Chapter One
ECHOES OF SIN

(I have been injured and my blood is the color of charcoal. The ashy film leaks into my physical lungs as I inhale anxiety and exhale depression. I am lost and afraid, even though the cognizance of freedom is before me. I smell it. As the scales drop from my eyes, my insignificance becomes visible. Now I know who I am and I know who you are too; we are but specks, nobodies, filled with nothingness. Our destinies are as those before us. From birth I was condemned, even before birth. Love, Faith, and Hope have forsaken me. They no longer answer when I call.

My bowels are where the parasitic demons were once held, but now they have infiltrated my entire being. I am in hell, cut off from all light, though I can see a glimmer (or at least that's what I tell myself). Perhaps Hope will return. Wandering alone, I grope through darkness, hoping to find a light switch or a doorway, something or someone leading to Him. I can't remember The Way anymore. I call out only to hear the reverberations of my own voice. The wilderness is closing in on me. The sweet fragrance I once recognized as milk and honey has dissipated. Truly, I am alone. Yet I cry out foolishly, praying for pity, but instead I receive damnation. I am a wanderer now, forlorn and displaced in worldly ambiguity.)


So here I am, alone, tryin' to comfort my uneasy spirit with the sweet afterthoughts of it all, when Ol' Ugly waltzes his skinny black self through the door. He looks over at me for a second. He looks hateful. I shake my head at him. 'I got some mail today,'? I say in a very dead, careless way. He goes to the toilet down the hall. I can hear him and his gruntin', always constipated, always so full of shit. Ha, ha. Yes sir, I am definitely gettin' there. I feel the nod takin' over. I'm on the way now, baby. It's all crystal clear now.

I open my eyes to see him standin' over me sayin' somethin'. But I can't, he's blurry, too blurry. 'La, la, la, la, la. You ain't here, Arty,'? I sing. I ain't called him that in years. I fall from the slippery arm of the brown leather sofa into its big, soft cushions. Or maybe he pushes me. Either way, the cushions feel so good. Mmm, this feels nice. Dammit! Now he's back yellin'. Startin' his pacin' back and forth routine, disturbin' my peace as usual. Ol' Arty stutters so hard it's just plain ridiculous. All the stutterin', yellin', and pacin' just too much. I'm tired.

'This mornin''?'? my voice cracks. He's still yellin' but I think I'm smilin' now. 'I got ma-' He's too loud. I can't hear myself. He can't hear me neither. Arthur sure ain't the most peaceful negro I ever ran across. He used to be so nice to me back when it was just us two down in Troy. I prolly should o' kept my simple, high-yellow ass right on down there. I'm goin' back though. I've been runnin' after, with, for, and from this bony ol' nigga here for far too long. Ain't nothin' left o' me but a tired, worn-down dope head now. I need to rest.

He scares the shit out o' me yellin' some mumble-mouthed order at me from across the room. 'Huh?'? His words are always so confusin' with his country ass. Been up this way all this damn time and still ain't shook that ign'ant ass accent. We laugh behind his back. Call that one Ol' Ike Turner Jr. He yells somethin' else. 'I'm tired, man. Too tired, Arty.'? I close my eyes. I'm startin' to feel my freedom comin'. Finally, I'm gettin' out o' here.

He walks over to me and grabs my face with his left hand and lifts me off the sofa. He squeezes at my cheeks real hard and I don't even care. And even though this skinny bastard is pretty damn strong, I'm not even scared. Shit, it don't even hurt no more.

'Fuck you tired from, Max? What inna hell 'ave you been doin' 'round this mothafucka all day, bitch, huh?'? He takes a deep breath and I can tell he's concentratin' on his next sentence. 'Have you cleaned up any fuckin' thang? Huh, cooked a nigga somethin'? You even attempted to earn to yo' mothafuckin' keep, bitch?'? spat out A.K.

It's funny how he stutters like that and still expects everybody to take him serious. I see he's learned himself a new word. I done attempted a few things today.

