19
The Family

I woke the morning after my encounter with Ernestina feeling like a prom queen who’d been sexually assaulted on the date and dropped off at the bus station. Memory of my moving to close the door draped in a towel and having capitalized on the opportunity to burst Natasha’s bubble; for which I realized she deserved an apology, was all I could recall of actions from the previous night, but nothing beyond that. When the radio alarm had blared at seven fifteen, I found myself half reclined on the eight decorative pillows at the head of my massive four-foot-high queen-sized bed. The towel lay in a small bundle on the floor beneath my feet. I remember thinking, Its a good thing there wasn’t a fire or anything that warranted an emergency evacuation during the night. Vivid images of Oz and Tony’s last day suddenly played, retracted, and replayed through my mind while I tried to muster the strength to get dressed.

I heard a solemn voice, “Damn, lost them both.”

Looking curiously around the room, it was quickly determined the voice I’d heard was my own. “I really need to get the hell up out this place,” I concluded. “This is the type shit that happens to asses just before they snap and kill up a bunch of folks for no real reason other than the fact they just felt like it.”

I was thinking how nice things were down in Georgia around that time of year when the phone intruded on my tranquil thoughts of livestock, sugarcane fields and small gardens you’d find at nearly every house outside the city limits. I took time to finish pulling my final pants leg over the shaft of the newly emancipated size twelve Tony Lama cowboy boots before meandering over to catch the phone on about the twelfth ring.

I answered in a careless tone to let the caller know I really didn’t feel all that chatty, “Yeah, what’s up?”

The unknown voice asked, “Who this?”

“Who the hell did you call?” I rebutted.

The caller identified in a harsh tone, questioning my motives, “Will, this Cherish, you always answer your damn phone like that? And why you don’t have a machine?”

Already annoyed at her, I refuted, “It’s my damn phone...and I’ll answer it however the hell I want...if I want.”

“Whew, sound like somebody got up on the wrong side of the bitchin bed this morning,” she sighed.

“Well, it’s my damn bed too. And, if you must know, I haven’t gotten up yet,” I complained. “What the hell do you want, anyway? You didn’t call me at 7:30 in the morning just to crawl up my ass, did you?”

Her bruised ego was accompanied by much attitude. “Well, Mom and Sam told me to call and find out what time you’s comin up this way. And I did kinda wanna see you before I go, but the hell wit it now. You got yo panties all in a wad ‘n shit,” she said.

In effort to get more clarification, I asked, “Before you go? Go where?”

She reasoned, “I’m going back home to LA. I can’t stay here forever. That’s why I left this joint in the first place. ‘Cause ain’t never shit to do.”

Nothing to do in New York City, go figure, I thought. But knowing her personality, I realized Cherish could be bored if she were a matadore in the middle of a bull fight.

Hurrying to get my keys, I asked, “What time does your flight leave? Maybe I can meet you at the airport to see you off.”

“At seven o’clock,” she said.

While double-checking the signature Movado timepiece, “Well, I could be wrong, but I think you’re a little late, sister,” I said. “You couldn’t make that one if you were already at the airport.”

“I meant six fifty-seven A.M.,” she corrected.

“That’s not any better,” I determined. “There definitely isn’t any point in even trying to catch that flight.”

“No, no, no,” she chanted. “I was tryin to tell you, tomorrow. My flight leaves at seven tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, damn; I thought you were talking about leaving today. If you don’t pull up until tomorrow, then we’ve got plenty of time. I’ll be up that way a good part of the morning,” I said, “…supposed to see your folks about something.”

Her tone quieted a bit. “So, you comin up here to see Mom and Sam today?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“But I’m interested in what you gonna be doin tonight,” Cherish hinted.

The little hell’s angel sat on my shoulder whispering instructions in my ear. “That all depends on the night,” I commented, with much insinuation. “Who knows, maybe I can drop you at the airport in the morning.”

Her response was laced with optimism, “That sounds a awful lot like a invitation to spend the night,” she said.

“You can call it whatever you want, but it’s either you spend the night here or grab a gypsy cab from there tomorrow,” I stated. “If I have to come pick you up in the morning, that means getting out around four-something to get you in Harlem, and then back over to the airport on time.”

