Man Curse by Raqiyah Mays Page A

parked, pocketed the keys, hopped out, and jogged to catch up.
    â€œDeena, come on. Meena’s in the car. You know I’m sorry,” he yelled after her. “You know I love you!”
    â€œFuck you, Danny!”
    â€œI love you and Meena,” he said, out of breath. “You two are the family I never had. But you think you can say whatever to me, and my mama don’t even talk to me like that.”
    â€œI’m not your mother. And don’t bring Meena into this,” she said, arms crossed, neck swerving. “Will you love her the way you love me? Look at my fuckin’ eye!”
    He walked up and tried to caress her face. She dodged his hand with a swift back bend and body curve that made her lose her balance. She stumbled to catch her footing.
    â€œCome on, Deena! What the fuck? See, that’s your problem, stubborn as shit.”
    â€œYou the one with the problem, Danny. Always wanna hit somebody.”
    â€œYou know what?” He paused to crack his knuckles, bending each finger slowly. Each bone rattled and unlocked itself into what my mother foresaw as an Ike Turner warm-up. Deena took tiny steps back.
    â€œI gotta go to work,” Danny said, as he turned around to check on his car. “And so do you. You wanna stay out in this cold-ass street looking crazy, you go ahead. I’ll drop Meena with your mom.”
    â€œGo then, bitch!” she screamed with disgust. “I hate you.”
    My father stopped in his tracks. His right hand slowly curled into a fist, as he stared at the Caddy for a long, contemplative moment. My mother tiptoed backward, pursing her lips. She jumped for no reason as he headed to the car without a word, hopped in, and pulled away.
    The next day, when he left for his daily hustle, Mom moved back into Grandma Fey’s tiny Bed-Stuy home on Putnam Avenue. She dodged Danny’s calls for three weeks. Until one day, the doorbell rang.
    â€œHey, Deena.”
    My father, flashing a broad, toothy smile, stood on the front step with a long-stemmed bouquet of ruby-red roses.
    â€œHey,” she replied, stomach fluttering.
    â€œYou know I miss you and Meena. I’m so sorry, I love you so much. But I understand why you left. And I know. I know. I’m just sorry.” His tear ducts filled as he rambled along. “Can I just see Meena? Please? I miss my baby so much.”
    My mother said she remembered taking an eternity to answer that question, staring at his pitiful face. He’d never looked uglier. “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “But you got five minutes, ’cause she’s asleep and I’m in the middle of a study group, so you can’t stay long.”
    â€œThat’s cool,” he said, nodding his head in agreement, smiling. “That’s okay.”
    He stepped inside with a sweet and apologetic grin on his face. The vibe changed when he saw Mom’s classmate sitting on the living room couch.
    â€œDanny, this is Marcus. He’s in my Black Studies class with me and we’re—”
    â€œWhere’s Meena?” My father’s cold eyes were frozen on Marcus.
    â€œUpstairs in the bedroom,” Mom answered, voice shaking. “Lemme walk you up.”
    When they reached the hallway outside my room, all that my mother remembered were the sudden sharp pains running through her face. They throbbed in patches, over her right cheek, at the tip of her nose, up to the middle of her forehead, piercing between her eyeballs as fists landed on her, punches on a human body bag.
    She was laid out across the wooden floor, trying desperately to cover her face. But my father kept hitting her, body shots to the stomach, slaps to the head.
    â€œStop!” She huffed and puffed, gagging on blood trickling down her throat. “Stop!”
    The beating ended when Marcus ran upstairs, grabbed my father from behind, and threw him against the wall. His skinny five-six was like a