Smh
Chardell
I was standing there starting to sweat, waiting for this old nigga to come to the door.
“Who the fuck is it?”
“Paris, open the damn door.”
I twisted the knob.
Locked.
I heard little Paris’s feet running around inside.
“Wait a minute! My grandson isn’t ready,” Pop yelled from the other side of the door.
“MAN, OPEN THE DOOR!”
I heard giggling.
More than one little person.
I narrowed my eyes at the door.
“Maya, you in on this shit too?”
Silence.
Then Maya whispered entirely too loud.
“Paw Paw, he’s mad.”
“I hear him.”
“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”
“Watch your mouth around these children!”
I stared at the door.
This nigga.
“YOU ARE THE REASON I TALK LIKE THIS!”
The door finally cracked open.
Pop’s face appeared.
“What?”
I pushed against it.
He pushed back.
“Move.”
“Hold on.”
“Hold on for what?”
“I’m telling you the boy ain’t ready.”
“Ready for WHAT?”
He looked behind him.
That was when I got nervous.
“Pop.”
“What?”
“What the fuck did you do to my son?”
“Why you automatically assume I did something?”
“Because you’re barricading the fucking door!”
Little Paris screamed from somewhere inside.
“DON’T LET DADDY IN!”
My mouth dropped open.
“Oh, y’all got my baby involved in this shit?”
Maya lost it.
I heard her laughing so hard she started coughing.
“MAYA!”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Then open the door!”
“No!”
“Why?!”
Another little voice joined the chaos.
C.J.
“HE LOOK LIKE PAW PAW!”
I stopped.
Slowly looked at Pop.
Pop’s lips disappeared between his teeth.
“Paris.”
He lost it.
This old nigga started laughing right in my fucking face.
I shoved the door.
“MOVE!”
“Wait, boy!”
I finally got enough leverage to squeeze through.
Maya was doubled over against the wall.
C.J. was on the couch crying laughing.
And standing in the middle of Pop’s living room...
was my four-year-old son.
I stared.
Little Paris stared back at me.
Then grinned.
This nigga had on a tiny button-down shirt.
Slacks.
Dress shoes.
A gold chain.
And a little fake cigar hanging out the corner of his mouth.
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
Behind me, Pop was wheezing.
“Look at him!”
“I see him!”
“That’s my boy!”
“That’s my boy!”
Little Paris took the fake cigar out of his mouth.
“Whassup, nigga!”
My eyes flew open.
The room exploded.
Maya fell against the wall.
C.J. disappeared into the couch cushions.
Pop slapped his thigh so hard I heard it.
I pointed at my father.
“LIDIA IS GOING TO FUCKING KILL ME.”
“Why she gon’ kill you? I taught him!”
“THAT’S WHY!”
Little Paris strutted toward me.
Actually strutted.
“Daddy.”
“What?”
He held his arms out.
“Whassup, nigga!”
I scooped his little ass up before I could stop myself from laughing.
“Don’t say that.”
“Paw Paw say it.”
“Paw Paw also seventy years old and ain’t got long left.”
“Fuck you!” Pop yelled.
“SEE?”
Maya was recording everything.
I pointed at her.
“And don’t you send that shit to your mama.”
Her thumbs were already moving.
“Too late.”
My phone buzzed.
Litty ❤️
Fuck.
I looked at Pop.
He looked at me.
C.J. looked at my phone.
Little Paris still had his fake cigar.
I sighed.
“I’m surrounded by enemies.”
Pop clapped me on the shoulder.
“Family.”
“Same shit.”
“Look, Daddy! I’m Paw Paw!”
“I see that.”
He stuck the fake cigar back in his mouth.
“Whussup, nigga!”
“STOP SAYING THAT.”
Pop yelled from behind me.
“Boy got my mannerisms too!”
“THAT IS NOT SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE.”
My phone rang again.
Litty ❤️
Anwering cautiously .
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Baby?”
“Why is my four-year-old smoking a cigar?”
“It’s candy, It’s fake.”
“That was not my question.”
I looked at Pop.
He mouthed, Hang up.
I pointed at him.
“And why did I just hear your father tell you to hang up on me?”
Fuck.
I put her on speaker.
“Mama’s baby boy, what are you doing?”
Little Paris’s whole face lit up.
He knew damn well she was talking to him.
“Mama!”
“Hi, handsome. What are you doing?”
He looked down at himself.
“I’m Paw paw!”
Pop threw both hands in the air.
“THAT’S RIGHT!”
“Paris, shut up,” Lidia snapped through the phone.
I pointed at it.
“You heard your daughter-in-law.”
“I’m in my own damn house.”
“Mama, look!”
Little Paris grabbed the fake cigar and stuck it back in his mouth.
“Whassup, nigga!”
Silence.
Complete fucking silence.
I slowly turned toward Pop.
Pop slowly removed his real cigar from his mouth.
Maya stopped laughing.
C.J. sat up.
Even little Paris seemed to realize something had shifted in the atmosphere.
“Chardell.”
“Why you saying my name?”
“Why is my baby saying whassup, nigga?”
“I would like to formally remove myself from this investigation.”
Maya snorted.
“Maya, hush,” Lidia said.
“I didn’t teach him!”
“I know you didn’t, baby.”
I frowned.
“How everybody getting cleared but me?”
“Because I know exactly which loud, inappropriate, cigar-smoking seventy-year-old man my son is dressed like.”
Pop looked offended.
“Sixty-eight!”
Lidia went quiet.
Then:
“Paris Baptiste.”
Pop straightened.
“What?”
“You taught my baby to say that?”
“No.”
Little Paris looked up at him.
“Yes, you did, Paw Paw.”
I folded over.
Done.
Absolutely fucking done.
Pop stared down at his grandson.
“Boy.”
“You did.”
“Little nigga, we supposed to stick together.”
“PARIS!” Lidia yelled.
“What?!”
“STOP CALLING HIM THAT!”
Little Paris was giggling now.
“Mama, Paw Paw say nigga.”
"I know baby, that's because he's ignorant."
Pop stamped in place slapping his, laughing.
I slid down onto the arm of the couch because my legs weren’t worth shit anymore.
Maya had tears running down her face.
C.J. was wheezing.
Pop pointed his cigar at little Paris.
“I ain’t buying you shit else.”
Little Paris gasped.
Then his little face crumbled.
“Paw Paw!”
“Oh, now you wanna cry.”
“Pop, don’t make my baby cry.”
“You stay out of this.”
“He four!”
“He a snitch!”
Lidia made a sound through the phone.
“Did you just call my four-year-old a snitch?”
Pop looked at the phone.
Looked at me.
Then looked towards the stairs.
“Don’t you run now,” I told him.
“I ain’t running.”
He started walking away.
“Where you going?”
“To my room.”
“Your room? Nigga, this your whole house!”
“Exactly!”
Little Paris tugged on my shirt.
“Daddy?”
“What, baby?”
He held the fake cigar up to me.
“You want some?”
I lost it.
And from the phone, I heard Lidia scream:
“BAPTISTE, GET THAT DAMN THING OUT OF MY BABY’S HAND!”
Three different Baptiste men answered at once.
“Which Baptiste?”
Silence.
Then Maya whispered:
“Y’all are so stupid.”
