I~Simply~Love~Writing!

MySpace Drama

2009-08-24T12:05:00.001-07:00

I am 40-years old and have enough drama in my real life. Therefore, I don't need it in my cyber life, too. Who contacts someone via MySpace because of comments on their "alleged" man's page? Grow the fuck up! If you have a problem in your relationship, you need to take it up with your man. Communication is the key, bitch! Try it.

Headlines - Chapter Twelve

2009-07-30T09:03:00.001-07:00

Three months passed quickly. All along Xavier changed inside, as well as on the outside. While in the hospital, he regained his pale coloring and his natural hair grew longer. When he looked in the mirror he saw what everyone else saw: a white person. He knew he could pass and pass he would.
While Xavier went through his different stages Mrs. Brunswick stuck by his side. She didn’t argue with him when he changed from the public school and enrolled in a private one. All she wanted was for him to be happy. If being white made him happy then she’d pretend right along with him. She didn’t protest when he suggested they use the money from Mr. Brunswick’s life insurance policy to buy a condo on the beach. They had a new home, new identities, and a new skin color.

Xavier found out that passing wasn’t bad at all. When he went to find a part-time job, he got hired right away. It was an office job at that. He wondered if he’d checked the box that said “African American” if he’d been hired or even considered for an interview. He doubted it.
Life was looking up. Xavier would find himself thinking about the old Xavier and he’d laugh bitterly. He despised that part of his life and tried desperately to forget it completely. He managed to do just that when something happened that threatened to ruin his new, white little world. Woodrow returned from drug rehabilitation; a new Woodrow, a straight, drug-free Woodrow, totally different and totally black.

At first Woodrow was silent about the changes he witnessed in both his mother and brother. It wasn’t long though until he voiced his opinion.
“I get back and see y’all living like royalty,” he commented. It had been two weeks since his return and they were eating dinner. “Putting on airs like royalty too.” Mrs. Brunswick dropped her eyes, but Xavier didn’t.
“So what?” he snapped. “We deserve some happiness after what we’ve been through. Just keep your mouth shut.”
“Or what?” Woodrow challenged. “Try me like a sucka now Xavier and I’ll bend ya ass in half. The old Woodrow is gone. This Woodrow will tear up the city with your ass, boy!” He stressed the word boy on purpose because he knew it would hit hard.
Xavier glared at his brother with cold eyes.
“Fuck you.” He pushed back from the table and took his plate to the sink.
“Man, I know you going through an identity crisis and shit, but why you dragging Mama through it too? I can’t believe you though, Xavier. You of all people. You, who used to preach to Dad about this same shit.”
“Like I said, you live your life your way, and I’ll live mine my way. Just stay out of my business Woodrow and don’t go mouthing off to people.”
“Hey, it’s your life, man. I just think you going about it wrong. Yeah, you might be gaining a lot of material things, but you’re losing ya self-identity, ya pride, and ya culture. You can’t be happy. It ain’t possible.”

* * *
“Can you believe what happened at Gibbs High?” Xavier heard someone ask and his head snapped up. Gibbs was his old school. He tuned in on the conversation. “Some group, BTO, or something, was responsible for having six drug dealers arrested on campus.”
“Oh, I heard about that. That school was being run by drug dealers. You know it gets like that when those kind of people get together.”
“Lord forbid if we get any more of them here,” someone else said.
Xavier’s face momentarily tightened in anger. They were talking around him like he was one of them. If only they knew how those words hurt. He couldn’t hide from who he was no matter how hard he tried. He might appear to be white on the outside to his newfound friends, but on the inside he was still black. The black part of him was offended by what he heard.
Woodrow’s voice came back to haunt him. “…you’re losing ya self-identity, ya pride, and ya culture. You can’t be happy.”
Shut up, he told himself. He slammed his locker shut and went to join his friends. He tried to forget, but throughout the day conversations in the hallway reminded him. In every class he was usually the only black or there were one or two others. Of course he didn’t let on that he was one of them. He saw how the teachers treated the black students differently. He also noticed how the rich, snobbish kids hung together. He was a part of that crowd and if he could help it, he would stay a part of it.

He was invited to many parties and he accepted some invitations, but refused others. The parties were usually thrown in someone’s him when their parents were out of town. There were always drugs and alcohol around which he never touched. Even if he’d been tempted, he remembered what happened to Woodrow.
One night the teens he hung with sent him to get more cups and ice. A white girl named Meagan tagged along with him. As they pulled up to the convenience store in his Suzuki Samurai jeep he glanced to his left. He immediately recognized Tim’s car. Tim walked out of the store just as Xavier jumped down from the jeep. They eyed each other. Tim looked from him to Meagan.
“You Uncle Tom ass nigga,” he insulted. Xavier brushed past him, saying nothing.
“What was his problem?” Meagan asked. “Black people are so rude.”
Xavier silenced her with a cold glare and went into the store.
When he got home later that night he wasn’t in the best of moods. Meagan had kept throwing herself at him. The rest of his friends tried to pressure him into using cocaine. He’d left the party angry. It was still early so he turned on the television.
He heard the door knob turn and looked up as Woodrow entered. He was going to put his attention back on the TV, but what Woodrow carried caught his eye. His heart leapt to his throat and he jumped up.
“Woodrow, what the hell is this?” He snatched the familiar black jacket and threw it on the floor. “How could you do that? How? You know what them niggas did to me and you run and join the group the first chance you get.”
“Look Xavier, whatever you got again BTO is between you and them. Don’t question me and don’t try to tell me what to do,” Woodrow yelled and picked up his jacket. “Don’t be throwing my shit around either,” he mumbled.
“Don’t do it Woodrow. It’ll tear me to pieces if you do.”
“It’s already too late. I’m the new Look Out Man. I’m sorry Xavier, but this is what I want to do. Since you got kicked out of BTO, a lot has happened for the group. Positive things. BTO is not just a bunch of thugs. They are helping the black community, and I’m proud to belong. BTO is my people, your people, Xavier.”
“BTO ain’t shit! Woodrow, they tried to kill me. Don’t that mean anything to you? You are my brother, my blood. If you turn to BTO you may as well forget we have the same mother and father.”
“You’re talking bullshit, Xavier. It’s my choice to belong in BTO. How can you try to take away something that makes me happy? Man, I’ve been a nothing for too fucking long and with BTO I’m something,” he said emotionally. “If you can’t understand that, I feel sorry for you.” He stalked from the room with his jacket thrown across his shoulder. The big, bold letters B-T-O glared at Xavier, mocking him. Never in his life had he felt such rage. He’d show BTO that they weren’t indispensable. They couldn’t have his brother and he’d make sure of that.

Once the house was silent and Xavier knew that Woodrow had left to meet the group, he made up his mind. He was going to stop BTO forever. He opened his dresser drawer and felt for the gun. He headed out into the night. Inside he fumed. He didn’t plan to leave one member of BTO standing, not even Peter. His hand gripped the gun.
The Beretta felt heavy in his pocket. He kept thinking about what he was getting ready to do. His conscious tried to argue with him, convince him of the seriousness of the situation. He refused to listen.
When he arrived at his destination he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He had no idea that Woodrow was hidden in the shadows, guarding the meeting spot.
Woodrow saw a dark figure. All he knew was that a stranger was intruding. He couldn’t see who it was in the darkness. He raised his gun, ready to spring into action.
“Hey you! Show yourself!” Woodrow yelled a warning. Xavier snapped, aimed the gun and fired a few rounds, then turned to run.
Woodrow returned fire. One shot caught Xavier in the leg, swinging him around. The next bullet hit him in the chest. Just as he fell to the ground the person was upon him. He looked up into the face of his own brother. His eyes widened in shock, then clouded over.
“Oh God! No!” Woodrow wailed, realizing what had happened. “I shot my brother. I shot Xavier!”
The commotion and gunshots brought the rest of BTO running.
“No!” Peter ran and threw himself to the ground next to Xavier. “Don’t die, X. Don’t die, Man!” Blood gushed from Xavier’s chest wound. “We’ll get you to a hospital. Just hang in there.”
Woodrow was hysterical. Someone called an ambulance and the sirens could be heard far off in the distance. Xavier reached out and Woodrow grasped his hand.
“Woodrow…I…I…love…you. Tell mama-” His words faded away as he slipped into a permanent state of unconsciousness.
Seeing that his brother was dead and knowing that he was responsible caused Woodrow’s mind to snap. All he could think about was getting his hands on some drugs. Peter had to take over. He called Mrs. Brunswick to tell her the unfortunate news.
When the phone rang it startled Mrs. Brunswick from her sleep. It was the first time she’d been able to sleep without the pills the doctor prescribed. She reached for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Brunswick, it’s Peter. Something- bad has happened.”
“What? Is it LaMount? Woodrow? What is it?” She was wide awake now.
“It’s Xavier.” Peter paused for a long moment. “I don’t know how to say this.” She could detect the sadness in his voice. “He’s…gone,” he choked out. “Woodrow shot him by accident”
“No!”
“I’m sorry.”
“No! Not my baby! Not LaMount!” Mrs. Brunswick cried. Peter heard the phone drop. He could hear her sobbing brokenly. It tore at his heart. His own eyes clouded over. The tears fell freely down his cheeks.
The next morning someone opened the newspaper.

Brother kills brother in accidental shooting, overdoses on crack
ST. PETERSBURG, FL – Xavier LaMount Brunswick, 17, of St. Petersburg was pronounced dead late Wednesday night. He suffered a fatal gunshot wound to the chest.
Pinellas County Sheriff’s Investigator, David Westgate, stated the gun was discharged by Xavier’s older brother, Woodrow Jerome Brunswick, 19, a recovering drug addict.
Shortly after the shooting, Woodrow’s body was discovered in a known crack house. He died from an apparent drug overdose.
“It was an unfortunate accident,” commented Tim Conner, leader of BTO, a social-fraternal like group. Both teens were members of the group. “They will be greatly missed.”
Xavier and Woodrow Brunswick leaves behind a mother who was committed to Horizon Hospital’s psychiatric ward earlier this morning.
“It’s a shame,” said Peter Hall, a friend of both brothers. “It’s just a shame that it had to end like this- another headline.”

Headlines - Chapter Eleven

2009-07-30T09:02:00.001-07:00

When he got home, the first thing Xavier did was take a long shower. Home never looked or felt so good. After getting dressed, he ate and settled down to watch Days of Our Lives. It was heaven not to have twenty different people arguing and fighting over the channels. He was anxious for school to end so he could confront his group. They had switched out on him, especially Tim. He’d get to the bottom of it as soon as he got some sleep. He stretched out on the couch and immediately began snoring.

Tim found out that Peter skipped his first two classes and went to the jailhouse. He was certain Peter had run off at the mouth to Xavier. He couldn’t wait until the bell sounded so he could find the rat.
When Peter saw Tim’s tight face, he immediately cringed.
“Fatboy, did you go to the jail this morning?” Tim snarled. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I-I-”
“I said don’t lie!” Tim grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him into the wall. “Xavier wasn’t supposed to know nothing when he got out. I specifically told all of y’all that. Why you want to run off at the mouth?”
“I just thought-”
“Shut up. And don’t think!” Tim snapped. “Look, it’s for everybody, not just me, that I’m doing this. What kind of leader is Xavier? You witnessed it with your own eyes what he did to Slap and then Mike. Come correct Pete. Is that the type of leader Brothers Taking Over need?”
“Well, when you put it like that-”
“Look, Pete, me and you are down. I wouldn’t go behind your back to none of the others. Why you went out on me like that?” Peter just dropped his head in shame. “You’ve got to be with me on this brother. Can I count on you to stand behind me?” There was a long silence. Peter was thinking about how tight he and Xavier had been through the years. Then he thought of how Xavier had changed, how he was always insulting and belittling him.
“Yeah,” he finally said, “You can count on me.”
“Okay. Cool. Now, I need you to get Xavier to meet us at the warehouse. You think you can do that? It’s time to appoint a new leader for BTO. Remember, don’t let anything slip about what’s going down.”

They waited in the warehouse for arrive to arrive. Tim had informed the five he’d chose about what was going down. They’d sided with him and so had Donnell’s group.
When Xavier walked in, he received glares from everyone but Peter. Peter refused to raise his head.
“What’s up?” Xavier asked. No one answered him. “I said what’s up. Y’all deaf or something?” No one said a word. He looked at Peter. “Peter. You called me and said it was important. Now, no one has anything to say? I’m here. What the hell is going on?”
“We want you to step down as the leader of Brothers Takin’ Over,” Tim finally spoke.
“How in the hell?”
“Everybody voted,” one of the others said. “The majority rules. You are no longer the Head Man in Charge,” he paused and added. “Tim is.”
Xavier was completely thrown off balance. “What? Man, this is unreal. You backstab me while I’m down? I thought y’all were my brothers!” He turned scornful eyes on them all. “Peter? You too, huh?”
“I can’t do nothing about it, X. Majority rules. I tried,” he said pitifully.
“Donnell, what about you? You agree with this?”
“BTO is my life now,” The Mean Kid answered. “You had your chance and you blew it. It’s as simple as that.” Xavier was stunned to hear the Mean Kid say that.
“You have too much hatred inside, man,” Tim added. “Brothers Takin’ Over don’t operate like that. We don’t need that. I think you need to join the Uhuru Movement. They’d probably welcome you there, but BTO don’t need you.”
“I can’t believe this shit.”
“Believe it bro.”
“I should have known you’d betray me,” Xavier snarled at Tim. “You always wanted to be a leader. How could you stoop to this level? I should have watched my back.” Without warning, he punched Tim in the jaw. Tim staggered backwards.
“Get that nigga!” Tim commanded and all of the guys in the room closed in on Xavier. “Fuck nigga, that’s the last time you’ll ever hit me and get away with it.” Tim kicked Xavier in the face. “And this one is for Mike.” He kicked him again.
No matter how good a fighter he was, Xavier was no match for twelve. Peter cowered in a corner and watched with a sad expression on his face. He felt sorry for his friend, but he didn’t want any part of it. He knew if he attempted to help, the pack would turn on him too.
When they finished beating him, Xavier moaned and held his ribs. His face was bloody and some of his teeth lay in a pool of blood nearby. His eyes caught Peter’s and he mouthed the words “help me,” the he slipped into unconsciousness.

When Xavier’s eyes opened again he saw nothing but white. He felt like shit and wondered why his whole body ached.
He groaned and someone was immediately at his side. Through eyes of pain he saw his mother. He tried to smile and assure her that he was fine, but he couldn’t.
“Don’t try to talk, baby,” Mrs. Brunswick whispered to him. “Just take it easy. You’re okay.”
“Wha…..what’s….wrong…wit—” he tried to ask.
“Shh! You’re alive and that’s all that matters,” she stated. “LaMount, try to rest. Just take it easy, please.” He closed his eyes and drifted away from the pain.
The next time he woke up he was able to ask questions. He learned that he had a broken nose, six cracked ribs, and his right arm was broken. He couldn’t forget what his brothers did to him. As he lay in the hospital bed, he became bitter and even more filled with hatred. How could the group that he created, turn on him? He’d given them his all. He’d made BTO. He’d given everything to a bunch of worthless niggas who’d almost killed him. Could his father have been right all along?
“You see a black man down, his friends and neighbors all turn their backs. That’s what keeps him down,” His father once mentioned at the dinner table. “Now, if a white man is down his people, neighbors and all are going to pull together and help him get back on his feet. Now, am I correct or not?”
Xavier thought about it all, long and hard. Maybe he’d been trying too hard to be black and fit in. Maybe it would just be easier to do as his father. Being black got him thrown out of BTO. He wondered what being white would help him to accomplish.

Headlines - Chapter Ten

2009-07-30T09:00:00.000-07:00

Xavier and his mother had a long talk later. They agreed that the best thing to do was place Woodrow into a long-termed drug rehabilitation program. They couldn’t risk having him run off again. Finally, he’d be able to get the help he needed.
That night Xavier’s sleep was interrupted by horrible nightmares. He saw his father dying right before his eyes. He kept trying to reach out to him but was blocked by an invisible wall. In his mind’s eye he saw that the wall was actually a gigantic, beer bottle.
In another dream he could visualize Woodrow in the crack house. When he tried to pull the rats off his brother, the rodents viciously turned on him. They bit and scratched, drawing blood. When he finally got them off Woodrow, he saw that they’d chewed his brother’s face off. He couldn’t stop the scream that tore from his throat. He sat up in bed, sweat breaking out over his entire body. He shook beneath the sheet that covered him. He lay there until his racing heart slowed to a normal pace. He dared not close his eyes again. He rolled over and stared at the clock. It was 4:15 AM.

The morning sun shone though the window onto Mrs. Brunswick’s tear-stained face. She’d been awake well before Xavier cried out. She’d wanted to go to him and offer some sort of comfort, but something held her back.
Xavier LaMount Brunswick had never been an affectionate child. Even as a toddler, he wiggled and squirmed from her embrace when she tried to hold him close. When he cried out in his sleep, she wasn’t sure if she should go see what was wrong. Lately, she sensed a change in him, a hardening. He was even colder than before. Something was going on inside him and he would have to work it out on his own. She couldn’t help him and doubted he’d let her if she could.
When she went downstairs at 7:00 AM, Xavier was already up. She could hear the shower running. She knew he probably hadn’t slept since his dreams awakened him. She decided to cook him a cheerful breakfast, something different for a change.

It surprised Xavier to see his mother up so early, even more to find breakfast on the table. In the weeks since his father’s death, she’d forgotten they had a kitchen. To actually get a hot meal that morning made him happy for some reason. Knowing that she’d cooked just for him brought a smile to his face.
“Good morning Mama,” he greeted. He stopped short when he saw blue berry waffled. “Hey, what’s the occasion? Did I forget my birthday or something?”
“No special reason. I just thought you were a bit tired of grits after seventeen years,” she said.
“Well,” he took a seat, “to let you in on a little secret, I actually hate grits,” he told her. Mrs. Brunswick threw her head back and laughed joyfully. Xavier smiled. All those years he ate grits because that’s what she cooked and no one else complained.
“And since we’re being honest this morning,” he continued. “I’m not too particular about scrambled eggs either.”
The two of them ate breakfast and talked like they never had before when Mr. Brunswick and Woodrow were present. Xavier found himself thinking that he and his mother could now spend quality time together. His father was gone. Woodrow would be away for months, and Mrs. Brunswick resigned from her cleaning job. They could finally get to know each other and possibly bond.
* * *
All of the usual gang was waiting in front of Xavier’s locker- all except Mike. Xavier frowned as the events of the previous night flashed through his head. He’d placed ice packs on his face and lips, but there was still some noticeable swelling. He’d managed to evade his mom’s questions during breakfast.
They socialized for a bit but began to disperse when the bell rang.
“See y’all at lunch,” Xavier called over his shoulder. He turned the corner and bumped into Mike.
“Xavier, we need to talk,” Mike breathed.
“We ain’t got nothing to say after last night,” Xavier snarled.
“Listen man,” Mike spoke tightly. “What you did was sour. You had no right to kick me out of BTO. I belong.”
“Mike, look.” From the corner of his eye he could see that Donnell, Tim and Peter had come back. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but—”
“No! I don’t want hear that shit! I belong in BTO.”
“That’s out,” The Mean kid growled.
“We don’t need you,” Peter threw in.
“No. Y’all don’t understand,” Mike pleaded. “The group is all I’ve got. I have big plans for BTO. Big plans. You messed everything up, Xavier.” He turned narrowed eyes on Xavier. “You always did have it in for me anyway. All y’all had it in for me all along. Just fronted like you didn’t. Right?” He glared at the rest of them. They glared back. The warning bell sounded for classes, but they ignored it.
“I’m sick of this fuck shit,” Xavier snapped. “We don’t have to stand here and listen.” He tried to walk past, but Mike pulled out a gun. Xavier backed up a few steps.
“What is this?”
“I know what you did to me, man. You tried to kill me that day when you rammed me into that fir hydrant. I ain’t forgot that you wanted me dead.” Mike had a wild look in his eyes. His hand tightened on the gun.
“Mike, it’s not like that at all. Put down the gun. You just making trouble for yourself,” Tim advised.
“No!” Mike exploded. “He tried to kill me. Tell me he didn’t.” He aimed the gun at Xavier. “It ain’t right that he get to call all the shots. Why he the leader anyway? He treats all y’all like shit. Y’all treat him like a fucking king. Well, even kings get dethroned.” He pointed the gun at Xavier again. “I really hate you, Xavier.” His finger was on the trigger, but before he could pull it someone hit him from behind. He fell forward onto Xavier, dropping the gun. Xavier punched him in the face. They both scrambled to get the gun at the same time, but Mike reached it first. It was in his hand as they continued to struggle. Suddenly, the hallway was filled with a loud explosion as the gun discharged. Mike’s eyes widened in shock.
“You shot me,” he gasped. “I can’t believe-” He fell to the floor, bleeding from a wound to his stomach.
“Aw man!” Peter groaned.
“Xavier, why you shot him!” Tim asked accusingly. He dropped to his knees and grasped Mike’s hand. “Call an ambulance!” he yelled to the crowd that had gathered. “Call an ambulance now!”
“Don’t let me die, man!” Mike stared at him with pleading eyes. “Not like this. Don’t let me die. Please,” he begged.
“You won’t die, Mike. Don’t worry,” Tim promised. He turned eyes filled with fury on Xavier.
“It was an accident,” Xavier yelled. “The gun went off. I didn’t mean to shoot him.”
It wasn’t long before the hallway cleared. Two policeman arrived with the ambulance attendants.
“What happened here?” An officer asked. All of them except Peter, turned cold eyes on Xavier.
“He shot him,” Tim lied. “He shot him for no reason.” No one contradicted his statement.
“No, it didn’t happen like that. I swear to God. It didn’t happen like that,” Xavier said.
“Tell it to your lawyer,” the cop snarled. He shoved Xavier against the lockers and slapped handcuffs on him. “You have a right to remain silent.”

Xavier sat in the cold cell in total despair. He’d made his one phone call to his mother and now he was on his own. Bail was set at $50,000. At ten percent, he could go home but his mother didn’t have five thousand dollars. It would be a while before she could get him out. He sat in a dank, musky cell with five other men. They smelled and he stayed as far away from them as he could. He basically ignored them and they didn’t bother him.
He dreaded using the small, rusted toilet that sat in the corner of the cell. He was tired and hungry and longed to go home. He stared at the cot in the opposite corner. Two men hogged it and he didn’t feel like fighting. He found a spot on the floor that wasn’t wet and laid down. He tried to sleep but the slamming of steel doors kept him jumping. Snatches of different conversations drifted in and out of his earshot. He found himself thinking about the guys. He wondered what Peter was doing. Probably eating. He chuckled at the thought. Out of the group, he liked Peter the most. Peter was all right, easy-going and soft-hearted. Peter helped him through a great deal. It was Peter who he talked to when Woodrow got deeply involved in drugs. He felt closer to Peter than he did to Woodrow. He confided in him his dream to one day becomes a cartoonist and Peter didn’t laugh or tell the others.
Yes, Peter was cool. His only fault was that he was weak. He could easily be controlled by anyone with a stronger mind. His weakness would probably be his downfall.
Donnell was a difficult person to read. Xavier knew he’d witnessed his parents get shot to death by an intruder and it scarred him. Donnell hadn’t always been quiet. On the contrary, as a kid, he talked the rest of them to death. Then when he was ten years old, his parents were murdered right before his eyes. He’d never been the same.
Tim. Thinking about Tim gave him a sour taste in his mouth. Tim came into their group last. The clique had already been formed and they were wary of letting anyone else into it. Tim had been very persistent. Since he basically followed them around, they finally accepted him. Xavier never completely trusted Tim because Tim had a sly, guided aura about him. He’d always been suspicious of him, especially now when he couldn’t watch his every move.
Xavier’s mind drifted to Mike. Mike had always been a person who thought he was superior to everyone else. All of the guys had it in for Mike at one point in time.
As the coldness of the hard, concrete floor crept into his bones, he thought over the events of the day. He despised Mike, but he hadn’t purposefully shot him. The gun had discharged and it wasn’t right for him to be behind bars. It angered him and saddened him at the same time. He’d never been in any serious trouble in his life and now he was going down with an attempted murder charge. It was screwed. He just wanted it all to be over. He wanted to go home.
His back ached and his left leg was falling asleep. He got up to move around and get the blood circulating. The other five men stared at him. He approached the bars. Damn! He wanted out. He gripped the bars and stared at nothing.
“Fifteen minutes and lights out!” a guard called. Xavier turned to stare at his cellmates. They seemed to be smirking. Never had he felt such fear.

Three days passed and Xavier felt like he’d die if he had to stay locked up another day. He couldn’t take it. He called his mom and begged her to put up the bond money by using the rest of his college fund. She reluctantly agreed, but it would take another day because the banks were closed.
He was pissed. None of the guys had come to visit him. When he called their homes, their parents had been evasive and wouldn’t put them on the phone. When he got out he was going off on all of them. They were supposed to be his friends and they’d let him down. He expected it from Tim and Donnell, but not Peter.
As he walked back to his cell, he got angrier by the minute. When the guard opened the door, he headed straight for the cot. He threw everybody’s stuff on the floor and plopped down.
“Don’t like it?” He glared at the men who were playing cares. “Then do something about it!” They sized up the situation, figured it wasn’t worth adding more time to their sentences, and went back to playing Spades. Xavier finally slept for more than five minutes.
When morning came, he jumped up when he heard his name called. He was a free man. When he was told that it was only a visitor, his spirits sank.
“Damn. Whey is my mama getting here?”
“How should I know?” the guard said sarcastically. “You got a visitor. You going or not?” he barked.
“Yeah.”
Xavier headed to the room with the glass partitions. He saw Peter’s face pressed up to the window and hurried to grab the phone so he could speak.
“What the fuck took you so long to come see me?”
“I- I wanted to come, but they wouldn’t let me,” Peter said weakly.
“What do you mean? How in the hell can anyone keep you from coming to visit me? Tell me something else Peter because I don’t buy that!”
“Tim and the others are acting kind of strange. I know something is up, but I don’t know what.”
“Well, I’ll damn sure find out. I’ll be out of this bitch today and you can bet ya ass I’m getting some fucking answers.”
“I’m real sorry about what went down Xavier. Mike is doing fine. He’ll be out of the hospital in a couple of days. I hear he told them the truth about the shooting, so what Tim said don’t count. It was sour. Sure was. I know something is going to happen. I just had to tell you. No matter what X, you and me we’ll always be down. No matter what. Remember that.”

3-Day Book Challenge Update

2009-07-30T08:57:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately, I didn't obtain my goal. I didn't even get to write anymore than the 7,237 words. Satan has been very busy in my life. Family concerns have me unable to focus on anything, much less writing.

Maybe I'll attempt this challenge again in the future.

3-Day Book Challenge Update

2009-07-26T17:44:00.000-07:00

I got practically nothing accomplished today. I damn FaceBook to hell! Everytime I get on the Intenet to research something pertaining to the book I'm writing, I get lured over to FB. I'm at 7,237 words. At this rate, there is no way in hell I'll make it to 50,000 words in three days. But, I press forward.

Maybe I should have set the goal for three weeks. Well, it ain't over until the fat lady sings!

3-Day Book Challenge (My Progress)

2009-07-25T10:35:00.000-07:00

It is now a little after 1 o'clock. So far I've written 5,270 words. I am going to take a break because my wrists are aching and my eyes need a rest. I'm heading out to get a cold Pepsi. Trust me, I'll be back at it before the day is done. I don't feel I've pushed myself hard enough. I've been playing around a bit on FaceBook. So, next sesssion: focus!

Best Selling Author E. Lynn Harris Dies

2009-07-25T05:16:00.000-07:00

***I didn't have a chance to meet E. Lynn Harris, but I sure wish I could have. He seemed like a truly genuine, kind-hearted person, the type of person I like.

R.I.P.

POSTED: JULY 24, 2009
Author E. Lynn Harris Dead at 54
Patrik Henry Bass

Photo Credits: AP
E. Lynn Harris, whose self-published 1991 debut novel "Invisible Life" endeared him to millions of readers, died on July 24, 2009. He was 54 years old. According to the Arkansas Times, Harris suffered a "serious health setback" while on a West Coast book tour for his recent novel "Basketball Jones." In subsequent novels such as "Just As I Am," "If This World Were Mine" and "Any Way The Wind Blows," featuring the glamorous and gritty lives of Black strivers, closeted and openly gay men, the former IBM executive became one of the country's most popular writers, whose book signings were often standing-room-only events.

In a glossy style that combined elements of posh 1950s melodramas, daytime soap operas and homespun morality tales, Harris detailed the fictitious lives of young and stunningly attractive African-Americans, navigating their way through the NFL and NBA; Hollywood and Broadway; magazines and the music industry. Readers eagerly anticipated the return of Harris's fictitious fixtures such as closeted attorney Raymond Tyler, Jr., Johns "Basil" Henderson, and Yancey Harrinngton, and propelled nearly all of his novels onto the New York Times Best-Sellers List. Harris, who had more than 2 million copies of his novels in print, ranks as one of the most popular African-American novelists of all time.

Everette Lynn Harris, who often spoke in a soft, Southern drawl courtesy of his Arkansas upbringing, always dreamed of becoming an author. His road to his true calling wouldn't come easy, yet would inspire countless writers to tell their stories. Born in Flint, Michigan, Harris grew up in Little Rock. "What Becomes of the Broken Hearted," his 2003 memoir, documented his painful childhood, including abuse by his stepfather and a 1990 attempted suicide. For nearly a decade, before he tried to end it all, Harris lived a double life: He was a closeted, successful executive by day. After hours, he slept with men on the down-low and fell into a depression. A close friend asked Harris to write his story. In 1991, Harris wrote "Invisible Life," which received countless rejection letters from mainstream publishers.

In a now legendary story, Harris, who had relocated to Atlanta, sold the novel out of the trunk of his car at local beauty parlors. The novel soon landed in the hands of Martha Levin at Doubleday, Harris's long-time publisher. Harris's story inspired dozens of authors to self-publish their novels. ESSENCE was one of the first publications to feature Harris's work and he began a long affiliation with the publication.

He visited our officies last year, met with interns and signed copies of "Basketball Jones," and gave us a sneak peek of his latest novel featuring Yancey, including the first working lines of the novel: "How did this b---- get my life?"

Harris single handedly carved out a space for contemporary African-American male novelists such as Eric Jerome Dickey, Colin Channer, RM Johnson, Carl Weber, Van Whitfield, and Omar Tyree. He was a tireless champion for the Hurston/Wright Foundation and had his own foundation. Harris was known in the literary community for his generosity to his fans (often remembering birthdays and holidays); his love of the Arkansas Razorbacks (he was the first Black male cheerleader for the school), and his support for burgeoning writers. He combined his passion for both of the latter by returning to his alma mater as an adjunct professor, where he taught as recently as last fall. He divided his time between Atlanta and Arkansas, but ultimately, always made the time for his readers, who he credited with saving and changing his life.

***If you'd like to read more about E. Lynn Harris, his life, his works, etc. here's the link:

http://www.essence.com/news_entertainment/entertainment/articles/e_lynn_harris_obit?xid=061709-emailpitch-elynnharris?cnn=yes

Day 1 of 3-Day Book Challenge

2009-07-25T05:12:00.000-07:00

Okay. I'm done procrastinating. I've decided to get started today. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? We will see.

Stay tuned. Red Dress, coming soon.

Jermaine Jackson's New Rolls?

2009-07-19T09:18:00.000-07:00

The rumor is that Jermaine Jackson is driving around in a new Rolls. Sweet! The way the media is it's probably just speculation. It might not be his car or it could be a rental.

Forget the car, someone needs to give him some wardrobe tips. What's up with those silver shoes? And he might as well just give up on the hair and go bald. Greasy is not a good look. I'm just saying...

Headlines - Chapter Nine

2009-07-18T06:48:00.001-07:00

“This is the second day you missed school,” Ms. Hall yelled at Peter. “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t going to have this shit from you too?”
“Mama, stop yelling please,” Peter groaned, holding his head.
“What’s wrong with you boy?” She demanded to know. “You been messing around with drugs or something?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t do that,” Peter said. “Can I just go back to sleep?”
“You ain’t doing nothing until you tell me where you was all last night. You think you grown now?”
“Mama, I was with the guys. We had a few beers-”
“A few beers?” she cut in. “So now you’re drinking too? I wonder what else you doing. I think you lying to me about not using drugs. Empty your pockets Peter!”
“Mama,” he protested.
“Empty them now,” she yelled.
Peter sat up and reached into his pockets. He pulled everything out of them. When Ms. Hall saw the condom packages her face turned red.
“It’s…you know.” Peter stammered.
“Yes, I do know. But do you?” She placed her hands on her hips. “So, you’re having sex now, right?”
“I…no..well…I-”
“Cat go your tongue? Talk boy.”
“I didn’t do nothing!” he finally said. “Just leave me alone. Everybody always bossing me around, telling me what to do. I’m not a baby.”
“Don’t raise your voice back at me, boy.”
“Then stop raising yours at me!”
Peter’s head snapped to the side when his mother smacked him across the face.
“You are not grown yet,” she stated. “You’re still carrying around your baby fat and you think you can sass me. I ought to skin your ass alive.” She raised her hand to strike him again.
“Mama don’t!” Raymond’s voice halted her. Both of them turned toward him in surprise. “Don’t,” he repeated and Ms. Hall let her arm drop to her side. An uncomfortable silence followed.
“Peter, if you decided not to come home again, call and let us know something,” Raymond finally said. “Nigga’s dying every day, getting killed for no reason. It would ease Mama’s conscious if she at least knew where you was and if you okay. And Mama-” He turned toward Ms. Hall. “Don’t be so hard on him. He is seventeen, almost eighteen. Maybe he shouldn’t be drinking, but he is using protection when or if he’s sleeping with somebody. Peter ain’t dumb. I don’t think you have to worry about him. He makes decent grades in school. He’s a good kid. He’ll be okay.” Ms. Hall just nodded. She gave Peter an apologetic look.
“I just worry about you, baby,” she said quietly. “I guess I overreacted.”
“It’s okay. It was my fault too,” Peter admitted. He groaned as he felt the pounding in his head increase. “I know one thing,” he told them. “I won’t be drinking again any time soon. This is torture.”

* * *

When Xavier got home he found the house dark, curtain drawn. He thought his mother was at work but when he walked by her room, he heard sobbing. The door was cracked so he peered in.
Mrs. Brunswick was curled up in bed. She was surrounded by pictures of Mr. Brunswick. She held one tightly in her arms. Xavier stepped quietly into the room. As he made his way closer he could see that the photo clutched closely to his mom’s bosom was their wedding picture. It broke his heart to hear his mom’s retching sobs.
He touched her hair and she stirred slightly, but she didn’t stop crying.
“Mama, don’t do this to yourself,” he said softly. “You got to go on. You can’t just give up.” Mrs. Brunswick stopped long enough to stare at him.
“You’ve got to find your brother,” she said firmly. “You’ve got to find him and bring him back home where he belongs. Ain’t nothing out there for Woodrow. LaMount, please find your brother and bring him home,” she pleaded. “You and Woodrow are all I have left. Promise me you’ll find him.” Her sad eyes bore into his. Xavier nodded.
“I’ll find him, Mama. I promise.” He swallowed thickly. He prayed it was one promise he could keep.

Xavier previously arranged for BTO to participate in a community discussion. That evening they all met at the Jordan Park Community Center, where the meeting was to take place.
Only about thirty people showed up. The discussion was about dealing with drugs in the black community. They talked about ways each person there could stop drugs from being sold in their communities. Things went well until members of the Uhuru Movement showed up. They caused the speaker to get upset which angered Peter because it was his uncle.
“They better not fuck with my uncle!” Peter’s face was tight with anger.
“What you gonna do about it if we do?” one of the members shouted. “Ya uncle got a big mouth. He for the Man. He looking out for the Management. We looking out for our people!”
“More like looking out for ya own ass!” Peter yelled. “Y’all full of shit. All you want is to cause trouble.”
“Let’s carry it outside,” the leader shouted.
“We’ll take it outside if I say so,” Xavier yelled back. “There ain’t no reason to fight. What the hell would it look like for BTO, whose main objective is to help the black community, to get into a street brawl with some common hoodlums?”
“Man, BTO ain’t shit! A bunch of Uncle Toms!”
“BTO is for the white man!” someone else shouted.
The opposing groups got into a shouting match. Xavier couldn’t control what was being said. He shouted just as loud as the rest.
“Man, that’s why ya dopefiend brother gonna die!” One guy shouted at Xavier.
Xavier paused and glared at him. “What?”
“You heard me, nigga. Ya brother gonna die and I know exactly where he is. You preaching to us ‘bout being against drugs and ya own brother an addict. You-” He didn’t get the opportunity to say more because Xavier hit him with a solid right. Once Xavier began, the rest of his group followed his lead. They all pounded on the guy until he was bleeding from the mouth and nose.
“Where is he?” Xavier had his hands around the boy’s throat.
“In- the crack house- on Newton and- ” The guy coughed up a mouth full of blood.
“Newton and what?” Xavier was besides himself with rage. He beat the guy’s head into the floor. “Newton and what?”
“Xavier, stop! You could kill him.” Tim pulled him off of the now unconscious body. “We’ll find Woodrow. Come on. Hurry. They called the cops.”
They all hurried out of the community center. Once outside, Mike watched at a member of the Uhuru Movement picked up a beer bottle. The guy moved closer to Xavier. Mike instinctively opened his mouth to warn Xavier, but he suddenly stopped. The vision of Xavier slamming him into the fire hydrant kept him silent. He gazed on with a satisfied smirk as the guy swung the bottle.
“Xavier, watch out!” The Mean kid yelled, but it was too late as the bottle hit Xavier straight in the face and he went down.
As sirens sounded off in the distance, the other group ran off. When the cops arrived everything was under control. The only evidence that something took place was Xavier’s swollen face. When the police asked questions no one murmured a word about what went on. Finally, the cops left.
“Xavier, are you okay?” Mike asked. Donnell glared at him. Xavier didn’t miss the look.
“What’s up?” he asked. It was painful to form simple words, but he wanted to get to the bottom of it all. Mike was supposed to have been watching his back. That obviously hadn’t happened.
“Let that fuck nigga tell you,” Donnell growled.
“I didn’t see what went on,” Mike denied.
“That’s a lie!” Donnell’s eyes narrowed and it was obvious why he was known as The Mean Kid. “Tell Xavier how you watched him get hit with that bottle and didn’t open your fucking mouth.”
“That’s not true. I didn’t see it happen,” Mike argued.
“How could you not see it Mike? I was way over there and I saw it. You was right here, man. I saw you looking and wondered what you was staring at. That’s when I saw it. You watched Xavier get hit on purpose,” he spat.
The rest of them glared at Mike too. There was no question in their minds that The Mean Kid was telling the truth. He’d spoken a mouthful, which was a rare. Plus, he was angrier than they’d ever seen him.
Xavier gave Mike a confused look. “Why, Mike?”
At first Mike thought about denying it until the end, but he felt vindicated. “Think about it,” he snapped. “Yeah, I saw him with the bottle and didn’t say nothing because you deserved to get knocked out.”
“What?” Peter’s bottom lip dropped.
“That’s fucked up!” Tim swore.
“Mike, you are out of here. Get your fuck ass out now!” Xavier yelled through his swollen lips. “BTO don’t need your sorry ass!”
“I don’t have to leave,” Mike argued. “I didn’t do nothing wrong. Why you get to call all the shots anyway?” he said defiantly.
“Mike, if you don’t go now, I’ll really hurt you, man. The way I feel now—” Xavier spoke through clenched teeth.
“Don’t sweat it X. Just let him leave,” The Mean Kid advised. “And he will leave.” He gave Mike a quick, swift kick. “Coward!”
“Yeah, dip!” Peter hissed. He also kicked Mike one good time. “Switch-out ass nigga!”
Tim was the only one that held back. He wondered if what Mike did wasn’t the best thing to do. He wondered if he would have made the same decision.

After Mike left they all stood around not really knowing what to do.
“X, maybe you should go home and put some ice on your face or something?” Peter suggested.
“Nah, I can’t. I gotta find Woodrow,” Xavier lisped through his missing, front tooth.
“All right. We’ll look for Woodrow. I know of three crack houses on Newton. Let’s go check them out,” Tim instructed. No one questioned him and Xavier was a bit put off by that. Since his mouth was hurting, he didn’t say anything.
Tim even jumped in the driver’s seat without asking Xavier. Xavier glared at him and got in on the passenger’s side. His head pounded. He wished he could get his hands on Mike. He’d choke him until he threw up his tonsils. Mike’s ass was his the next time they met up.
The first place they went to was filled with addicts trying to buy drugs. They all turned greedy, glazed eyes on them. Xavier doubted if any of them comprehended what they were asking. They searched the place and finding no sight of Woodrow left.
After checking out the other two places they still didn’t come any closer to tracking down Xavier’s brother.
“Those are the only places I knew of,” Tim told them. They all stood around at a lost for what to do. Xavier couldn’t go home without Woodrow. He’d made a promise to his mother that he’d find him and he would.
“I gotta find him,” he muttered, more to himself then to anyone in particular.
“Yo BTO, what’s up?” They turned when they heard someone calling them.
“It’s that crack head who tried to rob Tom’s,” Peter pointed out.
“Maybe he’ll know something,” Tim said. “Slim, come here a minute,” he called. The guy looked wary, but he came over anyway. They asked him if he’d seen Woodrow and gave him a description.
“I saw him the other day. He may still be in the hood,” Slim told them. “About a block away.” He gave them the address.
“Thanks man.” They hurried off.
When they got to the house, they had a hard time getting in. Whoever was the lookout was very suspicious and asked a lot of questions. Finally Xavier got fed up.
“Let’s break the shit down!”
“All right. All right,” the man yelled. “Y’all don’t have to do all that. I’ll let you look around. If you can’t find who you lookin’ for, I want you to haul ass.”
They were allowed inside the filthiest place they’d ever seen. Addicts were all over, lying on shabby furniture, on the floor, anywhere. Roaches crawled in every direction.
“Ugg!” Peter shivered. “Y’all look around for him. I see something with beady eyes looking at me.” He cowered near the front door and wouldn’t budge.
Xavier and the others walked inside to search around. They headed to different parts of the house.
“In here!” Tim called moments later. “He’s in here!” They all ran toward the sound of his voice.
“Aw man.” The still form of Woodrow was covered with rats.
“Oh God!” Xavier rushed forward. “No!” he yelled. He thought Woodrow was dead, but as he looked at him his finger twitched. He bent over and began flinging the rats off his brother. “He’s alive!” he told them. They quickly helped to clear off the rats and Xavier checking for a pulse. “He’s breathing. I can see his chest moving.”
“He’s going to be okay.”
“We’ve got to get him out of here. We need to take him to a hospital.”
As they carried Woodrow out of the house, the addicts stared on in a daze. They were all in another world where nothing could reach them. Not reality, not pain, not even death.

