Losing Love, page 8
“Whatever she is, she our mother,” she said, mocking him. “And she won’t get better if you keep moving her around. This the second home she been moved to. She ain’t had consistent therapy or nothing.”
Even with her cold eyes boring through him, Terrell’s smirk was colder. “She got stability.”
“She deserves better,” I interjected. “If we can all come together, I think we would really encourage Granny and help her recovery.”
Drops of tea splashed out of the cups as his clenched fists banged on the table, staining the white tablecloth. “This ain’t no courtroom and your word ain’t law. Y’all need to let me do what I need to.”
Cat’s voice didn’t waver. “Well, do it. This about Frances. If you gonna be in control, do what you supposed to do.”
“Like you?” He wiped his jacket’s lapel, though there was nothing there. “Do you do what you supposed to do?”
Cat was stoic. Terrell was unbothered. They glared at each other for what seemed like forever.
“Have you ever done what you supposed to?” she asked him.
I poured more ginger into my tea. The pungent, peppery scent lingered in the air, reminding me of the day I had ginger and tea for the first time. I was ten years old on that warm, sunny day. Aunt Whitney sat with me at Granny’s kitchen table. She was, and still is, the funniest person I’ve ever known. Aunt Whitney had a gorgeous smile and the personality to match. Her boisterous laugh was endearing, but it didn’t fit her slender frame.
We waited for the tea to steep while she taught me how to play solitaire. She loved playing the game and assured me that if I learned how to play, I’d love it as well. I didn’t doubt her, as her words were golden in my life. Not only because she was the best aunt in the world, but also because she introduced me to Janet Jackson’s The Velvet Rope. I instantly loved Janet just as much as she did.
“You know I taught her some of those dance moves,” she said mimicking the moves from If.
“You did?” My eyes widened and mind was blown.
“Sure did.” Her rosy face shined bright. “We met at a club one night when we were teenagers. We were both in dance crews. She saw me dancing with one of my teammates and took our whole routine. No one can move a man’s head like that but me, honey.”
The teapot whistled like a train right after I pulled the King of Diamonds.
“You can start a new pile with that,” she called over her shoulder. I watched her move with ease as she grabbed the honey, sugar, and ginger from the corner cabinet. “Ginger is good for you,” she noted, pouring tea into our cups. It smelled warm and innocent until she added all the ingredients, especially the ginger. It gave it some spice and tickled my nose as she put two spoonfuls in each of our cups. “It can help get rid of inflammation in our bodies.”
I didn’t know what inflammation was, but I didn’t want to interrupt her. So I made a mental note to look it up in my dictionary later that night. Mama came into the room disheveled. Hair was all over her head, eyes red and puffy. Aunt Whitney spoke gently.
“Have some tea with us, Cat.” She pulled the adjacent chair to hers out from underneath the table. “You can teach Faith how to play solitaire, too.”
Mama grumpily rummaged through the fridge. “My stomach upset.” She cleared her throat and spit thick phlegm into the trash can. “I just need to eat something and go back to bed.”
Aunt Whitney held out her cup. “Ginger is a great remedy for that. Take a seat and have some.”
Cat took the cup and drank. Just as she was about to sit, Terrell came into the kitchen. The two stiffened at the sight of each other.
He wrinkled his nose. “If you were at home more, Whitney and Francis wouldn’t have to look after your kids.”
Cat’s lips curled. “You always got something to say. Why don’t you just leave me alone? Worry about your kids that you don’t raise or support, deadbeat.”
Terrell’s eyes flashed red. “You can take your ass on and get out,” he yelled.
“This Frances house. You don’t run shit here.”
Aunt Whitney tried to calm them both down. “Both of y’all need to shut up because neither of you are parent of the year. So take that mess somewhere else.”
I wondered how Aunt Whitney would handle this situation now. Here her siblings were twenty-something years later, still arguing over what the other did or did not do. Missing the point as always. I sipped my tea, watching them go back and forth. I guess the lesson learned here was that time waited on no one. That growth was a daily choice we all had to make. And remembering that it takes two fools to argue.
