Broken Crutch 4y4916

Broken Crutch

Beverly J. Walker

Copyright © 2013 by Beverly J. Walker.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012921662 ISBN: Hardcover Softcover Ebook

978-1-4797-5217-1 978-1-4797-5216-4 978-1-4797-5218-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 07/24/2013

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

Acknowledgement

First, I would like to give all reverence to my Father God who is the keeper of my soul and the One responsible for my talent: for I can do nothing on my own. I would like to thank Clayton Clement for his talented work on the front cover of this novel. Clayton, you are truly blessed and have been a blessing to me. To my publisher and editor for a job well done, I say thank you. Moreover, a special thanks to Jimmy Barnett and Amy Scott. To my best friend Barbara Corbin, girl, everyone should have a best friend like you. Thank you my dear sister-friend for just being. You are the true definition of an indisputable confidant. To all of my sisters, Cynthia McCain, Ava Evans, Sunny Jackson, and last but in no way least, my dear baby sister, Gawana (Tee) Davis. Y’all know y’all my girls. Thank you for all of our Sister-days that took me out of myself and placed me in the company of family love when I needed it the most. Tee, I thank you for your . You will always be my number one fan, and credit. In addition, to my sons, Earl and Sterling Evans, I thank you for all your love and . You two will always be my most cherished gifts from God.

CHAPTER 1

“N ow I lay me down to sleep. I pray my Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray my Lord my soul to keep. Hi, God, this is Maya. Thank you for sending little, Lord Jesus to watch over me at night. Please bless my mommy, my teacher, my teddy, and my best friend, Bubba. Please watch over all the children in the whole wide world. Bless the poor children who I see on TV who are hungry and sick. Oh, and God, I saw some kids on TV who did not have any parents, so can you please be their parent? Oh, one more thing, God, I saw that place were the water came out of the sea and swallowed up all those people and their homes. That was very scary, God. My teacher said that a child shouldn’t be concerned with such a thing. But I can’t help but to worry about them, God. That’s why I’m telling you about it. Just in case you didn’t know. You know, God, I don’t think kids should be sick, scared, or hungry, and if you want me to, I’ll send them half my lunch money so they can have good food just like me and Bubba. I love you, God. Aaamen.” Maya got up off her knees and went over to the big Livingpool rocker and gave it a push. “How was that push, Mommy? I hope you liked the way I said my prayers. Mommy, you would have been real proud of me today in school. I was the only one who got all the words right in our spelling bee. My teacher gave me a big red candy apple for winning. I gave my candy apple to Bubba. He is so greedy,” Maya said with the same bossy attitude that she would have used had she been talking to Bubba himself. “Plus, candy apples are such messy treats. Anyhow, I was happy to win the spelling bee. Except, well, there was one thing I was a little sad about. Out of all the mothers, you were the only mother who wasn’t there! My teacher asked me where you were. Don’t worry, Mommy, I told her that you were at home sick with a terrible cold.” Maya hung her head down in embarrassment. “I know,” she said sadly, “you told me to never lie, well, except for our little secret, and I will never tell anyone about that, Mommy. I promise. But I had to tell my teacher something!” Maya said as her eyes widened and her hands went up in the air. “She just kept asking me over and over again, ‘Where’s your mother, Maya? Didn’t she get the note I sent out to the parents?’” Maya recalled the awkward feeling. Abashment overwhelmed her as the other mothers

and her classmates studied her as they all wondered where the child’s abandoned mother was. “But it was nice how all the other mothers clapped for me. Just wished you were there,” she added sadly. Maya’s head dropped again. “Mommy, sometimes I want to tell you things, but I don’t want to upset you, so I tell Teddy. Teddy always listens to me. Sometimes I talk to him all night. He doesn’t mind. He has nothing else to do.” Maya let out a huge yawn. “I’m getting sleepy now, Mommy. I think I’ll say good night.” Maya got out of her bed and went over to the rocker; she took Teddy from the seat of the chair, placed him in the bed with her, and turned off the lamp. And in her dark, cozy bedroom with nothing more than Teddy to protect her, she said, “Good night, Mommy, wherever you are.” She was not a big girl. She was just full of intelligence varied with her childhood innocence not guilty of any offence. She, like many children her age, lacked worldly experience when the result in failure to recognize the harmful intentions or unintended of others affects the child, even if the others were people a child should have been able to trust and depend upon, like a parent. Children are governed by the love that they hold in their heart for their parents, not so much for how they are treated. It seems God created children that way. Maya learned fast because she had to. She learned how to make her own breakfast, how to do the dishes, how to choose an outfit for school, and how to hide in her bedroom closet on stormy nights, which frightened the daylights out of her. But most importantly, she learned how to keep the secret, the secret that for as long as she could was just a normal way to live. Whenever Maya was asked what her mother did for a living, her answer remained the same, the lie that it was. “My mommy’s a waitress.” It was rehearsed throughout her childhood, and although her mother did work as a waitress once, it was short lived. Little Maya actually believed that her mother worked in a restaurant; she had no reason not too. That was mostly because her mother, Mercedes, never told her anything differently. Truth of the matter was Mercedes transported drugs. She worked during the

night, sometimes not returning home until late in the afternoon of the next day. Sometimes she made it home in time to prepare Maya for school. Sometimes she didn’t; in either case, Maya knew exactly what to do. Mercedes would not have traded her life for a million dollars, essentially because it was worth much more. She was obsessed with her lavished lifestyle. She had a ion for nice things. Her salary was considerably substantial; however, the only word that came to Mercedes’s mind about her pay was beautiful, as were her home, her cars and all that she owned. Mercedes was not sociable with her neighbors. She’d wave hello or goodbye and then keep on stepping. She did not want them, as she would say, all up in her business. Her neighbors never questioned her about anything mainly because she lived a very reserved and some what reclusive lifestyle. It wasn’t that she did not desire friendship from others. It was just important that she and her daughter maintained their privacy for now. Mercedes and her daughter dressed in the latest style—nothing but name brand everything for this mother and daughter. Maya owned everything a child her age would want. She had a laptop computer, a beautiful canopy bedroom set, a wide screen color TV complete with a Play Station, a collection of Bratz dolls, and the most beautiful tree house in her backyard that resembled the appearance of an oversized dollhouse, and what she loved most of all, a room full of teddy bears. She loved teddy bears. They were her company when Mercedes was at work. Little Maya was a precocious child. And although she was mature in the nature of taking care of herself, the childlike innocence was still intact. Maya was an easygoing child who was able for carrying out duties that were expected of a much older child, while at the same time her childlike characteristics were suitable for her age. Most people who had the pleasure of knowing her often treated her as if she was a much older child. At home, she was the little mother of the house; at school, she was the teacher’s helper, and on the playground, she was always the organizer of anything that was done. Other children her age looked up to her to do such things as making fair of inequitable situations. The other children respected Maya. They knew that she would be fair-minded about whatever problem they’d present to her, and her verdict was always the final decision. There was never a father figure in little Maya’s life. Mercedes had left him

before Maya was born. This too was another normalcy in Maya’s life. She never missed him because he was never there. When she was old enough to ask questions about her father, Mercedes stopped that right at the door. She told Maya that her father had died in the war, depicting him as a real war hero. Actually, the only one that he was dead to was Mercedes, and the only war he had ever been in was with Mercedes’s face, which was the reason she had to leave him before any real fatalities occurred. He was the reason for the guarded lifestyle. Most of Maya’s friends lived in a single-parent home, with the mother being that parent—all the more justifying in the mind of little Maya that all was well with it being just her and her mother. Maya was always a delight to be around. In fact, the only time she showed annoyance was when one of her playmates actually acted their age, by crying or acting out because they could not have their way. To little Maya, this was babyish behavior, and whenever Maya witnessed this behavior among her little peers, she would immediately intervene to resolve the situation. Mercedes loved seeing the little mediator in her daughter. It showed character and maturity. She’d stand back proudly and smile at her child, thinking, how mature her daughter was for her age. Maya’s maturity allowed lack in Mercedes’s mothering skills. She did not have the time or the patience for all that mushy babying stuff. She needed her daughter to be just that way she was if she were to keep her night job. Maya was a latchkey child as early as the time that she could reach the keyhole, never being afraid to walk into a home that was absent of parent. But lately, since she had gotten older, and possibly because she was getting older, it seemed that the nights that she had been left alone seemed longer and more frightening. Perhaps she was beginning to understand that a child her age should not have been left alone at night. But still, no one must ever know the secret, not her teacher, not the principal, not even her best friend Bubba, must ever know that little Maya spent many nights at home alone with nothing more than her Teddy to protect her from furious thunderstorms, possible fires, or night intruders. This was her and her mother’s special, little secret.

It was seven-thirty in the morning when Mercedes came home. She began to strip at the door, leaving pieces of clothing behind as she made her way to Maya’s bedroom. She had had a rough night and could not shake it from her mind. Normally, getting her packages to and fro was a piece of cake. That was one of the reasons she loved her so-called job. “Pick up and deliver, just like a pizza delivery man with the pay of a Harvard grad,” she’d always remind herself. She was glad to have made it back home without any real problems. She recalled her night shift: As she pulled up to deliver her first package, she noticed a strange van sitting on the corner of the street. The windows were tinted. This was one of her regular runs and Mercedes was very familiar with the area. Something in her gut told her to keep driving. She decided to make this her last stop, see how things will look in a few hours from then. Her next stop wasn’t much better. She could tell by the lights and the sirens that there was a bust going down at the very hotel she was to stop. “Wow!” she said. She watched the police escort three young men she was familiar with leaving the hotel in handcuffs. Just ten minutes earlier, and she would have been apprehended right along with those three guys. “Shit’s too damn hot out here tonight,” she said to herself. She pulled away inconspicuously. There had to have been some tip offs for the heat wave as far as she was concerned. Mercedes had three more stops to make before returning home, not to mention the fact that she would have to return the undelivered packages back to Matthias who was one of the guys she transported for if things did not go as planned. The money had been good—damn good! But lately the thought of getting out of the business had crossed Mercedes’s mind. In fact, not only had it crossed her mind but had come for a visit and had decided to hang around for a while, just taunting the hell out of her. This thought she could have done without because the last thing she needed was uncertainties hanging around her mind while she was trying to do her job. However, in all honesty, she was tired of looking over her shoulders or harvesting the feeling of pending doom. Seven years in the business one would think that that was enough time to have gotten established in

such a way that she would be able to retire from the ‘transporting business.’ But still, there were a few things she felt she needed before ending her career. Her goal was to be able to bank at least 150 grand to fall back on before quitting the business. But every time her bank grew, something pretty caught her eyes that she just had to have. But still, official judgment was prominent, and the last thing Mercedes wanted was to call attention to her. No one knew her. She needed to keep things that way. Just in case Maya’s crazy ass father ever had the notion to look for her. As she crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge, she hoped that all would go well on her next stop because she was tired and all she wanted was for this night to be over with. The thought of going back to school to get her GED crossed her mind. “Yes, the first thing Monday morning, I’m going to go and sign myself up for one of those classes to get my GED, been puttin’ it off too damn long anyhow. I can’t do this all my life,” she said softly to herself. Sooner or later I know I’ma get busted, the thought of it all made her recoil. “Your change,” said the toll attendant. He wondered what was on her mind to make her react in such a way. Then just like many times before, she played out the scenario in her mind of just what would happen to her beautiful home, her cars, and most importantly, her daughter if she were to ever get busted. She saw everything she had worked so hard for just vanish right before her eyes. “Damn!” To expunge the chilling thoughts from her mind, she turned on the radio hoping to replace the thoughts with some music, only to hear about a drug bust in North Camden. She switched to her CD player—music selected for such an occasion.

“Hey, suga’, I’m home!” Mercedes sang as loudly as she could as she entered Maya’s room. She noticed that Maya was not in her bed. There was no need to panic. Mercedes knew exactly where to look. She went over to Maya’s walk-in closet and found her daughter on the floor wrapped in her comforter with Teddy in her arms. To Mercedes, it was as common as finding her all snuggled in the bed. Never in Mercedes’s wildest dream did she think that her daughter was actually hiding from her fears. She just figured that this was just something that Maya did like most children with their strange behavior. “Come on, suga’, you gotta get yourself ready for school this morning. Shit! I’m tired.” She bent down and picked Maya up and carried her to her private bathroom. Maya sat on the seat of her little vanity, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “How’s momma’s big girl this morning?” Mercedes asked, disappearing down the hall and removing more clothing until nothing remained except her bra and G-strings. “Maya?” she called from her room just inches away from her bed. “Please don’t forget to put the alarm on when you leave for school. Maya?” “I heard you, Mommy.” “Damn, I’m tired.” She pulled the covers back, jumped in the bed, and placed a blindfold over her eyes. Just when she began to doze off, she sat straight up in the bed. “Shit! I still have Thomas’ money. Well, hell, I’ll just get myself a little rest and get up early enough to get his money to him. Don’t want that crazy bastard coming over here wit’ his shit.” She pulled the covers over her head and was snoring in seconds. Little Maya had gotten her shower and was dressed for school. She combed her hair and then put it up in a ponytail. She made herself a bowl of cereal, ate it, and washed the dish and spoon. “Mommy,” Maya called as she grabbed her little Bratz book bag. “Can you please look at my paper? I got an A on it yesterday. You have to sign it since you weren’t there. Mom…” “Maya, please! Just sign it for me, suga’. You know how. Your mother’s beat. I’ve got to get my rest!” Maya sighed as she signed her mother’s name to her paper and then sighed even

heavier with the thought that she would have to disturb her mother once again before leaving for school. She went into the room and stood at the foot of her mother’s bed. She wiggled her mother’s foot a little. “Mommy,” she called. Mercedes just snored. She called and wiggled her mother’s foot again. This time Mercedes kicked but still did not answer. “Mommy!” Maya yelled. Mercedes threw the comforter off her face. “What is it, child? Don’t you understand how tired I am?” “Lunch money, Mommy. I need lunch money.” “Maya, just look in my purse and get twenty dollars; that should hold you for the week. Now please, suga’, let your mommy get some rest before I go crazy. Do you want a crazy mommy?” “No, Mommy.” “Well, you’ve got to stop buggin’ me and let me rest. I promise, when you come home after school, we’ll have the best mother-and-daughter day ever, okay?” “But, Mommy, what about Bubba? It’s my turn to buy his lunch this week. He bought mine all last week.” “Suga’, get whatever you need, just keep the noise down, okay?” Mercedes repositioned herself under the covers and was singing that snoring song before her head hit the pillow. Maya picked up her mother’s purse and took out the wallet. The money looked strange to her because she wasn’t used to the new currency yet. She counted what she thought were twenty one dollar bills for her lunch and then another twenty for her friend, Bubba. She opened her little purse and placed the money in it. She placed the wallet back in her mother’s purse, placed the purse beside her mother on the bed, and pulled the covers over Mercedes a little more, then gave her a little kiss. “I love you, Mommy,” she said before leaving for school. By now, Mercedes was calling the hogs. The doorbell rang right before Maya had finished punching in the last number of the security code to secure her mother in the house. The sound of the doorbell startled Mercedes just enough to make her arm flitch, causing her wallet to fall

out of the purse and onto the floor. “Bubba, I thought I told you not to touch that doorbell. You know my mommy’s asleep. You wanna wake her up and break her rest or somethin’, boy?” “I don’t get it, Maya. What does she do, wake up, get you dressed for school, and then jump back in bed? Once my momma gets up, she’s up for the day. Yah know something, Maya, I think your mother’s got that iron-poor blood thing. My grandma had it. She had to get a needle so she could get around because her blood was so tired.” “Bubba, blood don’t get tired.” “My grandma’s did.” “Whatever. Just lay off that doorbell. I come out every morning the same time. There’s no reason to be ringing that bell. Got it, Bubba?” “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Bubba shook his head and simply said, “Women!” “And what is that you’re eating, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast? Bubba, don’t tell me that that’s your breakfast. A kid should have a nutritional breakfast, like toast and eggs or cereal.” “Oh, I did have toast, eggs, and a bowl of cereal before I left the house. This is my morning snack. It’ll hold me ’til lunch.” Bubba was a chubby little fellow who had a thing for Maya. It was puppy love at its best. Every morning he’d pick her up for school and carry her book bag after he’d eaten his morning snack. He’d meet her at lunch time and then walks her home after school. The only thing he loved more than Maya was food and was in his glory whenever he’d find himself in the company of both: his food and his little sweetheart. Maya, on the other hand, thought of Bubba as her BFF, next to Teddy of course; after all, Teddy was there at the crucial times of her life. Teddy was told secrets that Bubba will never be told. She held Teddy through the crackling sounds of the night. And during the darkness and stillness, when tears of fear and loneliness invaded her little world, Teddy was the only one who would be present. He was there when the braveness and refreshingly sassiness, which she

displayed around other children escaped her. The two of them stopped at the corner store because Bubba needed a soda to wash down the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which could have choked a horse. Maya often carried tissues to tidy Bubba up because she knew he would need it after his snacks. After all, if he was going to carry her designer book bag, he would have to have clean hands. In the store, Bubba asked for his soda and bought Maya her favorite snack, a nutritional bar. Maya promised in return to buy a treat for him at lunchtime when she would be paying for his lunch with the money she had gotten from her mother’s purse. In the meantime, it seemed that Mercedes was not going to get that rest she though she deserved because no sooner than Maya had left for school, the door bell began to rang and rang. Mercedes tried to ignore the ringing. She tried placing the pillow over her head. But it was to no avail. Finally, she got up fussing and cursing, stumping her toe and pushing her wallet in the deep part under her bedside table. She hated that she had to leave the one place that was providing her the sleep her tired body desperately needed. Whoever it was on the other side of that door was certainly going to get a piece of her mind. She could not imagine who it could be. She knew it wasn’t Maya; she had her key, and even if she had lost it, there was another key hidden in the front yard under a certain rock, which was placed there for such an occasion. She even felt a little sorry for herself for having to get up. Why, if the person on the other side of that door understood how hard she works that night, even they would be a bit self-conscious for disturbing her rest. “Come on, woman, open this damn door and give me my damn money before somebody gets hurt up in there!” Thomas Green, thought Mercedes. What the hell is he doing at my door? She opened the door and stood there with her hands on her hips with an expression of a very disturbed, what? Thomas pushed Mercedes aside and entered her home without being welcomed in. “What the hell is this, Thomas? I thought I told you to never ever come here. I keep my private life separated from my career.”

“Oh, is that what you call it, your career? Hum.” Thomas took a good look around Mercedes’s home and shook his head up and down, showing approval of the taste of her decorative flare. White carpet blanked the floors as far as he could see. Very expensive black art placed in even more expensive frames hung from the walls throughout the house. Custom-made drapes hung from each window. A wide-screen TV complemented the living room as well as the coolest stereo system Thomas had ever seen. In an open space in the living room rested a baby-blue, baby grand piano, and in another open space on the living room floor sat a gold and white harp. In front of the sliding door window were various house plants, which Mercedes had spared no expenses to have a florist come in once a week to care for. Mercedes’s house was beautiful and well kept. Thomas was impressed. “What do you want, Thomas?” “What do you think, bitch? I waited all morning. Where’s my damn money? You know damn well I don’t play that shit. You work for me. You do things my way.” “I would have bought you your money this morning, Thomas. Just needed a couple hours of rest,” she said, wishing that she had never given him her address in the first place. “Well, I don’t have a couple of hours. In fact, I got people to see and places to go. Ain’t got no time for no bullshit, so if you would just get me my money, I’ll be on my way.” “Just wait here,” she ordered him. Mercedes went back to her bedroom to get Thomas’s money. Being aware of the kind of man she was dealing with, she just wanted his black behind out of her house as quickly as possible. It was common knowledge to anyone who knew him what he was capable of doing. Thomas Green was the kind of man who’d shoot first and ask stupid questions to the corpse like, “Man, why’d you make me do that?” Thomas loved being himself. He had an excessively high opinion of himself. And no one had a second chance with him. Said the only way to get respect from a niggah was to shoot his ass first and ask questions later. Said dead men can’t

answer with a lie. Mercedes despised Thomas Green and hated the fact that she had to work for him. She had an extremely intensive aversion toward him, and understandably so; morally, he was a debauched and very dangerous person, but he paid those who worked for him very handsomely. That was why she felt she had to have Thomas as her boss. Next to her daughter, money was the most important thing to her, and he was loaded; however, he had a bourgeois avariciousness about himself. The more money he made, the more evil, self-centered, and corrupted he’d become. Other than working as a waitress, transporting drugs was the only job she had ever done. She loved having money all the time. Having it complemented her lifestyle. After completing her house with the things she and her daughter needed to maintain a comfortable home environment, all that was left went into the bank. And she would have still had a nice piece of money in there if her eyes hadn’t convinced her mind to pay cash for that customized pink-and-white Hummer H2 SUV, which she just had to have. It wasn’t enough for her to just have the Mercedes—Benz S600 sedan. The price for it was over $158,000. She decided it would go well with her name. The money came fast, so she know that within a couple of months, she would be able to replace the money she had used for the Hummer, plus more if nothing else shiny and new caught her eye. Her home was paid for, and little Maya had her own personal , which she used whenever she and her mother went shopping. Maya’s college fund was sitting and waiting for the day she would need it. Mercedes arranged it so that no one, not even she, could touch that money. And Maya could only receive it when she turns eighteen. Although Mercedes was young and hadn’t finished school, money was no stranger to her hands. Her parents were well-off. Mercedes’s parents were an interracial couple, her father Spanish and her mother African American. Mercedes was blessed by inheriting the best of both her parents’ genes. Her mother contributed her curvy hips, tiny waste, and her plump apple bottom. Her beautiful full head of hair and lovely long legs were a gift from her poppy. And the combination of her parents delivered her sweet bronze complexion. No one ever had to tell Mercedes that she was a little hottie. As early as she could see her image in the mirror, she had figured that out. She’d look in that mirror and just sing, “Pretty Baby” to herself, not realizing that she was looking

at her own image. Her parents would discuss this matter, with her mother saying, “That child’s stuck on herself already.” Her father, in defense of his precious baby girl, would say, “Eva, that baby don’t know what she’s saying. She’s only three years old.” But Eva would set him straight. “You better hear what I’m sayin’, Narsisco. We’ve got a baby diva on our hands.” Mercedes’s father tried to protect his baby girl since the day she made her debut in this world. But not even Narsisco could prevent the troubles his daughter’s beauty had in store for her throughout her life. Her father was proud of his gorgeous baby girl. But her mother knew the trouble that awaited her only child. For she knew the curse of beauty; it had been a problem of her own. It was Mercedes’s beauty that had enticed the roughest thugs into her life. Mercedes owned a beauty that a man would kill for. And Cyrus, Maya’s father, had done just that. Mercedes had met Cyrus at the age of twelve. And although she was only twelve, her body was saying eighteen. Cyrus was a nineteen-year-old high school dropout who ed himself by selling drugs. And Mercedes, like most young girls her age, was most definitely, defiantly into the thug thing. Cyrus owned only name brand clothing. He had the gold grills. He had the cars, fully equipped with anything and everything—you name it; he had. He had style and charisma. He had looks, the gift of gab, and money—lots of money—but most importantly, he had Mercedes’s attention. Now Mercedes was not so much in love with Cyrus’s money as she was genuinely in love with him. Money came easily to her as a child. Heck, she was her father’s only child, and he was loaded. There was nothing materially that she could not get from her poppy. But there was something that Cyrus had that Poppy could not provide. It was that feeling that stirred her senses each time he looked at her, that tingle in the pit of her stomach that she could not describe or explain whenever he touched her. Her eyes were addicted to the sight of him; she had to see him everyday even if it meant sneaking out of the house while her parents slept. Truly, this must be love, she thought. Mercedes tried hiding her relationship with Cyrus from her parents for as long as she could until, like any habit, eventually one becomes trifling in hiding it. Somehow, it no longer mattered that her parents knew that she was seeing a man who was almost twenty, a man who was dealing drugs, a man who was taking

advantage of their baby girl. Eva and Narsisco tried to put their foot down and forbid Mercedes from seeing Cyrus. They had even threatened to call the police on him and have him locked up for messing with a minor. So Mercedes promised to stop seeing him. She did not want him put away. She loved him with all of the love that a twelve-year-old girl thought love should be. But sure enough, she stopped seeing him. Her parents were happy to see that she had started hanging around children her own age. But when Mercedes begun hanging around G-Money, a young gangster, who was a younger version of Cyrus who was later found dead after having a few words with Cyrus, Mercedes knew what she needed to do. No one could ever prove that Cyrus had anything to do with his death. However, those who knew Cyrus knew his work because he always left his signature, a single gold tooth upon the chest of his victim. It was said that he would place the gold tooth there because he could afford to. Mercedes was approached by Cyrus the day of G-Money’s funeral, instructing her that if she did not want the same thing to happen to her family that she would meet him later that night at a nearby nightspot. She hated doing it because she truly loved her mother and poppy. They were good parents and decent people. Evidently, at the tender age of twelve, she could not figure out any other way to fix this. Never did it strike her strange that in some morbid way, she still loved Cyrus even after his threat on her parents’ lives. And in her childish mind, the fact that he had killed G-Money to be with her told her only one thing—“This brotha must really be feelin’ me!” She took off with him that night and never ed her parents again. She broke her parents’ hearts. But it did not take long before Mercedes understood that she had made the wrong decision; she had to leave Cyrus. Apparently, drug dealing was not his only occupation; he was a pimp as well. Mercedes would be away for days transporting drug while Cyrus remained at home looking after the girls. The lifestyle had become more than she could bear. Some days after returning from work, she would have to literally push women out of her bed. Then there were always a new girl. Too often Mercedes walked in on Cyrus as he broke in the new girls. He’d tell her that it was all a part of his

job. Told her to stop acting like a child and grow the fuck up. And it was not consoling to her when he told her that she was his main ho. The only thing that was right about her life was the money. It was absolutely heartbreaking for Mercedes when she understood that the one and only man she loved with all her heart was the worst thing in the world for her. Yes, she actually had a moment of sanity. It must be added that the ass kicking and verbal abuse helped her to come to her senses as well. There were times when he’d remove his belt and beat her with it, telling her that since she was acting like a child, he was going to treat her like one. She contemplated returning to her parents’ home. But she had been estranged from them for more than a year without even a post card or a phone call. But there was no question about it, she had to get away from him, especially when she told him of her pregnancy, which he eagerly denied having any part of. “You gotta be outta your damn mind! You gone for days at a time. Hell, I don’t know who you doin’ while you out on the road,” he had told her. “Shit, that can be anybody’s showty!” She thought that the news about the baby would turn him around, would make him at least think about giving up the pimping game, would make him stop beating her and saying things that made her feel bad about herself. But all it actually did was make her see just what kind of a fool she was for hanging around. It was better for her parents to think that she was dead rather than go back home to them with Cyrus’s bastard child inside her. She was older now but felt so very pathetic because she had missed out on her childhood. She had missed out on a normal loving family life with her parents. But the one thing that she did have was the ability to transport drugs and make the digits. That was all that mattered to her at this point. As it was, one night when Cyrus was sure that she had left for work, she just took off with about one hundred grand. Some of the money was hers, but a very large portion of it she had taken from Cyrus. Far as she was concerned, he owed it to her for all her troubles. She was too young for driver’s license, but that did not stop her from taking the car, which she had bought for Cyrus and drove for days until she could go no further. Finally, she found herself in a beautiful little quaint town called Haddonfield,

New Jersey, where she settled down and made it her new home. It did not take long for her to seek out drug s by working as a waitress in a popular restaurant in the tri-state area. She’d watch out for the waiters or waitresses who showed signs or symptom of withdrawal or for who wore longsleeved shirts in the summertime to hide track marks. She knew she would find at least one or two drug s working in a restaurant. It was a sure place that would pay daily to a drug habit. She would pay them to introduce her to their dealers and then pay the dealers to hook her up with their suppliers; thus, she was on her way to her own life. Mercedes vowed to never allow another man to take advantage of her again. No one would ever abuse her again. All she needed from Cyrus was what he had taught her—how to transport drugs and how to deal with people who were in the business. “I got mad skills!” she would say to herself whenever doubt invaded her mind. And now, today, she was hoping that those skills would help her deal with the unscrupulous Thomas Green.

“And you had better hurry the fuck up, girl. I ain’t got all fuckin’ day long!” Thomas shouted. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be long,” she said as she walked swiftly toward her bedroom, thinking about how much she hated having Thomas Green standing in her living room and how she would have to fumigate that room once he left. The sooner she gave him his money, the sooner he could remove his sorry ass from her sight and her premises. Thomas occupied his time checking out Mercedes’s crib. It was pretty even if he had to say so himself. “I’m payin’ this bitch too fuckin’ much money,” he said to himself. Mercedes was so tired that morning when she had gotten home that she had forgotten where she had placed her Kate Spade purse. She looked under the trail of clothing on the floor. It wasn’t under the Versace jeans or under the Fendi jacket. Finally, she found it under her comforter and wondered how it had gotten there. “Yes!” Mercedes said. “Let me give this man his damn money so that I can get back to sleep and get his triflin’ ass out of my house.” She reached into her purse but did not feel the wallet. A flush of warmth flooded her entire body. She looked under the bed but did not see it. She pulled the covers off the bed, looked under the pillow, and all around the bed. Still she did not see the wallet. Finally, she moved the bedside table and found the wallet behind it. Her heart slowed down a bit, but when she reached in to get the money, her heart began to race again. Upon unfolding the wad of thousands, to her surprise she was short by four grand. Mercedes panicked! What happened to the rest of Thomas’s money? She knew for sure that she had it that night after her last . She had carefully counted it. Knowing the kind of person Thomas Green was, she did not want to come up short. She recalled the last time someone had come up short with Thomas’s money. Thomas Green spared that person no mercy. She was a young girl, an attractive girl whom Thomas had actually shown interest in. Her name was Pattie Lingo. Pattie was everything Thomas wasn’t.

She was kind and generous. She had a good heart. In the game that people like her and Mercedes played, it often transmuted their personality, turning them into hardcore uncaring soulless bodies. They could not come up short, could not fear, had to stand their grounds, and had to cover up any signs of weakness; it was all about business. But with Pattie, she simply did her pickups and deliveries and somehow held fast to that beautiful quiet nature of hers. No one knew of her innermost fears. Generally, her fears were of such things as getting busted or coming face to face with a hijacker where both drugs and money would be confiscated. Each time Pattie finished a job, she’d thank God to have made it back home safely. She was no different than anyone else who was in the game; there were times of apprehension, anxiety, and times of instinctive awareness that something could go wrong. But then, they had reasons they’d stayed in the game—money, cars, bling and even a sense of morbid pride, or self-importance. Pattie, like most, got caught up in the game. It became a drug for her. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to be a drug courier. Then one day Pattie came up short of just a few lousy thousands, which were pennies to someone of Thomas’s wealth. He was by all means a mammonistic individual. She had begged Thomas for a few hours to come up with the missing money, but he wouldn’t even hear her out after she refused to sleep with him. Thomas considered this an insult; surely, his time was well worth a few thousand dollars. As far as he was concerned, her rejection was like a smack in the face, so in return, he shot Pattie in hers. Mercedes visited a couple of times while she was in Cooper Medical Center. Pattie begged Mercedes to get out the game while she still had her youth and her beauty or at least find someone else to work for other than Thomas Green. She begged her to take what money she had and run before Thomas got the notion to do the same to her. “He has a way of stripping you of everything—from your self respect to your Victoria Secret G-strings. Run, girl. Look at me. Mercedes, you know that I did not deserve this,” said Pattie as she pointed to her face. “Nah, I ain’t running yet. I got things to get. I gotta set my life up to where I want it to be. I mean, I ain’t tryin’ tah do this forever, just until I get myself stable. Then I’ ma go back to school, get my GED, and try to make something of myself. Know what I’m sayin’?”

They smiled at each other, both understanding how farfetched that sounded because nothing could compare to the feel of that fast money in their hands. “You know, Pattie, it’s sad. They got an advocate for all kinda women in abusive situations. Hell, they even got help for women who want to get away from prostitution or to get away from their pimps but ain’t nothing out there on the behalf of women transporters.” “Girl, you crazy,” said Pattie. “Ain’t nobody tryin’ tah or speak in favor for us. Hell, they’d throw our asses under the jail.” After Pattie’s release from the hospital, it was as if she had literally fallen of the corner of the earth. Mercedes did not know if she was still running from Thomas or if he had finished her off. All she knew was that Pattie Lingo was gone. Panic-stricken, Mercedes knew what she had to do. Grabbing her jeans, her blouse, her purses, and keys, she raised the bedroom window and climbed out before one final shout out to Thomas. “Just give me one more minute, Thomas. I’ll be right there!” “Well, I know you had better hurry the fuck up. A brotha’s got things to do now, girl. Know what I’m sayin’?” Mercedes dressed as she ran to the garage. She put the key in the Hummer, and by the time Thomas realized that the engine noise was coming from the garage, Mercedes was burning rubber down the street. He ran to the bedroom and saw the opened window. “Bitch!” he shouted, realizing that Mercedes had escaped him without giving him his money. He was mad as hell. Thomas was fuming! He took out his forty-five and proceeded to take her bedroom apart with it. Down went her beautiful bedroom set. Down went the custom—made drapes. Down went her wardrobe with all her gorgeous designer clothing. He ran into the living room and began to slaughter her expensive black art, which hung so proudly upon the walls of her immaculately kept home. He was enraged. The veins in his neck were pulsating. The nerves of her; didn’t she know who she was messing with? Thomas thought of himself as an entrepreneur, and Mercedes was just one out of

at least twenty of his employees. He was a shrewd man. He owned a mental agility that allowed his mind to think quick and precise when it came to business, even down to the smallest detail. Many men loved and hated him at the same time. Actually, the love was more of an iration toward his brilliant mind for business. They knew that the man could have been anything that he wanted to be could have went anywhere in the world he wanted to go. He was just smooth like that when it came to business. When other men watched him handle business affairs, it seemed as if they were watching a cold-hearted genius at work. Thomas Green was a mastermind when it came to making money. However, when it came to the ladies, most who knew him had peeked his hold card. They knew how ruthless he was. How anxious he was to pull the trigger. They saw how he’d misuse people, especially the women. Thomas’s reason for being such a tormenter was, as he would say, “Because, I’m Thomas fucking Green, damn it! That’s all the reason I need.” Mercedes had the privilege of watching Thomas’s deranged mind at work once in awhile. There was a particular incident of which she had witnessed Thomas’s profoundly immoral character come to life. This had happened years ago when she had just begun to work for him. Before then, she had only heard revolting and disgusting stories about him. As it was, Mercedes was waiting for her next assignment from Thomas Green at an unusual location, somewhere on the outskirts of Camden and Pennsauken on iral Wilson Boulevard, at a motel. When she arrived, she sat in her car for a few minutes just hating the very thought of him. Finally, after about ten minutes, she figured what’s the use of wasting precious time that she didn’t have? Plus, she had been holding her water for the last thirty minutes. She knocked on the door, and it was answered by a young man. She looked around the room and saw several men sitting around, cooking crack cocaine. There was also a young girl there who looked to be in her early twenties. She was pacing back and forth very nervously. Thomas was bagging Mercedes’s packages. Mercedes did not know what to make of the situation. But it was no big deal to see a group such as this in a hotel room. People often used hotels or motels to romance their drugs or to make deals. She thought, I’ll use the rest room and pick up my shit and get the hell up outta here. After the guys were done cooking the coke, they all begun to smoke it. Mercedes

could tell that they had been there for a while—like maybe four or five days judging by the odor that had settled in the room. While Mercedes covered the toilet seat with gobs of napkins, she heard Thomas’s demanding voice but could not quite make out exactly what he was saying. When she returned to the room, she could not believe her eyes. There on her knees, butt-naked, was the young girl encircled by the young men, all with their pants around their ankles. “Thomas! What are you doing? Stop them!” Thomas just laughed a cunning laugh. “You stop ’em.” Mercedes broke the circle and tried to pull the young girl off her knees. But to her surprise, the young girl pulled away from her. Thomas laughed even harder, like the devil himself. “Ha ha ha ha ha. Some bitches’ll do anything for this shit. Would you like a hit, Mercy?” Mercedes gave Thomas a cutting look. “Just give me the shit so I can get up outta here. You’re just sick, man.” “I’ll be here another week or so. You can deliver my money back here,” he said while handing her the package. She snatched the package. “Like I said, you’re a sick individual, Thomas,” she said as she opened the door to leave. “Yeah, but I’m paid like a motherfucker. Yah heard?” Although this was the first time she had seen for herself the kind of ruthless, evil-spirited person Thomas was, there were many other incidents afterwards that she had observed Thomas dominating and taking advantage of people— mostly women. As she drove away, her mind wandered to the days she had spent with Cyrus. How she had witnessed scenes like that with him and some of the young girls he had in his so-called hookers-in-training class. After witnessing the action of the young girl in that motel room, she was happy that she had stop getting high when she did. She needed to keep her mind open and able to think clearly and rationally because of the lifestyle she had chosen to live. To her, transporting drugs was okay as long as you don’t get caught; using, that was out of the question.

He was satisfied with the destruction of Mercedes’s place. But now, he needed to find her. Mercedes made a stopover at Matthias’s’ place. Matthias was somewhat of a friend and a foe to both Thomas and Mercedes. He also ran a very lucrative drug business that was in some ways parallel to Thomas’s. Matthias was one of the many who thought of Thomas Green as a genius. And such as most, he had ired Thomas and despised him as well. It seems funny how two people can be in the very same situation, but one finds the other more despicable and deplorable than himself. What’s even funnier is what one actually sees in the more despicable is himself. Matthias was a very handsome man. His beautiful light brown eyes and wellmaintained dreadlocks won him more reverence than he deserved. And although he did well with his drug business, he lacked the skills and finesse that Thomas owned. In his favor, Matthias had youth on his side. He was younger than Thomas by at least twelve years. So he still had time to establish his empire to where Thomas had gotten to be. Matthias was so gorgeous that women threw themselves at him, and yes, he’d do them all. But he only wanted one woman, and that was Mercedes. He loved her boldness and the ability to be her own woman. He loved her style and her bravery. She spoke up for herself. She never put up with anyone’s bull, not even his. Mercedes worked for both Thomas and Matthias. These jobs were strictly business as far as Mercedes was concerned. But every chance Matthias got, he’d made a play for Mercedes. Of course, she would always deny him. But that never stopped him. He was determined to have her his way.

She banged on the door so hard that Matthias thought it was the cops. He checked the monitor and saw that it was Mercedes. “Damn, pretty girl!”—she hated when he called her by that damn name—“Why are you bangin’ on my door like that? I thought I was going to have to put a cap in somebody’s ass.” She pushed Matthias aside and came in. Matthias’s place was neat and clean. In fact, the entire house was something to behold. He allowed the addicts to buy and sample right there in his living room, which was set up kind of like a comfortable business room. The second floor was used as private rooms that were rented out to anyone who could afford them and for whatever it was needed for. The living room was large with high ceilings and with the most elegant chandeliers. The bare hardwood floors were kept polished. His burgundy French provincial furniture was handsomely mannish. There was a brick fireplace that he had spared no expenses built in one of the walls in that room. He even had a gold and burgundy throne, which complimented his status as kingpin. But Matthias’s most precious possession was Duke, his wolf that he had trained as a watch dog to watch over his selfmade empire. “What’s the matter, pretty girl? You running like your life depend on it.” He had seen a craze in her eyes that he had never witnessed before. In fact, it kind of frightened him a bit to see her like that. She was out of breath but managed to blurt out, “Oh my god, Matthias, when I was here this morning, did you notice if I had put my purse down anywhere? I mean even for a second?” “Oh come on, pretty girl, you know I ain’t about keeping no tabs on nobody’s purse. And anyhow, you know you be holding that thing so close it would take a damn crowbar to get it away from you. What’s going on, you missing something?” “Yeah, something like four grand.” “Damn, pretty girl! How’d you manage to do that?”

“Hell, if I knew that I wouldn’t be here—duh!” “Damn, four grand.” He was looking at her real pitifully. “After you peeled me off mine, I shut down and called it a night.” She was still pacing the floor when she noticed some of the guys there was smoking crack. Now Mercedes had excluded drug usage from her life way before she knew Matthias and Thomas, but her nerves were getting the best of her. She knew how crazy Thomas could be. For some strange reason, she felt that maybe just a little hit on that pipe was the answer to calming her nerves. She quickly walked over to the guy who had the pipe and grabbed it right out of his hands and pulled on it like she was a pro at smoking crack. Matthias was amazed. Never had he witnessed this side of Mercedes. But he could tell that she was upset because of the way she was smoking on that pipe. She refilled it several times before returning it to the young man she had taken it from And because she had turned down his many advances in the past, he saw this as the perfect opportunity to come on to her, assuming that by her smoking the crack, she may have dropped her guard just enough for him to make his move on her. “Damn, pretty girl, it would be real cool if you’d pull on this like you’re pulling on that pipe.” He grabbed himself, holding it like the way some men do, just shaking his crotch in the palm of his hand. “You think this is a fuckin’ joke, don’t you! You got fuckin’ jokes?” Mercedes yelled. “I lost Thomas’s money. Thomas Crazy Ass Green. You know the lunatic who’s trigger happy with his little gun. He’ll kill me without a thought, and you know that! Look, I’m bouncing. I ain’t got time for this shit. I’m outta here.” She took a few more hits off the pipe, grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “And my name is Mercedes, damn it!” She walked swiftly to the door and swung it open only to be punched in the face. Blood poured from her nose. She was dazed for a minute as she found herself on the floor. She looked up and saw Thomas walking in. She tried to get up to run, but he knocked her down again, pointing his gun in her face. All the young men who were sitting around smoking crack backed up. Matthias

yelled for Thomas to put the gun away and said something about not starting any shit in his place. Duke rose up and growled. Thomas turned the gun on him, telling Matthias that if he did not want a dead dog, he’d put a leash on his ass. “My business is with Mercedes, so I’m gonna suggestion you to stay cool, dawg.” Matthias thought about his piece that was under the cushion of his throne. He also knew the kind of deranged animal Thomas was, so he just stood there hoping that Thomas meant what he said about his business being with Mercedes only. “Skipped out on me, huh?” he yelled as he kicked her in her side. “You gotta be out of your motherfucking mind, bitch! You should have known that you couldn’t run forever. Where’s my money, bitch?” He kicked her again, this time harder. As Thomas asked about his money, he circled Mercedes while she moved about on the floor holding her side. “Look, Thomas, I really don’t know what happened to your money. But give me a couple of days, and I swear, I swear I’ll get every cent back to you!” All she could think of was what had happened to Pattie Lingo. She knew Thomas would shoot. “I ain’t got no couple of days. Hell, you done ran out on me once already. I ain’t stupid enough to give you a chance to leave town owing me.” She was crying really hard now as she begged for her life. She offered to let him hold her Hummer for collateral until she could get the money to him; he declined, stating that he did not need another gas guzzler. And although she knew she’d regret it if he’d said yes, she even offered him her body any way he would want her. He declined that offer also, saying that ass came to him a dime a dozen. Matthias thought, Hell, why couldn’t she have lost my money? “You just might as well say your payers, bitch, cause you are about to meet the invisible man in the sky.” At this point, Matthias spoke up. “Come on, dawg, don’t do this shit up in here. Give the girl a chance to get your money back to you. This shit really ain’t that serious! It ain’t like yo’ ass is broke. I mean a couple of thousands, that’s just a

drop in the bucket to you.” “Hey, dawg, you in my business here!” Thomas shouted with that crazed look on his face. Anyone who knew Thomas understood what that look meant. It was the look he’d display right before killing somebody, the look he’d give when it seemed that his brain had skipped time and went into another dimension, the look he’d give to let people know that at this point, there could be no reasoning with him. However, Matthias was compelled to at least try to talk some sense into him knowing Thomas’s mental faculty was not working properly. “Man, you in my motherfuckin’ place! Take this shit somewhere else! Thomas, dawg, she’s got a kid! What good would it do you to take a mother away from her child? Come on, Thomas, man, this is bullshit. Hell, I’ll front her the damn money. I know she’s good for it.” Thomas pointed the gun at Matthias. “Makes no difference to me, dawg. Two bodies up in this mo’fucker is just as good as one. Anyhow, man, this shit ain’t about the money. It’s about who the fuck I am—how I handle my business! Shit, if I let one bitch off the hook, people will look at me like I’m some kinda fuckin’ punk. Everybody knows that I don’t play when it comes to my damn money!” Suddenly, everyone in the room backed away. That crazed look in Thomas’s eyes told them to. Then suddenly he shouted, “Wait a fuckin’ minute here, am I explaining myself to you, motherfucker?” Matthias backed off with his hands up. “Dawg, all I’m sayin’ is that she’s a mother. Don’t do this, man.” That was when it came to her what had happened to the rest of Thomas’s money. Maya must have taken it that morning by mistake. But it was too late. Thomas told Matthias to run his business his way and to stay out of his affairs. He turned the gun on Mercedes and shot her. Matthias restrained his dog as he began to bark vigorously at Thomas. “You’ll hold that mo’fucker if you know what’s good fo’ him.” Mercedes never really saw the bullet coming, but she did feel life slowly leaving her body. The room darkened; she felt the blood running out of her body, and she felt the coldness invading her body. All she needed was one more second to explain that she knew where his money was. It wasn’t until Matthias mentioned

a mother being taken away from her child did she Maya asking for money for school that morning. But perhaps it was best that she did not have time to mention Maya. Who knows what Thomas would have done to her had he known she had his money? Her last thought was of little Maya. What would happen to her child? The drug addicts who were standing around the room acted as if it was just another day in the hood. And when Thomas asked if anyone wanted the job of getting rid of the body, the only thing they all wanted to know was what was in it for them. He threw a few bags of heroin and ready rock at their feet. They simply rolled her body up in the area rug she was shot on and carried her body to a nearby trash dumpster and dropped Mercedes in it as if they were merely taking out trash. Thomas looked at Matthias, went to his throne and sat upon it, then said, “Well, my business is done up in here. Sorry about the rug, man.” He threw Matthias a few hundred dollars and told him to buy another rug, and then he left. Matthias promised himself that no matter how long it would take, he’d get Thomas Green back. He’d get him for Mercedes. He would get him for little Maya, and he would get him for coming up in his place of business as if he had the rights to do so, making him look like some kind of punk who could not handle his business in his own domains in front of his boys.

Now every neighborhood has one. Some call them peeping Toms. Some call them nosey neighbors, but Ms. Helen Dupree simply called herself the selfappointed neighborhood watch lady. No one ever paid much attention to her. She simply appeared to be your average little old lady. Not much to look at, not much to think about. But whenever the authorities needed the 411 on the south side of Camden, New Jersey, all they had to do was call Ms. Dupree. Often, one might see an undercover cop dressed as the delivery boy delivering groceries to her apartment. The cop may be disguised as a parent with a child as they met her at the park while she sat on the bench feeding pigeons. But each time they met with her, it was to obtain privileged information, which only Ms. Helen Dupree could give. The curtains moved slightly to one side, just enough to get the view of the street. Ms. Dupree counted. “One, two, three, fo’. Now I wonder why would it take fo’ men to dump a small area rug?” She picked up the phone. “Hel-lo, po-lice, this here is Ms. Dupree, Ms. Helen Dupree. Now listen, baby. You all need to get a car down here to Third and Washington right away. Look in that big old dumpster on the corner. You know, the one they been usin’ to put the debris from that old house they been takin’ down on the corner? Think you’ll find a little surprise in there. Hurry now.” The curtains closed.

Meanwhile, at Maya’s school, it was lunchtime, and she had met Bubba in the cafeteria. And as promised, she went to the food line to get lunch for her and Bubba. Bubba wanted to go with her. He had seen the menu of the day and that Italian hoagie and pecan pie looked like fuel to Bubba’s stomach. But she forbade him to follow her, understanding that he would choose the unhealthiest of foods the cafeteria had to offer. He waited impatiently, knowing that no matter how much he liked Maya, she would do his stomach more disservice than he anticipated. Little Maya chose what she considered a healthy lunch for her and Bubba. It came up to six dollars and fifty cents. She opened her little purse and pulled off seven hundred dollars and placed it in the hand of the cafeteria cashier. The cashier looked at the money then looked at Maya in amazement. Maya stood there with her hand extended, waiting for her change. But once again, the cashier looked at the money and then at Maya, only this time with her eyes and mouth stretched wide open. Finally Maya said, “My change please.” “Ah, sweetie, where’d you get this money from?” asked the cashier. She answered that it was from her mother. “You wait here, dear.” The cashier walked swiftly away, leaving Maya confused. Meanwhile, Bubba’s stomach was singing a growling song that he definitely did not like the tune of, so he went over to Maya to see what the problem was. It was bad enough that he knew Maya would fill his stomach with yucky nutritional foods, but to have to wait any longer was simply unbearable for him. “Maya, what’s taking so long? It’s past my feeding time,” he said pitifully, holding his stomach. “We’ve only fifteen minutes left. I’ll starve to death if I don’t get a refill soon.” At that time, the cashier had returned to the cafeteria with the principal. They stood at the entrance of the cafeteria. The cashier said something to the principal and pointed in Maya and Bubba’s direction. The two children saw them, and Maya started to cry.

“Maya, what’s going on?” asked Bubba, hating that something was preventing his stomach from its feeding time. “Why are they looking at us that way?” “Oooh, Bubba, it’s not you they’re looking at. It’s me! Ever since I gave her my money, she’s been actin’ funny. And she didn’t even give me my change back.” Bubba asked, “Money? What money, Maya?” She reached in her purse and pulled out the remaining money. “This money,” she said while showing Bubba the hundred-dollar bills. Bubba looked at the currency. Wow! Damn! Where’d you get this money from?” The tears were flowing by now, and her hands were shaking so bad that some of the money had fallen to the floor. “Why does everyone ask me that? I got it from my mommy this morning.” “Maya, your moms wouldn’t give you this much money.” “But she did, Bubba, honest. She told me to look in her purse and get lunch money for the week. That’s twenty dollars for my lunch and twenty for your lunch. She always gives me this much when it’s my turn to buy our lunch.” “Maya, look at this money. These ain’t no one dollar bills. These are those new one-hundred-dollar bills. You took the wrong money from your mother’s purse.” “Look, Bubba! Here they come! You think they’ll take me to jail from stealing my mommy’s money? Bubba, what am I going to do?” Little Maya was so nervous that her little mind wasn’t working right. Bubba picked up the fallen money, grabbed Maya by the hand, and ran. The principal and cashier ran after them yelling for them to come back. As Bubba ran past the lunch tables, he grabbed someone’s pecan pie and stuffed it in his mouth. Then he grabbed plates of spaghetti and threw them at the principal and the cashier. Unfortunately, the spaghetti did not just hit the principal and the cashier but also some of the children who were having their lunch, and then the inevitable happened. The children all yelled, “FOOD FIGHT!” Spaghetti, meatballs, milk, sodas, and hoagies were everywhere. The cafeteria was painted with food. The children were throwing and laughing. The principal

and the cashier were covered like a freshly covered canvas. The principal started to slip, but he wasn’t going down alone. He grabbed the hand of the cashier and down they went. All the children continue to throw food and laugh while Bubba and Maya ran free. Hand in hand, they never stopped running, not until they reached Maya’s front door. But things were no better there. Immediately, Maya noticed the door standing wide open. And though they were out of breath and panting for air, Maya broke free from Bubba and ran inside her demolished home. Bubba wasn’t very far behind her; he just couldn’t keep up because of his chubbiness. “Wait, Maya, don’t go in there!” It was too late. Maya ran through the house calling for her mother. She was terrified when she realized that her mother was not there. By the time Bubba reached the front door, little Maya was standing in the doorway crying profusely. “She’s gone,” she cried. “Bubba, my mommy’s gone. Somebody broke in and took her. And look at what they did to our house!” She sat on the step crying, unable to stop. Bubba took a look in the house and could not believe his eyes. “Damn!” Bubba said as he shook his head from side to side. He ran to the front steps and tried to pull his little sweetie to her feet, but she wouldn’t budge. She was both frightened and confused. All Bubba knew was that whatever had happened in that house was bad—real bad—and he had to get Maya to safety. Just when they thought things could get no worse, Bubba and Maya looked up to see no other than the police with the spaghetti-covered cashier and the principal. “Oh, Maya, come on, we gotta run now.” But to where would they run? Her mother was gone, her home had been invaded, and now she and Bubba were pint-sized fugitives running from the law. But they did run. They ran until suddenly the both of them were swooped up in the arms of Bubba’s older brother. “Put us down, Jarrow. Put us down! You don’t understand! They’re coming for

us!” Bubba yelled. Maya and Bubba kicked, punched, and did whatever they thought it would take for Jarrow to release them. “Hey, what’s up with you two partners in crime? What is going on?” Both Maya and Bubba started talking simultaneously. “Slow down now. I can’t make out what you two are saying. Now one at a time,” said Jarrow. “Maya, you go first.” “Okay, see, I took the wrong money. But I didn’t know it was the wrong money until I got to school.” “And yeah,” interrupted Bubba, “then there was a food fight and the principal got splattered with spaghetti, and hoagies, and milk. And—” “Yeah, and somebody trashed my house and took my mommy. And I’m never ever going to see her again!” Then the crying started all over again, only this time Bubba ed in. “And now the police is looking for us to lock us up.” said Bubba. “The police?” asked Jarrow. “Yeah, man, please, please, don’t let ’em take us away.” Bubba was on his knees begging for his life. “I want my mommy!” yelled Maya. Then out of nowhere the patrol car turned the corner. Again, out stepped the police and the principal. Maya and Bubba were hanging onto Jarrow’s legs so tight that he felt that he was being tackled by two miniature NFL players. “Oh, damn!” shouted Jarrow, “They really were being chased by the police. What have you two done, Bubba?” asked Jarrow. “It’s all because of the money!” shouted Bubba. “What money?” asked the perplexed Jarrow. Both Bubba and Maya emptied

their pockets and pulled out the hundred-dollar bills. “Wow,” was all that Jarrow could say. By that time, the police and the principal stood before them. Jarrow convinced the children to tell the story to the police. They did. The police told Jarrow about the woman found in the dumpster. And after it was all put together, the authority wanted to place little Maya in protected custody. But Bubba begged them to allow her to stay at his house. With Bubba’s mother’s consent, they allowed it for a while. But later that night, Mercedes’s vehicles and her home were mysteriously burned down. The only thing that remained was Maya’s tree house.

CHAPTER 2

After three weeks in intensive care, Mercedes finally woke up from her coma. She could not believe that she had actually survived the shooting. Although it was a blessing to be alive, her mind pained with overwhelming thoughts—where was her daughter, the condition of her home, and where was her life headed from here? It was more than she could bear. Ooh, too much to occupy my mind, she thought. But she had to think and think fast because outside of her room sat two detectives waiting to question her about who had shot her and about the conditions of her home, and more importantly, where had her daughter gotten the money. She opened her eyes slowly, checking out all the beeping noises, monitors, and tubing that seemed to have seized her body. I’ve got to find a way to get out of here, she thought to herself. But how? She was on the top floor of the hospital. Escaping from the window was out of the question this time. A nurse entered her room to check her tubing. She noticed that Mercedes had awakened. “Well, what a surprise! Welcome back.” She pressed a button on the wall and spoke into it. “Barbara, it’s Sadie. Will you please page Dr. Levine and inform him that room six-twenty-seven has awake?” Six-twenty-seven, thought Mercedes. I’ve been demoted to a room number. Before Mercedes could finish her thought, the room was full with men and women in white jackets. They all gathered around her bed while Dr. Levine asked her questions. “Hmm,” he said as he listened to her heart, took her pulse, and checked her pupils. He ran a medical instrument up and down her legs and asked if she could feel it. She shook her head yes. He asked her to touch her nose, blink her eye, and to open her mouth and say aah. She cooperated. “Would you like to tell me your name?”

No, she thought, but I would like for you all to get the hell out of my face! “Mercedes Kemp,” she answered annoyingly, just hating every bit of being there as if she was on exhibit. “What month is this, Mercedes?” “Hell if I know. How long have I been out? That’s a stupid-ass question to ask somebody when they’ve just woke up from a coma. And you call yourself a doctor?” Dr Levine was not amused with her answers, but his colleagues were enjoying every bit of it. “Who’s the president of the United State?” he asked, afraid of the answer. “Oh, I know the answer to that one. It’s me!” She started laughing and then shouted, “Psych, it’s Obama, first black president. Bet y’all thought it would never happen, huh?” Some of his colleagues could not help but to giggle but quickly stopped when Dr. Levine turned to see who thought it was funny. “Well, young lady, you seem to be doing quite well considering what you’ve been through. We’d like to run a few more tests, and if all goes well, perhaps you can be discharged in a couple of weeks.” Mercedes thought, Couple of weeks my ass, I’m bouncin’ first chance I get. The doctor began removing some of the tubing from her body. He explained to her that she wouldn’t need them anymore. He said that she was functioning well on her own. He told her that he was proud of the progress. The doctor and his colleagues left, amazed with Mercedes’s miraculous recovery from the coma. Sadie remained in Mercedes’s room. She pushed a button to lift the head of the bed. “Now how was that?” she asked Mercedes. “Feel better?” “I felt fine just the way I was,” answered Mercedes sharply. “Well, honey, I was just trying to make you feel comfy,” said Sadie, trying to remain professional. “You really want to make me feel comfy?” Mercedes asked in a surprisingly

sweet tone. “Sure, that’s what I’m here for.” “Well, all you have to do is get the hell outta here and leave me the hell alone! Yah feel me?” The nurse stood there with her mouth wide open, understanding that this Ms. Mercedes Kemp was going to be the patient from hell. She left the room hoping that she would not be assigned to room six-twenty-seven tomorrow. Mercedes was glad to finally be alone. No one was there except her and her terrifying thoughts. Yes, they were back again in full force. She stood on her feet feeling a little dizzy. Push yourself, Mercedes. You can do it. Got to get out of here and find my child before Thomas finds her. Dragging her IV pole, she managed to make it to the window. She looked down and saw the busy streets below. She noticed a smoking area where the hospital staffs, as well as some of the patients, were having a smoke. Mercedes was not a smoker, but if getting to the courtyard called for a cigarette, perhaps she could bum one and make a run for it in a couple of days. She walked to the door of her room and peeked out and saw the two cops guarding her door. One of them noticed her and asked if she was going somewhere. “Just checking out my surroundings,” she answered. She went back to her bed and curled up in the fetal position. That was exactly how she felt— like a helpless fetus. But a fetus had the protection of a mother’s warm comforting womb; where was Mercedes’s covering? Who was there to have her back? There was no mother or father by her side. There was no man to take up her slack. There was not even a friend she could call to confide in. Mercedes tried to put her busy mind to rest and began to doze off but was suddenly startled by the strong voice of a man. “Mercedes?” Oh, no! she thought. Thomas! “Ms. Mercedes Kemp?”

