by Cydney Rax
“What?”
“I mean, you two are meant for each other. It’s fate.”
“Oh, all right. Thanks.” She doesn’t sound too convincing.
“Anyway, just thought I’d see if you were going to get in your bed. I’m about to get in mine. See ya later, Marlene.” I go on to bed and fall asleep fairly quickly. When I wake up in the morning, Marlene is still spread out on the couch snoring loud. It’s like she’s superglued to the fabric. I wonder if she even got up to use the restroom.
It’s eight o’clock, so I figure Marlene must have called in sick. I check my e-mail. COCKY247 has written twice. And London has texted me. She wants me to call when I get a chance. But I see my mama called me at six this morning, which is unusual for her. She knows I don’t get up until after seven. I pick up my phone and redial her.
“Hey Little Bit. I’ve been wanting to talk to you for the longest.”
“Well, I just woke up, but—”
“No, I mean for a long time. Longer than just the past twelve hours. You hear what I’m saying?”
“I-I guess so. What’s up?”
“There’s something I want to show you … tell you. Stop over here before you go to work. But come now if you can.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, may as well get it over with.”
“Is this something that can be done over the phone, Mama?”
“Never.”
Confused, I tell her I’ll be right over. I take my shower and skip breakfast. On the way over to my mama’s, Alita calls.
“You getting ready for work?” she asks.
“No, where are you, Alita?”
“I’m on my break. Let me call London and click her in on the conversation. She and I talked a bit last night, and you need to hear this.”
“Oh, great,” I say and instantly feel uncomfortable. My shoulders feel hard as concrete. This isn’t good. Why does everything have to happen all at the same time?
Alita comes back on the line.
“Okay, London, real quick. Tell her.”
“Hey Rachel, good morning. Girl, your ex is a piece of work. He actually called me at, like, almost one-thirty in the morning, talking about how he’s been working like a slave with no benefits all day, which to me doesn’t make a bit of sense. But he was turning on the charm big-time. He told me how much he loves the way my voice sounds, like a sweet little kitten. He said I look so good in my picture that he could practically feel the softness of my skin. And he told me my photo looks better than Kim Kardashian, but he prefers to see me in person.”
“Oh, did he now?”
“He kept asking me my real name, but I wouldn’t tell him. Oh, and we talked quite a while, and eventually the conversation turned to sex. And he says he loves to spend time with a cuddy buddy, and he’s long overdue for some sex. I wanted to laugh. So typical. Your boy ended the conversation by telling me he’s a millionaire in the making, and he wants a woman by his side who complements his lifestyle.”
“Oh, brother. So what did you say to him?”
“I was mostly listening. Trying to read between the lines. I asked him about getting his heart broke. He said that women always mess up when they have a good man; he said a woman will go up a hill and down a road trying to find a way to screw up her relationship, because she doesn’t always feel confident enough to be with a king. Told me everybody can’t be a Beyoncé and Jay-Z.”
“He’s comparing himself to Jay-Z? And he thinks he’s a king now?” I ask. “King of Bullshit, that’s what he is.”
“So,” London continues, chuckling, “he kept saying he wants to see me tonight. That’s kind of fast. I told him I’ll have to get back with him on that. Oh, and he sent me another photo. Shirtless, girl. He’s packing. I was shocked.” We laugh and I grow even more uncomfortable. It’s like I’m sharing my secrets, things that ought to be private.
“Let me know how to proceed as far as this date thing is concerned. I got something for his ass,” London says, laughing hysterically. I give a weak laugh and get off the phone. It’s time to see what my mama wants.
I go in through the side door and find her in the kitchen gulping from a shot glass.
“Mama, isn’t it a little too early in the morning to be doing all that?” I grab the glass from her and take a sniff. “Whiskey?” I say and crinkle my nose. “You must really be on something. This is not like you.”
“Well, I, you know—”
“God, you’re acting weird. Just tell me. Is it about Blinky?”
