BOMAW 1-3 (29 page)

“My neighbor, he heard me screaming. He stopped him.”

“Neighbor? What neighbor…you ain’t got no neighbors.”

“I do now. He lives across the road from me.”

“Oh…he heard you screamin’ from all the way over there?”

Sylvia shook her head, answering, “It’s a long story, mama.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” she returned. “See, that’s why I can’t live in no place like that. Ain’t nobody close enough to hear you screamin’ if you need help. An’ you probably didn’t have your doors locked, ‘cause you think white people don’t break in to do harm. But they just as crooked as any nigga out here on the street—”

“Mama, I hate that word! Why do you have to use the word nigga to describe black people?”

“I ain’t talkin’ about just black folks! Anythang can be a nigga! There’s Mexican niggas! Puerto Rican niggas! And you best believe there be some white niggas, too. It ain’t got nothing to do with color!”

“I know that, but that’s not how you used it!”

“Look, girl, don’t be tellin’ me how to talk! Fact is,
you
don’t think there no white niggas, and one slipped up in there on you! Running from the ones here in the city, you set yo’self up fo’ a country, redneck nigga!”

“Mama! Who said he was white?”

“Okay, what was he then?” Lydia asked, already knowing the answer. Sylvia sat back drawing in a deep breath. “Well?” she asked again.

“White,” Sylvia confessed.

“Um-hm, just what I thought. I rest my case. Now, who this neighbor that stop him?”

Dread…anxiety…trepidation. That question from her mother started all of those feelings to flow through her bloodstream. She sat so long, so quietly, that it only made it worse. Her mother shifted in her seat, and one eyebrow rose as she leaned on the table. Then anticipating a juicy explanation, reached behind her to turn off the boiling greens then turned back to her daughter. “Might as well tell me everythang now, it’s gone all come out later, anyway, and I don’t got time to be waitin’ for it later.”

Sylvia propped her elbow up on the table to lean her forehead in the palm of her hand, trying to prepare herself for where this would go with her mother.

“Spit it out!”

“My neighbor … is … interested …in me,” she began slowly.

“Um-hm…what's his name?”

Sylvia gulped, holding her forehead still. “Shawn…Everett… McPherson."

“Um-hm…an' white,” she stated matter of fact.

“Yes.”

“I see…and he hear you screamin’ from way cross the road, huh?”

“Not exactly."

“Then how he hear you?"

“He was…at my door…when he heard me screaming.”

“Um-hm…what he doin’ at your door?"

“Mama…do you have to ask me every tiny little detail?”

“What you tryin’ to say? Ain’t none of m’business?”

“I didn’t say that, mama.”

“Oh, yeah, you did—just said it different.”

Sylvia whimpered as if in pain. “He was there to get his keys, mama.”

“His keys? What you doin’ with his keys?”

“He went out of town on business. He’s an artist. I agreed to watch his house for him. When he returned, he came to mine to get his keys. But at the time, I was screaming in fear for my life. He came in, jumped on the man—beat him up. I called the police. The police came. The man was arrested. I filed charges right away this morning and I came here to get away from there. I just didn’t feel safe at home there anymore.”

“I see. There with all them white folks…see what like’ta happen? Now you need to just pack up all your stuff, and get your butt back here at home where you belong.”

“Mama, please…don’t start. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I just needed to get away for now. Can I just stay here for a while until I can decide what it is I need to do?”

“Now you know you ain’t even got to ask me that. Your room up in that front where it’s always been, and always gonna be. You stay as long as you want. But you ask me, I thank you need to just sell that house and move back here. But that’s just my opinion, you do what you want.” With that said, her mother rose, going to the cabinet to remove two plates and began fixing them with greens and catfish for them to eat.

In the days that followed, Sylvia slipped into sleeping late, helping her mother around the house, and finishing the basement that she was remodeling herself. They fussed and carried on as usual. Her mother wanting to do it her way, and Sylvia thinking her crazy because her mother was in her early sixties, arguing, “Mama, I can’t believe you’re doing this by yourself! Why don’t you hire a contractor for this?”

“Where do you suppose I get the money to pay one? I have to get things done myself, if it’s gone be done the way I want it. You ain’t got to help! I’m use to doing things by myself, for myself.”

“Lord, here she go,” Sylvia mumbled, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m here, aren’t I? And I’m helping, so don’t start.”

“Don’t tell me what not to start! You got money to hire people for whatever you need! I don’t have that luxury,” she fussed on. Sylvia moaned and continued to work, wondering if she needed her head examined. Home was starting to take on its old appeal once again. Maybe if she installed bars and padlocks galore, she would come to trust it once again, feeling safe and secure. She’d gone to the post office to have her mail held until she picked it up, and called her daughter and son to inform them that she was going to Chicago for awhile to visit with her mother, leaving out the reason she’d decided to do so. She’d been at her mother’s for close to two weeks when the doorbell rang. They were just coming up on the back porch when they heard it.

“Get the door, Sylvie, I’m tired.”

She walked through the house, stopping at the bathroom to give herself a quick look over in the bathroom mirror. “Girl, get out the mirror and answer the door! Goodlan’ you always primpin’,” her mother fussed as she took a seat in the kitchen. With a sigh and rolling of her eyes, Sylvia exited the bathroom and went to the door, going through the many locks and the padlock on the gate. The bell rang again.

“I swear, I’m gone start back to putting soap in that doorbell…get on my nerves…people just lay on it…” her mother grumbled from the kitchen as Sylvia made her way down the stairs. She picked up the curtain from the glass window of the door, and looked out - to get the shock of her life!