“You mean, I ain’t worth the extra effort?” She questioned.

“I’m saying, you all right, but I still haven’t decided if I like you that much,” I said. “There’s no problem being up with you ‘til four in the morning if things turning up the way they’re supposed to be happening when things happening, but I’m not halfway trying to be out at four in the morning to come find your ass. You got me confused with some of those West Coast butt heads.”

Cherish interrupted, to more or less shut me up, “Okay Will, you can save the fifty-cent sermon. I got the point. I’ll have all my stuff t’gether when you get here.” Still not the least bit dissuaded, she asked, “How long you gonna be?”

Securing the second deadbolt, I responded as Natasha’s old man passed behind me in the hall, “I’m on my way out the building right now,” I said. “I should be up by you in about an hour to hour and a half…give or take a few.”

Uri ordered as I left my door, “You need speak.” It was difficult to understand his improvised English as he demanded while approaching me from behind, “You need speak, now!” I didn’t even realize he was talking to me until I turned around and got caught in a choke hold. “You hurt me Natasha? Her say you hurt she!”

My cell phone tumbled to the floor. “Man, what the hell has gotten into you? I haven’t even seen your girl.”

I first rotated to the left and then, strategically to the right in attempt to break his death grip on my jugular. As I turned to face him, my right arm extended and introduced his nose to the heel of an opened hand. His head flipped back like a Pez dispenser and he stumbled backward into the door of their apartment. Although I wasn’t fully aware of the reason for his assault, I had no intention of launching a formal inquiry while he was still functional. The door had broken his fall but positioned him perfectly for a barrage of jabs and a couple left hooks, when the commotion summoned a slew of onlookers from their apartments. They were content to only stand in the entrances of the respective safe havens and observe without interference.

One elderly neighbor shouted, “It’s ‘bout time somebody showed him how it feel to be smacked ‘round.”

“That’s what he get for always whupping his ole lady’s ass.” A comment came from another. “Now he’ll have a chance to see how she feels the day after having her damn head beat in.”

When I realized what was happening, my neighbor of three years lay motionless in the hallway with me standing above his limp lump. At the point I stopped pummeling Uri and stood fully erect, the nosey spectators disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, like fiddler crabs, back into their nests. As the heavy white oak-and-glass turn-of-the-century door swung open, I jerked around expecting an army of New York’s boys in blue to rush in and give me a taste of what I’d just served Uri. Instead, I saw Natasha standing, looking down at her life partner with a blank, emotionless stare before crossing the space that separated us. She gently reached up and rested a hand on my left shoulder for balance as the door was unlocked. My kept neighbor stepped over her motionless man, displayed a sultry smile, and disappeared into the dimly lighted space they shared. I reached down with blood-stained hands to retrieve my phone from against the wall where it had been inadvertently kicked during the ferocious exchange.

I stooped to pick up the cell, “Hello…hello, Cherish, you still there?”

She responded before probing, “Uh, yeah, I’m here Bill. What the hell just happened? What was all that noise?”

I replied in a somber tone, “Nothing, just something I had to take care of for my neighbor; been putting it off for a while.”

“Well, if you have something to do,” she started.

“Oh no…I’m finished. Tell Moms and Poppy I’m on my way up…in about an hour or so.”

Not content with the response, Cherish pressed, “You sure you okay Willie? That sounded like somebody was gettin they ass kicked.”

“Cher,” I said.

“Yeah, Bill,” she acknowledged.

I listed a matter-of-fact reply to signify the issue wasn’t open for discussion before simply ending the call, “Be there in about an hour.”

Leaving the building and proceeding down the steps out front rather hurriedly, in the event one of the neighbors had found their moral conscience and decided to call the police, I stumbled at the step next to the bottom. Instinctively, I looked back over my left shoulder to notice Natasha staring out their apartment window. She smiled a devilish grin and waved. I nodded without expression, then continued up the street, and over to my car. Not quite a block from where the Impala had been parked, I paused momentarily for a parade of five patrol cars with lights flashing, but no sirens, speeding off in the direction of my apartment building.

