Just Make Him Beautiful

by Warren, Mike

  My emotions were mixed mainly because, deep down inside, I no longer loved Mother anymore and wanted to be on my own. I just wanted to live my own life without someone telling me what to do, and when, where, and how to do things. At that moment, I wanted to be an adult. I wanted to walk out that door and never come back.

  Ms. Washington tried to comfort me with a hug. “Come on, sweetie, you can ride to the hospital with me.”

  I wanted to scream, “Hell no, I don’t wanna go. Just leave me alone!” But no one seemed to care what I thought or how I felt.

  *

  We finally made it to the hospital and I suddenly felt fear while getting out of Ms. Washington’s beat-up 1970 blue-green Buick.

  “Cameron, you all right, sweetie?” she asked, coming to my rescue.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m okay.” I tried to put on a brave front. Honestly, I was afraid to go inside because this was the same hospital that my brother laid dead in the morgue.

  “Come on, sweetie, give me your hand.”

  I don’t know why Ms. Washington felt the need to hold my hand. I’m not a baby. I’m almost grown. I’m thirteen years old. Hell, I’ma teenager, I thought to myself.

  Anyway, Ms. Washington held my hand as we crossed the street and entered the main lobby of the hospital.

  Ms. Washington walked up to the receptionist who sat behind the Information Desk. “Excuse me,” she said. “A good friend of mine was just brought in. Her name is Janet Wilson. Do you know where I might find her?”

  The receptionist found Mother’s information in her computer. “I see here she’s in the emergency room down this hallway.” She pointed to our left.

  Ms. Washington continued holding my hand as we walked down to the emergency room, where we found a pair of empty seats and sat patiently to hear any news on Mother’s condition. My sister Keshia was with one of Ms. Washington’s friends, so that left me and Ms. Washington sitting together as I watched her thumb through one magazine after the other. What seemed like hours of waiting was replaced with hunger pangs as I listened and tried to conceal the sounds of my growling stomach.

  I wasn’t interested in looking through no magazines. Instead I tried to entertain myself by thinking up stories about the people coming into the emergency room complaining of various illnesses.

  Then this one black guy came into the waiting room holding his butt and limping. I really didn’t know what was wrong with him, but I couldn’t help but laugh because in my mind, he got a hold of some dick he couldn’t handle.

  Ms. Washington leaned over and whispered to me, “It’s not nice to laugh at people who aren’t feeling well, sweetie.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered back, still laughing to myself.

  Eventually, Ms. Washington must have become impatient because she told me to wait here as she got up to go speak to one of the doctors at the nurses’ desk.

  She came back over to me and stated, “You hungry, sweetie? If you are, we can go get something to eat in the cafeteria.” She reached out and grabbed my hand.

  Minutes later, I was sitting across from Ms. Washington, grubbing down on a loaded bacon cheeseburger and some fries while she just drank a cup of black coffee. Hospital food ain’t the best food in the world, but it sure hit the spot.

  After feeding my hunger, Ms. Washington and I went back to the emergency room and took our seats, only to continually wait. From time to time, I would sneak and look at her to see if I could read her facial expression, but I couldn’t. It looked as though she wanted to tell me something but didn’t know how.

  “You okay, Ms. Washington?”

  “I’m fine, sweetie. Thanks for asking, but I’m the one that need to be asking you. Don’t you think?”

  “I’m okay. Just sleepy, that’s all,” I replied, yawning.

  “Well, you just come and lay your head down right here on my lap and go to sleep, sweetie.”

  Ms. Washington was getting on my nerves with that “sweetie” bullshit, but I loved how she truly seemed to care for me and my family. As I lay my head down on her lap, I secretly pretended that she was my real mother as I drifted off to sleep while she stroked the side of my face.

  As soon as I dozed off, I heard sounds of someone crying. I tried to focus my eyes on what was going on around me and realized Ms. Washington was the one crying.

