Russell's Book of Secrets Page 4

  I shake my head gently.

  “Are you mad at your daddy?” she asks while she places the shirt on the hanger and hangs it on the far end of the ironing board.

  I don’t respond but instead I stare at her.

  She cocks her head to the side and places a hand on her forehead. With a sigh, she walks over to the couch and sits next to me.

  “I don’t want you to be mad at him,” she says. “This is all my fault.”

  I look down at the blanket and fold the edges back and forth in my hands.

  “I’m just not being a good wife to him,” she said while shaking her head. “Not as good as I should be. He loves me… he really does.” She looks around the room and then at me. When our eyes meet she shouts, “He does!”

  I jump and look away from her.

  “Maybe if I didn’t talk back so much to him, then he wouldn’t feel like he has to hit me. I shouldn’t have said what I did to him… that was wrong.” She stands and heads back to the ironing board. “I’m going to do better,” she says. “Starting today. I’m going to put a stop to this and I’m going to be a better wife to my husband so we can be a better family, okay?”

  I scoot to the edge of the couch and wiggle my toes again, wondering how long it will be before my feet will touch the floor from the couch like my daddy.

  Mama slams the iron down on the ironing board. “Okay?” she asks in an uproar.

  I look to her and nod my head in agreement. With a smile she looks at me before she turns again to continue ironing my father’s clothes.

  END THE FATHER

  Thomas

  I sat cross-legged on my bed with my CD player bumping Destiny’s Child and scribbling some answers to my homework when my mom burst into my room. I looked up and saw her mouthing my name from the door with both hands on her hips.

  My mom was a thick and curvy brown-skinned lady with a lot of personality. Today she had her hair braided in all blonde micro-braids that were pulled back into a long ponytail and curled at the ends. She was wearing large gold hoop earrings and a pink jumpsuit with matching long pink fingernails. My mother was ghetto fabulous, but if she could accept me for who I was, I certainly had no problems accepting her.

  “Yes?” I said while removing my headphones.

  “I want you to come to the store with me. Mama need some new Air Max.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Be ready in ten minutes,” she ordered as she pointed a long pink nail at me.

  I nodded in agreement and jumped from the bed. I loved shopping with my mom. Most sixteen-year-old boys would hate it, but they were also probably straight.

  Ten minutes later, we were cruising in my mom’s electric blue Dodge Neon and chatting about our day as she careened in and out of lanes, cutting people off and randomly flipping the bird.

  “Whatever happened to that guy you were talking to?” she asked me.

  “We broke up last month, Ma!” I exclaimed as I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh, baby I’m sorry. You know how forgetful I am.”

  “Do I ever,” I said.

  “Don’t get smart with me boy,” she said as she swerved the car hard to the left, forcing my head hard against the passenger window.

  “Ouch,” I said while I rubbed the side of my head. I couldn’t help but burst into laughter with her.

  “Why did ya’ll break up?” she asked.

  “He cheated on me,” I said in embarrassment. Even though my mom was my best friend, I still found it difficult to talk to her about everything.

  “I’ma kill ‘em,” she repeated about three times in a row. “Nobody cheats on my baby! I may have to put up with that shit, but I’ll be damned if my baby will too! One of us is going to be happy!”

  I placed my hand on my mom’s arm as she gripped the steering wheel. “It’s okay, it really is. We were growing apart anyway.”

  She looked over at me and smiled. “If you say so, baby. Just promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Promise me that you’ll always put yourself first and never allow a man to use or take advantage of you. You are a very special person and anybody that can’t see that don’t deserve to be in your life.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I agreed.

  I loved the fact that my mom loved and accepted me for who I was. I was so nervous the day that I told her I was gay. I had heard stories about other people who had come out to their parents and been disowned, disrespected, and made to feel like less than the lowest being on the planet. Not my mother though. When I told her about my lifestyle it was like our relationship became better. The confidence, self-esteem, and self-love that I gained as a result were immeasurable. She had her faults, but I owed this woman so much.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before we were pulling up at the Foot Locker in a strip mall not far from our house. We parked in front and walked inside together. After walking around for a few moments, my mom spotted a pair of gold and pink Air Max with which she fell in love. We sat on one of the benches in the middle of the floor while we waited on the salesman to bring back a shoe in our size.

  As we were chatting, a group of three guys walked into the store. They were being loud and ratchet, but I knew not to expect more because we were in the hood after all. I watched them in my peripheral vision as they made their way along the wall on the other side of the store. I felt an unease come over me when one of them pointed at my mother and whispered to the other two.

  One of the guys crossed the store and approached my mother. “What it is, shawty?” he asked.

  She looked up at him with her face twisted in disgust. “Excuse me?”

  “You lookin’ good today,” he said.

  “Thank you,” replied my mom. “But I’m not interested in whatever you sellin’.”

  Quickly, his smile faded and his expression morphed into a scowl. He walked back to his friends who were laughing hysterically on the other side of the store.

  I continued to watch him out the corner of my eye and felt my blood pressure rise when he looked at my mother and said, “MAN, FUCK THAT UPPITY BITCH!”

