by Tiana Laveen
REST IN PEACE, GUTTER!
I’m so hurt right now, OMG!
Damn, first his mama died, now Gutter.
He went to heaven to be with his mama. I heard she’s Black.
I knew Gutter in 3rd grade. He was about that life!
See you at the crossroads!
Somebody said Gutter shot one of the guys in the ass. That’s funny AF!
My dog J-Run saw everything that happened!
Gutter must be on that shit. Ain’t nothing but trap houses over there.
Shut up. Gutter is like 10 feet tall and big. What addict looks like that?
Some of y’all aren’t respecting the dead. You weren’t raised right!
That nigga ain’t dead! It’s a conspiracy! This is like 2Pac!
GUTTER FOREVER!
I’m about to say I’m his common-law wife so I can get some of that bread.
He went out blazing. The news said he lit them mofos up!
He isn’t dead!
I didn’t know he had so many Black fans. He’s not a rapper. Weird.
Get your Emo racist ass off this post, little White boy!
Racist? I’m not racist but nice try. He doesn’t make mumble rap. His music is actually good, so I am surprised you can even understand him, dumbass.
What’s up from Turtle City! Cowabunga, dudes!
I heard he was still alive, too. Is that fake news? The media is always lying.
Did he have a will? If not, the shit is about to hit the fan.
I bet that bitch he was dating last year set him up. This looks like an inside job.
He should’ve listened to Dr. Sebi.
What’s Dr. Sebi got to do wit dis shit? He ain’t die from mucous!
Somebody said he was buying drugs and the deal went bad.
Did he get shot where The Cosby Show used to be filmed?
Y’all mad dumb! He’s in the fucking hospital and fine! They had it on the news! He is alive and well!
…And so the comments went.
She handed him his phone back and plopped down in the chair.
“You have some insane fans, Gutter. They love you though, that’s for sure. I bet Will is trying to do damage control right now.”
“Will is in California and was trying to get on a plane. I told him to stay where he is, but yes, he is trying to update my fans on my website, but you know how people are.” He rolled his eyes. “People believe what they want to believe, no matter how ridiculous and stupid it sounds. You know what? That gives me an idea. I’m about to do a video and post it.”
“You want me to hold the phone?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Wait a minute, Gutter. Let me get you together.” She dug in her purse and fished out a wet wipe to clean his face a little more. He winced when she ran the cloth over a tiny scratch on his cheek from the shattered glass. “I’m sorry, baby.” She looked down at him sorrowfully, then kissed the tip of his nose. They found themselves once again in an all-consuming kiss that stole her breath away. “…Okay, come on, come on.”
It took everything she had in her to pull away. She then produced a small brush and groomed his hair and beard. He leaned into her touch, like a big lion being pampered by a lamb… Yes, a lamb, because he also was looking at her as if she were good enough to eat. He handed her his phone when she was all finished, and she stood at the foot of the bed, aiming it in his direction.
“3… 2…1.”
“Hey, everyone. This is Gutter. First and foremost, I’m okay. As most of you heard, I had an altercation earlier today. Due to legal reasons, I can’t get into the details, but just know that your love and support are so appreciated right now. I plan to start touring on the east coast again soon, and I have new music coming your way. So no, I’m not pushin’ up daisies just yet. God saw fit to give me another day. I’m not a preachy kinda guy, but I just want to tell all of y’all that life isn’t a game. This isn’t PlayStation.”
He paused, scratched the side of his nose, and continued, “I’m grateful to be alive. Things could’ve ended differently. I’ve got family and good friends with me and by my side, and I appreciate them. I’ll check y’all later, and remember, ‘Keep it Gutter!’” He threw up the peace sign and she stopped the recording.
“You want to do another take just in case?”
“Shit, no! I could barely finish that one. This fuckin’ gown and these boxers they have me in feel like they’re made of sandpaper. My ass is itching like a motherfucker! Nuuurse!”
“Gutter!” Promise burst out laughing as the insane man tried to roll on his side and get to the offending area. “Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself. I’ll do it!”
“You’ll scratch my ass, but won’t give me any ass? Can I choose which I prefer?”
“I’d hit you if you weren’t already hurt!” They were both cracking up now. She ran her fingers along the back of his boxer shorts, feeling his glute muscles tighten. It took all of her to not fall into a fit of giggles again as the man sighed with relief. She lost the battle as his exclamations of respite grew louder, she was laughing so hard, her knees almost gave way.
“Yes… that’s it! That’s it!”
“Shhh! You’re going to have someone thinking we’re getting it on in here… better?”
“Yes. Thank you so much.”
She helped him lay back down, and it took a few more seconds for her to pull it together and stop laughing again.
“Zake, you need your rest. I’m going to get ready to go and I’ll return in the morning, okay?”
With yearning in his eyes, he rested his arm across his chest.
“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed a bit longer.”
Her lips curled.
“You wouldn’t mind, huh?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t mind.”
“All right, then. I’ll stay a little longer. What do you want to talk about?”
“You coming to my house after I get out of here…”
“Gutter.”
“I coulda been killed. You should feel sorry for me.” He smirked. “Don’t you want to hand me some pity pussy, a bit of sympathy sex?”
