It was the other times that were shit. The times when she might lock herself in her room for a couple of days at a time, days when she forgot to feed us or make sure we got off to school, or worse still, the days when she would disappear for days on end.
One time, she went missing for almost two weeks. That was when we were eight, ten, and twelve. I cried every afternoon when we came home from school, and she wasn’t there. Wryn would walk to the elementary school to pick Paloma and me up from the after-school program every day. During that time, I would talk the entire walk home nonstop. As soon as Wryn inserted the key in the lock, and we heard the living room TV that we always left on in the mornings before we left, we knew she wasn’t there. Sadness would descend on all of us, and Iwould run to Wryn’s and my room and cry. Paloma shared a room with mama, so she felt her absence the most.
The older I got, the more disappointments came, and the harder it was to hold on to the dream of a healthy mama and a united family. In time, I learned to shut my emotions off and distance myself from the disappointments that were sure to come.
I turned the shower water on as hot as I could stand it. I stood underneath the water and allowed it to pelt my skin.
I closed my eyes and received the pain against my skin. It was bearable and much more preferred over the pain that was in my heart. The pain that always lingered just beneath the surface, waiting to break through.
“Hey,baby boy. It’s so good to see you.” Mama Alma Reed, my foster mother, greeted me as I stepped into Wryn’s house.
“Hey, Mama. Wryn didn’t tell me y’all would be here,” I greeted, squeezing her tightly before I kissed her cheek.
She returned the kiss, patted my cheeks, and then replied, “We wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Definitely surprised. Wassup, ole man?” I greeted Papa Larry Reed.
“This old man can still whup yo’ a?—”
“Larry!” Mama Alma scolded him with her tone and stern gaze.
He shook a finger at me. “Y’all kids still getting me in trouble.”
Wryn and I laughed because that was true. When we grew up in their home, we kept Papa Larry in trouble. Whatever we wanted to do, he was game. He let us break all the rules, and whenever we were about to get in trouble, he stepped in and intervened, whether he had something to do with it or not.
It wasn’t difficult, though, because Mama Alma was a loving, nurturing woman with a gentle soul and a quiet spirit. I loved her as if she were my own mama, although it had taken time for the other two to get there. We had been in and out of their home on several occasions from elementary through high school.
We had been in two other foster homes, too, and while they weren’t horrible, they weren’t like the Reeds. The Reeds had genuinely loved us as their own, taking us shopping, spending far more than I knew the state allotment afforded them to, taking us on vacations, and Mama Alma cried every time we returned home to our mama.
Two other foster families gave me a clean, safe place to stay, fed me well, and kept me clean, but there was no love or affection. I was separated from my siblings when I was with those families, and I missed them like hell.
Then there was the other family we all were sent to. I was happy to be with my sister and brother, but we caught hell. We were mistreated, talked down on, humiliated, and often sent to bed or school without food. We were the only ones assigned chores and never received any encouragement or assistance.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” I asked.
“Here I am.” My sister, wearing a crown on her head, danced into the living room where we were all gathered. I pulled her into my arms and gave her a big kiss on the cheek before I handed her the wrapped gifts I had been holding.
“For me?” she asked, blushing and giggling.
“Yes, it’s for you. Don’t even front.”
I spoiled my big sister, buying her Ferragamo, Saint Laurent, and Birkin bags along with jewelry, perfume, and shoes. We all stood around as she opened her gifts from all of us, and she oohed and ahhed equally over every gift, no matter the price range. I had gifted her a diamond tennis bracelet, a bottle of Angel’s Share, and a new Balenciaga bag.
“Here, Mama Alma. Smell this. It’s got tonka bean, cognac, and oak notes in it,” Paloma stated.
“Baby, that’s too masculine for me.”
“Not when it’s paired with vanilla and cinnamon. It’s a unisex perfume, Mama Alma,” Paloma countered.
“Chiillle.” Mama Alma sighed, but she extended her wrist so that Paloma could spritz her. When she was finished, we all headed into the dining room to eat, chat, and sing happy birthday to Paloma.
“Mama’s getting out of the hospital,” Paloma announced at the end of dinner as we all stood from the table to head back to the living room.
“How you feel about that, Bug?” Mama Alma asked, calling me by my childhood nickname.
I shrugged. “Don’t feel no way about it.”
“It’s not the right time with all the other stuff you got going on,” Wryn remarked, rubbing his hand over his head.
