Post by Charmaine DaGawd™️ on Sept 5, 2019 14:38:13 GMT -6
MONDAY, AUGUST 5TH - The scene whisks us away to the slums of Brooklyn, NY; where the destinies of its unfortunate occupants are inscribed from the moment they’re plucked from the womb (i.e. limited education, low paying jobs, poor living conditions, crime, jail, stress, drugs, poor diet, hypertension, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and ultimately death). We focus on the outside of a local diner, ironically known as ‘Pops’ considering how much of a Father figure the owner was to the neighborhood kids who grew up without; every letter barring the ‘O’ burned over the establishment in red hot monospace font. Don’t be duped by its shack-like appearance, as they advertised and more often than not provided a family-friendly atmosphere, and above all else (at risk of sounding like a commercial) provided high quality food at reasonable prices. Their home style juicy burgers were their specialty.
A woman that just so happened to be jogging by - her wireless earplugs dangled from the canal of her ears, raven hair pulled into a high rise bun, clad in a highlighter pink Under Armor hoodie with a faint ‘UA’ stretched across the bosom, dark gray leggings which hugged her entire lower body, and Nike Air Max - came to a slow halt along the sidewalk. She doubled over, hands on bent knees, to catch her breath as another woman in similar wear slothily jogged behind her, completely worn out; her hoodie was secured around her waist and she sported a white sports bra.
Mo’Nique (nicknamed “Nique”): Woo! *huff, huff* Oh...God, *huff, huff* bitch, I’m ‘bout to fucking *huff, huff* die...but before I do...I’m gonna kill *huff, huff* your ass...for talking me into this shit.
She leaned into a palm resting on the tile brick wall of the establishment, totally exhausted. Noticing her friend’s lack of a response, she taps her on the shoulder.
Mo’Nique: Bitch *huff, huff* Charmaine, do you hear me talking to you?
Charmaine turns to face her friend, standing fully upright, removing her earbuds from her ears and placing them safely in the pouch of her hoodie.
Charmaine (nicknamed “DaGawd” by herself and “Char” by close friends, “Bitch” on occasion, jokingly of course): You say something?
Mo’Nique: Oh, no, not at all. Too busy dying back here, oh, sweet baby Jesus.
Charmaine: As usual, you’re being extra.
A spot-on observation that was without bias from Charmaine, her childhood friend, but it wasn’t her fault. Such was in her blood. It should come as no shock to anyone that Mo'Nique came from a long line of talented performers, who, alas, wouldn’t see stages no bigger than local talent shows or small stints on the Apollo. Even years prior to her glow up as the beautiful ebony queen she stands as today, she was a ‘drama geek’ throughout grade school.
Charmaine: Besides, I don’t think I would’ve been capable of hearing you anyways with my dust clogging up your esophagus and all.
Charmaine on the other hand was the sporty one. She was always busy with some time-consuming, physically-grueling, after school athletics; but it was on the track where she truly shined. Normally, a jock and drama geek’s paths wouldn’t cross as they didn’t traffic in the same social circle, but being from the same neighborhood helped build a bridge that united their worlds.
The ladies would move their conversation on the inside of the diner; Charmaine taking the lead in pushing her way through the glassy door, Mo’Nique tailing her.
Mo’Nique: Well, we can’t all be sporty like you. Some of us ain’t manufactured for the track and field crowd, SOME of us are more reserved for the stage. Acting, singing, and things of that sort. Hashtag Gifted! Hashtag Blessed! Hashtag --
Charmaine: Hashtag Delusional. Your ass is just lazy. And considering that fat gene you got in your family, you might want to make more of an effort in keeping up with me.
Mo’Nique: You were always a shady little bitch; best put your claws away because this ain’t what you want. Not today, boo. You may be on your way to slamming bitches in the ring, but that don’t mean you can’t get dropped here and now.
Charmaine: I’m just having some fun with you, girl, you know you’ve got the most talented voice in Brooklyn.
Mo’Nique: I know these to be facts, sis. But still it’s nice to hear them every now and again.
That was their relationship. In between the light-hearted shading was pure love. Sister to sister. Or as they preferred it, ‘sistah to sistah’. Business wasn’t jumping like it used to, but it appears that Pops was far from the grave; what with patrons dotted throughout dining on his mouth-watering-so-good-it’ll-make-you-wanna-slap-your-momma culinary. The two took their usual seats in a booth on the far east of the establishment by a window that displayed the main two-way street. It wouldn’t take long before the owner picked them out and approached them, eager to take their orders with a smile that spoke of his pride in them stretching his features.
Emanuel Hearns (nicknamed Pops): Charmaine and Mo’Nique, why, ain’t you two just a sight for sore eyes? Does my heart good to see two soon-to-be successful young black women going off into the world to build careers for themselves.
