Chapter 3

This is the chapter in which a reader will see Henry's relationship with his mother.

“Henry, is that you?” my mother asked as her voice managed to crack through the walls of the kitchen and into the living room.

            Walking into Vivian Jones’s living room was like walking into the living room of the affluent. Every time I stepped into it, the first thing that I noticed was the unsoiled, white walls. They were so clean, it seemed as if they built and painted the hour before. My mother’s living room also contained two long brown cottoned couches that seemed as if they came from the finest of furniture stores. They sat right besides two mahogany table that were the resting places of fine African vases. My mother’s sanctuary was fascinating.

            “Yes.” I answer back, hoping that my mother would hear me. Luckily, she did.

            “Dinner’s ready. Go in the bathroom and wash your hands”

            “Ok.”

         After that quick exchange of words, I proceeded to down the hallway to go to the bathroom. As I was getting there, I met my stepfather. He and I were walking in the opposite directions.

         “Hey,” I spoke as I was about to enter the bathroom.

         “Hello.” he retorted with a smile and bass that was as deep as Barry White’s. Man, my stepdad had a voice could only strike fear in most, however; he was a dark, gentle giant. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.

         Soon as I got into the small bathroom, the first thing that I did was look into the small mirror that looked like was just cleaned by Windex. I loved to look in the mirror before I did anything. It was just what I would like to call “the Henry thing”.

         Then, I took the time to notice the color change amongst the bathroom’s walls. The walls of the bathroom was once blue, but they suddenly turned pink. Looking at those walls once reminded me of the time in which I took half a bottle of Pepto-Bismol for a stomach ache that I “supposedly” had. I guess that Mrs. Vivian wanted to add more femininity to the big, bricked house.

         After a quick wash and rinse of my hands, I finally entered the kitchen. There, my mother was standing in the front of the hideous, old-fashioned green stove, making sure that the fried pork chop wasn’t going to burn. Seeing my mom being a cook took me back to the time when I watched the movie, The Cookout. Vivian looked like Jenifer Lewis, the woman who played as the mother of the main character because the two were two short, African American women who love to wear pink head to toe along with an ugly flowery apron. I guessed that they were channel Julia Child or something.

            “Your plate is in the dining room, waiting on ya” my mother said as put the last batch of pork chop on the white plate that contained lime colored designs.

            “Aight”

            The thought of fried pork chop and corn served on a warm plate was on my mind so heavily, I just had to get to the dining room. However, before I did so, I had to ask about my siblings because there were nowhere in sight.

            “Where’s J and Rena at?” I said as I was walking towards.

            “They went to their friends’ house this mornin’. I thought you already knew that” my mom answered.

            When did they leave? I thought to myself. I must’ve been sleep when they left.

            To keep myself from looking like Boo-Boo the fool, I laugh and replied with, “Naw, I guess I slept too long.”

            About four minutes after I arrived in the dining room, my mother was came with her plate to join the moment. However, Andrew didn’t come. I instantly grew slightly suspicious.

            “So I’m assuming that Andrew isn’t going to eat with us”   

            “Nope. He decided to eat in the bedroom.”

            Yep. Something was definitely up because my stepdad usually didn’t eat in the bedroom. He’d prefer to enjoy the pleasure of devouring his food at the long, dark stained table that was giving to my mom before her father died in 2003 along with the fancy china was places around the dark brown walls.

            As time went by, I noticed that my mom and I weren’t talking to each other. This was due to the fact that we were too busy stuffing our face with the delicacy that was wrapped in the finest crisp. However, that enjoyable silence was interrupted by Vivian.

            “Henry, I know that you’ve been lying to me.” she stated as her eyes commence to stare me down like a hawk waiting for its prey.

            With a face that was now expressing unexpected perplexity, I responded with, “What are you talking about?”

            Whenever Vivian wanted to drop some news she usually paused a minute before telling it because of reactions, but this time, she just came on out the gate.

