Just Make Him Beautiful

by Warren, Mike

  I couldn’t remember the name of the mental institution. So, I got on Keith’s computer downstairs in his office, logged on, and checked Google for all mental institutions in the area. I was thinking, once I saw the name, that would help me remember. Only two popped up, but Crownsville Mental Institution rang a bell. I clicked on its Web site and wrote down the number and address.

  As I closed the Web site, I noticed that Keith had several Web sites still open, but minimized down at the bottom of his computer.

  I restored the first one, a porn site with big breasted and big bubble-butt mommas. “Ewww! Freak,” I said to myself.”

  I restored the second Web site, Yahoo! Messenger. Keith was having a conversation with a person named Jermaine “Junior” Rogers. Jermaine Rogers was the same name of the bastard who killed my brother, who also went by the name Junior.

  I suddenly got a sickness in my stomach and felt as though I was about to throw up. My body began shaking. Even my hands were shaking on the keyboard as I tried to scroll to the top of the page where the conversation began.

  Jermaine “Junior” Rogers: Hey bruh, you get that package last night?

  Keith “I Got This” Jamison: Dayum skippy

  Jermaine “Junior” Rogers: Good looking out bruh

  Keith “I Got This” Jamison: Yeah, but the next time I tell yo azz, you betta do it!

  Jermaine “Junior” Rogers: Yeah bruh I will. Just got caught up in a situation. You know how it is, right? Hey btw, shawty back?

  Keith “I Got This” Jamison: Yeah man, he called me and I went and picked his ass up a couple days ago. He’s here now, knocked the fuck out. Lol

  Jermaine “Junior” Rogers: Wow, again good looking out. He still don’t know you’re my brother, right?

  Keith “I Got This” Jamison: Hell No, you just need to chill. I got this, a’ight?

  Chile, if I had pearls around my neck, I would have clutched them. My heart sank finding out that Junior was Keith’s little brother. And in spite of Keith’s sexual confusion, I really believed he loved me. Now finding out that this was just a game hurt me to my core. Honey, I was so mad, I wanted to throw his computer out of the window. But, as angry as I was, I continued reading.

  Jermaine “Junior” Rogers: Ok Ok Big Bruh, I’ll just lay low until you give me the word, a’ight?

  Keith “I Got This” Jamison: You do that. How’s the sister?

  Jermaine “Junior” Rogers: yeah I got dat little bitch nose wide open bruh. Lol

  Keith “I Got This” Jamison: kewl, you hit it yet?

  Jermaine “Junior” Rogers: Not yet, not really.

  Keith “I Got This” Jamison: What u mean not really, yes or no muthafucka.

  Jermaine “Junior” Rogers: I ain’t fucked her yet but I did lick her young pussy and Bruh she went crazy. She wanted me to fuck her right in her momma house too. Lol

  Keith “I Got This” Jamison: Why didn’t you? Don’t tell me you were scared of that young pussy?

  I had had enough. I couldn’t read another word. I minimized the screen back down to the bottom of the page and left the computer exactly the way I found it. I was so mad, I wanted to kill the both of them.

  I jumped up from the table, ran back upstairs to my room, and slammed my door.

  I paced the floor from one side of the room to the other, trying to get Keisha on the phone. Again, she didn’t answer.

  “Oooo, I swear, I’ma wring that girl’s neck when I see her,” I said to myself as I continued to pace the floor. You can fuck with me all you want but my sister? Oh, hell naw! I needed some help, but who could I call?

  I thought about calling my mom. If I tell her what I just found out, she would worry herself to death. I grabbed my bag and raced down the steps, going as fast as I could.

  I got into my car and went over to Debbie’s house, hoping my sister would be there. I made it there in record time, and based on what Debbie’s mother told me, she wasn’t there. Both her and Debbie left out and didn’t tell her where they were going.

  Oh please! What mother in their right frame of mind don’t find out where their child is going?

