Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

  *

  SMOKE COULDN’T BELIEVE this shit. The grittiness of the chicken, the skin practically glued to the over-fried, dried out flesh, continued to repeat itself in his mouth. He gulped down another hard swallow of milk, hoping it wasn’t expired, but a beverage sure to put his stomach into a frenzied state. His cellmate was a true live piece of shit. The little bastard had mugged someone, then when they fought back, he bit them and stomped the shit out of them, killing the little old man without a second thought. Smoke would look at the fucker, and daydream of beating him, too. However, he’d come too far to risk his freedom over such a matter. Being in prison was a horrible experience, but it paled in comparison to not touching his Pussycat. His thoughts swarmed around her, obsessing him to the point of madness.

  He longed for her touch, her caress, the sweet scent of her. In prison, the nauseating odors were covered with bleach and hot water, stinging his sensitive nostrils. Puke, piss and feces—overwhelming smells he inhaled all day long in his cramped cell he shared with a man he despised. His height proved to be a problem as the furniture was not made for a man of his stature. However, his appearance proved a saving grace for his protection. He rarely had someone run up on him and try to make him into a bitch, but a few crazy sons of bitches still saw him as a ‘white boy’ that could be chopped down like a tree. One incident couldn’t be ignored—five seconds after the fucker smacked the shit out of him with a lunch tray, he got to his feet, picked him up by his goddamn neck and slammed his body all over the floor as if he were a sack of damn flour. That earned the guy a trip to the infirmary and him a disciplinary action that he had to swallow down and choke the hell off of, possibly interfering with his release.

  His new lawyer was on top of her game, and now that two witnesses agreed to testify, he had a glimmer of hope. He wanted to get back to his cell though, and re-read Paris’ letter for the one-hundredth time. It smelled like expensive perfume and jasmine incense, and the photo she enclosed made him smile and laugh to the point of tears. He kept everything she wrote and sent in a small cardboard box. His makeshift treasure chest. He was so damn proud of her. He always knew that if she trusted herself, she could accomplish whatever she put her mind to. The more education and freedom she got, her chances of leaving him increased as well…but he didn’t care. He loved her just that much. He wanted to tell her to not worry about her finances, that he had some things cooking and other shit she didn’t know about, but he couldn’t, for he knew the letters were being read and the rare chances he got to speak to her on the phone were being recorded. The crooked bastards in that joint would love to get their hands on secret stashes—he simply couldn’t chance it.

  No, if she could just hold out, he’d make sure that even if she only made enough to get by at her shop, she’d never have to worry. He wasn’t a fool. Smoke knew from the first day he officially started pimping, he could end up in the slammer for something rather serious. He never wanted to lose his money, all that he’d risked so much for. So, he made sure he stayed away from drugs and trouble as much as one could reasonably expect, as well as refrained from surrounding himself with people who couldn’t be trusted.

  He’d saved up several nest eggs, invested and dispersed them. Much of that money was now gone in legal fees or given away to the women who’d worked for him and Paris—but not all of it. He may never be ‘pimp’ rich again, but he damn sure wouldn’t be destitute. He heard the bell ring, and was filled with instant relief. He was going back to his cell. Visiting time was approaching, but no one was coming for him. In his last letter to his baby, he’d asked her not to come visit for a while and though that request killed him, he had to do it. He was tired of her seeing him in his orange jumpsuit, wearing handcuffs, and looking gaunt. She protested, then conceded after he explained he just needed some time. He promised her it wasn’t forever, but looking into her eyes was tearing him the fuck apart. If he couldn’t see her and wear a badge of freedom, then he just couldn’t muster the courage to look her in the eye at all. He was sure his sorrowful spell would pass, but right then, he was experiencing emotions he’d not felt since he was a little boy.

  He got to his feet and waited for the guard, then moved into the line, just as he’d done countless times before. Then, as he proceeded along his route, one of the guards declared, “Inmate Patterson, you have a visitor…”

  *

  Chapter Sixteen

  Airplanes fly past, in the night sky. I look up and think, well, why can’t I?

