by Simone Kelly
Just then, she melted. I haven’t called her Mom since I was about ten. She thought it would be cool for me to call her True and I agreed back then.
“Look, I don’t know why you’ve been listening to those damn Jamaicans. They’ve done nothing but lie lie lie about me! They’ve done nothing but hurt me! They don’t know what I had to go through. I didn’t want to have a baby. I didn’t know how!” she screamed. Her body seemed lifeless as she collapsed on the love seat. “Why did you have to go digging, Kylie? Leave shit where it was.”
“True . . . Mom. Please, I need to know what happened. Did he hurt you?” I went over to her and grabbed her hand.
She started to talk and then nothing came out but deep sobs of regret. She started babbling, sounding like a little Jamaican girl. “I didn’t have no one, Kylie. No one to take care of me. My mummy left me, because her new husband didn’t want to watch no other man’s kids. My half sister was treated like a queen. Mummy didn’t protect me, she didn’t care. She dumped me over there like a prisoner from me eight, like I asked for that. Uncle Danny showed me love. His wife was a mean bitch, but he took care of me. He told me at first he was just showing me love.” She cried as she talked. “But, as I got older, as I got older . . . I knew it was wrong! I knew it.” She started to cry more. It was a huge release, she had been holding on to this secret for years. I ran to the bathroom for some tissue.
“When his wife moved to the States, he . . . he started to rape me. Almost every night. Before it was just touching from when I was eight until thirteen, but when I started to get boobies and some ass, he couldn’t stop looking at me or groping me. He made me do things to him to get money for school. Other kids had chores for allowance. Me, he made me do things. Sexual things for allowance.”
My mouth was open from shock. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry!” I was furious.
She continued, “Eventually, I gave in. It became normal. I didn’t have any choice. I didn’t know anything else.” She blew her nose loudly. “I was teased and called a harlot when I got pregnant, but people didn’t know it wasn’t from the boys in the streets. It was right at home.”
I felt her pain in the pit of my stomach. True sobbed deeply for a while and I cried with her. Then she rubbed her throat and coughed. “I think I opened up my throat chakra. It feels good. It feels good to release this.” She wiped her eyes and sighed. She had an odd smile on her face.
I rubbed her back and watched her in awe. I had never seen True break down. “Kylie, I know I wasn’t a good mother to you. I never thought I would be, but please don’t judge me. Please know I had to do it to survive.”
I was emotional. It felt good to hear her say that. I couldn’t stop crying. “I know, Mommy, I know.” I hugged her and we cried together.
Everything made sense. I saw now why she had no deep emotional connections to men. Why she used them for money without a shred of guilt. Why she fought the reality of being my mother. It was so sad that she was trained to be who she was. But it makes sense why she wanted to change her identity so bad. Why she wanted to forget that part of her past. That night was the first time I think we ever cried so deeply. It was the first time I felt True was honest with me. It was the first time I felt like I really had a mom. From that day on, I decided I would no longer call her True.
Chapter 21
Jacques
Until I was about twelve years old, almost every other night, I saw my father, but I kept it a secret. He sat across from me in my bedroom, wearing his signature black button-down linen shirt and khaki pants. That was what he always wore in my dreams, so I take it that it must have been his favorite outfit. His accessories were his “I Love the Giants” coffee mug and a pack of Marlboros in his front pocket. He looked as if he were the same age he was when he died, only forty-one. His tan olive skin was identical to mine. Deep brown eyes stared at me, but it wasn’t intimidating. He had a warm expression, not quite a smile, but a look of contentment. He also held a Bible in his hand. It looked like my mother’s, because it had a leather case with her initials MMB (Marguerite Marie Berradi).
