Biting The Hand That Feeds

Chapter 2

“Tyrell?” The warmth of a woman’s arms immediately greeted Tyrell. Tyrell smiled kissing her on the forehead.
“Hey mom,” he murmured. His mother placed her hands on his cheeks; her beautiful beam was enough to brighten his grueling day. She had long black hair, with brown colored skin. Her balmy green eyes could capture any man’s heart. Tyrell was amazed at how stunning his looked; even at her early thirties she possessed the body of a black goddess.
“So how was school?” she asked, awakening Tyrell from his trance. Tyrell turned away gripping his mother’s arms away from his face. Sensing another awful day she veers for the kitchen with her son behind him. “You can’t have a perfect day daily.” Tyrell watched her pull out pots and pans; she was still in only her morning gown.
“I see you haven’t been to work today,” he smirked as he sits on the kitchen counter. “That ain’t like you.”
Tyrell’s mother sassily put her hands on her hips replying, “Excuse me? Who made you Fredrick Anthony all of a sudden?”
“Don’t act like my pops didn’t put things down,” laughed Tyrell. He watched her pull out some vegetables and a cutting knife. “I bet he still be surprised at you. Still think you all that.”
“Yeah,” chuckled Tyrell’s mother chopping away at the collards. “Well you know there’s a new man in my life now.” Tyrell’s joy altered to a neutral face instantly. Once again his mother could perceive his emotions as she stopped chopping. She had that effect ever since his father died, almost like a psychic with her ability to depict Tyrell’s deepest feelings.
“Don’t be like that,” she said.
“Why you had to bring him up?” he sniffed. “We were talking about the good times and you want bring that dude in the picture.”
“Elliot is my husband now,” said Tyrell’s mother. “Jesus, it’s been a year since the wedding and you still can’t accept him. What’s wrong with him?” Tyrell doesn’t reply; Elliot Cambridge was good friend of Fredrick Anthony, Tyrell’s father. Back in the days, they hustled in the streets as well, similar to what he was doing now. Selling cocaine, smoking weed, just barely making it in life. From what he heard, they were in separable—Fred and E-Smooth were what they were called.
Tyrell didn’t initially had a problem with Elliot’s presence, after his father died Elliot tried to mend back the wound in the Anthony’s heart. Then he just got closer to him and his mother, and he was still in a state of trauma. Following that, he just felt self-conscious around him, and marrying his mother didn’t help matters.
“I just don’t like the dude, alright?” said Tyrell finally. “C’mon ma, you can’t force me to like him?” Tyrell’s mother sighed as she sits down with him. She grasped his hands, looking him deep in the eyes.
“Please do not hate this man,” she said. “I know he will never replace Fredrick but he’s doing the best he can. He sacrifice his time his money, just so he can take of us. Any man with that kind of will—that kind of love desires to be loved back, let alone respected. That’s all I’m asking, just make him feel wanted in this family. Please?”
Tyrell was helpless to her angelic, serene eyes; he was forced to turn his head away from her. “Alright, whatever. But don’t expect a lot.” The familiar smile creviced from her lips.
“I love you.”
“Who knows, I may be able to call him ‘Pop,’” Tyrell said sarcastically. His mother laughed brushing his head aside. “So where is he?”
“He should be home anytime now with the groceries. He was just buying the meat, until then I might need to take a bath.”
“Yeah,” grinned Tyrell waving his arm. “I weren’t going to say nothing, but dang!” She made a funny scowl as she walked upstairs. Tyrell held his breath pretending to not to inhale his mother’s scent. He could feel his heart beginning to warm progressively. It’s been a while since that mood came about, but his mother is capable of doing such things.
Without warning, the door screech as Tyrell shifts his eyes to the location. He sneered when he saw a man entered with a bag full of groceries in both arms. He was dressed in a gray-buttoned shirt, with navy worn pants. His black work boots clopped with each stepped he took.
“Franchelle!” he shouted. Almost returned back to his negative humor Tyrell rolls his eyes dazing at the window. “Franchelle!”
“Quit your damn yelling!” snapped Tyrell, irritated with his voice already. “She upstairs, she’s taking a shower.”
“Oh, Tyrell,” said the man. He placed the bags on the kitchen table, with Tyrell still staring outside. “Didn’t see you, with these bags and all.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just watch your voice…E-Smooth!”
“I’d prefer if you at least call me Elliot, man. E-Smooth was my hustle name.”
“What’s next, you gonna ask me to call you, Daddy? I bet you'd like that.” The man known as Elliot shook his head taking out the goods from the bag. He glanced back at Tyrell prepared to take another crack at him.
“So how was your day?” Tyrell flinched; normally after he finished cursing or scowling him he was done for the day. He thought for a moment realizing that his mother gave Elliot the speech as well. He turned around at Elliot scratching his hair periodically.
“It was straight.”
“That’s good, pretty soon we’ll be seeing you walk down that aisle to get your diploma.”
“Yeah,” said Tyrell, the only response he could possibly give him. The fact of him actually conversing with Elliot just made him feel even more awkward. “I’ll be up in my room.” Elliot watched Tyrell rise from his seat strolling for his room.
“Tyrell,” Elliot said heavily. Tyrell stopped slowly, eyes still aimed at the door while sucking his teeth; is Elliot pushing his buttons? Didn’t he apprehend that that was the most uncomfortable conversation ever? “Look, I was thinking maybe we could spend some time together. You know, maybe go see some movies take you out to a game or something.”
“You’re serious?” smirked Tyrell. “What nigga done lend you their balls for today? Kind of late to play dad now.”
“Well it’s not like you gave me a chance!” said Elliot harshly. Tyrell twist his neck almost anxious for this dispute to rise. Elliot frowned rubbing his goatee at a snail's pace. “I know we’ve never see eye-to-eye, but there’s one thing we can see. Franchelle’s getting worried about us and she doesn’t want us to be fighting all the damn time. Let’s put this aside for a while, all right? Eventually, you’ll be eighteen, you’ll graduate and you won’t have anything to worry about. But right now, let’s just try to get along.”
Tyrell just stared at Elliot almost taking him as a joke; before he could say anything he spotted his mother coming downstairs in a bathrobe. He suddenly remembered the little vow he made to her and cursing lightly.
“Hey, Elliot. I didn’t hear you.” She kissed him on the lips, brushing his wavy, black hair. Tyrell turned back around proceeding to his room without delay. As his hand reached the doorknob, he takes a deep breath.
“Yankees Stadium, Saturday 6:00 P.M—make sure you’re there.” As Tyrell entered inside his room, he wondered why he even bothered. Perhaps his mother’s pleas were finally getting on his nerves? Maybe he just wanted to get Elliot off his back for a while until that day?
It may be possible that it was something deeper than that, it was likely that he was in fact doing this out of respect. Not respect for Elliot of course, but respect of his slain father. He could devote all the respect in the world for him—and fortunately this move he made may have cast a great amount of admiration from Fredrick…