Page 52 of Rome: The Ballerina

“Pops,” I called out, watching him bite into the lettuce wrap I’d brought my mother.

“Fuck you calling my name for and I’m right here?”

Ignoring his ignorance, I continued, “Somebody finally moving into the house up the street they’ve been building.”

“House? Son, this is a house. That– that down there– I don’t know what to call that shit. A damn compound it looks like. It’s three different structures, all similar in size. Somehow they are not combined but combined. There’s a garden that wraps around the entire backside. A pool. Olympian-style. It’s ridiculous. And, a full gym. A dance studio. Some other shit I can’t think of right now. The family must be large.”

“There isn’t a family. There was only a woman– and a man.”

“Married,” my father asked.

“Didn’t seem like it. Maybe siblings,” my mother informed us.

“You saw them?”

“Yes. On my way in. They were standing outside of the gate messing with the private property sign.”

“Yeah, I saw that when I just rode by. Pops, you been inside the fence?”

“I snuck my ass over there when I saw they were digging to prep for the fence. I figured it was my chance.”

“I wish you would’ve let me know. I would’ve took that chance with you.”

“Nigga, you don’t know shit about taking chances.”

“You listen to too much rap. Keep this man off the internet, I don’t know who he thinks he is but he ain’t him.”

My mother lowered her head, shaking it.

“He’s on that computer at all hours of the night. Getting on my nerves, son.”

“I can hear it every time he opens his mouth.”

“Don’t worry about me opening my mouth. What you be opening your mouth for? Coochie or d–”

“Elio!” My mother warned.

“Just ruthless,” I laughed.

“You’ll have the chance to see the home, Sac. Or at least the front of it, because we’re welcoming them to the neighborhood next week.”

“Being the self-appointed welcome committee for the neighborhood is– is quite special. As much as I’d love to walk around passing out cupcakes with you, I’ll have to pass on this one.”

“No you won’t,” my father stated as a matter of fact.

“How you figure?” I asked the old man who couldn’t control the shit that came out of his mouth.

“Cause– didn’t you hear her?”

“I did.”

“Then, have your long ass here Tuesday. That’s when we’re going over there.”

“I’m not coming.”

“Yes you are. It’s a woman. Is she nice looking, baby?”

“She is, but that has nothing to do with our son.”

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