by Tiana Laveen
It was an odd winter, barely any snowfall, yet, the temperatures dipped to arctic lows. But, there was an advantage to this. The weather made for great writing. He was typing at a speed that he found a bit alarming, but the ideas flowed and the more information he uncovered while he researched the life of Peter Jones, dug around his own home for clues and spoke to well-read historians, the more he felt at peace. That was until the previous evening, when he’d happened upon an old family album of himself and his family—his mother, father, two brothers, and sister.
Some of the ugliest memories he’d tucked away for so long, kept buried like bones beneath the soil, came to light, no matter how he struggled to keep them hidden, where they belonged. Hence, the memory he’d just unearthed: the little boy who’d bravely put an end to his patriarchal terror and, in doing so, had become Sloan, as a boy’s hero. But thoughts such as these gave him a sense of loss, perhaps even abandonment. These days he no longer craved isolation; someone had shown him what being loved and cared for truly felt like. He was no longer used to an empty bed, for Emerald often kept him fantastic company, but this weekend she had visitors of her own, and he was left there to once again tend to his warped and twisted thoughts.
Like winding, hellacious weeds without a caretaker, they grew up and around with no one to tend to them, whack them back down to nubs, or kill them altogether. Sloan understood literature, the intimate creation of books and the reading of prose. He comprehended music of all sorts. He accepted the tedious yet necessary steps regarding research. He’d mastered how to create compelling yet factual articles, but one thing eluded him: the human condition as it pertained to love and broken hearts.
How did it happen? Why did heartbreak linger and how was one to get rid of the emotions it left behind? No, there was no shrink or best friend who could wave a magic wand and make sense of it all. This was a world he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around. It had proved hard to accept that the first people to break his heart had been his parents and, worst of all, the wound had never mended. Perhaps for that reason he’d picked a woman who had truly never loved him. He was used to it…
There was comfort in familiarity, regardless of how dysfunctional it might be. His father was predictable; his work at the paper, too. When he shook his own apple cart, at that point his life changed, subject to his pursuit of dreams—fears and comfort be damned. Comfort. Such a harsh word that resembled a slap across the face. The pain tasted chalky going down. Oh, how his entire body would pulse when his ex-wife would berate him… and yet, pieces of his father dwelled within her, so he withstood the hurt, let it pass the test of time. Isn’t that what people do when they love you?
TEAR. YOU. DOWN.
Some people could blame their parents’ wayward ways, including their alcohol abuse, a drug addiction, and things of that sort. Sloan couldn’t do such a thing, which made it all the worse when it finally dawned on him that the hulking man in suspenders and white shirts smudged after a day of work had been nothing but a mean son of a bitch for no apparent reason, other than simply doing the Devil’s bidding. Bill Edger Steele had small sky blue eyes, crimped at the ends. His hands were massive, like deflated basketballs… leathery, worn and hard. Everything he said came out like a harsh reprimand; even his simplest requests were seasoned with abhorrence.
‘Pass the goddamn salt!’
‘Go to fucking bed!’
These were every day requests. Rebecca, the eldest, would conveniently find ways to rid herself from their father’s presence until, one day, she was gone for good. Sloan had never found out where she’d gone until he was well into his teenage years. She’d run away with a man ten years her senior, who, unfortunately, ended up being quite similar to their father.
His two younger brothers, Davis and Benjamin, were just as afraid as he was, if not more so. He couldn’t explain to his first grade teacher why he—his father’s second eldest—never wanted to go home, the only child wandering about the empty school halls trying to find new things to explore.
Bill left no bruises on his body, no marks or drawn blood. That wasn’t his style. No, he simply used his mouth, and those hits stung like wasp asses jammed in the side of a tender neck. From the outside looking in, Dad had been a wonderful hardworking man. But inside of that home, he ignited emotional flames, then spread them with his own special verbal blend of tears-inducing gasoline.
Sloan glanced over at his dresser. The large, bulky photo album sat there, beckoning him. He turned away from it, shoved his feet into his worn black slippers, and stormed away to fix a pot of coffee.
