by Tiana Laveen
I am part of the world, too.
Mãe didn’t teach me with her words, but with her denial. Then, with her indignation. She taught me well. I hate that which I am…
King approached his parents’ home, his feet slowing to a crawl as he drew closer. The train ride over seemed hella fast. He’d had no time to think, to pull his thoughts together. Now, his mind was a blur of rage in spiky colors of impassioned aversion. So many times, he’d made this journey, and it always played out the same exact damn way. The difference this time was that Chris was involved. Well, his car. His prized possession. It was his son’s doing. His blood son. His biological son.
The prodigal son.
The one everyone had been certain would go to a big-time college and become a doctor like his father. The one people made excuses for his rudeness, lack of consideration and arrogance. The one who brimmed with jealousy for a man he claimed was only a half-brother, so it didn’t matter…
King rang the bell and it wasn’t long before the five foot ten inch Greek doctor with the gentle smile swung it open and greeted him.
“King, you know you can use your key. Son, no need to ring the bell.” The man wrapped him in a warm hug, then ushered him inside.
“I know, I just figured this would be quicker. The key is somewhere in my bag.”
Chris nodded, then locked the door behind him. King hung his jacket, then looked into the living room. The television was on mute and Mãe was sitting there wearing a pair of black pants that covered part of her ghostly white feet, and a long-sleeved bubble gum pink shirt. Dark hair threaded with silver looped around one ear, showcasing a small gold hoop earring. Face down, forehead full of wrinkles, depression and pain poured from her as she cradled her face in a shaky hand.
“King, you were right,” she said in a muffled, trembling voice. “You were right about Tomas. Such a fool I am!”
“Mãe, you’re not a fool. You’re a mother who loves her sons.” He stopped himself from saying his truth. What he truly wanted to utter. What good would it do?
King sat across from her on the soft couch while Chris disappeared into the kitchen. In the distance, he heard cabinets opening and closing. He was silent for a while, working on his brain so his tongue wouldn’t say something he might later regret. He swallowed the chance to condemn. Reprimand. Insult. The ‘I warned you, Mãe,’ ‘I fucking told you so,’ ‘Why do you never listen to me?’
‘Why do you love him more than everyone else?’
He’d said those things often over the years, but oddly enough, Suri’s words had begun to haunt him now. She had a strange way of getting inside of him, like some highly contagious virus, but instead of making him sick, she made him see with new eyes.
The gift of vision.
He’d been so certain about how the world was until she came into his life, and she wasted no time in telling him how she felt, too. In fact, the brazen woman had told him after she made him cum so fucking hard his back muscles clenched, that his cum tasted sweet, but he was an angry, impossible, sour man that she unfortunately was falling for.
An internally bruised artist who wears his battered dysfunction like a badge of honor. I wish I could hate you people. My soul loves you, though…
He was falling for her too, but he couldn’t respond to her criticisms of him as she licked his shaft and sucked his balls, affectionately draining him dry of every drop. Well, he could, perhaps, but not in the way that she’d hoped. As she cradled his cock in both hands and he nearly bit a hole in the pillow, she trained those big eyes upon him. She slipped her tongue along the slit of his dick, teasing him, mocking him, and said as his essence dribbled down her chin, ‘Having a bit of compassion for others doesn’t make you weak. Even though you believe others should hurt for their ignorance, King, I suppose to you, that they should suffer for discounting Captain Obvious and the red flags, not from you twisting the knife in their gut with harsh words and criticisms born of cynicism. This line of thinking would help you in the long run.’ And then, she wiped her chin with the back of her hand, crawled up to him, kissed his cheek, and proceeded to check her social media. Naked and smelling like cherries, white musk, and sex.
“Mãe, I called Tomas,” he stated after pulling himself away from the memory of his muse. Mãe looked up, her eyes a haunting pink hue. They reminded him of two small oceans. “He didn’t answer.” She looked back down. Chris re-entered the room and handed King a cup of coffee. “Thank you.”
