Dark Clouds: A Charm City Family's Struggle

By Crystal L. Bass

Overwhelmed by depression and fear, Ruby seems ready for a breakdown. It’s that secret, which if it comes to light could destroy her family. But if she doesn't speak out, she may be in danger. What is Ruby to do?

Writer Crystal L. Bass keeps the reader guessing as she uses side-splitting humor, ear for dialogue, love for working-class characters and heartfelt pathos to deftly move us through the story of the teenager who is caught in a quagmire.

Set in late-1980s Baltimore, Maryland, Bass skillfully pulls us into the story of Ruby Bowers, who is one of what her mother, Diane, calls her four precious gems. But Diane has never truly shown how precious they are, so it is no wonder that each is battling their own inner demons.

Dark clouds seem to permanently hover over the dysfunctional family, as they crazily yet lovingly struggle through enough family drama to last two lifetimes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crystal L. Bass
• Release date: Sep 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311337795

Crystal L. Bass

Crystal L. Bass is an American author, playwright, freelance writer, and motivational speaker. Her life’s work is rooted in the desire to raise awareness and inspire people to fulfill their true purpose. Throughout her career, Bass has used her platform to uncover and illuminate issues that are important to young women, to ultimately empower and strengthen them. In September 2010, Bass wrote and published her first novel, "Dark Clouds: A Charm City Family's Struggle”, chronicling the life of four siblings, the relationship with their mom, and the many incidents that took place during her childhood. After the release of her first-book, Bass teamed up with the “God-Father of Urban Theater”, Mr. Shelly Garrett to fulfill her dream of turning her novel into a stage play. With Garrett’s twenty-seven years of experience and Bass’ remarkable story, Crystal L. Bass Entertainment produced and toured nationally her hit stage play titled, "Ain't No Love Like A Mother's Love.” As Bass toured around the country with her stage play, she was compelled and inspired to provide an outlet that would encourage, equip and empower young girls all over the world. As a result, she launched the Precious Gems Campaign; a self-affirming program designed to teach young women that regardless of life's struggles, they are equipped with power to overcome obstacles and circumstances. The campaign promotes healthy parent-child relationships, encourages open communication within families, aids to reduce the rate of abuse and molestation of children, and cultivates high self-esteem and self-worth of young girls. A graduate of an all girls public high school, Bass has experienced firsthand the issues and struggles associated with the life of an inner city youth. As a child, Crystal discovered that she had the gifts of writing, storytelling, and performing. She developed these gifts at community events, plays and recitals as an actress, performer and choreographer. Later in life, Bass moved to Los Angeles, California where she would transform the personal struggles of her life to create depth in her performances and in her writing. She had the opportunity to work on independent projects as well as big budget films. Bass was cast as a body double for Regina King in the movie “Enemy of the State” starring Will Smith, and as a result, she successfully earned her Screen Actors Guild membership. Working with Regina King was a dream. Crystal later doubled and performed some of King’s stunts in the action thriller “Truth Be Told” starring Regina King and Blair Underwood. Bass also worked on a host of TV shows and commercials as a wardrobe assistant. In 2010, Crystal L. Bass founded Crystal Clear Publications. A publishing house where she could self-publish her work and tell her stories in a fashion that would showcase her unique storytelling style. Crystal Clear Publications boasts of a creative team of artists, editors, professors, and producers that work to assist her in transforming her works into published manuscripts, plays and films. Bass’ goal is to expand her publishing company and publish other talented writers who share her desire to inspire through their stories. Community advocate, mentor and role model, Crystal overcame the plight and stigma placed on life-style of the “single mother”. Bass soared above the socio-economic statistics, educational downfalls and personal-drama issues. Bass admits that her infectious smile, positive attitude, indomitable will to succeed; along with her results-oriented, approach gives her the power to achieve success in every area of her life. In the final stage, at the curtain call, when the encore beckons, let the script share, that Crystal L. Bass overcame every obstacle, circumstance and situation in her life that was designed to make her quit and used them as stepping stones toward a successful triumphant win.

