Mom was reading us Aesop’s tale of the City Mouse and the Country Mouse so we could go to sleep. Jaymon and I shared one bed in a cramped room, which overflowed with storage. Mom liked the stories because she would always say it showcased differences, the good and the bad in people that we would encounter in our life. She always closed the book and said, “Remember boys, no matter what folks try to tell you – don’t ever second guess yourself, always be true to what you believe in.” To her success her soft voice always knocked us out but tonight was different. Never mind thunder rolled in the distance as an oncoming storm was whipping up the trees outside, no, it was the unexpected late arrival of our father that made us sit upright in our bed.
I remember just starting to dream about a mouse scurrying on the floor when squealing tires opened my eyes. Jaymon was staring at me as soon as our father reached the front door bellowing, “Josephine! Josephine! Get your ass down here now!” Rarely did we ever hear our father curse, let alone yell in a drunken stupor before he had even opened the front door.
I remember the scared look in my mother’s eyes as she attempted to calm us down after we were rudely awakened by this intrusion. “Kids, please go back to sleep, mommy’s okay, I need to talk to daddy – I love you boys.” My mother was always the positive one as she calmly shut our door as we heard items being tossed around, breaking and smashing downstairs.
“Raymond, Ray – you’re scaring the boys – what are you doing?” Our mother whispered but we could still hear through our thin walls.
Father screamed, “Bitch! I found out, I found out what you did – are you going to tell me something different? Huh? Are you?!” This wasn’t like him, because he was being loud and disrespectful to mom. He was blaring loud enough, I am sure our neighbors were being wakened up.
I got out of bed and snuck over to the door as Jaymon tried to stop me, demanding, “Ras, Ras get back to bed, come on man, you’re going to get in trouble!”
I could hear our mother squeak, “Ray, you’re hurting me – what is that, what is that paper?”
It sounded as if he pushed her, his voice a low grumbling, “This, this…” he trailed off. I pushed open the door attempting to be quiet. All I could see was my father on his knees with a piece of paper.
My mother hesitated but tried to put her arm over his shoulder. “Whatever it is Raymond we can get through this, I know.”
He growled and pushed her hand away as he stood up. I could see the fire in his eyes as I shut the door scared. “Bitch! These are the doctor papers about my boy! Least I thought he was! Why did Claude Coleman shove these in my face?! Huh? What? I can’t hear you – what the fuck was that – you’re kind of quiet dear – how long had that been going on? What can you say about it? How could you hide this from me?!”
I could hear my mother sobbing, attempting to answer but before she could we both heard the smack and then a table crashing. My mother was bloody, screaming as Jaymon and I both couldn’t take it anymore. We raced downstairs crying to see her. My father was above her, as she lay lopsided across our now broken coffee table.
Our father was breathing hard, tears streaming down his face as my mother struggled to get up. “Mommy, mommy are you okay?! Why did you do that daddy?!”
Our mother turned to us breathing hard, weeping, “Boys, go back to bed, do as mommy told you, I got this, everything will be ok -” We hesitated, stunned until she looked us square in the eye and demanded, “Now! Run!” That was all it took, we scrambled back to our bedroom and cowered in our bed, as things became quiet downstairs. We tried to listen as our mother and dad talked in more hushed tones between her sobbing.
“You think she’s okay? What is going on?” Jaymon whispered. We were so nervous, they had never argued like this. Being in the south we were used to hurricanes making progress from over the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico, then downgrading as they came inward over our state. Even though the storms were weakened we were used to being hit by high winds and rain, then the eye of the storm calming things down. This was the eye of our storm.
We were still by the window waiting, dozing off when a strange car arrived screeching to a halt, crashing behind my father’s car. We heard our front door being pushed open and violently slamming on the side of the house by my father. Claude Coleman, a man who had worked with our father at a local packaging plant, hopped out of the vehicle as we scrambled up the windows to peek out. Claude looked like a crazed goblin in the stormy nightlight, his hands frantic, his clothes disarranged, a bottle of some sort clutched in his left hand. Our father immediately pushed him back towards his car.
“Bitch ass nigga - what are you doing here! I will kill you!” Our father screamed as neighbor’s lights started coming on.
We could hear our mother frantic on the porch shrieking, “Raymond no! Please no! Go home Claude!”
Claude pushed himself up and slugged our father challenging, “Fuck that. I came to get what’s mine, I told you Josephine you can’t stop me! I want what I get, I get what I want!” Our father punched Claude in the stomach, and then in the face, making him stumble. Claude reeled back and surprised our father with a hook to his chin, then bulldozed him over the top of his car.
