“Sean, you really should eat something,” his mother offered. She sat right across from them in her oversized tangerine and yellow floral housecoat, seemingly reading his mind. “If you ask me,” she looked at the two of them from over her thin-rimmed, shiny green glasses, “you’re lookin’ a bit on the thinner side these days.”
“Thinner side?! Mom, are you losin’ your mind?” His brother flicked his thumb in Sean’s direction as if trying to hitch a ride. “This big bastard right here?! I got some bad news for ya, Mom. Your youngest son here is on some damn steroids.” He hooted. “Sean is a muscle head that eats steroids for breakfast, lunch and dinner!”
“Star-roids?!” She reared back in her seat, her thin lips parted, utter disbelief imprinted on her face. Running her small fingers over the tiny, sparkly white buttons of her gown, she leaned forward and molded her tone around a hushed whisper…as if their home was bugged from the C.I.A. “Aren’t those illegal? You don’t take star-roids do ya, Sean? They’re bad for you, you know!”
“Stair-roids, Kathy?! They’re called steroids, for goodness sake!” their father called out from the kitchen, this time sounding as if his mouth was stuffed with everything he could find inside the jam-packed refrigerator.
“Ma, I don’t take steroids, and for douchebag here’s information, I am getting this degree so that I can be a construction company consultant or on-site contractor. Ya see, different companies would hire me to help them grow their business or I could even be hired by one company, and just assist solely with their marketing needs. I used to work construction jobs part time, remember? It’s a much needed, highly sought after field right now, and I can go to all sorts of places around New York, helping some of these construction firms better market themselves.”
“So it’s like sales?” His mother winced as if sunlight were suddenly in her green eyes as she picked up her glass of iced tea from the rusty iron TV tray. The thing depicted a bottle of classic Coca Cola being held by a smiling white polar bear.
“Well, kinda, yeah, but it is about helping them get new clients by putting themselves out there more, ya know? I’d be constantly studying the market and trends in various areas, not just New York, but globally. I’d give them advice on how to promote themselves, hooking them up with advertising firms, social media press, email lists, things like that.”
“You’d be good at that… ‘cause you’re good at bullshittin’.” Colin burst out laughing, causing Sean to lunge at him with both fists. The two tumbled to and fro, the play wrestling match making a mess of the woolen pillows embroidered with inspirational words such as ‘Happiness’. They kept on knocking each other about like pins in a bowling alley.
“No cussin’ in front of your mother!” their father hollered out once again, this time it sounding as if his throat were full of thick phlegm.
“Well, that sounds real good, Sean. I’m proud of you,” she stated sincerely, her slight chin bobbing against her chest as she nodded in approval. He slowed a bit and released Colin from his carefully crafted headlock.
“Thanks, Ma.”
“Don’t you have another kickboxing match coming up?” his brother inquired, running a hand along his reddened neck and swiping wayward blond strands away from his face.
“Yeah,” Sean reached over the glossy ashtray full of crinkled cigarette butts left from his father earlier in the day, and gripped his can of beer. He took a hearty swig then set it back down after smacking his lips a time or two. “I haven’t had much time to train lately though…been so busy with work, and everything.”
“You dating anyone, Sean?” his mother asked. Her sparkling eyes glistened and looked so much like his own. She looked so full of hope and promise, as if twinkling pink angel wings flapped in the irises while glittery fairy dust fell from her dark brown lashes and coated the world in golden kisses.
“Not right now, Ma,” he said under his breath, loathing the topic that seemed to rule the older woman’s mind from the moment she got up from her frilly, Queen-sized bed and said her morning prayers, until the second she clonked out on a soft, feather down pillow, snoring up a damn storm.
“Sean, Colin’s got uh girlfriend, why don’t you?” she asked sadly, dropping her head a bit as if his relationship status was worthy of a sullen violin music laden scene. “I want grandkids, ya know? With no girlfriend, there is no wife, and no wife means no grandkids. Your dad and I aren’t gettin’ any younger.”
