Holidaze Page 5

  When I didn’t show up to class yesterday, Jeremy called to make sure I was okay. I told him I was fine, just feeling a little out of it and that I’d be back by Monday. I already requested today off because I knew Tre’s funeral would start in the early afternoon and I didn’t want to miss a single moment of it. Speaking of which, if I can’t drive myself to the church I don’t know who’s going to take me. I’m not talking to anyone who’ll be there, and I know Bryan’s not going. There’s too much gang activity on that side of the train tracks for him, and he’s grown out of that stupid shit, for real. Hopefully between now and the four hours before the service begins my eyes will be good enough to drive.

  Because my sight is almost at a hundred percent, Mama took the opportunity of having me home during a school day to give me an assignment. She made me read two chapters in the spirit book: one on the living dead and another one on the power of dreaming in our lineage. I learned that when I master my powers, in my dream state I should be able to see through my ancestors’ eyes, literally as them with their gifts, Mama’s included. Now that’s some powerful shit right there.

  “So, Queen Califia’s power of sight was her ability to see treasure buried deep in the earth, no matter where it was. No wonder she was so wealthy.” Califia was one of our ancestors—whom the golden State of California happens to be named after. Lexi looks up at me, yawns, and lays her head back down, ready for some more history.

  “And it says here that Maman could influence the body’s blood supply through her sight. No wonder she was a revered healer. Our powers are generational, sharpening with time and changing with every rebirth. That makes sense. I want to know more about Mama’s gift of sight.” I flip through the numerous pages of the heavy book to my mom’s notes on Mama, which aren’t as plentiful as the ones she and our ancestors kept. It’s usually the job of each generation to keep notes on the one before it, but my mom gave that up along with her lessons. I guess that’s my job now.

  “According to my mom’s notes, Mama can borrow anyone’s powers, even people outside of the lineage. Baller,” I say. Damn, this is getting good. I knew Mama was fierce, but I had no idea her game was this tight. “No offense, Lexi, but I wish Rah were here to talk to. I need some feedback, you feel me?” My phone vibrates and I look down to see the one name I’ve been waiting on to call all week long: Rah. Well, it’s about time he got one of my messages. If all I had to do was send it through psychic mail, he should’ve called days ago.

  “I thought you were dead,” I say, even if it’s not funny. Rah basically dropped off the face of the Earth, or at least it seems that way to me. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since we started talking again, and it doesn’t feel good.

  “Nah, I’m here. I wish someone weren’t, though.”

  “Don’t even play like that, Rah.”

  “You started it.” I guess I did. We both pause, unsure of what to say next. “Are you going to the memorial service this afternoon?” he asks, making the first move. I’m so glad to hear his voice I don’t even hear Mama come into the spirit room, and Lexi’s no help. She never gives away Mama’s position.

  “I was planning on it but I need a ride now.” Mama looks at me, quickly inspecting my eyes with her glowing ones before stepping back outside. I close the spirit book and slide it to the corner of the table. I readjust myself on the stool, because it looks like Mama’s coming right back.

  “I thought you were driving your mom’s car. Did it break down, too?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” I’m glad he’s concerned about a sistah’s transportation issues. I still feel bad that I let Sandy drive his Acura when he had offered it to me first. If I’d never let her borrow the car she would’ve never got her hands on Rah’s keys and made copies of them. But, like my vision, Sandy’s going to come back eventually, and when she does, her ass is mine. “Let’s just say my eyes aren’t working like they used to.”

  “Okay. I won’t even ask if this has something to do with you and Mama,” he says, already knowing the real deal. “You don’t sound like you’re at school; are you?” I look at the clock hanging on the yellow wall above the stove and can barely make out the numbers through the blur. I realize Rah’s calling me during a nutrition break. I like that our schools are on the same bell schedule.

  “No, I had to stay home today.”

  “Oh, well if you need a ride, I can pick you up. Why didn’t you call me if you needed me, girl?” He acts like we’ve been talking since Sandy stole his grandfather’s car and ran off with their daughter last weekend. Talk about selective amnesia.

