travis said it was gonna be nasty. my mama said it was gonna be rough.
i walked up the ramp heading to the doors expecting to see a huge room all full of white--white walls, white roses, white floor except for a red velvet carpet paving the aisle between rows and rows of white chairs--and everybody cloaked in black from head to toe, all wailing, screeching at the tops of their lungs, spilling over the sides of chairs onto the floor, struggling in slow motion to make it to the white casket holding uncle bobby at the front of the room. i braced myself for uncomfort and tears upon tears upon tears; for black veils and an unconsolable widow, arms pinned by now-fatherless children barely together themselves. a slow haunting organ playing by itself in the corner. it was all waiting behind the doors to the back entrance to Perryman's Mortuary.
the mortuary is right around the corner from my house, right at the corner of 35th and broadway. ive always wondered about it. perryman's face was always on the back of the posterboard fans laid out for us on the back pews at church and his face was always on at least one billboard in the west end. i thought he was famous when i was younger. today was the first time i saw him face to face, heard his voice. i remember that its distinctive enough to remember, a kind that ive never heard before, but somehow i managed to forget it. he's short, not much taller than me, and cockeyed. he seemed to me a very serious but bumbling man, and the interior of the building seemed to support that assessment.
it looked just like a regular sized house transformed into a viewing area. rooms that would normally contain a living room suite, a kitchenette, twin beds, and coffee tables were filled instead with chairs, arrangements made of aged synthetic flowers clinging to fading floral wallpaper, a small organ that i instinctively knew hasnt worked in years. a business desk, a file cabinet. the rooms were all titled, all named after people i assume were important to perryman in life, but now are dead. it felt as if the very bodies of those people were cradled somehow inside the wood molding beneath their names, all looking down, watching us move. it was creepy, for lack of a better word. still, it had all the familiarity of a regular house.
the room was gaudy. it was full of the frilly treasures cherished by people taught by life to find the beauty in absolutely everything, no matter how showy or over-the-top--a plastic pink and gold tissue box, empty on the inside, bogged by dust on the outside. ornate mirrors meant to reflect only the head and shoulders but much too big to do only that, shaped like stars and churches with frosted flowers in the corners. and porcelain. lots and lots of porcelain. a white porcelain angel and candle holder, both wreathed with dusty burgundy synthetic flowers. a row of what appeared to be crude replicas of middle aged houses. porcelain statues of something or the other--peacocks or angels or bibles--with painted on ribbons and a final mother-of-pearlish looking gloss. cheap trinkets. the room was cluttered with them. i sat uncomfortably trying not to notice.
im getting ahead of myself.
before i sat, i walked through the doors after kissing some cousins hello. it was just my mother and i. i wore a black sweater, way too hot for today's weather, gray slacks, and grown up pointy-toed high-heeled shoes. i imagined that i had the sort of appearance that makes long-lost family members look at someone and shake their head in disbelief, at how adult and graceful and sophisticated they've become. it was the shoes. i felt like a different person, very outside myself.
i looked nice, though.
i followed behind my mother, stepping carefully so as not to fall--the carpet didnt agree too well with my heels--and waved at family as we walked up to the front of the room there uncle bobby lay. neither i nor my mother walked up to stand near him and gaze at him as you're supposed to do at funerals. i stood behind my mother as she signed our names in the visitor's book and glanced quickly at him. in death, as in life, he resembled a black version of colonel sanders (the kentucky fried chicken guy). he balded in that same sort of pattern. his hair, mustache, and beard were all a shock of unruly white rough-feeling cotton. he walked with a cane like the colonel. i imagined that it too laid in the coffin next to him. his skin was ashen. very dead looking. for black people, that's always the give away; as older women in huge sunday hats and visiting church members stand by caskets and talk about how 'laaaaaaaaawd, it look like he layin there sleep, dont it?' the skin of a dead black person is always there to undermind their observation. he was his normal color, it seemed, only duller and dusted with flour. i looked long enough to see the crack between the closed lids of his right eye. then i turned away to face the row of widow and daughters and sons behind me.