“No, no.”
“Loretta?”
“Naw, not Loretta.”
“Marlene?”
“Nooo, not her, either.”
“Mama, just spit it out.”
“I can’t spit it out, that’s why I had to write it out. Go on ahead. Read this.”
She holds out a handwritten letter. I recognize her tiny lettering. My heart beats wildly inside of me. “You read. I’m going in the kitchen. I’ll be back later.”
“No, Mama, don’t leave me now. You’re scaring me, and I want you to be here with me.”
She gives me a stony look, but her feet remain planted on the kitchen tile. I take a deep breath and start reading.
My Dearest Little Bit,
You got no idea how hard it is for me to right this. I thought about it mini times, but never had the guts to tell you. But I no your in pain. And your pain is spreadin to other people. As a real woman, I gotta do what I gotta do. First, I love you with all my heart. I wood never try to hurt you on purpus. But you should no that …
Oh, God, I think inside. What on earth could my mama want to tell me?
A long time ago, when you first met jeff, he tried to go with me.
My hands are shaking so much, and I’m holding Mama’s letter so tight that the flimsy piece of paper is getting wrinkled. Where did Jeff try to go with my mom?
He looked at me, told me that you musta got your prettyness from me. He called me Ma. Asked if it was okay to call me that. I said sure. Then he moved closer and closer to me. He touched my face.
What?
He leaned down and smiled at me. I didn’t like kissing him at all, I swair Rachel. I spat right after it was over. Spat his poison all on my kitchen floor. I told him to get out. No, I said to get the fuck out. He looked scared. He asked, What’s wrong Ma? I said, Ma? You must mean Manipyoulation. Don’t be calling me Ma. He made me promise not to tell you. And I said ok. But jeff is not pryority You are. I am sorry to tell you. But he’s a bad man. I am glad you didn’t marry jeff.
I’ve read the last word and I’m standing in the middle of my mother’s living room with my mouth so wide open an entire fist could fit in it. I press my knuckles against my mouth, shove my fist in my mouth. And I scream.
“Afhgh, sheiooo, weiwot.” None of the words I’m trying to say make sense. But the words streaking across my mind do.
What kind of mess is this?
My Jeff?
And my mama?
Had a thing?
Right under my nose.
My vision is so blurry that the words from my mama’s letter disappear before my eyes. But the memory of her confession remains glued in my soul.
I stand there screaming with my fist in my mouth I don’t know how long. After a while, I feel my mama standing behind me. Feel her little skinny hands clutch me from behind. She pulls me into her body. Like she’s trying to protect me.
I swing around, take my fist out my mouth, and push her so hard she flies back a few steps.
“Don’t touch me,” I scream at the top of my lungs. “You’re an awful person. You’re not even a person. You’re an awful thing. You are a million times worse than Loretta.”
Mama’s eyes grow so huge I can see fear wrapped tightly around them. I’m glad she’s scared. No other way she ought to feel right now except scared.
“Don’t you ever talk to me again in your life! We’re through!”
And I walk out.
&
nbsp; — 16 —
MARLENE
Chain of Fools
I’ve managed to drop down to the carpet and crawl from the living room to my bedroom. I felt guilty for calling in sick, but I need to rest and stay off this ankle. Only thing is it’s hard trying to do things around the house by myself. Rachel’s gone to work. I can’t get Jeff on his cell. I wish I could take back the ten times I’ve called him. But technology proves a woman’s desperation. The missed calls will show up on his phone. He may begin to despise me if he thinks I need him too much.
As much as I don’t want to do this, I’m going to have to swallow my pride and take a chance. I am lying in my bed with the covers off so my ankle can get some air. My tiny portable TV that doesn’t get the clearest picture is on, but I don’t care about any television show that’s on right now. My stomach is growling, and my underarms are wet with perspiration. So many needs, so few answers.
I pick up my cell phone. Dial a number.
“I can’t believe you’re calling me. What’s the occasion?”
