Chapter 14:

A Friend in Need Is a Friend Indeed

Harlem, New York, 1958

"Son, sit down for a second."

Those words made Dallas freeze in his tracks. He'd just gotten home from school, a bouquet of flowers he'd picked for his mother clutched in his hand.

"Is Mom finally coming home?" He asks him.

Mr. Winston sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Your mother…your mother is getting worse. The doctors are doing everything they can, but…" he shakes his head.

"They're saying…they're saying she won't make it through the night."

For the first time in years, Dallas sees his father, a hardened and tough man, break down in tears.

"We're going to…to say goodbye. Grab your coat."

Dallas sees a woman in what's supposed to be his mother's bed, but he can't register that woman as his mother. His mother was full of life, long dark curls falling down her back with hazel eyes that seemed to glow with warmth. Her skin was radiant and soft, not waxy and clinging to her bones. The woman in the hospital bed is gaunt, with sunken in eyes and a bald head, wearing a hospital gown two sizes too big. The hospital room reeks of chemicals, death, and sickness; it makes Dallas dizzy.

This woman isn't his mother, this woman isn't her; his mother is off somewhere, buying groceries and talking to Mrs. Jimenez about the cake recipes she wants to trade, she's brushing her hair in the bedroom, waiting for Dallas to come home and braid it for her into the two braids she likes.

He doesn't want to see this pale, gaunt, sickly, knocking on Death's door woman as his mother; it feels wrong.

She opens her eyes and Dallas sees those hazel eyes he holds so dear and he's forced to face the music.

It's her. Oh, God, it's her.

She smiles a soft smile and reaches out to touch his face; he flinches. The woman notices his fear, and lowers her hand, her smile vanishes. Mr. Winston pinches Dallas' arm, hissing in his ear, "You go and hug your mother. Now."

Dallas wants to, but he's so scared; she looks so fragile, so small. He's looking at a woman who's going to die any minute and he's afraid she'll take him with her. This isn't his mother, it's not her…

He musters the strength to come to her, wrapping his arms around her. Her heartbeat becomes a steady sound in his ear, keeping him calm.

"Don't be afraid, honey. I never…I never wanted you to see me like this." She says. Dallas feels something wet drop into his hair; he registers this as tears.

"I never meant to frighten you, baby. I'm so sorry."

"Mom." Dallas slips out. His eyes are getting blurry, his throat burning and choking.

"You're going to get better." Dallas tells her.

"You're going to get better, and you're going to get out of this hospital bed and we're going to take you home and…"

"Shh…baby. Baby, look at me."

Dallas obeys and he knows he's a sorry sight; his face his red, tears falling down his face and his nose dripping with snot.

"I wish I could stay with you and your Papa, Dallas. But I can't. I'm so sorry, baby. I have to go. I have to come home. It is my time and I'm accepting it." She cries.

"You will see me again, honey. I'll always be here. I will always be by your side, even if you don't see me." She strokes his cheek.

"I'm so proud of you, Dallas. So proud."

"Mom…Mommy…don't go. Please, Mommy…I don't want you to go." He holds her hand there.

"I have to go, Dallas. God wants me to come home."

Her hand goes limp.

"I'm so tired. So very, very tired. Honey, I'm ready to rest."

"Mom…"

"Goodnight, honey. I can't wait to see you when I wake up." She smiles softly at him. She sinks back into her bed, her eyes closed. Her breathing starts to slow down, her heart beat following suit.

Dallas can't control himself. He cries into his mother's chest, soaking her nightgown and pulling her closer.

"Mama…Mama…" he sobs. Mr. Winston gently lifts his child up and away from his dying wife.

The doctors and nurses come into the room on cue, checking Mrs. Winston's wrist for a pulse. When Dallas sees them put the white sheet over his mother, he screams and struggles against his father.

"No! No!"

Mr. Winston holds him tighter.

"She's gone, Dallas." Mr. Winston says in his ear,

"She's gone."

The funeral took place in the church Marco's and Ricky's families attended. Dallas sees his mother in that casket, surrounded by flowers, notes, and gifts, and stills himself. She doesn't even look dead; she looks like she used to when she was alive. If Dallas tried hard enough, he could pretend she's sleeping.

Mr. Jimenez's best work yet.

Delilah and Ricky sits side by side Dallas, patting his back and offering him tissues to soak up his tears, but Dallas doesn't have any more to give. He's all cried out; he cried and cried until he can't cry anymore. He learned early that his tears won't be enough to bring his mother back, to reverse the events that has him sitting front and center to his mother's body in her Sunday best, lying in a pine-wood casket while his father is drowning his sorrows in alcohol with Father Finnegan.

The funeral's packed with family and friends that Dallas vaguely remembers. They all seem to enjoy coming to him, pinching his cheeks and remarking at how fine he's grown. Reckless aunts making passes at his father while the loud and obnoxious uncles eating and acting like it's a party instead of a funeral. Cousins as old as 6 months old crying in the church while Pastor Evans delivers his prayers for his mother's safe travel to heaven is enough to make a mild mannered Dallas grind his teeth in anger.

They don't belong here.

He wants them all to just disappear.

"Hey, Hielo."

Marco's voice makes Dallas turn around and seethe.

"At ease, Ice. I just want to let you know that if you need anything, I'm here. Okay? If you want to talk about…this? I'm here. Whatever you need, I got you. Me escuchas?"

"I don't want your pity."

"I never gave it to you in the first place." Marco props himself against the door after the service. The Pallbearers are going to lower her in the ground soon. Mr. Winston insisted he doesn't see it in fear of Dallas having another breakdown, so instead he sits in the children's room with his friends.

"I've dealt with this before, man. I know what you're going through…"

"Did you have to lose your mom to fucking cancer?" Dallas boomed. The whole room stops.

