One Woman Warrior (Switching Tracks Series) Read online

  One Woman Warrior

  Switching Tracks Series

  Short Story 1.5

  License Statement:

  This book is a written act of fiction. Any places, character, or similarities are purely coincidence. If certain places or characters are referenced it is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written consent except in the case of quotations and reviews.

  Copyright © 2014 Delia Steele

  All Rights Reserved

  www.deliasteele.weebly.com

  Dedication:

  Cancer is a nasty part of life we can’t escape. It will touch us, or someone we love somewhere along the way.

  We can’t run from it, but we can choose how we let it affect us. I’ve never had to battle cancer myself but two people who were a huge part of my life have.

  This short story is a small piece of what they endured.

  My childhood friend Lucian Barnes battled cancer before the age of 30; luckily, she is still on this earth making the best of her life one day at a time, showing her strength and being the beautiful warrior I always knew her to be. Love you LULU!!!!

  My Aunt Minta Lu McDonald, she lost her battle with lung cancer years ago but still today, she is a major part of my life. Every day I hear her and feel her; she makes up such a huge part of me. I spent so much time with her though out my life. She was there for so many life-changing moments for me. She put me first and always made time for me, no matter how busy her life was with two girls of her own. At 18, she was the one who got me my first real job, in which I still work today. I can hear her laugh in the hallways and see her changes still making a difference in others lives all around me. It was so hard to watch her fade away; it hurt so much I couldn’t watch it. I wasn’t strong enough to be there for her when she required it most. It hurt so badly but I was young, and weak. If I could go back and change anything in my life she would be it, I wish I had been strong enough to be by her side when she needed me, but I wasn’t. In this story, Rome shows the strength I wished for and when the time came for my grandmother to follow my aunt home, I found that strength and I waited it out to the end. For the first time in many years I was able to call on the feeling I had missed so much, pride. I knew when I found that strength and did the right thing my aunt was proud of me. I knew I finally got it right. I love you and miss you everyday Aunt Lu. It took me a long time but I think I have this little thing we call life figured out. Thank you.

  Lucinda Tate’s Story

  From hooligan to humble, that’s my sweet Rome. I’ve watched him change so much through the years. He went from stealing and vandalism to cooking and changing diapers. I know when the time comes he’ll be OK, and he’ll make sure Rio and Denver are as well.

  I knew under that hard-hitting attitude his heart was still warm and wholesome. I knew a part of me existed somewhere under that mask of anger. I blame it on the men over the years he had as role models. Not my proudest moments.

  “Mom, do you need anything before I run to grab Rio from the bus stop?” I shake my head at him. He’s standing at the counter making dinner plates, which Amy, the sitter, will warm up later. She helps tend to the boys while Rome works his second job.

  “No, love, I’m fine,” I respond through a cough, curling deeper into my blanket. I’d do anything to be able to move from this spot and help him again. Watching him fills me with two things: pride and remorse. I am so proud of who he is, but I am so disappointed with who I am. What type of mother can’t tend to all of her children? I know I don’t have long left in this world, and I refuse to let my three wonderful boys see me weak or sick with worry. At least I know the young ones will be in great hands.

  I hear the door slam as Rome walks out, heading to the front of the trailer park to meet the bus. I wish I could do something—anything—on my own. I can barely click the remote or lift a fork to feed myself these days. The doctors say I’m lucky to be coherent. Yeah, because we all want to know we piss ourselves and can’t do anything about it.

  “Lucinda, are you here?” I hear someone calling from the door. I try to turn my head far enough to see who it is.

  “I’m here. Just doing my daily jumping jacks. Come on in,” I call to the wall because I couldn’t turn far enough to see my visitor. Once she comes in, I can see the smile she is wearing. It’s our neighbor, old woman Riaz. She’s crazy, but she means well. She is an elderly Hispanic woman who lives here in the park. Her son and his family live in a fancy house over the tracks. Why she chooses this place over that one, I’ll never know, but I’m certainly no one to be judging others’ decisions. My little ones call her Gran. They’ve heard her granddaughter say it, and they just picked it up. I think she secretly likes it, though, because she never corrects them. My boys don’t have grandparents like most kids, and Gran is good to them. She comes over and brings them popsicles and other treats. Another thing I can’t do for my sons.

