Karma

  © 2019 Maximino Vega All Rights Reserved.

  “Revenge will never solve anything, Karma will.” - Clary Cruz.

  “Men are not punished for their sins, but by them.” - Elbert Hubbard.

  Karma

  By Maximino Vega

  Henriette quietly entered Tom’s classroom. He was staring out the window. She could see his side profile.

  It took her breath away to look at him. In her opinion and in truth he was a good looking man. Too bad he was bad at relationships. She’d gone to bed with him several times, doing things she’d never thought of doing. Henriette had been wrong to think she could snag the infamous divorcee of P.S. 64. Henriette wasn’t the only one that had fallen prey to Tom’s natural charm.

  “Good morning, dear.” Henriette’s natural smile lit up her face.

  Tom turned his head to find Henriette standing by the entrance.

  “Hey kiddo; how you doing this fine morning?”

  “I’m well and you know I don’t like it when you call me kiddo.” Henriette snapped her fingers in front of her face as she walked closer to where Tom sat. Her attitude didn’t match her round, adolescent looking face, framed by gold rimmed glasses and shoulder length dreads with hints of red.

  “Come on, don’t be like that. It comes from a good place. Think of it as an endearment from one special person to another.”

  “Are you going up north to do some fishing after you’re done here?” Henriette made an exaggerated motion of reeling in a fish.

  “You bet I am.” Tom smiled.

  “Want some company? I’ve never made jerk fish, but, I’m sure my grandmother’s jerk sauce recipe will go well with just about anything.”

  “Sounds delicious, but, I have to say no. It’s my time to be with myself. I need it, I look forward to it; know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, even though, you’ve mentioned wishing your son would go with you.”

  Tom took in a deep breath. “I mean, it’s different with Ian, he’s my…”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I get it.” Henriette turned on one heel. Her ass wiggled underneath her navy blue linen pants.

  Tom noticed she wasn’t wearing panties.

  “Enjoy yourself, by yourself.” Henriette looked at Tom over her shoulder.

  Facing Tom as she reached the door, Henriette cut her eyes at him before she left.

  Tom smiled as he remembered how delectable Henriette’s body looked naked with her heavy breast, flat stomach and voluptuous ass. Her dark skin silky smooth from daily applications of Shea Butter.

  Henriette’s sexual appetite matched Tom’s. They had indulged in several sexual marathons. It was exhilarating to pass each other in the school hallway with knowing smiles after a night of sexual indulgence.

  Henriette started the way Tom liked; fiery and eager to please in all things sexual. However, it wasn’t long before she turned sentimental; putting Tom into retreat mode.

  Any other man might grovel at Henriette’s feet, but, not Tom. He was born with handsome features and an athletic body that stayed with him into adulthood. Tom’s six foot frame is packed with 205 pounds of lean muscle. His green eyes and brown hair stand out against the impeccable light skin of his face. The only blemish is a small cut above his left eye; a result of his first boxing match. Tom learned the hard way that going toe to toe with an opponent wasn’t smart. Hitting your adversary without getting hit was the reason boxing was called the sweet science.

  He toyed with the idea of becoming a professional boxer when he was a young man. Tom’s natural punching power won him the New York State middleweight championship when he was in college.

  Tom didn't pursue boxing because he preferred reading books to getting punched in the face dozens of times during the course of a boxing match.

  Tom got his Master’s Degree in Literature and became an English teacher for elementary aged children.

  He never considered his looks when it came to his success with women. He thought it was his easy manner that attracted women to him. Indeed, he never thought about them as sexual objects which gave him an aura that women trusted. This coupled with his natural disregard for his good looks always brought the women to his bed.

  Tom wasn’t presumptuous about his physical attributes. He was, however, filled with pride to be the owner of the cabin that had been in the Devlin family for three generations. It had been used to begin a family tradition that unfortunately ended with his father’s passing.

  The cabin, located near Sparrow Lake; a small fishing town in Orange County New York, belonged to his grandfather, his dad and now him. It was where his grandfather and father spent most of the summer. They fished, lived a rustic sort of life and strengthened the bond of father and son.

  His father had done it with him and Tom wanted to continue the tradition with his son Ian, but, in the age of the cellphone who could compete with a handheld device that gave its user access to the digital universe - the end all be all - for many teenage kids.

  The natural world of human contact between friends as they played and explored their neighborhood along with the areas passed its borders was no longer attractive. As a young boy, Tom cried when he couldn’t go outside and play with his friends. Every day brought a different adventure.

  Nowadays, kids cry not to be taken outside; away from their technological gadgets. Tom thought it was a shame, but, there wasn’t much he or anyone else could do. The world of constantly uploading one’s life to the various social media sites in the bid for likes, in addition to all the apps and games that keep kids entertained, is moving too fast, for the ways of old to maintain a foothold. The saddest part of the whole ordeal is that people of all ages are addicted to their phones.

  Tom still used a flip phone. He thought flip phones had better reception. Not to mention that the simpler flip phones didn’t offer the owner much in the way of distractions. He didn’t like smart phones. Tom felt smart phones inspired an addiction that made simple tasks such as walking dangerous. Tom also didn’t like how the phones were high maintenance with constantly having to charge the battery to keep the apps from draining the phone’s power supply.

