Gate Wide Open (3 page)

My Life
October 28
^th
, 2018, 10:03
P.M.

I slowly eased my key into the door and waved my ride off. It was about ten o'clock at night. I didn't see my father's car, and I was sure my mom was asleep by this time. I had been out on a date with Tony again tonight. We had made a trip to Inner Harbor just to sit and chill again this week. It was so cool just hanging out, just the two of us. We walked hand in hand, and sometimes we would stop and kiss. People would stop and stare at us like we were crazy or something was wrong. But we didn't care about what people thought about us.

Yes, Tony was much older than me, but was it a crime to date someone older? Well, maybe it was, because I was sixteen and Tony was forty. I just acted older when we went to different places, so I wouldn't seem so out of place, but people still stared at us like we were aliens.

My parents had no clue we were dating, or that I was “getting mine.” My mom and dad pretty much had no friends, so I knew I didn't have to worry about running into anyone they knew. My mother, Mona Black, was a homemaker type, and my father, Shawn Black, was this big-shot lawyer. He was in court all the time and slept most of the time when he was off. My mother was busy all the time with my little sister Diana and my socially weird brother Alex, with his football practices and all that.

Alex and I were twins, but we were so different. He was older by ten minutes. He was a hermit and never got into any trouble, while I was more outgoing and popular.

We attended the same school, Randallstown High School, but I didn't see him that much, since we had totally different class schedules. I saw him enough at home anyway. Don't get me wrong, I loved him, but sometimes he could be such a boy—goofy, always on his computer, and never got tired of football.

I was talking to a girl from my economics class the other day, another pretty girl Alex had turned down, and she was asking about him. “Hey, yo, Ash. Why yo brotha be actin' so different than you? Is he gay or something?”

I looked at her for a sec. She was so ghetto-acting. We were standing at the lockers in the hallway getting books out of our lockers for the next class.

Alex was a good-looking guy from a sister/brother point of view, but I wasn't really paying attention to his dating habits, or if he even liked girls. I had my own social life to secure.

“I don't know, Jasmine.”

“Gurl, what you mean, you don't know?” Her face frowned up. “He's your brotha. Your twin at that. If anybody should know, it should be you.”

Okay, this chick is about to pluck my last nerve
. “Ummm, Jasmine, why you so curious about my brother? I mean, what, you trying to get at him or something?” I had a hint of attitude in my voice.

“Well, maybe. He is a football player, and he is chocolaty-cute.”

She smiled hard. She had a crush on him, I could tell.

“I was just wondering, why he got to be playing hard to get? He turned a sister down like I was one of them dirty chicks or something.”

“Again, I don't know why he acts the way he does.”

I really didn't know why he was the way he was. I mean, we did have lunch period at the same time, but he always sat across the room with some butch-looking chicks. To me, they didn't look interested, in that way, in each other at all. They just looked like they would converse while eating and go their separate ways afterwards. Besides, I spent most of the lunch period texting Tony on my phone anyway.

“Look, Jasmine, he is focused on his schoolwork and the football season. I don't think he has time for girls right now.”

“Yeah, whateva, gurl.” She sucked her teeth. “Just put a word in for a sister, okay.”

“Sure thing.”

That was a promise I wasn't going to keep. She was so out of luck.

Truth was, I thought Alex was gay myself. I had no solid proof, but frankly, it was his life, not mine. Regardless, I loved him. He was my brother.

Bumpy Night
October 28
^th
, 2018, 11:13
P.M.

I tossed and turned in the bed all night, trying to get me some rest, but it just wasn't happening. I heard Shawn come in at about eleven o'clock, but he had not come to bed yet. His behavior had become more and more erratic lately, and I was becoming suspicious. In fact, we were just getting back to being intimate again. It took us both a while to get comfortable with each other after all that went down in our lives about ten years ago.

