“Ms. Marguerite’s Kids”

It was mid-December and the weather was cold and dreary. “Cold as a witch’s titty.” That’s how Ms. Marguerite Johnston would have described it. Her funeral was disturbing to everyone. After all, this was the fourth funeral in less than three months. The eldest son of Ms. Marguerite, as everyone liked to call her, was shot to death right there in the family room in October. His 26-year old younger brother and one of his homies had both been shot on Ms. Marguerite’s vine covered-porch while sitting together drinking 40-ounce bottles of Old English 800 and smoking blunt cigars. They had not charged anyone in the murder of Ms. Marguerite’s two boys. Everyone knew that Ms. Marguerite had died of a broken heart. She had continued to live in the same house even after the murders.

After the funeral, most of the guests gathered back at the Johnstons’ house. There was a sad and eerie vibe in the house that still seemed to reek with the scent of four deaths. Ms. Marguerite had insisted on dying at home after being diagnosed with breast cancer less than three weeks earlier. But the guests knew there would be some good cooking and food going on, with the

exception of Ms. Marguerite’s special empanadas.

Out of all of Ms. Marguerite’s children, Danielle the, oldest girl, was the only one that learned her mama’s recipe. Ms. Marguerite’s empanadas was something else, so thank God at least one of her kids had sense enough to get that recipe. But the guests knew there would be none, because Ms. Marguerite was dead and Danielle was nowhere to be found.

Also conspicuously missing was Ms. Marguerite’s youngest son, 24-year-old Michael, the computer wizard. He always lived at home and was very close to his mom. No one could understand how he could disappear and not go to his mama’s funeral. The guests also gossiped about how the police still hadn’t arrested anybody in the boys’ murders yet. There was serious rumor that the killer was sitting and eating right there with them at after each funeral. Some joked that even the killer was not going to pass up an opportunity to eat some of Ms. Marguerite’s and her girls’ good ol’ cooking. One thing is, she made sure her girls knew how to “burn.”

Also conspicuously missing was Ms. Marguerite’s

youngest son, 24-year-old Michael, the computer wizard. He always lived at home and was very close to his mom. No one could understand how he could disappear and not go to his mama’s funeral. The guests also gossiped about how the police still hadn’t arrested anybody in the boys’ murders yet. There was serious rumor that the killer was sitting and eating right there with them at after each funeral. Some joked that even the killer was not going to pass up an opportunity to eat some of Ms. Marguerite’s and her girls’ good ol’ cooking. One thing is, she made sure her girls knew how to “burn.”

A group of young women and men were sitting on a couch facing the door just so they could check out everyone coming and going. They were whispering about how Danielle and her other six siblings were feuding, that’s why she wasn’t there. As for Michael, folks always said he was strange anyway. One young lady said,

“That’s still no excuse for Danielle not comin’ to her own mama’s funeral!”

Another lady trying to whisper said,

“I heard she already had plans to go to the Bahamas on vacation—what kind of person would do this to their own family? And for Michael not to be there either! My mom always said that people sure do act funny-style when it comes to weddings and funerals! Them kids ought to be ashamed of themselves!”

A third young lady chimed in,

“All I know is that Ms. Marguerite must be flippin’ and floppin’ around in her casket with her kids being all hateful to each other like this! I know she was good to them kids, especially those boys! Then they repay her by joining gangs and going in and out of jail. Ms. Marguerite did everything for them kids and it’s just a damn shame that she went out like this! Just a damn

shame!”

A young man chewin’ and smackin’ on a fried chicken wing held up the half-mangled chicken bone to the sky and said,

“Tell the truth—and shame the devil!” as if he were imitating an old Baptist preacher.

The first young lady pointed with her head towards another group of young people, mostly friends of Danielle and Sasha. Sasha was Danielle’s best friend and “play sister” since kindergarten. She lived with the Johnstons off and on, whenever she wasn’t getting along with her mom. Ms. Marguerite had always looked at Sasha like she was one of her own girls, even teaching her to cook. But Danielle and Sasha fell out just before their freshman year of college. The young lady continued talking,

“It is really sad that Danielle and Sasha’s friends can come to Ms. Marguerite’s funeral, but they can’t! And you know that woman treated

Sasha just like a daughter. Shoot, I remember when Ms. Marguerite had kicked Danielle out, and let Sasha move in. That was kinda cold, though. But I’m just sayin’.”

Sure enough—they done talked Sasha Green up. Because Sasha came walking in the front door. Some would say, she came “sashaying” in, but either way she was there. Almost at once, several people said,

“Oooooooohhhhh—no she didn’t! Girlllllll—is that Sasha?”

Another young lady came to the rescue of the newcomer, a stunning and well-built girl in a tailored, navy blue velvet suit,

“Well, at least she did come to pay her respect.” But then her tone turned nasty,

“Ol’ whore! Stealin’ people’s husbands! You know that wasn’t right! Ho!”

