Family Ties. Ernest Hill

Grandpa shouted again.

      “Well, it is,” Mama said.

      “No,” Aunt Peggy said, shaking her head. “You can’t blame him for this.”

      “I can,” she said. “And I do.”

      “You don’t mean that.”

      “I do mean it,” she said.

      “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” I said. “I haven’t been here in years.”

      “You had everything to do with it.”

      “No, I didn’t,” I said.

      “Mira, why are you saying this?” Aunt Peggy asked her. But Mama didn’t answer her. Instead, she spoke to me.

      “You couldn’t rest,” she said. “You couldn’t rest until you got him in the streets. Well, now the streets got him and ain’t nothing you or nobody can do about it.”

      “This ain’t his fault,” Aunt Peggy said again.

      “Then whose fault is it?” Mama asked.

      “It’s nobody’s fault.”

      “You took him to that place,” she said to me. “Didn’t you?”

      “What place?” I asked, confused.

      “That juke joint.”

      “What juke joint?”

      “Kojak’s Place.”

      “That doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Aunt Peggy said.

      “It has everything to do with it,” Mama said.

      “No,” Aunt Peggy said. “It doesn’t.”

      “You exposed him to all those hoodlums,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

      “Mira!” Grandpa said. “Now, that’s enough.”

      “And you got him hooked on that old dope,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

      “That’s not true,” I said.

      “Don’t lie to me,” Mama snapped.

      “Mira!” Grandpa shouted. “This is not helping anything.”

      “You and World didn’t care about nobody but yourself,” she said. “But Little Man was different. He could have been somebody. If you would have just left him alone, he could have been somebody. But, no, you wouldn’t let him. You had to turn him into another you.”

      “Back then I was just trying to help him,” I said, feeling the need to defend myself. “But that don’t have anything to do with this.”

      “Help him!” she shouted.

      “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Help him be a man.”

      “He didn’t need your kind of help.”

      “I did what I knew to do,” I said.

      “This is not helping anything,” Grandpa said again.

      “Why did you come back here?” Mama snapped.

      “Mira,” Grandpa said. “Now, that’s enough.”

      “That’s alright, Grandpa,” I said, staring at her. “She’s right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back here.” I turned to leave.

      Grandpa stopped me. “Hold on,” he said.

      “No,” I said. “I’m leaving.”

      “Let him go,” Mama said.

      “No,” Grandpa said. “Ain’t nobody going nowhere.”

      “I know where I’m not wanted,” I said sullenly.

      “Please!” Aunt Peggy said.

      “Let him stay,” Mama said. “I’ll leave.” She rose from the table and hurried out into the hallway. Miss Irene dashed after her.

      “Mira!” Miss Irene called after her. “Mira!”

      “Leave me be,” I heard Mama say.

      “Mira, you need to calm down before you make yourself sick.”

      “I’m already sick,” Mama said. “My child is out there somewhere, and I don’t know if he’s dead or alive.”

      “Come on,” Miss Irene said. “Sit down on the sofa and rest.”

      I heard them walking across the floor, and then I heard the springs on the old sofa creak, and I knew they had gone into the living room.

      “Don’t pay her no mind,” Grandpa said to me. “She’s just worried about that child, that’s all.” He paused and looked at me. I remained quiet.

      “What time is it anyway?” Aunt Peggy asked.

      “Almost five,” Grandpa said, looking at his watch. “Why?”

      “It’ll be dark in a few hours,” she said.

      “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

      “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

      “Tell me about it,” Grandpa said.

      Outside, I heard the sound of a car door opening and closing. Then I heard footsteps hurrying across the porch. A moment later, someone knocked on the door. We went into the living room. Mama was sitting on the sofa, crying. Miss Irene was sitting next to her, trying to console her. Aunt Peggy paused, then cautiously made her way to the door.

      “Who is it?” she whispered.

      “The police!”

      Aunt Peggy slowly pulled the door open. I saw two police officers standing in the doorway, staring at me.

      4

      I stood gaping at the two officers as they entered the house. Yes, I had seen them before. The black one was Sonny, my mother’s old boyfriend. And the white one was Harland Jefferies, the chief of police. I saw the chief look at me and then back at Sonny.

      “That’s not him,” he asked Sonny. “Is it?”

      “No, Chief,” Sonny said, staring at me. “It’s not.”

      “What’s the meaning of this?” Grandpa asked.

      The chief did not answer, instead he kept his eyes on me. “Do I know you?” he asked me.

      “What’s this all about?” Grandpa asked again.

      The chief stared at me, and though he did not answer Grandpa, I understood. They had seen me arrive, and they had assumed I was Little Man. I saw Sonny look at me, then back at the chief.

      “I know him, Chief,” Sonny said. “That’s Reid’s older brother. The one they call D’Ray.”

      And at that moment, I felt rise in me an anger I thought I had long ago subdued. I had never liked Sonny. He was a mark. I was convinced of that. I heard the chief sigh; then his lips parted and he spoke to me again.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “He came to visit his mother,” a voice called from behind him.

      The chief whirled and looked. It was Miss Big Siss. She had gotten out of the truck and made her way onto the porch.

      “And who are you?” he asked, looking her over.

      “Sissy,” she said. “Sissy Earl.”

      The chief frowned. He did not recognize the name.

      “You aren’t from around here,” he said, “are you?”

      “No,