Shortie Like Mine by Ni-Ni Simone

gon’ kill her, Ma, I don’t want to go. Let me remember her the way she was.”
    She stood silent and shot me a dagger with her eyes. Three things I knew: when she stopped talking, gave me the evil eye, or started repeating herself, she was due to explode any minute. I started chewing the inside of my cheek. “Should I wear all black?” and then I gave a stupid laugh. I just thought I would say something to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.
    I begged my mother to call one of my uncles or all four of them but for some reason she thought she was G.I. Jane and that her taped-up bat had something to prove.

    Nye was live when my mother parked her black Ford Taurus in front of Qua’s house. There were people on practically every porch in his neighborhood: dancing, smoking, and drinking. The blocks were lined with folks of all ages—fiends, detectives, and narcs. The bodega had pulled down its steel gates and was now selling loose cigarettes and candy through bulletproof glass and a turnaround. Half of the street lamps seemed to be taking the night off ... and here was my mother, Captain Save-the-Day, with a pink housecoat wrapped around her like a cyclone and doobie pins in her hair ... and here I was, the dumb lil’ sidekick.
    I couldn’t believe this. I had a good mind to beat-down my sister myself. I told her time and time again she was going to get in trouble and to stop staying out all night. I told her and I told her ... and what did she do? She did what she wanted to do and now she’s turned my mother into a raving lunatic in matted bedroom shoes flopping against the concrete.
    â€œAll I try and do ...” my mother said as we walked onto Qua’s porch. “It’s just never enough, is it, Seven? Y’all just running around in the streets buck wild like two lil’ hooligans.”
    â€œMa, I didn’t do nothin’.”
    â€œShut up, ’cause you were thinkin’ somethin’ when I walked in that room. I swear, I try ... and I try ... and I try ... and I try ...”
    Oh God, she was repeating herself.
    â€œ... And I try and what do I get in return? Children who lie to me and stay out all night!”
    â€œI was in the bed. I come home every night!”
    â€œDid I give you permission to talk?! Now, ring the bell!”
    â€œMa, we’re right here,” I said as we stood in front of the door. “Can’t we just call her and tell her to come outside.”
    My mother pushed me on my shoulder. “Ring that bell.” I hated that Toi’s life had to end like this.
    I rang the bell. “Who is it?” a deep voice yelled from behind.
    â€œQua, this is Seven. Is my sister there?”
    â€œThis not Qua, but hold up.” A few seconds later the front door opened up and it seemed that the party from outside had drifted in here. The room was filled with Qua’s boys, the TV was extremely loud and turned to ESPN, and Jay-Z and Beyoncé’s “Bonnie and Clyde” was bumpin’ through the Bose speakers. There was alcohol all about, with open bottles of Seagram’s Seven gin and juice mix, Thug Passion, and passion fruit Alizé. And the air smelled like weed. “Wassup, Ma?” Qua said as he stood in the doorway.
    â€œA whole lot gon’ be up,” my mother said as she stormed in, “if Toi Sharee McKnight ... don’t get her ass out here! Right now!”
    â€œYo,” one of Qua’s boys said, “I thought Shortie said she ain’t have no sisters.” He looked my mother up and down. “I’m sayin’, though, what’s good with you boo. You easy like your sister in the other room?”
    â€œLil’ boy, I will hurt you! Toi, get yo’ grown ass out here right goddamit now!”
    â€œHold up,” Qua said, “you can chill with all that—”
    â€œMa.” Toi came stumbling out of Qua’s bedroom with her clothes twisted