“Mama, how you been doing? You okay?”
“Marlene, you know me. I’ll always be all right.”
“How’s the job search coming along?”
“I’ve got a few interviews lined up. As a matter of fact, I have one this afternoon. I need to stop by the store and get some panty hose, though. All my other pairs are either dirty or ripped. But I know this job is mine.”
“What is it?”
“It’s another counseling position. Mentoring young women who have gotten themselves knocked up and feel like their life is over. I can tell them how I went on and got my education, made something of myself regardless of being a single parent.”
“Hmm, that sounds right up your alley.” I think for a second. “You know that’s what I like about you. You’re willing to share your troubles with other women and let them know there’s a way out of any challenging situation.”
“Got to stay positive, no matter what you’re up against.”
“Well, I need your help.” I explain to Loretta how I’m stuck in bed. I’m hungry. And being rubbed down with a washcloth, warm water, and soap would make my day. “And I would love to have something to read. Us Weekly, People, National Enquirer.”
“Humph, I’m shocked you haven’t just whipped out your Bible. From what I understand, that’s the book that can always be found right next to your bedside. Is that still true?”
“No, ma’am,” I say in a quiet voice.
“Oh, so where is it then?”
“Under my bed.”
“Hmm, that can only mean one thing. Something else much more valuable to you has taken the place of your beloved Bible. Tell me the truth, Marlene. Is it a man? You’ve been having sex? And you’re too ashamed to sleep with some guy and have the Bible right next to you on your bedside, staring you in the face at the same—”
“Mama, please stop, please. Your mind is always running a hundred miles an hour when it needs to slow down like it’s in a school zone. Slow down, listen, learn. ’Cause you may be my parent, but you don’t know everything, you know.”
I hear her heartily laugh, like there’s hardly anything I say can say to truly move her.
“I know enough. Tell you what. I’m sorry for saying what I said. I want you to relax. No need to be stressing you out.”
“Yeah, well, I have noticed a couple gray hairs on my head. And it shocked me to death.”
“You’ve been dealing with some stuff, huh?”
“My ankle hurts so much it’s throbbing.”
“Where’s your man at? He sets his own hours, right? Don’t tell me he’s that busy.”
“No, I just saw him yesterday.”
“Oh, ya’ll had some wild sex and you injured yourself? I’ve heard of some freaky shit with the blindfolds and the chains and whips, but damn—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And apparently you know everything I don’t know. And I want to hear more. So stay put. Help is on the way.”
She abruptly hangs up on me. I roll my eyes and lie back on my pillows, thoughtfully gazing up at the ceiling.
Am I being punished? My behavior hasn’t been the most positive lately. Maybe I’m reaping what I’ve sown. Rachel would always say that to me. That she hoped I got what I deserve. I bite my bottom lip and my throat thickens with soreness. I just feel awful. And it’s no fun when you feel your worst, and no one is around to help you.
And why would they? I ask myself. Who wants to be around a know-it-all, stubborn, conceited female who acts like she has a direct line to God, when in actuality I think God is caller IDing me? When’s the last time he’s answered my prayers? I believe in God, and I know I’m his child, but it’s no secret I’m not his best child.
I fall asleep with tears streaming down my cheeks, snot stuck in my nose, making it hard for me to breathe. Last thought I have is If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll choke on my own spit … and die.
When I wake up, the first face I see is Rachel’s. She’s silent. Staring down at me. Looking at me like she doesn’t know who I am.
“What are you doing here?” I mumble. “Why aren’t you at work?” It’s almost eleven, and I know she’s a stickler for trying to get to work a little bit early.
“Bastards. All of ’em. Fucking bastards. Can’t trust nobody. No one. Soon as you turn your back, somebody’s plunging a sharp knife in you and twisting it around so you can bleed some more. I can’t believe her. I can’t. Bitch.”
I wince and try my best to sit up, so I can have a clear view of my sister and make sure I can hear everything she’s saying.
