"I started to be really proud of the fact I was gay even though I wasn't"
― Kurt Cobain
"Go on now. Your husband ain't here."
There was a small satisfaction that Granny felt about turning away her Big Sister the same as she had done her, even though the reasons were different; Granny needed a place to stay with Uncle Charlie's Girlchild, and Big Sister was in search of her husband.
"He said he was coming over here and he would be right back. Well, he ain't right back."
"That was more than 13 years ago, Big sister."
"Where are you hiding him!?"
"If you don't take your senile ass from over here right about now, I swear I will shoot you. Only then you will know where exactly he is. Now go on from here, Big Sister."
"I told myself I wasn't going to curse you. But I'm sending and calling every curse to fall upon this house right about-"
Pow.
"That there bullet shot down any curse you think to upon this house with my grandbabies inside."
Pow.
That there another bullet was to catch any other that may have crossed your mind to put upon this house with my Grandbabies inside."
Pow.
Uncle Charlie hurriedly stepped outside onto the porch snatching the gun from Granny once the Continental was on the path for those who wanted to live another day.
"Since when we pull guns out on family, Granny?"
Uncle Charlie held the gun in one hand with the barrel pointed downward. He kept a tight grip on Granny's wrist with his other hand.
If it weren't for his boy child interrupting the talk he was having with the delivery men who hauled in the washer and dryer, he would have been too late to stop an old woman with a gun.
He continued, "If you would have killed your Big sister then what? There's blood and a body to worry about if you made a mistake or aimed just right like I taught you to do. We aim to kill. When you know that, you know there's more to killing folks than just shooting because you mad. Family, we talk, or we don't. We don't shoot."
"Aint no family of mine, I tell you." Granny spat, mad as a jackrabbit.
"Same blood still runs in your veins as hers, Can't make no never mind about that." Uncle Charlie scolded.
"I shot in the air. I shot near her. I didn't shoot her. Even though I probably should have to stop her from living and cursing folks with that voodoo she practices. Talking to me like I am just some anybody from off the streets. I am somebody, damn it."
"Not sure what kind of a person you aiming to be at your age but if you were any shooter you will be a somebody who shot her sister plum dead. That's for true."
"For true." Granny conceded when her body exhaled every bit of negative energy with a deep outward sigh. Uncle Charlie was right.
The two people agreed.
"I am just damn tired of being blamed for shit that happened over 40 something years ago, Uncle Charlie. It is not like today where you know better, and you do better. Tell me I am lying about that."
Uncle Charlie understood some of what Granny had gone through growing up like most everyone else that was praising the good Lord's name in a book and not having more than a third-grade education.
Laws were different back then, and for people of color, it took more years than he could reconcile without a piece of paper and pencil given to his boy child to calculate. Life for those who survived and outlived segregation was hard on the uneducated black woman no matter how you mixed the pie. Add the bible to that, and you got your, big mamas, Sister Jones, and every other Granny from the deep south.
"Can't say you are lying, Granny. Can't say you ain't an almost near honest God Fearing woman. Only you have a special relationship with the truth."
"Why can't it rest is what I wants to know. Devil stay busy." Granny bemoaned.
"I suppose there is one person who won't rest until they knows what's under your band-aid, Granny."
"Band-aid. What are you talking about now, Uncle Charlie?"
"See. You still don't realize you are walking around hiding what needs not be. Reason why nothing rest around here. Won't heal without air. Sometimes you need to air it out."
"Now you talking senile."
"Where's that good book of yours?"
"Inside."
"Hold on to that good book of yours with both them hands like you do. Tight to your bosom. I know then if you ain't stirring a pot of beans with your free hand, I can rest to know you ain't got your hands on no gun."
"I do more with my hands than cook around here and hold on to my good book."
"I know you do, Granny. You cook, clean, and take care of those kids that need you. You are a good somebody to them."
"My Grandbabies certainly keep me busy. You hear?"
"Yes, I hear."
"They just about all I got."
"Well, I would hope it's all you need."
"Yes, lord they are all I need to keep me worried to death."
Granny tried to make light of the situation, but it didn't stop the unexpected tears that began to fall quickly from her eyes.
Uncle Charlie released her wrist. He handed back over his gun. Lowering his voice, he ensures that it was only audible to Granny when he spoke.
"Now go on and take this gun and put it away. We had Flowers looking for it, and now her ears may have perked up based on her standing somewhere in the house hearing that gun of mine go off, I say find a good spot where she can't reach it."
Granny nodded and turned to open the screen door to step inside with Uncle Charlie coming in from behind. They both paused for a split second giving the Daddy a long glance before continuing with what was the order of the day.
Granny went trudging up the wooden stairs, and Uncle Charlie went to the laundry room.
Marty had froze in mid zoom around the room at the sight of who was no longer his Mama. Marty took one step back. Precaution.
"I've been looking all over for this! Thank you, little man! We dudes got to stick together." Onne ruffled Marty's already wild hair.
Onne took what Marty wore as a large necklace and with the strap on firmly in his grip, he took great satisfaction in it's discovery even though it was short-lived.
The ire was seen immediately by Onne when glancing at the familiar nuisance that was still at the house and not long gone with the children as was the deal made in California.
Blue, shiny glint was noticeable like the outside sky when the clouds moved in hopes to allow the sun or lightning streaking through dark clouds after the sound of mighty thunder. Those eyes were a sign, and faster than flame to gas Onne took to running out of the house, breaking the screendoor clear off its already fragile hinges.
Sinclaire was in hot pursuit.
Onne jumped from the top porch step and took off running in the direction of the woods that were surrounding the property. The path he took was to the River where he pretended to drown on more than one occasion in the past.
Sinclaire was going to get that strap on. He was determined now that it had been uncovered. He anticipated there would be a struggle, and he wasn't going to be gentle with Onne, His woman would be the only one able to stop him from a full-on brawl once he caught up with Onne who could fight like any god damn man.
The only thing on Onne's mind was that he had to get his dick to a safe place. There was no way he was going to allow his masculinity to be taken away from him, not without a fight. The white dude was gaining. Assured by his steady footing, Onne made a quick decision to head to Daryl's. The more and more he led the chase Onne only felt he had a good chance to make it after a quick glance behind when he saw the white stalker take a tumble down a steep slope.
That was all he needed to make it where he was determined to get to. Plus Onne knew exactly where Daryl hid his gun. If push came to shove, he would just have to shoot this fast running white fucker.
Sinclaire had misjudged exactly how Onne was going to weave through some dense areas in his hopes to prevent him from reaching the River's edge. The thought of his woman finding herself in the River was too much for him. He wasn't sure which of them knew how to swim, and he would put money on it his woman would sink like a rock.
Daryl didn' know what to make of the sight at his front door. He slowly got up from his worn plaid sofa, mouth wide open at the mere sight of a dripping wet Onne conspiring with Eugene to take his strap-on in exchange for a gun.
"What in the fuckity whuck are you doing here?"
"I need a gun. He's coming."
"Who is coming?"
No sooner the question left Daryl's lips did he get his answer.
A/N: I like to thank every single person who continue to follow this story even when I am slow to update it. Corrected an error 04/13/2019 10:33pm
