When Horses Had Wings (20 page)

When we returned, Thornton resumed his questioning. “To recap, Ms. Murphy, let me see if I understood you correctly. You told this court that you work forty hours a week, commute for five, and take evening classes about eighteen hours a month. I believe you said you confined your social life to Saturdays, when Mr. Murphy keeps his son Sean overnight. Is that correct?”

I nodded. The Dr Pepper I’d drunk during lunch had stressed my bladder. I pressed my knees together, hard.

“So you really aren’t around your little boy very much, are you, Ms. Murphy?”

Swindle bellowed, “Ob-
jection
, Your Honor.”

“Withdrawn.”

~

Billy Wayne Edwards took his oath while my gaze remained affixed to the polished floor beneath me. Too humiliated to look up, I was lost beyond all reason of salvation. I hardly listened to Thornton’s inquests, directing my attention instead to the possible return of two scrambled eggs and hash browns with toast. I clicked in long enough to hear him ask, “Mr. Edwards, will you please tell this court how you know Renee Murphy?”

Oh, this ought to be good
, I thought. I’d never before heard of a Billy Wayne Edwards, not once in my whole life. I brought my toes together, braced one knee against the other, and practiced bladder control.

“Live right next to her,” the mystery man said.

Snapping to attention, I nearly suffered whiplash. I zeroed in on the witness stand. There sat the guy whose raging voice had been echoing through my apartment for months, the Neanderthal who now had a name, Billy Wayne Edwards.

“As Ms. Murphy’s next door neighbor, do you share a common vestibule with her?” Like an old riding stable horse, Thornton was racing for the barn. In no time at all, he’d have this clod saying most anything. Soon enough, Thornton would be feeding on his ill-gotten success.

“Yep. Sure do,” confirmed Billy Wayne.

“So I take it you can see, from time to time, people coming and going from Ms. Murphy’s residence? Is that correct?”

“Uh-huh.” Billy Wayne nodded.

“And have you ever witnessed any men, other than this one—” Thornton pointed to Kenny. “Entering or exiting Ms. Murphy’s apartment?”

“Sure. Many times,” Billy Wayne said. “All types of ‘em.”

“All
types
?” Thornton feigned surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

“Coloreds...whites...Mexicans.” He shrugged. “All kinds.”

Before Billy Wayne stopped yapping, he’d accused me of sleeping with just about every man with whom I’d ever made contact, from Jewel Gardens’ maintenance staff to Pearly’s husband Jarnell.

~

Leaving the courthouse on that spring afternoon, I didn’t notice the fuchsia and white azaleas lining the sidewalk or the boxwoods’ newly green shoots. I couldn’t hear the cardinals’ high-pitched chirps or the grackle’s shrill caw. I’d been deafened by defeat. The judge’s final words echoed in my brain. “Effective the last scheduled day of the school year, this court hereby orders Renee Ann Goodchild to relinquish primary conservatorship of Sean Lee Murphy to his legal father, Kenneth Raymond Murphy, subject to standard visitation...first and third weekends...holidays...Mother’s

Day...”

I could no longer hear anything else but those words and the sounds of my own heart reassuring me that, though I didn’t want to, I still lived.

Swindle uttered, “I’m sorry.”

“How...you tell me how does this happen?” I demanded. “That man is a wife-beater. How could anyone think he’s a better parent than me?”

Swindle stowed a few file folders in his briefcase. “We had no proof of that because you’d never filed any charges. There were no photos, just your word against his.” He snapped shut his attaché. “He had character witnesses. And you didn’t.”

Oh, no, I wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “What about the restraining order I filed against him? Didn’t that prove something?”

Swindle gave me a consoling look. “It was a mutual order, if you’ll recall. They could have easily said
you
were violent.” He took a few steps toward the exit door then turned back. “Look, the good news is, the judge denied him any child support.” With a flip of his wrist, Swindle checked his watch. “I have an appointment. I’m sorry.” With that, he strode away.

To Swindle, it had been only a minor setback, nothing that would jeopardize his career or, for that matter, affect his sleep. Later, I suspected he’d have a drink with Kenny’s lawyer. Together, they’d probably share a few laughs about their boring cases. It was all part of a game for which they were dearly paid and yet never held accountable.

Dazed, I stumbled toward where I thought I’d parked my car. The courthouse anchored the town square with metered parking around the full perimeter. From any angle, the building looked pretty much the same unless you set your bearings by other landmarks. I hadn’t.

All I needed was a minimum sense of direction, I decided, only enough to find my vehicle and drive for thirty minutes without veering into someone or something head on. As much as it hurt to admit, at that moment, a fatal car crash held strong appeal.

The first sounds I remember hearing came from several yards behind me, the click-clack of a woman’s high-heels. My head tingled, vision blurred. At any second I thought I might faint into the arms of the lady overtaking me on my right. Maybe she’ll break my fall, I considered. I turned to see how sturdy she might be.

Plenty stout, indeed.

“Well! Maybe now you see it doesn’t pay to be a hussy!” Neta Sue admonished. She gripped the handles of her dull tapestry bag, glaring at me as if I was a convicted felon. Her fat jowls shook as she spoke. “Nobody screws around on
my
son and gets away with it.”

