Pushin' (18 page)

“What's going on here?” my mom asks, walking into the dining room through the front door. “Oh, it came already? I wanted to be here for the delivery,” she says, closing the front door behind her. As usual, my mom looks stunning in a cream, off-the-shoulder jumpsuit with pumps to match. Her long ebony hair is flat-ironed and hanging down her back, her green eyes sparkling. The beauty of their older sister takes even my uncles aback. Let the hating officially begin.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” my uncle Junior says before retreating down into the den off the living room, which he and two of his brothers share. How Bryan, Jay, and Daddy ended up sharing the bedroom next to Mama's bedroom I don't know. But it just worked out like that.

“Well, hello to you, too,” my mom says after her brother. “Hey, y'all. Happy Mother's Day, Mama,” she says, walking over to Mama and hugging her tightly with flowers in her hand.

“You knew about this, Lynn Marie?” Mama asks, overwhelmed all over again by the surprise. Not much gets past Mama, but we got her good this time.

“Of course I knew about it. Who do you think helped pay for this thing?” My mom checks out her investment, winking at me in the process. “You did good, Jayd. I couldn't have picked out a better stove myself.” My mom can be cute when she wants to. She was up in my head the whole time I shopped for the damn thing, telling me what to look for and how much was too much, since she maxed out most of her credit cards. I gave her my half in cash and she charged the purchase so we could get it delivered on time. Having them hook it up and remove the old stove was a whole other issue, and expensive, but well worth every dime.

“My girls,” Mama says, taking both my mom and me in her arms, allowing her emotions to flow. Netta comes in from outside and joins in the hugging. My mom and I join in the tear fest, making the men in the room uncomfortable. My uncle Kurtis joins his brother in the den, bored with the love in the room.

“Well, let's see what this baby can do,” my uncle Bryan says, slapping his hands together and licking his lips like he's about to get something good to eat. But unless he's going to Wendy's or somewhere, he's in for a rude surprise.

“I'm serious, boy. There will be no cooking on my stove,” Mama says, releasing us from our group hug and smacking Bryan's hand. She emphasized the word
my
like it's a baby she just gave birth to. He'd better back up if he knows what's good for him.

“Lynn Mae, you can't be serious,” Daddy says, laughing at his wife, but she's not joking. He then looks at the dozen roses and card he bought Mama, sitting on the dining room table with all the other flowers and cards, suddenly feeling inadequate. It's not my fault he didn't hear Mama every time she asked for the same thing repeatedly. I don't know why Daddy didn't buy what Mama said she wanted. But maybe he'll listen more closely the next time Mama asks.

“The hell I'm not,” Mama says, staring at the stove. “I better not catch anyone using my stove, you hear? Or I'll never cook for any of you again—ever.” All the men laugh at first, knowing Mama makes that threat a few times every day. But it's apparent that Mama's very serious this time.

“All right, girls. Let's get to the spirit room. We have a lot of work to do,” Netta says, heading back outdoors. “The Mothers aren't going to feed themselves.” Netta's more excited about the festivities than Mama, who eyes her gift one last time before exiting the kitchen. I quickly grab my purse and Nickey's bag, following Mama out with my mom right behind us.

Most of the work we have to do is outside by the old fig tree. Mama consecrated that tree when she moved here over thirty years ago. Unfortunately, it sits in the corner of the yard that separates our house from Esmeralda's. I'm grateful for the back gate, even though it's in desperate need of repair. The bushes maintain some of our privacy, but Esmeralda can see everything from her back porch. I notice Misty and her mom also celebrating the day with their evil godmother. Lucky us.

“This is where we'll bury the baby's caul,” Mama says. “We'll also pray to the Mothers before finishing dinner.” My mom and I look at each other, acknowledging that we have a long afternoon ahead of us. My stomach begins to growl, signaling I should have eaten more than the bowl of cornflakes I had for breakfast.

Netta's already set up for the rituals. There's a white sheet spread out on the ground in front of the tree with several bowls of water, various herbs, and pictures of birds, the animal manifestation of the Mothers. Netta and Mama remove their shoes and step onto the sheet, each picking up a bowl of water. My mom and I remain on the grass, allowing Mama and Netta to do their thing.

