by Tiana Laveen
“You’re deep, you know that?”
Saint chuckled at Ira’s compliment. “So I’ve been told.”
“I can tell you really love my sister too, man.” Ira’s tone grew serious. “I can see it by how you look at her, talk to her … by how attentive you are to your children.”
“I love her more than anything in this world, man. Most importantly, we’re good for one another. We’re best friends.”
“That’s good, ’cause she deserves the best. She used to hate how I always had something to say about her boyfriends, but she dated some bum that I couldn’t stand, some chump named Sylvester I think.”
“Sinclair…”
“Yeah, Sinclair. Anyway, Xenia and I used to get into it a lot. She probably told you about it. We would butt heads.”
“She mentioned it a time or two, but her love for you mattered most to her.”
“Yeah, but did she tell you what would cause the disagreements?” The man’s brow rose. “She’s real opinionated, bossy too, and it would get on my nerves.”
Saint wasn’t certain how to respond to this, but he knew it was true. Xenia was a mother to every damn body, but not everyone wanted mothering.
“She had a history of trying to act like a mother to me. I already had one, a good one at that, you feel me?”
Saint nodded in understanding. “Xenia admitted to me that she saw you as a child for far too long. She just wanted to protect you, Ira. You, Porsche, and she grew up in a rough neighborhood. She was worried about you. I don’t think she was trying to be your mother. I think she was trying mad hard to make sure her brother didn’t get caught up in the same things your parents did, and she almost did, as well.”
“I know that now, and that’s your woman so it’s your business to defend her, but at the time, I just took it as her trying to control somebody all the time. I love my sister though, man. Please don’t get me wrong.” Ira looked at him earnestly. “I’m not sittin’ in her house trying to dog her out, I brought this up for a reason. You see, because of her, I did stay out of trouble sometimes, you know? It worked. I owe Xenia a lot. And then, when I became older and could appreciate what she’d done, it all sank in.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Ira. Xenia has a really big heart and truly goes out of her way to help people, especially her family.”
“Sometimes her letters would keep me from going crazy, Saint. She used to write these long letters, you know? They’d have little jokes in them, too … make me smile.” The man grinned wide as he reflected. “She’d send pictures, word games, things like that. On one end of my tent, I’d hear gunfire and bombs, and on the other, I’d have peace and quiet, and her letters under my pillow. Some nights I’d lie there, Saint, and think, ‘Damn. This sounds just like Compton.’ Funny how I was out there fighting across the damn world and would hear the same soundtrack.
“There I was in another country, fightin’, when we got our own wars back home. That was an eye-opening experience for me.” Saint’s heart went out to him as he spoke. “I fight for my country and still come back and get called a nigger. I fight for my country, and still get pulled over by the police for no damn reason. Some of the same guys I thought were my friends tell me Black people feel entitled. They’d never have said that to me five years ago. It’s this world, man … this government. We ain’t overcome shit.” Ira looked out into the yard, focusing on nothing in particular as the truth of his words took Saint somewhere he longed to avoid.
“You find out what people really think of you during times like this, Ira. I’ve lost some so-called friends as well, but I’m thankful to know the truth, now. I don’t need that negativity in my life. I’ve gone through too much shit, Ira … way too much to go back to that sort of thing now.”
“Xenia said you grew up in a rough neighborhood, too. I don’t know too much about the south Bronx, but I heard it was crazy, ’specially before my time, in the ’70s and ’80s.” Saint took a sip of his drink.
“It was a war zone, Ira. It looked like ancient ruins, something left over after a bomb attack. If you look at the pictures of back when I was growing up there, there was no way that any human being should have been living in the majority of those buildings. But we did, and half of them were burnt up with no running water or electricity. You mentioned how brutal our winters can be sometimes. Imagine having no heat or having to keep warm by lighting a fire that could rage out of control and kill you. It was a hard time for me, my friends, and my parents, but I don’t regret it. It helped me grow up and appreciate life, my loved ones, and the things I’ve earned.”
