CLEANING DAY

      Clorox, Comet and Ajax––in Yvette’s home these were the holy trinity. Every Saturday for the past three years, Yvette and Chukwu, her ten-year-old son, would rise at the crack of dawn. Today was no different from the Saturdays before and by 6:35 AM she had brushed her teeth, exchanged her bonnet for a tightly-wound, floral scarf and set her brown hands inside a pair of red latex gloves.

      As she walked down the upstairs hallway, Chukwu exited his room softly touching the skin around his right eye. Drool from the night before had stained the corners of mouth and if he pursed his large lips—which were rather large today—you could see lines of dry mucus.

      “Mornin’, Mama.”

      “Hey baby. How’d you sleep?” Yvette walked down the creaking wooden steps of their row home. “That’s good.” She said in reply to whatever answer he offered. Rent’s due in four days, child support comes in a week from now—if Nnamdi sends it on time—and Chukwu has a field trip on Monday. It was 6:45 and her mind was already racing. Chukwu entered the bathroom and Yvette ran down the steps—time to clean the living room.

      As she cleaned the living room she could hear the neighborhood boys playing basketball from across the street. Whether it was dawn or two in the morning, they were always loud and cussing like they had no damn home training. The older boys were already on the corner––Saturday as usual. In the living room there was a fist-sized hole in the wall behind Yvette’s Japanese room divider. She checked the hole to make sure no vermin inside.

      After putting the living room in order, she entered the kitchen and searched through the pantry for the ingredients to her cleaning cocktail. Cleaning wasn’t necessarily a passion but it was the only activity in which Yvette felt complete control. The stains and messes we create are simple; it’s just a matter of finding the right products to treat them. Upstairs she could hear the bath water running, she looked up at a large damp spot on the ceiling above the sink. There was a pipe leak in the line that ran from the upstairs bathroom to the kitchen and whenever the tub faucet was turned on the drained water would leak through the ceiling. Black mold had grown over the past month and when Yvette reported the issue to her landlord, Mr. Neidenbach, two months ago, he remedied the issue by placing a bucket—Yvette’s bucket—on the countertop to catch the dripping water. Yvette turned back to the pantry. Clorox, Comet and Ajax. She brought down the Comet and Ajax then began to sift through the shelves for the Clorox. It was nowhere in sight. Pantry, cabinets, under the sink, linen closet, closet-closet, fridge, she searched through most of the house for the bleach but was interrupted when the all to familiar smell began to pervade her nostrils.

      Yvette followed the smell of bleach through the kitchen; it came from the water that was collecting inside of the bucket. Upstairs the smell was stronger and as she followed it towards the bathroom she noticed a thick steam exiting under the door.

      “Chukwu! Chukwu, what the hell you doin’?” A large thud came from inside the bathroom as she yelled but Chukwu didn’t respond. The thud shook the door. She covered her mouth with her shirt; the smell grew increasingly overwhelming. “What ‘chu doin’ wit my bleach lil’ boy? Open the door.”

      “No.”

      “’Scuse me?”

      “No ma.”

      Yvette took a step back. This nigga just told me no? She kicked the door with the force of heaven, Chukwu buckled behind it.

      “Open the fuckin’ door or imma beat yo’ black ass! You betta not be in there playin’ wit yo self.” Her forehead began to glisten with sweat as the steam within the hallway grew. Her hands became clammy under the red latex gloves so she removed them and beat the door like a timpani. “Chukwu! I don’t know what you think you doin’ but I swear to God… if you don’t open the door in five seconds I’ll kill you.”

      Chukwu took of his wife-beater and boxers and then emptied the remainder of the bleach into the steaming bathwater. He reached in with his finger and stirred the two together. His mom boiled outside.

      “Five!”

      He walked over to the window and watched the neighborhood boys playing basketball across the street; their golden skin shined in the sun. Vincent is there with a bruised pair of knuckles.

      “Four!” Yvette drives her shoulder into the door; it leaps at the hinges. She pauses and then fumbles above the doorframe feeling for the pinhole key.

