Holidaze (19 page)

“Jayd, are you okay?” Mr. Adewale says when they exit the room.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern,” I say, rising out of my seat and leaving his room, too. Before Mickey started hating on me, Mr. A was hot on my and Emilio’s trail. I feel like the whole world as I know it has turned upside down and I’m buried underneath it. This weekend I just want to crawl under a rock and hide out. And I think I’ll start my retreat right now and wait for this confusing day to end.

Driving down Artesia Boulevard and heading toward my mom’s neck of the woods, I recognize all of the small side streets and landmarks that let me know I’m going the right way. The bank on my left, the gas station on my right. There are several fast food restaurants on either side of the street, as well as other businesses that tell me I’m heading in the right direction. But if it weren’t for these familiar landmarks, I wouldn’t know which direction I was headed. That’s how I feel at school with my friends.

I know I’m not in familiar territory if Mickey and Misty are hanging tight. I know I’m going in the wrong direction if I end up married to Rah and sharing my wedding with his baby mama. I know this is a warped existence if Nigel proposed to Mickey, when I know he’s feeling quite the opposite way. If I trust my visions and know that the way I’m feeling is what’s real, then how do I balance everything else out, and set my world straight again?

I turn on my left blinker to indicate I need to change lanes. As usual, the haters are out this sunny Friday afternoon, and no one wants to let me into the left lane. This turn onto Hawthorne Boulevard is always difficult. Finally, one brother lets me get in front of him and I wave thanks in my rearview mirror. I barely make it through the light, leaving the kind stranger behind. I wish friendships had the same traffic laws. There should be some sort of signal when we’re all turning on each other so no one gets left in the dust.

“It’s bigger than hip-hop,”
my cell sings, announcing a call from Mama. I put Dead Prez’s song as her personal ringtone because she’s the realest person I know. I’m sure she would’ve preferred Aretha Franklin or Anita Baker. But she won’t hate on old school hip-hop because it has the same roots as the music she loves.

“Hola,”
I say, putting the cell on speaker. These cops around here would love to pull my black ass over and cite me for talking on the phone while driving.

“Hello to you, too,” Mama says, sounding exhausted. She’s been working day and night to fill her clients’ orders, as well as dealing with all of my shit. “Are you planning on working at Netta’s tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, glancing at the indicator on the dashboard that shows my gas tank is nearly empty. I wish I did have a choice between working at Netta’s over the weekend and catching up on my rest, but unfortunately my funds are suffering.

“Good. I would like for you to look through your spirit notebook and brush up on your dream notes. Have you been keeping track of all of your dreams?”

“Uhmm, not really. I think they’re permanently etched into my memory.” Once you’ve been burned and attacked, as well as all of the other stuff that’s happened in my dreams—whether walking or not—it’s pretty hard to forget them.

“Don’t be so sure, little lady. Make sure you write down everything you can recall in your notebook, you hear? I want to take a look at it tomorrow when you come to the shop.” I have enough work to do, but I know Mama doesn’t want to hear me complain. At least there’s no traffic to deal with on this street, making my afternoon a little bit smoother.

“I thought you were taking Saturdays off?” I ask. Mama’s been working too hard and resting too little lately. She needs to take her own well-being more seriously.

“I will take a day off when this love rush is over. You know these people out here are desperate to get their hands on anything they think can bring them more of everything they desire, whether it’s good for them or not.” Sounds like some of my friends have become Mama’s clients.

“Okay, Mama. But please get some rest. I’m worried about you.” I’m almost to Inglewood now, and can’t wait to lie down on my mom’s couch.

“Girl, don’t worry about me. I’ve been doing this for a long time and don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. By the way, how was your day, baby?”

“Oh, it was a day,” I say, not really wanting to divulge to Mama all of the details of Misty’s coup. She’s taking over in almost every area of my life and I’m too tired to fight her effectively.

“Well, I know that. But I asked you how yours was. Uh oh, what did Misty do now?” Mama knows when I’ve had a bad day.

“She helped Mickey get Nigel to propose to her, when I know for a fact Nigel was not a willing participant in the engagement.” I turn onto my mom’s street, now only three blocks away from her building. Boys and girls alike are chilling outside, ready for the weekend. One guy in particular catches my eye as he puts a fresh coat of wax on his Cutlass Supreme. The red paint sparkles in the afternoon sun and his boys look on, completely entranced by his arm movements. I wonder if I gave him five dollars, would he wash my mom’s car?

“Really?” Even though Mama answers nonchalantly, I know there’s more behind it than innocent concern. “How’s Misty looking these days?”

“Great,” I say. I’m not going to front. She’s got a new swagger in the past couple of months, that I quietly envy. When I look at my reflection these days, all I see is bags under my eyes and none of them come with a Gucci tag.

“I see.” I know she does. Whatever she’s thinking about is probably a clear picture in her mind. I always wanted to know how Mama’s vision looks through her eyes, and my mom’s, too. I got a brief glimpse of my mom’s vision when I was her in one of my dreams. I wonder how it looks to see my thoughts from her point of view. But Mama’s powers are the fiercest.

“Yeah, she’s been on point lately.” Mama’s quiet on the other end of the phone as I park my mom’s car in her spot and prepare to make my exit. I can feel Mama looking for something in my answers, but I’m not sure what it is she wants to hear. I felt her powers a little bit when we shared the vision of Maman getting beat by her husband, on Christmas Eve. But that was only an ounce of Mama’s strength, and it was enough to knock me out then. Had I not been wearing my mom’s gift to me, which ironically ended up being the same dress Maman received as a Christmas gift, I probably wouldn’t have been pulled in like I was. Mama, on the other hand, needs no assistance jumping in and out of her visions. I guess that’s why she was—and still is—revered as a queen not to be messed with.

