Black.girl.Thoughts.

narcissism. for the lover in u

2009-11-01T20:33:00.004-06:00

why am i the bitch when...

u bit the same hand that fed you ain't that something that a dog would do?

to the water i led u

the same womb that bled 4u

2 kids no kamu sutra

no french kiss too busy learning the art of war

blocking hits u dealt with closed fists trying my luck on your well wishes

never thought i'd be confronting chics while you plotting w/tricks up sleeves & ducking in whips

the cards u dealt u couldn't even play with

not a magician...

just a re-niggah

how could u threaten to pull the trigger on a life giver?

but i'm bitter?

so i figure all things done in the dark are brought to light

but I'm quicker

I felt it coming in the air of the night

so I was slicker

already knew their names and addresses...

before they even saw my profile picture

while they fell for the bait,

i was fixin' to shaaaaave mister...

dodging child support cases been so long since u seen em'...can't even remember their faces?

now u want mementos searching for yourself within their photos

so maybe u can walk around and get props and kudos?

or even bragging rights i suppose

I finally found peace so I doze

while you froze up...

like the ice you shouldn't have hoe'd up...

should've posted up and took the challenge but your ego had you blown up...

that same shyt you say I'm on

I guess

I'm wrong

for finally giving you the dial tone

but God blesses the child whose got his or her own...

School of Hard Knocks [part three]

2009-10-01T08:34:00.005-05:00

Photographed, fingerprinted...everything I'd heard about the inside of a jail cell was true...the discomfort, the ice cold temperature, the police officers nonchalant attitude and sarcasm, mocking my freedom on the other side of the bars...

"If someone doesn't come and get you sooner or later, we're going to have to take you to the county jail," the officers taunted.

I contacted "Colletti" who I'm sure had contacted my mother and by now, I wasn't sure how or when I was ever getting out of jail. It was getting late, very late. I was loosing my resolve, hoping that once I got "inside" I could use the "name game" and perhaps make a few friends based off of the associations I made thanks to my mother's many moves around the city. I was wondering what it would be like being the new chic on the block amongst real criminals.

"What you in for?"

"Ummm...failure to complete community service..."

Ain't this a bitch...I mumbled to myself.

No, this wasn't like the time I got caught shoplifting in the 5th grade at Walgreen's for stealing a pencil sharpener, a hair barrette and bubble gum...to which my mother somehow beat me senseless while I sat in the backseat as she drove at the same time.

No, this wasn't like that time when I had the bright idea a few years prior that me and 2 of my friends should go into the department store and steal underwear. We were lucky that one of the security guards knew my girls older cousin. We laughed as the security guard spoke with him over the phone about how I had stolen "goofy draws". Yes, underwear with "Goofy" printed on them. After that, I vowed to never get caught and had gotten so good at stealing that I used to walk into a store with their brand of an empty shopping bag and walk right out of the front door with it full of items I had just picked off of the shelf.

I weighed 117 lbs and at the time, had painted acrylic nails with my weave done up extra nice...definitely not county jail material. I was horrified and now wishing I had completed the stupid community service.

I pulled my Washington Redskins jersey over my knees and curled up into a ball while laying on the cold, steel, bench until I got word that someone had finally sprung me loose. But who was it? Maybe "Kent" had gotten out before me and gathered the money together with "Colletti".

The "paperwork" took forever and finally when it was all said and done, I was released into the care of "Aunt Shug" and "Uncle Black". "Aunt Shug" and "Uncle Black" were old school, they lived by the book, (the good book) and held no punches. They weren't really my aunt and uncle but more or less took on that title because of their long lasting friendship with my mother, they practically all grew up together. They were a jazzy couple, most importantly, a jazzy, married, Black couple with 2 young boys, something I wasn't used to seeing...a Black family intact.

How much time had I done?

An excruciating 8 hours.

"What type of birds can't fly?"

"Huh?"

"What type of birds can't fly?" My aunt repeated smiling at me.

"I don't know." I was confused.

"Jailbirds." They laughed.

I received a long lecture about how I needed to make changes in my life and how my mother didn't need the extra stress since she was so ill. But the final blow was how they had spoken with the "Colletti's" and they now refused to take me back in. We were on our way to gather my things and I was to now move in with "Aunt Shug" and "Uncle Black" much further North and even further away from "Kent".

----------------------------------------------------

That was the first time I ever rode in a Benz. I was amazed to hear "Uncle Black" talk so highly of me to the "Colletti's". I sat and watched him and my aunt sit at the table with them as I walked in and out of the house, loading my things into the car, they reminded me of The Huxtables.

Transitioning into my new home was difficult. There were more rules, of course, my motto remained: rules are meant to be broken. However, "Uncle Black" and "Aunt Shug" were a different breed. Before leaving the house every day, everyone would stand at the door and pray. I was instructed for the first time on how a lady was to carry herself and by a man who referred to his wife as the prototype.

"When my wife was your age, she kept a job, kept money in her pocket, kept her hair done, you want to have you own things so you can take care of yourself how you want to." He sounded fair.

Uncle Black took me up to a local McDonald's where one of his friends who privately owned it, gave me a job. He helped me open my first bank account and when it was time to introduce him to "Kent" he was livid.

"That White boy is not allowed in my house."

"What?" I was horrified.

"Kent" made a way out of no way and we began sneaking off together once I was settled, driving his old Cutlass to see me until it practically overheated.

"He looks like trash, probably only coming around because he thinks you come from money."

My uncles words hurt. He didn't know him. But I bit my tongue, perhaps I was a coward, or maybe I was gathering my defense for a better battle.

I was finally finishing my community service, taking The Autobiography of Malcolm X with me for reading during my breaks. I turned 18 in a matter of months and my curfew got extended to 12 midnight, I was making money, able to smoke cigarettes in the house (both aunt and uncle were smokers) and the best part of it all was that "Kent's" best friend "Joe" and his girlfriend "Kristy" were attending college not far from where I lived and had their own apartments off campus.

I was getting comfortable. I soon figured out a way to hustle money from my job. While working the drive-thru, if a customer gave me exact change, I wouldn't enter their order. The other workers would hear it on their headsets, bag it up and send it out the window and I would pocket the money. I was making what I made in my 2 weeks paycheck within 2 or 3 days. "Kent" and I were passionate, young and practically made love wherever, whenever and as frequently as possible. Instead of doing my community service, I began showing up, signing in, walking around for an hour or so and then disappearing during the hustle and bustle of the large Veteran's Hospital. After leaving the hospital, I'd hop on a bus and somehow find myself falling asleep on "Kristy's" couch, overwhelmed with fatigue, sleeping for hours and that's when it hit me...

I was pregnant...

and the shit was only beginning to hit the fan.

Chocolate milk. {Part three} ::Conclusion::

2009-07-23T21:39:00.010-05:00

Chocolate Milk {Part one}

"You was supposed to be my boy. How the fuck you gon'e play me like that?" "Dino" stood on the other side of the room about 5 feet away from me, fists balled up with spit flying from his lips. He was loud, really loud.

"Brother" came running in behind everyone. He was taller than most of them and I could see his face behind the crowd. "Man, I'm not gonna let yall touch my brother." I'm not exactly sure what he was going to do but I'm sure there were enough concealed weapons in the room that would make him think differently.

One of the guys who came in with "Dino" sat on the bed across from us, looked me in the eyes and shook his head. He had to be about 250 plus pounds and all he could do was look away from me and down at his sneakers while mumbling to himself.

"I'm sorry man." "The coochie monster" was standing up against a wall behind me near the foot of the bed where I sat, still, frightened and embarrassed. Compared to "Dino", he was a light weight and it would have been easy for "Dino" to ball him up without any help from anyone else.

"Sorry? I'm over here all the time and you behind my back and--" Before he could finish his last sentence "Dino" lunged forward and the big, cock diesel guy jumped from the bed in front of him. "Dino's" sister grabbed his arm and he pulled it away from her. "You know what, fuck it, she ain't worth it."

"I'm not worth it?" I was hurt. "I didn't even do anything!"

"I loved you Chay-Chay. You wouldn't even be with me but you would mess with somebody you barely even know?"

I could sense him getting himself worked up again. There was nothing I could say. His sister was cosigning in the background. "Yeah bitch, you ain't worth it. Shut up! Don't say nothing." "Dino" was short and stocky like his sister and he was fast. All of a sudden, he flew across the room and I felt my head slam right into the wall. The pain was quick and for a moment the room turned black. My ears were ringing and all I could hear were shouts.

Oh my god "Dino" why did you do that?

Fuck her.

Damn, I still can't believe she did that shit.

Ya'll got to get the hell out of here!

It's time to go. Somebody is gonna call the police.

Are you okay?

I couldn't stop the tears when they began to flow. My head was throbbing, my reputation...shattered and the boy I had the biggest crush on for so long was done with me. Worst of all, it happened for all to see. When I opened my eyes, "Dino" was standing over me, eyes watering and the look on his face was one of disgust. I had never seen him look at me with anything less than love and desire. He turned and pushed through the crowd and walked out of the apartment and his entourage went with him. "The coochie monster" sat on the bed next to me and put his arms around me. At that point I really didn't care who it was that consoled me. I laid my head on his shoulder and cried.

"It's okay, they gone now. Man, I'm sorry. I don't even know what to say."

"I can't believe he did that to me. He pushed my head right into the damn wall."

A few moments later, "Brother" re-emerged. I guess he had been talking to "Dino" and his sister in the hallway. "Man, I didn't think he was gonna do that shit."

"Well what did you think he was gonna do?" I was confused.

"You know they are going to be waiting on you when you leave here so you mind as well stay for a little while." "Brother" had a serious look on his face. I could have easily took my behind home. I'm sure I would have been able to fight both girls and lived to tell about it all. But, the worst had happened, I was too embarrassed to even face anyone. I knew the rumors were already beginning to start about what happened in that room before "Dino" got there and I wanted everything to fade away. "The coochie monster" went to get ice for my head and I sat there thinking, replaying the events in my mind and wondering how I could have been so thoughtless.

The night began to progress and I was feeling more comfortable with my new friend. We had experienced something traumatic together, at least traumatic enough for my young heart. In another 2 months, I would be turning 15 and I felt as if I was thrown into a grown up soap opera. "The coochie monster" told me I could spend the night if I wanted to. I had never spent the night out before without telling my mother and although I was scared, I had lost a piece of me that didn't care about anything, anymore.

We laid in bed, and again, he covered me with kisses, kisses I pretended were healing my heart, cleansing my soul and making me lovable again. Kisses I did not know were empty, cold, and filled with lust. I closed my eyes, held my breath and waited for him to take what I didn't really want to give him. Not him. Not like this. Not after that. My mind wandered off some place else...

So this is what it's like...

I don't feel anything...

I cannot believe I was so excited to do this...

This is what the big fuss is about...

I wish he would hurry up...

Is it over yet...

I guess I'll make some noises like I've seen in the movies...

Motionless, I laid stiff as all innocence was lost. He whispered in my ear making sure to mention how "tight" I was as he rolled off of me, I began to feel myself tumbling back to earth, becoming mortal, and feeling the pain all over again.

