If These Trees Could Talk

by Brian W. Smith

  More blood stains awaited her when she got to the bathroom. Charity’s emotions were scattered. There was a possibility she’d find her son in that bathroom, but she had no way of knowing if he’d be in a condition acceptable to a mother. As her slender fingers clutched the knob she said a silent prayer, hoping that God hadn’t taken his phone off the hook and would actually hear her.

  “Josh,” she called. “Baby are you in here?”

  Charity opened the door and found her child. But, her fears were confirmed. He was in a condition no mother wants to find her child. Josh was sitting in the porcelain tub naked—trembling like he’d been trapped outside in a blizzard. “Josh, are you okay?” Charity walked over to the tub and kneeled down beside it. She hadn’t assumed that position since he was five years old and she used to give him baths.

  Josh looked up at his mother and then burst into tears. There is nothing worse than seeing a child whom you know wouldn’t hurt a fly, crying uncontrollably. That type of child doesn’t cry for any reason; especially a child as quiet as Josh. Something had driven him to the brink of insanity and Charity knew deep in her gut that Dutch had a role in her son’s current state.

  Charity reached out to grab Josh, but before she could extend her arms he’d already leapt into them. Never before had he squeezed her so tight. Never before had she heard him sob so hard. Never before had Charity felt like such a failure.

  “Josh, what happened?”

  The boy was crying too hard to answer. Charity allowed his sobbing to go on for a few more seconds. He needed to get it out, and she knew that, but not knowing what transpired was driving her crazy. She pushed Josh back so that she could look into his eyes. “Josh, I need you to tell me what happened. Where is Dutch?”

  Josh didn’t reply, he just pointed.

  “What are you sayin’ baby?” she asked frantically. “Is he in my bedroom?”

  Josh shook his head and continued to cry.

  Charity lost her composure. Her comforting hug transformed into a frantic shake. “Josh, tell me what happened dammit! Where is Dutch?”

  With drool seeping from his parted lips and snot pouring from his nose, the boy pointed again. “He’s out there.”

  Charity looked behind her and then back at Josh. “Out where?”

  “By the trees. We put him by the trees.”

  “By the trees? We? Who else are you talkin’ ‘bout?”

  “Stevie,” Josh confessed, and then started crying harder.

  “Stevie? Who is Stevie?” Charity looked away as she searched the corridors of her mind for any recollection of the name Stevie. “Wait. Is that the boy Dutch heard you talkin’ to in your room the other night?”

  Josh shook his head. “Yeah.”

  Charity stood up and snatched Josh out of that tub like he was a rag doll. “C’mon boy!” She grabbed a large towel from the cabinet and wrapped it around Josh. She forced him to sit on the closed toilet seat. “Now, tell me what y’all did to Dutch and you’d better not leave anything out.”

  Scared and trembling as his naked bottom pressed against the cold toilet seat, Josh looked up at his mother. She seemed genuinely concerned—about Dutch. For the first time in his life, he looked at her with disdain. He hated Dutch, but disdain best describes the way Josh looked at Charity because it’s the antonym of respect—which is what he once had for his mother. Unbeknownst to Charity, the respect she’d earned by carrying him in her womb for nine months; clothing him; and even seeing to it that he had canned raviolis when she wasn’t there to cook for him, was lost forever at that very moment.

  “We, we, killed him.”

  “You what?” she shouted. “Josh, what did you just say?”

  Josh looked up at his mother with tear filled eyes and repeated himself. “We killed him. He was…he, he was…”

  “He was doing what Josh?’ she barked. “Tell me dammit or else I’m gonna beat it out of you!”

  Fed up with his mother’s badgering, Josh unleashed years of penned up aggression. “He was touching me!” Josh shouted.

  Josh shouted those words so loud that it caused Charity’s heart to race faster than it already was. His lips trembled. His look was intense. It was the same look in his eyes that he displayed while stabbing Dutch. “He used to do it all the time! He used to come in my room and touch me and do all kinds of stuff to me when you was at work!”

