Write About Me

Chapter Twenty Three: Write About Me

March 12th, 2005 - Harlem, New York

Phabiola Fenty.

"You ready?" Trey stood at our doorway, wearing his all black suit.

I sniffled, wiping my nose with my Kleenex. Grabbing Chris' notebook. My mother joining me. Today's Chris' funeral. Something hard for me. I didn't want to attend. My mother intertwined our fingers as we walked down the stairs gloomily with our matching black dresses and church shoes. My lip began trembling at the last time I had to do this...it was with Chris for Momma J. God always takes the good ones. Explains itself why I'm still here. He didn't deserve it. He was a great person. Someone I grew too fond of. Trey led us out to the limousine, the chauffeur held the door open awaiting our arrival.

"Good morning misses." The chauffeur tipped his hat in a sign of respect.

"What's so good about this particular morning? My son's dead." My mother's voice cracked as she stepped in the limo.

Tears streamed down my face while I followed her lead. Trey accompanied us as well for Austin, Nicole, Bami, Keeis, Mijo, and Moe. Everyone each in their own thoughts. To think that his life be taken from him. How dare T? The audacity. My heart ached wretchedly. The fucking nerve of taking Chris' life! Something I couldn't comprehend. T was terrified of Chris. Ever since Chris stopped working for him. If it wasn't for fucking Gabriella, he would've never even started dealing. So many things running through my brain. All in all I still believed with my being this was my fault. If only I wouldn't have made Chris promise not to be violent. Chris would be alive. This was my fault. My fucking fault!

"This was my fault! It should've been me! My fucking fault! My fault!"

I felt arms restrain my arms, to realize I was throug hung a havoc tantrum in this limo. It hurt so badly. My chest pained, my lungs tightened I couldn't fucking breath. My head pounded so harshly. Why did this feel like this? This bad? I feel like my heart's literally been ripped out of my chest while I was conscious and breathing. Someone dug their hand into my ribcage prying out my heart, along with a few arteries. No novocaine. No anesthesia.

"Phabi, it wasn't your fault!" Trey shouted.

"He's right it was mine! I should've fucking stayed!" Austin cried out.

"It wasn't your fault it was mine!" I shouted back.

The entire limo filled with cries. We were all an emotional wreck. Hell, I was nervous. I was supposed to be giving the eulogy. I've never given a eulogy not even at Momma J's funeral. What what I say? How could I even fathom speaking? If I was such an emotional wreck now, who knows what will happen when we get to the funeral? Wiping my nose again with my travel Kleenex, I felt the car stop. We must've arrived.

The funeral was being held at the graveyard. Where his mother's body laid. We didn't have enough money to rent a church out so this was all we could do. Not even a pastor. The funeral was closed casket. His body had been shot up so badly it would be disturbing to view. I heard they shot him in the eyes and the forehead. That's just cruel. I clutched the red notebook, making my way down hill to the small congregation. In the distance I saw the bouquet of roses, and an enlarged photo of Chris on a easel. The closer I got, the more my stomach plummeted to the floor. His casket was of a shiny cherrywood. The entire walk I thought about what I was going to say, and how I was going to say it. Only to have my feet stand in front of the small crowd. Trembling in fear.

I cleared my throat that ached due to so many lumps it had been holding for the past week. Crying became my new best friend.

"Morning everyone. Would we really call this a 'good morning'?" I lightly laughed a little and everyone else shared a light hearted one, too.