Henry raised his one good arm up in surrender as he stood.
“You the boss.”
SaTia stopped him before he could move.
“Thank you. And don’t worry, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”
The plane jerked me awake as it landed, and beads of sweat appeared on my brow as the wheels of the plane turned down the runway. I had no idea what being back home would feel like. Worse yet, I didn’t know if my troubles would follow me. The thought of putting my mother and Big Mama in danger never crossed my mind. I’d come home to feel safe and secure, but there were too many unknowns. I began thinking that maybe this had been a mistake.
Scared of my shadow, I turned to SaTia, who was hiding worries of her own “What if...”
“Don’t worry, Moses, everything will be fine. Local cops are gonna be around 24/7 for as long as we’re here, and you’ll have four bodyguards on your detail starting tomorrow. Plus, the people in this city would shoot anyone on sight who spoke against you.”
It was as if my thoughts sent her brain a text message.
“How did you...”
“I could see it in your eyes,” she lied. I thought she was sensing my fears, but really she was addressing her own.
It took a few seconds for my amazement to wear off.
“These guys, SaTia...they tried to kill me in a television studio! In front of a live audience! What’s to stop ’em from goin’ after Mama or Big Mama?”
“Your mother is the widow of the legendary Marcus Jenkins, and your grandmother taught half the thugs in the city at Sunday School. Between the cops and the grassroots security you’ll no doubt receive, I’m telling you, you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m sure everyone will be fine.” She looked out the window at the other planes coming and going, and then turned back to me. “You know, it may not have been the smartest business decision to come here, but if you take money out of the equation, you couldn’t have made a better choice.”
Take money out of the equation—those words didn’t sound too good to me.
“Maybe, while I’m here, we could find a way to...”
Our conversation was cut short by airport security, who had made their way onto the plane. They were one of the calls SaTia made before we landed. They were already set up at the gate, and as soon as they were able, five of them filed onto the plane to act as our personal escorts.
The officers tried their best to stand so that no one could see us, but it didn’t work. Ten seconds in the terminal and a mob of people had formed. They screamed and clawed and scratched while Ray and Brian used their bodies to protect SaTia and me. Luckily, there were fifteen other airport security officers waiting. They held off the mob while our escorts quickly got us onto three separate golf carts and took off down the hall and into a locked VIP corridor two terminals over.
The space looked like a hotel suite. Four well-dressed attendants sat us down in our prospective leather lounge chairs and handed us glasses of water and dinner menus.
“Do you have transportation?” One of the larger attendants asked the question as the security officers rushed back outside to disperse the crowd.
“Yes,” SaTia said. She was sitting in one of the lounge chairs against the wall. “The driver should be here shortly.”
“There’s a glass door at the end of that corridor.” The attendant pointed toward the hallway in front of him. “It leads to the VIP parking lot. Tell the driver to pull into the VIP parking lot and up to the door marked ‘C’. When you walk out, he should be right there. In the meantime...” He motioned again, but this time toward the open bar that sat to his right. “Help yourselves to anything you like. It’s on the house, compliments of the airport. Did you need anything else?”
I looked around. SaTia was getting her feet rubbed. Ray, Brian, and Henry were flirting with one of the attendants. She looked to be Japanese. I caught sight of a cigar box, and before I could open my mouth one of the attendants had it open and a cigar out and cut, lit, and in between my thumb and forefinger. I decided to speak for everyone. “I think we aight.”
He nodded at the other attendants who weren’t busy serving myself or my friends, and they proceeded to leave out the door, one by one.
“If you need anything,” he said as he moved toward the door himself, “just hit the buzzer on the wall and someone will respond within a few seconds.”
“Thanks, man.”
He nodded, then stepped out of the room.
Ray spoke to me, but kept his eyes on the Japanese attendant. If she was offended by my friend’s ogling, she didn’t show it.
“Man, this is even better than the setup at LAX.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” SaTia said, glancing down as her cell phone rang. “We’re leaving.”
SaTia’s statement was confirmed when she answered her BlackBerry. The Oriental bombshell, who’d been the object of Ray’s attention, quickly scribbled her number on a napkin as we all stood up and gathered our things. Ray and Brian held their hands out in anticipation, but she walked past them both and handed it to Henry. “I promise I can make you forget all about that arm,” she told him.
Henry kept a smile on his face up until we climbed into the limo. The driver waited for me to get in and settled before he spoke.
“On behalf of the entire city, sir, welcome home. It will be my pleasure to take you anywhere you want to go tonight.”
I looked out the window and saw the Washington Monument off in the distance. The same one that my father had decided, when I was in elementary school, to take me to the top of. This despite his bloodshot eyes and legs as fragile as uncooked spaghetti. He was almost hyperventilating when we made it to the top, but smiled at me, even as he wheezed. It was my first time feeling as if I owned the world.
“I just want to go home, man. Take me to Southeast.”
“As you wish, sir.”
