The last time Clyde came to my house, five days ago, he poured himself a huge drink and started telling me a story about a hearse following him from his apartment for seven blocks. Even though he’d thought it was funny, I wouldn’t allow him to finish his ominous story. Especially so soon after Sherrie Armstrong’s funeral.
“Clyde, you should keep that kind of stuff to yourself. Talking about it could bring you bad luck,” I’d told him.
Clyde waved his drink in my face. “Sister-girl, luck ain’t nothin’ but a four-letter word. When it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go.” That was the last time I saw Clyde Brooks alive.
I didn’t go to Clyde’s funeral. As far as I knew, Ester was the only person I knew who did go. Lula was sitting in jail waiting for her preliminary hearing. But she probably would have attended if she could have. Then again, she might not have.
I spent the day they buried Clyde packing. Even though my rent was paid up two months in advance, I could not stay in the house where I’d gone through so many painful changes any longer than I had to. I could no longer stand to have another man’s flesh against mine; not for all the money in the world. I could no longer live the life I’d been living. Ester’s rape (she’d shared that traumatic episode with me when she called to tell me that Lula had killed Clyde in self-defense), Clyde’s death, and the hole that Lula had dug for herself by killing Clyde, had all pushed me out of the business immediately. And if all of this mess wasn’t enough for me to get out now, nothing would be.
I’d passed the civil service test, but my score was so low, I doubted if I’d get a job with the government. I was willing to accept anything they offered. Even standing at a counter all day selling stamps or delivering mail.
The sex hot line that I had installed, listing the number in the personal ads in The Spectator was the first thing to go. I didn’t even wait for the truck from Goodwill to come. That sucker, along with the answering machine I had attached to it, went in the trash can within minutes after I’d received the news about the shooting at Ester’s apartment.
“Listen, Rocky, no matter what you hear from nobody else, it was an accident. I seen the whole thing. Clyde was the one with the gun, drunk as hell, playin’ around and shit. Lula was only tryin’ to make him stop before…before somebody got hurt. I seen the whole thing.”
Ester stuck to her story. She told the same story to the cops. I never heard Lula’s version, and I didn’t want to. Because it would not have made any difference to me.
I didn’t have a job yet, but I had several interviews lined up. Cashier, receptionist, waitress; I was willing to accept the one I got offered first. With the money I’d stashed away, and with what I was getting from welfare, the kids and I could get by in a low-rent apartment an apartment manager had called me for yesterday. It was not far from the same run-down neighborhood I grew up in. I’d come full circle, but I was still in better shape than Lula and Ester.
“Mama, can we take our big-screen TV to the new apartment?” Juliet had tiptoed into my room, quiet as a mouse. With her usual smirk missing, I realized for the first time just how beautiful my child was.
Juliet and I had had what I hoped was our last hostile confrontation, moments after I’d told her and her brothers that we were moving.
“You must be crazy!” Juliet had roared, waving her arms so high above her head, the veins in her neck stood out like blue lines. “I’m not goin’ to live in no ghetto!”
It was at that moment that I realized I was the one in control, not my ten-year-old daughter. With my frightened sons, Barry and Michael, cowering in a corner like they always did when Juliet and I went for each other’s throat, I took back my position.
“Juliet, I…am…tired,” I started, surprised at how firm my voice sounded, considering how tired I really was. Juliet was reared back on her young legs, with her hands on her just-beginning-to-fill-out hips. But when she realized how serious I was, she wobbled and backed herself against the wall, with me marching like a soldier inches away from her. “Girl, you listen to me and you listen good, because I’m only going to say this one time.”
I paused and pointed a finger in her surprised face. With my nails as long as they were, my finger must have looked like a dagger to her. “If you think you are so grown that you can decide where you want to live, you do just that. You go find you someplace else to live. Your brothers and I are moving into the new apartment whether you come with us or not.” I took a deep breath and steadied myself as I continued my declaration. The words seemed to leap out of my mouth on their own. “I have taken all I’m going to take from you. I should have said something long before now. I didn’t, but it’s not too late.” Juliet stood there staring in slack-jawed amazement. “I will no longer put up with your bullshit attitude. You will respect me, or we will find a foster home for you before I do something to you I’ll regret.”
My words had just as much of an impact on me as they did Juliet. However, I felt a certain level of relief because it was a major step in my taking back the control that I, as a parent, deserved. I wasn’t perfect, but I’d done the best I could with my children. I felt that if I continued to let Juliet get away with her surly behavior toward me, I deserved it.
The look on my daughter’s face told me that I’d made my point—at least for the time being. I had finally put my child back in a child’s place. And, I was sorry that my mother had not done the same with me. It might have made a difference and my adult life would have turned out much better than it did.
“Mama, I-I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t give a damn what you meant. I meant what I just said.” My words had hurt Juliet, but they had hurt me, too.
Standing in front of me now, Juliet seemed so much smaller and thankfully, more like the child she was. I shook my head, expecting an outburst. I sucked in my breath, preparing myself for a battle that seemed to have no end, only intermissions. “Our new place is way too small for that television. We can only take the stuff we really need,” I said firmly. “When I get a good job, we can move into a bigger, better place. We’ll get the big-screen TV back then.”
I was surprised and pleased to see a smile slowly creeping onto Juliet’s face. “Um, Mommy—” Mommy?—“can I ask you something else?” Her voice was a whimper, something I had not heard from her since she was in diapers. “You mean we won’t let the Goodwill man take everything?” she asked, her hardness softening right before my eyes.