“You should be ashamed.” Her cheeks warmed as she fought the urge to laugh again.
He sucked his teeth, looking so damn sexy in that moment. His dark eyes burned her soul with a mere glance. Singed to the core.
“Come here…”
She approached him and leaned close. He took her hand, intertwined their fingers and whispered in her ear, “The nurse said right before my surgery, I demanded to call you. I don’t remember callin’ you, I don’t even remember what I said to you, but I know my soul wanted you here when I woke up…”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Swing Down, Sweet Chariot and Let Me Ride…
Two weeks later…
Gutter paced back and forth on the sidewalk outside his mother’s house, his feet producing a satisfying crunch as they stepped on dry leaves. He paused to look up at the gray sky and some of the trees that had already lost their foliage. They’d arrived early to the party, going bald in the name of pending Autumn.
He grew increasingly antsy while he waited for her to finish up her phone conversation in a hurry. Something about a portrait she’d been working on. He didn’t want to be inside the stuffy house that smelled of tomato soup and mothballs today. He had no idea why she’d insisted on taking a walk that particular morning, but in his bid to keep the peace, he’d reluctantly agreed.
Jenny soon appeared at the front door, pushing on the screen with her small hand. She pulled out a set of keys with various charms hanging from it—a little gold bear, a tiny Converse sneaker—and locked the door, letting the screen bang behind her like some drum. She faced him in a sky-blue puffy jacket, the kind a young child would wear, denim leggings that hugged her skinny legs, and matching sky-blue sneakers. Pulling up the hood of the coat over her scarf-wrapped head, she shoved her hands in her pockets. He was surprised she didn’t have on gloves and
another scarf around her neck, too.
“It’s not that cold today.” He looked her up and down, curious and confused.
“For me it is. My temperature isn’t like yours. Medications.”
She began to walk up the street and he followed, until they were side by side. He wanted to play some music, sing, or whistle. Instead, all he heard was the swishing of the wind every now and again, the cars that passed by, and pockets of people talking here and there.
“I wish ya would’ve let me come to the hospital to see you a couple weeks ago, Gutter. I found out on the news what happened and… I can’t even describe to you how I felt. I called your dad right away since you weren’t picking up and your brother was just as clueless as me. The only person I could get a hold of, and who had any answers, was your father. Anyway, he’d asked ya if it was okay for me to come.”
He knew where this was going. They hadn’t spoken of his rejection of her visit in over a week. Zina came, and he suspected his mother was salty about that, too.
“You told me you didn’t want me to trouble myself, but I can’t help but to think it was deeper than that.”
“It wasn’t deeper than that. Nothing personal.”
“How are ya? Your body okay?” Jennifer questioned between sniffs.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s a little sore if I lie on that side for too long, but other than that, it’s healing well.”
She nodded, then drew quiet again.
“Before you got sick, did you use to walk a lot?”
“Oh, yes.” Her lips curled in a smile as she kept looking straight ahead. “It was the one thing I was religious about. I enjoyed my morning walks because I got to watch the world change, live and in person. Sometimes it seems like everything is the same, but if ya think about it, things change every day, and so do people. We never look exactly the same, even if we’re wearing the same clothes as the day before. Our cars get dings, dirt, and dents. Buildings lose bricks, missing or broken windows, or get a new coat of paint. Even the sidewalks change. People walkin’ on ’em… gum wrappers and litter. Broken beer bottles, chalk from children’s games. Insects in the spring and summer crawl about, looking for food, making a home. The world is always evolving, just sometimes, we miss those changes, big or small.”
He let out a loud breath as she turned to him.
“Your grandmother used to be a damn good writer.”
That statement startled him, as if she was reading his mind but taking things a step further.
“Dad’s mom or yours?”
“Mine. She wrote beautiful poetry. I was never a good writer. I bet ya got your song lyrics writing skills from her. Her sister, my Aunt Betty, was good at it, too. Aunt Betty was also a good artist, but I rarely got to see her.”
“Why?”
“Because she married some Puerto Rican man, and my grandparents disowned her. I really liked Aunt Betty…”
“Did your mother stop talking to her, too? She didn’t have to disown her. Nice to find out this way that I come from racist stock.”
Jenny chortled and shook her head.
“Trust me, babe, you don’t know our family.”
He was about to reply with something snarky but thought better of it. He’d promised himself he was going to stop going in on her when the opportunity rose, no matter how tempting it was.
“My mother would call her on Christmas and her birthday, I think, but that was it. It’s a shame how ignorant people can be, Zake. Your grandmother was a complicated woman. I honestly don’t even think she cared that Betty married a guy who wasn’t White. I think she was only responding to what people would say, and what they’d think.” Jenny shrugged. “My step-father was the same way, but he was barely home. Worked a lot. My mother was into appearances. Maybe if I cared more about appearances, I wouldn’t have done what I’d done, huh?” She smiled mirthlessly. “What kind of mother walks out on her kids? Some selfish psychopath, that’s who.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I thought I was helping you guys by leaving. I’m serious. I really thought you guys would be better off without me. I felt so inept. I hated myself. I couldn’t measure up. What a horrible choice, a terrible thing to do. I’m apologizing again. I must. I’m pathetic.”
