Keep It Movin' (3 page)

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Authors: L. Divine

BOOK: Keep It Movin'
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2
Merry Xmas
“What's love got to do with it?/
What's love but a secondhand emotion?”
—TINA TURNER
 
 
 
W
hen we pull up to Mama's house, cars are parked on lawns, sidewalks, and everywhere else they can fit. It's always like this on Christmas. All of the prodigal children return home to give and receive guilt gifts, as well as get some good food, which I can't wait to indulge in. When it comes to southern cooking, Mama can give Jeremy's mom a run for her money.
“Hey, Lynn,” our neighbor across the street, Mr. Baskett, says to my mom through her open tinted window before he sees her six-foot-two man step out of the truck ahead of us. He's had a crush on my mom forever and ain't facing reality no time soon. But Karl's presence might help change that fact of life.
“Hi, Mr. Baskett,” my mom says. Karl walks around to the passenger's side and opens both our doors. He's such a gentleman. “This is my boyfriend, Karl. Karl, Mr. Baskett.” Mr. Baskett waves from across the street, too lazy or embarrassed to walk over and shake hands. He, his wife, and their four children each weigh at least three hundred pounds. It's rare to see them hanging outside, but it is a holiday.
“Little Lynn,” Daddy says from his seat at one of the two card tables set up in the in the driveway as we step out of the large truck, parked behind a car I don't recognize. Maybe it belongs to my uncle Bryan's new girlfriend, who I'm anxious to meet. It's rare for him to change up his look for a broad, so this one must be special.
“Hey, Daddy,” my mom says, wrapping her slender, cocoa arms around my grandfather's neck. “I have someone I want you to meet.” Karl stands next to my mom, with me close behind. I never get that warm of a greeting because I'm here all the time.
“Well, this must be the young man taking up all of my daughter's time,” Daddy says, looking up at a smiling Karl.
“Are y'all matching on purpose?” my uncle Junior asks, making us all chuckle.
“Yes, it's what cute couples do. You should try it sometime,” my mom says, shooting an evil look at her younger brother. My mom rarely has anything nice to say to her brothers if she speaks to them at all. The only one she's cool with is Bryan, and even that's a testy relationship.
“I don't want to be a cute man,” Junior says, shuffling the deck of cards before dealing.
“It's not so bad, as long as there's a stunning woman by your side who's making you cute,” Karl says. I love a man secure in his masculinity. And it doesn't hurt that he's in love with my mom. There's hope for the brothers yet.
“Now that's a whipped nigga,” my uncle Tommy says, claiming his hand without looking up. They always have some shit to say.
“Of course he is. Have you seen your sister?” my uncle Bryan says, winking at us both before reaching up to shake Karl's hand. At least one of them has some manners. “What's up, man? I'm Bryan, and don't pay attention to these other fools. They didn't have their meds today.”
“It's all good.” Karl hugs my mom tight, waiting for the next move. I walk around them both and kiss Daddy on the cheek before smacking Bryan in the back of the head, my usual loveable greeting for my favorite uncle, and I ignore the rest and they return the favor. One person I can't ignore is Misty's trifling ass going inside of Esmeralda's house next door. I guess Misty and her mother are spending the holiday with Esmeralda's evil ass. I didn't know the devil celebrated Christmas. She glares at me from across the yard and walks back across the porch, disappearing in the multitude of crap lining Esmeralda's house. Maybe they'll help her clean that shit up as a gift.
“Bryan, get in here and help me with this food,” Mama shouts through the kitchen window. Bryan's the official taster of the household because he'll tell it like it is under any circumstances, no matter who the cook is.
“I'll go with you,” I say, leading the way across the front yard and toward the back gate. The rest of my uncles and company are in the back, smoking, drinking, and doing whatever else they do back there. Ever since Esmeralda caused my headache from hell by staring me down one morning before school a few months ago, I avoid going through the front door at all costs.
“Hey, Frankie,” I say to one of our neighbors a couple of houses down. He and his white wife usually stay inside, especially on the holidays, when drunken belligerence can come from anywhere and attack the so-called “sell-out” on the block. He's always been cool with me, and he and Daddy are good friends, so I don't get into all of the other madness.
“We're right behind you,” my mom says, leading Karl to the back porch and up the steps that lead into the kitchen. Mama's dog, Lexi, lifts her head slightly, giving Karl the eye before she moves away from her customary post across the threshold, allowing us into Mama's kitchen.
