Color Me Butterfly, page 21
Hearing the front door slam, Lydia rushed over to the bed to hold her frightened daughter. Dana joined her, and together they cried.
“Lydia, you gotta do something about this,” Dana sobbed. “You can’t keep living like this. You gotta tell somebody.”
Lydia listened, but the truth was too heavy for her. The secrets, and the possibility of what Lloyd might do to her and Treasure, consumed her. She’d thought if she could just make peace with him, perhaps he’d come to his senses and they could raise the baby together. But after tonight, she realized that was out of the question. Lloyd had no interest in doing what was right for Treasure. “It’s all or nothin’,” he had told her. And for the first time, she believed him.
“I will,” Lydia finally said, looking up at Dana. “I’m gonna do something.”
“Lydia, I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” Dana said sympathetically, “but maybe you can take out a protection order against him. What if he did have bullets in that gun? What then? We might not be around to talk about this. Promise me you’ll think about getting a restraining order.”
Lydia’s head was full of confusion. She wanted to do what was right, what was best for Treasure. But she was afraid that getting a restraining order might ignite more trouble from Lloyd. And Lloyd was Treasure’s father, the only father Treasure would ever have. She didn’t want to have her daughter grow up like so many other children born out of wedlock—babies without their fathers, and fathers without their babies. Treasure deserved more than that.
“Dana, I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Lydia said, drawing in a breath. “I feel like if I get the authorities involved, then that’s going to create all kinds of problems for Lloyd, and then he’ll never be a father to Treasure. I just don’t know what to do. I wish I could talk to my mother about it, but she’s got so many other things going on right now with my sister. Things I haven’t even told you about.”
Dana didn’t say anything at first, just looked at Lydia with concern on her face. “But what if something more serious were to happen, like tonight?” she said after a while. “What if he had hurt you and Treasure? Do you think your mother wouldn’t want to know what’s been going on all this time? What if you were to go to the police? You wouldn’t be doing anything but protecting yourself and your child. In fact, you may be doing Treasure a favor. He doesn’t deserve to be in her life. Don’t be so hung up on trying to save a relationship that ain’t there to save.”
That night, Lydia lay restless. Dana’s words had been emphatic, and she had paid attention. She was going to do what was best for her and her daughter. She planned to tell her mother, to finally be rid of Lloyd.
All in due time.
Lloyd made no attempt to contact Lydia after that night. He was already on parole, and he didn’t need any more trouble. He had decided to try a different tack. Lydia figured this out when she got a phone call from his mother.
“You know Lloyd really cares about you and Treasure,” his mother said. “He don’t mean to do the things that he’s done to you. He just don’t know how to express himself sometimes. Maybe you should think about letting him spend some time with ya’ll. I’m sure you’ll see that he’s really trying to change.”
Lydia forced herself to stay calm before she gave his mother a piece of her mind. “Did Lloyd tell you that he pulled a gun on me?” she said abruptly, bringing a halt to any more of her words.
“Well, he told me that you and him had a disagreement. You know he wouldn’t do nothing to hurt you or that baby.”
“Well, I have spoken to someone about it, and they told me that if he ever tries to do something like that again that I should press charges against him.”
Lloyd’s mother was surprised by Lydia’s response. This wasn’t the same young girl she knew. “Lydia, Lloyd is really sorry for what he did. He ain’t gonna cause you no more problems,” she said. “I think he’s learned his lesson this time.”
“Well, like I said, I’m going to press charges against him if he ever threatens or touches me again,” Lydia said pointedly before she hung up the phone.
The next day, Lydia went to her supervisor and confided in her about everything. After their heartfelt talk, Lydia felt relieved.
“I have a close friend who works for a women’s group. I think you should call and talk to her,” the supervisor advised.
It took Lydia two whole days to summon up enough nerve to dial the number. The counselor was so understanding and easy to talk to that before long, Lydia told her everything. When she was done pouring it all out like a river that had run its course, she felt embarrassed.
“Don’t be afraid to reach out to us,” the counselor said. “That’s what we’re here for. We’re here to help battered women like yourself.”
Lydia thought it strange that the counselor referred to her as battered. Even the word sounded too harsh, unfamiliar. Besides, Lloyd had never really battered her, she thought. He had only beaten her a few times, called her bad names. Battered women were women who were married to or lived with their abusers. And since she was neither, she thought she shouldn’t be put in the same category. Lydia twisted her lips to make the word roll off of her tongue. B-a-t-t-e-r-e-d, she kept repeating to herself. I am b-a-t-t-e-r-e-d. I am what my grandmother was, what my mother was.
I am that.
My mother, my child
in both I see
a vivid concoction, of what’s in me
so strong, yet weak
she holds her throne
so timid, meek—she does no wrong
once the captain, the leader of her scout
yet when from sea, the rabbity peeks out
her coyness, the authenticity
of who she is, what she be
no impostor can clone her style
she is unique, she is frail
her flaws are her woes, her courage her strengths
she need no perfection
no excellence
she is a mother, proud she be
she is a child, with such purity
within these reflections, I clearly see
a genuine concoction of what’s in me
My mother, my child
33
Lydia pulled herself from her bed and rubbed at her puffy eyes. She’d had a fitful sleep the night before, dreading what lay ahead. She was scheduled to appear in court for the protection order she had filed against Lloyd. And she had been feeling sick ever since she filed the complaint.
