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I had overextended myself. I didn’t want this anymore. There were only so many ways I could open myself up for Merri. But the thought of selling myself to a bunch of rich white guys like I was some poor black kid begging for money, was more than I could take.
I had to get away from all of this. I needed to get back around my family. So, taking a taxi to the airport, I booked the first flight available and made my way home.
“Can you pick me up?” I asked Titus as I approached the end of the bus line.
“Claude? Where are you?” He asked, surprised to hear from me.
“I’m at the bus stop. I’m back in town.”
“Of course. It might be a few hours, though. I’m just about to take a group out for a tour. I have another one scheduled after that.”
“That’s fine, I’ll call someone else.”
“I could ask Lou if he can do it. Though he might need to watch the shop in case anyone arrives early.”
“That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“I wish you’d given me a little more notice. I could have arranged something.”
“I’ll call you tonight.”
“We’ll catch up then.”
“Definitely,” I said, ending the call.
Feeling lost, I wondered how I had gotten here. I had flipped out. There was no doubt about it. But why? Had Merri’s request been so crazy? It hadn’t been. This was the way the world worked. Yet, I couldn’t get myself to even consider it. Why was that?
Looking around at the empty streets surrounding me, I knew who would have the answer.
“Momma?”
“Claude, how are you?” She asked cheerfully.
“Not good, Momma. Can you pick me up? I’m at the airport bus stop.”
“Of course, Son. What are you doing home?”
“I’ll tell you later. Can you just pick me up?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Momma,” I said, ending the call and lowering my face into my hands.
Seeing Momma’s car pull up forty-five minutes later was a sight for sore eyes. Grabbing my bag and getting in, she honored my silence. That lasted until we were ten minutes away from home.
“I’ve given you long enough. Do you care to tell me what you’re doing back so soon? I have your showcase marked on the calendar. It’s not for another few weeks.”
“I’m not in the showcase anymore,” I told her.
“You aren’t? Why not?”
I considered not getting into it and then realized that if I were ever to get over what it was that had me, I was going to have to talk about it.
“Because I think I’m broken, Momma,” I said, fighting to keep my tears from falling.
“Baby, you’re not broken. You’re the strongest young man that I know.”
“I’m not, Momma. I’m screwed up. Why did you tell me that thing you did about me having to represent my race. I was only 8 years old.”