Headlines - Chapter Eight

2009-07-18T06:45:00.000-07:00

The next day was Monday. Xavier felt like shit. There was no way he was getting out of bed, not even if a tornado hit the house. When Mrs. Brunswick came in to the room a quarter after seven, he told her he wasn’t going to school that day.
“Are you sick?” she asked.
“No. I just don’t want to go, that’s all.” He sighed. “I’m tired.
She looked at him with such sadness in her eyes that he turned away.
“Your brother ran off last night. He wanted money for drugs and I wouldn’t give it to him,” she said quietly.
“Damn!” Xavier swore, sitting up in bed. “He ain’t in no condition to be out in the streets. Now, I got to go and find him.” There would be no sleeping in for him that day. He looked at the clock. “Maybe I can catch Peter before he leaves his house. He’ll help me looked for Woodrow.” He grabbed the phone off the nightstand and quickly punched Peter’s number in.

Peter woke up with a queasy stomach. He knew without a doubt he wouldn’t be in school that day. Before his mother left for work she peered in his opened door.
“So ya lazy ass not going to school, I see,” Mrs. Hall said loudly. Peter gazed at her from under the arm he’d thrown across his face. She stood with her hands on her hips. She was dressed in all white, her uniform as a certified nursing assistant. A deep frown marred her pretty face.
“I don’t feel good,” Peter said in a whining voice.
“I know one thing. When I get back here, that kitchen better not be messed up. I hop you ain’t planning on being like ya sorry ass brother.”
“Mama, I ain’t nothing like Raymond,” Peter said angrily. “I’m not planning to drop out of school. I only got a semester and a half to go before I graduate. It would be stupid to quit now. I’m just sick. Can’t a person get sick sometime? God!” He rolled over in the bed and pulled his pillow over his head. “Go to work,” he muttered, but his words were muffled in the pillow. His mom stood there for a while glaring at him, then shook her head and left.
Peter tried to go back to sleep but his stomach growled. He got up and headed for the kitchen. He could hear his brother in the shower as he passed by the bathroom. Raymond was getting ready for work.
“Hey Ray, you want me to fix you something?” he called through the door.
“Naw man. I’ll grab something at work.” The water stopped running. “What you doing home? Shouldn’t you be at school by now?”
“We all entitled to miss one day,” Peter said defensively. He continued on to the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down at the table. He realized that he forgot the milk and got up to get it out the refrigerator.
“Yo Peter, you hear about what happened?” Raymond’s voice floated into the room.
“What?”
“On the news I heard that Darrell Stearns got shot.”
Peter was spooning cereal into his mouth. His hand froze in mid-air.
Raymond entered the room wearing a McDonalds uniform.
“Yeah, it’s in the paper too. Said he got shot in the chest. Man, that’s fucked up!” Peter didn’t say anything. He pushed his bowl away. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. “I don’t know what this world is coming to,” Raymond continued. “Darrell was okay.” He glanced at Peter. “You okay? You look a lil green.”
“I’m okay,” Peter said. He got up and went into the living room to find the newspaper. Just as he picked it up, the phone rang. Since his brother was heading out the door, he grabbed it.
“Hello?”
“Hey Peter. It’s Xavier. I need a favor,” the voice on the other end said. Peter detected a hint of desperation.
“Yeah man, what’s up?” he asked.
“It’s Woodrow. He ran off again and there ain’t no telling where he’s at. I got to find him or this time he might end up-” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“I’ll help you, X,” Peter said immediately. “Don’t worry, man.”
“Thanks Peter. I knew I could count on you.” Xavier breathed a sigh of relief. “Can you be here around nine-thirty?”
“Yeah, I can be there. Uh...Xavier?” Peter caught him before he hung up.
“Yeah?”
“It’s in the newspaper,” he whispered through the line. “About Darrell.” He turned to the Metro section. Xavier was silent on the other end. “We’re supposed to prevent these kind of headlines not make them.”
“Un…I’m not in the right frame of mind to discuss this Peter. Darrell’s shooting was a mistake. Like I said, I can’t think straight right now. I’ll see you at nine-thirty.” Peter heard a click and then the dial tone.

Xavier hung up the phone and went downstairs in his underwear. His mother had left for work. For the first time in seventeen years, breakfast wasn’t being served. Xavier expected to see his father sitting in his chair at the head of the table, face buried behind the morning paper.
When he pushed the door open, he was greeted with silence. The kitchen was clean and tidy. It didn’t seem right. His family should be there. He wished more than anything that he could hear his father criticizing him for who knows what. He just wished he was still alive.
Xavier stood in the kitchen doorway thinking back over the years. He remembered a conversation between his father and Woodrow. Since Woodrow was thirteen-years-old at the time that would make him eleven-years-old. He’d been about to enter the kitchen when he heard arguing. He paused with his hand on the knob. His father’s voice was tight with anger.
“Woodrow, I don’t want you using drugs” Mr. Brunswick said.
“It’s just a joint, Dad,” Woodrow whined.
“Just a joint? Woodrow, it always starts off with just a joint then it escalates. Before you know it, you’ll be using stronger drugs like heroin and cocaine.”
“No I won’t Dad. Why are you always trying to control my life? I’m not a kid anymore so stop treating me like one,” Woodrow yelled.
“Woodrow, I’m just looking out for you. I worry about you, son. Now, what if your little brother found that joint and decided to try it? What then?”
“It won’t happen, Dad. Mountie knows not to bother my stuff. Plus, he knows drugs are dangerous.”
“Listen to yourself, Son,” Mr. Brunswick said. “You’re admitting that drugs are dangerous. So, why are you using this stuff?”
“You don’t understand. I have to be in the popular crowd. It’s what they do so I go along with it. It’s not like I have a problem. I’m just trying to fit in.”
“Woodrow, you’re not even fourteen years old. If you start on this stuff now, you’ll destroy yourself by the time you’re sixteen. Please, Woodrow, let’s get you some help now,” Mr. Brunswick pleaded.
“No! I don’t need help. Dad, I don’t have a problem.” Woodrow stormed out of the kitchen and bumped into Xavier. “Get out of my way,” he snapped rudely.
Xavier shook it off and entered the kitchen. His father leaned against the sink. He went over and stood beside him.
“Dad?” Mr. Brunswick looked down at him.
“Yes?”
“What’s a joint?” he asked. His father’s face turned angry.
“Where did you hear that term?” he practically yelled.
“I – I heard you talking to Woodrow,” he stammered.
“Son,” he gazed down at Xavier. “Don’t ever, ever use drugs. If someone offers you a joint, or marijuana, or weed, whatever they may call it, say no!”
“Why?” Xavier asked.
“Because drugs can kill you. They will kill you.”

Now, as Xavier thought back on that time, he wondered why Woodrow continued to use drugs. Just as their father predicted, Woodrow began using other drugs and drinking became a part of his life too.
As foretold, by age sixteen Woodrow was hooked on cocaine. They forced him into a rehabilitation center. By the time he was eighteen, he’d been in and out of treatment programs on eight different occasions. Getting clean obviously wasn’t a top priority for Woodrow. Finally, they left him alone.
Their father tried to get through to Woodrow, but failed. Now it was Xavier’s turn to find him and try to reach him. And reach him he would. If it was the last thing he did, he’d see to it that Woodrow went to a long-termed rehabilitation program and stick it out. He was determined that he wouldn’t lose the rest of his family, at least, not for a very long time.

When Peter arrived the two of them searched the streets for Woodrow. They were told the same thing everywhere they went. No one had seen Woodrow. By noon Xavier was getting discouraged.
“I gotta find him. He’s gonna kill himself,” he said urgently.
“We’ll find him, X. Just calm down,” Peter assured. “It’s just gonna take some time. You know, he could be anywhere.”
“Yeah, I know,” Xavier agreed. “Let’s go on back to the house. I don’t think we’ll find him today.”
“You sure man? We can keep looking if you want.”
“Nah, that’s okay. Damn!” he swore angrily. “Why Woodrow keep getting himself mixed up in that shit?” Peter just shook his head.
They went back to Xavier’s house which was eerily quiet. Xavier couldn’t stand it so he switched on the television. A game show played. Peter soon became engrossed in it, but Xavier was far away. He thought about the funeral and how stiff his dad looked in the casket. When he stared down at the still form, he’d expected his father to open his eyes. He’d wanted to touch his father, but was afraid to do so. He couldn’t believe the old man was gone forever.
“What a T.V. dinner would say!” Peter’s excited scream jerked Xavier’s mind back to the present. He stared at Peter who was jumping up and down in excitement. He was acting like he’d just won ten thousand dollars instead of the contestants on the screen.
“A meeting,” Xavier said suddenly.
“Huh?” Peter turned from the T.V. “Did you say something, X?”
“Yeah. I said I’m calling everybody together tomorrow for a meeting. BTO has to carry on. I can’t let personal problems deter me from my goal. Peter, start dialing the numbers of the fellas you know ain’t in school.”
“But I don’t know their numbers,” Peter protested. He was really into the game show and wanted to finish watching it.
“I have them written down somewhere. I’ll get them.” He got up and left the room. He returned a few minutes later and handed the list to Peter.
“Aw man! Can’t I do it after my soap opera? Days of Our Lives is coming on.”
“Nigga, if you don’t get on that phone and start dialing, the days of your life will be cut short!” Xavier snapped. Peter realized he was in another one of his moods and felt it wouldn’t be wise to test him. He picked up the phone.
Once school ended the rest of the gang showed up at Xavier’s house.
“Why y’all didn’t come to school?” Tim asked. He wore his BTO jacket which reminded Xavier that he forgot to get the rest of their outfits on Friday.
“I need one of y’all to go pick up our outfits,” he told them.
“I’ll go,” Donnell volunteered. Xavier threw him the keys to his father’s car. He used it now because his mother couldn’t drive.
“Why you wasn’t in school?” Mike repeated Tim’s question.
“I didn’t feel good,” Peter said, evasively. He didn’t see any need to explain to Mike what happened the night before. “Plus, I helped X look for Woodrow. He’s on the run again.”
“Oh?” He took a seat.
“Xavier, we can help look for Woodrow later on if you want?” Tim said.
“Maybe later,” Xavier replied. “Oh, before I forget, we’re having another meeting tomorrow. Make sure you inform your members. Ok?” Everyone nodded.
“Hey, news was buzzing about BTO around the school today,” Mike relayed. “When we gonna do our next feat?”
“Soon as The Mean Kid get back we can go see what we can find,” Xavier said.
When Donnell returned with the outfits they all go excited. They immediately put them on. The letters BTO were sewn on the back of the shirts and Brothers Takin’ Over down the side of the pants.
“Good thing the pants are one size fit all or Peter would be in trouble,” Xavier joked. They all laughed. They were glad that Xavier was more like his old self again.
“All right then! Let’s ride!” Xavier headed out and the rest followed him. They all piled into his father’s Lincoln.
“So, what we gonna do X?” Peter asked.
“Just chill.” Xavier seemed more relaxed than he’d been for days, as he steered down the neighborhood streets. This made the others more comfortable. They began making jokes with each other. Peter, who was up front with Xavier, put a tape in the tape deck. They all began singing.
“I need an around the way girl…”
“Mike need a girl with some hair weave!” Peter threw over his shoulder.
“Why you want to diss me? You need a girl. Period!” Laughter.
“Y’all heard yet? Peter got a date.” Tim joined in. “He going out with a tow truck.” More laughter.
“Tim’s lady got pus bumps on her ass!”
“Donnell lady got one leg longer than the other one. They call her Ilene!”
“Ya lady breath hot enough to singe the hair in ya nostrils!” They all cracked up with the Mean Kid said that. He usually never joined in on jokes.
“What about X’s old lady?”
“What about my lady?” X asked, chuckling.
“She still wears bell bottoms and sport a Jeri curl!”
“You got me man. You got me,” Xavier laughed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lisa, the girl from his class. He squealed to a stop in the middle of the street.
“Damn X! You gonna give us whip lash!”
Xavier leaned out the window. “Yo, Lisa!” he called. “Step to me for a minute.” He pulled over to the curb.
Lisa and her three friends approached the car. Recognizing Xavier, her whole face lit up.
“Hi,” she said, giving him a big smile.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing much. We just looking for something to do,” she replied.
“We got some suggestions,” Tim said from the back seat.
“But there’s only four of us and five of y’all,” Lisa pointed out.
“Peter scared of coochie anyway,” Mike insulted.
“Man, I gets mine!” Peter denied hotly. Everyone laughed.
“I have an idea. Why don’t y’all get a friend for my boy Peter and I’ll be back later to pick y’all up. I hope y’all ain’t about the games?” he said evenly.
“I know I’m not,” Lisa said, staring at him boldly.
“What about your friends?”
“We down for whatever It ain’t like we virgins,” a pretty, dark-skinned girl spoke bluntly. She had her eye on Tim. “By the way, my name is Sheronda,” she said for his benefit.
“Where you gonna be later? We don’t want to spend money on a room then not be able to find y’all.”
“We’ll be at my house.” She told him the location. “I can’t wait.”
He eyed her fine legs and exposed thighs that the short mini-skirt did little to cover. Then his gaze rested on her medium-sized bosom.
“Neither can I,” he said suggestively.
They guys let out howls as Xavier pulled away from the curb.
“All right!” Way to go X! We all gonna get laid tonight,” Tim said enthusiastically. “Y’all need some condoms?”
“What’s that?” Peter asked dumbly and they all broke out laughing.
“Man, you really been leading a sheltered life. You ain’t never had none, have you?” Mike asked.
Peter looked out the window. He was too embarrassed to answer.
“Well- maybe I ain’t, but…but I know what to do,” he said unconvincingly.
“Yeah, break out in a cold sweat!” Tim cracked.
“Lay off him. He’ll do all right,” Xavier said in a serious tone. It let them know that joke time was over. He came to Peter’s defense because he knew how the guy felt. Being a seventeen-year old virgin wasn’t anything to brag about for a boy. He also had another reason for taking up for Peter. He too was a virgin. He talked big with the gang and fronted like he was experienced, when in actuality, he’d never slept with a girl either. He wasn’t nervous about having sex though. He knew he could hold his own. He’d watched porno flicks with Woodrow when he was younger and of course he’d looked through plenty of girlie magazines. He was positive he’d do fine, but as for Peter, he felt for the brother.

They cruised around for a while seeing what was happening in “Da Burg.” It was the same old same old. Thugs stood on the corners and tried to hustle the mighty dollar.
“We gotta get some brew,” Tim said.
“We are underage,” Peter replied. “How we gonna buy beer?”
“Easy. Don’t I look twenty-one?”
“More like ninety-one.”
“Man, we gotta be feeling good. Tonight, I plan to go at it long and hard, so I need some strong liquor,” Tim said.
“Like what?” The Mean Kid asked.
“Gin. Colt 45 will do. Malt liquor always do the trick. Y’all got money to chip in?” The rest of them reached in their pockets.
“Hey no need,” Xavier interrupted.
“What’s up? You saying we can’t drink?” Mike asked in disbelief.
“I didn’t say that. Just hold ya horses. No need to buy nothing. My dad kept stashes all over the house. I’m sure we can find them.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the car at the mention of his father, but Xavier pretended not to notice. He put another tape in.
“All right! This is the jam! Drop!”
They immediately got back into the spirit of things and joined in. For the moment, all of them were together. There was no animosity, no hard feelings- just five friends having fun.

At around eight o’clock that night, they left Xavier’s house with five bottles of liquor. There were three bottles of gin, one of vodka and a bottle of cheap wine.
“We gonna get tore up and we gonna get lucky!” Mike said. “You got the rubbers, man?”
“Shut up. X’s mom might hear,” Peter said nervously. They laughed at his discomfort.
“Just get in the car,” Xavier said.
“Maybe we should get some wine coolers or Pepis for the girls?” Mike suggested.
“Them ho’s gonna drink what we drink, or die of thirst,” Xavier muttered.
In the end, they did get wine coolers and Pepsi before finding a motel. Since none of them were of age, Xavier paid a homeless man ten dollars to get them three rooms.
“Xavier, ain’t your account kind of low after this?” Peter asked.
“Naw man. I got plenty of money. My dad set a lot aside for me to go to college. Plus, after all his shit gets settled, more money will come to me. So, money is no object.” He reached for a bottle of gin. “Y’all didn’t forget the fucking orange juice, I hope?”
“Here it is.” Someone passed it to him.
“Peter, pour some of this shit in a cup for me,” he instructed. Peter did and handed it to him.
“You shouldn’t drink and drive X,” he mentioned.
“Why not? Cause I might spill it?” He laughed and downed the drink in three quick swallows. “Damn Peter, that was weak. Next time put some more gin in it brother.”
Xavier left the guys at the hotel while he went to pick up the girls. They all decided that Time and Mike would share a room with their ladies, and he and Donnell would share one with theirs. Peter, being so nervous, could have a room alone with his date.

“I hope X hurry. I’m ready to go at it,” Tim said.
“You got the dark-skinned chick, right?” Mike asked Tim.
“Yeah, she’s mine.”
“So, Donnell, which one you want?” Donnell shrugged.
“Don’t matter.”
“So, um, w- what does a condom look like?” Peter finally asked.
“Damn! Your fat ass don’t know nothing,” Mike said, laughing.
“I know I’ll stomp a knot on your ass if you don’t stop calling me names and shit!” Peter retaliated.
“Calm down. I’ll show you what one looks like,” Tim volunteered. He took a Trojan from his pocket and ripped open the package. “This is a condom. You take it like this, and just roll it on your dick,” he instructed.
“Just make sure your dick is on hard first,” Mike pointed out.
“It’s always on hard,” Peter said, making them all erupt in laughter.
“Here, man, have some vodka. You need all the help you can get.” Tim placed the drink in his hand. Peter frowned, shook his head then downed the liquid in one gulp.
“I’m ready now,” Peter stated. “Give me one of those rubbers. No, make that two. I’ll need an extra.”
“All right!” The other three cheered him on. He held his cup out for Tim to pour him another drink. He had a big, silly grin on his face.
When Xavier returned with the girls, they all piled into one room. They played music, drank and joked around until ten o’clock then they began pairing off.
The girl they brought for Peter was pretty, light-skinned and plump. Peter liked her immediately and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Peter wasn’t a bad-looking guy. As a matter of fact, he was cute. He had a babyish face and light brown eyes that were soft and gentle.
“Let’s go some place where we can have some privacy,” he whispered in Rose’s ear. She giggled, nodded and they left the room.
“All right, Mike, Tim, ladies, leave us alone so we can get down to business,” Xavier said. The other two couples left, leaving Xavier, Lisa, Donnell and Tricia.
Tricia seemed to be nervous. As she sat on the bed she twiddled her thumbs. Donnell sensed her discomfort.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. It’s just that…well…I’m not used to this kind of stuff,” she admitted.
“Well, if you don’t want to do anything, we don’t have to,” he told her. “Why don’t we go for a walk and give them some privacy.” He indicated Xavier and Lisa who looked like they wanted to rip each other’s clothes off.
“Okay.” She gave him a relieved smile. They left Xavier and Lisa in the room alone.
“So, what’s up?” Xavier asked.
“Whatever you want to be up,” Lisa replied. She went closer to him and ran her hand down his arm. He felt his flesh tremble. Their eyes met. Lisa stepped back and slipped out of the body-hugging dress she wore. Xavier’s eyes took in the sight of her beautiful body. He admired her for several seconds then he undressed slowly. When he was completely nude, Lisa’s eyes widened at the sight of his masculinity. His manhood stood full and erect. His body was perfection. Never before had she wanted someone so badly. She felt hotness in the center of her being.
Lisa lay back on the bed and Xavier joined her. His hands cupped her breasts and squeezed gently. He wanted to taste them so he unhooked her bra in the front and they sprang free. His tongue licked and teased until Lisa moaned in delight. He went lower, licking and nibbling gently, bringing forth moans of pleasure from his willing companion.
Lisa lifted up allowing Xavier to remove her panties. The excitement as well as the combination of liquor he’d consumed made him daring. He put on condom.
“Do you want it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she panted.
“How bad do you want it?” he teased.
“Real bad.”
Lisa rolled him on his back and straddled him. She quickly eased herself down on him. Xavier though he’d die from the feeling. Never had he imagined it would feel so good.
Lisa bounced up and down. She went wild, moaning and scratching his chest. She had control and Xavier didn’t like it. He flipped her over and took charge. He pounded into her furiously.
“Slow down some,” she pleaded, but Xavier didn’t listen. He continued to thrust inside her until he came for the first time in his life.
When he finished, he rolled over on his back. He could tell that Lisa wasn’t satisfied, but that’s what he wanted. She’d be sure to come back for more.
She kept kissing and touching him until he got annoyed.
“Bitch, go take a shower!” he growled. He saw the hurt look on her face as she picked up her clothes and went into the bathroom. His heart twisted with guilt, but he ignored it. He relaxed in the bed and flicked on the television. When Lisa returned he was engrossed in a basketball game and ignored her completely.

The next morning Xavier woke up with his head feeling like cotton. He tried to open his eyes and look around but couldn’t move because of a pounding headache.
“Oh shit!” he groaned. “Where am I?” He couldn’t remember anything from the previous night.
“You okay, X?” It was Donnell’s voice.
“My head,” he groaned.
“It’s called a hangover,” Donnell told him. “You tied on one too many last night. I’ll get you something and you’ll feel better in no time.”
Xavier felt a hand on his thigh. He drew back quickly and the pain exploded in his head.
“What the hell!””
“Relax baby. It’s only me,” a female’s voice spoke.
“Oh.” Xavier relaxed. For a second, he’d thought Donnell was trying to pull some funny business. Hangover or not, he wasn’t going for that type of thing.
As though reading his mind The Mean Kid chuckled from the small kitchen.
“Man, you can’t be serious. You thought I was the one who touched you.” He shook his head as he poured liquid into a glass. “I don’t ever get down like that.”
“My bad. These days, you never know though, man,” Xavier said.
The Mean kid reentered the bedroom and held out the glass to Xavier. Xavier sat up and took it.
“What the fuck is this?” he asked, staring at it with a look of disgust.
“Just drink it.”
“Man, I don’t think so.”
“Drink it, X. It’ll kill that hangover in a second.”
“You sure it won’t kill me?”
“Drink the shit man!”
Xavier peered at Donnell suspiciously. “What’s in it?” he asked.
“Tomato juice.”
“And?”
“Salt and pepper.”
“And?”
“Vinegar.”
“What else?”
“An egg or two,” he said and grinned as Xavier rushed toward the bathroom. They could hear the sounds of him retching.
“I knew it would do the trick,” Donnell joked. “One way or another.” Lisa and Tricia laughed as they heard the sounds of toilet flushing.

Headlines - Chapter Seven

2009-07-18T06:42:00.000-07:00

“I want to begin this meeting by saying that no one here, except for Peter, Tim, Donnell, and Mike are worthy of being called members of BTO,” Xavier told the group. His statement brought on open hostility from the other twenty-five young men that showed up. “You see,” he continued. “I know them. I know them personally and know what they are capable of. Throughout the years, they have proven themselves again and again. I know none of them would disappoint me,” he said with confidence. Mike smirked, but it went unnoticed by the rest of them. “So,” Xavier continued. “I want y’all to prove to me that you are dedicated to BTO, too.”
“What you want us to do, man?” Cutface asked. He was one of the guys that the Mean Kid had chosen. He was medium height and of average build. A long scar ran from the corner of his left eye, down his cheek and under his chin.
“I’m getting to that brother,” Xavier said. “Calm down. Don’t wet yourself,” he joked. Everyone laughed. Xavier raised his hand for silence. “This is what I want y’all to do.” Everyone stood at attention. Serious faces stared at Xavier. Their eyes weren’t even blinking. “Bring me Slap Woods.” Immediately, commotion broke out among the group.
“Man, that’s impossible!”
“Slap is so deep in the gang ain’t no way he can be touched!”
“Slap will kill a nigga in a heart beat!”
Xavier waited patiently for everyone to quiet down. When they finally finished their griping, he spoke again.
“Nothing’s impossible. Y’all telling me that twenty-five of y’all can’t take down one man. What am I hearing?” He slanted his eyes at the five guys he’d chosen. “You mean to tell me that I picked a bunch of pussies to represent me?”
“Naw man, that ain’t true! I an’t soft,” Jessie Patterson replied quickly. “Slap ain’t shit! I can set that nigga up. He screwing my cousin Charlene anyway.”
“Now that’s the first positive thing I heard all evening,” Xavier congratulated. “Come on over here and talk to me brother.”
Together they devised a plan on how they would get Slap. After going over it again and again, Xavier decided that they all had it down pact. He adjourned the meeting. Everyone piled into cars and left except Tim, Peter, Donnell, and Mike.
“Things went pretty good,” Xavier said proudly.
“So, what you want Slap for?” Peter asked.
“Slap will be a valuable asset to BTO. He has everything we need.”
“Everything like what, X?”
“Ammunition, guns, money- you name it,” Tim answered and Xavier nodded.
“Oh, now I understand,” Peter said slowly. “Yo X, you got anything to eat, man?”
“Yes Porky,” he snarled, suddenly turning mean. Peter’s face tightened for a second, but he brushed off the insult and went inside. Tim and Donnell followed him. Xavier stayed behind. He needed a moment to himself. He thought about everything, the beginning of BTO, the future he’d have as the leader and a feeling of power rushed over him.
The boys were all sitting in the living room watching television when Mr. and Mrs. Brunswick returned. Xavier immediately sensed that something was wrong. He quickly glanced at his watch.
“Did y’all change your mind about the movie?” he asked as they entered.
“Yes. Your father is having chest pains,” Mrs. Brunswick told him. “We had to leave in the middle of the movie. Fred, go lie down,” she told her husband. “Maybe it’s just indigestion.”
“He don’t look so good,” Peter said aloud. They all noticed the grayish hue to his face.
As they watched, Mr. Brunswick clutched his chest. He had a pained look in his eyes. He opened his mouth but no words came out.
“I think he’s having a heart attack!” Tim said in alarm. “I’ll call an ambulance.” He grabbed the phone and immediately dialed 911.
Xavier and Woodrow leaped up to assist their father.
“Just sit down and take it easy,” Woodrow instructed, leading him to the Lazy Boy. “You’ll be okay. Mrs. Brunswick just wrung her hands nervously. Xavier was at a lost as to what to do. For the first time in his life, he felt completely helpless. He stared in shock as his father’s eyes rolled back in his head. Mr. Brunswick fell forward from the chair.
“Somebody do something!” The words were torn from Xavier’s throat. “Help him! Do something!”
Tim checked for a pulse. Mike and Woodrow performed CPR. They continued until the paramedics arrived on the scene. The attendants rushed in. They checked Mr. Brunswick’s vital signs.
“He’s gone,” one of them informed. “He’s dead. I’m sorry,” he offered.
Mrs. Brunswick began to wail. Woodrow dropped his head in despair. Xavier was the only one who refused to accept it.
“No. Y’all do something. Why y’all just standing there tripping? He ain’t dead. He ain’t dead yet. Perform CPR again. Just do something!” The attendants just shook their heads sadly.
“I’m sorry,” the medic repeated.
Xavier rushed over to his father’s still form and began to beat on his chest.
“Get up, damn you! You ain’t dead! Get up man! Get up!” He continued to pound on the dead man’s chest until Woodrow pulled him away. Xavier felt a slight prick as one of the attendants stuck him with a needle. Soon he felt drowsy.
“He’ll be able to deal with it in the morning.” He vaguely heard. “He’s in shock.”
“Just take him to his room boys.” He heard his mom’s voice filled with grief. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he couldn’t move. His eyelids drooped and blackness engulfed him. He felt nothing and for once he was glad.

The next morning when Xavier woke up he felt a great sense of loss and didn’t know why. Woodrow peered into his room.
“How are you, man?” he asked. He entered the room and stared down into Xavier’s face. “Are you alright?” For a minute Woodrow’s actions puzzled him. Suddenly, it all rushed back and he groaned his anguish. “I know it’s hard to deal with, but we got to face it. He’s dead.” He touched Xavier on the shoulder. “Man, I need you to be strong. God knows I ain’t never been able to handle nothing heavy. That’s why I’m in the shape I’m in now. Mountie, I – I can’t carry this by myself. Mama needs you. I mean, she’s falling apart.” He exhaled loudly. “What I wouldn’t give right now for a piece of crack,” he said absently. Those words cleared Xavier’s head. He leapt out of bed.
“Woodrow, go see about Mama,” he commanded. “I’ll be down in a while.” Woodrow looked at his younger brother and nodded. He knew that once again Xavier was in full control. He breathed a sigh of relief and left.
Once he got over the initial shock, Xavier was back to his old self. He took charge of the funeral arrangements and helped his mother settle his father’s financial affairs. He tried to be there for his brother. It was the wrong time for Woodrow to stop using drugs. He prayed that Woodrow had the strength.

The Sunday of the funeral dawned gray and dismal. Rain drizzled, as seemed common with most funerals. Xavier and Woodrow were immaculately dressed in their starched black suits, ties, and white shirts. Mrs. Brunswick was the picture of the perfect grieving widow in her flowing black dress complete with head veil and gloves.
All four of Xavier’s childhood companions attended, as well as a majority of his new group. It was a moving service, but Xavier’s eyes remained dry. He sat stiff-backed in the front row. He sat next to his mother and brother. When Mrs. Brunswick broke down he consoled her mechanically. His heart was as cold as Mr. Brunswick’s body that laid still and hardened in the opened casket.
Once the burial was over and they headed for home Xavier surprised them all.
“It’s still on,” he said suddenly.
“What’s still on?” Woodrow asked. Mrs. Brunswick was far away. Her eyes were glazed over. She hadn’t heard a word.
“I’m talking to the guys,” Xavier said, dismissing Woodrow. “I still want to carry out our plans tonight,” he finished.
Tim stared at him for a while.
“Xavier, your father just died. Shouldn’t you think about your mother and all?” he asked. “She’s pretty torn up.”
“Look, the funeral is over. He’d dead and buried. We got to go on living. I want Slap Woods captured and I want it done tonight. Y’all got that!” he yelled. His face was screwed up in anger and determination.
They stared at each other in confusion. An awkward moment passed. Mrs. Brunswick was still in her own world, rocking back and forth. Woodrow reached into his suit pocket and took out a piece of crack and a pipe.
“I can’t handle it, man!” he said to no one in particular. “I can’t handle the pressure!” He lit the pipe and sucked on it. They all watched in amazement as his eyes became as big as saucers.
“Damn, he got it bad,” Mike said, continuing to watch Woodrow hit the pipe several times. Xavier turned his head away in disgust.

* * *

Fifteen guys, including Xavier and his four friends, waited in an abandoned warehouse.
“Y’all be on guard at all times,” Xavier warned.
“What if they didn’t get him?” Peter asked. Fourteen pair of eyes turned toward Xavier.
“They’ll get him. There’s no way this plan can fail. If they do it just like we went through it, nothing should go wrong,” he said.
“But, what if Slap had his body guards with him?” someone else saked. “It’s at least four of them.”
“Well, there are at least ten of BTO. The can overthrow five,” Xavier said, impatiently.
“How? BTO don’t have any guns,” Peter said.
“That’s what you think. Do you think I’d be foolish enough to put my men out there without protection? Now, everybody be quiet! They should be here any minute. Stop acting paranoid.”
Fifteen more minutes passed. Just when Xavier was beginning to feel doubt too, a car’s tires squealed to a halt in front of the warehouse.
“Is it them?” Peter asked.
“Shh!” Someone cautioned. They continued to wait.
“Yo, X! We got him.” The voice came from outside. Xavier exhaled slowly.
“Bring him in,” Xavier commanded. He slid back the doors and gazed at the crew. “What’s wrong? Y’all okay?” He could see despair written across their faces. He mentally counted them. There were only nine!
“Wait a minute. Where’s-” he paused and looked at all of them again. “Where’s Darrell? Where’s Darrell Stearns?” LeNard shook his head slowly and looked down at his feet.
“He got shot, man. Right in the heart. I don’t think he’s gonna make it,” he relayed. Everyone was silent, digesting the news.
“Shit!” Xavier exploded. “None of us was supposed to get hurt. Where’s Slap?”
“Tied up. He’s in the trunk,” one of the others answered.
“He ain’t dead, is he?”
“Naw, he’s alive. He’s alive and kicking.”
“Get that nigga in here! Now!”
The guys went to the car, opened the trunk and drugged Slap out. Even though he was tied securely, he put up a struggle.
“Damn, this bitch won’t keep still!”
“Knock his ass out!”
“Just get him inside,” Xavier yelled. “Ain’t no telling who on the lookout for our asses. Did y’all made sure y’all wasn’t being followed?” He asked, glaring at them.
“Wasn’t nobody left to follow us. We dropped his three bodyguards, left them tied up and unconscious,” Charles McIntier stated.
“Three? I thought there were four. Didn’t somebody tell me that?”
“Well, all we saw was three,” Charles repeated. The rest of them nodded.
“Damn! Now if there was a fourth man hiding out somewhere, he might be telling Slap’s peeps what went down. We gotta hurry or there may be some serious problems.”
He walked over to Slap.
“Sorry to have upset your evening, but we need a little favor,” he said, gazing at the man who stared at him with daggers in his eyes. “We need guns and ammunition – and you’re gonna get them for us.” Xavier leaned over and snatched the gag from Slap’s mouth. “What do you have to say?”
“Fuck you!” Slap snarled. He spit a glob of saliva at Xavier. It landed on his chest. Xavier raised his foot and kicked slap swiftly in the ribs.
“Look, fuck ass nigga, you don’t have a choice. You’re giving us what we want,” Xavier said evenly, kicking Slap again. “Don’t make things harder on yourself.”
“Like I said, fuck you! Whore ass nigga!” Slap replied.
“I see we gonna have to sway him over to our way of thinking,” Xavier growled. He pointed to five guys. They immediately surrounded Slap. “Go easy on him. I want him alive,” Xavier informed. “And untie him. It would be unfair to beat a bound man.” He chuckled evilly. “Go ‘head.”
The five guys began kicking and punching Slap. The blows were vicious. The licks sounded off. Slap was a slender guy, of average height. He was a lover, not a fighter. He was no match for five guys and he knew it. After taking the beating for several minutes he begged them to stop.
Xavier called them off. Slap laid on the ground, bleeding from his mouth and nose. They’d gone easy on his face, not wanting to damage him for life.
“You ready to make a deal?” Xavier asked.
Slap pulled himself to his knees. “Yeah,” he finally breathed.
“Very good!” Xavier said as though speaking to a naughty child who’d done a good deed. “Get him in the car. We’re going to a phone booth. He looked at Slap. “You’re gonna call one of your boys and have him bring five Uzis and five semi-automatic hand guns. Plus, we need enough ammunition for all of them. You understand?” Slap nodded. He hung his head in defeat. He knew he had to do what they told him because the one in charge was crazy. He wouldn’t put it past the guy to have him killed. If he was lucky, he’d make it out alive.

Everything went as planned. If the guy who brought Slap the things he requested suspected anything, he played it off well. He did, however, question Slap about the bruises on his face.
“What happened to you? Cat fight?”
“I- uh- I had a fight with one of my old ladies,” Slap lied. He glanced at Xavier who nodded. “You know how these bitches get sometimes. They want to accuse you of all type of things and claw you up because they’re suspicious.”
“I know what you mean, man,” the guy agreed. “Hey, I’ll check you later. We still on for tomorrow, right?” Slap nodded and the guy backed away from the car. They pulled off.
“You did well,” Xavier congratulated.
“I did? Then why you still poking me in my damn ribs?” Slap snapped. Xavier chuckled and removed the gun. He laid it across his lap, within Slap’s view. Slap knew not to try anything, as if he was that bold.
“So, what we gonna do about him?” Tim asked, referring to Slap.
“We gonna make sure he can’t talk for a long time.” He grabbed one of Slap hands. “He don’t need to write either- or hold a gun.”
As Peter stared on in horror, Xavier bent and twisted Slap’s hand until the bones cracked. Tim turned around in the driver’s seat to see what was happening as Slap shrieked in pain. His stomach churned.
“Pull over! I’m gonna be sick!” Peter groaned. He opened the car door and leaned out. He heaved heavily for at least ten minutes.
“Damn Fatboy, I thought you could stomach just about anything,” Xavier said cruelly. “Maybe I should have left you behind with that wuss, Mike.”
“X, man, you didn’t have to do it like that, man!” Time said angrily. “We could have thought of something else. Anything.”
Xavier leaned over the seat to confront Tim. “Don’t tell me what I should fucking do, man!” he yelled. “I’m the leader, not you. Just remember that.” Tim’s face tightened, but he said nothing further. “Peter, get ya big ass back in the car! We ain’t got all damn night.” Peter crawled back into the car. His face was twisted as he held his stomach.
Slap Woods continued to moan in pain.
“Shut the fuck up nigga or I’ll blow ya damn face off!” Xavier warned. He placed the gun to Slap’s nostrils. “I’m sick of this whining- from all of you. Since you, Fat ass. And you, Smartass are so fucking in love with Slap, y’all can take care of his ass!”
“W-what do you mean?” Peter stammered.
“You gonna make sure he’s dead Lardbutt, and both of y’all gonna make it look real.”
“Wait a minute-” Tim began, but Xavier silenced him with a hard knock from the butt of the gun.
“You’ll do whatever I tell you,” he hissed. “Now, we gonna get his car and put him in it. Then both of you will fill it with holes.”
Tim seethed inside. At the moment he wanted to knock the shit out of Xavier. Nobody had ever hit him and got away with it. He hated the feeling of powerlessness that overcame him. If Xavier wasn’t careful, he could end up seriously hurt. That was a promise.
Slap begged and pleaded with them not to kill him. He broke down and cried. Xavier had to force him out of the car. Slap’s legs shook like an epileptic having a fit. He was so scared that his body back up on him and his bowels let go. Peter’s hand shook so badly as he held the gun Xavier gave him.
“Damn! This bitch shitted on his self,” Xavier exclaimed. “Can y’all believe that?” Peter and Tim looked away in embarrassment.
Xavier was quiet for a moment, seeming to be deep in thought.
“Let him go,” he finally said. “We have too much to do. We don’t need the cops on our asses behind killing this fool- although I doubt they’d care a murdered drug dealer. Let him go,” he repeated.
Peter and Tim both breathed sighs of relief. They were so glad they didn’t have to kill anyone. Tim still raged on the inside. He would get Xavier back.
“Slap, I advise you to leave town if you know what’s good for you,” Xavier told him. “And don’t come back or I’ll finish off the job myself.”
Slap Woods got in his car and drove off like Satan was after him. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, oblivious of the pain in his broken hand. He had no thoughts of getting even. All he cared about was being alive. He figured it was time he relocated anyway. Los Angeles was as good a place as any.
“I’m taking this stuff back to the warehouse. Y’all can ride along if you want. If not-” he let the sentence trail off.
“I got to get home,” Tim said stiffly.
“Oh yeah. I forgot about ya twelve o’clock curfew,” Xavier said sarcastically. “What about you Pillsbury Dough Boy?” In reply, Peter clutched his stomach, leaned over and began to vomit again. Xavier smirked. “I take that to mean you’ll be going home too.”
Xavier got into his car and pulled off, leaving the other two staring behind him.
“You gonna be okay?” Tim asked Peter when his vomiting subsided. Peter shook his head.
“Yeah. I- I think so.” Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How can he be so-so”
“Ruthless?” Tim finished.
“Yeah. It’s like he is a totally different person. He ain’t Xavier no more.”
“Maybe it’s his way of dealin’ with his grief. His dad did just pass away.”
“Man, I’m starting to think- maybe- maybe X ain’t the leader that we need,” Peter said. They fell silent.
“You know, maybe you’re right,” Tim answered after a while. “Come on Pete, let’s get you something to settle ya stomach. You ever tried cream soda, man?”
“No, but I’m willing to try anything.”
Tim placed his arm around Peter’s shoulder in a friendly manner.
“Lean on me if you want,” he offered.
“Okay man, thanks.” Peter chuckled.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about that song, Lean On Me.” The two began to walk. Suddenly Tim interrupted the silence of the night with Lean on me, when you’re not strong. I’ll be your friend.”
“I’ll help you carry on-” Peter joined in and together they made their way home. The horrors of the night were forgotten as they sang at the top of their lungs.

Xavier arrived at the warehouse with the guns and ammunition. He dismissed the rest of the group and sat alone in the darkness on a crate. He tried not to think over the events of the day. He knew he was supposed to grieve for his father, but he wasn’t able to. There was a knot in the center of his chest and he couldn’t make it go away.
Xavier sat by himself for a while longer then headed home for home. He parked in the driveway, but didn’t get out the car. He wasn’t ready to go inside. He got out the car and began walking. The cool night air felt good on his face. He was deep in thought, going to no particular destination.
He snapped out of his trance when he heard loud singing. He was on the opposite side of the street and couldn’t make out the two figures until they passed under a streetlight. Tim and Peter. He felt rage as he watched them. They didn’t notice him as they continued on. He was angry- angry because they were happy.
For a split second, he felt like jogging across the street to join them. He caught himself in time. He knew they’d probably freeze up if he suddenly popped into sight.
He realized that none of the guys tripped with him, not like they tripped with each other. He felt left out, rejected. This only hardened his heart more.
He stared after Peter and Tim until they turned a corner and disappeared out of sight. Even though he couldn’t see them he could still hear them. They were singing something about back-stabbers. Xavier chuckled to himself. That’s what they were: all of them. Backstabbers. They smiled in his face when all the while they wanted to take his place.
“It won’t happen,” he said aloud. “No one will take my place. No one.” A couple passing by looked at him strangely. “What the hell y’all looking at?” he growled. They hurried down the sidewalk to get away from him. Xavier laughed. He felt so much pain inside, but he didn’t know how to let it out.

My Novel, HEADLINES - Update

2009-07-17T10:45:00.000-07:00

Whew! I've been typing away. I'm up to chapter ten. 30,421 words so far. I'll be posting more chapters soon.

