Brooklyn Sunset

By Shel Weissman

This intriguing and entertaining collection of short stories reveals the complexity of living life without a net. Gritty characters are confronted with overpowering dramatic events that are never seamlessly woven. The reader is drawn into their distinctive frailty and yearning to rise above the clamor and fearlessly face their vulnerabilities and faults.

Each story is devotedly crafted with evocative features, endearing people, a sense of place, disjointed relationships, endeavoring to attain acceptance and compassion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504948210

Shel Weissman

Shel Weissman was born in 1942, in a multi-generational family of immigrants. He lives with his family in Northern California since the 1970’s. His life experiences provided an opportunity to form his curiosity, imagination, and storytelling skills. The author’s writings developed from a lively and rewarding childhood and stimulating grown years. His published works include: The House on the Hill The Reunion at Heaven’s Gate Brooklyn Sunset Midnight Train to Trieste Day of Reckoning Harold’s Garden A Resilient Soul

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© 2015 Shel Weissman. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/03/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4814-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4821-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Two Drifters

Odd Man Out

Peeling Away The Pain

Bed Stuy Blues

The Crooked Heart

On Being Reborn

Living Comes But Once Around

A Measure Of Excitement

Following The Tears

Brooklyn Sunset

About The Author

DEDICATION

For Claire,

My joy,

My inspiration,

My collaborator,

My champion,

My soulmate,

My beautiful wife.

PREFACE

The cycle of life can be exhilarating, manic, torturing, wondrous, and mostly fraught with change and imperfection. One aspect of living is the undeniable truth we have but one cycle with varying length to do things that matter, that challenge our sensibilities, and create a yearning to do better.

When I was ten years old, we spent part of the summer in upstate New York in a bungalow resort for wayward New Yorkers. After a couple of weeks, a family from the city moved next door to our cottage. They had a son, somewhat younger than me, who clearly was out of his element in the rural environment. I volunteered to orient him to the property. We walked and talked amicably, and as we approached a small indentation in the ground, he jumped in and was dramatically enveloped by the opening he created. I quickly grabbed his wrist, then arm, preventing him from disappearing into the earth. I screamed for help, afraid that his life was literally in my hands. Several parents came to rescue the shocked youngster. I was praised as a hero, at least for a while.

Life can be something while you are waiting for it to reveal itself. In that split second I became a person of value, elevated into prominence on the winds of fate, turning an act of destructiveness into a profound act of unselfish dedication. My first encounter with the potential loss of a human being both frightened and inspired me to embrace the unknown, and respectfully honor the constancy of change and life’s hard realities. It is my belief that experiences like this one increased my capacity to recover from the reversals inherent in our failings and shortcomings, and gave me the courage and strength to lift my spirits and do the best I can and face the encounters that lie ahead.

Short stories are an important art form in the shadows of a novel. There is often less separation between the grittiness of reality and imagination. Fiction is a mosaic of composites, such as dreams, memory, distortions, and truth. My stories configure the extremes of human nature; the characters teem with the richness of personality. They can be heartwarming, cynical, depressive, brimming with affection, hopeful, and guarded. They are usually accessible in an imperfect world. My collection of fictitious stories are about people who are timeless, trying to overcome obstacles which challenge their depth and range in ways that set the bar higher. The contemporary themes create characters that are relatable and sympathetic. The range of settings opens a door to the vanished past and inspires a nostalgic look at a bygone era. For me, the early roots in Brooklyn formed my traditions, heritage, and compassion for ordinary people to improve their lot by facing personal obstacles, and embracing opportunities for change.

Shel Weissman

June 2015

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TWO DRIFTERS

TWO DRIFTERS

The dusty Utah road sign bent to the left and had not been tended to since the last heavy snows came through a month earlier. Route 121 came off Highway 40 and made a U-turn back to Vernal. The two men waited on the side of the narrow country road to reach their next destination. Waiting a long time in the February gray biting Utah weather was reflected in their controlled suffering eyes.

A pick-up truck, driven by a gray haired ruddy looking fella, stopped to help the two men.

Where you boys headin’?

To Cedarview. Are you goin’ there mister?

"Yep, I can drop you off in town cause I’m headin’ up to Neola, about ten miles north as the crow flies.

