by Emery, Lynn
The bus ride back to New Beginnings felt like a tour trip to Monette. She gazed out at buildings, taking note of everything. By the time she made it back to the halfway house, she was in a good mood. Work on her book went well. After dinner, Sherrial was to conduct group counseling. As the good vibrations from her day held on, Monette even managed to view that in stride. She went into the smaller living room, which doubled as the group session room. Candi and Yarva had already arrived. Four other women came in eventually. They sat talking for a few minutes before Sherrial appeared.
“Hello, everyone. Let’s get started.” Sherrial and the women arranged chairs from the dining room in a circle. “Now let’s talk about dealing with your past. Around here we don’t engage in a lot of psychoanalytical treatment.”
“Thank you. A little of that mess goes a long way,” Yarva retorted, and several of the women nodded.
“But we do look at what hasn’t worked for you in the past, why and what you can do about it. Before you can change your behavior, you have to change your thinking.” Sherrial tapped her temple to make the point. “And to do that, you need to understand the thought process that leads you to make choices.”
“Mind over matter,” one of the residents said with a grin.
“Yes, something like that. What was the last mistake you made?” Sherrial glanced around the circle of women. No one spoke. A few fidgeted, as though restless.
Candi lifted a shoulder after a few more minutes. “Let’s see the last mistake. Gee, so many to choose from and so little time.” She grinned when the others laughed.
“Not anything trivial like getting on the wrong bus, Candi,” Sherrial said to head her off. She raised an eyebrow to punctuate her point.
“Okay, okay.” Candi sighed. “I trusted somebody I shouldn’t have. My sister. I keep thinking one of these days we can be family like normal people.”
“You want to tell us about it?” Sherrial prompted.
“Same old bull with her. I tell her to keep up with my car once I’m inside—prison, I mean.”
“Girl, you should have known better.” Another resident shook her head.
“I get out, right? First day I call Kaia. She’s stuttering, sure sign everything coming out her mouth is a damn lie. I still ain’t got a straight answer. All I know is my car is messed up. Maybe my old Chevy was a wreck, but still.” Candi tried to keep her tone light, but her voice got shaky. She brushed a hand over her face. ‘To hell with it. I’ll get another car one of these days.”
“It’s hard when family or someone close isn’t there for you,” Sherrial put in.
“Yeah. It’s like they oughta watch your back,” Tyeisha blurted out.
For the next thirty minutes they talked about having to cut ties with people who weren’t good for them. Monette could have spoken on both sides of the issue. There were people in her life she should have cut loose sooner. Winn Barron for sure. Maybe if she had seen that mean-as-a-snake look in his gray eyes sooner, she wouldn’t have been sitting in a halfway house. Then again, maybe she would have ended up in prison and trying to start over anyway. Her choices hadn’t been so great up until then. Monette also thought about her family. Although she hadn’t cut them out of her life, she sure kept them at a distance, Tyeisha’s voice, raised in anger, cut into her spiral of self-pity.
“You leave my mama outta this.” Tyeisha glared at Yarva.
“Aw, hell,” Yarva replied and waved a hand to dismiss her anger. She glanced at Sherrial. “I thought we were supposed to express ourselves in here.”
“Tyeisha has a right to say that subject is off limits,” Sherrial replied.
“That’s right,” Monette added and stared at Yarva.
“Still, Yarva has a point. We can’t move forward if we don’t face facts, Tyeisha,” Sherrial prodded gently. “Yarva didn’t say anything about Wanda that you haven’t shared with us.”
“Exactly. I know more about mama drama than any of y’all. Growing up in foster care ain’t no joke.” Yarva’s neck muscles tightened.
Candi stole a quick peek in Monette’s direction. “It’s not all bad, I hear.”
“Must have been from somebody who didn’t live through it. I had six foster mothers. All of ’em beat the hell out of me and never stop saying I was trash. At least the third one I lived with didn’t have sons or a husband to hold me down and—” Yarva beat on her thigh with a fist.
Monette thought about Talia. She had never talked with Talia about her experiences in foster care. Talia had more than a few good reasons to cut Monette out of her life. “We haven’t talked about something,” Monette cut in. “What about us?”
