by Love Belvin
My breathing hitched and my eyes blinked, fighting back the stinging tears from the blow he’d just dealt. Those last words rang familiar. Some of the loudest I’d last heard from Michelle.
He continued, “I bet you ain’t even married…are ya? And dat’s because you can’t let nobody near ya. Pretty educated girl like ya’self ain’t spoken fo’ ‘cause ya damaged. I’m sure it ain’t because the boys don’t want ya’. You got ‘dat college degree so I know you got ya’self a good job. You just ain’t right in here.” He touch his chest referring to the heart.
He ended there, mercifully, because I didn’t know how much more of his analysis of my pathetic existence I could take. I didn’t know whether to be offended or look for an epiphany in the message. But I couldn’t deny the gravity in it.
I made it to the car before breaking down. His words wounded me. His description of my mother brought me back to the woman I knew as Mommy when I was a kid. I then realized that all of the anger and resentment I held for her in my heart as a teen because of the bullshit she took from my father caused me to mentally block out her very existence.
When was the last time I’ve even spoken to her? Has she even tried to reach out to me over the years? I was still in shock. Total disbelief of recent revelations. She has hepatitis? She needs dialysis? Had her addiction progressed that much?
Suddenly, I felt the need to see her. I had to just lay eyes on her. My heart began to take on a new ache as I shivered in pain. This was much different than the emptiness I felt when I thought of Michelle. This was guilt. I felt so many ill-emotions all at once.
I found myself going towards the west side of the city. The closer I got to the projects I once called home the more knots formed in my belly. I have to see her. As I pulled up in the parking lot of the building where we used to live, it resembled a ghost town. There were no trees or grass, there was no beauty within the vicinity. The night fell upon the city with light rain as I parked my car.
Before exiting, I paused to gather myself. I was about to walk the same soil that a young girl was murdered on because of some bullshit concerning me. I took a deep breath and grabbed my umbrella to get out of the car. I saw two people coming out of the building I was approaching, neither of which I recognized.
I didn’t want to go in. Memories of my childhood began pouring in. I didn’t know what to do. I swore I’d never return to these projects and here I am. I still felt the need to reach out to my mother. I would at least give her my sincere concern for her health. I began to look around for someone I knew. But very few were out in this rain. As I set about walking to the entrance of the building, my stomach became flooded with butterflies. Just before I went to grab the door handle, it swung open. I had to jump back to prevent getting hit. It was Ms. Regina from the fourteenth floor.
“Girl, is dat you?” she screamed, immediately recognizing me. She looked as if she just learned she was on candid camera. I nodded.
“Where yo’ momma at? I was just coming here to look for her,” she continued screaming. Years of hard living had caught up to her. Her skin had darkened and blotted spots had developed around her face.
“I was just coming to see her. When was the last time you’ve seen her?”
“Bobbi just told me she went to da chicken pit up the block. She should be on her way back. She got my money, she said she needed ta’ get change. Dat was like a hour ago,” Ms. Regina informed. “Girl, you know you is pretty as hell! I know yo man is taking care of dat ass. You look good! Let me hold a lil’ something. And don’t tell me you ain’t got it ‘cause you looking real clean…too clean to say you ain’t!” She hit me with the crackhead hustle.
I wasn’t beat for it so I replied, “Ms. Regina, I don’t mean no disrespect, I just need to see my mother. It’s a family emergency. If you see her, tell her I’m out here looking for her.” I didn’t wait for a response. I walked off.
I drove to the chicken pit. It was your typical, around the way take-out restaurant with the word “chicken” in the name. They sold everything from fried chicken, to burgers, to sodas, to blunts. It was a hole in the wall but artery-clogging food was always delicious and eagerly available in the hood.
I walked in the restaurant and saw just a few people. It was dark out and a weekday so there weren’t many people out. A tall, slender guy with the nappiest mounting afro was at the counter ordering his food. He kept eyeing the pictures on the menu that were displayed above the register.
