PLEASE READ THIS
Author's Note: This is my first one-shot and it's a lot longer to my usual chapters. Before I start there are a few things I'd like to address. First of all, I will update my stories, but this story was so engraved as a back-story to 'A Normal Day' that I just had to write it. Two, this is the beginning to a new writing style of mine that I give thanks to SapphireStones. I've read all of her stories and it gave me a lot of insight on writing. Not only are my stories going to become more elaborate, but they will be better planned out. Third, please review because they fuel my stories. Fourth, enjoy.
My parents aren't important. Many people believe that they're essential to a person's well-being considering that they themselves are the source of their creation. As accurate as this may be, the percentage of parents who are actually vital to the life of their offspring during the turn of the century. Parents are good for money. When they don't have any, why have them there? They're good for security and protection. When they fail to protect you, why do they even bother to stick around? They're supposed to be there for love, but that, along with the idea that they mold you, is ridiculous. Also, the number of parents who have children and don't even bother to make an attempt to protect and provide is rising. Grandparents and neighbors have more part in raising Generation Y than the actual parents instead. This proves most people, as usual, don't have a clue about and insist the morals and ethics of what the majority population believes in. And in addition to this… I've never given a damn about what other people believe.
"Aye, Huey! Nigga, where you at?"
Well, maybe they did define a little of who you are, but nothing drastic to dwell on. My parents are gone, and they it doesn't matter where they are and why they did, but they're not here. Point. Blank.
"Huey!"
"What Riley?"
Riley entered the room with his hands around his midsection and a looked as if hell had run through him. It wasn't exactly rare that my brother found ways to injure himself, but it was rare when he called me about it afterwards.
"I-it hurts. Really, really bad," he whined flopping on the bed an over-dramatic craze. He should give up the rap star dreams and focus on being a soap opera actor. A better chance at playing the stereotypical 'black-gardener-without-a-shirt-or-a-care-about-a- certain-white-woman's-marriage-because-he-just-wants-to-tap-that-ass-and-is-also-emotional-so-in-short-he's-the-perfect-man-for-her' guy. It would pay more money than being paid to be an idiot. "I dunno know what happened. I gots a headache too."
"Did you take your insulin shots?"
The air filled with silence that, at any other moment, would've been a good thing. But, at this moment it meant anything but.
"Riley! You can't just treat those shots like hobby! People can die from diabetes!"
"So? It ain't like I asked to get 'em. It ain't my fault! Just stop it from hurtin'! Please!" he yelled at me while his tears welled up, threatening to give in. I hated it when he cried. It wasn't often like Jazmine, but it was still just as heartbreaking when it was legitimate.
Not that I'd ever tell him that.
"Come on," I sneered at him as I rose from the computer desk. He followed me into the bathroom to get his kit, downstairs and into the kitchen where he simply sat down and held out his arm. It was surprising how compromising he was when he was in so much pain.
Not.
"Which one is which again?" he asked with wide eyes in a meek voice. I could tell he just wanted to make conversation for the both of us while I tested his blood sugar and gave him his insulin.
I hated needles.
He hated blood.
"Type 1 is the one that's inherited. Type 2 is the one that is caused through external factors," I replied poking with a small needle his fingertip to draw blood. He turned his head away to look out the window at the sunset. Granddad had been gone for a few hours and the babysitter run out of the house… or had been run, out of the house. With having an 8-year-old boy that could die due to his condition would make anyone think that Granddad would do more for his kids. But no, he is after all, a parent's parent.
Not much to expect there.
"Which one I got?" he asked still staring out the window. I'd managed to check his sugar, which was completely off, and began to pat his fingertip to clot the bleeding.
"Type 1." This conversation had been repeated nearly thousands of times before whenever I had to do this. Granddad, who usually did it, didn't have much of a problem with needles or blood and found the broken record of an exchange to be unnecessary.
"Who'd I get it from?"
Well.
That was new.
"Dad."
"Oh." He looked at me with an interested stare at I stuck the needle into his vein slowly injected the cure to his pain. "What was momma like?"