6
Tisha Jenkins was sitting on the porch, half asleep. The random but regular sirens echoing through the air kept her eyelids from closing completely. Instead, they hovered like helicopters, fluttering sometimes but never landing, and the whites that showed as a result had scared away many children who were out too late to begin with.
The sound of our large automobile woke Mama. She stood straight up, showing no signs that she had been drifting away. When the headlights of the luxury vehicle got close enough, she came down off the porch and stood beside the curb.
We pulled up beside her. I was barely out of the door when Mama threw her arms around me and tried to squeeze my arms and my chest together.
“Oh, my baby...my baby...my baby...”
She wept as she continued to squeeze me. Her sobs echoed off of the lamp posts and barred glass windows. I didn’t mind.
“Lord, I wanna thank you...thank you for keepin’ my baby safe...”
Mama prayed out loud as she continued to cut off my circulation. There were more sirens in the distance, but her sobbing nearly drowned them out. My eyes glossed over as I hugged my mother, returning the love she was drenching me with. It was one of those feelings I hadn’t realized I’d missed.
I stood wrapped in her cocoon for what seemed like decades. When she finally let me go, SaTia moved beside me.
“Hello, Mrs. Jenkins.”
“Hey, sweetheart. I’m so glad y’all back! Y’all come on in.”
SaTia shook her head apologetically.
“No, ma’am, we better head on to our homes, too.” No sooner had she finished talking did a police car ride up smoothly and park directly in front of the house. I looked at Mama to see if there was anything she was expecting the police for. SaTia spoke up as we exchanged uncomfortable glances. “The chief has agreed to have two uniformed officers in a patrol car, and one plainclothes officer in an unmarked car, with you for however long you decide to stay.”
“So, I’ma have two cops with me all the time?”
“Three. One you should never know is there, though.”
/> I looked around at all the cars parked on the block, and then looked back at SaTia.
“Is the undercover one here already?”
“Yep, he’s here.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No, and I don’t want to know. As long as he’s keeping you safe, that’s all that matters.”
I looked around at all the dark sedans and SUVs parked on the block, and wondered which one contained the person charged with my protection.
“Well...” Mama wiped her tears and nose as she spoke. “Tomorrow me and yo’ Big Mama makin’ a huge meal. We already invited all the family from Maryland. Even yo’ Uncle Boney s’posed to be comin’.” She began the conversation talking to me, but then shifted her eyes to SaTia. “You and the boys are more than welcome to come on through tomorrow. Y’all family, too, now.”
Brian poked his head out of the rear window of the limousine.
“I’ll be here fo’ sure, Mrs. Jenkins!”
“Well, hey, Brian...how are you?”
“I’m great, now that I know you and Big Mama cookin’!”
“Is Henry in there?”
Brian put his head back inside the limo, and Henry came to the window.
“Henry, are you alright? We was so worried about you!”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m fine. My arm is sore, but it’s nothin’ I can’t handle.”
“Well, then you gon’ be even better tomorrow. Y’all come on through at four o’clock, okay?”
All three of my friends sounded off at the same time.
“Yes, ma’am!”
SaTia turned to make her way to the limo, but stopped short. When she turned back around, her eyes locked with mine.
“I...I’ll see you tomorrow...”
Defenseless, I nodded my head. “Yeah...tomorrow...”
She pulled her eyes away and climbed back into the limo. It pulled off slowly down the street.
Mama looked at me and chuckled.
“Hmmm, some things don’t never change.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“I mean you and that girl. She look at you the way I used to look at yo’ daddy. Been like that since y’all was in school.”
I must have felt the way a gay person feels when they come out to their family and everyone tells them it was common knowledge.
Mama looked at my face and laughed again.
“What, you been gone so long, you forgot you my flesh and blood? I know things ’bout you that you won’t find out till you forty.”
She walked past me, cleaning the last of the tears off her face.
“Come on in, Moses,” she yelled behind her. “I got a plate in the fridge for you; jus’ lemme pop it in the microwave.”
I moved behind her, still amazed at her insight on a topic I didn’t fully understand. I decided I had to ask her at least one question. “Mama, if you knew there was somethin’ between SaTia and me, why...?”
She knew my question, so she cut me off.
“’Cause the feelings y’all had, you wasn’t ready for yet. Neither one of you was. Maybe you still ain’t.”
Maybe that’s the real reason I was scared to come home. I had spent so long being famous and perfect, I had forgotten what it felt like to have someone tell me the truth about myself. Just that little bit stopped me in my tracks.
I resolved not to ask any more questions about SaTia until I was ready to know the answers. In the meantime, I could smell the fried chicken, ham, stuffing, yams, and greens warming up in the microwave. The aroma would put any five-star restaurant to shame.
The microwave beeped, indicating the food was ready, and I snatched it as if someone else was after it. Mama gave me a fork, and I had two yams four inches from my mouth when a voice stopped me cold.
“You ain’t forgot to give the Lord what He due, has you? You been gone that long?”
Big Mama’s voice always sounded as if it had come down from the clouds. I put my fork back down on my plate and stood up to face her.
“No ma’am, I haven’t.”
