How to Play with Fire

“We were all close as fuck, my siblings and I, but me and my oldest brother would have been rollies growing up. He taught me the ways to carry myself, to avoid being centered out. He started by, introducing me to the street rats hide out spots, when he would let me ride along with him on his licks. He told me, who to stay away from and never to trust anyone but myself. I lived by his motto, even though the times we spent were rare. He stayed, in and out jail. When he had my first nephew, he sheltered him, the best he could. However, when that little Negus grew up, he was even worse than his daddy, but, I did not know until it was too late… Oh, you want to know the background? Ok”

“Well our mother was taken from us because of rage; which caused for my siblings and I, to go on four different paths. Ed, my oldest brother, is currently in jail for 25 years, Bailey my second oldest went to be a chemist in Michigan, Diamond Eyes our baby sister became a voice over for cartoons. Then she shut herself out from the rest of the family, and me well I just tried to keep my head above ground.

A few days before my mother was murdered she sat still looking out the window. I asked her what was wrong, and she said her heart felt like it was broken in four pieces. Not sure if it were an epiphany, but that’s how I always felt growing up…that the four of us being split up broke her heart…as if she knew we would be distant from each other, while she resided in the spiritual world. I mean after all she was our gorilla glue. I think about my mother often, and cherish everything of hers, especially her little black notebook. She kept it close to her in her final days. It was her address book, contact list, planner and journal all in one. I swear that woman prepared us for her departure. She knew that I would try to keep the peace; between my siblings and I, as well as, try to keep us close together. The black book even planned it.

Now you see when Ed went to jail his son was only eight and I was 20 at the time. I learned then kids soaked up everything and then try to mimic their surroundings. My nephew was mischievous, always trying to squeeze every dime out of me. When I said no, he would look up at me with these puppy dog eyes and say softly, “Oh but please Auntie, it’s not like my dad can get it for me.” I had to nip that bs in the bud. I mean here I was only a home care worker, barely able to buy toilet paper. I mean, after paying for everyday expenses; I was pretty tapped out. Meanwhile, his father called me night and day, asking for the most ridiculous stuff. A box full of snacks, a nutritionist book. Apparently, his cell mate was a Vegan, go figure. He asked for, pictures of voluminous women, like 600lb life type of women, and shoes; as if the Jesus walk sandals weren’t good enough. I mean what do I know about prison… here I am rambling on to you.”

“No, Mahogany, this is good, I’m proud of you for opening up,” my therapist said enthused.

“Well, its only been two years Doc, let’s not rush into this.”

She chuckled then asked me would I like to continue. I did not say yes or no, I just started back to where I left off.

“I mean my peace of mind is important, you know! I had to block him sometimes. Bailey, isn’t as persistent as Ed. He checks up on me, from time to time. Diamond eyes, well, we just talk on birthdays.

I’m ready for change Doc! I no longer want to just be breathing or having the same routine every day! I stood up and looked at my therapist, then said with confidence, the mantra she told me to say every morning. I’m going to be great, I am worthy, I am----------

BANG! BANG! BANG!

We heard the gunshots right outside the room. My therapist doesn’t even blink. Instead, she snatches me up, drags me to the other room connected to the one that we were in. Then she quickly dials 911. I peek out the side window noticing there’s fire escape. She picks up a black duffel bag, throws it out the window, causing for it to land nearby a garbage can.

Forget the police, I thought. They’ll take forever, then we will be dead like my mother. The police took a whole 30minutes to get to her as she bled out from her arm and thigh. Two shots, it took only two shots and my mom was dead.

My alter ego’s name was Phoenix and she always took over the show when I was in extreme panic. She ran the show with wit and agile reactions. I heard my therapist frantically telling the police, our location. I did not even realize, I had the window wide open, but I looked down not seeing anyone around. So, I went to the fire escape and screamed, “COME ON!” Just as she tried to make it to me, her blood splatted on my face. The shooter got her right in the neck as she held her hand there she mouthed GO. I slid down the rail and took off. My body snapped into every running technique I was taught. I ran like lightening four blocks away to a coffee shop that I always wanted to go into. It looked so welcoming, as I would walk the route to my therapy sessions. I told myself one day I’m going to sit in there.