“Ummm…Ummm…Ummm…let me get a… Ummm…Ummm…Ummm…let me get a… Ummm…Ummm…Ummm…let me get a…” he mumbled repeatedly as if he had no clue what he wanted—or as if the menu ever changed.
Then there was a chubby—no—a plain ol’ fat woman whose skin tone was so dark she looked blue. She wore white leggings and her skin color pervaded through them, not to mention the rolls in her belly and the fact that her thighs were so big that her feet were like five feet apart when she stood. She had a little girl with her that could be no more than three years old. The little girl ran around the restaurant doing imaginary play with her pretty bows and barrettes. Her hair was braided masterfully.
I then noticed an old, gray haired, soiled, and indigent man sitting on the ledge of the window. He was dosing in and out of consciousness. I wondered how was it that he hadn’t hit the floor with all the tilting he was doing.
I was back at home. Blah! What a dose of reality.
The last character to catch my eye was a frail woman who donned a long denim skirt and running shoes. She wore a bold colored windbreaker jacket that was hot back in the 80s, not so much in present day. She kept bobbing her head to music that played exclusively in her mind because I damn sure didn’t hear a melody of it.
There was something familiar about her voice. I knew this subconsciously, which caused me to move up closer from behind her to catch a glance of her face. I rounded her from the left and after studying her stance for seconds, I realized it was my mother. My heart began racing and my eyes shot up causing acute pain in the back of my head. She didn’t immediately catch on to my gaze although I was well within the inner realms of her peripheral. She had dark rings around her once radiant eyes and warts on her former plump lips. She looked horrid. My mother appeared extremely ill. I don’t know how long it was before she turned to acknowledge me but when she did, she took a double take. It was relieving to know that she recognized me.
“Oh, shit,” she shrieked as she stopped bopping. “Rayna, my baby?”
She shunned her face by burying it in the crease of her arm. She was ashamed. I was embarrassed for her. She began to weep aloud and I nervously looked around, uneasy about this emotional encounter. I went to touch her arm in a comforting manner, I hadn’t come to scorn her.
“Ma, don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s okay. Come over here and sit down,” I said as I guided her to a nearby booth.
We sat at opposite ends as she continued to weep forcefully. The snot began to fall from her nose and drool from her mouth. She was a mess. I rose to get her napkins that I had to ask for through a Plexiglas. I felt like I’d opened Pandora’s Box by searching for her, I wasn’t prepared for this. It took nearly five minutes for her to calm down.
“I’m sorry, baby. I swear to my Heavenly Father, I’m sorry!” she pleaded.
“What are you apologizing for? Just calm down.”
“I knew you was gonna come back one day. I wanted to be ready when you did. I just been tryna’ get myself together for so long so I could just call you. I know I just left you hangin’, baby. But mommy’s been sick…for a very long time. This demon gotta hold ta me and I can’t shake it. I just can’t!” she cried.
She was referring to her addiction. The last time I saw her she was a closeted addict, now she’s a full blown crackhead and it was heart-wrenching to experience. I had up and left Jersey as a kid and virtually never returned. I abandoned my family. Hell, I hadn’t seen my mother since I was eighteen years old. It had been damn near ten years! Well—not q
uite, but when you round up the number, it’s an astounding revelation.
“Have you tried getting cleaned? Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked but with private reservations, I didn’t want to fall for the proverbial okeydoke. But if she was really sincere I couldn’t in clear conscious desert her.
“I been tryna’ get into Sobriety House for like three weeks now. They keep telling me to call tomorrow because they beds is full. And that’s hard on me. These streets is dangerous. That’s why I keep to myself. Regina ‘n them hanging out right now and I told them I’ll holla at them lata. I can’t mess around like that no more,” she explained before breaking down again.
