by Tiana Laveen
“I guess you think I’m a bad person. I just don’t trust them, Promise. I don’t trust them!” Her voice shook.
“Mama… you don’t even trust yourself.” Promise shook her head. “Your issues don’t have anything to do with God, or the Devil. Black vs. White. They have to do with fear. Daddy ain’t bad because he’s Black. Gutter ain’t good because he’s White! It’s easier for you to focus on these external things that don’t mean shit than to have a heart-to-heart with yourself and find out why you want to blame and chastise everyone else but Daddy. When a woman would call you about him, you’d blame her. When Daddy would cuss you out, you’d blame the drugs. He wasn’t high all of those times, Mama.”
“Your father… was my first love. He took care of me. Took me out of the projects.”
“And he put you right back in the projects mentally and emotionally.” Another tear rolled down Mama’s face. “He’s in prison, but you’re in a cage. When he gets out, I can only pray and hope that by some miracle, you remember who you really are, and who God intended you to be. You’re beautiful and funny. I wouldn’t trade you for another mother, no matter how many ups and downs we’ve had. I thank my father for giving me life, Mama, but that’s where the thanksgiving stops. Parents are human, I know that. So are children. We all make mistakes. But you love my father so much that you keep trying to excuse his mess and fix him. You try to mend his soul, while he’s too busy breaking your spirit…”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Flowers for the Living
We were taught the colors of the rainbow as children. We were all educated about ROYGBIV: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. We’ve known our favorite sweater is the hunter green one in the front of the closet, the nice one with the white buttons. We’ve known our favorite fruit are the juicy red strawberries from the farmer’s market. We know these colors, we recognize them, but somehow, someway, they still can shock us if our heart doesn’t expect to see these hues dance in strange ways, blurring, fading in the earth and sky. And then, one day, we see nothing but white, or perhaps black. This point is where it starts—the destruction of the rainbow…
The rainbow hues ran down the walls in muddy paint colors. The brushes were stiff with dried pigment that had never been washed away, and the little moisture left in a few of the freshly used bristles was drying fast, evaporating right before his eyes. His mother’s colors were fading. Her painted soul was growing vibrant as it prepared to leave her body, her shell, her canvas, colorless, once again. The sorrow and cries of her friends, people from the neighborhood who loved her, and strangers she’d tossed a dime to every now and again, reverberated as they all gathered around, spilling out into the lobby and hall.
Word had spread fast that she was on her death bed in the hospital. Many days had passed since her last visit. She’d even gone grocery shopping the previous week and complained how the price of eggs had risen once again. Just two days ago she’d been light on her feet, laughing, drinking coffee, painting in her house, singing old eighties songs, and telling the story of when she’d gone fishing with Dad and fallen into the river. That day, she could have sworn she’d seen a mermaid while beneath the current.
Gutter gripped his guitar as he sat by her bed. He’d adopted her smile. She smiled through pain. Through rain. Through loss. Through gain.
She knew she was dying for she’d said so. And yet, she kept on smiling, in spite of it all. As the morning turned to noon, and the noon to early evening, her smile dissipated. She hadn’t spoken a word in many hours. He knew she couldn’t, but what they couldn’t say with their mouths, they could say with their hearts… and the music.
He strummed the guitar as Promise sat behind him, her forehead pressed into his back, arms tight around his waist. The heat and love poured from her body and spirit, much like a well-needed blanket on the cold day. Emotions were running high. How could they not? The woman had told everyone this was it, in the wee hours of that morning. She’d finished her announcement with a weak, “Thank you, I love you,” to a room full of people, balloons, and flowers.
Even one of the doctors had to excuse herself, filled with emotion as Mom had become a favorite patient. She’d never given the staff any trouble, told colorful jokes and stories, and let the nurses know—as well as anyone who would listen—that her middle child was getting married, never mentioning once that he was famous. That he had wealth. That he’d traveled all over the world and had a room full of Grammys. Only that he was marrying her new friend, the pretty woman who looked like a Black Bettie Page from the funeral home…
“You want me to sing you a song?” Gutter whispered in her ear. Eyes closed, she raised her hand as far up as she could, then let it fall against the bed. That was their new code for ‘yes.’ No movement at all was ‘no.’