“Who the hell are you?” Mercedes answered. “Ms. Kemp, my name is Detective Rollin Scott. I would like to ask you a few questions. Are you up to answering a few questions, ma’am?” “Do I look like I’m up for a few damn questions? What are you, blind or something? Can’t you see that I’m in the hospital?” Detective Scott ignored Mercedes’s comment. “Ma’am, it is imperative that you cooperate. I would like to start by asking you who shot you?” “Hell, I don’t know. It could have been the mailman for all I know. It was a drive-by. I never saw it coming.” “Well, perhaps you can tell me where you were when you got shot? Considering the fact that someone had taken the time to wrap your body in an area rug, I’m sure that you were not in your car at the time of your shooting.” “I… I don’t quite .” “We’ve been to your home and noticed that something very bizarre happened there. Would you like to explain?” She threw her hands up. “Your guess is as good as mine. I really couldn’t tell you.” “I guess that you’ve also forgotten what you do for a living. Judging from the area of where your home was, I’m sure that whatever you do pays very handsomely. So tell me exactly what is it that you do? Who are you employed with?” “Hey, if I could, I would. I just don’t . I mean, hell, what do you want from me?” “Hmm, seems like somebody has selective amnesia. Trying to hide something, Ms. Kemp?” She looked him straight in the face, pouted her lips, and then rolled her eyes. “Shit, man!” she shouted. “I just got back from lala land. I can’t help it if I’ve

lost some memory. What do you want from me?” “Look, I’m going to give you a couple of days. I came in because your doctor said that you might be able to do this right now. And you might think that you’ve gotten off, but eventually, you will have to come up with some answers. I’ll see you soon, Ms. Kemp. Have a nice day.” “Have a nice day,” she mocked the detective and then gave him the finger as he left the room. Detective Scott turned just in time to see the finger. He had one finally statement. “Oh, by the way, the Youth and Family Services will be by some time this week to talk to you about your daughter. Perhaps your memory will return by then. Bye now.” “Where is my baby? Where is my baby!” Mercedes jumped out the bed, dragging her IV pole as she ran to the door. She tried to catch up with the detective, but the policeman stopped her and ordered her back to her room. After pacing the floor a few minutes and shouting a few choice words directed toward the detective and the police, Mercedes realized how much trouble she was in. So when Sadie returned to her room to give her a sedative, Mercedes allowed it without a fuss. The sedative worked—for a little while. On the morning of the next day, Mercedes received the answers to a few of her unanswered questions. As it was, Nurse Sadie found herself once again in the chambers of the patient from hell. She began to think that her nurse manager had a little personal vendetta with her for asg her to Mercedes, knowing the trouble Sadie had with her the prior day. Actually, Sadie expected sympathy from her manager, but instead, her manager simply told her that Mercedes would most likely feel more comfortable with someone that she had a rapport with. Yeah, well, that definitely isn’t me, Sadie thought. As Sadie was giving Mercedes her morning meds, she noticed that Mercedes hadn’t touched her breakfast. Nurse Sadie told her how important it was for her to eat, that she needed to eat in order to keep up her strength, especially if she

ever wanted to leave the hospital. Mercedes told her to take the breakfast tray away and to do whatever it is that she does and then get the hell out. It was apparent that all of Mercedes’s fears had manifested themselves to her. The more she meditated on her problems, the more aware she became of the fact that she was in deep. Every minute that she was awake was spent on trying to come up with solutions to her problems. She was confused, depressed and desperate. Nothing was getting solved. She would pretend to feel pain, knowing that a sedative would be given. Sleep sweet sleep. That was what she wanted. That was what she needed. It was the only way to arrest the unsolvable questions that swarmed her mind. Her parents crossed her mind. If ever there was a time that she needed them, it was now. But she was much too embarrassed to return to them, especially after the mess she had gotten herself in. Sadie saw that Mercedes was in a depressive mood, so she left her room until later. Yes, even Sadie felt some sort of way for her. She understood that Mercedes was young and in more trouble than she could handle. The sedative did just what it was meant to do. Mercedes rested peacefully. But the rest was suddenly interrupted when a young woman entered Mercedes’s room. She thought she was dreaming when she saw a woman standing over her. Through drowsy eyes, she tried to focus on the figure. “Ms. Kemp, Ms. Kemp, you need to wake up. I’m Mrs. Brown from the Division of Youth and Family Services. Ms. Kemp?” She slowly came around, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “You’re who? From what?” “I am Mrs. Brown, from the Youth and Family Services.” Mrs. Brown extended her hand to shake Mercedes’s hand, but Mercedes did not return the pleasure. She just looked at the caseworker as if she were public enemy number two because the detective and police had taken the possession of public enemy number one. “We have custody of your daughter, Maya,” reported the

caseworker. “I hope you’re here to tell me where my daughter is.” “I’m here to find out what was going on in your home, Ms. Kemp,” said Mrs. Brown. She got straight to the point. “Where did your daughter get four thousand dollars on the day of your shooting?” “What? I can’t give my child money? You give your children money, don’t you?” “I’ve never given my six-year-old more than a dollar it at time, Ms. Kemp.” “Maybe that’s because you can’t afford to give your child more than a dollar at a time.” Mercedes knew that her answers were totally stupid and sarcastic. But what else could she do? She needed time to get her story straight. She had no idea how much this woman already knew. Did she know about her job? How much had Maya told her? She just hated being there with no answers. All she knew was that three weeks had ed. How much snooping had the Youth and Family Services done while she was unconscious? “Ms. Kemp, it is in your best interests that you cooperate with us. I’m here to help you, understand?” “Yeah, right. The only help I want from you is for you to tell me where my daughter is.” “Maya is in protective custody, a safe environment. She’s doing very well where she is.” “I can protect my own damn child, okay.” “Like the way you protected yourself, Ms. Kemp, with your child running around town with more money than a child should have, crying her heart out because she couldn’t find her mother? Or perhaps she was being protected while your home was burning to the grown? Thank God that she wasn’t there at the time. From the look of things, I’m so sure that she would have definitely died in that fire had she been there.” “Fire? What fire?”

“I’m sorry—you didn’t know?” Mercedes felt like she was in the twilight zone. Nothing was making any sense to her. Perhaps she heard wrong. Perhaps she was still in the coma and this was all just a bad dream. Mercedes was quiet now. She really did not know what to say because she was still trying to process this thing about a fire. “Ms. Kemp, We understand that you have been through a traumatic ordeal; however, our main concern is your daughter’s safety.” “So sue me for getting shot! Is it just me or does anyone here even gives a damn that I could have died? Yes, I got shot. But what does that have to do with my parenting skills? You act like I meant to get shot!” “I’m not here to pacify you, Ms. Kemp” The case worker spoke calmly but very austerely. “It’s obvious that something horrendous has happened in your life. But we need to know how did you windup in Camden? Were you looking for drugs? There were drugs found in your blood the day you were brought to the hospital. Can you explain any of that?” “Drugs? I ain’t no drug addict if that’s what you’re thinking.” “How did you manage to get shot, Ms. Kemp?” “I don’t know why people keep asking me the same damn thing. Hell, I don’t . Don’t y’all get it? I just can’t fuckin’ !” “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to explain it before the judge in court.” “Whatever.” “You know, Ms. Kemp, if you ever want to be with your daughter again, you’re going to have to come clean. This little game thing you’re playing here, it needs to stop. You’re jeopardizing your daughter’s life by trying to protect yourself. You need to cooperate with us. You do understand that you are only damaging your chances of being with your child by withholding information. Now, I can tell you this. We are not going to continue to play this little game with you. We’ll be back before you’re discharged. Hopefully by then you’ll come to realize how

serious this is. Have a good day, Ms. Kemp.” Mrs. Brown left. As the door closed behind her, Mercedes flung her pillow at it. Her next visitor caught the pillow straight in the face just as she walked in the doorway. She was an old lady, maybe in her late seventies or early eighties. She walked with a slight limp. She carried a walking stick. She wore a black dress with a straw hat and carried a big black Bible in her free hand. Mercedes thought that the woman was an escapee from the mental floor and wondered who had allowed her to leave her room. “Hi, darlin’. How yah feeling? You sure look better than that day they pulled you outta that trash dumpster. It was all over the paper, chil’, front page of the Courier. But don’t worry, they never said your name or showed your face. If you want me to, I’ll bring the paper in, ’cause I still got it. I don’t throw away nothing, chil’.” “And who the hell are you?” Mercedes asked, now sitting straight up in the bed. “Where you from, the loony floor?” “Now is that any kinda way to talk to the person who saved your life? My name is Ms. Dupree. Ms. Helen Dupree. And if it wasn’t for me, you might just be rotting away in that old nasty, dirty dumpster.” “Dumpster?” Mercedes could not believe that Thomas had merely thrown her in some old rat-infested trash dumpster. “That’s right. I saw ’em when they put you in there. Chil’, they had you all wrapped up in some old area rug. But I wasn’t no fool, no, siree. I knew somebody was in there. I saw the blood just a drippin’ all over the ground. I said to myself, Lord, somebody’s in that rug!” Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and that was just what Ms. Helen Dupree was to Mercedes—a mystery. Mercedes cringed to think that she was discarded as trash but thanked God from the bottom of her heart that Ms. Dupree was there to save her. Ms. Dupree noticed that Mercedes’s countenance was sad and anxiety flushed her face like a neon sign.

“Well, what is it, honey. Why you look so sad? Ain’t cha happy to be alive?” This woman was strange, but she was the nicest person Mercedes had spoken with since she came out of her coma. “Well, with all the trouble I’m in,” answered Mercedes, “I would have been better off dead. Know what I’m sayin’?” “No, honey, life is a blessing. God had me there watching outta that window for a reason. That reason was for you to live.” Ms. Dupree failed to mention to Mercedes that peeking out of her apartment window was as common to her as breathing. “Everything’s gonna be all right. You’ll see. One day you’ll look back on these days as just another part of the story of your life. The pages will turn. And I’m sorry to say, but it is so true, baby, that if you keep on living, you will have more difficult days ahead, but I always say that opposite attracts, so now it’s time to receive the blessing. They’ll come, you’ll see, and judging from what you’ve been through, chil’, you’ve got a big old blessing coming your way.” Ms. Dupree fixed the pillow back under Mercedes’s head as she spoke to her. “I sure wish you know what you’re talking about, Ms. Dupree, ’cause I’m in big shit. You don’t know the half of it. I’ve ed my daughter and myself by doing something illegal. It’s the only thing I know how to do. I ain’t got no education, ’cause I never finished school. I ain’t seen my parents in years. They don’t even know if I’m dead or alive. And to make matters worse, no one will tell me were my little girl is. I know that the things I did were wrong, but I do love my baby. She’s all I have, and I’m all she has. Her and I… we’ve never been apart. I can’t even imagine what’s been going through her mind. My poor baby.” Mercedes’s eyes were full of water. “I know where she is,” said Ms. Dupree, showing a proud expression. “You do?” This was the best news Mercedes could have ever heard. “Well, where is she?” “She’s with the family of that little chubby boy. I saw her at the Haddon Lake Park.” “The Haddon Lake Park?” asked Mercedes, a bit confused. “But that’s in Haddon Heights. You live in Camden…”

“Well, see, I make it my business to take a little ride a couple times a week, you know, to get outta Camden every now and then. Sometimes we need to break the monotony. See, I’ve lived in Camden all my life, chil’. And it hadn’t always been dangerous like it is now. Honey, do you know that there used to be a time— now I’m talking ’bout like fifty or sixty years ago when everybody could sleep with the front doo’ wide open on hot summer nights. ’Cause see, not many people owned an air conditioner or even a fan back then, and nobody would have even thought about crossing your threshold. But we can’t do things like that no mo’, not here in Camden. Heck, not anywhere anymore. “Ah, Ms. Dupree,” interrupted Mercedes, “you were telling me about Maya.” “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. You know, sometimes I get tah talkin’ ’bout things, and it seems that everything crosses my mind all at once. And I feel like I gotta say it or I’ll forget what I was talkin’ ’bout in the first place. But yeah, I’ve been keeping an eye on her. I knew you’d like that. I see her and that chubby little boy playing while I feed the pigeons at the park. You know, that Haddon Filed, New Jersey is a pretty place. It’s a beautiful place to raise a child. Your baby, she looks healthy, but I can see in her eyes that she misses you.” “Why are you here?” Mercedes asked, still not quite sure what to think of Ms. Helen Dupree. “Well, to help you, sweetheart. I been comin’ up here every day since they got you outta that trash dumpster. I saved your life. Now I feel a little responsible for yah. Don’t worry, I ain’t no stalker or nothing like that. In fact, I ma tell you something I ain’t never told another soul. I work for the police,” she whispered although there was no one there except Mercedes and herself. “The police!” Mercedes answered astonishingly. “Shush, now, chil’!” she said while placing her pointer to her lips. “This ain’t the kinda thing you want everybody to hear. And don’t go gettin’ your panties in a bunch because I work for ’em. If you get the right people on the right side of you, you can’t help but to be blessed. Shoot, sometimes they don’t even know they be blessing you. See, I know I’m old, but I ain’t nobody’s fool. I need them policemen in my neighborhood as much as they need to know what’s going on there. One hand washes another, honey. But I know that there’s always two sides to every a story, sweetheart. And I read all about one side of yours in the Courier

Post. They said a lot of bad things about cha. I’m sure most of it was pure speculation. And you know what speculation is, honey—incomplete information. Now I work for the police ’cause I live in Camden. This is my home. It’s my little corner of the earth and is all I’ve got. This is where I was born and raised. All my roots are here. I’m a old woman now. I ain’t got no family left. They just all up and died on me. Ain’t never had no children and ain’t never had a man.” “You mean you’ve never been married?” “No, I mean what I say. I ain’t never had a man. That’s probably why I’m living so long. I’ve always been set in my own ways, chil’, even when I was a little girl. Heck, I didn’t even like my own parents tellin’ me what to do, so wasn’t no sense in me havin’ a man tryin’ to run my life, making me out to what he wanted me to be. Sometimes people just know what’s best fo’ ’em.” “Mercedes laugh. “Now, the police, I keep in touch with ’em ’cause I’m a old woman and I’m alone living in a dangerous city. So I do somethin’ you young’uns would never do.” She leaned into Mercedes and whispered, “I snitch to the feds. And I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep my neighborhood safe. And when I feel like the feds can’t help me stay safe, I have a few words with the Author of this here book.” She held up her big black raggedy Bible. “That’s the reason I’m here. I had a little talk with the Author, and He put it on my spirit to help you. You know that’s how he talks to us—through our spirit.” Mercedes didn’t know if she should trust Ms. Helen Dupree. She was not sure if she could put her confidence in her. And if she did put her trust in her, what could an old decrepit woman do to help her? But she knew she needed somebody’s help. Though her process of elimination, she knew that there was no one else. She chose to trust her. Mercedes figured she’d test her out with the most important thing in her life. “Ms. Dupree, could you do something for me?” “I’ll try, baby. What is it?” “Well, I know that you can’t bring her to me, but if you see her again at the park, can you please tell her that I love her and that I’m going to do whatever it takes

to get her back. Can you just tell her that for me?” “No problem. I can do that.” “Oh, thank you, Ms. Dupree, thank you so much.” They hugged each other. Mercedes shed a few tears, and Ms. Dupree found a napkin and wiped them away. “Now come on here, chil’. This here ain’t no time for tears. It’s celebration time!” Ms. Dupree turned on the radio and, with the help of her walking stick, started dancing her old decrepit body around Mercedes’s bed. Mercedes laughed and began to sing, “Go, Ms. Dupree. Go, Ms. Dupree. Go, Ms. Dupree.”

Ms. Dupree did a little more than tell Maya what her mother had asked of her; she slipped Maya her mother’s phone number as well so Mercedes was able to communicate with her daughter while she was hospitalized. And after her discharge, Ms. Dupree took her in until she was able to find treatment. Mercedes convinced the judge that she had no idea who shot her, but because of the cocaine found in her blood, she was ordered to attend drug treatment. And because Maya had told the Youth and Family Service the secret, Mercedes was ordered parenting classes before obtaining custody her daughter.

CHAPTER 3

Th ey were told not to go there. But Maya and Bubba took their chances and went there whenever Maya complained of missing her mother or her Teddy. It was the only place she felt safe. This place and her friend, Bubba, were the last of any normalcy left in her little miserable life. There was now grass growing on the grown of the space where their home once sat. Although it looked strange there without the house, it was the only place Maya felt familiar. Here in their secret place, they could speak openly, with no extra ears around to hear how she really felt about her situation. Mrs. Boatwright, Bubba’s mother, was a nice lady, but Maya’s trust in adults had become tarnished. “They’re coming to take you away, you know. I heard them tell my mommy that she didn’t have any training to take care of a state child,” announced Bubba as they played in her tree house. “Bubba, what’s a state child?” “That’s what they say you are.” “Am not! I ain’t no state child. I’m my mommy’s child.” “Yeah, I know that, but those ladies who allowed you to stay with us, well, they the state ladies.” “I don’t care who they are I’m not their child!” Maya shouted. “If I can’t be with my mommy, I’ll just stay with you and your mommy. I don’t know those state ladies.” “Well,” said Bubba, “we’ll have to come up with a plan. Don’t worry, Maya, I’ll protect you. I’ll come up with something. I promise.” It was now dinner time at Bubba’s house, and he, his mother and Maya had settled down to one of Bubba’s favorite kid’s meals—hamburger and frenchfries. Mrs. Boatwright had baked cookies for dessert.

Mrs. Boatwright smiled to think that her baby boy was showing such favor toward little Maya. She could see that Bubba liked her. She could tell by the way he had pleaded with her to allow Maya to stay until the Youth and Family Services could find a suitable home for her. Actually, Mrs. Boatwright enjoyed having Maya. She was indeed a sweet child. “Are you enjoying your meal, Maya?” Mrs. Boatwright asked. “Yes, ma’am.” “Well, after you’ve finished, we’ll have some oatmeal cookies, okay?” “Okay.” “Wait ’till you taste ’em. My mom’s the best cookie maker in the world,” said Bubba, smiling from ear to ear. Maya hung her head down and began to cry. Mrs. Boatwright rushed to her side and wiped her tears. “What is it, baby? Tell Mrs. Boatwright what’s the matter.” Sniff, sniff. “My mommy makes the best cookies in the world,” Maya pouted. “Oh, baby, I’m sure she does. I know you miss her, sweetheart. But this is just the way things are right now. It won’t be like this always. You’ll look up one day and you’ll be sitting across the table from your own mommy. You’ll see. Now try to finish your meal, so we can have our cookies, all right, sweetheart?” “Okay.” Maya tried to finish her dinner, but her heart just wasn’t in it. It was with her mother. At times, now that her mother was gone, she’d try to convince herself that Mercedes was just on one of her long runs, and that she was going to walk through those doors and take her home any minute. But of course, it never happened. Bubba would feel so helpless whenever his little sweetie cried. He wasn’t used to her tears or her sulkiness. She was always the bossy one in their friendship. But now the tears seemed to flow so frequently that it had begun to make him want to cry right along with her.

The tears had dried now, and the three of them continued their dinner when suddenly there came a knock on the front door. Mrs. Boatwright excused herself to answer it. Bubba and Maya remained at the table, but they heard and recognized the voices of the women who were now waiting in the living room. “Yes, we have come to place Maya, so if you would get her things, we will be on our way,” said one of the voices. “Ah, before you take her, may I ask you a question?” said Mrs. Boatwright. “Sure, but you have to make it quick. Her foster parents are expecting her soon, and it looks like a storm’s brewing,” said one of the social workers. “Yeah, we’ve had some violent weather lately. I wouldn’t want you to be caught in it. Well, about Maya… you see… there’s this one little problem. Maya likes it here. My son and I love having her. I mean, couldn’t I just take your classes and keep her while I attend? I guess what I’m trying to say is that we know her. She knows us. Can you please allow it just this one time? And I understand that you don’t normally do that sort of thing. But it’s for her that I’m asking this of you. She’s having a hard enough time as it is. It’s just going to be so difficult for her to go live with strangers,” said Mrs. Boatwright, praying that the answer would be yes. “I’m sorry, but we have court orders to take her this evening, Mrs. Boatwright. It’s literally out of our hands. You understand, don’t you?” “What I understand is that this is a business. It’s all about money. Well, I don’t want your money. I just want to keep some normalcy in this child’s life. Maya’s life has been torn apart. We know and love her. She’s familiar with our family and she loves us and loves being here.” “We’re so sorry, but like I said, we have court orders to remove her tonight, so if you would please go and get Maya, we’ll be on our way. It really looks bad out there, and we would like to beat the storm, so perhaps we’ll pick her things up another day, okay?” As it was, Mrs. Boatwright had no choice. She had to break little Maya’s heart yet one more time. She went to the kitchen to give Maya and Bubba the sad news, but to her

surprise, they were not there. Their dinner plates were still there, but the dish of cookies was gone. Mrs. Boatwright went throughout the house calling them, but there was no response to her call. She went back into the living room and told the social workers that the children must have gone outside. Both of the workers checked their watches. “You wait here. I’ll go out and get them,” said Mrs. Boatwright. Her gut feeling was telling her something she did not want to hear. Mrs. Boatwright knew that she was not going to be able to find the children outside. She could tell by the sight of the missing cookie plate. Plus, she knew her child and his appetite too well. Wherever they had gone, Bubba was preparing to stay for a while. Mrs. Boatwright went to the door and then looked around in the front yard. She did not see the children, but she did notice that the wind was starting up. She noticed the trees swaying from side to side. She noticed that the sky was quickly darkening. She pulled her sweater together around her neck and prayed that the children would be all right. After checking around the house and calling both of the children several times, she returned to give the shocking news to the two women. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t find the children anywhere, and I feel the storm coming on. It looks bad.” One of the social workers took her cell phone from her purse and dialed 911 while the other used her phone to call the court and reported Maya and Bubba missing. The policemen were there within minutes. After hearing the story that Mrs. Boatwright gave them about how much Maya wanted to remain in her home with Bubba, the policemen decided that this situation did not need an AMBER Alert, but that the children had indeed taken off on their own. They instructed the social workers and Mrs. Boatwright to call them if the children did not show up within 24 hours. When they all left, Mrs. Boatwright cried. She was worried for Maya and for her own child as well. She knew how much Maya meant to Bubba. He would do anything in the world for her. She suspected that he was calling himself her protector now. She thought about how the both of them had kneeled side by side last night to

say their prayers. She had been watching from the door. “Get on your knees like this,” said Maya. “Now put your hands together like this. “Now what do I do?” asked Bubba as he giggled a little because this was all new to him. “Don’t do that, Bubba! Don’t laugh, see, ’cause He won’t hear you if you laugh at Him.” “All right, all right, my bad. Okay, now what do I do?” asked Bubba again, trying to keep the giggles away. “Well, you just talk to Him. Tell Him thank you for watching over you. And thank Him for your mom and your brother.” “But my brother gets on my nerves.” “Bubba!” “Well, he does.” “Then ask Him to make him stop, Bubba.” “Thank you for my mother and my brother, and please make him stop being a pest to me.” “Now say, ‘Amen.’” “Amen! Maya, do you think that He really hears our prayers?” “Yeah, I think that He always listens when kids pray.” “But you pray to Him all the time, but He still let your momma get shot.” “Yeah, but she didn’t die.” “But He took you away from your home.” “That was so that I could spend time with you, Bubba. Bubba, you my bestest

friend in the whole wide world. I could stay here forever, well, at least until my mommy comes for me.” “Maya, I’ll always be your friend. And I’ll always protect you. I promise.” “I know you will, Bubba. I guess I had better go to my room now. I’ll see you in the morning.” Mrs. Boatwright eased out of the room to give the children their privacy and then went back in to tuck Bubba in after Maya had left. She smiled to see that her son had returned to his knees and asked God for just one more thing. “God,” he said, this time with no giggles. “Please bless my friend, Maya. You can let her stay here forever and ever if her mother doesn’t mind. God, please bring her smile back. I liked it when she smiled. Oh, and amen.”

Mrs. Boatwright reached for the phone to call Jarrow. That phone felt as heavy as her heart. Jarrow had left earlier that day. He and his girlfriend had tickets to see a Tyler Perry’s play, which Jarrow and his girlfriend had anticipated seeing. They had purchased the tickets two month in advance. They had second row seating, right in center stage. She hated to interrupt his date, but she needed him. When he arrived home, his mother knew he was upset about leaving in the middle of the play. “What that boy need is a belt on his behind, Mom.” “No, no, there are laws against that sort of thing anymore.” “I sure wished those laws were out when I was his age. Heck, I can still feel that strap whenever I even think about doing something wrong.” “Please, Jarrow, not now. They’ve been gone for a few hours now. I can’t imagine where they could have gone in such bad weather. He was only trying to help Maya. You know how close those two are. Those social workers frightened them. Maya didn’t want to leave with them. I know she didn’t. But right now, we need to find her and your brother before something terrible happens to them,” said Mrs. Boatwright. “Plus, it is getting bad out there. I don’t want my baby and that sweet child out there in this storm.” “Have you ever noticed how that boy has more women problems than me? Dang, he ain’t even in the second grade yet, and his nose is wide open for a babe. I’ll tell you, Mom, when I find his little butt, we’re going to have a long talk about women.” “Just go find them, Jarrow. It’s late and it’s dark, and they just babies. They must be scared to death!” Mrs. Boatwright said, thinking the worst. “Yeah right! He wasn’t scared enough not to go out there, tryin’ to impress some little babe. Wait ’til I find his little butt.” Mrs. Boatwright knew that Jarrow was more upset about ending his date and not

being able to get his money’s worth of the play than he was about looking for his little brother and Maya. But she knew that in time he would get over his anger. Meanwhile, in the backyard of Maya’s prior resident, up in the tree house, Maya and Bubba were getting a little chilly. And since Bubba hadn’t finished his dinner, his stomach began to sing that growling song. Luckily, Bubba had grabbed those cookies, and he used them to silence the growl. He noticed that Maya was shivering, so he offered his jacket. She accepted. “Bubba?” “What, Maya?” “I’m scared. Suppose there are wild animals out here?” “Don’t think like that, Maya. Think of it as camping out in your backyard. Camping out can be cool.” “I’ve never done that before. It just doesn’t seem right to sleep outside,” said Maya. “It could be a lot of fun. Me and my brother used to sleep out a lot. But when he got a girlfriend, he stopped doing fun things with me and stared doing fun things with her. I don’t think I like her.” “Bubba, it’s really dark out here,” said Maya. Just then, they heard an owl and the sound of dogs barking. They were sure the dogs knew they were in that tree house. Both of the children backed themselves into the corner. Bubba found the box that Maya kept in her little tree house. There were all sorts of survival items in it. Maya and Bubba were glad to find a flashlight in the box, but it provided inadequate lighting. Apparently, Mercedes had failed to add new batteries to the kit. Maya and Bubba held each other closely as it now appeared that a new sound had ed the symphony of night noises—crickets. To the kids, it sounded as if there were billions of them. And now all these sounds combined were horrifying.

It was the crickets that terrified them the most. They were convinced that in any second, they would be conquered by a hostile invasion of army crickets and be eaten alive by them. Outside at night in the dark with weird sounds was no place for kids. And Maya and Bubba were quickly learning this. The flashlight was losing its power so much that there was no use of even having it on. Bubba could not hide the fact that he too was afraid. And now the storm was upon them with thunder and lightning so aggressive that it could have terrified even the bravest adult. “Maya, I think that we should go back to the house. The state ladies should be gone by now. My mommy should be asleep. We can just sneak back in and sneak to our rooms. You wanna go?” “But she’ll call those state ladies, and they’ll come back and take me away, Bubba.” “We can’t stay here forever, Maya. We’ll be fine if we go back now. You’ll see.” They could take no more of the scary night sounds or the rain, thunder, and lightning. They were wrapped around each other now. It was the darkest they had ever seen. Finally, Maya agreed to go back to Bubba’s house. But when they pulled the door up to leave, they saw a shadowy figure of a man coming toward the tree house. He was struggling against the storm. “Quick, Bubba, close the door. Did you see that man?” “Shush, shush. Don’t say anything. Maybe he’ll go away,” said Bubba as they eased back inside the house. They were quiet, so quiet that they hardy allowed themselves to breathe. Then suddenly they heard someone climbing up the ladder. “Let’s sit on the door, Maya,” whispered Bubba. If ever there was a time that Maya welcomed Bubba’s chubbiness, it was now. They sat on the door, but still, even with the combined weight of both children, the door was forced opened. “He’s going to kill us!” cried Maya. “I don’t wanna die, Bubba.” “Shush, they don’t know we’re here. Just be quiet, Maya. Maybe they’ll go away,” Bubba whispered.

Whoever was pushing the door was doing a good job. Both Maya and Bubba fell off the door. Maya screamed as loud as she could. Bubba began to kick the man in the face as hard as he could. “Come on, Maya, kick!” Bubba shouted. “What the hell are you two doing in there? This is my place! Get out of there!” The children continued to kick the face of the intruder until the door slammed closed. Then there were voices. “Man, what are you doing? Get away from them!” “But you don’t understand! I don’t want any trouble. I just come here to sleep. That’s all. I didn’t know anybody was up there.” Bubba recognized the voice of the second person. It was Jarrow coming to rescue them, and boy was he glad to hear him. Apparently, the homeless man who was trying to get into the tree house in Maya’s backyard had been using the tree house as shelter ever since Maya and her mother had left. This time the children were happy to leave with Jarrow. They offered no fight and no mouth. Actually, any place was safer than the tree house, even to be given over to the state ladies.

CHAPTER 4

Kodjoe Jackson

Th at recurring dream, night after dreadful night, how long would he suffer this traumatic experience? He could not escape it even after five whole years. For some, it might have been perceived as pleasurable to dream of one’s deceased loved one. But for Mr. Kodjoe Jackson, it had become a never-ending nightmare. Yes, when they had first started, he had welcomed them. There was nothing better than being able to see her beautiful face again, holding her in his strong, loving arms, kissing her, even making love with her at times. But because the dreams seemed so real, it made him think that life had never changed. At times, he would awake to reality and find that she was truly gone forever. Then there were other times when just before he was fully awake, he would actually see her, smell her perfume, or hear her calling his name from a distance, and most often he would answer. Mr. Kodjoe Jackson was a strong, handsome man and a responsible father. And although he was not a Christian, he was a decent man; you could say that he was a mench. People looked up to him. He was well respected. Whenever he was made aware of one’s problems or hardships, his conversation with them was that of a comforting and encouraging nature. He was that person who’d anonymously place food baskets on the doorsteps of needy families or place an envelope with a hundred dollar bill in the mailbox if he knew someone was struggling financially. He always showed comion. The single women who had the pleasure of knowing him thought he’d be a good catch. And most did all but threw themselves at his feet, but his heart had been imprisoned by just one woman—his deceased wife, Angelina. Being a single father of three growing boys, Kodjoe tried his damndest to present himself as an example to them. He never wanted his boys to think of some other male figure as their role model. If Kodjoe had anything to do with it,

no one else was going to take credit for how his sons turned out but him. He taught them to respect themselves as well as other. “Don’t bully,” he’d tell them. “But never allow anyone to take advantage of you! Always stand up for what you know is right and decent, and never waver on it. It shows integrity when a man stands on his word. But most importantly, sons, always stay clear of drugs,” he’d tell them. He’d actually grill the boys almost every morning before leaving for school on what they should do if ever confronted by someone offering drugs. The only joy in his life came from his sons. His oldest boy, eight-year-old Kodjoe Junior, who was referred to as, KJ, was the exemplified big brother, often helping his father with getting his younger brothers ready for school or simply teaching them about things he had already learned himself. He looked after his younger brothers and had actually taken pleasure in his position as big brother. Essentially, KJ was his only son who had ed Angelina, although Kodjoe could not understand how since KJ was only three and a half when his mother ed. KJ had been in therapy for two and a half years, trying to understand why his mother had to die. Therapy helped him. It was strange how Kodjoe understood and trusted therapy for his son, but for himself, there was no possible way that it could bring him peace out of his confused mind. Terrence, who was seven and the middle son, was the one who most reminded Kodjoe of his wife. He had her hair, her complexion, and her jovial disposition. He was also the prankster of the family. Luckily for his dad and brothers, his pranks were all in good taste. Just like his mother, he was so buoyant that he wanted everyone around him to be happy too. Even at age seven, he understood when his dad was feeling down. So he would do a magic trick or tell his dad a funny joke to spry him up a bit. Kodjoe knew what Terrence was trying to do, so he’d just play along not to hurt his son’s feelings. But in Kodjoe’s private time, he’d return to what he morbidly enjoyed—the safety and comfort of his depression; in a strange way, that melancholy demeanor felt good to him. The boys kind of took as much care of their father as he did of them. The youngest, little Randy, who was five, took his position as baby of the family very seriously. He was a very playful child, still lost in his innocence. His imagination was his best friend. So whenever his older brothers did not have time to play with him, he’d conjure up an imaginary friend and enjoy himself all the same. Randy never knew his mother, so being without her never bothered

him the least. He was just fine with his father and brothers.

It had been fifteen minutes since the alarm had went off, and now the snoozer was giving him a second chance not to be late for work. He hit the off bottom and sat up on the side of the bed. The thought of seeing a therapist seemed inevitable had he not convinced himself that there was no such pill or power of words a therapist could give or say to stop the dreams. He felt that it was enough that one family member was seeing a shrink. He sat there thinking about the dream. It had started as always—Angelina in her bedroom preparing for her wedding, with her mother and maid of honor helping her get ready. “Oh, Momma, I love him so much. I love him with every bit of my being. He is so kind and smart too.” “And handsome with some big bucks in his pocket,” added her friend Charlene. “You know that’s right, girl,” said Angelina. “We gon’ be all ’ight.” Her mother, Cynthia, continued fixing her hair and makeup and taking time out just to stand back and ire her only daughter. “Yes,” she said, “Kodjoe’s a good man. You know, when you got father’s approval, you should have known then that you found someone special. Your dad sets high standards when it comes to his little girl.” “Yeah, but she ain’t Daddy’s little girl no more. She’s about to become, Mrs. Kodjoe Jackson,” sang Charlene. Suddenly, Angelina became sad and Cynthia and Charlene picked up on it. “Aw, girl, what’s the matter?” asked Charlene. “You look like you’re about to cry.” “It’s nothing.” Sniff, sniff. “Look at you, baby,” said Mrs. Cynthia. “A-o-w-l, you are crying? Why the tears, baby? I don’t understand. You have every reason in the world to be happy. What is it, honey? Tell Momma what’s going on.”

Angelina looked at Charlene. Charlene got the message. “Okay, okay. I get it. This is one of those mother daughter-moments. Hey look, I’ll ah, go downstairs and make sure everything’s okay down there. Hang in there, girl. Everything’s going to be all right, you’ll see. I know you’re gonna handle this, Mrs. Cynthia. Whatever it is.” Charlene whispered to Mrs. Cynthia before leaving the room. “Can’t see how the chil’ could be upset. Shoot, wish I could find me a man like him. I’ll show y’all how tah be happy up in here. Only tears anybody would see on my face would be tears of joy!” After Charlene left the room, Mrs. Cynthia and Angelina sat on the bed. She took her daughter’s hand in hers and asked her to tell her what was bothering her. “Mom, like I was saying, I love him so much. If you only knew what I felt for him, you’d understand. What if, say, five or ten years down the road, he decides that he doesn’t love me anymore? I couldn’t bear ever losing him, not to divorce, death, or anything.” “Well, baby, you’re old enough to know that there are no guaranties in life. Life can change in a blink of an eye, for better or worse. But you and Kodjoe were made for each other. That man loves you as much as you love him. Trust me, Momma knows. You know what?” “What, Momma?” Mrs. Cynthia pushed her daughter’s hair away from her eyes and then patted her face with a tissue so not to mess up her makeup. She then smiled at her daughter and said, “I love the way young people love. There’s nothing in the world like the love of the young. Hold on to it as long as you can, sweetheart. Being able to love like that is a special gift from God. You’d be surprised at how many people never get to experience that feeling.” By that time Kodjoe was entering the room. He saw the tears in Angelina’s eyes. “You can’t come in here! Kod, you shouldn’t see the bride before the wedding. It’s bad luck—don’t you know that!” “It’s okay, Momma. I need to talk with him.”

“You sure, baby?” asked her mother. She shook her head yes. Mrs. Cynthia left, but not before saying something about bad luck again. “What is it, baby? I can see that something is bothering you. Now tell your husband what’s the matter?” Kodjoe asked, now with his arms around her. “Charlene said you were up here crying.” “Charlene’s gotta big mouth.” “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” “I can’t tell you,” she said while squeamishly wiggling because now he was smooching on her neck. “You might think I’m silly.” “I promise I won’t.” “You cross you heart and hope to die?” she said, sounding more like a child than a woman. “Yes, I cross my heart and hope to d—” “No, don’t, don’t do that!” she yelled. “I changed my mind. I don’t want you say that because I couldn’t stand it if anything should ever happen to you.” “Okay. I feel the same way about you. So what are we talking about here?” “Well, I was just concerned, you know, about, well, Kod, what if one day you find yourself tired of me? I mean, I’ve seen it a million times, where fathers just up and walk out on their wives and children. And you know why, Kod? All for a piece of ass. And they’ll have a perfectly fine piece of ass at home.” “Stand up, baby,” he said. “Now turn around.” She did as he asked. He checked out her behind. “Now that’s a fine piece of ass. Nope,” he said, “I’ll never leave that.” She still wasn’t satisfied. She had a serious look upon her face, and he knew that she needed to be convinced. “Aw, baby, you know I was just playing with you. You know how much I love you, Angelina. And yeah, your ass is fine and all that, but you mean more to me than that. You don’t understand, do you? Baby, I have loved you in my own way

even before you agreed to date me. Heck, my friend was laughing at me, telling me that I was a cabbage head. But I felt sort of sorry for them because I knew that I was the lucky one. I had hit the jackpot when I found you. A love like ours only comes once in a lifetime, Angelina. When you said that we could see each other, I felt like I had hit the million-dollar lottery. And let me tell you something, I will always love and respect you. I will love you while you carry our babies. I’ll love you through PMS by buying you get-well cards and flowers until you get over it. I will love you when you grow old and gray. And when gravity finds itself in your life, I will know my place in your life as well. We’re in this thing for the long haul, baby. I won’t just listen to you in our marriage, I’ll make it a point to hear you. See, I’m one of the very few men who understand what committed love is. So will you please come on downstairs so we can get started on them babies?” With that she was beyond convinced. Kodjoe often thought that maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t seen her in her wedding dress before the wedding as his mother-in-law had stated, that it would have made a difference.

“Dad, come on, we’re going to be late for school!” yelled KJ. Kodjoe hadn’t realized that it had gotten to be so late. He went into his bathroom and stared at his refection in the mirror and wondered if he could get away with not shaving that morning. Lately, he did not have the energy to do things the way he used to. It seemed that the dreams were like living a second life—one all night long with his wife and one during the day with his job and his sons. KJ called again, telling his father that his coffee was ready. He thanked God for KJ being his right-hand man. What would he do without him? Raising three young boys as a single father had proven to be quite an arduous task lately, yet still, it was because of the boys that he held on to his sanity. He thought about trying to date again, not so much for his sake, but to try and find a woman to mother his sons. Of course he would have to love her to some extent, but he knew that his heart would forever be indebted to his deceased wife. But the boys needed balance in their live—a father and a mother. The problem was he just did not have it in him to put an effort into finding a wife. Even his mother-in-law, Cynthia, would encourage him to date. He would often cut those conversations short, not wanting her or anyone else in his business, but especially his head. It was enough having to put up with his deceased wife taking up space there. His friends, family, and co-workers thought of him as a strong man, not just in body, but in mind as well. They’d often praise him, assuming he had been able to bounce back after Angelina’s death. He put up a big front. On the surface all looked well. That was how he wanted them to think of him. They never knew that it was all a big lie, and that the man was literally falling apart right before their eyes. That was another thing that was overwhelming him—the facade. Keeping it up in the presence of others was beginning to weigh him down as well. Sometimes he could not wait until he had gotten home just to be himself. He hated whenever his sons would asked that question, which came up much too often—why their mother had to die—because it was the very question he had asked God many times since her death.

An appearance, that’s what it was all about, keeping up appearances. Don’t let them catch you with your guard down or your jaws hanging and your heart hurting or the tear in the corner of your eyes. It may result in losing your children to someone that the state thinks is more appropriate than you. So fake it until you make it. That’s just what Kodjoe was doing. He knew he was on the edge, and all it took was a simple tap, not even a push, to take him over and lose everything he had worked for. The dreams were doing this to him, the dreams and the fact that he could not get over his wife’s death. But he had to remain strong, not for himself, but for his boys. They did not deserve to lose their father to the psych ward. But Lord knows it was taking everything inside of him to hold it together. Lately, other than the company of his sons, his job was the only other thing that kept him going. He did not like being around the people, but he loved his job. At work, he could keep himself busy, at least for eight hours. Being a computer analyst, his undivided attention was required. At work, his mind was on separating the computers into its constituent parts and then giving accurate assessment or explanation of them. He was the best in the business, and the proof was seen in his paycheck. Time heals all wounds is what they say. At least, that’s what had been said to Kodjoe whenever he got the courage to bring forth a bit of his true feelings. It was evidence that time was not on his side because as time went on, his problem worsened. The phone rang just as he was about to check on the boys. It was his best friend, Michael. “Yo, dawg, what’s up?” said Michael. “Hey, man, not much. ’Bout to go out here, see what my boys are up to.” “Look, Kod, I didn’t mean to call you so early, but it’s been like pulling teeth lately trying to reach you. Man, I was about to put you on the absent list. I know you’ve gotten my messages. Done left you ’bout five of ’em in the last two months. But you never call back. What’s up, man? You all ’ight?”

“Man, you know, the boys, the job. I’ve been really busy lately.” “Kod, that a bunch of bull. You couldn’t take a minute to call a brotha back?” “Like I said, I’ve been busy! Look, man, I’ve got to get my boys to their grandma’s so they won’t be late for school. I’ll hit you up later.” Kodjoe hung up before Michael could get to the, “you’ve gotta get out more often” conversation or the “you just need some” conversation, which is the way the conversation usually went. “Good morning, boys,” Kodjoe said to his sons as he entered the kitchen. “You guys about ready to leave?” “Almost,” said KJ as he handed Kodjoe his coffee. “Daddy, I asked Terrence to tie my sneakers, but he won’t. Make him tie ’em, Daddy,” complained Randy. “Terrence, give your brother a hand, will yah?” “Daddy, I’ve been teaching him for a month now, and he still can’t do it. I don’t think he’s trying.” “Am too. I just can’t do it. Daddy would you do it please?” Kodjoe sat his son upon his knee and tied his son’s sneaker. “You know, Randy, if you want to grow up to be big and strong like your old man, you are going to have to learn to do this yourself. Do you realize how funny it would look if your dad had to tie your shoes when reach my age?” KJ and Terrence fell over laughing, thinking how ridiculous it would be to see Randy as a man asking for help to tie his shoes. Not liking to be laughed at, Randy begun to cry. “Come on, guys. Don’t make fun of your little brother. Just to keep it real, you two did not learn to tie your shoes until you were much older than him. KJ, you once hid your strings just so you didn’t have to learn to tie them. Man, you had me buying shoestrings every other day. And, Terrence, you tried to flush your

sneaker down the toilet because you refuse to have any part of tying shoes.” Now it was Randy’s turn to laugh. “Really, Dad?” said KJ. “Me and Terrence actually did that?” “That’s word, man,” said Kodjoe. “See, boys, everybody’s got a fish of their own to deal with.” “Everybody’s got a stinky fish? Dad, can you break that down in our language please?” asked KJ. “What I’m sayin’, son, is everybody’s got some problems that they have to work on and overcome. You guys are only dealing with little gold fish right now, like tying your shoelaces and doing your school work, things like that. But when you get my age, you’ll encounter whales to deal with. Understand what I’m saying?” “I think you’re saying that the older we get, the harder life gets,” answered KJ. “You got it, son. Now, did you guys have breakfast?” They all answered yes. “And do you all have your homework?” “Yes,” they answered again. “Dad, your coffee!” shouted KJ. “Make sure that the pot’s off, son. Daddy’s not going to have time this morning to finish it. I’ll get some at work. You guys have your book bags in the car?” “Yes, sir.” “Okay, let’s go. Your grandma will be worried if you guys are two minutes late.” Once they were all in the car Kodjoe asked, “What’s the one thing you will never compromise on, boys?” “Our views on drug abuse!” all of the boys shouted proudly. “And what are your views on drugs, boys?”

“Only dopey people do dope!” “And what will you do with your drug free-lives, sons?” “Get an education!” shouted KJ. “Become a lawyer!” shouted Terrence. “I’ma be the next African American president of the United States of America!” shouted little Randy, folding his arms across his chest as if the gesture was making his answer official. Kodjoe pulled up to his mother-in-law’s driveway about eight-thirty. Mrs. Cynthia and her husband, James, were sitting on the front porch catching the cool October breeze. The boys bailed out the Durango and ran to their grandmother, receiving their hugs and kisses. James invited Kodjoe in for a cup of coffee and then asked about the game that played that Sunday. He had actually recorded it to rub Kodjoe’s nose in it. The Red Skins had beaten the Cowboys by twenty points. He declined, making it known to his father-in-law that he was already late for work. “Yeah, I know how it is when your team loses. I bet me and Cynthia can get out there and do a better job than those Cowboys. Hey, I got it, why don’t they change their name to the Cowgirls? Then men wouldn’t care if they win or lose as long as they can watch ’em play.” Kodjoe laugh. “One game, Pops, one game. We’ve got the whole season to go through, yet.” At that time, Kodjoe’s brother-in-law, Larry, came to the door. “Hey, bro’, how about a ride this morning?” Larry asked, coming out of his parent’s house. Something told Kodjoe that he had spent the night there. Perhaps it was that desperate look on his face. “I know you had better hurry up, man. I’m running late.” Everyone said their good-byes, and Larry jumped in the Durango.

“So where to, man? I hope it’s on the way. Otherwise I won’t be able to help yah.” “Yeah, man, in fact, I’m on my way to your job. They called me for an interview yesterday.” “Really? I wasn’t aware that there were any openings.” “Well, actually, it’s a mail room position. Hey, man, I’ll take any position I can get. Since I’ve been laid off, I can’t find anything. You know, I chilled for a while, but after a few months I guess Juanita got tired of me hanging around the house.” “It’s bad, huh?” “Bad! Man, my wife ain’t no joke. Hell, she done stop cooking, done stop talking to me, which I can deal with ’cause you know how she can run her mouth. I kinda enjoy the peace in the house.” They both laughed a little. “But I think she done stop loving me ’cause she stopped—well, you know. “No way, man.” “Yeah, It’s amazing the power that thing carries.” “So, they finally called you for an interview, huh? What’s it been, two, three months since you applied?” Kodjoe asked. “Man, I applied three and a half months ago. I guess better late than never, huh? I didn’t realize how hard it was out here trying to find a job. If I don’t get this job, I’m going to Washington and stand on the White House lawn with a picket sign and demand me a position in the Oval Office.” They both laughed again. “What? You don’t think that Obama will help a brotha out?” “Man, now you know Barack ain’t even tryin’ tah hear that shit. The economy is bad. I mean anybody who has a job is lucky as hell. I’ll tell yah one thing, I plan on retiring from this gig,” said Kodjoe. “Hey, man, eventually people gon’ be out here holding up employers; talking ’bout, give me a job and nobody’ll get hurt,” Michael said.

Kodjoe laughed and said, “Man, you crazy as all hell!” “Hey, dawg, desperate times cause for desperate measures. Know what I’m sayin’? And by the way, Kod, if I’m hired, you mind taking me in until I get insurance on my ride. It was one of the few things we had to let go after I was laid off. Wasn’t no sense payin’ for insurance for two cars if you were only going to be driving one. Brother, times are rough out here! Recession, recession, recession, I hate that damn word!” “I know what you’re sayin’. No problem, man. You can count on me until you get yourself straight.” It was quiet now in the car as they rode to work until Larry did the unmentionable. Kodjoe looked over at Larry and could not believe his eyes. “Man, what the hell are you doing?” “Just getting a little hit before the interview, calms my nerves. Know what I’m sayin’?” “No, man, I don’t know what you’re sayin’. Larry, put that shit away. And man, don’t be bringing that shit in my car. If you gotta be doing that, you need to find another way to work. Man, I got kids! I don’t want my boys exposed to that shit.” “All ’ight, man. All ’ight! Putting it away.” “Man, I thought you stopped all that shit years ago,” said Kodjoe. “You mean when you used to do it with me?” “Man, we were in high school then. And uh, speaking for myself, I was just going through a phase. And by the way, man, it was just marijuana then,” said Kodjoe. “I ain’t never sniffed nothing up my damn nose.” “Marijuana, coke, dope, it’s all the same,” said Larry. “Whatever floats your boat.” “I don’t think so, Larry. I have never seen anybody lose everything behind smoking a t.”

“Well, different strokes for different folks, they say.” “Larry, you ever thought that just maybe that’s why you’re having trouble with your wife? You couldn’t find a job, but you can lie around all day doing coke?” “See, man, it ain’t even like that. She doesn’t know anything about this. I get my groove on while she’s at work. Shit, if she knew I was getting’ high, she would have kicked my broke-ass out months ago.” Kodjoe looked at Larry, thinking how stupid he sounded and how much he detested any association with drugs. He had worked hard to keep his sons clear of such things. He had worked hard to maintain the lifestyle he had provided for himself and his boys. Even associating with a drug could be detrimental to his health and livelihood. And now, Kodjoe understood that desperate look that Larry was sporting at his parents’ house. “Anyhow, I can stop any time I want to,” added Larry. “Just don’t want to right now.” “Man, how can you afford that stuff on a budget?” asked Kodjoe. “Well, my brotha, a man’s got his sources, which I refuse to divulge.” “Look, do what you got to do, man, just not in my car or around my boys. Got it?” Kodjoe thought, You selfish son of a bitch! “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it. But I’ll have to tell you, Kod, I’m convinced that if I didn’t have a little hit every now and again, I probably would have went crazy around there listening to Juanita nagging me all the time about, ‘You gotta find a job. You gotta fine a job. You found a job yet?’ I’ll tell you, man, just a couple of toots a day kept the nagging away. It was as if she wasn’t even there. It helps me cope when she nags me. That’s all it’s about.” Larry looked at Kodjoe. He seemed distant. “Man, you okay?” Larry asked. Kodjoe just continued staring straight ahead. “Earth to Kod. Man, where you at?” “Oh, sorry, man. I was just thinking about some things.”

Kodjoe wanted to tell Larry what his life had been like for the last five years, but wasn’t sure if it was cool. Larry the coke addict, what advice could he give Kodjoe? But on the other hand, Larry was family, and Kodjoe knew that he needed to open up to someone. “I mean, everything’s okay, isn’t it, man? You got a problem with the boys or something. You know, if you needed some time to yourself or something, the boys can always stay with me and Juanita for a while. And, man, you don’t have to worry about the coke. I wouldn’t put my nephews’ life in jeopardy like that.” “No, no, man, ain’t nothing like that,” said Kodjoe. “You know, man, there’s something I’ve always wanted to say to you ever since my sister’s death. I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you. Kod, man, I’ve always ired you, man. I mean, the way you just snapped back after she ed. I know it was heard for you, being a single dad and all. I gotta say, you certainly have kept things together. Actually man, I wish I could be more like you. Everybody’s out here crutching on something, dope, coke, alcohol, but not you, man. You just live life on life’s . See, I don’t think that I could deal with myself if anything was to happen to my wife. I know I talk a lot of smack about her nagging, but I still love her. I know I’m an asshole of a man sometimes, but she’s a good woman. In all fairness, she’s the one who’s been keeping thing together since I lost my job. Actually, she has every right to do a little nagging at me. That’s why I’m out here tryin’ tah get my shit in order now. ’Cause, man, if anything ever happens to my baby, I would probably be doing more than a few snorts a day. I would probably be doing all that shit. But you, man, you just handle stuff. That’s cool, man. That’s cool as hell.” Suddenly Kodjoe pulled the car out of traffic, resulting in hitting the curb. Larry looked startled. “It’s all a lie, man, okay? A big freakin’ lie!” “Ah, excurse me?” said Larry, looking a bit perplexed. “I said my life’s a lie. I got problems just like everybody else.” “Like what, Kod? I’ve been checking you out. From what I know, your bills are paid. You and the boys aren’t hungry. You been on the same job since you left college. What? What’s your problem?” “If you must know, Larry, I want what you got.”

“What, man?” “Wife.” “Wife? You mean you want Juanita?” asked Larry, looking at Kodjoe some kind of way. “No, man, my wife, your sister. Larry, man, I miss her so much. I’m going to tell you, man, sometimes I actually feel like I can’t go on without her.” “But you have, man. And you’ve done well, I’d say.” “No, see, there’s where you’re wrong. I’m not doing well. I’m not doing well at all. Larry, man, some days it takes every bit of energy I have just to start my day. Some days, I just say what’s the use, but I think about my boys. If it was not for my boys, I think I would have checked out long ago. It’s been hard living without her, man. And I know that it’s been five years, but it still feels like yesterday. It’s like this grieving thing is like having a disease, like having cancer, ’cept it’s not destroying my body, it’s eating away at my mind.” Finally Kodjoe broke down. The tears couldn’t be stopped even if he tried with all his might. This was not a sniffling mewl; this was a wholehearted boohoo cry. Up until now, he had never shared his feelings; his manhood would not allow him to. However, he desperately needed to get this off his mind. “Wow, Kod, I didn’t know, I mean, I really didn’t know,” was all that Larry could say. “Look, man”—sniff—sniff. “I’m sorry. I, I’m really sorry. I’ve never done this before. I don’t even know where that came from. I mean, we don’t cry, right? Ain’t that what they say, real men don’t cry? Nothing scares us. We have all the answers. We make everything all right for our families. That’s what we do, right, dawg?” He took a hankie, wiped his face, and blew his nose. Larry felt a bit vulnerable himself and did not know how to respond. All he could think was that Kodjoe had really blown his high. “Listen, man, if it’s any consolation to you, I’ve felt the way you do right now many times,” confessed Larry.

“Yeah, man?” “Sure, man,” said Larry, while thinking, But I run to a closet or somewhere before I allow anyone to see me breakdown and cry like a baby. Larry knew that he needed to say something, comforting, something intelligent. He needed to say something to help his brother-in-law. But what could he possibly say to him that would help him at this precise time? “Man, have you ever thought of seeing someone, you know, like a grief counselor or something?” “It ain’t that serious, dawg,” Kodjoe answered, trying to put some bass in his voice. “No? I don’t know, man. It seems serious enough to me. I mean, you talkin’ about checkin’ out and shit. That’s some serious shit to me.” “I’m telling you, I don’t need no head hunter. And look, Larry, keep this to yourself, will yah? And by the way, I’m sure there are things you don’t want Juanita to know. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Yeah, man, I gotcha. But I never thought you’d turn to blackmail, dawg.” “Man, it’s just that it’s important to me that this conversation stays right here. I’ll work this out somehow, on my own, though.” They finally arrived at work. When Larry unbuckled his seatbelt, his bag of coke fell onto the seat. Neither Kodjoe nor Larry saw it. Kodjoe directed Larry to the personnel office, and he went to his office. Once there, he exhaled. He tried to get into his work, but it seemed that today Angelina’s presence was closer than it had ever been. Perhaps it was because he had been so open with Larry that morning. Funny thing was as much as he had loved her, he wished that she would just leave him the hell alone. His mind went back to Larry and thought how someone should just scoop up all the drug addicts all over the world and then dump their asses in a landfill somewhere, his brother-in-law’s as well. Finally, he leaned his head back and folded his hands on top of his head and closed his eyes. Just need not to think, he tried to convince himself.

But as he tried to clear his mind, he found that there was no shaking her from it. It was a sweet thought, which had turned sour.

“It’s another boy!” Kodjoe shouted. “I know you were wishing for a girl this time, sweetheart, but I’m cool with another son. Soon we’re going to have our own little football team.” “Let me hold him, Kod,” said Angelina. “Oh, he’s a little cutie pie. He has your feet though. My Goodness, he has more feet than body!” “Well, you know what that means. He’s going to make some mother’s daughter very happy someday,” “Oh, Kod, he’s just a baby. I don’t want to think of my little baby like that,” she said in baby talk. After Kodjoe received the baby he noticed Angelina rubbing her arm. “What’s the matter, honey, was the baby too heavy for you?” he asked. “Nooo. It’s just, my arm, it really hurts.” “You think I should call the nurse, babe?” “Oh, don’t be silly, Kod. I’m sure it will go away in a minute.” She continued rubbing her arm while Kodjoe ired their third son. He sat in the rocker, gently rubbing his new son’s hair while singing a lullaby. “I just love that new baby smell, honey. It’s like when you buy a new car, and there’s nothing like that new car smell. They say when the smell ends, it’s time to get another new car. Ha ha! Honey, do you think that that’s when we should have another baby when the new baby smell goes away? Honey? Angelina did not answer. Kodjoe assumed that she was asleep. “Shush, little man, Mommy’s got to get her beauty sleep, and Daddy’s got to go home and check on your big brothers. Wait ’til you meet those guys. You’re going to love ’em,” he whispered to little Randy. He took the baby to the nursery and began walking back to kiss his wife goodbye. As he walked back to his wife’s room he heard the loudspeaker

announce, “Code Blue, Maternity. Code Blue, Maternity. Code Blue, Maternity.” He stepped aside so that the many doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists and whoever else could get by. He’d hope that the racket hadn’t wakened his wife as he made his way back to her room. When Kodjoe returned to the maternity unit, a nurse was standing at the door. She told him that no one was allowed on the unit because there was a code going on. “Please,” he said. “I just want to say goodnight to my wife. I promise I won’t be long.” “Sir, which room is your wife’s, and what is her name?” “She’s in 317, and her name is Angelina Jackson. She’s probably asleep, at least she was before I left to take our son to the nursery. I just want to leave her a little note, okay? I’ll only be a moment. I promise.” “You’re Mr. Jackson?” “Yes.” “Okay, sir, wait right here and someone will come here to speak with you in a minute.” “No, see, you don’t understand. I don’t need to talk to anyone. All I want to do is say good night to my wife. Why would I need to speak to anyone?” His answer came before the nurse even opened her mouth. He saw it in her eyes. The Code Blue was for Angelina. Something was wrong with his wife! “Ah, excuse me, sir, but you can’t go in there yet. Sir!” The nurse’s words fell on deaf ears. He ran past the nurse, down the hall to Angelina’s room. When he reached her room, he pushed the medical team aside, resulting in knocking over the armamentarium of medical instruments, causing them to crash to the floor. He never even heard the crash; all he saw was that it was too late. Angelina was gone. A heart attack had stolen his one true love. At that time, it felt as if his own soul had abandoned his body. Weakness fell upon him. Unable to control himself, Kodjoe fell to his knees then to his face. If not

for the nurses who helped him up, he probably would have stayed there forever. That was five years ago. But to him, it was still like yesterday.

“Why the hell can’t I move on?” he shouted. “Excuse me?” Kod looked up from his desk and saw his boss, Mr. Wright, at his office door. “Oh, ah, nothing, sir, I was just—ah.” He throw his hands up as to surrender. “Talking to myself, sir.” “You do that sort of thing often, Jackson?” “Well, no, sir, just got a few things on my mind.” “You know, Jackson, you’re one of the top analysts we have here. Corporate won’t do business with anyone except you. They love your work, man. They trust you.” “Thank you, sir.” “So how are the boys? Are they doing all right?” “They’re doing just fine, Mr. Wright. Thanks for asking.” “And, ah, how’s their father.” “Their fa—ah, that’s me. I’m okay, sir.” He chuckled a little, hoping his boss would find it amusing as well. “Mr. Jackson, when was the last time you’ve taken a vacation?” “I guess, uh, maybe three years ago.” “Three years ago. Ah, Jackson, I’ve just a few words for you—three month off, with pay. Mandatory! Schedule soon. You got me?” “Ah, sir, but I really don’t think that’s necessary.” “I don’t stutter, Jackson. And I know that I’m not dealing with insubordination, am I?”