I stopped in mid-puncture. Damn. He just had to make it difficult and bring HER up. Riley and I had somewhat of a silent agreement to never talk about our parents. They were deemed unnecessary and unwanted. But the disadvantage of signing a silent contract is that it's never defined or guaranteed.
I sighed, wishing he had never brought them up, especially at a time like this. Although the syringe wasn't in my arm, it was disturbing and I just wish that the person who made them would just die. The idea of my mother didn't make the mood any better.
He looked dead into my eyes with curiosity and a hint of seriousness as if I were to give an answer off the top of my head. It wasn't exactly an easy thing to bring up those who were dead to you.
But then again, I'm probably dead to them as well.
December 23, 1998
"Aye Huey! Nigga where you at?"
"In here momma," I whispered to the lady who entered the room with a corn rowed 2-year-old on her hip and an attitude on her face. Somehow she'd been able to find me even though I'd barely voiced where I was.
"Com' on honey. We 'bout to go to the park," she said setting the boy down on our bed and sitting down herself beside him. He started to fumble with the book on the bed and drooled with it as he numbed his teething gums on the pages. My mother, not bothering to stop him, swished braided hair over one shoulder, "It should be fun!"
"We not going to the park for nothin' fun," I retorted. She glared at me with her icy emerald eyes questioning the motives of my argument.
"So?"
I sighed and got up from my spot on the bed abandoning my book and got my jacket. I don't know why this woman felt the need to put me in danger on a regular basis just so she could do a drug deal. I had no clue as to why she even bothered. She had a part-time job at a hair salon and my father had a full-time job as a chef in an Olive Garden and was a part time writer. They were the only couple that were married, lived together, had children and had jobs probably in all of Chicago.
"Hurry up. I ain't got all day," she sneered at me as I crossed the room to retrieve a jacket to face the December weather. I'd also have to make sure Riley was wrapped up pretty good. X knows she's not gonna do it.
Proving me right, she left the room.
I pulled both mine and Riley's jacket out of our shared closet and threw mine on the bed to put his own. He stared at me with his own large eyes that resembled a warmer version of my mother's cold ones. "Hey , Huwy?"
"What Riley?"
"Why we go to da park all da time? Ain't it really cold outside?" he asked as I put on his jacket and coat. "I don't even like da park no mo."
"Well, that makes two of us," I laughed. "Momma's got some, 'business' to take care of. I don't know why she want us to go, but just bear with her."
"What's 'bear' mean? We ain't gon kill her wit' a bear are we?" he inquired while I chuckled at his naive attitude.
"It means to just deal with her right now. Dad'll be home soon and we might be able to stay with him. But if not, just 'bear' with her," I answered while putting on my coat. "Besides, it's 2 days 'til Christmas, you know what that means?"
"I turn 3! Yeah-yeah!" Riley was what you call a 'Christmas baby'. It was only his single favorite day of the year; not only did he get Christmas and birthday gifts, but Momma always toned down during this time and Granddad came around more often.
They fought less when Granddad was here.
"Com' on niggas!"
I fought the urge to beg her to not take us and gritted my teeth together.
"Let's go."
We left the bedroom and made our way to the kitchen where she tapped her foot in aggravation. Damn she was impatient.
"Now when we get there, don't say a word. I mean it." She didn't have to tell me twice. I'd learned the last time to not say anything in fear of nearly getting shot and anally raped. That was one close call.
We entered the center of the park that was sheltered by an umbrella of wilted trees and a blanket of thick snow. A light skinned man and a brown skinned girl who looked about 10 waited nearby. A man in a trench coat hid behind a tree and peered at me; I don't know if my mom saw him, but I did.
"Kim, Kim, Kimmy, Kimberly! My sweet Kim! How are you, darling?" Ew. This high yellow man was the biggest kiss ass of all her 'customers'. Most of them were either the high-strung homeless people who begged and pleaded with a wad of stolen cash in their hand or the business man who hid his dirty little secret from his friends and family. They never flattered her or anything.
"I see you brought the boys," he said walking forward to embrace my mother. I hated him already. "I brought my daughter as well. She's my 'heir' so to speak and has to learn the ropes. If we're going to go national with the business, we have to have a strong structure, a family line… and devoted soldiers.
