Page 3 of Kandie Shoppe

One

The Anniversary

Kandie

“How you holding up, Kandie-girl?” Ms. Queen asks, wiping condensation from the top of the bar in front of me.

“Good. That catfish was so on point tonight, Ms. Queen,” I tell her, turning my Remy Martin VSOP in slow circles on the napkin, careful not to leave water marks on her handcrafted bar top. She loves this thing more than her five kids. But then it’s still here where they chose to live everywhere from Birmingham to L.A. with their lil’ ungrateful asses, as she likes to tell me.

“Now, I done told you don’t Ms. me. I’m your sexy older sister, not your auntie,” she chides, posing in a way to enhance her more than abundant breasts.

“You mean, Granny. Ain’t no hoe like an old hoe.” I wink at her.

“You got that right, tell your grandaddy, Pa-Pete I said, hey.” Winking she tops me off.

“Ugh, uh-uh,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I can’t stand you, but I don’t want Mama-Pete going to jail for geronticide.” Then I shrug. “Plus, nobody pours heavy like you.”

Lifting my glass, I sip the liquid, letting the oak and smoke wash over my tongue in a loving caress.

“Mm.” Humming, I sip again. I’m feeling good.

“Are you floating?” Giving me a little smile Queen asks the same question she always does right before cutting me off.

“Yeahhh.” I know my smile is sweet and a little goofy not even having to look at her.

“Alright then, hunnie. I’m going to put your bike up. Do you want to wait for me or Felix to give you a ride?”

“Nah, Tell Jimmy-Ray to play ‘Soul Heaven’ for my sister,” I say, tossing back the rest of my liquor in one deep swallow.

With the practice of a seasoned whiskey afficionado, I two-step myself onto the dance floor.

“‘Soul Heaven’ dedicated to Kerania from her twin and best friend,” comes over the loudspeaker as I hit the dance floor. Letting my body sway, I dance alone in the center of the dance floor, letting the music glide over me like the best friend I lost twenty years ago today. No one bothers me knowing how sacred this moment is for me. In the years since I’ve been allowed to come to this little juke joint situated right at the edge of the town by the only train tracks running through this part of the state, it has been my haven. My place. I get to come here and not feel judged by my past or present.

“‘Members Only’ for Kandie from Queenie,” Jimmy-Ray croons in his deep baritone, switching to another blues song.

“Alright now,” Ms. Lucille calls from the sidelines, dragging Mr. Charlie to the floor.

“Dance with me, darling.” Bubba-T pulls me in his arms, then twirls me in a spectacular circle. “Look at your pretty self,” hetells me in a big brother fashion, his white teeth breaking into a genuine smile.

“Why are you here tonight?” I ask, basking in his attention.

“Promotion, so I brought the folks who work on my line out for a treat.” Shrugging, he turns us effortlessly into the rhythm of the song.

“Congratulations,” I say, meaning it. Bubba-T was one of the star players from the local public university until he tore his knee up and had to quit. For the longest time he worked at Shelby Sugar but quit when the new Creative Chaos plant started a few years ago, offering local folks around here better pay and benefits.

“Seems like they are making good on all those promises they made to y’all.” I can’t hide my skepticism. There have been so many plants that have come and gone using the resources and the people of this area only to pick up and leave when it comes time for them to deliver on all the promises they made to get the tax cuts and the cheap labor.

“Yeah, they really are, but there are always folks that have something negative to say.” Shrugging his big shoulders, he almost dislodges my hold on his broad shoulders.

“Well, I’ll take your word for it,” I tell him, knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to give me the lowdown on everything.

We sway and I lose myself in the music and his big arms.

“If I didn’t love Ms. Ernestine…” Trailing off, I give him a salacious wink.

“Girl, hush, you know you ain’t bout that life for real.” Scoffing, he chuckles deep and so hard his shoulders shake.

“Wh—” My whispered outrage does nothing but make this big motherfucker laugh at me more. Thank goodness the song ends because I’m already shoving him. What little good it does with his massive form. He almost reminds me of The Dirty Ass Cop Who Shall Not Be Named. I snatch that thought back asquick as I can. Knowing I can never go there. Never think about that callous, cruel bitch. One heartbreak is enough. That snag of pain spurs me right back over to Bubba-T’s retreating form.

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