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...let that shit marinate

2002-10-30 // 2:25 p.m.

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My grandmother died.
Feels wierd to write it, but it's the truth, so I wrote it. What I'm about to write is the truth as well. Although, I keep wishing that at some point I could find proof thatI bumped my head and just imagined the whole thing...

So its Friday afternoon and the family returns from the cemetery... Everybody all packed up in the livingroom laughin and drinkin and repressin our emotions with bunch of macaroni, chicken and heineken and shit-talkin. Ya'll know how we do. The minister who officiated the funeral came back to the house too. He didn't stay with the family though. He was alone in the kitchen. My Grandmother was a member of that church before he got there and he's been there forever, it seems. So I'm thinkin he just needs a little alone time. He comforted the family for our loss, but he had to be in pain too, right?

Anyway, there's only one leaky window in the livingroom and of course I was lucky enough to be sitting right in front on it. So, I go into the kitchen to get some some hot tea. I see dude sitting at the kitchen table. So I say, "Hey Father, you doin alright?" Now, feel free to let me know, but was I wrong to expect a yes or no answer?

Why did this man look at me and proceed to say, "You are a very beautiful girl. I saw something in you the first time I saw you. I'm going to give you my number. I want you to call me. Because I don't care how well you think your boyfriend makes love to you, I'm going to make you my wife."

Then ole' boy reaches for my hand and it seemed as though he was about to kiss it... (~sigh~)... I wish.

So of course I'm in total shock. I said nothing. I just jerked my hand away and ran out of the room. I sat by myself for a while trying to figure out what the f*ck just happened. My cousin walks over at that point, sees me turnin ten shades of green and asks if I'm okay. So I tell her what happened.

Her jaw drops to the ground. Then she tells me,"That n*gga did the same thing to me on the porch except he didn't lick my hand!" whew! well that's good... "He deep throated my index finger!"

Now, having sat with this for what's coming up on a full week now, I could comment. I probably should comment. But I won't. I'm just gonna let that shit marinate. And for those of you whose subconcious minds have been struggling for a bit more variety in your nightmare themes... you can thank me later.

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