by Tiana Laveen
He remembered the place as a little boy. Initially, it had been one of the few buildings the whites and Jews stayed in and then, as more blacks, gays and Puerto Ricans moved into the area, the ‘white flight’ ignited as quickly as flames biting at parchment. The runaways vacated with a beat up luggage bag or two, clearing the way for what they deemed unwanted, unruly riffraff. The minorities represented a wrinkle in the fabric of all that was graceful in their blue eyes, and when the ‘unwanted’ came, the care for life and dignity of real estate left. But, nobody had any place to go…nothing to do. Joblessness had taken a chokehold on the community, thus crime rose like a vine and sprung out the concrete wilderness, spreading until it had devoured the very souls of dreamers and their delusional notions that would never come to fruition. Saint sighed as he fell back into reality, the here and now.
He was duly surprised to not see much activity. Typically, four in the morning was the last call for paid pussy. He didn’t see the wig-covered head or beaten and bruised tail of any prostitute, working the area for one more romp in the back of some old jalopy with tail pipes louder than an outdoor rock concert on a Saturday night. No woman in sight who’d then slip into an alleyway to accept a fast fuck and an even quicker buck. He shrugged, as if his thoughts had a listening audience. He tried to piece together the tattered, old puzzle in his mind. It seemed the cars that did pass would do so in slow motion. Fuck, the whole place seemed to be in slow motion, as if an old VCR had taken over the unabridged goddamn world, moving everyone with a shaky, static-filled hand across one big ass screen. He glanced back up at the sky, and the clouds still sat there, looking down on him, passing judgment and talking amongst their fluffy selves.
“Today must be the last day the world spins…no whores in Hunts Point?” Saint whispered to himself, hooking it on the end of a chuckle. Feeling bold and fearless, he zipped up his jacket and made his way back to his parked Lexus. The damn thing, white and shiny, looked ill-placed in such a spot. Up in the sky, the clouds still chased after him, then abruptly stopped when he sat in his car and jammed his head out the window to peer at the damn things. He studied them with a child-like curiosity as he started the engine.
Un-fucking-believable…
They stood back like a crowd that had been dispersed by the police after a riot. Starting the engine, he reversed from the half-crumbled curb. Taking a chance, he glanced in his rear view mirror, deciding, like the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, to look behind him lest he become a pillar of salt or turn to stone. The clouds were now over the building, bubbling as if alive with carbonation, and they rained down on that damn roof with gusto. The only problem was…it rained nowhere else but right over that decrepit, haunting place painted in depressing memories. Shaking his head in disbelief at the damn billows, he drove away, far from there, leaving that mind-blowing sight and a trail of sooty South Bronx exhaust dust behind him…
*
Pam burst through the doors of their home like a tornado powered by the electric company, the three children in tow. Their faces registered a mixture of wonder and sleepiness. Porsche now headed the crowd, clutching Dakarai’s hand as if she were his sponsor for the Hungriest Children of All Foundation. She stood there like some caseworker, prepared to deliver a devastating report. Xenia practically ran Saint over, her foot sliding over his as she made a mad dash towards her offspring, who waited with their arms up in the air. Screams of, ‘Mommy! Mommy!’ rent the air, no doubt music to the woman’s ears.
He sighed, trying to keep a smile on his face but the toes on his right foot throbbed after she’d trampled him, completely unaware he’d been wounded in her pursuit of happiness. Saint didn’t miss the scowl on Mama Pam’s puffy face as she anxiously dug around in her big, lime green purse. Removing a cigarette, she popped it into the side of her quivering, purple-lipstick-covered mouth. It bounced about like a seesaw when she spoke. She clutched a white lighter in her other hand with her long red painted thumbnail poised on the trigger.
“Is there some damn grass, ’round here? A tree? A fence? A wilted head of lettuce?! Anything green?! Damn it to hell!”
Before Saint could respond, she started up again.
“Like a backyard or something? I need to smoke this right here…and Xenia!” she called out, yelling as if the woman was far away on another street all together. The room grew silent when she glared at her daughter. “You are comin’ with me!”