i kissed cousin dewayne. i kissed cousin dorothy. she told me how pretty i looked and i smiled and thanked her. then i came to aunt tennie and she leaned over to the woman sitting next to her, whom i didnt recognize, and whispered meaning for me to hear,
'and here comes the bad one, right there.'
i got dramatic and bugged my eyes and let my jaw hit my chest. 'aunt tennie!!!' she laughed. 'im not bad on sundays!!' i leaned in to kiss her. her cheek was soft; it didnt have the feeling of having been cascaded by tears and rubbed raw by anxious palms and kleenex. she didn't cry the whole time my mother and i were there.
no one did, in fact. well, except my mother.
we went to sit next to morgan, one of uncle bobby & tennie's sons, and his daughters and neice. the girls seemed oblivious to their dead grandfather lying just beyond their view. they chattered and laughed and danced around and carried on as if they were on a playground. i held two conflicting thoughts concerning them: my initial thought was it must be nice to not be touched by the reality check death brings, the heart-stopping shock of a reminder that our next step is promised to no one and that at any time we can be less one person we'd die for.
my next thought was that if they didnt sit they lil asses down and show some respect i was gon snatch them up myself since daddy/uncle morgan wasnt doin nothin.
but then i realized that he was tired. his daughters laughing was the least of his problems right then. still, he held up well and didn't cry. he didn't seem to show any emotion at all; he just sort of sat and looked tired, which leads those who see him into thinking that he must have been down a pretty rough road to get there.
in the middle of all their chatter and my cousin morgan's weak, friendly smiles at incoming visitors, i glanced at my mother and noticed her nose was read. i looked quickly away and quickly back and saw her eyes rimming with tears. its a funny thing, when my mother cries. she never does so comfortably. she always does so with her back locked in whatever position she was in at the onset of the little sting u get in ur tearducts when u feel the tears coming forth, and she appears to be holding her breath, trying to keep everything from spilling out, and she frowns and looks like she's simply waiting out a passing pain, an excrutiating one. and it always passes. she never looks for any arms to collapse into or any shoulder to soak w/ her tears. i resolved not to pity her and offer mine. i gave her a few squares of the tissue i had in my purse (yes, i carried a purse) and patted her leg a few times. then she was fine.
as we sat, i didn't exactly know what to do. i was cordial and receptive and welcoming to everyone. i kept my smile quick and my face soft for visitors and family members passing through the area. when no one was around to talk to, i obsessed over rememberin the names of all the flowers i saw in the room. roses. carnations. irises. baby's breath, lots of baby's breath (baby's breath for the dead.. rather poetic, no?). i grew anxious when i saw flowers and couldn't put names to them. the longer i stared at the stalk of white flowers that almost looked like snapdragons but clearly werent, the harder i imagined grains of time grinding into my fingers as it ran out of my hands. i dont have time to forget flowers. i have to remember them all, gotta learn as many as i can while im still here. what is that? spikey petals.. i know i know what it is, ive seen it before. think think think think.. shit, what *is* it? i wonder if uncle bobby knew what it is. i hope so. it 's too late now.
finally i remembered that it was a kind of dhalia. i felt a little better. never did place that stalk of almost-snap dragons, though.
as we sat, a man with a walker entered the room, but it was the funniest thing--he didn't seem to need it. he was speeding around, movin faster than anyone else in there. he was short, very slim, and had a face that was both very old and very young at the same time. he first wheeled over to the casket and looked at uncle bobby. then he came back to where my mother, cousin morgan, his girls, and i were sitting. he looked each of us in the eye as he spoke, very bold and serious without being intimidating.
