Posted 4 months, 4 weeks ago at 05:35. 0 comments
I appreciated you but I couldn’t hear you even when I listened to you and now that I’ve lost you I hear you loud and clear and realize I couldn’t appreciate you in my present state of mind and even though I know you pushed me away to protect your own peace and that I am the creator of my own misery it doesn’t make me grieve the loss of your friendship any less. All hearts and minds are not clear and my heart and mind cry unseen tears for a friend who was a better one to me than I was ready to be to anyone.
Copyright© Faydra D. Fields. All rights reserved.
Posted 5 months, 1 week ago at 09:28. 4 comments
I still have a life to live and life to give.
If I can’t give birth to a child, I’ll give birth to my ideas.
My legacy may not manifest in a child who’s biologically mine,
but I can nurture and grow my gifts and leave that legacy to shine.
I have other mothers whose wombs I didn’t fill,
so not being someone’s mother isn’t necessarily a done deal.
I know that I’m blessed both coming and going,
and when I’ve finished grieving that’s the face I’ll be showing.
Copyright© 2009, Faydra D. Fields. All rights reserved.
This is the poem that came to my heart yesterday when the doctor told me that I am more than likely never going to be able to have children. I was very upset and sad, to say the least. However, that is his report. God may have another. We’ll see. If the reports happen to be the same, “Hallelujah, anyhow.”
Posted 8 months, 3 weeks ago at 21:26. 2 comments
“I heard Regina leave. That must mean your hair is done.” Emmanuel lie on Xavari’s bed with his back to the door. He felt her sit down on the bed, but he didn’t turn to face her.
“Yeah. My scalp is so sore. She pulls harder than she has to, I think.” Xavari used the flat of your palm to pat the top of her head vigorously. She didn’t want to scratch her scalp, so this was the only way to relieve the itching sensation. She felt gingerly around the edges of her hair and the tension bumps were evident to her touch. She was lost in thought, trying to figure out how she was going to sleep without putting the back of her head on her pillow, when Emmanuel’s voice startled her.
“You ready to talk to me?” He felt her jump, but he didn’t turn to face her.
“Huh?” Xavari knew that he knew she’d heard him, but she was trying to get her thoughts together. She still didn’t know if he’d heard just the last sentence of her conversation with her sister or more. She didn’t want to give away too much, but she also didn’t want to get caught lying. Emmanuel hated to be lied to.
“Xavari. Please. You heard me.” Emmanuel rolled over onto his back only to realize that Xavari wasn’t looking at him.
“I thought you were going to call before you stopped by.” Xavari kept her back to Emmanuel and rubbed her index finger between the cornrows feeling for more bumps. She was debating whether to put alcohol on her scalp, but she couldn’t stand the thought of her head being on fire. Emmanuel would usually put the alcohol on for her and blow on her scalp to cool it off as he dabbed between each braid. She wasn’t sure she could ask him to do that tonight.
“Xavari. Look at me.” Emmanuel waited for what seemed an eternity for Xavari to turn around on the bed and look at him. Finally, she reluctantly did so.
“What, Emmanuel?” Xavari kept feeling her scalp. She looked at Emmanuel briefly and then lowered her eyes.
“Look at me.” Emmanuel touched her leg. Xavari felt the tears forming in her eyes.
“What?” She couldn’t force her eyes to meet his.
“Hey,” he said as he moved slowly over to her and put his head in her lap so she had to look at his face.
“What, Emmanuel?” Xavari turned her face to the other side, so she was now looking at the top of Emmanuel’s scalp. A tear escaped her chin and dropped on the top of his head.
“Zee, what’s wrong with you?” Emmanuel didn’t have anger in his tone. His words dripped with concern.
“Nothing. My scalp hurts.” Xavari knew it was a lame excuse, but she was grasping at straws. Why didn’t she want him to know about the pregnancy? She kept asking herself that. She knew he wouldn’t be disappointed. She knew he was be overjoyed. That was it. That’s why she didn’t want him to know. He wouldn’t see this as a problem for her. He’d see it as a blessing, pure and simple. She knew he wanted more children. She just didn’t want to be the one to give him another child so soon after having Xavier. The thought of labor made her stomach churn.