Chris nodded and sat beside him, his own cup in hand.
“You look nice, King. Congratulations again on your new job.”
“Thank you.” Silence entered the room like some wispy, tiptoeing ghost.
The man seemed fairly calm, despite the fact that his ride could be destroyed, or worse yet, sold to a drug dealer for a shitload of drugs while Tomas got high in some random apartment with a bunch of people killing themselves to the sounds of music and fucking. People he didn’t even know.
“The police report is made,” Chris stated calmly, then took a sip of his coffee before setting it down. “I explained to your mother that Tomas is an adult, so we can’t make a missing person’s report just yet and due to his drug issues, amongst other things, the police aren’t exactly eager to begin searching for him anyway. Understandably, of course.” The man shrugged. “Your mother’s necklace, the one I got her last year, is also missing, as well as the ring from your great grandmother.”
That son of a bitch. That ring is worth a lot of money but it meant way more to our mother than any dollar amount.
“I thought Lucas would be here, too. Where is he?” King questioned.
Mãe nervously stroked her ankle and shook her head.
“No, he can’t handle this, King. I didn’t call or text him. He’s at work at the hotel, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not strong enough.”
King stared at his mother, surprised by her admission. It was like a wave of clarity had come upon her, though he wasn’t certain how long it would last. Lucas was a good man, but he seemed to internalize everything, and once he felt helpless, he’d withdraw and shut down. Maybe that was why Mãe always seemed to baby him. He needed more tenderness than King and Tomas required—a cup that was never full. He lacked confidence and gumption, but not because he didn’t desire it or try. He rarely stood up for himself, but he was intelligent. One of the smartest guys King had had the pleasure of knowing. Incredibly smart. King always wished Lucas had gone into engineering or some scientific or medical field like Chris. He had the brains for it. He simply didn’t trust himself.
They all sat there, hour after hour, though it felt like days were passing. A fog of minutes all blending together in shades of gray. He fought the urge to stalk Tomas’ typical haunts to track him down. He’d already checked his social media before he’d arrived, to no avail. Besides, perhaps it was for the best that he stayed put. His mother needed him there, not out racing around in search of blood, even though that blood was like his own. He’d always been her rock. Her support. He wanted to detonate. But the clock was keeping him hostage. Time was at a standstill, all on account of his brother.
He’s so fucking selfish. Look what he’s doing to the family? Over and over again. The attention is all on him, just how he likes it. In the coming hours, his parents tried to cheer themselves up, but he knew they were just going through the motions. King had eaten his mother’s delicious Feijoada: a pork, beef, and bean stew with cheese bread. Soon thereafter, he’d fallen asleep. Twice, in fact. He texted friends, including Shane, about some modeling gig he’d arranged for him to pursue—of course Shane got a finder’s fee so he was in hot pursuit. He’d spoken to Chris about work, completed an old puzzle, and pretended everything was fine when Lucas called to say hi, per his parents’ request.
At Chris’ urging, Mãe had finally gone to their bedroom to sleep. King stayed alone on the couch, a thick quilt wrapped around his body that Mãe had insisted on placing over him since he didn’t wish to go into one
the guest bedrooms. He wasn’t in the mood to be behind closed doors. As he fell into a fit of slumber, flirting with rest at 2:01 A.M. and mentally preparing to go back home in an hour or so, the front door alarm slowly chimed. He lifted his head from the small throw pillow and observed someone putting in the alarm code. The living room was fairly dark, but he could make out a person standing there, motionless. He knew that shadow. The thin, frame and broad shoulders of his brother.
One thud. Then another. Then another.
The steps heavy.
Dreadful.
King spun around and turned on a table lamp. The two sized each other up. King slowly got to his feet. Tomas smirked, his expression haughty. His complexion though was sallow, his eyes washed out as if there was no truth within him, no blood pumping, no signs of life. His clothing was wrinkled, his black hair disheveled. Death and evil danced in his syrup-colored brown eyes as his stare became more intense.
