Under the Peach Tree (5 page)

I had been hoping that I'd be able to hitch a ride home, but it was a lonely walk. Only one car passed by and they were headed in the other direction. I had wasted so much time looking for Faith, I missed any opportunity of a ride home. Luckily only one freeway passed our little town, and I knew my way home. If Momma found out, I was dead. Literally. Looking back at life, I now laugh at this situation. It was one of the lesser evils I've committed. I'd relive it one hundred times over the other things I'd face in life.

By the time I reached our front yard, my feet were calloused and swollen and I had sobered up. The sun began to creep up from behind the distant hills, casting an ominous shadow over my house. I could easily sneak into my room and pretend that nothing happened, but something did. Something big. I took two steps into our yard before I saw Momma sitting stoically on the porch. I almost ran back from where I came but decided to get it over with. I slowly began walking toward her.

“Take your time. You better enjoy these last few seconds of your life,” she said, still not moving an inch. Dread replaced every atom in my body. She knew, somehow, she knew what happened.

“Momma—”

“Save your words, you're gonna need them to explain to God why you died before your time.” She was so serious. I nodded and wiped an unruly tear from my right eye. I stood before the porch and hesitated.

One . . . two . . . three.
I mentally counted each step as I passed them.
Four.
Momma jumped up from her chair and snatched me up before I could get to five.

I stared up into her low, feral eyes. My own were wide with fear. She yanked me into the house where both Faith and John sat. I didn't bother to look at him. I didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes. I quickly glanced at Faith, who had puffy, tired eyes from crying. She didn't look up at me. She was angry as well. Momma pushed me up against the wall.

“The police showed up at my house at three in the morning with your sister, handcuffed and crying,” Momma began. “Said they found her sitting on the couch at a house party. They tested her for alcohol and questioned her motives. Said she started crying about getting dragged to a party she didn't want to go to and that she was just waiting for her chance to get home. The police took pity on her and brought her home. They said next time it happens, she's going to jail.

“I didn't need to hear anything else from Faith. I already knew who put her up to it. Her sister, the devil himself.” Momma smacked me across the face. “You think you grown now? You think just because your birthday is tomorrow, you get to go party and be wild?” She grabbed me by my throat and began choking me. “You ain't grown! You a little girl, but since you wanna act grown, I'm gonna whoop your butt like you grown!” She turned her head toward Faith and John. “Faith, go in your room.”

“But, Momma—” Faith started.

“Faith!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, startling Faith. “Go. Now!”

Faith slowly stood up and sulked to her room. At least she didn't hate me enough to want my momma to beat me. I looked over at John, who stared back, impassive. I tried to plead with him through my eyes, but if he noticed, he said nothing.

“Wench!” Momma punched me to the ground before I could even see it coming. I felt her forceful kick connect with my stomach, making me spit blood. She grabbed my head and banged it twice on the ground while cursing at me. I thought I heard John shout in the background. I thought Momma shouted back at him as she punched me again and again. I thought. I couldn't hear anything over the loud ringing in my ears. All I knew what that Momma had stopped hitting me. But it was too late. I felt myself starting to pass out from the head blow and I welcomed the escape.

I can always sense a storm without looking into the sky. Nature has a way of warning us before a catastrophe, kind of like our own instincts. We can just feel the tension in the air, a black omen waiting to claim its prize. If we're smart and listen to warnings of a storm, we can take shelter before the worst hits. I never had the kind of shelter that protected me whenever life's storm passed. I just stood there, getting drenched by my own sin and tears, and waited for the worst to pass.

When Faith's and my birthday rolled around, I didn't even expect a happy birthday. Too many birthdays passed by without even the slightest acknowledgment from my mother. Faith, on the other hand, was showered with gifts. A pretty new dress, a new comforter set for her bedroom, and sometimes jewelry. Whenever I asked Momma where my gift was, she'd say I didn't deserve one, that I'd done something bad that week. I'd try to remember what I'd done to make Momma so mad that she wouldn't get me a gift, but I couldn't think of anything. By the time I was twelve, I just stopped asking. I stopped expecting anything from her. I suspected she finally had a reason on our sixteenth birthday.

I limped out of my room, still black and blue from the beating of my life. Faith had told me that Momma would've killed me had John not stopped her. She said Momma tried to fight John but he locked her in her bedroom while he and Faith carried me to my room. I had woken up covered in a light salve with a rag over my head. John had fallen asleep on the floor beside me with a bag of melted ice in his hands. I felt loved. Faith told me that she grew more respect for John after that situation. I loved him even more for it.

I limped into the living room, thinking about John and his good heart, and was taken aback in surprise. John stood a few feet away with a poorly decorated birthday cake in his hand that said SWEET 16. Faith was standing beside him.

