Minion (29 page)

 

 

 

H
ER SEARCH
for Carlos had ended in frustration. Damali stood in the locked foyer of the compound allowing the UV light to pour over her as she waited for the second steel safety-door of the sanctuary to open. The crew was huddled over the design tables and the computers when she entered their haven at dusk. She was thankful that they only gave her a cursory acknowledgment as she briefly spoke to them before she went to her room.

Her insides ached with a growing despair, and she found her spoken word journal—the place where she poured out her soul.

Choices. Her mind wrapped around the beginning of an anthem. Damali sat slowly at her worktable in her bedroom, watching the sun go down, and the steel security gates come down over her windows with it. Choices—a road high and a road low. Such a narrow margin of error in between.

Her hand furiously scribbled the words that spilled from her mind:

They say do the right thing, easy words but a hard road to follow. Grandmommas call it a tough row to hoe—like cotton country and tobacco land madness, hot laundry rooms, buckets to wash
other people's floors . . . while remaining pleasant—A rock and a hard place—all sistahs know where that is. And they say the words from the master wordsmith, explaining how life ain't no crystal stair, I got dat part—but the splinters in this are a bitch. People pulling me left, then right, shredding who I am. The gray zone, neither right yet, or wrong—standing on the border, I wonder. There but for the grace of God, go I. Really? Cool. Who am I to judge, or cast the first stone when they judge me, first . . . before they know who I am? But then, I'm becoming a rock thrower myself these days, just to keep my balance—within me—who is that, I ask?

Because you see, they have me standing between a rock and a hard place, knowing what I know about all the women who have stood here in the past. Betta recognize—I do, I feel you—but yo, y'all need to give up props, too—'cause the new millennium ain't no joke. Have you seen what's out here? What's left of the slim pickin's . . . for a young sistah with wisdom, with purpose, who wants more than splinters in her butt?

And I'm trying to get cool with this position that ain't changed since Eve shook things up, girlfriend was ahead of her time and said oh well—my choice. But then, that fucked things up, for real, for real, and sistah went down hard. Been paying ever since, and they called out her name behind it. So, I do have sense. I am listening, I hear ya, but I'm still in between this funky position, when I want to feel freedom—which I hear ya, ain't free. Prepared to pay the cost to be the boss just takes the hard place to a new level, and I'm tired of analyzing the risk factor—just wanna have fun. Just wanna forget for a moment that when I sit down hard there will be splinters in my high, round Nubian ass.

I don't want to have to listen to the brothers call me baby, then in the next breath bitch—when I make my choice and it's not in their favor, and I want the old dolls to back up and give me space
to breathe, to figure this complex shit out on my own—respect, notwithstanding. Naw, I ain't trying to be a baby's momma, when I'm just a baby myself . . . and I like my new power to turn heads, and make men shiver without touching them, I'm just playing—just seeing how strong my vibe is, but that don't give them the right to violate it. Naw. Don't give the old dolls the right to judge what's on my mind, neither, just 'cause my body's talking to me loud and clear
—

 

The light tap on her door made Damali stop writing and look up. She murmured for the intruder to come in and then watched Marlene close the door behind her and cross the room. When Marlene sat on the corner of her bed, Damali turned her director's chair around to face her mentor.

“You're back to writing again,” Marlene said quietly. “That's good.”

“Yeah,” Damali murmured. “It's all good.”

The two women sat in strained silence, Marlene's gaze going toward the sealed windows and then to the floor as she clasped her hands in her lap.

“Damali, I'm sorry,” Marlene finally murmured as she let her breath out slowly and then studied her hands. “I've been really tough on you for a long time, and I don't even know where to begin. There's so much to teach you, and so little time.”

The silence made Marlene look up to connect with Damali's gaze.

“I'm trying so hard,” Damali whispered, “to be what everyone says I am, or that I need to be . . . but I'm human, too.”

