by Landis Lain
Jada handed the mail to her mother and flung a letter at Damon. It landed on the table in front of him.
“You got mail, knucklehead,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said, for once not rising to her provocation. He felt a million years old these days, instead of seventeen and a half. He couldn’t really call anyone and talk about his problems. Stump was on the black college tour and Ephraim was still in counseling after his New Year’s Eve melt down. Damon didn’t want to burden the still fragile boy with the woes of fatherhood. Ephraim’s mother had finally looked up his father, too, and Ephraim was going to meet with him sometime in the near future, once the counselor said that Ephraim was stable enough.
Damon turned the manila envelope over and over in his hands, not bothering to read the front of the envelope. He didn’t get much mail. What he did get amounted to college or military recruitment letters. One he couldn’t afford and the other he wanted to give a wide berth. He figured that this was more of the same.
“What is that?” asked his mother.
Damon shrugged.
“Open it, boy,” she said.
Damon ripped the end off of the letter and read the letter out loud. No sense having to repeat himself.
“Dear Mr. Hamilton, It is with great pleasure that we inform you that you have been selected-,” his voice faded away and he read the rest of the letter in silence.
“Selected for what?” asked his mother. He stayed silent and looked at her, speechless. She snatched the letter out of his hand and read it quickly. Then she screamed, jumped up and came around the table to hug Damon’s shoulders.
“What?” asked Jada, eyes wide.
“He won!” screamed his mother, tears streaming down her face.
“Won what?” asked Jada.
“The Millennium Gates scholarship,” said Mrs. Hamilton. She whooped and danced around the room.” Now he can go anyplace he wants to and finish any degree he wants to.”
Damon smiled, but felt too tired to jump up and down like his mother.
“Oh, congratulations, knucklehead,” said Jada, looking genuinely pleased. Then she sobered. “Now you can get away from all the drama.”
From down the hall came a thin wail. Ricky was up. Damon’s grin faded.
“MSU,” he said, giving the letter one last look. “Here I come.”
You don’t have to attend MSU,” said his father later, after he’d hugged and congratulated Damon. He told Damon over and over how proud he was of him.
“Yeah, dad,’ said Damon. “I do. I have Ricky to think about. I can’t just up and leave him.”
His father nodded.
“That is a very mature decision,” said Mr. Hamilton. “And if it’s about school, MSU is an excellent school. With this scholarship, you can live in the dorm, get the full college experience and still be there for Ricky.”
Damon brightened at that thought.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Don’t think I’m going to be running around on campus, trying to find you,” said his dad with a smile. Damon smiled slightly. “You’ll be independent, like you wanted to be.”
“Yeah,” said Damon. “But I really did want to go to Howard.”
Jada gave him a look of disdain and loathing.
“Damon doesn’t want to be happy, daddy,” she said. “He likes wallowing in his little pity party like somebody did something to him. Here he is going to have everything anybody would ever dream of; a big ten school is accepting him, his education is paid for, and he’s got this cute little baby, that somebody else is taking care of. He’s not giving up anything, and he’s still whining like a little punk.”
“Jada!” exclaimed her father, in stunned surprise. “What has gotten in to you?”
“Apologize at once, girl,” said her mother, with narrowed eyes. ‘We don’t belittle people in this house. And if you cannot do better, you can spend some time in your room by yourself.”
Jada stood staring at Damon for a few minutes.
“I apologize for saying you’re acting like a little punk,” said Jada, voice full of contempt. “Even though it’s true.”
Then she turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen.
April
Brielle
The day of the spring debutante ball dawn cold and crisp. April in Michigan was very unpredictable, but for once it was somewhat warm and not raining on the big day. Brielle, Sammie and Kyzie sat in different styling chairs with their hair in various stages of completeness.
“It’s going to be so fun,” said Sammie. “I cannot believe that we are juniors this year.”
“I know,” said Brielle, “Our dresses are so beautiful. We are going to be banging.”
“Smashing,” said Kyzie. “Totally!”
They all laughed.
“Do we have all the steps down?” asked Kyzie, always the one wondering if the dance was going to go well. They had to do one dance with the other junior debutantes and act as hostesses for the senior debutantes, who were making their debut this year. They had been practicing once a week for four months and Kyzie had been coaching them endlessly in their limited spare time.
“I think we can do the dance in our sleep,” said Brielle. She hummed a few bars of the music in her head.
“Hey, all,” said Jada, as she walked into the salon. She had the next appointment after Sammie with the stylist named Christine.
“Hey, girl,” said Brielle, smiling. Her stylist, Avis, was putting the finishing touches on her French roll. She instructed Brielle to close her eyes and sprayed her hair first with oil sheen and then with hair spray.
“That looks fabulous,” said Brielle, preening with the hand mirror. “We are going to be so perfect.”
“Did your mom pick up our dresses from the bridal shop?” asked Sammie.
“Yep,” said Jada. “Mom and Damon went to drop them off at the hall, so we can just hop into them when we get there.”
