Fool, Stop Trippin'

by McKinney, Tina Brooks

  “That no-good, sorry, son-of-a-bitch! He promised me that he wouldn’t drop my kids anywhere, even at his sister’s house. Do you know who that trick Tarcia is? She’s the heifer he left me for, the one who I almost got into a fight with at work! Shit, we just had this conversation two days ago, Ma. I can’t believe that he would pull this crap. Wait till I get my hands on him.”

  I am beyond mad. I am ready to fight and if he rolls up here right at this moment I don’t know what I’ll do to him.

  “That’s it. I’m through talking with him. I’ve had it up to here with his lies.” I am pacing again. I just want to hit him really hard.

  “There’s more.”

  “Huh?”

  “Kentee got there before I had to clock that heifer and he tried to take the kids with him. He didn’t even know I was there. Tarcia got mad and attacked him and now she’s in jail.”

  “Attacked him? She ain’t no bigger than a minute.” I’m not feeling sorry for Kentee. I am just trying to get a mental picture of her fighting him.

  “She stabbed him in the neck with something. They took him to the hospital, but he’s out. He called to speak with the children, but I told him they were asleep.”

  “Serves his ass right!”

  “Leah, I know you’re upset, but I raised you better than that.”

  “I’m sorry, Momma. You’re right, no one deserves that.” Craig pulls me down beside him and places his arm around my shoulders.

  “No wonder he was blowing up my phone. He probably wanted to get to me before I got to you. Well, at least everyone is okay. I was so worried.”

  “Yeah, they’re fine. Kayla took her daddy being hurt pretty hard. The other thing is there is a good chance that Mya started the fire.”

  “Oh, my God. Why would you say that? She’s never played with matches before.”

  “She was holding a lighter when they carried her out of the house. I asked her what she was doing with it, but she wouldn’t answer me. Maybe you or Craig can get her to open up.”

  “Do the police want to question her?”

  “I left my phone number, but so far no one has called. I guess it all depends on what that girl says. She was the only one other than me who saw the lighter hit the ground.”

  “Craig, what are we going to do if they come after my baby?”

  “Baby, there is no sense worrying about that now. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen, we will deal with it.”

  “I don’t think we will be hearing from the police. I kicked the lighter under the car and when no one was looking I scooped it up and put it in my purse. If Tarcia mentions it, I will deny it.”

  “Momma!”

  “What? You would’ve done the same thing if you were here.”

  “You ain’t even lied,” I say. Momma smiles at us and I could feel the stress roll off me.

  “I’m sorry your trip had to end with such difficult news.”

  Sensing there is no better time than the present to share our good news, I sneak a peek at Craig and he nods his agreement.

  “Ma…” Kayla comes tearing down the hall, flinging herself into my knees. “Mommy, you’re home; did you and Mr. Craig have fun? Did Grandma tell you about the fire? Did you know my daddy got hurt by the bad lady? What did you bring us?”

  “Hold on, baby, we can only answer one question at a time.” Laughing, I pick her up and give her a big hug. She squirms in my arms, trying to get to Craig. Reluctantly, I release her and she flips over to his lap.

  “What did you bring me?” Kayla whispers in Craig’s ear.

  “Don’t I get a kiss first?” She kisses him on his cheek and wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Malik, with Mya in tow, also comes into the room. Leaving his sister, Malik throws himself at me and Craig. I must admit that as much as I needed the break from the duties of being a mother, I missed my children. Freeing myself, I kneel in front of Mya. I wait until she makes eye contact before I sign hello to her.

  Malik is talking a mile a minute, but I tune him out so I can give Mya my full attention.

  “Are you okay?” I sign. I am really worried about Mya because she is not able to express herself like her brother and sister. There is no telling what she is holding inside regarding the fire.

  “Yes,” she answers. Raising my arms for a hug, I am grateful she accepts my affection. With Mya, I’ve learned to only offer hugs if she is in an accepting mood. Had she turned away or simply stood there, I would have just made a hugging motion, letting her know that I love her. Stepping back, I wait to see if she is going to acknowledge Craig.

