When The Shadows Began To Dance

by Yamaya Cruz

  My eyes popped open. Someone was nudging me.

  “Nelly! What the hell are you doing here?” I sat up in my bed and looked at my mom and Ali; they were staring at me, like I was some kind of stranger.

  “What do you mean? You brought me home,” I said, smiling, but it slowly faded from my face. There was a lot of fog in my head. I worked hard to try and remember the events that had brought me to this place, to this moment. I shook my head and looked over at my mother. She was staring at me with a deadpan expression, like her face had been molded out of wax. She leaned over my bed and grabbed me by the shoulders.

  “You have got to be kidding me. How in the Hell did you get home all by yourself?” she asked with her voice dripping with trepidation. I didn’t know what to do or how to answer her. I looked around my bedroom for the elderly woman. I couldn’t find her. She told me she would always be with me. Where was she now?

  “First you go off and run into the streets and now you’re sneaking out of the hospital.” Her breath was hard and heavy. She released her grip, and I felt her mood change. A small lamp that was sitting on my side table illuminated just one side of her face. I could see the sadness in her eyes as her tears cascaded down her face.

  “I’m trying so hard, but sometimes. I just feel like it’s never enough,” she said.

  “Momma?” I pleaded.

  “You should have stayed in the hospital. You should have let them take you away from me. Why on earth would you want to come back home?” she said, while wiping her eyes and rocking back and forth.

  “Because I love you, momma,” I said. I wanted to tell her about the elderly woman. I wanted to tell her about unconditional love and family, and that; we needed to stick together in order to survive.

  She leaned back in chair rubbing her eyes. She tried to speak, but the words seemed to fumble before they got to the finish line. Abruptly, she turned around and left the room. It was almost like she couldn’t look at me. Did I do something wrong? Did I do something that was really terrible? I felt the edge of the bed sink in. I looked over and saw that Ali was seated next to me.

  “Ali, you don’t remember bringing me home from the hospital in daddy’s car?” I said.

  “No, I don’t remember, because it didn’t happen,” he said wryly.

  “Yeah it did, you laughed at me and my cast, you and daddy carried me up the—

  “You got to stop this,” he said interrupting me. “Stop what?”

  “Acting like a crazy person. First Mom and now you.”

  “I’m not crazy Ali, not like Mom.”

  “You sure are acting like it. Do you want us to live on the streets? Do you want people to beat your ass because you’re walking around talking to yourself, seeing people who ain’t there?” he asked. I shook my head “They don’t exist; just tell yourself they don’t exist,” he pleaded.

  “Ali!” I cried.

  “I heard them on the phone talking about you. Saying something about you being incorrigible and that they might send you away.”

  “What? I am not incorrigible,” I said defending myself, not even knowing what incorrigible meant. I looked down and focused on my hands. Suddenly, they seemed more interesting than the conversation that I was having. And why in the hell was it so dark in here anyway?

  “Do you really want attention that bad?” he asked. I couldn’t see his face, but he sounded angry. Did he hate me? Of everyone in our family to hate, he hated me. I didn’t do a damn thing to him! It was the man who we thought was our father who abandoned us. It was the crazy woman who was our mother who was possessed by voices who hurt us. She was the one who was prepared to leave me at the hospital, alone. And he’s mad at me? This was unfair. I shook my head. I was at a loss for words. I felt that if anyone should be on my side, it should be him.

  He silently walked to the door and turned the knob. I heard the door squeal as he opened it. He looked over his shoulder before leaving.

  “Get it together, Nelly, because I’m done putting my ass on the line for you.” He said.

  What was that suppose to mean? “Ali!” I called out after him. But he shut the door, ignoring me. What was going on with him? Here I was all bruised up and in a cast and he’s acting like he’s hurt. I was confused. I couldn’t understand my brother’s behavior, or my mom’s behavior. And my dad still hasn’t even poked his head into my bedroom to see if I was okay. He didn’t even come to visit me in the hospital. Then, I remembered the story about the polar bear. His love was conditional. His love was limited. I closed my eyes. I wanted to go to sleep. It had been a very long day.

