She lit a cigarette, and I listened very closely. Mom seemed so ready to tell me the story that she hardly took a breath between words. I had been curious about dad before, but had never asked.
It was the winter of 1982, and mom was 28 at the time. She had just gone through a divorce with Ron, her first husband.
I remembered Ron vaguely. He had nothing to do with me, but he shook my hand the day I met him. He divorced mom about a million years ago because she put on serious weight after their honeymoon. I saw him hand my mom an envelope of money that day, and I presume it was backed-up alimony or something.
Her and my dad lived together from they day they met. She worked as a secretary at the time, working at the notary office by the Taco Bell on Third Ave.
"He was a drug dealer. Same as you are right now", she said. I lowered my eyed to the floor, feeling a mixture of things I couldn't quite place.
Grandma and Grandpa hated him. He was an extremely dark black man, almost a navy blue color. She said he dressed the part, too. That I'd have thought the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air was getting his hand me downs.
We both laughed at that. I got a lot of my humor from my mom. Only she actually knew what I got from my dad.
They lived together for a long time before they were married. She had no idea why she went along with it. She knew he was seeing other women. Mom said she was just full of a girl's hope. She was in love with the idea of changing him and someone needing her.
"Or maybe God just wanted me to have you, sweetie. Maybe that's it", mom said, speaking softly and looking at me, making me feel like a cripple somehow.
He didn't stop seeing the other women, though. Mom just pretended not to notice for years. She gave birth to an eight pound, two ounce baby boy and named him Howie after her father who passed away.
"Have I ever told you just how LONG I was in labor with you? A full 24 hour day. Three full-time shifts of pushing. That doctor tried to talk me into a Cesarian maybe a million times, but I said that wasn't the natural way, and that God would do the rest. I prayed, sweetie, and the good Lord delivered."
Once mom was back on her feet, she kept a close eye on him. One day she took me out for a stroll and came back to find him in bed with a teenage black girl.
"Lord have mercy. I kicked that man to the curb. I mean, I really kicked him, boy!" mom shouted. She shook the pill bottle in her fist.
He pressed charges and mom got arrested. Dad left me with my mom's mom. She got out the next day and came back for me. She had already run dad out of the house. She said he came back again and again.
Sometimes he was apologizing.
Sometimes he was yelling.
Mostly, he wanted his stuff back.
I wondered if I was going to have to raise my hand to talk, but she stopped for an intermission long enough to catch her breath.
"Mom?" I asked, "What was dad's name?". I had been wondering ever since I realized that dad was a real person somewhere. Somebody with a name and an address.
"Baby, why do you want to know? You wanna find him and see what you come from? I feel like it's best left be. You would too, if you only knew." Mom said calmly, her proper upbringing leaving her voice.
I looked out the window, feeling slightly nauseous. I wanted to know, but I knew she'd never say. I knew she never wanted me to see him. Just like she never wanted me to be him.
"Save yourself the disappointment, honey", she said. She continued her story, refreshed from her breather.
After she ran him out the last time, he got caught dealing. He had been trying like hell to climb the ladder into the upper levels of the drug trade. Police let a small-time guy go free, just so they can watch him. They know that dealers and addicts don't stray far from their niches.
They never wanted to bust him, really. He never owned a car, so he never got any DUIs. Mom never let him drive her car. He just walked a step too far. He became a danger, so they decided they wanted him after all.
"The point is, he doesn't live anywhere anymore. He's a number somewhere behind bars. Just another number", said mom.
"I guess that's why you never told me before", I mumbled, sinking back into the black leather couch.
"If you weren't on your way to becoming him, I wouldn't have mentioned it. What you thinking now?"
I knew what she wanted me to say was different from what I was thinking. "I don't know", I replied.
She leaned forward, still holding one of the bottles. Probably the adderall, judging by the amount in the bottle.
"You done dealing? Or do you want to be a number like your dear ol' dad?"
"No, mom."
"No what?"
I hesitated, ashamed and guilty, "Neither."
"So, what? You think you're invincible or something?", her voice was growing louder and more impatient.
I wanted to make my point. I wanted her to understand that I knew about the world. I knew how to conduct my business. I handled it very well. Up until she ransacked my room and found my stash, everyone who didn't need to know was clueless.
"I'm too careful. I'm not a druggie like dad. I'm more like a pharmacist."
I knew it sounded dumb, but wasn't I close to doing what a pharmacist does? Only I skip the red tape. I do outside sales. I'm a pharmacist with a beat.
"Yeah, Howie. You're a pharmacist. When the cops are beating the God-damned tar out of you with billy clubs, just hold your hands up and tell them, "It's cool, I'm a pharmacist", and see if they don't swing harder."
I was shocked. Mom never swore, and made double sure not to take the lords name in vain. I knew this probably made me dead to her. I was dad, the man she left after he got locked up. She wasn't even waiting until the end with me. The way I saw it, things between me and her were pretty much done.
I stood and walked around the coffee table to get my pills. She picked them up and handed them to me, her eyes dry and blood-shot. No tears at all. She was done with that for now. I turned and walked out the front door.
I didn't even slam it behind me. I didn't even know where to go.
She ripped the door open behind me and screamed, "Yeah, just walk right out the front door! Your backsides look just the same walking away!"
And that was the last I heard from her for a couple days.
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Submission Name: A Number