I wanted to tell her what a fool she was making of herself, but the words wouldn’t form. My pulse quickened, reviving me. Instead of fainting, I felt more like punching a fist through her dentures.

“Come on, Momma.” Kenny caught up to Neta Sue and stood next to her. “We got what we wanted. Leave her be.” Refusing eye contact with me, he hooked one arm through Neta Sue’s and tugged. “Let’s go now.”

Such a sensible gesture had been more than I would have expected from the likes of Kenny Ray. Briefly, I wondered if maybe he’d truly gotten what he wanted. In little more than half a day, my entire life and that of my child’s had slipped away. Our futures had been sealed right there in that courtroom. I was destined to become a social leper—and Sean a carbon copy of Kenny. That was as certain to me as nightfall.

TWENTY-SEVEN

A
pril rains stretched into May, uncharacteristic weather for a Memorial Day weekend in Texas. I carefully folded Sean’s size-five shorts and T-shirts while he helped me gather his toys. He pointed to a haphazardly filled produce box and said, “I did ‘em
all
.”

“Oh, Seany, you need to leave some of your things here. What’ll you play with on weekends when you’re with me, sweetie?”

He looked as if the idea of returning to my apartment had never dawned on him. He blinked then rocked back onto his heels. “You can buy me
new
ones!”

How could he be so happy, so seemingly unaffected by his pending departure? A piece of my heart had been in every item he’d packed. Those toys held memories; they weren’t items to be shuffled like leaves—any more than children were. I charged for the bathroom before Sean could see the effects of the anguishing thoughts about to consume me.

After tomorrow morning, Sean would only be a visitor when he was at my apartment. He wouldn’t live there anymore. He would take with him all of his belongings, every token from his childhood, the parts of a past we’d shared: the Stretch Armstrong doll that oozed its red gooey gel onto my living room carpet, his shirt from the Dallas Zoo, his Nerf baseball, the one that had broken my blown-glass swan, his Superman pajamas, and his wind-up radio that played
Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.
I’d let him listen to that song over and over on nights when he’d been afraid. Now I was the one who felt fearful and scared of losing him forever.

I’d given birth to this boy, an unexpected gift, but all the same a delight. Wasn’t it written somewhere in the annals of history that a child and mother belonged together at all times? Not just on first and third weekends, alternating holidays, and Mother’s Day. Who decided differently? It couldn’t have been a woman. Whoever was responsible for that violation of natural order, I wanted him brought before me and forced to spell out his reasoning. No one in that courtroom had honored me with any explanations. Yet, even as I thought this, I knew no amount of rational explanation would change the way I felt.

Rubbing my eyes, I sat on the toilet lid and cried harder. Between sobs, I heard Sean’s frail knuckles rap against the bathroom door. “I need to go to the bathroom, Mommy.”

I blotted my eyes with some toilet tissue and let him in. “I’m sorry.” I forced a grin. “Mommy sprung a leak.”

Sean held himself and examined my face. “Is that the same thing as crying?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

Mentally, I scolded myself. I had to keep it together for his sake. No need to make the move difficult for him. If Sean felt comfortable loading up all his belongings, then I ought to find peace in that. There was no reason for me to transfer my pain to him. He had enough of his own to carry.

I returned with Sean to his room to finish packing. He peered into a box he’d already filled with playthings, located his Fisher-Price radio, and pulled the heirloom free. Winding the dial a few times, he lovingly handed me the toy. I clutched the object to my chest, listening to its familiar melody.

“You can keep that one,” Sean said.

~

The night stretched expectantly before me, an endless darkness. Unable to sleep, I twice sneaked down the hall and stood in Sean’s bedroom doorway. I wanted to sear that mental image in my mind forever.
This is Sean, age five, asleep and unaware on the eve before a major turning point in his life. This is what he looked like. Remember. Remember forever.

Soon he’d begin first grade, another important passage. Yet I wouldn’t be the one to accompany him to class on his first day of school. Unlike me, Neta Sue wouldn’t give a hoot about becoming Sean’s homeroom mother. She’d probably never bake chocolate-chip cookies for his school parties or shop for valentines and teachers’ gifts the way I’d planned to do. I’d expected to stay involved in Sean’s school life. Knowing Kenny and Neta Sue, though, they’d make sure to keep me out of the loop. Sean would have to depend on the two of them participating in his activities. Collectively, Kenny and Neta Sue possessed neither the talents nor the inclination to fulfill my parental role. Standing there in the dark, I grieved that recognition, grieved for me, for Sean, and for everything we’d been wrongfully deprived of.

~

Morning. Sunshine. Captain Crunch. It was such an ordinary Saturday in so many other ways, people driving to the mall, hair appointments, and grocery stores. Amid the usual daytime bustle, I faced the extraordinary task of turning over my son to Kenny Ray for permanent keeping. I wanted to be most anybody other than who I was right then: a frightened, hurt, broken human being. I’d spend the rest of Sean’s childhood looking into the eyes of random acquaintances, making excuses for why my child didn’t live with me, knowing that no matter what I said, strangers and even my own momma would negatively judge me. Most people I knew believed the myth that only mothers who were hookers, dope heads, or both, lost custody of their children.

