Dysfunctional (The Root of Betrayal)

by Tameka Hicks

  They put her in a psychiatric hospital to keep a close watch over her for two days. She needed them now more than ever. She loved that baby a million times more than she could possibly love me. I’ll never forget that day when she told me that she hated me. I knew she felt that way about me, but I never imagined that she would confess it around the family. If she doesn’t like me, why in the world would she make me come here and stay with her? I was fine where I was. All these years of cooking and cleaning like a slave was her way of punishing me, I think, because deep down inside she was full of resentment towards me. That’s why she never bought me anything, or took me anywhere, because she hated my guts. Well if that’s the case, then I guess the feelings were mutual. Overall, I still had the last laugh; she doesn’t know it yet, but I did. I took away things that she held in high regards. There’s a real thin line between love and hate. Operation Get Revenge part 2 is complete. Now, I will start on part 3.

  THE FUNERAL

  Saturday September 14, 1991

  The morning sun played hide-go-seek with the clouds, as it rained off and on. It shouldn’t have been a surprise because it rained every day this week, adding sadness to an already depressed situation. It didn’t rain half as much in April like it was supposed to, but it made up for it this month. It seemed like all the tears shed for Lasha must’ve poured down from the clouds.

  Why does it feel like whenever you are sad, it rained making you feel worse? Maybe that’s just the way it seemed, but the closer the clock moved towards nine, the harder the rain came down.

  Jeanette and Tamara stayed over to Barbara’s house the night after Jeanette tried to commit suicide for a second time. She figured that she needed twenty-four hour care after being released from the hospital. Jeanette hadn’t looked forward to going back to the house because it held too many memories. Memories that she wasn’t prepared to confront right now. Her man was somewhere locked up and had not taken the time to drop a line to say, “hey, I’m still breathing baby” and now her only “gift from him” was gone as well. She didn’t feel that she had anything to live for. She was alone and felt guilty for living.

  Barbara monitored her every ten minutes until she fell asleep. Most nights, she crawled into bed with her because it was easier than running back and forth every thirty minutes. Barbara hadn’t had much sleep since the baby died. Babysitting her fragile daughter all the while grieving herself was a challenge. She still mourned the loss of her husband even though some days were better than others, but with each passing day she healed.

  Today, she was stretched across her mother’s bed gazing at the ceiling as visions of her boyfriend and child played across her tired, closed, teary eyes like a home video.

  Her mental visualization displayed a few good images, but switched to images of a lifeless infant. Without checking the time, she felt her heart as it started to pound harder and faster knowing what she soon had to endure. Viewing her precious little baby in that casket was going to take whatever ounce of strength that she had left. Her mind informed her that it was time to get ready because she heard the family scampering around downstairs. Her mind sent the signals to get up, but her nerves were being stubborn.

  Tamara looked intently outside her window peering down at four birds bathing in a puddle of water as one clever bird skipped across the grass pecking the ground for worms. She heard Alexis holler that the funeral drivers were on their way. Everyone who had planned on riding in the family cars for the service met up at Grandma’s house. Marion and Diane arrived at nine twenty sharp to pick up Jeanette.

  They headed to the funeral home because Jeanette didn’t want to ride in the funeral car. She imagined that would have made the reality of where she was headed soak in faster. She stepped out wearing one of those big white “church” hats with the lace concealing her face. She had on a white and gold pinned striped, two-piece pants suit. She asked for the immediate family members to dress in white. She had expressed her desire that no one wear black because she felt that black represented sadness.

  “She was my angel, so I want us to wear white because of its purity and angelic nature.” Everyone obliged with her wishes, well, almost everyone. Jeanette rode in the passenger’s seat staring out of the window wondering where the people were going at nine thirty on a Saturday morning. Perhaps to work, she assumed. Diane flicked on the radio to kill the quietness in the car. Ironically, Shirley Murdock’s “As We Lay” was on the radio. Jeanette burst out into tears.

  “What? What happened?” asked Diane. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh my God!” yelled Jeanette. The way she screamed, Diane didn’t know what to think.

  She nervously pulled over to the side. “What’s the matter?”

  “That was the song that I was singing before I found out that my baby was-” she cried, “My baby was gone….”

  “Turn it off,” he yelled. Marion started massaging her shoulders from the backseat. “Let it out sis.”

  She relaxed her head on the headrest. Jeanette tried the relaxing technique her nurse at (the mental hospital) taught her to do for twenty minutes. She rubbed her temples in a circular motion and counted with her eyes closed until they arrived.

  Diane touched her leg gently. “We’re here.”

  She couldn’t seem to stop the tears from falling down her face. Even with her eyes closed tightly they still formed.

  “You two go in and I’ll be in shortly.”

  “Are you sure sis?” asked Diane. She wiped her tears away and nodded.

  “I’m sure.”

  She thought, get it together. You can do this, all you need is a little more courage, and it’ll all be over soon. She went inside her purse and pulled out two pills wrapped in a napkin and a half of pint of Christian Brothers. She took the pills and realized from looking in the side view mirror that the rest of the family had pulled into the parking lot. Other mourners had begun to pull into the lot as well. Barbara jumped out of the car before the driver parked to go and get Jeanette.

