Holidaze

by L. Divine

  “I agree,” the father says. He looks eerily familiar, and for some reason I feel I know this little girl, and not just because I’m her nanny in this vision. “I’m especially glad that she has your eyes. Here, darling, why don’t you take little Judy and wash her up.” Maman’s lover passes the baby to me, and I instinctively take her in my arms. I can’t believe my ancestors had to do this shit on a regular basis. If I had to care for someone’s child and household for next to nothing I think I’d go crazy.

  “And could you please run my bath water and fix my husband’s evening drink. I’m just too tired to move,” the woman says. What the hell has she done all day except order me—or whoever I’m supposed to be—around all day? “And would you be a dear and iron my laundry after you’re done collecting the clothes from the line? And don’t forget to wash the baby’s diapers twice. I just hate it when they don’t get completely clean. And don’t forget we have to prepare the place settings for our guests. You know my Christmas Eve dinner is always to die for, and this year will be no exception.” If she says “and” to me one more time I’m going to forget about why I’m really in this dream state and go after her, ghetto style, and whip her ass.

  “Girl, do you hear my wife talking to you?” They both look at me as if I’ve forgotten to get dressed before coming outside. I look from Maman’s lover’s face to his wife’s, almost forgetting to speak.

  “Yes ma’am,” I reluctantly whisper. They both look relieved that I’ve remembered my “place” and resume flattering each other’s egos. I look down at the squirming infant in my arms and notice her eyes opening. At this age babies tend to sleep most of the day away, and this one’s no exception. I walk out of the large bedroom and into the hallway. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see a young black girl looking back at me, but she looks like one of her parents belongs more to this family than her other side, which is obviously black.

  “Shhh, I’m going to get you changed and all cleaned up in just a second. Don’t boss me like your mama does.” The little girl opens her eyes and looks up at me in recognition and I immediately recognize her as well. This baby is Jeremy’s grandmother, which means Maman’s lover is Jeremy’s great-grandfather. I remember seeing a family collage of pictures from his mother’s side of the family in one of the rooms in their massive home. It’s time to wake up from this dream, and now.

  “Is there a problem?” I look up at Maman’s lover and feel ashamed for my great-grandmother. I wonder if she knew about his family and, more importantly, about his treatment of other black women who weren’t her.

  “Jayd, can you give me a ride to work again? I need to catch a few more minutes of sleep before going in,” Bryan says, waking me from my bizarre dream. At least I stayed in one place for this one. But Mama’s still going to have to hear about it and provide some clarification on the subject. Jeremy’s folks on his mother’s side were definitely racist. This brings a whole new dimension to me and Jeremy’s relationship, and he doesn’t even know about it.

  “You coming up with gas money?” I whisper, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes before I throw back my blankets and allow the morning chill to fully wake me up.

  “Hell no, I’m not giving you any gas money. It’s around the corner.” I make my way out of my small bed and glance at Mama’s bed, which is empty. Ever since this shit with my sleepwalking started, Mama’s been up and out pretty early. I guess she’s out back praying for some extra protection and I’m glad for it. I’ll wait to tell her about my dream later, when we’re at Netta’s. It’s her personal day to get her crown worked on, so she’ll be in a good space to share her wisdom this afternoon.

  “My time is worth something, fool.” I grab my Apple Bottoms jeans and matching purple hoodie from the hook on the back of the bedroom door and make my way into the warm hallway. The heater’s on full blast, warming the narrow space between Mama’s room and the bathroom. If Daddy’s door were open, he, Jay, and Bryan would get some good heat in there, too. But I’m glad they keep their door closed for the most part, because they all have gas at night and it can drift into our room, which isn’t pleasant at all.

  “Don’t talk back to your elders, little girl,” Bryan says, opening the door and snatching the scarf off of my freshly cornrowed head. When I left Nigel’s house Sunday I came home and braided my own hair.

