by L. Divine
“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 lik
e. 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.
“I love it, Daddy. Thank you,” I say, lying to his and everyone else’s face. My daddy beams with pride and hugs me tight, like he does when I’m agreeable. I feel like I’m the one giving him the gift. I told him I hated this car and he still bought it. Why doesn’t he listen to me? My aunties and the rest of the family are busy giving my daddy props for being such a great father and he’s loving it. Am I the only one who sees the problem with this picture?
“I do, baby,” my mom says, invading my head right on time. Her voice will keep me calm. “Girl, your daddy does what he wants to, damn your wishes. Don’t you get that by now?” I know my mom’s right, but I refuse to think about that right now. I have to save face in front of his family and I can’t hear her say “I told you so” while trying to do it.
“You sure are a good daddy, little brother,” my aunt says, shooting me an evil look. “You should be grateful, little girl. Everybody doesn’t have a daddy like this one.” She sips on her drink and holds herself up on her son’s shoulder, trying to hide her drunken state. She’s such a hater but I don’t care. My feelings are valid, no matter what these folks think. They don’t have to risk their lives driving this hideous thing.
“Alright, let’s pray and get this dinner going. And hey, I can start drinking early this year because Jayd can drive herself home from now on,” he says, making everyone in the room laugh. He’s right; I’ve got keys and wheels. The only person stopping me is me, and that ends right now. Maybe it won’t be so bad once I fix it up a little bit. Well, at least I have something to roll in and for that I am grateful.
“You alright, baby?” Faye passes me a stacked plate and a fork. She knows me so well. “You don’t look like a teenager who just got her first car for Christmas.” She’s right. I’m far from happy right now. I’m so pissed I can’t even eat and that’s saying something.
“Yeah, just tired. I got in late last night and got up early this morning to do my mom’s hair.” I play with the delicious-looking food on my plate, trying to hold back my tears. I need to go somewhere where I can cry my eyes out.
“Yeah, your daddy told me about your new career. Do you really want to do hair for the rest of your life?” I know she doesn’t see the pride in my chosen profession for the time being, because she believes academics are the answer to everything, but this time I can’t agree.
“I’m only sixteen and I like doing hair.” Now my appetite’s completely gone. I can’t help but feel attacked on a personal level whenever someone demeans our profession. Doing hair is in my blood and it’s a gift, not a curse like she’s making it out to be. Faye’s always hated on any job that doesn’t require a college degree. My daddy doesn’t have a degree, but she’s working on that, too.
“I know that, but Jayd, you could be tutoring or working at a library or something other than just doing hair. You have a sharp head and you should use that to get you through.” That’s the one thing about Faye I don’t get. She’s so smart in one way but clueless when it comes to our cultural heritage, and I think my dad loves her for that the most. Rah texts me right before I’m able to comment back to Faye and it’s perfect timing. I don’t want to take out my anger on her.
“I’ll think about that,” I say, placing my plate on the counter while everyone else files into the kitchen, ready to get their grub on. I think if I skip out now it won’t be so bad.
What’s up with you? I’m about to take Rahima back to my house. Need a ride? Holla back at your boy.
“Yes Jayd, I think you should seriously consider it. There are plenty of part-time jobs at the college I work at. You should drop by one day and let me introduce you to some of my coworkers.” Ignoring my stepmother completely, I reply back to Rah in record time. I need to get out of here before I say something I truly regret and I’m not trying to hurt anyone’s feelings today.
Yes, please come follow me back to my mom’s first and then we can kick it. My dad bought me a car and I doubt it’ll make it back to Inglewood. See y’all soon.
“Okay, we’ll make it a date,” I say, searching the drawers for aluminum foil. Faye is the queen of Costco and keeps the house stocked with anything needed in the kitchen and bathroom.
“Where are you rushing off to?” my daddy asks as Faye hands him his plate and a drink. “I knew I should’ve waited until after dinner to give you the car.” He’s right. Maybe I’d still have an appetite. Now I’ll have to wait until I vent to eat my dinner. Faye piles a plate full of cake and pie for me to take with me along with a bag full of her famous chocolate-chip cookies. If I could perfect this recipe and her sweet potato pie, I’d be a happy black girl.
