He picked the hat. It wasn’t the smartest choice Devon had ever made.  It probably wasn’t even a good choice. But it was his choice, and after living a life dictated by Momma's indulgence of Neveah's every need, that he chose was reason enough. Not all of him agreed, however; there was a practical part of him screaming at the top of its voiceless lungs,

What the hell are you doing? You really fixing to put yourself out on the street over a hat?!

Yes.

He grabbed his hat and stormed off to his room. His legs shook. He barely noticed throwing a few scraps of clothes into his gym bag—some basketball shorts, some jeans, a few shirts, socks, and underwear. Meanwhile, behind him came the voracious screaming of Momma and Neveah, though in his anger he didn’t hear what they were screaming about.

“Don’t go! Don’t go!”

“Get out! Get out!”

Whatever they were saying disappeared into a haze of chaotic shouting. Good, he thought. It’ll be payback for all the years his own screaming went unheard.

This is a terrible idea! You have nowhere to go! You don’t have a plan or resources of any kind.

Devon put those thoughts aside. He was taking a stand.

You’ll take a stand your way into jail or an early grave if you keep this up! Stupid, selfish, and stubborn. You really gonna throw your only family away over a goddamn hat?

But the decision had been made. Now it was time to follow through.

Rationality had no place in this moment. Anger was his fuel, memories the bitter wind kindling that fuel into rocket-fire. Memories linked together, forming an explosive chain of self-righteous power…

… from the time Neveah sold his dog when he was ten…

… from the time Momma blamed him for spilling soda on the carpet and wouldn’t hear a word otherwise…

… when Momma stopped taking him to basketball practices and, forbidding him to take the bus on his own, he got cut from the team …

All these memories came flooding out in a torrent of chaotic, painful emotion, their details blurring and slurring into a frothing, angry mess. Powered by pure rage, he threw the rest of “his stuff” in a bag, barely taking the time to even look at what he was taking with him, and stormed out the door without a word.

—

And just like that, he was gone.

Neveah was shocked. He actually went and did it.

She’d won.

Victory. Sweet, sweet victory. She had actually done it. All it took was a hat placed down at the right time.

Pleasure flooded down her legs. There was nothing more joyful than winning. Winning was better than sex. It was better than all the food she could eat and booze she could drink. What could compare to the indescribable pleasure of winning? And not just winning—dominating. Destroying the enemy. It was not even enough to win. The enemy had to be utterly and totally ruined, forever. And she had done it.

So why did she feel sick?

Neveah looked back towards the kitchen table and saw Momma, inconsolable, crying and sobbing as if she was the baby here. A pang of disgust ripped through Neveah’s belly—weak! Devon was weak for leaving, and Momma was weak for this… unbecoming display of crocodile tears. After all that, she couldn’t really miss him already.

Could she?

“What did I do? My boy… my baby boy…” sobbed Momma.

I’M THE BABY, thought Neveah. But she tamped down this thought into her belly, where it made her nauseous.   

“There, there, Momma,” soothed Neveah—it seemed like what should be said. “It’ll be OK.”

Momma looked up, her eyes full of tears. “OK? Neveah, nothing about this is OK! My baby boy just left me and… I-I…”

Momma laid her head down on the table, despondent, tears dripping down on her pile of bills.

“Well, why’d you kick him out if you didn’t want him out?” Neveah said.

It seemed to her a reasonable point. It wasn’t like Neveah forced Momma to kick Devon out. That had been her choice; a choice she agreed with and maybe orchestrated a bit—but it was Momma’s choice in the end.

BANG!

Momma shot up, slamming the table, scattering papers everywhere.

“Don’t you dare start, Neveah,” Momma growled. “Don’t you dare start with me, girl, or so help me, you will regret it.”

Neveah reeled back as if slapped. Her heart pounded in her throat.

Momma never yelled at her like that.

Neveah stood shocked as Momma picked up the papers by hherself. This was bad. Neveah had deeply miscalculated—Momma never actually wanted Devon to leave. But Neveah had done what she did best—she laid her own wishes on top of Momma’s until the two seemed the same. It was so easy for her to do—as natural as a little bird stretches its wings to fly. Just so happened that her wings pushed her brother right out of the nest. Oops.

How could that be her fault?

Neveah was the baby. She had always been the cutie-pie, the adorable one. It was easy to get other folks to do what you want when you’re cute. And as time went on, the simple fact was that there was only space enough for one child. Neveah had banked on the assumption Momma just loved her more. She tested that premise, prodding and pushing to see how far she could.

“I just want us to be a family,” Momma sobbed quietly. “Is that too much to ask in life, God?”

Neveah’s skin crawled. “No… no, Momma, it’s…come on…”

But Momma raised up her hands to the sky.

“Lord! Tell me what did I do, Lord! What damnation is there on my life? What have I done to be cursed so that you deny me the joys of a loving family!”

Neveah’s heart nearly stopped. She really had pushed too hard this time. For Momma to become like this…

—no. Neveah could fix this. She was the best of the best. Her name was Heaven spelled backwards. There was nothing she couldn’t do.

She grabbed hold of Momma’s hands and squeezed.

“Oh Lord!” Neveah’s voice took on a preacher’s tone. “I pray that my brother Devon will come back to us.”

“Come back! Please come back, my baby!” Momma cried.

Neveah sighed with relief. Good. Where Neveah called, Momma would respond. Good. Neveah would take the lead.

“And let him see the error of his ways, to not let silly hats and costumes divide this family! Let him come home!”

“Oh yes! Oh yes! Bring him home to us!” Tears dripped down Momma’s face.

There, in the kitchen, Neveah called for Devon to come home, and Momma would respond. They held their hands and spoke with their eyes raised to the Heavens as tears streaked down Momma’s face. With every call, Neveah put any blame away from her.

It was just a hat, after all. They could have talked about it calmly, like a family. There was no need for Devon to get so upset. There wasn’t any actual need for him to walk out of their house. The more Neveah said this, the more true it became, until the ugly, bumpy moment in their kitchen was paved safe and smooth, fresh with perspective, good and bright and true.

Soon, the transformation was complete. Neveah embraced Momma and squeezed her tight. Neveah could feel the shuddering sobs of her mother as she cried into her shoulder.

“I’m here, Momma.” Neveah embraced her mother, smiling where she couldn’t see. “I’ll always be here.”