Cancer_Mr. Intuitive_The 12 Signs of Love

by Tiana Laveen

  “’Cause I worry about you, Cain.”

  “Mama, you ain’t gotta worry about me,” he said around a mouthful of ice-cream, the flavor not as good now that she’d started up. “I’m fine.”

  “You work all the time, pretend everything is all right, peachy keen, when we both know it’s not.”

  “Mama, I came out this way to cut grass, not here you get tuh goin’.”

  She rolled her eyes and continued on anyway.

  “We’re gonna talk about this, whether you like it or not. Now look, your Aunt Frieda’s funeral tore you inside out… all of those folks sittin’ there…”

  He knew what she was talking about, but he refused to feed it his energy. In fact, he wished Mama would just hush up about it… he’d said as much.

  “Mama, it’s best to just not give them any attention. Idiots. A bunch of racists who don’t have any damn sense. I wasn’t there for them. I was there for you, and that’s all that matters.”

  “I know that… I understand that, honey. I just thank God they ain’t say nothin’ to you. You woulda… Lord… I hate to even think about it.” She shook her head in angst. “It’s a shame Tapestry couldn’t come, but I couldn’t have them messin’ with that girl. All she did was fall in love with my son.” She smiled. “Don’t nobody need that kinda drama.”

  He nodded in agreement, then went to town on the rest of the ice cream, scraping the bowl along the way with the edge of the spoon.

  “You wanna marry her?” Mama asked out of the blue with a kitschy smile.

  He smiled back. “I don’t know… but it’s crossed my mind a time or two.”

  “She’s real special, isn’t she, baby?”

  “Yeah. Tapestry is one in a million, Mama. I’m glad you like ’er.”

  “I do… yes.” Mama crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s a real pretty and nice girl… blessed with a beautiful voice.”

  She went silent then, but he knew she was just getting started. And he was right.

  “But now it all makes sense… why you couldn’t stand Frieda the way you do. You knew her secrets and you ain’t tell me, ain’t warn me.”

  “Mama.” He placed his spoon down and crossed his hands along the table. “It wasn’t even worth it, all right? I used to be mad about everything it seemed, but what good did it do? Bein’ pissed at her ain’t change nothin’ and besides, she’d done enough, right? She killed you on the inside… wanted everything you had, wanted to destroy all that made you happy. I know after your mama died the both of you struggled, but that’s no excuse. So naw, I couldn’t stand ’er, hated her deep in my bones. She wasn’t a good person. She wasn’t somebody just havin’ a bad day or hell…” He threw up his hands, “Even a bad year. She was havin’ a bad life, and not ’cause she’d gotten a rotten deal, but because she was just a shitty person.”

  “And yet you sang with all of your heart. You moved the family to tears! You’re so blessed, Cain… gotta God-given voice and talent. You should be on the radio by now… thank you for what you’ve done, even though you ain’t want to.”

  “I sang and played my guitar ’cause that’s what you needed. It sure as hell wasn’t a present to her. She made everybody’s life a living hell and then my cousins, her crazy kids, wasn’t about to keep the tradition alive and have at my baby, and make my mama upset, either. I was angry, still am, but what is done is done. Me and Victor was ready for ’em to just try it.” Mama rolled her eyes and grinned. “I woulda told them to dig up three more holes in that there cemetery… ’cause they’d be joinin’ her.”

  “You and Victor always wanna fight somebody…” She chuckled. After a few minutes, she drew serious. “But you coulda told me.”

  Mama was digging for information, for him to shake loose what he’d known, let her in on it. He had her number, too. She believed she was finally ready, and now the lady was making her move.

  “Like I told you about Peaches and you ain’t believe me?”

  “Oh Lord! How many times do we have to hear about Peaches runnin’ away, Cain?!” Mama rolled her eyes. “All right, you ain’t let ’er out. Frieda did. I get it now!”

  “I know it seems small to you and everybody else, but that was a changin’ point in my life. I realized, due to my imagination and reputation for makin’ up stuff, she could say whatever about me and yawl would just buy it like it was on a clearance shelf in Walmart!” Mama huffed. “It’s true. It ain’t about a dog runnin’ away and me gettin’ the blame; it’s about a grown ass woman lyin’ on a child in order to put a wedge between me and my mama… ’cause she was jealous of how close we were!”

