2
DEMARCO
I let myself into our apartment and stood in the living room looking around at the complete mess that I called home. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon yet the place was almost completely dark. I stepped over a pile of clothes that was sitting in the middle of the floor and made my way over to the window to let a little light into the place. I turned and noticed three big trash bags that were busting at the seams sitting by the kitchen door. Another pile of dirty clothes was in the kitchen sink and smelled as sour as some month-old milk. I sighed and shook my head.
I walked into the living room and turned on the small television that was sitting on top of an older floor model. The heat inside the apartment was worse than outside, so I walked over and lifted both windows to allow a little fresh air into the place.
“Mommy. Mommy. Mooooomyyyyy, I’m hungry,” a little voice called out as I looked in the open door to my mother’s bedroom and saw my brother tug on the bedspread, trying to wake my inebriated mother. “I’m hungry.”
My little brother, Devin, didn’t even bother to look my way when I let myself in. I couldn’t help but smile when I noticed how big he had gotten since the last time I saw him. He was wearing a pair of blue underwear with an action figure on them and nothing else. His hair was in a matted afro and he looked like he hadn’t had a washcloth on his face in at least a month. Tears made their way down his chubby cheeks as he looked around the room, afraid to wake their mother. Even at three years old, he knew the consequences of waking the woman when she was on her “medicine.”
I walked over and stopped at the doorway to my mother’s bedroom. He looked at me and frowned, but then a hint of recognition registered on his face and he immediately stopped crying.
“What’s up, lil buddy?” I said.
The sound of my voice must’ve confirmed what he was already thinking in his little head because he smiled and ran as fast as his chubby legs would allow him to and jumped up into my arms.
“Whoa,” I said, grunting from his weight. “Whatcha crying for?”
“I’m hungry,” he said with a frown as he wiped away his tears. “And Momma won’t wake up.”
“Yeah,” I said as I rubbed his back to reassure him that everything was going to be okay. “Let her sleep. I’ll find you something to eat.”
I then turned my attention to the pitiful sight lying before me. My mother, Sophia Winslow, was sprawled out on the bed wearing a dirty T-shirt, panties with holes in them, and a pair of surprisingly clean socks. Her bony legs were covered with dark marks from God knows where, and her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed or curled in forever. She wore a frown on her skinny face even as she slept.
The fan against the wall was only circulating hot air around the already stuffy house.
I stared at the woman who gave me life and couldn’t bring myself to even act like I cared about her. She was a mess and didn’t care about anything or anybody. Once she had her hands on a bottle of liquor, everything and everybody could kick rocks.
But as I got older, I started to understand her a little better and the hate I once felt for her was replaced with pity. I used to hate her because she acted like she hated me, but, for whatever reason, I didn’t hold anything against her anymore. Maybe I was getting soft in my old age, or perhaps all of those books that I read on alcoholism were paying off and I realized that she was sick. Sophia was a woman who got caught up in ghetto life and tried to escape through a bottle.
As I stood there staring at her, I tried to calculate her weight. She couldn’t have been more than ninety-five pounds, and on a five-feet-seven-inch frame, that wasn’t cute. Sophia gave birth to me and my twin sister, Jasmine, when she was fifteen years old, and the sad part about that was we weren’t her first. Our oldest sister, Nicole, lived with her dad and hardly ever came around. She used to show her face during the Thanksgiving or Christmas holidays, but a few years ago, even those visits stopped altogether. I didn’t blame her one bit. Nobody in their right mind would want to live where we lived. Anybody who ever said it’s all good in the hood never lived in the Bluff.
“So let’s see what we can get you to eat up in this piece,” I said as I carried my little brother to the kitchen.
I flipped on the light switch and the roaches scattered everywhere. We walked over to the refrigerator and before I opened it I already knew what I would find, but I looked anyway. The four hundred dollars a month in food vouchers that the government gave to my mom was never used for food. Sophia’s happiest days of the month were the first and fifteenth, when the welfare check came and the EBT food-stamp card was filled with money. Those two days seemed to be the only times she was happy. She always danced around the house like it was Christmas because she knew she would have a great high coming later that night.
I closed the refrigerator and opened up the cabinets. Nothing there either.
“We’ll have to go get you something, buddy. This spot is foodless.”