Referring to Mo’Nique getting into a Performance Art School in New York and Charmaine gaining acceptance into a national wrestling federation, which was all abuzz in the neighborhood. Pops, and the hood included, couldn’t be more proud of their spiritual daughters.
Mo’Nique: It's good to be seen and not viewed.
Pops: Amen to that. By the way, Charmaine, I speak for us all when I say how deeply saddened we were to hear about what happened to Rasheed. He was a good boy, it’s just trouble had a way of finding him and making a mess of things. How’re you and your Mom holding up?
Charmaine: We’re doing better...I’ll just be happier when this case is settled and we can put this entire thing behind us.
Pops: I understand. I’ll keep you all in my prayers.
Charmaine: Thanks, Pops.
He placed silver utensils engorged in napkins, before them both; prior to pulling out his pad from the pocket of his apron and a pencil which was wedged behind his left ear.
Pops: What can I get you girls?
Mo’Nique: I’ll have one of your famous --
As Mo’Nique would continue with her order, Charmaine would begin to unknowingly zone out; her gaze drifting to the cars that drove by. For a split second, she could’ve swore she saw her brother, Rasheed, standing on the opposite corner of the street; in the forest green windbreaker, dark tank top, navy jeans, and white sneakers she’d last saw him alive wearing. It had been a little over a year since his passing, but it was still fresh on her mind. All she could recount were the mistakes she’d made. Had she known that would be the final day she’d seen her brother alive, she would’ve reached out to him for a hug instead of striking him and told him how much he’d meant to her rather than curse him. But that was the thing about death, it comes swiftly and unexpectedly, every breath drawn was to be cherished because life is precious, no matter how difficult it may become at times. She knew that now.
Pops: Charmaine?
Pops’ raspy-low voice broke her out of her latest trance. She blinked back into reality and refocuses her gaze onto the smoky haired and pencil-thin goateed man before her.
Charmaine: I’m sorry, Pops, what were you saying?
Pops: I was asking what I could get for you?
Charmaine: Yeah, let me get a three piece chicken tenders, a side of french fries, and a water.
Pops: Okay. I’ll have that up for you in about fifteen minutes, ladies.
Mo’Nique: Thank you.
Pops scribbled along his notepad and departed from their table, once Mo’Nique saw that he was at a safe distance, she leaned forward to inquire her friend about her constant zoning out -- that rounded out to a good five or six times today. She was beginning to grow concerned.
Mo’Nique: Okay girl, spill it. What’s gotten into you, you’ve been on a whole ‘nother planet all day; is it the case?
Charmaine: Yeah. But it’s nothing. This always happens on the week of a case.
Mo’Nique: It’s not nothing. It’s fucked. I’m telling you, whatever that pig gets tomorrow is too good for him. Rasheed deserves justice, and he’s going to get it.
The delicate but firm touch of Mo’Nique’s hand on hers supplied a welcomed comfort. Though she appeared to have it all together on the outside, inside Charmaine was boiling -- likely because she already knew the verdict. It had been discontinued for six months now. How much longer was the police going to get away with cold blooded murder? She shuddered at the mere thought alone. It was like they were being hunted; open season on black men, and her brother was just one to add to the toll, a statistic but worse. A pair of deer antlers to be displayed over a fireplace. When would black lives finally matter?
***
TUESDAY, AUGUST 6TH - Not even the soul-crushing sound of the gavel, echoing in her ears could succeed in drowning out the emotional response that followed the verdict: ’NOT GUILTY’. The courtroom was in an uproar, as was the rest of the neighborhood. Protests and riots ran amok, nearly shaking the Big Apple to its rotten core. Granted it wasn’t the city of New York, but close enough. She was numb to the entire situation. Half a year...wasted, waiting, them prolonging the inevitable; and there was nothing she could do to ensure her brother did not die in vain...well, there was one thing…
It was rather late to be out for a run, but Charmaine was a natural sprinter; she always figured if there were issues she wasn’t strong enough to face at the time, she could create some distance with a good run. Albeit, it wasn’t the ideal life lesson, but it kept her in great shape. Charmaine would kneel before a granite headstone, grazing her fingers over the inscription which spelled out her brother’s name, date of birth, and date of deliverance. Fighting back tears, her jaw began to tremble; pain and rage pressured her dark brown eyes until a single stream fled from her eyelids.