  I sat in the car, trying to figure out where Keisha and her friend might have gone. They could have gone anywhere…the mall, the movies, downtown, or even to the park.

  I pulled out my cell phone and tried to call her again, but it went straight to voice mail. Fuck!

  Having nowhere else to go and not wanting to go home, I pulled the address to the mental hospital where my real mom was staying out of my bag and input the information into my GPS.

  *

  It took me about forty-five minutes or so to get there, but I didn’t mind because it gave me time to think about what I wanted to say to her. I started wondering whether she would remember me or whether she even looked the same and what state of mind she was actually in. I pulled into the visitors’ parking lot, got out of the car, and headed to the main entrance.

  The security guard stated to the visitors standing in line and waiting to go through a metal detector, “Please place everything in your pockets into the bowl, including your belts, purses, watches, coins, and anything that may be metal.”

  Dayum! I didn’t realize you had to go through all this. Fortunately, I didn’t have anything on me except for my keys because I’d left my bag in the trunk of my car. I dropped my car keys in the bowl and walked through without a hitch and proceeded to the information counter.

  “Who are you here to see?”

  “Ms. Janet Wilson.”

  “And you are?”

  “I’m her son, Cameron Jenkins…I mean, Cameron Wilson.”

  “Do you have any ID?”

  I pulled out my driver’s license from my back pocket. “Here.”

  “Okay, Mr. Wilson, have a seat, and we will let you know when she has come down.”

  I took a seat in the waiting room along with several other people who, I’m sure, were waiting to see their loved ones as well. As I looked around, I was happy to see the facility appeared very clean. The checkered-board floors were spotless with a high glossy finish, and the walls were painted a bright white.

  I grabbed one of the pamphlets and starting reading what they did at the facility. According to the pamphlet, the facility held over 175 patients, a full-time medical staff of 50 on duty 24 hours a day, and 14 psychologists.

  “Mr. Wilson.”

  “Here.” I got up out of my seat and walked over to the information desk.

  One of the security officers told me, “Your mom is in room four. Walk this way.”

  One of the attendants behind the information desk pressed a button, and the lock door on the left hand side of the information counter opened. I followed the security guard down this long corridor. We stopped in front of this padded cell, he swiped a card, and the door automatically opened.

  I walked in and saw this woman slumped over in a chair, her head down. It didn’t look as though her hair had been done in years, because it was all over her head, along with several matted spots.

  I took a seat across from her and tried to look into her eyes, but she wouldn’t raise her head. “Mother, this is Cameron. Are you okay?” I stated in a heartfelt tone.

  “Don’t waste your time, man,” the security guy told me. “She don’t talk.”

  “What do you mean, she doesn’t talk?” I asked him.

  “She hasn’t uttered five words since she’s been here. No one knows why.”

  “Can I spend some time alone with her, please?”

  “No problem. You have an hour. If you want to leave before then, just press this button next to the door, all right.”

  “Thank you,” I responded as he left the room.

  I focused my attention back on my mother. I turned and faced her. “Mom, can you talk to me?” I waited for her to answer, but she said nothing as she sat there with her head hung low.

  I didn’t know if she could hear me, but I told her everything that had been going on for the past four y
ears. I also told her what had been going on with Gerdy, her new husband, and the threats he made towards me and my sister, about Keshia and her grown ass, Ray’s murderer, Junior, who I just found out was Keith’s brother, and still roaming the streets, and my best friend Robin, who had started sleeping with my boyfriend Keith.

  At times I saw her facial expression turn into a smile and then a frown as I told her what had been happening.

  Once I was through, I sat there waiting for her to respond, I mean, say something, anything. But she didn’t.

  “Momma, say something.” Tears began to flow down my cheeks. “Momma, can you even hear me? Momma, talk to me, please. I need your help. There’s no one else I can turn to. And I’m sorry I hadn’t come to visit you until now but, Momma, please, I need your advice on what I should do.”

