“I have some grocery shopping to do, so I guess I’d better get going,” Ms. Holmes said. With thoughts of the horror stories that Shane might tell the social worker flitting through her mind, Ms. Holmes gave him another nervous glance before ambling toward the front door.
Exactly an hour later, Ms. Holmes returned home. She was relieved to see that the social worker’s car was no longer parked outside her house. Carrying a single bag of unnecessary items purchased from the neighborhood dollar store, Ms. Holmes hurried up the steps and swung open the front door.
The boys were watching television. “How’d the visit go?” she asked in a false nonchalant tone.
“Fine,” Tariq said without taking his eyes away from the TV screen.
Shane looked at her and then dropped his gaze.
“Shane?” she inquired.
“What?” he responded in a rude tone, his eyes also glued to the screen.
The boy was so moody it wasn’t even funny. She took a deep breath. “How do you think the visit with the social worker went?”
“Same ol’; same ol’,” was his ornery response.
Despite the nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach, Ms. Holmes maintained a passive expression. “Well, did you talk about anything in particular?” she pressed.
“I said we talked about the same ol’ shit!” Shane’s voice was bitter.
Tariq and Ms. Holmes gasped. “Don’t use that language; this is a Christian home and you know it.”
“Whatever.” Shane rose and stormed outside.
Tariq looked at Ms. Holmes and then at the door his brother had just slammed. Confusion was written on his face and she knew Tariq expected her to give him an explanation. He wanted to know why she’d allowed his brother to get away with disrespecting her so badly.
“I’m going outside, Miz Holmes. Is that okay?” Tariq asked.
She nodded and hung her head in defeat.
When Tariq went outside, he caught a glimpse of Shane walking fast as he turned the corner at the end of their block. “Shane!” Tariq yelled, with both hands cupped at the sides of his mouth. Tariq ran to catch up. “What’s wrong with you, man?” Tariq asked, slightly out of breath, trying to keep up with Shane’s long, angry stride.
“She gets on my nerves, man. Always asking all those dumb-ass questions.”
“She was just being nice, Shane. What’s wrong with you? You’re the one who said we should treat her nice so we don’t have to move around no more. So why you starting all this trouble all of a sudden?”
As they neared Clark Park where a basketball game was in session, Shane stopped walking. “You right, man. Look, I’m gonna shoot some hoops. You wanna hang around or what?”
Tariq wasn’t good at basketball. “No, I’m gonna go see Shiree. Later, man.” The brothers slapped hands.
CHAPTER 10
LaDonna just happened to be walking through the park when she spotted Shane on the basketball court.
“Hey, Shane,” she said, smiling and waving as if they hadn’t recently been involved in a sneaker-throwing fracas.
Shane nodded and gave her a wink, which meant all was forgiven.
“How long you gonna be out here?” She hollered as Shane thundered down the court bouncing the basketball.
Shane shot the ball into the basket, slapped a few hands, turned in LaDonna’s direction, and yelled, “Hold up; I won’t be long.”
LaDonna, dressed in tight jeans, pranced happily over to a park bench and lit a cigarette.
When Shane finished playing, he approached LaDonna. His sweat-soaked T-shirt was draped around his neck. He sat down next to her; she kissed him softly and then placed her lipstick-stained cigarette between his lips. He pulled on the cigarette and blew out smoke. “How’s Easy? Y’all get back together yet?”
“Yeah, we back. Satisfied?”
“What kind of goodies does he have stashed up in the crib?”
“Weed, some bagged-up product, and a couple bottles of Henney. You know how we do. Me and my man like the good stuff,” LaDonna bragged.
“All right, let’s go to your place. Kick back, get high…you know how we do,” he said, mimicking her.
She laughed. “That would be cool, but my mom’s home.”
“Dag, I thought your mother worked three or four jobs.”
“Shifts,” she corrected. “My mother works double shifts. She likes that overtime but a bitch gotta rest sometimes.” LaDonna fell out laughing.
Shane didn’t see the humor in her mother’s blocking his free get-high.
“Well, do think she’d mind if you have some company?”
