Chapter 12
I wokeup to the sound of my phone ringing. After knocking a few things off the nightstand, I finally found it. “Yeah, hello?” I answered without paying much attention to the name on the screen.
“He’s gone, Saint,” Natasha cried.
I took the phone from my ear, closed my eyes, and pressed it against my forehead. “I’m on my way,” I grumbled into the phone.
Hanging up, I checked the time. It was after ten. I was supposed to be there at eight. Had I been there when I was supposed to be, I would have been there. But I fucked up. Last night... seeing her... it threw me off. So much that I almost drove down to Pandora’s. decided not to. Instead, I laid in this bitch all fuckin’ night thinking about her. Overslept because I couldn’t pull myself from that fuckin’ fantasy.
I dropped the phone on the nightstand, brought my hands up to my head and ran them back and forth over my face with a growl. Samuel was dead. My father was gone. How was I to feel? What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t cry. Didn’t know what that felt like anymore. Honestly couldn’t remember the last time I cried. Probably was a little nigga. Had to be younger than ten. Yeah, I was. I could remember. Took a minute. I just had to dig. I buried the memory for a reason. I was eight. Me and Blaise got into a fight. I cried and Samuel beat my muthafuckin ass. Beat me so bad I couldn’t cry. At the end, the only thing I could feel was pain.
Like now. Couldn’t feel anything but it. I wondered if he wanted tears now. Wondered if he wanted us to mourn him. Wondered if having the feelings he hated now was okay. It was. It most definitely was. I could say that shit with confidence. Because at the end, that’s what he wanted most from us. Called for Jah. That nigga never answered. Gave him his ass to kiss every single fuckin time. Called for B. Could count on one hand how many times he visited him. And when he called for me? I answered. Not every time, but more than not. Tasha didn’t fall under the same category as we did. She was the princess. When he called, she answered every time. But... he rarely called for her. It made sense now. All of it did.
Shortly after,I was parking at my parents’ house. Pulling up at the house was different. I didn’t sit in the car. Didn’t toss my head against the headrest dreading the walk inside. Just got out and walked up to it. I already knew what to expect. I didn’t need to prepare for grief. Preparation had never been about Samuel. It had always been about my mother. The only reason I sat in the car when I pulled up and waited was because I had to prepare myself mentally for the denial. Now, there wouldn’t be any more denial. Now we had to deal with reality. And the reality of it was that Samuel, her husband of over thirty years was dead. Now we dealt with the next stage.
Devastation.
Grief.
Heartbreak. The heart break… scared me. I wondered who my mother would become without him. They had been married for over thirty but together longer. So much of who she was, was because of him. Graciela didn’t have a life separate from the one she created with him. She didn’t own any businesses. Didn’t have any hobbies. A homemaker was the only thing she ever had been. Wife and mother. Once we grew up, she homed in on that wife title. Without him, she was a widow. And who in the fuck would want to home in on that?
The quiet that greeted me upon entering was unsettling. The air felt different again. Over the course of five years, the house had gone through many changes. None of the changes had been cosmetic or structural. It was all energetic. It was in the air. It was stuck on the walls. It followed me through the foyer, and up the stairs too as I followed the only sound that filled the space. Soft cries from my mother.
That dull ache that hit me in the chest earlier after Natasha’s call grew. Nothing hurt a man that loved his mother more than hearing, seeing, or simply knowing she’d cried. It was a gut-wrenching pain. Especially if the tears were brought on by something no one could change.
I was a kid again. Back in that lil’ house in the hood. I wondered how long it would be before I heard Boukman. Wondered if I’d ever hear him again, at all.
The door to the bedroom opened with an obnoxious squeak. Kneeling at an empty bed, I found my mother with a face full of tears. As loud as the door was, she didn’t hear me. She was a million miles away, I could imagine.
I massaged the nape of my neck with a shaky sigh. Treading over, I kneeled beside her and grabbed her by the hand. She didn’t respond to my touch. Didn’t take my face in her hands, smile and say ‘sonson’. She didn’t do any of the things she used to do. She just sat there with her face pressed against the bed he died in and continued to softly cry.
I didn’t know how long we’d been kneeling, me in silence, her someplace else, steady crying before there was a knock on the door. I pushed up from the floor, dusted my aching knees off, and walked over to answer it.
It was Blaise. His eyes were bloodshot red and not because he’d been crying. He wreaked of weed. Shit, I needed to burn a few too.
“What up, bro?” I greeted with a handshake that ended with us embracing.
He looked by me into the room. “She’s been like that since.”
I glanced over my shoulder at her. “I know. She’s not here. I don’t know what’s going to come after this but what I do know is that she needs to get off the floor.”
Turning his mouth down, he shook his head. “Nah. Tried that. The minute I moved her, she screamed and put up a fight. I put pillows down and let her be.”
I walked out into the hallway and closed the door behind me. Dragging my hand down my face, I sighed. “She can’t stay like that all night. She’s almost seventy. She needs to eat and replenish herself.”
“I tried to give her food and water before you got here,” Natasha cut in.
Looking over, I peeped her sitting on the top step, with her head tossed back against the wall. “She won’t do anything but what she’s doing now.”
We went silent but our thoughts were loud enough. In that moment, we all felt the same. I could say it with confidence because the thing we all wanted to say, it was heavy in the air. Thick. Building with every second that went by. There was a void. It was loud. Thick in the air. Suffocating almost.
