Lucresia Linton.com

Possums, I think I found the reason for my flat bottom troubles-I have been sitting too much on it! I have decided to sit more on something else…

But, of course!

So, for now, I am taking to writing to you, while standing up at my kitchen’s island. I thought that in order to attain a higher bottom, why not start from a higher altitude.  Speaking of higher altitude, yesterday it hit high heaven!

Yesterday, I went on a quick trot with Ava and my mother to my one of my favorite places in the world-Buffalo!  When we pulled up to the customs at the border, there was a large amount of cars wating to go through. At one car, a woman was being escorted after they rummaged through her purse in front of everyone.

I pulled up for my close-up.

“What nationality are you’s?” was really “Don’t you think you’s come over our parts waay too often?”

“So, what kind of deals are you going to get?” was really “What sort of drugs are you all going to pick-up-marijuana or something of the white powdered persuasion?”

“So, which part of Buffalo are you going to?” was really “Where can I alert my comrades to start casing the joint?”

“She is really your mother?” was really “Wow, you poor thing, thank heavens you don’t look like her!”

“You all have a nice day!” was really “You all have a nice day!”

But, let me tell you how we got lost as soon as we got over the border….and we had a GPS!  Ava pushed the wrong button and I drove back to another border crossing. We were going back to Canada after just being in Buffalo for fifteen minutes!  So, I decided to take over the GPS and we had to take the scenic route back to uptown Buffalo.

“Why do the places look so torn down?” asked my mother.

“They probably don’t have the money to fix it up the way they want to?” I answered as I drove through the streets. Miss Ava was bopping to her IPOD, so she wasn’t paying us no mind.

“But, that can’t be necessarily true, look at those houses over there.”

“That my dear mother, is the projects.”

“Oh. But, I would rather live here then! Look how nice their lawns look and everyone is sitting on their stoops, talking, smoking and braiding their hair.  They look so neighborly,” commented my mother.

“I guess!”

Ava and I came to Buffalo for clothes. My mother, Possums, came to Buffalo for one thing-hair!  For as long as I can remember hair has always been an integral part of my life and that of my family’s. I remember as a child, my sister and I would go upstairs with thick short hair and come downstairs with long luxurious synthetic kanekalon hair, braided just so.  My mother would beam at her handiwork and my father would just shake his head and go back to puffing away at his cigarette.

In Buffalo, we went to three places that sold hair. And in one of the places, my mother wanted something so unimaginable for me, that I don’t even think that as a fashionista I could talk about it with you. But, since Marc Jacobs sent it down the runway last season, I guess I could bear to talk about it. My mother fell in love with an Afro wig!

But, as you know any woman worth a grain of salt would not be a real woman unless she bargains.

“I don’t know if I like the wig that much,” said my mother to the Hair Man.

“Let me be honest with you, I have seen many women try on this Afro wig and you are the only woman who pulled this off. It suits you,” he replied.

“Well, I know it suits me, but what doesn’t suit me is the price. I don’t like the price,” stated my mother.

“You don’t like the price? Let me be honest with you, you are killing me here. I am not making any money on this. What price would make you feel better about buying this wig?” asked the hair man.

“$15.00,” answered my mother.

“$15.00! You’re hurting me! Do you know how much trouble I am in? It is $19.00.”

Possums, I stood back and let my mother debate back and forth with this man. I am not too fond of this man.  Last time I came to Buffalo, he kept on pressuring me to buy an Obama key chain, although I told him I am a Canadian. When I wasn’t budging, he actually started to go down in price, on his own, until he finally convince me to give him a dollar, cause he has a “soft” spot for black people!

Trouble?

Jigga please!

I could see the “trouble” he was in.  I returned six months later, and his place is renovated and brand new.

Trouble indeed!

Now his associate got into the haggling and they started to speak to each other in Arabic and talked back to my mother in English. I can just imagine what he is really saying about us. I could tell which “soft spot” he wanted us to kiss. But, my mother wouldn’t back down.

A little black boy with his mother came in with a box of chocolates and asked my mother if she wanted to buy it. She told him no. And then he asked if she wanted to make a donation. And she gave him some change.  Possums, they say that when God closes a door, he throws a wig threw a window! Mr. Hair Man broke down! She was gonna get her wig and she was going to get the wig at her price!

Then I noticed something- the skinny jeans, the dominatrix tops and now the Afro wig, I realized that my mother was trying to recapture her youth. Wow.  So, I didn’t stand in her way.  I started to encourage her to get her wig. Ava walked out of the store, when my mother put it on. I think Ava wanted to laugh in peace…and I followed her.

I came outside to find the mother of the boy slapping him in his back for dropping his boxes of chocolates on the sidewalk. She saw me looking at him and turned her back on me. She must of hit the poor little boy so hard that not only did his box of chocolates fell on the floor, but he must have forgot that he already asked us for money, that he asked again! I felt bad that I gave him a donation; trying to ease the pain of him having a stupid mother.  Possums, I learned that the truth does hurt some times.

It was time to leave Buffalo. Ava and I got our new clothes. My mother got her new hair, albeit an Afro, but hair is hair. The one thing I like about road trips is that it is the one time where you can just embrace solitude…usually!  Here I was with a truck swerving on one side of me, my mother keeps on poking my shoulder from behind (as if I couldn’t hear her), Ava is chit-chatting on one side of me and jazz is playing in the front!  Let me wrap that up, all in a can,  and sell it to truckers. That will keep them awake on the long drives at night!

We (again) headed to the border.

“How long have you been gone?” asked the border officer.

“We arrived in Buffalo at about one o’clock,” I replied.

“So you went away for ten hours of shopping?” she asked.

“Why has it really been that long?” I answered sweetly.

“Can you open the trunk please?”

Sure! This was it. We were going to be caught with at least ten pounds of hair! Is there really a federal charge for this? What would it be-procession of weaved products?

The officer closed the trunk and walked back to the car.

Did I tell you the officer was a Black woman with silky long hair?

She gave me a knowing smile. It was from one weaved sister to another.

“Welcome, back to Canada Ladies.”

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