A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing Pt. 1

I tightly squeezed my sister’s index and middle finger with little anticipation of letting go. I could feel the sweat between us trying to take her away from me. I quickly latched onto her ring finger with my dry hand and wiped the sweat off of my unreliable hand onto my pant leg. I heard a soft feminine giggle and the back of Serene’s hand gently glided against my cheek. I squinted up at her trying to read her face which was slightly blurred because of her great height. She could sense the fear within me. She picked me up and propped me up against her hip. Her eyes were red and empty and her cheeks were pink and rosy. A shallow river tear abruptly crawled against her face and reached her chin in no time.
“You don’t cry because you don’t understand,” she said fighting to crack a smile. “Next time, you know to call 911.”
She was right. I didn’t understand and because of that, I was scared. As fresh four year old, unfamiliar situations often instilled minor to grand fear in me. My mother was typically my safety blanket but my sister was temporarily replacing her because my mother was the reason I was scared. I wrapped my arm around my sister’s neck and lay on her chest while staring at my mother’s motionless, dried, cracked eyelids. She was laying flat on her back in a hospital bed fast asleep.

Only two days ago was she lying on her side snoring with small pringle crumbs locked onto the edges of her lips. There was always one obnoxious loud snore that would wake me up every morning at 10 making my eyes pop out and heart race. One of her grand morning snores never failed to scare me. I slept with my mom every night and not one day in my life had I slept alone. Frankly, sleeping without my mom wasn’t an option because all she could afford was a one roomed apartment that had one bed, one drawer, one tv, one couch, one refrigerator with one snack in it, which was Pringles. Oddly enough, the day she decided to continue her rest at the hospital was the day I woke up in the afternoon with no help.

I frowned at her, confused, and watched her not snore and blow a putrid aroma in my face. Her sleep facial expression was quiet and empty. I was way to use to an open mouth with drool, layers of chins and evidence of midnight snacking all over her lower face and cleavage. I slapped my mom’s fleshy arm yelling for her to wake up but she did not budge. I hopped out of bed and stood on the opposite side of it and continued to slap her arm harder without the yelling and listened to the echo of the slap on the wall. I played a beat on her arm for it to echo against the wall then officially decided the situation was scary and she was not pretending to sleep.

With nothing but a pair of brown stained underwear on, I dashed through the hallway and out the front door into the outside world. The sky was clogged with heavy grey clouds that seemed to lightly touch the ground. The trees diced the air with their bare limbs. I wasn’t sure whether I should knock on the door across from ours or downstairs. The lady across from us did not like me and I could tell just by the scowl she had on her face every time she looked at me. She was middle aged and there was no doubt that she was self righteous. Whenever I sat on the stairs outside, I was waiting for her ankle length jacket to swing and hit my nose so I could smell the odor that rushed from her undercoat. It smelled of chocolate, my favorite smell. I would watch her walk in the moonlight at midnight every night and I looked forward to it. She would look down upon me with her stiff neck when she came out and walk down the stairs slowly making sure each step she took made a loud “thump”. The man downstairs never answered the door whenever my mother was around, but when I was alone he would make a trip upstairs to hold me because of my loneliness and talk to me about my family. I didn’t go to daycare and I wasn’t going to be going to school. Every time I mentioned school and told mom how I could make a real friend she would draw an offended look on her face and tell me how stupid the idea was. She thought school was for “dummies”. I banged loudly on the door across from ours.

“Ms. Laballee!” Sticky footsteps moved closer to me behind the door then stopped. I leaned my ear into the door and began to listen until the door swung open. Walking right in, I pulled a heavy chair from under the table next to the doorway and roughly plopped down into it.
“Girl, what is your problem,” she said with an uninviting angry look on her face. She stood next to her open doorway staring down at me confused with my attire while her arms were folded. She looked no better with her pink cotton robe, pink house shoes and rollers of different colors throughout her hair. “Get up out my chair, little girl! Why you here?”

I popped up as if something hot had burned my butt and began to speak rapidly in “ebonics” to relate. Ebonics was “how blacks could understand me”, my mom once said. She had told me blacks made fun of you if you spoke like “white people” in our area.

