Madness 315

By Dashawn Fair

“Sell drugs” How did this idea haunt me like the boogeyman in the middle of the night? However, it promised so many great things in life, just at the cost of destroying many lives to reach that goal. "Selling drugs" I giggled at the images of those dope boys hustling outside.
“Selling drugs” It seemed like the perfect answer for a homeless kid with a younger brother to take care of. “Sell drugs” The image of my mother high from the same substance that made her not care about Nunnie or me. So is selling drugs worth it in the long run? Here it is three in the morning, and I am sitting on some person back porch in the cold, hiding, hoping not to be caught in the middle of the night. It seemed like I had two simple choices, and it did not get any clearer than this...
Sell drugs or Stay fucked up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dashawn Fair
• Release date: Feb 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9780692071441

Dashawn Fair

Published Author CEO @ ThaAuthor Publishing House

Book preview

Introduction

Born in a location where selling drugs and committing crimes is just fine. Raised and taught that jobs were never designed for us, so by -any-means-necessary becomes the way of life. Living with no hope, if moms not on drugs or pop not in jail, they call that faith. Mice in your apartment, roaches on your food, where the random gunfire is a typical sound. The cops are more likely to beat you than help you.

My name is Jasmine, a teenager living on the West side of Syracuse, New York. Along with my sister and two best friends. Take a walk with me as we pave our way for a piece of the pie. They say there are reasons behind everything. Watching my mother work long hours to provide since our father was not around is one of my goals. With his aunt ill and being the man of the house as a teen is my best friend's reason. See we all go through the struggle in different ways, seen through different eyes.

One

Syracuse, NY September 27, 2009

Hearing my mother in the other room telling the bill collector a lie tore at my emotions like a knife. I cannot continue to do nothing I complained to myself while sitting inside my room, TV turned off, so I could hear the conversation more clearly. It seems as if these calls were becoming more frequent each week. Like a reminder on your calendar or the time on an alarm clock, making sure you did not oversleep. I knew my mother was stressing-out, it was invisible on her exterior, no excess drinking, smoking or late nights on the town to cope with the pressure. Instead, my mother hid her tears behind working a full-time job, doing overtime every chance she got. If you cared enough to look between the lines, it was as clear as the morning sun, the stress a single mother was dealing with in life.

How could I act as if, nothing was going on around me? I thought inside my mind as frustration started to take over my logical thinking, I have to figure out a way to help my mother was the only thought that ran through my mind, like the Olympics. The pain inside my heart was genuine. There was no faking this. What was, keeping the house in immaculate shape, or receiving good grades in school? That was mandatory. I mean every kid should have those morals once you pass a certain age. I was disappointed in myself for allowing so much time to elapse, before I became aware of the situation.

Pardon me if I am painting an image of being poor. That is not the environment, and compliments to my mother for providing us with comfortable middle-class life. The grievance with me was, the reality of my mother maintaining such a lifestyle on her own. I know it may sound preposterous, being unaware of the facts for such a lengthy time. However, you have to take into consideration how independent and reserved my mother is. If mom dukes did not want you to be aware of a certain topic, her signature 'fake smile' would fool a person for years to come! Unlike that Nickelodeon cartoon, 'Blues Clues' my mother would not be leaving behind any hints or slip up's for somebody to catch on to ways.

I am not exactly sure how she manages to stay so militant, yet my mother perfected the trait. I never heard a family member speak on any of her flaws. Being honest, the only reason I caught on was, I started noticing my mother barely wore any outfits besides her work scrubs. Like her day consisted of just work. Rarely would I see my mother go on a date with her boo-thing. All she did was work, All the time! and with me and my sister Shonquella, being of age to take care of ourselves. It was as if, my mother would be at work, more than she was at home.

Removing me from my frame of thought was a soft knock on my room door. Not waiting for a response, my mother walked into my room, Jasmine... Did you eat today? My mother asked me. Yes was my response. Okay, because I am on my way to work, and I didn't know if I needed to whip you and your sister up something to eat before I go. My mother spoke, now inside my room. Sensing something was bothering her daughter; my mother told the person on the phone, she would call them on her way to work. Looking for attention, to express how I felt about my mother handling everything alone, I waited for my mother to hang the phone up. Once the phone call was over, my mother came and sat next to me on my bed. What's on your mind, Jasmine? My mother asked me, smelling like 'Love Spell' from Victoria Secret. To my surprise, the tone in her voice was not caring at all, more like irritated, as if she had enough on her plate already. Part of me started to laugh, seeing how I was looking for sympathy from my mommy. I guess that only happens in the movies, not in real life.