  Denver is my youngest. He isn’t old enough for school yet; hes barely waddling now. Rio is in Kindergarten this year and is such a strong-minded boy. Rome is older—the man of the house. At 22, he plays the parent more than I do. I had Rome when I was only seventeen. His father was a handsome man, and I was young and wild. I never even knew his name. One wild night, a few drinks with friends, and nine months later… I’m having his son with no way to call or find him. I bounced between a few jerks before I figured out I could do it on my own. Then I found a good guy in Travis and married him. He ended up adopting Rome. Then, when Rome was sixteen, almost seventeen, I had Rio. For the most part, life was good. I didn’t think it could get much better. We lived happily and content with our boys. Until I unexpectedly got sick. I seemed to always have a cold, which progressed to puking, weakness, and disorientation. I even had trouble staying lucid from time to time. A few small tests revealed it was another baby. We only had time to be happy for a small moment in time, though, because shortly after that, I received the information that changed all of our lives. On top of being pregnant, I was also in the early stages of lung cancer. I hadn’t smoked in a while, but I guess I gave it up too late. The doctors told me sometimes even people who don’t smoke get it, but for me, I had signed my own death ticket. I hated myself for it. While trying to carry my third child, I got depressed and let it eat at me. Travis begged me to do the chemo or radiation, but I refused. I didn’t want Rome to know, and I wouldn’t do the treatments because it meant losing my baby, the life I carried now. How could I take a chance on chemo when it might not even work? How could I willingly lose a child, knowing I might die anyway? I couldn’t. I had to have this child. It wasn’t its tiny little fault. Travis broke. He screamed at me day in and day out to get up and do something, anything. He wanted to see me live. I refused. I crawled under my blanket and gave up. I just had to last long enough to have this child, my third little boy.

  It’s funny how being told you’re going to die makes you feel dead already. I ended up having my son with Rome holding my hand. The last four months of my pregnancy were rough. My husband left us, refusing to watch me “roll over and die”. It left Rome confused and angry because he had no idea I was sick from anything other than my baby. It affected him profoundly, and he began acting out because of it. My good boy went out of control for a while. He couldn’t trust a man. The man he had called father for years—the man who seemed perfect—fell short and left us. But, when my water broke and my newest son came into the world, I watched something in Rome change. I watched him hold that baby, and I kn
ew he would never let anything hurt those boys the way he had been hurt repeatedly. Rome asked me the baby’s name, and without thinking, I said, “Denver.” He smiled at me, told me he loved it, and asked why. I simply replied, “Because after visiting Rio, I would want to go home. Take time to process the beauty I saw there. Sometimes in our lives, home is the most exotic and wonderful place in the whole world. There will never be anywhere quite like home. And since this baby came after Rio, your brother, it’s only right to call him Denver.”

  It was that night Rome found out I would never see home again. When the doctors and I sat him down and told him everything, he lost it. They ended up giving him something to sedate him. His pain crushed me. It hurt me more than the pain my body was going through. It hurt me worse than knowing I would never see any of my boys grow up, marry, or find love.

  “Jumping jacks? Are you crazy? You could throw your hip out, Lulu.”

  I glance at Gran, slowly returning from my memories. I can feel her watching me to see if it’s another spell.

  “It was a joke, Gran. I don’t move; you know that.” I’ve already had one stroke. It’s what’s left me puckered up tighter than a monk’s ass. But, I still have my mind, and for that, I am grateful. “Rome went after Rio. He should be right on in,” I say, trying to pull my blanket up, but it’s too heavy.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Lulu, ask for help, or so help me, I will perch my wrinkled old ass right up in your face and fart on you,” she says, pulling my blanket up around my shoulders. I giggle because Gran will do anything to make me laugh, and she will fart in my face and not think twice about it. Trust me, I know!