I guess this would be a good time to take a vacation, I resolved. The police passed so quickly the officers didn’t even notice me at the stop sign. Thoughts resurfaced about the recent situation at the city impound yard. I said aloud, to my imaginary passenger, “Probably looking for a Monte Carlo.”

At the passing of the patrol cars, I took time to search my music library and requested Miles Davis as copilot on the drive up to Harlem. While Miles did his thing from behind his horn, I handled my business from behind the wheel of the Chevy. We found our way over to the West Side Highway and up to 133rd Street in what seemed like record time. Parking in my usual place near the dumpster at the rear entrance of Mom’s and Poppy’s building, I saw Kenny, the usual security officer, climbing into his classic 1966 Ford Mustang. Damn, that means I’ll have to deal with that ass of a hole, John, came the impulsive thought. I spoke, as we passed each other, “What’s up Kenny?”

“How you doing Will?” He responded. “You might wanna raise your window, man. If you ain’t got sense ‘nough to lock the doors, ‘least let the windows up. Weather man said we s’posed to get some rain.”

“Well, it’ll just get a good rinse on the inside; the window got busted,” I explained. “I was going to ask you to keep an eye on it while I’m upstairs for a minute, but I see you’re cutting out early.”

Displaying an insincere frown, Kenny said, “Well, I would hang out a minute longer but I gotta get back home and set things up for my baby girl’s birthday party…got a buncha little knuckleheads coming over to tear up the place. Holla at John; he in there.”

Passing through the heavy door at the entrance, I couldn’t help but recall the first time I had the displeasure of making John’s acquaintance. The thought still brought an ugly snarl to my face.

I heard a voice echo from behind the counter, “How you doing man? Will, right?”

While crossing the small lobby, I replied, “What’s up?” Then heard, BBBBZZZ; the door’s buzzer sounded as I approached.

John was explaining to a kid that looked like he was barely old enough to drive, “Dude ain’t a tenant in the building but he be here on the regular. I think his folks live up on three or four.”

With a frown on his face, the new kid started to interject, “But the regulations say…”

John came to my defense, “Look man, rules ain’t all they is to a job; I’m telling you, dude all right,” and then called to my back as I rounded the corner, “Take it easy, Will.”

I echoed like sentiments, entering the long hall on the way to the elevators, “Make sure you do the same.”

A few short minutes later, I stepped off the mechanical carriage on the fourth floor to discover Moms peering out into the hall.

She yelled back into the apartment, “He ain’t made it yet,” before questioning Cherish, “What time it was when he rung ya from da Vil’age?”

Moms’ daughter yelled back from inside the apartment, “Oh come on, Mom. It ain’t like I was ridin the second hand on the damn clock.”

Eunice turned in the doorway to leave her back exposed while involved in an intense exchange with Cherish, “He say he comin straight ova?”

“Yeah Ma, or that’s what I think he said,” Cherish concluded. “He’ll be here ‘cause he s’posed to take me to the airport tomorrow.”

Eunice optimistically posed, “Oh, so he plan’n ta stay ova t’night?”

“No, Mom, I decided to stay over by him,” Cherish disclosed. “’Cause his place closer to the airport than here.”

“I’s figur’n he in da Vil’age,” Eunice poked. “Dat ain’t close ta L’Guardy Airpot.

Cherish insisted, “I ain’t flyin outta LaGuardia, Mom. You know I don’t like that place. I come in at JFK.”

At that very moment Eunice was so involved in discussion with Cherish she didn’t hear me sneak up behind her. I leaned over, clawed the back of her leg at the knee and yelled like a caged cougar. Eunice instinctively donkey kicked without ever looking back; catching me completely off guard and right between my legs. I fell to the floor like a ten-pound bag of potatoes and lay curled in a fetal position. “Ouuuch, damn!” I shouted.

“Oh Willie, I’s so sorry,” Eunice cried, and then scolded me, “And what ‘n hell ya doin sneekin up on folk like dat any ways! You gone be done mess ‘roun ‘n got yo fool self hurt.”

“I just did,” I grunted.

Moms continued chastising, “Ya’s s’posed ta call when ya git here, anyways.”

I spoke through the intense pain, “Well, that wouldn’t do much for a surprise now, would it?”

About then, Cherish appeared in the doorway, “Look to me like you the only one that got surprised, dude.”

