On sunny days I ate my lunch at Wilson Park; it was here that I fell for Sayvon. His mother was white, but his beautiful caramel complexion and curly hair, suggested his father was African American. When Sayvon smiled, his eyes became tiny slits and his face scrunched right up. He wore the same filthy clothes for days on end and spent most of his time in the sandbox digging with old plastic cups or other pieces of garbage he found littered in the park.
Sayvon’s mother had bleached blonde hair with black roots and a faded tattoo of a skull and cross bones on her bicep. She wore her clothes two sizes too small, accentuating the fact that she was carrying an extra twenty pounds. She never interacted with Sayvon, just smoked cigarettes on the bench. I ate my tuna salad willing her to push him in the swing or catch him at the bottom of the slide.
The first time I heard her speak to Sayvon it was because they needed to leave the park. “Are you deaf or somethin’? Do I need to slap you, for you to come when I call?”
Soon, Sayvon’s mother started acknowledging me with a smile or a wave. And it wasn’t long before she asked me to watch him, for a few minutes while she went to the store or the restroom. I didn’t mind because this meant I could play with him and I could tell he appreciated me. I’d swing him high in the air, and he’d giggle when I grabbed his toes. He was smart too. I taught him all the words to “You Are My Sunshine” in about fifteen minutes.
It didn’t take too long to figure out that Sayvon’s mother was off getting stoned out of her mind while I pushed rocks through the sand making truck noises with her son. She’d come back all jumpy and talking up a storm; her words melded together making her speech disjointed. I told April, the receptionist at work, about it and she said, “Call the authorities. That woman doesn’t deserve to be a mother.”
“Yeah. What would they do?” I asked.
“They’d yank that kid out of there so fast, it’s not even funny. He’d be in a nice suburb with a decent family in no time.”
Then one day, I came to the park and Sayvon and his mother weren’t there. I went back each day looking for Sayvon, but he was nowhere in sight. I asked a few people at the park if they’d seen him, but no one had. After work, I would come home, and the cats would pounce on me, desperate to be fed. I fed each one in their special area — they were so particular. I always fell asleep on the couch after I ate my T.V. dinner. My sleeping was so erratic — bad dreams kept waking me up. I kept dreaming that Sayvon was lost and crying, calling for me. I searched and searched, but his cries seemed further and further away. He told me how much he missed me and asked me to play with him. “I’m here, I’m here, Sayvon,” I yelled out waking myself up. I was sweaty and my face was smashed into the corner; the couch pillow nearly smothered me. I knew my dreams meant that Sayvon was distraught and missed our time in the park.
Then one Thursday, Sayvon was back, clean and bathed. His mom was crouched down helping him dig in the sandbox; each had a new shovel in hand. I could hear Sayvon’s infectious laugh as she intentionally buried his foot in the sand. I guess the sand tickled his foot, but I didn’t think he liked getting his feet all dirty. When she saw me she waved for me to come over. “Hi, you know, I don’t even know your name.”
“Rae Ann. My name is Rae Ann,” I said.
“Rae Ann, I’m Sherry. Thank you for watchin’ Sayvon all those times. I’ve been tryin’ to kick a very bad habit, but I think I got it beat.”
“No problem. He’s a sweet boy.”
Then on Friday, Sayvon was still dressed in Thursday’s clothes and Sherry looked a little weary, but she was at least pushing him in the swing. His eyes squinted in the sun and he smiled as his mom pulled back on the swing. She didn’t even grab his toes or sing to him like I did.
“Hi,” she said when she saw me.
“Hi. How ya doin’?”
“All right. Last night was a little rough. Sayvon’s daddy and me got into a big fight and I was feelin’ pretty low. I did use some, but then I threw the pipe out. I’m flat broke and that’s probably for the best ‘cause this weekend’s gonna be rough. I’ve got a funeral to go to. I hate funerals. I guess nobody likes ‘em, but I just hate ‘em. I just need to stay strong.”
“Yeah. You need to stay strong,” I said. “Hey, Sayvon. Did you get a new shovel?” Sayvon didn’t even look at me.
“He’s just bein’ shy,” said Sherry.
“Um…that’s odd, he’s never been shy with me before. Listen, please take this,” I said as I reached into my wallet for some money. I put the bills into her hand and watched her eyes light up.
Monday when I got to the park, Sherry was waiting for me in the parking lot. Her eyes were dark and sunken in and her hair was a tangled mess.
“Can you watch Sayvon for me?” she asked.
“Sure. No problem.”
I smiled as I watched her drive away. I opened my purse and pulled out the bright yellow tractor and dump truck I’d purchased on the weekend.
Amy Corbin has been or will soon be published in filling Station, The Cynic, Ascent Aspirations, Shine, Every Day Poets, Every Day Fiction, Haruah: A Breath of Heaven, Ignavia Press, Flask and Pen, The Battered Suitcase, Flashes in the Dark, Short Story Library, Smokebox, Writers’ Stories, Wanderings, and Boston Literary Magazine.
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20 Responses to “SAYVON • by Amy Corbin”
Comments
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August 25th, 2009 at 1:00 am
Although a well-written, cohesive story, ‘Sayvon’ is full of uninspired, stereotypes.
There’s the cute, disadvantaged, African-American kid with the funky name. There’s the white trash, druggie mother. Then there’s the middle class, unmarried with cats, oh so concerned white woman, who recognises the poor black kid’s predicament and philanthropically tries to make a small difference.
This story would work much better if the characters were a little more surprising.
