The Fight Within (15 page)

“Yes, Mom.”

She kissed the top of the girl’s head and wiped her tears with the side of her thumb.

I have to be strong for my children.

She felt helpless, trapped, irate, and the source of contempt. No matter how many times she spoke to Jackson about his lack of involvement, and all of his broken promises, nothing had changed. Her son was right and she damn well knew it. She’d been in protect mode of her offspring, even more so since that man left her house for the final time, determined to do what he didn’t, and even better. Yet, as she looked at her daughter’s wet face, and replayed the scene with her son, she was certain she’d been failing miserably.

She cradled Asia a bit closer in her arms, squeezing, hoping to not hurt the poor girl as she poured all of her love into that desperate embrace. Jackson’s money didn’t ease the pain. His vacant assurances sure as hell didn’t either and Brian’s anger was no more than a disguise for a wrecked heart. They’d all become shattered creatures, living a life cloaked in silent lies, intertwined together, stretching apart, and falling to pieces all at once. She’d dived faster and harder into her work, taking on more clients, burying her head just as her son accused. However, she had no idea she’d been doing such a thing until he’d mentioned it, bringing reality crashing down on her. The fact of the matter was, Jackson had left her so emotionally fragile, she grew a tough exterior to hide just how tortured she felt.

“Mama, I’m thirsty.” Asia broke her adrift thoughts, causing her to release her hard grip from her daughter’s slightly quivering frame. They left the bedroom, walked quietly down the steps and into the kitchen.

“I forgot all about these.” She took notice of the dirty dishes in the sink and sighed.

“Sorry Mom, it’s my night anyway. I’ll do it.” Asia poured herself a glass of fruit juice and gulped it down as if she’d been stranded in a desert for several nights.

“That’s right, I forgot it was your night to do the dishes.” She lightly chuckled as she picked up a soiled paper towel and walked toward the kitchen trashcan to toss it away. When she came upon the slightly overflowing heap, she noticed something of interest. In between the remains of a dried out orange peel, she spotted a piece of partially balled up paper, no larger than 4x6. A handwritten note, and in the top corner, she saw the Sanitation Department logo. She plucked it from the trash, unfolded it, and read the damn thing…

Seconds later, she lifted the corners of her mouth in a roguish grin…

That smart-lipped son of a bitch is something else… I guess I’ve still got it!

“What’s so funny?’ Asia asked as she poured the blue Dawn dish detergent onto the yellow sponge.

“Oh nothing, baby. Look,” she quickly slicked the note into her jeans pocket, “when you finish these dishes, make sure you go on to bed. No staying up reading those strange Harry Potter books you like,” she joked as she reached low and laid a kiss upon the tiny beauty’s cheek.

Asia laughed lightly. “I won’t, Mom.”

Treasure nodded, exited the kitchen, and made her way back up the steps, then paused in front of Brian’s room. Green light shone through the threshold like a rolling fog, and she could hear his loud ass music through his headphones.

That boy is going to be deaf as Helen Keller by the end of the year if he keeps this up…

She knocked briskly on the door, but he didn’t hear her. Turning the knob, she stepped inside only to find his bare back toward her and his head bobbing to the bass-infused beat. She stood there, looking at his broad shoulders on such a long, slender frame. His long braids streamed down his form and his dark jeans hung a bit, exposing the very top of his red, white and blue-checkered boxers. His feet, clad in white socks, tapped the carpeted floor as he got even more into the groove of things, the song no doubt carting him away to some place safe.

Look at him. He’s growing into a man… That’s not a boy anymore. Where did my baby go? Every day he is a little bit different…

To make matters worse, Brian was hardening. The once ‘Mama’s Boy’, polite, and straight A student had turned into a cursing, yelling, screaming banshee. As soon as he found out his father was leaving the house, he transformed into someone else, someone she no longer knew, someone she disliked, pitied loved and despised all at once. But he was her flesh and blood, and in Brian’s own strange way, he was simply trying to protect what was his, the last of what he felt he could rely on.

The boy kept bobbing his head to the beat, completely oblivious to her presence as she took quiet steps toward him. Once she placed her hand on his shoulder, he jumped a bit in his seat, then looked up at her, his mouth hanging open. He snatched off his headphones and focused on her, but didn’t say a word.

“Brian, I want things to be better between us.” There was no need for some ‘After-School-Special’ soft introduction, a cushy ride before she brought down the hammer. No…she preferred at this point to get right into it.

The music continued to play in a hush in the background, offering some odd soundtrack to their serious conversation. She glanced at his laptop and read the title of the song: ‘Collard Greens’ by SchoolBoy Q featuring Kendrick Lamar.

“Can you turn that off, please?” She leaned back a bit and crossed her arms, waiting. Huffing and rolling his eyes, he turned toward his desk and hit ‘Pause’ on his iTunes library. When he turned back toward her, his eyes hooded, sleepy, indolent, uncaring, no information sharing, daring…barely staring. Something inside the boy had died, and in the casket lay a little something called happiness…

“Brian, I know you’re angry, and I understand it. I’m still your mother though, and you’re going to have to remember that. There is a right way and a wrong way to handle things, to talk to people.”

“Yeah, but to talk to someone, they gotta call. That’s how conversations work.”

“What are you talking about?” She sat down on his bed, folded her hands together and anticipated for him to gather his thoughts and explain it all to her.

