One Week Later . . .
Sinclair Apartment Complex
8:00 A.M.
☠︎
Who was this person in the mirror?
They wore the black jumpsuit saved in the closet for years—just now taking the tags off it. They copied the same movements as me—keeping one hand at the bottom of tangled curls while the other struggled up top to guide the brush down, desperate to meet its partner. We shared the same name. Face as well—for a few months, except they made significant changes to its pigment and expression to their satisfaction. Luckily, Sephora products were able to hide it.
This unknown being seemed to take control of everything—except for my mind, which seemed to get more cloudy and cluttered by the second.
Kicked out of the landlord position from my outer body, I'm now an unhappy tenant.
Wonder how long that'll last.
I've been fighting hard to regain power, but the punishment life has given me for the past week or so has prohibited the battle.
Just as things were beginning to take a turn in my craving career, a disappointing phone call, an hour-long drive, nosey reporters, a new responsibility to care for, draining interrogations, dreading conversations, lengthy funeral arrangements, mentally preparing to see unwanted faces, my passion quickly abandoned me. It didn't look back or even say goodbye.
I don't know where it went or how to get it back. Maybe it's where my familiar self is hiding.
I'm also unsure of how to take this sudden change. From other's experiences, feelings of guilt, despair, hurt, and anger are supposed to flourish—especially if it involves something terrible happening to someone that's kin to you. Surprisingly, none of those made an appearance.
None.
There's no emotion flowing. Truthfully, I'm not mad at it. Only lost—confused about where it could be and if it'll debut soon.
As eco-style gel gets brushed down to keep a head full of brown slicked down, the question still lingers.
Who was this person in the mirror?
No answer. Only a short frame appears behind my reflection.
She stiffly stood in front of the wooden door. Short arms hung low beside the glittery black dress covering their body—hands pressed against matching colored lined tights. The visual wasn't different from a robot waiting to be turned on and commanded by its master.
"I don't wanna go to the funeral." She finally spoke. Her dulcet-turned-hoarse voice murmured in the narrow space.
A shaky sigh left my breath. "Look at your hair."
"Is that the only thing you care about?" After the inquiry, there was a brief pause. "My hair?"
I couldn't see an expression. Messy brown hair shadowed both sides of her little face, flowing down to her chest—wearing a bright white ruffle shirt.
My free hand motioned for her to walk further on the grey ceramic tile. The other gripped tightly onto the same brush that kept my hair glued together on my scalp.
Little feet tucked inside black strapped shoes dragged towards the toilet, knowing what was to come.
The lid plopped down, covering the seat. Following the popping sound, she sat down on top, her depressed demeanor on display.
Now that she's settled, it was time to pry further in her decision.
"Why don't you want to go Dream?"
Stupid question.
Who would want to reunite with their mother, who's in a casket? Especially after the unfortunate circumstance for them to end up there—and it wasn't from a natural cause. That's too much even for a grown adult, let alone a ten-year-old, to handle. There's no telling what's going through her mind right now, and quite honestly, I don't want to know.
"Because if I go, then I'll know that she's really gone," She eyed her legs swinging back and forth. "And I don't think I can handle that."
A sigh abruptly left my breath following the hopeless response. I stepped closer and bent down to eye level. A pitiful sight stared clearly in my direction as I grabbed their hands and gripped them tightly.
"Listen, I get that this isn't easy for you—and other people who loved your mom, but you have to stay strong and go to this funeral. You have to be there for her and say your final goodbyes." My lips sunk as the broken expression still appeared.
"But it's just so hard..." The little voice cracked. Tears slid like a water slide, cascading from her cheeks to falling off her chin.
As those sorrowful eyes began to drop once again, the hold of my hands wrapped tightened around hers, catching it.
"I know, but guess what? You're not alone. We're going to get through this together. You and me." I half truthfully promised, wiping the tears.
Honestly, the healing process won't be as long or deep for me—if I even go through anything.
I can't go to this funeral by myself.
Dreams lips pursed—as if they were pondering on an answer. She then glanced at the floor and stiffly nodded.
Not sure if that was a yes to my statement or attending her mother's funeral, I automatically assumed the second option.
"Good." After the appraisal, I hopped up and went to the sink, heading towards the comb and other hair tools. "Now, let's do your hair."
Brief shuffling sounded before an excited, "I want the two space buns at the top like mommy does it!" boomed.
A tightlipped grin rose after looking over. Although it wasn't the gummy smile with two missing teeth on the sides, it will do.
"Ok."
. . .
The rubber band made its final loop before snapping into place around wrapped curly strands.
Toni stepped back—wanting to get a better look at the final product. "Ok, all done."
