Deborah Mello - In the Light of Love

Mary London pulled the ringing telephone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello. Is Talisa London available, please?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Jericho Becton.” The man’s voice was a deep bass, a rich tonality that would have resonated nicely over the radio.

“Are you a friend of Talisa’s?”

“She and I met last week, ma’am, and it’s very important that I reach her. I’ve tried calling her a couple of times before but I don’t know if she’s been getting my messages.”

Mary stood with one hand resting on her hip, the other clutching the telephone receiver. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Well, Talisa’s not home at the moment. But I will tell her you called.”

“Thank you,” Jericho said, following with a heavy sigh.

Mary could hear the disappointment in the man’s voice. The sadness of it echoed loudly in the tone of his voice as he gave the woman his contact information, repeating over again how anxious he was to make contact with Talisa. As Mary dropped the telephone receiver back onto the hook, her husband came through the kitchen door, waving hello as he entered.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Mary responded. “How was your day?”

The man shrugged, not bothering to respond as he took a seat at the kitchen table and reached for the lacings that bound his leather work boots.

“Don’t take them boots off in my kitchen,” Mary scolded, fanning her hand in the man’s direction.

“Why you got to start the minute I come through the door?” her husband responded. He paused, his hands frozen in midair in front of him as he gazed up at her.

“I’m not starting anything. I’m finishing this. Take them boots out of here. I just mopped this floor clean and you come in here ready to kick trash on the floor. I’m not having it.”

Rising from his seat, Herman swore, profanity filling the air with his annoyance. That was all it took before the duo was arguing bitterly back and forth, the moment turning uglier with each comment that passed between them.

As she came through the front door, Talisa could hear the two of them bickering loudly. Her mother’s voice had risen four octaves, the older woman screaming unintelligibly and her father yelling back just as loud. She shook her head in disgust as she entered the room to stand between the two of them. Her presence was greeted with silence as one parent eyed the other, vile stares racing between them. Her father suddenly turned away from the two women, plopping back down against the thinly padded chair, reaching for his bootlaces.

As Talisa shook a finger at one and then the other, she couldn’t help but think she should be used to the ugly that frequently passed between her folks. During the course of their forty-two-year marriage, Herman and Mary London had forever walked a fine line between love and hate for one another. Since Talisa had been three years old she knew she would never understand how two individuals with such an abundance of love for her and everyone else, could totter so precariously from one side of malevolence to the other side of devotion when it came to the relationship they shared with each other.

“Why do you two have to act so ugly? The whole neighborhood can hear you both screaming. Miss Taylor is still standing on her front porch eavesdropping,” Talisa said, pointing in the direction of their next door neighbor.

“Betty Taylor can stand wherever she pleases. But she don’t ever want to get in my business if she knows what’s good for her,” Mary proclaimed, spinning her stout body around to reach for the mop. “Just look at what you done to my floor,” she hissed in Herman’s direction.

The man reached for his boots, standing up straight as he headed out of the room in his bare feet and up the stairs. He muttered under his breath as he made his exit.

“Daddy doesn’t need you fussing at him the minute he gets home from work. You know how hard his days are.”

“Don’t be telling me about your daddy. I’ve been with that man longer than you’ve been around. I know about your daddy.”

“You just need to give him a break. I bet your blood pressure is sky-high right now. That’s not good for either of you.”

Mary shrugged, moving to change the subject. “We’re having baked chicken, rice and green beans for supper. I even made some peach cobbler for dessert. Your daddy likes my peach cobbler.”

Talisa smiled, leaning to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Did I get any calls?”

Mary nodded. “Some boy called here for you. I forgot his number though. Your daddy and his mess threw me right off track. I was just about to get a pen and some paper when he come in here with his evilness.”

“Do you even remember the man’s name?”

Mary sucked her teeth, tossing her daughter a look that said she should be careful with the tone of her voice. “Jericho. Like in the Bible.”

Talisa inhaled swiftly, surprise registering across her face. “Jericho Becton?”

“Yeah, I think that was it.”

“And you didn’t get a telephone number?”

“I told you what your daddy done. Threw me right off track with his foolishness. That poor boy’s number went right out my head. But I’m sure he’ll call back. He’s called before. He’ll call again.”

“Before?” Talisa’s tone was incredulous. “You mean this wasn’t the first time?”

Mary shook her head, reaching for a broom to sweep her floor. “No. He done called two or three times. I just forgot to tell you.”

Talisa pursed her lips, rolling her eyes with disbelief. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome,” the woman responded nonchalantly, oblivious to her daughter’s annoyance.

Talisa tossed her hands into the air in frustration as she spun out the door. As she headed up the stairs, she passed her father making his way back down. He had changed from his city employee’s uniform into a pair of khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. He leaned to kiss her cheek as they stood side by side on the same riser.

“I don’t like it when you two fight,” Talisa said, leaning her head against her father’s shoulder.

“We wasn’t fighting. It was just a matter of differences.”

“Well, I don’t like that either,” Talisa responded.

The man laughed, kissing her forehead. “We’ll work at it. We’ll try to do better. So, when do you leave for Africa?”

Talisa grinned. “In a few weeks. I can’t wait.”

Her father returned the wide smile. “I’m real proud of you, pumpkin. I hope you know that.”

Leaning into her father’s hug, Talisa pressed her cheek to the man’s broad chest. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you so much.”

Herman London winked his eye as he released his grip around her torso. “Daddy loves you, too, baby. Daddy loves you, too.”

Sitting side by side in the family living room, Talisa’s parents were still trading barbs back and forth, stopping just long enough to watch an old Cosby Show rerun, before resuming their bickering during the commercial breaks. Talisa knew it would go on for most of the night, finally calming when one or the other retired for the evening.

Throwing her body across the length of her queen-sized bed, Talisa heaved a deep sigh. Jericho Becton had tried to call her. Not only had he called her, but he had actually tried on three separate occasions to catch up with her, and her mother had let the knowledge of that fact just slip from her mind. Talisa shook her head at the absurdity. For months now she’d been ignoring the woman’s forgetfulness, turning a blind eye to the laundry that was left to mildew in the washing machine, or the dinner charred around the edges.

The termination notices from the utility companies had been laughed at as Talisa had rushed to make the payments, insuring services weren’t disconnected. “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached,” her mother would say with a deep chuckle, shaking gray hair from one side of her full face to the other. Talisa and her father would laugh with the woman, both ignoring that there might actually be a problem that they needed to address.