Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
★★★
The sound of pats being knocked against each other woke me up, I could smell the stench of weed just invading my nose. With quickness, I threw over my blanket and opened my door. "Morning," Javon stood outside his door, a freshly rolled up weed between his fingers. "Fuck Javon, give me that shit," I quietly yelled, grabbing it from him, and stomped on it. "Deja that was my last batch, fucking hell,"
"It should be your last, what did I fucking say last week?! Did you forget that promise as well?" He looks down seeming guilty but I didn't give two fuck cause if he did feel guilty he would've respected what I had asked him to do. "Look its not easy to just quit fucking smoking alright?! Am I addicted? Yes. Will I ever stop? Probably not so don't fucking expect me to just quit for you. I promise I will try. I didn't promise that I would. There is a fucking different-"
The sound of some clearing their throats caught our attention. We both turn to see our grandma standing by the stairs, with her arms folded. "Good morning, please can we all just leave all this fusing and fighting for another time. I haven't seen you both since you were teens."
I look over to Javon, and shake my head, disappointed. "Sure Grandma," He goes up to her and hugs her. "Oh how I miss you both, Deja girl come give your nana a hug too," I smiled,all that arguing with me and Javon just vanished as I wrapped my arms around my nana.
"Good morning, Nana," I said, stepping back from the hug and feeling a sense of warmth spread through me. My nana always had a way of grounding me, reminding me of the love that surrounded us.
Nana chuckled and ruffled Javon's hair affectionately. "Oh, how I've missed you both. How about we all sit down and have some breakfast together? I've made your favorites, Deja."
As we made our way to the kitchen, the tension from earlier dissipated. Nana was a master at diffusing any situation, and her presence alone had a calming effect on both of us. As we settled around the table, I couldn't help but notice the familiar sight of my nana's worn-out recipe book lying open next to the stove. It was filled with handwritten notes and splatters of ingredients, a testament to the countless meals she had lovingly prepared for us over the years. The thought of sharing a meal with her, just like we used to when we were younger, brought a sense of nostalgia and comfort.
Over plates of scrambled eggs and bacon, we shared stories and laughed, catching up on all the missed years. Javon told Nana about how he was going to visit Mr. Mike's shop and see if he could get a job to help her with the bills but nana declined to which Javon said he would be happy to help. Grandma obviously didn't need the help, but Javon promised to help with groceries whenever he gets the job.
After we ate lunch, grandma suggest that I help her clean up which I was happy to help with. "So how's everything Deja?" I sighed, as I placed the my dirty dishes in the already filled sinked. "I could be better, but I'm ight,"
She nodded, not seeming satisfied with my answer but she let it go. "And Javon? The last time me and your mama spoke she was telling me that he was getting into gangs and doing drugs, is that all settled?"
I nodded. "The gang part, yes but the drugs part, no. He is still doing that shit, why you think I was yelling at him earlier," I explained to my grandma as she swatted me with a wet cloth. "Watch your language," she scolded me. "I figured he was still doing drugs because I recognized the familiar stench," she added.
I chuckled and shook my head. "I don't know what to do with him, nana. He just doesn't like to listen," I said with a sigh. My grandma then quoted my great grandma Gianne, "As your great grandma used to say, hard ears pickney will Neva learn." I smiled at the memory of my great grandma. She was from Kingston, Jamaica, and we were lucky enough to get a bit of culture from her. Despite being born and raised in Jamaica, my nana had to move to the United States because of her father's illness.
Every time I look at my nana, I am reminded of how much she looks like my great grandma. Her fair skin, similar to my great grandma's, and her captivating brown eyes, which my mother and I also have, constantly remind me of the traits we share as a family. Even though my great grandma passed away when I was only 7 years old, I can still vividly remember spending many nights staring at the pictures of her on my nana's special altar.
"The more I see you the more you start to look like your momma," Grandma says, staring at me. I could tell deep down she was holding back her emotions. "Eh, people say I look more like my dad," She rolls her eyes, clearly still not a fan of my dad. Ever since my dad started getting into dirty business, my grandma started to resent him, saying he was no good for my mother anymore. Nevertheless, deep inside, my father's love for my mother remained steadfast, as he cherished her with every ounce of his being.
"I just want you to know, I'll be here for you and Javon as long as God gives me the strength. For now I ain't going now where," my eyes welled up with tears, unable to contain the overwhelming emotions that flooded my heart.
She place down her wash cloth and pulled me into a hug, and I just broke down in tears. "Everything will be alright, my sweet Deja,"
