Page 28 of Gang of Roses: Dice

“Coreal, you gon’ have to bring that gal round here so I can break the news to her real slow.”

“Pop Pop, what you gon’ say?” I said, entertaining this foolery.

“I gotta break this down fo’ her. What’s her name, Coreal?”

“Sarah.”

“Jesus, this boy don’ went and got a palm tree.”

I had tears coming out of my eyes, but I was trying my best to hold it together. He called all white folks palm trees. Shit was mad funny.

“Larry June, if you must know, she is not white.”

“What color is dis gal, Coreal?”

“Black.”

“What she missing, Coreal? What is it, an arm? A leg? A few fingers or toes? She don’t sound like she need no damn green card, with a name like Sarah. But then again, you never know these days.

“No, she’s normal,” Coca let him know.

“Can’t be.” Pop Pop frowned. “You better not be out here on that DL. You let that gal know you part of them damn letters and rainbows. Sarah must be one of them trans-dykes.”

That was it.

Coca broke character, and I hollered.

“Pop Pop, what the hell is a trans-dyke?” Coca screamed, holding his stomach while laughing.

“You know... born a gal but dress like a boy.”

“She black, so they prefer to be called a stud.”

“Well, same shit.” Pop Pop shrugged before holding his hands out for Revv. “Come here, baby boy. Hips, you sure this youngin’ wasn’t switched at birth?”

“Please, leave my baby alone.”

“I’m just callin’ it like I see it. This lil’ boy don’t have our cheekbones, eye color, head shape... nothin’. He still got that little wobble walk, so I can’t judge him by that yet, but hell... he might not even have that.”

“Well, he’s mine. They put matching hospital wristbands with the barcodes on both of us before they took him to get cleaned up.”

“I’m still pissed ‘bout gettin’ on that damn air-ro-plane,” Pop Pop fussed.

Coca snickered.

The old man preferred to drive, so when it was time for me to have Revv, he had to get on a plane for the very first time. I still don't know what was worse, the days of labor pains or trying to guide his hardheaded ass through the airport over the phone, explaining which terminal to find and what gate to stand at. Pop Pop didn't give a shit about my contractions. He fussed the entire trip, and once they made him put his phone on airplane mode, Coca caught pure hell when he picked him up from the airport.

Thank God my induction was scheduled, because this grumpy old fool would've missed the whole thing.

“When you gon' tell that man?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, you betta make it right. I ain't raise no cowards.” He nodded toward Coca. “Hell, even Hoola Hoop done turned the knob to his closet.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Coca said.

“Boy, dat ain’t no damn compliment. I’m just statin’ facts.”