CHAPTER EIGHT
I let the music play as I reviewed the art pieces my professor posted.
I studied each color and each abstract as I tried to write my theory for each.
It bothered me because, as I delved deeper into the artwork, I didn’t feel anything.
I didn’t feel a connection to the work in which my professor’s theory was.
He wanted us to explain how each piece of art broke boundaries, bridging the gap between Black narratives and challenging stereotypes.
It was becoming so frustrating that I wanted to create my own piece to show what he was looking for.
Art was everything to me, and being able to showcase my work has always been a dream.
However, I needed to figure out how to tell a story through my art rather than just make art.
The soft knock on my door caught my attention; had It been any softer, I would have missed it.
I got up from the couch, stretching slightly as I walked to answer the door.
When I opened it, my stomach sank. I shot my head out of the door to look around as I glanced back at her.
“How do you know where I stay?” I asked my mother.
A slow smile eased on her face. “Samara, you are my child. I know every place you go,” she said calmly. “May I come in?”
I nervously stood there. “Um, sure,” I hesitated.
I stepped back to let her inside. “So many worldly things. I see Babylon is showing you the bright side before the evil side.”
My hand swung onto my hip as my eyes showed my frustration. “If you’re going to talk cult talk, you need to leave.”
The way the cult life sucked my mother up was almost unbelievable. How could she judge the world I lived in when the one she thought was perfect clearly was a layer of bullshit?
“Ma, when will you see that the Mighty One is full of bullshit?” I hissed.
She slowly turned as she glared at me with pity.
“You say he is full of—what you call it? Bullshit?—yet you’re here taking the name of a family that is not yours.
You have convinced yourself that you belong to people who serve no purpose for you.
I am your mother, not—” she paused, “—what’s her name? —Zaria?”
My head flew back. “The fuck? Zaria has been there for me. Zaria has opened her doors to me when I had nothing or no one. Zaria is kind, beautiful, and loving, something I never got from you. Zaria is my mother, so what I will not allow you to do is stand here in your so-called shield of armor, plain-ass clothing, and talk down on a family that has helped me. If anything, Ma—oh wait, Shantel—it’s you who serves me no purpose. Now get the fuck out!”
She heckled loudly. Then she did something I wasn’t expecting. She slowly removed the drape from her head, allowing me to see the woman I used to know. The reddish color of my hair. The light freckles on her face and neck revealed the same condition we shared: vitiligo.
“You listen to me, Samara Simmino. I birthed you. In labor for fourteen hours, ten minutes, and if I had to count the seconds, six. Have I been the best mother? No. But you will not disrespect me. You think those people and that boy loves you? That boy loves your flesh. He will treat you as you let him. He will sneak around like a thief in the night. He will cheat as his appetite for something else will emerge. He will show you that you cannot trust him or his people. I am your solace. I am the one who has come to you when you called. When it all surfaces to the top, it will be me whom you call.”
Now I knew she was delusional. “Now, I will allow you to finish out the semester because it’s only right, but after that, you are coming with me. Only I can protect you.”
“I’m not going any-fucking-where, and you can’t make me.”
A smirk eased on her face. It was as if she were the Devil.
“Samara, my child,” she said as she eased her garment back over her head.
“The Mighty One is waiting, and so am I. The Calloways can’t save you from yourself.
So, who will you choose, them or me? You pick,” she finished and walked out of my house.
What did that mean? I slammed the door behind her. Then what she said about Dio popped into my head. From the short calls to the sneaking and hiding. Had she seen him with someone else? I didn’t know what to think, and it started to make me feel insane.