Double Dippin' (4 page)

Looking frightened and repelled, the young social worker abruptly ended the hospital visit. “I promise, I won’t split up the twins. I’ll make sure to find a home for both your great-nephews,” the young woman assured Mazie.

What’s wrong with that simple woman? Didn’t she hear a word I said? I told that so-called educated heifer to split the boys up, so why she just keep smiling and telling me she’s gonna try to keep the boys together?

Mazie slumped onto her pillow in defeat. She supposed they handed out college degrees to just about anybody nowadays.

Shane and Tariq were in a temporary youth center waiting for permanent placement. They were watching cartoons in the playroom when their social worker, a young woman named Miss Patrick, came to visit.

“Hi, boys. Remember me? I’m Miss Patrick.” Kneeling down to their seated level, the young woman gave the nine-year-old boys a sympathetic smile, giving the impression that she was trustworthy, harmless.

Tariq blinked nervously. Shane’s eyes narrowed into slits.

Miss Patrick cleared her throat and tossed her long glossy hair. “So, how’s it going?”

Shane glared at her; Tariq shrugged.

“That bad, huh?” she said with a forced chuckle. When the twins didn’t return the laughter, she assumed a serious expression. “I want to be straight with you two. I’ve really tried to find placement for both of you, but foster care housing is limited and at this point, I can only find a home for one of you…” Her voice trailed off. She looked from one twin to the other, as if expecting one of the two to pipe in with a resolution to the dilemma.

Shane’s face did not betray any emotion. He sat still and stoic. Tariq, on the other hand, began to tremble. His eyes watered; tears erupted like a faucet turned on full force. He grabbed Shane’s arm and clung to his twin brother as he began to wail.

The social worker stared at Tariq and cringed. “Shane, I think I’ll try to place you first. Your brother’s obviously very sensitive about being placed without you and the foster family I’ve contacted may not be prepared to deal with someone…well, someone so emotionally fragile. So, I’m going to place you first and who knows, the family might change their mind and take your brother as well. At any rate, we have to get going. Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

“I’m not leaving my brother,” Shane said, looking at the woman with undisguised disdain. His tone and demeanor indicated that his decision was nonnegotiable.

“It won’t be for long,” the young woman cajoled. “I’ll definitely find a home for both of you. I just need a little more time.”

“No!” Shane clenched his fists and stood up. “I ain’t going nowhere without my brother. Tariq can’t make it in here by hisself.” Shane’s facial expression and body language threatened bodily harm. “Go ’head, take one of these other kids; they look like they need a home worse than we do. Leave us alone; we aiight.” He placed a protective arm around Tariq.

Rattled, the social worker retreated. “I guess I’ll have to speak with my supervisor. I honestly don’t know how to handle this…this unique situation. Look, don’t worry, boys, I’ll be in touch,” she said and scurried away.

“Shane?” Tariq whispered through sniffles after the social worker had fled the vicinity.

“What?”

“Do you remember Mommy?”

Shane, visibly startled by the question, stiffened and then dropped his head and nodded.

“Me, too,” Tariq added as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Shane looked up. His eyes were misty. “You know why that cop shot her, don’tchu?”

Tariq’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Mommy got shot?”

“Yeah, dummy. You were there. A cop shot her.”

“Aunt Mazie said she died because she went crazy.”

“Fuck Aunt Mazie,” Shane shouted ferociously. “That old bitch don’t know what she’s talking about. Mommy got shot trying to save us!” He clenched his fists, still furious with his ailing Aunt Mazie. “A white lady who looked something like Miss Patrick was trying to steal us while Mommy was sleep.”

Tariq’s eyes were wide in amazement. “For real?”

“Man, you were there. How come you can’t remember nothin’?”

Tariq shrugged sadly and then brightened. “I remember my teddy bear. Mommy put him in the bed with me at night.”

Shane sucked his teeth and poked Tariq in the shoulder. “Man, that baby stuff ain’t nothing to be remembering.”

Tariq smiled sheepishly.

