Two Tears in a Bucket

Two Tears in a Bucket

by Traci Bee

Contributions from Darnell King

Two Tears in a Bucket

A soulful novel

Copyright 2009 by Traci Bee

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of a brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 13-digit 978-0-9791795-0-1

10-digit 0-9791795-0-5

To George Thomas Brewington, Sr
.

You encouraged me to reach for the stars.

I caught a few and I’m still reaching. Can you see me, Daddy?

This star, my book, and every other star I catch will forever be dedicated to you and your memory.

I love you.

Love, Traci

To Dumas Brewington

Greatness has many definitions. One of which is

“
a person who has achieved importance

or distinction in a field.”

Married 71 years to the love of his life with 15 children,

48 grandchildren, and oodles of greats and great-greats.

A true man of God, Granddaddy,

you ARE the definition of GREATNESS

in the field of life.

It’s no wonder my dad was so amazing.

In Memory of:

George Thomas Brewington, Sr.

Dumas Brewington, Sr.

Ronald LeCount King

Texanna Roberta Ferguson

Clifton H. Ferguson, Sr.

Michelle Evans

Jermaine Denard Davis

Special Dedications to:

Michael, Tania, Donnell, Brandon, Monet, Kennedy

And the Brewington Family

And the innocent victims of senseless violence

Acknowledgments

Thank you, Father God, for not only blessing me with the gift of story-telling, but giving me the strength to persevere through so many obstacles. Without you, this would not have been possible.

Natasha Small, Creative Writing Department of Prince George’s Community College; Michelle Chester of EMB Professional Edits; Monique D. Mensah of Make Your Mark Editing; Carla M. Dean of You Can Mark My Word Editing; Leona Romich of APOOO Book Reviews; and Tamika Newhouse of Delphine Publications and African Americans on the Move Book Club - all of you not only graced me with your various services, but you exceeded the call of duty by sharing your suggestions for the betterment of the novel. Unselfishly, you offered guidance in this unfamiliar territory, and for that, I sincerely thank you.

Rally Point Studios, thank you for your awesome technical support and creations.

Tracy Robinson and all the ladies at Salon Contour in Forestville, Maryland (winners of the 2009 Golden Scissors Award and Steve Harvey 2010 Hoodie Award for Nails), words can’t describe my gratitude. You ladies are the straight up all-of-it and I love you. Thanks so much for spreading the word.

Michael Ashe, you uncovered talents that I never realized I possessed. Thanks for constantly challenging me to be better.

To my Pocahontas mother, thank you so much for the breaks! There’s no way I would have gotten any of this done without the special services of “grandma.”

Lachelle Brewington, Sabrina Sims, Geraldine and Nate Ford, Sr. - As I buried myself into this project, I sometimes lost track of the world around me. From the depths of my soul, I thank you for stepping in to make sure the important events weren’t neglected but exploded in celebration as they should have been.

Alicia Byrd, Bettye Brown, Robin Erwin and Lachelle Brewington, you were with me from day one and still remain by my side, always down for whatever. You crave the success of the novel just as much as I do, and for that, I sincerely thank you.

Starleta Sprately and Tina Benjamin - if it weren’t for the two of you, there probably wouldn’t be a
Two Tears in a Bucket
.

To my beautiful kids, I love you. Thank you for granting me peace and solitude as I sat glued to the corner of the bed not wanting to do anything but write. You’re the reason why I write. Someday soon I hope and pray I can show you the meaning to that statement.

To my husband Darnell King, I can still hear you walking around the house hushing everybody as I tried to write and rewrite. Thank you for your unconditional love, support and contribution to the novel.

And finally to you, the reader. In a world saturated with wonderful works of fictions, you decided to read
“Two Tears in a Bucket,”
and for that, I thank you. I hope you enjoy…

Part One

“
If you love something…”

Chapter One

1987

Blood dripped from the gash in Ricardo’s head as he stood like a bull, in the middle of his living room. His chest heaved up and down as he fought to regain his composure.

“
You see what he did to me!” Simone cried from the floor, her face a swollen mass of blood and tears. “You gon’ just stand there and not do nothing?”

Angela ignored her daughter’s cries and darted to the kitchen. She snatched open the freezer and filled the towel dangling from the refrigerator door with a tray of ice to address her husband’s wound. But Ricardo didn’t want her help, and he knocked the towel out of her hand.

“
Ricardo, you might need stitches,” Angela whined as she kneeled down to collect the ice cubes that had scattered across the floor.

“
I don’t need no got damn stitches. But I tell you one thing; her ass better be gone by the time I get back.” As his command settled on those around him, Ricardo turned on his heels and stormed from the house.

