Forgive Me Father For I Have Loved (10 page)

In response, she glowered, her eyes becoming blue slits. She was no longer Daisy, but hatred in a pretty dress.

Just like Mom—defend wrong-doing to the death if it makes you feel uncomfortable. Yes, today I am disagreeable.

He shook his head and took a seat, waiting for the rest of the family—kids, brothers, brother-in-law and parents to join them. All throughout the dinner, Dane made small talk and laughed with the rest of them, playing it cool while inside, he felt raw with worry for his predicament. He was craving his lady...Occasionally, he’d catch Daisy cutting a sinister stare his way, but she finally stopped once he looked back at her and gave her a non-verbal warning to cut it out. Shaking his head, he cast a glance at Rob who sat in his chair, his back slumped, his expression one of sheer defeat.

No, I am not bailing you out, again. It would be a disservice.

He’d already seen what had happened. They’d whispered to each other all night; he wanted to know if she was getting the money and once she delivered the unexpected answer, he, too, started aiming pitiful looks at Dane.

After Dane and Anthony helped their mother clear the table, it was time to leave. At the front door, Dane felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Dane, I need to speak to you.” His mother’s soft voice cut through the quiet like a small pebble rolling across the hardwood floor. Suddenly, he heard piano music playing...someone had put on a CD. He listened closer, trying to identify the familiar tune.

“Dane?”

“Uh, yes, Mom, what is it?”

She sighed and ran her hands along her apron. “Daisy really needs that money. Rob has gotten them into an awful mess and... they may lose their house now,” she pleaded with every fiber of her being. He knew what she was
really
saying...

“Dane, you have the chance to keep everything peaceful and perfect...please help us keep this charade going. Please help us keep the dollhouse intact.”

The music grew louder, “Chopin... fantasie impromptu...”

“Excuse me?” his mother asked, her brows slightly furrowed.

“That’s what’s playing...that’s the song that’s playing.” He pointed toward the CD player.

His mother grinned. “I never took you for a classic music lover. I just turned on the radio is all. I have a mountain of housework and you know how I like to listen to music as I do my chores. It makes it go by faster.”

“I’d forgotten all about this song. I remember in high school the orchestra playing it over and over for practice. They were going on a trip to Paris, and wanted to get it right. My locker was right by the music room, and it drove me crazy, but I knew this song all right, chord for chord.” He shook his head as the memory filled him with calm warmth.

High school...

“Yes, well, back to what I was saying...you see,” she began again. Dane couldn’t hear her as he listened intently to each note. The rhythm reminded him of Rhapsody’s singing that rainy day in the park...as if she were singing to that very piece of music, the tempo similar. Something stirred in his chest, but his mother kept pulling him into reality.

“Mom, look.” Gripping her arm, he bent down to meet the five-six woman almost eye to eye. “I know what you want, and usually, I’d do a lot of things to make you feel okay, to make it better, but I can’t do that anymore, Mom. I’m a hypocrite right now, but I still know right from wrong and I—”

“Dane, what are you talking about? Now listen to me, this is serious. You must!”

“Mom, I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. I won’t enable her anymore. What I
need
to do is not keep throwing money to cover Daisy and Rob’s problems. And if I give them the money that is what I’d be doing, they’d just be back next week, and the week after that. When would it stop, Mom? When?”

She got ready to protest in Daisy’s and her son-in-law’s defense, then her shoulders slumped in resignation.

“That was just a small amount, Mom, compared to what I
was
going to do. I was planning to give her more, but I first needed to see if they could be responsible, to do the right thing with
that
, before going any further. And look what they’ve done! I have no idea what bookie or casino now has the twenty grand—but it’s gone, and though that was a small fraction of what I received, it still was a lot of money and they blew it. I don’t want to see anyone suffer, Mom, especially my own family, but...we have to learn. We have to love ourselves enough to learn and change. How can we appreciate the need for radical evaluation and the reward of sunshine if we never endure a cloudy day?”

And with that, he kissed the top of his mother’s head, left her house, and got into his car, mixed emotions swirling deep inside of him. He’d never told his mother ‘No’ before, at least not in that manner, and he was certain she stood there in a whirlwind of confusion—probably exactly where he’d left her in the foyer, the music still playing. A part of it stung; he hated doing it, but he had no regrets.

After a while of driving, his thoughts dancing all over the place, he pulled over to a curb by a city trashcan. He popped the trunk, got out of his car, and, without hesitation, removed the two six packs, slick with condensation that he’d purchased earlier. Gripping the brown, crumpled bags, the long green bottles inside clinking—his special lady—he made his way toward the can and dumped them.

The street was dark and desolate, sprinkled with a few lit storefronts. Everywhere, business was closed and the occasional low drone of a car broke up the stillness. He got back inside his car and drove back home toward the parish. The evening would be hard, but an evening he had to have. Tonight, for the first time since Josh had passed away, he was going to be completely sober. Grief overwhelmed him, with Josh on his mind more times than not.

The acting out, wanting to fit in and praying his mother would notice him as a child—to really
see
him for who he was—and not simply what she wanted him to be, a replica of her father—had poisoned him. He needed to find a way to process it and make it right for himself, so he could begin to heal, this time, for good. It was hard to be mad at a lady who loved you so much; she’d give her life, no matter how twisted her thinking was, but he was going to have to try to find a way to forgive everyone, including himself. Time to accept everything, from start to finish. He hadn’t gotten this way overnight, and it would take longer than he’d cared to admit to work his way through it, but what was the alternative? He owed it to himself, he owed it to Josh... and he owed it to God. He wanted his life back, once and for all...

