The meeting lasted an hour and a half. Afterwards, Chad spoke with each of them, making sure they attended the next meeting, trying to save Shawn and Crystal for last. Shawn was growing impatient, looking at his watch. He was just about to tell Crystal, 'Let's go.' when Chad made his way over to them. "I'm sorry Shawn, Crystal - are you due off some where?"
"I work from home. Right now, my time is precious." Shawn informed him.
"I understand, I won't keep you. This card is for you. This organization runs a group to help Vietnam vets and their families - especially children. More often than not, they are especially seeing a need for helping the sons of fathers who served. I think it would benefit you to call them, to perhaps go there."
"Don't have the time. This will have to do. I barely have time for this."
"Keep the card anyway. Put it in a safe place. You may find a need for it at a later date."
Shawn took it and put it away in his wallet.
Chad turned to Crystal, "I'd like to make an appointment for you to come in and speak with someone alone. About your situation. When would be the best time to reach you?"
"Well, I'm home most of the time now. Once school starts I won't be, until then, I'm free."
"You still at home with your parents?"
"Yes I am."
"Good enough, I'll be contacting you."
Out of the building they walked through the lot and climbed into the SUV with Shawn calling home. "Babe, we're leaving the meeting now, need something while we're out?" He asked Sylvia.
"Yeah, since you guys are in Mauston, go by Culver's and pick up some custard ice cream, I'd like a little."
"You got it sweetheart, be home in a bit, I love you."
"Love you too, be careful."
"Will do." He hung up and started the vehicle backing up and pulling out of the parking lot. "Your mom wants some Culver's."
"Okay, cool - that sounds good - yum." The thought made Crystal's mouth water. As Shawn drove, she was thinking about some of the things he said. "So, your father taught you to fight?" She asked surprised by the notion. "Yeah, he did." Shawn returned.
"Have you had a lot of fights?" She went on further to find out.
"Yes, too many."
"You and I, we're probably a lot alike."
"Have you had a lot of fights?" He wished to know.
"Yeah."
"You have? With whom?"
Crystal smiled, "Mama wasn't always aware, but in school - especially the seventh grade, and up to my sophomore year in high school, I was always mixing it with somebody."
Shawn shook his head incredulous to what he was hearing, "With who Crystal? I can't believe it - if I'd been your father-..."
"I wouldn't have been so unhappy." She finished for him, said softly. She turned looking out of her window.
"Sweety - in life - there are no guarantees. All I can say for a certainty is - I would have done all in my power to make sure you never had a reason to - want to fight."
"Even then I didn't want to fight, I had to. Growing up in an all black neighborhood, predominantly poor - avoiding fighting - almost impossible, especially if you look like me. I never started a fight, but I was quick to get it on if I saw that's where it was going to lead. I can't argue long - I have to hit. I know its wrong, but I don't like anyone saying things to me, getting in my face - talking mess."
"Like what for instance?" He was curious.
"I don't know - most of it was name calling, attitudes, jealousy. Stupid jealousy. Most of my fights were because I had long hair, and light colored eyes. I was told all the time, "You think you cute! But you ain't shit! You think you better than us!" This from a few black girls, whose hair wasn't long and wouldn't get long. Whose looks and features made them feel that they were somehow lacking something. So because of this, I became the brunt of their low self-esteem. I understand this now, but I didn't back then. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't from all of them; just a few black bullies who hated anyone that reflected a look they felt was the preferable one, that was impossible for them to attain."
"What do you mean, a look?"
