My Fate

A family in our building had been harassing us for months. Jackie and I tried our best to deal with it but were so angry at the bullying and name calling our son Terry was exposed to. The mother, Danielle, made sure her children let everyone at school know that Terry had two “dykes” for mothers. Jackie and I were increasingly depressed about patching up his wounds and trying to console him. We didn’t know what to do, really. We considered a move to a more tolerant place, but we really couldn’t pull that off at that time. Terry withdrew and Jackie started to alarm me by some of the anger behind her threats to get even with Danielle who’d spearheaded the hate campaign.

Jackie convinced me to join her in confronting Danielle. Actually, it was a physical attack she had in mind. She hatched a plan to do this in the laundry room where she knew Danielle did laundry on a regular basis in the late evening. This was good because chances were there’d be no witnesses. And so, one evening we found her alone and began a verbal altercation which escalated to pushing her against the machine, hairpulling, and vigorous slaps. I really don’t know how Jackie unleashed this in me. I’d never done anything like it. In a quick flash, I saw Jackie pull a small knife and stab the woman. A stillness ensued. Danielle didn’t know which of us had knifed her, but it couldn’t have been too serious as she continued to fight until we ran upstairs.

I’m not sure how Terry sees things, and there is much guilt about this for me. Had Jackie and I made promises we couldn’t keep, for I thought we would always be there for Terry. And now I can’t be there for either of them. Jackie let me take the fall because I said it was her womb that made him. This made me feel like she had more right to be the single parent. Neither of us know who the father was. And Terry is a lost puzzle piece.

#

Someone always has to take the fall. In here, I have to pull off just surviving. I am drawn from my reverie in this awkward visitors’ waiting room when I see Jackie enter smiling. “How you holding up?” she inquires as she takes a seat across from me. I can’t stand hearing such inane, predictable questions.

“Fine,” I answer.

“Sorry I didn’t bring Terry but I wanted to see you alone about something. But first of all, is it getting any easier here? Is there anything I can do?”

My mind struggles with how to respond when I can’t see the absolute boredom and sameness of my life changing. What language can I use to answer her?

Jackie says, “I hope you don’t look back too much. There was no way we knew she had a heart condition when we attacked her, and my knife did little damage. Terry sends his love. He drew this for you.”

What is wrong with me? I should be so warmed inside and happy to receive this drawing, but in this sterile place my heart is scrubbed raw, and this is so predictable; doesn’t everyone in every movie one’s ever seen get a drawing from their kid when there in a correctional facility? I run my fingers lightly over the brightly colored picture. Where did he find such colors? Do they really exist?

What is it you wanted to see me about?”

Jackie fidgets and clears her throat. She couldn’t look more uncomfortable.

“I’ve met someone,” she finally says not looking me in the eyes.

Why am I not more surprised, I think, in this circle of hell. As if taking the fall for both of us isn’t enough proof of my love for her and Terry.

“So, Terry will have three mothers? Is that what you’re telling me?” The sarcasm in my voice is bitter as it should be.

“Not exactly,” she answers. “It’s too early for that.”

I think how much I love Terry and how it hurts all the time to be separated from him. This, my only comfort, that I can love someone unconditionally. I look beyond Jackie at another of the blank walls. I want to scream. It is too soon to build the rage that will come. “Whatever,” I respond and walk to the exit door signaling the guard.

The days following are a blur. Eventually, the numbness starts to fade. What is left of my heart waffles back and forth between my love for Terry and my growing hatred for Jackie, the latter something I’ve never felt to this degree. I feel cornered here, the animal she’s wounded, and I visualize harming her.

It becomes so real that a plan emerges in me—a cancer that spreads. This matters more to me than Terry’s welfare. How can that be? It can’t be possible, can it? Yet, how much can one person be asked to give up? Jackie’s not the only one who can hatch a plan. I can’t stop obsessing over mine. My next hearing goes well and I have a release date. I don’t get excited because I’m going to destine myself to a place like this anyway. The one thing I’m completely sure of is that when I go after Jackie, I won’t wield the blade like she did, an amateur. I’ll make it count.

BIO: Marc Frazier has published in well over a hundred forty journals. A recipient of an Illinois Arts Council Award for poetry, he has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes and two “Best of the Nets.” His four books are available online. His latest poetry book If It Comes To That won Silver in the Florida Writers Association Royal Palm Literary Awards contest. He has published a great deal of flash fiction, photos, essays, and memoir pieces. Marc is an LGBTQ author and photographer living in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. marcfrazierwrites.com