La Familia

by Paradise Gomez

  I walked toward my bedroom, but then this sick feeling came over me again. I hurried to the bathroom and dropped to my knees in front of the porcelain toilet, which was already disgusting with shit floating inside the bowl. I cringed at the sight of it and threw up anyway. Yuck! I continued to float my head over the toilet. It smelled so badly. I couldn’t take it anymore and continued to throw up in the sink. When I was done spilling shit from my stomach, I wiped my mouth and went into my old bedroom.

  Everything was gone. My bed, my posters, my stereo, CD collection, clothes, shoes. The room was barren, like looters rushed in and picked me clean. What the fuck! I wasn’t worried about the clothes or shoes, Rico bought me tons of stuff, but the sentimental things I had in that room was gone, like the stuff Sammy bought for me over the years, and the locket pendant necklace in sterling silver that I kept in my top drawer; it was gone. It was a gift from my mother before she died. Pictures that I had under my bed of me having good times with Sammy, Tina, La-La, Chyna, and ex-boyfriends were gone; and ones that were plastered on my wall were all torn down. There was nothing left, the memories taken. I wanted to cry. How could my father just come into my room and have so much lack of respect for my things, stuff that I held dear to my heart?

  The closet was emptied out and there was even urine in the corner. Oh my God. I hadn’t been gone that long, and it seemed like my bedroom was treated like some crack house or flea market.

  I all of a sudden heard someone entering the apartment. My heart skipped a beat and nervousness came over me. It had to be my father. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come back here. I left for a reason. I slowly walked into the hallway. I heard him in the living room, and he wasn’t alone. I wanted to leave. The radio came on and Spanish music started blaring.

  “Ve que,” I heard my father say.

  “Me gusta que,” the next voice said.

  I didn’t know what they were doing, but I could tell it wasn’t anything nice at all. I looked into the living room and saw my father seated on the couch with a bottle in his hand. It was early in the morning and he was already drinking. He had another man with him who was unfamiliar to my eyes. The nigga was young and lanky. I never saw him around the hood before. I huffed. I had to pass him to make my exit, and it was clear that he was twisted.

  But what I saw next clearly disturbed me. My father took a swig from the bottle in his hand and leaned back in the couch with his legs spread. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick. What the fuck! The dude with him leaned over in his lap and took my father’s dick into his mouth.

  Oh my God! I was shocked.

  I witnessed the unthinkable, my father receiving a blow job from another man. I was disgusted. He was a fuckin’ faggot. My father moaned with his hand gripped around the back of the man’s head, shoving this nigga’s face farther into his lap. I wanted to cry. He was a high-ranking member of the Latin Kings. He was a killer and had bitches going crazy for him back in the days. This was impossible to see. This faggot’s lips were wrapped around my father’s thick dick and I wanted to throw up again right there.

  “Ooooh, yeah. Suck that dick. Yes. Yes. Se siente tan bien,” my father said.

  “You like, papi,” his gay lover replied.

  “Me encanta. You my bitch,” said my father.

  I gasped from hearing and witnessing this appalling act. They heard me. The man stopped sucking dick and jumped up, and my father rose up from the couch, pulling up his pants, and came charging my way. I had nowhere to run.

  “Who the fuck is in my house?” he shouted.

  I tried to run for the door, but he caught up with me and grabbed me from behind and pulled me back aggressively into the room. I fell backward, landing on my side. He stood over me, scowling, and shouted, “Mouse, what the fuck are you doin’ here? What the fuck did you just see?”

  “I didn’t see anything,” I hollered.

  “You lying!” he screamed.

  I could smell the liquor on his breath from there. He kicked me in my stomach so hard and the wind was knocked out of me. I doubled over, and screamed loudly from the pain.

  “What did you fuckin’ see, you little bitch?” he screamed.

  “I didn’t see anything,” I shouted.

  “Stop lying to me!”

  He kicked me again, striking me in my side with his boot and the pain shot through me like I was being dipped in ice-cold, arctic waters. I screamed out from the pain and begged my father to stop. He never stopped. The beating continued. This time his fists landing on me next, like I was a gym punching bag, and I folded up into the fetal position. Why had I come back?

  “I’m no faggot, Mouse!” he screamed. “I’m no fuckin’ faggot!”

  I didn’t respond. I was too busy trying not to black out from his savage beating. I was paralyzed on the floor, feeling wetness on my face. I was bleeding. My body ached and my mind was spinning.

  “Hector, stop it! Stop it!” I heard his faggot boyfriend scream out.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Hector retorted.

  “I can’t be a part of this, Hector. Isn’t she your daughter?”

  Hector went over to him and punched the man in the face so hard, his face seemed to explode. “Shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ faggot!” my father screamed madly. “You fuckin’ faggot! You violate me!”

  The beating shifted from me to him. The man was trying to defend himself on the couch, while my father’s hard blows rained down on him. He screamed out. Hector was going crazy. I knew he had to have stopped taking his medication. His outbursts were becoming more violent. I feared he was going to finally kill me or his lover. But I had a moment of freedom from the abuse. It hurt, but I stood up and while my father was distracted with his gay lover, I bolted from the apartment.