“Ah, no, sir.” “Good, take a vacation. Go home. Put your feet up. Spend some time with the boys. We’ll be all right without you for a minute. Hell, man, you deserve some time off. And by the way, if you’re going to continue talking to yourself, keep your door closed.” Mr. Wright closed Kodjoe’s office door as he left. “Damn! Three months of just sitting around doing nothing, except think about Angelina. Sick of this shit! I’ve got to get some help.” Kodjoe saw that he wasn’t going to get any work done and decided to take an early lunch. As he left his office, he wondered how his brother-in-law had made out with his interview. He had second thoughts about Larry working there even if it was a mailroom position. That cocaine thing could get Larry in a lot of trouble. Hopefully, if he gets the job, perhaps he’d keep the fact that they were related to himself, just in case. Yeah, they had smoked marijuana in high school, but who hadn’t tried a t or two in their high school days? All Kodjoe ed about smoking jays was how hungry it had made him. He laughed and shook his head from side to side to think how he had once consumed twenty-seven hot cakes after smoking with Larry once as a teenager. Those were some crazy-ass days, he thought to himself. A feeling of gratitude flushed though his whole being as he thought about how grateful he was that he had stopped at the marijuana. So many of his high school and college friends were not as fortunate as he; they had gone on to other drugs and were either still out there struggling or dead. As he ed the receptionist at the front desk, he let her know that he could be reached by cell phone if anyone should need him. He walked to his car, opened the door, and exhaled. It was a relief to be alone. There, if he yelled at his dead wife, himself, or at God for allowing him to go through such torment, no one would question his sanity. He went to reach in his glove compartment. There was papers in there that he had meant to look over but had never gotten the time. As he reached to open the glove compartment, he saw the bag of cocaine that Larry did not know he had dropped.

“This is what the hell I’m talking about! Suppose my boys were in here and found this shit!” Kodjoe angrily yelled. Suddenly, he realized that he was talking to himself again because Larry certainly could not hear him. Out of anger, he picked up the bag and commenced to throw it out the window. But no, he did not want the campus cameras to catch him in the act of tossing the bag just in case it was discovered later. There was so much coke in the bag that he did not want all that white powder all over the parking lot. The bag was heavy. Kodjoe did not know anything about the weight of coke, but he was sure that there was enough of it in the bag to keep Larry coping with his wife for about a couple of weeks, depending on how addicted he was. He thought that perhaps he should take it back in with him and flush it down the toilet. But no, not that either. He did not want to be caught with the bag. After all, it wasn’t even his stuff. It would have really looked bad if he’d gotten caught and had gotten fired for someone else’s shit. Kodjoe couldn’t understand why would Larry bring this much coke with him in the first place? Shit, I hope they don’t hire his ass. That’s all I need, is for him to get caught with this shit and then have everyone looking at me as if I was the one with the damn drug problem. I’ve got enough shit on my head than to babysitter some grown assman. Stupid ass! He started his car and proceeded out the parking lot. Down the road a bit he saw a trash can in front of a convenience store not too far from his job. He pulled in and was glad to see that there were no other cars parked there. Let me get rid of this mess before my sons get a hold of it. It’s a good thing that I was the one who found it and not my boys or I would be all up in Larry’s black ass! Kodjoe did not feel sorry for Larry for losing the bag. As far as he could see, he was doing him a huge favor. Kodjoe grabbed a newspaper from the backseat and wrapped the plastic bag containing the coke in it. He opened the car door to discard the illegal substance, but something stopped him. He began to hear Larry’s words running through his mind. Helps me cope. Helps me cope. Helps me cope. He looked around the parking lot to see if anyone was present. The lot was still clear. He took just a tiny bit of the coke and snorted it. He lay back to see what effects it would have on him. Basically, he felt no difference. So he took another and another and yet another, then waited again to see if anything had changed.

Funny thing was that there was a change, but he could not quite put his hands on what had changed. He did feel his tongue numbing up on him but thought it had to be more to it than that. One thing for sure, he wasn’t hungry for an early lunch anymore. He decided to take a ride to the dock of the Delaware River. It wasn’t as nice as the Atlantic Ocean, but there was something about being near the water that soothed his soul. He looked out as far as he could see. Thought about how peaceful the waters seemed. And at the same time how powerful it could be as well. To him, the water reminded him of the zodiac sign Gemini. It could be relaxing, comforting, and peaceful, a place where absolute serenity abode, with no trouble or tribulation as far as you could see. But given the right weather condition, it could turn into a violent, ferocious, aggressively brutal, disastrous thing, leaving fatalities of everyone in its path and total destruction of every inanimate and animate object. The two faces of the twin seem to cover everything about the ocean which is positive and negative. This evoked feelings of his own life, the two he was living. His life was similar to the two-faced ocean, except that the two lives of the ocean were real–every aspect of it. He decided to return to work. Once there, he stepped out of the car and thought he’d felt a little something but still could not quite say what it was. Ironically, he was able to get through the rest of the day and hadn’t even realized that not one time did Angelina enter his mind. At the end of his shift, he walked past the receptionist whistling a little tune. “Somebody’s feeling good today, huh, Mr. Jackson?” He looked at her and gave her a wink. “Have a good weekend, Patricia,” he said flirtatiously then wondered what was it she saw in him that made her say what she had said. How did she know that he was feeling good? It wasn’t until he had reached his car did he notice that he really had not thought of Angelina. And yes, he did feel good.

He put the key in the ignition and begans to pull off, but before he could leave the parking lot, he saw Larry running toward the car, waving his arms like a crazy man. Kodjoe let his window down to see why this fool was acting the way he was. “Hey, man, can yah hold up for a minute?” Larry shouted. “What’s up, man? Did you get the job?” asked Kodjoe. “Yeah, I’ll start next week, providing I the drug test. You’ll pick me up from Mom’s when you drop off the boys, right?” “Man, you’re not going to believe this, but my boss just gave me a couple of months off. Seems he thinks I need a vacation. But hey, you need a ride home now?” “Ah, no, man, Juanita came for me. That girl’s happy as hell that I’m employed again.” “I heard that. Maybe things will be a little sweeter at home now.” “Yeah, especially in the bedroom.” Both men laughed. “But, Larry, man, how are you going to that drug test when you just used this morning? Won’t it show, man?” “Oh, ah, the exam won’t be until Monday. I’ll just lay off the shit until I get through the door. Know what I’m sayin’?” Kodjoe thought, Yeah, you’ll be laying off the shit all right, unless you buy some more. “Ah, Kod, man, I, ah, think I lost my keys in your car this morning. You mind if I check?” “No, man, come on and take a look.” Kodjoe stepped out the car while Larry searched like his life depended on finding his keys. Kodjoe and Larry both knew what Larry was looking for. But only Kodjoe knew for sure that Larry was not going to find it. Larry was pissed; there was enough

coke in that bag to keep him tight for a while. “Any luck, man?” Larry was convinced that he must have dropped the bag somewhere else. “Ah, yeah, man, I found them.” Larry reached in his pocket when Kodjoe was not looking, pulled out his keys and held them up for Kodjoe to see. He was glad that the bag of cocaine was not in Kodjoe’s car but was pissed off that his coke was gone. When Larry had taken off with his wife, Kodjoe looked around the parking lot to see who was there. It was clear. He took a dollar bill out of his pocket, rolled it up, put it in the bag and took a good toot. He pulled off to pick up his sons. But before he reached his in-laws’ home, he pulled over and took another snort of the cocaine. He laid his head back and allowed the coke to do its thing. At that point, Kodjoe knew how he was going to spend his vacation and with whom he was going to spend it with.

CHAPTER 5

On e month into his vacation and into his addiction and not one thought of his beloved wife. The dreams had stopped as well. Kodjoe thought he had found the answers to all of his problems. Never mind that his bank had dwindled thousands of dollars. He did not have time to notice that. People who were associates of his began to become aware that there was something different about him. None could quite put their hands on exactly what it was, but no one suspected drug abuse; that was for sure. He just seemed like a different person. His youngest sons did not see it as much as KJ did. KJ noticed how at one time it took many, many please daddy’s to convenience their father to allow them to do things that were disapproving to him. But now, the answers to most of his and his brothers request to almost everything was yes. Kodjoe’s understandingly strict parenting became inconsistent in so many ways. There were less and less father-and-sons’ discussions. The times that their father should have been jovial and playful were now replaced with demonstrations of a cross, fuming father. The dad who had never even raised his voice to his sons now showed visible signs of a raging, loudmouth maniac. As Kodjoe’s demeanor changed, KJ found that his own personality took on a different persona. His personality simply had to accommodate his father’s new strange personality. Most times, he would quiet his little brothers, understanding that he had to wait to see what mood his father would present before the little ones could play freely. There was once a time that Kodjoe would not permit his sons to spend the night at any of their friends’ house. At that time, it wasn’t because he was a mean father; it was just that he never trusted what might be going on in someone else’s home. He had standards and rules that were not compromised. As far as he was concerned, the boys were company enough for each other. But lately, that had changed as well. He still protected his sons, not from other people and their influences, but now from him, by allowing them to be anywhere except home. They didn’t need to know about his coke habit. This way he could still preach to them about how drug usage destroys lives or how he wanted more for his sons. Truth be told, Kodjoe needed that time for true intimacy with his cocaine.

Once an active parent in after-school affairs, he now only promised to attend but never made good on his word. KJ noticed things about his father, like how anxious his father acted at times. But what KJ did not know was that those were the times his father had come down from his cocaine high. His anxiety was purely an extension of his actions toward trying to figure out how he would get his next fix. When Kodjoe would run out of coke, he would panic. It was simply unbearable to be in his company. He would be curt with the boys, even to the point of rudeness. The very first time Kodjoe went to the inner city to buy his coke was an experience he would never forget. On this particular day, Kodjoe had dropped the boys off at their grandparents’ house, another thing that had become a habit with him. But Mrs. Cynthia and her husband loved having the boys as much as the boys loved being there. And Kodjoe on the other hand, loved having his freedom. Today he was on a mission. He drove around Camden nearly an hour before he actually stopped to cop his coke. He hated the inner city and all it stood for, feeling sorry for the decent innocent families who were stuck there because of not being able to escape. He noticed how the men, women, and children went about their business as if all was well. Kodjoe looked at his watch and realized how he needed to get out of Camden before nightfall. He only knew one way in and one way out. He circled the corner of Sixth and Eerie several times before he actually got up the nerves to stop and purchase his coke. He needed to see how it was done. He simply stopped his car on the corner. A few kids who looked to be a couple of years older than KJ came up to his car. “Yo, dawg, what can I do you?” said one of the kids. “You lookin’ fo’ some smack, some lady? Come on now. I ain’t got all day.” Damn! Look at this kid, he thought to himself. He ain’t nothing but a baby! Yes, that was his thought, but the cocaine was calling him, and at that moment, it did not matter if Mother Teresa was selling it. All he knew was that he needed it. Now, Kodjoe did not know the difference between smack, lady, or any other

street name for the drugs. So he just came right out and asked. “Hey, you got that coke?” “Hey, Pookie! Over here, dawg!” Pookie seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. That was because Pookie was all of three feet tall, short and fast. “How much blow you want, man?” Little Pookie asked. Kodjoe figured he had better get enough to hold him for a few days. He asked for eight bags. Little Pookie reached in his pocket and gave him seven little bags of white powder. Kodjoe was about to ask about the other bags. Little Pookie cut him short. “Look, man, take what you got and bounce.” He did as he was told by Little Pookie. When he commenced to leave Camden, he found that there was now a roadblock ahead where he needed to turn onto iral Wilson Boulevard. Without thinking, he turned onto a street that lead him to Broadway. Now a bit lost, he tried to find his way back to the main highway to leave the city of Camden. Broadway was a busy street. There were a few street vendors selling everything from incenses to bootlegged videos and handbags. Many people were going to and fro; some were laughing, some with disgusting looks upon their faces. Some entangled in augments, trying to get this point or that point across. There were people of different cultural backgrounds. There were no divisions among people based on their physical characteristics or their ethnicity. Everyone sort of blended in as did Kodjoe. He drove until he found himself on the corner on Broadway and Ferry Avenue. He sat waiting for the light to change. As he waited, he found himself bewildered by what seemed to be two prostitutes. One was very tall whose legs seemed to bear the resemblance of a giraffe’s legs. Her face bore very heavy makeup. She wore a pair of shorts with the cheeks of her rear end showing from the bottom of them. The other was a rather short woman. She was kind of pudgy, with an obvious shoulder-length blond wig on. Her dress was as short as the taller one’s shorts. Her makeup was applied just as compacted as the other’s, but her eyelashes stunned Kodjoe because it looked as

if two large black butterflies had landed on her eyelids. Undoubtedly, the short one had taken a date from the taller one. The tall one did not take kindly to the situation. “You took my b.j., bitch. You knew that was my date, girl,” announced the tall one. “Oh, well,” said the short one. “You should have had your ass out here on time. I guess if you’re slow, you blow,” announced the short one with a bit of attitude. “Yeah,” said the tall one. “’Cept you’re the one who blow—my date! The way I see it, since it was my date, you owe me half, darlin’.” Her head waved from side to side as she expressed her anger. “Half of what, bitch?” “Half of what my date gave you.” The short one laughed. “You better get outta my face with that weak ass-shit. You won’t be gettin’ any of this money. Not in this lifetime, darlin’” The short one proceeded to walk away, but the tall one wasn’t having it. She blocked her way with her tall, lanky body. The short one tried a second time, but again the tall one refused to allow her to leave. “Move, ho!” shouted the short one, showing frustration. “Look, girl, either you give me half, or I’m gonna take it out on yo’ ass.” The short one tried to push the tall one out of her way. Then the tall one pushed the short. The shoving match lasted for a few seconds until the short one threw off her wig and kicked off her stilettos and begans to fight the tall one the way a natural man would. “Oh my god!” said Kodjoe, “They’re men!” Then suddenly, the drivers behind Kodjoe’s car begin to honk their horns. One of the angry motorist shouted, “C’mon on, man, you ain’t never seen a gay fight before?”

Kodjoe took off and eventually found his way out of the city and onto the highway headed home. When he reached his house, he noticed that there was a message from his mother-in-law. She was concerned, although she did not mind, that he had not picked up the boys yet. She assured him to take all the time he needed as she and her husband were enjoying the company of the boys. He had promised to pick the boys up at four in the afternoon but was in such a rush to snort his coke that he honestly forgot to go get them. He was fine with having the boys away; it gave him more quality time with his new love and he definitely did not want to be disturbed.

Another month into his affair with the coke, and his love for it had grown. But it had become more of an abusive relationship because it kicked his ass and made him love it. Any and everything that needed to be done by Kodjoe had to be accompanied by the use of cocaine. When he’d clean the house, he had to get high first. When he did the laundry, he had to get high first. When he went out to do the shopping for groceries or to the mall, he had to use first. The bathroom became his favorite room of the house; there he could have privacy when the boys were at home. He was very careful not to allow the boys to see him using. They respected him and looked up to him, and that was the way he wanted to keep it. His in-laws actually thought it nice of him to allow the boys to stay over as much as they had been. On this particular day, Kodjoe was feeling good, energetic, more up than he had been in years. He picked up the phone and dialed his friend Michael. “Mike, yeah, man, it’s me Kod. What’s goin’ on?” Mike wasn’t sure if he was glad to hear from Kodjoe or not. After the last time he had spoken to him, Kodjoe had made it very clear that he did not want to be bothered. “Yo, s’up, men?” Mike answered. “Man you sound dry. Look, I know that I was a little short with you the last time we spoke, but hey, everything’s cool now. I mean, man, what I’m trying to say is, well, I was goin’ through some shit. But I’ve worked through all that. Everything’s cool now. I want to get out, you know, like to a club or something. You up on that?” “A little short? Man, you almost took my head off. I was ready to call it a day on your black ass. But I ain’t mad at cha. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Hey, you know you my dawg. Really, I’m glad you called. In fact, I was just about to jump in the shower. I’m headed out to a jazz spot tonight over in Philly. You wanna hang or what, man?” “Damn right I wanna hang,” responded Kodjoe.

“I’ll be there in about a couple of hours. Later, man.” Kodjoe hung up the phone, put on a Luther Vandross CD, and began to sing along with Luther. It crossed his mind how much he had missed that brother and wondered had he survived his stroke what new songs he would have recorded by now. “It’s not time for thinking about the dead. I want to live tonight,” he softly said to himself. The truth of the matter was that he knew his next thought would have been of Angelina, and he did not need that—not tonight. He lay back and did a few more lines of the white powder. Afterward, he went into his bathroom to shave. He mixed the shaving powder, put it on and allowed the paste to dry while he showered. After his shower, he took off the dried powder, still singing with Luther. Just before dressing, he stood and ired himself in the mirror. Luther was still on, singing those sweet love ballads, and he wasn’t sure if it was the ballads or if it was genuinely him, but for the first time in years he found himself suddenly aroused. He smiled at himself in the mirror, and yelled, “Yeah, boyee!” After that incident, he looked down upon himself and ordered his erected body part to chill out, at least until he could find a willing woman to accommodate him. When Michael arrived, he could not believe his eyes. Not only was Kodjoe high spirited, but it was obvious that he had dropped a few pounds as well. Kodjoe opened the door and greeted his best friend with a man hug, shook his hand and then another man hug. “All right, my man! Kod, it’s good to see yah. Finally gonna get your black ass out of this house and have some fuun!” “You know that’s right, man. I’m way overdue.” “On what, getting out?” asked Michael. “Hell, man, over due on life. Come on in. So where we going?” “Awe, man, your’re going to love it. It’s a jazz club in Philly. And there’s some pretty little women there, and I’m gonna get me one,” Michael sang. “Well, I heard that. Come on, man. Let’s do this!”

The lights, the music, the beautiful ladies, it was more than Kodjoe imagined. He should have been enjoying himself, but instead, he felt out of place. He had no idea how to mingle with this stunning assortment of women. And they were gorgeous. Although most were fake from head to toe—with weaves and braids, false eyelashes, false finger nails and toe nails, and lots of makeup to cover any blemishes. And he was sure that the way some of those boobs and butts stood out that they were false too. But true enough, they did look good. Michael got lost in the throng of dancers while Kodjoe took this opportunity to go to the restroom and snort up some courage. When he returned, he found himself captivated by a most attractive woman who was on stage singing a song called, “Desire.” And that was exactly what Kodjoe found himself doing, desiring her. Funny thing was that she appeared to be nothing like his pure, precious Angelina. Angelina was tall and thin; this woman was about five feet three and was plumped in all the right places. Angelina was walnut, brown complexioned, with luxurious long black hair. This woman was light brown with a short brown afro, which looked absolutely stunning on her. He had not met her yet and did not know if he would, but he saw something in her that told him that if he did get the chance to meet her, she would be a positive addition in his and his sons’ life. While he was iring the singer, a young woman came to him and invited him to the floor for a dance. He sat there just for a minute pondering over his options. Now the young woman who requested his company was fine, but what he wanted was on stage, and the only reason he felt that he would not be able to have her would be if she was either married or lesbian; otherwise, he was selfassured. Leaving nothing to chance, he went with the sure thing and accompanied the young woman onto the dance floor. Kodjoe surprised himself to see that he still had it. He and her were stepping so well that others backed off and allowed them the floor. He certainly was enjoying himself. When the dance was over, Kodjoe tried to pull away from his new dance partner, but she wanted to talk. She needed a name, address, and some digits. But Kodjoe wanted to at least help the young lady on stage down the steps and offer her a drink. His dance partner was finding it extremely difficult keeping his attention.

Finally, she followed his eyes to see what was in them—the singer. Just when he excused himself, she went back on stage. Upset about missing his chance to meet the singer, he made a second trip to the restroom. When he returned, he became furious with his friend, Michael, because he was now having a drink with the singer. Like he need another woman in his life. I thought he brought me here to get my mind off of Angelina, but there he is with Ms. Desire. Kodjoe took his seat at the bar and ordered a beer, trying not to look in the direction of Michael and the singer. But then he noticed that they were coming his way. I’ll just act nonchalant. There’s no sense in showing this woman that I’m feeling some kinda way for her when she’s about to be another name in his little black book. Hum, what a waste. “Hey, man,” said Michael. “I want you to meet my cousin. This is Layoni Franklin.” “Your cousin?” asked Kodjoe, feeling like a fool. “Yeah, she’s in town this week for this gig. I hope you don’t mind, man. She asked to meet you. Kodjoe thought, Yes! “Look, man, I’m going to go to the other end of the bar. There’s a really fine babe down there. Just look at her waving at me. She wants me bad. Have fun, you two.” Kodjoe looked toward the end of the bar out of curiosity and a saw his dance partner waving at Mike and thought how funny life was. “So you re Kodjoe Jackson, huh?” asked Layoni. Kodjoe shook his head yes, and then smiled. “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I asked a lot of questions about you. My cousin, Mike, he filled me in on some thangs, but I have a few questions that only you can answer.” “Well, ask away, Layoni. I’m all yours.” She smiled. “Is that right?” Layoni asked, flirtatiously.

“What, that I’m all yours?” “Yes.” “Well, I would say that that’s totally up to you.” “Oh, my choice, huh? Okay,” she said, looking up at him in a sultry kind of way. “After you’ve answered my questions, I’ll let you know if I’ve chosen you to be all mine.” Kodjoe was sure that she would ask him questions that he wasn’t ready to answer yet, like how many children did he have and how many baby mommas were attached to those babies, and the one he feared the most, does he use drugs? “Mr. Kodjoe Jackson, first, I’d like to ask you where’d you learn to dance like that? You really got my attention out there on that dance floor. You know you smooth, don’t you?” He blushed a little. The thought of her actually checking him out turned him on. “I guess it’s just something that comes natural for me. Perhaps it’s in the genes. I don’t know.” He laughed. “I hope you don’t have a whole lot of questions.” “No,” she said. “Just two more.” “Okay, let’s hear ’em,” he said, thinking, she’s fine and everything, but I’ll be glad when this little question game is over. “What’s the story behind your name? I’ve never met anyone with your name before.” “Hum, you know, you’re the only person who has ever had the nerves to ask. It was my godfather’s name. Now where he got it from, your guess is as good as mine.” “Okay, my last question. Would you allow me to get to know you better?” “That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same thing. Would you like a drink?” “Sure, after this set. I never drink on the job.” Kodjoe enjoyed Layoni’s company until closing time. When he looked around for his ride home, Michael could not be found. Layoni suggested that he allow her to give him a lift home. Of course he agreed.

During the ride to Kodjoe’s house, they got more acquainted with each other. She confessed to him that her cousin, Michael, had told her that he was a single father of three young boys and about Angelina’s death. Come to find out, Layoni was a widow of three years herself. And she, like Kodjoe, had not dated since her spouse’s death. Her husband had been killed in Iraq. She expressed her grief toward the fatality to Kodjoe, and surprisingly, he consoled her, assuring her that God never closed one door without opening another and that he would like to extend an open invitation to her to knock on his door anytime. When they reached his house, he was apprehensive about inviting her in. Although he was eager to make love with her, he did not want her to think of him as, well, eager. Kodjoe knew he wanted to see this young lady again. So he politely thanked her for the ride, the lovely evening, and proceeded to open the car door. Layoni grabbed his hand and asked, “You’re going to leave without inviting me in?” He was taken aback and was not really sure how to react. She sensed this. “It’s okay, Kod,” she said, still holding his hand. “Look, we are both adults, and if what you told me earlier tonight was true, then you must be as lonely as I am. Kod, I don’t want to be alone tonight. Do you?” He got out of the car and went to the driver’s side to help her out. He unlocked the front door and disarmed the alarm. “Come in. Make yourself at home,” he said. “Would you like something to drink, Layoni?” “Sure, anything. Water would be fine.” He returned with two large glasses of a red colored drink. She tasted it. “Mmm, now that’s really tasty. Is this—Kool-Aid?” He smiled. “Yep, the boys love it. It’s their special blend—half raspberry, half strawberry, and one half lemon.” “You’ll have to give them my compliments.” “To the boys,” he said and they toasted. She got up to check out his crib, carrying her Kool-Aid with her. She was most impressed with how tidy the house looked. “It’s pretty clean in here for three growing boys,” she said.

“That’s because the little devils are spending the weekend with their grandparents, making a mess of their place. But they don’t mind. You know how grandparents are about their grandchildren. They can do no harm.” She picked up a picture in which all three of the boys had posed for. “They are beautiful. I know you must be very proud of them.” He walked over to her. “This one, that’s my right hand man, Kodjoe Junior. This one in the middle is Terrence. I think he’s really Houdini’s son. I probably need a DNA test on him. You ever hear of a black magician? And the little fellow on the end here, that’s Randy. I swear he’s my clone. That boy swears he’s going to be just like me when he grows up. If you looked in his closet, you’d think all my clothes shrunk. He’s gotta have everything his daddy gets.” “Aww, that’s sweet. ’Cause I don’t see anything wrong with his daddy. I think his daddy’s fine.” Kodjoe thought, just for a moment, not that he did not appreciate the compliment but the little secret he had been keeping from everyone was beginning to take its toll on him; there was no way he wanted any of his boys to be like that. “No, I try to teach my boys to be themselves. Children need their own identities.” Layoni could not imagine any father not wanting at least one of his sons to be like him. She thought it was simply part of a man’s pride or maybe even their ego to have a chip off the old block. “My husband and I had planned a family on his return. It’s funny how quickly your dreams dissolve right before your eyes. I mean, we knew it was a possibility that he wouldn’t return. We never talked about that possibility among ourselves. We just figured, as long as we did not give fuel to that conversation that perhaps any casualties would him by.” Kodjoe knew too well what she meant and how she felt because never in his wildest dream did he think Angelina’s life would end so quickly. “But you know the hardest thing about his ing—to be on stage singing your heart out to your audience, trying to sing happiness and joy and love into their lives, when in fact your own heart is bleeding over your own situation,” she said. “But you know, it’s a healing process for me to see lovers and mates enjoying my song the way they do. They smile when I sing. It kinda heals my heart when I see those smiles. I guess I’m just one of those women who love to make people happy. Maybe one day I can

make you happy.” This was a woman who understood him. She felt what he felt. She lived what he had lived. She loved as he had loved, and she had lost as he had lost. She sat down next to him. He placed his arms around her, thinking how he had thought of being with her intimately but realizing that the only thing the both of them needed was to be comforted for now. They fell asleep in each other’s arm. No bad dreams. No thinking of Angelina. No white powder. The next morning he awoke with a letter in his hand. Layoni was careful not to wake him. It read.

Kod, thank you for last night. Your strong arms were so comforting. They secured me through my sleeping hours. It was the first decent night sleep I’ve had in three years. You were a perfect gentleman—didn’t think any of them existed anymore. However, you proved me wrong. I’ll be flying out this afternoon to Atlanta to do a gig. I’ll call before boarding. Layoni

PS. Thanks for the raspberry-strawberry-lemon Kool-Aid. It was a refreshingly unusual treat, as were your company . . .

He smiled after reading her letter and thought how he wished he had met her before meeting the white powder because this morning he was craving it hard. Kodjoe knew he was hooked on the stuff and hated the power it had over him. But today he will try. Today he will try to resist its calling. He had never done that before. From the first day he tried it, he had not been without it. Had even gotten a supplier by now. All he had to do was speed-dial on his cell phone and his powder would be hand delivered within minutes. His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

“Hello.” “Yo, dawg, sorry about my little disappearing act last night. But I knew you were in good hands with Layoni. She digs you, man. Yah heard?” “Yeah, man. She’s real nice. I’m glad she doesn’t look anything like your big ass head though.” They both laughed. “Kod, man, I hope it was okay, you know, me giving her the scoop on you. My cousin is a decent woman and she has been goin’ through some heavy stuff for a while.” “Like me, huh?” Kodjoe asked. “Well, they say the Man works in mysterious ways. But look, Kod, I ain’t trying to be nobody’s matchmaker or anything like that. I just happened to know two people who I care about very much who are going through some tough times in life. Just thought you two could, like help each other get through it. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Word, man. But look, I need to make a few calls before I pick the boys up this morning. I’ve been promising them a trip to the zoo for weeks now, and today I’m going to make good on it. So look, hit me up later, all ’ight?” “I hear yah, brotha. Later.” After getting off the phone with Michael, Kodjoe struggled with stirring thoughts of snorting the white powder, constantly trying to convince himself that he could do without it. He kept his stash in his top bedside table drawer. He thought that perhaps if he just stayed away from the bedroom, he’d be all right. Kodjoe tried to stay busy until it was time to pick up the boys. But his thoughts got the best of him. Right in the middle of tidying up the living room, he rushed into his bedroom and opened the top drawer. He reached in for the white powder but was interrupted by the sight of his wedding photo album. Instead of taking the white powder out, he reached for the album. He opened it and began to reminisce as he viewed the pictures. “Gosh,” he said, “she was beautiful.” Each page spoke to his heart as tears fell upon his smiling cheeks. If she knew that he had traded his grief over her death for cocaine, she would be turning over in her grave. He was sure of it.

Then he thought about how since he had invited the powder into his life, he had not given much thought to her, at least not in the same manner that crippled his heart, his mind, and his life. He had no dreams or nightmares lately. However, he had not done a lot of things that he should have been doing either. The phone rang, intruding upon his flow of thoughts. It was Layoni. He quickly wiped his face and blew his nose and trusted that she could not hear the melancholy in his voice. “Hello, Kod. I hope you don’t mind me calling so early, but I needed to hear your voice before I got on the plane.” “Hey, baby, I’m glad you did call. I was going to call you in just a few minutes after I finish straightening up around here. I’m taking the boys to the zoo today, and I didn’t want to miss your call.” “Oh, that sounds like fun. Kod, are you all right? You sound a little strange.” “Ah, yeah, it’s just my allergies. I’ll be fine after I take my medicine. But look, I’m going to talk to the boys about this fine lady I met.” “Aww Kod, that’s nice, but don’t you think it’s a little early for that? I mean we’re still getting to know each other.” “Okay, let’s get this out of the way right now. No holds barred, okay?” “Okay.” “I like you. My heart wants to love you. Is there any reason that I should hold up on that?” “No, actually, I’m feeling you the same way.” “Well, why shouldn’t we go with our feelings? Layoni, we both have loved and lost someone very special in our lives. And we both have spent years alone. Baby, life is too short to play games. I’m not like a lot of those knuckleheads out there. When I give my heart, I give it sincerely. I’m a committed man to my family and my job. Layoni, I haven’t even looked at another woman since my wife died. I don’t have anymore time to waste. I’m ready to be happy again. And since meeting you last night, I know that I am ready to live again and I want that

life with you. You feelin’ me, girl?” It was funny that she actually felt the same way he did but did not want to seem too anxious. In fact, for Layoni, it was love at first sight. Her heart melted for him when she first laid eyes on him while he was doing those smooth moves on the dance floor. However, she did not understand the urgency in him to tell his children about their relationship. They had only known each other for a few hours. Why was Kod in such a rush? “Yes,” she said. “I’m definitely feeling you, Mr. Jackson. But hey, do what you feel is right. Kod, I’m about to board now. I’ll call you when I get to my room. Have fun with the boys. Bye.” “Be safe.” Kodjoe hung up the phone. He pictured Layoni’s lovely face, thought of her sweet voice singing those beautiful songs, her thick shapely thighs and her perfect luscious lip, which seemed to invite a brotha to some delicious kissing. He positively could not get the image of her pleasant appearance out of his mind. Her perfume, which he did not know the name of but would be able to identify the scent even with his eyes closed had settled in his shirt. It was most inviting. How sweet, he thought to himself. Then out of nowhere, a feeling of devastation attacked him. The feeling rushed in like a flash mob. Where did this strange feeling come from? Here lately his emotions had been flip-flopping all over the place. But then it hit him—his s addiction. He knew he’d have to cut loose the coke before she found out. A classy woman like Layoni would not put up with such foolishness. He could tell by the way she carried herself. He liked her, but he loved the coke. He wanted her, but he needed the coke. Even still, as silly as it sounded, he continued to wrestle with the thought of, maybe, just one snort. One tiny little snort could help him make up his mind whether to let go of it or her. “Hell,” he said, “if I start snorting, I know I won’t get out of this house.” His boys were on his mind now. They were so looking forward to their trip to the zoo. Do the right thing, Kod, he tried to convince himself. He decided to take his powder with him, just in case.

Kodjoe kept good on his promise and took the boys to the zoo. However, on the ride to the Philadelphia zoo, Kod began to experience an extreme sense of irritation. It started when the two youngest boys who were sitting in the backseat began laughing uncontrollably. As it was, Terrence had told a joke, which may not have been funny at all to an adult, but to the two youngsters, it was hilarious. All of a sudden, Kodjoe yelled at them so loud that it actually frightened the boys, including, KJ who was sitting in the front with his father. “It’s just too much damn noise! Would you two just keep it down back there?” Little Randy started to cry. The crying also got on their father’s nerves, and again, Kodjoe yelled for Randy to shut up. KJ looked at his father and then in the back at his whimpering baby brother. Randy looked terrified. KJ unbuckled his seatbelt, turned, and put his pointer finger up to his mouth to shush his little brother. He wished that he was in the back with him to console him. The mood swings were becoming more frequent. Kodjoe was slowly becoming someone whom his sons did not recognize. Him treating the boys in a manner that was not common to them had put them constantly on edge. Now even KJ developed a few tears in his eyes. Kodjoe saw them and thought to himself, Damn it, I’ve done it again. It wasn’t that Kodjoe was not aware of the monster that was growing inside of him; he knew it was there. The problem was that he could not quite control it. It seemed that lately the only thing that soothed the monster was the white powder. He pulled over and rested his head on the steering wheel. Without looking up, he asked his boys to forgive him. They said nothing. They were too afraid to speak. Plus Kodjoe’s asking for forgiveness had become a new normality in their lives. Kodjoe knew that the boys hadn’t actually done anything wrong and that they did not deserve to be yelled at, but what could he say, “Boys just hang in there with me for a minute, I’ve got this monkey on my back, so I’m going to be an asshole of a dad every now and then until I find my way out”?

They were coming off the Schuylkill Expressway now, just minutes away from the zoo when Kodjoe announced, “Boys, were here!” Terrence and Randy, putting aside their scared manner yelled, “Yaaayyy, we’re here! We’re here!” KJ watched to see what reaction the younger boys’ show of excitement would bring out of his father. Kodjoe remained calm, almost as if he was never annoyed in the first place, which further confused KJ. Once they entered the zoo, Kodjoe told the boys to have a seat on a bench while he used the restroom. When he returned, he was all smiles, with enough energy to hurl an elephant. “Well, come on, boys. What are you waiting for? Let’s see some animals.” Carrying Randy on his shoulders, he laughed and played with the boys in a way he had never done before. About halfway through the huge park, Randy complained of feeling hungry. Kodjoe picked a spot under a large oak tree to serve the boys their lunch that he had prepared at home. “So are you boys enjoying yourself?” he asked the boys. Terrence and Randy answered yes, and KJ seemed preoccupied. “So far, what’s your favorite animal?” he asked the boys. “Mine is the gorillas,” said Terrence while pounding on his chest. “I like the hipmopommises,” yelled Randy. “That’s pronounced “hip-po-pot-a-.mus,” son. Junior, what’s your favorite animal, son?” “I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it. They’re all just dumb animals to me,” said KJ. “Son, are you okay? You seem sad.” “Well, Dad, I see all these animals, I see a father, mother, and some little ones. Even dumb animals have a mother.” “Is that’s what’s bothering you, son? You miss your mother?” “Yes, sir. Well, kinda.”

“I miss your mother too, son. But we men have to get on with our lives. Do you think that your mother would want you to be so sad all the time because she died?” “I’m not sure what she would have wanted. All I know is that I miss her sometimes so much that my heart hurts. Dad, do you think that I might have a heart attack?” He placed his oldest son upon his lap, hugged him and then kissed him on the forehead. He felt his son’s pain as expressed in his words. “No, son, I don’t think that you’re going to have a heart attack. But Daddy understands how you feel. But listen, Daddy has something to talk to you guys about.” The boys all gathered around their dad waiting to hear what he had to say. “Now you boys know that Daddy has been alone for a long, long time, right?” “Daddy, you’re not alone. You have me, KJ, and Randy,” announced Terrence. “Yeah, that’s right, but sometimes a man needs the company of a woman in his life.” “Why?” asked Randy. “Well, because—because the Bible says that it is not good for men to be alone. That means that he should have a woman to share his life with. And, ah, your father thinks he has found someone that he would like to be with.” “You found an icky girl?” asked Terrence. “Blah!” “But, Daddy, we been just fine without a woman,” announced KJ. “KJ, wasn’t it you who just talked about the father, mother and child thing?” “Yes, sir, but I was talking about our own mother.” “Son, how many times have we talked about this? KJ, son, your mother is never coming back. You have to accept that just like I had to.” “I’m not going to like her,” said KJ.

“Me neither!” Terrence shouted. “And me neither,” followed Randy, folding his arms upon his chest. Kodjoe looked at his three sons in disbelief. He expected some rebelliousness from the boys but nothing like this. At this point he figured talking to his sons more often was another thing he needed to put on his promise-to-do list. “All right, I’m feeling you guys. I hear what you’re sayin’, but why don’t we just try her out and see how she fits in our little world.” “Okay,” said KJ. “I’ll give her a chance.” “And if we don’t like her, we can just throw her back like we do the fish when they’re too small. Right, Daddy?” Terrence said. “How about if I don’t like her, I throw her back?” The boys all thought for a minute then agreed with what their father said. “But you boys really need to give her a fair chance, okay?” They agreed.

CHAPTER 6

Th e relationship between Kodjoe and Layoni grew like a plant in soil. And just like the stench of fertilize, there was a stinky secret that Kodjoe was keeping from his darling Layoni. Oh yeah, they were good for each other and they were having big fun when they were together. The only problem was that Layoni’s singing career left Kodjoe with many days, nights, and weekends alone, making the secret easier to hide. Having that three month leave from his job only contributed to him having more time with the white powder, which was rapidly growing out of control. There were days when he felt that his indulgence in the white powder was controllable, even went without it a day or two just to prove to himself that he could do it. Then there were other times when he thought he was truly going to lose his damn mind if he didn’t have it. There was never a happy medium for him. Oh yes, when he was all snorted up, he thought that that was where he wanted to be. He simply loved the feeling the drug gave him. There were times when he knew that he wouldn’t trade anything in the world for that euphoric feeling. And this would have been fine and dandy if not for that part of him, which he was slowly losing, hadn’t butted in and told him that this drug thing just wasn’t for him. His bank had a dent in it because of his obsessive use of the ATM machines, but that dent was slowly becoming an impression of a wreck. At one point, his bank called to inform him that a fraudster might have gotten hold of his Visa card because of the persistent usage of it. He was a bit embarrassed to inform the bank that it was he who had been using his card so often. His paranoia told him that they know exactly what he was using the money for; as did it also tell him a mountain of other things. There were times that Kodjoe thought about how much he used to hate the very thought of drugs, and any and everything associated with them. He hated the dealers who sold that shit. He hated the people who did that shit and he hated the inner city where the shit came from. All his “I’ll never” began to turn into a normal way of life for him. And now, he even hated himself for getting involved in the first place because he was now a slave to his addiction and at war with his

morals. Yes, he thought he would never use it, couldn’t even phantom himself as an addict at one time in his sober life. He’d never waste his money on anything as asinine and useless as drugs. Not him, not Kodjoe Jackson. He was much too intelligent for that sort of thing. And anyone who did such a thing was just a foolish, weak-minded individual. And any catastrophes that happened in the life of an addict was well deserved, at least that is what he used to tell his sons. Heck, he never had an inkling of what craving a drug was like, never thought in a million years that this would be whom he has become. The direct hook up he once had no longer existed. All he knew was that one day he called the number only to learn that the phone number was out of order. So now the inner city visits became frequent. And those trips, which he once hated, became a thrill each time he even came remotely close to the inner city. Kodjoe could not explain, not even to himself what had happened to him. He seemed to not be able to control his reaction to things. He’d go from zero to one hundred in a nanosecond with his emotions. He also noticed how once he has picked up the coke, he’d have the urgency to make a bowel movement so much so that a couple of times he actually went on himself. But even this did not give him the notion to stop. Things really got bad when one day he was running late and had to cop around the same time he needed to have his sons at a karate class. He simply parked his Durango around the corner on Sixth and Erie Street. With the boys in the car, he gave instruction not to open the door for any one. It was the first time the boys had been in Camden. Terrence and Randy played as usual, but KJ knew something was wrong with where they were. He watched his father’s strange behavior as Kodjoe looked over his shoulders several times, walking a faster pace than his natural way of walking. He watched as his father disappeared around the corner. From where he sat, he could see dealers and s exchanging drugs for money. The conditions of the roads were unkempt. Some of the houses were boarded up, and graffiti jacketed the boards. He noticed how cramp it was with the houses all attached to one another. Lots of old car tires and abandoned car parts, dirty disposable baby diapers, and plenty of broken glass occupied the weeded grounds. He saw children playing in the

streets who seemed to be enjoying themselves as they played. And although there was a chill in the air, he witnessed adults sitting on the steps drinking beers or sodas, smoking cigarettes or blunts. He could hear the sound of rap music blasting from a car that was parked not too far from his father’s. He noticed a group of young boys walking a pack of pit bulls and quickly turned his head away from them as he did not want to be confronted by the gang of boys nor their dogs. What was taking his father so long? Did he not know that all these things were here? All these things that were new and strange to him, all these things that were frightening and unheard of, all the things of which his father had spoken so harshly against now sat before KJ’s very eyes. This was his and his little brothers’ first trip to the ghetto. And it was not a pretty sight. It made him think about how fortunate he and his little family were. His family lived in the beautiful town of Morristown New Jersey, where well-kept lawns carpeted the ground, where homes stood alone, divided by fences or just space, where basketball courts were just added attractions to a home, and swimming pools were as close as stepping out of you back door. His family’s home would take the space of nearly the entire block of homes here. His street, as well as the city he lived in, were much peaceful, much cleaner, and appeared to be much safer than this place. KJ never knew that such a place as this existed so close to his home town. Little Randy pushed the button so that the window would go down. KJ yelled, “Close it, Randy!” “But it’s stuffy in here, and Terrence laid a fart. I need some air.” Terrence laughed. But this wasn’t funny to little Randy. KJ turned his window down just a little. KJ knew that what he was witnessing in this strange place would forever rent space in his mind as long as he lived. And why were they here? What business did his father have in the inner city? He had been concerned for his father’s odd behavior before this little trip, but something was telling him that things were a lot worse than he imagined. When Kodjoe returned to the car, KJ looked up at his father from the enger’s seat, uncertain whether or not he wanted to hear the explanation about why they

were there. Kodjoe felt his son’s eyes upon him. He offered no explanation and hoped that his son would not ask for one. It was enough dealing with his own battle in his own mind to take on the curiosity of his son.

Three weeks had ed, and the weather was now getting colder. That night after Kodjoe picked up the boys from karate class, he dropped them off at his inlaws. The grandparents were happy to have them as always, and Kodjoe was happy to have his free time. Layoni would be over soon, and he had prepared for the evening. It was a quiet night in the middle of January. The first snow of the year was falling and it seemed more like Christmas than it had on December 25. He had a warm cozy fire burning in the fireplace. Grilled steaks were just sizzling and about ready to come off the grill. He had tossed a salad and put out a variety of dressing with the hope that one of them would please her. During his long soothing bath, he snorted the white powder and thought about Layoni. It took all of his mortal strength to hold back and save himself for her. Aaah, life is good, he thought to himself as he lay back and allowed his body to relax. All he needed was for her to walk through that door and life would be complete. When he finished his bath, he got dressed and then checked the dinner. Everything looked good. To make the evening perfect, he placed her favorite wine on ice and lit a few scented candle to embellish a sensual ambiance throughout the living room. The doorbell rang. His whole body felt her presence even before he opened the door. He opened the door and bent down to greet her with a kiss. She reached up and tied her arms around his neck. “Mmmm, something smells nice,” she said. “It’s your dinner. I hope you’re hungry.” Yes, hungry for you, she thought. “The boys are at their grandparents?” “Yep, it’s just you and me.” “And whatever that is cooking,” she added. He took her coat and scarf and hung them in the closet. She placed her purse on a table in the living room and then

walked to the kitchen where she saw the table dressed for dinner. He pulled a chair out for her to have a seat and placed the delicious dinner on the table. He poured the wine in their glasses. She giggled. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “I was expecting raspberry-lemon Kool-Aid.” He laughed and said, “We can have that if that’s what you want.” “What, and turn down my favorite wine? No way.” After dinner, she complimented him on the testy steak, and then they took their third glass of wine in the den where Tony Brown was playing those sweet love songs. “Smokey Robinson was cooing, “Swept for You Baby,” and Kodjoe’s sound system was so smooth that one could have sworn that the Town Crier was standing right there in his den. “That brother was responsible for thousands of pregnancies back in the day,” said Kodjoe. “You know that’s right,” Layoni answered. “We’re probably a couple of them babies, huh?” They laughed. “Yah know, Layoni, I have a little confession to make.” “Really? Okay, lay it on me.” “Well, I think of myself as, well, a man of deep thoughts.” “Yeah, like what?” “Like that brother Smokey, see, there are a lot of artists out there that I feel I wouldn’t miss had they never made it. But people like Smokey, I just can’t imagine him not ever existing, you know as the singer he is. You know what I’m sayin’?” “Yeah, I’m feelin’ you on that. Smokey, Aretha, the Temps, and Al Green.

Chaka, Whitney, MJ. I could go on and on. But now Al was the man back in the day. My mother used to play him all the time on those eight-tracks. them?” “Yeah, those things are ancient! And ol’ hot grits, he must have made that sistah mad as hell at him for her to hurt a brotha like that!” “Now, see, that ain’t even right. How come no matter how much good you do, people always the bad?” she asked. “I mean, come on, baby, you know darn well that every time anybody sees that brotha, the first thing that comes to mine is hot grits.” “I don’t know. I think of a great singer. And he was fine too back in the day.” “I think that Al Green even thinks of hot grits when he thinks about himself back in the day. Ouch!” Kodjoe shouted. “What’s the matter, Kod?” “I just got a visual of them grits splattered all over his body.” She hit him with a pillow. “Stop picking on my Al,” she said, positioning herself in his arms. “You know, baby, all those artists and celebrities, they only people just like us. I mean, Jay-Z and Bea, they have to take a dump sometimes.” “Kod!” “Well, it’s true. Otherwise, they’d be full of shit.” She looked at Kodjoe and shook her head. “You’re quite the comedian tonight, huh?” she asked. “Just havin’ a little fun, baby.” It was quiet now, and they took this opportunity to steal a few kisses. “Layoni?”

“Yes?” “You have a beautiful voice.” “Thank you, Kod.” “Babe, you ever wished to be discovered?” She thought about the question or a few seconds before answering. “I guess, when I was younger. I imagine that everyone with a God-given talent thinks they want that at some point in their lives. I’ve always felt that God knows where he wants people to be placed, and when the time is right, He places you.” Layoni positioned herself back on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and hummed along with the music. “Hypnotized, you’ve got me so, hypnotized. All it took, was just one little look in to your eyes. I’ll do wherever you say, command me and I’ll obey.” “Oh, stop, that’s my song. Come on, baby, dance with me,” she asked. Kodjoe was more than happy to oblige. He stood up and offered his hand to help Layoni to her feet. They slow dragged like they were in a red light basement dance. He held her body close to his and did one of those old-fashioned grinds. She was so short that he picked her up to continue the dance. Layoni wrapped her legs around his waist and began to kiss his neck until he couldn’t stand it anymore. She began to undress him starting with his shirt. He returned the favor by pulling her blouse over her head. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he removed her bra. She railed back and allowed him to kiss her beautiful breast. “Let’s take this to the back, baby,” he said. “Yes, let’s.” He carried her to his bedroom. On the way, she motioned for him to take her toward the couch where she grabbed up her purse. Once they were in the bedroom, he continued to communicate with her body. Her skin was so soft and the scent of her Patty La’Bell’s oil perfume was a

pleasant aroma, which was an added attraction to her features. Kissing. Hugging. Feeling. Exploring. There was a magnetism that drew from them what mere words could never say, they knew that they were meant for each other. And with all that conformed, he reached in his beside drawer and pulled out a condom and said, “I hope you’re ready for this.” She smiled and pulled a female condom of her own from her purse and said, “Only if you’re ready for this.”

CHAPTER 7

To day was a special day, although Kodjoe, Layoni, and the boys did not know it. The morning started like most. The boys were up preparing for school. KJ had the coffee brewing so that it would be ready when his father comes out of his bedroom. Little Randy was doing very well on tying his shoelaces, and this particular morning, he wanted to show his father how well he had done. He rushed in his father’s bedroom and saw his father’s back turned toward him as he sat on the bed. Kodjoe never heard Randy entering the room nor did he see him standing behind him as he snorted the white powder. Randy, wanting to be just like his father, went to the only place he knew of where he could find white powder. He quietly opened the medicine cabinet in his father’s bathroom and took out the can of shaving powder. He looked back at his father who was still unaware of his son’s presence and did what he saw his daddy doing. It wasn’t until Kodjoe heard a thump coming from his bathroom did he move from that spot. He could not imagine what it could be, for as far as he knew, he was alone. “Oh, God!” he shouted. “KJ! KJ! Call 911!” He reached down to lift his son from the floor but thought maybe he shouldn’t move him—his neck may be broken. Blood was rushing from Randy’s nostrils. It seemed that he wasn’t breathing, and Kodjoe began mouth-to-mouth. “Breathe, baby, breathe for Daddy, man. Come on, Randy, breathe for Daddy!” By then, Terrence ran in the bathroom and saw his baby brother turning blue. Terrence started crying, asking what’s wrong with his brother. KJ followed behind Terrence. The first thing he saw was the bag of white powder and a tiny straw sitting on a mirror on his father’s bed. He then rushed to the bathroom where he stood in shock. There was white powder all over the floor and around his baby brother. Kodjoe looked and saw Terrence crying profusely while KJ seemed to have been

in a daze. He knew KJ was in shock, but he yelled, “I told you to call 911, boy!” KJ was feeling his position as oldest son and hated every bit of it. “I did call ’em. They said they were sending someone, but they want to know what happened!” he shouted back at his father. “Are they still on the phone?” “Yes, sir.” What should I to tell ’em? What should I tell ’em? Shit! What the hell do I tell them? Kodjoe never answered the question presented to him; it was KJ who handled it. He had the cordless in his hand and took it upon himself to tell the operator that his baby brother won’t wake up. Tension was high in the emergency room. Terrence was still crying. KJ was growing up before his time, and Kodjoe was biding time. He had taken the time to call his in-laws on the way to the hospital. Mrs. Cynthia and her husband were there by Kodjoe’s side, not truly understanding what had actually caused their grandson to be in the emergency room. All they were told was that little Randy had been messing around in the medicine cabinet. “Whatever made him do such a thing as mess around in there?” asked Mrs. Cynthia. “Aw Cynthia,” said James, “boys are just adventuress that way. They don’t sense danger in the things they do. It’s just in a boy’s nature to get into things.” “Well, it just doesn’t add up. Why was there so much shaving powder in his lung?” Mrs. Cynthia asked, not too sure that she was satisfied with her husband’s answer. KJ gave his father a disturbing look as he ed the mirror, white powder, and tiny straw he saw on his father’s bed. Through everything that was happening, all Kodjoe could think about was another snort of the white powder. He wrestled in his mind. What’s wrong with me? I should be thinking about my son, but all I want is that shit! He looked at his watch; they had been there two and a half hours.

Finally the doctor came out and told the family that Randy was doing well but would have to stay for a couple of days for observations. He told them that this was the first case of such a thing as a child, or anyone for that matter, to be diagnosed with shaving powder in the lungs. Kodjoe tried to not look guilty. “Of course,” said the doctor, “there is one problem, or should I say two. It appears that your son has two broken wings.” “Ah, wings?” asked Kodjoe. “Arm, Mr. Jackson. The way he fell.” “Oh, James,” cried Mrs. Cynthia, “two broken arms? He’s just a baby,” she whined. The doctor allowed the family to say good night to Randy, asking them all to try not to exhaust him. Kodjoe was the first one to go in. He asked everyone to please give him some private time with his son. Little Randy was hooked up to oxygen. He had an IV running through his veins and casts on both arms. But he was coherent. Kodjoe sat at his side. Tears ran down his face as he looked upon his baby boy. Randy looked up at his father. “Daddy, what happened to me?” Randy asked faintly. “Well, son, it seems you might have fallen in my bathroom. Can you tell Daddy what you were doing in there?” “No, Daddy, I can’t . Daddy?” “Yes, son?” “Did I die?” “No, Randy, why do you ask?” “Because I saw mommy. She said I had to come back because you needed me.” “You think you saw your mother?”

“No, Daddy, I really saw her. She had on a yellow dress. She said that Ms. Layoni was good for us and to be nice to her.” “Really now?” “Yes, and she said to tell you that now that you have Ms. Layoni, she can rest in peace.” “Okay, son, look… ah… Daddy’s going to leave so that your grand parents and your brothers can see you, but I’ll be staying with you all night.” He gave his son a kiss on the forehead and left the room amazed with what his son said about his wife. Funny thing was, Randy was just a newborn infant, only a few days old, when he buried Angelina in her favorite yellow dress. He laughed to himself to think that had Angelina rested in peace for the last five years and not invaded his dreams that perhaps his baby boy would not be in the condition he was in now. But he was relieved to hear that little Randy had no memory of what had caused him to be in that hospital bed. He sent his in-laws and Terrence in to see Randy. The look on KJ’s face told him that they needed to talk. “Son,” he said, “is there something you want to talk to me about?” KJ looked away from his father, and when Kodjoe tried to turn him around, he’d pulled away. “Look, son, we need to talk, so you might as well be a man about this and talk to me.” KJ turned all the way around and shouted, “Is that what you call it, Daddy? Is that what men do, what I saw on your bed? Randy is in there because he likes to do everything he sees you do. Did he see you putting that stuff up your nose?” Kodjoe knew it was time for many things. It was time to come clean with his son. It was time to come clean with Layoni, and most of all, it was time for him to get clean. “You have every right to be upset with me, son. The truth is, well, your dad’s been going through some real shit—ah, I mean, stuff lately. And I got myself in

a lot of trouble trying to fix it. And I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry, son.” KJ loved his father, but what he had done, especially to little Randy, was reprehensible. “Dad, I don’t get it. You’ve always told me and my brothers that drugs were the one thing you would not tolerate. You told us that you hated drugs and the people who do it. You wouldn’t even allow us to watch The Wire because of all the drugs and gangs that were in it.” KJ looked away again. “What you did, Dad, was stupid.” “You’re right, son. You’re absolutely right.” “But you’re an adult. And you’re my dad, my dad. My dad don’t do drugs!” KJ begun to cry. He was more hurt than angry, more disappointed than frightened. His father, the man whom he’d considered his hero, had broken his trust in him. KJ felt that if he could not look up to his own father, then who? “Son, what I’m about to tell you is no excuse for my behavior, but life is hard. And the older you get, the harder life gets. And yeah, I’m an adult, but take it from your ol’ man, son. Adults make mistakes too. We’re not perfect just because we’re adults. In fact, some of our mistakes are more stupid than kids’ because we do know better.” “I’ve known for a while that something was wrong with cha. Ever since you started seeing that lady, you’ve been actin’ strange. Did she get you on drugs, Dad?” “No, son, no. Layoni knows nothing about this. And by the way, KJ, she’s Ms. Layoni to you, not that lady. You got that, son? Now I’m still your father. And I promise you, son, I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix this, okay?” KJ had stopped his crying “Yes, sir. Dad?” “Yeah, KJ.” “I don’t get it. What cha need a female for anyhow? I mean, they can’t play football, they’re afraid of worms, and they can’t catch a fish. All they do is fuss over the mess you make. And they always fill your bathroom with all kinda girly

stuff.” “Son, there’s a lot of treasures in females. The best thing is they know how to take care of us guys. There’s a certain balance that a female brings in a guy’s life. Plus, there’s a special joy that only a female can provide in your life, which I’ll talk to you about—” “I know,” interrupted KJ, “when I get older. Dad, you’re going to have to tell her, yah know.” He exhaled. “I know, son. Go in and say goodnight to your brother. I’m going to stay here with Randy. You and Terrence will stay with your grandparents tonight.” He placed both his hands on KJ’s shoulders and said, “Son, we keep this between ourselves. I’ll talk to your grandparents when the time is right. I promise, I will correct this, KJ.” Kodjoe did stay with his baby boy during the night but not before making a run to North Camden first. The next morning, he could not make it to his bedroom. Kodjoe crashed on the couch. Mrs. Cynthia understood that he would be tired from being up with Randy all night. What she didn’t know was that he hadn’t slept in five days prior to the day Randy was hospitalized. Kodjoe was worn-out. She waited until four in the afternoon and then gave him a call. He did not pick up. She gave him another hour then phoned again. Still there was no answer. When Kodjoe finally woke up, it was two days later. He got up around two in the afternoon, assuming it was the same day that he had left the hospital. He showered and got dressed. He saw that the light on the on the phone was blinking. While listening to the messages, he took a few toots of the white powder. He heard several calls from his mother-in-law. The last call, she informed him that Randy was released from the hospital and had gone home with her. He could hear agitation in her voice and wondered why she sounded so disturbed. There were also a few calls from Layoni, saying how concerned she was that he was not at the airport to meet her and then finally stating that it was obvious that he did not want to be bothered with her since he had not returned any of her calls in the last three days.

But the most disturbing call was from KJ, asking his father where he was. He told his father how he was trying to keep their little secret, but that Kodjoe was making it impossible, being that there was no explanation as to his whereabouts. He had no choice but to tell his grandparents that his father had a problem with drugs. He ended his call, saying, “Dad, I hope you’re still alive.” “Shit!” He looked at his watch and noticed that three days had ed, three days without checking on his sons, especially Randy. Three days without ing his in-laws, and three days without ing Layoni. “Damn!” he shouted out loud. “What is wrong with me? I can’t do nothin’ right anymore. How the hell does Larry do it? How can he hold down a job and a home on this shit and hide it from his wife and parents?” The truth of the matter was Larry wasn’t doing any better than he was. During Kodjoe’s three-day stupor, Juanita had thrown Larry out. He had lost his job and was MIA. How in the hell am I going to explain this to my mother-and-father-in-law? And what can I tell Layoni? Lord knows I don’t want to lose her. But truth be told, he did not want to lose the white powder either. Things were quickly spiraling out of control, and it seemed that the worst things got, the more he craved the white powder. Up until now, he had been able to lie his way out of everything. That was because no one knew his secret. He did not know whom to call first—his in-laws or Layoni. To be truthful, he did not want to either. Every time he thought he had concocted a story to tell, he continued losing detail of the story he had made up, and each story sounded more ridiculous than the other. Kodjoe could not believe that he was actually running out of lies. He did not pick up the phone to call anyone, but he did pick up the bag of white powder and snorted way more than he usually used. He wanted to forget about his troubles, just for a minute. To him, this was what he needed to help him through this time of crisis. The white powder would tell him what to do. He was sure of it. In fact, he was so sure of it that he took another toot and yet another.

He lay back and closed his eyes, trying to what was it that he was trying to forget. What matter did it make? he told himself. Whatever it was will work itself out; that what things do, he thought—they just work itself out all by itself. “Ooh, my head!” he yelled as he held his hands up to his ears because the sound of a suppersonic clock was ticking away in his head. It felt as if his brain was going to explode out of his head any moment now. He looked around the room and realized that the walls were literally closing in on him. “Stop it!” he shouted, but it did not stop. And now he looked up to beg God to help him because the ticking was so loud that it felt unbearable, and now the ceiling was closing in on him as well. “Stop it!” he shouted again. Kodjoe closed his eyes, thinking that perhaps if he could not see what was happening to the walls, maybe things will go back to normal. Suddenly the loud ticking stopped. And he waited. Then he slowly opened his eyes with his head held down, and just when he thought that everything was fine, his dead wife appeared before his eyes, inches away from his face and said to him, “You stop it!” As fast as she came, she disappeared right before his eyes. Like the crystals of the white powder dropping like snow she vanished. Kodjoe quickly snatched back. Now he sat on the couch with both knees up to his chest. He was shaking and sweating like a bull. But the walls were back where they belonged. The clock in his head had stopped ticking. He dared not to look toward the ceiling, but most importantly, he ed what it was that he had forgotten. He picked up the phone. Layoni was the first one he called.