August 25th, 2009 at 1:23 am
That’s not philanthropy, that’s enabling. “To err is dysfunctional, to forgive co-dependent”. She might be racist, too, the sort of person who in her prejudice would jump to the conclusion that Barack Obama’s father was African American (she has based it entirely on his appearance and his mother’s) – unless she really does mean “possibly suggested”, i.e. she really is reserving judgement, and isn’t using the term as many do to mean “pointed strongly to”.
I wonder, is “Sayvon” a corruption of savon, the French word for soap?
August 25th, 2009 at 1:53 am
I KNOW I’ve read this story somewhere. I just can’t think of where. It’s lovely and gives us room to pause.
August 25th, 2009 at 4:50 am
I loved the darker side of the woman, and by woman I mean the MC. She’s not worried about the boy or the mother, she is simply starved for love and is using the boy to get it – thus the dreams where Sayvon must be missing her, despite that improbability. Giving the mother the money to stay hooked is sad, but fits the MC’s not-so-wonderful character.
August 25th, 2009 at 5:06 am
I’m with Paul on this one. Nothing really new here.
August 25th, 2009 at 5:35 am
I didn’t like it. Nothing particular I can put my finger on, it’s just not my kind of story. If I was editing something, it would get a reject.
Well written for what it was, though, didn’t see any errors or problems.
August 25th, 2009 at 6:30 am
It was a nice read.
August 25th, 2009 at 7:08 am
Sometimes chracters are what they are-empty,lacking. I liked the story though.
August 25th, 2009 at 8:02 am
I didn’t care for this at all. It comes across like the boy’s mother is a horrid street person and the woman having lunch in the park thinks she’s a step above. What kind of an adult sits and plays with another’s child in the park that they don’t even know? I think there’s something wrong with her as well. Nothing noble here.
August 25th, 2009 at 9:01 am
Maybe I’m wrong, but I didn’t see this as being horrible or sterotypical at all. It would’ve been nice if the author had showed Sherry getting clean, as a more positive outcome but I really thought she was trying.
I also didn’t think the main character was really a bad person. She’d clearly fallen in love with Savyon and wanted to take him home and be a mother to him but she can’t. I also don’t think she was giving Sherry the money to get high, I think she was giving her the money to get clean.
August 25th, 2009 at 9:11 am
Leaving us questioning whether or not the money was given with good intentions, I think is the best part about this story. We’re left to wonder if our main character was inherently bad, or if she was truly a caring person, with noble intentions. The story was interesting and I enjoyed it.
August 25th, 2009 at 9:18 am
Hmm…I must say that this is not my favorite story.:) And I do agree with Joyce about Rae Ann. She is definitely off, but does not see herself that way. She is a holier-than-thou type who is only thinking of herself, but disguises it (somewhat). Her motivations are completely selfish and she was happier with Sherry being high, so that she could have Sayvon to herself. I find her more pathetic than Sherry because at least Sherry isn’t calculating and she does seem to be trying.
Debra: If you are DebE than you did indeed read it.
Thanks, to everyone who read or commented or both.
August 25th, 2009 at 3:06 pm
I enjoyed the unexpected ending where the do-gooder becomes the villain and the mother becomes the victim. Sherry’s selfishness not only destroys Rae Ann, but also dooms Sayvon to a life of misery. Nice flash fiction.
August 25th, 2009 at 4:35 pm
A very well written, true-to-life character study.
August 25th, 2009 at 9:49 pm
I’ve seen this woman many times. She’s reality, not steriotype. the only bright spot is the POV character. Most kids like Sayvon don’t experience that from a stranger. Usually the little sabotage comes from a relative of some type or the father. I’ve known the father of a young man like that. His son– even at ten– never understood why Daddy didn’t want Mommy to live with them. He never told his son that everytime ‘Mommy’ got settled in, she’d be partying and banging whoever hung around. Some things little kids don’t need to know.
Anyway, well written.
August 26th, 2009 at 4:42 am
To intervene or not to intervene – well, with all the abuse cases that end tragically – it’s hard to know when intervention is interference. I liked the way the motive isn’t pure here… That’s reality!
August 26th, 2009 at 12:48 pm
It’s tempting to ding the story when the narrator is unlikeable in that insidious way. Really, well done. It’s nice to read a flash that experiments with the POV like this.
August 27th, 2009 at 1:21 am
“When Sayvon smiled, his eyes became tiny slits and his face scrunched right up.” I loved this part.
I guess I just didn’t see the race thing everyone has talked about. I thought Sayvon’s mother was a bit transparent. Having known a few dope fiends, they tend to operate a lot more subtly, especially when it comes to their drug activity. I don’t but that the mother just out and confessed.
What I did like – and maybe its not the author’s intent, but it is what I read into it – was how Rae Ann is manipulating (Not philanthropic nor enabling)the mother into using. I think she intends to take the kid. I base this on the probe about child welfare services.
I don’t agree that this story follows stereotypical race and income notions. Nor do I buy into the idea that the main character is insidious. I can see how someone would, but I think she’s the good guy here.
I couldn’t rate it, but I would have given it four stars.
August 27th, 2009 at 1:25 am
The but in paragraph two of my post is supposed to be buy.
August 27th, 2009 at 5:36 am
CF’s right on one count-the narrator intends to take the kid. Can’t agree though that this isn’t insidious. The tractor is premeditated. The boy enjoys having his feet buried (‘intentionally’as if this is to be criticised). I doubt if the mother’s coming back.