In Your Dreams, Chapter 2: Ericka

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Chapter 2: Ericka

He lorded over me, proudly displaying those gold fronts looking like a ghetto jack-o-lantern, relishing the fact that he had been able to overpower a mousy female with a gun. He had to. Because he knew I knew him well enough to fight back. He didn't like women who fought back. And it frustrated him that he couldn't take his frustrations out on me.

“You always talking shit. You ain’t got nothing to say, now?”

I flashed him a smug grin of my own.

“Yeah. Don’t you ever get tired of fighting girls?”

His evil smile faded right before he took aim and fired right at my head.

I woke with a start, searching the darkness for any signs of an intruder. No jack-o-lanterns with gold teeth glinting through the darkness before daybreak. No psychopath with a gun. I was a little unnerved. But I was awake. And I was alone. And I was sick and tired of having these damn nightmares every night.

I drifted off once more into a heavy, dreamless sleep only to be ripped away from my pillow again by my internal alarm clock thirty minutes after I was due to be out of bed. Good thing I set the coffee maker to automatically brew the night before. The rich aroma of java coaxed me to stand a little straighter. On my way downstairs, I rapped on Tomika’s room door with my cane using moderate force. I knew she wasn’t up yet. I stood for a second to make sure I heard her stirring before I left. I wasn’t going to break my neck coming all the way back up these steps just to wake her up a second time. I banged on the door again, more like a CO hitting cell bars to get the attention of an inmate. Then I flung open the door.

“Tomika! You better get up. You’re gonna miss the bus and I don’t have time to take you to school this morning.”

She let out a plaintive groan and turned her back to me. I went over to the bed, flung back her covers, and began poking her in the butt with my cane.

“Ma, I’m up!” she whined, finally coming to life.

“Hurry up,” I said, giving her my best Ice Cube impression. She rolled her eyes dramatically, as I hobbled on my way, satisfied.

I took the stairs instead of the elevator Desmond had installed when I decided to move here after I was released from the hospital. I held tightly to the railing, taking care to make sure my foot hit each step. Pretty soon, I would be able to go up and down as I pleased, with no assistance.

Once in the kitchen, I poured myself some coffee and proceeded to fix breakfast for Tomika. Oatmeal with butter and sugar and almond milk. She finally appeared, with only about ten minutes to spare before the bus would come honking, pouty and disheveled as though she had spent the night bar hopping with her girlfriends.

I smoothed her cornrows down and straightened the collar on her polo before she sat at the table to her bowl and glass waiting for her at the table.

“You know, it hurts you a whole lot worse than me when you sneak and stay up all night reading under the covers when you’re supposed to be sleep.” I taunted. “And you better not be sleep in class today.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tomika mumbled, quickly shoveling a couple of heaping spoonfuls of oatmeal, before grabbing her backpack off the chair before range walking out of the kitchen and toward the front door. She always stopped at Desmond’s to say bye before she left.

“Wait! Come and give me some sugar first, since you’re not gonna have time to come back before your bus pulls up.” I said. “You have all of your stuff?”

“Yes mama,” she answered in slight exasperation. Almost twelve now, puberty had kicked in and suddenly my mothering was becoming an annoyance to her. She gave me a quick, reluctant smooch and hurried outside. I watched her through the storm door as she rang the neighboring doorbell to his place. He opened the door almost immediately, beaming with pride as Tomika offered him the paper that she picked up off his doormat.

“Hey, you! You ready to get it, this morning?” Desmond boomed, enthusiastically. He beckoned her inside, giving her a fist bump as she made her way inside. At least somebody still knows what to say, I shrugged to myself.

I limped out onto the porch so I could hear their early morning chitchat. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but their discussion sounded playful and chatty. Tamika giggled again at an apparent funny joke. I always enjoyed their interactions.

My entertainment was interrupted by the exhaling and groaning of the school bus as it pulled away without her. I raised my hand to the door to knock as I called out to her. But just then she and Desmond emerged from the house. Tomika now sported a brown leather flight jacket and a motorcycle helmet. The straps dangled from her the sides of her helmet, brushing her sharp chin as she walked. Desmond donned a matching jacket with well-fitting blue jeans and black riding boots. Simultaneously, each slid a pair of black sunglasses from inside their jackets and slid them on. The sheer over-the-top-ness of it all made me laugh out loud.

“Your bus just pulled off. So, what y’all doing, skipping school?” I asked, stifling a giggle.

Tomika turned to me. “Uncle Dez is gonna give me a ride on the Harley today! And look, Mama. He bought me this jacket and these shades!” She was a motorcycle mama just like her mama. And that ensemble made her look the part.

I turned to Desmond. “That was really nice, Des. But you didn’t have to do that.”

“It was nothing. The guy at the Harley dealership threw them in for a side job I did for him last week. Would’ve gotten you one too, but I didn’t want to hear how you’re ‘Miss Independent’ and you can buy your own stuff,” He answered with a chuckle.

“Dang! I wouldn’t have turned down a leather jacket, though! I could’ve paid you for it. Or you could’ve taken it out of my check, at least,” I protested.

“Too bad,” he continued to tease. “But, nah, seriously, I have to meet a client for an inspection in town and since I was a little long-winded during our morning chat, I figured I’d just take her. Is that okay with you?”

I threw up my free hand dismissively, as I maneuvered an about face, holding the cane in my dominant hand to go back in my adjoining twin home. “Whatever. As long as she goes to school.”

“And oh, I did get you a jacket, too. It’s in the house. I was going to wait until Valentine’s Day but Missy here, saw them on the chair,” he called over the roar of the engine, gesturing behind him toward Tomika. Before I could manage a ‘thank you,’ they were on their way.

“Bye, Mama!” Tomika waved, grinning from behind the helmet that swallowed up her up, along with the jacket. Then the two mismatched motorcycle bandits jumped on their hog and rode off into the sunrise.

Once Tomika left for school, I used the remainder of quiet time to get my mind right before heading to my physical therapy appointment, or what I liked to refer to as the “torture chamber.” I had a standing appointment every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday at 10 am with Shannon, a young, cute black woman who I was referred to by Toy’s fiancée, Germaine. In addition to being a staff member at the hospital, she had also traveled for a while with Germaine’s team overseas. Physical therapy was a slow and grueling, and sometimes painful process. I hated going, yet I never missed it. Having to depend on a cane was a sore spot for me because I was used to living such an active lifestyle. It meant no motorcycles, no softball, and no running. I wasn’t ready to concede to slowing down just yet. My life was just starting to pick up. So, I set a goal to be rid of my cane by Toy’s wedding. I didn’t want to look at those pictures and be reminded of the trauma that caused me to have it in the first place. So, I was more than willing to push myself to the brink of exhaustion to be rid of it forever.

When I arrived at my appointment, I was greeted by the sounds of will.i.am and Fergie encouraging us to “Pump It” louder. The obnoxious music was enough to hype me up for my slow torture session. I nodded to the beat as I locked my bag in my dressing room locker. I looked in the mirror and gave it my best warrior expression. “Get your butt in gear. You got this,” I growled lowly at myself.

Shannon beamed as I walked in with my back straight and head up, ready for war.

“E. Middle, the Great! My favorite patient!” she yelled encouraging over the music. “You’re looking good, girl. You act like you’re ready to put that cane down and go running with me.”

I gave her a sarcastic smile. “Come on with this fake flattery, Shannon. Go ahead and max me on out and I can move on with my day.” She laughed, a little too enthusiastically for my tastes, as she held her hand out for my cane signaling that the torture had officially begun.

© 2024 by Evelyn Outlaw

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