“I feel you, man.”
“All of these material goods—this house, my cars, the clothes … they’re all replaceable. That woman,” he said, pointing towards the house, “the one I call my wife and you call your sister, and those three beautiful children she gave me—I can never have another of any of them again. There’s no redo button, no clones, time machine or second chances. They are unique, one of a kind. I cherish family, man. I cherish my true friends. I’m not one of those guys who has a lot of people around me, a bunch of guys to help pump up my ego. I don’t trust people, Ira. I’ve been through and seen too much.”
They looked at one another for a long spell, neither saying a word, but understanding each other on a deeper level.
“It feels good to be here, Saint. On U.S. soil, with my mama and my sister … with family. You’re all right, man.” They slapped hands. “Thanks for being so welcoming.”
“You being home is a blessing. You’re family, Ira. You’re not just my brother-in-law; you are my brother, too.”
The guy blinked a few times, then smiled and looked away.
“Thanks for that. It’s nice to be appreciated, ’specially after getting shit on.” The bitterness in his tone wasn’t missed.
“The world is sick, Ira, just like you said earlier. I’m sure you found that out firsthand through the school of hard knocks, but I thank men and women like you, our service men and women, vets that put their lives on the line to help people like me wake up for at least one more day without worrying about being blown to smithereens. You’re brave, and you’ve got something special, something many others in this world lack—and that’s duty and integrity.”
“Thank you. You said a mouthful. I can see you’re a man of duty and integrity, too.” Ira hung his head. He seemed to force a smile, but pain permeated from his expression, too. “Sometimes I question if I really am the man you described. I … I saw some terrible shit while I was away, Saint … shit I ain’t tryna get into right now. I don’t feel the same, like I lost some of myself. I’m not the same man.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Anyway, the hell with that. I don’t want to talk about it. This is a party, after all.” Ira took another swig of his beer, that uneasy smile still etched on his face.
“You don’t have to right now, but whatever you do, don’t let whatever happened steal your joy, the happiness you so rightfully deserve. Come on, let’s go inside.” Saint got to his feet, ready to go and mingle, perhaps get another drink and dance to a song or two. Ira followed suit. His rich chocolate skin had a healthy glow. In fact, Ira looked much younger than he actually was. Standing 5’11, clean shaven, short cropped fade and large, bright eyes, he appeared a true solider, standing there dressed in his army fatigues and combat boots—looking for all intents ready to go off to war once more. But, this time, perhaps, it would be a war of a different kind.
“You talk about family, joy, and keeping positive. That’s great.” The man didn’t sound quite sincere in his words as he rocked back on his heels, hand in his pocket, and a harsh expression carved into his face. “Your kids are lucky to have you.” After downing the last of his beer, Ira cast the empty bottle into a nearby trashcan. It banged against the metal, creating a startling ruckus. “Xenia, Porshe, and I didn’t have no father. We knew his name, knew he existed, saw him from time to time, but he might as well have been a ghost, because he rarely did anythi
ng for us and acted like I wasn’t even alive most of the time.”
“Yes, I’m aware that Pam had to raise you and your sisters without his presence for the most part. That had to have been difficult.”
“Yeah, but see, I know you had challenges and I’m not saying you had a cake walk, but you had your father, Saint. I heard all about that. ’Bout how your father wasn’t good to you as a kid, but then he manned up and apologized a few years ago, and owned his shit. That’s what a real man does. He takes accountability when he fucks up. Xenia told me about it when we were discussing our sperm donor a while back. Our father didn’t do that. He didn’t acknowledge anything, didn’t give a shit about what he’d done to Mama and us. In fact, he tried the same ol’ bullshit he’s known for.”
Saint stared at the ground and took a deep breath. He recalled all too well how torn up Xenia had been upon the realization that her mother was right. The old fool hadn’t changed. He remained the same lying, opportunist parasite he’d always been.
