Disappearing Acts

by Terry McMillan

  After that I just went crazy. I’d go to the bathroom and cook up some more and do it. I was breaking up things so fast I couldn’t even slow down long enough to realize what was mine and what wasn’t. By the time I finished, it was so much sawdust in here that I couldn’t breathe, so I opened all the damn windows. My heart felt like it was gon’ pop outta my goddamn chest, and it wouldn’t slow down. What the fuck was I doing? And what did I just do? I had to get outta here, go somewhere, but I didn’t know where.

  I slammed the door and ran downstairs, since walking was outta the question. I was all the way in Queens when I saw the fuckin’ sun come up. My mouth felt like chalk was in it, but at least my fuckin’ heart had slowed down. I finally came to a park and sat down on a bench. But I couldn’t sit up, so I laid down.

  When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was. All I did know was that I didn’t have no address or no woman no more.

  * * *

  It didn’t take me but a couple minutes to grab my shit and get it outta there. I couldn’t believe the mess I made, but fuck it. I had a cab wait for me while I made three trips. I almost couldn’t close the cab door on the last one.

  Terri was thoughtful. She tried her best to do everything she could to make me comfortable.

  “You don’t have to feel obligated to sleep with me unless you just want to,” she said, handing me some blankets.

  I really didn’t wanna sleep with her but I needed somebody close to me, even if all I could do was pretend it was Zora. “Would you mind if I slept with you tonight?” I asked.

  Her face lit up, and she grabbed back the blankets.

  * * *

  In the morning, I made myself a vow. If I was gon’ clean up my act and get my shit together, I was gon’ have to make some changes. Number one, I was gon’ have to cut out all this fuckin’ drinking. Number two, I was going back to school. And number three, even though I missed Zora and my son already, I wasn’t gon’ show my face over there until I felt strong enough to look her in the eye and tell her that I was sorry.

  It took three months.

  33

  When I heard the buzzer, I almost dropped Jeremiah on the floor. The only person that pressed on it like that was Franklin. I ran toward the door. Then I made myself slow down. I was nervous. Didn’t know what to expect. I clutched Jeremiah, and from the top of the stairwell, I saw Franklin’s broad shoulders spread across the glass in the door. When I got to the bottom step, I looked at him.

  “Ain’t you gon’ open the door?” he called through the door.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Yeah, I got a gun full of bullets I been saving just for you. Come on, Zora, I just wanna see my son.”

  I opened the door slowly and then backed away. My heart was beating like 100 mph. Jeremiah was drooling on my sweatshirt.

  “He’s getting big, huh?” he said.

  I nodded and turned toward the stairs, still clinging to Jeremiah and afraid that Franklin just might have a gun, if he hated me as much as I thought he did. I reluctantly went up the stairs first. A man wouldn’t shoot a woman in the back.

  The first thing he did once we got inside was look around. I guess he wanted to see what I’d managed to salvage, and I was glad I had replaced lots of things. The place looked even better than when he lived here. I put Jeremiah down on the floor. Franklin had on a leather jacket, which I had never seen before, and he didn’t take it off or that Sherlock Holmes hat he was wearing. He looked like he was back down to his old size, and for some reason he looked much taller than I remembered. Jeremiah walked over and pulled his pants leg. He looked like a toy standing next to Franklin. Franklin smiled at him and picked him up. I found myself smiling too. This is his Daddy, I kept thinking to myself. His Daddy. He kissed Jeremiah on the lips and held him away and looked at him. “How you doing, my son, my son?”

  This broke my heart.

  “He’s got so big. Look at the feet on this kid,” he said. Jeremiah was touching Franklin’s face, and Franklin rubbed noses with him. Jeremiah giggled, and then Franklin started looking at me. He put Jeremiah down.

  “Thanks,” he said. “That’s all I wanted, to see my son.”

  Before I knew what to say, like, “Please don’t leave yet,” he already had his hand on the doorknob. The next thing I knew, he was out the door. I ran to the top of the stairs and yelled down. “Anytime you want to see him, you can, Franklin. He’ll always be your son.”

  I didn’t hear him answer, so I went back inside the apartment and flopped down on the couch. Jeremiah was climbing on a chair, trying to get something. I could hardly see through the tears in my eyes—he was a little blue blur. I wiped my eyes clear of all tears, but others replaced them.

  I still didn’t know where he lived or how I could get in touch with him if I wanted to. And like everything else I’d done, with the exception of giving birth, I wished I could rewind this movie and take it from the top.

  * * *

  Jeremiah was running through the house when the doorbell rang again, not fifteen minutes after Franklin had left. My heart jumped. I wanted to tell Jeremiah that that was probably his Daddy, coming back. After seeing us, he realized he missed us and still loved us and had had enough time to think and get his head back together.

  I raced downstairs as fast as I could. I was going to run into his arms and squeeze him and tell him how much I still loved him and how much I’ve missed him and God, was I glad he’s back. But it wasn’t Franklin. It was someone else, just as big. His chest took up the whole window, and I couldn’t see his face. Until he bent down. It was Franklin’s father.

