Chapter 4
“THE PURPOSE OF YOUR LIFE CAN’T BE STOPPED BY THE PAIN IN YOUR LIFE.”
I t had been another one of those early mornings for Orielle.
“You really just sat on live and wrote an entire song. Okay, girl!” Orielle read one of the comments aloud and smiled.
“Thank you,” she replied humbly.
Technically, it was a prelude. Just a little something she needed to get off her chest. She didn’t have time to do so this morning, and now that her afternoon was winding down, Orielle used the spare time to her advantage.
“Is this going to be the intro for a new album?” She caught another comment and read it.
She shrugged. “Probably not. Some songs will never see the light of day. Not because they aren’t good, but because they were meant for me in the moment that I needed them.”
Orielle had discovered her need to keep things to herself long before she took on the title of an artist. She was a firm believer that the less people knew about her, the less they had to talk about. It was a defense mechanism and a safety net.
Squinting, knowing she needed to grab her blue light glasses, Orielle read another comment. It was a bit longer than the others, so she read it to herself.
“And someone else might need them, too. God wouldn’t have given you the gift if He didn’t want you to share it.”
That comment hit her in the chest. Damn near restricted her breathing. This wasn’t the first time she’d been told that, but for some reason, it hit differently today. She kept that comment to herself. And the next one, which almost made her frown.
“You know damn well your real hair isn’t ginger. Show us who you really are...”
Orielle almost laughed. Instead, she smiled.
“I’ve been on here with y’all long enough. Thank y’all for joining. My new EP is titled ‘ Feel Away .’ For those who were asking in the comments. You can search my name on all music platforms, and it will pop up. I may get on here later in the week, but don’t?—”
Before she could complete her sentence, an incoming call from the last person she expected ended her live. Even with her phone on do not disturb, Janelle still found a way to get through. Sighing, Orielle tapped the green phone icon.
“Hello, Mother,” she greeted plainly—sarcastically.
“Well, hello to you, too. It only took me one hundred times to get through. Am I blocked?”
You should be. That’s what she wanted to say.
“No. When you block someone, their call can’t come through. My phone was on do not disturb,” Orielle explained.
“Mm,” Janelle grunted. “Well, you don’t need to put it on that when people are trying to reach you.”
There was no use in explaining the meaning of not wanting to be disturbed to her mother.
Janelle had this entitlement complex syndrome that Orielle would never understand.
Like every call was supposed to be answered, every request be fulfilled, and every complaint be received with grace.
She could’ve taken on any other non-clinical diagnosis besides that one.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. There must be something wrong for you to be calling me.”
It was always the same thing. Had been that way for years.
A circular conversation with no rhythm and no desire to catch the beat.
Their relationship had been strained for so long that Orielle wasn’t sure it had ever been whole.
She tried her best not to harbor any resentment toward her, but Janelle made it easy for her to do so.
“Nothing is wrong. Why do you always think negatively when it comes to me?” Janelle asked. Some days, it was hard to decipher the hurt in her tone.
Should I not? Orielle kept her thoughts tucked away, where they wouldn’t cause more friction. It was best that way sometimes. It kept the peace she was handed in microdoses when it came to Janelle. She wasn’t guarded for no reason.
“No reason,” she murmured instead. “What’s going on, though, Mama? I was in the middle of something.”
“Well, I guess I won’t keep you longer than I already have,” Janelle said. The passive aggression in her tone almost made Orielle hang up. “I was just calling to tell you, Mrs. Ashley from my church needs singers for an event she has coming up.”
Orielle blinked slowly. “Okay…”
She had no clue who Ashley was.
“A while back, I told her that you can sing, and she must’ve looked you up. She asked me to tell you to give her a call if you were interested.”
Seconds of silence filled the line.
“Okay. I appreciate that,” Orielle finally said.
“You don’t sound like it.”
“I said thank you, Mama.”
Janelle grunted. That was her go-to noise before displaying her disappointment for the conversation not going her way.
“But do you mean it?”