Book preview

Dark

Clouds

A Charm City Family’s Struggle

by

Crystal L. Bass

Crystal Clear Publications 2010

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Elvige Ozell Bass. The pediatrician thing didn’t work out. Shortly after you left, I quickly learned that math and science were not and still are not my friends. Besides, people kept telling me that they liked my writing and storytelling abilities. They can’t all be blowing smoke up my a--. Oh well, I’m an author now. You still proud, right? R.I.P. Daddy!

Copyright©2010 Crystal L. Bass

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

ISBN: 978-0-9767028-1-9

Acknowledgments

This book has been many years in the making. After spending several years tucked in the dark, I thank my dear friend, editor and mentor Frank Dexter Brown for helping me bring it to light. Because of your guidance, I have a work of art of which I am proud.

To my one and only progeny, Jesse Edward Williams IV, you hold my heart in your hands. Please don’t drop it. Everything that I do is for you.

To my mom, Norma L. Melvin — your love, support and understanding is precious and will carry me on this journey. Be patient with me, I am still a work in progress. Thanks for all that you do. I love you super duper!

William L. Haynes Jr. — thanks for showing me what it is like to be put on a pedestal, and truly loved, unconditionally. You are my biggest fan, my teammate, my soul-mate, my MacGyver, my Big Poppa and my future. And yes, you lace me with the Gucci!

To my sister, Ivory Rainey Goode — you have been my personal cheerleader all of my life and I love you so much! Thanks for always being in my corner!

Much love to my big brother, Kurt L. Davis, who loves to read and always passes his books on to me. Now you can pass your little sister’s book on to someone else!

Thanks to my oldest sister Shirelle Moore-Jones for giving my mind many reasons to explore. I’m so glad that we’ve grown closer! Luv ya!

My cousin Sheryl Washington, we have done many things and gone many places and had a ball doing it! Your constant support is a blessing. I wish you lived closer!

I thank my two oldest nephews Bradley Goode and Ellis (Corey) Goode, for believing that Auntie could do this and much more. I love y’all! R.I.P. Skim!

My favorite uncle, Michael Jenson, for always taking the time out when it really counts. Thanks for years of love, encouragement and guidance.

Cherome Hines, I have lost count of the number of years we’ve been friends. We surpassed friendship and entered a world of sisterhood many years ago. You are truly my sista from another mista.

Stephanie Owens—my personal resource kit—you know EVERYTHING!

Thanks for going above and beyond. You are always willing to go that extra mile. I’ll see you at the finish line!

Greg Moses, I thank you for many years of friendship, knowledge, and positive energy.

Freddie and Jesse Williams, thanks for all of the love and support over the years.

Mae Cuffee, you have been a blessing, an angel— the grandmother that I lost at an early age.

Dr. Oluwatosin Adegbola, thanks for always being there when I need you the most. I love you for caring and being brutally honest! This is why I trust you with all that matters.

Dr. Chris Heidelberg, you have always believed in me from day one. You have given me years of valued support and a wealth of knowledge.

Takesha Way, thanks for your loyalty and friendship over the years.

Brianna Faulkner — you are a phenomenal artist with a bright future. Thanks for the cover art.

Tijani Charles, my surrogate son — you wore many hats on this project without complaint! Thanks for the logo, cover design, book design and packaging! You took the time to get it right and that means the world to me! Get those adoption papers ready baby!

Marc DeFrancis, thanks so much for appreciating my empirical methodology. Your copyediting was great but your kind words reduced me to happy tears.

Bahiyyah Henry, thanks for taking the time to uplift me in a moment of insecurity and insanity.

Samson Olanrewaju, thanks for all of your guidance, and encouragement. I appreciate that you care about my finances and future.

Batch Mar, thanks for years of love and support.

My special family members who have always been loving and supportive — Sabrina Hill, Rosalyn Foyles, Sylvester and Shirley Ann Hill.

Marina Gethers, I thank you for listening, believing, and encouraging!

Thanks to my Uncle Sherman Davis for encouraging me at an early age to write. I never forgot that.