I can’t look at you today, Bill, and probably not tomorrow, either. You being dead doesn’t stop me from wishing I’d killed you first. I hate that I still hate you, because you’re just not worth it…
Blinking red lights from across the street proved a distraction for Emerald. She closed and opened her eyes, sleep not quite prevailing. It was three in the morning and the new jazz bar welcomed patrons. The place kept strangely quiet as if secret jazzy séances were being conducted within its walls, but the annoying light would filter through her blinds if she didn’t draw the dark curtains closed. Tonight she’d forgotten to do that, but she refused to move one muscle to get the task done.
“I think it might snow…” Emerald murmured as she sat Indian style on the living room floor, her daughter’s head in her lap.
Nikki reminded her of a little girl, her knees curled up to her chest and a peaceful smile across her face. The dried tear stains remained visible, as a reminder of the emotional connection they shared, reignited through communal secrets and confidences.
She hoped her daughter’s weren’t just tears of sadness, but ones of joy and relief, too. She nestled her child a bit closer, lifting her knee in such a way as to bring her baby’s huddled body closer to her own heart. Stroking her braids with soothing caresses, she etched this moment forever in her mind. In twenty-four hours, Nikki would be gone, off to California and then back in Afghanistan a month later. She paid close attention to the thick, velvety texture of her child’s hair, the strands intertwined and flowing across her thighs, pulsing with a reddened glow radiating from the windows.
The color of her flawless skin reminded Emerald of her ex husband. How much Nikki looked like her father! Content, she enjoyed the moment, thanking God for another day with her child. She planned to take her and Mya to a wonderful raw oyster bar for lunch, indulge in a bit of shopping in town, and perhaps she’d drive past Sloan’s home, too, to give them all an informal introduction. Her leg fell asleep but she didn’t dare move; she could hear faint music from across the way.
The notes sounded familiar. Emerald bobbed her head to the tune, a sense of comfort coming over her, one she’d not felt in a mighty long time. Nothing in this crazy world was perfect, but a sense of perfection dwelled in the tiny kernels of her home-grown insanity—for, to know oneself, one could simply look at their child. The fruit never fell too far from the tree, even if that tree dwelled in the Garden of Eden, sun-baked in judgment, condemned yet tempting, as it wound and danced to the music of the seductive serpent’s hiss…
“Yes! I’m coming by tonight, I promise.”
“You need a shoulder to cry on? Mine is available.”
She couldn’t help but smile at his words. “I’m fine, believe it or not. We had a great time.” Emerald placed her notepad and favorite silver pen in her purse. “Nikki and Mya will be moving back to Maxim after this last tour of duty is over. I’m sorry we didn’t have time to swing by.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. That’s great news that they’re moving to Maxim. I wish I could’ve met her, but I know this visit was strictly about you and her. I’m proud of you, Emerald.”
“I’m proud of me, too.” She clicked off the nightstand lamp in her bedroom and made her way up the hall towards the kitchen. “So what about you, Michelle, and Joel? How’d everything go?”
“Pretty damn good,” he said. “They’re excited to meet you.”
“I look forward to it. Did you tell them about your roommate?” she teased.
“Yes, I did. Of course, Joel was pleased that he was right and Michelle was confused, still not completely buying it. She’s like me that way. You can show us somethin’ right to our damn face and we’ll deny it. I know that about myself now, and I don’t like it. I’m working on it though.”
“And you’re doing a damn good job. Speaking of which, how’s the book coming along?” She grimaced when she noticed a call cutting through. ‘AUNT SUGAR’ flashed on her cell phone screen. She hit ignore and continued with her conversation. “Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
“I was just kidding! Seriously? You’re pulling my leg.”
“Well, it’s not finished as in ready to go to print or anything but the first draft is complete. I want you to read some of this. I missed you…” Sloan’s voice poured over her, comforting like melting chocolate.
“I missed you, too. I can’t wait to see it. I have a lot to tell you but—” The phone beeped once again.
“Someone is tryna call you.”
“I know…” She twisted her lips.
“Go ahead and take the call. I’ll see ya tonight. I love you.”
“I love you, too. See you soon.” And then, the call ended. On a long sigh, she clicked over.
