A Staten Island Love Letter 3

by Jahquel J

  “I’ll def come find you lil nigga,” Pook chuckled through the door. A couple seconds later, we heard the staircase door slam.

  Staten was fuming and I knew not to say anything to him. Usually, I was fine with being a smart ass, but right now I knew it wasn’t the time to say anything that could set him off. His hands were shaking, and I knew it was because he wanted to shoot Pook in the head right there in the hallway. The only thing that stopped him was my neighbors and the fact that they wouldn’t hesitate to call the cops soon as the first bullet left the chamber.

  “You froze… why?” he questioned.

  I was so worried about Pook being at my front door that I didn’t realize that Staten was watching me so closely. “I didn’t freeze. What are you talking about? Me and Pook made up and we’re friends.”

  “He knows about his baby?”

  “No, and I don’t plan on adding him to the list of people that I need to tell,” I replied and picked up my unfinished piece of bacon.

  “You’ve been real good at keeping that smart-ass mouth act. Your ass was scared as shit when I opened that door and that one gold tooth muthafucka was standing out there.”

  He was right. How could I tell him that I feared for my mother’s life? I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed my mother to die over shit that I did. “He said he’s going to kill my mother.” I blurted as tears fell down my face.

  “Why the fuck would he kill your mother, Liberty? Niggas don’t go around killing family members unless something happened.” he lifted his eyebrow and stared at me closely.

  I sighed. “When Pook went away, he had money stashed and I was the only one that knew about it. After I found out that he got another girl pregnant and was claiming her as his wife, I took it.”

  “The money?”

  “Yeah. I took all the money and set myself up real nice. Hell, I fucking deserved it. All the shit I went through with Pook, I deserved all of that money,” I sobbed.

  “And let me guess, he wants all that back or it’s your mother’s life, huh?” he sarcastically replied as I sat down on the couch.

  “He wants me to get it from you. I offered to get a loan or something, but he insists that it comes from you and Ghost,” I explained.

  Staten looked up at me. “How much we talking?”

  “Almost a half a million. I think it was a little over four hundred thousand dollars,” I replied.

  “Shit, if he wants the money to come from me, then it gotta come from me,” he pulled his phone out and dialed a number. “Yo, go and sit on Free and Liberty’s mom’s crib. Make sure nobody goes in that she doesn’t know,” he ordered and ended the call.

  “I should have told you sooner, but I was trying to figure out how to handle it alone.”

  “Stop trying to figure out how to handle shit alone. You got a nigga that’s wanting to be here, even with you being a damn crack head, yet you’re trying to push me away before this could be something.”

  Tears continued to fall down my face as I looked into Staten’s face. “It hurts when you keep calling me a crackhead, Staten. I’m not a damn crackhead and doing coke isn’t a crime.”

  “Doing coke is a fucking crime, Bozo. Pook is gonna get his money, so you make sure you text him right now and tell him that. Make it sound good.”

  “I’m sure him getting his money sounds good enough. I don’t need to add nothing extra to that, I just want to get him out of my life for good.”

  “Do what the fuck I said,” he stood up and went into the bedroom. I heard the shower come on and the bathroom door close behind him.

  Sorry. can you give me a warning before coming over next time?

  Fuck all that shit. Where my money? He quickly replied.

  I just broke down crying to Staten and he’s going to give it to me. I’m waiting on him to give it to me, I’ll keep you posted.

  Bet. Don’t make me wait too long. I was heading right to your mom’s crib too lol

  I didn’t bother replying back because Pook thought having my mother’s life in the palm of his hands was funny, and it wasn’t. My mother’s life meant something, and he couldn’t have it. Especially for money that I was owed. With all he put me through, I deserved that damn money more than anything. I grabbed another cigarette and went to sit on my balcony to calm my nerves. I was grateful that he was giving me the money. I knew I had to work hard to pay him back. There was no way I could pay him back now, but I would work hard so that I could.

