A cigar-smoking, beer-drinking, sport-loving man.
“Taki . . . there’s just no way,” I said, still denying it. “Absolutely no way.”
“Abe, it’s true. I saw it on the news today. I even drove by his house to see if they were talking about the same Brian. There are candles and crosses sitting in his front lawn, Abe.”
I shook my head again. Gay. Brian was gay.
And then a terrible thought hit me with the force of a cannonball. I took a slow, deep breath and let it out painfully slow as I spoke into the phone. “Taki . . . he . . . the person Brian shot . . . Did they release his name?” I clenched my jaws and waited for an answer that I prayed would not be the one I suspected.
Taki sniffled. “I . . . I think his name was Trevor or Travis. Something like that. Why?”
The phone fell from my hand before I could even think to answer her.
Travis. Dead. Shot and killed.
Brian. Gay. Shot and killed his lover.
It had to be a coincidence. A cruel, sick, unbelievable coincidence. I stumbled out of the kitchen, leaving my cell phone on the floor. I think I faintly heard Taki yelling out my name as I reached for the phone in the living room. My hands shook as I dialed Randy’s phone number.
Brian was gay. Brian was gay. The sentence kept repeating in my mind over and over like a scratch on a CD.
“What do you want, Abe?” Randy said, answering the phone angrily.
I took a deep breath. “Who was the person that killed Travis?” My heart was racing as though I’d just done an hour’s worth of cardio as I waited for Randy’s answer.
“What the hell do you want to know for?”
“I need to know, Randy,” I said my voice and hands trembling. “I need to know.”
“You need to know? What do you care?”
“Look, just tell me, okay.” I could feel myself ticking, about to go off.
“Why?”
I snapped. “Goddamn it, Randy! Just answer the fucking question! Who the fuck killed Travis? Was it someone named Brian? That’s all I want to know. Was it someone named Brian?” I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth.
“Why the hell are you asking me if you already know the answer, Abe?”
I never answered my brother. Instead I threw the phone across the room and cursed out loud as it shattered against the wall. I yelled out loud again and swung out at a table lamp, sending it shattering on the ground. I staggered as my entire body felt as though I were burning inside.
Travis and Brian.
Brian and Travis.
That combination spun around and around, blurring my vision, making my knees weaker and weaker.
Travis and Brian.
Brian and Travis.
Then I blacked out.
Randy
Sitting on the relatively quiet plane ride to Florida, I reflected on life without Travis to watch out for. Although we never had the normal sibling relationship that I would have preferred, we’d had a relationship nonetheless. If there was one thing I could rely on, it was that I could always count on Travis calling on me to pick him up and dust him off whenever he’d fallen. That was the brotherly relationship we’d developed, and I’d come to depend on that role. I’m pretty sure Travis had become dependent on my role too. I never hesitated to be there even when he’d put himself in certain predicaments he had no right being in. But that was Travis, and I loved him despite of it.
I sighed. I still didn’t want to believe that he was dead. I balled my fists tightly as I thought about how final death was. I balled them even tighter as my thoughts switched to Abe. I was still burning inside over our argument. His anger toward Travis I could always deal with, but his refusal to pay Travis respect in death was something that disgusted me. That he was filled with so much rage and hatred toward his own blood was disturbing. As far as I was concerned, he had practically squeezed the trigger along with Brian. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man my brother actually was.
I used to wonder what he would do, or how he would react if he and Nakyia ever found themselves in the same situation as our parents. Would love and understanding have ever been able to find a way into his heart? Or would hatred and intolerance have blackened it for good? Well, I could stop wondering because I knew for sure that he would disown his own child just as our father had done.
I stretched and looked at two little boys sitting beside me. They were brothers lost in their Game Boy Advance world, playing Mortal Kombat. I was never any good at video games. I never had the patience required to master them. Not like Abe, who had been the Nintendo guru of the neighborhood. Travis, of course, was never into the games, although he did like to watch occasionally.
