Chapter 21
August
I was damned near outstretched on the bed like a three-dollar hoe as Marvin Gaye’s “Just to Keep You Satisfied” restarted.
“Sick of hearing this damn song,” King tried to speak calmly as he cleaned my stoma.
“Too bad,” I snarled, looking at him through narrow eyes.
Shooting his glares at me, King gritted his teeth and shoved a Q-Tip in my eyesight.
Twirling it, he said, “Bitch, keep on with that fuck shit and watch me twirl this hoe in that stoma’s hole.
After I penetrate that small ass hole like the way I stroke my wife, you and this shitbag will see a hole.
Don’t fuck with me, August. Our homes are in an ugly ass chokehold.
Kingdon’s ten minutes from packing up their lives and moving back home to help.
They are doing well in Denver. He’s thriving as he should.
He’s not lost anymore. I need you to forgive yourself and us for keeping that harsh secret from you.
I need you to know you are a kind, loving, and respectful man.
You need to understand that I failed you during August Junior’s first night at college.
Put that shit on me, August, the right way. I failed you, and I’m sorry.”
With teary eyes, I looked at the ceiling and nodded. “I’on know who I am, King, and that’s a gotdamn problem. I killed a chick after being threatened. Am I really a monster over August Junior?”
“No, you aren’t a monster, August. You are a die-hard father,” he answered, wiping around my stoma site.
“Would you have done what I did?” I choked up as tears slid down my face.
He didn’t answer.
“King, yo’ silence mean a lot. Thus, I’m a fuckin’ monster man.” I choked up, wishing he would hurry to secure my colostomy bag and leave.
“You aren’t a monster, August. You were a fifteen-year-old nigga with his back pressed against the wall by a boss bitch a few years older than you.
Shid, even I was … fuck that, I am still scared of X.
Man, listen, a woman who loves being a mother …
a woman who has to fight to keep her firstborn, her firstborn’s siblings, and their father alive is a dangerous bitch.
Would I have killed a chick who went up against the bad lioness, if I were in your shoes, I don’t think so …
but that bitch would know never to open her damn mouth again.
Why? Kingsley would’ve made sure she could walk but never could speak again.
August, listen, stop focusing on what could’ve been done differently, and put your attention on how to overcome it.
How’s the therapy going?” he asked, sealing the bag onto skin that would never be the same again.
“It’s at a standstill fo’ real. I’m afraid to talk to him,” I admitted, wiping my face.
“Why?”
“I’on know that loose neck nigga,” I replied, causing him to chuckle.
“X said to tell him shit for what it is. Trust her,” he replied, tapping me with something that smelled like burnt plastic.
Opening my eyes, I stared into the clamped teeth fucka as he held a white finger pointer at my heart.
Tapping on it, he sincerely said, “We have to repair this. You aren’t a psychopath going around killing people.
You were a young nigga on that liquor and not thinking about your actions, only the threat.
I need you to open up to that man. The more you talk about how you feel, the faster and more effectively he can help you.
You will be a father of four by January.
You need to be one hundred percent on your toes and have a clear mind and heart about who you are.
If you don’t, you won’t be a good father.
You’ll turn into a deadbeat, leaving all those kids for Mona to raise.
When was the last time you talked to August Junior? ”
“The day he left to return to school,” I admitted lowly, looking toward the door. Momma stood there, looking at me grimly.
“Bitch, that’s sem motherfuckin’ days!” King hollered, slapping my lips with the pointer stick. “Get that damn phone an’ call the nigga you murdered a bitch ‘bout!”
My heart split more as my stomach sank. Disappointedly, Momma said, “King, that was unnecessary.”
Rushing his head in her direction, King fussed, “The fuck you say, TT. That nigga ain’t talked to his son in seven motherfuckin’ days.
That’s him pushin’ away. I ain’t finna tolerate that shit.
All this mopin’ an’ weepin’ like a mistress cut off from her wealthy dick, I can tolerate.
Leavin’ behind his child ‘cause he’s ashamed an’ confused don’t …
fly … wit’ … me! I’m riled the fuck up, nih, TT.
It’s wise fo’ you to sit down an’ collect yo’ thoughts befo’ speakin’ to me.
You won’t see me lead you into a hole so deep you gon’ feel like you close to the pits of Hell. ”
Patting her thigh, slow and precise, Momma nodded. “I’ll do just that, Nephew.”
“Very wise,” he voiced sternly, placing his eyes on me and slapping the pointer at my phone.
“Use it, bitch!” he barked as I exhaled sharply and reached for my phone.
“When yo’ ass done talkin’ to him, call Azaria!
