When The Party's Over

"When the Party's Over"

Pen, watercolor, colored pencil, oil pastel on 22x30 in. Printmaking Paper

My family doesn't get together like this often. Maybe two, three, four times a year.

But when we do, it's like everything is normal.

There's no resentment

no ugly memories

or 20-year-long cold wars present.

It's just the smell of somebody smoking a black in the back

rolling up weed in the corner

somebody walking by with 3 too many sprays of cheap cologne,

spilled alcohol somewhere keeping the grass patchy

and good ole' pollution in the Compton air.

God, I love that smell.

Music so loud the babies cover their ears; they're laughing and running around.

Maybe they're dancing with their mommas or uncles and aunties in a circle.

The sound of the metal door ringing whether or not somebody slammed it

it's still gon' be loud

We go from YG, to the Temptations, to City Girls, to Mary Wells, to Tupac, to Marvin Gaye.

Maybe the teens are in the room on their phones ready to go; maybe they look up and smile shyly when an old-head tries to make conversation-- even if they pretend they hate the questions, they love complaining and joking about it after

"Who you texting? They know you got family? Come outside and dance with us for a minute!"

The truth is the old-heads don't know what to say either;

they just play it off better

Maybe it's a time when the niece without friends can feel like she belongs somewhere

Maybe it's the time the pothead nephew can show he can pearl it in 15 seconds

Maybe it's a time to honor the grandfather who kept the family together

Or reminisce about what Grandma would be saying if she was still here

Maybe we're all just a little faded

Maybe we're all a little jaded

But when the party's over,

I realize that the feeling we get while we're there,

well,

Nothing can replace it.