I called Alice Warren, an old girlfriend of mine the next morning. Alice’s family moved to LA about fifteen years ago and I hadn’t seen her in five years when she came to Chicago for Tiko Johnson’s funeral. Alice was always in love with Tiko, and their love affair was legendary in my old neighborhood.
Tiko and Alice started dating in junior high school. They were inseparable displaying their adoration with each other for all to see. All Alice would talk about was Tiko this and Tiko that, like her whole world revolved around the Tiko solar system and she was Venus. Tiko was the high school star football player, so all through high school he was the big man on campus. His football prowess rewarded him with scholarship offers from the Big Ten, SEC, ACC conferences and even the academic based Ivy League schools of Dartmouth and Yale. Consequently, there were many young ladies trying to catch his fancy, but Tiko rebuffed all the advances because he adored and respected Alice. After graduation, Tiko decided to attend the University of Miami and left the Windy City and Alice in dust. She was heartbroken for months after Tiko’s departure. We didn’t hear much about him again, not even on the football field. He never returned any of Alice’s phone calls or other means of contact. It was a strange ending and until the day he died, Tiko never called her again or returned to the Chicago area until the funeral. For Tiko, I guess it was Miami, not Alice to be his never ending love.
The Magellan GPS unit guided me directly to Alice’s home. Alice opened the dark blue solid oak door and let out an emotional greeting, “Carla you’re beautiful!”
When I arrived at her home early Sunday morning, she was getting dressed for church. “Oh girl, look at you!” I said. We hugged tightly. My arms practically wrapped around her twice, she was so thin. Then I stepped back to view this California sun Goddess. She wore a pastel green sun dress over a size six frame while standing in lime green sandals. It was like being thrown back into time because it was as if she hadn’t aged at all. Alice’s hair was long, almost past her shoulders and wrapped in a yellow velvet scrunchie. Where were her wrinkles? Those deep lines of age that gather on our face showing our wisdom but more than anything, just end up displaying our physical hideousness from just simply living life on earth.
“Please come in,” she held my hand and guided me into her home. It was adorned with pastel blues, yellows and adobe reds, colors that would look out of place on Sheridan Road in Chicago but match well on the west coast. It sat in a stylish area of Altadena, a wonderful neighborhood of well-kept Spanish style homes, growing California Honeysuckle, Coyote Mint, Golden Current and the San Gabriel Mountains looming only a couple of hundred yards from her home. The architecture of the home was similar to Jamal’s with that adobe exterior look and arched entry ways but the setting was entirely different. Jamal’s home was set in urban Los Angeles, homes built next to each other only 20 feet apart. Alice’s home sat in a rural district on almost a half-acre of land. Palm trees, yucca plants, bright flowers, orange and lemon fruit trees with desert wildflowers placed in meticulous locations around the landscape.
She seemed to examine my eyes and said, “Carla how have you been?”
“I’ve been doing well.”
“Praise God.” She pulled me into her living room and we sat on an antique birch wood framed couch that was at least a century old. The feather and down blend cushion and pillows with floral patterned upholstery felt majestic and regal. The couch’s backrest was at least a foot higher than my head, with hand designed wood trimming surrounding the entire piece.
I ran my hand across the smooth material. “Where did you get this couch? It’s lovely.”
“I know, I just couldn’t pass it up. Some place in Orange County where this lady was having an estate sale. Shoot, I had to fight those buzzards off for this thing.”
“I bet you did.”
She grinned. “But I got it. Then before I could have it hauled to my house, this lady tries to buy it from me!”
“What?”
Alice smiled and peered at the couch. “Shoot, ‘bout five hundred dollars more than I bought it for.”
“Say what?” We laughed. “And you didn’t sell it to her?”
“Oh no. If she offered that much more for it right there on the spot, I figured that I might want to keep it for a while and see what time might bring me later.” Alice let out another freewheeling laugh. “But I gave her my email address.”
Her laugh was contagious as I too joined her in the humor.
“Alice, you are something else.”
“Girl I’ve been doin’ this for too long. I know that game,” she said and reached over to the end table nearest to her. “I have this freshly squeezed juice. Would you like a glass?”
“Sure.”
Alice handed me the glass of the odd looking reddish greenish-orange tinted concoction. Its appearance didn’t have that appetizing mouthwatering eye candy one seeks when thinking of something tasty. I took a sip. “Wow what a burst of flavor, what’s in it?”
“Carrots, turnips, celery, an apple or two, stuff like that.”
I took another sip. “This is refreshing.”
Alice smiled and said, “You better watch yourself, ‘cause this stuff will have you flying back to Chicago without a plane.”
“I wish. Flying’s not one of my passions.” I took another sip of the refreshing tasty treat. “You know back in the day, you got me going to garage sales and litter diving.”
“Wow. Sister that was some time ago wasn’t it?”
I drifted back in thought. “I bought an end table that I still have today.”
“What?”
“Yep, the first time we went out. You had some idea about searching garages for hidden treasures, but I didn’t have a clue. That little piece turned out to be a Mid-18th century Parisian Louis XV over two-hundred years old!”
“Wow, you’re kidding me,” Alice said.
“Ever since then, I’ve been ‘tiqueing’ every time I get a chance.”
