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She looked at Keisha, who stood in the apartment looking dumbfounded by everything. It happened so fast. Bacardi expected Keisha to have her back and say that the mother and oldest daughter had jumped on her and started the fight. Bacardi didn’t want to lose her job over the incident.
However, Keisha was on the fence as to whether she would lie for her friend. She’d warned Bacardi to follow protocol and wait for a police escort. Keisha needed her job and her pension.
Word spread of the violent incident in the Bronx, and Bacardi was immediately placed on suspension pending an investigation.
***
Bacardi was heated when she walked into her apartment. It was possibly the worst day of her life. Her believed best friend, Keisha, had hidden behind the supervisor and stayed at work to write up her paperwork, so Bacardi had to take the subway home.
The moment Bacardi walked through her front door, looking like she’d been to hell and back, Claire charged toward her and practically tried to rip the mink coat off her back.
“Why you wearing my new coat!”
Bacardi was in no mood to fuss with her daughter, but Claire was being an asshole. For a moment she forgot that Claire was her flesh and bone and she attacked. A scuffle ensued between them, but Butch immediately broke it up.
Bacardi screamed at Claire, “Try me, bitch! I’m not in the fuckin’ mood!”
Claire replied, “You look so fuckin’ stupid in my coat! It don’t even fit you! Damn, why would you ride the dirty train in my mink coat! I fuckin’ hate you!”
“Hate me then, you stupid, ungrateful bitch! I don’t care!”
Chanel sat in the background watching the brief melee with her family. Her mother was taking it easy on Claire after her sister damn near attacked her at the door. She couldn’t help herself. She mumbled, “Shit, if that had been me trying to snatch off the coat, I would have gotten my ass whooped.”
Bacardi heard the smart comment and pivoted in Chanel’s direction. She stampeded and raised her fists and started pounding on Chanel madly. Chanel cried out and tried her best to defend herself, but her mother had become a raging machine.
“Your mouth is too fuckin’ grown and you never know how to fuckin’ mind your fuckin’ business!” Bacardi exclaimed.
Chanel hollered while Claire stood there and egged it on. She even said, “You shoulda shut up, Chanel. Always instigating somethin’—so asinine and wildish!”
“I’m sorry!” Chanel hollered.
But it was too late for sorry. Bacardi beat her youngest daughter like she stole something. Butch didn’t intervene this time. He sat there and watched—almost proudly. After the beating, Chanel ran into her room with tears streaming down her face. She slammed the door and Bacardi warned, “Don’t be slamming no fuckin’ doors in this house, or I’ll give you worse than that, bitch!”
Bacardi marched into her bedroom and slammed her own door. She wanted to be alone. She had been in a fight, nearly arrested, and she was suspended from her job. The only thing she wanted to do was take a long hot bath, smoke some weed, and get some sleep—and she dared anyone to bother her again.
Meanwhile, Chanel was spread out across her bed crying her eyes out. It’s not fair! she thought. Claire could almost get away with attacking their mother, but she simply uttered one sly remark and havoc erupted inside the living room. Chanel wanted to run away and never come back. Why did her family hate her so much? She laid there on her stomach with her face pressed into the pillow, and her tears seemed never-ending. The room was dark and quiet, apart from her crying. Then suddenly, the bedroom door opened and Claire entered the room. She flicked on the lights, interrupting Chanel’s darkness and her emotional solitude.
Claire stared at her sister with apathy and then laughed. “You look so pathetic and insignificant,” she exclaimed. “If you picked up a book and read how to strategize like Tsu Zu or Greene’s 48 Laws of Power you’d know how to beat Bacardi at her own game. You too stupid to learn about cognitive dissonance and the philosophies of great thinkers. You’d know that your cognitive mind keeps you distant from your own mother.”
Chanel ignored her. She would bet her last dollar that Claire was using the definition of cognitive dissonance incorrectly, but she kept her face buried into her pillow and didn’t mumble a word.
“Anyway, I need the room to study,” said Claire.
She shook her head and went toward her bookshelf and pulled out a book. She loved being the smart one in the family and spoke to everyone like they were dumb. She had them believing that they were dumb too by using her big, fancy words.
Claire sat at the foot of her bed with a text book in her hand. But she didn’t start to read yet. She looked Chanel’s way and once again shook her head. She said, “So, you just gonna lie in bed all day looking obtuse?”
Chanel turned over and shouted, “Just leave me alone!”
“Yo, don’t be yelling at me. Who you think you are?”
Chanel glared at her sister—enough was enough. Claire was relentless with her insults, calling Chanel ugly and telling her that she was adopted and how she wished she would go live with her real family. Hearing enough of the verbal abuse, Chanel snatched her cell phone off the night stand and stormed out of the bedroom. Claire sat there and smirked. Getting under Chanel’s skin was fun for her.
Chanel stormed into the bathroom and closed the door. Right away she dialed her friend, Mecca, who lived in Harlem, hoping and praying that she could go there to escape the abuse and insanity at home—if only temporarily. Mecca used to live in the same building as Chanel, but she moved uptown last year when her mother found a better job and a more suitable place to live.
Mecca answered her phone, and Chanel was relieved.
“Hey, you busy?” she asked.
