Sexual Healing (9 page)

He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, and patted her reassuringly. “You're gonna be all right. I'm gonna make sure you're straight.”

A glow of relief was evident in her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for everything.” Her voice cracked. “Excuse me, I don't want Barack to see me like this,” she said and wiped at her eye with the back of her hand. And, before Cruze could say another word, she fled in the direction of the ladies' room, leaving him standing in the middle of the court, his heart filling with hope as he fought to hold back his own tears.

Nine

C
ruze slid behind the wheel of his SUV and started his engine with thoughts of his mother on his mind. He missed her immensely. And after seeing the love Roxanne had in her eyes for her son, Barack, it made him now think of his life with his own mother. He'd do anything to have her back. Knowing she was looking down on him wasn't enough. He wanted so desperately to feel her arms wrapped around him, or to simply pick up the phone and call her, just to hear her voice.

Before putting his luxury truck in
DRIVE
, Cruze locked his doors, then took a few minutes to try to compose himself. He glanced into his rearview mirror and stared at his reflection. All he saw staring back at him was emptiness. Sadness.
“Don't nobody want you
. Your own mother died and left you.”

Cruze shook the hurtful words from his mind.
Fuck that hating-ass foster care bitch!
He wasn't trying to go there. Not today. He'd left those memories behind him. Sighing, he laid his head back on the headrest and looked upward toward the roof as if he were looking up into the sky, through white puffy clouds, straight into heaven—where he knew his mother was.

“I love you, Ma,” he muttered to himself.

Then closed his eyes, remembering . . .

“The doctor wants to keep me in the hospital overnight. I don't have the money to pay for a babysitter, so you'll have to look after yourself,
honey.” Sherrell Fontaine grasped her son's shoulder, giving it a squeeze, as if trying to infuse her man-child with the confidence he'd need to get through the night.

Cruze, already a full head taller than his mother, gazed down at her uncertainly. “Why I gotta have a babysitter? I'm old enough to take care of myself. But why do you have to stay all night at the hospital?” His changing voice started out low, but midway through the question, it shot up to a high, squeaky pitch. He hated not being able to control his vocal range; it was so embarrassing.

Sherrell
usually laughed and teased her only child whenever his voice made unpredictable sounds, but this time she didn't acknowledge it. “Because, sweetheart, the doctor wants to run some more tests and keep me overnight for observation,” she explained in a somber tone, as she fought to hold back her emotions.

“And you'll be home in the morning?” Cruze asked hopefully. He had no fear of staying in the apartment alone for a day or two, but what he found unsettling was his mother's demeanor. She usually had a sense of humor about everything, but she was acting dead serious, and seemed somewhat nervous. Cruze watched with concern as her anxious fingers went from fiddling with the knot at the back of the bandana she wore around her head to fidgeting with the buttons on her coat. And there was something else—her eyes didn't look right. The whites weren't quite white, but were instead, an opaque shade of gray and her dark pupils were filled with worry.

Head tilted, Cruze looked at his mother skeptically. “Is everything okay
, Ma? You can tell me.”

Sherrell's eyes glanced to the floor, then back up to her son. “My doctor
is, uh, he's trying to be cautious, I suppose,” she stammered. “He wants to make sure all my levels are under control.” Although her mouth curved upward, Cruze could sense the fear behind his mother's forced smile.

Cruze frowned. “But the doctor already operated—he cut out the cancer. And . . . and . . . you take those treatments to keep it from coming back. Right, Ma?” Cruze's gaze shifted from his mother's face to the bandana she wore to conceal the hair loss she'd suffered since starting chemotherapy.

Sherrell swallowed. “To be honest, honey, the chemo doesn't seem to be helping at all and that's part of the reason the doctor wants to run the tests. When he gets to the bottom of it, he'll be able to figure out the next course of action.” She reached out and squeezed Cruze's hand. “I'll be okay after he makes some adjustments in my medication.”

Cruze scrunched his brows together in thought. Something wasn't right. It seemed like his mother was hiding something, but he had no idea what.