Xavari was embarrassed to admit that Xavier and the new baby would only be about eleven months apart in age. Regina was right. Her body hadn’t bounced back from the difficulties of her first birth. She’d gotten her figure back without a problem, but the delivery had left her with a hernia and several months of incontinence. The incontinence she’d overcome with regular exercises, but the hernia flared up every now and then. Her OB/GYN had given her strict instructions to allow her body time to heal before she decided to have another baby, and Xavari had sat right in the examining room and vehemently protested that she would not find herself pregnant again any time soon. Now here she was. Pregnant again. Two times during her 19th year of life. She could kick herself for being so stupid.
“You’re crying for nothing?” Emmanuel was calm. He knew she’d talk in her own time. He just rested his head in her lap and waited.
“I’m just tired and my scalp hurts and…”
“Xavari, how many children do I have?” Emmanuel kept his voice even. Xavari didn’t say anything. She just closed her eyes.
“Xavari, you do know how many times I’ve been around a pregnant woman, right?” Emmanuel spoke as evenly and gently as he could. Xavari still said nothing.
“Baby, you do realize I know you’ve missed two periods, right?” Emmanuel felt Xavari’s body begin to shake. He didn’t hear her crying, but he felt her tears falling onto the top of his head.
“This is not the worst thing that can happen to you, Zee. You act like it’s the end of the world. Why didn’t you want to tell me?” Emmanuel finally lifted his head out of Xavari’s lap and sat beside her. He put his arm around her and leaned her head on his shoulder. She cried silently.
“Talk to me, Zee. I know you had a hard time with Xavier, but I was there for you then, and I’ll be here for you this time. Children are a blessing from God. Don’t you know there are women who’d kill to have a baby, and here you are about to have your second?” Emmanuel felt Xavari’s body stiffen. She raised her head off his shoulder and finally looked him in the face with red, tear-stained eyes.
“You think I should be happy about this? You think I should be thanking God for this?” She didn’t raise her voice, but Emmanuel could hear the anger behind her words.
“I can’t tell you how to feel about this. I’m just trying to put things in perspective for you.” Emmanuel looked down at his hands which were crossed in his lap.
“I have nothing, Emmanuel. I don’t have a decent job, I don’t have a decent place to live and Regina is certain I’m going to drop out of college because I can’t handle having this baby and the one in the other room.” Xavari fought to keep the tears from flowing again.
“Regina doesn’t know what’s going to happen. Why are you letting her fill your head with negativity? I bet she tried to get you to have an abortion, didn’t she?” Emmanuel waited for Xavari to tell him he was wrong, but he’d been around Regina enough to know what she thought and how she thought. It hadn’t taken long to discern the negative spirit that surrounded her. He didn’t exactly dislike Regina, but there was something about her that always rubbed him the wrong way. She was a pessimist about everything, and she was the big sister who became a mother to Xavari when their mother died of breast cancer, so her influence over Xavari was indelible. He was pleasant to Regina for Xavari’s sake, but he didn’t like Regina hanging around too much. Xavari avoided the question all together.
“It’s probably going to happen just like Gina says. I’ll be too tired from dealing with Xavier and then I’ll just quit school, because I’ll be tired from carrying around a big belly.” She wanted Emmanuel to join her pity party.
“I can help you with Xavier. I can help you with school. If work becomes too much, you can quit.” Emmanuel really didn’t see the problem. Xavari had all the support she needed. Between him, Regina, their father and his parents, she didn’t have to make this sound so horrible.
“What makes you think I want to quit my job? I can’t be asking everybody for hand-outs. I have to work.” Xavari knew she was simply being argumentative, but she wanted to get a rise out of Emmanuel. He was always too calm and collected.
“You can work if you want to work, Zee. I’m just saying you don’t have to work. If you want to concentrate on Xavier and school, you can do that. You know I’ll help you.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re Mr. Big Bucks. You can take care of yourself, all your other kids, mine and me, too, huh?” Xavari’s tone was getting nastier.
“Uh, yeah. When you couldn’t work after you had Xavier, how did your bills get paid? Who took care of Xavier when you couldn’t pick him up? Who cleaned your apartment, washed your clothes, bought your groceries, cooked your food, bathed you when you hurt too badly to do it yours…”
“SHUT UP, EMMANUEL! Just shut up! Please!” Xavari clasped her hands over her ears. She couldn’t stand to hear anymore. He had done all those things and more, and she felt like she’d forever be in his debt. Right now, however, she didn’t want to be miserable by herself. She wanted to drag him along with her.
