Double Dippin' (9 page)

Mommy
, Shane whispered, still holding the container of fruit punch.
Mommy!

No one would ever understand his pain and how guilty he felt that he wasn’t able to bring her back to life. If only he’d been able to break away from that social worker’s grasp. He would have saved his mother. He would have shielded her with his body. Or maybe he should have head-butted the policeman, grabbed his weapon, and hauled ass with his mother and Tariq safely at his side. Shane shut his eyes and shook his throbbing head. It gave him a headache to think about the things he should have done.

“Whatchu say? I hate it when you start talking to yourself,” Tariq announced.

But Shane was preoccupied with thoughts of how he should have saved his mother; maybe if he’d broken free and just picked her up—perhaps that would have helped. “
Mommeee
,” he uttered in the voice of little boy.

The container slipped from his hand and splattered across the kitchen floor. The color reminded him of the red bird that flew away with his mother. His mother, who never had a funeral or a memorial service. He wondered if she even had a grave. The last time he saw her she was lying in the park—never to be seen by her children again.

Shane didn’t bother to clean up the spilled fruit punch; he couldn’t. Fighting to hold back tears, he tried to rush past Tariq.

“What’s wrong?” Tariq asked, perplexed, reaching out to console his brother, but Shane jerked away and ran toward the stairway. The tears began to flood down his face the moment his feet hit the stairs.

Resignedly, Tariq cleaned up the mess, cocking his head in bewilderment toward the sound of his brother’s muffled sobs. He clambered up the stairs and knocked on the closed bedroom door. “You okay, Shane?”

“Go away!” Shane cried. Words of consolation only made Shane angry; he didn’t like being reminded of his weakness. The weakness he had for their mother.

She was a saint
, he’d whispered countless times to Tariq.
The cops killed her. She died for us, man. She was like an angel flying away to heaven
.

He knew Tariq had only a foggy memory of their mother. But Shane remembered everything about her and his memory of the day she’d gotten killed was particularly vivid. It angered him to no end that Tariq could barely recall the most important day of their lives.

Dolores Holmes stood in her second-row position with the choir’s alto section, but she kept hitting the wrong notes. Necks craned in disapproval. “What’s wrong, Sister Holmes?”

“I’m having a bad night; I just can’t sing on key. I think I’m gonna sit this rehearsal out.”

No one in the choir disagreed. The women’s choir was serious about their singing and Sister Holmes was making them sound bad.

She patted her feet and bobbed her head as the choir praised the Lord with song. She pretended to be absorbed in the spirituals, but Ms. Holmes was actually ruminating on the terrible turn her life had taken. Feeling too sinful to sit in a house of worship, she gave a sigh, slid out of the wooden pew, and lumbered toward the restroom. She peeked around to see if any of the choir members were watching. Satisfied that no one seemed to notice her, Dolores Holmes eased out of the church and got in her car.

She sat in her old Ford for a minute before turning on the motor.
I’m in a heap of trouble
, she thought and shook her head.
After all these years of living sin-free, that no-good, rotten Satan has finally had his way. It’s not Shane’s fault. Satan has him in a tight grip. I have to figure out a way to put things back like they’re supposed to be or else I’m gonna have to let those two pretty boys go
.

The thought saddened her, but she was rushing fast toward ruination. It was just a matter of time. She turned on the ignition and with a heavy heart, Dolores Holmes headed home.

The house was quiet. Tariq was conked out on the sofa. Shane was probably out running the streets, hanging with riffraff. She sighed.
I can’t even raise the boy right with Satan determined to make me weak
. She dragged her tired body over to Tariq, shook him, and sent him up to bed. Tariq was so easy. Woke up
easy, always did as he was told. He was sweet as pie, but that Shane…she shook her head.

As if he’d been summoned by the devil himself, Shane came home, glared at her, and then clumped up the stairs. Greatly relieved that Shane was safely at home, Dolores Holmes dozed off. An hour later, she was startled awake when Shane stumbled down the stairs, half asleep. He looked like he was sleepwalking when he came heading straight toward her.

Dolores Holmes cringed. “Go on now, boy. You’re dreaming. Go on back upstairs now. Go get yourself some good sleep,” she said, backing away from Shane’s begging, outstretched arm.

He backed her into an endtable and nearly toppled over a lamp, but she caught it in the nick of time.

She didn’t want to alert Tariq. She didn’t want him to ever find out about the pitiful mess she’d gotten herself in. “Shane!” she whispered sternly. “Go back upstairs; go to bed.”

But Shane pulled on her wrist, silently urging her to sit down. She flopped down on the sofa, trying to figure out how to get him up the stairs.

Shane didn’t say a word, he just started groping her, moaning softly and squeezing her breasts. She sat still, accommodating him while her mind raced. Not knowing what else to do, Dolores Holmes grabbed Shane’s hands. She’d have to wrestle with him quietly; she couldn’t risk disturbing Tariq and exposing her shameful predicament.

Shane pulled his hand free. He gave her an evil look, which made her simmer down. Breathing hard from all the tussling, Dolores Holmes passively allowed Shane to unbutton her blouse.

She prayed for forgiveness while Shane’s mouth went hungrily from breast to breast, sucking so hard, she flinched. Martyr-like, she quietly endured the pain. There was nothing she could do but let him get satisfied until he was tired enough to leave her alone.

As Shane’s hand snaked up her dress, she prayed for salvation. And as if answering her prayers, Shane suddenly withdrew his hand.

