Page 176 of Rage

A River Red

By: O’Junea Brown

Chapter One

Like clockwork, the keyring falls from my grasp, and I scramble to pick the silver ring up so I can finally unlock the door to my home. Every night I prepare my keys before I get out of the car, and every night, without fail, I’m left fumbling with them on my porch.

Rushing inside, I slam the door shut and rest the back of my head against the solid surface, taking a deep breath before silencing my alarm system. The steady beat of my heart finally returns when I realize I made it inside unharmed.

This paranoia is slowly killing me from the inside out. I wake up, go to work, and return home with the inkling that someone is watching me at every moment. With shaky hands, I secure the second deadbolt on the door before I drop my work bag and purse on the loveseat next to the bay window.

My father insisted I get a home with an attached garage, but did I listen? Absolutely not. “Dad, I’ll be fine. Stop being paranoid,” I lectured him, on multiple occasions.Now look at me.I can’t even take a shit in my own home without thinking I’m going to be murdered on the toilet and found like Elvis on the porcelain throne.

But my heart fell in love with this single-family home in Roscoe Village, right around the corner from my favorite bookstore. The landlord said the garage wasn’t available for use when I signed my lease, which was annoying when I thought about the amount of rent I paid each month. But the neighborhood is quiet, so I’ll happily park my car on the street and dash into the house like my life depends on it.

The ring of my phone causes me to jump before I flip the screen up and see that Ross is calling.

“H-hey, babe, where are you? I thought you were meeting me here for dinner tonight?” I ask in a hopeful tone. Rustling sounds in the background before he finally answers me.

“Mavis, baby, you know how things can get at the office. The paperwork got stacked a mile high within the last hour, and if I don’t get it done, the big man is going to have my head. Save me some leftovers, yea?”

I sit there silently, waiting for his secretary to throw some snide remark about our conversation in the background.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow around seven for dinner, yeah?” he asks when I don’t speak.

I sigh. “Sure thing, Ross. Call me when you—" There’s more rustling, then I hear her high-pitched voice in the background. I can tell she’s moving closer to the phone while begging him to hang up andget back to work.I want to ask him why she’s still at the office so late, but he cuts me off with the typical “I love you,” and disconnects the line.

I stare at the screen in front of me, hoping he’ll call back because he accidentally hung up. The engagement ring on my left hand glistens under the light fixture above, making me feel some type of way. We’ve been together since my last year of college, with him finally popping the question last year.

We’re exactly three months out from when I’ll be walking down the aisle to become his wife, and he can’t even keep dinnerdate promises. This is the fourth time he has canceled on me in three weeks.

Slipping into something more comfortable, I search through my freezer in the kitchen for my favorite Lean Cuisine meal that’s loaded with sodium, yet promises to help you lose weight.Gotta love diet culture.

My phone on the counter rings and I dash to grab it, thinking it’s Ross calling me back to apologize for the disconnected call. My heart sinks when I see the name flash across the screen.

Mom.

I take a deep breath before answering, bracing myself for whatever belittling she has prepared for me tonight. “Hi Mom,” I answer in a cheerful voice, hoping to throw her off of whatever bullshit I’m sure she has coming my way.

I can hear her take a swig of something before she speaks, “Mavis, how are you darling?”

I scratch the top of my head before attempting to speak, but she cuts me off. “How are you and Ross doing?” she asks nonchalantly. Every time she calls it’s either regarding Ross or both of us. It’s never just about me and my wellbeing.

“We’re fine, I guess,” I answer while shrugging my shoulders, thinking about the cancelled plans from him.

She’s silent for a moment before her usual verbal assault begins. “I was thinking, Ross let his mother know that you weren’t too keen on having kids. Have you lost your fucking mind or are you just dumb?”

I remain silent, with my eyes squinted and my mouth half open. Why is he getting our parents involved in our intimate conversations?

“I mean honestly, Mavis. Are you still planning on working while married? There’s nothing wrong with being the woman of the house. Raise the kids, cook, and clean. I did it and I turned out alright,” she continues on. The grip that I have on thecountertop has my knuckles turning white. “I don’t quite think my sole purpose in life is to pop out babies at the convenience of my husband, Mother. If that’s?—”

“Oh, well that’s where you’re wrong, Sweetie,” she cuts me off with a mocking laugh. “The women of this family have always lived to serve our husbands. That doesn’t stop in our bloodline just because you came along. If Ross wants –”

I cut her off with a quick tap of the red button on my screen and continue making my dinner as the phone rings again with her name flashing. After the second attempt, she gives up, and I let loose a breath thanking heaven above that’s over with.

Ripping the box open, I get that same eerie feeling, like someone is watching me through the small window in my kitchen. Slowly, I turn to look, finding nothing but the usual tree branches swaying in the wind. But the closer I look at the tree in my backyard, the more my eyes can make out the silhouette of a man. The more I concentrate, the faster my heart rate skyrockets.

My palms are so sweaty, the fork I grabbed to puncture the film of my frozen dinner slips from my hand, and the sound of it meeting the tile floor is my undoing. Dropping to the ground and scooting my back against the cabinets, I reach into my pocket to dial 9-1-1. Just as I press the call button, my alarm system chimes. “Disarmed,” the robotic woman’s voice says from the main box. Reaching behind me, I grab a knife from the countertop and drop back down, continuing to call the emergency number. “Armed,” the robotic voice chimes once more.

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