Sometimes when Patience had been alive but gone, Shanice had continued to think of her daughter as a part of her.

The day the two met, Shanice already had it cemented in her mind that the child would have been less trouble had she remained an unseen parasite; before she’d even reached the hospital, before the first contraction began to rock through her, there were already several things all at once wrong with her birth, the very first of which being that she shared the day with when the devil’s bugs unearthed themselves from the ground for the first time in seventeen lengthy years.

Whenever she was asked to tell the story, she would be unable to muster even an ounce of the nervous exuberance she associated with new parents as they discussed the birth of their first child; instead, her eyebrows would knit together, her lips puckering as if she had suddenly and inexplicably swallowed one of her son’s Warheads that, in the early years of their lives, garnished the carpet of their front room. It would seem that all other details had slipped her mind, such as how for once the wind carried the thick, earthy taste of rain rather than the pungent one of Tyreke Thompson’s burning cannabis from next door. She remembered the taste on the back of her tongue as if it were imprinted there. He had died before Patience turned thirteen, dragged into an alleyway and beaten to death when it became apparent that he had no money to shell out.

Miss Keyshia had for once refrained from knocking on her door on her way home, and Shanice hadn’t had to hide her disdain as the older woman pressed her arthritis riddled fingers against her very pregnant belly to say a prayer for the health of her unborn child. She would even forget the inconvenience that was the wetness that suddenly dripped down her legs, pooling around her feet – again, on the carpet – that she would, fresh out of the hospital fold herself over in a vain attempt to remove the stain that would remain in the house longer than Patience herself did because to get them professionally cleaned was an expense her husband couldn’t afford.

Instead, her mind would first conjure up the oppressive heat that pressed against her skin that evening, the sweat that beaded first at the crown of her head, rolled down her neck, and finally disappeared between the crevice of her engorged breasts. She would not recall exactly what was playing on the small handheld radio that occupied the couch with her, only that even 103.8 The Beat couldn’t overpower the noise the bugs made. She’d neglect to mention that somehow the music only made her more sore, reminding her of a time when she only had to worry about how much grease was required to hold her straightened hair in place, which dress she would wear, and how drunk she wanted to get.

The next few moments were spent steeling herself for the Olympic level challenge that would be lifting her body from the couch, getting to the window, and returning to the groove in the cushions that had begun to take on the shape of her thighs. She noted that had her mother been alive to see her pregnant and alone, she would’ve thrown a fit and her father would have dragged James in by the back of his head to take care of her. She waved away the prospect before it could upset her more; if she wanted any relief, she would have to manage it all herself as, in her experience, women typically did. This comment would garner an eye roll from Patience’s father, but he remained passive after receiving the evil eye from both Shanice and his own mother. It was one of the few times the two moved in synchrony.

Outside, brood IV had finally found the time to grace the surface world with their presence, and they serenaded anyone who would listen – and those who would have preferred not to - with a cacophony of chittering that floated through walls and drove her right up them. The noise filled the empty corners of her psyche, encroaching viciously on any thoughts of comfort she tried to form. She would say that had Patience not decided right then and there that it was time to make an appearance, she was sure she would’ve lost her mind.

“I shoulda known she was gon’ be trouble when she showed up at the same time as them damn crickets,” She griped.

After that, it would seem that her lips had sewn themselves shut, the ghost of a frown settling onto her face. Someone else, James or his mother if she were around would take over the story, and Shanice was left to wallow in semi peace. Thankfully, it seemed to be understood by everyone that Shanice was nursing an ending, even if it was beyond her to vocalize which ending exactly it was that ate at her.

Shanice could look someone in the eye and never mention that Patience’s messy beginning was very nearly her end, that just as her first child breached her surface, a wrinkled, purplish red blue mass of new tissue and bone stained pink with her insides, she was almost dragged into the unknown from which that same child had arrived. The week that she spent alone in the hospital was the first of her own that she’d had in awhile.

When she was finally given the go ahead to return home, most of what she remembered of the journey were the hollowed out husks the cicadas had left behind. They were everywhere, haphazardly stuck between blades of grass where anyone could crush them and perched between the ridges of tree trunks where the wind could steal them away at a moment’s notice. It made her squirm.

The other thing was the baby in her arms. It gurgled and its drool streamed down its puffy cheeks down onto Shanice’s wrist, having been pushed into her unwilling arms by her husband whilst he drove because they had yet to purchase a car seat. She nearly jumped out of her skin as it’s pudgy, powder scented fingers slapped against the exposed flesh of her chest; she hadn’t felt her hold begin to slip, but there she was, seeping back into herself through the holes of her nose and eyes as if she were an intruder herself in her own body. Unbeknownst to her, she took a snapshot then of the toothless, gummy smile that affixed itself to her cherubic face, an image that cauterized itself into the gray matter stored within her skull. Now nothing more than an invisible mass of puffy scar tissue that, if she paid it too much mind, began to sting.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Nine months hadn’t been nearly enough time to amass enough conviction to even consider caring about the thing growing inside of her, but that baby wanted her all the same. For normal people, certainly for James, that love was instantaneous. Shanice could hardly comprehend it.