“Mommy died…” Shane’s voice cracked. “Mommy died because some white lady was trying to kidnap us. She said we were pretty boys and then she
tried to drag us to her car. Me and you started screaming and crying so loud Mommy woke up and started chasing after us. She was running fast, but there was this white cop trying to help the white lady. He shot Mommy and let the lady take us.”

“How come you never told me about that?”

“I thought you knew.”

Tariq looked off in thought. “Well, how did Aunt Mazie get us?”

“After I kicked that white lady’s ass, they had to let us go. They had to turn us over to a relative,” Shane explained. Satisfied with his account of the event that had transpired five years ago and was now disjointed and vaporous like a dream, Shane resumed watching the cartoons. He hadn’t actually lied to his brother. In his foggy memory he alone had tried to save their mother. In reality, he had fought the social worker with all his might, but so had Tariq. But Shane had forgotten Tariq’s role in their fierce battle to break free from the social worker who had separated them from their mother.

“Do you think Miss Patrick is gonna come back and try to take you away?”

“Naw. That lady ain’t coming back here no more. She’ll probably give that home to one of those losers,” Shane declared, pointing at the other discarded children who were watching cartoons, their sad eyes fixed on the television screen. Satisfied that his brother had saved the day, Tariq turned his attention back to the TV.

Shane, however, had mentally traveled back in time. He was four years old again in Washington Square Park witnessing his mother sprinting toward them and then leaping into a pirouette before smashing to the ground. He grimaced as he recalled the red wings that spread on her back. A bloody farewell from a mother to her sons.

Shane wiped the unexpected moistness from his eyes. “I’ll be right back, Tariq. I gotta go pee. Don’t let nobody take my seat,” he cautioned, keeping his voice steady.

Inside the community restroom, unable to contain the sudden and overwhelming grief any longer, Shane cried out, “Mommy!” He quickly moved to the sink and twisted both handles of the faucet, allowing the loud gush of running water to drown out his mournful sobs.

“D
on’t it bother you that you ain’t got your dick wet yet?” Fourteen-year old Shane whispered as he and Tariq sat at the dining room table of their most recent foster home.

Since the age of nine, they’d been placed in six different homes. Their current abode, under the supervision of Ms. Dolores Holmes, was back in the neighborhood where they’d once lived with Aunt Mazie who was now deceased. They’d been living with Ms. Holmes for two weeks and so far things had been going smoothly. Ms. Holmes, a stout woman who’d never married and never had children, was easy to get along with.

Shane was tired of moving around and liked the familiarity of his old neighborhood, so his behavior had improved drastically. He’d discovered that acting well mannered and appreciative got him and Tariq lots of benefits such as extra pocket money and stylish clothes instead of the typical hand-me-downs they’d previously been forced to wear.

Shane could have kicked himself for not figuring out a long time ago that he had skills when it came to manipulating women. From the moment the social worker introduced them to Ms. Holmes and she’d let out a delighted squeal—
Ooo wee, look at you two pretty boys
—Shane knew that living with her would be a piece of cake. A few compliments, a ready smile and she’d be putty in his hands. And he used that nice-guy routine on the young girls who swooned over him as well.

Pretending to be nice worked like a charm. Girls paid his way into the movies, bought him loose cigarettes, gave him lunch money and, best of all, they gave him sex.

Life was good. It was his world and his only burden was making sure Tariq enjoyed life, too.

“I ain’t no virgin,” Tariq whispered defensively.

“Man, dry-humpin’ don’t do nothing but give you blue balls.”

“Blue balls?” Tariq whispered. His eyes darted to the crotch area of his jeans and then shot anxiously to the kitchen where Ms. Holmes was fixing their breakfast. Preoccupied with flipping pancakes, their foster mother wasn’t listening to their conversation.

“Yeah, blue balls hurt; it’s hard to get rid of, too. But you young and dumb—”

“I’m not young. We’re the same age.” Tariq’s voice rose.

