As I Am

by David B. Jai

  I began to cry and pleaded with my Paw-Paw to tell him where my mom was.

  “Darnell, if he kills you, then I’m going to kill him,” Paw-Paw said.

  The room became dizzy, and I started to feel lightheaded. I couldn’t keep my balance and fell to the floor.

  * * *

  About twenty minutes later, I finally came to. To my surprise, we were back in Dad’s pickup truck heading west toward downtown Louisville. I thought I was dreaming, and perhaps it was a horrific nightmare. I smelled the mothball seat covers that smelled like a combination of sweat and musk. I mustered enough strength to look out the window and noticed that we were on the west side of Louisville. As I pulled myself up, I thought I must have been sleeping a while and hard, because I could feel drizzle coming down my face. I wiped the sweat off and noticed it was blood. Dad has caused me to bleed. This was not a nightmare but my reality.

  As we drove, I noticed Dad’s shotgun sitting on his lap pointed directly toward the left side of my body. I figured if I said anything or even moved, he would kill me. Why do these terrible things keep happening to me?, I pondered while looking out the window. Where is Mom? She must be going crazy and over my disappearance. Hopefully, Paw-Paw found a way to tell her. I’m sure she will be looking for me soon. Why won’t Dad just love me like he does Robbie? My God, he is my dad! I need and want him in my life. Most kids have their fathers in their lives, why can’t I have mine? I’ll stop playing with dolls and playing in Mom’s clothes if he just accepts me as I am. For right now, though, I want to get rid of the pain, especially the pounding headache.

  Soon, we pulled up to my dad’s best friend’s house. Dotson Samuel. Dotson was a good guy. He was released from incarceration a few years ago for selling marijuana but had turned his life around and embraced his family. Dotson was married to Cheryl; she was Caucasian, and everyone liked her. Mom said she thinks she’s black by wearing her hair in cornrows and lips accented with purple lipstick. I guess that’s how she developed the nickname “Purple Passion.” As we got closer to Dotson’s house, Dad started driving erratically, speeding up to about sixty miles an hour on the side streets and then throwing on the brakes, screeching the tires. Dad sped up and stopped directly in front of his house. This time the tires skidded much louder than before.

  “What’s going on?” Dotson yelled.

  “I’m going to kill that bitch, she left me,” Dad said

  “Darnell, go in the house with Cheryl,” Dotson said in an authoritarian voice.

  Asking no questions, I immediately proceeded up the stairs to find Cheryl.

  “I’m going to kill him too. He’s not my son, and his gay ass is always coming between me and my marriage.”

  Making it to the top of the stairs, Cheryl held the door open. “Darnell, come in here! You will be safe.”

  I could hear Dad and Dotson arguing from a distance. I couldn’t make out what was being said, but from the thunderous tone of my dad’s voice ringing into the night air, it wasn’t good. I watched, looking out the window as Dad stood on one side of the truck and Dotson stood on the other. Dad reached in the back of this truck and as he leaned over I could see him grab his gun. Once he retrieved it, he shot it in the sky to distract Dotson and made a mad dash to the apartment. I froze in place. Cheryl screamed. I could hear Dad’s footsteps running up the stairs. I looked at Cheryl for direction.

  “Run, Darnell, run!” Cheryl yelled.

  However, I did not know where to go. I froze in place. Cheryl ran to the door to lock it, but as she went to shut it, Dad took the barrel of his shotgun and pried it through the door.

  Cheryl barricaded herself against the door, trying to keep Dad out. Realizing that Dad’s weight was overpowering her, she shouted, “Run!”

  The thrust and weight of my father’s force were too much for Cheryl. I ran toward the back of the apartment and through the kitchen, where I noticed a wooden fire escape. There were a large number of steps. I leaped down the stairs landing in the backyard. I didn’t know where to run but noticed a light beaming from the telephone pole. I headed toward the bright light and noticed it was an alley. Bleeding, hurt, and confused, I sprinted up the backstreet to unknown parts. Behind me was a car, and it was approaching rather quickly.

  “My God, it’s Dad,” I said to myself. Please don’t let him kill me!