Since Lloyd had threatened her with his gun the previous summer, he had managed to stay away for a while. But then out of the blue he turned up at her job, and when she refused to talk to him, he attacked her. Noticing that Lydia’s right eye was partially shut, her supervisor encouraged her to contact the counselor. “You need to file a protection order against him,” the counselor told her once Lydia explained what happened.
“Is there any other way?” Lydia asked.
“Unfortunately, there is no other way. For your sake and the sake of your daughter, you have to do this, Lydia.”
Lydia moved around the kitchen slowly. As she put on the grits and scrambled the eggs, she heard Treasure moving around in her crib. She went into the bedroom and changed Treasure’s diaper. Treasure was walking now and was more than curious about everything in sight. She trundled along behind her mother into the kitchen and raised her arms to be lifted into her high chair.
After she had fed Treasure, Lydia poked the fork around on her own plate; her food was cold and her appetite lost. She quickly cleaned the dishes and bathed and dressed Treasure, then she went into the living room and turned on the television. She was jittery and needed something to take her mind off the things that were pulling at her. She flipped through the channels until she came upon a news reporter announcing, “It’s a chilly morning here at the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, Florida. But it’s no less an exciting time as we await the liftoff of the Space Shuttle Challenger.”
Lydia thought about what it would be like to just leave and go to a place where there was no confusion, no fear. She envied the seven astronauts.
The countdown started and Lydia counted with it, Treasure mimicking her. “Ten—nine—eight—seven—six—five—four—three—two—one.” Orange-yellow flames flushed out of its bottom as the Challenger slowly accelerated toward the sky.
“There it goes, folks. The Space Shuttle Challenger has just lifted off,” the reporter announced excitedly.
Lydia watched as the rocket glided into the clouds. “Look, Treasure,” she said, as fired up as the Challenger. “Look baby, can you see the rocket?”
An excitement came over Treasure’s small face as she pointed and flailed her little arms toward the television. Lydia grabbed Treasure’s hands and started clapping them together. But just as the shuttle’s liftoff had lifted their spirits, their joy suddenly came to an abrupt halt. The television’s audio went silent as a puff of smoke and a big ball of fire engulfed the television screen. Something terrible had happened!
Lydia held Treasure close against her.
The Space Shuttle Challenger had exploded in midair, just seventy-three seconds after it lifted off from the Kennedy Space Center. By the time Dana came home, Lydia was so grief-stricken she told Dana she didn’t think she’d be able to make the three o’clock courthouse appointment.
“You have to pull yourself together and go,” Dana told her.
Two hours later, Lydia stood in front of the judge, answering his questions. In less than ten minutes, the whole ordeal was over. The judge granted her petition. But the two-page document he signed and gave to her made her feel no more safe. She felt just as vulnerable as the Space Shuttle Challenger.
By the time the frigid air moved on and the trees began to take shape, Lydia thought maybe she was finally free of Lloyd and that he’d taken the protection order seriously—until his mother called one warm evening in April. “Lydia, Lloyd was arrested last night,” she said.
“What did he do?” Lydia asked.
“Armed robbery. They say he robbed a 7-Eleven.”
Lydia hung up the phone and cried, mostly out of relief. She was relieved because she knew the gun he had used at the 7-Eleven was probably meant for her. But what made her sad—overwhelmingly sad—was the anger she felt. She was angry because Lloyd had just destroyed any possibility of being a father to Treasure. It was as if he had purposely decided that if she was going to shut him out, then he was going to shut out Treasure. She was more enraged about that than about his wanting to harm her. She was strong enough to withstand whatever he did to her. But Treasure, Treasure was an innocent victim, and Lloyd’s actions had just guaranteed her a spot in the Fatherless Hall of Fame. All the pain that Lydia had endured and the peace that she’d prayed for had just been tossed away.
The night Lloyd took that gun and walked into the 7-Eleven, he had committed two crimes: he had not only robbed the store; he had also robbed Treasure. Now Treasure had only one hope, one last option for unconditional love: her mother—the young woman who finally had the courage to protect herself, the one who would do whatever it took to protect her Treasure.
34
Lydia walked through Mattie’s front door, and the savory aroma hit her nostrils so hard she almost dropped her bag and Treasure. She always enjoyed coming to her mother’s house for a good, home-cooked meal. She thought that there was something special in her mother’s touch to be able to season the food and cook it up just right.
“Hey, Ma,” Lydia said, as she put Treasure and the bag down.
Mattie sat in the living room, staring out the window, a copy of True Story magazine clutched in her hand.
“Are you all right?” Lydia asked.
Treasure bounced over to Mattie and tried to find a comfortable seat in her grandmother’s lap.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mattie said in a thin voice.
“Well, you don’t look fine. Did something happen? Is Angie okay?”
Mattie looked away from Lydia. “I just got a call from Deller. She says Isaac is really sick, and she wants us to come and see him.”
