Holidaze (4 page)

“I study. I still have to pass my exams at the University of West Los Angeles in the spring, before they award me my master’s degree in conjunction with my bachelor’s.”

“Wow, that must take a lot of time out of your day.” I feel him though. “Between my schoolwork and my work at home, I always have my head in a book.”

“Is there a better place for your head to be?” Yeah, resting on a pillow in a deep sleep that keeps me still, but he doesn’t need to know all that. Ending our brief conversation, Mr. Adewale stops in front of my fourth-period classroom and unlocks the door. Yes! He’s my teacher after all. There is a God.

“Oh hell, no, she’s not in our class,” Misty says, following Mr. A and me into the cold, dark classroom. If I recall correctly, this room wasn’t used last semester. It smells stale in here and has a strange feeling, like it’s vacant, but not really. If I didn’t know any better I’d say there were ghosts up in here, but I think that’s my sleep deprivation talking.

“Now, this should be interesting,” Jeremy says, talking over KJ and Misty’s heads while looking down at me from behind. I look up at Mr. Adewale, who shakes his head before turning on the lights.

“Please take your seats,” Mr. A says over the loud crowd. Most of the students from my government class are in here, as well as other displaced AP students. But there are a few new faces as well. One dude in particular catches my eye because he seems to be staring at me. I quickly swoop up the seat closest to Mr. Adewale’s dusty desk, and Jeremy’s right next to me, as usual. Misty, KJ, and the rest of their crew, including Shae and Tony—her mute man, who never speaks unless spoken to—take the seats in the back, and everyone else files in and gets comfortable in our new space.

“Excuse me, I’m supposed to have you sign this,” the cute Latino dude who was checking me out says to Mr. A. He glances at me and gives me a shy smile, making me blush from the inside out. Damn, he’s fine. I wonder if he’s met Maggie and the rest of El Barrio, the Latino clique. If not, I think introductions are in order and I’ll be glad to make the connection.

“Sure,” Mr. A says, taking the yellow enrollment slip from our new classmate and signing it. “Okay, class, today we’re going to get our seat assignments in order and pass out the textbooks. Tomorrow I will hand out the syllabi for the semester and I expect everyone to familiarize themselves with the various sections of the textbook by tomorrow.”

“Damn, dude, chill. It’s the first day,” Del says, causing KJ and followers to chuckle. Now they should know better than to mess with the same brotha that served as the referee for the game between them and my boys. Jeremy shakes his head, crosses his arms over his desk and puts his head down for a quick nap. He has no tolerance for drama of any kind.

“It’s not the first day, it’s the third and I’m not your dude nor do I chill.” Mr. Adewale slams his teacher’s edition onto his desk, causing a cloud of dust to rise up and silencing the chattering class. Jeremy doesn’t budge. “No disrespect of any kind will be tolerated.” Mr. A walks over to Jeremy and taps him on the shoulder, waking him up.

“Sorry, man, my bad,” Jeremy says, sitting up straight in his chair. I wish I could fall out that easily.

“Jeremy, would you please pass out the textbooks that are in the back corner of the room. KJ, you can help.” Wow, Mr. A is serious about his shit this morning. “Rule number one of debate and speech is to respect your opponent, just like in any other sport. You may not like them or agree with what they’re saying, but they still deserve to be heard. Rule number two is to remember rule number one.”

Feeling someone’s eyes on me, I turn around and look behind me, scanning the other faces in the room. I catch Misty staring at me. She’s been going back and forth with Shae the whole time we’ve been in here. Just then, Nellie and Laura walk into the room, completing my nightmare of a class situation. I feel like I’ve died and gone straight to hell, and I don’t even believe in the place. Mama says life, like hell, is what you make of it, and this is as close as I could get to it on Earth.

“Like I said, this should be interesting,” Jeremy says, placing a book on my desk before continuing with the rest of the row. He’s no prophet, but Jeremy hit this one on the head. Mama’s definitely got to tell me how to deal with this situation, because keeping a cool head this semester will be next to impossible.

