by Tiana Laveen
“You and Celine weren’t anything alike, ’cept how you look. You look just like her, ’cept you got James’ eyes…”
“I know.” She smiled sadly into her lap.
“That’s the only reason I ain’t ask ’im to take ’er somewhere to get a blood test. See, Emerald, back then, them DNA tests didn’t exist. You had to take one of those blood tests if you were a whore and didn’t know who yo’ baby daddy was, and they cost a whole lotta money. We all got the same eyes; that’s the only reason why I knew as soon as you were born that you were his.”
“Well, thank goodness for your detective skills and instant DNA radar.”
“Don’t be gettin’ smart with me, Emerald St. Claire. You might be almost fifty, but you ain’t never too old to be put in your place.” The woman’s voice shook on the other end like fruit on a vine.
Emerald’s lips crimped at the ends, happy she’d upset the old woman. She was driving her insane, and as far as she was concerned, Sugar would have nothing to talk about if there were nobody in the world messing up for her to judge and tear down; even the ones dead, buried and in the ground weren’t safe from her constant scrutiny.
“She was pretty though, real pretty,” Sugar continued. “And that’s why I always say that I question God’s judgment sometimes. I just don’t say it out loud.”
“What do you mean?” This piqued her interest. She’d never heard Sugar give her mother a compliment before.
“He gave Celine all that pretty hair. Now, don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t good hair.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t good hair? Isn’t good hair the same as healthy, strong hair?” Emerald looped a strand of her own around her finger and gave it a gentle tug.
“Naw. Good hair is soft. Your mama’s hair was nappy, but it was long, thick, and real dark, and when she got a hot comb and some good grease to it, it went to the bottom of her behind… so nice. She must’ve had some Indian in her.”
Emerald grimaced and rolled her eyes.
Sugar always talking about good and bad hair…just ignorant. I can’t stand it.
“God gave her pretty skin, too. It was smooth… and those pretty lips… not too thin, not too big… She had a real nice shape on ’er too, and she knew it. I wasn’t ’shamed to tell a woman she was nice looking because I knew I could hold my own, too, but I didn’t hold a cup of water to Celine. Most women didn’t.”
Emerald swallowed down more words. She double hated when Aunt Sugar would go into these sorts of rants. Aunt Sugar was stunning, even in her old age—not a wrinkle on her mocha colored face. However, she struggled with the effects of colorism, believing anyone lighter than she was somehow exalted, more beautiful. Mama wasn’t even light-skinned, but with her toasty brown complexion, she hovered somewhere in the middle in the spectrum. It broke Emerald’s heart but she knew there was no use in trying to discuss the matter with Sugar; this stuff had been ingrained in the old lady since she’d been a little girl living in the south. She’d tried but was only met with more nonsensical rhetoric.
“But she was my friend, so I felt safe for some reason. Silly when I think about it. Anyway, God made that woman the center of attention and that’s all she knew; it spoiled her. She ain’t try to better herself, ain’t try to get a trade, go to school, nothing. See, I had me a job for over thirty-seven years, even ’foe I was married. Your mama though? Shiiiiid… She just lived off men. The only school she attended regularly was the Institute of Prostitution. She got straight A’s and majored in ‘Flat On My Back’ economics.”
“Sugar! I’ve let this go on long enough. Why do you think I’d want to talk about this? You’re going on and on and this is your worst time ever!”
“I was tryna beat my old record.”
“How can you be okay acting like this, saying these things? She was still my mother!”
“ ’Cause you need to know the truth about your mama.” The snubbing tone of Aunt Sugar’s tone sent her over the edge.
“I know the truth about her, Sugar!” Her voice rang throughout her townhouse, almost shocking her own self. “I know she wasn’t faithful to my father, okay? I know she was wayward and lost! Don’t you think I had to think about all of that every damn time I woke up in the morning? That I kept being reminded my mama was nowhere to be found?!” Angry tears welled in her eyes, surprising her so. “Everybody else had their mamas. They may not have had their daddies, but they had their mamas—and I was the odd woman out. Do you understand how rough that was for me? You couldn’t, or wouldn’t be doing this right now, stickin’ the knife in deeper and deeper. I’m not going to sit here and listen to this one second longer. I tried to let you get it out of your system once and for all, but you just don’t know when to stop. Now change the topic or I’m finished talking.”