Not this shit again…
“Ma, I hate to break it to you, but Sean is gay.” Colin cackled, causing Sean to push him as hard as he could until the bastard fell off the damn couch, still laughing himself silly despite bumping his big head on the coffee table during his clumsy tumble on the way to the floor.
“Is that true, Sean?” She gasped, as if she’d seen a car crash, and covered her quivering lips with both hands, as if to stifle a scream. “I still love ya, son!” Her eyes watered, like she had the starring role in some damn soap opera.
Is she for real?! Of course she is…that’s Mom for ya!
“Ahhhh Jesus Christ, Ma!” Sean rolled his eyes. “Do you believe everything Colin says? No, I’m not gay. If I were, you’d have known it by now with all this grandkid business you’re always bringing up!”
“Guys that take steroids aren’t gay, Kathy,” his father shouted from the kitchen once more, as if this was common knowledge—something stated in the books authored by clever, distinguished scholars from around the world, ones held in the highest regard.
“I am in the damn loony farm over here!” Sean slapped his knee in disbelief as he glared toward the kitchen. “Dad, I’m not on steroids, okay?!” he yelled out, ensuring he was heard, though his father’s acute ears would have picked up on a toothless rat gnawing on cotton candy a mile away. “Ma, again, I’m not gay and I don’t have a girlfriend because the women out here are freakin’ bananas. Not to mention, I don’t have time for all of that.”
“That’s good you’re not on those steroids, Sean, because you’d never get a girlfriend,” his father declared, sharing more of his infinite wisdom.
“Why’s that, Kevin?” His mother asked, as if Dad’s word was bond.
“’Cause it makes the man downstairs small! No woman wants to date a guy with a small Johnson!”
…Oh God, Dad…Ya didn’t!
His mother shot a sad yet sympathetic look back at Sean and nodded in agreement. On a murmur, she hunched over, set her glass on the polar bear’s face and folded her hands, as if she were about to deliver grave information, the kind of stuff that made one’s heart stop cold. “It’s true, Sean…if you’re taking those star-roids, it could ruin your chances of becoming a father, too.”
“Ahhh, you’re making me sick!” He burst out laughing as Colin got back up from the floor and made himself comfortable on the couch, sporting a satisfied smirk at Sean’s expense. “Can we not talk about things like this, please? Geesh!” He rolled his eyes and turned back to the television.
“Well, I wish you’d make the time to meet someone, Sean.” She paired her expression with a look of disapproval, along with quiet judgment. “You’re thirty-four years old…getting a bit long in the tooth don’t you think to be caravanning around single. And don’t think I don’t know the truth about you.” She squinted her eyes. “You’re a ladies man, no prospects either.” She plucked her glass from the tray and placed the rim to her bright pink covered lips before turning her attention to the Family Feud. “You won’t have your good looks forever, ya know,” she added for good measure, as if that assertion alone would somehow turn the tide in her favor.
Steve Harvey made his way across the screen, announcing the families prepared to play against one another.
He looks like Mr. Potato Head…kinda like a hound dog, too…
Sean thought to himself.
“I wonder how much game show hosts get paid?” Colin inquired as he leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms, his face twisted in honest inquisition.
/> “Steve Harvey is a celebrity, man. Probably a helluva lot. It ain’t pennies, that’s for damn sure.”
“I bet I could be a good game show host! How hard can it be?” Light brown brows bunched, his brother pointed to the screen, as if Mr. Harvey had somehow insulted him by his mere presence.
“I dunno.” Sean shrugged and took the final gulp of his can of beer before placing it down and leaning back against a pillow. “It probably is harder than it looks, like a lot of things in life.”
“Oh, so you’re Mr. Philosophy now?” Colin shot him a glance, looking him up and down in a way that suggested he wanted to pick a fight.
“No, but according to you, I’m Mr. Star-roid, I’m a know-it-all, so that makes me an authority of sorts,” he whispered on a smirk.
Colin laughed lightly.
“Hey, if you find any more of those stamps in the trash, you know, the ones with the firecrackers on ‘em, let me know. Lydia’s mom collects ’em.”