She saw his name on the caller ID. “Kod?” He cleared his voice. “Ah, yeah, baby, it’s, ah, me.” “First, of all, Kod, you had better be sick or dead ’cause I really don’t appreciate being stood up at the airport like that. If you didn’t want to be bothered with me, all you had to do was say so! I thought we had something special, Kod. I thought you were feelin’ me the way I was feelin’ you. I thought—” “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Layoni. I’m goin’ through something right now, and I need to talk to you but not on the phone. Can you come over?” She thought, Who the hell he thinks he is? Thinkin’ I ma just drop everything and rush to his side like he’s all that or something. But, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes, Kod,” was what she actually said. “Thanks, Layoni. I’ll be waiting.” On her ride to his house, she did not know what to think. She was not just falling in love with him; she loved him. But something was very wrong. Could it be the kids? Or was there something wrong with him? And whatever it was, would she be able to deal with it? Or would she have to break off this new exciting relationship with the first man she had loved since the death of her husband? Kodjoe know the next call would have to be his to in-laws. They were decent people. He dreaded that call. After all, what would he say to them? “Hi, Mom, Pop, I’m just calling to say I’m snorting coke. My life is really fucked up and out of control. So how are my boys?” Things were not supposed to end this way—with his baby boy almost dying, his oldest son possibly hating his guts, and the probability of losing Layoni. Not to mention that dent in his bank . This was not the plan. But what exactly was the plan? What exactly did he think to achieve by doing the white powder? Kodjoe had never looked beyond the first snort. He actually thought he’d hate it. All he knew was that it made him feel good. It made the pain go away and at the

time it served its purpose. But now, there was not just the attrition of his pain, but the wearing away of everything that meant anything to him. He thought about Layoni. Will she leave him, or will she have comion toward him? He even thought if the shoes were on the other foot, would he risk the chance of having a drug addict around his boys? That thought was way too deep for him right now. The doorbell rang. She was here. When he opened the door, Layoni stood there obviously confused. Her heart wanted to kiss him, but her pride said, “Wait, wait for the explanation.” “What’s goin’ on, Kod?” He looked different to her, but she could not quite put her hand on what had changed with him. She did notice that his smile was gone, that beautiful, beautiful smile. It was replaced with dread, trepidation, uncertainty, mayhem. and most definitely, embarrassment. “Come in, babe. Have a seat.” He sat across from her and hung his head in humiliation for what he had to tell her. “Well, for God’s sake, Kod, what is it?” “Layoni, I’ve been keeping something from you. I, ah… I got a habit.” “A habit? Well, it better be me, Kod, ’cause I’ve been through that addiction thing before and I can tell you firsthand, it ain’t no picnic. I ain’t tryin’ tah be involved with no drug addict. What kinda drugs are you doing?” “I got a coke habit.” “Cocaine? Where’ve I been? Why didn’t I see that in you? Look, I’m not even going to do this.” She got up and headed for the door fuming. “Layoni! Wait! Please, I need help. My Randy just got out of the hospital today. I messed up something awful. I wasn’t even there to pick him up. I slept for three days without even checking on him. When I woke up, there were several messages from my mother-in-law asking me where was I and that they had picked him up from the hospital. KJ knows about the coke. He saw it on my bed. He hates me, Layoni. I guess you do too, huh?” He buried his head in his large hands.

“I gotta go. You see, Kod, my father was an addict, and he made my mother and my life a living hell. Oh, he wasn’t always an addict. He was once a goodhard working husband and father. A real provider, know what I’m sayin’? He loved me and my mother, and we came first and foremost in his life. He was a decent man with pride and morals.” The tears were flowing as she ed what it was like when she was a child. “I never thought I’d ever have to talk about this again. See, because it was hard knowing where we came from to where my father’s addiction took us. We went from living in a four-hundred-thousand-dollar home to living in public housing because he had to feed his addiction, and when he wasn’t spending the money on drugs, he was spending it on treatment after treatments. He never got better. He went from being a complimenting husband to a mentally abusing husband right before our eyes. “There was once a time when I was a child when asked by my mother who I was going to marry when I grew up, I’d say as proudly as I could, I’m going to marry my daddy because even a child could see then what a husband and father was supposed to be. But now, Kod, I want to get as far away from anyone who even remotely resembles my father. And my mother, God bless her heart. She stood by him through all the broken promises and womanizing and mental abuse. She stood right there and took it because she believed that you stand by your man through hell or high water. I watched her age before her time. I watched her cry, quiet as it was kept. So you see, Kod, I don’t want to be my mother. And I don’t want to marry my father. I can’t do this again. I can’t relive my childhood in my adult life. And you bastard, you bastard! It’s not fair that you allowed me to fall in love with you, knowing you had a problem! I gotta go.” She turned to leave, and he would have allowed her to go, but he heard something that told him that there just might be a chance to save their relationship. She said she loved him. He had to at least try. He ran to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and asked, “Layoni, please, just give me one chance to got my shit together? Just one time, that’s all I ask. Please, I need your help.” She snatched away from him and paced back and forth in front of him. Her innter voice was saying, Run girl! Run! Get the hell out while you can.

“How long, Kod?” asked Layoni. “What? “How long you been on the shit?” “Actually, just a short while before I met you.” “So you’re telling me you picked up just before we met?” “Yeah, I guess you can say that because of the coke, we met.” “What?” She looked at him as if he was kind of new fool. “That’s the most asinine thing I have ever heard.” Layoni thought to herself, Here comes the bullshit that goes along with the addiction. “Layoni, I stumbled upon coke accidentally. I gave someone a ride to work one day. I saw them snorting it, ordered them to put it away, and threatened them that I wouldn’t carpool with them if they were going to be doing it.” He was careful to use the pronoun them so as to not specify gender and to keep his brother-inlaw’s identity anonymous. “They said they could stop whenever they wanted to. Said it helped them cope with their problems. Layoni, I was having some problems myself. I hadn’t had a full night of sleep since my wife ed five years ago. It was one nightmare after the other, night after fuckin’ night. I couldn’t concentrate on my work. My boss demanded that I take a vacation. You told me that you hadn’t dated since your husband’s death because you couldn’t find anyone worth dating. I hadn’t dated in five years because I just couldn’t get my wife off my mind. I was miserable… I was tired. I was desperate. “So, that afternoon, I went out to get an early lunch because I saw that I wasn’t going to get any work done. When I got to my ride, the first thing I saw was the bag of coke that I had told ’em to get rid of. I was pissed off that they had dropped that shit in my ride. I thought how one of my boys could have found it instead of me. I started to throw it out the window, but all I could hear was them saying how much it had helped them cope with their problems. Don’t cha see, Layoni? I needed help. I needed help! I was going fuckin’ crazy! I couldn’t sleep, and whenever I did, I’d dream of her. Five years of dreaming of my dead wife. Layoni, it was as if I was living two lives, one with her and the other my real life. After a while, I couldn’t tell one life from the other. I couldn’t concentrate on my job. I just wanted to be able to live again in my own damn

skin! “But I just kept holding on the best I could. See, because I’m a man… I’m a black man, a single father, the only breadwinner in my family. If I go down, who would my boys have? No father, no mother. So I gave it a try, Layoni, and haven’t been able to stop since that day. All I ever wanted was for the pain to go away. Can you please try to understand? My boys need me back. I need me back.” She looked at him crossly, feeling a bit confused herself, trying desperately to ignore what her heart was whispering and what her experience was shouting. “I have to be honest with you, Layoni, had I not used the coke, I would have never gone out that night we met.” He looked away trying to hide the shame. “Probably wish you never met me anyhow, now. And you know something, Layoni? I’m not going to ask you to stay with me… especially since you told me about your dad, it’s not fair to you. You deserve better. So go. This is my problem and I’ll figure it out on my own.” He opened the door and stepped aside allowing her to . But it surprised him when she slammed the door close. “Pretentious motherfucker!” she shouted. “First of all Mr. Jackson, who the hell do you think you are making my mind up for me? This is not all about you! What about the boys?” “You said you don’t want to deal with someone with an addiction. And I get it. I really, truly get it. And I don’t blame you at all. Go on out that door, Layoni. Run! Run! Run! In fact, I wish I could run from my own damn self. I’ve got tah find a way to fix this shit. You don’t know me very well, Layoni. I’m a survivor. I survived my wife’s death, I’ve survived the single father thing, I survived all those hellish night, and I can survive this.” “You may have an unrealistic self-image of yourself, Kod, but you don’t know me very well. Now that I know the whole story that you’ve only been using for a few months and the problem that lead you to using I see things a bit differently.” He opened the door again. “Leave, Layoni!” “Man, please, you need me. Where’s your stash?” As much as he thought he

wanted her to go, he was relieved to see how much she cared about his sons, and hopefully him to stay and help him through this. He led her to his bedroom and pointed to his bedside table. She opened the drawer, took out the white powder, took it to the bathroom and flushed it. Kodjoe felt something behind that but said nothing. He knew it was time. And he knew what was done could only be done by her. “Now call your mother-in law and explain to her what you just told me,” she ordered him. He did as he was told, dreading every minute of it. As he made his call, she used her cell phone to get numbers to treatment centers.

CHAPTER 8

Cora May Richardson

It was dinnertime at the Richardsons’ home, and thirteen-year-old Laylah was busily preparing it for her six siblings. She had already helped them all with their homework prior to preparing dinner, but still, there was so much more to be done before settling down for the evening. Her own homework needed to be done; clothes that she had washed that morning before school needed to be folded and put away. Her baby sister’s hair hadn’t been done in five days. There was no way she could put it off another day, and she needed to touch up the edges of her own braids, hoping to make them look neat enough to last until the weekend when she would have more time to spend on her hair. Her mother, Cora May, was the mother of seven living children. She would have been the mother of an eighth had her oldest son, Robert, hadn’t died of cancer before the other children were born. The Richardson children were very close. There was twelve-year-old Tank who thought of himself as the man of the house since there was no official man or father figure of the Richardson children. Eleven-year-old Cassius, who was actually named after the great Cassius Clay before he turned Muslim, never knew he had been given the name that Muhammad Ali rejected. Caleb was ten and lost in his own little world of creative imagination, never allowing anything to enter his imaginary biosphere that he himself had conjured up. Evan and Ivan were the eight-year-old Richardson twins whom no one, except Laylah, could tell apart; not even their mother, Cora May, knew which was which. She’d refer to them as “you two” or “the twins.” And Little Momma, whose real name was Teaffah, was four. Little Momma would only listen to Laylah because Laylah was the one who had taken care of her from the day she was brought home from the hospital. Now, Cora May Richardson was what many would consider the product of her environment. Cora May grew up on the south side of Camden, New Jersey. She

quit school before finishing the seventh grade, finding it too difficult to keep up with her schoolwork. Growing up in the inner city, Cora May was not a very attractive child. She was often told by her mother that her odd-shaped head was due to an instrument used by the doctor to help deliver her when she was born. Cora May’s hair was so short that even weaving was out of the question. As a small child, she had lost a few teeth, and because her mother did not own health insurance, she never got them fixed. She had a rare skin disorder that had the appearance of fish scales all over her body. No child ever wanted to be seated next to her in school, especially during lunchtime, because when her dead skin would randomly shed, sometimes it would find its way into their lunch platters. The kids found this to be totally disturbing and repulsive. “Damn, girl, you grossin’ me out! Can you please take your scaly ass some place else? I’m tryin’ tah eat my lunch here,” were frequent statements said to Cora May as a child. Once a child just stood, went over to the trash can, and dumped his lunch it because of Cora May’s shedding skin, which had found its way into his lunch. And to top it all, before you would see Cora, even with her odd-shaped head, you’d see her size-thirteen feet flopping down the streets of the projects, trying to cop nickel bags of marijuana, which was her method of escaping the brutality of the mean, insulting children. The fights and being the butt of many jokes because of her unusual appearance only validated her reason for leaving school so early—that and because she just could not seem to learn at the pace as the other children in her classes. There were times that she would cry, feeling that God had played a dirty joke on her for making her that way. But Cora May had something that many girls in her neighborhood didn’t. She had a slamming body. And she learned very early how to use it. While scores of the young girls vilified Cora May to her face, Cora was doing a little scoring of her own with their boyfriends behind their backs, and many of those relationships resulted in her getting pregnant. But not all of Cora May’s children were fathered by her enemies’ boyfriends; a few were products of Cora May using her body to get the drugs she wanted. So by the age of eighteen, Cora had a full-blown addiction, and that slamming body grew right along with her addiction. So now, not only did she own all these other problems with her life but was obese as well.

Cora May perished the thought that her addiction to heroin, coke, OxyContin, and morphine to be a problem. She loved living in her drug-induced coma. Her drugs protected her from the ugly world that viewed her as ugly. Her drugs made her feel good; it gave her the love that others could not find within themselves to give. It did not care about her strange odd-shaped head, scaly skin, her large floppy feet, and hefty body. Her drugs loved her just the way she was.

Laylah set the table and instructed Cassius to round up their siblings for dinner. “Come and get it!” he yelled while sitting at the dinner table. “Cassius, I could have done that myself. Now would you please go tell ’em it’s time for dinner? And go wash you filthy hands and face, boy.” Laylah placed an even portion of Oodles of the Noodles on each plate. She did not want to hear Caleb complaining that someone had received more than he did. Cassius did as he was told and gathered his siblings. The children paraded in the kitchen one by one. As they ed Laylah, they displayed their hands to show her that they had been washed. She stopped the twins. “Ivan and Evan, if you two don’t get back to that sink and wash those filthy hands, you’re going to get it! What have the two of you been playing with? Your hands are just as stinky and smelly as can be.” “We found us some frogs out back and made ’em some frog houses,” announced Ivan. “Yeah, and the houses are real cool, sis. They got gates and a garage,” Evan proudly added. “What did you make their houses with?” asked Laylah “Mud,” they both answered together. She went to the sink with them to give the twins’ hands a good scrubbing. “Do you two know that when you play in mud and don’t wash your hands really good, that you’re eating everything you’ve handled?” she asked as she continued washing their hands. “Everything?” asked Evan. “Yes, everything,” she answered. “Even the dirt?” asked Ivan. “Yes, the dirt.”

“And the frog?” “Yes, you’re tasting that nasty frog and all his nasty germs, and doggy and cat’s pee, and a lot of other nasty things that lives in that dirt.” The small boys grabbed the soap from their older sister and commenced to really scrub each other’s hand. Now all was well; except someone was missing. “Where is Tank?” asked Laylah. “In the backyard,” the children shouted all at once. “Why is it that every night we have to go through the same thing with him?” asked Laylah. She went to the back door, and there was Tank being his normal self, doing his normal thing. “Tank, would you please put that journal down and come eat dinner?” He closed the journal, placed it in his book bag, and came in and washed his hands for dinner. “Now that we’re all here, let’s say grace,” said Laylah. They all bowed their heads, waiting for someone to begin. “Tank, would you please bless our food so we can eat. The noodles are getting cold, boy!” Laylah commanded. He looked at the seven bowls of lukewarm noodles, shook his head, and looked toward the ceiling. “Dear, God, yo’, man, what’s up with these stinkin’ noodles? Night after night, the same ol’ sh—” “Tank!” yelled Laylah. “Oh, just kidding, God. My bad. But on a serious tip, man, thanks for our sister Laylah, who cooks these delicious noodles every night. Please make it better for me and my brothers and sisters. Amen.” “Tank,” said Cassius. “What about Mommy?” “Oh, yeah, and please get Mommy off the junk.” All of the children shouted, “Amen.”

They all began to eat, everyone except Tank. Instead of eating the dish of noodles, he pushed the plate aside and pulled out his journal. “Tank, can’t you put that thing away long enough to eat your dinner?” asked Laylah. “Laylah, don’t you ever get tired of noodles? Damn, sis, we eat ’em for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Shoot, seems like we’ve been eatin’ them all our lives.” “Yeah, well, some kids would be happy as hell to get noodle. And they’d eat it seven days a week and not complain.” “Well, how ’bout you send this plate to those kids? Me, I can’t stomach that stuff anymore.” The younger children never looked up from their plates. They heard their big brother and sister going at it about the noodles, but the conversation was so unremitting that it was like their hearing was on mute. The only thing these children were waiting for was for Tank to leave the table and his plate so that they could divvy up the portion among themselves. “Tank, you do this all the time. Why do you even come to the table if you’re not going to eat?” asked Laylah. “I be hoping that maybe, just maybe, one day, I’ll come in and see some meat on our plates.” “We do the best we can, boy. All of us suffer in this house. You act worse than the younger kids. You and I, we supposed to set an example from ’em, Tank.” Laylah said. “Laylah, the only reason they don’t complain is because they don’t know no better. I know better, and I’m tired of stinkin’ Oodles of the Noodles!” Suddenly the stairs began to make slow, squeaking sounds. The heavy breathing became louder and louder until the children looked up and saw Cora May standing at the opening of the kitchen door. “What the hell is all this noise goin’ on down here?” Cora May roared. “It’s so

damn loud that I can’t hear myself think!” “Tank!” yelled the children. “I shoulda known it was you down here actin’ a damn fool,” said Cora May as she gave her oldest son the evil eye. “He’s doing it again. He won’t eat his dinner,” said Evan. “That’s all right. When his backbone start talkin’ shit to his stomach, he’ll eat.” Tank looked up at his mother with pure disgust. “You got something you wanna say to me, boy?” asked his mother. “No, ma’am.” “I didn’t think so. Here, take this note to Matthias and tell ’em to send me my shit. And don’t be all fuckin’ day.” She turned to return to her messy bedroom, but not before having her last say. “I do my best for you damn kids, but what respect do I get? None, I tell you. Not one bit of respect.” She huffed and puffed back up the squeaky stairs. “Tired of this shit!” Tank said in an angry whisper. Laylah heard him and followed him to the door. “Tank? Tank? Hold up.” He looked back at her and sat down at the foot of a tree in the backyard. She went to him and sat with him. “Why you gotta give her such a hard time?” she asked her frustrated brother. “You know why, Laylah. You live in the same house I do, so I know you gotta see the same things I see. There’s no money for food, but there’s plenty of money for dope. There’s no money for soap or toilet paper or other things that we supposed to have, but there’s always enough money for her dope.” “Don’t call it that!” said Laylah. “What am I supposed to call it, her medicine? I call it what it is, Laylah. It’s dope. And something’s gotta change. We can’t go on like this much longer.” “She can’t help it, Tank. You see with your own two eyes that when she doesn’t have it, she gets sick. Really sick! If you loved her, you’d understand,” said

Laylah, defending her mother as she usually did. “I understand that other people kick the habit. Why can’t she?” asked Tank. “It’s her disabilities, Tank. You know she has so many of them. Mommy can’t help the way she is. And anyhow, why you always wackin’ out on this? Don’t I take care of things around here? Don’t I take care of us?” “Laylah, you’re only thirteen, and you been changing dippers since you were seven. Ain’t cha tired yet?” “Yah know something? You’re impossible to talk with, Tank,” she said. Suddenly Cora May raised her bedroom window and shouted, “Boy, ain’t you gone yet?” Tank looked at his sister in that “you see what I mean?” way. He jumped on his bike and left his sister sitting under the tree, trying to validate her defending words concerning her mother’s addiction. Laylah’s mental armored covering was greatly pronounced when it came to shielding her mother. Somewhere down the years of living in the shadows of Cora May’s addiction, she had become a mother for her own siblings. In fact, she had been caring for them for so long that she could not actually her own childhood, yet she was still a child herself. It was common knowledge that it was her job as the oldest child to look after her brothers and sister. Each time Cora May returned home with a new baby, it was Laylah who was up all night caring for the infant. When one of the children got sick, it was Laylah who brought the medicine home to cure the ailing child, even if she had to steal the medicine from the neighborhood drug store’s shelves. Laylah was the one responsible for keeping the house clean and doing the laundry. She was the one who got them up to send them off to school and checked their homework each day. She made sure that each night before they went to bed that they were all bathed, and then once in bed, she’d tuck them all in tightly. She was the one who told the bedtime stories to the younger children. She was the one who kissed them goodnight. And she was the one who made sure that the house was secure each night by locking the doors and windows before she hits the hay.

Laylah did not have many friends; she did not have time for them. And the few she had, she never invited to her home for shame or embarrassment of it. Most of what she knew, she learned on her own. Oh, yes, Cora May taught her how to change dippers and mix baby formula, but because of Cora Mays’ illiteracy, anything pertaining to school work, Laylah had to learn on her own. There was nothing more important to Laylah than school. As early as she could , it had been a place of refuge for her. At school, she’d quickly do her work, and then she’d spend her free time daydreaming about the life she did not have, the life she could only wish for. It was a pretty town she saw in her mind where she and her siblings would live in a big old beautiful house with many spacious rooms. She’d fantasize that her little sister and brothers would go through the huge house running from room to room, putting their claim on which room would be theirs. There would be a swimming pool in the backyard as long as the length of the house. The kitchen cabinets and the refrigerator would be full with the most delicious foods. In this fantasy, she would have plenty of friends who would visit, and they would play by the poolside. She would finally get to be a child, just a child. The only thing that would be missing in her daydreams would be Cora May. Funny thing was it never bothered Laylah that her mother was never present in her fantasies. From her first day in preschool, she applied herself wholeheartedly. Even as a young child, any place was better than being home. There was so much that embarrassed her concerning her life that her education was the one thing that she felt no one could take away from her. There were many children in Laylah’s shoes. And most either hid their family problems or hung around other children whose lives were parallel to theirs. Tank, on the other hand, hated his mother’s addiction and her association with so many different men. Tank was no dummy; he knew what was going on in his mother’s bedroom when she invited her so-called friends up the stairs. Cora May had told the children that these men were delivering her medicine. She gave strict instructions not to be disturbed when her “company” was there. The children obeyed the order not to disturb their mother by evidence of what had happened to Caleb, when without thinking one day, he dashed into his mother’s

room to get comfort from her when he fell off the homemade swing in their backyard. He had walked into a situation that was embarrassing to him as well as to her and her friend. Cora May beat him with an extension cord that day. It took Laylah a week to get the swelling down enough for Caleb to go back to school. After he was able to return to school, it was Laylah who wrote the return-toschool letter with a lying explanation. From that day on, Caleb could not look his mother directly in the face; the beating and what his eyes had witnessed was what he saw whenever he looked at Cora May. Laylah acted as if it was no big deal when one of her mother’s men friend came to the house; Cora May was mom, and who was Laylah to voice her opinions of what her mother did? But Tank hated it, and he wasn’t one for hiding his feelings about anything. He would give the men a look that told them that without a shadow of doubt, if he was just a few years older, he’d be all up in their asses. Tank had approached his mother on several occasions about kicking her habit, but Cora May let all of her children know up front that quitting her drugs was not a subject to be discussed in her home. “If you kids don’t like what I do, find somewhere else to live. Ain’t but one grown ass in this house—mine!” she’d tell them. Then she would go on about how much she had sacrificed for her ungrateful children and how much they did not appreciate her, and never forgetting to remind them how each of their no-good fathers ran off and left her to raise all these bastard-ass kids on her own. That was another thing that bothered Tank; he would never know who his father was. Often Tank would found himself staring in the faces of strange men, wondering if any of them were his father. He would examine them and then examine himself, looking for similarities. He was aware of the fact that he did not favor his mother; in fact, none of the children looked like Cora May. Some had curly hair, some had kinky hair, and all of them were of a different shade than Cora May’s. However, he loved his family. His sisters and brothers meant the world to him. And although Laylah did not share his views on how he perceived their mother, he felt especially close to her. He often thought of Laylah as a bit naïve. It seemed that for the life of her, she could not see that Cora May was just using her, taking advantage of her kind nature. But most importantly, he knew that Laylah was just as much caught up in

Cora May’s drama as he was. He know that she saw it as a favorable position to be in good grace with their mother, especially when Cora May was out of her socalled medicine. And yes, he loved his mother but thought it fortunate on his behalf to be able to see through her manipulation.

As Tank rode his bike from Sycamore Courts to Chambers Avenue, he took notice of how beautiful this cobblestoned street looked. It had groves of trees from one corner to the other. The houses were three-storied brick houses with rod-iron gates to separate the tiny yards. At the end of Chambers Avenue sat Cooper Medical Center; the most prominent hospital in the city of Camden, New Jersey, and one of the last great icons left in the city. Once when Tank complained about living in the city of Camden, Cora May explained to him how at one time, Camden city was a very prosperous city. There were many businesses there, ranging from Robert Halls, Lit Brothers, Sears, R.C.A, to the Campbell Soup Company, just to name a few. And although he had never seen one in his life time, she told him how Camden was the home of the very first drive-in-movie theater. Yeah. Tank thought. That was then. I’m talkin’ ’bout what I see now. And all I see is strung-out mothers and fathers on drugs, children living with foster parents, carjacking, prostitutes, dirty streets that hadn’t been repaired even since I was born, and a lot of decent people caught up in this bullshit. He promised himself that whatever it took, he’d deliver his siblings out of this mess. As he saw it, he was the man of the house, and it was up to him to do something. But what? What could he possibly do to rescue his family from the fate of the city, and their mother’s addiction? He chained his bike up to the rod-iron gate and walked up the steps to the front door, and then he rang the bell. A tall thin man opened the door and asked him what his business there was. “I’m here to see Matthias, man. Let me in.” “Hold up, little mo’fucker!” shouted the man. “Matthias, some little kid’s out here talkin’ ’bout he wants to see yah.” “Man, let ’im in. That’s Little Man. He’s cool.” Tank walked past the thin man and into the vestibule of Matthias’s empire, which sat less than a quarter of a mile from the ghetto. He had entered this house

many times since his mother had succumbed to drug addiction. It was strange, even to Tank, how he both loved and loathed this house simultaneously. The tall ceilings, hardwood floors, and spacious rooms were so different from his tiny cramped rooms in the projects. He visualized his family living in such luxury as what this house owned. Most of what sat in this house was brought with his mother’s welfare check; this he hated. “Little Man, what’s goin’ on? Come on up here and shoot me the shit on what’s happenin’ in the Court,” said Matthias as he sat so proudly upon his throne. “Ain’t nothin’, dawg. Mama said to give you this note.” He handed Matthias the note that was asking for five bags of heroin and a promise to pay on the first of the month. Matthias loved those sweet little notes asking for credit. They would double the price on a bag compared to paying up front. He was sure to get paid because the welfare mothers would leave their Family First cards with him until check day, then he’d have one of his runners escort the mothers to the bank to collect his money. None of the mothers would renege on paying because they needed that credit line opened for hard times; and everyday was considered a hard time. Those who did chance not paying found themselves mysteriously attacked. They were beaten so badly that they would wind up in the hospital. So even if all that was left was food money, Matthias would get his pay for the drugs. Matthias reached in a bag near his throne and gave Tank what the note asked for. As Tank turned to leave, he turned back to Matthias and asked, “Mr. Matthias, how much does a job like this pay?” “It takes care of things. Why, you lookin’ to hook up with my organization?” “Yeah, can you use me?” Matthias rubbed his chin as if he were thinking. “How can you serve me, Little Man?” “Well, heck, I’ve been making this run for my moms for years. Just thought I could make a little change doing this professionally. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Yeah, I’m feelin’ you. But I don’t know. You might be a little punk-ass mama’s boy. And yeah, you make these run for your mama, but how I know you ready to

do business with a man?” He looked at Tank as to be sizing him up. “Try me when you ready. Give me an assignment. I’ll show you what I’m about.” Matthias walked back and forth in front of Tank, still rubbing his chin and thinking. “I don’t know, man. I run a very lucrative business here, and I don’t want no fuck-ups. Naw, get your little ass outta here. My shit’s too thick to come tumbling down because of some punk-ass kid.” “You know what, man? Fuck you. I’m fast, and yeah, I know I’m little, but if you were as smart as I thought you were, you’d take me on. I could get outta places were your older big fat outta-shape runners can’t.” He looked at one of the big guys sitting in the room. “Big fat?” the guy said. He ran over to Tank, picked him up and placed a gun to his head and started toward the door with Tank in the air. “I’ll show you what a fat mother fucker can do. You little shit!” Tank was shacking in his sneakers. He knew this brother didn’t play. Perhaps he had attacked the character of the wrong person. “Put ’im down, Busy,” ordered Matthias with a smile on his face. “I’ll handle this.” “Yeah, you handle this, ’cause I’ll kill a mother fuckin’ kid. Shit, ain’t nothin’ but another motherfuckin’ body to me,” said Busy, as he simply opened his hand and dropped Tank to the floor. . “I like your spunk, Little Man. But it was a good thing that those words weren’t directed toward me. My boy here wouldn’t have it. Know what I’m sayin’?” Matthias was referring to his wolf, which was lying on the side of his throne. “Y’all get the hell outta here. Let me have some words in private with this boy.” Everyone cleared the room. It was now just Tank, Matthias, and the dog. “So you think you can do the job, huh?” “I can do it. Just tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

“Okay, I’ll take you on, Little Man. Sit here, I’ll be right back.” Matthias went in the back room and returned with a brown paper bag. “There’s no address on this bag, just the number of the house. I want you to take this to Haddon Avenue to that number. Don’t ask any questions. The person who’s going to answer the door will give you a package for me. Bring it back, and we’ll talk some business when you get back.” “What about my mama’s bags? She’s waiting.” “You know what? Get the hell on up outta here, boy! You ain’t ready for no shit like this. See, ’cause when I give a fuckin’ order, I ain’t tryin’ tah here nothing ’bout nobody’s strung-out-ass mama! You think I give a fuck about your junkyass momma?” Damn, thought Tank, I’m mes. I need to be here. Need to get in this dude’s head and see how he operates. I gotta get this man and his dope outta my mama’s life. He had to come corrected with this somehow, but how? He did not want to hear Cora May’s mouth about holding her up from her fix, mainly because it could cause him bodily harm to interfere with Cora May’s dope. But until he could get in good with Matthias, he’d have to deal with his mother’s irritable disposition. “Oh heck, man, she can wait.” He reached in his pocket and handed the five bags of heroin back to Matthias. “Here, hold this until I get back.” Matthias looked at him askew. “All right, Little Man. I’ll give you a chance. You’ve forty-minutes on this assignment. Don’t shit me. Don’t take any longer than the forty minutes. If you do, don’t came back here, not even for your momma’s bags.” Tank jumped on his bike and headed for Haddon Avenue. It was only a few streets over, so he knew he could make it there and back in less time than he had been given. When he reached the house, he knocked on the door. He waited a couple of minutes but no one answered. He knocked again and again. Still, there was no answer. He was thinking about the time. Even though Haddon Avenue was just a few blocks away from Mathias’s place, most of his time was spent trying to get

someone to answer the door. ing what Mathias had told him about not coming back there, even for his mother’s bags if he was later than forty minutes, he decided to get back to his place and just tell him the truth—no one answered the door. But just as he turned to leave, he heard the door opening, and was surprised to see that a very old white woman answering the door. She looked like the librarian who had retired from his school last year. He was almost sure it was her. Dang, he thought to himself, even old white ladies are doing this stuff. She handed him a sealed envelope and closed the door behind her, never saying a single word. He jumped back on his bike and took off like a bat out of hell trying to get back to Mathias’s place in time. When he returned, he found Matthias alone with the exception of his dog. Matthias looked at his Fossil watch and shook his head with approval. “You did well, Little Man. Come on in the back. We need to talk.” Tank followed and sat opposite from Matthias at his desk. “Now, this was a simple job,” said Matthias. “But the longer you work for me you’ll find the future jobs not so simple. You feel me?” “Yes, sir.” “You got a celli?” “No, sir.” Matthias reach in one of the drawers in his big oval-shaped desk and pulled out a cell phone from it. He gave it to Tank. “Keep it in your pocket and keep it on vibrate. When I need yah, I’ll call. I’ll expect you here no less than twenty minutes. , from now on, you’re always on my time. Yah heard me?” “Yeah, I hear yah.” “Now I know you gotta go to school, but the minute you get out, expect to hear from me. My time is valuable. I ain’t got no time for no bullshit. What you learn here stays here. Never discuss my business with any one, not even the others

who work for me. You just need to know, Little Man, I’ve got eyes everywhere. You feel me?” “Yeah, man. You sayin’ lips closed when it comes to you and what goes on between us. I got that.” “No, man, not just what goes on between you and me, but what goes on in my place of business. If I ever hear anything that you said about what goes on up in this motherfucker—let me just say that I ain’t got no problem offin’ a kid. Now, understand this right up front, I don’t give a shit about cha. You, like the rest of my crew, is just hired hand. You get caught up in some shit and you holding for me, you found that shit. You heard me?” “Yeah, I got it.” “You just a kid. The man ain’t gonna do nothing but give you a place to live and food to eat for a couple of years. You’ll be all’ight.” Matthias reached in his pocket and pulled out a small bank envelope and handed it to Tank. “You’ll find your moms’ bags in there and a little something for the delivery you made. All’ight, I’ve got things to do. You can leave now. to keep that phone on vibrate.” Tank took the bank envelope and got up to leave, but Matthias stopped him before he reached the door. “Ah, Little Man?” “Yeah?” “This job’ll put some dead white men in your pocket, but deceive me and somebody’ll be looking for a dead-ass little black kid. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Man, I know what’s happenin’.” Upon leaving, as Tank went to retrieve his bike, he ed a young white kid who looked to be a few years older than him. The kid gave Tank a strange look. Tank tried to ignore it. But what Tank did take time to notice was the kid’s gear; his clothing said black, but his skin and his red hair and red freckles said different. For some reason, Tank knew he would see this kid again. Tank took off on his bike but only rode a couple of streets over and the pulled

into an alley. He had to see what was in the bank envelope. He saw his mother’s bags of dope, five bags. This was only confirming the fact that Cora May’s addiction was getting worse. He ed when it was only one or two bags. That was a long time ago. Then he counted the money—five hundred in crisp twenty dollar-bills. “Wow!” he said with his eyes. He wondered what was in the bag he had delivered to the old white woman to make Matthias pay him off this handsomely. The five bags of dope reminded him that Cora May must be carrying on quite hysterically by now. It was an hour and a half since she had sent him out for the bags. It should have taken him twenty minutes to half an hour to get and bring her medicine back. He knew he would see the wrath of his mother’s anger when he returned, but there was just one more stop he had to make before returning home. Tank chained his bike onto a pole in front of the Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant. First he went into the restroom to separate what he wanted to spend and then he took off his shoe and sock, and placed the rest of the money in his sock. He ordered two-three piece dinners. He sat there eating, never taking his eyes from the food until he had completed both dinners. A couple of young girls watched how fast he consumed the six pieces of chicken, two orders of fries, and two medium Cokes. When he was done, he ordered a family pack of chicken, complete with biscuits and fries. The two girls giggled, thinking that Tank must really be starving. He felt the need to explain. “This is for my fam’.” When he returned home, Cora shouted a few unpleasant words about how when she sends him for something, she wants his black ass back as soon as possible. But the sickness of withdrawal was upon her, so she grabbed the bags and disappeared up the steps to her bedroom. The kids knew they would not see her again for a while. Laylah saw the box of Kentucky Fried Chicken and asked Tank where he had gotten the money for it. “You ask too many questions, sis. Just get the kids.” The children did not bother to ask any questions about where the chicken came from. They were just happy to be eating it. Laylah, on the other hand could see a change in her brother that spelled trouble.

She ate the chicken but would not let Tank off the hook about where the money came from to buy it. “Tank, you know you were gone for a while. Mama was mad as hell. You know how she gets when she needs that stuff. Where were you, and what took you so long?” “Can’t tell yah, sis.” “Uum, this is some good chicken,” said one of the twins. “And there’s gonna be a lot more where that came from,” said Tank. “Yeah,” said Laylah. “And just where did you say this came from?” “Let it go, sis. Told cha, I can’t tell you. But you know, sis, I’ve been thinkin’, none of us got no father. From now on, I’m going to be it.” “It what?” asked Laylah. “The father of this here house. I’m going to take care of y’all.” “You gonna be our daddy?” asked Little Momma. “Well, kinda, you know the way Laylah takes care of y’all, like she’s the mother, I’m gonna be like the father of this house.” “Stop trippin’, Tank,” said Cassius. “You ain’t gonna be my dad. That means you were only one when I was born. You too young to be callin’ yourself my dad, dawg.” Cassius giggled. “All right, on a serious tip, y’all’ I know I’m too young to be callin’ myself yah pops, but I am the oldest son in this house, and cause ain’t none of y’all got no dad, it’s my responsibility to take care of y’all. I promise you, I’m gonna take real good care of y’all.” “Does that mean we gotta call you daddy, Tank?” asked Little Momma. “No, Little Momma. Y’all can still call me Tank, but I want y’all to know, I’m goin’ to be busting my ass for y’all.”

The whole time Laylah just listened. Where did all this talk come from? She knew that Tank always had a problem with the way things were in their home, in their life, and with their mother. She knew he was embarrassed by the way they lived, maybe even more than she. She knew that there were times that there was not enough toilet paper to accommodate the family, as evidence of her going to the restrooms in school and rolling the entire roll off to bring home to her family. She knew that there was never enough food to feed her siblings, as confirmation of her and Tank constantly stealing food from the neighborhood corner stores. She knew that even though Cora May received an energy check, still there were times that the electric was not paid and the candles came out to replace the lights. And she knew that although she loved her siblings, there were times that all she really wanted was to be a normal thirteen-years-old girl and enjoy her childhood. And the thing that she hated the most was that there was never money enough for her personal items. But still, why now and where did Tank get all that money to buy Kentucky Fried chicken? If she knew how much was in his sock she really would have flipped.

CHAPTER 9

Wo rking for Mathias had its ups and downs. One would have thought that the money Tank was getting paid by Mathias was the up part of the deal, but to Tank, getting to know Mathias and the ways of which he operated was more valuable than any dollar bills. Tank was a bit tired tonight, but his boys were sitting on the stoop in front of his building when he got home, and he couldn’t just diss them. He sat with them awhile to catch up with the happenings of the projects. There was always something happening in the projects. Even late at night, the music from various homes was playing just loud enough to clash. A little R&B here, a little Latino there, and some baby making music from down the street. It seemed that the Christians were all, perhaps fast asleep, being that they got with Praise 103.9 FM with Yolanda Adams and then Lonnie Hunter during the early morning hour. Other than the junkies who needed that wake-up bag, the Christians were the only people up at the crack of dawn. Furthermore, hearing the early-morning gospels seemed to bring some stability and hope for the families of the projects. They all welcomed it, expected it, and respected it. It wasn’t that Tank cared very much for the group of young boys who were sitting there; he just did not want to appear indifferent. However, this was his turf, and they were his homeboys. Whatever good or bad things that happened there, they were all in it together. Most nights, their conversations seemed so redundant—who got locked up today, who quit school this week, guess who got a stray bullet yesterday, or who got a body today. Somebody always had a family member going off to rehab. And occasionally, a bit of good news found its way into the conversation, even if it was a tad bit embellished. Some of the boys were drug s themselves— blunts, 40s, maybe some coke, but no needles, yet. Some were drug dealers, baby gangsters. And although Tank thought of his homesboys in this manner, he did not consider himself an gangster. He was only in this drug thing for minute. Hit it and quit it. That was his plan. He’d take Matthias’s empire down, somehow. Get his mother off the drugs, somehow, and get back every penny Matthias took from his family, again, somehow. Tank never doubted

himself, even though he had no idea just how all of this was going to go down. His innocent, childish mind could not failure. Sometimes the boys’ conversation would turn to their futures. Ironically, a few of the young boys would straight out it, that they saw no future for themselves. Some would discuss what kind of coffin they wanted to be buried in or how they wanted to be dressed in their coffin. Some would it that jail was their future. And whenever one of them did mention some promising future, they all would look at that one as if his head had skipped time. Tank would leave the stoop after the speaking of such things. He wanted to believe that he was different. He wanted more for himself and his siblings. He wanted more than what the projects had to offer—that was for sure. He was a short kid, so playing basketball was out of the question. He wasn’t any good at rapping, so that also was out of the question. He understood that education was the key to success. His mind—untouched by any illegal substance known to a man; that was his way out. His mother’s illiteracy helped him come to that conclusion early in life. He saw her struggles and embarrassment whenever she was asked to read something. The one thing that he and Laylah agreed upon was that every child in the Richardsons’ household must get an education. He told the boys that he would catch them later and went in his house. Tank did not want to be caught placing his stash under the loose board in the floor of his and his brothers’ small bedroom. That money was his and his siblings’ future. After doing many jobs for Matthias, he had saved close to five thousand dollars. In the eyesight of Tank, it was as if he was a millionaire. He hadn’t changed much in his personal appearance because Matthias wasn’t having it. “You don’t want to call attention to yourself,” he had told him. And you had better believe that Matthias was looking out for himself when he said that to Tank. He could careless about Tank. All he knew was that the boy could get around. He could get in and out of situation better than any of his other runners. He was dependable. He was fast, and Mathias never saw him as a threat toward his empire. He was just a kid; what harm could he do? The more Tank worked for him, the more trust Matthias had in him. However, Matthias was not the only one keeping an eye on Tank; old big fat Busy was doing a little checking out of his own. “That boy’s good. Shit, he might even be too mo’fuckin’ good if you asked me. Hell, you got the kid

weighing yo’ shit, counting yo’ money. You gon’ look up one day, and that little mo’fucker is going to have every mo’fuckin’ thing you own up in this mo’fucker,” Busy had told Matthias. “Fuck you, Busy. You never liked that boy anyhow. You hated him from the door. One of you motherfuckers has a better chance of tryin’ tah rip me off than that boy. He ain’t nothing but a damn kid. What the hell harm can he do me? Anyhow, this is my damn place of business. Nobody tells me how to run shit up in this motherfucker,” was what Matthias would tell him. Yeah, Tank kept things on the down low in the streets and at school. No one suspected anything. However, for the Richardsons’ household, things had changed considerably. All Laylah knew was that more nutritional meals were being served to her siblings. And she was able to buy herself some of her personal needs. She was able to go to the braid shop and get her and Little Momma’s hair professionally braided. Laylah did not have to steal toilet paper from the school’s bathrooms anymore or steal medicine for her siblings when they got sick. All she had to do was tell Tank, the daddy of the house, and he’d go to his secret place in the floorboard of his and his brothers’ room and provide whatever money Laylah needed. Yes, thing had become more tolerable for her. But as they say, the more things change, the more they remain the same, or in some cases, get even worse. Cora May continued to live in her drug-induced coma. She continued to dwell in her dungeon of a bedroom, which suited her just fine. She hardly noticed the changes in her very own home because she was used to the children handling everything anyhow. She did notice that there was more nutritional food cooking in the house lately, and yes, she ate her share. But it never crossed her mind to ask from where it was coming. As far as she knew, Tank and Laylah must have gotten really good at ripping off the corner stores. As long as she had her drugs and occasional men, all was well with her. Laylah was enjoying all that was coming her way. Nevertheless, she still did not know what her brother was doing to provide the money. Perhaps she dealt with that situation the same way she had adapted with her mother’s addiction—que sera sera. Tank smiled deep within his heart to notice how much calmer his sister appeared to be lately. He knew that it would be just a matter of time before everything

would be right in her life. All she knew was that life was a bit sweeter. But just because she did not question Tank about why he was away from home so much lately, and where all the money was coming from did not mean that she was not concerned about her little brother. Oh yes, Tank was handling thing just as he had promised his siblings he would. Even his younger sister and brothers appeared happier. And well, Cora May, was still—Cora May. But there was one thing that bothered Tank; it was that redhaired, freckle—faced, white kid whom he had seen hanging around Matthias’s place. A few months had ed and that white boy still had that irritating look on his face whenever he looked at Tank. Neither Tank nor the kid had the nerves to approach each another. They knew the rules, and neither wanted to piss off Matthias. Plus, old big fat Busy was living up to his name and just seeming to be everywhere Tank was. But one day just as Tank was leaving school, the cell phone rang. He knew it was Matthias because he obeyed when Matthias told him that the phone was for his business only. But when he answered it, Tank felt a tap on his back. With phone to ear, he turned and saw the freckled-faced kid. He took the message from Matthias and then asked the kid what was his problem. “Man, we need to talk.” “You ain’t got no business with me, dawg,” Tank said. He took off on his bike to Matthias’s place. By the time he had finished his runs for Matthias it was about eleven o’clock. He hated those multiple jobs. They always took the entire day to complete. But the pay was decent. So he did it without complaining. When he came home that night, he took in the scent of burning candles, indicating that the electric was off for the sixth day. As he ed his mother’s room, he knew she had company as evidenced by the sound of the squeaking bed. It was a warm night even with the window raised. Tank tossed and turned, trying to comfort himself. But it wasn’t the warmness of the weather that kept him awake; it was the thoughts that rented space in his mind. He wanted his mother off drugs. This was his first waking thought every

morning and his last thought before falling to sleep at night. He needed to find a way to destroy Matthias and take back all that he had taken from him and his siblings. This was the reason he wanted to get close to Matthias to learn his ways. He needed to learn how he operated so that he could take his empire down. There were too many mothers, fathers, and kids on drugs. Lives were being destroyed all around him. There were so many children living just as poorly as he and his siblings; some even worse. Carjacking, drive-bys, and so many people hustling others that one had to be conscious of their surrounding at all times. And the part that he hated the most, children caught up and all this duplicity. Tank tried to become unfeeling toward these dreadful times. So many of his friends had been able to become insensitive about what was happening in their community. They called it (survivalism). If you can’t feel it, it won’t hurt. Although Tank would keep his feelings to himself, he would not allow himself to become numb. Like Tank, most of his friends lived the very same life that he and his siblings lived. There was not one who had not dealt with some type of addiction in their family. Some of his friends simply accepted the dysfunctional routine as normal, understanding that there was very little, if anything at all, that they could do about it. Some had shared with Tank how they were filled with anxiety, believing their addictive family member would die in their addition. This was also Tank’s feeling concerning his mother. Tank tried many times to get his mother off the drugs. He came right out and asked her to stop; she refused. He tried hiding them from her; she found them. He tried trashing them; she retrieved them. He tried flushing them; she beat him. So when none of those things worked, he prayed to God, asking Him to deliver his mother from her addiction. But it seemed to Tank that God had taken a day off because nothing had changed. He thought about Laylah, how she had truly taken over as the mother of the children totally by default. How tiring it seemed for her. But he never heard her complain, not once. Although he loved all his siblings, it was Laylah that he was the closest to. But as close as they were, their opinions of their mother’s addiction were as conflicting as could be. So many things troubled his childish mind, things a boy his age should not have

to worry about, like, where and who his father was. He looked out at the night sky and among the millions of stars, picked the most luminous one and thought that out of all of the stars, could his very own father be looking at that same one at this very same moment? Although he giggled a little, he actually felt saddened because he was suddenly thrown back into reality. These were his chances of finding his father, a million to one. But he could not shake the thought of his father out of his mind. Could his father be wondering about him? Does his father even know that he exists? Or does he even give a damn? Useless thoughts. This was where it always comes back to, dealing with his worst enemy—his very own mind. He thought about the money he had made that day. It was well over seven hundred dollars. Good money for a child his age to have made but not much compared to that easy five he had made the first day he did a job for Matthias. It seemed that lately, he had been working harder and getting paid less. Thinking about the money reminded him that he would have to put it in the floorboard first thing in the morning when his brothers would be out of the room. The thought of paying the electric bill crossed his mind, but no, there was no way that Cora could ever know about the money. It would all go in her veins. And why wouldn’t whoever she had in that room knocking her boots help her with her bills? He knew that men only wanted his mother for their pleasure. But who knows, maybe this man did give her some money, which will go in her veins, or does he even care that he was in Cora’s bedroom shooting drugs and making out with her by candlelight? Perhaps he thought it romantic to be in the candlelight darkness. Then back his mind went to the freckled-faced kid. What did he want? Didn’t he know that Matthias would do something horrible to the both of them if he ever saw them together? He must be on some kind of death wish, thought Tank. The next morning Tank awoke in a cold sweat. He screamed about someone not slicing his neck. He never saw the face of the villain, but for some reason, he connected the crime with the white kid, or maybe it was old big fat Busy. Laylah, alarmed by the shouting, rushed to his bedside and shook him. “What is it, Tank? What’s the matter with you, boy?” “Dang, sis. I guess I had a nightmare.”

“Look at cha. You’re sweatin’ like a pig. Anyhow, you’d better get up. You’re going to be late for school.” “All’ight, just give me a minute, well yah?” “You don’t have a minute, Tank. It’s almost eight-thirty.” Tank jumped up and grabbed the same pants he had on the day before. “Tank, you’re not going to put back on those nasty things. There are clean pants in your drawer.” “Naw, these are cool, they jeans. Nobody’ll know the difference.” “You just nasty, boy. But, hey, do what you gotta do. I’m gonna be late myself if I don’t get outta here.” Laylah was about to leave, but when Tank pulled his jeans up, the bank roll fell out of his pocket. Laylah heard it, and upon giving her brother a hand with picking up what had fallen from his pocket, she could not believe the weight of the roll. “Tank, what is this?” “Just give it here, Laylah.” He grabbed at the money, but she pulled back. “Come on, sis, I don’t have all day.” “Not until you tell me what’s going on, Tank. If you don’t tell me, I’m telling Mommy.” “I told you from the beginning, sis I can’t talk about it. But just trust me. It’s cool.” “You selling drugs, Tank? You mean to tell me that you talk about Mommy like a dog about doing drugs and you turn around and sell the same stuff you obviously hate her doing? You a hypocrite! I don’t get, Tank. Where’s you loyalty to Mommy and to our sister and brothers? Is this your way of calling yourself being the father of this house? ’Cause if you are, all you gonna do is wind up in jail just like all the other so-called fathers who do that shit.” “I told you, sis, I can’t tell you what’s goin’ on. Not yet, okay? But I will soon. I promise,” he capitulated. What else could he do? “But when I tell you, you gotta promise me that you’ll keep this to yourself.”

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “We promised each other that we would never get involved with drugs—not using or selling it. We said it a long time ago, that we will stay clear of that stuff.” “Look, sis, I know what this looks like, but in the real, it’s gonna be all good. Just give me some time to think about how I’m going to handle it. Okay?” “Tank, you know how hard I’ve been trying to keep our sister and brothers together. And it ain’t no joke. It’s been real hard. But I’d do whatever it takes to keep us all together so that they don’t place us in some god forsaken foster homes. You know that there ain’t nobody willing to take all of us into one home. And yeah, I know that Mommy may never get her act together. That’s why I try like I do. And I don’t need you puttin’ more problems on me. Don’t you understand? I can’t take no more than I’m dealing with! And what’s this about you not knowing how you’re going to handle this? Whatever this thing is. Tank, all I see is that you don’t know what the heck you’re doin’.” “Laylah, three weeks, okay. Just give me three weeks, and I’ll tell you everything. But please, whatever you do, don’t tell Mommy.” “Don’t tell Mommy what!” Cora May shouted. They hadn’t heard her, but Cora May was coming out of her bedroom and heard the tail end of what Tank was saying. Tank looked at Laylah with pleading eyes. “Oh, ah, that Tank was late for school,” answered Laylah. “Well, it’s too damn late for you not to tell me. I already know. Now y’all get your asses to school, before they come buggin’ me about why y’all ain’t there. I ain’t tryin’ tah be going up there to that damn school explaining why y’all late! I’m dealin’ with enough shit now! Them motherfuckers’ll be coming after me if y’all start that being late shit.” “Mommy, you think you’re going to get the lights on today?’ asked Tank. “Boy, do I look like I got that kinda money? If you damn kids would learn how to turn some of these damn lights off sometimes, maybe it would have never been turned off in the first place. All you damn kids think about is your damn selves. Shit! I’m in the dark, too.” “Cora!” called the man who had spent the night with her. “Look in that cooler

and bring me a beer, would yah?” “All right, baby. I’ll be right there. Now y’all get y’all asses outta here and get to school.” Laylah and Tank left quietly while Cora May continued complaining about how inconsiderate the children were. As they walked to school, Tank thanked Laylah for not ratting him out. But as they were walking, Tank felt uncomfortable as if he was being watched. He looked all around and saw nothing to be concerned with, but that did not stop the troubled feeling. That uneasiness stayed with him throughout the day. And when the phone vibrated during class, it startled him. It wasn’t like Matthias to call during class hours. Tank asked to be excused and went to the restroom to call Matthias back. “Hey, Little Man. I have a special job for you today. As soon as you’re dismissed from school, I want you here. Time is of the essence. Know what I’m sayin?” “Word, man. I’ll be there.” Tank returned to class, but his mind was not on his schoolwork. He sat there fidgeting. His legs seemed to have a mind of its own as evidence of how it shook. He wondered what his job would be this time. Why was it so important that Matthias should call him during school hours? Could it be something he had not done right? Or could it have something to do with that white kid? Perhaps he should have heard the kid out. What Tank did not know was that he was about to find himself in a very perilous situation. After school, he went straight to Matthias’s place. He knocked on the door and was surprised when Matthias himself answered it. Normally, it was one of his runners who would answer the door while he sat upon his throne giving orders. Tank came in and felt the uneasy feeling again. “I need you back here, Little Man,” said Matthias as he walked toward the back of the house. They winded up in a large dining room with a dining room set made for a king. The table was oval shaped with the largest leather chairs that

Tank had ever seen. It was nice, as was the drapes that covered the windows in that room. A chandelier hung from the ceiling that lit up the room with an elegance that gave the room the appearance of a stunning ballroom. Tank could not believe that a house such as this sat in the heart of south Camden. “I have a very important job for you, Little Man. This may be the most vital job you will ever do for me. So I need your undivided attention. You feel me?” “Yeah, word on that, man. I’m following you.” “I’m going to be having some company a little later on. This is something I’ve been working on for a minute, so I don’t want you fuckin’ this up for me. If things don’t go well, this may be your last day on earth, but if all goes well, you will be paid accordingly. Yeah, heard me?” “What I gotta do, man?” “Hold up. Don’t be so anxious. I’m gettin’ to that. Get under that table,” Matthias ordered Tank. Tank hesitated. That uneasy feeling was messing his stomach up. “Go on. Do like I told yah, man.” Tank did as he was told, feeling like somebody’s new fool. “Now what?” asked Tank. “Just get the feel of being under there. I’m gon’ break it all down to yah in a minute.” Matthias went to the front room for a while as Tank stayed under the table, wondering what the purpose of it all was. Suddenly Tank called out, “Man, what’s this shit about?” Without warning, Matthias and his wolf that he called a dog came running in the dining room. The dog was acting just as crazy as Matthias; he was barking and showing his sharp teeth to Tank. “Mo’fucker, did I tell you to talk? Did I tell you to say one motherfuckin’ word?” Tank did not know what to say or if he should responded to Matthias’s question at all. And while having that dog in his face, he could not talk if he wanted to. Matthias called the dog off, and then he walked back and forth in front of Tank, looking at him as if he was disgusted with him.

Tank remained under the table, feeling as if this may very well be the last day of his life. “Man, like I said, this is a very important job. And if you feel you can’t obey my lead, then maybe somebody else might want to make this money.” As much as Tank hated being under that table and not being clear about why he was there, he still wanted that money. And most importantly, he needed to continue to be in good grace with Matthias if he was going to destroy him and get his mother off the drugs. But still, how? How was he going to do it? “Man, look, whatever it is, I can do it. Just tell me something. Why it’s gotta be all like this?” Tank asked. “Man, you just don’t get it, do you? Don’t ask me no damn questions. You hear me? Just follow my lead. You feel me?” Tank sighed. “Yeah, man. I feel you.” “All’ight, man. Someone will be here in about two hours. I’ve got some very important business with ’im. I got something for him and he’s got something for me. Now the reason you’ve been under that table is because that will be your station for about forty-five minutes. What you’re going to do, Little Man, is switch briefcases. There will be one under there. His is identical to that one. All you got to do is exchange his briefcase with mine and keep quiet until he leaves. I’ll have a tablecloth on the table that will conceal you from his view. He won’t think nothin’ of it because it’s a dining room table. Hell, that’s what people do, right? They cover their tables with tablecloths.” Tank was no dummy; he knew that Matthias was actually trying to convince himself that this scam would work. “What about him?” Tank was referring to the dog. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He only attacks on command or when I’m not here. You’ll be fine under there as long as you keep quiet. Now, you have an hour if you need to go home and get something to eat. I don’t want your belly making them hungry sounds will you’re under there. Go home, eat, and be back here in an hour.”

When Tank got home, Laylah was waiting; she too had been feeling a bit uneasy since she had spoken to him that morning. He walked in the house and saw the look on her face, which said they needed to talk. He motioned for her to come to the backyard. She followed him, and they sat on the back stoop. “Tank, I’m scared for you. I mean, I don’t know what’s going on wit’ cha, and I’m not sure if I wanna know. But I can see that something’s bothering you. Tank, if anything happens to you, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. It’s like you said, you know, about being the man of the house. I’ve always looked at it that way even before you said it. Tank, I do what I do around here because I know you got my back. But if something should happen to you, I don’t know if I’ll have it in me to continue. So please stop before something crazy happens. Please, Tank?” As strong as Laylah was, all the strength in her body couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes. “Sis, do you what it was like before Mommy got hooked on that stuff? I mean, she always got high, but it was nothing like it is now.” “All I can was takin’ the babies outta her arms as soon as she walked through the door, one baby after the other. It’s been a long time, Tank. Can’t say that I actually a time when she wasn’t on something.” “Yeah, well, let me run this off to you. Laylah, she used to take care of us like a mother is supposed to. She used to cook the best food ever. She used to tell us stories when it rained. Stories she had made up because she couldn’t read. They were the best. And she’d make some kinda ice cream from the second snowfall.” He laughed. “Ha, ha. It was always the second snowfall. She would tell us that the first snowfall was too full of germs to make the ice cream out of. She said that the first snow was meant to clean the air of sicknesses and diseases. That ice cream was sooo good. She actually used to be downstairs with us until it was time for bed. Now she just lives in that room. Laylah, you don’t when Mommy used to smile a lot and tell us how much we all meant to her. We were her world one time. I want her back, man.” “I don’t any of that. I just changing dippers and fixing baby bottles. I trying to make meals outta whatever I could fine in the refrigerator. I always rushing home from school because I knew that

the babies wouldn’t get fed or changed until I got home to do it. I used to mark their diapers just to see if they were getting changed. But this is our life, Tank. That life you’re describing sounds like a fairytale. But I still love her even though I know she’s messed up on dope. She’s all we have. She our mom. And, Tank, I just feel that whatever you’re doing is going to mess up everything for us. I just know it will. Sometimes you have to deal with the life that God gives you. And like it or not, this is ours.” “Well, sis, I think that God sees our lives and what our mom’s doing with our lives, and so far God hasn’t done anything to fix it.” “So you will, huh?” “Maybe this is His way. All I know, sis, is that I can’t stand by and watch Mama ruin our lives or hers anymore. I’d feel less than a man, sis. You feel me?” “You are less than a man, Tank. You’re only twelve years old. What can you do, except make a mess of things?” “And you’re only thirteen going on fifty, taking care of a house full of babies that’s not yours and doing housework like you don’t have any life of your own. At least I’m trying to do something! And if you haven’t checked it out our lives are already a mess.” “That was just mean, Tank. Everything I do is for our family—everything.” He reached in his pocket and gave her five hundred dollars and told her to go get the electric on. “Don’t tell Mommy what you’re doing. Just let her think that it was an act of God, I don’t know—let her think whatever she wants. Just don’t tell her that we did it. I gotta go, sis.” He left Laylah standing there with the money in her hands. Tank knew that his time was up, and he had to get back to Matthias’s. The last thing he needed was to be late. And as much as he knew that he was going to hate this job, he knew that much more that he had to go through with it. He didn’t know just how the switch was going to work out, but he knew he had to give it his best. He made a stop at Wawa to get a hotdog and a soda, ing what Matthias said about his stomach growling. He did not want that to happen while sitting under that table.

