In Your Dreams, Chapter 5: Toy

Chapter 5: Toy

(Thursday, February 13, 2014)

After standing in the cereal aisle for what felt like at least an hour, I sucked in a breath as Mother picked up what was probably the fourteenth box of cereal. She squinted intently at the box and turned it over studying it carefully as if she were actually interested in the contents inside. She moved from the Special K to the Honey Bunches of Oats muttering to herself. She rarely had much to say to me on these draining shopping trips unless it was to bark orders about where to take her next. I was more than happy to oblige her silence.

“Now, I know damn well they still sell the Honey Bunches of Oats with the pecans in ‘em,” she murmured absentmindedly to anyone besides me.

I paused for a moment, weighing my options. If I remained silent, we could possibly spend the rest of eternity in this store. But if I told her that what she wanted was in a different store, she'd probably blow up at me for contradicting her. And then I'd still have to take her to Walmart go get that doggone cereal. Decisions. Decisions. I picked my poison.

“They sell the ones with pecans in Walmart.” Although short and to the point, I attempted to render my reply empty of any emotion. And I purposely avoided making eye contact, so she couldn't detect any hint of annoyance in my face. I pretended to busy myself in the opposite section on the aisle, but the only other items closest to where we shopped were baby food and diapers.

I could feel the heat on my neck as she lit her response into my back like a fire breathing dragon.

“I know damn well I’ve bought that same cereal in this damn Food Lion right here! And maybe if you stop looking at baby shit, you can help me find it. What the hell you looking at Pampers and shit for, anyway? It ain’t like you gon’ have no kids. No man don’t want no greasy ass woman that work on cars.”

With that, she shuffled her way back down the aisle, having forgotten all about the Honey Bunches of Oats with the pecans and moved toward the deli case where the bacon was, leaving a few shocked customers staring with interest in her wake. I followed her silently with clenched fists, fuming on the inside. I didn’t want to cause more of a scene by stooping to the gutter tactics of my mother and engaging her in verbal contact. Not that I would have, anyway. Instead, I thought to myself, I’ve done better for myself as a ‘greasy ass woman who work on cars’ than you have for yourself. AND I’ve got a man. Shoot, I owned a body shop, to be exact. A very successful one, at that. So successful that it practically ran itself just so I could cart her around every other week while she dished out her relentless abuse. Which again begged the question of why I continued to regularly subject myself to it. But no answer came.

I dutifully wandered behind her to the bread, where she fiddled and fumbled with a loaf of every brand on the shelf. And she did it at her leisure, taking care to study the nutrition information on each one, the same way she had done with the cereal without a care in the world. Not even the fact that I was the one driving her and I left my home and my business almost two hours away to complete this thankless task the same way I did almost every other week.

Just get the damn store brand like you always do! I screamed in my head, not daring to say anything else out loud for fear that she would continue to make a spectacle of herself and embarrass me completely to death. It never failed. She could smell my happiness in the air like a wild animal, and on instinct, seamlessly rip any plans I had for that day completely to shreds. I never planned for it to happen, of course. I would give myself this strong pep talk in the rearview mirror before I put the car in gear and set off for the home where I grew up in Raleigh. Yet somehow, she still managed some passive aggressive maneuver to get me to spend my entire day with her. And during our time, she would effectively use, ignore, and belittle me without even mustering a ‘thank-you’ when she was done. It would’ve been my pleasure to tell her, “Hell no. Find your own way to the grocery store.” Or even to cut her short once I was there because I had something to do. But I could never muster up the courage. I just went along with it.

While she stood in the dairy aisle contemplating cottage cheese, of all things, we were approached by Miss Price. She was a neighbor, probably about the same age as my grandmother would’ve been. When my mother finally did make good on her threat and kicked me out two weeks before graduation for coming home late, Miss Price took me in and allowed me to stay with her until I walked across the stage and left a couple of days later for boot camp at Fort Dix, New Jersey. She even attended my high school graduation ceremony. My mother did not.

Her face lit up when she noticed it was me.

“Toy, baby, you are a sight for sore eyes! I haven’t seen you in a long time! How you been, sugar?”

“I’m doing very well, Miss Price! It’s so good to see you!”

She abandoned her cart and enveloped me in a huge bear hug, happy to see me as if I was her own flesh and blood. The closest thing I ever had to a maternal warm and fuzzy was interrupted by my hateful mother who could be heard scoffing over my shoulder. I detected a faint look of disgust on Miss Price’s face as she turned to give Mother a curt acknowledgement.

