Chapter 2 - THE COWARD'S PANIC
Jackson lunged across the table,
his fingers reaching for my phone,
but I stepped back with a grace he didn't know I possessed.
"Hang up that phone,
Maya!"
he hissed,
his voice cracking with a new kind of fear.
Genesis finally moved,
standing up and smoothing her silk dress,
as if she could simply brush away the crime her son had committed.
"Now,
now,
dear,"
she said,
her voice sweet as arsenic,
"there's no need for the authorities."
"It was an accident,
a simple slip of the hand."
I looked at the twenty people sitting around the table.
Uncles,
aunts,
cousins,
and Jackson's own father.
None of them looked at me.
They looked at the centerpiece,
at their wine,
at anything but the woman bleeding onto their floor.
"An accident?"
I asked,
the word tasting like copper on my tongue.
"He aimed for my head."
"He threw it with everything he had."
The dispatcher on the phone was asking for the address,
and I gave it,
my voice clear and resonant in the vaulted room.
"4122 Sterling Drive,"
I stated,
watching Jackson's father finally look up.
He was a man who valued reputation above all else,
and I could see the horror dawning on him.
"Maya,
please,"
he began,
"think of the family name."
"I am thinking of the family name,"
I replied,
"and how it's about to be printed in a police report."
Jackson tried to change his tactic,
moving around the table toward me with his hands out.
"Baby,
I'm sorry,"
he started,
the false tears already welling in his eyes.
"I just got so frustrated,
you know how much I love my mother."
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
I held up a hand,
stopping him five feet away.
The blood was beginning to dry on my skin,
tightening as it hardened.
"Don't come any closer,
Jackson."
"If you touch me again,
I'll tell the dispatcher you're still attacking me."
He froze,
trapped between his mother's expectations and the looming sirens.
Genesis walked over to me,
reaching out with a damp napkin.
"Let me clean you up,
sweetheart."
"We can talk about the apartment later."
I batted her hand away,
the motion sharp and final.
"There will be no 'later' regarding my apartment,
Genesis."
"And there will be no more talking."
The distant wail of a siren began to drift through the hills,
cutting through the silence of the night.
The guests began to scramble.
Chairs scraped back.
Excuses were muttered.
"We really should be going,"
one aunt whispered,
grabbing her purse.
"Stay seated!"
I commanded,
the authority in my voice surprising even myself.
"The police are on their way."
"And I've already told them everyone here is a witness."
"If you leave now,
it's obstruction."
The room fell into a state of paralyzed terror.
I sat back down in my chair,
the one at the center of the table,
and waited.
I felt a strange sense of peace,
the kind that only comes when you've lost everything and realized you're still standing.
Jackson sank onto the floor,
May you like
his head in his hands,
realizing that his life of unearned privilege was about to hit a brick wall.