Dana Smith-Yates and Sherry Bagby-Queen—my two childhood besties! Whenever we talk, we pick up right where we left off! Thanks for the love.

Sontia Hubbard and Calita Horsey, thanks for keeping me lifted daily. I don’t know if I could get through the workday without those e-mails!

Thanks to everyone who supports my grandiose visions. Your love, support and encouragement is priceless. At some point, you all have supported, encouraged, inspired or motivated me with a positive word or two or more: Danielle Bass, Stephen (Snoop) Sutton, Jarmar Jones, Reggie Williams, Sherwand Washington, Michele Johnson, Roman Ce Thomas, Daphne Brown, Morgan Solomon, Scott Seward, Shanelle Parker, Erin Tennessee, Stacy Couser-Wade, Ellen Linehan, Gail Cobb-Johnson, Shan Brooks, Jaime Thomas, LaVar Taylor, Robert Lucas, Dr. Alan Kennedy, Professor Margie McCampbell, Shantel McDuffie, Melvin Pringle, Joseph and Deirdre Osiomwan, Linda Maltz, Neil Hardman, Edwin Green, Kori Davis, Latosha Anderson, Lil Sis Sandi Fisher-Manns, Elias Nawd, Tracie Carter, Al Davis, Zelda Carter-Umana, Jazzy Photos, and all of the Facebook fans.

R.I.P Big Jesse!

If I forgot anybody — charge it to my mind and not my heart. I got you on the sequel!

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

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 1

It was Saturday, June 20, 1984, at 7 a.m., almost three months to the day after the total devastation that had hit the place known as Charm City. A lot of pain was shared when in the middle of that snowy night in March the new team owner, Robert Irsay, used fifteen Mayflower moving vans to sneak the Baltimore Colts to Indianapolis. So even now, on this sunny morning marking the beginning of summer, the entire city was still outraged.

But it was hard to keep a good woman down. For Diane, this was a new day and all was good in Baltimore, her hometown. Full of excitement and energy, she sprung up out of bed. For her, it was a special day. Before she brushed her teeth or wiped the sleep from her eyes she opened the window and yelled, "Happy Birthday, baby. Feliz cumpleanos. Bon anniversaíre. Oh Happy Day!" Even though her man was a few miles away at work and could not hear her, Diane wanted the rest of the world to know that today was his birthday. She grabbed a pillow and pretended it was Robert. Together they did the samba, the cha-cha and kicks from A Chorus Line. Diane broke out in a fierce sweat. Quite naturally, the scorching hot June temperature began to drown out some of that adrenalin.

Afraid of being beat by the heat, Diane slowed down. She went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and cooled off in an ice-cold shower. The governor had issued a state of emergency drought alert. All week long, Baltimoreans had been suffering due to record-breaking temperatures. The weathermen called for the dreaded three H’s: Hot, Hazy and Humid. Every day this week it was 101 degrees, and the heat index was about 115 degrees.

That cold water sure felt heavenly to Diane. It made her feel the three R’s: Refreshed, Revived and Ready to party. She hopped into her wardrobe and dashed down the short hallway. She jumped into her youngest daughter’s room and yelled, Rise and shine, chile! Ruby ignored her. Git cho boney butt up chile! Diane yelled again.

This glorious day was not so glorious for little Miss Ruby. She was forced to celebrate the birth of someone she despised. It was something about her mother’s boyfriend that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She slowly raised her head and said, Ma, it is too dag-gone early and too dag-gone hot for all this yellin’ and carryin’ on!

Well, that’s just too bad. I need you to git up and blow up some balloons for me.

Blow up balloons? We ain’t got no air conditioner and you expect me to blow up balloons, hot as it is? Ma, people and pets have been dyin’ all week long from heat exhaustion. Why don’t you go somewhere and rent a helium tank? Or better yet, why don’t you just go and buy some balloons that are already blown?

’Cause I don’t want to.

Why not?

Because I said so! This is the universal response used by black parents when they really do not have a logical answer for questions their children ask. And besides, the people who have died were all old, Diane rationalized.

