Prologue
Colors from a crayon box/ Disdained!
Pop! A resounding thump I would like to put upside Dream Guy’s head. Mrs. Louise should get him, but, to drop blood on my clean white image these days—. That I cannot have. It’s the God in me!
I’m a blessed woman, but, disdained. Mad as hell!
It’s like I’m unconscious, especially when I’m tip-toeing in my taps across a Broadway stage in the damn dreams that started again. But, this one, in particular, stands out: “Holy, Holy, Holy” by the Black Soul Gospel Choir is singing at the Aurora Court Wedding Chapel. I’m dressed in wedding attire and leaping until I get to the middle of the aisle, the damn fidgets started doing me like hell, then, Dream Guy kneels in front of me. He is aggie no doubt. The dreams always come when I am here.
“Look, you listen to me,” Aunt Marie says, disturbing me from the recollection, while I stand here on the McFaulkner balcony in only undergarments, stockings, and silk robe covering me from the morning breeze and looking down over the railing at the beautiful light colors of heaven placed on each table encircling the Olympic-sized pool. Angel white is the color of the lace tablecloths. Angel white mixed with the primary colors from a crayon box, except green, are heavenly and are the colors of the flowers that are placed on the roundtables.
Green is only good for the money and mixes well with sex, fame, riches, drugs, and power. Money green, the main theme color: the dresses, tuxes, etc. The stem of it all. That’s what I’m aiming for these days. True devotion only makes you lose touch with those things. If you could have that love with those things, you would be very fortunate. But, for me, it’s not happening anymore. Who could say if I ever had it? Hmmm. Hell, I’m already rich. I should be marrying myself, but, unfortunately, I am marrying Howard, my ex-dance instructor. With him, I get those ingredients rolled up into one, except for true love. My drug was my Dream Guy. True love added along with my Dream Guy instead could make it acutely potent. This could be the case one day. Unfortunately, not on this blissful day.
“I remember just yesterday when you came to Aurora Court. You came right in and brightened Little Missy’s eyes. You took her out of the shell she was in and opened her up to the world. You two became the best of friends and ...”
Standing here listening to my Aunty Marie talking about that cousin of mine as if she is perfect. Cuz makes me sick.
Pop! A more powerful thump I would like to put upside her head. If I had a gun, she would get the POW! or PRRRR!, but, I’m more dignified now.
“But aunt—” I whine. Although I know not to interrupt her, I have a “Made Up Mind”(like Tedescu Trucks Band sang) and feel holy, but, not vengeful.
“Inseparable. Not to interrupt me when I’m talking to you, young lady! Do you hear me?” Aunt Marie chastises. Aunt Marie is a woman in her early sixties and a tia I once hated, but, came to respect and love.
“Si, ma’am.”
“You’ve had your disagreements in the past, from young men to music records or whatever you young people listened to those days.”
She pauses as she strokes my hair.
“You young people still have so much to learn! You should’ve learned by now! You must allow her to talk with you,” Tía Marie suggests and turns to go back inside my warm bedroom, which shares the warmth of spring in the afternoon with the outside. The flowers on my comforter and the picture of flowers over one of my dressers rectify the season. By the way, the 100% Egyptian Cotton logo is stamped to my sheets personally as always according to Aunt and staff.
As she leaves me alone on the balcony, I whisper under my breath, “Aunt Marie, this is different. The bitch betrayed me in the worst way.”
“She makes me want to hurl,” I say braver and a little louder as Aunt Marie motions with her hand for Amy to come to talk with me.
“You talk with her now,” Tía Marie tells her.
Great!
“If she comes out here, I will throw her off of the palca!”
“Amana Fitzgerald,” Aunty yelps looking at me with bewilderment that I feel from way out here on the balcony through the glass door. But, I know I am right!
“... It’s about to be a Girl fight... Brooke Valentine...” Big Titty Cousin Lisa, a family drunk, and who is also a nosey box sings bursting in with a shot glass.
“Shut up, Lisa!” I yell.
“I see that everybody here ain’t equally kind!” she replies. (Part of a line of In Living Colors theme song.)
Hell! Lisa starts to cry over Ray Ray leaving her. We calm her down. She and Tia leave me alone with this bitch anyway. She speaks out of her lane.
We struggle; I give her a push.
Uh-huh.
Swoosh.
That did it.
Persistent Bitch! Over banister.
“Sorry, you can’t make my wedding! La chica!”
I was raised bougie most of my life, but, the epic hood rat stays with me.