Well, I don’t think we’ll see many crows out in this cold weather. We thank you, though.

The shorter man with long brown hair, a round face, and thick stubble sat next to the driver. His partner stowed their gear in the rear of the old truck and seated himself against the passenger door.

My name is Ira Marcus, this here’s my buddy, Leon Winston.

Howdy, I’m known in these parts as Wolfman, cause in the spring I take down the wolves before they kill the cattle. The old man took off and put the heat up higher. Leon removed his jacket and hat that had covered most of his face.

Say Leon, you sure are a big fella, maybe 6’2 or 3, you probably go 250. Did you used to play football?"

No, he’s not much for sports, just grew bigger than anyone expected. Ain’t that right Purdy? said Ira with a slight smile.

Yeah. He turned to the window and looked out at the flat, barren, endless landscape.

Say, what you call him?

Purdy. That’s Leon’s nickname, he don’t care much for his given name. I guess like you, Wolfman.

What does that even mean, Purdy? asked the befuddled stranger.

When he was a kid, he idolized Mohammed Ali. At press conferences, Ali would say, ‘I could fly like a butterfly and string like a bee. Ain’t I purdy, more than any other boxer.’ Leon’s Mama said her son was too purdy to be a boy, and the nickname stuck with him in his family and neighborhood.

Purdy, you are the darkest Negro I’ve ever seen. We don’t get many like you in these parts. Are you from Africa or something?

My family has been here many generations, came as slaves from Ghana.

You sure are a big man. What are you doin’ in Cedarview? Ain’t much there, especially this time of year. Salt Lake City’s got more goin’ on.

We’ve been on the road awhile and we can use some money. We got off the freight train in Duchesne and asked around for work. Seems like a Mr. Emmons can use us. We called ahead and he wants to interview us for his cafe and ranch.

Oh yeah, Luke Emmons, his family has been in this area since it was still a territory. Why, they even have a mountain named after them west of here.

How does he make a living out here anyway?

He’s got a couple hundred head of cattle, rents out some of his land, and rooms for tourists goin’ to the Wasatch-Cache National Forest. They stop by on their way to the interstate. He’d be a good man to work for.

Purdy looked straight ahead, never turning to take even a glance at the Wolfman. He could sense the old timer was a redneck and wanted no part of him. The three men rode along a narrow, sometimes winding road, and passed considerable amounts of avid treeless prairie, desert type landscape. As they came around a broad curve in the road they saw the town sign of Cedarview.

The small one street village was nestled in a wooded area, mostly pine and some aspen trees. As they approached town, they saw two mature cedar trees. Ira smiled at Wolfman and pointed to the town’s namesake.

What happened to the rest of the cedars, or is this all there was?

There was once thick cedar forests here, but the loggers and rough winters took most of them out. Fact is, there used to be silver mines in the area and the town was much bigger. All that’s history. Most of us stayed cause of the natural beauty and peacefulness. A man can think without having to run around and chase his tail.

Sounds like a nice place for us to hold up for awhile, said Ira. Wolfman drove to the Cedarview Cafe and the drifters removed their gear from the pickup. They entered the rural cafe with its western motif. There was a long wooden counter with hand-carved chairs and a dozen tables covered with plastic tablecloths. It was a clean restaurant with everything neatly arranged. Wolfman let out a greeting, and from the kitchen came the boss.

Luke, these are the two fellas who called about some work. This here’s Ira Marcus, and the big man is Leon Winston, but he goes by Purdy. Guys, this is Luke Emmons.

Emmons extended his large calloused hand to greet the strangers. Luke Emmons was fifty-three, a former Marine with the Special Forces and a former State Park Ranger. He was about the size of Purdy; only he had brown hair, a brush cut, large features, a thick neck, and massive arms. Emmons looked like he could get back into his uniform and perform military duties.

Have a seat gentlemen, tell me about your experiences.

Ira began, as usual, giving Purdy sufficient time to warm up. I’ve worked as a short order cook in New Jersey, did more restaurant work in the Poconos. I can handle just about anything in a cafe like yours. I’m not afraid to work or particular about grunt work.

How about you Leon, ah, Purdy?

