Emmitt parted his mother’s graying hair and scratched her scalp with a rattail comb. He’d performed this service since he was eight or nine years old. His mother, grandmother, and Aunt Elisa affectionately called him the “head honcho.” It never failed that the recipient would be asleep within ten minutes. His mother had fallen asleep minutes ago. He brushed her hair back with his fingers and massaged her scalp. He was glad she was resting.
When he was done he sat in the mint green recliner beside her bed and watched the television play silently. All the while his mind was on his mother. He knew that her heart attack was a result of the hard life that she’d lived. His alcoholic and abusive father walked out on them when he and Greg were toddlers. Consequently, the boys watched men come and go. There were plenty of times they fought to protect their mother or themselves from the men she brought home or allowed to move in. Emmitt remembered when he was eleven years old. His mother was driving her van and her boyfriend was in the passenger’s seat. The boyfriend was yelling at Elaine when Emmitt climbed boldly up to the front of the van to intervene and threatened the man. His mother begged him to return to his seat. As Emmitt turned back, the boyfriend grabbed him by the shirt and tried to pull him over his lap. He opened the van door to throw Emmitt out. Fortunately, Emmitt’s lanky body was too long to be pulled over the round hump that divided the driver and passenger’s seats. Emmitt did not remember how that ordeal ended or why the man didn’t come back to hurt him later. But one thing was for certain, for his mother, he would do it all again. She married and divorced two times after that relationship.
Emmitt knew that he was her love child. What he lacked scholastically, he compensated for athletically. He was so agile and talented that by high school he’d become a decathlete. His mother worked two jobs and never came to any of his games, but he knew she was proud of him. She watched his interviews on the eleven o’clock news and read and clipped all of the newspaper articles about him. To this day, his many trophies and awards were displayed on three shelves in a cabinet in their living room.
There was a short, rapid knock on the door. He looked at his mother to make sure she had not been disturbed. The door opened before he could get up to open it.
A doctor tiptoed toward him and initiated a handshake.
“I’m Dr. Metcalf,” he whispered. “Are you Sleeping Beauty’s son?”
“Yes,” he laughed nervously.
The doctor motioned for Emmitt to follow him outside to the hallway. “Did the tests from her heart attack turn out okay?”
Dr. Metcalf looked puzzled. He flipped the chart over to look at the room number and then turned back to look at the number on the door. “We ran some diagnostic tests. The results are normal. The tests showed no organic basis for a heart attack. We are certain that your mother had a panic attack.”
“Panic attack? What’s the difference between that and a heart attack? We have a family history of heart attacks.”
“It’s understandable that your mother thought she was having a heart attack. The physical symptoms of a panic attack are so identical to a heart attack that we have to run diagnostic tests like the EEG and EKG to make a definite diagnosis. Your mother’s test results were normal.”
Emmitt was not convinced. “So, even though she was having chest pains, could hardly breathe, and felt like she was going to die, it wasn’t a heart attack?”
“Like a heart attack, a panic attack involves a sudden onset of extreme apprehension or fear and is usually associated with feelings of impending doom. Palpitations, chest pain, breathing difficulties, nausea, feelings of choking, chills, and hot flashes are some of the symptoms. But they can be so severe that the patient believes he is dying of a heart attack.”
Emmitt tuned out Dr. Metcalf. “Mr. Phillips,” the doctor attempted. “Has your mother been under a lot of stress lately?”
“She’s always under a lot of stress,” he quipped.
“Aside from the usual, has her comfort zone or routine daily life been threatened in any way?”
Emmitt looked sideways toward the ceiling. “Not that I can think of. We’re in the process of adopting my son, but she is in favor of that.”
“Will getting your son create any changes for her?”
Just then Emmitt remembered finding the apartment applications that she had opened and left on her bed. A twinge of guilt gripped him so hard his eyes watered. “In order to get my son,” he started slowly, “I have to move out of my mother’s home. I went looking for apartments yesterday and requested a few applications. When I went home to pick up her medications for you, I found two application packets that she had opened and left on her bed.”
The doctor scratched his head. “Bingo, Mr. Phillips. Will this be your first time living apart from your mother?”
Sheepishly he responded. “No, sir. I went away to college and I used to be married.”
“How was your mother’s health when you moved out then?”
“Okay.”
“Did she require any medical attention?”
Annoyed, he answered, “Yes. But I don’t understand why you’re asking me all of these questions.”
“I’m wondering if your mother suffers from a panic disorder. I’m not a psychiatrist—”
“A psychiatrist? She doesn’t need a psychiatrist—”
“Mr. Phillips, I’m just saying that people with panic disorders have just what your mother had today when she found those applications. And I would bet that if you thought about it long enough you might remember other occasions when she required medical attention during times of significant events.”
Emmitt didn’t know if he believed what the doctor was saying. He did know that he had heard this before, from Charity. Charity was always trying to convince him that his mother was “codependent” and that he needed to set some boundaries. She was always talking in that therapy language he didn’t understand. He hated that she put him in the middle, between her and his mother. Charity would be on one end showing him where the Bible says for a man to leave his family and cleave to his wife. His mother would be on the other end telling him that nobody ever loves anybody like their own mother. “One day I’mma be dead and gone,” she would say. “And you’ll finally realize that I wasn’t trying to control you. I was telling you right.”
