Pamela Saunders was at home in her steam room, relaxed, after work. She lay peacefully, with old Elton John classics playing in the background. Her day was all going perfectly.
Then Josh barged in, cold air accompanying him. “Can I talk to you for a sec, Ma?”
“What do you want, Josh? You know I don’t like being disturbed when I’m steaming.”
“I know, sorry. But this is kinda important.”
Pamela Saunders sat up, reluctantly, covering herself with a fluffy white towel. “Come in and close the door. You’re letting cold air in, for Pete’s sake!”
She was a pretty looking fifty-year-old, with straight brunette hair. The lines on her face told tales of long, persistent, single-minded labouring.
“Sorry.” He stepped inside, barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt.
“What is it, boy? Speak quickly.”
Josh scratched his head, fidgety. “Well. I … I … kinda have a problem.”
“Uh huh …”
“I need a bit of cash, Ma.”
“How much and what for?”
“It’s not too much, just six grand. It’s for a good cause. I can’t say what it’s exactly for, but I promise you it’s important. ” He smiled, trying to break the evident tension.
“And what’s this mysterious ‘good cause’?”
“Don’t worry about it Ma …”
“OK then. No.”
He rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Just a couple of things I need for the studio, OK – another microphone and a subwoofer.”
“Your dad and I built you a state of the art studio, with all the bells and whistles you could ever need. Stop lying. What do you need the funds for?”
He caved. “I can’t say, Ma. But trust me, I need it. And I’ll pay you back.”
“Tell me what it’s for first. You’re asking for a lot of money.”
He wasn’t about to confess that he needed the cash for an abortion. That’d open up another can of angry worms, for sure. “Mom, please trust me. I’m asking you for it because it’s important. I wouldn’t otherwise.”
“OK, fine.”
Josh smiled gingerly. “OK … it’s fine?”
“No. OK fine – if you don’t want to tell me, then I won’t give it to you.”
His shoulders dropped and he frowned once more. “Mom, come on, please.”
“Get out Josh. This conversation is over. I’m not gonna go back and forth with you like an idiot.”
Josh stood, sulking now. He stormed out of the steam room, feeling belittled, and shot straight to his room, wondering where the hell else he’d source six grand from. He threw himself on his bed and grabbed his phone. “My mom is such a selfish cow,” he grumbled to himself, dialling Bianca’s number. “I literally hate her sometimes.”
Bianca’s phone rang, and rang. Eventually it went to voicemail. Josh cut the line and sent a text message instead.
Luv, I’m strugglin 2 get the money.
My mom jus shut me down.
Don’t kno who 2 ask now. Don’t worry
I’m on it though. I’ll make a plan.
Col me bac babe, I mis u …
He rested on the bed, looking up at a poster of Kanye West, his favourite rapper. What would Kanyeezee do? he wondered, jokingly, still upset with his mom.
The wall décor of his whole room comprised photos of hip-hop stars – current MCs and the OGs. As a rapper himself, he also had his own poetry hung up. Between Eminem and Jay Z was a designed-up poster of his own rhymes:
Do not harm your mind, body or soul.
Live whole and try to reach 100 years old.
Work tirelessly, night and day. Pray you don’t fall into a pit of laziness for you may go astray.
Though we live with the righteous and also with sinners
the world respects winners;
the ambitious driving force within us.
Josh felt that he could be the next Tupac, given the chance.
*****
It was a cold afternoon at Mitchells Plain Ridge. Bianca sat in the passenger seat of a luxury sedan, reading Josh’s text. She responded promptly.
Don’t worry about the money, Josh.
I’ve got it. Chat l8er, I’m kinda busy
She switched her phone off.
Josh was taken aback, puzzled. He texted a response at once:
Where from?
He sat on his bed, not knowing how to feel about it. Something didn’t feel right. How and where the hell did Bianca get the cash from?
***
Tell us what you think: Was Josh’s wealthy mother right to deny him the cash?