then swallowed as he read a text message from his mother:
“Shit!”
He immediately called Tomas, but his brother didn’t answer. I’m not calling Mom until I speak to Chris. She’s more than likely all worked up and will be screaming, not thinking clearly. That’s not going to help us right now. He then called his stepfather, but it went straight to voicemail.
“Dad, it’s King. Mom just let me know that Tomas took your car last night and you two haven’t heard from him. I hope you’ve contacted the police. As soon as I get off work, I’ll be by…”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Paint the Town Red
There was a time when the dizzying insignia of police beams whirling down my block, the rumble and shrill screams of speeding fire engines and shiny red ambulances painted with the stench of pending death and the broken bellows that escaped guilty hearts were my dessert.
I had a way of feasting on people’s fears, including my own, and pouring it like paint onto canvas. Literally. The more the pain, the better the art. It became my drug. I, too, am a drug addict, like my brother Tomas—only my addiction is splashed across canvas boards, Strathmore sketch pads, and 40x60 matte paper. Each hit of the brush, pen, or pencil against the cold, white surface of the medium sends my heart beating into a frenzied song.
I swallow the words I refuse to say. I’ve often held in the violence I’d been advised to curtail for it wasn’t the way. I’m tired of hiding from my shadow. True, it only shows up when there’s no light, but isn’t their beauty in darkness? I certainly believe so. There were dark periods inside me and in my home. I remember… I truly remember.
Perhaps my mother believes I was too young to recall her getting high off dysfunction and sadness, snorting her own tears as she screamed in Portuguese on the phone to a mother across the world who would not listen, and to a man who no longer cared… But she taught me a lot early in my life. She taught me to find something that gets you high so you can turn off the noise, the blood, and the ugliness of the world around you. Find your passion. Find your voice. She taught me how ugly the world was by closing her eyes to it. So when people tell me I’m beautiful, I do not believe them. My art helps me close my eyes, and then I see my shadow. My evil. My darkness.
I am part of the world, too.
Mãe didn’t teach me with her words, but with her denial. Then, with her indignation. She taught me well. I hate that which I am…
King approached his parents’ home, his feet slowing to a crawl as he drew closer. The train ride over seemed hella fast. He’d had no time to think, to pull his thoughts together. Now, his mind was a blur of rage in spiky colors of impassioned aversion. So many times, he’d made this journey, and it always played out the same exact damn way. The difference this time was that Chris was involved. Well, his car. His prized possession. It was his son’s doing. His blood son. His biological son.
The prodigal son.
The one everyone had been certain would go to a big-time college and become a doctor like his father. The one people made excuses for his rudeness, lack of consideration and arrogance. The one who brimmed with jealousy for a man he claimed was only a half-brother, so it didn’t matter…
King rang the bell and it wasn’t long before the five foot ten inch Greek doctor with the gentle smile swung it open and greeted him.
“King, you know you can use your key. Son, no need to ring the bell.” The man wrapped him in a warm hug, then ushered him inside.
“I know, I just figured this would be quicker. The key is somewhere in my bag.”
Chris nodded, then locked the door behind him. King hung his jacket, then looked into the living room. The television was on mute and Mãe was sitting there wearing a pair of black pants that covered part of her ghostly white feet, and a long-sleeved bubble gum pink shirt. Dark hair threaded with silver looped around one ear, showcasing a small gold hoop earring. Face down, forehead full of wrinkles, depression and pain poured from her as she cradled her face in a shaky hand.
“King, you were right,” she said in a