“Mr. Phillips?” the doctor called, as if he had been trying to get his attention for a while. “Have you ever heard of codependency?”
Emmitt lied and shook his head no.
“That’s a type of relationship where there are no clear boundaries between two or more people. The people involved do not know where they begin or end, they are so enmeshed with the other person. If the other person ever left, the first person would feel empty, incomplete, and even abandoned.”
Emmitt shifted his weight onto one foot.
The doctor continued. “We have social workers in the hospital who would be available to talk with you and your mother. Would you be interested in a consultation?”
If he did not know better, he would have sworn that Charity had something to do with this. She was always trying to get him to see a therapist.
“No thanks.” He looked at his watch, hoping the doctor got the message that his time was up.
“Well, if you change your mind let us know. A social worker may be able to help you talk to your mother about your moving out. I’d like for her to stay overnight and be discharged in the morning. So you have until then to think about it.” He stuck his hand out for another handshake.
Emmitt hesitated, then weakly shook his hand. Anything to get him on his way.
He tiptoed back into the room. He was relieved that she was still sleeping.
Chapter 15
IESHA LOOKED THROUGH HER CD COLLECTION. After a long day at the office she needed some working music. Something energizing, because it was going to take an all-nighter to get the house in decent shape. She selected her Missy Elliott CD and put it on track number 2. She danced all the way to Raquan
’s and Sha-Lai’s rooms to make sure they were cleaning underneath their beds. If she had gotten on them once, she had gotten on them a thousand times about stashing dirty clothes, books, and toys under there. The beds housed more clothes than the closets, and the closets were still cluttered. Clothes strewn on the top shelf, clothes halfway hung in the middle, and clothes fallen atop their shoes on the floor. “These chaps are trifling,” she muttered. She shuddered, realizing how much she sounded like her mother.
“Momma, I found my Yu-Gi-Oh! trading cards,” Raquan said, looking up at her and showing her his finds.
“It’s amazing what you’ll find when you look for things. What else is under there?”
“Clothes,” he sang while going through the heap of items. “My other Power Ranger bedroom shoe, socks, my LeapFrog Pad—”
She didn’t have the time to hear him sing each item he’d discovered. “Put those clothes in the hamper and those toys in your toy box, please.” She stepped out of his room and moonwalked to Missy’s beat down to Sha-Lai’s room. Sha-Lai had finished cleaning underneath her bed and was straightening her closet.
“How’re you doing in here?”
“Good. What do you want me to do after this?”
“You ain’t nowhere near done with that closet. You’ll need to get a chair so you can fold those sweaters on that top shelf. All of the clothes and shoes you can’t wear, bag it up. We’ll take it to The Salvation Army. After you’ve done that, you can clean out that toy chest.”
“Okay,” Sha-Lai replied, and returned to rehanging her clothes.
Iesha watched her daughter like she was someone else’s child. Who is this compliant child and what did she do with my sassy-mouthed daughter? She left Sha-Lai in her room and walked back to the living room so that she could vacuum and dust. It dawned on her that the school meeting must have scared Sha-Lai, too. She hadn’t been a problem since Monday when it all happened. Iesha sprinkled deodorizer on the carpet and began to vacuum.
She jumped when she saw the front door open. If the vacuum cleaner hadn’t been so loud she would’ve heard Mama Lorraine come in.
“Girl, that thing makes more noise than it picks up dust,” Mama Lorraine said. “Turn that toy off. I got the real deal out in the car. We gone steam this nasty rug.”
Keeping her children depended on whether or not she passed this inspection, so her mother’s comments were more comforting than offending. “Where’s the steamer at? In the back or in the trunk?”
“In the trunk. Grab that box beside it while you’re out there.”
On her way out, she heard her mother call for Sha-Lai and Raquan. “Where my grandbabies at?”
It took everything she had not to slam the door behind her mother. It was past eleven o’clock and Mama Lorraine would’ve still been cleaning if Iesha had let her. After Mama Lorraine failed to catch Iesha’s third hint that it was time for her to leave, she called her father and told him to tell her to come home. That almost failed. As far as Iesha could tell, the house was clean hours ago. She worked alongside as Mama Lorraine led her into washing walls, scrubbing floorboards, cleaning the oven and refrigerator, and mopping every floor in the house, including the visible spaces between the washer and dryer. Iesha surveyed the place as she went from room to room to turn out lights. The house was so clean one could eat off the floors.
She was gathering her things and preparing for a shower when she heard a knock. She figured that Mama Lorraine must’ve left something. She swung the door open without asking who was knocking.
“Momma—”
The two men laughed. “You know Mama Lorraine is in bed,” one of them offered.
If looks could kill, Kenny and Nookie would be on their way to Beasley’s Funeral Home. Iesha looked them up and down and rolled her eyes. She could tell by their glossy red eyes that they were high.
“May I help you?”
