Cancer_Mr. Intuitive_The 12 Signs of Love

by Tiana Laveen

She laughed harder now, her face heated as she blushed. He followed suit, his laughter damn near infectious, loud and rumbling. He had a deep voice… sexy… and he could sing and play that damn guitar like nobody’s business.

  “I’m seeing someone but it’s not official. Nothin’ too serious… yet.” She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, egging the man on.

  “Nuttin’ official? So he ain’t a cop or judge? Wouldn’t want him to be official ’nd all… ’specially as I stand here and try to steal his girl. That’s a felony.”

  At this, she burst out laughing again.

  “You so silly…”

  “I know, but right now I’m serious.” He glided his tongue over his lower lip as he ogled her. “Gimme your number. I wanna take you out.” He slid his phone out of his pocket and stood there waiting.

  “You ain’t even ask – you just told me to give it to you.” She shook her head at that man, but admired his confidence all the same.

  “Oh, you want me to ask? All right then, Madam Butterfly, Queen of Soul and Beauty with Finesse. Can po’ little ol’ lowly me, Mr. Cain Johnson, have the numbers that lead to contact?” He suddenly dropped to his knee and bowed before her as if proposing marriage, causing gazes and fingers to point their way and bursts of laughter to ensue. She frantically looked about, filled with mirth and horror all at the same time.

  “Get up off that dirty floor!” she hissed, only for him to slowly rise with a big smile on his face. “All right, my number is 504-973-5493.”

  The man’s fingers flew with record speed across the keys of his phone before he shoved it back in his pocket.

  “You gonna ask for mine?”

  “I don’t call men.” She slid off the stool, fighting a giggle. “You make the first move.”

  “Oh, I’ll make the first move all right… you just don’t make any false moves.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “Like this bein’ a fake number.” She chuckled and shook her head. “I know how you pretty women are… tell us anything just to shoo us away. I should call it right now, but I’mma take your word for it. You be easy and take care, all right?” He turned away without waiting on a response, as if he’d come to get what he needed and was ready to get right back out into the thick of things.

  “I don’t know any other way to be. Be safe. Don’t drink too much!” she called out as she looked around for her friends. “It’s not a game out here in these streets.”

  He stopped to look back at her. She sashayed her hips, tossed him a glance over her shoulder, then kept on slowly walking.

  “Not a game at all but I don’t play checkers, I play chess. Keep your phone close and your enemies closer. Maybe I’ll make a good friend, but friends become the best lovers. I’ll be in touch.”

  And then, between the smoke and all of the people moving about, she could see Cain no more…

  Daddy and Mama had just come from Pearl River, St. Tammany Parish, the day prior. It was unusual for them to do so, but Mama needed to see her ailing sister, Aunt Frieda. They weren’t on the best of terms—never had been, should the record need to be set straight. Cain sat with his two brothers in their old house in Sulphur, Louisiana. Mama had made it quite clear that if it weren’t for the Good Lord not being through with her yet, Frieda could choke on milk and die already for all she cared.

  Mama’s bedroom smelled like cedar, smoke, and thick, nauseating perfumes. She’d gone a bit heavy on the White Shoulders fragrance, but he decided to not pay it any mind. Besides, it was her favorite.

  Mama waved a big cream and black colored fan slowly back and forth, a sheen of sweat covering her face as she stared out the window. Wasn’t much out there… some grass and such, most of it half dead. Cain sat at the foot of her bed while she made herself comfy in an old wicker chair, cat fur covering portions of it. Mr. Ass, a mousy brown feline, sat on her lap. For as long as he could remember, that demon of a cat acted as his name suggested. He was missing several whiskers that never grew back, one eye was noticeably smaller than the other, and he was fifteen years old, but looked to be one hundred. Mr. Ass was Mama’s favorite, almost loved more than her own flesh and blood children, but the furry bastard had a habit of biting people, chasing them down like prey, and then attacking as if everyone in his vicinity was a mouse and he was some great jungle hunter that had been known formerly as, ‘The Lion King.’

  “Your father hasn’t been eatin’ right, Cain. I told Kenneth and Victor. They said they’d talk wit’ him but he don’t listen half the time to nobody but you.”