“Our Mothers are often mistaken for being mean, taking life when necessary and wreaking havoc when the world is unbalanced. But the truth is, they are the balance,” Mama says, pouring the libation and officially beginning the ceremony of reverence.

“Oshune is over cool waters. Her children have a natural inclination to want to keep a cool head, even when things are very hot around them. This is also part of the balance,” Netta says, pouring the holy water on the ground. She then passes me the shovel to begin digging a spot for the caul. My mom picks up one of the other bowls and pours the water in the same spot, softening the earth, making it easier to dig.

“We, the Mothers' daughters, honor you on your day,” Mama says, she and Netta pouring the remaining water onto the base of the tree. She then claims the bag, praying over the baby's birth membrane. I keep digging, also praying for my goddaughter and her mother. I pray that Mickey's a good mother, unlike Sandy, and that she always puts Nickey first in her life. I also pray I'm the best friend and godmother I can be. I'll do anything for that little girl—spiritual or otherwise. We're getting her off to a great start by providing her with spiritual protection. It's up to her parents to give her the rest of the nourishment she needs, and I'll be there to fill in the gaps when they don't.

 

We had a beautiful afternoon, praying and singing outside. Each of us feels good about the work we're doing, and can't wait to reap the benefits. Mama and Netta have been cooking all day and the food's almost done.

“It's all about the balance,” Mama says, first pouring apple cider vinegar and then brown sugar into the greens, making my stomach growl. I'm so glad the Mothers like soul food. We get to enjoy the benefits of feeding them, too. “I say we bake the cornbread in my new oven, since this one is full,” Mama says, leading us out of the spirit room and toward the main house. “This way, ladies.”

We walk out of the stuffy house, grateful for the evening breeze.

“Is something burning?” my mom asks, smelling the same thing we all do in the warm air, and it's coming from Mama's kitchen.

Unable to run with the heavy skillet in her hands, Mama walks fast toward the back door.

“Who the hell already broke my damn stove?” Mama yells at the top of her lungs, which is very loud. Everyone stops and stares, afraid to breathe should she think it's an admission of guilt. I know Mama knows it wasn't me, but I'm still not stupid enough to let a peep out, either.

“Lynn Mae, let me take this out of your hands,” Netta says, stepping beside Mama and removing the unbaked bread from her friend's trembling hands. She sets it down on the kitchen table and puts her left arm around Mama's shoulders. Mama's crying, she's so mad. Like Mama said, you should never upset the Mothers and this one is very pissed off.

“Lynn Mae, what's all this fussing about?” Daddy asks, apparently unaware of the verbal memo circulating through the thick air. “I heard you yelling all the way down the street.”

“The brand new stove Jayd and little Lynn bought me for Mother's Day is burnt the hell up, that's what I'm fussing about, you jackass,” Mama says to Daddy, who is now sorry he said a word. When Mama's pissed, innocence is irrelevant and punishment swift. Daddy looks around the living room at his four sons, daughter, grandson, and granddaughter, all of us afraid to make the next move. Netta holds on to Mama tightly, lending her a calmness that only a true homegirl can bring.

“I'm a grown-ass man,” my uncle Kurtis says. “It was me.” Stupid is as stupid does, and saying that shit was his first mistake. “I forgot I was warming up some chili fries, and fell asleep.” My uncle Kurtis turns around and walks toward the den, apparently thinking he's going to be able to walk away from Mama unscathed. Like Daddy and my uncle Bryan and cousin Jay, I move out of the line of fire because I know something's about to fly through the air and hit my uncle Kurtis square in the head. Junior should consider moving in case of a ricochet effect, but he holds tight, posted up by the couch.

“I can't keep nothing in this house—not a damn thing!” Mama yells, taking off her sandal and throwing it at Kurtis like it's a hand grenade. Knowing the soft shoe didn't hurt, Mama claims a hard wooden brush from the coffee table and throws it at him, this time making an impact on his otherwise hard head.

“Damn, that shit hurt, man,” Kurtis says, rubbing the back of his head. He continues to take the single step down into the den and Mama's on him like a lion on a giraffe: The latter may be visibly larger, but everyone knows the lion will be the victor in the end.