The children were clueless that the one they were calling Dad wasn't really their father. There were days when I just wanted to sit them down and tell them the truth, but I chickened out every time with excuses that only appeased me. How could I tell my children that their father was a bisexual maniac that I cheated on their “father” with?

Shawn was of no help; he was still having nightmares about his molestation that he still didn't want to talk about. I didn't push him, out of love, but sometimes I wanted to shake him out of the funk that he got into that made him cut everybody off emotionally.

I sat up in bed and contemplated the task before me. I got up and walked sluggishly to the bathroom to sprinkle my face with some water to help wake me up fully. I looked in the mirror and surveyed the worry lines around my eyes. I had small, puffy bags under my eyes that also showed my restlessness.

The past couple of years had been rocky, but we survived. The cheating, lies, and homosexuality had taken their toll on Shawn and me, but we survived. The hours and hours of counseling both together and separately had helped us pull the bootstraps up, as they say, in our lives.

I pulled out some of that L'Oréal eye cream from off my vanity and smoothed it on my face, like I had been doing more and more lately. They say black don't crack, but I was an exception to the rule. I attributed it all to stress, though. Shawn was on track to recovery and healing, but I kept worrying about some of our secrets coming back to haunt us.

I walked downstairs and saw Shawn sitting in the living room with the television on the Golf Channel. Shawn wasn't particularly into sports, so I knew he wasn't watching it. He was in one of his moods again. His shit was almost as annoying as my PMS was. I didn't know what to expect.

I walked around the sofa and I noticed he was crying. I sat down and started rubbing his back, trying to comfort him.

“Baby, why is this shit happening to me? All I want is a normal life with my wife and kids.” He laid his head on my shoulders as I wiped the tears that flowed from his eyes.

I knew and didn't know what he was getting at. I tried my best to sympathize with my husband, but sometimes I just didn't get him. To top it off, my shit was constantly staring me in my face as well. Literally.

I refocused my attention back toward Shawn and his issues. He was in therapy for the last nine years for this molestation drama. It seemed like he was making headway, or so I thought.

“I am fucked up,” he said, exhaling his frustration.

I continued to console him, knowing he needed my full attention.

“Baby, I'm sorry. I messed up tonight.”

“Huh?” I moved away from him slightly with a look of fear. I wasn't ready for him to tell me what I already feared and knew.

“I got drunk tonight.” Shawn hung his head low.

I breathed a small sigh of relief. I just knew he was going to say he slept with a man tonight. “It's all right, baby.” I cradled him in my arms, like he needed at this moment.

Don't get me wrong. I was upset about the drinking. It just wasn't extreme enough for me to blow up over.

Besides, my ass should be on somebody's park bench with a forty-ounce and some weed, because I had my own demons to wrestle with. Each time I looked at my children and saw that monster James in every one of them, I wanted to sedate myself.

“Come on upstairs,” I said as I helped him up and escorted him to our bathroom to get him in the shower.

I ran him some bathwater and bathed him like he used to do the kids when they were young. He continued to be apologetic as I helped him out of the tub and dried him off. I helped him to the bedroom and dressed him in his pajamas.

He slept like a baby as soon as his head hit the pillow. I looked at him as he slept, and wondered what he was dreaming about at that moment.

I got up again and went to check on the kids. I first went to check on the baby of the family, Diana. I peeped in on her. She was a sound sleeper, so I walked in and kissed her on her cheek. I looked at her as she was entangled in her sheets. She was a wild sleeper.

“Just like your fath”—I couldn't even say it, and it hurt even worse to think about it.

A single tear slid down my face as I made my exit to visit Ashley in the next room. I pulled myself together and just peeked in her room, because I know how teens like their privacy. She was sound asleep with earphones in her ears. She was probably listening to her iPod. She was becoming very musically inclined and sang in the choir at the church we now attended on a regular basis.

I then made my way downstairs to the basement where Alex slept. He was becoming such a little man. He'd begged Shawn and I to move him into the basement so that he could “get his world together,” as he said.