“What happened? Something happened at work? You got into it with your boss?” I know that once before, Rachel and her boss, Twila, got into a shouting match. Twila wrote up Rachel and docked her two days’ pay. Since then Rachel said she’s been on her best behavior, but maybe Twila’s getting on her last nerve again.
“Nothing happened at work.” She laughs, then quickly hushes. “I did call in, though. I can’t work under these conditions. No way.” Rachel is walking back and forth, raising her hands, laughing, then looking pissed, like her cheeks are about to burst.
“Don’t pay those people any mind. I hope the folks at my job aren’t talking about me behind my back for calling in sick, too.”
“Well, Marlene, I hadn’t planned on calling in. I was on my way to work, but I got a little phone call. Loretta told me to stop whatever I was doing and go straight home. I told her I wasn’t in the mood; it just wasn’t a good time for her foolishness, but she started crying.”
“My mama? Crying?”
“Girl, yes! It sounded … yuck, it was so awful, like a hound dog wailing in the wee hours of the morning. She sounded like I’ve never heard her sound before.”
“She sounded …”
“Human.”
I nod, halfway understanding. “Why’d she ask you to come home?”
“She said I need to step it up, come see about you. I told her, well shit, I need someone to come see about me. Why I always gotta be the hero? Or is it the shero?”
“Oh, really? You’re here … Rachel. Because my mama asked you to come … see about me?”
She nods emphatically like she’s is in a daze and can’t believe it herself.
“At first I said no. But a few minutes later I was like ‘Why the hell not?’ It’s probably all my fault that you’re in this mess, anyway. Let me try to undo what I’ve done. It’s all fucked … fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate …” Rachel’s eyes immediately well up. It almost looks like she’s wearing bifocals. Soon her tears spill over, and she quickly wipes them away. I don’t know what to say. I would hug her, but I’m stuck and can’t get up.
“Are you all right, Sis?”
“No. Yes. Look, I know you don’t understand. But I just gotta face some things, unbelievably tough things, then I’ll be all right.” Satisfied with her answer, I watch her leave the room and hear her cla
ttering around the kitchen for several minutes. When she returns, her cheeks appear rosier, eyes more alert and focused.
“Hey, Marlene. I-I warmed you up a pot of chicken noodle soup. Not that you’re sneezing and wheezing and blowing your nose … but chicken noodle soup … seemed like the right thing to do.”
I slowly nod at my sister, thoughtfully considering her gesture. In one way I wish she’d just leave my room. I will handle this on my own. But seeing her act vulnerable and confused is so rare; it’s like I can’t peel my eyes off her.
“I want you to eat some soup, but first … you need to know two things. I just don’t know which to tell you first.” Her loud laughter sounds choppy, ugly.
“Rachel, what on earth is going on?”
“Jeff is a cheater, a liar. He’s not a good man, Marlene.”
“What? I know he’s no Will Smith, no Denzel—”
“He’s more like a man you’ve known for years, but then he does something wrong and gets arrested. The incident is splashed across the TV, the papers. Other people who know him come out the woodwork and say things you’ve never heard before, describe him in such foreign terms that you’re convinced he can’t be the same person. That’s Jeff!”
She comes and sits next to me on the bed. “The man you think you love—”
“What? I do care for him.” I bite my bottom lip. “I love him, Sis.”
“No, you just think you do.”
“I know I do.”
She gives me a sad, sympathetic look. “Why?”
“I-I miss him when we’re not together.”
“Get a dog, then,” she sputters.
“He makes me laugh.”
“Go to the comedy club.”
“And”—I think twice before answering—“I like the orgasms he gives me.”
“Eww,” she says, standing up. “Get a fucking vibrator. You can always buy something that will lick your vagina real good if you’re not too ashamed to use it. You don’t need him to make you feel good.”
“I know, but I still want him.”
“Listen up. The guy who you miss, laugh at, and have sex with is doing the same shit with other women.”