“I won’t be so lucky like Regina. No one’s going to want to marry me. You don’t even want to marry me. You don’t want to marry any of the women you have children with.” Xavari was trying to draw blood. She wanted to make Emmanuel feel as bad as she was feeling right now. Emmanuel wasn’t biting. He looked her square in the eyes.
“OK. Let’s get married. You want to wait until the baby’s born or you want to do it now?”
———-
This is Installment #10 of “The Pride.” If you missed the beginning, go to “The Pride: From the Beginning” to start at the first installment.
———-
Copyright© 2009, Faydra D. Fields, All rights reserved.
Posted 8 months, 3 weeks ago at 22:30. 1 comment
“What’s this word?” Romina pointed to the word, so her ten-year-old daughter could tell her what it was. Romina was sitting at the kitchen table with all her children. She was sitting at one end of the table and Quantenerra was sitting at the other end of the table. Quantavianna sat on the left side of the table and the twins–Quantarius, a boy, and Quantevisha, a girl–sat side-by-side on the right side of the table. Her children were doing homework and she was filling out a job application. Quantavianna leaned over in her chair to look at the word to which her mother was pointing.
“That word is history, Momma.” Quantavianna had been helping her mother fill out job applications and other forms since she could read and write, which seemed like from the time she was born. Without her mother noticing, Quantavianna looked at Quantenerra and rolled her eyes skyward. Quantenerra mimmicked her sister and they smiled at one another.
“What does this sentence say?” Romina pointed to the sentence where history appeared. Quantavianna leaned over again and looked at the sentence.
“It says ‘Please include your job history for the last 10 years,’ Momma.” Quantavianna tried not to show her irritation. She preferred when Romina didn’t have paperwork to fill out, because she could get her homework done more quickly and go outside and play.
The kitchen was silent while Romina finished filling out the application. Quantavianna was bracing herself for more questions. Quantenerra was working on her math homework and Quantarius and Quantevisha, were practicing writing their names. Romina leaned to her right to look at the twins’ papers.
“You all are doing really good.” All her children had had a hard time learning to write their names. Romina hadn’t considered this when she’d given them all such long names. She just liked the fact the names were unique and started with “Qu.” She’d always liked the sound that “q” and “u” made when you put them together. The twins were four, and she insisted that they start learning to write their names. She wanted to make sure they were able to it flawlessly by the time they started kindergarden. Each day, before she started her homework, it was Quantenerra’s job to neatly print Quantarius’ and Quantevisha’s names on several sheets of paper, so the twins could practice writing and spelling their names.
The twins were both able to recognize every letter of the alphabet, even though Romina had refused to allow them to learn the alphabet song. She hated that song. She’d learned it, and it hadn’t helped her to spell or read well. It was a crutch, she thought. Even as an adult, she had to sometimes sing it to herself to remember a letter, but she never told anyone she did it that. With all her children, Romina had gotten flashcards, mixed them up and made her children learn their letters out of order. She was confident that when they saw a letter they actually knew what it was, as opposed to being about to remember them in the order of a song. Already, her twins were reading very simple books, and that pleased Romina. She’d always struggled with reading, spelling and even math in school, which is why she ended up in the slow classes.
“Quantavianna, look over this for me.” Romina handed her oldest child the job application and got up from the table to start dinner.
“Momma, this isn’t our phone number. You have the last two numbers backwards.” Quantavianna erased the phone number and wrote it over in much neater penmanship than Romina. This was how Quantavianna checked her mother’s forms. She convinced Romina to fill everything out in pencil, and then Quantavianna would erase what her mother wrote and fix all her many mistakes. Most days, Quantavianna just fixed the mistakes without pointing them out to her mother, but when she was feeling especially irritated Quantavianna made mention of some of the mistakes Romina made over and over again on all her paperwork. Quantavianna was feeling a little, extra irritated today.
“OK, just fix it, Quantavianna, and get back to your homework.” Romina tried not to sound annoyed. She hated having to ask her children to help her with reading and correcting her forms, bills and mail. Usually, Emmanuel helped her, but she wasn’t sure when she’d see him this week, and she wanted to try to find a better-paying job without him knowing about it.
