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SHARICE RODE IN the back of the
cruiser silent in her thoughts as the car pulled up in
front of the brick faced building at the corner of West
137th and Malcolm X Boulevard. She stepped out and
followed the cop up the steps to building 103, waited
while the officer pressed the intercom button.
Sharice heard a window open. She
looked up into Joyce's cold eyes. Her mother in-law was
just like her son, vindictive and mean.
"Yeah!" she hollered down. "What
yall want?"
The cop looked up and said, "I
have a court order to pick up this woman's son from this
address." Joyce rolled her eyes hard. Sharice looked off
and waited.
The door buzzed and they went
inside, went up the flight of stairs up to the fourth
floor. The building had no elevator. When they reached
the top of the stairs the cop knocked on the door and
Joyce snatched the door open.
"Ain't you 'spose to call before
you just pop over here," she said to Sharice when she
walked in the apartment behind the cop.
"Ma’am. Go get the child," the cop
said intervening. "The sooner you do that, the sooner
we'll be out of your way." His voice was hard and dry.
Joyce rolled her eyes at Sharice
before she turned to go down the hall towards the
bedroom. "Malik!" she hollered. "Come here, baby."
Sharice stood by the door waiting
to see her son. Her palms were sweaty and her eye was
still throbbing. Malik came running down the hall
carrying a toy truck in his hand. He had on a pair of
blue footed pajamas. "Mommee! Mommee!" his little voice
squealed. Sharice grabbed him and scooped him up in her
arms.
She squeezed him tight. "Oww!” he
said, “Nuh hurtin me, Mommee!” He squirmed out of her arms holding
up his toy for her to see. "Nanma give me dis."
"That's nice, baby." She looked at
Joyce with deep rooted envy. "I need his things, please."
"He ain't got nothing here, 'cept
his jacket.” Joyce snapped.
"Ma'am, Go get it," the cop said
in an iron voice. He walked across the floor with his
arms folded behind his back watching her, his eyes were
as hard as his voice.
Joyce went over to the hall
closet. She walked over and bent down in front of Malik
with his jacket in her hand. "Here, baby. Grandma’ll see
you soon. Okay?” Her hard voice changed to a soft tone. Malik nodded his head. Joyce straightened up and looked
at Sharice like she was about to say something.
"It'll be a very cold day when
that happens," Sharice said before Joyce could fix her
mouth to speak. She snatched Malik’s jacket from Joyce’s
hand and put it on him. Then she went over to the door,
opened it and went out into the hallway. The cop
followed her out.
"That’s what you get.” Joyce
hollered behind her. “I wish he’da done more than black
your eye! You ain’t nothin’ but trash anyway." Then she
slammed the door shut.
MALIK FELL ASLEEP on the ride
home. Sharice got out the cruiser and thanked the cop. Walked up to her building
and went inside. She managed to get up the two flight of
stairs to her apartment with Malik's dead weight resting
on her small frame. It felt good being home with her son
again. She carried Malik to his room, took his jacket
off and laid him in his car shaped bed. Standing over
his bed, with stuff on her mind, she watched him sleep.
Malik always was a good child, so
quiet. Always calm. Never cried much as a baby. Always
happy and content. She watched his peaceful sleeping
face, hoped he'd stay that way and not inherit any of
Vernon's traits. She'd read somewhere, in one of those
baby magazines she'd purchased while she was pregnant,
an article that had said something about children
getting their behavior traits from their parents. She
stood there wondering. Would Vernon's bad traits rub off
on her child?
A bunch of what if's begin to run
through her mind. What if all those nights when she
tussled with Vernon, fighting him off her, screaming at
him during their loud arguments, Malik had heard them.
What if while she was nursing all those swollen eyes and
sat there nursing Malik at the same time, he was
affected by all her pain and suffering. Was it possible
she'd already messed up her own child?
Her feet locked in place as she
watched her child's breathing eradicate in his sleep.
She agonized over the thoughts racing through her mind.
She concluded that she needed God to give her strength
'cause she sure couldn't do it on her own. She couldn't
go through the black eye syndromes again. There was a
lot more involved than having to deal with the pain from
the onset swelling under her eye and around it. There
was the humiliation of facing people and having to lie
to about what happened. She couldn't face anybody at
work in this condition.
Vernon was forever costing her
something. Now she had to miss a day's pay and God knows what his crazy behind
self was planning to do to her. What if Joyce or one of
them fools in his family had already gone down there to
the police station and bailed him out and he was lurking
around somewhere waiting to attack her again? At that
moment the regrets began to set in. She regretted
marrying Vernon. Had she seen signs of his violent ways
beforehand she wouldn't have walked down that aisle with
him.
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