The Heart of Revenge (10 page)

“It’s Patrick, don't?”

"No.”

"It’s not Patrick?”

"No.”

Mom touched Vance on his shoulder, tugged him
a bit.

“Look on mi, is who then?”

“Everything cool Mom.”

Pinky’s voice sound as if she wanted to
retaliate at who it was when she urged him,

“Vance just call the name nuh, please.”

“Just cool nuh, mi have my plans, everything
good.”

“Vance is who?” Mom’s loud voice caught the
attention of several persons in the ward. Vance looked to Mom,
paused in silence for a while staring in her watery eyes and slowly
muttered his answer.

“It’s Beanie.” His closest and only
friend.

On visits after that, Vance would spend most
of the time apologising to Mom for what he was putting her through.
Over the six days that Vance was in the coma, Dr. Reid had put Mom
on catopril too but it was for her high blood pressure. Dr. Reid
suggested that we take Mom to therapy, because the whole ordeal had
terribly traumatized her. We could not afford her the therapy. Mom
had to do without.

.

It was Thursday afternoon when the four of
us, me, Mom, Dad and Pinky gathered around Dr. Reid in a
semi-circle. Pinky was at the end of the semi-circle furthest away
from the bed avoiding to touch the bed or anything to do with
hospital. Pinky always felt nauseous every time she had to step
foot into a hospital and scorned everything in there. For some
reason she just hated hospital. Dr. Reid stuck a black pen in the
top of a clipboard that he had in his hand, took off his colorless
latex glove and dumped them into the big square pocket of his white
doctor jacket. Dad spoke to Dr. Reid,

“So how things look Doc?”

Everyone was listening and watching out for
Dr. Reid’s news. It could be something bad as Vance seemed to be
deteriorating more and more every year, but since steady taking of
his medication, we had all witnessed his progress and hoped things
had either stabilised. Or would get even better over time, maybe
add a couple more years to his life, moving it up from twenty-four.
Though we all were brimmed with worry, we still had that gut
feeling that things were going to get better, it’s something we
could feel.

Dr. Reid breathed out, looked down, adjusted
his stethoscope around his neck and mouthed.

“Well ...” he used both hands to adjust his
stethoscope once more and in a small continuous motion, rocking his
head both sides, as if shaking a slow no with his head as he
responded, “Vance ain't doing so good.”

“What you mean?”

Mom asked before he could utter another word,
her hand instinctively went to holding on to Dr. Reid’s hand as if
pleading with him to tell her that it is not so; things weren’t
worse. It wasn’t getting any worse; it couldn’t be. Her fingers
clung to his wrist, Dr. Reid took a moment to sort out the best way
to say what he had to say. Mom tugged on his wrist and Dr. Reid
could see the emotion in her eyes, felt how disturbingly tense she
was in her grip, she could have a breakdown, right there, right
now. She asked again but in a more hollow and terrified voice, as
if she was unsure she wanted to hear or not.

“What you mean?”

“Well..” He rubbed the back of his neck then
squeezed on it. “How do I put this? Your son has suffered some mild
brain damage, there’s a chance he may not be able to perform some
daily activities. I’ve a neurological therapist I can recommend you
to.”

Where would we get the money? I thought. I
went on to ask Dr. Reid,

“How much will that cost?” he directed his
eyes to my face.

“I can’t say, you’ll have to call Ms. Winters
about that.” He shifted his eyes and steadied them into Mom’s, “If
your son suffers a next attack... well ... he won’t make it.” Mom’s
eyes got feeble and she was blinking a lot as if she were trying to
clear cloudy tears that were forming around the ball of her eyes.
My tears were already raining. “But if he gets the ICD implanted,
it can reduce the risk of him having another attack, he is really
lucky this time, less than five percent of people survive a SCA, I
mean a Sudden Cardio Attack, but his heart is growing so fast that,
...” He looked over to Vance’s bed, then at the bag of drip then
lowered his voice, “That if he doesn’t get his heart reduced soon,
he’s going to .... you know... He won’t make it ... And because his
heart has gotten so bad with the heart valve needing to be
replaced, the cost for his surgery and ICD, we now looking at a new
cost.” I didn’t have any control over the words that jumped out my
mouth, they just did

“Jesus! How much more again?”

