Mix

She brushed her hair methodically. It wasn’t the kind of hair that really benefited from brushing, Marc said it made it look frizzy. But she liked the feeling of the stiff brush straightening her curly hair. It was so soft then, just like Preston’s and Blaire's hair. She had been worried while she was pregnant with Preston -- a worry that she kept totally to herself, because it would have made Marc furious -- about the baby’s hair. Would it be kinky, like Marc’s or big and fluffy like hers? It was neither. It was incredibly silky and very black. Even though Preston was a boy, he had been born with a full head of hair and she spent hours playing with it.

That was partly because she had hours with him with nothing to do. Marc was a cop and worked extra shifts at the A&P doing guard duty when he was done. He didn’t want her to have a job. His mother had stayed home with him and that was going to be how his children were raised too -- even if that meant he had to never see them, she supposed. She didn’t really want to work. She never had and wasn’t sure that she could do anything anyone would pay her for anyway. And she was sure she could never get one of those regular jobs that Marc would approve of, like receptionist or something, for although she was very young she was sure that she wasn’t pretty enough for someone to want her as the face you saw walking into any office. She considered working at the A&P but Marc wouldn’t allow that.

She thought when she was pregnant that she would spend a lot of time with her mother and her friends but that didn’t seem to pan out either. His mother wouldn’t speak to them because she was white and her mother would speak to her (after a bit) but wouldn’t be around her “half nigger” children or around Marc. It was okay when they were in high school. Her mother was even a little amazed that her little ugly duckling who seemed not to be growing into the swan she was promised could land such a good looking man. Everyone thought Marcus Willowby was the best looking boy in school, particularly Marcus. Her friends were all jealous when she and Marcus started dating and amazed when it seemed like they were in love. She was amazed herself. And at the prom she wasn’t really hurt when he was named the prom king and Susana Kingston was named prom queen. She stood at the side of the rented hall and watched them dance together and tried to remind herself that even though Susana was dancing with him, she was his girlfriend. And she had a big secret that only she and Marcus knew -- she was three months pregnant.

Graduation came and went and they announced their engagement. Marc’s parents tried to reason with him and her mother cried and carried on but when they said that it couldn’t be avoided anyway, because she was pregnant, the whole scene came apart at the seams. Both of them were thrown out, but that seemed only to make it more exciting. They got married at the Jersey City Municipal Court House and spent their honeymoon looking for an apartment and staying with friends. Marc already had a job as a guard at Newport Mall and had applied to the police academy. His father was one of the only black cops on the force and although he didn’t like Marc’s choice of bride, didn’t want to see his grandchildren starve and saw that some of the red tape was cut so that Marc could get through the academy faster.

Now it was five years later and Preston was four and Blair was two and a half. They bought a house in the Heights and it was more than half fixed up. Marc even said he’d put a pool in next month for the summer. Life couldn’t be better. She even thought that she might be pregnant again. Her period was three weeks late. She was sure that Marcus would be happy about it eventually.

She pulled her hair back into a pony tail. She wanted to hide the frizziness since Marcus was home today. She didn’t know why he was home, he usually worked on Saturday. But he said he’d be home today and he’d be in the basement working. She was on the second floor of the house. Preston was watching Sesame Street on the floor in their room and Blair was still asleep in her room. Preston was singing the ABCs and she was filled with pride. Not every four year old could sing the ABCs so well. She was sure that Preston would be a very successful man. He looked more white than black, she reasoned, but he had all of his father’s cunning. If only Blair were more like Preston. Blair was decidedly black. Not that she had anything against black people; didn’t she marry a black man? Of course, that was about what she could expect. It was just easier, like her mother said, if you didn’t look so black like Marcus and Blair.

She looked back into the mirror. Her cheek was red and swollen and she saw now that it would bruise. She didn’t think so this morning. He hadn’t hit her very hard. It was strange, she thought, how sometimes he would hit her so hard but it wouldn’t leave a mark and other times just a slight hit would make the most awful bruise. The last time she saw her mother she tried to explain that she just bruised very easily, it was nothing, but that woman was such a racist, she couldn’t understand anything. Marcus didn’t mean anything by it. There was a lot of pressure at work and sometimes she went too far, demanded too much. He was just doing what he could to keep meat on the table and this new roof over their heads. If she weren’t so demanding, he wouldn’t get so mad. She thought something must be going on at work but she didn’t think she should say anything. Then when he didn’t go in this morning, she just thought she should ask... it was obviously a bad idea. Just like last week when he told her he was closing their bank account and all the money was going in the bedroom closet. What money, she wanted to know and then was amazed to find out that they had over fifty thousand dollars saved. She had been cutting coupons but she had no idea that they had been able to save that much. She was nervous with all the money in the closet and said as much and he was furious. But none of that had left a mark. And it didn’t seem to kill the baby growing inside of her, which was what Marc said he hoped would happen, but she knew he didn’t mean it. He would be so happy because she was sure it would be a boy, a handsome boy like Preston. Maybe she would name this one Dillon like the boy on TV. She never told Marcus about Dillon.