Another lady eating a large piece of cheesecake, with a piece of it on her upper lip said,

“All’s I know is, it is just so sad—family split apart like that. Is Sasha still with that old man—what’s his name? Uh, uh, Mr. Young! Yeah, Mr. Young.

Sasha knows that she is still the biggest ho in town! I can’t believe that ho stole Mr. Young after everything Mrs. Young had did for her!”

The young man, now sucking the chicken bone so hard it looked like he had put a spit-shine on it, said,

“She stole the man right from underneath Mrs. Young’s nose. I guess that old man couldn’t help himself around that young-ass, fine-ass Sasha! Baby had back!”

Another young man suddenly started rapping from a Sir Mix-A-Lot jam,

“I like big butts and I cannot lie—you other brothers can’t deny—I like big butts!”

It was one of Michael’s best friends, a young man nicknamed “Twelve-thirty” because he was blacker than midnight. Most people called him ‘Thirty’ for short. Thirty was also known for his rhythmic freestyling. He often used song lyrics to communicate. No matter what anyone was talking about, he always found just the right lyric. He had been unusually quiet all day but began rapping again as if he had suddenly woke up, busting an old-school jam by “Whodini,”

“She shook her hand and stole her man—it was done so smooth it had to be a plan!”

The rest of the group chimed in, in perfect rhythm, swaying from side to side and singing the chorus,

“Friends—how many of us have them? Friends—ones we can depend on.”

Everyone started cracking up laughing.

The word in the neighborhood was that the whole scandal with the Youngs was not only Sasha’s fault but Danielle’s, too. Danielle used to baby-sit for the Youngs before she convinced them to hire Sasha, after she had been accepted for a receptionist position at the Legal Aid office. Both girls were only 15 years old at the time but they knew what they wanted in life. Both of them had obtained their worker’s permit the day they turned 15. They were not about to depend on the piddly allowance they sometimes got from their mamas. And by the time they were both 16, they already knew what college they would be attending, what their majors would be and how they would pay for it.

They had also learned the art of “saving,” a little-known concept among young people, especially in the hood. While everyone else was busy buying shoes, clothes, jewelry and fake designer bags, the girls were saving their money and making plans for a secure future. Danielle had read an article at work, which talked about a “401K Plan.” It basically said that if a person started saving—something like a hundred dollars a month, for 30 years—they would have almost a million dollars by the time they were real old, like age 50. Both girls were

determined to make it. They wanted to be successful and wear designer suits and live in lofts overlooking downtown. Turned out that they both became successful—just not together.

Sasha had been working for the Youngs for over a year, and appeared to love taking care of the their 5-year-old twin girls. Danielle was busy learning the business of her job. Both girls decided to buy an old 1988 two-door Honda Civic together. Unfortunately, that old car ended up being the monkey that divided them. The girls’ friendship ended when one of them broke down on Interstate 5, and neither of them could afford to get the car out of impound after it was towed off the freeway.

Plus, Sasha didn’t seem to care if the car ever got out of impound, since she was now regularly driving the Youngs’ brand-new 1999 Cadillac Seville. People were starting to talk about how much clout Sasha seemed to have with the Youngs. So when Sasha and her mom fell out, and she moved in with the Youngs, there was more talk. It was uncomfortable for Danielle since the Youngs lived right across the street.

The girls would occasionally steal glances at each other, but they no longer shared stories or secrets, or shopped or partied, or planned for their futures together. Danielle had noticed that after Sasha began working for the Youngs, she started acting “funny.” Other people noticed, too. Some said she was withdrawn and others said she was just acting uppity because she thought she was cute. They also noticed that she was spending a lot of time with Mr. Young and the twins. A little too much time—with no Mrs. Young. Some were even saying that since Sasha moved in, Mrs. Young was beginning to look worn and tired and was no longer friendly with the neighbors.

Just as some suspected, what didn’t come out in the wash came out in the rinse. The rumors were true. Just before the girls graduated from high school, Sasha and Mr. Young had become a full-fledged couple and kicked Mrs. Young out of the home they had built together. Mr. Young had kicked his wife to the curb for Sasha, and retained custody of the twins. After he finished using Sasha to fulfill his deviant fantasies and to raise his kids, he “upgraded” again to another 15-year-old. He put Sasha out on the streets, penniless and strung-out.

As the repast was winding down, and the crowd of neighbors and friends expressed their lastcondolences to Ms. Marguerite’s children, Danielle walked in the door to her mama’s house. Danielle was dressed like she had just returned from a reggae festival. She was way underdressed for the cold December weather and certainly for her mama’s funeral. Someone said,

“Now look at this skank! She bring her ass in here after her mama is dead and buried, lookin’ like she just came from a f---in’ luau! I guess

Jamaica or wherever the hell she went was more important than getting here to see her own mama put to rest.”

Both women looked like they were in shock over

Ms. Marguerite’s death. At some point Thirty got up and came back with six bottles of Jack Daniel wine coolers, placing two bottles in front of each girl. He sat back down, nuzzling in between them.

