Twisted Locks

"You look sick, " said Marlo, with  perfect West Indian bluntness.

"Why you look like that?"

As she looked up and down the haggard face of her twenty-something son, she clucked her tongue in disapproval.

The whole time she spoke, her fingers flew, dexterously pulling strands from her client's stubbornly nappy  hair, retwisting the new strands of growth into beautiful locks.

"I'm fine Ma," Justice said wearily,  stifling a massive yawn.

Normally, he went directly from his job as a writing assistant at Hunter college, to the apartment he shared with his college buddies, down near 14th street. This morning, though, his mother had whined at him in a phone message that, saying that he absolutely  had to  come see her, and that she would be off work at 5.

The truth was, Justice hadn't visited his mother since he had been obligated to go to the apartment he'd grown up in way out in Flatbush for Christmas.

Then, she had ranted and raved that he hadn't brought home his girlfriend, and chastised him for dating a white girl.

He had protested that his girlfriend had had to go home to Puerto Rico (and that she was not white but Latina) , and he complained that she needed to stop stalking him on Facebook.

He had left immediately after Christmas dinner, and ignored the numerous messages his mother had left on his phone. He'd been fed up.

It wasn't until February that he even brought himself to listening to messages she left thrice a day, and he ruefully observed that she had started coughing violently in long drawn out messages. She never explicitly stated that she was dying but used a worn, frayed voice to complain about "grandchildren whom she would surely never know." Eventually, her histrionics had winnowed down his resolve to avoid her.

Now, as he saw his mother looking fresh as an ox, he could barely contain his annoyance.

He WAS exhausted,  having graded 82 written midterms over the course of the week, and his patience was very low.  He had been told she would be done at 5, but he could see that is mother had just started on someone's hair and wouldn't be done for another several hours. 

"I'm gonna go Ma," Justice said, already turning to leave.

"That's my son" Marlo cooed sweetly,  the young man in the chair, "he don't have no time for his mother."

"Ma,-" Justice began,  but he was immediately cut off by older woman talking to her client.

"Noooo time for his little ole mama. A shame shame shame!"

She aggressively yanked the client's hair at every "shame," causing him to wince in pain.  The scene in front of him was immensely more uncomfortable, however, he made sure not to cry out so as to remain inconspicuous.

Justice was half way out the door, when she barked at him, with a combination of venom and despair.

"WILL I AT LEAST BE INVITED TO THE WEDDING?!!!!"

The door slammed with a thud.

Justice took a deep breath as he stepped into the bright late spring sun  and he could feel that summer wasn't far off. He could feel his whole body relax.

He silently cursed his buddy for posting the video of his proposal to Rosa, and cursed himself for not having unfriended is mother on Facebook.  He'd wanted tell his Ma that he was getting married delicately, in a manner that wouldn't send her perpetual anger  spiking.

He knew that she expected to be consulted on the matter. However, he also knew that whatever his choice was, she'd never be happy with it and had long ago stopped trying to please her.

While he could not articulate it, Justice intrinsically understood that his mother took out the woes she'd had with men on her him. She'd been abandoned by Justice's father and step father alike because they too knew that her bitterness was boundless.

The young man chuckled sadly to himself as he descended the stairs to the 6 train. She had unwittingly pushed away the only man who she had left in her life, he thought. She was so alone.