Ahgottahandleonit

by Donovan Mixon

  “Wha-what-happened? Is Uncle Gentrale alright?” Tim lowered his pack to the floor.

  Sheila raised a hand as if she were in school. “Mom is taking that job in Chicago,” she mumbled.

  Tim turned towards his mother with outstretched arms, pleading, “Nooo, Mom! Why you wanna do th-that?”

  Looking up from her scratch work, Julia crossed her arms with an air of impatience. “I was just telling your sister that the job will pay a lot more and we’ll be closer to more of our relatives.”

  “Hmm—what about school? I got one—no—two more years before I fi-finish and me and Rene—”

  Julia smiled. “You and Rene? You and Rene what?”

  “Uh—no-nothing, Mom. We was just talking and…” He stopped talking and stared at his sneakers.

  “Mom says that it doesn’t matter. She—”

  Julia cut in. “Now, girl, I said a lot more than that! Tim, I know this is a big thing for you both and you know I love Rene—wait a minute. What’s that, Timmy?”

  “What’s what?”

  “The bruise on your jaw,” said Julia, pointing at Tim’s chin. “You’ve been rubbing it since you came in. Something happened?”

  Tim looked at the floor and smiled. “Aw—nah. Just fooling around with Les. He got a lucky one in at the gym,” he said, happy to not talk about Rene in front of his sis.

  “Humph! He got real lucky, I’d say!” Sheila chimed in with glee.

  “Shut up, Sheila.” Julia held up a stiff hand like a policeman—a gesture left over from her silent period. “I-I know this is a big thing for y’all, but this job came up just in time. With your father gone now, I don’t think that I can stand to stay around here no more.”

  “Anymore,” Sheila pushed in.

  Julia shook her head in disbelief. “What?”

  “Anymore, Mom. You said that you can’t stay around here no…”

  “Shush, child! This ain’t the time for that. I’m glad you’re doing well enough to correct your ol’ mother’s English, but right now you only have to listen. Okay?”

  Sheila rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mom. I’m listening,” she said through a loud sigh, then took a playful swipe at her brother. At the sight of Sheila being firmly put in her place, Tim had gloated so hard he looked like a bullfrog in a hoodie.

  “You too, Tim, listen now. I can’t be walking these same streets, saying hello to the neighbors like nothing has changed. For me, everything has changed and without your father’s support, things will get extra tough around here. I’ve checked into it. The schools over there start the week after they do here. So you all can say your goodbyes to everyone before coming to your new home. Uncle Gentrale says that he’s not going nowh—eh-hem—anywhere so you can stay here with him that week. I’ll have to start the new job right away. When you arrive, the new house will be ready.”

  Tim stood up, slapped his thighs and picked up his bag. “Well, then that’s it. We’re going.” Hmm…I need to get out of here anyway. Shit! Rene’s going to think I knew about this all along. Okay, so, maybe I could come and stay with Uncle Gentrale weekends.

  Sheila shifted in her seat and folded her arms in front of her. “Mom, it seems like you’ve thought of everything.”

  “Yes, that’s what I said at the beginning of this conversation. Now, never mind about all that, young lady, with your flip mouth! I need you to run down to the dry cleaners. Okay?”

  “Yes, I remember. Uh-oh, there’s the door. It’s for me,” Sheila said, sticking her tongue out at her brother on her way towards the front of the apartment.

  IT WAS HIM AFTER ALL

  On the way to his room Tim heard his sister laughing it up with someone in the living room. What the hell is this? he thought and took a peek to see. Oh shit, it’s Darryl!—Darryl?

  “Yo, s’up?” called out his tutor, smiling as if the world was his own. “I was just telling your sister that you’re going to kick butt on that proficiency, yo!” The fingerless glove high-fived him from across the room.

  Tim’s voice caught in his throat. “Well, if anything good happens, it’ll be th-thanks to you. I’ll be with you in a minute. What’s up?”

  Darryl smiled, turned towards Sheila and they laughed at some inside joke. “Oh, uh, no problem, I’m actually waiting for your sis.”

  Tim’s voice had all but disappeared. “Oh, uh-yeah man, it’s all good,” he said and slithered around the corner like an eel.