“How is Damon?” asked Sammie.
“Dealing with his little rug rat as usual,” said Jada.
“Are you still being mean to him?” asked Sammie.
“Yeah,” said Jada. “He deserves it.”
“Don’t keep it up on my account,” said Brielle. “It’s okay.” And to her surprise she really meant it.
“It’s not for you,” said Jada. “I just can’t stand him.”
They all laughed, even Brielle.
Later, they all got changed into their dresses and were getting ready for the debutante ball. They were chattering happily and helping each other put on their long purple sequined gloves. Their dresses were also purple with rhinestones around the collar and hoop skirts.
“I feel like a southern bell,” said Brielle, out loud to herself, practicing her curtsey in the mirror that was set up just outside the dressing room.
“You look like a queen,” said a deep voice from behind her.
Brielle whirled around with her hand to her chest. She could feel her heart pounding. There stood Damon, looking as handsome as she’d ever seen him, smiling down at her.
“I didn’t know that you were coming to the ball,” she said, looking back at him. She didn’t smile and locked her knees to keep from getting any closer to him.
Damon shook his head.
“I’m not,” he said gesturing to his baggy jeans, tee shirt and leather bomber jacket. He held up a bag that he was carrying in one hand. “Jada forgot her shoes and mom called me to bring them.”
“I’ll take them in to her,” said Brielle, holding out her gloved hand. Damon carefully hung the straps of the bag over her gloved wrist. Before she knew what was happening, he reached up and touched one loose curl, that hung by her right shoulder.
“You are so beautiful,’ he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else but didn’t know where to start. His eyes seemed to plead with Brielle.
“Yes?” she tilted her head to the side. If you’ve got something to say to me boy, get it said or get out of
my face.
“I hope you have a good time,” he said and felt crushed when she looked at him with disappointment in her eyes. He sighed heavily and turned on his heel.
“Thank you,” said Brielle and watched him walk away. She lifted her chin. For the first time she didn’t want to run after him and find out what was wrong. She smiled slightly and then turned and looked at herself in the mirror.
“You are so beautiful,” she said, smiling at her reflection. She blew herself a kiss, laughed to herself for her silliness and went to take Jada her shoes.
Damon
Damon put Ricky into his crib after his morning feeding. He’d already had a bath and a change of clothes, so he was sweet smelling and mellow tempered. The baby smiled up at Damon and his heart flipped over in his chest. He felt a brief moment of shame that he’d ever thought to abort Ricky. He caressed the baby’s cheek with the back of his hand. The doorbell rang.
“Be right back, buddy,” said Damon, leaning down to give him one last kiss. He went to open the door.
“Hey, Sasha,” he said.
“Hello, Damon,” she said, not bothering to meet his eyes. She didn’t have much to say to him now that she had finally figured out that he didn’t want anything to do with her if it didn’t involve Ricky. He strapped the baby into the seat and kissed the baby on the forehead. He helped her collect all of Ricky’s things and carted the baby in the car seat out to her car. Damon took a long breath to inhale Ricky’s sweet baby smell. Ricky smelled like the early flowers blooming in the yards around the neighborhood. He was going on four months old and Damon had never been so in love.
Sasha gave him a snotty look.
“I gotta go Damon,” she said. “I got stuff to do.”
He gave her long look and then straightened and closed the car door. He gave one last finger wave to Ricky, who was still watching him, and then watched Sasha drive away.
Damon had just finished changing Ricky’s bed sheets when the telephone rang. He started not to answer it, but didn’t feel like hearing his mother’s mouth, if she was forced to come all the way from the basement to answer the phone. She was in the middle of washing clothes, a chore she hated. She wouldn’t put an extension in the washroom downstairs because she didn’t want them sneaking in the basement and staying on the phone all night long.
Damon was thinking about his son; thinking about how much he loved him. Damon didn’t think there was anybody in the world that he loved more. He got a slight pang in his chest region when Brielle popped into his mind, but he told himself for the thousandth time that she was better off without him and all of his responsibilities. She was too young to be tied down to him and his baby. Besides, he had studying to do.
Ricky had been at Damon’s parents’ house for two straight weeks and everybody was a little down when Sasha came for him. Damon knew that Sasha’s mother was still mad about the baby and Sasha didn’t have too many maternal instincts so, Ricky would be back in a few days. Sasha and her mother feuded regularly. Whenever she got put out for back talking, she brought the baby to Damon.
Damon dropped the used sheets into the laundry basket outside his door on the way to the kitchen. He picked up the phone and answered.
“Hello.”
“Hello, this is Sparrow Health Center Labs, calling for a Mr. Damon Hamilton, said the deep, female voice. “This call is from Dr. Evers office.”
“This is Damon,” he said.
“We’ve completed the paternity testing, Mr. Hamilton,” said the voice. “It has been determined that Mr. Ricardo Anderson is not your son.”
“What?”
