The First Lady Read Online Free

enough, he opened his hands to reveal two nickel bags of crack. “I got a two-for-one special just for you, Ma. Guaranteed to solve all your problems.” He smiled, showing me a mouth full of gold teeth.
    “Fool, now you know got-damn well I don’t fuck with that shit no more,” I replied, and kept walking toward my building.
    “You may be clean now, Ma,” he shouted out behind me, “but it’s all just a matter of time. Sooner or later you gonna need to get that monkey off your back. But don’t worry. I’ll be right here waiting for you with your only real friend.”
    The scary thing about what Reggie had just said was that I had considered getting that monkey off my back. I thought about it every day, but as a recovering addict, I had to constantly fight through that temptation. For two years, I’d been winning the battle over crack cocaine and the Reggies of the world, but the war, the war over my sobriety, continued daily.
    Once I reached the stoop, I reached in my bag and dug out the key that unlocked the security door. I entered the building and headed straight for the elevator, though I don’t know why. I guess I hoped that today it would actually be working, but that same tired out of service sign was still taped to the doors.
    “Thank goodness I didn’t take the apartment on the seventh floor,” I said to myself as I finished off the last of three flights of steps. As I headed down the hall, now immune to the odor that was a combination of piss and shit, I noticed an envelope taped to my door. Immediately, my heart dropped.
    “Dammit, what’s cut off now?” I asked myself. My rent wasn’t due until next week, so that wasn’t it. I paid my electric bill with my check on Friday, so what the hell could it be? The gas, maybe, or the cable? Damn, I bet they shut my cable off. Oh, God, Aubrey would kill me.
    As I continued my slow steps toward the door, my brain raced to figure out what bill I had neglected to pay. The more steps I took, the farther away the door seemed to be and the more labored my breathing became. Three flights of stairs always had me breathing heavy, but the anxiety I was feeling had me about ready to pass out. Nonetheless, I finally made it to the door, where I removed the envelope that had my name handwritten across it.
    Entering my apartment, I locked the door behind me, went straight to my bedroom without even saying hello to Aubrey, and sat down on my bed with the envelope in hand. I held it, still trying to guess what could be inside before actually opening it.
    When I gathered my nerve and slid out the paper contained inside, I was surprised to see that it was a handwritten note on paper with First Lady Charlene Wilson’s letterhead on it. This confused me, because she had been dead for a while now. How could this letter have gotten here, and who was using her stationery? I wondered. As I kicked off my shoes, I began reading it aloud:
    Dearest Marlene,
    If you are reading this letter, it means that I have been dead for at least six months now. As the stepmother of your daughter, I’ve seen both you and her grow with Christ. Although you and I weren’t that close while I was alive, I must say that I truly admired you. You made strides in your life that most people only dream of. When I think of where God brought you from, I can’t help but think back to where God brought T.K. from as well … where he brought you two from ‘together,’ in a sense.
    At that point, the letter really had my attention. Even with the envelope open and the letter in my hand, I was more curious now than when it was sealed, taped to my door. I got into a comfortable position on the bed as I continued to read:
    Now that I’m gone, I know that right about now the issue of who will marry T.K. is probably the main topic of discussion among the members of First Jamaica Ministries. That’s why I’m writing you this letter, Marlene. It’s no secret to anyone about the life—and love—you shared