  Tom considers himself lucky to have grown up in a time when technology didn’t have such a hold on the world.

  He finds comfort in the knowledge that his son Ian is a good kid, even though; he does anything in his power not to go up to the cabin with his dad. Ian would rather spend his time watching Naruto or One Punch Man on his I-Pad while sitting with one leg draped over the arm of the recliner in his room.

  Tom takes a sip from his Latte. It still has froth around the rim on the inside of the cup. Isadora has a knack for making it piping hot without having the milk taste charred.

  Sitting with his arms crossed in front of him, Tom looks out the window toward the ABC Community Garden. The garden is across the street from the school; it offers a refreshing site that doesn’t include brick and mortar. It occupies the empty lot left by a row of buildings demolished a few years ago; they were old and passed repair. Tom feels blessed to have this view. He wonders how long the garden will last before the ever popular neighborhood in the Lower East Side of New York City calls for more living space.

  All kinds of plants, herbs and vegetables have been planted in the garden. Not to mention the numerous benches, chairs and wooden tree stumps for anyone who wants to sit, talk with a friend or read. There are bird feeds at different locations and heights. There’s even a manmade pond with Koi Fish of different sizes scurrying about.

  Every day Tom is early to work and slow to leave so he can contemplate the garden from the comfort of his classroom. During the warm months he visits the garden at lunch time and again after work. Sometimes he sits and watches the birds that visit the di
fferent bird feeds. Other times he takes his current read and loses himself in the author’s imagination.

  Tom takes another sip of his coffee when the door to his classroom opens. The first few students start to make their way into room 308 where Tom teaches English Language Arts. Tom greets them by saying good morning, each of his student’s answers, ‘good morning Mr. D.’

  He insists the kids call him Mr. D after a student called him Mr. Dildo. At the time, Tom wondered if the child knew what the word meant. The name stuck and Tom found himself constantly sending sixth graders to the principal’s office. At six feet five inches, Mrs. Hershey is an imposing woman who commands respect. She has short blond hair and never smiles.

  Tom was glad being called Mr. Dildo only lasted a month.

  ****

  Tom is walking ahead of his class toward the school yard. Dismissal is early today since it’s a half day. Once he clears the doors that lead to the yard his students run passed him into the warm embrace of the sun. Tom doesn’t bother telling his students to walk. It’s the last day of school besides they wouldn’t listen anyway. The kids zig zag around the yard while holding onto the reading and writing packets meant to stimulate their brains during the summer vacation.

  Tom allows them the freedom to run as a way to celebrate their last day of school.

  The teacher known as Mr. D feels a tinge of separation anxiety. Tom can’t help getting attached to the small humans in his care for the better part of a year. He looks down at the sign out sheet held in place by a clipboard. Today will be the last time he dismisses his students.

  “Read what you like.” Tom calls out to each of his students as they’re picked up by their family members. He figures the more he tells them to stick to what they like, the better the chances they’ll actually do some reading over the summer.

  ****

  Tom couldn’t believe he was done with his students before noon time. He made his way back to his classroom to get the suitcase he had packed the night before, along with a bag of groceries he bought at the local market near his apartment.

  Leaving the keys to his classroom and the student sign sheet at the main office, Tom bids administration a good summer then makes his way out of P.S. 64 toward his car.

  ****

  Interstate 87, also known as The Major Deegan was free of congestion going north. It was a God send. The flow of traffic usually slowed down as the vehicles made their way toward the Tappan Zee Bridge. Today, however, the road was clear despite the fact that it was early afternoon on a Friday.

  Tom couldn’t wait to get up to Orange County where it was always cooler. Despite the summer being in its early stages in the latter part of June, the humidity was closer to what it would be like in August. Tom drove with the windows down to create a breeze.

  Even though his Toyota Corolla was good on gas he tried to save money when and where he could. Sometimes, that meant not using the air conditioner.

  Tom thinks about his cabin near Sparrow Lake as he crosses the Tappan Zee Bridge. He can almost smell the natural fragrance of the woods and feel the peaceful solitude of the cabin.

  “Yeah, baby!” Tom can’t control his euphoria.

  ****

  Tom thought about how lucky he was to still have his cabin as he drove into Orange County.

  Megan hadn’t been able to get her hands on it. He owned it before he got married.

  Tom and Megan had gotten a divorce six months ago because of Tom's infidelity. He loved women and was addicted to bedding as many of them as he could. He was faithful for the first two years of his marriage, but, that all changed when the infatuation wore off.

  Megan knew her husband was sleeping around. She didn’t have proof, even though, she knew the way women know.

  Megan kept her composure until the proof was undeniable.

  Megan and Tom had the same model cellphone. It was a promotion, buy one get the other free. The caveat was having impeccable credit which Megan had.

  Megan picked up the wrong cellphone as she headed out the door. On her way to work, she received the text that would smash her world to pieces.

  ‘OMG, I had a great time. I didn't know a man your age could fuck for so long. The only thing that makes me feel like shit is that we did it on my sister's bed.’