Crystal glanced at her step-father a moment, thinking about it, and decided to be honest. "White society makes black people feel, like the lowest crawling creatures on the face of the earth. We've been made to feel that way for a long time. Its deeply ingrained, so much so - that we hurt each other as a result. Little black girls, dark skin, perhaps with hair that is very dry - easy to break are hurt that their hair can't be long. When I was in school, some like that, couldn't stand to see another black girl, with my type of skin, my color eyes, my length and type of hair. You could almost tell where it might be heading when they would ask, "Yo'daddy white?!" which of course mine wasn't. Its the Spanish in him that contributed to my looks. No matter - to see me, made them feel inadequate. Un-acceptable. Made them feel so - un-pretty. Because the world is white, at least the world we reside in, and we're not. The closer your looks come to suggesting there may be white in you, the harder your time will be if you live, where I lived. I used to think more than anything, having long hair, being my skin color or lighter, is the greatest sin making you worthy of being jumped on. Hair, nice long flowing hair, is the crowing glory that haunts many black women. The way this slight - manifests itself can come in various ways. In school, I've had glue put in my hair, clay, gum. I've had it cut from behind and definitely yanked and pulled. I've been called a wainch, skainch, ho, bitch, slut, you name it. "
"Why?!" Shawn couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"I told you why."
He sat with her words going through his mind blown away by what he was hearing.
"Anyway, I had to fight, and fiercely. And I did. The moment someone got in my face, said one thing, when their head was in mid-rotation, I stole on them. I would not stop, until a teacher came. Mama always picked us up from school because of that. She wouldn't let us walk home, no way. She was too scared that we'd get caught up in a mad fight frenzy. Fight - fight fight! Fight after school was the highlight that existed. But my mother, was at the door, waiting for us to come out."
"Did she ever go up to the school for you fighting?"
"She wasn't always called, because most of the teachers were black and they understood. One look at me, they knew. I had really good teachers in school. Black women that were sad over how out of control black kids had become, acting out aggressions that could not always be mended. Because our problems go far back and are so deep all they could do, was break up any fights and try and talk to us. They didn't always call the parents, because most were burdened enough. Plus, there were no guarantees the parents would do anything about it anyway."
"Jesus Christ." Shawn was spinning. "I never realized to what extent - things have gone - God almighty - what is going on?"
"I had a teacher have a long talk with me once, I pretended not to listen, but I heard her. She said, we need to learn to stop hating each other and she meant, black people - hating each other. She said, that whether we like it or not, we are our brother's keeper. Our biggest crimes are what we continue to do within our own communities to each other. A voluntary self inflicted genocide she called it. And if all we can bring, to make things better, is a band-aid - then we need to offer that band-aid. So, that's why I do hair. That's why I took up cosmetology. I want to make, black hair beautiful. I want to see a look of pride in my sista's eyes. I have my license, one day - I want to open my own shop."
"Sweety, you're going to school for nursing."
"I know. But I can do the other too."
"You do too much."
"I don't do enough."
Shawn sighed, shaking his head, 'What man would not look at this child with pride in calling her his own?' that question returned to mind over and over as they pulled into the Culver's lot and went into the restaurant. He didn't want their time together to end, he was learning things that he needed to know. Especially being married to a black women, who was pregnant with his child. He was
pretty certain he was a boy, but then, that ultrasound could have been read wrong, what if it were a girl? What might his daughter, whose daddy is indeed white, go through? All what was involved in loving someone who was not white, had suddenly opened up a greater room with hidden unknown traps, snares, possibilities and problems. Yet, the more he heard, only made him love them more. To prolong their time together, he suggested they sit and have a little desert treat for themselves and then order more to take home once they were done.
Finding a small booth in the corner, they sat in companionable silence having a few spoons before either would start up again. Shawn was observing Crystal, noting the things about her that was like Sylvia, not much feature wise, other than certain gestures, and her smile. Shawn pulled his spoon from his mouth, free of the creamy desert, and asked.
"Why'd you throw a knife at him Crystal?"
She paused a moment with her spoon in her mouth, glanced up at him, then down again. She ate a few more spoonfuls, glancing at him across from her. She was stirring in the plastic dish, thinking, "He - was..." She stopped.
He could see that she was thinking about it, wondering perhaps, how much she should say.
"Please ... I wanna know. Why?" Shawn urged her gently.
