Breathe

by Jessica Phoenix

  I realize now he did hear me. What I went through was beyond hard. Still is most days, but I believe now that I was set on this journey for a reason. As messed up as it was, without it, I wouldn’t have met one of the best men I’ve ever known; Sam. Or I wouldn’t have Darryl or Quinn. Even more tragic would be not knowing Nathan. I can’t imagine not having any of them in my life so if I had to endure what I did to get to them, it’s okay. I survived it to get to my people. My family. For that, I am so very thankful.

  “Heavenly father. We thank you for the food for which we’re about to receive and for the nourishment for which it provides to our bodies. Lord, we thank you for our family and our friends; both old and new. Most importantly, we thank you for your sacrifice. Your sacrifice and grace made it possible for us to be here today and we are more than grateful. We ask that you please forgive us our shortcomings and continue to bless us with life and love for each other. These things we ask in your name, Amen.”

  “Amen,” everyone says in unison.

  Everyone digs in. The large table is covered with seemingly every southern dish known to man. I’m talking homemade mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, fried chicken, collard greens, and cornbread just for starters. There’s also a variety of cakes and pies. It’s mouthwatering just looking at it.

  We eat until we damn near pop as conversation and laughs fill the air. Noah introduced everyone who hadn’t met me yet to his daughter. Some looked confused, but he didn’t elaborate leaving them hanging in suspense. I’m sure if they think hard enough, they can figure it out.

  The afternoon carried on and we end up at an old piano in the den. “This piano here was my father’s. It’s the only thing he left for us. The only gift the man ever gave us. The gift of music,” Noah explains with a faraway look in his eyes.

  “Did Camille play too?” I ask.

  “Not a lick,” he chuckles. “Played for two days before she quit. But she had the voice of an angel. I’m not lying when I say music runs through our veins. Your grandmother was a lounge singer you know,” he beams.

  “Really?” I smile, imagining a young Patrice on stage.

  “Oh yeah! That’s how she met my father. He was a piano player at the same club. He also played trumpet and trombone. He was a deadbeat father, but a talented one, none the less.”

  “That’s amazing. About the music. Not the deadbeat dad part,” I quickly correct. He chuckles and waves it off, already knowing what I meant.

  “Yeah well. None of us were as talented as you are though. You have something special.”

  “Stop it. You are an amazing producer and a music mogul. You’ve built an empire. I’m just a singing piano player that doesn’t enjoy singing half as much as I do playing,” I say, not entirely sure if that’s true anymore. Since I started singing at Ralph’s, I feel this joy every time I sing on that stage.

  “Either way, God gave you that gift for a reason. Don’t let it be for nothing.”

  He toys with the keys, and others begin to migrate over. Suddenly, Noah begins to play Ray Charles’ ‘Georgia on My Mind’ singing along, causing tears to attempt an escape from my eyes, but I hold them off…barely.

  I sit next to him on the bench, listening to my father sing to me. I’d often dreamed of one day meeting my father, hoping that if that day would ever come, he would love me, but this…this was otherworldly. Right now, I feel like a little girl mesmerized by her daddy instead of a twenty-three-year-old woman.

  When he finishes, he motions for me to take a turn. I almost say no until he starts bragging to the room about how talented his daughter is and was taught by the great Sam Harris. Apparently, everyone in this room, other than Quinn that is, is musically inclined or involved in the music business somehow and seem to know of Sam.

  Now, I’m on the spot, and I can’t let my father down. Or Sam even more so. I do want Noah’s approval and to make him proud, so I put my reservations to the side and take over where he just finished.

  I decide to break up the somber tone Noah evoked, but in keeping with the artist Ray Charles, I went with playing ‘Mess Around’ for an upbeat change of pace. Keith grabs our grandmothers’ hand and begins dancing with her. Her smile is so big and radiant, making my own grow by watching her.

  Soon and others joined have them, dancing and singing along.

  When the songs over, everyone’s laughing and clapping, begging for me to keep playing. I oblige and play a few more songs.

  When I’m done, many complimented Noah on having such an incredibly talented daughter making me blush as he thanks them. When I look at his face though, there’s a small hint of sadness there.

  “Are you okay?” I ask with concern once we’re off by ourselves.

  “Yeah. It’s just that you have this amazing gift. I feel guilty bragging about it now. I mean I didn’t have any part in helping you develop it. It feels like I’m taking credit for something I shouldn’t,” he says sadly.

  “You know Sam would always say to me, ‘Girl, you were born with music in your veins, you just didn’t know it.’ I used to think he was crazy. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. I mean, I knew I was a natural but musical DNA? Ludicrous right?” We both chuckle at that. “Well, I don’t think that anymore. In fact, he was obviously right. It’s in my blood, and the blood running through my veins is yours. So thank you for this gift…Dad.” I say that last part in a near whisper. I wanted to see how it felt to call him that. And it felt good.