“Are you boys arguing?” Ms. Holmes called from the kitchen.

“No ma’am,” they sang out in unison, their voices as high-pitched and angelic as if they were singing in a boys’ choir.

“We might be the same age in numbers, but not up here.” Shane’s voice shifted to it’s normal low register as he tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “Like I said…” Shane paused and then added with a chuckle, “you young and dumb and fulla cum.” He burst out laughing, got out of his seat, and playfully put Tariq in a headlock.

“No horse playing in the house,” Ms. Holmes reminded the twins in a melodic tone. Not taking her seriously, the boys continued tussling.

“Lemme go, Shane. You play too much.” Tariq wriggled and squirmed, but Shane didn’t release him until he was good and ready.

“Man, you gotta get your dipstick wet. If you don’t hurry up and dip your stick into some hot pussy, you gon’ get blue balls. A case of blue balls will mess you up for life, man.” Shane gave Tariq a light shove. “Old as you is, you probably already got blue balls.”

“I ain’t got no blue balls,” Tariq griped.

“Yes, you do. Don’t your balls start hurting when you’re grinding up on girls?”

“Sometimes,” Tariq replied meekly.

“Well, every time you do that without hittin’ that thang, you making it worse for yourself.”

“How?”

“How?” Shane repeated incredulously. “By the time you’re fifteen or sixteen,
your dick ain’t gon’ be able to get hard. Girls gon’ be calling you Limp Dick Louie.”

Tariq looked worried. “So what I gotta do?”

“You gotta get some pussy!”

“How?”

“Stop acting like a baby.” Shane gave Tariq a disgusted look. “What about Shiree? You done wasted about a month on her. It’s time for her to give it up.”

“She won’t. I already asked.”

“Then fuck it; tell her to kiss your ass.”

Tariq looked distraught. “I can’t tell her that. I like her. She’s nice.”

“If she’s so nice, how come she’s trying to mess up your life by giving you a bad case of blue balls? Ain’t no cure for that shit, man. You gotta get rid of Shiree.”

At fourteen, Shane Batista was already five feet eleven. He was thin but muscular and had already started sprouting hair on his chin and chest, but his real source of pride was the silky dark hair that covered his upper lip. His moustache was a public announcement of his manhood—a delicious indication that the real treat was concealed by a pair of jeans and colorful briefs.

Ms. Holmes set a plate of pancakes, turkey bacon, and scrambled eggs before the twins. “Eat up, you two, don’t waste my food,” she said cheerfully as she ruffled Tariq’s curls. She stood back with her arms folded and watched with a look of pride and contentment as the boys tore into their breakfast. Then she went back to the kitchen and started running water.

“You don’t have to wash the dishes, Miz Holmes. Me and Tariq can wash ’em after we finish eating. Right, Tariq?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, Shane, you’re just the sweetest angel. No, baby, that’s all right. This is woman’s work. You and Tariq help out enough around here. I’m pleased as punch that I don’t have to remind you two to pull the trash cans out to the curb on trash day.” Ms. Holmes beamed at the twins. “Somebody sure did a fine job of raising y’all. Quiet as kept,” she said in a lowered voice, “that social worker warned me that I’d have my hands full with you twins. But she had y’all pegged all wrong. White folks always labeling our boys as bad. If it was
left up to them, they’d have all our boys locked up in prison before they turned ten years old. Well, I can say one thing for myself. I don’t allow nobody to make my mind up for me. I can see with my own eyes that you two are as sweet and kind-hearted as you are handsome. You just need a little mothering and that’s what I intend to do. Now stop playing with your food, Shane, you’re practically skin and bones. You could use some fattening up.”

“I ain’t skinny,” Shane denied with mock displeasure.

“Well, you could use a few pounds here and there,” Ms. Holmes said with a wink.

“You skinny as a beanpole, man,” Tariq teased.

“Bet you can’t beat this beanpole,” Shane challenged.

“That’s enough. I don’t want to hear you two talking about fighting. You’re brothers. You have to look out for each other.”