  It took me a few days to get what my brother meant when he said that he wasn’t putting his ass on the line for me anymore. Man, sometimes we really don’t appreciate things until they’re gone. Well to make a long story short, no one knew how I got home from the hospital. My mom decided that she didn’t want me taken away after all, so she never brought me back to the hospital for any of my follow up appointments.

  Somehow, I had managed to sneak out in the middle of the night with just one crutch, and I spent my days limping around the house and schoolyard. The other students laughed at me. To them I was a debilitated invalid who couldn’t even afford a second crutch. My brother no longer defended me or came to my rescue when I was cursed at or picked on. The stairs were the worst. I couldn’t ever get the crutch and my leg to work in unison. My movements were jerky and disjointed, and I ended up reaching the top of the stairs sweating and flushed from exhaustion. After a while, the thing got really dirty because I didn’t stay in the hospital long enough to learn how to keep it clean. I couldn’t take it anymore. So one day, I stole a kitchen knife and worked throughout the night to get it off. I felt like a slave who had just broken off his shackles. It felt good. I felt free. I never had to explain why I cut the cast off. I don’t think that anyone in the house noticed. Or maybe they were tired of my antics and believed that the best way to handle my craziness was to pretend that I wasn’t.

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter Five

  It was painful to see the strained relationship between my daddy and mommy. She just couldn’t understand why the man didn’t love her. He dropped enough hints. The incessant arguing, the woman who called and hung up at all times of the night, and him staying away from the house and hardly ever coming home. I liked it best when daddy wasn’t home. It just became way too painful and awkward to look at him after everything that had happened. I wanted to tell my mom to leave well enough alone, but she kept insisting that our daddy needed to be with his family.

  Living with my dad forced my mom to kick her cocaine habit, the catalyst that had enabled her to stay so incredibly skinny and, in her sick mind, sexy. I used to hate to see her that way: thin, with empty eyes with dark circles around them. Her spine drooped and her breasts looked saggy and wrinkled, like two brown rotten potatoes. Her skin sagged around her bones like a deflated balloon. This was my mommy at her worse. She would be paranoid, like a convict on the run, peaking out of curtains, pacing back and forth, constantly wiping the dripping snot from her nose. She would warn my brother and me not to turn on the lights watch TV or go out and play.

  “It’s dangerous.,” she would hiss. “They’re out there and I don’t want anybody to get you.”

  Yeah, she was pretty scary. I would much rather deal with my mom being addicted to my father than drugs. At least the thought of being with him made her somewhat happy. In her head, she believed that they were going to have a happy and beautiful relationship.

  There were times when I was tempted to scream in her face “He doesn’t love us.” But I kinda knew that this action would result in me getting slapped across the face. Honestly, my mommy could be a handful, and I could understand why my daddy wanted to stay away. Hell, half the time I didn’t want anything to do with her. Don’t think that I didn’t use half of my nightly prayers wishing for a new mommy. Yeah, let’s just say that the thought crossed my mind a few times.

  My mom had a
lot of time on her hands, time that she spent lying on the sofa and stuffing her face with food. She began to develop a small tub around her waist and a great deal of extra cushion on her bottom. Like me, she began to feel self-conscious about how she looked. I told her that she was beautiful, comparatively speaking. Anything was better than the walking skeleton that she was before. But like any addiction, it just got out of control. She put on so much weight that the fat began to ripple around her chin, thighs and stomach. My brother and I joked about her. Ali secretly referred to her as Jabba the Hut because she got so fat, she literally couldn’t move. Instead, she commanded us to do all of her chores from the living room sofa. Barking out orders while munching on cookies and candy bars, the remnants of the food mixed with spittle driveling down her face and chin.