  A lone tear falls his face, reaching his chin before he wipes it away. He throws his arm around my shoulder doing his best to keep composed in front of the prying eyes that keep wandering over to us.

  “You have to stop doing that,” Keith says rubbing his own eyes, while Ayana and Quinn ball like babies.

  Ugh! How am I going to deal with the two of them together on a regular basis?

  Despite their initial meeting, Quinn and Ayana are getting along surprisingly well. Which I’m happy about.

  We laugh, lightening the once again emotional mood.

  Chapter 29

  Gia

  “Thanks for inviting me for dinner grandma,” I say to Patrice. It’s been easy to slip into that grandmother-granddaughter role for us. From day one, she made it clear I was to address her as grandma, and nothing else would do. I was perfectly fine with that.

  The crowd has pretty well cleared out, so all who remain are me, Grandma, Noah, Keith, Ayana, and Quinn.

  “You don’t ever need an invitation to come by here, child. This is your home now. I love you, you know.” I smile as I take the final dish she passes for me to dry. I just nod bashfully, then we head back into the dining room to join the rest of the group.

  The conversation seems a little heated when we enter. Quinn looks like she’s about two seconds from throttling Keith. I’m very familiar with that emotion toward him already.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. My question is directed at Quinn.

  “Oh, nothing much. Your cousin’s a hypocritical racist is all,” she says causing my head to whip towards Keith while Ayana stifles a laugh.

  “That’s not true! How you gonna say I’m a racist?” he fires back at Quinn.

  “Just like this. Keith, you’re a racist!” Quinn says almost shouting at this point.

  Keith rolls his eyes at her then turns to look at his sister. “And what are you laughing at Yanni? You have said yourself, you hate when biracial women are used in the representation of black women.”

  “Keith!” Ayana yells with widened eyes.

  I don’t know how it started. However it doesn’t take me long to figure out where this conversation’s headed.

  “Maybe we should change the subject. Now.” Noah instructs looking pointedly at his nephew.

  “No, no. I want to hear what they have to say,” I interject. “So let me guess, you don’t consider us black so, therefore, the opinions of biracial individuals aren’t valid on African American issu
es,” I state having heard this same bullshit in the past.

  “Not entirely. No,” he says honestly.

  I nod my head taking in his skewed view on reality. “Ayana?”

  “I absolutely consider biracial people as African American, but they’re also Caucasian,” she says timidly.

  “So?” Quinn says. “And not all biracial people are half white fyi.”

  “You are,” Keith points at her and she snarls at him in return as Ayana continues. “It’s just that some of the issues that we encounter you may not fully understand. You may tend to empathize with your white side because of the love of your parent. And that’s totally understandable. As far as the representation, I just think it’d be nice if we saw women of darker complexions uplifted in the beauty industry.”

  “Darker complexions? Ayana, you literally wear the same shade of foundation as me,” Quinn scoffs.

  “Touché.”

  “And you don’t think dark skin women are being represented in beauty? I don’t fully agree. Do I feel in the past we black women are underrepresented? Yes. Absolutely. But I think this generation and social media has created a platform where women of ALL shades can be glorified right now. So that’s crap.”

  Quinn is clearly upset. This is an argument that’s raged on for who knows how long in our community. Ayana clearly bites her tongue. She obviously wants to say something more but thinks better of it.

  “I think it’s unfair to say it’s okay to exclude us from the discussions on race because we are mixed. And just because we have a white parent doesn’t mean we can’t decipher right from wrong. We can still relate to racism and exclusion, Kind of like what you’re sitting here trying to do right now,” Quinn fires off.

  “So, you seriously think that you and Ayana face the same scrutiny as a black woman?” Keith asks.

  “Again, I’m the same complexion as her. Most people don’t even know I’m biracial unless I tell them,” Quinn points out.

  “Okay then. Gia. How about you? You sit there all light bright and grey-eyed,” he turns to face me directly.

  “You mean the same grey eyes as you have? You’re unbelievable!” Quinn says in my defense.

  “And if you’re so pro-black,” he goes on ignoring Quinn, “why are you dating a white dude. Don’t get me wrong, he’s cool, but he’s still white.”

  “Who I date has what exactly to do with this?” I ask him.

  “Okay then, that aside, can you honestly say you feel you’ve been as discriminated against or overlooked by society as Ayana? Or even Quinn?”

  Humor dances in his eyes because he thinks he’s winning this argument. Why? Because in his eyes, my lighter complexion makes me immune to the same prejudices as them? That I didn’t struggle due to my race because of my skin? His ass couldn’t be more wrong. He has no idea what he’s talking about.

  “You need to shut up right now!” Quinn growls at him, growing angrier by the second. She’s almost foaming at the mouth, she’s so pissed. She now knows all about my history.