  Charity leaned against the wall. She didn’t stay standing long. Josh’s words had a numbing effect more powerful than being shot with a dart gun. Charity’s knees flexed. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor in front of her tormented child. Her body started trembling more violently than his. She put her hand over her mouth to try to keep from crying out loud.

  “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Josh used the edge of the towel he had wrapped around him to wipe his face. “Because,” he mumbled.

  “Because of what?” Charity asked, and grabbed his cold hands. She was pleading for her son to be completely honest. In her search for the truth Charity forgot one cardinal rule—you should never ask a question unless you are prepared to hear an answer you don’t like.

  Josh looked at his mother. “I tried to tell you a lot of times, but the only thing you ever worry about is Dutch. You always believe him over me. Just like the other day when he told you I was smoking a cigarette. You just believed everything he said. You always believe him over me.”

  They both sat in the bathroom and shed enough tears to fill a small bucket. Eventually, Charity found the strength to lift herself up. She gave Josh a good washing to make sure his body was free of blood, and then allowed him to go to sleep on the sofa. She looked in horror at the large bruises left on her child’s body from the beating Dutch had recently given him, and was overwhelmed with guilt; knowing that her ignorance had added to her child’s pain. Going to school on that day was not an option.

  Three hours passed and she had no idea what to do next. That was the longest three hours of her life. She smoked a pack of cigarettes while Josh slept, gently rubbing his leg whenever he moved. The beautiful memories the two of them shared started to flash across her mind. Images of his birth, and the way he looked at her the first time the nurse allowed her to hold him. The way he rammed his fingers into the cake during his first birthday party. The way he wobbled and fell repeatedly until he was finally able to take his first steps. The day he learned to ride a bike without training wheels. Indelible memories that bond a parent to a child.

  No sooner than those thoughts faded, more thoughts entered her mind—thoughts she wished she could forget; like the day she first introduced Dutch to Josh. She distinctly remembered how Josh refused to go near him. The time she walked into the living room and saw Dutch holding a crying Josh up in the air, upside down by one leg. Her first reaction was to attack Dutch, but she opted to allow him to play rough with the boy, figuring it would make him tougher. But something always told her that Josh’s tears were not those of a boy playing a little too rough. The way Josh followed her around constantly, always avoiding Dutch. The many times she’d come home from work and find Josh lying in his urine. The signs were there, but she ignored them.

  “I’m so sorry baby,” she mumbled, as she cried and watched the child sleep. She tried to remain calm—a clear head was needed at that time. But tears of guilt kept pouring from her eyes. Mucous clogged her nose. Her left leg shook nervously. Her left hand rested on her knee and shook just as violently. The ashes from the cigarette she held floated to the floor from the shimmers. “Mama, is gonna protect you baby. I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again.”

  Chapter 8

  Teaching her class was a challenge for Elizabeth on this day. Chaos ruled as she struggled to maintain order. Milton slapped two kids, and the only punitive action he received from Elizabeth was a dirty look. Her mind wasn’t on her students. All she could think about was Josh.

  I wonder why Josh didn’t come to school today. He never misses school. I
wonder if he’s okay. Should I call his house? No, I can’t call his house. After that blow up with his mother, she’d probably hang up the phone when she realizes it’s me calling. Maybe I should just drive over there. Shit, I can’t do that either. There’s no way to pass in front of his house without being seen—his house is at the end of the street. His crazy ass mother will accuse me of stalking her if she sees me driving past.

  Hell, I can’t go over there after work anyway; I gotta go pick Curtis up from the airport. His plane lands at five o’clock. I can’t be late picking up my own child.

  The school day ended and for the first time in a long time, she left promptly at three o’clock. The rush hour traffic was starting to build up, but she managed to avoid the brunt of it as she made the hour long trek to the airport.

  When she pulled up to the pick-up area the first person she saw was her six foot tall only child. He was easy to spot, seeing that he was the only black man standing outside waiting for a ride.