Well, Mr. Emmons, I’ve done construction labor work, I can fix things. Never worked on a ranch, but I’m a fast learner.

I’ll bet you are, Purdy. Okay then, Ira, I’ve got a dishwashing job open for you. You work two shifts and rotate: breakfast-lunch, then dinner-breakfast. Pays twelve an hour, we can start you off with four days a week. We’ll put you both in our bunkhouse and feed you, no benefits. Purdy, you’ll work with George ‘Snake’ Hayes doing odd jobs at the ranch; paintin’, fixin’, construction. Same deal. How does that sound fellas? They nodded their heads.

Thanks Wolfman, how bout a drink?

The old man shook his head and went to the counter.

You boys wait a bit so’s we can situate you, and then start tomorrow. Emmons called over to the ranch, which was located six miles west of town. In the meantime, Emmons made them sandwiches and gave them two bottles of beer. The front door of the cafe opened and in walked Emmons’s cafe waitress and sometime cook. The strangers stood at their table and watched this young cinnamon skin, petite young woman walk past them with her large black eyes fixed on Luke Emmons. Her long brunette hair flowed down her back and seemed to nestle in just the right places.

Hi Maria, I’d like you to meet Ira Marcus and Leon Winston. I’ve hired them on. This is Maria Alcalde, she’s from the Ouray Indian Reservation. Maria’s been working at the cafe for the last four years. The two men smiled and greeted the young beauty. Ira stared into her innocent eyes and flawless features.

I guess I’ll be workin’ alongside you, Miss Alcade, in the kitchen, that is. Pleased to meet you.

Likewise; see you later on. Maria turned and went into the kitchen to get her apron. The dinner guests would arrive in less than an hour, and she had much work ahead of her.

Bill Maynard, a ranch hand, came to fetch the men and settle them into the bunkhouse. Purdy stretched his long legs out and touched the edge of the bed with his toes. Ira unpacked his bedroll and sat on the hard mattress across from his buddy.

Well Purdy, I think we’ve landed in paradise. Life will be simpler around these parts, and the people seemed to be friendly.

You’re probably thinking of Maria. She certainly stands out as a positive and easy-going person. Not too bad on the eyes.

I agree brother, she’s quiet the package!

Just then the screen door swung open, and there was George Hayes in the doorway. Hayes was tall and lean with curly blond hair tucked under his cowboy hat. He wore a flannel shirt, which made his broad shoulders look massive. His jeans were held up with a turquoise studded leather belt, and he wore cowboy boots made out of snakeskin. He introduced himself and walked directly over to Purdy.

You the boy who’s gonna do my dirty work? he asked through his tight mouth.

I’m nobody’s boy, Mr. Hayes. You can call me Purdy.

Don’t be so sensitive, Purdy. Around here the only color that matters is green, like in your billfold. Where you fellas from?

We’re from New York City, and we’ve been on the road for about a year, responded Ira.

Must miss the big city life. What brings you out to this small part of the world?

Well, we like the adventures of the road. Drop in somewhere, make some money, have some fun, and take off to the next place. Keep goin’ without a guilty conscious, and see America without being pinned down.

How long have you known each other?

Purdy and I met in seventh grade, and we found we had the same kind of restlessness, eager to get around and discover the best place to settle down.

I’ve never been to New York, but I understand it has everything twenty-four hours a day. I hail from Warm Springs, Nevada, and I’ve always lived in small towns. That suits me fine cause my needs are simple and few. I don’t like complications. I’m tellin’ you up front, don’t give me any grief because I have a short fuse.

We won’t be a problem, Mr. Hayes, replied Purdy.

Hey, please call me Snake, a nickname I got when I was a kid. I used to play with snakes and scare my friends when they least expected it. Isn’t it tough getting around, finding work together, getting served and stuff? You know, a Black man with a Jew boy from New York City and all.

Snake, no one’s indispensable. People are disposable, some more than others. Back in New York we’ve had opportunities followed by crushed hopes. After awhile you get tired of fighting to survive. You learn that suffering has everyone’s number. So we kept movin’ until we found a place where you don’t have to deal with the politics of fear and hostility.

You think Cedarview is such a place?

