Stern, firm, and young with a laid back tongue. The aim is to succeed and achieve at twenty-one.
Bobbing my head as I trudge through the slushy mud engulfed parking lot, I can find happiness within the rhythm thumping within my earbuds. The bright skyline failed to get my attention tonight. A piece of the problem may quite possibly be the hefty fog that has swallowed the top of every skyscraper whole. What does have my attention, however, would be the Los Angeles traffic I am bound to have to endure. The rain is never the only downfall. Something about being so close the stars has always put a litter of molasses in the gas tanks of most cars on the roads.
Twisting the key in ignition, I stare directly at my dashboard as I silently pray to the heavens that my Check Engine light will not be illuminated on this specific night. My car always does get a little funky when it rains. "Come on, baby. Come on, baby." I chant as I listen to my engine roar. My eyes shut. "Mama's got a Twilight marathon starting at nine, we gotta' be there, babe." My eyes open five seconds after roaring up my engine. The light is no where in sight. I am met by own loud sigh of relief.
I lean back in my seat. My phone sits in the passenger's seat as I allow the bluetooth to connect. Kamaal Fareed, more commonly known Q-Tip, has the majority of my interest as his voice continues to ease my wandering brain. The intensity of tonight's storm gives me a moment to think.
Twenty-eight years old without a man, without kids, without any pets, without any sense of direction in life... that would be me. I sometimes wonder, on nights like this, how am I okay with myself? Truth be told, I am not. Guilt has its own special way of slipping into the main function factory of my mind. I, then, wonder the same exact thought almost every time I am down. If my mother were alive, would she be okay with who I am? Would she be proud of me? Is this what the hell she wanted her baby to become? I doubt it. You see, I'm screwed because I need to get myself in order. The only way to do so would be to go in the right direction. Me not having any sense of the correct one, nor having a compass, makes the entire experience unclear. Failure is the only option.
I'm fucked.
As I continue to mentally beat myself up, my music is cut by the sound of my genetic computerized ringtone that Apple has provided me with. I knew I should've bought that new Samsung Galaxy instead. I gaze down to my radio's screen as the name of the hour appears. The sparkling heart emoticon makes it clear to the public, and myself sometimes, that the aunt calling me is my favorite. Traffic slows down in correlation with my arm's extension I go to click the answer button on my screen.
"Hello, Charolette?"
Giggling at the way even my most tech-savvy aunt has her occasional moments, I nod as if she can see me. "Yeah, it's me Auntie Char." Her name is, too, Charolette. She was named after her grandmother for the sake of tradition. I, on the other hand was named after my great-grandmother in the wake of her death. There being two Hawthorne women who are referred to as Char and Charolette is known to confuse outsiders of the family. Usually, when we are both present, I'm referred to as CJ. Charolette Junior, of course.
"I thought I called you but the screen did that freeze thing... these damn iPhones. Look, anyway, where are you?"
I switch lanes to prepare myself to get off of the exit. "On my way home from work," I inform her as I grow curious of what is on her mind tonight.
"Stop by and see your favorite aunt. I got some things I want to show you."
Click.
I always wondered from whom she had adopted the habit of hanging up without giving out a farewell. The idea of her being this way my entire life has slimmed out the list of culprits. As a child, she would say goodbye to me. When I turned seventeen, she told me that I was a grown woman and needed to be treated as such. Two days before my eighteenth birthday was the first time she hung up on me in my face like that. I was borderline pissed off until my mother sat me down to explain that she did it to everyone... every single body.
"I guess that marathon isn't happening," I say to myself.
AUNT CHAROLETTE'S HOUSE
4133 VINTON AVE, CULVER CITY, CALIFORNIA
9:34 PM
My hands smoothen across the image of my mother. Amazing. It has always been hard for me to believe that any other woman in the world is anywhere near as beautiful as my mother is. Her rose flushed cheekbones, caramel skin, heart-shaped face, naturally arched eyebrows. She is a beauty. In fact, she may quite possibly be the epitome of beauty. To see her so young, happy, and full of life brings great joy to my heart.