I watched the brothers play their games and wondered if either one of them would grow up to be like Travis or Abe. I sighed and thought about how in one day I’d lost both of my brothers. I wanted to tell the youngsters to always love each other no matter what. That they were blood and there was nothing more important than that. One of the boys looked up at me suddenly, as if he’d heard my thoughts, and gave me a smile. I smiled back and then closed my eyes and slept the rest of the trip.
After arriving in Florida, I checked into a hotel and then reluctantly went to the morgue. When I got there I wanted to turn right around and head back home. I didn’t want to walk through the doors, and I didn’t want to announce to anyone that I was there to identify my brother’s body. I didn’t want to walk into the cold room that smelled like sweetened mold, filled with soulless cadavers, covered by white sheets, laying on steel gurneys. Telling the balding white gentleman, with eyes magnified by lenses as thick as Coke bottles and teeth the color of faded gold, who looked like he enjoyed his job just a little too much, to go ahead and lift the sheet for me to say that the graying body did indeed belong to Travis, was not what I wanted to do at all. But that’s just what I did. And afterward I threw up what little I’d somehow managed to eat and anything else that was left over.
After filling out whatever paperwork I needed to, I took Travis’s belongings and went back to the hotel. Before my mother asked me to go and see Brian’s wife, I’d planned on going straight back to New York. I didn’t want to stay in Florida any longer than I needed to. Now I had no choice. I stood in the shower while hot water cascaded down over my shoulders and cried softly as images of Travis laying lifeless on the gurney passed painstakingly through my mind.
Monique
It was mid-morning and I was just starting to dream when the phone rang. I had taken the day off to make an attempt at catching up on the sleep that I’d lost after getting the news about Travis. I decided to play hooky after making sure that Jalisa had gotten to school on time. I was physically and mentally drained and the thought of going to work just wasn’t agreeing with me.
When I got home, I straightened up and sat on the couch watching one of Jalisa’s favorite cartoons, which were fast becoming a favorite of mine. It was amazing how easily I’d transitioned into the role of motherhood. The more I did with Jalisa, the more I wanted to have a child of my own. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved taking care of Jalisa, and at times I really did feel like a mother, but no matter what I did or how much of an influence I had, I knew that Tina would always be Mommy and I would always be Monique—the stepmother. Since Randy and I had gotten back on the track, my desire to experience the entire process of motherhood only grew stronger. I wanted to know what it was like to have a child growing inside of me, despite the horror stories some of my girlfriends told me about morning sickness, fatigue, hormonal changes, and weight gain. I wanted to watch my belly rise with motion from my child. I wanted to have the sonograms to stare at and wonder what features of mine and Randy’s he or she would have. I promised myself that after the tragedy over Travis had passed, I was going to sit down and have a talk with Randy about my feelings.
When the cartoons ended, I sought the warmth and comfort of my bed. I was just starting to dream about babies when the call came.
I rose from the bed like an old woman and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Good morning, is Mr. Randy Lincoln available?”
Groggily, I said, “No, he’s not.”
“Well, is Ms. Monique Jones there?”
My eyes opened a notch wider. “Speaking. Who’s calling?”
“Ms. Jones, my name is Eduardo Sanchez. I’m the guidance counselor at P.S. One-thirty-nine. I’m calling about Jalisa.”
I sat up. “Is she all right? Is she hurt?”
“Jalisa’s fine, Ms. Jones. She’s in class right now as we speak.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “So what can I do for you, Mr. Sanchez?”
“Well, I’m a little concerned about Jalisa’s behavior and since you are listed as her secondary point of contact, I’m hoping that you could come down to the school for a private meeting.”
“Of course. I can be there in about twenty minutes.”
“That would be perfect.”
“Ms. Jones, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I shook Mr. Sanchez’s hand and sat down in a chair opposite his desk. His office was tiny but comfortable with his desk, a small sofa, and beige carpeting. On his wall he had his college degree, numerous certifications, and a small flag of Puerto Rico. I looked at the couple of photographs of his family sitting on his desk and smiled. “Your wife is very beautiful, and your two boys are going to be dangerous when they get older.”