Of course the next day when I went home, I came up with some wild excuse about falling asleep at a friends house and being to scared to call home. My mother was growing tired and full of despair. Ever since her split with my father, she became less and less concerned with motherhood.

"Dino" never looked at me the same after that. Him and "The coochie monster" became friends again and I would hear from "Dino" himself about all of the dirty details of my newly formed sex life. "The coochie monster" put me through some hellish experiences after that, like purposely trying to get me pregnant which I had heard through some people in my neighborhood.

I probably would have gotten pregnant if I didn't get that call 5 days shy of my 15th birthday that my father (who I hadn't seen in over 7 years) was on his death bed, dying. I was on my way to Virginia and when I was to return over a month later, my mother would be in a new location, far away from "The coochie monster".

But not far enough...

*"Dino" is now happily married with children*

School of Hard Knocks [part two]

2009-09-18T19:22:00.009-05:00

School of Hard Knocks [part one]

"You want me to do what?" I was confused, almost pissed.

"I want you to clean the floors as your punishment for coming in late."

I thought I had heard incorrectly, but "Colletti's" mother was standing in the kitchen looking at me firm, and deep into my eyes enunciating her words so I could understand.

I chuckled.

"Okay, where's the mop?"

"Oh, we don't use a mop. We get down on our hands and knees and scrub the floors by hand," she said matter-of-factly.

"Say what? Wait. You guys have a maid who comes and cleans up every week. I have never seen her scrubbing the floors by hand. Hell, I've never even seen you scrubbing the floors by hand." I was finally pissed.

All I had to do was scrub the floors, but for me, it was a direct stab at the heart of my huge amount of pride and disrespect for authority. Not to mention she was a White woman and I was a young Black girl who was directed to scrub her floors.

"Colletti" would drop me off with "Kent" or he would pick me up and she would cover for me if it had ever gotten too late by picking me up and going in the house with me. But finally, her mother had had enough. With my mother hundreds of miles away, my friend's parents were trying their best to make sure I didn't get into any trouble.

I began ditching school and spending more and more time with "Kent". Although he was in college, he shared an apartment with 2 other guys and lived off of campus. There were constant parties going on at his place, mostly filled with High School seniors (such as myself) and other college folks. Everyone around me seemed to be independent and free to come and go as they pleased. "Colletti" had her GED, a car and a job. I had made up my mind without informing anyone else: I was done with school and unbeknownst to me, I was becoming a nuisance for a family who had taken on more than they'd realized.

There was something about a car filled with young White and Black people together that always triggered a weird reaction from the police. "Kent" was always getting pulled over:

"Music is too loud"

"Okay officer."

"You can't have that hanging from your rear view"

"Okay officer."

"Are you in possession of any illegal substances?"

"No officer."

However, "Kent" did have one very bad habit. He liked to speed and kept many speeding tickets on the books, many unpaid and resulting in having his license revoked. One afternoon, we went for a ride with one of his roommates and his Aunt in the back seat. "Kent" saw the police notice him and make a U-turn in his direction.

"Those police are turning around, I know they are going to pull me over. Aunt "Jackie" I need you to come up here and drive. I have a suspended license." Kent stared into the rear view mirror before finding a place to pull over before the police saw him and returned.

The police officer turned on his lights after "Aunt Jackie" made it to the end of the street. She pulled over to the right as "Kent" and his roommate whispered to one another about how they were both most likely going to jail. We waited as the officer approached the car.

"Why did you get in the driver's seat?" The police officer was standing over "Aunt Jackie's" window peering inside at all of our faces.

"I'm sorry officer, we just came from seeing a friend, been driving a while and he decided he didn't want to drive anymore," said "Aunt Jackie".

The officer asked for her driver's license as well as "Kent's" and he had to admit to not having any license or identification on him. When the officer returned to the car, he handed "Aunt Jackie" her license and asked "Kent" to step out and of course, he explained what we already suspected: there was a warrant out for his arrest. The police officer slapped the cuffs on him and walked him to the back of his vehicle and at that moment another squad car pulled up. The officer walked over to the car and asked me and "Kent's" roommates for our names and dates of birth.

"I know I'm going to jail, I know I'm going to jail...shit!" his roommate chanted in the back seat.

"Shut up, you're not going to jail. You're tripping," I laughed. I didn't have a license, didn't have anything to be worried about. I waited patiently for the officer to return, give us information to where we would be able to bail "Kent" out so we could be on our way.

"Ms. Hall" said the officer.

"Yes..."

"I need you to step out of the car please." The officer stood over the passenger door glaring down at me.

"What? For what?" I shot up in my seat.

"Just step out of the car, now. There is a warrant out for your arrest."

"Oh my God. Why?" I was shocked. I looked into the car where "Kent" was sitting, watching and shaking his head. His lips were moving but no one could hear a sound.

"Failure to complete community service."

I didn't even know that I could get a warrant for failure to complete community service. After crashing my mother's car a second time and taking a traffic light down with me, all I knew was that working in a resale shop with a bunch of boring old folks was blown and I didn't want to do it anymore, so I didn't.

Now my ass was off to jail, with my boyfriend in the next car and my mother in another state.

School of Hard Knocks... [part one]

2009-09-10T18:02:00.012-05:00

My mother came through the door after seeing her psychic-medium, clairvoyant friend Harold. He was the one who informed her about the freak nasty boy who wanted to "get in my pants" when I was 12 years old and saved me from losing my virginity for another 2 years.

"What did he say this time mama?" I smirked.

The couches we had were some weird artists attempt at modern surrealism, turquoise, pink and black paint splatters over white fabric. Our living room walls were painted a nice ocean turquoise blue. Some random Rap or R&B video was playing from BET and I starred at her hoping to get some juice. Did he mention me this time? Would she tell me? By now, the year was 1996. We had evolved through the stages of rebellion, my sneaking in early in the morning to awaken to her on top of me in my bed slapping me around, my stealing her car again...crashing it into a pole and having community service (that I didn't finish), my vomiting all over myself in my sleep, and getting thrown out of 2 different schools only to beg my way back in, into a smooth progression of "That girl does whatever the hell she wants to do, I'll be glad when she turns 18 and gets out of my house..." I had 2 years to go.

"Well, he said that next year I was going to get really sick, but I would recover." Mama had a serious look on her face.

"Oh..."

She walked toward her bedroom, stopped in her tracks and turned facing me. She had a habit of wearing these weird leopard print hats, her blond hair neatly tucked underneath, chestnut contact lenses sparkling and said, "Oh, and he said an old man is going to be all over you one day and when he comes around, I am going to be surprised he's coming around for you. He said you were going to be a brickhouse and...well, you just need to get yourself together..."

She was holding back and for whatever reason, I didn't press her. I became immediately ashamed for whatever it was hidden within my future that he had revealed. I was however, excited about becoming a "brickhouse". I was always a skinny 120 lb. twig, drinking milk-shakes thinking it would make me "thicker". That was the last time my mother saw Harold. He passed away shortly after, but looking back I realized he must've jumped over a vast time span with the information he had given her. I wasn't interested in older men, not yet. Older to me back then was maybe 3 years. Maybe he knew he had little time left.

The following year, was the beginning of my senior year in High School. During the end of my Junior year, I fell in love with a cocky, suave, handsome and popular White boy who was now attending college more than 45 miles away. He was the 3rd White boy who started to come around and my mother had gotten worried.

"You need to be careful with those White boys. I don't know whatchu' doing with them. But, if one of them hears that you are down with em' the rest of em' may be getting curious and that's all it is..."

Truth be told, 2 out of 3 were really crazy about me and only 1 of them was just experimenting. I could always tell, they (the serious ones) brought me home to their mothers despite my "ethnic" hairdo's and bright orange acrylic nails and perhaps I was doing some experimenting of my own. They were never really my real boyfriends, not until I met "Kent". Everyone called him "Clark Kent" because he wore contact lenses, but occasionally he would put on his glasses around friends and they were thick like bottle caps. He was the all-American White boy who was good at every sport in High School, captain of the Football team, passed the basketball right along to the brothas who were dunking on other schools, brothas who were now his college roommates. He used to panic if he lost a contact lens and had to wear his glasses out for a few hours. But, when he took them off, it was like an amazing transformation on one of those makeover shows. Deep in my mothers heart she knew "Kent" was different from the rest of them.

My mother became sick, so sick she needed to move to another state so that my sister could care for her. I was devastated. I had just began to soften a little bit. I was adding more dresses and dress shoes to my wardrobe, abandoning the baggy pants and Jordans eventhough my look could still have used some extra feminine flare, I was working on it. I was settling in a little, and as always, the moment I began to get comfortable, devastation and change would always hit me like a ton of bricks.

"But Mama, I don't want to leave. Can't I just stay here and finish my senior year?"

I had an Italian friend whose parents said it would be cool to let me stay with them for the remainder of the year. "Colletti" was already out of school, 18 years old, working and loved to party. What I didn't understand was that, since I would be living with "Colletti" I would have to follow her parents rules. Rules were always meant to be broken in my opinion and who would tell me what to do now that my mother was hundreds of miles away from Chicago, in Virginia?

"Take care of my baby." My mother looked into "Kent's" eyes as we watched her begin boarding her plane for Norfolk, Virginia.

He tried.

That next year I discovered The Autobiography of Malcolm X, jail, the taste of homelessness, my pregnancy with our daughter...and his racist family...

School of Hard Knocks [part two]

A Mother's Nightmare

2009-08-27T04:55:00.005-05:00

It's 5:56 am Eastern Standard Time and I've been awake for maybe 20 minutes. I've never been awaken by a dream like this before, not that I can remember. However, I understand if I may have pushed something like this into the back of my mind to erase it. I had to get out of bed and release this energy, push it out through my fingertips.

So many of my dreams (about 70%) have been prophetic and that's what scares me the most. Many of the details of a dream will play out differently, but I'll always be able to make a connection. If the events of a dream do not take place in my life, I may find that I'll turn on the news and see them occurring somewhere.

-------------------------------------

I dreamed that for a while, I was somehow in church. This right away was odd because, I haven't been in anyone's church in several years. To the left of me women were singing. It was the typical church setting: women and men dressed to the "nines" and folks praying under their breath, others shouting. When service was over, people began mingling. I can't remember who I was with, but I know my 4 year old son was with me. He ran off to explore his surroundings and I lost sight of him behind someone's body, then he reappeared and I grabbed his hand and brought him close to me.

Suddenly, my son and I are at a familiar strip mall back home in Chicago. Only this time there was a hair salon. For whatever reason, I feel as though I visited this strip mall to do some shopping and I let time get away from me. It began to get dark. After leaving one shop and heading to the salon, I noticed a male friend of mine from back home (my son's former barber) getting into his car. I then realized that in the dream, I had no transportation, no car and obviously there were no buses to take me home...wherever that was. The barber was speaking with a male and female who were entering an SUV and for some reason I felt that it would be better to go inside the salon and call him instead of giving these friends of his the wrong idea by asking him for a ride in front of them. I was concerned that he had a girlfriend and they would start some type of rumor or he would say no just to save face.

This is where the dream becomes difficult.

I don't remember taking my son into a public bathroom.

But somehow, I did.