She continued with, “Rayna, I got this blood disease now. It ain’t the A.I.D.S. or nothing like that. It’s called…ummmmmm…” she mulled over the answer while tapping her forehead with her fingers. “Ummmmm…Hepatitis. There’s different kinds and mines is the B. I gotta take this medicine that makes me sick. I be all tired and depressed. Rayna, I need help.”
Her openness and courage to share threw me. I was familiar with crackhead characteristics from coming up in the projects. They’ll do and say anything for their next high. I guess DNA is powerful because I wanted desperately to help her if she wanted to kick this shit. But I suddenly had the urge to get up out of dodge. Being in that place gave me the creeps.
“Where are you staying? Maybe I could stop by and see you before I go home.” I attempted to end our encounter as I stood to leave.
She had the longest face when she realized I was preparing for my departure. “Rayna, you so pretty, girl! I can’t believe you here. You have any kids…you married, ain’t you? I wanna know what’s up with my baby girl,” she said gleaming from ear to ear.
I felt horrible. She wanted to catch up when I wanted to leave. To run like hell. I kept looking at people coming into the restaurant each time the door would open, breaking my attention. I didn’t know what to say. I was at a crossroads with yielding to my human nature to help her get clean and healthy and maintaining my “fuck you all” attitude and returning to my new life. I thought of Michelle and felt a coat of warmth come over me. I had to at least try.
So I offered, “Listen, Ma, if you really want help I don’t mind supporting you. I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon. I’m staying at the Embassy Suite in Secaucus. If you want help find your way there and I’ll see what I can do.”
I got up to walk out. Before I could touch the door she called out to me. “Hey, Rayna…”
Here was the okeydoke…the ultimate crackhead move. I knew she was preparing to ask for money.
“God told me you was coming home soon. That’s why I needed to be ready!” she declared excitedly, then shadows of darkness fell upon her eyes. I guess she felt that she had failed me again.
Acute pain zapped my chest; I didn’t have a response. I cracked an apologetic smile, turned and headed out. On my way to my car I thought about numbing the pain. Alcohol sounds like the method! I knew not to mix alcohol with depression, but it was divine for anxiety. I needed to take the load off and had a collection of weeks to escape, even if but for a night.
Coincidentally, next to the restaurant was a liquor store. As much as I was in a hurry to leave the morose area of my humble beginnings, I wanted to be stowed away in a bed sooner. My exhaustion was cresting upon me. Quickly, I decided to stop in the LQ to pick up a bottle of Henny. I hate Hennessy.
After deciding on the size and brand, I grabbed a bottle and made my way to the counter to pay. The place was damn near empty and smelled of cigarettes and ammonia. My nerves were shot and body was coiled so tightly that I was shivering. As I was searching my purse for change, I heard my name.
“Rayna…Brimm?”
I turned counter-clockwise to the sound and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It took a minute to gather my faculties and respond with words that fell out in a whisper.
“Theresa?”
In that instance, my attention was snatched by the sight of a stroller in my periphery and small children running around it. Something inside me was unsettled with seeing babies in a liquor store. Theresa must have followed my eyes and abruptly turned to the tots.
“Knock it the fuck off! Don’t you see grown folks talking!” That last one wasn’t a question.
Theresa’s exultant glaze made its way back to me as the store clerk was asking for my payment. I handed it to him and turned back to my childhood friend.
“Girl, where the hell you been?”
“Ummm…you know…here—there. How are you?” I asked, attempting diversion.
“I been here. I see your mother all the time around here.” Visions of a frail Samantha that I’d just left suddenly came to mind. “She keep saying that she don’t hear from you. What you been up to?”
Theresa’s smile was so bright and enchanted. I could tell she was genuinely happy to see me. I’d wished I could return the sentiment. I was in the middle of an anxiety attack that grew more imminent with each discovery of the day.
I swallowed hard, begging my wits to return when I coughed out, “School…you know, trying to get myself together. What about you?”
My eyes swung to the children who were once again engaged in tag play. Theresa followed my gaze.