Well this was the day. Unfortunately, I did not look to presentable with the specs of blood on my face, ripped pants from snagging a bit on the stairs; beside the fact I had no jacket on at the beginning days of winter. I assume the manager saw as I came in because, she politely asked, would I like to come the back office with her, before, I could even reach the first waitress. Luna was her name. She had long colorful locs with hair jewelry on the tips of all them and she smelled of Eucalyptus and lavender. She wiped my face gently then gave me a clean set of clothes. The shop is, a haven for battered women. After, I had a cup of Hazelnut coffee, she asked in the sweetest tone, “are you ready to talk?” I informed her that my therapist owned the whole 4th level of a 10-story building, which was shot up, and I barely made it out.

The next two days were a blur. Hearing my iPhone ring was such an annoyance that I answered it quickly by screaming into it, “LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“Well damn Auntie I ain’t even ask you shit yet. That’s how you treat your nephew? I don’t feel the love man.”

I just wanted to hang up but next thing I knew he’s buzzing at my damn door. He waltzes in, then so casually goes to the freezer to get my Butter Pecan ice-cream. Just a little leech I thought. “You know you’re 18 now, your slouch ass really should get a job.”

Phoenix was still taking over the show which I appreciated because my mind was exhausted.

My nephew replies, “now is that you or that alter ego you claim you got? Yeah…it’s that terror…How are you doing Phoenix...keeping my aunty company?” Yeah…she or should I say y’all look like shit. What’s the matter Auntie?”

That’s when I realized I had not bathed since the incident or even left from the ball I was curled in, until few seconds ago.

“Here, let me run you a bubble bath and I’ll make you something to eat,” he demanded while massaging my shoulders.

I had no idea why he was here. He usually, does not butter me up, he gets to whatever he wants, like he did the ice-cream. Yet, I was pleased to be taken care of and have some company. The day before yesterday, was still not fully processed in my mind. There I was, trying to battle my inner childhood trauma, then BAM, adult trauma. My Aunt Charee’s words, resonated with me, “who the hell told you, life was fair.”

Easing, into the itchy hot bath, brought a slight calmness as I tried to piece everything together. The detective asked me about ten times: what the shooter looked like, did I remember his or her voice, where in the building was I, how did I make it out. I could not answer any of those questions because honestly, I did not remember. That’s how it was after trauma you lived through, you remember mainly that you lived, no details. It was as if the shooter trained for this day though, they were swift. I’m not even sure if there was more than one. The fact no one was in the alley, clearly, pointed out they were unaware of the buildings blue print. However, it almost seemed like the therapist was the target. Or was I the target?

My mothers’ little black book was in the bathroom and I flipped to where she wrote in my birthday. I felt her presence. She was such a free-spirited woman that made everyone smile. All my friends, would say that they wish she were their mother. Every morning, she would wake my sister and I up, then braid our thick coil hair. She always smelled of coca butter with a hint of vanilla. The black little notebook held onto that smell, I guess from always being in her purse. Oh, how I wish she could have ben there now. She could stroke my hair to soothe me. Then, I chuckled out loud of the irony of it all. If she were here, I would not be so paranoid and sheltered with my life or even, going through this shit now.

To think, she’s gone because she was strong enough to stand up for herself completely, by trying to move on with her life from her abuser. Her shooter was my father. He planned the killing over the course of two years. He would buy guns and have her clean them with him. My sister and I was forced to leave the room, when they would open the safe, but we knew what was in there. How safe he was, HA fucking joke. He even taught my brothers how to disassemble, a gun in someone’s hand and knock them out with one punch. At six years old, he looked me in my eyes at a diner and said, he was going to kill her. I knew right then how seriously crazy he was. He didn’t not flinch, he didn’t smirk or say I’m kidding. He said, “I’m going to kill your mom, she no longer belongs with us.” Honestly, I’ve always been able to adapt. It is what it is, has always been my motto. So, instead of crying I tried to reason with him. Understand his side. He was broken, and lacked self-love, even after all my mother went through with him. He still had to suck the last thing that kept her whole. Being a mother

I adapted to no longer having someone braid my hair each morning. I adapted to not saying too much, because I would get beaten by my foster mother. I adapted to realizing my skin was bit darker than others. I adapted to thinking begging for love was normal. I adapted to not growing up with the people I knew most. I adapted to not showing anger because ladies can not be mad. I adapted to being okay of, reaching my mother only by spiritually. I adapted to the consistent nightmares. I adapted to finally being able to enjoy the 4th of July, because that’s when it happened. That’s when that monster shot my mother twice, and her lover five times. Then, he ran in the house like a coward, dragging my sister and I, down the stairs as my brother laid there, on the kitchen floor crying out for her.