  “I have been calling, or didn’t you get my messages?”

  “Jayd, I didn’t get a call about you being sick. I just needed time to cool off from the other shit, you know that.” Rah takes a deep breath and lets it out, forgiving me in the process. I already forgave him before he called.

  “Well, I need a ride. I’m in Compton. The service is going to be at my grandfather’s church.” Mama walks back into the cottage-like environment and rolls her eyes at the mention of Daddy. Why are they still married if they can’t stand each other? I hope I never have to deal with that type of drama.

  “Alright, bet. See you at two.”

  “Thank you, Rah. And it’s good to hear your voice.” I can hear his smile through the phone, but Mama’s glare tells me not to share that piece of information right now. Her body language reveals her impatience and I know it’s time for me to get off the phone and give her my undivided attention.

  “Jayd, tell Rah I said hi and bye. We have a lot of work to do to get you ready for Tre’s service,” Mama says, pulling back the white fabric and revealing the altar in the east corner of the room dedicated to the ancestors. Mama has several miniature shrines back here, instead of one joint shrine with shelves, like the one in her bedroom.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say into my cell. I begin to separate the fresh herbs Mama picked from the garden and placed on the table. She’s got thyme, basil, chamomile, rosemary, and more lavender. Whatever we’re about to make is going to smell good. She passes me an orange and a grater to make fresh peel to soak in the grapeseed oil she puts down in front of me. I could have gone to school if I knew I was going to have to do so much work today.

  “I know. Tell Mama I said hi,” Rah says.

  I hang up my pink phone and set it down on the table, away from Mama’s fresh ingredients, and start grating. I notice a tall bottle of gin on the counter next to the sink, which means we are feeding the ancestors this morning along with the rest of our duties. Mama always says a priestess’s work is never done, and I see what she means. From morning to night Mama’s doing something for someone. I don’t know how she keeps up with it all, but she does it like a pro.

  “So, what did you learn from your studies this morning? Have any new ideas on how to control your dreaming?” She takes the small pieces of orange peel and stuffs them into the oil vial. She then crushes a small amount of the lavender and places it in the same container before putting a cork in it. I follow suit with the remainder of the grated peel and share my thoughts.

  “I learned about the powers in our lineage and why they evolve like they do. I also learned that we need to keep better records around here because your stories and Maman’s stories are incomplete.” Mama smiles as she sits down on the other stool across from me. She carefully inspects the herbs and then passes them to me to wash in the sink. I rise from my seat and begin to rinse them off. “But really, I’m very interested in the different ways we’ve used and misused our gift of sight.”

  Mama takes what I’ve washed so far and puts it in a large marble mortar with a pestle to crush it. “Yes, go on,” she says.

  “I also read up on zombies. That was some strange and cruel stuff my great-grandfather’s folks were into.”

  “That’s why we don’t call on Jon Paul’s ancestors. It hurts me that my father was such an evil man, but truth is truth.” Mama shakes the excess water o
ff the remaining herbs and dries her hands on her apron.

  “Why did you have me read that?”

  Mama looks into my eyes, searching for the right words to say what she doesn’t want to. The fear in her eyes is all the validation I need: Misty’s trying to make me a zombie. Oh hell, no, this can’t be happening to me. I’ve got AP exams in a few months, not to mention all the money I’m missing out on by not working. I don’t have time to be someone’s personal pushpin doll.

  “Jayd, I don’t want to scare you, but you should know the truth. Esmeralda is trying to make you a zombie of sorts. She really just wants to control your dream state, therefore controlling your powers and stealing another one of my girls’ sight. And we’re not having that.” I hear Mama on that one. Williams women don’t go out like that—ever.

  Cortez tried to take Califia’s power, but her lineage still lives on through us. Maman lives on in my dreams and she’s like Wonder Woman with her shit. Mama’s, well, Mama. And my mom reclaimed her powers through mine. Now it’s up to me to keep my ancestors’ legacy alive and in our hands; not Esmeralda’s, or Misty’s either, for that matter. That trick has yet again picked the wrong clique to join.