Somewhat annoyed, I growled, “I oughta kick your…”

“What you oughtta do is get yo butt up outta that nasty-ass floor,” she suggested.

Genuinely concerned, Eunice chimed in, “A’ight, both o’ ya, dat’s ‘nough…Cherish, git o’er dere ‘n helps da boy up!” She ordered.

Moms’ daughter was still laughing at the thought, “Why I gotta help him up? You the one kicked him in his...thang.”

I heard Poppy’s roar, “What da hell all dat noise out dere?” He questioned, “Can’t a man git no sleep in his own damn house?”

The plop-shih of Sam’s house slippers could be heard from inside the apartment as he made his way from their bedroom. He materialized at the table in the dining area wearing the trademark knee-length Bermuda shorts and a button-down pajama shirt that was never buttoned, exposing what looked like the skeletal remains of a pigeon, he referred to as his queen’s playground.

Eunice lashed him for his choice of attire, “Sam, why ya don’t go git sum damn clothes on?”

“Oh, don’t be modest, Mama. Dem sum big kids. Dey knows you’s da reason da shirt comin off in da first place,” he joked. “You’n tells ‘em how I a’tacked ya in da room ‘fore ya climbt outta bed dis morn’n.”

“Dat’s why you’s jest wakin up, ‘cause yo old ass can’t do what ya used ta,” Moms said.

Not to be outdone, Sam quickly retaliated with an impish grin while tapping his wife on her sizeable ass, “Well, I maybe not can’t does likes I used to, but what’s I does, I does it right mama,” he said.

“Yeah, ‘n den pass da hell out!” she debated.

I commented to intrude on their moment, “Did the two of you forget about the injured out here?”

Cherish retorted, “You’ll be all right,” before offering, “Just let me make you comfortable and take a look at your little boo boo. You want me to kiss it and make it better?”

Eunice was red with embarrassment. “Okay Cherish, dat’s ‘nough o’ dat kinda talk now. We is still yo par’ents.”

I gave Cherish a look that effectively conveyed my message and whispered, “We’ll have to talk about you kissing the boo boo a little later. You did still want me to drop you at the airport tomorrow, right?”

“Eunice,” Sam pretended to yell, “We’s gonna have ta sep’rate ‘em, dey in here skeemin up some’n.”

Cherish’s tone was a little too serious for comfort, “Aaugh old man, it ain’t like it’s nothin you ain’t never done, wit yo old perverted ass.”

“I don’t knows what da hell you’s talk’n. If Ida knowed what a r’sults was gone be when I met her, I ne’er woulda let yo ma takes off her damn clothes,” he said. “She a’ready had six o’ you muthas when we met...’n den I fucked ‘round ‘n finds two mo o’ ya li’l crumb-snatchers.”

Sensing an all out war, I cut in, “Okay kids, that’s enough of the swordplay. There was supposed to be a reason I came to Harlem this morning.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “Now dat ya mentions it, dey’s a whole lotta ‘splainin you’s s’pose ta be do’n. I wanna know ‘bout all dis gangsta ‘n killin ‘n shit been go’n on in da news.”

Eunice said, coming to my defense, “I done telled ya he ain’t no gangsta and he ain’t done no killin, likes he tells me. Tell ’em, Willie…likes ya telled me.”

I was searching for the right words, “Well, no Moms. I’m no gangster and I didn’t kill that man like the news said,” I told her. “But, I have been involved in a lot of shi…stuff the past couple years. A guy by the name of Oz…well Oswald…that’s his real name.”

Cherish started to interrupt, “That’s the nig…”

Eunice shouted a stern warning to cut her off, “Cherish…!” She yelled. “Ya knows we ain’t gots no use fo dat kinda talk.”

Cherish continued, “I mean, the dude they found in your ride couple days ago, ain’t it?” She asked. “…Say they found him dead in yo shit.”

I was questioning myself as to how any of their kids could be openly profane in the presence of Sam and Eunice but were not allowed to utter the infamous N-word without the risk of suffering dire consequences.

“Well, Will?” Cherish insisted.

“What Cherish?” I asked.

She specified, “The news said ole boy name was Oswald Jenkins,” before asking, “But ain’t that the dude I hear you be talkin ‘bout lotta the time name Oz?”