Snake, maybe. If not, there’s always something waiting around the corner, countered Ira.

Well, before you fellas drift on, there’s work to be done. In the morning, Purdy, I’ll show you the new storage shed we want to build. Bill will drive Ira to the cafe about seven, after your breakfast at the nearby chuck wagon. Tomorrow will be your first full day, some training and helping. I manage the ranch and Luke runs the cafe and boarding house.

Don’t you get tourists for the ranch, to get experience…?

We tried doin’ the dude ranch thing, and it didn’t work to our advantage. So we keep this as a working ranch and it pretty much pays for itself. Any time you feel the itch for grub, just walk over to the chuck wagon and help yourself. Like NYC, it’s open twenty-four-seven, but without the crowds and expense. See you in the morning.

Well Purdy, looks like we got our orientation and marching orders. Seems like Snake has everything under control, and he doesn’t want us to screw up his playground.

There’s something about that guy that troubles me. He is the kinda guy that blows smoke and reduces your visibility so you can’t see what needs to be seen.

Well, for now, why don’t we check out the chuck wagon, and I can use a shower and laundry.

Don’t get all domestic on me, partner. I’ll go for the chow and shower, then grab me some pillow.

In the twilight of the morning darkness, the sun had barely revealed itself in the sky. Ira and Purdy were jolted out of their bunks by the shattering clang of the metal ladle hitting against an old triangular bell. Snake stood firmly in the door opening and began shouting Rise and shine you good for nothin’ loafers.

But it’s only…well, too early, not even light outside, Ira complained, wiping the sleep from his half opened eyes.

You lazy SOBs, it’s five, and time to get your asses unglued from the beds and get ready for breakfast. Food’s on the table in twenty minutes. Snake turned on his heels and quickly departed.

And here I thought he’d be cranky and mean first thing, cracked Purdy. The cold shower was too much to bear. They jumped into their overalls and hightailed across a small meadow to the chuck wagon.

Must be freezin’ out there. Let’s pour some coffee. In the chuck wagon they warmed their hands and body over the fireplace. Snake entered and placed two plates of flapjacks, eggs, and toast on their table.

Best get used to Utah weather. Why, it’s only twenty-six out there. Wait till you get into winter and its twenty-three below zero.

Oh, we didn’t tell ya. Come winter we’ll be snorkeling in Hawaii.

Well, if that’s the case, Ira, you might as well start walkin’ to Hawaii. When you’re done with your eats, I’ll take you to the cafe.

Afterwards, they piled into Snake’s truck and drove five miles to the cafe. The cold mist fell on their faces, the fresh air flowed through their excited bodies. Purdy walked around the grounds of the restaurant. As Purdy rounded the corner, he saw the floating brown dust from an old station wagon. Maria shut the door and waved at him. Her soft long hair was tied in a bow, offset by multi-colored beads. Maria looked radiant and vibrant. She opened the large back door of the 1964 Chevy. They exchanged pleasant conversation and Purdy helped her carry in two boxes of kitchen supplies.

You’re lookin’ mighty fine this morning, Maria.

She looked away. Thank you, Purdy. You got a good night’s sleep?

Yes, ma’am, it sure is quiet around here. I could hear my heartbeat, he said sheepishly. Do you want this in the kitchen? I’ll be glad to bring it in.

Maria hauled some bags of fruits and vegetables into the kitchen and said her good morning. Snake took his long strides and brought the bags from Maria into the old fashion kitchen.

Is that a new turquoise necklace, Maria?

Yes, Snake, my grandmother finished it last night.

You look like a movie star. Her face blushed and she put away the stuff from her family farm.

We’ve got a group of hikers coming in from Wasatch, they are on their way to Salt Lake City. Maria nodded obediently. Snake showed Purdy where the building supplies were kept. He and Bill were going to work on the ranch storage shed. Even if the rain increased, they would do the construction under a large plastic canvas covering.

The following day, a part-time ranch hand, Oswaldo Guiterrez, drove Ira into Cedarview for his first full day at the cafe. Ossie, as he was known, was a Mestizo, part Native American and part Mexican. He liked to talk, especially gossip. Ira thought he was a nice guy, friendly and earnest.

Say Ossie, what’s with Snake anyway?