  “Cut it out,” I say, slapping his hand and snatching my scarf back. Daddy turns over in his sleep and Bryan and I scowl at each other for almost waking him up. “You’ve got thirty minutes, Bryan. And I want my five dollars.” He should know by now how I roll. I don’t work for free, and he’s not going to milk rides from me every morning no matter how much I love him.

  “Fine. You can add it to my hair tab. By the way, when can you hook me up? My braids need repair.”

  “They need a whole lot more than that, my brotha,” I say, putting my clothes down on the overstuffed hamper in the bathroom before pushing him out of the way to claim my toiletries and other necessities from their bedroom closet. Next year I’m asking Santa for my own room—I don’t care whose house it’s in. And a dresser would be nice too, because my stuff being housed in these large garbage bags is getting really old. From my vision of the day she moved out, my mom had to do the same thing. I think it’s time to break this tradition once and for all.

  “Exactly. So pencil me in for one of these days, preferably in the evening. My lady likes it neat.” Bryan can be so silly sometimes. He climbs back into his bottom bunk bed and goes back to sleep. I look up and see my cousin Jay is still knocked out, too. Between them and Daddy it looks like a slumber party up in here.

  I thought when I got a car and subsequently started waking up later, all of the boys would be up and at it, but I see that’s not a part of their daily routine. Some days they’re up and out. Other days they choose to sleep in as late as possible. It must be nice. Having to drive thirty miles one-way to school doesn’t afford me that option. Speaking of which, I’d better get a move on before I’m late.

  I’m glad it’s Tuesday and an early day at that. Thank God for teacher’s meetings. Before I can get too happy Nigel comes around the corner, wiping the smile right off of my face. The first half of the day flew by. Now it’s going in slow motion. We haven’t spoken since I abruptly left his crib on Sunday when his ex-girlfriend interrupted our hair session. Now his do looks unloved and I feel a little bad for my boy.

  “Jayd, please braid my hair. I can’t stand it anymore,” Nigel says, scratching his head like he’s got lice. I feel bad for his hair, but I’m still not feeling his actions. Even if Mickey’s not my favorite girl right now, in the long run she’s still one of my best friends and I can’t pretend like I don’t know any better.

  “Nigel, it’s just hair. You’ll live.” As the words escape my mouth I feel like I’ve just violated a sacred oath me and my ancestors took eons ago; to do hair to the best of our abilities. I’m also reminded of how just a few weeks ago we were all in a situation where we might not have lived and one of us didn’t. Maybe I should stop being so hard on my friend and at least hook his crown up. Maybe it’ll help him act better if I work on his head.

  “Come on. Let’s get this over with,” I say, leading him to the lunch area. I would tell Nigel to come check me at Netta’s later, but I know she has a lot of make-up work for me to do since I’ve been pretty much out of commission for the past couple of weeks. Maybe one day my friends will come to the shop where I have more tools to hook them up. I wonder if Nigel would let me do a head-cleansing on him. Probably not. As close as Rah and I are, he still won’t let me do anything like that. And I would never even approach Jeremy with something like that.

  “Chica, I thought I was next?” Maggie says, walking past us on her way to her crew across the lunch quad. I guess she took her braids down over the weekend. Even if her hair is thick, cornrows still don’t last long in her hair.

  “I got you, girl. I can hook you up after school.” I’ve already got thre
e braids in Nigel’s head and we still have over twenty minutes left in the lunch period. I can finish his hair and then hook Maggie up real quick after school, before I got to go to work. That’s forty dollars I could leave with. Thank goodness, too, because a sistah’s bank account is on low these days. I have a lot of money to make up for. Too bad we don’t get sick days in my chosen profession.

  “Okay, that sounds good. Later, you two,” she says, sashaying her way across the grass. Mickey passes by Maggie on her way over to where Nigel and I are posted up. They roll their eyes at each other, which is their normal mutual greeting. How is it that I can get along with people from different backgrounds when some of my friends damn near hate each other for that very reason alone?

  “So what’s going on here?” Mickey asks, more antagonistic than necessary. What’s gotten into her? “I can’t come see you, but you can sit in between Jayd’s legs and let her all up in your head?”

