“You think I could? Pops was my fucking hero, my role model. Seeing him turn into a drunk wrecked me, but I still tried to show up. I ran him down whenever he would go ghost. I checked him into rehab. Gave him money, food, clothes, even cleaned him up. Pops just wanted to be numb after he lost Mama. I tried telling him that there was so much more life to live. I got a family he never got to meet. Y’all kids probably don’t even remember him. He didn’t care. All he wanted was to be with Ma.”
“And he’s finally with her,” Niema sobbed into her hands. “Ahkeem, we’re sorry we left you to deal with it on your own. That was fucked up. I just thought eventually he would get it together.”
I smacked my lips. “How, when you all the way in L.A and Khadijah out in Atlanta? I kept telling him he got family, but all he ever saw was me. Y’all never tried. Couldn’t even call to check on him.”
“Ahkeem, he never kept a stable number. How could we have called?”
“Dijah, stop making excuses ‘cause you’re gonna piss me the fuck off. See my wife?” I pointed to Jazzy, who was sitting at a table waiting for us to finish our conversation.
“She doesn’t have her parents either, but she got family who will show up for her no matter the circumstances… blood or not. One call, and her brother, sister-in-law, friends, whoever… they show up for her no questions asked. Before I got with her, I ain’t have that shit. I was down bad grieving Mama, couldn’t find Pops, and y’all picked up and skated. They showed me family is who shows up for you, not always who’s your blood. I could call anybody who was just here at this party, and they would drop whatever they’re doing to show up for me. That’s all I wanted from y’all. It was never about no fucking money. I wasn’t asking y’all to give up the new lives y’all built with your husbands and kids. I just needed y’all to show up. Let him see y’all face and hear y’all voices so he would know he had more people than just me rooting for him. We can’t go back in time, but I would be a fool to just let y’all sweep this shit under the rug. If y’all hurt, imagine how the fuck I feel.”
“Ahkeem, we’re sorry. But we’re here now.” Khadijah looked at me with the most apologetic eyes I’d ever seen. She was genuinely sorry, and I couldn’t do shit but accept that shit. It was too late, though. Wasn’t anything going to bring our father back.
The air in the coroner’s office was cold as fuck, and it had this odd smell to it as if they were trying their best to mask the scent of death. I hated that shit. We sat patiently in the waiting area together, Khadijah to my right and Niema to my left.
After all the crying they did last night, I was surprised that they were keeping it together as much as they were at the moment. Khadijah was the calmest. Always had been. Her back was straight as she stared steadily at the wall a few feet away from us. I was just like her. I accepted death for what it was and tried my best to figure out how to move past it. Niema, on the other hand, was bouncing her leg up and down rapidly with her arms folded tight against her chest. She had her jaw clenched like she was chewing on words she refused to let out, almost like she knew what she wanted to say was gonna open a big-ass can of worms.
Me? I felt hollow as fuck. Numb. Just like my father felt for all those years without my mother.
“Hendrix.” All three of us rose from our seats in unison. “Follow me,” the attendant instructed with a clipboard in hand.
Niema’s hand clenched around mine, and instinctively, I grabbed Khadijah’s hand. Together, we followed him through a long hallway that was narrow with beaming white overhead lights.
We stopped in front of a thick steel door. He turned around to face us before eyeing each of us. “I just need to confirm… are you all ready?”
“He’s that fucked up?” I blurted out. I wanted to know what to expect, whether my father would be having a closed or open casket.
“Just cautionary procedure.”
We all nodded our heads, and as the oldest, Khadijah answered verbally for us. “Yes, we’re ready.”
He opened the door. We instantly got hit with even colder air compared to the air in the hallway. The room was brighter and freakishly clean. I could see his body lying on the cold slab with a white sheet pulled over him. His frame was unmistakable. I got my height and build from him. I could spot my pops anywhere. Even before the sheet was pulled back, I just knew it was him.
We stood together while the attendant proceeded to pull the sheet back slowly.
There he was.
Kareem Mahamed Hendrix
My father.
His face was bruised, and all the color in his rich chocolate skin had been depleted. On his chest, where he had my mother’s name followed by all of our names tatted, were the puncture marks of four bullet holes. I assumed the one that took him out was the one closest to his heart.
Niema sucked in a sharp breath before a heavy wail sounded from her. Her knees buckled, and I caught her before she could hit the floor. “Oh my God,” she sobbed. “That’s… that’s him.”
Khadijah took a step closer; her eyes scanned him carefully like she needed to further confirm if it was our father who laid lifeless on the metal slab. She pressed her plump lips together, and for the first time today, her composure cracked. Her head dropped and her shoulders sulked. It was finally hitting her.
Niema finally found the strength to go join Khadijah. Me, I hung behind. I was my father’s twin, so seeing him dead felt like staring in the fucking mirror. I wanted to live forever. I couldn’t imagine leaving Saphir and Jazzlyn in this world without me.
Niema noticed I remained behind. She extended her hand to me, and I just would’ve felt like shit if I didn’t take it. I set my hand into hers and joined them next to our father. Up close, he looked smaller. Not the man who used to flex his muscles whenever he would grab all the groceries from the car all in onetrip. Or even the drunk nigga who bopped around the streets looking for a come up to buy some liquor.
The more I stared, the more flashes of him crossed my mind. Him smoothly dancing behind my mama while trying to steal fresh pieces of fried chicken she was cooking for dinner. Him catering to her every need during the entire duration of her illness. How he would smile because he knew that would be the only way to make her smile. As odd as it sounded, I heard his voice in that moment. He had a distinctive voice. It was raspy and rugged, yet tender and warm. I could hear him telling me, “You know what, Ahkeem? You’re right. I gotta get right for my grandkids.”
I loved my father.
That was the fucked-up part about it. I thought my tough love would get him straight. It didn’t. It just pushed him more toward drinking. I wished our last conversation went different. I was two-and-oh when it came to fucking up final moments with my parents before they passed away. Instead of hemming him up and threatening to fuck him up, I should’ve hugged him and told him how much I loved him.
“You tried,” Khadijah whispered while squeezing my shoulder. I was so in my thoughts that I didn’t even realize tears had cascaded from my eyes.