      Chukwu wipes the foggy mirror with his palm. The skin around his eye is blacker than usual and very fat. He clenches down his jaw and tries to open his swollen eye, which makes his body cringe for mercy.

      His top lip’s fat. His hair’s matted. His—

      “Three! Chukwu, you tryin’ me this mornin’.” Yvette’s yelling and antics had quieted. Chukwu could hear her trying the pinhole key. He grabbed his loofa, a bar of Dove and stepped in for his baptism. The water wrapped around his legs and he whimpered. He began to step out of the tub but the sound of the basketball hitting the blacktop across the street sunk him into the water.

      “Two! Chukwu, I don’t know who the hell is givin’ you balls to tell me no but I’ll let you ‘pologize after I whoop yo’ ass.” Yvette struggled with the knob. The hallway was now filled with steam and her hair became frizzy under her scarf. The key found the mold.  Click. She swung the door open and was met with a thick cloud of steam.

      “Chukwu!” She rushed over to the tub; Chukwu sat in the water with the back of his head resting against the perimeter of the tub, his entire body was covered except head from the chin up. She looked and really saw his face for the first time that day. His black eye, his swollen lip, the gash under his ear; her beautiful son was beaten and bruised. She reached in and touched his black eye, it was soft and the dark broken blood vessels parted. When she withdrew her finger they coalesced anew.

      “Chukwu.” She reached into the water with caution, although she was in sweats, she didn’t want to get bleach on them. She tapped him. “Chukwu, come on! Get out the tub.” He was unresponsive. “Chukwu, please don’t do this to me.” Her voice began to break. She reached in pulled the drain plug and opened the window. The water began to drain slowly and the steam found escape. She began to shake his body violently. “Wake up baby please!” When the bathwater came to about chest level she turned the faucet on and ran his head under it. “Baby wake up! C’mon Chooks, breathe!”

      “Ma--ma.” Chukwu spit from under the water. Yvette’s heart leaped. She stood up and pulled his hand towards herself.

      “Stand up baby.” He coughed and began to stand. He was feeble and moved his legs as if he deserved crutches nevertheless he stood. She gave him a washcloth to cover his mouth from the pungent odor. His loofa floated in the bleach-water. Yvette turned on the shower and when she believed the water had sufficiently washed away the bleach on his body, she grabbed the soap and her sponge and began to scrub her son’s body. She pressed against his ribs and he buckled. “Chooks, who did this to you?” He tightened his jaw and firmly gripped the shower curtain. She ripped the washcloth from his mouth. “You betta answer me boy! Who did this to you.”

      “I ain’t no snitch ma.”

      “Snitch? I’m your mother, your entire being’s my concern, it ain’t snitchin’.”

      “It’s snitchin ma…they said if I snitch, next time they gonna beat my dumb black ass yellow.”

      “Who is they?” Chukwu was quiet. Quiet enough for them to hear the neighborhood boys, the older “what you need?” boys on the corner. Quiet enough for them to hear the basketball dribbling from across the street and the bad mannered, younger boys fighting over it. “It was those niggas from across the way wasn’t it?”

      “No.” He said dodging eye contact.

      “Chooks.”

      “Aite mama. Yeah.” She kept scrubbing but her eyes remained on his face.

      “All of them?”

      “Nah. Just Vince and Lanron.” His voice was hoarse. Yvette scrubbed his hands, cupped them and then turned on the faucet. He craned and scooped water into his mouth. The bleach water had drained from the tub.

      “Why?”

      “Huh?” Chukwu turned off the faucet.

      “Why’d they beat you?”

      “Just ‘cause...they said I was a bitch just like you and they was gonna beat me like daddy did ya.”

      “But yo’ daddy ain’t neva hit me.” Yvette pulled her shirtsleeve down.

      “I know. I said that too but they said I was a lia’. Vincent said he was gonna beat my burnt ass erryday just for being a ugly black bitch… so when I came home yesterday I said to myself, I ain’t gonna be burnt no mo’.”