“No, Debra. It is time that we discussed this. You are old enough now and based on your current situation, you are mature enough to handle what I am going to share with you.”
I wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading. The feeling I experienced when the doctor was explaining her report was creeping up on me again, but I knew in my heart it was time. I decided to let her have the floor with no interruptions, so I could hear her out and understand how we got this far and where things went astray. I grabbed her hand, nodded and she began.
“When I met your father, I was only eighteen years old. He was a very handsome, determined and sought-after young man. He was successful and he took care of his business. It is what attracted me to him along with the other women in school who had eyes and common sense. I knew he was in a relationship at the time, but for some reason it didn’t matter to me. The way he looked at me made me feel as if I was the only woman in his world. I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter. He gave me his time, his energy, his dreams. He allowed me into his soul. In the beginning of our relationship, I was tolerant of many things. I knew he was a young man who was not ready to settle down and I wasn't sure if that was what I wanted either, so we were content with what we had. The other woman that your father was dating at the time had a 3-year-old son. We were not officially dating, but we had created a deep bond and friendship. He confided in me. Edmond was excited about being a father, until the day he found out that it wasn’t his. He was devastated. I was there each and every day to pick up the broken pieces of his heart. It devastated him that he was not the father and in many ways, he was unsure how to cope with it. He turned to alcohol when things really got tough.”
“Mama I don’t think I want to know this. What does this have to do with my situation?” I could feel my body slightly trembling, as she got deeper into the story. I made it a point to avoid knowing their business. What I knew already was enough for me. Nonetheless, she continued.
“Your father felt betrayed by this woman and it almost ruined him. But I was there! I was there!” Her voiced raised slightly to add emphasis. She was no longer looking at me, her eyes were affixed on the drapes, but her mind was elsewhere. “Your father did a lot of dirt in his day to provide a stable home for both families. At times, he was lost and confused. He went back and forth between me and her for a while and I allowed it. I knew that he loved me and we had true love. I despised that woman. She took a piece of my man that I fought years to get back, to restore. He longed for that child. I let him go and stay with her at times, if only for a moment; so he could have that piece of his life. However, I knew that he would ultimately be mine and that he would be my husband. I knew what I had to do; I had to get pregnant. I had to conceive a child of my own and everything would get better. I did things I never even shared with your father. So many times, I was unable to carry a baby to term. I had several miscarriages to the point it was taking a toll on him even more. So I researched fertility options. My best friend at the time agreed to be my surrogate, but that failed because she was taking anti-depressants and the embryo died within the first week. I would like to say after much prayer, finally, I got pregnant, but I didn’t pray about it. I went about everything the wrong way. Samson was my miracle baby though; I was twenty-five when he was born. The doctors thought that he was dead when I delivered him. Debra, it was the happiest moment of my life because I knew that I would be granted the life I dreamed of; the man who was my soul mate would finally take me as his wife. You see, he was hesitant to marry me without the possibility of a family. The day Samson came into the world, our lives changed, for the better…and then the worse.” A stream of tears rolled down my mother’s face, her hands were trembling.
Until this moment, I had never witnessed her so transparent, so real. I caressed her hand to let her know that I was there for her and it was safe to continue. It was becoming evident to me why all of this was necessary, why she treated Samson the way she did. He was her ticket; he equated a world of bliss for her.
She dabbed her eyes to catch the newly forming tears. “I didn’t plan to get pregnant with you a year and a half later. Money was tight for a while. Our relationship was up and down, a roller coaster, and yet again, your father was in and out of the house. So I resented you for it. I thought if I could just focus on Samson and get him right that things would get better and I would have the wedding and marriage I always dreamed of.” She shifted and faced me, looking directly into my eyes, “I want you to know that I love you and I never meant to hurt you in any way. You can come to me. We can work this out.” There was nothing but silence; we felt one another’s energy and love, and for the first time, we cried together, exposing our suffering. I didn’t want the moment to end. I had been yearning for my mother’s love and affection for so long I didn’t know how to ask for it, so I acted out. I was not a bad or disrespectful child in any way, but I feel that all of this was a cry out for help.
We held each other and lay suspended in the moment. It all came to a sudden halt when the sound of my father’s custom ringtone entered our atmosphere, our newly created alliance. My mother held me tighter as though she was not concerned with the caller on the other end, but I couldn’t stand for their feud to continue. Her transparency needed to be shared with my father. There was so much that I learned in our moment about the rise and fall of relationships, the evolution of love.
My father was persistent after each unanswered call; he made another attempt to get through. I watched my mother go through a range of emotions and contemplation. She would stare at the screen and shake her head, taking in a breath while holding back her tears. Over and over, the ringing sounded and engorged our room, our space. I knew she needed time, but time is what nearly severed our relationship our chance at happiness and trust. Again and again and again, the sound rang out from her Android phone. Finally, after much struggle, she surrendered.
