Her body tensed as she stood at the door. This was the moment she’d dreamed about ever since she was younger: how she would stand before her aunt a success and rub it in her face. She had the envelope full of money to give to her little cousins in her Fendi purse so she could watch their faces and tell them to buy whatever they wanted. Yes, she had something to prove, she thought. After all the horrible things she was called, after how she was told she would turn out, how she was told that nobody would want her because she was molested as a child—it was only right that she throw it in her aunt’s face and prove her wrong. Today was the day of reckoning. She could hear movement inside the apartment—the boys playing, the scent of dinner being cooked—perfect timing, she thought.
Keyshia lifted her hand to knock on the door, but she stopped. She raised her hand again, same thing. She put her head down and reached inside and pulled out the two envelopes that had her cousins’ names on them and slid them under the door. She stood up, smiled, and walked away.
Still unable to break old habits, Clyde listened for movement in the apartment before he entered, and as always, the house was as quite as a mouse. He walked to the kitchen and saw nobody was there. He walked toward Martha’s room and tapped on the door before he opened it and saw no one was home. He breathed a sigh of relief because he was happy that he didn’t have to go through the motions with Martha and could just put the money he had for her on the kitchen table and leave.
Clyde decided to go into his old room just to see if everything was still intact—it was. He sat on the end of the bed, and for some reason his former sanctuary seemed much smaller. He surveyed the room and smiled as he looked at the torn-out sports figures that he had taped all over the walls of his room. He looked on his dresser and saw a picture of him and his two brothers when they were much younger, smiling widely as they wore their Sunday-best outfits; they all seemed so close and innocent back then. Then he picked up another photo of his mother smiling bright and wide in her teenage years. She was so beautiful, Clyde thought. For a boy to live a lifetime and never know the feeling of a mother’s love was unnatural. Unless proper attention is given, the boy’s heart would turn into a stone. He’d never learn how to feel, he’d never learn how to give love, and he’d never learn how to receive love. He would always find that true love was elusive and hard to find and never realize that he need look in only one place—the place he never searched: within himself. Until he’d met Keyshia, Clyde never had a girlfriend, no one that he was even remotely interested in. But he was fortunate; he’d found a kindred soul. A one-in-a-billion match—someone who not only loved him for who he was, but someone whom he could actually love back. When something like that happens, there’s no power on this great earth that can separate them. Not only would they live for each other, they would die for each other!
Clyde fell asleep cradling his mother’s picture in his hand until Martha woke him.
“Clyde!” Martha said as she towered over him. Clyde popped up and blinked his eyes rapidly, not sure where he was at. “Clyde, baby, you home.”
Clyde stared up at Martha, realizing where he was, and stood up, kind of embarrassed that he’d fallen asleep. “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he said as he straightened out the wrinkles on the bed.
“Boy, you ain’t got nothing to be sorry about,” Martha cooed. “This is your home.”
Clyde gave her a light smile and nodded. They walked out of the room, and she quickly started complaining about money.
“I’m just coming back from the supermarket, and I could barely afford to buy something ’cause everything so expensive.”
When they got to the kitchen, Clyde helped her unpack the groceries and she started digging into him.
“I ain’t seen you in God knows when, Clyde. Why you just up and left your auntie? You know I’m concerned about you,” she chided.
Clyde shrugged. “I don’t know. I been kinda busy lately.”
“Too busy to even call to let me know how you doing? And who’s this girl I hear you running ’round with? You ain’t been with them no-good girls. Why start now? And what’s this stuff about you getting yourself in trouble? Boy, you ain’t doing right.” Her mouth was running a hundred miles an hour, and Clyde grew impatient. He couldn’t stand when she threw the guilt trip on him, and he decided to cut it short.
“I’m sorry, Martha, but I’m in a little rush. I’m going out of town for a few days, and I promise I’ll talk to you when I come back.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of money and handed it to her. “That’s a thousand dollars; I wanted to make sure you was okay.”
Martha’s frown instantly turned into a smile. She gave him a hug and thanked him several times. “You know, you looking more and more like you mother every day. Yep, I remember it was just like yesterday, me and your mother dressing up for the weekend like twins.” She smiled and said, “See, nobody on earth could love your mother more than me, and nobody ever will, that’s for sure. That’s why I do what I did for you boys.” Clyde had heard this a million times before.
She walked him to the door and said, “Sonny comes ’round here all the time to check on me. Make sure I’m okay, to see if I need anything. You know they done took you off my budget and I ain’t got much coming in?” Clyde wanted to tell her to get a job and stop complaining like Ceasar had said, but he could never tell her that, he thought. But it was the truth. It seemed that she thought they were in debt to her for life since she took them in as kids. But she’d received a good penny from the state and government to keep them, so they should be even like Ceasar always said. Martha was just plain greedy and strived to make them feel guilty every chance she got.
At the door, Clyde turned around to give her a quick kiss and bounce, but she stopped him. “Clyde, now you know it ain’t none of my business, but I talks to Sonny and he said that he need your help with something, but you ain’t willing to help him out.” Clyde was surprised to hear her mention this and frowned.