When he reached Matthias’s, the house was quiet and still clear of all his runners. “Good timing, Little Man. Did you eat like I told yah?” Tank shook his head yes. “Good. I think you had better go upstairs and see if you need to use the bathroom. Ain’t no sense in waiting until you under there then have to go. We don’t want no fuck-ups.” Tank went up the stairs and looked in several rooms before he found the bathroom. The rooms were all very nice; they reminded him of very expensive hotel rooms that he had seen in magazines or on TV somewhere. Tank knew these rooms were for couples who rented them for sexual purposes, or for people who just needed a place to do their drugs in private. He had seen many men and young ladies pay for these rooms; in fact, he’d sit at the bottom of the stairs to collect the money many times when things were slow at Matthias’s. It was Matthias’s pleasure to use his runners as much as possible. Tank did not have to use the bathroom, but the time away from Matthias was well needed. He walked in and was surprised to see how large it was. The size of it was gigantic, and it too was handsomely decorated. This bathroom put his and his little brothers’ room to shame. There was actually a large-screen TV that was mounted upon the wall over the round-shaped Jacuzzi, which was surrounded with steps. The room was papered with gold wallpaper. There were mirrors all around the walls, and on the ceiling was one large block mirror that covered the entire ceiling. There was a phone built in the side of the shelf just above the Jacuzzi. And the toilet seat was made of pure gold with a switch on the back of the toilet for warming the seat just so. “Damn, this brother’s living larger than life,” Tank whispered. He sat on the gold seat just to get the feel of it and found that it wasn’t as comfortable as he had expected. But he took the time sitting there to think. He knew what he had to do when Matthias’s company arrives, but he truly was not looking forward to being under that table. Think, Tank, think. Come on, man, you have to come up with something. How the hell am I going to stop this man? Was I just kidding myself, thinking that I can stop him? And even if I did, how could I stop Mommy from just going to another dealer? Man! What have I gotten myself into? Tank flushed the toilet just to make Matthias think that he wasn’t wasting precious time. He got up to leave the restroom, and just as he was about to leave,

something came to him. He went to the window and looked out and discovered that there was a fire escape right outside the bathroom window. He unleashed the locks on the window and left the room. When he came out, he nosily investigated this old beautiful house a little more and noticed that there was one room he had not checked out. He went to the end of the hall and slowly opened the door. In this room he saw a naked woman and man lying upon the top covers asleep. There was a bottle of wine in a small bucket of ice on the bedside table. He slowly closed the door and noticed that there were back stairs in the house. He carefully went down a few of the steps and saw that they lead to Matthias’s office. He caught a peep of Matthias as he was opening his safe, which was behind a large picture hanging on the wall. Tank watched closely and quietly as Matthias turned the combination to the wall safe. Tank locked the numbers in his mind. Then he went back up the stairs being very careful not to make a sound and came down the way he had gone up. Matthias came in the front room and asked Tank if he was ready for the most challenging job he will ever do. Tank shook his head yes, but his heart and mind said no. “Okay, the table’s ready. , not a word until you hear him leave. And when he puts the briefcase down, switch it as soon as you can. I’ll have the music on so that he won’t hear you making the switch. The table’s big, so you can lie down comfortably under it if you need to. There’s more room than you need under there, so you can move around a bit if you have to. Okay, get on under there. He’ll be here any second now.” Tank did as he was told. He got under the table and saw the briefcase that he was to exchange already there concealed by the tablecloth. He lay down on his stomach and waited for Matthias’s company. Tank noticed that the dog had made himself comfortable on the floor. They were face to face, and Tank didn’t like it. “What about him?” Tank asked. “Oh, he’s cool. I told you, he only attacks on command or when I ain’t here. You don’t have anything to worry about. Just do your job, man.” Tank certainly was not comfortable with that. The dog was watching him like a hawk. Tank was about to ask Matthias to put him in the other room, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, the doorbell rang. Oh well, here goes nothing, he

thought to himself. “Hey, what’s up, man?” “Thomas, my man. Come on in the back, man. Get a couple of hits before we take care of business.” “Now you’re talkin’. Been runnin’ so much today, I ain’t had time to take care of my own damn self.” The two men walked to the back. Tank heard the footsteps on the hardwood floor. Each step seemed to have kept up with the rhythm of his very own heartbeat. Matthias pulled the chair out for Thomas. Thomas took this as a polite gesture, but it was pure deceitful manipulation, positioning Thomas to sit where Matthias wanted him. Tank could not see either of their faces, only their feet. But their conversations were loud and clear. “Man, I got a little something from old school for yah. I think you’re gonna like this,” announced Matthias as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small box. He handed the box over to Thomas. “No, man! Get the hell outta here! Is that what I think it is? Where’d you find this shit?” “Now, if I tell you that, then you’d know as much as I did. Just sit back and enjoy, Thomas.” “Damn, hash and opium! Man, you all’ight. This is just what a brother need after a hard day’s work,” said Thomas “Man, you makin’ jokes? Who you kiddin’? Ain’t nothing hard about going around collecting dead white men all day,” said Matthias. “Yeah, I love ’em, man. Hell, I like the dead white guys more than I like Obama. But I’ll tell yah. What I would like to get my hands on is a nice crisp Woodrow Wilson.” “Woodrow? Why?”

“Man, I see you don’t know squat shit about currency,” said Thomas as he fixed the pipe to get it ready with the hash and opium. “See, man, in order to own money, you have to know money. You have to respect money, and you have to embrace that shit. Woodrow Wilson’s face is on the one hundred thousand dollar bill.” “Hell,” said Mathias. “I ain’t never seen no one hundred thousand dollar bill.” “That’s because they only made them for one year—from 1934 to 1935. And the general public never got their hands on it. They kept that shit to themselves— you know—the Federal Reserve Bank. I know one thing—if they were still around, I wouldn’t have to carry that big-ass briefcase around. They bring too much damn attention to yah.” Thomas was anxiously trying to get his head bad with the hash and opium. He was stuffing that pipe and had begun smoking it as if it would take another thirty years before he’d get another hit of it. “Yeah, dawg, there used to be a five hundred dollar bill, and a ten thousand dollar bill, which did not have a dead president’s face at all. It had some dude name Salmon P. Chace’s face on it. There used to be a one thousand dollar bill, too.” Thomas was in drug heaven now as he smoked the illegal substances. And oddly, his conversation changed in midsentence. “Shit, man. Help ain’t nothing like it used to be. Can’t trust these mo’fucker no mo’. Everybody’s tryin’ tah get the fuck over. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Hey, I feel yah, man,” said Matthias. “But on a serious tip, man, this is a nice treat,” said Thomas as he smoked the two chemicals. He tried to hand the pipe to Matthias, but he declined. “Go head, Thomas, get your head bad.” Thomas kicked his long legs out as he stretched to make himself more relaxed. Tank backed away and was getting really pissed off with Matthias. He wondered why he was taking so long. Suddenly Tank began to feel that sick feeling on the stomach again. His stomach

was rumbling. Dang, he thought, hope that hotdog wasn’t bad. And now his head was swimming, and it felt as if he was going to vomit right there on Thomas’s snake-skinned boots. He held his stomach, but the growling continued. It was a good thing that Matthias kept his word and turned the music on. But the music did not stop the nauseating feeling. All Tank knew was that he needed to get up from under that table and hurry. Getting sick was not in the plan, and the thought of him mes this thing for Matthias only contributed to his intense aversion toward Matthias. To make matters even worse, the dog seemed to have been disturbed by the rumbling sounds coming from Tank’s tummy. He eased toward Tank as Tank made gestures for the dog to back off. At that minute, he despised Matthias, as he did the fact that he had accepted this job in the first place; right about now, the amount of money he was to receive did not matter. My God, he thought to himself, what if I can’t carry this out? Will he actually kill me and this dude? Tank listened as Thomas smoked hash and opium and continued talking what Tank thought to be bullshit. Then finally, Tank heard Matthias tell Thomas that he had another appointment in a little while, so they had better take care of business so that he could handle it. “No problem,” answered Thomas. “I gotta be bouncing up outta here my damn self, my brotha. I got a few things I need to look into when I leave.” Thomas’s tone was low and his speech was a bit slurred. Tank saw both briefcases lifted from each man’s side. Finally! They opened both cases, and Thomas examined the money while Matthias examined the dope. They were both satisfied with what was handed over to them. Then they placed the cases back on the floor. Thomas continued smoking the hash and opium while Matthias took the opportunity to spark up a very unpleasant conversation. “Hey, man, you ever heard anything about that sistha—ah, what’s her name? Oh, ah, Mercedes?”

“Oh, that bitches. Man, I don’t even what to talk about her ass,” said Thomas. “Yeah, man, I heard that she skipped town after she left the hospital,” said Matthias, thinking how much he hated him for what he had done to Mercedes. “You know they found her in that trash dumpster.” At that, Thomas nearly fell out of his chair laughing. Tank knew this was his opening to switch the cases. He quickly exchanged the case he had under the table for the one sitting at Thomas’s feet. And with that done, his nauseated feeling subsided a little. “Yeah, man, what can I say? I’m a mess, ain’t I? Ha, ha, ha! Can you believe that shit, man? That bitch thought her ass was too fly to be handled. But I showed her ass, didn’t I?” Matthias cracked a smile as Thomas expressed his adulation toward shooting Mercedes and having her body placed in the dumpster. But little did he know that this little shenanigan was actually Thomas’s payback just as Matthias had promised himself he would one day do. This was that day. “Look, man, I’m gonna have tah bounce now. Thanks for that little treat. It was a real pleasure. And, ah, sorry for the mess I made up in here when I had to take care of business with that bitch.” “Hey, what can I say? You had to handle yours. But, man, between you and me, did you torch her shit?” Hey, dawg, let me just say that a brotha’s got a reputation to uphold. Know what I’m sayin’?” Thomas picked up the case that he thought was holding close to fifty grand. He left Matthias’s high as hell with a smile that was cracking his jaws, stumbling a few times as he made it to the door. Tank couldn’t wait. As soon as he heard the door close, he jumped from under the table and ran to the restroom. This time he actually used it. When he returned, Matthias was smiling and was holding a fat envelope. He handed it to Tank and told him how smooth the operation went. Then he did something that Tank could not understand; he offered Tank a snort of dope, asking him to celebrate the victory of the scam with him, telling him that the job he had just

done made him a man, so he might as well do what men do and get his head bad. Tank declined and left quickly. Tank unchained his bike and hopped on waiting to get to the alley to check his earnings. But by the time he had reached Sixth and Clinton, which was two streets over, he was snatched off his bike by the freckled face white kid. “I told you we need to talk!” shouted the freckled-faced kid. “Hold up, man! Get your fuckin’ hands off of me. Who the hell you think you are anyhow?” “Little Man, is that what he calls you?” The white kid laughed. “That’s what he used to call me. But now he calls me white trash, asshole, or any disgusting name that comes to mind.” “So what? You jealous or something? Your ass is gettin’ old. You can’t move like a young brotha. Or, maybe you just mad ’cause I’m gettin’ the paper you used to get. Whatever it is, man, it ain’t my problem. Now get off my bike, dawg.” “Look, Tank, this ain’t about none of that shit. Man, you need tah get the fuck away from that creep. You just a kid and I ain’t callin’ you stupid or nothing like that, but it ain’t all good working for Matthias. I used to be you, dawg, but now I wished I’d went the other way the day I met that motherfucker. I don’t want to see another kid get caught-up in this shit. It gets ugly, man. It gets ugly as hell. This shit ain’t no damn fairytale. And it sure as hell don’t have no happy ending. I kid you not, man!” “Man, what the hell is in it for you to be runnin’ this shit off to me? And how I know you ain’t workin’ for Matthias or Busy right now? You tryin’ tah see what I’m about so you can go back and report to them? Maybe take your spot back in Matthias’s good grace? Hell, I don’t know what you about, but I do know that I ain’t tryin’ tah hear none of it,” said Tank. “Okay, man, you see this?” The kid showed Tank his right leg and arm. There were scars all over them, deep scars, which looked as if at one time someone had actually peeled the skin off. It looked gross. “This is what workin’ for Matthias got me. Look at it, man! Before it healed, I was a bloody mess. Man, this thing was hurtin’ bad. For a while the only thing that would help ease the pain was to

shoot that shit right in the open sores. It was hurting so bad that I begged the doctors to take my arm and leg off. I was in the hospital for months on IVs and shit. It took more detox programs than you can imagine tryin’ tah kick this damn habit.” “So you blaming him for your habit? It ain’t like he stuck a needle in your vein.” “Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. One night when it was just him and me, I had a few drinks with him. I ain’t never had no moms or pops, and he knew that. He said he was teaching me how to be a man since I didn’t have a father figure in my life. Yeah, I got wasted on alcohol on my own, but that motherfucker shot me up with dope for about a week. And yeah, I asked for it after a while, even begged for it, ’cause I found that I couldn’t do without that shit. I had caught a habit that fast. Man, he knew what he was doing to me. Soon after that, I had a habit so bad that I didn’t know what to do. He’d supply me with the dope, telling me how he didn’t have to pay me for the jobs I was doing for him anymore because he was supplying the dope I needed for my habit. I was only thirteen, man. I didn’t know what I was gettin’ into. But he knew. Yeah, man, he knew exactly what he was doin’. That bastard knew that hittin’ me up like that everyday—sometimes twice a day—was going to give me a habit for the rest of my life.” Tank looked in amazement as the kid spilled the history. “You asked me what was in this for me. Look, I’m gon’ be straight wit’ cha. I want to tear his empire the fuck apart. I want him to feel the pain that he’s given me and so many other people. Man, they talk about how terrorists are bombing the United States when we have people right here in our own backyard doing more harm to our people than any terrorists have ever done. Man, dope is killing people in more ways than one. I mean, it is breaking up families. It’s breaking down society. Hey, I can just go on and on and on ’bout this shit. Man, I’m tellin’ you, it ain’t no joke. I just hate ’im, man!” “Dawg, if you feelin’ all that, why don’t you just quit? “Oh, you really don’t know, do you?” “Know what, dawg?” “That you don’t just quit on Matthias. You work until you die or you die

workin’. Tank, you ever wonder why he doesn’t want us talking to each other?” That reminded Tank. He looked over his shoulder in search for Busy. “Can’t say it ever crossed my mind. I figured it was his way of runnin’ his business.” Tank was very careful how he answered this kid’s questions. He didn’t want anything he said to come back and bite him in the ass later. Tank was not sure if he could trust the white kid’s motives. “It’s because he knows that combined, we all have enough information to put his ass behind bars for a while. But even if one of us did try to turn him in, he’d have us killed—even if he was in jail.” “Killed?” Tank swallowed hard. “It’s the way he operates, man. Shit, he has eyes everywhere. But look, we shouldn’t be talking here. Meet me later tonight at the aquarium around eight. The last thing either of us need is for him to come driving round that corner and see us with our heads together. By the way, the name’s Roy. Can I count on you showing, dawg?” “Mark me present, man. I’m already there.” Tank had a lot on his mind. After talking briefly with Roy, his mind went into overdrive. Something had to be done with Matthias, and it had to be done soon. He reached in his pocket and counted five thousand dollars. Tank continued his ride, but he didn’t go straight home. He made a stop at Kentucky Fried Chicken and got dinner for his siblings. Then he stopped at the meat market and bought two of the largest steaks the market had. He placed them in his book bag. He then made a stop at the hardware store and bought a flashlight, batteries, and a pair of binoculars. Tank finally had a plan.

CHAPTER 10

Th omas Green was in his glory. He was high as hell and had just gotten paid, or so he thought. Yeah, old Thomas Green loved his life. Life can’t get any better than this. Hell! I love being me. I can just kiss me all over! Thomas thought to himself as he lit a Black and Mild. But ironically, that would be the last good thought old Thomas would own of himself in life. As he drove down Broadway and Berkley Street, an indigent stopped him at the light and grabbed a dirty rag from his back pocket and a spray bottle with a mixture of a dirty-looking solution from his left back pocket and began to spray the windshield of Thomas’s Escalade. Thomas was in blind sight of the street because the mixture from the bottle combined with the filthy rag made a terrible mess of the windshield of his ride. “What the fuck! Man what the fuck are you doin’? Get the fuck off my ride! Go get a fuckin’ real job, motherfucker! Did I ask you to clean my damn windows?” “Come on, dawg’, give a brotha a break. All I need is a couple of dollars. I’m willing to work for it. Let me clean your damn windows!” This impoverished person continued spraying the windshield of Thomas’s ride with the dirty solution and wiping it with the dirty rag. And now Thomas could not see at all out of his window. Now you know that Thomas wasn’t having this. Not the great Thomas Green! No one invades his space. Thomas opened the door and jumped out with the intent to beat this bum down. But instead, the bum managed to spray Thomas in the face with whatever was in that spray bottle, and then he punched Thomas in the nose. The punch knocked him on his ass. The bum jumped in Thomas’s ride and tried to pull off before Thomas made it to his feet. Thomas was able to grab the door and open it. “Get the fuck outta my car, motherfucker! Do you know who I am?” shouted

Thomas. “Man, fuck you! I don’t give a fuck who you are. Get the fuck off, man, fo’ I run yo’ ass over!” Thomas held on with all his might. His briefcase was in the backseat with what he thought to be close to fifty grand in it. He had to hold on. He had to use whatever strength within him. If he could only transform his anger toward the situation into strength, he’d be able to take this dude. But this thing took him by surprise. Plus, he was too high from the hash and opium to take control of the matter. The bum stepped on the gas and took Thomas for a very unpleasant ride. Finally, Thomas could no longer hold on. He fell off the car and was slung into the street almost getting hit by other cars. “Damn!” someone shouted. “Did you see that shit?” “Get that motherfucker!” someone else shouted. “He’s trying to carjack that guy!” Thomas hadn’t gotten himself together from the fall before he noticed that the entire crowd of people, who were on Broadway, was beating the hell out of him. “We’re tired of scumbags like you tryin’ tah hurt innocent people!” someone shouted as they took the liberty to get a few punches and kicks in on Thomas. “Kill the bum!” someone else shouted. Then to top it all off, an older gentleman, walking with a cane took his cane and wacked Thomas with it and then shouted, “It’s because of people like you that our city has such a bad name!” He was trying to tell them that he was the victim, but nobody would listen. The punching and kicking continued until the throng of people heard the police siren. “Come on, y’all, leave his ass for the cops,” someone shouted out. With that, the crowd dispersed, leaving Thomas a bloody mess with a broken nose, broken leg, and multiple contusions. But even the great Thomas Green didn’t want any part of the police. He managed to get up and hop on a bus that was just coming his way. He got off at Broadway and Stevens, hoping that he could make it to the hospital, which was about two blocks away.

He asked any and everyone whom he ed to please help him to the hospital, but everyone just stood aside, not knowing what to make of this bloody mess of a man who looked halfway crazy by now. “Fuck yah! Fuck all of you motherfuckers!” Thomas shouted, not being accustomed of being treated like the criminal he was. Thomas told the doctors that he was just in the wrong neighborhood at the wrong time and most likely had been mistaken for the wrong person. They fixed him up the best they could because Thomas did not want to stay as the doctor had recommended. He called himself a cab to get home. He was feeling some kind of way! How could something of this magnitude happen to him? He was so angry. He knew that he would put a hit out on the bum who carjacked him if only he could what he looked like. It was as if he had just gone through a very bad dream, more like a nightmare. His high was gone now, and reality was hurting his nose, leg, his eye, and his pockets but most definitely his pride.

Meanwhile, Tank had made it home with the Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the children were all seated at the dinner table having their full. Suddenly Caleb shouted, “I’m tired of chicken! Tank, can’t you bring us anything, but chicken sometimes?” “I like chicken,” said Little Momma. Tank just looked at his kid brother and shook his head and said, “Kids.” He got up and went to the refrigerator and placed the two steaks in it. Then he went out the back door. Laylah followed him as she knew her brother and could sense that something was bothering him. “What’s up, Tank?” “Nothin’, sis. I’ll be all’ight. Boy, Caleb reminded me of me when I made all that noise about Oodles of the Noodles.” He laughed a little. “Tank, I know that look on your face ain’t got nothing to do with no chicken or noodles. Really, what’s up?” “I’m just dealing with some stuff, sis. But it’s gon’ be cool.” “You don’t look cool to me. Come on, man, we’ve always been able to talk. You know, you really got me worried. We don’t see you much no more. And when we do, you so tight that it’s like nobody want to say anything to you at all. Tank, I told you before, I don’t want to lose you to the streets. We gotta raise these kids, and we need to be an example to them. Don’t you understand that it’s on us? We’re all they have. I don’t know, but something went wrong somewhere when I wasn’t lookin’.” “Okay sis, I’ll let you in on this, but not until after tonight. Everything’s going to be better, you’ll see.” “Better how, Tank?” “That’s all I can give you right now, sis. I don’t want you involved in this. The less you know, the better.”

“Tank, whatever it is you’re doing, I just hope that it’s not going to tear us apart as a family. I know this has something to do with Mommy. Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?” “Oh, is that what you call it what she does—well enough? Well, sis, it’s not well enough for me that Mom take every penny that comes in this house and shoots it in her veins. It’s not well enough to me for her to bring another kid in here with no father every other year. It’s not well enough for me that we have had to steal food to feed our brothers and sister because even the food money goes on that shit. And when are you going to wake up and see that it’s not well enough to keep putting up with everything she does or don’t do that she’s suppose be doing as a mother? You know, sis, even if we do have to go live with strangers, it’ll be a hell of a lot better than living the life we have now. Just maybe you’ll get the chance to be a little girl before you become a real woman! Oh, and by the way, sis, do you know who was the only one that was blessed in the family?” “Who, Tank?” “Our brother that died. Mommy doesn’t talk about him much anymore. He would have been our big brother had he lived. Anyhow, he’s the lucky one. He’s with God. We’re still with Cora May.” Laylah looked at him with contempt in her eyes. “You hate her, don’t you?” “Look, Laylah, man, I feel there’s something I need to be doing.” He placed his arms around his sister and said, “And for the record, sis, I don’t hate Moms, I hate the way we live when I know that we can do a lot better. And I don’t know where this is going, but I can promise you and all the rest of us that with or without our moms, we’re going to be all right. The problem with you, sis, is that this way of living has been so normal for you for so long that you have accepted it as normal, but it’s not, Laylah. It’s not. You’re going to keep on changing dippers. You’re going to keep on cleaning the house, cookin’ breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You’re going to keep on washing clothes. You’re going to keep on doing all of what you do until it burns you out, sis! And you just don’t understand how this whole thing about Mommy’s drug addiction is buggin’ the hell out of me. So just let me do what I gotta do, sis! See, sis, you just don’t get it. I feel like I have to try to do something! Sometimes I think, sis, that one day I’ll find myself standing before God, and he’ll ask me why I didn’t try to do something for y’all.” Tank sobbed a little. Look, just leave the door open for me.

I’m going to be coming in late tonight.” This time, Laylah cried, wondering if her brother really would come home tonight to walk through that unlocked door. When Tank met Roy at the Camden Aquarium, he was most anxious to finish hearing about Matthias, and Roy on the other hand was just as eager to tell it. They sat on a bench overlooking the Delaware River. “All’ight, man, spill it?” “Okay, here’s the deal, dawg. Matthias is a sorry-ass creep. Like I told you, I’ve been working for the man since I was thirteen, and I done seen some shit. I done been through some shit,” said Roy. “Yeah, like what?” asked Tank. “Well, I’ve been where you are with ’im. You know, startin’ out with the paper just fallin’ in your hands like leaves falling off a tree. He does that to pull you in. Pays you real good in the beginning. Then later, he has so much shit on you that you’ll accept whatever few dollars he gives you because he uses those things against you. He threatens to put your ass away. Tells you how he has evidence on you. Thing is, all the things you’ve done were by his orders. When he wants somebody dead, he gives you the job of killin’ them, and if you refuse to take ’em out, he’ll put a contract on your head. That way, you can’t turn the man in unless you’re willing to go down yourself.” “Dude, you killed… somebody?” “Look, man, you do whatever will save your own ass—self preservation, brother. Get what I’m sayin’?” “Yeah, you sayin’ you a murderer.” “Actually, what I’m sayin’ is just like I used to be you, you’ll one day be me.” Tank sighed out loud. “I think the thing that pisses me off the most is how he got me hooked on that shit. That was not my intensions when I stared working for ’im.”

“Man, just how did you get started with him? It’s strange, you, a white kid runnin’ for a black dealer like Matthias.” Roy looked out onto the Delaware, and now it was his turn to sigh out loud. “My moms and pops were killed in a plane crash when I was six. I didn’t have any family, so the state stepped in and awarded me to a pastor and his wife, the Stones. It seemed like a safe place to be. The woman, she was cool. She helped me to get on with my life. She showed me genuine love as if I were her own kid. She nurtured me the way a mother was supposed to do. Man, she would bath me in a tub of bubbles, and I would have so many toys in the tub with me. Bath time was like adventure time. I’d play and she’d sing to me my favorite songs. Eventually, the pain of losing my parents went away, well, some. Let me just say that the pain was a little more tolerable. Losing my parents was something I thought I could never get over. She said that God had given her the love within her heart to raise children but had not given her the equipment within her body to have any. I loved being in her presence. Just listening to her talk was like a drug to me because she was so smart and interesting. I wanted to be around her all the time to see what she would teach me next. She had a way about her, man, that was like… magical. But her husband, man, you know what he did.” Roy held his head down and shook it from side to side. “Hum, people often think that it’s important to protect their little girls; they never think boys. They never think that there are sick motherfuckers out there just waitin’ tah fuck up a little boy’s life.” There was a period of awkward quietness. When Tank looked up, he saw tears in Roy’s eyes, and he heard an indignant hurt in his voice. Tank tried to listen bravely, but what Roy was telling him about the woman’s husband made him sick to his the stomach; it also made him think about what could possibly happen to his siblings if things did not work out. “I never told the woman,” Roy continued, “because she was so sweet. She was just like a real mother to me, but she loved that bastard of a husband of hers. I couldn’t crush her heart, man. After a few years when I just couldn’t stand it anymore one day, I went to school and just never went back there. I even kept a milk carton with my face on it. She really wanted me back, but I figured it was better for me to break her heart than for her heart to be broken by his sorry-ass. You know, just leave her in her dream world. Let her continue to think that her husband and marriage was good and healthy.” “Wow… word on that, dawg.”

“You know, it’s funny, out of all the dudes I took out for Matthias, I never thought to blow my bastard of a foster father’s ass away… still thinking about her. But anyhow, I stayed for a minute at a kid from my class whose parents were gettin’ their heads bad. They didn’t care much that I was there or what we did. Come to think of it, I don’t even think they even knew that I was living there. I just happened to follow the kid to Matthias’s place when he was runnin’ things out of Cherry Hill. He saw that I didn’t really have any parental guidance in my life and made workin’ for him look very profitable. My life went downhill from there.” “Damn, man, I sure wish that my moms was like that lady.” The both of them were quiet again. “Man, look how calm the water is. I wish my life was half as calm as that,” said Roy. “Yeah, well, me and my family’s been through some rocky roads because of Matthias selling that shit to my moms. That’s my problem with ’im. He’s sitting up in his place with gold toilet seats and shit. Sometime we don’t even have toilet paper to wipe our asses with, ’cause moms blows all the money on dope.” They became quiet again. Suddenly Tank asked, “So man, where you living now? You on the streets?” “Heck, no! My parents were loaded when they ed, and they left it all to me. Couldn’t get it until my eighteenth birthday. I’m doin’ all right for myself. I was just hanging around that creep until I figured out a way to destroy his ass, seeing that I couldn’t just up and leave on my own without checking my back forever. And when I saw him breakin’ you in, I figured the time was coming close to take care of business. I just couldn’t take the thought of him doing to another kid what he has done to me. It’s one thing to take that shit on your own, but when somebody deliberately gets a kid addicted to dope, that shit is raw hell.” “So what, you still usin’ dope?” asked Tank. “You don’t look high right now. I mean, you don’t look like my moms be lookin’ when she’s on.” “Man, I’m seein’ an addiction doctor. I’m on this pill called, Suboxone. I guess you can say it’s a step up on methadone. I’m sure that I’ll be on this shit the rest

of my life. It works for those who choose to stay clean. It’s just that every time I try to get off the pill, I find myself craving the dope. Know what I’m sayin’? This shit will be with me the rest of my life, man. I mean, it’s like somebody plants a thought in your head that you can never get rid of,” Roy said. “Well, I can’t imagine what it’s like to have to live with an addiction. All I know is I don’t want to ever end up like my moms. She’s tried to stop a couple of times. It’s like living with a crazy person when she starts her withdrawing. It’s ugly as hell, dawg. She upsets the entire house. But I think that she could beat it if she gave it an honest try. Now my sister, Laylah, she caves in and allows her feelings to get in the way. She can’t stand to see Moms go through the sickness. Moms never gotten past the third day, and ironically as it seems, somehow by that third day she always get enough tah get the sickness off of her.” “So what’s your plan?” asked Tank. “My plan?” “Yeah, man, what’s your plan for taking Matthias out?” Roy looked blank faced. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been through all this, and you’ve never come up with a plan to take him out all these years.” said Tank. “I guess, I haven’t thought out the whole deal yet. I figured the two of us could put our heads together and come up with something,” said Roy. “Man, don’t even talk about my head. I’m still ailing from being under that table for almost an hour over there at Matthias’s place.” “Oh, snap, you did the old switcheroo! Did he have that wolf that he calls a dog sitting on the floor looking you in your face while he talked shit to the other guy, too?” “How you know about that, man?” Tank asked. “Do you know how many times I’ve done that move? I hated doing that shit ’cause if you fucked up, that would be your ass, you know.” “Hey, man, why doesn’t the person he rips off know that it’s been done to ’im? He has to see when he gets home that there’s no money in the briefcase.” Roy started laughing uncontrollably. “What’s so damn funny, white boy?”

“Tank, dawg, you can’t intimidate me by callin’ me what I am. But I’m laughing because the other person never gets to see what’s in their case because he never makes it home with it.” Tank looked confused. “How’s that, man?” “Because Matthias always sets them up to be carjacked just blocks away from his house. He gives the jacker a couple hundreds to do it. So far, it’s always worked out in Matthias’s favor.” “Damn!” said Tank. “That’s it! That’s it, man!” “What, dawg? What you got?” “I just figured out how we’re going to blow his world up. Do you know where a dude named Thomas lives?” “I’m not sure, man, there’s two guys named Thomas that he deals with. Did you see ’im? Did you see what he looked like?” “No, dawg, all I know about this dude is that he wears snake-skinned boots. That’s all I seen of him. Oh, yeah, his voice was hard, you know, like that singer I heard my moms listening to on the oldies from back in the day, ah, Berry White, ’cept this dude’s voice was scary.” “I know who it was, Tank! Thomas Green. Matthias has been after this dude for a while, ever since Thomas did some rotten shit up in his crib.” “All’ight! You know where this dude lives?” Roy wrote the address down and handed it to Tank. “Look, I’ve got a plan. You think you can climb up there?” Tank pointed to the top of the aquarium. “Yeah, I can get up there.” “Good. Meet me back here at twelve-thirty tonight up there.” “Twelve-thirty? What’s the plan, dawg?”

“Trust me, white boy. Just be here on time.” Tank hurried home. Laylah was still too upset with him to approach him. But he had to know what Cora May thought about the electricity mysteriously coming back on. “She bragged how her friend from last night must have paid the bill and had it turned back on,” said Laylah. “Sad thing is I think that Mommy really thinks he paid it.” “Good, let her keep thinkin’ that,” said Tank. He went to the freezer and put the two steaks in his book bag. Laylah inquisitively and annoyingly watched. Boy’s gonna get his fool ass killed or somethin’. Then he checked his book bag to be sure to have the flashlight. He placed the new batteries in it and checked to make sure that it worked properly. He felt in his bag for the binoculars. Tank went up the stairs and pushed Cora May’s bedroom door open very slowly, peeped his head in, and saw that she was asleep. Then Tank went to her bedside table and poured out several of Cora’s sleeping pills and placed them in his pocket. Before leaving, he turned and observed the mess of hypodermic needles, emptied nickel bags, many emptied forty-ounce beer bottles, and cheap wine bottles. There were hundreds of emptied little tiny colorful bags as well that almost cover the floor like carpet. Then he looked at Cora May, trying to find some comion for his addicted mother, but all he saw were the track marks of the way she was living. He tiptoed out the room and closed the door quietly behind him. Cora May never budged. When Tank went back down the steps, Laylah was waiting, trying one more time to convince her brother to let go of any idea he thought he had concerning their mother’s addiction. “Tank, wait. At least think about what you’re d—” “Save it, sis. You go upstairs and just take a good look at our mother. Look at her room. Look around on the floor by her bed. Just take a good look, and tell me that it doesn’t affect you the way it’s affecting me. Tell me that you want her like this the rest of her life. And while you’re looking at the room, take a good look at her arms, her neck, and the back of her hands. Then you come back down here

and tell me to wait. What are we waiting for, sis, for her to die up in here? For one of the kids to walk in and see our mother dead from an overdose? I’ll wait, but only until you get back down here. Now go on up there! And if you truly believe that we are all better off living like this, I won’t go out tonight.” She knew that Tank meant business. She could hear it in his voice. She went upstairs to her mother’s room. She opened the door and observed all that her brother told her to observe. She focused on the filthy room. Signs of her mother’s addiction resided there as if it owned her mother more than Laylah and her siblings. It owned Cora May with conviction. The room reeked of the scent of the various chemicals escaping through the pores of Cora May’s skin. Stink. And now Laylah ed why she never came in her mother’s room—out of sight, out of mind. And then, the ugliest of the entourage of this disastrous environment—Cora May’s many ports of entries. There were more blackened track marks on Cora May’s arms, neck, legs, and the back of her hands than Laylah could count. Even then, Cora May looked as if she was lying there dead. It was as if the drug itself resided there in Cora May’s bedroom as if it was standing back in some dark corner of the room smiling upon the mess it had made of their lives. Like a parasite it had sucked out every decent and good thing meant for their family. She closed the door behind her, leaned back, and slid down the wall onto the floor. The sight of it all was utterly revolting. Tears formed in her eyes as she tried to hold them back. But she couldn’t. She had no choice in the matter because her emotions took over in a way that it had never done before. In some ways, Laylah blamed herself. Had she actually caused this horrible fate upon her mother, brothers, and sister? Was this a result of her defending Cora May and looking the other way when she should have been paying attention to what was happening right under her own nose? Perhaps she should have been more observant. Perhaps she should have placed each new baby Cora May came home with right back in her mother’s arm to indicate to her mother that she was not responsible for her mother’s bad decisions. Perhaps she should have been stronger, stronger. When she found the strength to stand again, she walked slowly down the steps with tears running down her cheeks. She told her brother to please be careful. Before Tank left, he sat at the kitchen table, took out his notebook and proceeded

to write a couple of letters. The first one read.

Thomas Green, you don’t know me, but, I’m probably the only friend you have in the world tonight. I know who jacked you today and took your money. If you want to know who has it, come to the Camden Aquarium tonight at 1:30 AM . BE PROMPT. If you ever want to see your money again, you’ll be there. You’ll be surprised who it is, but I promise, you’ll know him.

PS: fifty grand don’t come by easily.

The next letter read.

Matthias, you’re not as smart as you think you are. If you were, you would have paid me more than you did to jack that guy’s ride today. If you don’t come up with a suitable amount, you can kiss your black ass good-bye. Meet me at the Camden Aquarium tonight promptly at 1:15 AM . Come alone and bring money. If you are not there by 1:15, Thomas Green will be paying you a surprised visit at your place of business. That’s a promise!

Tank then jumped on his bike and delivered the letters at the appropriate addresses. Being careful not to show himself in Matthias’s camera, he knocked on the door and dropped the letter in the mail slot in the door. He hid between two parked cars and waited to see if Matthias would come to the door. He did answer. With

letter in hand, he looked down the street both ways and saw no one. He closed the door. First mission accomplished. Then he took a ride to Pennsauken to Thomas’s. He delivered his letter in the same manner of which he had delivered Matthias’s. It took a little while, but sure enough, Thomas appeared at the door. Damn! thought Tank, somebody fucked him up! When Thomas went back in the house, Tank took off to the aquarium where he hoped that Roy would be waiting. When Tank arrived, he found a place in the shrubs to hide his bike. He looked up to the rooftop of the building and thought how he should have cased the place out before asking Roy to meet him up there. But to his surprise, Roy was already up there. After a few unsuccessful attempts to scale the wall, out of nowhere, a rope was cast down before Tank’s face. Once he had made it to the top, he asked Roy how he made it up there without a rope. Roy laughed and told him how it was in his blood to climb. “But all bullshit aside, dawg, what the hell are we doing up here?” asked Roy. “We startin’ some shit,” answered Tank. “So, when you gonna let me in on this shit we done got started?” “It’s simple, man. I’ve got Thomas Green and Matthias meeting here at the aquarium for a little get-together.” “And just how’d you arrange such a meeting, and, ah, how in the world is that going to stop Matthias?” “Well, I took an invitation to both of ’em asking them to meet here. And in the invitation, I told Thomas he’d see the person responsible for his little accident and who took his money. Man, you should see ’im! That brother’s fucked up, even a bit ugly. I just hope he’s gonna be able to make it up here. He’s so banged up! And I left a letter at Matthias’s, telling him that the guy he had chosen to carjack Thomas wanted more money in order to keep his mouth shut. They should both be here in a few.”

“That’s it? That’s your plan to take down Matthias?” “Why you actin’ so surprised?” asked Tank. “Tank, once they get here, if they even come, what is that supposed to do? First of all, Thomas is lookin’ for that guy who jacked him, not Matthias. Shit, dawg, I hope this thing don’t come back on us. We’re the only ones who know about the switch. Damn! What was I thinking, telling you how that shit operates? You know, both those motherfuckers get crazy as hell when it comes to their money. And Tank, I’m tellin’ you, man they don’t play!” “Chill out, dawg. If I know anything about these guys, both of ’em are on permanent ego trips. And Thomas is already mad as hell about what happened to him today. I know that he was pretty beat up in that carjacking, but he’s goin’ tah be gettin’ his courage and strength because of that money he lost today. And Matthias is really a punk when it comes to Thomas. Believe me, he don’t want him on his bad side. They’ll be here, okay?” explained Tank. “Tank, man, I sure hope you know what you’re talkin’ about. ’Cause if this shit doesn’t go down right we’re dead.” Tank went to the edge of the roof and lay down on his stomach. He took out his binoculars. Roy followed, thinking what else he could do now that he had gotten himself involved with Tank’s little war between these two drug kingpins. Tank looked at his watch. “They should be here soon,” he said. Roy said nothing. He was still in his own thoughts, thinking about how much he should cherish the remaining portion of his life. He wondered where he would live if things did not work out. And as silly as it may have sound, the roof of the aquarium didn’t seem like a bad idea. “That’s it. I’ll just live up here the rest of my life. No one would ever think to look up here for me.” “What?” asked Tank. “Oh, nothing, man. Just having a few words with myself,” answered Roy. “I might as well get used to talking to myself. Ain’t nobody gonna want to climb these walls for a visit.”

“Man, be quiet. We don’t want to call attention to ourselves up here. Keep it down, will yah?” Roy simply made himself comfortable and stretched out on the floor of the roof. “Call me if, ah. I mean when you spot ’em,” said Roy sarcastically. Roy actually dozed off to sleep, knowing they had made a huge mistake in thinking that the two of them could actually take on Thomas Green and Matthias this way. Suddenly Tank yelled, “Damn!” just loud enough to awaken Roy. “What! Are they here? What do you see, dawg?” Tank gave the binoculars to Roy. “Look right over there,” said Tank. Roy took the binoculars and took a look in the direction Tank had told him. “Damn, they’re gettin’ it on. Man, that girl’s hot as hell,” said Roy. “That’s enough, white boy, , we’re looking for Thomas and Matthias. And we don’t need those two here to mess things up.” “I’ll take care of that,” said Roy. He grabbed a handful of small stones and threw a few of them at the loving couple. The couple looked up to see were the stones were coming from and saw nothing then resumed making out. Roy threw a few more stones, and this time, the young girl jumped up and told her lover it was time to go. Of course the stones could have been falling all night long, and the young man would have ignored them. “Good work, white boy.” “Man, my name is Roy. Why can’t you call me that?” “I could, but when I look at you with all them red freckles and that red hair, all I think is, white boy. Anyhow, you said that it didn’t upset you, so why you cryin’ now?” “Look, man, do I call you little black boy?”

Tank thought for a second. “All right, my bad. Won’t happen again.” It was quiet now. But there was something on Tank’s mine and he thought that Roy, being much older than he, could give him the answer. “Ah, Roy?” “Yeah, dawg?” “You ever… you know.” “No, I don’t know. Did I ever what?” “You know, man, what those two were doin’ down there.” “Oh, make out?” “That must be what you white people call it.” “Yeah, and just what does a brotha call it?” “We just say, ‘we got that’ or ‘we’re gonna to get wit’ that’ or ‘we hit that.’” “That’s cool. I guess everybody’s got their own way of sayin’ the same thang.” “Well, have yah?” “Have I ever gotten with a chick? Man, I’m eighteen years old. What do you think?” “I guess that means yes, huh?” “Of course.” “Well, how was it? I mean what’s it like?” “Man, it’s cool, about the coolest thing in the whole damn world. At least that’s the way I felt until I got hooked on dope. Now I think gettin’ high is the coolest thing in the word. So I guess you haven’t gotten with a little sistha yet, huh?” “I got my eye on somebody.”

“You about thirteen, right, Tank?” “Twelve and a half, dawg.” “So you must be experiencing erection by now.” “Yeah, like in the mornings when I wake up, during school when my teacher turns her behind toward the class, late at night, when everyone else is sleepin’. I guess mostly all the times.” “See, that means you’re becoming a man. So what do you do when you get a boner, Tank?” “Boner? Oh that must be a white person’s term, but I got cha. Well, I asked my boy, Jay what he does when it happen to him. He said he beats his meat. So that’s what I do.” “All right. You’re almost a man, Tank. So when you do that, how does it feel? Good, huh?” “No freakin’ way, dawg. That shit hurts bad as hell!” “Hurts? I don’t get it. Tank, I don’t mean no harm by asking you this, but how exactly do you beat your meat?” “I take my fist and I punch it real heard, like this.” Tank took his fist and began to punch himself really heard. With that Roy rolled over in laughter. He just couldn’t stop. Tank, on the other hand felt a bit embarrassed, finally realizing that his friend Jay was the wrong one to ask for information about growing into manhood. Suddenly Tank grabbed Roy by the back of his jacket and pulled him to the floor of the roof. “Shush, look, there’s Matthias.” “Wow, he really showed up. You see Thomas yet?” asked Roy. Tank cased the grounds but did not see Thomas anywhere. “Nope, don’t see him at all.”

“What if he doesn’t show? What if—” “Man, please, just chill out. Will yah?” said Tank “What’s he doin’?” asked Roy. “He’s just standing there looking around.” “Let me see, Tank. Let me check ’im out, man.” Tank gave Roy the binoculars. Roy looked through them. “Damn, he doesn’t look so cool now. I can see him shacking in his shoes from here, man.” “Good, let ’im shake.” Tank thought. Like the way my mother shakes when she can’t get that shit. Tank checked his watch again. It was almost 1:39 AM, and Thomas was not there. Tank thought about how beat-down Thomas looked when he came to the door to get his letter. Maybe he’s too beat up to come. Then he thought, Nope, he wants that money. He’ll be here. Tank and Roy watched as Matthias walked back and forth on the grounds of the Camden Aquarium Park. They watch as he checked his own watch, looking around and not being sure of exactly who he was looking for. Roy was getting very nervous. But he dared not say anything to Tank about how he felt. He actually ired this kid. Although he was older, it was Tank who showed courage. But even so, it was Roy who had spent years studying these guys and learning how they dealt with their adversaries.

CHAPTER 11

Ta nk and Roy continued watching for Thomas Green. More than a whole hour had ed, and Thomas was nowhere in sight. Even Matthias had begun to worry. Was all this just a dirty prank? He commenced to allow intimidating thoughts to enter his mind. Perhaps the carjacking didn’t go well this time. Maybe Thomas knows it was me who arranged the carjacking. Shit, I’ve got enough money to take off and start over somewhere else, but where would I go? Damn, I just have to get back to the crib and get my shit. I’ll hop a plane somewhere—shit, anywhere for now. Fuck it, I’m bouncin’. “Look, Tank, he’s leaving! Thomas never showed, dawg! Oh hell, I knew this shit was going to happen.” Tank took the binoculars, allowing Roy to enjoy his panic attack. With his eyes, he followed Matthias to his car. And although it was a bit dark, he could see movement in the backseat of Matthias’s ride. “He’s here! He’s here!” Tank whispered anxiously. “What? Where?” asked Roy, not believing what he had just heard. “Thomas Green! He’s in Matthias’s ride!” Matthias gave the area one last backward glance before getting in the car. As soon as he got in, he lit a cigarette and laid his head back to rest. Suddenly, he felt the cold feeling of iron on the back of his neck. “I know you’re strapped, motherfucker. Put your shit on the floor, and fold your hands on top of your head where I can see ’em.” “Thomas Green.” “That’s right ma’fucker. Surprised?”

“Who tipped you, man?” asked Matthias. “Look, I ain’t here to be talkin’ no bull shit. And I ain’t gon’ ask you this more than one time. Where’s my money, man?” “Your money? Man, what the hell are you talkin’ about? You left my place today with your money. Now what you did with it when you left—well, hell. Only you know that, man.” POW! Thomas shot Matthias in the leg. Matthias screamed and made a motion to grab his leg. “Ah,ah,ah,ah. Keep you hands up, ma’fucker! Now see, you done made a liar outta me. I said I was only gonna ask you this one time. But seeing that you my dawg, I’m gonna ask you one more time! Where’s my money, man?” “Dang, man, he shot ’im. Thomas shot Matthias!” With the cell phone that Matthias had given him, Tank dialed 911 and complained that there was some shooting going on at the water front. “It’s time tah go, Roy. Come on, our work is done here, but it ain’t over yet.” “Ah, Tank, just where are we goin’?” “Just follow me, white boy.” “See, there you go with that white boy shit again.” Meanwhile, on the grounds of the aquarium. “Come on, dawg, you in the game. You know how it’s played. Shit, go head, kill me. Then you won’t know how to get your damn money back,” said Matthias, needing to comfort his ailing leg. “You think I’m playin’ wit’ cha, don’t you, man? I done been through a lot of hell today and I ain’t got no time for your bullshit. You must be forgettin’ who you fuckin’ with, man.” Pow! Thomas shot him in the other leg. This time the blood poured out like a faucet.

Matthias’s shoes were saturated. “Damn, man. You didn’t have to do that shit! Oh, hell! Look, man, you’ve got tah get me to the hospital. I’m bleedin’ to death here. C’mom, Thomas, man, don’t let me die like this.” “Man, you still haven’t answered my question! If I have tah ask you again, it’s gonna cost you another bullet. Yah heard me, Matthias?” “Look, man, your money’s at the crib in the safe. Just get me to the hospital, will yah? After they fix me up, we’ll go get it. Hell, just dump my black ass off there, man. Just dump me on the ER steps! I’m gonna die, man. Look how this shit’s pouring outta my legs. Please! Thomas, please! Get me to a hospital, man.” “Man, you squeakin’ like a little bitch. Ah, what was that, man? Did I hear you say that the money was in your crib in the safe? Shit, I don’t need your dumb ass no mo’. I got the combination right here!” yelled Thomas as he shot Matthias one last time. Matthias sat there dead in the driver’s seat of his own ride. Thomas got out the car, hobbled around to the driver’s side, and opened the door. Matthias fell to the ground. He turned the key in the ignition and stepped on the gas with his good leg, which was the left one, made a U-turn, and saw with his good eye several police cars coming his way. Thomas quickly U-turned again and pulled off. He could not quite make out where he was going but found himself heading toward the Delaware River. The police were wondering, what was he thinking? There was no place to go. They chased Thomas until he found himself inundated in water. They searched the grounds for any signs of the driver. There were none. They witnessed the tail end of the car as it vanished into the Delaware River. A swarm of policemen were standing over Matthias’s dead body. They chalked it all up as just another fatality in the city of Camden, New Jersey. Meanwhile, Tank and Roy had made it over to Matthias’s place. Tank took Roy around the back via Seventh Street. He motioned Roy to follow him up the fire escape and through the opened bathroom window which he had taken the liberty of unlocking earlier that day.

“Okay, Mr. Brainiack, how are we supposed to get past the dog?” “Man, would you please hold up on all this negative energy? I don’t need it, dawg.” Tank took out one of the steaks he had purchased that day and crushed up the sleeping pills he had taken from his mother’s bedside table and then spread the crushed pills over the steaks. Tank led Roy down the back stairs where they were met by the dog. He growled at Tank and Roy, showing his ferocious teeth. Tank threw him one of the laced steaks. The dog’s attention was now on the feast. Tank thought for a minute, pulling the combination of the safe from his mind. He and Roy removed the painting that hid the safe. He had Roy to hold the flashlight while he worked the knob. It popped open, displaying thousands of dollars, pounds of dope, Family First cards, and loads of mothers’ welfare identification cards. Tank stashed the money in his book bag and looked through the identification cards for Cora May’s. He found it and put it in his pocket. By that time, the dog was finished with his little meal and had resumed the growling. Tank threw him the second steak. He fell asleep before finishing it. Tank then took the dope and put it aside. “Tank, what cha doin’ with all that dope, man?” “Flushing it, why?” “Man, we can make a killing off that shit.” “I thought you said that your parents left you well-off, Roy. Look, we’ll split the money, but no drugs. You don’t need it. You said you were on medication to stop. You said that you wanted your life back. What happened to all of that, Roy?” Deep down Roy knew Tank was right, but the addict within him was raising its ugly head. What a pity to let all that free dope go to waste, thought Roy. Reluctantly, he acquiesced and allowed Tank to take care of business.

Tank removed the uneaten steak from the floor and put it in his book bag. “We don’t want to leave any evidence. Come on, the cops should be here soon,” said Tank. “Yeah, it feels kinda creepy in here knowing that Matthias may be dead by now.” Tank closed the safe and hung the painting back in its place. Once they got back upstairs, they flushed several large bags of dope down the toilet. Before leaving, Tank and Roy thanked each other. “You know, Tank, you were really awesome. I know I definitely couldn’t do this job without you. Hell, my mind doesn’t even think like that. Who would have thought that you and I would ever do such a job as to get rid of Thomas Green and Mathias? Thanks for giving me my life back. Man, if you ever need me, just call.” “Well actually, Roy, there is one thing.” “Call it, dawg.” “What I need to do is get my moms in treatment, you know, tah kick the habit. If I’m as successful in doing that as I was in doing this, me, my sisters, and brothers will need an adult to stay with us when she goes in. What I’m askin’, man, is can you crash at the crib until she gets through this?” “I guess, but on one condition, man.” “You name it, anything.” “Stop callin’ me white boy.” “I guess you’ve proven yourself. You got that.” They gave each other that man hug and left.

CHAPTER 12

Ne ws travels fast, especially when two well-known kingpins are suddenly dead. Even before the story hit the Courier Post , the city of Camden, New Jersey, was buzzing like bees. And like most inaccurate stories, the word that circulated was that Matthias and Thomas Green had gotten into a fight and had killed each other. No one, except Tank and Roy, knew exactly how their deaths occurred. The truth of what had actually gone down was something that the two of them would take to their graves. After all, who would believe that a little black kid and a geeky red-haired white boy could take down two hardened criminals such as Thomas Green and Mathias? Old big fat Busy got the news around three-thirty in the morning. Apparently, Busy knew someone who knew someone who was a cop. They had called Busy right after he had smoked his last blunt and had decided to turn in for the night. Soon as his head hit the pillow, his cell phone rang. “Yo’.” “Busy, hey man, you’re not going to believe this, but Matthias and Thomas Green is dead!” said his friend Al. “Get the fuck outta here! This on the real tip, man?” asked Busy, astonished by the untimely news. “Man, I kid you not. Everabody’s talking ’bout it. Word’s out that they shot up each other at the aquarium, then somebody said it was a third person there who took the both of ’em out. Hell, man, I’m not sure what really went down. All I know for sure as that both them mo’fuckers is dead!” “The aquarium?” asked Busy. “Hey, man, I’m just tellin’ it like I heard it,” said Al. “Shit, they may have had a deal down there with somebody. The deal must have gone really bad. Shit, had to be a bad motherfucker to take out the both of them. I mean, neither of them were no damn pushovers.”

“Word, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Shit, man, we can only surmise how it really went down. But I have to agree with cha, had to be a bad motherfucker to take them down,” said Al. “Well, look here, man, I’ll get wit’ cha in the morning. I’ll pick you up, say round eight-thirty. We’ll take a ride over the way. See if we can hear more about what went down.” “Ah, hold up, man. I got an idea,” said Busy. “S’up, man?” “You know, it’s still early. What cha say you and me take a ride over Matthias’s. Check out what’s held up in the wall. You know he kept a safe in his office. Hell, man, we might be able to find some shit, some money, who knows what valuables are sitting in that safe just waitin’ to be owned. A couple of times when I was in his office waitin’ on an assignment, I got a glance of what he keeps in that safe. Man, it was packed with money and all kinda shit. There was more shit in there than we could use. Hell, man, it might even be enough in there for us tah start our own motherfuckin’ business. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Man, I don’t know. You talkin’ ’bout B&E. I ain’t got no charges, man. Ain’t tryin’ tah catch one neither,” said Al. “Oh, shit! We talkin’ about thousands, maybe even millions. Hell, his motherfuckin’ toilet seat gotta be worth a nice piece of money all by itself. Come on, Al, fast easy money, just sittin’ there.” “Man, what about that wolf that he called a dog? He’s not going to let us in,” said Al, on the verge of giving in. “Man, fuck that dog! I ain’t seen a dog yet that a bullet couldn’t stop.” Both men were quiet now. Apparently, Al was thinking. Things hadn’t been especially easy for Al and his family lately. He was the kind of man who was always going through hard times. Only problem was that he could never get through to the other side of those hard times. Al began to see this as an opportunity to finally get through. He had four baby mommas, with at least three children apiece. Al was a working man, but between child and just trying to stay above water with his own daily living expenses, life looked dim. He knew it was wrong. He knew he might get caught, but he was tired of being

broke. The thought of the supposed money got the better of him. “What the hell, I’m wit’ cha, man. I’ll be out side waitin’ on yah.”

It was still dark on Chambers Avenue when Busy and Al get there. Everything seemed quiet, just the way they wanted it. They drove around the entire street twice before deciding to go up the fire escape to the second floor and thought it a blessing that the bathroom window had been left unlocked. Al went through the small bathroom window with no problem, but Busy had to be pulled through with Al’s help, and even with Al’s help, it was a struggle. It appeared that Busy’s big old butt got stuck. It was a good thing for Busy that Al was there, because otherwise there was no way he would have been able to enter the house without his help. Once inside, they noticed that it was dark, quiet, and a bit eerie. There was not even a sign of the dog, which made things seem even more unnerving. “Why don’t you work on that,” said Busy, pointing at the toilet seat, “whiles I go downstairs and investigate.” He crept down the stairs with his flashlight guiding his ever step. He actually had his heart ready to be shocked by the pounce of the ferocious dog. He had his ears set to hearing the sound of his angry barking. And he had his gun ready for the killing. The closer he got to the bottom of the stairs, the more his heart pounded with anticipation of the dog’s appearance. He began to wish that the dog would just come out so that he could kill him and get on with his business there and get the hell out. Busy found his way to the office where the wall safe was. He smiled to see it. He reached into his pocket and took out the tools he had brought with him. His plan was to just take it right out the wall, take it with him, and worry about opening it once he was in the privacy of his own home. Busy began hammering, breaking the wall around the safe. Then he’d stop for a while, looking around for the dog. At this time, he was convinced that the dog wasn’t there, thinking that Matthias must have taken him with him. If the dog wasn’t out by now, with all the ruckus he was making, he had to be gone. Confident that he and Al were alone in the house, Busy got busy hammering without stopping until he had that safe in his arms. And now a bigger smile. “Yo’, dawg, ain’t you finished yet? I’ve got the safe. Come on, Al, it’s time to bounce, man!” Busy got no response from Al. He gathered his tools, picked up

his gun, and rolled the safe into a duffel bag that he had brought with him. The safe was heavy, but with the help of Al, he was sure that the two of them could get it to the car. Busy began to drag the duffel bag to the steps. He had to get the safe up the stairs because he needed to leave the way he had come in. Departure through the front door was out of the question; the cops were all over the place. The back door wasn’t much better; it was too risky. He called for Al one last time and was wondering what was taking him so long. Then suddenly, Al appeared at the top of the stairs carrying the heavy toilet seat, sweating like a pig. “I got it, man,” he whispered to Busy. As he proceeded down the stairs with the heavy toilet seat, he stumbled and fell. Startled by the noise, Busy accidentally fired the gun, hitting Al in the head. Both Al and the gold toilet seat landed at the bottom of the stairs on Busy. Al was dead. Busy couldn’t believe what happened. He had a pain in his hip from where the toilet seat had hit him. However, his only concern was how the hell he was going to get the gold toilet seat and the safe up the stairs and out the bathroom window without the help of Al. Both items were heavy as hell. It was going on four o’ clock, and Busy only had an hour or so of darkness left. He pushed his friend, Al, and the toilet seat off of him. He stood the seat up and dragged it to the steps. He leaned it against the bottom step. For now, he would concentrate on getting the safe up the stairs. One part of him wished that he hadn’t accidentally killed Al because he really needed his help. Another part of him was filled with greed, thinking how now he would have all that was in the safe plus the gold toilet seat all to himself. He grabbed the duffel bag containing the safe and proceeded up the stairs one step at a time, stopping for breaths between each step. It was heavier than he expected it to be. Even with the help of Al, it would have given them some problems. Halfway up the stairs, he checked his watch. Twenty minutes had ed. He sat there on the step panting, wiping his forehead with his arm. He was exhausted and wondered if he would make it out of the house before daybreak. He knew the cops would be there soon. They were familiar with Matthias and Thomas Green. They had hoped to catch them sooner than their deaths but could never get enough evidence on them to arrest them. It was always their runners who were apprehended, denying that they even knew them,

understanding that what the law would do to them would be a piece of cake compared to what Matthias or Thomas Green would have done. Daylight was coming through the windows now, and the birds were singing their morning prayers. Busy could hear them. The sight of the sun coming up and the sound of the tweeting birds prompted Busy to make a quick decision—one or the other, a decision he would base on which he thought would be more profitable to him. He chose the safe. It had to be thousands in there, if not more. After all, what would he do with a gold toilet seat? How would he get rid of it? How could he ever get its worth out of it without calling attention to himself? He convinced himself that he was doing the right thing by letting the toilet seat go. By the time he reached the bathroom with the safe, the sun had fully risen. It was a bright sunny day; Busy cursed it and hoped that not many people would be up and out so early. Everything would be okay if he could just make it to his car. But first, he had to get that safe out of the bathroom window. It took every bit of strength he had to lift the safe and drop it to the roof, but he did it. He exhaled and smiled. But just as he was about to go out the window himself, head first, he heard unwelcome noises coming from downstairs. It was the cops, there to investigate. Busy didn’t worry about the cops too much, for he was at freedom’s door, or window in this case. He figured, even if he could not escape until later that day by lying low on the roof top, he would still be a rich man. He had it all planned. Yes, he might get a little hungry while waiting to make his escape, but soon, he’d have enough money to eat like a king. He thought about Matthias’s throne while imagining the type of feast he’d have. Yes, he thought, there’s about to be a new kingpin in this city. He was halfway out the window when he noticed the struggle he was having trying to get the bottom part of his body out. He wiggled and wiggled but just could not seem to make it through. The voices from downstairs were coming closer and closer. He wiggled some more but could not get his big behind through that small window. By now, the squeeze was beginning to hurt. It was apparent that his hip had become swollen after the gold seat hit his hip. He had had a hard time with the help of Al but now, without Al’s help and the swollen hip, it had became impossible for him to escape through that small window. At first, his body became numb. He could not go forward nor could he go

backwards. It felt as if he could not breathe and that he was actually being cut in half. He was turning red gasping for air. Suddenly, his hearing became faint. Then his eyesight began to fail him. Busy’s last thought was actually a prayer—that the Lord would allow the cops to come in and catch him, even with the safe, so that he could breathe again.