  “I don’t see how the two are related,” Nigel says, cocking his head to the side so I can continue my job while he responds to his girl. I’m not even going to dignify her drama with a response because I know this ain’t really about me.

  “They’re related because now that I’m not on campus anymore y’all think I’m not watching you, but I know what’s really going on.”

  “Please do enlighten us. What’s really going on?” Nigel can be a smart-ass when pushed, just like the rest of us. I bet Mickey never thought she’d see the day Nigel turned on her. She’s used to having boys under her thumb—but not my boy. I tried to warn her about the brothas from Westingle. They can be true players when they want to be.

  “You’re cheating on me with who I thought was my best friend,” Mickey says. I look up from Nigel’s scalp and see that she’s dead serious. This girl must be high to think I’d do something like that.

  “What the hell gave you that impression?” I ask, offended by her accusation. I know she’s extra emotional because of her baby growing in her womb and all, but now she’s lost her damned mind.

  “People talk, Jayd, and they’re talking about the two of you.” She looks back at KJ, Shae, and the rest of South Central who are watching the dramatic scene unfold. Now I understand.

  “If by people you mean Misty and her crew, I thought you knew better than to listen to anything they have to say,” I say, continuing my work and choosing to make light of my girl’s tirade.

  “It was your choice not to attend school with the rest of us. Don’t get mad if you’re lonely on the lower campus.” Nigel’s still bitter from Mickey’s decision to give in to the administration’s pressure for her to attend the continuation school across the football field. Even if she can visit during lunch and after school, it’s still not the same as being here with the rest of us. I wish she’d never made that decision, just like I wish Nellie would stop tripping.

  “This isn’t over.” Mickey turns around and walks back toward the parking lot as the warning bell rings. The lunch period is just about over and she has to get back to the lower campus. I can’t wait for this school day to end. I’m going to have to ask Mama and Netta how to navigate my way through this mess, since none of my friends are seeing straight.

  As I turn the corner near Netta’s Never Nappy Beauty Shop, I notice the Christmas tree and lights are still shining brightly for all to see. I’m with Chelsea Lately on this one: if your Christmas gear is still out and you need to wear sun block, you are way behind. It’s definitely time for Netta to take down the tree if nothing else. That’s a fire hazard. Maybe that’s one of the many tasks she has set aside for her only assistant—better known as me—to do. I didn’t realize how much she’s come to depend on me until I was gone for a couple of weeks. It feels good to be back at our home away from home.

  “There’s our girl,” Netta says, scrubbing away at Mama’s hair in the washbowl. Mama slightly lifts her head to give me a wink before relaxing back in the chair. I walk over to the closets lining one of the walls and put my things away, ready to get to work. Maybe this will take my mind off of my school issues, especially where Mickey’s concerned. If she keeps talking crazy to me like she did today, I’m going to end up smacking her whether she’s carrying my godchild or not.

  I haven’t told Mama about me and my friends sharing dreams last weekend, and I’m not sure I want to just yet. I’ll wait and see how she’s feeling first before I divulge all of my confessions this afternoon.

  “So how are your dreams coming along, little Miss?” Mama asks as Netta sits her head up straight while wrapping a towel around her wet tresses. Mama always looks refreshed after Netta washes her hair, even if her eyes tell how tired she really is. With Valentine’s Day around the corner Mama has literally been burning the midnight oil.

  “Oh, they’re coming. At least I haven’t moved around while sleeping, in the last couple of dreams I’ve had.” I place my personalized apron over my head and close the closet doors.

  “Amen to that,” Netta says, slathering Mama’s hair with some of their sweet strawberry leave-in conditioner. I walk over to one of the vacant sinks and wash my hands, ready to start my work for the day. I also have to remember to stock up on my hair supplies before I leave today. But first things first. And these Christmas decorations are definitely top priority. The sooner the holidays are completely behind us, the better.

  “Anything interesting happen in the last one?” Mama looks over at me and I can tell she knows something’s up. Netta leads Mama from the wash area to her station, ready to blow dry Mama’s crown. Her hair seems to get longer each week.