“But Mama, I haven’t seen my children in almost a week. Give me a sec. Surely you can—”
“Now, goddamn it! This ain’t no damn Family Feud, you just standing there giving me the best answer you got, like I asked you, ‘What room of the house is ya favorite?!’ I ain’t ask you shit! I’m telling you to get your narrow behind ova here and take me outside!”
“Mama! Don’t speak to me that way and especially not in front of my children!” Xenia’s forehead bunched as she gripped Isis to her heaving chest. It was obvious the woman he adored was trying to keep her composure, to not cause a scene, but he feared Xenia would lose the fight. An unfortunate turn of events had been born, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of the delivery process. He rarely witnessed his wife and mother-in-law arguing, and he sure as hell didn’t want it to take place right here and now. He’d attempted to give Xenia first dibs on the hugs and kisses before rushing to his seeds, anxious for the contact, but now everything had been derailed.
Everyone’s eyes appeared big as tea saucers, all but Xenia’s. Saint had an urge for a cigar his damn self at that moment…paired with a glass of cognac…maybe two.
“Ohhhh, you Ms. High and Mighty now, huh?” Pam put her hand on her voluptuous hip as she tipped her hefty weight to one side.
“A, Hassani and Dakarai, go on upstairs and take a look around. You’re going to love your rooms!” Saint interjected. He resisted the urge to grab them up into his arms, for then he wouldn’t want to let go. Affectionate hellos would have to wait. He had to stay focused on what was happening, keep an ear out on the strange disruption. “I’ll be up to join you in a little bit.” The two boys looked at one another, as if having some telepathic conversation. It unnerved Saint, especially since he didn’t have the energy or time to infiltrate their thoughts and find out what the fuck this was all about.
“Alright…” Hassani mumbled as he made his way up the marble steps, his backpack slung over his shoulder and Dakarai right behind him. He could feel their spastic energy; they were definitely communicating with one another, but he kept his cool for this was no time for psychic games.
Pam glanced up to where they’d disappeared, then started up all over again, not missing one damn cigarette dangling beat.
“Let’s try this then, Ms. High Falutin’. Get-uh, your-ass-uh-over-here-uh, fuckin’-now-uh! That’s Italian! Did ya like it?” Pam grinned, though it was more than apparent she was mad as hell.
“Xenia.” Saint stepped into the fiery conversation, wishing to end it as quickly as possible. He struggled but refused to budge until he could lasso the mess, calm the torrent waters. “…Obviously something is going on. Just go on and I’ll take the children on a tour of the house, get them settled.” Xenia fisted a hand at her side and her lips tied into a damn knot that only a boy scout could undo.
“Well then, that’s all you had to say, Mama. You could have pulled me aside and said, ‘I know we just got here, but I need to speak to you right now, please.’ Instead, you did what you typically do and cause a scene! I’m tired and stressed out, and you come in here with all of your drama! I don’t need this shit! You got me all upset in front of my children!” Xenia handed Porsche Isis and stormed away, making a mad dash to the kitchen.
Yes, she’d had a rough night, and Saint knew it was partially due to him. This was what he feared. After he’d returned home from his jaunt in the South Bronx, where he’d inadvertently danced with rain clouds, he’d had a series of odd dreams that woke her up and worse yet—Xenia told him later how he became violent, punching at the air and
yelling at someone about a damn bridge and a rainstorm and saying the word, ‘zoo’. To add to that bizarre series of occurrences, he’d levitated so high to the ceiling, his nose touched the damn thing. He awoke once he heard the shrill scream of his beloved…far, far below…
“Pam,” Saint said calmly. “Follow her. You may also want to apologize. It has been a trying time here, and she missed her children. This was all blown way out of proportion.”
The woman stood there looking as though she wanted to protest, but then seemed to think better of it when Saint glared at her. He frowned, giving her a glance that said, ‘Not today, Mama Pam…please, not today because you’ll get your feelings hurt.’ Instead she huffed, turned on her teal colored heels and made her way to the kitchen. Soon, Saint could hear muffled voices of the two women in question.
“Well.” Throwing on an award-winning grin, he took Isis from Porsche’s grip, trying as hard as he could to pretend to be in a stellar mood. “Porsche, you’ve been awfully quiet. I hope the children weren’t too much of a bother… Hi, sweetheart!” He rubbed his nose against his daughter’s face. The poor girl was worn out and slumped against him, her eyes fluttering as if she could barely stay awake.