  The room falls silent as we all watch Mya. She doesn’t hesitate to climb up next to Craig on the sofa and place her head in his lap. This single gesture is proof enough that Craig and I did the right thing.

  “Momma, kids, we have an announcement.” Craig pulls Mya upright so she can follow the conversation. Momma keeps looking from Craig to me, a question in her eyes. Suddenly I’m afraid to tell them, but once again Craig gives me a nod of encouragement.

  “We got married.” Momma gasps, and her hand covers her heart for a brief second as tears flow down her face. I think she is upset, but her huge smile tells us she is happy for us.

  “Thank you, Jesus.” She rushes toward me and gives me a big kiss. Of course, this is the reaction that I’d hoped for, but I still feel guilty about not involving them.

  “You’re okay with this?”

  “Yes, I prayed for this. Although I would love to have been there, I will take my blessings any way they come.”

  “Momma, we didn’t plan it this way, we just couldn’t wait.” Momma hugs Craig as she wipes away her tears. Malik is grinning but Kayla has this disturbed look on her face.

  “What’s the matter, Kayla?” Craig asks.

  “Does that mean that Daddy ain’t my daddy no more?”

  Sammie

  The message light on my phone is a solid red indicating that not only do I have a message, but my mailbox is full. I vaguely remember hearing the phone last night, but I wasn’t ready to speak to anyone so I ignored it. I was on a mission to ease the pain and I worked it until there was nothing left to do but pass out.

  Morning, however, brings yesterday’s pain back two-fold. On one hand, my guilt at backsliding is gnawing a hole in my heart and the fear of facing the consequences is driving me to seek additional relief. That mentality drives me out of my house at ten in the morning to the bank. I can’t use the ATM this time because there is a daily dollar limit for withdrawals and that limit won’t be enough for what I need to do.

  I plan to medicate myself enough to deal with Buddy and to finally put the Jessie issue to rest. Logic has nothing to do with my withdrawal from the bank. Although I had just gotten paid the day before, my money is already earmarked to pay my rent, car payment, and insurance. After paying these bills, I will be lucky enough to have lunch money, but I don’t think about this as I write a check out to cash.

  “Ms. Davis, I see you are closing your checking account. Is there anything that the bank can do to keep your business?”

  “Uh…no. I’m consolidating my accounts and will be putting this money into my credit union account.”

  “Very well, I just need you to sign this acknowledgment.”

  “Acknowledgment, what does that mean?”

  “By signing the acknowledgment, you agree to hold the bank harmless in the event checks are posted to your account after you close it and for any uncollected fees. You are obligated to immediately reimburse the bank for any associated fees you may incur as a result of that return.”

  “Oh, okay.” I grab the pen and quickly sign my name. I push the form back to her because one or two things will have happened by the time they find out what I’ve done. I will either be dead or wishing I was.

  “I just have to get this signed by my supervisor and I’ll be right back.” My skin starts to itch and I fight so hard against scratching, tears form in my eyes. Scratching is a true indicator o
f an addict and I don’t want to portray that image. It feels like she’s gone forever when in reality it is less than two minutes. But to add to my anxiety, my cell phone is blowing up. I can’t risk answering it even if I’m so inclined. She ignores it just like I do.

  “Thanks for observing the no-cell-phone policy,” she says, sliding my cash toward me with a plastic smile pasted on her face. “Is there anything else that I can do for you today?”

  “No, I’m straight.” Relieved, I hurry from the bank praying she will not discover my deception until I am free and clear. It doesn’t matter if she finds out after I leave the bank because I plan on disappearing. Guilt is written on my face, but it is not enough to make me turn back. I don’t even think about the fact that I allowed them to photograph me and they have my signature on the check, not to mention the acknowledgment. I am being controlled at this point by a stronger desire.