  I stared at my baby and then at the bag that was packed by the door. My aunt had run to pick up the refill of his medicine and I timed my exit perfectly. She would be walking through the door in ten minutes. A baby could be left alone for ten minutes. Nothing was wrong with allowing a baby to cry. My mother used to say the same thing to my neighbor about her daughter. His diaper had been changed, I had fed him, and he was content. I stood up and went to the bathroom to empty my bladder before I went to catch my bus back down to the city. I winced as I lowered myself onto the toilet. The C-section wound was still fresh. I had only been discharged three days ago. I made sure to pack enough bandages to get through the six-hour bus ride down to New York City. I wiped myself, flushed the toilet, and washed my hands. I stared at myself in the mirror and watched a lone tear fall down my cheek. How could I feel alone when I had another person who I shared the womb with? She knew what my heart sounded like. Still, with or without a twin, I still felt so alone going through everything. She was thousands of miles away in Georgia living her life.

  “What in the? Liberty? What are these bags doing here?” I heard my aunt Betty’s voice and my luggage fall onto the floor.

  I sauntered into the front room and watched as she placed the grocery bags down. “I’m leaving. I can’t do this.” She pursed her lips and took a seat on her tan couch.

  “I knew this would happen. Liberty, you can’t just leave when things are hard. God would never pu—”

  “He did, Auntie! He gave me a baby with a damn sickness. How the hell am I going to raise a disabled child? I don’t even know how to raise myself,” I sobbed and headed toward the door.

  “If you were married you would have a husband to help you with this. Liberty, this is your son. Chance needs you.”

  “Nah, he needs a mother that loves him… I’m not built to be a mother.”

  It was as if Chance knew that the topic was about him and he started crying. “He needs his mother. Just because he has down syndrome doesn’t mean he won’t amount to anything. You teach him that he can be and do anything he wants in life.” She picked up my son and cuddled him to her chest. “He’s an amazing child.”

  “How do you know?”

  “God told me so,” she replied.

  Auntie Betty was always known to put a good word on someone. She was heavy into the church. Both she and my mother were raised in the church. My mother strayed, while my aunt Betty followed everything by the church’s guidelines. She got married, had her son, and then bought a home with her husband. Her son was now gay, and she disowned him and refused to speak to him. Her husband cheated with one of her good sisters down at the church and now was living in Arizona with the woman. Aunt Betty had many reasons to be bitter, still she continued to go to church, put her faith in the lord and pray.

  “I can’t do it. I won’t be a good mother and I don’t want to ruin my child any further.” I pleaded with her. “Raise him, Auntie. I’ll send money, I’ll get a career and be better. I promise, just don’t make me raise him.” I cried as I lowered myself onto my knees and begged at my aunt’s feet.

  She sighed as she gently patted the baby’s bottom to get him to settle down. “Liberty Bell McGurry,” she sighed once she said my entire name.

  “Auntie, please.”

  “When are you going to tell your mother about this? She and your sisters deserve to know.”

  “Justice knows and I promise I’ll tell Freedom and mama,” I lied. The only reason Justice knew was because she walked in on me undressi
ng and saw my stomach. She promised she would never tell and so far, she has held her word.

  “I don’t like lying to my sister.” Auntie Betty and my mother didn’t get along. They barely spoke and when they did, it was about Betty’s son. My mother was taking on the role to raise him while my aunt refused to acknowledge that she had a son that wanted to be a woman.

  “You have your reasons for ignoring Myron, and I have mine for wanting to leave my son with you. Please, I promise to be there as much as I can,” I begged her. If she made me take my baby with me, I didn’t know what I would do.

  A baby with down syndrome wasn’t something that I had planned. My entire pregnancy I took my prenatal vitamins, ate healthy and walked. How did I get cursed with having a baby with a disability? It was something I spent so much time trying to understand. When I found out about Chance having down syndrome, I was too far along to get an abortion. If I would have found out when I was able to terminate the pregnancy, I would have. What kind of life could my kid live?

  “Me and my son’s differences are far different than what you’re trying to do. My son left and went to your mother.”