“Yeah, she’d mind. My mom ain’t all old like your foster mother. She ain’t but thirty-five. She’s home chillin’ with her new man—well, I should say her newest man. Anyway, my mom needs her privacy just like we do.”
“So what we gon’ do?”
LaDonna shrugged, then brightened when an idea crossed her mind. “I know! Walk me home, I’ll sneak into Easy’s stash and get some weed, a bottle of Henney, and some cups. We can get high right here in the park.”
Shane put a sweaty arm around LaDonna as they cut through Clark Park and walked along Woodland Avenue. They turned on Fifty-Third Street and stopped in front of the library at the corner of Fifty-Third and Regent Streets.
“Wait for me here,” LaDonna said, ducking out from under Shane’s sweaty arm. “Be right back.” She ran down the short block lined with identical apartment buildings.
Five minutes later, she came out of her building and beckoned Shane. “Hurry up,” she yelled excitedly. But Shane was too cool to run down the street. He maintained an unhurried glide. When he got to LaDonna’s building, her lips were screwed up in disapproval.
“What’s your problem?”
“Dag, Shane. You too smooth to rush?”
“You know it,” he responded with a cocky grin.
“My mother’s sleep. Her company must have been slinging some mean dick ’cause that bitch is out for the count. Come on in.”
Shane cautiously crossed the threshold into LaDonna’s apartment. He’d never met LaDonna’s mother and hoped he didn’t have to meet her while he was in her home on the creep. He didn’t want any trouble out nobody’s irate mother; he just wanted to get high, get laid, and be on his way.
They mixed the Hennessy with Coca-Cola. Shane licked the outer layer of the dutch when LaDonna finished breaking up the buds. She played a Toni Braxton CD to set the tone.
Shane had to admit, LaDonna was a sexy chick, but he just wasn’t ready to settle down. Besides, if he made her his girl, they’d lose all the benefits that came from her man, Easy. Therefore, deciding to thoroughly enjoy the moment, Shane puffed the blunt and drank the liquor and listened to Toni blow.
Feeling amorous after he’d finished smoking, Shane turned over and started kissing LaDonna and sucking on her neck. He planned to leave a passion mark just so Easy would know he had some competition. It seemed that the moment his dick started getting hard, LaDonna broke the mood.
“I know you ain’t gonna try to fuck me all sweaty and shit.”
“I ain’t home; what am I s’posed to do?”
“We got runnin’ water. You better go wash your ass.” She gave him a big sexy grin. “Plus, I’m feeling so good I think we should get into something real freaky. So, go take a shower.”
“Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”
LaDonna licked her lips teasingly.
Shane hopped in the shower. He was so happy he felt like singing. He washed every crack and crevice, making sure there were no odors when Little Miss Sexy wrapped her luscious lips around his dick. In all his fourteen years, he was ashamed to admit that he’d only had his dick sucked once. And the girl who’d done the sucking had been a skuzzy-looking, ugly girl—a crazy pimply-faced, certified nut who sucked every boy’s dick at the Children’s Home where he and Tariq lived before they were placed with Ms. Holmes. She was known as Kelly the Dic
k Sucker and the schizoid had even tried to suck Tariq’s dick. But Tariq had balked and adamantly declined her favors, complaining that Kelly was too dirty and disgusting.
Shane had tried to encourage the encounter by lying to Tariq. He told his brother that his dick would grow bigger if he let Kelly suck it. But Tariq was unbending. “No!” he yelled at the top of his lungs and covered his ears to make Shane shut up. There were times when Tariq could be as stubborn as hell. Shane was fondly amused by the memory.
The bathroom door opened. He’d forgotten to lock it. He hoped LaDonna wasn’t planning on joining him in the shower because he was finished and ready to get some head.
Someone sat down on the toilet and started peeing. “LaDonna, I thought I heard you blasting music in the bedroom. I must be losing my mind.”
Oh shit, that’s her mom! Shane became as still as a mouse.
The toilet flushed and the water turned hot as fire, scalding him. He couldn’t help it; he screamed and leaped out of the shower stall.
LaDonna’s mother screamed, too. “Who the hell are you?”