I answered, “Yeah, that’s right, but I didn’t kill him,” I reiterated.

Driving home her point, Cherish recalled, “But he was in your ride…and he is dead.”

Thinking of the outcome, “We’ve established that, but I didn’t kill him. Tony and I, that’s the other person who was in the car, we were just trying to get Oz to the hospital.” I spoke with my head lowered, “And I would’ve made it, if not for the damn police.”

Cherish continued her role as commentator, “The other dude was Anthony. They say he had a heart attack when he fell out the car at the scene.”

I snapped; turning in her direction, “The hell they say; he didn’t fall. That’s a bold-faced lie,” I said. “Those crooked sons of bitches beat his ass. They killed him right across from where I was standing. The bastards killed him on purpose.”

Sam chimed in to offer his words of wisdom, “See, dat’s why I be tellin dem kids like Junior; don’t be stand’n ‘round bullshit’n in da stowes ‘cause dem folks don’t be wont’n us in dese places no how. If’n he ain’t mo careful, dey gone have his li’l ass downtown ‘bout dat same shit.”

“Poppy, I don’t mean to make light of Junior’s deal, but his stuff doesn’t even register on the same scale as…well, it won’t matter. Life is what it is,” I said.

Sam input, “So, all o’ dis time we thankin you’s tryin ta get out ta Hollywood ‘n you’s hang’n out in Hellywood,” before reasoning, “Ya out der wit all dem li’l devlish muthas; but from da sound o’ thangs, dey ain’t actin. Now, I don’t needs none o’ dat foolishness up in here.”

I made my best effort at trying to reassure him, “Its all right Poppy. I got it,” I said.

Sam stepped slowly toward me and moved so close his head was practically resting on my shoulder while attempting to whisper, “I means, ain’t no pro’lem wit me takin care o’ myself,” he said, “But ya knows I’s gotta be doin alls I can ta make sho my queen gots nothin ta wor’y ‘bout. Now, if’n I gots ta be wor’ied ‘bout ya comin ‘round ‘n keepin huh all both’red ‘n shit…”

My tone came across a bit more insistent, “Like I said Poppy, I got it. There has never been a time you and Moms were ever at risk. You know me better than that.”

He responded, “Alls I knows is, she ain’t real comfable wit all ‘dis crazy stuff been goin on wit ya in da news ‘bout killin folk ‘n bein in da jailhouse. It make huh real nerv’ous like.” The expression on his face softened a bit as he lowered his gaze. “It ain’t gots nothin ta do wit who I thanks ya is…ya knows you’s a’ight wit us…but I can’t be havin dis kinda thang gettin Mama all shook up. She be wory’in ‘bout ya. I seen huh mo upset o’er past few days dan I e’er seen huh both’red o’er any huh own flesh ‘n blood. I ain’t ne’er wanna tells ya dat ya can’t be here, but I can’t…”

I cut in to avoid the need for him to finish the sentence, “You don’t have to Poppy…it’s understood.”

I realized he was having a more difficult time trying to say it than I was trying to imagine how things in New York would be without the family I had come to know and love. At that point, there was nothing more that could be said.

I then asked Cherish while staring at my adopted father, “You about ready to go?”

Knowing he was still the point of my focus, Sam never lifted his eyes, “Y’all young’ons be careful out der now, ya hear?”

Even though I’d heard the same words from him a number of times before, there was something that sounded different about the way he said it. This time, it came across as being so final. I extended my right hand and, without uttering a word, we shook to confirm the unspoken, but understood, agreement prior to Poppy retreating to the safety of his bedroom. I found Moms in her comfortable place at the counter near the kitchen sink and gave her a brief but sincere hug before turning toward the door.

“Cherish, where you put your bags?”

She responded in a way that spoke of her not fully understanding the situation, “They back there in the room at the end of the hall, your old room,” she said.

Moms made her way from in front of the stove, “Ya ain’t leavin, is ya Willie?” And followed me halfway down the hall, “But ya jest gettin here. I thought we’s gone have dinner. Ain’t ya hongry none a’tall?”

Sam appeared in the hallway and stepped in front of his wife, “Eunice, lets da boy go. He gots bidness ta tend,” he said.

