The Blue Chair

Three months ago, my sister Gigi started flirting with the idea of selling Big Momma’s house. She casually mentioned it as she rattled off her fancy ass coffee order while talking to me at the same time.

“Hi Tim, you look cute today. I’ll have my usual: Grande soy three pump sugar free vanilla decaf latte EXTRA HOT! I was saying Lynbird, I’m thinking about selling Big Momma’s house now that Jonathan’s put a ring on it! You got my order right, Tim? Your crew messed it up last week.”

I could picture my sister being a royal ass as usual. She was probably draped in a floor length mink coat despite the unusually mild spring weather we had been having despite it being our typical chilly winter. I could see her making it a point for everyone to get a glimpse of her blinding eight carat Princess cut yellow diamond engagement ring. Like seriously who cares?

“Rewind that back Gigi, selling? I still fucking live here and own two thirds of this house, more than what you own, how you gonna sell the house without asking me?”

“Lynbird, calm down, I’m just thinking about selling. Oh Timmmm,” she sang his name in an awful syrupy voice, “I said EXTRA HOT. This is lukewarm! Redo!” I picture the baristas spitting in her drink out of spite.

“Gigi, how the fuck can you sell when you only own a third?”

“Well, Jonathan figured you could buy me out, but we know you don’t have twenty-grand, so we plan to sell the house.” Twenty fucking thousand dollars. That’s the amount I need to save my house. The only house that I have ever lived in since my mother dropped me and Gigi off with our grandma, Elinor “Big Momma” Gentry for her to raise us and never to return. If I didn’t come up with the money, I would officially be homeless. Just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.

Jonathan is Gigi’s snake in the grass fiancé. He is one of the Wakemans whom our county was named. The only Black family to escape slavery and purchase their master’s land after freedom. After which they bought surrounding plantations and land until they owned over three hundred fifty thousand acres and developed the land and incorporated cities, banks, schools, and businesses. Wakeman County was the only established Black county to survive Reconstruction, Jim Crow, & the Civil Rights movement. Our motto is “The North Star Shines Here.” The Wakemans were the jackpot family for anyone to associate with, but Jonathan was the worst of them all. He was known to be touchy-feely with the ladies at Lucky’s Gentlemen’s Club and rumored to have multiple children too. Information not privy to my sister.

“Come up with the money and the house is yours, but why do you want to keep it? It’s old and Big Momma’s in a home.” She said in an exasperated voice.

“A home Jonathan forced her in! She was fine living with me & Rog before he…,” My voice choked and memories that I had suppressed flooded back to the surface.

“Lyn, that facility is the best in the country and you know it. Besides Big Momma’s mind is as sound as a five-year-old. You can’t handle her by yourself. Rog isn’t coming back and I know he was great to you and Big Momma, but he is dead! But truly be honest with yourself, why would you even want to live in a house full of dead memories and washed up dreams. Move on honey and start over. Tim, is my latte done by now? You all owe me a refund, a Venti and some food on the house! Worthless pieces of …” Her call suddenly dropped as she incessantly barked orders at the barista.

I was emotionally drained after having heard my sister utter Rog’s name from her lips. Rog was the love of my life. He passed away suddenly the prior spring from an illness that took over his body just as quickly as it had entered. One day he was a healthy 45-year-old man full of life making an honest living as a garbage man. A man who never complained about his job, but knew that it had to be done so he got up every morning at four to start his shift by five. Some days he would come home with what most considered junk and could restore it into stunning masterpieces. He took pride in the pieces he found and later furnished Big Momma’s bedroom and our living room. Her favorite piece was a three-legged Parsons chair that he found sitting on the corner of Claiborne and Shaw that he refinished by adding another leg and upholstering in a gorgeous navy blue velvet. The chair was the focal point of her room. Our whole house was full of trash from other folks’ yards that he made into treasures, but we never complained. Only Gigi complained saying she could still smell the grit and grime lingering in the air whenever she came to visit, but truth be told I just believe that’s her top lip she keeps smelling.

My job situation isn’t the greatest, but I do what I do. I’ve been a mixologist, phlebotomist, dog walker, waitress, but I can’t keep a steady job even if you paid me. I have generalized anxiety disorder and depression. I use medicinal marijuana and attend therapy twice a week. During the day, I do bookkeeping for Lucky’s Gentleman’s Club over on 47th but a few nights a week, I’m a private dancer as I like to call it; however, my sister continues to call me a stripper. I prefer calling it private dancing because Tina Turner made it sound so classy in her song. Now let me be clear, I only dance for Lucky’s special clients in private and there is none of that touchy-feely shit. It’s all just a fantasy.