He squeezes tighter and slides his hand down to my throat. His funky ass, garlic-drenched spit is on my face and now I feel sick. I frown at him. Drinkin' all that gotdamned garlic water sure ain't made you look no betta mothafucka, I think. I should vomit all up in that Skeletor lookin' face of his, but I gotta hold this shit back. I can't let it come back up. So instead, I start smilin' up at him as I fade back into my own peaceful thoughts.

'Naw, bitch! You gon' show me, you gon' fuckin' show me!'? Ol' Ugly chokes me harder.

The fool don't even know he's helpin' me. He starts to snatch out my tracks with his other hand. Now that makes me a little mad, 'cause I was really tryinna do this like a lady, the way I used to be. My own hair used to hang way past my shoulders. People used to be so jealous. They all just stared and stared. Some said I looked betta than Ms. Jane Kennedy herself. I never figured any of this shit to turn out like this. A.K. shakes me awake.

'Now I'm gon' ax yo' stankin' ass one mo' mothafuckin' time,'? he whispers slowly, sprayin' his nasty spit all over my face, 'what the fuck 'ave you been doin' all gotdamn day other than gettin' high, you lil stankin' slut?'? He barely stuttered at all that time.

I look deep into his eyes. We shared the same kind o' evil. 'Dyin' man,'? I answer with my smile as I drop the big, empty container of Tylenol PM onto the worn, brown rug. I felt him shiver. He drools right before he drops me back onto the soft cushions.

The bottle of Tylenol ain't cost me but $6.59, but the look on ol' Arthur Knavery's face as he starts squealin' like the bitch I know he is ' Priceless. He always did have a problem with folks dyin'. I start gigglelin' how I used to when we first met.

'I ain't nobody's dope fiend no more, A.K. Nobody's stank ho and nobody's funky lil' fiend no more neither,'? I mumble real peaceful like. Now I'm just 'bout satisfied, mainly 'cause I didn't do it with that shit. I did it like a lady would. No blood spilling all over the place, none of that damn foamin' at the mouth that I've seen a bunch of them other fuckin' fiends do, o.d.in' and shit. Just real peaceful and lady-like.

Arthur's screamin' to Shalisha 'bout callin' 911 and cleanin' up his 'shit'?. She runs out hollerin, addin' to all the craziness. He's callin' me every type o' high-pitched bitch he can think of. Their screechin' and hollerin' together reminds of damn sirens. Usually, I hate when he hollers like that. Today I don't really care. I imagine him puttin' me on his back like he used to and carryin' me to the hospital with Shalisha runnin' behind him with that big-assed mouth of hers mockin' a siren. I chuckle to myself over that one.

I wake up from that sleepy daydream in a ambulance of all places. I thought Ol' Arty would just let me die on the couch. I knew I shouldn't o' depended on his black ass. Somehow these folks done got a damn tube up in my nose and down my throat. There's somethin' nasty and thick tastin' in my mouth.

'Leave me the fu-'? I gag. I don't wanna choke to death. I just wanna go out like a fuckin' lady! Naw, they ain't takin' this one from me. I'mma just relax and let the PM do its work. I'm so damn tired. So even though my current situation looks real uncomfortable, the only thing on my mind is rest. Sweet, peaceful rest. And so, I start dreamin'. Or maybe my life is just flashin' before my eyes. My mind gets to wanderin' through all my years and of course, I start thinkin' 'bout her. I can't see her all that clearly 'cause everything so blurry and small, but I can still see her. October. I can smell October in Troy'?

'Come on, come on,'? I hear one of them say. The tall fat one with the moles all over her cheeks gazes at me and tells me to squeeze her hand. She's lookin' deep into my eyes. Feel like she peerin' right at my soul. I shut my eyes. My soul ain't none o' her gotdamned business. 'You can do it, come on now, just keep breathin,'? She tells me.

I really don't feel like doin' all that much breathin'. I hear one o' 'em countin', but I can't tell which one. All o' sudden, I start to get scared 'cause now it's hurtin'real bad. I start to get scared too 'cause I didn't think it would make me feel like this. I remind myself o' who I am. I don't get scared of nothin'. So I calm down some. I really just wanna hurry up and get all this over with.