“That's it! I've had it,” Mama says, hitting my uncle like he stole something. Daddy goes after Mama, pulling her off their son.

“She's crazy, man,” my uncle says, rubbing his sore head. Mama frees herself from Daddy and heads toward the kitchen. She opens the broom closet, which is anything but clean, and claims the old wood-and-straw tool like it's a weapon.

“I've been too damn nice about y'all trifling, grown-ass men living up in my house. I want you out in seven days, do you hear me? Out, out, out!” Mama wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and charges back outside, slamming the door shut behind her. This is the rawest I've ever seen her, and I've seen Mama get real hot in my day. I wonder if she'll really follow through with evicting her precious boys. With one of her sons dead and the other one willfully missing in action, these are her last four at home. She has a hard time letting go of her children and grandchildren, no matter how old they are.

“Daddy, she's talking crazy, right?” my uncle Kurtis asks, but even he knows once Mama has spoken, it's a wrap. The broom says it all.

In the spirit book it says that if someone sweeps a broom in your direction, you're cursed. There are also many other stories about ways to use brooms for protection and to make someone sick. Kurtis has to be out in seven days or Mama will have his ass in a sling—literally. It's a shame we went from enjoying a lovely afternoon to this mess. And because of my trifling uncle, I'm sure the evening is over, and on a sour note at that. I guess I'll take my dinner to go. I need to visit Mickey before it's too late, but I didn't want Mama's day to end like this. If I could kick Kurtis's ass myself, I would. But I'll have to trust in Mama's work to do the trick—it always does.

N
etta took Mama out for the rest of the evening and that's just what she needs: a break from the norm. Luckily the stove is under warranty. I'm not sure if it'll cover dumb-ass fools leaving the oven on, but we'll see. My mom promised to handle it and I'm grateful she's taken the responsibility off my shoulders. I have enough to do and I need to get some good sleep tonight after I come home from the hospital. Jeremy's meeting me at the apartment later. I'm sure he needs to wind down, too.

The traffic is light from Compton to West Los Angeles this evening. Mickey's flowers are slightly wilted from the long day, but will hopefully make her smile anyway. While stopped at a red light, my phone rings and I answer Rah's call.

“Hey, girl,” Rah says, sounding as tired as we all are. “If you haven't gone to the hospital yet, can you pick me up? I let Nigel take my car this morning because he left his car at the hospital when his father picked him up.” Why am I always Rah's go-to person?

“Rah, I told you I'm not falling for your bull anymore,” I say, watching the traffic turn in front of me. My light should be turning green soon. I have to hang up or risk getting a ticket for talking on my cell while driving.

“Jayd, this is the last time I'll ask you for anything, other than braiding my hair, I promise,” Rah says, making me smile. “I'm going to respect your space from now on, girl. You can trust me.” Rah may be telling the truth, but I'm a long way from trusting the brotha. I'll give him a ride only because Nigel's my friend and Rah is Nickey's godfather. We're in this together, whether I like it or not.

“I'll see you in ten minutes, Rah,” I say, making a left on La Cienega Boulevard. He's lucky I have to pass by his house to get to the hospital anyway.

When I pull up in Rah's driveway, Sandy's showing her ass, as usual. I guess Rah confronted Sandy about the visit from her parole officer and their fake engagement. It doesn't look like she's taking it so well. If I have to see Rah on a regular basis, this girl's got to go. I hope he's kicking her ass out once and for all, Mother's Day be damned.

“But where am I supposed to go?” Sandy screams after Rah, who greets me before passing me up on his way to his bedroom as I enter the front door. He gave his room to Sandy and Rahima and sleeps in his studio. “You know you can't be without your little girl.”

“She's not a carrot, Sandy. And you'd better enjoy her while you can, because the first chance I get I'm taking my daughter away from you,” Rah yells from his room. Frantically dialing his cell, he starts throwing Sandy's shit in the middle of the hallway on the floor. This is getting too ugly for me.

“You'll never have Rahima without me—never.” She walks to the back with a now frantic Rahima on her hip, screaming at the top of her lungs. Luckily Rah's little brother, Kamal, is at their grandparents' house and shielded from this bull. I wish I could say the same for their daughter.