My brother and I hovered in the dark watching in horror as the men slugged it out, our mother crying, “Please, please stop! I’m begging you to stop!!”
We could see our neighbor Percival out on his lawn in a robe calling someone on his phone. Other neighbors stepped outside but regressed quickly when Claude pulled a gun on our father. Our dad smacked Claudes arm down and immediately starting scurrying for control over the piece.
Jaymon curled up in a ball under the windowsill not watching anymore. “Oh my God Ras they’re going to kill daddy!”
I felt bigger than him when I reassured him, stating, “No Jay, no, daddy’s not going to be killed. He’s going to take care of that bully!”
Sirens were heard in the distance coming closer, supporting my statement. Abruptly, out of the chaos of their fighting, a single shot rang out, and our mother screamed a long blood-curling scream that eerily echoed throughout the neighborhood, then complete silence. What seemed like an eternity passed, everything was eerily quiet, and crickets could be heard. A thud was heard on the porch as Dad and Claude halted their bloody battle and gazed thunderstruck. We looked over at the neighbors who pointed and gasped, many were on their phones as the sirens roared up the adjoining street. The gun dropped to the ground as Claude attempted to go forward first, yelling, “Josephine!” Dad stopped him dead in his tracks, shoving the cars radio antenna into Claude’s eye. Claude screeched, staggering backwards holding his bleeding eye.
Our father moaned as he raced to the porch, pleading, “No, no, no please no! Heaven help me!”
As a squad of police cars swamped our street we found the courage to look over the windowsill to the porch. I swear Jaymon relived himself as a warm moist scent impaled the air, as officers surrounded dad and Claude, pistols drawn.
I leaned over the windowsill, gripping the chipped wood to pull myself up. My frost penetrated the window as my heart sank into my stomach, looking into my mother’s lifeless eyes, her body cradled in my father’s arms as he wept, rocking back and forth as blood oozed slowly out over them to the porch.
*****
I woke up in a cold sweat, my sheets wet. I lived the nightmare daily of my mother gone, shot, and her lifeless eyes burrowing into my soul. I was only 9 but I was developing baggy eyes, and new acquaintances often figured I was way older. My face was caked with dry tears, so as usual, now I merely went to the bathroom and washed my face with hot water. I spent half the night watching cartoons and old movies, where people actually lived some type of fantasy life, mom and dad together, good job, food and a nice house. I was getting jealous.
We were staying at Uncle Joe’s and Aunt Duwanna’s in Little Rock, Arkansas as they tried to sort out dad’s affairs and mom’s estate. Apparently Dad’s sparse family didn’t want anything to do with his dealings so Aunt Duwanna handed it over to the attorneys. Dad wasn’t coming back anytime soon apparently from his appearance at mom’s funeral. I overheard many times the adults whispering about where to send Jay-Jay and me. But something seemed wrong which I couldn’t understand. We really just wanted to stay with them but everything was so up in the air. Our aunt and uncles house was cool, we weren’t registered for school yet so Jaymon and I played most of the day until Jack and Janice came home. We only had the few items that we packed from home with us so we were feeling very homesick.
I didn’t mean to shove Jaymon, but we were playing ball hard with Jack and his friend Tuwan after school. Jaymon skidded across the driveway and into a row of bushes. Jack was laughing hysterically as Tuwan helped Jaymon up. “Damn it Ras, what the hell did you do that for lil punk!”
Jaymon was scratched up, tripping out as Jack peeled himself off the ground ranting, “Ooo language young man, my Momma gonna come out here and whip you!”
I stood tough and extended my arms taunting, “Stop fouling you lil’ bitch. What you going to do bout it?” I meant just to razz him up, had to play tough in front of Jack and his boy. I didn’t anticipate how Jay was going to react.
Jaymon stood there fuming, I could envision the steam emitting from his head. Usually he would crybaby about it and would run and tell momma, but she was gone so he had to reinvent himself. I was caught slipping, I turned to the still snickering Jack taunting again, “Lil sissy supposed to be my big brother but he’s a lil’ punk, why we’re whooping his ass anyways!” I laughed like an idiot until I saw Tuwan’s eyes go big and I knew something was wrong.
Before I could react, Jaymon’s fist got me in the ear and we hit the ground together as his weight fell on me. “What the hell?!” I groaned as I rolled in the grass kicking at my brother as Jack and Tuwan looked on in shock before laughing feverishly.