“There are some real treasures out there. How’s Zoe?” she asked.
I could feel myself smile. “Oh my little girl is trying to become a lady.”
“She should be around a senior in high school?”
“Yep, and trying to be international.”
“Oh really. That’s a good thing isn’t it?” “Not that kind of international. I’m talking about Indian hair, Korean nails, China town Gucci purses…”
Alice laughed so hard she almost spit out her juice.
“Ronex watches and Blackcherry telephones,” I cracked.
“Blackcherry cell phones?”
“That’s right, Blackcherry, not Blackberry but Blackcherry.”
“Oh God stop, stop.” Alice’s cutesy laugh turned into an uncontrollable snort.
I continued while careening out of control myself. “And let’s not talk about boys. Calling’ all times a night. Telling Facebook fairytales and text message lies…”
Right in the middle of her laugh Alice blurted, “Come on to church with me.” She had this sun baked California girl look about her and displayed healthy gingerbread colored skin. Her hair was stylishly sassy, with a workout body made famous in southern Cali.
“CHURCH!!!??” Not ‘G.O.D!
Alice said with a nun’s voice. “Oh girl, it’ll be fun. No pressure, just some good ol’ fashion preachin’ and singin’.”
Even before Zoe was born, church had not been on my Sunday agenda. I believe in the spirit and mercy of God, but religion has been misused by clergy and governments time and time again. Christianity, Islam, Buddism, Judaism and the like have had this world colliding and people dying for their religious beliefs for millenniums. I had lost my religion when searching for it as a living useful metaphysical entity. Practically every damn black person that I know has affiliation with the church profession and almost ninety percent of them have some doubt about the validity of religion. To me, the Old Testament is nothing more than a history book. If they used books from that Testament as a living word, then all
women are cursed and slavery reins as the norm. Even the New Testament has a scripture promoting slavery and treating the master with deference. If it’s not about the Pastor, then it’s about stealing and thieving deacons or homosexual sins, or hoochie dress ware in the church and let’s not even get into the money or should we tithe or not tithe. Just read 2 Corinthians 9: 610. How pastors and church boards were spending their congregation’s hard earned money is something that needs investigating. Preachers would make statements that God won’t hear your prayers if you don’t tithe, or that you’re stealing from God when you don’t tithe. Pastors and Ministers earning millions of dollars and living a life fit for kings while their congregations struggle to keep the lights on. It became something of a game of religion that I just got tired of playing. So, I have my Bible, read scripture and pray, give to organizations that assist the needy in the name of the Lord and then let the chips fall where they may. “I flew west to have some fun, so church wasn’t really on my program.”
Alice shrugged and said, “It’s no big deal. It’s already started so we’ll get there late and hey if it’s really uncomfortable for you, we’ll sit in the back and leave whenever you’re ready.”
“I don’t want to be in there all day,” I said.
Alice placed one hand on her hip and said with sassiness, “Shoot. I ain’t the kind that sit up in church all day.”
I suspiciously peered at her. “How long?”
“How long?”
“Yeah, how long we are we going to be in there?”
She laughed, and then glanced at her watch. “About sixty minutes.”
“One hour?”
Alice enthusiastically said, “Then we’ll ride out to Roscoe’s.”
“Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles?”
“The one and only.”
“Oh yes, that sounds good. You gotta deal.”
We ended up at St. Andrews Episcopal Church. An integrated small family oriented church with wooden benches, antiquated statues of a white Mary and Jesus Christ hanging from the cross. We kneeled on a padded knee bench and prayed when it was time. We sang a hymn or two and then his sermon began. Father Ted Wright had a paper bag complexion with wavy hair, parted and combed to the side. His sermon was on completion. Out of all the many things Father Wright taught that Sunday, the words that hit me the most were completing the task. Completion of whatever goal you set by believing that the Lord’s power will provide all of your needs and to wash away all your fears and give them over to the Lord. Again, I can’t say that I’m a big believer and I don’t visit church enough, but every time I go and if I let it, something good always comes from the experience. It was at that point that I had made up my mind to follow through on Koltrane’s murder. I felt deep down in my soul that it was somebody from the chat room that killed Koltrane and the rest. At Alice’s church, I prayed for courage, revelation and solution.
After services, we visited Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles for brunch and talked about old times and new. It was a blessing visiting Alice and her parents, who we picked up on the way, and were just as spry as ever. Good people whose values resembled those of my youth. Although Alice was divorced and hadn’t remarried, she was blessed with two beautiful children, Kadesha, a gorgeous thirteen-year-old girl and Omar who was now 18. He was dabbling in acting with a couple of film roles in a few independent movies. Heck, Alice even had a couple of stand in roles and we laughed about that a lot. Especially when Zoe and I had to rewind the video to find the scene and search the screen to locate her in the picture. But there she was, all dressed up pretending to act. LA; what a peculiar place.
CHAPTER 15
Home is where it all begins
Simple times and easy talks, walks around the block
Restful sleeps, good eats and constant repeats
Tender hugs and hug me again brings an unforgettable comfort
‘Cause you pass it along to everybody that you meet
Longtime friends, short cuts, picnics and ice skates
Hot totties, and warm apple cider rum
Freezing cold air and 98.6 squared kisses held so tightly it melts the snow
CK
‘10