Full Figured 7: Carl Weber Presents by Nikki Rashan & Ni'Chelle Genovese

Author:Nikki Rashan & Ni'Chelle Genovese
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Urban Books
Published: 2013-10-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2

Just Roll Over And Play Dad

I got home from school early. The record high was supposed to be close to a hundred degrees outside and with no AC it was almost inhumane to keep us in that brick oven they called a school. Besides, everyone got “the itis” after lunch anyway. When you combine that with those big-ass wind tunnel fans recycling hot air, even the teachers were either irritated or half asleep.

The house was insanely hot when I walked in. I was surprised to find the lights working and not surprised that Momma was nowhere to be found.

She could have at least cracked a damn window or two. Her absence was a good thing though; it meant I could watch my shows as long as I was quiet. Everyone at school had been debating over a new episode of Oz on HBO and I didn’t want to miss it. Daddy usually rested in the afternoon before going to work if he wasn’t already gone. The door to the bedroom was closed but I peeked in anyway just to make sure he wasn’t home. No point in being all quiet if I didn’t have to be.

There wasn’t any money left on my lunch ticket and Momma had forgotten to put money up there so many times the lunch ladies were at their limit for giving me hookups. I didn’t even think to get money from Carlos before school since we were on different lunch shifts. A few of my friends let me eat some of their fries and I played the “not hungry” role, opting to do my homework even though I was starving. Good thing it was a half day, because there was no way I’d have made it through a whole one.

Opening the door to the fridge, I stared inside as my stomach growled angrily. There was the ugly part left from a loaf of bread, mayonnaise but no lunch meat, no cheese. Shit, we didn’t have shit! There wasn’t anything in the cabinets except flour and an old box of biscuit mix. It was a damn shame I didn’t have eggs or milk. Pissed, I opted for the heel of the bread. Smearing on a thick layer of mayonnaise and a sprinkle of black pepper for some flavor, I folded it in half and made do with my make-believe sandwich.

There were always a few minutes during each day when I’d sit on the couch after school and watch TV as if I were a grown-up in my own house living by my own rules. Crossing my legs I sat back and turned to see what talk shows I could find, but every local channel was showing an emergency broadcast. Something about the chief of police and a freak accident involving his air bag.

Every channel was airing footage of him in his uniform and his wife and family. He’d been the chief for over thirty years and his death was an unexpected shock. My sandwich may as well have been Styrofoam and sand.

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