“You act like my job is a goddamn consignment shop, a thrift store, a free-for-all, and I place special orders for nunchucks like you. It’s garbage, not Federal Express!”
“Bull, you know where the good stuff is!”
“People throw shit out, and that’s that. I can’t go back to the same house, knock on the damn door and say, ‘Hey, the other day you threw out some valuable stamps. That was rather stupid of ya but to make up for your incredible idiocy, can I have some more of ’em?’ Doesn’t work like that and besides, usually I don’t even know what houses the shit I find comes from.”
“I’m just sayin’ if you see anymore is all!” Colin threw up his hands in surrender.
“You probably lied and told her you bought them for her.” Sean’s eyes narrowed on his brother, feeling him out, trying to get the goods.
“…I did.”
They both went silent for a while, then burst out laughing together.
“Shhhhh!” their mother chastised. “Caterpillar! Why didn’t anyone say, caterpillar?!” She yelled at the television. “They got termite up there, fly, moth, and no caterpillar! I bet that’s the number one answer!”
“It’s wasp, Kathy! Or maybe bee. No one is afraid of a caterpillar, Jesus H. Christ!” Mahoney Sr. called out.
“That’s not the question!” she retorted angrily, her drink sloshing violently about in her hand from her rapid, jerky movements in the excitement of it all. “The question is about insects with wings!”
“Kathy, caterpillars don’t have wings, goddamn it!”
“When they turn into a butterfly they do! Wait, that’s it! It’s butterfly!” She waved a frantic finger at the screen. “No one said butterfly!” The woman jumped out of her seat, causing the light green plastic curlers in her head to frantically bounce around as they hung onto her dark tresses for dear life.
“So,” Colin leaned over to Sean and whispered, “Do you think there’s a game show hosts school, like a college people go to? I bet I could do it…take a few classes ’nd such.”
Sean fell back and took a good look at his brother. They resembled one another here and there, and in some ways, it was like looking into a damn mirror. They were often mistaken for fraternal twins, being about the same height of 6’2 and only one year apart, but he always corrected people by letting them know he was the brother that received all the brains and brawn, and well, Colin received the smart-ass gene—how unfortunate for him and the world he was unleashed upon.
“This is the type of shit you sit around thinkin’ about, huh? How did you become a fireman, Colin? The world should be afraid, very afraid, that you’re out on the streets!”
Colin reared back and punched him in the shoulder, setting off another avalanche of more playful warfare.
“Ma! Help!” his brother cried out in faux angst. Their mother didn’t budge, nor look in their general direction.
“He’s overpowerin’ me!” the guy squealed, trying to elicit sympathy as they rolled about in pretend mortal combat. “See! He’s on those damn star-roids, Ma! I told ya sooooo!”
*
Treasure felt like recreating the scene from the movie, ‘Waiting to Exhale,’ Angela Basset style. She stood there in her coveted burgundy satin robe, the streetlights illuminating her spot just so as the trash in front of her home loomed before her like the ghost of Christmas past. Billy Joel’s, ‘Stiletto’ could be faintly heard coming from her house. She assumed Asia was playing it since she had gotten on some oldies kick. The unsightly mass rose high, big and bold like some enormous, dark, nasty monster that had been vomited out the mouth of the angry full moon. Then, the big, burly celestial bitch that ruled the evening sky cast it at her feet, making her ill from the sight of it all.
It was finally finished.
All of ‘Action Jackson’s’ shit sat on the damn curb, along with the memories of ‘what once was’. She’d purged the house, every nook and cranny, so very sick and tired of finding his wares sprawled here and there, taking her out of her comfort zone. Just when she’d thought she’d gotten rid of the whole mess, all reminders of his existence within her world, she’d find an old pair of his socks here and there, a half empty bottle of expensive cologne under a bathroom cabinet, and a discarded set of golf clubs pushed in the corner of a long forgotten closet. She’d even discovered a collection of faded T-shirts with childish slogans from his Morehouse college years written across them. So, month after month, she’d toss these findings, but this time, she went through the house from top to bottom, sick of dragging this thing out.