“Been tryin’ to get a hold of you all weekend! Here it is, Monday, and you are just now talking to me. I coulda been over here dead!”
…I doubt it. I saw no celebratory parades on T.V.
“Nikki was here, Sugar.”
“I know, you told me she was coming. I wanted to speak to her but you ain’t never put her on the damn phone. I tell ya one thing; I’m about sick and tired of you and her treatin’ me any ol’ kinda way. One day I’ll be dead and gone, just like my brother, and then what will you have to say for yourself?”
…I’ll say, ‘God sure is good.’
“You’re right, Sugar. I’m sorry.” Emerald rummaged through her purse, ensuring her car keys were inside, then paused. Her heart beat a bit faster when she realized her plans would have to change. “Look, I was going to wait to talk to you about this later on in the week, but I guess this is the time after all.” She glanced at the digital time on the microwave, pulled out the kitchen table chair, and plopped down onto it. A sad smile lined her face as she envisioned Nikki sitting on it…
“Time for what?” Sugar’s voice came crashing through her peace.
“There’s no other way to deal with this than by offering the truth. Nikki is—”
“Pregnant! She done let some no good son of uh gun knock ’er up. I knew it! I dreamt about fish a few weeks ago, you know…just like I told you. Who tha father? Some lowlife? What about her career? If I had to do it all over again, I would have just—”
“No, Sugar, Nikki’s not pregnant.”
“Oh… well, what is it then?”
“Nikki is gay, Sugar. My daughter is a lesbian.” Then came the moment of silence. Emerald could almost envision Sugar bowing her head in prayer, squelching a scream and trembling as if she’d seen a ghost. Perhaps Peter Jones had paid her a visit after all.
“She’s going to Hell.”
“Sugar, I’m not here for this. If you sit here on this phone and tell me my child is damned because of who she loves, I will hang up on you and you may never hear from me again.”
“But it ain’t me that said it, it’s God! The good book says—”
“The good book says, the good book says, the good book says!” Emerald’s throat instantly burned as she screamed at the top of her lungs. “The good book says a lot of things people like you don’t quote, because it’s not convenient! What about the good book saying that you, as a woman, shouldn’t be wearing slacks! I saw you sporting capris and jeans when I came to visit two summers ago.”
“But that’s—”
“The good book says you aren’t supposed to be eating pork, yet I distinctly recall a pork chop meal you proudly prepared last Sunday, with all the fixins… and what about that chitterling dinner a few weeks ago with some coleslaw on the side, or that skillet full of greasy bacon for Uncle Kirby?”
“Sleeping with the same sex is an abomination!”
“And so is cursing someone for a sin you’re not tempted by, all the while you sit up there on your holy throne looking down at everyone else, sinning away and acting like you get a pass because you’re straight!” Emerald’s chest felt as if a bunch of electric wires were attached to the damn thing, giving her energy and sucking her breath away all at the same time. “Cherry picking is what you do best! This is the attitude he had to face. This is why he lived his life like that, ’cause of you, his mama, his father, and everyone else in that little ass backwards town!”
Tears streamed down her face, born of anger, sorrow, and everything in between.
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“My daddy, that wonderful, good hearted, hard working man you’ve marked as a saint. James Marshall St. Claire the third was gay!”
“How dare you! You watch yo’ mouth! I oughta snatch your lying tongue clean out of it! Don’t you ever say—”
“Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay!!! Daddy was gay as the sky is blue and the grass is green and the Earth is round! Sugar, the secret is out, the charade is over, and I no longer give a shit!” Emerald snatched her purse up by the strap and hauled it clear across the room, causing it to topple over several artificial plants. “He didn’t have the heart to tell you, so he lived a lie to keep everybody else happy. He died miserable on account of everybody else! Worrying about what others would think and more importantly, how he’d be treated! He didn’t want anything to happen to me and my brother. He needed to make sure we had a roof over our heads so he kept quiet and I watched him suffer, die depressed and alone!”
Her heart broke into tiny pieces, all over again.
“Lies! You’re lyin’!”