Mr. Sanchez smiled proudly. “Thank you. That’s Anthony on the right and Maxwell on the left. And trust me, my wife and I call them little devils already. They are a handful.”
I smiled and felt my skin rise with goose bumps. I was definitely going to have that talk with Randy.
“So what’s the problem with Jalisa?”
“Well, during the past couple of weeks, Jalisa’s behavior has been unusual, and I’m just a little concerned.”
“Unusual? What do you mean?”
“Jalisa is one of our brightest and most energetic students. She gets along well with all of her peers as well as the teachers. But lately she just hasn’t been herself. She’s been very detached, often keeping to herself during recess and lunch, and not participating during class like she normally does. The teachers have also noticed that she’s been doodling and daydreaming more. As I said, this behavior is unusual for her, and I’m just wondering if there could be any problems going on at home that may be affecting her? A loss of a pet, a death of a loved one? Family problems, perhaps?”
I shook my head. “No. Everything at home is fine. Her father and I had gone through a rough period a few weeks ago, but that’s been resolved. I have to be honest, I haven’t noticed anything but Jalisa being her usual self. Are you sure that she’s not having a problem with one of the kids here at school?”
“We did wonder about that, but as far as we can tell, that’s not an issue. What is Jalisa’s relationship like with her mother?”
“She and her mother get along just fine. Her mother is a fashion model, and because she’s always doing photo shoots, Jalisa only gets to see her four months out of the year.”
“And what is your relationship with her mother?”
“We . . . tolerate each other.”
“So then you two are at odds?”
“In a word, yes. We don’t get along too well. Her mother is not very supportive of my relationship with Jalisa’s father.”
Mr. Sanchez nodded his head slowly and scribbled something into a pad he had placed before him. “That’s what I figured. Let me show you something.” He reached into one of his desk drawers and removed a small manila folder. From it he removed a yellow piece of construction paper and handed it to me. “During art class yesterday Jalisa drew this picture. The assignment was for them to draw a picture of their family.”
I took the paper and opened it, and sighed. Jalissa had drawn a picture of a couple holding hands, while a little girl stood in front of them crying. The reason for her tears was to the right of the little girl—a tall woman with red horns and fangs. The picture was a sad depiction of the pain Tina’s crap had brought to Jalisa’s world.
“Based on what you told me,” Mr. Sanchez said, “I’m going to assume that you and Mr. Lincoln are the couple holding hands, and the woman with the horns is Jalisa’s mother.”
I nodded. “Yes, this picture fits her to a T.”
“Out of curiosity, Ms. Jones, do you share that type of sentiment with Jalisa?”
I shook my head. “No. I keep my thoughts and feelings to myself and Randy. I may not have a friendly relationship with her mother, but I know not to project my ill feelings about her onto Jalisa. It’s hard sometimes, but I respect the fact that Tina is her mother. But believe me, Mr. Sanchez, I really don’t have to say anything negative, because Tina does that with her actions.”
Mr. Sanchez nodded and scribbled into his pad again. “I’m glad that you’ve taken the position you have. Oftentimes, adults don’t do that. Perhaps you and Mr. Lincoln could speak to Jalisa and ask her how she feels about the situation at home. Give her a chance to put her picture into words. I think that venting, if you will, would be a good cleansing for her. As human beings, we all tend to keep things bottled up inside of us sometimes. This will give Jalisa a chance to let that tension go.”
Mr. Sanchez and I talked for a few more minutes in which I vented a little about Tina and the problems she’d caused. He offered his opinion and gave me some advice that I appreciated. When I left his office, I left with the picture in my hand. I wanted to call Randy and tell him what had happened, but I knew it would have to wait. When Jalisa came home from school, I didn’t hesitate to talk to her about her drawing.
