“I hope he rots in hell,” I blurted out the second he left. “I hope one of those stores down at the mall gets robbed and he gets shot right in his little rent-a-cop outfit.”
“Kandace, you shouldn’t say things like that about people.” Momma finally opened her mouth. As usual, it was after Elvis had already left the building. She sat down across from me at the table with both hands wrapped around a steaming hot mug of coffee. “God doesn’t like it when you talk ugly.”
“And God doesn’t like it when you sit around and let a man beat on you either,” I immediately retorted. Momma rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee. “So, you all packed? What time are we leaving?”
“Leaving to go where?” Was she serious? She couldn’t be.
“Today’s the day, Momma. It’s March 30th.” She looked puzzled. “We’re supposed to meet up with Irene today in D.C. so she can take us to the Safe Haven.”
“Oh that,” my mother replied with disinterest. “I forgot.”
I panicked, slamming my fist down on the table. “How could you forget? This is the single most important day of our lives. This is the day we get away from all of this.”
No response.
“It’s okay, Momma. I’ll help you pack.” I came to the conclusion that all she needed was a little push in the right direction and we would be out of there within the hour. “You can only take one b
ag, but we’ll make it a big one and, once we get settled in, we can get some more clothes.”
“I’m not going any damn place and neither are you,” she stated vehemently. “I suggest you drop this nonsense right now.”
“But, but, but we planned this all out, me and you. We met with Irene at the diner and went over everything. Today’s the day.”
“Today’s the day for you to clean up your room and scrub these filthy floors. That’s what today is.” She rose from the table, poured her remaining coffee down the drain and threw the mug in the sink. “Josh told me last night that he’s sick of this apartment being nasty.”
“Who cares what Josh says?” I went over to the sink, swung Momma around, and grabbed her by the wrists. “We’re leaving this place today. You promised me we would. You promised Grandma.”
My mother yanked her hands away. “Don’t bring your grandma into this, God rest her soul. She was on the brink of insanity those last few moments and didn’t realize what she was saying. I would’ve told her anything to let her go in peace.”
“Grandma was the sanest of us all,” I said defensively. “She knew exactly what she was saying and you know it.”
“Whatever, Kandace.” She headed into the living room and started fluffing the toss pillows on the couch. She picked up the universal remote, hit the power button, and started flipping through channels until she landed on some music videos.
I couldn’t believe things were turning out this way. “My bag’s already packed.”
“Well, goody for you,” Momma snickered. “You might as well go back there and unpack it.”
“Or I could go back there and pack yours.” I sat down on the couch beside her, trying to decide the best course of action. There was no way I was giving up on our plans. “Momma, don’t you realize that this all has to end somewhere?”
“What has to end?” She leered at me out the corner of her eye and that’s when I noticed it, the slight puffiness of her bottom cheek.
I grabbed her chin and shook it. “This has to end. Josh hit you last night, didn’t he? He put his grubby little hands on you like you’re his personal punching bag.”
Momma slapped my hand and then slapped me clear across the face. “How dare you talk to me like that? I suggest you remember who is the parent and who is the child.”
“You’re not much of a parent,” I mumbled under my breath, clenching my hands into fists but determined not to lash out in anger. My life had been dysfunctional and full of violence long enough. It took years for me to realize that violence is not the solution, but it had finally sunk in.
“What did you just say, you little tramp?” Momma asked, fighting back tears and wiping the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her tattered gray sweater. I could tell it always hurt her inside to hit me. She knew how it felt firsthand. She grew up in the same exact situation.
I garnered some nerve from someplace, raised my voice, and reiterated my last statement. “I said, you’re not much of a parent if you make me stay here in this type of environment. Can’t you see that this is never going to change? Josh will continue to beat on both of us whenever he feels like it until one of us ends up in the graveyard next to Grandma.”
“Don’t speak such lies! That’s blasphemy!” She jumped up from the couch and started pacing the living room floor. “Josh has never hit you!”
“Momma, please!” I stated sarcastically. “Josh has hit me so many times I lost count. He simply waits until you go to work to do it. That’s all.” My next statement was going to be cruel but I let the words escape from my lips anyway. “Not that it matters. Even if he did hit me in front of you, you wouldn’t do anything. Just watch and wait for your turn to get a beatdown.”
Momma’s bottom lip started trembling and her eyes watered up even more. We stared at each other in silence, neither one of us backing down from the other; the only sounds in the apartment being the music emitting from the television and the leaky faucet in the kitchen.
Finally, she broke the stare. “I don’t have to stand here and take this crap from you.” She headed off down the hall to her bedroom. “It’s time to get ready for work. Mr. Andrews will dock my pay if I’m even five minutes late.”