by lesley,allyn
“Each of us made our family perfect.” Ma slips up her hands to cover my pulsing heart.
“I can admit that now, but back then...” Back then, all I felt was fear. Fear that what they were willing to share with me wouldn’t last. Back then, it was hard to believe the genuineness in front of my eyes.
“I should’ve done things differently,” Ma says. “Maybe did a few weekend visits first, you know? Eased you into the idea of being with us gradually.”
That probably would’ve been better, but who’s to know? I was a closed off seventeen-year-old boy who’d seen too much, too early in his life, who didn’t talk. “Nah. I probably would’ve fought you tooth and nail. Did things on purpose to make you give up on me.” That’s not an easy thing to share, but it’s the truth. I was suspicious of everything back then.
Ma sniffs.
Shit. “You’re not crying are you?”
She sniffs again. “No. It’s hot in here. My eyes are sweating.”
“I’m sorry this is all painful for you to hear.” And, I am. She’s been nothing but genuine to me; they’ve all been.
“It’s not a walk through the park, Dyllan, but I want to hear what you felt. I saw you at Blair and just wanted to rescue you, but I never really gave much thought about how you’d take it. For that, I’m sorry, son. I saw a glimpse of how deeply you were hurt when we showed you your room.”
“You remember how EC and JC tried to help me with my bag?” There’s a lightness now to my words. Not so much back then.
“You held on so tight to that strap, and looked like you were two seconds from punching them if they dared approach you.”
“That ratty duffel bag had everything in the world that was mine.” I wasn’t letting anyone touch my shit. I kept that bag packed and ready to go for more than two years, just in case. “I never apologized to them for being so... so...” I shake my head, reflecting on my younger self, who was overflowing in repressed anger, hurt, and silence.
“You boys show Dyllan the lay of the land, and we’ll have dinner in thirty minutes. Okay?” Anna said this as she looked at the three of us before walking away with the man.
“You coming?” EC asked.
I nodded just as they both turned around and ran up the steps as though they owned them, and I guess they did, since it was their house. My heart was beating super-fast, and my hands were clammy. What if I broke something expensive of theirs? What if I went inside and liked it too much, but this ‘foster family’ didn’t like me? With each stair I climbed, the louder my stomach rolled around in fear.
EC and JC didn’t press me to talk as they headed toward the front door. Following at a slower pace, I reminded myself to breathe. When we got inside, I realized these people had money, like, for real money. None of my other foster parents lived in houses. And, before this ACS bullshit, the only thing I was used to were the tall, gray, concrete buildings that made up The Spry, the housing project I called home for a long time.
A whistle pulled me up short. EC had his hand on a silver knob then twisted it. He thumbed inside. “This is my room.” From where I was, I saw the back of a New York Yankees jersey with ‘Jeter’ hung up on the wall above his bed.
“I hope the Yankees take the World Series this year. I’m tired of us losing,” he told me before closing the door. He walked a few steps before opening another door. “This is—”
JC pushed between us. “This is me. If you borrow my shit, put it back.” I took a quick peek inside. It was like a shrine to Bob Marley, with posters all over. A guitar on a stand was off to the side of his bed.
“Don’t let Ma hear you cursing like this fool, Dyllan. He has a death wish, apparently.” We left JC in his room and walked to a closed door. “How old are you, by the way?”
I exhaled.
“Okay, the silent type. I like that. Me and JC are seventeen.” He opened the door. “This is yours, bro.”
My heart had begun to race again at what he called me. Only one other person ever gave me a nickname, but she wasn’t around.
“Nice, huh?” JC asked me, joining us in the hallway.
Even if I’d wanted to talk, I couldn’t. I stepped inside and the room was just so...
“Do you like it?”
I turned around, and there was Anna in the doorway. The last time I’d had my own bedroom was back in ’94... ten fucking years ago. I blinked, thinking this would all vanish like a poof of air. I couldn’t believe her, couldn’t believe this. I was seeing and standing inside a genuine room that was all mine.
“Excuse us, boys.”
“Lata, bro,” EC said.
“On the flip side, bro.” JC threw me a peace sign.
I jerked my chin forward at them. It was the most I could do. And, that was a big step, at least for me. Being around these strange people, I had to remember to breathe, but my lungs were so full and my heart felt like it was about to bust open. They were unreal, like out of a storybook, and I swore the walls were about to cave in on top of me.
I couldn’t look at Anna any longer. She looked so... so hurt. Like I was doing the opposite of what she expected. I faced the big bed with its simple blue sheet.
“I didn’t know your favorite color, so I got that. But, if you don’t like it, we’ll switch it. You and me.”
I looked at her suspiciously then up at the large, wooden ‘D’ letter right above the bed. No one had done anything nice for me in a really, really long time. Not without being paid by New York City, that is, and even then, nice meant crappy food and crammed in a room I had to share.
Anna sat on the bed. “This is all yours for as long as you want it to be.”
It was like she was in my head, and I didn’t like it. Before I could get aggravated, she smiled, and it was pure and reminded me of MeMaw.
