by Tracy Brown
He pulled up outside of Frederick Douglass cemetery, and parked his car. The weather was unusually warm for a late March afternoon. The sky was clear, and a warm breeze blew, gently. He felt the sun on his face, and enjoyed it as he walked through the winding pathways of the cemetery toward Leo’s final resting place. He looked around at some of the names on the other tombstones. He quickly calculated some of the ages. A woman, thirty-nine years old. A man, sixty-four. Another woman, fifty-two. A young boy, seventeen. Born wondered how many of these people had been drug addicts. How many of their families had suffered the way his had?
He approached Leo’s grave slowly, staring at his father’s name etched for eternity in cold stone. Coming here was always emotional for him. When he stood before his father’s grave, he was never Born anymore. He was Marquis Graham, a young man at his father’s side, wanting to grow up and be just like him. Whenever he came here, he was a child once more, standing in front of his parent, with so many unanswered questions.
He walked closer and stood there, directly in front of where his father lay. He read the inscription bearing the name Leonard Albert Graham and the words Free at last. How fitting, Born thought. He hoped his father was indeed free.
He closed his eyes and pictured his dad’s face. He could see it clearly still. His dark hair and mustache. His smiling eyes and his keen nose. Born squatted and looked at the words again. Damn, he missed him. “Hey, Pop.” He looked around and made sure no one was within earshot. “It’s been a while since I came out here to talk to you. That’s ‘cause it’s always so hard when I come to see you.” Born looked away briefly, and continued.
“But I got some things to say. I’m feeling a kinda way about how you left us. I’m not talking about when you died, either. You left us long before that. I’m talking about that cocaine, you know what I’m sayin’? That’s what made you leave. I gotta tell you I’m mad at you for that, man.”
Born paused, and thought about how Leo went from riches to rags, and how he had left Born’s mother to pick up the pieces. “You bailed out on us. You left us, and you knew how much we depended on you. You used to be that nigga; the one who everybody respected. That dude with the fly cars and all the money. The man that all the ladies fell in love with. The one that never took a loss, never got took. The infamous Leo Graham. That’s who you were. But that cocaine got the best of you, Pop. That shit made you different. It changed you. And that ain’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to be an old man right now talking to your son about how to survive. How to deal with having his heart broken. Nigga, you was supposed to be here giving me advice, helping me figure out what to do next. But you airit here. You quit, Pop.” Born had tears falling down his face, but he no longer looked around to see if anyone saw him. He didn’t care.
“You quit. I told you that at your funeral. I meant that shit, too. Gangstas don’t go out like that, man. They don’t quit. You was supposed to fight that shit! You was supposed to beat that shit. But it beat you. And what about your wife? What about me?” Born wiped his eyes then, and bit his lower lip. “What about me?” Born cursed his father for what Leo had instilled in him. Leo had given him the blueprint for being a hustler, for being on top of his game. But he had not taught Born how to be a man. He had never taught him how to deal with a broken heart, the loss of a best friend, or the sting of humiliation. All he’d taught him was the game. But now Leo was nowhere around to guide Born out of it. And more than anything, that was what Born wanted at that moment. He wanted out. He wanted to let go of all the pain, the paranoia, the drama, the disappointment. But he had no idea how to do that.
He took a deep breath. Then another. He shook his head, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. “I never got over that shit, Pop. I never really forgave you for leaving me all alone when I was too young to stand on my own. Ma needed you. She needed you more than you thought she did. She couldn’t show me how to be a man. That was your job. But you was so far gone that you couldn’t even see what was going on. I remember being a young shorty in the hood, and I was so glad that you were my dad. Everybody knew you. Everybody loved you. And you were my dad. That shit made me so proud. And then I remember years later seeing you and feeling embarrassed that you were my father.”
Born’s face was twisted into a grimace at the memory. “I remember being ashamed of you.” He remembered feeling so let down. That feeling had never completely gone away. “But I always loved you, Pop. I always loved you. When I was a little boy, and you were the man, I loved you. And even when you was just another fiend standing on the corner, I loved you. I love you now, still, Pop.”