Sherrell rustled his hair affectionately. “Hey, stop looking so sad. You don't have to worry about me, okay?”

Cruze nodded.

“And don't you give me any reason to worry about you while I'm in the hospital. Okay?”

“You don't have to worry. I won't get into any trouble,” he said reassur
ingly.

Sherrell smiled her first real smile in days. “I know you're a good boy. But you like to hang out at the basketball court with your bad-behind friends, and I don't think that's a good idea when you don't have any adult supervision at home. I'll feel much better knowing you're safe and sound in the house with the door locked. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yeah, Ma,” Cruze reluctantly agreed, giving a roving glance around
the small apartment, taking in the darkened TV screen, the phone that
had no dial tone, and the fridge that contained only a few slices of bolo
gna and some hardened cheese. There wasn't even any bread to make a sandwich.

“I spoke to Miss Val about our situation. I told her how they cut off
my check and my stamps because I was too sick to keep my last appointment at the welfare office, and she was nice enough to help us out.” Sherrell reached inside her bag and retrieved a twenty-dollar packet of food stamps and handed it to Cruze. “Mr. Woo takes stamps, so get yourself some Chinese food for dinner and pick up some milk and cereal for breakfast, and then come straight home. No hanging out on the streets . . . and no kids in the house. Do you hear me, boy?”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Cruze murmured, happily pocketing the food stamps and imagining filling his empty stomach with some chicken wings, General Tso's chicken, three egg rolls, and two cans of soda. He'd also throw in a couple of Little Debbie Honey Buns and a bag full of loose candy to grub on later.

“Miss Val said you can come up to her place to watch TV and use the phone if you want. But please be considerate. Don't tie up her phone for longer than a few minutes, Cruze.”

“I won't,” he muttered. He had no intention of sitting up in Miss Val's crib. He knew that the minute he got settled on the couch and started watching music videos on BET, Miss Val's bad twins would switch the channel to some kiddie crap. Maybe he'd make a quick stop to his boy Jerrell's house and see if he'd let him borrow some movies—maybe he'd also let Cruze hold his new Madden 2001 game and a controller. Both Cruze's controllers had broken a long time ago, and his mom didn't have the money to replace them.

While Cruze was plotting on how to keep from going stir crazy while sitting in a house with nothing to do, Sherrell's legs suddenly went wobbly, and she grabbed the back of the frayed easy chair.

Cruze quickly grabbed her and helped lower her into the chair. “You all right, Ma?”

Sherrell's face glistened with perspiration and she let out a long, shaky breath. “Another dizzy spell. I had one at the Laundromat yesterday. I remember grabbing onto the dryer handle to keep from falling, but I
still ended up passed out on the floor.” She looked up at Cruze guiltily, as if she wanted to apologize for being ill.

“I would have done the laundry for you if I knew you were feeling dizzy.” Cruze's voice went up in pitch as fear clutched at his heart. His mother hadn't mentioned fainting at the Laundromat. She hadn't even asked him to help her put away the neatly folded laundry that she'd pushed home in a laundry cart.

She smiled warmly at Cruze. “Boy, you don't know the first thing about doing laundry. If I left it up to you, our clothes would be ruined with bleach stains.” She briefly looked off in thought. “Maybe I need to teach you, though. You might have to start helping out around the house if the doctor decides I need to stay off my feet for a while.”

“That's cool. I want to help out,” he said, rubbing his mother's back comfortingly while wishing he were a grown man who was capable of taking all the burdens off of her.

Sherrell eyed her son and her heart warmed. He was her life. And she wanted nothing but the best for him. He was a good boy, and all she ever wanted for him was to have a good life. She wanted him to enjoy his childhood and not be burdened with duties that she felt were her own. “For the time being, your only responsibility is to focus on your schoolwork and to make sure you stay away from those street thugs you like to hang with. It would kill me if my son ended up on a corner selling drugs.” She shook her head gravely.

“No way! That'll never happen 'cause I'ma future NBA star,” he bragged, flashing a big grin.