My Debut Novel - It's Your World, Black Girl!

2009-07-16T17:14:00.000-07:00

Summary

It's Your World, Black Girl! is the story of three women living different lives, going through different troubles yet still feeling similar pains. All of them want to be loved. Chiquita fights the demons of rushing into marriage because of an unplanned pregnancy; Amethyst deals with single motherhood and baby-daddy drama by hitting the clubs; July struggles with a trifling cheater and the fallout that could end up costing her custody of her children. Will they succumb to their hardships or will they fight and prevail?

***If you'd like for me to email you the PDF version of this, send me an email with "It's Your World!" in the subject line. Send it to teresadpatterson2004@yahoo.com.

3-Day Book Challenge Update

2009-07-14T12:27:00.000-07:00

I'm postponing this challenge due to PMS. I was going to begin tomorrow. But, I know I won't get anything accomplished as long as I'm bloated, cramping and have a PMS headache.

I'll attempt this next week. Gotta get my mind right!

Stuck In a Relationship Because of Pregnancy

2009-07-13T09:47:00.000-07:00

I don’t understand why some people jump into relationships, and without even really knowing the person, they get pregnant or get someone pregnant. Now, it’s like they’re stuck.

First situation, I had a friend (notice I said had…I’ll explain that later) who got involved with a man. In less than a year, she’d moved him into her place. Next thing you know, she’s pregnant. She has since had the baby. The reason I refer to her in the past tense is because the man was very controlling. He didn’t want her to communicate with any of her friends. I mean none. So she stopped hanging out, stopped calling, and emailing me. She even changed her number. (I didn’t take it too personally. She did the same to all of her other friends too.) Even her family members are catching hell trying to keep in touch with her. He absolutely runs that relationship and wants to keep her to himself- all to himself. More power to them. I sincerely hope she’s doing well. I wouldn’t know, being that I haven’t seen nor heard from her in over a year. Dumb bitch. (Okay, maybe I did take it personal. I’ll get over it, just not today.) Anyway, forget her.

In the next instance, a friend got a woman pregnant early in the relationship. He grew up without a father, so he’s determined to be in his child’s life. He moved the woman in with him. Now, he’s very unhappy. He doesn’t down her, but he does complain. Seems like she doesn’t cook, clean, work or go to school. She does absolutely nothing except nag him so he stays away even more. Is there any hope for this relationship?

I basically told him that it’s on him. Only he can be responsible for his own happiness. I stated that it’s up to him the amount of disrespect he’s willing to take from her. Oh, by the way, she’s thirty years old, so there’s no excuse. It’s a woman’s duty to cook and clean not solely for a man, but for self. Who wants to live in a pigsty? Cleanliness is next to godliness. Period. This heifer lucked up. She caught her a Dumb Ass. She probably knew how he felt about family and got herself a free meal ticket. I explained to him that he shouldn’t expect her to change after she has the baby. This is as good as it gets. I feel bad for him because he’s one of the rare, true, kind-hearted, sincere, honest, hard-working brothers left. She’s making it hard for good women like me to find a good man like that, because she’s scarring him for life. After she’s finish with him, he’s probably going to start dating outside his race. Another good man down.

Ultimately, we teach people how to treat us. If your significant other is treating you less than kingly or queenly, you need to change it, or look forward to unhappily ever after.

3-Day Book Challenge

2009-07-13T06:17:00.001-07:00

There's been a slight change of plans. I just can't make up my mind.

Anyhoo...

I've decided to write an entirely different book for my 3-Day book challenge. It's called Red Dress and here's a summary:

Summary

How hard can it be to prostitute your body? Dalvenia Churchill has no choice but to find out. Her husband left, taking everything of value with him. She is unemployed with no job skills and has seven year old twins to care for. The only thing she has to offer is her body.

Night after night, she puts on her red dress and walks the streets to make a living. When she finally manages to save enough money to pay for nursing school her scumbag husband, Keith, returns. Keith swears he’s a changed man and his actions prove that he has indeed turned over a new leaf. Will their marriage endure after she tells him what she did in order to survive all those months without him?

Michael Jackson Was Their Father Regardless of What People Think

2009-07-08T10:32:00.000-07:00

Boy, I tell you I am so tired of the damn media!

Michael Jackson was the only father that those children knew. It doesn't matter to me if they were his biological children or not. They were his children! He raised them. Debbie Rowe needs to back up off them and she needs to never, ever, ever get custody of those precious little ones. She threw them away! She never cared before and there's no need for her to start caring now. Let their grandmother have custody. Let them be happy.

Done ranting.

I think the youngest child is Michael's biological child. He does resemble him, and he looks biracial. Just my opinion.

Headlines - Chapter Six

2009-07-06T08:05:00.000-07:00

Later that evening as Xavier headed for home he let his mind drift to his brother. He remembered Woodrow’s pitiful cries that morning. He hoped Woodrow had disappeared by the time he got there. He wanted to hold on to the belief that if you ignored the problem, it would go away.
“If only one could be so lucky,” he said aloud as he walked inside.
“LaMount, is that you?” his mother called from the kitchen.
“Yes ma’am,” he answered. He walked into the room. Woodrow sat at the table. He was attempting to eat a bowl of soup that was in front of him. He spilled more than he ate because his hand shook so badly.
“What’s up Preacher?” He greeted and smirked. Xavier chose to ignore him. He went to the refrigerator and took out a pint of orange juice. He drank straight from the carton.
“Hey man, what’s up with that?” Woodrow exclaimed. “Don’t be slobbing back in the juice. Somebody else might want some.”
“Fuck you,” Xavier swore before he could catch himself. “Oops. Sorry Mama. Woodrow is getting on my nerves right about now.” He continued to drink from the carton watching Woodrow’s frown deepen.
“You think you’re so damn intelligent. You simple-minded motherfucker,” Woodrow snapped.
“Boys, please,” Mrs. Brunswick intervened.
“At least I got a mind. Yours is burned out. Junkie.” Woodrow leapt up from the table, causing his soup to spill over the sides of the bowl.
“Man, you want to try me or something? I bet this junkie can still stomp a knot on your ass, punk,” he yelled.
“Hey. Hey. What the hell did your mother just tell you two?” Their father entered the kitchen looking as mean as ever. They both fell silent, glaring at each other. “I’m not going to deal with this shit. If y’all want to argue and fight, take it outside.” He glared at them both. “And put that damn bird chest of yours back in its cage,” he told Woodrow. Woodrow gave him a puzzled look then smiled slightly. He sat back down.
“I ain’t in shape like I used to be,” he mumbled, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the soup he’d spilled. They all exchanged glances. An uncomfortable silence settled over the kitchen. Xavier cleared his throat.
“I guess I’ll go wash up for dinner,” he said and made for the door. Neither his mother nor father said anything. Both knew he always washed up at the kitchen sink since he was a small child. Woodrow knew it too. He gave his parents a guilty look then went back to spooning soup into his mouth.
Xavier took his time before returning to the kitchen. He was composed when he re-entered. To his family, he seemed unfazed. He took his seat and began to say the Grace.
“Mama how was your day?” he asked as she handed him the collard greens.
“I called in today,” she said.
“Oh? Well, it’s good to take time off every once in a while,” he told her.
“Right,” Mr. Brunswick snorted. “That money is needed. She didn’t have to take off. Woodrow can look after himself. It’s not like he’s still wearing diapers.”
“Hey Pops, keep me out of this,” Woodrow said. He threw up his hands.
Xavier took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Dad, maybe if you stopped wasting all of your money on a certain beverage, Mama wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
“How in the hell are you going to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do?” Mr. Brunswick bellowed.
“Mama is getting old. She can’t be busting her ass cleaning other people’s shit,” Xavier retorted.
“Oh, you think you can talk to me any kind of way now? You smell your piss and think you’re grown?” Mr. Brunswick banged his fist on the table. “If you’re so damn grown, why don’t you get a fucking job?” He turned red in the face. For some reason, that made Xavier angrier.
“Man, you ain’t nothing but a sorry ass cracker.”
“What the hell did you say?” Everyone paused in eating.
“You heard me. I said, you ain’t nothing but a cracker. A redneck. A wanna-be,” Xavier spat. Mr. Brunswick slammed his silverware down and stood up. His nostrils flared.
“I think it’s about time that you and I had it out.”
“I won’t even waste my strength,” Xavier said, bored. He ignored his father who stood directly beside him, swaying.
“Don’t ever disrespect me again boy. Do you hear me?”
Xavier snapped. “I ain’t your fucking boy, old man. Remember that.”
“You remember this.” His father swung on him. The blow caused Xavier to fall out of his seat. For a split second he was completely stunned. He couldn’t believe the old man had actually hit him. He saw the disbelief on his mother’s face and Woodrow’s mouth dropped open.
“You bastard.” He got to his feet, holding his jaw. “If you ever touch me again, I’ll kill your ass,” he threatened through clenched teeth. He pointed in his dad’s face. “Do you understand?” He glared at his father with pure hatred in his eyes. “I’ll kill you.” He pushed his chair over angrily and stalked out of the room. The front door slammed as he left the house.

He walked around to try and calm down. He was livid. He couldn’t get over what happened. His dad had struck him. In all of his seventeen years, his father had never laid a hand on him. Woodrow had been the one who got all of the discipline. No matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get his dad to take much notice of him. He thought getting whipped was his dad’s way of showing that he cared about them. When he was never punished, he was sure that meant his did didn’t love him at all.
Now, he didn’t know what to think. He was confused. Inside he was elated that his dad had finally paid some attention to him. He thought maybe the old man cared about him after all. Now, he didn’t want him to care. He didn’t need him for anything. He’d made it this far alone, without anyone but his mother. He could continue going it alone.
“Hey, BTO,” someone called behind him. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to realize they were talking to him. “Hey, Xavius or whatever.” The person called again. This time Xavier heard and turned around. It was the man who’d tried to rob Tom’s game room earlier. He stopped walking.
“Man, I told you I’d get in touch,” he said tightly. He looked around to make sure no one could see or overhear.
“I know, but I need that money you promised me now. I gotta bail my fuckin’ brother out the pen,” the guy replied nervously. He would tell that Xavier was upset about something. He didn’t want to set him off for any reason. He’d seen him break Darkman’s nose without batting an eye.
“All right man. It’s cool. You did a good job. Things didn’t go quite the way we planned, but hell. The best plans go up in smoke sometime, right?” He dug in his pocket and pulled out five twenty dollar bills and handed them over.
“I thought I was gonna get my nuts shot off,” the guy said.
“I’m sorry about that. Like I said, things don’t always happen like we plan. You okay? You took quite a knock from that cue stick.”
“I know that’s right.” He rubbed his head where he’d gotten hit. “That slinky lil fucker was so quick. I didn’t even see him. You got ya self some loyal followers, let me tell you. BTO is gonna be something big.” He hurriedly stuck the money into his pocket. “If you ever need me to pull something for you again, just let me know.”
“I will. I gotta run,” he said. He was anxious to get going. He didn’t want any of the guys to see them talking. They might figure out he’d paid someone to pull a fake robbery just so BTO could come to the rescue. Everyone would look up to BTO and begin to trust them.
“Aiight. Peace.” The man took off and Xavier breathed a sigh of relief.
Xavier wasn’t stupid by a long shot. However; he believed all the guys in the group were if they could follow him without question. Who the hell just blindly followed someone like that? They had to be mindless cattle.
When he returned home, his parents and Woodrow were in the living room watching television.
“Xavier, I didn’t mean-” His Dad began to speak, but Xavier cut him off.
“Forget it old man. Just forget it.” He walked past them and went to his room.
“That boy is on a path of self destruction,” Mr. Brunswick said.
“Self-destruction! You’re headed for self-destruction!” Woodrow began to sing. “Self-destruction!”
“Woodrow please! This isn’t the Arsenio Hall Show,” Mr. Brunswick snapped. Woodrow laughed wildly. He appeared to be agitated. He had a desperate look in his eyes that neither parent noticed.

That night was really bad for Woodrow. He tossed and turned, throwing the soaking, sweaty sheets off his body. Mrs. Brunswick was by his side wiping his face with a cool washcloth.
“Mama, I’m dying! Just get me something,” he begged.
“All you need is right here,” she replied quietly, referring to the bible she held in her lap.
“What can that do for me, huh?” He laughed that wild laugh of his. “Yeah Mama. That’s all I need. Is that right? Then what you waiting on? Roll me a page!” He laughed until the tears trickled down his cheeks.
“It’s going to be alright,” Mrs. Brunswick soothed, rubbing the tears from his cheeks with her bare hands.
“No it won’t. Not unless you get me something,” Woodrow yelled. “Get me something. Please!” He grabbed her hand in desperation. “Please Mama. I can’t take the pain. Get me something!” His eyes begged for her to relieve his anguish, but she just shook her head.
“I can’t do it baby. Shh!” she whispered, placing the wet washcloth to his hot forehead. Woodrow continued to whimper and writhe underneath the sheets. “This too shall pass.”

All of the noise Woodrow made had everyone else in the house awake. Mr. Brunswick was secretly turning up a bottle. Xavier was praying with his eyes clenched tightly shut.
“God please! Please!” he mumbled over and over. He hated hearing his brother in such pain. He wanted to help Woodrow, but he couldn’t. The only person who could help Woodrow was…Woodrow.

Everyone was asleep when Woodrow crept out of his bedroom. It had been hard to do, but he’d feigned sleep long enough to get rid of his mother. His hands shook because he needed a fix. He made his way down the stairs as silently as he could. Once downstairs, he searched for something that he could sell. Anything of value would do.
His desperate eyes landed on the television. He couldn’t carry that out of the house without being seen or making too much noise. He continued to look around. He spotted Xavier’s watch on the coffee table. He wouldn’t feel guilty selling it. Xavier could easily get another one. He grabbed it up and tucked it away in his pants. Before he changed his mind, he slipped quietly out into the night.

The next morning Woodrow was in high spirits. His mother kept glancing at him in concern. She sensed that something wasn’t right.
“What’s in that coffee?” Mr. Brunswick joked. “Think I’ll have some of that. It’s got Woodrow mighty excited this morning.” The three of them laughed.
Xavier entered the room and they immediately fell silent when they saw the look of fury on his face.
“Your eggs will be ready in a minute,” Mrs. Brunswick told him, getting ready to get up from her chair.
“Don’t bother with that Mama. I’m not eating this morning. I don’t have an appetite. I just came to get my watch from Woodrow.” He glared at his brother. “I put it on the table in the living room last night. Suddenly, it disappeared. I wonder if it learned how to walk overnight,” he said tightly.
“Wait a minute. There isn’t a reason to accusing anyone,” Mr. Brunswick stated. “Maybe you misplaced the watch.”
“You know that’s not the case. For months, I put my watch in the same place every night. Now, Woodrow comes back and it walks. What does that tell you? Come on!” He tossed Woodrow a vile look. “He stole it.”
“I didn’t steal your shit!” Woodrow denied.
“Yeah, right. You mighty happy this morning and I know it’s not a caffeine fix. What did you do with my watch?” he demanded to know.
“If your brother said he didn’t take your watch, then he didn’t take the damn thing,” Mr. Brunswick intervened.
“Then where did he get the money to buy this?” Xavier snapped. He held out three pieces of crack and a glass pipe. They all stared at the evidence in silence. “Now, tell me you didn’t sell my watch, Woodrow. Tell me that lie one more time, man.”
“I don’t know where that came from. It ain’t mine,” Woodrow lied unconvincingly. “I didn’t touch your watch.”
“Man, why don’t you stop lying?” Xavier exploded. “If you’re going to kill yourself, do it on your own. Don’t be pawing my shit to help yourself die.” He threw the crack and pipe at Woodrow. “Crackhead!”
“I ain’t lying, Mountie,” Woodrow continued. “I didn’t steal that watch, man.”
Suddenly, Xavier was seized with anger. He lunged forward and hit Woodrow in the jaw. “Shut up!”
“LaMount!” Mrs. Brunswick gasped.
“Xavier, let it rest,” Mr. Brunswick said. Xavier turned his fury on them.
“Why are ya’ll so worried about him? He ain’t nothing but a strung out, drug addict. He’s never going to get straight. He’s going to rob all of us blind and y’all will keep on protecting him. He’s going to die a dopefiend!”
“Why you dissing me, man?” Woodrow whined. “I ain’t did nothing.”
“If you ever touch anything that belongs to me again, you better turn your soul over to God ‘cause your ass will belong to me,” Xavier warned. “Have a nice day toking on that crack pipe brother.” He turned to his father and smirked. “Dad, ignore it all by sucking on that bottle.” He smiled sadly at his mother. “And you just keep on pretending that nothing’s wrong and praying that God will take care of it. Meanwhile, I’m out of here.” He walked away, slamming the door loudly as he left the house.

When Xavier met up with the group at school, if he thought Mike acted a bit strange, he didn’t let on. In actuality, Mike was boiling mad underneath his cool exterior. He woke up that morning with a clear head and remembered everything. He knew that Xavier had bashed his head into a fire hydrant. He vowed to make Xavier pay. In the meantime, he’d play it cool. His opportunity would come. The sooner it came, the better.
Xavier was excited about the upcoming meeting later in the evening. He was in his own world, not paying attention to what was going on around him.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice said. Xavier looked up in annoyance.
“What?” He stared into the face of a very pretty girl.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did.” Xavier’s brows furrowed in puzzlement. The girl continued. “Earl Ray, the one who got stabbed to death, was my brother. I’m glad you tried to do something to help. Somebody finally agreed to testify and my brother’s death won’t be for nothing. Thank you.” Xavier just stared at the girl, saying nothing. Soon she became flustered. A slow blush crept to her face.
“What’s your name?” he finally asked.
“L-lisa,” she stammered.
“Lisa, can you type?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“How would you like to be BTO’s personal secretary?”
“Are you serious?” she asked excitedly.
“I’m always serious,” Xavier pointed out.
“I’d love to be your secretary. What do I have to do?” she asked.
“Just give me your phone number. I’ll call you,” he said.
“Okay. Sure.” After she scribbled her number on a piece of paper and handed it to him, she continued to stand there gawking.
“You can dipp now,” he said rudely. “You already made me lose my train of thought.”
Lisa hurried away and took her seat in the back of the classroom. She wasn’t worried about Xavier’s rudeness. She knew there was a soft heart underneath that cold exterior and she was going to reach it.
As she daydreamed, Xavier turned around in his seat and their eyes locked. He was the first to look away. Lisa smiled knowingly. He was interested.
When the last bell rang signaling the end of the school day Xavier and the guys met up at his locker.
“I want everybody to meet at my place at five o’clock sharp. If your man doesn’t show up, you will be held accountable for his absence. I don’t even need to tell you the penalty for missing a meeting,” he told them and they all nodded. “I won’t waste anymore time talking. Y’all get home, do your homework, eat, shit- whatever needs to be done because there will be no interruptions once the meeting begins. See y’all at five.”

Xavier was so upset with his family that he seriously considered skipping dinner. He didn’t even want to stare into their faces because he knew it would make him mad. They were all in such denial.
When he entered the house he saw his mom and dad, but there was no signs of Woodrow.
“Where’s the addict?” he asked sarcastically. He was greeted with silence until Mr. Brunswick sighed loudly.
“Xavier,” he began. “I think I owe you an apology.” Xavier was thrown completely off balance.
“W-what for?” he finally managed to ask.
“I was wrong. Woodrow admitted to taking your watch and selling it on the street. The reason he’s not here is because he’s trying to go buy it back.” His dad couldn’t meet his eyes. He continued. “I shouldn’t have hit you yesterday either. I was wrong,” he ended.
It left Xavier speechless. He couldn’t believe his dad apologized to him. He stared at his father suspiciously. He seemed sincere enough, but it still was a shock. Xavier sat down.
“I guess I was responsible for what happened yesterday,” he admitted. “I said some stuff I shouldn’t have said.” That’s as close to an apology that he was willing to give. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said this morning either.” He directed this mostly to his mother. She nodded in understanding. “Uh-” Xavier cleared his throat. “I’m going to have some people over later. We’re meeting out back. I’ll make sure they don’t disturb you,” he told Mr. Brunswick.
“It won’t be a problem. Your mother and I aren’t going to be here anyway. We decided to go out.” Again Xavier was surprised.
“Your father and I want to see this movie starring Whoopie Goldberg. Everyone’s talking about it,” Mrs. Brunswick added.
“I heard that’s a good one. I’m happy you two are getting out for a change,” he told them sincerely. He couldn’t remember the last time his parents went out.
“I hope you don’t mind eating alone. I fixed enough for you and Woodrow, but I doubt if he’ll touch any food,” Mrs. Brunswick said quietly.
“No. I don’t mind,” Xavier said. “Enjoy the movie. You deserve a night out.”
Mrs. Brunswick smiled happily and it made him feel good. She hadn’t smiled like that in a long time. He hadn’t realized all the stain she’d been under. Trying to be referee between him and his father must have been stressful. Now, she had Woodrow to worry about too.
Xavier found himself sneaking an unobserved look at his father. He noticed how tired Mr. Brunswick looked. He felt a small amount of guilt.
Mr. Brunswick glanced up from his paper and caught Xavier staring at him. “Do you like my new haircut?” he asked.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s nice.” His dad had gotten an up-to-date cut. It made him look distinguished. “That’s nice,” he said sincerely. He couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw a hint of a smile on his father’s face.
“Well, I’m going to go do my homework. Have a nice time at the movies,” he told his parents and headed for his room.
Once his parents left, Xavier got ready for the big event. He was so excited that he couldn’t concentrate. He pushed his homework to the side and went into the living room to watch television. He changed from station to station then finally switched it off. He got up and began to pace. He heard the click of the door as Woodrow entered. He felt a quick, stabbing anger but forced it down.
“What’s up?” He spoke tightly. Woodrow avoided looking him in the eye.
“I – uh- didn’t mean to take your, er-”
“Watch?” Xavier finished for him.
“Yeah. I – I tried to buy it back, but I couldn’t find the dude I sold it to,” he said quickly.
“Forget about it.”
“Naw man. I shouldn’t have taken nothing from you. You’re my brother, my blood. It’s just that I can’t- I can’t control myself. Drugs- I got to have them,” he admitted. He reached into his jacket pocket and held out a package to Xavier. “I got you a new watch. I know it ain’t the same and all, but I thought-” His words trailed off. Xavier took the watch. He stared at it for a long time.
“Thanks, man,” he finally mumbled past the thickness in his throat.
“Believe me, it was hard spending that money on another watch instead of on crack,” Woodrow said, destroying the moment. Xavier frowned. At that moment the doorbell rang.
“That should be the fellows,” he said, glad for the distraction. He placed his new watch on his wrist and headed for the door.

Headlines - Chapter Five

2009-07-06T08:01:00.000-07:00

“Peter, I thought you said you wanted something to eat.” Tim’s voice interrupted Peter’s thoughts.
“Huh?” Peter seemed to be dazed. He looked at Tim stupidly.
“I thought you said you wanted some food. You going in or what?” Tim said. Peter looked up. They stood in front of Geech’s Bar- B-Q.
“I do,” he said dumbly.
“Then stop blocking the door and let’s go in.” Xavier pushed him aside and entered. The rest of them followed.
“What will it be?” the man behind the counter asked. Xavier turned away abruptly with a disgusted looked on his face. “Y’all go ahead and order. I lost my appetite,” he said.
“What’s wrong, X?” Tim asked.
“I just don’t want nothing.” He went back outside.
“What’s wrong with him?” Peter asked.
Tim went up to the counter and just like Xavier, he backed away.
“What’s up?” Peter wanted to know.
“Oh, hell no,” Tim said. “I don’t want to order nothing from no fag. He might be digging in his ass.”
The Mean Kid burst out laughing. The guy behind the glass window curled his lips, rolled his eyes, and placed his hands on his hips.
“Why y’all tripping? I’ll order, shit.” Peter approached the side window and ordered. He got some ribs, coleslaw, two cheeseburgers, mash potatoes and gravy and half a sweet potato pie.”
“You enjoy yaself and have a nice day,” the man said and winked. Peter grabbed his order and hurried for the door.
Outside, he searched for the others.
“Over here Chunky,” Tim called. He headed across the lot. They sat on a bench at a bus stop. Peter hurried over.
“What took you so long? You and that faggot must have worked something,” Xavier joked.
“Man, get off me with that shit. I ain’t even got to go for the gays. I’m one hundred percent male,” Peter bragged. “I can get me a female any time I want.”
“Yeah, right. What kid of female, a chickenhead?” Xavier asked.
“I gets mine,” Peter insisted.
“You get yours alright- on a plate with biscuits and gravy.” They all cracked up from the playing jigging. Peter just shrugged them off, sat down and opened his bag. Delicious smells floated out to temp them. They drew closer and Peter squinted.
“Y’all eyes may shine, y’all teeth may grit, but these barbeque ribs y’all ain’t gone get.”
“What all you got in there, bru? Look like you went to Mr. C’s Warehouse and racketed up,” Tim said.
“A lil something to whet my appetite,” Peter replied. He pulled the food out the bag.
“You got to give me one of those burgers man,” Xavier ordered.
“This coleslaw is as good as mine,” Tim said.
“Ribs,” The Mean Kid indicated. Peter frowned but handed over half a slab. He had two left. They all ate like they were starved.”
“Go back in there and get something to drink,” Xavier said after awhile.
“Naw, bru. That queer winked at me,” Peter declined. “You just have to choke it down with ya spit.” Tim and Donnell laughed.
“We’ll get some sodas at the store on the corner. That faggot might be selling booty juice or something.” They exploded in laughter. Once they finished eating, they left the bus stop and headed for the store.
Satisfied after purchasing soft drinks, they headed on. They were half-way to their destination of Twenty-Second Street. Up ahead they saw a crowd.
“Tom’s place be thick,” Peter commented. As they neared, the people standing around turned to stare at them.
“What’s up wit’ these fuck niggas?” Someone asked. Xavier sought out the speaker.
“Yo man, you got any reason to disrespect us like that?” he asked.
“Who the fuck is you to question me?” he retorted.
“That’s BTO,” someone else said, eyeing the bold letters on the back of their jackets. “They were in the hole yesterday. He the one who kicked the shit out ya boy, Darkman,” he revealed. The first guy seemed to lose all of his steam suddenly. He backed off. “No harm intended.” He stepped aside and they entered the game room.
The place was small and smoke-filled. A counter was to the left. It separated the store from the rest of the game room. They could see snacks, candy, and jars of goods. Peter immediately stepped closer.
“How can I help you lil pig?” the huge man behind the counter asked. Peter was tempted to laugh, but he held it in. He knew Tom and he also knew that he kept a .38 just within reach beneath the counter. Even if Tom wasn’t serious, Peter wouldn’t chance joking around.
While Peter made up his mind on what he wanted the rest of them scattered. The Mean Kid and Tim went to separate video games which lined the left and back walls. Xavier eyed the game of pool that was taking place.
“Yo man, wanna play?” a thin guy with a cigarette hanging from his mouth asked. He racked the balls.
“Naw man,” Xavier declined. “Thanks.” He ambled over to an old-fashioned jukebox. Amazingly, it had some up-to-date selections. He put in a dollar worth of quarters and pushed the button. Music blasted out.
Finished with his purchase, Peter walked over and stood next to Xavier. They were reading the selection titles when a man rushed into the place and aimed a gun at Tom. Everyone froze in shock, finding it hard to believe it was actually happening.
“Okay Fat Ass, move away from the counter. Step back. Now,” the gunman yelled. Tom did as told. “I want you,” he pointed at the guy standing by the pool table,” to get behind the counter and open the cash register. Don’t try nothing funny. Everybody get ya hands over ya heads where I can see them.” Everyone in the room looked at Xavier for instructions, even the ones who weren’t a part of BTO. Xavier nodded and they all complied. The thin guy slid behind the counter. “Hurry up. I ain’t patient, so don’t be surprised if I cap ya ass.”
“Yo man, why you doing this?” Xavier asked. “Why you robbing from your own? Huh?”
“Man, lick my ass. Don’t try that psychology shit with me. It won’t work.”
“Why you holding up a brother? You could get a thousand times as much holding up a business run by The Man. Why settle for chunk change?” Xavier persisted.
“Look Fuck Nigga, didn’t I say I didn’t want to hear that shit?” He turned and aimed the gun directly at Xavier.
“Easy now,” Peter cautioned. The group came closer. They’d all go down if Xavier did.
“You pop him, you may as well take all of us out,” Tim told him. “Otherwise, you ain’t gonna leave here walking—if you leave here alive.”
“All I want is the money.” The guy was getting nervous and he let his guard down. He wasn’t watching his back. Just like a sly fox, The Mean Kid crept up on him. The pool stick connected solidly with the gunman’s skull. He immediately fell to the floor. Tom took that opportunity to grab his pistol.
“Move and I’ll blow ya dick off, motherfucker.”
“D-don’t shot, man. Don’t shoot,” the man pleaded.
“Y’all make sure he don’t go no where. I’m calling the popo on his fuck ass.” Tom grabbed the phone.
“Naw man. Don’t do that. Wait a minute. I can’t go to jail. Please,” the guy begged. He rubbed his head where a knot had formed. “I lost my head, man. I ain’t had nothing to eat in three days.” He rushed on. “Some guys gave me this gun and told me to hold up this place. We was gonna split the money three ways. I was just desperate.”
“That don’t give you no reason to try to take what’s mine,” Tom yelled. “Yo’ ass is goin’ to jail.” He reached for the phone again.
“Tom please. I got a wife and kids. They depending on me to provide for them. I can’t do that in jail.”
“Ya bitch ass should of thought of that before you slipped in here and tried to rob me.” Tom began to punch in the numbers and the man burst into tears. Everyone stared at him and shook their heads at how pitiful he looked.
“Tom, it seems like he’s remorseful,” Xavier said. “Why don’t you just let him go? No one was hurt. No harm was done. Just let him go.” Tom seemed to think about it then he sighed.
“Aiight.” He pointed at the man. “Don’t ever let me see ya black ass in here again. If you come within ten feet of my place, I swear to the man above, I’ll bust a cap off in ya ass. Now get the fuck out.”
“Thank you,” the man sobbed. He got to his feet and ran for the door. He didn’t look back.
“That was some fucked up shit,” the thin guy said. He was still behind the counter. “I think I need a stiff drink right about now.”
“What you gone get is a stiff foot up ya ass if you don’t get from behind my shit,” Tom roared.
“Chill out, Slim,” the guy tossed over his shoulder. He went back to the pool table to pick up his pack of cigarettes and matched. “I’ll see y’all later. My fucking nerves can’t take this shit. I ain’t no you man like the rest of you. I gots to go.” With shaking hands, he put his cigarettes in his shirt pocket. He nodded at them. “BTO saved ya big ass, Tom,” he said and rushed from the store before Tom could respond.
“I want everybody to clear out of here,” Tom growled. “I’m locking it up for the night. A big man like me can’t stand another hold up. Been done had a cardiac arrest. Y’all go home.” Everyone began to file out.
“Can I at least get my dollar back?” Xavier asked. “I didn’t get to hear the song I selected.”
“Too damn bad. I ain’t got nothing to do with that,” Tom replied.
“You ‘bout a stingy ass fat motherfucker,” Xavier insulted. “We should have let ya ass get robbed.”
Tom snatched open the register, slapped a dollar on the counter top and growled. “Now get the hell out.”
Xavier calmly took the dollar bill, smiled and politely thanked him. He turned at the door.
“One question before we leave.” He paused. “Ain’t there a few places that you can’t quite reach with a washcloth?” Everyone roared with laughter. Tom reached under the counter and they all dashed outside.

“So, what now?” Peter asked as they stood outside on the sidewalk in front of Tom’s Place.
Xavier glanced at his watch. “It’s still early, but ain’t nothing out here to do. We could head on to school.” Everyone declined.
“We can go see what Mike’s up to,” Tim suggested.
“Yeah. Since his mama’s gone, we can chill there and watch soap operas,” Peter said excitedly. Three pairs of eyes glared at him so he shut up.
“I guess that’s what we’ll do, head to Mike’s.” As they walked through the neighborhood they got plenty of stares.
“Brothers Takin’ Over?” One man muttered in passing. “Shit. The Niggas done already took over.”
“Yo. What’s up BTO?” someone yelled from a passing car and threw them the thumbs up.
“See, what I told y’all? BTO is out. Pretty soon, everybody gonna know us,” Xavier bragged. “Y’all been on the lookout for some prospective members?” he asked. “I know it’s kinda early for me to ask, but I’m ready to increase this group.”
“I already picked out three good brothers,” Tim said. “You probably already know them. Raydel Bronson, Travis Hearld, and Steve Washington.”
“Yeah, I know them. That’s the K-9 Posse. How you get them interested in BTO?”
“I just told them what we’re about. Told them what we hope to accomplish and they agreed to partake in it,” he answered. “I got my eye on two more guys at school. I’ll speak to them tomorrow.”
“Good. Good. How about the rest of y’all?”
“I got five,” The Mean Kid stated.
“Yeah? Who you got?” Xavier asked.
“The G-Q Crew.”
“What?” All three asked at once.
“You serious, man?” Tim asked, and The Mean Kid nodded.
“How?” Xavier asked.
The Mean Kid smirked. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” They didn’t know if he was joking or serious. No one asked him any further questions.
“This is great. What about you Peter?” Xavier asked. He sounded doubtful, as if he expected Peter to disappoint him.
“I got five guys from my church,” he replied. “Before you go dissing them, let me tell you who they are. Willie Davidson, Charles McIntire, Monroe Vakasky, Drake Russell, and Victor Haugabook.”
Xavier nodded. He knew most of them.
“What’s up with them? Their moms must had to put a gun to their heads to make them go to church,” Tim said.
“It ain’t even like that,” Peter defended. “You go to God on your own free will.”
“Okay. Okay. Pastor, not a sermon,” Xavier interrupted. “I got five brothers too. Y’all ain’t the only ones working. I’m straight too. I picked Johnny Franklin, Jessie Peterson, Darren Brown, Dwayne Brown, and Robert Dillard.” He stared at them, pleased. “We’re going to have our first meeting on Friday. Make sure your perspectives attend.”
They approached Mike’s house.
“I wonder if Mike picked some people?” Peter thought aloud.
“We’ll see.” Xavier walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. It was minutes before Mike appeared. “What’s up? We came by to see how you doing.”
“Not so hot. My head is pounding,” Mike groaned. He let them in. “I was just getting ready to scramble some eggs. Y’all want some.”
“Yeah,” Peter said quickly. The others declined.
“Guess what happened, Mike?” Tim followed him into the kitchen and told him about the incident at Tom’s game room. Peter hurried after hem, thinking about food.
“Mike, can I turn on the TV?” Xavier called. He and The Mean Kid took a seat.
“Go ahead,” Mike said. Xavier clicked it on. Days of Our Lives was playing. They watched for a few minutes and became so engrossed that they didn’t hear someone knocking.
“Yo, somebody want to get that?” Mike called from the kitchen. Neither boy moved. The knocking persisted. Tim came out of the kitchen, glanced at them. They had their eyes glued to the screen. He shook his head and went to answer the door.
Five guys stood thee. All of them were frowning.
“What’s up?” Tim nodded.
“Mike home?”
“Yeah, come on in.” They all followed him inside.
“Mike, you have company,” Tim called. Mike and Peter came out of the kitchen carrying plates of eggs and toast.
“What’s up fellows?” Mike placed his food down and went over to slap hands with them. They all sat down, some had to use the edge of the couch and love seat because there wasn’t enough chairs.
“X, these are the five guys I picked for BTO,” he said. He indicated Xavier. “Xavier is the leader of BTO,” he relayed. The guys all seemed to size Xavier up.
“What’s up?” Xavier got up and shook all of their hands. “Give me your names and reasons you think you can be a part of BTO,” he said.
The first guy stepped up. He was medium height, slightly built, and wore a LL Cool J styled cap on his head. Two other’s wore similar caps and the other two wore stockings. Xavier frowned.
“Take ya cap off.” He glared at them all. “All of you. Hats off.” They hesitated. The room grew quiet. No was paying attention to the soap opera now.
Xavier stepped up and snatched the cap from the guy’s head who stood in front of him. Everybody quickly pulled their hats off.
“My name is Darrell Stearns. I want to be a part of BTO because I think it’s about time for somebody to do something to straighten out our communities. I’m sick of seeing brothers beating each other down. I want to be a part of the group that’s going to make a difference.” He took a seat and the next guy stood up and spoke.
“I’m Terry Simmons. I want to be a part of BTO because I feel that I have a lot to offer the group. My knowledge will become BTO’s knowledge.” The tone of his voice and the way he looked made the all laugh. He was a thin guy with big glasses. His hair was cut low on the sides but really high in the top.
“Okay Steven Erkel, you can have a seat,” Xavier cracked.
“But I wasn’t finished,” Terry said in his whiny, mouse-like voice.
“You are now. Park it. Next.”
“My name is LeNard Carter. I live in the projects. Jordan Park to be exact. The drug dealers have taken complete control. I watched my uncle die from a crack overdose. I want to put a stop to drugs being sold in my neighborhood. I think BTO will be a way to do that.”
“Good,” Xavier nodded. “That’s the kind of thinking we need. What about you?” He eyed the fourth guy critically. “What the hell you got on your head? It that some new fad or something? Get rid of that shit.” He glared shrewdly at the five boys. “There will be no need for fronting in this group. There ain’t no need for fads here. We are all one and the same. We ain’t got to call attention to ourselves by wearing shit like this.” He grabbed the stocking cap that the guy hadn’t removed and ripped it off his head. “We ain’t gonna need this, brothers. We’re going to be known for what we stand for and that’s freedom.” He had all of them captivated. “Freedom from being scared to walk outside, freedom from being scared you might get shot on ya own doorstep, freed from dope pushers, freedom from drug abusers. We are BTO. What’s that stand for?” he asked.
“Brother’s Takin’ Over,” some of them said lowly.
“What?” he yelled.
“Brothers Takin’ Over!” they yelled, getting enthused by his reaction.
“What’s our name?”
“BTO!’
“What’s that stand for?”
“Brothers Takin’ Over!”
“BTO!”
“Brothers Takin’ Over!”
“BTO!”
“Brothers Takin’ Over!” They chanted over and over. Xavier waved his hand for silence. They all complied immediately.
“We ain’t gonna be like them other lame ass groups. We ain’t doing this for personal gain. We are doing this for our communities. The white man says we’re animals, so we act like animals. We treat our own kind worse than a mangy, flea-ridden dog. It can’t be like that. We have to make a change. We can make a difference.” He could see that he’d reached every single person in the room. He smiled a self-satisfied smirk. He had them where he wanted them. He couldn’t wait until Friday when all twenty-nine of them stood before him looked for guidance and instructions. He experienced a surge of power. He finally felt like he was somebody.

