“He’s not a crack baby, Retta,” I assured her. “He’s a perfectly healthy baby boy. He’s just a little small. But I’m sure you ain’t gonna waste no time fattening him up.”
Coretta leaned her head and inhaled the tiny body she was holding. “This is crazy.”
The baby began wiggling and whining. I grabbed one of the small, pre-made bottles of formula from the diaper bag and handed it to her. She placed it into his mouth, and he began sucking.
I smiled. “See, you’re a natural at this. He needs us, Retta. This is the baby both of us have been praying for.”
“Lord, Margaret. I don’t know. We don’t even know his name,” she whispered.
I had been thinking of the perfect name ever since I’d decided that he would be my son. I wanted his name to reflect someone who would be strong and powerful, yet kind and nurturing, like his father seemed to be.
“His name is Roman,” I told her. “Roman Carmichael Johnson.”
“Roman Carmichael Johnson,” Coretta repeated. “It’s perfect.”
Together, my sister and I raised Roman. We told people that we’d taken custody of the newborn from a cousin down south. No one ever questioned it. It also helped that Roman’s complexion was on the lighter side, much like me and my sister.
Things were fairly easy for our little family. Roman was a decent student and a good athlete who loved basketball and baseball. We doted on him and made sure he was well taken care of. When he was younger, he’d occasionally ask about his father, and I told him he’d passed away before he was born. That satisfied his curiosity, I guess, because he stopped questioning.
After high school graduation, he didn’t have a job, but somehow he always had money to help pay the bills. I knew he was running the streets, but I was older and too tired to keep fussing at a grown man. So, I just prayed for him. Prayed that he wouldn’t get shot or locked up, and prayed that I’d made the right decision all those years ago. But I knew that one day, the truth would come out, and now, the time had come.
Roman
56
All I wanted to do was jump up and run out of the room. Instead, I remained by my mother’s bedside while she held my hand and, with each word she spoke, shattered my world as I knew it. I stared in disbelief, shocked by her confession. Rio, the twin brother that I’d just learned about, stood beside me, holding her other hand.
“Wait, so you’re really not my mother?” I tried to comprehend what this all meant.
“Roman, I’ll always be your mother. You’ll always be my son. But, no, I didn’t give birth to you. Charlotte Duncan did.” Her eyes fluttered open and closed.
“I don’t believe none of this, Mama.” I shook my head. I had some other mother, and I actually had a father? That couldn’t be true. “I know you’re high off these meds they giving you, but this shit is ridiculous.”
“She’s not lying,” Rio said. “Our mother—”
“Man, fuck you. You don’t even know us,” I hissed at him.
“Roman, no.” Her eyes opened, and she squeezed my hand tighter. “It’s the truth.”
“No, Mama.”
Her eyes went to Rio. “Take care of your brother, Rio. Tell your parents I . . . I’m sorry.”
A loud, sharp tone screamed from one of the machines. My mother’s hand released mine as her head fell to the side.
Rio gasped and stepped back.
“Mama!” I yelled. “Mama!”
I called her name over and over, but she didn’t respond. I could hear the footsteps of the nurses as they ran into the room.
“Sir, we’re gonna need you to move.” One of them tried to maneuver past me, but I remained still, afraid to release my mother’s hand.
“She’s coding. Call a Code Blue!” another nurse yelled.
The doctor on call entered, and he was a little more direct in instructing me. “Move out of the way.”
“Mama!” I yelled again. My heart was racing, and I could feel the sweat pouring down the sides of my face. I was more afraid at this moment than I’d been earlier when I was attacked. I couldn’t lose my mother. She was all I had left.
“Get him out of the room, now!” the doctor ordered.
Someone grabbed me, and I was finally pulled away, but I remained in the corner of the room, watching them work on my mother.
“Push one of epi and get a crash cart in here!”
“It’s en route, doctor,” the first nurse told him just as a large cart was wheeled into the room and over to the bed.
The doctor grabbed the two paddles and ordered, “Clear!”
My mother’s body bounced up, then fell back to the bed. Her eyes remained closed, and the long beep continued. I began praying, begging God to spare her just a little while longer. I needed her.
“How long has she been down?” Dr. Ford rushed in, and I felt like it was a sign. God had heard my prayer and sent him to save her.
“Six minutes and counting,” someone answered.
He grabbed a pair of purple plastic gloves and slipped them on as he rushed to her side. “Push another one of epi. Start manual CPR.”
“Please, God, don’t let her die,” I prayed as he pressed on her chest. I went to move again, wanting to be by her side, but someone was holding me back.
After a while, he stopped, and they all looked at the screen above her bed. It was a flat red line.
He stepped away and said, “Someone call it.”
“Time of death, 10:45 p.m.”
“What? No!” I tried to lunge for the bed, but the same strong arms that had pulled me away held me back.
“Roman.” Rio spoke my name, and I realized he was the one who’d been holding me this entire time.
“Mr. Johnson, we did all we could for your mother. I’m sorry,” Dr. Ford said to me.
I couldn’t get any words past the huge lump in
