Born at Dawn (4 page)

Every morning Keith woke up at six, but he would lie in the bed pretending to be asleep, waiting for his mother to sashay through his door and wake him with wet kisses on his face. This morning he heard nothing. He enjoyed listening to his mother's slippers graze the parquet floor as she sang old love songs he didn't quite understand. Recently, she'd switched to singing hymns he didn't quite understand either. That didn't matter. The soft hum of her voice put Keith's mind at ease.

By the time his digital clock read 6:15, Keith sat up. He sniffed the dry air, and all he smelled was the stale odor of last night's fried chicken. He waited a few more minutes before he rolled back the covers and got out of bed. He didn't want his mother to know he was capable of waking up and getting out of the bed on his own, but he knew if she wasn't up yet, they would be late for school. He crept down the hall and cracked his parents' bedroom door. He peered in and only saw his father in the bed. Keith shut the door and walked down the hall to check the kitchen. She wasn't in there either. Keith walked through the apartment checking the living room and the bathroom. When he couldn't find her, he ran to his bedroom to check the clock—6:30. He only had forty minutes to wake up James and get him ready before the school bus arrived. Keith considered waking up his father, but he was afraid Marvin would wind up beating him for his mother's unexplained absence.

He walked back into the hallway and stood in front of a picture of Cynthia holding him when he was a baby that hung on the wall. He had no idea what to do. He just stared at his mother in the picture.

Wake up your brother. Be quiet. Try not to wake up your father, but hurry up; the bus will be here soon,
he could hear a voice on the inside of him say.

Dread filled his heart at the thought of being responsible for this task. James was difficult to wake up, even for their mother. Keith walked into the room with a sense of determination and tore the covers off his brother and shook his bed, calling out his name in a hushed tone. James didn't stir. Instead, he continued snoring. Keith scurried to the bathroom and ran the cold water over a rag. He ran back to the room and wiped James's face. James bolted up out of the bed.

“Keith,” he whined, blinking repeatedly while wiping the corners of his eyes.

“Keep your voice down before you wake Daddy. We're going to be late for the bus. Hurry up and get dressed so we can eat breakfast.”

As Keith watched James climb out of bed, he realized he was still in his undershirt and boxers. He walked to the window at the foot of his bed and stared out the window for a while, hoping to see his mother walking up the block from the corner store. Some mornings if she was missing some ingredient or if she wanted to read the paper with her coffee, she would run to the store as the boys dressed. Keith would wave to her as she glided down the street. He looked out for her burnished burgundy bob. All he saw was the lady who talked to herself underneath the tree across the street from their building.

“Where's Mommy?” he heard his little brother ask.

“She's not here, James.”

“What did she make for breakfast?”

“Nothing.”

“Is she at the store?”

“Shut up with all the questions and just get dressed,” Keith snapped at his little brother. “We're going to have some cereal.”

With that, James walked out and headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth as Keith stared out of the window while putting on his school uniform shirt. He fought back the tears he wanted to cry. He knew that wouldn't bring his mom back. When he searched the house for her, he noticed the things she cherished like the red pumps she kept at the foot of her bed in case of fashion emergencies or last-minute meetings were gone. Slowly, he buttoned up his blue collared shirt and pulled his gray sweater vest over his head. James burst through the door screaming, “Where's my mommy?”

“Be quiet. She's gone and she's never coming back,” Keith replied, poking his head through his shirt. He walked to the door, pushing James out the way and leading him to the kitchen. “Come on, let's eat.”

He pulled out a blue glass bowl. He recalled seeing his mother use it when preparing breakfast. Yanking it out of the dish rack, pots, pans, and plates crashed to the floor.

“Be careful,” James shrieked at his older brother. “You don't want to wake Daddy up. You know what will happen if we do.”

Keith shot him a glance that meant “shut up.” Keith scampered into the dining room and dragged a chair into the kitchen, using it as stool to reach the cereal cabinet above the counter. He pulled out a box of Kix.

“I don't want any cereal.”

Keith showed him a box of Lucky Charms.

“I don't want any cereal,” James said shaking his head from side to side.

“I don't care if you want cereal or not. You're going to eat.” Keith hopped down from the chair, still clutching the box of Lucky Charms. “We're going to be late for school.”

“How come you got more cereal than me?” James complained after Keith filled their bowls.

“'Cause I'm older than you,” Keith replied.

When Marvin appeared, the boys quickly shut their mouths, realizing they had exceeded the noise level their mother often warned them about. He walked into the kitchen and turned around several times, looking from the spilled milk to the boys, looking at the cereal and scuff marks on the floor and then looking back to the boys.

“Cynthia. Cynthia,” Marvin yelled anger etched on his face.

“She's not going to answer you,” Keith said, looking into his cereal.

“Cynthia, please stop playing around. You may be angry with me, but this is childish,” Marvin shouted down the hall. “Come on out of that bathroom.”

“Daddy, Mommy's not here. She left, and Keith said she's never coming back,” James whined.

“What nonsense did you tell this boy, Keith?” Marvin demanded.