  Mama’s complexion turned gray, and her eyes wide. “I kept tellin’ you for years she ain’t want you to have nothin’. She wanted you to be miserable, just like her. She wanted your kids to grow up and be nothin’. All of us are somethin’ though, regardless of our struggles, and she couldn’t stand it.”

  “I don’t… I just don’t understand how you realized all this about her at such a young age!” Mama tossed up her hands.

  “I don’t know how, Mama, but I knew from a child that she was soulless. Somethin’ inside of me told me her heart was dark… if it was even there at all.”

  “You’ve always been real intuitive., the most perceptive of all of my children… seein’ people for what they are when nobody else could. But because of that imagination of yours, and the tall tales you used to tell…” She grimaced, then smiled. “I admit it was hard to take you seriously at times, honey. I’m sorry for not believing you.” His heart felt less heavy at her words.

  Her apology meant the world to him. “Don’t protect me no more, Cain… I need to heal. I know she wasn’t worth a damn, but I loved ’er. She took care of me when nobody else did. Just be candid with me, tell me how you feel before you explode… tell me about my sister.”

  The woman swallowed and regarded him as if he were some genie, a psychic with a key to the hearts of men. Mama had said all the right words just then, but he knew her heart—it couldn’t take such ugliness. He contemplated what to do, and decided to tell the truth, but with a gentle hand. Shoving his bowl aside, he began.

  “All right, for starters, Frieda tried to flirt wit’ Daddy a few times when you had taken that trip to Alabama that one time to see your friend. When he didn’t bite, she lied and said she was just funnin’, just messin’ around and had too much to drink.” Mama’s brows furrowed, but she kept her lips closed and just listened. “She promised Victor, if he painted ’er house, she’d give ’im money for books. Remember that?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Do you know she only gave him thirty damn measly bucks, knowin’ that wouldn’t even pay for a bookmark?! He’d painted her entire house, Mama!”

  “What?! She told me that Victor volunteered.”

  “Now Mama, that don’t make any sense! Victor didn’t like Aunt Frieda, either. He didn’t tell you what happened ’cause the woman said she was gonna give him one of her cars soon. Of course, that never happened, either. Aunt Frieda’s heart was empty… spoiled like old milk in the icebox, Mama. I know she took care of you when you was destined to go into some orphanage, but even the Devil sometimes passes out chocolates and gold coins—don’t make ’im any less of the Devil. Just means you now owe him…”

  They sat there in silence, gazes hooked as if seeing each other for the first time.

  “And there’s somethin’ else, ain’t it? You really ain’t even touched the tip of the iceberg. Tell me everything that my sister did, Cain. I need to know.”

  Mama’s eyes watered. He reached over the small table and wiped her face dry.

  “Mama, she’s gone now. There really ain’t no reason to—”

  “Tell me!” The older woman trembled in her seat as she slammed her fist on the table. After staring down at the floor for a spell, he decided to give the lady what she wanted, regardless of how bitter it would taste going down.

  “Her ex-husband, Uncle Pat, molest
ed Abby for years…”

  “Oh Lord… Oh Lord, Jesus!” Mama wailed and screamed and cried. “I didn’t know. I swear to God, Cain, I didn’t know!”

  He gave her a minute before continuing.

  “I know you didn’t, and Abby knows this, too. Now, to be fair, I didn’t see it happen but one day she told me ’bout it after she and I were talkin’ about Aunt Frieda. This was years ago. He also was the first one to give ’er drugs.” Mama slapped her hand over her mouth as she trembled in her seat. “He started off slow, with some marijuana, then it graduated. That way, he could do whatever he wanted to ’er. The abuse stopped when she was ’leven, I believe. That’s when she said her period began, and I guess he didn’t like that.”