"You're the first female to hold down a neighborhood with an iron fist and respect. If you agree to join my business, could you be the leader of the string in Chi-town?"
Oh, so he was a dealer, not a customer. Explains the brown-nosing.
"I coulda sworn we already discussed this. I gots this shit. All you need to do is supply and hold down yo own in D.C., and make sure you hold this shit down. I know you daddy died tyrin' make this shit work. So don't fuck up," my momma spat stoically and threw her back length braids over one shoulder. "Deal?"
"Deal. We got a shipment of coke for you and I'm gonna let my baby," he glanced down at the girl, "Handle the deal."
The girl stepped forward with her hands in her coat pockets while her father walk backwards towards the tree where the man in the trench coat stood. The neutral/annoyed look on her face immediately turned into pity as she eyed Riley and I. I guess her parent forced her to come here too.
"Look, I don't know if you want to do this. It's unsafe and," she looked at me, "you don't want to risk you're children for a few extra bucks. This production isn't something you want to trade for your family."
"Shit, kid. I think I can take care of my kids. Just gimmie my shit," my mother replied to the girl. She reached into her pocket and handed the bag of white to my mother who stuffed it into her purse and glared at the girl who returned the look. "What?"
"Well?" she said as she held her hand out. My mother sighed and dug into her pocket only to pull a wad of bills out and throw them at the girl's face. She caught it before it hit the ground and save a death glare to my mother, "Nice doing business with you, Kimberly," she shot without an ounce of thanks in her voice.
"You too… um-"
"Mai, I'm 11."
"Momma?" Riley looked up from his spot next to me towards our mother. "Can we go home now?"
"Nigga didn't I tell you t-"
"See you soon Kim, we'll be sending kilos via Midnight's house down the street in a few weeks. Hold it down," the high yellow man said as he left with Mai trailing behind.
When they were out of sight,"Ow! Momma, stop!"
"I told you not to say shit! Shut up!"
"But it hurts! I'm sorry!"
"Com' on, we goin' home!"
She dragged my poor brother through the bulky snow and glanced back at me in a silent command to follow. As always, I'm following her to hell against my will. It wouldn't be peaceful around here anym-…. well it was never peaceful but I could sense that things were only gonna get worse. I'm not a psychic or anything, but these types of things always give me a certain feeling beforehand.
"Kim I can't continue to let you do this to our children."
"Damn it, Bobby! Let me do me ok! I don't stop you from reading or from writing that damn newspaper or from growing out yo' hair into that nappy ass afro or from even lettin' our son grow one! But when I have the slightest bit of ambition to make myself better and earn some mo' paper, you get yo' panties in a bunch!"
"Kim," my father whispered trying to keep his patience with her. "WE agreed that if Riley got to grow braids, then Huey could grow his afro. And selling drugs isn't bettering us. You're only tearing down the community that is self destructing as we speak. It doesn't need any help in destroying it; it needs help in improving it. You're doing the opposite. And calm down, we don't need the neighbors knowing anything."
Dad had gotten home a little after we did and wasn't happy when he saw the white in my mom's purse. He'd always hated that she did this and was just as confused about why she did as I was. They'd been at it for about two hours and to be honest it was getting late.
This wasn't the first time they fought about my mother's low standards. In fact, it was pretty routine to us in the Newton residence. Riley and I had taken our seats in the hallway to listen to their argument, as always. He would curl up into me and cry whenever they did this no matter how much I told him to go to the room. I was only listening so that I'd know if I'd have to call the police or something.
"I don' need you tellin' me what to do or how to live." She paused and I could hear her catching her breath. "Matter fact, I don't need you at all. And I might as well tell you."
"Tell me what?" he yelled, catching me and Riley off guard. I could hear the scraping of a chair on the floor, which signed for me and Riley to enter the room.
"Hey daddy," I said with Riley not too far behind. We could see that the argument was already heated and would only get worse. My father had knocked his chair over in the process of getting to my mother who stood on the defense at the sink. In seeing us, he ducked down on one knee to greet us with a huge grin. Naturally, we ran to him. He was sane, after all.