"You two look so much alike. Oh my God, CJ." Aunt Charolette sits down on the couch beside me with her e-cigarette filled with strawberry-banana flavoring and her wine glass filled with Jordan Cabernet as we sit beside the fireplace. "You have your father's eyes. It isn't too common you would've seen a black girl walking around with those hazel, grey, green, blue— whatever color them thangs in your head is. Well, you would... but she would've paid $3.99 at the gas station or $5.99 at Walgreens to get them." Aunt Charolette and I laugh as she inhales her electronic cigarette, committing long-term suicide before my very eyes.
She did not want much when she called me over here. My cousin's are all moved out and my Uncle William, her husband, is a 9-11 dispatcher who occasionally works the nightshift. She is simply bored. So, she pulled out the photo albums. She told me she found all kinds of stuff from back in the days where she and my mom used to live to see the sun rise. I would have made my way over with no hesitation even if I knew she did not really want anything. My aunt has been like my second mother since my mother died. Their mother (my grandmother) and grandmother (my great-grandmother) both passed on the exact same way. Aunt Charolette is not the only person to understand the way it feels in the Hawthorne family but, she is the only person to understand the pattern and the way I feel about it.
"Is that her and her boyfriend?"
Aunt Charolette nods. "Girl, yes! I used to tell your dad all the time that I was shook that she even agreed to go out with him. Your mother loved tall, dark, and handsome. Your daddy was cute, he was tall, but he wasn't that chocolate she loved. I thought she was going to turn that little mixed boy down." I snicker at the idea of my dad being curved by my mom. The embarrassment would have been out of this world, I know it! My dad was a player so, the experience would have been beyond humbling. "I still, to this day, do not know why she said yes." She takes another sip of her wine following a drag of her cigarette.
My fingers point to the vision of my mother dressed up in a princess costume. "What's this, a Halloween party?"
"Nope! That's from a friend's birthday party." I nod in understanding. "Damn, he sure did know how to throw a slamming ass party. God rest the baby's beautiful soul."
I glance at her. "He died?"
"Yeah," she sighs.
I look back down at all of the pictures. They ooze the essence of a lit situation. Damn, God rest mom and Aunt Charolette's friend's soul because clearly this man knew how the hell to throw a party. The pictures indicate that it was a good time. "Is that him right there?" I ask pointing at the image of a tall, dark man who looks to be dressed as a surgeon. "Was he one of mom's boos or whatever?"
"Nuh uhn," giggles Aunt Charolette. "He was mine. He looked nothing like that. I'm sure he's somewhere in there. We took all kinds of pictures!" She laughs knowingly as she leans forward to set her wine glass on the table in exchange for a handful of the Skinny Pop she brought out per my request. "You'll see him. He's dressed as a pirate but, it's pictures of us without costumes on some other days."
Squinting at an image of a stage, I point out an odd looking man with a saxophone. "Who is that?"
Aunt Charolette scoffs as her eyes quickly roll. "That ain't nobody! Just know that even without the costume, that bitch was not cute and she could've got handled any day!" My lips purse as the unhealed wounds of my aunt are showcased. That must be the Slauson in her. She ran it far before Nipsey, God rest his soul as well. The marathon continues!
"Okay, moving on!"
I flip the page with a quickness and a piece of paper falls out.
"Ooooooh," I coo out in awe. "Can you say vintage? This is cuteeeee! I like the little doodles and the creativity." My body feels a nostalgic wave as if I have experienced such a feeling before. I scan the card, examining for any kind of detail of familiarity or maybe even a reason as to why I feel connected to it. I allow my head to fall to my right shoulder. "The colors are really nice. Wow, this is so vintage." My smile widens as I place it back into the spot it had flown from when I turned the page.
Aunt Charolette grins. "Yeah, he made the flyer for his own party."
