Fool, Stop Trippin'

by McKinney, Tina Brooks

  Fool, stop Trippin’

  ALSO BY TINA BROOKS MCKINNEY

  Lawd, Mo’ Drama

  All That Drama

  Strebor Books

  P.O. Box 6505

  Largo, MD 20792

  http://www.streborbooks.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author does not believe in or have any knowledge of Voodoo. This book is for entertainment purposes and not intended to discredit or ridicule the belief. Please do not try any of the spells listed in this book, as they are truly fictional.

  © 2007 by Tina Brooks McKinney

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-6569-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-6569-8

  LCCN 2007943465

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the readers who have supported

  my work and the new ones who stumble upon it.

  It’s not often that writers get the chance to says thanks,

  but I am. Thank you.

  Acknowledgments

  When I was reminded that I hadn’t turned in my acknowledgments for this book, I immediately panicked. Throughout the year, I have kept a running list of all the wonderful people who touched my life and helped me along in my career but when I looked for it, I could not find it. Drats! So, I’m starting from scratch under deadline and I pray that I don’t miss anyone but I know I shall. Please charge it to my head and not my heart. Nine times out of ten, you know how much you mean to me and don’t have to see it in print but…here goes.

  This book is dedicated to my husband, William McKinney. Without you in my corner, I don’t know where I would be. Your love and support mean the world to me. The little things you do show me how much you love me and I can’t thank you enough for being there. ’Cause at the end of each day, I need to see you. My children, Shannan and Estrell. I thank God for blessing me with two wonderful children. I am so proud of each of you. I wouldn’t change a hair on your heads. Estrell (E), your poetry is awesome. Continue shining your light for the world to catch up with you. Visit his site at www.simplyE.net to see why I’m especially proud.

  Ivor and Judy, it goes without saying that you both light up my life. When the world beats me up, I can always count on y’all to hug me through it. I love you both.

  Theresa Brooks, my sister, you have been beside me supporting me from the day I started to walk. Oh, wait a minute, I forgot that you tried to take me out every chance you got (LOL) but once you got over whipping my behind, your love has shone through. Thanks so much for all you’ve been doing to support me on this literary journey. I appreciated every postcard, flyer, website, every picture, the youtubes. Girl, you have mad talent and it’s my hope that people will see it and you the way I do. You can visit my sister who is my visionary. I tell her what I want and she makes it happen. www.preservinglastingmemories.com.

  Okay, this is the hard part. Listing my friends and literary associates because this is where I’m sure I’m going to screw up. To my childhood friends, Angie Simpson, Valerie Nixon and Andrea Tanner, I don’t care when I call, you always have a smile for me and a warm hug. It don’t matter if we haven’t spoken in months, we can pick up as if it were yesterday. How many people can proudly say they have friends since elementary school? I love you all. I also couldn’t forget to mention my second mothers Ernestine Tanner and Clemetine. My cousins, Donna, Tarcia and Laura.

  My Keough crew, Luana (I spelled it write), Tammy, Lessia, (if I spell this one wrong, I better not come back to Baltimore without a bodyguard), Wanda, Lois, Muriel, Donna Lee, April. Cheryl (Snoopy), Niecy, thanks for showing up and out for me and the continued support. Love ya’ll too. The Godsey family, Ms. Godsey, Leslie and Allison. Diane Turner and Regena Nash, thanks for being such longtime friends. I count myself lucky to have known you both.

