Holidaze Page 19

  “Now’s not a good time, Lynn Marie,” my father says, pulling his robe closed to hide his silk drawers. My mom looks around the kitchen and notices two wine glasses on the counter.

  “You’ve got somebody in here, for real?” my mom yells at him.

  “Lynn Marie, get out of my house,” he says, trying to block her from coming in.

  “Your house? Don’t you mean our house, or at least that’s what you said over the phone last night. Who’s the dumb bitch this time?” My mom charges out of the kitchen and through the dining room toward the living room. “You,” my mom says. It’s the same waitress from the Valentine’s Day drama I dreamt about, and the broad is still wearing the necklace he gave them both. Damn, she’s stupid.

  “Now that’s enough, Lynn Marie. It’s Thanksgiving, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you have somewhere to be?” My mom looks from my dad to his mistress, who is dressed in nothing but a robe matching my dad’s, and smiles sinisterly.

  “You know what? Since you’re stupid enough to go back to this fool even after you found out what a jackass he is, you deserve to be his wife. I’m over it.” My mom takes off her wedding rings and begins to hand them to the girl, who looks from my father to my mother in total shock.

  “You told me she moved out already,” the girl says, backing away from my mom’s advance. Smart move. “I can’t be around no voodoo witches.” My mom—like all Williams women—hates to be called a witch. One of our great ancestors, Tituba, was one of many African captives living in this country who were accused of being a witch, because she understood how nature works. She was eventually hung during the Salem witch trials, after her master’s children falsely accused her of practicing witchcraft. Needless to say, calling any priestess in our lineage a witch are fighting words.

  “I’m not a witch.” My mom’s green eyes begin to slightly glow and, catching the fire’s reflection, they look more fierce than usual.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” the lady cries, backing away from my mother’s gesture. My mom laughs at the trick’s reaction to her power and looks back at my father, who doesn’t know what to do. Unexpectedly, she tosses her wedding band and diamond engagement ring into the fireplace.

  “Are you crazy?” my father screams, pushing my mom onto the couch and almost stepping on his date to get to the fireplace. “Do you know how much those rings are worth?”

  “Go fish,” my mom says, rising from the couch and storming out of the house without getting what she came for. She doubles back, goes into the kitchen, and retrieves from the stovetop her cast-iron skillets that Mama gave her as a wedding present. My daddy reaches for her arm and she raises the two skillets up like swords. He backs off and she and my aunt Vivica get in the car and roll out.

  “Jayd,” I hear someone calling in my dream. It’s not my mom or Mama but it feels real, like when they’re here with me. “Kill her!” When I come into my next vision, I’m running from an angry mob, with Misty leading the way. Stones begin hitting me in the head and all over the rest of my body. I trip and fall into a deep pit and the crowd gathers around it, burying me in a storm of stones.

  “Wake up, Jayd. Now!” I hear my mom’s voice yell.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask aloud. I wake up alone in my mom’s apartment. That felt too real to be a dream, but at least I’m dreaming regularly again, or so it seems. I look at the clock on the wall and notice the time. It’s seven in the morning, which means I slept the entire night and stayed in place. I can’t wait to get to the shop and tell Mama and Netta about this latest blast from the past.

  11

  Dreaming Eyes

  “Me and those dreamin’ eyes of mine.”

  —D’ANGELO

  When I arrived at the shop this morning it was already packed with the Saturday regulars, including three of Ms. Netta’s nosiest clients. I’ve had to wait until the end of the day to get some feedback on my dream last night. We’re all tired, especially Netta. But she lives for hearing good stories and telling them, too.

  “Your mama was always good at throwing some shit in a fire. That girl never listened to anyone outside of her own head,” Netta says, refilling the shampoo and conditioner containers by the basin. Mama’s busy restocking the client boxes with personalized products while I sweep the floor. It was a great workday. I made enough tips to take care of my gas for the week and that’s always a plus.

  “That’s what happens when you don’t control your power, Jayd. It will take over and drive you mad if you let it. Then you’ll lose it completely.”

  “Anything else interesting you want to share?”