“Huh?” Tyeisha blinked at her.
“Yeah, I don’t understand,” Candi said.
“We could be the ones that someone else should let go. Haven’t we done things to hurt other people?” Monette crossed her arms tightly against her chest. “I’m thinking about it from that angle. There could be good reasons why we’ve lost somebody.” Tyeisha shook her head hard enough to make her dreadlocks bounce. “No. I’m going to turn my life around so my mama and my little girl won’t turn me away.” Her bottom lip trembled.
“Yeah,” another woman said softly. “I couldn’t keep goin’ if my kids didn’t want to see me.”
“Then take it from me and work like hell to stop disappointing them.” Monette stopped there. She couldn’t have said more, because her throat contracted from the effort not to cry. Tyeisha grabbed Monette’s hand and squeezed it
Chapter 6
The next day Monette went to Second Chances again. In a short two hours, Danica persuaded Monette that she was needed more than ten hours a week. Monette agreed to help her start a new program. Both their problems were solved. Danica didn’t have the budget to hire an assistant, and Monette would earn valuable community service hours even faster. Surprisingly, Monette found she enjoyed the vitality and spunk of the teenage girls. Still, by the end of her first week at Second Chances, Monette was happy for the weekend. Between preparing for her weekly talk show and the intense pace Danica set, she was worn out. Coming up with quality guests for the talk show proved to be a challenge. She and her producer had to weed out those who needed to be committed from those committed to a legitimate cause. Monette marveled at how even her low-watt celebrity brought out the weirdoes and scam artists.
Saturday morning after breakfast, she sat on the back patio with several of her housemates. Candi and the rest of the women were weak from laughter at Monette’s account of some of the characters she’d met.
“This one guy seemed okay, you know?” Monette shook her head slowly. “He’s got this idea that Marcus Garvey was right. Black Americans need to get our behinds back to Africa. I’m thinking this is going to hit the air like automatic gunshots.”
“Damn right,” Candi broke in before she could go on. “First, I wouldn’t even know which country to go to. I don’t know where my people came from over there.”
“Yeah, well it don’t matter to me. If I can ship off my ex-husband. I’ll just close my eyes and put my finger on the map,” another resident joked, pointing her cigarette at Candi to emphasize her sincerity.
“Girl, you’re crazy.” Lenore held her second cup of coffee as she giggled. “Wait a minute. Maybe I’ll sign up my ex-boyfriend.”
“Ain’t he from Mexico?” Tyeisha nudged Lenore with an elbow.
“Don’t matter. I’ll bribe whoever I need to and get that bum a spot on the plane,” Lenore shot back. The women howled with laughter.
“So what happened with this guy? Sounds like that woulda been a good show. I might have taken a break from work to call in.” Candi looked at Monette.
“He started out talking real rational. We’re all into it, right? Then suddenly he says he’s the reincarnation of Marcus Garvey and Sojourner Truth. He starts shouting that they’ve waited for generations to rescue our people. But we’ve got to keep it quiet Seems the CIA has been following him around,” Monette whisper
ed.
“I knew that back-to-Africa stuff was nuts for a reason,” Candi said and doubled over with laughter.
“Don’t joke about it, Candi. My Tante Ree says spirits come back to bring messages all the time,” Tyeisha said, her eyes wide as she nodded. “That ain’t just superstition, either.”
“Tyeisha, don’t let nobody else hear you repeat that Bayou Blue superstitious crap.” Candi rolled her eyes. “Like I said, that stuff is crazy.”
“Now wait a minute. The brother may be a little different, but leaving behind this oppression sounds good to me,” Cynthia, a black woman with multiple check-fraud convictions, put in.
“Girl, please. You’re American. You’d do better to work on getting your act together on home turf,” Candi said. Her words ignited a hot debate on the topic of ethnic pride and labels.
Arguments flew around her as Monette sat listening. After a few minutes she said, “Maybe I should have a show on this after all. I just have to find a sane guest.”
“That sure would help,” Candi replied with another bark of laughter.
Yarva came outside. She strolled up with both hands in the pockets of her jeans. “Everybody is having a real good time, I see.”