'Patterson,' he said loudly. he then said how he knew uncle bobby but i didn't hear him. morgan later told us that he grew up with uncle bobby, knew him since they were children. 'Hazard, Kentucky.' he drove a long way to be there that day. i decided to like him then. he shook each of our hands; very, very firm shake (i am always impressed with firm handshakes), but they were soft and wet with moisture, probably from the vicegrip he had on the handles of his walker. morgan then took him over to introduce him to aunt tennie and dorothy. i was impressed with him. i probably wouldn't have done anything but signed the book and spoke to those i knew; i definitely woulnd't have gone alone if i knew i wldn't know anybody there. but he was bold, and on his way back out he said to morgan,
'your father was a great, marvelous man.'
thank you for saying that, morgan smiled back.
'no, i mean that, i wouldnt have said it if it wasnt true.' morgan spoke with him with a constant smile. mr. patterson never did, he kept an intense, serious stare fixated on morgan.
well of course he was, he was my daddy! he laughed.
'nope. that's not why he was a great man. you know why he was a great man? cause he was a servant of the lord.'
if that conversation would have been muted, i would have figured mr. patterson to be mean with no softness about him at all, but we all knew better. i would have liked to have spent some time talking with him but he left soon after he entered.
everyone else fussed over my hair and told me how pretty i was, so much so that i felt a little uncomfortabe and was very aware of my shoes. i blamed them but i knew better; they always do that lately. i smiled and blushed and finally noticed that no one seemed sad except my mother for a few moments. murrell jr. seemed very somber. he didn't speak much to me; he's usually very interested in my schooling when i see him @ the family reunion. and at funerals, of course. they're the two things that bring all of us together. he seemed to be ignoring everyone.
the wake will likely be sunday evening, funeral on monday.
fam's holding up well.
we'll miss ya, old man.
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i get closer & closer to sayin screw columbia and declaring temple my school every day for lotsa reasons. im not happy w/ the way they deal w/ their applicants, which has me thinkin it cld be a possible forebearer of things to come. so.. it just may come to that.
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today my granny burnt fishsticks in the microwave. she wrapped frozen ones in a papertowel and microwaved them until the paper towel caught on fire.
yesterday was like a dark comedy full of dramatics and overacting. it was sincerely wild. i took the bus home today cause it was a nice day. when i get in, my mama's car wasnt there. she'd got off early to take the girls--my two neices and their little cousin--out for some fun. my granny lets me in, looks out the door and says 'mmph, you just beat your mother.' my mama and the girls were back.
i get in my mama's room and hear my mother yelling--YELLING--top of her lungs, im-gonna-bust-your-ass type yelling at andrea, tiara's little sister. my first thought: she and tiara got in another fight. but soon tiara came into the room with me and said hello, so she was only yelling at andrea. i mean yelling fierce style.
'what were you thinking, young lady?! don't you understand that that is not acceptable?? huh? ANSWER ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!!'
andrea yells back 'YOU SPITTIN ON ME!!'
my mother: IM GONNA DO A LOT MORE TO YOUR LIL ASS IF YOU DON'T ANSWER ME!! i admit, i laughed here.
anyway, my eyes are huge. she stops yelling at her but then tiara starts crying. i guess she sensed that my moms was on her way into the room
'and don't think you're not in any trouble young lady!!!' she shouts to tiara and tiara sputters out a high-pitched whine of an explanation that my mother ignores. their little cousin is obviously not a part of whatever happened and is flitting around the house, not afraid, spectating but stepping very carefully.
i high-tail it upstairs. as she was yelling i heard something about a boy being in their house while no one was home and decided i didnt want any part of it this time.
backtrack: my neices are at home for a couple of hours after school until their mother and stepfather get off of work. they dont come down to my house with my granny because she and tiara don get along alone and its too much drama. there's a big group of kids that hang around the girls. some of them are boys who have crushes on them and are aaaaaalways around. one time tiara supposedly had one of the boys in the house. i think it was innocent, but there was huge fallout over that.
this time, i think tiara let the same boy in to see the puppies one of their dogs just had. again, innocent, but wrong because she knew better.
so anyway, im in my room trying to avoid everything but they were so loud. at one point everybody downstairs is screaming at someone else, except the little cousin.
andrea: SHE DID IT TOO, SHE'S LYIN!!
tiara: NO IM NOT LYIN!!
my mama: BOTH OF YOU, SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!!
my granny: WELL I DONT THANK YOU SHOULD BE YELLIN IN THAT CHILD LIKE THAT--
my mama: MAMA, STAY OUT OF THIS, PLEASE, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S GOIN ON HERE!!!
later it was just my mother and andrea screaming. my mother, in a very scathing, accusing voice hissed the word 'liar' at andrea repeatedly, which infuriated her.
