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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ice on my neck, wrists and hands…Hermès Birkin bag draped on my arm…diamond stilettos on my feet…don’t be mislead… I’m from the hood, baby…shit ain’t sweet…do me wrong… end up dead…
For some reason, a nervous energy fills me as I walk through the funeral home’s doors. I have no intentions of sittin’ through this bitch’s funeral service, but I thought it only right to make an appearance at ’er viewin’. I peep the ivory casket up at the front of the room and the few flower arrangements, then glance ’round the room to see who’s here. Not many. Most of my cousins are here; some I’m cool wit’, othas I don’t give’a fuck ’bout. My grandmother is sittin’ up in the first pew, Patrice is on one side’a ’er and Rosa’s oldest son, Arturo, is on the otha side. They are both huggin’ ’er, tryna console ’er. Elise is standin’ up at the casket wit’ Rosa’s youngest son, Javier. They are all cryin’.
I take a deep breath. Oversized black Dior glasses on my face and chunky diamonds in my lobes, a bitch struts down the aisle toward Rosa’s casket in a sexy black, long-sleeved Diane von Furstenberg silk beaded wrap dress wit’ plungin’ neckline and a slick-ass pair of Jimmy Choo double-banded, five-inch shimmerin’ booties. My Hermès bag hangs in the crook of my arm. Yeah, a bitch is bringin’ it high-fashion—and overdressed. So da fuck what! Any chance I get, I’m servin’ it to these hoes. Besides, the only ho who I knew would be tryna bring it is Patrice, so a bitch had’a be two steps flyer than ’er even if I was only makin’ a brief appearance.
The closer I get to the casket, the louder e’eryone’s cryin’ gets. Elise reaches into the casket and lays ’er hand on top of Rosa’s, then grips it. She kisses Rosa on the forehead, then starts hollerin’ and grippin’ the side of the caskets all broken up. Poor thing, I think, makin’ my way to the front of the room. I watch as Javier helps ’er back to ’er seat. Arturo scoots down so she can sit on the otha side’a ’er mother.
All eyes are on me as I stand at the casket, starin’ down at Rosa. I lift my shades up ova my head. Oh well. It didn’t have’ta be like this, Sweetie. All you had’a do was stay in ya lane. But nooooooooo, ya crackhead ass wanted to get funky wit’ it and try ’n bring it to a bitch. Now look at you. All boxed ’n ready to go. I feel like spittin’ in ya face, ho, and knockin’ you otta that casket for havin’ me have’ta body ya dumb-ass. All you had’a do was fall da fuck back. Oh well. Rest in peace, ho.
As I turn to walk off, Arturo comes up to me and gives me a big hug. “Hey, cuz, glad you came.”
I hug ’im back. I haven’t seen ’im in over four years. I take ’im in. He’s ova six-feet tall wit’ bronze-colored skin wit’ jet-black curly hair and almond-shaped eyes. The nigga’s all grown up and fine as fuck. “Sorry ’bout what happened to ya moms,” I say, tryna sound as sincere as I possibly can.
“Yeah, it’s all fucked up. If I ever find out who did this to ’er it’s on, feel me?”
I nod, peepin’ my grandmother starin’ me down. The old ho is burnin’ a hole through me. I roll my eyes. Bitch, you can get it, too, I think, shiftin’ my attention back to Arturo. His eyes start to water. “I can’t believe she’s gone.” He wipes tears as they fall.
Bitch, keep it cute. Don’t say anything reckless. “You gotta stay strong” is the best I can say to ’im. “Ya moms wouldn’t want you gettin’ caught up in no extras. You gotta keep ’er memory alive by stayin’ focused.”
“Yeah, you right, cuz. Still, the shit’s hard. She’s been in this neighborhood for years, ain’t never had no issues. And all’a sudden some punk-ass muhfucka pops up ’n just snuffs ’er out. Shits crazy, man.”
“You keep ya head, cuz. It was good seein’ you.”
“No doubt. You bouncin’?”
“Yeah, you know I ain’t got no real love in this room.”
He shakes his head, smilin’. “I can’t believe ya’ll still beefin’ like this. Kat, life is too short, ma. Look at us. We all scattered ’round. This half ain’t fuckin’ wit’ this one. The other half and fuckin’ wit’ the others. Shit’s crazy. We ’posed to be a family.”
I take a deep breath. Bitch, hurry up ’n get da fuck outta here ’fore he says sumthin’ and you gotta crank it up in here. “The only ones I eva had beef wit’ is Patrice ’n Juanita. But ya moms ’n ’em had’a
make they beef, too, instead’a stayin’ outta it and let us handle it how we were gonna handle it.”
“I hear you, cuz, but you gotta let that shit go. I miss seein’ you ’round when we have family functions ’n shit.”
“Trust me. I’m lettin’ it go,” I say, givin’ ’im anotha hug. “I’m not a part’a this family; neva was, neva will be. And I’m cool wit’ that. I came to pay my respects, but I’m so ova all’a them.”
“Yo, I’m sorry ’bout what popped off wit’ ya moms.”
I shrug. “She brought it on ’erself.”
“That nigga gotta get it, yo.”
“Oh, trust. He will.”
“You gonna take da baby?”
“I’m thinkin’ ’bout it. I’m not sure, yet.”
“I know Abuela was talkin’ to my moms ’bout ’em takin’ da baby and raisin’ it.”
I frown, feelin’ myself ’bout to kick it up a notch. I wanna walk ova to them hoes and snap on ’em. But I don’t. Javier comes ova and gives me a hug. He looks almost like his brotha; a few inches shorter, and stockier. His hair is freshly braided in cornrows that zig-zag and criss-cross.
“I almost didn’t know who you was,” he says, eyein’ me. “Aunt Pat had’a tell me it was you. You lookin’ real good, cuz. Still keepin’ it on ten; fly as ever.”
I smile. “That’s da only way I know how’ta do it. You lookin’ good ya’self.”