“Okay…” He cleared his throat, and began to sing ‘Infinity,’ by One Direction. As soon as he got to the third chorus, everyone in the room was in tears, except him and his mother. Promise’s sorrow soaked through his shirt as she held onto him with trembling hands. A slight smile creased his mother’s face as he sang, peacefulness brightening her outward appearance in the colors of a life well lived, and plenty of love to give. There weren’t enough colors in the rainbow, after all. No brush strokes that could capture the woman just right, from the inside out, on canvas. And no quality drawing pencils and paper or etching tools that could truly validate and express this art that lay before his eyes.
His brother entered the room, his eyes pink as gum, watery as oceans, and his world shattered like glass.
Zach slumped against the hospital wall, his wife holding onto him, and bawled. Gutter kept on strumming his guitar, and when he got to the end of the song, one could’ve heard a pin drop. He placed the instrument down gently against the small nightstand, reached for his mother’s hand, and squeezed it.
Zina got up from her seat and took Mom’s other hand, while their father stood outside the room, looming like a great big shadow, his energy low, his voice quiet, and his love for the woman he’d had children with still palpable. A couple hours passed, and guests thinned out, leaving only a few. Many had said their goodbyes, a few still refusing to believe she was transitioning to, as she called it, ‘the next chapter.’ Denial had a way of protecting the harmed, the ignorant, the obtuse, and the deranged. Gutter was none of those things.
Time kept ticking. Running then crawling. Torturing and deceiving. Promise left and returned many times, passing out coffee, fruit, and rubbing his mother’s tired bones.
“Mom,” he said when a strange feeling came over him. “I wanna tell ya, that… I love you. I wanna tell ya that I forgive ya, and that… that I’ve had the best damn time with you these past months. You’re an incredible person. You fought demons. We all fight demons. And that’s okay. Some battles you won. Some you lost. But you won this one, Debbie Harry… You won because you won yourself over, me over, and everyone else who matters to you. You defeated ’em. You’ve slain that dragon. You’re hilarious. Loving. Eccentric. People gravitate towards you. You’re a magnet. I told you in the donut shop that you’ll have grandkids, and they’ll know about you. That seemed to make you really happy.
“I’m going to have children with Promise, and I want you to know they’re going to know about Grandma Jenny. My quirky, amazing mother.” He took a deep breath, fighting the nerves getting the best of him, then continued. “I don’t know how this heaven thing works, but if you can visit sometimes, I’d like that. You kept telling me this is just another chapter. Well, I want the book. I need the book of Jenny, Mom. I need every single episode. The first, second, and third drafts, and the final copy. I need the index. The footnotes. The sources of inspiration. I need to see the cover, and I better not ever read, ‘The End.’” A tear streamed down his face, and he quickly wiped it away. His eyes stung.
Minutes passed. The quiet became another entity in the room. Her chest rose and fell. More time slipped away—precious, yet unforgiving.
His face went hot when one of the doctors entered the room. Then another. They moved silently, looking at the machines. He’d heard the noises, the change in tone and sound. He looked down at his mom, and her eyes were no longer moving under the lids. Her body completely limp. The heart monitor was still showing the beating… but slowing… slowing… slowing…
Promise wiped the tears from her eyes, which wouldn’t let up. Whispers could be heard between the professionals in the room, awkward and stilted.
“Mommy…” His entire body surged with a kind of pain he’d never felt in his entire life. The ache began inside his heart, throbbing and squeezing his chest. It felt as if his very soul were being stabbed. As if time had decided to take him, too. He got up and collapsed on the bed beside her, his muscles giving out. Nestling his face in the cradle of her warm, sweet-smelling neck, he embraced her as tight as he could, clutching her gown in his fists. “NO, NO, NO!”
People administered gentle tugs, but he shooed them away.
“Mr. Rayden…” some man called out to him, more than likely a physician. But he kept holding her. Hugging her. Gripping her with all of his might as that heartbeat monitor made that horrible noise… that dreadful sound… that fucking flatline.