A light rain had suddenly begun to fall, and Born didn’t care. He took it as a sign that maybe his father could hear him somehow. Maybe he was shedding tears from heaven. The entire day had been sunny and warm, without a cloud in the sky. And suddenly it had begun to rain, just as he was telling his father about his pain, and about his anger toward him. Born wondered if Leo was trying to tell his son that he was sorry, sending the rain as some sort of apology. Born remained there beside his father’s grave, the raindrops feeling like they were washing away his pain. He reached forward, and touched the tombstone. His fingertips brushed across the letters in his father’s name. Born kissed his fingers, and touched the tombstone once more. He cried for his father, and for the loss of his own childhood, and for the loss of a woman he loved more than she’d ever know—all of these things Born had lost to a drug he had never even used. He stood up, brushed off his jeans, and put his fitted cap back on his head. Born stuck his hands in the pocket of his jeans, and stared down at his father’s grave, with the rain falling harder now. “But you still quit.” He said it, and turned and walked back to his car. He felt better now that he had finally said the things to his father that he had been waiting to say.
Born thought then about how Jada had also quit on him. He thought of her as he climbed inside his Denali and checked his eyes, red from crying, in the rearview mirror. Turning the key in the ignition, he drove away and headed home.
29
TO HAVE LOVED AND LOST…
Born took the long way home. He stopped off and picked up fast food and sat right there in his car and ate it. He finally went home at around ten o’clock that night, hoping that Jada had sense enough to be gone. He had seen it all with his own two eyes, and there was nothing more to discuss. He hoped now that she would have the decency to spare them both any additional confrontations by leaving. She had to know the relationship was over. There was no way Born would continue to be in a relationship with a crackhead. If she knew him at all, she had to know that much.
Throughout their relationship, Born had considered Jada more than a lover. She was his friend. There had never been secrets between them, and he had given her his heart. Now he felt like such a fool for ever trusting anyone with something so vital to his survival. Their relationship had sustained him. From the beginning there had been a raw honesty between them, and that was what he loved about it. That’s what made their relationship so refreshing. It was sincere; their love was real. Or so he had thought. But knowing that Jada had been getting high all along, that she had stolen from him, and had made a fool out of him, that was a deal breaker. All the trust he’d developed for her, all the love—it made him feel stupid. It made him determined never to love again. Born wanted to take his love away from Jada. If only his heart would listen to his mind.
He walked in, and the house was dark and quiet. Jada was sitting on the couch in the dark, waiting for his return. She wasn’t high anymore. Even in the dark, he could tell by the way her body slumped discreetly in the corner of the sofa that she was upset. Her body was tense. He saw her, and he stopped walking, stood still, and stared at her. She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, she cleared her throat. “Born, I need to talk to you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he could see tears on her face in the dark. He shook his head, and took off his jacket.
“Get out.” Born
said it calmly, with no emotion, and waited for her response.
“I’m not leaving here until you talk to me. Born—” Jada began.
Born walked directly toward her, his pace swift and determined. Jada jumped in defense, wondering if he would hit her for the first time in their relationship. He snatched her car keys off the coffee table then he grabbed her and dragged her, kicking and screaming, toward the door. She held on to the sofa, and tried to anchor herself. “Wait a minute! Born! Please!”
Born wasn’t trying to hear a word she said. He silently pried her fingers off the sofa, and dragged her body across the room.
Jada sobbed, “I’m sorry, baby! I’m sorry!” She repeated the phrase over and over, but her cries fell upon deaf ears. “Please! I’m so sorry!” He dragged her to the door, and opened it. “Just let me talk to you, Born. Please! Let me tell you what happened.” Jada clung to the door’s frame, and tried to resist his force as he pulled her toward the open air. He was silent, but his lack of words spoke volumes to her.