“My momma “AIN’T” wake me up today and she “AIN’T” breathing hard no more. She still-.” I stammered and Ms. Labellee shook her head and pierced her lips. She walked behind me and began to guide me out the door.

“Wait, Ms. Labellee-,” she slammed the door and the lock clicked.

“Gone back home girl,” she yelled aggressively behind the door.

“I don’t take kindly to nobody makin’ funna me nor do I like yuh mamma!” I stared at her door for a few moments then rushed to open our door to see if mommy was awake, but she was still lying in the same exact position as before.

“Mom, please wake up,” I begged pulling on the back of her shirt with all my little strength.

“Wake up!” She still did not budge. Something had to be done.

Drops of rain tapped on our bedroom window lightly. I quickly maneuvered through questionably clean clothes in my drawer with shaky, nervous hands and found a gray sweatshirt with remnants of sticky candy scattered throughout the front of it. Carelessly, I shoved my head through the neck hole. My heart was pumping with intensity. I wasn’t sure what to do. I stepped into the living room and walked back and forth thinking before I proceeded to take action. Where to go and what to do were two of my biggest concerns at the moment. There was no time to think. I quickly threw on a pair of jeans that resided under the bed and slipped on a pair of muddy flip flops next to the front door. I opened the door to see the clouds were an even darker gray. The wind blew roughly against my hair so I covered it with the hood of my sweatshirt.

Just from walking downstairs I was soaked. Water dripped from the ends of my bangs and onto the ends of my eyelashes. Rain always makes its way through somehow. I knocked aggressively against Mr. Wob’s door. The door opened and there he stood short, thick and plump with stubbles of hair pricking throughout his chin. He usually made sure he was shaven. He had a green silk robe that was open and revealed his firm round belly and loose white underwear. He looked around me and along the stairs from his stance. His eyes were gray, dark and somewhat scary. With this weather, everything seemed scary.

“Jalene, this weather is ridiculous. Where’s your mother? What are you doing here” He backed away from the door and began to slowly close it.

“She’s upstairs,” I exclaimed.

“It’s almost 1 in the afternoon, shouldn’t she be at work or something,” he exclaimed sarcastically then chuckling. I wasn’t sure what was funny, but I took note of his random laughter. He rolled his eyes then pulled out two chapsticks trying to make a decision on which one to use. Mr.Wob thought my mom’s job was crazy something I knew for sure. I wasn’t sure what her profession was. She stayed away everyday from 12pm - 12am. She would come home from either a red Hyundai, black escalade or a white Mercedes. I watched out for one of those cars daily on the top of the stairs outside around the time she came home and Mrs. Labellee left. I never knew or saw the people who brought her home. “I don’t know why she didn’t get up today.” Mr.Wob’s focus shifted from his chapsticks to me and his dry lips departed. His face was definitely conflicted. “Uh, Jalene,” he began to stutter and back away from the door. He felt around in his silk pockets, pulled out a few dollars and shoved them into my hand. “Go down the street and buy me a beer. Make sure to ask for Hayden first.”
“I know you don’t like my mom around, but can you get her up for me please?”
“Buy the beer and I’ll think about it.” He winked and smiled then closed the door.
“But, it’s raining!” I banged the door and there was nothing but silence behind it. I had no choice but to go to the gas station across the street.
Rain drops heavily dropped onto my head and seeped through my hood. The wind almost blew me away each time I lifted my foot. I cried so hard I could barely breathe. Something about my mother wasn’t right and I did not understand what was going on. I ran across the empty street watching headlights from far away slowly glide toward me. Once I made it across the street, “Way 2 Go”, the gas station shone bright in my face. The doorbell jingled and the door slammed behind me. The warmth in the building quickly gathered among my cheeks and nose. A tall dark skin black man stood behind a countertop cluttered with gum, pickles, pig feet and honey buns. He smiled, but his mustache covered his top teeth. His eyes were dark and beady and his hair was frizzy and greasy. He wore a green collar shirt and a nametag that defined him to “PAUL”. I couldn’t read, but I knew he was always in and out of Mrs.Labellee’s apartment a lot, and that his name was Paul. “Hey cute lil lady,” he said lazily waving his hand into the air. I stared long and hard with my eyes that could barely reach a view above the countertop and walked slowly passed him without saying a word.