  My reading supporters—Monique and David, Shontel, I’m about to butcher the rest of the family names so I’m going to say the whole family cause I done met them all and broke bread with them. Thanks for your support, not just of me, but the whole Strebor Family. Dee Ford, hurry up and have that baby so you can do some thangs. My road dawg, Tina Hayes, I just love you, girl. Thanks for hanging with me this year and many more to come. We’ve had a blast. Kathy Shewbart, I know we don’t see each other as much these days but you know I love you, girl. Your insight has been missed so I got to get you reading my next book with a quickness. Muriel Broomfield, Sam Willis, Mammie Ellis, and Maceo Hayward, my DeKalb County mouthpieces. Words can’t describe how you all touch my soul. Thank you. Ms. Margaret in Owings Mills, I didn’t forget you! Janice from RAW, what the hell is your last name? Well, you know who you are. You are a special lady but I’m sure everybody has told you that. I love ya. The twins from Karibu—ya’ll got me in trouble, LOL. Janet, where the heck you been, missy—I miss ya. Kim Floyd, Ro, Patrice, Paula Henderson, Dee-Dee, Donna Cager, Dionne McKenzie, Malcolm Craig Barnett, Donna Cooley, Angela Elam, Felicia Alston, Melonise Wheeler, Al House, Marvin Meadows, Stephanie Wilkerson, Yasmin Coleman and Lynell Washington for your edits on Fool.

  My Strebor Family—Allison Hobbs, thanks for the late-night talks and the laughs, I’d room with you any day; Rodney Lofton, my new baby brother; Harold Turley, minus the locks that I still haven’t seen; Nane Quartay (you keep me laughing), D.V. Bernard, William Fredrick Cooper, Rique Johnson (no socks), Lissa (Queen of Promotions) Woodson, Suzetta Perkins, Marsha Jenkins-Sanders (the praying one, bless your heart and thanks), Dywane Birch, man, I love you (Allison don’t get mad), Sonsyrea, Caleb, Jessica and the rest of the Strebor fam that I haven’t gotten to hang with YET, I love you all.

  My other writing friends, Kim Sims, Thomas Green, Gayle Sloan, all the writers in ASA, ya’ll know who you are; Sylvia Hubbard, Sybil Barkley, D.L. Sparks, J.D. Mason, SHELLEY HALIMA, my co-conspirator and sista friend; Kim Robinson, Vanessa Johnson, LA Banks, oh LAWD, I can’t do no mo.

  My groups, RAW4ALL and its founder, Tee C. Royal, Passion4reading, Sexyebonyreaders, APOOO, ASA, Between Friends, Queens Bookclub, and GAAL Bookclub. There are others but I’m getting tired now. Charge it to the head, not the heart, cause I am suffering from CRS—can’t remember shitz!

  My co-workers, Talisa Clark, Gaynell McMillian, Diane Mendez, Alita Bowman, Dawn Spivey, Wayne Albert, Canettra Petty, Hassibah, Lasonji Strickland, Princella White, Kelvin Walton.

  Special shouts and love to my girl Porcia Foxx—glad you are back at the V.

  To everyone else I didn’t mention, it’s not because you don’t have a special place in my heart; it is because I’ve run out of time to turn this in. Thanks for your support.

  Tarcia

  “I’m telling you, Tarcia, there is something evil at work here.”

  “What are you talking about, Lasonji?”

  “Can’t you feel it?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t feel shit.”

  “Well, I can. It’s like an omnipresence and it’s weighing down the very air we breathe.” She walks around the living room picking up my various knickknacks and dusting them off. I love my cousin dearly, but sometimes she gets on my last nerve. She is two years older than I am, but we are still thick as thieves. So when she called and said she needed a place to crash, I didn’t hesitate to open my humble abode to her.

  “Girl, I done told you I ain’t having any of that backwoods mumbo
jumbo in my house.”

  “I ain’t brought anything to your house, heifer; this shit was already here when I got here.”

  “So you say. Just don’t start practicing that shit up in here or I’ll have to ship your ass straight back to Louisiana.”

  “Now see, that’s some cold shit. I’m trying to help your foolish ass and you got threats.”

  “Not threats, promises. The first chicken bone I see lying around in a jar with dirt on it, I’m packing your shit and putting you the hell out.”