"He - did stuff - to me. Mean stuff. He didn't like me - at all. Not - at all. He used to look at me - like - as if he hated me. I use to look at him, the same way - once I stopped hurting from it, wondering why? I learned, to - hate him, just as much - maybe - more." She chuckled. "He's dead now, and I wish sometimes, he would come back to life, so that I could tell him, just how much I hate him - but - the way I looked at him sometimes, he had to know it."
"Crystal, sweety - what did he do to you?" Shawn asked gently, he needed a clear cut picture of this man. He couldn't imagine a child feeling that way about her own father. But he could see it in her, it was there - bold, strong and sad.
"I don't - wanna tell you everything - but - that one time, when I threw the knife, mama was hanging some clothes out on the line. It was spring. We lived in a basement apartment. I liked it there, because one side was our apartment and the other side was just open and empty. Mundo and I used to go over in there to play. Anyway, he'd been drinking, gettin' high, our father. I was washing dishes. I was uh - starting to - well - develop, you know breasts and - well I was so sore - they hurt so bad, sometimes I was scared to move. We all thought he was knocked out from drinking, in the room with the door closed. He came out. I was at the sink. He walked to it to get himself some water, looked at me dirty, said, "Get the fuck out the way." I moved over. He took a glass - filled it with water, drank, staring at me. He noticed that I had slight bumps, I guess you could call them. And he, sat his glass down on the counter, reached over, and pinched one really hard, saying - "What the fuck is this?" I screamed so loud! It hurt so bad, the pain wouldn't stop, I felt fire all over and shame and - ..." She shook her head, still remembering. "...-I snatched away and turned my back to him. I thought I would faint from the pain - it just wouldn't go away - oh my god - never knew something could hurt so bad. And he, just laughed. I was so mad, I reached for the knife and turned holding it. I was crying, I wanted to attack him with it. He was walking away and must have heard me pull the knife, he turned back just as I threw it at him. He knocked it away, yelled at me. He was coming to hit me when mama came flying into the kitchen from outside. She must have heard my scream. She ran in and went straight for him. She didn't stop to ask what happened, no questions did she ask, she just took him by surprise and attacked. She flew at him so fast, so unexpected, that for the first time, she knocked him to the ground, was on top of him, screaming and punching him. She was sitting on his chest and grabbed the knife from the floor and had the point of it, right at his throat." She looked up at Shawn, smiling.
"He was shittin' his pants. You should have seen the look in his eyes. Mama was shaking, trying to hold back from plunging that knife into his throat. She said to him, "Don't you touch my goddamn kids! Don't you dare. You keep your hands off them!" She was breathing so hard, sweating, I thought, she's gonna kill'em. I wanted her to kill'em. He didn't move, had his hands out and away from her, afraid that she would do it. Something must have told him she wouldn't do it, because he got all cocky again, must have been the alcohol talking to him. Told her, "Go ahead, do it! Stick it in me! Stick it in me!" He kept taunting her. She was fighting not to."
"Where was Mundo?" Shawn asked, his heart hammering in his chest.
"He was there. Crying, standing by the doorway, begging her, "Mama don't. Please don't mama, they gone take you to jail, who gone take care'o'us mama?" That's when I realized, she couldn't kill him. Who would take care of us? He was right. I called out to her too, "Mama get up... let's just go." She told us to get our coats. We did. She finally stood up from him. Backed away. I had her purse, her coat. We went out the door, he was cussing us from the other side, told us not to fuckin' come back."
"Where'd you go?"
"To Sheila and Dennis." She answered. She looked at his desert. "Your ice creams melted."
He pushed it away. "I've had enough." He looked at her, red in the face. "Ready to go?"
She nodded, "You okay?" She asked him, noticing the air about him.
"Yeah, I'm okay." They stood from the booth, walked to the counter and ordered two large containers of custard ice cream, plain and flavored, blueberry cream cheese. Back in the vehicle, Shawn started it, saying, "I want you to stay with us. You hear? As long as you wish. Don't for a moment, ever think, you have to rush off into anything. You and the boys, will always have a home. I mean it. If you should go through with this divorce, you're living with us, that house that's being built - I've made sure that its big enough for us all. Plenty of space, understand?"