Headlines - Chapter Four

2009-07-06T08:00:00.001-07:00

***Chapters 1-3 previously posted.

“Look at him. He look like Porky the Pig,” the pale-skinned, long-haired child cried out. He pointed at Peter. The kids gathered around on the playground laughed uproariously. They formed a circle around Peter, jabbing his chubby stomach with their little fingers.
“Oink. Oink. Oink. Porky the Pig,” they taunted. Peter burst into tears and ran inside as fast as his pudgy legs would carry him. He hid in the coat closet until the teacher coaxed him out at the end of the day. She did it by appealing to his weakness- his stomach. He was tempted by the box of jellied donuts she held out to him because he’d skipped lunch. He’d also refused to come out at snack time. He felt guilty for accepting the bribe, but his stomach always came first.
He was stuffing his face on the way home when he heard that voice again.
“Hey, it’s Porky. It’s Porky the Pig.”
He turned around and saw the same brat riding on a bicycle. Anger seized him and he threw the donuts at the other child. The jelly ran down his face and into his eyes. He hit a bump and flipped over. Now, Peter laughed and pointed.
“Young man, that wasn’t funny,” an authoritative voice said. “Come over her.” In his glory, Peter hadn’t heard the police car pull up to the curb about a foot away. An icy fear gripped him.
The boy on the bike picked himself up.
“You too. Come on over her,” the officer commanded. The two were terrified. They’d heard bad things about cops all their lives.
“What’s your name?” The policeman asked, pointed at Peter.
“P- Peter,” he stammered.
“And yours?” His piercing eyes glared at the young boy.
“M-M-M-”
“What?” The policeman’s face was terrifying to the five-year-old.
“M-M-Mike,” he finally managed to get out.
“Well, Peter and Mike, I want you two to shake hands. Now,” he ordered. The two quickly complied. “Don’t ever let me see you two fighting again, you hear?” He told them. “Or I’ll have to arrest you. You ever seen the inside of a jailhouse? Huh? It ain’t nothing nice.” The boys were so close together that they practically hugged. “Be good.” The cop pulled off and they watched until he was out of sight.
“Uh, uh,” Mike groaned, looking down. Peter’s eyes followed and he began to laugh hysterically once again.
“Aw ha. I’m gonna call you Pissy Pants.” He continued to laugh loudly, embarrassing Mike further.
“If you don’t tell nobody, I’ll give you some bubble gum,” Mike bargained. Peter took one second to think about it.
“Okay. Give it here.” Mike handed over his pack of Bubbalicious.
“Remember, you promised?” Mike reminded.
“Yeah, but you can’t call me Porky the Pig no more either,” Peter said.
“I won’t. I hafta go now.” Mike picked up his bicycle and climbed on. “Remember,” he called over his shoulder as he pedaled off.
“Yeah, I remember all right,” Peter muttered. “I ain’t carrying Pissy Pants no where.”
“Did you say something? Xavier asked. Peter looked at him, momentarily confused. He realized that he’d spoken aloud.
“Naw man. No. I didn’t’ say anything,” he finally answered.
“I guess you got off, Chunky,” Tim said. “We’re there now and Mike’s coming around.”
They approached the house and rang the doorbell.
“Let me do all of the talking,” Xavier instructed.
When Mike’s mom answered the door they all fell silent and just gawked.
“You’re Mike’s mom?” Xavier finally asked. The woman was stunningly beautiful. She didn’t look a day over twenty.
“Yes, I am. Who wants to know?” she asked.
“Mrs. Williams, we brought Mike-” Xavier began only to be interrupted.
“Mrs. Williams? No honey. I’ve been married three times. I’m between marriages right now, but I’m working on that.”
“Well, ma’am, Mike kind of had an accident,” Xavier tried to explain.
“That hard-headed child is always getting into something.” She glanced briefly at Mike who was moaning and holding his head. He’d come around and Tim sat him on the steps. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Some kids were throwing bottles and things and he got caught in the head. He’s pretty bad off,” Xavier said. She seemed uninterested.
They guys all stared at each other. Xavier could tell they were getting uncomfortable.
“We just brought him home because he’s in no condition to go to school,” Xavier stated. “Is it okay if we help him inside?”
“It really doesn’t matter. He’ll be by himself because I have an appointment to get to,” she said curtly. A frown marred her otherwise beautiful features. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.” She glanced at her expensive watch then waved the boys off. “Just get him inside and make sure he doesn’t bleed on my good furniture. It cost me a fortune and I’m still paying for it.” She walked down the steps, but turned to glare at Xavier. “You seem to be in charge of this gang, or what have you. I’m holding you responsible if anything in my house comes up missing.” She pointed a long, perfectly manicured finger at him.
“Yes ma’am,” Xavier said reluctantly. He disliked her more by the minute. He was offended, to say the least. He watched her hurry to her BMW. “Snobbish ass bitch,” he muttered.
“Ouch! Shit. My head,” Mike yelled. They immediately turned their attention to him.
“You okay, Mike?” Xavier asked, faking concern.
“Hell no. What happened? My fucking head feel like I got hit by a semi-truck.” He groaned.
“You got hit by a brick some kids were throwing. Don’t you remember?”
“Naw. I thought-”
“You got hit in the head with brick,” Xavier repeated. “You don’t remember? Man, you sure you’re all right?”
“I…don’t know.” Mike’s mind was unclear. He could have sworn that he’d fought and something happened. The details were too foggy. “I guess I got hit pretty hard, huh?”
“Yeah,” all of them said quickly.
“We’ll help you inside,” Xavier offered.
“Naw, I’ll be okay. Just go. I have a headache.” He moaned.
“You should have one the way you hit that-” Peter began, but one look from Xavier silenced him immediately.
“Well, we gotta get to school,” Xavier told Mike. “We’ll stop by later and check up on you, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Mike made his way slowly up the few steps and went inside.
“He’ll be okay,” Xavier told the rest of them.
“Yeah. Otherwise, if he dies, it’s your fault,” Peter pointed out.
“Shut your fat ass mouth,” Xavier swore, annoyed. Peter had a way of getting on his nerves.
“Man, you ain’t gotta call me names,” Peter whined.
“Oh? Well, I apologize. I forgot you were so sensitive,” Xavier said. “You want to kiss and make up?”
“Hell naw. I’m not with them sex games, nigga.”
“Do we get to see our jackets?” Donnell asked. It was the first time he’d spoken that day.
“Yeah, that slipped my mind.” A look of excitement crossed his face. “Come on.” They all followed him.
They stopped in front of a large brick home. The hedges were neatly trimmed and the lawn freshly mowed. Xavier rang the doorbell.
“We might be here all day because this lady damn near deaf,” he said. After standing there a while, no one answered. He rang the bell several more times. Another five minutes passed and he became impatient. “Let’s go around the back.”
“You sure ain’t no dogs around there?” Peter looked frightened. He kept picturing a pit bull jumping out to attack him any second. He’d encountered a Doberman when he was six and he’d never trusted dogs since.
“Stop being such a coward,” Tim growled. He followed Xavier and Donnell who’d already headed around the side of the house. Peter finally got the nerves to join them.
He found the boys in the back of the house. Xavier was talking to an old woman.
“We’re the ones who ordered the jackets. Are they ready?” he asked.
“Eh? Did you say you ordered a package?” She misunderstood. “What kinda package?”
“No. No. I said, we ordered some jackets.” Xavier spoke a bit louder.
“Oh. Okay. Now I understand. You said jackets. All right. Come on inside.” She opened the door for them.
“Deaf ass wench,” Xavier mumbled low enough for only the guys to hear. The all laughed except Tim. The woman reminded him of his grandmother who’d dies three months earlier. Sometimes he didn’t understand how Xavier could be so cruel. He said nothing.
Inside they went into a room that had been converted into a gigantic closet. Clothes hung everywhere. They admired some of the woman’s work while she rummaged in boxes for their jackets.
“This lady can sew her ass off,” Xavier exclaimed. “Do y’all remember that group the Alpha Phi Gents?” They all nodded. “She sewed all of their outfits. She’s bad.”
“Yeah, she sewed me a hard outfit a couple of months ago,” Tim relayed. He began describing it, but Xavier walked off. Tim threw him a sour look, but continued talking to the rest of the boys.
“Here they are. Did you say five jackets?” she asked.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I’m still working on the other order you asked for. They should be finished by Friday.”
“That’s fine. Can we take the jackets now?” he asked.
“What was that?” She’d been half turned away and couldn’t understand him.
“I said can we pay for the jackets now?” he repeated in a loud, annoyed tone.
“Sure. Just look them over and make sure that it’s what you want.”
“Guys, come here.” He called them over and passed them each a jacket.
“These are tight.”
They tried them on.
“I think I got the wrong jacket,” Peter said. They turned to stare at him.
“Yeah, you’re right about that. You wouldn’t never fit in that one unless we greased you down with some Kentucky Fried Chicken grease,” Xavier cracked. Peter switched with The Mean Kid. “This is better.” He admired himself in the mirror like the rest of them were doing.
The jackets were black with the letters BTO in white embroidered on the back. Brothers Takin’ Over was also stitched down each sleeve.
“Yea, these are raw.”
“Going off!”
“Thank you Mrs. Scofield. What do I owe you?” Xavier pulled out his wallet and count out the money.
“Do we have to reimburse you?” Peter wanted to know. They waited for Mrs. Scofield to write out a receipt.
“Naw bru. It’s taken care of. I’m willing to invest in this group because I know we’re gonna make a difference. I took that money out of my college fund.” He threw up his hands. “Who needs college?”
“Don’t your parents care?” Peter asked.
“Ain’t nothing they can do about something they don’t know about. Right?” He took the receipt she handed him. “Thank you. We’ll be back on Friday to pick up our outfits,” he yelled.
“Okay. See you boys then,” she said. She showed them out. “And Son, next time, keep ya voice down a bit. You don’t have to yell. You’d think I was deaf,” she told Xavier. The others fell out laughing as son as the door closed.
“So, what we gonna do now?” Peter wanted to know. They all wore their jackets and people stared as they walked down the street.
“I guess we can go find something. There’s always a junkie or two we can haress, “Xavier mentioned. He seemed to be deep in thought. “We’re going to the deuces,” he said suddenly.
“Twenty-second street?” Peter asked. “Man, that whole strip is filled with drug dealers.”
“I know. That’s why we’re making an appearance. How else will our name get around if we don’t get out in the public?”
“That’s a good question,” Tim said.
“Y’all with me on this or not?” he asked. All were in agreement so that’s where they headed.
Ten minutes later Peter lagged behind.
“Pete, get the molasses out ya ass and come on,” Tim called.
“My stomach’s hurting. I think it’s lunch time,” he stated.
“Homey got a built in lunch bell,” Tim joked.
“Since we gonna pass Geech’s Bar-B-Q, we might as well stop and get something to grub on,” Xavier said.
“Yeah, their barbeque ribs be going off,” Peter said, licking his lips in anticipation.
“A fucking barbequed piece of ass would be going off to you,” Xavier insulted, bringing forth a bout of laughter from the rest. Peter wasn’t offended. He’d gotten used to Xavier by now. Xavier had always been rude, even as a child.
Peter let his mind drift back over the years. He remembered when he first saw Xavier. He and Mike had become friends since the jelly donut incident. They were sitting together on the swings at recess when the teacher brought over a new student.
“Peter and Michael,” she said as she approached. “This is Xavier Brunswick. I want you boys to play together and become friends. Okay?” They nodded. “Take turns on the swings with him and include him in your games. Will you two do that for me?” Again, the boys nodded their heads. She left and went back inside the school.
“Let me swing,” Xavier commanded. He was smaller than they were so they just eyed him strangely and said nothing. “Get off and let me swing,” he yelled at Peter. Peter always hated confrontations or violence of any type. He hurried off the swing and Xavier climbed on.
“You look funny,” Mike told Xavier.
“What do you mean he look funny?” Peter asked. “What you mean by that Mike?” he repeated.
“He look half white. Look at him.” He slanted his eyes at Xavier. “You a half-breed.”
Xavier jumped out of the swing and stared at Mike.
“Half breed,” Mike chanted.
“What’s that?” he asked, but Mike continued to chant and soon Peter chimed in.
At age five, Xavier wasn’t sure what the word meant, but by the way they said it, it wasn’t something good. He frowned, turned on his heels and went to ask a teacher. After he’d gotten his answer, he went back to find the two boys. They were on the slide.
“Come here,” he told Mike. Mike slide down the slide, coming to a stop at the end.
“What?”
“You take back what you said,” he commanded. “I ain’t no half-breed.”
“Is too,” Mike insisted. He stuck his tongue out at Xavier.
“Ain’t. You betta take it back. Now.”
“No,” Mike said. Xavier reached out and grabbed a hand of his long hair.
“Ouch.”
“Take it back,” he said again, yanking harder on Mike’s hair.
“Stop,” Peter said. He tried to come to Mike’s defense. “I’m gonna go tell Miss Staperton. He tried to run on his fat little legs, but Xavier stuck out his foot and tripped him.
Peter tumbled face down in the dirt. Xavier continued to pull on Mike’s hair until he was yelping so loudly. All the other kids stopped what they were doing and watched, egging it on. Mrs. Staperton rushed back outside.
“What is going on out here?” She tried to pry the two little boys apart, but Xavier wouldn’t loosen his grip. Mike screamed louder. Peter joined in because he’d finally managed to get up. His face and eyes were filled with grass and sand.
Another teacher came to Mrs. Staperton’s assistance and they finally pulled the boys apart. Mike had a hand full of hair clutched in his fingers.

I Guess I'll Post Some Celebrity News~So...

2009-07-05T16:33:00.000-07:00

The buzz is about the murders of Steve McNair and his twenty-year old jumpoff. Since I'm not a sports fan, I don't have a clue who he is/was. However; he was killed in what seems to be an apparent murder-suicide. (Even though they're not saying so.)

I'm going to hold off on this one until it's fully investigated. Seems like the ex-boyfriend may have had motive. I'm just saying....

RIP. So sad.

***Photos courtesy of TMZ. (Yeah, I borrowed them. And?)

3-Day Book Challenge

2009-07-05T13:08:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm officially finished with my summer classes, I don't have anymore assignments until next session which begins August 24th. During this reprieve, I'm going to finish some of the books I've already started. On my list is Spin Cycle, Take It To The Grave, It's All Good In the Hood, and Soul On Fire. However, before I get going on those books, I'm going to challenge myself to write an entire book in three days. I'm going to do something I've never done before and that is write from an outline.

So, I'm going to get the outline written. Once that's done, I'll let everyone know when I'm going to begin. I promise not to cheat because I'd only be cheating myself. This will be a book that I think of right off the top of my head. I'll write the outline, then go from there.

A light just went off in my head. I have a title. It's called 911. So, that will be the name of the book and I'm going to write the outline now.

Stay tuned....

Making Up For Lost Time (A Short Story)

2009-07-01T15:54:00.000-07:00

Making Up For Lost Time

Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong language.

“Dedrick, You’re old enough to make your own decisions and I wouldn’t be upset if you wanted to get to know your father,” Mama startled me by saying. I stopped eating and stared at her across the table. “You’ve never asked many questions about him,” she continued. “The time is now. If there’s anything you want to know-”

“Mama, why should I want to know anything about him?” I interrupted. “I know all that I want to know. He left you and me, didn’t he?” It came out in any angry tone, but I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I really didn’t care about the guy, so why should Mama mentioning him upset me? “That man is not my father,” I said quietly. “I wish you wouldn’t bring him up. I don’t know him and I don’t want to. What kind of father would desert his own son before he was even born? A deadbeat father, that’s what kind,” I answered for myself.

I guess I should have been concerned with Mama bringing up my father in our conversation. She had never mentioned him much in seventeen years. I really didn’t make anything of it, until later.

Mama picked at her food quietly. It dawned on me that she’d been picking at her food a lot lately. What was up with that?

“You on a diet or something?” I asked, changing the subject.

“No, Baby. I just don’t have an appetite these days.” She sighed from deep within. “I really wish that you’d talk about this Dedrick. One day, you may need him and-“

“Need him? Please!” I shook my head. “Mama, why do you keep talking about that man? Why would I ever need him? You and me, we’re doing fine by ourselves. You’re going to be around for a long time. You’re both a mother and a father to me. He’s nothing to me. If I passed him on the street, I wouldn’t even recognize him.” I got up and took my plate to the sink. “Ma, you want me to wash the dishes? You look kind of tired.” I changed the subject again.

“Sure, Baby. I know you don’t want to hear about him, but soon you’ll have to listen.” I could see that she wasn’t going to let the topic rest so easily. I turned away and began running water into the sink. I didn’t want to hear about my father. He’d left me before I was born. Some father!

“Dedrick, I think I’ll go lie down for a while. I feel a little dizzy.”

“Dizzy? Mama, are you all right?” I turned to stare into her face. It wasn’t until then that I noticed that she had dark smudges under her eyes. She looked very tired. Her hair had come loose from the neat French braid that she kept it in. Mama’s hair was always immaculate. Something wasn’t right.

“I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep too well last night. You know how hard it is to ignore all of the night sounds. I’ll just go take a little nap. I’ll be just fine,” she assured me, smoothing her hair back into place as though she’d read my thoughts.

I watched as she made her way out of the room. Something was wrong and she wasn’t telling me what. It gnawed at me while I finished cleaning the kitchen. An odd feeling settled over me that I couldn’t shake.

I looked in on Mama about two hours later and she was still asleep. She must have been exhausted. I figured I’d vacuum the living room and tidy up around the house so that she wouldn’t have to.

The second I plugged in the vacuum the doorbell rang. My friends James, Bruce and Mark had dropped by. I forgot about housecleaning as soon as they stepped inside. We got busy playing cards and watching the game. Before I knew it the time had passed quickly. It was ten o’clock and Mama still hadn’t awakened. She usually monitored my friends and I, making sure that we weren’t doing anything illegal. She’d do it on the sly, but I always knew what she was up to. This time she hadn’t even popped into the room and I know we’d been loud. I was concerned so I checked on her again.

“Mama?” I knocked and when I got no answer I cracked the door. “Mama, are you okay?” She didn’t respond and that was unlike her. Mama was a light sleeper. I hit the switch on the side of the wall and the room was flooded with light. Mama didn’t stir. “Ma, you’ve been asleep a long time, are you okay?” I stepped into the room and walked over to her bed. “Mama?” She lay so still, like she was- “Mama!” I shook her shoulder in alarm. “Mama! Wake up!” She didn’t move. My heart leapt into my throat. Her breathing was very shallow. I checked her pulse and found that it was weak.

With trembling fingers I dialed 911. It wasn’t long before I heard the sirens, but it seemed like an eternity before help arrived and the ambulance attendants rushed in. They put Mama on a stretcher and placed an oxygen mask over her face. That’s the moment that I stared getting scared.

“DJ, man we saw the ambulance. What’s going on?” It was Mark. He and Bruce had returned. We’d grown up together. They lived on the same street. I considered both of them to be my best friend. But, at the moment I couldn’t speak.

“It’s Mrs. Jackson. Something’s wrong,” Bruce said, as the attendants wheeled my mother past them.

“I’ll drive you to the hospital,” Marc volunteered. I nodded automatically. I felt numb inside. What was I going to do without Mama? If anything ever happened to her…

* * *

Mark and Bruce sat with me in the waiting room. It seemed like hours before someone came out to tell me anything.

The doctor, a short, robust man with graying hair that was balding on the top, took me to the side.

“Were you aware that your mother has a brain tumor?” he asked.

“No way! You’ve got to be kidding!” I exclaimed, the news totally unexpected.

“No,” he said seriously. “And from the looks of her charts, she’s had it for a long time. I’m sorry to tell you this son, but the news is bad. Extremely bad.” I stared at his stethoscope and his bald spot, anywhere but into his eyes. He had to be lying. I didn’t want to hear it.

“The tumor is malignant. It’s inoperable,” he continued, in his soothing tone.

“So,” I took a deep breath. “So, uh, what are you trying to tell me?” I dreaded asking the question but I needed to know.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes held compassion when I finally looked into them.

“No! Don’t tell me she’s d-“

“No, no,” he answered quickly. “She’s in stable condition, for now. But I’m afraid that she may not leave this hospital alive.”

As the doctor’s words sank in I felt myself slipping into despair. My mama dying! It just couldn’t be true.

“I advise you to spend as much time with her as you possibly can,” he continued on in his quiet manner. “There’s not much we can do for her now. It’s in the hands of a Higher Power.” With that, he nodded then walked off.

My whole world shattered as I watched his back. The tails of his white coat flapped as he hurried away. I felt as though I was suffocating.

Somehow, I convinced my friends that I’d be okay and they left. I had to deal with things on my own. I didn’t even want my best friends to know how scared I really was. I needed to be with Mama, alone.

They had hooked her up to all of these tubes, like you see in the movies. It didn’t seem real, as I walked into the room and saw her like that. She looked frail and sickly, her head pressed against the white sheets of the hospital bed. My breath caught in my throat. I went over and sat in the chair that was closest.

“Mama,” I whispered. “I love you.” Her eyes fluttered open.

“I’ve known for a while- about this- tumor,” she said weakly. “I didn’t- want to-worry you.”

“Oh Mama,” I sighed. She always placed my needs first. “You shouldn’t have tried to handle it alone.” I took her hand in mine. “We’ll get through this together. Just like we’ve gotten through everything else,” I promised.

She shook her head with great effort.

“No, Dedrick. Not this time,” she stunned me by saying.

“Mama, don’t talk like that. Those doctors are wrong. You’ll see. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

She reached out and pointed to the table where her purse lay. I’d thought to place it with her when the ambulance attendants had arrived. I reached over, retrieved it and handed it to her. Slowly, she searched in her wallet for something until she found it. When she held it out, I could see that it was a photo.

“This is a picture of your father,” she told me, speaking quickly as if afraid she couldn’t be able to get the words out. “I’ve kept in touch with him all these years. I’ve sent pictures of you. I’ve always known that the day would come when you’d want or need to see him.” She paused and drew in a deep breath. I could see that talking was draining her of her strength. I tried to stop her but she stubbornly went on. “Dedrick, he’s only a thirty minute drive away from here. Go find him and tell him that I need to see him. It’s urgent! Hurry, because I don’t have much time left.” Her tone of voice and her words alarmed me. I’d never disobeyed my mother and I wasn’t going to even think about not doing what she’d requested. She handed me the picture along with a business card. The card had his name on it. On the back was his home address written in Mama’s neat handwriting. “Hurry!” she urged, squeezing my hand. “Forgive him Dedrick. Promise me?” I stared into her eyes and knew that I had to tell her what she needed to hear.

“I promise, Mama.”

* * *

Artagus T. James, Attorney At Law, was what was printed on the business card. I figured that he’d live in some fancy house and I was right. I parked my Honda Accord and got out. The house was huge with a tall, secured gate. I couldn’t help but to mentally compare his house with the one I lived in. Our house was nothing in comparison.

I pushed the button on the security monitor’s intercom. It wasn’t long before someone answered.

“Hello,” I didn’t know what the hell to say, but I rushed on. “I’m looking for Artagus Lane.”

“Why?” the voice demanded.

“Well, I’m his son- and my mother’s in the hospital,” I said quickly. “I think she’s -dying,” I finally said the words. I swallowed thickly. “She has to see him,” I ended.

“One moment.”

The gate slide back and I approached the house. I hurried up the stairs. The door opened and a thin, dark-skinned man ushered me inside. He must be the butler or something because he looked nothing like the man in the photo.

“Dedrick?” The man hurrying down the stairs questioned. He was buttoning his shirt and his shoes were under his arm.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Artagus?” I stared at the man who was supposed to be my father. It was as if I was looking in the mirror twenty years down the line. Damn! It wasn’t funny. I looked exactly like him.

I guess he was thinking the same thing. For a moment, we stared at each other in complete silence.

“Patricia’s in the hospital? What happened?” he asked. I broke out of the trance I had slipped into.

“A brain tumor,” I choked out. “She said it’s urgent that she sees you. She doesn’t think she has much time left.”

“Let’s go!” I noticed that he hadn’t even put on his shoes as I rushed behind him.

I felt awkward as I slid beside him in the Mercedes. What exactly did you say to a man that you’d never seen; a man who was your father? I said nothing; just stared out the window as he broke speed limits to get to St. Anthony’s Hospital.

“If I had known," he kept saying over and over. I just tuned him out.

“You would have known if you’d bothered to keep in touch,” I thought bitterly.

Once we reached the hospital, he rushed in to be with Mama. They talked for a long time. I kept watching the clock and looking through the glass, wondering when he’d come out. I couldn’t sleep. I kept pacing up and down the floor because I was so worried. I finally sat in one of the hard-backed chairs and put my head in my hands.

What the hell were they discussing for two hours? Three hours? I couldn’t stand that man. He was taking up too much of my mother’s time. I should be in there with her, not him.

Finally, some time after five in the morning, he came into the waiting area. I glared at him.

“Mama will be fine. I don’t know why she asked for you!” I spat.

“Your mother is very ill.”

“Oh, so you’re a doctor as well as a big-shot lawyer?” I said sarcastically.

“Dedrick, I know that this is a very tentative situation. I have no words of explanation to offer. The time just isn’t right. I know you think that Patricia is going to miraculously recover, but that isn’t going to happen. Your mother is dying.”

“Don’t say that!” I jumped up. “Don’t come stepping into my life telling me that my mother is dying! I wish it were you in there instead of her.” The horrible words just flew out of my mouth on their own accord.

He pretended that he wasn’t affected by my outburst. He walked over to a window and gazed out.

“Patricia wants us to get to know each other. I’m willing-“

“Man, please!” I interrupted. “I don’t want to know you. I don’t need you for nothing!” I glared at him with hatred, pure and strong. “I’m going to see my mama. Excuse me,” I said through tight lips.

* * *

I’d pulled the chair up as close as I could get it to the bed and laid half my body next to hers. I’d nodded off to sleep like that. I wanted to be close to Mama- just in case.

All of the machines started beeping at once and the next thing I knew the room was full of doctors and nurses. They told me that I had to leave but I fought them all the way. I felt that it was probably my last chance to see Mama alive. Artagus came into the room and tried to calm me down but that made me angrier.

“The doctors are doing all that they can. There’s nothing that you or I can do,” he said, leading me out of the room.

“Shut up!” I told him, snatching away. “I don’t want to hear nothing you’ve got to say.”

“I’m going to get some coffee,” he told me, as if I cared. “I’ll be right back.” He could have flown to the moon and it wouldn’t have made a difference to me.

In the five minutes it took him to get his coffee, Mama died. That short, balding doctor came to tell me that she was gone.

When Artagus returned I was looking out the same window that he’d been gazing out of earlier that morning.

“I guess they’ll let us know something, momentarily,” he said.

“They already did. She’s dead,” I told him in a flat voice.

“What?” The cup of coffee he held slipped from his hand and hit the floor. “Doctor!” He hurried to catch up with the balding man, who was most likely on his way to tell another family bad news concerning someone they loved. I watched the spilled coffee roll across the black and white tiled squares. I noticed it all through a haze. Their voices echoed in the hallway, but I tuned out the words. I walked down the hall in the opposite direction, heading for the elevators. I felt like a zombie as I stepped into the compartment.

“Dedrick!” It was him. I pushed the Close Door button but he elbowed his way through. “Dedrick, we must talk. There are some things that need to be settled. We have to discuss the funeral and-“

“I don’t want to hear it,” I interrupted.

“I know that you’re in great pain-“

“You don’t know shit!” I exploded.

“Your mother wants me to take care of the funeral-“

“Can’t you understand English?” I yelled. “I said I don’t want to hear it. How do you know what she wants? You don’t know anything about her. You left her when she was young and pregnant. I don’t need you to step in and try to take over. I can handle everything by myself.”

“She left a Last Will and Testament. Would you care to see it?”

“Whatever!”

The elevator stopped and I got off. Once outside, I looked across the parking lot then remembered that my car was at his house. Damn!

“I’ll take you by your house so that you can get a few things,” he said from behind. “You’ll be living with me.” His words froze my heart.

“You must be out of your mind!” I said stiffly.

“Look, Patricia wanted me to look after you and I promised that I would. It was the last thing that she said to me it and I’ll be damned if I don’t do it!” he said with a touch of anger in his voice.

“Well, I’m sure you promised a lot of things. But you seem to be good at breaking promises,” I snapped.

“Dedrick, get in the car and I don’t want to hear another word from you. I’m just as grief stricken as you are. Regardless of what you may think, I did care for Patricia. I cared more than you’ll ever know.”

“Some way of caring,” I thought to myself. If he’d cared so much, he wouldn’t have left.

* * *

It really didn’t hit me right away that Mama was gone. I wasn’t accepting it. I kept thinking to myself that I’d just be living with Artagus for a little while, until Mama got better. Then, I’d remember that Mama was never getting better; she was gone forever. I’d never see her again, only in pictures and in memories.

“Dedrick, are you ready?” that man asked and glanced at him briefly. He was wearing a pair of black trousers with a white shirt. The sleeves were pressed and stiffly creased. He even had on a silk tie. He held the matching jacket across one arm.
I’d been up for hours. I’d gotten dressed in my own dark suit, black dress socks, shiny black Stacy Adams and tie. But was I ready?

“Who’s ever ready for a funeral?” I asked sarcastically and he frowned.

“It’ll get easier,” he told me. “Things will start to seem normal again- one day,” he added.

“It won’t. Things will never be the same. Not without Mama.” I walked past him and out the door.

I had to admit that he had laid Mama to rest beautifully. It would have been the way that she would want to go out of this world, in style. The top of her casket was completely covered with white lilies. Assortments of other flowers were placed around the church. There was a banner around the casket that read:

OUR BELOVED PATRICIA, MAY YOU REST IN PEACE

I guess I really didn’t grasp the real meaning of the word death until they lowered that casket into the ground and began throwing dirt on top of it. It had such finality. My heart broke each time I head the shovel dig into the dirt. When the dirt hit the top of the casket, that’s when I broke. I was so distraught that I tried to climb into the grave. It took several people to hold me back.

Later, back at Artagus’s house I went through the motions of accepting people’s condolences. I really just wanted to be left alone to deal with my grief. But, I couldn’t even do that in peace. He was hovering around, asking me how I was holding up, getting on my nerves.

“Just leave me alone, okay?” I barked, after the third time he’d asked.

“You should try to eat something,” he persisted. “I noticed that you picked at your breakfast this morning. You didn’t eat anything at dinnertime yesterday. It’s after four, you should-“

“Leave me alone!” I walked into my room and sat on the bed. He stood in the doorway with a worried expression on his face. Finally, he closed the door and I could breathe.

After what seemed like an eternity the people left. I changed out of my suit and put on a pair of Nike sweat shorts and a tee shirt.

Quietness filled the house. I wandered listlessly from one room to the next. How did you go on once the person you loved most in the world was gone?

The light of the day was slowly fading as I stared out the living room window. I saw people passing by on their way to the store, to a park, or sports bar. They were carrying on as though everything was normal. For them it was, but for me, my whole world had been crushed. Life as I’d known it would never be the same. All of the images before me began to blur.

I sensed that man enter the room. I felt him put a hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it off.

“Man, get your hands off me. Don’t try to pretend that you care about me just because Mama died. I don’t need your pity. I don’t need nothing from you. The only reason I’m staying with you is because I have to. But when I turn eighteen, I’m out. You can make believe that I never existed; something you’re good at doing anyway.” I was hurting and I wanted to lash out to hurt someone else. Who was a better candidate than the man who had deserted me before I was born?

* * *

“You never miss a good friend, ‘til they’re gone. And I’m so alone,” I turned over and clicked the radio off. The last thing I wanted to hear was some rapper singing about his mother passing away. It hit too close to home.

The strange surroundings offered me no comfort. The double bed that I was lying in was probably new. It felt like it had never been slept in. The pictures on the walls were meaningless; some expensive art collection that I wouldn’t have wasted money on. The whole huge room was foreign to me. I wanted my own room, my own bed. I wanted my mother.

For a second, I thought my wish had come true when the door to my room cracked. But instead of Mama peering into the room to see if I was awake, it was the butler. He entered, carrying a tray of food.

“Man, can’t you knock?” I snapped.

“Good morning.” He ignored my obvious anger. “Mr. James suggested that I bring your breakfast up to you.”

“Tell Mr. James to shove his suggestions up his ass. I’m not hungry.”

“Very well. I’ll take this back to the kitchen.” His eyes were filled with sympathy as he stared at me.

“Get out!”

“If that’s what you wish,” he said meekly and hurried off.

The clock on the wall ticked. I watched the pendulum swing back and forth. Time. All I had now was time.

I heard footsteps outside my door and slipped back under the covers. I pretended to be asleep as the door opened. I wasn’t in the mood to see him.

“Hey, get up man!” It was Marc. “Me and the boys having a cook-out at my house. You want to come?”

“Yeah, sure.” I threw the covers back and got out of the bed. “I’ll be ready in a sec.” I took a quick shower and threw on a Sean Jean outfit.

“Man, DJ this house is all that!” Marc commented when I came out of the bathroom.

“Oh, really? I guess I haven’t had time to notice,” I said quietly, tying my Air Jordans.

“I’m really sorry about your mom, Man. I had no idea that she was so sick,” he told me.

“I didn’t know either. She kept it a secret until the end. I guess you just never know,” I said. There was that awkward silence that usually takes place surrounding such a subject. Marc cleared his throat.

“Your dad seems cool,” he said. “You think he’ll let you drive that Benz?”

“He’s not my dad,” I snapped and noticed the surprised look in Marc’s eyes.

“You look just like him. What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s my biological father, but he’s not my dad. Have you ever heard of him before now?” He shook his head. “And I don’t know about the car. He and I don’t have a lot to say to each other.” At least, I didn’t have anything to say to him. “Hey, let’s get out of here,” I said suddenly impatient.

“Sure. Bruce is Dee Jaying the party and Darrell’s on the grill. We better hurry before he burns the place down.” I could picture that happening. I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. It was stuck in my throat, trapped down inside. I wondered if I’d ever laugh again.

* * *

The party was all that, but I just wasn’t in the mood. Back in the day, I would have been just as loud and rambunctious as the rest of my friends. There were even girls in bathing suits and that didn’t excite me. Nothing was the same.

I didn’t feel like partying but I didn’t feel like facing Artagus. That was what I’d decided to call him. Artagus. Because he was no father.

There was no use trying to act normal when I wasn’t. While everyone was busy having fun, I slipped away.

The house was silent and empty. I don’t know what I’d expected, Mama’s ghost? Anyway, I just sat in the living room and let my mind drift back over the years.

I stared at all of the pictures of me on the wall, above the fireplace; just about everywhere that Mama could place a picture. She’d loved taking pictures of me.

I’d had a happy childhood, despite the fact that sometimes my mother had to struggle to make ends meet. I had no other relatives. Mama was an only child and her parents had died during her first year of college. She’d never had the opportunity to finish. She’d dropped out, signed up for the C.N.A. course at the vocational school and made a life for herself at an early age. Over the years, she’d become a LPN and was the Director of Nursing until her recent demise.

I loved my mother fiercely. It was just her and me but that was alright by me. She was a strong woman who had instilled a great deal of values in me. She’d taught me to respect myself, to respect women, as well as all of mankind.

Mama had offered encouragement and taught me to always believe in myself. As a result of my upbringing, I was an honor roll student, and had awards and trophies in different sporting events. These, she also displayed proudly around the house and on shelves in my bedroom.

As I sat there, I thought about all the dreams Mama and I had discussed. I’d planned to attend college to become a Physical Therapist, a choice that Mama was proud of.

I’d always thought that Mama would be there to see me walk down the road to success. As it was, she couldn’t even be at my high school graduation. I couldn’t have her take pictures of me dressed up for the Senior Prom. No more nightly talks. Mama was gone forever.

The most important thing in the world to Mama was family. She’d always wanted a big family but it hadn’t worked out that way. That’s probably why she wanted me to get to know Artagus. To her, he was my family; all the family I had left in the world.

Mama had also raised me to not judge people. In her opinion, judgment should be left up to God alone. I realized that I’d been judging my father and that wasn’t right. Mama wouldn’t approve and the last thing I wanted was to disappoint her.

“Dedrick, I thought that you’d be here,” he said quietly. The voice belonged to Artagus. I didn’t move, just continued to stare into space. I realized that there was no use telling him to leave me alone. He wasn’t going to listen. He sighed deeply and took a seat next to me on the couch. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said. “I guess no amount of words can change the way that you feel about me. But, maybe after hearing what I have to say, you’ll understand why I couldn’t be there for you and especially not for Patricia.
I was twenty-two when I met your mother. I was immature and broke as a joke,” he chuckled a bit and went on. “By day I drove a van and tried to sell duplicated tapes and CDs for a living. But that didn’t bring in enough money to do the things that I had to do. Dedrick, I have two other children that were born before you and one that’s your age, as well. I had to take care of them financially. So, by night I began stripping at dance clubs. It was easy money. Somehow, it became an obsession, though. I was making more money than I ever had in my life. Women literally threw themselves at me. I must admit, it all went to my head.”

I just stared at him, somewhat shocked. My father used to be a male stripper?
“From drawers to laws?” I thought and almost laughed. I wanted him to go on. I needed to know more.

“Did Mama know?” I asked. “About your other children?”

“Yes, she knew. I kept breaking her heart time after time. But, she was so sweet and forgiving. No matter what I’d do, Patricia would always take me back. She accepted me on my terms. She loved me in spite of my infidelities. She stuck by me faithfully.”

“Then why?” I demanded to know. “Why did you leave her? You said you have other children and you tried to take care of them. Why didn’t you help her with me?” I was angry all over again.

“I can’t explain. I guess I’ll just have to tell you the whole story,” he said, standing up. “It’s such a dreadful thing to have happen. But, I guess God makes us all pay for our sins one way or another. You’re old enough to know about sexually transmitted diseases. I’m sure you’re familiar with Herpes?”

I nodded wondering what STDs had to do with him and my mother.

“Well, my fast lifestyle caught up with me. Not long after I learned that Patricia was pregnant with you, I discovered that I had Herpes. Thank God Patricia didn’t contract it. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.” He began to pace the room. “I was so ashamed. I felt dirty- tainted. I couldn’t face Patricia. She was so perfect and loving and pure hearted. I just couldn’t face her! I couldn’t be any significant part of your lives with the lifestyle I led. I knew that Patricia was strong. She’d be able to make it without me. To be truthful, I felt that you and she were better off without me around.”
I was silent for a long time, letting it all sink in. I tried to put myself in his shoes. I mean to have to live the rest of your life with a disease that was incurable. I’d probably want to isolate myself from everyone too.

“Did you ever tell her about having that- disease?” I questioned.

“I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I just let her go on believing, all these years that I was just too selfish to settle down with one woman. She thought that I didn’t love her. The truth was, once I contracted Herpes that was the end to my wild sex life. I didn’t feel worthy of anyone’s love, less of all Patricia’s. For a while, I loathed myself. I was too ashamed to tell Patricia. I just couldn’t let her know I had an incurable disease, brought about because of my own selfish actions.” He took a deep breath and turned to face me. It wasn’t until then that I noticed the tears in his eyes. I felt a small amount of sympathy. It was a beginning.

“Dedrick, I know that I’ll never be able to be a father to you,” he said quietly. “But, I wish more than anything in this world that, at least, I can be a friend.” He stood up.

I felt my lips move. “I guess that would work,” I found myself saying. “I mean, it’s what Mama would want.”

“God, how I miss Patricia! She was the best thing that ever happened to me. I loved her. I loved her so much that I had to let her go.”

I kind of understood.

“I miss her too,” I said quietly.

“It seems like the pain will never go away, but it will, in time.”

“I know.” I stood up too. “I guess I’ll go back to the party. My friends are probably wondering what happened to me.”

“Would you like a ride?” Artagus asked.

“No, Marc’s house is right across the street.” I thought for a second. “There is something I’d like though.” I looked fully into my father’s face for the first time since I’d met him.

“What is it?”

“I’d like to drive that Benz. I’ve had my license since I turned sixteen,” I added.

He stared back at me then his face broke into a wide grin. He reached into his pocket, got his keys and threw them to me.

‘”I guess we can start making up for lost time,” he said.

“Yeah, that’ll work.” I clasped the keys in my hand and stared at the picture of Mama on the wall. “We’ll make up for lost time.”

Artagus noticed my gaze and he too looked at the picture. I can’t be sure, but it looked like Mama smiled at us. He put his arm around my shoulder and this time I didn’t shrug it off. This time, his touch felt somewhat comforting; like the touch of a father.

The Boy Who Needed Someone (A Short Story)

2009-07-01T15:52:00.000-07:00

The Boy Who Needed Someone
(Chris’s Version)

The moment I see her, I know I won’t like her. She is old, real old; all wrinkled up like a prune, like someone forgot to iron her out. I don’t dislike her just because she’s old, though. It’s something else. She has a certain look in her eyes. Behind the bifocals that she’s wearing, they are penetrating. They seem to be able to look straight to my soul. I feel exposed and I don’t like it.

"Ms. Booker, this is the young man who will be living with you for the next six weeks,” the social worker tells her. Her facial expression doesn’t change as she continues to stare at me. Her eyelids don’t even blink. I feel uncomfortable so I look down at my shoes.

"Ms. Beatrice Booker is my name, young man. You will call me Ms. Bea. I’m pleased to meet you. And look at me when I’m speaking,” she says in a tone demanding to be obeyed.

My head snaps up and I glare at her defiantly. I don’t say anything. It will only cause trouble anyway. I’m escorted up the steps of a moderate-sized, two-story brick home.

"Sit in the living room and don’t touch anything,” my caseworker instructs; like I’m a little kid or something. Maybe I don’t feel like sitting in the living room. Maybe she should ask me if I want to sit down. Nobody ever asks me anything. They just tell me.

So, I don’t sit down. Instead, I go over to where the old lady has a nice-looking flower arrangement. I stare at them and feel a twinge in my chest. They’re the same kind of lilies that were at my father’s funeral.

If someone bothered to ask me whether or not I want to stay with some hawk-looking, old, wrinkled up lady, I’ll tell them where I’d like to put my foot.

They talk right over me sometimes. Am I deaf or invisible?

At least this time they’re discussing me in another room where I can’t hear them. I guess I should be grateful for that small amount of consideration. Frankly, I’m tired of hearing their opinions.

"Truant-"

"Disruptive-"

"Insubordinate-"

"Extremely hostile- "

"Angry-"

It all adds up to the same thing to me: No one wants to be bothered with this “troubled delinquent.”

So, if they’d asked me, I would have told them to send me back to the juvenile detention center, to the runaway shelter; anywhere except here. It will save Ms. Bea a whole bunch of trouble and heartache. I’m sure she’ll be calling Foster Services to come back to get me soon, anyway. Homes never last for long.

I'm mad! I’m mad at my caseworker, at my father for dying, and at that old lady for pretending to want me in her home. I’m mad at the whole world, especially at my mother.

"So, I see you like flowers.” Her voice startles me. My fingers stop in mid-motion and I know I have a guilty look on my face.

I didn’t know why I did it. I wasn’t even aware that I had done anything until I look down. It was as though something had possessed me and I had plucked all of the petals off the flowers. Now, several stems, bare and pitiful-looking, protrude out of the dirt in the flowerpot.

That’s all she says about the flowers; nothing more. She stares at me long and hard. The eyes behind the spectacles are unblinking. I wonder what’s on her mind.

"I take it you’re tired from your trip?” I don’t bother to answer because I’m used to the foster parents not listening. “I’ll show you to your room.”

I follow her up the stairs, noticing the portraits on the wall. I guess the people are her ancestors. They all have sharp, hawk-like features. I can see where she got her looks.

My temporary room is nice. As long as there’s a bed and a TV, any room is nice to me. I go in and close the door, not saying a word. What should I say?

Even though me and the old lady didn’t hit it off so good, I think I’ll give it a try. Six weeks isn’t all that long. I guess I can deal with it. After all, I only have to put up with one, old lady. There are no other kids to fight and argue with. I’ll be able to stay out of trouble. I know I won’t ever touch her flowers again.

♥♥♥

I wake up in the strange surroundings. Like so many times before I feel afraid. I wonder where I am and it takes me a while to remember.

Then, I see her. It scares me so bad that I jump and hit my head on the bedpost.

"Damn old lady! Can’t you knock?” I explode.
"You were crying out in your sleep. I was concerned,” she says in this quiet, soft-spoken tone. It makes me feel ashamed for losing my temper. It’s not her fault that I’m afraid at night.

I turn my face towards the wall, ignoring her. Seconds later, I hear her footsteps retreating down the hall. A door opens then closes. She’s gone.

I finally exhale.

I lay there for a long time. I can’t sleep. I don’t want to think. I’m forcing myself to be void of all feelings. Still, the pain engulfs me.

♥♥♥

The next morning I have to face her again. She seems unchangeable; with her crisp, freshly pressed dress, beige stockings and nursing shoes. Not a hair in her wig is out of place.

I feel underdressed in my baggy jeans and wrinkled Malcolm X tee shirt. I hurry and sit down at the table, taking the chair directly across from her.

"Take your hat off at the breakfast table, young man,” she commands. I bite back my words, but only because I’m hungry. At other places, if I got sassy with the foster parents, they would refuse to let me eat. It’s too early in the morning to test her.

Ms. Bea bows her head and says a silent prayer. Then we begin to eat.

"So, tell me, what are your goals?” she surprises me by asking.

"G-goals?” I stop chewing and just gawk at her.

"Yes, you know, achievements that you set for yourself,” she replies to my dumbfounded expression.

"Well, I don’t know. I guess I ain’t got no goals.”

"Don’t have any,” she corrects. “I thought that was what you said. But what do you mean by that, young man?” She is staring at me again, with those eyes.

"I meant what I said, I ain’t got no goals,” I say sarcastically. “Unless you count dropping out of school,” I add.

"I meant what I said too,” she states matter-of-factly. “I said a goal is an achievement. Do you feel that dropping out of school is an achievement?”
When put like that, I guess it isn’t. But, who is she anyway? When I turn sixteen, I’ll be legally able to drop out of school if I want.

