Black Buck(66)

“So why didn’ you come by the shop? Why did I have to hear about all of this from Jason, who had to hear it from Wally Cat?”

“You’re seriously goin’ to fuckin’ press me? Now?”

She stared at her lap. “You’re right. I’m sorry, D. About all of this. But what are these people doin’ here?” she asked, pointing toward the door. “You didn’ even invite me, my dad, Jason, or Wally Cat over. And Mr. Rawlings was outside with empty boxes sayin’ you’re kickin’ him out. After all these years, you’re gonna do him like that?”

“It’s not your problem,” I said, unfazed.

She moved closer. “Look me in the eye.”

“For what?”

“Because I wanna see who I’m lookin’ at. I wanna see who you are today.”

“Not this fuckin’ shit again.” I stood up, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door.

She yanked it open. “Look me in the eye,” she repeated, wiping dark watery streaks from her cheeks.

“What?” I faced her. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I want you back!” she shouted. “The real you! The you who promised me you wouldn’ change no matter what happened. But here you are, lookin’ like someone I don’t recognize, like someone Mrs. V wouldn’ know.”

I gripped the sink so tightly, I swore the porcelain would crack. So many thoughts were racing through my head: the first time Soraya and I kissed; Ma and me at the park when I was younger; Jason shoving shaved ice down my back one summer; Nicole, Brian, and Carlos at Starbucks; everything that existed before Sumwun. But I couldn’t go back to who I was. Not now.

“Fuck you,” I said, staring her in the eyes. “Fuck you, Soraya.”

“Don’ say that, D. Please don’ say that.”

I pushed her away, repeating it. Again. And again. Louder. And louder. She couldn’t wipe her eyes fast enough as she rushed out of the bathroom toward the bedroom door.

“If you walk out on me again, Soraya,” I said, as she paused at the threshold of my room, “we’re done.”

She gripped the doorknob tighter, exposing the whites of her knuckles, and inhaled deeply. “I know that, D,” she said, and pulled the door shut behind her.





19





“Darren, baby, this is your mother,” Ma said on the voice mail. Her voice was shaky. I could tell it was hard for her to speak. Her lungs whistled like a creaky wheel after every few words. “I’m sorry, Dar. So sorry for everything. And I know you’re mad, but please call back when you can. I’m not feelin’ too good, so I called an ambulance like I promised. I love you.”

I played the voice mail over and over again throughout the night. After everyone had left, I went out for a new phone and anxiously transferred my old SIM card, wondering what I would find. Every time I listened to it, it felt like someone was twisting a knife in a wound that would never heal. And I can tell you, even now, writing about this years later, the wound is still as fresh as it was when she first died.

Without any sleep, I rolled out of bed on Monday, got dressed, and walked down the stairs into the kitchen with my eyes closed, hoping that, somehow, she would be there when I opened them. But I already knew what I’d find. There was no smell of coffee, no humming, no sound of Ma’s slippers padding across the floor. No Ma.

Not wanting to give up, I walked downstairs, took a breath, and knocked on her bedroom door, praying she’d be inside, curled to the side of her bed and coughing, but still there. No answer. “Ma,” I said, slowly opening the door, my fingers repeating the motion they’d made thousands of times, my mind not even contemplating that she wouldn’t be there. But when I opened the door, all I saw were crumpled bedsheets with blood on the pillow she always slept on; a half-drunk glass of water on her bedside table with the faint print of her lips still there; her TV remote on the other side of her bed; all of her favorite books on the shelves, right where she left them, waiting to be held.

“Ma,” I repeated, lying down on her side of the bed, grabbing fistfuls of her sheets and bringing them close to my face. They absorbed the tears I hadn’t realized I was releasing. “Please come back, Ma. I’ll be better, I promise.”

Lying in her bed, I pressed play on the voice mail again and listened to her words, trying to travel back through time to figure out how this all happened so quickly, but I already knew. Darren, baby, this is your mother.

When I went back upstairs and reentered the kitchen, I noticed two envelopes sitting on the table with my name written on them in Ma’s handwriting. I had seen them when I got back on Friday, but I still hadn’t opened them. I took a breath, lowered myself into a seat, and grabbed one. I sighed with relief when I realized that it was the unsigned contract to sell. Ma hadn’t gone through with it. The house was still ours.

In the second envelope I found a letter written by Ma. The letters dragged up and down like a jagged line graph. I held it tightly.

My Dearest Darren,

Baby, I know you’re hurt. Hurt because I never told you. Hurt because we had to lose each other this way. And hurt because life has been hard for you lately, and the world hasn’t made it easier for you. A mother’s love for her son is endless, and I decided that the best way for me to show my love to you was by hiding my own pain even if it hurts you now. I didn’t want it to become a burden to you on your own journey.