Orielle bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming and trained her eyes on the black and white pictures on her wall.
The frames held her top ten favorite female vocalists.
They were a reminder and inspiration of who she could be and what a blessing their voices were to this world.
She refrained from speaking quickly. God knew she was trying not to let the pettiness win today.
Knowing her mama was about to give her a headache she didn’t ask for, Orielle removed the kinky straight ginger wig from her head and hung it up on the mannequin head. The color was so pretty against her copper-kissed complexion, and a way to disguise who she was.
Some people knew, but she loved keeping the mystery of her appearance from the fans who weren’t truly aware of what she looked like yet.
Plus, when she sang, she felt like another person.
So, the wig was fitting. Underneath it were two messy braids to the back that needed to be redone.
For now, she just wanted to let her scalp breathe.
“I do. I’m grateful you called me for this opportunity. I get approached for these types of things all the time, so I’ll check it out. Not every event is meant for me.”
“Well, you’re not signed to a label, so you should be taking every opportunity that comes your way.”
“Because you suggested it, right?” Orielle asked. Her words came out harsher than she intended them to, but she meant them.
Janelle went quiet. Not because she was done talking, but because she was trying to navigate the conversation in a direction that wouldn’t make her look like a villain. She wanted to be the hero in Orielle’s story since she couldn’t be one in her own.
“Yes, because I suggested it. And because I want the best for you. You always think someone is trying to control you. Has our relationship not progressed any?”
Orielle wanted to believe that it had, and on some days, she was hopeful. But then, Janelle would hit her with this passive-aggressive behavior, acting as if she deserved the Mother of the Year award. Between the two of her parents, she didn’t know who was worse.
Not only did she have one alcoholic parent, but Orielle had two.
Technically, Janelle could no longer be placed in that category, considering she was seven years sober, but the damage had already been done.
Her father, Orlando, was still putting a bottle to his lips ‘til this day. Every once in a while, she’d spot him out front of his favorite corner store when she visited her grandparents.
Like her mama, Orlando would brag about Orielle being his daughter but hadn’t contributed to any part of her life besides impregnating Janelle.
He’d even have the nerve to ask her for a few dollars.
It was sad. Orielle didn’t have sympathy for either of them.
Janelle finally decided to get her life together and join a church when Orielle was twenty-one.
She tried to do right by Orielle, but by then it was too late.
Trying to figure out how to have a normal relationship with her daughter was harder than being sober, and some days, Janelle wanted to say fuck it, but she wasn’t giving up.
“I don’t know, Mama. That’s a question you need to ask yourself.”
Janelle’s answer would be yes because saying no would make her face the truth.
She wasn’t ready for that. It was like everything she did for Orielle was only to make her look good.
Or what she could brag about at work or in church.
Even when she was younger, Orielle’s ideas and feelings were shut down; blocked out by shouting and being dismissed to her room.
The verbal abuse crippled her. Then, when she showed no interest once her mama was sober enough to remember her name, she was being ungrateful, rebellious, and difficult.
So, no. In Orielle’s opinion, their relationship hadn’t progressed.
Quite frankly, if it never did, Orielle wouldn’t care.
“I only called to help,” Janelle said after a long pause. Refusing to acknowledge the question. “You say I don’t support you. Then, when I try to, I’m wrong.”
“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Orielle replied, sighing. “I said thank you. I meant it. I just… I need space to make decisions on my own terms. That’s all.”
“I’ll send you Mrs. Ashley’s number, then,” Janelle muttered. “You can do what you want with it.”
“Okay.”
“I hope you at least check it out.”
“I will.”
“Alright, then.”
There was a pause. That part of the call where things hovered between we’re done talking and I still want to say something, but I don’t know how .
“Talk to you later,” Janelle said finally.
“Later.”
And with that, the call ended.
Orielle stared at her phone for a long second before the screen went black. Her stomach felt tight, and her shoulders were tense. That was the thing with her mother. One phone call could shift her whole mood and ruin her entire day. A day that had started off so good.