Jaymon’s words hit me harder than his weak punch announcing, “I wish momma had never had you, she would still be here!” Jack and Tuwan shut up then as I soaked in what he had just said. Jaymon was still a punk in my book. Before I could sit up in response he sprinted off behind the garage and I didn’t see him again until supper.
As I sat there dumbfounded over his words I didn’t realize Jack had snuck up on me and thumped me on the side of my temple hard. I went down holding my head as he punked me, demanding, “That was played Ras, going to have to give it up!”
I looked up in bewilderment as Jack held me down and Tuwan grabbed my Converses. “You guys going to jack me for my sneaks? Hey!” I tried kicking at him but it was two against one. Jack was laughing hard as Tuwan ran with my kicks tying the shoelaces together. I immediately knew what was up as he headed for the street and Jack cackled hysterically. I shook Jack off and sprinted towards Tuwan in my tube socks but it was too late. Tuwan swung back then gave an underhanded ‘alley oop’ to my only pair of shoes as I watched them spin through the air doing somersaults, with a perfect landing around the electrical wires high above the trees. ‘Damn’.
JAYMON
The week following my mother’s funeral was a blur. I missed my mother dearly but was confused about what was happening with my father. I was hearing so much talk and rumors I didn’t know what to believe.
The last talk between my mother and father was becoming clearer to me as I heard Uncle Joe and Aunt Duwanna talk about what had happened. They were holding off enrolling us in school as they tried to figure out which relative to send us to. I wanted to say something but I was taught not to be in grown folks business, so I found myself getting angry quietly.
“I love it when you call me big poppa. To the honies getting money playin niggaz like dummies, I love it when you call me big poppa, If you got a gun in your waist, please don’t shot up the place (Why) cause I see some ladies tonight, who should be having my baby – baybee” Rashon, Jack and I was on point rhyming our favorite rapper The Notorious Big as we kicked balls around the yard. Everything was everything until Tuwan bopped by dropping off the love of his life, and the big mouth of mine, Janice. Rashon hopped on Jack’s banana seat bike and tore off after Tuwan as I retreated with my pad.
Janice fueled my fire. I was well hidden, busily drawing behind their shady spruce tree but she found me through uncanny sleuthing abilities. “Hey egghead, so how does it feel to not have your brother no more?” She grunted before she had even said hi. I looked up, surprised by her presence but also by her blunt question. She looked innocent enough in her pink dress with ribbons in her hair holding a blonde Barbie doll, but the look in her eye said otherwise.
“Girl what are you talking about? Rashon is riding bikes with Jack, what do you want?” I replied, trying to keep my hurricane drawing going.
“Fool, I know you heard my momma and daddy. The reason your momma got kilt was because she was fooling around on your daddy and some other man made your brother, he a bastard.” Janice said matter of factually, complete with her 8-year-old head bobbing side to side.
"Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about!" I murmured but she merely looked at me with a smug grin.
"Yes you do, you're trying not to admit it! I heard what you said to him while playing ball." She sneered as I grimaced at her, aggravated at her accusations but also because I knew she was right.
I put my drawing away asking, "Who told you this gossip?"
Janice stroked her blonde Barbie claiming, "My boyfriend Tuwan. The school asked him and Jack about you two and Tuwan told them everything. He's always right. He's going to be somebody versus you two losers!" She stuck her tongue out at me.
I squinted at her, incensed, so I grabbed her Barbie and threw it into a grove of bushes. "You pig! I'm telling my mommy!" Janice hopped up and down angrily as I walked away with just a slight bit of satisfaction, but what she said still was hanging over my head.
The shit hit the fan that evening. The snitch had busted us, telling the school our business. I was making myself a cream cheese and jelly sandwich, much to Jack's disgust, as he was making a baloney and sliced cheese one. Rashon was engrossed in playing video games. I heard over the roar of Nintendo, Aunt Duwanna sobbing. As the jelly cheese mess dripped off my lip I looked past the refrigerator as she and Uncle Joe were talking with a huge black man wearing a suit and tie, and a dainty white woman in a suit outfit. I deducted quickly this wasn't a social visit as they talked in hushed tones over paperwork the woman pulled out of her satchel. Jack peeked around past me as he chomped his sandwich asking curiously, "What they doing?" I shrugged dumbfounded as we smacked on our snacks.
Our Uncle Joe walked past us stone-faced with bags in his hands. Jack tugged at his shirt prying as he asked, “Daddy, what those?” Uncle Joe shook his head and kept walking towards the man and woman. I eyed the second duffle bag and realized it was Rashon’s. I froze, jelly cream dripping off my lip as I looked to the man, Aunt Duwanna, the woman, Uncle Joe then to Rashon.