“I’m not saying it to hurt you, Emerald.” The old woman’s tone softened. “I’m saying it because I’m mad that she took advantage of my niece, even during her last seconds on this Earth, and nobody gave me a chance to grieve, too!” Sugar’s voice shook with rage and pain. “Nobody asked me how I felt about it! Nobody cared that I felt a special kinda rage towards Celine, ’cause she was my friend! I’ve never forgiven myself for this, either. I set my brother up with her, Emerald… I’m the reason his life was ruined. I’m the reason for it all.”
Emerald paused and reflected over the notion as Sugar sobbed on the other end of the line.
“I… I never knew that. I mean, I was aware you all knew each other, but I didn’t know you got them together. Matter of fact, I asked Daddy how he’d met Mama, and he said it happened at a picnic.”
“He did… but I made him walk up to her. James used to be kinda shy around girls, but he liked Celine. Every time she come around the house, he would get to smilin’. I didn’t care for Celine too much at that point even though she was still my friend at the time, but that was the only person James seemed to have an interest in. Back then, I thought maybe they’d do each other some good, rub off on one another. Celine would make James less shy, help him laugh and live a little. And James would show Celine to have some respect, be grateful… find out how a good man acted… one that didn’t use her for sex or expect her to look like a doll all the time. I had all these silly fantasies in my head, but just as my great grandson’s song goes, ‘You can’t turn a Hoe into a Housewife.’ What band did that song? They shoulda played that at her funeral, amen.”
“Sugar! You’re starting again.”
“I’m sorry baby, I am, but you aren’t the only one upset about the whole damn thing. James been dead two years now, and I woke up today and looked at my calendar…” Don’t say it… I already know, and I was hoping you forgot… but now it makes sense why you’ve been going off like this!
“Today is his birthday, and I called you this mornin’ because I knew you’d remember it too, and maybe…” Emerald’s heart broke a little as she heard the woman sniffling, fighting back more tears. “I thought just maybe we could lean on one another, help each other out today. I’m in bad shape, Emerald… I’m sorry for the things I’ve said in anger this mornin’, but I’m hurtin’ so bad, baby. I never forgave myself for pushing him into the arms of your mother… but then, of course, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have you…”
Emerald ran her knuckle against her cheek, wiping away a tear that threatened to make it down to her chin.
“I got your five cousins, baby, nothin’ but boys. You’re the closest thang to a little girl I ever had, and it made you all the more special to me and your Uncle Kirby. Even after all of these years, I’m protective of you, Emerald. Last thing in this whole world I’d want to do is drive you into the arms of pain, but I ain’t got nobody to talk to. Your Uncle Kirby don’t listen to me; all he wanna do is hang down there at that bar, watch TV, or sleep. My boys don’t wanna hear none of this neither. You also say you don’t want to hear no part of it, but when is someone going to hear me out and listen? I’m bashing your mama, and I suppose that ain’t right but
every time I tried to tell you how I felt, no matter how bad it sounded, I’d stop midway or you’d cut me off. I just got so much pent up inside… so much…”
“Sugar, neither I nor all the King’s Horsemen could ever stop you from saying anything and everything you want to say.” The old woman burst into a laugh until it slowed and simmered, leaving a trail of silence between them, but one that softened the mood.
“You think I’m mean, Emerald?”
“It’s no coincidence you live on a street called Grim Avenue. You are mean, Sugar… just a mean old lady walking around killing people’s good mood,” Emerald teased behind a tearful chuckle and wiped another tear from her right eye.
“Am I?” The woman cackled. “I guess a little bit. I’ll have to pray on it I suppose, but let me tell you something. I’ve always worried about you, told James that all the time, too, because a little girl needs her mama. I did the best I could from long distance, here in Waco, but nothing can replace a child’s mama. You turned out just fine though, divorced ’nd all, ’cause prayers work.”
“I could feel your prayers.” Emerald made her way to the kitchen sink and poured herself a glass of water from the tap.