“Come on. Test out the bed.” She patted a place beside her. “Chuck and I bought it the day before your birthday, because we thought you’d be here with us.”
I walked slowly to her, plunking down on the soft mattress. It hit me how tired I was, tired of it all. This bed—hell, this place—made me never want to leave. I took a big whiff, liking the clean, laundry smell. At Blair, the room I shared with four other boys always had that funky corn chips and toe jam scent that never went away.
“We’ll get along fine, Dyllan. You’ll see, son.”
Son?
I backed away from her hand just in time. It was like she was about to hug me, and I wasn’t down with that. No way.
Anna’s smile didn’t reach her pale blue eyes. In fact, she seemed sad again. “Baby steps, yes?”
Fear grabbed at my heart and had my breathing coming out in short puffs.
“Welcome home.”
Then, my breathing wasn’t so funny anymore.
Chapter Eight
We’re sitting outside the old Sterling building on the bench EC, JC, and I used to chill on as teens. The trees nearby give us a welcomed breather from the summer heat.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go inside? It’s cooler, the view is better, and the seats are plush,” I tell Ma, like she doesn’t know about Sterling’s new state-of-the-art amenities.
“Have you changed your mind?” At my silence, she drags a long breath through her teeth. “Then, I’m not going anywhere. Until then, you’re stuck with this old lady.”
I peek up at the sun still sitting high in the sky. “I don’t mind celebrating my birthday with an older woman.” I chuckle when she sniffs at my backward compliment.
“We’ve gotten along fine for the past nine years, haven’t we, son?”
What do I say to the only mother who’s raised and loved me as her own?
“Yeah, Ma.”
She gets a determined look on her face, and I can only guess where this is heading, because with her, you just never know.
“What’s your name?”
“Ma.”
“Don’t Ma me. What’s your name?” she demands.
I can tell this is one battl
e I’ll be waving my white flag of surrender at soon. Chuck had told me he ran things at the house, and that day Ma had let him have his lie. But, having been around her as long as I have, her intent is clear. There’s more lines at the corners of her eyes now than in 2004, but she’s still the same headstrong woman. She’s going to make me say it out loud, too. Fuck. I rub the grimace from my face I always wear anytime she pulls this shit.
“I’m waiting,” Ma says, reminding me I still owe her a response.
I groan then mumble, “My name is Dyllan Sterling.”
“I couldn’t hear you.” Her hand cups an ear.
“It’s Dyllan Sterling.”
“And what do I always tell you?”
“Ma,” I plead. Saying my name is one thing, but damn me, if she’s not pushing it.
She taps my cheek as if trying to wake me up or knock some sense into me. Rather than saying anything else, she waits.
“Family is forever,” I grumble in her direction.
“Louder, son. Say it louder.”
Naked, unconditional love—at me, and for me—swirls in the depths of her comforting eyes. It’s mind-blowing and knocks the wind out of my lungs. Every single time. And, probably always will.
“Family is forever,” I repeat, touching where the cursive tattoo marks my skin at the same time she traces where she has the same etchings on the inside of her left wrist.
“That’s right. Family, Dyllan Sterling, is forever. And, right now, your family needs you.”
The back of my hand grazes her cheek as I wipe away a tear that’s leaked onto it. It took me a long time to let them, but eventually, the Sterlings showed me the real meaning of these words.
There are a few quick raps on my door.
“Bro, you have twenty minutes,” EC’s bass-like voice came through my door. “Let’s haul ass.” He whispered the last word, because if Anna caught him using that language, there’d be hell to pay.
I shoved a pillow over my ear, closing my eyes and wishing summer back. When my alarm went off again, I knew that was a pipe dream, and it was time for me to get up for my junior year at a new high school.
“Dyllan.”
I don’t answer.
“I know you’re up.”
Sometimes, it was hard for me to believe I’d lived with the Sterlings for over a year. Each night, I pinched myself to remind me this was now my life, even though I had a packed bag under my bed just in case this whole deal went south. Last year, Anna and Chuck had gone toe-to-toe with the school district, who wanted me put me in special education and tried to make me repeat tenth grade. Chuck was quick to tell administrators who tried to give me flack, “He’ll talk when he has something to say.”
“Dyllan, I’m getting old waiting on you,” Anna teased.
I grinned at her lame joke. That was the other thing about the Sterlings: they weren’t sending me to doctors to figure out why I hadn’t talked. All of them had let me be, included me in all their conversations, and didn’t seem to care I didn’t respond to them.
I finally opened the door, and Anna’s face was right there.
“I didn’t think you’d get up when EC came to the door. So, this is me telling you to get up. Breakfast is in ten minutes.” She sauntered down the hall, whistling. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was glad summer was over. When she punched the air above her head, I knew she was plum stoked all us kids would be out of here and back in school.
Thirty minutes later, the twins and I were on the bus and headed toward high school. Out the window, we passed a fair number of corner stores, where a kid like me could buy a 40-ounce and a loosie if they knew what to say. The neighborhood wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t the suburbs either. It was a typical working class setting. Chuck busted his ass at his mechanic shop so he could afford family vacations to the Jersey Shore or Disneyworld, and to buy Anna “’cause I love you” roses every now and then. Now, I knew the Sterlings didn’t have ‘for real money’.
