Free Man Curse by Raqiyah Mays Page A

outside, I saw a small black and brown dog, peeing on the sidewalk. It looked like a tiny version of a rottweiler, but its tail and ears weren’t clipped.
    â€œShe must like me,” he said, looking at my mother from the side. “I got out to get gas and she just jumped in.”
    â€œYeah, right,” Mom said, rolling her eyes with a slight smile.
    â€œIt’s the truth!”
    My mother had always been firmly against having a pet, thinking I wasn’t responsible enough. She complained of paws scraping her shiny wooden floors. And pee soaking into the living room rug.
    â€œThis dog is not my responsibility, Meena,” she said with a furrowed brow. “You have to get up early in the morning to walk her. Do it again after school and before you go to bed. Feed her, wash her, keep her in your room, and in the basement or outside when you’re not home. I don’t want my house smellin’ like dog.”
    â€œI can keep her?” I screamed, smiling, chasing the puppy as it scurried into the house. “I’ma name her Lady!”
    â€œAnd keep it out of my kitchen!” Mom yelled after me.
    I scooped up Lady, ran to my bedroom, and caressed her on my bed. I’d wanted a dog since I was three, but never imagined having one while living under my mother’s neat-freak roof. I sat back, watching Lady acquaint herself with the room, realizing that I actually liked Larry. He was like God to Mom: when he spoke, clouds scattered, opening the way for sunlight to shine a loving glow upon our hearts, transforming my mother from wicked witch to benevolent peacemaker. I hoped they’d get married. I dreamed of having a real daddy.
    Until I overheard a phone call one night.
    â€œWhen are you coming by? You said you were coming this weekend.”
    My mother’s deep, husky voice was raspy, dragging, lethargically trying to recover from botched heart surgery by Dr. Love. The sound of concerned emotion in high-pitched vocal cords awakened me. So I snuck to her bedroom door and stood stiff as a mannequin to listen.
    â€œLarry, will you listen for a minute? I need you to fix my car. I . . . I . . .” Her voice drifted into a sob. “What? I don’t care what she needs. Acting like you have a wife. You said you were separated.”
    My mind raced with questions, disbelieving what I’d just heard. Married? Larry? Since when? Had Mom known when they first started? She couldn’t have. They seemed like the epitome of perfection. So happy and loving, never arguing. Larry would come home to dinner. She’d sit on his lap, stroking the goatee rooted with gray hairs curling from his chin. He’d crack a corny joke and she’d damn near fall on the floor laughing. I was both confused and sad, wanting to gain answers to my questions while giving hugs to show comfort.
    But I didn’t want to get slapped for eavesdropping. So I stood in place, stiff by the door, slightly crouched over, sore in my right leg from standing still enough not to make the floor creak.
    â€œYou’re not going to divorce her, so stop lying. I am so tired of this shit. The lies, the bullshit . . . I knew what? Uh-uh, don’t try and make it like . . . You know what? Fuck you, Larry! Fuck. You.” And she slammed down the phone.
    I didn’t move. Stuck in shock, too scared to breathe, muscles in my body aching for a stretch. I wanted to hug her. Then I was surprised by a sound I’d never heard before. I could hear the bed squeak as she sat on the side sniffling, trying to muffle depressed moans with a tissue. When the phone rang, I ran back to bed, synchronizing and camouflaging my footsteps with each ringtone.
    This breakup went on for about a month, until one Sunday, I walked in the house and saw Larry sitting at the dinner table. Smiling, he and Mom lovingly gazed at each other, like two honeymooners. After dinner, as they washed dishes