Invisible Life Read online

  E. Lynn Harris

  Invisible Life

  E. Lynn Harris is a former computer sales executive with IBM and a graduate of the University of Arkansas, Fayetteville. He is the author of the bestselling novels: Invisible Life, Just As I Am, and The New York Times bestsellers And This Too Shall Pass, If This World Were Mine, Abide With Me, Not a Day Goes By, and Any Way the Wind Blows. If This World Were Mine won the James Baldwin Award for Literary Excellence. Abide With Me was a finalist for the NAACP Image Award. In 1999, Harris was awarded the Distinguished Alumni Award from the University of Arkansas, Fayetteville. He divides his time between Chicago and New York, where he is working on his memoirs. Harris remains an avid and devoted University of Arkansas Razorback fan (of all sports).

  Books by E. Lynn Harris

  Invisible Life

  Just As I Am

  And This Too Shall Pass

  If This World Were Mine

  Abide With Me

  Not a Day Goes By

  Any Way the Wind Blows

  FIRST ANCHOR BOOKS EDITION, MARCH 1994

  Copyright © 1991, 1994 by E Lynn Harris

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions Published in the United States by Anchor Books, a division of Random House, Inc, New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto Originally published in the United States by Consortium Press in 1991 The Anchor Books edition is published by arrangement with Consortium Press

  Anchor Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc

  This novel is a work of fiction Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity Other names, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, as are those fictionalized events and incidents that involve real persons and did not occur or are set in the future

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Harris, E Lynn

  Invisible life / E Lynn Harris — 1st Anchor Books ed

  p cm

  1 Young men—United States—Fiction 2 Afro-American men—Fiction 3 Bisexuality—Fiction I Title

  PS3558 A64438I58 1994

  813′ 54-dc20

  93-8731

  eISBN: 978-0-307-83172-9

  www.anchorbooks.com

  v3.1

  For

  Randy L. Johnson and Richard S. Coleman

  and Five Ladies Who Make a Difference Daily

  My mother, Etta W. Harris

  My grandma, Bessie Harvey

  My aunt, Jessie L. Phillips

  My friend, Lencola Sullivan

  My inspiration, Dellanor Young

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  In loving memory

  Epigraph

  The Beginning or The End

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Just As I Am

  In loving memory

  Dionne Harold

  William Rhodes

  Larry J Stewart

  Connie Garrett Abbensetts

  Calvin A. Brown

  Cary Allyne

  Rory Gautt

  Dwight Hollis

  Greg Googer

  Walks like a duck,

  quacks like a duck,

  must be a duck …

  But then again,

  it might not be a duck …

  —anonymous

  The Beginning

  or The End

  Protected by a crisp, cloudless sky, I sipped iced tea on the dusty wooden deck of my parents’ home. There was a trace of heat; no humidity. It was a few days after my twenty-ninth birthday and I was pondering the next step in my complicated life. While deep in thought, but savoring the Southern tranquillity, I heard my father come through the sliding glass doors. He quietly placed a large envelope, addressed to Raymond Winston Tyler, Jr., on the wrought-iron table, gave me a half smile and returned through the doors. I immediately recognized the familiar feminine handwriting and the New York City postmark. I quickly ripped open the envelope, ignored the card and began to read the letter on the soft pink stationery.

  Dear Raymond,

  I decided it was time I responded to your letter. How could this happen? Never before have I received a letter filled with so much pain, yet so much love.

  The last six months have been like a wild roller coaster ride, full of extreme highs and lows. I find myself numb over the recent events. Why did it happen to us?… Why can’t we live in a perfect world?…

  Before continuing to the next page, I laid the letter down, noticing that the moisture from my iced tea glass had caused the name on the envelope to blur and dissolve into an ugly black mess, bringing to mind my current life. As I studied the envelope, I asked myself, How did it happen?

  One

  There is something poetic about falling in love. The tingling sensation lingers like the lyrical words of a Langston Hughes poem. There is something romantic about the changing of seasons. A romance reminiscent of an unending summer, or one as fleeting as spring and fall. Whenever I think back on the loves of my life, I am often reminded of the seasons. There are four seasons. I have been in love four times.

  It was summer when Sela, my girlfriend, and I drove the five hours back to campus. On this beautiful day, there was no way of knowing that my life, like the season, would soon change. My black Volkswagen was filled to capacity with our clothes, books, albums and items that we couldn’t live without during the summer vacation. As we drove down Highway 17, the heavy August sun beat down on us. The Alabama sky was a shimmering summer blue. State troopers were out in numbers trying to catch the fancy cars exceeding the speed limit, giving special attention to cars with THE UNIVERSITY and Greek-letter organization stickers.

