Things We Lost In the Fire

A Shady Creole Christmas

December 25, 1998
Metairie, Louisiana

The crisp breeze creeping through the cracked window of the guest bedroom I had been cooped up in for the past hour caused goosebumps to form on my exposed stomach. Watching the Spanish moss sway outside the window and twirling a random curl on my head, I listened to P describe his uneventful Christmas Day.

"Jazzy, are you still listening?"

"Yeah, I'm here. P, are you sure you won't be home for New Years?"

"You're still on that? Mama you really miss me don't you?," a dampness formed in between my thighs as the bass in voice dropped an octave.

"Nope, it's just Noah was asking about you the other day..."

He let out a light chuckle, "Yeah, you miss me. I know you do because you've been saying you've had to get off in five minutes for the last hour. It's okay, I miss you too."

"No you don't because if you did, you wouldn't wait till the first week of January to come back home", I pouted.

He sighed into the phone, "Jasmin Amina Wilson, do y—"

"What'd I tell you about calling me my government name, Mr. Unpronounceable Symbol but I used to go by Prince Rogers Nelson?"

"Shut up, do I need to tell you just how much I miss you? huh baby girl?" A shiver coursed through my body as he called me by one of his pet names for me.

"P, I'm not having phone sex with my family downstairs. If I say something sexy in French will that hold you over?"

"Who said anything about phone sex? Jazz get your mind out of the gutter." How is he going to flip it on me when he knows that's exactly where he was going with it? "What I was trying to say was that since I've been gone some things have happened and I've come to a realization that...."

I placed the phone to my shoulder muffling any words P had to say. My attention was diverted to the door creaking open to reveal Tori shielding her eyes as she poked her head through the door. She whispered, "Psss, is it okay to open my eyes? I didn't know if you were up here having phone sex and rubbing one out."

Sitting up, I whisper shouted, "I'll be out in a minute god!" When I heard the door click, I put the phone back up to my ear, feeling bad that I didn't know what he had been talking about when Tori interrupted. "Sorry babe, I really have to go now."

He huffed, "Did you not hear a word I just said?"

Flicking my freshly pierced belly button ring I sheepishly said, "No..."

"It's fine Jazz, call me tomorrow."

"Okay go—" Click. Okay, that was rude he didn't have to hang up on me like that. As soon as I swung the door open, Tori almost stumbled in as she was leaned against door frame. I rolled my eyes as I walked past my nosey ass cousin.

"Wait, you were talking to 'The Artist' weren't you?"

I rolled my eyes at the stupid nickname the media had given him. "Yes, I was talking to 'him'. And no we weren't having phone sex."

Following me towards the back staircase, she laughed. "I knew it, I told myself there was no way you were talking to Keith. The ghetto lightskin giant is mentally incapable of holding a conversation that long."

Descending into the kitchen, we were instantly met with the aroma of various sweet treats, cheap beer, and a light fragrance of cigar smoke. The house was almost too loud, from all the women cackling & gossiping and bounce music blaring from someones car, to some of my uncles violently slamming down dominoes on the ratty old table on the back porch and smack talking.