  I sat there staring at her, waiting for a response. I lowered my head on the table and cried my eyes out. I was so hurt that even my mother wouldn’t try to comfort me or even help me.

  I was so tired, just tired of everything and everyone. I raised my head and wiped the tears from my eyes. “Okay, Momma, take care of yourself. And, again, I’m sorry.” I got up from my seat and walked towards the door. I lowered my head and softly said, “And I’m sorry for not being more like Ray.”

  “Where are you going, boy?” my mother asked in a raspy, demanding tone.

  I was so stunned, I froze for a quick second. I turned around, and my mother was standing on her feet with her head held high and her arms stretched out wide. I walked over to her sobbing, and she wrapped her arms around me.

  Within those four years I had grown an inch or so taller than she. I laid my head on her shoulder and bawled my eyes out like a two-year-old. Chile, there’s nothing like a warm hug from Momma. We stood there in that room with her arms around me that seemed like hours, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t let go, I didn’t wanna let go.

  “Baby, it’s okay. It’s gonna be all right,” she said, rocking me in her arms.

  We eventually sat back down at the table. My mother informed me that there was nothing wrong with her vocal cords. Some people she spoke to, others she didn’t speak to. The latter thought she couldn’t talk.

  My mom and I talked about everything, including the fact that she was still mourning the loss of my brother Ray. She also told me not to worry, that she would take care of everything.

  “Mom, how are you gonna take care of anything being in here?” I looked around at her padded cell.

  “What? You think I have to stay here?”

  “Yeah. Well, don’t you?”

  “My poor baby. No, Cameron, I don’t. I’ve been here because of my own accord. I can leave whenever I want.”

  “So, why do you stay here, Mom?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “I stay here because I have no place to go,” she said softly, choking up.

  I lowered my head. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m gonna change that, I promise.”

  “Don’t be sorry, baby. I’ve doing just fine. I really have.” She placed her hand on top of mine. “So, like I said, I’ll take care of everything, all right.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do?”

  Momma sat back in the chair with her arms folded. “Baby, all I need you to do is get me in the house. I’ll do the rest.”

  “But, Momma, what are you going to do? I mean, what else can I do?”

  “Baby, like I said, just get me in the house.”

  Chapter 19

  A couple of months had gone by since I last visited my mother. Since that time, our relationship grew like we were sisters. Yes, I said sisters. She now accepted my lifestyle, and we spent a lot of time with each other, hanging out, shopping, or whatever. The day she signed herself out of the institution, I had taken her for a makeover, got her a new wardrobe, and a new short hairdo with blonde streaks. And, chile, my momma looked some kinda good, you hear me? Still a young woman of forty-five, not only was she still beautiful but smart as well.

  I was able to rent out a small efficiency apartment for her, completely furnished and only twenty minutes away from the mansion. Fortunately, the rent wasn’t that much. Hell, I would spend more than that on one outfit, so Keith never questioned where the money was going because he gave me a monthly allowance. He stated that anyone he was fucking had to look good, whether we went out or not.

  Chile boo, anyway, I also purchased my mom a used hooptie for only five hundred bucks. It wasn’t much to look at but was in very good condition, or so the previous owner stated.

  As for my sister Keisha, my real mother pulled her fast behind up quick. Granted, even though my mother had been away for four years, Keisha did exactly what my mother told her to do, and she did it without bitching. Keisha now stayed with my mom most of the time, because a teenage girl definitely needs to be with her mother, no disrespect to Ms. Gerdy, who I have nothing but love for, and still see as my mother as well.

  My real mom and I both felt that now wasn’t a good time to inform Ms. Gerdy that my real mom was out of the institution. And Ms. Gerdy still thought that Keisha was spending her time over Debbie’s house. I was truly hoping that once this was all over we would all be one big happy family, without my stepfather, of course. My real mother informed me that she knew Ms. Gerdy’s husband very well and for me not to worry because she was going to get rid of him as well. I don’t know what my mother had over my stepfather, but whatever it was, she kept telling me that the shit was gonna hit the fan.