“Happy birthday, Hope!” the both of them screamed.

Tears instantly poured from my eyes. It was the first time someone had ever baked me a cake. Faith ran up to me, wrapping her arms around me. “John got us both presents!” My heart skipped as I glanced at the two long identical bags sitting against the couch. Momma was nowhere to be seen. “I was waiting for you to wake up so that we can open them!”

John set the cake down on the table next to Faith's cake. He had baked us both our own cakes. I wanted to break down in happiness. I wasn't used to someone showing me so much affection. I walked over to the gift with my name on it. Faith stood in front of her own, with an eager expression.

“Go ahead.” John smiled.

I took no time ripping my present free from the bag until it was fully revealed. My eyes shined in wonder as I looked down at the most beautiful gown I'd ever seen. It was far more beautiful than anything Faith had ever worn.

It was a strapless, knee-length beautiful royal-blue dress with a big, frilly bow that tied around the waist. The bottom half of the dress was a tutu that ruffled intricately. Next to the dress was a box I hadn't noticed that had silver heels detailed with diamonds running along the ankle. Faith's dress was long and pink, much like the one I'd stolen from her, and equally as beautiful.

I turned to John, speechless. How could I thank him? What should a person so far in debt to someone's kindness say? John smiled and nodded. He could see the gratefulness in my eyes. I didn't need to say a thing. I walked up and wrapped my arms around him and cried. I felt Faith behind me as she wrapped her arms around the both of us. All too soon, John let go and held my chin up.

“Hope, I want to talk to you in private.”

“Okay,” I said, allowing him to guide me away from Faith and outside.

We sat out on the porch, staring at the beautiful South Carolina scenery. A weeping willow tree that sat in our yard was the best part about our land. Its branches hung so low, so sadly, I'd imagine that it wept for a love unrequited, much like my love for Momma. And I too hung low, saddened by events out of my control, burdened by the expectation to be my sister.

“Hope,” John started, but then he stopped. He didn't know how to address what I knew that he'd been dying to ask ever since he saw how Momma beat me last night. “Why?”

“I did it because I wanted to be free, for once. I wanted to be normal and go to parties and kick it with people who didn't know me for being the wrong twin.”

“That's not what I meant,” he said. “Why does your mom do this to you?”

It's something I thought about my whole life but I had never expected anyone to ask me. “I think it's because Momma hates me. She had to raise two kids alone with no help. She always said she wished it was only one of us.”

He took in my answer and sat silently for a while. Both of us, just staring out at the morning view. “Why don't you go to church with your sister?”

“Because Momma won't let me go. I don't care anymore though, not anymore.” It was a lie. I still cared, very much. “Plus Grandma didn't want to hassle around two kids at the same time. Momma said when I was little I was bad, couldn't sit still, and would catch fits. Grandma ain't want no church folk to see that.”

He nodded but his eyebrows were set. It was obvious he didn't agree with them. “How does your mom mistreating you make you feel?”

“I guess it makes me feel bad but I understand why she does some of it. She always has a reason to, I guess.”

“No,” he said firmly. “No mother ever has a good enough reason to mistreat her child to the point of abuse. It messes up a kid's self-worth, makes it hard for them to deal with life. They grow up confused and unloved, and many of them end up with emotional issues.”

“What's that?”

“Emotional issues can range from mild depression to mental disorders. Hope, do you love yourself?”

“I never really thought about it, I guess,” I told him.

He shook his head. “I want you to really think about it.” He turned to me abruptly; his expression was very serious. “If I were your daddy, I would've never let her treat you like this. When I saw how she beat you like that, knowing it wasn't the first time she did it, I almost killed her. I almost left her.”

“Why didn't you?”

“You're the only reason I stayed,” he told me, finally relaxing. “I'm gonna tell you something I never told anyone. It's our secret. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, barely containing my excitement. I was on the edge of my chair, anticipating what he was going to say.

He sighed, almost shrinking in his seat. A shadow passed over his face, a memory that didn't want to resurface. He blinked a few times and sighed again. Sweat began dripping down his forehead. His expression was almost childlike as if he were afraid. I knew that pain. I felt it every day.

John reached over and squeezed my hand. “My mom was a crackhead and would leave me for days with my dad, who was an alcoholic. He used to beat and leave me unconscious for days. I'd wake up with my mom passed out beside me, high. When I was five, my dad threw me out of his car. He literally opened my door while driving and pushed me out. The doctors said it was a miracle that I lived. They ended up putting me in foster care and I was eventually adopted by a wealthy white family. At first, it was hard having a new family, but their love was evident from the beginning. They showered me in love, saved me from a future of pain and torture. To this day, I am their child. I am still loved. I'd take the beatings all over again if it meant my new parents would come into my life and save me. There is always sunshine after the storm. Some of our biggest blessings come after the most hurtful situations.”