“Jalisa, can I talk to you for a second, please?”
“But Monique, Pokémon is coming on.”
“Pokémon will have to wait.”
Jalisa reluctantly came into the kitchen and sat at the table. I sat down in front of her and handed her the picture she’d drawn.
“Can you tell me why you drew this, honey?”
Jalisa stared down at her artwork, but didn’t speak for a long second. I could tell that she was struggling inside. I touched her cheek. “You can tell me, sweetie,” I said softly. Suddenly, out of nowhere, tears began to fall from her eyes. I took her hands in mine. “Jalisa, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
She sniffled and tried to wipe her tears away, but they kept falling. My heart ached for her. I brushed some of her tears away and kissed her forehead. “I’m here for you, angel.” I didn’t want to push her into talking to me, but I wanted her to know that she could confide in me.
She sniffled a few times and pouted her bottom lip. “I’m mad at Mommy,” she finally said.
“Why are you mad, baby?”
“Because she’s going to break you and Daddy up again.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because she did it before.”
“Oh baby, your father and I had some things to work out.”
“It was Mommy’s fault and I know it! She’s always saying nasty things to me about you, and she’s always mean to you when she sees you, and then when she leaves, you and Daddy always argue. You left last time and you’re going to leave again.” More tears fell from her tiny eyes, causing my own tears to fall. I grabbed a napkin and dabbed hers away.
“Baby, I’m not going to leave. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“You did last time.”
“I was just really mad at your mother and father. I had to leave to go and do some thinking. I promise I’m here to stay, okay? I’m not leaving.”
“But Mommy will make you mad again.”
“You’re right, honey. Your mother will probably make me mad again, but you know what?”
Jalisa sniffled and rubbed her eyes. “What?”
“No matter how mad she makes me, I promise, I won’t leave.”
“You won’t?”
“Nope.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“I love you, Monique and I hate my mommy. I never want to see her again, and I don’t want her to come and get me anymore.”
I took her in my arms. “Baby, don’t hate your mother, okay?” I said kissing her forehead.
“But why? She’s never nice to you. And Daddy is always in a bad mood when she comes over.”
“Sweetheart, your mother has problems of her own that she has to deal with. Sometimes her problems rub off on other people. Don’t hate her, okay? She loves you.”
“Not like you do. You don’t yell at me all the time or make me do things I don’t want to do.”
“Sweetheart, your mother does love you. She just shows it a little differently than I do. Don’t hate her. You can be mad at her sometimes, but don’t hate her. She makes mistakes like we all do.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes I do. Remember when I hit your mother in front of you? Well, that was a mistake and I was wrong for doing that. And moving out to do some thinking was a mistake too.”
“It was?”
“Yes. It was.”
“Did I make a mistake with my picture?”
“No, baby. Your picture was just fine.” I kissed her on her forehead again and then let go of her. I slid my finger under her chin and lifted her head to look at me. “No more tears, okay?”
She nodded.
“I’m not leaving, and I don’t want you to hate your mother. You tell her that you love her.”
“Like I tell you?”
I smiled. “Just like you tell me.” I hugged her again and smiled as she squeezed her little arms around my neck. “Now, you can still catch ten minutes of Pokémon if you hurry.”
Jalisa smiled and ran out of the kitchen, leaving her picture on the table. I picked it up and looked at it again. Mr. Sanchez was right. I could see the change in Jalisa’s eyes immediately. She needed to get her anger and fear out of her. I ripped up the picture in half and threw it in the garbage. I wasn’t going anywhere again, no matter how much the devil tried to intervene.
That night, I spoke to Randy and told him what happened with Jalisa, and that everything had been resolved. We spoke for a few more minutes, discussing briefly his trip to the morgue, then we spoke about his visit to go and see Brian’s wife the next day. I blew him a kiss and wished him a safe trip back. Before he hung up, he told me that he loved me, and I felt it deep in my soul.
In Too Deep Page 15
