Page 48 of Cause When You Love Someone
“Are you okay?”
My eyes raced from side to side hearing Clarke’s soft voice float through my head.
“What the hell?” I patted my ear, feeling for my pod. “I didn’t realize I called you.”
“Yeah.” Her voice dragged. “Don’t think I’m weird. It sounded like you needed me, so I didn’t hang up. Do I need to pull up? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you raise your voice. Not unless you’re clearing out a crowd.”
“Yeah. My mother brings out the worst in me.”
She scoffed. “I know that feeling all too well. How can I make it better?”
The warmth in Clarke’s delivery absorbed the icy words Mariah left behind.
“You can be ready to go out by seven. I know I said we would stay in, but if I sit too long, old memories may drive me up a wall.”
“I got you.” She paused. “I know you may not want to talk about it, but what was the turning point for you two?”
Her question drove my hands up to my temples. A few times a year I thought about what drove a permanent wedge between me and Mariah, and still, the memory gave me a headache.
I sat in the corner of my room on a bean bag too small for my long frame, reading Gio Flight’s new street lit. My baby sister was gone with our auntie Tisha, so I had the room to myself. It wasn’t too often the house was quiet, but today, I had been able to make it halfway through my book without any interruptions.
In my own world, I nearly shitted on myself hearing a loud bang in the front room. A barrage of footsteps followed, sending my heartbeat into overdrive.
My mom’s screams echoed through our half-empty apartment as I busted out of the room and came face to face with the barrel of a gun.
“Get that gun out of his face! My son is only fourteen!”
The police ignored her and escorted me to the living room. I praised God my sister wasn’t around for the police to manhandle her like they did me. Even though she was a baby, the police wouldn’t have cared.
Side by side, my mom and I sat cuffed on the couch. She kept bumping my shoulder and whispering, but the crashes of glass around us competed for my attention.
The officers tore up our apartment for thirty minutes before they came down the hallway holding two bricks of white powder.
“Look at what we have here,” the redneck declared with a smile. “Who do these belong to?”
“You planted that shit in here! Don’t try to play me.”
“Bitch! You’re the only one playing games. You and your nappy-headed bastard are going to jail if you don’t tell me what I want to hear.” He fingered one of the only picture frames on the wall. “Where is Charles? That’s who we’re here for.”
My mom struggled to stand while shaking her head profusely. “No! That don’t belong to Charles. That’s not his.”
“So, it’s yours.”
“Hell no!”
The big-bellied man grinned as his eyes shifted to me. “It belongs to him.”
My mom looked at me like an idea had come to mind. I couldn’t hear her thoughts, but at fourteen, I learned to recognize when she was prepared to lie.
“Officer Johnson, give us a break. He’s only fourteen. He doesn’t know any better.”
“Well, I’m going to teach him a lesson.” He reached for my cuffed hands. “Stand up, son. You have the right to remain silent . . . ”
The officer’s voice faded once we made it out the front door. My mom followed us, yelling things I could barely dissect, but after she lied on me, I didn’t care to hear her speak at all. I was sure anything she said would tear us further apart.
Like she wasn’t the cause of her tears, my mom cried while the pigs pushed me into the back seat.
“Ishmael, don’t tell them anything! They can’t hold you too long. You’re a minor.”