The smile that touched his mother's lips never reached her eyes, and Cruze wondered if she doubted his basketball skills.

“I'm serious, Ma. I'ma get us out of the projects and into a big house as soon as I sign my first contract. We're gonna live somewhere with lots of trees and flowers. A pretty house; maybe even a mansion like the ones we see in movies and on TV.”

Sherrell patted Cruze's hand. “Having dreams is a good thing, baby, but you also have to have a backup plan. So, don't neglect your studying, son. It's important.”

“I won't,” he said, but in his heart he didn't believe he needed a backup plan. In his young mind, he believed that as long as he could dunk a basketball, a bright future was guaranteed. And soon enough, it would be his time to shine.

• • •

After school the next day, Cruze was surprised that his mother still wasn't home. He went upstairs to ask Miss Val if he could use her phone to call the hospital. The hospital receptionist put the call through, but when his mom didn't answer, she patched him through to the nurse's station on his mother's floor. The woman who picked up at the nurse's station told him his mother must be asleep. When Cruze asked if she knew when his mother was coming home, she told him she couldn't provide patient information to a minor or a non-relative.

Cruze put Miss Val on the phone, and she gave Cruze a wink when she told the nurse that she was Sherrell's sister. Cruze watched Miss Val's face intently as she inquired about his mother's condition. He got panicky when Miss Val dramatically pulled the phone away from her ear and started frowning and looking at the phone sideways as if the person on the other end had been speaking a foreign language.

“Why're y'all moving her to a hospice facility when she only went in to take some tests?” Miss Val inquired, astonished.

“Where're they moving my mom?” Cruze blurted, anxiously biting his bottom lip.

Miss Val held up a finger, quieting Cruze as she continued speaking to the nurse. “Well, her son needs to see her before she's transferred to that other place. He's thirteen . . . is that old enough to visit without an adult?” Miss Val listened for a while and then said in a somber tone, “Oh, all right, then.”

Cruze was seized by panic. “What's going on, Miss Val? Why ain't my
mom coming home? And why they moving her somewhere else?”

“The nurse said, um . . . To be honest, Cruze, she said she don't think your momma's gonna make it.”

Uncomprehending, Cruze shook his head. “Okay, she might not make
it home today, but what about tomorrow? Is she coming home then?” he asked in an urgent rush of words.

“Listen, hon. I don't know the whole story, so you're gonna have to get over to the hospital as soon as possible. That place they plan on moving her to is outside the county—it's pretty far away,” Miss Val said with
pity in her eyes. “I would go with you to the hospital if I could, but I got my
hands filled with the twins. Do you have any money for the subway?”

Feeling dazed, Cruze shook his head. Miss Val went inside her purse and pulled out some wrinkled ones. “This is my last four dollars until I get my check next week. But here you go, take this money and go see your mother.”

Heart pounding in his chest, Cruze hugged his neighbor, then said, “Thanks, Miss Val.”

Thirty-five minutes later, a social worker was waiting for Cruze at the hospital. She introduced herself as Ms. Curry, then told him she would accompany him to his mother's room. She said she had to speak with him privately in her office after his visit was over. He nodded, and without waiting to be escorted, he moved his long legs briskly along the corridor. While the social worker trailed far behind, Cruze scanned each door in search of 1215, and when he reached his mother's room, he burst inside.

“Ma!” he cried out in alarm. Seeing all the medical apparatuses that cluttered the area near his mother's bed was disconcerting.

“Keep your voice down and be considerate of the other patient,” the social worker quietly scolded as she entered the room.

The desolate hospital room was divided by a cloth curtain and it seemed
that Sherrell had a private room until the sudden fit of coughing from
the other side of the curtain made Cruze keenly aware of his mother's unseen roommate.

He looked down at his frail mother who seemed to have lost even more weight overnight. Her eyes were closed, as she lay deadly still, as if entombed beneath the covers. Cruze was jarred by not only her frailty, but also by the sight of her tiny, bare head. She looked so vulnerable without the bandana she always wore to conceal her hair loss.