Twisted Roots Read online

  He threw the pieces of his guitar into a corner roughly, kicking the splinters into a small pile.

  "What are you going to do about this?" I asked.

  "Strangle her with one of the guitar strings."

  "No. seriously?"

  He shrugged and sat on his bed, "I've got some money saved." he said after a moment "I had my eye on a JB Player that's in the window of this pawn shop. You know anything about guitars?"

  "No."

  "This one is mint with the exception of a small surface crack at the heel of the neck. It has a flame photo top, a maple neck, rosewood fingerboard in a cherry finish. It's in the window for three hundred. I was planning on buying it anyway. I'm using money I've earned as a part time waiter. I'm supposed to be saving for college, but I'd rather have the guitar. College can come later, if at all." he said. 'You don't have to go to college to do what I want to do."

  "What's that?"

  "Write and perform my own songs."

  "My mother says a good liberal education gives you the background to do most anything. You have to draw on something when you create."

  "I draw on real life," he said with a fierce look of pride in his eyes. "My stuff rings with truth. It's all out there on the street." he said, gesturing at his window. "It's authentic. That's what I was trying to tell you before. You've just got to be willing to listen, to not be so uppity and snobby that you miss it."

  "I'm not snobby. My half brothers have cornered the market on all that as far as my family goes." I said.

  He nodded, "No, you're not or you wouldn't have met me for a hamburger and you certainly wouldn't be here in this house with me. Can you imagine Stacy Kreskin or Natalie Alexander coming to my house? Well?" he demanded when I hesitated.

  "No," I admitted.

  "So why did you come?" he followed with a little more aggression than I anticipated. "It wasn't just to see how the other side lives, was it?"

  I stared back at him, shooting my own fiery darts at him.

  "I came because you invited me. Heyden Reynolds. and I don't consider myself the other side. If anyone is taking sides here, it's you!"

  He stared a little longer and then he laughed. 'That's good," he said. "You do that real well."

  "It's not an act. Maybe you are so used to phony girls that you can't recognize sincerity when you see it. I feel sorry for you," I said and started out.

  "Hey, wait."

  "What?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I was just..."

  "Just what. Heyden? Amusing yourself with me, seeing how far I would as or how far you could take me before I would act disgusted?"

  I stepped toward him.

  "I'm sorry your sister is a big brat and your mother won't face up to her responsibilities and your father is away from it all too much. but I think hating the world is only going to hurt you in the end.

  "And that," I added. "is from the psychologist's daughter."

  I pivoted like a military guard and strutted out, my heart thumping so hard, it felt like it was pounding a hole through my back. He came after me and stopped me on the front steps.

  "Wait. Holy psychosis. You have a worse temper than I do," he said.

  "So?"

  "So, I meant what I said. I'm sorry if I insulted you in any way, shape, or farm. I didn't mean it. I apologize!" he cried, his arms lifted.

  I relaxed.

  "It's all right. I'm not leaving because of what you said. I've got to be going anyway. My mother and my stepfather are probably on the phone with the FBI by now."

  He laughed. "Well, when can I see you again?" "I'm in school tomorrow."

  "You know what I mean." he said.

  "No, I don't. Say what you mean," I ordered.

  "Okay. How about coming with me to check out the guitar after school tomorrow and then, since it's Friday night, we'll go have something to eat in a slow food restaurant and maybe see a movie or something?"

  "So you're asking me on a real date?"

  "Yes," he said. laughing. "A real date. only I can only take you on my moped. No car."

  "Don't worry about the car. Okay?" I said and continued to walk to my car.

  "Okay?"

  "Yes, okay. We'll discuss the details tomorrow," I added and opened the car door. He hurried to my side.

  "Don't you have to check it out with your parents or something?"

  "They are very busy at the moment. Stop worrying about it, and thanks for the fast-food dinner."

  I got into the car. He stood there holding the door open and looking in at me.

  "What?" I said.

  "You're about the prettiest girl in that school. You know that?"

  "No."