I can feel my eyebrows widen as I lean to the opposing direction of my aunt. "What?" I ask in a playful sense of shock. A snap in my fingers, I find my slightly bouncing in my seat to a melody that dates back to the year 2008. "I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T, do you know what that means?" Laughing at me, Aunt Charolette nudges me playfully, though it is a little on the rougher side.
I turn the page again. There is one last party photo. Someone stands between my aunt and my mother. "Oh, is that the guy?" I ask, leaning forward to get a better view of the image I am being presented with. "Looks like a pirate to me. Unless I'm blind in this eye, it could be the Fetty Wap in me."
"Yeah," chuckles Aunt Charolette. "That's him."
My nose turns up at the sight. "You two are not tall at all so, either you and mom shrunk or little man's a itty bitty thing." The times surely have changed, this image makes it crystal clear. I have nothing against being with a man who is shorter than I am... but... I would prefer to steer away from that build. Maybe I am like my mother. Tall, dark, and handsome may quite possibly be my type now that I am thinking about it.
"He may look short but, he was far from it. The man was huge." My head snaps to my aunt as my wide eyes swell within my sockets. She swats at me with the hand that holds onto her electric cigarette. The disbelief I once carried quickly vanishes. "Nasty ass kids! I meant the energy he carried. He had a big personality. He was larger than life no matter what this picture says." I giggle as I prepare to turn the page. My actions are ceased as she taps on the image. "Remove your mother and I from the picture and I guarantee he'd look like he was six feet tall. I promise you that!" Pursing my lips, I let her calm down a little as her passion for this man becomes clear that it has never once died.
I wonder how Uncle William would feel about this.
"Uncle Will know you still love this man?"
Aunt Charolette takes yet another drag of her cigarette, blowing to the right to keep from blowing any smoke in my face. "Of course. I'm not in love with him anymore, I never was... I will always love him, though. H– He's always had a piece of my heart. He's Prince. He's one of those people who ends up taking a piece of everybody he's ever met's heart. Sometimes it's a small piece, sometimes it's the whole damn thing. That's just how he is."
Turning the page, I come to meet a brand new set of pictures. These, however, are far from the previous theme. All of the new photos I am examining all are on normal occasions. "Woah." My eyes pop right back open at I stare down at a photo of my aunt in a bikini with her arms wrapped around a man I've seen many, many, many times in my life. "You met Prince?" My view slides over to see my mother leaning out from behind him with a wide smile as she photobombs the entire shot. "Mommy met Prince?" My voice climbs up to have my question double as a exclamation of pure shock.
"I just said he's Prince!"
My brain bounces around my skull as I shake my head, intensely, from left to right. "I thought you said he was a prince not, he is Prince!"
As unbelievable as it was, it was not absolutely blasphemous. My mom loved Prince. She still plays his music often. I grew up hearing his voice quite often but, nobody has ever told any stories. I figured they were simply mega fans. You know, the way I would be to my children about Queen Bey. The love always did seem beyond me but, I know some people who would die for Beyoncé. I'm curious of this situation now. Prince died a few years ago. She went on for hours about missing him and loving him. Originally, I believed it came from the standpoint of a fan. I miss Bey on her hiatuses too. That was until she went on about calling him and failing to keep in touch. I paid no mind to it. I figured it was the delusion that came along with dying.
"Okay, wait! You have to tell me this story now. Give me cliff notes. This man wrote Purple Rain—"
Aunt Charolette groans. "There was so much more to him than When Doves Cry and you know that."
I do. It is far too easy to recall my mother blasting all one million-something albums on a Saturday morning when it was time to clean. Often I wish it weren't engraved into my brain. I never necessarily wanted to go on and join Christopher Tracy's parade. God, she loved that album. The woman played it to death! I know every word and I hate that. Eventually, I just grew tired. The moment she bought me that first MP3 player, years after I broke my first CD player because this was my punishment, I stuck in my earbuds at any given chance. The sicker she got, the less I wanted hear his voice. The attachment between the two hurt me.
"Him, me, and your mom were friends. Of course, he and I were closer."
I snicker. "Duhh, you were letting him hit."