“When Bea died, I was overcome with grief. She was just a baby, but you were my strength, Emerald.”
She felt more tears welling in her eyes and fought them as she looked down, her vision blurry, proving it was far too late to get off the emotional rollercoaster now. The glass teetered in her hand. Daddy’s birthday was proving to be a bit too much. He was gone too early—far too soon, just like her little sister, Bea.
Bea had suffered with sickle cell anemia. The little girl was so young during the time of her passing, but she still recalled Bea’s strawberry shaped face and wide smile.
“James lost a good job racing around to the hospitals, the clinics, everywhere he could go to have her looked at. He was determined to help his baby girl, but he was boxing with the Devil, Emerald, so the odds weren’t in his favor. You know diseases are creations from the Devil now, don’t you?”
“Sugar, I think that no matter how we look at it, whatever I, you, or anyone else believes, we know they aren’t good. Bea’s death happened only a few months after Mama left, and I think… I don’t think daddy was ever the same after that. I think his heart was broken so badly by that point, he could probably never make a full recovery.”
They were quiet for a good while.
Mama didn’t come to the funeral. No one even knew if she realized her youngest baby was dead. We found out later she didn’t… and I hated her even more for that…
“Sugar, I gotta finish these up.” Emerald sighed as she laid out her escape from the conversation, unable to take one more draining moment.
“All right, baby. Call me later, here?”
“I will.”
“I love you, understand? Always will.”
“I love you too, Sugar… Now please don’t forget to take your medicine and I’ll call you later tonight and check in on you.” And then she reached over and disconnected the call. But Emerald’s brain was far from finished. It didn’t shut off or disconnect from the conversation. No, it just kept on churning and burning and yearning for a closure her heart would never fully receive…
CHAPTER THREE
I Hate People
The fastest way to get over old pussy is to get some new pussy…
Retro-style buttercream chairs with dark chestnut leather binding lined the crystallized amber and gold bar table that seemed to go on for miles. A live jazz band stood in the not so far distance doing a catchy rendition of ‘Woman’ by John Lennon. Mike’s shoulder bumped into his a time or two as he and four of his friends chatted it up after a long day of sightseeing and visiting the ‘Dead Flowers’ shop for kicks and giggles. Sloan slid his fingers along the Guinness pint mug, latched hold to the handle and chugged back, soon feeling a light layer of froth tickle his upper lip as tiny bubbles burst against his skin.
“Now they’re cookin’!” Mike slurred, half drunk, as an interesting interpretation of Toto’s ‘Africa’ began to play. “Yeah! Takes me back to my college days.” His full, plump cheeks pushed upward, almost swallowing his tiny, glimmering eyes. “Remember?”
A tinge of pain gripped Sloan’s heart upon recalling those untroubled days. He missed them… the freedom, being completely careless and carefree, a time when life was still simple. A time before he’d become embroiled in the aftermath of loss and consequences. Before he’d gotten a big nasty dose of reality, the one that woke him up and never let him slumber in peace again.
“Yeah.” He nodded, raising the glass to his lips again, knowing damn well the well had run dry. “I remember those days. Good times.”
“A Sloan,” his old work friend David chimed in from the other side of Mike. “There’s some nice looking ladies here.” He winked at the man in a silly sort of way. “If I were single, I’d mingle.”
“What?” Sloan shrugged. “You’re taking lessons from Mike here on tormenting me? Look, guys, I just moved here, all right? I’m tryna work.” He tossed up his hands. “My publisher is waiting for my book, breathing down my damn neck. I got only half the electricity running in the house, and only one of the johns flushes without backing up. I have barely gotten any sleep from all the unpacking, stripping the walls, cleaning, tossin’ shit out and painting, and my son, the forever child, keeps asking me for money.” He smiled lightly. “The last thing on my mind is getting a broad.”
“But you need it.” Mike grinned.
This conversation seemed to have no end in sight.
“What I need is a good night’s rest.” He chuckled. “My new bed finally arrives tomorrow. Sleeping on that air mattress Michelle let me borrow just isn’t cutting it.” He ran his hand over his sore shoulder, still feeling the sting from the restless snooze.
