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Bramley, three neighborhoods away, before I stopped. I found a hiding place in some bushes
and crawled inside and huddled there for what felt like hours.
You don’t have to teach me a lesson twice. From that day until the day I left home, I lived
like a mouse in that house. If Abel was in a room, I was out of the room. If he was in one
corner, I was in the other corner. If he walked into a room, I would get up and act like I was
going to the kitchen, then when I reentered the room, I would make sure I was close to the
exit. He could be in the happiest, friendliest mood. Didn’t matter. Never again did I let him
come between me and a door. Maybe a couple of times after that I was sloppy and he’d land a
punch or a kick before I could get away, but I never trusted him again, not for a moment.
It was different for Andrew. Andrew was Abel’s son, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood.
Despite being nine years younger than me, Andrew was really the eldest son in that house,
Abel’s firstborn, and that accorded him a respect that I and even my mother never enjoyed.
And Andrew had nothing but love for that man, despite his shortcomings. Because of that
love, I think, out of all of us, Andrew was the only one who wasn’t afraid. He was the lion
tamer, only he’d been raised by the lion—he couldn’t love the beast any less despite knowing
what it was capable of. For me, the first glint of anger or madness from Abel and I was gone.
Andrew would stay and try to talk Abel down. He’d even get between Abel and Mom. I
remember one night when Abel threw a bottle of Jack Daniel’s at Andrew’s head. It just
missed him and exploded on the wall. Which is to say that Andrew stayed long enough to get
the bottle thrown at him. I wouldn’t have stuck around long enough for Abel to get a bead on
me.
—
When Mighty Mechanics went under, Abel had to get his cars out. Someone was taking over
the property; there were liens against his assets. It was a mess. That’s when he started
running his workshop out of our yard. It’s also when my mother divorced him.
In African culture there’s legal marriage and traditional marriage. Just because you
divorce someone legally doesn’t mean they are no longer your spouse. Once Abel’s debts and
his terrible business decisions started impacting my mother’s credit and her ability to support
her sons, she wanted out. “I don’t have debts,” she said. “I don’t have bad credit. I’m not
doing these things with you.” We were still a family and they were still traditionally married,
but she divorced him in order to separate their financial affairs. She also took her name back.
Because Abel had started running an unlicensed business in a residential area, one of the
neighbors filed a petition to get rid of us. My mom applied for a license to be able to operate a
business on the property. The workshop stayed, but Abel kept running it into the ground,
drinking his money. At the same time, my mother started moving up at the real-estate
company she worked for, taking on more responsibilities and earning a better salary. His
workshop became like a side hobby almost. He was supposed to pay for Andrew’s school fees
and groceries, but he started falling behind even on that, and soon my mom was paying for
everything. She paid the electricity. She paid the mortgage. He literally contributed nothing.
That was the turning point. When my mother started making more money and getting
her independence back—that’s when we saw the dragon emerge. The drinking got worse. He
grew more and more violent. It wasn’t long after coming for me in the pantry that Abel hit my