            “Yo daddy ain’t treatin’ you right and I can see it all over yo face.” she said

            Huh? Where did all of this come? I questioned myself. The two of us went from having a normal, civilized dinner to talk about my father. Truth be told, I was already over the conversation before it even started. I showed it by rolling my eyes.

            “Come on mama. Why do we to have this discussion?” I asked with my head tilted slightly to the left.

            “Because we need to. Now, I know that yo daddy ain’t treating you see it all over you.”

            The nerve of my mom. Every time came over to her house, all I ever heard about was how bad of a father my dad was. She constantly criticize him when the truth was that she didn’t know anything about him. The only thing she could do was recite the things that she heard from her so-called friends.

            “And what makes you think so?”

            “The last time yo daddy pick you up from my house,” Vivian said, “you acted you didn’t want to get in the damn truck. Most of the time, you would walk a little fast, but that time, you treaded as slow as a turtle trying to win a race with a hare.”

            “Maybe I was tired.”

            For some reason, my mother wasn’t haven’t that excuse because she widened her eyes and said, “Tired from what? Sitting down and watching hours of BET? Boy, tired my a*s.”

            Truth be told, most people would consider my father’s way of discipline as abuse. Whenever I did something, my father wouldn’t put the paddle or belt to the butt. He would usually slap or punch me in the face. Sometimes, he proceeded to strike me with an old, wooden broom to show me who’s running things.

            But I had to defend him at all times. And I did just that by saying, “Look mom. Everything is good. Ok. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

            Even though I showed much compassion in my defense, my mother still wasn’t buying it because she was willing to find something wrong with my father just to use it as a weapon against him.

            “You don’t to have to lie to me. That man is mistreatin’ you and I don’t like it.” she said with her first pouncing on the table. The fact that I wasn’t going to throw my father under the bus was making her angrier by the minute.

            This woman isn’t giving up. She needs to let this go so we both can enjoy our dinner. I thought to myself. Damn, all I wanted to do was finish a delectable plate of good fried pork chop and corn, however, to end this conversation, I had to do what most men do to shut a woman completely down; take it to the level.

            I lowered my voice and put the meanest frown on my face and spoke. “Ever since I could remember, you and daddy have been in competition. It’s always been about who can do better than the other. You two are so busy trying to fight for the best parent award, neither one of you takes the time to see how I’m doin’.”

            Somehow, I thought that statement was going to make my mom see her craziness in all of this, but it made her go further in her foolishness.

            “Now Henry, you know that I love with all of my heart. I would give you my all and my last, but I will not tolerate someone abusing my son. I just won’t.” she said as she put looked down on the table, trying to get me to sympathize with her.

            But the truth was that I didn’t have any sympathy for mom. Matter of fact, due to mom’s constant nagging, I had no other choice but to lash out.

            “My father is not hurting me.” I yelled

            The loudness shocked the hell out of my mom. She was flabbergasted at how aggressive my tone due to the fact that I have gotten like that with her. This was new for my mom.

            Moments later, my stepdad came into the dining room. I assumed that he must’ve my mom and me going back and forth. He managed to walk over to the dining room table and say to Vivian, “Honey, I think that it’s time for you to come on up here with me and let Henry have some time to himself.”

            “But babe” Vivian said

            “No Vivian. Let’s let Henry have some time to himself.”     

            Instead of arguing with her husband, my mother decided to comply with his request. The two went into the living room, leaving me alone. From there on all I can think about my mother disrespecting my father. How could she do that? I asked myself.

 

           

 

         

Author's Note

Read it and enjoy

Reviews

[nastassia]

Please keep going and i see the relationship between mom and son, but more so focused on the abuse from the father which I think is the direction you wanted to go into but also not make it just about that though which is good though. I really enjoy the chapters you wanted me to read very much. I cant wait till more unfolds

[Valentine]

Partially I see his relationship wit his mom, but the abuse he is getting from his dad sets into the readers mind the most. Why does a boy stick up for the parent that abuses him..Is he mad that his parents got a divorce? Who does he live with, and why? Valentine

[Larry Davis]

you'll soon find out