“Are you sure you responsible?” Cat asked, arching a single eyebrow. “You don’t even answer her doctor calls. They can’t even get in touch with you when something happens. That’s why Faith and me are now emergency contacts.”
He looked from mama to me in disbelief. “Y’all just wanna be in control and make all the decisions.”
“It’s not about that for me. Granny is y’all’s mother, so that’s y’all’s responsibility. But I will help out where she asks me. Being an emergency contact isn’t overstepping any boundaries. We should be able to work together, Terrell. We all want what’s best for Granny, right?”
He leaned in close to me. His hot breath grazing my nostrils. “I am what’s best.”
I heard Shirley’s voice echoing in my head, Don’t let people take your kindness for a weakness.
“I don’t think you are. This is bigger than the both of us. This is Granny’s livelihood here.”
He chuckled and wagged his fat fingers in my face. “Oh, so because you got some degrees and you a lawyer you know best?”
I glanced at my mama. Her hard gaze never left her brother’s direction, but I recognized the head nod she gave me to stand my ground.
“No. I don’t know best. I just know I can help. And my education helps as well. I’m not walking away from my granny because of you.”
I saw the flash of excitement in his eyes. Saw him savor, then swallow the taste of satisfaction from this moment.
“You’ll walk away one way or another.”
chapter 15
still blue
I didn’t always find comfort in silence and being numb. Reading and music are the only two ways I’ve truly felt at ease. Whether it’s a song, book, or note scribbled on a pad, words are chosen carefully. Even if they’re trash. I love the infinite ways you can assemble them. Thoroughly enjoy how you can say one thing in a million ways. I feel words. It’s like we share a bond that no one else cares to understand. I always wanted to have meaning in my life. Reading and music provided that. MC Lyte and Queen Latifah inspired me to put pen to paper. Langston Hughes confirmed that I was a poet. Maya Angelou affirmed that I had a story to tell. Toni Morrison shined a light on loving me.
I was about ten years old the day I decided I wouldn’t let my family affect me anymore. For the life of me, I can’t remember why we gathered. It wasn’t a holiday but I remember there was an abundance of food: oven-baked macaroni and cheese, red beans and rice, corn bread, fried chicken, potato salad, and caramel cake. Good music filled the house, including Bloodstone, the Temptations, Barry White, and the Whispers. At that time, my grandparents lived in Markham, a Cook County city known for its pine trees. It was the first home I remember. The suburban city was everything it sounded like: single-family homes with white picket fences, lush green lawns, and friendly neighbors. That’s exactly how it was. Neighbors actually knew each other. Children rode their bikes freely throughout the nearly six-mile city. My cousins and I raced up and down the blocks with abandon.
I’ll never forget the green house with white shutters and a white screen door to match. A huge pine tree sat right in the middle of the lawn; a smaller version sat adjacent to the gravel driveway and served as a hiding place for when we were in trouble. Cookie, my grandparents’ German Shepard, stayed tied up on the side of the garage. She was an evil dog. One day I was walking up the driveway after school and she broke loose from her chain just as I reached the side door’s steps. Cookie chased me around Granddaddy Charles’s black Astro van. Fortunately, he grabbed me right before she tore into my legs. The side door led to the back room. It was like any common gathering area in a home: a couple of recliners and green couches. A huge entertainment system not only held a big screen TV but also hundreds of CDs and records. The brick fireplace provided comfort during winter. Granny’s colorful jukebox sat in the far corner of the room. My cousins and I would always beg her to play Johnnie Taylor’s “Last Two Dollars” and Tyrone Davis’s “Mom’s Apple Pie.” At the time, it was the warmest room I’d ever been in. And not because of the fireplace. House music compelled my cousins to have dance battles. During the summer, we’d sprawl on the floor with markers and crayons making fliers for our family cleaning business. On other days we’d write songs together, harmonizing the melodies until we finally got them right. Our biggest hit was “Baby, Baby,” an ode to that special person we loved. During our sleepovers, we’d make thick pallets on the floor and watch Blankman, Good Burger, and Crooklyn.
