Grande. Dark. Roast.

Photo courtesy of thecord.com.

It's a tumultuous, absurd 90⁰ at 9:40am.  Anybody that knows me, knows that I hate heat, despite being an August-born baby.  At any rate, I mosey along the bustling streets of Downtown Chicago.  Hot as death. 


An ice-cold Mocha Chai from Starbucks must commence.  Must.  


It was a typical visit:  me pulling out my Starbucks gold card, me realizing I have no money on the gold card, me asking the barista to add a measly $5 to the gold card so I can get my fix for something Starbuckish.  It's a no-fail situation with me and this card.  Seriously.  Anyway, my drink was perfectly made.  I damn near percolated my way out of the cafe when I was approached by a man, who appeared to be down on his luck, asking for a few cents to buy a coffee. 


Tan-skinned.  Dingy Carolina-blue polo.  Weathered jeans.  Beige baseball cap.  Old school Sony Walkman.  


I told the truth.  I did not have a few cents.  I did not have any paper money or coins.  I told him "I bought my drink on my card...sorry."


He looked me in the eye and asked if I could bother to buy him a coffee on the card, too.  A strong brew.  To stay awake in the library.  If he fell asleep in there again, he'd be kicked out.


There is something about the homeless and panhandlers, or whatever someone may call them, that is immediately ignored.  Assumptions that money given will go towards a pint or a vial of crack, or, assumptions that this person is not as in need as they may appear.


My grandmother says not to ever worry about what the homeless man does with your money.  Be uplifted that you did what was good for the soul, for mankind, and helped a person that asked for help. The rest will be taken up with God.  


Be pleased with the fact that you have it to give.


I appreciate this man.  His need was coffee.  His need was not the $1.65 that paid for it.  And once you understand that, you've surpassed millions.

Downbottom

eyes wide shut
living life loose
with
no shield, but several veils
upon her focals
unable to focus
unable to see
without blinders
damned blinders and clipped wings
she dims her own light
something happened to her
self-worth so low
so low
so downlow
inevitably stooped
to this
remnants of what was a woman

of solidarity
now a woman of disparity
a woman with no clarity
a reduction
of
self-love
lost

Visions of a Sunset [Brittinii Nikko Sutton]

At a time like this, I feel its necessary to retreat to what I know best, and that is to write. For most things, I choose to write when I can't vocally verbalize.
For so long, I have dealt with issues of death--in one fell swoop, I lost three men in my life.
The sudden passing of my Uncle Johnny in November 1991 was a great loss to my family, for he was our patriarch.

The even more sudden passing of my father in February 1992, a few short months after Johnny, was a blow to my chest. My father was said to be in remission from leukemia, and had managed to survive a gunshot wound to the neck, inflicted on the night of Christmas Eve 1990.
Two months later, April 1992, I lost my grandfather. They say it was cancer, but I say it was his detachment from his right-hand...my father.

Others have gone since then. Big Mama, Uncle Greg, Uncle Gaylord. Uncle Charles.

Death is not unfamiliar to me, but even when it rears it ugly head, it hurts. It pains.

Today I mourn the loss of a friend. Ms. B. Sutton, you will be missed. Im sure youre looking down on us with all your sass, and snap, and telling us to be strong for you. Im trying to do it, I promise. I was in denial, and I didnt want to hear shit about you being gone. I dont want to hear nothing about no hit-and-run. I dont want to hear nothing about you not making it.

I feel like it was my duty to protect you at times. For that was the reason you asked Samantha and I to come into your life. You looked up to us, and for that, I could not feel more honored. The many times I got mad at you, or cursed you for blowing up my phone, mean absolutely nothing at this point. Ms. Sutton, you will be missed.

I am sitting here trying to think of how in the hell something like this can happen to you, to all of us. Friends dont die.

Im trying to stop this salty water from leaking out of my eye sockets, but I cant. Ms. Sutton, I am not sure if I can do this.

I am always the strong person of out everyone. Walking through shit and mud and doubling back, I have always been the rock. Resilient, and regenerative.

Can I be this person today? I thought so, but now I dont know.

Well you know me, I have to make light of everything in order to keep from going crazy. I have to make myself laugh at things that hurt. It doesnt diminish the pain, but laughter makes one hell of a bandaid.

Im not sure why God took you. Im not sure why he took you at the tender age of 23. You were a baby, still learning, still growing. About to graduate in December. About to get your shit on in this entertainment industry. About to attend an illustrious school for beauty art--which is what you really wanted to do anyway. Maybe God and them needed a stylist.

Im not sure if I will ever be able to say what I really want. My brain is mush right now. Please excuse me.
Ms. Sutton, what will we ever do without you? Who else is going to tell us that "tricks are kids"? Who else will admire Beyonce' as much as you? Who else will love Halle Berry as much as you do? Who else will rock a red stiletto like you? Who else will go crazy on me about not calling them back in five minutes?

Your purpose in my life has not gone unnoticed. Ms. Sutton, you had a higher purpose for me, and now, God has a higher purpose for you.

Gotdamn. I just cant see this.

I have a death complex. And judging from my family's history, one might understand why. Death, is not my friend. Death sure isnt my enemy. Death swings by from time and time like an uninvited guest and I have no choice but to let him in. This is the reason why I take so much off of people. Lies, bullshit, falsehoods, scheming, whatever. Because you never know when youre going to lose them. I hate to lose someone I love.
I have been there and done that, wrote a book about it, and thinking about making it into a movie. Live and let live. Forgive and let live.

My deepest, deepest condolences to your family, Ms. Sutton. You will be missed most by those who loved you most.

Last night, heaven received one saavy, ambitious, and sassy young lady.