TLWM: The Hate Experience

\XX/ When Doves Cry

Sunday/February 14, 1993

Kiowa Trail

John L. Nelson opened his front door and frowned at us. He looked at me then down at the little human at my side then back to me. "Whose child you got here?"

Ace pulled at my sleeve and shyly asked me a similiar question. "Who is that?" But at least my son smiled. My father didn't.

Perhaps, the confusion written on his face was 'cause we hadn't spoken in nearly a year, and now here I was without warning with a blue-eyed copy of his boy Skipper, the curious kid that used to watch his every move and follow him to the strip joint to see him play piano; the one who grew up to be better than him.

"Remember Raven?"

His face said he didn't.

"Last time I saw you, I came by and told you Raven said she had my son."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But you never called again and said anything more of it."

"You never called and asked either."

"Is that what you were waiting on? Me to pry and poke for answers?"

Letting my exhale out slow, I questioned if this was a mistake. I don't know why I even let myself think this would turn out different, like him seeing my first-born son would make him light up; like he'd laugh from joy and pick 'em up and kiss his cheek while he brought him into the house saying your daddy used to live here, he actually gave me this house.

"Ya'll can come in," he said, widening the opening of the door for us to walk through.

As I hesitated, Ace did too and squeezed my hand. "Do I go in? I'm cold."

"I'm cold too," my dad said to him. "Letting all my heat out," he grumbled. "Come on in here." He actually put his hand out for Ace, but Ace thought twice about taking it, looking at me for approval first.

When I let go and nodded, Ace jumped into the house and grabbed my father's hand. I walked in behind them, closing the door.

"So what's your name?"

"Ace Nelson!"

"And how old are you?"

"Four! How old are you?"

"None of your business."

Ace got comfortable, taking off his coat while my dad grabbed a jar of chocolate chip cookies. Without asking, he gave one to the happy kid humming from his seat at the table. "Thank you!"

The three of us sat at the table in silence. Ace was munching and my dad was almost studying him. But when he slid a third Chips Ahoy! his way, I interfered. "Nuh-uh."

Ace didn't talk back, he just put all the disappointment on his face instead.

"This is John Nelson," I told him. "He's my dad, so he's your grandpa."

Ace's disappointment quickly changed to disbelief.

"Where he get them eyes from?" my dad asked. "Is Raven that pretty vanilla ice-pop with the blue eyes?"

"Vanilla ice-pop?" I questioned over a small laugh.

"The white girl with the mole and long, dark hair," he said, and I think he was trying to insinuate something with the way he had his hands jutting out from his chest.