“But I need it,” I cried.
“No, you don’t.” She came over to the table. “What’s this letter? Who’s it—” She started reading.
I kept looking around in the cabinet for something I couldn’t find.
“He wants a divorce?” my mother read.
I got up and looked through the drawers, but I couldn’t find it there either. I ran into the living room. It wasn’t in any of the drawers in the end tables.
I looked at the staircase and thought maybe it was upstairs. Maybe it was upstairs.
“What are you looking for?” my mother asked, coming up behind me.
“Something to stop this. Something to stop everything. The pain. And Reginald. Sasha. Me. I need something to stop this,” something in me said. I ran up the stairs and went straight to my parents’ room.
“What? What’s in here?” my mother asked. She was crying then. Puddles of tears were gathering in the sides of her eyes.
I went to the closet and started pulling stacks of hat boxes from the top shelf.
“What are you looking for? What is it, baby? Tell me!”
At the back of the closet was a rusty green lockbox. I snatched it.
“Your father’s old gun? What are you doing with that? No . . . no . . . you don’t need that!”
I opened the box. He never once locked it. I pulled out the gun and dropped the box.
“Dawn, please stop! Please! In the name of Jesus, please stop this right now!”
“Give me the keys,” I said.
“I can’t. You’re not supposed to drive.”
“Give me the keys!”
“No, I can’t.”
I grabbed my mother’s purse and tried to find the keys, but I was shaking so badly I could hardly see anything.
“Give me the keys, Mama! I need them. I need to stop this!” I tried to sound reasonable. But I was screaming at her and she shook.
“I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t.”
I pushed past her and started walking toward my room.
“What are you going to do with that gun?” she asked, following behind me. “You’ll hurt yourself. Give it to me. Please!”
I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking. I was seeing fire. Seeing flames. Literally in my eyes.
“You want me to call the police? You want me to call the police and have them lock you up? I’ll do it. I’ll do it to protect you. I can’t have you out here like this. You’ll kill yourself!”
My mother reached for the gun, but I pulled away. She got on my back and tried to get her arms around me, but I shook her off and ran down the hallway into the bathroom.
I went inside and turned to see her coming down the hall to me.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “What are you doing?”
I slammed the door closed before she could reach me. I held it closed and locked it.