  I heard him chasing me. “You little fuckin’ bitch! C’mere!” he screamed out.

  I ran. He continued to chase. I didn’t have time for the elevator; I crashed through the stairway and scrambled down the stairs with my eyes flooded with tears.

  “You better not tell anyone about this, Mouse! Or I’ll fuckin’ kill you. You shut up, Mouse! You shut the fuck up and better not tell anyone.” His voice echoed in the stairway.

  I went rushing out my building like a bat out of hell and toppled over someone who was entering, making them spill the groceries they were carrying. We both went crashing against the pavement. I received a few scrapes and cuts, but I was far from okay. I started to feel lightheaded again. It was hell again for me. I took a few steps toward the street and passed out.

  Chapter Ten

  Mouse

  I was pregnant! I was five weeks pregnant. Wow! But it wasn’t hard to believe. The way we were fucking and the way Rico was coming inside me, raw, too. It was inevitable. It was late May with Memorial Day right around the corner, and I was in the hospital. I was admitted into Monteriore Hospital by Gun Hill Road after the incident with my father. I was lucky to be alive. He could have killed me. When I passed out, so many people came to my aid and rushed me to the hospital. The doctors treated me and took a blood and urine test and found out I was having Rico’s baby. Besides that, I was fine. I only spent two days in the hospital and was being discharged.

  The beating from my father wasn’t too severe like the others I had received before. I was a strong bitch. Police had come to my room to question me about it, and asked if I wanted to press charges against him. I wasn’t snitching on my father. I was that type of bitch to keep her mouth shut. No matter what, he was still my father and I wasn’t telling. It was the primary rule of the hood, the ghetto: if you ain’t gettin’ bag stay the fuck from police, if niggas think you snitchin they ain’t tryin’ to listen.

  But the police informed me that they were looking for my father. There was already a warrant out for his arrest. When he couldn’t catch me, he went back to the apartment and nearly beat that other faggot to death. The man suffered a broken nose and ribs, shattered jaw, and he was violently sodomized with a broom stick
to his anus and he suffered internal bleeding and tearing. My father was sick. He had finally lost it and went over the edge. I was just glad that I didn’t have to deal with him anymore.

  I was excited and scared at the same time about being pregnant. I was going to become a mother. Damn, finally, somebody knocked this pussy up and I was going to be a baby mama. I was just glad it was Rico’s baby. I was a 110 percent sure it was his, no doubts about it. Me and my child were going to be taken care of. I loved Rico and he loved me, and now we were about to become a family. It was going to be his first child as well.

  There was so much to think about. My father was fuckin’ gay, or bisexual. How did he hide it from me for so long? Did it happen in prison? It had to. His rage almost tore me apart. He was so strong and violent. I thought about his lover; what had happened to him? When Rico found out about the abuse, he was furious. The minute he heard the news, he rushed to come see me at the hospital. I was in the emergency room being treated and he charged in like he owned the place.

  “Mouse,” he had hollered with trepidation. “You okay?”

  I had smiled when I saw my man coming for me. It was great to be loved by someone like him. I had nodded, and replied, “I’m okay, baby.”

  He had seen the minor bruises and cuts on me and he went berserk. “Did ya father do this shit? I’ma kill that muthafucka!”

  He had said it in front of the doctors and nurses. I wanted him to calm down. He had already expressed that he was about to commit premeditated murder. The last thing I wanted was for him to get locked up, and then where would I be?

  “Rico, just calm down.”

  “Nah, fuck that, I told you what I was gonna do if he ever put his fuckin’ hands on you again,” Rico had exclaimed.

  He was scowling heavily and was making a scene. His temper was flaring. It was a side of Rico that was so scary. I noticed the bulge underneath his shirt. He was concealing his pistol and didn’t do too good of a job. If I saw it, then who else could see it? Police and security were already outside the room, and with Rico not thinking straight, he was jeopardizing his freedom.

  “Rico, I need a hug, come hug me,” I had said to him, extending my arms.

  He walked over, and when I pulled him into my arms, I quickly whispered in his ear, “Baby, ya gun is almost showing underneath ya shirt, please fix it.”

  “Oh, shit,” he had whispered back.

  We both subtly tried to conceal his pistol better while anyone wasn’t really paying us any attention. Rico zipped up his light jacket and became calmer. He lost the temper and we just talked. It was a good thing I was the only one on point and no one else was.

  The next day was when they told me I was pregnant. Rico was by my side and I told him the news. He was nonchalant for a moment. It was scaring me.

  “You pregnant,” he said, looking stoic.

  I smiled and nodded. “They tell me that I’m six weeks.”

  I’d been fucking with Rico for almost two months now, and before him, I hadn’t had sex in maybe five or six months.

  “Wow, we gonna have a baby,” he said.

  I beamed profoundly. He said “we.” He didn’t try to deny his child or my fidelity, because he knew I was a faithful bitch. I couldn’t help but release a few tears of happiness and hug my man strongly. I didn’t want to let him go. My world was changing and things seemed to becoming sweeter. But then I started to think about Sammy and wondered about her. It was obvious she was going to be my baby’s godmother, there wasn’t any doubt to that. I couldn’t wait to tell her the news. But where was she? I figured she had to hear that I was in the hospital and would be the first to come see me. But also, she just went through that incident of almost being raped and killed, and she wasn’t saying shit. We both had a terrible incident happen to us within forty-eight hours of each other.