  I stretch out my arms, and jump up and down, but no matter what,

  I stay on the ground.

  So I look to God, and ask him right then,

  “Why can’t I soar, and glide like the wind?”

  And God looks at me, and says right back,

  “You are the highest, there’s nothing you lack.

  You look to the clouds, and jump, and run.

  But I need you down there, my soldier, my son”…

  SMOKE LOOKED AT his mother sitting across from him. He used to think if he ever saw the woman again, he’d feel nothing at all. He was wrong. There she was, a prisoner in her own skin. She’d lost quite a bit of weight, and all that remained was loose flesh, dangling like drapes from a rod. The once beautiful woman had been turned inside out. Her dastardly behavior, views and opinions had seeped to the surface, exposing her for who and what she truly was. Her days of playing ‘dress-up’ were over. He found himself rather perplexed, for he didn’t delight in the way karma had delivered her an epic blow. The checks had stopped since he’d been incarcerated and he refused to tell Paris to write any. No, it was time for Mama to be cut off and suffer the way he in fact was, as well. He never told her he was in prison; she must’ve found out from someone else.

  She folded her small, weathered hands in front of her and opened her wrinkled, thin lips to speak. “I’ve been looking for you, Brent. I looked and searched for my son. Called your phone, couldn’t reach you. Sent mail to your address, discovered you no longer lived there. Then, I found out you’ve been accused of killing another man.” She dropped her head, as if that was simply too much to stomach. “I decided I needed to see my child…because that’s what you are to me, and always will be. I told you that you’d end up dead or in prison, didn’t I?” she said, looking back up at him “When I look at you all I see is the little boy who used to spin in circles with his airplanes all day in the front yard, and hum, and daydream. I see my quiet, shy Brent…my sweetheart.”

  He swallowed but remained quiet, allowing her to finish.

  “I want to tell you that you were right…about a lot of the things you said about me, when we talked that last time…over a year ago.” She blew her nose and continued. “I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to raise a child. But I did love you, Brent, and I still do, despite being falsely accused of…” She looked around, as if anyone gave a shit about what she was mumbling, “…molesting my own child.”

  He didn’t flinch or blink an eye. He simply allowed her to choose her own rope, tie a knot with it, so that she could hang herself without him lifting one fucking finger.

  “I don’t know what will happen to you in here, Brent, but I flew all this way to tell you that I love you, and you will always have a mother in your life.”

  “Mama,” he sighed. “So, once again, we have you trying to go to your maker with a clear conscience.” He laughed dismally. “You just never stop, do you? For a split second, I thought you were going to sit here and buck up, be a woman about this shit.” He threw up his hands up and shook his head. “I honestly thought, ‘Wow, she is going to be real with me and apologize.’ I thought you were going to take ownership of all that you’d done. I’ve had to.” He pointed at himself, frowning. “And since I’ve been sitting in this damn prison, I’ve had time to think about all the things I’ve said and done, things that led me right to where I am at this exact moment. You’ve had time alone too, but instead, you’ve squandered it.

  “You figured if you coul
d get me to admit that my memory may be faulty, or that I lied, then you could live with what you’d done as well. Mama, I am not on drugs, and never was. I’m not mentally ill, either. I am fully aware of what transpired. But, that doesn’t even matter.” He sucked his jaw, leaned back in his seat, and just stared at her. “This visit wasn’t about me, Mama… it never was.”

  “What…what are you talking about?”

  “You sat here and didn’t even ask how the hell I was doing. You didn’t even question if the allegations were true, or what happened.” His brows knitted in frustration. “Instead, you sat there in judgment, looking at me as if my lifestyle alone landed me here. Your son is behind bars, in prison for murder and you haven’t seen him since he graduated high school, goddamn it!” He slammed his handcuffed wrists on the small counter in front of himself, causing her to blink and leap back in fear. His heart beat impossibly faster.