  “Yeah, because you refused to let him be what he wanted to be. Myron is transitioning to a woman that you’ll be proud of and you don’t want to be a part of the ride. You’re so busy trying to save face for your church that you’d rather lose your son in the process.”

  “Then why are you trying to leave your child with me?” she countered.

  “I know you’ll raise my child right. This is your second chance, I need help, Betty.”

  “Liberty, you better come and be a part of this baby’s life. I don’t give a damn about the money, I care about you building a bond with this baby. I understand you’re going through a lot emotionally, and as a woman and a mother, I’ve been in your shoes. I’ll raise Chance and keep quiet about it until you’re ready to tell your mother and sister. Lib, please make that sooner than later,” she begged.

  I picked myself up from the floor and walked over to my aunt and son. Reaching down, I placed a kiss on his forehead and walked over to the door. Pulling my suitcase, I headed out of her two-bedroom home. When I first stumbled on her front door, I was eight months pregnant, broken and knew I needed someone to glue me back together. I bartended, tried to attend college, and do anything to occupy my time while waiting for my son to be born. The town was boring and there wasn’t much for me to do. I spent a lot of time cooped up in my cousin’s old bedroom. My aunt begged me to shop for the baby and I refused. My plan was never to leave my baby upstate while I traveled back to the city. I just needed to get away from the city and from the pressure of having to tell my mother that I was pregnant too. She was already upset with Freedom when she found out about her twins but knowing that I was pregnant would cause her to be pissed off more. I cared about what my mother thought of me. To her, I was still the good twin. The look on her face when I told her that I was done with Pook told me I made the right decision. I couldn’t break her heart and tell her that I was now pregnant with his baby and had planned to keep it.

  I figured if I had the baby up here, waited a month or so and then returned with the baby, she couldn’t be too mad with me. She had no choice other than to accept my baby, right? My plans went to hell the moment I went to a routine appointment and the doctor pointed out that something could be wrong with my baby. After further testing, they figured out that my baby had down syndrome. My other doctor missed the signs, and this doctor specialized in fetal abnormities, which is why he was able to pick up on it quickly through the sonogram. Having a baby with a disability was different than having a regular baby. My life would never be the same, I would be forced to give up my life and devote my entire life to my child and his needs. That wasn’t something that I was ready to do at twenty years old. There was so much that I wanted to do with my life and that didn’t include raising a baby with a disability. My aunt could do it and I know Chance would be better off with her than a selfish bitch like me.

  I woke up to a cool wind whipping across my face. Looking down at my feet, the cigarette I was puffing on had fell onto the balcony’s floor. You knew you were exhausted when you decided that you would rather take a nap while smoking a cigarette instead of going to get into your bed. I pulled myself up from the chair and went into the apartment. When I opened the sliding door, I spotted my mother in the kitchen. She smiled as she continued pouring biscuit mix into the cupcake holder.

  “It’s about time you woke up. You’ve been out there since I got here two hours ago,” she laughed.

  My mother never came to my house. No one ever came to my house and that’s how I preferred it. I didn’t want anyone in my home. This was my space where I could unwind and didn’t have to hide the true me. To see my mother standing in my kitchen making biscuits pissed me all the way off. It pissed me off because Staten knew how I felt about having anyone in my condo. His ass was lucky that he was allowed to come over here. Free was the exception to the rule, still, she had a time limit on her visits.

  “W…what are you doing here?” I stammered.

  “Staten said for me to come over here. He wanted to make sure everyone is safe since everything went down with Summer,” she smacked her teeth. “I know this better be over with soon because I don’t need to be crashing on your couch,” she added.

  “Where is Staten?”

  “He went to go handle something. I know he said there’s something very important that you have to tell me.”

  “He said what?” I gasped.

  I understood that he wanted me to get help. He wanted me to quit doing coke cold turkey, and by the strength of God I had been trying to do it. Yet, for him to bring my mother over to my house and then plant the seed that I had to tell her something wasn’t fair. I should have been able to tell her on my own terms when I was ready. Not because Staten said it was time to.

