Seaspray by Rick R. Reed

Author:Rick R. Reed
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, amnesia, coming of age, virgins, magical realism, second chances, family drama
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2022-06-13T00:00:00+00:00

Book Two

Chapter Twelve

Darryn

“DARRYN. DARRYN.” MAMA yanked on my big toe, which was hanging out from beneath the comforter because I tended to get so hot at night.

“Darryn!” she said again and yanked hard, adding a little twist at the end for emphasis.

“Ouch!” I yanked my legs away from her torturing hands and sat up, pulling the covers up to my chest as I did so. Modesty was important in Mama’s house. “What’s your problem?” I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was a little after six. “It’s not time for school or work. What—” I cut the questions off when I saw the expression on her face—worry mixed with anger.

It was a familiar expression, one I saw more and more as I grew older and came into myself as my own person.

“Where’s your car?”

I slumped back down into the pillows, wanting to simply pull them over my head and disappear from her view. I knew the question would come when I handed over the keys to Winslow just a couple hours ago. But I didn’t expect her to wake me up. I thought I’d have time to catch a little bit of sleep and then wake and concoct some sort of plausible story for her. Now, I was like, I got nothin’.

“Where is your car? Don’t make me ask you again.”

She’d bought the used silver Nissan Sentra for my eighteenth birthday. I remembered because barely a day passed without her reminding me of the gift and her immense sacrifice.

“Uh, can you let a guy get dressed? We’ll talk in the kitchen.”

“No, sir. We will talk right here.” She plopped down on the foot of my bed. She was already dressed for the day, even though she didn’t have work or, as far as I knew, any commitments. But Mama was like that—cleanliness is next to godliness. Today, she had on a navy-blue polyester dress with a lighter-blue polka-dot pattern, and flats. Her hair was pulled away from her face, and she even had a little mascara and soft-pink lipstick on. “Boy, I am not moving until you tell me where that car is. Do you know the sacrifice I made to give you that car? The trips I missed, the food I didn’t buy so I could save up enough for it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I felt like I couldn’t move because I was naked beneath the sheets. What to say? What to say?

In times of desperation, we turn to the truth. I sighed and said, “I loaned it to a friend. I—”

She cut me off. “What friend? Where were you last night?”

Mama may have been a lot of things, devout Christian of the Baptist, Bible-thumping variety, paralegal, penny-pincher, and a strong believer in tradition (like one man-one woman marriage). In spite of all her dubious pursuits, Mama was not dumb. I’d yet to come out to her because I did appreciate the roof over my head and the food she made for me, especially the peach cobblers and the biscuits and gravy.

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