Page 131 of Invisible Bars
“You’re sitting here like you did her or yourself a favor, but all I hear is you gave her a brand-new trauma to unpack. The girl is already fighting her own body every minute of the day, now she gotta fight your silence too?”
I lifted my head and looked into the eyes of the woman who had always kept it real with me—even when it hurt.
Mama Rose wasn’t judging, sugarcoating, nor did she come at me with anger; she came with truth—the kind that cuts deep because it’s too real to argue with. She was just doing what she’d always done: holding up a mirror so I could face what I’d been trying to avoid. And sitting there, listening to her, I couldn’t lie to myself. I felt like shit… like I’d let somebody down who needed me whole.
She eached across the table and placed her warm hand over mine, and squeezed my hand.
“Now… I ain’t saying you don’t care, baby. I know you do because I didn’t raise you not to care in situations like this. But feelings without action doesn’t mean much. You got a good heart, Imanio; you just got it buried under a lotta concrete and trauma. Let her see what’s under all that. All I have to say is, you better figure out how to show her you—the real you—before she gets strong enough to walk away… even if that means risking her life to do it.”
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have a slick response or a confident plan. All I had was truth and the terrifying feeling that if I didn’t change something soon, I was gonna lose the one person I didn’t even know I needed until she was almost gone.
I nodded, quiet for a second longer than I meant to be.
“You sound like Ms. Shirley. You know, y’all could be sisters almost,” were my following words.
“Good,” she said. “Ms. Shirley’s wise… and lowkey gangster. You should listen to both of us.”
I chuckled. “I appreciate your advice, though, Grandma. I’ma fix this with me and Naji. I promise.”
“That’s what Grandmothers are for. But you better.”
Then came the knock at the door, followed by a loud, unmistakable voice that could only belong to one woman.
Auntie Renee.
“Mama! You got this house smelling like tax season and Thanksgiving at the same time!” she hollered from the living room.
Mama Rose shook her head before muttering, “Lord, why didn’t I hide the food and possibly the smell?”
I chuckled.
Seconds later, she made her presence known in the kitchen. Auntie Renee was tall and slim. That day she was rocking leopard leggings, red press-ons sharp enough to slice brisket, and a half-wig that had no business looking that good—but somehow did. She carried an attitude like body spray from the hair store—loud, bold, and guaranteed to follow you all the way home.
“Speak of the devil, and she park in your driveway,” Mama Rose said with a smirk.
“Oh hush, Mama!”
Auntie Renee waved her off, then kissed her cheek before flopping into a chair next to me.
“Heeeeeeey, nephew!”
“What’s good, Auntie?”
“Nothing but the rent! I thought that was your nice ass car out there! I swear every time I see you, you’re in a new one! It must be nice to be a billionaire.”
“Money ain’t everything, auntie.”
“It is when you’re broke! So tell that shit to anotherbillionaire… not my broke ass!”
“Renee…” Mama Rose warned her.
“I’m just saying, Mama. I love the Lord, but I’d also love a Benz, a lace front that doesn’t lift, a man with good credit and on who doesn’t lie! And if God’s trying to send all that? I’ll open the door myself!”
Mama Rose shook her head.
Auntie Renee focused back on me.
“But look at you! You get more handsome every time I see you! You got your daddy’s good ass hair and jawline, but your mama’s resting bitch face.” She rolled her eyes.