The disappointment in her voice took front position, “But I’s fixin da food fo us all ta eat…’n he jest come a minute a’go. Where ya gotta be gettin off ta in sech a hurry? Cherish, where is you makin ‘em take you?” She accused.

Their daughter turned to her mom with a look of disgust, “Why it’s always gotta be my fault?” Cherish protested. “I can’t make him do nothing… Hell, he a grown ass man!”

I spoke up from the back bedroom, coming to Cherish’s defense, “It’s not that, Moms. There’s stuff I have to do before I leave.”

Eunice yelled from their bedroom, “Oh, is ya go’in ta Californy wit Cherish? Cherish, ya ain’t tells me dat.”

“Because I didn’t know my damn self,” Cherish said.

“No Moms, I ain’t... I’m not going to California with Cherish,” I explained. “Just figured maybe this would be a good time to drive down to Georgia and see my folks.”

“Well, what ‘n da world fo?” Eunice whined. “We said somethin ta make ya wanna leave?”

Sam spoke up, “Dammit woman, ‘cause dey’s his real mama and daddy; dat’s why. Since when man gotta have a freakin reason ta go see his folks? ’Cause dat’s where he come from.”

Scowling in Poppy’s direction, I addressed the comment to my overly sensitive Moms, “No ma’am, you guys didn’t do anything to make me want to leave. I’ll just give New York’s finest something else to think about while they try to figure out where I went…and how,” I said.

“Now don’t ya go’s gettin yo’self in no troubles,” Poppy input. “Ya knows dey done teld ya not ta be leave’n town. Dem folk be watchin ya like da damn Chinaman watches ya in his jewry stowes. Now don’t be givin whitey no ‘scuse…”

I interrupted, “Like I said, Poppy…I got this.” And then, turning my attention toward the front of the apartment, I spoke a little louder, “Cherish! You want to help a slightly disabled brother out?”

She called back, “What you mean disabled? Ain’t nothin wrong wit yo legs.”

In the most sincere tone I could fake, I said, “I’m serious. I took a shot to my leg earlier.”

I ain’t see you limpin when you come through…” she debated my claim, “You took a shot when…to which leg? Look ta me like you’s walkin jest…”

I cut her off, “It was the third one,” I laughed. “The one I might need you to take a look at later.”

Poppy called from their bedroom, “Y’all mus thank we’s stupid,” he said. “We might be old, but we’s a long way from be’n dead; I keeps tellin ya.”

Moms chimed in, “A’ight Cherish,” she said. “We is still yo parents.”

Coming down the hall to grab the smaller of the two suitcases, Cherish commented as she rolled it past her parents’ bedroom, “Come on Will; you gone be done got me in trouble.”

Knowing their daughter, Eunice spoke up, “He ain’t able ta getchu in no mo troubles dan ya wanna gets in.”

“All right, Mom, don’t start your…” Cherish began.

I intruded, “Cherish, they is still yo parents!” I said, mocking Sam and Eunice, before saluting them, “Later Moms…Poppy. Come on, Cherish, let’s get you out of here and on your way back to L.A.!”

We rode the elevator to the basement in total silence and proceeded out the building to my ride. I don’t know what was on Cherish’s mind but I was still in the car with Oz and Tony two days earlier, feeling the warmth of Oz’s blood and noticing the temperature change from warm life to dead cold; seeing every blow the cops had delivered to Tony’s already helpless body even after he fell, lifeless, to the concrete.

“A heart attack, they said. Yeah right; I got yo heart attack,” I mumbled.

“What’d you say?” Cherish questioned.

At the realization of not being alone with my thoughts, I asked, “Do what?”

“You said something. I didn’t hear you,” she persisted.

“Oh, it was nothing,” I explained. “I was just talking to myself.”

“Will?” She asked.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I responded.

Cherish said, “I got a question,” then paused, prolonging the assault.

“Okay. Are you going to spit it out, or choke on it?”

Capitalizing on the opportunity to take a stab at me, she questioned, “I’m just curious, what you could possibly tell yourself you don’t already know?”

Without responding, I cut my eyes at her and turned up the volume on the CD player to the point she couldn’t hear herself think.