“Saint, Porsche told me about that shit. Xenia warned me after it was all over, too. They didn’t want Dad coming to me talking that same mess, playing those same games. He screwed over both of my sisters, even had them arguing over his conniving ass. It wasn’t enough that he’d played us all as kids. He had to do it to them as grown women, too. I hate that son of a bitch.”
Ira was tough on the outside, but bursting with hurt on the inside. It was all painfully apparent, and now Saint saw why Xenia protected him so. Anger oozed from the younger man, the kind that Jagger emitted when Demon Children were in their midst. His sadness had the same flavor as that of his mother towards his deceased grandmother. Disappointment in parentage had become a family curse. It was palpable, distinct, venomous, and self-destructive if turned within, or used to lash out at the innocent.
“Let me tell you something.” Ira’s brows dipped low as he pointed in Saint’s direction. “If I had been here and seen what he’d done, lying about needing medicine and surgery, I would have put some slugs in his ass, and that’s a damn promise, potnuh. Ain’t nobody going to treat my sisters like that again, ’specially not him.” His voice shook as he held his head high, and his convictions higher. “I guess he needs a second ass kickin’. It all happened years ago; I couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and he tried to come into the house actin’ like he’d been some great guy and we were all belligerent and unruly. He tried to put his hands on Mama in front of me. I made sure he never felt okay tryin’ that again. You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“I don’t have any children yet. Shit, I’m not even in a relationship right now but I can guarantee you I’d be a better father than him without even trying. I haven’t thought about that man. I mean, really thought about him like this until I got in this house. I don’t know what it is,” he said, grimacing, “but it’s like everything I can’t stand about him is at the forefront, again. I didn’t give a shit about him, didn’t waste my time even thinking about him, but I guess … I don’t know.” He sighed. “He’s all in my head right now.”
“I think you talking to your mother and sister about the good ol’ days probably drudged up the memories, Ira. Unfortunately, such a process is not always a stellar experience. But the future can still be bright, right?” Saint shrugged, trying to lighten the mood, but was certain he was failing from the look in the man’s eyes.
“I guess. You said family is important. You’re damn right, but not all family is blood. In fact, I’ve had strangers treat me a hell of a lot better than he ever did. Blood family can mess you up and mess you over like nobody else. Fuck him, man.” The fourth beer he’d crushed was loosening his tongue and pulling on the strings of his heart. “I’m done lamenting over his ass. I need another beer.” Turning on his heels, he marched past Saint, and slammed open the screen door to get back in the house. He threw on a happy face, oozing with charm.
Ira, you’re right. You’re not the same man. I’m going to have to watch over you, even from a distance. Your pain is far too strong for you to handle on your own. If you don’t process it, you’re going to self-destruct. I should know. I did the same thing…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Today I met Saint…
He’s my sister’s husband. Nice guy, but something is different about him. I can’t put my finger on it. Not like in a strange way. I take that back. It IS like in a strange way, but not bad, if that makes any sense. When I looked at him while we were talking last night, it was like he could see inside of me, knew what I was thinking before I even said it. And I could see him, too. He’s a genuine person. You don’t meet people like him all the time. He’s got a lot of money, but doesn’t brag about it. I like that.
I think I came off like some pussy last night, crying over Dad. Who gives a fuck, right? I don’t know why I even said what I said to him. Shit, maybe I drank too much. I was tipsy as hell, that is for sure.
I spilled my guts to him, opened up like I was on his damn couch. I don’t speak like that … don’t let strangers know about me like that. What was it about him that made me do what I did? I guess it’s too late to wonder about that now… Sometimes I still can’t believe Xenia is married, living on the east coast with three kids. She seemed to have picked a good one. Something that surprised me about Saint though, he’s got a real cool vibe on top of everything else; he’s so easy to talk to.