  I sat up, and there was a doctor sitting across from us, explaining to her that my mom had a nervous breakdown and had to be admitted, and if she didn’t respond to treatment, she then would have to be institutionalized. Personally, I wanted to jump for joy.

  Chapter 9

  June 2001

  Four years later my dream of having a real mother finally came true. Although, my real mom had to be institutionalized because she could never get over the death of my brother. Ms. Washington had taken me and my sister Keshia in and raised us as her own. Chile, I can’t even explain how so many things had changed for the better. My new mom had found true love and actually married a man named William Jenkins about a year ago, and he also adopted me and my sister. So my new name became Cameron Jenkins, and I loved it because now I felt as though I was a part of a real family.

  My new dad had a huge colonial-style five-bedroom house in the suburbs, and we moved in with him. And, honies, I had my own bedroom and decorated it with various pictures of models such as Tyra, Iman, and, oh yes, the fabulous Ms. Lena Horne, the diva who started it all. I would sometimes lie across my bed and stare at her picture, wishing she was my real mother.

  Don’t misunderstand because when Ms. Washington took me and my sister in, I truly felt for the first time in my life, I had a real mother. My new mom would wash our clothes, iron them, and discipline us when we needed it, loved us as though we were her own, and cooked our meals. Every evening at seven p.m. sharp, we all would sit around the dining room table and eat dinner together, like a real family, or at least those I saw on TV.

  My favorite TV show was the old reruns of The Cosby Show, and I would pretend we were the Huxtable kids. I was Denise Huxtable because I was fierce like that, and my li’l sister was, of course, Rudy. My new dad was the Christian type, a man in his mid-forties who had never been married before and never had any kids of his own. He loved the church and was a deacon, and he made sure that the whole family went to church each and every Sunday. Dad was well liked in the neighborhood by the kids because he owned a small grocery store on the corner and would sometimes give them free candy when they didn’t have any money.

  Also, much to my surprise, the so-called thugs and wannabe gangsters in the neighborhood had much love and respect for my new dad as well. They would sometimes stop in his store or come by the house just to say hello and talk with him. Dad was very good at giving excellent advice. I loved him because I had become very feminine-acting as I got older, and I knew he knew I was gay, but yet he loved me just the same.

  Mom didn’t have to work, but she volunteered three days a week down at the hospital. She would help the nurses with some of the older patients, whether it was to help them go to the bathroom or just read a book to them. But she would also make time for me and my sister. For example, she would take an hour or so out of her day just to talk with me to see what was going on in my life, something my real mother had never done. My new mother still called me sweetie, but I couldn’t blame her. After all, I was seventeen, better-looking than most girls my age, and had a body built for sex. Or so I was told by some of the boys I’d been with.

  What I also loved about my new life was, my mom knew I was gay, and she was cool with it, too. She’d actually sat me down a few months ago and simply asked, “Sweetie, is you gay?”

  I didn’t know how to respond at first because I didn’t know how she would take it, but much to my surprise, she then said, “I know you are because I heard you on the phone the other night talking to some boy.”

  I knew exactly what she was talking about because I had gotten into an argument with my boyfriend at the time and began to yell at him.
So, at that point what else could I say but “Yes, ma’am”? She then kissed me on the forehead and said she still loved me regardless.

  Even my li’l sister Keshia, who was now ten years old, knew about my lifestyle. Of course, she didn’t know all the gory details, but she knew I liked boys and that I had a new boyfriend. Our relationship got better as well because she didn’t go running to our new mom about everything, like she used to with our old mother. My new mom didn’t believe in spoiling one child over the other. Thank God.

  Tonight Robin and I had our senior prom. My mom and I had been out most of the day trying to find something for me to wear. I didn’t want to wear the traditional tuxedo, I wanted to stand out. I bought a pair of black slim-fit jeans, and a pair of black loafers. I was going to wear that with my red chiffon fabric shirt that Robin had made for me. You see, Robin had become an excellent seamstress. Girlfriend could sew her ass off. That’s how she made most of her money in school, sewing outfits together for some of the cool girls who had the reputation of being with the in-crowd and being fabulous.