  Curtis joined the army five years earlier. He’d only been out of high school two weeks when he left their house early one morning in route to the military departure station. She was happy to see him leave the small town. The thought of him working at Wal-Mart for the rest of his life never sat well with her so she encouraged him to go out and see all that the world had to offer. But, his departure left a void in her life; which explained why she latched on to troubled students like Josh so quickly.

  Now her baby boy was a Sergeant in the United States Army. He was returning home on leave after spending a year in Seoul, Korea. Dressed in his military uniform, shoes spit shinned, and metals plastered across his broad chest; a sense of pride swept over Elizabeth.

  “Hey baby,” she said, her voice cracking from joy as she hugged her son. “You look so handsome baby.”

  “Mama, you’re embarrassing me,” he said jokingly as he wrapped his thick arms around her and squeezed.

  “I don’t care,” she replied. “You’d better stand here and act like you’re enjoying this moment.”

  They put his duffle bag in the back seat and drove off. Small talk ensued, but didn’t last long. Curtis could tell that his mother was pre-occupied. She rarely made eye contact and the frown lines that always formed between her eyebrows when she was anxious about something never went away.

  “Mama, what’s wrong?” Curtis asked. “Are you and daddy arguing again?”

  “No baby, your daddy and I are doing fine. As long as he has cable t.v., so he can watch ESPN, and a hot pot of coffee brewing, he’s fine.”

  “How is he doing? Is the law firm growing?”

  “That law firm is all your daddy thinks and talks about. Business ebbs and flows around here. Fortunately, there are enough drunk drivers and parole violators in this town to keep money coming in. Your daddy will represent anybody as long as they can pay his fees. Combine that with the fact that two of the law firms that were here when you were growing up have closed and relocated because of the economy—your daddy doesn’t have as much competition. Hell, at one time he couldn’t get white folk to say his name, now he has more white clients than black.”

  Curtis shook his head as if he approved of the update. “That’s good news. Well, since dad is doing okay, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Mama,” he said, determined to get to the root of the problem. “You know I can tell when you are upset.”

  “Oh really?” she asked with a sly grin. “How can you tell?”

  Curtis reached over and ran his index finger between her eye brows. “I know when you’re mad because these frown lines right here always pop up.”

  Elizabeth chuckled. Trying to hide her feelings from her son was futile and she knew it. She let out a loud sigh and confessed. “It’s one of my students.”

  “Not a troubled student again. Mama, you told me you were gonna stop getting so attached to those kids after you got into trouble the last time.”

  “I know, I know. I’d been doing a good job of separating my emotions until this school year. I got this little boy in my class named Josh. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think he’s being abused.”

  “Did you see bruises on him?”

  “No,” she replied in a frustrated tone. “That’s the first thing Mr. Benjamin asked me.”

  “Well mama, he asked you that because that’s the first question a person asks when the word abuse comes up.”

  “Whatever! Mr. Benjamin can kiss my ass! He wouldn’t know an abused child if you sat the child on his desk and showed him the damn bruises. Besides, he acts like he doesn’t even care. I’m tellin’ you baby, that man is weird.”

  “Mama, you’re just saying that because you’re still mad that he suspended you the last time you suspected abuse and then took it upon yourself to investigate.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Elizabeth asked.

  Curtis rubbed his mother’s tense shoulder. “C’mon mama, you know I’m always on your side. I’m gon’ always have your back.” He then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Curtis knew how to calm his mother down whenever she got riled up.

  “Whatever. Well, if you have my back as much as you say, you won’t mind it if we take a quick detour.”

  Curtis rolled his eyes and looked up at the car roof. “Awwh man. Mama, where are you ‘bout to drag me to?”

  “Don’t worry about that. You said you had my back, so just sit back and relax and be prepared to have my back—Sarge.”