"I guess not,” I mumble. “But, I’m going to do it anyway. I don’t like school and they don’t like me,” I blurt out.

"Education is important.” She eyes my tee shirt critically. “I see you’re wearing a Malcolm X shirt, there. You even know who he was?” I have no answer. I just shake my head. ”Why don’t you like school?” she asks next, interrupting me from spooning eggs into my mouth. I wish she’d just let me eat and stop asking so many questions.

"Because I don’t like the classes they placed me in. They’re stupid!”

"You think your classes are stupid? Why?”

"Because-“ She is so nosey! I look down at my almost empty plate. The room is completely silent. I sense that she wants to hear my honest response. For some reason, I feel like telling her the truth, this woman, who can read my soul. “Well, they put me in those SLD classes. That's for kids who have learning disabilities. I guess they think I’m dumb or something; just because I don’t interact with the other students. Maybe I just don’t feel like talking. Maybe I just don’t want anybody in my business. That doesn’t mean that I’m slow.”

"Oh,” she says quietly and gets up from the table. She begins to clear away the breakfast dishes. For some reason, I feel like crying.

(Mrs. Bea’s Version)

When I see the boy, my first thought is that maybe I have been too hasty in making a decision. I’m eighty-one years old and I’m not sure I can handle the stress of looking after another foster child. I look at him, trying to access him, to see if I can determine what type of person he is. He’s small for his age; fourteen, I was told. He doesn’t appear to be dangerous at all. I can tell he’d rather be any other place than standing on my front lawn.

For seventeen years, since my husband Fred died, I have needed something to replace the loneliness I feel. So, I became a foster parent. Through the years I have taken in all kinds of children. Some stay for one night, some for years. There was a time when my house was brimming over with children. But, for the past five years I have only agreed to take in one or two. The children have gotten unruly and rude. They steal and lie; two things I don’t condone as a Christian. And some of them are downright disrespectful.

The last child I took in had decided it for me. He’d brought drugs into my home. Can you imagine that?

I’m not young enough to handle the children anymore. So, I gave it up. At least, that’s what I’d decided to do until Chris came along.

When Mrs. Vernadine called from Foster Services and asked if I could take in a child for six weeks, I was hesitant. Mrs. Vernadine explained Chris’s situation: he was from a broken home; his father had recently passed, and his mother was a drug addict. She lived on the streets and could no longer care from him. Mrs. Vernadine assured me that Chris would not be a problem. After meeting him, I’m not so sure about that.

My opinion of him certainly didn’t improve when he tore up my flowers. I wonder why anyone would do a thing like that! Flowers are beautiful. Why would he destroy something that couldn't possibly harm him?

Later that night, I got my answer.

I won’t be sending Chris back. He can stay for as long as he wants. That boy needs somebody. I heard it in the way he was crying in his sleep. I can’t turn away someone in his time of need. I’ll just wait and see how things turn out.

It saddens me that Chris doesn’t have any goals in life. What kind of a goal is dropping out of school? And why would a child wear a shirt with somebody’s picture on it, if he doesn’t know anything about that person?

♥♥♥

"Mrs. Bea?” I turn from the sink when I hear him call my name.

"Yes? “ He had left the table immediately after breakfast, not saying a word. The last I’d seen of him, he’d been walking out the front door. From my kitchen window, I watched him head down the street. Now, he’s back, standing there with this look on his face. It’s as if he’s afraid or nervous. I pray that he hasn’t destroyed anymore of my flowers!

"Yes?” I ask again. “What is it?”

"I- um – here!” He thrusts a bouquet at me. They are the same kind of flowers that he’d pulled apart the day before. “I bought them down the street at the store- with my own money,” he adds quickly. “I didn’t mean to destroy your flowers yesterday. I guess I was just mad- and- and scared, being in a new place and all,” he tries to explain. Then, he looks down at his shoes.

"Chris,” I say. He continues to stare at his shoes. “Look at me when I’m speaking,” I tell him. He looks up abruptly, the defiant light glowering in his eyes. “Thank you,” I tell him and smile.

His whole expression changes, gradually. He seems surprised; almost shocked that someone has smiled at him. Ever so slowly, the corner of his mouth lifts. Then, the other corner, and he smiles back.

Chris will stay. The boy needs someone-and to tell you the truth, so do I.

The Power in Words (A Short Story)

2009-07-01T15:48:00.001-07:00

The Power in Words

I’m not even sure what day it is anymore. Nothing is right in my world. Everything should be right, but it isn’t.
You’d think I’d be happy. I’ve just received some good news. That monster, that evil, cold, vile person who tormented me, ridiculed me, verbally and emotionally abused me for a great part of my life, is dead. He can never hurt me again.
I guess I should be rejoicing.
I tell myself that his death means nothing to me. I can’t understand why I still feel pain, even as I down another drink.
I contemplate not attending his funeral. That can be my final act of rebellion against that cruel man. He doesn’t deserve to have anyone mourn him.
But, I will attend, if for no other reason than to spit on his grave.
I sit for a while, and reflect on my childhood. I experienced a horrible upbringing, and I blamed everything on my father. If it weren’t for him, maybe my life would have turned out differently.
I shake off a feeling of melancholy, not wanting to dwell on the past too much. I consider making myself another drink even though I already feel a bit tipsy. Hell, why not? I’m not hurting anyone. Another drink is exactly what I need.
I prefer hard liquor, and most of the time I like to drink alone. Therefore, I keep my own fully stocked bar. I have just about everything I need to pacify my thirst when I get a taste for booze: Jack Daniels, Jim Bean, Bacardi Spice Rum, Captain Morgan, Absolut, Tanqueray, Grey Goose, Hennessy, Courvoisier, and some of the cheaper stuff, too.
Today, my choice is brown liquor. Brown liquor goes down easier for me than white, and it doesn’t leave that morning-after queasiness in my stomach.
More often than not, I find solace in the bottle. If I’m not drinking, then I’m out partying. For years, I needed a man in order to feel validated. After so many men, I finally gave up on validation.
In the past, I used sex as a soothing balm to my soul. I don’t take men home anymore, at least, not without a price. I wised up and learned that what I was giving away for free could easily be sold.
I walk over to the bar, and refresh my drink; straight brandy, no chaser, on the rocks. Heading back to the living room, I sit down in the leather recliner, and take a gulp. Even alcohol can’t take away the ache, but it does give me the strength that I need to call my brothers. I wonder how they’ll react when I relay the news.

I can immediately sense that Charles thinks I’m calling because I need something from him. He doesn’t know it, but I have my finances under control now. I no longer need to ask anyone for anything. I went into business for myself for that sole reason.
“Charles, you may want to take a few days off to fly back home.”
“Why?”
My voice is emotionless when I tell him, “Your dad is dead.”
“What? Oh.” There’s a long pause. “Okay. Well, I have to get back with you. I have customers. We’ll talk later.” I hear a click as he hangs up without saying ‘bye’.
“One down. One more to go,” I say aloud.
I take another large swallow of brandy, emptying the glass. I notice my hand shaking as I dial the number. Is it because of the excessive drinking or something else? I quickly dismiss the latter.
I desperately pray that Mitch’s wife doesn’t answer the phone. She’s a woman who dislikes everyone. She has an unpleasant disposition, and a bad attitude. She’s the type that has an opinion about everything and everyone. I avoid her most of the time, and ignore her the rest of the time. I can’t figure out for the life of me how she and Mitch ever ended up married. They even managed to produce three children, no less.
“Hello?” It’s her. I consider hanging up, but they have caller ID.
“Hello Daphne. Is Mitch home?” I don’t attempt to be civil. I know she doesn’t like me, and the feeling’s mutual.
“No. He’s probably off fishing or gambling or whoring around. Your guess is as good as mine.” Her voice drips with condemnation. She always has something negative to say. Why should I have expected anything different?
“Well, it’s nothing important. When you get a chance, just tell him our father died. Okay? Bye now.” I quickly disconnect the call before she can reply. I don’t doubt that Mitch will get the message. If she doesn’t tell him then Charles will. He’s at Charles’s house more than he’s home most of the time. I can’t say I blame him. If I had to deal with a bitch like Daphne, I’d be gone twenty-four hours, seven days a week.
I consider pouring another drink since my glass is empty again. It’s tempting, but I have to meet a client. If I show up drunk, there’s no telling what might take place. Half drunk, I might be able to control the situation, and make the most of it.
I can be classified as a female escort/dominatrix/stripper or highly paid whore.
I got tired of my youngest brother out doing me in life, so I started my own business in the adult entertainment industry. I no longer have to see him look down his nose when I ask for help. I felt embarrassed having to go to him for loans to pay my bills. Now that I can manage on my own, I’ve stopped resenting him.
Charles has always been our father’s favorite. The youngest of four, he didn’t get to experience the abuse the rest of us endured. Besides, he was so young when we left that he probably doesn’t remember how awful things got. If he does remember, he’s chosen to block it all out.
Most of the time, the boys got the beatings, and I got the verbal assaults. That’s how the cookie usually crumbled. Sometimes, I used to wish that he’d just hit me like he did them. A whipping with a switch stings for a while, but cruel words damage self-esteem, and destroy self-worth for a lifetime.
“Street-walker!”
“You’re nothing but a tramp.”
“You whore!”
I can hear Dad’s words reverberate down the walls of my heart as I get dressed.
“Daddy, I hope you’re proud,” I say, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. “You’re the one who made me what I am.”
I leave the bedroom, pick up the keys to my Mercedes, grab my Coach purse, and walk out of my condo.
Many have called me beautiful. The outside of a person doesn’t always give away the inner self. If you look at my soul, you’ll see that it’s crisscrossed with scars.
I arrive at my destination. My client’s apartment is located in an upscale, ritzy neighborhood that I’ve visited several times before. This particular complex houses a great deal of my clients. I’ve seen the female residents walk their fancy poodles. They wear designer shorts and tank tops, with high heels--looking like Brittney Spears or Paris Hilton replicas.
I walk up the stairs and ring the doorbell.
A very handsome, Caucasian guy with emerald green eyes answers. He’s about six feet two, a hundred and ninety-five pounds. He is shirtless, and I can tell that he works out frequently. His age is between 25 and 30, give or take a few years.
“Er- you’re definitely not what I expected,” he says. “Come in. At least you’re easy on the eyes,” he adds. When he smiles, one corner of his mouth curls higher than the other. He has the most prefect teeth that braces have helped to straighten.
I smile sweetly, and let the leather coat I’m wearing fall to the floor. His eyes widen in admiration and appreciation.
He’d requested a maid to clean his apartment. His specifically asked for a black woman. I don’t know what he thought he’d be getting.
I’m always full of surprises. I love the way the men turn into gawking idiots when they see me. I stand five feet seven. My skin is a caramel completion. I have hazel eyes and high cheek bones. My hair is naturally long, and auburn.
“When you requested a maid were you aware that you’d called an exotic maid service?” I ask the young man.
“Well, no. But, I don’t mind.” His words come quick in his excitement.
“Doesn’t Nightteaser’s Cleaning Service sound like an exotic cleaning service to you?”
“Now that I think about it, I guess so.”
I sport a black and white three-piece French Maid costume. It’s a sexy number with off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves, and a cute little frilly apron. I’ve added a white petticoat with black fish net stockings, for emphasis. I topped it off with a feather duster. I strut in a pair of Gladiator, six-inch platform shoes with studs and four ankle straps.
“So, which room should I start in?” I ask in a seductive voice and gaze at him. As I stare at him I stick my index finger in my mouth and suck on the tip.
“T-this one is fine.” He swallows, and takes a seat on the sofa. It’s made of expensive leather like the one I have in my own apartment. He sits on the edge in anticipation.
I take my time. There’s no need to rush- I get paid by the hour. I’ve brought my own supplies other than the feather duster. If he wants, his apartment will definitely get cleaned, but it will be the most expensive cleaning job he’s ever gotten in his life.
I also brought an Emerson CD player. I slowly bend over and plug the radio into the wall socket. When I straighten, I know I have his undivided attention.
As the song, “Clean Up Woman,” by Betty Wright, booms out, I do what I do best.
In less than an hour, we end up in the bedroom. Of course, no cleaning is taking place at this point.
I bend over the center of the bed, and place my hands flat against the mattress. I don’t like to face them for fear they’ll try to kiss me in the mouth. Kissing is too personal.
I can hear the condom package rip as he hurries to get the latex on. I see the discarded Magnum package hit the floor. I feel the length of him slide into me. I brace myself. Thankfully, he’s finished in less than five minutes.

Later in the week, we meet at Charles’ house to discuss funeral arrangements for our father. I can’t help but to compare Charles with myself, and my other two brothers. Charles is the successful one. He’s a business owner and homeowner, unscarred by neither physical nor emotional abuse.
Mitch, on the other hand, didn’t fare all that well. To get away from a life filled with anger, poverty and abuse, he enlisted in the Marines just before his eighteenth birthday. Four years later, he returned an alcoholic and frequent marijuana smoker. He married a woman whom he now despises, and by the looks of it, they’re headed for a divorce. He gambles frequently and drinks profusely.
Even worst off is our oldest brother, Fayette, deemed the “black sheep” of the family. We seldom mention him. Most who know our family doesn’t even know we have another sibling.
Fayette suffered the most abuse by our father. He had trouble all throughout his school years. He fought classmates, teachers, and even the principal. He got suspended so many times that he finally dropped out at age sixteen. By age seventeen, he was in and out of prison. At forty, he wanders the streets, embraced by the arms of insanity.
“You know, in order to understand Dad, you have to understand what his life was like,” Charles speaks out once we’ve decided on all of the details of the funeral.
“All I know is that he was abused, so he abused us,” I say with bitterness.
“Mama told me that he only had a third grade education. He wasn’t afforded the luxury of school. He had to work in the fields.”
”That’s no excuse for the way he treated his family.” I remain unforgiving.
Mitch doesn’t say much, just sips on a bottle of Budweiser.
“Well, it’s all in the past now. Forget about it,” Charles says.
“How can I forget? How can Mitch forget? You didn’t get cursed out on a daily basis. You never got beat with a rubber, inner tube from a car. Did you?”
“That was so long ago, I forgot,” Mitch says absently. With a shaking hand, he turns up the bottle. “It didn’t hurt anyway. It was nothing.”
Denial. Both of them are still in denial.
“He was the best father that he knew how to be,” Charles insists. “Why can’t you forgive him? He’s dead now. Get over it.”
Get over it. That’s all I want to do, but I wish it was that easy.

The plane touches down in Memphis, Tennessee. From there we get a rental car at Enterprise. Charles has arranged everything perfectly. We get to the church just in time for the funeral.
The services are being held at the First Baptist Church in Edmondson, AR. We attended this church as small children. My grandma took me there every Sunday when I was a little girl. That was the only time I’d felt she cared about me.
The night before, she or my aunt Ola would go through the task of braiding my thick hair for Sunday services. The end results were four or five big braids beginning at the hairline, and going down the center of my back. They either put bows or rubber bands on the end so that the braids wouldn’t unravel.
On Sunday morning, I’d dress up in my Sunday’s best, which was usually some frilly dress that my grandmother kept for the occasion. I’d put on white tights and black baby doll shoes.
Before leaving for church, my grandmother would make sure that my face was clean. Then, she’d rub Royal Crown Hair Grease in her hands and use it as lotion on my face, legs, and arms. I hated that because it made me feel oily and my face would be as shiny as a new penny.
I feel heaviness in my chest as I enter the old structure. Surprisingly, it’s still standing after so many years. As most houses and churches in Edmondson, Arkansas, it’s built of wood.
My brothers and I sit in the front pew. Family members, whom I haven’t seen since childhood, pile onto the rest of the benches. Some whisper their condolences and I nod in acknowledgment.
It’s a dusty little church with no central air. A rickety, old, ceiling fan circulates nothing but staleness. They have opened the doors and windows in the event that a breeze might float in.
Everything goes as well as funerals go. I stare at the program that was put together by one of my cousins. On the front there’s a picture of my daddy, smiling.
That’s funny. I can’t remember him smiling much, if ever. What I can remember is his voice raised in anger, as strings of profanity spew from his mouth; the same mouth smiling at me from the program.
I slam it down next to me on the bench. I can’t stand to look at him, even in death.
We’re told to stand, and proceed to do the walk by. I figure, I’ll just glimpse at him and keep going, nothing to it. But, when I actually get to the casket, I lose it.
I look down at that body that’s so still. I see the face of a man that I have harbored resentment against for so long. I thought I’d feel nothing but hatred. I don’t. Surprisingly, I feel overpowered by different emotions.
“You'll never amount to anything,” he used to tell me.
“All I ever wanted was for you to love me, Daddy,” I hear a little girl’s voice speak. When I realize that it’s me, that’s when the dam bursts. The hot tears fall in currents. I’m sobbing loudly, and can’t stop.
Suddenly, I feel Charles’s arms around me. At that moment, I know he feels my pain, perhaps for the very first time.
He helps me back to the front pew because I can’t see through my blinding tears.
The Pastor begins the sermon.
“God spoke to me last night. I don’t believe I was brought here for the sole purpose of preaching a funeral. I believe that I was sent here today to save lost souls.”
Amidst my tears and sniffles, I can hear the preacher’s strong words. Suddenly, I feel as though he’s speaking directly to me.
“When I was down on my knees in prayer last night, God spoke to me and said: “Brother Patterson, someone out there needs to hear this. Someone out there has a heart that’s filled with pain. Through the years they have carried that pain wrapped around them like a cloak. It’s the pain brought about due to verbal abuse. God said to me, talk to them about words.” Now I know he’s speaking to me. I stare at him in wonder, suddenly anxious for him to continue.
“So, I stand here today to tell you this: WORDS CAN KILL.” He holds the microphone for a second and looks around the entire church before going on.
“They can assault your self-esteem, curse your future, and stamp a lethal label on your life.” His voice booms throughout the entire church. Not a sound can be heard as all eyes are upon him.
“If words pierced your heart as a child, if they have wounded your marriage, or caused your career to spin in disarray, you may be a victim of verbal abuse. I’m here to tell you today, that God can help you learn how to deal with the pain. You have to deal with the pain in order to heal the wounds.” He takes a white handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his brow. His eyes fall on me. “Today is the day for you to start on the road to emotional and spiritual recovery.”
”Amen,” someone calls out. “Amen Pastor.”
“Whether that abusive person is your husband, your boss, your mother, your father, your child's teacher--no matter who it may be -- God will help you recover. You can re-gain your self-esteem. You can get back your self-worth. You can get back your life.” At this point, he winds down and speaks more quietly. “God can help you end the cycle of abuse, and through forgiveness, you can experience the healing of His love.”
Charles places his hand on mine and squeezes. I squeeze back.
I glance at Mitch and see that his eyes are riveted on the pastor. They are glossy with unshed tears. I gaze around the church. I don’t see one person who isn’t crying or that doesn’t have moist eyes.

Pastor Anthony Patterson’s sermon changed my life that day. I no longer manage Nightteaser’s Cleaning Service. I turned in the exotic costumes, high heels and feather dusters for more professional attire. I now have a real career as a mortgage broker. I’m good at it and I love doing it.
Now, when someone hands me a check for $500 dollars, I can accept it without feeling the shame, humiliation, and self-hatred. Words definitely have power. They have the power to heal.

It's All Good In the Hood (A Novel)

2009-07-01T15:44:00.000-07:00

CHAPTER ONE

It’s Friday. And you know how WE do it. On Friday, a workday is like a paid holiday for black folk. I look around and can tell that everybody else is probably thinking the same thoughts. They look just as irritated as I feel.
I wait impatiently for my name to be called. I don’t know what happens next. I’ve been out of work for almost a year, so I came to apply for some food stamps. My dawg, Shaun told me that he’d gotten some with no problem. He didn’t tell me what to expect, though.
At first, I balked at the idea of getting public assistant. A player such as me couldn’t go out like that! But that way of thinking went out the door when my baby mama, Sasha, left my daughter, Ariel, with me for good.
Sasha had been threatening to leave Ariel with me for the longest, but I just brushed it off. I figured she was just acting crazy like she frequently does.
Last Sunday when I answered the door, she was standing there with the baby and all of her stuff. Reality set in quick. Sasha wasn’t joking. She was on her way to Atlanta to work as a flight attendant slash aspiring model. Taking care of a child wasn’t on her itinerary.
When I realized that Sasha wasn’t coming back, I formed a plan. I could go hungry, but my daughter couldn’t. If that meant swallowing my pride and asking for help, so be it.
Now, I’m sitting in a room filled with wall-to-wall Negroes and just as many white folk. Waiting….
“Israel Washington!” I hear. “Is-ra-el Washington?” she stresses the syllables in my name.
“Right here.” I stand up and approach the person who called my name.
“Follow me.” We stop at a door that has a security device. The worker quickly punches in her code and pulls the door open.
Once we get to her office, she directs me to take a seat. Her nametag reads Vernell Brown. I think she looks vaguely familiar. Maybe I know her from church, but I can’t be sure. The last time I sat inside a church, had to be ten years ago. If I walk into one now, the hair in my nostrils will probably singe. Either that or I’ll spontaneously combust.
“I’ll need you to sign this work registration application. As soon as you get your EBT card, you can set up a pin number and begin using it.”
“What kind of card?” I ask.
“EBT,” she repeats.
“What’s that? I thought I was getting food stamps?” I’m puzzled. “Ain’t they like coupons in a booklet?”
“Not anymore. The state did away with that method years ago. Too many people were selling and trading them. Now recipients receive them by EBT card,” she explains. “What they do is put the amount awarded to you on the card. It’s similar to a credit or debit card. The amount of your food stamps benefits is automatically transferred to the card each month. You have to set up a pin number because that’s they way you’ll be identified in the state’s system. You should receive your card in three to five days. You can use your card to purchase food items, only,” she ends. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Any questions?” I shake my head, “no.” I understand that I’ll be getting a food stamp/credit card in about three to five days. “You have to go next door to WorkNet and turn in this work registration sheet. We can’t release your food stamps until you do that. Okay?” I nod. She signs the form and gives it to me.
“So, I just walk this over and turn it in?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
When I leave her office and exit through the waiting room it’s like the amount of people have tripled! There are kids running around, babies crying, and mother’s cursing. I am only too glad too get out of there!
I should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as the lady made it seem. It takes another thirty minutes before I can find out what I need to do at WorkNet. Then, it takes thirty more minutes in order to speak with one of the counselors. Finally, I get to turn in the form, but I have an appointment to come back in a week. At that time, I’ll have to have searched for ten jobs. Ten jobs!
I leave with a handful of Job Search Reports. Looking for ten jobs is going to be a bitch! A brother ain’t looked that hard for a job since I hit working age!
I want to go home but as soon as I leave there, I have to go to the health department to pick up a WIC check or something. Sasha told me about WIC because I complained about how expensive baby formula was and told her I couldn’t afford to buy it, having no job. She signed up for some program called WIC, which provides formula and other stuff to mothers and children. I wonder if they’ll start tripping because I’m not a female. If they do, I swear I might catch a charge today, for real.
It takes about two and a half hours to get the damn WIC checks! I’m aggravated. It’s not like the people there are working hard. They’re standing around flapping their damn jaws. All they have to do is print the damn checks out. It should have taken ten minutes at the most. But, like I said, it’s Friday. You know how WE do.
As I head for the elevator, I remember I only put enough money in the parking meter for an hour and a half. Damn! The last thing I need is a ticket. But that’s exactly what I get.
“Shit!” I snatch the paper from under my windshield wiper. It’s a non-moving violation that will cost my black ass $20! I stare at it in distaste. I figure I’ll go to Amscot and purchase a money order to send to the Pinellas County Sheriff’s Office immediately. If I don’t take care of it right away, I might forget. It’ll be just my luck for a $20 ticket to become an expensive pain in the ass.
This just ain’t my day! I’m at Amscot standing in the line when my cell rings.
“What’s going on?” I answer. It’s Mama telling me that the baby needs more diapers. She’s all out. Again?
Can my day get any worse? I ask myself.
Once I get up to the counter a guy named Anton, by his nametag, winks at me.
“Can I help you?” Anton lisps. It’s obvious that Anton sways the opposite way (if you catch my drift). I’m not into man-on-man action. That’s not my style. So, I ignore his apparent interest.
“I need a money order for $20.00,” I tell him, politely disregarding his flirting.
“Is there anything else I can help you with? Any-thing?” he stresses, in a suggestive tone.
“Nah. That’ll be all. Just the money order.” I frown without meaning to and Anton sucks his teeth, rolls his eyes and swishes off. After the money order prints out, he shoves it through the glass partition, rolling his eyes again. He has the nerve to pout.
“That lil’ whistle booty got an attitude with you,” the man standing behind me comments as I turn to leave. “What you done did?”
“I don’t even know!” I laugh and go out the door. I’m not even trying to get into it with no sissy. They are known to cut a bitch with the quickness.
Since I’m in the shopping plaza, I stop at Winn Dixie to get diapers. When I see the price of Pampers I strongly consider switching to cloth. I just can’t picture myself washing diapers by hand, though. Hell, I don’t even like washing dishes by hand. I decide to get two packages of the store brand because they are cheaper than one pack of Pampers.
I admit, Ariel cheers me up. Even if I’ve had a rough day, it’s forgotten as soon as I look into my daughter’s angelic face. That’s exactly what happens when I go home and see her.
I change Ariel’s diaper and hold her as I bottle feed her. When I finish, I put her over my shoulder to coax out a burp.
“Boy, that’s not the way you do it!” My mother scolds as she walks into the room.
“What Ma?”
“You don’t have to beat the child to death! Just pat her on the back lightly.”
“Man! I am,” I argue.
“You have to be careful, Israel. Babies are fragile. Remember when you was small and ya daddy dropped you on ya head?” she laughs.
“That didn’t happen, Ma!”
“Yes, it did. That’s why you dimwitted now. Half ya brains leaked out.”
“Ma, I’m smarter than the average Nigga,” I tell her.
“Please! If you was so smart, you’d realize the baby done puked up all over ya South Pole shirt,” she smirks.
I look at my left shoulder.
“Aw man!” Mama laughs as she leaves the room.
“Ma,” I call behind her. “I need a favor.”
“I am not babysitting!” she yells.
“Come on,” I plead.
“What’s in it for me?”
“Ma, why you always use blackmail techniques? Damn!”
“Money talks louder than words,” she tells me.
“Alright. I’ll hook you up when I get back. Until I get a job, you know what I have to do. I can’t have Ariel out on the corner with me while I’m grinding.”
Ma knows exactly what I’m talking about. Grinding is another term for selling drugs. I’m a low-class drug dealer, a.k.a. a po’ pimp. I’m not even going to try to hype myself up and pretend like I got it going on like the real ballers. I don’t. I do what I do and that’s sell marijuana. I don’t deal in nothing that will get me locked up for an eternity. Selling a lil’ weed ain’t never hurt nobody. Besides, it’s no big deal.

In the usual spot are the same guys that I grew up with: the twins, Raynard and Bernard, Black Rob, Boney and Ten-Ten. Ricky Ray got locked up and won’t be out until 2010. Don’t too many of us miss his rabid ass! He liked to talk a lot of shit and we were always getting into altercations with that Nigga. Shaun used to hang out, but all of that stopped when he got with his lady. She’s a first-classed bitch and she’s got his ass on lock down. He can’t go nowhere and I do mean nowhere anymore.
Raynard and Bernard are the only ones that got real jobs. They don’t sell marijuana unless they want to make some extra cash, which is rarely. They just hang out with the rest of us because we all down like that.
“What’s up Izzy?” They are all sitting out front of Ten-Ten’s house playing Spades.
“Not much! What up dawgs?” We all give each other dap like is customary.
“You want in on the next game, Man?” Bernard asks.
“Yeah. Ya’ll playing for money or what?”
“Nah,” Black Rob drawls. “These broke fucka’s ain’t got no money!”
“Well, you can count me out. I don’t play unless it’s for gain.”
“Brenda in the kitchen throwing down,” Ten-Ten tells me.
“What?” I stare at him in shock. Brenda is his older sister. She weighs no less than three hundred pounds. She never cooks, but she eats up every damn thing in sight.
“Yeah. She frying grouper, making coleslaw and shit, shrimp and all dat,” he says, smacking his lips.
“Get out! What’s the fucking occasion?”
“Her Nigga getting out of jail. She fixing to go pick him up in a few.”
“Damn! She don’t cook like that for me and I’m willing to buy the food!” I glance over Ten-Ten’s shoulder to see what he’s holding. My guess is he’s going to lose with that sorry ass hand. “I hope Lee Roy stays off that shit this time,” I say to no one in particular. They all nod in agreement. Just as I’ve predicted, Ten-Ten loses.
“Damn it man! Y’all Niggas cheatin’ and shit!” he complains.
“Ain’t nobody cheatin’. Yo’ sorry ass just can’t play,” Black Rob says, laughing.
Boney gathers up the cards into a pile then puts them all together.
“I know the next time he steal something of mine, he’ll look up from the grave,” Boney mumbles. He has a toothpick sticking out the side of his mouth. He scowls and shuffles the deck. Then, he deals the cards.
Boney and Lee Roy are brothers. They fell out when Lee Roy got hooked on crack and starting stealing from everybody to get his next fix.
“You think ya sister will let me get a plate?” I ask Ten-Ten.
“Humph!” is all he says, raising one brow.
“You can try to reach for a plate if you want to,” Raynard says. “But, we won’t be surprised if you come back out here with nubs in place of ya fingers!” They all crack up. I shake my head.
“I’m gonna try ‘cause a Nigga is starving!” I go inside the house, leaving them in the yard arguing about somebody cheating again. I swear gambling and them Negroes don’t mix.
As soon as I step inside I see and smell smoke. Big clouds of it are billowing from the kitchen. I find that the source is a pan on the stove. The fish is about to catch on fire!
“What’s going on up in here?” I ask. Brenda is sitting at the table with her head in her arms. She’s crying like somebody just died. “What’s wrong with you?” Before she answers, I grab a potholder to remove the fish from the stove then turn the burner off. A grease fire is about one of the hardest kind to put out. A fire means fire trucks and possibly police. That’s the last thing we need to mess up our hustle. So, I tend to that first.
“Big Brenda, what’s up?” I ask. It’s unlike her to cry about anything. She looks at me and I almost run up out of there. Snot and tears are dripping down her face. I ain’t never seen her like that.
“That mothafucka said he ain’t coming home!” she wails.
“Who? Lee Roy? What you mean?” I sit down in a mix-matched chair. Don’t nothing in the entire kitchen match, to tell you the truth.
“He just called me and said he got another woman. That bitch done already went down there to 49th and picked him up.”
“When did this happen? When Lee Roy had time to hook up with somebody else?” I’m shocked to say the least. Big Brenda and Lee Roy have been together since before the Last Supper. They were made for each other.
“Turns out that Mrs. Bitch was one of the correctional officers where he was locked up. They fell in love,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “She’s helping him to stay off drugs. Got him enrolled in some twelve step program,” she sobs. She noisily inhales some snot and I try not to gag.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” I say and she glares at me. “It is! Now you know how Lee Roy is when he’s on crack. You don’t want him round here selling everything that’s worth something, do you?”
“I just want him back. What I’m gonna do, Israel? What I’m gonna do? I waited eight months for him to get out. I mean, I ain’t slept with nobody for eight fucking months. Now some other bitch got my man!” She starts wailing all over again.
I start to inch out of there. I’ll worry about food later. I’m not about to let Big Brenda tackle me because she’s feeling horny. Hell to the naw!
“Where you going? I cooked all this food for that worthless Nigga. Y’all might as well help ya selves.”
“You gonna be alright?” I ask, eyeing her to see if she’s inching up on me.
“Yeah. I think I’ll go lie down. Can you finish frying that fish for me, Izzy?”
“I got you.”
“Tell them Niggas to come on in the house. It’s getting dark out there. How they play cards in the dark?”
“I will. You want anything?” I ask.
“Naw. Just put some of that grouper to the side and maybe some shrimp. Naw, don’t worry ‘bout it. I ain’t hungry.” Big Brenda not hungry? Now that’s a first. She really must be heartbroken. I kind of feel a little sorry for her, but not to the extent of following her to the bedroom. Ain’t that much sympathy in the whole world!

After the guys come inside we have a semi-party. Half of us start drinking Hennessy and the other half start sipping on Grey Goose. Ten-Ten goes to the store and get a couple of cigars to roll some weed. When he gets back, it is on and popping.
I give them a brief account of what happened with Lee Roy. For some reason, Boney gets it in his head that he has to comfort Big Brenda. He figures since Lee Roy is family, he owes Brenda that much. I don’t even need to tell you how that went down. It obviously didn’t sit too well with Big Brenda when he tip-toed into her bedroom. He came back out holding his eye. When he heads to the refrigerator for some ice to make an icepack, he has us rolling.
“All I said was I could help her out ‘cause I know she ain’t had no dick in eight months,” he all but sobs.
“Man, you don’t go there! That’s Lee Roy’s old lady. Did you think she’d be down with that?” Ten-Ten asks.
“I figure, she had one brother, might as well have the other. Keep it all in the family. Know what I mean?” He looks at us like he’s serious.
“Hell naw! How you gonna bone your brother’s old lady? That’s crossing the line,” I say.
“Well, she didn’t have to swing on me like that. That’s wrong.”
“You shouldn’t have tried her. You know Big Brenda don’t play. You lucky all you got was hit in the eye,” Ten-Ten says and we all roar.
After a while and after a couple of drinks, Boney realizes his mistake.
“I guess I was out of line,” he slurs. “But Big Brenda is my girl. I always did have a crush on her, but she wanted Lee Roy.” Now it’s confession time. He starts telling the story of how he met Brenda first and how Lee Roy stole her from him. Before the night ends he’s stretched out on the couch, drunker than a skunk, and crying like a lil’ bitch.
I make the mistake of telling them about my visit to the food stamp office and they start jigging at me. I swear I need to find some more positive friends to hang around. But, that’s okay. It’s all good in the hood.

Soul On Fire (Chapters 1 - 3)

2009-07-01T15:24:00.000-07:00

***I'm not sure what direction I'm going to take with this one. It's another one that I plan to complete by the end of this year.

CHAPTER ONE

There seemed to be no end to the long, dusty trail that Cherika Daniels followed. She wondered if maybe she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way. The address that she’d written down was a rural route number, not a city street like she was accustomed to. She guessed a place like Shady Grove, Arkansas was a far cry from Clearwater, Florida.
It was so hot! She felt the irritability and crankiness that usually took place a few days before her monthly cycle began. Those symptoms immediately put a damper on her spirits.
An hour earlier, while at the car rental station, she’d learned they only had four cars available. Unfortunately, they’d all been rented out. Buster “June Bug” Bradley, the manager and owner of Buster’s Car Rental and Repair Shop, offered to loan her his spare car until a rental became available the next morning. Since she didn’t have much of a choice, she’d accepted.
Cherika had stared at the car in disbelief when Buster Bradley had driven it around front. It was a mess! The front fender hung halfway off. It bore a cracked windshield and the once red car was caked over in at least two coats of mud.
“You must be out of your mind!” she said in total disbelief. “There is no way that I can drive something like that! It has to be against regulations.”
“Well, jus’ las’ week dat thar car was in tip top condition,” he drawled in his country twang. “Las’ person drove it had a lil’ run in wit’ a cow. Not too much damage was done to the cow, min’ ya. But dat thar car suffered somethin’ awful. And Lester Lee was a tad bit shook up hisself.” Buster had told the story with a gleam in his eye and he had chuckled heartily. “You shoulda seen the look on Lester Lee’s face when he brought that thar car back. I think he’ll stick to drivin’ tractors from here on out.”
You mean to tell me that people around here really drive tractors?
She stared at Buster incredulously indicating that she didn’t found the story as amusing as he no doubt thought it was.
“Now, after I wash dat car down, it’ll be as good as new. I know dat it’s probably not what you accustomed to ‘cause you one of dem thar city gals from ‘round yonder, but it’s the bes’ I can do.” He squinted at her pinstriped suit and high heel pumps then frowned. “You wanna take it or not?” The bottom part of his mouth moved as he rolled his tongue back and forth on his teeth and gums. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his denim overalls and waited for her answer.
“Do I have a choice?” she muttered under her breath. She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn that Buster was chewing tobacco or enjoying a dip of stuff. She dared not ask for fear of the answer.
“I’ll take it,” she finally said to him. “Can you tell me how long it will take for you to clean it up? I’m supposed to be at the Prewitt’s by five thirty and I don’t even know where they live.”
“No need to worry. Round here, folk ain’t too big on time. Guess you’ll get thar when you get thar. Nobody won’t mind you bein’ a few hours late or what not.”
It had taken Buster close to an hour to clean up the car. Cherika, used to shooting through an automatic car washer, waited impatiently and watched as he went about the task. When he finally finished, he stood back and admired his handiwork.
“See, tol’ ya it would be as good as new,” he said, handing her the keys. “Be careful drivin’. I wouldn’t want you to have a run in wit’ a cow like Lester Lee did,” he warned. “Jus’ drive real slow and be on the look out. Some farmers let their livestock roam free ‘round dese parts.”
“Er, t-thank you, I guess,” she said and hurried to get behind the wheel. “I promise that I won’t do any more damage than has already been done.” As if that was even a possibility.
“Take care, City Gal.” He tilted his hat and watched her drive off.

Cherika couldn’t believe that it was taking so long to get to her destination. Mr. Bradley had told her it would only take ten to fifteen minutes to get out to the Prewitt’s place. She supposed that ten to fifteen country minutes probably equaled two hours in the real world. She just hoped that Buster was right. She prayed that nobody would mind that she was late. The digital clock on the car’s dashboard read a quarter after six. Cherika hated being late.
Finally, the long, dusty road came to an end. Buster had informed her that the Prewitt’s place would be easy to recognize. She took notice of the “Private Property” and “Keep Out” signs posted everywhere.
Buster hadn’t exaggerated. He had described the Prewitt’s as being “high-society ‘round dese parts, well-to-do folk.” By the looks of their house, the Prewitt’s were indeed “well-to-do.” The house was an enormous, red, brick structure. Cherika calculated that there were probably five to six bedrooms with three and a half bathrooms.
As she pulled up into the circular drive she noticed a luxurious Mercedes Benz. There was also a Ford F150 and a Cadillac Seville.
“So, maybe there are some civilized people here, after all,” she said, getting out of the car. She felt clammy and extremely bloated. Not a good sign.
“Damn period!” she muttered, nearly twisting her ankle when her heel caught on a rock. “Shoot!” She bent down to survey her pump and saw the long, ugly scratch embedded deep into the leather. She’d just bought those shoes and now she’d ruined them.
“Well, you must be Miss Daniels,” an amused voice said from out of nowhere. Cherika was somewhat startled. She hadn’t noticed the man sitting on the porch swing. She immediately straightened up and ascended the steps, a tad bit embarrassed that he’d witnessed her mishap.
“Um- yes, I am. I’m sorry that I’m late, but I couldn’t find the place. I couldn’t get a rental and I-” Her voice broke off abruptly as he stood. He was tall and handsome- very handsome.
“Just relax. It’s only twenty minutes after five,” he said. So, the clock in the car had been off. Why wasn’t she surprised? “We still have ten minutes to kill.” He stared down into her face. “By the way, my name’s Hezekiah Prewitt.” He extended his hand. She gave him her own and he squeezed it gently. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said in a low voice.
“Likewise.” He moved his hand to her elbow. “Let’s go on inside, Miss Daniels. The folks will be waiting. My father adheres to punctuality. Let’s not displease him.” He continued to hold on to her as she walked up the rest of the steps. She felt very wrinkled and uncomfortable in her pants suit. The car didn't have any air conditioning and she dripped with perspiration. What a great first impression. She just knew that her hair was in disarray. She hated not being at her best. It put her on edge.
“Don’t worry so much, Miss Daniels. Everything will be just fine,” Hezekiah said, as though reading her mind. “You’re only here to listen to the reading of a Will. You’re not on trail or anything. Relax,” he said again and smiled.
She took a deep breath. Hezekiah opened the door and escorted her inside.
“This way. In the meeting room.”
As she followed him, she surveyed his tall, unique frame. She noticed that he stood about six feet four, give or take an inch. He probably weighed between 195 and 200. She could tell by his broad shoulders there would be nothing but muscles underneath the suit he wore. He was all man—the kind that she steered clear of.
When they entered the room all eyes turned toward them. Cherika had expected some curious glances but never the open looks of hostility on some of the faces. It shook her. What did these people have against her? They didn’t even know her.
She took a seat next to Hezekiah since he seemed to be the only person in the room giving off good vibes. She rubbed her damp palms down the side of her pants, trying to appear inconspicuous.
Cherika was there because her paternal grandmother had passed away. She hadn’t really known the woman, only seeing her twice in twenty-six years. It had come as quite a shock when she’d learned that she’d been named primary beneficiary in her grandmother’s Last Will and Testament.
“Miss Cherika Daniels, I assume?” A distinguished looking elderly gentleman questioned. Once again, all eyes turned towards her.
“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat nervously. “I’m Cherika Daniels.”
“I’m Mayor Luther Prewitt. As you know, you are here for the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Mrs. Meredith Jacqueline Marguerite Daniels. With no further delay, we’ll get right to it.” He placed on a pair of specs and shuffled through a pile of papers.
Within the next hour Cherika discovered that her grandmother had left her a substantial amount of money as well as property that she knew nothing about. She was puzzled. She had aunts and uncles that her grandmother had failed to leave anything to.
Through the years she’d heard that there had been a great rift between her family members. Half of her aunts and uncles didn’t even acknowledge each other. They obviously still held onto their grudges and the reading of the Will had clearly upset them.
Once they were finished Hezekiah turned to her.
“I see you’re surprised with the outcome. Mrs. Meredith changed her original Will and it’s plain to see that a lot of your relatives are pretty upset.” He stated the obvious.
As he spoke, her aunt, whom she recognized as Aunt Ola, approached. Her face was pinched with ill concealed anger.
“Cherry Daniels, we can make things easy for you if you just sign this form leaving me in full control of everything. That way, you can just fly back to the city and forget that we exist, like you’ve been doing all along.” She extended a piece of paper toward Cherika.
“Cherika. My name is Cherika, not Cherry,” Cherika said stiffly. “And I will do no such thing.” She waved the document away, annoyed. “My grandmother changed her Will for a reason. I’m not to say that I wouldn’t blame her, judging by the kindness and hospitality you have extended, thus far.”
“If you’re upset because we didn’t open our homes to you, you can just say so.” Aunt Ola actually had the audacity to pout.
“I wouldn’t expect for you to.” Cherika stood up and glared at her aunt. “After all, we’re just blood!” She walked past her aunt and the rest of her relatives with her head held high. She had a defiant light in her eyes. She didn’t care how upset they were. She wasn’t about to let anyone push her around, related or not! She’d show them that she could be five feet one hundred and three pounds of pure fury.
“Miss Daniels, where are you going?” She had forgotten all about the kind gentleman who had taken her breath away earlier.
“To find a hotel!” she snapped. “I’m hot, tired, hungry, and I have a PMS headache! So, if you will all excuse me-” She glared at all of her kin. “I’ll be on my way!”
“Not so fast.” She felt the firm hand on her elbow. “You have a great deal of paperwork to sign. You do want what is legally yours, do you not?” Even before she could reply, she felt him steering her in another direction, away from the small gathered crowd and away from the eyes filled with resentment.
Cherika felt the small amount of strength she had left drain from her body. She was really tired. It had been a long day, a long week, to be exact.
To her utter embarrassment, she swooned. She felt the room swirl as her feet flew from underneath her. Before she blacked out she saw the man who’d caught her. He looked exactly like Hezekiah Prewitt, yet remarkably different. She stared into his hazel eyes before reluctantly succumbing to darkness.