~***~

“How ridiculous.” Melody, Rhapsody’s sister rolled her inky eyes and hugged the warm yellow mug of cocoa to her chest as she leaned lazily against their mother’s kitchen counter. “I mean, really, Rhapsody? When are you going to stop this music stuff, and do something else, something more? Something that lets you live more than from just pay check to pay check?” She shook her head, judgment dripping off her downturned lips.

Screw you...

“Excuse me?” Rhapsody said coolly. “Uh, my bills are paid and I can get most of the things I actually want, and more importantly, I love what I do. Worry about your own shit.”

“Don’t get mad at me because I told your butt the truth! Your singing is just
aiight
,” she sighed melodramatically, “you
aren’t
all that, and besides, it can’t be a full time career.”

“Mama made a career of it. She traveled all around the world singing with Stephanie Mills, Gladys Knight and Patti LaBelle.” Rhapsody looked into the pot of boiling pasta, adding a sprinkling of salt and pepper, teasing her wayward imagination into the thought of throwing the potful of steaming water right in Melody’s face.

I wish they were grits, like what happened to Al Green. Now that is some singing to remember!

“You ain’t Mama,” Melody muttered under her breath.

“And you aren’t worth a damn, how ’bout that?!”

“You two at it again?” their mother asked wearily as she entered, her light pink robe wrapped around her securely. “I haven’t been feeling well, this cold is at it again. Gonna sit down here for a sec and please,” she slumped in the wooden kitchen chair and closed her eyes, rubbing her head, “no screaming and yelling. You two never stop and I got a splitting headache.”

“Hmmmph,” Melody took a sip from her cup, turned her back toward Rhapsody and joined her mother at the table. “Do you need something, Mama?” she asked in an overly sweet voice, cutting her eyes at Rhapsody who now looked at her damned sister, and shook her head in disbelief at the ridiculously fake display.

“Peace and quiet, girls...that’s what I need,” their mother answered wearily.

The two sisters shot each other menacing looks.

“Mama, the pasta is almost ready,” Rhapsody offered as she bent to retrieve a large ceramic white bowl from a cabinet.

She placed it on the counter and looked back over at her sister. They favored quite a bit—same toasty brown complexion, same open, dark eyes that curved exotically upward at the ends and the same supple lips, shaped like hearts. Their noses were a bit different, Melody’s was more like their father’s, rounded and somewhat turned up. Rhapsody’s bridge was longer, her nostrils slightly flared, like their mother’s. Her jawline was stronger, giving her a slightly athletic appearance that blended smoothly with her otherwise distinct African American features. They both were a decent height—Rhapsody stood five-eight while her sister stood five-nine—as well as long legs and small waists. And they could share a C-cup bra. Rhapsody loved her body, liked how it felt under clothing, but most of all, she cherished her voice and talking to people from all walks of life. A woman in love with life, period. And when she looked at her sister, she saw her polar opposite—a burning pit, a black hole, a wretched soul with an axe to grind. But she loved the woman. Where had they gone wrong?

~***~

Several weeks later...

He told her.

She caught him at a weak moment, came upon him on that bench, and now that he was feeling his pain to the utmost capacity, no longer courting the liquid lady, he was a bundle of raw nerves. She’d walked past casually, gave a slight wave at first, then double backed. Without a word or explanation, she took a seat by him...and then it just poured out. From the moment he was told about the cancer, to right then and there, he let loose. When he’d finished, he could see the sympathy in her dark, glossy eyes...eyes that he wanted to swim in. He was sitting so close to her, he could see the slight sheen on her bottom lip was more lustrous than the upper one, and her eyeliner drew his attention, swinging up into a slight black cat-eye. A medium brown, her skin was perfect, smooth and taut. Oh yes, he studied her—the whites of her eyes gleamed bright like freshly fallen snow and she reminded him of the illustrations of Nefertiti, especially with the head wrap she customarily wore. No, it wasn’t a golden crown with rubies, but still, definitely a sight to behold, giving her the look of royalty.

Her voice—airy, cool and smooth. He loved that sound, the low pitch, a voice that haunted the soul and left a pleasant aftertaste in his thoughts. But, still, trouble brewed and bubbled inside him. He was thinking about her frequently—too frequently. She enveloped his mind as he stayed locked away in his quarters just to spend time with her in his imagination. She caused smiles to appear on his face out of nowhere, and before he’d have to explain it, he’d tuck the grin away before anyone saw and asked for the source of such an expression. He’d find himself distracted, in the middle of a kind word, and his thoughts would drift. This alluring woman featured so clearly in his mind, and what had been initially pleasant became uncomfortable. He tried to stick to the facts, to concentrate on things that didn’t dance around her eccentric beauty.

Over the past few days, he’d tried to put pieces of the puzzle together, trying to recall images of her from years gone past. In small doses, his wish was granted. His sober nights were now filled with colorful memories of a girl who’d once walked past him each and every day. He’d see her come through the school’s front door, meander down the hall, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone, then disappear inside the music room by his locker...

The music room. She was in there for choir practice...the room with a dog-eared green flyer for the orchestra going to Paris...Yes, Paris...I love France.

She was skinnier then, less filled out, and a beautiful face, but even more so now. She never paid me any mind, but I noticed her, with her baggy jeans and tight, colorful tops. Straight hair, yes, jet black and pulled tight into a pony tail. Real cool, quiet—until she entered that classroom. Then, the magic would unfold.

He remembered one day being late for class, standing there peeking into the tiny window of the vast room with cellos, drums in the corner and cathedral seats, listening to the songbird do her thing while the teacher’s fingers ran across the piano keys. The teacher had been the crotchety Mrs. Tucker, the music instructor with the high, flat behind, who always wore a charcoal gray skirt with lint balls along the hem and thick stockings. She had a quivering bottom lip when irritated, and embarrassed him one day when she angrily stormed over to the door and swung it open before he’d had a chance to break from his hypnotic trance and beat it down the hall.