  I don’t know how to tell them about Mickey’s latest accusation without them judging her, but that’s not my problem.

  “Mickey thinks I’m trying to steal her man.”

  “Which one?” Netta asks. And that’s a very valid question when it comes to Mickey.

  “Nigel.” They both look at me in utter amazement. “I know it’s ridiculous, right?”

  “Girl, nothing about your little friends surprises me anymore.” Mama looks bored of my drama but I still need her advice. And while Netta’s touching up her hair from this week’s earlier do, now that she’s finished with her work for the shop, there’s nowhere Mama can go.

  “I’m not the one Mickey needs to worry about. His parents have recruited his ex-girlfriend Tasha to be his caretaker while he’s at home. And now that he’s back at school Mickey’s jealousy is in rare form. But the best part is that apparently he proposed to her, ring and all. And the last time I talked to Nigel he didn’t want anything to do with Mickey or her baby.” I continue my work while Netta puts the finishing touches on Mama’s hairstyle. Sitting in Netta’s chair is all the therapy Mama needs.

  “Has Mickey had any contact with Misty lately?” Mama looks like she’s thinking hard about something and I know it’s not what type of hairspray Netta’s spritzing all over her crown, because she made it herself.

  “Yeah. Apparently they’re hanging tight like glue these days. I must be in a dream world if the two of them are becoming best friends.” Mama yawns, indicating just how tired she really is. She should be, as hard as she’s been grinding lately.

  “Who’s at our door this time of evening?” Netta asks, responding to the ringing bell. We each look toward the glass window in the front of the store and see Nigel staring back at us. Netta buzzes the front door open, allowing my friend in.

  “Hey, Jayd, Mrs. James and Ms. Netta,” Nigel says, walking into the shop and surprising us all. What’s he doing on this side of town on the weekend?

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, giving him a hug. Netta pretends like she’s still doing Mama’s hair, but we all know she’s finished.

  “I need you to touch up a few of these braids before I go to this interview in the morning. I want to look my best,” Nigel says, taking a seat in the empty station next to Netta’s. There are three stylist stations in the shop and I hope one day I’ll get to put my stamp on one of them.

  “Interview for what?” I ask, getting fresh towels from the cabinet and draping them around Nigel’s clothes. His braids last a long time, but a few are a bit frayed. I can fix these in no time and still get out of here before it gets too late for me to enjoy what’s left of my Saturday night. Rah texted me earlier to see what I was up to, since his little brother, Kamal, and Rahima will be at his grandmother’s house for the night. But I haven’t had a moment to hit him back yet. I’ll get to it as soon as I put these braids in Nigel’s hair.

  “It’s with our pastor, about me and Mickey’s engagement. We’re both excited about it.” Mama and Netta no longer hide the fact that they’re actively listening to our conversation and tuned in for all of the details.

  “Really? Because when I talked to you last week you weren’t even sure if you wanted to claim her baby, let alone take on a marriage.” Now that I can get back in his head maybe I can get the truth out of him.

  “You were right to go off on me the o
ther day, Jayd. I need to do the right thing, and that’s marrying Mickey and making an honest woman out of her.”

  “All the Bibles in Compton couldn’t make that girl honest,” Netta says under her breath, breaking her and Mama’s quiet observing. Mama shoots Netta a look that shuts her up—for now. I unbraid a few of his cornrows and begin the process of putting them back in place.

  “I agree you need to do the right thing, but a few days ago your feet were as cold as a penguin’s toenails. What changed?” Nigel instinctively tilts his head to the right, already knowing I’m going to ask him to do that so I can get behind his ear. Nigel’s silent for a moment, trying to come up with a good answer. Or he doesn’t know the answer, which is my guess. And from the look on Mama’s face she’s thinking the same thing.

  “I wish I’d never been shot,” Nigel says solemnly. With my hands in his head, the night of the shooting comes back to the front of my thoughts. I continue manipulating the thick strands of his soft hair into precise braids, redefining the parts as I go.