  “Actually, yes. The one I had last night was very interesting,” I say, unplugging the tree lights before removing them. “This time Jeremy’s grandmother was Maman’s lover’s daughter and I was the nanny. That was a whole lot of fun,” I say sarcastically. Mama looks up from her reflection in the mirror and into my eyes.

  “Are you sure, Jayd?”

  “Your little white boy, Jeremy?” Netta asks, clamping the hot curlers hard three times before placing them in the miniature oven to heat. I guess Mama’s getting a simple dry and curl today, no press needed for her soft hair.

  “Yeah, positive.” I place the lights in a plastic bag and continue un-decorating the dehydrated tree. Netta should be ashamed of herself for leaving this thing up here for so long. She’s not the only one still stuck in Christmas past, but still. I expected more from her.

  “Now isn’t that a coincidence?” Netta says. She, like Mama and I, knows there are no coincidences in life. Jeremy and I being the descendants of ancestors who knew each other during the time when it wasn’t even legal for white and black folks to drink from the same water fountain, is more than a fluke.

  “It just goes to show you how planned out your destiny truly is,” Mama says. That’s what Mickey’s baby said to me about our destinies almost verbatim. “Did you gain anything from the vision?”

  “Just that I’m glad I’m living now and not back then. I’d hate to work for somebody and get treated with no respect.”

  “It wasn’t easy for our ancestors, but they made it through,” Netta says.

  “Yes, they did. And so will you, Jayd. If you keep calling on them they will answer.” Mama’s words resonate deep inside of me. All the petty bull I go through on a daily basis is nothing compared to what I’ve seen Maman deal with and even what Mama went through in the sixties. They were both gangster with their shit.

  “I hear that, Mama, but it seems like they’re taking a long time to answer my call this time. I’m trying not to get a hot head about it, but Mickey’s making it real hard for me to keep cool.” Just thinking about Mickey rolling her neck at me during lunch makes my blood boil.

  “Don’t give up on the emotion, Jayd. Just do away with the pettiness. Emotions are how we navigate our feelings. If it doesn’t feel right then you know to go in the opposite direction, and vice versa. Just get rid of the BS so we can move forward and get some work done.”

  “I know you�
�re right, Mama,” I say. I can’t help but agree with every word. Had I listened to my first uneasy feeling about Misty and KJ being friends, back in the day, I wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

  “No matter how many times they try and take you out of your body, remember the shell cannot replace the self,” Mama says, eyeing her fresh do in the mirror. She looks good with long hair, but I prefer it short and sassy.

  “Exactly. As long as you can find your way back to center, little Jayd, you’ll be okay.” Netta’s right, too. I just need to find my way back to the middle with all of my friends. I also need to find my balance within my powers. Once I get both of my worlds straight, with the help of my ancestors, I’m sure I’ll feel a lot better.

  After talking to Mama and Netta Tuesday, I feel a little better about my dreams coming back, even if they are still causing me to walk in the past. I’m not in the mood for anyone’s madness, especially not Misty’s or anyone else up here for that matter. It’s been a long week and it only promises to get longer, especially with Valentine’s Day next week. My mom’s the only one I know who’s happy about the stupid day. She’s hoping for a big engagement ring, and I hope she gets exactly what her heart desires.

  If my mom and Karl are going to get engaged I don’t see why she needs his mother’s approval. They should just do the damned thing. They’re both grown, been married, and have children. If it were up to me I’d tell them to elope. But no, my mom has to go winning over the in-laws. I’m tired of being pulled both in and out of my sleep world, which at the moment seems saner to me than my reality.

  “Secret valentine?” one of the lesser members of ASB says to me as I make my way through the main hall. I didn’t get a chance to switch out my books at break so I have to do it now.

  “No, thank you,” I say, acknowledging the poor freshman. If she only knew what she was getting herself into with ASB. When Nellie started hanging with the school clique she basically sold her soul to the devil.