Who Asked You? (17 page)

That’s when I press the button on the phone that make it hang up, and then I pull that long rubber cord out the wall like Grandma showed me and Ricky how to do when Uncle Dexter used to call and she didn’t feel like hearing the phone ring.

When she comes out the bathroom with that pink towel piled up around her head like cotton candy, she say, “Who was that calling, baby?”

And I just say, “Nobody.”

I
don’t know if I should even call back. Here I been out here trying to get my life together knowing my kids was safe with Ma and Luther old enough to know I’ve had a problem, and so just when I get my courage up to reach out ’cause I been missing seeing him and Ricky and hearing their voices, see what happened?

Luther wasn’t too thrilled hearing my voice. But who can blame him? Sometimes you make bad decisions and you just gotta live with ’em. I hope him and Ricky don’t hate me and I hope they don’t give up on me. Yet. I still ain’t got nothing to bring to the table, and can’t really teach ’em much of nothing. Yet. I ain’t even close to being no role model, but at least I’m trying. I shoulda learned a lot from Ma, ’cause she was a good mother to us. She put up with a lot of our bullshit but she never gave up on us. She rammed right and wrong down our throats and we didn’t listen. She was a good example of what being a good example is, but we just chose not to hear her or Mr. Butler when they had our best interest at heart. And now look at what being deaf on purpose done added up to. The only person I blame is myself. I’m the one who been fucking up and my kids been suffering. I hope I get the chance to correct some of my wrongs.

I also ain’t thrilled about being pregnant. When me and Dante hooked up, I told him I didn’t want no more kids, but since I been almost totally clean for almost four months he musta slipped up and didn’t put his condom on and shit happened, and since he ain’t got no kids of his own he begged me to keep it.

“I ain’t even taking care of the three I got.”

“What you mean, three?”

“I told you about Noxema when we was in rehab, but I guess you don’t remember. Her daddy went to court and he got custody.”

“And how old is she?” he asked.

“She should be almost five.”

“Well, I can tell you right now, you gon’ take care of this one. And you need to be trying to figure out how you gon’ get them boys back. Think about bringing them out here. This the South. It’s a good place to bring up kids.”

“What they supposed to eat? Air?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to find a trade, Trinetta. It’s a lot of things you can learn how to do real quick.”

“Like what?”

I remember crossing my arms and they squeezing my breasts, which was already starting to get sore, but I was waiting for Mr. Donald Trump to tell me how to start a career, since his ain’t exactly off to no running start yet either. Turns out his cousin ain’t got no connections and don’t nobody know how to get in touch with L.A. and Babyface ’cause word on the street is they breaking up. And on top of everything Dante’s cousin is so deep in the church we had to get outta there ’cause they had Bible study twice a week in the living room, during
Monday Night Football
and on the night I watch
Law & Order
. They tried to get Dante to join the choir. I told ’em I can’t even hum on key so don’t look at me. Plus, it’s a Pentecostal church and even though I ain’t got nothing against folks getting the Holy Ghost and what have you, I just don’t like being preached to about heaven and hell when I don’t know nobody that’s ever been to either one and lived to tell it. Hell can’t be no hotter than Atlanta. So Dante got us a room with a kitchenette in it, which I ain’t crazy about, and I’ve seen these giant-ass cockroaches like I ain’t never seen in L.A. strolling across the floor and parking on the damn walls. They dare you to try to kill ’em, and I don’t even try ’cause spiders and bugs and insects make me itch. I told Dante we can’t stay here too long, ’cause I’m tired of scratching.

