Page 140 of Invisible Bars

“Let her,” he replied carelessly. “I’ve lost enough years trying to keep her from doing just that.”

I nodded slowly, eyes still on the photo.

“Whatever you choose, I stand with it. You deserve to be happy, Pops.”

He looked at me for a moment. “Same goes for you, son. But I take it that your mother doesn’t know about your marriage. Otherwise, your house may be on fire… or you, personally.”

“Giselle ain’t that stupid. But nah, she doesn’t know. That woman would probably have Homeland Security at my door and a priest scheduling a public exorcism.”

Pops laughed, shaking his head. “Son, do you remember when you missed that gala she planned, and she wore all blackfor a week? She told people she was ‘mourning the death of her son’s potential’?”

“How could I forget?” I groaned, shaking my head. “She had the staff lighting candles and everything. Talkin’ ‘bout ‘a mother’s grief.’ I thought I actuallydiedthe way people kept looking at me.”

“Exactly,” he said, chuckling harder. “That mother of yours is a piece of work. I pray in advance for the next man she gets with.”

“That’s if any man would want her,” I mumbled.

“True. I lucked up and was able to be with her in the beginning—back when she used to burn toast and still blame the toaster. When she danced offbeat to old school jams in the kitchen,” he said, the humor in his voice dimming slightly. “Before everything became about image.”

“Pops, let me ask you something,” I said, leaning back in my seat. “I know you were around, but why did it take you all of those years to finally get us out the hood? Not that I’m complaining. Hell, I wanted to stay a little longer, but… I’ve always wondered.”

That question had lived in the back of my mind for years.

Yeah, he’d show up when we were at Grandma’s. He’d slip us a lil’ cash here and there, fix things around the house, but we still struggled, and even after Giselle got her own place, it wasn’t outside the hood. Pops stayed with his parents, and Giselle never explained why.

Pops didn’t answer right away; he just sighed—a deep one, the kind that came from carrying something heavy for too long.

“Son,” he finally answered, voice gravelly, “the same way your mother walks around acting like she can’t stand Black folks sometimes… that’s exactly how my parents were. They didn’t approve of her, you, or Dess.”

“Word? For real?”

“Yes. I used to make up all kinds of excuses to keep y’all from meeting them. But the truth is, they hated that I was in love with your mother… thought she was beneath me… said I was throwing my future away.”

I frowned as the pieces started to click.

“They told me to leave her; cut her off or be cut off. So I stayed with them so I could finish college. That was their condition. They paid for it but barely gave me any money outside of school expenses. They were afraid I’d sneak it to your mother—and I did, when I could. I used what little they gave me to help her get her own place, pay rent… keep y’all afloat. But I couldn’t do more without losing everything. I kept telling myself I’d wait; that maybe one day, I’d be in a better position. That I could move y’all out the right way—safe and stable. Not on struggle.”

He paused, his eyes distant, like the memory was still raw.

“I’ve never told anybody this—not even your mother—but when my parents died, as cold as it sounds, I finally feltfree. I inherited everything: the house, the cars, the money. I used the money to move y’all to a better environment immediatelyandstart my business. That was the first time I could do something for y’all without sneaking, begging, or without guilt. But it came too late to fix some things.”

“Damn,” I muttered, feeling a lump in my throat. “So all that time… you weretrapped?”

He nodded slowly. “I call it…invisible bars,son.”

“Invisible bars?” I repeated, confused.

“It’s not always chains or jail cells keeping a person locked up; sometimes it’s guilt, obligation, family expectations, or even pride,” he explained.“I wasn’t in prison, but I wasn’t free either. I stayed in a house where love came with strings and support came with silence. And the worst part? You don’t even realize you’re behind them until you’re in too deep.”

We sat in silence for a moment.

He looked at me and added, “You and Dess… y’all were my light in that place. And your mother—back then—she was too… before everything changed.”

I nodded, a deep respect settling in my chest.

“Invisible bars. I get it now… more than ever.”

Because I lived behind them too.