Page 8 of Certified to Handle You
I stood there for a long time with my hand restin’ against the door, tryna convince myself this was for the best. Maybe this was the moment I finally stopped lettin’ love soften me into stayin’. Maybe this was where I chose myself before Renza had the chance to keep pullin’ me halfway into a life he still wasn’t ready to share all the way.
But even while I tried tellin’ myself all this shit, the food on my stove was still warm. His shit was still neatly folded on my couch, and my heart was still waitin’ for his voice to come back through the door. That was the part of this shit I hated most.
No matter how mad I was at this nigga… no matter how much pride I had, and no matter how much I knew I deserved more than unanswered calls, Renza still felt like mine.
If I’m bein’ honest, I didn’t know how to stop lovin’ somebody who had already made himself feel like home.
Three days later…
I already knew today was gon’ be a busy day for me because I had two clients at the funeral home this mornin’, and both of them had been sittin’ heavy on my mind since last night.
Once I finally pulled into the funeral home parkin’ lot, I cut my car off.
The sun was barely up all the way, and for a second, I just sat here with my hands wrapped around my coffee cup, lookin’ toward the buildin’ while I tried to prepare my spirit for what waited inside.
People always thought doin’ hair for the dead had to be creepy or depressin’ all the time, but honestly, that wasn’t what weighed on me the most. It was the families…
It was watchin’ people try to hold themselves together while pickin’ out caskets and flower arrangements for somebody they loved. It was hearin’ mothers cry over babies, husbands cry over wives, and children standin’ there lookin’ lost because they couldn’t understand why somebody wasn’t comin’ home no more.
That was the part that stayed with me…
I had been doin’ this for three years now, and even though I truly felt like God called me to it, that didn’t mean every client got easier. If anything, some of them settled deeper in my spirit than others.
I had done hair for elderly women who passed peacefully in their sleep, and I had done hair for men who got killed in the streets before they mama could even make it to the hospital. I had styled tiny little girls with barrettes and beads in their hair, and teenage boys whose families wanted their braids and lineups touched up one last time because they “wouldn’t wanna leave lookin’ crazy.”
Every client mattered to me.
I never rushed through none of it either because this wasn’t regular salon work where somebody could come back next week if they didn’t like somethin’. This was the final time people would see their loved one. These would be the final pictures, final hugs and final goodbye.
That meant somethin’ to me…
I grabbed my bags from the passenger seat and headed inside, already knowin’ this particular appointment was gon’ sit heavy on me before the day was even over.
The funeral director met me near the back and gave me that same sad look people always had in places like this.
“They’re ready for you, Ms. Harper.”
I nodded softly. “Thank you.”
Soon as I stepped into the preparation room, my stomach tightened.
The mother was laid closest to me first, and when I found out she was only twenty-four years old, my chest tightened immediately because she looked way too young to be lyin’ in a funeral home.
She was beautiful, too, even through death, with pretty brown skin, long lashes, and full lips that made it easy to picture how bright her smile probably used to be before all this happened
The little girl was lying beside her, and knowin’ this baby was only three years old made me have to look away for a second because nothin’ about that sat right on my spirit
The story had already been explained to me before I came. The mother’s new boyfriend had killed both of them in some jealous rage after she tried to leave him.
I would never understand men who claimed they loved women but destroyed them the minute they couldn’t control them anymore. That wasn’t love to me. That shit was a sickness.
I swallowed hard and set my things down before walkin’ over to the mother first. Her family had already dropped off the wig they wanted installed, and the minute I saw the color, I understood exactly why they chose it. It was this rich ginger color that looked warm and soft all at the same time.
The funeral director had told me her mama said the color was her signature. She said she wore ginger hair so much thatpeople expected it from her at that point. That made me smile a little.
I liked details like that because it made me feel closer to who the person actually was outside of death.
I washed my hands, organized my supplies, and got to work carefully. Even after all this time, I was still gentle with every client.
