Yaccub's Curse

natural he looked laying there.

“He almost looks like he’s still alive.”

I never understood why people said shit like that at funerals. What fucking consolation is that?

He’s not alive. He never looked like that when he was on the streets! When did you ever see this mutherfucker wearing a cummerbund with his fucking hair all slicked back like an Italian mobster? I hated that shit.

There was a man nervously pacing back and forth wearing a tight tuxedo that looked worn in the knees and elbows. He had a purple cummerbund and bow tie that fucking glittered for Christ’s sake! His hair was done up in a greasy Jeri curl like I hadn’t seen since the eighties and he was sweating curl activator all down the side of his face.

He shuffled through some papers that I realized with a wave of disgust were pages of sheet music. Here we were at a funeral and he was treating it like Showtime at the Apollo. I hadn’t noticed it until he began to sing, but the podium where the minister had stood and where this little man now stepped up to sing was in front of the casket. It was off to the side so that you didn’t have to walk around it to get to the casket or anything, but it was still in front. It made it look like the casket was just a prop, part of the background scenery.

The man cleared his throat and began to whale out a somber gospel tune that I, not surprisingly, did not know. He sang with his heart and soul like he was auditioning for Star Search, and even played to the audience as if he was expecting us to forget we were all at a funeral and give him a standing ovation. When his song was over he actually looked disappointed that there were no applause. I had to leave.

When I stepped outside Huey was already standing in the parking lot leaning against my behemoth yellow ’72 Impala.

“What took you so long? I thought you’d have been out of there the minute the church ladies showed up.”

“You too, huh?”

“It looks like a fucking variety show in there. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Where to?”

“Man, I don’t know, Snap. Just fucking drive. Just get me the fuck away from this shit before I kill somebody.” He sighed and tilted his head back to gaze up at the heavens.

“You want to go down to South Street? We ain’t been down there since we was arrested that time.”

“Yeah, it’s been a few years hasn’t it? Let’s go down there and pick up some bitches. It would feel good to get my dick wet in some strange right about now.”

“I thought things were still cool with you and Iesha?” I asked.

Huey looked at me with his eyebrow raised and his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to decide whether or not I was serious.

“Of course they are. But don’t get it twisted. A man still has to be a man. You love one, but you fuck another. That’s the only way you can deal with a woman’s bullshit sometimes, knowing that you got someone else you can go to, to make you feel like a man again after she’s done breakin’ you down.”

“Is that why you fucked Yolanda behind my back?”

“Why? Is she your woman? ’Cause to me it looks like she’s everybody’s woman.”

“I know she gets around, but that ain’t the point. You my dog. If you was hittin’ it all you had to do was let me know so I wouldn’t feel like I was gettin’ played.”

“Leave it, dog. She’s a piece of ass. Just because you gettin’ it more regular than most of the niggas she deals with don’t mean it’s yours. You need to find yourself a real woman. Fuck bangin’ the neighborhood whore. You need to find someone to fall in love with.”

“I did that once. It didn’t work out.”

“Fuck it. Let’s just go.”

We jumped in the car and headed straight for the expressway, blasting a new CD from The Roots as we passed a joint back and forth. We were high as hell by the time we pulled up at Fifth and South.

It was too early in the day for much to be going on down there. The high schools and colleges hadn’t even let out for lunch yet so there was no pussy anywhere. The place was dead. We walked up and down the street looking into the punk rock stores, comic book stores, record shops, and clothing boutiques. We were just about to find a place to eat when I spotted a familiar silhouette on the next block. I sped up my stride without clueing Huey in on what I was after. I didn’t want to hear his shit.

“Damn, Snap. Why you walkin’ so fast? Slow down, bro.”

Huey saw her sooner than I expected him to and he recognized her right away.

“Don’t tell me you tryin’ to catch up with that White bitch? Ain’t that the same bitch you met down here that night the cops popped us like three years ago?”

“Shit, it’s been damned near four years, but I still want some of that.”

I strode up behind her and leaned in close enough so that she could feel my breath on the back of her neck. She sensed my presence before I could speak and whirled around ready to cuss me out. Her face was contorted into a look of outrage.

“Fuck is you doin’? Back tha fuck up off me!”

“Damn, you sound like you’ve dated a few brothas since the last time I saw you. You talk just like a nigga now. You still need a thug in your life?”

Her face relaxed as she recognized me and a smile spread across features.

“Don’t even talk to me,” She said, pretending to be upset, but obviously excited to see me again, “How come you ain’t call me?”

“I got arrested that night and I lost your number. I been hoping I’d run into you again.”

“Well, I still live down here. I’m up and down this street everyday. I wouldn’t have been hard to find if you’d really been lookin’.”

“I’ve been goin’ through some drama. I got locked up. Just got out.”

She didn’t even blink when I told her I’d been arrested. No questions, no complaints, nothing. She probably figured black folks got arrested every day. After all, we were all criminals weren’t we? It didn’t even occur to me that my lifestyle would have justified those stereotypes.

She turned to Huey and smiled flirtatiously. She could have saved all that. Huey ain’t into snowflakes.

“Who’s this?”

“This is my dog right here, Huey. Don’t expect him to be nice to you though. He don’t like White bitches and his brother just got killed so he ain’t in no mood to fake it. We’re supposed to be at a funeral right now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Bitch, I don’t even know you. I don’t want your fuckin’ sympathy,” Huey snarled, freezing her warm condolences with his vicious blast.

“Let’s bounce, playa,” Huey started to walk off down the street. He stopped at the corner and leaned against a light pole waiting impatiently.

“Yeah, I’ll be with you in a minute alright? I told you he was a hateful muthafucka.”

“You ain’t lyin’. I know he’s had a tragedy and all, but all that wasn’t even necessary.” She looked genuinely shocked.

“I should be catching up to him though. He’s goin’ through some shit right now and I should be with him. Look, let me get that number again and I promise you we’ll hook up this time.”

“I shouldn’t be given your ass a second chance, but you just look so good.”

“Just write your number down on a matchbook or something ’cause I gotta bounce.”

I produced a pen and I couldn’t find a matchbook so she wrote her number on the back of a pack of rolling papers and handed it to me.

“You smoke weed?”

“I sell weed now that my Mom bounced on me. That’s how I’m payin’ the bills while I’m goin’ to college.”

I laughed to myself at the way she tried to incorporate my slang into her dialogue.

“Yeah, well why don’t you sell me a couple dimes so I can get my boy’s head straight?”

“I’ll give you some if you come by tonight.”

“Cool, I’ll be there.”