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Dad had abusiness trip,so Momma and I hit the road. I was excited because for an entire month, she was a ball of tension, silently brooding. I had even heard my mom and grandmother talk about the hospital. Someone badly burned.
All around town, we drove with no destination. The trip seemed like a complete circle for an eleven-year-older like me, who was just learning direction. Momma would get out of the car, bang on a door, and come right back. Each time, Momma’s eyes glossed over with fresh, unfallen tears. I kept my head in a book as we drove around to various places. Each time she got out, I’d put my book down and try to figure out why Momma was so frantic. Our last stop was at a condominium in the Bronx, which I’d return to over half my life later.
Gina beat on the garage door. She came to the car and said, “Luxxie, Momma needs you to do something for me.”
I nodded.
“Uncle Red is sick right now, okay? He looks a little different, do you understand?”
Eyes wide, my head bobbled, though I was confused.
“Good.” Gina smiled for the first time in a month. She took my hand, and I got out. Though I was almost twelve, Mom treated me like I was still six years old as we walked around the townhouses. She said Uncle Red had been in a hospital. I was worried about him, but Mom’s voice was so shaky that I didn’t want to interrupt and question her.
“He’s home now.” Her voice broke as we stopped at the front porch of the condominium. “Now, that window is open. It’s too tiny for me to squeeze into. Go in and open the door for Momma. I just want to talk to Uncle Red. He’s probably in bed asleep, so don’t disturb him. Just let me in first.”
Momma hoisted me up to the window that was about as high up as her shoulder. Pulling in oxygen, I jumped onto the tiled floor of the bathroom. I slowly walked out. The entire place was dark, windows drawn tightly. But there were boxes on the floor and construction equipment everywhere as if the condo was being remodeled.
“Luxxie?”
“Uncle Red!” I turned around with a smile. I ran toward him, needing to talk to him. To tell him about this boy who made fun of my freckles and called me shit face. As I ran to Charles, I noticed bandages about his waist and face. One bandage was coming undone. The reddish-burnt skin from his cheeks made me gasp.
He turned away, tears forming in his eyes. His voice lowered in shame. “Hello, Luxxie. Baby, what are you doing here?”
“Mom is outside. I’m going to go . . . go let her in.” I gulped and tried not to look at all the bandages on his face. Even his lips scared me to tears.
“No, Luxxie.”
“But—”
“I said no!” He snapped, and then he reached out to touch me. “I’m so sorry.”
I stood tall and nodded that I was okay, even though my mind was already playing tricks about the monster before me.
“Mommy loves you.”
“I know.”
“Uncle Red, I love you. Why are you trying to push us away? Don’t you love me? Don’t you love Momma?”
“Luxxie, I love you. But I need you to tell your mother something for me. Okay?”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“Tell your Momma exactly what I say. Tell Gina I don’t love her, and I don’t want to see her.”
I gasped.
“Look at me, Luxxie,” he said. “We both know she’s my soul mate.”
Throat tight, I had difficulty asking, “Then why should I lie?”
Charles didn’t respond to that. He told me to do as he said. And I did.
Now, as I sit propped up in bed, I’m torn between trusting the brain that I’ve depended on since birth.
This can’t be a trick of the mind? I found Uncle Red at the very same townhome. I remember walking into the garage with him and that very second hearing Momma squeal about a1972 Ferrari 246 GT. If my mind were playing tricks on me, first of all, I wouldn’t have known where to find him.
Uncle Red couldn’t have very well been at that townhome since the fire, mourning Momma and the good old days, could he?