Cherika’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment she panicked.
“Where the hell- ” Then she remembered. She had fainted. She tried to sit up.
“Hey! Young lady, you need to take it easy,” a gentle voice told her. “Lie back.” She did as instructed because she felt lightheaded.
“Where am I?” she asked. “I have to get up. I must have been out of my mind to come here. Now this. I need to get a hotel- ”
“Calm down. Don’t get yourself all worked up.” He could see by the expression on her face that she wasn’t going to give in easily. “Don’t worry about anything,” he said with conviction. “Besides, you’re not going anywhere. I won’t have your death on my conscious.”
She looked at him to see if he was serious. He couldn’t hide the slight smile.
“You are Hezekiah, right? I did meet you earlier?” she asked, taking the glass of water that he offered. “A man caught me when I fainted. He looked exactly like you.”
“Yeah. That was Zachariah. We’re identical twins, except for the eye coloring.” He put a warm, gentle hand on her forehead. “Are you still feeling dizzy?” he asked. His eyes held concern.
“I’m fine,” she answered. “I’m tougher than I look.” He smiled at that. “I don’t know what happened,” she went on to explain. “I’ve never fainted before in my life.” She felt a bit embarrassed now. She’d been vulnerable in front of all of those people. They already thought the worse of her. What would they think now?
“It was probably the heat. You’re not used to this humidity,” he said. “I’ve arranged to have you stay here. I figured with the way things are sort of strained between you and your folks that it’s best- you know- until you all work things out.”
Cherika fumed. She finished drinking the water and placed the glass on the nightstand, not too gently.
“I don’t plan to work anything out with those vultures!” she spluttered. “Did you see how they were attacking me? How was I supposed to know that my grandmother would leave me what she did?”
“I can tell that you’re as stubborn as a mule.” He smiled as he said this to show that he meant no ill content. “I guess it’s only right that I ask you if you want something to eat. You may get offended if I assume.”
She smiled now. “Yes, I am hungry,” she said. “And thank you for asking.”
“I’ll have something sent up to you.” He retrieved the empty glass from the nightstand where she’d placed it. “There’s a bathroom to your right, if you want to freshen up.”
“Thank you.”
She watched as his tall, handsome frame exited the room. He was magnificent!
“Girl, get your mind off him,” she chided herself. “You’ll only be here a few days. No need to go looking for love in all the wrong places.”
She got up slowly. Her head didn’t spin and she felt steady on her feet so she headed to the bathroom.
When she returned she saw a tray sitting on the nightstand and her luggage was by the foot of the bed. Also, he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He glanced at her when she entered the room and she saw his remarkable hazel eyes.
“You’re not Hezekiah,” she stated.
“No, I’m not. I’m Zachariah. I would formally introduce myself, but I guess you’ve figured it out.” She nodded. “I just came to check on you, but I can see that you’re as tough as nails.”
“I’m fine.”
She walked over to the tray and lifted the lid. Her stomach rumbled. The tray held a mini feast. There was a Cornish game hen, fresh green beans, corn bread, rice and gravy. She sat down and began to attack the food with a vengeance. She glanced at Zachariah who looked amused.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” he said. “Eat up. I see you’re not the shy type and you don’t play with your food either!”
“I’m starving!” she said, not ashamed to admit it. “All I had on the plane was a soft drink. They didn’t even give us any peanuts because someone had a severe allergic reaction to them.” She tried to cut the Cornish hen in half, but it resisted. Finally, exasperated, she picked up the whole thing and bit into it. Zachariah laughed outright. He stood up.
“Well, I can see that you’re doing just fine. I’ll leave you to your meal. If you need anything, Miss Daniels, don’t hesitate to call me.” He stared at her meaningfully. Once his proposition registered in her brain, she frowned. She decided quickly that she didn’t appreciate it one bit, either.
“What if I don’t want to call you?” she asked. “I might want Hezekiah.” She didn’t miss the glint that appeared in his eyes.
“Zeke? He wouldn’t be interested. You’ve chosen the wrong twin,” he said, matter-of-factly. “If you change your mind, I’d be more than happy to accommodate your needs.” He paused at the door. “Oh, you look irresistible with that gravy on your chin. Maybe I should volunteer to get it off.”
“If you come near me, I promise you, you’ll regret it,” she said between clenched teeth. She glared at him. Obviously, Mr. Zachariah was stuck on himself. She couldn’t stand men like him. He probably expected her to drool over him. That would happen on the day after never. “Why don’t you go milk a cow or whatever it is that you do to amuse yourself,” she said.
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Cherika was amazed at the transformation. Zachariah Prewitt would give that male model Tyson a run for his money. Whoa! She had to be careful and re-route her thoughts.
“That was a good one,” he said once he’d caught his breath. “I have to hand it to you, you’re pretty intriguing. You’re a challenge.”
“Don’t tell me,” Cherika put up her hand. “I already know what’s next- you’re going to say, “I like a challenge,” she finished.
“Exactly.” He agreed. “What man doesn’t?”
A couple of quick strides took him across the room and he stared down into her startled face. Their eyes locked. He leaned closer.
“Don’t even think about-” she started, but he silenced her when his mouth met hers. His lips assaulted hers so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to react. She tried to pull away but couldn’t. Eventually, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull away. She gave in to the sensations. She felt lightheaded once again. Finally, he released her. He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“You have a good night,” he said. She didn’t reply.
After the door closed behind him, Cherika touched her lips. What the hell was wrong with her, letting that man, a complete stranger, kiss her like that? She should have felt violated. She should have been offended to the point of slapping his face. Yet, all she felt was a strange elation. Zachariah had re-sparked a flame in her that had died two years ago. Would he set her soul on fire if she dared to let him? She was more determined than ever to resist.
Cherika tried to clear her head of the kiss and concentrate on her grandmother’s Will, but she couldn’t think straight. She kept feeling the pressure of Zachariah’s lips on her own. She hadn’t allowed a man to kiss her in so long that she’d forgotten how it felt. She attempted to finish eating the rest of her food, less enthusiastically now.
Finally, appetite lost, she pushed the tray of food away. She lay back down and closed her eyes. She vowed to herself that the next time she saw Zachariah she would tell him a thing or two. He had been totally out of line kissing her like that and she had been crazy for letting him. Yet, she felt completely sane and deep down inside a part of her was thrilled.

* * * * *

Cherika stirred in the unfamiliar bed. She felt achy and couldn’t get comfortable no matter which way she turned.
“Damn period!” she muttered and got up to locate her purse. She prayed she had packed some Midol. After rummaging around for a while she found the container of pills.
She put on her robe and slippers and cracked the door. She felt awkward in the strange surroundings, but she needed a glass of water. She hated tap water or she would have gotten some from the bathroom sink. She walked outside her room and stopped.
The hallway was well lit so she had no problem seeing as she went down the stairs. She assumed that the kitchen was to the right and it was. She poured herself a glass of Zephyrhills water and swallowed the Midol tablet. When she turned around she almost dropped the glass.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” a deep voice said.
“Oh, I’m sure you did!” she snapped. “Just like you didn’t mean to kiss me either, I suppose?”
“I didn’t k- oh, I get it. You’ve mistaken me for Zech. I guess he was giving you a friendly welcome. Haven’t you heard about Southern hospitality?” He was closer and now she could see that his eyes were brown. Hezekiah.
“I apologize. I guess people mix you two up a lot, huh?”
“Not really. Everyone around here knows us. If you were here for a while longer, you’d be able to tell us apart, too.”
“Why, are you the evil twin?” she asked. His left eyebrow rose.
“Maybe I am,” he said lowly.
“Well, I believe that your brother’s the evil one.” She finished her water and placed the glass in the sink.
“If you thought that, then why did you let him kiss you?” he asked, staring at her. She avoided his gaze.
“I didn’t exactly let him kiss me. I mean I couldn’t stop him. I-” She felt foolish as she tried to explain. “Oh, never mind!” she snapped. “I’m going back to bed. Good night!”
“Pleasant dreams,” he said. Somehow, she doubted it.

Cherika awoke early the next morning trying to figure out what had disturbed her. Then, she heard it; the most awful sound she’d ever heard in her life! It sounded like a bullfrog with a cold, clearing its throat.
She got up and peered out the window to see if she could locate the noisemaker. All she saw was a chicken. A few seconds later the chicken threw back its head and that awful sound filled the air again.
“My God, roosters really do crow,” she said in amazement. “I wonder how long that beast is going to keep that up!”
She knew that there would be no getting back to sleep; not with that dumb bird cock-a-doodle-doing every other minute. Now she that she’d experienced “waking up at the crack of dawn,” she wasn’t impressed.
She figured she’d shower, get dressed and go find a pot of coffee. She definitely needed something to get her through this day. She wanted to sign those papers and settle her late grandmother’s affairs. She could be back on a plane heading towards Florida as soon as possible. The last thing she wanted was to have a face off with her relatives. She was tough, but they probably carried guns. She wasn’t sure if that wasn’t legal in Arkansas. The sooner she left the better.
It surprised her to see that everyone was already in the dining room eating breakfast. Could it be possible that they awoke that early every morning?
“Good morning, Miss Daniels.” A pleasant looking, pretty woman with graying hair had spoken. Cherika assumed that she was Mrs. Prewitt. She had a friendly, plump face and appeared to be in her early fifties.
“Good morning.” The men nodded, but they really didn’t stop what they were doing. The elder Mr. Prewitt was stuffing what looked like a pipe. Hezekiah and Zachariah both had their heads buried behind newspapers.
She took a seat at the table.
“I hope you have a hearty appetite. There’s plenty to go around, so help yourself.”
“No thank you,” Cherika declined. “All I need is coffee.”
“Child, hush your mouth! You need to eat to put some meat on your bones. I heard about that fainting spell you had. You probably was just hungry. City girls just don’t eat enough. Go on, help yourself to your coffee while I fix you a plate.”
Put that way, Cherika couldn’t argue. She let Mrs. Prewitt coax her into eating grits, bacon, scrambled eggs, and buttermilk biscuits. She washed it all down with two cups of Maxwell House coffee.
“When you’re ready, we can go over that paperwork that’s waiting on my desk,” Mr. Prewitt said.
“Pop, later,” Hezekiah said. “I want to show Miss Daniels around. I’m sure a city girl such as herself has never seen a real cow.”
“Zeke, really. I think Miss Daniels will be bored looking at livestock,” Zachariah said, glancing at her over the top of the newspaper.
Cherika felt her temper begin to build. She hated for anyone to speak for her. She had her own mind, after all.
“Actually, I’d be very interested.” She glared at Zachariah daring him with her eyes to refute her. She got up from the table and reached for her plate.
“Oh leave that, Dear. I’ll get it.” Mrs. Prewitt shooed her off. “You two run on off and have a good time.”
“Yeah, have a splendid time getting chased by geese,” Zachariah said sarcastically, pushing his chair back and standing. “I think you’d better put on some sneakers,” he said to Cherika, glancing critically at her sandals. “There’s no telling what you might step in out there.” He walked off before she had a chance to offer a clever reply.
“Don’t pay him a bit of mind,” Mrs. Prewitt said. “Zachariah doesn’t know how to loosen up. He’s a bit of a stick in the mud. Now, Hezekiah is more down to earth. They’re both quite a catch, and single too.” She winked when she said this. Mr. Prewitt laughed and stuck his pipe in his mouth.
“If some gal is lucky enough to get either one of them boys married off and out of my house, I’ll dance at the wedding. I’d rather feed them, than clothed them. They are too expensive! Especially that Zachariah. Now you tell me, what in the world can he do with a hundred and fifty dollar pair of shoes?” He stared at Cherika as if expecting an answer. She shrugged her shoulders. “He doesn’t go anywhere. What he need them for? To look at while he wears them around the house?” He lit the pipe and took a puff. “Nonsense, if you ask me.”
Hezekiah laughed. “You know Zech, Pop. He’s out to impress the ladies. He’s a flashy dresser and likes to show off. Maybe one day, he’ll realize that there are more important things in life.” He turned to Cherika. “You ready?”
“Yes,” She smiled and Mrs. Prewitt who was washing dishes at the sink, turned and winked at her again.
“Quite a catch,” she said and Cherika laughed.
“Your parents are nice,” she told Hezekiah as they headed out.
“Yep, they are. They’re the best. So, tell me all about yourself,” he said.
Cherika hesitated then she thought, “What the heck?” She was only going to be in Arkansas for a few days. She’d probably never see either of the Prewitt men again, so it was safe for her to open up to him, a little.
“Well, I’m from Clearwater, Florida. Born and raised. I’m an only child. I live by myself and my parents are divorced. My father he lives in Elgin, Illinois and my mother lives in Cleveland, Ohio. She’s an author.”
“Author? You mean, she writes books and stuff?” He seemed impressed.
“Yeah, actually she writes romance novels. She’s pretty well known and makes a lot of money from writing. Only thing is, she’s always trying to tell me how I should live my life. She wants me to pattern my life after some character in her novels and it’s not going to happen.” They headed down a long trail. The morning air felt cool and refreshing. Cherika took a deep breath. “It’s really beautiful. Clean air not polluted by all that crap that we have in the city.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “What a breath of fresh air.”
“I see you’re not wearing a ring. Are you married? Only reason I’m asking,” he went on quickly, “-is because you can’t really tell these days. Married people don’t always wear rings,” he explained hastily.
“No,” she said slowly. “I’m not married. Probably never will be. I can’t stand most men. They’re jerks,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Oh, well, I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe while you’re here you’ll change your mind. I really don’t care how you feel about most men, but I hope that you can form a positive opinion about one man in particular,” Hezekiah said.
“Yeah, I guess I’m being unfair,” she admitted, reluctantly.
Halfway down the trail they heard a car engine rev up. It was Zachariah driving the convertible Benz. He slowed and leaned slightly out of the car.
“You two sure you don’t want to come with me? I’m going to Memphis. It’s a lot more interesting than this dull farm.” Hezekiah shook his head, declining. “What about you, Miss Daniels?”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” she said tightly.
“My, my, my.” He shook his head in amusement. “I don’t bite. I’m not the Big Bad Wolf Little Red-Head Riding Hood.” He referred to her hair coloring, which was auburn, not red. This infuriated her even further.
“Well, it never crossed my mind to compare you to a wolf. You’re more like one of the pigs,” she snapped. Hezekiah chuckled which annoyed Zachariah.
“Well, your loss! You city women are a tad bit too uptight and sadity for me anyway. Don’t know how to loosen up.”
“That’s funny, I heard the same thing about you.”
“Tsk! Tsk! My dear brother’s been gossiping again, huh?” He glared at his twin. “Are you trying to make yourself look good by putting me down?” he asked bitterly. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Hey, cut it out!” Cherika felt the need to intervene. She’d picked up on a certain tension between the two. “He never said a word against you. I can form my own opinion and I did.” She stepped up to the car and looked Zachariah straight in the eye. “I don’t like you,” she said stiffly. “And if you ever kiss me again, I will rip your lips off!”
Zachariah looked at her in silence then he smiled. “Well, you may feel that way now. But, I guarantee that before you leave here, you will change your mind.” He pulled off leaving a cloud of dust behind him.
“That arrogant, conceited, pompous ass!” She coughed as the dust blew in her face. She glanced at Hezekiah who had a wistful look in his eye. “Oh, I forgot, that is your twin. How can two men who look so much alike be so different?”
“God’s got a sense of humor?” He tried to lighten the mood, but Cherika only frowned.
They began walking again.
“Hey, I want to apologize for my brother’s behavior. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything,” he said.
“I don’t feel uncomfortable. I know how to handle men like your brother. I run into them all the time.”
“Oh?” His eyebrow rose.
“Yes. You see, I’m in the real estate business and I sell houses. It’s a very competitive market and like most professions, the men dominate. I’ve met men who are ten times worse than your brother.”
“Do you like what you do?” he asked.
“Actually, I don’t know yet. I’ve only been doing it for a short while,” she said honestly. “I haven’t made a big commission yet.”
“Well, you will. You seem to be a very professional, career-minded person. You really don’t want to ever get married? You think a career will be enough? Don’t you want children?”
At the mention of children Cherika’s heart twisted painfully. She felt her eyes tear up and at that point she shut down.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter what I want, does it? This is a dog-eat-dog world and people only care about themselves. It’s a lesson I learned early in life,” she said, a bit harshly. “So, are we ever going to get to wherever it is we’re going?” She changed the subject abruptly.
“We’re nearly there.” He looked at her hesitantly. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life. I was only trying to make conversation. That’s all.”
“I know,” she said and sighed. “I guess your brother was right about one thing, I am uptight and don’t know how to loosen up.”
“Well, maybe you just haven’t had the opportunity.” He surprised her by taking her hand. “Will you let me show you how to relax? You don’t always have to put your guard up. I do have one thing in common with my brother.” She stared at him, waiting for him to explain. “I’m not the Big Bad Wolf either.”

CHAPTER TWO

Surprisingly, Cherika enjoyed her outing with Hezekiah. The only disappointment she had was not being able to stop thinking about Zachariah and his cruel remarks. Why was she letting that self-serving Gigolo get under her skin? She was being way too sensitive. She had taken many insults in her lifetime, some much more harsh than Zachariah could ever toss her way. So, why was she dwelling on his opinion?
Cherika rested before supper and awoke refreshed and energetic. She showered and changed into a comfortable sundress and sandals. She wore her medium length, light auburn colored hair in a French twist. As she surveyed herself in the full-length mirror, she thought about doing something different with her hair. Maybe get it cut into a fashionable bob or get ridiculous and style it like Jada Pickett Smith’s. She loved Jada’s short natural cut. She just wasn’t ready to part with her hair- and what would her mother think if she cut it?
Cherika sighed. Her mother was a very important influence in her life, but just once she wished she could decide on something without bringing her mother into it. A mother’s love was endless, but there would come a time when she’d need to cut the apron strings. There was no better time than now. Especially since her mother was the one who had pushed her into a relationship with Eric Albert. That relationship had ended very badly, and that’s why she still felt such bitterness towards men.
A gentle tap sounded on the door and Cherika turned from the mirror. The housekeeper, a pretty, petite, Native American woman smiled at her.
“Do you want me to bring you something up? Or will you be eating with the family?”
“I think I’ll go downstairs. Um- is Zachariah in?” she asked.
“No, Mr. Zachariah isn’t in yet.”
“Good, then I’ll definitely eat downstairs. Thank you.”
The housekeeper looked quizzically at Cherika, shook her head and left. Cherika followed her.

Everything smelled delicious as she entered the kitchen. She paused in the doorway, hesitant.
“Come on in, don’t be shy, Sweetie,” Mrs. Prewitt said immediately upon spotting Cherika. “Sit down. Sit.” She indicated the vacant chair next to Hezekiah and Cherika took it. He glanced at her attire appreciatively, his eyes lightening up.
“Glad you could join us,” he said. “I take it you’ve never had a country style homemade dinner before?” he asked, smiling.
“Nope. Can’t say that I have.” She smiled back.
“Well, if you’re on a diet, this is not the place to be.”
She agreed as she stared at the food before her. There were collard greens, mashed potatoes, gravy, buttermilk biscuits, glazed ham, baked chicken, sweet potato pie, corn on the cob, cornbread, stuffing, cabbage, rice and a large picture of homemade lemonade.
Yummy! Cherika couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten so heartily. Growing up, since she had been an only child, dinnertime wasn’t a big fuss. Besides, her father was usually at the office and her mother was on one of her never ending diets.
She helped herself to some of everything. She was in the process of taking her first bite of stuffing when she looked up into the face of Zachariah. She nearly choked. She finally got her coughing spell under control after taking several large swallows of lemonade.
“You’re not going to need CPR are you?” Zachariah asked, looking at her knowingly.
“Um- I’ll be fine,” she said, clearing her throat. “Just fine. The food went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” He nodded but his eyes spoke their disbelief.
“Are you sure, because I’d be glad to administer-”
“Zach, sit down and stop trying to hit on every woman who has legs,” Hezekiah said.
“Glad to.” He surveyed the table. “Because it looks like Mama done showed out with all this good cooking here! Maybe Miss Daniels can take some notes.” He sat down across from Cherika. “I bet you can’t cook like Mama, can you?” He had put her on the spot and she didn’t like it. She glared at him with her eyes but smiled sweetly.
“I’m afraid not,” she said honestly. “I have no culinary skills. I can barely boil water. But I’m really good with a microwave.” Everyone sitting around the table roared with laughter and Zachariah even smiled.
Once again Cherika noticed how a smile transformed his entire face and wondered why he didn’t smile more often. There seemed to be a hard edge to him and she wondered what had put it there.
“So, Zach, how was Memphis?” Hezekiah asked.
“It was okay. I stopped at Memphis Memorial to visit Mr. Gaskin.”
“How’s he doing?” Mrs. Prewitt asked.
“Not good. I don’t think it will be long now, but let’s not discuss this at the dinner table. It’s too depressing and I don’t want to depress our guest.” He stared at Cherika. “So, did you get chased by any barnyard animals?”
“Not this time around, but I’m almost looking forward to the experience,” she said.
“Cherika wants to ride with me on the tractor,” Hezekiah said, excited.
“Oh, really? I guess next you’ll invite her to a Square Dance. I swear Zeke, why don’t you just show her how to ride a bull?” He was back to being sarcastic again. The two brothers glared at each other. Cherika didn’t know what was going on between them, but she didn’t want to be drug in the middle.
“Can you pass me the mashed potatoes?” she asked Zachariah, breaking the strained silence that had fallen.
“What?”
“Mashed potatoes?” She pointed. “Can you pass them to me, please?”
“Oh.” He nearly shoved the bowl across the table. Cherika spooned some onto her plate, “Um-” She cleared her throat and gazed at him until he acknowledged her.
“What?”
“The gravy?”
“What about it?”
“Can I have some?” He passed that to her too. “Thank you.”
“Whatever.”
“What a grump,” she said under her breath, but not low enough for Hezekiah not to catch it.
“Hey, that’s just the way he is. Everyone’s used to it,” he said. They began to eat in silence.
“Why?” she asked, suddenly.
“Why what?” Hezekiah was puzzled.
“Why is he so, well cold?” she asked.
“Miss Daniels, if there’s something that you want to know just ask. But I suggest that you ask me,” Zachariah said. “My brother doesn’t always tell the truth.”
“Zach, don’t go there!” Hezekiah’s voice held a warning.
“Boys! Enough!” Mr. Prewitt bellowed. “We will not have this at the dinner table. This ridiculous feuding between you is going to drive your mother to an early grave and give me a heart attack. Is that what you want?” He glared at both of them. “You two need to settle it. It’s all in the past. Why can’t you two just end it? Why keep holding onto it? It’s not doing any of us any good!”
Hezekiah’s eyes filled with pure fury. “I will never forget. How can I forget?” He stared at Zachariah with a look close to disgust. “I can’t let it go Papa. Not until he accepts responsibility for what he did.”
Zachariah didn’t respond. He just pushed away from the table angrily and stormed from the room.
Cherika sat in stunned silence. She wasn’t sure of what happened, actually, she had no idea as to what had occurred between the two.
“I am so sorry that you had to witness that scene,” Mrs. Prewitt said, apologetically.
“I apologize, too” Hezekiah said. “It’s just that he makes me so angry. He can never admit when he makes a mistake.”
“You will work it out,” Mrs. Prewitt said. “It just takes time.” Cherika detected the sadness in her voice. Mr. Prewitt shook his head impatiently and pointed his finger at Hezekiah.
“I just know that I am getting tired of this rift between you two. You’re more than half grown. You should have handled this situation better than you have so far. It’s gone on long enough. One of you needs to wave the white flag. The question is, which one of you pig-headed rascals is going to be the bigger man?” He stared at his son, piercingly.
The stubborn look on Hezekiah’s face disappeared. He sighed and shook his head.
“I just want things to be the way they used to,” he said quietly. “We used to be so close- the way that twins are supposed to be. Now- now, Zach hates the ground I walk on.” He pushed his half eaten plate of food away and got up from the table. “I’m going to go take a walk. I’ve lost my appetite,” he said to no one in particular and left the room.
Cherika was curious about what had caused such a strain between the two, but she didn’t want to pry into other people’s business. Both Mr. and Mrs. Prewitt seemed upset and saddened by what had taken place and she didn’t want to ask them. She excused herself and left the table.
Cherika thought about watching TV, but she never was one to be captivated long by sitcoms or talk shows. She really didn’t want to sit still in front of a television; it felt too much like wasting time. Instead, she decided to read a book. Maybe she’d be able to relax with a good novel and a cup of coffee. Then, she’d turn in. Possibly, by morning the Prewitt’s would be back to normal and she’d sign the needed paperwork then she could head home.
Thinking about home brought a sharp pain to her heart. Home really didn’t feel like home at all. She lived all alone in a beachfront condominium. She got up, watered her plants, went to work, sold houses, came back home, and went to bed. It was dull. She really didn’t have much of a life. And she owed that to Eric Albert.
Cherika didn’t want to think about Eric, but she couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. She and Eric had clicked right from the start. The two of them seemed like soul mates, or so she had thought. That was until she’d caught him with the other woman.
It hurt her to the core, but she’d tried to get past it. She’d heard it over and over from her mother that men weren’t put on the earth to be faithful. Her mother had advised her to accept Eric for who he was and just deal with his infidelity. That was what any other woman would do. It was a man’s nature to stray. So, against her better judgment Cherika accepted her mother’s advice, though it had seemed the wrong thing to do.
She hadn’t let on to Eric that she knew about what was her name—yeah, Ebony Wilson. She’d gone on as though their relationship was perfect. She continued to live in a fantasy world until she ran into Ebony at the OBY/GYN office. She’d been there for her routine annual checkup. Ebony was there because, judging by her protruding stomach, she was obviously very pregnant. And who was the proud father-to-be sitting next to her in the doctor’s office? None other than Eric!
It was truly a Kodak moment when he looked up and saw her. It was also the moment that Cherika realized that Eric was a swine. He wasn’t even worth her tears. She’d managed to walk out of the office with her head held high, maintaining all of her dignity. He’d never see her cry and she’d never be a fool for love ever again.
Cherika’s thought ran deep as she sat in the library, located in a secluded area of the house. She sat on the couch holding a book that she hadn’t bothered to open. She didn’t notice Zachariah enter the room. He surveyed her for a few moments then sat down in a Lazy Boy chair. She looked up when she heard the squeak of the chair.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he said.
“Trust me, they’re not even worth that much,” she said.
“Try me.” She gazed into his hazel eyes, which seemed sincere.
“I was just thinking about the past, that’s all.”
“Seems like something in your past hurt you.” His tone held gentleness. “Or someone.” He noted the sadness on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open up painful memories.”
Cherika thought that those feelings had disappeared. She thought she’d had all of that under control. After all, wasn’t she the strong, independent, capable, self-sufficient person that her mother was so proud of? Never was she allowed to show any vulnerability. The Daniels’ women didn’t ever break. They could hold their own no matter what. Never show weakness.
At that moment Cherika didn’t give a damn about weakness or vulnerability. All she cared about was the pain that she felt. She didn’t have an outlet and it was tearing her up inside, consuming her.
“E-excuse me,” she said in a choked voice and jumped up from the couch. Zachariah was the last person in the world that she wanted to feel sorry for her. She ran from the library and up the stairs to her room.
Zachariah was deeply moved by Cherika letting her guard down, even if it was only momentarily. He was curious as to what had hurt her so badly. Obviously, she dealt with the issue with bitterness, just as he coped with his guilt the same way.
Something within him urged him to go to Cherika, but he fought against it. He had too many skeletons in his own closet to be thinking about opening up someone else’s. Besides, he doubted she’d welcome him with open arms.
He dismissed Cherika and her problems. He had a huge problem of his own to deal with. The time had come to put an end to the on-going feud with his twin. He had to amend things between them and dispel all of the angry feelings. He carried a heavy burden on his shoulders and he faulted no one else for putting it there but him.

It was hot and Cherika couldn’t sleep. She kept tossing and turning and couldn’t get comfortable. She longed for her own bed, but thinking about it made her feel lonely. She’d been sleeping in that bed alone for the past seventeen months.
After seeing Eric and Ebony that day, she’d packed up all of his belongings and put them out on the doorstep. She’d left a message on his cell phone informing him of what she’d done. She told him that if he didn’t get his things in twenty-four hours, they’d be at the curb with the rest of the garbage.
The next morning his personal things were gone from her life and so was he. She’d later found out via her mother that Eric and Ebony had gotten married. Good riddance!
“I don’t want to think about that jerk!” she said aloud and punched the pillow.
He hadn’t even been a good lover. Eric had always rushed through lovemaking like it was the last time he was going to get some. She didn’t even know what an orgasm felt like. She could only guess at it and imagine experiencing one. She hadn’t bothered to fake it with Eric. She was sure that he knew she wasn’t fulfilled. He just hadn’t cared. She’d always been glad when he was finished.
She found her thoughts drifting towards Zachariah. She wondered what it would be like to make love with him. Then her mind betrayed her and took her there…
She remembered their heated kiss. When Zachariah’s hypnotizing eyes had locked with hers, she’d seen the unleashed passion inside of them. She wondered if she’d have to fake anything with him and seriously doubted it. Surely, Zachariah would be a great lover. He was a snazzy dresser, he loved luxurious things; lovemaking for him would be like an art. He’d be a top performer.
“I have to stop thinking like this,” she moaned. “I’m like some sex deprived maniac.” She rolled over and tried to get some sleep but morning was a long time in coming.

Once again, the crowing rooster, scared her awake.
“I think I need to take one of those birds home,” she said. “I’d never need an alarm clock again.” The rooster continued to crow and she sighed in frustration. “At least you can turn off an alarm clock. I’d probably end up ringing that bird’s neck and having chicken and dumplings!” She went over to the window, raised it, stuck her head out and yelled, “Shut up! Some people may want to sleep in, you stupid piece of poultry! Why don’t you go lay an egg?”
“Because roosters don’t lay eggs,” a voice said beneath her window and she jumped. “That’s the hen’s job.”
“Hezekiah, you startled me,” she giggled. She looked down into his smiling face.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Not hardly,” she said to the latter. “But good morning anyway. Are you always up this early?”
“Yes. Why don’t you get dressed and come on down? We can crank up that tractor and take her for a spin, if you want.”
“Okay, give me ten minutes, nope make that fifteen country minutes,” she joked and he shook his head. She closed the window, turned and gasped.
“Zach, you startled me!”
“Sorry. I knocked on the door but I guess you were too preoccupied with Zeke to hear,” he said. “I brought you some breakfast. The folks left for a few days and Sequoia has the day off.”
“Really? When will they be back?” She thought about those papers that she needed to sign.
“A couple of days.” He glanced at her, noticing the disappointment on her face. “Oh, don’t worry I can handle that paperwork concerning your late grandmother’s affairs. Whenever you’re ready to sign them just let me know.”
“Sure. I guess I’ll see you later today. I’m going to go tractor riding,” she said in an excited voice. Zachariah actually smiled.
“Have fun.” He placed the tray on the nightstand.
“What?” Cherika eyed him in disbelief. “No barnyard animal quips?”
“Not today.”
“Are you feeling okay? You’re not coming down with something, are you?” She walked over and felt his forehead. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Just preoccupied. That’s all. Enjoy your breakfast.” He turned to walk away but hesitated. “Cherika.” She looked at him. “I think you’re a very beautiful woman. Just thought I’d tell you.” Her heart constricted and she looked away.
“Thank you,” she said and he closed the door leaving her totally confused.
After wolfing down the breakfast Zachariah had left, she went to shower and changed into jeans, a tee shirt and Nike’s. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and rushed off to join Hezekiah.
Riding a tractor wasn’t as scary as it sounded. It was just like riding a giant tricycle with a motor. Cherika even got behind the wheel. The tractor that the Prewitt’s owned was so modernized that it was like driving any other vehicle.
“Hey, you want to go fishing?” Hezekiah asked once the tractor came to a stop.
“Sure, I don’t know anything about it, but I’ll watch you, if you want.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll show you. There’s nothing to it. Just put the worm on the hook-”
“Worm?” She gave him a look of disgust. “No, I think I’ll pass on the fishing.” He laughed. “You just go on and enjoy yourself. I’m going back to the house.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” Once he’d gotten a way off he turned and called to her. “I’ll be bringing supper home around five, so don’t worry you’re pretty little head.”
“Good luck!” She called back and waved good-bye.
She smiled as she headed down the trail toward the house. She was thinking about the tractor ride and didn’t see the goose and gander up ahead. She was caught totally by surprise when they began hissing at her. Her heart leapt into her throat. Could those birds actually attack her? Were they vicious killers beneath their cute little feathers? She didn’t wait around to find out. She took off running with them in pursuit.
When she made it to the house she raced up the stairs and turned to see if they had followed her. They had stopped about fifty feet away and seemed to be laughing.
“Oh! You flea-ridden beasts! Don’t forget, Thanksgiving is just around the corner and there’s plenty of time to fatten you up.” She shook her finger at them.
“Well, I see you’ve finally met Lucinda and Lucky.” She turned to find Zachariah standing in the doorway.
“Yeah, I guess it was inevitable that I got chased since you seemed to wish it on me.”
“You didn’t do too badly.” He’d watched the whole episode from behind the screened door. “You must keep in shape?” It came out as a compliment as he eyed her petite figure clad in denim jeans.
“It’s not like I try. I guess it’s from the extra workout I get from walking around neighborhoods trying to find homes for sale.”
“Oh, you’re into real estate?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m a real estate salesperson.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, actually I do. I’m new in the field, though.” She took a seat on the porch swing, tired from her previous run-in with the geese.
“Still wet behind the ears,” he kidded. “I think that’s interesting work. I hear there’s a lot of money to be made, too.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll find out.”
“You don’t sound too enthused.” He came outside and sat besides her on the swing.
“Well, it’s such a competitive market and I don’t like to compete very much. My mother tells me that I need to be more driven. She thinks that I should desire so much more out of life than what I have.”
“Well, what do you think?” He stared into her eyes.
“I think that I want to live my own life for a change—without my mother putting her nose into every aspect of it. Can you understand?”
“I think so,” he said slowly. “I guess me and Zeke were lucky. Our parents have always been so supportive, but never condescending. I’ve never felt like I had to walk in anyone’s shoes, except my own.”
“Well, I’ve had to walk in the shadow of my mother all my life. I’ve had to do what pleased her, even if it meant that I sacrificed my own happiness.”
“You’ve done that for a long time and it’s time to put that to an end.”
“I know,” she said, sighing from deep within. “I just don’t know how.”
Zachariah slid closer and put his arms around her. He turned her to face him.
“Cherika, anything that you want, you can have. You just have to believe it.”
He kissed her and her heart soared. It was such a gentle kiss, yet filled with so much passion. She melted into him, kissing him back without reserve.
It seemed to go on and on but in actuality it only lasted a few seconds. Cherika pulled away starry eyed and Zachariah seemed to be dazed himself.
“Now, tell me how does such a soft, warm person as you, appear to be so cold?” he asked after a while. His words broke the spell that she had been under and they also broke the mood. She snatched away from his embrace.
“Cold?” She stared at him as though he had suddenly grown two heads. “How dare you call me cold! That’s like the pot calling the kettle black. You have some nerve!”
“Cherika, I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I guess it came out all wrong,” he said, trying desperately to explain. But it was already too late. Cherika stood up.
“If you ever touch me again, I swear, you’ll be wearing a fat lip! Don’t mess with me!” she warned, her eyes flashing.
“Cherika, don’t be offended. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. Can we talk about this?” The door slammed in his face. “I guess I blew it again,” he muttered. “Damn!” Why did he always seem to create a wall when it came to Cherika? Never had he had such a difficult time with a female. Women always fell at his feet. They literally threw themselves at him. But that was not the case with Cherika Daniels. He could see that he’d have to approach her from a different angel. There was something about her that was worth getting to know. Somehow, Cherika had stolen into his heart, and he wasn’t going to let her go back to Florida without at least trying to crack her shell. He felt that he had his work cut out for him. She was going to be a hard one to crack.