CHAPTER 13

It must have been close to three in the morning when the entire house was awakened by the sound of a vehement knocking at the door. Tank did not bother to get up. Must be one of Momma’s men friend, thought Tank as he repositioned himself to fall back to sleep. But no sooner than he dozed off, he was awakened again by the sound of voices coming from down stairs. He heard Cora May yelling at someone and Laylah pleading with her about something he could not quite make out. “No, Momma, you can’t send him away. Just give Tank the opportunity to talk with him just for a moment. It ain’t right what you’re doin’. It isn’t fair!” “Mind your own damn business, girl. This is between me and him,” said Cora May. “And, you motherfucker, I can’t believe that after thirteen years, here you come up in here at three o’clock in the damn morning talking about you want to see your son. Far as I’m concerned, you ain’t got no damn son. Just go on and leave. That boy’s better off without you. In fact, we’ve been doin’ just fine without you! And we gon’ keep on doing fine! And anyhow, what gave you the nerves to come back here after all this time talkin’ ’bout you comin’ to take your son? Tank ain’t goin’ no damn where with you. Shoot, you just like all them other motherfuckers who laid down with me, got me all swollen with a baby, then just up and left me! If you don’t get your sorry ass away from my door, I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out!” “But, Momma, it ain’t right what you’re doing. Tank has a right to meet his father. My brother really wants to meet his dad,” said Laylah. “What I say, girl? This ain’t none of your concern. Now you get on back up them steps and take your ass back to bed!” shouted Cora May. What? My father? Tank could not believe his ears. The plan was already made up in his mind; he would leave tonight. Yes, this very night he would pack his few pieces of clothing and leave with his father tonight, never to return to these stinking projects. Never will he go hungry; never will he have to worry about his mother being on drugs. He’ll go to the finest school and develop friendship with

new kids. Finally, he could just be a kid. In fact, his father may have money. Those old pieces of rags can just stay here. His father will see to it that he’ll have new things. Finally he’d leave Sycamore Court, out of the ghetto, and into Society Hill. But then he heard the door slam. No! No, Dad, don’t leave! At least let me see you. Please, don’t leave, Dad! Dad, Dad, wait for me! Take me with you, please. Take me with you! “Boy, what is wrong with you? You’re going to wake the whole house,” said Laylah. “Is he still here, sis? Is he still here? I just have to see him with my own eyes.” “Who, Tank? What are you talking about? Is who still here? There’s no one here,” answered Laylah, feeling really sorry for her brother. “My father… isn’t he down stairs?” “Tank, there’s no one here, you must have been dreaming.” “No, sis, it was so clear.” Tank started to cry. “I was”—sniff, sniff—“going to leave with him. But Mommy put him out before I could even see him.” “Tank, man, it was just a dream. Just a dream.” “Damn, sis,” said Tank, still with tears in his eyes. “It was so real.” Now he sat on the side of the bed, trying to get himself together. Laylah wished that she could remove her brother’s pain. She understood how he felt about not knowing his father. “Sis,” he said, still whimpering, sniff, sniff, “Don’t you ever feel what I’m feeling? I mean, I’ve never even heard you mention anything about needing to know your father.” “Well, I guess every now and then, it’ll cross my mind. I just don’t dwell on it. After all, we have Mommy.” “Yeah, right.”

“Tank, I mean, what’s the use of wasting valuable time dwelling on something that you know ain’t never gonna happen? I just don’t have the time to worry about the impossible. I have too much in my hands now to put something else in my head that I can’t do anything about. I’ve just accepted the facts that none of us will ever know who our fathers are. I just pray that none of us grow up and marry our own relatives. That’ll be some foul shit, huh?” Tank just looked at her in that, “yah, think?” kind of way. But then something hit her about something Tank had said about his dream. “Can I ask you something, Tank?” “Yeah, what?” “You said that you would have left with your dad. If it was real and not just a dream, would you have really left us here with Momma on our own?” Tank thought for a minute. This was a question that he had not thought about. And after pondering upon it for a few seconds, he realized that his answer needed to stay within him. “Like you said, sis, it was just a dream.” Laylah never established an answer from her brother. But Tank thought about her question after she returned to her room. Could he simply just up and leave his siblings? Would it not matter what might happen to them if indeed his father just happens to show up? Does getting away from his mother’s circumstances mean so much to him that he could just leave them all alone to share Cora May’s chaotic world? No! he thought, for he understood that his brothers and sisters, as well as he, were all just caught up in their mother’s madness. Plus, ’cause I’m the only father they will ever know. Tank went back to sleep, hoping to never dream such a dream as the one he had just had, and, more importantly, hoping to never have to make the a decision on whether or not he would have to choose between his siblings and his biological father.

Laylah had awakened early that morning, considering the fact that she was up in the wee hours of the night with her brother, Tank. She sat at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee just as if she was a little woman. She pondered over various thoughts, which had captured her mind. Tank’s dream entered in. For his sake, she wished that one day he would find his biological father. She laughed a little in her mind to think that it would be a miracle if any of them would ever lay eyes on any of their fathers. There had been so many different men sharing her mother’s bed that to even make a presumption of who fathered any of them would be ultimately impossible. She could not understand why it bothered Tank so that he did not know his father and then wondered if there was something wrong with her that her own father’s whereabouts did not concern her to in the least. Perhaps it was like Tank had told her many times before, “Nothing bothers you, sis.” But if he only knew her surreptitious thoughts, it would have blown his mind. These were thoughts that Laylah had buried deep in her soul. These were thoughts that she would carry to her grave. There were so many adult decisions that were forced upon her, which no one except she could make concerning her family. To ponder upon these things too long would just place her on a psycho floor. But she learned a long time ago, when she was yet a very young child, not to keep these things in her mind. There was no room for them, not with all the other things going on in her life. But who would she talk to about them, not the few girlfriends she had. It wasn’t their business what went on in her home. And going to a teacher or guidance counselor would just bring trouble to her family. No, she did not want that. Going to her mother was definitely out of the question; Cora May only had a one track-mind, just like the tracks on her body. There was so much going on in Laylah’s life, but like always, she dumped these thoughts deep in her soul. That was the only place they would be safe. Her soul, she always believed, was somehow connected to Jesus’s soul, and with all that was going on in her life, one day, somehow Jesus would fix it. She decided to get the morning paper from the front steps, see what catastrophes happened during everyone’s sleeping hours. This would carry her mind back to freedom. Other people’s problem was what she needed now; theirs did not hurt her mind the way her own did.

She unfolded the Courier and could not believe what she saw. She rushed to Tank’s room alarmed. “Tank, Tank? Wake up! You gotta see this!” Although tired, he managed to awake and set his focus on what his sister was trying to show him. The front page read, two well known drug dealers killed last night at the camden aquarium. The whole story was there, even about the finding of many Family First cards and welfare IDs at Matthias’s place. She dared not ask because she knew her brother had something to do with it all. She was proud of him and now understood why he could not be fully candid with her about what he was doing. “Tank,” said Laylah, “you know Momma will only find another dealer.” “No, Laylah, this is where it all ends. But I’m going to need your help. We’ve got to convince her to go for help.” “Yeah, right, just how are we supposed to do that?” “Come with me and follow my lead.” The children went to Cora May’s room. Surprisingly she was awake. It was time for her morning fix, and thanks to the man who was still sleeping in her bed, she had it. “Hey, man, you gotta bounce,” said Tank to his mother’s friend. “Boy, who the hell do you think you talking to? That’s my friend. He don’t gotta go no damn where ’til I say so. Go back to sleep, Dempsey. Don’t pay these kids no mind,” announced Cora May. “I said you need tah bounce. Now, man,” said Tank. Dempsey, annoyingly, got up talking about how he had something to do anyhow. “What the hell is wrong with you kids? Y’all know I don’t play that shit. What cha in here for anyhow?”

“Look, Mommy,” said Tank, handing her the paper. This irritated the hell out of Cora May. Even though her children knew that she could not read, she hated showing her illiteracy in front of her children. “I’ll read it, Mommy,” said Laylah. After Laylah read the story to her mother, she and Tank waited for the response. But there was none. There were no worries about where she was going to get her credited dope from. There was no show of emotions about the fact that her welfare ID could have been among the ones that the police had confiscated from Matthias’s place. There was not one single tear toward the death of her so-called friend, Matthias. Then finally, “I guess I’m just going to have to find me another place to buy my shit at,” was all she said. Tank and Laylah look at each other as if to say, “Where do we go from here?” “Mommy, I was just thinking, maybe this’ll be a good time for you to go get help,” said Tank. “Help? Help for what? I don’t need no damn help. The two of you can help yourselves outta my damn room. I know that much.” “Mommy, can’t you see? This is the perfect time to try to get off the dope,” Tank said. “You gotta be outta your damn mind, boy. Comin’ in here with that bull-shit! It ain’t never no good time to get off dope. I ain’t tryin’ tah hear that shit first thing in the morning. Don’t y’all have something to do?” asked Cora May, thinking that was the end of the conversation. “Mommy, you gotta stop some time. Why not now?” asked Tank. “Boy, have your brain skipped time or somethin’? What I gotta do is go upside your motherfuckin’ head? It’s too damn early fo’ this shit now!” It was as if Dempsey wasn’t even the room. He was getting dressed at a snail’s pace, but after hearing were the conversation was going, he put a little pep in his step and bid the mother and her children a good day.

“Now see what y’all done went and done? I think y’all forgettin’ who the parent is around here. I—” “No, Mommy! You’re the one who done forgot who the parent is,” interrupted Laylah. It just seemed to have spilled out of nowhere. Cora May, Tank, and even Laylah herself were surprised at what she was saying. “Mama, I’m tired of being you. I’ve taken on the responsibility of this family since I was just a baby myself. I’m tired, Mom. I’m tired of cookin’ and trying to keep the house clean. I’m tired of changing dippers. These ain’t my kids, Mom. They’re yours!” She was trying to keep the tears from falling, but that was impossible. “I’m tired of never being able to bring my friends over here because I’ve been protecting you. I want people to think that you’re something that you’re not—a mother. I’m tired of being embarrassed of the way we live, Mommy. I’m tired of every penny that comes into this house going on your drug habit. I’m tired of seeing evidences of your addiction everywhere I turn in this house. I’m tired of smellin’ it. It stinks, Mommy! Your addiction stinks. I tired of stealing just to make it look like you’re doing your job of taking care of us. And I’m sooo tired of doing what you do to get money to provide for our family!” “What you say, girl?” “I learned it from you, Mommy. If I give them my body, they’ll give me money. That’s how it’s done, right, Mommy? The only difference is I spend my money on us, while yours went in your veins. I hated having them men touching my body and doing things to me just so that my brothers and sister could have some normalcy in this house. I shouldn’t have to do that, Mommy!” Her tears were pouring out now. This was a well deserved cry. “And you know something, Mommy?” she continued, “Every time they touched me, I hated you. I hated you with everything in me. I’m just a kid!” Laylah began to cry profusely. “I’m just a kid! I wasn’t ready for that yet! But somebody had to feed the kids. Somebody had to take care of our family”—sniff, sniff—“and you know what I’m the most tired of, Mommy—I’m tired of saying that I’m tired! Damn it, Mommy, all you think about is you! You don’t even know your twins apart, and they your babies.” Tank now had tears in his eyes. He had no idea that Laylah had sold her body. It hurt him. It hurt him more than Cora May’s addiction or not knowing who his father was.

“So you see, Mom,” sniff, sniff—“you are going for help, ’cause I’m tired! And if you still think you’re not, I ma just have to call the Youth and Family Services to come here and find us a decent place to live. And you know what that means, Mom—no more welfare check!” Cora May raised her hand back to smack her daughter, but Tank grabbed his sister out of the way in the nick of time. Cora didn’t like it, but what else could she do?

CHAPTER 14

Last Call for Detox

Th e long gray-walled hallway reminded Mercedes of the prison of which she had barely escaped. Life had been hard for her these last few months. She had lost everything, from her Victoria Secret G-strings to her house and cars. But the one thing she lost that meant the most to her was her precious baby girl. She had an attitude at the door and the mental health technician who had escorted her to the detox unit detected it. “Am I getting my own room?” asked Mercedes in a tone that told Ms. Mahitti that Mercedes was going to be a problem. “You’ll have a roommate,” said Mahitti. “Hmm, I sure hope she ain’t no bad drug addict, ’cause I ain’t nothing like any of these people here. I heard that they carry diseases. I ain’t tryin’ tah catch nothing up in this motherfucker. I gotta chil’, I ain’t tryin’ to take nothing home to my baby. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Ms. Kemp, why are you here?” “That ain’t none of your damn business.” “Follow me, please,” said Ms. Mahitti. Mercedes followed, making faces behind the back of the tech. Tech Mahitti took Mercedes to a small examining room where Mercedes was asked to remove her clothing. “Why? “Excuse me?”

“I said why I gotta remove my clothes? Didn’t nobody tell me I had to strip for y’all!” exclaimed Mercedes. “Ms. Kemp, it is only procedures. Don’t worry, I’m not going to touch you. I only need to check for scars, tattoos, and contrabands.” “I ain’t got no damn scars, well, except for where I got shot, and I can tell you were that is. I ain’t gotta be taking off my clothes to show you that. And I didn’t bring any drugs with me. I told you, I ain’t no damn drug addict. And the only tattoo I have is my daughter’s name right here on my arm, and I don’t need to get naked for you to see that. What are you, some kinda freak?” “Like I said, it’s procedures. And Ms. Kemp, if you want to be here, you will have to follow our rules.” “Whatever!” said Mercedes as she stripped down to her bra and panties. “You sure this ain’t no jail? Sure feels like jail to me.” The body search went as well as it could, but when tech Mahitti begun to take each of Mercedes’s cigarettes out of the pack, she went ballistic on the technician.” “Why you gotta be puttin’ your hands all over my smokes like that?” “Ms. Kemp, like I said earlier, it is proce—” “I know,” interrupted Mercedes, “procedures. But I ain’t tryin’ tah be smokin’ those things after you’ve had your hands all over them. On the real, you can just throw those things away! Hell, I don’t know where your hands been.” “Fine, have it your way, Ms. Kemp. I’m sure that there will be others here with no smoke who won’t mind where my hands been.” “How long is this going to take? When can I go to my room? You know, I really don’t belong here. I’m really not a drug addict, you know.” “You know, Ms. Kemp, it’s obvious that you don’t really want to be here, so before we go any further, you have two options. You can comply to the rules here, or you can leave. Now!”

Mercedes folded her arms in a guarded way. She was ready to shut down. She truly felt degraded. This was all wrong. Yes, the parenting classes she felt she might need, but she was not addicted to drugs. Why couldn’t people understand this, she did not know. “So what’s your choice, Ms. Kemp? I’ll tell you right now, we would rather you stay and get the help you need, but we will not tolerate your abusive behavior.” “I have to stay. I have to stay in order to get my daughter back,” Mercedes said, complying with the technician. “Fine, we’ll finish this assessment and then take you to your room.” “Ms. Mahitti, I’m sorry. I’m not really a bitch, just pissed off because they took my little girl. And I sincerely feel that I don’t belong here. I took a few hits off the pipe because I know that this maniac was going to kill me. I was nervous— that’s all.” “Let me ask you a couple of questions, Ms. Kemp. Did drugs have anything to do with your daughter being taken away from you, or that you’re here?” “Well, yeah, but…” “Okay, while you’re here, you’ll be able to address those matters. The important thing right now is to get through this assessment. Okay?” “Okay. Ms. Mahitti?” “Yes, Ms. Kemp?” “I guess I’m just so embarrassed about being here. I mean, I had everything before all this happened to me. I guess I just want to hurry up and get my shit together. You know, like you.” “You don’t need to be like me, Ms. Kemp. Believe me, we all have waters to cross and no boat to get there. Everybody you see these days are dealing with something. No one’s immune to life. Just dealing with today’s society is enough. I thank God that drug addiction isn’t one of my problems anymore. And if you give us a chance, we’re going to try to bring out the better part of you during your stay here. Now can we get on with this assessment?”

“Yeah, and, ah, please, just call me Mercedes. And those smokes, you can give them away. I don’t really smoke. I just brought that pack and almost chocked off one. I brought it thinking it would calm my nerves.” The rest of the ission went well and Mercedes was taken to her room.

Kodjoe Jackson entered the detox unit with an opened mind. He knew he needed to be there. But all he could think about was his sons. What had he done to their trust in him? How had his using affected their lives? And could they ever forgive him and look up to him as a respectable father again? As for Layoni, he cared for her dearly, even loved her in a way. But Kodjoe figured that because they were early in their relationship, it won’t be a terrific loss if she decided she no longer wanted him. He could certainly understand it if she wanted out. Layoni had canceled a month of gigs so that she could move in with the boys and care for them while their father got help. This was her decision. She thought it would be healthy for her and the boys’ relationship. She and the boys could bond while Kodjoe was away. He appreciated her kindness. He had gotten through the ission process and was now taken to his room. As he noticed the different clientele throughout the halls and in separate group rooms, he saw that it was a mixed community—blacks, whites, Hispanics, Italians, and an Asian or two. Their ages ranged from eighteen to almost eighty. Their drug usage ranged from marijuana to IV heroin. There were men and women there who ran their own business to the homeless vagrants and from the priests to murderers. The common thread was that they all had problems with drugs. When Kodjoe entered his room, the first thing he noticed was the bed, which he knew would not fit his long legs. “I’m going to need a larger one than that,” he said, pointing to the bed. The tech, after sizing him up, agreed and promised to have one delivered to the room to replace the one he had as soon as she could. Judging from the clothing lying around the room, he had a roommate. He could tell that his roommate most likely was a young person because the items lying around were all logoed with silver or gold dollar signs or with rapper names embroiled on them. Kodjoe thought to himself, Hope this kid’s cool.

Cora May was heard even before she was seem. She walked, wobbling from side to side as she tried to handle her hefty trash bag full of dirty clothing. Tank could have gone out and brought his mother a nice luggage set, but he knew it wasn’t wise for Cora May to know about the money, not yet. He knew his mother’s full concentration would be needed on her recovery, not on the bundle of cash he had taken from Matthias’s safe. If Cora May had known about the money, she would not have asked from where it came. She would have found a way to get her hands on it and use it up on her addiction without an ounce of contriteness. “When the hell are we goin’ tah get to wherever it is you takin’ me?” “Right thought these doors, Ms. Richardson.” “Good, it’s about fuckin’ time. Hell, I’m tired. That was a long-ass walk. I don’t think that I’ve walked that far, well—since ever!” She was escorted to the exam room where she was asked to remove her clothing. “Now you want me naked,” said Cora May. She complied and stripped down to nothing. She was told that she could keep her underwear on, but she was not wearing any. With each layer of clothing she removed, the more body odor escaped from her unwashed body. The tech who brought her to the unit knew that it was up to her to tell her, without sounding condescending, that the first thing Cora May needed to do was take a shower. The tech feared that the other patients would single her out as the enemy of the unit if she went into community smelling like a box of corn chips. After the body search, the tech put on a pair of rubber gloves to check Cora May’s clothing. It was an unpleasant job for the tech, but she managed to get though it without complaining to Cora May or to her supervisor. Cora May was taken to her room. When she walked in, she noticed a young white girl sitting up in her bed with her knees up to her chest. The girl looked to be in her early twenties. She rocked back and forward, shaking like a leaf on

December 30. “Cora May, this is your room, and this is Megan, your roommate. You are not allowed in anyone else’s room. There is no eating or drinking in your room. When you leave your room for any reason, you must be fully dressed. You are expected to attend all group activities unless you have permission from the treatment team. That includes the nurses, your doctor, and your counselors. The patient’s rights are posted in every room. That includes the multipurpose room and the patient’s lounge as well as your room. You were given a paper explaining the rules of the unit. We expect you to follow each of them. If you choose to break any of the rules, you could be therapeutically discharged.” Cora May wondered what had she gotten herself into. She didn’t even know if she had it in her to follow one rule, let alone a full page of them. “Any question, Cora May?” “How long I gotta be here?” “This is a twenty-eight-day program. The length of time you spend here is up to you. Are there any other questions?” “Nope.” “One more thing, Cora May, may I see you in the hall, please?” Cora May stepped out into the hall. “Cora May, the first thing I want you to do is wash your things. We have a washer and dryer in the middle of the hall. I’ll give you a pair of scrubs to put on until your things are done. The second thing I need you to do is to take a shower.” “So what? You tryin’ tah say I stink or somethin’?” “What I’m saying is that you’re going to be feeling sick before the day is done. You won’t be able to get your Suboxone until you are in full withdrawal. We wouldn’t want you to go into withdrawal and then try to take a shower, so do it now.” “I got cha.” Cora May rolled her eyes at the tech as she walked away. Cora May went back in her room and just flopped down on the bed. Her

roommate looked terrified at her. “What you in for?” Cora May asked Megan. “Dope, OxyContin, methadone, some percs, you know, whatever came my way,” answered Megan. “What about you?” “Same thangs, chil’. Hell, if they told me that shit’ll get you high, I’d be doin’ it. Man, it ain’t nothing like gettin’ high. I love that shit. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Yeah, I know what you’re sayin’, but I’m here to stop. I’m tired of this shit. It’s just so fuckin’ hard trying to kick! I wish I never tried any of that shit.” “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t know how good it was. Would cha?” Cora May asked. “That’s the point I’m tryin’ to make, Cora May. I mean, don’t you get tired of never having any money for anything other than drugs. Don’t you miss the relationship between you and your family? I mean, like it doesn’t even matter what the weather is. Nothing stops a junkie. Shit, it can be snowing, raining. Hell, not even Hurricane Katrina could stop a junkie from going after that shit. And your family, they don’t want you around no more. They’re embarrassed of you. Shit, I’m embarrassed of my damn self. You don’t feel any of those things?” Megan asked. “Hell no, ain’t tryin’ tah either. Anyhow, ain’t a damn thing wrong with my life. I like my life just the way it is. Just those damn kids of mine done bumped their damn heads or something and dumped me in this hellhole. Can you believe they wanted to call the Youth and Family Services on me if I hadn’t come in here? I thought I taught those kids better than to be tryin’ tah fuck with my life. Damn kids!” Megan excused herself. She needed to upchuck. She was going through withdraw, but the odor from Cora May and her dirty laundry wasn’t helping none either. When she came back, Cora May continued the conversation. “You know, if any of these people here would tell the truth, they would agree that all they want is to be able to get high, like me, like you. Come on, it it. You wanna get on right now, don’t cha? Can’t cha just imagine feelin’ that shit runnin’ through your vein, making everythin’ that’s wrong so right again?”

Megan jumped out the bed and headed straight toward the front desk. “Would somebody please get that ghetto bitch out of my room! I’m paying for this treatment, not the state, and I don’t think that I should be subjected to hearing that bitch talk about drugs the whole time I’m here. If you don’t take her out, I’m packing up my shit, and I’m out of here! And believe me, my insurance company will be hearing from me about what I’ve been subjected to. Better yet, maybe I’ll just go to the papers and tell them what kind of shit is going on in this place. I mean, it’s hard enough trying to kick without having somebody in your ear telling you how good the shit was.” The tech asked Megan to calm down, and then she promised to take care of the matter. Cora May was in the bathroom snorting dope that she had hidden in her body cavity when the tech entered the room. “Cora May!” called the tech. “Can you please come out here?” “Just a sec’,” she said. She quickly hid her dope back where it came from, flushed the toilet, and came out. “What’s up?” answered Cora May. “First of all, you were given instructions to do your laundry and get a shower. So far, you haven’t done either. Pack your things, Cora May, and come with me.” “What? You kickin’ me out?” “Not on your life, Cora May. You’re not getting off that easy. You’re moving to another room.” “Why, ’cause Snow White told you to?” “Cora, no one tells us what to do. But on the other hand, you are given choices here, and right now, those choices are to follow the rules or leave. You’ve been here less than an hour, and you’re already getting into conflicts. That’s not a good sign, Cora May.” “Why she trippin’? I only said what I felt. What, there’s no freedom of speech in this place?” “Glorifying the use of drugs is not allowed here, and if you would have read the

unit rules, you would have known that.” Cora May did not want to tell the treatment team that she could not read. She felt that if they knew about her illiteracy it would completely stripe her of any dignity she had left. After Cora May gathered her things, she was taken down the hall to another room. “Cora May, met your new roommate, Mercedes.”

Kodjoe was surprised when his roommate entered the room. The clothes did not go with the man who owned them; he expected a much younger person. This guy was a short, small-framed Hispanic man with a terrible attitude who looked to be at least forty-eight years old. His roommate was not expecting anyone to be there. He had asked specifically for a private room and had been granted that wish only because the censuses were low. “Who the fuck are you, man? What the hell you doin’ in my room?” “Chill out, man. I’m Kod, your roommate.” Kodjoe reached out his hand to shake with him, but his roommate did not extend his. Instead, he mumbled something quite derogatory in Spanish, which Kodjoe understood. Kodjoe thought, I don’t need this shit! Then he threw his hands up as to surrender to the situation and decided to just ignore his roommate. By then, one of the little man’s buddies stood at the door of the room and asked in Spanish what the problem was. The little man explained in Spanish how he was going to have to kick Kodjoe’s black ass, and how the niggers were trying to take the fuck over since Obama had taken office as president. And of course, his buddy let him know in Spanish how he had his back if something should jump off. Kodjoe continued unpacking but listened as the conversation went on about the plans to kick his black ass until he could take no more. “Yo no lo creo!” Kodjoe said in a language that both men understood to be Spanish. The buddy looked at Kodjoe, surprised to see that he understood them, and then at his friend and said something about taking his laundry out of the dryer before his clothes got wrinkled. He left the two roommates to themselves. The little man looked at Kodjoe and said with a nasty attitude, “So what’s that ’pose to mean, ’cause you know Spanish? What I said still stands. So just stay the fuck outta my way, okay? Then we’ll be fine.” One of the counselors, Mr. Selim, a man with a bad limp in his right leg, ed the room and heard bits and pieces of what the little man was saying. He looked

in the room and said, “I don’t know what the problem is in here, and I don’t want to know. All I gotta say is squash this shit know. This isn’t any romper room for adults, so whatever it is, fix it now.” He left and closed the door behind him. If Kodjoe knew what the problem was, he would have squashed it from the beginning. He did not know this little man, but what he did know was that he had not come to this place looking for trouble. “Okay, man, what’s your problem?” he asked as he continued to unpack his things. “You get one thing straight, man. You my celli, but don’t think you in here to take over a damn thing. I know how you ma’fuckers think you run things. Cause you a big tall ma’fucker don’t mean shit to me. I can handle my own. I done took out bigger brothers than you. Yah heard?” Kodjoe laughed, because he finally understood what the problem was. “Look, man. I ain’t here for none of your bullshit. I’m here for my damn self. You coming up in here with that jailhouse mentality. I ain’t got time for that shit. For starters, I ain’t your celli. I’m your roommate. And I think I know what your problem is. Look at you, man. You come up to what, my waist? If I wanted to, I could squash your little ass right now. But like I said, I ain’t here for that bullshit. Now I’m going to pretend that this shit never happened. But I think you had better get some help for that Napoleon syndrome you’re dealing with. Now that’s all I gotta say to you on that subject. And I hope you heard that, man.” Kodjoe never gave the little man a chance to respond. He left the room to check out his environment. He understood that he had entered a new world, a world that told him that it was no longer about the life of his comfy home. He was now a part of the very world he had never wanted to enter into.

MEETING MAKERS MAKE IT ONE DAY AT A TIME SEVEN DAYS WITHOUT A MEETING MAKES’S ONE WEAK THINK, THINK, THINK BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD EASY DOES IT KEEP IT SIMPLE STUPID

These were just a few of the many Twelve Steps slogans splattered over the walls and doors on the detox unit. Right now, they were all just meaningless words to Mercedes, Kodjoe, and Cora May who were all in the embryonic stage of their recovery. And little did they know that what they were about to experience could be synonymous to a lobotomy, except that instead of a surgical instrument for cutting the connection to and from the prefrontal cortex, words would be used. Some who balked against treatment centers often said that the counselors brainwashed people. But truth be told, by the time some had made it to treatment, their brains needed a bath. It was group time, and Selim, the counselor, had the patients arrange the seats in a circle. All the patients were there except one—Cora May. Selim looked at his watch and then at the empty seat that was reserved for Cora May. “Who is missing a roommate here?” Everyone checked for his or her roommate. For Mercedes, there was no need to check. Cora May was not a person you could easily ignore. “If you don’t see your roommate, you need to go and get them. Just like the way we shared our 40s, our wine, and our drugs, we need to look after each other in our recovery. This is a ‘we’ program.”

“Damn,” said Mercedes. “Now I’m responsible for a grown-ass woman!” Everyone giggled. Mercedes went to the room but did not see Cora May. She called out for her, but there was no answer. She went to the door and looked down the hall, no Cora May. What am I supposed to do now? Mercedes thought to herself. Just as she was about to leave, she heard a sniffing sound in the bathroom. “Cora May?” she called. There was no answer. She opened the door and saw Cora May sitting on the toilet seat snorting heroin. “Cora? What the hell are you doing?” Cora May looked up at Mercedes void of fear. “What the hell do it look like? I’m doing my thang. You want some?” “No thanks, Cora, I don’t do drugs.” “Then what the hell you doin’ here? The last time I check, this was a detox center. You know, where junkies come to stop gettin’ high. Now me, I was forced here. I ain’t tryin’ to stop for nobody.” “How did you get that shit past the check-in? They go through your stuff with a fine-tooth comb.” “Oh, well, ah, there’s one place they don’t check,” Cora May said giving Mercedes a rather suspicious look. “Girl, you nasty.” “Shit, it’s my thang. So what, you gon’ rat me out?” “Look, Cora May, I ain’t never ratted nobody out, but I’ll tell you this, if they do a room search and find your shit, make sure you tell ’em it’s yours. I don’t like being here no more than you, but I need this to get my little girl back. So don’t fuck this up for me, Cora May. And by the way, Selim sent me after you. Said he won’t start group until everyone’s present.” “Hell, I’m comin’,” she said annoyingly. “Shit, I’m a grown ass-woman. Who the hell do they think they are, telling me what to do? I ain’t used to all this

bullshit. And I ain’t tryin’ to get used to it. Damn, I miss my room at home!” Mercedes and Cora May entered the group room and took their seats. “Good, now that we’re all here, we can start. The subject title of our group today is, ‘Why Now?’ We’ll have everyone introduce themselves and tell us what your drug of choice is and what encouraged you to seek treatment at this time. We’ll start with you, Mr. Jackson.” “Ah, yeah, my name is Kodjoe Jackson, and I’m addicted to cocaine. I’ve been using coke for close to a year. I just need to tell y’all, I hated drugs, hate everything drugs stood for. I never thought that this would be my life. Point is, if my baby boy hadn’t seen me snorting that shit and tried to imitate me by snorting shaving powder, I would still be out there. Truth of the matter is I still have a love for it, even after what happened to my son. I just don’t understand it. Damn it! I just don’t get it. What is it about this shit? It has no brain, no intelligences, but it has these powers over me that are just so damn incomprehensible. I mean, I’m the one with the brain, right? I’m the one who is supposed to be intelligent, right? I’m the one who knows right from wrong. Then why can’t I just stop if only because it’s the fuckin’ right thing to do? My baby could have died trying to be like his daddy, and all I can think about is how I still want that shit. Could, ah, could somebody please tell me what the hell is wrong with me? This is not supposed to be my life!” Kodjoe hung his head in disgrace and wished he had a hit of coke to get him through the humiliation. “Thank you Mr. Jackson. Next,” said Mr. Selim as he actually thought to himself, Welcome to the world you despise, Mr. Jackson. “My name is Mercedes Kemp, and I’m just gonna put it out there. I ain’t no drug addict. I just got caught up in some shit and, wah-la, here I am.” “Then what the fuck you doin’ here, bitch?” said Megan who was loud enough for Mercedes to hear. Mercedes stood and ran over to Megan. “Excuse me. You got something tah say to me, bitch?” The young woman looked at Mercedes and rolled her eyes. “Oh, I didn’t think so.”

“Mercedes, please return to your seat,” ordered Selim. Before she returned, she pointed to the young girl just to make her aware that she had her number and that she wasn’t having any stuff out of her. “Mercedes, would you mind explaining yourself?” asked Selim. “Well, okay, but I gotta tell y’all that this is all alien to me, ’cause I ain’t into telling my business to nobody. Shit, I don’t know y’all. Y’all strangers to me.” Mercedes took time to show that she was indeed directing that comment to Megan by way of doing a little eye rolling of her own toward her. “But if I must tell it. I’m here because I kinda got caught transporting drugs. I mean, well, they didn’t actually catch me in the act. See, there was some money missing from my purse when he came to pick up his money. My daughter, see, she had mistakenly taken the wrong money from my purse for her lunch, and well, he shot me for coming up short. But before he shot me, I was kinda nervous, you know, about where the rest of his money was, ’cause this guy was a crazy ass man. I knew he was going to shoot me because I had seen him shoot my girl right square in her face. He didn’t think anything of it. But anyhow, I was so tired when I got home that morning that I had completely forgotten that I had told my daughter to go in my purse and get money for her lunch. So I panicked, thinking that just a few hits from the pipe would calm me down. Well, anyhow, the bottom line is, well, he shot me and left me in a trash dumpster for dead. Can you imagine that? Ain’t that some fouled shit? A dirty ass-trash dumpster! When they found me and took me to the hospital, they drug-tested me and found cocaine in my system. But I’m really not a drug addict. So in order for me to get my daughter back, I have to complete this stupid program and attend parenting classes. So there, you have it. Now y’all know all my business up in here.” The patients were all looking at each other as if to say, “What the hell was she talking about?” “Actually, Mercedes,” said Mr. Selim, “I don’t think we have it at all. And you said that you are not a drug addict?” Mr. Selim raised one eyebrow and scratched his head. “Next,” he said. “Well, hello everybody. First I have to say that there are so many nice people here. Everyone has been so very kind to me. I know that I’m probably old enough for some of you to be some of your mother.” Many patients were thinking, More like my grandma. “My name is Susan Billingsworth, and I’ve been taking just a few more Xanax than the doctor prescribed. But I needed them. I mean, I just didn’t know what to do when my Harry died. Harry was a good man. He was a proud man. You all would have loved my Harry. I mean, he

was my world, but when he lost his money in those stocks, he just couldn’t stand it. My Harry committed suicide. That selfish son-of-a-bitch! But I can kind of understand why he did it. He had counted on that money as much as the next person.” Sniff, sniff. Someone handed her a tissue. “Oh, thank you, sweetheart. That was kind of you. See, like I said, everyone here is so very nice. But ah, I’m going to miss my xannies. Yeah, I’m really going to miss them, oh, and my Harry, too.” “Thank you for sharing Susan, said Mr. Selim. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?” “As a matter of face there is,” said Susan. “I’d like to ask, what’s a sweet little thing like you doing in a place like this? You can’t even be eighteen years old yet. Your poor mother must be mortified.” Susan directed her question to Megan. “I’m a junkie, just like everyone else here. Oh, excuse me, except for Mercedes,” said Megan “Look, I’ve all ready had enough of your little smart-ass remarks. But let me ask you something, Susan, why do you feel that she doesn’t belong here? Is it because she’s a sweet little white girl?” asked Mercedes defensively. “Oh my, I didn’t mean to offend anyone. It just surprises me so to see such a young beautiful, person struggling with such a problem as drug addiction. It’s obvious that she’s from a good healthy family. I mean, just look at her. Her nails are so nicely manicured and her complexion is so pretty. There’s no sign of drug abuse by just looking at her. And I can tell that she’s from wealth. Ah, money knows money.” Some of the patients showed their disapproval toward Susan’s audacious conjecture by body posture. Some just shook their heads from side to side as they rolled their eyes at Susan, and some wanted to kick Susan’s lilywhite rich ass. “May I ask her what drugs she uses, Mr., ah, Selim?” Before Selim could answer, the young girl interrupted. “I’ll answer her, Mr. Selim. My name is Megan, and Mrs. Susan, you’re right. Yes, I do come from a wealthy family, a good family. My parents gave me everything I ever needed, and what they didn’t give me, I took. They paid for my college. They sent the checks in my name. Big mistake, all that money went right in my arms. They meant well. But I was on drugs way before I even started college. Mrs. Susan, for your information, drugs is everywhere. I mean, look at

you. You’re sittin’ right here with hardened criminals. You, me, none of us are any better than anyone else. It doesn’t matter if you do them in a pill, powder, or liquid, an addict is an addict, is an addict! And the white schools are even worse than the blacks, see, ’cause our parents think that because they moved us all to the ‘burbs, that they are protecting us from drugs. They think that if they give us everything and move us far away from the inner city, that we are immune to drug addiction. But they don’t know how easy it is to just jump in our cars, that they buy us and take a little ride and get our shit. My mom’s a lawyer and my dad’s a doctor. And like I said, they gave me everything. Things, things. I got sooo many things. They gave me everything, except them. They were never around, know what I’m sayin’? Business trips were words I understood before I knew my own name. As I got older, they’d give me five hundred dollars for like a pizza while they were on their business trips. Well, what does a teenager do with five hundred dollars? I’d take that money and invite my friends over for pool parties. They’d bring the drugs and I’d provide the place and the money for whatever else we needed. You know, like more drugs. But the one thing that we didn’t need was our parents, because we had drugs. It had even gotten to the point that I began to love it when they went on their little business trips. I began to lie about reasons why I needed more money. It had gotten so bad that five hundred wasn’t cuttin’ it anymore. And being the loving parents they were, they’d give to me whatever I told them that I needed. When they’d return home, they never checked on what I said I needed the extra money for. They just want about their normal routine of doctoring and being a lawyer. They never thought that one day I would need them both for both their professions. “We’d have these pool parties. Sometimes we’d all get so stoned that our pool party would turn into an orgy.” “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!” shouted one of the young men who were sitting in the circle. Everyone looked at him as if to say, “Shut up and grow up.” It appeared that Susan could not handle what Megan was putting out. “I really don’t want to hear anymore of this, Mr. Selim. May I be excused?” she asked. “No, no, you sit right there and listen!” shouted Megan. “You asked for this and you might as well get used to hearing the truth about addiction while you’re here. And you know, Mrs. Susan, you don’t get it, do you? What I’m tryin’ to tell you is that, you’re no better than anyone here. You sit here with your bourgeois ass and think that you’re better than everyone else sitting here. For you it is

Xanax. For me, it is heroin, P, and Ecstasy. For someone else, it’s something else, but we all are junkies of some sort. But do you want to know what’s the real problem is with squeaky-clean me, Mrs. Susan?” Megan went over to Susan’s chair and bent down so that they would be face to face. She placed her hands on both arms of Susan’s chair as if to make her fell hemmed in and said, “I’m HIV positive!” “Wow!” said Mercedes. “Shout the front door. Shit gets deep up in here.” Megan ignored Mercedes’s outburst and continued, “I just figured I’d put that out there early because it may help someone in here. See, what happened to me can easily happen to anyone, even you, Mrs. Susan. Yes, even squeaky clean you! I’m finished, Mr. Selim.” Dreadfully shocked by Megan’s comment, Mrs. Susan said, “Why, I am appalled!” “Thank you, Megan. And it was very brave of you to share that with the group. I’m sorry, but we’ve only time for one more. Cora May, will you please tell us about yourself?” “Well, I don’t think I can top that story, but here’s mine. My name is Cora May Richardson, and you name it, I do it. I love that shit. I just like getting high all the time. I love the effect it has on me. Now, the only reason I’m here is because of my damn ungrateful kids. Do you know that my son and daughter forced me in here? I just want everybody to know that I hate being in this damn place, and I can’t wait to get the hell out! I ain’t used to all of these damn rules and regulation and stuff. Hell, you can’t do nothing’ in this t! I can’t lie to y’all. I ain’t tryin’ to stop getting high. And I bet that I’m not the only one in here who is not gonna to stop. It’s just that I’m the only one who’s brave enough to it it. I mean, if you ever did dope and liked it, how in the hell can any of you sit here and tell me that you wanna give that damn feelin’ up for some Godforsaken straight life?” Most of the patients were checking out Mr. Selim, wondering when he was going to step in and stop Cora May. But to their chagrin, he allowed her to continue. “And I don’t give a damn about how none of y’all feel about what I’m sayin’. And anyhow, how in the hell can anybody get clean and sober when all they do here is talk about drugs all fuckin’ day long! When you first come in, the first question they ask you is what is your drug of choice? I started to tell them all of ’em, and then asked them if they were gonna give me

some. Y’all might not like what I’m sayin’, but at least I’m keepin’ it real. If you don’t believe me, ask Mr. Selim.” She turned to Mr. Selim and asked, “Mr. Selim, now keep it real. How many of us gonna stay clean and sober once we’re discharged? Go on, tell ’em the truth and shame the devil, Mr. Selim.” Surprisingly, Mr. Selim actually sat there with a devious smile on his face as he listened to Cora May share. This meeting gave him the opportunity to see what he was going to be dealing with, see what baggage the patients were bringing with them, see were their heads were at. This group meeting gave him an idea of where his own head would be after the twenty-eight days of treatment. And he could see that this Ms. Cora May Richardson was going to be the problem child of the unit. “You know, Cora May, you’re right. Not everyone will remain clean and sober post-treatment. Hell, we’ll be lucky if half of you make it through the first three days. But what we have here is a very comprehensive plan, which many have applied their selves to and have been successful. If you follow through with your discharge plan and do what is taught in this program, you will remain clean. However, the question is, are you ready to put as much tenacity into your recovery as you have put into getting high?” “Sounds like too much damn work to me. Why would you put all that energy into doing something that you know you really don’t want? Just sounds stupid. Anyhow, treatment or not, a lot of these mo’fuckers in here gone be looking for a sweet bag of dope, just like me, when they get outta here,” announced Cora May. Mercedes sat back, placed her hand over her mouth, and giggled. Megan was in shock. Kodjoe was amazed, and the older woman, Susan, did not know what to think of Cora May’s bold confession. And most everyone else just wanted to run out and stick a needle in their arm. But for Mr. Selim, there was nothing new under the sun when it came to substance-abuse patients. Normally, he would have stop Cora May or anyone who were bold enough to say the things that Cora May had said. He would have stopped them right in the middle of their sharing. In fact, the glamorization of drug usage was not allowed in the treatment center. But he needed to see just how sick she was. He knew that it was going to take a lot of work to get Cora May ready for discharge day.

CHAPTER 15

On e week into detox and Cora May had managed to hide the fact that she was still using drugs while on the detox unit. But she was running out of it more quickly than she had anticipated. She had been careful not to use in font of Mercedes. Although Mercedes said that she wouldn’t rat her out, Cora May did not trust her. So she kept her using on the down low since the day Mercedes had caught her. But Mercedes was no fool. She had been around s most of her life and she knew the signs. One day after lunch, Mercedes went into her room to use the restroom, but Cora May was in there and had been in there for the last forty-five minutes. Knock, knock, knock! “Come on, girl! I gotta get in there. Cora May!” shouted Mercedes. Finally Cora May came strolling out, obviously high on her drugs which she had smuggled in. “Look at you, girl. You high as hell, ain’t you?” asked Mercedes. “I’m in heaven. You wanna me? It’s nice here,” Cora May answered. Mercedes used the rest room. When she came out, she stood there and observed Cora May as she sat on the side of her bed leaning hard to the left, and just before completely falling, she’d jerk herself upright again only to start this leaning process all over again. “So tell me Cora May, what’s going to happen when you run out. ’Cause you know that day is coming, and it’s coming fast too.” Cora May laughed and then slowly scratched the side of her face. “Ha ha ha ha ha. Shit. I haven’t thought about that. I’ll figure something out by then. You know I will, ’cause when it comes to our shit, us junkies always find a way. Know what I’m sayin’? We just smart mo’fuckers like that.” “Cora May, you said in group that your kids forced you in treatment. Don’t you think that you owe it to them to at least try to get your act together while you’re

here? I mean, damn, girl, it’s a free . Take advantage of it.” “Free my ass. And I ain’t tryin’ tah keep repeating myself, but like I said, ain’t a damn thing wrong with my life. I don’t know why everybody’s trippin’ up in here. Why can’t y’all hear what I’m sayin’? I don’t want to stop getting’ high. I’m my own person, can’t nobody tell me how I’m supposed to live my life, not my kids, not these motherfuckers in here and not you, Mercedes. Why is it so hard for everyone to receive that?” “I guess because your ass is still here?” answered Mercedes. “This is just an act for them damn kids of mine, chil’. When I get home, I’ll be cool in front of ’em for a couple of days, and then I’ll slowly get back to my normal self. I had that girl for a minute. She weak. But that boy, he’s too smart tah be my own son.” “That girl, that boy? Who you talking about, Cora May?” “You know, my kids.” “Girl, why you talk about ’em like they somebody else’s children? Callin’ them that girl and that boy, like you don’t even know them?” “It’s just my way. That’s all,” answered Cora May. She looked off as if in deep thought. “What’s the matter, Cora May? You look so distant.” “Ooh, I don’t know. You ever feel unsure about your love for your daughter?” “Unsure?” asked Mercedes. “I mean, you are in here mainly because you neglected your kid, right?” Mercedes didn’t like that little comment. But it was true. “I did what I needed to do to my daughter.” “You could have worked a real job, yah know.” “A so-called real job wouldn’t have given my daughter everything she needed.”

“Yeah, well you ain’t got shit now. And I think that if you were really worried about your kid, you wouldn’t be here now. Mercedes, you’re no better than me, but like I said, I ain’t afraid to tell the truth about my shit.” Mercedes thought, Bitch! But she knew Cora May was right. She knew that she generally felt just as much of a thrill from transporting the drugs as Cora May had received from using them. Plus, she had become accustomed to her lifestyle; it was nice as hell not having to worry about how her bills were going to get paid. She loved her Hummer, her Mercedes, her furniture, her designer clothing, her shoes and bags. She loved going to the salon and getting her nails manicured and toenails pedicured every week. She could not imagine living without her biweekly visit to the spa. She loved taking little Maya to the mall once a week to buy Baby Phat, and anything else Mercedes and her daughter wanted. She loved taking her little vacations whenever Maya got a break from school. Yes, it was nice, but if Mercedes wanted Maya back, she too would have to give up her addiction. Things will be different now. And sure enough, she hated being there as much as Cora May. Truth of the matter was Mercedes saw no wrong in transporting drugs. Hell, as far as her street-smart mind told her, she was handling her business, and if she wasn’t the one packing in all that money as a transporter, it would have been somebody. But she did understand that leaving her daughter home alone was wrong. That was why it was supposed to be a secret—Maya’s and hers. But the secret was out now. The estimated damage of her home was high, and when the insurance company asked who she was employed with, there was no answer. Mercedes was smart enough to insure her five-hundred-thousand-dollar home, but she wasn’t smart enough to have a backup job just in case something happened. She needed an employer, check stubs, W2 forms, documents that she had only heard about. No one was stupid enough to believe that a single woman could acquire a home and the things she owned on a waitress’s salary. Her life had been on the down low for so many years. And the money was coming in so regularly and copiously that any future plans seemed, well, like years away. Mercedes was still young. She always felt that time was undeniably on her side.

But here she was, a young single mother with little education and no backup plan. And now Mercedes thought about ing her parents. She needed them. The very thought of ing them frightened her. What would she tell them? The truth was out of the question, but a lie would unquestionably lead to bigger and more extravagant lies, which would be a mental challenge for Mercedes at the present time. She had been through so much lately. Her body, as well as her mind, was exhausted. But Mercedes thought more of her life than most gave her credit for. It was her daughter and the way she wanted to present herself that was the reason for the kind of work she did. And all was well until now. Basically, she went with what she knew best—transporting drugs. As far as she was concerned, she never asked anybody for anything, not even the state welfare office. As she would put it, she was “handling” her own business the way any real woman would handle it. Kodjoe Jackson was not handling things as well as he thought he would either. He thought this whole treatment thing would be a piece of cake. After all, he thought of himself as an intelligent man, then thought, Intelligent enough to become a drug addict. He found himself so guilt-ridden that it became difficult to concentrate on his recovery. He no longer felt the sadness of losing his wife and did not know whether to contribute it to the using of the cocaine or falling for Layoni. What he felt now was the guilt of what he had done to his sons, especially his baby boy. He knew that even if Randy forgot why he had gone to the hospital he would never forget what he saw his father doing. Most of his guilt was due to his self-righteousness. He knew that deep within his heart, he was a decent, morally upright father. He stood for what was right and proper. Constantly he had poured into the minds of his boys that you don’t get involved in drugs or anyone who is connected with drugs. Kodjoe felt awkward now, but at the time of his preaching to his sons, his sentiment was real. He had often asked himself, way before he had gotten involved in drugs, how could a father or a mother of all people succumb to addiction? That was a question he could now considered answered.

KJ entered his mind. The shame was overwhelming. He knew that his explanation about how adults did stupid things was just a quick fix for the trouble he had created. But it was true—what he did was stupid. He just hoped that the boys would forgive him, but the real question was, could he ever forgive himself?

It was medication time. All the patients were lined up at the nurse’s station awaiting their meds. Cora May was in line too; she had to play this thing out if she wanted to keep her welfare check. Truthfully, Cora May had smuggled in enough drugs to carry her for at least two weeks of her twenty-eight-day stay. But her stash was quickly diminishing. Apparently, every chance she got, she was in the bathroom. The treatment team suspected that something was going on behind their backs with her because whenever it was medication time, Cora May had eagerly accepted all of her medication except for her Suboxone. See, she knew about that medication. She had bought it off the streets when the city was dry of dope or when her money was too funny to laugh at to buy any dope. The Suboxone would hold her until the dry spell was over or until she could con her way into someone’s pockets. She knew that the Suboxone was an opiate blocker. It would keep her from going into withdrawal, and she understood that to take the Suboxone while she still had opiates in her system would make her deadly ill. Cora May would use crack, cocaine, marijuana, or any other street drugs she could get her hands on when she couldn’t get her dope. She would have used battery acid if she thought it would get her high. Those drugs did not have the same effect on her as heroin, but anything was better than normal. She watched how the nurse instructed the patients to open their mouth and stick out their tongue in assurance that they had swallowed all their meds, making it impossible to cheek any of the medications. The Suboxone was given quite differently than the regular meds. It needed to rest underneath the tongue in order to be effective. The nurses would have the patients sit and wait until the Suboxone had dissolved before they were allowed to leave the desk area. Cora May needed to find a way to either cheek the Suboxone or make a few calls before she ran out of heroin. She would truly need that particular medication to help her through her withdrawal from the dope once it started. But for now, she’d simply refuse it; she couldn’t have anything blocking the effect of the dope. She wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as she possibly could. It was her turn to get meds, and she stood before the nurse waiting. “Are you turning down your Suboxone again, Cora May?” asked the med nurse.

Cora May shook her head yes. “I’m surprised that you’re not showing any withdrawal symptoms. Are you sure you okay?” “Everybody detox differently, don’t they?” Cora May answered. “I don’t have to take that stuff if I don’t want it. I know my rights.” “Have it your way, Cora May. Next.” The next patient up for medication was Mrs. Susan. The nurse asked her how she was doing. “I guess I’m all right, sweetheart.” Mrs. Susan went into her ‘everyone is so nice spill’ and the staff was just about tired of hearing it. “Thank you, Susan. Here’s your meds.” The nurse handed Susan a tiny paper cup with way over nine pills in it. Susan looked in the cup and then at the nurse. “Where’s the little pink one, sweetie?” asked Susan. “Your meds are being titrated down. You won’t be getting that pill anymore,” answered the med nurse. “But you don’t understand, dear, I need that pill. It’s for my anxiety.” “I’m sorry, Susan, but your doctor discontinued that pill. Have you been practicing your breathing exercises?” “My breathing? Excuse me, dear, but that’s not going to work. I need my pill.” “Sorry.” “Yes, you are sorry. You’re a sorry excuse for a nurse is what you are. I want my pill right now! Do you fucking hear me? Right fucking now!” Susan was jumping up and down like a spoiled-ass child. Her veins were popping out from her neck and forehead. She was red as a beet and was looking downright crazy. “Susan, I need you to calm down. Now please take a seat so that the next patient can get their meds,” the nurse said calmly. “Next.” “How dare you ignore me as if I was just some common person? You’re all just a

bunch of bitches here. You can’t keep my meds from me! I’m going to call my son. He’ll come get me out of this hellhole. I hate this godforsaken place and I hate being here with all these damn low-life drug addicts.” “You should have taken your stuck-up ass to Betty Ford” said one of the young female patients. Susan rushed to the pay phone and dialed her son’s number. “Bradford, this is mother, dear. I need you to come get me right now!” “Mother, I thought you were supposed to be there for twenty-eight days. What’s the problem?” “What’s the problem? What’s the fuckin’ problem? Bradford, they’re killing me up here. These bitches won’t give me my pills. That’s what the fucking problem is. I want you to come up here and take me home!” “And then what, Mother? Then what? You’ll find another doctor to prescribe you your Xanax? Or maybe you’ll steal his prescription pad and write out your own prescription for Xanax the way you did before? Mother, we’ve been through this too many times. You really need help. I’m not giving in to your deception this time, Mother, not this time. I’m sure the nurses are taking very good care of you. And you need to get off some of those pills; they’re killing you, Mother. You need to stay there until the doctor discharges you. And, Mother, please don’t call here if you’re going to be asking me to come get you before the doctor actually discharges you. Understand, Mother?” “I understand that you’re as rotten as these so-called nurses up here. How could you treat me like this after all I’ve done for you? I’ll cut you off, Bradford! I’ll leave all I have to the Humane Society, and you won’t get one red cent! Do you hear me, Bradford? Not one red cent will you get when I’m gone! Bradford, please come get me, they’re killing me up here!” “Do what you feel you have to do, Mother. Bye Mom. Love you.” Susan hung up the phone with a slam! “Can you imagine that I gave birth to that son-of-a-bitch? What fucking good is he? I hate him, and I hate this fucking place. I need my pill!”

Susan was angry. She begun to scream as she ran up to the nurse’s station and commenced to knocking over anything she got her hands on. She ran up and down the unit, pulling pictures off of the walls. She pulled the fire alarm. She knocked over chairs and anything that was not nailed down. The other patients ran clear from the wrath of Mrs. Susan. Before the nurses knew what was happening, Susan had destroyed the entire unit as if she was a one-woman demolition. They tried to calm her down, but it was to no avail. They had to call security because now Susan had a piece of broken glass from one of the broken picture frames, threatening to cut her throat if she didn’t get that pill. “Give it to me! Give it to me now!” she shouted with the broken glass directed toward her throat. “Susan, dear, you don’t want to do that. Now let me have the glass,” said one of the nurses. Security was there, but they stood back and allowed the nurse to try to deescalate Susan by trying to reason with her. Susan wasn’t hearing it; in fact, she was looking a bit psychotic. Ultimately, Susan was apprehended by security and sent to the psychiatric ward. The patients were all amazed with the strength that the little old woman had. While some of the patients felt bad for her, some were actually glad that she had gone; now they could finally get their meds. They thought it funny that such a presumptuous woman as Susan came out of her uppity persona and presented her true self—it was ugly. “From jail to Yale,” one of the patients said. “From the ghetto to society hill,” another said. “An addict is an addict is an addict.” One thing was for sure; the nurses did not have to be concerned about Susan sweet-talking them anymore.

CHAPTER 16

Th e house seemed different somehow. Perhaps the absence of their mother’s presence created the strange but pleasant atmosphere. The younger children hadn’t even noticed Cora May’s lack of existence. They had gotten so used of Laylah doing everything for them that it seemed that Cora May was just some woman who lived upstairs in the dark dirty, smelly bedroom. But even they could sense something pleasantly different about their home environment. Roy had kept his promise to stay with Tank and his siblings while Cora May was away seeking help. Another pleasantry in the home was that Tank had taken some of the money that he and Roy had confiscated from Matthias’s place and had redecorated the entire house. New furniture, drapes, carpet, pots and pans, oh, and a closet full of toilet tissue were just a few of the added attractions to the Richardson’s home, thanks to Tank with the help of his new buddy, Roy. Every room in the small project home was freshly painted. But meals were the thing that the children loved most about their new way of living. Tank and Laylah had a ball redecorating their home and their lives. When Tank and Roy were out buying things to make the home look livable, Laylah and the younger children went clothes shopping. The people in the neighborhood did not know what to think of the whole thing. They noticed the throwing out of the old and the bringing in of new things. They noticed the difference in the children’s appearance. They saw the young white guy coming and going as if he lived there. For the most part, people thought that Cora May had gotten lucky and was dating Roy and thought that he was the one making the difference in their lives. Funny, they never saw Cora May as being any young man’s cougar, but something strange was going on in that house.

But still, what Tank and Laylah worried about most was would their mother come back as new as the items in their home? All they could do was hope and pray that the treatment would work. Ironically, Tank was more hopeful than Laylah. To him, it had to work. There was no room in his head for the thought of failure. She would come home after twenty-eight days without drugs and simply ire her new living conditions. She would want to do right by them and be the mother she hadn’t been in years. And most importantly, she would be proud of him for the way he had provided for her and his siblings. But in his sister’s head, a very different scenario rented space. Laylah was there whenever her mother did not have her drugs and the hideous and intolerable face of withdrawal appeared. She was there to hold her mother back from committing suicide because the pain of withdrawing was so intense. She was the one who shushed the children because Cora May’s withdrawal symptoms were so great that any remote sound of noise made her do the unmentionable to the children, from slamming the door in their faces, throwing beer bottles against their heads, to cursing them unmercifully. Yes, those were the times that Laylah would help out her pitiful mother and sleep with men, just so to get the money to ease her mother’s pain. Funny how no one, not even Tank, noticed how whenever Cora May went into withdrawal Laylah would magically find a twenty-dollar bill from somewhere to give her mother. This little secret Laylah had kept to herself of course until the day that she and Tank threatened their mother into treatment. Laylah knew how manipulating her mother could be; she was aware that if Cora May knew of this, she would have no problem asking her daughter to do what she was too sick to do in order to alleviate the pain of withdrawal, and without thinking, as much as she hated it, Laylah knew she would do just about anything to help her mother. To Laylah, it was necessary to sleep with men in order to feed her siblings. But even to her, there was something morbidly wrong about feeding her mother’s addiction through selling her body. She prayed that God would forgive her and understand that she did what she thought she had to do. And God bless Roy, for he was finally given the opportunity to do something good and decent for someone for a change. He could breathe again, knowing that Matthias no longer resided on the face of the earth. He often thought of Matthias

as Satan himself. It felt so good to be away from the life he once knew. He shared the joy that Tank and his siblings took in. And his little talks with Tank made him feel like a real man. Roy had read in the newspaper that his foster father had suddenly died of a heart attack. He took this opportunity to pay his foster mother a visit. He needed to thank her for all she had done for him and to express his condolences for the loss of her husband—the bastard that he was. She was happy to see him. Her love for him was as dear as any mother could have for their own biological child. However, life had been hard for her ever since Roy had left. Actually, her husband had spent the last three years of their marriage in jail. Apparently, he had gotten caught molesting one of the choir boys in his parish and was sent away for it. He died while he was incarcerated. There was no insurance on the old rascal, so all of her money went on his funeral and burial arrangements. She was broken financially, and broken hearted for the embarrassment she had endured over the scandal of her husband’s infidelity as well as what he had done to the boy and his family. She was happy that Roy had visited. She thought she would never see him again; he had been gone so long. She asked him where he had been and how was he doing. Strangely, though, she never asked him why he had left. Perhaps she was afraid of the answer; perhaps she already knew. She lured him into the kitchen with the scent of fresh-baked cookies, chocolate chips, Roy’s favorite as she recalled. “Go upstairs and wash your hands, and I’ll pour you a nice cold glass of milk to go with these cookies,” ordered Mrs. Stone. “Hurry now. We have so much to catch up on.”