  “You never asked to come. You barely would call me before I had blocked your number, and when you’d call, it usually had something to do with money.” He paused and swallowed, took a deep breath and continued. “And with all of that, the only thing you can think to bring up is some fairytale you’ve concocted in your own, twisted mind. I’ve been sitting here, trapped, forced to listen to you make yourself out to be Ms. Innocent, and you think because you admit that you weren’t perfect, you are now somehow exalted! I never asked for a perfect mother, never expected it, don’t need or want it! What I expected, Mama, was a mother who would love me, tell the truth, and not hurt me!” His eyes watered with a wave of fresh pain.

  “Brent, that’s not true…” She looked at him pitifully, as if he were a lost soul she was trying to save. “None of what you are saying is true. I think—”

  “No Mama, I no longer care what you think,” he said calmly, stopping her in her tracks. “What you think is not even relevant anymore. The money stopped, so here you are making a plea…” He smiled sadly and shook his head. “You’ll never change and I don’t expect you too. Mama, that boy with airplanes and never-ending daydreams that you recalled so well is gone. You killed him. The real murderer is sitting across from me.” He pointed at her through the glass. “I can’t help you rewrite history. I understand that you were under a lot of pressure then, had lost your mind, over-worked, depressed, tired, and you weren’t thinking clearly. We don’t need to get into the particulars, but you did it, you know you did it, and you’re ashamed. You’re so ashamed, you can’t even admit to yourself that you did it. And that’s God’s honest truth. I can see it in your eyes, Mama…”

  She dropped her head.

  “And if I believed in God, I would fall to my knees right now and ask Him to please, if I ever get the fuck out of this hell hole and become a father one day, to make sure that when my child comes to me and tells me that I hurt their feelings or did something wrong, and it’s true, something that may have even messed them up a bit, I would at least have the balls, the guts, the integrity to look that little girl or boy in the eye and say, ‘You know what? You’re right. I did it, it was awful, there is no excuse, and I’m sorry!’

  “That’s what love is, Mama! Love is being vulnerable, admitting the truth in order to give the person you claim to adore some damn peace of mind, no matter how much it hurts you personally, ’cause love ain’t always about us! Sometimes it is a hell of a lot bigger than me, you and everyone combined!” He ran his hand across his forehead and took a deep breath.

  “Truth is love’s medicine, Mama. Please take yourself a few doses. The truth is way more important than any of the other bullshit you could possibly have to say. You’re unbelievable.” He smirked and offered a half grin. “You flew all the way from Ohio to California to put on a damn show. There’s no audience anymore, Mama,” he said wearily. “I’m in here, trapped like a damn animal.” He leaned back and sucked his teeth. “I live in a cell with a nut that killed an old man over fifteen fucking dollars! I got assholes coming at me left and right now, thinking they can shake me down, and if I let them get to me, if I swing on them like I want to, I will put my entire freedom in jeopardy, and they know it, and it makes them happy to have that sort of power ’cause they ain’t got shit else to do in here!

  “I’ve got men telling me what pretty eyes I have, and to make sure I fall asleep standing up…threatening to try ’nd assault me. I can’t afford to daydream in here, Mama!” His voice trembled. “I can’t afford to pretend to be something I’m not! I don’t have the luxury to live in a dream world, you see?! I’ve escaped from reality for years. So much so that I created my own world within a sub-culture, one that’s looked down upon by society. I didn’t fit in with the mainstream, so I went below ground.

  “That is why I always daydreamed, Mama. It was to escape! Not because I was some shy little boy! I did it because I was afraid of you!” Another tear cascaded down his cheek, and hers, too. “I did it because in my mind, I drew pictures of places I’d never been to, and that fantasy world was the only place I felt safe. None of that shit was real. I was in such a bad place emotionally, the daydreams saved me. But there comes a time in a man’s life when he has to stop damn daydreaming, and start living in reality, and putting one foot in front of the other. He has to stand up, and start doing! He has to start living. Yeah, I shot and killed a man, Mama.” He shook his head, and simply let the angry, hot tears flow. “I killed a man that tried to harm someone that I love, and I’m not sorry about it. I’m sorry about the aftermath, hell yes,” he said, with a harsh laugh. “I’m sorry that I’m now dealing with these repercussions. But, love sometimes makes you do crazy things, you know? And I realized that when a good woman came into my life. I realized she was worth going a little crazy for…because she loved me back, and she is crazy about me, too…”

  “Brent, one time you told me that I never really wanted you. Honey, that’s not true,” she said after a brief stretch of silence. She swiped a tear away.