'I can see it, it's right there,'? says the other one.
'Okay, now give us a good one, Maxi.'?

I hate when she calls me that. We ain't fuckin' friends. I never call her shit. I either talk in her direction or call her 'The Lady'? when she ain't around.
'Oooh it hurts. It hurts'?'? I moan.

E'rything else is too blurry. What these bitches give me? I start pantin' and pushin' a lil' while more and before long, they huggin' and kissin' me, tellin' me I done good and that we had ourselves a baby girl. I see it, but I don't look too long. I sure hope it looks somethin' like him. I can't really tell 'cause e'rything look too blurry.

I already done got all the money so I s'pose it don't matter who it look like. I wonder why 'The Lady'? didn't seem too mad when I told her e'rything, though. She just sat there listenin', never arguin' or nothin'. Just lookin' real scared like. Like I had a gun to her head tellin' her I was gon' blow her brains out or somethin'. And when it was all said and done, her plan was way better than ours.

How she got ol' Davy is beyond me. Not that she completely ugly, more homely and plain lookin' than anything else. Not as black as her fat, mole-faced sister, but still plenty black. I s'pose that's why she willin' to put up with so much to keep him. I'd bet all the money she gave me that Grace Bayleson would never ever find another man as fine as sweet ol' Davy to climb on top o' her, let alone drag her homely lookin' ass down a church aisle. How in the hell did she get him? And he got the nerve to be devoted to her too. He sure do drink a lot. Maybe he was drunk when they met. Hell, maybe he been drunk e'ryday since.

They clean me up and I fall asleep wonderin' 'bout what they gon' name it, even though really, I don't care none. I dream that me and Arty is in Atlantic City havin' a big ol' time with all that money when all o' sudden, 'The Lady'? shows up with a big black sack o' trash, shovin' it at us. We're pushin' it back and forth 'til it falls to the floor and a high-yellow baby bounces out on its head lookin' just like me but stutterin' like ol' Arty. Then there's a bunch of cryin' and wailin'.

I open my eyes to see ol' fat mole face starin' down at me and I hear that baby cryin'. Damn, mole face is as black as she is ugly. She frownin' down at me now, feelin' my forehead with the back o' her fat hand. She tells me to open up my legs and I listen to her. She seem like she know 'bout all this mess. After she done checkin' me down there, she tells me to open my mouth and again I listen. She gives me a big ol' spoonful of somethin' that tastes bitter and oily. I gulp it down and soon after, I'm sleepy again. 'Fore I close my eyes, I see 'The Lady'? walk past the door holdin' that baby, singin' real low and sweet. I hear her singin' somethin' 'bout autumn leaves and baby teeth. It's more yellower than me, though. Maybe 'cause it's brand new. I never did get a good look.

I get to dreamin' 'bout Davis this time. Mm, mmm, mmmm that man was some kind o' fine. I swear he was 'bout a million times betta lookin' then Arty (which ain't hard to be) but nowhere near as smart. And as fine as he was, he stared. But I ain't mind him starin'. He looked like a caramel-colored Clark Kent, just a whole lot shorter and way less muscles. I wonder what she plan on tellin' him 'bout that baby. She sure did take plenty photographs o' my belly. Her and ol' mole face. She could tell that fool that a stork brought it and he'd prolly believe it. Ha!

Arty found him down at Harvey's on Notch. We'd been searchin' for weeks 'til we came 'cross that one. Arty had set e'rything up just right. He and Davy got to know each other real good 'fore he let me meet him. They was out e'ry night past midnight drinkin'. Seems the only time men talk like that is when they drinkin'. Arty come to the house tellin' me e'rything 'bout that poor man. I used to write down a bunch of it so I could remember it all. I'd nearly pee myself laughin' so hard at Arty mockin' poor ol' Davy. I thought he had a lot of nerve mockin' somebody with his stutterin' ass, but I never said nothin'. I kind o' liked his nerve. Him and his nerve made me laugh way harder than his stories did.
Finally, when the time was right, Arty brought me down to the tavern and introduced us all proper like, 'Mister Davis Bayleson, it's sho nuff my pleasure to introduce ya to one of my best gals here, Mizz Maxine Lodebar.'? One of his 'best gals'?, hell, as far as I knew, I was this stammerin' suckers only girl. I wonder what ol' Davy thought 'bout Arty's stutterin'. Arty made like he was leavin' us alone, but I knew he was somewhere watchin'.