Keith looked up at his father and back down at his cereal. There were only a few marshmallows floating in the bowl. Slowly, he scooped up each marshmallow, stalling for time before he had to look up at his father again. He really didn't want to explain to Marvin that his mother was gone. Besides her missing pumps, Keith discovered her laptop was missing as well. He'd searched high and low for the laptop; his English homework was saved on there. Nor did he want to be the one who explained she wouldn't be returning. Cynthia had never left home without telling them where she was going and the few things that she valued were nowhere to be found. Keith knew things would never be the same in their home.

“Keith, do you hear me talking to you, boy? I'm only going to ask you one more time. What did you tell him?”

“She's gone. She's gone. You drove her crazy, and she ran away.” Keith jumped up screaming, “I hate you. I hate you!” Keith tore away from the table and ran to the door. Much to his surprise, his mother had taken the time to place their coats and backpacks by the door. He grabbed his coat and bag while running out the door.

“Wait for your brother, Keith.”

Keith sat on the edge of the steps in front of their apartment building. When his father came through the burgundy doors, Keith fled from the steps and took a seat on the curb.

This is all your fault,
he thought, glaring at Marvin. Keith had the same cinnamon-colored skin as his mother, and the slight trace of red emanating from his cheeks meant he was furious with him. Keith glanced over his shoulder at his father. He'd thrown on a pair of black and red mesh gym shorts he normally reserved for the house and a pair of blue sneakers. Keith figured he was probably freezing, and he deserved it. Marvin stared back at his son.

The school bus pulled up directly in front of Keith. Marvin walked up behind him before the driver opened the door. He placed his heavy hands on his son's frail shoulders and told him, “She'll be back. Don't worry.”

Cynthia was awakened by her mother's pounding on her bedroom door. She had hoped her mother wouldn't notice her presence right away; she wasn't ready to explain what she was doing there. She wasn't even sure what she was doing there yet. She used the spare key that Mildred had given her in case of emergency. At the minimum Cynthia thought she'd be able to get a good night's sleep and find some clarity in the confines of her mother's home.

“Open the door, Cynthia! Quick! Get on the fire escape. Marvin is on his way upstairs.”

Cynthia hustled to her bedroom door, which still harbored posters of rappers Lil' Kim, Biggie, and Mase in their heyday.

“Get on the fire escape. Close the window behind you. You know how crazy your husband is. He's not going to take my word that you're not here and he's going to want to look around.”

“Please don't open the door, Ma,” Cynthia pleaded.

“I'd rather let him sniff around than fuss with him at my door this early in the morning. Here,” Mildred said, chucking Cynthia's duffel bag and sneakers across the room after tripping over them. She drew the iron gate behind her daughter, locked the window, and smoothed the curtains. She then she tucked the edges of the aged striped fitted sheet under the mattress of Cynthia's daybed before she exited the room.

“Open up, Mildred!” Marvin screamed as he banged on her front door.

For the first time in thirty years, Mildred was glad she lived on the sixth floor of her walkup building. From up there she had a clear view of everyone as they entered and exited her building. It also gave her time to get things together. By the time Marvin reached her apartment, Mildred was seated at her dinette set eating breakfast. Mildred opened the door and found Marvin slumped against the doorway with one hand clutching his chest.

“Is everything all right, Marvin?” Mildred asked, folding the lapels of her purple terrycloth robe closed.

Marvin stood upright and clenched the frame of the door.

Mildred looked up at him. He glared back at her through bloodshot eyes. She'd never seen him like this and hoped he didn't do anything crazy. She slid her hand into the pocket of her robe, fishing for the pocket knife she'd purchased a few weeks ago after a serial rapist began attacking women in her neighborhood. “Marvin, what is it?”

“You know I didn't come here for a cup of coffee. Where's your daughter?”

“What are you talking about?” Mildred asked gingerly hoping that Marvin wouldn't call her bluff.

Marvin bulldozed his way past Mildred and entered the apartment and began surveying the place, leaving Mildred with no chance to deny him entrance. His eyes darted from the plate of bacon, cheese grits, and pancakes on the table to the small kitchen. He walked into the kitchen and peered around.

“Marvin,” Mildred said placing her hands on her hips, “can I help you? You're certainly not going to find Cynthia in my kitchen.”

“Those stairs left me winded. I just want to grab a glass of water.” He flashed a smile at Mildred. It did nothing to ease the tension. The madman look in his eyes only demonstrated how phony that smile was to Mildred and made her increasingly uncomfortable.

Mildred brushed past him, bumping him with her shoulder on her way to the sink. She grabbed a melon-colored plastic cup from the dish rack and filled it to the brim with tap water. “Here, boy.” She handed him the cup of water. “Now, what nonsense you got going on? What do you mean you can't find your wife? If your wife is missing, you should have gone down to the police station, not here.”

“Your daughter isn't missing.” Marvin took a sip of his water. “She's here, and you're hiding her.” He slammed his cup on the counter and walked out of the kitchen to resume his canvass of the apartment. Mildred returned to her seat at the table and plucked up a few scoops of grits.

“She ain't here, Marv.”
God, please forgive me for lying.
“I know it's been a long time since you've been here, but there's nowhere for her to hide.”