  My body jumped from the seat next to my mom and apparently left my mind behind. Those three guys were big enough to easily break me in half if they wanted.

  “You better watch your mouth,” I said as I walked up to the perpetrator and pushed him hard in the chest.

  He and his friends laughed in my face. “What you gonna do, sissy?”

  I was about to respond when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked down and saw five pink nails gently push me aside. My mother was staring at me.

  “Now Thomas,” she said. “What did I tell you?”

  I was utterly confused. “What?” I asked.

  “I’m so disappointed in you,” she said. “I know I’ve taught you better than that.”

  “But you didn’t hear what they said about you?”

  “I know what they said about me; I can hear. I also saw what you did when you came over here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said with my head down. My mom grabbed my chin and lifted my head so I looked into her eyes. The guys continued to laugh in the background.

  “No baby,” she said. “Don’t be sorry. Learn from this. I taught you better.” She released my chin and turned to face the guy that insulted her only moments earlier. “Now, you need to remember, when you mush somebody, you have to do it right for the maximum effect.”

  “What?” I asked in confusion.

  “Like this,” she said as she took her hand and mashed it so hard in the guy’s face that he fell against the wall and all the shoes rained down on top of him.

  “Holy shit!” one of his friends exclaimed. The guy flailed about on the floor like a turtle turned on its back in a sea of shoes.

  “Hey!” yelled the salesman as he emerged from the back of the store with the shoebox containing my mom’s Air Max. “What the hell
happened here?”

  My mom looked at me with a pencil-thin eyebrow raised. “Looks like it’s time to go!” She grabbed my hand and dragged me outside. We jumped into the electric blue Dodge Neon and peeled out of the parking lot.

  We tore down the highway as my mom constantly checked her rearview and side-view mirrors to make sure the police weren’t in pursuit.

  “Mama,” I said.

  “What, baby?” she responded.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she said as she patted my knee and turned a corner on two wheels.

  END THOMAS

  Derrick

  I steered the forklift into a deserted corner of the warehouse and turned the key, silencing the engine. I took a deep breath and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. I’d just sped through the warehouse like Cruella de Vil, and probably broke every safety rule conceived by management, to get most of my work done so I could have a few moments of downtime.

  I pulled the Macroeconomics textbook from behind my driver’s seat and sat it on my lap. I opened the book to Chapter Five and tried to focus but the words floated around on the page. At one point it seemed as if they were intentionally mocking me. I squeezed my eyes shut and placed my head in my hands. I’d been up for twenty-four hours straight and my brain was beginning to shut down.

  The clock on my forklift read 4:13am. With just a little over two hours left in my shift, I still had three chapters to review before my midterm at 9am. At times I wondered if going to Morehouse was the right choice for me. Even with my partial academic scholarship, I still had to work a lot of hours at this distribution center which barely covered the remainder of my expenses. Jealousy consumes me when I see the other people my age on campus that don’t have to deal with the same problems I do. I’ve only officially been an adult for one and a half years and I already hated it.

  On days like this I really wished that I could talk to my mom and dad. Their words of encouragement would go a long way for me right now, but that’s impossible because they were gone and weren’t coming back. They are part of the reason why I work so hard because I know they’re watching over me and I want, no I need, to make them proud of me.

  With a sigh, I leaned in and made another attempt at studying. I felt like a superhero when I willed the words to sit still on the page with my mind. I can do this, I thought to myself.

  * * *

  “You have 15 minutes left!”

  The announcement thundered from the front of the auditorium woke me from a deep sleep. “FUCK!” I yelled out loud. My face flushed as everyone turned to look at me. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  I wondered how I managed to fall asleep during the Macroeconomics final. How could I sabotage myself like this? I still had thirty multiple choice and an entire essay question left to answer. I gripped my pencil and went to work glazing over the questions and filling in the answers without much thought. My stomach churned and I felt the sweat begin to form on my brow. I was screwed.

  I was starting the first sentence of the essay question when the professor called time and asked everyone to hand in their papers. I squeezed the pencil so hard in my hand that it broke in half with a loud SNAP. I snatched the paper from the desk and walked to the front of the classroom.

  The people walking in front of me were laughing and talking with one another as they sat their exams on the top of the pile. They’d probably been able to study all night and would get A’s, while it would take a divine intervention for me to get a D. I slammed my test on the pile and began the long trudge to the exit at the back of the class.

  As I emerged from the building, the sunlight warmed my entire body and a warm spring breeze tickled my skin. I took a deep breath and made my way down the sidewalk towards my apartment building.

  I walked inside, dropped my bag on the floor, and collapsed on the bed with my clothes and shoes still on. My muscles relaxed as if they were screaming, Thank you! My eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  The loud sound of the phone ringing woke me from my slumber. I groaned and reached for the phone, wondering if I would ever get the opportunity to get some rest.

  “Hello,” I said in a sleepy tone.

  “Hey Derrick. It’s Tosha.”