Shawn stood outside the vestibule door looking and waiting for someone to come down. After about four minutes, the curtain lifted on the inside door. He chuckled to see eyes so beautiful, they took his breath away. Those same eyes widened to a round that he feared them popping out of her head. Grinning, his gloved finger lifted to wiggle her forward to let him in.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my
god!
” Sylvia sang in litany. Her heart was pounding in double rhythm for double reasons. Shawn Everett McPherson was standing at
her mother’s door…in Chicago!
He was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen, and she was scared to death! She was shaking; the sight of him momentarily mesmerized her. He’d grown long sideburns, connecting to a very nicely-shaped beard where his mustache also connected. The look took her breath away. He was rugged, masculine, and sexy as hell! In disbelief, tears came to her eyes.

“Sylvia! Who at the door?” her mother yelled.

“Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man! What am I gonna do?”

Turning the same finger that gestured to her, he wrapped on the glass, {{ thump, thump, thump }} “Hey…you mind opening the door? It’s cold out here, you know!” Shawn yelled from outside, his breath misting and lifting in confirmation to the cold.

“Sylvia?!”

“Yeah?!”

“Who at the door?”

“At the door?”

Shawn gestured with his arms crossed over his chest, his hands rubbing his upper arms like he was freezing, his body bobbing up and down as if needing to generate heat, when he was not cold at all, but it was a good show.

“Chile, what is your problem?” her mother called down, now at the top of the stairs, looking at her daughter. Sylvia stood at the bottom door with the curtain open, looking back and forth from outside to back up at her.

“Who at the door!” her mother asked again, getting impatient.

“At this door?” Sylvia gulped, nervous, looking stupid. Her mother put her hands on her hips, asking, “Have you lost your min’? Is somebody at the door or not?” she demanded.

Sylvia nodded her head rapidly yes.

“Who?” her mother asked.

"Ummmm, it's for me.”

“Well, don’t just stand there looking crazy…open the door!”

“Oh…okay.” Sylvia took one last look up at her mother, then taking a deep breath, she opened the bottom door with all its locks and walked over to the outside door, unlocking it to admit Shawn, who was grinning with a slightly red nose.

“What are you doing here?” Sylvia whispered in a panic.

“What are
you
doing here?” he asked her back.

“I live here!” she returned.

“Sorry, but if my memory serves me correctly, you live in Camp Daniels, Wisconsin…across the road from me.”

“Urg! I can't believe you, my mother lives here! You’re at my mother’s house! Do you know that?”

“I sure do.”

“Well, why are you here? How did you know I was here? How did you find me?”

“Sylvia!" Her mother called down again.

“Oh, man! Yes, mama?”

“
Who
are you talking to down there at my door?!”

“Ummmm—” Sylvia started with a squeak, but was cut off as Shawn stepped around her to stand in the doorway where she was looking up.

“It's me, ma’am, I'm at your door!”

“What the hell? Who is
me!
” she demanded to know, coming back from the dining room to the top of the stairs to look down to see what was going on, and who was at her door answering her in some white man’s voice. Sylvia thought she was going to faint. Her heartbeat picked up in double pace once again.

“That would be me, ma’am…Shawn Everett McPherson,” he spoke to her from down at the door, now standing more inside than out. Sylvia stayed hid behind him, trying to get over the shock of him being there, and trying to figure out how to handle this situation that was once again getting out of her control.

“I don’t know no Shawn Everett McPherson…oh, wait…Lo-o-ord ha-a-ave mercy! Chile, chile, chile…”

“Um, ma’am…I live in Wisconsin, across the road from your daughter. Well, she up and disappeared on me a week and a half or more ago, following a particular incident that left me concerned about her welfare. I’m just here to see that she’s alright, ma’am.” He heard Sylvia whimpering behind him.

“Well, come on up in the house. Y’all lettin’ all my heat out! Sylvia, lock my doors and get on up here. Damn near forty years old, and you still don’t know how to treat company. Come on up here, boy!”

Shawn grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned back to Sylvia, who was now locking the doors, first the outside, then back into the inner entryway. Shawn waited for her. As she turned in the narrow stairway, she was staggered by the size of him there. He seem to fill the entry.

“Ladies first.” He stood back against the wall to let her pass him, his insufferable grin in place. She stopped two steps above his, meeting him eye to eye.

“I am going to kill you,” she grit out between clenched teeth.

“Emmm, softly…gently, I hope…but then, I like it a little rough, too…you lead, I’ll follow, okay?” He grinned more and then winked at her.

Her eyes got huge.

“You behave yourself in front of my mother…do you understand?” she ordered.

That grin again. “Yes, ma’am, you betcha!” He saluted her. Shaking her head, she turned and headed up the stairs with him behind her. Her rear end felt warm because she knew him well enough to know that he was eyeing her there with wicked things on his mind. “Stop it!” she ordered, marching up with him close at her tail. “What? I’m not doing anything…just admiring the view, that’s all.” His chuckle followed that statement and her up the stairs. She whimpered, trying to figure out what had she done to deserve this.

When Sylvia entered her mother’s apartment, she was sitting at the dining room table with her arms crossed on it, waiting for them to appear. Taking another of the deep breaths she needed so far, Sylvia stopped near the table to introduce them.

"Mama, this is my neighbor—”

“Lock my door,” Lydia stopped her, ordering and eyeing the tall, white man now standing in her dining room. As much as she hated to admit it, he was a handsome devil, big strong, strapping, vibrant male. Then he turned his grin on her. She looked away, blushing and shaking her head.

“Lord have mercy…I know your type from a hundred miles away. You after my daughter for no good?”

“After your daughter? Absolutely! For no good? No, ma’am, I only have the best of intentions in mind for her. But she's a bit of a runner, likes to take off on me now and again, and well…here I am, running in circles and jumping through hoops after her, to win her attention.” The charm was oozing into the room and surrounding Lydia. Both heard and ignored the whimper from behind Shawn.