“
Ricardo!” Angela called after him, but her words fell on deaf ears as Ricardo jumped inside his pickup. Tire rubber screeched from the driveway as he zoomed from the concrete to the asphalt. Pounding the floor with her fist, Angela bolted past her daughter to her bedroom and slammed the door.

Hurt by her mother’s abandonment and lack of concern, Simone pulled herself up from the floor and threw the ashtray she’d used to bust open Ricardo’s head across the room, disappointed at the dull thud it made as it landed on a cushy armchair instead of crashing to the floor in a riot of noise. Slumped on the sofa, Simone threw her head back, and cried.

● ● ●

That cool Saturday in September of 1987 had started so perfectly. Climbing from her bed, Simone cracked her bedroom window and allowed the brisk morning air into the room. She nestled back under the warmth of her covers, where she planned to relax until her mother beckoned her with the never-ending list of Saturday chores.

I know one thing; I won’t be cleaning this place after today. I’m outta here tomorrow.
Just the thought put a smile on Simone’s beautiful, mocha-colored face. She couldn’t wait to see her mother’s expression when she told her she was moving. Only three people knew about Simone’s apartment—Lavon and Melanie, her two best friends from junior high, and Thomas, her dear old dad, who wasn’t a fan of the idea.

“
Simone, you’re too young to be livin’ on your own. Hell, you just graduated high school three months ago,” he’d said. “The ink on your diploma is not even dry.”

But there was nothing her father or anyone else could say to change Simone’s mind. The sooner she got out, the faster she could rid herself of her stepfather’s house and his stupid-ass rules.

Simone heard the faint sound of Angela’s voice outside her bedroom door and buried herself deeper under the covers.
Ah, hell... here she comes
.

“
Simone, get up!” Angela yelled, barging into the room. “What, you gonna sleep all day?” She leaned inside, pressing her body against the open door. “I’m running around the corner to the store real quick. I’m taking Alicia with me.”

Good,
Simone thought, thankful she didn’t have to watch her stepsister, Alicia, Ricardo’s ten-year-old daughter from his previous marriage.

“
Is your husband going, too?” Simone asked from under her comforter.

“
No, he went to run an errand, but he’s coming right back. Now get up, Simone, and clean the kitchen while I’m gone.” Angela closed the door, but reiterated sharply, “Now, Simone. I’m not playing with you!”

Simone sucked her teeth and glanced at the alarm clock on her dresser.
Damn. Why is she buggin’? It’s not even eight o’clock
. Hearing the front door close, she kicked off her covers, sat up in bed, and looked around her room. She needed to do a ton of things by tomorrow. Not a single item had been packed and the wicker laundry hamper in the corner of her room overflowed with dirty clothes.

I may as well wash for free while I still can.

With a frustrated sigh, she peeled herself from the warmth of her bed, stretched the kinks from her body, and popped Janet’s
Control
into her boom box. Home alone, she turned the volume up as loud as it would go.

“
Now this is how I’ll be playing my music in my place come tomorrow,” she said as she danced over to her hamper, singing with Ms. Jackson. A gifted songstress, Simone loved to sing. In fact, it was her voice that made her popular in school. If there was a talent show, school assembly, or any other function, Simone was often asked to serenade the attendees.

Man, I shoulda been a Jackson,
she thought.
Or, Daddy, you shoulda been like Joe Jackson,
she continued in thought as she scattered her dirty laundry out on the floor. She tossed her first load back into the hamper and headed to the unfinished basement to wash them.

With the clothes in the machine, Simone pulled the cord dangling from the ceiling to turn off the light. She grabbed the hamper and headed back up the steps to clean Angela’s kitchen for the last time. Engulfed in her thoughts, she never noticed the shadow lurking in the stairwell.

“
Oh my God,” she gasped as she stared up at Ricardo. “You scared me,” she said, standing at the bottom of the steps in the midst of his large shadow. Ricardo loomed near the top of the steps, glaring down at her.

“
You can come down ’cause I’m coming up,” she said, her eyes on the concrete floor. She knew Ricardo sensed her uneasiness as she clung to her empty hamper, using it to camouflage the parts of her that her oversized nightshirt left exposed.

“
Then come on up. And turn that mess down when you get up here.” Simone didn’t budge. “Did you hear what I said? I said come up,” Ricardo commanded again.

Aww, he’s so fuckin’ stupid!
Simone screamed inside as she marched up the steps one by one.
How I’m ’pose to come up when you standing in the way?

The stench of marijuana and Jack Daniel’s exploded from Ricardo’s pores. It wasn’t the first time Simone had smelled this foul stench on him or seen his bloodshot eyes. The funky smell of weed flowed from the basement vents and roamed through the rest of the house nearly every day.