  Mama catches my eye in the mirror, sharing the painful memory with me. Nigel’s completely unaware of the exchange going on in his own thoughts, but Mama’s working through me. As I braid, Mama weaves the thoughts floating in my mind. We both see the bullet exit Mickey’s man’s gun and enter Tre’s chest, then exit through his back before finally settling in Nigel’s shoulder.

  “Remove the cloud over his eyes, Jayd. If I can see it you can, too,” Mama says aloud. I can’t really tell if I’m dreaming or awake. And Netta combing Mama’s hair is no help. I feel hypnotized by her steady hand movements and by the unique comb reserved just for Mama’s hair.

  “What’s going on here?” Rah asks through the window, breaking up our session. “I’ve been knocking on the door for five minutes.” Netta buzzes Rah in, waking us all up. And we were so close to removing the veil over Nigel’s mind. Damn Rah and his bad timing.

  “What’s up, man?” Nigel says, but Rah doesn’t look pleased to see his boy.

  “What’s up is you and Jayd kicking it behind my back. What’s that all about?” Nigel looks up at Rah like he’s lost his mind. Now he knows how I feel about Mickey’s accusation.

  “Rah, why are you tripping? You see we’re handling business,” I say, massaging some of my special almond-oil blend into Nigel’s scalp before letting him up.

  “I’ve been texting you all afternoon, Jayd. That’s why I’m tripping.”

  “Well, you know where I am. No need to get pissed,” I say. Nigel looks at his reflection, obviously pleased with the results. He pulls out a twenty and drops it on the table before rising from the chair. He looks completely unfazed by Rah’s tone. I wish I could remain as cool as he is.

  “Thanks, girl. I look good,” Nigel says, giving me a hug and heading out the door. “I’ll holla at you after our meeting, Rah. Good night, Miss Netta, Mrs. James.”

  “Good night, Nigel,” they answer in unison. Netta buzzes the door for Nigel to leave and Rah’s apparently right behind him.

  “Rah, wait,” I say, following them out. Nigel hops into this green Impala, turns the music up and pulls out.

  “For what, Jayd? I was worried sick about you and you couldn’t even bother to return a message.” Rah paces back and forth while Mama and Netta look on. Why do we always have to go through some mess?

  “I think your own guilt has gotten the best of you.” The words fall from my lips and into Rah’s lap. He can deny it all he wants, but I know Rah too well to be falling for his games. Whenever he gets jealous it’s because he’s doing wrong, not me. And after last week’s disappearing act he’s got no room to talk.

  “I saw the way you two were looking at each other, Jayd. Don’t tell me it was nothing.” Rah unlocks the car door and gets inside, turning up his already loud music.

  “Rah, I was just braiding his hair. And yes, I was looking into his eyes but it’s not what you think.” Rah starts the engine, puts the car in gear and begins backing up while I’m still talking.

  “Whatever, Jayd. I’m out.” Oh no, he didn’t.

  “Rah, what the hell is wrong with you?” I look back into the shop at Mama and Netta shaking their heads in disbelief. What just happened here? I thought my life was difficult before. Now I long for the days of my unusual dreams and dramatic friends, minus Misty’s spell. This shit right here is too much for me.

  “Jayd, go back to your mother’s house and get some rest. You’re going to need it,” Mama says through the open screen door. She’s right. I need to sleep this madness off and start over again tomorrow. Maybe what just went down between Nigel, Rah, and me will make more sense in my head tomorrow morning. Whether I’m ready or not, I have clients all day tomorrow and need to be in the right frame of mind to get my work done.

  “Can you see her?” a voice asks in the distance. I can’t see anything and I know my eyes are open. Maybe I’m wearing a blindfold or something, but why? And who else is here with me?

  “Yes, I can see her,” the female voice says to who I assume is another woman standing closer to me. I reach my hands out in front of me and grasp nothing but air. “Did it work?”

  “I think so.” I feel hands moving fast in front of my face. It feels like someone’s in front of me, but I can’t see a thing. “She’s as blind as a bat during the day.” Blind? Oh hell, no. I don’t like this at all. We’ve done the blind thing once already. I can’t go back there again. Not being able to watch television, text, or drive was a living nightmare. If I didn’t value my sight before, I now know just how precious it is.