  When Rico left the room to make an important phone call, I huffed a great deal. Rico was the first person I told about my pregnancy and Sammy needed to be the second. Was I still upset with her for not telling me what had happened and leaving me in the dark? Yes, a little. But this news of me having a baby had triumphed over everything and made me get rid of any ill feelings I had that morning.

  I tried to call Sammy numerous times from my phone, but she wasn’t picking up and then her phone started going straight to voice mail. I was worried about her. It felt like things were changing between us.

  I was dressed and ready to leave the hospital room. I was waiting for Rico to get back. He was my ride home. I walked toward the window in the room and gazed out. I was on the eighth floor and had a marvelous view of the Bronx. I could see the Bronx River Parkway and gazed at Woodlawn Cemetery from afar. It was ironic, a hospital located not too far from the cemetery. With my eyes fixated on the cemetery, I thought about so many of our friends who were buried there, from homies we knew and bitches from our clique who had fallen because of gang violence. I always thought about death; the way we lived it was just a touch away. I was only eighteen, but it felt like I lived two lifetimes of shit and going through hell.

  I gazed outside thinking about death while rubbing my stomach that now carried life inside it. Was the baby going to be a boy or girl? I was wishing for a boy, a little Rico running around and being so handsome and charming just like his father. I stood by the window thinking until Rico came back and we were ready to leave.

  “You okay?” I asked him.

  “Yeah, but I should be askin’ you that,” he said to me.

  “I’m okay, baby.”

  He picked up my things and we left the room. The next time I wanted to see a hospital was when I was giving birth to a beautiful baby boy or girl.

  We exited from the front entrance of the hospital and Rico escorted me to the car. He was so helpful every step of the way. I got inside and felt at ease. My face was healing, but my spirit was still heavy. Where was Sammy? Why hadn’t she called and why wasn’t she picking up her phone?

  Rico took me to a nearby IHOP and I dined on pancakes and bacon. We had a great conversation and already I was thinking about baby names. I was going to make a great mother; I knew I would. I lost my mother to the streets and drugs when I was ten years old. This baby wasn’t going to lose me. I was going to be around forever to take care of my seed, to nourish and protect him or her. I already started to feel motherly. I was already changing.

  After IHOP, we went back to the house. Rico made sure everything was okay for me. He didn’t stay long; he was back out the door fifteen minutes later. He claimed it was more business he had to take care of. He was a hustler, always on the go, the streets were calling and there was money that needed to be made. I understood. It wasn’t like he never made time for me. He did. But now that I was pregnant with his baby, I didn’t know what to think. I really wanted this family. I wanted us to work and live him harmony and comfort, like the families I grew up watching on TV: The Cosby Show, Family Matters, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, My Wife and Kids, The Parent ’Hood, and others.

  I used to envy how other black families lived. They had it so easy and always seemed so happy. A mother and father living in the same household, and making money, with more than two bedrooms, was incredible to me. Because where I came from, having both parents living with you in the projects was, if not impossible, then rare.

  But life for me and Sammy wasn’t a TV show, it was a horror movie, real talk. However, we survived many horrors shows and kept it moving. With this baby growing inside of me, I had enough of the horror and wanted to star in my own 7th Heaven. This baby wasn’t going to go through the hell that I’d been through. They were going to have so much better. It was a promise.

  I went into the bathroom and lifted up my shirt to see my stomach. I started to rub my belly again. I gazed at my reflection and imagined what it was going to feel like to be pregnant. I was definitely going to lose my curvy shape and probably get fat. I didn’t want to get too fat. Maybe I would still be able to fit my clothing or shoes for a while. If not, the
n Rico was going to have to take me shopping for a whole new wardrobe. I heard about the morning sickness; it was a fucking pain. But the feeling I wanted to experience the most was having this baby move around inside of me and feel it kicking against me. That is true indication of life.

  It was late May and the heat was blazing like the sun was personally giving the Bronx a bear hug. I was already sweating. I was gonna be pregnant during the summer, fall, and wintertime and it was cool with me. I planned on being comfortable in my nice home and lying up with my man as my belly grew bigger.

  Memorial Day was a big thing in our hood. There were barbeques, block parties, cookouts, and house parties. Sammy and I used to attend everything popping in the hood, from sun up to sun down, and until the wee hours in the morning we showed our asses and had a good time. We used to wear the skimpiest shit and caught all the niggas’ attention. It was fun having the boys hollering at us; even grown men tried to talk to us. Sammy and I was always the hottest thing moving in the projects, probably in the Bronx, too. For years, we always partied hard and did what the fuck we wanted to do. And now with a baby growing inside of me, it was going to slow me down. I didn’t care though.

  Being in the house alone, I needed to talk to someone. I was dying to share the news with Sammy. She had to be the second person I told about my pregnancy. It wouldn’t be right to tell anyone else about it before her.