He would start to speak, but I could never hear him. His lips moved slowly, but no sound ever came out. Always the storyteller and expressive with his hands, he frustrated me because I couldn’t hear the words that went along with his animated movements. He was pointing and waving the Bible as he spoke. Every now and then, Dad would slow down and take a sip of his coffee. My dream always ended with him trying to hand me the Bible. I would reach out to grab it and my hands would transform into soft, weak, six-year-old hands. Too tiny to grasp the heavy leather-bound book. It would fall to the ground and the loud sound would startle me out of my dream. My dad was Muslim, so his handing me the Bible didn’t make sense to me. He never had his own. I’d recently had this same dream at least once a week in the last month. I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t know what he was trying to tell me. It just didn’t make any sense. . . . The Bible, coffee, his talking wildly, and my being a child. It was frustrating, because I couldn’t hear a word. He was speaking intensely, really trying to tell me something, but no sound came out. I had to try to be awake the next time I had it. Maybe I could read his lips or something.
I remember the visions came to a halt. I think I just learned to block the messages altogether. However, when I was seventeen years old my father was back.
I was lying in my room trying to sleep. I had the radio on low. The soft light from my nightstand lamp bounced off my blue walls.
I was leaving for college that fall. I thought about finally getting out of the house and getting away from my family. I thought about finally becoming a man, the man I’d always wanted to be, just like my dad. Just as I thought about him, I felt a warm breeze brush by me. My radio became filled with static and I lost the station. I looked at the clock and was about to fix it, then I heard, “Jacques, tell your mother.” It was very faint, but I heard it. “Tell your mother I forgive her, not to worry, I forgive her.” I felt his breath, as if he were sitting right next to me on the bed.
I instantly smacked my ear like I was killing a bug. “Oh shit!” I looked around, then the radio came back on, playing Hall and Oates loud and clear. I reached for the light. My hands were shaking.
There was the loud sound of slippers racing down the hallway as my mom ran in. “What happened?” Her hair was in big plastic rollers and her eyes looked puffy. I hadn’t realized that I’d screamed that loud. I sat on the edge of the bed and was staring at her in shock. I looked down at my shaking hands.
I heard the voice again, the voice of my father. This time it was more urgent, a pleading in his voice. “Tell her, son. . . . You must tell her that I know. . . .” The voice wasn’t in my ear, either, it was in my head now. I could hear it as if it were my voice. Surprisingly, now I didn’t feel scared. A feeling of calm came over me. I hadn’t heard my dad’s voice in so long. It made me feel at peace hearing it. It was my dad, it really was my dad.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she said softly.
“It’s Dad! I heard him tonight, he came to me.” I grabbed her hands as she sat next to me on the bed. A tear ran down my cheek. She looked scared, like she believed me this time.
“He said to tell you he forgives you, he loves you.” I looked at her for answers.
She turned away, saying, “Jacques, you were having a nightmare, baby. Go have some warm milk to help you sleep.”
My voice cracked. “Mom, what did you do? Did you guys have a fight? Why does he forgive you?”
She got up. “Stop this nonsense right this second!” she screamed. “You were having a nightmare. Olivier is gone, your father is gone, stop trying to bring him back. How can you do this to your own mother?” Her eyes started to water. “I know you miss him, I know you need him now, but I’m sorry, darling, he’s gone, he’s in heaven, he can’t talk to you. He can’t send messages to me.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Go to bed.” She started to walk out of the room, but held on to the doorknob. “Do
you want me to make you some hot cocoa? It might make you fall asleep.” Her motherly smile tried to cover up the glow of her guilt. I could see she was hiding something, but what it was I couldn’t figure out.
I decided not to argue and let her believe what she wanted. I tried though. My father could at least see I tried.
“No, I’m okay, sorry for waking you up. Maybe it was just a dream.” I shrugged.
I lay back in my bed, this time with all the lights on. Memories flowed through me that night, almost like a light switch was turned on. My gift was back.
Chapter 22
Kylie
I was doing so well until Breeze showed up again in my life. A few days after he called me, I ended up in his hotel lobby in South Beach. I caught a glimpse of Spike Lee and Robert Townsend talking by the front desk. A few celebrities and familiar faces from B movies walked by or chatted in the lounge area.
I was waiting for Breeze to come down and meet me for a late dinner. The lobby was buzzing with bikinis, dark glasses, tight dresses, men with six-packs and open shirts, and late-night business-card swapping. I would get an alluring glance every now and then from a cutie, so I thought I would flirt at least before I saw Breeze.