She silently observed the work put in with much effort with a sheepish expression. "I hope you like it. I can't do it as good as Thalia did."
Out of the two siblings, the oldest had a better shot at being a beautician. Toni could do her own—having simple styles such as ponytails, braids, buns, wash and go just fine. She'd gotten familiar with her texture, which wasn't shocking as she's been doing her hair since adolescence. Regardless of the years worth of experience, styling others was still a challenge.
"I'll be the judge of that." Dream declared, hopping out of her seat and walking towards the sink. The heels of her feet hiked up so her upper body presented in the mirror.
Toni analyzed the girl—seeing her head turn to the side, mentally critiquing herself.
The buns were uneven, with more hair on one side of the bun, and the part wasn't evenly straightened down the middle.
"Not bad," Revealed Dream, eying the reflection of her lips poked to the side. "Could use some work though."
Stiff chuckles came from the woman. "Well, at least you're honest."
"Mhm, my mommy taught me well." She got off her tippy toes and faced Toni. "All you need is a little more practice." An index finger and thumb centimeters away from touching were used as a visual.
After an appreciative smile, comfortable silence rose for a few seconds.
"Are you going to be alright?"
Dream shrugged. "Alright enough to attend the funeral, I guess. Not sure about after."
Toni nodded at the sincere response. There isn't a stopwatch on grieving. Everyone handles it differently. She was just glad that the child was willing to go.
"Understandable." Another nod came about, instead, more swift. "But I'm not ready to go yet. You can watch some TV in the living room in the meantime. I have to make a quick phone call."
Once Dream complied and exited the bathroom, Toni dug inside her purse, sat on the corner of the counter, and retrieved her phone.
A familiar number tapped on the black Nokia, and an elongated ring noised in response to the action.
Grine's Apartment Complex
8:30 A.M.
☠︎
My eyes abruptly shot open at the loud ringing. Simultaneously, my body quickly lifted from the uncomfortable texture. Vision was somewhat blurry, but from the hazy sight of the coffee table, TV, and the crooked picture hanging above on the wall, I was in the living room.
Damn. Slept on the couch again.
At this point, I should make this area my bedroom cause it sure felt like it for the past week or so.
I wiped the corner of my eyes in hopes of regaining some vision and getting rid of the crust. Doing that, my free hand reached for the telephone that annoyedly rang on the square table beside the armrest.
I swear to god, if it's another damn customer asking another dumb question about their ride, imma lose it.
I'm quickly starting to regret putting my personal number on the business card.
The wires extended so the speaker could reach my ear as it returned to its position on top of the solid pillow.
"Hello?" My throat cleared after the greeting, and my voice came out hoarse.
"Everette?" The soft-spoken individual questioned like they were shocked by my presence on the phone. It wasn't a surprise to me. I'm never home around this time anyway. Always at work. "Hi."
"T-Toni." I rose from my relaxed position and sat on the couch, dropping my feet to the floor. "Wassup girl? How are you doing?"
It's been a minute since I talked to her. Although I recognized her voice, she sounded so different. Drained.
A defeated exhale powerfully blew into my eardrum. "Hanging in there, you know? Considering..."
"Yeah..." Both of my arms relaxed on the back side of the couch. "I kno you been told this a lot and probably tired of hearin' it, but I'm sorry for your loss." I rolled my eyes following the generic saying.
Hate that shit, but it has to be said.
"Me and Thalia go way back."
"I know, Everette, how could I forget? Y'all did date for a little while."
I shook my head and chuckled at the playful tone at the end. "Guess we did, didn't we?"
Although it was a short romance, it was the best six months of my life. No one could tell me anything. I just knew I had found the one, it girl, soulmate, some would say, and was going to live happily ever after.
But I messed that blissful life up, putting my job before it, and now I can never get the opportunity to apologize.
In the end, it is what it is. I made my bed. Now I have to lay in it. Eternally.
"Aye, Toni, I've meant to say this for a minute now, and I think now is the right time. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For blessing me with a chance to experience love with someone who was a literal Angel on Earth."
If it weren't for her introducing us at a friendly gathering, I wouldn't have felt that indescribable feeling.
"Even though It was my fault thangs ended the way it did, I'm grateful for the happiest memories I'll hold for a lifetime, and it's all thanks to you."
Suddenly, my tensed muscles relaxed, and the heavyweight inside my chest lifted.
Heavy breathing took over the heartfelt conversation. I hope I ain't making her depressing attitude worse. I just had to get that off my conscience. And damn, did it feel good to do so.
"You're welcome." She says so blandly. "Are you coming to the funeral?"
My eyes widened. An imaginary lightbulb went off on top of my head. Damn, the funeral—I forgot it was today.
"The viewing starts in another half hour or so. You coming?"