  Oh, and Keith finally had Ms. Fag-hag move into the mansion a couple of weeks ago. Ain’t that a bitch? Anyways, she’d been walking around here like Ms. Queen Bee and shit, but I paid her no mind. At least, I tried not to.

  When she’d first moved in, she didn’t have much to say to me. I guess Keith noticed and spoke with her about it, because for the past few days, she’d been grinning all up in my face. Chile boo, I really ain’t got shit to say to her.

  And the other day, she had the audacity to come knocking on my bedroom door to see if I would help her do her makeup because she and Keith were going out. But of course by now, you know what I told her, chile boo. I will admit, it still hurt to see the one you thought you love be with someone else, but thank God for my mom, because she helped me get through this whole situation. She’d often told me that, at times, if you truly love someone, you have to learn how to let them go, blah, blah, blah.

  As for Mr. Keith Jamison, I thought I loved him, but now I wasn’t even sure. The only reason why I was here dealing with this situation and all the bullshit was because my mother and I planned on getting paid big time. You see, a few weeks ago, and at my mother’s request, I went snooping around in Mr. Keith Jamison’s office and discovered that he had a safe hidden behind one of his fake Rembrandts hanging on the wall.

  And I figured out the combination. Dummy uses his birthdate for everything. “Why are guys so stupid?” I asked my momma.

  She said, “Baby, they just is.”

  I opened the safe, and Keith had so much money and drugs in it, I almost gagged. I didn’t take the time to count it because I really wasn’t sure how long he would be gone. I closed the safe and ran upstairs to my bedroom to give my mother a call.

  “Hey, baby. How you doing?”

  “Mom, Keith has a safe in his office,” I said, sounding out of breath.

  Mother laughed. “Of course, he does. He sell drugs, don’t he? I told you he would.”

  “I know, Mom, but it was so much money in there.”

  “Oh really? Do tell.”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly how much was there. I didn’t get a chance to count it because I didn’t know how long he would be gone.”

  “Okay, but we also need to find out when he makes his drops. I know he must keep account of what’s going out and what’s coming in, so you need to find this out as well.”

  “Momma, but I don’t know what to look for.”

  “All right, but have you thought of a way to get me in the house?”
r />   “I’m still thinking how I can do that without him becoming suspicious.”

  “Look, baby, I tell you what. That’s a big house. Tell him you would like to hire a maid. He seems to be a brotha who likes living large, and everybody knows that people with money don’t clean their own shit. And I know you’re tired of trying to keep that big-ass place clean by yourself, right?”

  “Chile, you just don’t know.”

  “See, so tell him you wanna hire a maid, baby.”

  “But who we gonna get as a maid, Mom?”

  “Cameron, I’m going to be the maid,” she responded, raising her voice.

  “Momma, Keith may not know who you are, but Robin lives here now, and she would definitely know who you are.”

  “Hmmm, that’s right.” She hesitated before saying, “Well, since my makeover, she may not. Besides, she hasn’t seen me in four years, and even you said I don’t look the same.”

  “This is true. But I don’t know, Mom. It could be very risky.”

  “Well, I could dress up in disguise.”

  “Disguise? What kinda disguise?”

  “I don’t know, Cameron. People disguise themselves all the time,” she thought for a moment and said, “You know that movie with Martin Lawrence, Big Momma’s House? Maybe I can disguise myself up to be Big Momma.”

  “Momma, you can’t be serious?” I laughed hysterically.

  “And why not?” she responded, laughing. “I don’t do fat suits. I will do the old maid’s dress and a wig, but I won’t do a fat suit.”

  “Okay, Momma, I hear you, no fat suits,” I responded, still laughing.

  “What about the muthafucka that killed your brother? Does he still come around there?”

  “You’re talking about Junior? Yeah, he comes around, but Keith makes sure I’m never here when he comes around because he still doesn’t want me know they’re brothers.”