Back home, I'm grown now, and the city's my throne now.
BEYONCÉ
Abusive bastards deserved to die and I would never feel bad about it.
Thank God for black and milds, alcoholism, and salt. At the age of 64, my father was finally dead.
I didn't shed a tear, or really feel much of anything at all about the news. My life wouldn't be affected.
Unfortunately, not everybody in my family felt the same. My mother was apparently losing her mind.
If my dad was the devil, she was an angel. She could do no wrong in my eyes she was a better parent than most people could be in her situation and for that she got everything she wanted from me and more.
Hearing from my little sister what bad shape she was in, I was on a jet first thing in the morning to make sure my family was okay.
Before my dad's death I wouldn't have been anywhere as eager to go to my hometown of Houston. I refused, actually. I could probably count on one hand how many times I'd been back since I left several years ago.
Flying was something normal I did with my job so it didn't feel any different until I actually landed. My dad was the main reason I didn't like Houston, but not the only one.
But I wasn't the broke, battered eighteen year old I was when I left Houston. I was a fully established and grown ass woman. I bossed up.
I got on the jet first thing in the morning so it was still early when I landed and the last thing I wanted to do was stop to have to deal with getting a rental car, Uber would have to do for the time being.
It always felt weird just being in the area, and I practically ran from the Uber to my mom's porch like it was a safe zone.
One of the first things I did when I started getting real money was getting her out of the hellhole I grew up in, so at least there were no bad memories associated with it.
Despite being the one to buy the house, I had no key to it so I had to keep ringing the doorbell repeatedly until somebody came to let me in.
My little sister Solange answered the door still in her nightgown moomoo shit and spoke with a big scowl on my face. "You piss me the fuck off."
I chuckled, "This is the greeting I'm getting?" I forced my arms around her to give her a hug, despite her struggling and push my arms away the entire time.
I loved rage baiting my sister. It took two seconds to piss her off.
"Yes, because why are you causing all that ruckus this early in the morning? I hate niggas." She turned around and left me standing outside.
"Well damn." I held the door open and brought my suitcase inside with me. "Where's mama?" She was usually the first one awake and downstairs.
She sighed and plopped down on the couch where she must've been before because there was a half eaten bowl of cereal on the coffee table. "Sleeping probably. I told you that's all she's been wanting to do for the past couple days."
"I wish I could even understand why she's upset this loser is dead, but I still want to make her feel better because she's my mom. I'm not upset that he's dead, but I'm upset that she's upset and I want to make her feel better." I understood that it wasn't her fault for a multitude of reasons.
"...Yeah."
I left my suitcase where it was and sat down next to her on the couch. "Are you good though? You haven't really said much about how you feel."
