I stepped close to him with my fists balled up, just as Kennedy reached us. She stood in between us and placed her hand on my chest. “Toughen me up? You used to whup my ass till I knocked your ass out in the front yard. You wasn’t tough then, nigga!”
Kennedy pushed me back, but I kept yelling. For a moment, I couldn’t even feel her hands on my chest. All I felt was heat. The way he called me soft, as if I deserved what he did, or I imagined it, like I had been the issue.
I felt like I was standing in the kitchen, trying to explain myself while he twisted every word into weakness. I felt like that little boy who never processed his mother’s death because crying about it would make it worse. Crying only brought another reason to get hit. I wasn’t upset because he called me soft. I was angry that he still believed it.
After all the years that passed between us, after the grind, the success, and the rebuilding, he still reduced me to that scared little boy he used to corner. That dismissal cut me deeper than I realized.
I laughed, but tears burned in my eyes. “I slept in my car. That car got towed with all my shit in it. I slept on buses. Walked miles in the snow.” His face didn’t move. “I ain’t have a home!” I yelled. “My mama died, and you made sure my spirit died with her!”
Kennedy, who was pushing me backward, out of the doors and into the lobby, stopped and covered her mouth. I saw her eyes get glossy, but I kept going.
“That ain’t love!” I continued. “Tough love ain’t shit like what you taught me.”
He rolled his eyes. “You have some kids, and you tell me how hard that shit is, doing it by yourself. Bills and shit. You don’t got all the answers either, nigga!”
“I know that I would never do that shit. I would never slap a kid because he cried when his mama died three days before. I was scared I’d be just like you, scared I’d lose my temper and hurt some innocent kid, give them body shots, bruise their ribs, make them afraid in their own home.” My chest heaved. “But that ain’t me,” I said. “That was never me.”
When Kennedy and I reached the doors and stepped into the lobby, I gestured around the church. “You stumble into a church, high and drunk, thinking you missed your daughter’s wedding.”
His mouth opened, then closed.
“I’m a father now,” I said, calmer. “And fear ain’t gonna stop me from being there.”
Tyler stepped out into the lobby with us and closed the doors. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Zay?—”
I nodded, but I wasn’t finished. I no longer had an audience, but I continued to speak to the two of them. It felt like I had too much to get off my chest.
I looked at him. “I show up for my sister. I show up for my daughter. And I’m gonna show up for my family.” I stepped back. “I ain’t never gonna be him,” I said quietly. “Ever.” Then I turned and walked out into the city. The driver was sitting in the car when I walked out. I walked to the car and opened the back door before he had time to even see me.
“Oh, boss,” he stuttered. He blew smoke from his mouth and threw the cigarette he held between his fingers out of the open car window. “I didn’t think you’d be done right now. My apologies.”
“It’s cool. Let’s just go to the room. I’m through for today.”
We pulled away from the curb. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. I felt the car move forward, but partof me was left in that church that day—the part of me that buried a childhood that refused to stay quiet.
I had finally faced the man who was the monster under my bed for so many years, even into adulthood. But I hadn’t thought about how I would learn to live the rest of my life without carrying him.
15
By the time I reached my hotel room and felt the cool breeze from the A/C across my skin, Kennedy had called four times. My head thudded. Between my stepdad’s voice, Kennedy’s hands on my chest as she pushed me into the lobby, and the way that people stared, I wasn’t sure which event caused me to feel dizzy. The screen on my phone kept flashing her name and photo as if she were trying to pull me back to reality, but I couldn’t answer. I just needed some time to think and be alone.
I walked into the living space in the two-bedroom suite and stood there with my hands across my face. It had that “hotel” smell to it, such as clean sheets, carpets, and somebody else’s cologne from down the hallway. The city lights outside the window shone through the blinds as if the world didn’t care that I’d just gone to war in a church during a wedding rehearsal.
I dragged my hand down my face and looked at my phone again. I tapped the screen and hovered my thumb over Kennedy’s text messages.
Kennedy: Zay please answer the phone.
Kennedy: Are you okay??
Kennedy: I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would come at all.
Kennedy: I’m not mad, but I’m worried. Please just text me something so I know you’re okay.
I stared at the screen and exhaled deeply and slowly. She didn’t deserve to carry my emotions during her time. That was her wedding. It should’ve felt special. I was ashamed I reacted in that way.
I typed back slowly.
Me: Sorry sis. I didn’t mean to start no drama at your wedding. I just don’t feel like talking. I’m back at the room. I’m good.
