not yet titled

I sit here watching news clips on the internet, again. I look at the face of this killer, again. I wonder if I could ever be a killer.  I’m watching news footage of children being suspended from school for wearing memorial t-shirts for him. Not the killer. He’s still alive. But for the person he killed. That school is full of racist white folks who put young black men in a box. The no-good-aint-never-gonna-amount-to-anything box.

I sit here and watch the news footage of my son, Jay, grief stricken, scared and confused. I see his face on the screen giving an interview. He’s saying we are not mad at the guy who did this. We love him.

What? Really? Jay wasn’t speaking for me.

I wasn’t present or else that interview never would’ve taken place. I mean, I was there. But I was in a back room trying to speak to the dead.

Jay said we forgive him. But I know now that Jay was lying about what went down the night his brother was murdered. The first lie he told was before I left for work that night. After that, the lies just kept coming.

At the hospital, in the tiny bad news room, Jay sat with myself , my father and the detective. By that time I was already in shock. The doctor had already delivered the news that ripped apart the reality I had known. We know Sunny is dying

The detective was asking questions, trying to find out who killed my son. And Jay? He sat there lying. The detective asked me questions.

“Do you have any idea who would’ve done this?”

In my head I spouted off. What the fuck do I know? I was at work trying to make money to provide for these boys and they were supposed to be at home in bed. What the fuck is going on? Is this really happening? Did my son just die? Did somebody kill him? Why are we here in this room? Why is Jay looking so scared? Why are there tears in my father’s eyes?

But, what I said out loud was, “No, I don’t know. I’m not really sure what’s happening”.

The detective looked at me with compassion but quickly let that pass. He had a job to do. He turned his questioning back to Jay. He’s asking questions and I’m looking into Jay’s eyes and I know he’s lying. I started to shut down. I didn’t say anything for fear that my words may turn into actions that couldn’t be undone.

My own voice started screaming inside of my head. ‘wait! Just wait! I don’t understand what’s going on. All I know is one son is dying and the other is lying. That’s just too fuckin much for me to grasp.’

From outside of the room I hear screaming and crying. Sunny’s pregnant girlfriend is waling and her grief is stabbing my already shredded heart. Her family is there but they cant seem to control her. They are all crying as well. My family is there and they are all waiting, shocked and confused.

‘will everybody just shut the fuck up! My son is dying. Shut the fuck up!’ that voice in my head again.

Jay is lying and the cop knows it, I know it, but my father, being that Jay is his favorite grandchild, is really trying hard to believe him. I wanted to shout. ‘you know what jay? You better tell the fuckin truth before I have two dead sons in here. My head aint right at this moment and your bullshit is about to cause some real problems. If it were you laying in that hospital room dying, you know dam well Sunny would be telling the truth. He would be telling the truth and trying to beat the cops to the person who did it. He would be telling the truth and looking me in my eyes and telling me what happened to my fuckin son. He would ride or die for your ass. He would be honest and I wouldn’t be sitting here feeling like I’m losing both of my sons because one is dying and the other is telling lies that are gonna make it impossible for me to ever forgive.’ But, my motherly, nurturing love kicked in.

“Hold on a sec, detective.” I look at Jay, put his face in my hands and I said, ‘Son, I know you’re scared.  I know this is some crazy shit happening right now. But you really need to tell this man what you know. Tell him everything you know so that we can find the person that did this. I know you have a tendency to lie when you are scared. But if there’s ever been a time for you to be honest, now is the time. Please, Jay. Please. I know you are shook. I’m shook too. But we need to be steady for a minute and help this man do his job. We can shake together later”

In his eyes, I saw no tears. Only fear, shock and confusion. And I knew, my attempt to pull the truth out of him had failed.

While my son was laying in that room with his twisted limbs and busted ribs, bones sticking out of his flesh and a brain so swollen it was oozing out of his mouth, ears and eyes, the mother fucker that killed him was at home washing blood off of his car and making contacts to cover up his crime. My surviving son was wasting time, lying. Knowing all along who did it.

I walked out of that tiny room with at least 30 pair of eyes watching me, questioning, crying. I certainly didn’t have any answers.

Daddy says that Jay was scared.  He thinks maybe the guy that killed his brother threatened him. To that I say, fuck fear. Love is supposed to be stronger than fear.

So, there I was. The energy of my dead son nagging at me. Trying to let me know something. Every time I got still, here came that energy. Tugging at my arm, yanking at my foot, hovering around me. I tried to interpret it. But all I got was ‘mamma, they are lying. Mamma this wasn’t supposed to happen. Mamma, this wasn’t an accident. Mamma I wasn’t meant to die that night.  Mamma where am I? mamma its cold here. Mamma why cant you hear me? Why cant you see me? Why cant I feel you? Give me your arms. Wrap them around me. Hold me, save me.’

I moved. Because I couldn’t save him, I moved. I moved like lightening until the funeral was over. And then, I didn’t move again for 14 days. The only reason I moved then was because my dead son’s daughter made a surprise early arrival. She wasn’t supposed to be born for 17 more weeks. I guess she wanted me to start moving again. I guess she knew that I wouldn’t survive 17 more weeks in the state I was in. I guess she was in a hurry to see this world. I guess she was came early cause her daddy had left.

For a while, I was so preoccupied with the care of this 20 ounce fetus trying to survive outside of the womb, that I was almost able to ignore that fact that I still didn’t know exactly how or why my son was killed.

Six months. Six months have passed and the baby is home, alive and well. Jay just turned 18 and he is racing thru school, trying to get done early so he can get away from this town, this life, me.

My mind has room to wander now. What is Jay running from? He never told me the truth. Something, something is missing.

Who am I now? This woman with a liar and a corpse and a grand daughter? Who is this 34 year old woman who walks thru a graveyard leaving puddles of tears in the grass? Who is this woman, who at such a tender age, already has a grandchild whose father is dead and whose uncle is a liar? How do I be me when this me was never  what was intended?

To try to get some sort of grasp on this, I am forced to go back to the beginning.