It was the perfect evening for a bonfire, but she had no doubts her neighbors wouldn’t appreciate such a display, despite her twitching fingers to hold a match and red canister, recently empty from the act of freshly poured gasoline. No, such spectacles would have to stay on the silver screen. This was real life, with real costs, so she pushed the fantasies behind her, just like the trash before her.
“Mom,” Asia called out, standing at the front door in her pale pink pajama shorts with matching spaghetti strapped top. “What are you doing?”
“Just setting the trash out, honey. I’ll be in in a second.” She tossed her daughter a quick grin and placed her hand on her hip.
“Okay.” Yawning, the girl closed the door and disappeared from sight.
Brian was spending the night over at his best friend’s house and Asia had a dance audition in the morning. The fourteen-year-old was nothing but a bundle of nerves, and oh how she remembered those days. She’d fixed her daughter some tea an hour earlier, made the girl drink it, and told her to relax and try to get some shuteye. She knew Asia would do fantastic. The girl was a natural. Ballet was in her blood after all; Treasure had been a dancer in high school, too. Turning her back, she walked away from the monstrosity piled high, a mass seemingly trying to reach the clouds, it stood so tall. A feeling of great satisfaction steeped itself within her soul, like an assortment of fragrant, rich tealeaves dipped in boiling water. As she opened the massive, white front door and disappeared inside her abode, the sense of relief washed over her like a light sprinkling of rain.
I want no trace of you around me. Not your clothing, not your words, not your lies and broken promises, either. You said vows, but only one of us meant it. Get out of my house. Get out of my life. Get out of my mind and stay out of my heart. I don’t want you in here, ever again…
*
“Those sons of bitches!” Treasure yelled as Asia disappeared on the bus, protected from her curses as the noisy, large yellow vehicle journeyed down the street farting out copious, gray exhaust fumes for her to choke to death on. She’d played it cool while the girl stood there, but oh, she’d seen it. Treasure glared at the unpicked trash before snatching off an odd bright orange note stuck on the side of the trashcan, waving ever so slightly in the stinky breeze. Someone had handwritten some crap about weight and protocol and some other bullshit. She burst into her house, enraged that Jackson still ‘lived’ there, for he was the cause of all of this aftermath. He was ou
t on the curb, but he was still there, haunting and taunting her, mocking, laughing in her damn face under the glare of the morning sunlight. The trash had grown large yellowed eyes and leered at her before she’d left it, as if to say, I’m still here, bitch! Hahahaha!
The moon hadn’t kissed that shit goodbye at all; rather, it said, ‘See you tomorrow…or perhaps the following week, my Love.’
She grabbed her phone and searched for the sanitation department number, trying to keep her cool so she could concentrate. After locating it, she immediately dialed the damn thing, almost cracking a nail in her torment.
“Yes, this is Ms. Chambers on Lyons Place. This morning I received a note from one of the trashy people. I mean,” she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “…one of the trash collectors, and it states that my garbage was left on the curb due to weight violations. I had no knowledge of this, and now, my trash is still out there and I have no way to bring it all back in. It can’t stay out there all week. I need another resolution.”
“Ma’am, let me transfer you to—”
“No, I don’t want to be transferred. I want someone to please come out here and get this trash!” Standing in her parlor, she pointed toward her open front door. “With as high as my property taxes are, and HOA fees, you’d think you all could do this, just this one time! I’ve never had a lot of trash in front of my house, and the one time I do, it’s just left there, and I’m not even given a warning as a courtesy.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry about the inconvenience. I need to put you on hold and transfer you.” Before she could protest, she was listening to an instrumental karaoke version of Liza Minnelli’s, ‘Cabaret’.
Treasure huffed and resolved herself to the fact that chances were slim this would turn in her favor. Arguing with these red tape folks never went well. She and Brian would be hauling all of that crap back into the garage. She’d no doubt have to hear all of his mumbling and complaining along the way, too. Six minutes later, a man that clearly didn’t give a fraction of a damn got on the line, working on a wad of gum with brute oral force.
The Fight Within Page 6