  “Yeah, he said we both needed to talk. When I got here, that damn table was broken into a million pieces,” she pointed to the empty space where my coffee table had once stood.

  “Ma, I don’t know what Staten is talking about. I don’t have anything important to tell you. Other than, thank you. You’re a great mother. We’ve never went without and after daddy died you did everything to make sure we made something of ourselves.”

  “Lib, raising you girls without your father was the hardest thing. Especially, when you all have small pieces of that man inside of you. Notice that I said small pieces, because you all are every bit of me too,” she laughed and touched my knee. “What I’m saying is that I know my children.” Her expression grew serious as she looked at me.

  “You alright, ma?”

  “Lib, something changed after Pook went away. You became distant, so I figured it was you becoming a woman. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew something happened to you,” she sniffled and blotted her eyes with the dish towel. “A mother’s worse fear is not being able to fix what is wrong with their child, or not knowing what is wrong with their child. Liberty Bell, something changed, and I don’t know, or I may never know, but I know something changed in you.” She continued to wipe away her tears.

  My mother was strong as nails. After my father died, she cried and pulled up her pants to provide for me and my sisters. We rarely saw her shed a tear because she said she just didn’t have the time. Single mothers had this super strength that the government needed to bottle. They managed to work full-time jobs, be present in their children’s lives, fixed full meals after scrapping together pennies and wake up and do the same thing the next day without a complaint. Even after having their worlds torn apart, they still put on a smile and got shit done. They never had time for themselves, it was always about their children. My mother was that superhero. She set the bar so high when it came to being a mom. She was hard on us, yet, soft enough to let us know she loved us. All of her lessons were things that I now could appreciate as an adult.

  “Ma, please don’t cry,” I begged. Crying h
ad become something I was far too familiar with, and I really didn’t want to cry or see my mother shed tears.

  “Just let me in, Liberty. You’re grown and I get that, but I want to know what is wrong with you,” she continued to plead.

  Right now wasn’t the right time to tell my mother about Chance. I felt like I was backed in a corner that was provided by Staten. It wasn’t fair to me or my mother. This conversation should take place when I was in a better mental state. Today wasn’t that day.

  “Ma, I’m grown, and I have issues like Free or Justice. I’m just trying to pull everything together and get through each day. I promise we will talk soon, just not today.” It was my turn to plead with her.

  She wiped her face and pulled me in for a hug. “Just know I love you, Liberty Bell.” I smiled because she rarely called me by my middle name, unless she was serious. Being that she had called me by my middle name twice during our conversation, let me know that she was worried about me. My mother gave us all middle names that she felt fit. Freedom Reign, Justice Peace and I was Liberty Bell.

  “I love you too, mom,” I replied as I hugged her tightly.

  A mother’s hug was special. The weight of the world could be crumbling down around you, but one hug from your mother made you feel like everything was going to be fine. My mother’s hugs were my favorite thing about her. She always made me feel like I could face my demons. Deep down, I knew what needed to be done and just because it scared the shit out of me, I couldn’t keep ignoring it. It was something that I had to do.

  3

  Kiss

  I climbed off the back of the S74 bus in Tottenville and trekked down three long blocks and up one steep hill. My stitches felt like they were about to bust, my baby was fussy, and I had been released from the hospital two hours prior. All I had was a diaper bag, carrier and one bag of clothes as I struggled up this block. When I got in front of the house, tears of joy fell down my face because I had finally made it. If I was seventy pounds lighter, didn’t have a baby or two bags and a carrier, I could have made it down those blocks and up this hill quickly. Climbing up the steps, I sat Zamari down onto the concrete porch and rang the bell. It was Zoe’s mother’s home. He had brought me here a few times. I had never went inside because he always seemed to be dropping something off. I begged to meet his mother and tell her about our unborn child, but he refused. He refused for me to meet her until he was ready. Ready never came because he was lying in the ground with pounds of dirt over his coffin.