“Jayd, did I ever tell you the story of the day I married Oshune?”

“No, I don’t think you did. You’re not talking about your initiation, right?” I’ve heard that story so much I think I lived it.

“No. I’m talking about the day I was crowned. It was quite an event, but it almost didn’t happen. I was under so much scrutiny from the law that I almost went to jail instead of the temple where my coronation took place. It is a marriage ceremony where you dedicate your life to serving the orisha and their devotees. Once a priestess slips on those rings there’s no turning back.”

“Rings?” I repeat, envisioning the gold bands on Mama’s left hand. “Aren’t those your wedding rings from Daddy?” I open the front door to my mom’s house and shiver from the unwelcoming cold chill that always greets me. My mom probably hasn’t been here all week.

“No, dear. The wedding set on my right hand is the one your grandfather gave me. The thin bands on my left hand represent my union with Oshune. That is how I got the title Ayaba. It literally means ‘wife to the king’ and Oshune is a female king.”

“And Daddy didn’t have a problem with you not wearing his ring on your left hand?” In my mind I can see the five thin circles held together by one thick gold link on the backside of the set. I’ve always envied how beautiful the rings look on her smooth hands.

“Whether he had a problem with it or not is irrelevant. He knew what he was getting into when he married me. It bothers him more now than it did then, I admit. But he jumped in with his eyes wide open. The point that I’m making is that all relationships are difficult, especially ones where you have to lead and serve at the same time. But our ancestors have mastered this already. Find out the common message in all of your dreams after you write them down. And be prepared to talk about them tomorrow. Now get some sleep and I’m going to get back to work.”

“Good night, Mama, and I love you.”

“I love you more, little Jayd. See you tomorrow. And take your pills,” she adds before hanging up. I’ll be so glad when I’m out of this mess and done taking those damned pills. In the meantime, I’ll have to keep up with my dose until Misty’s off my back. If they’ll help me get my sight back on point, then I’ll be one step closer to kicking Misty’s ass once and for all.

“If you want the marriage to be over you have to take off the rings,” Mama says as my mom and Aunt Vivica get ready to leave Mama’s house. The baby me looks at my mother and smiles, knowing she’s in safe hands with Mama.

“I intend on taking them off and pawning them, like my wedding china and everything else that belongs to me in that house. Come on, Vivica, let’s go get my stuff.”

“Lynn Marie, you need to leave well enough alone, girl. Don’t go back to that house and whatever you do, don’t pawn those rings. The only way to shed your past is to bury it.” My mom didn’t listen to her about burying my caul and she isn’t hearing her now either. Damn, my mother has a hard head. That must be where my rock comes from. The next scene shifts to my mom outside of my dad’s house.

“Give me Jayd’s things. And my wedding gifts,” my mom says to my father as she opens the door, stepping into the kitchen while my aunt Vivica waits outside by the car. I think they watched
Thelma and Louise
one too many times.

“Now’s not a good time, Lynn Marie,” my father says, pulling his robe closed to hide his silk drawers. My mom looks around the kitchen and notices two wine glasses on the counter.

“You’ve got somebody in here, for real?” my mom yells at him.

“Lynn Marie, get out of my house,” he says, trying to block her from coming in.

“Your
house? Don’t you mean
our
house, or at least that’s what you said over the phone last night. Who’s the dumb bitch this time?” My mom charges out of the kitchen and through the dining room toward the living room. “You,” my mom says. It’s the same waitress from the Valentine’s Day drama I dreamt about, and the broad is still wearing the necklace he gave them both. Damn, she’s stupid.

“Now that’s enough, Lynn Marie. It’s Thanksgiving, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you have somewhere to be?” My mom looks from my dad to his mistress, who is dressed in nothing but a robe matching my dad’s, and smiles sinisterly.

“You know what? Since you’re stupid enough to go back to this fool even after you found out what a jackass he is, you deserve to be his wife. I’m over it.” My mom takes off her wedding rings and begins to hand them to the girl, who looks from my father to my mother in total shock.

“You told me she moved out already,” the girl says, backing away from my mom’s advance. Smart move. “I can’t be around no voodoo witches.” My mom—like all Williams women—hates to be called a witch. One of our great ancestors, Tituba, was one of many African captives living in this country who were accused of being a witch, because she understood how nature works. She was eventually hung during the Salem witch trials, after her master’s children falsely accused her of practicing witchcraft. Needless to say, calling any priestess in our lineage a witch are fighting words.

“I’m not a witch.” My mom’s green eyes begin to slightly glow and, catching the fire’s reflection, they look more fierce than usual.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the lady cries, backing away from my mother’s gesture. My mom laughs at the trick’s reaction to her power and looks back at my father, who doesn’t know what to do. Unexpectedly, she tosses her wedding band and diamond engagement ring into the fireplace.

“Are you crazy?” my father screams, pushing my mom onto the couch and almost stepping on his date to get to the fireplace. “Do you know how much those rings are worth?”

“Go fish,” my mom says, rising from the couch and storming out of the house without getting what she came for. She doubles back, goes into the kitchen, and retrieves from the stovetop her cast-iron skillets that Mama gave her as a wedding present. My daddy reaches for her arm and she raises the two skillets up like swords. He backs off and she and my aunt Vivica get in the car and roll out.

“Jayd,” I hear someone calling in my dream. It’s not my mom or Mama but it feels real, like when they’re here with me. “Kill her!” When I come into my next vision, I’m running from an angry mob, with Misty leading the way. Stones begin hitting me in the head and all over the rest of my body. I trip and fall into a deep pit and the crowd gathers around it, burying me in a storm of stones.

“Wake up, Jayd. Now!” I hear my mom’s voice yell.