M
ama’s still not comfortable with me having a license to drive. She refuses to get in the car if I’m behind the wheel, saying she values the rest of her living years too much to let a teenager drive her around. Rather than me pick her up from the house and we both ride together to Dr. Whitmore’s office, which is next door to our neighborhood liquor store, Miracle Market, she’d rather meet me there. With all of the walking Mama does on a daily basis, it’s no wonder why she’s in such good shape. No one would ever guess she’s a mother of eight children and in her mid-fifties. Her salt-and-pepper, shoulder-length hair only adds to her youthful look, because her skin is seamless, not a crack to be found.

“Hey, Mama,” I say, walking into the small office. There’s a waiting room with Zen qualities, and two patient rooms on either side of us. It feels more like an Eastern medical clinic than a general practitioner’s office, like the sign on the door reads.

Dr. Whitmore delivered all of Mama’s children and has taken care of them ever since. My mom never liked Dr. Whitmore, just like she felt about Netta, and delivered me at a hospital in Bellflower. Mama’s never forgiven my mother for that, and blames her for my caul not receiving the proper burial it deserved. But Mama’s been taking me to Dr. Whitmore on her own since then, and he’s cool with me.

“Hey, baby,” Mama says, moving her right cheek slightly up to meet my kiss. “How was your day?”

I take my purse off of my shoulder and sit down next to Mama on the futon to wait for the doctor.

“It was cool until Misty said something that freaked me out.” Mama looks at me and her green eyes begin to glow as she probes my thoughts; looking for what, I’m not sure. But, by the way her eyes widen, I’d say she found what she was searching for.

“What exactly did she say?” Mama asks in a low voice that gives me the shivers. What the hell? The next time she asks me about my day I’m giving her a simple one-word answer. Dr. Whitmore’s office door opens and we can hear him wrapping up a phone conversation. “Word for word, Jayd. This is important.”

“She said that I’m ‘the bitch who death follows.’” Mama turns grey as soon as the words leave my lips. Before she can say anything, Dr. Whitmore walks into the waiting room to greet us.

“My two favorite ladies in the whole world,” he says, opening his long arms to hug us both. Daddy’s always been jealous of Mama’s relationship with Dr. Whitmore, but he really can’t talk, as many church women as he’s laid his healing hands on from the pulpit and beyond. “So, your grandmother tells me you’re having some problems sleeping, Jayd. What’s going on?”

“She’s been hexed,” Mama says matter-of-factly. When did she come to that conclusion and why didn’t she share it with me? “By Esmeralda and one of her latest followers.”

“When did this happen and where was I?” I ask as the conversation goes over my head. This always happens when Mama and Dr. Whitmore get together.

“While you were sleeping, I assume,” Mama says. Now she’s scaring me.

“That old bat. She still doesn’t get it, does she?” Whenever Mama’s around Dr. Whitmore, their body language becomes relaxed, but I know not to ask her too many questions regarding their relationship. Mama taught me at a young age to be quiet unless spoken to when I was out with her. I broke that rule once and can still feel the sting in my ass from that spanking.

“No, and she never will. We need to get to work on Jayd right away. Her powers are growing swiftly and Esmeralda knows it. She’s got one of Jayd’s school friends doing her dirty work now.”

“Misty’s not my friend,” I say. They both look at me like I’ve lost my mind for speaking out of turn. Mama’s eyebrows tighten into a frown, the usual scolding for intruding in what she calls “grown folks’ business.” I’m sorry for being rude, but that had to be said for the record. Misty’s no friend of mine. And with all of the adjectives there are in the English language, I know we can come up with something better than that to describe her relationship to me.

“No, she’s not,” Dr. Whitmore says, taking my chin into his cold hand and forcing me to stick my tongue out. “Mmhmm,” he says, looking closely into my mouth. I never get used to this part. I always think my breath stinks, especially after the Funyuns I ate for lunch today. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable in room number one. I need to get my tools and I’ll be in momentarily.” Mama walks me into the first patient room and closes the curtain, which serves as a door for the intimate space.

