by Danae Ayusso
The den had a desk, a couple of chairs, and a phone. I picked up the phone and ducked under the desk for additional privacy and dialed.
After three rings, it picked up.
“Who dis?”
I shook my head. “Hey, Mama,” I whispered.
“Baby?” Mama Jones gasped. “Good God, Baby, you nearly gave me a heart attack! Where in the hell are you?”
I smiled despite myself. “Home,” I said and it felt good to say it. “I’m with my father and his family.”
There was awkward silence on the other end.
“Mama?” I asked.
“I’m here, Baby,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Is he?”
“A good man? Yes,” I assured her. “A very good man. He didn’t know… She never told him about me.”
Mama Jones sighed. “I wish I could say that surprised me, but it doesn’t. That woman was sneakier than the Devil and twice as mean. Where are you… No, don’t tell me.”
That isn’t normal.
“Why?” I asked, curious.
“Some people have been around, asking questions about you, and I don’t trust them.”
“Cops?”
“No, something else, something not right,” she said, as if that explained it all, and of course it explained nothing. “Don’t worry about it. Mama will take care of it. I’m glad you’re safe, Baby. I was worried.”
I should have called sooner.
Yes, we should have, Bitch.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I should have called you sooner. How’s De’Von?” I asked.
She snorted. “That boy is gonna be the death of me, I swear it.”
I groaned. “Is he around?”
As much as I hated North Philly, it was my home and where the people I cared about were. I wished there was a way to take them with me. Or, at the very least, make sure they are taken care of and safe as they did for me when I was with them…
I need a job.
I am not shoveling horseshit.
We can figure something out.
“He’s watching home movies,” Mama Jones said.
It was a struggle, but I eventually swallowed the lump in my throat and wiped my eyes on the back of my hand.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“Da’Niyah overdosed two days ago and they couldn’t revive her,” she whispered.
It was like a fist to the gut.
“Mama, I’m so sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault, Baby,” Mama Jones assured me. “That girl was dumb and didn’t give a damn about her son or mine. You’re the only mama De’Von knows. I’m glad you’re safe now, Mikhail.”
It was never a good sign when Mama Jones called me Mikhail.
“Mama, I’m going to get a job so I can send you and De’Von some money. You did so much for me, took care of me when Mom refused to… I owe you and De’Von. You’re my family, too.”
Blue Boy’s family took me in when I had nowhere else to go for years. Anytime Mom pulled her routine or when I was old enough to run, I’d run to Mama Jones. Mom was terrified of the large black woman that wouldn’t think twice about cutting someone if it meant protecting her kids. I was the daughter she always wanted, the one that had her shit together and didn’t spread her legs for a fix or ran around actin’ a fool. I was the grounded one that said thank you and went out of her way to help where I could.
“You’ll do no such thing,” she scolded. “We’re getting by.”
If she thinks that’ll stop us, she obviously is more upset over that crackhead’s death than I thought possible.
“How’s De’Von taking her death?” I asked, trying to speak past the lump in my throat.
“He’s watching home movies,” Mama Jones repeated as if that was explanation enough, and it was.
“I’ll talk to him,” I said.
“De’Von, get your ass in here!” she called out. “Now, Young Man.”
“What?” he grumbled, taking the phone.
“Hey,” I said.
“Mom?” he gasped. “Where are you?”
I wiped the tears rolling down my cheeks away. “Far away, too far,” I admitted. “I’m so sorry about your mother.”
“She was dead to me years ago,” he scathingly reminded me.
If I had been there, I would have smacked him upside the head.
That’s my boy!
“Did you abandon me, too?” De’Von demanded.
Then again, guilt tripping little fucker.
The crushing pain in my chest I’m sure is nothing more than guilt and heartache and not a heart attack.
“Never, I love you. You know I do,” I reminded him, trying to keep my voice down. “I’m going to get a job and send you and Mama the money, okay? You’re still going to the Academy this fall. No dropping out or acting a fool. You have to represent me now, Young Man.”
