Okay. So when I was 6, we were living in what was a family house. Grandmother was on the first floor, along with my uncle and my aunt. My moms and I were on the third floor, and there was a family on the second. I had a crush on the chick on the second, I used to follow her around all the time, funny, but I cannot remember her name now. Besides when I saw her years later, she wasn’t cute like back in the day, and kind of hefty.
During those few years, my uncle would terrorize me all the time. I mean, from as long as I can remember the dude used to whoop my ass constantly. It was throwing me across the rooms, chasing me with hot shit on a stick. You name it, he did it. I forgot his friends, but it was two of them, and they would crack up at the beat up flav show. They were always smoking these funny cigarettes too. But anyways, he was pretty much like the stereotypical older brother that whoops your ass. I would cry, but then find some mischievous way to get back at him. I was young, so it was never anything big, but creative for a kid. My guess is that since he was no longer the "baby" of the house, someone would have to pay.
Moving on. At the time, my mother used to drink, not much, but got a little buzz at times. I remember her listening to teddy Pendergrass and drinking millers and smoking kools. My moms back in the day, would play the music, and dance with me. She would say...
"C’mon baby, lets do the hustle"
And we would dance until I fell asleep or the phone rang, or whatever happened. One night, during the winter, my mother had went out for a while, it was Xmas time, so I think it was at this place she worked at. When she came home. Talked on the phone for a bit, listened to some music, drank a beer, read me the funny papers. I still wonder why every time she read the title of "funky winker bean" I would bust out laughing. It is a funny name to a six year old.
This one night changed everyone's lives forever. You see, I couldn’t stay asleep. Now they call it ADD, back then it was just a bad ass kid. When a village raised a kid back then, ass whoopins came from any adult on the block. I would get up, go pee and come back to the bed. There was only one bedroom; I and moms had to share it. This one night, we had the electric heater on, so I was cold and was sitting next to it for heat. And the funny papers were right there. So what does my ass do? I start ripping paper off and putting it in the heater. I would drop it and then blow it out. I thought it was super.
So I must have done this at least fifteen to twenty times. And the last time I did, the paper blew under the bed to the other side of it. It was still lit, and I was just looking at it, thinking it would go out or something. But it didn’t. The bedspread that night was the typical 70’s 80's joint; it had ruffles or whatever you call them at the end of them. One of them lit up, and in a matter of seconds my side of the bed was on fire! I started screaming to my mother for what seemed like forever. When she woke up, the only thing I feared was an ass-whooping, fuck the fire. There would be fire on my ass.
My mom who was probably still a little buzzed woke up, and started screaming. And by this time the fire had reached across the bed spread to where she was just laying down. I tried as best I could as she did to try and put it out, but it was too late by then. When I tried I kind of burned my hand or something, and my moms grabbed me and hauled ass downstairs. I don’t remember except being outside with pajamas on. Don’t know if I had shoes on or not. What I do remember is a lady down the street came out to watch and said to my moms that she better get me some shoes to wear because it was cold out. If looks could kill. My mother just said shut up bitch and kept it moving.
The fire was out, and we all ended up a few blocks away to great momma house. All of us stayed there for a long time after that. My grandmother even longer. Like the next 20 years and shit. Great momma I loved with all my heart. But there was always some hostility with the women, my grandma, moms and her. My moms for reasons I did not know until later couldn’t stand her. I couldn’t understand because everyone loves their grandma. I don’t know how my mother did it, but she was saying for the next 4 weeks, she couldn’t wait to get out of there. We finally did after a couple months, and ended up in north Newark.
Fast forward to a few years later. Moms and I had moved from 5th sty to a high rise close to downtown. Shit. Two bedrooms, 9th floor. Friends everywhere. The high life. I thought. Hell, we had an elevator, like the Jefferson’s. Shiiiiitttttt.
These days I saw my uncle less and less. I don’t know if he was doing drugs. I know that he was with some Muslim sect in town that was involved in some crimes at the time. But he was never locked up for any of that shit. What I do remember about him was that he was a great artist. Especially when it came to cars. He could draw a car just by looking at it. He was an artist and sensitive about his shit.
The last time I saw him alive, I went with my grandmother over to the old house. Now, the house at that time which was in 1984/5 I think was never repaired from the fire. I mean water damage. Electric all messed up. It was horrible. We went over; he was on the first floor on a cot like mattress. Bed sores, he smelled. He was just in terrible shape. I know there were a few times that my mom would always beg him to stay with us, or for him to let us take him to the hospital. So anyways, my grandmother, as soon as she gets in the house, just starts yelling at him, berating him, telling him all types of crap I’d hear later in life myself. They got in an argument, he asked for money, she said no and we left.
I didn’t know how to feel at that moment, or don’t remember. I just felt weird somehow. At that point I've never been close to death or a dying person. Not too long after that day, my mother gets a call from someone saying that my uncle had been locked up. now as it was told to me is that; my uncle hated the guy my grandma was dating, working for, I still don’t know what the fuck it is, but somehow grandma dissed him. And to get some type of attention he was missing since I came along, he took a brick and threw it through ole dude's window.
Don’t you know, these people pressed charges on him? It was one of those things where older folks want to teach a kid a lesson. I mean c’mon now. Your own moms sides with some swindler, to press bullshit charges over a window that’s less then a hundred bucks then? He wasn’t locked up for too long before I guess they tried to rape him in jail, and they say he bit some niggas dick off. And they put him in solitaire. When he got out being able to make phone calls, he would call us and we would chat for a hot minute. He would beg for my aunt to come home from college to see him. She was his heart. But she never came. It was too late
One morning the phone rang. I was expecting to hear from him, but as soon as my moms picked the phone up. She didn’t say a word. Or didn’t even have a particular look. For some reason, I just started bawling my eyes out. I went over to my mother and started screaming no!!! And she hadn’t even said anything yet. I don’t know how was on the other end. All I know that my uncle hung himself while in solitary. This was my first touch with death ever. And it being even more strange that it wasn’t like he died from disease, or a gun, or with anything else. He died of a broken heart.
Too be continued one day perhaps
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