  Cruising the streets once again on the West End, I look for the easy score. Logic tells me not to use the same runner, but the new guards aren’t as trusting as the one I found last night. They want my credentials and I don’t have any. Sure, I could have brought smaller amounts just to keep coming back. But I have enough sense to know that the more times I visit the area, the higher my profile will be in the community. And despite my destructive behavior, I don’t want to get caught and tossed in jail, labeled a druggie. I just want to get my stuff, medicate and hibernate.

  So I am forced to wait until my contact hits the streets. In the meantime, I hide out in bars. By the time I find him, I am drunk as a skunk and willing to agree to anything to put the all-encompassing pain to rest. By this time, my cell battery has died.

  “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all over.”

  “Bitch, please, for what? I ain’t your baby daddy and I don’t owe you no fucking money.” Clearly, he doesn’t remember me from the night before. This should raise a flag, but my drunk ass ain’t focusing on the negative, only the positive. He doesn’t deny being a source for my drug of choice and I am not going to let him out of my sight until he provides it.

  “Can’t we do this off the street?” I’m paranoid and anxious to cop my drugs and leave. But it appears like I am being guided by a force greater than me and I am in no condition to fight it. So when this total stranger decides to get into my car I don’t object. In retrospect, this is yet another mistake on my part.

  “I’ve got three thousand dollars and I need to make a purchase right now. Can you handle it?

  “I can handle it, but how do I know that you aren’t the po-po?”

  “I bought some shit from you last night and you didn’t have a problem.”

  He thinks about it for a minute before he responds. “Your first purchase was small potatoes; now you want some meat. How do I know that you ain’t posing for the po-po just to get my ass hung up in some shit?”

  “You don’t and I can’t do anything about that. I need an escape and if you can’t provide it, I will go somewhere else. It’s just that plain and simple. I’m prepared to give you all the money right now.” I was taking a big risk telling him how much money I had. If he couldn’t provide the weight, there wasn’t anything stopping him from hitting me over the head and taking it from me. Lucky for me, money talks; bullshit walks.

  He doesn’t say anything else and I fight the urge to choke the shit out of him.

  “So what do I need to do to make this happen?”

  “I got to be a part of it.”

  “What the hell does that mean? I got to share with you? Oh, hell no.”

  “Do you want it or not?” Shit, I am beyond wanting it, I need it. But something in my drug dealer’s demeanor is different tonight. He isn’t a take-it-or-leave-it dealer; he is being driven by his own demons and they join mine. Instead of this being a score for me, it is a score for us and my demented mind sees nothing wrong with that.

  “Then let’s do this shit.” I wait in my car for over an hour while my mark scores. He wants to hit that shit immediately in my car, but I quickly snatch my shit to do it on my home turf. For some reason, I’m not afraid to take this unnamed dealer into my home. To pacify him until we reach my house, I ply him with booze. We are singing old-school tunes when we leave my car, yelling, “Always and Forever”…off tune, loud as hell, as we enter my condo. Stupid me didn’t notice Buddy parked outside or think about how it must look to him, me stumbling into my apartment with a strange man.

  We’re an unlikely pair, but sex is the furthest thing from our minds when we enter my apartment. He wants to get high; I want to forget all the events that led me to this point.

  “Hey, what’s your name?”

  “Why?”

  “We are about to get high together so I would prefer to have a name instead of hey you.”

  “Oh…okay. It’s Raymond, but you can call me Ray.”

  “Thanks. I’m Sammie, in case you didn’t know.” I go to get my drug shit, but he stops me with a broad sweep of his hand. Inside his coat pocket, he holds everything we need. I realize that my rudimentary attempts the night before wasted product and was nowhere near as effective as the shit Ray has brought to the table. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to actually smoke crack. I am scared and excited just thinking about it.

  “Wait, what is all this shit?”

  “You want to smoke it, right?”

  “Uh…I haven’t done that before. I just snort it.”