“Mama, what’s he looking at when he’s eyeing my tongue?” I ask, making myself comfortable on the table in the center of the room. This is a sanctuary compared to the other doctors’ offices I have to visit from time to time. There are several bamboo trees lining the walls and soothing Chinese music playing in the background. Mama sits down on the love-seat opposite where I’m seated. I notice hanging on the wall above her head are copies of Dr. Whitmore’s acupuncture and medical licenses, as well as the certified oath he took as a traditional healer, just like the one hanging up in Mama’s spirit room.

“He’s checking your vital signs.”

“Doesn’t he need a stethoscope and a thermometer for that?” Mama rolls her eyes at my line of questioning, knowing I’m doing it mostly to antagonize her and less out of curiosity. I don’t want to be here and I’m tired. The last thing I want is someone poking at me today.

“No, he does not.” Mama’s stern voice let’s me know that her patience with me is wearing thin. “You act like you haven’t been coming here all of your life, Jayd. What’s gotten into you today?”

“I’m just saying, what’s my tongue got to do with my temperature?”

“You can tell a lot about what’s going on in a person’s body by looking at the color of their tongue. Part of being a natural practitioner is taking the path of least intrusiveness, and that starts with you being quiet and sticking out your tongue.” Mama throws her soft pink cashmere shawl across her shoulders and covers the slight cleavage she’s letting pop today. She looks like she’s going out on a date or something.

“Chilly?”

Mama smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back. Mama’s a grown, attractive woman and she’s not dead. If anyone deserves some innocent flirting and positive attention from a man it’s my grandmother. Dr. Whitmore walks through the curtain and sets my chart and a small tray of instruments down on the table next to my feet. He looks at my grandmother and takes in her presence fully before turning his attention back to me.

“As you already know, your visit alludes to a larger spiritual problem and I know your grandmother’s already on top of that.” Dr. Whitmore winks at Mama and she blushes like a schoolgirl. If they keep it up they’re going to make me sick instead of heal me, which is the reason I’m here. Taking the miniature flashlight off the tray, he looks into my eyes, ears, and nose. Dr. Whitmore returns the light to the tray and takes out seven thin acupuncture needles. Mama rises from her seat and walks over to the sink on the other side of the room where his shelves and cabinets are housed, and washes her hands.

“Lynn Mae, do you remember the first time we performed acupuncture together?”

“Of course I do. You let me in the room knowing I’d never poked anyone with a needle before.”

“Yes, but even then your acupressure was exceptional.” Dr. Whitmore watches as Mama reaches for two of the small tincture vials lining the wall above the sink. She takes two cotton balls from their jar next to the sink and joins Dr. Whitmore for my session. “Lie down, child. This won’t take long.”

“Jayd, I want you to breathe deep and try to relax,” Mama says, patting my thigh with her right hand as she pushes the cotton ball down on one of the tincture jars with her other hand. She then applies the effervescent ball onto the center of my forehead, my temples, the top of both shoulders, and on the side of both big toes. These are the points where Dr. Whitmore will place the needles. As I inhale the lavender and patchouli oil intermingling in the air, Dr. Whitmore follows Mama’s trail, and I’m directed to be still and let the needles do their job.

I know it sounds crazy, but these little needles really do get some things moving in my body. I don’t have acupuncture very often, but every time I do I feel better afterward. It’s just the poking and prodding that bugs me. After they are done placing the needles, Mama cleans up and returns to her seat while I drift off, enjoying the surge of ashe, or spiritual power, flowing through me.

After what seems like only a few minutes, I can feel Mama rise from her seat and begin to remove the needles. I open my eyes and glance at the clock on the wall. I’ve been lying here for close to an hour. Mama smiles down at me and Dr. Whitmore smiles down at her. They both look like they enjoyed my nap more than I did.

“How do you feel?” he asks, again forcing my tongue out while he searches for signs of life. He gives a nod of satisfaction and Mama does the same thing.

“I feel okay. I slept.”