“Well, an additional nine thousand.”

“Forty thousand that in all?” I was
calculating aloud in my head and Dr. Reid nodded his head
confirming my calculations.

“How soon is soon?” I asked, while I slowly
pulled Mom’s sorrow-filled hand off Dr. Reid’s wrist. My hand
supportively hugged around her fingers, curled them into a soft
fist wrapped by mine.

“Maybe next six months ... I don't think he
will make it for this Christmas without a surgery.”

No one replied, Dr. Reid fidgeted with his
stethoscope, making it long to one end then pulling it back around
his neck to make it long at the opposite end. He was looking at Mom
when he asked

“Can’t you get the money anywhere at all for
the surgery? A loan, anything?”

Mom had a breakdown. Her crying went to a
louder cry, then to a bawling then to hollering, then to falling on
the floor. Dad tried to pick her up; she pushed him away. I lifted
her from the floor, her arm around my shoulder, hugged her to me
tight and wrapped my hand tighter around her fist I had formed.
Placed it up on my shoulder. Pinky cried on Dad’s shoulder. Mommy’s
monstrous noise woke a lot of sleeping patients and drew a lot of
the nurses’ eyes over to us. She also woke Vance. He sat up, saw
the whole family crying. He ripped out the drip from his veins.Rran
out the hospital in his plain blue pyjamas with the needles still
plugged into his arms. No shoes on. Ran.

.

The following Sunday I knelt on one knee,
held Qwan’s hand and proposed to Qwan on the stairs of Sovereign
Cineplex. The busy crowd took time out to watch a woman proposing
to a man, on one knee, instead of the other way around.

Vance wasn’t a man of much words but that
Sunday he was even more silent than regular. Mom was talking to him
but he wasn’t hearing her most of the time. His mind was in a
different place. By the fall of evening, Vance got ready and left
for HYC or so we all thought. No one knew he sneaked out with the
kitchen knife in the waist of his pants. No one knew he was heading
for Beanie’s house. No one knew he was pushed over the edge. No one
knew if he would stab Beanie to death.. No one knew.

by: Leelia Lexings

I just honestly didn’t expect Vance to say
that; his response was,

“Mi don't really want nothing from Qwan enuh.
Mi don’t chat up to him, and mi prefer if him avoid mi.”

Was madness a side-effect of cardiomyophia?
’Cause Vance must be losing it. Whose money was buying his
medication since he was eighteen? Maybe Vance was tired of fighting
and now was embracing death, accepting it, hating life. I tried
calculating where was this coming from but I couldn’t finish the
thought,

“You realise that the only person who can
help you right now with that forty thousand U.S. is Qwan,
right?”

“If you married him, it doesn’t mean him must
pay for it either, ’cause him know mi don’t like him.”

“What you have against Qwan? I can’t
understand. Because you and him seldom ever talk, so how you hate
him so much now?”

“Mi just don't trust him.”

Trust? I wondered, why would he even need to
trust Qwan, I mean, if anything, it should be Qwan not trusting
him. Qwan was the one with the money. Vance had nothing to lose and
life to gain.

“What you mean by trust?”

“Is alright man, mi just don’t like the
brother, leave it at that.”

“What him do you?” Vance didn’t answer,
“VANCE?”

“What? ... Mi just don't like the brother,
him move ...” Vance swallowed the tail of his words. I was a bit
agitated.

“WHAT HIM DO?” I’m not usually loud.

Everyone was tensed, me waiting on Vance to
answer was like waiting on him to empty the water out the sea with
a teaspoon. It took forever.

“WHAT HIM DO?” I repeated, breaking the still
silence. Dad’s question came right behind mine

“Is what him do Vance?” Vance turned facing
Dad instead of me,

“You don't notice anything about the
brother?” Dad shook his head while saying,

“No, is what?”

“Well mi don't like how him look on mi then
... Like ...”

“Like how?” Daddy asked

“Like mi a woman.”

I reflected on my wedding, getting married,
what I was going through for Vance and if he really appreciated it
or not. Was I doing the wrong thing? Should I go through with the
marriage? What about what had happened lastnight? So many questions
running through my head. I replied to Vance,

“What’s wrong with you? You paranoid little
boy?”