I was very observant. And on this particular day, I realized that it’s not just rooms that held energies; people did too. I sat on the edge of the fireplace—I can still hear the soft cracklings—looking about the room and then through the open double doors that led to the kitchen. Randy sat in a recliner sneaking Pat—clad in a pink onesie with a small Afro—sips of ginger beer. To my right, Whitney danced with Mama and Chase, while Shanice played Connect Four with Terrell. In the kitchen, Granny and Granddaddy Charles moved in harmony preparing dinner. It went on like that for some time. Observing. Sneaking. Dancing. Playing. Prepping. Gradually, the adults drank more liquor. Words were said. Eyes were cut. Postures stiffened. Egos surfaced. Prides swelled. The room was blazing hot. I cried. Then shudder-inducing cold engulfed the room. And swallowed me.
“Stop it,” I yelled.
“Be quiet,” someone barked.
So I did. With tears streaming down my face. With my heart pounding. With a formidable lump in my throat. I was quiet. And remained that way whenever something happened as the years tumbled on. I picked up a pen to release the words I couldn’t utter, until the tears no longer spilled over when something happened. The lump in my throat became a pebble. My words were only heard on the pages I wrote on. The overwhelming emotion I once felt was now fleeting, like pollen on the wind. Despite these coping mechanisms, it wasn’t until I started therapy that I realized I suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. Sounds crazy, right?
But it made sense. Although I hadn’t gone off to fight in a war, the warfare that took place within my family had the same emotional and psychological implications. There was a constant battle. Damn near every day. For years.
Dealing with people can be very exhausting. It’s even worse when it’s family. Many of us are so self-centered that we aren’t willing to meet another’s needs if they don’t meet ours first. And even then, there’s a chance we still won’t adhere. Respect is such a skewed concept. Everyone wants it but aren’t willing to give it. Respect takes work. And genuine respect takes time to cultivate. You can’t treat someone less-than and expect them to think and treat you like you’re sensational. It all circles back to a lack of accountability, of which my family are the poster children. Regardless, fifteen years later, I’m still deemed a smartass. Fifteen years later, I still ponder why some families require your silence. Fifteen years later, my checkbook is more valuable than my presence.
chapter 16
Catching prey
Granny slept peacefully. It was 8:30 p.m. Typically she was awake when I came at this time. Everyone was usually gone as well, and tonight was no different. My feet tapped to the sound of the music. Her iPod played “I Can’t Get over You” by the Dramatics. My ears perked up as heavy, quick footsteps neared the room. Terrell slithered in. He flicked something, which was likely nothing, off the arm of his sports jacket. I didn’t have to look at his shoes to see they were shining like new money.
“Them insurance papers ain’t in Mama safe. She told me you got them. You need to give them to me.”
The small table lamp cast a glimpse of his harrowing face. “You think this is some kind of game? That I’m a joke or something?” he continued, his eyes locked on me.
“This isn’t about you.”
He took four cool steps toward me. “Look, I get it. Mama always been there for you. She been there for all of us.”
Terrell flailed his arms about the room as if the whole family was here. He didn’t have to come any closer for me to see, or smell, that he had been drinking. I could tell by the way he swayed. Heard the slight slur in his tone.
“I know I ain’t made the best decisions. But you gotta give me a chance to lead. This my mama.” He pointed at Granny, who was still sleeping. “You’re a grandchild and you ain’t got no right here. Let me take care of her. That’s why I’m here. All of her burdens should be on me and my siblings.”
I gripped the sides of the chair. He was right. I didn’t have to go through all of this, especially this bullshit with him. I could give up the papers and let her children handle everything. That would be the easier route. However, if they fucked up I’d feel like shit when I knew what it was from the beginning.
“You ain’t gonna give them to me, huh?”