  The familiar sound of Gentrale’s voice on the other side of his bedroom door roused Tim from a deep sleep. In fact, he couldn’t be sure if he was awake—the light outside his window wasn’t right. Had the entire afternoon slipped away?

  Gentrale, never late for the evening meal, answered his question. “What’s for dinner?” he heard the old codger say. “Where’s Tim? I need to talk to him.”

  Before dozing off again, Tim heard his sister say, “I think Timmy’s asleep in his room.”

  Maurice’s calloused hand feels like a piece of petrified wood. It hurts. Tim looks at the dude and starts to say something when blood pours from his lips. He wants to wipe his mouth but can’t—both arms are held out from his body by the two thugs. Their fingers dig deep into his arm pits. Maurice is grinning like a demon. Tim looks at his face even though he knows that he should be watching the dude’s shoulders to be ready for the next punch. Something moves behind Maurice. A partially gloved hand is scratching a face, a face he knows. At the last fraction of a second he sees the next blow coming. He moves, the ring glances off his cheek. As if adhering to some kind of planned rationing, the chumps holding him punch him in the gut two times each with their free hands. The name of the gloved guy comes to him as he doubles over and is dropped to the ground. They are kicking him now.

  He opens his eyes, but Darryl is gone.

  The dream left Tim to roll off his mattress head first onto the floor where he remained for a good while, staring at the ceiling. Now the ache in his jaw had competition from a pain on the top of his head. Les had gotten him good, and he deserved it.

  The dude didn’t mean any harm. With those questions, he was actually looking out for him. Tim’s heart sank when he imagined what Les would say after everything came out about Chucky. Darryl, his fake friend, was altogether another matter. That had to be him at the park. That’s why he could never get the punk to be straight about the glove.

  Could his sister have known? It didn’t matter. Time was running out. He would have to deal with Darryl’s ass soon, special friend of Sheila’s or not.

  And he had to make that chump Maurice pay somehow.

  R-E-S-P-E-C-T

  The next morning Tim watched his mom wait by the stove for her coffee to bubble up in the pot. Like the atmosphere in the apartment, she had changed since his dad died. As far he could tell, most of the Post-its had disappeared. Same for the sundry coffee cups, pens, paperclips, hairclips, gum wrappers, business cards, lipsticks, eye shadow, earrings, beads, and bangles that seemed to have staked out permanent settlements. Pillows on the chairs in the living room had new covers and the dust bunnies underneath had scurried away. Even the light coming through the front windows seemed brighter.

  Julia hummed as she waited. Tim recognized the tune as a hymn she would sing Sunday mornings while getting ready for church.

  She doesn’t miss him.

  It had been barely five days since they buried his dad and the world had already begun to fill in the hole that he left.

  The bad ol’ days may have finally passed.

  “Good morning, Timmy. You’re up and awake?”

  “Good morning. Mom! I told you not to call me that. What you doing home on a Friday morning? You sick? Something happened at work?”

  “I’m fine, Tim. And no, nothing happened at work except that I’m done over there, and I don’t want to see inside of even the outside of that place again. I’ll be taking the train for Chicago soon. Don’t you remember? But never mind all that for now.” She placed two bowls, spoons, milk, ba
nanas and a box of cornflakes on the table. They sat opposite one another. “How you doin’, baby?” She sang it so sweetly, his teeth hurt.

  “I’m alright—I guess,” Tim said through a yawn.

  “You guess? I knew something was bothering you. Now tell me the truth—about that bruise for one thing! I know I’ve been kind of—distracted lately and, uh—it’s not that Maurice boy, is it? Is he bothering you again?”

  “Distracted? That’s what you call it? Dag, Mom! Ugh! No, I ain’t seen Maurice!” Tim sat down at the table.

  “Well, that’s a relief! Yes, I know I haven’t been paying enough attention to y’all. With the divorce, money problems, Gentrale, the funeral…it’s been rough. I’m so glad you two turned out to be such good kids. I’m so proud of y’all. You know that, don’t you?”

  Tim hung his head at hearing the word proud.

  Julia sipped her coffee and watched him. “You listening to me or what?”

  “Yea-eh-hem—um, yeah I’m listening. Hey, uhm…do you remember me telling you—I’m back with Rene!?”