  It also didn’t hurt that I had helped her to lose those unruly twenty pounds, and with my makeup tips, we thought we were high-fashion models every time we cat-walked the school corridor.

  *

  Mom yelled through my bedroom door, “Sweetie, Robin on the phone!”

  “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute,” I responded back.

  After tucking my one-of-a-kind red chiffon shirt down in my jeans and slipping into my loafers, I ran to see what Robin wanted. “Thanks, Ma,” I said, taking the phone from her.

  While handing me the phone, my mom whispered, “Sweetie, you and Robin are real close. You sure you two aren’t involved?”

  “No, Ma, that will never happen,” I said, my hand over the phone so Ms. Fag-hag couldn’t hear.

  “Sweetie, you never know what might happen tonight.” She winked at me.

  “Trust me, Ma. I know.”

  “Humph. God doesn’t know, but my son does.”

  “Hahahahaha!” Then I said to Robin, “Yeah, Ms. Fag-hag, what’s up?”

  “What’s so funny? Your mom still trying to hook us up again?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I thought you told her you were gay?”

  “Chile boo, she knows. She just tryin’ to be funny. So, what’s up with you? Why you calling me? You dressed yet?”

  “Yeah, I am, but I need you to come over and do my makeup. You didn’t forget, did you?”

  “Naw, chile. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  I hung up the phone and went back to my room to add some finishing touches. I stood and looked at my reflection in my floor-length mirror and couldn’t get over how cute I was. I had Robin tie in braids to my own hair, which now hung down to my ass. My light-skinned complexion with my dark, thick eyebrows and long eyelashes reminded me of my girl Denise Huxtable. Only, I was much cuter. The red chiffon shirt that Robin made for me had buttoned up on the left side, short sleeves and had a boat collar that showed off my long neck and made my complexion just that much more radiant. I had also gotten my driver’s license a few months earlier, and Dad was letting me use his car to drive myself and Robin to the prom.

  About a year or so ago, Robin’s family had moved all the way across town, but she’d stayed enrolled at Omaha High. Chile, I couldn’t wait for this night to begin, so I could shake my ass.

  “Don’t go, Cam,” my baby sister cried as she stood under my bedroom doorway.

  “Aw, what’s wrong, Keshia?” I asked, extending my arms out to her.

  She fell into my arms. “I don’t want you to go to no damn prom.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “I just don’t want you to go.”

  “Why, Keshia?” I looked into her teary eyes. “What’s going on with you?”

  “If you go, you might not come back either,” she replied, holding on to me as tight as she could.

  “Either?”

  It suddenly dawned on me that she was crying because our brother Ray was gunned down at his prom. To this day, Junior was never punished for what he’d taken from me. I still thought about Ray from time to time and how the hospital turned his body over to the state to bury. Ray had never had a proper funeral, nor did I have a chance to say my final good-byes because the state had cremated his body, and no one seemed to know what happened to the urn he was put into.

  Now, the baby sister that used to get on my nerves as a kid was afraid that something would happen to me at my own prom. It had never occurred to me until now the reason why she had been moping around the house for the past couple of days. Ray had always protected me and Keshia, and I loved him for that. I’d never told anyone about the special relationship that he and I had, not even Robin. People can be so uptight about sex. I was yet to find someone who cared for me the way Ray did.

  “Keshia, I still miss him too. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him, but I’m gonna be all right, okay,” I whispered in her ear as I continued to hug her.

  “But what if…”

  “Shhh! There won’t be any if. You hear me?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And thank you, baby girl.”

  “Fa-fa-fa what?”

  “For loving me and caring about me.” I planted a big sloppy kiss on her cheek.

  “Aw! I’ve been kiss by a dog.” And just that quick, she pulled away from me, wiping where I had kissed her, and ran to her room.

