Kingsbridge (a Nas Story)

FORTY EIGHT

Gia | Chicago, IL

Mama looked beautiful in her Prada dress.

Nasir got a hold of his stylist to have it flown in overnight just before her home going. I couldn't thank him enough for doing that. He sat with Ma, who sat next to Uncle Hill in the front row, opposite of where I sat with Allen.

Nasir held my mother's hand as he adjusted his Ruby brooch over the left breast of his pin striped blazer. His hair cut neatly with a sharp angled line at the base of his temple. Before today, he had been growing his hair out for a few days up until last night.

My black mesh veil covered my dripping mascara as Allen held my left hand, placing it into his lap as the choir sang "I Shall Wear A Crown". The lyrics made me feel every emotion as the harmonies blended seamlessly.

"I shall wear a crown when it's all over

I shall see His face when it's all over

I'm going to put on my robe,

Tell the story—How I made it over!"

I could hear my mom sobbing heavily as Nasir huddled over her to console her. Allen reached into his breast pocket and handed me his red handkerchief to wipe my tears away.

"I'm going to put on my robe!

Tell the story—How I made it over!"

The choir sang louder with more heart and strength as I dabbed my tears away. Allen wrapped his arms around my blazer draped shoulders. His arm hanging over my Chanel brooch.

I looked down at the other end of the front row, where Nasir was seated. His eyes were wet and red just like mine. He dabbed his tears with the back of his hand where his Cuban link rested above his Rolex. He wore his small, Gold Jesus piece around his neck that moved when he moved.

Allen's cross necklace shined under the natural lighting coming from the windows of the church. His black suit was bigger than his body, but cut and sewn to where it didn't looked like he was completely drowning in it. He kept a solid face for me. He was my pillar to stay strong.

The choir continued to croon behind my grandmother's chrome casket as they swayed side to side in their white robes. The pastor took to the podium to say a shared choice of words.

"Can I get an Amen from the church this morning?" He started by saying. The attendees behind me said an Amen in unison before the choir lowered their tones to harmonies sounds instead of clear words to make background music for the pastor to speak over.

"Sister Sylvia Clark was a faithful woman to this church. This is where she wanted to be." He said with a smile. He was telling the truth. She would always tell my mom and I that she wanted her service here when it was her time to go home. Ma and I made sure that happened with Nasir's help and Allen's support.

He called out of the last important games of the season to be with me. I told him not to do that, but he said he didn't want his wife to mourn alone.

"She was a strong little woman, only standing at 5 feet." He mimicked her height to his body height. I smiled a bit. "She was a feisty little thing, wasn't she?" He asked the front row. We were all her surviving family.

I nodded my head to the pastor.

"But I don't want to take time from her family who knew her best." He said with a smile as he wiped his bald head with a white cloth. "We have Sister Sylvia's youngest granddaughter here who would like to say a few words." The pastor extends his hand for me.