The public bathroom was somehow adjacent to the stores on the strip and were accessible from the outside, almost the same as a washroom at a gas station.

In my haste, I ran into the beauty salon, asked the lady who worked there for her phone and suddenly, I couldn't remember the barbers phone number. I tried several numbers, watching through the window as the barber jumped into his car and drove away. I kept trying to remember the number and I couldn't. The worst thing that I could have done was occurring, not only did I leave my son in a bathroom unattended, I forgot about it.

There were women talking to one another. Beauticians were still doing hair late into the night. I asked if I would be able to get something done and the beautician pointed to another lady who was waiting patiently and informed me that she had another client that would be ahead of me. If I was willing to wait, she would take me after her. I may have waited for another 10 minutes or so, maybe longer. Long enough to debate with myself about whether I should actually wait until this woman got her hair done before me. It was already late as is and I had to call a relative who was probably uninterested in picking me up to do so. I decided against it.

Then, I got this feeling in the bottom of my stomach that something wasn't right. I walked outside and I could hear my sons screams from the bathroom. The horror. The screams were gut wrenching. I immediately thought, he may be locked in...I'll never forget the feeling I had rushing over to that door. There were so many emotions; shame, guilt, fear, worry.

When I pushed the door opened, there was my son screaming and crying and a grown man raping him in the bathroom stall.

He was dark skinned, maybe in his forties, 5 '9 and about 175 lbs. He was sweating and looking directly into my eyes. I will NEVER forget his face, real or imagined. My son whimpering, no longer screaming. Seeing my son like that made me feel a human emotion that I cannot even describe in words, there are none. I felt close to death, ready to die for him. I ran up to this man and my first instinct was to wrap both of my hands around his throat, squeezing as tight as I could. I was shaking and the man was breathing heavily through his grimacing teeth and still had a firm grip on my son who was positioned in front of him, now watching me. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body with my hands still around his neck, we were incredibly close as I uttered, "I am going to kill you...you son of a bitch!"

And just like that, I woke up.

I sat directly up in my bed, my son asleep at my feet and daughter to my right. I grabbed him and pulled him up beside me and whispered, "I love you" in his ear and he uttered a light, "I love you too" back, which must have taken so much out of him to do, he was half asleep. I wanted to re-enter the dream state, hoping for a chance to return to that bathroom and find just us two, only this time I would come back with weapons to beat the living shit out of him but instead, I held my son, and kissed his forehead squeezing him tight. I must have whispered "I love you" in his ear a dozen more times, only this time, no response. I just wanted the energy and sincerity of my words to flow into the universe. I tried to think back to the rare times when he had been away from me, briefly considered never going back to work, having a sketch drawn of the perpetrators face, then purchasing a gun all in a matter of seconds.

For the first time, in a long time, I spoke directly to God. Holding my son as he slept, crying, I asked for protection for my son and for Him to allow me--and help me, to protect him myself.

The Joyride [the conclusion]

2009-08-21T22:28:00.009-05:00

The Joyride [part one]

I woke up and sat in the dining room chair. By now my mother had awaken and discovered that I wasn't home asleep in my bed. She probably didn't panic until she got up to go to work and realized that her keys were missing. But, I'm sure when she saw that her car was gone, she almost had a heart attack. I began trying to devise a story and every time I thought of one, it fell flat. Blood was on my hands and there was no getting out of it. That morning, "the coochie monster's" mother woke up, again she poured her alcoholic beverage and lastly, she made me breakfast. It was evident that no matter what situation had occurred, she wasn't breaking her routine. My nerves were bad and my throat was dry.

"So what you gon' do? You gon' drive that car home or what baby?" She stirred her drink with a silver spoon. Her eyes were glossy and her voice was scratchy.

"I guess I have to." I didn't want to go home ever. Maybe I could just move in there, get a job, help around the--

"Cause it can't stay out there. I don't want no trouble. You and my son are getting too serious and too damn crazy for me."

While I was out of town months earlier. They moved out of the "hole" into the one bedroom motel style apartments a block up the street. So, it was two near grown men and a grown woman living in a one bedroom apartment together. I never understood how she put up with it. "The coochie monster" and his brother always had women spending the night. I guess she was too high or drunk to even care much. But one thing was for sure, she knew that her son and I being together was a bad idea.

Ironically, they were now the one's without a home phone. I had to walk to a payphone to call my mother, who was too distraught and pissed off to converse with me, that she had to call her friend on three way. Her best friend drove over to get me, looked at the car and the people I was with, then me and I could tell what she was thinking.

My friends daughter is a mess...

My mother had been through so much that past year and was growing more and more tired and weak. Instead of beating me down she would scream, holler and break her own things. To me, the screaming was worse than getting beat. I would often wish she would just beat the hell out of me instead of cursing me out. For days, I listened to her slam doors, scream into the phone when friends tried calling, and making dinner for herself and leaving me in charge of my own meals. I couldn't cook worth jack.

The time came around when I had to appear in court. I remember the trip downtown, my mother prepping me, telling me what to say.

"You better act like you have some damn sense! Tell those people you are sorry or they will lock your ass away and send you to the Audi Home!"

No one wanted to go to the "Audi Home". This was a place where all of the bad ass kids went when they got in trouble with the law. My mother was a beautiful woman. She waited until she was 30 to have me. I know she wondered how I turned out to be the way I was, afterall, I was the planned baby out of all my siblings. She was slowly gaining weight due to depression and yet to be discovered health illnesses, but her beauty was there. I felt bad, but I also felt as if I was spiraling out of control do to a force that I couldn't stop or pinpoint.

I stood before the judge wearing a white suit, cream colored pumps with my hair down and straightened. The judge was an old White man, with gray hair and a mean disposition. He frowned at me while asking questions. I explained how sorry I was and how it would never happen again.

"Well, how do I know that? You may decide to do this again the next time one of your boyfriends does something you do not like. What should I do with you?"

I looked off at the wall behind him.

"Well?!" His voice got louder and I realized he wanted me to answer.

"You should let me go your honor." I thought I was going to piss my pants right there.

"What do you want to be when you grow up? What do you like to do?" He shuffled papers in front of him acting uninterested in my answer.

"I don't know."

"Your honor. She likes to write poetry. She's always writing something." My mother butted in. I could sense the nervousness in her tone, the salvation in her voice. I never in life ever wanted to be a writer.

"Young lady. Do you like to write?" The judge looked me in the eyes.

"Yes."

"Okay, I want you to write an essay. One thousand words, as to why I should let you go. I expect to see that next week."

The judge motioned us to get out of his courtroom after having a few words with my mother. The following week I returned with my essay. The judge was impressed, gave me a few compliments and needless to say, I never stepped foot in the "Audi Home".

However, I did take my mother's car again after it was repaired and crashed it into a pole...

*I saw "the coochie monster" one last time after that incident. We went our separate ways without looking back. Last year I was contacted by "Brother" on Myspace. "The coochie monster" is a full fledged alcoholic and refuses to get help, while "Brother" is living a successful life with his girlfriend and children in Minnesota.*

The Joyride [part three]

2009-08-21T21:19:00.006-05:00

The Joyride [Part one]

I was beginning to realize how bad of a decision I made when I saw the man running behind me as I was speeding away from the scene. The light ahead of me had just turned red and was less than 15 feet away. Instead of stopping, I made a right, a quick left at the first busy street, another left and hit my original destination in a matter of minutes. The "hole" was the name of the apartment complex that all of the gangsters hung out in. We called it the "hole" because there was only one way to get in and out. I drove up, staring out of the window, looking for "the coochie monster" but I didn't see him. I didn't see Sherita either, just a bunch of neighborhood teenagers either smoking blunts or drinking some form of malt liquor while listening to music that was flowing from a radio propped up in someone's bedroom window.

Man, I did all this for a bunk ass mission!

Some of the people were looking and pointing into the car, so I decided to turn and leave. I was embarrassed and didn't want to talk to anyone or have to explain what happened. Just then, a college freshman named Ron ran over to the car. Ron was super cool and everyone looked up to him because he could play basketball, didn't get caught up in the gang-banging and was in love with a high school senior who he had just asked to marry him.

"Chay-Chay! What are you doing driving this car! Did you hit something?" He was tall, so I leaned my head out of the window while he did his mock examination of the damage.

"Yeah...I fucked up. My mother is going to kick...my...ass..."

"Why did you take her car if you knew you couldn't drive?" He held his hands out in front of him as if pleading with me to turn back around and make this whole thing go away.

"Because..."

"Because? Because what?"

"Because I'm sick of "the coochie monster's" shit and I wanted to catch him."

He walked over to the passenger side and pulled the door open, brushed some glass out of the seat and sat down.

"Run me up the street to pick up Robin real quick. She's about to get off work. I was supposed to meet her up there so we could walk home together. I need to talk to you any way."

"Okay..."

As I began to pull off he noticed I was still a little shaky. When we got to our first stop sign and I slammed on the breaks, he made me get out so he could drive.

"Girl, you have no business driving this car. So, you let this little punk ass n**ga convince you to take yo' mama's car so you can come out here, tear it up and make a fool of yourself? Don't you know that you deserve better than that? He..."

I began tuning him out. My mind was racing. Besides, he was making too much sense and I was feeling dumber and dumber in the process.

We pulled up to the McDonald's which was on the same busy street I drove down to make my fast getaway. His girlfriend Robin was standing outside of the restaurant which was now closed and dark inside. The look on her face when we piled out of the car was one of confusion. When I turned around and actually saw the damage for myself, I began to cry hysterically. The car was a wreck on the right side. The mirror was missing, half of the door was crushed and scratched and out of no where, a skinny, older dark skinned man appeared.

"Who the fuck was driving this car?" He was clearly out of breath.

Ron looked at me and Robin, we were both standing silent and shook and he said, "I don't know."

"One of ya'll was driving this car and hit my car! Now who was it?" He screamed getting closer to the three of us.

"First of all, I'm gon' need you to back the hell up and get the hell out of here. I just told you we don't know who was driving the car. We just got here."

"Oh, so you didn't see a little girl with a bandana on driving this car?" He said sarcastically.

The man started cursing a mile a minute and went off on a tangent kicking the car and putting dents on the drivers side. I remember watching him kick and the car moving like a small boat sitting in shifty water.

"Oh my God..." was all I could utter. I couldn't believe this was happening.

"Just chill, be cool. He'll leave in a minute," Ron mumbled under his breath. "He's not gon' touch you."

After a few more minutes of cursing and the pissed off man memorizing the license plate, he walked off just as Ron said. After he disappeared around the corner, we hurried into the car and got back to the "hole" where "the coochie monster" was now outside waiting. The word had spread, I had taken my mother's car and crashed it like a jackass. When I saw him, all I could think about was the anger I felt. I was now even more pissed. I jumped out of the car and started screaming at him, and he stood there silent, not answering my questions, making my rant and bunk ass mission look even more pathetic. So, just to make myself clear, I balled my hands up into the tightest fists and hit him right in the mouth.

"Oooooooooooooh!"

"Damn she just hit him G!"

"Shawty crazy folks..."