“Marquis, Pleasel Let me tell you what happened!” Jada screamed, and clung to Born, calling him by the name his mama had given him in hopes that he would see how desperate she was. “I love you! I’m sorry! My God, Born, please! I just did it once!”
Hearing this, Born became enraged, because he knew she was lying. He grabbed her by the throat, silencing her immediately. Jada’s voice got caught in her throat, and she looked terrified, as he squeezed her fragile neck. He knew that by now the neighbors were watching, but he didn’t give a damn. The only thing that saved her was the thought of facing his mama after beating Jada’s ass. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jada.” His voice cracked as he said it, because he heard the truth in those words. He didn’t want to hurt her, even after all the pain she’d caused him. But God knew he would whoop her ass if she stood in his face and lied to him one more time. It made him wonder how many other times she’d lied. His eyes filled with tears, and Jada noticed it.
“Baby, please. I love you—”
His adrenaline coursing through his veins, he picked her up like she was as light as a feather. He held her hands together so that she couldn’t hold on to anything else, and he carried her out to her car. He tossed her across the hood of the car with all his might, sending her skidding across the Acura and smack onto the street on the driver’s side. Jada lay on the ground, rolling around and crying loudly. Several neighbors came outside to see what was going on, while Jada sobbed uncontrollably in a heap on the ground.
Born turned and went back inside the house, locking the doors and each of the windows. He went upstairs, and lay awake for the rest of the night, listening to the noise Jada made as she tried desperately to get back inside the house. He heard her yelling, banging on the door, and trying to open the windows downstairs, to no avail. He wondered if the neighbors might call the cops. But they didn’t. At close to 1:00 A.M., he finally heard her car pull off, and he closed his eyes and cried in the dark. It was over.
Born sat in the darkness, thinking about Jada, and about all the signs he had missed. He remembered the conversation that he’d had with Dorian about Jada. Dorian had turned to Born and looked at him seriously. ‘You better watch her, Born. You know we spend a lot of time away from home, and they get bored. They start looking for all kinds of ways to have fun. You know what I’m saying? Just make sure you always know what kind of fun she’s having. Make sure she’s keeping her nose clean.” But Born hadn’t understood what he’d meant. Looking back now, Born understood completely. He had missed the signs. Jada had lost weight during their relationship. Not to the point of looking sickly, but enough for him to notice a change in her body. She would be restless and irritable one minute, and happy-go-lucky the next. Her voice would be hoarse all the time. He had shrugged these things off, made up excuses in his mind for them. She couldn’t be using cocaine again, he’d told himself. The truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to admit that Jada might do that to them—to him. Born felt like an idiot.
The next morning, Jada arrived bright and early. She had spent the whole night getting high in her car. She had parked at a construction site where new town houses were being built, and got high until she had no more drugs. All of her money was in her Gucci bag on her dresser. She hadn’t expected Born to toss her out with nothing. When the sun came up, she was penniless, hungry, and still in trouble with the man she loved. She pulled up in front of the house at close to ten in the morning, and parked awkwardly at the curb. She was prepared for a showdown today. She knew that the last thing Born wanted was for one of the neighbors to call the cops. She was prepared to use this fact to her advantage.
She walked up to the large oak doors, and began banging loudly. “Open the door, Marquis! Come οηΓ Jada kicked and pounded on the door with her fists. She was torn up inside, reduced to tears in the early morning hours.
She heard the lock turn, saw the doorknob twist. As the door slowly creaked open, Jada perked up, opened her mouth, her eyes streaming with tears, prepared to beg Born’s forgiveness, and plead with him to hear her out. But she saw a woman’s face emerge from behind the door, and Born’s mother stood there, looking at the pitiful young thing before her.
Ingrid shook her head as she looked at Jada’s uncombed hair, her makeup dripping down her tear-stained face. She felt sorry for the young lady, yet she had to respect how her son felt about the situation. “Hello,” she said. “Jada, Marquis ain’t home. I came over so you could get your stuff. I want to talk to you, anyway.”
