TRAP INHERITANCE

Handle It

"You check if it's real?"

"Yea, but I want to look more into it."

"You tell Mama?"

I shook my head. "Not yet. You're the first person I told and you know how she's going to react. Anything to do with Chicago gets her worked up."

Azaria leaned back in the seat, arms crossed over her chest. "Okay," she said. "Where we eating?"

I let out soft laugh at her nonchalance. I liked it though. She didn't push. She just listened and spoke when needed. She didn't tell me what to do ever even as kids.

We pulled into a little corner spot we liked. Black-owned, quiet, with booths deep enough to have a real conversation without being overheard. Azaria always ordered the same thing grilled salmon with extra lemon, no sauce. I got a chicken sandwich and tea.

We didn't say much while we waited. Just exchanged updates. Her business was steady. One of her machines was acting up. Some vendor kept shorting her on inventory. I gave a few nods, a few one-worded responses. She could tell my head wasn't fully in it.

When the food came, she didn't dig in right away. Just looked at me while I pulled the pickles off my sandwich.

"You thinking about going back." She said like she already knew I made up my mind.

"I don't know yet."

"You already made up your mind. You just don't want to admit it."

I didn't answer. She was one of the two people who knew me better than I knew myself.

She picked up her fork, stabbed a piece of salmon, and added, "I'll come with you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I didn't say I had to. I said I will."

That was Azaria. She never tried to lead my decisions.

She just made sure I didn't walk into things alone.

We ate most of our lunch in silence, the kind of silence that let you chew without guilt. She finished first and slid her plate to the side, her eyes drifting toward the front windows. She did that when she was thinking, gazed off like the answers were outside somewhere.

"You still writing?" She asked eventually.

I paused, fingers tight around my glass. "Not really."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "Ain't had nothing to say."

"That's never stopped you before."

I didn't answer.

She gave it a second, then leaned forward a little, elbows on the table. "You used to write about everything. The people you hated. The people you loved. Your walk to work. A movie you didn't finish. You used to say writing was how you cleared your head."

I wiped my hands slowly on a napkin. "Maybe I don't want my head clear right now." I snapped

Azaria sat back throwing her hands in the air. "Okay."

It wasn't judgment. Just acceptance.

We got the check and left a big tip. Azaria waved at the girl behind the counter as we exited the establishment. The sun was out now, bright and unforgiving. I pulled my glasses over my eyes and unlocked the car.

Neither of us spoke on the drive back to her place.

When she opened the door to get out, she hesitated.

"You want me to stay at your place tonight?"

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Just asking."

"I'm good, thanks though."

She studied me for a second, then nodded and shut the door.

I shot a quick text to Foreman and told him, I was going home for the day. I didn't really feel like heading back there and pretending to be cordial.

When I got back home, I didn't go straight inside.

I sat in the car, engine off, seat reclined. It was quiet on my street. Birds chirping. Some kid riding a scooter up and down the sidewalk. I liked it here. It was peaceful. No crimes. Not violent at least. Quiet hours were enforced so no noise after 8pm. It's the definition of tranquility.

After a while, I finally got out and went inside.

I kicked my shoes off and placed them in their designated spot on the shoe rack before setting the alarm then I placed my keys in the little bowl on the stand. I moved through the motions like I was checking off boxes on an invisible list. The place was clean. Not spotless, just lived in. Comfortable. I didn't keep clutter especially if it wasn't useful or sentimental, it didn't stay.

I dropped my bag on the couch and opened my laptop and went to my Google Docs.

Work requests. Updates. A digital flyer from the school I tutored at sometimes. I scrolled until I found the note I left myself.

I stared at it for a while, I didn't know where to even start. I know i need the closure no matter how much I denied that I didn't. I sighed as I got up to shower, no music. Just silence and my thoughts about my dad.

About the way he used to knock on our door before walking in, even when I was little. About how he always called Azaria "Z" even though she hated it. About the way he'd hug me like he was memorizing the shape of me.

It wasn't fair to me. How one day he just never came back. No explanation. Azaria and my momma said he died but we went to no funeral. It's been 13 years and it's still on my mind like it just happened. I thought I could shove it away but every few nights it would resurface and I'd find myself researching. I was doing good, hadn't thought about it for a month and that envelope shows up to my house.

I stood under the water until my fingers wrinkled. By the time I got out, it was dark. I pulled on a tank top and shorts, tied my hair up and placed on my bonnet. After I finished my skin care and dental hygiene, I walked to the dining room and sat at the table with a pen and a fresh sheet of paper.

I didn't write poetry. Didn't pour out my soul. I just started listing names.

My dad's. My mom's. Azaria. My old neighbor who taught me how to fix a flat. The officer who pulled me over when I was seventeen and made me sit on the curb for forty minutes because he thought he smelled weed. The manager at my last job who asked me to smile more often before firing me because my customer service wasn't great according to him.

Just names. People who shaped me. Bent me. Bruised me. I didn't even realize I was crying until I saw a drop hit the page. I crumbed the paper and tossed it in the trash before taking a seat at the table again. I needed to focus.

Around midnight, I decided to impulsively buy some last minute plane tickets. I wanted this to go away and the only one to do that is to face it.

Right before bed, I sent a text to the number from earlier and Azaria but I couldn't sleep, I just laid on my side, watching the red light of the alarm clock blink.

I thought about the voicemail again. About the way he said my name. "Kori Vaughn." No formalities. No Ms. Vaughn, I'm calling about a property. Just it's yours. Come collect it. Just like he knew me, my past, or my father and maybe he did.

Maybe I just didn't know him but I would be finding out more tomorrow.