'IM NOT LYIN!!' she screamed. 'IM NOT LYIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' (note: she only gets this upset when she's caught lying.) she soon started yelling for her daddy. why, i dont know. its not like he'd be more accepting of her letting a boy in the house when she's not supposed to.
lmao i guess you had to be here but i found it hilarious. i was like oh laaaawd i HAVE to get outta this house-- so i change clothes and grab a book and head to the front porch. i got there to find my granny sitting on the top step looking at pieces of mail from the day's run. she immediately leaned over and tried to get the scoop from me. i held up my hand and laughed
'now, mama,' i said, 'i dont want noooooo part of this. i dont think either of us do, so i dont even wanna talka bout it.' she laughed.
'well i dont know what's goin on'
'me either, let's hope it stays that way.'
she was quiet a moment.
'is it about them boys?'
i held up my hand again. momentary silence.
'i try to keep a look out but of course you caint see what's--'
'mama--'
we went on like that for a few minutes. i thought i was safe on the porch but soon after, tiara and my mother come outside. she sits tiara in the chair.
'..this has already happened once before, tiara, that child is not the kind of company you need to keep! he knows he's not supposed to be over there! he knows you cant have company or be outside when your mother's not home! he knows that and it gets you in trouble! stay. away. from. him. do you understand me?' she sobbed in agreement. 'and if i ever catch that lil nigger around here or around there again i swear to go ill stick my foot square up his black ass and i just might stick it up yours too!!'
my granny giggled. so did i.
around this time their mother and stepfather pull up. the look on his face was absolutely priceless. he saw tiara on the porch crying and my mother's face beet-red with anger and was bewildered and concerned and skeptical and confused all at the same time. i wish i had a camera. i couldnt help but laugh. my mother sent tiara in to get the other two and they came slowly filing out of the house, andrea last. i was still sitting next to my granny, who was steadily leaning over trying to get information from me.
when andrea came out the door and walked past us down the steps, my grandmother said cheerfully, 'bye!' oh i bout died laughing. lmao i didnt know she could be so silly.
so. the car pulls off, tearful girls in tow, and my mother comes back up to the steps.
my granny asks her what happened- 'andrea is a damn little liar, that's what.' pause. 'that'll probably get her far in life.' we laughed.
my mother and i drove out to the river, intending to walk, but she stopped and got a beer at a gas station instead. we watched the water--it was high because of the rain--and she drank her beer and i read my book. she talked about the events of the day and i listened and laughed with her about things. it was fun.
on the way home, i tried to talk her into going to dairy queen to get some ice cream. she refused. we debated and finally ended up yelling our points. it went on until i yelled IM NOT LYIN! IM NOT LYIN!! mocking andrea. she lost it, lmao. we laughed til we cried, and then after that everything else made us laugh.
turns out that andrea was lying. she was the one who let the boy in, tiara ran him off, and the cousin saw everything and vouched for the truth. that's how we were certain andrea was lying. she's in trouble, tiara's fine.
for some reason all this was hilarious to me guess you hadda be there.
i was sittin here minding my cyber business when i looked and saw her old screenname log on. i couldnt click fast enough. first it said she wasn't available. i took a chance and sent an email to her screenname @ aol.com, just in case
Hi; I'm trying to get in contact with a young lady named Dallas. Some time ago, she gave me the aol instant messenger screen name 'ahdieah,' though I don't know that it was solely her account. I just saw the name log on to AIM and tried to send an instant message, but it didnt go through, so I figured I'd take a shot in the dark and send an email to this address.