“Mommy! You can’t do this! I’m sorry! Mommy, I’ll be a good boy! Mommy, please don’t leave me again! YA CAN’T LEAVE ME AGAIN! I’ll be good this time! You don’t have to go! I’ll be good, Mommy! I PROMISE!!! OH, GOD!!! OH, GOD!!! MOMMY, COME BACK!!!”
“That’s what she wanted. Excitement. Comic relief. Colors. Love in pure shades of simplicity,” Promise said to herself as she looked around the chapel of the funeral home, the wake coming to an end.
In the front, Jenny lay in a white and rose gold casket, the bier in fluorescent pink. What a sight to see. She was dressed in a yellow and blue gown, a dress that had been handmade by one of the finest seamstresses in New York. Around her neck was a gorgeous gold necklace with matching earrings, and a big cocktail ring on her right hand—all of it costume jewelry. Jenny had insisted that she not be buried in anything worth digging her up for.
She looks so beautiful. Jenny didn’t need much by way of cosmetics. Her porcelain skin was butter smooth, and despite the loss of muscle in her cheeks and chin, her bone structure was beautiful, making her easy to work with.
Promise had been present at all phases of her care, ensuring everything was done to the letter. Jenny donned a shoulder-length light blonde wig, similar to her natural tresses that she’d lost during her cancer treatments. Promise had gone out shopping for it personally and opted for a human hair wig from a Jewish part of town. No one could even tell it wasn’t growing out of her very own scalp.
The casket closed, and she braced herself as the wails, moans, and utterances of grief filled the room like a rumbling of the deepest despair. A gathering of people swelled in the outer corridors, for the media had caught wind that Gutter’s mother had passed, and her service was to be held there.
It was pure pandemonium right outside the threshold. A mob. Regardless of the onlookers and gawkers wishing to gain entry to no avail, their faces pressed against the glass doors and windows of the building, she’d managed to ensure that the service went on just as Jenny had wished. Only family and friends. And colors everywhere—vibrant shades of red, green, and yellow spinning about from the bodies of dancers who jingled their gold anklets and moved around like flashes of light to new-age music. Their eyes were made up with black eyeliner and sparkly shades of gold and purple. Their movements were stunning. Mesmerizing. Reminiscent of the traditional Roma dances.
Gutter sat in the front row with his siblings in a black suit and silk dark pink tie, just like his brother, Zachary. Zina wore a black dress with a pink sash. The three of them locked arms. Unbreakable. To see them was to feel their sorrow and love, deep within your soul.
A minister read some scriptures for the eulogy, then several friends of Jenny’s told amazing stories about her, some of which had the crowd roaring with amusement. An ex-boyfriend of hers, a handsome, slender man with a thick French accent, spoke of his beloved, giving details of how incredible of an artist she was, what had attracted him to her. He explained how the relationship had ended because he’d wanted to marry her, but Jenny had been determined to always be free. The tales went on and on, and then, someone who wasn’t on the schedule requested to speak.
“Is it all right?” Gutter’s father waved his arm about from the second row, then pointed to the podium. Who would deny him? Gutter walked up with his dad, and the two stood side by side, smiling at one another. Tears falling. His father leaned into the microphone and began to speak.
“I’m not going to talk too long. That was Jenny’s job.” Pockets of laughter erupted. Mr. Rayden smiled sadly, then continued, “Uh, as most of you know, I am Jenny’s ex-husband, Patrick. We met at her friend’s house waaaay back. Such a long time ago in Red Hook, Brooklyn, where we both grew up. I was there because I was friends with the gal’s brother. Jenny was sittin’ at the kitchen table and when I saw her, I’m tellin’ ya, it was love at first sight. I asked her out, and much to my surprise, she said yes. The rest was history. Jenny and I had some good times. We had three great kids together, and I’m proud of all of ’em. They all have some of their mother in them. Zina looks a lot like Jenny, but she’s got my black hair. Well, it’s got a lot of gray now.” He chuckled.