  Sela and I were both especially excited this year because for me it was my senior year and I would finally be heading to law school, while Sela, now a junior, was moving into her sorority house after a couple of years in the dorm. In the midst of the excitement and happiness, I was feeling a bit melancholy because this was going to be my last year. I was going to miss Sela and my fraternity brothers, who kept my life at this lily white university interesting and fulfilling.

  My fraternity, Kappa Alpha Omega (KAΩ), was one of the three black fraternities on campus. While the white fraternities and sororities were going through rush, which we never understood, we were planning a big party to welcome back the black students. We would get a head start on pressing the freshman girls to become our sweethearts and persuading the top black freshman men to pledge KAΩ.

  We decided to have the party at the house of one of our advisors, who was also one of the few black faculty members at the university. He owned a huge old rustic house outside of town surrounded by trees so large they cast an indelible shade over the two tennis courts and aqua-colored pool. It was the type of house I dreamed of one day sharing with S
ela.

  Since I was the social chairman of my fraternity, Sela and I arrived early to make sure that everything was set. We checked the music and food, and made sure the keg of beer was ice-cold. Sela looked beautiful in her white tennis outfit. It was a pleated short skirt with a matching top that looked wonderful against her vanilla wafer brown complexion. Her long black hair was pulled together with a crimson satin ribbon that flowed down her back. Her face, with deep dimples and almond-shaped hazel eyes, was accented by an open smile.

  As I watched Sela help our sweethearts prepare for the party, I thought back to the time almost six years ago when I had first laid eyes on her. It was the annual citywide basketball tournament and about five of my football teammates and I went over to North Birmingham to Northeast High for a game.

  Northeast High was like most of the high schools in Birmingham, an all-black basketball team and a cheerleader lineup of blue-eyed blondes, with the exception of a pair of identical brunette twins. As my eyes made it to the end of the line, I saw the most beautiful black girl I had ever seen. She had two thick ponytails, one with a gold ribbon and the other with a light blue ribbon, that matched her uniform perfectly.

  Whenever there was a time-out, Northeast’s pep band started to play and the cheerleaders ran onto the court and started their well-rehearsed pom-pom routines. The black girl on the end was spectacular. She appeared to be using her ponytails and high kicks to conduct the band. As her kicks got higher, her ponytails flew in her face, temporarily blocking her view but never causing her to miss a beat. Her blue, gold and white pleated skirt twirled like a kaleidoscope against her light brown skin.

  As the band played the theme from Shaft, the cheerleaders and crowd chanted in unison, “Go Chargers … Beat those Bears … Go Chargers.” I became mesmerized by the cheerleader from the opposing school. I became so wrapped up in her that I wanted to cheer for Northeast High instead of my own school. While I watched the cheerleader’s every move, someone came up behind me and put his huge arm around my neck in a playful strangle. When I was released, I turned and recognized Bruce Grayson, one of Northeast’s star football players.

  “Ray Tyler, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?” Bruce asked.

  “I’m over here to see my boys kick some Northeast butt,” I joked.

  Bruce and I had met during the summer when we both were training at the Presidents Health Spa downtown. After talking for a couple of minutes, I asked Bruce who this vision of ebony beauty was. He told me her name was Sela Richards and that she was his play little sister. During halftime Bruce introduced me to Sela. When he left the two of us alone, I became so nervous, not knowing what to do or say, that I put my hands into my orange-and-white leather football jacket, took them out and placed them in my tight-fitting blue jeans and just kept staring at Sela. When I finally found the courage to ask Sela for her phone number, one of the girls on the cheerleading squad came up and grabbed her, telling her it was time for the second half. She smiled at me. “It was nice meeting you,” she said, and ran off with the blue-eyed blonde.

  During the second half I thought of ways to approach Sela after the game. Before the game ended, Bruce came up to me and gave me a little piece of paper.

  “Sela asked me to give this to you,” he said, smiling. I looked at the paper and there they were: the seven digits that would lead to my first love.

  That night I couldn’t sleep for thinking of Sela. I got up at 6:30 A.M. the next morning and called her at 7:15, before I left for school. Our first date was that evening at Baskin-Robbins. Our romance blossomed quickly, even though we lived in different parts of the city and went to different high schools. I attended every Northeast game they had in the city, often borrowing my father’s car to take Sela and some of her cheerleader friends to basketball games outside the city. I gave Sela my football jacket and she gave me her tiny gold cheerleader megaphone chain with the Northeast emblem. It was not long before I had fallen in love with the first female in my life other than my mother, grandmother or favorite aunt.

  It didn’t take long before the party started jumping. A sweet rain had lifted the dizzy August heat. Since KAΩ was the largest black fraternity on campus, we always had the initial party and almost every black student on campus would be there, even those bookworms who probably wouldn’t attend another party all year.

