My Soul

Things weren’t supposed to end like this. Marcia and I were seven years apart, and while her memory was always sharper than mine about the two years we had together before our three younger sisters came along, we remained crazy-close. She had one little brother and I had one big sister. That was something we were proud of and something we spoke about quite a bit.

Writing this in the past tense is not easy. It never will be easy to think of you in the past tense and, honestly, it makes me angry to do so, but never at you, and more about how cruel life is.

We got to spend 38 years and change together. We could never stay mad at each other. We could get fed up with other people, but never with each other. There was a time when she was 12 years old and already had a knack for saving money. I was five years old and only knew how to spend it. She and my mom left to go somewhere, and I took it upon myself to go into her room. That was my first mistake, but if I was going to mess up, it was going to be big.

I went into her piggy bank, which was mistake number two because now I was touching her things. I took five dollars out of the piggy bank, went downstairs to the sounds of the ice cream truck playing on the street, grabbed my friend Bobby and told him we were going to get some candy and ice cream from the ice cream truck. He knew I didn’t have money of my own and that neither of my parents was at home to give it to me, but free candy and ice cream is free candy and ice cream, so he went along with my plan. Five dollars may not seem like much, but it may as well have been $50 in 1987 because we filled up two brown Winn-Dixie bags full of candy and bubble gum. Once Marcia and my mom got back and saw all that candy, my sister went straight to her room, to the piggy bank, saw there was money missing, told our mama and that was that. My mother told me to go to the backyard and grab a switch and that led to the most memorable ass-whooping of my life. I think there was even a part of my sister that felt bad, but it reinforced two things: one to never go in her room and, two, never touch her things. I never did either one again.

Years passed, and we moved from the apartment in Denton to a house closer to Denton High School. To understand why all this is being told is to grasp the nature of the relationship between Marcia and me. She went to Calhoun Middle School, so I wanted to go to Calhoun Middle School. She went to Denton High School, so I wanted to go to Denton High School. When those hopes of going to DHS were dashed, I was pissed which led to my last whooping from my dad when I threatened to run away from home. While I wanted to go to school with the friends I’d grown up with, I wanted to be a Bronco, because that’s what Marcia was. My first organized basketball league was because she asked one of her friends, who coached some kids on the other side of town if her little brother could play with them. Some of those kids I played with at ten years old are friends of mine to this day, and that’s because of her. She learned Spanish during her teenage years and while I didn’t pick it up until my adult years, she played a role in me learning the language and reminded me every chance she got that I had a long way to go to get on her level.

She is the most generous person I’ve ever met in my life. When she had something, everyone had something. She included everyone in her orbit, especially when it was TCU football in the fall. When relatives came from Zimbabwe, you would put them in a purple shirt, hat, shoes, it didn’t make a damn, and you’d take them out to Fort Worth for some TCU football. Maybe they didn’t even like purple, but it didn’t matter. They were getting the entire TCU football experience, and they were getting it from you. Taking them to a game wasn’t enough; you gave them the entire experience with the tailgate hours before the game, then to the stadium to watch until halftime. Depending on how TCU was playing would determine if you took Uncle Fredrick back inside the stadium, or our sisters, other family members, or Janet, Dale, Darrel, anyone else.

If TCU was playing well, she would hold court in her Ford Explorer and make sure folks had the time of their lives. If TCU was playing like trash, she would still hold court in her Ford Explorer with folks nearby and have the time of their lives. She wanted to make sure anyone who came from Zimbabwe had stories to tell when they left the country and went back home.

As generous as she was, there some things that never changed: as an adult, I still would not go into any bedroom of hers without her permission, and I still did not touch her things. Even when would say, “Bud, grab my purse,” or “Bud, grab my book,” or “Bud, grab my car keys,” I’d reply with a no because I didn’t want to get whooped with a switch by our mama again.

We traveled the country together to go watch TCU football. We traveled across the world together to visit our dad only to end up planning his funeral once we landed. One was a joyous occasion while the other was something we knew we eventually would have to face, but we ended up facing it sooner than we thought, but at least we were together. Now that she’s not here, it’s hard, because the two people I look up to the most are gone, and that’s very difficult to deal with.

The last time we spoke was the day she passed. We always said we loved each other before we hung up the phone. The one time we didn’t do was that morning. Even when I hung up the phone, I rationalized it by saying I’m going to talk to her in three days anyway when Kamala Harris gets sworn in by Sonia Sotomayor, something we were extremely excited about because Marcia and I love us some Kamala Harris and we love us some Sonia Sotomayor. Not telling her I loved her before we hung up and taking it for granted that we would talk later is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

When it was awards season, I knew there was no point in watching the actual shows. I would just log onto Facebook and watch her status updates. It was the best play-by-play I’d ever seen. I’d watch her updates and the reaction of my sisters and her friends and realize there was no point in turning on the TV. Sometimes, we’d get on the phone hours before an awards show just so I could hear her excitement about a bunch of stuff I had no clue about, and you’d break the movies, categories, fashion, and everything in-between down in a way that made me think I was listening to Phil Jackson break down the triangle offense.

When she planned events, especially the day of the event, I already knew to stay out of her way. I would get a kick out of seeing her go into “Event Planner Mode,” or “Wedding Planner Mode” and always knew whoever had their event or wedding planned by her would get the best experience possible, but they would have to let you be you. She was always about ensuring that people had experiences, made memories, and had the time of their lives. In the rare instances that she would get in pictures during these events, we made sure to take some together. Then she would be right back to work, back to pouring the passion that she had for people into creating experiences for them that were priceless.

You’re a lot of things to a lot of people, and a lot of things to me. The biggest honor of my life is being your little brother and knowing that you will always be my big sister.