“Momma, it’s fire for real,†he calls out.
Mabel makes the sign of the cross before rushing around the apartment gathering her most important belongings: her purse; the $100 she keeps stashed in the bottom of a vase in the living room; baby pictures of Jevaughn, which she has been keeping safe in between the folds of old lace panties she no longer wears, buried at the bottom of her underwear drawer; a small bottle of rum, hidden in the same place.
“Momma, we gotta go. C’mon,†Jevaughn urges from the doorway of Mabel’s bedroom. He tugs on her arm. “Forget this stuff, can’t you smell the smoke?â€
On the way out, Mabel glances at the stack of envelopes on the table that used to be for dining and entertaining. If only, these could burn in the fire, if only the flames could rise high enough to lick the envelopes to ashes, but leave her table unscathed.
“C’mon Momma,†Jevaughn beckons again from the hallway.
Mabel closes the door and follows Jevaughn and the rest of their neighbours down the dimly lit stairwell, answering all their inquisitive questions about what’s going on with, “I don’t know. My son and I just got home. He picked me up from work this evening. Such a sweet boy.†Yes, she had decided, this is the lie she would maintain to protect him and when someone coughs from the smoke now filling up the stairwell, startling an already tense Jevaughn and causing him to trip over his always untied shoelaces and the handgun tucked into the waist of his pants eases out and crashes against the concrete step, Mabel does not think twice about throwing her shawl and purse over the fallen weapon, which she scoops up into the fabric of her shawl and rams into her purse with such swiftness, she is already standing and saying, “I’m fine thank you,†by the time a tenant from the 8th floor turns around to ask if she is alright. Jevaughn’s face is the poster of shame as fear fastens its grip around the space where he should feel the pulsing of a heartbeat, but where there is only the low throbbing of silence and shadows.
“Oh, you dropped this,†says the neighbour, crouching down to pick up something.
Color flushes from Mabel’s face leaving her a pallid, lifeless grey as she watches him rise, the bottle of rum held out to her quizzically.
“Whoa, miss, you’re a real party animal, eh?†He asks jokingly.
Mabel’s voice is a hoarse, indecipherable whisper caught in her throat as she tries to stammer out a reply.
“It’s mine,†Jevaughn says, snatching the bottle, and before the tenant can ask how old he is anyway, the smoke curls itself around his vocal cords, making him hack and cough uncontrollably.
“Hurry up, everyone. The smoke’s getting worse,†a voice calls from below.
As they descend the stairs, side by side, feeling comforted by the simple closeness of their shoulders grazing, Mabel reaches for Jevaughn’s hand and renegotiate’s her deal with God. No more casino, no more rum, no more nothing, she reasons, if you just get us through this God.
Brilliant! It was riveting and left me wanting more. I felt the both jevaughn and his mother’s struggle and unconditional love for one another despite their circumstances like a rose among thorns. Keep writing young lady. Look forward to reading more.
This story has ressurected childhood memories and has captured the essence of innocence in a child and the instant you enter into a different life of adulthood, responsibility and pain. I would love to read more and see the development of the mother’s character. There is a curiosity I feel not so much about the murder but the roll the mother plays in her son’s transition from childhood to early manhood. Don’t leave us readers hanging! would love to see where this leads keep feeding your talent.