It took less than a second, but I saw it. The moment he transformed into another person. His eyes were feverish. Rage seeped through his pores. Teeth bared. A wicked sensation tingled down my spine. He snatched me out of the chair like a cat catching its dinner. Gripping the collars of my jacket. Pulled my face close enough to smell the Hennessy raging on his tongue. I caught a glimpse of Granny out of my peripheral. Mouth open and wide-eyed.
“Let her go, Terrell,” she yelled, hoarse. The tears fell from her eyes like rain from a weeping willow. “Y’all need to just stop.”
We tussled out of the room into the hallway. Knocking pictures off the walls. I refused to hit him because I didn’t want him to swing. Let’s be honest. He was at least a hundred pounds heavier and a foot taller than me. I wouldn’t be able to handle that hit. I tried to kick him in the balls, but, surprisingly, he was quick on his feet. The nurses yelled for him to stop. I could only imagine what we looked like: a bear playing with a rag doll.
“She’s my mama,” he hissed. His hand coiled around my neck like a snake, the other checked my pockets until he found my wallet. “Until you give me them papers, you ain’t gonna have this.”
My teeth broke through the skin on his wrists. I tasted blood. Metallic. Warm. Purely fucking disgusting. He yelled in anguish, throwing me against the wall. Air rushed back into my lungs like sinners to church on First Sunday.
“Fucking bitch.” I ducked just in time. His hand went right through the wall. I stared at the gaping hole where my head would have been. Terrell grasped his wrist, heading toward the lobby.
“Give me my wallet,” I gasped. The nurses followed me, advising to let him go. They were more livid than me. As we neared the entrance, two policemen came through the doors. Brenda followed suit right behind them.
“He attacked this woman and took her wallet,” one of the elder nurses explained.
The blond, blue-eyed cop grabbed Terrell and put his arms behind his back. He took my wallet out of his hands and gave it to his partner.
“Is this yours ma’am?” the officer asked, handing it to me. He wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses. “Do you want to press charges?”
My head hung. Then looked up to see Terrell’s dead eyes. “It is. And I do.”
Officer Blue Eyes cuffed Terrell and mirandized him. Brenda lost her shit.
“This is bullshit,” she shouted. “My husband ain’t do nothing wrong. He just trying to get his mama insurance papers from her. She won’t give them to him.”
Officer Eyeglasses looked from me to Terrell. “Is this true?”
“Yes, officer,” Terrell said with pleading eyes. He and his wife deserved an Oscar for this performance. “She the granddaughter and I’m the son. She been spending her money, too.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I spat. “Granny asked me to hold on to them papers.”
Officer Eyeglasses scrutinized me. “If you’ve been spending this woman’s money, that’s a felony. You could be in big trouble if you’re lying.”
I couldn’t believe this bullshit was happening. People in the world could not be this simple. “I haven’t spent any of her money, so I’m not worried, Officer.”
“Are you being a smartass?” Officer Eyeglasses took a few steps toward me. “Because that won’t help this situation.”
“I’m a lawyer.” If I could curse out these officers I would. But I had to remain calm for my own sake. “I know the law and wouldn’t break it.”
Officer Eyeglasses backed down a bit. “Well, be that as it may, as a grandchild you have no right to be in possession of your grandmother’s insurance papers when she has living offspring.” He gestured to his partner. “Uncuff him.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “So that’s it? Even though he attacked me, stole my wallet, and tried to leave the premises you aren’t going to arrest him?”
Officer Eyeglasses half-shrugged. “We see these family disputes all the time. Stuff happens. Now let’s go see who this lady would like to have her papers.”
Brenda tended to Terrell’s wrist. My eyes darted from her lackluster face to her cheap weave. The both of them made my damn skin itch.
The nurse was soothing Granny when we entered her room. Her wet eyes were red and puffy. When she saw me she outstretched her arms. I folded into them, kissing her hands. “I’m okay, lady. Just calm down, all right.”