I’m not sure what I expected, but he doesn’t match what I had in my head. He kinda sounds like a brotha, actually. I would’ve thought he was Black if I’d only heard him on the phone. It’s not like he’s trying to talk like us or anything like that—I didn’t get that impression—but it just seems to come to him naturally. I guess it’s like when you meet some White people that grew up in the hood; it just sorta happens. They pick up our mannerisms, our swag, our ways… I wonder if that’s why he prefers Black women? He grew up around mostly Black people and Hispanics, Xenia said. Seems logical. I think I’m going to like getting to know him. It’s nice to finally have another man in the family…
Ira yawned and leaned back against the twin bed, taking the morning in as he nursed on a bottle of Gatorade he’d had from the evening prior. It felt good to just lounge about in his boxers and look out the window, people watching. He’d never seen so many taxi cabs in all of his life. The previous night had been a blast, hangover and all. His nephew had now headed off to school, but he and Hassani had stayed up talking about all sorts of things before he’d left, like some girl named Asia he was feeling, some mentor named Angel who Saint had a love-hate relationship with, school, and his father…
Hassani really looks up to his dad. Saint kept coming back up in the conversation.
Ira had been thinking about family a lot lately too, especially after finally being reunited with them. He looked forward to giving Porsche and his niece a great big hug, seeing the people he grew up with, old girlfriends, schoolmates. Feeling a bit hungry, he stretched his arms, got off the bed, and left the bedroom. No one was in the house. Even Mama had left to run some quick errands. As he walked out into the long, dark hallway, he looked around, getting his bearings. The place was large, especially for a property in New York City.
“Damn, this place must’ve cost a mint!” He scanned the tasteful artwork and décor on the walls, as well as the beautifully framed family portraits of the clan of five. Taking careful steps down the aisle, he paused when his curiosity got the best of him. Opening Isis’ bedroom, he couldn’t resist taking a peek inside. He burst out laughing when he was immediately bombarded with an explosion of glitter, unicorns, rainbows, tea sets, and a girly vibe to the 5th power.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a pretty little princess such as herself.” Carefully closing the door, he made his way to the guest room, where his mother slept. He hadn’t seen the room, but he recalled overhearing a snide remark Saint had made to Xenia about possible cigarette smoke. “Damn, Mama!” On the dresser he spotted tracks of bright red hair for wha
t he presumed was a wig she was making for a client. The place reeked of marijuana and sweet, overpowering perfume. He laughed and shook his head as he slowly closed the door, memories of his childhood blasting within his mind. Those were the scents, along with the aroma of fried food, that gave him comfort.
Continuing on his journey toward the stairs, he hesitated when he reached the last door at the end of the hall. It had a golden arch, unlike the others, and the knob matched the intricate details.
“This must be King Saint and Queen Xenia’s room!” Wrapping his hand around the doorknob, he gave it a jiggle, only to discover it was locked. “Damn.” Not one to be discouraged, he returned to the guest room, retrieved a hair pin, and moseyed back down to his sister and brother-in-law’s lair. A few moments later, the lock sprung open, revealing a black, white, and red room. The large, black canopied bed looked like something King Arthur would have had in his castle, sitting up high on a platform, the wood intricately carved. The headboard looked more modern, black and red cushioning giving the entire thing a Gothic appearance.
Xenia and Saint’s bedroom featured a walk-in closet that was the size of a modest bedroom within itself. Rods rotated and spun about, and Saint’s sneaker and snapback collection was more than impressive. Ira counted the man’s assemblage of fine colognes, all of them expensive and matching his own tastes. The dude had tailored suits that made him salivate, the ties all coordinated by color. Their dress shoes were lined up side by side but he didn’t dare pull out any drawers, fearing he may see something freaky belonging to his damn sister. He made his way out of the closet, then noticed something to his left—a pulsing red light next to a door shrouded in sheer red and black curtains. Making his way over to it, he drew closer and noticed a panel of numbers.