Excerpt from: Fool Stop Trippin--
Disclaimer: This book contains a work of fiction
Tarcia
"I'm telling you Tarcia, there is something evil at work here."
"What are you talking about Lasonji?"
"Can't you feel it?"
"Uh, no, I don't feel shit."
"Well, I can. It's like an omni presence and it's weighing down the very air we breathe." She walks around the living room picking up my various knick knacks dusting them off. I love my cousin dearly, but sometimes she gets on my last nerve. She is two years older than I, but we are still thick as thieves. So when she called and said she needed a place to crash, I didn't hesitate to open my humble abode to her.
"Girl, I done told you I ain't having none of that backwoods mumbo jumbo in my house."
"I ain't brought nothing to your house heifer, this shit was already here when I got here.""So you say. Just don't start practicing that shit up in here or I'll have to ship your ass straight back to Louisiana."
"Now see, that's some cold shit. I'm trying to help your foolish ass and you got threats."
"Not threats, promises. The first chicken bone I see lying around in a jar with dirt on it, I'm packing your shit and putting you the hell out."
Lasonji gives me a look and I cannot help, but to feel a tiny bit nervous. I don't want to piss her off, but I refuse to go back to living in fear of the simplest things that she would construe as evil or vengeful spirits. I had moved away from Louisiana when I was fifteen and it took me a long time to get that superstitious horseshit out my mind.
"All, I'm saying Tarcia, it's some strange shit going on here and you would be a fool not to keep an open mind and hear me out."
"Girl, I ain't trying to hurt your feelings or anything but I don't believe in that crap." Lasonji bites her nails as her eyes dart from one corner of the room to the other. I can feel panic emanating from her skin, causing goose bumps to appear on my arms. This is just the type of shit I was worried about when I told her she could stay with me until she gets herself together.
"One day you will learn to be careful about the things that slip out your mouth."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If you don't know about something, you should keep your mouth shut, or you may bring unwanted events into your life."
"What did I say?"
"You know exactly what you said and I'm not about to repeat it."
"Okay, whatever." I pick up a magazine off the coffee table, pretending to read it. I flip through the pages, but the images don't register. My mind skips back to those years spent in New Orleans when we had to sprinkle salt over our shoulders to keep the devil from riding our backs. I could almost feel the prickly points of its claws on the base of my neck. This is exactly the type of shit that chased me and momma from home thirteen years ago. I feel like a teenage girl, instead of a grown woman.
"Tarcia?"
Lasonji's family has been practicing Voodoo ever since we were children. Mom and I were real careful what we said around them as a result. As a child, they had me scared to voice my opinion, but I refuse to cow down in my own home.
"Tarcia!"
Even though I was still young, I felt relief to be away from those old wives tales and the strict religious taboos we were forced to follow.
It was harder on Momma because she had spent her entire life in Louisiana and old habits were hard to break. But she did the best she knew how to do to make a normal life for us in our new home until she was run over by a bus on her way to work.
"Are you listening to me?"
"Huh?" I had blanked out and didn't even know it.
"I'm not asking you to believe in Voodoo, but how do you explain all the shit that keeps happening to you?"
I don't have an immediate answer, but I am unwilling to accept the paranormal as the answer.
"What, cat got your tongue?"
"I was just thinking; that's all." "Oh, okay. Think on my sista."
When Lasonji goes into the kitchen, I can hear her making a cup of coffee. Even though I want one as well, I don't want her messing with anything that I have to swallow. I chuckle at my foolishness and go into the kitchen to fix my own coffee.
"I would have fixed you one too, if I had known you wanted some."
"That's alright, girl. I like to do it myself. Most people make it too weak for me anyway. I want my spoon to stand up in the cup by itself."
"Oh, you like it strong, huh?"
"Yeah, the thicker the better." We sit at the table in an uncomfortable silence. I glance through the mail which I had brought in with me earlier, while Lasonji watches the news. I had all but forgotten our conversation of a few minutes before.
Tarcia
"Girl, look at this; those rent-a-cops are using guns on folks like they asked for this shit to happen." Lasonji is watching the evacuation of the flooded lowlands of the Big Easy.