  “Come on Nette.”

  The closer Jeanette got to the door the more she felt like she was going to faint. “Mama I can’t do it,” she held onto her mama tightly.

  “Yes, you can baby. I felt the same way when your father passed. We can do this together.”

  The lines were long to get into the funeral home so Barbara yelled and pushed making a path, to get through.

  “Excuse me! Can the mother of the child be the first person in line please? Excuse us! Excuse me!”

  The people split like the Red Sea and allowed them to pass through. “Thank you very much.”

  “Aunt Barbara is so mean,” said Walter.

  “She sure is. I can’t stand her,” remarked his twin sister, Wendy.

  Two sets of double glass doors held the key to whether or not Jeanette kept her sanity, or this would have been her last half normal thought before the next set of doors would be metal, kept locked, with white padded walls and a matching one-piece suit with restraints. That distinguished funeral home smell of flowers and death immediately socked your nose once you opened the second set of doors. Soft music played from the speakers located in each corner on the wall. On the left as soon as you entered was a black billboard that had the names of the deceased and time of the family hour and funeral service.

  She noticed: LASHA JEAN BROWN FAMILY HOUR-11:00 a.m. -12:00 p.m. FUNERAL SERVICE-12:00 p.m. -1:00 p.m. ROOM 100 Straight ahead

  Jeanette felt her knees buckle underneath her and almost lost her balance. Her heart pounded forty times a second. She closed her eyes and started to count.

  “One, two, three…”

  A set of twelve brown leather chairs sat in the hallway on the left side of the room: for those who wanted to be there for support but couldn’t stomach seeing a dead child’s body. In the opposite corner, there was a book for the guests to sign as they entered the room to sit down.

  “Come on Nette,” Barbara placed her left arm over her shoulder. “You ready to go i
n? Let’s pray first.”

  She managed to crack a smile. “Yes mama. It will be over soon.”

  “Yes it will. And we can begin to heal.”

  They walked through another set of doors as their family sat in the first two rows. Behind the white and gold two and a half foot casket was a beautiful sixteen by thirteen photo of nine-month-old Lasha smiling at the camera for her mother. It was taken after she had gotten her ears pierced.

  The funeral director passed out obituaries as the guests entered. She gave directions on where they could sit. A lady dressed in white passed out Kleenex and fans to the people who needed them. Jeanette motioned for the director.

  “Why is my baby’s coffin closed?”

  “Your mother thought that it would’ve been better for you all to deal with it if it was closed.”

  “I want it opened-and I want it opened now!”

  “Are you sure?” asked the director.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that Nette?”

  “Yes mama.”

  Jeanette and Barbara followed behind the director.

  As the man came from the back and opened the small casket, a chorus of grief consumed room 101.

  They should have kept it closed, Jay thought.

  Jeanette decided to let her mother view the body first because she wasn’t prepared to see her yet. She looked away. “OH Boogie,” cried Barbara. She stood over the casket looking down at her little Boogie Bear. She thought back to the very first time she had seen her squirming around in the incubator fighting for a chance to live, and now she’s lying in a casket (grudgingly handpicked by Barbara herself) engraved in gold: Grandma’s Boogie Bear forever. She whispered in Lasha’s ear and kissed her cold cheek.

  “Tell your grandfather I said hello. I know he’ll take good care of you until I get there. I love you. I can’t take this.” Barbara stood on the side of Jeanette praying for strength to help her daughter as she walked towards the baby. She rested on her mother’s shoulder, as she had gotten closer to the casket not ready to view her still. “Oh mama,” she yelled.

  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” her mother explained.

  “I have to mama. I owe her that much.” She leaned over talking to her baby as tears streamed onto Lasha’s cheek. “I’ll see you again. I love you.” She started to feel hot and frustrated. “I love you.” She started to show signs of another breakdown.

  “I’m okay. Let me go Uncle Charles. Why did this happen?”

  He grabbed her by the arm. “Come on baby,” he said.

  She snapped once she realized what Tamara had strolled into the funeral home wearing, a bright red pants suit surely wasn’t what she had been instructed to wear today. A brand new, white and blue, two-piece dress sat on the back of her chair at Barbara’s house. “Red” at a funeral was against fashion rules. A big no-no.

  “I can’t believe she did this! Tamara you know what,” Jeanette stormed towards her saying. She had gotten everyone’s attention in room 101, 102 and 103.

  “What’s going on?” They all wondered.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s it Tamara,” she took her hat off.

  “What’s wrong Jeanette?” asked Barbara.

  She stepped into Tamara’s face. “Why you didn’t wear what I told you to wear? Are you trying to piss me off today? I bought you a white outfit.”

  “When have you ever seen me wear white? I don’t like white, and I hate dresses! You should be glad that I came. You know how much I hate funerals.”

  She yelled. “This isn’t about you!”

  Walter whispered to his sister, “Only at our family affairs would you see shit like this.”

  She chuckled. “I know right.”

