As I grabbed the knob on the screen door and walked through the garage into the house, I kept telling myself to relax and act normal. I deliberately went through the garage and not the front door because it gave me a few extra minutes to gather myself. I paused for about 30 seconds to calm down, gain my composure, and practice saying, “What’s up ma, Mrs. Brown said you wanted to talk to me.” I must have practiced saying, “What up ma, Mrs. Brown said you wanted to talk to me,” a million times before I mustered up enough courage to walk into the house, and into the family room to face my parents. As I walked into the family room, the sight of my parents struck fear in my heart. I opened my mouth and all the moisture evaporated and my voice began to crack, “Mrs. Bbbbbbrown, I stuttered, ssssaid you wanted to see me.”
“Yes, I talked with your dad yesterday and he said that the steak was missing. Do you know what happened to it?
“No ma’am.”
“Well, that’s strange because your father and I found beer bottles in the backyard and the grill looks like someone cooked steak on it recently. I am going to try this again! Did you have a party here last night?” she pressed.
“Party? No ma’am, I didn’t have a party here last night.” I tried to keep a straight face, but it was difficult because my mom always knew when I was lying.
“Stop lying. Eric, I am so damn sick of you. How could you have a party in my house, eat the groceries your father and I worked for, and have absolute strangers in my house? What in the hell were you thinking?” she screamed. I didn’t say a word; I just stared at her.
“Eric, do you hear me talking to you? I asked you a question, what in the hell were you thinking? I want an answer and I want it now!” I didn’t flinch, I just stood there with a blank look on my face.
“Son, your mother asked you a question,” he chimed in. I pretended as if I did not hear a word he was saying. “I know you hear me talking to you son…I said your mother asked you a question!” He typically used a different tone of voice when he had to repeat himself. He was from the old school and believed that when an adult spoke to a child, the child was supposed to acknowledge he or she was being spoken to. I knew the drill. If you did not respond the first time, he would ask you a second time a bit louder, giving you the benefit of the doubt that maybe you didn’t hear him. He was not necessarily trying to scare you by projecting his voice; it was more of a warning. Generally, I would surrender. I would play the dumb role like I did not hear him the first time, and the second time say, “yes sir” and answer the question. Not this time. In a strong and demanding voice he said, “Boy, you better answer your mother.” Before I knew it I snapped and my mind went blank. I was physically in the room, but mentally I was long gone.
“You can’t make me,” I murmured under my breath as I bit my bottom lip and shook my head as if to say “not this time—not this time.”
I knew what I was doing was dangerous. I had heard stories of how his 6 foot 8 inch 250 pound frame had annihilated men twice my size, but I was tired of living in fear. Before I knew it, I was racing toward him in an attempt to get past him and into the garage. But as I made my initial move out of the family room toward the hallway he blocked the pathway and moved in on me. He had an obvious advantage in both reach and size but I thought I could offset it with my quickness. I launched toward him in an attempt to knock him down and give me enough time to run through the hallway toward the door leading to the garage. As I went to push him, he grabbed my arm and before I knew it had me in a headlock gasping for air. I tried to use my lower body strength to force his legs from under his body, but it didn’t work. The next thing I knew he was hitting me with some serious blows to the body. Helpless, the only thing I could think to do was pray. I didn’t go to church and I was definitely not a Christian, but I figured I had nothing to lose by calling on Him. “God if you can hear me—Help! This dude is about to kill me!” Within in a matter of seconds, I was able to push both of his arms toward his body and loosen the cobra-like grip he had me in. I began to pull my head back in an attempt to regain my balance. The only thing I wanted to do was try to create enough separation between us so that I could make it out of the house. Once I was completely free from his grip I pushed him away and ran toward the garage. I made it safely into the washroom and slammed the door shut behind me to give myself a few extra seconds. I ran through the garage and exited the door to the far left. I figured he would go through the front door and try to cut me off but I was too quick; by the time I made it out of the garage, I noticed he and my mother were just getting to the porch. Once I made it to the street I knew I was in the clear because there was no way either one of them could catch me. I stopped running once I made it past the mailbox and into the street. I turned and faced my mother. All I remember thinking was, I waited four years to say this. It was late in the afternoon, and as luck would have it, on this particular Sunday, it seemed like all our neighbors were outside. It felt like a scene out of a movie. All the neighbors stopped what they were doing and all eyes were on our family. Tears began rolling down my face uncontrollably and I exploded, “I hate you, I swear to God I hate you! You watched him put his hands on me and you didn’t do nothin’. You never said nothin’ to him. You should have protected me! I hate you!”
My mother yelled back at me but I was in such a haze I couldn’t hear anything but my rapid heartbeat. “You put him before me, you put him before your own blood,” I shouted. Then he interrupted in an attempt to put his two cents in. “Who you talking to?” he growled.
“Shut up talking to me! You don’t mean nothin’ to me! If I see you in the streets, I’m killin’ you!” The neighbors looked on in astonishment with their mouths wide open. We lived in a diverse community at the time and it was quiet for the most part. Lathrup Village (the suburbs) was the complete opposite of our old neighborhood on the west side of Detroit. In Detroit, it was nothing to hear sirens racing through the hood in the middle of the night, or the sound of bass pounding out of the local drug dealer’s car as they drove up and down the block.
By no means were we the Huxtables. We had our challenges, but I don’t think any of us ever thought it would come to this. Just before I took off running, I stopped everything and stared at my mom thinking, “How could you betray me? How could you put your husband before your own son? How could you keep that secret from me all those years?”
CHAPTER
2
Sweet Little Lies
“I’m sorry mama I never meant to hurt you. I never meant make you cry but tonight, I’m cleaning out my closet.” – Eminem
My body felt numb. In my anger, I said things I never thought I’d say to the one person I loved more than life. I never intended to hurt my mom. I guess I held it in so long that when it finally came out; it came out with no regard for anything or anyone.
Tears ran down my face as I thought, “Not in a million years did I ever think that my mom would lie to me. It hurt my heart watching her stand there on the porch next to him after he just tried to kill me. It was like she was saying, “No matter what, right or wrong, I am going to support my husband and I don’t care how you feel.” Never in my wildest dreams did I think she could do or say anything to hurt me as much as when she kept the secret from me. I was wrong, this hurt just as much.
Once I snapped out of my trance, I realized I had to make a decision, and I had to make it quick. The question was, “Do I run to my right, east towards Telegraph Road, or do I run towards the left, west towards Lasher Road?” I decided to run west.