I thought about what John said. Was it true? Would I really get a blessing? Faith once told me that God blesses His children, but I never felt like I was His child. Would He bless me too? Maybe He already did. I turned to John and smiled. “You are my blessing, John,” I told him. “Thank you for the dress and the shoes. Thank you for coming into my life.”

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “I love you and your sister very much.”

I felt weak. “Nobody ever told me they loved me before, except Faith.”

John smiled softly. “Well, know that I do. You girls are my blessing. Anything you need, I'm here for you. I will give you the same love that my adopted parents gave me. No child should be without that.”

And I believed him.

I always heard stories about bad men. Abusive men. Cheating men. Angry men. Rarely did I ever hear stories about that one good black man. That strong man. That man who could hold a family down with one hand. That man was John. He did everything for my sister and me, and I just hoped I didn't find some way to ruin it.

In the summer, Faith went to South Carolina State University for an academic program that lasted two months. She called home every night and we'd talk about everything that happened in our days. She told me about a boy she had met named David. He was a junior and captain of his basketball team, and would be going to the university on a full scholarship. They had been hanging out, going to the movies, and having fun. He gave Faith her first kiss.

“How was it?” I asked, thrilled that she had finally gotten her first kiss.

“It was good. I felt alive and excited like when Momma buys me new dresses. I think he's the one. But enough about me, how has Momma been?”

I frowned. “She and John been having problems. She kicked him out of her bedroom and he now sleeps on the couch. I'm afraid that he's gonna leave.”

“No, he ain't. You even said he told you he's only staying around for us.”

“A man only gonna stay around for so long,” I told her.

“Forget about their drama, how you been, Hope?”

I sighed. “I'm okay.”

Truth was I was far from okay. I was depressed. My world was crashing all around me. It seems like Faith had been gone forever and I felt more alone than ever. Momma barely said a word to me, and if she did, it was only to ask how Faith was doing. John spent more and more time away from the house. I tried multiple things to get him to stay around more but Momma was too bothersome. I didn't blame him. If I had the chance, I'd stay away too.

But I was still alone and trapped. I didn't have anyone to talk to. Yes, John was great, but I couldn't open up to him the way I wanted to. Only Faith knew my heart's pain. But I couldn't lose John. I'd do anything I needed to do to make sure he stayed. I loved him. Maybe too much.

A loud crash coming from the living room snapped me from my trance. I heard Momma curse. “Faith, I'm gonna call you back.” I hung up the phone before she could protest. John was now yelling, drowning out my momma's shouts. I put my ear up to my bedroom door and listened.

“You don't do nothing for me, John! I don't need you. You ain't nothing!” Momma screamed. I heard another loud crash. It sounded like a plate smashing into the wall.

“Stop throwing stuff, woman! And what do you mean I don't do anything for you? I pay half your bills and I love your kids more than you do.” Something else slammed into the wall close to my door, making me jump back for a second.

“You love my kids more than me? Are you serious right now?”

“What have you ever done for Hope? You don't think it's wrong to spoil Faith and leave the other twin hungry for love?”

“Don't you question how I raise my kids. Them my kids. They ain't yours.”

“They shouldn't be yours either.”

I heard Momma gasp. “You can get out of my house if you don't like how I raise my kids!” she threatened.

“Naw, I'm gonna stay right here on this couch.”

My heart leaped. I opened my bedroom door and walked into the living room, seeing broken dishes lying in piles on the floor. John was sitting on the couch and Momma was standing over him with a plate in her hand. She looked at me and threw the plate at my head. Luckily, I ducked in enough time. Momma started to reach for another plate on the living room table but John stood up and pushed Momma away from it.

“Don't put your hands on me, John!” she screamed.

“Don't throw dishes at your kid! She didn't do anything to you!”

“Her presence is enough to get dishes thrown at her!”

John's fingers clenched into a fist and he started shaking. He lifted one finger and pointed to Momma, his eyes piercing into her. “If you ever put your hands on that girl while I'm around, I will beat you like you beat her, and you ain't gonna live to call the cops or kick me out. Think I'm playing?” He yanked her toward him. “I don't put my hands on women, but you ain't no real woman. If these kids can't fight, then I'll do it for them. Try me.”

I watched Momma stumble back when he let her go. He stormed passed me into their bedroom and slammed the door. I turned around to Momma, who looked more like me than ever: cowering, afraid, defeated. It was hard to hide my grin. For once she knew how I felt.