I crept down the stairs and noticed him sitting at his computer. “What are you still doing up?” I rubbed his wavy hair.

He gently pushed my hands away. “Mom, you messin' up my waves,” he said with a smile on his face.

I had to admit, he was easy on the eyes. “It's time to go to bed,” I said in a stern voice. He was on that Facebook all the time, chatting with his friends.

“All right, Ma, as soon as I check this last message,” he said as he gave me a kiss on the cheek.

I turned around and made my way to the kitchen to fix some warm milk to help me get some sleep. My grandma used to give me this remedy every time I was having a restless night. For some odd reason, I had a feeling that something was about to happen. I just didn't know what.

Keeping Tabs
October 29
^th
, 2018, 9:33
A.M
.

I woke up the next morning tired and depressed like never before. I didn't have the energy to even get out of bed. I just lay there and stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes.

Finally, I dragged myself to the bathroom and relieved my bowels. I sat on the toilet bowl and wondered how I was going to tell Mona that both my drinking and homosexual demons were calling me again.
She may be able to take another round of my drinking binges, but definitely not the sleeping with men. I don't think I could make it through another round of either myself.

After all that James put us through, I just couldn't fathom the outcome this go-around. I often still thought about my sexual sessions with him. I couldn't seem to get him off my mind, now that I knew his sentence in jail was about to be over.

Being in the legal field wields its benefits, so I had checked on James' jail status every so often, just to keep tabs on him, I think. Or maybe I wanted to see him as soon as he got out.

“Fuck!” I slapped myself upside my head, trying to jar the memories from my mind.

I walked down to the kitchen and I saw Mona sitting at the table. “Hey, babe,” I said as I walked over to give her a kiss.

She got up and hugged me and squeezed me tightly. I could feel the love that now was rekindled between us.

“How are you feeling this morning?” she said as she slightly released me, looking into my eyes.

I looked at her intently and mustered up a, “Great.” It was partially true. I was feeling great. Great
stress
, that is. But I couldn't let her know. She had her own shit to deal with.

“I have decided to do something that my therapist has been pushing me to do.”

“What is that?”

“I've decided to go visit my father and get some closure. I've been putting this off for a long time. I need to man up and do this.” Just hearing it coming from my own mouth made it feel so real. I just didn't know if I could go through with it.

Mona hugged me again. “Baby, you want me to go with you?” she said, love and concern in her voice. She looked like she was back in love with me again.

“Nah, babe. I have to do this on my own. My therapist said that it's best.” I lied about the last part. I didn't want Mona there just in case I broke down, or broke him down, for that matter. I knew that this visit could go smooth, or it could go south for the winter. I couldn't get Mona caught up in any of my shit again.

 

I got dressed, made my way to my car and headed toward my destination.

I had finally mended my relationship with my mom about five years back. I was so relieved because I needed her in my life regardless of what happened in the past, in both my life and her life.

Anyways, Mom had said my father had been sending her letters, apologizing for hurting her so. She gave me a letter, which she said was for me. I took the letter with no intentions of reading it, but I did. His sorry ass tried to say his father did the same thing to him, so that's why he did what he did to me.

That shit didn't sit right with me, so I talked to my therapist, and she told me that it was true indeed. She said that a lot of things parents are exposed to and go unresolved with can be passed down to their offspring. Generational curses, she called it. She went on to say that these curses can be broken if the person seeks help with a therapist, a counselor, or a spiritual leader.

To say I was shocked was an understatement. That shit meant one of my grandparents was dealing with this shit too. It didn't take a rocket scientist to tell me that one of “my children” might have to deal with this. I prayed to God that it wouldn't, because I didn't think I could handle my son going through the same things.

My father gave me his address and said, if I could ever forgive him, that we could reconcile in person. At first I was like,
The hell with that shit
. That was five years ago, and it took me all this time to get up the courage to seal the deal.

I pulled up to the address he had given me and prepared myself mentally to make amends with him.