“Did you mean to make yourself 52 years old?” Quantavianna tried to make her question sound like an innocent inquiry.
“No, Quantavianna,” Romina turned toward Quantavianna and slammed her open hand onto her hip. Quantavianna bowed her head as Romina stared hard at her.
“Sorry,” Quantavianna said quietly and finished erasing and rewriting the incorrect information on the job application. Quantavianna knew her mother’s information by memory now. She’d helped her with so many of these forms, it was just second-nature to her now.
“No, I’m sorry, sweetie,” Romina exhaled.
‘Momma, can I ask you a question?” Quantavianna walked over to her mother with the corrected application.
“Of course. Ask me anything.” Romina accepted the application from Quantavianna and pulled her into a close one-arm hug as she held the application in her other hand and read the changes.
“Can you really type 50 words a minute?” Quantavianna rested her head on her mother’s stomach.
“Uh, no,” Romina admitted embarrassed to have to confess this in front of all her children.
“Can you type at all, Momma?” Quantavianna knew she was treading on thin ice, but she felt compelled to press the issue. When her mother went out on job interviews that she was obviously not qualified for, she would come home in a bad mood and Quantavianna hated to live through the days of tears and depression.
“You see me type at the computer everyday. Why would you ask me if I can type?” Romina was trying very hard not to allow her temper to rise. She didn’t like the questions, but she tried to keep the channels of communication open, as well. She wanted to be the first person in her children’s lives to know what was going on in their minds. She didn’t want to have to hear it from a teacher or even their father. She wanted to be approachable. Her parents had not been approachable.
“Momma, typing on the computer to surf the web and typing for a job ain’t the same, I don’t think.” Quantavianna put her arms around her mother and kept her head on Romina’s stomach.
“What did I tell you about saying ain’t?” Romina was hoping to get the attention off herself.
“Sorry, Momma.”
“What did I tell you about always saying ’sorry’?” Romina hated when her children used that word. It was the word her father had used to describe her when she was growing up.
“I apologize, Momma.”
“That’s better,” Romina said and kissed Quantavianna’s forehead.
“Why are you trying to change jobs, anyway, Momma?” Quantenerra finished the last of her math homework and joined the conversation from her seat at the table. The twins were talking quietly amongst themselves in a language no one else could understand. It must have been about their writing, because they kept pointing to each other’s papers.
“I need more money. Y’all are getting bigger and so are the bills. When the twins start school next year, they’re going to need all those school supplies, lunchboxes, more clothes and everything. I need a better job.” Romina still had one arm around Quantavianna, but she put the application down on the counter next to her and wrapped her other arm around her oldest child.
“They want you to type,” Quantenerra asked.
“It’s a receptionist job, so I’ll have to type.”
“Momma,” Quantavianna began, “that application says you have to take a typing test. Are you going to be able to pass it?”
“I’m going to try.”
“How are you going to be able to keep your letters straight? You know you have trouble with mixing up your letters sometimes, Momma.” Quantavianna looked up at Romina. Romina looked down into Quantavianna’s face. Romina was silent for a long time. She gently pulled Quantavianna’s arms from around her and gestured for her daughter to go back to the kitchen table. No one spoke and even the twins stopped their chatter as they realized the tension in the room had grown thick. Romina changed the subject.
“Quantenerra, I’m coming to your school this week to volunteer, OK?” Romina smiled big, thinking this was something to which Quantenerra looked forward. She saw the quick eye-to-eye exchange between Quantavianna and Quantenerra and instinctively knew she was wrong.
“Uh, I thought you were trying to get a new job,” Quantenerra said without looking at Romina. Romina could hear the anxiety in Quantenerra’s voice.
“I am,” Romina started slowing, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t have time to get involved in your school activities. Hey. Look at me.” Quantenerra reluctantly raised her eyes to her mother’s face.
“Yes, Mommy.” Quantenerra forced herself not to look away from Romina. Romina stared at her middle child. She knew why Quantenerra didn’t want her to volunteer in her class. Romina had heard the children snickering behind her back when she couldn’t help them with what seemed to be simple words and simple math problems. Romina was the only mother who volunteered but never read a storybook to the class.
