Keep It Movin' (7 page)

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Authors: L. Divine

BOOK: Keep It Movin'
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“Get a move on it, girl,” he says. Through the phone I can hear him open the car door and light a cigarette. I wish he'd stop smoking. “You couldn't do her hair last night?”
“We weren't here.” Not that it's any of his business. He's so bossy. I thought Christmas was supposed to be chill. For me, the holiday has always been more drama than it's worth. Speaking of which, Rah's text comes through and I'd rather read it than be grilled unnecessarily by my dad. Rah's still pissed at me for chilling with Jeremy yesterday. Oh well. I can't please everyone and I'm not about to start trying now. “I'll be right down.” I'm ready to hang up and check my text, but my dad would rather bitch at me than let me go.
“Hurry up. It's bad enough I had to leave the party at my house to come all the way out here, and I don't want to take too long getting back. Everyone's waiting for us.” Just how he likes it, no doubt. We finally end our call and I check my text message real quick before putting on the rest of my clothes.
Merry Christmas again, Jayd. Hope to see you tonight. Call me when you get back to your mom's and hopefully we can all chill. And would you mind hooking a brotha's braids up? You know I got you. Love, Rah.
Anyone reading his texts would say that he was sprung on me, but his sincerity is still questionable in my book. I know he loves me, but not enough to choose me and make me a priority in his life—after Rahima, of course. And when do I get a break from doing hair?
“
Never if you're good at your job. Which, apparently, you are
,” my mom says, answering my question without my actually asking it.
“Mom, you've got to stop doing that,” I say to my mom, who's in the kitchen, before checking myself in the mirror one last time before heading out. My puffy ponytail sitting on the top of my head is cute, but I do look like I'm going to another powwow by the beach instead of a family Christmas dinner. Lucky for me I learned a long time ago that it doesn't matter what I show up wearing. The folks on my father's side will always find a reason to hate on a sistah.
“Tell Karl I said Merry Christmas, and y'all have fun.” I grab my purse and jacket from the coat rack and check for my daddy's Christmas card in my purse before opening the front door.
“Yeah, you too,” my mom says with a sly grin before she spreads herself across the couch: my usual spot. She knows she's pushing it. “See you in the morning, baby.” I shut the door and jog down the stairs where my father has parked his car, blocking the long driveway. Why does he have to be so obnoxious?
“Hi, Daddy,” I say, giving him a hug and handing him his card. He can't say I never gave him anything. I'm pretty good at making sure everyone gets a card from me for the holidays, but not every year. Sometimes a sistah just can't afford it.
“Hey there, girl. It took you long enough.” He looks me up and down and I can feel the speech about my attire coming, but I'm sure he'll wait until we're in the car before he bites into me.
“Yeah, my bad. Perfection takes time.” What else am I supposed to say? My mom is flyy and he knows it. And I look pretty cute if I do say so myself, especially considering I didn't have much time to prepare. I'm wearing the yellow rhinestone Bebe sandals Jeremy bought me awhile back, complementing the gold glitter on the sides of my pants and jacket perfectly.
“Tell your mama I said Merry Christmas,” my dad says, unlocking the doors to his Infiniti as I walk around to get in. He should give me this car and buy himself another one, but I know that'll never happen.
“She says the same thing,” I say, lying to save face.
“What happened to your hair?” My dad looks at my natural do and crinkles up his nose in disapproval. Here we go.
“I came out a black girl, that's what,” I say, closing my door and fastening my seatbelt. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can leave.
“Couldn't you fix it up nice? It's Christmas, for God's sake. The whole family will be there.” He backs up out of the driveway and heads toward the 105 freeway. I need to pay attention to where we're going from now on since I'll be driving soon. Bus routes are completely different from driving directions, and I can already see my ass getting lost.
“Well, God and I had a little chat and she's cool with the natural me.” My dad looks unamused by my reasoning as he speeds down the highway. I love the way this car drives.
“That's blasphemy, Jayd, and on the Lord's birthday, too?”
