Just Make Him Beautiful (16 page)

*

We finally made it to the hospital and I suddenly felt fear while getting out of Ms.
Washington
’s beat
-
up 1970
b
lu
e-green
Buick.

“Cameron, you al
l
right
,
sweetie?” she asked
,
coming to my rescue.

“Yes
,
m
a
’am
, I’m ok
ay.
” I
tried
to put on a brave front.
Honestly
, I was afraid to go
inside
because this was the same hospital
that
my brother
laid
dead
in
the morgue.

“Come on
,
sweetie, give me your hand.”

I don’t know why Ms.
Washington
felt the need to hold my hand.
I
’m
not
a baby
.
I
’m
almost grown. I’m
thirteen
years old
.
H
ell
,
I’ma teenager,
I thought to myself.

Anyway, Ms.
Washington
held my hand as we crossed the street and entered the main lobby of the hospital.

Ms.
Washington
walked up to
the
receptionist who sat behind the Information Desk.
“Excuse me
,” she said.
“
A
good friend of mine was just brought in. Her name is Janet Wilson
.
D
o you know where I might find her?”

The receptionist found Mother’s information in her computer.
“I see here she
’
s in the
e
mergency
r
oom down this hallway
.
”
She pointed to our left.

Ms.
Washington
continued holding my hand as we walked down to the
e
mergency
r
oom
, where w
e found a pair of empty seats and sat patiently to hear any news
on
Mother’s condition. My si
ster Keshia was with one of Ms.
Washington
’s friends, so
that
left me and Ms.
Washington
sitting together as I watched her thumb through one magazine after the other. What seemed like hours of waiting
was replaced with hunger
pangs
as I listened and tried to conceal the sounds of my
growling
stomach. 

I wasn’t interested in looking through no magazines
.
I
nstead I tried to entertain myself by thinking up stories
about
the people coming into the
e
mergency
r
oom complaining of various illnesses.

Then this one black guy came into the waiting room holding his butt and limping. I really didn’t know what was wrong with him
,
but I couldn’t help but laugh because in my mind, he got a hold of some dick he couldn’t handle.

Ms.
Washington
leaned over and whispered to me,
“It’s not nice to laugh at people who aren’t feeling well
,
sweetie
.
”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered back
,
still laughing to myself.

Eventually, Ms.
Washington
must have become impatient because she told me to wait here as she got up to go speak to one of the doctors at the
nurses’ desk.

She
came back over to me and stated, “You
h
ungry
,
s
weetie? If you are, we can go get something to eat in the cafeteria
.
”
S
he reached out and grabbed my hand.

Minutes later, I
was sitting
across from Ms.
Washington
, grubbing down on a loaded
b
acon
c
heeseburger and some fries while she just drank a cup of black coffee. Hospital food ain’t the best food in the world
,
but it
sure
hit the spot.

After feeding my hunger, Ms. Washington and I went back to the
e
mergency
r
oom and took our seat
s
, only to continually wait. From time to time, I would sneak and look at
her
to see if I could read her facial expression
,
but I couldn’t. It looked as though she wanted to tell me something but didn’t know how.

“You okay
,
Ms. Washington?”

“I’m fine
,
sweetie
.
T
hanks for asking
,
but I’m the one that need to be asking you. Don’t you think?”

“I’m okay
.
J
ust sleepy
,
that’s all
,
”
I replied
,
yawning.

“Well
,
you just come and lay your head down right here on my lap and go to sleep
,
sweetie.”

Ms.
Washington
was getting on my nerves with that
“
sweetie
”
bullshit
,
but I loved how she
truly
seemed to care for me and my family. As I la
y
my head down on her lap, I secretly pretended that she was my real mother as I drifted off to sleep while she stroked the side of my face.

A
s soon as I dozed off
,
I heard sounds of someone crying. I tried to focus my eyes on what was going on around me and realized Ms.
Washington
was the one crying.

I sat up
,
and there was a doctor sitting across from us
,
explaining to
her
that my mom had a nervous breakdown and
had
to be admitted
,
and if she didn’t respond to treatment, she then would have to be
institutionalized
.
Personally, I wanted to jump for joy.

Chapter
9

June 200
1

Four
years
later
my dream of having a real mother
finally
came true. Although, my real mom had to be
institutionalized because she could never get over the death of my brother
.
Ms.
Washington
had taken me and my sister Keshia in
and
raise
d us
as her own.
Chile
, I can’t
even
explain how so many things had changed for the better.
My new
m
om had found true love and actually married a man name
d
Will
iam
Jenkins about a year ago
,
and he also adopted me and my sister. So my new name
became
Cameron Jenkins
,
and I love
d
it because now I fel
t
as though I
was a
part of a real family.

My new dad had a huge
colonial-style
five
-
bedroom house in
the
suburb
s
,
and we moved in with him. And
,
h
onies, I had my own bedroom and decorated it with various pictures of models such as Tyra, Iman, and
,
oh yes, the fabulous Ms. Lena Horne, the
d
iva who started it all. I would sometimes lie across my bed and stare at her picture, wishing she was my real mother.

Don’t misunderstand because when Ms.
Washington
took me and my sister in,
I
truly
felt
for the first time in my life, I had a real mother. My new mom
would
wash our clothes, iron them, and discipline us when we needed it, loved us as though we were her own, and cook
ed
our meals. Every evening at
seven
p.m. sharp,
we
all
would sit around the dining room table and
e
at dinner together
,
like a real family
,
or at least those I
saw
on TV.

My favorite TV show was the
old re
runs
of
The Cosby Show
,
and I would pretend we were the
Huxtable
kids. I was Denise Huxt
a
ble
because I was fierce like that
,
and my li
’
l sister was
,
of course, Rudy. My new
dad
was
the
Christian type
,
a
man
in his mid
-forties
who had never been married before and never had any kids of his own.
He loved the church and
was a deacon
,
and he
made sure that the whole family
went
to church each and every Sunday. Dad
was
well liked in the neighborhood
by the kids
because he owned a small grocery store on the corner and would sometimes give the
m
free candy
when they didn’t have any money.

Also, much to my surprise, the so
-
called thugs
and wannabe gangsters
in the neighborhood
had much love and respect for my new dad as well. They would sometimes stop in his store or come by the house just to say hello and talk with him. Dad was very good at giving excellent advice.
I loved
him
because
I
had become very feminine
-
acting as I got older
,
and I knew he knew I was gay, but yet he loved me just the same.

Mom
didn’t have to work
,
but she volunteered three days a week
down
at the hospital
.
She would
help the nurses with some of the older patients, whether it was to help them go to the bathroom or just read a book to them. But she would
also make time for me and my sister. For example, she would take an hour or so out of her day just to
talk with me
to see what was going on in my life, something my real mother had never done.
My new mother still called me sweetie
,
but I
couldn’t blame her
.
A
fter all
,
I
was
seventeen
,
better
-
looking
than most girls my age
,
and ha
d
a body built for sex
.
O
r so I was told
by some of the boys I
’d
been with.

What I also love
d
about my
new
life
wa
s
,
my mom kn
ew
I
was
gay
,
and she
wa
s cool with it
,
too
.
She
’d
actually sat me down a
few months
ago and simply asked, “
Sweetie
,
is
you gay?”