Romina remembered the humiliation of trying to read a book to Quantavianna’s first-grade class a few years ago, and she let all her children’s teachers’ know that she’d be happy to volunteer her time but she would not be reading during storybook hour. It was a small school, and all the teachers were aware of why Romina didn’t want to read. They’d all accepted all the other help Romina offered and never pressed the issue about storybook hour.
The one thing her children’s classmates and teachers did love about her visits were the goodies she brought with her. Romina may not have been able to read or do math well, but she could cook any mother in her children’s school under the table. She didn’t use recipes. She just had a talent for cooking the most delectable dishes. This was the one class in high schol she had excelled in once she convinced the teacher to allow her to create her dishes without having to rely on recipes.
“If I can’t make it this week, you promise not to be dissappointed?” Romina watched Quantenerra surpress a smile.
“Yes, Mommy. I promise.” Quantenerra wondered if the relief showed on her face.
“Well, I’ll let you know. I might be really busy.” Romina turned away from her children and started pulling cans of vegetables from the cupboard. She fought back her tears by taking deep breaths. She didn’t want her oldest girls to know she knew they were embarrassed by her. At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Romina motioned for her children to stay seated and walked past them to the front door.
She looked through the peephole, but she didn’t recognize the lady standing on the other side. She was dark-brown, very pretty and alone. Romina couldn’t understand why she wasn’t sure she should open the door. The woman didn’t look threatening. She looked young.
“Yes, who is at?” Romina spoke into the door with her eye still set closely to the peephole.
“I’m looking for Romina Morgan, please.” The lovely woman on the other side of the door stepped back a bit, realizing that she was probably being watched through the peephole. She smiled into the glass eye, and Romina found herself smiling a bit, too.
“And, you are?” Romina spoke into the door again.
“My name is Xavari. Forgive me for just showing up to your house like this, but when I called your number it was disconnected. We have a mutual friend.”
“Who,” Romina asked puzzled, thinking there wasn’t anyone they could know in common.
“Um. Emmanuel Freemont.” Xavari dropped her gaze as she said the name.
Romina stepped back from the door, unlatched the chain and opened it. She looked at the young lady and smiled.
“Sorry to bother you? Is this is bad time?” Xavari shifted uncomfortably but tried to pretend like it was the most natural thing for her to be knocking on a stranger’s door.
“You said you know Emmanuel,” Romina asked her.
“Yes,” Xavari said. Romina continued to smile warmly at her and Romina’s next words stunned Xavari.
“Is he the father of that baby in your belly?”
———-
This is Installment #9 of “The Pride.” If you missed the beginning, go to “The Pride: From the Beginning” to start at the first installment.
———-
Copyright© 2009, Faydra D. Fields, All rights reserved.
Posted 8 months, 3 weeks ago at 22:30. 0 comments
“…share an idea with you, Mother. I would appreciate it if you’d let me say everything I need to say before you comment. This isn’t easy for me.” William sat stiffly in his seat looking down at his hands crossed over his abdomen. He knew he had to remain calm and cool like he’d seen his father do when he had to tell Denise something she didn’t want to hear.
“Yes, son. I can agree to that.” Denise removed her fingers from William’s knee and sat back in her seat.
On the outside, it seemed that nothing had changed in her demeanor. Inside, Denise’s mind and heart immediately began to race. What news was William bringing to her? He’d been withdrawn and moody for about three months. When she’d mentioned this to Emmanuel, he’d laughed it off and said, “He’s probably smelling himself. You know how boys get at a certain age. He’s just a jumble of raging hormones, and some little girl probably has his nose wide open. You won’t let him date for another year, something I told you I don’t agree with, so he’s probably just unhappy about being treated like a baby.” Denise had taken Emmanuel’s explanation and not pressed the issue, but she wondered now if William had been sneaking around with some girl behind her back and had an accident. Denise thought to herself, “If he tells me anything other than I’m about to be a grandmother, I think I can handle it.”
“Like I said earlier, I did feel badly about walking in on Naomi in the bathroom. I just wasn’t thinking, and I opened the door before I thought.” William realized he’d said “thinking” and “thought” back-to-back. He tried to ignore the redundancy, but it kept playing over and over in his head. He was hoping his mother didn’t get hung up on that and stop listening to him. She was relentless about good grammar. He needed to set his mother up perfectly to drive home his points.