De’Von groaned. “Unless you’re here to walk me to and from school, I ain’t going and you can’t make me.”
I’m kicking his ass.
You and me both.
“I will whoop you,” I warned. “We worked our asses off to get you accepted to the Academy so you’d have a chance to get the hell out of the hood, and you’re just going to throw that away because you’re butt-hurt that I’m not there to hold your hand and make you be better? That isn’t the young man I raised.”
De’Von softly growled under his breath in irritation, the way he did when I made a point that he couldn’t find a sound argument to counter. “Where are you?”
“Safe,” I automatically replied.
“It must be nice,” he sneered before hanging up on me.
That little bastard is so grounded.
I agree.
“Ugh!” I groaned, fighting the urge to throw the phone before hanging it up.
De’Von was the king of guilt trip; he got that from his father. It took three years to get him accepted to the private academy in Germantown that only accepted a dozen scholarship students a year. The essay took a month before it was perfected, and after the first day, he wanted to quit because it wasn’t easy. Nothing in life was easy, that’s what I grew up hyper aware of, and De’Von knew it as well, he was just trying to rewrite the stars. Now that his mother was dead, it only left Mama Jones, his grandmother, since I wasn’t there.
“Please, please don’t be another statistic,” I whispered, wiping away the tear that rolled down my cheek.
“What did you need me to do?”
I jumped, startled, hitting my head on the underside of the desk in the process, before peering up over the edge and instantly cringed.
Price was sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, looking at his hands.
“How long have you been sitting there?” I asked.
“Long enough to know you left behind those you love,” he said, his tone soft. “You don’t have to hide to use the phone, Mikhail. Everything you see is yours. You can use it as you like. You have no reason to hide.”
Now he tells us.
“There’s nothing you can do,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’ll take care of it and figure it out. I always do.”
Price nodded, motioning for me to sit. “Talk to me, if you want. They are your family, aren’t they?”
Feeling as if I owed it to him, I sat on the edge of the desk.
“My best friend’s son and mother,” I said. “When I had nowhere to go, Mama Jones was always there for me and opened her home up to a little white street rat. Her daughters hated it, hated me, because their mother loved me as if I was her own. De’Von lost his mother two days ago to an overdose, not that she was really in his life at all, but now all he has is me and his grandmother, but he feels as if I abandoned him because I’m not there.”
Again, Price nodded his understanding.
“There isn’t much out there for a punk ass street kid from North Philly,” I tried to explain since there was no way Price understood; he reeked of money. “The public schools
were closed and the few students that remained were bussed to other parts of the city to one of the remaining overly crowded public schools. In one of the roughest neighborhoods in Philly is a private academy that I got De’Von accepted to in Germantown. He was offered one of the dozen scholarships… It’s one per grade per year. If he screws off and loses this opportunity, there won’t be a second chance. The academy is over thirty-five grand a year for tuition, but their graduation rate is a hundred-percent with a ninety-eight percent college graduation rate. He’s smart, too smart for the streets, but without having someone there to whoop his ass, he just… I don’t know,” I admitted. “I wanted out of the hood and I got that, but I left behind those that I love that need to get out of the hood as well. Does that make me selfish?”
Price shook his head. “Not at all, Mikhail. Self-preservation takes precedence over everything else. No one can, or will, fault you for that. Taking care of those you love is human nature and what it means to be family. If you want, I can help.”
I shook my head. “I can’t take your money.”
“But getting a job and working your butt off and sending the money to those in Philly is completely acceptable?” he retorted.