Oh, he’s harmless. Not very ambitious, but he would like to get some of the Emmons’ money and property.

What’s that all about?

Well, he was engaged to Maria for a spell and he wanted to buy some land from Luke and settle down with Maria. Problem was she didn’t want to marry him and told her father. It didn’t take long for Snake to show his true colors. He had a mean streak of anger in him when he got riled up, Snake drank like nobody’s business.

Was he violent with Maria? Purdy calmly inquired.

He knew better than to mess with her cause she wouldn’t take that guff from anyone, especially a gringo. Snake could charm her parents, but he was brutal against Maria’s younger brother and some of the tribesmen.

What happened to their engagement?

No one knows exactly, but one night Maria saw Snake go behind the counter. She was getting ready to close the cafe. Snake thought she went to the dumpster, and he opened the cash register. At that moment Maria’s brother, Enrique, walked in and caught him stealing. They had words and that led to a fight. Maria saw Snake on top of her brother; Snake had him pinned to the floor. Maria pushed him over and Snake slapped her across the face. He pulled a knife on Enrique and Maria screamed. Ossie was reliving the incident and became nearly out of breath because of the violence he saw in the ranch boss.

When the sheriff came, Snake made a strong case that he was preventing Enrique from taking cash from the register. Everyone knew that was a bold face lie. After the engagement was broken off, Snake was banned from going on the Injun reservation. Luke kept an extra eye on Snake, but allowed him to stay on. He warned Snake if he got into any more trouble, he’d be lookin’ for work elsewhere.

Seems like Snake could be a loose cannon. Best to keep your distance, he could be a dangerous man to fool with!

By the time Ira came to work, a few locals were having coffee and biscuits. Luke gave him an apron and showed Ira how to operate the stainless steel dishwasher machine. Ira was to rinse the dishes, separate the cups, glassware, and dishes by the size of the dishes, and types of pots into clusters. He would load the dishwasher with each group having a place on the conveyer belt. Once dry, his task was to stack everything onto racks in different cupboards. Broken items would be deducted from his wages. When it was especially busy, Ira would help Maria clear off the tables.

A busload of tourists drove down from the national park to have breakfast at the cafe. The driver called ahead, as in the past, allowing Luke to organize a set menu for thirty people. He would use Bill and Purdy to help Maria, and Ira would give him some help in the kitchen. The tourist groups usually came for an hour so the driver could get an earlier start on Interstate 40 and drive on to Provo before darkness.

The Canyonlands Tour Bus arrived, and when it was parked alongside the Cedarview Cafe, it dwarfed the building. The passengers unfolded their tired legs. Some seniors slowly walked in pairs, others were boisterous, eager to stretch and have a decent breakfast. It was an interesting mix of people. There were lean Asian looking tourists wearing western hats, bandanas, flannel shirts, jeans, and genuine cowboy boots. A few had to be propped up to walk in their newly acquired leather boots. There was an array of women with perfectly coiffed gray hair, a tall middle aged woman with a gleaming new white blouse, wide cuffs, newly acquired turquoise Indian necklace, patent-leather shoes and handbag. Her partner looked several years older than her and clutched a nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels against his soiled jacket. The rest of the group looked bewildered and frowned at the primitive looking cafe. Once seated, everyone was served water, coffee, and tea.

Edgar, the congenial bus driver, got their attention. Ladies and gentlemen, your host is Mr. Luke Emmons. His family goes back generations. Mr. Emmons, where we hiked in to see the beautiful view of the Wasatch Cache Mountain range, Daggett Lake, and all those native birds, was once part of their family land grant. After breakfast, if you have a few minutes, go next door to see their family heirlooms. To make the meal go quicker, the menu is fixed: eggs, hash browns, bacon, and beverage. Anything else is extra. Enjoy your meal, and we board in an hour. Bathrooms are in the rear or on our bus. Good eats!

The patrons gorged on the food. The staff worked tirelessly to satisfy their customers. When the man with the Jack Daniels’ glass was empty, he called Bill over and asked for a bottle. Bill cleared it with Luke and went into the back room. Purdy was getting more supplies for the table.