  The smile lines and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes seemed to have increased in a short amount of time, but those blue eyes of hers remained forever enchanting. He stared at his mama for a long while. The black hair that was half silver from the roots to about midway down was her crown of glory. Mama’s great grandmother was French, Creole and Tunica-Biloxi… rumor had it mama looked just like her, a spittin’ image. She gave him that pitch-black hair as a right to passage whereas his brothers wasn’t nearly as dark.

  “Has he been takin’ his medicine?”

  She nodded and kept on stroking Mr. Ass with her cropped nails, long fingers covered in little ornamental rings she’d picked up here and there over the years.

  “He been takin’ it… but what difference does it make if he take ’em, then come home and eat a whole hog, biscuits ’nd gravy and pies?” She chuckled.

  “I guess Daddy figure if he gonna die, he gonna die happy. Ate the whole pig, now he’s hog wild,” he joked, causing his mother to grimace and shake her head at him.

  “You’re such a silly child… always have been. Love you so. You make me smile.” Her lips turned at the edges, crimped perfect as could be.

  ‘You so silly…’ He recalled that beautiful woman, Tapestry, saying the same thing to him, too.

  That woman’s voice is somethin’ else! What I’d do to hear her sing again… I’ll have to call her soon. I’ll take care of it today.

  “Mama, did you sing at church last Sunday?”

  “I sure did. We sung, ‘There Rose a Lamb.’ It was real nice.”

  “I bet it was…”

  They were quiet for a spell.

  “When you comin’ back to church, Cain?”

  “Mama, I can’t come up in there, not after what happened.” Mama looked downright confused.

  “You told me you believed in the Lord but didn’t like church anymore when you were twenty-three or twenty-four, Cain. You told me that’s why you didn’t wanna go no more so now what’s this talk about after what happened? Is there somethin’ I missed?”

  “You named me Cain!” He threw up his arms. “I’m marked for life!”

  At this, Mama rolled her eyes, pretending to be sick of his foolishness. All he could do was slap his leg and chuckle before getting to his feet.

  “You know I named you that ’cause my mama loved that name. It was for her.”

  “I know… I know. Mama, I’ll be right back. Gonna see what Daddy and those two knuckleheads are doin’. A, is, uh, Tabby comin’ by later?”

  Tabby was his sister. She’d run into some legal issues due to dealing with a no good man that the entire family detested. Roy was a big mouthed son of a bitch they’d all fantasized of draggin’ out back and pummeling. It still wasn’t completely out of the question. Mama rolled her eyes and looked at him as if the answer were crystal clear.

  “What for? Tabby doesn’t come by here just for a visit anymore. There’s always some mess attached to it.”

  “Like a lint ball…” He pressed his lips hard together, trying to keep from bursting out in laughter.

  Mama ignored him and rattled on. “She comes this way to ask your father for more money ’cause she knows damn well that I’ll say no. She does it for that bum boy she’s takin’ up with! Roy is the laziest son of a bitch to ever live!”

  Cain stifled a laugh at mama saying, ‘bum boy.’

  “I hope she doesn’t bring her behind
over here to ask for somethin’, ’specially if she has him with her. Now, she’s more than welcome to come, as all of my children are – even though you all are a big disappointment to me and your father. None of you worth a damn,” she teased, then cracked up laughing.

  “You’ve got the best children in the world, Mama. Kenneth is a teacher and married. Victor finally moved out and is workin’ part time and in school. Tabby has run into some trouble, but at least she stays busy and is helpful. And then you got me – the vagabond that makes money singin’ other people’s songs ’cause the ones I write people say I stole from somebody else. I’m out here livin’ the American dream!”

  Mama took one of Mr. Ass’ chewed up toys and tossed it at him. He burst out laughing and ducked before heading out of her room and into the kitchen, where he found Kenneth holding a big glass of something red. Probably punch.

  At the table sat Daddy with his nose deep in a paper and his hand on a cup of coffee. At the sink stood Victor wearing earbuds and dungarees, washing up a plate he’d probably loaded with Mama’s left-over pork chops and mashed potatoes.