  I opened the door, wondering why he was here.

  “Hello, Zora. I’m so sorry to bother you like this, honey, but can I come in?”

  “Sure, come on up.”

  “Would you look at my grandson? Come here, fella.”

  He reached and took Jeremiah out of my arms, and I started upstairs, trying to figure out what he was doing here. I knew something had happened.

  “Can I get you something?”

  “No, baby. Where’s Franklin?”

  “Franklin doesn’t live here anymore, Mr. Swift.”

  “You two just had a child. When did all this happen?”

  “Right after Thanksgiving.”

  “Where’s he living?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, doesn’t he stay in touch?”

  “As a matter of fact, you just missed him by a few minutes. It was the first time he’s been back. But he didn’t tell me where he’s living. I think he’ll come back soon.”

  “Well, what in the world happened, baby?”

  “It’s a long story, Mr. Swift.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  I sat down on the couch, and he sat down on a chair, with Jeremiah on his lap.

  “Franklin’s been laid off on and off for over a year. I’ve tried to be understanding and patient, but after a while it got to the point where I couldn’t handle it all—I just couldn’t. There never seemed to be any reward, any relief. It was too much for both of us.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Seems like everybody’s world is collapsing.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  He said he’d tried calling, but the number had been changed. I was waiting for him to say Darlene’s name, and I was holding my breath when he said it. Before he could finish telling me that she’d shot herself, all I was thinking was, Please don’t let her be dead. That would do Franklin in. When I heard him say she was in the hospital, that was almost good enough. Then he gave me the details, which I truly could’ve done without. He said she’d done it at their house, but he wasn’t home. Darlene had been drinking and had told Mrs. Swift that she wanted to talk. Naturally, Mrs. Swift didn’t feel like listening, so Darlene covered the living room floor with plastic, found one of Mr. Swift’s guns, and did it right there. Since she was
drunk, she had only grazed her head. He said she’d even left a note, obviously meant for Mrs. Swift, that said, “I told you I wanted to talk.” I swear, I sat there, watching his lips move until I didn’t hear any sound coming out. I looked at him so hard that for the first time I saw how much Franklin looked like him. Then I couldn’t believe that Franklin’s father was really sitting in my living room with his grandson on his lap, telling me that his daughter had just shot herself in his house. What connection did I have to this man—this family? Well, they were my family in a way, weren’t they? “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I would like to find my son,” he said.

  I wished I had asked Franklin where he lived. How stupid of me. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Swift. I have no idea where he’s living now. He didn’t tell me. How is Mrs. Swift handling this?”

  “She’s mad as hell.”

  It sounded just like the bitch, but of course I couldn’t say that. Jeremiah climbed down off his Grandpa’s lap and went to play in the toilet. Usually, I stop him, but right now I couldn’t.

  “I moved out,” he blurted.

  “Moved out?”

  “I haven’t had a real marriage in twenty-four years, baby. I’ve despised that woman for so long that I even had myself fooled. But there’s only so much scotch you can drink. That won’t get me through this. She’s full of hatred, and all these years I’ve let her unload it on our children. And look what’s happened. Franklin is a good man, you know. He’s just spent his whole life trying to prove to us that he’s worth our love. And poor Darlene. So vulnerable. Franklin is too, really, but he’s just done a better job of disguising it.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” I said, before I even realized it.

  “Well, it’s a shame that it took something like this for me to understand, but she’ll be living with me when she gets out of the hospital. This time, I want to make sure she’s cared for.”

  “Well, that’ll help her recover, I’m sure.”

  He was popping his knuckles, one by one. Then he took a pen and some kind of receipt out of his jacket and wrote on it. “Well, look. If you hear from Franklin, give him this number where I can be reached.” He stood up, as massive as his son. “You take care, and if there’s anything you need, you use that number.”

  “Thank you. Maybe Jeremiah and I’ll come visit you soon.”

  “That’d be nice,” he said, and kissed me on the cheek. I walked him downstairs and watched him through the glass until I couldn’t see him anymore. When I heard Jeremiah yell out “Mama,” I looked up, and he was standing at the top of the stairs. I ran up three at a time and grabbed him before he was able to even think about taking another step. Lord knows I’d die if anything ever happened to my son.

  34

  I went back to work.

  I realized that since I was good at construction, then that’s what the fuck I’d have to do till I could get enough education to do something better. School was kicking my ass, but I surprised myself. I’m not as dumb as I thought I was. I was learning how to write a decent sentence, and in a few short weeks in this psychology class I realized something I already knew: that I hated my mother. But what I didn’t realize was that I used every woman I ever had, trying to get them to make up for what my Moms never gave me. This was some sick shit, I thought, but I fit the bill.

  I reopened my membership at the gym and started pumping iron again. Now I’m back down to 215. I look good, if I do say so myself. And even though Terri’s been real cool, I knew she was starting to get attached to me and shit, so I found myself a room, which is where I been living for the past month.

