We climbed out of the car and walked up to the house. Her shit was laid, and I had to wonder how she could live so comfortably without her fucking kids.
Kenzi rang the doorbell, and we waited with my heart beating fast in my chest. The locks twisted, and a woman appeared. She looked younger than Ashanti should look but older than Kenz and me.
“Naweza kukusaidia?” (Can I help you?)
“Tuo hapa kuona, Ashanti,” (We’re here to see, Ashanti) Kenzi said.
“Wewe ni nani?” (Who are you?)
“Wake Watoto,” (Her children) Kenzi replied. The woman looked at us with wide eyes, then held up a finger, telling us to wait. I popped a piece of gum in my mouth, something Autumn had me do when I felt myself getting anxious.
I just knew her ass was going to deny us, and I was going to kick this fucking door in. She couldn’t fucking run from us anymore.
Moments later, the door opened again, and the woman waved us inside. Kenzi took my hand, and together, we stepped inside. The smell of pine and vanilla filled the air, bringing back memories of a past that broke me more than I already was.
“Tru’ dat door, inna garden.” She pointed to the door straight ahead of us, leading to the backyard.
My feet felt heavy as we moved through the open space and out the back door.
As soon as we stepped out, Ashanti turned to us in her wheelchair and stared at us. I stood as still as a statue, seeing her. She looked the same: light skin, light-brown eyes, and long, sandy-brown locs down her back. She aged more, but it didn’t take too much away from the youth she always possessed.
“Me wonda when ya tu show up. Ya ’ere tu deliva me fate, eh?” she asked.
“Why is that the first thing out of your mouth, seeing us after almost twenty years?” Kenzi asked.
“Wha’ ya wan’ me tu say? Me sorry?”
“That’s a fucking start,” I finally spoke up.
“If ya come ’ere ta fight wit’ me, ya be fightin’ alone. I no have excuse fa leavin’ ya. Me was tired of ya outbursts and tired of ya cryin’. Ya wanted ta tek ova me job as da mudda, so I let ya. Ya was betta off wit’out meh.”
Kenzi shook her head. “You know what I hear, Ashanti? I hear a selfish woman. You laid on your back and gave birth to us, then turned your back on us when things got hard. You don’t know half the shit we had to go through in order to survive, and what’s worse, you don’t care. Never cared. I’m perfectly fine with forgiving and forgetting you, but you owe it to my brother to give him an apology for treating him the way that you did.”
Ashanti looked off, then lowered her head. “Me did da best me could wit’ ya! Merrick promised to be dere fa me—us, den he split. When I met ya fadda, every’ting was . . . tolerable. Den hedie, and ’ere I was, raisin’ tu chir’ren wit’ no help. When Merrick come back, he promised ta help, but ya brudda refuse it. I tried ta do wha’ was right, but Ghana made it so hard. Ya wouldn’t tek ya medicin’, ya go kuchizi every udda day, and I just couldn’t tek it anymore. So, Merrick say go away wit’ ’im, so me did. Now, he die in a car accident, an’ me paralyze from de waist down.”
Autumn’s voice from this morning rang in my head as I closed my eyes, imagining she was here by my side.
You don’t have to dwell in the past, baby. That’s why it’s called the past. Say what you’ve been wanting to say to her, forgive her for yourself, then let it go. Come back to me so we can live our happily ever after.
I opened my eyes and walked over to Ashanti, dropping down to my haunches to be eye level with her.
“I ain’t ask to be this way. I ain’t ask for a fucked-up mental or for my behavior to get so much for you that you left your eighteen-year-old son to take care of your sixteen-year-old daughter with four thousand dollars and a fucking prayer. If you leaving taught me one thing, it was to learn how to survive. That when the odds are against you, the Creator sends people in your life to help guide you through.
“I thank God I never gave up like I wanted to. I thank God I didn’t inherit your fucking selfishness and small-mindedness. I thank Him for my sister, Mr. Trent, Ms. Betty, and the Motor City Rebels. Those people cared enough about my sister and me to help us make it to where I can now see shit clearer, be able to reel back my anger, and not push you out of that fucking wheelchair.
“Nana Zuri said karma was going to come for you tenfold. You may live in this fancy house, but you can’t walk, and you’re not happy. And guess what? I don’t feel the least bit sorry for you. This ain’t my illness talking. This is that little boy who always wanted his mother. The boy who just wanted her to lovehim and tell him he was going to be okay. He doesn’t need that from you anymore, Ashanti. The people around me and I are giving him that.”
I stood up and looked down at her. Tears clung to her eyelashes, and I felt some gratification, knowing that she felt sorry for what she’d done.
Without thinking, I leaned down, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “I forgive you, and I love you. Continue to forget about us, because now I can close that door and forget about you.”
I turned to Kenzi and held out my palm. She accepted it, and without another word or looking back, I led my sister out of that house and away from the woman who gave birth to us but gave zero fucks about us.
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders after confronting my past. I never knew seeing her would close the door to that pain I held inside for so many years, but I could finally say I felt relieved and . . . free.
We got inside the car, and I let out a sigh.
“How do you feel now?”