“Um,” Shane tried to cover his private parts with his hands.
“Um! Is that your name? Um, where’s LaDonna?” her mother asked sarcastically and then stormed toward LaDonna’s bedroom.
“She’s in her room,” he said to LaDonna’s mother’s retreating back. Damn! No head tonight. Shane dressed quickly.
He could hear LaDonna’s mother screaming at her, calling her all kinds of bitches and whores. He sensed something that seemed like a little more than the normal tension between a parent and a teenage child. LaDonna and her mother argued more like arch enemies who’d been rivaling for years.
Shane didn’t want to go anywhere near LaDonna’s bedroom, but he had to. His sneakers were in there. He slipped in like a thief, hoping to make himself as small as possible. He located one sneaker, picked it up, and scanned the junky room for the other. It landed upside his head, hurled by LaDonna’s incensed mother. Damn, this family got a thing with throwing sneakers, he thought as he picked up his sneaker and slunk out the door.
The walk home was slow and sad. His dick was still hard. And it wasn’t because of LaDonna’s promise. He was feenin’ something terrible for LaDonna’s feisty, sexy-ass mom.
CHAPTER 11
“Where’s Mom?” Shane asked as he drank fruit punch from the container.
“Man, you’re such a fake. Do you know how phony you sound calling Miz Holmes, Mom?”
“Phony? She said we could call her Mom, so how you figure I’m being a fake?”
“Look how you treat her. Would you treat our real mother like that?”
Shane thought about it. “How the hell should I know? Depends on how she treated me.” His thoughts turned to the numerous spankings he’d gotten from his real mother. He swallowed more fruit punch. He’d never understood why she was always so mad at him. Just him. Never Tariq. He still loved her, though. Sometimes she treated him good. She was nice when her hair was combed and when she smelled good. The nice mother took him and Tariq to the playground and pushed them as high as they wanted on the swings.
That’s the mother he loved. And her breasts. They were big and full. He missed sucking her breasts. It made him feel safe and loved. Even when there wasn’t enough milk left for him, he sucked anyway, just to be close to her.
Then there was the mother who terrified him. The one who had wild hair and crazy darting eyes. But as scared as he was of that mother, he loved her, too.
“Man, stop drinking out of the container. Don’t nobody know where your lips been,” Tariq teased.
Standing with the refrigerator open, Shane continued to gulp the cool sweet liquid, his thoughts a million miles away. He couldn’t get rid of the mental pictures or horrible sounds. He heard the gunshots and saw his mother still running. He remembered being so happy that the cop had missed. Then she started running strangely, the sight of her oddly twisted torso telling him that something was terribly wrong. When her body hit the concrete, he tried to go to her, to help her, but that lady held him firmly; she wouldn’t let him go.
Mommy, Shane whispered, still holding the container of fruit punch. Mommy!
No one would ever understand his pain and how guilty he felt that he wasn’t able to bring her back to life. If only he’d been able to break away from that social worker’s grasp. He would have saved his mother. He would have shielded her with his body. Or maybe he should have head-butted the policeman, grabbed his weapon, and hauled ass with his mother and Tariq safely at his side. Shane shut his eyes and shook his throbbing head. It gave him a headache to think about the things he should have done.
“Whatchu say? I hate it when you start talking to yourself,” Tariq announced.
But Shane was preoccupied with thoughts of how he should have saved his mother; maybe if he’d broken free and just picked her up—perhaps that would have helped. “Mommeee,” he uttered in the voice of little boy.
The container slipped from his hand and splattered across the kitchen floor. The color reminded him of the red bird that flew away with his mother. His mother, who never had a funeral or a memorial service. He wondered if she even had a grave. The last time he saw her she was lying in the park—never to be seen by her children again.
Shane didn’t bother to clean up the spilled fruit punch; he couldn’t. Fighting to hold back tears, he tried to rush past Tariq.
“What’s wrong?” Tariq asked, perplexed, reaching out to console his brother, but Shane jerked away and ran toward the stairway. The tears began to flood down his face the moment his feet hit the stairs.
