Devil in the House…

Her name was Ann Breanette, my mom’s baby sister and the youngest of 7. The first time I heard her name was when my mom announced she was coming all the way from Haiti to come and live with us. I was 6 or 7. Having lived in a house where my mother’s parents were splitting their time between our home in Queens and Haiti, this was only special because it was my AUNT, ‘Ta Ti Breanette’. Someone new and fun! I mean, everyone knows aunts are fun? Right?

The day she arrived was a big production.  My mom spent the week scrubbing everything down, preparing an area for her in the basement apartment in our house. I ran to the window… and the first glimpse I had of her as she exited my dad’s car was momentous. “She looks like Mommy.”  She looked up at the house slowly and I would swear to you our eyes met. Hers assessing, mine curious.  My dad lugged her bags in behind her as my mom ushered her into what was now to be her home. (A lil background, my mom spent a lot of time, money and effort bringing several of her family member to the States from Haiti… with the intention that they could start fresh and lead better lives,  hmmm believe me… that’s another story.)

My dad put her suitcase down in the kitchen and my aunt quickly unzipped it as everyone spoke at once. She handed my mom a bag of mangos, my dad a bottle of Barbancourt (Haitian Rum). When my mother made the introduction, “This is Thalia,” my aunt rummaged through her bag again, ‘oohed and ahhed’ then handed my sister a pair of sandals, authentic hand braided sandals… straight from the island. When my mom made my introduction, she folded her hands in front of her and looked down at me for the first time. We looked each other in the eye and there you had it, two wild spirits instantly offended by the other. “Hi.” I said cautiously. She just continued to stare me down. “Give her a kiss” my mom scolded. I folded my hands in front of me and looked up at her. “Nothing for me?” I asked bluntly (as is the ways of opinionated children… and trust… I was MUCHO opinionated). Now to be clear for this part I need you to know she didn’t speak a lick of English her response in Creole, “You? Ha, I didn’t even know you existed.” Considering I was my dad’s favorite, and my grand parents lived with us half of the time… doubtful. I suppose there is someone, somewhere that will tell me it sounds harsher in translation.  I don’t think so… but who knows (shrugs)? Either way… that was the beginning.

I was a Daddy’s Girl, he was short, and fat, a liar, mischievous, a user, a little crazy, had stinky feet … and I loved him.  He was the kind of man to get his kids to do something he knew his wife wouldn’t let him do then feign ignorance if they got caught.  He taught me different ways to lie, the planning of the prank… the art of the grudge… and the methodology of payback. Considering he was only around until I was 11… in hindsight I can say these were odd life lessons for a child.  She was young and wanted to do her own thing, and my mom was a grown ass married woman with kids and was having none of that.  My dad never gave her a hard time though.  Needless to say ‘Ta Ti Breanette’ took an instant shine to my dad. She started dressing like my mom, wearing my mom’s clothes. Styling her hair like my mom, wearing her jewelery. They would drive around town together… go off on shopping trips together… honestly I don’t know what they did together… all I know is they weren’t home and I was either playing outside or inside terrorizing the tenants, (Dennis the Menace had NOTHING on ME).  My aunt and I would get into awful knock down drag out fights. I let her know, “This is not your house, this is my house.” She beat my ass a time or two… but that last time… when it was for something as simple as me not hearing her when she called me… he put his foot down. “You have a problem you tell me. You don’t hit her. I’ll hit her.” So she started running to my dad to complain and he would laugh his head off at her, “She’s a little girl! You can’t control a little girl?!”  Needless to say we were not friends.  We didn’t speak, or acknowledge each other.  If a little heart could have hatred in it for another human being then I truly hated that woman. Things went on this way for about a year and a half. In my youthful ignorance I realized my mom had some sort of falling out with her family. No one was visiting, no one called, very weird. One day out of the blue my dad announces “We are moving to Florida”, my sister was very upset, she didn’t want to change schools or leave her friends, I was won over when he whispered to me, “We can go to Disney world EVERY DAY”.  Disney World?  What child that grew up on Sesame Street, Electric Company, Loony tunes and Everything Disney… could resist that? I was all in. So the house went up for sale, people came to see it and then we were on our way.  My mom stayed behind to settle things with the house. My dad, my aunt, my sister and I all moved in with some relatives of my mom’s that lived in Miami.  We lived with them for a little over a year. Interestingly enough, my sister and I slept in the room with the girls Merlandi and Ruth while my dad shared a mattress on the living room floor with my aunt… YES… you read that correctly.

