I stopped to look at myself in the window of a shoe store. The image I saw seemed like the image of a stranger. My hair looked wild, my eyes frantic. It made me laugh a mad laugh. I put my hand over my mouth to stop it and then, I started to cry again and walked on, faster, harder. Vaguely, I was aware of people staring at me, including people who knew me.
My tears were hot and zigzagged down my cheeks burning a path over my skin. After another ten minutes or so, I tightened my arms around myself and stopped, finally feeling the ache in my legs and my stomach. For a moment I just stood there on the street corner looking at the park directly ahead of me.
Now I realized I had walked blocks and blocks. I was in a much nicer section of the city, a
neighborhood of small houses, town houses, brownstones occupied by middle class families. Their children were in the park playing around the seesaws and sliding ponds. There were mothers and nannies nearby. The laughter and shouts of small boys and girls was constant, a flow of underlying music as if happiness were a song sung only here.
I checked the traffic and crossed the street to stand by the fence and look in at these contented children. One little girl was crying and her mother had knelt down to comfort her. She wiped back the strands of light brown hair from her forehead and what she was saying, the softness in her voice, the love that flowed from her eyes and her smile, drove away the unhappiness quickly. They hugged and the restored child returned to the merry-go-round, laughing and moving as if nothing sad or horrible had happened or ever would.
Mama had been that way with me, I thought. She could wipe away my tears, fill my heart with hope, sing me to sleep and help me back to candyland dreams. She had never once given me the feeling she wasn't my real mother. How did she do that? Why did she do that?
What Beth always said was true, too. I often felt Mama cared more for me than she did for Beni. How Beni must hate me even more now, I thought, to know I wasn't even Mama's real daughter and still, Mama treated me with more love and care. It was all so confusing and so unfair.
A boy no more than nine or ten chased after a red ball that settled near the fence. He picked it up and looked up at me with curiosity.
"Hi," I said.
He smiled with the most dazzling and joyful cerulean blue eyes I had ever seen.
"Hi," he replied, widening his smile.
He turned and ran off, his legs going so fast and awkward, they looked like they were wound up with rubber bands. He glanced back to beam another smile at me. Was I ever that happy? Would I ever be again?
I walked on. The afternoon sun had fallen behind the buildings, and shadows long and deep oozed across the sidewalks and over the streets like maple syrup over pancakes. Lights were going on in apartments and homes. Families were sitting down to dinner. I thought about the pork chops I had left simmering and for a moment I wondered if everything that had happened had only been a dream. Would I blink and find myself standing in front of the stove.? I would even welcome back our hard life over this, I thought.
Exhausted, I sat on a bench at a bus stop. Two elderly black ladies arrived and sat beside me, waiting. I didn't really listen to their conversation, but I heard bits and pieces about grandchildren and looking forward to the holidays. Without a family, there were no holidays, I thought. There was no Christmas, no presents to get or presents to give, no Thanksgiving to celebrate.
I guess I moaned out loud because the two old ladies turned and gazed at me.
"You all right, baby?" the one closest asked.
I didn't reply. The bus arrived and they got up, gazing back at me curiously when I didn't get up too. They boarded and the bus left. It grew darker and colder. I embraced myself when I felt myself shiver and tremble.
Traffic flowed by, people crossed in front and behind me, but I didn't notice anything. I stared ahead, my thoughts frozen.
Finally, I rose and just walked, not thinking of direction, not thinking about any destination. I had my head down, but I vaguely noticed a car full of boys slow down, pass by, stop and then turn around. They were in a beat-up vehicle with a smashed rear window. It looked like the sort of car Roy called a Lazarus, something raised from the dead. When it went by this time, all the boys looked my way. The driver whistled and that was followed by catcalls. I ignored them and turned down another street.
However, they followed and were cruising very slowly right behind me, hovering like some large cat about to pounce. My heart started to pound when I finally looked around and realized I was in a more depressed, run-down neighborhood. I had made something of a circle and had come back to my own neighborhood. I knew I had put myself into danger and I was very frightened, but instead of thinking about myself, I thought about Mama and how afraid for me she must be back in our apartment.
But I couldn't help being angry too. I should have been told the truth long ago. My whole life was a lie and Mama hated lies. Why did she keep this one alive so long? Would she ever have told me the truth if Ken hadn't blurted it in one of his drunken rages?
"Hey, baby, need a ride?" the driver in the beatup car called out to me.
I walked faster, but I still wasn't getting any closer to home; in my panic I must have taken a wrong turn. In fact, there seemed to be less traffic where I was heading and practically no one in the street. Darkness was falling like a lead curtain and residents hurried to get behind locked doors.
"Don't be shy," one of the boys said.
The car pulled up closer and was now moving alongside me. I glanced at it and saw there were four boys inside. They looked like members of a gang. The car pulled ahead. I thought they were going to leave me be, but it stopped and one of the boys in the rear stepped out, holding the door open.
"Step right in, honey," he said. "Your limousine has arrived."
I stopped.
"Leave me alone!" I cried.
"We're just trying to help."
"I don't want your help," I said.