The thick aroma of homemade stuffing and sweet potatoes hits me in the face like a brick. I can't even speak I'm so overwhelmed. The room is filled with all of my favorite foods: potato salad, greens, cornbread, a turkey big enough to feed the entire block, fried chicken, rolls, catfish, several kinds of cakes, peach cobbler, and my absolute favorite, cherry pie. Damn, Mama threw down. She must've been cooking for two days straight to put out all of this food.
“Wow,” Karl says, voicing my exact sentiments. Even my mom is smiling through her nervousness. Meeting Mama is always the deal-breaker with her boyfriends. And Mama has been waiting to meet him for a minute.
“Well, if it isn't my girls,” Mama says, walking over to kiss us both on the cheek. “And this handsome man must be Karl,” she says, also reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. I'm glad it is Karl, otherwise that would've been embarrassing.
“Hello, Mrs. James. It's nice to finally meet you,” he says, blushing at Mama's compliment.
“Well, don't be so formal. Go on in and have a seat. Bryan, come and get this food so I can feed everyone else.” Bryan walks in, takes his mini-plate and sits down at the dining room table, ready to tear into the food.
“Here, sample the potato salad,” Mama says, passing a small bowlful to Karl before they take a seat at the dining room table.
“The tree looks beautiful,” my mom says, knowing Jay and I put it up. We did do a good job this year. Speak of the devil, Jay pokes his head out of his room, waves at us all and goes right back in. Whenever possible, he likes to be alone in the room he shares with Daddy and Bryan, and I don't blame him. It's rare anyone around here actually gets time to him-or herself.
“Is that a new dress, Jayd?” Mama says from her post at the kitchen doorway. She looks so relaxed in her champagne-colored silk dress with house slippers to match. Christmas Eve is Mama's favorite day of the year, next to Mother's Day, which is when she shuts down her shop completely and sucks in the entire day. Mama and Netta usually take a trip somewhere and get pampered from head to toe. This year will be no exception to the unwritten rule, I'm sure.
“No, it's my mom's,” I say, eyeing my mom and Karl sitting at the table, feeding each other forkfuls of Jay's infamous potato salad. We all have our specialties and that's definitely one of his. My mom is shameless with her affection for her new beau. But so far so good where Mama's concerned. Mama's already peeled one of the name labels off of a gift for one of my uncles and put Karl's name on it instead. Now, let one of my uncle's girlfriends get a gift meant for my mother and all hell will break loose between Mama and my mom.
“Oh. It looks so familiar,” Mama says. But the look in her eyes tells me there's more to it than that. What is she thinking about so fiercely?
“Jayd, you not eating?” my uncle Bryan asks, slamming down the turkey and gravy, stuffing, sweet potatoes, green beans and chicken on his plate. Mama really outdid herself this year. “You don't know what you're missing, girl.”
“I'm good right now,” I say. Truthfully, I had so much junk to eat at the beach that I'm too stuffed to take another bite of anything. But I will gladly take home a plate or three to munch on for the weekend. I'm sure my stepmother will have a slamming spread tomorrow too, so I'll be set for the rest of the week with leftovers.
“Lynn Marie, where'd you say you got that dress from?” Mama asks, not letting go of her lock on my outfit for a second. Something about the way she's staring at me is making me feel nauseous. Maybe it's my uncles' cigarette smoke drifting in from where they're seated outside playing cards and enjoying some of Daddy's homemade eggnog, spiked with E&J, no doubt. Karl looks like he's enjoying his fair share as well. I guess my mom's driving for the rest of the evening.
“I got it from a thrift shop on Melrose earlier this week. I was going to wear it for New Year's, but I thought it would fit Jayd perfectly. Merry Christmas, Jayd,” my mom says, winking at me and getting away with not really buying me a gift—again. Mama's honey-brown complexion turns pale, and I can't pick up what's wrong. Noticing my concern for her, Mama looks me in the eye and some of the color returns to her cheeks, but not all of it.
“Jayd, you feeling okay, baby?” Mama asks, walking over to where I'm seated on the couch and checking my forehead for a fever. Mama's green eyes have a red tint across them, indicating just how little sleep she's had recently.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” I say, allowing her to quietly probe my eyes, looking for anything but the truth. This whole thing with Rah and Sandy has really gotten out of hand, causing more drama in my life that I don't need. And, with Laura, the hater from school, and Nellie, my ex-friend, hot on my and Mickey's trail, I've got all I can handle on my plate as it is.
“Just because your head's not physically hot doesn't mean you're not hurting.” Mama takes my hands out of my lap and cups her hands around mine. Before she can speak another sentence, a wave of shock comes over her and a look of surprise takes over her soft expression. Before I can ask her what's wrong, I'm pulled into Mama's world.
 