“Yes, baby, you are,” Marlene whispered back, and then glanced away.

“I don't understand everything that's happening. I don't even know how I feel about anything anymore,” Damali admitted,
making Marlene look up at her again. “Everything feels like it's spinning out of control, and like as a team, we're on the verge of another catastrophe . . . and I don't know how, or if, I can stop it.”

The two women quietly stared at each other for a long time, until Marlene nodded.

“I should have told you everything earlier,” Marlene said. “I just couldn't.”

“Why now? That's the part that hurts so bad, Mar. You didn't trust me.”

Marlene shook her head. “I trusted you. I just didn't trust my own fears.” Marlene looked at Damali directly, her gaze furtive. “Fear is a terrible emotion. It makes you look at things from a very restricted point of view. I didn't want to lose you to the fallen night.”

Damali's gaze softened and she could feel her body relax. “I know that, Mar. But where's your faith? You have to allow a person to figure out some of this stuff on their own.”

Marlene nodded and laughed sadly. “From the mouths of babes come words of wisdom. When you live a long time, fear starts to make your bones . . . your mind . . . your spirit brittle to any change. That's because change always seems to have pain associated with it—and comes at a frighteningly high price.”

Damali stood and went over to sit next to Marlene. Her arms found her mentor's shoulders and she hugged her. Marlene let out a long, exhausted breath. The worry laced within that breath threaded its way through Damali's heart, touching the core of her.

“I love you so much, Mar. I would never do anything to hurt you. Don't you know how I feel about you and the group? You're family.”

Marlene nodded and pulled away gently so she could stare at
Damali while holding her hands. “You are so young and so beautiful that I guess I just wanted to wrap you up in a bubble of safety and keep you away from any of this big, bad world. I'm a mother. One day, God willing, you will be one, too. Then you'll know a level of fear that goes beyond your own personal safety.”

Tears formed in Marlene's eyes as she spoke. “Even if there were no such things as vampires or demons, I'd still have this fear. I pray daily for each of you, but not as hard for the others as I pray for you, my baby girl.”

Wiping at the tears that had fallen from Marlene's wise, aging eyes, Damali kissed her cheek. “I love you. Do you understand?”

Marlene nodded and smiled, and then chuckled in a tone so sad that Damali swallowed as tears threatened her own composure.

“I've taught you almost everything I know to make you strong, independent, and courageous, and I tried to pass on all of that—then, when you were ready to fly, I was the one clipping your wings. Like I said, it's insane, but real. I'm sorry.”

“No, don't be sorry, Mar.” Damali shook her head and pushed a stray lock off Marlene's shoulder. “Momma eagle, you have flown through storms, hunted and brought back food for the nest, and battled in the wilderness. It
is
dangerous out there, and I'm so new . . . just floating on air . . . while you have the eagle eyes that know there's a storm coming, there's a cliff nearby, fierce beasts in the night, and you did what you knew, screeched a warning for me to get back to the nest. Your eyes and instincts are still good, Marlene. Know that I respect that. Please.”

Marlene chuckled again softly, wiping at her own tears as she broke Damali's hold to do so. “Then why did we both go blind for a moment . . . especially after that show in Philadelphia? That scared me, baby. And we haven't been on the same page since.”

Damali stared at Marlene.

“It's like my gift is waning as yours strengthens . . . and it's the same with the rest of the group. But your gifts are so new and so untested that the warnings come in fits and starts—and I'm concerned about the times when your sensors are down—you understand?”

“Am I dredging you guys?” Horrified at the concept, Damali stood and began to pace. “What if I'm siphoning the group of its energy?”

“No,” Marlene said quickly. “This is the natural order of things. You are getting stronger, our perceptions are dimming—not because you are a drain, but because you are coming to a point where you have to be able to make decisions, come to conclusions on your own. Our job has always been to protect and guide you until you come of age. We'll maintain our gifts in the long run, but while you are in this delicate transition, we cannot overpower your perceptions, your realities . . . your spirit. You must be your own guide.” Marlene stood and went to the window.