Needing an excuse as to why I was in my room, lost to my feelings, I had to think of something quick. Looking around my room, I saw my book bag hanging on the back of my closet door. I had a test in class today, and was just thinking if I did my best Did you study? my mother asked me as she laid back on my bed in her work scrubs like this was her bed. Smiling from how comfortable our bond was, I responded to her question, Yes mommy. However, Mrs. Wright had questions on the test that were not in the notes I like Mrs. Wright laughing, my mother sat up on my bed. Only you, mom! Now, what if it affects my overall grades and you put me on punishment for it.

Give your mother a hug before I leave for work! Getting up myself, I towered my mother 5'5 height easy, standing at 5'8 at age fourteen. Given my mother a 'Bearhug,' I always did this every time we hugged; it was kind of my thing. The relationship I shared with my mother was comfortable. I could hold a conversation about anything, no topics off limits. What I like most is the wisdom she shared with me, from her flaws. Sharing a laugh, my mommy kissed me on the cheek before heading out my room to get ready for work; leaving me feeling much better, as I sat back down on my bed. For a moment, I thought maybe it was not my place to worry about 'grown folks' problems, and it was best if I stayed in a teenager 'place.

Sike! this was all the way my problem, and I planned to figure something out, today. After my mother was gone, I pulled myself together before going to my younger sister room.

Knocking on Shonquella bedroom door

"What! Hearing Shonquella yells through her bedroom door, Who she thinks, she is! Sometimes, my sister thought she could beat me; I have to remind her, I'm the older sister. I said to myself, not feeling her response. Knocked even harder this time, letting her know who was in charge. A few seconds later, the door opened as Shonquella stood before me, wearing a t-shirt, boy shorts, looking all types of crazy. Were you sleeping? I asked my sister, as I walked into her room, leaving the door open behind me. Yes, I got no rest last night, and that test in school was the worse, I can't wait until Regents are over"

Let me talk with you for a second,

Okay, but why are you all on my dresser, Jasmine?

Because I can was my response. Laughing for no reason, I told Shonquella to meet me in the kitchen, we need to talk.

Huffing from what I asked, Shonquella got out of bed, not wanting to press her luck any further. Are you still a virgin, Quelle?

Yes, I am. Just because I am sleeping a lot, don't mean I am knocked up. Word to mommy, I never had sex before Finishing her sentence, while smacking her teeth. I handed my sister some weed to break up. Getting ready to roll the first dutch of the day, looking over at my sister with her arms inside her shirts. Knowing I needed to say what's on my mind. We need to talk about some serious topics, I told my sister. Once the haze was broke up small enough to fit in the dutch, I poured the content into the now empty dutch. As I inspected my work, I was very pleased with my work. Smiling knowing I just 'freaked' this dutch, I pulled out my favorite purple lighter, lightly rolling the flame along the length of the dutch to dry it, from my saliva.

Happy with the results, I waited for my sister to get back from the bathroom, so I could 'spark up.' As I put a flame to the dutch, I admired my younger sister's mocha brown completion; with 'good hair,' that she dyed a maroon/red color, for reasons I never understood. I guess she thought; it went with her skin complexion. My little sister was mad cute, and I always told her that. She could wear almost any hair design and pull it off, from a simple ponytail to her inches.

Standing no taller than 5'4, maybe three inches taller if she wore her heels, Shonquella was petite, with full breast and a nice little bootie. Shonquella was a tiny something, with a bold personality. She was outgoing, yet highly intelligent, with a passion for mathematics. As for myself, I took after my mother skin complexion. Although I like to say, I am my mother's twin. Light skin tone, with dark brown hair; almond-shaped eyes, with an irresistible color of hazel brown, my mother birthed two beautiful daughters, with my 'baby hair', which became sort of my signature trait. I am 17 and still had my baby hair. Another way I took after my mother is with my thick thighs and small waist. Grown men always attempted to approach me, only to be surprised about my age, I looked older than seventeen, and I got a lot of attention because of it.

My mother groomed my sister and me well, so we did not fall victim to all the attention we got at school or from boys in the streets. So, what is so important that it could not wait until later? Shonquella asked while flicking ashes in the ashtray, passing it to me across the table. Taking a deep breath, I tried to think of my next words very carefully. I learned a long time ago, the way our mind interprets a message, making sense, is not always, how the message comes out. How could I explain to my little sister, how I been noticing our mother was struggling, which was bothering me on a serious level.

"I guess the best way, is just