Roy went up the stairs and did as Mrs. Stone instructed. While he was up there, he thought how nice it was to see her face again. She looked slightly older to him, just enough for him to notice the difference from what his eyes had last seen of her.

When he exited the bathroom, he walked slowly to his old bedroom. When he reached the door, he pushed it even slower than his walk toward it because he knew upon entering the room, he would find bittersweet memories there. In this room were memories of his deceased parents. Pictures of them with him as a child still stood there on his bedside table. Strangely, Mrs. Stone had left the room just as it were, even down to the clothing in his closet to the posters on his wall, and the curtains that hung from the window. He picked up the picture of his parents, studied it for a while, then wondered how different his life would have been had they lived. He took the picture out of the frame, realizing that he did not have any pictures of his parents and realizing even still how the image in his mind of them had begun to fade. He looked at his desk area and noticed how his sixth-grade geography book lay open, perhaps to a page that he must have been doing homework on before he made his escaped. He could not believe that the very laptop computer that Mrs. Stone had bought for him the day he had arrived in her home still sat on the desktop. He took his time and looked around the room taking in pleasant memories, understanding the kind of person Mrs. Stone was. There were so many educational items in the room, which he her taking her sweet time, always being patient with him as she taught him all about life. He knew he loved her but did not realize just how much until now. He felt bad for a minute because he ultimately realized how much it must have hurt her when he took off. But he had to leave, for the pain that her husband had bestowed upon his frail pre-teen body was unbearable. He thought to himself how no child should ever have to endure such pain and humiliation, especially from the hand of a trusted family member or friend. He had to leave this room. And although he was leaving his childhood things and memories behind, he really did not mind. Sadly, the one memory he wished that he could leave behind would stay with him forever.

When he returned to the kitchen, he was eager for the cookies and was not surprised that they were as tasty as he had ed. “I’ve been in this big old house for a while now, Roy, all alone. I’ve been thinking about putting it up for sell. It’s too much house for just one person. You know, when me and your foster father brought it, we thought we would have a house full of children. It crushed me when I found out that I could never have children. But then, God blessed us with you. I was overjoyed. And then after you left, my heart couldn’t take the thought of getting and losing another child.” It was quiet for an awkward minute. Then suddenly, “Hey, guess what I still have, Roy?” Mrs. Stone announced. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared down the hall, returning with her hands behind her back, obviously hiding something. “Close your eyes, Roy,” she said. He did, and when she shouted, “Open them!” he was looking at a milk carton with his face on it, the face as a twelve-year-old boy and the age-progressed face of what he should look like now. “Wow,” said Roy, truly amazed with the age-progressed picture; it looked exactly like him. “Whoever does these things are really on the money, huh?” She just smiled. She had shared with Roy that she wanted to sell the house, but she hadn’t told him that her bills had piled up and that she was facing foreclosure on her home. Although he could see that she was happy to see him, he could also see the pain of life sitting in her face and wearing on her heart. Roy knew that the only males in her life had hurt her—him leaving without an explanation and Mr. Stone because he was a sick, deranged individual who would have hurt any woman or child he would have ever been with. Roy wanted to give back for all the love she had given him when he was a child. So one day while he was helping her to get rid of her husband’s things, Roy slipped twenty-five thousand dollars in a pockets of Mr. Stone’s old raincoats and had sat it up for her to find it, making it look as though the old man himself had put it there. She was simply overjoyed. She danced around that room like she had never danced before. This time it was Roy who smiled. Roy knew that there was nothing within his power to change whom she had

chosen for a mate. There was nothing within his power he could do to have not been abused by the hands of the man who was supposed to protect him and father him. Those were situations that were out of his hand. But putting a smile in Mrs. Stone’s heart at a critical time in her life, now, that was something he could do.

One day as Tank and Roy sat at the kitchen table, they talked. Tank welcomed the conversations he and Roy had. It seemed that Roy was more than just a friend to Tank; he was a mentor as well in a silly kind of way. “I can’t wait until Moms get back and see what we’ve done to the place. You think she’ll like it, man?” asked Tank. “Yeah, man, if your moms was normal,” answered Roy. “I don’t get it. Just what are you sayin’, man?” “Man, I ain’t tryin’ tah be no hater, but the mind of an addict is so different than that of the so-called normal person.” “So, are you sayin’ that all I’ve done was a waste of my time and my money?” “I’m sayin’ that I’ve been around addicts most of my life. I’ve seen addicts go through money like water in open hands. Dude, you can’t make an addict well by buying them things. In fact, your moms might come up in here and see all these new things and think it’s time for a celebration.” “Well, if she gets off of drugs, it will be a time for celebration, wouldn’t it?” “Tank, your mom’s way of celebrating might be to sell everything in this house, from the furniture to your kid brother’s drawers. In fact, man, with everything being so nice and all, she’ll probably feel so comfortable that all she’ll want to do is just lay back and enjoy the fruits, along with a lot of nice little colorful bags.” “Man, why didn’t you tell me all of this before I spent all that money?” “Hey, dawg, I was caught up in the moment with you. Hell, we were having fun spending that money and doing all the things you said you were going to do— take back what that bastard took from you and your fam’, get your moms in treatment. Ain’t that what you said you were going to do? Well, you did it, Tank. You, a little twelve-year-old kid, brought down two empires at one time. You remind me of David, dawg.”

“That’s twelve and a half, Roy. And who’s David?” “Tank, if you ain’t never picked up a Bible, you should and read about that dude. He started out as a little kid just like you. He took down a giant that men were afraid of. Then he wind up becoming a king, one of the greatest kings in biblical times. He did it because he believed he could. The same way you believed you could get rid of Matthias.” “Bible stories—you believe in Bible stories, dawg?” “Hey, man, what can I say? My foster mother was a Sunday school teacher. When I was a little dude, she’d read me Bible stories to help me go to sleep. I guess that a big part of me do believe in the bible and in God. I’d say He was on our side in getting rid Matthias and Thomas Green.” “Yeah, maybe you’re right. But I praying for God to stop my moms from doing drugs, but He never answered my prayer.” “You can’t say that, Tank. Your moms in treatment, and Matthias is dead.” “But you just said that all this might not change her.” “Tank, dawg, I guess what I’m tryin’ tah say about your moms is it doesn’t matter what you do for you’re her. The truth of the matter is an addict has to find satisfaction within themselves, not outside of their selves. If your moms do what they’re teaching her and she’s truly surrendering, she could stay clean. But if she has reservation on continuing to use, it wouldn’t matter if she came home to a cardboard box or a mansion in the sky. She gon’ do what comes natural to her.” Sorrow filled Tank’s heart because in his childish mind, he had finally fixed his broken family only to have Roy erase his joy with nothing but the simple truth. “Damn!” shouted Tank. “Then what is the damn answer to this shit?” “Man, alls I can say is one should never venture where evidence has provided proof of corruption.” Tank looked at Roy as if he had just spoken in an unknown tongue. Roy noticed the look and felt compelled to make clear of what he meant.

“Look, man, it’s as clear as the nose on your face. It’s no secret. It’s on the news, in the movies, on TV. The evidence of substance abuse is everywhere you look. I mean, this thing ain’t hiding in some secure place. It’s right there up front in plain sight. You can look in any backyard in America and find at least a handful or more of people who are either addicted, tryin’ to get off the shit, or is on their way to becoming an addict even with all the evidence smacking them right in their faces. “Some kids get with drugs because it seems to be the in thing to do. You know, peer pressure. Some are just unaware of what it is they’re getting into. There are actually some people who start using dope knowing what it can do to them, thinking that they can resist getting’ hooked. But I can tell you this—eventually, all of ’em wish that they had never touched the shit in the first place. But for too many of ’em, they get to that point after the drugs has consumed them. By then it’s too late for some because they don’t have what it takes to pull out. They’ll need that shit like you and I need air to breathe. Tank, it’s like this, dawg. It’s, well like medicating yourself when there’s nothing wrong with cha and then becoming addicted to the medication only because you started taking it in the first place. Am I making any sense to you, man?” Roy was making sense all right, more sense than Tank cared for. He did not want to acknowledge the truth, not after all he had gone through to get his mother off drugs. Not after possibly causing his own death by coming between two of the toughest drug suppliers in the city. In his ingenious mind, all his mother had to do was go get the help she needed, and everything would be all right when she comes home. It was at that precise moment that Tank realized there was no backup plan. What if the treatment did not work? What if his mother actually came home, and instead of being appreciative for all he had done, she saw this as an opportunity to sell the contents of their home for drug money? What if she went after the rest of the money that Tank had hidden away in the baseboard of his bedroom? What if she used the remaining money to continue getting high? What if they wind up back to the way things were before she even left? “Come on, dawg, get outta your head. Let’s go play some one on one,” said Roy, realizing that Tank honestly could not handle the position he had placed himself in as father of his home.

CHAPTER 17

Vi sitation day presents both joy and pain for most substance-abuse patients. While some are happy to see their family for the first time since being there, others finds it difficult to face their family because of the problems they had caused at home. Far too often, the broken pieces of their addiction are so painful to pick up that visiting hour becomes a time of confrontation rather than a time for pleasant conversation. It becomes a chance for the family member to tell the recovering addict how awful they have been, a chance where they can tell the recovering addict exactly what they really think of them, and most often, it isn’t nice. And in most instances, an argument would arise, and the family member would be asked to leave while the patient is left with feelings of which they are not accustomed to dealing with without drugs. Most AMAs (leaving against medical advice) occurs after visitation hour.

Kodjoe’s boys and Layoni waited in the visitation lounge for his arrival. They had been there all of a half an hour and were beginning to wonder what was holding him up. Layoni had cared for the boys while Kodjoe was away. Both she and the boys were eager to see him. Kodjoe, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how he could see and be with his sons without thinking about what he had done to them. Layoni finally asked Mr. Selim if there was a problem. He assured her that Kodjoe would be in soon. Mr. Selim went to Kodjoe’s room and found him sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. “Kod, your family’s here. What’s going on? Why aren’t you out there?” “Man, I don’t know… I… I just can’t face them right now.” “So what are you going to do, stay in this room the rest of your life? It’s not always about you, Kod.” “Mr. Selim, I understand that it’s not about me, and it’s because of what I’ve done to my boys that I feel the way I do. Man, you don’t know how much I’ve lectured them about drug abuse. I crammed it down their throats every chance I got. I’m so ashamed of myself, man. I don’t know how to handle this. Damn! You know that it’s not their dad that they see when the look at me now. It’s a hypocrite that they see. I didn’t think it would be this hard.” “It’s a good sign, man. You’re feelin’ this. You need to feel it. So many times our drug abuse prevents us from feeling. That’s why you used it in the first place, to stop the feelings of pain, emotional or physical. Pain is pain, and nobody wants to feel it. The only thing ing a substance to stop the feeling of pain is that it also stops the feelings of genuine joy. It becomes your joy. It becomes your love. And if you’re really hooked the way it would like for you be, it becomes your reason for living. And then, none of the other things like your job, your home, your families, or yourself can ever give you the feeling that you have

developed for the drug. Man, I know that it’s just a substance—an inanimate object! But sometimes, Kod, I think that that shit has a spirit of its own, and an agenda to destroy the hell out of people’s lives, starting with their minds. You need to get out there and face this thing, man. Now, I can’t promise you how your sons are going to feel about you, but this is something that’s gotta be done. Now! The longest journey begins with a single step, so get tah steppin’, man.” “Yah, I guess you’re right.” Kodjoe stood, with his legs feeling like lead but shaking like Jell-O as he made his journey to the visitation room. “Kod, just let me say this to you, man. Nothing’s ever as bad as we addicts project them to be. Trust me. I’ve been there, man.” Kodjoe walked through the door and saw his family. The two younger boys were playing together as they usually do. KJ was reading a book, and Layoni was filing a nail that had chipped on the way there. Suddenly Randy looked up and spotted his father. “Daddy!” He ran so fast that to Kodjoe it seemed that Randy had suddenly appeared in his arm. KJ and Terrence followed, and before Kodjoe knew it, he was covered with his sons. Layoni stood back, allowing the boys their time with their father. “Daddy, when are you coming home? Go get your things, come on. Let’s go now!” Randy shouted. “Daddy can’t leave yet, man. I’ll be here just a few more days, and then I’m coming home.” “But I miss you,” Randy said sadly. “Yeah, baby, Daddy misses you boys, too.” Little Randy was still wearing a case on both his arms. It was almost as if Kodjoe had forgotten about his son’s broken arms. Of course this mad Kodjoe sad. However, little Randy was handling it quite well. “Here, Daddy,” said Terrence. “I made you a get-well card.” “Well, thanks, man. Let me sit down and check this out.” The card was a picture of a family of five drawn in a little house. It had a father, three sons and a woman.

“That’s you, and these are me and my brothers, and this is her.” Terrence pointed to Layoni. Both Kodjoe and Layoni smiled. “So I take it that you all are getting alone fine, huh?” Kodjoe asked relatively surprised. “Dad, she’s the bomb!” announced KJ. “She knows all the major NFL teams, and on the court, she’s got a really nice overhead hook.” “Overhead hook? I didn’t know you could play. Ah, look, boys, have a seat over here while I say hello to Layoni.” “You wanna kiss her, don’t cha, Dad?” asked Terrence, smiling with twinkles in his eyes. The boys went over to the children’s play area. Kodjoe and Layoni’s lips locked in the most embracing kiss. Kodjoe did not want to let go. He did not realize how much he had missed her. “You seemed to have won the boys over, Layoni.” “Your boys are so sweet and so well behaved. I have to confess, Kod. I really didn’t know what to expect at first, but it has been so pleasurable to be with them. I’ve learned so much from them. I never thought I’d love the Play Station. And guess what?” “What?” “I’ve learned how to make the great Jackson Slam Burger!” “Well, all right, ’cause you know, you’re not really a Jackson unless you know how to make the Jackson Slam Burger.” said Kodjoe. “That’s not what I heard. Hey, I think the boys tricked me,” said Layoni. “How’s that?” Kodjoe asked. “They told me that you’re not a Jackson unless you know how to eat a Jackson Slam Burger.”

“You mean you actually…” “Yes, Kod, I ate a peanut butter, sardine, hot sauce, pickle, onion, pastrami on a quarter-pound hamburger.” The two of them laughed. “Actually, it really wasn’t that bad. Of course, the peanut butter could have been omitted, but I ate it for them. Had to let them know I could handle it. Know what I’m sayin’?” “Layoni?” “Yes?” “You don’t have to eat anymore of ’em. You’re in. I can see my boys like you.” “Whoa, good! ’Cause I don’t know how many more of them I can take. Who came up with that concoction anyway?” “Well, what it is is all of our favorite sandwich foods all balled up into one. It’s our little tradition to eat one on each of our birthday” Layoni took Kodjoe’s hand. “But on a more serious matter, Kod, how are you doing?” “Overall, it’s been good. But today, just before you and the boys got here, there were a lot of things going through my mind. I didn’t know what to think, how you all felt about me. The boys and I had a strong relationship before the cocaine. I believe I’ve damaged what we had. And you, Layoni, I’ve deceived you. You thought you were getting a whole man, but instead, you got me.” “Kod, the boys and I forgive you. We love you.” “Yeah, I know that, and I love you guys too, but I don’t know how to forgive myself.” Tears began to form in his eyes as he spoke. “I’m so embarrassed and ashamed of what I did. Do you know what it’s like to not just teach but to actually preach to your kids that using drugs is wrong, and then they find out that their old man’s using drugs? What kind of father does that shit?” “Listen, Kod, we’re going to get through this. I just know we can. The boys don’t even talk about it at home. You know what they talk about?” “What?”

“They talk about how much they miss you. Now I’m sure that there will come a time when KJ will need some questions answered, but right now, all they want is their father home with them. It’s a process, Kod. It’s going to take time. But I need you to understand that life goes on. You make a mistake, you acknowledge it, and you fix it and then you move on. We you, Kod. Can’t you feel the love we have for you? I’m sure that there’s a few people here who don’t have what we have. Count your blessings, Kod.” “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Mercedes entered the visitation room. There was little Maya sitting on the lap of Ms. Dupree. What an odd couple, thought Mercedes. There was also a woman from the Youth and Family Services to supervise the visit. Somehow because of her relationship with the Camden Police Department, Ms. Dupree was able to get temporary custody of little Maya. Mercedes looked at how Ms. Dupree had her baby dressed. At best, her clothing looked to have come from K-Mart’s clearance department. This was the first sight of what life was going to be like once she leaves this place. “Look, honey, there’s your mommy,” said Ms. Dupree. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” shouted Maya. “Hey, suga’. How’s mommy’s big girl?” “Is this where you live now, Mommy?” “Well, for a little while.” “I’ve been with Ms. Dupree. She’s real cool, but I wanna go back to our house.” Our house? thought Mercedes. Where’s that now? “Soon, honey, we’ll be going home soon. But how’s mommy’s little sweetheart doing? You’ve grown so big. Mommy’s little girl is getting so big. And I’ve missed you so very much. How you doing in school, suga’?” “She’s brought you papers to see, Mercedes,” said Ms. Dupree as she searched through her large pocketbook to find them. “Oh, here they are.” Mercedes looked through the papers with a huge smile on her face. “Oh, these are nice, baby. You did very well. I’m so proud of you.” “Mommy, our house is gone. Bubba told me when I saw him in school. He said that you were a criminal. I don’t like him anymore.” Ms. Dupree and Mercedes looked at each other, neither knowing what to say.

Finally Ms. Dupree spoke. “You and your mother can come home to my house when she’s done here, sweetheart. Isn’t that nice?” Now both Mercedes and Ms. Dupree’s eyes were on the social worker. “Ms. Dupree, your house is nice, but I wanna go home to our house. My things are there! And I miss Teddy.” “Oh, sweetheart, we’ll get you another teddy bear,” said Mercedes “No! It wouldn’t be my Teddy!” Maya begin to cry. Mercedes hated this visit. She hated being watched by the social worker, and she hated those damn K-Mart clearance sale clothing on her daughter. Yes, seeing her little girl was nice, but she felt as bad as Maya felt about losing everything. Reality is a bitch; as is life at times. Maya’s visit brought on thoughts of actual being or existence as opposed to imaginary or idealized living. That’s just what Mercedes’s life seemed to her now. All that she and Maya had is now just a dream. It was as if the life she lived before the shooting was just an image in her mind. How does one adapt to such a drastic change; from having everything to having absolutely nothing? Mercedes wanted this visit to be over, but still an hour of the two-hour visitation period remained. “You know, suga’, mommy needs to go lie down. I’m still not feeling very well. You understand, don’t cha, baby?” Little Maya had come to some realizations of her own. She knew that she was tired of “understanding” what her mother did or didn’t do. All she knew was that life was different now. Her sassiness had escaped her. It was replaced with whininess and insecurity. She too had become accustomed to her things as much as her mother had. But without Mercedes, little Maya was, in a sense, handicapped. There was no Bubba, no Teddy, and no mother to comfort her. All she had now were average clothes and old broken-down but sweet Ms. Dupree. At that point Mercedes realized that she and her daughter was going to need some serious counseling in order to fit into the lifestyle that awaited her.

Ms. Dupree, being the observer she was, saw right through Mercedes. Part of her mind told her that Mercedes needed to be alone before she said something wrong to her daughter. The other part of her mind said little Maya needed time with her mother and that it was high time for Mercedes to grow up and face her responsibilities. “Mommy, when you are a criminal, does that mean that you killed somebody?” Mercedes and Ms. Dupree looked at each other again, and then, again, they looked at the social worker. Then finally the social worker said, “I’m only here to observe.” Mercedes wanted to spit in her face, and then tell her “to observe that!” To her, these Youth and Family workers were the enemies who were trying to separate her and her daughter. “Nooo, suga’, it doesn’t mean that. But are you asking what I did to be away from you?” “Yes.” “Well, Maya, all I can say right now is that, yeah, Mommy broke the law, but I didn’t kill anyone.” Maya looked confused. “When you’re a little older, I’m gonna explain everything to you, baby. But right now, Mommy gotta go lie down. Now you know your mommy loves you, don’t cha?” All Maya knew was that her heart ached and that it was her mother who had put the pain there. Mercedes did not want to end her visit with her daughter because she did not want to be in her company, she wanted to end the visit because she really did not know how to react being in her daughter’s presence. “Well, look at the time,” announced Ms. Dupree. “It’s getting late, Maya. We had better be going, or it’ll be too late to go to Chucky Cheese. Come on, Maya, say good-bye to your mother.” “No! I don’t wanna go!” She latched herself on to her mother and cried. She begged to stay. Ms. Dupree had to use force to remove her from Mercedes. Mercedes wanted to say “the hell with everything” and leave with her daughter, but because of her negligence and her involvement in drugs, she was only granted the supervised visit and couldn’t leave even if she wanted to.

Everyone in the visitation room looked sadly upon the crying child. They knew how Mercedes felt because most of the mothers there were just as much involved with the Youth and Family Service as she was. “Baby, please don’t cry. I promise you, everything’s going to be all right. Now stop your crying and let Mommy wipe your face. Maya, listen, Mommy need you to be strong right now, okay?” “I don’t want to be strong. I want you!” “I know, suga’. Mommy knows.” Maya’s cry was now a whimper. She kissed Mercedes and said good-bye. As they left, when the social worker was not looking, Ms. Dupree looked over her shoulder and motioned with her hands for Mercedes to call her. When they were out the visitation room Mercedes ran down the hall crying hysterically—something she had not yet done.

Ms. Mahitti walked in Mercedes and Cora May’s room and noticed that Mercedes needed some time alone. She asked Cora May to come with her to the counseling office. Ms. Mahitti, as well as the rest of the staff, was getting fed up with Cora May’s attitude about being there. Most of the other patients asked why they would keep her there when everyone knew that she had no intention on quitting drugs. “You guys should kick her ass out and give that bed to someone who really wants it,” some would complain. Cora May flopped down in the chair across from the counselor’s desk. “Okay,” she said. “What did I do this time?” She had that look on her face that said she didn’t give a damn whatever it was. Ms. Mahitti offered Cora May a cold soda. She accepted it and popped open the can and took the can to her mouth. “Cora May, we are all aware that you don’t want to be here. We’ve heard you speak out about how you intend to continue using drugs after you are discharged. Your peers have asked why you haven’t been therapeutically discharged by now. That reason is because as long as you follow the rules here, we won’t discharge you. Our hope is that while you are here, that just maybe you might hear or see something that would make you realize that you need help.” “Well, that ain’t gon’ happen. That’s the way I feel. I ain’t tryin’ tah bullshit nobody. I don’t want to be here. Like I told y’all, my good-for-nothing kids made me come.” “Doesn’t that tell you something, Cora May?” “Yeah, it tells me that my kids should mind their own damn business. Long as they gotta roof over they heads and food to eat, they should be all right. Hell, I know families who ain’t got shit.” “Cora May, children need more than a home and food. A convict has those things. What about love and time?” “What?” “When was the last time you told your children you loved them? When was the

last time you spent quality time with them?” “Look, me and my kids, we don’t roll like that. Anyhow, they understand me. That’s all that matters.” “Let me ask you another question, Cora May. Do you understand that you could possibly die because of your drug use?” “Yeah, but we all gonna die some day. I’ve just chosen the way I want to go, that’s all. What’s so wrong with that?” “What’s going to happen to your children when that happens, Cora? ’Cause you know it’s going to happen.” “Oh, well, they’ll be okay. My kids are self-sufficient. Hell, they take care of me, so I know damn well they can take care of their selves” “Cora May, other than the way drugs make you feel, why can’t you give it up?” “Ms. Mahitti, look at me. I’m fat. I’m ugly. I have a skin disease that will be with me all my life. I’m uneducated. Hell, I can’t even fill out a job application. And even though I have seven kids, I’ve never experienced love from a man. They just use me to waste their selves in me, and I use them for drugs. I have feelings too, Ms. Mahitti. I have the same desires that you have as a woman.” Ms. Mahitti stared at her. “See, I know how the world looks at me. I hear small children asking their mother questions like, ‘What’s wrong with that lady, Mommy?’ Or they would say something like, ‘Look how black that lady is, Mommy. She looks like the alligator lady.’ I ain’t never done shit to no body. But people look down on me. They shun me, like whatever is wrong with me might rub off on them. I’m just tryin’ to deal with the hand God gave me. Even here, they don’t want to sit near me. They don’t talk to me. I know they be talkin’ about me behind my back, ’cause whenever I come into the lounge, they all stop talkin’ and just look at me like they hate me for being what God made me. I might have some health problems, and I might not be attractive, but I ain’t never been nobody’s fool.” “So your answer to everything that is wrong in life is a quick fix from drugs, huh?” “I like it that way. See, with drugs, you don’t really care too much what people

say about you. You ignore ’em because the feelings that drugs give is better than sex, food, or whatever joy my children is supposed to bring in my life. So if you take the drugs out of my life, I wouldn’t have anything.” “Okay, you say you’re uneducated. Go back to school. You say you’re fat. Go on a diet. Go to a gym. And since you’re a hundred pounds overweight, you qualify for surgery to fix that. Your skin condition, perhaps we can help you find a doctor or a dermatologist who can help you. You see, Cora May, there’s an answer to each of your problems. By not doing anything about any of your problems, including your drug problem, only aggravate your situation. Won’t you even give sobriety a chance, Cora?” “Damn, you people don’t give up, do you? Drugs are my way of surviving in this evil-ass world. I always say that if people could live one day in the shoes of the people they look down on they’d treat those people differently the rest of their life. You know, Ms. Mahitti, I don’t even care about not getting love from a man anymore because I got my dope. I don’t care about having nice things like a car, a nice home, or anything. It doesn’t even bother me about the way I look anymore. As long as I got a needle in my hand, I don’t need any of those things. Take my dope away from me, and then I see what people see in me. And it bothers me. It hurts, and I hate it. See, nobody wants to feel pain. People act like you have no rights to share a space in this world with them because to them, you don’t fit. Without drugs, I wouldn’t fit in this world because my eyes would be open to the real ugliness. And the ugliness isn’t really me. It’s called prejudice. And it comes from some of the so-called most beautiful people. It’s like when you don’t look right in the eyesight of people, they see you more like a criminal, like I done something wrong. Like I’m the enemy. I know it ain’t never gonna change. But on dope, I don’t give a fuck. And as for possibly hearing something while I’m here that might change my mind, don’t count on it,’cause I ain’t tryin’ tah hear nothing. You know what? Some times I think that God made dope just for me, you know, in exchange for the way He made me. May I please go back to my room now? I really don’t feel like doin’ this shit anymore.” Ms. Mahitti did not want to let her leave. All she could think was This girl’s going to die if someone doesn’t stop her. Surely there must be something therapeutic she could have said to Cora May. It wasn’t unusual to have patients on the unit presenting the same attitude Cora May displayed. But for some strange reason, Miss Mahitti felt something in her

heart for Cora May and her children, something she could not shake. Yes, she knew the rule. “We can only help those who want to help themselves.” But did Cora May truly know what was best for herself? “Well, I guess there’s nothing more to say. You’re dismissed. You may go to your room.” “Good. I’m outta here.” Cora May stood, took the soda can up to her mouth, took the last swallow, then squashed the can by slamming it into the palm of her hand, and then she let out a huge burp before leaving the office. When Cora left, Ms. Mahitti opened her desk drawer and took out an aspirin and said, “This job could make a drug addict out of yah.” She took the pill and sighed.

CHAPTER 18

Th e family had gone and it was now group time. Most of the patients had to be encouraged to group. It seemed that they were either pumped up or feeling low after seeing their family . Mr. Selim looked around the circle of patients and decided to change the topic of discussion from “Finding a Sponsor” to “Courage and Fear.” He wrote on the blackboard COURAGE and FEAR in large letters. He asked the group of patients what those two words had in common. Almost everyone answered, “They’re opposites. They had nothing in common.” “Oh really,” said Mr. Selim. “We’ll start with the last word, fear. Would you all agree that whether or not you wanted to come here, that the fear of something gave you all the courage to be here?” “Yeah,” said one of the men. “The fear of putting my black ass in jail gave me the courage to come here. My options were very thin, jail or treatment. So here I am.” “Okay, anyone else?” asked Selim. “My fear was that I could have had a seizure going off my meds cold turkey or even possibly dying without medical help. No, I knew I didn’t want to die. Could you imagine me dying and leaving all my money and worldly goods to my godforsaken son? That’s why I’m here,” said Mrs. Susan, the older woman who by now had returned to the treatment floor after being cleared by the psychiatrist. Megan spoke next. “I’m here because of the fear of not having any place to live. My parents stopped the checks and it was obvious that college was out since I haven’t been there in months. I also wanted to get back on my HIV meds. My father, the doctor, says that I can live a long healthy life if I took them the way I should and get off the junk. What the hell, I figured, I’d give it a try. I mean, what do I have to lose but my life?”

“I, ah, just want to start by apologizing to the group,” announced Mercedes. “I haven’t been honest with y’all. I came here actually thinking that… well, that I wasn’t like any of you. That day I got shot was the first time I had used any drugs in a very long time, hell, since I was a child. I counted drugs out of my life many years ago when I had to fend for myself after leaving an abusive relationship with my daughter’s father. He was kickin’ my ass so much that you would have thought he was getting’ paid for it. And when he wasn’t kickin’ my ass, he was verbally and mentally abusing me. I left that relationship feeling worthless. But the one thing he taught me was how to be a good transporter. So I used what I knew. I had skills. I was making more money in a day than most people made in a month. I learned that money was power. I liked having that kind of power. I didn’t have tah share with nobody. Didn’t have to deal with no fuckin’ body and didn’t have to take no shit from no fuckin’ body. I had everything—a five-hundred-thousand dollar home, a Hummer fully equipped, a Benz ’cause, hell, that’s who I am. I guess you can say that it was my signature car. Name branded everything from the clothes on my back to the furniture in my home. But see, I put my daughter’s life in danger by leaving her home alone at night while I made my runs. I was too proud to get a babysitter because, well, y’all know me by now. I didn’t want anybody all up in my business. And now, well, everybody’s in my business.” Mercedes hung her head down for a second or two, and when she lifted her head, there were tears in her eyes. “Now, we don’t even have a pot to piss in. ’Cause see, my addiction was money and things. Now I have no money or things. My ass is as bare as the day I came in this world. I can deal with what I’ve done to myself, but, I’m not so sure that my little girl will ever be the same. I had planned on stopping soon, you know, and get my ass back in school. But my world fell apart before I could do that. I even felt that something was about to jump off. My visit with my daughter was awful. She was such a happy little girl and fearsome as hell! But now I don’t see that in her no more. My fear is that if I don’t get my shit together, I may not ever get my daughter back. That all I really have in my life is her. Thanks, that’s… that’s all I got.” Mr. Selim looked around the circle, focusing in on Kodjoe. “Mr. Jackson, what was the fear that gave you the courage to get help?” “Well, it’s no secret that my son caught me snortin’ coke and then turned around and snorted shaving powder to mimic me. But what I did to my oldest son, I’ll never live down. I was one of those fathers who preached ‘say no to drugs’ to my sons. And at the time, I really meant it. I always thought that a drug addict was

the lowest disgusting thing on the face of the earth. And now I’m him. Never in my wildest dream did I think I would be a part of all this. My fear, Mr. Selim, is the thought of losing my sons, my fiancée, my job, and my life. That’s what gave me the courage to come to treatment.” Cora May’s mind was not on group. In fact, her mind was in the streets, visualizing how she was going to get some dope in the treatment center without getting caught. By now her nose was running, and she was sneezing like crazy. She had the chills, and her body had begun to ache. All the patients, as well as the treatment team, knew the signs and symptoms of drug withdrawal. Cora May was showing all of them. Mercedes looked at her, wondering how Cora May was going to finagle her way out of this. “Ha-choo, ha-choo, ha-choo, ha-choo! Sniff, sniff. Ha-choo!” “Coming down with a cold, Cora May?” Mr. Selim asked. More like coming down with a severe case of withdrawal, thought Mercedes as she looked at Cora May, awaiting her answer to Mr. Selim. “I think I have a fever. Can I just go to my room?” “Yeah, Cora May, but make a stop at the nurse’s station on the way. Perhaps they can give you something for that sneeze.” All of the patients looked at Mr. Selim as to say, “You know what’s wrong with her. Kick her using ass to the curve.” Cora May did not do as Mr. Selim instructed her; instead, she went to her room. She sat on her bed holding her stomach, rocking back and forth trying to figure out just what her next move would be. All she knew was that she was sick as hell and needed her dope in order to feel better. At this point, just enough to take the sickness away would be greatly appreciated. After group was over, Mr. Selim noticed that Cora May had not gone to the nurse’s station as he had told her. He did not approach her, instead, he went to the treatment team to ask for a room check to see if there were any signs of

hidden drug paraphernalia there. Cora May felt the need to upchuck and took off to the bathroom. When she returned, she found the entire treatment team standing in her room. “What?” she asked. “Cora May, we have reasons to believe that you have been using on the unit. We’re asking you to come clean and tell us just what is going on with you. In other words, we’re giving you a chance to come clean before doing a room check, and while we’re at it, we need urine for a random drug check,” said Mr. Selim. The nurse handed Cora May a cup to pee in. “A room check? Y’all think I got drugs?” “You’re welcome to stay while we check if you like.” Shit! I sure don’t feel up to this bullshit right now, and if I had me some damn drugs, they sure wouldn’t be in this room the way I’m feelin’ right now, thought Cora May to herself “Look,” she said, “save yourselves the trouble. I’m leavin’ anyhow.” Cora May began to throw her clothes back into the trash bag that she had used to bring them in. “I never wanted to be here in the first place. Shit, some of y’all is probably gettin’ high up in this mo’fucker yah damn selves. I told then damn kids of mine that this shit wasn’t going to work. Somebody just tell me how to get to the fuckin’ front door.” However, right in the middle of her packing, she made a dash back to the bathroom to upchuck. “Damn! I can’t go nowhere. Can’t y’all see that I’m sick? Y’all gotta give me somethin’. Please, I’m so sick. Somebody help me! I can’t get off this flo’. Ah, ah, oooh, I’m so sick. Somebody help me, please!” Cora May’s head was almost in the toilet. Every time she thought she had finished, the vomiting would start all over again more vicious than before. She was sweaty and clammy and had begun to lose her bowels right there on the floor. Poor thing did not know which end to put on the toilet. It was a pitiful sight. She had defecated all over herself and had vomited all over her shirt. She was sweating so profusely that every time one of the treatment team had grabbed her to help her up, she’d slip right out of their hands. It had taken the entire team to

get Cora May to her bed. Well, It was obvious that she was sick, so the treatment team all agreed to give Cora May just one more chance but not without a signed contract assuring the team that she would not use while on the unit and that she would follow the rules of the unit. The fact that her children, Tank and Laylah, had called the unit everyday since Cora May had arrived was a mitigating factor of keeping her there as well. So there it was. A week before discharge date and Cora May was just starting her withdrawl from drugs.

Time was winding down, and on this particular day, Mercedes was attending a meeting with the Division of Youth and Family Services. It was no surprise that they were there. Mercedes was expecting their visit, but dealing with these people would drain her of any energy she thought she had. They’d use words that she did not understand. They would spare her no mercy or comion by bringing up her downfalls. Wasn’t it enough that she herself had come to grips of accepting her responsibility for what she had done? The counselor had met with Mercedes and spoke with her on how she should or should not present herself. “Stay calm,” they instructed her. “Show them that you are capable of handling the situation. Mercedes thought, Yeah, I see, y’all want me to kiss ass. She sat in the counseling office with two straight-faced women, one with a folder containing her records. “Ms. Kemp, I am Barbara, and this is Sandra. As you know, we have been assigned to your case concerning you daughter, Maya. We are not going to waste your time here. We’re going to get right to the point. Are you aware that your daughter cannot be released into your custody upon your discharge?” asked Barbara. “Ah, yeah, I know that.” “Well, we just want to inform you that we will be taking the liberty to place your daughter with a family until your parenting classes are completed, which would take about six months.” “So my baby’s going to be without me six more months? No, no, you don’t know what that’ll do to her. Maya’s depended upon me. She’s already having a hard time with Ms. Dupree. Look, please, is there anything else you can do other than take my baby from me? I mean, I know I’ve messed up, but you don’t understand that it’ll kill her if she can’t be with her mother. You don’t understand our relationship. I know that to you all I’ve been a bad mother, but I do love my daughter and she still loves me. I’ll do whatever you guys say, but please, don’t punish my baby when it’s me that needs to be reprimanded.” “Where are your parents, Ms. Kemp? Perhaps if Maya and you could live with

them, having them as her legal guardians, hmm, that we might conceder,” said Sandra, the other case worker. Mercedes’s eyes begun to water. She did not even know if her parents were still alive, and if they were, this would not be the answer. All the trouble she had gotten herself in since she had last seen them was awful, not to mention the wave of shame that comes along with it. Facing her parents right now was out of the question. “Ah, is there anything else we can do?” asked Mercedes. “Well, our job is to eventually bring parent and child back together, but only in a healthy environment,” said Sandra. “What about Ms. Dupree? Ms. Dupree has welcomed my daughter and me to stay with her until I could get myself a job and a place of our own,” said Mercedes with hope in her heart that they would consider this option. “As it stands, Ms. Kemp, that would not be a problem, except Ms. Dupree doesn’t have adequate spacing. She only has one bedroom. A child must have her own room. And we are only allowing Maya to stay there now because there is a deficit of foster parents at this time.” answered Sandra. “Ah, deficit?” asked Mercedes. “Ah, yes. There’s not enough foster parents to handle the amount of cases we have,” answered Barbara. “Well, there you go! Just allow us to be together for a short while. You just said it yourself, that there’s not enough foster parents to go around. You may be putting my baby in harm’s way by just placing her anywhere.” “You mean the way you did, by leaving her home alone at nights, huh?” said Barbara. “Please, I said I did wrong. I acknowledge my wrongdoing, but I’m doing everything you guys are asking. What more can I do? I mean, are you people really human? People make mistakes. I’m sure you two have made some bad judgments as young mothers yourselves. If y’all are mothers, then you would understand. You know something? I bet y’all don’t have children. Why do they

even hire people who don’t have children to take your kids away from you? Y’all just heartless mother fuckers! How would you like it if you made one stinkin’ mistake in your life and somebody came along and took your damn kid away? I was under the impression that you were here to help me. How can you say that you’re helping me if you’re trying to take my kid away from me? You guys are fuckin’ her up more than I ever have. You’re traumatizing her! You’re traumatizing my baby by taking her away from me. I’m the only person in this world that loves her! Y’all be trippin’ up in here, knowing damn well that y’all done made mistakes your damn self. Only I bet y’all look out for each other,” Mercedes whispered as if telling a secret. “Must be nice tah have friends where you work at, huh? You scratch her back—she scratches yours. Hell, you probably have family and friends who done some shit to their kids, and I bet cha y’all ain’t tryin’ tah turn their asses in. Y’all full of shit! Your job is only a paycheck to you. Y’all don’t really give a damn ’bout nobody.” Mercedes suddenly realized that she had forgotten her training, but she could not help herself. She was tired of not being herself; she needed to say what was on the tip of her tongue before she accidentally swallowed those words and choked off of them. The two DYFS workers looked at Mercedes and then looked at each other. It seemed that what Mercedes was saying to them was a script that was written for every parent who had ever had their children removed from their home. Of course, they responded with a script of their own. “Ms. Kemp, we are not here to discuss our lives with you. We are here to find out what is best for your daughter. And before you can get your daughter back, you will have to complete parenting class. You will need to have a decent job, and a healthy environment to take your daughter into. We will be in with you upon your discharge day. Have a good day.” One of the case workers handed Mercedes a sheet of paper that had the name and address of to who and where she was assigned for the parenting class. Mercedes viewed the paper and sighed. So much to do, no place to live and no money. Damn! After the two case workers left, Mercedes ran to her room more upset than the day she arrived. She was bawling her eyes out and packing her things as if Mister from The Color Purple was after her.

The technician, Ms. Mahitti had followed her and saw from the hallway what Mercedes was doing. Mahitti stood at the door with her arms folded and asked Mercedes what did she think she was doing. “What does it look like? I’m getting the hell outta here.” “You’re not going anywhere, dear.” “Oh, no? Well, just watch me.” She continued packing, totally ignoring the technician’s statement. After a few minutes Mercedes asked why she said that. “Mercedes, you’re court-ordered to be here, and if you leave now, there will be a warrant for your arrest. And you may lose any chance you have to get your daughter back. So you had better think about what decisions you make. The wrong one could damage the rest of your life and that child’s. Now we can’t legally hold you here. However, if you should leave, you would be forcing us to call the juvenile judge and tell them that you did not complete the program. It’s your choice, Mercedes.” “My choice? My choice? What kinda damn choices do I have? Ms. Mahitti, I don’t have any choices here. You all tell me when to go to bed, when to get up, when to eat and damn near tell me when I can use the damn bathroom. You call them choices, huh? And as far as those two DYFS workers, they’re not making things no better for me. The things they want me to do seem almost impossible!” She sat on her bed, hung her head down and said, “I’m so damn fuck! And you know what, Ms. Mahitti, I really don’t get high, but right now, a nice fat blunt sounds real good. I’d sit back and smoke on that thing and erase all this shit right out of my head.” “Not a bad idea, the only problem with it is, once you’re finished getting your head bad, you’re problems will still be here. It’ll just be waiting for you to deal with like you should have done in the first place. Problems don’t go away just because you get high; they just wait for you and in most cases get larger while you’re ignoring them.” Mercedes never saw this day coming. Not in a million years did she think she’d find herself in such a situation. Not her—Ms. Gucci, Findi, Baby Phat, gotta

have the latest style, don’t need no friends, don’t need no parents, and don’t want no man. Because she had it all, but now she didn’t even have, as she said, a pot to piss in. Mercedes made a phone call to the only person she thought gave a damn about her life. “Hi, Ms. Dupree, this Mercedes. You got time to talk?” “Well, hello, Mercedes. Baby, I’m so glad you called. Those case worker women came by here today talkin’ ’bout how they might have tah take this child from me ’cause I don’t have enough room in my house. Now I growing up with three other sisters and we all slept in one bed ’til I was ’bout twelve. Didn’t nobody care about that. The Youth and Family Services want too much these day. Personally, I think a child need to learn ’bout hard times, so they won’t have no surprises bout life when they grow up. That’s why these young folks now days can’t deal with nothin’—’cause they ain’t never had to. So how you doin’, baby?” Sniff, sniff. “I’ll be all right. Just goin’ though. Know what I’m sayin’?” “I ain’t gonna lie, baby. I can only imagine what you’re goin’ through. But just trust in the Lord. He never puts more on us than we can bear.” “I don’t know about that, Ms. Dupree. I’m so overwhelmed right now that I don’t know where to turn.” “Well, baby, have you tried takin’ your problems to the Lord?” “I don’t know Him, Ms. Dupree, and I don’t think He wants to know me. I’ve done some real bad things in my life, yah know. I’m surprised that you’re so kind to me and my daughter. Without you, we wouldn’t have anyone.” “Oh, baby, your lifestyle is not for me to judge. Judging people is a humongous job, much too big for me. But listen, what are your plans when you’re finish with all this mess here?” “That’s just it, Ms. Dupree. I don’t have a plan. It seems that everything I come up with involves money, money I don’t have.”

“Well, what we need to do is come up with a way that you and your baby can be together again. You know, Mercedes, I’ve never heard your daughter talk about her grandparents. Why is that? Are your parents deceased?” “I, ah, couldn’t tell yah. I haven’t seen my parents since before Maya was born.” “Ooh, that long, huh? Ah, please forgive me, Mercedes, I shouldn’t be meddling in your business that way, ’cause you know, I am not the meddlin’ kind.” “No, no, Ms. Dupree. I don’t mind telling you that I messed up my relationship with my parents. My counselor said that I needed to talk about these things. Anyhow, I would rather talk about ’em with you than with these crazy drug addicts up in here. Don’t see why they need tah be all up in my business anyhow. Shoot, they all have enough problems of their own.” “Now, now, , dear, no judging. Those people are there doing the same as you, trying to find themselves, trying to put their lives back together.” You haven’t met Cora May, thought Mercedes. “You’re right, Ms. Dupree. In fact, our counselor was just telling us today not to compare but to identify. He says that we are more alike than different. He says that although we may be addicted to different things, the out come will be the same—jails, institution, and death.” “So you have learned something since you’ve been there. I bet you get A’s on all of your tests.” Mercedes laughed, thinking how naive and sweet Ms. Dupree was. “Well, they don’t actually grade you on anything here. They say that your real test starts when you are released. You know, the tools they give you to survive without your addiction should be used on the outside.” “The tools?” asked Ms. Dupree. “I’ll explain at another time, Ms. Dupree. Right now, I want to tell you about my parents.” “Okay, go head. I’m listening, baby.”

“Well, Ms. Dupree, my parents were loaded. They gave me everything a child could have wanted. And they loved me. But I broke my mom and pop’s heart by leaving home with a drug dealer, Maya’s father. I learned from that dealer how the transporting game was played. I got really good at it. In fact, I got so good that I know I must have made over a million dollars during the time I was working. You know, I ran with what I knew and what I was good at. I really thought I was in love with Cyrus—that was his name. I was only twelve when we hooked up. He was a fine-looking junior high school dropout and much older than I was, too damn old to be dating a twelve-year-old. But I always looked and acted older than my age. Pathetic, huh?” “Like I said, I don’t judge.” “Well, anyhow, my parents ordered me to stop seeing ’im. And even though I loved him, I stopped. But later, when I started to see another guy more my age, he was suddenly found dead. Hmm, funny thing is I knew it was Cyrus who killed him. But that didn’t scare me enough from stop loving and wanting to be with him. When he threatened to kill my parents if I didn’t run off with ’im, I just packed my bags and met up with him. You know, Ms. Dupree, I must have been crazy out of my damn head to run off with him, knowing the kind of person he was. I mean, who in their right mind would take off with somebody they know is a killer?” “The child that you were at that time, dear,” answered Ms. Dupree with pity in her voice for Mercedes. “In a strange kinda way, it was like my permission slip to leave with him. I didn’t want him hurting my parents. I didn’t even like the thought that he had it in him to hurt my parents. Hell, Ms. Dupree, I was only twelve years old. I was so stupid.” Sniff, sniff. “I ain’t never seen or heard from my parents since.” “Oh my Lord! I feel so sad for you, Mercedes.” “No disrespect, but I ain’t askin’ for your sympathy, Ms. Dupree. Everything that happened to me was my own fault. I can’t blame my folks. Like I said, they were the best parents a child could have. I miss them so much.” “But you were so very young, dear. You didn’t know,” Ms. Dupree said comionately. “You didn’t know anything about life or relationships or men or nothing about nothing. That young man took advantage of you. He stole your

innocence. He should be in jail!” “Yeah.”—sniff—“Well, I don’t know where he is, could be dead for all I know. I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to tell Maya the truth about him. I told her that he was dead. Made him out to be some kinda war hero so she could proud of him. So far I’ve placed so many things in her life with the hope that it would take her mind off of her father. I guess that’s just my way of overcompensating. I tried to get her lost in her own little world, hoping it would take her mind off of him. But I can’t lie to her forever. I wouldn’t want her to grow up one day and do something stupid like marry her brother or somethin’. Anyhow, she deserves to know the truth about him no matter how he treated me. As for my parents, well, I guess they must hate me for running like that. Shucks, they must think that I’m dead or something by now. It’s probably best just to leave them thinking whatever it is they may think about me.” Mercedes sighed. “I sure do miss them though.” “Oh, dear,” said Ms. Dupree, not knowing any other way to address this matter. “Maya’s dad, he abused me, Ms. Dupree. I never want to feel the way he made me feel ever again. I snuck away from him and kinda sucked it up as experience and got on with my life. I never looked back. I never even thought about going back to him for fear he’d kill me for leaving him in the first place. And my parents, well, I was too embarrassed to go back home, especially with his baby. They hated him so much that I just knew that they would hate his child. I couldn’t take my baby to a place where she won’t be loved. And I know what I did was wrong, leaving her alone at night and all, but regardless of what anybody thinks, I do love my baby. I was just stupid, and it seems like I keep doing stupid things.” “Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much at such a young age. But hopefully, you’ve learned from your mistakes. You know, sweetie, I’m an old lady now, and I done been through some things myself, some good and some bad. Some things I don’t mind telling about, and some I’ll keep ’til they throw the earth in my face. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that everything happens for a reason, the good, and what we perceive as the bad. Number one, we all should understand that there are lessons in every little thing that comes about in our lives. Number two, anyone who comes into our lives is there for a reason—even me coming into your life and you into mine.”

“You mean like calling for help to get me outta that trash dumpster?” “Maybe, but it could be something more. We don’t always know right away.” “And what was my lesson for dealing with Cyrus’s crazy ass? For him to abuse me?” “Perhaps,” Ms. Dupree said very matter-of-factly. “Look at it this way. You’ve been there and done that, and because of it, you’ll never go back to an abusive relationship again. Because of it, you’ll be able to recognize the traits of an ab. Or maybe your meeting him was for him to give you your little gift from God, your lovely daughter. And as much as you may not want to hear this, dear, only he could have fathered Maya. She is something special, Mercedes.” “Yeah, well, I really can’t imagine life without her. I—” “Mercedes, you’re five minutes over your phone time. You need to hang up right now or your phone privileges will be taken away,” said the nurse. “Oh, please, just five more minutes?” begged Mercedes. “Now, Mercedes!” “All right! I’m hanging up! I’m hanging up! I gotta go, Ms. Dupree, but I ain’t ashamed to say that I get more out of talkin’ to you than these so-called nurses and counselors ’round here. I’ll call you on our next phone break, okay?” “Okay, dear. Bye now.” “Bye, kiss Maya for me.” Ms. Dupree felt some kind of way for Mercedes. She understood that Mercedes had never been properly raised because she left her parents so early in life. As far as Ms. Dupree was concerned, Cyrus raised Mercedes because most of what she knows and uses in her life is what he had taught her. After hearing how Mercedes had left the comfort of her home and her parents so young, it just did something to her heart. Ms. Dupree thought how at the age of twelve she was still playing with dolls. She knew nothing about sex, and boys were still in the icky phase to her. Yes, Ms. Dupree knew all about the horrible mistakes that Mercedes had made by transporting drugs and leaving little Maya alone at nights

when she made her runs, but when she said that she did not judge, it was a true statement—when it came to Mercedes. She liked Mercedes and little Maya. Her heart went out to them. Understanding the separation from her parents at a young age truly could have made Mercedes feel she hadn’t done anything wrong. With no adult supervision in her early teenage years, she did the best she could as a young mother. She had to survive at any means necessary. The Youth and Family Services had ed Ms. Dupree with the news of possibly removing Maya from her home because of the size of it. She too felt that it shouldn’t matter that they would have to squeeze into her one-bedroom apartment; as long as she, Mercedes, and Maya didn’t mind, they shouldn’t either. Whole families had lived in worst conditions, but nobody came and took their children. Love, she thought, was all that really mattered in any home. Ms. Dupree’s mind begun to go into overdrive. “Poor child,” she whispered. “There must be something that I can do.”

CHAPTER 19

A funny thing happened toward the end of treatment; apparently the patients had all had enough of Ms. Cora May Richardson and her antics. Some may call it jealousy, some may call it selfishness, some may call it being outright mean, and some may think of it as just plain old being fed up. But discontentment was a given. “Did you see how her skin just sheds like some kind of animal or something? And she tried to sit next to me at the lunch table,” said one of the patients who was in the group room. “Yeah, and I don’t think she bathed since she got here, and that’s just nasty,” said another. “Damn, what the hell she got anyway?” someone else asked. “Probably something she picked up by one of her men friends. I heard that she had ’bout seven or eight children—all by different daddies.” As it was, the patients had called for an emergency meeting with the treatment team to present them with their complaints about Cora May’ detox status as well as other integration matters. The patients had taken it upon themselves to prepare coffee, tea and a few of their own snacks for the staff. They needed to make a good impression on the staff. This was their chance to get the staff on their side. Up until now, any and every little trick that Cora May was caught in had not upset the staff enough to kick her out. The treatment team was clueless as to what they were in for. They entered the small group room and found their seats, the nurses on the front row and the counselors occupied the second. After patiently waiting, Megan took a stance to address the staff. “We, the patients, have called this meeting because basically, we are all tired of Cora May’s attitude toward treatment. I mean, it’s just not fair that she gets to come in here with drugs and use them and is allowed to stay. Half the time, she

doesn’t make it to groups. And every time she does something that merits getting kicked out, she manages to convince you guys to allow her to stay.” “That’s right,” shouted another one of Cora May’s peers, “She was all up in our faces high as hell. I was under the impression that we are supposed to be safe while we’re here. I don’t feel safe knowing that all I have to do is walk down to a couple of rooms and find the same dope I got off the streets. Y’all supposed to be protecting us from that kind of environment.” Another young girl stood and announced, “I’m a paying customer in this place. I ain’t here on no damn government grant. I wonder what my insurance company would say if they knew that you guys were harboring patients who were using on the unit. And how the hell did she even get drugs in here? Y’all went through my personal things like I was going into cell block 6 or something. I mean, what is it, nepotism up in here? Which one of y’all related to her? Shit, y’all even took my box of Midol, the way I be crampin’ when I get my p—” “Un, un, un,” cleared the throat of a young man. “I think that what we all are trying to say is that we just don’t get it. Why the special treatment when it comes to the most difficult person here?” “Yeah, what about that tough love thing y’all be talkin’ about? Am I getting it twisted, or do you just don’t practice what you preach?” asked another patient. Mr. Selim took the floor. He walked around the room in his normal manner, arms crossed and his face with the look of empathy. But was his comion toward the groups of patients standing before him, for the treatment team, or was it for Cora May? First, he looked toward the treatment team and told them that they were excused. “I’ll handle this,” he said to them as they stood to leave. “You sure, Mr. Selim?” asked one of the nurses. He nodded yes but whispered something in one of the tech’s ear before they left the room. Within seconds, the tech returned with a broken crutch. The bottom part of the crutch, as was the handle part, was missing. Mr. Selim stood with one leg propped on a chair and asked each patient to walk with the broken crutch without using one of their legs. The patients laughed at one another as they attempted the impossible task. It could not be done. And

silly as it was, some even gave it a second try, determined to make this thing work. “I cannot believe that you all interrupted the entire treatment team for this. So you all think that we should kick Cora May out, huh?” Some answered yes while others nodded yes. “And you all feel that your recovery has been in jeopardy because of Cora May? Is that what I’m hearing?” “Damn right, it’s been hell, tryin’ to pay attention to what’s goin’ on in group and watchin’ her nod. Shit, made me want to bounce up outta here and go on a mission of my own,” another patient announced. “But you didn’t. That should tell you something about yourself. The fact that you all have watched Cora May and her belligerent attitude throughout your stay here tells me something about you. It tells me that you all really want your recovery. Can you look at this as if it was a test? And can you also look at it as if you all have ed the test. Any one of you could have left any time you wanted to, but you all chose to stay. There are no locks on these doors. This is a voluntarily treatment center. You all could have left the day she came, but you didn’t. “However, because you all called this meeting, this tells me something else about you. It tells me that you all are just some of the most self-centered, selfabsorbed, narcissistic individuals I have ever met. Everyone here is here because you all have tried to fix your broken lives with something I’d like to call a broken crutch. Every one of you have leaned on some type of drugs, a crutch. But the only problem with what you all have been using to help you stand or get through the day is that it’s brok-en! I watched how some you tried the second time, determined to make it work. That’s the way you act in your everyday life— doing the same dumb thing over and over for years and for some decades, thinking that it’s going to work. You’re leaning on something that doesn’t work because it’s bro-ken! And the longer you depend on something that isn’t stable, the worst your illness is going to get. It’s like depending on something that’s flawed. And your so-called friends, who you count on for advice, they’re broken. Your families are broken because of your broken way of thinking. Your minds are broken. That’s why you are not in the position to call a meeting such as this. Because your addiction has taught you to be some of the most self-centered people who lives upon the surface of the earth!