“William, I know you didn’t walk in on your sister on purpose, but she’s very self-conscious about her body right now. That’s the only reason she’s so upset with you about it. I was going to make her apologize for bumping you with her shoulder like that, but I think you earned it a little bit, beloved.” Denise spoke to her son warmly. She tried hard to block out the redundant sentence he’d just spoken to her. She knew if she nit-picked his grammar right now, he’d just clam up and go to his room. She wanted to hear what he had to say, because something in the pit of her stomach told her she wasn’t going to be happy when he was done talking.
“How do you think I feel, Mother? I made her cry so hard. She was so humiliated. I wish I could take it all back, but I really had to “go.” Mother, we’re outgrowing this place.” William still kept his eyes on his hands.
“I’m doing the best I can, beloved.” Denise sensed that this conversation was going in a direction she wasn’t interested in going, but she just let it ride.
“Yes, Mother. I know. I think you’re doing a fantastic job. It’s just that I feel like a burden to you.” William finally looked into his mother’s face. He didn’t look into her eyes, though. He knew if they made eye contact, she’d see right through him. He focused on a point between her upper lip and nose.
“A burden, William? When have I ever made you feel like a burden?” Denise thought to herself, “What the hell is he up to?”
“Yes, Mother. You’re out there working so hard to support the family, trying to make up for Dad’s inability to help more, and I’m growing into manhood and unable to get a job and help out financially.” William dropped his eyes again, feigning shame. He’d chosen the financial point to try to get his mother to say a phrase that was key to getting him to his next point. If he’d paid close enough attention to the way his father had handled Denise, and if he knew anything about his mother, the financial angle would net him the reward he was looking for.
“William, have I ever asked you to do anything other than get excellent grades and help Naomi with the little ones? Do you really think I expect you to step up and be the man of the house?” Denise looked at the top of her son’s head, because that was all he would show her. William heard bells and whistles going off in his head. She’d said the perfect phrase: man of the house.
“That’s the thing, Mother. I want to be a good man, a strong man, and you can’t teach me that. I need my father to teach me that.”
“OUT OF THE QUESTION, WILLIAM!’ Denise popped from her chair and started pacing when she realized where he was going with the conversation. She couldn’t contain herself, even though she’d given William her word that she’d hear him out. She thought she would come unglued mentally if she heard him make the statement she knew was on his mind.
“Mother, please sit down. You agreed to hear me out before you gave your comments.” William remained cool and calm, like he’d seen his father do when dealing with Denise.
“No, William, no. The answer is no.” Denise kept pacing, but she lowered her voice, even though it had an anxious edge.
“Mother,” William said calmly, “you haven’t even given me a chance to say what I want to…”
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY, WILLIAM! I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS, SON, PLEASE! If you say it, I…please, son…please don’t go there.” Denise continued to pace and now she was hugging herself, arms wrapped so tightly under her breasts William thought she might crack a rib.
“Mother, please. I’m not trying to hurt you. I love you. You’ve done such a good job raising me to this point, but…”
“No, William, please don’t do this.” Denise couldn’t hold it together anymore. She burst into tears and William rushed to his mother. As angry as she was with him at that moment, and as much as she didn’t want him to touch her, she let herself sink into her oldest child’s arms. He was tall and broad like his father but with a slighter build than Emmanuel. She’d dreaded this day since he was born. She knew it would come, but she never prepared herself for it.
Denise thought that right now, in this moment, it was a blessing and a curse to have children who were well-educated and who knew how to use reason and logic to communicate. It was a blessing and a curse to have fostered open communication with her children all these years and have them be comfortable enough with her objectivity that they came to her about anything and everything. Denise had several years before lost the ability to say “because I said so” to William and Naomi, because she had encouraged them to respectfully question her directives and share their points of view and expect to be taken seriously and offered substantive information. It was all back firing on Denise right now.
“William, I’m going to let you say what you have to say, but I’m going to tell you this, so you’re very clear.” Denise was still leaning into her son.
“Yes, Mother. I’m listening.”