  It was great seeing everybody, catching up on what had happened during the summer, and seeing the latest dances that people brought back to campus.

  As the night wore on, I noticed a tall, muscular guy who seemed to be attracting a lot of attention from all the females. He stood against one of the banisters looking unapproachable, not saying a word. He was dressed in white linen and looked too mature to be a freshman. From his muscular body I could tell he was a jock, but he wasn’t with the athletes at the party. Sela and her sorority sisters gathered in a clique, laughing and flirting with the stranger. He danced with a couple of them. I could tell from the way he danced and from his haircut, extra short on the sides, that he was not from the South. No, this guy was East Coast for real.

  The party lasted until the wee hours of the morning, and after the beer ran out, we switched to KAΩ punch, a combination of fruit juices and pure grain alcohol. The next morning I woke up with one of my worst hangovers ever, but I had to get up to drive to Birmingham and catch a plane to New Orleans for my cousin’s wedding. Why Terrence and Beverly chose August instead of June was a complete mystery to everyone in the wedding party. While on the Delta flight to New Orleans, I had a dream that bothered me. I didn’t quite remember all the details, but the stranger from the party the night before was in it. He was visiting the campus to see if he might want to come to school next year. All during my stay in steamy New Orleans I thought about the dream. I was puzzled as to why I was dreaming about a guy I had seen only once and to whom I had never spoken a word. My return flight to school went smoothly and didn’t include any illusions about the stranger or Sela, whom I dreamed of often when we were separated.

  The football season rolled around, and with it, much cooler weather. Fall was advancing against the backdrop of an immense sky; braids of yellow, red and teal leaves created delicate hues as beautiful as the sweaters worn by my classmates. September flew by, and on the first Friday in October, I was in the locker room at the athletic complex after hitting some tennis balls with one of my frat brothers, Trent Walters. Trent finished his shower and started back to the frat house, where we always gathered before starting the weekend of partying.

  This was the weekend of our first home football game, so there would be some serious parties. KAΩ was giving a party too, but this weekend we would be competing with the two other black fraternities for attendees. After I finished dressing, I headed toward the exit of the locker room. I was looking down at my shoes, trying to decide if they needed shining. While trying to adjust my collar from the back, I bumped into a hard body.

  “Oh, excuse me,” I said. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

  “Sure, no problem,” the stranger said.

  When I looked up at him, my mouth dropped open. It was him! The guy from the party, the guy in my dream.

  “Do you have a comb?” he asked.

  “Excuse me.” I was in a complete state of shock. Was I seeing and hearing him correctly?

  “Do you have a comb?” he repeated.

  “A comb,” I repeated as I tried to regain my composure.

  “Yes, a comb.”

  “I don’t think so. Let me look.” I suddenly became very nervous. He was staring at me as I frantically looked in my gym bag for a comb.

  “It doesn’t look like I have one,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “No reason to be,” he said. “Thanks anyway.”

  As the stranger walked away, I stood in the same spot, speechless, not knowing what to do next. Suddenly the stranger stopped and turned around toward me.

  “Where is the closest place you can buy liquor around here?
” he asked.

  “Duncan County, about thirty-five miles away. Do you go to school here?” I asked.

  “Yes, unfortunately I do.”

  “Why say it like that?”

  “Well, this place is different.”

  “Yes, it is. Where are you from?”

  “Philadelphia.”

  “Philadelphia?” I asked, a bit surprised.

  “Ever heard of it?”

  “Of course! How did you wind up down here?”

  “Football scholarship.”

  “Oh.”

  “My name is Kelvin Ellis,” he said, extending his massive hand toward me.

  “Raymond Tyler,” I said as we shook the regular way and then went into the black-power handshake.

  “Where are you from, Raymond?”

  “Alabama.”

  “The whole state?” he asked with a smile, exposing almost perfectly white teeth.

  “No, I’m from Birmingham.”

  “I’ve heard of Birmingham.” Kelvin and I had now walked out of the locker room toward the enormous football stadium that anchored the athletic complex while talking about school and the game tomorrow.

  “What position do you play?” I asked.

  “Defensive back.”

  “Are you playing tomorrow?”

  “No. I sprained my ankle this week. That’s why I was down in the locker room in the whirlpool, getting treatment.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you have a car?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How much would you charge to run me down to Duncan? I’ve got to get a couple of cases of brew.”

  “Nothing. I have to go down anyway to pick up some beer for my fraternity. What dorm are you in?”

  “Westview, the athletic dorm.”

  “Okay, be outside in about thirty minutes. I’ll be in a black Volkswagen.”

  “Great!”