Read Online Apple Brown Betty by Phillip Thomas Duck - Free Book Online Page A

kids. And hit me on the celly like I said, you need anything.” He was back at the elevator when he remembered something. Kenya still stood in her doorway watching him. “Hey, yo,” he said. “What’s up with those dogs? Your uncle got ’em for me?”
    â€œOh, yeah, true. He said he had two pits you’d probably like. Come check him at the spot whenever you get the chance.”
    â€œYou weren’t even going to tell me,” Slay playfully admonished her, shaking his head.
    â€œI’m sorry. I got so much on my mind. And it’s been awhile since you had asked me.”
    The elevator dinged again. Slay nodded to Kenya, waited for the doors to open, and then got on. He pressed for the thirteenth floor and leaned against the side wall as the elevator moved up. It was a wobbly ride, like riding a bicycle with no air in the front tire. Bumper stickers for old rap album releases covered the majority of the wall.
    On the thirteenth floor, Slay moved to his mother’s door, paused, then pulled out his key and stuck it in the lock. He closed the door behind him and walked into the darkened apartment. George’s extra pair of work boots and a broken television stand with an empty fish tank on top lined the hall. Slay scooted past the hall clutter, moved through the living room and came to his mother’s doorway. He could hear the radio playing, heard the announcer say, “That was The Standells and ‘Dirty Water.’” Slay tapped on the door. He opened it wider and walked right in instead of knocking a second time. Her body lay in a clump beneath the covers. Slay pulled them back. What he’d taken as his mother was actually a pile of dirty clothes, arranged neatly beneath the covers. It broke his heart to see those wrinkled clothes because he knew where his mother was. He wheeled and rushed from the apartment.
    Her favorite spot was just around the corner, behind the basketball courts where no one played anymore because the rims had been torn down and never replaced. Slay parked the BMW and trotted across the asphalt, afraid of what he’d find.
    Behind the court, he found her splayed across the dirt and grass like a neglected leather jacket. A busted Ziploc bag with water spilling from the slit and a goldfish that had taken its last gasp moments before rested in her lap. Her mouth was broken, bleeding.
    Her dark skin was rough and ashy. The braided twists of her hair were coming loose at the ends. Slay slowed his trot, moved beside her, bent down over her. It felt as if he were peering at her in a coffin.
    â€œMama,” he called out. She didn’t stir. He touched her shoulder and she jumped. “Mama?”
    She grumbled and looked up at him.
    â€œMama,” he repeated.
    â€œGeorgie, baby, that you?” she asked, her voice distorted by her heavy tongue inching in the gaps where her teeth used to be.
    â€œNah, Mama, it’s me.”
    â€œGeorgie, baby, pleeease. I been waitin’ on you.”
    â€œIt’s me, Mama.”
    â€œYou get it, Georgie, baby? Please tell me you got it, Georgie, baby. I cain’t hole on much more. Come on, Georgie, baby, give it to me…”
    â€œHe’s gone, Mama, it’s me,” Slay said softly.
    Nancy seemed to realize where she was. She looked around and crinkled her forehead. “Tole this fool my husband was gone and I needed help,” she said. She grabbed ahold of the Ziploc. “Offered him my fish…offered him my wet tongue and these juicy-fruit lips…” She was speaking of the one-named youngster—Larry—who conducted his business behind the courts. Larry was nowhere to be seen now.
    â€œHe hurt you, Mama?” Slay asked.
    Nancy nodded her head. “Punched me in the mouth and tole me to get on.”
    â€œAgain,” Slay sighed. He hated this cycle. His hands were tied behind his back because he didn’t like to acknowledge the place