  The car caught up with me.

  “This is it!” I thought, as I slowed down, trying to catch my breath.

  I could hear the horn blowing and light fluttering. Amazingly, I found a second wind and started running faster. I didn’t think to yell for help, I just didn’t want to die. What would my mom think, would she be OK? What about Robbie? I’m not mad at him any more, I just want to live.

  “Darnell, Darnell!” I could hear the familiar voice saying.

  The car finally reached me, and it was Mom and G-Ma.

  “Darnell, get in the car,” Mom said as she opened the door.

  “Oh, my baby, my baby!” she said tearfully.

  “Thank you, Lord,” G-Ma shouted.

  Mom held and embraced me, kissing me on my forehead, cheeks and on the lips. Mom noticed the huge cut on my forehead and demanded that G-Ma take me to the hospital.

  “It’s going to be OK, son,” Mom said. “I’ve found a new place, and we don’t ever have to worry about your dad again.”

  I laid my head in her lap with my feelings shattered, heartbroken and hopeless. All I wanted was for my Dad to love me, and yet he tried to kill me. I can’t trust anyone anymore. Bad things keep happening to me. Maybe it would have been better if he had killed me.

  Chapter Five

  We settled into our little two-bedroom townhouse on the northside of Louisville. It was a big transition for me because I had never seen so many white people in my life. Mom said that I must be on my best behavior because we didn’t want anyone judging us. I switched schools to Jacob Elementary, where I was surprised to have white teachers and new textbooks versus the old torn ones in my previous school. Everyone seemed authentic because they would speak to me and want to hang around. At last, I was finally thriving in elementary school. I was excited to return home and show my mom my six-week report card.

  I’m just as smart as the white folk, I said to myself. I was special because I received five A’s and one B. Mom always reiterated that obtaining a solid education was one of the keys to getting anything you want in life. I have a dream of becoming an emergency room doctor because I like the chaos, attention, and helping people in the time of crisis. Plus, I love watching TV shows like Trapper John MD, Quincy, and St. Elsewhere.

  “Mom, Mom, look at my report card,” I said, bursting through the back door of the apartment.

  Not seeing Mom, I ran into the living room and saw my mother cuddled up with Dad. I froze in place. What do I do, I asked myself. Should I run, scream, or start fighting? I started shaking uncontrollably. I dropped all my books and my report card on the floor as my mouth flung open in astonishment. My pupils dilated and I looked as if I have seen a ghost.

  “Darnell, come in the living-room and say hello to your father,” Mom said with a sudden burst of energy and smiling. ”Aren’t you glad to see him?”

  I didn’t know what to think. This man tried to kill me, hit me with his gun, and caused me to get fourteen stitches, and now I have to say hello. Reaching deep inside, I gathered the strength. “Hello, Dad,” I said reluctantly while looking down at the ground.

  “Hi, Darnell,” he said happily. “Come over here and give me a hug.” He stretched out his arms. Having no choice, I went to hug him. “My, my you have grown over the last few months.”

  On the surface, I was angry because of what he had done to me. However, deep inside, a part of me was happy because we could be a family again, and perhaps I could win my dad’s love and acceptance. I desperately wanted a relationship with my dad. He might be psych
otic, but after all he’s my dad and I want him in my life. The next few days were uneventful.

  * * *

  On Saturday evening, I went to stay with my G-Ma and Paw-Paw for church the next morning. G-Ma thought that Mom wasn’t making the best decision allowing Dad back. G-Ma was concerned about my mental state considering what I had been through.

  My G-Ma and Paw-Paw are devout United Methodist Christians. I was excited because the church rocked like a Baptist church. The ten-member choir would sing, and Ms. Anthony always got the Holy Ghost and snatched off Ms. Jones’ synthetic blonde wig. I would die laughing. The piano player liked to talk to me a lot, but G-Ma said to say away from him because he was funny and a tambourine player. I didn’t quite understand what she meant by “funny” or playing the tambourine because he never told me any jokes, and I certainly had not seen him playing the tambourine. Besides, he and his wife had newborn twins, so I dismissed any thoughts or ideas that he may be a faggot.