Onlookers began instigating and others laughed. I saw Ron in the distance who was now just shaking his head and walking away with his girlfriend. "The coochie monster" barely flinched, held out his hand, asked me where my mother's car keys were and when I handed them to him, he began walking to the car. I followed behind him and we both got in. As he drove down the street to his mother's apartment, we both sat quietly. My chest was moving up and down and tears filled my eyes. He parked the car and turned it off and jumped over into the passenger seat with his hands around my throat choking me so tight that I coughed and couldn't scream. We must've fought in that car for at least 10 minutes before getting out of the car and then fighting outside some more, until his brother heard all of the noise and came out side to break it up.

We sat inside on the couch explaining what happened to "Brother" and their mother. I explained why I took my mother's car and came over there, recieved a lecture from his half sober mother and when I told her I was too scared to go home, she layed a blanket on the living room floor.

So I spent the night out, again with a busted lip and black eye and my mother's car a wreck outside.

The Joyride [the conclusion]

The Joyride [part two]

2009-08-18T20:50:00.011-05:00

The Joyride [part one]

I must've paced my bedroom over a hundred times pondering whether or not I would actually take my mother's car keys and go on my amateur investigation. The buses stopped running after 8pm and I knew that if I were to catch "the coochie monster" in the act, I had better go when it was dark. My plan had to work and I had to go through with it. My curfew was 9pm and I decided to throw all caution to the wind and simply sneak out after my mother went to sleep. I sat on my twin sized bed replaying the events of the night before over and over again...

I must be a fool...

He kept me in this house while he...Ooooh! That dusty bitch!

Nah, maybe "Wisdom" had it twisted...maybe what she thought she saw...wasn't really what she saw...

I didn't love "the coochie monster" but I hated Sherita. That was definitely an emotion I could put my finger on and locate if I ever really wanted to figure out a reason why I was so angry. He betrayed me but Sherita was always the other chic, always somebody's "sideline ho". We bumped heads a few times. She always made sure she had a group of girls following her where ever she went and loved to bump her gums because no one would ever catch her by herself. But the most hurtful blow was that Sherita was pretty. She was slender and tall with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes. The type of girl that most people thought would "fit" the pretty boys I dated. This was personal.

My stomach turned and tightened. After peeking in my mother's bedroom several times, I had the keys and was making my way out of the apartment and down three flights of stairs to her car. I climbed into the used, dark blue, Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera, (a farely nice car in excellent condition) and placed the key in the ignition. My sophmore yeah of High School hadn't begun yet, this was usually the year when students in the Chicago area began to take drivers ed so I had no knowledge of what I was doing. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what I'd seen other people doing when operating a vehicle...

Okay...the left one is the gas...no, the left one is to stop...the break...yeah...and the other one is to go...

R is for reverse...D is for drive...Okay...lemme turn the radio on...okay...got it...

I jammed the car into reverse without stepping on the break, punched the gas and smashed into the car parked behind me. I thought someone was going to run out of their apartment and beat me down. I hurried and put the car back into drive, looked around quickly and immediately went back into reverse and this time I turned the wheel a little. Again, I smashed into the car that was parked next to the other one I had just hit.

Shit, shit, shit...

I began to panic. This time it was a mustang convertible and I set off the alarm. Not knowing which direction to turn the steering wheel to go the way I wanted to, I was just happy the car turned. I had to move fast. The final time I went into reverse, I broke the headlight on the mustang but was able to get out of the parking spot, and from there...I took off rolling...

I didn't know what the speed limit was and that I should probably pay attention to it. I didn't know how to use my mirrors so I cut off many people and heard horns blarring in my direction. Not until I would look in my rearview mirror afterwards, did I realize how close I was to other vehicles and what all the fuss was about. My music was blasting and I'm sure people were wondering if I was too drunk or too young to drive. I was wearing a blue bandana and sitting so close on the steering wheel, that I had to have given myself away.

I quickly noticed how different it was navigating the streets on my own, so I ditched my last minute plan to pick up my best friend "Kitten" to come along for backup. The city streets of Chicago are narrow with parked cars on both sides and I became extremely nervous while driving around in circles. Twenty minutes later I finally found myself on a familiar street that would take me to the corner where "the coochie monster" hung out. With about 1/3 of a mile left, I was feeling comfortable. When adrenaline started to rush through my veins imagining what I would see when I arrived, I got cocky...

I'm gonna hit him with this car, make his ass have a seizure...

Then I'm gonna kick Sherita's ass...

Suddenly, I felt the car shift slightly to the right, and then a loud BANG! The sound of metal crushing seemed to pop my earlobs. The passenger window shattered and my heart sank into my stomach as I jumped in my seat and let out a scream. I stepped on the break and brought the car to a slow roll while examining the glass in the seat, mouth opened wide, eyes bugging out of their sockets...

"Oh shit! I smashed into a car! Oh my God...Oh my God...Oh my God..." I had no idea what to do.

"Hey!" I heard the voice of a man yelling in my direction. "Hey! Stop...somebody stop that car!"

My first instinct was to stop, but instead, I took off driving and the man who was yelling took off running behind me like a bat out of hell...ahead of me, a red light.

The Joyride [part three]

The Joyride [part one]

2009-08-15T12:12:00.003-05:00

I had only been gone for 2 months and "the coochie monster" was still on my radar when I returned home from burying my father, turning the tender age of 15, visiting Brooklyn for the first time, and realizing my mother had upped and moved without letting me know until I arrived. I was traumatized but no one knew, neither did I.

Now instead of 3 blocks separating me from my so called boyfriend, there were 3 miles. So, I quickly learned how the buses operated in my area.

I found myself sitting alone in his apartment while "the coochie monster" went outside to do "security".

"I'm not gonna be doing nothing but standing around, and it's "hot" out there. Niggas is crazy, they been shooting since you been gone."

He convinced me to stay in the house watching TV for hours. He was gang affiliated and security was basically another name for watching out for the police, protecting territory, and reporting back to a bigger gangster who did all of the more important work. Throughout the day he would check in, giving me kisses, quickies and bags of candy, potato chips and fast food. Somewhere in my young, gullible mind, I thought I was in an imaginary castle where I was queen and I got to do whatever I pleased.

So there I was, back on my old stomping grounds, layed out on the floor having sex on a blanket that "the coochie monster's" mother placed on the living room floor for us earlier that night. She was known around the neighborhood as the light skinned, crazy woman who dressed like a "hoe". She wore these colorful spandex pants and we would see her in passing always walking somewhere really quick. A woman of few words, she had pretty wavy hair that fell into an asymmetrical cut style and even though she seemed to be aging, she had a nice figure with a big, plump Derry-aire.

That morning, I woke up to his mother pouring herself a glass of gin and juice while explaining to me what medication her son needed to take when he woke up.

"Here baby, you know he has them seizures, make sure he takes these pills before he leaves the house today. You hungry?"

"Yes, a little bit..."

"I'll make you something to eat..."

Up close she had a slight mustache, but she was still beautiful. She made me a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and sped out of the door without question. Never did I once think about my mother or whether or not I was going to die when I returned home and neither did she.

It was a little after 9am when I made my way to the nearest bus stop when an eighteen year old, slick talking, always fresh to death, new gym shoe forever having, already single mother of 2 toting, thick booty chic (who I will call "Wisdom") saw me walking by.

"Chay-Chay...where you coming from? I know you're not coming from "the coochie monster's" house." She looked confused.

"Hey girl, yeah, I spent the night over there last night. I gotta get home."

"Wait...you were up there last night?" She smirked.

"Yeah, why you say it like that?"

"Well, I didn't know you and him was still together. He was out here all over Sherita last night. They were hugged up and kissing and errthang..."

"What!" I couldn't move. I was so pissed. I knew she wasn't lying. She was always a good source of information and was ready to scrap with anyone who would ever think she would lie about anything.

"I'm just looking out for you boo."

"Oh...I got a trick for his ass. I'll be back out here tonight."

I could have turned around and gone back to confront him but I knew that would turn into hours of debating and I didn't have the time. I needed to get home to make things right with my mother and then I would come back when the coast was clear. I had a plan. I was going to pop up on him late in the evening to see if I could see the same thing "Wisdom" had told me was going on for myself...only...part of the plan consisted of stealing my mothers car to do it...

There was only one problem...

I didn't know how to drive.

The Joyride [part two]

Lifes Boobie Traps.

2009-07-30T13:02:00.003-05:00

To know that you do not know is the best.
To pretend to know when you do not know is a disease.
-Lao Tzu The Way of Lao Tzu

Change.

2009-08-05T15:52:00.005-05:00

is good.

but it can also be...

beautiful.

in the company of spirits.

2009-07-10T19:35:00.001-05:00

It was 1995. I didn't want his phone number, but I took it anyway. He was too rough around the edges even for my liking. "Mook" was cute but he ran with the "Stones". If you're from Chicago, you know what I mean by "Stones" or better known as the "Black P Stone Nation" (lol...no one calls them that anymore unless they're over 40). Of course, I was linked to their rivals, the "Gangster Disciples" so exchanging numbers with "Mook" was going to be difficult to say the least.

On any given day, my house was swarming with 3 or 4 (or 5) gangsters also known as the "Folks", or I could be seen with them running the streets, sitting on the porch "cadding" (cracking jokes) or walking around at the Plaza.

We lived on the outskirts of Chicago's southside where many parents tried (unsuccessfully) to escape the madness of the inner city. The mid to late 90's was almost like the Civil War era with so much gang banging and drive by shooting, it wasn't uncommon to find ourselves sitting in class with someone and find them dead the next day, and this was supposed to be the suburbs.

"Mook" was funny but overly aggressive and our friendship was becoming complicated. After a while I heard through the grapevine he had a female friend who was crazy about him. They even had one another's name tattooed on their bodies. I "deaded" the friendship before it could even take off and spoke to him briefly in passing. Throughout my life, I've always felt a presence covering me, protecting me from people, places and things that were unhealthy. I would always get close enough but never close enough to experience the worse possible outcome. I'm thankful I never gave "Mook" a chance.

Then I met Brandon. We were introduced through "Kilo". Brandon and "Kilo" were really close and since "Kilo" was already out of high school and had a car, we were able to get around and have fun together. Brandon quickly became one of the "Folks" who frequented my home after school and on the days we would ditch, he would bring his clothes upstairs to press his creases in his pants just right before stepping out for the day. I attempted to press his jeans once and was quickly pushed aside.

"Girl move, you don't know what you're doing, messing up my shit. Do you even know how to iron?" We laughed.

Even though we went to separate high schools, our communities were linked. We knew the same people, we went to the same parties and we heard the same rumors.

Me and Brandon clicked.

I was 15 (soon to turn 16 within weeks) and he was 17 but we seemed like we were so much older.

I remember our first kiss. We stood in the entrance of my apartment building. His lips were the softest I'd ever touched and then he ran off into "Kilo's" car leaving me standing in the doorway, eyes closed with a big smile on my face. He was cute, tall and kinda skinny with a caramel complexion and light brown eyes.

The movie Friday had just come out that week, it was the first Saturday since it's opening and we decided to go. Me, "Kilo", Brandon and my best friend "Kitten" found ourselves in a packed theatre. The crowd was so thick, we couldn't all sit together so we had to split up in pairs of two. Me and Brandon laughed so hard that we fell into each others arms, accidentally head butting each other and flying forward in tears. Later that night, I snuck everyone up into my room while my mother was in the next one. We were whispering and watching television, pillow fighting on the bed and wrestling.

