Selfish Acts

By Kimberly A. Henderson

When Childhood relationships are carried on into adulthood, sometimes its hard to remember why you were friends in the first place. Especially when there are secrets that not everyone knows about each other. Daniel considers himself a true friend to all, but he senses that there are times when Stacy is more receptive to Big Anthony. Even though they have all known each other since they were in grade school, Big Anthony and Stacy always have that certain connection that no one else can figure out. And with everything else going on in Daniels life with his on-again/off-again girlfriend Melissa, he feels like his opportunities for happiness are progressing slower than normal.
Stacy has never been a true believer in a lifetime of happiness. Her views and ideals on relationships stem from an abusive home environment that she just cannot let go of. Men are disposable and love never means what people want it to mean. The only steady relationships she has had are her close nit group of friends. But only one of them truly knows all of the demons that haunt her. Big Anthony has been her closest confidant since high school, the only one she trusts with all of her past. But when she, Big Anthony and the rest of their friends are confronted with a devastating loss, and unforeseen circumstances, it takes all of Stacys courage, will and faith to see how much they all can overcome and move on from the past to the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481717861

Kimberly A. Henderson

Kimberly A. Henderson has always had a passion for the arts. She tried her hand at music, drawing and finally writing, which was greatly encouraged by her parents, both educators. She is a life long Kansas City, Kansas resident, wife, and mother of three sons.