“Are you going to go?” Lydia asked.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Well, maybe you should go,” Lydia said, trying to coax her mother. “Maybe if you don’t go now, you may never get a chance to see your father again.” Lydia moved closer to Mattie, choosing her words carefully. “Ma, you gotta let the past go. Sometimes it just ain’t worth the pain.”
An expression of defiance clouded Mattie’s face. “What do you know about pain? Y’all don’t know the kind of pain I’ve been through,” she said, her voice hovering between grief and pride.
Lydia took a seat next to her mother, trying to hold her gaze. “You’re right, Ma. I may not know the kind of pain you’ve been through, but I do know pain.”
The room got quiet. Mattie embraced Treasure tightly, making her squirm. “I know you’ve been through somethin’, too. I’ve been waitin’ for you to come to me about it.”
A look of surprise crossed Lydia’s face. “You already knew?” she said, her voice tempered.
Mattie looked at her again. “Yeah, I always suspected that somethin’ wasn’t right between you and that boy, even when I asked and you wouldn’t tell me the truth. I figured you’d come to me in your own time.”
Lydia sat quiet for a moment. She looked down at the shiny, waxed tile floors, too embarrassed to look at her mother. Tears fell from her cheeks and through the cracks of her hands, which were resting in her lap. “The worst part of all,” she said, still afraid to look at her mother. “The worst part was that I wanted so badly for Lloyd to be a father to Treasure, for Treasure never to know the kind of pain that you’ve been through with your father.”
Mattie’s heart swelled hearing Lydia open up to her in this way.
“That’s why I think you gotta go, Ma. It just ain’t worth all the pain.”
Mattie suddenly stood and handed Treasure to Lydia. “I think my food’s burnin’,” she said and rushed into the kitchen.
Lydia stayed in the living room, burying her tears in Treasure’s hair. Mattie moved quietly around the kitchen and silently wiped away her tears.
That night, after eating their dinner in complete silence, Lydia and Treasure joined Angie in her room. Mattie got out her telephone book, looked up Deller’s number, and dialed it. When she answered, only three words came from Mattie’s mouth: “We’re gonna come.” Then she quickly hung up the phone.
The morning of their trip, Mattie got up early to bake pies for the cookout Deller had planned. It was Memorial Day weekend, and the weather reports called for temperatures in the mid-eighties.
After the pies were done, Mattie went upstairs to wake Angie, along with Lydia and Treasure, who had stayed the night. After breakfast, they all piled into John’s car, picked up Eloise, and headed toward the Walt Whitman Bridge.
Eileen, Roy Jr., and Anthony would be there with their families, too.
As they crossed the Goethals Bridge into Staten Island, the palms of Mattie’s hands started pouring sweat. They were less than fifteen minutes away. She had told herself she wasn’t going to clam up, wasn’t going to let her nerves get the best of her. She thought it was silly that she was feeling so nervous, so fourteen again. But she wasn’t fourteen, she reminded herself. She was more than grown, had raised five children of her own, and even had grandbabies. But no matter how much she tried to rationalize her thoughts, still she wasn’t ready to see her father again.
When the car pulled into the driveway, Deller came rushing out the front door, waving. “I can’t believe y’all made it,” she said. “I wasn’t expectin’ you for at least another hour.” She went over to Eloise and helped her out of the car, giving her a big hug and a kiss.
“Yeah, we got an early start,” Eloise said, stretching her legs. “You know how John like to beat the traffic.”
“Hi, Mattie. How you doing?” Deller asked.
“I’m fine,” Mattie said. They hugged awkwardly.
Lydia grabbed Treasure’s hand and motioned for Angie to come along as they walked toward the house. She was filled with anticipation, wondering what it would be like to finally meet Isaac, the patriarch behind all the stories. She tried to imagine what he would be like. Would he be tall or short? Handsome or ugly? Nice or evil looking? She had made up so many images in her mind about him.
“Has anyone else arrived yet?” Eloise asked.
“Not yet. But I’m sure they’ll all be here soon. Daddy’s in the backyard,” Deller said.
Isaac sat in the yard in his iron chair, the one he sat in every day. The seat was slightly damp from the morning dew. He looked out at the bed of roses Deller had planted for him. He hadn’t been feeling well lately, and Deller was thinking he might take a turn for the worse. But when she told him all of his family was planning to come and see him, his spirits lifted. He wondered what it would be like to finally meet the family Deller had been telling him about. It was nearly impossible for Isaac to grasp that he had eight children, eighteen grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. Whenever Deller showed him pictures of everyone, he barely recognized anyone at all.
Mattie took a deep breath as they turned the corner to the backyard. From a distance, Isaac didn’t look at all like the same man who had walked out on them so long ago. But as she got closer, all the emotion she had carried for so many years struck her like lightning.
Deller took Mattie by the hand and pulled her toward him. “Daddy, this here is Mattie. Remember, I told you about Mattie, the one you say you remember as a little girl. She’s the daughter that lived down South with us before you brought us up here,” Deller said, nearly shouting.
Isaac’s eyes met Mattie’s as she stood there looking down at him, an awkward smile on her face. She could see the deep lines in his face, each telling a story of struggle.
