue 32, blue 32, before you put the ball in play.

Hey, my game, my rules, was her smug response.

Artest laughed and shook his head as he watched Tyra fake to the left then dodge right.

Feisty, little thing, he mumbled.

He was so busy thinking about the vision of her body clad in his wet t-shirt that he was unable to stop her from running pass him. Reaching out to grab the t-shirt, he slipped and landed face down in the wet grass. He looked up in time to see Marsha jump on Stan’s back, wrap her legs around his waist and cover his eyes with her hands, just as Tyra ran pass them to score a touchdown. Tyra spiked the ball and did her version of a victory dance as Marsha joined her.

Hey! What happened, Artest? Stan yelled.

Nothing, man. It’s a little slippery over here. Was his excuse.

Yeah. I was a little weighed down myself, Stan responded as he nodded in Marsha’s direction where she and Tyra were now jumping up and down cheering for their touchdown.

The rain was coming down faster as they took their positions for the next play.

Artest held the ball preparing to throw it as Tyra jumped up and down, shouting and waving her arms into the air. Over her head, Artest could see Stan and Marsha aimlessly running back and forth. Artest took a step back and threw the ball high into the air. Tyra turned and yelled to Marsha to block Stan. Marsha backed her body into Stan’s making it difficult for him to get in front of her. The football sailed through the air as Marsha looked up then quickly turned facing Stan. Without warning, Marsha lifted her t-shirt revealing her bare breasts. For that brief moment, Stan froze, his mind and eyes were not on the ball and his gaze was on Marsha’s breast. By the time he looked up again it was too late, the ball was falling too fast. Trying to redeem himself, he made a dash in the direction the ball appeared to be descending.

I got it! I got it! He yelled before slipping in the wet grass. The ball landed two feet away from his out stretched hand. Marsha quickly recovered the ball and ran for the touchdown as Artest charged toward her. Suddenly, he felt the weight of Tyra’s body on his back. He reached for Marsha and missed her by a few inches. Once Marsha crossed the finish line, she did her own victory dance, holding the ball high over her head and singing in triumph.

Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! It’s a touchdown! It’s a touchdown!

Stan wiped the wet grass and dirt from his face as he got up. Artest looked questioningly at him. However, before Artest could ask, Stan yelled. Hey, I slipped!

Too bad. Marsha laughed as she held out her hand to soothe him. Come on, big man. Don’t let us little girls distract you from the game. She giggled as Stan put an arm around her shoulder.

You cheated. There’s no flashing in football.

There is now. She giggled her reply and tossed the ball to Tyra.

Okay, the score’s two, zip, Reported Tyra with gleeful satisfaction.

The rain was thick and the sky was dark making it difficult for them to see more than five feet in front of them.

Okay, let’s play ball! Tyra yelled.

Blue 32, blue 32, hut! Again Tyra swayed from side-to-side while Artest just stood still. He was not about to lose focus on the game a second time. When he made no move to block her, she took three steps to her left then ran straight into him, knocking him off balance. She was still holding the football when they fell to the ground, landing with Tyra on top of Artest.

Oh, I forgot to tell you that a knock-down by the team holding the ball is an automatic win. Her breathless remark aroused him.

You don’t say? Artest responded breathing heavily from the fall.

Oh, yeah. Especially when the score is two zip.

They laughed, laying in the wet grass that was now incorporated with mud. It was quiet for a moment as they stared into each other’s eyes then kissed, igniting a desire within him and his manhood instantly became erect. Artest felt uncomfortable that a part of him was not under his control.

We’d better get up and go before the weather gets worse. He suggested and tried to lift her up, but Tyra would not budge.

I feel pretty good where we are. Was her brazen response and she kissed him again and rubbed her body against his.

Artest’s heart beat rapidly as he tried to calm himself. Keep control! Keep control! Was the mantra he repeated over and over in his head. It was not helping.

Girl, you don’t know what you’re doing. Get up!

Ignoring him, Tyra continued to rub her body on his and kissing him. He was caught between what was the right thing to do and the opportunity that lay before him to taste her sweetness. With each kiss, he grew weaker, his youthful desire took control and the decision was made. He rolled them over, placing himself on top and spread her legs with his athletic thighs. His grass, mud covered hand anxiously moved under her t-shirt and for the first time felt the softness of her skin. Artest shifted his weight onto his left hand then slid his right hand inside his boxer shorts gripping his erect manhood. With two fingers, he tore her panties to one side, and positioned himself at the entrance of her secret place. In a few seconds, he would be inside her, but before he could feel the center of her forbidden fruit, he stopped. Artest heard the muffled sound of Stan’s voice growing louder. Hey, Artest it’s lightning out here, man. Let’s get out of this open field. Stan and Marsha ran pass them toward the fence.