“Now you know I stay out of y’all business on what you do, but you should really think about helping him ’cause he your brother and you gots to stand by each other.” Clyde didn’t say a word and just listened. Did she know exactly what Sonny had in mind? He was sure she knew what Sonny did for a living because of the amount of times she’d helped and defended Sonny over the years whenever he got himself in trouble.
“Just think about what I said, okay? And I see you when you get back.”
Clyde nodded and backed out of the door with a bad taste in his mouth.
The last place he stopped off before he went home was to see a brother from the neighborhood by the name of Jimmy. Jimmy was a local guy who practiced holistic healing with herbs and vitamins. People sometimes called him the mad scientist because he concocted various capsules that you could take for whatever ailed you. As always, Clyde caught him on 127th Street and Lenox at the outdoor flea market next to Sylvia’s restaurant in the lot owned by Mr. Smalls, who sold hats, T-shirts, and other items to the tourists who came by the busload to eat in the restaurant.
“Jimmy!” Clyde yelled, and waved for him to come over. He was a smooth cat who seemed not to rush for anyone. He acknowledged Clyde with a nod and continued with his conversation.
He strutted over five minutes later and greeted Clyde like a lost brother with a hug and a bright smile. “Brother Clyde, long time no see.”
Clyde smiled and said, “Good to see you, Jimmy.”
“So what can I do for you, young brother?”
“Well, I need something special today and maybe you can help me.”
Jimmy smiled and said, “You know I got what you need. Lay it on me.”
“I need some pills that would take you out.”
“Sleeping pills?” He frowned.
“The permanent ones, and I need them in an hour.”
Chapter 24
_______________
The notorious Sing Sing state prison in Ossining, New York, was huge and intimidating. Cly
de’s mouth went dry and his palms started to sweat as he and Keyshia waited for his name to be called for his twenty-five-minute visit. Keyshia held him close to absorb as much of his pain as she could, for her man would soon come face-to-face with a man he knew so little about yet who had caused him so much pain.
Finally, he heard his name called: “Clyde Barker.”
Electricity shot through his body as he stood to face the inevitable. Keyshia stood up with him and grasped his hand. She looked him in the eye and assured him that everything would be all right and that she would be there for him upon his return. They hugged each other as if their lives depended on it, until Clyde finally had the courage to break free, nodding to Keyshia that he was okay.
Inside the bowels of Sing Sing, Clyde sat and waited at the table and stool that was in the visitor/inmate area. Sweat drenched his body and clothes. Then he heard the echo of an opening mechanical door, causing excitement among the visitors as they stood up from their metal chairs, peeking and peering about. Easy, he continued to repeat to himself, be easy. Suddenly, the first line of men appeared, all looking around the room and beaming. All the men wore the standard prisoner visiting garb of bright orange jumpsuits and shower flip-flops. Each guard pointed to where each prisoner’s guest was sitting. One by one, the prisoners rushed over to their loved ones in joyous fashion, and all hugged and kissed as if they hadn’t seen one another in years. Some hadn’t, Clyde thought, but he was sure that this prisoner would not be greeted as such.
Clyde searched each face, unsure of how his father looked, until one face appeared awfully familiar—the spitting image of his oldest brother, Ceasar. Clyde’s heart skipped when the CO pointed over in his direction. Tunnel vision set in as he watched this man walk toward him. Clyde stood up, not wanting the man to think for a second that he was superior to him. Clyde’s insides were a raging storm; he wanted to scream, yell, curse, but he couldn’t, so he braced himself for anything. The man had all the elements of a Barker male: smooth, almond brown skin, muscular broad shoulders, thick, powerfully sculptured arms, and deep, discerning eyes. Face-to-face now, Clyde stood in equal height to this man who was obviously his father.
Neither knew what to say or what to do. Finally, the senior Barker managed to utter the first uncomfortable words: “Hello, son.”
Clyde refused to answer him, or maybe he was unable to respond. His father seemed to understand and sat down. Clyde remained standing and eyed this man who was his father, who tried to make small talk and smiled. “I always thought that Ceasar or Sonny would be the first one to visit me, but I’m just as happy to see you, Clyde.” He beamed in admiration at his last-born son. “You know, your mama named you after her grandfather, who was once a great blues singer from New Orleans, Clyde Waters.” He lost his bluster when he saw that Clyde was not the least interested in his banal short talk. He knew Clyde was there for answers.
