Page 38 of Grand Master

UNEXPECTED TURN

For a moment, neither of us spoke, I looked into Kenric’s dark eyes and found myself getting lost inside of them.

My mind wandered to the years I had tucked away, the childhood memories both sweet and splintered.

I searched his face, wondering what stories lay behind his eyes, what secrets, what scars, what dreams whispered to him in the dark.

The room felt safer than it had minutes before, the black walls no longer closing in but holding us gently and securely to express ourselves. Kenric’s breathing slowed, and I could feel the weight of anticipation mingling with hope. I began, voice tentative but growing steadier with each word.

“My earliest memory is of a summer storm,” I whispered in disbelief, the saying that it never rains in Southern California was never true. In fact, our weather was very unpredictable.

“I was five,” I licked my dry lips.

“The thunder was so loud, it rattled the windows, and I hid under the kitchen table. My mom found me there, curled up with a stuffed dirty teddy bear. She told me the thunder was just angels dancing, and that there was nothing to fear. I think I believed her for years, I wish that I could still believe that because now, thunder scares the shit out of me.” I smiled.

Kenric’s lips curved into a wistful half-smile.

“I used to pretend the rain was music,” he murmured. “My momma would hum along with the sound of it. Before we moved out of the hood, she’d take me out onto the porch and sway beside me, telling me that every drop carried a story from the sky, secrets only we could hear.” He talked lowly.

I let that image settle between us, the smallness of our beginnings, it was our mother’s that brought comfort to moments that we probably felt unsettled in.

“I didn’t like the rain at all Mira, the way the gloominess took away the beautiful blue sky didn’t settle right inside of me. Momma made it better though, her voice singing and the way she seemed to always relax in the rain made me accept it though.” He continued.

“Did you have anyone you could talk to, back then, besides your mom?” I asked, my voice gentle, not wanting to press too hard.

He thought for a moment, eyes tracing the opened roof as if searching for an answer written in the stars.

“No. I kept things inside. I figured keeping quiet was easier than creating more problems between moms and Pops.”

His honesty tugged at something deep within me.

It was recognition, a kinship. The past we carried, bruised but not broken, had brought us here, to this shared moment.

I never fully expressed myself to my mom because she was always stressed about money.

Her number one goal was to provide and keep me happy the best way she knew how.

I don’t think momma ever realized how much I felt her hardships, her sadness, and stress.

I used to wish that I had magic to take away all her struggles to make things easier and better for her.

The air between us was thick with quiet understanding. I watched Kenric’s fingers absently trace patterns on top of the black silk comforter, each movement unhurried, and tender.

“I started talking to myself.” He admitted after a heartbeat had passed, voice barely above a whisper.

“I made up stories, or sometimes just rehearsed conversations I’d never have. It helped, made me feel like I was heard by somebody. It gave me a way to sort through things, even if nobody ever heard them.” He shut his eyes.

“I used to stare in the mirror and imagine myself telling pops all the things that I didn’t have the courage to say.

I was a smart kid; I fell in love with my mom’s passion.

Anytime she brought out all of her books and helped me in the lab that she helped me create was the times I cherished the most. She enjoyed my company.

She would tell me how perfect and smart—” Kenric opened his eyes and my heart stopped.

His eyes misted over, he blinked them roughly and reopened them. He was battling hard; his emotions were begging to be freed. Kenric was at war with himself.

“She loved you?—”

“Not as much as him…” His raspy voice came out rougher, like his words were clawing their way out of somewhere dark inside of him.

“After the drugs, I started to believe that she never really loved me, not the way she loved Pops.” He released a harsh breath.

I didn’t move; I hardly wanted to let my breathing be heard. Because this wasn’t the Kenric that kidnapped me or the man that I witnessed stomp the life out of Darius. This was something raw and rare, most of all it was revealing…

“She’d clean up just enough to fool him,” he said, his hand grazed the top of mine.