“Hello.” She tried to keep her voice low to keep their conversation private. I couldn’t hear my father, but I read everything through my mother, her words, and her emotions.
For her to show up, to put me, as the priority in her life is all I ever needed. Her existence in my life is all I cried out for, but it was my time to be there for her, to be her anchor. I held her up as she emptied out her contents to my father, no yelling, no cursing, no screaming, just conversation and apologies.
“I love you, Edmond. I will be home soon, right in time for our anniversary. We have a lot of making up to do.” She blushed for the first time in years, at least by my own account.
I had a good feeling that things were destined to get better. They had to. However, I knew it would begin with me getting out of the hospital.
Dr. White made it clear that everything was ok and I was in good condition to go home. She stressed to me that there are some cases where it becomes difficult for women to have babies, but with the advancement of science, technology, and new alternatives that one-day, I may have the chance to have a baby. Both, the doctor and I knew that it was much too soon for me to worry about it anyway.
“Mama, just hurry up and sign those papers so we can go home.”
Chapter 10
His hands trembled as he released his grip from the revolver. His heart was beating out of his chest, proving to be the most terrifying and exhilarating encounter of his life. The still of the night painted the perfect scene for the homicide. His eyes finally opened to the reality of being a killer. He felt he was a coward to keep his eyes closed as the bullets blasted from the pistol. He took his assignment and executed it to the best of his novice ability. The perspiration from his chest and stomach soaked through his t-shirt.
Point. Aim. Shoot. He followed the simple instructions that resulted in the big payoff of ten thousand dollars—cash. Quite frankly, he didn’t have a choice. His rights were given up the moment he stepped into the vehicle. He knew it would come at a cost. Deep down inside, he craved the sensation of taking a life. Endless nights of playing Grand Theft Aut
o failed to give this moment its true justice. Beads of sweat gathered on the top of his forehead reminiscent of the blood that trickled from the lifeless body outside The Shadow Bar.
“Now you understand why you can’t say a word about our dealings? This ain’t no walk in the park, Young Blood,” his voice strong and commanding ensuring that his new young protégé was coherent. Calvin kept his eyes glued on Samson to monitor his behavior. The first killing was always the most difficult to experience. He needed to ensure that Samson could handle what he had done and wouldn’t go running in the streets making any confessions. “He was a bad man, so he had to go. And you did it.” Calvin removed the gun from Samson’s fingertips wiping it clear of any evidence of his prints. He didn’t waste any time at the scene attempting to verify if the target was taken out—it was done.
The last thing Samson needed was for Calvin Rogers to think that the job duties were too difficult for him to carry out. He swallowed hard and offered him a nod to show his comprehension. He placed the wad of cash paid out to him for his services in his backpack, the backpack he relied on for every occasion. One of the first purchases with his earnings would be a Metro PCS cell phone, he figured with the new job it would require for him to be accessible at all times. His parents refused to get him a cellphone; they felt he had yet to show he had any responsible gene in his body. However, working with Mr. Rogers would allow him to bypass many of their unfair, biased rules.
The driver stopped one block shy of the newly remodeled apartment building downtown where Samson was crashing during his stint away from home. He longed to be back in the comfort of his own home, bed, living space, but he knew that the tension between him and his father was too thick to break through this soon. His father had a black belt in holding grudges and making you feel the pain of his wrath. Despite desiring alternative living arrangements he would settle for his freedom being crammed into the cubical sized space his “lady-friend,” not considered a girlfriend, called home, thwarting his sexual advances, due to her new found morality following their indecent exposure.
The chill of the night air layered upon the car windows, awaiting the midnight visitors to canvass the neighborhood. He crawled out of the warmth of the car, knowing that this was only the beginning of many more assignments. He felt proud though, knowing that his first mission was accomplished. He didn’t back down in the face of uncertainty. Oddly, he anticipated the next assignment. It was not enough to take the first lump sum of money and move out to get him a place; he had a plan. He needed to be as efficient and strategic as possible if he desired to reach his ultimate goals.
“Remember what I told you,” the rasp in Calvin’s voice had the ability to place fear in anyone’s heart. He locked eyes with Samson, grabbing a hold of his bag keeping him from fully exiting the vehicle. He nodded again and broke free of his hold.
“We’re good!”
The building lay quiet, which had been expected at this hour of the night. He crept past the first unit in the apartment on her side of the hallway hoping not to disturb Miss Jeanie, who managed to never sleep and stayed abreast of any and all activities in the building she deemed her own. She entitled herself the self-proclaimed “Neighborhood Watch Lady” with little to no input or support from the tenants in the building.