Dolores Holmes’s relief, however, was short-lived for Shane apparently had another idea. He grabbed her hand and guided it to his crotch. He squirmed
restlessly. She knew what he wanted—he wanted to make sure she had a one-way ticket to hell.

Accepting her fate, she stroked his hard lengthening private part until it grew so large, she withdrew her hand in alarm. Being that he was so young and all, she was shocked by the enormous size. It had been such a long time since she’d been with a man like this…a man! Shane was just a teenager, she reminded herself. He was just a misguided youth, she thought with pity for herself as well as the boy.

Shane began to make hissing sounds, words she couldn’t decipher. Then she heard him say, “Suck it!” in a voice that was crystal clear.

“No, Shane. Now, that’s a terrible thing to want. Suppose your brother wakes up. You know what you’re asking for just isn’t right.”

He nudged her head toward his crotch. “Suck it.” His voice was demanding and loud enough to wake up Tariq.

Resolutely, she pointed to the dining room, where a wall would block Tariq’s view if he suddenly awakened and came downstairs.

In a corner, beside the china closet, the overweight Dolores Holmes struggled to get down on her knees. It occurred to her that never in her life, not even during her most despicable drinking days, had she ever committed such an outrageous act as what she was doing now.

Before she had even gotten into a reasonably comfortable position, Shane said in a hoarse voice, “Open your mouth.” She did as she was told and drew his private into her mouth.

She sucked it, swearing to Jesus that the disgraceful deed was Satan in action and was entirely against her will. She was not a sinner; she’d make that claim with her hand placed upon a stack of Bibles.

Shane started making a lot of noise. Moaning, grunting, growling, and calling out, “Mommee,” in a strange voice that was entirely too loud. And so Ms. Holmes sucked harder and faster, trying to hurry him along, trying to finish him off, so there could be peace and quiet in the house.

“Do you love me, Mommy?” he asked when it was over. She nodded her head. She couldn’t respond verbally; her mouth was filled with semen.

1999

O
n their fifteenth birthday, Dolores Holmes bought the boys a Super Nintendo and all the gadgets that went with the console, but Shane still wasn’t satisfied. He wanted a new game to play every week as well as those expensive Jordan sneakers. Not just for him. Tariq, he insisted, had to have a new pair as well.

Ms. Holmes didn’t have the kind of money required to buy Shane’s silence. And she didn’t have the willpower to make him leave her alone.

Their relationship included intercourse now.
Fornication!
She and Shane indulged the devil any time of the day or night. She sorrowfully shook her head. Now that the devil had possession of the boy, it no longer seemed to matter to Shane whether Tariq was at home or not—he had his way with her whenever he felt good and ready.

She could only pray that the sweet little lamb, Tariq, was innocently unaware that their home was no longer sacred; it was a sinful, immoral place.

Ms. Holmes could be down in the basement washing a load of laundry early in the morning and Shane would creep up behind her, lift up her dress, and snatch down her panties. Or he’d sneak up on her the minute she came out of the bathroom, quietly forcing her back inside the small room, coercing her to bend over the sink, the toilet, or the tub while he penetrated from behind.

Her knees were covered with rug burns, hidden with flesh-colored Band-aids.

If he came home late and caught her in bed, he’d crawl in there with her, too. Scared to death that Tariq would hear them, she usually waited up late for Shane, dozing off as she tried to watch TV in the living room. Sometimes he
came home and didn’t bother her; he’d look at her and just go straight up to bed. But most times he joined her on the sofa.

There was no hope for her. Satan had sent that boy to test her faith and she’d failed. She was a sinner—a wanton and wicked woman. She was going straight to hell in a hand basket, so why put up a fight when she’d already lost the battle?

Therefore, most nights she made it easy for Shane. She’d sit on the couch, fat and naked under her nightgown as she waited for him to come home and start messing with her. And when he did, Ms. Holmes submissively spread her massive thighs without prompting, allowing the teenager to stick his finger deep inside her, letting him work on her until her body started acting up. Twisting and turning, she’d arch her back like a nasty ol’ alley cat. No decency, no self-respect left. Acting right whorish, she’d shock herself as she pushed down on Shane’s finger, wiggling around, hot and bothered and anxious for the real thing.

The other downside of Satan’s stronghold on Dolores Holmes’s life was her money situation. She’d started ducking bill collectors because she could no longer pay anything on time. Her car needed a tune-up and had started rattling real loud. All four tires were bald. The house needed repairs but she was flat broke most of the time because she was spending and giving so much to Shane and Tariq, there wasn’t hardly anything left to run the household. Shane could finagle her out of her last dime. It was a sin and a shame, but she couldn’t tell that boy no.

The little bit of money she managed to hold onto was spent at the liquor store. Yes, indeed, the devil was busy. So busy he’d escorted her right back into the fire of hell, which was found in the bottom of a bottle of gin.

She needed help from the Lord but was too embarrassed to go to church.

Sinners shouldn’t be sitting up in the Lord’s house
. And she didn’t want the pastor to know that Satan had gotten a hold on her again. She’d taken a mighty bad fall. Hard times were upon her but she didn’t want any of the good church folks to know. Feeling like Satan’s sister, she turned up the bottle and took a gulp of gin.

Shane knew LaDonna was on Baltimore Avenue, working at her new job at Easy’s ice cream parlor, but that didn’t stop him from going to her house.