Gutter imagined her wet face was cold now from the breeze hitting it. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a napkin he still had from the donut shop he’d stopped at to grab a coffee earlier, then handed it to her.
“Thank you, honey.” She took it and dabbed at her eyes. “You really let me have it some time ago. Boy, that stung like a wasp’s ass.”
“Let’s not talk about that right now.”
“But I want to talk about it. You don’t have to say anything back, just let me speak.” She waved him off, slight irritation in her tone. “You were right. Everything you said to me and about me was right.” He opened then closed his mouth. “I see you’ve got a vicious tongue like your father,” she grimaced, “but it doesn’t really matter how nice or mean words are if they’re true. I’m sure some would argue with me about it, but I don’t see any difference.” She shrugged. “I knew you were right before you said it. It’s not like I had some great epiphany, or you woke me up. I was just hoping we could move past all of that and start over, but that’s not fair to you. That’s the selfishness in me.” She pointed to herself. “I’m so selfish, because when I was a kid, I wasn’t allowed to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I couldn’t just think about myself and my needs. It was a shit-show in my house, Zake.” He turned away, and she grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “I’m serious. Like I told you before, I don’t know my biological father, and was shunned if I asked. My stepfather beat my mother’s ass and ran around on her. My mother miscarried three times. I suspect he beat her so bad; she lost the babies. It messed me up. He was verbally abusive to me and my brother, too. That’s not an excuse. Nothin’ I say to try and explain why I couldn’t hack it as a mother will make it all right. My kids didn’t ask to be here. I chose to get married and have children with your dad. All I’m trying to give you is context is all. I was happy when I met your dad because I saw him as a savior, a way out of that house.
“He’s a good man, flaws and all. We’re just not suited for each other. He needed a traditional housewife type of gal. I wasn’t her. He loved you kids though, and I knew no other dad could beat him… Do you call your father by his first name?”
“You know I don’t.”
“You never call me Mom, and that’s okay. Ya never tell me ya love me, and that’s okay, too. But what you will do is know me and who I am before I’m gone for good. I’m determined to be nothin’ but upfront with you, Zake. Any question ya have, no matter how much I don’t want to answer it or would like to lie, I’m not gonna. All I have is my own truth though, so sometimes my answers may not be good enough.”
“You’ve been talking to Zach and Zina for a while. Have you been honest with them, too?”
She tilted her head to the side, as if she’d never considered that question. “No. Well, sometimes, but I would dance around things, make excuses. You were the kid I knew wouldn’t let me off the hook. I told you weeks ago that you were the child I knew was going to cause me problems, make this hard for me. I didn’t even think you’d come when I called you to tell you I was in my winter.”
“Your winter?”
“Yeah, my last go-round. My last season.”
At that moment, the wilted words leaving her mouth tumbled out and landed dry, then crumbled against the pressure of a well-placed foot, like the leaves transforming to an amber dust death. His chest tightened as it was crushed by it all, and his skull throbbed. He had no idea how a woman he barely knew could pull on his emotions like this. Wasn’t that the reason why he’d flown home in the first place? There was something powerfully wicked about the stronghold of a chain between a mother and child. It didn’t matter if they hadn’t spoken two words to one another in decades or were cl
ose as thieves.
The shackle could be tarnished and corroded until it was burnt orange with rust, flaking from the stingiest brush of wind. It could be snapped in sections, barely hanging on, and still, no one could sever it completely. No human, no animal or creature of nature could rip it apart.
If you think about it, women are portals. Women bring souls to Earth from between their legs… That’s crazy. That’s amazing. I need to write that shit in a song.
All of this was divinely created and could only be divinely undone. An abnormal attachment if he ever saw one. A heavy burden. Maybe it happened when she was pregnant with him—a connection he could never undo, no matter how much he wished to always hate her and forget she existed.
“You’re a truth seeker down to your core,” she said. “You search for answers. I wasn’t giving you any, so you were angry. It makes sense.” She shrugged. “You have the good, the bad, and the ugly of your father, Zake. You’re beautiful like him, too.” She reached up and ran a hand down his cheek, blinking away tears. They began to walk again, the quiet brewing between them like weak coffee that would never be strong or hot.
“What’s your favorite color?”
She glanced at him briefly with a raised eyebrow.
“I can only choose one?”
“Yeah.” He smiled.
“Pink. What’s your favorite color?”
“Gray.” She nodded, as if not surprised.
“What’s your favorite place to visit, Zake?”
“Like city or country?”
“Both, now that you put it that way.”
“I like visiting Miami probably the most. Wouldn’t want to live there, but I like it a whole lot. Country? Hmmm, I enjoy plenty of them, but with the risk of sounding super patriotic, I prefer my own hometown over all others. The U.S.A.”
“Okay. Now, what foreign country?”
“Performing in France has been amazing. I always enjoy my trips there.”
She reached for his hand.
“Do you mind if I hold your hand, Zake?”
He looked down at her extended fingers. Waiting. Hopeful.