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“Now that we’re on the subject, I think you need to come to terms with why you began acting like this in the first place. After your pregnancy and Dante’s reaction, you became a monster. I understand that it was painful but you don’t have to make others suffer because you have issues. You were such a fun and happy person before all that happened. Sometimes I see a glimpse of who you were, but it’s not too long before that selfish, ego-tripping thing reemerges.”
When she mentioned Dante’s name all I could do was remember the pain I felt on the abortion table and I started to cry again.
“Asha, I’m sorry for being so harsh but it’s true, you let a bad experience at sixteen dictate the last eight years of your life. I think you’ve given Dante way too much of your energy. All the guys you used and hurt were symbols of him and now it’s time to free yourself,” she said in a more soothing tone.
As the pictures of all the men I’d taken advantage of over the years flashed in front of me, all I could do was shake my head in disbelief and remorse. I hated Saundra at that moment because, just like most people, I don’t like to sniff my own shit.
“Saundra, I really don’t know what to say.”
“Say that you acknowledge what I’m saying to you and change,” she stressed.
“I don’t know if I can change; I am who I am. Life made me what I am.”
“You can change, and don’t give me any excuses because there are none. Just do what you gotta do,” she said.
“I’ll try my best.”
“You don’t have to make me any promises, Asha, because you’re only hurting yourself,” Saundra said softly.
I nodded as if she could see me, and rubbed my irritated eyes.
“Where did he die, anyway?” she asked.
“He was found on the toilet. His cousin said there were liquor bottles everywhere.”
“Mmm. What a lonely way to die. Drunk and having chest pains in the john,” she mumbled.
I quickly decided to hurry the conversation along because I knew if she continued to speak about how lonely he was, I’d cry again.
“I gave his cousin Dorothy your phone number so she can let you know when the funeral is. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It doesn’t matter now, anyway, but why’d you give her my number?”
“Because I don’t want to get an ass-kicking from his sister and I know he told them what I did to him.”
“True; I’m sure from what you told me about his sister, she’d do it well.” She chuckled.
I didn’t think that was funny at all. “I have to go shopping for a black dress. I have one already but it’s a bit inappropriate for the occasion.”
“Hold up. I know you’re not planning on going to the funeral? Didn’t you just say you don’t want an ass-whipping?” she asked with disbelief.
“Of course I wouldn’t go as myself; I’d wear a disguise.”
“You are such a drama queen!”
With every passing second, purchasing a red wig and Mr. Magoo glasses seemed more and more ridiculous. “Maybe you’re right; I’ll just remember Randy as he was.”
“Yes, please do,” she said sarcastically.
“Let me know when Dorothy calls.”
Dorothy called Saundra on Friday to let her know that the funeral was going to be held on Saturday at eleven o’clock at the Walter B. Cook funeral home on 72nd Street. My weekend was horrible because I kept having nightmares about Randy coming towards me, gasping and holding his chest. The only way to make these nightmares stop was to face the coffin and say good-bye.
I put on the only black dress I owned and wore a blazer over it to cover the plunging neckline.
As my cab pulled up near the funeral home, I peered cautiously out of the window. Seventy-second Street was lined up with shiny black Town Cars and I didn’t want anyone to see me. When I got out of the car I noticed a fat white guy getting out of a red car in front of me blowing his nose into a handkerchief. I realized he was one of Randy’s coworkers whom I saw him with the night we met at B Smith’s.
Bowing my head, I tied a black scarf around my face and put on my sunglasses. Walking down the long tree-lined block, I spotted the hearse. It sat there cold and unmoving and looked like eternity itself. It troubled me to look directly at it and I strained to look at everything around it, but I couldn’t. It was massive, with all of its silver swirling metal and wine-colored drapes. I began to tremble and my sunglasses began to fog up from the heat I was generating. An old frail black man stood at the door of the funeral home, wearing a tuxedo, white gloves and a stoic look on his face.