Okay, fine. When I fall out, don’t say nuffin’! We can just sit in St. Agnes Hospital all night long for all I care. It ain’t my birthday.

Diane did not want to hear any of Ruby’s lip today because she wanted everything to go as perfectly as she had planned. She knew that Ruby would come up with a million excuses and she knew why — Ruby would do anything to get out of participating in this party. Last night she even tried to spend the night over her cousin and best friend Sherry’s house. Diane was already hip to that game though. Ruby was taking her sweet time getting out of bed. Diane thought about throwing a cup of cold water on her but she decided against that. Instead, she kindly helped Ruby out of the bed by damn near throwing her down the stairs and pushing her into the dining room. There was a table full of uninflated balloons and all kinds of decorations.

All dis stuff is waitin’ for you Ruby. You gon’ be my decorations coordinator, Diane said, trying to pump Ruby up. "The theme of this party is gon’ be ‘King of the Hills.’ Not over the hills, but of the hills. So don’t get it twisted! I want you to make everything look real nice, ya hear? I know how creative you can be. And hurry up in there so we can do that floor."

Yeah right, whatevah, Ruby mumbled.

What you say chile?

I said, it is too early to blow up these balloons, they are going to go down by the time the party starts!

Diane ignored that comment and kept on moving. Ruby was the youngest and most creative of Diane’s four kids. She was the last to live at home. I be glad when I git outta here! King of the Hill! What motherfuckin’ hill? Must be the hill on Ma’s ass ’cause it ain’t nare damn hill ’round this raggedy-ass neighborhood! she said aloud to no one in particular. Ruby sure knew how to cuss, for a teenager. She was raised on profanity. If Diane didn’t teach her anything at all she taught her to have a foul mouth. Diane cursed like a sailor.

Ruby was rather small for thirteen. Very small, but very mature. A real P.Y.T. (pretty young thing). Ruby experienced her first taste of racism at the tender age of nine when a white woman walked up to her in the store and said, Hi little girl, you sure are pretty to be black. It was funny that everyone seemed to think Ruby was pretty, except for Ruby. When she looked in the mirror, beauty is not what she saw. All she seemed to see was blackness — the very blackness for which she was often teased. And her height was another thing. For instance, everybody had pet names and all of the nicknames for her, while playful, were all about her shortness — Li’l Bit, Minnie Mouse, Puss and Boots and Half-Pint. Her natural father called her Squirt. Then she dressed a little hoochie to be thirteen. But she had learned everything she knew about boys, style and fashion from her older sisters. That was Ruby.

Foxy Brown, the last of the red-hot tamales, her grandfather James declared each time he saw her, adding, Ohhh, chocolate as could be, and not half as short as you are skinny. She had an enormous appetite. She would eat everything that wasn’t nailed down and never gained an ounce. She sure didn’t take after Diane. Diane was known for three H’s of her own: Hungry-Hungry-Hippo. Ruby was lucky enough to only inherit Diane’s good genes. They were both man magnets. The youngster attracted lots of older guys because she looked as grown as her older sisters. Ruby hated to go out in public with Diane because men always made comments about Diane’s behind. She was forbidden to ever come to her children’s schools because they would always be teased after their mom left.

Ruby was tired of living under the same roof as her family — she considered them mental cases. First there was Robert, who she hated with a passion. Robert was a fairly handsome man, kind of favoring Charles S. Dutton with Dudley Moore’s eyes. Then there was her mother, who worshiped the very ground Robert walked on. If he said jump, she wanted to know how high. In her eyes, the man could do or say no wrong. She even thought his rump-roaring was cute. Oh yeah, she swore that he was Black Jesus and that his behind smelled like a bed of roses. Then there was Hazel, Robert’s 71-year-old mother, who had to move in when she started showing early signs of Alzheimer’s disease. That was ten years ago and her illness had progressed a hell of a lot since then. (Alzheimer’s is like a thief in the night — it creeps in and steals its victim’s adult mind and drops it off years back into infancy — something like Michael J. Fox’s movie Back to the Future.)