“He don’t call me, he ignores me.” The boy covered his face. His long fingers masked those gorgeous eyes of his, blocking her from witnessing his poignant discomfort. “It seems like everybody else’s father is in the picture except mine. You know how bad this looks, Mama?” His fingers slowly slid from his face, revealing the wet mess, more proof of his collapsed core. “It’s just me and two other black kids in school, ya know? And I don’t have a father. Well,” he laughed lightly, “I do, but I may as well not have one. That’s what they expect, that’s what they think of me.” He pointed to himself, speaking softly.

“I still make better grades than most of them, but they want to ask me why I don’t play basketball. They talk about affirmative action, like you and Dad got your jobs because somebody had a quota to fill, had mercy on you or somethin’. They look surprised when I say my parents went to college, got degrees and paid for their own shit, I mean, stuff. No full rides, no big time scholarships, nothin’. They look surprised when they find out I’m smart, not some damn dummy. They look surprised when they find out I listen to all sorts of music, not just rap. Mama, you just don’t understand,” he moaned, wiping another tear from his face before averting his gaze, as if he couldn’t stomach the conversation one second longer.

She reached out and gripped the boy’s trembling hand, held it tight.

“Are you angry with me, Brian?”

He looked at her for a long while, almost as if the answer dangled on the tip of his tongue, but he was just too afraid to respond.

“Come on now, you can tell me,” she urged.

“Yeah Mama…yeah, I am.”

“Why?” Her voice cracked as she held his hand a bit tighter.

“There isn’t any point in trying to explain it to you. You from somewhere else, got a different mindset. I couldn’t make you understand it, no matter how hard I try.”

“Brian, you haven’t even given me a chance!”

“I
have
, Mama! That’s the whole point!” He snatched his hand away from her grip, grabbed his headphones and turned his music back on, dismissing her presence, wishing her away with his body language alone. He rocked hard back and forth in his desk chair, closed his eyes, and disappeared right in front of her…

Slowly, she rose from his bed, feeling defeated, torn up inside…at square one. She’d been so close to getting through to him, but then, the tenuous rope slipped from her fingers, just like her marriage. She walked to his door, reluctantly curled her hand around the knob, and threw him a look over her shoulder. He continued to move about in his chair, rocking to and fro, dancing the unreturned love away.

…And no matter how she tried, they simply couldn’t groove to the same rhythm. He had his own secret song and he refused to tell her the damn lyrics. He’d flown a million tunes away, and she remained a reluctant solo act, hating every bit of the lonely, muted melody as it tortured his heart, and tormented her poor, tired soul…

*

I know what you mean. My mother is one of those people that is funny but doesn’t mean to be.
–FINDERKEEPER

Doesn’t that make it even funnier? So since you brought her up, tell me more about your mom.
–Sapphire Storm

My mom? Ok.
–FINDERKEEPER

Well?
–Sapphire Storm

No, she doesn’t live in a well. She lives in a house.
–FINDERKEEPER

Would you stop it! I’m serious. LOL
–Sapphire Storm

I thought you were Sapphire Storm.
–FINDERKEEPER

I wish you could see my face right now.
–Sapphire Storm

Alright, alright. She is an Irish woman everyone seems to love. She has a heart made of pure gold wrapped around milk chocolate and she is honest, but really nice with her delivery of bad news. Basically my polar opposite.
–FINDERKEEPER

LOL! Milk chocolate, huh?
–Sapphire Storm

Yeah, she thinks everybody is good; just mess up every now and again. Not true. Most people are assholes.
–FINDERKEEPER

I hate to agree with you, but it seems that way sometimes. So you’re Irish through and through?
–Sapphire Storm

Yes. Both parents. I’m third generation in the United States.
–FINDERKEEPER

That’s great. Do you identify with your culture? Participate in any celebrations?
–Sapphire Storm

What is this? The Ethnic Elevation Secret Society? Do I have to pass a litany of tests?
–FINDERKEEPER

Yes.
–Sapphire Storm

Well, I’ll fail. I don’t drink green beer, I don’t find four leaf clovers lucky or cute. I have no pot of gold, rainbows or lucky charms. I’m not red headed, either.
–FINDERKEEPER

Do you have shoes with buckles? LOL
–Sapphire Storm

Irish Pilgrim? Why yes, and I wear them every day while doing a little drunken merry jig at the subway for gold coins.
–FINDERKEEPER

LMAO!
–Sapphire Storm

Look at you using the ‘LMAO’. You learn fast, grasshopper. In all seriousness, no, not really. I’m American. I don’t get into all of that, but I mean, that’s not completely true. I like my culture and do identify with it. I will do things from time to time; go to local festivals, stuff like that.
–FINDERKEEPER

What do you like to do?
–Sapphire Storm

Sean pressed his fingertips against his lower lip and grunted as he crossed his ankles. He truly didn’t find himself all that interesting as of late, and wished to continue to delve in Sapphire’s secret treasure trove of dating disasters.

We’re supposed to be talking about YOU. I’m your personal, pocket comedian, remember?
–FINDERKEEPER

Oh come on, FINDERKEEPER!
–Sapphire Storm

Fine. Let me give you the rundown. I’m in my thirties.

And?
–Sapphire Storm

That’s it.
–FINDERKEEPER

That’s not a run down! LOL
–Sapphire Storm

Sure it is. You are far more exciting to talk about. I look forward to hearing about your dates not just because they’re usually funny, but also because I find them educational and enlightening, I should say. They give me hope, actually. There. I’ve said it. And I mean it.
–FINDERKEEPER

Well, don’t go writing my memoirs. I’m never going out again.
–Sapphire Storm

Oh, cruel world! I pity the raindrops that compete with thy-ith tears. Is thy-ith a word?
–FINDERKEEPER

No.
–Sapphire Storm

She and this make believe thy-ith shall never show her face-ith again!
–FINDERKEEPER