"Did you have to watch your mom die because you couldn't afford the radiation therapy and medicine? Did you have to spend countless nights comforting your dad because he has to live without his wife? Did you?"

"No, but…"

"Don't tell me that you know what I'm going through. Don't." Dallas storms out of the church.

Dallas haven't spoken to Marco since that day, and a part of him doesn't want to. He'd gotten thrown in the cooler for pulling a knife out on an old lady and taking her purse as his first offense. The second time, it was for smoking stolen cigarettes in the back of a hot car his friend Garrett stole. He found himself in and out of the cooler, expressing his anger through rebellion and hardness.

While he's getting familiar with the police station, Marco is excelling in academics and is the apple of the neighborhood's eye for his community service. Marco, the poster child who swore like a sailor but always brought home good grades and helps old ladies cross the street; it makes Dallas seethe with jealousy and embarrassment in himself. He makes it his mission to avoid Marco and to avoid Delilah and Ricky at all costs; he can't afford to have them see him like this.

One day, he decides to play hooky.

He sneaks out of school with a fake note with a forged signature of his father and heads out to the ice cream shop down the corner. He's craving a banana split; if he gets there fast enough he can get one before it's all gone. He greets the clerk who doesn't ask questions as long as the money is good. He pays for his ice cream and sits in the booth, his mouth watering as the man puts extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup on his treat.

"If anyone asks, Dal. Tell 'em you were helping me in the shop. Our little secret." He winks at Dallas. He smiles back. The treat is placed in front of him, a silver spoon already crammed in there. He can't wait to enjoy…

"Where you think you're going, spic?"

He stops himself.

"Goddammit, not this shit again." The clerk mutters under his breath. Dallas turns around.

It's Marco, head down and clutching his book-bag like his life depends on it, marching away from three white boys who are on his tail.

"I can't stand your kind around here. Taking away all the jobs, making it hard for us true Americans. Why won't you go back to where you came from?" one of them hollers out. Dallas recognizes him as Paul Sullivan, the 13-year old classmate who's from Hell's Kitchen.

"I'm from Texas. You mind telling me how you're going to pay for my ticket to there? Because that ticket's pretty damn expensive. I doubt your broke ass family can afford that." Marco fires back, his chin up and his eyes staring down Paul.

"You a smartass little fucker, ain't you?"

"Nah, I'm just smart. Check my report card."

Dallas sees Paul punch Marco in the mouth.

"You need to know your place, beaner."

Marco wipes the blood from his mouth.

"Ladies first, potato-eater." And he swings back, connecting with Paul's jaw. The two engage in a fist fight with Marco getting the upper hand, until Paul's friends decide to jump in and gang up on Marco.

Without thinking, Dallas bolts to the scene and yanks one of Paul's friends off Marco and starts swinging.

"C'mon, Sullivan. Since you too much of a chicken-shit to fight on your own, how 'bout you take me and Marco on?" Dallas raises his dukes. Marco looks at Dallas, looks back at Sullivan, and smirks.

"I thought you were mad at me, man. I got no business yelling at you the way I did."

Marco slurps his root beer float and snorts.

"I was never mad at you. Your mom just died, man. You were mad and you were lashing out. Is that why you've been avoiding us? Delilah talks about you all the time, now. It's driving me crazy. Pop up on her and shut her up, will ya?"

Dallas laughs. The clerk is drying off the ice cream cups, watching the two kids with a knowing smirk.

"I'm sorry, man. I was honestly embarrassed."

"By what?"

"I've been in and out of the cooler while you're out winning awards, getting good grades, and being the kid every parent dreams about. I don't want you seeing me as a failure."

Marco laughs.

"Dal, I don't care. You're still my friend whether you got one stint in the cooler or 50. I'm still the same Marco. I'm still going to hang out with you. I didn't change up. We're friends; you got my back and I got yours. When you're down, I'll pick you up. I got you, Dal. Believe that." He holds out his fist.

"Friends for life." Marco begins

"Friends for real." Dallas bumps his fist against his.

"Another round of root beer floats! Ice is back, baby!"

Tulsa, Oklahoma, 1968

"Pop, I'm home." Dallas calls out in the house. Silence. He makes his way to the kitchen and sees a hastily scribbled note.

Date with Jolene. Be home later.

Dallas rolls his eyes and opens the fridge for a possible meal. Meatloaf courtesy of Jolene, French bread, half-empty bottle of wine, and some buttered pasta she left behind when she cooked dinner. He takes it out the fridge and prepares his dinner.

He sits in front of the TV, watching some show that has long since lost its appeal but eases his boredom. He swishes around the wine in the plastic Mickey Mouse cup, admiring the color. He downs it with the rest of the food, taking care to let out a large burp. Tonight's the night; the anniversary of his mother's death.

"This one's for you, Ma." He raises the empty wine bottle to the ceiling, chuckling. Here he is, barely making 20, drinking wine and eating like he has no house training; his mother would've slapped him silly. Maybe she wouldn't…she's much too sweet, too good for this world…

"Goddammit," he bites out. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs deeply.

"You're probably up there with Johnny, teaching him how to waltz. You had a flair for that kind of thing, you know. Being patient and kind to those that need it. If Johnny met you before you died, he wouldn't leave your side. You'd be so perfect for him." he smiles.

He imagines Johnny waking Dallas up for breakfast, calling his mother "Ma", as she makes a hearty breakfast for the two boys. He can taste her mouthwatering pancakes, smell the citrus-y scent of her hair, hear her sing some old tune from her childhood Dallas can't name. Johnny would be the brother he always wanted and the younger son his mother always needed.

They'd be the perfect family.

The ringing phone makes Dallas snap out of his fantasy. He answers.

"Hello?"

"Long time, no see…huh, Hielo?"