"Every one hurts
And goes through pain. Whatever's first,
It feels the same. Be young or poor,
Old age or fame. Know this for sure
Everyone hurts.
We all feel pain."
_
Mama and I sat on the edge of our shared bed, glancing at a four by four picture frame that sat upon a nearing tan pigmented dresser. Inside the frame, a picture of her and my daddy appeared. He hadn't been the man that contributed to my birth biologically, but was the very man that raised me unconditionally. It was him that my mother had married, just after my natural father had transitioned from his life just before my arrival to the world.
Mama, allowing her frail body to rock from front to back, only gave her eyes to the image for probably no more than five minutes. Studying her closely, I couldn't help but to notice silent tears rolling down the right side of her face. But, when she realized I was watching these painful memories fall from her pupils, she quickly wiped them away.
See, Mama hated knowing that I'd always catch her crying while looking at that picture. The man that stood in it had damaged her, deeply. To me he was the father I never knew but to her he was some addiction it took years for her to stray from. Her tears were because even though she had endured all that he had caused, she still craved him. She didn't miss the mistreatment, but instead his unhealthy version of love from him to her. Truthfully, I just couldn't get myself to understand why Mama even kept that image of him front and center. If anything, it only served as a memory of a person her heart struggled to forget.
But, I guess that was just the thing about love. You'd sometimes find yourself grieving the loss of a person who hadn't even died.
Needless to say, he was everything she thought she dreamed of. The perfect body shape, a stunning chocolate skinned tone body, a low cute fade. See, he might've looked good but he meant no good. And Mama knew this. She knew it, and her friends at the time definitely made sure she knew it. They'd always try to advise her to leave Daddy alone because they saw how crucially she had allowed him to break her.
But, she'd always say, "I don't need y'all to be lecturing me. When the time is right, I'll leave. But as for now, this is where I belong."
Truthfully she did love him dearly, so much that she'd become used to what he would do. Obviously, that was the problem. She'd fallen so deeply in love with whom he portrayed himself to be that she refused to see him for who he really was. And that—that right there—was why she didn't think he was capable of all of what he had done. But then again, who could really tell what somebody is capable of?
"But, I've known him for so long. For too long. I never thought he would hit me." I heard her crying one night, while on the phone.
You can think you know somebody like the back of your hand, and still not know of what they're capable of.
Wanting to free myself of the swirl of emotion that crowded us, I rose from the bed and began to walk into the direction of where our home's restroom was stationed. Once in there, I started to reach for the roll of tissue that sat across from the toilet, but stopped after noticing my presence in the sink's mirror. I realized that I too had shed quite a few tears. Whether I agreed with the reason Mama was crying or not, that was still my mother and I hated seeing her drown in her hurt. Now, she wasn't perfect in any form, but she definitely didn't deserve what happened to her.
Finally, I tore off a lengthy piece of tissue from the roll. Tearing it in halves, I cleared my face with the first half, then marched back into the bedroom to give Mama the second.
"It's gone be alright, Ma." I said, watching as she dried her eyes, still seated upon the bed.
"Thank you, Jayme," she replied, breathing rather profound breaths. She then extended her right hand within my direction, reaching for my hand as well. "And thank you for always taking care ah me. I know you tired of seeing yo' mama like this."
Just like she had, I also released heavy breaths from my body. She was right, I had definitely grown tiresome of the grief her soul held. Simply for the fact that she wasn't how I had remembered her to be.
"I just wanna see you get better, Mama." That was the thing about pain though; it'd change you.
"Don't worry, ain't gone be this way for long." Her head moved in an up and down fashion all as her face carried uncertainty. Truthfully, I wanted to roll my eyes to the rear of my head. Because Mama always said that, about everything. Not only in regards to my Daddy, but our home situation as well. "Even been saving up lil' change from my checks. I ain't finna keep being broke."
We lived in a small, low-income apartment just out of Georgia. And even though I was grateful to at least have a roof over my head, I still prayed to God that he'd send Mama enough money to keep the bills paid. Almost every other month either our lights or the gas would get turned off because Mama fell behind with the utilities. I kept everlasting faith in her, though, because I knew she'd always make a way. But, sometimes I just wished we didn't have to suffer how we had.
Fortunately, living just across the street from a dollar store, Mama was able to find employment there. She had also formed a close knit bond with the owner, Mr. Omar. But, it didn't matter whether they had grown exceptionally close or not. His store was hanging on by a thread while he was at his wits ends trying to keep it going. Which meant that sooner than later, the job he lent Mama would be nonexistent.
Like I mentioned before, I kept faith in Mama. For the simple fact that she'd always reassure me that just because things weren't where we wanted them to be, that it didn't mean they couldn't get there. But sometimes, I was torn between believing her promises. Because as our situation got worse, trying to believe that it could get any better only got harder.