  “No, we’re not. What do we need to do?” I ask. Mama cracks a slight smile at my enthusiasm to jump back in the ring after I was just down for the count. The sooner I get Misty off my back the better.

  “Well, it seems that Maman is the ancestor fighting for you this time around. In both of your sleepwalking incidents she was trying to get you out of harm’s way, and exiting through a door was the way you both got into and out of trouble. Transition has to be dealt with, and we need to go to the ancestors for that. They’ll tell us what to do next.”

  “Well, that explains a lot.” Maman is my joto, or sponsoring ancestor, in my lineage. Every baby born has an elder who made transition before his or her birth, and that ancestor is like a guardian angel for the baby’s lifetime. “Why do I need to keep taking these horse pills?” I ask as she hands me a tall glass of water to back them. “They don’t seem to be working at all. I’m still not dreaming like I usually do.”

  “On the contrary, Jayd,” Mama says, taking possession of the spirit book and the tall bottle of gin before rising from her seat to kneel before the small ancestor shrine. Lighting the white candles, she directs me to kneel beside her at the altar. “Your powers are growing stronger by the day. To fight off Iku, your powers will have to be as strong as they can become before your formal initiation.”

  “Iku. Did you say what I think you just said?” Mama looks at me and then up at the luminescent white altar. There are pictures of all the women in our family who’ve made the transition to the ancestor world with the inevitable help of Iku, or death, in Yoruba. He’s not someone you want walking with you until it’s definitely your time to leave this world as we know it.

  “Don’t worry about that now, baby,” Mama says, patting my hand like she would when as a child I’d go to the doctor to get a shot. She’d tell me not to worry about the pain when I’d ask her if it was going to hurt. “Just focus on channeling Maman’s strength and gift of sight through your dreams. That is, after all, the pinnacle of your powers once you reach them.”

  “But, did you just say that basically Esmeralda is trying to kill me and literally make me her zombie?” Mama looks at me and smiles at my simplification of a very serious process. From what I read, people usually get caught up in zombie world by crossing over a threshold where there’s a poisonous powder laid down for the victim to unknowingly step on. This powder works quickly once it comes into contact with the skin, causing the victim’s heart to stop and their body to be taken over.

  “Yes, but only in your sleep. Don’t worry, we’ll fix her.” Mama sounds very sure—but me, not so much. I was just blind for twenty-four hours and that was a little too close for my comfort.

  “Mama, I don’t want to die in any way, shape, or form. Besides, if I die in my sleep doesn’t that mean I’m dead in real life, too?” I remember Mama telling me when I was a little girl to wake up, every time I had this one recurring dream of falling off of a tall building. Mama would wake me up right before my head hit the pavement, warning me that if I didn’t, I would never see daylight again. From then on when I’d have that dream, I’d wake up at a certain point with Mama’s help.

  “There are different types of deaths, Jayd. Not all of them are tragic and not all are fair. But they all have one thing in common: they signify the end of one thing and the beginning of another. Sometimes it’s new and sometimes it’s old. I hope you don’t have to repeat the mistakes of our collective past. But if you do, it just means that it’s meant for you to learn your lesson in that way. In a lineage, you could have karmaic debts owed in past lives or the lives of your ancestors. It’s interesting to me how a lot of the mistakes Maman made, I also made, and still may be destined to make. And you and your mama may be, too.”

  “This isn’t making me feel any better.” Mama opens the bottle of gin and takes a glass of water off of the shrine.

  “What do you want me to say, Jayd? Yes, in most instances when you die in your dreams you die in this life, too. That’s why it’s vital that you learn how to control your dreams. Embrace your power, Jayd, and let your ancestors help you use them. Learn from their mistakes, as a witness rather than as a participant; and, more importantly, master the art of waking up.”