"And you gone get hit if you interrupt me again," she says as her right eyebrow arches itself. Aunt Charolette takes a large gulp of the remaining amount of wine that is in her glass. She slams it down and brings the cigarette to her lips. "He was..." She inhales nicotine, she exhales fruity scented smoke. "Sex." My lips fold inward as I awkwardly gaze back down at the picture. His eyes are beautiful but, my mother's are far better. "But so much more. He's... ugh. He's just him and you wouldn't understand unless you met him. Not even the fans get it. He really is something. To love him is to hate him, literally, and he was so good to your mother and I."
"Damn, I didn't know it was that deep"
Aunt Charolette's eyes shut as she nods. "You can feel that he isn't here anymore but, sometimes you do feel him... do you understand?" I nod at another one of my aunt's spiritual innuendos.
This is probably how she wound up letting him hit. Two cosmic hipsters, one female and one male. Both attractive? Yeah, Aunt Charolette probably got her black blown out on a series of occasions. "So you two were dating or..."
She laughs to herself. The genuine reminiscent feelings are apparent within her eyes. "We were friends who had sex a lot. I wasn't the only one but I trusted him enough to be careful." My eyes squint as I try to wrap my head around the idea of my aunt possibly being a sidechick. "It was a... help me out here, CJ."
"You were a sidechick."
Aunt Charolette points. "No!"
"A main who was okay with him having side hoes? A Karrueche?"
She groans in disappointment at my words against the public figure. "No, Charolette." She shifts in her seat and brings her cigarette back to her face. Before inhaling, she elaborates a little more. "We were together but we weren't together... but we were both okay with it and we understood what was happening."
"Oh, a situationship!"
Exhaling, she nods in confirmation as she points in my direction, her crimson nails showcasing the reflection of the flickering fireplace. "Exactly." I can now understand what my aunt is saying to me. "He would be around... disappear for a bit, y'know to live his life," I nod at my aunts words as I grow interested in her words, "Then he's back in town and he wants to see you. You'd think it was a booty calls, like, he's gonna' hit it and quit it. You have to. No, that wasn't how it worked. He'd stay for a couple of weeks or months. It was how he operated."
"And you were okay with that?"
Aunt Charolette nods with a nonchalant shrug that follows. "I didn't want to date a rockstar and get cheated on. We were close friends and liked having sex together, that's it. He went to high school with Cousin Geanie, I'd known him since forever." At this point, nothing can shock me anymore. Tonight, I have heard it all. "The situationship was mutual. The only people getting played were the other girls."
"I was going to ask about them..."
"Yeah, those girl... honey." Aunt Charolette shakes her head with a laugh. She stands up with her wind glass and begins to walk away from me. "Whew, child. The clueless!" She laughs aloud as her body exits the livingroom.
I jump up and follow behind her. "Wait, Auntie Char, don't leave me! Finish the story!" I scurry behind her as she walks into the kitchen. She reaches up and grabs the wine glass and passes it to me. I hastily follow her back to the fire place. She greets me with a brand new bottle to accompany the almost emptied Jordan Cabernet.
She flops on the couch and I land beside her. I pick back up the book and flip through the photos some more as her story pulls me in more. She picks back up her cigarette. Inhale. "The girls would genuinely think he wanted to be with them forever and it hurt me to watch. It isn't completely their fault because the boy had game." Exhale. "His game was immaculate! Superb! He could talk The Pope into inducting him as a cardinal, Charolette. The girl you saw in the picture, I never liked her because she'd love to say that she didn't know he was with other women... She did too. We all did! That's why all of us got our karma and her's was a motherfucker!"
I cover my open mouth in entertainment. "Damn, Stevie J could never..."
