My Story Pt5

     My mother's side of the family is hard to describe. She had 2 older sisters and one younger brother. They all had different fathers which in the fifties labeled my grandmother. Well honestly it still would label her and she would deserve it by the standards of any year. To tell about her I must explain that she had no idea who her parents were. She was shuffled from house to house until she turned 5. The people who were taking care of her died and left her land and money. Whoever got her received it all. My great grand parents Snoop and Bootsie were not in love. They married each other as some sort of deal, no one is clear on what the terms were. They were business partners and nothing else. They slept in separate rooms and on Thursday nights everyone knew that my great grand father's girlfriend would come and stay for the night.

     Snoop and Bootsie owned a few nightclubs and drive-in theatres spread out over town. The most notorious of establishments was their house. It used to be an old plantation, someone had bought this and turned it into a hotel. In the front yard sat a tall twisted tree that everyone in the predominantly black neighborhood called the lynching tree. This is where they would sometimes find the body of a young man who had committed some offense upon the white community. Their first act after buying the house was to chop this down. They then renovated the smaller houses on the back of the property into living areas for friends fallen on hard times. All of this paints a sunny happy picture of what type of people they were. Do not be fooled, they were criminals.
      The house itself was used for a number of things, gambling, illegal drinking, and prostitution. Many people have told stories of murders on the front steps and the back rooms. This is how she grew up, surrounded by people who gave in to temptation and celebrated the rougher side of life. In turn, she was self indulgent and unapologetic. She slept with whoever she wanted and often left her children with her parents even if they were one the verge of death. She didn't give hugs or even really care that they were there.
     She had my Aunt Stephanie first. Stephanie is quiet and deadly, literally. I always thought Aunt Fifi, the second oldest, was the toughest of all of them until one Thanksgiving while my grandmother was saying the prayer Fifi leaned over and pointed at Stephanie and said, "Look at that bitch gigglin'. She already pissed me off tonight but I'm not gonna mess with her 'cause I know if I fight her it'll be to do the death." I was shocked because I always thought Aunt Stephanie was the high silent one. I voiced this somehow and Aunt Fifi replied, "Hell naw! That bitch is crazy! She's the only one in this room I would think twice about goin' at." This gave me a new respect for Aunt Stephanie. I knew she carried a .45 everywhere she went I didn't know she didn't have to and that her reputation proceeded her and the bullets.