by Adaeze Okoli
It was hard to believe dad had gone after a woman who wouldn’t even speak up for herself. Not once did she try to defend herself. She never even spoke out on the mistakes my father was making. Jessica would merrily commit murder with my father if he asked. I’m sure of it.
“Well, aren’t you going to say something? Speak up for yourself? You know what my dad is doing is wrong?”
I questioned Jessica, but still no words were uttered from her lips. That began to make my heart rate accelerate all over again. The room started to become hot. I felt my palms become exceedingly sweaty. What I did next came to me as a shock. I lost it, I lost all sense of control. My heart was beating like it was trying to leave my body. Soon I wasn’t seeing flashes of red flood my vision; I was seeing real red. I was seeing a dark red, my father’s blood. I had stabbed him in his thigh. My father was almost in as much shock as I was.
“P…P…Peter,” he stuttered out.
Although I was in disbelief and shock, I pulled through.
“That’s for mom,” I said.
“Oh, and in case you were by any chance wondering what mom looked like on your anniversary, here you go.”
I reached for my wallet and pulled out one of the two polaroid copies of the photo the nurses took. I shoved the photo in his face and let the picture fall in his lap.
“Don’t worry, we celebrated without you. Not like you cared, but know this, mom spent hours getting ready for you. She even had her nails done.”
I watched as dad’s facial expressions changed. His eyes showed me pain, but I can’t tell if that’s from being stabbed or from seeing mom in the photo. I’d like to assume his sadness was a mixture of both.
“I wish mom never married you, she deserved so much better. While yes, that means I wouldn’t be here. But at least she would have never felt any of the pain you’ve caused her to feel. I don’t know how you can sleep at night, knowing mom didn’t even see you before she passed.”
The only thing that stopped me from killing that man tonight night was my mother. I heard her voice crystal clear.
She said, “Peter calm down, this is not worth it. Is jail a place you want to spend the rest of your life in, over your father? Everything is going to be ok.”
My hand was bloody and shaking, I finally dropped the knife down on the floor. I grabbed the backpack that I left at the door and put it over one shoulder. Before I opened our front door and left, I looked back at my father.
With warm tears running down my face, I asked him the only question that came to mind.
“How could you dad?”
With the question lingering in the air, I walked out the front door. And trust me when I say this… I never looked back.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’ve lost everything. My house held everything that reminded me of mom. Mom’s garden, clothes, Chanel No. 5 perfume, and photos of us. Everything is all gone. It’s as if a black hole was created, and inhaled everyone I loved, and all the things that were meaningful to me. If it weren’t for my memories, I’d have nothing to remember her by. I question what dad is trying to do. Does he think he can erase mom as if she was never in our lives? Is he trying to get rid of me to start the life he believes he deserves? The feeling of nausea began to take over.
“He’ll call me and realize everything was one big mistake. Dad will realize he messed up.”
I kept mumbling those words to myself while clinging to my phone. Hoping that at any moment he’d call me.
All the business shops have closed for the night. I noticed how shops owned by people in Inglewood had bars on their window. Owners have also installed small metal fences that cover their shop doors. Of course, the fence that protected the door had a lock as well. Even some McDonalds here have bars covering their windows, imagine that. Do you think any McDonalds near Beverly Hills have bars on their windows? I walked up and down the streets of Inglewood. The time is around 11 pm. On one street I saw a drug dealer, selling to an indubitably addicted man. The man buying the drugs from the dealer was completely bent out of shape.
The man was sweating profusely, even though we were in the spring months, and tonight the weather was cold. His hair was quite unkempt, and his clothes were stained and dingy. I noticed the man who was buying, had his own car and everything. I’d say the car is a white 2008 Toyota, so it’s apparent this man makes a living. I’m assuming most of his money goes right into the pockets of his dealer. And his drug dealer never thinks twice about the fact. How many dealers realize the lives they’re messing up.
Does the thought ever occur to them, that they are helping someone kill themselves? I wish I could say words strong enough to pull at the dealer’s heartstrings. Words that would make him not want to harm anyone else. But what can I do? I’m a guy. One who couldn’t even get his own father to stop using. If I couldn’t make my own father pull through, why on earth would I be able to help an addict who has no relations to me. It was hopeless. There would be no point in trying.
I continued walking, I mean what other choice did I have? Looking around I saw lots of homeless people trying to find a place to lay their head for the night. Some I watched scramble down filthy alleyways behind trash bins. While others gathered inside of abandoned buildings. I watched an older man, well at least I assumed he was older. It was hard to tell with some people. Some people had lived harder lives than others, which made them appear older. This man had an army veteran blanket and jacket with medals on. Alongside him keeping the man company was a little pug. The man with his pug set up camp between a churches ally. He had a shopping cart with him that he tipped over onto its side. He picked up his pug and took off his jacket with medals.