  I miss Zora and Jeremiah, but I ain’t been back over there since that last time, and that was in February. Hell, it’s June now. I did send her a two-hundred-dollar money order, but I didn’t put no return address on the envelope.

  All I been doing is working, studying, and doing my woodworking. I been trying not to think about either one of ’em, and sometimes I fool myself by pretending that don’t neither one of ’em exist. But that ain’t got me nowhere. Every time I masturbate, it’s Zora who’s stroking me. Every time I fucked Terri, the only way I could come was if I pretended it was Zora. And sometimes, late at night, I still walk by Zora’s apartment and stand across the street behind a tree, smoking a cigarette, and stare up at her through the window. I’ve watched her pushing the laundry cart through the snow, with Jeremiah sitting on top. I’ve watched her lug groceries home in the rain, and I knew that if we could ever start all over, she wouldn’t have to do so much. I know I want her back, but I still need more time. Our whole problem was about bad timing. I didn’t have nothing besides a big dick to offer her when I met her, and I can’t go back until I got more than that.

  I wonder would it matter to her if she knew I finally got my divorce? It’s probably too late now. And lately I been wondering if she coulda met somebody else, and if so, does my son call him Daddy? I was torturing myself with this question, really, and figured there was only one way to find out.

  * * *

  I stood outside on the steps for the longest time before ringing the buzzer. I didn’t know what I was gon’ say to her, really. I laid on the buzzer and waited.

  She looked even better than she did last time. And my son—what a good-lookin’ kid.

  “How you doing?” I asked her, after I sat down.

  “Just fine. And you?”

  “I’m all right. You looking good,” I said. I hope this didn’t mean she was fucking somebody else and enjoying it.

  “So do you, Franklin.”

  Damn, something sure smelled good. Something told me not to come over here around dinnertime all hungry and shit. I been living offa sardines and crackers. “So is everything going all right?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s the singing going?”

  “I’m doing more writing than singing these days.”

  “No shit. Anything good happening?”

  “I sold one,” she said, so low I couldn’t hardly hear her.

  “Speak up, baby. Did you just mumble that you sold one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shit. Well, congratulations! You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

  “I am, really.”

  “I always knew you’d make it, baby. But how come you ain’t singing?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “I always have.”

  “Because I really couldn’t stand the idea of being on the road and leaving Jeremiah all the time. Plus I realized that I don’t have to be on a stage to make my music come alive.”

  “You feel good about this, then?”

  “I do.”

  “I miss your singing, Zora.” I couldn’t believe I just said that, but fuck it, I want her to know. “And I miss you.” I figured wasn’t no sense in lying. Jeremiah was climbing on my shoulders and I was digging every minute of it. But I didn’t come over here to cop no plea. I didn’t come over here to beg her to take me back either. I just wanted her to know how I still felt.

  “I miss you too, Franklin.”

  That was music to my ears. “So I see you feeding my son. Look at these little ham-hock thighs and the hands on this kid. Baseball mitts, right?”

  “His doctor said he’s in the ninetieth percentile for his age group. So. How’ve you been doing, for real?”

  “I’m in school.”

  “What kind of school?”

  “College.”

  “Are you serious, Franklin? That’s wonderful!”

  “I’m back doing construction too. Probably will be till I get my degree.”

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear this. I’ve known all along that you had it in you.”

  I could tell she was being sincere, and I knew that deep down she was probably thinking, What took you so long, motherfucker? But Zora knows what and when to say shit, and I appreciated it. Neither one of us said anything for what seemed like hours. We just kinda looked at each o
ther like fools.

  “What you thinking about?” I asked.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What made you come over here today?”

  “Because I couldn’t come until I knew I wasn’t mad no more. And I couldn’t come until I could hold my head up like a man and not be embarrassed about what I was or what I wasn’t. I couldn’t come back and face you like this until I felt good about being Franklin again. And I couldn’t come back here until I could tell you I’m sorry.”

  She looked up at me, and I saw how glassy her eyes was—I mean were. School is helping me correct this kinda shit. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “And I’m sorry too,” she said.

  “You know, I took a lotta things for granted, and since I been by myself, all I’ve had time to do is think. Put some things in perspective. And you wanna know what conclusions I came to?”

  She nodded.

  “That you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and if I fucked up and lost you, then it’s my own damn fault.”

  “You haven’t lost me, Franklin.”

  “You ain’t met nobody else?”

  “No. What about you?”

  “Naw. I been too busy anyway.”

  “You don’t know how many nights I’ve prayed for this—that you’d come back to us.”

  “I ain’t back, baby.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I need more time. I still got quite a few bricks to lay in order to make sure my foundation is solid. I’m sick of doing things half-ass. This time I wanna do it right. But are you telling me that you would want me to come back?”

  “My heart does, but a lot has happened since I saw you too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like we’re moving.”

  “Moving where?”

  “Back to Toledo.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to live in New York anymore.”