The tears fall freely on my drive back to Gran’s, and the effect of the alcohol wearing off adds to my torment. What type of mother am I to leave my cubs?
But Preston told you to go.
So fucking what? I’m no better than—
Your mother?
Shut up.
I take Belmont Avenue through Fairmount Park, drive past the plateau, the spot Will Smith describes with fond memories in his famous song “Summertime.” It was where the famous “Greek Pic Niks” used to take place every July. Gran would never let me go, because before the weekend was over someone always got shot and some girl got raped. Crystal went behind Gran’s back and would come home with long tales, and rolls of 35mm shots of the freakiness that went on.
I put my blinker on, turned onto the Strawberry Mansion Bridge, and then over to Cumberland Drive. It’s easy to get from West Philly to North Philly through the park, and when I make a left onto Ridge Avenue, I see the Dell Music Center. It makes me think of my mother, and how she used her pretty to get us into the amphitheater to see Diana Ross perform. My mother, Lanette Hayes, was always a great flirt. So when she opened her eyes fully, turned them onto the burly man at the gate, with her Louisiana accent exaggerated, he was a victim of her will.
She balked, “Some horrible man pushed me down on the ground, held his hand to my throat, and then snatched our tickets.” She ran her fingers through her hair with her bony wrist, like she was pulling herself together.
“Come with me, ma’am,” said the man wearing the black security polo. Mommy kept squeezing my hand as he escorted us past all the people and up to the front row.
“For your troubles, ma’am.”
Mommy patted his wrist and gave him her eyes again as a thank you.
I was so close to Diana that I could see her Adam’s apple bob. She sang all of my favorites, “I’m Coming Out,” “Missing You,” “Love Hangover.” My mother lost her mind when she sang the theme from Mahogany. “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” was next, and that’s when she tugged on my ear and whispered,
“Ain’t no mountain high enough to keep me from you, baby. I’ll always be here for you. Never forget it.”
Two weeks later she was taken away from me on an ambulance stretcher.
* * *
Dauphin Street leads me all the way to Fifteenth, and then I have to come back around to Sydenham Street, since it’s a one-way. As I lock up my car, I’m rubbed with how this separation will damage the children. I’ve worked so hard to make them issue-free by watching them with hawk eyes, giving them all that they need. And now this will be their issue. My mother was a liar, and now so am I.
I push open the front door. The house has a hum to it. Gran is already in bed. I want to call Preston, but I’m afraid of what hearing his voice will do to me, so I take a Schlitz from the fridge and carry my phone out to the front steps. The steps are smooth and cold against my dress. The street is quiet. None of the kids that I grew up playing with live here anymore, except for Precious down the street. But we don’t have anything in common, haven’t since I fled. I instant-message Preston.
How are we going to do this?
Two minutes later he replies.
You’re a liar.
And you’re perfect? The kids miss me.
I know.
I want to come home. We need to talk. Call me.
That’s not a good idea.
I’m angry.
Why are you acting so over the top?
Our whole marriage is built on a lie.
I’m coming home.
Please stay where you are, for the children’s sake. Let’s not make this ugly. I’ll call you when I can. Good night.
I stare at the phone until my vision is blurry and then power it down. The tasteless beer is finished and I feel restless. I suddenly wish Crystal had left me a joint. My mind finds Martin and calms. It was amazing how for just those few hours that we were together my discomfort had retreated. He has the same ability he had when I was fifteen. Underneath Martin, in the back of the car, in his bed, the sting of losing my parents disappeared. The potholes were filled and I’d forget that my life was a blistering sore, if only in those moments.