Each girl gulped down a wine cooler. After a long, awkward silence, they made some courtesy small talk: “How you been?” and “Ohhh—I’m just doin.”

Using her usual bitchy and judgmental tone, and dangling a huge set of keys, one of Danielle’s sisters walked over to the trio and abruptly said,

“I am getting ready to lock up my mama’s house now—so you guys need to go find some place else to get drunk!”

Danielle jumped straight up and right into her sister’s face.

Danielle was crying hysterically.

The cleanup crew started milling around pretending to still be cleaning, but was really just listening and waiting for the scrappin’ to get started. They were pretty shocked at what they were hearing. Danielle continued,

“And the rest of you nosey bitches—acting like you have nothing better to do than sit around gossiping and judging, and spreading rumors and lies—and waiting to see a fight! You guys can all kiss my ass and go straight to hell with gasoline-soaked drawers!”

Thirty began to rap another old-school jam by Timex Social Club,

“Look at all these rumors—surroundin’ me every day Look at all these rumors—I need some time to get away”

Everyone ignored Thirty for the most part. He continued,

“‘Did you hear the one about Michael—some say he must be gay, I try to argue, but they say if he wasn’t—he wouldn’t move that way’”

Thirty remained slumped in the sofa, still sitting next to Sasha, who was also now crying hysterically. Everyone was looking at Thirty. People had always suspected that little Michael was gay. And there was rumor that Ms. Marguerite had actually caught Michael in the middle of a homosexual act and that put the last nail in her coffin. Now it seemed like Michael’s best friend was confirming it. He began to speak and cry at the same time.

“It’s not Michael’s fault—he wanted to be here for his mama’s funeral! But he couldn’t! He just could not deal with everyone accusing him of being gay and helpin’ kill his mama!”

He used his t-shirt to try wiping away the tears and snot that was streaming down his face and neck. He gained a little composure and continued.

“It’s my fault! It’s all my fault! Before your mother died, I sent Michael a package—there was nothing in it but some old newspapers—but, but—I wrote on the outside of the package: “GAY PORNOGRAPHIC MATERIAL.” I was just playing a joke on him! I didn’t know that your mom would get the package first.

“Mikey never had a chance to tell her it was a joke! He believes her heart couldn’t take the fact that her baby boy was gay—and the crazy part is—he isn’t. And what’s even crazier is that I am the one that helped kill her!” Thirty was crying uncontrollably.

Everyone sat or stood frozen for several minutes.

Sasha, still sunken deep into the sofa, blurted out,

“I didn’t steal Mr. Young from his family! When I went to work for the Youngs I was 15 years old. I didn’t know any better! I just didn’t!”

One of Danielle’s sisters attacked, yelling out,

“How could you not know that f---in’ someone else’s husband was wrong? Just admit it—you was a low-down dirty ho, and you destroyed Mrs. Young’s family! And after everything she did for you!”

Sasha jumped to her feet and started screaming,

“Everything she did for me?! Let me tell you what Mrs. Young did for me! At 15, the dear Mrs. Young thought it was a good idea to introduce me to Vicodin pills, and cocaine—oh, yeah, and ecstasy and alcohol—oh, and anything else that would make me horny or delusional or incapacitated enough so that she could seduce me! And when that wasn’t enough to get her off, she thought it was a good idea to let her husband have his way with me!”

Still crying uncontrollably and wiping away the tears with the sleeve of her suit, she continued.

“So that’s what dear Mrs. Young did for me! She made me participate in threesomes with her and that old f--- by keeping me doped up and scared to death! They forced me to have sex at will and when I started to resist, they threatened to lie on me and destroy me. I was raped nearly every night! I had nowhere to go! I had no one! And before long, Mr. Young became less interested in his wife and more interested in me. I was just existing. I didn’t steal Mr. Young from Mrs. Young—they stole from me! They stole my life!”

The young lady that was talking earlier whispered to her friend,

“See how people are? Gossiping and spreading rumors and don’t know a damn thing!”

Danielle overheard and immediately set the young woman straight.

“It is bitches like you that help destroy lives and then pretend like you don’t have a clue about the havoc you’ve wreaked! You think I don’t know what you’ve been saying? I loved my mama—and I don’t know what I am going to do without her! But let’s set the record straight! My mama helped kill her own self!

“Don’t get me wrong. I know my mama loved all her kids! I know this! But my brothers didn’t become gang bangers for no reason! Growing up, my mama was cruel! She was downright cruel! My mother let all her husbands beat and abuse all of her kids! She did! And it wasn’t right! I saw my brothers evolve right before my eyes into monsters! We needed more from our mother than just a roof over our heads and food in our

stomachs! I don’t know—I guess it’s just harder for boys to deal with abuse than girls—I don’t really know—I just know that they couldn’t deal with it, and it changed them inside.”

Danielle, fairly composed now, continued,

“Now we can all continue to be hateful and sit around thinking of ways to destroy each other but I choose not to. I am done.”

Danielle walked over to Sasha and began hugging her. Thirty rose to his feet and joined in. He began