Page 41 of Crossing Lines

“Cool, bro.”

We bump fists before he heads from the gym.

“What you up to now?” Cairo asks, dropping his bottle in the bag and lifting it from the floor.

“I’m paying Ma a visit at the sober house.”

His face falls. “Kross, bro…”

“I know. But she’s doing better.”

“Listen.”Here we go. “She’s inconsistent. I’m worried about the impact of that on your life when you’ve been on a straight path all these years.”

I rub the back of my neck. “She swears it’s for good this time.”

“Mmhm.” He sputters a short breath. “Catch you later. I’ll stop by the club if I’m not too beat.”

“All right, man.”

We exit into the chilly air and stride to our cars, driving in opposite directions.

Reaching the sober house, I walk inside and look for my mama. Worry mounts with her evident absence, so I approach an attendant. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Mashonda Krueger.”

“Oh.” She bites the corner of her bottom lip awkwardly. “Sorry, Mashonda isn’t here.”

I crease my forehead in confusion. “What do you mean? Where’s my mother?”

“She left two days ago.”

“Two days ago?” I yell. “Why didn’t you stop her? Better yet, why didn’t anyone call me?”

She shifts her weight to one side and gives me a tight look. “Listen, no one’s here by force. We can only help people who want the help. Your mama wanted to leave. There’s nothing we can do about that.” She waltzes off without another word, seeming unbothered.

“The fuck.” I march out of the house and quicken to my car. I have a gut feeling I’ll find my mama on the streets getting her fix.

Dammit. I wanted Cairo to be wrong.

I drive around the city, checking sketchy parts. It feels like an eternity before I spot Mama by dumpsters in an area where I once sold dope when I was a teen.

Furious, I park on the shoulder and charge from the car. “Ma!”

She shudders at my voice. Her dealer bolts through the alley, and she quickly shoves the small bag into her jeans. “Hey, son.”

“What the hell! You promised you’d stay clean.”

She sniffs and rubs her nose. “I’m sorry, Kross. That place is too tight for me. I’m tired of sharing a room with a woman who cries all night.”

“So you’d rather be on the streets selling your body for drugs?” I yank the bag of white powder from her pocket and hold it before her. “What the fuck are you doing? Why can’t you get it together?”

“You don’t understand,” she whimpers, snatching the bag. “You don’t know how hard it is for me—all the demons I have to fight. With this, my head’s free.”

“Free?” I grunt. “You know what? I’m through trying to help you. You don’t love me enough to get clean. You would have done it a long time ago.” I turn to head back to my car.

Mama reaches for my arm. “Kross, baby, wait. Give me another chance. It’s the last time. I promise.”

I pull my arm from her. “Been hearing that since I was a kid. Your promises mean nothing. God help you.” I jump into my car and peel off.

My throat burns from fighting back tears. It hurts inside my chest. I suppress the agony and tell myself no more. My mama and her addiction are dead to me.

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