“What tha fuck are you doing here?” Tomas chuckled after asking the question, rolled his eyes as if King was an inconvenience to his otherwise pleasant life, then tossed his jacket across the foyer table. Every cell within King’s body burned like hot coals wrapped in freshly poured tar. His muscles tensed, including ones he didn’t even know he had. His fists clenched and his teeth hurt as he gritted them so hard, they may have cracked from the pressure.
“Where is Chris’ car?” Tomas ignored him, stumbling towards the kitchen. He quickly followed behind him. “Fucker, where the hell is Dad’s car?”
Tomas slowly turned around, pointed at him, and laughed.
“First of all, ya fuckin’ bastard, it’s my father, mmmkay? And where my father’s car happens to be is none of your fuckin’ business.”
“I gave you a hundred chances. You backstabbed me. Hurt me. I kept my distance for the sake of the family. Forget me, though. Take me out of the equation, Tomas. Look at what you’re doing to our mother. You’re killing her!”
“Oh, you’d know somethin’ about that, now wouldn’t you?” Tomas opened a cabinet. A second passed. Maybe a minute.
King wasn’t certain what happened.
Perhaps a bomb exploded in his head. It could have been his own brand of evil having its way with him, a hot tantrum, hair-trigger temper… an organic present from his biological father that kept on giving. But whatever the case, it involved fists pounding flesh, broken, shattered glass, limbs twisting, heavy punches, and hovering over a fallen soul as Mãe’s faint, faded screams echoed in the background. It involved Chris trying in vain to pry him off a guy who looked enough like him to be called his brother, but never received the same love that he gave Shane and the members of their crew.
Blood splattered like bright red paint. Beautiful. Like him. Like his mother. Like Suri. His fists pounded until his brother’s face was no longer recognizable, like a work of abstract art. He promised Tomas broken ribs. At least in his mind he did, and he was certain he delivered on that.
“King, stop!”
“King, please! NO!”
“Chris! Do something!”
“King, you’re going to kill him! STOP!”
“Deus me ajude!!!” But God wouldn’t help Mãe, because it was God that had led him to this moment.
He hadn’t even heard the cops arrive, but they must’ve tried to talk to him. He heard nothing but his own heart and faint screams of brotherly pain. Leave me alone! I’m painting…
Mãe was now sliding down the wall like a mound of human flesh, speaking fast in Portuguese, while Chris was speaking over her in English, begging the police, begging the EMT workers, begging God and all of his angels to please make the pain stop and not take King away. King stared at Tomas, who lay on the kitchen floor. Was what was left human? The rattle of handcuffs didn’t remove King’s smile. His cheeks hurt from the joy of it all. For so long, he’d wanted to beat up the bastard’s shadow. To destroy the darkness inside the golden boy who’d done nothing but rip their family to shreds. All he did was take, take, take, and gave nothing but heartache. The missing money over the years, the constant disrespect to their parents. The incessant mooching, lies, and guilt trips. While he was walked out of the townhome, he heard ‘Liberation,’ from Outkast, playing from a car that drove slowly past. He mouthed some of the lyrics, and smiled.
Those dizzying police car lights shined bright, this time in his honor. As he was placed in the back of one, an officer leaned casually against the door and looked at him. Was the guy feeling sorry for him? Maybe he was. He didn’t want any sympathy. He didn’t give a shit about being understood or forgiven. All he wanted was Mom to stop crying about a son who hated her, to get Chris’ car back, and for Tomas to leave their parents the hell alone once and for all.
“You’re arresting the wrong man,” King muttered before falling back against the seat. He was now in a cage, within a car. Like an animal. How strange, yet fitting. The deviant had to pour out. That beast inside him always did from time to time, for it could only be controlled for so long. It hated. It nursed from the breast of revenge. It thirsted for love, then tore it to pieces.
