Marcus was afraid of what he was hearing, “Promise me dad, promise - that - well, you’re not gonna do anything - crazy, to yourself, harm yourself - you know like suicide.”
Derrick found a way to laugh at his son’s concerns. Reaching over, he gave him a pat and a squeeze on the shoulder, “I promise you that is the last thing on my mind. I assure you, doing that would be my biggest and most truest failure of them all. No, I have to face this, there is no running from it.” Derrick’s mind slipped into further deep thought, sighing, he stroked his sons shoulder once more, “I love you too son, I love you too.”
Marcus was immediately thinking about his siblings, “Sasha is going to have a fit - she won’t be able to handle it. Neither will Joseph, you sure dad there’s no other way?”
“All of you will be able to get a hold of me anytime you need me. I won’t be far.”
“It’s not the same dad, it’s not the same.” Following that, Marcus had run out of things to say that might make him change his mind. They drove for a while more in silence until his father’s mobile rang. He could see his father digging his phone out, checking the screen for the caller and then answering it, “Hey.”
“Where are you?” Shawn asked.
“On my way home, we’re almost there.”
“We?”
“Marcus and I, he drove me by Jake’s to leave Meri the van. We’re on our way back home.”
“Why didn’t you stay? Maybe… talk about it, I don’t know.”
“Nothing to talk about really, what’s there left to say? You as well as I and dad, and Jake, and Meri, well - everyone - we all know this happened because of me. What can possibly be said by anyone, to make this right? Can’t be made right. One of my children died because of me. My wife has no faith, respect or trust in me any longer - because I let that woman, destroy my happy home. It wasn’t perfect, but we were good together - so good I took it all for granted.”
Now Shawn didn’t know what to say, all he could was, “I love you little brother. Please don’t let things said between you two, come between us, please don’t let it.”
Derrick knew what he was referring to, “Who told you?”
“Shanna - she didn’t mean it you know.”
“Yeah she did - let’s face it, had it been you - it wouldn’t have happened, we both know that. The whole family knows how you are when protecting your own. Father trained you well. Had I not run from it, maybe-…”
“I ran too Derrick, I ran too. By running, I have much to live with, much to regret.”
“You didn’t lose a child Shawn, you haven’t lost your wife.”
“Neither have you.”
“It’s not the same.”
“No… it’s not - but - you guys can get through this, I know you can.” Shawn consoled.
“I have a feeling, that she - actually hates me now. She doesn’t look at me the same, there are times I go to touch her, and she draws away from me, can’t bear my touch. That - she won… she did what she sat out to do to us. She may be dead, Margret Wheeler, but - so now is my marriage.”
“You need to go for counseling, both of-…”
“I’m moving out Shawn, I’m leaving her the house - getting a room until I find a small apartment.”
“Aaah man - temporary - just temporary. Just to give her time to breathe and think.” Shawn advised.
“We’ll see.”
“Why don’t you come here, stay with us?”
“I need to be near my kids, it’s bad enough that I’m moving out, but I have to stay close.”
“I understand. It goes without saying, you need anything, anything at all - money, whatever - just say the word, you know I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks… we’re back home now - talk to you later.” Derrick clicked his phone off.
He and his son entered the house, Marcus went to the basement, Derrick went up the stairs to start packing his things.
In the basement, Marcus dialed his older brother, Dj - he knew it was late, but he didn’t care, this was urgent. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get a hold of Dj - he figured that maybe his phone was off for the night. Marcus left him a message. Walking back up from the basement, Marcus stood in their dining-room with his hands interlaced over his head. Listening to the sounds of his dad moving out in the night. He was tempted to call his mother, tell her what was happening right at that moment. If he did it, and she didn’t care, that would make it worse for his dad, and certainly worse for him, so he didn’t. His dad thought she hated him now. Never in one hundred years would Marcus have thought this would be happening to his family. They were the family in the neighborhood everyone else wished they were more like. He was almost staggering as he made his way to the sofa, sitting down, realizing the full implications of this. They would all be left at home alone with their mother.
