BOMAW 7-9

by Mercedes Keyes

  Sylvia did as he said, snuggling in close to him, her hand over his side as they wrapped arms and legs all loving and close. Shawn's hand stroked up and down her back, pausing from time to time on her ample hips, and rounded rear. She'd given up. It wasn't like she was dying to know. But she had to give it a try for the sake of trying. That way she could tell Sheila, Queen Nosy, that she'd tried.

  "You do know, that once this is all over. I'm going to have to really—really buckle down. I'm getting behind on work. Something I can't afford to do."

  "You that behind?" She asked.

  "Emmm, it's not major, yet...but if they should sign on any more authors, it could get hectic."

  "I see. That why you're considering the other out building?"

  "Yeah."

  "I think they should do that first then. Before the house. This way, it will free up the room in the basement, and give you a place to work—away from everything going on here. I promise, no one will disturb you there."

  "So, it's okay with you? You think it's a good idea?"

  "Yeah...fact is, I'd much rather that, than the new house. I can see the need for it. The kids and I—will know that once you're there—you're at work."

  "I agree that it should go up first, then the house. I've already drawn up plans. It will be comprised of four rooms. Front lobby/waiting room. My office. Photography Studio, for taking portrait photos and the other room, my paint studio."

  "One more room—bathroom, toilet and sink." Sylvia inserted.

  "Ah, yes, so right, wifey...a public bathroom."

  "You might consider a changing room off of one of the studios as well. When I had my portrait done, she had a really nice room to change into costumes, to freshen make-up and prepare yourself, away from the bathroom and waiting room. If you're going to be set up professionally, you need a changing room." Sylvia now yawned.

  Shawn smiled, leaning down to kiss her brow. "Listen at you. That will cost more money." He pointed out.

  "That's different, babe. That's going to be where you do your thing. It should be done right. So—six rooms. One can even be created by a simple partition."

  "True."

  "We need integrated business phones for the house and there. If you're with a client, you can't be answering the phone. If I'm home, you can just push a button when you have someone you're doing, and the calls will come to the house. I can answer them while you're busy."

  "There's always answering machines."

  "No...when we're starting out, someone needs to answer. No one likes answering machines. They need to speak to a person. So I'll do that. If business really picks up, and you have a full book, we'll get someone in there for you. In the time being, I'll be your receptionist when you're with a client."

  "Wow...have you been thinking about it?"

  "Yes, I have. I've been working on brochures for the Bed and Breakfast, a web site as well. We should also start thinking about that for you. Cards, Brochures, web site. Register with the phone company with an add in the yellow pages. We need to get busy. Because, so far, we're doing more spending than earning. After this—it's back to business. Hardcore, I'm cracking the whip on you." Sylvia smiled.

  Shawn chuckled. "Yes, ma'am! The boss has spoken. God—I love you."

  "Good. Now get to sleep. We get through this weekend, and it's buckle-down time. And—I love you, too. More and more each day. I swear I do, Shawn. Nothing and no one, means more to me than you. That's for real."

  Shawn squeezed her close, squeezing his eyes in supplicant prayer and thanks to the glorious heavens above. Finally...his world was, as it should be. Complete, and to him, perfect—because he had the woman of his dreams by his side.

  * * *

  "You know, this is really cool. Us being together like this. I was glad to hear about it. I'm not sure what it's going to be like when I'm off to training camp." DJ sat with his siblings from his own mother, and with the two whom he shared a biological father with. Marcus and Luis beside him, Mundo and Crystal across from him. The others were all in the tents, finally sleeping. There was a campfire burning, all took turns feeding the flames.

  Marcus was getting choked up. Although he and DJ were half brothers, they were extremely close. He had always looked up to him. All through school, there had been many comments about them, the McPherson brothers, one looking white, the other looking more black. One a basketball star, the other a football star—running back. They'd received envy and admiration. Ridicule and praise. Marcus was more fiery-tempered than DJ. DJ was more like their father, oddly enough. He wasn't so quick to react to negative comments unless it was directed at his mother, or his father. Second scenario, if someone messed with his siblings. Otherwise, people could call him names, ridicule him all they wanted to. He'd withstood many episodes of being labeled a nigger. When it happened, he would just smile and wink at them.