"You need to turn that TV off and go to bed!" My mother intentionally embarrassed me. I'm sure she could hear all of the commotion going on in the next room and was giving me my cue to have my uninvited company leave. I ignore her until finally, I could sense the tension in my mothers voice. I decided to escort them out. Just as the four of us were making our way to the front door, I could hear my mothers footsteps behind me...

Brandon, "Kitten" and "Kilo" jumped into a corner near the door and hid out of my mothers view.

"What the hell is going on out here?" She walked close enough to see them clumped up together in a line, one behind the other, like they were the three stooges. They pretended to be invisible and I guess it didn't work, lol. My mother screamed at them. She was notorious for her screaming fits and her art of slamming the phone down in children's faces if they called 1 minute after 9pm.

"Ya'll get the hell out of here!" My mother's veins popped out of her neck. Although I had made my 9 o'clock curfew, it was well past eleven. She was less than thrilled.

That was the last time I saw Brandon alive. That was a Saturday night and by Tuesday he was gone.

In the coming weeks, I would slowly find out about Brandon and "Mook" having a rivalry that had reached that "level" of unexplainable stupidity and ignorance that "Mook" decided to take his life. I received a phone call from "Kitten" days before with her telling me how "Kilo" had been followed by "Mook" to her house and while "Kilo" sat on her porch, infrared beams were bouncing on his chest. "Kilo" wasn't the one "Mook" was looking for.

Brandon was shot dead in front of his home and this rocked so many of us.

After his funeral, I remember coming home and feeling so exhausted, I went to bed early. I stretched myself out on the bed with the window open and I could feel the breeze. My curtains flowed and did a magical dance around the room. I felt myself awaken to the sudden shake of my limbs and the feeling of hands on my thighs. I opened my eyes and standing over my bed was Brandon, smiling...and just as quickly as he appeared, he faded away just as fast into the darkness that had surrounded my room.

He had jokes.

From my bedroom, I could see the Burr Oak Cemetery. I know that spirits live. I know that they have powers in other realms and can connect with those they love or care for. What makes people think they won't visit those they despise?

he loves me at night.

2009-07-24T00:13:00.005-05:00

Breathe...easy...

loves awaiting in the moonlight

it seems...

for those...

chased away by the Sun

hiding in the dreams of

one..................

significant.other.too.many.

plenty

escape

into the dingy

hoping to be replenished

in the leftovers

of mornings fun

but none

can elude the darkness

where love lingers

secretly...

waiting

for the moonlight

to be shone.

Chocolate milk. {Part two}

2009-07-20T15:34:00.010-05:00

Chocolate milk {Part one}

"...today...is the day...

that I...

die...
Oh...my...God........."

I remember seeing my mothers eyes grow larger and larger by the second as she first, watches "Dino" walk past her barely mumbling a word, and then walks closer towards me noticing my shorts and panties on the floor. I, anticipating a heavy blow to the head, grabbed the items off of the floor with one hand while holding one hand in the air to cover my face...

"I didn't do nothing...I didn't do nothing!"

"You are going to get pregnant!"

"Mama, nothing happened, I promise!" I'm sure "Dino" could hear me screaming as he made his getaway. My mother moved in closer and closer until finally she was standing close enough that I could smell her Estee' Lauder perfume still lingering from her uniform.

"Go to your room! I'm so sick of you I don't know what to do!" I could tell she was restraining herself.

I stumbled past her crying hysterically, thankful that she didn't kill me right where I stood, embarrassed that I had been caught and pissed that nothing happened and I was now going to be on punishment for weeks if not months! I believe in her heart she knew nothing happened, but something did happen. I was losing my innocence and she offered no words of encouragement, no lecture, no questions, just the sound of dishes being tossed around and curse words being uttered, something that as I grew older would become just as painful as any beating I could have ever received.

"The coochie monster" and his brothers moved into the neighborhood a couple of months prior. He was adorable. At that time, I had the stereotypical crush on all things light-skinned with light eyes. I was compensating for my insecurity about my dark skin by trying to find balance. I'm sure I monopolized all of the lighter skinned boys because they were doing the same: dating the dark skinned girl to compensate for their feelings of insecurity about their lightness. "The coochie monster" had freckles. I had never seen freckles on a Black boy, no matter how light he was and I would stare at his face and admire his unique look. He lived in "Dino's" building and from what I heard, his older brother had a reputation with the ladies in their former neighborhood. I would soon find out that not only did his brother have that reputation, but "The coochie monster" did as well.

We would make eye contact in passing, flirting, but never speaking more words than "Hi" and an occasional "What's up?" every now and then. Until one day, after being freed from my everlasting punishment (which wasn't so bad as long as I was home before my mother), I was waiting for "Dino" to get off work. I had gone to his apartment and when I realized he wasn't home, I decided to sit on his stoop and wait for him to come. When out of no where, it began to drizzle. I was wearing a pullover coat. My favorite colors were gold and blue back then so I always picked Michigan Wolverines coats and jackets. I pulled the hoodie over my head and decided I would wait and that if it had started to pour, I would make my way home. "Dino" didn't have a phone, so I knew going home meant I wouldn't be able to see him or talk to him until the next day. I also didn't want him to be upset. So, I waited. "The coochie monster" appeared from around a corner doing a slow jog.

"Who you out here waiting on, Dino?", he said smirking.

"Yeah."

"It's about to rain, you want to come upstairs and wait for him at my crib?"

"Nah, I'm cool." Something just didn't feel right.

"You want to sit inside the hallway then?" he said.

"Yeah, okay..." He unlocked the door to the building and ran up the stairs. I sat on the stairs next to "Dino's" door. He lived on the 2nd floor and "The coochie monster" lived on the 3rd. Time was peeling away and I was growing tired of waiting.

"Are you still sitting out here waiting on him?" I heard a voice hovering over my head and it was "The coochie monster" staring at me from over the banister. "Girl, come up here and wait, ain't nobody gonna do nothing to you!" He laughed. So I smiled. I was hesitant. I looked out the door of the building to make sure I didn't see "Dino" coming before I went upstairs to wait and he wasn't there. The hallway was cold, so I obliged.

"The coochie monster's" brother was already out of High School and I would later find out that their mother was an alcoholic who was never home. The stereo system was loud and "Brother" was warm and inviting, offering me something to drink. I just sat down on the couch staring at the wall in front of me hoping that "Dino" would get home soon. I never added to the equation, that while I was upstairs waiting, I would never know when "Dino" would actually be making it home. "The coochie monster" sat next to me on the couch and asked me several times to remove my coat and finally when I realized how hot I was getting, I did.

Up close "The coochie monster" was cuter than I thought. He poured on compliments so thick and I sucked them all up, one after another.

"Why you talking to "Dino" don't you know he messing with so many girls?"

"You are so pretty...is that all your hair...?"

"You have some pretty skin..."

He began kissing my face and after a while I didn't want to pull away. He asked me if I wanted to go into his room and listen to music. Listen to music...I know what this is...fuck it...maybe he's right about "Dino"...he's probably with a girl right now...

We went into his bedroom. There were two twin sized beds, one on his side and the other on "Brother's" side. We started kissing, and he began to feel me up in places and ways I never thought would be so sensitive to delicate touch. He touched me in a way that no other young boy had ever touched me.

Back then I used to copy Aaliyah's style of dress: the cutoff tops and baggy pants, I even wore boxers over my panties so that when my pants would sag, the Tiny-Toon characters would show. By now, I was down to my shirt and shorts and suddenly I could hear a familiar voice in the distance. "Brother" was speaking to a girl whose voice sounded like one I'd heard often...

"I'm sorry I keep coming up here using your phone..."

"Go ahead...", said "Brother".

I heard her ask "Brother" where "The coochie monster" was and I then realized whose voice it was.

"Chay-Chay is back there with him? My brother's Chay-Chay?!" She yelled.

"Oh shit! That's "Dino's" sister out there! Oh my God...no...!" I looked at "The coochie monster" for some type of help and his mouth just sat open, no words flowing forth. Before I knew it, she was walking through the door with their rowdy cousin and I knew I was going to have to fight. She was 2 years older than me and 1 year older than "Dino" (who had just turned 16) which instilled a certain level of fear upon me besides the fact that she was kinda thick and stocky. Their cousin was from the Westside and I knew she could scrap, (everybody from the Westside could scrap). I was just waiting for someone to make the first move. But instead, "Dino's" sister did something worse.

"Chay-Chay, I know you ain't up here, not you! Out of all the people! I just knew you wouldn't be up here doing nothing like this! Wait till my brother finds out, he's downstairs. I'm going to get him." She walked out with their cousin shaking her head along with her.

"Damn, he is about to fuck me up." "The coochie monster's" only words of encouragement.

"What! What do you think he is going to do to me! Oh my God, I knew I shouldn't have came up here fucking with you!" I was scared.

I heard the sound of footsteps running through the halls of the apartment building. "Dino" not only came running, but brought some of the neighborhood gangsters with him. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling helpless. I didn't even put my pants on. "Dino" walked through the door and he was livid.

Chocolate milk. {Part one}

2009-07-18T20:37:00.017-05:00

They say once a good girl goes bad, she's gone forever.

I think I was always bad, just waiting for a reason to act a damn fool and one year, I got it.

Every girl wanted him. I was no exception. I had a crush on him since the days of "Ralph" and the strangest thing happened: when my mother transferred me from one school to the next, (away from "Ralph") I ended up at the same school with "Dino" yet again. I'll call him "Dino" because he reminded me of Dino from the R&B group "H-town" and "Knocking the Boots" was the hottest song out back then, next to R.Kelly's "Bump n' Grind Remix". He was the light skinned cutie with the curly hair, fresh to death always with the crisp white "jumpers" and a killer smile. "Dino's" family apparently made the same voyage that my mother had made and moved a few miles over into the neighborhood of Blue Island and suddenly, I forgot all about "Ralph". We recognized each other immediately while standing on the bus stop waiting to go to school and ever since then I was known as "Dino's" girl. Whether in theory or reality, everyone knew we had a special place in each other's heart.

"Dino" and I had what most folks call "puppy love", well at least, that was the way I felt about him. Our relationship was a hectic roller coaster that lasted for 2 years on and off again. Two years which seemed more like 4 in my young mind. By the time I turned 14, he was my world and my world was an accumulation of watching "Dino" dance, finding out who "Dino" was "cheating" on me with, hearing about what "Dino" was doing through the grapevine, walking past "Dino's" job at the liquor store (stocking shelves & cleaning) to get a peek of him at work, and my favorite of them all: bumping and grinding in the hallways of his apartment complex.

He was supposed to be my first and I wanted him to be. My freshman year, I got the awful idea that somehow I was going to be a basketball player. After practice, I bumped into "Dino" on my walk home. I was sweaty, funky, and salty, I'm sure. But, "Dino" didn't care. My mother hadn't made it home from work yet, she was on her way, so we decided we would chill and he would break out before she arrived. My mother walked through the door faithfully, at the same time every day: 5:00 PM without fail. But on this day, we lost track of time. We took to the couch, hugging, kissing, bumping, grinding and I was ready. I closed my eyes, held my breath and waited to be opened up. But to my surprise, it was much like opening my favorite drink...

that carton of chocolate milk...you remember...