Filled with anxiety, Marcus combed his hand through his hair ruffling the cock’s comb up. He wasn’t so sure his mother without buffer of his father, was the right person to live with at that moment. After all, they were all at the age of really getting on her nerves. It wasn’t all bad, but when it was bad, it was really bad. Their dad buffered it, buffered her. Settled everything down and made her smile. They always used to smile at each other. Always used to talk, laugh and love in front of them. That’s how they were. Now, in the blink of an eye - it was gone, as if their family, their home had never been that way.
His father was coming down the stairs with two hefty duffel bags, one over his shoulder and the other held out in front of him. He had three of his favorite bill caps perched on top of each other on his head. He walked past Marcus, saw him sitting there but continued on to load up his truck. He was outside a bit, because he was fitting the camper shell on the back of his truck to enclose it. Half an hour later, he walked in, up the stairs and brought down a few of his suits in the carrying bag for them, and other work clothes. He took his laptop, all of his bathroom gear and most from their room. He was making quite a few trips in and out for things. Things from the kitchen, weights from the basement, and his tools and building equipment.
He came in and stood before Marcus, thinking, the sight of his doing that, was the last of what Marcus could take. “Would you look at you? Afraid to forget something? You taking so much stuff, you scared you might have to come back?!” He accused sarcastically.
Derrick scratched his head, having chosen one hat, which was perched firmly in place. He stared at his son, who was breathing hard and now done with pretending this was all okay. “When I leave son, I won’t be back here for some time unless I’m urgently needed. We’ll meet somewhere, you, your brothers and sister.”
“So what is this? You gonna try to punish mom or something? Why don’t you wanna come here to see mom? How you gonna work it out?”
“Marcus, we need to take this separation seriously.”
“No, I want you to work-it-out. It’s not just about you and mom okay - this is my family too! I mean, I have a right to say what happens to my family - you two can’t just up and decide, we don’t like each other anymore. So we’ll have to adjust - it’s not fair - that’s bull!”
“Look son, you need to calm down, it’s not easy for me either.”
“I don’t care! I don’t want this! Not easy? Then don’t do it! And if you two keep acting like this, crazy and at each other, you got no one else to blame if we all end up screwed up behind it! You two… you owe us! You owe us a happy life, a happy normal life - or - otherwise you shouldn’t have had us. Keeping this family right is your responsibility! It’s what you committed us to when you got her pregnant! This is what we’re used to - I don’t like where this is heading… I don’t like it!” He shook his head shot to his feet and rushed for the stairs and up to his room.
Derrick turned around looking at what was once his home and wondered how this would all end up. He walked to the stairs, looked up them and called out to Marcus, “I’m going!” He yelled, “You gonna come down, see me off?” He shouted fu
rther.
Silence.
One last check around, Derrick locked the front door, and then going out the back, locked it and put on the house alarm. He climbed into his tightly packed pickup and drove off to find himself a room.
Going back, South Carolina - 1927…
It was Saturday morning and Virginia had heads to do. She’d done three already, starting at the first show of dawn. The black women from the area knew how busy she was and demanded by white. If they were going to get in there for their own needs, they had to be up when the cock crowed and at Virg’s door, (that’s what they called her, Virg). She took from them anything that she could use, especially money, but it was no big surprise that many didn’t have coin to share. For that reason, they brought her food, livestock, candles, soap, furniture, household linens, chopped wood and trinkets. Sometimes they would bring things that made Virg cock a hip, placing her hand there with her head tilted in that old black way saying, while observing the object in her hand, turning it this way and that, “I know you don’t expect me to dig into them tight roots for this! Shoot, you don’t even want it - and neither do I - sista!” Yes, every now and then, she would do free deeds. However, she had two little girls to see about, so the ones that got her to do for free, had exceptionally good hearts and would do anything for her in return. Unfortunately, they were few and far in between.