Book preview

Chapter 1

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Stacy

T HE MOONLIGHT COMING into my bedroom windows was the only romantic mood setting needed that night. The breeze flowing through the chiffon curtains cascaded like waterfalls, as the wind gently blew through the windows. The moon was shinning directly into the windowpane, and with the bed positioned cattycornered, it made it easy for the moon to cast our shadows on the walls. As I was encountering my one night performance only with Jeff, I stared at our silhouettes on the wall. I was in my usual position, on top and, in control. I had his hands above his head with mine holding them down. His facial expression was that of shear pleasure and pain as my nails was digging into his wrists; face was down looking at him. His eyes were shut tight as if he were making a wish. My hair was covering most of my face and my look, I know was of concentration. As I smirked while watching him, I could not help but tease him with my lyrics. Tell me I make you feel good baby. Damn baby, you know you do. He grunted. I felt him thrust his pelvis upward, that sent chills through my spine. All I want to do is make you scream. Jeff half opened his eyes, and then frowned. He moaned again, another powerful pelvic thrust and another chill up my spine. Tell me I please you baby. I bent down and bit his neck, ran my tongue up to his ear then, bit his ear lobe. Please tell me I please you. This is what got me excited, my sensual words of pleasure. His body shuddered. I rose up, pulling my hair from my face then brushing it back. I arched my back and moaned. His hands immediately came up to cup my breast. Now that felt divine. I leaned over more to whisper into his ear. Do what you came here for baby. Straightening back up, my hands covered his over my breast as I was riding his chocolate brown ass like I was from Pony Express. Jeff moaned again. Shit you feel good. The more I looked at our shadows on the wall, the more excited I became. It was like watching a live porno show. Jeff began to thrust as I moved up and down with ecstasy. I was ready to go the distance, when all of the sudden the man just started screaming out my name. Damn. I couldn’t believe it. His body went rigid. He squeezed my breast as though they were utters and he needed a gallon of milk. This punk just came. I just looked down at him and stared as his eyes, still shut shook his head from side to side as though he was going into convulsions. Once again, I had to fake some type of excitement when he asked me if I felt it. What I felt was gypped again. But how can I get mad when it was just a one-night-stand. I had no real intention of ever seeing this guy again. Therefore, you get what you pay for, and I didn’t pay much. I collapsed on him as though he really rocked my world. I kissed his neck, lay for a few minutes, and then pulled up off of him. Jeff lay there with a stupid grin on his face. Shit baby, a brother can get used to that kind of luvin. I rose up and sat on the edge of the bed stretching. You want something to drink? I asked. He tried to reach for me but I had already gotten up and reached for my satin robe. I turned to him and smiled. I’ll get us some juice, o.k.? Then I walked out of the bedroom. The bathroom is the door over to your left so you can wash off and towels are in the closet. I didn’t even look back. I didn’t even care. I walked through my living room, through the hallway, then to the kitchen. I flicked the light on and went to the refrigerator. As I stood with the refrigerator door wide open trying to make my selection of beverage, my insides were screaming for relief. My lower body was throbbing intensely. I rubbed my hand down past my stomach and stopped. I took in a deep breath, patting my private parts. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you in just a little while. After saying that I picked up two Sure-Fine orange juice bottles and closed the refrigerator door. My steps were slow and heavy. How in the hell am I going to get this man out of here at this time of night. It was two-thirty Saturday morning. I had spent forty-five minutes giving this guy some good shit. Tantalizing, teasing, major pussy play and he couldn’t even warn me that the fireworks were about to begin. When I got back to the bedroom, I stopped and looked over toward my bed. Jeff was still laying there with the sheet half over his body and one leg propped up. He had all of the pillows under his big head along with his hands. That smile he gave me was supposed to let me know round two was about to begin, I guess. Come on and get back in the bed baby. Why don’t you show me some more of those tricks? (Mother-fucking rabbit, tricks are for kids.) I smiled that sultry smile. Walked over to him as though we were about to embark on a wild adventure. Baby that’s all I been thinking about. I handed him his juice. Just let me get another wrapper for your present. He moaned while I felt like I wanted to puke. For some reason in the light, he wasn’t as handsome as he was in the dark. Eyes too close together, that has to be a sign of craziness. His hands were huge, but like they say, another myth bites the dust. Nice chest but hair like a Gorilla. I bent over to my end table where I keep my stash of condoms, pulled the drawer open, looked at my healthy supply. Damn Baby! I slammed the drawer closed. I’m out of protection. Maybe if he thought I was out of condoms that would take care of round two, so I plopped down on the bed exasperated. I turned to him with that look of utter disappointment. We can’t do this without condoms. I leaned over and stroked his face. We’re going to have to put it off until I restock. Jeff looked at me as if I were talking Klingon. Baby I know I don’t have anything, and I’m sure you don’t. What the fuck is he getting ready to suggest? He moved over close to me and put his hand inside my robe, down to my secret garden. I know we can trust each other. He began rubbing me soft and gentle. I closed my eyes and moaned. This was wrong. I shook my head. No condom, no sex. My breathing became erratic. My mind was wandering off to that dark place where logic doesn’t exist. I kept trying to fight that feeling. Jeff, we can’t do this. His mouth moved to my left breast. Damn! Not the left one. I’m sinking. He kissed the nipple, and then gently tugged it. I grabbed his head trying to pull it up. Somehow that just did not work. I’ll pull it out before I cum. He was already pushing me down on the bed. In my mind, I knew that what I was getting ready to do was insane. I had just met this man five hours ago. How could I have had sex with him, and now getting ready to have UNPROTECTED SEX? He pulled my robe belt loose. Slowly, he circled my nipples with his tongue. Jeff, no… we can’t… oh… do this… ohhh…

