Page 48 of Welcome to the Table
Hellcat and I had been friends since the sandbox and dirty clothes. Getting ass whippings for thinking we could actually eat mud pies and damn near killing ourselves. That nigga wasn’t a dummy either. He got his degree and master’s too, but he couldn’t leave the street life alone. I told him one day that all this shit was gonna come to pass, and we would be living in mansions in the hills, and his only response would be ‘nigga, that’s your dream, not mine.’ I would laugh it off because this nigga breathes BGM, as did I, but we always had a backup plan.
“Punky, it’s time for yo’ ass to get up and go with that crazy boy and his sister.” Ms. Doretha was beating on my door, calling me by the nickname that she gave me. I didn’t understand it, but it was her thing, and I let her have it.
“Okay, Brewster,” I yelled, finishing the name.
Punky Brewster was a show that she watched while I was growing up. I didn’t understand the shit because she was a girl, but she would watch that shit and laugh over and over again. So, I guess it was our thing. I heard her granny slippers slide across the floor, so I knew she was walking away. I hopped out of bed and went into my luxurious bathroom.
I loved the way I had the building remodeled. If Brewster didn’t come on my side, we barely saw each other. I checkedon her coming in and when I left, but she made sure I had a hot meal waiting for me every time I came in the door, and one before I walked out.
After draining my main vein, I turned on my shower. I wasn’t dressing up to go to the mall because I knew she would drive us crazy. I also had to dress comfortably because we weren’t going to the bullshit ass malls down here. Jaci would want to go to the Mall of Louisiana in Baton Rouge and stop everywhere else on the way back, having us hold her fucking bags as we went in and out of every store. I didn’t mind, though, because it was the type of normalcy that I craved outside the mafia world.
After I handled my hygiene, I did some lightweight shit. My dreads were crinkled, so I let them hang in my face and down my back. I put on my simple gold cross chain with a pair of Polo jeans and a shirt with a pair of Js to match. My lining was always on point, so I didn’t have to do much to look fly. I put my diamond bottom grill in my mouth that matched the diamonds in my ear. I made sure my gun was securely in my back and my wallet, which was connected to my chain, was in my back pocket before I went to the second floor, where the kitchen was. As I made my way down the stairs, the aroma of maple honey bacon and the sweet smell of pancakes flowed through my nostrils, and my stomach growled with anticipation. It didn’t matter what I ate, I would always ate her food because I didn’t want to hear her fussing and cussing me out for not eating what she cooked.
I walked into the kitchen, and her back was to me. She was slightly bent over the oven, and I knew she was making my favorite homemade buttered biscuits. She was humming one of her favorite hymns, giving me peace like she always did, as she put the pan on top of the stove and continued to move around the kitchen. I stood in the opening, watching her move around, and it gave me a sense of peace. This was home to me. It didn’tmatter how crazy I got in the street; all that shit disappeared when I stepped over the threshold.
“What yo’ silly ass standing over there smiling for? You better come sit down and eat before you leave this house. Plus, I made your favorite,” she said.
I swaggered over to the island and took my seat. She made me a plate with eggs, pancakes, a biscuit, and breakfast sausage. She then poured me a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and set it by my plate.
“You always take care of me,” I felt the need to tell her.
Brewster was seventy-one and didn’t look a day over fifty, and she wore it well. She was very healthy and didn’t want for anything as long as I kept breath in my body. I would lay my life on the line for her. When I came home, BFM didn’t exist. I was regular ass Hollygrove, a hood boy whose momma died from the effects of using drugs.
She smiled at me like only a mother would. “Punky, I’ll always take care of you. That’s what God put me here for. You just make sure you make it home in one piece, and we ain’t gon’ have no problems. You know I keep my nine on me,” she said, and I almost spit my food out. She laughed and shook her head, but I knew she wasn’t playing.
I didn’t give a fuck how we lived, and the security I had watching her, we still lived in the heart of the hood, and jealousy was always lingering. People knew she was my weakness, and I would make the streets bleed behind her because she gave me a different kind of love, a motherly love.
“You know Imma always make it back home, bloody and barely breathing, but imma make it here,” I told her seriously.
“Don’t say shit like that because just like you got a team, so do I. So don’t play with me like that, Punky.” I put my hands up in surrender. I knew she had connections, but I never questioned it.
“I keep telling you that I don’t need your protection. I got people watching me when you think they not, so I will forever be good. I got God and my Glock, so I’m good.” She laughed, and I joined in. It got quiet as she made her plate and sat across from me. We were both in our own thoughts.
“Don’t worry about cleaning this shit up. I got the maid service coming today to clean and wash everything. You need a break. Here, take this.” I handed her a Black card with her name on it.
“Have one of your friends from church go with you, and y’all get out the hood for the day. Take a driver. You ain’t about to drive. Put on some cute lil shit and get out for the day,” I told her, and she gave me a death stare.
“I ain’t Hellcat or that mean nigga Calliope, so don’t use them words with me before I bat the piss out of you. You ain’t too big for me to fight yo ass,” she said, and I fell out laughing.
I didn’t doubt her hitting me, but she had a squeaky voice, and the shit was funny as hell.
“You got that. My bad,” I told her, and she looked down at the card.
“I don’t need your money. You give me stacks of money every week, and I never spend it, so what do I need this black ass card for? I don’t need a bitch around here cleaning my damn house and touching my clothes. Wiping my countertops and cleaning my damn kitchen. I am the queen of this castle, and I don’t need any help. I been cleaning this big ass house for years without help, so I don’t need it now.” She had spunk.
“That money is for a rainy day. If something happens and you have an emergency. You don’t have to touch that, and you not about to carry no cash in your purse while you are shopping.” I gave her a serious look, and she laughed.
“The only rainy day I will ever have is if you don’t walk through that door. I don’t care about that money, Punky.”
She walked around the counter and wrapped her arms around my waist. I embraced her like a mother because she was just that, my mother. I only saw pictures of my real mother, but that didn’t do shit for me because she wasn’t here. I didn’t have a memory of her. It was like she didn’t exist. She slowly let me go and looked up into my eyes.
“Did you ever tell that girl how you feel about her? You never bring a girl home, and I think it’s because you want to bring her here. Stop hiding your feelings because of what her family may think, and follow your heart. She got away once, don’t let her get away again.” I dipped down and let her kiss my forehead while thinking about what she said.
Brewster was right. I never expressed my feelings, ever. All I knew was the streets. Home was the only place that brought me peace, but I knew if I acted on my feelings, a whole lot of shit would change, and I wasn’t willing to risk it at all.
“It’ll happen when it’s supposed to, but now is not the time,” I told her.
She rolled her eyes. “I only have to clean this kitchen. I washed our clothes and sent the rest to the cleaners. I’ll take your advice, although I don’t want to, but you’re right. I need to get out of this house before I lose my mind.” She walked away from me, sliding the card from the counter and into her bra. She continued to hum her song, and that was my cue to leave. I grabbed my key fob off my key hook.
