Blinded by Color

Chapter 23 Kayla

I don't want to get out of bed today. I got nothing done yesterday because I am still trying to process all the information dumped on me about my father. Yesterday, I stayed in my bed and slept on and off due to stress and exhaustion. I move out in two days, and I have so much to do. I literally feel like it's never going to get done. My phone started ringing, and I felt around my bed looking for it as the buzzing was vibrating my whole body. The screen displayed the name Uncle Rodney. I didn't want to answer because I assumed it had something to do with my mom, and that was the last thing I wanted to deal with. I slid the green line over to answer the phone.

"Hello."

"Kay, you home?" I sighed because I knew where this was going; my mom was probably found somewhere drunk, and he needed to bring her to me. I think I just found all the motivation I needed to pack my stuff and move out.

"Yea, I'm here."

"Stay put. I'm on my way over." With those words, the line went dead, and I lay back on my bed, grabbed my pillow, shoved my face in it, and screamed as loud as I could. My life was falling apart, and I couldn't pick up the pieces fast enough. I got myself dressed to be somewhat decent for my uncle's uninvited arrival and then walked out to sit on the porch. It's extremely hot already and humid. It feels like rain is in the air. Normally, I hate the rain here in Florida, but today, I kind of welcome the glooming dark skies since it's fitting for my life. Uncle Rodney pulled in his cop car and walked up to the porch dressed to the nine in his pristine sheriff uniform. I sat there staring out the window, looking for my mom. I didn't see her in the car or anywhere for that matter. Uncle Rodney walked on the porch and removed his sheriff's hat. At this point, I was nervous, and I jumped up from my seat and felt like I couldn't breathe.

"Is my mom okay? What's this about? What's going on?"

Uncle Rodney asked me to sit back down, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

"Your mom is fine. She told me you found out about your daddy's affair, and I wanted to make sure you don't go reaching out to this girl. Your daddy made a big mistake, but my sister can't take no more pain, ya hear? You need to leave this whole thing alone. No need to dig up old information and go searching around for things that are better left alone. Now I'm warning you, Kay, if I find out you been doing more digging, you gonna be sorry. Now that's not a threat, young lady; it's a promise. Now I gotta get back out on the road, but I need to know you understand. You get what I'm saying?"

I didn't know how to take this deep, authoritative voice he was projecting. Uncle Rodney has never spoken to me like this before. I just simply replied with a "Yes, I understand."

"Good. Take care now." I guess this is why he's been calling, and I had all those missed calls a couple of days ago. Now I wish I would've just called him back. It felt like I was in trouble when I was the one who got hurt here. Why is he worried about my mom? Slim already knew, and she's been a drunk since he died. What about me? What about, hey Kay, so sorry you found out your perfect vision of dad is now tarnished. Sorry we never told you your dad was a nigger lover. How you feeling? You okay? No, it's always about Slim and how she is and what she needs. Why does he protect her like that? Jerimiah never protected me like that, and I doubt he ever would. They have a weird relationship, and I am twenty-three years old. I can do or investigate whatever I want. Who does he think he is telling me I can't learn more about my dad. I went back into the house where the AC was blasting and grabbed my phone. It was much cooler in here, and I needed the cool air to think straight. I remember Nivea telling me my sister was on Facebook. I opened the app and started typing in her name, Tiffany Gray, and several came up. I had to think about what Niv told me, and my mind was a blur like I blocked it out. I refused to text her and ask her, so I decided I would figure it out myself. Her mom's name was Seven. How many Sevens could possibly be out there? I typed in the name Seven and hit search. To my surprise, lots of people in the world name their kid after a number. I looked for one in Chicago with brown skin. I clicked on profile after profile until boom. There she was, Seven Moore Lyons of Chicago, Illinois. I clicked on her photos and began looking at all the ones that were not private. I started to cry as I scrolled through the pictures. Seven was beautiful, she wasn't ghetto, but in fact, she was very well put together. Way more than Slim. She had several pictures of her and Tiffany together. Tiffany's graduation from high school and college. Her in a pair of scrubs, standing with who I assume is her stepdad. They have a beautiful family. They look happy, and I see so much love in these photos. They take vacations to extravagant places. They spend a lot of time together, something my family lacks—love! We don't spend holidays around a big table full of family and friends. We don't even talk to each other half time. Tiffany, my sister, is a doctor. A well-established smart doctor! Seven tagged her in a photo of the two of them standing on a beach in Hawaii. The photo was picture perfect. My sister has a noticeably light complexion, and her mom is more of a caramel. I clicked on Tiffany's name in the photo, and it took me to her page. It seemed her page was not private. She had nothing to hide. Photos of her during graduation and med school. All her friends wearing their sweatshirts splattered with their University across the front. Everyone was smiling and happy. They look successful and established like everything just fell into place for them. I scrolled through each one of Tiffany's photos and watched her life like a movie. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with emotion. Tears ran down my cheeks like a waterfall. This girl was innocent. Nivea was right. She was just living her life to the fullest, and I was over here working at the same diner I always have, cleaning up my mom's puke every night. I wonder what she would think of me. I wonder if she would hate me for being white or for having her real dad live with me. I wonder what she acts like or talks like or if she knows about me. What if she never knew she had a biological father living in Florida who was murdered? What if her mom never told her? Oh my gosh, I don't know what to do. A huge part of me is dying to send her a message, and another part of me is scared shitless. I just have to do it. I clicked on message, and it opened the Messenger app on my phone. The black line just sitting there flashing, waiting for the letters it will reveal at my fingers' request. I stared at the screen, thinking, how do I start this? Hi, I am your sister, um... your white sister. Oh my... my thoughts were interrupted by my mother strolling through the side door. I quickly turned my phone off and put it on the couch next to me. She didn't look drunk, which was surprising to me.