  The additional weight impeded my mommy’s reaction time. This gave Ali, a star athlete on the junior league football team, the chance to fuck with her. He hit her where it hurt most, her food. Man, it was a sight to see as he ran to the sofa at top speed and snatched a candy bar, almost out of her hand. Her eyes grew angry and bulged out of her sockets, she made a piteous attempt to try and get off the sofa and chase Ali, but the effort almost killed her. Instead, she sat fuming, like a bull in a bucking chute. Meanwhile, Ali was already halfway across the room. The candy bar was fully exposed and its wrapping discarded as Ali bit into it, smacking his lips and rolling his eyes, savoring the taste.

  I love my brother. He was a real rebel. He was always testing his luck. One day, he managed to grab a whole tray of cookies that were seated on my mom’s lap. He ran full force into the living room while balancing the trey in his right hand. To our surprise, our mom got up and chased after him. She looked possessed but determined to catch him, like a lioness hunting her prey. Her shirt was a tad bit small, exposing her burgeoning belly. I think that my heart stopped beating as I watched the whole event unfold. Everything seemed to happen so fast; I kept turning my head, focusing first on my mom and then on Ali. Then, I heard a huge thump. I gasped from surprise. My mom was sprawled out on the floor; I could only guess that she had tripped over something. She slowly got up and rested on her hands and knees, out of breath and huffing and puffing like the wolf after he tried to blow the little piggy’s brick house down. Ali and I ran outside, roaring from laughter while shoveling cookies into our mouth.

  My mom getting fat didn’t increase her chances of getting back with our daddy. I think that he really couldn’t stand the sight of her. I really didn’t understand why he kept us around. His face was always tense and he was always biting back his words. I wanted him to say it. Dammit! Let the truth be told so we could go on with our lives, without him. But no matter how mad he got, he would never say that he didn’t love us and that he wasn’t our father. I suppose saying that would be equivalent to waving his shit-stained drawers in our face.

  My mom would sit around and complain about him all day.

  “I do everything for him. I cook and clean, and it’s not enough, it’s never enough,” she said, wiping her tears and then stomping into her room and slamming the door behind her. Ali and I looked at each other, puzzled. We really couldn’t understand why she was so upset. After all, we were the ones that did all of the work; she just sat on her ass all day. But still, we felt like we needed to help her.

  Our eyes met.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ali asked. I shook my head. It wasn’t very often that we had a meeting of the minds.

  “We got to go out and find him,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he agreed.

  Later, I would regret this decision, understanding that it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. But when you live a lie, you need to constantly confirm that it is true.

  I was pumped up. I could feel the excitement surging through my veins. I was eleven, Ali was thirteen and we were both under age, violating curfew, and completely out of control. Wow! It felt good to be bad. We walked everywhere looking for this man. I think that we both sighed with relief when we saw the “Sniffies” sign. It was the last club in town, and we were hoping that he would be there. We immediately found a hiding spot by a tall tree. We sat and watched with amazement as single men and couples of all ages walked in and out of the bar. A motley collection of old, beat up cars were in the parking lot. My brother and I rested our eyes on an old red pick-up truck; we knew the vehicle too well.

  “I’m going in.” He whispered, like a police officer that needed cover. I trailed behind him.

  “Nelly, go back, they ain’t going to let us both in,” Ali said. “No, I’m scared; I don’t want to be in the dark by myself,” I whined.

  “See, I knew that you should have stayed home,” he said.

  He was quiet for a minute. “You go in and I’ll stay out here”

  “Ali!”

  “They’re going to let you in before me. Just go and I’ll be watching you from behind that tree,” he said pointing to a spot off in the distance.

  I was beginning to regret my decision. What the hell was I thinking about, convincing my brother to sneak out in the middle of the night to look for a man who obviously didn’t want to be bothered? I swallowed a knot of fear and took baby steps toward the front door. I looked at the building; it vibrated in sync with the music. There were two bald-headed bouncers manning the front door. There was an explosion of ruckus that caused them to abandon their post. Minutes later, they came storming out, stringing a strange man by the neck, like a doggy carrying her cub. Only, the man looked like he was in a great deal of pain.

