“You're not lying. Beans, bread, barbecue. I didn’t even get a plate after Trey’s funeral.”
“Well, hold on, sis. I got a good idea to get you one.”
She swerved the car over to park against the curve in one of the only free spots on the street.
“P, why did you stop?”
I asked as she put the car in park and grabbed her purse.
“Come on, let’s go eat.” She killed the engine.
Pernelle opened the car door, and I followed her out even though I still had questions about what this crazy ass girl had up her sleeve.
“P, where are we going?”
“I’m going in here to get myself a plate. Shit, we may as well. Whoever’s funeral this is caused us to miss out on our reservation, so they owe us some dinner.” I laughed while shaking my head, staying on her heels.
“You are sick, sis.”
“Yeah, sick of being hungry.”
She and I walked up to the building where everybody was filing in and out with styrofoam to go plates stacked high. We joined the line behind a couple of black ladies dressed in skirt suits, and heavy scents of perfumes floating in the air.
The two ladies in front of us turned to look at us, then pressed their lips together with that friendly church smile people give when they don’t know you but still want to acknowledge your presence. One of them gave a small nod before facing forward again, shifting her purse higher on her arm as the line moved closer to the door.
“I think we should go. These people are going to know we don’t belong here.” I leaned over, whispering in Pernelle’s ear.
“Just relax, Jas. These people don’t know who Nathaniel knew.”
“Natheniel? Who the hell is Natheniel?”
She nodded her head to the obituary hanging on one of this lady’s sides. I felt bad as shit, but I laughed at the thought of what we were doing. P was standing here unbothered, and I was both nervous and amused by the desperation we had to eat.
I couldn’t help but be slightly eager because the scent coming out of the building smelled like some good ass food. I think the longer we waited, the longer I didn’t care that we didn’t know who died. Shit, if this food is good, I would even grieve him for a little bit.
Pernelle’s phone rang as the line moved up, and she dug inside her Chanel to answer it.
“Oh, this is Crew calling, watch this.” She laughed under her breath.
“Hey, baby.” She answered him on speaker like he wasn’t ignorant as hell.
“Fat coochie P, where you at, baby?” Thank God there was so much chatter around us that I didn’t have to be too embarrassed.
“I’m at Nate's funeral, babe, at the repast getting a plate. You want one?”
“Who the fuck is?”
“Just play along if you want a plate too.” She said through closed lips.
“Oh, damn. Yeah, I do, baby. I hate that I missed my nigga Nate's funeral. Tell his mama I’ll stop by the house one of these days and that I hate I had to work today.”
“Okay, I will, baby. Love you and talk to you later.”
“Later, love you.” She hung up the phone, and I had yet another reminder of why those two belonged together. Both of them were sick in the fuckin head, but I was no better standing in this line playing along too.
After we waited for another ten minutes, we finally made it inside the doors to grab a pre-fixed plate off one of the folding tables. Mine had barbecue chicken, baked beans, and macaroni, while both of Pernelle’s were loaded with fried chicken, green beans, and potato salad. As soon as we got in the car, we started tearing our plates up, balancing them on our laps until the officers finally opened up one side of the street to let traffic squeeze through. Pernelle ate on her plate until she was ready to drive, and then put the leftovers on the backseat floorboard and took off in the direction we were headed in first.
“R.I.P. Nate, thanks for the food,” I said out loud, and Pernelle started to crack the fuck up, laughing so hard it let me know that I was out of line.