  "Well, you are. I'm just surprised you're not with one of the rich Palm Beach boys that hover like arrogant roosters over the hens."

  "I'm not."

  "Why not?"

  "Some day I'll tell you," I said.

  "Tell me tomorrow. 11aybe I can turn it into a sang." he said, and now I laughed.

  "I bet you could." I said, inserting the key in the ignition.

  He leaned in before closing the door and kissed me quickly on the cheek.

  "Bve," he said and closed the door. Then he turned without seeing my look of surprise and walked back to his house, his shoulders slumping as soon as he reached the first step. I waited. He paused, turned back, flashed a smile, held up his hand, and hurried inside,

  As I pulled away. I saw his sister walking slowly up the street, her head down. She glanced my way when I reached her, and in that face I saw more pain and fear than the rage she had been wearing before. I felt sorry for her even though she had done a very bad thing to Heyden. I knew he would be upset with me for feeling that way. but I couldn't help it.

  I was my mother's daughter after all. And I couldn't help that. either.

  .

  Mommy and Miguel had been very concerned about my whereabouts and let me know as soon as I arrived at the hospital.

  "You don't call to let us know where you are and you don't show up for dinner? Why?" she asked. "Where have you been. Hannah?"

  He stood to the side, his arms folded, staring at me and waiting.

  "I met someone for a quick bite, a hamburger, that's all."

  "You met someone? Who?" she followed.

  She was sitting up. When I had stepped out of the elevator. I saw the nurse carrying little Claude back to his nursery. so I knew she had just breast-fed him.

  "A boy I met at school."

  She looked at Miguel and he shrugged.

  "Well, why didn't you tell Miguel anything about that?"

  "It all happened so quickly."

  "It all happened so quickly?" she parroted.

  "Besides, Miguel was gone long before I returned from school."

  "That's true," he told my mother, but then he turned to me. "Why did it take so long for you to come home? I waited for you so you could go to the hospital with me."

  "I went to see Uncle Linden."

  They were both silent.

  "I would appreciate knowing when you go there. Hannah," Mommy said.

  "Nobody told him about Claude. You said we weren't going to leave him out of anything, but no one bothered to call and let him know what was going on. He didn't even know you were in the hospital!" I fired back at her.

  "I told you we were going to tell him. I thought I explained how complicated it can be. Hannah. What did you tell him exactly?"

  "I told him Claude was barn and that he had to remain in the hospital longer because he was too small,"

  "What happened then?" she asked.

  I saw Miguel move closer to the bed in anticipation of my response. I had no idea why, but it put a trickle of ice down my spine.

  "He... he got confused. He said things that made no sense, and then he got the way he can be sometimes."

  "How?"

  "You know, staring at nothing, not listening."

  She looked at Miguel, who shook his head slowly.


  "What things did he say that made no sense?" she asked.

  "I don't know. things. He claimed he gave you books or information on giving birth and that you weren't taking good care of yourself. He mentioned Daddy's name, and when I asked him what he had to do with any of this. Uncle Linden said 'Nothing.' It was just confusing."

  'What did you do?"

  "Mrs. Robinson came out and talked him into going in for a rest and I left."

  "Goad." she said. She looked like she relaxed, and Miguel's posture softened as well. 'So where did you meet this boy? Who is he? Where did you go to eat?"

  "I met him at school, Mommy. Where else would I meet someone?"

  "There's no reason to be irritable. Hannah." Miguel said. "Your mother is asking you a simple question, taking interest in what you do and whom you get to know. There's nothing wrong with her doing that, is there?"

  "No," I muttered, even though to me it sounded more like a police interrogation.

  "So?" she followed, her arms folded under her breasts. "Tell us."

  "His name is Heyden Reynolds and he plays guitar and writes his own songs. We went to a fastfood restaurant near his home."

  "Where was that?" Miguel asked.

  I told them. Neither spoke for a moment.

  "You have to be careful in that neighborhood at night," Miguel said.