  Lasonji gives me a look and I cannot help but feel a tiny bit nervous. I don’t want to piss her off, but I refuse to go back to living in fear of the simplest things that she would construe as evil or vengeful spirits. I moved away from Louisiana when I was fifteen and it took me a long time to get that superstitious horseshit out my mind.

  “All I’m saying, Tarcia, it’s some strange shit going on here and you would be a fool not to keep an open mind and hear me out.”

  “Girl, I ain’t trying to hurt your feelings or anything but I don’t believe in that crap.” Lasonji bites her nails as her eyes dart from one corner of the room to the other. I can feel panic emanating from her skin, causing goosebumps to appear on my arms. This is just the type of shit I was worried about when I told her she could stay with me until she gets herself together.

  “One day you will learn to be careful about the things that slip out your mouth.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If you don’t know about something, you should keep your mouth shut, or you may bring unwanted events into your life.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You know exactly what you said and I’m not about to repeat it.”

  “Okay, whatever.” I pick up a magazine off the coffee table, pretending to read it. I flip through the pages, but the images don’t register. My mind skips back to those years spent in New Orleans when we had to sprinkle salt over our shoulders to keep the devil from riding our backs. I could almost feel the prickly points of its claws on the base of my neck. This type of shit chased me and Momma from home thirteen years ago. I feel like a teenage girl instead of a grown woman.

  “Tarcia?”

  Lasonji’s family has been practicing Voodoo ever since we were children. Mom and I were real careful about what we said around them as a result. As a child, they had me scared to voice my opinion, but I refuse to cow down in my own home.

  “Tarcia!”

  Even though I was still young, I felt relieved to be away from those old wives’ tales and the strict religious taboos we were forced to follow. It was harder on Momma because she had spent her entire life in Louisiana and old habits were hard to break. But she did the best she knew how to make a normal life for us in our new home, until the day she was run over by a bus on her way to work.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Huh?” I had blanked out and didn’t even know it.

  “I’m not asking you to believe in Voodoo, but how do you explain all the shit that keeps happening to you?”

  I don’t have an immediate answer, but I am unwilling to accept the paranormal as the reason.

  “What, cat got your tongue?”

  “I was just thinking; that’s all.”

  “Oh, okay. Think on, my sista.”

  When Lasonji goes into the kitchen, I can hear her making a cup of coffee. Even though I want one as well, I don’t want her messing with anything that I have to swallow. I chuckle at my foolishness and go into the kitchen to fix my own coffee.

  “I would have fixed you one too, if I had known you wanted some.”

  “That’s alright, girl. I like to do it myself. Most people make it too weak for me anyway. I want my spoon to stand up in the cup by itself.”

  “Oh, you like it strong, huh?”

  “Yeah, the thicker the better.” We sit at the table in an uncomfortable silence. I glance through the mail, which I had brought in with me earlier, while Lasonji watches the news. I had all but forgotten our conversation of a few minutes before.

  Tarcia

  “Girl, look at this; those rent-a-cops are using guns on folks like they asked for this shit to happen.” Lasonji is watching the evacuation of the flooded lowlands of the Big Easy.

  “Damn, this doesn’t make any sense. I heard on the news this morning that black folks were taking advantage of the situation by looting.”

  “That is not looting; it’s called survival. Tarcia, you have to see it to believe it. What else did they expect us to do when our own government left us to die?”

  “If it was a bunch of white people in those areas, they would have been flown out a week before the storm hit.”

  “I know that’s right. I’ll admit there may be a few folks wading down the street with TVs, but for the most part, people are trying to get something to barter with for food and water.”

  “Yeah. It didn’t have to come to this.” I could feel her pain.

  “You would not believe the conditions we were forced to stay in. I was fortunate, but my heart hurts ’cause those people are my family.” Pointing at the TV with one hand, Lasonji covers her heart with the other.

  “I know that’s right. They wait till folks are dying, then they want to talk and ask folks to be understanding.”

  “So folks take matters into their own hands and now they wanna shoot them and shit. Ain’t that a bitch?”