"Never mind, Sheila. As I was saying, the situationship, as you'd say, was fun. It was all fun and games until he proposed to one of the girls. That is when these legs closed. You can cheat on your girlfriend with me but, cheat on your wife? Nuh uhnnnn and he understood why I backed away. We were on the same page and that's why he ended up at my wedding and I was at his... both of them," says Aunt Charolette. "He's who endorsed me to be able to start my business. I tried to pay him back and he declined. He told me the only reimbursement he wanted was me to decorate his house whenever he called and that's what I did for yearssss... Whenever he got out of a relationship he redid the entire house from head to toe." She smiles. "He cared a lot about your mother too."
I pick up the glass brought to me and fill it beyond the appropriate lining. Bringing it to my lips, I feel my sadness rise. "That's nice."
"When was the last time you called her?"
Ignoring my aunt's question, I ask my own question. "How come you guys didn't go to his funeral?"
She sighs. "It's... It's very complicated."
A moment of silence swallows the two of us whole. I find myself looking back into the book for comfort. We sit in the silence until the unbearable discomfort of it slowly metamorphosed into a comfortable quiet. I glance over at her doing the same motions over and over. Aunt Charolette leans forward for two popcorn hands. She sits back and takes a sip of her wine before taken a deep, deep inhale of her electric cigarette. She repeats the process over and over and that is how I know she is deep in thought. I continue to stare at the pictures of my family and an absolute Rock & Roll legend. After a long twenty minutes, I glance up at my aunt.
"You still have some stuff he gave you, don't you?" She smiles and my answer is obvious. "How come you never sold or auctioned it? Even these pictures and stuff. You can just make copies."
Her smile slowly fades. "When you love someone for real and not for fake? You respect their privacy. No matter how broke I get... I could be living in a pineapple under the damn sea, I will never, ever sell anything he gave me. That's beneath me."
I understand what she is saying and immediately, I wish I never said anything to begin with. I turn the page in the book and see the biggest smile on my aunt's face that I have ever seen in my entire life. I look up at her, she's fallen back into thought. "Auntie Char," I call out. She looks at me and I ask the award winning question. "Can you tell me some more stories?"
"Of course!"
CHAROLETTE'S HOUSE
12035 WILSHIRE BLVD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
12:32 AM
My right leg folded as it props up my left by the ankle, I lie on my back. My phone brought tightly to my face, the window cracked to allow a piece of the storm into my bedroom, my comforter reaches my chin as I scroll through the internet. Regardless of his relation to my mother, I have found myself completely indulged within the story of Prince. I started from the very beginning. I must admit that originally, I was frightened at the way I subconsciously knew the lyrics to songs I have erased from my brain with purpose. It slightly stung as well. I can hear my mother's voice in my own. By the time I made it to Do It All Night, I learned to live with the stinging sensation.
I find myself scrolling through a forum thread on a website with a url that is prince.org. I find myself taking it as a grain of salt as I can clearly spot out all of the trolls. My eyes light up with every scroll. The images of this funky, eccentric being strike the center of my heart where my curiosity relies. An image of two women interrupts the effects of my growing attraction to a man who is no longer here. I recognize them immediately following Aunt Charolette's explanation of a particular picture in the photo album.
PurplePyramid: JDKSKSK OKAY GUYS LOOK AT THE DOINGS OF PIMP DADDY P. 😭😭😭LOOK AT THE SMILES!!! KNOWING DAMN WELL HE WAS FUCKING BOTH OF THEM AT THE SAME TIME! MY BOY IS PLAYA OF THE CENTURY!! PRINCE!😭💀
OldFriends4Sale: Keep it up and this thread will be 🔒.
I snicker to myself and shake my head as I scroll past the explosion of excitement. I find it too hard to go as far as watching any one of the three films my mother has left engraved in my brain. Instead, I focus on the throbbing between my legs that Do Me, Baby has caused. My first instinct is to think something is wrong with me. This is a man who was once involved with my aunt... a man who was involved with my aunt that has passed on. I cannot help that he is this intriguing. I find myself watching interviews on YouTube. As his tone of voice soothes me, I continue to scroll through the suggested videos as my last thought is spoken allowed before I fall asleep with my finger still on the screen filled with motion pictures.
"He is so damn beautiful."