“Zach has her blonde hair, temperament and sensitivity. Empathy for others. Zake, some of ya know him better as Gutter, has her silliness, rebellious nature, and creativity. Same smile, too. She left a bit of herself in all of them. She left a bit of herself in my heart, too. Forever. She was my friend. We sometimes fought like cats and dogs. Jenny was feisty. Didn’t like being told what to do, or how to do it.
“We sometimes bumped heads, didn’t see eye-to-eye. I missed her when our marriage ended because to know this woman was to love her, no matter what. It hurt when she was gone. Because my best friend was gone, too. No matter what crap I and this lady went through, whose fault it was and all that mess, that doesn’t even matter now for Jenny owned my heart. She was the seasoning. The spice of life. She knew how to throw a party, how to calm me down which was a feat within itself, how to paint the town red, and fill the world with her infectious laugh. That’s why this hurts. So many people told me that even during radiation treatment, and times when she was in awful pain, she’d laugh. Make little jokes, poke fun.”
Gutter’s dad took a deep breath. “As long as she was still in New York, hell, on the planet, I didn’t feel a total disconnect, ya know?
“Regardless of our split, I felt like I still had a tether to her in some way.” Many people nodded, seeming to understand what he meant. “This woman gave birth to my children, the three people I love the most in this world. They’re all grown now, got their own lives, but they exist because of me and Jenny. For that alone, I owe her everything. After our divorce, I used to look at her side of the bed and just… cry.” He ran his hand roughly through his hair, his complexion deepening as the tears cascaded down his face. “Now, after all of these years, I look… I look into my kids’ eyes, and I… damn it.”
He bowed his head and sobbed, bent at the knees. Gutter grabbed his arm, helped him stand, and patted his back before embracing him. Now both men were crying, the sight tearing Promise apart.
“I see her all over again! I look at ’em!” He pointed at Zach and Zina, who were resting against one another. “I look at ’em and see her bursting through! She lives! Jenny lives through these three amazing people, but the one beside me here, Zake, he takes the freaking cake. He gave me the most problems. Typical middle child shenanigans.” Zake smiled sadly. “Some of you want his albums and concert tickets and all that business.” His father grinned and waved dismissively. “He eats that up. He looks the most like me, but I want a DNA test because Jesus, he’s a jokester, workaholic, hot-head, and he’s cocky and hard-headed. While I’m just a humble, quiet butterf
ly, so he couldn’t possibly be my kid. I have no idea where he got that stuff from!”
The crowd erupted in laughter and Gutter let out a boisterous guffaw, too.
“That’s a damn lie.” The man smiled. “He’s like me in so many ways, as you’re aware, but all I know is that Jenny was super proud of all three of our kids, and she loved all of her friends, too. She was different, sometimes hard to understand, but so damn easy to love. Jenny, you’ll always be my first love. Nothin’ can change that. Until we meet again.”
He blew a kiss in the air, then quickly took his seat.
Gutter continued to stand there, holding both sides of the podium. He then reached for the microphone. The place grew quiet. So, so quiet.
“Before she passed away, my mother asked that I sing a couple of songs at her service… her homecoming. Her next chapter.” He paused for a brief moment. “I agreed to it, but then there was a blatant poisoning attempt on my life, because my mother turned around and showed her thanks by forcing me to drink some of her hot menopause tea with a dab of honey and a spoonful of expired horseradish sauce.”
The crowd erupted in laughter.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I had a bit of a cold that day, and she was convinced this would get rid of it. Anyway,” he offered a small smile, “I’m not going to use any instruments, outside of my own voice, this afternoon, people. I am going to sing to my mother, Ms. Jenny Shannon Rayden. She’d never gone back to her maiden name. On this day, we join her in some fashion, for her celebration of life. Mom, may you be surrounded in Heaven by all the shades of pink in the universe, have a never-ending supply of the best art supplies money can buy, and sleep to the sounds of Cher, Chaka Khan, and Cindi Lauper…”
He closed his eyes, and began to sing ‘The Rose,’ by Bette Midler. Promise dropped her gaze and raised her hand in the air, waving it back and forth as the place fell prey to tears all around. Something about those lyrics, and the way he sang, turned the people into soppy messes.