Resignedly, Tariq cleaned up the mess, cocking his head in bewilderment toward the sound of his brother’s muffled sobs. He clambered up the stairs and knocked on the closed bedroom door. “You okay, Shane?”
“Go away!” Shane cried. Words of consolation only made Shane angry; he didn’t like being reminded of his weakness. The weakness he had for their mother.
She was a saint, he’d whispered countless times to Tariq. The cops killed her. She died for us, man. She was like an angel flying away to heaven.
He knew Tariq had only a foggy memory of their mother. But Shane remembered everything about her and his memory of the day she’d gotten killed was particularly vivid. It angered him to no end that Tariq could barely recall the most important day of their lives.
Dolores Holmes stood in her second-row position with the choir’s alto section, but she kept hitting the wrong notes. Necks craned in disapproval. “What’s wrong, Sister Holmes?”
“I’m having a bad night; I just can’t sing on key. I think I’m gonna sit this rehearsal out.”
No one in the choir disagreed. The women’s choir was serious about their singing and Sister Holmes was making them sound bad.
She patted her feet and bobbed her head as the choir praised the Lord with song. She pretended to be absorbed in the spirituals, but Ms. Holmes was actually ruminating on the terrible turn her life had taken. Feeling too sinful to sit in a house of worship, she gave a sigh, slid out of the wooden pew, and lumbered toward the restroom. She peeked around to see if any of the choir members were watching. Satisfied that no one seemed to notice her, Dolores Holmes eased out of the church and got in her car.
She sat in her old Ford for a minute before turning on the motor. I’m in a heap of trouble, she thought and shook her head. After all these years of living sin-free, that no-good, rotten Satan has finally had his way. It’s not Shane’s fault. Satan has him in a tight grip. I have to figure out a way to put things back like they’re supposed to be or else I’m gonna have to let those two pretty boys go.
The thought saddened her, but she was rushing fast toward ruination. It was just a matter of time. She turned on the ignition and with a heavy heart, Dolores Holmes headed home.
The house was quiet. Tariq was conked out on the sofa. Shane was probably out running the streets, hanging with riffraff. She sighed. I can’t even raise the boy right wi
th Satan determined to make me weak. She dragged her tired body over to Tariq, shook him, and sent him up to bed. Tariq was so easy. Woke up easy, always did as he was told. He was sweet as pie, but that Shane…she shook her head.
As if he’d been summoned by the devil himself, Shane came home, glared at her, and then clumped up the stairs. Greatly relieved that Shane was safely at home, Dolores Holmes dozed off. An hour later, she was startled awake when Shane stumbled down the stairs, half asleep. He looked like he was sleepwalking when he came heading straight toward her.
Dolores Holmes cringed. “Go on now, boy. You’re dreaming. Go on back upstairs now. Go get yourself some good sleep,” she said, backing away from Shane’s begging, outstretched arm.
He backed her into an endtable and nearly toppled over a lamp, but she caught it in the nick of time.
She didn’t want to alert Tariq. She didn’t want him to ever find out about the pitiful mess she’d gotten herself in. “Shane!” she whispered sternly. “Go back upstairs; go to bed.”
But Shane pulled on her wrist, silently urging her to sit down. She flopped down on the sofa, trying to figure out how to get him up the stairs.
Shane didn’t say a word, he just started groping her, moaning softly and squeezing her breasts. She sat still, accommodating him while her mind raced. Not knowing what else to do, Dolores Holmes grabbed Shane’s hands. She’d have to wrestle with him quietly; she couldn’t risk disturbing Tariq and exposing her shameful predicament.
Shane pulled his hand free. He gave her an evil look, which made her simmer down. Breathing hard from all the tussling, Dolores Holmes passively allowed Shane to unbutton her blouse.
She prayed for forgiveness while Shane’s mouth went hungrily from breast to breast, sucking so hard, she flinched. Martyr-like, she quietly endured the pain. There was nothing she could do but let him get satisfied until he was tired enough to leave her alone.
As Shane’s hand snaked up her dress, she prayed for salvation. And as if answering her prayers, Shane suddenly withdrew his hand.
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