RIPPED & READY (PART 67)

RIPPED & READY (PART LXVII)

          Seeing Denise caused a rewind of the mind.  “Play that muthafucka until it ends,” is what Darrius said as he lay there on that stretcher a few nights prior, bleeding from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.  I could hear his voice just as plain as day, and remembering the look in his eyes as he said it caused a chill to run up and down my spine then and now – especially as I looked at this pathetic, lurid, piece of street worn woman.  Her once, smooth, blemish free, chocolate colored skin was covered with a few scabs and scratches, and her shoulder length hair was a matted mess. 

          My mother grabbed her by one of her skeletal arms, and gently pulled her into her body, hugging her with concern and sadness. Before all of this turmoil, Denise was once a very striking young woman – vibrant, lady like, and she exuded confidence from the way she walked with a runway model glide, to how she dressed – sometimes it was on the matronly side. 

          “Baby, these streets are destroying you,” my moms told her as she hugged her tightly. 

          I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her because I knew she had witnessed a lot in her young life.  She was the only one in the house on that horrid night when her father took her mother’s life with a single gunshot to the head.  

          How much had she seen?

          How much does she know?

          Had anyone taken her for psychiatric observation after the murder, because something like that would make the strongest person crack under pressure and Denise was still a little girl, around five or six at the time?  I’m just basing this timeline on my mother’s recollection when she disclosed to me what had occurred.

          I followed my moms and Denise into the family home saddened by that poor girls’ appearance – she was beyond tore up.  Her clothes were heavily soiled and she smelled like a fish market.  It caused me to gag a little, but it didn’t seem to bother my moms. I suppose she had become immune to the scent of disspair over the years, dealing with street people at the shelter she volunteers at throughout the week. 

          Once we reached the living room area, Danita was sitting on the phone talking to one of her boyfriends, no doubt.  She looked up and stopped talking, scoffed and asked, blatantly, “What the hell is that ho doing here?”

          My mother shot her a look that answered her question without words. 

          Uh, huh…shut the fuck up or I’ll get in your ass.

          Moms did not play and she had enough spark inside of her to back up a silent threat. 

          When Danita sucked her teeth loudly, wanting to speak but knowing that she had better not, my mother sent a verbal warning. 

          “Oh, so you’re grown, huh?” She asked, hand on her free hip, and Denise on her other (leaning against mom’s body). 

          “Don’t nobody want that tramp in this house, mom, damn, why in the hell do you have to pick up every stray you find, shoot!”  Danita said, pushing the envelope, and rolling her eyes. 

          “Denise, baby, go on in the bathroom and clean yourself up, I’ll see if I can find you some clean cloths,” she said, pushing her towards the direction of the bathroom. 

          Once Denise had closed the door to the bathroom, my moms walked over to Danita and grabbed her by her cheeks with one of her strong dough-rolling hands and lifted her head gently and said, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Danita, I raised you better than that.  I have always tried to be an example of compassion and sympathy for people who have lost their way, and now you sit your tail up in here and try to push that girl down further than she already is,” she said, tears running down her 58 year old face. 

          “But mama, she was screwing daddy, how can you allow her into this house?” Danita asked, now tearing up too.

          “Chile, do you think that she knew that?  Now as far as your daddy is concerned, I have never been stupid about his ways.  The only reason I married him is to make things right in the eyes of God.  I was one-month pregnant with your brother, Marco, and I needed a man to help me care for my child.  Then you came along, and you were the bright light in his eyes, he loved you more than all the world,” she told my sister. 

          "I really thought he would change after the stork brought us you," she said completing her sentence.  

          “I hate him!  I hate what he has done for this family, and I don’t care what you say, I’ll never accept her as my sister, never!” Danita said, pushing my mother’s hands away from her face. 

          She got up from the easy chair (pops’ easy chair) she had been lounging in, and she bolted out the door.

          “Danita, how dare you talk to our mother like that,” I said, going after her.

          “Marco, let her go, she’ll be alright, she just needs some time to collect her thoughts,” moms said, pulling me back.

          “Mama, I know you’re not going to allow that girl to stay here with ya’ll?” I asked out of concern, hoping that my mother was not going to let her stay. 

          “Where else is she going to go, baby?” She asked, tenderly (I hated it because she could send you into puppy-dog mode with her calming eyes).

          I didn’t say another word because I knew that it was a battle I had no chance of winning. I just hoped this crack-a-lack wasn't going to steal all of my moms' shit.   

          She smiled, stroked the side of my face with the back of her hands.  “Come on, now, let me make you something to eat and you can fill me in on your life.   Danita tells me that you had some activity going on over at your apartment the other night.  Oh, and I wants to hear how my son-in-law, Joseph, is doing?  What is this I hear that I’m a grandma now,” She asked, sweetly.

          Damnm, Danita’s ass, she was like a bad refrigerator…

          Couldn’t hold nothing!