"Damn, this doesn't make any sense. I heard on the news this morning that black folks were taking advantage of the situation by looting."
"That is not looting; it's called survival. What else did they expect us to do when our own government left us to die?"
"If it was a bunch of white people in those areas, they would have been flown out a week before the storm hit."
"I know that's right."
"I'll admit there may be a few folks wading down the street with tv's, but for the most part, people are trying to get something to barter with for food and water."
"Yeah. It didn't have to come to this."
"You would not believe the conditions we were forced to stay in. I was fortunate, but my heart hurts 'cause those people are my family." Pointing at the t.v. with one hand, she covers her heart with the other.
"I know that's right. They wait till folks are dying, then they want to talk and ask folks to be understanding."
"So folks take matters into their own hands and now they wanna shoot them and shit. Ain't that a bitch?"
"It's a double standard. Had it have been a white person looting the explanation would be different; they would have said they found a box of cornflakes floating down the street."
"With a gallon of milk, eggs and some fresh fruit for dessert, and that would be okay."
"Right. What's the damn difference. They knew those levees were not going to hold and they did nothing to help us."
"It's almost like they wanted everyone to die."
"Naw girl, not everyone. Just the poor black folks who couldn't afford to get out. They forget that it was those same poor black folks who built that city. Don't you find it odd that none of those white communities were affected by the hurricane? It's almost like they planted a bomb and blew up the levees."
"I never thought of it that way. But now that you mention it, that idea fits this destruction better than a natural disaster. It didn't have to be this bad, I blame that damn, Bush. He could have made all the difference in the world."
"You ain't even lied. If he had only cared enough about the black folks it would have made a world of a difference."
"I was so glad when you called me and told me you made it out. I just hope the rest of the family was as lucky."
"Yeah, me too. We tried to stick together, but it was impossible. They were yanking children from their parents' arms and putting them on buses. This mess is going to take years to clean up."
"Damn, it's going to take a whole lot of time and money. Look at that house, the only thing left is the roof."
"Girl, that's my street, or it used to be." Our eyes are glued to the grim pictures showing the devastation.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"The blacks that do manage to make it out are not going to be able to afford to come back and whitie will come in and rebuild, making it too expensive for us to live there anymore."
"I know. That's why a lot of the old timers tried to hang on."
Lasonji arrived in Atlanta with a few suitcases, a cosmetic case and a few dollars in her purse. Lucky for her, she was able to pack her important papers such as her birth certificate and insurance policies. Others weren't so lucky.
"Now that's what you call some evil shit," I say pointing at the television. Lasonji looks at me as if I have lost my happy, loving mind.
"I'm going to pretend that I didn't just hear you say that."
"What?"
"Girl, are you trying to compare your life to what happened in New Orleans?"
"I'm not comparing it; I am just saying that bad things happen all the time and it's not voodoo."
"Tarcia you may not be trying to piss me off, but you are."
"Why? 'Cause I refuse to accept that my life is being controlled by evil forces and hexes."
"You know what, this house is too small to be trippin. We will just agree to disagree. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Besides, Momma always said, 'you make your own bed; you betta know when to lie on it and when to get the hell up'." I wait for her to say something else but she doesn't. Lasonji takes her cup of coffee, goes to her room, then shuts the door.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I mumble to myself.
All of a sudden, the milk curls in my coffee. I use my spoon to try to mix it up, but large clumps of milk float to the top. Spooked, I pour the rest of the coffee down the drain and wash away the clumps of milk that cling to the sink. Trying not to read more into the incident than is really there, I rinse my cup and leave it to dry on the drain board. I just bought that milk yesterday didn't I?
Opening the refrigerator, I check the date on the milk, but I still have a week left before the expiration date. I shake the carton and it sounds okay, but for some reason I am afraid to open it.
"Girl, stop trippin." I walk back to the sink with the milk and pour out a small amount. It looks and smells just like milk.
Now that's weird. Shrugging my shoulders, I put the milk back and go back into my room to read a book.