Single Mom (29 page)

“Why would I want to go to Florida during Christmas?” my mother asked me. “Do you know how much overtime I get during the end of the year?”

“Look, Mom, I’ll pay you the overtime money back. Okay? Now you need a vacation.”

By that time, Nikita was practically staring down my throat. “Take it, Mom,” she advised.

I knew where that was heading. Nikita was scheming on using Mom to get herself a ticket to Florida. After all, our mother couldn’t enjoy Florida by herself.

I cut my sister’s plan short with a suggestion of my own. “I’ll tell you what, Mom. I’ll pay for a ticket for you and your good friend, Ms. Regina, to go down there and spend a week together. Okay? Ms. Regina would really like that. And you two could just go down there and enjoy yourselves.”

Nikita’s mouth dropped open like a hungry kid denied a slice of pie. Then she had the nerve to ask, “What about me and Cheron?”

“Look, you just get ready to go so we can make this damn meeting on time,” I snapped at her. Nikita really knew how to work my nerves! You would think that she was sixteen sometimes!

“You hear how she talks to me, Mom? Now all that is uncalled for.”

I was about two seconds away from kicking my sister’s immature, nonworking, always complaining
ass!
Instead, I took a deep breath and ignored her. I used to wear my sister out as if
I
were her mother when we were younger. I figured she would mature on her own and learn from
my
mistakes, but I guess I was wrong.
Dead
wrong!

“I’m gonna buy those tickets for you, Mom,” I insisted. “And I’m gonna call Ms. Regina myself and tell her.”

Nikita marched back into the bathroom to finish her hair.

My mother finally responded to my suggestions. “Well, I guess it would be different. But what am I gonna wear?”

My mother was definitely a woman from the old school. It was a challenge just getting her to do the simplest things. I said, “Mom, don’t worry about that. That kind of thing isn’t even important. You can wear anything you want.”

She looked at me and responded, “Well, it’s important to
me
. Aren’t
you
concerned about how you look when
you’re
out in public?”

I just couldn’t win with her. I said, “Okay, when the time comes, we’ll go out and get you some warm-weather outfits.”

“Are we gonna wait until the last minute?”

At that point, I believe my mother was simply overwhelmed with the acceptance of the idea. She was just talking to be talking.

“Okay, so it’s all done then, Mom. You hear me? You’re going to Florida with Ms. Regina,” I said, cutting off her idle chatter. Then I stood up to get ready to leave. “Nikita. Let’s go!”

My sister finally got her jacket and hat and headed out the door. If I had known she was going to wear a hat, we would have left a lot earlier with her nappy head.

“We’ll be back around eight-thirty, Mom,” I said, as we walked out the door.

“Okay,” she answered with a nod. I think the idea of flying to Florida had succeeded in cheering her up. She was already reaching for the telephone to talk about it.

Nikita asked, “What are we gonna talk about tonight? Don’t y’all run out of subjects or something? How many years have you been in this thing again?”

I took a deep breath as I opened the car door to let her in. Nikita had two abortions and one miscarriage before finally having Cheron. I thought my sister needed some psychiatric help myself, but imagine trying to convince my mother of that. Too many African-Americans falsely believed that counseling was something only for rich white people. However, the country’s poor people needed professional counseling the most! My sister was a perfect example of that.

I planned on ignoring Nikita until we made it to the library center downtown. She was going to have to answer her own questions. But she wouldn’t let me ignore her.

“Denise, I don’t know why you think you’re better than me. You didn’t start doing good until late in your life either,” she said to me.

There was no way in the world I could ignore that. I responded, “So is that your excuse to keep screwing up, because you think you can turn
it all around whenever you get good and ready to? Because it ain’t that damn easy.”

“
You
did it.”

I looked at my sister and asked, “So what are you saying?” She made it sound as if I were as crazy and confused as she was.

“We came from the same house and the same parents.”

She said it like it was the most important observation in the world. Like she had gotten a perfect score on her test paper. I was damn-near ready to pull the car over.