She understood that children loved their parents because that was, at the beginning, all they knew. What else could you feel for the ones who created you, bathed you, fed and clothed you, even if that was all? Regardless of how many times she came home after midnight, or how many times she screamed at her or hit her under the guise of discipline, Patience had forgiven her. It was almost infuriating.

Her love for Patience had grown like a sort of fungus or mold. It hadn’t been there at all at one point, and she’d almost been able to rinse her hands of parenthood completely. Slowly but surely, it became her child, a denomination she found originally difficult to even give the baby. Over the years it became an infestation. It seemed to be some sort of sick joke that, as the infection reached its pinnacle, someone else had gone and pruned it.

There hadn’t even been the possibility in her mind then that something would happen to her kid. What could’ve? She’d done everything right as far as she was concerned. She’d clunked through raising Patience with a bottle in one hand and a bible in the other, taught her to operate in a world that wouldn’t hesitate to kick her teeth in if she wasn’t careful, taught her not to make the same mistakes as her mother. Where did that get her?

A swallow of Hennessey burned her throat going down. She lifted the bottle by the neck. The dark liquid shone like honey in the light of the kitchen, half full. Her head was already swimming. She rested her chin on the mouth of the bottle, staring down at the scarred table. Her hands opened and closed on her lap.

Their second departure from one another, their second end, had been significantly sweeter than the first time.

The day started early and had only gotten hotter as it progressed, but there was nothing that could disrupt the electricity that Shanice felt. It was only later that she recognized the feeling was happiness.

The two of them rose at eight in the morning before the heat really set in. Shanice opened all of the windows in the kitchen before mixing the largest batch of Aunt Jemima’s pancake mix that she’d ever made, yielding at least seven pancakes the size of personal pan pizzas. It was just the two of them; James had gone off to work early as he usually did and Isaiah had school, but for once they didn’t need the buffers.

They stuffed themselves with the fluffy, syrup soaked pancakes before setting in for the long work ahead, arming themselves with yellow rubber gloves that climbed up to their elbows and mop buckets full of soapy water that would be chunky and gray by the end of the day.

Most of Patience’s things had either already been boxed up and mailed to her college or were stored in the back of James’ car until they drove there themselves; all that remained in the room was her bed, a handed down vanity set, and a scratched up dresser. Patience set up a small speaker on the dresser and plugged it up to her phone and they set to work.

Shanice’s chest felt heavy as she watched her drop to her knees, clawing forgotten clothes and jewelry from beneath the bed. It was a feeling that had come time and time again since the acceptance letters began rolling in, but she still hadn’t a name, nor a description for it. It simply was.

She busied herself with making the bed, stripping the sheets. “I can’t wait for this room to be clean for once.”

“You talking about my room when you see how Isaiah live in the basement?”

She snorted. “You know what, you right. I’m surprised we ain’t got mice from that boy yet.”

“Key word yet. You still got a couple years.”

Patience rose, swiping the dust from her jeans. Sweat was already beginning to dot her forehead. She went over to the window, turning her face towards the breeze. Just looking at her was making Shanice hot; her daughter refused to entertain the idea of shorts or sleeveless shirts, even during the summer. Her brow furrowed. She’d had half a mind to ask her why she didn’t change, but she suddenly jumped for her phone, turning the volume as loud as it would go.

“Girl, now whatchu know about that?” Shanice asked. She hadn’t heard the song in years and the speaker wasn’t very good, crackling with the increased output, but old RnB had a particular flavor to it that she recognized it all the same.

“What do you know about it, mama?” Patience had laughed and started swaying, waving a bottle of lemon scented PineSol above her head.

Shanice had been unable to do anything but laugh as her daughter shimmied her way over to her. She grabbed her hands and lifted her arms as she mouthed the words, grinning. Shanice almost joined in; almost. As her arms moved, so did the fat that clung to them and she pulled away. It hadn’t been there before she’d gotten pregnant.

“Get away from me, fool. You so damn goofy.” But she couldn’t help the small smile as she turned away.

She couldn’t recall a single moment that she’d seen her daughter so… loose. Even as a child, she’d been tense and unusually somber for a kid. Shanice wondered if the change was because she was almost free; almost away from a stifling household. In Patience, she saw the younger version of herself, anxious to get out, anxious to seek better. She felt a pang of regret that wiped the smile right off of her face but had quickly tamped it down. There was no sense in feeling regret then; what was done was done.

But she was regretful. It hit her full force as she finished the bottle, fishing the pack of Kool Kings out of her pocket that she’d picked up earlier that day.

She regretted not dancing with her. She regretted not going on the ensuing road trip to drop her off at her dorm. She regretted wishing at the start of her pregnancy that something, anything, would take that burden away from her, and she regretted having that wish fulfilled.

When she was finally able to scrape herself off the table, she sagged against the wall and she slunk to her room. The bed shook and groaned as she dropped into it, clothed in the same items she’d been wearing for the past three days. It occurred to her that the sheets were undisturbed and cold, that she was alone in them and most likely in the entire house. If James returned home anytime soon, he would be upset if he smelled the smoke in the bed. She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

She rolled over onto her back, her eyes rolling in her skull as the world tilted around her. Through the fog of the alcohol, she wondered if there were any other mothers who were as conflicted about something that seemed so cut and dry as the death of a child.

Next Chapter: 20