In all honesty, I’m bored to death. And when I get bored I have a tendency to get high. But I promised Dante I wouldn’t do nothing to hurt this baby like I maybe did when I was carrying Ricky, but I only dipped and dabbed, and from what I saw, he just a little hyper and good thing I hadn’t hit that pipe until after Luther was born. Anyway, I don’t care what they say about how the South has changed, it’s still the South, and I don’t like living down here. It’s a lotta white people that let you know they don’t like black people. I guess black people down here must be used to it, ’cause they don’t seem to pay ’em no mind. But coming from California, where everybody seem to like everybody, it kinda feel like going back in time. It’s pretty and modern and got a whole lotta serious houses and everything is green and the shopping is good, if you got money to shop, and I really dig the rain and the loud thunderstorms and even the lightning—a nice change from every-day-is-the-same L.A.—but I’m thinking we should go somewhere like Oakland or Vallejo or where the seasons almost change. They got lots of rappers up in the Bay Area and I think it even snow sometimes. Plus they got bridges and water everywhere and they ain’t got no smog or no humidity. I’ma run this by Dante tonight. As soon as he get back from choir practice.

I only got eighteen minutes left on this phone and since Dante got the car I can’t go to the store to buy some more, but then again, maybe I could call collect. Which is what I decide to go ahead and do. My heart is beating fast ’cause I’m hoping one of the kids don’t answer this time and if Ma does, that she will accept the charges. When a man’s voice answers, I know it’s my brother Dexter. Of course he accepts the charges.

“Bro, when you get out?”

“A few months back. How are you these days? You’re calling collect so I’m hoping you’re not behind bars. Talk to me.”

“Not even close. I don’t do jail. Just a little low on funds right now and almost out of minutes on my phone, and . . .”

“What area code is this?”

“I don’t really know, to tell you the truth. It’s one of those throwaways.”

“You still in Atlanta?”

“Yeah.”

“What you doing down there?”

“Trying to get my life together.”

“Yeah, well, how’s that working out?”

“So-so.”

“You still hitting that pipe?”

“Hell to the no. Anyway, glad you finally got paroled.”

“That makes two of us.”

“So, what’s it like?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“First off, I know you not staying at Ma’s?”

“I am, but it’s just temporary. It’s one of my parole requirements. I fixed up the spot above the garage.”

“What’s my boys like?”

“They’re smart. And well behaved. Luther looks just like his daddy.”

“So, you saw him in there?”

“He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“You seen your kids since you been out?”

“I would if I knew how to find their mothers.”

“So, how’s it feel to be able to come and go as you please and not having nobody telling you when to go to bed and when to wake up and shit, just being able to walk down the street when you want to?”

“I’m not even going to answer that, Trinetta. So, I suppose you want to speak to the boys?”

I don’t know how to tell him they don’t want to talk to me, so I just play it off. “First let me say hi to Ma, if she’s there.”

“She’s here. But hold up a minute. When are you coming back to get your kids?”

“Why is this any of your business, Dexter?”

“Because this is hard as hell on Ma. She goes to work five days a week and then comes home to care for them, and she’s not a spring chicken and these are growing boys and they cost money, something she doesn’t have a lot of, you know that, and you haven’t exactly been helping and you need to figure out a way to take care of your own damn kids and cut Ma some slack.”

“How much rent you paying?”

“That’s really none of your business, now, is it?”

“So that means none. You got a job?”

“I work at the Salvation Army.”

“At the what?”

“You heard me.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever they need me to do. It’s work and I’m grateful for it.”

“What happen to your woman? Skittles? She still in the picture?”

“No. So what exactly are you doing down there in Atlanta?”

“I’m staying clean and going to school.”

“What kind of school? To do what?”

This catches me off guard, so I just tell another lie and say, “Hair.”

“You still got those dreadlocks?”

“No, I cut ’em off ’cause it was too hot down here.”

“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Husband. And his name is Dante.”

“Husband? And he let you run off and leave your kids?”

“He thinks Ma asked if she could keep ’em until I cleaned up my act, so when you meet him please don’t treat him like he ain’t shit.”

“When will you be finished with school?”

“Next year.”

“A whole year? Let me get Ma. Hold on. Oh, and by the way, your sons are at a sleepover. So you missed them anyway. See you when I see you.”

