Free That Girl Is Poison by Tia Hines Page B

me. Oh yes, y’all, I got brave with it. I took matters into my own hands. I got my purse, put my shoes back on, grabbed my notebook, and walked down the stairs like I was grown. There was no stopping me.
    â€œDesire, I don’t have time for your shit today. Take your narrow behind back upstairs and pretend the funeral’s in your room.”
    I ignored her and kept walking toward the door.
    â€œOh no, you don’t!”
    She reached for my purse, and I clutched it tightly against my side. She was not about to get a hold of me.
    I dashed out the door. To hell with my aunt. Although she said no, I went to the funeral anyway.
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    The church was packed with people. I couldn’t even sit down. I had to stand the entire service. It was cool though. I managed to stand tall, with heavy tears here and there. I didn’t feel awkward or out of place. I just remember wishing the whole thing had never happened. I wanted it to be a dream; a dream that was never meant to come true. Shit was real. Greg was gone. Dead. Lying face up in a coffin ahead of me.
    During the funeral, they allowed family and friends to get up and say a few words. I wanted to read a poem I had written for him, but I was scared. There were too many people in sight. I watched everyone else go up and speak. Then the pastor gave the final call, and I found myself walking to the podium. I don’t know how I was able to walk up there, but I did. I ain’t superstitious or nothing, nor do I believe in all that weird ghostly stuff, but seriously, it felt like Greg’s spirit had taken over my body and made my fear disappear.
    I stood up behind the podium with my head held high and recited a poem I wrote, titled “Until We Meet Again.”

    My school friend
My home friend
My phone friend
My best friend
    My big brother
My shoulder to cry on
My listening ear
My safety zone
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    I wanna lie with you
Die with you
No longer want to cry for you
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    You left me alone
I no longer have a safety zone
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    Your mother
Your father
I wish we shared the same
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    No sisters
Nor brother
But I was your sister in vain
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    It’s hard to say good-bye
When hello is always said
You were my comforter
My guidance
I wanna lie with you instead
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    Forgive those oh Lord
For they know not what good You have created
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    Ease the pain of broken hearts
Touch the lives of their souls
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    Lessen their burden of hate
Free the madness from their souls
    So until we meet again
Let the good rest in peace
Why’d you leave me dear Greg
Again we shall meet

    His father acknowledged that my poem was beautiful. Then he embraced me. My tears ran strong.
    â€œIt’s okay. He’s in a better place.”
    I dried my eyes as I listened to his words of comfort. I walked back to where I was standing while I listened to his father make his speech.
    He said, “My son was one of the most humble young men you could ever meet. He surprised me sometimes with the things he did for people. He had a one-in-a-million heart, and I wish he was still here to share it. He was an excellent athlete and an honor roll student. I can’t think of any sport that he didn’t play or any subject that he couldn’t master. He was one of those kids that didn’t care about winning or losing either. He came up with his own concept that even if you lose, you are still a winner within yourself, because you tried, you gave your best. He was connected like that, you know. He gave more than he had to at everything.”
    â€œHe was hoping to go to Georgia Tech next fall. He just mailed his early admissions application . . . the day . . . the day he was killed. He would have gone to college and taken over the family business. He had it all planned out. He used to ask me all the time, ‘Dad, is it true that since I don’t have your last name that means I can’t take over the family business?’ My brother would