"...that little carton that sometimes wouldn't fold open correctly so on occasion to open the flap you would try to use a straw, and when the straw kept bending you'd finally come up with the bright idea to break through it with a pencil. I was always happy when I could get it to fold open without resistance on the first try..."

yeah...

"Dino" was like that pencil, trying to forcefully jam himself into me and my unlubricated walls until finally giving up.

"You're too tight. It's not gon'e fit."

"I know." I laughed nervously.

The curtains that hung in the living room covering the large patio like windows of our motel style building were sheer yet thick enough that people weren't able to see into our place, but we could see out. My heart fell out of my chest as I noticed my mother's figure walking past. Immediately I jumped up quickly motioning "Dino" to get dressed. He zipped his pants and made his way for the door and as he was walking out, he brushed shoulders with my mother and there I stood, with an oversized jersey on with my shorts and panties at my feet.

Chocolate milk {Part two}

For the record...

2009-07-20T11:51:00.005-05:00

My past is my past...

While I do regret some of the decisions I've made, I realize that many of them were based on unsatisfactory circumstances, lack of understanding and improper influences....and sometimes I plain and simply didn't give a damn. However, I'm thankful because it has fashioned my life to be what it is, made me stronger as well as able to help others in similar situations. I make the decision to tell people what has happened to me and what I've endured because shit happens and people will give others the false illusion that everything they have acquired and achieved has come without conflicts, tests and trials. I don't keep secrets, maybe I should, but what value would that be? I'm convinced that people love to make a persons past their crucifixion, however, we live, we learn and we move on. I hope you, my readers, realize that you are not alone and the best way to make an impact on others is to share your experiences and resolutions with people willing to listen...and realize that while you're showing your wounds, others are taking notes and preparing to re-open them...

Basically, I tell my secrets so you look stupid trying to do it for me...

~Cheron

Emmett Till

2009-07-12T18:34:00.001-05:00

Emmett Till
~James A. Emanuel

I hear a whistling
Through the water.
Little Emmett
Won't be still.
He keeps floating
Round the dankness,
Edging through
The silent chill.
Tell me, please,
That bedtime story
Of the fairy
River Boy
Who swims forever,
Deep in treasures,
Necklaced in
A coral toy.

1968

Will they.reminisce.over.you...

2009-06-26T11:46:00.000-05:00

Death is an inevitable part of life.

My first thoughts waking up this morning was over my own impending demise. It looms over us all and although life is filled with so much beauty and countless distractions, this morning, I laid in bed and felt my stomach drop.

I began questioning my own existence, my purpose and my overall plan...here.

"...I need to stop slacking..."
"...damn...is he really dead..."

"...do we really have to leave?..."

"...I've got to finish this book..."

"...who would take care of my children when I'm gone?..."

While watching various networks replay video footage of Michael Jackson's performances, I noticed the faces in the crowd, the tears, the excitement, the screaming, the dancing... Everyone was celebrating Michael's zest for life, love and music. They knew they were witnessing a great beam of light and not only were they witnessing this light, they were basking in it. Everybody loves the sunshine. For this reason, people will pay an enormous amount of money and travel the distance...just to be entertained. The light is all we have to defeat the darkness. We live for the light.

My mother and I sat around the televisions, awaiting confirmation. Phone calls kept coming in and although my friends and family were accepting his passing...

..."I just need confirmation. I need to hear it from his family. I need to hear it from the Coroner"...

How do we keep someone in our hearts without knowing them? How do we feel as though we've lost a personal friend or family member without ever touching them?

Whenever a person makes his or her transition, it's a time of reflection, of not only that life of the person who has passed on, but of others who have gone before them. It is also a time to reflect on our own lives, those we love and the things we wish to do before leaving. He gave the world an extraordinary presence and energy that traveled down many family trees and sprung forth much fruit. Rooted in the hearts and minds of so many of us, Michael Jackson will live on forever challenging us to be the biggest stars we can be in our own lives.

I've watched so many reminisce over their fondest memories of Michael and listened to my mother talk about seeing him many years ago and only paying 7 dollars for a ticket. Celebrities have taken to twitter and other outlets and friends have posted their favorite videos. We will reminisce about him for many years to come. I just hope my life's existence is great enough that those who love me will reminisce over me...

at least for a little while.

Images I took at 2300 Jackson Street 6/26/2009

the head banger.

2009-06-24T17:20:00.000-05:00

So, I had been speaking with this brother frequently for a few weeks. We knew each other from High School, bumped into one another at a party (that I went to on a whelm) and reconnected after 13 years or so. I was a lonely stay at home mom, bored to death, and the only lovin' I was getting was in the fictional blogs I was writing at that time. The children had been getting on my last damn nerves and other than a few guest appearances from my handsome but egotistical "baby daddy/co-parent" who lived out of town, there was no telling when the next gravy train was coming through and my turkey was drying up fast. So, I decided I better go ahead and jump up on "it". He was always a rather big guy, but with my extra pounds, I figured his wasn't that bad. He was still very much handsome, nice, and the conversation was stimulating. Besides, I needed to get out of the house, kick this funk, and start meeting some new people.

He didn't short change me when it came to taking me out. He liked to have a good time. We went to some nice spots, never looking towards me to go into my purse, he would end the dates with a long, sensual kiss, and after lots of laughs and alcohol, we would call it quits. Then one day, I asked the inevitable question:

"Do you have a woman in your life? I mean...are you seeing someone?"

"Yes."

"Well why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't know."

Unfortunately, I still found myself attracted to him. We had decided that we would be "friends" and that we would still hang out and he made a point to stop by and talk with me on occasion. I know, stupid, but at this point in time in my life I was desperate for some type of interaction with a man and it didn't hurt that he wasn't trying to get me in the bed right away. He even did little favors for me around the house and when I began a new job, he picked me up from work when I got stranded and dropped me off a few times.

Well of course, this only heightened my curiosity. So I decided to entice him with a few erotic poems and even invited him to become a reader of some of my erotic blogs. At that point, I wanted to get some, get laid, twurk somethin', get it poppin' (dot, dot, dot). I was slowly realizing that I was becoming a grown ass woman and hell, he was attached. This was going to be easy. I could turn him into a freak buddy overnight and still reap the benefits of getting out and away from the children when I wanted to. Simple.

After a few more weeks of dropping sexual innuendos and bringing up the kinky details of my girlfriends sex life:

"So what do you think about tossing salads? My girl tells me her man lets her do it to him all the time. I just think that is some nasty shit! Don't you?"

"Whatchu' mean nasty? I mean, that's her man right? They should be able to do what ever they want to each other."

Daaaaaaaaaaaaaayum. Not that I'm into tossing ANYbody's salad, but the fact that he was open to the thought kinda let me know that he was into experimentation and perhaps I could have some fun with him after all.

Chuch.

So one night, he picks me up and I can tell he's on his aggressive, I'm gonna give her what she wants, the good guys always finish last, so I'm nailing her to the cross act. I'm like whatever, I've seen this before: he stops at the liquor store, gets my favorite drink: Vodka & Cranberry, but he gets the Grey Goose, so I know he's not a really used to this. If he was a real asshole, he would've grabbed the Seagrams. He wasn't "that dude" but I let him pretend to be. I can dig a little role play.

We pull up to the nice hotel and he says, "Is this cool?"

I give him a quiet nod, act as if I'm a little shocked that he would bring me there and he proceeds to go and check us in.

We enter the room, look around, make ourselves comfortable and begin having a few drinks. The kissing began to commence, I'm in his lap...

and...

the brotha...

started to sweat...

So, I'm wiping his forehead, like okay...what the hell? Is he nervous? He gets up and says he was going to take a shower. I was freshly washed so I declined to join in, but as he was undressing, I began to see just how large this brother was. He was chunky as hell...thick, enormously round around the middle and his ass was wide and flat. I am nearsighted so I didn't want to be too-too obvious trying to squint to see if I could see exactly what he was working with...but I began to feel a little frustrated...

Ugggggggggggggggh! Okay, okay, too late to turn back now...I can do this...I can do this...besides, dude is a freaaaaaaaaak! I just know he's a freak....this...is...gon'....be....goooooood....

I started undressing quick. I got down to my cute lil' lingerie set and laid out across the bed on my tummy. {salad tossing position} When he emerged, things seemed to flow nicely, the kissing the rubbing, soon turned into licking, then sucking...and then I realized...

this fool got a lil' dick? Awwwwwh daaaaaaaaaayum....how is he gonna be that big....with a lil--damn.

I'm riding him, trying to latch my walls around something, anything, a knee cap, a thigh...and he's talking big shit. I slam my hand down over his mouth and roll my eyes. I'm pumping for dear life. Then he decides to do it...

He decides to flip me over and give me the worst head...that I have EVER had...in my ENTIRE LIFE!

People. I never write about my sex life. If I do, it's usually in third person, untraceable, and so good that I want to keep every moment to myself. I've been holding this in for too long and I don't care what people think. This should never happen to any woman.

So.

He proceeds to suck the life out of my clitoris. Now, at first I was thinking...{always thinking} Okay, this ain't that bad. His tongue was kinda fierce and I thought maybe, just maybe, if I couldn't get what I was looking for in the other department, just maybe, I could get it there. He sucked my clitoris so hard, that...I thought, I literally thought...it was going to pop. I screamed so loud, that I think he thought that meant it was feeling good. For a moment, it felt like he was biting my clit. As a matter of fact, I think he was...biting my clit! [Big, hungry ass, clit murderer was biting my clit!]

I was pushing his forehead with so much force and his big, thick neck, was so strong that his head didn't budge...

I was so done. He sexually assaulted the puss. I didn't know what to say or what to do. I couldn't look him in the eye. I was ready to leave. I pretended to enjoy it all. The best part of the evening was my favorite drink, which failed me because had I not had it, I probably would have used better judgment when I saw him undressing or even at the first hint of sweat coming out of his nervous forehead.

Get this: the next day, I wake up, clit is completely sore. I look down and it's RED... I could not sit down without feeling pain for about 3 or 4 days.

When I told him what he did, he didn't sound that sympathetic. Perhaps he didn't fully understand the extent of his inflictions. But needless to say, his ass didn't get any more of this! After THAT!

"Why haven't I seen you in so long ms. lady...."

"Oh...ummm...I was visiting relatives in South Africa..."

{I've never been as far as the Mississippi delta}

The moral of this story is...

when somebody is a suspected freak...

always...

ALWAYS....

ALWAYS...

get a second opinion.

Bird's do it...bee's do it too...

2009-07-04T10:36:00.000-05:00

First comes the baby in the baby carriage...
then comes marriage....
then comes love...

I had just turned 12 that year. That year I lost my best friend to diabetes, moved for the 4Th time in a 4-year time frame, transferred schools yet again, and almost lost my virginity. My boyfriend was a cute, bow-legged, chocolate, basketball playing 8Th grader who resembled a young Ralph Tresvant. He taught me how to kiss on the side of a house. After bumping and grinding with me (on same said side of the house) he pulled out a slimy glob of wetness from within his shorts and asked, "Do you know what this is?"

