The Fight Within (38 page)

“Because you and Asia are the most important people in my life, and I never bring a man home unless I know he and I are
really
serious. It may just confuse you, make it harder.”

“Oh, so you and he serious now?” The boy’s thick brow shot up and bunched like a caterpillar, and he no doubt was hoping for his mom to say,
‘Nah, we’re just messing around…’

She couldn’t help but smile, despite the tense look on his face. She threw him a glance over her shoulder. “Yes, we’re quite serious. He and I have talked and you will be meeting him very soon.” She turned back toward the mirror and finger combed her curls, elongating them, making them bigger and bolder to match her heart as it swelled with svelte memories of words recently spoken from her lover’s lips…

‘I fucking love your hair…wanna bury my face in it.’

“Mama, I know you can’t be this desperate.” The sixteen-year-old crossed his arms even tighter now, bunching his black and white checkered shirt against his chest. He grimaced, refusing to give up the gauntlet. “I mean, he might be nice, I don’t know,” he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, huffing, “but he is like, twelve! And he is a
trash
collector, Mom! That’s just crazy! And he’s white.” The boy nodded, as if he’d brought some new shit, an undiscovered detail that blew her damn mind, one that would cause her pause, stop her dead in her tracks and declare his disputes Nobel-Prize-worthy.

“
First
of all…” She sucked her teeth for a spell, trying to choose just the right words for the irritation known as her first born. “He’s fully grown, thirty-four, about to be thirty-five to be exact, and
secondly
, it doesn’t matter what his profession is. The point is, he has a job and is self-sufficient. In reference to his race, so what, Brian?! I’m surprised at you.” She kept her reserve, unmoved by the boy’s protests as she dabbed a bit of perfume along the side of her neck.

“So what? What you mean so what? How is he gonna help you, huh?”

“Brian.” A sense of exasperation crept within her like rapidly growing branches across a wall that simply wouldn’t move the hell out of her way. She pushed the frustration aside, keeping in mind that her son was simply trying to protect her, do what boys do… “The idea of a man helping me is
more
than just financial, okay? Your father helped me financially, and look where it got us?!” She turned quickly, facing him head on like a semi truck barreling down a road going the wrong damn way. “Money is
not
everything! And him being white is irrelevant. I am still stuck on that…it’s not like you to say things like that.”

The boy lowered his head and shrugged, twisting his lips to the side—fighting the urge to say something smart, no doubt.

“And you’ve dated white girls, too. Why is it okay for you and not for me? I never said one word to you about your dating choices. You’re not grown, but you’re old enough to decide who you want to go out with, share your company…and I’m beyond old enough! I’ve never tried to choose your friends for you. As long as I knew they weren’t out in the streets getting into trouble, you never heard a word from me. I don’t need anyone’s permission to date Sean, especially not my own son’s.”

“Oh, so now we
finally
know the trash man’s name!” His eyes grew large. On a long-suffering sigh, he threw his hands up in the air, a bit of dramatic flair, even for him. All that was missing was an avalanche of silvery glitter falling from the ceiling and some stagey music with a canned audience applause.

“Boy…I swear.” She laughed mirthlessly as she turned back toward her vanity and applied a fresh coat of scarlet lipstick.

“I don’t know, you’re my mom…” He shook his head. “It just feels different. This is the first time…” He ran his palm against his thigh so hard, she was certain he’d rub a hole in his brand new jeans.

“…The first time, what?”

“The first time you’ve been happy since Dad left. I mean, actually
look
happy, like
really
happy. You’d pretend to be, but I knew it wasn’t real.
This
is real… I don’t want you to get hurt, Mama.”

She looked at him through the rounded vanity mirror and cracked an all-knowing grin. Before she could think harder about his confessions, she was up on her feet. She approached the boy and lifted his chin just so, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“I
know
you don’t, and I get it, baby.” She kissed the top of his head. “But, I’m able to take care of myself. I was taking care of myself before your father and I met, and I’m doing so now.” Dropping another kiss on the bridge of his nose, she sat beside him. “But I appreciate your concern all the same.”

He nodded and swallowed and as she stared at him, knowing him the way she did, she could also sense his internal struggle. He wanted to keep fighting on her behalf, keep the conversation going, but…he wanted her just as she was at that moment, too.

Happy.

“So, like, what kinda stuff do you all do?”

On a light chuckle, she wrapped her arm around his narrow waist, pulling him in closer. “We date…real dates, you know? We talk about
everything
under the sun.” She waved her hand across the air as if painting an invisible picture with the palm of her hand. “He is a really good man, Brian. He’s smart, resourceful, and so funny!” Her thoughts drifted briefly. “I mean,
seriously
funny! You’d love him. I know you would. I’m looking forward to you and Asia meeting him.”

“But what if I don’t find him so amusing? What if I don’t like him?”

“Well,” she said with a shrug. “You’d have to tell me why.”

“Would it change anything?”

She didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in his eyes, a glossy dash of hopefulness that was certain to be doused with her words.

“It would only change something if it were legit, and not just you nit-picking because you want your mother all to yourself.” She offered a tilted grin, and he returned the favor.

“It’s not just that, Mom. You’ve been through too much. Do you know what it would do to me to see you messed over?” He leaned back a bit and laid his hand across his chest, his voice rising ever so slightly.

Her heart warmed at his words, how could it not? He was communicating with her, telling her the truth…loving her in the best way he knew how.

“I know, Brian. But you know what?”

“What?” he said, his shoulders slumped.

