[untitled Soul project]

*to be updated as November continues*

[This will be written as part of National Novel Writing Month #nanowrimo (participant: ernio) — Check back for story updates as the month progresses. Leave private notes, highlights or words of encouragement and share freely. Mention "@Ernio" in responses. Thanks, ♡ e]

How the Thought of You Does Things to Me

Hi Momma.

As you read this, I’ll be on the last bus out of Carolina. You probably have a lot of questions and may be furious as you search for answers in this letter. Pastor Ayres promised me he would explain things as best he could, but I know he can’t possibly tell you the full story. So that is why I’m writing. I hope, I really hope momma, that you will understand.

Leon and Ramona are with me. You should know that they are safe and will be taken care of. Pastor made arrangements with Aunt Agnes and they will be staying with her and her family. They don’t have much, but she was happy to take care of them for a while and give them a good home.

A home. A real home, momma. I know you tried to provide that for us. And for a while you did. Oh, how I miss the days when we were the happy family you see on the TV. Happy. I think we had that once. And it’s that memory that fills my heart now as I take away the pieces of this family that you and pops have broken apart.

I don’t blame you, momma. You and pops probably had a wonderful life together before I came along. I know I wasn’t easy. You made that plenty clear in the stories you would tell the church ladies. You had it rough, I know. Your momma wasn’t really around to help and pops family had long since disowned him, though neither of you would ever talk about it.

Pops had it bad too. I know he had his own dreams of being somebody and having us most definitely got in the way of those. Suddenly he was working extra shifts to make enough just to keep us all fed and a roof over our heads. I know this weighed on him, the pressure, the extra responsibilities, the long hours. I see why he turned to the bottle to get some time to his own.

As weekends with all of us together slowly and slowly faded away and more and more arguments over money, over booze, over the house filled our days, I know us kids became too much for you both. We had church, but you never seemed to want to ask for help. You both were too proud to appear like you were needy people. So you’d put on happy faces like you did your good Sunday clothes. And those shining moments held us kids in hope, but I’m old enough to know when those church bells rang, those walls would come crumbling down.

For a long time, I didn’t know. I relished in whatever love or small amount of attention you and pops would shower upon us. I kept dreaming that one day the anger he held within him would disappear. I held out for the day when you wouldn’t need to sneak yourself alcohol to muster your own daily routine. But it’s gone. The light in both your eyes don’t shine as they once did.

Birthdays aren’t celebrations anymore. We no longer expected gifts at Christmas and other holidays. Every now and then, pops would bring home old toys he got from the nice ladies at his work. But he never gave them to us with the smile he had in the pictures that hang on the walls. Those are for show too. They just serve as a painful reminder of what used to be.

I cried momma. I cried oceans of tears that could fill worlds over. I prayed someone would save us. I prayed upon my knees, upon my pillow as I slept at night, upon every meal we ate and on every star in the night sky. I took my beatings, the countless and pointless slaps, smacks and punches. More than any kid should ever have to endure. I held my tongue while you would yell and spout foul words that would echo so deep into my ears that they’d sink down to the bottom of my soul.

I took extra too, when I knew they were coming Leon and Ramona’s way. I’d tell them to hide, to run, to go outside and play. I tried to save them their childhoods as much as I could, knowing mine was long over. But I’m still a kid myself, momma. I’m grown, but I did not bring those kids into this world. I shouldn’t be the one looking out for whatever life they have left.

But, as I’ve heard you mutter under your breath with such bitterness many times before, “If I don’t do it myself, then who will?” It took me too long, but I finally knew no one was coming to save us. No one would stop the beatings, the drinking, the wicked downward spiral we were on. It had to be me.

Our neighbors had to have heard the arguments or our cries. They must have long since given up any chance at change. I don’t fault them for not getting involved and minding their own business. Teachers had to have known too that something was going on at home, but also chose to not stick their noses into what they may have thought a family issue. Pops family, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to find them. I knew you had a sister from her Christmas cards, but that was it.

I didn’t know how, where or when, but I knew what had to be done. Listening to Pastor Ayres’ sermon one Sunday, I finally saw in him the light. The way out for us. I stopped him one morning after he visited my Sunday school class before church. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth, but he had to have known. Or he saw the righteous rage behind my eyes and sought to calm it before the cycle continued.

I begged him not to speak to you about it. Not to go to the police either. I knew those routes would not end well for us kids. He told me to sit tight a few days and let him discuss options with his wife. A fear suddenly grew in the pit of my stomach, but I trusted him. I saw something in his face and heard something in his voice that told me it would be okay.

Then I remembered your shoe box. The one you kept hidden from us kids and maybe from pops too. Leon happened upon it once while he was hiding during a game of hide-and-seek. When I found him, he had already gotten into your lipstick in the box and your pictures and letters were all over the floor of the closet.

I had seen a green envelope — I’d never seen one in color before—and it held the Christmas card Agnes sent you a couple years back. I remembered reading the address on the back and wondering how far the card had traveled from Washington D.C. all the way to our house. That was how Pastor got to Agnes. I copied down her name and address and he reached out to her through her church.