Crystal nodded.
"Let's get home, your mother is probably looking for us."
When they made it back home, Mundo, Darren, Isaac, Angela were all laying in bed with Sylvia, watching a movie on TV. The boys had fallen asleep. Crystal took one, Mundo took the other off to bed. Mundo and Angela took out the custard, fixing themselves a bowl and went into the basement to play video games. Sylvia yelled from her room, "Not too late Angela, there's school tomorrow."
"I kno-o-ow!" She yelled back, "Just two games!"
Shawn had come in and went straight to their bathroom. Sylvia was relaxed, in bed, and no longer wanted custard. She noted that he was in a quiet mood. She stayed in bed watching the movie the kids weren't really interested in seeing, but they'd been talking, enjoying each other, and just ended up there with it playing in the background. She could hear that he'd gotten into the shower, was tempted to go in while he was there, but decided against it, his mood was questionable. Twenty minutes later, he came out with his house lounging bottoms on and went to his Chester drawer for a tank top. Sylvia quietly watched him. Wherever he was, he was deep down in it. With both of them so quiet, she finally spoke up, "How'd the meeting go?"
He took a moment to answer, coming to the bed, his side, by the door, where she was laying, "Move over, get on your side." He ordered, just a bit brisk.
Sylvia shifted over to her designated side. She learned early on, he had a thing about where she, as his woman, slept, walked, sat. Walking down the street, on the inside, him outside next to the curb. In bed, he slept closest to the bedroom door, she slept on the inside again. Out to dinner, in a booth, she was on the inside, he was on the out. Because it was a man, thing - she gave into it. "What's wrong with you?" She asked. "The meeting go that bad?"
Again, he was slow to reply. He laid in bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, and finally he asked, "Why in the hell did you stay with him?"
"What?" She asked back, not sure of what he meant. "Stay with who?"
"Armundo - Payne. Why did you stay with him?" He asked, turning his head, to look up at her. She was sitting up against the headboard now. Taken back by his question and what was clearly accusation in his eyes. As a woman who had surv
ived what she'd endured with Armundo, that was the wrong thing to ask, and especially with an accusing tone. "Why do you think - I stayed with him?" She asked, on the defensive.
"I don't know, that's what I'm trying to figure out."
"Em, you and thousands of others. What's your point? Why do you ask?" Her tone, clipped and short, clearly resenting it.
Shawn sat up staring at her, "He abused those kids! He was an absolute, piece of shit, bastard to that little girl in the other room. Why didn't you leave him?"
"And go where?"
"Sheila and Dennis? What about them?"
"What about them? I went to them enough! My children and I, were not their responsibility! My life, my problems, my children and protecting them was my job!"
"One that you were ill equipped to do!" Shawn snapped. He heard the ringing smack to his face, before he felt it. Once the sound of it faded, there was the sting from it left that assured him, he'd pushed too far. Sylvia had scrabbled off the bed, breathing hard, stunned that she had slapped him. As well a bit afraid for having done it. She stood beside it with immediate tears in her eyes. She was very touchy, sensitive when it came to her kids. When it came to what had taken place with Armundo Payne. She didn't like to talk about it. Wouldn't talk about it with anyone. It was over. She'd done what she could. She wouldn't dwell on it. She wouldn't go back. She sure as hell wasn't about to be persecuted by him over it.
"How dare you - lay there - and say that to me!" She rasped out low, afraid that the children would hear them. She was fighting back tears, "You don't know what the hell I went through! You ass - hole! Fuck you! Fuck you and everybody that thinks like you!" She was in a state and went to rush into the bathroom, but Shawn was there, blocking her from closing him out.
"Get away from me! Don't touch me!" She bit out. They were still in a quiet struggle, trying not to alert the kids of what was going on.
BOMAW 7-9 Page 96