  The pastor was the Right Reverend Dr. KL Moore, and he was called a triple worshipper, meaning he could preach, play the piano, and sing. He always bragged about his relationship with Reverend James Cleveland and how much he loves to attend the Annual Gospel Music Convention of America. This year it is slated to be in Atlanta, and Rev. Moore vowed to take me as his special guest once I turned eighteen years old. I was excited and couldn’t wait.

  After church services, we would go back to G-Ma’s house for dinner. Her cooking is fantastic. I’m not surprised because G-Ma was born in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, and had to cook for her twelve other brothers and sisters. Trust me, when she cooked, the dogs howled from a distance.

  My grandparents had five other children beside my mom. However, I didn’t have much of a relationship with them because they would call me names like sissy, fag, gay, homo, and queer bait. Over time, I became conditioned to the name-calling and started to ignore them. After all, I got five A’s and one B on my report card. I loved feeling good about my accomplishments and wouldn’t dare to allow these heifers to take my joy.

  Dinner consisted of fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, hot water cornbread, candied yams, hand-picked green beans, and lemon cake. I dug in, and before long, my stomach was full. I felt exhausted.

  “Thanks, G-Ma, for dinner. I’m going to the living room and make a pallet on the floor,” I said, rubbing my stomach.

  “OK, baby, go take a nap. I’ll bring the fan in later to cool you off,” G-Ma said, smiling.

  I left the kitchen, walked to the front room and grabbed a blanket out of the closet. Still rubbing my stomach, I lay down and went to sleep.

  * * *

  “Darnell, Darnell, get up! We’ve got to go,” G-Ma said.

  I jumped up as I could hear the seriousness of her voice, so I did not hesitate. My first thoughts were my dad was after me again, but looking around, I didn’t see him. However, I did see tears streaming from G-Ma eyes.

  “What’s wrong, G-Ma?” I asked with curiosity.

  “We’ve got to go check on Candace and Robbie,” she said frantically.

  My intuition told me that mom and Robbie were dead. I felt my stomach drop, and my heart skipped beats as it sped up. G-Ma took me by the hand and told me everything was going to be OK.

  “Darnell put on your shoes; we need to hurry.”

  I was utterly dazed and confused. What has really happened, and why is G-Ma crying?

  I sat in silence, as I watched G-Ma cry out loud while she was putting on her shoes. We jumped in the car, and in a few minutes, we pulled into a troubling scene. I saw police cars, an ambulance and a lot of people standing by watching. G-Ma tapped the horn, trying to get through the crowd.

  “Move, move!” G-Ma told the people as she was trying to get to Mom.

  I started to scream, “I want my mommy!” I jumped out of the car, running toward the apartment.

  Almost to the door, a husky, tall police officer, in a blue uniform, stopped me by grabbing my, “Son, you can’t go in there!”

  “Why, I live there?”

  “You live in that house?”

  “Yes sir, I want my mommy,” I said, crying.

  By this time, G-Ma came running to the scene.

  “Ma’am, is this the son of the lady who lives here?” the officer asked.

  “Yes, sir, and I am her mother!”

  “Let them through,” the officer demanded.

  I grabbed my G-Mas hand. As we walked into the apartment, the scene reminded me of the Godfather movie. There were bullet holes everywhere; the couch was overturned and small incremental drips of blood lead to the staircase. The police would only let us go so far, as they were waiting to the crime scene investigators to arrive.

  Seeing all this, I screamed the loudest I ever have screamed and turned to my G-Ma’s bosom for comforting. I knew that Dad had killed my mom and brother.

  Not having the strength to hold on, I fell to the base of the stairs yelling and screaming.

  “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” I cried.

  G-Ma tried to comfort me, but I didn’t want to be comforted. This was too much for any young twelve-year-old kid to bear.

  Crying out loud and grieving for my mom, I didn’t know what to do. I knew she was dead because of the blood and the numerous bullet holes all over the apartment.

  “Darnell, get up, and come here,” a voice said very softly and humbly.

  It sounded like Mom, but I knew she was dead because of the blood.

  “Darnell Williams, get up and come here!”