Artest looked up just as a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky followed by the loud rumble of thunder. Instantly, he knew that they had gotten lost in the moment and didn’t realize they were in the middle of a thunderstorm. He got up pulling Tyra up with him and they ran toward the fence. They made it to the car just as another bolt of lightning lit up the dark sky and a loud boomed of thunder made them jump in fright. Once everyone was inside the car, they looked around at each other, dripping wet and covered in wet grass and mud, they pointed at each other and laughed at how ridiculous they looked.

Well, I guess we know who’s the best at this game, was Marsha’s joyful claim as her teeth chattered and she shivered putting on one of the fresh jerseys Artest had taken from the trunk of his car.

I want a rematch when the weather is better, said Stan.

Me too, agreed Artest while slipping on his dry shirt. Looking into Tyra’s eyes, he saw himself, she smiled and an image of that moment froze in his memory.

Damn, I hate Flashbacks. Artest thought. What Artest really hated was remembering the young woman he had loved with a passion, both physically and mentally the past six years.

He hated himself for breaking her heart when he had to leave town and not telling her why. It was hurtful and it was mean, and that was not his nature. But as difficult as it was, Artest knew he had to do it or Tyra would hold onto false hopes of a future with him. Artest knew that if he stopped to think about it, he would go to her and not have the strength to leave. He realized by saying goodbye to her, he was breaking his own heart as well. A tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he loved her and could not leave her; not like this. He was confused, angry, hurt, and lost in a dark void. But right now there were people who wanted him to be silenced or dead and they would hurt anyone he loved to make their point. So this was the way things had to be for now.

Cowardice. Inadequacy. Inertia. That’s what he was left with and so he did what he felt was right. He called her to say good-bye.

Hello, Tyra. I’m sorry I haven’t called you before, but I’ve been trying to work some things out. His voice and tone were not the same and he didn’t feel like his usual self.

I spoke with your mother and father and—— His voice strained even more. Tyra, I need time to reconstruct my life. I feel like I’m suffocating.

Suffocating from what? Am I suffocating you?

No. It’s not you, Brown eyes. I’m just tired of chasing after a rainbow and never reaching the pot of gold. Tyra, it’s not fair to either of us. His voice was pained and hoarse as if he had been crying.

Let’s try to work it out, Artest. We can. I know we can. You just need to put your priorities in order. You have a lot going for your life. If you would just open your eyes and see the big picture. What’s going on, Artest? Please tell me what’s—— 

Tyra, there’s so much going on you’re not aware of and wouldn’t understand. It’s safer for everyone if you don’t know.

Artest, please talk to me!

I can’t——I can’t!

They were both talking, neither hearing the other. They were like two trains blowing whistles simultaneously as they sped past each other in the dark of night. Then he said good-bye and hung up the phone.

Artest believed that after he had been away for a while, things would be better, safer and he could come back, and he and Tyra would be happy. This is the promise he vowed to himself as he walked away from the phone booth where he had just said good-bye to Tyra. He leaned on his cane for support and wiped his tear stained face with the sleeve of his jacket. He took a deep breath then exhaled. Slinging a worn duffel bag carelessly across his shoulder, he lined up behind the other passengers boarding a bus destined for Chicago. He had chosen Chicago for no particular reason other than the Chicago Bulls’ name had appeared on the sports page of a newspaper lying on the seat next to him at the bus terminal. Why not? It’s as good as any other place to get lost, he thought. Seated next to the window, he took one last look at the place he had grown up. The place he had called home. The place he had been the hometown hero.

Once in his seat, Artest laid his head back and closed his eyes. What am I doing? He thought. What you have to do to protect the people you love, the voice inside him answered. The bus jerked as the driver shifted gears and pulled out from the terminal. Then Artest slept.

* * *

Attention passengers, we will be arriving in Chicago, Illinois in fifteen minutes. Be sure to take all your personal belongs with you as you exit the bus. We hope you enjoyed your trip and thank you for choosing Greyhound Bus Service.

The announcement woke Artest from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the daylight and yawned as he stretched the stiffness out of his limbs. His body felt achy from sleeping in an awkward position for what seemed like a couple of days, so he stretched again, this time pushing his legs as far under the seat in front of him as they would go.

You must have really been tired, a woman’s voice cheerfully said.