“I’m not and you know it. Let me explain something to you. I spent this weekend enlightening my daughter as to who her grandfather was. And you know what? I had to feel the heartache all over again! The secrets I’d hidden, the ones he made me promise to take to my own grave. And I agreed to it. Not because I was ashamed of him, Sugar, but I felt sorry he was hurtin’ to the point it would’ve killed him if anyone else knew! That’s why I cried when she told me the truth—this when she was just a child herself. That’s why I cried even before her confession, ’cause deep down I already knew. I believe many parents know; we are just either in denial, or waiting…
“I wasn’t ashamed of my daughter. She thought I was, but she just didn’t understand…until now. Daddy made me promise to never tell nobody all those years ago, and so I didn’t, but I pray he forgives me because two nights ago, I broke my promise to him in an effort to give his granddaughter some comfort. His secrets were no longer serving a good purpose. It was time for them to be used in a more beneficial way.”
“You shut your damn mouth! My brother wasn’t no damn homosexual! Now, I don’t know what you think you know, but—”
“He was my father! My best friend! Why would I lie about this, Sugar? WHY?!!!”
“Because you’re hurtin’. Just ’cause Nikki is confused don’t give you the right to throw my James under the bus.”
“He was never under the bus, Sugar, ’cause he was too busy hiding in the damn closet!” Emerald shook in her seat. Sweat poured down her face and her anxiety mounted as if upon a horse. “Sugar,” she said, her voice quaking as she tried to grab her composure and squeeze it tight to her chest. “I need to talk to you, and I need you to please be quiet and listen to me. Can you please just give me ten minutes with no interruptions? If you can’t, tell me so and I’ll hang up right now.”
Sugar went silent, then said, “…Yes… I can be quiet,” she said faintly.
Emerald tapped her fingernail on the table, trying to steady her nerves. “First of all, I’m not in the business of hurting pe
ople. You know me better than that. I’m not perfect, never tried to say I was, but I am hardly a liar, nor would I have the audacity to lie about my own father, who is not here to defend himself. Now with that said, here is the truth—straight, no chaser. James, your brother, my father, was a good man. No one can dispute that as far as I’m concerned.
“The matter of who he was attracted to had little to do with his character. It didn’t change what a wonderful father, brother, and friend he was. This man had hundreds of people attend his funeral. People all over knew Daddy, and they respected him. He would never have told me what I’ve just shared with you, Aunt Sugar, but something happened that forced him to do just that.”
She took a deep breath before continuing.
“One night, I was supposed to be staying over at a friend’s house…”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this…” Sugar interrupted, her voice low, her tone weak. A small part of Emerald felt sorry for the woman, as well as love and anger. “Go ahead… just ’cause you say it don’t make it true, but imma listen anyway.”
Emerald rolled her eyes and bit back a retort. “Here’s what happened. I came back home because I’d forgotten some magazines she and I were going to look at and she only lived a couple of blocks away, so I went back home to get them. That was our thing, skating, that dance club I used to go, the movie theater, and looking at all the fashions… stuff I really couldn’t afford but would find a way to get something similar once Daddy got paid. So anyway, I double-backed to the house. As soon as I walked inside, it was like a whole ’nother place. Instead of the lights being on and Daddy sitting there in his chair reading, on the phone or watching television, the lights were all out. I had been gone for about thirty minutes or so; forty, max. I flipped on the light in the living room and saw two empty wine glasses on the coffee table. I found that strange since Daddy rarely had company over. You know he kept to himself.”
“Yes, he just worked and came home, accordin’ to him.”
“Right. So then I got to thinking it was funny, seeing those glasses like that. I figured he was seeing some woman and hadn’t told me yet. I’d been encouraging him to get back into dating, but he’d always blow me off and tell me he didn’t have time for all of that. So I crept up the steps, not wanting to interrupt. I was prepared to tease him about it the next day, and it was hard to not laugh as I had all sorts of thoughts in my head about my straight-laced daddy having some sort of romantic interlude. I went in my room and got the magazines, tiptoeing all the way. As I was going back down the steps, careful to not make them creek, his bedroom door suddenly swung open and a man I’d never seen before came out. A naked man.”