  “Why’s it so quiet in here?” Cain shoved his hand in his pocket, observing how the other three men appeared to be doing the mannequin challenge.

  Daddy looked up at him with sad, glossy eyes.

  “I thought that’s what you was in there findin’ out.” Daddy grabbed his cigar from the old bent metal ashtray before him and took a long drawl.

  “If I knew what was goin’ on, I wouldn’t have asked.” Cain crossed his arms over his chest, tired of the games already.

  “Maybe you’d know if you’d come ’round more often. You barely come home to visit anymore. Damn shame. You know your mama needs you here.”

  “I’m here all the time! I come at least once a week and I can’t come every day, I live in Nawlins now ’cause that’s where the money’s at. Ain’t no money in Sulphur, Daddy, and you know it.” The old man huffed and turned away. “I got bills to pay and the only way I’mma make the real money is to work the weekends in the clubs ’nd bars. You think my day job is gonna help me meet my goals? When was the last time you saw a carpenter make it big?”

  “Jesus did…” Victor teased, causing Kenneth to snicker.

  “You think I like this?” he went on, ignoring his brothers. “If so, you’re playin’ yourself.”

  “I wished you cared about us as much as you care about those damn fiddles!”

  At this, Victor burst out laughing.

  “He plays a mean ukulele,” Kenneth blurted, almost unable to get it out when the mirth overtook him, too.

  “Guitar! I sing and play the guitar, Daddy.”

  “I know what you play!” The old man waved him off and turned away in disgust. “And I ain’t sayin’ you’re not any good; you’re damn good and everybody round these parts know it but—”

  “Daddy, I ain’t come all this way to hear you start up! You need to be worried about your health and not my schedule. Now what’s goin’ on?! Got me hangin’ on a string like some puppet!”

  “Your mama ain’t tell you?”

  “For the final time, tell me what?!” He pulled out a chair and sat across from the man. Suddenly, he could feel Victor and Kenneth’s eyes on him. The mood had gone from frivolous to somber in a matter of seconds.

  “Your… your Aunt Frieda wants you to sing and play at ’er funeral when she passes.”

  Cain couldn’t believe his damn ears. Aunt Frieda hated him and had said as much. He was the second child born to his parents and according to Frieda, the most hell raising as a teenager. She’d told Mama since he was a baby that he was sneaky and cursed. Truth of the matter was that he had that woman’s number, and he had it pretty early on. From a child, Cain could always read between the lines. He could see the jealousy Frieda had for his mother. Mama was the smart one, the one with the handsome and hardworking husband. Mama was a great singer, too, adored at church.

  Frieda, on the other hand, was the lady who’d had a million men and wasn’t notta one of ’em worth a half of a cent. She had three children, all of whom had stopped speaking to her years ago. She blamed the world for her problems, and then when she’d turned and got sick, she still blamed everyone—sometimes people she didn’t even know.

  “You’re pullin my leg! When I was just a boy, that woman called me ‘little fucker’ every chance she got! She even lied on me that one time when—”

  “Yeeeesssss!” Victor dramatically rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. We’ve heard it a dozen times! Aunt Frieda said you opened the gate and let her dog, Peaches, out and then Peaches ran off and she never saw the damn thing again.”

  “And that was a damn lie ’cause Peaches had been let out in the back. She’d gone and done it. I saw her with my own two eyes. Peaches was out there barkin’ for the longest at somethin’ and before you knew it, everything was quiet. The dog was gone like money at a casino.”

  “I forget how Peaches looked; it was so long ago. What type of dog was she anyway?” Kenneth gulped his beverage, swallowing loudly.

  “She was probably a cocker spaniel ’nd retriever or somethin’ along those lines. Anyway, I didn’t have nuttin’ to do wit’ it and Aunt Frieda knew it!”

  That situation still to this day had Cain all sore, hot and bothered. He’d been a bad little boy at times, there was no refuting it. He’d put dish detergent soap in his brother’s mouth when he slept one night. Victor’s mouth had bubbled up so bad, he’d looked like a washing machine on the fritz. Another time, he’d glued Tabby’s dolls’ hair together, three of ’em to be exact, then he’d stripped ’em naked, pulled their arms off and hung them up outside on a bush.