“Lee mi older than you. And mi telling you,
him not going to help mi, him not doing it, mi just know.”

“Answer mi this, you want the help or not?”
He answered by slowly nodding yes, I was trying to decipher if the
slow nod. Was a reluctance or uncertainty? Or was it a big boldface
lie? My mind was in a limbo about what to think of it. What would
anyone make of that?

“Don’t worry about me getting the money,
don't I got it from him to help you out for three years now?”

“Yeah,... but —-”

“Just stop worry. I promise you, once we
married, I’ll get the money, stop fret.”

But honestly, deep down inside I knew this
was not a certainty, good God, we are talking about forty thousand
U.S. that his father would have to know about. I just didn't see
this happening as smooth as I was trying to make it seem to Vance,
but I just didn't want him to worry. If he had a short time left to
live, at least he shouldn’t be spending it worrying.

Mom said nothing. She placed her thumb over
one of her eye and the following four fingers over her other eye,
trying to fight the tears. I began sucking on my thumb without
realising that I was. Mom may lose her only begotten son soon. She
tried pulling herself together.

“For heaven’s sake man Leelia! Is ulcer
stomach you want catch like me? Take out your finger out your
mouth. You twenty now.”

Still sucking on my only comfort, I
replied,

“Not this argument again Mommy please ... and
I’m not twenty yet.”

“Qwan know you still sucking finger?”

“Of course, but what him can do ’bout it?
It’s not like him can stop it.”

Though I was sucking my thumb the taste of
Nathan’s dick was stronger in my mouth. I wondered if I had it on
my breath, I wondered about kissing Qwan after I said ‘I do’,
wondered if he would taste another man’s cock on my breath. Christ
lord! What have I done? Heck! I was so stupid to ever thought
that’s was the best way to get my revenge at Qwan. What the hell
drive me to do something so horrible? I was angry at what Qwan did
lastnight but what I did in the bathroom didn’t recover anything
and it didn’t make anything better. I didn’t even feel better. I
thought I would feel better hurting him back with jealousy. My
revenge when I showed Qwan the pictures. Hurt him for what he did
lastnight, but honestly, all I felt now was guilt, all I felt was
remorse, all I felt was shame. I made a mistake. All I felt was
worse.

You know what, I got to go and brush my
teeth. I looked if there were any dinner mints on the table. None
was ever there. What was I thinking, this was not Qwan’s house.

“Qwan need to put his foot down in the
relationship and stop make you rule him.” Mom said while I puffed a
breath out trying to smell it. I inhaled. Only the scent of the fry
frittas and liver for breakfast in the air. I replied to Mom’s
statement,

“Really now?”

“So what him say about your drinking?”

I put my elbows on the table leaned my
forehead in my hands, squeezing it, and did not answer Mom’s
interrogation.

“Ahh sah, the one thing you take from your
worthless father, is the worst thing, him drinking.”

My eyes were changing. My gray eyes were
getting red.

“Nothing’s wrong with a little vodka ... At
least it’s always there to wash away my problems.”

“Same thing, you sound just like him too,
same thing him would say.”

My voice had aggression inside it when I
said,

“I’m nothing like Dad!”

And would never be. I’m like my beautiful
Mom.

“Qwan need to start bust your ass when you
doing foolishness, like drinking, him too soft.”

Dad was ignoring the argument or at least it
looked like he was trying to. Mom had a playful tone in her voice
about Qwan busting my ass. My face had a horrible frown under my
hand. I blew my breath upward to my nose again. Tested my breath.
Mom continued,

“Vance wash your hands and come take some
picture for mi please.”

“Alright Mom.” Vance was gazing at the sofa.
He narrowed his eyes in concentration, then asked aloud,

“Is who trouble mi bag mi left in the
settee?” Everyone looked towards the sofa.

“Why?” Mom curiously asked.

“Mi have some things in it for the club ...
And mi hope nobody don't trouble them nor the ice cream mi left in
the fridge that mi buy for the little youths.”

HYC, that’s all Vance seemed to talk about.
As the Vice President for the club, and from what I saw, he
probably put in four times as much as anyone in the club and ten
times more than their lazy president, whom Vance did everything
for.