  His grades were immaculate. His game, plays, moves—sweet.

  Marcus loved him. Looked up to him. Regardless of what others said, they were whole brothers. As much as he was getting to know and like Mundo and Crystal, he was at times a bit jealous. Because now, he had to share his hero, his older brother with them. They were just as much a part of him, as he was. Half...like him. They shared many of his features, in fact, he looked like he belonged more to them as a sibling, than to his father's children. Marcus wished he was as dark as them. Curly hair like Luis, and darker skin. While Marcus knew that he tanned dark, it wasn't enough. There were a million other white boys who could tan. Marcus wanted to look more Spanish, or black. He didn't want to look like a tanned white boy. All those times when his brother was tormented, called nigger, he'd wanted so badly to look as he did. He wanted so badly, to bare the burden, to share the load of what he'd been labeled, because of his hair texture and skin tone. When it happened, he would explode and attack. How many times had DJ pulled him off of white boys who'd dared to say such things to his brother, calling him that ugly horrific name! He hated it. Wished that he could share that load, but the load was not his to bare, yet—bare it he did. While his features didn't reflect what he felt himself, his walk did, and he talked the talk. His voice, his manner of speech, like DJ's. Marcus didn't sound white. In fact, to hear him speak for the first time, stunned some white and black. For that reason, the girls were all over him. Black and white. He'd already made up his mind, when time to settle down came. It would be to a black or Spanish woman. More than likely, she—whomever she was, would be Spanish, like his mother.

  "Man...I swear, we gone try our hardest to be at every game! No lie, dawg! Ain't that right, Crystal?" This from Mundo.

  "Yeah, I wish we could make plans to be at all your games, wouldn't that be cool?" Crystal added. Marcus looked up then, brought out of his musings. "We should do something, get with our parents, see if they can swing it. I wanna be at all the games." Marcus contributed.

  "Little brother, you've got your own career to build." DJ reminded him.

  "I know, but, I wanna be there for you."

  "Just don't miss a game, I'll be expecting you all to watch." He smiled at them all.

  Crystal nodded, she was preoccupied and tired. Thinking about her boys, thinking about their father.

  "Man, for sho'! And, bro', you got to bring'em in to the Superbowl! 'Cause, man, you get them there—we gone be there, for every game! You can believe that!" Mundo went on to reassure. It was nice to sit and have this time before they all got carried away with the summer and then the fall school year. Mundo sat looking over everyone. He felt apart of this. A part of the McPherson clan. The blood may not run through his veins, but he would make his father proud of him.

  Shawn Everett McPherson

  That he would. He would show them, that he was made of better stuff, than the man who was his biological father. He sat watching DJ laugh and joke with Crystal, with Marcus, and Luis. He didn't know how lucky he was. They'd talked before, with him bringing up how he wished he'd met his real father.

  Mundo had sha
ken his head. Telling him, "No, man, be happy you never did. Trust me, I know...he wasn't shit. I'm just gone be straight with you. I ain't like nothin' about him. All he ever do for me, with me, was to smack me upside the head and ask,'Nigga' what the fuck you lookin' at? Take yo' ass to bed'!"

  Yeah, he was the lucky one, Mundo reflected back, remembering his mother's reaction.

  "Why do you talk to them that way? Every time you get to drinking that beer, you turn into this! If that's the only way you know to talk to my kids, don't say nothin' to them!"

  "Tell them don't say shit t'me! Shit! Standin' up here starin' at me."

  "If you didn't want kids, Armundo, why'd you get me pregnant? If you didn't want a family, why'd you push me to marry you?"

  "If you don't want my size 10 up yo'ass, you betta' get the fuck out my face!"

  He and Crystal were standing in their bedroom, by the door, listening to them, growing scared as the moments went by. Both of them praying, 'Mama don't say nothin' else. Shhh, mama, shhh mama...please, mama, don't say nothin' else.'

  "If you don't wanna be their father, if you don't wanna be here, just leave! Just get the hell outta my life! Just go somewhere—"

  "Say one more word! One more goddamn word! I'mo tenderize yo'goddamn ass, like a steak I'm bought to cook!"

  He remembered cracking open their door, he and Crystal staring out of it at their mother. All three eyes making contact. Theirs pleading, the message was clear. 'Don't say anything, mama. Don't...'