To become a parent, I’d given up my own childhood. I’d even foregone my last two years of high school. Never would I experience a senior prom or graduation ceremony. My name wouldn’t surface on the ten-year high school reunion guest list. No one would wonder and ask what had become of me because I’d dropped off the traditional radar screen. And now, the very child for whom I’d made those sacrifices had been stripped away from me.

In Neta Sue’s driveway, I parked my car and motioned through tears for Sean to hug me goodbye. Already he’d noticed his daddy and grandmother standing on their front porch next to a cauldron filled with red begonias. Sean’s gaze shifted from me to Kenny, as if before he could show me any affection he first needed to get his daddy’s permission. I tried to fend off the taste of bile in my mouth. No use. Any second, I knew I would hurl.

Neta Sue approached my car. She yanked wide the front passenger-side door and grabbed for Sean’s waist. “Come on out, now,” she said, throwing daggers at me over the top of Sean’s head. “You’ll see her again in a few days.”

Kenny popped open a rear door and hoisted Sean’s toy box to his shoulders. Lugging the container to the veranda, he set it down and then returned for the remaining boxes I’d filled with Sean’s other belongings. I sat motionless and said nothing. The battle had already been fought. And our side had lost.

Sean sprang from the car and gave his daddy a high-five.

Slapping his hand twice on the Mustang’s roof, Kenny indicated the cargo had been cleared so I could leave. I watched in anguish as the three of them strutted toward their newly shared quarters, Neta Sue on one side of Sean, Kenny on the other. Shoving open my driver’s side door, I leaned my head over the asphalt and heaved the remains of my breakfast.

For a second I was convinced I needed a paramedic, someone to help remove me from that driveway. But after what felt like a lifetime, I found reverse gear and drove off.

My soul seemed to orbit my body. Vaguely I observed the traffic signals, highline wires, tract homes, and strip centers all passing in a silent haze. Like a satellite, my vision hovered somewhere far out in space. My eyes looked out from a place so remote that no one could have possibly seen into them.

~

On Sunday, Momma came to visit and found me sitting on my sofa, catatonic. I hadn’t bothered to change out of my ratty robe or comb my hair. I didn’t want to see her or anyone else, didn’t want to talk, didn’t even really want to breathe.

Momma found her way to my kitchen where she warmed a cup of chicken soup. She set the liquid nutrition on my coffee table and searched for a chair. Finding only the orange, fake-fur beanbag Sean liked to sit on, she dragged it over next to the sofa and plopped down. “Now listen. I know you don’t want to talk, so just listen.”

I stared past her at the TV set that hadn’t been turned on for two days.

“Sometimes life gives us more than we think we can handle,” Momma said. “Then time passes, and we see that we were wrong.”

I did not need a salvation speech. I knew she was trying to pull me back to the surface before I drowned. However, all I wanted was to close my eyes, inhale water, and sink into the deep.

She leaned closer. “Renee Ann, I don’t know what you’re feeling right now. But whatever it is, I know it won’t be permanent.”

I gazed off into the nothingness. “What am I, if I’m not Sean’s mother?”

Momma wrestled herself free from the beanbag chair. “You’re still his mother, and you’re my daughter.”

I looked up, studying her face for answers. “What kind of mother loses custody of her child?”

“The Lord is the one who giveth and taketh away. It’s not our place to question,” Momma offered with rote precision.

“Yeah? Did He take Daddy away from you and give him to another woman?”

Momma folded her arms. “Yes, He did. And I found out life kept right on going, even when I didn’t expect it to.” She sighed. “Even when I sometimes didn’t want it to.” She sat down on the couch next to me.

I twisted to face her. “I don’t have anything left to take away. My spirit is broken.”

“No. Your heart is broken. Your spirit is just fine.”

~

When I next saw Pearly, she was selling Mary Kay cosmetics and giving everyone she’d ever met a makeover. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, wiping goo from my forehead. “You be prettier than evah when I finish.” She searched through the variety of samples she’d placed on my coffee table. “Them mens won’t be able to take they eyes off you.”

“I don’t want another man.”

Pearly’s eyes grew wide. She dabbed at my face with toner. “I hope you ain’t saying what I think you saying.”

I groaned. “I just want my son back.”

Pearly applied cake foundation with a damp sponge. “Of course you do. Meantime, you gots to be there ever chance you get.” She brightened like she’d suddenly figured out the formula for perfect bliss. Giving out one of her trademark hoots, she declared, “There’s no glory in raising kids. It’s work, hard work. Let ‘em have it. You do the fun stuff!”

“Like what?” I asked, trying not to move my lips.

Pearly traced a line of pink around my mouth. “Vacations! Movies! Take him to the
circus
!” She held up a hand mirror for me to see the finished results.

“He
lives
in a circus.” We both fell into fits of laughter.

What Pearly did for my appearance and outlook seemed nothing short of miraculous. I purchased twenty-five dollars’ worth of cosmetics that afternoon. But the mental makeover advice I received was worth thousands more.