Hazel was a real character. Ruby got a kick out of her and had grown fond of her over the years. She walked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and stuttered. Nine times out of ten, she couldn’t tell you her own name. You could bet your bottom dollar that she never ever forgot how to clean though. She wandered in the night and caused all kinds of confusion in the house. Hazel was strong and combative at times. For these reasons, she was confined to the basement — her own personal hacienda.

Hazel! Hazel! Git up so you can help me clean up this house for your son’s birthday party.

What you talkin’ ’bout? I ain’t, ain’t, ain’t, um... I don’t even know what I was tryin’ to say. Forgot that fast.

I said come help me clean up for your son’s birthday party.

I ain’t got no son, honey... and who is you anyway?

Diane clutched Hazel’s right arm to help her mother-in-law up the basement steps.

You got my ankle, Miss. Let go my ankle. Move for I, for I call them there police! G’on for I knock you over the head wit that there two-by-four. How you git in my house anyhow?

Put that damn shoe down. Numba one, I got ya wrist, not cha ankle. Numba two, it is not a two-by-four. If you hit me wit it, I’ma hit cha ass back. Dis is my damn house, Miss Hazel. We both live here. Stop acting like you don’t know me today.

No sweetie pie, I ain’t never seen you befo’. No sir! Not a day in my, my, my life.

Mrs. Anderson wants you to clean for her today. She sent me to git you.

Mrs. Anderson?

Yeah.

Oh good, then I mighty, mighty gl... gla... glad you came.

Mrs. Anderson was the white woman for whom Hazel had been a maid fifty years earlier. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson both died several years back, but all these years later, Hazel still rushed up the steps to clean for them. The thought of cleaning at the Anderson house made her happy. Humming an ol’ church hymn, Hazel began to clean. From out of nowhere, she got the energy and the strength of a woman half her age. Hazel and Diane got down doggie-style and began to scrub. Diane scrubbed so hard that the grout from the ceramic tile started to chip.

Shit, I don’t even know my own strength!

Diane was so excited and hyper. Everything about Robert sent her on a natural high. A little voice came through the wall, You need to leave that crack alone, Ma.

Ruby was just joking, but her mom had no sense of humor. Diane did a lot of things, but getting high was never a part of her agenda. When the two women stood up from the floor, Diane and Hazel looked like they had just crawled out of the wrestling ring with Hulk Hogan and Supa Fly Snuka. Diane’s face was beet red and Hazel was shining like new money. When the tag team was done, they didn’t have to bother with borrowing folding chairs from the church. Everybody could have gone Chinese or Senegalese style and eaten right off the floor. Hazel snuck off to the living room and started picking the carpet. She was down on her hands and knees where she loved to be. Her knees did not look like they belonged on her body. They were ten shades darker than the rest of her skin. You could not tell her that she was not out on a cotton field picking cotton. Neither Eureka nor Hoover nor Dirt Devil could out-clean Hazel when it came to carpet. Clutching Hazel’s arm, Diane screamed, Git up, charcoal knees! Time to go back to your domain. You need to rest after all that cleaning.

No Barb! Let me go Barb, turn me loose! I’m not finished. Let me clean. I don’t want Mrs. Anderson gittin’ mad and firin’ me!

You know I ain’t no damn Barb. You ain’t dat damn crazy. You full of shit, dats what you are. Every damn day you come up wit some new shit and it gits on my nerves!

Barbara was Robert’s ex-wife and the mother of his only known child, a grown man now known by the name of Bobby. She and Robert have been divorced for several years and Diane has been in the picture ever since. Robert moved Barb out and moved Diane right in.

Since all you can remember is Barb dis and Barb dat now, tell Barb to come over here and take care of your crazy ass. I betcha she wouldn’t do it. I git sick and tired of bathin’ you and feedin’ you and wipin’ your stink ass!

With the steam flying from Diane’s ears, one would think that she was the daughter of the Dungeon Dragon. She took a long deep breath and sighed, Okay, I’m gonna think positive and have a good day today. I ain’t gon’ let that woman or nobody else upset my nerves. My baby’s birthday only comes once a year.

She escorted Hazel back to the basement and returned to the kitchen.