“I know how hard this must be for you, son, and I understand if you don’t know what to say.” The senior Barker rubbed his hand over his eyes and continued, “Whatever the reason you came here to see me, it took a lot of courage to do so, so what I’ll do is relieve you of having to ask certain things which I’m sure you may want answered.” Clyde remained silent and allowed him to speak. “I knew this day would someday come, and I thought about it a million times, and even to this point I still don’t know what to say.” He turned and stared off for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Son, I love your mother more than life itself and would never, ever lay one finger on her pretty head.” Clyde turned toward him and gave him an icy glare. “We never even had so much as a argument, much less me putting my hands on her. Your mother was strong, strongest woman I’ve ever known, and she would never tolerate any form of abuse on her or you boys.” His father’s face flushed. “The day everything happened, I was so stoned and drunk that I honestly don’t remember anything about that evening. The only thing I remember was making love to your mother, and the next thing you know I hear screaming and woke up with my gun in my hand and your—” He couldn’t finish and became too emotionally overwhelmed to go on. Clyde sat down finally and watched his body language. He was at least happy to know that he wasn’t the bastard without feeling Martha had told them he was. Clyde watched his father’s face become drenched in tears and got stronger each time he squirmed in pain, but for some reason, he began to feel sorry for him as well.
Finally Clyde spoke. “If you loved my mother so much as you say, just answer this question: Why did you shoot her?”
His father kept shaking his head over and over again, unable get a single word out of his mouth. “Son, I don’t know, I really don’t know.” He cried, “I fell to my knees when I saw her on the floor. I cried out to God for Him to take me and to spare her life.” Through bloodshot eyes he spoke in utter despair. “And then I took that same pistol and put it to my head and I pulled the trigger! I cried even more because there were no bullets in the chamber to put me out of the misery that I was feeling at that moment. I searched the room for some bullets and found them, but by then . . . by then, you and your brothers were standing in the doorway and I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it in front of my boys so y’all didn’t have to go through any more mental damage!” He strained as he looked at his son. “The only reason I’m still living right now is to see the day one of you come looking for some answers so I could tell you the truth, the God’s honest truth!”
Clyde stared somberly at the graying older man. He dismissed the idea of giving him an ultimatum of putting himself out of his misery. To call his bluff, he said coldly, “Now that you told one of your boys the truth, you no longer have a reason to go on living, do you?”
The older man shook like a wet, timid puppy as he listened to his son’s cold, disparaging words. He wiped the snot and tears from his face and shook his head. “If that’s what you want and if that’s what it would take for me to have redemption, so be it. I have nothing but you and your brothers and the beautiful memories of your mother.” He began to smile and thought back in time to when he was with his wife and said, “Nobody on this earth could love you more than me, and no one ever will!” Those words echoed in Clyde’s ears, because they were the same words Martha said she and his mother used to say to each other.
“What did you say?” asked Clyde.
“Oh, that is something me and your mother used to say to each other. That was our personal saying we had between us. Why’d you ask, son?”
Clyde only stared at him and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Clyde,” his father said softly, “can I ask a favor of you?” Clyde shrugged, and his father continued timidly, “Can you tell me a little something about you and your brothers? You know, that’s if you up to it, of course.”
Clyde figured since the man agreed to put himself out of his misery, he could at least give him insight on what he’d missed out on. “Well, Ceasar works as a bank manager.” His father beamed with admiration on hearing about the success of his elder son. “He’s been working in the same bank on a Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street since he was in high school. He’s shorter than me and Sonny and looks almost exactly like you. He’s real neat and clean and did a good job at raising us.” They talked for the remainder of their time, and Clyde could see that he was enjoying everything he was telling him from the way he smiled.
He offered Clyde a bit of advice. “Son, I don’t know how you feel about Martha, but I have to tell you that that woman is sneaky and no good. I appreciate how she took you boys in and kept y’all together and all, but she ain’t never wanted to see me and your mother together. All I’m saying is don’t put too much trust in the woman. I’m only telling you that ’cause I love you.”
As soon as he said that, the correctional staff made an announcement that visiting time was over. They sat and stared at each other until the prisoners were asked to stand. Clyde stood with him, and his father said, “Son, I’m gonna keep my word on what I promised you, and when it’s over I
want you to take my ultimate sacrifice as a gesture of the truth.” When Clyde nodded, he stared at his son, who seemed rigid and cold, and offered, “Clyde, I spent many years in these prisons and I saw a lot of things, and if there’s one thing I could give you to carry out of here, it would be this.” Clyde folded his arms and listened. “Holding resentment towards somebody is like taking poison and expecting them to die!” Clyde pondered the words deeply and stored them to memory.
His father turned and watched the families hugging and got desperate. “Son, since this is the last time I’m going to see you, do you think I could . . . have one hug from my son?”
Clyde’s mind said no, but his body craved differently. His lack of response prompted his father to walk toward him, and he put his arms around his son for the first time in nearly fifteen years and began breaking down and hugging him tighter. Clyde suddenly felt remorseful for the pitiful, tear-ridden man and slowly hugged him back as tears began to fall from his eyes as well. They pulled apart and each wiped the tears from their eyes and nodded. Clyde watched his father’s back as he walked away for the last time and was overwhelmed with feeling.
Just as his father was about to round the corner, Clyde yelled at the top of his lungs, “Daddy!”
His father stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Yes, son, I’m here!”
“Don’t do it, we need you!”
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