She periodically roamed down the hallway in her white and pink floral nightgown and purple bonnet, dragging her left foot across the hardwood floors in her cheetah print slippers, looking for anything she could stick her nose into. The truth is she didn’t have much business of her own to tend to, so she made due with the drama in the old building. She was well past her prime, widowed; with no interest in leaving the likes of her sweet home to build a new life after her husband’s passing. If Samson had his guess, she was the walking dead. Her aging frail body, spoke tales of her neglecting to eat over catching the couple in Unit #3 argue, fuss and fight like cats and dogs as if it was her One Life to Live. If he could make it past her, all would be well. He could slip into his apartment and create a pallet on the floor to catch the few hours left in the night before sunrise.
“Little Boy…Excuse me…Little Boy,” her screechy voice called out to him from the darkness of her doorway. Her dedication to the happenings of the neighborhood amazed him. The lights in her residence were all out. She peered at him through the crack of her wooden door. “I thought I heard someone creeping by.” She tried to act like his steps startled her. “You look stressed. Are you all right? I just made a pot of coffee; you can come in and have some if you like.” Her voice was ironically soothing to the sound. It was reminiscent of his paternal grandmother’s, whom he rarely spent time with before she passed away. She waited for his response as if she knew he had no other choice than to agree and join her.
As much as he knew he needed sleep, the fulfillment of that desire seemed impossible with all of the scattered thoughts running through his brain.
Who did I kill?
Were they really dead?
Am I protected?
Why did I let myself do this?
What if my father finds out?
Coffee and a light conversation with Sherlock Holmes might be just what the doctor ordered. “Yes, ma’am I guess I can take some.” Despite his passion to be a thug, he knew how to respect his elders.
Although she welcomed a guest into her home, it lacked the presence of accepting visitors. Boxes, clothes and dust draped the chairs, tables and walls. She maneuvered through the dark room over to a single lamp propped on top of a broken coffee table, held up by a stack of tattered yellow pages. The one thing that appeared inviting was the coffee; the aroma filled the air almost providing rejuvenation without consumption. “I’ve been watching you for the last few days. You haven’t been around here very long.” She started off subtle, but it was clear she had an agenda, placing the cup of coffee before him. “Are you courting that nice young girl down the hall or are you all just ‘kicking it’, like you young folks like to call it?” Her expression was priceless. She stared directly into his eyes turning up her face awaiting a response.
“She is helping me out for a few days. Nothing serious, just friends.” He didn’t feel like any of her questions warranted a response, but out of respect for the elderly he answered. It was obvious she was lonely and needed some action in her life. Her home was dismal like all the life evacuated with her late husband. A wedding picture of the two of them hung on the wall on her mantle as a reminder of the love once shared.
“Is that what they refer to it as now? Friends?” she didn’t wait for a reply, she rattled on moving about the kitchen. “Back in my day, friends didn’t spend too much time on top of each other unless they were going steady.” The conversation became uncomfortable real quick. Samson had yet to add the sugar and cream to his coffee and she was already ready for him to spill the tea. It was clear to him that this old lady was out of her mind. The reality was, since being discovered by his father the night in the living room, he couldn’t get as little as a smooch from his roommate, let alone sex. She never expected his parents to come home and find them in compromising positions. Edmond instantly pegged her as a whore and she was offended by it.
“Ma’am I don’t know what you are talking about and I am sure I don’t want to discuss it either way with you. Thank you so much for your hospitality, but I think it is best if I take my coffee to go. I will return the cup later.” The irritation was apparent in his voice and he made no gesture to hide it. The last thing he wanted to do was fall into the starring role of her late night stories. The one sip he had of the Folger’s coffee was too good to leave behind, so he opted to do them both a favor and take it to go. He gradually made his way toward the door when she turned her back and ran out the door to freedom.
“It’s late Sam. Where have you been?” his roommate instantly confronted him, frightened by the squeaking from the door hinges when he tiptoed in the door. Having to spend nights alone had her frustrated and a bit on edge.
“I was just
out taking care of business, making money. I’ll be outta here soon, so you don’t have to worry about me.” He still possessed an air of agitation from his encounter with the den mother.
“Why are you so annoyed with me? I was worried about you.” His lack of consideration for her was a major concern. He barely shared anything with her. She knew that her decision to hold back from him would strain their relationship, but she hoped that he would get over himself and realize that her care for him reached beyond their physical intimacy. “You don’t have to be nasty.” She crumpled her face up at him hoping for him to get a new attitude.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I am a man and I will be fine! Plus I got that heat now, so don’t nobody want to see me in these streets.” He pulled out his gun and pointed it toward the wall to prove to her he was not merely talking. The gleam in his eyes was unrecognizable and unwelcoming. He was different to her. He possessed a ghostly demeanor. He aimed and cocked his head to the side, showing her he was skilled and was not afraid to use it. He was still mumbling to himself, speaking to someone who was not present.
Beyond the Hurt Page 10