“How you doing, Brenda?” she asked, nodding brusquely.

“Emma Jean.” My mother rolled her eyes and continued to stare into the glass of the dairy case.

Miss Price pursed her lips and turned her attention back to me.

“Well, baby. You look like you’re taking care of yourself. You looking real good.”

I smiled.

“Thank you so much.”

“Yeah. James and ‘nem be telling me about those pretty cars you be having at them car shows. They talk like you can really make a car pretty. That is sho’ nuff something.”

I blushed. At least somebody around here was interested in my life. My mother continued to pretend we were invisible, staring vacantly into the glass as if she were watching the news or something.

“Tell James I appreciate them coming to check out my work. I hope he and the rest of the family are doing well.”

Miss Price had a small army of children and grandchildren, and I went to school with many of them, including her grandson, James.

“Yes, honey. They all doing good. Everybody married and with a bunch of young ‘uns, and now they done started having young ‘uns. Chile, I can’t hardly keep up.” She chuckled and then took a step back.

“Miss Toy, I can’t get over how good you look, chile. You have done well. You oughta be so proud of yourself,” she gushed.

It was amusing to listen to her throw shade at my mother as she alluded to the fact that even as my mother, she had little or nothing to do with my accomplishments. Miss Price and my mother had had a few words about her taking me in after Mother kicked me out.

“Now Brenda, you can’t get mad at nobody for picking up something that you threw away. She’s still a child. Your child. And just because she’s eighteen don’t mean she don’t need her mama no more…” she had told her.

Mother snapped me back from my brief recollection. She had stood silent for our entire conversation but was not willing to let Miss Price’s dig go without taking a shot of her own.

“Yeah, Emma Jean. I guess she do look alright even with all that weight she gained after she got out the service.”

With that, she shuffled away from us back to the neighboring shelf to get some eggs.

Speechless, I watched her drop the mic and exit the stage, handing us her ass to kiss as if we had wronged her.

I lowered my head, so she couldn’t see my embarrassment. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Price,” I murmured contritely.

She took my chin into her open palm and lifted my face, so my eyes met hers.

“What you got to be sorry for, chile? You have done good in spite of not having a mama or a daddy. That’s more than she can say. She had both of her parents and look at her. She the one ought to be shame.”

We stared down the aisle at her once again.

She spoke again. “Hold your head up. I know we only get one mama, but you also only get one life. And she done lived hers, so you don’t owe her yours. You hear me?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She hugged me again. “Take care yourself, baby. And let her take care of herself for a change.”

The anticipation I’d originally felt about my date with Germaine at the Dunn-Benson dragstrip had been replaced by anxiety. He’d given me the silent treatment before I left that morning, and barely kissed me goodbye. The toxic relationship I endured with my mother was one of the few problems in our relationship. We rarely argued, but when we did, it was always about her. He despised how my mother spoke to me and couldn’t understand why I still insisted on running back and forth to do her bidding, even though I had been able to escape by moving away. Not to mention my refusal to reveal to her that I was not only in a relationship, but about to get married. I didn't understand it myself. So, I had no defense. The most I could do was apologize, beg for forgiveness and kiss ass until the next time.

Guilt had completely consumed me by the time I finally pulled into the racetrack gate almost two hours late and saw the lengths Germaine went to set the scene. He had driven down in our RV and parked it right at the fence where we had a bird’s eye view of the races. I got out of my truck and reluctantly approached the romantic campsite that was meticulously staged for our pre-Valentine’s Day date. Since we both love the Thursday night grudge matches, we decided to celebrate a day early, our way.

The sun hung low in the distance over the bustling activity of the track below us, creating a glowing halo over a small table covered in a red checkered tablecloth. The tabletop overflowed with goodies. wine chilling on ice and a charcuterie board of delicious-looking meats, fruits, and cheeses. A white cake with pink roses small enough for two sat invitingly, flanked by two small, silver dessert forks. Our lawn chairs sat side by side behind the table facing the races, where Germaine stiffly sat, looking like a forlorn, pouty kid. The RV mat underfoot was covered in pink and white rose petals. I rolled my eyes skyward, took a deep breath and tried to act natural as I made my way stiltedly toward him.

“Hi, babe!” I yelled. But it still came across with fake exuberance even over the loud roaring of the engines out on the track.

His eyes moved slowly from the activity on the dragstrip to regard me momentarily. I leaned in for a kiss and received a dry peck from him in return before he returned his gaze back to the race.

I tried again. “Everything looks so pretty! You did an amazing job. Thank you.”