“Yeah, it is,” I said. “I don’t like charity, Price. I saw so much of that back in Philly. People with their hands out asking for what they felt they were entitled to simply because they weren’t working, had a dozen kids with a dozen different felons, that it drove me crazy. It turned my stomach! The crackwhore I called Mom was all about what she could get and when, how much, and how often. She wouldn’t work, wouldn’t think of anyone but herself. Mama Jones showed me that there are those out there that will work and actually do, those that don’t want to suckle at the teat of society because they can. It’s easier to spread your legs and pop out a kid and hold your hand out than it is to simply better yourself. That’s why her daughters didn’t like me; I agreed with Mama. When the youngest got knocked up at fourteen, Mama kicked her ass out. She knew the rules. When the other got knocked up at seventeen, again, Mama kicked her ass out. De’Von was different; I wouldn’t let her turn her back on him… Most likely it was because he looked just like her precious baby boy…” my words trailed off.
Why in the hell did you just spout all that off? You should be pissed that he was eavesdropping, not opening up to him!
That’s a good question and an even better point.
“Why am I telling you any of this?” I asked.
Price offered a small smile. “If I had to venture an educated guess, you needed someone to talk to, Mikhail. As much talking as we did during our lazy days on the couch, there’s still much you need to say. Know that you aren’t alone anymore. You have family here, and there. You didn’t get to say goodbye, and I wish that I had known otherwise I would have made sure you had the chance to do it in person.”
I shook my head. “It’s better that I didn’t. De’Von would have talked me into smuggling him in my bag or something. Besides, Mama said that some shady dudes have been around asking questions about me.”
He sat up taller. “Police?”
“No, shadier,” I said. “She doesn’t know who they are or what they’re all about, but I’ll check in with her tomorrow and see if she found anything. Mama will have someone checking it out. There’s a reason she’s captain of the neighborhood watch, even if we were the only block that had one.”
Price offered a small smile. “Of course. Please let me know what she finds out. I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I saw the light on and then I heard you. It was rude of me and I’ll try not to make a habit of it, but I was curious. If you need anything, for them even, please don’t be ashamed or too proud to ask. I owe them for being there for you when I couldn’t. Dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you get cleaned up and join us in the dining room? I don’t think I can stomach another dinner in the family room anytime soon.”
There was something about him that I hadn’t seen in the few days I had called Anaconda home, something I knew I should be concerned about, but I’m not entirely sure what. Was he resolving something?
Possibly, but it wasn’t my place to ask.
“Okay,” I said, slipping off the desk and headed towards the door. “Can you,” I started, pausing at the door, “keep this between us? I don’t want my business being public, especially since I already feel like a broke bitch bag lady from Sharswood in your home.”
Price nodded. “Your home, and of course,” he assured me.
****
“How was your day other than going ghetto?” Ellie asked, dishing herself up some glazed carrots.
Price chuckled, shaking his head.
“Good,” I mumbled before shoving more food in my mouth.
The table is filled with food: beef roast smothered in brown gravy, rosemary red potatoes, glazed baby carrots, and grilled asparagus with a white wine cheese sauce, sweet corn, garden salad with poppy seed vinaigrette and more of those dark brown sweet rolls with a sprinkling of oats on them.
I started to tear up when I sat down. Honest to God, I started to cry over food. Sunday, because we were late thanks to Cinder Dick and his prickism, we missed the big dinner and had sandwiches, which to me was home cooking and then some. Then, three days in the family room eating on the couch limited the options Ellie said.
So this spread was a shock.
“Going ghetto was the highlight, I’m sure. I made a new friend,” I reminded her with a shrug, sneaking a piece of roast under the table to Cujo who was laying on my feet.
I was grateful Price hadn’t brought up what we talked about earlier or what he had overheard, and was acting as if he was none the wiser, which I appreciated.
“So I heard,” Price said and chuckled under his breath.
“I hope you don’t mind that she followed me in the house. I should have asked, but she’s been my damn shadow since I kicked her ass… When I went to shower, I found her sprawled out across my bed snoring. How she got up there, I don’t know, but I hope it’s cool.”
“It’s okay,” he assured me. “It’s surprising since Cujo isn’t that nice of a dog.”
Softly she growled under the table.