“Yes, but did you dream?” Mama asks. In any other household parents would be happy to know their children were sleeping, but not in mine. Mama’s got to have the dreams too, and damn the REM sleep.

“No, I didn’t, or if I did I can’t remember. I didn’t even realize I’d been out for this long.” Mama breathes a sigh of concern and looks up at Dr. Whitmore for suggestions. Dr. Whitmore walks over to his medicine cabinet, pulls out a jar of huge brown capsules, and hands them to me. “Whatever or whoever’s stressing you out, let him go. That goes for you too, Lynn Mae.” Mama and I both look at him and reluctantly smile. We’ve both got our share of boy problems and, unfortunately, that always leads to hating females like Esmeralda and Misty.

“Thank you, Dr. Whitmore.”

“Don’t mention it, young lady. You just take care of yourself and watch your back. Esmeralda means you harm and that’s real. But we won’t let her get the best of you, little Jayd.” Mama takes out her wallet to pay, but Dr. Whitmore puts his hand over hers and directs her to keep her money. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you again,” I say, following Mama to the door.

“Yes, thank you, and we’ll talk to you soon.” Mama looks back at him as he walks us to the entrance. They look at each other like they want to say more but can’t because I’m here. I step outside in front of Mama and let them have a moment alone. I walk to my mom’s car and open the passenger door, tossing my purse into the backseat. I look at the bottle the doctor gave me and study the Chinese characters.

“What are these?” I ask Mama as she exits the building. She walks over to me and looks around to check out our environment. Mama’s always on red alert, and rightfully so. We’ve got plenty of haters out here.

“They are vitamins to help strengthen your ashe. You’re going to need all of the help you can get to fight off whatever this girl’s put on you. And even more than that, you’re going to need to learn how to control your dreams before they end up hurting you, or worse.” I’ve never heard Mama this scared before.
Worse?

“The only thing that could be worse is death, and I know that’s not what you’re talking about, is it?” I search her eyes for a hint, but she’s not giving in.

“Jayd, you ask too many questions,” Mama says, answering my question with a straight poker face. “Just focus on getting some sleep and leave the rest up to me.” No problem. I have enough on my plate as it is.

“Can I drive you home?” Mama looks at me like I’m really crazy this time, but I have to ask. Without responding, Mama drapes her shawl over her shoulders and begins her trek toward Gunlock Avenue. “Okay; see you at home,” I say to Mama as she turns the corner, walking toward our block. As fast as she steps, she’ll probably beat me there. I didn’t have a chance to ask her about how to handle my new classmates, but that can wait until tomorrow. I don’t want anything else on my mind for my date with some much-needed sleep. The drama will definitely still be there come morning.

With Tre’s service on Friday and Rah still not talking to me, the last thing I need is something else to worry about. Mickey’s still pissed at me for telling her off about Nigel getting shot, and I can’t get any information from Nigel himself because his parents have confiscated his cell. It seems like life as I know it has changed permanently, and there’s nothing that I can do about it. After I finish my homework I’m going to take my meds, and if they work like they’re supposed to, I should get some good sleep tonight.

“Lynn Marie, please stop. You don’t know what you’re doing!” Mama shouts as I empty the contents of one of my three large Hefty trash bags that house my clothes, underwear, and other possessions. Bryan’s bottom bunk bed is covered with all of my things—except they’re not really mine and I’m not me. I’m my mother at my age. Oh hell, no, not again.

“You don’t own me, Mama. I can do what I want, when I want.” I continue to empty the bags onto the bed and sift through my mother’s things. Damn, she has a lot of shit.

“No, you cannot, little girl, and as long as you live under my roof you will do as I say.” Mama grabs my arm and turns me toward her. When I look into her eyes I see it’s not Mama but rather Maman, and she’s looking at me so intently it’s making my head hurt.

“Problem solved,” I (as my mom) say, without moving my lips. I’m talking to Maman from my mind into hers. This must be before my mom lost the use of her powers on other people. It’s like I can hear the words as they form in Maman’s head before she speaks them aloud. I can even hear her changing her mind. What a trip.