Promise Broken, page 4
“Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?” Mouse called after him. Keys still had the weed. Keys shot her a dirty look. “My fault. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 4
“Boy, I don’t know why you insist on wallowing in the mud with pigs?” Ms. Bernadette scolded Keys as they walked into their apartment.
“Wasn’t nobody wallowing in nothing. I was just chilling,” Keys said with an attitude.
“You hang around those boys long enough and you’ll have plenty of time to chill—in a prison cell! All them boys are on the high road to ruin.”
“Not all of them,” Keys countered. “I know some of the guys that hang around out there hustling, but not all of them. Some of them are just kids bored with being in the house all the time, like me!”
“Which is why I try to fill your time with scheduled activities. Between Bible study, chores, and piano lessons, it’s a wonder that you have any free time at all. Speaking of your lessons, how are they coming along?”
“Fine,” Keys lied. He had skipped the last two.
“Then play me something.” Bernadette motioned toward the old brown piano that took up a good portion of their living room. It was a secondhand instrument that she had found on eBay for a decent price.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Since when do you not feel like making music?” she asked. “I remember when we first brought that thing in here we couldn’t pull you away from it. You would even fall asleep at the keys. Don’t be like that. Play something for your mama?”
Keys sighed. He really didn’t feel like it, but if it would get her off his back then he would. He pulled out the milk crates that served as his bench and sat down. He gently traced the keys with his fingers and immediately felt the spark of creativity enter him. He depressed the keys one at a time, listening to each individual cord, as he went.
“Play ‘Friend in Jesus’,” she requested. It was one of her favorites.
Keys nodded and began playing. His fingers moved expertly across the keys, while his mother hummed along in the background. He had come up learning to play gospel hymns, but they weren’t his favorite. Still, the rush he got from sitting behind the piano, regardless of what he was playing it was like nothing that he could put into words. The notes took him to a place where only he and the music existed. He could hear his mother’s humming getting further and further away, which meant that she was leaving the room. He spared a peek over his shoulder to make sure that she was gone. Once he was sure that he was alone he began to play something better suited to his mood.
The tune of Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely” is what spilled from his soul. It was the song that he heard in his head whenever he saw Promise. It was his ode to her, though he’d never had the courage to play the song for her. He closed his eyes, reciting the lyrics softly. In his mind he saw their imaginary life together; their courtship, their wedding. Promise would be by his side when he won his first Grammy later in life. They would have a child; a little girl that would have his face and her mother’s beautiful eyes. When Keys got rich from music, he would build an ideal life for his family. One where there was no hardships or pain, one filled with love and happiness. Keys was so deep in his daydream that he hadn’t even heard the heavy footsteps behind him, but he felt the slap. Keys slid off the milk crates and hit the floor with a thud. He looked up and found his stepfather standing over him, glaring down at him angrily. “What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his cheek.
“Because I’m in here trying to sleep and you out here turning my damn living room into Soul Train!” Deacon Benjamin Tully barked. Deacon Tully, sometimes called “Big Ben” because of his massive six-feet-five build, was a man his mother had met in one of her church groups. She became smitten with the handsome giant, who spoke the word so fluidly, and before long they had become an item. When she welcomed him into her life and her home she thought she was inviting in an angel, but after the marriage he revealed himself for the devil that he was. Deacon was physically and mentally abusive. He was no good, but Bernadette hadn’t yet found the courage or strength to leave him.
Once he was sure Deacon wouldn’t hit him again, Keys picked himself up off the floor. “Mom wanted me to practice.” He bent the truth.
“I don’t give a good damn what she wants. Y’all know I needs my sleep!” Deacon fumed.
“What’s all the noise out here?” Bernadette came back into the living room to see what the commotion was. “And what happened to your face?” she said, noticing Keys holding his cheek.
“Ask him,” Keys replied, hooking a thumb at Deacon.
“I asked the boy to keep it down and he got lippy,” Deacon lied.
“Bullshit,” Keys shot back.
“You cussing in my house?” Deacon took a step forward to give him another whack, but Bernadette got between them.
“Calm down, baby. It ain’t that serious.” Bernadette wrapped her arms around him in an attempt to soothe the giant. Deacon wasn’t in the mood to be soothed.
“See, that’s the problem,” he said, breaking the embrace. “Every time the boy does something out of pocket you downplay it. He ain’t got no discipline which is why he thinks he can walk all over you.”
“And you’re an authority on walking over people,” Keys said, chuckling.
“You got a real slick mouth, boy . . . real slick.” Deacon moved Bernadette out of the way and stalked toward Keys.
Keys backed up until his back hit the bookshelf. His hand brushed against something, a pair of scissors, which he palmed. If Deacon hit him again he had something for him. “Don’t do it, Deacon,” he warned. He didn’t want to hit his mother’s husband, but he would.
Deacon studied Keys. There was something in the boy’s eyes that set a warning bell off in his head. “One of these days, I’m going to give you just what you’re asking for.”
“And I just might do the same.” Keys tightened his grip on the scissors behind his back.