“Did you check that out with Jesus, because I think he was actually born sometime in the summer.” My daddy rolls his eyes at me because I know he knows I learned that in historical Bible class at the school he sent me to. I did a report on the real birth date of Jesus, and the teacher at Family Christian had to give me an A, even if it did debunk their traditional teachings.
“I know you know God ain't no woman,” he says, switching to a jazz station to calm his nerves, I assume. He once told me I make his blood pressure rise, just like my mother and grandmother do. I guess it's still true. “What's your grandmother teaching you over there?” If he only knew how loaded that question really is.
“The truth.” My little comment silences him for the rest of the ride to Lynwood, and that's the best gift I can get at the moment. I love my daddy, but we rarely see eye-to-eye on anything. If I say the sky is blue he'll say it's purple just to prove me wrong. Mama says it's because we're totally opposite signs, me being an Aries and him a Libra. I'm sure she gave my mother the same warning, since she's the same sign as I am. But, for whatever reason, my mom didn't listen and now we're all stuck with each other. Oh well. If nothing else, dealing with drama in my own family has made my skin thick and it'll have to be extra strong to get through this dinner.
4
Holiday Haters
“It's alright love/
I let a hater hate.”
—MAINO
 
 
 
W
hen we get to my dad's house, cars are parked everywhere. His block's already tight and there's only parking on one side of the street, so my dad always reserves spaces by stacking cars in his driveway and blocking as many parking spots as he can on the street. The neighbors are hip to my dad's game, but he still gets away with it every year.
“Dad, do you ever consider that your neighbors might want to use some of the parking for their families?” I ask as he pulls up into his driveway, blocking the sidewalk. It looks like the entire cavalry has shown up for the festivities. The smell of turkey, macaroni and cheese, sweet potato pie, and rolls welcomes me out of the car. Whenever my stepmom gets in the kitchen there's sure to be a crowd.
“They can park around the corner. I've been here longer than any of these folks around here and they all know it,” he says, taking out a cigarette to smoke before going inside. That's one positive thing I can say about my dad: he could care less what anyone says or thinks about him. I guess I got my “no hater” genes from him, too. Too bad I have to use them to deal with his family as well as the rest of the haters in my life.
As we walk up the driveway and toward the front door I can see inside where everyone's eating, drinking and talking. This would be fun if I weren't the chosen piñata for the party. I've got my armor on, so they can bring it. I just hope I keep a cool head and don't swing back. Before I can get in the door good the comments start and my ears are already on fire.
“The child's saving grace was her hair, but I see she's let that go too,” one of my drunk aunties sitting on the couch whispers loudly to another one, who's more drunk than she is. They've really got their nerve talking shit about me when I can smell the vodka on their tongues from across the room. As much liquor as there is up in this place, if the next-door neighbors light a match this whole house will go up in flames.
“Well, you know she got that from her mother's side,” they continue as if I'm not standing right here. I haven't even got all the way in the house yet and they're already hating. How did my mom ever deal with this shit?
“Too bad she didn't get their eyes. Between those green eyes and that chocolate brown skin Lynn Marie's got, she had our little brother sprung off her hot ass for years.”
“I wonder if she's gained weight.”
“I wonder if her mama's still up to no good.”
“I wonder if she's found another man yet.” My aunties are enjoying a good laugh at my mother's expense. My mom has always resented the fact that the night she and her sister met my daddy and Jay's daddy, my daddy's sisters didn't bother to tell her that he had a pregnant wife and young daughter at home already. And my mom was so desperate to get out of Mama's house and away from Esmeralda's crazy ass that she didn't bother with a background check on my dad and his family via the neighborhood. I bet she'll never make that mistake again.
“Would you like for me to call her and you can ask her yourself?” My question throws my aunts off guard, and they actually stop playing cards and look up at me, like I'm the one out of line. Damn, this family's got its nerve and then some.
“Young lady, we know your mama's number.” They look at each other and suck their teeth.
“And we also know you don't have to call her if you want to talk to her. Or has she lost her powers and her man, too?” What the hell do they know about my mother and her gifts?
“My mother hasn't lost anything,” I say, defending her without telling her business. I'll be damned if they're going to sit up in here and talk about my mother in front of me. I know she'll appreciate that.