“No, they were fine.” She smiled back, holding herself as if she needed a security blanket. “Saint…uh…” She looked down at her white tennis shoes then back up at him. “Mama is just worried about your children is all. She gets this way when it comes to her grandchildren, you know, if she thinks something is wrong.”
“What do you mean?” He cradled Isis’ head as if she were a newborn versus a three year old. He needed to feel her heat and energy against his soul.
“Hassani seems out of sorts, and Dakarai was acting mighty strange, too. It is probably just the move, but she’d not seen them this way, and it bothered her. She thinks they are keeping secrets, like something bad is going on here and they are covering it up.”
“What? Are you serious? Of course Hassani would possibly be acting different.” Saint shrugged, trying to keep his voice down. “The entire world he has known has shifted.” He patted Isis gently on the back. “Dakarai is the same way, just shows it differently and children are allowed to have their own secrets…but the vibe I’m getting from you, it’s like…it’s like she thinks they are being abused.” He swallowed, not wanting to believe such a thing, but he had no other way to interpret the words she chose. He was on the verge of being offended, and if it was confirmed, Mama Pam would be out on her ass in a matter of seconds. Love or no love, he wouldn’t tolerate neither him nor his wife being suspected of such an unspeakable thing.
“No! Please don’t think that. Not like that.” Porsche threw up her hands, waving them around as if she were a referee screaming, ‘Saaaaafe!’ “Mama didn’t say anything like that, Saint, not at all. But…I don’t know, I’ve said too much.” She huffed and leaned lazily against the wall, as if she, too, were exhausted from the entire exchange. Saint looked towards the kitchen. It looked so much like their old kitchen back in L.A.—that surely would give the children some comfort. The thought granted him a meager slice of contentment.
“Porsche, have a seat, please. Relax for a moment. I think I better join them.”
She nodded and collapsed onto the partially covered over-stuffed brown chair in the foyer area. Xenia had it set up so elegantly. A large plant with lustrous green leaves brushed against the arm and a substantial silver-framed painting of two black boys riding bikes down a city square from the 1800s rested above it. Too bad peace was not in the picture right at that moment, too…
*
“And that’s been the whole problem!” Xenia blurted, the vein on the side of her neck pulsating as she pointed her finger in her mother’s direction.
“You lower your damn tone with me, Xenia Donnellson Aknaten, and I’m not playin’ around with you, little sista! You just thank you can talk to me any ol’ kinda way!”
“Oh, you want respect now, huh?” Xenia sneered. “The same respect you gave me out there by that door?!” Xenia pointed towards the area of the home where the viciousness first began.
Oh shit…not this again…
The two women hadn’t even noticed he’d walked in and taken a seat at their little show, front and center. All that was missing was a big bucket of buttery popcorn and the beginning credits of the movie rolling out before his eyes.
“Look.” His mother-in-law sighed and held her heavy chest, placing her hand delicately upon it as if possibly feeling pain in her heart. “Xenia, I’m sorry if you think I disrespected you. I didn’t want to come up in here and fight my own daughter, okay?” Pam had suddenly cooled, no doubt realizing Xenia wasn’t going to take any shit from her. It was odd to see, yet he appreciated Pam taking the high road after derailing the whole damn track.
Xenia grimaced and crossed her arms. Clearly, she wasn’t trying to hear it…still mad as a bee stuck in a hive with no damn honey. He inwardly grinned.
Stubborn like her mama…
“Look…here is the damn situation. As stupid as this is going to sound, I’m just comin’ out and sayin’ it and I haven’t even told your sister this.”
“What?” Concern coated the word as Xenia released it from her lips. Her body tightened up ever so slightly.
“Hassani’s eyes turned red on me. Do you hear me?! That boy is got somethin’ goin’ on!” Mama Pam pointed out the kitchen at no one in particular, but that damn finger was meant for his son. Before he could think quickly on his feet, come up with a handy explanation, he observed the color drain from his wife’s face as she gulped, audibly so. It appeared that her tongue had disappeared, too, for no words came out, not even a murmur.