“But we damn-sure haven’t come from the same mind!” I told her. I got frustrated and yelled, “Girl, you are really starting to … dammit, something is really wrong with you! Do you understand that? You really have problems!” I couldn’t even get all of my words out.

“
You
have
two
kids,
I
only have
one!
Remember that, okay! Before you jump on your
high
horse!”

I swerved the car from the road, hit my brakes, and threw it in park. I grabbed my sister by her jacket and screamed, “You gotta fuckin’ problem with me living my life?! You need to
grow up
, live your
own
damn life, and stop
worrying
Mom to death! And you
need
some damn mental help, because you’re
crazy!
” I knew I shouldn’t have said that, but I did. All of the frustration I had pent up from everything else going on in my life was all coming out on my sister.

“Bitch, I’m not crazy!” Nikita hollered back at me. She was never a good fighter. I realized that as soon as she threw the first punch, missed, and broke my damn rearview mirror. I could have worn her ass out right there inside of that Honda! But suddenly, I came to grips with myself, and just grabbed her by the arms.

“Nikita!” I yelled at her.

She was going ballistic, like a junkie having a withdrawal.

“Nikita, cut it out!” I yelled again.

Bystanders were minding our business from the sidewalk, but I paid them no mind. Then my sister yelled at the top of her lungs, “GET THE FUCK OFF ME, YOU BITCH! GET OFF ME!”

After that, I figured I had to smack her before things
really
got out of hand. I coiled back my arm and hit my sister so awkwardly with my left hand that it felt like I had snapped my wrist.

“SHIT!” I hollered. I immediately grabbed my wrist and looked to see if I had broken anything. Nikita pulled away from me and brought her knees up into her chest, curling up into a ball. Then she started breathing
heavy and mumbling, “I can’t stand your ass! Bitch! I hate you! Think you’re better than somebody! You ain’t
shit!
You ain’t shit!”

Once I realized my wrist wasn’t broken, I made sure the doors were locked, turned the ignition back on, and drove off. I had no idea where I was going. It was no way we were going to make the meeting that night. And I wasn’t gonna let Nikita out of my car until we had a good long talk. I didn’t care if it took all night.

“Take me the fuck home!” she shouted at me.

I shook my head and said, “Not tonight. You’re not going home. We’re going to Florida.” I was going to try out my own psychology on her.

“Look, bitch, just take me home,” she mumbled again.

I said, “Nikita, I’m not gonna be another one of your bitches. Okay? So don’t call me that again. And I mean it!”

I was becoming my sister’s mother again. Then she gave me the silent treatment. I didn’t mind that so much. At least I could concentrate on what I was going to do with her.

I jumped on the Eisenhower Expressway and headed west toward my home in Oak Park. Then I started to think. I thought about how I had gotten pregnant with my first son, Jimmy. His father and I were having safe sex at first. Then when things started going downhill in J.D.’s life, sex became more of a crutch for him, and my naive behind went along with it. I thought that by having sex with him as much as possible, all of his hurt would go away. I should have put on the brakes and given J.D. someone to talk to. I should have used more of my mind to reach him, and less of my body. But the sad truth in America is that, when situations of distress and a lack of guidance surface in young lives, young boys end up in jail, while young girls end up with babies. That was exactly what happened to J.D. and me.

The next thing I knew, I began to talk out loud so that my sister could hear my thoughts and possibly learn something:

“With Walter Perry, I got caught up in a fantasy that I could actually go away somewhere and live happily-ever-after with him, knowing damn well that we were just using each other. He wanted a ghetto girl to screw, and I wanted a college man to have dreams about,” I said.

Then I chuckled and added, “Walter wasn’t even my damn type. He looked lost whenever he came to visit me, like somebody had just dropped his ass off in a business suit on a dirt, country road somewhere.

“And when I messed up and got pregnant by him, I actually fantasized that he would ask me to marry him. Did I ever ask him about it? Hell no!
I knew. He never talked about his family to me. He never talked about his career. He never talked about anything but how exciting it was to be with me, like it was all a visit to a damn amusement park or something.”