“Yes I do, little one. But don't waste any more of your energy on them. Your daddy's folks are notorious ashe stealers. Don't give in to their negativity, Jayd. Wear your crown, girl, and forget about them. They can't harm you or me if you learn to block them out.”
“Yes, ma'am,”
I think back. Mama always tells me the same thing. Ever since I can remember Mama has warned about guarding my ashe—or spiritual energy—from negative people, family included. My uncles—except for Bryan—and I rarely interact for the same reason. It hurts Mama to keep herself at bay from her own sons, but protection is protection, no matter who the person doing you harm is. And most ashe leaches—as Netta calls them—aren't aware of their negative power and that makes it worse.
“Those snooty-ass N'awlins girls,” my auntie slurs. “I always knew he should've never married a Creole. We used to hear about your grandmother across the border, and she ain't no better than no one.” I walk over to post up in the hallway where I can get a better view of the house, which is decorated to the nines. The tree is much smaller than Mama's but still pretty. There's barely any standing room, so I'll claim this spot for now.
“All good things, I hope,” I say, wiping the sarcastic smile right off of her face. I know most of the rumors about my lineage aren't good, but that's not our problem. I admit most of my neighbors from New Orleans are haters, but not Mama. The thing I find most peculiar about New Orleans folks is that they tend not to claim Shreveport as a part of the state of Louisiana, which is where my daddy and his folks grew up hanging out, right next to the Texas/Louisiana border. The majority of the folks on his side of Compton are from Mississippi, and that's about as country as it can get.
“Hi, Jayd,” my cousin Nia says. I don't speak to her too much, especially since she tried to get with Rah when we were all in school together. She still attends Family Christian and I'm trying to bury the hatchet, but I have a feeling she'll be the first to dig it up and stab me in the back with it if I put it in the ground too deep.
“Jayd,” our little cousin Shelley says, hugging me tight. At least someone's happy to see me.
“Hey, sweetie. How's junior high treating you?” I ask, returning her tight hug. I've always loved my little cousin. I used to play with her like a baby doll whenever I saw her. Now she's almost as big as I am, and pretty, too.
“I love it,” she says, still naïve of the looming drama Family Christian holds. I hope she stays immune to it through junior high and high school. But I can't help but wonder what happened to her beautiful hair? Damn, she got messed up.
“You should let me do your hair. It'll work wonders for you, trust me.” She looks like she got a bad haircut and everyone's lying to her face saying she looks flyy. I've got to help her out, whether she wants me to or not. I can't let my relative walk around looking like she stuck her finger in an electrical outlet when I can easily hook her up. Besides, it'll give me something else to focus on while I'm here.
“Don't let that girl touch your head,” my aunt-in-law Sandra says, walking up behind her daughter and pulling Shelley away from me like I've got the plague. I see she's heard about me and my lineage, too. Noticing my hurt look, she tries to clean up her comment, but I know what she means. “I just mean to say she looks beautiful just like this. My daughter-in-law does all of our heads and she's good at it, too.” Well, like the saying goes, denial ain't just a river in Egypt and this sistah's shoulder-deep in it.
“Okay. But, if you change your mind you can find me at Netta's Never Nappy Beauty Salon off Greenleaf Boulevard.” My cousin's eyes light up at the mention of the shop.
“You mean the shop with the big, pink neon sign and tall Christmas tree in the window? I've always wanted to see inside of that place.” Her mother's jaw tightens and she takes the last word on the subject.
“We're not interested in changing stylists but thank you,” Sandra says. I forgot how uptight she can be and I doubt it's just because she's a Jehovah's Witness. She's always quick to remind us every year at Christmas that she's only here because my uncle insists that she come. And like a good wife should, in her opinion, she obeys her husband.
“I got you,” I say, taking my phone out of my purse and scrolling through my contacts to locate Rah's number. Too bad my daddy's my ride, because it's already time for me to go. Maybe I can catch the bus to Rah's grandparents' house and he can give me a ride back to Inglewood when he goes home. I'm sure there's drama where he is too, but at least it's not mine and I can play with his little girl.