My brows furrowed. Regardless of the constant reminders on social media apps, TV, and hearing folks gossip, I let it slip my mind. Perhaps it was the subconscious's way of coping, still having false hope that it wasn't real and just some bull—a hoax.
"Uh yeah," My hesitation voiced. "I'm almost finished getting ready, just putting on my shoes." Toes wiggled inside white socks that weren't close to being put inside footwear.
I ain't have no suit to put on, and my hair was looking like I went to Jim Jones braider. If I were to walk inside that church, somebody would think I'm homeless and looking for a place to stay. I can't let anyone see me like this on all days. Thalia would've had my head.
But I have to be supportive of her family.
"Ok," a brief pause transpired. "Did Ace leave yet?"
I sucked my teeth. That nigga. His out-of-work ass still knocked out in the damn bed. You'd think he'd worked a twelve-hour shift.
"Nah, not yet, he's still getting ready too."
As much as I would enjoy airing his ass out, I chose to help him out—for his lady's sake.
"Can you give him the phone, please?"
"Sure, thang."
I got up to place the telephone flatly next to the hook and yelled out, "Ayo, Ace!"
☠︎
"Ace, ayo, Ace!"
I continued staring at the ceiling, listening to my name repeatedly being called out for the millionth time. Thank god I've been up for the past ten minutes, way before the call out, so I don't get woken up out of my sleep—this time.
Ion know what the fuck is up with this nigga hollering out my name like this every day. He has a rise out of it. Must feel good rolling off his tongue.
Sus ass boy.
Not gonna lie, I'm very appreciative of this nigga E for giving me a place to stay after I got fired and helping me find some new work, but I swear, after I moved in, things have not been the same.
He has always been a little controlling and demanding—hell, he is a manager, but I only had to tolerate it for eight hours of the day. But now—it's twenty-four-seven.
By the way he treats a nigga, I feel like I'm his child, and that shit is annoying as fuck.
I'm starting to think I moved back in with my momma.
He started to take advantage of me not having a job and having to depend on him.
That's why I have to put a stop to this and find something fast.
"I must be a celebrity the way you keep hollerin' my fuckin' name every day in this goddamn apartment!" I yelled back with my face scrunched.
Footsteps stopped in front of the closed door. "Telephone." He properly announced. This nigga had to have been born in the wrong lifetime cause who the fuck still says 'Telephone.'
A damn old head.
"Who is it?"
"Answer it, and you'll find out."
As the sound of movement on the other side weakened, my hand waved, brushing his attitude off.
Nigga grows his hair out into braids and thinks he's all that.
I reached across the bed to the nightstand and grabbed the corded phone. Can't believe he got these old Benjamin Franklin ass telephones all around the crib.
"Yo?" My voice dryly greeted. Hope it wasn't an employer, or else I'm getting fired before I even get hired.
"Hey."
The stern demeanor held deep within soon diminished, caused by the soothing tone—now mixed with discomfort. Her voice, weed, and riding seemed to be the only thing calming my nerves these days.
"Well good morning, Junebug," I teasingly cooed, sitting up. "How you feelin' today?"
"The same as yesterday," she muffled, "how about you?"
"Same," I agreed. "Better now that I'm talking to you, though." Praying that made her smile and heart jump like it did mine.
"Are you almost done getting ready?"
My top teeth lightly hit my lower lip. Even though I ain't get a verbal same in return, I know the feeling reciprocated internally.
"Getting ready for what?"
"The funeral."
Funeral. Funeral? Oh shit—the funeral. It's today. Ain't no way I forgot, I wrote that shit down on the calendar.
Looking over, the motorcycled Calendar hung crooked on the wall. The month of June made its presence known up top, presenting the boxes labeled with days of the week, dates, and scribbles of events written inside.
Toni's sister's funeral.
It was poorly written in tiny letters on the appropriate date—July 2nd. My eyes squinted, glancing at the day.
Friday. And today's Thursday, so how could it be today?
It's like my eyes already knew the answer. Slowly tilting my head, the bold silver numbers that read 2008 came into contact.
Shit. Wrong year.
"Fuc—I mean, hell yeah, I'm getting ready," I said, speedily taking the covers off me. The mirror on top of the wooden dresser showed my tired expression and bare chest.
"Just gotta put on my shoes."
A laugh echoed on the other end of the phone.
"You know, as much as you talk about Everette, you two have much in common."
My brows arched at the sudden change of topics. Nevertheless, curiosity got the best of me. "Like what?"
"Besides, you both have an interest in motorcycles and being good at fixing them.."
I bit my lips, eagerly waiting for her to continue.
"You two are terrible liars."
After the confession, the dial tone soon irritably buzzed in my ears.
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