  “I don’t mean to sound racist but it’s a double standard. Had it been a white person looting the explanation would be different; they would have said they found a box of cornflakes floating down the street.”

  “With a gallon of milk, eggs, and some fresh fruit for dessert, and that would be okay.”

  “Right. What’s the damn difference? They knew those levees were not going to hold and they did nothing to help us.”

  “It’s almost like they wanted everyone to die.”

  “Naw, girl, not everyone,” Lasonji says. “Just the poor black folks who couldn’t afford to get out. They forget that it was those same poor black folks who built that city. Don’t you find it odd that most of those white communities were hardly affected by the hurricane? It’s almost like they planted a bomb and blew up the levees.”

  “I never thought of it that way. But now that you mention it, that idea fits this destruction better than a natural disaster. It didn’t have to be this bad; I blame that damn Bush. He could have made all the difference in the world.”

  “You ain’t even lied. If he had only cared enough about the black folks it would have made a world of a difference.”

  “I was so glad when you called me and told me you made it out. I just hope the rest of the family was as lucky.”

  “Yeah, me too. We tried to stick together, but it was impossible. They were yanking children from their parents’ arms and putting them on buses. This mess is going to take years to clean up.” Lasonji shakes her head sadly.

  “Damn, it’s going to take a whole lot of time and money. Look at that house, the only thing left is the roof.”

  “Girl, that’s my street, or it used to be.” Our eyes are glued to the grim pictures showing the devastation.

  “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “The blacks who do manage to make it out are not going to be able to afford to come back and whitey will come in and rebuild, making it too expensive for us to live there anymore.”

  “I know. That’s why a lot of the old-timers tried to hang on.”

  Lasonji arrived in Atlanta earlier that day with a few suitcases, a cosmetic case, and a few dollars in her purse. Fortunately for her, she was able to pack her important papers such as her birth certificate and insurance policies. Others weren’t so lucky.

  “Now, that’s what you call some evil shit,” I say, pointing at the television. Lasonji looks at me as if I have lost my happy, loving mind.

  “I’m going to pretend that I didn’t just hear you say that.”

  “What?�
��

  “Girl, are you trying to compare your life to what happened in New Orleans?”

  “I’m not comparing it; I am saying that bad things happen all the time and it’s not Voodoo.”

  “Tarcia, you may not be trying to piss me off, but you are.”

  “Why? ’Cause I refuse to accept that my life is being controlled by evil forces and hexes?”

  “You know what, this apartment is too small to be trippin’. We will just agree to disagree. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Besides, Momma always said, ‘You make your own bed; you betta know when to lie on it and when to get the hell up.’” I wait for her to say something else but she doesn’t. Lasonji takes her cup of coffee, goes to her room, and shuts the door.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I mumble to myself.

  All of a sudden, the milk curdles in my coffee. I use my spoon to try to mix it up, but large clumps of milk float to the top. Spooked, I pour the rest of the coffee down the drain and wash away the clumps of milk that cling to the sink. Trying not to read more into the incident than is really there, I rinse my cup and leave it to dry on the drain board. I just bought that milk yesterday, didn’t I?

  Opening the refrigerator, I check the date on the milk, but I still have a week left before the expiration date. I shake the carton and it sounds okay, but for some reason I am afraid to open it.

  “Girl, stop trippin’.” I walk back to the sink with the milk and pour out a small amount. It looks and smells like milk.

  Now, that’s weird. Shrugging my shoulders, I put the milk back and return to my room to read a book.

  Tarcia

  Alone at last, I take a quick shower and wrap my hair. It has been a long, emotional day and I cannot wait to get into bed. Foregoing my usual facial mask, I wash my face and put on my favorite nightgown. It is old as dirt, way too short, and has so many holes in it I should’ve been ashamed to wear it. It is more like a security blanket to me. It was the last thing Momma ever purchased for me. I also have on my trusty wool socks that come up to my knees.