The car began to back toward me, the boy walking along with the door open. I turned and walked faster in the direction from which I had come.
"Hey, where you going? That ain't polite," the boy cried after me.
I heard the car's tires squeal and the door close as the car spun around. I looked back and saw they were going to pursue me. I broke into a run, but I was unsure of where to go. Every side street looked darker and more desolate than the street I was on. In moments they would be right beside me again, I thought. I looked back and saw the car charging after me, pulling closer. Gasping for breath, I ran faster, not even looking where I was going until I hit somebody hard. He kept me from falling, but held onto me. All I could think was I had run into a trap.
I looked up into the face of an elderly black man who still appeared firm and strong. He had wide shoulders and a thick neck, but his hair was thin, wild and smoke white. He wore a flannel shirt rolled up to his forearms, jeans and a pair of old sneakers. He had been carrying a sack over his shoulder and set it down quickly.
"Whoa," he said. "You'll knock over a building running that fast."
The boys in the car gaped out the windows at us. "She's too young for you, Pop. Give her to us," the driver said.
"Get the hell outta here," the old man told them. "What are you gonna do, call the senior citizen police?" one of the boys teased.
They all laughed.
The elderly man released me. I thought he was going to walk off and leave me, but instead he reached into his sack, fumbled around and then brought his hand out with a revolver clutched in it. I was close enough to see how rusted and old it was, but the boys couldn't tell. He pointed it at them.
"Jesus!"
"Take it easy, Pop. Point that someplace else."
"Take yourselves someplace else," he ordered and pulled the hammer back.
The driver hit the accelerator and the car shot off. We watched them turn a corner and disappear.
"Thank you," I said.
He looked at me with disapproval and shook his head.<
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"What are you doin' walkin"round here by yourself, girl?" he asked me. "You just lookin' for trouble or what?"
"Oh, no sir. I got lost," I said.
"This ain't no place to get lost." He gazed back up the street. My heart was still pounding. Were they waiting around the corner? He might have been thinking the same thing because when he looked at me again, his face was softer, kinder.
"Come on," he said. "I live in the basement over here. You got any money for a taxi?"
"No sir," I said.
"I got a phone. You got someone to call to come fetch you?"
"Yes sir," I said.
He smiled.
"Go ahead then," he said nodding. "Just after that next building. See that stairway going down? That's my place," he told me and put his old revolver back into the sack. He lifted it over his shoulder and waited. -I couldn't help being afraid.
"You don't' want to go walkin"round here anymore, Missy," he said, "and it's getting cold. I'd like to get into my home, as little as it is," he said.
I nodded at him and followed, looking back once to be sure the boys were gone.
What he called his basement apartment was barely bigger than Beni's and my bedroom. He had a little nook on the right with a sink and a hot plate and a small table. There was a tiny refrigerator on the floor. The room itself had an old sofa, an easy chair, a beat up wooden table, one standing lamp and an oval throw rug with holes in it.
"The bathroom's in there," he said nodding at a narrow door on the right,
"I'm fine," I said.
He grunted.
Where did he sleep? I wondered and then thought the sofa might be a pull out.
"There's the phone," he said nodding.
At first I didn't see it. Then my eyes nearly popped. Under the table was a toy phone!
"That's not a real phone," I said softly.
He looked at me and then at the phone.
"Sure it is. My boy calls me once a week on that phone," he told me. "Go on, use it."
I stood there, not knowing what to do. He went to the makeshift kitchen and began to unload his sack. Producing potato chip bags with a few chips left, cans, some old rusted tools, a cracked glass and empty beer bottles, I realized he had obviously been foraging in garbage cans and dumpsters. He treated everything as if it were gold. Finally, he put the old revolver on the table and looked at me again.
"Did you call?"
"Yes sir," I said.
"Good. I can make you some tea. Didn't get any coffee today," he said.
"That's all right. Thank you;' I said inching back toward the door.
"I got a television," he said and reached behind the sofa to produce an old, small black and white set. He put it on the table and turned it on. He played with the knobs until he was able to get a picture and sound. "You can sit on the sofa and wait and watch television, if you want:' he said.
"Thank you, but I said I'd wait outside."
"It's gettin' cold out there."
"It really isn't that cold:' I said backing toward the door. "Spring's here."
"Yeah, and the cherry blossoms," he said smiling. "My son should be calling soon," he added suddenly and sat on the sofa staring ahead.
"Where is your son?"
"Oh, he's up north in Rochester, New York:' he said. "He's a manager in a restaurant."
"That's nice. What do you do?" I asked.
"Me? I'm retired. I used to be maintenance man here. Now, 1'm...retired. I'd go out and wait with you," he said, "but I got to wait for my son to call. You stay right nearby and come back if them hooligans bother you, okay, Missy?"
"Thank you." I opened the door. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "What's your name?"
"I'm Norris Patton," he said. "I was a light heavyweight champ when I was in the service." He showed me his closed fist. "They used to call me Sledgehammer." He laughed and I saw he was missing quite a few teeth in the rear of his mouth.
"Thank you for helping me, Mr. Patton," I said.