Now, my therapist is gone, and I couldn’t help to wonder was this also a fatal entanglement that I once again was caught in the mist of. Big green eyes, gaze out and light pink lips mouthing GO, has been included in my nightmares. The main thing I can remember, is that she seemed so prepared, as if she knew it were coming. That bag…what was in that bag? I remember how she tossed it with ease.

Ty had made French toast, cheesy Greek omelets and pan seared turkey sausage. At least he can cook for himself I thought.

I pulled the chair back from the table as he slid back the curtains. Apparently, I had been living like a vampire.

“After you eat you should get some fresh air, you are going to look up and it’ll be freezing ass winter,” Ty said.

With a mouth full of eggs, I asked him why he was here.

He started by saying “Well I wanted to visit my dad and was wondering could you take me.”

I know you didn’t come all the way over here, just for that, was the face I made to him.

“Well I was wondering could I also get $50.”

“I could have Cashapp that to you Ty.”

He finally broke down. “I also wanted to get out the house for a bit… Meaning can I crash for a week?”

He said it so innocently. I knew it was the truth. He always felt a little out of place; as I often did.

“Me casa es su casa,” I said to break the silence.

Always thought he had the cutest grin, when he was being bashful.

“You’re right though nephew, I do need some air.”

There’s a park that’s a block past my therapist building, that I had started to take Ty to, as a toddler. Come to think about it, that’s how I came to live in the neighborhood. Not such the comfortable neighborhood to me anymore. Ty assumed we would just walk to the park, but I had other plans. I walked past the coffee shop quickly and a bit of anxiety had kicked in. What if the shooter were on the lookout? However, the detective told me for the shooter to have in came in so abrupt, then, he or she must have wanted something in that room. To also add, she had a safe which was pried open, so I figured the shooter came for what was in there. Yet, she threw the bag, so she probably already took out what they were coming for. I started to walk quicker, I wanted to get to the end of this. Within 20minutes, I was in the alley, with Ty not too far behind. Purposely, I left out that she threw the bag when I was being questioned. I didn’t trust cops or detectives, for all I know, they were the one who have planned it. Anything for a quick buck.

Bailey was just telling me of a story, about a girl, who did not know what happen to the 20k that was on Brinks truck she worked for. Then, she was murdered by two of her close friends, but the money was still never found. I told him about the story I just read of the guy turning 20k into the police, just to get rewarded with a bike. Let me have found 20k, I told him. I’d send Ty off to culinary school and open a grocery store that sold fresh produce. I’d travel Italy for a year. I’d pay for Ed’s lawyer. Then, when he was out, I would tell my siblings we were going for a cross country road trip, just like the last plan our mom had in her little black book.

Surprisingly, the bag was still there. All my wishful thinking, that I had talked about with Bailey, played in my head, as I slowly opened the bag. To find, nothing, absolutely nothing. I was a bit angry. She threw out an empty bag, just to die? I threw the bag on the pavement and slid down the side of the wall. Then I thought maybe, it’ll have side pockets. Still nothing. As I sat on the swings, with Ty, I heard my Aunt Charee’s words again… “who the hell, said life was fair.” I thought diamonds would be in the bag or shit even coke would be in the bag. Maybe the shooter had taken it already, or the cops. My nephew started to stare at me.

“What weirdo?” I asked him.

“I’m the weirdo, you’re the one looking out into space like you lost your puppy or something.”

“Or my mind,” I breathed out slowly.

“You know my dad was like your body guard, I’ve always noticed that.”

“Yeah he was very protective of your Aunt and I, when we were little too,” I said.

“I miss him, I miss all of them,” sadly I said.

“Well Auntie, I think you should keep me around, you know, you’re not safe to be RUNNING on your own.”

I stop swinging.

He broke the silence “Well I’ve been following you, for the past week. That man, that was following you, you won’t have to worry about him anymore”

“Ty what the hell are you talking about?”

“I took care of it all Aunty, not another man is going to cause harm to this family, especially not you.”

He left it at that, with so many questions I had now. I just wanted to sleep. I thought in my sleep, when I could dream about being in other dimensions, which was my greatest escape.

By morning, my phone was ringing again. This time with the detective. He claimed, he found the shooter dead with a brick of coke and a one-way train ticket. I went to find my nephew, sitting on the couch, with that grin. All he said was, “let’s make life fair, by putting GMA’s heart back together again,” as he threw 20k up in the air.