My name is Tracy; Dallas and I went to high school together and I haven't heard from her since around October. Dallas, if you're reading this, or if the person reading this knows how to get in contact with her, please let me know!!! Email me at tracylc@gmail.com. Or, Dallas, if you're reading this, call me!! All the numbers are still the same :o)
Thanks, Tracy
the email came back. i frowned, but then i noticed the screenname log on again. i IM'd. it went through and we started talking.
TracimusLynnicus: dallas? AHDIEAH: yes TracimusLynnicus: !!!! TracimusLynnicus: giiiiiiiiiirl where have you been?! AHDIEAH: hello TracimusLynnicus: hi! AHDIEAH: just got to california a week ago TracimusLynnicus: whatchu doin back in california? AHDIEAH: me and tony moved here AHDIEAH: he got a good job here TracimusLynnicus: oh TracimusLynnicus: well that's good TracimusLynnicus: i cant believe you just disappeared! i been worried sick AHDIEAH: I was looking for you for a while but most of the time i knew you was at work TracimusLynnicus: you should have left a message for me somewhere! TracimusLynnicus: all my numbers are still the same TracimusLynnicus: what made you move back to california? i thought you hated it there AHDIEAH: what is the cell phone number because my cell died and that is where your number is TracimusLynnicus: (502) 314-9702 TracimusLynnicus: what's your number? ill call you one day soon TracimusLynnicus: i got free long distance AHDIEAH: I do. but like I said Tony got a good job here we couldn't afford to pass up TracimusLynnicus: i see TracimusLynnicus: i have like zero friends now TracimusLynnicus: they all married and holed up in their houses TracimusLynnicus: brittany just had a baby AHDIEAH: yeah we got free long distance too. I was the same way. TracimusLynnicus: she hadnt been comin around much anyway but now i never see her AHDIEAH: what a baby TracimusLynnicus: yup AHDIEAH: Girl I have no friends either. I used to work to much to go out. TracimusLynnicus: you should have found me!! AHDIEAH: plus i got tried of louisville TracimusLynnicus: well ill be moving soon myself AHDIEAH: where? TracimusLynnicus: either chicago or philadelphia. other than family there's not too much keeping me here AHDIEAH: there was nothing keeping me there. we are going to move back that way later and buy a house but I don't really want to go back to louisville TracimusLynnicus: i feel you AHDIEAH: thinking maryland TracimusLynnicus: i gotta say my feelings are hurt that you just bounced like that TracimusLynnicus: ive been worried AHDIEAH: I'm so sorry AHDIEAH: let me give you the numbers TracimusLynnicus: k AHDIEAH: 502-***-**** Tony's cell 714-***-**** Mom's house 562-***-**** Dad's house AHDIEAH: Soon we hope to have our own place AHDIEAH: Hopefully by this summer. AHDIEAH: I will send you a ticket TracimusLynnicus: good luck with that TracimusLynnicus: ha.. dont worry about it. im sure you'll have enough on your plate. TracimusLynnicus: which is the number to where you'll be staying at? is the cell the best way to get you? AHDIEAH: Well I have to go i will call you tonight. I will be at my dad's most of the time. Or call the cell AHDIEAH: But I will call you tonight TracimusLynnicus: kay TracimusLynnicus: talk to u later AHDIEAH: bye AHDIEAH: Ricky said you country TracimusLynnicus: ha.. tell him i said thank you AHDIEAH: My mom said hi TracimusLynnicus: tell her i said hey!:-) AHDIEAH: kay bye
abandoned again for some nigga who prolly dont give a shit about her. actually i was prepared for her to still be with him, the previously home incarcerated drug dealer who cares so much for her. i didnt expect her to be in california though. i mean, how do you move across the nation and not tell your best friend? how do you leave her sitting at home fretting month after month, worrying and wondering as to whether they got all the cancer out of her womb in that surgery you told her you had on the last day you saw her, which happened to be the first time you saw her in months even then?
i felt very betrayed and blue for awhile but it didnt stay long. those emotions soon blew on and cleared the sky for anger.