“Be nice,” I warned, and she stopped. “You have to remember, Price, that she was Cinder Dick’s dog. So it’s to be expected.”
Ellie laughed. “I don’t think Billy will mind. Those two never got along, hence the reason why she’s here with us, instead of with him. Sometimes the Guardian doesn’t choose the protected, the protected chooses the Guardian.”
I have no idea what that means.
It must be a hunting thing.
Or a white people thing.
Really?
“What did you think of the property?” Price asked, giving Ellie the look that always causes the subject to abruptly change. “Did you get to venture along the creek and see the foals in the north pasture?”
I shook my head. “No. We mainly hung out around the house. After Cujo had her beat down, we were in chill mode so we had some sweet tea in the grass and soaked our feet in the pond until Cujo embraced her inner ninja and went for a swim… She has no grace or agility.”
Cujo huffed then pawed at my leg so I gave her another piece of roast.
Shep grabbed a dinner roll and started buttering it. “I was going to see if she wanted to take a ride down to the north pasture to check on the little ones after dinner.”
I hate it when people do that.
“She’s right here. You could ask her since she’s sitting across from you,” I said and threw a piece of roll at him.
“Sorry,” he said then chuckled when the piece of bread bounced off his forehead.
“I’ve never ridden a horse before, let alone touched one, so I’ll walk,” I said.
It’d be my luck that I fall and break my neck.
Price nodded. “Boys, would you like to join us?”
Bleu and Kieran looked at each other, seemingly silently communicating, before turning to look at P
rice, and they nodded once in unison then went back to their dinners.
Children of the damned creepy, whoa.
Leave them alone. I’m sure if you were externalized, we’d look like that and would be considered just as creepy.
Once they learn of what we’re hiding from them we’ll look that creepy to them as well.
True. Let’s make sure you don’t slip up and tell them.
Speak for yourself.
The twins look exactly alike, but they don’t. Each has jet black hair, but the one on the left, I think it’s Bleu, or as Shep calls him, Creepier, has a little soul patch that makes him look slightly older. They both have pale skin with dark olive green eyes that almost look dirty brown in the overhead light. Their haircuts look like something you’d do to someone when they pass out drunk as a joke or you’d get from a Suck-Cut; super short, but not a crew cut or faded to a one or two, and really short choppy bangs hanging in their eyes. Their lips are full and light pink that are always turned down at the corners.
I wonder what happened to them that brought them here.
Don’t be nosy.
They don’t appear to be local, and they don’t dress like the others, instead they wear black or gray hoodies that are zipped all the way up with black leather or suit jackets over them, jeans, and black boots. I’m not saying that they don’t dress well, they just don’t dress like everyone else. Price, from what I’ve seen, wears khakis or jeans with a cotton, loosely buttoned dress shirts. Ellie rocks cotton lounge pants and sandals, and to my pleasant surprise, tie-dyed shirts that make her look as if she fell out of the back of a Deadhead’s tour bus. I have a feeling that Ellie smoked a lot weed in the sixties. Shep and Nick look like they fell out of a ranch. That’s the only way I can describe it. Faded Levi’s, white cotton undershirts, flannel shirts and boots or worn out running shoes. They both appear comfortable so who am I to judge?
The funny thing is the way they dress matches their personalities. Ellie is fight the government and give the man the finger, but nurturing and yet she’ll call you a skanky slut to your face, but she says it with a smile and in the most endearing way possible so you just have to smile and nod, and thank her for informing you that you’re a skanky slut. Shep and Nick are both laid back, easygoing guys so that’s how they dress. Yes, the pink flannel that Shep had tied around his waist today really wasn’t helping his I’m-not-gay-shut-up-already argument, but it was hilarious, and it matches his fun loving personality. Price is all business all the time, but he’s semi-laid back so his attire totally works. Mc Creepy and Creepier are completely closed off and in their own little world and look as if they’re ready to run at any moment, and that’s exactly how they dress, ready to run and hit the road with only what’s on their back and not think twice about it.