Roy Glenn - MOB

“Whatever, Me’shelle. That’s just some shit a muthafucka like him would say when he dropped your ass,” Bruce cracked.

“Anyway, I still could’ve had a date.”

“Who? You? Sister Mary-Me’shelle out on a date? I don’t think so. You never go anywhere, you never do anything. You just sit here every night readin’ them stupid self improvement books and gradin’ them kids’ papers.”

“Books aren’t stupid!” Me’shelle replied angrily. “Never mind. And stop looking around here for something to pawn. How much do you need?”

“Since you asked, I need two thousand dollars. But I know you ain’t got it like that, so just give me fifty and I’m gone.”

Me’shelle sucked her teeth, but she went to get her purse anyway. “You know what, Bruce? This is the last time. I can’t keep supporting you and Natalie’s habit. If Mommy and Daddy knew you turned out to be a crackhead and I was supportin’ your habit, what would they say?”

“I don’t know what your mother would say. And Pops wouldn’ta said nothin’. He woulda just sat in his chair and stared at the TV like he always did.”

After that, she really didn’t get back to sleep, and once the morning flooded her bedroom with sunshine there was no longer any point in trying. By the time Me’shelle got to the Liberty Avenue exit on the Van Wyck Expressway, she felt tired.

When she arrived at her aunt Miranda’s house, it was like a burst of energy came over her. Me’shelle unlocked the door and wandered through the house hollering, “Good morning, Aunt Miranda! Aunt Miranda, where are you?”

“In the kitchen, Me’shelle,” Miranda answered.

Me’shelle entered the kitchen and gave her aunt a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Mornin’, Me’shelle. You look tired, baby. You gettin’ enough rest? Anyway, you’re just in time to help me pick and wash these greens so I can cook them for tomorrow. My arthritis is actin’ up on me this morning. And I don’t know what all that hollering was for. Where else would I be on Sunday morning?”

“I don’t know, in bed or church maybe,” Me’shelle answered as she rolled up her sleeves.

“When have you ever known me to be in bed past seven? I’m an early riser, and church, you know that’s your Aunt Juanita’s thing. She called me this morning like she does every Sunday, and invited me to go to church with her. And I told her no, just like I do every Sunday,” Miranda said as she sat down at the kitchen table.

“You oughta go with her some time. Pastor usually preaches a sermon.”

“Then you go with her.”

“You know I used to before-” Me’shelle paused without finishing.

“You can say it. Before Trent started bringing that slut to church with him every Sunday. But you know that shouldn’t stop you from goin’,” Miranda said.

Me’shelle thought about all the things Bruce had said to her, not just about Trent, but about her parents. “Bruce came by at four in the morning.”

“Oh Lord. That’s why you look so tired. How much did he want this time?”

“Just fifty dollars this time,” Me’shelle said with a look that let her aunt know there was something else.

“I’ve seen that face before. What did he say to you?”

“It’s not what he said, ’cause what he said is the truth. It’s the way he said it. I asked him what would Mommy and Daddy think if they knew he was a crackhead and I was supporting his habit.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I don’t know what your mother would say.’ Your mother. Like she wasn’t his mother too.”

“Come sit down, Me’shelle,” Miranda said. Me’shelle stopped what she was doing and sat down at the table. “I can understand why your brother would feel like that. You both were very young when she died. He probably doesn’t remember much about her.”

“I know that, Aunt Miranda. I don’t remember much about her either, but she’s still his mother.”

“You know, when my sister died in that car accident, me and your Aunt Juanita stepped in and tried to help Clay raise you children. We used to get both of you on the weekends. But you’re father stopped that.”

“Why?”

“He thought we would turn Bruce into a sissy.”

“What?”

“One weekend when we took y’all home, your brother was crying like a baby because you were playing dress up and we wouldn’t let him play, mostly because we didn’t have anything for him to dress up in.”

“I remember that,” Me’shelle said and smiled.

“After that, Clay wouldn’t let Bruce come out here without him. So Bruce just sat there in front of that idiot box with your father.”

“He said that too. He said Daddy wouldn’t say anything about him being a crackhead. He’d just sit in his chair and stare at the TV like he always did,” she said sadly.

“Your father wasn’t always like that. Clay Lawrence was so full of life, and full of himself, for that matter. And he loved my baby sister Sabrina so much that when she died, a part of him died too.

“I remember when we were growing up in Columbia. Your mother loved Jackie Wilson. So your father put on a suit, came to our house, and put on a show in front of your mother’s window,” Miranda recalled.

“Daddy? Singing?”

“Singing and dancing. He started out singing “A Woman, A Lover, A Friend.” Then he sang “Lonely Teardrops,” broke into “Doggin’ Around” and finished with “Baby Workout.” By the time he was finished, half the neighborhood was out there watching your father perform.”

“I can’t believe that. You’re talking about my father? Could he sing?”

“He could carry a tune, but he was no Jackie Wilson.”

“I just can’t see Daddy singing and dancing.” Me’shelle laughed.

“Yeah, well, the man you grew up with ain’t the same man I remember. Not the man your mother married. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I was happy for him when he died. I felt that only then could he be free from the life without Sabrina that made him so miserable. He told me once after you kids were grown that he wished he could go on and die so he could be with his Sabrina again.”

“I never knew he felt that way,” Me’shelle said sadly. “I knew he missed Mommy, but I never knew that he was just waiting for us to grow up so he could die,” she said as the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it, Aunt Miranda.”

“I don’t know why. It ain’t nobody but Juanita. I don’t know why she just doesn’t use her key. Always wanna act like she’s a guest,” Miranda said, but Me’shelle went to open it anyway.

Me’shelle let her in. “Hi, Aunt Juanita.”

“Good afternoon, Me’shelle. How are you today?” Juanita asked as she came into her sister’s house.

“I’m fine. I’m a little tired, but other than that I’m fine.” Me’shelle gave her aunt a hug and a kiss.

“Hey, Miranda,” Juanita said as she went into the kitchen and sat down at the table next to her sister. “You both missed a good service this morning. Pastor Franks gave a fine sermon. My Lord, that man can preach.”

“What was it about?” Me’shelle asked.

“Being honest and facing things about yourself, ’cause God knows who you are. You can’t hide from him, so you might as well be honest.”

“That’s right,” Me’shelle said. “Honest self-evaluation is a beautiful thing.”

“Me’shelle, when are you goin’ to stop gettin’ your religion from those self help books and come back to church?” Juanita asked Me’shelle, but Miranda answered with a question.

“Was that big head Trent there with that slut?” she asked as she got up and began to put dinner on the table.

“Yes, he was there, and yes, she was with him.”