“I’m trying to imagine your tall ass on a little air mattress, Sloan!” David chuckled so hard, he could hardly get the words out. “Didn’t your daughter buy that for her kid? I bet it looks like a damn horse tryna get settled on one of those twisty balloons the clowns roll up into all sorts of shapes!” Sloan casually threw up his middle finger in the bastard’s direction, but this only caused more guffawing.
“Have you tried any dating services? eHarmony isn’t half bad!” Owen chimed in, shaking his shoulder length salt and ginger hair as if he’d been caught in the rain.
“Nah.” Sloan turned and gave a lazy glance to the band that now played a depressing tune he could have done without: ‘If You Leave Me Now’ by Chicago. “It would be awkward. It’s not really my thing. I mean…” He shrugged. “What would I say in a personals ad, anyway?”
“What do you mean what would you say? You’re a fucking writer.” Owen laughed dismally, as if this were a no-brainer. “I’m sure you could write a woman’s panties right off her body. Your pen is your new penis.” At this, the other guys got to laughing as well, causing a wave of silly warmth to hold him close. He laughed at the words, too… Thoughts of his picture in that magazine Mike had thrust in his face hit him, as well as the things he’d expressed in the interview. That man that had stared back at him from the page looked confident; his librettos were crisp, concise. It seemed like the Sloan Steele of that interview knew what he was doing…
I sure know how to play a role now, don’t I? I was so good at pretending in that interview, I almost convinced MYSELF it was true…
…And why do they keep trying to get me to date? Yeah, I know how long it’s been, but time is relative, right? My marriage has actually been over for a long time; to be exact, over two years, divorce finalized six months and two weeks ago. Will I ever forget the timeline? Doesn’t seem like it. I can barely recall how old I am, but I know the exact date of when everything fell apart…
This is bullshit. The whole dating scene is bullshit.
I don’t have time for that… Besides, I have bags under my eyes and I am exhausted. This renovation is killing me, but I’m dete
rmined to finish it as soon as possible. I’m full of excuses. Fuck this, fuck it all…
Excuses… just what Mike accused him of time and time again, but it was true; he was fatigued and the rest he did get was often disturbed. He hadn’t told a soul, but sometimes, while asleep in his new home, he’d hear a peculiar racket, as if someone were shuffling about, walking along the floorboards. Every time he’d get to his feet with his gun in tow, the noises would stop. Occasionally, a door would open all on its own, or at least sound as if it were… slow and creaky, then close just as sluggishly, as if whatever had unlocked the thing and took a glance had seen enough to fulfill its curiosity.
Sometimes he could swear he’d caught the scent of a cigar, a brand he never smoked. He’d push the occurrences out of his mind until he’d awaken to a window unbolted, letting Jack Frost and all of his frozen henchmen climb through and chill him to the bone. He knew he wouldn’t have raised the damn thing; it was September and the weather was getting unpredictable. Despite all of this, he was hell-bent on convincing himself that it was all in his head.
Nothing startling had occurred; nothing he couldn’t find some way to rationalize, a plausible explanation. Besides, believing in ghosts was based on silly superstition, and he prided himself on being clearheaded and rational, only delving into fantasies when he’d sit down at his computer and type out bizarre stories where pretend astral worlds inhabited by bloodthirsty red-skinned aliens killed each other with invisible swords christened in poison; Amazon women ruled the world and used ‘normal sized’ men as sex toys; and fishermen discovered the bones of scaly deep sea monsters washed ashore but soon found they belonged to a species that wasn’t much different from man…
He wrote spine-tingling mysteries of the psychologically depraved and vivid sci-fi. These were his niches and his fan base showed their appreciation in droves. At times, they were the only thing that kept him going—self-imposed medication for a mind on the brink of depression and insanity. Receiving fan emails and requests for book signings allowed him to escape his own personal Hell. Pushing away the discouraging thoughts, he motioned the bartender who quickly served him another beer, this one even more enjoyable than the first. The guys sat around talking about the good ol’ days, and he’d give a head nod or perfectly timed chuckle to prevent from arousing their suspicions that he was there with them physically, but mentally, he was a million miles away.