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The morning after still left much to be desired. I stared out of my bedroom window, waiting for Jeff to wake from his slumber. I turned to look at him, all sprawled across my bed as if he belonged. That sick feeling in the pit of my stomach started to surface. What the hell was I doing? Why did I give into this man a second time last night when I wasn’t satisfied the first time? And why in the hell did I not pull out a condom when we started getting’ busy again. Why did I have to perpetrate that lie? A chill ran over my body. AIDS. Was the sex that good that I just couldn’t stop? Just because he said, trust me. What the hell was I thinking? It’s bad enough I couldn’t remember what he said his last name was, but to not use a rubber was damn stupid. I sure couldn’t tell my girl Amanda this. She already has her stuck up opinions on my lifestyle. Rustling came from the direction of my bed. God I hope he’s ready to go. I looked back out of the window. There was hardly any traffic on Broadway. It was going on ten o’clock. I had things to do today, like douche. Hey baby. Jeff rose up. Come back to bed. He patted the space next to him. I smiled. Walking over to him I tightened the belt on my robe. Baby, I got to go to work, but it sure sounds tempting. He watched as I went over to my oversized futon in the corner and started to pick up his clothes. I walked over to him with his belongings, looking back to make sure I didn’t forget anything. I placed all of his stuff on the bed and sat down on the corner of the bed. I made sure I kept good distance between us. I really had a good time last night. I kept my smile as pleasant as possible. But I’ve really got to get to work. Jeff sat up just looking at me with a goofy grin pulling for his underwear and slacks. Where do you work? Son-of-a-Bitch. I just gave up the goodies and this man doesn’t know a damn thing about me. However, why in the hell does that surprise me. I work for Bingham Computers. He stood up and put on his underwear, then slacks. Damn baby, you making big bucks. I got a friend that works there named Joshua Anderson. He slipped his sweater over his head. Do you know him? I shook my head, while handing him his belt. I can’t say that I do. I looked at the clock on my wall. Shit. It’s ten-thirty seven. Can this nigger get dressed any faster? I stood up and walked over to him. Baby, I hate to rush you but I’ve really got to get ready for work. What do you do there? Totally ignoring me, he started searching for his shoes. I let out a sigh and started to help him in his search. I’m a training supervisor in the technical analyst department. I train employees on how to problem solve and their questions while walking them through their computer setup. Jeff found his shoes under the futon. How they got way over there I didn’t know, but at least he found them. He slipped on his Stacy Adams still standing. As I am looking at Jeff, that feeling of contempt comes rushing over me. What did I find in him last night that I couldn’t find this morning? He’s an attractive man, but they are all attractive in some form or fashion. I’m sure he has a decent job, but I’m sure my job or should I say my career is taking me farther than I ever expected, and farther than he could possibly imagine. I walked over to him with his car keys in my hand. He does drive a Toyota 4Runner. Those are really tight, but I can afford a Toyota Sequoia. Which is what I’m supposed to be going to do today. He wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my neck. Stacy, you’re some piece of work my Nubian Sister. I smiled. Give me your number and I’ll call you. Jeff looked at me cocking his head. Hey, isn’t that the guy’s line? He started to laugh; unaware of what was really happening here. I kissed his cheek. Maybe we could hook up again sometime. He kissed me back. That’s a definite. I let go of his grip, walked behind him, and started pushing him out of the bedroom and towards the door. He had his hands in his pocket talking gibberish about how he was going to be waiting on me to call him because he could get used to a sister like me. Please. I let out a nervous laugh and hoped he didn’t catch on. I knew this would be the first and last encounter between us. He took his hands out of his pockets, pulling out some gum wrappers and bits of paper. As he kept talking on and on about how we should hook up again, I saw him glance over to the left, ball up the wad of trash and shoot it over to the wooden water buckets I had by the second window. I stopped in my tracks. He just kept on walking and talking until he noticed I was not behind him. Baby what’s wrong? Without looking to him, I kept my eyes on the water buckets. Those are not trash baskets. He could tell from my tone that I was not to be taken lightly on this. I reached down and got his trash. Walking back over to him, I reached for his hand and put the gum wrappers and bits of paper back into his hand. My trash basket is on the way out. My tone was not mistaken for anything else but you have just stepped over your bounds. What he had just done, he was not aware of, or was I willing to explain the water buckets, but he knew something had been done to my dissatisfaction. My pace quickened. I’m sorry, but I just thought they were old buckets for trash. A pain hit me in the stomach. I took a deep breath, turned around and smiled. I had a good time last night. I walked over to the front door and opened it. Jeff played it off and smiled back. As he was walking through the door, he suddenly stopped and turned back around. Hey, I forgot to give you my number. I looked up at him and smirked. I’m at the Epicuarean every Friday. We’ll hook up again sometime. With that, I closed the door. Taking another deep breath I walked into the kitchen to my Mr. Coffee coffee machine. I changed the filter, poured more than the necessary amount of coffee into the filter, and then placed it back into the machine, turning it on. I walked over to the cordless phone on the kitchen counter and dialed Amanda’s number. Her answering machine came on. Amanda, it’s me. Give me a buzz when you get back or out of the shower. I think I want to buy that Toyota Sequoia today. Call me back when you get this. Bye. I put the phone back on its stand, walked back into the bedroom, over to the bed, and immediately started to strip the bed of its covers. As I did, I glanced over to the four rust-caked wooden water buckets lined a row in my window. Momma.