Charmaine: What a shit show, huh...as if you being gone wasn’t hard enough, today I had to practically carry Ma-dukes out of the courtroom; pushing through a horde of messy ass reporters who weren’t concerned about our well-being but just wanting a good spectacle. People have really been drinking the Kool-Aid lately -- rioting, I mean what does tearing up our own streets resolve? It’s an attack on our own. But I’m sure there’s a place in Hell for that pig who shot you and that whole sorry ass precinct; guy is a fucking murderer and he gets a pat on the back because he saw what he “thought” was a gun? The smugness, arrogance on his face was disgusting! It took all within me not to smack the fire out of him. Protect and motherfucking-serve, my ass! You didn’t deserve this, Rasheed, you didn’t deserve this at all. Gunned down like some mangy dog behind the shed -- no, you deserved to die after living a long life, in your bed, surrounded by your family.
Amid her grieving, her Mother would appear from behind, walking the same trail she’d just run through the cemetery; still clad in the same navy blue blazer and skirt, Lilly white blouse, and heels.
Shirley (Charmaine’s Ma-dukes): I was hoping I’d find you here, how are you holding up with -- well, everything?
Unsure how to answer her Mother in the moment, she merely shrugs her shoulders. Likely too overwhelmed by the emotion that was clogging the back of her throat, swallowing felt like dry-swallowing a massive pill.
Charmaine: It’s just not fair, Ma.
Shirley: I know it ain’t fair, but baby life is unfair. Sometimes these things just happen and there ain’t a thing we can do about them.
Charmaine: Maybe that’s the problem...incidents like this occur too often, the system fails us too often...I’m actually glad to be leaving this place. This neighborhood is a wasteland of gangs, drugs, and prostitution, no one should have to be forced to endure such a horrific living environment. And when I’ve made enough, I’ll come back to take you away from here.
Shirley: This is my home. And it has been yours and your brother’s too. Besides this place needs us now more than ever.
Charmaine: Really, Ma?! This place took your son from you!
Shirley (an erect index finger serving as caution directed at Charmaine): Tone, young lady, tone. I understand what you’re going through, considering how you and Rasheed left things when he was alive; I too wish I could go back in time or at the very least make amends but he’s gone. Nothing we do can bring him back; and you running away to do such nonsense as getting in a wrestling ring ain’t going to resolve a thing. You can’t keep running from your problems, there comes a time when we have to stand and fight.
Charmaine: I hear you, Ma, but I ain’t running from anything -- I’m running towards something, the future; a better one. And you should consider doing the same. It’s what Rasheed would have wanted for the both of us.
She made a compelling argument, Miss Shirley would admit in confidence to herself. Was she fighting a fight that was beyond winning? The neighborhood was never the best, but it had certainly been descending at a great rate over the last twenty years. How could she encourage her daughter to do the right thing when she wasn’t even sure what the right thing was anymore? In light of the verdict, it seemed that the lines dividing right and wrong had never been more blurred. Ultimately she would trust her daughter to return to the nest, after all, all they had at the end of the day was each other.
***
TUESDAY, AUGUST 27TH - Her body still hurt like hell, the price of fame, she loathed. Bruises and scars wore on her like medals on a soldier’s ASU. Inconspicuous, in terms of dress, was the word of the day. An aqua long-sleeve v-neck blouse, fastened one button above her breasts -- careful not to be too inappropriate, tucked into the hem of her white denim capris, accessorized with light jewelry, a bracelet and earrings, finished with white sandal. Her face beat like a beauty queen and her hair laid to perfection and off to one side of her face; one couldn’t engage in a business deal looking like “who-shot-John-and-forgot-to-kill-him”, as her Mom would put it.
Entering the master bedroom of this tudor-style home, flabbergasted by the cream coated walls and fresh hardwood floors along with her, was her B.F.F and fellow B.A.B (Bad Ass Bitch, for those of y’all who don’t know; “Bad” interchangeable with “Boss”) Mo’Nique, who had to raise her aviator sunglasses to the crown of her head to better examine the sheer beauty that’d pierced her pupils. Her mouth formed an “O” that spoke of her astonishment, sparing her from finding the words to describe it. While she found time to wander off into the master bathroom, the blonde chic realtor, guiding them, turned to Charmaine smiling through her painted lips.
Realtor: ..And we cap off the tour with my favorite room in the house, the master bedroom.
Mo’Nique: Ooh, bitch, they got a jacuzzi bathtub!
Mo’Nique would blurt from the bathroom, apparently old habits die hard.
Charmaine (exhausts a soft chuckle prior to speaking): I’m not gonna beat around the bush, this place is dope! I think Ma’Dukes will love it.
Mo’Nique: Shiii-eet, if she don’t want it, I’ll take it.
Mo’Nique would depart from the bathroom to return to Charmaine’s side. They’d seen every square inch of the place and fallen in love with the idea of Mama Shirley living in a home for once, a home. No wailing sirens or prowling delinquents in the dead of night to keep her awake at night. A place that would keep her warm in the winter and at a modestly cool temperature in those blistering summers. But now was the time to talk turkey, c-notes, duckets, cash money.
