The last character to catch my eye was a frail woman who donned a long denim skirt and running shoes. She wore a bold colored windbreaker jacket that was hot back in the 80s, not so much in present day. She kept bobbing her head to music that played exclusively in her mind because I damn sure didn’t hear a melody of it.
There was something familiar about her voice. I knew this subconsciously, which caused me to move up closer from behind her to catch a glance of her face. I rounded her from the left and after studying her stance for seconds, I realized it was my mother. My heart began racing and my eyes shot up causing acute pain in the back of my head. She didn’t immediately catch on to my gaze although I was well within the inner realms of her peripheral. She had dark rings around her once radiant eyes and warts on her former plump lips. She looked horrid. My mother appeared extremely ill. I don’t know how long it was before she turned to acknowledge me but when she did, she took a double take. It was relieving to know that she recognized me.
“Oh, shit,” she shrieked as she stopped bopping. “Rayna, my baby?”
She shunned her face by burying it in the crease of her arm. She was ashamed. I was embarrassed for her. She began to weep aloud and I nervously looked around, uneasy about this emotional encounter. I went to touch her arm in a comforting manner, I hadn’t come to scorn her.
“Ma, don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s okay. Come over here and sit down,” I said as I guided her to a nearby booth.
We sat at opposite ends as she continued to weep forcefully. The snot began to fall from her nose and drool from her mouth. She was a mess. I rose to get her napkins that I had to ask for through a Plexiglas. I felt like I’d opened Pandora’s Box by searching for her, I wasn’t prepared for this. It took nearly five minutes for her to calm down.
“I’m sorry, baby. I swear to my Heavenly Father, I’m sorry!” she pleaded.
“What are you apologizing for? Just calm down.”
“I knew you was gonna come back one day. I wanted to be ready when you did. I just been tryna’ get myself together for so long so I could just call you. I know I just left you hangin’, baby. But mommy’s been sick…for a very long time. This demon gotta hold ta me and I can’t shake it. I just can’t!” she cried.
She was referring to her addiction. The last time I saw her she was a closeted addict, now she’s a full blown crackhead and it was heart-wrenching to experience. I had up and left Jersey as a kid and virtually never returned. I abandoned my family. Hell, I hadn’t seen my mother since I was eighteen years old. It had been damn near ten years! Well—not quite, but when you round up the number, it’s an astounding revelation.
“Have you tried getting cleaned? Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked but with private reservations, I didn’t want to fall for the proverbial okeydoke. But if she was really sincere I couldn’t in clear conscious desert her.
“I been tryna’ get into Sobriety House for like three weeks now. They keep telling me to call tomorrow because they beds is full. And that’s hard on me. These streets is dangerous. That’s why I keep to myself. Regina ‘n them hanging out right now and I told them I’ll holla at them lata. I can’t mess around like that no more,” she explained before breaking down again.
She continued with, “Rayna, I got this blood disease now. It ain’t the A.I.D.S. or nothing like that. It’s called…ummmmmm…” she mulled over the answer while tapping her forehead with her fingers. “Ummmmm…Hepatitis. There’s different kinds and mines is the B. I gotta take this medicine that makes me sick. I be all tired and depressed. Rayna, I need help.”
Her openness and courage to share threw me. I was familiar with crackhead characteristics from coming up in the projects. They’ll do and say anything for their next high. I guess DNA is powerful because I wanted desperately to help her if she wanted to kick this shit. But I suddenly had the urge to get up out of dodge. Being in that place gave me the creeps.