  “Yeah, that’s true, Mama. I used to believe that no one, including you, wanted me, that I was just this person floating around, an inconvenience to the world. But you’re right, that’s not true. And regardless of what you say, I know why. It’s not true because I want me, Mama. And the more I want me, the more good, positive things will happen to me. You no longer have control over how I feel about myself,” he stated, wiping his eye when more tears brimmed. “I’m worthy, I know I am, and I don’t need your acceptance, I don’t need your admittance to the past. I don’t need anything from you anymore. Now, we’re finished talking. I’m outta here. Guard!” He got to his feet, leaving her sitting there, dumbfounded.

  “Brent!” she cried out, trembling, sobbing loudly. “God! Brent!” she wailed. He paused and looked over his shoulder at her.

  “This God you believe in, he forgives all, right, Mama? Well, I forgive you, too. I really do. You just can’t help yourself. But please understand me… I never want to see you again. Go home, Mama. Just…go home.”

  The woman’s sobs turned heavy and hysterical when he offered his wrists to the guard, who handcuffed him and took him back to his cell. Smoke complied without looking back for this time, it was final. Something inside of him let him know that the next time he heard about his mother, she’d be dead. He took that moment as he walked to his cell to mourn her in advance. He mourned the woman she could have been, the potential she had. He mourned himself, too. The childhood that came and vanished within the blink of an eye… He mourned his father, and all that talent that was wasted, snorted up his nose and injected into his veins. Dad had been a legend in life, but died a lackluster death.

  He mourned the whole damn thing, and after the service was over and he’d paid his respects, he planned to rejoice. For in doing this he’d taken the first crucial steps to revealing the real Brent Patterson. Smoke was a part of Brent, and Brent a part of Smoke. He could reflect on that, make it is his own, for this remained his story. He couldn’t hate Smoke the way he’d tried to in the recent past. Smoke helped him survive, kept
him alive in times of upheaval and forsakenness. What Smoke did for a living was wrong, but his spirit and drive were all right. Brent kept him human, and able to love again. And in the end, surviving one’s internal and external battles, with love, demonstrated the true strength of a man…

  *

  “MR. PATTERSON.” THE judge eyed him from over his flimsy wire-framed glasses. “After hearing the witness testimony, reviewing your previous criminal record, your behavior while incarcerated with one exception of an altercation with an inmate who’d assailed you and the character witnesses, I issue you a release date and a judgment of probation for a period of one year, beginning at the first day of your sentencing.”

  Smoke couldn’t hear anything else being said, for people were cheering and jumping up out of their seats, causing the man to slam his gavel down over and over.

  “Order in the court!” the judge demanded. “I encourage you, Mr. Patterson, to leave your life of criminal activity behind. If you return to it, I can promise you that you will not be extended the same opportunity as you have been given today.”

  “Yes, your honor. I understand. You have my word that I will not.” He stood humbly in his dark suit, his attorney on one side and the exit door on the other.

  “Very well. Court is now adjourned!”

  He sounded the gavel for the final time, and Smoke felt a wave of light-headedness come over him. In a way, he thought he was dreaming, that the entire thing had been a figment of his imagination. He had no idea who the damn character witnesses had been, but it was a couple people Paris had wrangled up. Regardless, he was happy for whatever strings his woman pulled, aiding in this moment in time. He looked behind him, and saw her sitting there, sexy as fuck, wearing a pale yellow hat pulled down over one eye and a matching pantsuit and heels. She looked like she’d stepped out of a damn Vogue magazine.