“Come on, honey. You gotta work in a few hours and you need your rest,” Bernadette tugged at Deacon’s arm. He reluctantly allowed his wife to pull him back into the bedroom.
The door had barely shut when Keys heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh. Deacon had probably given his mother the slap that had been reserved for him. Keys was tempted to storm into the room and carve the bully up, but what good would it do? If he were to kill Deacon his mother was likely to turn him in for it. It hurt Keys to see his mother being abused, but one thing he had learned was that it was impossible to help someone who didn’t want to help themselves. Still, Keys wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to take things going the way they did before he snapped. He slid to the floor, hands clasped over his ears, and tried to drown out the sounds that had become all too familiar to him.
CHAPTER 5
Keys leaving with the weed had thrown a major hitch into Mouse’s plans. She could crack on the corner boy for some more bud, but she was out of money and wasn’t sure if she was willing to do what he was surely going to ask of her just to get high. It wasn’t that serious.
With her plans of getting high now dashed to hell, Mouse decided to call it a night. She lived in an apartment building around the corner from Promise off Washington Street. She pushed open the rickety lobby door and bounded up the cracked stairs. The building shared space with the Chinese restaurant downstairs so her apartment always smelled like fried chicken. It would often be in her clothes and hair and when the kids felt like being especially cruel they called her Chicken Girl.
As usual, the television volume was up sky high. She found her younger sister, Junie, sitting on the couch watching cartoons. They didn’t have cable, so Mouse knew that it was one of the DVDs she kept in rotation. She could never understand how the girl didn’t get bored watching the same three cartoons over and over. “Why you always got this TV up so damn loud?” she yelled as she turned it down.
“Because I can’t hear it if I don’t,” Junie told her. She was about ten years old, the product of one of her mother’s one-night stands. None of them, including Mouse’s mother, was quite sure who the father was. Junie was just another mouth in the house that would need feeding, a task that often fell to Mouse. Her older sister, Claudia, had left home three years prior and never came back. The last Mouse had heard she was doing okay for herself living somewhere in Berkeley Heights with her boyfriend who worked for New Jersey Transit. Mouse didn’t blame her for wanting to get as far away from the mad house they lived in. She couldn’t wait until she finished school and could leave too. She planned to take Junie away somewhere far and safe.
“Girl, they can hear this thing all the way down the block,” Mouse told her. She rubbed Junie’s head affectionately. She looked on the table and noticed two Hostess cupcake wrappers that looked like they had been licked clean. “When was the last time you ate?”
Junie shrugged.
“A’ight, I’ll make you a sandwich or something,” Mouse said, heading into the kitchen. She flicked the light on and was greeted by a troupe of roaches, who went scattering. They were likely attracted by the pile of food-stained dishes that had been left in the sink. They had been there for three days. Mouse knew this because she left them there to see if her mother would take the initiative to wash them, which she hadn’t. It was typical of Max. The world could be crashing down around her and she would still put getting high before anything else.
On the counter, a brave mouse sat nibbling through the packaging on a loaf of bread. Only when Mouse stomped like she was going to charge, did her namesake flee behind the stove. She hoisted the loaf of bread, a few of the slices had been gnawed but luckily some hadn’t been touched. She placed two of the slices onto a paper towel and went to the refrigerator. The contents held a container of spoiled milk, a half drank can of beer, and a few dead roaches. Mouse ignored them and removed the vegetable drawer. She had stashed a pack of turkey and a few slices of cheese back there the day before. It was a shame that she had to hide food to keep her mother from selling it. Mouse had pulled the drawer completely out but there was no sign of her bounty. She slammed the refrigerator in frustration and went into the living room.
“When was the last time you saw your mother?” Mouse asked her baby sister.
Junie squinted as if she had to think about it. “Not for a while. She didn’t come home last night, but she did come today but left right back out.”
“Worthless junkie bitch,” Mouse grumbled. “I gotta go out for a few, but I’ll be back.”
“But I thought you were going to make me something to eat?” Junie said in disappointment. She was starving.
“I will, but first I gotta hustle up some food because your mother took the last of what we had. Just sit tight, and don’t open the door for anyone,” Mouse told her before heading out.
Mouse hit the streets, a girl on a mission. She wasn’t in the mood to be back outside, but she had to figure out a way to scramble up some food for her and Junie for the night. Mouse could go a day, sometimes two, without eating but that was no good for a ten-year-old. There was no telling when the last time Junie had had anything to eat besides junk. She was so mad that she wanted to cry, but Junie couldn’t eat tears. Food was the order of business.
She found herself back on the corner by the liquor store. The crowd had thinned some, but the man she had been hoping to see was still around. Abdul was sitting in his green Jeep Cherokee, talking to one of his workers through the window. Mouse stood at the curb awkwardly, waiting for Abdul to finish handling his business. When he finally spotted Mouse, he dismissed the worker and motioned for her to approach.
“Sup wit ya, baby girl? Why you standing around looking lost?” Abdul asked, pulling a filtered Black & Mild from the box on the dashboard. He tapped it against the back of his hand waiting for her response.
“I kinda gotta talk to you about something,” Mouse told him.