  "I am careful. I'm not an idiot," I shot back,

  "You don't have to be an idiot to find yourself in a difficult situation." Miguel said softly.

  No one wants to attach a ball and chain to you. Hannah." Mommy said. "We're just concerned for your welfare. That's all. Especially now." she added.

  "Why especially now?" I asked, looking up at them quickly.

  "Well, for one thing." Miguel said. smiling. "you've become a rather beautiful young woman. Your mother and I have discussed this many times. We've been anticipating lots of male interest in you, and we want you to have a wonderful social life without any of the problems that can ensue."

  I smirked. Sometimes Miguel's calmness was irritating. I thought. Sometimes you need a show of emotion. I hated the feeling that I was being handled. Miguel didn't often resort to what I and my friends called Teacher Talk, words that seemed to come directly out of a textbook. but I couldn't help feeling he was doing it now.

  "And for another thing I am going to be quite a bit busier and more occupied because of little Claude." Mommy added. "I don't want to neglect you and miss something important. honey."

  "Right," I said and looked away, tears simmering beneath my lids. You've already missed something important, I thought. I've grown up, and you still think I'm eight years old or something.

  "You know, you marched in here without asking how your little brother is doing." Miguel said softly.

  No one gave me a chance to ask," I shot back at him,

  He nodded. "Maybe so," he said generously. "Well, the doctor was here a little while ago and told us he was doing better than they had expected and he might not have to be here as long as they had anticipated."

  "Good," I said.

  "Oh honey!" Mommy cried, holding up her arms. "Let's not have any arguments or

  unpleasantness now, not now when we've all got so much to be thankful for and happy about. okay?"

  I nodded and went to her. She embraced me, kissed my cheek, and stroked my hair.

  "What sort of a young man is this Heyden Reynolds?"

  "Mommy, I just met him for a hamburger. We didn't get engaged!"

  She laughed. -I know. I know. I was simply curious, that's all. It reminds me of when I started seeing boys as not just the other species." she said. and Miguel laughed.

  I felt the walls come down, my defensive attitude slip away,

  "His mother is Haitian and his father is a jazz musician who is hardly home. He has a fourteen-yearold sister, but she doesn't go to our school. She gets in trouble a lot, and he bears the brunt of it."

  "Oh. Sounds like he has to carry a great deal of emotional and social baggage," she said.

  "He does, and he doesn't have many friends at school. He transferred in for his senior year. Because of his father's traveling, they have had to move about a great deal."

  "Well, be careful about how much you get involved with his problems. Hannah."

  "You get involved with other people's problems." I reminded her.

  "Yes, but your mother is a professional, trained and schooled in how to do that without it seriously impacting on her own life." Miguel said.

  "I thought von wanted me to be a

  compassionate person," I told Mommy. "You're always telling me to empathize, to feel the other person's pain so I can understand him or her."

  "I just don't want you getting into anything too deeply. Hannah. Sometimes, we get ourselves into trouble even though we have every good intention, and we find ourselves trapped by our own decency and charity. It's all right to feel sorry- for someone, but its not all right to let that burden your own life. It's like someone who can't swim well trying to save someone who can't swim at all... the result is usually both drowning. What good is that?"

  "I can swim."

  "Your mother means emotionally. It takes wisdom, years, maturing to involve yourself deeply in other people's problems. Hannah,"

  Everything they were saying sounded so right, of course, but at the same time, it did feel like they were \Tapping tight, nylon cords around me, binding me so tightly. I couldn't breathe. It made me furious inside. My nerve endings felt like Heyden's guitar strings. twanged.

  "Bath Miguel and I want you to enjoy yourself, have fun, have a social life." Mommy said. "Don't misinterpret our concern for you. Okay?"

  I nodded.

  Then I blurted. "We're going to the movies tomorrow night. After we look at a possible new guitar he might buy and then have something to eat." I added.

  "Tomorrow, but I'm coming home tomorrow. I thought we'd have a relaxing dinner and talk about little Claude and things we could all do together," Mommy said.