CHAPTER THREE

Cherika sat fuming in her room. She thought about marching back downstairs and slapping Zachariah until his eyes rolled. How dare he treat her in such a way! She was not one of those floozies that he was probably accustomed to. She would not let him use her no matter how good looking and charming he happened to be.
Sure, she was angry because he’d called her cold but what made her furious was that she had let him get to her. She had softened up and he had taken full advantage of the opportunity to manipulate her. Just like a man!
She could sit upstairs and pout the day away or she could go find Hezekiah. She decided to do the latter. She didn’t want to stick around so that Zachariah would have a chance to sweet-talk her into accepting an apology.
Cherika left the house, making certain that there were no geese lurking around the corner before she went down the steps. Dismissing all thoughts of Zachariah, she trotted down the trail that she’d seen Hezekiah take a few hours before. She was sure that she’d find him before long and she was right.
He leaned back against a tree, wearing a straw hat over his eyes. He was fast asleep and didn’t hear her approach. She got a sudden urge and pulled a stand of grass and began to tickle him on the ear with it. He twitched in his sleep but didn’t awaken. She tickled him again and he stirred, flicking at his ear where the grass had touched him. Cherika was getting a kick out of her game. She did it again and he finally sat up, removing his hat.
She tried hard not to laugh aloud. She stood on the other side of the tree stifling her giggles. Hezekiah looked around, puzzled. He rubbed his ear. Cherika stepped from behind the tree.
“Boo!” she said.
“Cherika!” He was genuinely pleased to see her. “Wait a minute, were you tickling me a few seconds ago?” He stared at her impish grin.
“I’d never do that,” she teased.
“Yes, you would. What’s that you have behind your back? Let me see.” He got up and came towards her. She backed away.
“Cherika, what are you hiding?” She pulled the strand of grass from behind her back and showed it to him.
“Okay, you’ve caught me,” she said. “But I just couldn’t resist.”
“Well, I can’t resist doing this.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. Cherika was surprised, but she didn’t try to resist him. The kiss was chaste. She felt no spark and she could tell that Hezekiah sensed it. He backed away.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have done that. If I offended you, I’m sorry,” he said again.
“I wasn’t offended,” she said, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “So,” she changed the subject, “Did you catch anything?”
“Did I?” he said with enthusiasm. “I can show you better than I can tell you. Come see for yourself.”
They walked over to a large white bucket and she peered into it. It was filled with about ten medium sized fish.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “You really did catch supper! Great!” As she studied the fish, his line began shaking furiously.
“I think I got another one!” he said, excitement in his voice. “And from the way that line’s pulling, it’s a big one! Watch me pull ‘im in!”
Cherika watched as he struggled with his catch. It took several minutes for him to reel in the fish. When he finally did she stared on as he took the hook out of the fish’s mouth. It was huge and it kept thrashing around!
“That fish has the biggest mouth I’ve ever seen,” she said.
“Maybe that’s why they’re called Big Mouthed Bass,” he said, chuckling.
“Really?” She looked at the fish closely. “Well, the name sure fits.”
Hezekiah picked the fish up and tossed it into the bucket with the other ones.
“I think that’s about all the fish we need today. What do you think?”
“You’re the expert, if you’re calling it quits, who am I to argue?”
As her carried the bucket of fish Cherika walked with him. She could hear the fish swimming around.
“So, how do you kill them?” She wanted to know.
“Oh, they’ll drown before we get to the house,” he said. “Either that or I’ll just cut their heads off. That usually does the trick.”
“Oh, how cruel!”
“Yeah, but it’s necessary. You won’t even think about it once they’re fried up, all golden and delicious, with some hot sauce to top it off!
“You’re right!” They laughed uproariously and were still laughing when they approached the house. Their laughter died when they saw Zachariah standing on the front porch, wearing a formidable expression.
“Cherika, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Zachariah said.
“What is it?” Hezekiah immediately sensed that something was wrong as he stared into his twin’s face.
“It’s your aunt Ola,” Zachariah told Cherika. “She’s suffered a stroke.”
“Oh my God!” Cherika gasped. “Is she-” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I don’t know how severe it was but I’m going to the hospital to see her now,” Zachariah said.
“I don’t understand. Why are you going? Shouldn’t a doctor be attending to her?” She stared at him in confusion.
“I am a doctor, Cherika,” he said. “That’s what I do when I’m not milking a cow to amuse myself.”
Cherika fleeting remembered her sarcastic comment from the day before. She was shocked. She had no idea that Zachariah was a doctor. She didn’t have time to let any of this soak in as he continued talking.
“Anyway, let’s not waste precious minutes dwelling on the past. Are you coming with me or not?”
She stared from brother to brother, unsure.
“Go ahead,” Hezekiah said. “It’s your aunt. Go see her.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Zachariah told his twin as they headed for his car.
Cherika was silent as Zachariah drove towards the hospital. She didn’t know what to say. Her aunt had just suffered a stroke and she didn’t know how to feel. She knew she should feel something, but she hadn’t known her aunt. Just the same, she was worried and prayed that her aunt would pull through.
“About this morning,” Zachariah said, breaking the silence. “I apologize if I offended you. I never intended to imply that you were a cold person. What I meant was that you try to shield your true feelings by coming off as cold. Even you can admit that. Right?” He glanced at her briefly then, back at the road. She didn’t answer him. “Well?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I seem to be great at offending people.”
“I guess you work hard at it,” Cherika said lowly.
“No, I do not work hard at it,” he denied. “It’s just that, through the years, I’ve hardened. Sometimes, life does that to you.”
Cherika didn’t say anything. She tried to imagine being a doctor and couldn’t. She thought about what Zachariah must deal with daily and she felt compassion in her heart.
“I guess you’ve seen a lot of death, huh?” she asked, quietly.
“It comes with the job,” he said dryly. No more was said as he continued driving. It wasn’t long before they reached Memphis Memorial Hospital.
“We’re here. Let’s get through the red tape so that we can see your aunt.”
When they approached the front desk they were asked a ton of questions, all of which Zachariah answered with ease and professionalism. He knew her aunt well; better than she did. She didn’t bother to correct the nurse at the station when she assumed that the two were husband and wife. They were told to take a seat until further notice.
Cherika sat down in the hard-bottomed black chair. Zachariah sat next to her and thumbed through the magazines on the table in front of them. Neither of them spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.
“Mr. and Mrs. Prewitt, you can go see your aunt now. Room 321,” she told them after they had waited for about twenty minutes.
“Thank you,” Cherika mumbled. She followed Zachariah down the long hallway.
As with all hospitals, the place smelled of disinfectants, Lysol, ammonia, and Clorox bleach. The floor shone as they pattered across it, each step echoing behind them. They encountered nurses and doctors, most with serene, serious looks on their faces, eyes downcast, hurrying off to save lives.
They reached the elevator and Zachariah escorted her inside. He let a hospital employee with a gurney out then he stepped inside himself. He pushed the “Closed” button and punched three. It wasn’t long before they heard the bell, signaling that they were at their destination. Zachariah got off and held the elevator door open for Cherika, preventing them from slamming shut in her hesitation.
“This way,” he said. She followed slowly.
They reached room 321 and he stepped inside first. Cherika lingered behind in the doorway. She stuck a finger in her mouth and nervously chewed on the nail. It was an old habit that she had forgotten about. At the moment, it didn’t seem important at all.
She stared at her aunt with wide eyes.
“Come on,” Zachariah urged and she inched closer, slowly. When she stood next to him she gained the strength to look at her aunt.
“Oh!” she gasped in shock at all the tubes that were attached to the frail woman who lay on the hospital bed. Her aunt seemed so helpless, not at all like the demanding woman that Cherika had encountered earlier. She felt sorry for her and a tear slipped down her face as she stared, speechless.
“Cherika, she’ll be fine,” Zach promised, noticing that Cherika was emotional. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “She needs to rest now, so we’ll leave.”
Once they were in the hallway outside again, Cherika noticed that Zachariah still held her hand. This time, she didn’t mind.
“I wonder, somehow if this stroke-” Her voice caught in her throat.
“No, no.” Zachariah said strongly, reading her mind. “It had nothing to do with you. Your aunt is a rather stubborn woman. For years, I have been on her about her diet and eating habits. She just refused to take her mediation for high blood pressure. That’s most likely the cause of this stroke. It was nothing that you did.” He tried to be reassuring.
“Is there something that I can do?” she asked.
“Maybe it’s time for you to pay your relatives a visit,” he said. “It wouldn’t hurt. Maybe this will bind you to them in some way.”
* * * * *
The ride home from the hospital seemed to take longer than Cherika’s trip from Florida. She was clearly worried about her aunt. This was plain to see by the etched groove in her forehead, as she burrowed in the seat, deep in thought.
“Is your Aunt Ola your mother’s sister or your father’s?” Zachariah asked quietly. For a second, he thought he’d have to repeat the question because Cherika didn’t answer.
“She’s my father’s sister,” she said in a muffled tone. Zachariah could tell that she’d been silently crying. His heart twisted in his chest. He wanted to do more to help her through her pain, but doubted if she’d let him get close. So, he tried to comfort her through conversation.
“Were they close?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. My father left here when he was fourteen. He rarely came back. By the time I was old enough to visit, he and my mother were divorced. She’s somewhat of a snob. My mother is. So, there’s no way she would have brought me here.”
“Well, you have a rather large family,” he revealed. “Your aunt has three other brothers besides your father.”
“They all live here in Arkansas?” she asked.
“Yes. Between the four of them, you have a slew of cousins.”
Cherika frowned. “Guess if I lived in Arkansas, I might end up dating one by accident, huh? Being that I have no idea who they are,” she said half seriously, half jokingly.
“It doesn’t have to be that way, Cherika. Maybe you can put an end to the feud if you can find out the cause.”
Cherika contemplated what he’d told her. “I wonder what could cause a family to turn on each other?” she asked. She didn’t seem to expect an answer. She had only spoken her thoughts aloud.
It was a good thing that they had arrived back home. Zachariah had been thrown by Cherika’s question. He really couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what had happened between the Daniels. What he did know was what had caused the rift between himself and his own twin. He’d come to the realization that sometimes, something simple could simmer so long that it became volatile. The problem between the twins should have been addressed when it had taken place. Zachariah had let his pride get in the way.
He knew that it was senseless to hold on to so much anger. It wasn’t Hezekiah’s fault that he was the better twin in disposition. Sure, Zachariah could pull the most women and he could get them fast. He was the fun twin. Hezekiah was the practical one. He was flamboyant. Hezekiah was laid-back. Ultimately, what it all boiled down to was that Hezekiah was the type that women wanted to marry. Hezekiah had stolen Zachariah’s fiancée and he hadn’t even tried.

Sping Cycle (Chapter Seven)

2009-07-01T15:21:00.000-07:00

Chapter Seven

Austin and Greta decided to get together later to devise a plan concerning Larry. They both showed up at the PSTA meeting just as it got underway.
Mr. Jackson had prepared for the meeting over the weekend, so it proceeded without incident. He surprised Greta by announcing to the parents, staff and everyone else attending, her acceptance of the position as Assistant Principal. If she was going to be the next Assistant Principal, then that meant Larry wouldn’t be getting his way.

At home Greta cooked a chicken breast on the small George Foreman grill. She sliced it up and made her usual grilled chicken Caesar salad and sat down to enjoy it. The phone rang and she picked it up just as she’d taken a bite of her salad.
“Hello?” she answered, thinking it was Principal Jackson.
“Greta. What’s up?” It was Larry. She almost choked on the mouth of food.
“L-larry, what’s going on?”
“I’m sure your lover has already filled you in. So, don’t even front.”
Since he wasn’t pretending that everything was all dandy, neither would she. “Larry, why are you doing this?” she demanded, sitting her salad down on the coffee table. Her appetite had vanished. “What have I done to you to deserve being blackmailed?”
“I never said I was going to blackmail you. Just that asshole, Austin.”
“But, I’m on that tape too, remember?”
“I know. How can I forget? Your fine ass was in all kinds of compromising positions.”
“Larry-”
“You wouldn’t do that with me,” he interrupted. “You’ve been blowing me off for months. But, the first opportunity you get, you back that ass up for that pretty boy.”
“My sex life is none of your business,” she snapped.
“Well, it became my business when you fucked at a Laundromat that I own. Good thing I had that high tech security system installed a few months ago,” he chuckled.
“Larry, give this sick idea of yours up. What exactly do you think you’re going to gain?”
“Everything I want, namely you.”
“Okay, now you are really sounding like you’re disillusioned. You will never have me.”
“Why not? I’m not pretty enough for you? You like them high yellow, mixed motherfuckers, huh?” He paused momentarily. “Oh yeah, I remember. Your former hubby who offed himself was a high yellow motherfucker, too.”
At that point Greta’s hand gripped the receiver so tightly that it felt like she had arthritis. She slammed the phone down before Larry could say anything further. The last thing she needed to be reminded of was Gerald and his suicide. It still pained her to the core. Mentioning him had been a low blow, even for Larry.
The doorbell sounded and she answered it, still clearly shaken. Austin caught on to her mood instantly.
“Has Larry threatened you?” he asked, concerned.
“I don’t know what he did. He’s talking crazy.”
She summarized the conversation she’d just had with Larry. Austin’s eyes narrowed. Of course, she’d left out the part about her ex and his suicide. Some things were better left unsaid, at least until the appropriate time.
“Greta, I think we’re dealing with a psycho,” Austin stated. “You wouldn’t mind making a pot of coffee, would you? I think we’re going to need it. It could take a while to come up with something.”
“I’ll be right back.”
It wasn’t long before she returned with two mugs of the hot liquid. She sat Austin’s down in front of him. He watched the steam in the cup curl up as he spoke.
“Yes, I do believe that we are dealing with someone who is unbalanced,” he repeated.
“I have to agree,” she said, taking a seat. “What exactly is Larry trying to gain? I don’t understand this blackmail issue.”
“He’s angry because I asked for his letter of resignation due to the allegations that Brenda made. The tape happened to fall into his hands at an opportune time for him.”
“I know one thing – he’s about to piss me off!” she said then exhaled loudly.
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Austin asked, staring at her shrewdly.
“E-er, no,” she lied. She really didn’t want to share her husband’s suicide with Austin. It would only open old wounds that she thought had healed. Because of Larry, she had to face her demons all over again.
She sighed and picked up her coffee. Austin seemed to be deep in thought. It wasn’t long before he came up with a way to trap Larry.

“Remember Greta, this is the only way we’re going to stop Larry. If you can’t go through with it, just let me know. We can think of something else.”
They’d been talking for hours and now Austin felt certain that it was the only way without involving the police. Even though it would take some conning and lying, Greta felt she could carry it out.
“What else can we do, short of killing him?” she asked half-jokingly. Austin smirked.
“Death is too good for that low-life.’
“I’ll go through with it, Austin. If Larry forced himself on Brenda, it needs to come out. If I can get him to admit it, I’ll have what I need to get back that videotape. I’ll do it.”
“Larry may not take no for an answer,” he said. “Are you willing to sleep with him to get the evidence you need?”
She stared into his eyes and answered honestly. “The evidence we need. Austin, we’re in this together, whether we want to be or not.” She swallowed and licked her lips, because for some reason, staring at him had thrown her off. She kept remembering the hot, night of passion they’d share. That same night had ended up getting them into some serious trouble.
“I hope you don’t have to end up doing that.” For some reason, the thought of Greta with Larry made his blood boil. “God, I should have used my head. This should never be happening.”
“We got carried away. What can I say? How were we to know that we’d meet up at the Laundromat, get busy and get caught on tape? Sounds like something that happens in books or on the screen.”
“It was my fault Greta. You wanted to come back to the apartment. But no, I had the urge to get freaky. I just wanted to be uninhibited and spontaneous for once.”
“Doesn’t seem like a man like you would lack spontaneity.”
“My ex-wife said I was as dull as a doorknob. She said all I liked to do was work. She called me boring in the bedroom. After a while, she cut me off sexually. That’s when I started seeking gratification elsewhere. Don’t get me wrong,” he said quickly, “I’m not trying to justify my actions. Cheating was wrong. I should never have done that. But, a man’s got his pride. I guess I was trying to prove something to her and to myself.” His voice held such regret that it twisted Greta’s heart.
“Well, it’s all in the past now. Like I wish this situation could be,” she said.
“Speaking of the past, what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Don’t you have a past? Any secrets you’d like to share? Any boyfriends or ex-husbands?” he asked jokingly.
At the mention of the word husband, Greta turned a shade of gray.
“I had a husband,” she said softly. “But he killed himself. I really don’t want to talk about it, though.”

* * *
Greta knew that she’d been crying in her sleep before she opened her eyes and saw the soaked pillow. She’d been dreaming about Gerald. They’d been in a boat and he’d fallen over the side. She’d reached for his hand but couldn’t get to him before the undercurrents carried him away.
She’d had so many dreams like that but they had almost stopped after three years. It must have been the conversation with Larry that triggered this particular dream.
She sat on the side of the bed and wiped her tears away. Her hand pulled open the drawer where she kept it.
The suicide letter.
She hadn’t read it in months. But, tonight, she reached for it. She unfolded the sheet of paper and read.
Greta,
I’m so sorry. I’d rather end my life, than to go on living it and causing you pain. It’s all been a facade. I’ve fought my inner demons for too long. I have no fight left in me.
Please forgive me for the deceit.

Along with the letter, he’d left pictures. The pictures told her about an entirely different Gerald. It wasn’t her husband and never had been.
Gerald had been living a “down-low” lifestyle. That meant, he married her, but he really desired being with other men sexually. For five years, she’d lived in a pretend marriage. He’d been carrying on one homosexual relationship after the next. He’d met men on-line, in chat rooms, and at gay clubs. Greta had no idea until the end.
She’d been sickened by the idea of her husband being intimate with other men. Even now, she could feel the bile rush up to her throat as she looked at the pictures.
There was Gerald in New Orleans at the Mardi Gras Parade. Her husband, hugged up with a bunch of men, dressed like women. Again, there he was at Gay Day, a festival at Disney World in Orlando. He was decked out in loud colors, fake eyelashes, rouge and lipstick. There were numerous pictures of him at gay pride festivals all over the country. He’d been living it up, sneaking out of town being fairy happy. She’d been a damned fool.
She had certainly been blinded by love. She hadn’t seen any of the signs. But, the proof was all there in the photos.
She had to admit, Gerald was a beautiful woman. He just wasn’t her husband.
The ringing of the phone startled her. She hesitated to pick it up. Angered by the interruption of her grief, she snarled into the phone, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Bitch, don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough,” the sinister voice warned.
“I want you to stop calling me.”
“Stop calling me! Stop calling me!” the voice mimicked.
“You’re a sick motherfucker.”
“Sick motherfucker. Sick motherfucker.”
“You sound like a dumb ass bird. Fuck off.” She slammed the phone down. She really was tired of the harassing phone calls in the middle of the night. The next day, she would see about getting her number changed.
* * *
Austin couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about the events that had unfolded since his encounter with Greta at the Laundromat. Who would have thought he’d get freaky at a Laundromat and to top it off, get videotaped in the act? Not Austin Lee Jackson. Not the square kid who got teased daily when he attended Northeast High School. Not the dull husband who lacked a sex drive.
He remembered everything about that night from the second he’d spotted Greta’s red thong when she bent over to retrieve her clothes. How his dick sprang to immediate attention. He remembered picking her up and planting her firmly on top of the washing machine, easing into her. Damn, she’d been so tight! As he slammed into her, she’d become wetter and wetter. She’d climaxed so quickly that he knew she hadn’t been sexed in a while. Her stubbornness turned him on. He knew she wanted more, but pride wouldn’t let her ask for it. He damn sure wanted more.
Austin turned over and glanced at the clock. 2:15. He wondered what Greta was doing at the moment. Was she asleep? Was she thinking about the things they’d discussed? Was he on her mind?
His thoughts switched to Larry and he felt his face tighten as he frowned. Larry Newsome was the worst kind of swine. If he didn’t have so much to lose, he’d step into a black ninja suit, put some war paint on his face, and take care of him once and for all. He’d do it so deftly and swiftly that Larry wouldn’t know what hit him.

“I guess my time as assistant principal will be short-lived,” she said, handing him a letter of resignation.
“Why? Greta, what’s the meaning of this? I thought you wanted this position? If it’s the relationship between us that you’re concerned about, I can assure you that I can keep it totally professional.”
“That’s not it.” She looked down at her feet and exhaled. “How can I be a role model to those kids, and expect to be respected as an unmarried, pregnant mother-to be?’
Austin’s eyes widened. “You’re pregnant?” His eyes fell to her stomach. “You’re carrying my child?” It was a statement rather than a question.
Greta’s eyes filled with tears on their own accord. She couldn’t control her bouts of moodiness and crying spells. She guessed it was hormones.
“I didn’t want to tell you like this. I just didn’t know when or where…or how. I don’t know anything about being a mother. I don’t know if I can do this, Austin.”
“Greta. You won’t be alone.” He got up from his desk and walked around it. Standing in front of her, he stared into her face. “I’ll be there every step of the way. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you.”
Her lips trembled as she stared up at him. “W-what did you say?”
“I said, I love you,” he repeated. “After what we went though these last few days with Larry, I don’t want to ever let you out of my sight. Had I known that you were carrying my child that monster would never have been allowed to put his hands on you.” He shook his head. “Gosh, I can’t believe this. I’m going to be a father.” He tentatively placed his hands on her stomach. “I’m going to be a daddy.”
She nodded totally surprised that he’d taken the news so well. “Yes.”
“In that case, your letter or resignation is accepted. There is one condition though.”
“Do you want me to continue to teach?”
He shook his head. “Something more permanent than that.” His eyes shone with feeling. “Will you to marry me?”
She smiled before answering. “Of course I will because you, Mr. Jackson, are way too good to be just a baby daddy.”

***This is the last chapter I've written so far. I'm debating if I'm going to finish this one next. I'm not sure. I do know that I have a goal to finish it this year though.

Spin Cycle (Chapter Six)

2009-07-01T15:19:00.000-07:00

Chapter Six

Principal Austin Jackson sat in his office trying to sift through the numerous emails he’d received. He looked up as Larry Newsome entered.
“Glad you’re here. I was just getting ready to call you,” Mr. Jackson told Larry. “We need to talk.”
“Yes we do,” Larry snarled. “About how much money you’re going to pay me to keep my mouth shut.” He closed the door to the principal’s office and sat down wearing a smirk on his face. He glared at Austin, happy that the pretty ass womanizer seemed to be at a loss for words.
“What are you talking about?” Austin finally got out. He didn’t like the tone of Larry’s voice or how cocky he acted.
“You’ll know soon enough.” Larry stood up, walked over to the Mr. Coffee and poured himself cup of coffee, without asking. He then got comfortable again.
Austin’s first instinct was to kick the Styrofoam cup of hot liquid out of Larry’s hands, but he held his temper in check. The way Larry was acting, he had something that he sure felt was incriminating. Austin had yet to find out what it was, as Larry slurped loudly on his coffee and gazed at him smugly. He seemed to be in no hurry.
“Look Larry, I have a great deal to do today.” His tone held impatience. “I wanted to know if you’ve considered what we discussed the other day – about you turning in your letter of resignation,” he reminded.
“Well-” Larry sighed. “Ironically, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.” He placed his cup on Austin’s desk, not bothering to remove the important papers out of the way. “I’ve had a change of heart. Not only will I not be quitting, I’d like to put in a request to be the next Assistant Principal after Brenda leaves.”
“Nigg-” Austin had to catch himself. He’d almost resorted to showing that he’d grown up in Bethel Heights, the projects on the south side of St. Petersburg. He was straight up hood and Larry knew that. Larry must have gotten it twisted somehow. He took a deep breath. “Larry, first of all, I don’t appreciate you coming into my office making demands. Second, I’ve already asked Mrs. Greta Stevenson if she’d be interested in the position. Third, whatever it is you think you have on me, use it right now or I’m coming from behind this desk and kicking your ass.”
Larry’s calm demeanor dissipated immediately. His face twisted in anger. “Man, don’t start acting all high and mighty, talking all condescending to me. Your shit ain’t as tight as you think it is. If your punk ass was such a classy, respectful man of honor, like you’re trying to portray, then I’d never have gotten the evidence I need to fuck up your whole life.”
Austin leaned over his desk before he knew what had come over him he had Larry around the throat in a grip he’d learned in the Army.
“Negro,” he said through clenched teeth, forgetting all about his Master’s and Doctorate degrees. He was about to use straight up Ebonics on Larry, if it meant the simpleton would get the message. “Don’t fucking threaten me, man! Now, what the fuck you got? Tell me right now or I’ll choke the life out your ass.”
“Get ya fucking hands off me man! I’ll have you arrested for assault.”
“Yeah – whatever,” Austin said releasing the hold he had on the other man. “Like hell I assaulted you.”
Larry brushed it off. “Like hell I assaulted Brenda,” he said. “That bitch was asking for it. She had already let me hit that three times. How could it be assault?”
“If she said no and you kept going. It doesn’t matter how many times you’d allegedly done it before.”
“Man, you’re a black man. You know how these white bitches do. You know how they want to fuck a strong black man with a big dick. They feel it’s necessary to pay us back for what our ancestors suffered as slaves.”
Austin looked at him with his face contorted in disbelief. “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard. Besides, my mother is white, and I take offense to that.” He threw his hands up. “Fuck the bullshit. Man, if that’s the way your twisted mind works, so be it. Back to the subject at hand, what do you think you have on me?”
“I don’t think nothing! I know.” He reached under his jacket and Austin stepped back cautiously. “What you think, I’m packing heat?” He chuckled in amusement. “Please! Well, at least not the heat you’re thinking about.” He laid a copy of the videotape on top of Austin’s desk. The original was in a safe deposit box at his bank. “Take a look at this, then call me to discuss terms of negotiation.” He stood up to leave. “Oh, I’m taking the rest of the day off, with pay. I wouldn’t advise you to watch that here on campus. It’s considered porn.” The closing of the door behind Larry caused an ominous feeling to creep into Austin’s bones.
* * *
Austin could literally feel the sweat drip down the sides of his face. All morning long the thought of what was on the videotape had plagued him. He couldn’t risk viewing it at the school so, on his lunch hour he went home.
Now, as he sat watching the images of him and Greta on the screen, he felt physically ill. He felt like he would suffocate.
“Shit!” he swore aloud. “What the fuck?”
All kinds of questions ran through is head. How had Larry gotten the tape? Who else had seen it? Where did it come from?
He knew one thing for a fact; he couldn’t let Larry get away with blackmailing him. He felt that Larry wouldn’t stop there. He was the type of snake that would strike twice.
Another thought entered his head. Greta Stevenson could be in great danger. Even though Larry hadn’t admitted to assaulting Brenda, Austin’s instincts told him otherwise. He had to warn Greta of the impending danger in their immediate future.

Greta felt apprehensive as she drove toward the address that Principal Jackson had left on her cell phone’s voicemail. He sounded upset. She felt a sense of urgency to get there.
They had a PSTA meeting that evening and he’d left school early. That was uncharacteristic of him. He’d made every meeting since he’d become principal because he resided over them. Larry hadn’t been there, either. Now, she had to leave as well. The other teachers would be left to take care of the meeting themselves. It couldn’t be helped. Austin insisted in his message that they had to talk immediately.
Arriving at the house located in Treasure Island, she parked, got out and walked up the cobblestone driveway. As she rang the bell, her heart pounded nervously. It didn’t take long before Austin opened the door. She immediately saw that he looked awful.
“Mr. Jackson, what is it?”
“Come inside. It’s not something to discuss out in public where someone might overhear.” He ushered her inside the house.
“What is going on?”
“I can show you better than I can explain,” he said. “Have a seat.”
“Okay.”
“I have to warn you beforehand.” She didn’t miss the serious expression that crossed his face. “This is going to shock you.”
“Er- okay.” She waited as he switched on the tape. It didn’t take long for her to understand exactly what he meant. “Oh my God!” she gasped when she saw the two of them having sex at the Laundromat. “Where did this come from?” She could tell by the pale look on his face that he wasn’t the person responsible for the footage.
“Larry Newsome,” he said bitterly. “Now, he’s using it to blackmail me.”
“What? Where- Oh my God!” she said in anguish. She was clearly shaken up. She stared at Austin in complete shock. “What the hell have we done? Austin, if something like this gets out that could be the end of both of our careers.”
“I know.” He stared at her for a minute, completely silent. “What are you willing to do to protect what you’ve worked so hard for?” he finally asked.
“I don’t know Austin.” She sighed loudly. “I mean I was just about to tell you that I accepted the position as Assistant Principal. I’ve wanted to teach since as long as I can remember. I love working with children. It’s my life. It’s really all I’ve got,” she said with great passion. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect it. Whatever it takes,” she stated firmly.
“I feel the same way. As for Larry, I think he feels that the school is his playing field. It’s where he can get up on a good piece of ass.”
“That slime.” She couldn’t believe that Larry could betray her that way. She had thought of him as a friend. Apparently he wasn’t. “Well, what are we going to do to stop him?” she asked.
“Pay him.”
“Pay him? You can’t be serious.” She gave him an incredulous look. “There’s no telling how much money he will try to extort out of us. Then who’s to say, he won’t let this leak out anyway?”
“I wasn’t talking about paying him in cash,” he said evenly. “I was talking about paying him a visit.”
Greta stared into Austin’s stone face and icy eyes. At that moment, she sensed that he could become Larry’s worst nightmare.

Spin Cycle (Chapter Five)

2009-07-01T15:17:00.000-07:00

Chapter Five

Larry was pissed because Greta had blown him off again. He couldn’t understand why she was acting so high and mighty. She was a grown ass woman and shouldn’t let anyone dictate how she lived her life. If she wanted to have a relationship with him, it could be worked out. Like he’d mentioned, it wasn’t as if the other teachers weren’t hooking up.
Maybe she had something against him, personally? What was it about him that she didn’t like? He was determined to get Greta Stevenson, one way or another.
When he entered his apartment, his cell phone began ringing. He looked at the caller id and swore. He decided not to answer right away. He did listen to the message once he’d sat down and switched on the television.
“Larry, I want my muthafuckin’ money!” Troy yelled into the phone. “I ain’t cleanin’ up ya muthafuckin’ Laundromats fuh nothin’! Pay me, muthafucka or I might hafta cap yo ass! Messin’ wit’ my money is like fuckin’ wit’ my emotions!”
“Shit!” Larry swore as he sat up. There would be no relaxing and chilling out to watch The King of Queens. He knew he had to pay Troy’s ignorant ass right away, and there was no getting around it. Troy was an ex-convict and he probably didn’t mind going back to prison if he felt he had to.
“What to do? What to do?” he said aloud. He had spent most of his paycheck on the new rims for his F150. He had forgotten all about Troy’s pitiful ass. All Troy wanted to do was smoke crack and suck powder up through his nose any damn way. He didn’t need money that he could just blow. “Let me pay that rabid ass Negro! He might just go postal on my ass if he can’t get his hit.”
He called Troy back. “Hey man. What’s up? Why you trippin’ and shit? Man, I got you! Calm down! I said, I got you! I only have $75 on me right now though. I’ll give you the rest on Friday when I get paid. Yeah, man. No shit. You at the Laundromat right now cleaning? The one on 4th Street? Okay. I’ll meet you up there. Peace!”
Larry figured he might as well get that country bastard off his ass. He didn’t need any trouble. A crack head could be dangerous. He didn’t need anybody slicing his tires or keying up his ride. He had enough bitches trying to do that shit now.
He thought about Tahiasha’s psychotic ass. Not only had she scrapped a great amount of paint off the side of his last vehicle, she’d poured oil all on his leather seats. No matter how many times he’d told her that it was over, she’d kept popping up and causing scenes. She’d attacked one female he’d been with and pulled her weave out by the handful.
He damn near had to break that bitches’ jaw before she finally gotten the message that he wasn’t anybody to be fucked with. It had taken him a hefty amount of money to get rid of the assault charge. As a teacher, he couldn’t have anything popping up on his criminal background check. Tahiasha’s demented ass still called him to this day. No way would he ever walk back into that trap.
He drove the few blocks to where Troy was, parked and went inside. He saw Troy pulling a bucket filled with water and a mop across the tiled floor. It smelled like Lysol and bleach.
“What’s up man?” he greeted.
“Not a damn thang!”
“Hey, what you thought, that I wasn’t gonna pay you?”
“Hell, I knew you was gonna pay, either in cash or in ass. It don’t matta either way to me bru.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait! Back up off me wit’ that shit! I don’t play them sex games. I’ll be damned if I let another man in my ass. That’s real.” Troy chuckled. “You might like it.”
“Hell to the naw!” He knew that Troy had been in and out of prison, but he didn’t know he swayed both ways. He wasn’t interested in crossing that fence. “Here you go!” Larry slapped the money in his hand, quickly. “You go ‘head and get whatever it is you need to stop talkin’ like that.” He turned to leave.
“Oh, hey wait one second.”
“Don’t even try me wit’ that gay shit man!” Larry said warningly.
“Naw! Naw! It ain’t nothin’ like dat. Relax! I want you to check out da video. You won’t believe what got filmed by dese cameras.”
“What, a crack head tryin’ to jimmy open the coin machine on the Ms. PacMan game?”
“Naw man! Dis is some ex-rated shit!”
“Say what? Don’t tell me no chicken head was up in here fuckin’ some trick?”
“Naw nigga! I’m tryin’ to tell you. This is some real freaky, triple X rated shit. Two normal ass people. Dey got a lil’ hot and heavy and let it carry ‘em away. It’s off da chain too!”
“What the fuck?”
“No lie man. Dey was doin’ it right dere on dem washin’ machines.”
“Oh hell no! I got to see this!” He followed Troy into the back room where the cameras were located.

Larry’s face tightened as he drove back towards his apartment. He couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. Miss Stevenson and Principal Jackson fucking like two jack rabbits.
He was livid. That bitch could give up the pussy to that lame motherfucker, but she couldn’t break him off the drawers. How in the fuck?
He’d thought that Greta had such high morals. Shit, she’d been pretending all along. She was a fucking freak according to the video he had sitting next to him on the passenger’s seat. The way she’d backed her ass up on Mr. Jackson’s dick, you would think she was a nymphomaniac.
Larry’s mind whirled with the information he had. The other day Austin Jackson told him that he needed to look elsewhere for employment due to the alleged incident with Brenda Wiles. Well, he would see what Dr. Jackson had to say now. He’d be calling all the shots. And the way he saw it, he wasn’t going anywhere until he was good and damned ready. As for Greta, he had something in store for her too.

* * *
The ringing of the phone awoke Greta from her sleep. She lifted the receiver and breathed a sleepy, “Hello?” into the receiver.
Nothing.
“Hello?” she repeated.
All she could hear was someone breathing on the other end.
“Get a fucking life!” she yelled and slammed the phone down. That was the second time she’d been awakened by a crank caller. She couldn’t figure out why someone wanted to play on the phone.
Now that she’d been awakened she couldn’t go right back to sleep. She got up, slipped on her house shoes and pattered into the kitchen. She made herself some hot cocoa, thinking the warm beverage would help.
Just as she stepped back into her bedroom, the shrill ring of the phone sounded off.
“Not again!” she groaned. She thought about just letting it ring but decided to just get it over with. “Hello?”
“You fucking cunt bitch!” A garbled voice hurled at her.
“What? Who is this?”
“You slimy cunt whore!”
“Whoever you are, you’d better stop calling me!’
“Bitch! Douche bag, slut!”
“Why don’t you say what you really mean? Fuck you!” She slammed the phone down again and turned off the ringer. “Who the hell is that?” she wondered aloud as she picked up her hot chocolate and took a sip. Somebody must have really pissed the person off. Surely, they had a wrong number.

Spin Cycle (Chapter Four)

2009-07-01T15:13:00.001-07:00

Chapter Four

“Miss Stevenson, how are you?” Hearing Dr. Jackson’s voice made her stretch her eyelids open.
“I’m just fine.”
“You look a little peaked. You sure you got enough sleep last night?”
“Maybe I didn’t. But, is it your business?” she almost snapped. After all, she was on her time, not his. Couldn’t she get a break? Hell, she was entitled.
“Not at all,” he drawled, plopping down on the bench right next to her.
“Excuse me. Out of all the benches around here, you just had to pick mine, huh?”
“Yep!” He proceeded to pull a sandwich out of his lunch pack and unwrap it. “I saw that you weren’t eating in the teacher’s lounge so I came to find you.”
“Is there any particular reason that you had to find me?”
“Actually there is.” He took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed it before going on. “You know the school is given a certain amount of funds and I have to decide how to allocate those different funds. Now, a great portion of the monies will be towards providing tutoring in both math and reading. Will you be available to tutor after school?”
Once again, Mr. Jackson had hit her with something totally different than she’d expected.
“I think I can manager to clear my calendar,” she said. “How many days per week will be required?”
“Just on Tuesdays after school. It won’t interfere with your workout schedule.”
She gave him a sharp look. “How do you know that I work out?”
He eyed her shapely legs clad in off-black nylons. “That body tells all.” He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed it slowly. Greta’s eyes stared at his beautiful lips. They mesmerized her.
“I- I think I’ll go inside now,” she said as the heat rushed over her body. She remembered him taking her at the Laundromat and how abandoned and uninhibited they’d both been. She wanted him again with a passion.
“Can I count you in?” he asked as she stood up.
“Yes. I’ll be able to do it.”
“I’ll call you later,” he said. “I have something I’d like to run past you. I’d like to know your opinion.” He sounded serious, all of a sudden.
“Is everything okay?”
“This isn’t the place to discuss any details. I’ll call you,” he repeated. “See you later Miss Stevenson,” he said professionally as another teacher approached them.
“Hello Mr. Hammond,” Greta greeted as she passed the reading teacher.
“Hello Miss Stevenson,” he said and took a seat next to Dr. Jackson.

All day long thoughts ran through her head over what it could be that Mr. Jackson wanted to discuss with her. She knew it couldn’t be work related or he would have told her at school.
For the time being, she had to concentrate on seventh grade Geography. Her class wasn’t difficult at all. She had a certain curriculum that she followed and didn’t consider it too complicated for her students to adhere to. If they stuck to their assignment sheets, turning in everything on time, they’d fare well.
She couldn’t understand how difficult coloring a map of Latin America was. Over half her students had chosen not to do it. They were required to turn in three projects, which would determine a great portion of their overall grade. Many students hadn’t even attempted to complete the first project and now they were well into the second project. She allowed them to make up their tests if they didn’t do well, giving them another opportunity to make a better grade. That didn’t matter to the kids in her classroom. They seemed determined to sit at their desks and be idle. Well, she wasn’t having it. She had to find a way to get the students motivated, some sort of an incentive.
Once the bell rang, the noisy students filed out the door. Some called, “Good-bye!” on their way out. She got up and began to tidy the classroom, straightening desks. She’d leave the crumbled papers on the floor for the janitor.
Since it was Thursday, she didn’t have to go to the gym. She planned to go home and catch up on her favorite soap opera, Days of Our Lives, which she’d previously recorded.
While walking across the parking lot towards her car, she saw Larry getting into his vehicle. He pulled up along side her as she got into her own car.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Busy. What about yourself?”
“Same old thing on a different day. I hate that I missed getting that dance with you the other night. I saw you leave in a hurry.”
“Well, I wasn’t driving and my friend wanted to go. You know how Melinda is.”
“A straight up bitch,” he said with passion.
“Larry! Watch that. Remember, that’s my friend you’re talking about,” she chastised.
“I call it like I see it. Melinda is wrong for cheating on Greg like that.”
“How do you know she’s doing anything wrong?”
“I’m not stupid. I saw her leave with that sand Negro.”
“Sand Negro?” She frowned at the racial slur. “Larry, what has gotten into you?”
“Nothing. It’s just that, women say they want a good man. When they get one, they treat him like shit. Greg doesn’t deserve to be used by Melinda.”
“You have no idea what’s going on in their relationship. I suggest you do what I do, stay out of it,” she advised.
“Touché! My bad if I stepped out of line.” He licked his lips. “So, when are you going to invite me over, Greta? I’ve been waiting for a personal invite. I know you don’t have a man. Don’t even try using that as an excuse.”
Greta sighed. “Larry, I’ve told you how I feel about mixing business with pleasure. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it.”
“Everybody else does it. I mean even that square Mr. Hammond.”
“What?”
“Hell yeah. Rumor has it, he’s banging Mrs. Brown.”
“Really? He doesn’t seem to be her type.”
“Why? Because she’s fine as hell and he’s square as hell?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“It’s true and you know it. All Mr. Hammond does is keep his nose buried in a Harry Potter book. What the hell? Come on. Invite me over. Live a little.”
“I don’t think so. Larry, I’m only interested in a professional relationship with you,” she said firmly. “Let’s not have this conversation again.”
“Fine,” he said with a slight attitude. “It’s your loss.” He pulled off so suddenly that she could hear the tires screech.
The nerve of him! she thought. He had really rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe she was just experiencing PMS.

She sat eating a grilled chicken, Caesar salad as she watched Sami and Lucas on the screen. It was clear that the two characters were very much in love even though they both were with someone else. Lucas was married to Sami’s sister, Carrie. Sami was with Carrie’s ex-husband Austin who happened to be Lucas’s brother. Soap opera drama! She loved it.
Greta’s phone rang just as the camera zoomed in on Austin and Carrie up on the roof making love.
“Damn!” She pushed the pause and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Miss Stevenson it’s Dr. Jackson. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No not at all.” She sat up straight, bracing herself. “What is so important that you can’t tell me at school?”
“I’m hoping it’s all a misunderstanding. But, I’m not sure. Remember, I told you that Mrs. Niles is leaving?”
She nodded as if he could see her through the phone, caught herself and said, “Yes.”
“Well, it’s because of Larry Newsome.”
“What does Larry have to do with Mrs. Niles leaving?” she asked in puzzlement.
“Allegedly, he tried to attack her in the girl’s locker room.”
“What?”
“His version is completely different from hers. We’re trying to keep this on the hush-hush because neither wants it to get out. But, I really don’t know whom to believe. I don’t know either of them on a personal level to be able to make that judgment call. That’s why I thought I’d ask you. You’ve known them both for some time. What do you think?”
“I have no earthly clue. Why would Larry try to do something like that? Then again, why would Mrs. Niles make up such a story?”
“Do you think it could be an affair gone bad? Like a scorned lover type of deal?”
“Larry and Mrs. Niles? Like I said, I don’t know. It seems like I’ve been in the dark about a lot of happenings around the school.”
“I don’t want to accuse anyone of something that they didn’t do. But, I don’t want to take sides either.”
“I understand what you mean,” she said slowly.
“If Larry is trying to force himself on women, I think it’s important to know. Has he behaved inappropriately with you?” he asked.
Greta hesitated, thinking about how Larry had behaved in the school’s parking lot earlier. She shook the thoughts. “No. Not at all,” she finally answered.
“Good. If he did, you would tell me, right?”
“Yes, of course I would,” she said quickly.
“Regardless of what happened between you and me at that Laundromat, I’m still your boss. It’s my duty to protect you. So, if anything unusual occurs, you can let me know. Ok?”
“I will Austin.”
“Austin?” he asked in surprise.
“I meant, Mr. Jackson,” she corrected and heard his deep chuckle come through the line.
“I liked how you said Austin better.” She was glad that he couldn’t see her blushing. “Well, I’m not going to take up too much more of your time. I take it you’re grading papers?”
“Not really.”
“So, what are you doing?” he asked curiously.
“I was watching Days of Our Lives.
“The soap opera?’”
“Yes.”
“I used to watch that. But, that was way back in the day when Marlana was possessed by the devil.”
“You watched Days?” she asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, I know all about Bo and Hope, Victor, John Black and what’s that evil villain’s name?”
“Stefano?”
“Yeah, Stefano Dimera. What ever happened to him?”
“He’s supposed to be dead,” she said.
“Again? Well, you know nobody ever dies on that show, except for Tom Horton. Unfortunately, the man who played his character died in real life.”
“Yeah, that was such a sad episode.”
“Good old Alice Horton. Is she still around?”
“Yes. Still making donuts too,” she smiled. She’d never met a man who she could discuss her soap opera with. They were more interested in talking sports, which she knew nothing about.
“Hey, I’ll let you get back to your soap. Thanks for listening.”
“No problem.”
“Have a good night.”
“You too.”
A man who watched Days of Our Lives was a man after her own heart. She had to be careful where Austin Jackson was concerned. If not, things could get complicated.