The relationship between my sister and my dad went from bad to worse, we hated it there, the kids hated having us there, and we were miserable.  My mom was still in Queens finishing up with her job and finalizing the sale of the house. When she called us my dad would stand right in front of us while we spoke to her, hand on his belt, stance threatening, monitoring the conversation.  I never really got why he looked so crazed and angry when we spoke to my mom, ahhh… the innocence of an 8 or 9 year (back THEN). So we bought a house.  My dad went looking, and my mom was on her way. Embassy Blvd. Miramar Florida… 3 bedroom, 2 bath, ranch style house (as most are out there), circular driveway, 4 car garage converted into a Den off of the kitchen, living room, dining room, a full size patio and pool and Lily… our parakeet that lived in a cage that was built in to the patio wall by the pool.  (She didn’t talk but she was lovely). I of course was in heaven, spent every day of that particular summer in the pool.  Sadly that was the year my mom decided to give me a jerry curl too. Between that mess on my head and the ignorance of sun block I became a rich dark chocolate color, man… do pics from THOSE days tell a story smh.

So now Mom is on premises. She works, he works, blah blah blah. Time passes in the way of children… as ‘who knows’ (shrugs). My aunt’s room was the Den. My sister, aunt and I shared a bathroom, our bedrooms in the front of the house. My parent’s room was toward the back of the house; their bathroom had another door that led out to the pool. (All of this becomes important later). So my aunt Elizabeth had a baby boy… and wanted my sister to be the God Mother… a big deal in traditional families.  A TRIP!!! So my mom and sister pack their bags and go off on a 2 week trip back to Brooklyn. Leaving me (don’t ask me why) with THEM. Now let me explain to you how this went down.  Mom and Tia (what I’ve always called my sister) left and the house was a ghost town. My Dad had the only car in the household, my aunt didn’t drive, and our house was nowhere near any form of public transportation. Everyday I’d get up (9 or 10 years old) and the house was a ghost town. I’d go check my parent’s room… nothing. I’d go check my sister’s room… nothing. I’d go check my aunt’s room… Locked (nothing odd about that though… she always kept it locked), “Nobody’s home.”  I would make myself breakfast… usually something wildly inappropriate. I’d make myself lunch… probably something else inappropriate… dinner… need I say more?  Now that first day I alternated between watching TV in my parents room (a forbidden pleasure) and swimming in the pool. On my way back from the kitchen with an unsuitable snack I noticed a car was parked outside, I ran to the window and saw it was my dad’s car.  “He’s home.”  So I checked the entire house again… Nothing… and my aunt’s door was locked.  This went on for the WHOLE 2 weeks. I never set eyes on either of them. When my mom would call and ask for either of them I would say “I don’t know where they are.” Hmmm she didn’t seem worried so why should I? They came home and everything was business as usual.

I remember the day she ‘slipped and fell’ in the bathtub.  There was a lot of banging, a lot of screaming and then the ambulance. A few days later after school I played hopscotch in the hospital corridor waiting for my mom to finish signing some paperwork before we could see ‘Ta Ti Breanette’, “Mrs. Andre and you come with me please.” The man I now knew to be ‘THE DOCTOR’ said to her.  My sister followed closely behind her and I skipped away at their shadows on the floor as I followed them. “Your sister had a miscarriage.” I have never forgotten the look on my sister’s face… she was 15 or 16… and nobody’s fool. “What? That’s not possible. She’s new to the country, doesn’t have a boyfriend…” my mom argued. The doctor glanced at me and my sister before clearing his throat “Uh Mrs. Andre, she miscarried. It appears self induced. From the scar tissue we found this would not be the first time. There’s a lot of damage, conceiving again may be a problem.”

I watched as my mother vehemently shook her head, “No, no, that’s not possible. Are you talking about the right patient? She doesn’t even have a boyfriend!” He just sighed and handed my mother a chart. “No mistake, this is your sister.” When my mom opened her mouth to continue to argue… my sister touched her elbow, “Mom, stop.” My mother looked at all of us then walked out of the room. It’s funny how despite my lack of time keeping ability back then, I can tell you it was only a matter of months between my aunt’s return from the hospital and her moving out. She ‘met’ someone, got engaged and moved out in a matter of months.  This heifer had lived with us for almost 3 years, no boyfriend… nothing. Seems she figured she should get out of Dodge before my mom grew a brain (I love you mom, but it’s true). Hmmm… now let the rumors fly… seems the whole family knew my dad and this b*tch were knocking boots (obviously). My mom disavows any knowledge that this was going on. Don’t even get me started on that. Ann Breanette went on to other things (another story) and stayed in touch with him rumor has it… they continued their friendly acquaintance after my parents divorced, during her marriage, after her divorce and even after he remarried. She even went to his funeral, to his funeral… like the ‘Gran Dam’ that she is. Interesting… since his children i.e. me and my sister were not welcome (yet another story) but SHE was there.

The child in me looks back, and I always wonder if there was possibly something I could have done to avoid that situation. I wonder if my terrorizing her and not allowing her to terrorize me… may have brought those two closer together, but the adult in me… the GROWN ASS Woman… knows better.

She was just a disloyal dirty bitch and he was the unfaithful dog that lent her his bone.  Funny how he could sleep with her, knock her up then keep her around for fun but never marry HER. Damn… I’ve got to say they taught me a lot about people, denial, relationships… Loyalty and Faithfulness… but mostly… they just taught me ‘Never invite the Devil into your house”.

 

– Nova