I took another slow pull of the Trillium, let it settle deep, and exhaled while watchin’ the trees sway under the moonlight. Somewhere out there, the world was still spinnin’, but up here, on this balcony in the middle of my jungle, I just wanted stillness.
I sat there quiet with the smoke curlin’ around me, the night stretchin’ on, and my thoughts stuck somewhere between who I lost and who I was about to become.
Moss Point
“Pluto, can you read me a bedtime story?” my little sister Zurie asked through drained eyes.
With a broken smile, I adjusted the blanket around her tiny shoulders and reached for the book on the nightstand. “Of course I can,” I said, brushing her curls out her face with the gentleness she deserved.
Zurie had just gotten out the hospital last week, after having another episode. Her head had been hurting for days, and by the time we made it to the ER, she could barely walk straight. The doctors said it was from her Chiari Malformation—something I had to look up on my phone that night, sitting alone in the waiting room while they ran tests. It meant the bottom part of her brain, the cerebellum, was slipping down into her spinalcanal, pressing on nerves. Causing headaches, dizziness, balance issues, and even numbness in her arms. The way she looked at me when they wheeled her out with that IV in her hand still haunted me.
She was only six years old. Six… And this was her life.
I flipped open the book, my voice low and soft, reading a story she’d already heard a hundred times but never got tired of. Her small hand curled into the fabric of my t-shirt as she snuggled closer, her breathing slow and peaceful. For a second, everything felt quiet, like maybe this room could exist outside of all the mess.
But then she asked me something softly, like it had been sitting on her mind for days.
“Are you still moving out?”
My mouth went dry. I didn’t answer right away. I just looked down at her and felt that lump I always tried to ignore crawl right back into my throat. The truth was, I wanted to leave. Hell, I needed to. I was twenty-four years old, sleeping in the back room of a busted two-bedroom apartment, when just a few years ago we were living in a mansion.
We used to live in a house with a long driveway and a double staircase. I used to sneak down it at night and steal my mama’s cheesecake from the fridge. Daddy used to barbecue on Sundays and bring us home little gifts when he came back from his business trips. Back then, we were straight before he started drinking heavy. Before the dice games and poker tables swallowed up our savings, and before we went from crystal chandeliers to peeling paint and a broken heater that made a loud knocking sound every time it came on.
I wanted to be free. I wanted out, but I couldn’t leave Zurie behind in this mess. Not with everything that was going on, with Mama slipping further into her own world and Daddy either notshowing up at all or showing up drunk and dangerous, so I did the only thing I could do. I lied.
“No, baby,” I whispered, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here.”
She looked up at me with so much trust in those tired little eyes, and when she hugged me, I hugged her back like I was trying to shield her from everything outside that bedroom door. I wanted to protect her from the screaming, the chaos and the weight she didn’t deserve to carry.
While we embraced, I heard the front door slam so hard it rattled the picture frame on the wall. Then came the yelling. Mama’s voice was raw and high-pitched. “Where the hell you been, huh Winston?! Drunk again?!”
I closed the book without finishing the last page and sat up. Zurie flinched and grabbed my arm.
“Stay here,” I told her, pressing my hand over hers. “Don’t move, okay?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. I got off the bed and walked to the door, cracking it just enough to hear what was being said.
“You sorry ass bastard,” Mama shouted from the living room. “I told you, I ain’t got it!”
“You get a damn check every month!” Daddy roared back. “Don’t play with me, Marlene. Gimme the money!”
“I got bills, Winston! Rent, lights, food—shit you don’t pay for!”
I felt something inside me start to shake. I wasn’t scared of him, but the rage he carried, especially when he’d been drinking was like a storm that tore through the whole house, and tonight, it sounded like it was coming.
By the time I stepped into the living room, he had already backed Mama up against the wall. She was swinging her hands, yelling, standing her ground like always, but I could tell she was overwhelmed. Her robe was half open, and her hair was wildfrom not combing it in days. My mama had always been a little off, but lately it had gotten worse. She talked to herself in the kitchen, she forgot things and when she wasn’t yelling, she was sitting on the couch rocking back and forth with her eyes blank. I truly believe it was from all the trauma my daddy put her through.
“Where the fuck is it?!” Daddy screamed, lifting his arm.
“Don’t you put your hands on me!”
And just like that, his palm cracked across her face hard. I heard the smack echo down the hallway, and my legs moved before I could think.
I ran to the kitchen, yanked open the drawer, and pulled out the biggest knife I could find. My hands were shaking, but I held the blade tight and stormed back into the living room, yelling so loud my voice cracked.
“Get the fuck away from her!”
He turned toward me, his eyes yellow and glassy. His face looked sunken, like the liquor had drained whatever was left of the man I used to call my daddy.