The police officer, a rosy-cheeked guy with dark brown hair and a skimpy mustache, leaned close.
“Your parents told me what he did. I know why ya did what ya did. You didn’t hear this from me, but, uh, I can’t say that I blame ya. Still, you have to come with us.”
“Is he dead?” The deviant was hopeful, the son was hurtful.
The cop looked deep into his eyes as if trying to find his soul. He would never discover it there…
“No. But close enough.”
The cop then closed the car door and walked away…
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brave the Elements
Suri placed the old metal TV tray holding a bowl of vegetable fried rice, chopsticks, and wonton soup in front of her mother, then patted her shoulder. Mom sat on the sunken in couch she refused to replace, in her dark, sullen living room with dated, lopsided, cheap gold framed art of abstract black people swaying to music no one could hear.
“Mom, I have to head to work.” She yawned. “You know I have to stop and get my Starbucks first, my liquid crack, and then I’m on my way. Do you need anything else before I head out?”
“Nah.” The handsome woman with hair like black silk, skin like flawless mahogany satin, and the mischievous smile of a child winked at her. “I told you not to bother coming over here this morning. I can’t believe you did that.”
“You hadn’t returned my last call, so you get what cha got. You only called me this morning to stop me from coming and it was too late then. For all I knew, you could’ve been in here incapacitated. Maybe you fell on your cactus again, or something silly like that.” Suri grabbed her green scarf from the hat rack by the front door and wrapped it around her neck.
“Clyde, my cactus, survived that fall and so did I. See if I confide in you again about such an embarrassing thing.” Mom chuckled as she readjusted her fuzzy pink robe. “You treat me like I’m one step away from a nursing home sometimes, Suri. Don’t hear from your ass for two weeks straight, then when you want me and my attention, I’m supposed to be front and center. Kids. I swear.” The woman sucked her teeth and dramatically rolled her big eyes, exactly like her own. “You bangin’ on my door like I owe you money.”
“You do. I won our last game of Spades, remember? Never did get that ten dollars. You can make it up to me by fixing me some of your delicious, but seldom made, roast duck pad thai instead.”
Her mother grinned as she slowly stirred the soup, round and round in the bowl. “Now you done made me Chinese food for breakfast, this good smelling soup and hot green tea. I hate tea and you know it.” She chuckled. “Tastes like rancid, old sewer water that had a sock boiled in it.”
“Now how would you know what sock boiled sewer water tastes like, Mom? Doesn’t matter. Please drink that tea if nothing else. You don’t take care of yourself. That’s why you keep getting colds.” She grabbed her oversized sweater jack
et and slid it over her head, then seized her purse.
“Suri, you better stop being so nice to me. I could get used to this. You could move in with me instead of stayin’ in my sister’s apartment while she’s galivanting in Canada. Better yet, I could move in with you. I know you’re excited just thinking about that.” They both laughed. “We’d try to kill each other before the first week was over. Anyway, baby, I’ll be back at work tomorrow. No problem. Just needed one more day of rest.” She coughed into a napkin. “This damn cold is in love with me, Suri. That’s the problem. It won’t let me go. Wish I had a man that was this fuckin’ faithful.”
“I know, right? Loving you through sickness, and in health,” Suri goaded. “Y’all even said marriage vows. Now that’s what I call dedicated.”
Mom reached for her cigarettes and lit one. On the TV, a soap opera she’d DVR’ed was playing.
“I know that smile.”
“Huh?”
“Suri, you’re in love again, wit’ ya fast ass,” Mama teased as she flopped back against the couch and propped one skinny leg onto her coffee table, which was littered with tshatshkes and old magazines. Suri paused, then shook her head, trying to hide a smile. “Your silence says it all. Who is he? I hope you get married so I can get me a grandchild to spoil and tell her about all the bullshit you put me through. A captive audience. Hell, even if you don’t want kids, I’ll accept a puppy! At least give me a plant. Damn.”
Suri placed her hand on her hip and giggled.