  Mundo watched his mother. Saw her deep breathing, saw her struggling not to say another word. But it was too late. Too much had already been said. He saw her turn away. Saw her at the sink trying to finish cleaning up. His eyes went to his father, who finished his 12th or 13th beer. Watched him crush the can. Watched him stand up and walk into the kitchen. Up behind their mother. Standing over her. Breathing down on her.

  "Got anything else to say? Hm? Wanna talk some more shit?! Hm? Eh!" He saw his father push her arm, Mundo felt his stomach cramp up, knot up tight. Mundo felt his chest grow full. Felt his heart in his chest. Felt it start to beat so hard, it hurt. It always happened, before the struggle, the tug-a-war to the bedroom, where he would slam the door, push her around, and do things to her, things that made her cry out in pain, that lead to her sobbing, and then him—after awhile, saying he was sorry. He and Crystal always rushed to the door, listening in, making sure he wasn't killing her this time. But he wasn't, no—not killing her, he would be doing something else to her by then. Having sex. He knew that's what the other noises were. Because Crystal had told him so. He'd asked her when they went back to their room. Him up in the top bunk, her in the bottom.

  "What he doin' to her now?"

  "Having sex with her!"

  "Sex?"

  "Yeah."

  "What's having sex?"

  "Shut up and go to sleep."

  "Is she gonna be okay?" He remembered asking.

  Crystal didn't answer, not right away—but when they grew quiet in the other room, she always whispered, "I'm gonna kill him one day. Kill him dead. As dead as he can be."

  Mundo sighed deep. Thank God, he already was.

  They sat up, late into the night. Laughing, talking—reflecting. Happy. Tomorrow, the barbecue. With that in mind, Crystal rose and left them all, heading for the house, and to bed. Quietly, she walked in, knowing that Shawn and her mother were in bed, Sheila down the hall. She would miss Angela tonight. She liked sleeping with her, her presence took away the pains of being alone. She stripped down, climbed into bed. As she lay there, she wondered how her boys were doing. Were they having fun with their father?

  Jeanine? She was after Victor with all her might. She could see it. Crystal lay in bed for the longest. Drinking should have made it so that she knocked right out. Not so. She was scared. She didn't want to lose her husband, but maybe—the battle was already over. As always, her mind went back to all the times she attacked him, without any true provocation. Her stomach hurt when she thought of it. She hated hitting. Hated violence. Yet—exhibited behavior of violence. Something in her roared to life so powerful, so overwhelming, that the sensations ripped through her system with a rush of adrenal energy, surging to life up through her arms, and out through her fingertips, forcing her to attack. A madness. A crazy uncontrollable rage. She saw red when the rage took over her.

  She sniffed, having just then realized that she was crying.

  She closed her eyes trying to go to sleep. But her mind was busy. Blinking, flashing, like a runaway projection at the movies. The film flipping, showing quick glimpses of scenes. In her mind, all of them violent. All of them screams. All of them sobbing. All of them with raised voices. All of them with crashes. All of them with contorted faces. Mouths stretched wide with shouts. His body rushing forward, his arms swinging, his fists making impact, his hands slapping, his eyes piercing.

  Crystal bolted up in the bed. Her arms wrapped around her stomach that hurt. Rocking. Rocking. Tears flowing.

  "Mama..." She called out softly at first. Then again, "Mama!" She covered her mouth. She had to stop this. Her mother was in bed, sleeping. Shawn was there. She sat and rocked, her mind flipping her back to a little girl rocking, then a woman rocking, a little girl rocking, a woman rocking.

  She stopped rocking and blew out a breath. Swiping her hand across her cheeks, under her eyes, to wiped away all tracks of her tears; she scooted back in the bed, pressed her back against the wall and sat there. She needed her boys. Her babies; her babies staved off this madness that caused her mental crashes, crashes that happened at times like these. Times when her life, and the curse of it, came down on her. She sat for moments, quiet. Eyes dry now. Finally, after 30 minutes of staring into space, she repeated the one thing, that would help close off the torments of her mind. It had become her mantra, her chant to ward off all evil. "I—hate—you—daddy. I hate you—with every beat of—my heart. If you weren't already dead—I'd kill you—kill you deader than dead...with all my strength and—all my—might."