“We’ve completed the blood type testing, and there is no possible way that you could be this baby’s father,” said Dr. Evers. “We have notified the court. We will be sending out written confirmation of that fact in today’s mail.”
“But, he is my son,” said Damon. Disbelief and rage warred in his chest. “I’ve been taking care of him.”
“I’m sorry. Ms. Sasha Anderson is blood type A. You have blood type O. This baby is type AB,” said Dr. Evers. “That means that you are not this child’s father. A baby’s blood type is determined by a combination of its parent’s blood type.”
“She told me that he was mine,” said Damon. His chest was so tight that he could feel himself starting to wheeze. “He’s even named after me. His name is Ricardo Damon.”
“We also conducted a DNA test as ordered by the Circuit Court and you are not this baby’s father,” said Dr. Evers. “It is conclusive. I’m so sorry.”
“Can you talk to my mother?” he asked. He did not understand why his hearing wasn’t working properly.
“Certainly,” said Dr. Evers.
Damon called his mother to the phone in a trance.
“What boy?” she said, huffing from having stomped up the stairs.
“Phone for you,” he said, in a dead tone of voice. She took the phone from him, but not before she gave him a very close look with narrowed eyes.
“What is it?” she asked him as she put the receiver to her ear.
Damon turned and staggered to the bedroom that he shared with Ricky. He slammed the door and snatched the Winnie the Pooh crib sheets off the bed. The sheets tore like his heart. Next he ripped the bumper off and threw it across the room. He yanked the mattress off the crib. He smashed the first rung on the crib with his fist. By the time his mother rushed into the room and grabbed him he was halfway to destroying the crib and his hand was throbbing. He yanked away from his mother and saw that she was crying, too.
Sasha
Sasha looked at the letter in front of her. Even after she had gotten the call from the medical laboratory she had held out hope. But the letter had come in the mail to day. Damon was not Ricky’s father.
“Why do you keep looking at that piece of paper?” asked her mother. “Nothing has changed. That which is done in the dark will come to light.”
Sasha said nothing.
“I sued that boy for nothing,” said mother. “I spent all that money, based on your lies.”
“I’m sorry, mama,” said Sasha. She looked at her mother fearfully.
“Don’t you call me mama,” said mama. “Who is this baby’s father?”
Sasha could feel the tears well. She covered her face with her hands.
Brielle
“You want to go to the prom with me?”
Brielle looked up from her literature book. She was studying for her test on ‘Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. She’d already read the book and watched the movie, but she needed to solidify the literary terms in her mind so that she could ace the test.
“What?” she asked, looking up slightly, disorientated. “Oh, hi, Chauncey.” The librarian gave them a dirty look and Chauncey gestured for Brielle to step outside the library doors with him.
Brielle followed him to the doors and Chauncey opened one of the double doors and gestured for her to precede him.
She walked a few feet to stand clear of the doors.
“I wanted to know if you wanted to go to prom with me,” asked Chauncey, cocky and sure of himself.
Brielle looked at Chauncey, meeting his eyes with a cool confidence. He’d been very nice to her since her break up with Damon, always asking how she was and trying to carry her books. Before Damon, he’d never looked at her except to call her the stork or jail bait. She didn’t know what had brought about the change in attitude but she didn’t get the vibe that whatever Chauncey had in store for her would be to her benefit. Most of the football team treated her like she was royalty but she never felt comfortable with Chauncey. She narrowed her eyes.
“Why?” she asked. Chauncey looked taken aback.
“Cause I’d like to take you to prom,’ he said.
“What happened to Charlene?” asked Brielle, naming his latest conquest.
“She’s in the wind,” said Chauncey, cocky and careless. “So, what about it?” He gestured with his hand. Brielle gave him a long look.
“I’m really flattered, Chauncey,” she said choosing her words carefully. “But, I can’t go with you.”
“Why not?” asked Chauncey.
Brielle started to tell him that she didn’t like him and wouldn’t walk across the street with him, but thought better of that statement. Although she was finished worrying about what boys thought of her, she didn’t want to needlessly hurt his feelings. She’d had enough of hurt feelings to last a long time.
“My parents would think that you’re too old,” said Brielle, smiling to soften the blow. “You should probably go with another senior. Thanks for asking, though.” She left him standing in the hallway and went back to her studies, feeling better than she had in a long time.
Damon
Damon was sitting in his bedroom at his desk. Jada sat a plate in front of him. He looked at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of him but he couldn’t choke it down.
Jada had been kinder to him in the two weeks since they’d found out that Ricky wasn’t his child, but she still had not really forgiven him.
Damon had missed a week of school after the phone call and then threw himself into catching up his studies. He went to school, work, and came home in the same stupor of depression that had descended upon him. Ephraim and Stump came over, but he hadn’t wanted to talk to them either.
Ephraim seemed to understand a little better than Stump just how grief-stricken Damon felt, so Damon tolerated his company a little better. He’d even been able to share in Ephraim’s good news.