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Kenzo, she called you a piece of shit,worthless. She said you weren’t anything to her or her son. Your head held high and took every slur for what it was. This woman decorated your blessed skin with hatred only a middle-aged white man would whisper behind your back.
That’s when you found your voice, standing taller than her at least a foot.
“I was more a father to him than you were ever a mother.” Yet, that is the worst insult you provide her.
“Your mother literally coddles you to the point where she will never push you to grow up because she is scared you will leave her. She feels threatened by any other woman in your life because what if they replace her? What if you love them more than her? What if you decide you don’t need her? How could she leave without her precious son?” This woman is trying to destroy all confidence he has left.
“Not very nice to say about my mother, Kassidy.” At least he defends his mother.
She keeps screeching, and when she pulls back to throw a fist, I decide to take one for the team.
I wouldn’t say I like confrontation, although it fascinates me. I don’t like conflict, although I think it evolves from tragedy to consequence.
“Hey, hit him again, and it’s a felony.” It probably isn’t, but she doesn’t look smart enough to know the difference.
Your green-haired friend steps back and glares at me as I make my way over to them.
“What did you just say to me? I take it back; why don’t you mind your own damn business, bitch. I was talking to my baby daddy. This bullshit doesn’t involve you, honey.”
Is it my short height that gives other people the need to provide me with sweetheart names?
“Oh, now I’m your baby daddy?” You rolled your eyes, and I thought it was hysterical.
Her eyes find you again, and she squints, flips her grungy braids, and walks to the car, waiting.
I see you, Enzo, this beat-up dude chasing after the car pounding on the hood. The car speeds away; you can’t bear it any longer. A little boy in the back is crying and reaching out toward you. Slumped over, defeated on the hot asphalt.
The trunk of pops open, and when I grab my first aid kit, I walk toward the hotel door. But I stop. There it is, a few minutes past midnight, and I’m lost in the drama.
But I don’t go to you, only shout over.
“You alright?” Hoping it’s true, so I can go back to my sad life.
I can hear the heartbreaking sobs from here.
Fuck.
“Come on, let’s clean you up.” But I don’t engage with you; I don’t bring this strange man into my arms and whisper it will be okay.
I was never the caretaker, the mother hen. I’ve only known survivor mode.
Of course, the strange man who smudged my car didn’t jump up at my offer.
“You’re a crazy chick.” There is a quiet chuckle in your voice, Enzo.
But I wasn’t.
At least not yet, well, maybe a little bit.
“Did your girlfriend break up with you?” It’s an obvious question, and I think about all the girls in high school who cried about their boyfriends leaving them for their friends.
You hang your head and shake it.
“You could say that; took my money, my son, my fucking car with our neighbor she has been fucking behind my back for months.” Laying down flat in a car slot, I give up on waiting. Make my way over.
I didn’t have a plan, didn’t know what I was getting into. But there we were, sitting in a stained parking lot, listening to the cars on the highway go by.
I wasn’t the girl with a plan; I didn’t even have a day planner. I roamed around the map; I flew where I felt called to. Unless it was a paid gig, I went where the money tempted me.
