Life Aint So Shitty

My niece is thirteen, sitting in the backseat of the car, smiling at me and rolling those pretty green eyes all over her head. She's all smart mouth and sassy comebacks in bad English, laughing when I ask her what she wants to do with her life. "I think Ima just throw it all away," she says seriously and my heart stops. She flashes the emerald green something lost in the bottom of the ocean color of her eyes back at me and smirks, like- is that what you wanted to hear? She laughs and I laugh too and, for the first time in a long time, I think she's gonna be ok. She has it- whatever it was that I had, that laugh that can lead you anywhere, like water down a lotus leaf, like rainwater down the gutter of an old church you're desecrating with middle school sneak-out sex at night and smoking weed, like bitter old E down a teenage throat all night at a slumber party in the Hunter's Ridge housing projects where Chill-Phill is boiling three hot dogs, the only food left in the fridge, for ten of us and Edog says, "damn, boy whatcha gonna do with that shit? You gonna break that shit up and feed five thousand, nigga? You gonna perform miracles n' shit?" We stand in the doorway laughing, drunk and silly, young and alive, innocence and experience all mixed up with smoke and drink in bodies still coming to be. We laugh and Phill smiles and keeps cooking. "You just wait' n' see, nigga. This shit's gonna be the best shit you ever ate in your life. In fact, this shit's gonna be better than your life." "Damn," somebody says, egging them on. "Is that right?" Edog asks, grinning. "Damn straight it's right. Just wait n'see." "Ok, ok.. you do your thang, Phil. We'll wait and see." Edog gives me a look like we both know this is going to be a disaster and we laugh, opening another forty. Phil continues. He's grabbing every seasoning can he can find off his mother's rickety spicerack and he's shaking it all in mad scientist like over the boiling water. The steam starts spiraling up and out, filling the whole three room apartment with good smelling something, but none of us are sure what it's supposed to be. More kids gather in the tiny kitchen and we all realize how hungry we are. We've been there for about three days. Chill-Phill's mom left a week ago and we've all just been chilling there and next door at Barbara Lynns. But after a fight started in the parking lot in front of her place, we all decided to crash for good at Chill Phills.

Jackie rolls up from the back carrying a loaf of white bread she bought at the A-plus down the hill and across the street. That was her mission when we sent her out about an hour ago with all the change we could collect from our pockets. She throws it onto the counter next to Phill and pulls three cans of something out of the pockets of her puffy coat, the best kind of coat for stealing. "What's this?" Phill asks, grabbing one of the tiny cans from the counter. "Tomato paste? Fucking tomato paste? Girl, are you forreal?" We laugh and Jackie shrugs. "It's all I could get. That fat rent-a-cop was watching me like a hawk." "God damn, girl. What the fuck we gonna cook with tomato paste?" Edog is cracking up. Nina's laughing behind Jackie with her hands on her shoulders like, it's ok, girl, you did good. She's laughing too and Phill, ever-silly, ever-ready to fuck some shit up, tells me to grab a can opener from the righthand drawer and we all get to work creating his masterpiece.

None of our parents know where we are. Phills mom thinks he's home alone, watching her cats. We have been there for days and we spent most of our money on drinks and now we're hungry. "Man, I'm hungrier than a hostage!" Edog says, still trying to bust Phill's balls. "Wait n'see." he says. "Just wait-n-see."

We grease a pan up and lay slices of bread in rows across. Phill hands me and Jackie two spoons and the open cans of tomato paste and tells us to spread it evenly across the bread. Phil takes the hot-dogs from the water and cuts them up carefully, placing the little circle pieces over the sauce. He then mad sprinkles some more of the seasoning over the whole thing. He finds some shredded cheese in the fridge, maybe post-expiration date, but who cares. He sprinkles that on and puts it into the oven. In twenty minutes he brings it out and our makeshift pizza is ready for ten.

We eat on the floor of the living room, our blankets spread around us, our legs under us and other people. Everyone's leaning into the pan to pull out a hot slice of pizza bread with hotdog pepperoni. "This shit's bomb," Edog finally admits. Phil grabs it out of his hand. "Hell nah, you didn't believe in me. You don't get any." We're all laughing like we knew it was coming. Edog looks like he might cry. "Give it back!" Somebody says. Phill smiles and hands it back and Edog starts back up with the ball-breaking, imitating Phil's voice, "You didn't believe in me!" He throws his arm around Phil and sings in his hear, "I believe I can fly! I believe Chill-Phill can touch the sky!" Everyone is cracking up and Phil can't help but laugh at himself. I interrupt and announce that it's time for prayer. Everyone lowers their heads. We are country kids and we are used to being reprimanded for eating before praying at Gramma's dinner table so nobody thinks twice or asks why we're doing it.

"Dear Heavenly Father," I begin, "Thank you for this food that brother Phil has prepared for us in love. He performed a miracle here tonight and fed us five thousand on a few hot dogs and some bread. For this we give thanks. And we're sorry we didn't believe in him, your miraculous servant. Amen." Nine Amens around the table. Edog laughs and shakes his head. Jenboogie elbows him and he says,"Oh, my bad. Amen." Chill-Phill is beaming. He nods and nods, "you know that's right. Thought ya'all was gonna starve n shit. Next time, believe!"

We laugh and eat and the glasses clank full of beer and lips smack hungrily on hot pizza as the memory fades back into the now of this car so many years later where my little niece Kendall is busy in the backseat texting her friends, getting ready for her own weekend adventures. "Who ya texting?" I ask her nosily. "Nonya." She shoots back. "Oh, ok. Top secret, huh?" "No," she says, finishing the text and then looking up at me, "If you must know I'm texting Asia. We're going to a party tonight." "Oooh la la," I tease. "Don't be jealous," she teases back. I smile and turn around to face the road and maybe I am. Maybe I am a little jealous. Jealous that she's still back there in thirteen, the year I hurt so much, but still had some of the best friends and best times I ever knew. What is she going to do with her life? Same as I did with mine I guess. And for now, that means just enjoying her rebellion, her crazy out all night parties drinking around bonfires with her best friends behind Jackson's Farm. It won't be easy, growing up girl in a rough town, but like she said when she schooled me on it a thousand times before- home is where your girls are and she's going to make it to her own future from there, with the memories of her good times with her bad girls sustaining her, giving her what she needs to see the way ahead: the way before.