At that particular moment, head number four was from church, Rev. Palmer’s wife and head five would be his daughter. She had already washed her hair, and while waiting for it to dry, she did her mother’s. She would be taking a break after head five, she was about worn out, not to mention how her feet were starting to ache. Even so, the good thing for her was that as she did heads, the ladies, her regulars and friends liked to hover around and cook. The good company did well to take her mind off of her discomforts and financial woes. While waiting, cooking and eating, they would talk about the happenings here and there. Outside, those who had kids, brought them so they played around her yard. The South Carolina winter weather allowed that. As for her girls, they knew better than to get dirty - their play comprised of conducting themselves like little ladies. Hostesses as it were. Enjoying the company, talking and socializing even at their young age. It was the way Virginia had them, how she started out with them. She had a habit of dressing her girls in fancy dresses, and doing their hair extra nice so they were walking examples in order to promote what she could do. It worked, because she’d had more than a few orders for little girl’s ensembles.
As for that day in particular, she was in the midst of friends. The focus of conversation was about her and Reginald. Thanks to them, Virginia finally had to admit out loud what they had warned her from the very beginning concerning Reginald going north without them. The head in her hands at that moment was not necessarily a “friend” but she was a familiar, voicing her opinion, “Mmm hmm - two years and you just now waking up?” Rev. Palmer’s wife said, holding her head down as the hot comb went through her short kitchen - real close to her skin, her neck - so she knew not to move or shake her head as she spoke.
“I told you when you first said what the plan was, what was gone happen.” Rose chimed in, a dear friend, “Didn’t I, what I tell you?” She could speak up because her hair was done. She was happy and at the moment stirring the greens she’d washed and put on. She always brought a nice meal to prepare for Virg and her girls. Knowing how the ladies would gather at Virg’s, she always brought enough to make plenty so others could eat as well while getting their hair done. Plus, she loved the way they went on about her food, she was a good cook and loved it when everyone went on and on about how delicious it all tasted.
Bonita, another friend, whose hair was also done - looked towards them as she bent over the cornbread in the oven, “You know doggone well Virg, he done got up there, and either gamblin’ that money away-…”
“Or drinking it up at the club.” Rev. Palmer’s wife interrupted to interject.
“…or, got hisself anotha’ woman!” Rose caped it off.
Everyone went quiet.
Virginia lifted the hot comb away from the reverend’s wife’s head, laying it on the white test cloth.
Rose fidgeted uncomfortable, regretting having said it so bluntly what everyone else was thinking, “Come on sista’, time to see the writing on the wall. We all friends here, Virg - you know we here for you. But that Reginald done got up there in Chicago and met himself a new sweet treat and she gettin’ the money he supposed to be sending you. How long it’s gone take you t’realize?”
Grumbling, Mrs. Palmer complained, “You shudda kept that tidbit ‘til she finish my head,” she worried about Virginia’s state of mind.
Virginia was still quiet. There was no sense in defending Reginald, the proof was in the letters she received from him. He was changing, or better said, had changed. She just needed to accept it. She placed the curling thongs on the heat next, a clear enough indication to Mrs. Palmer that she would finish her hair. The older woman sighed in relief - because it wasn’t like she was paying her to do her hair.
“What you gone do Virg? Can’t depend on him.” Bonita asked, her gentle voice soothing with compassion.
“Man aught’ah be shamed of hisself.” Rose groused, moving things around on the table to fit another dish on it with other covered foods. It was cluttered with bowls, spoons, plates, hair products and implements. Bonita stood with a hand to the back of a chair and the other on her hip, fingers clinging to the scarred kitchen towel. All three women were waiting for Virginia to say something. She was thinking of what to say. Truth, she wanted to get done so they could leave. There were times when she appreciated them, but right now, they were forcing her to face the reality of her situation.
“Virg, what you gone do?” Rose repeated Bonita’s question.