  We pour the libation to the ancestors, first giving them cold water and then gin while calling all the names in our lineage. We are going to need the collective power of our ashe to beat Esmeralda’s evil ass, and we’ve got the strength and wisdom to get the job done right. After our worship, we talk about Tre’s service and my taboos in dealing with Iku. Mama warns me to be careful of being around too much wailing and gossiping, because that could be a form of Iku and I need to stay as far away from death as possible while Esmeralda’s curse is in effect. She also advises me to honor the ancestors at the ceremony, especially those in our lineage.

  “Jayd, when your grandfather asks if anyone else would like to say a prayer on Tre’s behalf, I need for you to speak for the ancestors. Pour the libation for Tre, just like we do to our ancestors, no matter what anyone says.” Damn, why do I always have to be the one to stick out?

  “Yes, ma’am. I need to get dressed now if we’re finished,” I say, following Mama’s eyes to the clock on the wall. We’ve been in here for over two hours and a sistah’s got to eat before I get going. I also need to pack to go to my mom’s this weekend.

  “Yes, go ahead. And remember to wear mostly white, Jayd. Tell Rah I said thank you for taking care of you, too.” I’m glad at least one of my homies is hanging with me again. I know the entire neighborhood and my former crew will be out today, Misty included. It’s been nice not seeing the haters at school for the past two days, but hopefully they won’t make up for lost time this afternoon. All I can hope for is a peaceful going home for Tre, and for Misty to stay as far away from me as possible.

  When Rah and I arrive, the church is packed with friends, family, and others, here to say their good-byes. I was a little nervous about Rah being singled out for shooting back at Mickey’s man, whose bullet ended Tre’s life and got caught in Nigel’s shoulder. But since he wasn’t the one who killed Tre, no one’s really tripping off of Rah right now. Tre’s body is still being autopsied to help with the case against Mickey’s man, and then will be cremated, per his sisters’ wishes. I feel bad for Brandy and her unborn baby, who’ll never get to know its uncle. She and Tre were so close, unlike their older sister, who looks like she’s ready to go.

  “Where do you want to sit?” Rah asks, eyeing the pews in the quaint church. Most of the crowd is hanging outside, waiting for the service to begin.

  “This is fine.” We make our way into one of the pews closest to the front. My grandfather winks at me from the pulpit, where he and the other ministers are seated, waiting for the choir to begin. I love watching my grandfather preach becau
se he’s so enthusiastic when he talks about his faith. It’s the fanning hussies in the audience that keep me from coming here on a regular basis. I can’t cross enemy lines, or Mama would have my ass in a sling—literally.

  “All rise for the family,” Daddy says as Tre’s family makes their way down the aisle, followed by everyone else. I notice Misty, KJ, Mickey, and Nigel walk down the aisle and sit in the back. I wave at Nigel and he nods “what’s up” to me. He looks good, aside from the sling his arm is in. I wonder if his parents know he’s here. I guess if they did, Mickey wouldn’t be right behind him like she is now. This is going to be an interesting reunion for us all.

  “Lord, we gather here today to send this young brother home to you,” Daddy begins. With all of the wailing going on I can tell this is going to be a long afternoon.

  The services went on without too much drama. There was a brief moment of tension when Tre’s fellow gang members filed into the sanctuary like soldiers in an army, but Daddy’s used to presiding over funerals in the hood and knows they mean no harm. Everyone has a right to mourn. Daddy even allowed them to speak their peace, bringing everyone in the place to tears.

  “Would anyone else like to say a few words before we depart?” Daddy asks. I look around and see no one’s hands raised and figure there’s no time like the present to represent Mama.

  “I would, Daddy,” I say, taking the small Mason jar half full of water out of my purse and walking up to the altar where Tre’s picture is. The floral arrangement is stunning and provides the perfect place for me to pour the libation. When I reach the front of the main sanctuary, I begin pouring and praying, not worried about the many eyes on me, including Misty’s. She looks like she wants to kill me right here and now.

  “Omi tutu, ona tutu, ile tutu, tutu Laroye, tutu egun. Mo juba Queen Califia, mo juba Maman Marie, mo juba to all of the ancestors whose names are known and unknown, mo juba Trevon,” I say, reciting the prayers just like Mama would if she were here.