âhelp meâ repeatedly, and feel the need to jump into Chanceâs mind to cool him off immediately. Sheâs calling me again; only this time, instead of in my dream, Iâm here to help my friend and his mother reconnect.
I jump into Chanceâs mind, seeing what heâs not saying. He knows the entire truth about his birth motherâs family, his adoption, his real name and all. He confronted his mother about his suspicions and she told him everything. It wasnât easy for either of them, but Chance feels betrayed by the woman heâs loved as his mother his entire life. He wants to know why she didnât tell him the truth sooner and she canât explain her reasons to Chance, who is unyielding in his emotions. What a mess. At least I know my dreams are on point, as usual.
âChance, whatâs really going on? You know you can tell me anything,â I say, leaving his mind and focusing on opening the tiny hot sauce packets accompanying our meal. Chance picks up his burrito and takes a huge bite before letting it all out.
âIâm going to Georgia to see my real family, or at least the black side of it,â Chance says proudly. I know it must feel like his mother kept this information from him for too long, but I know Mrs. Carmichael was just waiting for the right time to tell him. The worst part about that rationale is that thereâs no right time to tell someone theyâre adopted or that Chanceâs feelings of having black blood were valid. Somehow I have to get Chance to see that his motherâs not his enemy.
âThis is your real family,â I say, gesturing at the large house around us. I know Mrs. Carmichael must be a total wreck, her only child leaving for Georgia and making her worst nightmare come true. From her psychic request, this is the best I can do on such short notice. I wish I could help more.
âI know my mom loves me, but all my life Iâve felt out of place at family reunions, the country club, summer camps where everyone was rich and white. I could never understand why, but now I know, Jayd. Now I know,â Chance says, looking down at the blue paper in front of him and sliding it across the table for me to see. Itâs his birth certificate. Chase LeCroix Monroe. From my sleepwalk through his dream during the holidays, I remember that his mother is Creole and his daddyâs a white boy, also from the South, whose family was adamantly against bringing home colored babiesâbut not mistressesâjust like Jeremyâs dad, who doesnât mind if his son dates colored girls so long as they donât bring any mixed babies home.
Mrs. Carmichael enters the room with a lit cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, her cell phone propped between her left ear and shoulder. She looks like hell, too.
âHi, Mrs. Carmichael,â I say, trying to hide my shock at her tattered appearance. She really should consider cutting her alcohol intake before the damage to her body is irreversible.
âJayd, please talk some sense into this boy,â his mother says, completely beside herself. She looks like sheâs been crying for days. If I had to guess, Iâd say she hasnât showered in a couple of days, either.
âI already tried, but I think his mindâs made up,â I say, focusing on Mrs. Carmichaelâs eyes and jumping right into her pain. Itâs so hot in here Iâm starting to sweat. Calming her down with my new powers is my biggest challenge yet. âYou should be as supportive as you can. You know Chance is your baby, and heâll always come back to you.â The tears stream down Mrs. Carmichaelâs face and Iâve lost her. I shouldâve stopped while I was ahead because my last comment has sent her into a complete frenzy.
âI gave you life, Chance Carmichael, do you hear me? Even if I donât have the stretch marks to prove it, Iâm still your
I jump into Chanceâs mind, seeing what heâs not saying. He knows the entire truth about his birth motherâs family, his adoption, his real name and all. He confronted his mother about his suspicions and she told him everything. It wasnât easy for either of them, but Chance feels betrayed by the woman heâs loved as his mother his entire life. He wants to know why she didnât tell him the truth sooner and she canât explain her reasons to Chance, who is unyielding in his emotions. What a mess. At least I know my dreams are on point, as usual.
âChance, whatâs really going on? You know you can tell me anything,â I say, leaving his mind and focusing on opening the tiny hot sauce packets accompanying our meal. Chance picks up his burrito and takes a huge bite before letting it all out.
âIâm going to Georgia to see my real family, or at least the black side of it,â Chance says proudly. I know it must feel like his mother kept this information from him for too long, but I know Mrs. Carmichael was just waiting for the right time to tell him. The worst part about that rationale is that thereâs no right time to tell someone theyâre adopted or that Chanceâs feelings of having black blood were valid. Somehow I have to get Chance to see that his motherâs not his enemy.
âThis is your real family,â I say, gesturing at the large house around us. I know Mrs. Carmichael must be a total wreck, her only child leaving for Georgia and making her worst nightmare come true. From her psychic request, this is the best I can do on such short notice. I wish I could help more.
âI know my mom loves me, but all my life Iâve felt out of place at family reunions, the country club, summer camps where everyone was rich and white. I could never understand why, but now I know, Jayd. Now I know,â Chance says, looking down at the blue paper in front of him and sliding it across the table for me to see. Itâs his birth certificate. Chase LeCroix Monroe. From my sleepwalk through his dream during the holidays, I remember that his mother is Creole and his daddyâs a white boy, also from the South, whose family was adamantly against bringing home colored babiesâbut not mistressesâjust like Jeremyâs dad, who doesnât mind if his son dates colored girls so long as they donât bring any mixed babies home.
Mrs. Carmichael enters the room with a lit cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, her cell phone propped between her left ear and shoulder. She looks like hell, too.
âHi, Mrs. Carmichael,â I say, trying to hide my shock at her tattered appearance. She really should consider cutting her alcohol intake before the damage to her body is irreversible.
âJayd, please talk some sense into this boy,â his mother says, completely beside herself. She looks like sheâs been crying for days. If I had to guess, Iâd say she hasnât showered in a couple of days, either.
âI already tried, but I think his mindâs made up,â I say, focusing on Mrs. Carmichaelâs eyes and jumping right into her pain. Itâs so hot in here Iâm starting to sweat. Calming her down with my new powers is my biggest challenge yet. âYou should be as supportive as you can. You know Chance is your baby, and heâll always come back to you.â The tears stream down Mrs. Carmichaelâs face and Iâve lost her. I shouldâve stopped while I was ahead because my last comment has sent her into a complete frenzy.
âI gave you life, Chance Carmichael, do you hear me? Even if I donât have the stretch marks to prove it, Iâm still your
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