  Charity left Josh sleeping on the sofa while she went to Wal-Mart to purchase some cleaning solutions. She decided that the best way to protect her son was to first sanitize every inch of her house. The floors, doors, cabinets, bathroom, his bedroom, and any other place she thought he may have ventured was going to be scrubbed—even if it meant she had to miss work.

  “I gotta get something strong enough to get rid of all that blood,” she mumbled to herself. Different products came to mind while she drove. As her car idled at a red light, and she thought about all that she needed to do, her plans changed. “Oh shit, I don’t have to go to Wal-Mart to get cleansers; I can go to the hospital.”

  The light turned green and she pulled off slowly. Every night at the hospital she used an ammonia based cleaning solution specifically designed to clean up blood. It was just what she needed. But she still faced one challenge—how would she get into the supply closet without being seen. The only people who had keys to the supply cabinets were the shift supervisors. She needed to figure out a way to get the cleaning solution without raising suspicion.

  If I go over there now, I’m sure all of the staff will be out on the floors working. Linda is the supervisor on duty right now. I gotta figure out a way to get her to let me take a gallon of that solution. Damn, I hate dealing with her. She’s the biggest lesbian in the city. Every time I see her she looks at me like she wants to rip off my clothes and eat me out right there on the spot.

  The hospital was less than three blocks away. She needed to come up with a plan fast. Her primary objective at that moment was to get that cleaning solution—by any means necessary.

  Charity waited until the security officer drove by and was out of sight before she parked her car near the back loading dock. She walked into the back entrance of the hospital and was standing at the entrance to the House Keeping Department within seconds.

  As she suspected, the coast was clear. The staff was out making their rounds. The storage closet was at the end of a long hallway. But, getting to that closet meant she had to pass directly in front of Linda’s office.

  Shit, she’s sitting in there. Oh well Charity, you gotta do this for your son.

  Charity tied the bottom of her shirt in a knot, exposing her pierced navel. She walked up to Linda’s office door and leaned against the door frame. “Hi Linda.”

  Linda was clearly surprised. “Hey, Charity. What are you doing here? You don’t come on duty until tonight.”

  “I know. I was on the third floor visiting a
friend who just had a baby so I decided to drop by and see what’s up.”

  “It’s the same old thing. Paperwork and more paperwork.” Linda replied, all the while her eyes were fixated on Charity’s navel. “Look at you—coming in here looking all seductive.”

  The flirtatious remark made Charity’s skin crawl, but she was determined to deal with it so that she could get what she came for and get the heck out of there. She flashed a huge grin.

  “You think I look sexy?” she asked, and turned around slowly so that Linda could get a clear view of all that she was working with.

  “Umm hmm,” Linda replied, licking her lips like she was staring at a pork chop. “You know I think you’re sexy.”

  Charity smiled. “No you don’t. You’re just tryin’ to mess with my head.”

  Linda stood up. Charity’s heart started to pound. Please don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Lord, please give me the strength to stand still and not run if she touches me.

  Linda walked around to the front of her desk and sat on it. “Come in and close the door.”

  Charity looked around to see if anyone was watching. The place was empty.

  “Don’t worry, everybody is out on the floors,” Linda said, and then reached out her hand. “Come here. I don’t bite.”

  Charity entered the office and closed the door behind her. It took every ounce of energy she could muster up to make her walk towards Linda, but she did it. “Well, I’m here,” she whispered.

  Linda took her index finger and drew a circle around Charity’s navel. She then ran her hand underneath Charity’s shirt and caressed her breast. “You know I’ve wanted you for awhile,” she whispered. “It’s about time you stopped playing hard to get.”

  “I wasn’t playing hard to get, I just don’t like to do anything around here. People are nosey, and they talk.”

  “I agree. That’s why we have to take advantage of quiet moments like this.”

  Before Charity could reply, Linda had wrapped her arm around her waist and pulled her close. Her fat tongue moved like a heat seeking missile and lodged in Charity’s mouth. Charity closed her eyes and kissed her back. Images of Josh were all she could envision.