“Monette has some funny stories. Wait till you hear.” Tyeisha looked at Monette. “Go on. Tell her.”
“Guess you get that sense of humor from your mama. She’s got some real good stories about you.” Yarva nodded back toward the house.
“What?” Monette frowned at her.
“She’s inside. Came over to visit and brought a ‘friend.’ Hope I’m that lively at her age.” Yarva wore a smirk. She knew the other women would relish a chance at fresh gossip.
“I better go inside.” Monette stood. She hated surprises, especially the kind her family liked to spring on her.
“Take your time. Mama is enjoyin’ a chat with Trudy.” Yarva’s smirk grew wider at the effect her words were having on Monette. “Yeah, Trudy loves workin’ a weekend every now and then to meet any relatives that stop by.”
Monette shot Yarva a stony look as she walked by her. She balled both hands into fists as Yarva’s laugh scraped across her nerve endings. Without looking back, Monette went inside and walked quickly toward the living room. A familiar, loud, throaty voice greeted her when she approached the door. Monette stopped several feet down the hall and steeled herself for anything.
“Nette, that’s what I called her since she was two. Anyway, Nette was a handful even when she was a little thing. You probably figured out I started havin’ babies young, at fourteen.” Annabelle paused to let out a smoker’s cough.
“I see,” Trudy replied in a prim tone that implied she was exercising restraint
Monette imagined the expression on Trudy’s face. She would have laughed at the mental picture if Annabelle had been someone else’s mother. Even so, Monette tried to shrug off Annabelle’s antics. After all these years it was past time that she not let her mother get under her skin. Monette forced her hands to relax. By the time she got to the living room, Monette wore what she hoped was an unruffled expression.
“Hey, Mama.” Monette smiled at Annabelle. Her mouth felt stiff when she looked at Annabelle’s outfit
114Lynn Smelly
Her mother sprang up from the upholstered chair with some trouble. She wobbled on high-heeled yellow sandals for a few minutes. A tall man, who looked younger than her mother by twelve years at least, stood quickly and grabbed Annabelle by one arm.
“Thank you, Waylon. Lost my balance for a bit.” Annabelle looked at Monette and spread her arms wide. “Come here and give your mama a hug. Been a long time.”
“Yeah, real long,” Monette said. Her mother had only visited her a few times over the years and not at all in the five years before she was released. Still, she accepted the hug.
“You know I didn’t have reliable transportation. Couldn’t count on your brothers to bring me. Anyway, I’m here now. Came to see my famous daughter. Waylon, I told you all about Monette. When you gonna have that movie deal, sugar?” Annabelle flashed a smile that was still pretty despite her age.
Monette gazed at her mother’s perfect teeth, one of which had a gold crown. One of Annabelle’s previous boyfriends had paid for those. Leonard something. Or was it Larry? They blended together in Monette’s memory after so many years. Annabelle snapped her fingers and brought Monette back to the scene before her.
“Hey, girl. You just drifted off on some cloud. I said when … oh, never mind about that Guess she’s got a lot on her mind. This is my friend, Waylon Harris.” Annabelle grinned at him.
“Nice to meet you,” Monette said as she took his outstretched hand and shook it His palm was smooth. Waylon hadn’t done any rough manual labor recently.
“Nice meeting you, too,” he replied. “All your mama talks about is how you beat the system and got paid doin’ it. That’s all right” Waylon nodded in appreciation. His hair was styled in a fade. He wore a forest green knit shirt and tan pants.
“Thanks. What brings you to town, Mama?” Monette ignored the subtle message he sent with a lift of one eyebrow.
“I came to see you, of course. Rita told me she talked to you. I’m sorry I didn’t call you or come sooner. I work part-time sitting with old people,” Annabelle explained as an aside to Trudy.
“I thought you were retired,” Trudy said dryly.
“What you talkin’ about I don’t have enough age on me to retire. The pension I get is from my first husband. He was a lot older than me.” Annabelle shot a side glance at Waylon.
Monette gave a short laugh. Annabelle’s eyes narrowed for a few seconds when she faced Monette, and then she smiled. “I’m doing fine, Mama,” Monette smiled back. “Thanks for coming by.”