“You late, Birdie and you already got two asking for you! Hurry up and get dressed.” barked Lucky. He was the sole proprietor of Lucky’s Gentleman’s Club. He reminded you of someone’s grandfather who sat on the porch and waved as you passed by his house that sat on a random side street. However, Lucky was nobody’s grandfather, rather he was a calculated businessman who was all about making money and keeping his ladies safe. He always looked out for me and today, I really needed a favor. I eased down in the torn leather chair across from his desk. He was doing the count that I usually did during the day, but since I didn’t come to work this morning, he had to do it.

“Lucky, I ain’t dancing today. I need a favor.”

“What you mean you ain’t dancing today? Hell, you already got me doing your morning job cuz yo’ ass ain’t show this morning!”

I bat my big round brown eyes at him as best as I could until I garnered a response from him. “Aww hell chile what ‘chew want?”

“I need twenty grand.” I said it so fast his head spun like the girl in The Exorcist.

“What the fuck you just ask me fo’?” He stopped counting his money and looked me square in my eyes.

“I need twenty grand so I can keep my house. Jonathan done got in Gigi’s head and he getting her to sell unless I come up with the money to cover my portion.”

“You talk to Elinor? She signed over her portion of the house to you. Talk to her, she’ll know what to do.”

Everyone knew my grandmother and still spoke of her as if she were still in her right mind.

“Lucky, now you know Big Momma’s mind ain’t right, that’s why she’s in Wakeman Estates.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Lucky winked at me and went back to counting his money.

Big Momma was sitting in her navy blue Parsons chair that Rog had upholstered for her. She was staring out the window humming an unfamiliar tune, but instinctively knew I was at the door before I said “Hello”. “Bout time you came to see me, Lynbird,” she said.

“How’d you know it was me?” I asked.

“You wearing patchouli. You always wear patchouli.”

“Everybody keep saying your mind ain’t clear.”

“That ole Gigi the only one saying that, but my mind clearer than it’s ever been. You must be here to take me home?” She turned around to face me.

“Big Momma, I wish, but I have bad news. Gigi wanna sell the house unless,”

“Sell the house? Oh, no ma’am! That house is yours!”

“What you mean? I thought one third of the house belonged to her.”

Big Momma pulled out a little black notebook that she had tucked in the side of her favorite chair. “Open that and read what it says.”

2134 Gentry Lane along with the adjacent thirty-six acres of land belongs to Ms. Lynbird Gentry along with $20,000.00 cash that is held in Wakeman Savings and Trust. The property and land shall never be sold and should Ms. Gentry never have heirs, the home, land, and money shall be gifted to the Children’s Home of Wakeman County.

Signed by

Mrs. Elinor Margaret Gentry

November 25, 1999

Notarized by

Mr. Ellis Watson

December 1, 1999

“Big Momma, are you saying that all of this belongs to me?”

“Yes chile! I bought that house and land from washing clothes and cleaning houses and that money is what I saved over the years. When Gigi left town, she made it clear that she hated me and was never returning. After that, I wrote my will in this little black notebook and had Ellis notarize it. Everything belongs to you. I thought Rog and you was gonna get married and have some babies, but well,” she sighed. “Lynbird, you always took care of me, even when that veil of sadness hung over you. Now get this to them lawyers and get me out of here!”

“I promise, Grandma!”

I rushed out and headed to Gigi’s lawyer’s office on Main Street and was greeted by Gigi, Jonathan, and their lawyer.

“I didn’t think you’d show up, Lynbird.” Gigi gave me a fake hug and air kiss. She looked gorgeous as ever I observed as she sat opposite from me.

“I’m sure she’ll have an excuse. Let’s just sign the papers and get this over with.” Jonathan said in a pompous voice.

“Ms. Gentry was given the right to come up with her share prior to us selling the house so we have to give her that right.” The lawyer explained wearily.

“Ms. Gentry, do you have the money?” She asked me with uncertainty in her voice as she faced me.

“Yes, I do.”

Stunned, Jonathan and Gigi shuffled to their feet. “She’s lying! She doesn’t have any money! She barely has food in her house!” Gigi yelled.

“Ms. Gentry, I don’t have all night. Do you really have the money?” Their lawyer asked me with concern.

“Yes, I do. This proves that the home rightfully belongs to me and I have money, but being that the home rightfully belongs to me, I don’t need it.”

“And you have proof?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

I handed the worn notebook to her and pointed out what Big Momma had shown me just hours prior. Gigi and Jonathan huffed and puffed over her shoulder while she inspected it.

“Wow, I must say, this is legitimate. The house and the adjacent land indeed solely belong to Ms. Lynbird Gentry ironically along with twenty thousand dollars. You are free to leave. Mr. Wakeman, thank you for wasting my evening!”

“Hold up, now I know everyone in this county and I don’t know an “Ellis Watson”! Who is he?” demanded Jonathan.

I stood up and turned to face him.

“You just ought to know him, it’s Lucky!”