His head turned in the direction the voice had come from. Across the aisle, a young woman about his age smiled a bright friendly smile that made him smile back. She was attractive, with brown smooth skin and short auburn colored hair. On her lap, was a two-year old boy with big round hazel eyes and light brown curly hair cooing and giggling.

Yeah, I guess I was a little tired.

I thought you were dead until I heard you snoring. She said with a thick southern accent and low chuckle.

My brother, Nathan used to snore like that after he’d been out partying all night. Nothing seemed to wake him in the morning. Mama would have a cow fit because it was hard to wake him on Sunday’s for church.

Artest smiled politely.

Are you going to visit family in Chicago? She asked.

No, I don’t really know anybody in Chicago. I’m just going to stay for a while.

Well, I’ve been there about ten times in the last eight years. I stay with Nathan and his wife Daisy. They have five kids and I take care of them a couple of months during the summer while they both work two jobs. It’s the only time I’m off from my regular job in South Carolina. That’s where I’m from. A little town called Saint Helena. It’s not too far from Beauford, South Carolina.

The baby leaned forward, sucking orange juice from a bottle, gurgling and smiling at Artest. Artest smiled back and tickled his side.

Hey, little man.

The baby put his free hand over his eyes, hiding them, then peeked through his fingers at Artest. This is my son, Willie Jr. He’s named after his father Willie, Sr. He’s in the army, stationed in Karlsruhe, Germany. Willie Jr. and I didn’t go with him ‘cause I needed to keep my job and Mr. and Mrs. Stockton only gives me a little time off from work when they go out of town for vacation. They wouldn’t hold my job for two years, so we stayed behind. My brother and his wife Daisy are good to us. They pay for my bus ticket and they pay me to babysit. I’m saving the money to buy a house when Willie Sr. gets back from Germany. Listen to me going on and on about my situation. Do you have any kids, Mr., oh my goodness! I did all that talking and never properly introduced myself. My name is Dorthera, Dorthera Atkins."

They shook hands.

"My name is, Artest Collins.

Well, it’s nice to meet you, Artest Collins.

"Same here, Dorthera. That’s an interesting name. I’ve never heard it before.

It’s a combination of both my parents’ names. My father is Dorsey (Door-see) and my mother is Althera (Al-thea-ra), so they combined the two and called me Dorthera. She smiled, showing a set of perfect white teeth.

Now that’s original, Artest said.

They do it a lot in the South. It’s one way to make sure we never run out of names.

They laughed.

So where are you going to stay while you’re in Chicago? She asked.

I don’t really know. I guess I’ll look for a YMCA or something.

I don’t know about any YMCA’s, but there’s a rooming house a few blocks from my brother’s house and I heard the rates are pretty good. My brother knows the woman who runs it. I could ask him if she has any rooms available when he picks me and Willie Jr. up from the station.

She wiped the child’s face with a damp cloth then put it back in the plastic baggie in her carry bag.

I wouldn’t want to put you through any trouble, Dorthera. I can—-

It’s no trouble to speak with my brother. Folks need to do more to help each other and be kind to each other; that’s what it says in the Bible. I try to practice the Christian way. You’d be surprised the treasures that unfold from a simple ‘hello’. There are a lot of people who really care about helping other folks even if they are strangers ‘cause not every stranger is a bad person.

The bus pulled into the station and everyone got off. Artest helped Dorthera with her suitcase and they walked into the station. He had forgotten his cane on the bus and decided that he really didn’t need it anymore.

Dot, over here! A man’s voice called. They both turned to see a tall cheerful-looking man wearing a blue baseball cap walking toward them.

Nathan! Dot yelled, waving her free arm over her head. They hugged and he took Willie Jr. from her and tossed him playfully in the air. The baby giggled and kicked in the man’s large hands.

Nathan, this is Artest Collins. I met him on the bus. He’s interested in a room at Mrs. G’s rooming house.

Nathan offered his hand to Artest and they shook.

She still has rooms available far as I know. We’ll stop by there on the way home and you’ll get the best room at a fair price. She’s a nice woman, but she can charge a lot if she don’t know you.

They all walked to the front of the station and got into a station wagon parked by the curb.

* * *

Nathan parked in front of Mrs. G’s rooming house. A two-story building in desperate need of a good paint job. It had a long porch with several chairs facing toward the street, an old-style swing had rusty looped chains holding it in place and a new screen door that looked out of place surrounded by the rest of the faded building. The boarding house was located on a quiet, tree-lined residential block. Nathan and Artest got out of the car and walked along the front yard of unkempt patches of grass and weeds.