  I opened my eyes, and to my surprise, I saw my mother standing on the top of the staircase. At first, I thought I was seeing a ghost or perhaps an angelic being. After a few seconds, I realized that Mom was alive. I ran up to the top of the staircase and fell into her arms. Close by was my brother. He looked shaken, but OK.

  Eventually, G-Ma made it to the top of the staircase crying with one eyelash on and the other one hanging. “Candace, what happened here?” G-Ma asked.

  “Robbie Jr. and I were sitting here watching Good Times,” she said while crying, “and Robert Sr. came home drunk again. He asked me for sex, and I told him not in front of Robbie. Robert Sr. called me a bitch and said that no one tells him no and slapped me. He realized what he had done and said he would kill me before he allowed me to leave him again. He ran to the closet and pulled out his shotgun. Mama, I didn’t know he had it in the house.”

  “Baby, I’m sorry that happened to you,” G-Ma said.

  “When he went to get the gun, I started screaming. I guess I screamed so loud the neighbors heard it and called the police. Robert Sr. was so drunk he couldn’t hold up the gun and told Robbie to come to help him, but Robbie said no, that he hates him. Suddenly Robert Sr. punched Robbie in the nose, and that’s where the blood came from. Mama, he put the gun to my head and told me he would kill me. All I could think about is my boys and who would take care of them, who would look after their welfare? I thought about how I didn’t protect them, and now it’s going to end like this.” Mom paused long enough to catch her breath. “I began to pray, ‘God, you have to find a way to tell my kids that I’m sorry and all I wanted us to be as a happy family. Now it’s too late.”

  “He pulled the trigger, but no shots went off. He said, ‘Bitch, you dying today,’ as he opened the barrels on his gun, trying to reload it.

  “Then the front door flung open. It was the police. Robert Sr. took his shotgun and aimed it at the police officer. The police shot him in his shoulder and leg. He dropped the gun, and they took him into custody.”

  “Candance, you are going to press charges this time, right?” G-Ma asked.

  “I told the police officer that I would write a statement and will cooperate with the prosecution. The officer said, based on him pointing the gun at police officers, he would be going away to prison for a long time, and I should d
o whatever to prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.”

  Chapter Six

  A few years had passed since I last saw my dad. Mom said he was sentenced to ten years imprisonment for shooting at the police and an additional five years for domestic battery. We did not attend any court hearing or offer any support. We just let the system work for us. I thought about losing my father to the penal system, but the trauma and pain he put me through was just too unbearable. I simply was not ready to forgive him. I forgave him before, and he came back into my life and violated my trust. His deeply embedded hate for me caused me to think that other people hate me. As I looked around, all I saw was hate. I saw hatred of me in my aunts, uncles and cousins, for calling me names and, most importantly, my dad. I never fully resolved the beating I got from my mom for being gay. Can a parent or anyone really beat the gayness out of anyone? I want to be straight so I can fit into mainstream society, but my non-masculine ways prohibit me from doing so. I am in emotional turmoil, trapped in a cocoon, feeling attracted to guys on the inside but afraid to live my life on the outside. I am depressed but living something that I really am not. I can’t fathom loving myself for me, much less loving others. Life has become just a matter of going through the emotions. It’s my life, but I can’t live it the way I want to. So, fuck everyone and fuck me, too, for being such a coward for failing to embrace who I really am. I lived for other people’s plans for my life, and I don’t even have my own voice. No one cared about me, what I do, and what I like. My social activities had decreased tremendously. All I do is stay in my room and look at the wall. Robbie wouldn’t have anything to do with me, as he had his own set of friends and never invited me to do anything. I had no male role models or anyone to help me develop into a so-called man. No one to throw the football with, no one to show me how to approach girls or even what to say when I do. What was I to do, and why wouldn’t people accept me as I am? I desired to be loved and appreciated. I wanted to walk down the streets holding hands with someone who cares for me, but that wouldn’t happen. I was shameful and had become an emotional thug by learning how to suppress my feelings and caring about those individuals who don’t really care about me. I just wanted to be happy, but would people allow me to be me?