Diane opened up the fridge and didn’t know where to start. Yesterday she bought food stamps from one of the junkies around the corner. The guy wanted one hundred dollars cash for two hundred dollars worth of stamps. She had already been to the market on Thursday and Lord only knows how much she spent that day. She liked to hop from market to market catching all of the sales. Never mind the amount of gas she wasted by running to and fro. She carried about five circulars and at least two-dozen coupons. There was so much food and so much cooking to be done. Chef Diane had her work cut out for her. She was too proud to ask anybody for help. Plus, she wanted to take all of the credit. That was her way of impressing Robert.

Lord knows she couldn’t count on little Miss Queen Bee Ruby for much help. That prima donna child couldn’t even boil an egg. Hell, she could barely fix a bowl of cold cereal. That bothered Ruby at times. She always heard the girls at school speaking about their moms taking them into the kitchen and grooming them for being a housewife or mother. She’d even hear other girls speak of their moms making them independent enough to wash their own laundry. Ruby often listened and wondered why her mom never prepared her for womanhood. Diane always seemed to be too wrapped up in a man to pay this type of attention to her daughters and son, or as she called them, her geMiss She was a great cook and Ruby would have loved to learn from her. Instead, Diane always told Ruby that she was in the way.

Diane seasoned the chicken, steak and ribs. The meats were going on the grill and she wanted the flava’ to soak in. Things just wouldn’t be right if she forgot to whip up those homemade burgers, made with Lipton onion soup mix and Worcester sauce. That was just one of her many specialties. The menu she had laid out was the bomb. There were deviled eggs, macaroni and cheese, seafood and potato salads, cole slaw and a lunchmeat dish. Added to that list were crab cakes, fried fish, pigs feet, collard greens, and sweet corn on the cob. Chef Diane had also placed an order for some of Baltimore’s specialty. Sea Pride, on the corner of Pratt and Monroe, had the best crabs in town. Because it was only a few blocks away, Diane rushed around there and picked up a bushel of males and a bushel of females. Black folk just can’t eat crabs alone though. In Baltimore, the crab capital of the nation, crabs and beer go together like milk and cookies or burgers and fries — always a packaged-meal deal. Then, the menu continued on with dessert for days. There were coconut custard pies and sweet potato pies, and all kinds of cakes and ice cream too. Diane’s two specialty cakes were red velvet cake and German chocolate cake. Everyone in attendance would surely add an inch or two to their waistlines. Diane put on her magic cookin’ cape, spun around and clapped her hands like Dynamite James Evans Jr. and turned into the Negro version of Betty Crocker.

Lord, it’s gon’ be enuf food here to feed an entire army and Bea Gaddy’s Homeless Shelter, too! Diane said sofltly. Her joke about Bea Gaddy, the well-known, well-respected homeless advocate in Baltimore City who has fed so many folk, was a comment reflecting love and caring.

Looking curious, Ruby approached the kitchen and interrupted Miss Crocker.

Ma, I need to git something off my chest.

What Ruby? You see me gittin’ busy in here.

I just have one question. When I ask you, please don’t start hollering.

Don’t ask me nuffin’ stupid then!

My teacher said it ain’t no such thing as a stupid question.

Ruby paused, looking bewildered.

Well, go ahead and spit it out chile. Spill ya guts! What cha waitin’ fo’? Me to jump down ya throat and tap dance on ya lungs?

Did Robert secretly change his religion to Muslim or Jehovah Witness or something? If he did, why we celebrating his birthday so hard?

I don’t think that’s any of your damn business, and besides, what dat got ta do wit anything?

’Cause I ain’t never seen him give you nada, zilch, nuffin’ for your birthday. As a matter of fact, he ain’t never even gave you nuffin’ for Christmas or Valentine’s Day, either. Has he ever given you a piece of chocolate? How about a single rose? He’s never even taken you to the movies or to McDonald’s to git a Big Mac. He oughta be givin’ you stuff all year around just for takin’ care of his mammy. I know he’s yo man and all, but that is soooooo sad!

Diane was