I hear him call Ma. I hear her ask who it is.

“It’s your daughter!”

I hear him put the phone down. I’m scared what she’s gonna say to me. I’m not sure if I can handle a lecture right now, but what the fuck.

“What rock did you crawl from under?”

“A lot of them.”

I have to change my tone and language when I talk to Ma, ’cause she gets pissed when I talk “ghetto,” as Luther would say.

“And? The boys aren’t here if you want to talk to them.”

“Dexter told me they’re at a sleepover, but I talked to Luther a few days ago. Didn’t he tell you I called?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“What?”

“I said he didn’t tell me you called or that he spoke to you. Why, what did you say to him?”

“I just wanted him and Ricky to know that I miss ’em, that I’m trying to figure out how to come back there correct so me and Dante can take care of ’em.”

“Oh, did you really, now?”

“Go ahead and yell at me, Ma. I know how I did this was all wrong but I was doing that stuff and needed to get myself together and Dante threatened to leave me if I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t he do them, too?”

“No. He’s been clean almost two years. He’s in the church.”

“Well, this makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I feel really grateful that you finally took the time out of your busy schedule after I don’t even know how many months to call and say what?”

“That I miss them.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Look, Ma. It’s taken me a while to get my head on straight, and now that I’m in school, after I complete the program, I just want you to know me and Dante will be coming back to get them.”

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“Well, let me say this. If you for one damn minute think you and Donkey Kong or whatever his damn name is can just come back here and get these kids like you’re picking them up from camp, think again. I’m not going to let you put them through any more of your bullshit. If you want to come visit them, that’s fine, but if you act like you want to take them, I’ll go to court because this is their address and they’re staying right here with me and your daddy.”

“He is not my daddy.”

“Since when? I thought you said you weren’t doing drugs.”

“Aunt Arlene told me he wasn’t my daddy.”

“Your aunt Arlene doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. You are serious, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious. Anyway, I’ll say this with no disrespect intended, Ma. Those are my kids, and if I come back to Los Angeles next week or next year, I can take them. So please don’t get it twisted.”

I wait for her to say something to that but she don’t say another word. I don’t even hear her breathing. I don’t hear nothing. I’m beginning to think that this shit must be in our genes.

L
uther, why didn’t you tell me your mama called?”

“I forgot.”

“I know you’re not lying to your grandma, are you?”

He drops his head. Stirs his spoon around in his oatmeal. Ricky is pretending he’s deaf.

“Did she say something that upset you, baby?”

“She said she having a baby.”

“She’s having a what?”

“A baby.”

“The kind that drinks milk out a bottle and cries till you pick it up,” Ricky says.

Why am I not shocked that Trinetta didn’t bother mentioning it? “Well, how do you two feel about that?”

Luther hunches his shoulders. Ricky does the same.

“Do you miss her?” I haven’t bothered to ask them this the whole time they’ve been here, because it never seemed like it made a lot of sense to ask them something as stupid as that, but now it feels right.

“I don’t,” Luther says.

“Me neither.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because. When you a mother you supposed to take care of your own kids and not leave ’em at their grandma’s house for a weekend and then don’t come back to pick ’em up and then don’t call until after you turn eight when you was . . . I mean, were seven when you left.”

Ricky just nods in agreement.

I really don’t know what to say to that, so I just say, “Look. Sometimes, as mothers, we make mistakes. And sometimes we hurt our children when we make some mistakes even though we didn’t mean to hurt them. Do you two understand that?”

“No. I don’t. Because when you got kids you supposed to be more careful about the mistakes you make.”

“Who told you that, Luther?”

“Nurse Kim.”

“And how would she know? She doesn’t even have kids.”

“I think she musta read it in her Harry Potter book.”

“You mean that book you’re reading?”

He nods.

“Is it about mothers who leave their kids?”