  “What’s up?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I was sleeping,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Do I need to call you back?” asked Tosha.

  “No, you’re fine,” I said as I sat up. At this point sleeping was futile and my stomach began to roar with hunger.

  “How did your final go?”

  “Next question please,” I said.

  “Oh okay. That bad, huh?”

  I held the phone in silence.

  “Let’s get some lunch. I have a craving for J.R. Cricket’s.”

  “That sounds nice but I don’t have any money right now,” I said.

  “Let me treat you. It sounds like you’ve had a long day and I need some company too.”

  “Okay. I’ll meet you there in thirty,” I said.

  “Alright. Bye Derrick.”

  “Bye.”

  I hung up the phone and lay back on the bed. Lately, I felt as if I was always angry and frustrated and those feelings were often misdirected. Overwhelming financial troubles and no easy solution would have that effect on anyone. I had no idea how I was going to get myself out of this mess but it was time that I started brainstorming.

  * * *

  Tosha walked up wearing a ruffled skirt, tank top, and platform wedges. She looked like a million dollars for a Wednesday afternoon.

  “Derrick, dahling! How are you?” asked Tosha as she walked up and kissed me on both cheeks.

  I laughed. “I’m making it, Tosha. How are you?”

  “I’m good!” she exclaimed as she flipped her hair to the side.

  “Are you actually attending classes at Spelman or do you just parade around campus like you’re in a fashion show?” I asked.

  “Well darling,” she pulled her cat eye sunglasses down and peered at me from over the top. “At Spelman we believe in brains and beauty.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at my best friend. I loved Tosha. She always came through for me when I needed cheering up. I placed my arm around her and we made our way inside the restaurant.

  Tosha sashayed up to the hostess station and asked for a table for two. She slid the sunglasses from her face and placed them in her purse when we were seated. I scooted into my side of the booth and picked up the menu.

  “What can I get you to drink?” asked the waiter.

  “I’ll have a sweet tea,” said Tosha.

  “Same for me,” I followed suit.

  “Do you two know what you want to eat?” asked the waiter.

  “You go ahead,” I motioned to Tosha.

  “Lemme get ten wings, all flats, fried hard, extra wet with buffalo sauce, please.” Tosha spit out her order like a pro.

  “Well damn,” I said. “I’ll have ten lemon pepper wings, please.”

  “Coming right up,” the waiter said as he grabbed our menus and walked away.

  “So have you met any cute guys lately?” asked Tosha.

  “Tosha, you know I don’t have time to date right now.”

  “Not for you, for me!”

  We both laughed.

  “No, I’m afraid I haven’t,” I answered.

  “Well what’s going on, Derrick? I’m really worried about you.”

  “It’s this whole school thing. I’m having to work all these overnight hours at the DC for money to make up for what my scholarship doesn’t pay, but that ends up just barely covering the tuition and my bills. Not to mention my grades are slipping because I’m working so much and I’m in danger of losing my scholarship.”

  “Can you find another job?” asked Tosha.

  “Not making what I make at the DC. Plus the hours don’t int
erfere with classes.”

  “Well have you thought about transferring to a cheaper school?”

  “If I transfer, I lose my scholarship and I’m right back where I started, so there’s kinda no point.” I placed both my elbows on the table and massaged my temples. I appreciated Tosha’s concern but this conversation was giving me a massive migraine.

  “Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

  I looked up to where the sound of the voice came from. There was a man sitting in the booth directly behind Tosha and he was turned in his seat and grinning at me.

  The man stood and walked to the side of our table. He was wearing an expensive pair of fitted jeans and a bright-colored button-up with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

  “You sound like you’re in need of a scholarship,” the man said as he looked me up and down.

  “No th—,” I was cut off by a sharp kick underneath the table from Tosha. I glared at her and she knit her eyebrows at me.

  “Would you happen to know of any open scholarships?” Tosha asked the stranger.

  I had a bad feeling about this guy in the pit of my stomach.

  “We actually have one opening left for the summer,” the man said as he stared at me in a way that made me extremely uncomfortable. “You should apply.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a business card that was bent on the corners.

  I read the card to myself:

  Walter M. Graves, IV

  Allistar Media & Entertainment

  6969 Donald Lee Hollowell Pkwy, Suite 200

  Atlanta, GA 30318

  Phone: (404)-555-5134

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Graves,” I apologized, “but I’m not a Media or Communications major. I’m studying Economics.”

  I handed him the card back but he held up his hand in protest. “There’s no major or discipline requirement. Just think about it and give me a call when you’re ready to apply.”

  I stared at the card before sliding it in my back pocket. Walter winked at me and went back to his booth.

  “Now how awesome is that? See how God works!” said Tosha.

  “I don’t know about God,” I replied as I stared at the back of the man’s head behind Tosha. Something about Mr. Graves, IV just wasn’t sitting right with me and I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. Maybe it was the fact that I’d never heard of his company or his scholarship, or that he wasn’t the most professionally dressed or acting person that I’ve ever met. I decided to hang onto his business card despite my many reservations.