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Chris Carr at: andy_dick35@hotmail.com
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Getting To The Good
By "J"
October, 2000 ©
Chapter XXXVI
Dad stood on the edge of the porch, glaring directly at me. Akil had gotten out of the car
and was walking up the steps toward the front door. Dad didn't even acknowledge him; Akil
continued into the house, giving me a quick wave good-bye over Dad's shoulder.
I didn't move. Neither did Dad. I could see his jaw tightening the longer he stared at me.
He was pissed--so pissed that he obviously had to stay on the porch, away from me, to keep
from losing his cool. I couldn't remember any time that Dad was this angry at me. What
worried me most was Dad's presence there, at Akil's house. How in the world did he find
it? How did he know he would find me here? What did he suspect...and how much did he know?
Finally, he walked down the steps, taking them one at a time. He was approaching
methodically, eyes following his feet. He came to the passenger's side window and rapped
his knuckles against it. I rolled it down.
"I'm going to follow you home." It was the voice of a machine. There was no
intonation, no inflection, nothing. It was a simple directive, and all he meant to say to
me.
He headed toward his parked car, got in, circled around and waited for me to pull out of
the driveway. The drive home was torture. Dad almost rode the bumper of the car, as if he
thought that I might suddenly decide to cut a fast right and dash out into the night.
Indeed, a part of me screamed "Dont' go home." Drama awaited me there, and I
wasn't ready for that. The morning after my 17th birthday, and I was wondering if it
wasn't my last. I kept hearing Dad's threat in the back of my head...and seeing his scowl
in my rearview mirror, even now, made my pulse race with fear. I had good reason to be
afraid.
I pulled into the carport outside our house. Dad parked next to me. We exited the cars at
the same time. Dad stared at me over the hood of his car.
"Take your ass in that house, boy, before I do something you'll regret."
I did as I was told. I went through the kitchen door, and found Mom sitting at the table,
staring blankly into a cup of coffee. She looked up when I came in. Her eyes were puffy.
"Where have you BEEN?" She stood. "It's almost six o'clock in the morning,
Tracy Diggs! At first, I thought something had happened to you, but thank God, none of the
emergency rooms had you listed as a patient. Do you know how long I've been sitting here,
sick with worry?"
"I'm sorry." Famous, but insufficient words.
"Give me my keys this instant," she demanded.
I handed them to her.
"You can just forget about driving my car the rest of this year, Tracy. You obviously
are not responsible enough to handle driving."
I nodded, and headed upstairs.
"Don't go nowhere, young man. You wait for your father to come home. He's gone out
looking for you."
"He found me," I said. "He followed me home."
Mom fell back into the kitchen chair. "Then...you WERE there?"
"There?"
"At Akil's house."
I didn't speak at first. "How did Dad know where Akil lived?"
"I got Akil's number off the caller ID, and phoned. His aunt told us he was gone,
too, and gave your father directions to here home."
Dad entered the kitchen through the side door, but kept his distance, choosing to stand
right next to the door. "I was right, Mare. Him and that boy was together."
The room started spinning then, and I took a seat at the kitchen table to keep from
falling on my face.
Mom reached for my hand. "What were you two doing together all night?"
"Nothing," I said.
Dad stormed over, yanking me up by my collar. "Don't you tell me that shit. Ain't no
boy of mine gone lie to me in my own fucking house." His finger was a half-inch away
from my nose.
"What do you want me to say?" I was shaking.
"Tracy, please." Mom was standing near us. "Tell your father the
truth."
I looked at her like she just told me to go parading down the street buck naked. How could
she suggest I tell the truth, when the truth was the very thing that Dad never wanted to
hear?
"What's going on?" My brother Omar staggered into the room.
"This ain't none of your business, boy." Dad glared at Omar, then back at me.
"You start talking."
I backed out of Dad's reach. He grabbed me by the neck and slammed me into a wall. "I
said start talking, boy, and goddammit, I meant it!"
Omar rushed over, pulling at Dad's forearm. "Hey, Dad, take it easy."
In a flash, Dad reared back and back-handed Omar, sending him flying into the stove. All
the while, Dad's grip never loosened around my neck.
"Tell me what you was doing with that boy tonight!"