I heard yo’ bitch ass ain’t want to talk to her last night!
I heard she was cryin’ yo’ name, an’ yo’ ass ended the call!
I want you to end that call rudely while I’m here.
TT can’t see to put this shitbag on yo’ ass!
I’mma leave you wallowin’ in yo’ shit while I’m at school, bitch!
I told yo’ monkey mouf ass when I walked through the door you better not piss me off ‘cause I had som’ bones to pick wit’ yo’ ass!
Stop holdin’ that damn phone like it’s a titty! Dial them damn numbers, August Senior!”
“A’ight.” I nodded, bringing my phone out of sleep mode. I didn’t want to talk to my children because I could barely look them in their eyes. I felt I wasn’t good enough to talk to them after the bad shit I’ve done to Annalyse and Mona.
“I swear fo’ God … He’on let me have one gotdamn day without fussin’ an’ cussin’!” King carried on as I dialed my son’s number.
“Put that call on speaker!” King hollered as his cell phone rang.
As I pressed the call button, King heatedly said, “Hey, baby. I’m tryin’ to tone down my anger, so I’on fuck up yo’ day. Gimme a minute to count to twenty or som’.”
“Hello,” August Junior said sluggishly.
“Hey, Son. How you doing?” I asked as King stopped counting and focused on talking to his wife.
“Hey. I’m tired. I have a mean headache,” he confessed, not sounding like my son.
“Migraines, back?” I questioned, slumping onto my back.
“I think so.”
“School stressin’ you out?” I questioned as King hopped on my dresser, staring at me.
“I’on know,” my son said, confused, throwing me off.
Sitting upright, I furrowed my eyebrows and asked, “How you’on know, August Junior?”
“I just don’t know. I feel weird. Like, confused all the time,” he answered as I shook my head.
“Son, how long you been dealin’ wit’ them headaches?”
“‘Bout a week nih. They got me nauseous and lethargic. Dad, I ain’t been this tired when I had a migraine,” he confessed.
“Make an appointment wit’ one of them physicians up there. A.S.A.P. I’mma be up there in a few days,” I told him, swinging my legs from the bed.
“Okay. Dad, talk to Azaria. She calls your name a lot. She cries when she doesn’t talk to you. I understand you not responding to me. But she doesn’t understand shame and stuff. Don’t do my sister like that,” he spoke slowly.
“I’m finna call her nih. I love you,” I admitted, wanting to say more but afraid of doing so.
“Nawl, don’t hang up yet. Dad, we need to talk about the elephant stomping around us. No need to be shy or back away from it. We need to address the latest developments. Start with me. Lay it on me,” my child voiced authoritatively as King pumped his fist.
I was on the verge of standing when my knees buckled. I wasn’t prepared to dive into my feelings. I preferred to think about them.
“Dad?” August Junior held out as I exhaled sharply.
Letting my phone drop into my lap, I closed my eyes and admitted.
“I did som’ shit I ain’t proud to know ‘bout. It make me feel less than a man. I keep thinkin’ ‘bout other ways I coulda handled the situation. That situation led to a lot of quiet mouths, hoverin’ over me.
Mouths that ain’t speak shit ‘bout my actions. Then, I shift into the man who all ‘bout family. Get married an’ hurt the second love of my life while she pregnant wit’ our kids.
I feel like shit, an’ I’on wanna be ‘round none of y’all ‘cause of what I did an’ how I feel.
I ain’t right in the head, which make me feel I ain’t right in my heart.
Son, I’on even know who the fuck I am. I’m scared to be a parent, cousin, friend, an’ son.
I’on know left from right … or up from down.
I feel like I was a fuckin’ black hole waitin’ on a motherfucka to slide in my direction.
Black holes ain’t good, Son. I been avoidin’ Azaria ‘cause she’s my daughter.
I put my hands on her pregnant mom. How the fuck can I be halfway happy while talkin’ to her knowin’ Mona was possibly at her weakest moment dealin’ wit’ my shit?
Shame eatin’ my ass up, an’ I’on know how to deal wit’ that.
I ain’t never had to deal wit’ that befo’.
I ain’t meant to be y’all’s dad right nih. I’m mentally fucked up.”
“People who are mentally messed up talks to therapist. Are you doing that the right way?” he questioned as a tear slid onto my top lip.
“Nope.”
“You need to. You are going to be a father of four. Momma doesn’t deserve to raise three kids and stand ten toes down for me alone.
Work through your troubles and resume back to the man we know very well.
Silly, cutthroat, and always there. August Abbott Senior,” he spoke passionately before sighing heavily.