“He died on me bro.” Blaise said, as he paced with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his basketball shorts “Walked in to see him. Haven’t seen the nigga in weeks, right? So I say, fuck it I’ll go see the fuck nigga. Tell ‘em about Inferno. Figured, fuck it. Why not? Shit what was the risk? Nigga couldn’t doubt me.” He laughed, placed his hands on his head and paced.
“I didn’t even go in on no other shit, fré,” He continued, trying to convince me. almost like a child who didn’t want to be punished. “On everything I love I didn’t. Couldn’t. You know why? ‘Cause when I looked at that man I didn’t seethat man. He was small as fuck bro. Small as...” He shook his head. Continued to pace. Continued to dig. “I sat there. Kicked it with ‘em. Talked to him today more than I have in my entire fuckin’ life. Must’ve been in that bitch for a good hour before I realized...” He looked over at me, smirked, shook his head and ran his hands over the top of his head. “He wasn’t even breathin. Died on me. That was different. That shit was real different. Even in that position, he still didn’t give a fuck about what I had to say.”
He was spiraling. Every one of us were spiraling. Blaise spazzed. Natasha was emotionally unstable. And me? Well, I did what I did when I had too much on me; went silent. I had a lot to say. A lot of direction to give. A lot of feelings toward all of it. But, I chose to be silent. Just... observed. Just... listened. Blame Mercy, not me. The psychological damage behind that shit had really fucked with me. Fucked with Blaise too. Seemed like the only one of us who knew what to do with their emotions for real was Tasha. And moms. Moms could feel the most. The crying had gone up a full octave. She went from softly sobbing to straight up wailing.
However, what I heard over everything was us breaking... completely.
That last domino standing had fallen.
We hadn’t moved.Low key, it was like we were kids again. Well, me and Tasha at least. Back when we were little, Jah and B were older. Back in the day, me and sis used to sit at the bathroom door waiting for moms to finish up. Tonight, the three of us sat outside of the bedroom door listening to her weep, hopelessly.
Neither of us moved when we heard the front door open. Tasha made the call Blaise, and I were too proud to make. We had that talk, yeah. Got shit off our chest and all that. He told us he was around, regardless of what went on. Yeah, all of that shit was cool. But it was a pride thing. And before I called him, I would figure the shit out on my own. I was like that. We were like that. Didn’t want to need the nigga, but we did. It wasn’t for us though; it was for mama.
If there was anybody that could get her to move and eat, it was him. He had that effect on her. He was the golden boy. For several reasons. We didn’t hate him for it. Weren’t jealous or no shit like that. It made sense. He took care of home when Samuel was away. He was the man of the house. Of course he was different. Of course when Samuel was at his weakest, he called for Jah. Probably wanted him for this reason specifically. To ask him, instead of me, to take care of the family. I couldn’t. There was no fuckin’ doubt in my mind about that. I didn’t want to. Didn’t want to become that nigga.
There were Jahad’s, and then there were Saint’s. He was who he was, and me, me. The positions we played in the family were our positions for very specific reasons. When Jah handed me the crown, it wasn’t for everything,. It was specifically for the business. I did my best though. Handled what needed to handle. But I couldn’t and I would not try to carry them on my shoulders. They weren’t built for such heavy loads.
“Sis,” Jahad greeted once he made it to the top of the stairs. Natasha stood and embraced him. On his chest, she cried. On mine, she held her tears back. Even in grief, she was mindful of my discomfort with tears. Didn’t have to be though. After lying in bed earlier, thinking about what Samuel did to me... did to us... I never wanted Natasha to suppress another fucking tear for me again. She could feel. She was free to feel. Wanted her to know that. Eventually, when time permitted, I would have that talk with her.
Then he moved on to Blaise. He’d calmed down. The pacing stopped. The mumbling too. He just stood there, back against the wall, pulling from a blunt he wasn’t supposed to smoke in the crib. Didn’t give a fuck enough to say anything to him about it. Left him to deal how he needed to deal. Jahad didn’t address it neither. When they embraced, they held on to each other a little longer than usual.
Hugs between us never lasted more than a second. Why would they? Men weren’t supposed to hug. Only bitches gave hugs. Men shook hands. But because we were bonded by more than just blood, we embraced. Told each other I love you every now and then too. Some things, we really just did not give a fuck about. Most niggas told each other I love you because they were raised in the trench and life was fickle. We did it because we meant it. There was love, honor, respect and loyalty. Samuel stripped us of a lot of things but the one thing he didn’t strip us of was that bond. Their feud might’ve created tension, but the bond? The bond would never be broken. Shit, it literally couldn’t be.
I pushed myself up from the floor and stood tall when he approached me. Refused to be seen weakened. I couldn’t be. It had nothing to do with my position but everything to do with self-respect. I was a man. A man who often played tug of war with his feelings. I was torn. Would rather feel what wanted to be felt. But... seeing Jah. I couldn’t really put a finger on what it was exactly, but I had to tuck that shit. Had to be a pillar of strength, although... although inside a nigga was fucking dying.
Jahad approached. I extended my hand. He looked down at it, briefly, before we made eye contact. Instead of meeting my palm with his, he pulled me in for a hug. Embraced me the same way he embraced Blaise.
He gripped the back of my neck and said, “Be human, baby bro.”
What was I supposed to do with that shit?
How was I supposed to respond to that?
I couldn’t. Not who I was, as Saint Baptiste at least. But who I was at the core... that nigga responded. The soul of me... whatever it responded. And it listened.