Realtor: The asking price for this home is one point five million dollars…
Mo’Nique: Damn, bitch, we ain’t trying to buy the whole neighborhood out.
Charmaine: Right!? I just got into the business, ain’t no way I can afford this right now. Are you sure you can’t go any lower than that?
Realtor: Sorry. The seller won’t take anything less.
Charmaine’s head bowed between her shoulders in defeat. When she saw all of those digits deposited into her checking account, she was eager to go out and accomplish what she set out to do, only to find out that she still had many MANY more checks to collect before she could afford such a lavish home like the one she was currently standing in. Mo’Nique, feeling the energy in the room shift, instinctively knew that Charmaine would need some time without the preppy blonde dressed in M.M LaFleur making her goals seem unrealistic. So she politely asked her if they could have a moment to discuss it, which she was more than understanding in obliging to.
Mo’Nique: Penny for your thoughts?
Charmaine: I feel like I’m running on this endless track, hopping hurdle after hurdle, but it seems no matter how far I’ve gotten there seems to be more shit ahead of me than there is behind me. More hurdles. And much more track that stretches up the horizon. You can’t imagine how much shit I’ve had to put up with. My brother died in the cold streets of Brooklyn on the end of a trigger-happy-pig’s gun and the judicial system tells me that it was justified. The media painted that fucker out to be a martyr. A father of three kids in a middle-class neighborhood who risks his life every night policing a neighborhood nobody so much as walks the streets of after dark. But we know the real! Don’t no cops come to our neighborhood unless they’re bent -- and that son of a bitch is as crooked as they come, we just couldn’t prove it. They let my brother’s murderer walk...let him go home to his full house and force my Mama back to her broken one. We have to live with a hole in our hearts, that matches the one that he put in my brother’s, for the rest of our lives and it ain’t fair! It ain’t fair at all. But I worked my ass off to try and avenge him, keep his spirit alive by doing what he always said he would; and just when I think I’ve done it there’s another hurdle for me to get over. It doesn’t help that the business hasn’t been so kind to me. I find myself having to prove myself to mu’fuckas who don’t even know me, time and time again, I’m just like damn, when does it get easier, you know? I just want to buy Ma’Dukes a house, that’s it! But along comes somebody else to deny me that too.
Mo’Nique: I think you know just as well as I do that it doesn’t get any easier. We are two motivated, intelligent, young, black women who know their worth and ain’t willing to accept anything that doesn’t meet their expectations; and that is where all of our problems come from. America has always had a “preference” for a certain type of “people” and we just don’t meet the criteria. Rich, white, and male. So we have to endure more and work harder than anybody -- I’m not saying that makes it right because it doesn’t, that’s just the way it is. The system is practically impossible to change and we’re not allowed to be outraged about shit otherwise we’re the..
Mo’Nique and Charmaine (in unison): ..“angry black women”.
Charmaine in her brief verbal intermission takes a deep sigh, glaring at her friend in desperate need of some direction.
Mo’Nique: Remember that protest we did in our sophomore year, when we went on a hunger strike to get more “black cuisine” in the cafeteria in recognition of black history month?
Charmaine (laughing): Yeah..I also remember it took us chaining ourselves to the cafeteria door for him to even agree to a sit-down with us..but what’s your point?
Mo’Nique: My point is, you are one of the most stubborn and headstrong people that I know, when you have a goal there is no force imaginable that can stop you from taking it by the balls. Words like ‘quitting’ and ‘easy’ are foreign to you. You may not know your strength now, with the feeling of all the weight in the world crushing you right now, but you are capable of taking anything life throws at you. So what, you trip and face-planted on a few hurdles, get back up and keep on running. Don’t focus on the end, just focus on running the race. You can’t get this house today, fuck it, we can come back at another time...something tells me they won’t be selling this place any time soon.
She wasn’t sure how, but Mo’Nique had managed to fish a smile out of her; even in such an emotionally devastating time like this. Mo’Nique believed that in spite of all these setbacks in her professional and personal life, that she would continue to thrive, and therefore she had to believe it too. Not only for her sake, but her Mother’s also. She deserved to live out the remainder of her days in something that was hers with a big yard in a quiet neighborhood. Even if it took the rest of her life, Charmaine clung to the bit of faith she had with that in mind. In a shocking twist of events just a couple of days later, Charmaine would find herself standing outside the headquarters, at the bottom of the staircase to be exact, of another major Wrestling Corporation that just so happened to be a known affiliate - maybe investor - of APW, EWC. If the money were right, perhaps the extra bruising would be worth it?