Page 36 of I Can’t Even Think Straight
It Takes a Village—Nighttime—My Bedroom
“I don’t care if Granny already shouted at you,
it’s my turn now!” Mum yells at me.
“No, that’s not how this works!”
I yell back. “You missed your turn!
I only get to see you at night,
when we’re both tired and grumpy,
or on Sundays when I have to
earn my keep on your market stall,
working for room and board
like I’m in a Charles Dickens novel.
You work full-time, study part-time,
but you’re a mum none of the time.
You’re never around for me!
The school couldn’t get hold of you,
that’s why they had to phone Granny!”
“Excuse me, Malachi Michaelides,
you can dial down your bloody sass.
I’m not having that from you today.
Don’t you dare come for me!
You know it takes a village to raise a child,
and you have me and Granny,
Yiayia and Bapou and Theía Estélla, too.
We could’ve spent time together in Cyprus
but you went off with Vass every day.
So, don’t you dare tell me I’ve missed my turn.
The bloody cheek of you!
Every person I’ve mentioned
has my permission to tell you off
for your poor behavior,
bad judgment, and bloody attitude.
We’ll take turns one by one.
We’ll come down on you
all at once like a ton of bricks.
I’ll get your dad involved if I have to.
I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.
Every one of us is invested in you.
In your future and your safety.”
A tear falls from Mum’s right eye,
followed by more from both eyes.
The pressure of parenting me is too much for her.
I wanna cry as well, but I don’t.
I wanna wipe Mum’s tears away, but I don’t.
I feel myself shaking with anger
at Mum’s threat to involve my dad.
What has he ever invested in me?
If all the people who care for me
were bricks with which to build
a home, my dadcould only be
the space for a door or a window.
“Can you at least let me tell you
what actually happened?” I plead.
“Because the school’s got it twisted!”
“Malachi!” Mum commands
with tear-streaked fury.
“I listened to your version of events
when you strolled out of school
and got stopped by the police.
You promised me
no more getting into trouble.
I feel like such a fool
for not coming down harder on you.”
“But, Mum, I promise, this was different.
Please, will you just listen to me?”
Mum sighs a heavy Mum sigh.
She wipes the tears from her eyes.
She runs her fingers
through her long, straight hair
and scratches her skull
as if to settle her thoughts.
She does this twice more,
then shakes off her anger
with a shudder of her shoulders.
Mum doesn’t say anything for a few long seconds.
Then she fixes her eyes on me
and says, “Go on, I’m listening.”
I know I’m lying
as I hear myself say,
“Mr. Ndour is picking on me
because I’m gay...”