"Hey boys! How are you?" he asked kissing us on our foreheads. "Did you read any books today?"
"I just finished 'Unlimited Power: A Black Choice'," I replied to him. Dad was a fanatic on reading.
"I just read 'Green Eggs and Ham'," Riley said proudly.
"Good, let's get you two in the tub and in to bed," said rising back to his full height and leading us into the bathroom.
"Race ya," Riley whispered to me taking off.
"Hey! Cheater!"
I'd gotten half to the bathroom but not until hearing my father direct his attention to my mother.
"This isn't over."
December 24, 1998
And as my father had said, it wasn't over.
"I might as well give you your Christmas present in advance. Here," she said handing him two envelopes at the dinner table. Somehow they had gone the whole night without talking to each other and even made it all through Christmas Eve… until now. But then again, she had been gone nearly all day.
Dad opened the first envelope and his eyes widened, "A divorce?"
My mother kept eating and threw her braids over one shoulder, a habit she made whenever she was about to lose her temper, "You're surprised?"
"Well, Bobby, I realized that after 6 years with you, I don't need you. I can take care of these kids on my own and I don't need you around to dictate my every move."
"Bitch, I don't control you! You do whatever the hell you want without even consulting me! Why the hell do you want to upset these kids? They're already-,"
"How about you open your other present?" she said ignoring him. My father almost never cursed in front of us, especially at the dinner table, but I guess that couldn't get through to her.
"You…bitch. You changed their names?"
What? Who was 'they'?
"Yes, you don't deserve to have your name live on. Bobby Newton, meet Huey Percy Freeman and Riley Curtis Freeman," she said gesturing towards us. I couldn't even believe that she would go this low just because he disagreed with her dangerous schemes. And on top of that she didn't even tell us. Was that even legal?
"My name is Nigga, Momma, wh-," Riley was cut off by a brutal slap to the face via Momma. Before she or I could react, Dad was on his feet and had her by the neck. Riley and I jumped out our chairs and backed up towards the exit of the kitchen as the struggle continued.
"How DARE you? I take care of you all these years and this is how you repay me!"
"I don't need you!"
"Fuck you, you b-!... Oh my goodness," Dad removed his hands from her neck and backed up catching himself. "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the times I hit you before and I shouldn't have choked you… but you can't expect me to be ok with you telling me you're leaving without so much as a warning. I mean what about the kids?"
He hit her before this?
"They're coming with me."
My father caught his tongue and set his jaw as he stared at her for a few minutes.
I have to admit, the silence was a relief.
"You…cannot…take my-….What is that on your nose?"
"Nothing!" she yelled shifting her gaze.
Unconvinced, he walked up to her a roughly grabbed her chin and dabbed his finger on the white substance and licked it, "You've been getting off your own stash?"
"What! Have you been getting high off my insulin too?"
"Nobody gives a fuck about yo' diabetes!" she spat ripping her chin away from his grasp. "And nobody gives a fuck about you!"
I gasped and stared in realization.
She was taking us away from him.
Riley, who was already crying, threw himself on my hip like a piece of Velcro. I shared his tears. Something, the same something that things would change, the same something that gave me prophetic dreams, the same something that told me I'd lose my Dad, told me that smiles weren't free anymore.
They came with a price.
Dad made an angry beeline past us and we followed him. Anything than being in there with HER. He slammed the bedroom door in our faces and in response I went into our room with Riley tagging behind. I locked the door and walked over to the bed.
I didn't like crying, and it only made it worse that Riley was there. I was supposed to be his rock and protector. I never cried. And when he cried… it was as if I failed.
"Huwy, what's gon' happen? Are we gon' be ok?" he asked giving me a look that damn near made me break down.
How was I supposed to answer that? How could I tell him to relax when I didn't know myself? It was like putting him in danger. My mother did that enough and I refuse to be like her.
How do you protect a painful reality?
How do you coddle a lie?
"I think …we'll be just fine. I think we should go to sleep. Come on," I said to him as I pulled away the covers. He immediately attached himself softly, remembering the injuries our mother gave him in the park yesterday, to me and tried to fall asleep. I did the same, only my sleep came much less effortless.