“I remember watching her fix her lipstick even though she was trembling from withdrawals. She always wanted to look pretty for him…she wanted to keep the number one place in his life. I felt like pops should have known or saw the signs that momma was on drugs. A part of me felt like he knew but he refused to address it because he didn’t want to place the blame on himself.

He broke her, and she allowed it. She would allow anything from him, even him breaking me.

The beatings that he would give me for simple fuck ups…

the late nights of being forced out of the comforts of my home.

She allowed it because she looked at pops like he was her everything…

I wanted her to look at me like that too… ”

He shook his head and chuckled bitterly.

“And Pops? He only saw me when I was next to him in his element. The streets. He taught me everything I needed to know in order to master it on my own. That was love in his language, usefulness, and loyalty.” He paused and took in a deep breath.

“I still loved them,” he shut his eyes and bit into his bottom lip.

“I loved them whole, I kept hoping one day they’d love me back…

without conditions, just me…Kenric…because they never got the chance to know me.

There were other things too important to them than to get to that point to even care about how I felt or what I craved.

I took matters into my own hands once they both were dead.

I realized at a young age that having accountability would be something I needed to have to step into my new life that I created to benefit others. ”

He let the silence settle between us, as if it might cushion all that had been said.

The air pulsed heavy between us, carrying the weight of memories that were too jagged, too tender for me to comment on.

I watched the way his jaw clenched, how he seemed to wipe at an invisible stain on top of my hand.

For a moment, neither of us tried to fill the gap.

Maybe we both sensed that honesty, when it finally surfaced, was fragile, you had to let it breathe on its own.

I wanted to reach for him, just a gesture, a small anchor but I stayed still, honoring the space Kenric carved for himself in this confession.

I wanted him to take the lead and not press him in the moment.

I wanted him comfortable because something deep inside of me told me that this was the first time he ever uttered these words.

I couldn't stop my tears from spilling over, no matter how tightly I pressed my lips together or how hard I tried to control the trembling in my chest. It was as if the truth in Kenric's words had cracked something open inside of me. The tears slipped down my cheeks, silent and insistent, betraying everything I felt but could not say to him. I hoped he understood that I felt for him. I silently prayed for God to help him heal. Healing never happened overnight. It took time, I myself prayed for healing, to learn how to grieve my mom in a healthy way that didn’t push me towards depression whenever the weather changed.

I prayed for God to strengthen me because turning to drugs was something that I knew was wrong but did it anyway to feel something other then sadness. After my silent prayer, realization hit me that since I’ve been here, I hadn’t even craved or wished that I had the drugs.

Kenric looked up, his gaze heavy with the residue of confession.

Without a word, he reached up and brushed his thumb gently beneath my eye, the calloused pad of his finger caught the flood of tears that spilled.

His touch was hesitant, almost reverent, as if he feared he might break the fragile thread that now connected us.

For a moment, his roughness softened, and the room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of us, suspended in quiet understanding.

The tears kept falling, but I let them, because Kenric, in that careful gesture, had made it safe for them to be seen.

“Kenric…” I whispered.

“Don’t feel sorry for me little owl. It’s pointless to feel sorry for someone who doesn’t feel sorry for themself.

I’ve comforted myself in many ways and learned how to live past my past. I focus on who I am today, and the change that needs to be made amongst my people.

It’s too many black boys and girls with a similar sad past that mirrors mine.

” Kenric gave a low, half-laugh something that sounded more like an exhale than genuine amusement, but there was effort behind it.

He glanced down at his hand on top of mine, then back up at me, trying to shake off the heaviness that still hovered in the air.

“You know, it’s funny,” he said, his voice rough but determined.

“Here I am pouring out my skeletons of the past that I buried and promised myself never to speak aloud…yet after saying it to you, it feels like I’m breathing better.” He shook his head then bit into his bottom lip.

My goodness, this man is so damn fine! I couldn’t stop myself from admiring him.

“You’re like a fresh breath of air, Mira. It’s wrong that I took you, but I don’t feel any remorse about it.” He smirked.