I watched Sierra’s brother as he turned on Fairley Road then I go toward our truck. There are still some cars on the parking lot. I imagine it’s full of happy parents coming to pick up their kids or some of them just left the game.
“There he is,” I hear my little sister shouting. “There’s Nyl,” she shouts again as I get closer to the truck.
“Hey, Pops. Hey, Nyla,” I say when I get in.
“Hello, son,” Pops said and we bumped fist.
When Pops spoke, I think I smelled liquor, and I gave my pops a strange look. Pops looks then reaches down on my side and picks up a small brown paper bag that probably had liquor in it; I can’t be sure. He puts the bag in the glove compartment. All of this because Momz died? Will he ever realize that he still has me and Nyla? Sometimes I think he just plain doesn’t care.
I know not to say anything out of line, or he’ll put his fist in my mouth. Ask me how I know, and I’ll tell you that it’s happened before a couple of times.
One thing I can say about Pops, is that when he does drink, he still pretty much acts like he’s sober. I’m glad the cops haven’t pulled him over for anything, because that would be another huge mess if he has an open bottle of liquor in the truck, or if they smelled alcohol on his breath.
“How was your game, son?” Pops asks when I get in the SUV.
“It was good.” I told him my stats for the night, which made him crack a smile. Pops had been my biggest supporter. He was like my coach and my mentor in the sport of basketball. He used to play on his high school varsity team. Pops even got a full basketball scholarship; that’s how he was able to go to Florida State University. Before Momz died, me and Pops used to spend a lot of time together. He taught me all about basketball, talked to me about girls, told me things that he said would help me be a better man as I grew up. Dang, I wish we had those days again.
“Did y’all win?”
“No, sir. We lost by two points. Coach said it was because we weren’t focused out on the court.”
“Guess what, Nyl?” Nyla tapped my shoulder from the back seat. She looked just like our Momz. Dark, thick hair, coffee-colored skin, and long eyelashes that covered her coal black eyes like a cape. It’s a good thing the natural look is in, because if it wasn’t for her wearing her hair in one big afro puff, sometimes two, she would look a hot mess, because me nor Pops knew anything about taking care of a girl’s hair.
It was easier for me and Pops to keep our hair together because he had clippers packed in the back of the Yukon with the rest of our belongings. We would find places with an electrical outlet, like a gas station rest room or a department store bathroom and he would cut our hair. I would give him a line and he would give me one. But Nyla, well Pops did the best he could to keep her together. He washed her hair whenever he could and every single day or night he made sure we stopped somewhere to wash up.
“What’s up, Nyla?”
“Guess what, Nyl. We had Popeye’s Chicken, and Daddy got some for you too. And then he stopped at the liquor store.”
Man, that was the best news I’d heard in a long time, but now I knew that it was liquor in that bag Pops moved.
“Stop talking so much. Do you have to tell everything? Girl, give your brother his food,” Pops ordered while he started driving off the parking lot. “I got paid today. I’m hoping I can get us an apartment in a few weeks, if this job goes permanent. I’ma try to get something out this way, close to yours and Nyla’s school. Fairley is a good school. I believe your mother would want you to stay here, if at all possible.”
I swear I could see tears in Pops’ eyes. It happened almost every time he talked about Momz. So why didn’t he just not talk about her or say her name? I don’t understand grownups at times. I miss her too, but Pops was the one who drilled in me that real men don’t cry, but I guess it was easy to say and harder to do.
Anyway, I practically snatched the bag of Popeye’s chicken from out of Nyla’s hands. I opened the bag and felt like one of those people who had just hit the lottery. I was grinning from ear to ear. Inside the Popeye’s box were two drumsticks, two thighs and two wings, a large fry, an order of red beans and rice and two biscuits!
“Thanks, Pops! This is right on time,” I said as I immediately began to devour the spicy chicken.
“Here’s your drink,” Nyla said and passed me a 32-ounce bottle of Peach soda, my favorite.
“Thanks. You already ate, right?” I asked my little sister. No way could I enjoy my food if I thought she was the least bit hungry, although I was praying that she was full.
She nodded. “I already ate, but I have some left. See,” she said and showed me her leftovers.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, I said to myself.
“Nyl, I’m proud of you. I wish I could have been at the game tonight, but after I got off work, I picked up your sister we rode around looking for some potential places to live. Me and her ate inside Popeye’s. Had us a little father-daughter time,” he said looking over his shoulder, he smiled back at Nyla. “Isn’t that right, Nyla?”
“Uh huh, and we had so much fun,” Nyla said.
I laughed while taking another huge bite of my juicy chicken and a spoonful of my red beans and rice. It was the best food I’d tasted in a long, long time.
We drove past Wal-Mart and I looked over at Pops. “We aren’t parking there tonight?” I asked as we kept driving, heading toward the interstate.
Pops shook his head as he drove. “I got us a room for the night at the Motel 8 over on Brooks.”
Boy was I glad to hear that. It was already freezing outside and sleeping in the Yukon, or any vehicle in the cold was horrific. The remainder of the ride was full of Nyla’s chit chat about school and her friends and her teacher and the field trip she needed money for by Thursday or she wouldn’t be able to go to the Orpheum to see some stupid ole play, at least it sounded stupid to me. I tuned her out and transferred my thoughts on Sierra, oh, and my Popeye’s chicken.