On cue, Aunt Duwanna called out, “Rashon, come here honey, someone is here to see you.”
Rashon, in true fashion finished winning his game before he responded, “Yeah, coming.”
Emotions took a hold of me as I blurted out, “Rashon no! They want to take you away! Isn’t that it!?” I sprung towards the shocked adults as Rashon froze in his tracks.
Everybody was silent for a moment until Janice chimed in, “I told you so, I told you so.”
Aunt Duwanna tried to smile, her voice condescending, “Honey, it will be okay, they just want to take care of you, take you to a nice home.”
“No, they want to split us up – where am I going? What are you doing to us? I want my daddy!” I was crying, as Janice mocked me and Jack stared in disbelief.
My Uncle attempted to subdue the situation as he took the man aside explaining, “Look, Mr. Smith, I told you we have this handled and this is not a good time, we can figure this out.”
Mr. Smith shrugged as he replied, “Mr. Johnson you’ve already exhausted your extension already, you have no extra room in this house, the boys are not in school and Mr. Turner’s family doesn’t want anything to do with the boy. You have a chance with the one boy, don’t blow this opportunity, just make sure he’s enrolled immediately in school, but as I said before we need to take Rashon to foster care where he may have a better chance of succeeding.”
Everything after that happened so fast – ‘Natalie’ The little white lady moved towards Rashon trying to smile and woo him with a candy bar as he backed up towards the living room - distracted Uncle Joe and Mr. Smith were talking as Aunt Duwanna nodded her head in agreement. I eyed Rashon as Jack motioned towards the door. “Ha, ha Ras got to go away – ay, Rashon has to go away –ay – to some island where they feed you only bread and butter and you have to work as slaves!” Janice giggled, acting as if she was talking with her ugly Barbie.
“Hey Ras, is that what they call you? It’s okay, I’m Natalie. I just want to be your friend and take care of you, don’t you want this chocolate bar?” Natalie implored.
“Only my friends call me Ras!” Rashon yelled, stepped forward and kicked Natalie directly between her thighs – and if any lady claims that this doesn’t hurt when a little boy’s foot is positioned correctly, with enough force, and they are only wearing a skirt, they lie. Natalie’s eyes went inward as she clutched her private parts and went down on her knees in agony like a sack of potatoes, the candy bar flopping right to Jack.
Aunt Duwanna went to help Natalie as Mr. Smith reached for Rashon, fuming, “Come here you little shit!” Mr. Smith pushed the bewildered Uncle Joe out of the way as Rashon took off, pivoting back, then sideways as Smith only got a grip of his shirtsleeve.
“Run Rashon Run!” I screamed as Rashon bolted for the open front door, Smith stumbling to keep up.
“Stop you little heathen! You can’t run!” Smith bellowed at Rashon as to everyone’s astonishment he flipped him the bird, juking Smith to the left then to the right, uprooting his balance, then sending him tumbling down the front steps head first, briefcase spilling, and blowing papers everywhere.
Run he just did, all of us kids tried to take off after Rashon but he had found his jets. By the time Uncle Joe raced to the porch screaming for him, Rashon had leaped the front hedges, out juked the mailman making him spin around, outraced the neighbor’s barking galloping dog and was headed for freedom. I grinned, hoping he would make it, even though I was still confused how I felt about him, as he was still my brother. Jack was pumping his fist, “Go, go, go go!”
Rashon was all the way down the street when I mistook a neighbor for my mother; she was looking in horror towards the street Rashon was heading for. None of us was ready for what happened next, as we all looked on in terror. When Rashon made the corner, Tuwan and some other neighborhood kids distracted his escape. Tuwan said something to Rashon who responded by pushing Tuwan over a bush. Rashon pivoted away, past a parked car right into the street. A yellow delivery truck was cruising past, the driver startled, slammed on the brakes. We heard and smelled the rubber all the way down the block as a pedestrian screamed. Rashon must have flown 20 feet when they retrieved him from a tree.
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About the Author
A label of love since 1995, fashioned for the hot urban gangsta literature market, CJX presents “Roadkill”. Christopher Joseph aka CJX has a background in media and marketing and after diving into screenplays, hoping to stumble on that big score, CJX realized the pratfalls of the elite film industry, but did discover how easily stories flowed onto paper!
Help CJX publish his book by checking out his kickstarter page linked above and check out his website here!
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