“Okay,” Devin said, burying his face in the side of my neck.
We walked over to my sister Jasmine’s bedroom and knocked on the door, which was always closed.
No answer.
I turned the knob and opened the door. The yellow and white comforter was neatly made and all of a gazillion stuffed animals were seated in their usual positions. Her room was as neat and clean as ever. The walls were covered with Chris Brown and Trey Songz posters. The room looked as if it belonged in another house. Realizing she wasn’t in there, I closed the door and walked back into the living room.
I tripped over a pair of men’s boots and kicked them out of my way. I placed Devin down on our ridiculously nasty sofa. The thing needed to be placed out on the curb with the garbage because it looked as if someone had poured dirty car oil on it, then rubbed it in for good measure. I rubbed both of my temples to help me relax a little. I wasn’t sure why I was feeling so overwhelmed and disgusted with the place I had called home for the last ten years.
I frowned at the smell of something that a breeze sent through the apartment.
“What the heck?” I said as I walked into the bathroom and covered my nose. The bathtub was filled with more dirty clothes, but that wasn’t the source of the putrid smell. I looked in the toilet, and it was filled with something that needed to be in the sewer. I pushed the handle to flush but nothing happened. I walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind me.
“Okay,” I said as I walked back into the living room and picked up my little brother. “Let’s get you on some clothes so we can get out of here. This place stinks and I’m about to get sick.”
All of a sudden I wished I was back at the juvey center. I hated this place and everything about it. The Vine City (the Bluff) area of Atlanta is one of the poorest places you could live in the city, and violence and despair were the norm. I never thought too much about life outside of the Bluff—it’s all I’ve ever known—but there was something growing inside of me that said I didn’t belong here. Subconsciously, I knew a long time ago that I didn’t belong here, even if leaving meant going to jail. When I was younger and life in the Bluff got to be too much, I would commit a petty crime just to get sent to juvenile hall. Even though it was jail, it was ten times better than my home life. At least I was guaranteed three hot meals, a shower, and a place to sleep. The tradeoff had always worked out in my favor, and most of the time when my release date came up, I wasn’t happy about it.
“Who dat out there?” my mother said.
I didn’t respond. I was too busy rummaging through the pile of clothes trying to find a decent shirt and shorts for my little brother.
Sophia’s bony body appeared in the doorway and staggered. She held on to the wall and stared at me.
“When you get home?” she said as if she really didn’t care what my answer would be.
I ignored her and continued going through the clothes. I could’ve been home three weeks sooner if she would’ve just gotten her lazy butt on a MARTA bus and come to sign me out.
“Oh, you turned deaf?” she said as she turned around and walked back into her bedroom.
“Let’s get some clothes on ya, fella,” I said as I found a shirt and shorts that looked like they would fit. I put the clothes on Devin. “Go and put on your shoes, man.”
Devin jumped off the sofa and ran into their mother’s bedroom. A few seconds later he came back holding a dirty pair of off-brand shoes. He sat on the floor and slipped his sockless feet into his shoes.
“Where is Jasmine, man?” I asked Devin.
“She gone,” he said.
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“DeMarco,” Sophia called from her bedroom. “Bring some cigarettes from the store.”
Yeah, you wait on ’em, I thought.
“Was she here this morning?” I asked.
“No,” he said, shaking his little head. “She left last night.”
I nodded my head and added that to the list of things I needed to check out. I had been hearing some very troubling rumors about Jasmine and I wasn’t very happy about it. I reached down and picked up Devin and carried him to the bathroom. I opened the door, smelled the stench, then closed it back.
“We’ll wash your face in the kitchen, man,” I said.
The roaches were really bothering me. I sat Devin on the counter and stepped on as many of the little creatures as I could before giving up. I grabbed a dishcloth from the towel rack and turned on the faucet. The rusty sink had seen better days and the water was a slow trickle. Once the cloth was wet enough, I cleaned my little brother up as best I could.
“Are ya ready, birthday big guy?” I said. I always thought it was cool that Devin shared the same birthday as me and Jasmine.
“Yes,” he said as if he didn’t even know that today was his special day. “Can I have some cake and balloons?”
“Of course you can. What would a birthday be without cake and balloons,” I said, then reached out and tickled his stomach.