  As I was about to leave, my mom and dad had come out from their bedroom and began making a fuss about how good I looked. Of course, I had to stand and pose while they took pictures, but I didn’t mind. Besides, I did look good. Honey, I was the shit, and you couldn’t tell me any different.

  *

  I pulled up in front of Robin’s house still thinking about what Keshia had said. I began to cry as I thought about the last time I had seen Ray. He was lying in the hospital bed with tubes running in and out of his body as though he was just a piece of meat. He didn’t even look like himself.

  “Uh, excuse you.”

  I looked up, and there was Ms. Fag-hag standing by my car with her hands on her hips and rolling her neck from side to side.

  “Oh, chile boo,” I replied, quickly trying to wipe away the tears from my eyes.

  “Ms. Thang, why are you just sitting here?”

  “Oh, girl, puh-lease, don’t come for me,” I spat, getting out of the car.

  “Cam, you look so good. I love that shirt,” Robin said, paying herself a compliment. Where did you get it from?”

  “What? This old thang?” I replied before we went arm in arm to her house.

  *

  After making up Robin’s face and posing for pictures that her mom, who I had now began calling Auntie, wanted to take of the two of us.

  We finally made it to our prom. We sat in the car smoking a blunt and watched our classmates walk the red carpet with their gowns and tuxedos and enter the gymnasium, where the celebration was being held.

  “Oooo, Cam, I’m ready to get my groove on,” Robin squealed, as she threw her arms in the air to the sounds of hip-hop blasting from a car that pulled up next to us.

  I looked over to see who was in the car, and my mouth fell wide open. I couldn’t believe whose face I was staring into. I began to sweat profusely, and nausea quickly set in.

  “Chile, what’s wrong with you?” Robin asked when she realized I wasn’t looking too well.

  Practically hyperventilating, I said, “Don’t you know who the driver is?”

  “No. Should I?” She strained to get a better look at the driver.

  “Ms. Thang, stop staring so hard before he notice us,” I said, sliding down in my seat.

  “Well, how am I gonna know who it is if I don’t stare? Humph?” She rolled the window down and leaned outside.

  “Girl, would you put that window up and stop it.”

  “Well, who is it then?” she spat, rolling the window up.

&nb
sp; The lump in my throat grew, and the tears began to run down my face. “That’s Junior, the bastard that killed Ray.”

  Robin squealed, “You lying.”

  “No, I’m not. I would know his ass from a mile away.”

  “But this guy looks like he’s in his late twenties or early thirties. Besides, that was only four years ago, so Junior would be in his mid-twenties by now, and like I said, that guy looks a lot older. So, how can you be sure? And why would he be coming to a senior prom?”

  “I don’t know, but I know he killed my brother,” I replied confidently, wiping the tears from my eyes.

  Robin held my hand to comfort me. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

  “I should call the dayum po-po on his black ass.”

  “Why wasn’t he locked up anyway? Isn’t murder a crime?”

  “His ass was locked up initially, but he made bail and the cops hadn’t been able to find him since. And you know how the cops are. They ain’t that interested in black-on-black crime. Sons of bitches!” I started becoming angry all over again about my brother’s murder.

  “Look, Cam, I know you’re upset, and I feel your pain, sweetie. But tonight is our prom night, and we need to celebrate. Let’s call the police and have his ass locked up, so we can enjoy the rest of our evening.”

  “Naw, sugar, I got other plans for mister man, now that I know he’s still here in Omaha.”

  “What plans, Cam? What plans you got?”

  “Never mind, Robin.” I started up the car. “Let’s just get out of here!”

  Chapter 10

  We drove around downtown aimlessly until I remembered hearing about this gay club located in the downtown area. I eventually located the club and parked in front. The club was called “Roscoe’s.” Neither one of us had ever been inside the club, but I’d heard some crazy stories about the goings-on there. Not to mention the stories I’d read online. Besides, this was my prom night, and even though I didn’t wanna go to my prom after seeing Junior there, I still wanted to celebrate and do something different.