In her fantasy she lived in Beverly Hills. She was one of those thin pretty girls and Dillon would fall in love with her. She knew how great it was when the best looking boy fell in love with you, but the best looking boy in Jersey City was a far cry from the best looking boy in Beverly Hills. They would fall in love and of course money would never be such a problem. They wouldn’t have to fix their house themselves; they would hire someone to do it. And he would think that she was beautiful. He would dance with her and speak in that low romantic voice and it would just be perfect. She dreamed this dream alone in the dark, waiting for Marcus to get home from the A&P and silently slip into bed and move her legs apart. She always tried to stay awake, though, because he liked her to move a little. She didn’t have to be totally awake and if she was able to coincide her fantasy of Dillon and Marc’s arrival just right, she would be able to have an orgasm too. Of course that didn’t matter that much. Marcus told her that women weren’t supposed to have orgasms all the time, only sluts did. Sometimes she worried that she had too many orgasms so she tried not to tell him.

Sesame Street ended and Barney started. Blair woke up and lay in her bed whining. She made Preston promise to stay in the room so that she could take Blair to the basement to the only working bathroom and put her on the toilet. She was in the middle of potty training and first thing in the morning was the best time to show the baby how successful she could be.

She picked up Blair and walked down the stairs. At the first floor she stopped in the kitchen and turned off the TV. She hadn’t noticed that Marcus had left it on, full volume. The door to the basement was closed and locked. She was annoyed and had to put Blair down on a chair in the kitchen and look for the key. Marcus must have done it accidentally, she thought. She found the key in the drawer next to the sink, unlocked it and turned on the light. It was very silent in the basement.

“Marc?” she called down to the basement. Her voice echoed back at her. “Honey, are you in the bathroom? I need to take Blair to the bathroom.”

Silence rang through her ears. She felt confused and scared walking down the stairs. Sometimes when he was very mad he got silent. She thought that maybe he was furious and sulking and if she went down there he would be even madder. But what could she do? He hadn’t finished the bathroom upstairs and the basement bathroom was the only working toilet.
Blair had to go to the bathroom. She walked softly and saw the glow of light from under the closed bathroom door. She felt the sting of the bruise on her cheek. She remembered the first time he hit her.

Shortly after they had moved into their first apartment, he came home from work. He was angry, that was evident, but she was getting big and finding it hard to move around. None of her friends wanted to come and stay with her and her mother was still not speaking to her at all. She decided not to clean up at all that day. She lay in their little bedroom watching TV. Matlock was playing and she was deeply interested in what was going to happen to the killer. She didn’t hear him come in.

“Marie!”

She looked up from the TV. “Oh, hi Marcus.”

“What the fuck is going on? This place is a fucking pigsty.” He took off his jacket and threw it on a chair next to the TV.

“I'm just tired today, Marc-ey. Wouldja rub my feet?”

She was still really looking at the TV and didn’t realize how angry he was. He grabbed her by the feet and pulled her out of the bed. She landed with a surprised thump. “You lazy, fucking bitch! I’m breaking my ass for a lazy, ugly bitch! Get off your ass and clean this fucking place up!” He hit her with a closed fist on the side of her head. She stayed on the floor, tears flowing but screams could not escape. She couldn’t understand what was happening. Was this Marcus? He was so gentle.

“Get up!” He pulled his gun out of the holster. She rose as if in a dream. Where was Marcus? Who was this man? She looked in his brown eyes for recognition but proud arrogance was all that she met. She spent the next hour cleaning the house in a daze. When she was done, she realized that there was blood on her head and it had matted and caked in her hair. She went to the bathroom, still very confused and tried to remove the blood with a washcloth and started crying when she saw that she was getting blood all over the newly cleaned sink and floor. Marc came into the bathroom and also started crying. He held her gently over the sink and washed the blood out of her hair, begging her to forgive him, he was under a lot of stress, he couldn’t believe what he had done. She allowed herself to be comforted and cleaned and he put her in their bed. The rest of the night he was sweet and even made dinner and brought her flowers from the A&P.

Of course he wasn’t always so sweet, but the beatings were almost worth it because then he would be sweet and kind for days. But the last few months he had almost never hit her and when he had, he was unable to comfort her. He would look at her, bruised and sometimes bleeding and just walk away. She wanted to reach out to him but it had never worked that way. She wasn’t sure what to do for him.

The light glowed and she walked toward it. “Marc?” she called out. He was still silent. Blair started moaning that she had to go to the bathroom, so Marie opened the door. Marc sat on the toilet covered with blood, the wall behind him stained with the remains of the back of his head. He sat remarkably upright with the gun still in his mouth. Marie dropped Blair, who peed on the floor. Marie stared at the yellow pool of urine around her daughter’s feet. It ran across the floor into the pool of her father’s blood, mixing like water into oil.