I looked over at my sister still balled up in her seat and agreed with her. “Yup. You’re right, Nikita. I’m no better than you. But I
refused
to let my life go by without getting something out of it. And I’m gonna make sure that my sons get something out of their lives, too. But you have to
work
for what you want. Hard! Because
nobody’s
gonna give you anything for free!

“Free shit is for people who can’t get it on their own. So as long as I can work, I’m gonna
earn
my damn keep! You hear me?”

Nikita didn’t say a word, so I went on:

“Now I have both of these fools coming back into their sons’ lives, one because of basketball, and the other because of a recent spark of self-righteousness.”

My sister cut me off and mumbled, “Look who’s fuckin’ talking?! You don’t hit me! Who do you think
you
are? Ms. Perfect? I should get your ass arrested for this! Look at my damn face!”

The whole right side of her jaw was swollen. But it was nothing that an ice pack couldn’t fix. I don’t think it was broken. I didn’t hit her
that
hard, just awkwardly. Nevertheless, my sister had a point, negative actions do not make for a positive response.

“I’m sorry that I hit you, Nikita. I was wrong,” I told her.

“I
know
your ass was wrong!” she snapped.

I was speechless for a moment. Maybe
I
needed some counseling as well.

“If you’re so perfect, how come you’re not fuckin’ married to somebody?” Nikita mumbled. She wasn’t looking at me when she asked, and I don’t think she expected an answer either. She was using her statement as a return smack in the face. And it worked, because I didn’t have an answer.

I finally nodded to her and said, “Okay? If I’m no better than you or anybody else, then you do better than me. You find a stable family home for yourself and Cheron, and do all of the things that I haven’t been able to do, like getting married. Okay? And you find out how to be happy with yourself, because I sure haven’t found out how. Every day is a new struggle for me. And I’m getting tired of it. So maybe you’ll have more energy and better luck than what I’ve had.”

Nikita didn’t respond to me. Instead, she asked, “Can you take me the hell home, please?”

I sighed. I didn’t see where I was making any ground with her. I said,
“Don’t you know that I love you. You’re the only sister that I have, and I just don’t want to see you in my same situation. I mean, sure, you only have one child
now
, but what about three, four years from now. How many kids or—” I cut myself short before I said “abortion.” I don’t believe that would have enhanced the discussion.

“Well, I like your way of showing me that you love me,” my sister responded sarcastically. “Do you show my nephews that you love them the same way? Maybe I need to call the cops for them, too.”

I found the first exit I could and made a U-turn so I could take my sister back home before I kicked her out of my moving car. I had refrained from hitting my sons, but discipline was discipline, and when it was needed, it was needed.

“You’ve never hit Cheron, right?” I questioned Nikita.

“Yeah, but I don’t try and act like I’m
right
about everything.”

“So you’ve hit her when you were wrong?” I asked.

“You hit me when
you
were wrong,” she countered.

“Oh, so maybe you need to call
the cops
on yourself, too, then.”

She said, “Whatever. Just take me home.”

I tried to ignore her again, but Nikita didn’t know how to be ignored.

“Can you
please
turn the radio on or something?” she huffed, while staring out the window. She was a complete, irritating, and self-absorbed child in charge of raising a child of her own. After a while, I couldn’t wait to get her out of my sight. But unseen did not mean unthought of.

When I got Nikita back to my mother’s, she slammed my passenger door as if it was me. I sighed, shook my head, and drove off. I didn’t want to face my mother after hitting Nikita in the face like I did. My mother had always taken the baby’s side of the story. That was a big reason why Nikita was still acting like one.

I drove home thinking about my sons. Had I been unfair, or wrong with them? Since the discussion didn’t go well with Nikita, and I was still in the mode of truth telling and understanding, I figured I could pick up where I left off with them.

When I got home and walked into the family room, they were both playing video games. Walter tried to play slick like he was really reading a book, but Jimmy started to laugh and couldn’t control himself. Poor Walter was so petrified that he didn’t know what to do. They had no idea that I was going to be home so soon, and neither did I.