She wasn’t so much asking Jada as she was telling her what was about to take place. Ingrid stepped aside, and motioned for Jada to come inside. She did, walking slowly into the house that was her home, wishing more than anything that Born was there to talk to her. Jada knew that she looked terrible, and could only imagine what Miss Ingrid must’ve been thinking as she walked in. She was looking and smelling like yesterday.
Ingrid ushered Jada into the living room, and sat across from her on the couch. Jada looked around at all the things she had purchased for this home—their home—all the trinkets and furniture, the curtains she’d placed throughout to enhance the decor. She wondered how Born could be so heartless as to throw her out of it now. How could he take away everything he gave her without giving her a chance to explain?
Ingrid read the turmoil on Jada’s pitiful face. She looked at the young woman she usually saw dressed in the best, looking like a top model. The creature before her looked frail and weak and lost. She shook her head, knowing that drug addiction was no joke.
Jada knew how much Born loved his mother. She knew how close they were, and that he had probably told Ingrid everything. She decided to try to level with Ingrid.
“I want to tell you that I really love your son. I love him so much.” She started crying, realizing that she had blown her one chance at love. “I’m so sorry.” Catching her breath, she continued. “I’m not an addict anymore. I was using something years ago. Then I did it again, but not like before. I’m not addicted now. I can stop. I just was doing it once in a while when I was bored. I was at home alone a lot and … I’m not addicted, though.” In her mind, Jada rationalized that she was doing alright as long as she was snorting with Sunny. It was when she’d gone back to crack that things had fallen apart. At least, that’s what she told herself. “I wasn’t stealing from Marquis. I didn’t take from him.” She was lying, and couldn’t even look at Ingrid. The pain of what she knew was true made her cry so hard that she could hardly breathe.
Ingrid handed her a tissue and told her, “Pull yourself together, now.” She shook her head again, knowing that Jada was in denial. “Girl, let me tell you something. Can’t nobody help you get over what you dealing with but God.” Ingrid cut right to the chase. “I don’t claim to be the most religious person,” she said. “I ain’t gon’ sit here and tell you no lies about me being a saint. But I’ve seen a lot of things. And I’ve seen how it is to be hooked on them drugs. Seen the shit up close and personal
, sweetheart. So don’t think I’m just sitting here lecturing you for the hell of it. I know firsthand how it takes over. That crack can eat you alive, if you let it. The choice is yours. It’s up to you now. If you want to keep using, you can do that. But you are addicted, Jada. And you’re killing yourself. Just know that. You’re throwing away what a lot of people would love to have. My son loves you. He don’t want to say that, because he’s hurtin’ right now. You know what I’m saying? But he loves you. You hurt Marquis. You always hurt more than just yourself when you use drugs. You hurt everyone who loves you. But you know that. You went to rehab, you know what they tell you.” Jada hung her head in shame, but Ingrid pressed on. “You gotta make up your mind that something is more important than that crack. And if you want to clean yourself up, you have to give it all you got. You gotta mean it.” Ingrid looked at Jada, and could tell that she wasn’t ready to make the necessary change. She could see in her eyes that the young woman was still in denial about how serious her problem was. Ingrid touched Jada’s dirty hands, her nails broken from pounding on the door and prying at the windows the night before. “If you want to turn your life around, you can do it. You gotta ask God for His help. That’s the only way.”
Jada was so sorry that she’d ever slipped. Sorrier that she’d been caught. Ingrid sighed deeply. “Well, unfortunately, I have to be honest with you here. Whether you want to change or not, Marquis is finished with it. He’s not budging. I done talked to him, and told him to hear you out—
“Did you tell him that I’m sorry?” Jada ignored the snot falling from her nose. Ingrid handed her another tissue. Jada took it, wiped her nose, and cried. She spoke in a low, feeble voice. “You can’t tell him that I’m sorry. Only I can tell him that. Why can’t you get him to talk to me, Miss Ingrid? He listens to you. He respects you so much. Maybe you can get him to hear me out. I just want to tell him that I’m sorry. I’ll fix myself up. I’ll do it.”