  One of the bouncers forcefully threw him down on the pavement.

  “Don’t bring your ass here no-more.”

  “How in the Hell did he get in here anyway?” the other bouncer asked.

  “I don’t know, probably one of the motherfuckas at the door let him in.”

  “I told them, time and time again. Do not let this motherfucka in the club.”

  “Yeah, but nobody listens.”

  “He ain’t going to buy no fucking drinks, because his ass is drunk before he gets here. He’s always groping and trying to get free feels on the girls, without no fucking money.”

  “Shit! He must think that he got it like that.” “He used to be the man, back in the day.”

  “Yeah. Back when my granddaddy’s dick used to get hard.” They laughed.

  “Hey Cabron, don’t you ever lay your fucking hands on me like that again,” the mysterious man said with a strong Spanish accent. He got up and began to wipe the invisible dust off his shirt and pants.

  “Get the Hell out of here.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to leave, but the next time I come here I’m going to knock your ass up.”

  “You mean knock me out? You illiterate, Spanglish speaking motherfucka.”

  “Nico! Get your ass out of here,” the second bouncer yelled throwing a half empty beer can at him. It landed hard on his chest with the fuzz spilling out onto his shirt. The man flinched and then sent the bouncer a dirty look.

  “Yeah. Yeah. What you gonna do?” one of the bouncers said. The man named Nico started to walk away.

  “Yeah, I knew that you didn’t want a piece of this,” said the second bouncer flaunting his brawn by unzipping his black bomber jacket and banging his chest.

  The door was wide open. I slipped inside the club unnoticed. I tried to adjust to the disco lights as I looked around the room for my father. The men were lined up on barstools drowning their sorrows by drinking two for one beer and feasting their eyes on young flesh that danced around flauntingly.

  This place looked really pathetic. It was where non-eligible bachelors and miserably married men gathered to escape their grossly obese wives and bastard children. The girls, who looked a little older than me, took turns dancing on a plate-form stage, meagerly dressed and plastered with tattoos and piercings. Secret rooms were roped off for men who were ready to spend some serious cash on lap dances and other activities that were usually guarded with an X-rated
label.

  My heart began to pound when I spotted him. He was sitting with a less than ordinary blond. She was wearing a micro miniskirt with thigh high boots and a fake fur that came down to her waist. I was standing quite a distance away, but I could see her face. She had ice blue eyes that were cold and heartless as arctic snow. Her lips were pencil thin and stained from years of smoking. They got up and walked towards me. I scurried away like a frightened mouse and bumped into someone behind me.

  “Hey little momma, what are you doing in here?” said a halfnaked woman with butterflies painted over her nipples. Quickly I rushed out of the club and ran to the spot were Ali was hiding. I couldn’t speak, and I didn’t have to, because minutes later, they came walking out. We both watched in silence as they climbed into the car and drove off. My hands begin to clinch up into fist; I bit down hard on my lip and tried to control the black rage that was erupting inside of me. I stole a glance at my brother.

  His face scared me more than my own emotions. Over the years, his chin had gotten stronger and his face had taken on a more chiseled look. Under the moonlight, his eyes were like hot coals, burning from the fire that was raging within. I knew that when my brother was like this, it was best not to say anything at all to him. Unlike my anger, my brother’s rage was uncontrollable. It was like a wildfire that could only be tamed by burning itself out. We walked back, kicking rocks, knowing that we were returning home without our father.

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter Six

  It’s crazy how history repeats itself. It seemed that my father had enough and he was willing to lose everything to get rid of us. We received our first eviction letter in the mail. My mom was like a mad woman, chain-smoking, while raking her fingers through her thinning hair. Like an obsessive compulsive, she would dial our father’s cell phone ten, twenty times a day. She called his mother, his brother and even redialed the woman who had been crank calling us, but she could not find him. I had a really bad feeling about all this. I wanted to tell her about us seeing him in the club, but Ali warned me not to.