She looked the same as I remembered, except more of her hair had turned gray.
“Come ’ere, Moses. Let me take a look at you.”
I walked over to her and stood straight up while she looked me over. When she was done, I could see her face soften. Her eyes tried to blink away the emotion she felt. She pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. “You look just like yo’ daddy.”
I reached out and hugged her tight, blinking a few extra times myself.
That night I dreamed of my father. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and walked to his own soundtrack. I was sitting in the audience, and he winked at me as he climbed onstage and began playing his saxophone in a local club. Every few minutes he would look over at me to check and see if I was still there. I never moved from the spot I was sitting in, but each time he looked for me, his eyes would go wide with concern until he found me, and then he would smile and continue playing.
Then, suddenly, the music sped up. One moment I was tapping to the rhythm, and the next, my foot couldn’t hit the ground fast enough. I looked around to see how everyone else was reacting to the change in the music, and realized that they had somehow changed from their nice, fancy suits and dresses to dingy cotton pants, shirts, and overalls. No one was in their seat anymore, either. Everyone was up and dancing, and the faster the music got, the more they danced like wild animals. I grabbed the person closest to me, a dark-skinned man about ten years my senior, and shook him out of a trance.
“Why does everybody in here look like a slave? Why don’t they put their nice clothes back on?”
The man smiled at me, revealing missing and rotted teeth.
“Dey was always slaves, son,” the man answered. “They was jus’ hidin’ it with those nice clothes, but they was always slaves. Here—come enjoy yo’self...”
He went right back to dancing like a madman, and my foot tapping turned into head nodding, and then body swaying. Before I knew it, I was flailing my arms and jumping around like everyone else.
My dad tried to look for me again, but this time he couldn’t find me. He got so worried that he stopped playing the sax, threw it to the side, and walked to the edge of the stage, screaming my name.
I couldn’t answer him. I could hear him, but whatever had gotten a hold of everyone else had gotten an extra tight hold on me as well. He screamed until his voice gave out.
“MOSES! MOSES! God, please...MOSES!...”
Then, defeated, he sat back down in his seat.
“Be strong, son.”
He whispered it, but I heard it as clear as water.
I woke up the next morning to the faint sound of chanting. It crept into my slumber like a termite and gnawed away at my snores until I could no longer keep my eyes closed. Both eyelids popped open at the same time, and for a split second, I couldn’t remember where I was and how I’d gotten there.
It took the smell of ham and apple pie to remind me.
Everyone was already at the house. I could hear the different voices traveling up through the air vents. The digital clock on the dresser flashed 12:30 p.m. across its LCD screen, and I thought to myself that my dad must have kept me asleep so I could finish my dream. Then I shook my head and laughed at myself. “Man, this house must really be screwin’ with my head,” I said aloud.
I pushed the covers to the side and climbed out of the bed with the images from the dream fading in and out like the opening credits of a movie. As I stretched by the foot of the mattress, I realized I was still hearing the chanting noises that woke me up in the first place. They were coming from the window beside my old dresser. I yawned as I walked up to it, sleepily glanced outside, and then dove back onto the floor.
There were about two hundred people congregated outside the house. Most were standing. Some had lawn chairs and blankets, and were sitting either on the grass or on the sidewalk. There was a group of about ten pimped-out, customized sports cars sitting on the street,
and another group of customized sport motorcycles. All the drivers were standing beside their vehicles. All the men were outside in all their freshest gear, and most of the women were wearing clothes that you could pluck off with a pair of tweezers. They all chanted the same thing.
“DA-NIG-GA! DA-NIG-GA! DA-NIG-GA!”
The police had formed a barrier so that no one could pass. I crawled on the floor over to my suitcase and begin to search frantically for something to put on. Just as I was taking out my jeans, someone knocked three times at the door.
“Who is it?” I said with more frustration than I meant to.
“SaTia.”
If it had been anyone else, I would have told them to wait for me downstairs.
“Aight, come in.”
I was in the middle of throwing my jeans on when she walked in. She made me stop with them around my ankles, as if I was preparing for a ride on the toilet. She looked like she used to look, back in the day when we’d pass notes in class. She didn’t have on any makeup, no Bluetooth headset looped over her ear; no dark sunglasses; no laptop in her hands; nothing. She’d put her hair in a ponytail with a scrunchie, and she wore the same jean skirt and tank top that used to make my boys ask if I would mind if they tried to get with her.
“Good luck,” I’d always answer. They never did have any.
She walked into the room and shut the door.
“I heard some noise up here and figured you had woken up. I told everyone to let you sleep; that’s why no one came and got you when the crowd showed up.”
“You don’t have no makeup on?” I felt like an idiot, but it was either that or “I love you,” and it was too early in the day for confessions.
“I’m home too, Moe. When I woke up this morning, I didn’t feel like a famous rapper’s manager. I felt like...me.”
I pulled myself away from her eyes and reached down to pull my pants up.
“Well, you look...you look like you used to back when we was in school.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
Wanting to change the subject, I motioned to the window. “When did they get here?”
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