  “We should hook Rome up with your granddaughter,” I say to her as she sits across from me with a small plastic sack in hand.

  “No.” she looks at me sternly. “He is a good boy with a wild streak, and she is a wild girl with a good streak. They would be a hot mess! Rome needs a tame girl to keep him grounded. I’m afraid when the time comes for you to go, he will break. I hope he doesn’t, but I worry. I would take these boys, but I’m too old. And my head isn’t right anymore.” She’s right, of course. Rome needs a strong woman, and not just anyone could handle him. Together, Rome and her granddaughter, Amandolette, would cause worldwide pandemonium.

  “He’s strong, Gran. Don’t let him break. When I go, he needs to be strong for my little ones.” I look over at the photo by my sofa and smile at the image of me holding Rio and Denver while Rome holds us all in his lap. He has grown into a strong, beautiful, and devoted man. No longer my little boy. And I sit here, wasting away. My hair is no longer long and black; it’s short, broken off, and thin. My eyes aren’t twinkling tunnels to my soul; they are dead, blackened-out sinkholes to my shattered heart. My skin, once dark and sun-kissed, is now wrinkled and pasty. If you were to pull on me, I would tear apart like paper. It’s happened. Rome refuses to help me to the bathroom now because of it. Once, just once, I screamed when it happened, and he will barely do more than hug me now. I have to wear adult diapers, which he helps with, to my shame; but to change my blankets out or shower, he waits on the home nurse. Twice a week, she comes. It’s all the State will help me with. We went from a nice middle class family to struggling in a trailer park on government benefits.

  “He’s here,” Rome calls out laughingly as he opens the door and Rio runs in with his thin coat tied around his neck like a cape. “Super Rio to the rescue.” But Rio doesn’t rescue anything. He zones in on the sack Gran brought with her and freezes.

  “For me?” he asks with a huge smile. Gran takes her time, acting as if it’s a struggle to open it. After handing him the candy, she says her goodbyes and leaves.

  “Rome, did she have on knee high black leather boots and a mini skirt?” He nods his head and laughs.

  “That old lady is a trip, Mom. I can’t deal with her for long periods. I swear, she is as wild as she makes her granddaughter out to be.” He turns to Rio. “You don’t eat all that before supper. Go get ready for your bath, buddy; I want to make sure you’re good before I leave for work.” He heads down the hall to fix bath water, and I watch, amazed at the man I have raised, hurt at the boy in him he’s had to leave behind.

  I know I don’t have long. I’ve come to terms with it finally. I found strength at the bottom of my self-pity-induced depression, and I arose with a new goal. I don’t have to be strong for me, but I have to be strong for them. This disease is already taking me away from my kids forever; I refuse to let it take my soul with it. I need every moment with them until I don’t have a moment to give. I need to woman-up and smile for my boys, show them that though I am weak, I am still strong. Show them my love for them is sturdy enough to last forever, beyond the grave. I need my boys to know I may have died and left this world, but I will never leave them. This cancer can take my body and my life, break me in two, but my heart and my love for my boys will never waver. Those will never break or bend to the will of this wickedness. My love for them is true, and it is strong. It’s real.

  I watch Rome leave, knowing it’s only minutes before our babysitter shows up. She’s a dingbat, but if the trailer were to burst into flames, she could get my babies out. And, she can tend to Denver—something I can no longer do. I feel like a T-rex, with my hands drawn in, making it near impossible to even hold my baby without help.

