Black Buck(34)

He grabbed a bottle off the shelf and poured himself another glass. “I guess, yeah. Are you a believer?”

“My mom used to bring me to a Seventh Day Adventist church when I was little but stopped after I kept complaining about having to go to church on Saturdays.”

“Brat. Does she still go?”

“Once in a while, yeah. After my dad died, she said God and me were the only men she had time for.”

“And what about you?” he asked, racking the balls. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t know, man. Not really.”

“So what happens after we die?”

“I have no idea. I mean, I hope this isn’t it. But if it is, can’t really do anything about it, right? What about you? You a ‘Man of God’?”

He struck the balls so hard that I swore they would all roll into the pockets just to escape his wrath. “I grew up poor, Buck. And from the sounds of it, worse than you. Poor people and God usually go hand in hand because it’s easier to explain why some people have so much and others have so little when there’s a master plan.

“My parents used to bring me and my younger sister to church every Sunday without fail. We’d dress up in the only pair of decent clothes we had and walk a mile to the church, holding hands the whole way. But when we’d get in, my mother would light up like it was Christmas. She’d glow, and you’d never know that she scrubbed floors for a living or sometimes went nights without dinner so her kids could eat.”

He continued driving balls into the pockets, one by one. Red solid in the corner. Purple and white in the side. “You still haven’t answered my question,” I said.

“Yeah, I believe in God.” He rounded the table, getting a better angle. “Even if I’m wrong, there’s no harm in believing. When it comes to any gamble, I always hedge my bet.”

“Even with me?”

He laughed and chipped a ball off the table, sending it soaring toward my face. I caught it just in time.





10





When I woke, the kitchen was just as I had left it the night before: a solitary plate and mug resting in the sink, all of the chairs pushed to the table’s edge, no Ma.

“Ma,” I said, knocking on her door. I hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t awake when I got home. I just shot into my room and passed out. The same fear of finding her frozen in some last, clawing gasp for air prevented me from opening the door. I knocked again.

“Come in, Dar,” she whispered.

I found her in the same position I’d left her the previous morning: slightly curled to the side with blankets pulled to just below her eyes. The blinds were shut, and the room gave off a sour smell, like it was rebelling against whatever was going on with her.

I sat next to her. “Ma, what’s goin’ on?”

“Still a bit tired,” she said, sitting up. “What time is it?”

“6:47 a.m. You been in bed since I left you?”

“No.” She grabbed a glass of water from her table. “I went to the bathroom, got some water, and walked around. I tried to wash what was in the sink but couldn’t.”

“Don’ worry ’bout that, Ma.” I placed my hand on her forehead. “Is it a cold or somethin’? Doesn’ feel like a fever.”

She grabbed my hand, brought it to her cheek, and smiled. “Salesman. Doctor. What else are you gonna become, a politician?”

“Nah, probably not, Ma,” I said, laughing. “I’m not much of a leader. Except for at Starbucks.”

“Mm-hmm. That’s what you say. But I know what you are. I’ve always known.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that, Miss Cleo? All you’re missin’ is the Jafaican accent.”

She sucked her teeth and pushed my hand away. “Don’ play with me. I may be weak, but I’ll still show you who’s boss.”

“So what am I?” I asked. “What have you always known?”

“That’s for you to find out, Dar. Not for me or anyone to tell you. When you get to wherever you’re goin’, you’ll know. And I’ll be there, watchin’ from afar, proud as a peacock.”

I felt her forehead again to see if she was feverish. She wasn’t, but something didn’t feel right. My gut told me to stay with her and walk her to the doctor’s, but the thought of Clyde thinking I quit overpowered my gut. Let’s make a deal.

“Ma.” I grabbed her hand. “I won’ lie; I don’ wanna go to work today with you feelin’ like this.”

“Darren Vender, if you don’ get up and get to work, I’m gonna be sicker. Trust me.”

“Okay, but only on one condition.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “What is it?”

“You ask Mr. Rawlings to bring you to the doctor today jus’ to make sure this isn’ anything serious. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, smiling. “Now go on and don’ be late. I’ll be alright. May even get my stuff together and go to work. I’m already feelin’ a bit better.”

I took a long look at her and got up. “Aight, Ma. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dar,” she said. “I’ll grab Percy in a minute and go. I promise.”