He wrapped the small dog up inside of it and placed the animal inside the tipped over cart. This man who looked like he hadn’t had a warm meal in a while feed his dog, instead of himself. He reached in a plastic bag and fed the pug from his hand. He made sure his dog was taken care of before himself. This act of kindness was selfless. Then the man reached for the army veteran blanket inside the cart and placed it over himself. I watched as he tossed and turned for a bit. In time he stopped moving. The man and dog had fallen asleep. Surviving another harsh night on the streets.
Each time I passed a homeless person, their eyes would light up. They’d look hopeful for a split second. Some thought I had money to spare. While others thought I had food to give them. When they realized I didn’t, their faces would return back to their previous state. Lifeless. They saw how I was dressed, which wasn’t great, but my clothes were clean and assumed I had something to give. I saw how some of them looked long and hard at me after I said I had nothing. It was evident that some of them didn’t believe me. Little did they know, as of today I’m like them. Homeless.
My body felt zombie-like. I walked around with no purpose or direction. I was so overcome by the fact that my bedroom was no longer a place for me to lay down and sleep. My kitchen was no longer a place for me to find food to eat. I’d take those awful T.V dinners any day. My mom’s room I’ll never see again, and the living room I’ll never get to sit in. All my shelter and protection has been torn away from me. When I had a place, I knew where my food was coming from. I knew I had a place to sleep. I was safe. My dad has left me without shelter, food, or money. Every decision I make can now either have a negative or a positive impact on my life. And if the impacts resulted in being negative. I have nowhere to go to protect myself from the consequences. I have no mother to make things right anymore. I’m exposed. I am vulnerable.
The wind began to pick up and slice through my skin. I was cold, my fingertips had started to turn red. I wanted to cry as if I was a newborn baby searching for their mother’s scent.
“Hey Peter,” a warped low voice said.
I looked around. Left, right, I looked both ways as well as behind me. Nothing. Voices crept into my mind saying whispers only the devil would tell.
“Worthless, worthless, worthless. You’re stupid, and you’re pathetic. Do yo
u even deserve to be alive? Your father kicked you out because he knows you serve no purpose. That’s bad when a father knows their own child is useless. You might as well join your mom six feet under, because you’re better off dead.”
In a haste I looked around me before I stopped walking. No, no that’s not true I thought.
“Then why else did your father kick you out?” the voice in my head asked.
I thought about the question which made more and more sense the more I thought about it. If my father thought I served some sort of purpose, he wouldn’t have told me to leave. People don’t get rid of people or thing that have meaning or value to them. My dad threw me out like trash. I rechecked my phone. Still no text from my dad.
My route was clear. The only things near me are fast-paced cars. I assumed these are people headed home from work. The fact that these people driving their cars, had a place that they were headed to hit home for me. Each person in these cars that are passing by me know where they’re going. I must have been walking for about an hour or two before I turned right onto Hawthorne Blvd. Right away, I began to smile at the smell of food. I was passing New China Mongolian BBQ.
This is the small restaurant that my mom, and I would go to every night on Friday, after watching a movie at the theaters. It was a little tradition of ours. They usually close at 9:30 pm. Once it’s after hours, they gather all the food they didn’t sell and pass out plates to the homeless. The line was long, I’m sure word got around that they give out free food after hours. The smell of their food was enticing.
“You got to do, what you’ve got to do,” I sighed. I jumped in the long line.
There was one person ahead of me before it was my turn to grab my plate.
“Thank you,” the man ahead of me said.
“You’re welcome sir, enjoy your meal.”
I stepped up and held my head low. The husband and wife who own the restaurant were the ones passing out the food. They were always the people I saw when my mom and I would come to eat here. I hope they don’t recognize me. The wife looked over at her husband and said something in their own language. My face became hot from embarrassment. What are they were saying? Finally, the wife spoke.
“You use to come here on Fridays, we remember you.”
I nodded my head in response to the wife. The husband shot his wife a look. “What are you doing here, where is your mother?”
The wife continued to drill me with questions. Her husband gave her another look. He looked at her, with eyes that were telling her to knock it off with the questions. I mumbled lowly, “She’s dead, well I mean…she passed away.”
The wife gasped. She looked shocked, sad, and at a lost for words.
“She was sick, she passed away yesterday.”
The wife husband shook his head in disbelief.
“BBQ pork, orange chicken, and rice. That was your regular order, correct?”
Once again, I nodded in response to the wife’s question. Her husband handed me the plate.
“We gave you extra BBQ. We’re so sorry for your loss. If you need anything, you know where to find us. We’ll always be willing to give you a plate on us. Stay safe honey,” the wife said.
She embraced me with a hug. I almost crumbled and began to cry. She was a mother, I could tell by the embrace she gave me, and the words she said. Mothers always have extra love in their hearts for others. I smiled at the couple and told them thank you, before I began to walk away.
“Please make it home safe! Come back whenever you’d like,” the wife called out. If only she knew I had no home. There was no place for me to make it back safe and sound. There was nowhere for me to go.
The owners surprised me when they remembered my order. I never knew they paid that much attention to their customers. Mom and I had been going there for years. I guess once you keep hearing the same order, you have no choice but to remember it. Going back there without her felt wrong. Nothing felt right without her by my side.