Purdy, would you bring this bottle and glass to the customer sitting next to the big chested woman with the bright white blouse. I’ve got to get some mains out to help Maria.

Sure enough, Bill, one Jack Daniels comin’ up.

Purdy placed the full bottle next to the customer, and he was about to open the whiskey when the man gave him a stern look. Where’s’ the fella I asked to bring my drink? asked the man in an unfriendly voice.

Sir, he had to help the waitress, replied Purdy in a calm friendly voice.

Boy, I ain’t havin no Negro serve me. Take this away and get another person to fetch my drink, he said in a crude and sassy tone of voice.

Now Henry, hush up and apologize to this man.

Ginger, I’m paying extra for this service and I ain’t havin no darkie touchin’ my glass.

The bus passengers grumbled and all chatter ended. Maria came behind Purdy to retrieve the bottle and glass.

Can I be of service, sir, or do you have a problem with Native Americans and Hispanics serving you? Ginger grabbed her spouse’s arm, leaned over, and said something in his ear.

I apologize to y’all. With that he rose, took his wife’s arm, put down twice the money for the whiskey, and they sauntered out of the cafe. The driver unlocked the coach and allowed the couple to board early. Maria stood by the dust smeared cafe window and watched the couple board the bus. It was clear to her that they were arguing up to the point they disappeared from view.

Conversations began amongst the passengers; their chatter was less frequent and not as loud. Luke leaned over to Purdy and he disappeared into the kitchen. Maria, Bill, and Ira served the patrons without further problems. At the conclusion of the meal, the diners walked sheepishly to their coach. The startling confrontation completely altered their mood. They moved in small disjointed pieces, like ice flows in a jigsaw puzzle.

I wouldn’t want to take that long trip to Provo with those folks, remarked Maria, an uncharacteristic statement for the usually quiet and polite young woman.

You’d think they learned somethin’ about race relations traveling around this neck of the woods, said Bill harshly.

Well, they have the safety of numbers goin’ around as a tour group. Some may feel comfortable being their honest selves. Okay, let’s clean up and take a well-deserved break. You all deserve a break, so I’ll cover the evening shift with Ira, announced Luke.

By late afternoon the bright sun hid behind the hills and the splash of early twilight blanketed the desert landscape. Purdy sat on the creaky dry wooden bench taking in the tranquil atmosphere. In his gut he was still feeling tightness from his run-in with the prejudiced guest. His anger rose like impenetrable smoke into the cloudy Southwest sky. Maria closed the front door to the cafe and placed her broad brim leather hat on her shiny, straight brunette hair.

You mind sharing the bench? I can use a few minutes to get off my aching feet.

Glad to have your company, Maria. They sat together staring straight ahead. He opened and closed his eyes several times and wiped the sweat from his brow.

You must have had a lot of trouble with rednecks before. I could tell cause you were holding back without showing it.

But you noticed it!

I’ve seen plenty of that put down crap, but I was taught to turn the other cheek. Being brought up on the reservation, you’re taught from the time you could stand that you’re different. Being a squaw, you have even less rights. You learn to mind your place first by the men in our tribe, then by the world outside your supposedly safe village. Maria looked down at the ground; Purdy stole a glance at the attractive black haired, sultry, deep-eyed woman who suddenly lost her something special.

When I was about ten, me and my younger brother went with our father to Fort Duchesne to get some supplies. Along the way these ugly gringos stopped us. With their rifles drawn, they ordered father off the buckboard. They took his money, called him nasty names, and to shame him even more, one man dismounted and began to beat him. I took a pistol from under the seat and shot the bully in the leg. Then I turned to the others, and they bolted off like cowards. My brother and I got our father into the buckboard and we rode into the fort to get the doctor. Seeing my once warrior father lying in his blood, my heart was broken. For years I had only hatred for the white man. My heart turned to a piece of stone. My brother and I felt the evil and brutality that was part of our cultural history, which was still very much alive. That’s when it hit me, no matter how good a person you could be, it was never good enough for some.

Do you still feel that way now?

"No, Purdy. I was lucky to work for the Emmons family and I have had only positive experiences with them. Luke Emmons has been like a father to me. He makes me feel like a proud woman when I’m down and insecure. I can talk openly to him. He respects people and gives you a chance,