  “I know it’s about that brat! She’s dead and she still got you wrapped around her finger.”

  “You are a selfish bitch,” said Jeanette, as she slapped Tamara hard across her face. A few concerned family members jumped up and ran over to them, including the funeral director. “What’s going on?”

  Diane quickly grabbed Tamara and pushed her outside as Barbara took Jeanette into the bathroom for a one-on-one talk with her. Tamara talked briefly with Diane dismissing every word; she promised to behave and angrily went back in, sitting in the corner alone. She took a seat in the back because she didn’t want or need the nightmares from seeing Lasha. After the situation was under control, the preacher asked Barbara to read a scripture. Reverend Smith read another scripture from the bible; Diane read the acknowledgments and obituary. Lexis and Lynette gave three-minute remarks about their niece. It was time for a song selection Diane shockingly said, “Performed by Tamara Brown.”

  “What? I’m not going up there.”

  “Go up there,” commanded Barbara.

  “What am I supposed to sing?”

  “The eyes on the sparrow,” she explained. “You know that song well.”

  She begged not to go in front of everyone.

  “Will you do it for me?”

  Tamara dragged her body from her seat and hesitatingly walked in front of the crowd. She closed her eyes as she tried to block out the visions of being over her little sister’s crib with the teddy bear in her hand. She panicked once she realized that her sister wasn’t breathing, and that she had been the cause. I had gone into the room to pick her up from crying. I didn’t plan on hurting her, but something clicked when I couldn’t stop her from crying. I blacked-out and when I came to she wasn’t breathing. Something told me to do it; if I wanted my life back I had to do it. I can’t tell anyone. I’ll go to jail, thought Tamara.

  She felt the sweat trickle down her back. Everyone had their eyes locked on her as they waited for her to sing. Visions flashed of Lasha asking her, “Why did you do this to me?” It looked as though the casket began to shake as Lasha scratched on the inside crying, “Let me out! I want my mama!”

  She couldn’t do it; she ran off of the stage and into the bathroom. Barbara and Diane ran after her.

  Reverend Smith stood there looking like a younger version of Jessie Jackson stood at the pulpit as he performed the eulogy. He concluded the service by calling the pallbearers up to the front.

  “Let us pray. Bless this family, Oh Lord, in their time of need. Give them strength, Oh Lord to carry on because with you, all things are possible Father. In Jesus’ name… we pray, amen.”

  “Amen,” the people replied.

  He signaled for the four pallbearers to the casket. He started to sing, “I’m going home to see My Father…”

  The music started to play, and that automatically flicked on the switch of tears and sobbing as they closed the casket for the final time. The closing of the casket is the last call for being able to see our loved ones. In this lifetime, at least we hope.

  Jeanette had stuck her hands into her pocketbook. “Forgive me Lord.” She pulled out a .25 semi-automatic pistol and aimed it directly at her head.

  Everyone screamed and ran towards the exit signs causing a loud, chaotic confusion in the little building. “Oh my Goodness,” They ran out. “She’s got a gun!”

  Her immediate family went towards her to stop her, others thought, ‘To Hell with that! I’m getting out of here!”

  Charles pushed Barbara out of the way as he leaped at Jeanette’s right arm. They tussled over the gun as it went off. He stopped her from blowing her brains out but didn’t stop the bullets from escaping the gun. “I got it! What’s wrong with you Jeanette?”

  She stood there with a demented grin upon her face.

  Tamara staggered towards her grandmother. “Grandma, I’ve been shot,” she mumbled. She had her hand over her heart. I should not have worn this red outfit, Nia told me that it was bad luck,” she laughed before she collapsed to her knees.

  “Someone call an ambulance! Tamara’s been shot!” Barbara yelled.

  “What?” Jay asked.

  Jeanette laughed hysterically like a psyc
hopath at those words.

  “Ha, Ha, Ha! Let her die. Let her die! She’s a murdererrrrrr. She killed my baby!”

  Tamara lost consciousness, although she was still able to hear the people as they yelled and screamed around her. “Leave her alone. Let her die!” someone said.

  The thunder struck outside the house causing Tamara to jump up in the middle of the bed as sweat poured down her body. Her pajamas felt like she had taken a shower in them. Her heart pounded a thousand times per second. She could not catch her breath.

  “I was just dreaming,” she touched her chest to verify that it was indeed a dream. “No gunshot wounds.” She was relieved. She glanced at the clock; it was five fifteen in the morning.

  “I’m not going to that funeral. I’ m not going to get shot and Jeanette’s been doing crazy shit lately too. I’m staying my black ass right here. Now what can I do to get out of going to this funeral but not make myself look like an insensitive bitch? I think I’m coming down with the flu. “Hachoo.”

  She went into the bathroom and forced her fingers down her throat. She knew that Barbara was awake because she got up every morning around four o’ clock.

  “Are you alright in there?”

  “No, I don’t feel well. I have diarrhea and I’m throwing up. I think I caught the flu from Nikki’s cousin.” She smiled. “Grandma I feel like I’m about to die. I’m not going to the funeral today. I can’t make it. I know Jeanette’s