“Who me? Ain’t shit going on wit’ me but these bad ass kids.” She went to offer the smallest baby in the umbrella stroller the pacifier that had fallen into her lap.
“Are these your babies?” I asked quizzically as I observed the wonderment in the kids’ eyes as they played. I remember being that young and carefree, able to shut the world out and enjoy each moment even if the environment wasn’t conducive to play.
With ease Theresa informed, “Some of them mine. These two…” she went for two little boys to grab them at the top of their heads to show me. Both had aged cornrows plaited down to their necks as they continued teasing each other. “…and these three is Keysha’s.” She pointed to the remaining two children, one boy and the other a girl, who were now playing hide and go seek around us and the little girl in the stroller.
“Oh.” Hearing Keysha’s name made my heart sputter. I hadn’t thought of her since my last nightmare about J-Boog about a month ago. That was the only time I recalled her, when those lurid dreams occurred. “I didn’t know you had kids,” I murmured.
“Yeah, girl. My oldest is by Luck-Star from the South-side. Remember him, right. His ass locked the fuck up like the rest of them. Shit, my youngest’s daddy is locked the fuck up, too. Same shit, different times,” she breathed out. “You heard about Keysha, right?”
I shook my head.
“Girl, her ass be up to no good, too. She in rehab now and the state done forced me to take these kids again. I keep telling Keysha she gone’ lose these kids for good. Who else gone’ take ‘em—they daddies? Shit, one strung out on dope, the other one dead and the other one just as much as a drunk as her ass is. I be stressed the hell out. That’s why I’m up in here. Now I can’t wait to put these bastards to bed and lay up with my drink.” Theresa gave a lungful exhale.
Wariness wore on her face. Her golden glowing skin had dimmed since the last I saw her at our high school graduation. Age had tumbled upon her prematurely. She had been living life hard. My heart bled. I needed to go, and now before I imploded.
“So, what’s up wit’ you…got any kids—”
We heard a thud on the floor and simultaneously turned our attention to find the kids picking up a bottle that must have fallen during their play.
Theresa bellowed, “What the fuck y’all doing! Get y’all asses over here before I beat the shit outta yous!”
Just then, the store clerk started firing off profanities, partially in his native tongue and the other half in English telling Theresa to get the kids out of the store and that she would be paying for any damaged products.
That was my perfect cue.
Amidst the barrage of angry and threatening words between the clerk and Theresa, I whisked out, “Theresa, I have
to go. I have someone waiting on me—”
She cut me off with a cry, “But wait…give me your number—”
“My mother can give it to you. Ask her for it the next time you run into her. I have to go!” I shouted as I loped out of the store, damn near tripping over one of the kids. I was desperate to get a hundred miles between me and home.
On my way back to the hotel, I recounted the events of my day. I don’t know which encounter disturbed me the most: that with my mother or grandfather, or learning that Keysha had become an alcoholic. She was too young for an addiction. Right? My grandfather’s words haunted my every thought on the drive back to my hotel and my dreams for weeks to come.
As I walked into the hotel lobby, I noticed the desk was unoccupied as I continued to the elevator and up to my room. When I approached the door, I pulled out my key card to slide it through. I opened the door and as I walked in I saw three tall and brawny men in the sitting area of my room. My chest rose in fear, I couldn’t feel my feet to run.
God no!
I jumped and simultaneously felt someone grab me from behind covering my mouth. I began screaming through my nose. I was going to die in Jersey!
“Rayna, it’s me!” he spoke firmly as he turned my body to face him. It was Azmir. I was scared shitless! I don’t think I’d ever been so terrified in my life.
I screamed, “What the fuck!”
“A’ight, god, you good from here?” The one big guy with a petite voice mumbled as he and the others moved towards the door to exit the small suite. Suddenly, they appeared far less harmful than they did when I opened the door. My heart still hadn’t found its relaxed rate. I was still in shock, trying to process what had happened. It all had happened so quickly. Azmir gave a firm nod dismissing them.