“Rah’s going to check my car out for me and I need to get back. I have an early workday tomorrow,” I say, half telling the truth. I’m supposed to be at the shop tomorrow, but there’s no time attached to my commitment. Netta has clients coming as early as seven in the morning, but she knows she won’t be seeing me until much later. Me and Mickey’s shopping day will have to wait until Sunday because tomorrow I’m all about making my money.
“Rah,” Faye says loud enough for everyone to hear, including Nia, whose high-yellow face has just turned a shade of deep red. I know she’s hot that Rah and I have maintained our friendship in spite of her hating-ass tricks. But like the rabbit says, tricks are made for kids, and I’m growing up. I can only hope she’s doing the same.
“Yeah, Rah. You know he’s good at working on cars. He and Nigel would love a new project.” I know they’re going to clown my ride, but I’m willing to take that risk if it means they can make it look better and drive safer. When I drove it a few weeks back I was surprised it made it up the steep hills in Redondo Beach.
“But your brother and sister aren’t here yet. Don’t you want to see them?” Now, my daddy knows they’re notoriously late for family events if they show up at all.
“Tell them I said Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.” I take my pile of food, kiss my stepmother good-bye, and head for the back door. I have to wait for my daddy to move the five cars blocking me in, but I’m ready to go, and he gets the message loud and clear.
“Okay, baby. I know you can’t wait to show off your new ride,” he says, taking a quick bite from his plate before passing it back to Faye to cover up until he gets back in. She’s a good wife to put up with him and serve him like she does. Mama used to do that for Daddy, but he lost that privilege a long, long time ago. I’ll have to tell Mama about my day when she gets in from volunteering at the shelter later, if she’s not too tired. Otherwise I’ll catch up with her at Netta’s tomorrow. She has to drop off some hair products and I know she’ll want to take a look at my hoopty when she does.
“Thanks again, Daddy, and Merry Christmas, everyone,” I say to the whole lot of them without waiting for a reply. My dad’s busy collecting keys to reorganize the cars. At least when my brother and sister arrive they’ll have a good spot to park in.
Too bad I didn’t bring my iPod to roll with. Maybe it’s a good thing. I need to focus and get to know my car better. I also need to pay attention to the road and keep up with Rah, who arrives right on time.
“Hey, Mr. Jackson,” Rah says from his open window. I can se
e Rahima in the backseat, knocked out. I guess she had a busy day at his grandparents’ house. If I could go back to being two I’d do it in a heartbeat. She has no idea of the drama that swirls around her.
“Hey,” my daddy says back to him. He’s never liked Rah too much and the feeling between them is mutual. My daddy finally moves the last car out of my way. I wave to Rah and get in my car, fasten the seatbelt and say a quick prayer to Legba that I make it home safely. I start the engine, which takes a few seconds to turn over, and gently press the gas. The loud roar of the engine sounds like a fart and smells like one too.
“Are you sure this car is safe to drive?” I yell toward my daddy as he walks up the driveway, waiting for me to back out. He ignores my question and waves at me to get a move on. I know he wants to get back inside and rejoin the party and I just want to get a move on—period.
“I’ll see you later, baby, and be safe,” he says. I pull off and follow Rah. I can’t wait to get to his crib and shake this day off in a real way.
By the time we arrive at my mom’s house, my car’s hotter than a chili pepper. I knew this car was a piece of shit and should’ve told my daddy so right then and there. He’ll find some way to blame this on me and I’m not having it. I park the car in front of my mom’s apartment building, where Rah’s waiting patiently. If I’m lucky someone will jack this ride before sunrise. It’s covered by my daddy’s insurance until I get my own, so I’m not worried about the liability. I take my food out, slam the door, and hop in Rah’s Acura, ready for a smooth ride.
“Hey, baby. How was your day?” Rah asks, pulling away from the curb and off toward his house. All the buildings on the block are lit up with pretty lights, and people are still outside hanging. This is how Christmas is supposed to be.