She’s from the country and doesn’t spark up right away to city folks.

They stepped onto the porch and stood in front of the closed screen door. The entry door was open. The smell of fresh baked bread floated through the screen into their nostrils.

Hello! Mrs. G! Mrs. G! Hello, it’s Nathan Hillview! Mrs. G!

From inside the house a woman’s voice responded to his calls.

Keep your pants on, Nathan. I heard you the first time. I may be old and slow moving, but I’m not deaf.

She unlocked the screen door and held it open for them to enter.

Mrs. G was 72-years old, with dark, smooth skin accenting sharp features. She wore her silky white hair pulled back in a twisted bun, and her even white teeth appeared to be her own. As she talked, her clear intelligent eyes stared over black-framed cat-eyed glasses.

Well, Nathan, come on in. I don’t want to hold the door open too long or the flies will think I’m inviting them in as well.

Yes, Ma’am.

Who is this you have with you, Nathan?

This is Artest Collins. He just arrived in town today. He came in on the bus with my sister Dorthera. You remember my sister, don’t you?

Now, boy, you shouldn’t make fun of the elderly. You’re going to be one yourself one day, God sparing. Of course I know your sister; all the years she’s been coming here to stay with you and your lovely wife. How are Daisy and the children?

They’re all just fine, Ma’am. Mrs. G, Artest is looking for a good room for a reasonable rent. So I brought him to your fine establishment where I know the treatment is top quality, if nothing more.

You need to stop, Nathan, before we’re all knee deep in the stuff.

They laughed.

Just so happens I’ve got a couple of rooms available. I’ve got a guy coming over from the church tomorrow to look at them, but since you’re here, you can take a look at them now.

She looked Artest up and down over the rim of her glasses.

Well, Artest, you’re in capable hands. I’ve got to go to my second job, but if you need anything give me a call. Here’s my number, Nathan said as he wrote his number on a piece of paper and handed it to Artest.

Thanks a lot, Nathan.

They shook hands and Nathan left.

Okay. Artest, is it?

Yes, Ma’am.

Well, you can call me Mrs. G, everybody does. What’s your last name, Son?

It’s Collins, Ma’am.

Collins. I met some folks named Collins when I went to Atlanta, Georgia some years back. They were real nice to me. You got any folks in Georgia?

No, Ma’am.

She went to a closet and took out a large ring of keys then headed for the staircase with Artest following close behind. She placed one hand on the railing, shifted her weight on her cane in her other hand and lifted herself up onto the first step. Then continued up three more steps before she spoke again. 

You know, Artest, I came to this house forty years ago as a caregiver. We weren’t called nurses ‘cause we were colored girls. So some of us called ourselves midwives and caregivers. Anyway, when I arrived at the house, a woman opened the door——

She paused as she went up four more steps then stopped, appearing to be out of breath.

Are you alright, Mrs. G?

Oh, darling, I’m fine. This is what happens when you get old. Believe me, if I had known this was what it would be like when I was young like you, I would have enjoyed this body a whole lot more than I did; before it got to the liniment and Bengay years.

Artest gave a little chuckle as Mrs. G went up a few more steps and continued her story.

As I was saying, when I arrived, a woman opened the door and hurried me inside. I guessed she didn’t want the neighbors to know they had hired a colored girl to care for their brother. Earl G was the youngest of three siblings. He was gifted for doing good contracting and carpentry work, so the Town Council hired him to work on the municipal building. One morning when he was doing a survey on the roof of the Town Hall Police Station, over on Halsted and Addison Streets, he started climbing down the ladder and fell. Well, he broke his leg and hit his head in front of some thirty or so witnesses. The fall caused Earl to lose his sight, so he needed someone to be here with him during the day while his family was working. At the time, I was working for Dr. Skinner as one of his assistant’s. Earl came in one day for his follow up visit. While he was sitting in one of the examination rooms, he heard me rehearsing a song I was going to perform at the 4-H dance that coming Saturday afternoon. I didn’t have a good voice like Billie Holiday or Dorothy Dandridge, but I could hold my own.

She examined the keys on the ring then continued, "Let me see which one of these keys is the one? Ah, yes, here it is. Where was I? To make a long story short, Earl asked me to stay permanently and I did. He was never disrespectful towards me. In fact, we courted right here in this very house. He would invite me to have a glass of lemonade and cake with him after dinner on the back porch then we would sit and talk for hours. The following year he asked me to marry him. I tell you I was shocked, plus the law didn’t allow mixed marriages back then. I wrestled with my answer for weeks before I finally said yes.