A slight nod, but no response. I went to the table, grabbed a glass and filled it as close to the top as I could without running it over. I sat down in the chair beside my angry fiancée and took a huge gulp from my glass. I didn’t know what else to say. He broke the steely silence.

“You told me your mom treated you bad growing up, right?”

I nodded.

“Didn’t even come to your high school graduation. True?”

I nodded again.

He turned his body to face me and held out his hands.

“And yet, as much of an effort as I make to show you I love and care for and value you, you seem to have no problem putting her needs in front of not just yours, but mine, too.”

I swallowed hard, almost choking on my latest excuse.

“Do you want to be with me?”

My mouth gaped open slightly, taken aback that he would question my desire to be with him.

“Of course I do! I told you. My relationship with my mother is complicated. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“So, you keep saying, Toy. Have you told her you're about to have a husband that needs you, too?”

I guess I took too long to answer because he banged his hand on the arm of the chair and leapt from the seat.

“This is what I’m talking about, right here!” he roared, before looking around cautiously, realizing we were still in public, though not really the center of attention. He looked back at me and continued in a lower, but still agitated voice.

“Why are you letting someone who obviously doesn’t give a damn about you, keep you from being loved?”

I sat in my chair, head down, shoulders slumped like a chastised child and shrugged. I didn’t know how to answer him. I didn’t know the answer, myself.

He kneeled to face me and took me gently by the shoulders. His face softened.

“Look. I don’t want to be fighting with you about your mom on our special night. I know she’s a piece of work. This is hard. I get it. But you gotta see where I’m coming from. We’re about to be married and she’s already monopolizing our time. And I believe she’s doing it on purpose because she’ll do anything she can to remain in your life to continue to make you as miserable as she is. But you’re grown now. And you get to be happy. You deserve to be happy. Don’t let her take it from you. You don’t owe her anything. Okay?”

He took his right hand from my shoulder and touched my face. I nodded as he drew closer and kissed my forehead. I smiled, relieved that we wouldn’t spend the rest of our date night arguing.

He removed his hand from my face and reached down into his pocket. He fished out a disposable THC vape pen and handed it to me.

“Here. You look like you could use something stronger than that wine.”

I took it, turning it over in my hand to examine it for a label. There was none. I put it to my lips and pulled in a deep breath. The tip turned a bright blue, and a light cucumber flavor filled my nose and mouth. A cool, soothing feeling enveloped me, causing me to instinctively close my eyes and woo-sah. I sat still for a moment, allowing the weight I carried in with me to melt and give way to the calm euphoria taking its place. Finally, my eyes fluttered opened and landed on Germaine who sat across from me sporting a silly grin.

“You like?” he asked, holding his hand out for the pen.

I nodded. “I do. What is it? It tastes like cucumbers. It’s light. And I feel light. Like I could float away.”

“Well, cool. Happy Valentine’s Day, then. It’s called ‘Crisp Cucumber.’ It’s supposed to have a calming effect. Also makes you happy, relaxed, and energetic. An associate brought me some stuff to sample from a fishing trip to Alaska. Was saving it for date night.”

Germaine and I are cannabis connoisseurs, of sorts. He began investing when states first began making it legal and suggested it to me after learning that I suffered from anxiety. We’re not daily smokers, but it has become a regular leisure activity for us to the point where we take trips to places where we can smoke legally just to try new strains. Each one has its own unique properties, and we keep a journal of the different ones we try, and how they make us feel, and compare. We share with our friends and get feedback from them about ones they like.

Suddenly, I had an uncontrollable urge to giggle. “So, if you had this the whole time, why you didn’t just smoke before I got here instead of being mad and then getting high? You could’ve avoided all that.”

Germaine laughed, too. “Cuz, man! I didn’t want to see you and blow my high remembering I was mad. Besides, I wanted to go ahead and blow off steam so we could enjoy the rest of the evening.”

He reached over and took my hand and we each settled into our chairs to watch the races. An ’88 Mustang 5.0 smoked a brand-new Charger by more than fifteen seconds, and we yelled with excitement along with the crowd below. The clink of our glasses in a celebratory toast signaled the end of our fight, as we settled into our neutral corners, side by side, choosing peace over war. Love had won this battle.

© 2024, Evelyn Outlaw

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Evelyn Outlaw at dramaqueenpublications@gmail.com.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products are intended or should be inferred.

And if you’re curious to see how the story of Toy and Ericka began, click below to download a copy of my first book, “…and then I woke up.” for just $3.99. Or order a paperback copy for $10.99. Happy reading!