Confident

Mama Jacobson’s Wisdom

I crossed the street to Mama Jacobson’s place and knocked. Her smile lit up the doorway when she saw me.

“Heyyy, Mama J! How you doing today?” I grinned, handling her the food.

Hey sugar. I’m good, just getting this house straightened up. My baby boy coming to visit- he don’t come often, no matter how much I get on him about it”. Her chuckle was light, but there was a sadness she couldn’t hide.

Mamma Jacobson had been my rock growing up. When my daddy didn’t know how to handle the file stuff, she stepped in. Taught me about womanhood, took me to get my first pads, even drove me to the clinic for birth control when I was ready. She’d been through her own hell- on drugs bad when I was a kid. I’d bring her played of food, and one year, I asked my dad to put her in rehab for my birthday. She’s been clean ever since.

But whatever went down with her son- whatever choices she made when he was young- it built a wall between them. No matter how hard she tired to fix it, he kept his distance.

“See, Mama, I told you things were gonna look up” I said, squeezing her hand. “I brought you some food so wouldn’t have to cook today.”

She thanked me, and we chatted a bit before I headed back across the street.

When I walked into my daddy’s house, the smell of fish and grits hit me first.

This man was sitting on the couch, legs propped up, eating my food like he hadn’t just lied about already eating.

I rushed to the kitchen- empty bag on the counter, nothing in the fridge or microwave.

My eyes stung, tears welling up. “Why would you do that? You said ate.”

He looked up, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Baby girl, I know you not over there crying.”

“You told me you ate! That food was mine!” My voice cracked, and I felt the tears spill over.

I snatched my keys and stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

It was too late to get more food- MLK was closed by now, and that just made the tears come harder.

Ima tell Nana on his bird-looking ass.

I drive to Nana’s house, determined to snitch. She’d beat his ass for me for sure-again. But when I let myself in and walked upstairs to her room, what I saw burned itself into my memory forever.

“WHOAHHH! Nana, what the f**k!

There she was, in the bed with Pastor Troy, doing unholy things.

I slammed the door shut, my eyes wide with shock. I wasn’t even religious like that, but I knew I was never using that key again.

Shaking off the image, I decided it was time to handle business. I made a quick stop at the corner store for chips, gum, and an Arizona. Outside, I spotted a familiar face-Marshal, a kid who shouldn’t have been on this side of town. I took a picture, mentally filing it away for later.

I was heading to my warehouse, my sanctuary of order and discipline, where I ran my business with the precision of a general. I was the best at what I did, and nobody suspected the 21-year-old girl at the helm of an empire spanning Miami, Jacksonville, Texas, Georgia, and Palm Beach.

Time to remind these fools why they called me Despiadada-Spanish for Ruthless.