Shit! This isn’t supposed to happen until he is grown! ’Til he is thirty-five or older. What is going on?!
“Did you hear me?” Pam said a bit louder. “He was mad as hell, and his eyes turned red and it ain’t the first time I saw it, neither. This is like the third damn time! I thought I was seeing things, but then it happened again and no, before you ask,” she pointed in her daughter’s face, “I haven’t been smoking anything or drinking, either. I’m sober as they come and I saw it! You hear me, I saw it with my own two eyes and you as his mama, I know you, Xenia…I know you seen it too!” She pointed in Xenia’s face, her anger back at the forefront. “Now tell me how that boy got like that!”
“Xenia…” Saint got to his feet, still holding his daughter who was now awake, but not saying a word. “Tell her…” He smiled at his wife, letting her know it was okay. No matter what happened, they were going to handle this the best way they knew how. With the truth…
“Mama, you see, this is hard to explain but—”
“He got some ocular disease, don’t he?!” the woman blurted. “I looked it up on Porsche’s computer. Why wouldn’t you tell me he had that condition, Xenia?! How could you keep something like that from me?!” The woman barreled toward her daughter, surrounded her in a meaty hug.
Saint looked at the ground with a smirk. When he glanced back up, Xenia shrugged and offered him a wimpy smile while her mother’s fleshy, pale arms surrounded her, giving comfort that was not needed.
“Mama, Hassani doesn’t have hyper-pigmentation, or anything else you may have read online. Look, have a seat…” Xenia pointed to one of the chairs at the breakfast bar, one not already covered with a small opened box marked, ‘Glasses’ and ‘Fragile.’
Pam sniffed, still grasping her unlit cigarette as she slid onto the red leather bar chair. She slumped down, as if defeated. Xenia stood on the other side of the counter, planting her palms firmly on it as she looked down at her mother. There was no way she was prepared for this conversation, but in typical fashion, she would deal with it because the elephant was in the room, stomping around, knocking over the fine China.
“If you need my help, honey, I’m here…” Saint murmured as he sat next to his mother-in-law. Pam shot him a weary glance.
“Why are you both acting like I�
�m about to attend a funeral?” The woman was now visibly unnerved. It broke his heart to see Pam so concerned, so fraught with anxiety. Her fretful energy could be smelled; it surrounded him, entered his nostrils and made him feel tinges of sorrow on her behalf.
“Mama, remember when you said you’d seen your mother’s ghost?”
Pam looked at Xenia inquisitively, swallowed then tossed a casual, almost dismissive glance towards the refrigerator. “Xenia, can I have something to drink, please?” she requested dryly.
“Of course, Mama.” Xenia poured a tall glass of water and handed it to the woman. Pam took a nervous sip, and then another. “Are you ready to hear this?”
“Yeah…” Pam set the glass down then pushed it some distance away, as if it were in her way.
“Okay.” Xenia briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “When you told me you’d seen Grandmama’s ghost, I believed you. I hadn’t seen her, but I missed her so much. It gave me comfort that she’d come to visit you. Now, strange things happen sometimes. Some people would consider what you said to be strange, Mama. They may not even have believed you.” Xenia shrugged. “Many people don’t believe in things they can’t see and aren’t used to. You see, Hassani’s vision is 20/20, Mama. He has no diseases that would cause blindness, vision problems, nothing. I think deep down, Mama, you knew that. You were just hoping for an explanation.”
Her mother looked away, down at her own folded arms on the table.
“That’s one thing about you, Mama… You’ve always been quite aware. I figured this moment in time would come, but I didn’t know how to speak to you about it. Now, I honestly haven’t seen my son’s eyes turn colors, I want to assure you of that, but regardless, I know what’s going on. Back to what I was saying though…” She took another deep breath. “Saint always tells me I’m the rational one. If something can’t be proven, then I don’t believe it. Well, that’s only true in my career. I’m a big time dreamer actually. I think the possibilities of this world and beyond are endless.” She raised her arm in the air. “Unfortunately, there was a time in my life when I was dismissive. I became a naysayer. That train of thought also dripped into my personal life, and it didn’t help me. We have to keep an open mind because there are things going on that just have no clear explanations. For instance, me falling in love with Saint, Mama.”