Mitchell Jackson - The Residue Years

2. Paternity has been established:

by filing with the State Registrar of Vital Statistics a voluntary acknowledgment of paternity, concerning the following child/ren ( e.g., birth certificate ):______________________________________________________________________________________________

( list name/s of child/ren involved )

by administrative order docketed with the following court:____________________________, as case number____________________, located in___________________county, concerning the following child/ren:___________________________________________________________________________________________________

( list name/s of child/ren involved )

by judicial order entered in the following court:__________________________, as case number____________________, located in______________________county, concerning the following child/ren:____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

( list name/s of child/ren involved )

by another method:___________________ concerning the following child/ren:____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

( list name/s of child/ren involved )

PETITION FOR CUSTODY AND PARENTING TIME — PAGE 1 of 8

Unmarried Parents-3A: Petition3AVer11.doc (9/10)

They find you without fail, Godspeed, the creditor letters and bills for unpaid lights and heat. They find you without fail, reach your next forwarding address — dollars and dollars of bank overdrafts, parking fines with interest and penalty, Sallie Mae stalking you on a default loan. Bills that turn a simple trip for the mail into sad, sad business, a reason to check it once a week, if you check it at all.

This morning, stuffed between secured credit offers and unmarked collection notices, is a letter from the Child Services Division. The letter says Kenny is suing for full custody, that I have to show in court in May. I rush inside and pick up the phone and punch his number. Kenny answers as if he’s been waiting for the call as long as he’s been living. This is a joke, right? Early April fool’s? I say.

No, Grace, he says. It’s no mistake.

So this is you now? I say. You itching to steal my boys?

Nobody’s stealing your boys, he says. They’re our boys. Ours, and they’re settled. It makes good sense to keep it that way.

Good sense to who? To you. Or you talking for her now?

No more back-and-forth, he says. This is best.

Won’t be any back-and-forth, I say. My boys will live with me and that’s that. Oh God, you’re dead set on causing me grief.

This isn’t about you, he says.

You black bastard. It won’t happen. God as my witness, nobody’s taking my boys. They’re all I got and you know it.

I slam the phone and sit with my eyes dropped against the world.

Faith without works is dead .

Faith is spelled a-c-t-i-o-n .

The task ahead is never as great as the power behind .

Times like this, who to seek? Who shall I seek when I can’t do this alone? When I will not try.

If you can catch my brother sober and on a break from bickering with one of his kids’ mothers, which when is that really, he’s about as reasonable a voice as to be found. His is the voice I need. Without a bus that runs the route I need — why oh why did I give him back the car? — I hike across town to the tavern. It’s blocks, but I don’t feel them. I am in it before I know how I got here, in the midst of this dimness, of a room that reeks of ammonia and whiskey. There’s a man at the bar and sparse bodies plunked around tables and what I know right off is this: This room’s too quiet for Pat to be anywhere in it. I ask after him anyway and the bartender tells me he hasn’t seen him in days. He don’t say how many, but I gather it’s been enough, that there’s a chance — if I can track him — of my brother being sober and keen. The man at the bar catches my sleeve, asks why I’m leaving so soon, and offers to buy me a drink, but I shake free and seethe. Didn’t mean no harm, he says.

There are times when I can do it alone. There are times when doing it alone is the surest way to fall. And what now would happen if I so much as stumble? Pat, where is Pat? There isn’t another way. Anyone else.

You count on this if you can’t nothing else: The bus never runs on time when you’re rushing.

I stand and sit and troll my bag for who-knows-what and wade into the street and back to the curb, the whole time listening for the sound of the bus against the sound of my body reporting its dread. Cars slog past. Time ticks off and still there’s no sign of the bus — further chaos in my chest. I shoulder my bag and march off for Pat’s place, saying my boys’ names to myself block to block just because. This time I can feel it, every step. When I get to Pat’s woman’s place, his boys’ are out front roughhousing. I see his youngest take a gut blow and drop to a knee, see his oldest begin to laugh. Don’t I know, don’t I know, I say and help the youngest to his feet. Pat’s youngest, like my youngest, attracts trouble, is who you most hope to rescue before it’s too much of a charge. I stamp both boys with a kiss and climb the porch and find the front door cracked and knock to be polite. Pat’s woman tells me to hold on. She answers wearing a gown and slippers with a scarf tied to the front. I ask for my brother and she twists her lips. Ain’t seen his triflin ass for the better part of a week, she says. You check the tavern?

That’s where I coming from now, I say.

Well, shoot, she says. Then I don’t know. Maybe he’s locked up or been staying by one of those nasty heifers. You know how he do? she says. He’ll breeze on by when he gets good and ready — or flat broke, one of the two.

She makes a comment about my face and asks if I’m thirsty or hungry and roves through a maze of clutter into the kitchen. While she’s gone, I swipe a finger of dust from the table and lift my foot from a sticky patch on the floor. She’s got a pure heart, as my brother has said himself, but she can’t keep a clean house — period.

She carries out pops and snack bags of chips. So what’s the trouble? she says. You don’t seem yourself.

You know, I say, if it ain’t this it’s that.

Who you telling? she says. Your brother’s this and that combined.

I wish I could laugh but I can’t.

Is it money? she says. I don’t got much, but if you need it you can sure borrow. You family to me — brother or no brother.

Oh, girl, you know I couldn’t, I say, but can I use the phone? She hunts a cordless from under a pile of clothes and hands it to me and leaves the room. This first place I call — I used to call for Kenny, and you never forget the number — is the Justice Center and lo and behold my brother’s in the system, held on one count trespassing and one count menacing. Pat’s woman strolls back in chomping a mouthful of chips. She asks if I found him and forgive me God this once but I lie. I tell her, Thanks and sorry to rush, and hotfoot out, hoping to catch the county’s last visiting session. My nephews are in the front yard, and I say good-byes and kiss them on the cheeks.