December 25, 1998
It was really, really early. Around 1:30 a.m. on Christmas Day to be exact. And unlike any other Christmas, I hadn't been awakened by the smell of oranges or my Dad, but a toilet flushing.
I looked down my tiny sleeping brother and pryed myself away from him to check to see why they were up this early.
Or late.
Depending on how you look at it.
The hallway was dark and more scary than normal. I glanced at my parent's room, which had a strip of light underneath the door.
"Get away from me Kim. You're high," my father nearly whispered loud enough for me to hear.
"And you flushed my stash you asshole," she slurred.
Suddenly the door flew open and my dad traveled to the kitchen, my mother followed close behind with a black object in her hand, neither noticing me. But, still, I followed and took my usual place by the wall. But instead of hearing a string of curse words and objects being thrown, I heard a swooshing noise.
I looked around the corner to see my mother standing over my father with a silenced gun in her hand.
"D-Dad? Daddy!" I screamed at the lifeless body. I draped my body over the large man's form and cried out for the lost soul, not caring about the thick red substance that stained my clothes nor the heavy chunks of lunch that forced it way through my throat and unto his back. Tears rolled down my eyes as I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. A shadow found its way around my form.
"Move."
"W-why?"
"Move, Huey. I won't repeat myself again."
Having no other choice, I moved his body away from my father knowing it would be the last time we would touch. Not wanting to witness the final blow, I ran to our room with my younger brother sleeping in the bed. Shaking him delicately to be mindful of his wounds, "Riley, wake up."
"My name is Nigga. I'm sweepin'," he said rolling over on his stomach and sucking his thumb.
"Ok Nigga, we gonna go see Granddad, ok. It's gon' be fun," I said desperately tryin to leave the house and the smell of death. But I couldn't leave him with our mother. Not in her current state.
Riley yawned and rubbed his eyes coming up to sit on his knees while I got an outfit for my brother out of the drawers. "Why we weaving when the sun turned off?"
"Just come on," I rushed dressing my brother. I quickly threw a t-shirt over his head and a pair of socks and shoes on his feet and lead him down the hall.
SWOOSH
I ducked down on the floor so that I could pull Riley on my back. "Just hurry!" I whispered.
I ran out the door with the toddler on my back to Granddad's house, which was 3 and a half blocks away from their apartment. At nearly 2 a.m. on a Tuesday night, it really didn't matter how far you were. Even the busiest of Chicago dealers were tucked in their beds with their prostitutes. Unfortunately for us, it also meant no aid in our journey to Granddad's place.
About an hour later, I arrived with the sleeping 2….3-year-old on my back at our Grandfather's doorstep. I rang the doorbell and waited for a response. It was one hell of a night, but at least we got away from that smell.
God, that smell…
Smiles were like water now, necessary, but expensive.
We haven't seen our mother since that day. I don't think I want to. I see a lot of her in Riley but I hope that he doesn't end up like her. That would mean I failed.
We stayed with Granddad for years in Chicago until we moved to Woodcrest. I haven't bothered trying to smile no matter how peaceful life may seem. Somewhere in the world there's a 3-year-old child who has to lose his father on his birthday and lives in pure hell. Except that 3-year-old may not have a brother to protect him. I see no reason to smile. I've been told that I'm exactly like our father.
He only smiled at us.
And we only smiled at him.
But now that he's gone, there's no reason for me to smile.
I finished empting the syringe into Riley's arm and started putting the materials.
"Well?"
"She was like you."
Riley gasped and stared at me in wonder. He didn't remember much from before the age of 5 so it wasn't surprising to see that he was shocked.
"But, you shouldn't limit yourself to her. She was just the vessel to put you here, nothing more."
I don't know if he understood all the way, but he would someday. I know he's gonna mess up. But he can't end up like her. He can't. Karma wouldn't allow it.
I wouldn't allow it.
There's nothing to smile about in this world anymore.
Especially my parents. They were a lost cause, not essential to my well-being.
"You're better than her."
And with that I hugged my only brother and walked passed him.
He had a small smile of satisfaction on his lips.
The corners of my mouth turned upwards in return.
Maybe there was one thing.