I’m young, I shouldn’t have to struggle with issues like this. What happened to the movies like High School Musical? Troy Bolton’s biggest problem was having to decide if he should play basketball or join theater. I wish I could dance in the rain and sing my way through my problems the way Troy Bolton did. But this isn’t High School Musical, and I’m not on Disney Channel. This is my life. I felt like I were robbed. Maybe the universe is playing one big joke on me.
“Ha, ha. I’m not getting the joke. You can give me back my normal life,” I exclaimed out into the air.
I sat down on a sidewalk right around the corner from the Chinese BBQ restaurant. I opened my box of food. The sweet, tangy smell of orange chicken tickled my nose. The owners had put my BBQ pork on one side of the plate, as well as over my rice.
“See that mom, I finally got my double pork with orange chicken. Too bad you’re not here to see this.” I mumbled.
I used to always want double pork on my plate, but, my mom never would order it.
She’d say, “Peter your eyes are bigger than your stomach. You know you can’t finish all that food. Don’t be greedy. Only take as much as you need.”
I remember always being upset with her answer. As a kid, I could not understand why I couldn’t have the double pork. Now looking at the plate, I can see why. In all honesty, I wouldn’t be able to finish that much.
“Well, I guess I’ll have leftovers for tomorrow. I’ll need them, anyway.”
I stared at the plate that brought me memories. How funny is that? The most insignificant things such as certain food smells, can bring back powerful memories. With each bite of the food I took, I was taken back to various times of my mom and I eating at the restaurant. Although the memories were painful, I didn’t want them to end. I continued to dig into my plate.
I began to slow down on my eating and closed the carton of food. I was still full from eating over at Trinity’s only a few hours ago. Another Los Angeles chill hit me. Luckily for me, I have this plate of warm food sitting on my lap. Although soon this plates warmth will run out. More thoughts continued to bombard mind. If this is all life has to offer me then why am I here? Why am I alive, do I have a purpose in this ugly world?
My phone buzzed. I forgot I even had the device on me for a split second.
The text read: “Where are you Peter, did you make it in ok?
Are you doing alright?
Do you need me to come and pick you up?”
Three new messages, all of them from Trinity. I hesitated before responding back to Trinity. I don’t want to be someone’s burden. I don’t want Trinity to always feel like she must come and rescue me. I want people to look at me and know that I’m strong. What will Trinity think of me if she finds out I’ve been kicked out? She’ll know I’m the loser everyone claims me to be at school. The cold air hit me again, this time with a little more wind. It was as if the wind was pushing me to text her. I bite my lip out of nervousness. In the end, I gave in. I texted her back and told her where to pick me up from.
Trinity picked me up within the next forty-five minutes. Opening the passenger side of her truck, I noticed she had a mismatched outfit on. She must have been in a rush to come and get me. Her outfit made me chuckle a bit.
“Hush, don’t talk about my outfit,” Trinity said.
I put my hands up as if I were surrendering, and got in the truck. Trinity had on a big oversized blue sweatshirt, white tights, and a floral flowy skirt. I looked down at her feet, no shoes. She came outside for me, without any shoes on. I smiled a bit, even with the craziest outfit of the century on, Trinity still managed to look cute.
We drove in complete silence after she told me not to laugh at what she had on. This wasn’t one of those awkward silences, this was one of those “I understand life is kicking you down,” silences. Trinity looked over at me a few times with her big expressive eyes. I could tell she was trying to check and make sure I was ok, without having to ask. I gave her a weak smile and began looking out the window. I watched as
the smaller houses of Inglewood faded into, the bigger homes of Beverly Hills. The difference between the two neighborhoods still surprised me. How crazy was it to think, that less than an hour away from me was a world completely different than mine? I mean don’t get me wrong, Of course, I go to school out here in Beverly Hills. My mom made sure of that.
Every morning around 6am, she’d wake me up to start getting ready for school. My mom drove me to school every day. She’d stop at a Starbucks on that side of town to buy our coffee, and then drop me off at school around 7:30 am. From my school, she’d head over to her job as a hotel receptionist for the Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills. My mom could have let me gone to the schools out in Inglewood, but she refused. Mom wanted me to get the best education. She wanted to make sure I was in a positive learning environment. One where the teachers were happy to teach, and not only there to get a paycheck.. Where the kids behaved and weren’t trying to fight each other or the teachers. My mom didn’t want me struggling through the school system like she did in Inglewood. The kids over there still aren’t thriving in grades like the ones in Beverly Hills.
My dad used to always get pissed at my mom.
“Why are we wasting all of this gas on him, a school is a school. He will get the same education wherever he goes.”
I remember tiptoeing out of my room to listen to their conversation a bit better.
“Damon Richard Jones.”
I knew dad was in trouble, whenever my mom called him by his full name, she was pissed.
“Why can’t you see I’m trying to give him the life that we never had. I don’t want him to turn out like us. Peter is smart, he deserves the best education. He deserves a shot at life.”