"Did your uncle Rodney come by here and talk to you?" She lit her cigarette on the stove as per usual and inhaled a huge puff of smoke she blew out through her nostrils.

"Yea, don't worry, I won't go stirring up trouble for you." I was hoping this would end the conversation because I had nothing more to say to her, especially since I was lying through my teeth. I was hoping she didn't notice the shakiness in my voice.

"Kayla, I'm sorry you had to find out like this and that it hurt you. I never wanted you to think your father was anything less than a good man. I miss the hell out of him, and I'm sorry I haven't always been there for you during these past few years."

Wow, she really just downplayed her role. In the past "few" years. Who is she kidding? More like the past thirteen years. However, she apologized, and I have never heard my mother say sorry for being so terrible over these past "few years" I will take it.

"I got to lay down; I have a headache. I know you're moving out; you don't have to hide it anymore." I wasn't sure how she knew this, but that was the end of the conversation because she headed to her room. I assume the headache is her body going through withdrawal from no alcohol. I wonder what life would be like if she was sober all the time. Why now would she sober up? I felt guilty for lying, but I also didn't want to hurt her or send her on a spiral down bad memory lane. No need to fight with her; the woman is scarred, and beyond repair. I don't want to be the reason she lets go for good.

*****

I went out to purchase more boxes for moving, and while out, I ran into Josh. I couldn't believe it! There he was, standing right in front of me at the UPS store. I wasn't sure how to act or what to say, or if I should leave or hide. I didn't know what to do. I was frozen and started sweating from my brow and my hands. My heart was racing, and I felt like my mouth was so dry I could use my tongue for sandpaper. I watched him insert his card to pay for a package he was shipping, and his arms looked bigger than I remembered. I could see muscles that I never noticed before. His watch looked expensive, and his hands were well-manicured like always. He brushed his fingers through his long hair on top of his head and down the bare part of his neck, and I heard him laugh. I wasn't sure what the clerk said or what had happened because I was so caught off guard just staring at this man, I missed any part of the conversation relevant to him acting embarrassed. I saw him slip his card in again and realized the clerk was advising him it declined. I felt this horrible pain in my gut, and I knew I had to do something. I didn't want Josh to feel embarrassed. I felt obligated to save him.

"Hey, there you are! I was looking for you in the store. Oh no, not this card. I moved the money to the other account. Here you go, madam. I see the total is $40 dollars correct? I have cash. Also, I will need a second transaction. I will need to purchase some moving boxes, the XL ones you carry, please. I need five."

The look on his face was astonishment, but I was glad I was there to help. We walked out together.

"Hey, Kay, listen..."

I interrupted him, "Josh, don't I know what you're gonna say, and it's okay; that's what friends are for." I smiled up at his tall physique, taking in the differences of his face and hair in the last year that we have been broken up. He is still beautiful in every way. Still a perfect smile and clear complexion with no facial ever. The boy couldn't grow a beard if he tried. It was almost comical what a babyface he had.

"Kay, I will pay you back. It's not your problem, I have money, I just... I don't know what happened... I..."

"Josh, seriously, it's okay; no need to defend your finances to this girl, I promise. I am just happy to see you. I am really glad you reached out to me on Facebook and sent that message. It meant a lot. Consider this my thank you."

He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly but loud.

"Yea, well, I got to get going. Thank you then, for paying for that. I'll see you around, Kay." He walked off to the parking lot, and his smell lingered behind. It was a familiar fragrance, and I wanted to keep it. Keep this moment I wanted to hug him and ask him about Jessica and what happened to him and tell him how sorry I was I never noticed. I felt that pang in the pit of my stomach like I was a chaser and he did not want to be chased. Clearly, I was more excited to see him. He must be dealing with a lot of demons right now. I wish he would talk to me because you know what, Josh? Me too, me too.