  Then there’d been the day he’d packed up a lunch and had run away from home, only to end up down at some watering hole chock full of drunken derelicts and whores while he sat there demanding soda pops and roasted peanuts from the bartender—till his parents had been called and picked him up. But regardless of all those times, the last thing he needed was tall tales being told on him, especially since his rap sheet was long enough as is—and definitely not from adults in the family.

  Fact was, nobody had believed him about poor Peaches at the time. Mama said he’d make up stuff so much back then that she wasn’t certain who to believe. It was only recently that she took his word for it.

  Peaches would rather be out in the street than with that crazy lady… I should make Frieda admit to Mama before she dies that she let Peaches out and blamed me. I ’spose that’s petty and uncalled for though considering all that’s happened and her being sick and all – it’s done and over with, so better let it go, especially now.

  “Anyway, Daddy, are you playing around? ’Cause I have a hard time believing that.” He came back to his senses, remembering that Daddy had a strange sense of humor at times, usually at his children’s’ expense.

  Daddy took a leisurely sip of his coffee, regarding him from warm, light brown eyes that were twinkling beneath thick and bushy black eyebrows with bits of gray sticking out here and there.

  “I wish I was kiddin’, but I’m not. Your mother was gonna ask you to put your pride aside and do it… kinda like granting a final wish. She musta not got around to it yet.”

  Cain thought long and hard about it. He wasn’t the vengeful sort… at least not today.

  “Well, I ’spose I can… for Mama’s sake.”

  Daddy seemed to sigh with relief, then turned the page of his newspaper.

  “Cain, what song you gonna sing at Aunt Frieda’s service?” Victor asked as he dried his hands on a white hand towel.

  “Highway to Hell,” Cain stated, which caused a ruckus of laughter from his brothers.

  “Now that was uncalled for! You three cut it out!” Daddy yelled. “This is serious… she ain’t got much longer.” The old man sniffed and buried his head back in his paper, like a turtle in its shell.

  As his brothers began to discuss their prior work week amongst each other, Cain tried to ma
ke sense of it all. Aunt Frieda represented all that was horrible with the world in his eyes. What kind of song would be befitting of such a hateful, haggard spirit?

  He sighed and slid his phone out of his pocket. As he read various text messages from friends and perused his social media, he saw that he’d been tagged on several photos on Instagram, which showed him performing with Tapestry. He hunkered over and smiled at the pictures of the two of them. In some strange way, they looked like they’d known each other for years.

  “Definitely got some chemistry…” Cain mumbled.

  “Huh?” Daddy said, but didn’t look away from his reading material.

  “Nothin’… just thinking out loud.” He went through his phone directory, found her number, and called. The damn thing went straight to voicemail. “Hey, Tapestry, it’s Cain from the Good Book. I met you the other night and you showed that microphone what was what, tried to show me up in front of my people. Anyway, I wanted to see if you was willin’ to pass a good time with me soon? Call me back when you fall back down to Earth from Heaven. I can’t handle any long-distance calls… ’specially not from that far away. Besides, God still has me blocked on the mainline. Isn’t that terrible? I thought He was forgiving but seems He keeps a grudge. My brother, Abel, can get through wit’ no issues… and I still ain’t paid this bill.”

  He smiled at his own joke before disconnecting the call.

  “Still flirtin’ and palin’ around, huh?” Daddy said with a smirk as he leaned back in his seat. “You’re thirty-two. I ’spose you’re still young enough to do that… need to settle down and stop runnin’ in these streets chasin’ women though, Cain.”

  Cain grimaced and rolled his eyes. “I ain’t runnin’, I’m walkin’. No need to rush.”

  “I’m serious, now… Get you a nice lady and sit yo’ ass down. Ain’t nothin’ out in this world but trouble… and trouble, more times than not, comes in the form of a lady.”

  “Then why would you want me to get one? First ya tell me to get me a woman and settle down den ya turn ’round and say women are trouble. Got me more confused than ever. My way works best – get a woman, get what you need den turn ’er loose. No trouble, but lots of fun. Women these days don’t want no good man… they just want a fun time so why should I even bother?”