“Oh, so it’s like that now? You gotta take our orders for us to see our kids?”
She turned back to look at the wall clock. “In case you didn’t know,” she said, facing them again, “my kids are asleep by nine o’clock. And since I’m taking orders, I regret to inform you that the drive-thru is closed for tonight.” She tried to slam the door, but Kenny held his foot in the way.
“You ain’t got to be nasty. My child support is current. How about yours, man?”
Nookie took a step forward. “Mine too.” And they walked past her into the house.
She followed them. “Your child support doesn’t give you a season pass to use whenever you feel like it.”
“Girl, chill out,” Kenny warned, including a few choice words. “Since when do you have a problem with us stopping by?” They made themselves at home on the living room couch. Nookie reached for the remote control and turned the television to BET.
She cursed herself for being stupid. As long as I’m a mother, this is the price I gotta pay for getting mixed up with these two fools. Kenny and Iesha grew up together on Rush Avenue. He was three years older and was like a big brother to both her and Charity. Even Mama Lorraine called him the son she never had. He organized many street games for the neighborhood children to play. He taught Iesha and the others football, softball, volleyball, and kickball. Iesha knew Kenny liked her because she was such a tomboy and could play just as well as any neighborhood boy.
As things began to change, so did their relationship. Iesha’s body was one of the first things to change. Mama Lorraine thought Kenny was just coaching Iesha in sports, but he began coaching her in other personal matters, like sex. Her behavior varied, and she and Mama Lorraine were always arguing about something. She remembered how Kenny had come to her saying that Mama Lorraine had asked him to talk to Iesha for her, because he was the only one who could put some sense into her head. Kenny then urged Iesha to tell her mother about the baby. She was five months’ pregnant when she told her parents.
She was so into her thoughts, she didn’t notice that Nookie had gone outside. He was returning with a twelve-pack of beer.
“Y’all have to go,” she admonished. “I’m not down with our little get-togethers anymore.”
Nookie handed Kenny a beer and offered the same to Iesha. She held up her hand. She knew he was probably used to her resisting the first drink and then giving in. But she was determined to uphold the commitment she made to God. “I don’t drink anymore.”
Nookie pursed his lips. “Since when?”
“None of your business,” she frowned. “I have to work tomorrow, so I’d appreciate if y’all just left. You can see the kids tomorrow.”
Nookie twisted off the bottle’s metal cap. He sipped the beer. “Pass the Heineken and mind your business,” he sang, mocking an old LL Cool J song.
She rolled her eyes and got out of her chair to turn the off television. Although Kenny had a lot of mouth, he was more tolerable than his cousin Nookie. Sha-Lai had not yet turned two when Kenny was arrested for drug trafficking. For the six months that he was away, he made arrangements through Nookie, his partner-in-crime, to financially support Iesha. On one of her many lonely nights without Kenny, she confided in Nookie and one thing led to another. The moment happened so fast that it was still a blur in her mind. Yet, in spite of all the drama, the three of them remained friends and had become closer than they were initially. When one of the guys would come to take his child out for a visit, he would take the other child as if it were his own. Kenny and Nookie financially supported both children.
“Did you give up this too?” Kenny asked, waving a thick marijuana blunt in the air.
“Yes,” she answered weakly.
Kenny lit the blunt and took a long, deep drag. “This some… good stuff… here,” he choked. She sighed out of frustration, inhaling the pungent aroma. She remembered the house inspection tomorrow.
“Nookie!” she yelled. “Get your drunk behind out of here.” She jumped up to pick up the beer bottle he dropped on the floor. “Man, you got beer everywhere.”
; She walked to the door. “Ya’ll got a choice. You can get your mess and go voluntarily or I can call the police and have you escorted out involuntarily. Take your pick.” By the way they moved, she knew they could tell she wasn’t playing.
Charity chuckled, thinking about Mama Lorraine and Iesha cleaning together. Better her than me. She waited for peace before ending her prayer. She prayed protection for Iesha and thanked God in advance for His favor with her home inspection. She thanked God for keeping her motives pure and guiding her fingers as she wrote a response to Minister Joseph Nelson.
She turned on the computer in her home office and read his letter again to see how she should respond. Although he requested photos of her, she decided she wouldn’t send any. She picked up his picture. His smile was contagious. She could not help returning a smile. But her smile faded remembering where he was. Lord, what is this feeling in my heart? Why am I thinking about this man? Wondering about him? He’s in jail and will be for another three years. I ain’t waiting on Emmitt that long, let alone a man in jail.
She decided to pray for Minister Nelson and send a short note to let him know that she’d cover him in prayer. She typed a letter on her ministry letterhead, hoping to convey that she wasn’t interested in a personal relationship. This was strictly business. She typed out five sentences, expressing her gratitude for his kind words about the article and signed off by letting him know that she would continue to pray for him. She read her letter several times to make sure it could not be misconstrued in any way.
It was Thursday, and Emmitt was anxious to take a break. His mother hadn’t been home from the hospital twenty-four hours and yet she was working him overtime. Her latest request was a glass of Pepsi over ice.
“Anything else?” he asked, handing her the beverage.
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