“Son, this is a line you cannot cross back over. You can never take back the words you’re about to speak to me in the next few seconds. Please, son, please think very hard about whether this is a line you want to cross. I’m not saying it’ll change my love for you, but think about how deep a wound this is going to leave on our relationship if you must make this point.” Denise backed away from William, still hugging herself, and looked up into his face. William finally looked into his mother’s eyes, and he saw the pain he was causing her. He did think for about three seconds and plowed ahead.
“I’d like to go live with my father,” he said in a rush of words. He didn’t notice a change in his mother’s face, but he saw something in her eyes raze. He felt himself panicking inside, but his face didn’t betray him. He looked steadily at his mother. He had to maintain his resolve. He braced himself for his mother’s next wave of tears, but they never came.
“You may not go live with your father.” Denise spoke crisply and with a sense of finality. She stepped further back from William, dropped her arms to her side and squared her shoulders. She matched her son’s gaze.
“Mother,” William began slowly, “with all the respect that is due you, and I concede you are owed and have all my respect, you can’t stop me from discussing this matter with my Dad.” William watched his mother’s eyes begin to blaze. His resolve was weakening by the moment. Denise was determined not to fall apart again. She knew William was right. She couldn’t stop him from going to Emmanuel with his request, and she couldn’t really stop William from moving out, but she just didn’t want to see her baby go. She hurt so badly, but she couldn’t make her case based on emotion. She couldn’t guilt him into staying. She knew he would only come to resent her and become more and more withdrawn and start taking it out on his brother an sisters.
They stood in silence looking at one another; both determined not to flinch first. They both jumped when they heard the phone ring. Neither moved to get it. After four rings, the phone went silent. They both assumed the call went to voicemail. A few seconds later, the door to Naomi’s room opened, and she saw her mother and brother in their dueling stances. Naomi almost retreated back into the room and closed the door, but the caller on the other end of the phone had been insistent.
“Excuse me,” Naomi said.
“Yes, beloved,” Denise responded very calmly and without taking her eyes off William. William continued to face down his mother, also.
“Mother, there’s a lady on the phone who insists on talking with you. I told her you were busy, but she said she must speak with you.” Naomi, standing as close to her door as possible holding the cordless phone unit, felt akward relaying the information in the midst of this showdown, neither her mother or brother willing to concede anything to each other.
“Ask who it is, Naomi,” Denise said still staring at William who was still staring at her. Denise saw that William’s brow was starting to moisten. She smiled inwardly.
“May I ask who’s calling, please?” Naomi spoke into the receiver. After asking the question, Naomi finally realized she had been silent too long, because it prompted Denise to ask her about the caller.
“Who is it, Naomi?” Denise and William were still eye-to-eye.
“Mother, she says you don’t know her, but she’s a friend of Dad’s.” Naomi rocked back and forth from her heels to her toes. She had a feeling this wasn’t good. This caused Denise to break her focal point.
“Excuse me. Did she give you a name?” Denise looked at Naomi.
“Za…Za…,” Naomi put the phone back to her ear and mouth to ask the woman to repeat her name. “She says her name’s Zavari, Mother, and she’s a friend of Dad’s.” Naomi realized her mother was now staring at her with the same gaze she had had trained on William; almost like she couldn’t believe this was her life. Without looking away from Naomi, Denise spoke.
“William, go to your room, and we’ll finish this conversation when I’m done with this call. Naomi, hang up the phone when I pick up in the kitchen.” Denise looked back and William who hadn’t moved. She gave him her best “you better do what I tell you to do and do it now” glare. After a few moments, he complied.
Once William was moving off toward his room, Denise moved toward the phone in the kitchen. She picked up the cordless phone unit and held it to her ear and mouth for a few seconds.
“Hang up the phone, Naomi.” Denise heard Naomi click off the line.
“Good night, Mother,” Naomi said quietly, with obvious disappointment in her voice, as she disappeared back into her room. Denise looked at the clock and realized it wasn’t Naomi’s bedtime yet. Her daughter knew her well enough to know that Denise wasn’t going to be in the mood for any more talking after this phone conversation was over.
“Yes, this is Denise. Zavari, is it? How may I help you?”
———-
This is Installment #8 of “The Pride.” If you missed the beginning, go to “The Pride: From the Beginning” to start at the first installment.
———-
Copyright© 2009, Faydra D. Fields, All rights reserved.