"You're quite welcome," he said and then his face burst into a smile of great joy. "That's him," he said and reached under the table for the toy phone.
I watched him for a moment and then stepped out in the street. Would that be my fate? I wondered. Without a real family, would I just imagine one, too?
I had a general idea of which way to go, but I was a lot more timid about walking now that it was really dark. As I approached the corner, however, I saw a familiar vehicle turn down the street, moving very slowly. A street light illuminated the side panel on the passengers' door. It read, Sum's GARAGE. Roy was at the wheel. The moment he saw me, he sped up and pulled the truck to the curb. He jumped out and came around the front quickly.
"Rain, thank God I found you. Why the hell did you go and run off for? Mama's in such a panic she had to lie down. What are you doing here?" he asked looking around. "This is a crappy neighborhood. Huh?" He stared at me. He was about as angry at me as he had ever been.
I was so happy to see him, but I didn't know what to say or do.
"Don't you know why I ran off?" I asked.
"Just get in the truck, Rain. I have to bring it back to Slim's. I took off with it as soon as Mama called and Slim doesn't even know."
"Now, I'm just trouble," I said moving to the truck. He opened the door and I got in.
"You're never just trouble, Rain, but you shouldn't have done this. I've been riding all over looking for you. Pete Williams said he thought he had seen you make the turn up there, so I tried this neighborhood. Man, Rain, Mama's all broke up."
"So am I," I said. "She's been lying to me all these years."
He looked at me and shook his head.
"I don't know anymore about this than you do, Rain, but Mama isn't one to want to lie. You know that. You should know that," he said. "There isn't a better woman in this city," he added.
"Don't you know what happened?"
"Yeah," he said softly. "Beni told me."
I looked down.
"She's not my real mother," I said softly.
"That doesn't mean she doesn't love you as much as a real mother would," Roy asserted.
"It's still very painful, Roy. Maybe I would never have found out. Maybe she never would have told me."
He didn't say anything. He drove directly to The Projects.
"You just go up to see her, Rain. I have to return Slim's truck and I'll be light along."
I hesitated, staring at the apartment building.
"That there is the only home you've got, Rain," Roy said nodding at the building, "and in it are the only people who love you."
I stared at him for a moment, my eyes glassy with tears. Then I opened the door and hopped out. He watched me head toward the front entrance before pulling away.
Beni was the only one at the dinner table. She sat there picking at her food and glared up at me as soon as I entered.
"Where'd you go?"
"For a walk," I said.
"A walk?" She smirked. "Mama's been crying. She didn't want to eat anything and went to bed,"
I stood there.
"What are you mad at her for?" Beni demanded. I looked up, my eyes hot with tears of anger.
"I should've been told long ago. How would you like to find out about yourself like that?" I asked.
Beni shrugged. Then she stared up at me looking furious.
"So you've got white blood. I always thought that about you, Rain. I don't know why, but I did."
"It doesn't change anything," I said sharply.
She smirked again.
"Rain," we heard. It was Mama calling. "Is that you, sugar?"
I looked at Beth who gazed at me with such disgust, I had to look away.
"Sugar," she mumbled.
"Yes, Mama:'
"Come in here, honey. Please," she begged.
I entered the bedroom. Mania had a cold wet washcloth over her forehead. She looked gaunt in the dim light from the small table lamp. I felt a shiver in my heart. Mama was more
fragile than any of us thought. She had been straining under the weight of this family for too long.
She reached out for me and I took her hand.
"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Rain, honey. I never meant that," she said.
"I know, Mama."
I couldn't help but continue to call her Mama. I didn't know her as anyone else.
"There were many times when I almost told you all of it, and times when I thought you realized something was different. Not to mention the hundreds of things Ken said in the past that might have raised your suspicions. I warned him that if he ever hurt you that way, I'd kill him.
"Funny thing was," she said smiling, "when he first came to me with the idea of taking you into our lives, I nearly hit him over the head with a frying pan. How were we going to take care of someone else's child, even for all that money?"
"How much money was it, Mama?" I asked.
"What do you need to know that for, child? Ken, he wasted it on drink and gambling anyhow," she said.
"How much?" I demanded. I wanted to know what sort of a price my real mother had placed on my head. She stared at me. "How much?"
"It was twenty thousand dollars," she said. "I wanted to put away some of it in a savings account and use it for your college, but Ken got his big paws on it and before I knew it, it was all gone."
"Will you tell me all of it now, Mama? No more lies," I added.
"I didn't lie to you, child. I never thought of you as anything else but my own and I loved you as much as I could love any daughter," Mama claimed.
"You lied about family, Mama, about me taking after grandparents. There were lots of stories you made up, Mama," I reminded her.
She smiled instead of looking guilty.
"I only wanted you to feel you belonged, Rain. I told those stories so much, I believed them myself?'
"Now it's time to tell the true story, Mama," I said.
She nodded, moved the wet cloth off her forehead and sat up in the bed. Beni stepped into the doorway and leaned against the door jamb.
"Is this Rain's secret?" she asked, "or do I have a right to know, too?"
"That's up to Rain," Mama said.
"Of course you have a right to know, Beth. You're in this family," I told her.
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