Sweet Davy liked o' pissed his pants when he seen me. Hell, I liked o' pissed myself when I seen him too. I knew we had to be Troy's finest 'cause I ain't seen nothin' as fine as either of us 'round these parts. His hair was jet black and wavy. None of that processed stuff either. He had Creek blood just like mama said I had. He let me play in it while we was drinkin'.

He touched mine a few times and tol' me how I reminded him of his sister. I already knew that he only had one and that they was twins. She had drowned when they was just sixteen. Arty told me Trudy was her name. Davis never told me anybody's name, just called e'rybody by what they was to him. Called Trudy 'Sister'? whenever he would bring her up. I knew 'bout his mama and daddy too. They's all dead. All he had was a wife and all she had was a sister. That's how he put it. Seemed strange to me that he didn't say his wife had him same as he had said that he had her.

By the end of our first date, I knew I liked sweet ol' Davy and I could tell he liked me too 'cause the next time we met up he wa'nt wearin' no weddin' ring. But Arty warned me 'bout gettin' sweet on that 'pretty nigga'? as he liked to call him. He kept remindin' me that I had a job to do and that if I couldn't do it he could 'sho nuff get it done some other way'?. Kept tellin' me 'bout e'rything we was gon' do with all that money. Even through all the stutterin', Arty could paint a really nice picture with his words. He had me dreamin' 'bout fur coats and diamond rings.

'That pretty nigga done tol' me e'rythang. He got 'bout three maybe fo' thousand inna bank. Just do e'rythang the way we planned it and by this time next month, we'll be on our way. Just 'member where yo' heart s'posed to be now Max,'? stuttered ol' Arty.

I realized on the first time we got together that if you just give 'em a minute and really listen, this fool got plenty brains. I just wish he could spit it out without all the extras. Even though he stutter like that, I still liked his voice. It's raspy and he always speak real slow like. And if he talk to loud, he squeaks. Make him seem dangerous like a comic book villain. Plus, the whole top row of his front teeth is pure gold. And Arty didn't care none 'bout me and my pretty like everybody else (e'rybody 'cept Aunty Lena of course) did. Hell, he even told me he ain't think I was that all that pretty anyways. Told me he'd been with women ten times better lookin' than me.

He know how to come 'cross plenty o' money too and ain't never even did a hard days work in his life. Now if that ain't smart, Iowno what inna hell is. And at least now I ain't got to figure out e'rything for myself. Even though, believe me, I damn good at figurin'.

I know it ain't right to leave mama like this, 'specially wit' her mind gone after Oscar. She seem 'bout done now anyways, so I figure it's time for me to be worryin'
'bout what's gon' become o' me. Can't stay here in dirty ass Troy with these dirty ass, no count niggas, workin' away all my pretty shine. And boy is there plenty shininess all over me. E'rytime I think about it, I thank God for it all.

I must look like my daddy (who I ain't never seen mind you) 'cause I damn sure don't look nothin' like my black ass mama or none o' her kin. They all stare at me when I gotta go 'round 'em, my mama included. Seems like she been starin' at me my whole life. I stare right back at their black asses sometimes 'til I can't stand to look at 'em no more. Ol' mole face stare at me just like my momma used do. No matta how much I stare back, they neva turn away 'till they done. Peerin' like they can look inside me and see e'rything, things Iown't never want nobody to see.

My mama don't just stare at me no more. Now, she stare at e'rything. It's her own fault, though. She wanted that man to stay even when I told her I didn't want him 'round no more. I don't like too many folks 'round me, starin' at me.

