The Boy Who Loved To Sing (Part 8)

I’m not perfect. And I will be damned if I let anyone judge me. I made my mind up right there and then.

Then my cellphone rang. “Hey babe it’s me.” Sean. He had been after me for months. Irish guy, red super short hair. I liked super short hair and it’s probably the only reason I took his call. Finally I answered his call and spoke to him. “I have the day off I want to see you”

“I’m in St Louis Sean.”

“I don’t care. You are finally speaking to me. I can be there in a few hours. We’re going to sit down and talk and do other things.”

“Sean, I’m taking care of a child here.”

“I don’t care. I’ll text you when I know my arrival time.”

After seeing those hurtful messages I was ready for someone to be nice to me. I don’t know why someone would want to be mean to me, I’m not a bad person.

I heard Isaiah walk into the hallway and he peeped his little face in my doorway. “Morning!” I can reach the cereal.”

I suddenly got an urge to cook. “Isaiah we’re not having cereal today. Put your clothes on we’re going down to the restaurant.” When we get back to Los Angeles I’m going to cook a proper breakfast.

I noticed I was feeling extremely calm and focused. We went down to the hotel restaurant and sat at a corner table. I handed him a menu. “You have to help me. I can’t read very well.”

Jesus Christ.

“What do you like to eat?” “I like scrambled eggs and bacon.” The waitperson was an average man of some south american descent. “I’ll have two eggs over easy, home fries and bacon and he’ll have the same but scrambled.”

“Isaiah I thought you spent a lot of time at the library.”

“The library people came to see us at the shelter. They were helping me to learn how to read.”

My phone buzzed. Horacio. “Your mom is awake.”

“We’ll be there within the hour.”

“Hi Charlene.” She said weakly. It was strange to see her this way. She was always full of energy. The spicy woman from Dominica. My father had named me as a caucasian name, american, as possible. He was of Finnish descent but three generations American and extremely caucasian. I never identified with his side of things. I was always on my mom’s side.

“Mom.”

“I start chemo Monday.”

“You look a lot better!” “I’ll be here every day, we’ll have fun. I’ll do that knitting I’ve been wanting to do.”

My phone buzzed again. "I'll be arriving at 10:20PM"

Images morguefile.com

@soulsistashakti is a chillout and dance musical artist and writer based in NYC. You can check out my music on my FB artist page at https://www.facebook.com/soulsistashakti

Part 7