  I hold up a hand to let her know it’s okay and that I got this. She settles back in her chair, but her shoulders remain tense and I can tell her tongue is remaining coiled ready to strike at any given moment.

  Silence falls on the group as they all wait to see how I will respond.

  Well then. Here we go…

  I look directly at Keith when I finally say, “You want to know what makes me black? Other than the man that helped raise you and his DNA? How about the ones that did raise me? My mother’s side. Let’s talk about them, shall we? I was black enough for them. Too black in fact. So much so that they used my “blackness” as a way to taunt me every day. My own grandfather called me an abomination. Told me I was a disgrace to humanity and should have never been born.

  “He had many pet names for me too. I was the little monkey on a good day. His favorite was that oh so endearing “N” word. Or anything else degrading the old bastard could think of to spew at me. I was more than black enough for him.

  “This is the same family that constantly told me I didn’t belong because of my skin. You know, kind of like you’re doing right now making you not much better than them.” Taking a brief pause, I wipe my face on the backs of my hand. I hadn’t even realized I’d begun to cry. Nobody says a word.

  “I was only kept around to be used as a verbal punching bag. Or a literal one in the case of my mother. But you want to know makes me black? Maybe it’s the brother and sister that disowned me. Teased me about having a black father and my “nappy” hair as they called it. Repeatedly telling me nobody wanted me. Blaming me for their father leaving because he wasn’t going to raise a colored man’s baby.”

  “Or maybe, just maybe, it was my mothers’ brother. Guess I should’ve been glad his nicknames for me weren’t as cruel most of the time. Little black girl or the pretty colored girl. Yeah. Pretty colored girl was his favorite thing to call me when he was climbing in my bed to repeatedly molest or rape me, until I ran away at seventeen!”

  I see Noah’s head snap up in my direction out of the corner of my eye at that revelation, but I keep going.

  “I was the only black person in ALL of Hamilton. I was made fun of and excluded from literally everything as a child. I had no friends, no real family. No one stuck up for me. No one came to help me. I was all alone. Myself, a pen and a pad were literally all I had.

  “You think this is a joke? It’s not! You are not the authority on what’s black Keith. Not you or anyone else will be my judge of how black I’m allowed to be.

  “Now, I’m not so broken to think that all white people are the same. But going through what I have has made me relate more to my African American side, and that’s a side I’m proud to be a part of. You don’t know my story or anyone else’s for that matter. I think the world would be a much better place if everyone would just let people be who they are and mind their own fucking business.”

  Silence falls over the group once again. No one says a word.

  Ayana was wiping tears from her eyes. Patrice let her tears fall freely and makes no attempt to wipe them. It was if she was frozen in place.

  Regret crosses Keith’s face. His mouth opens and closes several times, but no words come out.

  Noah appears angry. He just keeps rubbing his hands over his face before the vase sitting on the table next to him becomes collateral damage of his rage, as it shatters against the taupe colored wall. It startles everyone. Still no one makes a peep — just more silence. Until finally Patrice reaches over to cup my cheek as she speaks.

  “Whites see you as black. And blacks say you’re not black enough.” She drops her hand from my face then turns to look at the rest of the room. “When does it stop? It’s not fair. We claim our mixed brothers and sisters when it’s convenient for us. Chastise when they don’t act “black enough”. Belittle when we feel they shouldn’t have a voice on our issues. When our issues are their issues too. Who is anyone to say what’s important to someone? It’s not anybody’s concern what people choose to identify with. Whether it’s one or both ethnicities, whatever they may be. It’s a part of them. You don’t know what an individual goes through to make them who you are. How dare anyone try to tell someone who they have to be? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Everyone lowers their eyes under the scrutiny of the scolding from our grandmother.

  “I’m sorry Quinn. I’m so very sorry Gia. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I had no idea you’d been through so much,” Keith finally manages to say.

  “Probably why you should learn to keep your mouth shut. Let’s go, Quinn.” Pushing my chair back, I stand from the table to leave. I’m too mad to accept his apology right now. I will eventually, just not this moment.

  I stop by my grandmother and plant a kiss to her cheek. She grabs my hand before telling me, “I love you, sweet girl. Come by here this week okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Noah appro
aches me and pulls me in for a hug. “I need to speak to you later too,” he says.

  “Okay dad,” I say even though I have no intentions of rehashing that again. I wouldn’t have done it now if I hadn’t been so pissed and let my emotions get the best of me. He plants a kiss to my forehead and reluctantly lets me go.

  Quinn and I make it to the car when we hear Noah screaming at the top of his lungs.

  We can’t make out what’s being said, but clearly he’s pissed. I’m not sure if he’s mad at Keith or my revelation about being raised by the woman he only thought he barely knew or a combination of both.

  Either way. I don’t care enough to stick around to find out. I’m way too exhausted.