Before mama got sick, she was the kind o' lady that would just take things in, whether it was stray dogs and cats or people. She could find the mangiest, most raggedy piece of a creature that God ever did create and bring 'em right on in and start tendin' to 'em like they was hers. As soon as I was old enough to understand what she was doin', the idea of it all was so damned aggravatin' and disgustin'. So she'd bring 'em in and I'd take 'em out.

Usually it was pretty easy to get rid o' 'em. Oscar was a little different though. Maybe he loved mama and me or maybe he was just a good for nothin' leech that liked to stare and keep noise with my mama late at night like plenty o' the rest o' 'em.

The people mostly moaned or cried. The animals howled or where just silent. But eventually, I made 'em all keep quiet. All o' 'em looked so surprised at first, then scared, and finally peaceful like they was glad to go. Mama always looked sad when she realized they was gone and before long, she'd find somebody or somethin' else to tend to, like I wasn't enough.

For some strange reason, I kind o' liked Oscar. He called himself a West Indian. But he just looked like a nappy-headed nigga to me. You had to listen hard to understand anything this joker had to say. He liked to cook and sing funny songs that I ain't never heard of. He did try to earn his keep 'round the house though. And I guess that was one o' the reasons I let him stay way longer than the rest. He stared too. But when he stared, he grinned, showin' off his one gold tooth. I liked to watch it sparkle.

Durin' that time mama worked over at the Maynard's place tendin' to things how she liked to do best. I was 15 then and I had been gettin' rid o' all those lousy strangers since I was 'bout eight. Oscar wa'nt so lousy though. I loved to watch him grin. But I still kept on puttin' a bug in mama's ear, tellin' her how I couldn't stand him. I didn't want her thinkin' I liked him any betta than the rest o' them scalawags. Gettin' rid o' him so soon was really a mistake, but it paid off.

I heard him coughin' a real hard, dry cough one Saturday when mama was over to the Maynard's. I heard him coughin' himself into the kitchen prolly to get himself a drink to wet his whistle. It scared me to hear him coughin' like that. A glass crashed to the floor, so I ran into the kitchen to help. Now Oscar's cussin' and coughin', so I fill up another glass with cool water and handed it to him. While he's drinkin', I clean up the mess that he made. As I'm goin' to empty the mess into the wastebasket, he swallows the last bit o' water and grabs at my elbow. His touch makes me feel kind o' tingly inside. Remind me of Scoot Turner's touchin'. I look deep into his eyes and he starts grinnin' with that pretty gold tooth o' his.

'Tank ya, doll face. You save me life. Me nearly die. So what me owe to me sweet and beautiful savior?'? smiled ol' Oscar.

I turn to empty the glass into the wastebasket. When I turn back to face him, he was still smilin' with that tooth.

'Come on now. It tain't always me give a gyal anyting she heart say.'?

All o' sudden, I'm kissin' him, but he ain't kissin' me back. He's pushin' me off, but I'm holdin' on tight. Then, outta heaven, mama walks in, cussin' at the sight of me and Oscar. She takes the shovel by the door and busts ol' Oscar in the back of the head. Ol' Oscar falls on top o' me so, I push him off. Then mama hits him again and I'm screamin' and hollerin' 'bout all the blood mama done got on the kitchen walls. Then I see it. Shinin' right by the icebox. It's shinin' even with all the blood coverin' it. Oscar ain't sayin' nothin'. He ain't movin' neither.

I act like I'm slidin' outta mama's way, like I'm real scared so I can get close to the icebox. I slide my hand over it to hide it from mama. That's all I wanted anyways. I thought he'd give it to me if I let him keep noise wit' me too.

Mama cried the whole time we was buryin' ol' Oscar in the cellar. Cryin' and prayin'. I had to make her lay down after I cleaned her up. She sure know how to make a big hoot over people.

After I cleaned up Oscar's second mess of the day, I washed the tooth off so it could be clean and sparkly again. I laid on my bed and stared at that pretty thing for the rest of the afternoon. I knew I'd get it, just didn't think I'd get this lucky so soon.

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