“What is it?” I asked, rubbing the back of my aching neck. Other parts of my body were bothering me, too. However, my feet felt more firmly grounded than ever before.
“Another man is coming to take the big television and some of our other stuff to storage,” I said gently. It was an even bigger surprise to me when Juliet strolled over and wrapped her arms around my waist.
“I do love you, Mama,” she told me. “And I hope you still love me.”
Unable to speak, I hugged my child and kissed the side of her face.
According to my new babysitter, Helen’s daddy had developed Alzheimer’s and had to go into a nursing home. I think that had a lot to do with Mrs. Daniels not sending the law after me for the mess Helen got herself into. Helen’s brother and his wife must have been keeping Helen on a short leash because I never saw her come or go from the house next door again.
But Helen’s mother was still angry with me. She didn’t speak to me in public. But she rolled her eyes at me every chance she got. When she realized I was moving, she parked herself on her front porch steps and shaded her eyes with a newspaper. She watched until I’d hauled out the last item. Before I drove off, I gave the old bat one last look, hoping she’d at least offer a smile or a wave.
But she didn’t, and I couldn’t blame her.
The building that my children and I moved into was not as shabby as some of the others on the block. I was pleased to see several eager young security guards, decked out in nicely pressed beige uniforms, patrolling the apartment complex.
“You won’t have to worry about none of that loud-ass rap music blastin’ day and night or no break-ins around here no more. People wanna act a fool, they better be ready to move or go to jail.” That’s what the apartment manager had told me when I’d applied for the apartment. With no job, I had to show him my welfare documents before he’d let me sign a lease.
I had already decided that I would only be as friendly to my new neighbors as I had to be to keep from making enemies. There was a young woman across the hall from us. She was only twenty and already had four kids and no man. Ruth Anne Porter had dismissed four useless lovers, who’d each left her with a baby, and returned to school. Every time I saw her, she had a toddler in one arm and a load of books in the other.
“I wouldn’t wash clothes in this buildin’ if I was you,” Ruth Anne advised me a week after I’d moved to the neighborhood.
It made me feel good to see a woman in her predicament working so hard to improve her life—without involving herself with a man like Clyde Brooks.
“Ruth Anne, I’ve seen some of the thugs around here, and I can imagine what they’d do if they caught a woman alone in a laundry room,” I said. I was immediately sorry for making such a comment. One of the things I had promised myself was I would stop being so quick to judge people just because they lived in a run-down neighborhood. Especially now that I was part of that same environment.
“Oh, I didn’t mean nothin’ like that. These boys around here ain’t that bad. Some of ’em even go to church, work, don’t do nothin’ but smoke a few joints, drink a little bit. What I meant was, them machines always breakin’ down and keepin’ your quarters. There’s another washhouse two blocks down the street, next door to that 7-Eleven.”
“Oh, thanks,” I mumbled contritely.
I took the kids with me to the Laundromat down the street from my apartment that evening. Each of us carried a basket of clothes. “Mama, why don’t you sit down and let us do the wash. You must be tired after all you’ve done lately,” Juliet told me. She motioned me to a chair along the side of the wall. A blind man could see how tired I was. And without my makeup, wigs, weaves, and all that shit I used to wear when I was turning tricks, I looked as tired as I felt. But looking like a frump didn’t seem to bother me anymore. Juliet’s changing attitude deserved my attention more than my appearance.
I had my head down, reading a newspaper somebody else had left on the chair next to me, when I heard a woman’s voice call my name.
“Rockelle, is that you?” It was a gentle voice.
I looked up and almost fainted. It was my mother. She was wearing a crisp white blouse and a dark skirt. Her hair looked so nice, I couldn’t tell if it was hers or a wig.
“Mama.” My voice sounded like a croak, so I coughed to clear it before I continued. “Hello, Mama.”
“You look good, child. I’m glad to see you,” my mother said, slowly moving away.
“Mom, wait.” I rose, keeping an eye on the kids at the other end of the floor dumping clothes into the machines. “Uh, how have you been?”
My mother, looking as tired as she always did, froze in her tracks with a look of bewilderment on her face. “I’ll make it, I guess. Just workin’ hard like always.”
“The boys? Daddy? Is everybody doing all right?”
“The boys are doin’ fine. Sid works for FedEx and just got him a house in Sacramento. Carl just moved back in with me to help me get over my hip surgery.”
“Oh. And Daddy? Is he well?” What I meant was, “is he working?” but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I was in no position to look down on anybody these days.
My mother dropped her head. “There was a virus goin’ ’round, your daddy caught it, and he died two months ago.”
I blinked hard to hold back tears that were long overdue.
“Bye…Rocky.” Mama started walking off again. “I’ll let you get on about your business.”
“Mama, I live down the street now.” With a tongue that felt as heavy as a bowl of cement I said, “Maybe you can come by soon? I’m sure the kids would love to get to know you.” After almost thirty years, the blackness that I’d carried in my heart seemed lighter. I knew it was going to be hard for me to put all of my ugly behavior toward my mother and the rest of my family completely behind me, but I’d just taken a huge step. And it felt good.
A suspicious look slid across my mother’s face like a shadow. “You want me to come to your place?”
I nodded then I beckoned to the kids. Juliet looked puzzled, the boys looked confused, but they all rushed over and stood next to me. They lined up like little toy soldiers as I introduced them to their grandmother.
With the suspicious look on her face fading, Mama finally smiled, revealing teeth that were just as crooked and discolored as ever. But now it didn’t seem to matter. “Write me down your address and telephone number,” she told me.
I started grinning so hard my lip cracked.