Spin Cycle (Chapter Three)

2009-07-01T15:11:00.000-07:00

Chapter Three

Greta sat grading papers as usual. She wanted to be finished by nine because “Criminal Minds” which featured that fine actor, Shemar Moore would be coming on. She knew there was no chance in hell of her ever meeting the man but every opportunity she got she drooled over him like a damn groupie.
Of course her phone had to ring. It seemed like every time she got busy, it started ringing off the hook.
“Hello?”
“Hey Gurl! What you doin’?” It was Melinda, her oldest and dearest friend. Melinda was a straight up trip and she always enjoyed talking with her.
“Grading papers. What else.”
“Gurl, why don’t you throw them damn papers to the side and hang out wit’ me tonight?”
“Hang out where? Child, now you know I don’t set foot in these ghetto-fied, dirty foot clubs in St. Pete.”
“Are you implyin’ that I do, skank? “
“Naw, gurl! I was just saying!” They both laughed.
“Let me finish. I’ve been chattin’ wit’ this nigga on MySpace and now we supposed to meet up. But, I don’t wanna meet him by myself.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind? What the hell you doing wasting time on MySpace? Your ass is supposed to be working, not playing’ around on those people’s computer.” She knew that Melinda was on MySpace all the time because she checked MySpace from time to time from her laptop.
“The state can kiss my ass. They don’t pay me enough to entice me to become an exemplary employee. I stay on the computer: MySpace, BlackPlanet, Match.com and Love@aol.com. I’m tryin’ to find another damn husband! Anyways, like I was sayin’. I wanna meet this nigga, but I don’t wanna go alone. You down or what? Oh, and the club is in Tampa, not slow, tired ass St. Pete.”
“What club?” Tampa had some raunchy ass clubs too.
“It’s the Blue Martini in International Plaza.”
“Oh, I like that club. It’s upscale and elite.”
“I knew yo’ bourgeois, snobbish ass would. So, you goin’ or what?” she asked again.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll go. I’m just not going to hang out all night. You know I have to be refreshed to teach a class full of kids.”
“Hell, dealin’ wit’ them crumb snatchers ought to drive you to drinkin’!”
“I know that’s right. So, what time you coming or should I drive?” She knew how Melinda got. The woman could drink any man she knew under the table. And talk about getting buck wild and turning a club out! Lord have mercy!
“I’m drivin’. I promise to stick to two drinks. I don’t wanna get too vulnerable. The guy might turn out to be an ax murder or somethin’ and I might have to drop kick that nigga in the throat!”
“Damn sis! You can take the bitch out the hood, but you can’t take the hood out the bitch!”
“And you know that shit!” She said matter-of-factly. “Jordan Park in and out, all up and through.” They had both grown up in the projects known as Jordan Park and had been friends since attending Jordan Park Elementary.
“Should I bring my pepper spray, just in case?”
“That watered down shit! You might as well just poke a bitch in the eye with two fingers.” Greta heard a male’s voice in the background. She guessed that Melinda’s husband had arrived home. “I’ll be there between 9:30 and 10:00.”
“Make it ten. That’ll give me time to do something with my hair.”
“You betta throw on a wig or slap on a drawstring ponytail like I do.”
“I don’t do the ponytails and wigs look too fake.”
“Not the one I’m gonna wear.”
“Which one is that? You got so many,” she said sarcastically.
“Gurl, I’m gonna pimp my Beverly Johnson, color #4, style Oprah!” she stated matter-of-factly.
She had Greta rolling on the floor. “You are a tripp! Girl, I will see you when you get here. Let me got off this phone and finish up these papers so I can start getting ready.”
“Okay. And don’t call my ass in thirty minutes sayin’ you ain’t goin”, she warned.
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Alright then. Bye.”
“Bye.”
* * * * *
“This club had better be jumpin’. You made me miss the last half hour of Criminal Minds,” Greta told Melinda. They were just getting off the exit that would take them directly into International Plaza.
“You don’t care nothin’ ‘bout that show. You just watch it to see Shemar Moore. He be wearin’ the hell outta that FBI shirt. That nigga is fione!”
“Mouth watering.”
“Tasty!”
“Scrumptious!”
“Damn, you makin’ me want some dick!” Melinda exclaimed.
“You got Greg at home. You shouldn’t ever be in need of dick.”
“Ple-ease! Why the hell you think I’m out here on the prowl? Greg has been havin’ a little malfunction problem as of late.”
“What? You mean his dick can’t get hard? Don’t lie!”
“I’m dead ass serious. And the muthafucka won’t go get a checkup. Talkin’ ‘bout his male pride.”
“Well, what about you? Doesn’t he care that he’s not able to satisfy you?”
Melinda shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Apparently not enough to get a checkup.”
“I know you want me to say that I understand. But, I don’t. Cheating is never an option when you’re married,” Greta said seriously.
“Bitch what the hell do you know?” She swung into a vacant parking space. “Your dried up ass need to get some damn dick. That shit is going to turn into the motherfucking Sahara!”
”How you know I didn’t get some?” Greta replied hotly, gathering her purse and checking her hair in the mirror. Her heartbeat increased just from remembering her heated night of passion with the principal. She wasn’t going to tell Melinda though.
“From who? You don’t even date. You stay locked in the house. You rarely go anywhere. When did you find time to meet anybody? At church?” She whirled around to stare into her face. “Don’t tell me you done fucked that fine ass pastor at ya church?”
“Girl, no! Don’t I wish!”
“Hell, I’d do him in a heartbeat. I bet he have all the women creamin’ in their panties every Sunday.”
“Now, you are going to hell for that one.” Greta shook her head, chuckling.
Melinda switched the car off and removed the keys from the ignition. “Well, this nigga better be here. Look for someone Hispanic, wearin’ a black shirt and beige slacks. He says he’ll have on a black Onyx ring.”
“That could be any damn body.”
“He’s about five eight, with a nice body. He claims to be a body builder.”
“Okay. Lead the way and I’ll follow. Didn’t he send you a picture?”
“Yeah, but that bitch was blurry.”
Greta just shook her head and followed Melinda into the club.
* * * * *
The club’s environment was more than satisfactory. On one side of the club they played hip-hop and they played reggae tone on the other side. Melinda got into it right away after ordering a drink. She found her way to the center of the dance floor and started dancing like Halle Berry in the movie BAPS.
Greta was content to stand off to the side and watch. She sipped on some Seagram’s and sprite. She saw a group of women crowded around a fine brother. From the way the women were carrying on, she figured he played for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Members of the team frequented The Blue Martini.
Whoever the player was, he appeared to be bewildered and uncomfortable. It wasn’t long before he got up and left. The crowd of gold-diggers stood with their mouths wide open in shock.
“No he didn’t!” One of them said.
“He ain’t all dat!”
“He mus’ think his shit don’t stank!”
Greta found it all amusing. They needed to stop fronting. They were just mad because he wasn’t interested in any of them.
“Hey sexy,” someone breathed against her earlobe. “Can I refresh that drink?” She turned to see Larry standing there.
“Hey Larry,” she smiled and gave him a quick hug. “I would let you get me another one but I think this is going to be it for tonight.”
“You sure?”
Greta gazed out toward the dance floor and saw Melinda doing some stripper type dance. Where the hell had she learned that shit?
“I’m sure,” she said. “I may have to drive home.”
“Well, how about a dance later on?” Larry asked.
“I’ll think about it Lar,” she said politely. She didn’t want to turn him down flat. Larry was a nice guy. He was handsome, witty, and smart. She just didn’t want to get involved with him and she could tell that he was more than a little interested in her. Why lead him on?
“I hope your answer will be yes,” he said smoothly then walked off.
Greta put her empty glass onto the counter. A song by Akon and Snoop Dog started up and everybody in the club seemed to come alive. The dance floor went from semi-empty to overly-crowded in mere seconds.
“I see you windin’ and grindin’ up on that pole! And I see you lookin’ at me and you already know. I wanna fuck you!”
“What?” Greta couldn’t believe the lyrics blasting from the loud speakers. It seemed that the more vulgar the lyrics got, the more hype the crowd became. She knew there was a reason why she didn’t frequent nightclubs anymore. People were gyrating, bumping, grinding and pulling it down. They were popping, twirking and shaking everything God and their mamas gave them. It was just too much for her system to handle.
“Hey! Greta! I found him!” Melinda said breathlessly, pulling on the arm of a very attractive Hispanic guy. “This is my best friend Greta,” she introduced. “Greta, this is Diego.”
“Hello Diego.”
“Hello.”
Melinda pulled her in the direction of the bathroom because they couldn’t carry on a conversation over the loud music.
“Gurl, I gotta get wit’ this fine ass man,” she said. “He’s gonna follow us home.”
“What? You can’t take him to your place. Isn’t Greg home?”
“Yes Greg’s flat foot ass is home. I know I can’t take him there. I’m going to take you home and leave my car at your place. Then, me and Diego are leaving in his car and we gonna get a room.”
“Melinda! Why don’t you at least wait until you two go out a few times?” She hadn’t waited to let Austin Jackson hit it. Who was she to try to tell her friend how long to wait to give her stuff up?
“Fuck that! I’m horny. Shit, do you realize that I haven’t had any dick in damn near three months?”
“Shit!”
“I’m fuckin’ him. Period.”
“Okay,” Greta said lowly.
“So, you ready to leave?” She checked her hair in the mirror and reapplied her lipstick.
“Sure. I might as well be.”
“Don’t have an attitude. You knew why I wanted to come here tonight,” she reminded.
Greta gave a reluctant nod. “Okay. It’s your business. Just be careful,” she finally said.
“I will. Now, let me get back to that fine motherfucker before some skank snatches him up.” They headed out of the ladies’ room. “Hey, isn’t that Larry?” Greta turned to look where Melinda pointed.
“Yeah, I spoke to him earlier. He wanted to get a dance before I left. I guess he’ll have to wait on that.”
“I don’t know why you don’t get wit’ him. He’d probably be good for you. Y’all have similar interests.”
“I don’t know. There’s just something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on.”
They rejoined Diego at the bar. Melinda slipped her arms around the lucky man.
As Greta, Melinda and her newfound friend left the club, Larry stared behind them. His face tightened and he had a strange look in his eye. Suddenly, he slammed the glass he’d been drinking from onto the counter top.

Spin Cycle (Chapter Two)

2009-07-01T15:09:00.000-07:00

Chapter Two

After Greta showered she began putting her clean clothes away. She believed firmly that everything had its proper perspective. Only dirty clothes belonged in the laundry basket.
She kept trying to clear her mind of all thoughts of Mr. Jackson. She’d just as soon forget anyway. The man was off limits. He was the principal of the school where she worked, for Pete’s sake.
She couldn’t believe she’d let her hormones get the best of her. She’d acted like a horny teenager on prom night. She didn’t know how she would be able to look Mr. Jackson in the eye after their heated encounter.
Damn, the sex had been off the chain. She hadn’t been pounded like that in a good while. She’d been experiencing a dry spell so long that it had been about to turn into a draught. She’d needed that stress relief.
But, did she have to do it in a Laundromat …and with the principal? A bitch was acting like she hadn’t been raised right. She had changed into a low moral, skank because the sight of her drawers had turned on a man.
“Satan, that’s what it is. That’s just the devil. Plain and simple.” She heard her great grandmother’s voice inside her head.
She was weak in the flesh. She’d have to go to church on Sunday just to purge herself. Hell, after what she’d let happen, they needed to pull out the holy water and the crucifix.
“What the hell was I thinking?” she mused aloud. “It won’t happen again.” But the tingling in her lower extremities from just thinking about Austin said otherwise.
Her cell phone beeped three times indicating that she had a text message. She picked it up.
“Miss Stevenson, will you please meet me in my office first thing in the morning?” she read. It was from Principal Jackson. What the hell was he up to? Hadn’t she told him that what had happened between them wouldn’t happen again? She’d be damned if she showed up.
The phone beeped again. “Don’t even think about not showing up,” it said.
She sighed. Tomorrow would be a long day.

Greta had just gotten deeply engrossed in a book by Danté Feenix. She was damn near about to touch herself under the covers when her phone rang.
“Shit!” She put the book aside and grabbed the cordless.
“This had better not be a damn booty call!” she snapped. Everybody who knew her knew she didn’t accept any calls of that nature.
“Calm down Miss Lady. I just wanted to holla at you. You are one hard person to catch up with. I stopped by your apartment but you weren’t there.” It was Larry, one of her co-workers, another teacher.
“I had to go do laundry.”
“Oh, really? They still didn’t fix your shit, huh?”
“Hell no and I’m about ready to tell them motherfuckers about themselves. This shit is ridiculous.”
“I feel you.”
“So, what are you up to Larry?”
“I just finished grading some papers. Half my student’s don’t know simple math. What the fuck kind of shit is that?”
“They’d rather be parked in front of a fucking PlayStation instead of studying math.”
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s your take on our new principal?”
Greta damn near dropped the phone. “U-Um, he’s nice, I guess,” she managed.
“I think he’s a sneaky motherfucker. But, that’s just my opinion.”
“Larry, do I detect a hint of jealousy?” she asked.
“Hell to the naw! Personally, I think I got the brotha beat. I mean, I’m a handsome ass motherfucker. Shit, I got abs and arms that would make “The Rock” jealous. Granted, I don’t drive a sporty ass BMW like Mr. Jackson, but I got a nice whip. He gets drawers thrown at him daily, but so do I.”
Greta laughed. “You are a mess. Is that all you think about all day? You’re supposed to be teaching, remember?”
“I do teach. I teach math all day to my students. But, at night, it’s Making Love 101. You need to sign up for the class.”
“Lar, you already know how I feel about mixing business with pleasure.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said dryly.
“Well, I’m going to turn in Larry. I have to meet Mr. Jackson in his office early in the morning.”
“What that nigga want?”
“I have no idea,” she answered truthfully.
“Well, be careful. I heard that he’s already had a few teachers bent over that desk. But, I know you can handle your business.”
“Good night Larry.”
“Good night.”
For some reason the thought of another teacher bent over Mr. Jackson’s desk annoyed her. She shook the thought and picked the book she’d been reading back up.

The next morning, Greta dressed professionally in a two pieced, pinstriped pants suit. If Mr. Jackson tried to get at her stuff again, he’d have barriers to get through. She wasn’t giving in easily.
She arrived at the school at seven. That would give them plenty of time to discuss whatever he had to talk about. The children weren’t supposed to arrive on the school’s grounds until 8:15, but she saw a few already sitting out front.
“Good morning!” she greeted. She always made it a point to speak to every child she encountered. You never knew just how much a smile or a kind word could make a child’s day.
“Hey, Miss Stevenson.” It was Jamisha, the student who’d been dressed inappropriately and had came out the mouth wrong with her the day before. An older woman with a two-toned hairdo stood next to her.
“Lord, please don’t let my morning start off with a ghetto-style brawl,” she prayed silently. She didn’t want to come up out her high heels and use one. But, she would if she had to.
“Hi Jamisha. How are you, this morning?” Jamisha rolled her eyes. “And how are you?” she greeted the woman.
“I’m jus’ fine. I’m Ms. Bethune. Misha’s mama. Now, Misha tells me dat you sent her out ya class ‘cause of what she was wearin’. I wanna know what she had on.”
“I already tol’ you Mama,” Jamisha whined.
“Shut ya mouth girl. I am talkin’ to ya teacher!” Ms. Bethune hissed.
“Well, she had on a half shirt. The school’s policy informs that tank tops or half shirts aren’t allowed. Had she put a jacket on, I wouldn’t have sent her out. It’s just that, wearing something so revealing can be distracting in the classroom,” she explained to the obviously irate woman who stood glaring at her.
The woman’s neck turned so fast Gerta thought she might have caused whiplash. “A fuckin’ half shirt?” she yelled at her daughter. “What da fuck you come up in school wearin’ some shit like dat fuh?” The mama chastised, apparently upset.
“Mama, I’ll wear whatever I wanna wear!”
“See, you lucky dis teacher standin’ here. ‘Cause if she wasn’t, I’d beat ya ass down where you stand! I ain’t raisin’ no damn tramp! You supposed to wear the clothes that I buy fuh ya ass! I didn’t buy no fuckin’ half shirts!”
“I didn’t say you did.” Jamisha sucked air through her teeth and rolled her eyes again.
“Gurl!” Ms. Bethune drew back her hand and that’s when Greta felt it was best to intervene.
“Ms. Bethune, obviously there’s a communication break down between yourself and your daughter.” She stood between mother and child. “However, getting upset out in public is never a good idea. Perhaps, it’s best that you discuss this private matter at home,” she suggested.
“Ain’t nothin’ to discuss. She gonna do what da fuck I say do. She gonna go to school to learn and not to pick up nasty ass boys! All dey want is what’s between ya legs anyways.” She mushed her daughter’s forehand with her index finger.
“Mama!”
“Don’t mama me! Shit, how da hell you think I gots five kids now? Men tell one lie afta a fuckin’ nother one to get ya stuff. You don’t wanna have no kid. Raisin’ kids ain’t no damn joke! I’m tryin’ to keep you from goin’ thru the shit I go thru erry day.”
“You don’t go thru nothin’. I’m the one got to babysit all the time,” she grumbled. “Besides, I ain’t even doin’ nothin’!” she griped.
“And you won’t if I can help it. You got me comin’ up here all upset, ‘bout to go off on dis lady and all she tryin’ to do is tell you right from wrong.” She turned an apologetic look towards Greta. “My bad ma’am. Dis gurl is jus’ fast. Thank God the res’ of my kids is boys.”
Greta smiled slightly. She couldn’t fathom having five kids. Hell, she didn’t think she’d ever have that many unless she pushed out quintuplets.
“Ms. Bethune, I understand your concern. Jamisha is one of my most promising students.” Greta could see the girl’s eyes light up and the angry look left her face. “Do you know that she scored the highest in the whole classroom on the FCAT test in reading?”
“Naw, I didn’t know dat. Is dat so?” Her face seemed to lose some of its irritation.
“Yes, it certainly is. Jamisha is also an incredible writer. She’s extremely talented.”
“I knew she liked to write and thangs. She always readin’ too. I jus’ don’t like huh choice of books. Zane. Dat woman is too graphic. No teenager ain’t got no business readin’ dat. Now, myself, I like readin’ some Eric Jerome Dickey.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Sho nuff. I buy erry one of his books. He sho nuff can write for a man and he is fine too!” Her eyes narrowed as though she saw something she wanted really badly. “But not half as fine as dat nigga comin’ dis way!” She put her hands on her hips and just gawked. Girlfriend didn’t have any shame in her game.
Greta turned in the direction of her gaze. Principal Jackson. For a second her heart went “Thump! Thump! Thumpety! Thump!” She quickly composed herself.
“Good morning Principal Jackson,” she said calmly as he approached.
“Good morning ladies. How are you this fine morning?” The man was pure charismatic. It was plain to see that Ms. Bethune was smitten.
“You’re the principal?” Her eyes said, “Damn!”
“Yes, I am. And you are?”
“I’m Brenda Bethune, Jamisha’s mother.” The woman extended her hand.
“Damn, look at how fast that bitch switched from project queen to sophisticated lady,” Greta thought dryly.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Ms. Bethune drooled. “I was just speaking with Miss – er, I didn’t get your name.”
“Stevenson. Miss Stevenson,” she answered with a tight smile.
“I was just speaking with Miss Stevenson regarding Jamisha’s behavior yesterday. She was out of line and it definitely will not happen again. You have my word on that.”
“I’m happy to hear that Ms. Bethune. It takes a village,” he threw out the cliché with a dazzling smile.
“Well, I have to get to work. If there are any further problems, don’t hesitate to call me.” She stared directly at Mr. Jackson when she said the last part.
“You have a good day ma’am.”
“You too,” she purred. “Oh, and you too,” she added for Greta’s sake.
Bitch please! “You do the same.” Greta wanted to roll her eyes, but she just smiled sweetly.
“Miss Stevenson, I’ll be ready to meet with you in a minute. If you want, you can wait for me in my office. I have to make my rounds.” He showed no indication that he had anything but business on his mind. It was as though yesterday evening had never occurred. For some reason, Greta felt a slight disappointment.
“I’ll put on the coffee,” she said, walking off briskly.

It was 8:20 when Principal Jackson walked into the office. Greta had made the coffee and was sipping from the hot steamy liquid she held in her hand.
“Good morning again, Miss Stevenson,” he said, depositing his fine frame behind the desk. “I have a proposition for you,” he leaned towards her and she noticed the gleam in his eyes.
“Here we go,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I’ve been checking you out for quite a while.”
Is this bitch a stalker?
“I see that you’ve been teaching for fifteen years. That’s a long time.”
“Teaching?”
“Yes, you’ve been a teacher for fifteen years, right?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. I have.” So, where was he going with this?
“That’s remarkable. It requires strength and dedication. You obviously have both.”
“This really is a business meeting?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
Mr. Jackson smirked. “What did you think it would be? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t bend women over my desk on the state’s time. I have a job to do and that’s what I came here to do. This school is suffering and I’m going to make sure that there’s a noticeable improvement in the upcoming months. I don’t play when it comes to children and education.” He lifted a file from his desk. “And from what I’ve read, you don’t either. That’s why I have an offer for you.”
Now Greta’s interest was peaked. “What?”
“Unfortunately, Mrs. Niles will no longer be the assistant principal, for reasons I don’t care to discuss. She’ll be leaving at the end of this month. Therefore, there will be a vacancy.” He paused and stared at her intensely. “I’d like for you to fill it.”
Greta’s mouth dropped. Surprised couldn’t even describe what she felt. She’d had no idea what Mr. Jackson wanted from her. Now, she knew.
“Er, you may want to close your mouth. Wouldn’t want a fly to land in there,” he joked.
She cleared her throat. It took a minute to pull it together. But, it wasn’t long before she was once again the professional, debonair woman who didn’t take any shit off anyone.
“Mr. Jackson, I appreciate your offer. I’ll think it over and get back with you. When do you need a decision?”
“I was pushing for one by the next PSTA meeting. That will give you two weeks time.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be able to let you know something before then.”
“Thank you for your time, Miss Stevenson.”
“You’re welcome.” Their eyes met and she was the first to look away. She cleared her throat. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be heading to the classroom.”
“Yes, that’s all I can think of.” She got up to leave. He waited until she’d made it to the door. “Oh- and Miss Stevenson?” She turned. “Thanks for last night,” he said lowly. “I’ll never dread doing laundry again.” She blushed and quickly left his office.

Spin Cycle (Chapter One)

2009-07-01T15:08:00.001-07:00

Chapter One

Greta Stevenson was tired and didn’t feel like lugging three laundry baskets filled with smelly clothes down the stairs. But, they had to get into the trunk of her car somehow.
Those lying ass motherfuckers, she fumed. They told me my shit would be working by Tuesday. Now, here it is damn near two weeks later and my washer and dryer are still on the blink! That’s why I detest living in apartment complexes. The trifling maintenance personnel never fix shit! And when they do- the shit still don’t work properly.
She couldn’t wait until she’d signed the lease on her four-bedroom home in south Saint Petersburg. Her new house would be located on Pinellas Point Drive, known as The Point. Quite a few of the famed and the elite purchased houses in that area. She’d worked hard to earn her bread and butter and finally it all seemed worth it.
She sighed as she picked up one of the baskets of clothes. She didn’t get home from work until almost seven that evening. She had to play taxi cab driver for two of her students. Their trifling parents hadn’t bothered to show up to get them after detention ended. That shit wasn’t right! She couldn’t understand why some people didn’t just burn their damn tubes and not have children. But, that was just her opinion.
She couldn’t stand smart aleck kids who didn’t know the meaning of the word respect. However, she didn’t fault the child. She blamed the parent for that.
Greta had been teaching for fifteen years and her nerves were at the breaking point. She’d had just about enough of dealing with other people’s demon seed. It might be time for a career change.
Take today, for instance, she’d had to stay late because two wanna-be- thugs had thought it was cute to practice rolling blunts with their notebook paper. Not in her classroom. She’d sent a letter home to their parents and had received no response. She’d followed up with a phone call. One of the boy’s mamas had been downright rude. She’d told Greta that she didn’t give a fuck about what he did at school, as long as he didn’t do it at home. Talking to the other boy’s daddy had been like talking to Forest Gump or Rainman. The brother had been off in the ozone layer or something. She’d had no choice but to assign the two children an after school detention, hoping that would convince them what they’d did had been wrong.
Then, there was that little foul mouth heifer that had made her blood pressure rise. Little Miss I’m America’s Next Top Model came to school with all of her bejesus hanging out. Greta had advised her to put on a jacket and Miss Too Grown For My Own Good had gotten an attitude and had told her to kiss her ass.
Now, Greta was known for being a no nonsense type of teacher that didn’t take crap off the children. That’s how she’d persevered for so many years. You had to have patience, guts and a backbone to be around hardheaded, wayward teens all day, damn near every day, for so long. Not too many of her students tried her because they knew that she didn’t play the radio when it came to her classroom.
For some reason, Miss Pumps and a Bump had stepped over the boundaries. Greta had to count to ten and it took the patience of Job for her to hold herself back. She’d almost come across her desk and rolled the girl’s head around like she was the exorcist.
The new principal had just so happened to be sitting in the classroom that morning and had sent the Hooker in Training to the office. It was a good thing too because Greta would have probably lost her job and caught a charge on the same day if he hadn’t.

Greta finished putting the last basket of clothes into the car and shut the door. She wasn’t looking forward to the visit to the Laundromat up the street. Some unsavory characters hung out there. Since it was opened twenty-four seven, the homeless saw fit to lounge there whenever they got the urge.
Surprisingly, when she pulled up she found the place empty.
Good. I won’t have to keep looking sideways at a bitch, she thought. It was semi-late and a single woman always had to be cautious. After she’d gotten home, taken a shower, cooked dinner, she’d sorted the clothes. The clock on the wall ticked. It was eight thirty. It should take her no more than and hour and a half, two hours tops to wash and dry all of her clothes.
The washing machines hummed and she sat grading papers when she heard someone enter.
Damn! There goes my concentration.
“Miss Stevenson, fancy seeing you here.” She looked up into the face of Principal Austin Jackson.
“Hello Dr. Jackson,” she greeted politely. She saw him struggling to pull a large container of clothes inside. She put her folders on the seat next to her and went over to hold the door for him.
“Thank you,” he told her.
“No problem. So, what brings you here?” she asked.
“I guess the same thing that brings you here,” he replied. “Dirty laundry.” The two chuckled.
Greta sat back down and secretly surveyed Mr. Jackson as he went about the business of putting his clothes into the washing machine.
Mr. Jackson was the new principal of the middle school where she taught. She didn’t really know much about him, just what she’d heard. He’d graduated from Northeast High School and had enlisted in the Army. There he’d served a four year term and had come back to teach children. He’d been a coach, a teacher at the recreational center, an assistant principal at one of the elementary schools, now he was the principal of the middle school.
She’d heard that he’d been married but had gotten a divorce. She wondered if he were dating anybody. She watched as he poured entirely too much detergent into the machine.
She thought, a man that damn fine should not be doing his own laundry. I’d hand wash that motherfuckers drawers. Damn.
Austin glanced her way and their eyes locked. Greta swallowed. Hell, I hope he can’t read my thoughts. Shit, then again, I hope he can.
“So, you almost went postal on that kid today, huh?” he said, smiling as he closed the lid on the washer. He had perfect white teeth and dimples. Standing at about six feet four, he was a tall refreshing drink of water.
“At times, it gets hard to brace myself. But, I’d never lay a hand on a student,” she answered in all honesty.
“Sure you wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t mind shaking one of ‘em like a bobble head doll, though,” he joked. “I have those moments,” he admitted. “Especially being the new principal of a fundamental school. Whew!”
“I can’t even begin to feel your pain, brother,” she sympathized.
She got up to check her clothes. They’d stopped so she began taking them out of the machine.
After she’d gotten out of the shower she’d thrown on one of her hoochie mama skirts. Just because she was a teacher didn’t mean at home she had to dress like a nun. As she bent over, unknown to her, the cheerleader skirt rose in the back. That got Mr. Jackson’s attention.
“Um-” he cleared his throat. “You know, red is my favorite color.”
“Excuse me?” she quipped, turning to stare at him innocently.
“I said, red is my favorite color. You’re wearing the hell out of them thongs. You’re about to make a brother burst at the seams.”
“Dr. Jackson!” Greta blushed. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.” She straightened up immediately, pulling self-consciously at the skirt.
The thought that he’d been drooling at her ass cheeks began to turn her on. Hell, she knew that her shit was together. She worked out at Shapes three nights a week to keep her body toned to perfection. She wasn’t about to the let the fact that she was pushing up on forty keep her from feeling and being sexy. If the truth were told, she looked better now than she had when she was in her mid twenties. She had rock hard abs, a slim twenty-four inch waist, a banging set of tits and a tight ass. To top it off, she was easy on the eyes. Her mocha colored skin was flawless and make-up free. She had a set of Angelina Jolie type lips that made a brother think dirty thoughts about all the tricks she could do with those soup coolers.
None of this went unnoticed by Austin. As Greta went to put her laundry into the dryer, he watched. His dick grew harder than a slab of concrete. Since he’d made the comment about her thongs, she wouldn’t look his way.
Austin hadn’t played the aggressive role in a minute. He didn’t have to. He got pussy thrown at him on a regular basis. Even the teachers, the ones who got paid to teach the future generation, were nothing but sluts. That’s how he’d ended up divorced. He’d been too worn out from fucking all the teachers, and hadn’t been able to get it up for his wife. That shit had gotten old and she’d left his ass. He wasn’t mad at her though. If the roles had been reversed, he’d have done the same thing.
Miss Stevenson, he couldn’t quite figure her out. He’d been at the new school for almost three months and she hadn’t given him a second glance. He’d pulled her file and had done some research. He couldn’t complain about her track record as a teacher. She was excellent in her field and he could tell she genuinely cared about the children. He saw it in her interactions with them in the hallway and from the glimpse he’d gotten sitting in her classroom.
She wasn’t married. As far as he knew, she didn’t have a man in her life.
“So, what’s the deal?” he wondered. He hoped she did like men. Was that it? Maybe she liked fish instead of beef.
He was going to find out. If she swayed the other way, that was her prerogative. It would just be a damned shame for all that fineness to be wasted like that, though.
He stood up to check the washer then he turned towards her. “If I offended you, I apologize,” he broke the silence by saying.
“I don’t get easily offended,” she told him and stared boldly at his crotch. That made his shit jump. So, she was a dick bandit after all. “Let’s just cut the bullshit, okay? I don’t mince my words. I say what I mean and mean what I say. What about you?”
“I’m pretty much straight forward,” he answered.
“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” she asked bluntly.
“Hell yeah! Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”
“As long as this shit doesn’t get out, I’m down with it. But, I want to make one thing clear: I don’t mix business with pleasure.” She looked him straight in the eye. “This will be a one-time occurrence. Got that?”
“What the fuck ever,” he said to himself. He called the shots. If he wanted another piece of ass after he’d test driven it, he’d get another piece. “Yeah, if that’s the way you want it,” he said, unblinking.
Greta stared as the bulge in the front of his pants grew. It rose and stirred like a trapped anaconda. The right thing for her to do would be to release the beast. That’s exactly what she did.
His large dick sprang forward, leaping at her like a jack in the box. It was long and beautiful. It had both depth and width. Just the sight of it made her mouth tingle. But, she wasn’t going there, not with him. The brother could get his dick sucked by somebody else. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find a number of tricks to do it. Her name wasn’t Supa Head.
She would show Principal Jackson that she wasn’t about playing games. If he wanted to fuck, that’s what she would do. No extra side items were on the menu, just pure pussy.
“My place is right around the corner. You can either follow me in your car or we can take mine. I’ll drop you back off,” she suggested, stroking his dick as she spoke.
Austin looked her over suggestively. “What’s wrong with right here?”
“You mean, in the Laundromat? Where-”
Before she could finish the sentence, he lifted her up onto one of the washing machines. “Learn to step outside the box, Miss Stevenson. Spontaneity will keep a man coming back.”
Greta could feel the motion of the machine as it switched to the spin cycle. When it started to swirl around the whole machine trembled. Austin eased on a condom then lifted up her legs. The little skirt she wore allowed easy access. He didn’t hold back but got right to the point, surging into her. She inhaled from the first feel of his dick. She then gripped the coin slot on the machine and held on for life. As the machine bounced, she bounced. The more she bounced the deeper he plunged.
“Dr. Jackson!” she screamed, feeling her muscles clench and unclench. “I’m cumming!”
“Miss Stevenson!” he answered. He could feel her juicy pussy cumming all over his dick. Her shit was so wet and tight that it amazed him. He bucked harder.
“Dr. Jackson, fuck this pussy! Fuck it! Fuck it!” she screamed.
“You want me to beat it up? Huh? I’ll beat that pussy up real good! Turn that fine ass around,” he commanded.
Greta didn’t know how she ended up on the folding table but she was beyond caring. All she knew was that she’d been craving dick for a long time and now she was getting what she’d craved. And some hellafied dick it was.
As he pounded her from the back he grabbed a hand full of her hair and pulled. Damn! That shit felt so good. She’d never had a man pull her hair. It sent chills through her entire body.
“I’ma wax this ass,” he panted.
“Wax it!”
She threw her ass back at him. He slammed into her full speed ahead. She paused just momentarily and clenched her pussy muscles. Then she released them. She continued to do that until she had him just where she wanted him. She milked that bitch until he couldn’t do anything except scream.
“Shit!” His dick throbbed then spurted like a volcano. She could feel the hotness of his jism inside the condom. She wanted to come again so bad that her stomach muscles ached.
Austin pulled out of her. He was trying to call all the shots. She knew that game. Even as her thigh muscles trembled from restraint, she wouldn’t give him the upper hand.
“Miss Stevenson, you’ve made it to the top of the Principal’s List. You get straight A’s.” He smiled, cockily. He wasn’t being so polite and business-like now that he’d tapped that ass. He zipped up his pants and turned to watch as Greta adjusted her clothes. Even though she had been a real good fuck, there was something different about her. He knew he’d definitely be getting into those panties again. He’d purposefully pushed her to the edge, but had pulled back right when she’d been close to bursting.
He knew women hated that shit, but it worked. She could act like she didn’t know what time it was but he was the keeper of the time clock. He and Miss Stevenson would meet up again for round two. He just had to play his cards right.

Headlines - Chapter Three

2009-06-22T08:49:00.001-07:00

The next morning Xavier awoke later than usual. He lay in bed trying to remember what had changed, why he felt strangeness in the air. Then it dawned on him that Woodrow had returned. The whole family would be affected. He got out of bed and went to take a shower.
Once dressed, Xavier peered in on his brother. Thinking that Woodrow was asleep he crept closer to the bed. He stared into his face. Woodrow was only nineteen, almost twenty, but he looked much older because of his drug abuse. He’d been using since he was twelve years old.
Xavier gazed at the scrawny arm that had slipped from under the blanket that half covered Woodrow. There were sores all over. You can see where he’d stuck himself with a needle. Some were healed. Others still oozed. Xavier couldn’t see a part that hadn’t been poked. The disgust rose in his throat.
How could anyone do that to themselves? He wondered. Woodrow used to have it all. Why did he turn to drugs? He just couldn’t understand.
“Man, you gay or something?” Xavier jumped when his brother spoke.
“I thought you were asleep,” he said calmly, ignoring his brother’s sarcastic remark.
“What you want?” Woodrow barked.
“Nothing. Just checking up on you. That’s all.” Xavier turned to leave.
“If you cared you’d get me something,” Woodrow tossed at him.
“Something like what?” Xavier paused, waiting for the answer he knew would come.
“Drugs. Any kind. Cocaine, crack, heroin,” Woodrow pleaded.
“No way.” Xavier headed for the door again.
“Wait. Please Mountie.” He reverted back to the nickname he used to call Xavier. Xavier turned around again. “Please, I got to have just one more hit man. Please, don’t leave me hanging.”
“I said no,” Xavier repeated more strongly. “I figured you’d be back after your money ran out. Just like a mangy dog. Back trying to scratch up another bone. Well, I hope you don’t think I’m going to help you kill yourself. Naw bru!”
“If I want to die that should be my choice,” Woodrow shot back.
“You need to stop getting high on crack and start getting high of life,” Xavier advised.
“Oh, I come back after only four months and suddenly my brother’s a preacher,” Woodrow said sarcastically. “Check that out. My brother’s a fucking preacher and he’s trying to save my lost black ass.” He laughed that wild laugh of his that soon turned into coughs. Xavier just looked on sadly, shook his head and left the room. He closed the door quietly behind him.
“Mountie wait,” Woodrow yelled. “Wait a sec. I didn’t mean it like that, brother. I need you, man. I need you to help me.”
Xavier breathed deeply. His still had his hand on the knob. Should he go back into the room? His fingers turned the knob.
“No LaMount.” His mother stood there.
“Ma.” He looked at her, slightly startled. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Most of it,” she answered.
“Mama, I don’t know what to do. Woodrow is sick and he needs to be placed in some kind of a treatment program.”
“I know, but what can we do? That child isn’t going anywhere willingly. You know that.”
“There’s not much we can do unless he asks for help. I’m afraid that as soon as he gets better, he’s going right back to the streets.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do, like you said.” He exhaled. “Well, I have to go.” He hugged his mother. “Don’t want to be late for school. I’ll see you later.” He stared into her lovely face. “And don’t worry yourself over Woodrow. We’ll think of something. Okay?” She nodded.
“What about breakfast?” she asked. “You need to eat something.”
“Not this morning. I have to hurry. I’ll pick up something on the way,” he promised and rushed out.

Xavier knew the guys would be waiting impatiently. He’d told them he’d be on time. Fooling around with Woodrow had made him late. The boy was trouble and he hoped he’d leave again. At least none of them would have to put up with him if he left. Sure, his mom would worry, but she’d worry more with him in the house. She’d have to worry about him stealing them blind, that included going through her purse, ramshacking drawers, selling things from under their noses.
Xavier felt Woodrow was better off at home, but they were all better off when he was in the streets. Xavier made the promise that the next time Woodrow made off with something of his, brother or not, he was going to plant his foot in his ass.
The last time Woodrow left, he’d stolen Xavier’s new stereo system and compact disc player, the family’s VCR, along with $450 dollars in cash. He came back later and hot-wired the van. They later found out he’d sold it for $500. The vehicle had been worth thirteen thousand dollars. Selling for such a small amount showed Woodrow’s desperation.
Xavier’s guess was that Woodrow had run out of money and out of ways of ripping people off. He’d probably shacked up with some girl for the four months he’d been away. Xavier was sure that the money had run out long before Woodrow stumbled back home looking and smelling worst than a derelict.
Xavier shook his head of all thoughts of his brother when he saw Peter, The Mean Kid, Mike, and Tim waiting for him. Peter didn’t mention time but he did glance at his watch and back at Xavier.
“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized. “More trouble on the home front,” he explained.
“What is it?” Mike asked. He wasn’t concerned, just nosey.
“Woodrow stumbled back home last night,” Xavier said. He wasn’t ashamed to tell the guys. After all, they had grown up with Woodrow and knew what kind of a fix he was in.
“How is he, man?” Peter asked sincerely.
“Not good at all. The boy look like he been to hell and back.” He shook his head. “And he’s still asking for more drugs. When will he learn? When will any of them learn?” He got a faraway look in his eyes and the group knew he was no longer with them mentally.
“I want to know what BTO is going to do next,” Mike said impatiently. He didn’t care about Woodrow or Xavier’s feelings.
“Just chill, man,” Tim said. “Give him time to pull it together.”
“He should already be together. Things aint’ going too slick with my family either, but you don’t see me snapping out of reality.”
“Just shut up,” Peter snapped. “We’re all anxious to get things rolling, but we’re also concerned about X. If you can’t deal with it, walk.”
“You got too much mouth anyway,” The Mean Kid added.
Mike got nervous. He was okay as long as just Peter and Tim were on his case, but Donnell didn’t play. He was sure that he’d gone too far now.
“I guess I do talk too much sometimes,” he replied, trying to make amends. “I’ll learn to control it.”
“You better or I will,” Xavier snapped. His brain registered what was going on. “I think it’s high time that you and me had it out, Mike.” He jabbed his index finger into the other boy’s chest. “I get the feeling that you think I’m incompetent. You don’t want me as the leader of this group. Before BTO goes any further we have to settle this.” He began to roll up his shirt sleeves.
“Man, I don’t want to fight you, if that’s what you mean,” Mike said nervously.
“It’s exactly what I mean.” Xavier gave him a push. “I want you to get whatever’s bothering you off your chest. Until then, you and me can’t be in the same room, let alone the same group.” He gave Mike another shove.
“Come on man. It don’t have to be like this. We can sole it some other way,” Mike pleaded. He remembered the ay blood had gushed from Darkman’s broken nose.
“Ain’t no other way,” Peter said. “You been asking for it, man. Get on that ass X.” The other guys stepped aside. They had known all along that it would come to that point. They’d been anticipating it. Mike hadn’t.
“Stop trying to wimp out and be a man,” Xavier said. He swung out and caught Mike in the mouth. Mike’s lip immediately became puffy. He held his mouth, looking dazed. “Come on man, hit me,” Xavier urged. “You got to be a man to belong to BTO. Hit me. Wimp,” he taunted. Mike put his fists up. “Come on.” He swung at Xavier so awkwardly that the others laughed. “I know you can do better than that.” Mike tried again and this time he hit Xavier weakly. “I’m gonna keep digging off in ya ass until you learn to be hard.” He drummed licks upon Mike until he fell to his knees, begging him to stop. He looked pitiful.
“Get up and fight me back,” Xavier commanded. “I know you can swing better than that. You ain’t even tried. Get up.” Mike struggled to stand. Blood dripped from his nose onto the front of his shirt.
“Aw man X, leave him alone. He’s too sorry to be a part of BTO,” Peter said.
“What do the rest of you think?” Xavier asked. “Should we allow him to stay in the group or not?”
“Only if he fight you back, X. He ain’t even gave it no effort,” Tim said.
“Yeah,” The Mean Kid agreed and Peter nodded too.
Xavier turned back to Mike.
“They have spoken. So you know the deal. Wither you fight me back or you’re out of the group for good.”
Mike seemed to think about it for a while. If he didn’t have the group, he wouldn’t have anyone. He wanted so desperately to belong somewhere, to feel important. All his life he’d been a nothing; just worthless. All he had going for himself was his looks. Looks could only get him so far. He wanted something concrete. He needed to belong and be a part of BTO so badly.
He licked his lips and got a firm, determined look on his face. Xavier and the rest could see the light in his eyes change. He was no longer a coward, but a man with a purpose.
Mike pulled himself together mentally. Maybe he wasn’t as strong in the mind as Xavier, but they were about the same build and height. If he wasn’t so scared he knew he could stick with Xavier. For a few seconds he told himself that he could do it.
Without warning, Mike drew back his fist and caught Xavier with a blow that staggered him. He saw his chance and kept swinging left and right. The licks were solid. Mike let go with all the resentment he had for his leader.
Xavier could see and feel the fury. He backed up and braced himself. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. He had to find a way out of it. He couldn’t just let Mike show him up in front of the group. He’d never be able to hold his head up and lead with respect if he didn’t think of something.
Under any other circumstances Mike would have been easy to take out. Now he was beside himself with rage. He kept swinging. Xavier tried to fend him off as best as he could. He back up into something. A glance out of the corner of his eye showed him that it was a fire hydrant. An idea popped into his head. He let Mike get closer and closer. When Mike advanced on him, he ducked, grabbed him by the waist and fell back with him. That’s all it took. Mike was out for the count as soon as his head connected with the fire hydrant.
Xavier and the other three looked at him. It was plain to see that he was alive, but he’d have a knot on his head the size of a tangerine later.
“He’s still in,” Xavier told them.
“So, what we gonna do with him? Just leave him there until he wakes up?” Peter asked.
“Naw, let’s get him home.” Xavier bent to lift him and slung him across his shoulder.
“What we gonna tell hims mama?” Peter asked. “You know how mean she is.”
“Mike just claims that she’s mean. Mike can lie,” Tim said. None of them had ever met Mike’s mother. She’d recently moved to Florida after her mother, Mike’s grandmother, passed away. Mike told them all types of stories about the woman who’d left him as an infant.
“What you gonna tell her, X?” Peter insisted.
“Stop nagging me man. I’ll think of something. Just chill out.”
“Okay, man. Don’t have a cow.”
They continued on in silence. After a while Xavier slowed down.
“What’s up X? Man, why we stopping?” Peter asked. Xavier threw him a cold glare.
“It ain’t like this bitch a sack of potatoes. Shit. He’s heavy as hell,” Xavier complained.
“We can take turns carrying him,” Tim said. He went over to assist with Mike.
Now that the weight was off him, Xavier bounced back to himself.
“Our outfits are gonna be ready today. I can’t wait to see the results,” he said enthusiastically. “As a matter of fact, I think we should just drop Mike off at his house then go get our outfits.”
“Wait a sec, X. What about school?” Peter again.
“What about it? It ain’t like we dumb. We can afford to miss one day. If any of y’all got an important test or something you can’t miss, go on to school,” he instructed. All of them assured him that they weren’t missing anything. “Then let’s keep in keeping on. Tim, how you holding up, man?”
“Doing it,” Tim replied.
“Let Peter know when you get tired. It’s his turn next.”
Peter frowned, but said nothing. Of all the guys in the group, the only one he disliked was Mike. It all stemmed back to his childhood.
He’d always been overweight, but back then, he was plain fat. When he started school the taunts began the first day. One guy in particular was the ring leader.