“All of us are wondering, did she get lesson one-o-one? Did we transfer enough knowledge, did her mind absorb the concepts, what did we forget to teach her . . . what took root, what was left behind? Panicked, we started retracing our steps, going over the basics—things you already knew—not because you weren't sure, but because
we
aren't sure. I know it pisses you off. But we're bugging because we see a storm brewing and just want to know, will our baby be safe, will she be able to hunt on her own—and if she faces deadly challenges, will she make the right choice?” Marlene turned and looked at Damali with firm love in her eyes.

“Baby, every parent on the planet asks themselves this, and they quietly freak when it's time to let go and let God. Not just slayer guardians. It comes with the serve and protect cross to
bear that all parents have invisibly on their shoulders. But in the end, we have to let go. We all hold our collective breaths when the time comes. Then we all beat ourselves up if our beloved child stumbles and falls . . . and we cringe at our own legacy of human error wondering if we had been more perfect, more righteous, could we have helped our child avoid a fall.”

“Deep . . .” Damali's murmur trailed off as the impact of the burden became so clear. She thought it was all Neteru-related drama, but suddenly she could understand how most of this was pure love—and would not have been any different if she was just a normal young woman. She raked her fingers through her locks and let her breath out hard.

Marlene immediately let her breath out with a soft sigh, following Damali's exhale of epiphany.

“Truth is, we never know.” Marlene held Damali in her gaze again and searched her face. “Baby, I don't know if my own mistakes will be a part of your legacy. I don't know if, or what, I could have done better. That's it—
I'm human,
imperfect, I have issues . . . and God help me, I never wanted to visit those things on you—so I tried to hide them. Just remember that, okay? No matter how all this goes down.”

Marlene turned away as a sob caught in her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes. “What could I have done? What have I left undone? That's the nagging question that drives a mother crazy—what if?”

Damali crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Marlene as she rested her chin on Marlene's shoulder and rocked her.

“Mom—Marlene,” Damali said. “You gave me everything that you could. Now I have to figure this out for myself.”

Marlene's hand touched Damali's and she squeezed it. “You called me Mom,” she whispered.

Turning Marlene to face her, Damali traced Marlene's tears
with her finger. “Because, by any definition, that's who you are to me. You have given me
everything
you had to give, all from a good place in your heart. Don't you think I know what you're afraid of most? That I'll get bitten.”

Marlene smiled. “I guess you would. You have the eyes, too. I just don't want you to ever hate me for the choices I've made, or had to make.”

“I know you are not the enemy,” Damali said tenderly. “I'm afraid of what's out there, too. I'm no fool.”

Both women chuckled and held hands in quiet contemplation.

“Let's start again,” Damali said in a soft tone, as she gazed at Marlene's accepting expression. “Me and you on the same team. I won't promise to do everything you say carte blanche—but how about if I listen while you teach me tonight?”

Again, Marlene chuckled. But this time the sound that came from her was richer, deeper, more at ease. “You want to know how to know when,” Marlene said with a smile. “If I knew that answer, I'd book myself on
Oprah
and be done with the music scene. You know she's retiring in 2006.”

They both giggled and shook their heads and sat on the edge of Damali's bed.

“You think I'm bad—wait till you have kids,” Marlene teased. “A momma that can hear everything, smell everything, can see in the dark and carries a blade—man, I pity your kids already! You wait.”

Damali laughed hard with Marlene; the thought of finding herself in the same position years later, however, trailed off her laughter. Damn, this was some deep shit.

“You know, Mar, I hadn't even gone there. You might have to visit me in prison for staking some poor heavy-breathing teenager
who was trying to push up on my daughter.”

“See, it ain't so funny, is it?” Marlene smiled.

“No,” Damali admitted. “Not in the least. The predicament is a trip.”