He has probably told you that they were told the truth about everything, so it is not worth trying to get the kids back. Or even getting in touch with Agnes. At least not until you and pops get your own lives back in order. Or, if by some chance, you find the ounce of respect you have left for yourself and leave him.

I know it may be hard to hear this, momma. I won’t pretend to know everything you’ve got going on in your head. But I know you know. I know you know how his anger, his whole outlook on the world has grown weary. And it’s changed him. In such dark ways.

I loved him too once, so I can see what you see in him. He lit up the room with his smile. His laughter boomed across the house like a soulful song bellowing from the depths of his heart. And when he held you in his embrace, you could see the happiness tearing up in his big bright eyes.

But that man he was, the picture perfect husband and father, is long gone. And I fear he’s taken you with him. My hope is that with us out of the way, maybe you will see. Maybe you will take a good look at the man he is now. And I hope you will find peace with what you decide. But I know we can’t live there like this, pretending what we are is what family is.

I love you, momma. I miss you momma. Oh, how the thought of you does things to me. Even now. As I leave you, wondering if I will ever see you again. I love you so much it hurts when I write that, not knowing how you will take this letter. Praying you won’t just rip it up. Hoping that you are reading this alone, as I told Pastor to tell you. Not with him around.

After I see to the kids getting to Agnes’, I’m headed up north by myself. I’ve got my own work to do. Part of me wants to tell you where I plan to go and what I plan to do. But there are parts that don’t really know. And other parts that worry if this letter ends up in his hands that he’ll come find me and take back the name he gave me.

I have seen too many troubling things, momma. I got storms inside me about it. Terrible winds blow through my mind and my heart aches with fear. It feels like a tornado ripped through my house. I need to find a way to reconcile the hurt within me and maybe make a friend with peace. I need to get back to me.

I remember how you held me momma, when I was a boy. Despite your worry, your tired eyes and your broken heart, you still held me like a momma should hold her child. I would close my eyes and just feel your heartbeat, singing sweet harmony with my own. We were love, like when you held me in your belly. Thank you for those moments. Thank you for bringing me into this world and keeping me alive all these years. I just don’t know if you can do that anymore. Either you don’t have it in you or you’ve lost that love for me somewhere along the way.

Maybe your love got spread too thin between all of us and you couldn’t hold on to any for yourself. I wish I knew how to help you find it. I would love to see you smile and laugh again. To see you dance and maybe cut in and sway along with you. I still dream of sharing my joys with you. Of making you proud. And one day when your aching bones grow weak, taking care of you like you cared for me all those times I got sick when I was younger.

I don’t know what else there is to say. I promised Pastor and his wife that I would keep in touch with them, so if you ever want to write back, they may know how you can reach me. I will tell Agnes the same when we get there. I may visit them but I just don’t know what the future holds for me yet. I can’t see that far right now, I just know the road ahead of me is long.

I want to make something of my life, momma. I know I can. My foundation is cracked but it is made of stone. It will hold. I just need to fill in the holes and make them stronger, so one day I can build this house into something great.

Promise me momma that you will be there with me one day. Talk to Pastor or his wife, they are truly good people. I know it ain’t in you to ask for help, but there is no shame in needing it. You held and carried three children, you have raised us all almost by yourself. I know you are strong. Nobody can ever take that from you. But we all fall. We all can use a hand to hold onto while we pull ourselves back up onto our feet.

Our ties may be broken, but they are not lost. I will always hold out hope for you. As many times as you’ve wronged me, I still can’t help but love you. You’re all I got, the only home I’ve ever known. You are my momma and that won’t ever change.

Please just let us go. Let us be. Let us feel what happiness is again. Help us grow to be good people. And put all this hurt behind us. I want this for Leon’s gentle kindness, for little Ramona’s big heart, for you, for me and us all as a family.

I admit that I really don’t know if I’m ready for any of this, but I’m so tired of sitting by while we’re dying inside. There’s just got to be better. A better world for each of us.

I’ll pray for you, momma. My heart will always cry for you. Even when my eyes have dried up. I will long for the day when it joins yours again in song. A sweet song full of joy. Just joy. Forgiveness. And always love. Take care of yourself, momma. And don’t be afraid, or too proud, to ask for help. We all need it.

I took the picture of you holding Ramona as a baby while Leon and I are at your side. The one that hung high on the wall for all to see when you came to our house. I will keep it with me as a reminder of what we once had. What our family meant to each other back in the day. When love was not all we had, but all we needed.

It may leave a big hole on that wall. Maybe you’ll replace it, or maybe you’ll take down all the pictures of us or you may not even have noticed if I didn’t mention it. I really don’t know what we mean to you anymore. You might have given up on things ever changing. Or denied all the bad things going on to yourself so much so that you believe everything between us was fine. Or maybe that hole on the wall will ache like the hole in your heart now that we are gone.

Go find the life you used to wish for when you were my age. Find peace. Find happiness. Find the woman holding the baby with her boys by her side, just smiling. In love.

Your son,

Russell Jones, Jr.

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