Leaving no corner unexamined Marvin walked around Mildred's matchbox apartment. He pulled open the doors of her linen closet, only to find shelves of neatly folded towels, laundry detergent, and plastic gloves from the hospital where she worked. Next he popped open the door to Cynthia's bedroom. He stepped inside, looking down at the pink wall-to-wall carpeting. He glanced at her daybed, looking for a wrinkled or turned-back sheet. He opened her closet door searching for signs of Cynthia's presence, but all he found were remnants of her high school days. His search turned up nothing. He exited Cynthia's room, turned to his left, and stared at Mildred's closed door.

“Your search ends right here. You're not going in my room looking through my intimates.” Mildred seized the opportunity to reclaim control of her home. Fastening the belt on her robe, Mildred walked to her front door and propped it open. “Listen, Marv, why don't you just calm down? I doubt this is anything serious. If she comes by here, I'll tell her to give you a call, okay? Now, why don't you run along and get to work. Give my boys a kiss.”

Marvin inched his way to the door still scanning the apartment for evidence of Cynthia's presence.

“Come on now, boy. I've got to get to work too,” Mildred said waving her hands up and down to shoo Marvin out of the door.

“Y'all better not be playing with me,” he said in a menacing tone; then he walked out the door.

Mildred peered out her living room window, which faced busy Eighth Avenue, and watched Marvin weave through the herds of people and disappear around the corner. She ran to Cynthia's bedroom, flung the window open, and slid the gate open.

“Hurry up. He's gone, but he had that crazy mad-dog look in his eye. He might walk to the alley to check if you're out here. Come on. Move it, girl. Move it.”

Quickly, Cynthia stepped off the fire escape and out of the cold. Mildred hurriedly shut the gate, scraping the heel of Cynthia's foot. Cynthia collapsed on her daybed with her eyes closed.

Stroking the stray strands of gray hair that had escaped from her bun, Mildred said, “Just relax. He will keep you in perfect peace if you keep your mind on him.”

“Not now, Ma.” Cynthia sighed.

“It's always the right time for Jesus, chile. Don't start talking foolishness,” Mildred snapped in a warning tone.

Cynthia sat up in her bed and placed her hands on her hips. “Ma, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but you're not there with me when I'm going through, and I'm beginning to doubt that Jesus is either.”

“That's true. I'm not there with you, so that's not disrespectful. That's just stating the facts, but Jesus is with you always, unless you leave Him out,” Mildred preached pointing at Cynthia. “Listen, next time you want to crash here just call instead of creeping up in here. You almost got you head busted open in Jesus' name.

“While you're here, maybe you should consider letting Him back in. Try to relax. Stay away from the windows, and whatever you do, don't open the door. I made breakfast. If you're hungry, there's a plate in the microwave.”

“Oh God.” Cynthia sighed. “Only a few hours have passed and things are already getting crazy. Maybe I'd better go back home. What will the boys eat for dinner? Dinner; I don't know if they've eaten breakfast.”

Taking slow, deliberate strides over to Cynthia, Mildred bent down and kissed her forehead. To Mildred it seemed like it was too little too late for Cynthia to begin pondering her actions. Now was a time to pray for Jesus to stretch forth His hand and touch this situation.

“Whatever is going on, I pray Jesus delivers you and strengthens you during this storm. I'm a little nervous about leaving you here alone, but I can't take any more days off. There is one person I know who can help you in this situation.”

The precarious mention of a storm was enough to set off a bomb inside of Cynthia. She didn't understand why everyone chose to refer to the nightmare she was living as just a storm. Why did everyone refer to this nightmare as a storm? This wasn't torrential rains just passing through. She'd been dealing with this for a long time now, and her deliverance was long overdue.

Marvin plodded down the marble steps of Mildred's building after an unsuccessful attempt at playing detective. Mildred's was his first stop because it was rare for Cynthia to venture outside without first discussing it with him. She didn't even go into the office without letting him know in advance. Marvin laughed to himself. Cynthia had nowhere to go. Most of the friends she had he chased away a long time ago and the few who were left ran away when she started thumping the Bible at them.

Shortly after they got married, Cynthia attempted to make new friends, but Marvin found fault with each and every one of them. If they were single, he complained they might influence Cynthia to cheat. If they didn't have a job, he complained they were just trying to sponge off Cynthia. Marvin was a middle-of-the-road kind of guy. He never gave more than what was asked of him, and he didn't want anyone around whose opinion might bear any weight on their relationship.

Marvin looked at his watch. It was already 8:30. Surely he would be late for work as he had to be there at nine. He whipped his cell phone out of his back pocket to call dispatch and let them know he would be coming in late because of a family emergency. His pace was slow and steady as the January wind grazed his skin. He pulled his hood over his head and zipped up his North Face as the rest of Harlem zoomed past him. One thought after another flooded his mind as he walked to the subway. What if she didn't come back?
Of course she'll be back,
he thought as he hopped down the steps past a man helping his girlfriend with one of those oversized metal European strollers.
Of course she'll be back. What's a woman without her man?