TracimusLynnicus: i feel like cryin yo TracimusLynnicus: lol Dave: you cussin her out for not stayin in contact? Dave: i should certainly hope so TracimusLynnicus: im walking the line between being very pissed and self-pitying and happy to see her TracimusLynnicus: talk to her rather Dave: id be cussin her out Dave: real nice like TracimusLynnicus: lol Dave: she explain why she hasnt called or availed her self to contact? TracimusLynnicus: hell fucking no TracimusLynnicus: her cell phone died and she lost my cell number. TracimusLynnicus: okay, but my home number has been the same for 23 years. TracimusLynnicus: im in the phone book TracimusLynnicus: she's always doin shit like that TracimusLynnicus: why my friends treat me this way, yo?? TracimusLynnicus: im happy to see her but i dont even feel like talking to her rightn ow Dave: werd
i wont answer the telephone when she calls.
i love all of my friends, i swear i do. but im starting to feel a little doormattish. i mean i can understand the thrill of having a boyfriend and moving in and bein in love and all that shit. but this in unacceptable. pushing someone out of your life completely, someone who's supposed to be your best friend, your sister, that shit is unacceptable--this goes for brittany and dallas--and im taking it personally. i still love her, i still love both of them. but its lookin like that love is just gonna have to travel the distances between us. im tired of putting myself out there. id rather move and find new friends than go through the pain and tears of trying to repair what's been broken in these corners.
ive always been like that. i recognize that its not the best trait to have, but that's me.
and wtf is she doing back in california?? the last time she was in california her mother flipped out on her several times and her daddy beat her like she was a damn man. she hates it there. but she's there because he got a good job. she's there because he wants to be there, its better for him. him him him himhimhimhimhimhim. since ive met her its boggled me that someone so strong could be so weak.
but i am not surprised. she's always been like this when it comes to men. i dont blame her for it. but then again i guess i sorta do.
i am thankful that she's still breathing, though. there were several times when i wasnt sure that that was the case.
after our trip to chicago, i used to think how fun it would be if brittany moved up there with me. after brittany was pretty much busy constructing her pretty little walls and i found dallas again, i told her repeatedly that she should move with me, to chicago or wherever i ended up. i wanted her to get away from the demons and things bothering her here.
and here i am now preparing myself to enter into a new sphere with no familiar faces from home, without the sisters i'd always prayed to have in my life since i was a little girl.
*shrugs* 2 tears in a bucket.
--- ps.
i finally got word from columbia. they got me on a waiting list. anything could open up for me b/t now and august.
temple needs to know by the 15th.
imagine how confused and frustrated and scared i am about all this.
the danger in loving a poet (why i cant write a poem for u)
the danger in loving a poet is that words are never promised they must be precise carefully carved w/ sharp tongue velvet-handled diamond-studded they must come storming into the world in pretty little whispers or they must not come at all they must cut and bury themselves inside the softest places and sweetly gnaw permanent homes for themselves else they are smothered by frustrated mouths devoured by merciful kisses
poets are prone to eating their sickly young and are never satisfied with 'i love you' so if a poet loves you how will you know?
sneak around corners and look for her sitting at her computer screen or hunched over the pages of a blank notebook crying & feigning allergy attacks b/c she doesnt want u to know listen for the rage in angry strokes of her rusty typewriter keys listen to her fingertips in the interim while u lay waiting for something to happen
when the words dont fit in her mouth anymore when those three words pucker her face til all her features huddle in one corner when they hurt her feelings cause they aren't whole enough to mean what she really means
when piece just dont end right no more when she cant seem to place the period...
its hard
u have to be smart loving poets to know that when she stops writing for u its just cause words arent good enough for u anymore
