taste

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting..

If you would have asked Tiny a few months ago, possibly even a week ago, if he’d be visiting this place for her..he’d call you crazy. Yet, he felt like he had some sort of obligation after this past year. So many times he’d cursed his own mother’s name, recoiled at the memory, embarrassed to even mention her around his friends. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his mother, far from it. But there was a line between loving someone and accepting their faults. Her biggest fault, besides her taste in men? Crack cocaine. His mother was an addict, plain and simple. In and out of rehab, off and on the drug, the game of knowing which mom he was getting on a particular day? A kid could only take so much. So, when she started her latest rehab treatment almost two years ago? Tiny never even bothered to say goodbye. He hadn’t written or called her once, let alone seen her in person, Vince doing his own check ins with the woman. She was the last person on earth he wanted to talk to for a long time.

But it was always just an Uber away. 

And here he was, walking through the gates of Trafalgar Addiction, admiring the topiary he was walking past outside (a dolphin shaped shrub? nice), and feeling himself get slightly nervous at the thought of seeing his mother again. But as he listened to one of the therapist that was chosen to lead him to her continue to go on and on about how impressive the facility was, he couldn’t help but let a laugh slip out. “Yo, Doc. I appreciate this for when I flame out on coke when I become a big time producer, but can I see my mama please?” Tiny asked politely, before he was pointed to the direction of a woman reading a book near the shrubbery. He would recognize that hair from a mile away, the small bits of stifled laughter as she reads to herself. He walked over, somewhat curious as to the book, but he could already guess. “You’re at the part where Malcolm leaves the perm in for too long. That’s why they called him Detroit Red,” he recalled. “I gave your aunt a perm like that when we were kids..your grandmother whooped my behind til I couldn’t sit.” His mother reminisced with a smile, beckoning her youngest son to sit down on the chair opposite her. “They told me you were coming..” She said, looking back down at her book. “Vincent tells me you keep busy..”

If he wasn’t so busy trying to keep himself calm, he might have considered that a dig at him. But, he was here to make peace, so he let it be. “Been a little busy. My girl, school, DJ stuff..I’m really getting good at it.” He explained, leaning back into the chair a little. Setting her book down on the table to the side of her, pulling on her white blouse slightly, she raised a brow. “Mmm, you and that music..could never get you boys to sit still with it on, but you always did seem to listen a little harder, guess I see now why.” He smiled at the response, glad she seemed to remember the good times for now. And from there, the conversation is easy, light. They talk about how his year’s going, how proud she is of Vince for graduating, of both of them growing into strong young men, despite their circumstances. His girlfriend is thrown in the mix, and though the two meeting is a long way off..he can’t help the smile that crosses his face when he speaks of her. His father is..a difficult subject to bring up, and he doesn’t. She mentions the limp he has though, his face saddening as he tries to come up with a lie about a broken stair, and though she’s been in here for a while, she has her ear to the streets more than her boys know. Her husband was a topic she’d deal with on her own terms, yet she gives him a warning to ‘stay way from those stairs’ and he gets the message loud and clear.

 “Nice to see you happy, reading those thick books again. I missed when you were calm, before..um..” And just like that, he felt like an idiot, ruining a perfectly good conversation. He couldn’t help himself, but he couldn’t just not say anything about it. “Deon..” His mother starts to say, leaning forward as she tries to look him in his eyes, the same as her own. “Baby, I’m not gonna lie to you and say that I’m perfect. Or that I didn’t make mistakes..or hurt you by using that stuff..baby..” She reaches out, slow, for his hand, Tiny recoiling from the touch at first, but relaxing as he lets her in. She senses his hesitation, and it feels like he’s that same little boy that used to be afraid of the older kids, so just like back then, she squeezes his hand, her thumb rubbing his palm. “I don’t know how this are gonna be when I get out of here in a few months. But what I do know, is that I want to spend time with you. Get to know you, the real you. If it’s not too late..”

He blinks once, then twice, shaking his head as his eyes finally meet hers. The smile is small, but he squeezes her hand back all the same. “It’s not too late..” And as afraid as he is still of being let down by another parent, being hurt again by the people that are supposed to love you the most in life, he can sense something he hadn’t felt since he was 8. Something his father, even with all the hangouts and gifts, never had: sincerity. She was being honest with him, and maybe, just maybe, he could take this step with her.