“No,” Luther says. “Harry’s parents get killed so he gotta go live with his mean relatives and then he goes to the Hogwarts School and—”

“It’s got wizards in it, Grandma,” Ricky says.

“What was Nurse Kim doing reading a book like this?”

“’Cause grown-ups like magic, too,” Luther says.

“What exactly is a wizard?” I ask, just to see what he says.

“They can fly and do magic!” Ricky yells.

“I miss Nurse Kim more than I miss my mama,” Luther says out of nowhere. This makes me feel terrible even though I do understand what would make him say it.

“Nurse Kim hasn’t been gone a week, Luther.”

He just looks at me. “And I don’t like the way Mrs. Nurse Hattie smells.”

“What does she smell like?”

“A skunk.”

“That is not nice,” I say.

“I’m not saying it to sound mean, Grandma. Plus she is old and fat.”

“Well, so am I.”

Ricky shakes his head back and forth like he’s possessed. “Uh-un. You is not old as Mrs. Nurse Hattie, Grandma, but me and Luther want you to go on a diet.”

Luther elbows him.

“Aunt Venetia told us you would just be able to walk better and your knee probably would not hurt you so much if you was . . . I mean, were to lose like twenty pounds.”

“Her said, ‘But thirty would be better,’” Ricky says.

“I’ll think about which one would make me more attractive. Okay, so do you boys know what you want to be for Halloween?”

“I want to be Batman,” Luther says.

“I wanna be a wizard,” says Ricky.

It’s raining like crazy when Tammy bangs on the front door.

“I’ll get it!” Ricky says while running toward it, then stops dead in his tracks. I’m so glad he remembered. “You do not open the door without first asking who it is,” I’ve told him a million times. He takes his little brown hand off the doorknob and asks, “Who is it?”

“It’s Tammy, Ricky! Open the door, hurry! I’ve got good news! I’m a grandma!”

He opens it a little, just to be on the safe side, but Tammy barges in anyway. “Clementine weighed in at seven pounds, three ounces!”

“Who’s Clementine?” Luther asks, looking up from his new Harry Potter book. Something about a chamber full of secrets.

“Well, welcome to the Grandmothers’ Club,” I say. I walk over and give her a big squeeze. Tammy looks different. Tired. Older. We haven’t seen all that much of each other since her brother got here and since she’s been redecorating the room that used to be her sewing room and turned it into a nursery. I call it the cupcake room, because everything in it looks like frosting. I’ve just gone along with it, since every time she bought something new she would drag me over there to see if I approved, not like it made a difference. I was of the mind that Montana and Trevor were going to be moving out sooner rather than later, but it looks to me like Tammy forgot all about those plans. I have kept my thoughts to myself.

“You boys go see if your grandpa is okay,” I say.

“He okay,” Ricky says.

“I can take a hint, Grandma. Come on, Ricky. This is what grown folks say when they don’t want you to hear what they say.”

I wink at him.

“What’s going on, BJ?”

“Trinetta called.”

“Oh, so she’s come back from the dead? Wait. That’s not funny. Sorry.”

“She’s still in Atlanta with what’s-his-name. And she’s pregnant.”

“You have got to be shittin’ me.”

“And she claims she might be coming back to get the boys.”

“What did you say to that?”

“I told her if she even thought about it, I’d see her in court.”

“Good for you. Good for you. Who in the hell does she think she is just calling out of nowhere like she’s been on vacation and now she’s coming home to pick up where she left off and I guess she’s saying thank you for babysitting?”

“But I don’t know if I’d really do that, Tammy. I mean, they’re her kids. Not mine.”

“But look at what she’s exposed them to, BJ. This is about what’s in their best interest. They’re innocent. Trinetta is not. I’m sorry to have to say it like that.”

“This is just a mess. I mean, you know I would love nothing better than for my daughter to get her life on the straight and narrow, Tammy, but my grandsons don’t need any more instability in their lives than they’ve already had. Do they?”

“No, they do not.”