The first day of my junior year had gone by without a hitch, and before long, the leaves on the trees changed from summer green to burnt orange and crimson that were all over the ground. The corridors were decorated with flyers about the school’s upcoming Halloween dance that’d be happening in a few days.
“Who are you going as, silent boy?”
I ignored the annoying voice that was too close to my ear.
“Are you deaf on top of being dumb?” He snickered.
I heard chuckles, so I knew he had an audience. I took a step to walk away, but was pushed backward into my locker. The metal grated my skin through my shirt. Shit had been going smooth sailing at home and school. I didn’t want to fuck it up by doing anything stupid, so I raised my hands like I was backing away.
“Look at the punk,” he said.
All around us, there were oohs and aahs. Had this been two years ago, my fist would’ve already been in this kid’s mouth, knocking him smooth out. But, all I wanted to do was go to math class. I looked at his hand that gripped my right shoulder and pinned me to the locker.
He came close to my face. “I bet you’d go as a fairy or some shit, wouldn’t you?”
His face fired up brighter than a burning building at my silence.
“The Sterlings are real stupid to take a mute, shit head like you as their charity case. Look at you, all scrawny, with your weird eyes and Jew fro.” A few speckles of spit hit my jaw.
Before I knew what was happening, I was pummeling his face.
“Fight! Fight!”
I ducked under his incoming punch, and landed one of my own to his side. Then, his friends jumped in, but even outnumbered, I was hell bent on bashing the idiot’s head into white meat. Through the fray, I caught a glimpse of EC and JC’s heads coming toward us, with fists clenched and red faces. As soon as they got to where I was, all hell broke loose, with JC, EC, and I trading punches and jabs with anyone who came in front of us.
“Stop!”
I was in the middle of teaching a lesson about loose lips landing you in fucked up situations, when I felt hands dragged me off the idiot. But, I slipped from the hold and headed for the asshole again, who was on the floor like a broken ragdoll.
“All right, break it up.”
This time, the hands were stronger and pulled me back, but I broke free again.
Two synced voices yelled out, “Bro, stop!”
And, I did. Huffing and puffing, there was a tightness in my chest and my knuckles were burning. I un-balled my fists, dropping my hands to my sides. As I was ushered past everyone who stayed to watch, I overheard one person’s whisper.
“It’s always the quiet ones who turn out to be the killers. I bet he’ll be in jail by the time we graduate.”
“That was a bad day for me.” I hang my head in shame. Ma has heard this story before, but never in such detail, at least not from me. She and Chuck never understood what set me off, or the reason for my determination to go after that teen.
“Whew.” Ma takes a breath. “I-I knew it had to have been something. I thought he said something about your mother—”
“He did. He called you stupid. No one talks badly about you, about the rest of my family, and live to tell about it. That’s why that punk spent two weeks in the hospital.” My entire body is on fire, and it has nothing to do with the sweltering, July heat. “I wish I’d—”
Ma’s hand covers my fist, working it loose then linking our fingers together. “Son, I’m glad you stood up for us, but...” She sounds like she’s at a loss for words. “Long after, EC told me that day became known as Bloody Tuesday. Is that true?”
“Yeah.” I used to be proud I was part of Bronx Science’s history until it was a question on the Trivia Game printed in my yearbook when I graduated.
“I never apologized to you,” she whispers.
Now I’m confused. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I made a bad decision that day.”
She clucks her tongue. “I’m sorry for believing you boys were th
e instigators. You all took the blame, and never corrected your father and me. All these years, I thought...”
“It’s water under the bridge.” I was a tough shit back then. Still am, in most ways. EC and JC never knew what that kid said, and I kept it to myself. I remember Chuck and Ma sharing their disappointment, grounding us, because we were suspended from school. “I went to my room just knowing you and Chuck were done with me. That you’d send me back to Blair.”
“Oh, son.” Tears glisten her cheeks. “I’d never... we never, ever thought that. Oh, my God. Is that why you were crying that night?”
I stay silent. No man wants a reminder of their mother catching them vulnerable and crying, even if it was when they were a child.
“Do you remember what happened, Dyllan?”
I do.
I’ll never forget.
“I heard the muffled sounds through your door, and even though I was mad, I took a chance and went inside.”
Ma had crawled into my bed. She kept her distance until finally one of her hands curved around my shoulder. And for the first time since living with the Sterlings, I let her mother me.
“I’d lived you with guys all that time—”
“One year,” she reminds me.
One year of living in their home, eating with them, and sometimes cracking smiles in their direction, they all respected my personal space to not be touched. But that evening, I let Ma hold me. And, as she’d wrapped her arm around my lanky body, her tears had matted my hair. She was able to touch me, comfort me, and I didn’t pull away.
“I held my son for the first time.” She grips my hand, dragging my gaze from the concrete and onto her oval face, which is soft with love and contentment. “And you’re my son, and Chuck’s too. That’s why he wants to leave his company in good hands.”
“Ma...” I know I sound like a whiny kid, and not a man who’s twenty-five years old.