I felt warm hands massage my neck and I didn’t have to turn around. I knew his touch. His body was close to mine as I sat on the stool.
“You look beautiful in red.” He smelled so good. “Don’t turn around yet.”
“Why, thank you, but don’t you think you should at least introduce yourself before massaging a complete stranger?” I teased as he kneaded a stress knot out of my left shoulder. I was loving it.
“Oh, I think we’ve met before.” He traced a finger down the middle of my back. I flinched from the tickle.
“See, I remember where you’re ticklish,” he whispered in my ear. “Sugah, fuck dinner.” I started to turn around and he squeezed me.
“Oh, okay . . . well what do you want to do?” He grabbed my hand and I got up.
“Man, you are filling out that dress so right, Ky. You’re killing me living so far away. Give me some sugar.” He pulled me close and I gave him a kiss.
“Are we going to dinner or what, Breeze?”
“Shit, I’m ready for dessert.” He chuckled, caressing my waist.
“Does wifey know about us meeting?”
“Whoa. Whoa. I’m single . . . very single, darlin’. Easy with dat! Do you want to hang with me tonight? I have a few passes to some late-night screenings.”
“Right. Sounds good.” I hated to admit it, but I wasn’t in the mood for dinner and movies, either. I was trying to stay focused, but I knew I needed to hear him tell me how much he missed me. I needed to have him stare at me. I needed my ego stroked and, let’s face it . . . I needed to be stroked. I promised myself that this was really the last time.
“Let’s order in, Breeze. I don’t feel like being in this meat market environment. Everyone is here for some ass, not a film festival.”
“Oh yeah?” He laughed. “Well, Kylie, I’m actually a film connoisseur and I have friends who are releasing indie films and I’m here to support them. Of course, seeing you was the icing on the cake!” He grabbed me closer. “Stop playing, Ky, you know what’s up.” He kissed me gently . . . a moist juicy kiss. It felt good, like no time had passed at all. I wrestled with my conscience, but I knew that my desires would soon be sitting in the driver’s seat.
We went upstairs to Breeze’s room. The air conditioner whispered softly as Prince played on his iPod speakers. We ordered in: crab cakes as an appetizer, steak for him, shrimp scampi for me. One thing about Breeze that I had missed was his love for eating good.
We laughed and talked about the crazy blackout experience. I held back as much bitterness and resentment as I could—just taking it for what it was, an eleven-year-long (bed-buddy/booty call/homie-lover-friend) fuckship.
My phone vibrated. The phone was on the table and it lit up with Chauncey’s name in bright neon glow. Breeze saw it and smiled.
“You wanna get that?”
“Nah.”
“Go ’head, he’s not a threat to me, whoever he is.”
Oh really, Mr. Cocky? Calling my bluff, are you? I sashayed over to the phone to show him he wasn’t in charge.
“Heeeey, what’s up, Chauncey!” I said in a syrupy voice that I knew made Breeze listen intently.
Chauncey sounded tired. “I’m just thinking about our next date. I can’t wait to see you! I wish we could push it up.”
I walked farther away from Breeze and Prince playing loudly.
“Me too!” I gushed.
“Well, I’ve been so anxious, I’m actually already en route.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s early, but I can’t wait. . . . I just can’t wait to see you again. Instant messages and texting don’t quite cut it.”
My voice cracked. “Are you serious? Where are you?”
“Damn, you can’t even be happy a brother is stalking you?” He laughed.
I sighed, realizing it was just Chauncey being Chauncey. Pulling my leg.
I paced toward the bathroom to fix my hair. Breeze’s eyes went with me. “I was about to run for the hills and delete my profile page!”
“Well, it was only partly a joke. I am itching to wrap my arms around you again. But I’ll be gentle this time.”
Breeze cleared his throat. When I came out of the bathroom, he was butt naked on the couch, stroking himself, and he was oh so excited to see me.