Omar recovered and charged Dad, slamming his head into his side. It barely budged him. Dad
let go of me,and wrapped Omar into a headlock.
"Rick, stop that! Stop it," Mom admonished.
Dad's eyes were bulging, and his rage was showing. He picked Omar up as if he were a rag
doll, and slammed him onto the wooden kitchen table, which promply broke in two. Omar
cried out.
Dad was in a killing mood, but the sad thing was, he was letting his hate loose on the
wrong person. This was my trouble, not Omar's. I didn't want Dad to hurt him any more than
he all ready had. I guess, I was just tired of being afraid.
I grabbed one of Mom's cast iron skillets and clubbed Dad across the shoulder, and then,
with less force,over the head. He fell to his knees. Mom screamed.
I ran.
Chapter XXXVII
The morning after my 17th birthday, after that glorious, all-night birthday present from Akil, and the horrible, violent scene that followed, I ran away from home. What were my options? I'd knocked my dad upside the head with a cast-iron skillet. If I'd waited around for him to recover, I'd be chilling in the city morgue by now. Dad's temper was uncontrollable...just look at what he'd done to Omar.
Omar!
My favorite bro, the one who had always understood me (and now I knew why), the one who had risked his own safety defending mine. Dad had used Omar's back to break the kitchen table; I wanted to go back and make sure that he was OK, but I wasn't raised to be no fool.
I kept running. By the time I arrived at my cousin Marv's, I was a sweating, heaving mess. It took several minutes for me to collect myself and explain what had happened the past few hours. Marv acted more upset than I was. He wanted to call the police and have Dad arrested...or at least to have them check on Omar. I didn't want to involve the police...yet...and it became irrelevant anyway. Omar showed up about 45 minutes after I arrived, carrying all the bags he'd brought with him on his trip home.
"Mom told me to leave," he said. "She said if I didn't go, he'd end up killing me."
"He's sick, that bastard." Marv was pacing the floor. "Why did Aunt Mary ever hook up with him?"
Omar and I had to calm Marv down. I called Cyrus, the GMAD youth counselor and currently, Marv's lover.
Cyrus, Marv, Omar and I sat around discussing the situation for what seemed like eternity, but was actually just a little more than an hour. Omar and I both decided, and Marv and Cyrus agreed, that we should NOT return home. Cyrus, however, convinced me to go back home tomorrow to retrieve clothes and other essentials that I would need. For the time being, I was going to crash on Cyrus' couch and Omar on Marv's.
When Cyrus drove me home the next day, no one was home. It was after four o'clock in the afternoon; mom was ALWAYS home then. We waited around in Cyrus' car for about half an hour.
"So, I take it that Akil doesn't know about this situation?" Cyrus asked.
I shook my head. He'd probably called, wanting to know what had happened after I left his place the night before last. I'd have to call him when we got to Cyrus' place.
After about forty minutes, Cyrus decided to take off. Just as we were pulling away from the curb, mom zoomed into the carport. She didn't really notice Cyrus' car; she was in a hurry, rushing from the car to the kitchen door and into the house. Cyrus and I got out of the car and Cyrus knocked on the side door. Mom rushed out, closing the door behind her. She looked quickly between me and Cyrus, her eyes bloodshot and puffy.
"Mrs. Diggs? I'm Cyrus Colter. I'm a friend and counselor to your son, Tracy. May I come in and talk--"
"No time," was all she said, as she hurried past us. She hadn't even said hello to me.
"Mrs. Diggs, please, this is urgent," Cyrus said.
"I don't have time for this," she said, walking further and further away.
"Mrs. Diggs, your son needs his clothes," Cyrus yelled.
She stopped walking and turned to face Cyrus.
"His clothes belong here, at his home. That is where they will stay," she said.
"Even if he isn't here?"
"Mister whatever your name is, this is a family situation and I am not going to discuss anything with you," she said. She looked briefly at me. Something in her eyes--fear, maybe--made me ask.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"He's at Barnes," mom said. Barnes Hospital. My heart quickened. Did I hurt him that bad when I hit him with the skillet?
"He...he suffered a mild heart attack last night after...everything." She got into the car and sped off, without another word.
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