Abdul reached over and pushed the passenger door open. “Step into my office,” he said. He waited until Mouse was in the car before pulling away from the curb. “I hope you don’t mind, but I gotta take care of a piece of business while we jaw.”
“That’s cool. I just can’t be gone too long. My little sister is in the crib waiting for me.”
“I respect it. How long I keep you all depends on what you need to talk about?” Abdul asked.
Mouse was hesitant before answering. She was trying to think of a way to make her request without wounding her pride more than it already was for even having to seek outside help. “I kinda need a solid.”
“I know you ain’t about to crack on me for no weed? I seen you finesse ol’ boy out his package already,” Abdul joked.
“Nah, nothing like that. It’s just that . . . well, do you think I could hold a couple of dollars?” Mouse finally spat it out.
Abdul gave her a disapproving look.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect. You probably get broads hitting on you for money all the time. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Mouse said, embarrassed.
“Well, you’re right about that. In my position, bitches are always hovering around with their hands out. That’s not why I looked at you like that though. I be seeing you making moves around the hood. You got your little bullshit with you, but I know that you grind for every nickel you get and I respect that about you. The fact that you’re asking means that your back must really be against the wall. You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really, just some personal shit at home that I need to take care of.” Mouse averted her eyes when she said this.
Abdul knew that look. He also knew what time it was with Mouse’s mother, Max. She was one of his best customers, among other things. Abdul waited until they were stopped at a red light before digging into his pocket and pulling out his bankroll. He peeled off a hundred-dollar bill and dropped it in Mouse’s lap. He pretended not to be watching as the girl’s eyes lit up in awe at the denomination of the bill.
“Um . . . I didn’t need this much,” Mouse said, holding the bill in her hands, looking at it in wonderment.
“If you don’t want it . . .” Abdul faked like he was going to take the money back, and she wisely shoved it into her pocket. “That’s what I thought,” he laughed.
“It’s not that I’m not appreciative, but I was only looking for maybe twenty or thirty bucks. I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay all this back,” Mouse said honestly.
“That’s not a loan, it’s a gift,” Abdul clarified. “Consider it a down payment on future endeavors.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Mouse genuinely had no idea what the word “endeavor” meant.
Abdul shook his head. “C’mon, Mouse. Why you acting like you don’t know I’m checking for you?”
“Cut it out, Ab. With all the girls who chase you and your crew around, what use you got for me?”
“You’d be surprised,” he half-joked. Then he changed the subject. “Yo, you trying to burn or you still too high from what you got from ol’ boy?”
“Man, I ain’t even get to taste that bud, but that’s a whole different conversation. I’m always trying to burn, though.” Mouse told him. After all that she had suffered through that day, she needed a blunt to take the edge off.
“Center console.” Abdul knocked on the armrest between them. “I got a little bud and some roll-ups, if you don’t mind?”
“I got you,” Mouse said, retrieving the items. As she rolled the weed up it didn’t go unnoticed by Mouse that Abdul had drifted out of their hood. They were riding up Frelinghuysen Avenue now, headed in the direction of Elizabeth. Most of the scrapyards and repair shops that that stretch of road was famous for were closed or closing. There were only two reasons she could think of that would’ve made him ride out that way: either to smoke in seclusion, or he was trying to fuck. She hoped it was the former because she wasn’t sure if her empty stomach would let her suffer through the latter. When he hung a right and started heading in the direction of Elizabeth Avenue, which would take them back to the hood she started thinking that maybe she had misjudged him. Then he pulled the car up at a quiet end of Weequahic Park and killed the engine. She knew what time it was.
Abdul left his key in the second position so that he could still play the radio without keeping the engine running and burning gas. He turned the radio to WBLS, and classic R&B came through the speakers. Not really sure what else to do, Mouse fired the weed. She hit the blunt a few times before passing it to Abdul. His eyes rolled in her direction and he gave her a look that said he was trying to decide whether to eat her raw or fricasseed.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, though,” Abdul said, picking up on his earlier conversation.
“How you mean?”
“I mean thinking that just because you might not have the gear or clout that some of these begging bitches run around with, you don’t think you’re in their league, and you’re right. You’re way out of their league.”
“Ab, if you want some pussy all you gotta do is ask. Ain’t no need to butter me up with pretty words,” Mouse said disappointedly. She figured that had been his goal all along, but for just a second, she allowed herself to be hopeful that Ab may have actually been interested in her.
Abdul took his time before responding. He hit the weed, took in a chest full of smoke and blew it out through his nostrils then handed it back to Mouse. “I’m gonna shoot straight with you because I feel like you’re a real bitch and can handle what I’m about to say.” He paused to make sure she was listening. “Whenever you see a young, fine bitch jump in this ride you can best believe that me landing in the pussy is always gonna be somewhere along the route. That ain’t the nature of this conversation I’m trying to have with you though. For the most part, the chicks I encounter want it, but ain’t trying to do nothing but suck a little dick and throw some pussy in order to get it. You different, in the way that you don’t mind getting out there in the mud to earn your keep. That’s a rare quality and it’s gonna take you far in life.”
