Grace After Midnight: A Memoir by Felicia Pearson; David Ritz

Author:Felicia Pearson; David Ritz
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: BIO026000
ISBN: 0446195197
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2007-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

“THAT’S WHY

THEY CALL IT

GRANDMA’S HOUSE.”

I heard a lot of stories about why the Cut started being called Grandma’s House. The one that gave me the most chills, though, came down through a woman I’ll call Z. I didn’t know whether to believe her, but I had a couple of nightmares over her story.

She was in her forties, maybe even older. Had scars all over her face. She’d been cut up and burned something awful. She was ugly to begin with—maybe that’s why she was so pissed off at everyone. If you got close to her she’d hiss at you like a cornered cat, so you sure-enough left her alone. No one wanted to fuck with her. There were dozens of rumors about her case but she never talked to anyone. Then she started playing basketball with us. She was over six feet so we put her at center. Even though she was older, she could keep up with the young girls. With the passes I’d feed her, she scored like crazy. That got her to like me.

One day we won a big game because of her inside moves. That put her in a great mood, and she started talking to me. She had a low voice that was scratchy. Even her lips were scarred something awful.

“I know no one likes looking at me,” she said, “and I don’t give two shits. Fuck ’em.”

I didn’t say nothing.

“Everyone wants to know what happened to me,” she went on. “You wanna know too, don’t you?”

Still didn’t say nothing.

“Everyone wants to ask me but they too scared. You scared too, ain’t you?”

“Hell, yes, I’m scared,” I said.

That made her laugh. Made her like me even more.

“Happened when I young. When I was young. My grandma listened to this song that said, ‘When I was nothing but a child, all you boys tried to drive me wild.’ You ever hear that song?”

“No.”

“Old fucked-up blues song. I don’t know nothing about those old blues. Grandma would drive me crazy with those old blues. Sounded like shit to me. I don’t even like music. Music gives me a fuckin’ headache. You like music?”

“I like Pac.”

“Oh yeah, Pac. Well, that ain’t music. That’s poetry, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Grandma played her blues music night and day. I hated that shit until I busted up a few of her records. She’d just go out and buy more. She did it to drive me crazy. You know how bitches will drive you crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“You have a grandmother?”

“Well, I have a foster mother who’s like a grandmother,” I said. “I call her Mama but she’s old enough to be my grandmother.”

“You like her?”

“Yeah. She raised me. She didn’t have to, but she did.”

“My grandmother raised me too,” said Z. “My mother up and left after I was born. Just left. How ’bout your mom?”

“Crackhead. She dead.”

“Shit,” said Z. “That’s the stuff that done me in. You ever deal with the pipe?”

“No.”

“The pipe is deep. The pipe is so deep until you ain’t ever the same again.

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