At Natasha’s funeral, her momma passed out when she saw her in the casket. Somehow Khalil’s momma and grandma don’t.
“I wanna make one thing clear today,” Pastor Eldridge says once everyone is seated. “No matter the circumstances, this is a homegoing celebration. Weeping may endure for a night, but how many of you know that JOY—!” He doesn’t even finish and people shout.
The choir sings upbeat songs, and almost everyone claps and praises Jesus. Momma sings along and waves her hands. Khalil’s grandma and auntie clap and sing too. A praise break even starts, and people run around the sanctuary and do the “Holy Ghost Two-Step,” as Seven and I call it, their feet moving like James Brown and their bent arms flapping like chicken wings.
But if Khalil’s not celebrating, how the hell can they? And why praise Jesus, since he let Khalil get shot in the first place?
I put my face in my hands, hoping to drown out the drums, the horns, the shouting. This shit doesn’t make any sense.
After all that praising, some of Khalil’s classmates—the ones who were in the parking lot in the T-shirts—make a presentation. They give his family the cap and gown Khalil would’ve worn in a few months and cry as they tell funny stories I’d never heard. Yet I’m the one in the front row on the friends’ side. I’m such a fucking phony.
Next, the lady with the twists goes up to the podium. Her black pencil skirt and blazer are more professional-looking than church-looking, and she’s wearing an “RIP Khalil” T-shirt too.
“Good morning,” she says, and everyone responds. “My name is April Ofrah, and I’m with Just Us for Justice. We are a small organization here in Garden Heights that advocates for police accountability.
“As we say farewell to Khalil, we find our hearts burdened with the harsh truth of how he lost his life. Just before the start of this service, I was informed that, despite a credible eyewitness account, the police department has no intentions of arresting the officer who murdered this young man.”
“What?” I say, as people murmur around the sanctuary. Everything I told them, and they’re not arresting him?
“What they don’t want you to know,” Ms. Ofrah says, “is that Khalil was unarmed at the time of his murder.”
People really start talking then. A couple of folks yell out, including one person who’s bold enough to shout “This is bullshit” in a church.
“We won’t give up until Khalil receives justice,” Ms. Ofrah says over the talking. “I ask you to join us and Khalil’s family after the service for a peaceful march to the cemetery. Our route happens to pass the police station. Khalil was silenced, but let’s join together and make our voices heard for him. Thank you.”
The congregation gives her a standing ovation. As she returns to her seat, she glances at me. If Ms. Rosalie told the pastor I was with Khalil, she probably told this lady too. I bet she wants to talk.
Pastor Eldridge just about preaches Khalil into heaven. I’m not saying Khalil didn’t make it to heaven—I don’t know—but Pastor Eldridge tries to make sure he gets there. He sweats and breathes so hard I get tired looking at him.
At the end of the eulogy, he says, “If anybody wishes to view the body, now is the—”
He stares at the back of the church. Murmurs bubble around the sanctuary.
Momma looks back. “What in the world?”
King and a bunch of his boys post up in the back in their gray clothes and bandanas. King has his arm hooked around a lady in a tight black dress that barely covers her thighs. She has way too much weave in her head—for real, it comes to her ass—and way too much makeup on.
Seven turns back around. I wouldn’t wanna see my momma looking like that either.
But why are they here? King Lords only show up at King Lord funerals.
Pastor Eldridge clears his throat. “As I was saying, if anyone wishes to view the body, now is the time.”
King and his boys swagger down the aisle. Everybody stares. Iesha walks alongside him, all proud and shit, not realizing she looks a hot mess. She glances at my parents and smirks, and I can’t stand her ass. I mean, not just because of how she treats Seven, but because every time she shows up, there’s suddenly an unspoken tension between my parents. Like now. Momma shifts her shoulder so it’s not as close to Daddy, and his jaw is clenched. She’s the Achilles’ heel of their marriage, and it’s only noticeable if you’ve been watching it for sixteen years like I have.
King, Iesha, and the rest of them go up to the casket. One of King’s boys hands him a folded gray bandana, and he lays it across Khalil’s chest.
My heart stops.
Khalil was a King Lord too?
Ms. Rosalie jumps up. “Like hell you will!”
She marches to the coffin and snatches the bandana off Khalil. She starts toward King, but Daddy catches her halfway and holds her back. “Get outta here, you demon!” she screams. “And take this mess with you!”
She throws the bandana at the back of King’s head.
He stills. Slowly, he turns around.
“Now look, bi—”
“Ay!” Daddy says. “King, man, just go! Leave, a’ight?”
“You ol’ hag,” Iesha snarls. “Got some nerve treating my man like this after he offered to pay for this funeral.”
“He can keep his filthy money!” Ms. Rosalie says. “And you can take your behind right out the door too. Coming in the Lord’s house, looking like the prostitute you are!”