“I’m not sure what would happen if she was just to show up. Plus, they don’t want to live with her.”

“And they shouldn’t have to.”

She gives me a big hug, pushes the screen door with her hip, and opens her umbrella. “Clementine’ll be home tomorrow. Come see her. And bring the boys. On second thought, let’s wait on that one.”

I decide to use my Sears card to buy a present for Clementine and a few more clothes for church for the boys, hoping I’m not up to my limit since I bought those computers and that air conditioner for the kitchen window.

“What you buying us in here this time, Grandma?” Ricky asks.

“Don’t be so greedy, Ricky. Money don’t grow on trees, you know. Right, Grandma?”

“No, it
doesn’t,
but he’s just being curious, Luther.”

“I’m always curious,” he says, and Lord knows he’s right about that.

“I have to get a baby gift for Montana and a few shirts and pants for church.”

“I don’t like church,” Ricky says.

“I don’t like Aunt Venetia’s church,” Luther says.

Even though I can understand why, I want to hear them say it, but more than anything, I don’t want them to say they don’t like church. “Why not?” I ask both of them.

“Because we the only black people in the whole church and it’s way too big and I don’t like the way those people behind the minister be singing. I mean sing. I mean, there ain’t . . . isn’t no beat and all the songs sound the same.”

Ricky just nods.

“Well, Aunt Venetia is just trying to be nice by taking you boys since I have to stay with your grandpa, but you know we already talked about why it’s important for you to attend church sometimes, didn’t we?”

“To get to know God,” Ricky says.

“And to find out how to be thankful and learn how to care about somebody besides yourself, right, Grandma?”

“That’s good enough. Don’t you boys sit with Lauren and Zachary?”

“They don’t hardly be there,” Ricky says.

“They pretend like they got . . . like they have too much homework, but I know the real deal, Grandma.”

“And what is the
real deal
?”

“They don’t like going to church either, ’cause they both told me. Lauren said that Aunt Venetia dragged them there every single Sunday for their whole life and now that she got us to drag, it let her and Zach off the hook. She even said thank you to me and Ricky, huh, Ricky?”

“Yep.”

“What I do like though, Grandma, is she take us to eat but she call it brunch and we get to go to a restaurant with chairs and the table have a flower on it and everything. We get to pick anything we want off the menu. The best part about going to church is when it’s over, huh, Ricky?”

“Yep.”

“Well, just make sure you thank Aunt Venetia for taking you to church and to brunch, because she doesn’t do it because she has to. She does it because she cares about you boys. Understand?”

They both nod.

I’m just grateful when my card is accepted.

The baby is cute. But it’s rare you see an ugly baby these days. I know I shouldn’t be thinking anything like this but I can’t help it. Doesn’t look to me like Montana and Trevor are going anywhere anytime soon. The whole house looks like the baby department at Target. Jackson is nice enough, putting on a pound or two, and it looks like Tammy has found another use for the money she got from selling off a few more acres: She’s paying for Jackson to go to truck-driving school. I wish Dexter could go, too, but there are a lot of jobs you can’t get if you’re a convicted felon, doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been out of prison. Dexter works long hours at the Salvation Army and I hardly ever see him. I leave a plate out for him, which is always clean and in the dish rack when I wake up. Sometimes it feels like he’s still in prison.

Arlene asked me to stop by on my way home because she made a big pot of chili and wanted me to take some home for the boys and freeze some for later. I don’t know why I opened my big mouth and told her about Trinetta. Arlene has a way of making you feel small inside. Like whatever choices you make aren’t the right ones. Like she’s so much smarter than everybody else. Like she can do a better job figuring out your life than you can. She says whatever she’s thinking and doesn’t seem to care if it hurts your feelings. It’s been this way since we were kids. And she hasn’t changed. What’s funny is when you can see what’s wrong with everybody else’s life but you can’t see what’s wrong with yours. But when you need to tell somebody what you’re going through, sometimes family is the closest to you.