Grace After Midnight_ A Memoir - Felicia Pearson [13]
When it was time to chop, I’d strap on but never take off my boxers or undershirt. I didn’t have to be butt naked. I didn’t want to be butt naked. I could take part and slam as hard as any other boy. And of course I’d last as long as was needed. That was a real advantage.
Another advantage was that Uncle and I never had a falling out, even after he saw that his attempt to change me up sexually wasn’t working. He resigned himself to the fact that I was who I was. He never judged me or tried to change me.
I’ll always love him for that.
Despite his love and watchful eye, though, there was no slowing me down.
I’m not sure why, but I was hell-bent on working the wild side of the street. The wilder the better.
By the time I hit twelve, I was straight-up out of control.
That’s when things went nuts.
DEATH UP CLOSE
I seen death up close when that boy got his brains blown out right in front of me. I seen other niggas get blown away on the streets. When it happens, you stop and look. You stop and think. A life’s been snuffed out. That’s it. Cat’s gone. Ain’t never coming back.
Maybe ’cause it happened so much I didn’t let myself feel what most people would feel—fear or horror or confusion. I didn’t wanna feel too much ’cause if I felt too much I might go crazy living where I lived. So the easiest thing was just to watch in wonder and say to myself, “That’s how it go sometime.”
I thought I could deal with death. Shit, I knew I could deal with death. Death didn’t flip me out and death didn’t make me scared of the streets. I did all that in spite of the death around me.
But then this one death worked on me a whole different way.
Pop.
One day something needed fixing on the roof and Pop said to me, “Hey, girl, would you mind going up there to fix it.”
Didn’t mind at all, but Pop always liked going up on the roof. I knew something was wrong.
“You feeling okay?” I asked him.
“A little tired, that’s all.”
I saw that in his eyes and later asked Mama about it.
“He got a bad report from the doctor” was all she said.
I wanted to ask more about it, but something told me not to.
As weeks went by, he lost weight. Slowed down. Slept during the day. Well, Pop never slept during the day. The man was a worker.
Finally Mama said the word.
“Cancer.”
Cancer was eating him up, and it was happening fast. So fast that from one day to another you’d see him getting smaller and thinner. Soon he was at the point where he couldn’t work at all.
Doctors said he should be in the hospital, but Mama said no. By then she knew he was not getting better. She also knew that he didn’t wanna go to no hospital. He wanted to be in his bed at home.
Every night after I came in from running the streets, I’d go in and check on him. He’d be in bed next to Mama. I’d kiss him on his nose. That always made him smile. He’d open his eyes, look at me, and just nod. He was too weak too speak.
Then one of those nights Mama came to wake me up. Had to be around 2:00 or 3:00 A.M.
“Come with me, child,” she said.
I followed her into the bedroom. I knew. I felt it. I kissed Pop on the nose, only this time he didn’t smile.
His eyes were still open but he wasn’t breathing. I took my fingers and gently closed his eyes.
“When the sun comes up,” said Mama, “go tell the family. Go tell them in person.”
I did like Mama asked me to do. I told everyone that needed telling.
I can’t remember crying. Can’t remember mourning the man. I knew I loved him and I knew he’d loved me. I was his helper on the roof and in the workshop. He never got mad at me for being a tomboy and never thought I was strange. He took me the way I was.
His being taken away might have gotten me mad. Can’t say for sure.
Lots of things got me mad.
Back then, though, I wasn’t thinking about how I was feeling.
I was just doing.
“YOU A BOY”
I was doing all I could.
I was running with different crews.
My first