“It would hurt me more to
never
trust and love again, take a chance. Yes, I could play it safe, but then I’d never experience those butterflies of falling in love anew and not the kind born from infatuation, the kind where the wings keep on flapping long after the first ‘hello.’ If I want to win, Brian, I have to play the game.”

He looked down between them, and slowly nodded. Reaching for him, she brought him close and caressed his long braids.

“Sometimes not playing the game at all is worse than knowing you participated, but your one person team lost—and add to that, you broke a window with your flying ball. I’d rather see that broken glass, knowing it just didn’t work out, Brian, but also understanding that at least I attempted to get something I wanted, always trying for that homerun. That way, I never have to wonder ‘what if?’ I never have to guess what it would’ve been like to step up to bat in the first place. I played, and I won because I
tried
, honey. That’s what life’s about. It’s about trusting yourself enough to fail, but knowing
true
failure is never trusting yourself at all…”

*

“I haven’t walked
the Brooklyn Bridge in years.” They strolled hand in hand. She looked over the majestic thing, at the people passing them to and fro, while a light breeze moved her hair about. “Tonight is just perfect.”

“…And it didn’t cost a thing.” He laid a tender kiss upon her cheek, grazing her soft flesh with words unspoken. He’d been thinking about the woman all damn day, so much so, it drove him to distraction. Suddenly, some of his favorite songs became soundtracks to memories of making love to her in the wee hours of the morning, replaying the sordid and beautiful tapes in his mind. Each time he found home inside of her, it seemed as if he were unearthing a new layer within her core, something unspoken and undeclared. She became a canvas for his eyes only, and they feasted off each other’s rugged artistic flavors. Her arm hung lazily over the side of the rail and he wondered what thoughts danced inside of her head. As she leaned over the railing looking across the waters at the Manhattan cityscape, He couldn’t help but take a quick yet meaningful step back and scan her ass… the same one he’d sucked, licked, and left with a heart shape bruise after pinching the skin ‘just so’ between clenched teeth.

Did she find the smallest pair of jeans she could get in?

“Your ass looks amazing!”

“Thank you!” She laughed.

He wrapped his bandaged arm around her waist and pulled her near, gathering her lightweight sky blue sweater in his grip as he brought her so close, she couldn’t resist laying her head against his chest. He shifted a little, trying to keep his arm steady. It hurt a lot less now, and the aspirin helped a bit, too. Paul, his trainer for his upcoming fight, had told him to lay off it a day or two. The guy was shaped like a fucking brick and just as hard, too. He’d put him in the ring for a practice run with a wild guy that hit as if his hands were flame-covered blades of iron. The man looked like some derelict misfit that had escaped the Looney Bin, an unattractive Tarzan of sorts. Regardless, he had this fool’s number, and he was prepared to make that shit quick, get it over with as swiftly as possible. Everything was fine until Sean briefly looked away… A mistake he
never
made, yet, he’d been distracted by someone suddenly entering the arena.

Diversion became his nemesis.

CHOP!

No biggie…

He gritted through the pain, popped a few ibuprofens as soon as the match was over, and went on his way until he discovered the next morning, after a restless sleep and crazy, nonsensical dreams, that his damn left ulna bone had a slight fracture.

Oh motherfucking joy.

That didn’t stop him however from picking up his girlfriend that same day and ravishing her body from the first strand atop her head down to her pretty pink painted toenails. Oh, he’d have her all right, recently handicapped or not.

He hissed, gulped down a particle of pain as her arm swiped over his, reminding him that he wasn’t made of tin, metals, and everything cold and unyielding after all.

That’s interesting… She touches me where it hurts, makes it hurt some more, but it’s worth it. I don’t even mind.

He frowned as he toiled with the odd notions, philosophizing over things that didn’t quite compute in his byzantine brain.

“Treasure…”

“Yes?” She glanced over her shoulder and looked up into his eyes, wearing nothing but a slight smile…well, and clothes, but he was planning for those to be removed soon enough.

“I think sometimes we gotta hurt a bit to get to the good stuff.”

She turned away, but he could see her cheeks plumped in a smile as she softly caressed his hands that were wrapped tightly around her waist.

“I see you’ve been brainstorming again.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Just thinking is all. I think I had philophobia at one point. You helped me face my fears.”

“Philophobia? Isn’t that the fear of falling in love?” she said, her tone cool like the breeze that danced in her tresses.

“Yeah. Anyway…” He swallowed. “I had something happen to me that hurt. It hurt real bad.” The wind gust grabbed her perfume and tossed it lightly into his space, causing him to drown in desire as his confessions came through the door, presenting themselves for her ears only.

She suddenly looked over her shoulder again, her eyes on him.

“Please turn around. I don’t think I can stomach lookin’ at ya when I tell you this.”

“Well, thanks!” She chuckled, and reluctantly turned away.

“Ahhh, you know what I mean.” He offered a slight smile. Holding her a tad tighter, as tight as he could without hurting his sweetheart, he ensured she stayed put, didn’t try to slip away… “I used to not be that way, but things change, you know.”

She nodded, keeping her gaze focused straight ahead. The evening offered a bright, starlit night…all the better for these crippled words, a perfect stage to illuminate his broken down, bed-ridden truth within.

“What happened, Sean? I won’t make you look at me… I won’t judge you, either.”

He looked out into the East River, his eyes becoming suddenly blurry. He hated this shit. His damn heart was folding over like a sofa bed, threatening to shut down, tuck itself away as if it had never been there in his chest in the first place. Then, her soft caress stole him from his thoughts. She ran her fingers over his hands and wrists, bristling the fine hairs, ushering him forward, comforting him.

I can’t turn this into a joke. I can’t make the shit funny. It hurts!