  Megan burst out crying on the packed bus. She was on the M14D heading to Chelsea Piers where she was in charge of the Facilities Department in an office building.

  Tom couldn't deny his infidelity. He got on his knees and apologized. The thought of losing his family was unfathomable.

  Megan was disgusted. She wouldn’t enter their bedroom. She swore she wouldn’t sleep on the filthy mattress. As far as she was concerned their bed had been desecrated.

  Tom hefted the queen sized mattress; carrying it to the fenced in garbage area outside of the condominium complex they used to share.

  Tom threw the mattress against one of the dumpsters. He raised his arms in victory when he noticed that Megan had been watching him from their bedroom window.

  How could he think that was something to celebrate?

  At the time, Tom thought he was well on his way to being forgiven as he walked to his car and drove to the nearest furniture store to buy another mattress.

  Tom wasn’t aware that his wife’s memory of what he had done could not be thrown into the garbage along with the mattress to be forgotten like it never happened.

  Every time Tom remembers that day, he thinks about how foolish he must have looked carrying that mattress on his back before he raised his arms in celebration.

  It was akin to Jesus carrying the cross on which he would be crucified. Tom couldn’t put himself in the same class as the great religious figure, yet, he felt some kind of a connection in the irony that both men carried the artifact of their demise.

  Megan did her best to salvage her marriage since their son Ian was just a few months old at the time. However, she couldn't camouflage her disgust whenever she had sex with Tom.

  As time passed they seemed more like brothers than a married couple. The strain on their relationship was too much. They were available to each other with whatever had to do with their son, finances and day to day living, yet, they had stopped being romantic. They slept facing away from each other. Their only act of intimacy was a kiss at the start of the day and before bedtime.

  Tom couldn’t deal with his sexless marriage and Megan’s inability to truly forgive him. All the holiday and important gatherings that Megan’s younger sister missed reminded her of Tom’s infidelity and the betrayal of her sister.

  Megan decided Ian was old enough to understand when he turned eleven years old. She got a lawyer and served Tom divorce papers. Megan wanted Tom out of her life. The ten years that passed before she decided she’d had enough had done nothing to dull her pain.

  Megan kept the car, the Lower East Side condo and most of their savings. Megan also got full custody of their son Ian, who could stay with his Dad on alternate weekends. Tom couldn’t come to terms with how he’d lost so much for a night of pure sex for that is how Tom saw it.

  ****

  Every time Tom reaches the winding roadways of Orange County, he experiences an unrehearsed joy. The turns and twists last for about ten minutes before he reaches the road that will take him to his cabin near Sparrow Lake. As always, Tom has all the windows rolled down. There’s always a breeze this early in summer. The trees on both sides of the roadway are like old friends coming together to welcome Tom after a long time apart; the gratification is instant.

  Tom takes in a deep breath. The smell of the earth and foliage make him forget the stress that comes along with the life of a divorcee. Whenever Tom thinks about his divorce he remembers his mother’s words ‘ritual is stronger than love and more dangerous.’ Ellie always spoke to Tom about keeping his marriage fresh. As far as Ellie was concerned, marriages that we’re allowed to become commonplace failed. One partner or the other would look for escape from the monotony. For men, it was m
ost times in the arms of another woman and of course things would fall apart from there.

  ****

  Tom looks at his watch when he gets to Kats Bait & Tackle. It’s two in the afternoon. It feels good to be in Orange County this early. Had it been any other day and he would be in his classroom getting ready for dismissal.

  Tom parks his car in front of Kats and gets out of his 93’ Toyota Corolla. It isn’t new, but, it’s dependable, good on gas and small enough that alternate side parking isn’t a problem, at least on most days.

  Tom stands in front of Kats. It hasn’t changed much since he started coming here with his Dad. Passerby would think it’s just a cabin if it wasn’t for the sign above the entrance door.

  Kats Bait & Tackle used to be the home of Kathy Burke. Her husband, Russell Burke, built the cabin with his own hands. Fisherman used to stop by all the time looking for Sparrow Lake. They not only asked about where fish were biting, but, where to get bait and supplies.

  It wasn’t long before Russell started selling bait, tackle and a few canned goods right from his home. Business was good and stayed that way. In time Russell moved his family to town making the proper modifications to turn his cabin into Kats Bait & Tackle. Today, Kats sells bait, tackle, canned goods, basic camping gear and of course beer.

  There’s enough in stock to keep you alive and safe in the woods of Sparrow Lake which is sparsely populated with just a few cabins spread out over miles. You can scream at the top of your lungs while running naked around a bonfire and not get attention.

  Kats is run by Russell’s daughter, Susie. Russell is enjoying retirement, at least a sort of retirement. He does small tasks in and outside of the store to keep his retirement from turning stale. Russell and his wife Kathy worked alongside each other until her death.

  Russell turned the store over to his daughter when he started feeling his age. Susie was happy to take over. She didn't like school, opting to spend her time fishing rather than studying when she was younger. She knew everything there was to know about fishing at Sparrow Lake and she knew how to deal with the men that frequented the store.