  Mama’s lower lip trembled like that of a child that had been scolded, and their favorite toy taken away. Tears formed in her eyes and fell faster than he could catch ’em. He got up from the table, snatched a paper towel from the rack, and handed it to her before reclaiming his seat. Before long, she balled that towel real tight in her palm and moaned, her grief filling the room. But this time, it was a new kind of grief—not one for her dead sister, but for the woman she thought she knew. Instead of comforting her, he forced himself to stay put. Something told him to just let this go… let it play out.

  “And before you ask, she made me promise not to say anything. It wasn’t my right to do it, though I wanted to.”

  Mama needed this harsh reality. A wake-up call that Aunt Frieda had brought hatred, dishonesty, hardship and harm to their family in ways she’d never known. Though Mama had always had a love-hate relationship with the woman, their bond was all she had. Most of her family was gone or dead, and Mama was all about family.

  She felt sorry for Frieda, too, especially when the woman’s children had turned their backs on her. But when it was time to see about Aunt Frieda’s will, those bastards were right there on the war path, arguing about who and what wasn’t in the obituary, why didn’t their mama have this sort of casket and that sort of floral spread, and they ain’t give or offer to spend one red cent to assist in her funeral costs. Mama and Daddy had taken care of all of that, and their money was so short because of it, their bank account had dropped into the triple digits. Daddy still had his retirement, and Mama got a little something for baking cakes, pies, and breads, but it wasn’t enough to completely make ends meet. They were just two good people who’d been pulled until they were stretched too far, like rubber bands.

  And now, Mama was broke… in more ways than one.

  “That’s why Abby abused herself! And married that man! He’s a drug user, too,” Mama blurted. “How can she stay clean wit’ him around?” She blew her nose into the tissue. All Cain could do was shake his head. He didn’t have all the answers for her, only the reality. “And what about you? Did anything happen to you, Cain?”

  He sat there for a long while, his world turning to dust right before his eyes. Mama was his world and she was crumbling, all on account of a dead woman who refused to take her demons back to Hell with her.

  “Mama, Aunt Frieda hated that I understood what she was about. But she knew because of nobody believing me, she could get away with it. That was my cross to bear. She never liked me because I had a clear lens on her activities, while yours was cloudy. She used to tell me, when I was a little boy, to settle down and stop jumpin’ around so much. I did that, and then she said that I was lazy. She told me to go do somethin’. I’d draw or fiddle around with Uncle Pat’s old guitar in her bedroom. She’d snatch the paper away or the instrument and tell me I was just tryna show off. When you told ’er I was takin’ lessons at school, she said it would be a waste of money, that I’d be good, but never great.

  “When you confided in her that I was havin’ some problems, she was smilin’ in my face, happy that I was miserable and sufferin’. She then went and told Victor that he was the one that could make you proud—that I was a lost cause. She tried to pit me and my brothers against one another, told folks I was crazy. Then when she found out I was writin’ award-winning songs and gettin’ good gigs, she said I was lucky, and it was based on my looks versus my talent…

  “After a while, I didn’t react to her jibes. She realized I was a sensitive child and she liked using that against me. I was a cry baby,” He smiled sadly, and so did Mama. “And she would grin when I’d cry. I’ll never forget that… smile and laugh when I’d fall and scrape my knees. When I grew into a man, she’d always talk about how handsome I was, then ask me for money. I knew Aunt Frieda had a lot of money at one point, but I wasn’t certain what had happened to it. Then, Mama, you did all that stuff for her at the end, when nobody else was there or around, and she screwed you over one final time.

  You were all that she had, Mama, not the other way around, and instead of puttin’ you in her will, she left every dime to her children who’d just as soon spit on her grave. And now they’re fightin’ over that little five thousand dollars like vultures around a carcass. So Mama, it ain’t really, ‘What did Aunt Frieda do to me?’ It’s the fact that she did everything to others, in front of me, or had high hopes it would get back to me… and no matter what went down, she knew nobody would believe ol’ cry baby, lyin’ and big imagination havin’ Cain… and when I got older, why would anyone believe me then, either? I was crazy, remember? The zany musician child who bounced around Nawlins playin’ the guitar and singing songs, gettin’ drunk and screwin’ every pretty Brown girl in sight…”

  He laughed dismally.