  “I thought that’s what you were trying to say yesterday! She’s a good girl. I was so sad to hear that y’all broke up. Have you talked with her? About the move, I mean?”

  “Uh…not exactly, no.”

  “Maybe we could make it work if you stay here with Gentrale? What do you think?”

  Oh shit, he thought. “Uh…let me think a-about th-that, Mom. I’m thinking this mo-move may not be a ba-bad idea. There’s some cool sp-spots over there and whatnot.”

  “Hmm…okay, you think about it. So, um…what exactly happened with you and Rene?” She watched her son blush, yawn and extend his arms above his head.

  Julia put her hands on her hips and looked straight at him. “’Cause, I’m too young to be a grandmother. You get me, boy?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I get it! Geez!” Tim wiped his forehead as he walked across the kitchen.

  Julia sat erect in her chair and pointed a finger at him. “Are you calling the Lord’s name in vain, my man?”

  “No!” He jutted out his jaw like his uncle. “No-I-ain’t-calling-the-Lord’s-name-in-vain. Okay? Mom, let me ask you a question.” He turned away from her to put some bread in the toaster.

  “Hmm…what’s that?”

  “What happened between you and Daddy? I-I mean, last time I saw him he was going on and on about still loving you and stuff. If that’s true, why did he leave us?” Behind him Tim heard a sigh, a scrape, a click of the tongue. For a moment, he thought she would let the question hang in the air forever. Finally, he turned around. Julia seemed to take it as a cue.

  “No, boy! He didn’t leave us. We just couldn’t stay together anymore—with his drinking all the time. And his friends! Oh Lord!” She picked up a cigarette, held it between her lips.

  “Haaaa! Yeah! Good ol’ Ba-Baggy! You couldn’t stand-him, I could tell.”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly a secret. I wasn’t trying to hide anything. The man gave me the creeps, with his raccoon-eyes!” Her laugh catapulted the cigarette from her mouth. She caught it midair.

  “Whoa, that’s cold, Mom. Even for you! But, but…hmm…I get you. Must have been tough. Dad could get pretty drunk, huh?”

  “Yes, he had a real problem.”

  “But Uncle Gentrale said that he wasn’t no alcoholic. Said that he just liked to drink.”

  Julia turned her nose up at that one. “Humph. Well, if he wasn’t an alkee, he was certainly close enough!” she said, pulling at the back of her bathrobe as she got up. “You want some?” She turned toward the stove. “What else y’all talked about?”

  “Nah, you know I don’t like coffee. Who? Me and Unk?”

  “Yes, Timmy! You and your uncle.” At that moment standing at the stove, she reminded him of his dad, his dad who never had a chance—not a real one. After all he’d been through, it didn’t seem right that he lay in the ground being eaten by worms. Tim felt dizzy as he imagined them crawling out of his dad’s eyes. He rested his head onto his forearms. His mom, still talking away, hadn’t even noticed. No, she didn’t miss him. She was happy—happy to be making plans for them all.

  He finally asked the question that had been on his mind. “Do you have a boyfriend in Chicago?” And watched the saucer in her hand hit the floor.

  “Is that what he said about me?” she yelled, hands splayed to her sides. Since she hadn’t turned around, she appeared to be talking to the stove.

  The shards scattered everywhere. Tim stared at his mother’s back. “Well, do you, Mom?” he insisted. As he waited, a shiver ran up and down his spine. Whether she was about to lie to him or not, he couldn’t tell—he never could. But he doubted it. He had her now. She had to tell him the truth. “I mean, it’s not that dude who went to jail, is it?”

  “Child, where you get off asking me something like that?” she said, finally turning to face him. “Firstly, it ain’t none of yo-your—beeswax. Now-now, I made some mistakes, yeah, but all that’s behind us, Timmy—Tim! And I ain’t about to go listing them to you. I told y’all how sorry I am for all the stuff we had to deal with because of my silly…Oh God! I’m real, real sorry, baby. I’ve asked the Lord to forgive and keep me strong so that I’ll be able to make it up to y’all, to myself. Read my lips—they are very large, there-ain’t-no-boyfriend. For your in-for-ma-TION!”