  “Baby girl, then you have been wasting your money. Let me just cook you up a little and you tell me which way is better.” I don’t want to say yes because I suddenly remember how sick Jessie acted when he was high on crack, but I’m not capable of rational thought at this time so I allow him to cook my shit. He cooks my rent, car, insurance, gas, and personal utilities with the flick of a lighter and my dumb ass allows it. Nagging welts appear on my arms and I scratch them until they bleed, but this is my only resistance. At the time, I thought it was funny, until it was all gone. What should have lasted for a few days is gone in a matter of hours. I doze off.

  When I wake up, I am alone. The reality of what I’ve done pushes me over the edge. All of a sudden, it is dark and I can’t move even though I have to go to the bathroom. I feel helpless as I pee on myself. I wait to feel the warmth of release, but it is absent. I can hear people around me, but I cannot respond to them. I want to tell them that I peed but my mouth isn’t working. I am in a coma.

  My thoughts drift to Buddy. My anguish turns to anger as I now decide this is his fault. He witnessed another man push up on me, call me names, and he did nothing to stop him. He didn’t act like a man in love at all. “Why didn’t he try to help me? He should have been kicking ass and taking names later.” I am working myself up to a good mad now, for all the good it is doing me. I couldn’t raise my arms to strike even if he brought his sorry ass to the hospital to visit me. This thought depresses me even more than being in a coma. I love that man and it feels like I am in yet another loser relationship despite how well it had been going. That’s when I decide to die. I will my heart to stop beating. I don’t want to face yet another day alone.

  “Lord, I’m tired. Can I just come home?” The loud bleeps of my heart monitor drown out my thoughts and signal the answer to my prayers. I am going home and despite all the dirt I accumulated, God is going to forgive me. Drugs drove me to the brink of a coma, but despair, depression, and the destruction I created keep me there blocking out the light of hope and my future. And as quiet as it’s kept, I’m glad. I’ve been fighting all my life for love and acceptance and I am finally sick and tired. The monitor that is measuring my existence finally earns its keep when it flatlines. Strangely, I see all this happening, but I am not compelled to jump back into my weary body until I see my sister, Jasmine. Funny that I had forgotten all about her. I did not consider the pain that I would cause her when I decided to check out of life. I don’t feel worthy of her love, but that love brought me the will to stay.

  Jasmine

  Sammie
is in a coma and there is a good possibility that she will never come out of it. There is an equal possibility that if she does survive, she might never be the same. I feel so insignificantly small in the scheme of things, but I’m not ready to lose my sister. This is the second time in my life that someone I love is fighting to live and I hate every minute of it. With Dad, I told him it was okay to go to sleep because he’d lived a full life. He would’ve been bedridden if he had lived and I knew that he wouldn’t want to continue living that way. Although I wasn’t ready for him to leave, I had to trust God that my father would be in a better place. I am not so willing to accept anything less than full recovery for the sister whom I’ve just found. “Hell to the no. It can’t be over yet.”

  “Wake up, damn it.” I slap Sammie’s face with all the fury my hand contains. This isn’t about her anymore; it is about the people whom Sammie is leaving behind. I wait until we are alone to show her I’m not playing this shit with her. She can be melodramatic when she wants to be and frankly, I don’t have the time or patience for it. She needs to get her shit together—quick, fast, and in a hurry.

  “I said, wake the fuck up, damn it. I ain’t playing with you, Sammie.” She jerks the first time and withdraws from my fingers, but does not open her eyes or otherwise acknowledge that she felt the slap. I slap her again and this time she doesn’t even cringe. Defeated, I crumble onto the bed crying and praying that she’d be given another chance despite her dumb-ass playing. I cry until I have no more tears and then I fall asleep. In my dreams, Sammie is alive and well, but when I open my eyes and focus on the machines I realize it was just a dream.

  The doctors had to partially shave Sammie’s hair and she has small electrodes on her head to measure her brain’s activity. She is heavily sedated and is hooked up to a respirator. Fear of the unknown pushes me away from Sammie’s bed. I don’t want to look at her body anymore. I go out to the main waiting room, but that holds its own pain.