I whisper, coming up for air.
Lyric answers
by pulling me back to rest
on her chest.
Her heart roars in my ear
and each beat seems to say:
Me too, me too, me too.
I close my eyes
as we both drift into
a delicious sleep.
I wasn’t supposed to be home early that Tuesday last September, but there was a freak power outage at school and classes were canceled before lunch. I’d texted Moms, but nobody answered. I made my way home on the L, one headphone in, ecstatic to have my day back, especially since precalc was kicking my butt and we’d had a test that day. Off the train, I whistled my way down the street, thinking about what snack I’d make myself from the fridge and if there were any of Mom’s raspberry bars left. I said hi to our doorman, Manny, and then pushed my way into our building. I ducked into the mail room and checked our box. Just coupons, and some bills, per usual. As I was stuffing the mail into my pocket, I heard my mom’s distinct giggle and then whispers. I peeped my head out to call to her, and that’s when I saw them. Mom and not Mama Alice. Some tall, angular Black woman with a short fade, a septum piercing, and an all-black skinny jean outfit was all up in my mom’s personal space. They were just outside our first-floor apartment door. The woman leaned close, so close, and then she tucked a stray loc behind Mom’s ear. It was familiar, intimate, and Mom didn’t even flinch, didn’t protest.
“See you later,” the woman said, and then squeezed Mom’s hand pointedly before whisking past me in the mail room and out our door. I know I should have confronted Mom then, gone right to her to ask what the fuck was going on, but instead I followed the woman outside. My head was pounding, and for ten blocks my feet had amind of their own. I still don’t know her name. All I know is that at some point I stopped following her. All I know is that I gaslit myself for weeks after, about why this woman had been at our house, touching Mom like that.
A couple months later, Mom confessed to the affair over dinner and our whole world fell apart.
“I ended it,” Mom said through tears. “I’m not in love with her, Al. I love you. But something has to change. I feel so far away from you.”
I’d never seen Mama Alice so quiet. Quiet as a cave at midnight, quiet as a field right before a storm. Mama Alice didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, didn’t cry or yell. And I was just there—caught in the middle of it all, not sure what to do with the truth my gut had known weeks ago. So, I started clearing plates and washing dishes, putting things away in their place as my head pounded with rage. After what felt like hours of Mom pleading for us to say something, Mama Alice finally spoke. “I see” was all that came out. Then she went into their room and shut the door.
Mom turned to me at the sink. “I’m so sorry I let our family down, Junie.”
“You should be,” I spat out.
Mom was crying again, but wiped away her tears. “I hope one day you can forgive me. I understand if you’re angry. I just want you to know, I love you no matter what.”
I should’ve told her that I’d seen them—together—in our doorway. That I’d spent weeks with a stomachache, trying to rationalize it all away. I should have told her how she’d uprooted everything, like a feral rabbit in a garden—eating away at the ripe tomatoes and lettuce. But I felt numb, and very tired. So instead, I placed the last dish in the cabinet and started putting on my snow boots.
“Doesn’t feel like you love anyone but yourself,” I said. Then I grabbed my coat. I needed to get outside, into the fresh November air, to be anywhere else than in our crumbling home. A week later, Mama Alice packed her bags and left—for some space, a separation. And so ended everything I thought I knew about love.
CHAPTER 23Lyric
LIP OF THE DAY:
Gloss Bomb
Grammy Viv is at the group home. It’s not a Sunday—I don’t know why she’s here. But I’m told to pack my things.
“You’re going with her,” I’m told by the house mom, Gina. Grammy waves me over and gives me a light hug. I can feel her quaking from some aftershock of emotion.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“I’m taking you home. Where you belong. With me.”
“Where’s my mom?”
“She’s gone. For good this time. I told her she can’t come back to live with me. That you need a stable place to be. It’s the only way they’ll give me guardianship of you.”
I am ten. I am scratched and bruised from getting into fights, from punching the chain-link fence at the nearby park, punching holes through my bedroom walls. I am exhausted too, by trying to be a “normal kid,” to go to school and make friends, act like my whole world isn’t just one big shard of porcelain. I imagined this day so many times—but it had been different in my mind. Grammy would be here, but so would Mom—Mom stable. Mom—realizing I needed her—realizing we could be a family again. Instead, here Grammy is—alone. Her hug is warm and safe, but her face is full of sharp, sad edges as she signs me out and ushers me to her car. The drive back to her house is full of heavy silence.