“
Jayd, don't resist. Whatever you do, just let it flow
,” Mama says, holding onto my mind with hers. What the hell?
“
Mama, where are we?”
I ask, communicating as if she's in one of my dreams. I look around the room, which looks almost the same as far as furniture goes. But it's as if they are in a black-and-white movie, watching the show take place from the catwalk of a theater. I can hear my mom and the rest of the family in the background, talking and laughing. But Mama and I aren't moving at all.
“
I'm not sure yet. But it looks like we are somewhere in the past, Jayd. Just be still and watch
.
That's all we can do until we see what we came here to see.”
Facing the hallway from where we are seated on the couch, Mama and I turn our attention to the voices coming from what is now her bedroom. Usually the woman and man's voices shouting in this house come from my grandparents, but it's not Mama and Daddy's arguing we hear.
“
Maman
,” Mama mumbles in our live dream-state. Even if she was only one when her mother died, Mama can still recognize her voice. “
And that's my father.
” Mama's eyes travel as the tall, dark man backs out of the bedroom with a knife at his throat. Maman Marie's hand is extended upward, controlling the blade as she slowly makes her way away from him, holding a baby girl on her hip.
“
Mama, is that you
?” I ask, but Mama's too engrossed in the scene taking place to answer my query.
“I told you, I want out,”
Maman says to my great-grandfather, who's smiling wickedly at her and the baby on her hip. But Maman's not joking. A trickle of blood drips down her lip and onto her bare shoulder, revealing more bruising from past beatings.
“Get out of my way, Jon Paul, or you'll leave me with no choice but to cut you in front of your daughter.”
So that baby is Mama. What a trip.
“Oh please, Marie. You know you're not going anywhere, especially not with my only child. She has more of my blood than yours anyway.”
Jon Paul takes a step toward them but is stopped in his tracks by Maman's glowing green eyes.
“She's my daughter and she has my gift of sight. You know the lineage is between mothers and daughters. Back up, Jon Paul,”
Maman says, allowing the sharp blade to cut the thick skin covering his Adam's apple and causing him to wince at the recognition of his discomfort. I also think Maman's eyes have scared him, too.
“I see that white man has given you more than expensive gifts this year.”
Jon Paul tosses the fancy Christmas present in his hand to the floor. A diamond necklace and pretty silk red dress fall out of the box, and Mama's eyes follow them as they fall.
“
Jayd, the dress
,” Mama says, looking at me. It's the same dress I'm wearing. Now, ain't this some eerie shit?

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