  “Rio, can you change the TV to cartoons for Mommy?” I ask him. I watch as he goes over and pushes in the VCR tape. After a few seconds of grinding, the TV gets picture, and he is content. I love how he smiles over his tiny shoulder at me, proud of himself. I wonder if he will remember me when I’m gone. I know Denver won’t, but Rio has had me for five wonderful years. No matter. Rome will tell them stories, and he will remind them. I know he will never let either of them forget. Maybe one day, in their minds, I will be something amazing. I hope when they think of me, they will smile and know I didn’t leave on purpose. Sometimes, when I feel that weight settling on me, I just watch Denver and it rushes out faster than it crept in. I gave my life to make sure he had his. It was the right choice. It’s one I can be proud of. One I would make over and over again.

  I must doze off because the noise that startles me is Rome creeping in and paying Amy for her night of service. I hear her tell him the boys ate, were wonderful, and that I, as always, refused to eat but made small talk with the boys until they went to bed. I hear the door shut and Rome slide the chain lock in place. Then, I listen to his footsteps as he walks over to the old chair and drops down, where he sits, eyes on me.

  “I know you’re awake, Mom.” I smile with my eyes shut.

  “How do you do that?” I ask, opening them back wide.

  “Because you always pretend to be doing what I expect. You’re sort of amazing in that way. Never wanting me to worry.” I blink a few times and clear my throat. I start to speak, but instead, I go into a coughing fit, which is normal for me. After a few deep coughs, I stop and look at Rome. He stares at me with tears building in his eyes. I hate his pain so much more than mine. I notice his guitar lying beside the chair.

  “Play for me?”

  And, like magic, it works. Rome knows I love to hear him play. I’ve tried to make him promise to play at my funeral, and though he’s refused, I know he will.

  “Anything?” he asks quietly. I nod my head slightly, and his soft strumming fills the room, his low rumble following. He has a voice that soothes all my ailments. I sleep happily with the sound of my angel comforting me.

  ~~~

  “Rome, stop! Give it back! Now! I need it!”

  I open my eyes, and Rome is in the chair again, but changed and freshly showered. I can tell by his shaggy, wet head of beautiful onyx hair. Rio stands between Rome’s legs, pouting, while he runs a comb through the mop atop his tiny little head. He doesn’t look like Rome. He has a lighter brown shade of hair and is still fighting with his baby chub. His eyes are a lighter brown, as well. He is precious to me, just like the other two. He and Denver will favor, I’m sure.
I can’t even tell one’s baby photo from the other’s.

  “What have you taken from him, Rome? It’s not nice to tease him,” I say, smiling at them and their silly, brotherly banter.

  “My nose, Mommy! He took it! Everyone will laugh if I go to school without my stinking nose!” He drops his head and folds his arms over his chest again. Such a Rome gesture. He is closed off to everyone these days.

  “Rome, give him his stinking nose back, right now,” I say sternly. “He can’t very well go to school and have the girls laugh at him.” We all giggle because Rio despises girls. They all have cooties and such.

  Rio runs over to me, nose reattached, and hugs me. Then, he kisses my nose. “Mommy, we have the same nose ‘cept yours isn’t stinking like my little boy nose.” I smile and assure him we do. He runs out the door with Rome right behind him. I know Rome has to work at the garage today, but something is wrong. I am weaker than normal, and I don’t seem to be able to lift my head as far. Something’s off.

  Rome returns shortly and sets a bowl of fish crackers in front of Denver. Then, he looks at me and watches for a moment before speaking. “You OK, Mom?”

  I watch him turn his head side to side, but it takes me time to answer. “Something’s off. I don’t think you should leave today. Something’s not right.” He nods and heads for his phone. “No! Rome, no doctors.” He lets out a deep breath and shakes his head. The look in his eyes is defeat. I know it well.

  “Do you think Travis misses me?” I ask Rome. I watch him text his boss, and when he looks at me, the anger across his face is both terrifying and heartbreaking.

  “Mom, that piece of shit left you. He left us. He knew you were sick and pregnant with his child, and he still left. He is a coward.” I hate hearing him speak that way of the man who loved him for so long, but I understand it.