  “And se-secondly?” Tim asked coolly. Secretly relieved, he wanted to tell her that it was okay, but he didn’t.

  Julia shook her head. “What secondly?”

  “You said firstly, so there must be a secondly coming,” he said, reflexively cocking an ear towards a noise at the front door.

  “There ain’t no secondly for you right now. You don’t deserve…uh-uh…secondly, Mr-Mr Prosecutor!”

  From the way she’d snatched up the broom and said Mr. Prosecutor, Tim relaxed. The corners of her mouth turned up and her eyes flashed as she spoke. He didn’t want the moment to end. “But Moooom…” he whined, trying to get back to those days when they were all together, all so young. The time of smiles and hugs when only friendly cussing and social drinking went on between the adults. A time when they spoke about everything because everything was new—way before the looks, the silences, the hollering and screaming, the absences, the secrets, the alcohol-laced BO hanging in the air, the anger, shame and the, the—killing.

  “Enough of that foolishness. You hear me? Now, what did you talk about with Gentrale?” She left the shattered saucer in a little pile by the stove and sat down next to him. She stroked the top of his head, but when she got too close to his bruise, he pushed her hand away.

  “Yeah, Mom, like—what happened? Unk went on and on about respecting a person’s place in the world and stuff like that. Seems-to me that something big went down between them.”

  “Darling—my sweet boy, don’t you worry your head about all that. That’s some seriously old news. Sometimes people get themselves so tangled up in the disappointments of life that they miss out on what matters. Your daddy carried some big guilt around and was always trying to offload it in a bottle. The important thing is that your uncle was right about respect and all.”

  Fighting back tears, Tim surrendered to her caress and leaned into her shoulder.

  I just wanted the dude to leave me alone. But he dissed me every chance he got. He thought he really had something on me with Maria. Yeah, she’s fine, but she never could be Rene. Then he’s standing over me laughing his ass off while I’m down with my face in the dirt. I guess it was true, I couldn’t take it no more and when I heard that fucking ringtone again—ugh! Damn, why did the scrawny bitch have to die?

  “Yeah, but what is it, Mom?” Tim said. His phone buzzed. He fished his cell out of his back pocket.

  “What?”

  “Respect, Mom!” He scrolled through a couple texts that had come in, then looked up at her. “What is it? Even my teacher was talking about it the last day of school.” At the mention of school, his voice caught. His heart
raced fast and hard in his chest. Had she heard something about Jones?

  “Hmm, an example of showing respect is—to give your full attention when somebody’s talking to you! Now put that darn phone in your pocket. Don’t be texting while I’m talking to you, boy!” she said, slapping him with a dishtowel.

  Tim sat up in his chair and put his phone facedown but kept a hand on it. “I’m sorry, Mom. But that’s it? Paying attention?”

  “No, there’s more to it than that, Timmy. Tim! But that’s a good place to start because if you’re paying attention, full attention, to a person or a situation, you’ll have a pretty good chance to do some good.”

  “So, like—what kind of good am I doing by not texting somebody right now?” He slowly flipped the phone from one side to the other as he spoke.

  “For one thing, you’re giving yourself a better chance to learn something from your mama. That’s pretty good in my book,” she said with a sweet smile.

  “Alright, but…?”

  “If you’re texting somebody while sitting here pretending to talk to me, you’re not really with either one of us, me or your friend on the phone. In a way, you’re only with yourself. It’s like saying we don’t deserve your full attention. It’s like saying my place in your life isn’t important enough to get the whole you, the whole Tim. In the end, you risk missing out big time, missing out on what I may have been trying to say to you. Or maybe you miss out on helping someone. Listening to someone alone often gives more help than you can imagine. What you do and say matters, Tim!”

  Hearing that, Tim’s eyes widened in surprise. “Huh?” Oh shit, I knew it! She’s talked to Jones!

  Julia noticed. “You surprised by all this, Tim?” she said sipping her coffee.

  “Huh? Uh—no. I’m just listening to you. That’s all. Wha-what about paying attention to uh—a situation? What’s that got to do with…”

  Julia held both hands up and did a little dance in her seat. “R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Usually when you aren’t paying enough attention to a situation, you end up disrespecting your own self more than anybody else.”