“Some of your messes are worse than others. This is a woman who has seven little children that calls every single day to check on their mother. This is a woman who has medical problems. She is literately challenged. She has no social skills. Most of you have been to college in spite of your addiction. Some of you have family who will still welcome you home. All of you are descent-looking people.” Mr. Selim was walking quietly around the room, looking strangely at each patient. They were beginning to understand the reason for the broken crutch. “You know what I think the problem is, people? You all see in Cora May what you see in yourselves. It’s not pretty, is it? You are all tired of seeing yourselves in her. So you all think that removing her from your sight will make you feel better about yourselves.” “Ah, Mr. Selim?” said one of the male patients. “I get what you’re sayin’, and you might have a point there, but I think what everyone is complaining about is the fact that Cora May’s using on the unit has made them uncomfortable. Why should we have to suffer because of her?” Mr. Selim laughed. “Ha ha ha ha! I know you didn’t go there. So she made you all feel uncomfortable, huh? You mean the way you all make your wives, husbands, mothers, father, sisters, brothers, and children feel when you come home high? Or when you can’t get your drugs and the bitch comes out of even the so-called men here? Or how about the ways some of you spend the rent money on drugs and cause your family to become uncomfortably homeless. Or the way your children feels when your love for drugs causes the Youth and Family Services to remove them from their home? Do you think that your children are comfortable living with strangers? Or maybe it has something to do with how uncomfortable your family feels when they are afraid of your disposition while you’re high or when you’re out of drugs? How comfortable is it for the baby whose mother has spent the milk money or Pampers money on dope, and there’s no milk or clean diapers? How comfortable is the wife whose husband is missing for three or four days because he is on a binge with the family car when she needs that car to get to work. How many of you have one or more DUIs?” At least half a dozen people raised their hands. “And how many of you who raised your hand is on a budget?” Again, the same people raised their hands. “Let’s see, you on a budget, ain’t got much money for the regular bills, but now you must pay a surcharge for the tickets, and let me add, we are in a recession. Oh, and ah, if I’m not mistaken, DUIs and surcharges causes your

insurance to rise. How in the hell can you sit in here and talk about someone making you feel uncomfortable when your very own families are suffering because of you! And these are supposed to be people who you all love and care for! And after all the pain and chaos that you have caused in your homes, most of you will return and start the whole ugly cycle all over again without an ounce of remorse. You will go back home and pick up that same broken crutch—that alcohol, that heroin, the coke, the pills. The dysfunctional company you keep. The lies you tell. The tricks you play. The risk you continue to take over and over again. You will continue to rely on the very things that caused you the problems in the first place.” Everyone was quiet now and not liking the way this meeting was playing out; it certainly wasn’t going in their favor the way they all had hoped. “I can go on and on, you know,” said Mr. Selim. “But God forbid if someone gives you all a dose of your own medicine for a few days. What’s wrong with this woman, bringing her ass to treatment, just to make you feel uncomfortable? Damn, she must be an addict!” Mr. Selim began to walk around the room. “People,” he said, “when you have a person who does what Cora May has done in here, that person is more likely to die as a direct reason of their addiction. Sometime a person needs to be loved until they can love themselves especially someone who has never experienced love. In my experiences in life, I have found that my higher power has granted me the knowledge to look upon the undesirable, the physically or morally handicapped, and know that only by the divined grace of God, there go I. I noticed that some of you have become buddies while being here. Has anyone even tried to befriend Cora May?” Everyone put their heads down. “I thought not. You all have your own little core groups, and anyone who doesn’t fit in your group should be eliminated! People, always keep in mind, that when you point your finger at somebody, you’re just pointing one finger at that person, but how many are pointing back at you? It’s not so pretty seeing yourselves, is it? Let me ask you all one more question. Is there anyone here who still wants her kicked to the curve? If so, you have my permission to go tell her to pack and leave.” No one moved. “If there’s nothing else, I think y’all could use a smoke break. I’ll meet you all up front.” Apparently, Cora May’s presence on the unit represented everything the patients hated while also symbolizing everything they were. Although the patients on the unit were physically accepted because they had no visual scars, their lives were severely scarred. Every aspect of their lives had

been affected by their addictions. Their addiction affected their relationship with their families, just as Cora May’s did. It affected their ability to hold down a job. It affected their eating habits, their sleeping habits, and their spiritual life. If affected their finances. Their addictions affected their sociality, and apparently, their sense of judgment. It told them where to go and what route to take to get there. It determined if they should take a bath or slept in the clothes and wear them for a week or so. Their sexual needs as well as how often they made excrement were affected by their drug usage. It greeted them in the mornings with an agonizing sensation of uncontrollable eagerness, which was defeated by any frail attempt to rebuff its beckoning. It told them to ignore their loved ones or to endanger their lives by inviting the scum of the earth into their homes among their loved ones. It made them look into a mirror and question their own sanity. And yes, it had even convinced some of them that death would have been more comforting than the life they were actually living. Their lives had been just as beat-up as Cora May looked. As the patients were leaving the group room, one of the male patients whispered to another, “Man, I think we all just got punked.”

With the help of the medical protocol, Cora May had gotten through her withdrawal and was now attending groups, but still, she was presenting her uncooperative behavior. One day after group, Mercedes and Cora May were taking some free time in their room. “You know, Mercedes, everyone’s been so nice to me lately, like they’re finally accepting me.” “Yeah, so how does that make you feel?” asked Mercedes, knowing the reason of the sudden change in their peers’ attitude toward Cora May. “Hey, it’s cool, but I hope they don’t think that because they actin’ all nice and shit that it’s going to change my mind about how I feel about this recovery thing.” “Still want tah get high, huh?” “I told you, ain’t nothin’ changed.” “But, Cora May, since you’ve had a chance to see what being sober is like, doesn’t it make you even want to give it a try?” “See, you nor any of these people here get it. Mercedes, I’ve been getting high since I was just a kid. They keep talking about feeling normal in groups. Don’t they know that being high is normal to me. When I’m not getting high, all I think about is getting high. It’s like the obsession never leaves me, and I don’t want it to leave me. “Now, I’m not going to share this in group or anything like that, but I’ve been using that shit so long that I don’t want no other life. And do you want to know something that’s going to blow your mind?” “What’s that, Cora May?” answered Mercedes, thinking that there was nothing Cora May could ever tell her that would blow her mind. “Well, I had a dream last night that I overdosed on dope, and I died, and it was

the best damn high I have ever had. When I woke up this morning, all I wanted was my shit. It didn’t bother me to the least that I dreamt I had died. The truth of the matter is”—Cora May hung her head down—“I know that dope is going to take me out, but I don’t care. See, Mercedes, death don’t even frighten me.” Cora May looked at Mercedes, waiting for a reaction to what she had just told her. Mercedes just stared into space. “You don’t think I’m crazy for feeling this way?” asked Cora May. “I don’t know what to think, Cora May. I got my own shit to deal with. Hell, I ain’t got no answers for yah. Ain’t got no answers for my damn self. I mean, at least you still got a home, you still got your kids, hell, you got a welfare check. Give up the dope and you still got a life. I don’t know what I got when I get out of these doors.” “See, that might be enough for you—a home, your kid and a welfare check. With me, none of those things mean anything to me, not even my kids. I mean, some times when I’m thinking’ straight I feel kinda sorry for ’em for being born to me because when I’m high, the drugs don’t really allow you to think rationally. I’ve been high all of their lives, and even though they my kids, I don’t really know them. They’re like little strangers to me, even though I gave birth to ’em. “My oldest daughter, Laylah, she’s always been the mother to her brothers and sister. If there’s anything that might hurt a little is knowing how much she loves me, you know, ’cause I’m her mother. And if there’s anything I thank God for, it’s that none of my children suffers from my diseases. I wouldn’t want people to hate them the way they hate me. I guess I even hate myself. I look in a mirror and see the same monster everybody else sees. People act like I don’t know what I look like. Shit, I’ve lived with me all my life. You know what I think, Mercedes?” “What, girl?” “Sometimes, I think God made dope just for me because it takes me outta my own head. If it wasn’t for it, I would have done everybody who hates me a big favor a long time ago and killed myself. That’s how much I hated my life until I found dope.” “Cora May, you would have found a way to live with your problems in life just

like everybody else does. Girl, you ain’t the only one who was born with problems. In fact, there’s people out here who’s worse off than you, and do you know what they do with them problems?” “What?” “They learn to accept themselves, and then they learn to live with it. Know what I’m sayin’”? “Yeah, I know what you’re sayin’, but, Mercedes, everybody’s not the same. You know, some of us just seem to be made from different shit. I mean, that’s just the way I’ve always felt—that I just wasn’t made outta the same things other people were made of. Anyhow, it’s easy for people who look like you to tell someone who looks like me to just get over it, to move on. You want to know something?” Mercedes looked at her, wondering what was Cora May going to hit her with now. “When I was a kid, as early as I can , other kids laughed at me. They picked fights with me or just did really mean things to me. It just became a normal part of my life to be treated that way. They’d put boogers on me or throw toilet paper at me, saying that I smelt and looked like shit. I knew that there was something different about me, but it wasn’t until I was old enough to pay attention to what I looked like. One look in a mirror, that’s all it took. That was when I understood what it was. I was just plain old ugly, maybe even frightening or nasty looking to some.” Cora May sniffed as if sniffing up what bit of dignity she may have own. She had a tear hanging on for dear life; she desperately tried not to allow it to fall from the corner of her eye. She had cried over this thing far too many times before she had come to know drugs. “When I think of a normal life, for me, that was normal, and I never want to be conscious of the way people think of me again. I rather die first. “I ain’t tryin’ tah make excuses for myself or looking for nobody’s sympathy. All I ever wanted in life was, well, actually, to just not matter to people when they looked at me, or thought about me. All I ever wanted was to look normal, not even pretty, just normal.” Mercedes thought about her own early years as Cora May reminisced and ed the little song she used to sing to herself in the mirror. It was the total opposite of what Cora May though of herself; however, here she was, the same place as Cora May.

It frightened Mercedes a bit, even made her cringe to realize that she was actually beginning to understand and like Cora May.

CHAPTER 20

Qu iet as kept, Kodjoe had experienced a couple of the dreams of his deceased wife during the last week at the center, just when he was about ready for discharge day. Sadly, Kodjoe began to think that it truly was the cocaine that had put the dreams to a halt. He did not want to return to the coke; however, he did not want to relive the dreams either. Being the proud man he was, he kept this little piece of information to himself. I can’t have these people in here thinking I’m nuts or something, he thought to himself after waking up in a bed of cold sweat. I’ll never get home to my boys if they knew about this. He thought about the medicinal use of marijuana and how all a person needed was a script from the doctor. Perhaps that was what he needed, a prescription from the doctor for the medicinal use of cocaine. Then he would be accepted by society, and no one would think of him as an addicted. Plus he’d enjoy the high. Aaah, the high, he had to it that he enjoyed the feeling that the cocaine had given him. He now understood what it was ing drugs that kept people in their addiction for so long. But still, he wanted to think that his position in drug usage was different than most addicts. It was not his desire to become addicted to the drug. It was not his intention to ever get involved in drugs. When he hated them and had preached against drug to his sons, he really meant it. He often wondered how he would have survived without the coke had he not given his brother-in-law a ride that day. The dreams had absorbed his mind so much that he would have tried anything to stop them; now his mind was absorbed with the cocaine. He thought about what Mr. Selim had said about how most of the patients would return to their drugs after discharge day. Would he be one of those people? All this surmising was making him crazy. Was it not simple math? But one plus one was not adding up to two. And was he not an intelligent man? Apparently, his intellectual mind was failing him because it should have been understood that the cocaine usage had ruined his life. But here it was a week left in treatment and Kodjoe found reservations creeping into his mind. There was no rational thinking or understanding of this thing. No clear or logical explanation—not even for a computer analist.

Mercedes still had no idea where she was going to live or how long it would be before she would reunite with her daughter. The counselor allowed her extra phone time to try to setup living arrangements with a well-known halfway house in the area. Of course she did not want to go; however, she understood that it was the only thing to do until she could find a job and a place for her and Maya to live. Cora May, on the other hand, could not wait to get the hell out of treatment. In fact, she had been on the phone all morning trying to hook up with a buddy of hers named Jamere who might have fathered one of her children. But she sure wasn’t looking for child ; she was looking for drugs.

Mr. Selim met with Kodjoe to tie up any loose ends that he might have had. Although he tried not to show it, Mr. Selim could see the weariness on Kodjoe’s face about his pending discharge. “Well, Mr. Jackson, congratulations, you made it through. How do you feel about leaving today?” “Man, I know I should be happy about being with my family again, but it feels more like judgment day than discharge day.” “Why is that, Mr. Jackson?” “Honestly, I was hoping you’d tell me why I feel so uneasy.” “Why would I tell you why you feel the way you do, man? I know that you’re an intelligent man. I think there isn’t anyone who can truly answer that better than you. What’s behind the anxiety, Jackson?” “Well, you know, I really don’t know what to expect from my family. I mean, not just my fiancée and the boys, but my in-laws as well. See, I’m very close to them. They have always trusted my fathering of their grandsons. I’m afraid that I’ve let them down. I don’t know how to face them. They always thought that I had better sense than to mess with drugs. Hell, I thought I had better sense than to mess with drugs.” Kodjoe looked at Mr. Selim, expecting words of encouragement, but instead he got, “So what do you want from me, to tell you how to fix this?” Kodjoe gave a slight smile and said, “Well, it might help some.” “So, they know about what happened?” “Some of what happened.” “Let me tell you something off the record, Kod. No one should tell everybody everything. There’s only one person who you should disclose everything to, the man who made you, and I’m not talking about your earthly father. Now on the record, we are only as sick as our secrets. In these rooms, I tell the patients that

all you don’t tell don’t get well. How else are you to work on the issues that taunt you if it’s not addressed?” Kodjoe held his head down. “What is it Kod? What cha holding, man?” “I’ve been keeping something to myself, man. The reason I used drugs in the first place. It’s because I have these dreams–well more like nightmares. I’ve had them every single night since my wife’s death. Over and over and over and fuckin’ over! I haven’t rested in five years. Some of the dreams are sweet dreams, and some are pure hellish because they all seem so real like she isn’t really gone at all. It’s like I live with her in my dreams. She’s a part of me and sons’ everyday lives. I even make love to her in my dreams. I smell her scent in my dreams. And then I wake up only to find that it’s just a dream. It had gotten to the point that I wasn’t sure what was my real life; the dreams or my awaking hours. Sometimes I wonder why can’t I just live my dreams and die out of this real life. See, because it’s warm there with her. Little Randy is still a baby in her arms there. My other two bays, sometimes they’re the age they were when she died, and in others, they’re as they are now. Why can’t I just let her go? I mean, I understand that she’s gone, and I’m sure that I’ve accepted it. But the dreams never stop. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but the coke helped. I haven’t had one single dream since the first time I used it until recently. It’s like they’re starting again. I don’t want to go back to the coke, but I need to be able to function.” “Kod, let me ask you a question,” said Mr. Selim. “How did you know that the coke would help?” “I didn’t. I mean, I got into using strictly accidentally. My brother-in-law had taken a couple of snorts one day when I gave him a ride into work. When I saw what he was doing, I jumped in his shit. He put it away, but in the process, the bag dropped in my car seat. When I went back to my car I found it. I started to throw it away, but I just kept hearing him say how much it helped him cope with some things he was dealing with. So I thought I’d give it a try. Sad thing is it worked.” “You know, Kod, had you shared this with us when you first got here, we could have had you seeing someone to at least start the process of dealing with this.” “What, they gotta pill to stop you from dreaming?”

“No, I didn’t say that. I said someone to help you deal with it. This little problem is something that I’m sure you haven’t shared with anyone. Am I right?” “I shared a little of how I felt about this with my brother-in-law. He suggested seeing a grief counselor.” “Good advice coming from a drug addict. Why didn’t you take his advice?” “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a ‘black’ thing. All I know is that I don’t want to be labeled. And to be honest, like I said, the coke was helping me get through.” “Patient confidentiality, Kod. You could have spoken with one of the treatment team about this. No one else needed to know. As for your pride—’cause you know that that’s all it really is—male pride. Wouldn’t it be better to get through something than to be always going through?” “Yeah, man, I hear yah. So, is that what you’re going to do, help find me some counseling?” Mr. Selim wrote a name and number on a piece of paper and handed it to Kodjoe. “This is your responsibility, Kodjoe. I want you to get in with this therapist. She’s really good, man. She’s a specialist in PTSD. That’s what it is that you’re dealing with. There is help out there for it, and I believe that she can help you. Before you leave today, I want to know if you have scheduled an appointment with her. Got me?” “Yeah, thanks, man” “Is there anything else we need to talk about?” “No, not really. I have my discharge instructions. I just hope that my aftercare counselor is as good as you, man. You’ve helped me quite a bit.” “Ah, one more thing, Kod, I noticed that you haven’t spoken much on the boys and your fiancée. Do we need to talk about that before you leave?” “I know what I did was wrong, and if there’s any strange looks or funny acting on their part, I’ll just deal with it. I owe them that, and I expect that it will take

some time for them to warm up to me again. Hey, I know there’re going to be some strange looks. Heck, when I look in the mirror, I look strangely at my damn self. So whatever it takes to fix things with them, I’ll do.” “Hmm, okay. Man, I think if you follow you discharge instruction, you’re going to be all right. And, ah, don’t forget to get back with me about the therapists. Good luck, man.” They stood and shook hands. Kodjoe went to make that call.

Mercedes now sat across from Mr. Selim. She sat there filing her nails as Mr. Selim rummaged through his desk for something. Finally, he looked up at her and pointed to the huge folder that sat before him and her. Mercedes saw her name on it but continued filing her nails and kept her thoughts to herself about it. “You mind putting that away until our session is done, Mercedes?” “Oh, I prefer to do this. Just tryin’ tah get used to doing things for myself.” She laughed a little. “Ain’t gonna have the big bucks like I used to, so I might as well get used to doing things for myself.” “Is that your main concern, Mercedes? Not having it like you use to?” “Well, hell, I’m just keepin’ it real. My daughter and I had a damn good life before this shit happened.” “Mercedes, I’m a strong believer that thing happens for a reason. Not only do they happen for a reason, but the precise time of the event, and the detail of the event are not coincidental but is a plan cleverly orchestrated by our higher power, which I choose to call God.” “Please, don’t tell me that you’re going to be throwing that God thing at me. I been doin’ quite well without Him, thank you. And I’m really not in the mood for a sermon.” “Oh really now? Come on, Mercedes, you’re leaving here today and don’t have the slightest idea where you’re going. You have no home, your daughter has been taken away from you, and all that you owned is gone. “Every now and then, I get real with a patient, and I leave treatment and the Twelve Steps out of my conversation because I know that that patient needs to hear something concrete, something solid. In other words, sometimes a person needs a miracle.” His words hit her hard. Yes, she knew how bad her situation was, but like any addict, Mercedes saw only what she considered the good in her addiction—

money, things with designer names and price tags, the best of everything. What was wrong with wanting the best that life had to offer? “I’m sorry, Mercedes, but I don’t see in you that desperate person who has literally lost everything. I don’t see in you that homeless person, which you are. I don’t see that mother who has lost her only child. Why is that? Why are you so calm?” Mr. Selim began to rub his chin waiting for her response. “I prefer to keep it to myself, if you don’t mind.” “Actually, I do mind. But let me break it down to you, Mercedes. You are desperate—desperate to get out of here and start your life over again. But I believe that you’re ready to do the very thing you did to get shot. You almost lost your life, and you lost your child. The only problem with your little plan is there’s no place on earth to hide, especially with a small child who needs records to enter school. You run, and you’ll be running the rest of your life. Is that the life you want for your daughter?” Mercedes almost fell out of her seat. She put the nail file down and gave Mr. Selim a very strange look. How did he know? She had shared this idea with no one, not even Ms. Dupree or Maya. But that was her plan—to kidnap her daughter and hightail. To run like she did from her parent’s home, like she had ran from Cyrus, and like she had ran from Thomas Green. “Face your problems, do what it takes to satisfy it, and get on with your life.” “Well, what the hell am I going to do? Can you tell me that? What in the hell am I supposed to do? I don’t have a penny to my name! I have no place to fuckin’ go! They say I can’t have my daughter back until I’ve finished those damn parenting classes. I’ve already been away from her so long. Mr. Selim, when I walk outta these doors today, what am I supposed to do but what I’ve always done to me and my daughter? I transport drugs. That’s what I do. I don’t know anything else.” She began to cry profusely. Sniff, sniff. “I don’t know what I’m going tah do. I just don’t know.” “You can start by thanking someone that you weren’t killed and that your child didn’t burn up in a house fire while you were running the streets distributing that poison throughout the streets. You have any idea how many families you’ve destroyed? And yeah, yeah, I know how it goes. If you hadn’t done it, someone else would have. But just think, Mercedes, what if one of those packages just

happens to wind up in your own daughter’s hands. She’s going to grow up one day. And no matter what you may have taught her, it’s going to come back to haunt you.” Mercedes looked terrified. The very thought of her precious, baby girl doing drugs made everything look so different, so ugly, and so wrong. “Mercedes, although I do not condone you leaving your daughter alone while you made your runs, I do believe that you truly love your daughter. However, girly, it’s time to grow up. Life is what it is. But I’m a true believer that at some point, we are in control of our destiny by the decisions we make. I can’t tell you what to do. That isn’t my job. I can only make subjections. Have you found a halfway house yet?” She shook her head no. Mr. Selim looked through his rolodex and pulled out a card that had the numbers to several Oxford houses on it. He handed it to Mercedes with instructions to return the card before she signed her discharge papers. Mercedes had the look of a frightened child on her face. But she knew that Mr. Selim was right. It was time to stop running from life.

“That’s right. You heard correct. Bring my shit ready to use. I done wasted enough time pleasing these bastards up in here. It’s time for momma get back to her life now,” Cora May whispered into the phone. “But, Cora May, you done been clean for a whole month. Why don’t you just go with it, girl? You done got past the sickness. I mean, I got your shit all ready for yah, but why don’t you just give it a try? You might just like being straight,” said Jamere. “Now here you go with that bullshit. And since when did you become so interested in my recovery? Haven’t I always paid my bill with you?” “Hey, look, girl, I’m just thinkin’ ’bout your kids, since one of ’em might to be mine. But look, it ain’t about nothing on the eye like it used to be. Times are hard out here with this recession or depression or whatever the hell is happenin’. Now, I’m gonna let you have this one, but hereafter, its money on the dime, not on time, yah heard? So maybe you should think about stickin’ with that recovery thing.” “Like I said, just have my shit here in the front lobby at 2:00 pm sharp. My kids are going to be picking me up at two-thirty, and I’m gonna need my shit before they arrive. You with me on that, man?” “I heard. But like I said, Cora May, this is the last one on the eye.” Mr. Selim asked Cora May to come in his office for her last conference with him. She hung up the phone and followed him into his office. “Cora May,” said Mr. Selim, thinking, why am I even doing this? This woman’s no more interested in recovery than the man in the moon. “What can I say other than we were all very well informed by you how you felt about being here from the first day you arrived? Have anything changed? Have you learned anything since you’ve been here?” “Yeah, I’ve learned some thangs.” “Care to expound?”

“Well, I’ve learned that I can’t live without my dope.” “I wouldn’t agree with that. You’ve lived at least two weeks without it. Is it really that you can’t or won’t, Cora May?” “Well, I guess, won’t. It’s my life, Mr. Selim. I should be able to live it as I choose.” “Cora May, you appear very lucid to me right now. And although you’re holding on to your decision to continue using drugs, it’s you that I hear speaking, not the drugs. And by the way, it’s nice to finally met you—the real you.” “Now see, there’s where you’re wrong. I don’t know this person you’re talking to. This me, is more of a stranger to me than the drug-using me. I don’t know this person. I don’t like this person. And I haven’t seen this me since I was a kid.” Cora May began to swell up with tears. “See, this me hurts, you know— emotionally.” Sniff, sniff. “This me feels all the pain of being who she really is. This me look in the mirror and see all the ugliness that all the rest of the world sees and hate. “I heard you saying in group one day that we need to get in touch with our real selves. Well—” Sniff, sniff, sniff. “My real self has been asleep for more than fifteen years. Maybe she’s even been dead, resting safely in her imaginary grave and that’s where she should have stayed because there is no place or need for her in my life anymore. I hate her as much as the rest of the world hates her.” “Cora May,” said Mr. Selim, “we all have pain in our lives, but we deal with it and move on. We live one day at a time.” “See, all that AA, NA, Twelve-Step bullshit doesn’t work for everyone! It’s not that simple for all of us. That’s why some of us die in our sickness, Mr. Selim. Don’t you think that we know that dope is going to kill us one day if we don’t stop? We know that, Mr. Selim. It ain’t no secret. “And why is it your business or anyone else’s if that’s the method of death that we want to take? You don’t feel my pain, Mr. Selim. No one feels my pain. No one but me!” “So my conjecture is that as soon as you get out of these doors, the first thing you’re going to do is have a needle in your arm, huh?” asked Mr. Selim. She

would have told him that it would be sooner than that, but the fear of him trying to stop her made her rethink her answer. “I’m a drug addict. That’s what I do. I mean, what do you want me to say?” Mr. Selim cleared his throat. “Huh, huh. Ah, Cora May, have you ever seen a psychiatrist?” “What? You think I’m crazy for feeling the way I do?” I might be uneducated, but there ain’t nothing crazy about me, Mr. Selim. At these meetings, I’ve heard them say something about those who are incapable of grasping this thing. Maybe it’s not quite worded the way I quoted it, but I think they’re talking about people like me. Those words were the only part of this program that I could get with and relate to.” “Cora May, I have a question for you. What, if anything, would it take for you to give sobriety an honest try?” “You really want to know, Mr. Selim?” “Yes.” “It would take the impossible, which is not to be me, to just look normal, not perfect, just simply normal. I would even keep my sickness as long as I could look normal. And to experience real love from a man, not sex or just to use me because they give me enough money to get my shit. You know, Mr. Selim, some men will lay down with a dog if they’ll give it up. Sometimes that’s what I feel like, a dog. You know, most times, I just wish that I was never born. So I guess that my answer is—really, nothing.” “You know, I’ve spoken with your son and daughter a few times while you’ve been here. Those children love you, Cora May. They’re hoping that your attempt to get well will change your life and theirs. You’re going to crush them by going back out there, you know. Do they matter to you at all?” “I don’t want to purposely hurt anybody. My kids are beautiful people. Hum, God was good to them. None of them inherited my sickness. If you ever saw us all together, you wouldn’t think that they were mine ’cause they so gorgeous. My children have the advantage over me. They good-looking and they smart. If anything, I feel sorry for them for being born to me. And I know that my

addiction will be the cause of my death, but realistically, I just feel that if, I mean when that happens, they’ll be better off without me. I just hope that whoever gets them will be able to give them the love they deserve—the love I couldn’t give ’em.” “Cora May, I must say that you have been brutally honest with me as you have been at the door and throughout your entire stay, other than your using on the unit, of course. I’m going to give you your discharge instruction although I know that you’re not going to follow through with them. And I’m also going to give you one last special assignment. It’s nothing that you have to hand in. It’s nothing that you have to write down. It’s just something that I want you to meditate on before you leave.” “What’s that?” “I want you to concentrate on the worst thing you have ever done while in your addiction. Normally, it would be that one thing that has been so embarrassing to you that you feel you could never tell a soul about. Most times, these little secrets are things that one would carry to his or her grave.” “What makes you think that I have any secrets? I mean, you just said yourself that I’ve been—what’s that word you just used? Oh, brutally honest.” “We all have that one secret that we keep to ourselves, Cora May, especially an addict of your caliber.” “So what is that supposed to do, make me give up my dope?” “Perhaps, but what I’m trying to do here, Cora May, is have you to get honest with yourself, just once before you leave. You’ve been high for almost your entire stay here. You’ve missed a lot of therapy groups, which could have helped you. And don’t do this for me or your children. Do this one for yourself.” Cora May condescendingly laughed. “Yeah, whatever. Can I leave now?” Cora May asked with a look on her face that said she was so through with all this detox, rehab bullshit. When she left his sight, Mr. Selim knew this would be his last day as a substance-abuse counselor. During his time on the substance abuse unit, many patients had left never to be seen again. He never knew if they were dead or

alive. But Cora May, he knew was headed for an early death. This type of work had bunted him out. He had his own sobriety to worry about. Mr. Selim thought about the days of his early recovery from drug addiction. Quitting drugs was both the most rewarding and the hardest thing he had ever done in his entire life. There was nothing to compare it with. He ed his own counselor telling him that in order to keep it, he had to give it away. So becoming a counselor was his way of giving it away. And for years, it had brought peace to his heart and worthiness to his mind. Many times during his group sessions, he had openly itted to the patients that their being there had helped him stay sober. To witness the chaos that had accompanied the patients’ arrival had truly made him want to stay away from drugs. And although the very sight of the condition of the patients’ lives looked horrifyingly dreadful, it hadn’t always been that way to him. Mr. Selim allowed his mind to wander back to twenty some years ago when his body and mind were fighting against him. He had spent ten years before then trying to get off the drugs. His addiction had started like many others; it was just a nice thing to do on the weekend. He had married his high school sweetheart. She too had dibble and dabbled in drug usage with him; however, after the news of her pregnancy, she quit everything cold turkey. She had tried to encourage him to stop, but Mr. Selim felt that there wasn’t a problem with his drug usage. After all, he was the man of the house; he paid the bills. So who was she to tell him how to spend his money? He enjoyed a t every now and then, a snort every now and then, and a drink any damn time his mouth watered for one, which was all the time. He was happy to see his friend coming to his door with little bags of white powder every now and then. It was cool to discover new and exciting drugs—drugs that could take you to the next level. He was always looking for a much bigger and better high. As Mr. Selim lived in the land of Nod, his wife and child continued living in the here and now. She tried to maintain some sense of normalcy in their lives as Mr. Selim lost his job—a job that paid over one hundred thousand dollars a year. She tried to put up with his nonchalant attitude whenever she attempted to discuss him finding another job. As it was, there was never a good time to bring up his substance-abuse problem. As far as he was concerned, he did not have a problem. The only problem he had was her bringing up the subject of his using drugs. And whenever she brought up the subject of him quitting the drugs, it merited her getting beat as if she were a natural man.

When they lost their home, it was actually counted a blessing to his wife; she was exhausted. This was her opportunity to take the child and flee. They were given ninety days to come up with over a year and six months past due mortgage payments, or their home would be foreclosed. At first Mr. Selim was actually happy that she had left; he was finally alone with what he truly loved—his drugs. But his elated moment was short lived. His home became a den for his drug buddies. Soon the electric was turned off. Even without lights, his drug buddies continued to come. They used candles for lights. Then the water was shut off. That did not bother Mr. Selim too much because he wasn’t taking too many bathes anymore. And he and his buddies were only thirsty for beer, liquor, or wine. The only time that water was missed was when he or one of his buddies needed to flush the toilet. It wasn’t until it had begun to get cold did Mr. Selim realize that his buddies had abandoned him. Apparently, the electric and water they could do without, but they could not stand the cold. Mr. Selim became homeless in the dead of winter. All he had to his name was an old raggedy car, which he used for shelter. He’d bum a few dollars to gas it up, and what was left went on his drug habit. In his inebriated mind, he did not need the job, house, or his wife, and child; all he needed was what made him happy—anything that would get him high. As it was, the coldest day of the winter had taken Mr. Selim by surprise. He had run into a dreadful problem. It had snowed during the night. Luckily for him, he had found a stray dog and had coasted the animal inside his car. It spent the night with him in the freezing car. Having the dog was beneficial to him, for it provided warmth to his frozen feet. The snow had fallen over five feet high during the night, and he found himself trapped in the car. He looked through the windows and saw that the street as far as he could see was deserted. It was a blusterous day, and even with the dog covering its body over his feet with its body, he was still cold. Selim panicked. Was this snow-covered car to become his tomb? How long would he be there before someone discovered his lifeless body? He was getting colder and colder because the alcohol was leaving his body now. He began to hallucinate, speaking to the dog as if it were his wife, understanding the dog’s bark as if it were human words.

Selim would come in and out of sanity, realizing each time he made the transition. It was frightening him to death! But there was nothing he could do to stop it. Every now and then when Selim would come back to sanity, he’d try with all his might to maintain that state, but it was to no avail. Finally he ed out. Apparently the owner of the little pooch had ventured out to find the little dog. He had called the dog over and over again until he heard a faint bark. At first, he thought that the little dog had gotten himself covered by the snow until he saw the steamed windows of Mr. Selim’s car. The man called 911 and was instructed to break the car window. There was no telling how long Mr. Selim and the dog had been in that car. All the owner of the dog knew was that the dog had been missing since early the evening before. That was when Mr. Selim was found unconscious and nearly freezing to death. When Selim woke up, he was in a hospital bed, delirious out of his mind and shackled down for the safety of others as well as for himself. But nothing could prepare him for what he discovered next. The doctors had to amputate his right leg because of frostbite. If someone was to ask him now, he would tell them that losing his leg was the best thing that had ever happened to him. No one, except another drug addict or alcoholic could relate to or understand why he felt this way. Loosing his leg had made him realize that he needed to get off the junk— all of it. He understood that there was nothing his wife could have said to make him stop. Twenty years clean and thousands of patients later, it was Cora May who had left him with a whispering thought of using again. The possibility of coming in with the likes of someone of her character again made him tired just thinking about it. At the end of his shift, Mr. Selim handed in his resignation.

CHAPTER 21

Layoni and the boys waited impatiently for Kodjoe in the front lobby of the hospital. The boys were most eager to be with their father again. They had been without their father for a month and had missed him dearly. And although Layoni had told them twice to wait be patient, every time they saw a figure coming from the rear of the long hallway leading to the lobby, they jumped out of their seats to see if it was Kodjoe. “What’s taking him so long?” asked KJ. “Maybe he’s coming out of another door,” said Terrence. “I’m sure your father will be here shortly, boys. Just calm down, I’m certain that he misses you all as much as you miss him.” “I miss him one hundred thousand times!” shouted little Randy. “Oh, yeah, how big is one hundred thousand, Randy? Can you show me and your brother with your arms just big that is?” asked Layoni. “It’s this big,” said Randy as he opened his arms as wide as he could. “Wow! That’s a lot. I never knew that you could measure one hundred thousand with your little arms.” “I miss him one hundred billion!” shouted Terrence. “I miss him so much that my arms can’t even open up wide enough!” The group of them laughed. “How much do you miss our dad, Ms. Layoni?” asked KJ, looking up at her as if he was about to evade her personal thoughts. “Well, let’s see. You guys will never know how very much I miss your dad. I miss him more than I’ve ever missed anyone. But do you guys know what helped me go on without your dad?”

“No,” the boys all answered. “Being with you all, of course.” “How’s that? We’re not our dad.” said KJ. “Of course you boys are your father. Randy, you have his feet and his smile. Terrence, you have your father’s sense of humor and his nose. And KJ, you have your father’s intelligence, and I bet he looked just like you when he was your age. I can tell.” “And if you marry our dad, you’ll have his last name, right, Ms. Layoni?” asked KJ. “That’s right,” said Kodjoe. “That is if she still wants it.” Layoni stood back just checking Kodjoe out. He looked different than he did before coming to treatment. Damn, she thought to herself, you sure do clean up well. She never thought he could look any better than he did before he went in. “Put on a couple of pounds, didn’t you, boy?” She smiled with approval. “Yeah, ’bout twelve. I guess I’d better hit the gym, huh?” “Nooo, baby, it’s all good,” said Layoni. He smiled, loving her approval of the extra pounds. Then he smiled again, thinking how beautiful she looked and thought how this was actually the first time he had seen her through completely sober eyes. The boys ran to their dad ecstatically, all with hugs and smiles. As Kodjoe took the time to embrace Layoni, the boys grabbed his luggage and headed for the door, yelling for them to come on. “Hold your horses, boys. Give your old man a chance to say hi to Ms. Layoni.” “Look,” yelled Terrence, “they’re kissing!” “Eww!” yelled Terrence and Randy. But KJ understood. If there was anything positive about what they had all been through, it was having Layoni in their

lives. Layoni and the younger boys sat in the car while Kodjoe and KJ placed his luggage in the trunk. “Dad?” said KJ. “Yes, son. What is it?” “Ms. Layoni is really cool. I don’t miss Mom so much since she’s come.” “You really like her, huh?” “It’s just one thing though.” “What is it, son?” “If you marry her and she becomes our stepmother, what if she dies too?” “Well, son, I can’t guarantee you that that wouldn’t happen. It’s all in God’s hand, man, not your father’s.” KJ looked sad, and his father picked up on it. “What is it, son? Why the long face. Does it bother you that much that something might happen to Ms. Layoni if she becomes your stepmother?” “No.” “Well, what is it, KJ?” “Dad, since you’ve been away, I’ve been doing a lot of research about people on drugs.” “And?” “Well, I’ve learned how sometimes they go back and use them again after treatment. And some of them go to jail for years, and the first thing they do when they get out is go back to the drugs. I guess what I’m asking is if you do marry her and something happens to her, will you go back to the drugs again?”

Wow, thought Kodjoe, this must be what Mr. Selim meant about ‘your recovery actually starting once you leave treatment.’ He answered the best way he could. “Son, there are no promises in life. Of course, the only thing that is promised to us is death. And I think that what you are asking me is if she dies like your mother did, would I go back to using drugs? We all are going to die one day. That’s just the way it is. As far as me using drugs again, I can’t promise you that either. All I know is that I realize how much I’ve hurt my loved ones and my self. I don’t ever want to do that again, son.” “I wished it never happened in the first place. Dad?” “Yes, son?” “What did it do for you? I mean, what did you like about it? And please don’t tell me that you’ll tell me when I get older.” Please, God, spare me this conversation, Kodjoe prayed. But God must have said, “Not this time, buddy.” Kodjoe thought about telling his son that it was no big deal, but KJ was much too clever for an asinine answer such as that, especially after witnessing his father running to North Camden and taking the chance of getting stopped by the cops with him and his little brothers in the car with him. Telling his son that he’ll tell him when he’s older had been scratched by KJ himself. Kodjoe thought that perhaps he had been discharged much too soon or that this question he was receiving from his son must had been addressed in a class that he had missed because not only was he stunted for an answer but also felt so very helpless and defenseless before his very own son. He felt as if he was about to enter a systemic breakdown. A difficult situation. I don’t like the way this feels. A nice hit of coke. Now that would help. Hell! Who am I kidding? All that shit will do is help me lie, or maybe just help me not give a damn. Damn! What the hell am I thinking? To thine own self be true. That’s what they told me, but how do I answer my son truthfully without putting ideas in his innocent mind? Do I tell him the shit was good? Do I tell him a lie and say how horrible it was? But it was horrible—it was! A simple question was irritating as all hell to Kodjoe. Was this just a sample of

what Kodjoe would have to deal with now that he was released from treatment? He argued with himself in his head to just answer the damn question! KJ noticed the sudden sweat beading on his father’s forehead. He saw the confusing look on his father’s face. This was the look he ed just before his father ventured into the inner city. Just as Kodjoe was about to open his mouth, KJ said, “You know, Dad, I don’t need to know that. Just decided, it’s not that important. The only thing that’s important to me right now is that you’re clean and sober. We’ll take one day at a time, okay?” Kodjoe bended down and placed his arms around his son. “I love you, man. That’s all Daddy’s got for you, your brothers, and Ms. Layoni right now—is love.” “That’s cool, Dad. I love you too. Come on, let’s go home.” He sat in the car and wondered if he needed to reenter the treatment center. Wondered if he should just turn himself in. Should he tell the treatment team that he wasn’t ready to be with earth people yet? Yes, those damn earth people, people who had never done drugs before, people who can just get high on nothing more than life itself. People who don’t get irritated by a simple question asked by their child. “Kodjoe?” asked Layoin. He said nothing. He continued to stare out the window, lost in his own thoughts. “Kod, honey, is everything all right?” Layoni asked again. “Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I guess I was just lost for a minute.” He turned to her and said, “The counselor said that I would be a little touchy. So I’m just going to tell you all now because I love you all, that if I get a bit snappy, it’s not you that I’m upset with. And while I have your attention, I want to say that I’m sorry for what I’ve taken you all through.” The two youngest boys acted as if nothing had happened at all and Kodjoe liked it that way. That meant that their innocence had not been destroyed by his addiction to coke. But Layoni and KJ understood.

“Dad?” said KJ. “Yes, son?” “Why don’t we all just start today as the first day of the rest of our lives?” “Well, okay,” said Kodjoe. Then he whispered to Layoni, “Where is he getting all these Twelve-Step sayings from?” “He’s been attending classes for children of addictive parents,” answered Layoni. “It was his choice. Said he needed to understand your addiction. We went once a week while you were away. So don’t try to get over on us ’cause we both know about tough love.” “Yeah, Dad, and we’ll use it if we have to,” said KJ smiling in the rearview mirror.

With all odds against her, Mercedes went into the small bathroom and kneeled at the toilet and prayed to God. She had made the calls to the Oxford Houses as Mr. Selim had instructed. Unfortunately, there were no rooms available. Her things were packed and ready to go, but to where? It wasn’t until this day did she feel destitute, lacking money, resources, and all possessions necessary to live. “Hi, God, this is Mercedes. I guess I’m supposed to ask you to forgive me for my sins, and I… I do, God, I really do. I never gave much thought to my sins, but I must have a lot of ’em to find myself in a situation like this. God, this stuff I’m goin’ through is wack! Oh, I’m sorry, God. I don’t know if I should have said that. You know, God, maybe I should have asked my daughter how to pray. She tells me that she talks to you all the times especially when I was on the road at night. Well, anyhow, I know that I was transporting that sh—ah, I mean that stuff and everything. And I know that the stuff I put out there could have, ah, might have gotten into the hands of some innocent kids and all. And I know that leaving my little girl along wasn’t the smartest thing on earth to do. Well, actually, God, it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Or maybe the worst thing was disobeying my parents and hooking up with that sorry a—ah, behind Cyrus. Oh, shoot! I guess I should have first asked you to forgive me for not knowing how to pray. Anyhow, God, the point is that I don’t know how to pray. But I do know when something is bigger than I can handle. You and I both know that transporting drugs is all I really know how to do, and if you don’t step in, in about twenty minutes, things aren’t going to be looking too good for me and my child. So, God, what I’m asking for is one of those miracle thingies you do. I mean, it ain’t as big as parting the Red Sea or anything like that. I guess I really don’t know what I’m asking, God, but they teach us here to let go and let You. So that’s what I’m gonna do. It’s outta my hands and is in yours. Amen. Oh, and God, if my parents are still alive, could you please put it in their hearts to forgive me for what I’ve done to them?” Mercedes stood, looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, and broke down in tears, thinking, who she was kidding.

After a good hard cry over her situation, she washed her face, looked in the mirror again, and said, “God, show me what you’re workin’ with, ’cause I ain’t got nothing. I’m scared, but I’m walking outta these doors on what Ms. Dupree calls faith.” She grabbed her luggage and proceeded down the long corridor leading to the lounge where most patients met with their friends or family after discharge. Truly, Mercedes had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do. By now reality was speaking to her subconscious mind, telling her how she was going to have to start over again, how she was going to have to go on without Maya, and how she would have to live her life on the run until she could figure out a way to come back for her daughter. How proudly she walked in spite of her troubles. That was something she was good at—hiding her true feelings mainly because as she would put it, “didn’t want people all up in her business.” “Well, it is what it is,” Mercedes said just loud enough for her to hear. From a distance, she saw old Ms. Dupree and little Maya waiting in the front lobby. Oh great, she thought to herself. What am I going to say to my baby? Where will I tell her I’m going to be staying? She’ll never understand any of this. Oh God, why did Ms. Dupree have to bring her here? She looked a little harder and saw the evil DYFS workers with their large black briefcases, perhaps bearing all the boring details of her records. By the time Mercedes reached the front lobby, little Maya ran to her and jumped in her mother’s arms. Mercedes kissed her and looked over Maya’s shoulder to find the social workers standing there, giving her that uncompromising look as if they were telling her not to get too close to her own daughter. She hated them with a ion. Great! I guess this is where they tell me that they’re taking my baby away from Ms. Dupree. Oh well, I knew this day was coming.

Ms. Dupree walked toward her, smiling like a Cheshire cat. She wrapped her arms around Mercedes and gave her the biggest kiss on the cheeks. This woman is just too strange, thought Mercedes. I understand my baby being happy to see me, but why is she so damn cheerful? “Mommy, Mommy!” shouted Maya. “Mommy, we’ve got a surprise for you!” “Shush, now child,” ordered Ms. Dupree, still wearing that weird smile. “We don’t want to spoil anything now, do we?” “Nope,” said Maya. “But I can’t wait any longer. Please, Ms. Dupree, can we tell her now?” Ms. Dupree checked her watch and looked toward the door. Who is she looking for? Mercedes wondered. “Well, sweetheart, it looks as if somebody’s been praying real hard because God has smiled on you today,” said Ms. Dupree. “I told you that you were in for a big blessing.” “What? What are you talking about?” “Mommy, guess who’s here?” “What is going on? Would somebody please tell me!” Mercedes shouted. Ms. Dupree checked her watch and at the door again and began to look a little worried. “What?” asked Mercedes again. She looked at the DYFS workers and wondered why they haven’t approached her yet. Perhaps they were allowing her some private time with Ms. Dupree and her daughter before they gave her any bad news. Ms. Dupree’s smile began to fade as she checked the door and her watch again. “Oh, sweetheart, I thought we would have some good news for yah, but I’m sorry it looks as if—”

“They’re here! They’re here!” shouted little Maya. “Look, Mommy. Look who’s here!” Maya opened her arms wide as if she were presenting someone special. Mercedes could not believe what her eyes were seeing. She did not have to look twice. Even with the gray hair, she recognized them. There, coming through the lobby doors, were her parents. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear. Am I dreaming? She ran to them as they received their only child in their opened arms. Nothing around her was there, not the social workers, not Ms. Dupree, not any of the people who ed by them, and for a moment, not even her own little daughter. She was in her parents’ arms, and it felt good. “Oh, Mommy, Poppy, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Can you every forgive me?” “Shush, daughter, there is nothing to forgive. We are just so happy to find you,” said her father. “We looked for years. Your mother, she thought we would die and never ever see our only daughter again.” “This is a dream come true,” said her mother. “Sweetheart, you just don’t know how much we prayed that God would allow us to find you. He’s finally answered our payers.” Everyone had trouble holding back their tears. Finally, the social workers walked up to Mercedes. “Like we said, Ms. Kemp, it is very important that we keep mother and child together. With the help of Ms. Dupree, we were able to locate your parents. Now you still will have to attend parenting classes, but Maya will be able to live with you while you attend those classes.” Mercedes smiled. “But how? You said that the—” “Your parents have agreed to take custody of Maya, and as long as you remain in your parents’ home, you will be able to be with her,” answered one of the social workers. “Oh, don’t worry, our daughter is home for good. She’s not going anywhere. Isn’t that right, Mercy?” asked her father.

“Oh, Poppy, I’ve missed you and Mommy so much. I thought, well, that Mommy, and especially you, Poppy, wanted nothing to do with me. I mean, I’ve put you through so much. Poppy, you don’t know how many times I wanted to come home. I even tried calling a few times, but well, I was ashamed of how I had disobeyed you. I thought you and Mommy hated me for running off with Cyrus. He said that if I didn’t leave with him, that he would hurt you and Mommy. Can you ever forgive me?” “It’s all right, honey. Ms. Dupree explained everything,” said her mother while wiping away tears from her eyes. “God has mended my broken heart. And dear, you know that he was killed shortly after you disappeared.” “Oh, this is a blessed day!” shouted Ms. Dupree. “Now look, I done cooked us up a feast to die for in celebration of this wonderful reunion. See, Mercedes, see how the Lord works?” Yes, Mercedes finally saw just how the Lord had worked this thing out. Never in her wildest dream could she imagine that getting shot, losing everything she own, and having her daughter taken away from her would bring such an astonishing outcome as getting her parents back. As they were all about to leave, Mercedes looked down the long corridor and took in a glimpse of Mr. Selim peeping down the hall at her and her parents. She knew within her heart that he had something to do with ing her parents and the glorious reunion that was presently taking place. She thought about how he had told her to pray, how she needed a miracle. Her heart silently thanked him, Ms. Dupree, and God. “Come on now. We gotta go to my place and eat,” said Ms. Dupree. “Wait till y’all see what I done cooked. I made some turnip greens with some ham hocks and okra in ’em. And I cooked a big old ham with lots of pineapple and cherries all over it. Just wait till you see it. It’s sooo pretty. And I made some potato salad. And the best old sweet potato pie any of yous have ever tasted. I made some macaroni and cheese and some candy carrots. Oh, we gonna have us a good old time! And I made some…” “Mommy?” asked Maya. “Yes, suga’?”

“What’s a turnip green, ham hock and a okra?” “Hell, if I know. But just this one time, we gonna act like we like it, okay, suga’?” “Okay, Mommy.” Mercedes anticipated questions from her parents, and she had decided to be truthful, one of the many lessons taught to her by Mr. Selim. After realizing how much she had lost, by leaving home so young, she now decided to do some of the things she should had done; the first thing on her agenda was to go back to school and perhaps get a degree in law. She certainly had the gift of gab. All she needed now was the gift of knowledge to accommodate it. Plus, the money will allow her to maintain the lifestyle of which she was so accustomed to. Although at one time, Mercedes thought that she had the job of her dream, it was simply wonderful to be released from it and look forward to something that would permit her some decorum… and a pension. There were no more concerns about getting caught and having everything taken away from her; there was no concern of Thomas Green degrading her or Matthias trying to get in her panties. And there was no more concern that anyone would learn of any secret of her leaving little Maya alone at nights. All those things had already been done. But most importantly, there was no more fear of Cyrus. Now it was time for the blessings that old dear sweet Ms. Dupree had told her about. They had already started, with the arrival of her parents, and she was most eager to see what was to come because, as Ms. Dupree had said, for all that she had been through, some big old blessings were coming her way.

Meanwhile, back in the treatment center, Cora May actually followed the instructions of Mr. Selim. Essentially, it did not take long for her to come up with just the thing that she had been hiding all these years; she couldn’t forget it even if she tried. As the memory slowly entered her mind, she quickly tried to erase it. She thought to herself, Do I really want to go there? Shoot! I don’t have to do what he asked. I’m outta here anyhow. So she started gathering her things together, hoping to get her mind off of that particular memory. But it wouldn’t go away. In fact, the more she tried to forget it, the more vivid the memory presented itself. As it was, seventeen years ago, God gave her a son. Robert was his name. She called him Bobby. This was the one and only child Cora May surely knew who the father was. The father’s name was also Robert. He wasn’t in love with Cora May, and she knew it. He was the first of many men who used her for a cheap quick piece of ass. Robert wanted nothing to do with Cora May or his son. He was upset that Cora May had allowed herself to get pregnant in the first place. Never mind him taking precaution of preventing pregnancy. The only thing he was concerned about was how to get his girlfriend back after she found out that he had been with Cora May. Funny thing was he only wanted to get with Cora May because he had heard that she was easy while Cora May’s reason for getting with him was because she hated Robert’s girlfriend. She would pick on Cora May in front of their classmates, making Cora May feel like the ugly person people saw her as. Cora May was hurt, had even considered suicide, thinking that was the only way out of the taunting that bullies had thrown upon her. She was just a child herself at the time. It was also the time in her life when her drug usage had begun to get out of hand. At the age of three, little Bobby was diagnosed with cancer. Although Cora was using drugs, she was still functioning quite well as a teen mother. But things were about to change. She’d visit little Bobby everyday at the hospital. Then she’d go home and get stoned. She’d sit by his side and sing to him. Then go home and get stoned. She’d hold him tightly in her arms and rock him all night if

the hospital staff would allow her, and then, of course, go home and get stoned. At times it seemed that little Bobby was going to get better. But the disease was stronger than his little body could tolerate. There was nothing more the doctors could do. So they allowed little Bobby to go home with his mother to die. There were no concerns by the hospital staff that Cora May would not watch over the dying child appropriately. They had seen with their own eyes how caring and loving she had been with him. Bobby was sent home with enough morphine to see him through until the end. Cora May made a final call to Robert, asking him to come say good-bye to their son. He declined, stating that he wished that Cora would take the death trip right along with Bobby, giving her the final verbal beating about how she had fucked up his relationship with the girl of his dream, how being with her was the worst mistake he had ever made in his entire life. He told her how every time he touched her, she made his skin crawl and that a thousand baths could remover the stench that lingered after he had been with her. She did the only thing she knew that would ease her pain after the call—she got high. In fact, she had dope for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And when there was no more left, she used little Bobby’s morphine. She stopped her emotional pain while allowing little Bobby to die in the worst pain imaginable. In Cora May’s mind’s eye, she visualized the crying child. At first, little Bobby’s cry was loud and boisterous. The pain was an excruciating, agonizing pain, causing his tiny body to twitch and move about in the most awkward positions. Cora May kept the bedroom door closed—out of sight, out of mind. After about seventy-two hours, the loud cry had turned into a quiet whimper, then followed by shallow breathing, then death. That was the day Cora May lost her feelings of comion for everyone, including herself. That was a long time ago. Now she sat there quietly on the bed, just looking around at various objects in the room but not really focusing on anything particular. There were no tears in her eyes. She had cried them all many years ago when she began to understand how people viewed her. But she was beginning to feel something, something she had not felt in a very long time, and

she did not like it. This was her reason for getting high in the first place—not to feel. The only thing that all of this reminiscing did for Cora May was evoke the need for her wanting the dope all the more. She was not exactly sure why Mr. Selim had asked her to do this particular exercise. Maybe he thought it would help Cora May understand the severity of her drug problem. But she knew for sure that it was not going to change her mind about the way she felt. “Hmm,” she said to herself, “I sure am lucky that he didn’t want an of that story. Shit, they’d lock my ass up somewhere. Oh well, life goes on.” She continued collecting her things from the room to make her exit from the center. For the last time, she packed her belongings back in the large green trash bag and was hoping that Jamere would keep his promise to meet her in the lobby with her works ready to use. The anticipation to get that needle in her arm was more like the expectation of looking forward to the best orgasm anyone could imagine. Yes, her true love was on its way, and there wasn’t anything anybody could do to stop it, not her children, not the treatment team, not even her own thoughts, because the entire time she had spent in treatment was all in vain. It was just a hoax to get her children off her back, if only for a minute. She was tired of living in this strange body, having periods of sane thoughts and looking in the mirror at the face that everyone, including her, thought to be hideous. She desperately wanted to return to her comfort zone—to the life that she was accustomed to. As Cora May made her walk toward the door to leave the center, she was a bit taken aback when Mr. Selim stepped to her and asked her to wait just a few more minutes before leaving. Well, Cora May wasn’t having this. Not when she was so close to getting that anticipated hit in her arm. It was throbbing to make love to that needle. “I done did my time, and I’m outta here!” she yelled. “But, Cora May, you can’t leave now. We have someone—”

Before Mr. Selim could finish his sentence, she was out the door. “Should we go after her, Mr. Selim?” asked one of the techs. “No, let her go, she’ll find out by the time she gets home,” he answered. Apparently, the treatment team feared for Cora May’s children. She had been so adamant about returning to the drugs that the team knew that they needed to protect the children. The team thought it necessary to get the Youth and Family Service involved in her aftercare just to make sure that the children were safe living with Cora May. Please be there, she said to herself as she made her way to the front lobby. Each time she ed a clock, which was at the end of each corridor of the long halls leading to the lobby, she looked at them checking the time. Please, please be there. Cora May felt like a mouse in a maze of which there was no end. Each end of the hall led to another then another then another. She began to perspire profusely, hoping that her reward would be waiting at the end of the maze. People were watching her because she looked somewhat catatonic and nothing could pull her out of this trance, except one thing, the very thing that it seemed she could not reach. Suddenly she saw Jamere. She was only a few feet away from the only love in her life. When she reached him, he asked, “You sure you want to do this, girl? You look good!” “Man, shut the fuck up and give me what you got for me!” Jamere reached in his pocket and pulled out the syringe full with heroin. Before he could hand it to Cora May, she snatched it and jabbed it in her arm right there in the main lobby of the hospital, in front of doctors, nurses, patients, and her children who were standing in the lobby with Roy, bearing flowers and a banner that they had made. CONGRADUATION, MOM—no MORE WORRIES. Sure enough, there would be no more worries for Cora May. She was dead. Code Blue was called to the lobby, but they could not resuscitate her.

Laylah wouldn’t speak to him all day. In fact, she couldn’t even look Tank in the face. He knew she blamed him. He asked himself difficult questions. Did I kill my moms? Would it have been better if I had never made her go? Would she still be alive had I listened to Laylah in the beginning and just allowed Moms to have her way with the drugs? Will Laylah ever speak to me again? Will she ever forgive me? Can I forgive myself? He knew not the answers to any of those questions. All he knew for sure was that he felt the worst he had ever felt in his life. Later that day while Tank sat in his bedroom alone, he thought, Now what should I do? Where will we go? Why didn’t I listen to Laylah? Nobody’s going to want to take all of us. Damn! What have I done to my family? Roy came to the bedroom, sat next to him, and asked if he was okay. Tank asked, “What do you think, man? I killed my moms, man. This wasn’t in the plan. Now what are we going to do? My sister said I would mess this thing up. She was right. She hates me, dawg. Now who’s going to give a home to all of us? They can’t even find a foster home for one or two of us. Who’s going to take all of us?” “Look, man, you did what you thought was right and decent. Your moms did this to herself. As for your sister, well, she’ll come around eventually. You’ll see. Anyhow, there’s someone downstairs I want you to meet. So, come on, get yourself together, and come on down.” “Naw, dawg, I need some time to myself. Gotta figure out how to fix this mess I’ve made.” “Hey, man, you’ve done enough fixin’ for a while. I know what you said about being a father to your family and all, but don’t you think it’s time to just be a kid or maybe just a big brother to your brothers and sisters? You know, that’s all you really are. And that’s all they really want from you. Just be that, man, a kid.” The tears began to fall. Roy, ironically, smiled when he saw his little buddy crying. It looks like the man or the so-called father Tank thought himself to be

was leaving, which was fine by Roy. He knew that there was only room enough for just one—the child. Roy was glad to see him emerging. He helped his sobbing friend to his feet. He was Tank’s crutch. He helped him down the stairs. There in his small redecorated living room, which was designed for his mother, was a swarm of people. They’re here to separate my brothers and sisters, thought Tank, it’s happening just like Laylah said it would, and it’s all my fault! He gazed upon them through glassy eyes. He thought it strange when Roy led him to one particular woman. “Tank, I would like you to meet Mrs. Stone. This is my foster mother. She begged them to allow her to finish raising you and your brothers and sisters. Laylah already thinks she cool, man.” He looked up at Laylah. She gave him the thumbs-up sign with as much of a smile that she could conjure up. What Tank did not know was that Laylah merely needed some time, time to reassess what life with her mother was really like. It was pure hell. Yes, she felt a sense of lost, but there was also a sense of relief. The repulsive pain, hunger, and tension were finally over. Without even knowing, Laylah had played so many parts in her mother’s addiction. She had been the assembler, placing everyone and everything in its place. She would placate, ignoring her own problems to comfort others. She had to keep things running smoothly, even if it meant to pacify her mother by doing some things she’d later regret. She was the adjuster, constantly changing little things here and there to make them fit into their little dysfunctional family. She would have tried anything to make her family feel normal, because she loved them. Her heart will forever love Cora May in a nostalgic kind of way. Every child should want to welcome memories of their deceased mother. But how does one separate the good from the bad when there was so much bad and still understand love? Somehow, children have a way of doing that. You might recognize it when you hear a child say, “I know what my mother did, but I still love her.” For the first time in Laylah’s life, it was time for her also to just be a child. It took some getting used to at first. Laylah had played the mother figure to her siblings so long that Mrs. Stone had to remind her that she had everything under control. Yeah, she allowed Laylah to wipe a snotty nose or two. And she allowed her to help when a child was hurt, but they both shared the hugs and kisses. She

allowed Laylah to help set the table, but it was Mrs. Stone who cooked the delicious dishes, and finally, no more Oodles of the Noodles. Mrs. Stone introduced a new experience in the children’s life—Sunday school. They loved it. Tank got to read about David. It became his favorite story. He saw himself as David and drugs, to him now was Goliath. And like David had become king, perhaps one day he’d become president of the United States. Roy had taken Tank to the bank and helped him open CDs so that his money would be there for him and his siblings in time needed. Everything was beautiful in their lives now. They went to the best schools. They wore the best clothes. They had a swimming pool in their backyard. And they had a mother who really loved them. Tank arrested the thought of ever finding his biological father. However, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to include him in his bedtime prayers. After all, look at all the other blessings God had showered him and his siblings with thus far. Never in his wildest dream did he think that white boy Roy would be instrumental in taking down Matthias and Thomas Green. He did not have to worry about looking over his shoulders to see if old big fat Busy was somewhere watching anymore. He spent the majority of his time at the neighborhood library reading books on the subject of drug addictions, wondering if there could have been any other way he could have gotten his mother off the drugs without resulting in her death. There were so many books on the subject that it would have taken him a lifetime to read them all. In his childish mind, he was looking for a miracle, something simpler than what his mother had to go through, and something less drastic than what he himself had to do to get her the help she desperately needed. It was his siblings he thought about while doing his research. What if one day one of them finds that they have succumbed to addiction? One of the things he ed while doing his research was that addiction could be hereditary, which meant to him that it could easily happen to any of his siblings, heck, even to himself. He had been a very brave boy to do what he had done. But for now, there was no one else to get rid of anymore. There was no one else to kill. That day, Tank made a decision; he vowed to never do drugs. That was

the only way to truly kill an addiction—by never giving it life.