  “I had emotional issues. I’d hole up in my apartment, drawin’, playin’ music, and sufferin’ in silence. I wouldn’t answer my phone, wouldn’t eat and barely drank enough water to stay afloat. That was my life, and I self-medicated with booze and women at one point… just somethin’ to make it through. I hid it all from you, Mama, not because I didn’t know the truth or couldn’t face myself. I knew who I was and why I was doin’ it… but I hid it from you because you’d suffered enough. You needed someone strong to lean on, not another child drainin’ you dry like so many others who’d come into your life. Naw, I wasn’t shootin’ up like Abby. I didn’t run away like Kenneth. I wasn’t bitter like Victor. But my issues began before Aunt Frieda got ’er hooks in me… and they will continue long after she’s gone. This is my life, Mama. I love myself, most days, I even like myself, too. I’m far from perfect, but better than I was yesterday and the day before that. I accept me for me, flaws ’nd all.”

  The woman kept quiet, but the tears kept flowing nonetheless. After a while, she broke the silence.

  “And I accept you, too… your flaws make you beautiful, honey… my gorgeous, talented, funny son.” He smiled at her words. “You played beautifully at her funeral. I would have never known… none of this. If I didn’t know you, I woulda thought you loved her.”

  “That was just make-believe. That’s what I do best, Mama. Pretend. Life is one big theater, and I’m actin’ my way through when the hurt is too much to take, right until the final curtain call. I hide the real me in my hard shell, and present someone else who can take the pressure… not melt from the heat. I pretend everything is okay when it’s not. I’m an expert at it now.”

  Mama was crying even louder now, and it took all he had in him to just sit there and not say one word, or get up and move. Something about tears was definitely therapeutic, and sometimes, they just needed to flow. Like rain falling upon roses with big thorns, the water would seep into the roots, and nourish the soul…

  …A few days later

  Cain sat at Tapestry’s table finishing off his fried shrimp she’d made for him, along with some coleslaw. He’d gobbled up two servings already and was looking for more. As he ate, the woman told him all about her day, and it was a source of comic relief for sure.

  “And then Ms. Robertson told one of her daughters that if she did go out, to make sure she charged at least $50.”

  Cain burst out laughing at this. He grabbed the glass of water on the table and swallowed half o
f it down.

  “I’ve gotta meet this woman. Your stories about her are a hoot.” He picked up his napkin and wiped his fingers.

  “I should take you over there one day but be prepared for a mess. She is truly something else. You want any more to eat, baby?”

  She moved away from the stove to display the leftover shrimp.

  “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ into that pan one more ’gin, but I know I shouldn’t. That was good, baby. Thank you. Hey, I want to talk to you about somethin’.” He patted the table, ushering her to come over. Tapestry pulled out her chair and took a seat. “I’ve been doing my scheduled gigs without you, you know, not because I wanted to but because of contract obligations and your work schedule, too. However, there is one comin’ up in a month that I want you to come with me on. It’s at the Siberia.”

  “But Siberia is a rock club. I don’t sing rock and—”

  “Hold up now, I know that. But you can. As far as I’m concerned, Black folks invented Rock, so it’s in your blood to perform it, Tapestry. Just ’cause you’re not used to it don’t mean you can’t or you’re not supposed to.”

  “Hmmm, I ’spose you have a point there. So, what songs did you have in mind?”

  “Well, glad you asked. I was thinking about—” He paused when his cellphone rang. “I don’t know who that is… don’t recognize the number.”

  He debated on not answering the damn phone. He hated getting calls from people he didn’t know. Sometimes it was some telemarketer trying to sell something he didn’t want or need. Or perhaps a scam artist trying to entice him with a free Caribbean trip if he signed up for their magazine subscription that was sure to never arrive… all after providing his social security number and bank routing number, of course. The phone kept ringing, and then he recalled sometimes Abby changed numbers and wouldn’t tell him, or it could be the pharmacy or doctor’s office on behalf of Daddy not picking up his prescription again.

  “Shit. Hold that thought, baby.” He answered the phone.

  “Hello?”