“Didn’t mean to just drop in unannounced, though. We were headed to Lafayette to a new seafood place, but I thought might as well come to Baton Rouge and take you out to lunch. If that ain’t against some rule.” Annabelle turned to Trudy.
“Not at all. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Victor,” Trudy said and stood.
“Thank you, ma’am. Now if she acts up, you call me and I’ll get on her.” Annabelle laughed at her own joke.
Trudy stretched her mouth into a polite smile. “Right. Y’all have a nice time.”
Monette watched her leave, and then faced her mother again. “Don’t let me spoil your date, Mama. We can get together another time. Maybe you’ll come back with Rita or one of the boys,” she said, referring to one of Monette’s half brothers.
“Don’t be silly, girl. We made a big U-turn just to see you.” Annabelle draped an arm across Monette’s shoulders.
Waylon gazed at Monette for a second, then cleared his throat. “Listen, you two need some one-on-one time after so many years of being apart. Why don’t I come back in, say, an hour or so?”
“What you gonna do for an hour? Now, that would be just plain rude to toss you aside like that.” Annabelle let go of Monette with a frown. She seemed nervous about letting him out of her sight.
“I’ve got some buddies that live here. I can go hang out with them. One of ’em owns a barbershop on Thirteenth Street. Y’all spend some quality time. I’ll be back around eleven-thirty or twelve to pick you up.” Waylon fished a set of car keys out of his pants pocket “Matter of fact, hit me on the cell phone, Annabelle. I won’t be far off.”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Annabelle blinked hard as she looked at him. She seemed to be the one who was unsure.
“No problem, no problem.” He gestured for Annabelle to follow him. After a whispered exchange, Annabelle slipped him several folded bills. He stuffed them into his pocket quickly, and then grinned at Monette. “Next time we gonna take you out to eat for sure.”
“Humph.” Monette watched him head for the door. Waylon disappeared quickly, making Monette think he was grateful to get away. From Annabelle’s expression, it was clear she thought so, too.
Annabelle gazed after him for a
few moments, and then recovered her brilliant smile as she faced Monette again. “Now what we gonna do? Sit here or take a walk?”
“Sure you can walk in those?” Monette pointed to the sandals her mother wore.
“Since it’s just you and me now, loan me a pair of comfortable shoes. I got to take a rest from looking cute since Waylon is gone.” Annabelle chuckled at her own vanity.
“I thought so. Lucky for you we both wear a size seven. Be right back.”
Monette went upstairs. She found a pair of soft walking shoes in her closet and joined her mother. Annabelle chattered on about small-town gossip from back home. She sighed with relief when she took off the sandals. Once she’d slipped on the leather walking shoes, they went out on the porch. Monette led the way toward a small downtown park a couple of blocks away. Late spring sunshine made the day bright. Both women put on sunglasses.
“So anyway, I told Vada that she needed to quit bailing her son out She’ll be an old lady eatin’ cat food and that boy will be back in jail again anyway. Oh, and some of your old friends said to tell you hi.” Annabelle finally ran out of steam. “But enough about them crazy folks in Rougon. Tell me what’s goin’ on with you.”
“Nothing much more than Rita probably told you. I’m doing community service work at a local program and a radio show,” Monette said as they stopped on a corner. The light signaled that it was safe for them to cross. “Let’s sit over there.”
“I haven’t been downtown in Baton Rouge for a long time. Not since I went to court with your brother back in eighty-nine.” Annabelle fanned her face.
North Boulevard had two lanes on either side of a landscaped area in the middle. Monette pointed to a set of wooden benches beneath a set of huge oak trees. The small park sat in the middle of North Boulevard. A red brick path cut through the middle of the grass. Sparse traffic flowed on either side of the urban refuge. Annabelle collapsed onto the bench with a sigh.
“Got your own radio show. That’s somethin’. Bet that Winn Barron breaks out in a sweat when he hears your name. He’s the one should be in prison for setting you up. Not that I didn’t try to warn you about him. Must have been out of your mind.” Annabelle managed to criticize Barron and throw Monette’s past in her face in one breath.