  "How can you come home tomorrow? Aren't you breast-feeding him anymore?"

  She smiled.

  "Yes, of course. but I'll pump milk for him that will be kept refrigerated and come back twice a day until he is released."

  "Pump? Ugh," I said. Miguel laughed.

  "It's not as unpleasant as it might sound," Mommy said. 'In time I'll begin to alternate formula and slowly wean him off. There is a great deal of evidence that babies are healthier when they are breast-fed." she insisted,

  "I already promised to meet him and go to the movies," I said in a snappy voice. I didn't want to hear how wonderfully she was going to treat little Claude compared to how I was treated when I was born in the midst of a shattered marriage.

  "Well, of course, if you have already made plans."

  "Where will you go to eat dinner?" Miguel asked. "I don't know yet."

  "Why don't you take him to Havana Malena, I'll call my brother and have them set you up, if you like." he offered. "My treat." he added.

  I gazed at him with some suspicion. It was nice of him to make the offer, but in the back of my mind. I thought he was doing it just so he and Mommy could find out more about Heyden. On the other hand, the food was wonderful at Miguel's family's

  restaurant. and Heyden might not be as embarrassed as he would be if I paid for Our dinner or even shared the cost. This way we were both being treated.

  Can I have the car again? He doesn't have a car." I said. "Only a moped."

  "I don't like you driving into that

  neighborhood," Mommy said.

  "It's not that 'bad, is it. Miguel?"

  He looked caught in the middle. "Well. as long as you remain in well lit areas and just drive in and drive out. I suppose it's fine," he relented, "I would rather she was in a car and not on his moped anyway. Willow," he added.

  She didn't look happy about it, but she reluctantly agreed.

  "I'll ask Heyden about going to your family's restaurant and call you
from school tomorrow. if that's all right," I said.

  "Sure."

  Mommy sighed. "I guess I just have to let you grow up," she said.

  "Your father and stepmother let you." I replied.

  She raised her eyes. "Oh, my stepmother would have let me out of the house to play in traffic when I was only five, if she could."

  Miguel laughed and then she did. too.

  "Time turns turmoil into comedy," she said, and he nodded. Then she looked at me. "You can go look at little Claude, if you like."

  "I'm sure he's sleeping contentedly," Miguel said. The way he smiled at Mommy told me he was implying he would be sleeping contentedly if he had been little Claude and had just breast-fed. Mammy actually blushed and glanced at me to see if I had been perceptive enough to catch the small but clearly sexual suggestion.

  Except for the time Selma 'Warden told us about her walking in on her parents making love when she was only seven, none of us ever referred to our own parents when we talked about love and romance and sex. Miguel and Mommy could be very affectionate toward each other. but I couldn't recall them ever kissing each other passionately in my presence. It seemed to be true for all my friends-- parents kept their sexual relationships well locked behind closed doors. It was somehow different to hold hands as a husband and a wife, different from holding them as lovers.

  Even Mommy's getting pregnant seemed to be something that happened immaculately. All of our mothers were Mother Marys, and to some of us, our fathers were like gods, worshiped and idealized. In my house and in my life that wasn't true. of course. My father was this Hollywood-handsome,

  sophisticated lawyer whose kisses were birdlike pecks on my cheeks and whose love for me often felt more like something grown out of the soil of vengeance and spite. Nothing underscored that more than his refusal to permit Miguel to adopt me and change my name. However, it didn't appear to come from an overriding love for me as much as it did from an overriding indignation that someone, anyone, would dare even think to cast off the Eaton name.

  Miguel was certainly a good-looking man, and no man was or could be sweeter to me than he was, but it was still easier for me to imagine Mommy in a loving, passionate embrace with Daddy than it was to imagine her with Miguel. I suppose I was never convinced of Mommy's distaste and dislike of Daddy because of that. Despite her self-deprecating talk, her continuous expressions of amazement at herself far ever being taken in by someone like Daddy, I had an easier time believing she would fall in love with him than I did believing she would find it one of the most stupid and foolish things she could have ever done.