"No." I had no idea and I was just hoping he wouldn't touch me with it.

"Well, it's cum."

"Oh, okay..." I was still clueless.

The next day, as I entered the lunch room and grabbed my seat with a tray full of Chicago Public School, over-processed goodness, and of course my favorite part of lunch, a chocolate milk, you remember...
that little carton that sometimes wouldn't fold open correctly so on occasion to open the flap you would try to use a straw, and when the straw kept bending you'd finally come up with the bright idea to break through it with a pencil. I was always happy when I could get it to fold open without resistance on the first try.
To my surprise, classmates laughed as they retold the dirty details of how "Ralph" had to tell me how not to breathe into his mouth and how to move my lips the right way while giving me instructions on how to kiss. I guess for a 12-year old this was shyt I should have learned years earlier.

"You don't know how to kiss," they chuckled and pointed.

"Your mama don't know how to kiss," I armed myself with witty comebacks and even though my kissing skills weren't perfected just yet, I still had a sharp tongue.

My grandfather lived right on the corner of my elementary school and although I was well out of the district, my mother continued to use "Papa's" address. It was the only normalcy I had, maintaining some form of stability by keeping some of the friends I'd had since Kindergarten. But there was still a lot of transferring back and forth.

I didn't know that this would be my last year at that school, and perhaps this is why...

The distance between our ("Ralph" and I) houses was approximately 1.72 miles and "Ralph" walked the distance carrying a loose condom in a Ziploc bag because on that day, I was finally going to make good on my promise. I'm not sure how long me and "Ralph" had been "dating", (whatever dating is for a 12 year old and a 13-1/2 year old). I'm not sure why exactly "Ralph" had the condom in a Ziploc bag, out of the wrapper, but I don't know, seeing that condom instilled a fear in me like nothing else I'd ever experienced. If it had not been for the fear, "Ralph's" lack of "sensitivity" (pun intended) and the fact that I was wearing "big draws" I would have lost my virginity at the tender age of 12.

Not only did "Ralph" make fun of my "big draws" he made the idea of me "giving it up" feel like a bad business deal. After what seemed like hours of pleading, coaxing, and my uttering the word "No" so many times that it almost made poor, blue balls having "Ralph" cry, he left my house that day with a story that he more than likely wasn't going to tell anyone. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing to tell (fortunately for me) and the fact that he had come so close, he wasn't going to run the risk of telling anyone what happened in case he had another shot.

He never did.

"I want to talk to you about Cheron," said Harold.

"I was going to ask you about her..." My mother's voice blasted so crisp, so clear through the radio playing the cassette tape from one of her sessions with her psychic friend Harold. Harold was a trip. He was practically a part of the family. Unlike other psychics, Harold was the real deal. Somehow he was able to give names, places, colors of cars, dates, etc...

My mother wanted me to hear what he had to say about me. She had never allowed me to be in a session. I vaguely remember walking past a room and seeing him with his cards laid out. He reminded me of Howard Hewett, the light skinned brother from Shalamar. It amazed me to see a brother, a fine one at that, doing psychic readings...no crystal ball, no gypsy attire, just a regular dude with a special gift.

"There is a boy named "Ralph" who is trying really hard to "get in those pants", Harold's words shocked the shyt out of me. I looked at my mothers eyes and she quickly motioned me to turn around and continue listening.

"Oh my God, I keep telling him she cannot have boy phone calls. He keeps calling my house."

"Well, she's too scared to do it, but he's trying really hard. I just wanted you to know. That's all that he wants."

My mother walked over and stopped the tape, looked me in the eye and said, "Tell that boy not to call my house anymore."

I played the tape over the phone for "Ralph" to hear, and against my wishes, he never called my house again. We faded into a blurry sea of puppy love gone bad and soon my calling him became a one sided, self inflicted abuse over and over again as he seemed less and less interested in me with each call. I got the point.

2 weeks later.......

On this day, the Sun seemed to burn hotter than any other. I was sent on one of the many quests to the local grocery store for my mother's 2 Liter Crush addiction which usually consisted of a particular flavor I was not to return home without. This usually meant stopping by several grocery stores along the way, searching behind bottle after bottle making sure that Strawberry flavored pop wasn't hiding behind the Grape. Or asking a worker if there were any bottles in the back that had not been put out yet. There was about a mile radius I would cover while on one of my mother's wild goose chases. Knowing that coming home empty handed would ensue one of her infamous bitchy-bitch fits...

"Can you do anything right?"

"Well you should've just got anything!"

Or...

"Why did you get this flavor? This isn't what I wanted...damn...can you do anything right?"

...Wearing my favorite tan colored pants, I marched on, block after block, daydreaming and sweating on my mission for Strawberry Crush "pop". About an hour later, I returned home, 2-Liter Strawberry Crush in hand, sweating and wondering why I had worn pants that day. I entered the bathroom, my bladder was full and all of the walking and holding back the sensation was enough to cry....and it happened...

I became a young lady.

"How did anyone not notice the gigantic red spot on the back of my pants? Did my mother see it?"

I was too frightened to tell my mother. I cleaned myself up, grabbed a sanitary pad, put it on and did the only thing I felt comfortable doing when verbal words became lost in translation:

I wrote a note:

"Dear Ma,

I came on my period today on the way home from the store. I was afraid to tell you. I put on a Maxi pad."

~Cheron

That morning as my mother got ready for work, I laid awake with one eye opened. I placed the note on the mirror above the dresser. We had a one bedroom apartment and my mother gave me the room and slept on the couch. The bathroom was adjacent to my bedroom and she had to pass me several times while getting washed and dressed. Finally, I realized she would be leaving without grabbing the note. My nerves were high, I made noises, trying to grab her attention and hopefully get her eyes to glance towards the note. I realized I had to do it. I had to tell her, not tell her about what happened, but tell her about the note.

"Ma, I wrote you a note on the mirror, I need you to read it..."

"Oh, what the hell is this?!", My mother was irritated. The school year was approaching it's end. Was it a note from a teacher that she had to sign for my bad behavior?

I watched her standing in her white uniform, reading, taking a deep breath, then looking over at me nonchalantly...

"Do you have a pad on?" she said.

"Yes."

"Okay...I have to go to work." She threw the paper down and walked out of the room.

Later that day. I was on my way outside to gather with my friends and discuss what it was like to be amongst the older girls who dreaded having a period, those girls who told me I was lucky because I didn't have one because that meant I could have all the sex I wanted without worries.

My mother stopped me as I was making my way to the front door. She was sitting on the couch watching one of her shows.

"Do you know what this means...having your period?" My mother looked at me attentively.

"Yes," I said matter of factly.

"What does it mean?" she pressed.

"It means I can have babies."

"Right, don't bring no babies in my house."

"Okay." I skipped out of the house in my Karl Kani t-shirt and matching shorts, my feet clumsily large in my Nike gym shoes, running toward the group of kids standing around eating candy and jumping double dutch.

...And I kept my promise...

I only wish she had told me to keep my legs closed...because the babies came and although I wasn't living in her house...I think I missed something...

it's not where u from...

2009-06-08T19:44:00.000-05:00

but where you at.

This is the chic right
here that I had to kill to get free.

"Your eyes are blue, but you ain't White...your hair is straight cause...you pressed it last night..."

Yeah, that was ~~"Moet"~~ me 11 years ago...(you ain't a true Chicagoan if you don't have a picture at the "Fiddy" ---50 Yard Line) <---and that's the "Old" Fiddy...(Now closed) I wasn't even old enough to get in with my REAL id... I've been through more trials and tribulations than anyone can imagine. The rabbit hole is deep. It's been really difficult for me to address the issues of my life in first person. I guess that's why it's been easier to tell my life through stories, adding a little fantasy here and there, changing negatives into positives and changing the end each time. The last story I wrote "Sugar Free" was much more difficult to write (had to put the blog on pause for a minute) because I found myself back in a place that was very much real, with memories I thought I had long forgotten. So, I've decided to make Sugar Free into a novel. I know I have much more work to do in terms of becoming a writer. I just have a story inside of me that is so humongous that it can't be reduced to mini fragments.

Speaking of :escapism: Delilah's (titty bar/trashfest/whorehouse) was a place ::one of them:: where I could escape the problems I had growing up with a single mother who was plain and simply, just...tired. By the time I was "graduating" a.k.a. "leaving" High School, Mom's was 47, married twice, lost her mother, her aunt ("she was the only one I had left" is what she said after her passing), barely knew her father, was abused by my father, had 3 children at the ages of 15, 16 & 30, while separated from my father, became a widow and was now dealing with her own physical hell: the onset of diabetes and hypertension. Raising me into a "proper young lady" took more time and effort than she was willing to endure besides, she was busying herself with her own means of escape (which I will not disclose here). I remember when the movie "The Players Club" came out, every chic in the neighborhood ::without good sense or knowledge of self worth:: wanted to be Diamond or Ronnie...The entertainment industry tells the stories but these stories are glamorized and illuminated to the tenth power. Every story doesn't end like Diamonds...the chances of strippers turning into news anchors or lawyers...are slim...

Random guy: "So, what are you studying?"
Me: "Criminal Justice, I want to become a Lawyer"
Random guy: *Chuckle* "Yeah, it's possible, but highly unlikely..."

Coming into myself took a lot of inner battles, soul searching and self discovery and it's still a journey unraveling what's inside of me, the good...the great even. We live in a society, a world that will chew you up and spit you out with no regard of your feelings. Feelings?

Healing takes time...it takes introspection and a lot of patience...but you've got to be willing to do the "dirty work"...

"Sugar Free"

SugarFree. [Part 3]

2009-02-06T16:01:00.000-06:00

There are several women in the dressing room scattered about. Looking around she begins to notice their bodies and starts comparing herself to them, assessing whether or not she measures up against the “brick house” undressing in the corner or the top model wannabe retouching her nail polish. Some are laughing, others are counting money, another sits quietly in a chair massaging her feet from what appears to be a rough night. Belinda flicks her cigarette into an astray near her dressing station and kicks her feet up on the chair. Above it was a huge mirror with large lights all around and a name in big, glittery words with fancy lettering that read, “Babygirl”.

“You hope I stay that way? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what, you ask too many damn questions girl. You see that camera up there?” Belinda points to a corner in the dressing room above the long line of lockers drilled into the wall. “Richie is watching you. Just remember, he is always watching you, don’t waste any of his time, you hear me?”

Devyn looks up feeling a slight bit of fear and of what, she really isn’t sure, she runs the brush over her long flowing hair trying to hide her insecurities and responds lightly, “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Oh yeah, I meant to tell you, don’t call me by my real name here, use this name. That’s my stage name,” she says as she runs her hand underneath the sign like a Price is Right model before striking a pose. “These niggas get to thinking they know you around here then they don’t wanna pay you no money, wanna to take you out on dates and follow your ass home and shit. This here is strictly business, nothing personal. You feel me?”

“Got it,” Devyn nods; amused by her “cool”.