“Rah, I have to go,” I say from the foyer. “I want to see the baby before visiting hours are over.” And I don't want to witness what I'm sure is going to be a beat-down on somebody's watch. Every time I come over here, there's drama. I can't wait until Sandy's finally out of our lives for good.

“Wait up, Jayd. I'm coming with you,” Rah says, throwing the last of Sandy's things out of his reclaimed room and locking the door behind him. “And so is Rahima.”

“The hell she is,” Sandy says, sorting through her strewn clothes like she's shopping at Goodwill for strippers. “You're not taking my daughter anywhere, especially not with that witch.” There's that word again, and on Mother's Day, too. Now the shit's personal. I've been too nice for too long with this heffa.

“You shouldn't throw around words like that haphazardly, Sandy. They may get you into more trouble than you bargained for.” Sandy straightens her five-eleven frame, finally letting Rahima off her hip. As her daughter runs toward her daddy, Sandy charges at me and I'm ready for the impact.

“You crazy bitch! I could mop the floor with your midget ass,” Sandy says, going for my hair, like most girls do in the heat of battle. She's lucky this isn't a Pam Grier movie. Otherwise Sandy's fingers would be bleeding profusely by now for snatching on my fresh do. But I've got something better for her ass—and a lot colder.

Sandy pulls my head back, forcing me to look at her wild ass. I stare at her hard and call off Rah with my right hand—he's about to snatch her up like the poisonous weed she is. Looking into Sandy's enraged eyes, I go full throttle on this broad's mind. I owe it to my first goddaughter to rid her of her unhealthy mother until Sandy gets her act together. That's the best Mother's Day present for us all.

“You will leave Rahima with her daddy and go get yourself some help. Now, Sandy,” I say. I hope her hot head responds to my persuasion quickly, because I don't know how much longer I can let her hold me like this without pimp-slapping her ass good, just out of reflex. Rah and Rahima stare at us, frozen in the moment like we all are. I can see Sandy's mind altering, bending to my rational thoughts as I repeat my wishes in her mind. She's a hot mess—literally. I feel sorry for her, but she needs to get the hell away from their daughter before it's too late. I already know what kind of havoc Sandy can wreak, and refuse to allow Rahima to be a victim of her mother's irrational behavior any longer. Much like Misty, Sandy doesn't know which way to go on her own.

Sandy releases her hold on my hair, still looking at me and I at her. She stands erect, now sure of what she needs to do, but I'm not letting go of her until she's actually out.

“I'm tired of this shit,” Sandy says, shaking her head and looking around, dazed and confused. One thing is perfectly clear: Her time living at Rah's has run out. “I'm going to stay with my grandparents.”

“Not with Rahima,” Rah says, picking up his daughter, who looks frightened by the scene. I'm sorry for my role in that, but I had no choice. “She's staying here with me.” Rah looks from Sandy to me, noticing something else is going on, but he's not sure what. It's none of Rah's business because I'm not doing this for him, Sandy, or myself. This is all about baby girl. I have a feeling I'll be doing this a lot for Nickey's parents, too. I might as well get my practice in now. Continuing the mental ass-kicking, I wait until Sandy's head is completely cool before easing up off of her.

“Fine, keep her,” Sandy says, letting go of me. “I'm tired of worrying about babysitting, food, diapers and shit anyway.” That's just what I wanted to hear. I let her eyes and mind go, allowing her to pick up her clothes from the hallway floor and pack the rest of her shit. I'll drive her ass to Pomona myself if I have to, as long as she doesn't come back to LA anytime soon. With her gone and Rahima in Rah's possession, he should be one step closer to gaining permanent custody of his daughter. I don't know if Sandy can keep her job, but I'm sure they have strip clubs by her grandparents' house, too. Rah looks stunned by Sandy's seemingly easy change of heart, but doesn't contest.

“Jayd, let's go,” Rah says, taking his daughter and leading the way out of the wrecked house. Rah certainly has his work cut out for him when he gets home. Between all of the mental work I did at the hospital last night and tapping into Sandy's mind, I'm feeling a little light-headed. Maybe a good night's rest will take care of it. I have too much to do to risk having a meltdown now.