Virginia stood in auto mode of styling hair. The thongs of the curling irons clicking and rotating in her hand as her fingers manipulated them with expertise, smoke rising caused by the oil cream on her clients hair with the heat that shaped a thin lock of hair into a perfect cylindrical roll while redrawing them. Reheating the iron, she would repeat the process over and over until the head was done. It was church tomorrow and Rev. Palmer’s wife always wanted her hair fresh washed and styled. The trend, waves and kiss curls. To make sure they lasted, Virginia shaped and flattened the curls to her head and then clipped them down.
“Virg, you ain’t got nothing to say?”
Sighing, she finally replied, “Considering his letters, not much I can say.” She had the reverend’s daughter’s head to do next. It should be dry now, it wouldn’t take her long to press the young girls hair out and then put it up in a bun.
“I tell you the truth, men ain’t what they used to be. They got no shame. Here you is, by yo’self with his daughters on this land you can’t work alone - pretty black woman-…” Reverend’s wife went on to be cut off.
“Ooooh-wee and got these here white men restless out - they - mind, over you!” Rose sang out with big eyes and a bit of trepidation. That could be a bad thing, or depending, a good thing - one never knew which way it would go.
“Chile ain’t it the truth. Black ones too - but they either married or too young, hell-…” Bonita chimed in.
“Now now now - hol’ that back, I can’t be hearing this. She is a married woman. The Lord expects you to be loyal and true-…”
“That fool up north need to be the one worried about what the good Lord think, not her!” Rose protested.
“We all know he ain’t! Pro’ly laid up as we gettin’ our hair done, turning over from Ms. Pay-me-five-dollars, to check the time.” Bonita joined Rose in arguing for Virginia’s side - who let out a long sigh, after clipping the last kiss curl. “Done.” She meant with Reverend Palmer’s wife’s hair, tying on the net scarf to hold all in place.
“It’s about time! Cuz’ he sho’ done with you.” Rose exclaimed.
“I told ya’ll I can’t be hearing this.” Palmer’s wi
fe reminded them.
“Ain’t nobody stopping you from blocking yo’ears.” Bonita advised and turning to Virginia, “You need to get you a new man.”
“A money man,” that from Rose.
“A white-…”
“Don’t say it!” Palmer’s wife shouted and lifted her arms, praying out loud, “Lord, heavenly Father - forgive them for they know not what they do. Praise the Lord Jesus!”
“You need to be praying for that so-and-so that left her here alone with two children between Hickville and Cracka-way!” Rose fussed.
“Yes Lord, down in the deep of Redneck Valley!” Bonita joined in with her own location marker.
“All right, I’m gone have to do my child’s head myself this kind’ah talk keep up.” Mrs. Palmer threatened, anxious to depart.
“What else she supposed to do? The good Lord helps those that helps themselves, ain’t that what the good book say?” Bonita challenged.
“Can’t you two wait until we gone before you lead your sista’ down the path of unrighteous adultery! Praise Jesus - not me Lord! I’m leavin’ now.” She decided.
Rose, who was short, barely 5ft. light skinned and round like an apple had heard enough, she quirked her dark full lips and advised, “Would you please then, take your daughter and get on about your way. When you get home, ask yo’man to ask the Lord to forgive us po’sinners - but we gots to eat!”
“That’s right! A woman’s gotta do, what a woman’s got to do! CHARLEMAGNE!” Bonita shouted out the window for the reverend’s daughter, “Yo’mama ready to go, she gone do yo’hair herself.”
Hearing it, the reverend’s daughter Charlemagne stomped her foot, poked out her lip, crossing her arms over her skinny chest. She’d wanted her hair done by Ms. Virginia, her mama was just gonna put it in a ponytail for it to stick up in the air.
“Whooo-wee, Charlemagne is not happy.” Bonita laughed having seen the little fit.
Beauty of Man and Woman - Volume 13: Bomaw Page 10