“Jayd, have you seen your stepmother yet? She's in the kitchen,” my daddy says, finally walking in from outside and pointing to where all the good food is. I guess I can wait until after I eat and catch up with my stepmom before skipping out.
I pass up my hating auntie and walk through the dining room where more of my cousins and folks are involved in a game of dominoes. I nod what's up to everyone and they return the gesture without much interest. I continue toward the kitchen where my dad walks in ahead of me to give his wife a kiss on the neck and a smack on the ass. What is it with dudes and grabbing women's behinds? She has more than enough booty for his small hands, but really. That looked like it hurt.
“Hey, girl,” my stepmother Faye says, turning around from her station at the sink full of dishes and giving me a big hug. She always smells like honeysuckle and food: two of my favorite scents. “Don't you look cute,” she says, touching my afro puff and looking me up and down. She always has nice things to say to me. My daddy rolls his eyes at her compliment and walks out of the kitchen toward the back of the house where my uncles and the rest of the crowd are hanging out.
“Well, thank you. So do you,” I say, returning the love. How my dad always gets good women on his side baffles me. He is charming and a hardworking brother, both positive attributes. Maybe it's just me he has a problem with.
“So, how's school? Still straight As, I assume.” I gave them both hell when I lived here briefly, but I was always a good student academically. It was the social aspect of school I had a problem with.
“School's good and yes, my grades are cool. We have finals coming up after the break, so I'll let you know how many As I get then.”
“Oh, I know you'll do fine, Jayd. You've always earned good grades.” That means a lot coming from her. Faye went back to school recently to get a bachelor's degree and is already well on her way to earning her master's. She's the only sistah I know who's doing it big like that and she inspires the hell out of me. And she's almost as good in the kitchen as Mama is, which is no easy crown to wear.
“If I get a four-point-zero grade-point average this semester, you think you can convince my daddy to give me his car?”
Faye looks at me, confused, as she continues washing the dishes. “Your daddy didn't show you your Christmas gift yet?” she asks.
“What gift?” I ask, peeking in the pots on the stove. There's so much food in this kitchen I can't even see the countertops. Faye can throw down. When I lived here I gained about twenty pounds. Most of the weight came from being depressed, but eating constantly didn't help either.
“Look outside.” I walk over to the back door and notice a silver Nissan Sentra parked in the garage that looks just like the one I drove for my driving lessons. I know he didn't buy me this bucket after I told him I hated it. What the hell? My daddy signals me to come outside and join him.
“Merry Christmas, baby. I bought the car, now you take care of the rest,” my daddy says with half the family behind him gawking.
“I don't know what to say.” And it's true, I don't. I feel like crying, I'm so pissed he didn't listen to me. But I also know I should be grateful to have a ride, no matter how much I may hate it.
“How about thank you,” my auntie says, puffing on her cigarette. Nia looks at me, envious of the attention I'm getting. The only reason she doesn't have a car is because she doesn't want to learn how to drive for some reason. Nellie's the same way, happy to have people chauffeur her black ass all around town. Not me. I'd rather have my own wheels any day. Well, not these wheels, but they'll have to do for now.
“Here are the keys. Why don't you get in and check it out,” my father says, passing me the two silver keys and egging me on toward the raggedy vehicle. The hubcaps are missing and so is the radio, just like in my mom's ride. It smells like ass because so many people have sat in it and even though I'm not a mechanic, I know this car needs some serious work. Rah and Nigel could probably handle it, but still. How could he put his baby girl in this godforsaken ride?
“I already know what it looks like. I spent two weeks driving it, remember?” He dangles the keys in front of me, waiting for me to take them. I want to leave him hanging and go back in the kitchen to eat, but if I do I know I'll never hear the end of it.
“Yes, I remember. That's why I thought it would be a good first car for you because you're already used to it. Don't you like it?” Now, I would normally take this opportunity to tell him just what I think but I already know how they feel around here about voicing your true feelings. My aunt Sandy was my secret Santa about ten years ago and bought me the ugliest Cabbage Patch suit I'd ever seen. When she asked me what I thought about the gift, I said I didn't like it and my father put me on punishment for the rest of the weekend. That was also the last year they had a secret Santa drawing in this family, or at least that I know of.

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