“What the hell?” I laughed. “Ummm, Chauncey, babe . . . Ummm, I’m sorry, let me call you back. Ciao.” I hung up. I was frazzled, delighted, and aroused all in the same moment. I walked in front of Breeze.
“Ky, you know listening to you speak to that cat made me want you more. I’m here with you getting ready to fuck the shit out of you and where’s he at? At home playing on the Internet or watching SportsCenter.” He bit his bottom lip and looked down at his hardness.
“What?” I stood over him, smiling.
“I heard you talking about that site, is that what you are doing now?” He leaned in and reached under my dress to cup my butt cheeks. He brought me close then lifted my dress. He admired my thong. “Daaaaamn, sugah.”
He pulled down my thong slowly and pulled me in closer to his face. “I love how you keep it clean for daddy.”
The hairs on my arms stood up as he put his face between my legs and talked to Madame Butterfly. He’s the one who got me into bikini waxing. He sucked and licked me. He was slow and deliberate. His fingers parted me, so he could taste me. The heat from his mouth sent me soaring. I grabbed his shoulders as my knees buckled. “Damn, your stuff is tight as a box. You’ve been a good girl for daddy, huh?” He looked up at me as he slowly slid a finger inside me.
“Yessss, yeeeess, daddy.” I ripped off my red dress that got me this far. He laid me on the couch, because it wouldn’t be long before I fell on it. He was so hard I almost got a little scared of how it would feel, since it’d been a while. I knew it was a blessing and a curse. I was just starting to get over my addiction and here I was again with Breeze, the strongest drug I’d ever been addicted to.
Sweat, screams, panting, and sighs exploded in the room. We could have steamed the windows with our energy. I didn’t know what the hell had gotten into him, but he was definitely laying it down like never before. I crawled to the top of the bed and grabbed the padded leather headboard.
“Where are you going, sugah? I’m not done with you.” He pulled me close in doggy style and the bed jumped violently up and down. The sensation of him inside me hit all the nerve endings in my body, sending me to new heights.
“Oh my Gawd, oh my Gaaaaaawd. . . .”
“You better not come yet. . . . Wait for me.” He panted as he held on to my moist back.
I moaned in delight, collapsing on the bed.
“Don’t come until I say so,” he said authoritatively through his teeth.
/> Damn that was sexy. My face was buried in the pillow, ass up.
“Oh . . . oh, sugah, you stay right there. You got that tight . . . sweet . . . pussy. Oh, that shit is so wet for daddy. Stay right there.” I got chills when he talked like that. We moved together slowly to the rhythm of Raheem DeVaughn singing “Believe.”
He eased off me slowly. “You still on the pill, Ky?”
“No, why?” He held up the condom that was damn near empty and torn.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck! Damnnnn!” I ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet to allow gravity to work out the remaining sperm. I washed myself, cursing under my breath. I know I should have just stayed away. I wasn’t strong enough. I was so weak for him. I looked in the mirror, ashamed of and disappointed with myself. My face was red and full of sweat.
He knocked on the door and came in. “Sugah, you okay? What’s the worst that could happen? We could finally have a baby together!”
“Right, and I’ll be your baby mama and screw up the rest of my life.”
He reached for a towel to wipe the sweat off his naked body. “Whoa! Kylie Rain, you need to check your tone, darlin’.” He put on his stern fatherly voice. “What, you don’t think I would take care of mine?”
“You are not ready to be solely committed to me if I get pregnant! I couldn’t keep it, it wouldn’t be fair to the child or us.”
“How you mean, you can’t keep it? You’re almost thirty! I think it would be a sin to do that. Fucking selfish is what it is, Kylie.”
“Well, it’s my body last time I checked and honestly I’m not ovulating now, anyhow. So let’s just drop it.” I leaned against the sink and took a deep breath.
“Yeah, you ain’t killing my seeds anymore.” His voice had a trace of anger.
I jumped in the shower and we ended up catching the last two movies of the night. I didn’t sweat it anymore and what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. But a part of me did feel guilty since he was right. I’m grown. I’d always wondered if it was the same kid who came back. I will ask Jacques about that.