  She closed her eyes, and all the turmoil dissolved. She smiled gently, sweetly. She slid down the wall, head on her pillow, and went straight to sleep, at peace.

  Chapter 173

  Everyone was sleeping.

  The only person that was up and about, the whole night through and that morning, was Jake. Even Dennis finally slipped off to sleep on him. He went into his sister's house, creeping quietly past his slumbering nieces, to use the bathroom. The sun was finally up. The pig was just about done. He would wake Dennis to help him lift it down to the lowest level, so the skin could crisp up in some places. After washing his hands, he came out of the bathroom, glanced back at his sleeping nieces again, he smiled. They'd kicked off the covers, were stretched out in odd angles, knocked out. He turned and made his way down the hallway to his room, quietly opening the door to look in.

  He stepped in, closed the door behind him, and stood there a moment gazing at his sleeping future.

  He chuckled softly, thinking of her and Shanna. They'd spent most of the night, peering out the window at him and Dennis, being silly and adorable, until the cop, Officer Collier dropped in late from smelling the smoke from their roasting pig. He'd said a few words to him and Dennis, and then walked back to the front to spend a bit of his time with Shanna. It seemed that he'd found a new outlet for his midnight breaks. Shanna. Eagerly, she left Vivian alone in the window talking to him and Dennis, while she went and sat on her front porch, talking to the officer that was positively smitten with her.

  As for Vivian, he'd told her last night, "Get out of that window, woman, get some sleep! I'll be waking you up to help—first thing!"

  "When are you going to get some sleep?" She'd asked.

  "Don't worry about me. I'm a night owl. Now get to bed."

  She'd sighed, gone back from his window, clicked his TV on, and laid there watching it, flicking channels. Every now and then, he'd come to the window, look in at her, and mutter, "Go to sleep, lil' g
irl!"

  "When are you going to sleep?" She'd ask back softly, her concern for him clear in her voice.

  "I'll be ah'right." He assured her.

  "Well, so will I."

  "Lil' girl..." He called to her.

  Vivian smiled, "Hm?"

  "I luv'ya."

  "I love you, too."

  He walked back to the spot where he and Dennis were stationed for the night. He'd done that several more times, until finally, he knew that she slept. Standing there, watching her, with the light from his TV illuminating her—he knew that it was true. He loved her.

  Now, he carefully climbed into the bed behind her. She slept facing the window he had come to, as if waiting for him to show. The TV was still on, playing softly. He put his arms around her, scooting his body up close. "Eh...eh, lil' girl...wake up." His finger gently pulled the hair from her face, so he could see it. A huge lump formed in his throat. Her injured hand was laying palm up. The gauze bandage was rolled on the edges and dirty. It needed cleaning and replacing. He reached over and lifted her hand to get a closer look. It had bled a bit, he wondered if from their rough play the day before.

  She sensed him there, and turned to her back. Still very drowsy with sleep. Struggling to wake up. Jake lay there enamored beyond his control. He brought her hand to his lips, and kissed her small knuckles. "Sweetie, wake up. Your hand needs seeing to. Needs cleaning and changing this bandage." He spoke to her as if she were awake. Vivian moaned, but couldn't open her eyes yet. She needed at least another hour or two. Jake smiled. Wondering if what he was feeling right then, was what Shawn felt when he gazed at Sylvia. If what he felt, was what Derrick felt with Meribel. He lowered her hand and rose from the bed. Went into the bathroom, found the peroxide, clean gauze, the gauze tape, cotton balls and Neosporin. Went through Shanna's sewing basket by her sewing machine and took out the small scissors. Went back to his room and sat on the bed, picking up Vivian's hand again. Carefully, he cut the dirty gauze and realized it was stuck to her injury. He had to wet it there and give it time to soften, once it was softened, he would remove it. In the meantime, he cut as close to the injury as he could get. When he was done, there was a very tiny portion left still stuck. He soaked it down. As it soaked, he reached for his cigarettes, lit one up, took a couple of drags blowing out towards the window, and leaned over picking up the remote to the TV, flipping channels and only finding Saturday morning cartoons on. He stopped at the Looney Toons, his favorites.