  “Good. We’ve got her sight. Now it’s time to finish her and her legacy off for good.” What do they mean, they’ve got my sight? And who the hell is that talking? These women feel too old to be Misty or Esmeralda, but they’re definitely related somehow. I can just feel it.

  “Ouch,” I say, burning myself with the hot tool in my hand. Was I dreaming while standing here? This is getting to be a bad habit. And I thought sleepwalking was cruel.

  “Jayd, what the hell did you do to my hair?” Shawntrese asks, shrieking at the clumps of hair in one of my hands and the running blow-dryer in the other. I must have dozed off while drying her fragile hair. Oh shit.

  “Oh no, Shawntrese. I’m so sorry.” After yesterday’s mind trip with Nigel I’ve been feeling off. When Shawntrese came over this morning I wasn’t ready to do her hair, but she insisted. I could just feel that something bad was going to happen and it did.

  “Sorry my ass, Jayd. Look at me!” She snatches the loose strands out of my hand and puts them in my face. I’ve never seen her this pissed and I don’t blame her.

  “You can’t work on stressed hair when you yourself are stressed. That’s like a sick doctor trying to heal people: not the best combination, little lady.”

  “Okay mom, I’ve got it.”

  “Do you really, because I don’t think you do. And wait until Mama finds out. She’s going to have a field day with this one,” she says, taunting me more like a big sister than a mom.

  “Jayd, what the hell are you going to do about this?” Shawntrese demands. I wish I knew.

  “There’s some of Mama’s hair-grow balm in the back of my medicine cabinet. Give it to Shawntrese and tell her to apply it three times a day. And make sure you put some on her scalp now so it can start working. Her new growth should be in by morning. I’m out.” Now that’s mother love.

  “I’ve got just the thing for you, girl. I’ll be right back,” I say as I go and retrieve the balm. “And the next time I tell you I can’t do your hair, please trust me.”

  “Next time? Girl, please. There won’t be a next time,” Shawntrese says, snatching the small jar out of my hand and walking toward the front door. Not her, too. I’m losing all of my friends and clientele at the same time. I think I’m going to be sick.

  “Shawntrese, I’m sorry. Please let me make this up to you. I can start by rubbing this in your hair.” I reach for the container but she pulls way from me
like I’ve got a contagious disease.

  “Jayd, ever since I found you outside with no shoes on when you were so-called babysitting, you’ve been acting strange. Get it together, girl.” Shawntrese opens the front door and walks across the hall to her apartment, slamming the door behind her. She’s right. I need to snap out of it, and soon.

  I didn’t sleep well at all last night. I tried calling Rah numerous times, but to no avail. I look around my mom’s empty apartment and can still smell the burning hair lingering in the space. I wish I could sleep the rest of the afternoon away, but I have to get back to Mama’s and prepare for school tomorrow. It’s already been an exciting weekend and it has definitely taken a toll on a sistah. When I get to Compton I’m going to take a bath, swallow my prescribed horse pills, and pray for a restful night’s sleep.

  “All hail, His Royal Highness, Ogunlabi Adewale the First, and Her Majesty, Queen Jayd,” the crowd says as they bow before our feet. Mr. Adewale is seated next to me on our thrones. We are outside in an open market type of environment and the sand is hot beneath our feet. We’re dressed in matching traditional West African royal garb. Our purple-and-white outfits are heavy and making me sweat but we still look damned good up here.

  “Let the bembe proceed,” one of the elders says in Yoruba officially starting the party for the orishas. I only know bits and pieces from our prayers, but for some reason I now understand the African language completely.

  “Jayd, did you hear me?” Mr. Adewale asks, handing me a stack of papers. I can only assume he wants me to hand them out, since I didn’t hear a word he just said. I’ve been in a daze all morning. I don’t even remember driving to school, let alone getting through my first three classes. By the time I got back to Compton last night and talked to Mama about my impromptu vision while doing Shawntrese’s hair, it was late. Mama made me take a cleansing bath and then straight to bed.