“Okay Sugar, I’m gonna leave you be so you can go ahead and get yourself ready. I have some business to tend to,” Belinda says as she fixes her breast in her sheer, red, dress.

She was of light complexion, with hazel eyes, tall and petite, very beautiful with hair that looked as if it were streaked with gold. As she did her belly dance in the mirror, she looked immaculate from her head to her feet with carefully French manicured nails and toes wearing diamond rings with earrings to match. Sugar studied Babygirl intensely as she watched her walk out of the room singing; and when she turned the corner Sugar’s legs began to wobble as she fell into the chair behind her. She pulled some items out of her bag. Holding the outfit in her hands, feeling the shinny material on her fingertips, she gently closed her eyes and began wondering why she was there but she knew she had no other choice. This was not about her and she was no longer in control. Things had become harder than she could imagine. Tears began to swell up in her eyes as she thought about the world that was crumbling around her, biting her bottom lip, she fought back the urge to run and swallowed her pride, blinking away the wetness that was about to overflow.

“Don’t be scared now,” the taunt of an unknown woman rings in her ears. Laughter rang out behind her as the girls who were counting money were now focusing their attention on the new girl. Smelling the fear on her, they smacked their lips and rolled their eyes, a script they knew all too well when a new face appeared in the club looking to take dibs in on their money.

“She won’t last 30 minutes up there, Tasty what you think?” Chanel says hovering over Sugar with a sly grin while applying her lipstick in the mirror.

“Chanel, you are always bothering people, leave the poor girl alone, you see she’s shaking like a leaf. I don’t know why Babygirl left her down here like that.” Tasty says trying to be the voice of wisdom and reason amongst them.

The other girls fall over each other in tears as they head back to work hoping their intimidation worked. They all knew how hard it would be trying to make money when there was a new attraction in the building.

Sugar takes her time evaluating herself in the mirror occasionally looking up at the camera wondering if she is being watched. After carefully placing her other clothes back into her roller backpack, she heads up the stairs back into the club. She passes the other dancers who stop to look at her as she makes her way through the crowd of gentlemen who recognize her from the outside. A stripper dangles upside down from a pole, breast exposed and men scattered bills around the stage, another reaches up and places money in her garter running his hand down her thigh. She slides down slowly while onlookers gaze at her hoping to make eye contact. She rolls onto her stomach and crawls over to a man standing with money hanging from his mouth, holding a glass of cognac in his hand he waits patiently and she rises to her knees seductively removing the money from his mouth with her teeth. The lights dim and she receives an applause as she gathers her bills from the floor placing some into her garter belt and others she held in her hands along with the clothing she removed during her dance.

Across the room Babygirl nods in recognition with a look on her face that says she’s impressed with how well Sugar “cleans up”. She points to the stage suggesting that it is now Sugar’s turn to perform.

Stomach tight, Sugar makes her way over to the stage which is lit with what seemed to be a million lights fixated on the inner makings of her being. The shimmering gold halter and matching mini-skirt could no longer separate her from them, it was time to show and prove. Underneath she wore a black thong that seemed so delicate and sensual the night before when she stretched it across her bed admiring the pretty ties along the side. Tonight it was now fulfilling its purpose with its new companion, a black garter belt nice and snug around her right thigh. She walked nervously in those dainty black heels as the pain had already begun to set in from all of the standing she had done on the sidelines in preparation. She managed a jagged smile for the onlookers.

“All this and I haven't even made the upgrade to the almighty stiletto pump.” She mumbled to herself looking down at her block shaped heels before glancing attentively at the other women who seemed to glide on by her with ease in shoes she was not yet prepared to fill.

“Why is she wearing those shoes? She looks like she never stripped a day in her life,” Chanel says laughing as she spins around on her barstool, hoping Babygirl overhears her sarcasm.

“Fucking hater,” Babygirl uttered as she grabs her clutch off of the bar and makes her way to a lonely gentleman sipping a Heineken nearby.

“Oooooh, you cold as ice, hahaha,” Chanel mocks making a funny reference to Rick James. The customers within listening distance smile and chuckle.

Out blasts her cue and like a sheep amongst wolves, she proceeded up the steps leading to the center stage…..

Earning every dollar was a conquest. Gyrating and shaking her ass on all fours, she exposed herself candidly, opening her legs her scent went into the air and men flocked to her like dogs in heat. There were two large gold metal poles on one end of the stage with a runway leading to another at the end. Sugar carefully made her way to each one unrehearsed or choreographed, only equipped with the mental notes she took of the professionals before her. Hands accompanied with dollars found themselves in places only lovers knew drenching the seat of her panties with the scent of nicotine, beer and cognac. Surrounded by mirrors, Sugar took a glimpse at the woman standing there naked and felt empowered. Songs seemed to have lasted forever as the men sat front and center around the stage; she let them dominate her with the hopes of a bright financial future. She quickly became known as the one with the big titties, enormous jugs, top heavy, advertising breasts that would some day nurse nations. Knees weakening, calves trembling, and skin glistening, she left the stage heavily fatigued leaving her mark forever implanted in her soul.

SugarFree. [Part 2]

2009-01-28T17:26:00.000-06:00

It was almost as if they were photographing her dense agenda with their heavy, blinking eyes as she walked by with her casual stroll. Her hair swung just below her shoulders in a neat wrap. She was lost yet engulfed in the fanfare, unaware of the connivers before her. Her eyes were slightly slanted and everyone called her “chinky” eyed, but her near sightedness was partially the blame. Her squinted eyes canvassed the room as she waited in the doorway feeling like a fish out of water. The hole in the wall was dank with cigarette smoke, cancerous and thick mixed in with hints of various cheap body sprays and perfumes. She notices a familiar face only this time it’s different. Then two figures begin to approach her, one smiling with added makeup standing before her half nude began to speak.

“Richie baby, I want you to meet my girlfriend, she’s here for the audition,” says Belinda pushing Devyn in front of her.

Devyn stumbling manages to stretch forth her hand and instead of a handshake receives a questioning look. She elbows Belinda in her side for the uncomfortable gesture. Richie was round and short, high yellow with freckles. Something about him reminded her of Michael Bivins from New Edition and later part of the Hip Hop trio Bell, Biv, DeVoe. He had the deepest set of brown eyes which moved slowly up and down Devyn’s frame. During the introduction, Belinda takes time to smile and wave at the men in the room who seem to recognize her. They cat call and she in turn, blows kisses and winks twirling her body around in a circle for their added amusement. Richie pulls the cigar from his mouth, with a smirk and casually slaps Belinda across the ass.

“Richie! You gone’ have to pay me for that one,” she laughs comfortably placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Is that right? Not when I own this place. Get back to work, and your friend, she needs to get dressed.”

Richie turns around slowly observing the inner workings of his tightly run establishment, walks into a back room filled with security monitors and closes the door while looking at the ladies with a raised eyebrow as thick smoke lingers and fades behind him. His voice was deep and firm. Devyn could tell he was the type of man who strongly disliked repeating himself.

“Girl, that’s my money over there, you figured out your stage name yet?” Belinda becoming anxious, taps her foot, then pulls out a cigarette from her small clutch, awaiting Devyn’s response all while watching the cat caller’s out the corner of her eye. A bartender covered in tattoos leans over the edge of the bar to give her a light and he waits as she inhales deeply before exhaling. Devyn stood tense looking at the door of her soon to be new boss trying to get her mind to connect with the words that flowed from Belinda’s mouth.

Becoming a byword like the others she had heard about, tasty, yummy, mocha, sweetness, and honey, she wanted to opt for eccentricity by leaning towards something more intriguing but Belinda insisted that she adopt “Sugar” as her persona.

“Why sugar?” Devyn looks at her displeased as they begin to make their way to the dressing room noticing the curious stares from other patrons and workers in the room. She brushes past an older gentleman in a gray suit who slightly grabs her hand and as she pulls away in disgust he laughs a confident laugh while the half dressed young lady who is keeping him company frowns with jealousy. She begins to rejoin her friend in conversation who is seemingly too busy talking to herself while walking ahead of her to have noticed her previous encounter.

“Because sugar is sweet, reminds people of tasty candy and childhood memories…shit, I don’t know. They laugh. Men like that kinda’ stuff, besides you look sweet and innocent. Let’s hope you stay that way,” says Belinda as she leads her through a door behind the bar, down two flights of stairs and into a large room filled with mirrors and plush purple chairs.

SugarFree. [Part 3]

SugarFree. [Part 1]

2009-01-23T14:09:00.000-06:00

She hears the bass thumping Nelly’s Long Night featuring Usher from
outside. The music played so loud the melody amplified bringing in the scattered patrons from the curbside. Sitting in her white, modest, two door, 1999 Chevy Cavalier, seat belt still tightly fastened, she punches the buttons on her radio hoping to find something that would distract her decision making process.

It was well after 11 o’clock at night and the parking lot was loaded
with vehicles. The commute had taken her thirty minutes to arrive in Gary, Indiana. She was sure there would be no one she new from the Southside of Chicago frequenting the club.

Club Moet was a hole in the wall off of Route 20 adjacent to a quaint Motel called the Chateau Inn. Grasping the steering wheel, she glances in her rear view mirror at the men standing in a small crowd giving each other “dap” as they talked loudly amongst themselves. Cold smiles and hungry stares unable to mirror her naive appearance looked back at her into the depths of her core; and as the bodies began to move past her open window, the men peek in to catch a glimpse before heading towards the building. Her grip of the wheel suddenly becomes tighter.

“Hey baby, are you coming inside?”

The sound of a gentle,masculine voice whispers persuading Devyn to release the steering wheel. Devyn tilts her head slightly out of the window just to show her expression of disgust on her face only to look up and see the pearly whites of a handsome brother standing well over six feet tall. The scent of Jean Paul Gaultier cologne filled the air reminding her of fresh linen with a mixture of mint and cinnamon. After pausing for a few seconds waiting for a reply, he notices her tension and continues walking behind the men who accompany him. Glancing back at her, he shrugs his shoulders. She thought to herself, sure he may be fine but no man who comes into a place like this is serious about dating. As soon as she finishes her moment of clarity, one of his friends confirms her thinking.

“Yeah, we wanna see you shake that ass shawty.” A voice shouts from the shadows along with a few chuckles.

She pretends not to hear them, reaches behind the passenger seat for her bag and places it in her lap. As she watches the men disappear into the music, she takes a deep breath, releasing herself from the security of the safety belt and then her vehicle. Stepping into a puddle of left over rain; she gets mud on her white Nike Air Force Ones.

“You know what…,” she says aloud hoping that the sound of her own voice would induce a breakthrough. The spring was making its close forcing life to move on to another phase of growth and Devyn felt herself changing. She pauses to decide whether or not this is a sign that she is making a bad decision and wants to turn back.

Pressing her backside onto the outside of the driver’s door she gazes into the night’s sky. She reflects on all of the other signs, like having to return home when she reached the end of her block to retrieve her bag, making a last minute turn off of the expressway to get gas before the empty indicator light lit up, and getting a phone call on her cell about a mysteriously available ticket to a sold out Jill Scott concert, she ignored it and pressed on. Clenching her hand me down Coach bag, she makes her way into the building dragging her pink roller backpack behind her.

SugarFree. [Part 2]