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I had gotten my party on real tight last night at the Lounge Epicuarean with my girl Amanda. I wore a new black silk dress from a specialty shop at Bannister Mall called Femme-Tastic. I thought to myself, with a name like that, they had to have some dresses that made a man want to drink your bath water. The owner was from Africa, named Akilah, which she said meant Intelligent one who reasons. She was a real smooth mocha chocolate woman with a neck as long as a number two pencil, with fingers to match. (Why is it our African brothers and sisters or any other ethnic group for that matter can come across the water, and immediately get a loan to start a business when we African Americans just sit on our asses and complain about not getting ahead? What is it that they all have that we don’t, but that’s another topic for another conversation.) I first noticed the shop about seven months ago when I attended the Kansas City, Kansas’ Policeman’s Ball. Amanda and I had been out all day trying to find the right attire for that next weekend for the ball, when I came across Femme-Tastic. Akilah’s store was not like the other Afro-centric clotheries where you felt like you were being put in the position to buy something just because it was a shop that sold items specifically to us that were made just for ‘us’. When was it said that they had to be so damn bright and colorful. I mean, I like my colors, but I don’t like to wear them all at the same time. That is what I liked about Akilah. Her clothes were of earth tones, with hints of soft pastels and prints. And she had a section of after five dresses to die for. Now Amanda, she went for the most outrageous and outlandish styles you could possibly find. Everything she wore, from formal wear to underwear, made a bold Afro-centric statement. For that night, I found a rose colored strapless silk dress, with a matching Taffeta scarf. I found my shoes at Bob Jones shoe outlet on Nineteenth and Grand, and dyed them to match the dress perfectly. The whole ensemble, along with full manicure/pedicure and a trip to the beauty salon put me back financially to where I should have been eating pressed ham sandwiches for lunch for a while, but, damn, the way I looked, it made me want to drink my own bath water.

Amanda and I were both fine as wine that night, even though Amanda had on some wild burnt orange leather strapless number. And where she found shoes to match, I’ll never know. At the night’s end, we both were approached more that I could count. Since we came together, or should I say I drove, which I always do because I’m the one with the dependable transportation, we left together. I dropped her off at Larry’s. She’s been seeing that guy off and on for the past five years. He’s not a bad man, just no ambition as far as I’m concerned. The only time she leaves him is when I start to talk about his goals and aspirations. He’s a mechanic, not even in his own shop. He works for Firestone out in Kansas City, Kansas. He’s comfortable with that and has told Amanda several times if she’s not, she can step. I know she loves him, but that is just not me. And as always, she goes back to him. Larry didn’t particularly care for me, because of my lifestyle. I never settle for just one man, and I never hid the fact that that’s the way I like it. In fact, I loved it. More than that, it was fucking fantastic. No ties to bind. No one man ever made me feel like I wanted to be with him on a constant basis. I just didn’t see the point or reasoning. I know it works for the most part for some people to be in a monogamous relationship, but I love adventure. I love spontaneity. I liked being in control of whatever situation presents it self to me. Larry thought I’m influencing Amanda. I told him all the time if she wanted to stray, it’s not because of me. If she ever did, it would certainly be his fault. It would be because of his inability to keep her satisfied. Once I said that, Larry and I didn’t say too much to each other. When I went to pick up Amanda at her place, Larry, was at her place 99.9% of the time, only said a dismal hello. I tried to make conversation with him, but to him I was the enemy.

Well, after I dropped her off at Larry’s. I hooked up with the Fine cop. Ricky Matthews was the epitome of an African God. Smooth dark chocolate skin, chiseled facial features, and a body as hard as a rock. Before I left with Amanda, we made plans to meet in the parking lot of the Grand Slam liquor store right on the edge of downtown Kansas City, Missouri. Ricky went into the liquor store and bought a bottle of Hennessy, a bottle of Nestea Ice Tea and two cups with ice. I decided that we would take his car and park mine at my loft. We took a drive around downtown. From eighth and Broadway, down to The Plaza. Ricky had just purchased a brand new Lexus, really clean, all leather interiors and a kick-ass CD system. He also owned a boat, a motorcycle, and a 1975 Porsche 911 that he was restoring. Impressive. He mentioned he had been with the police department in Kansas for almost fifteen years. He’s been on every beat in the metro area. I asked him why not become a detective. He’s certainly put in the years for experience. His honesty blew me away, and I wasn’t surprised at all, on how excited it made me. He openly admitted that he’s on the take with most of the major drug dealers here in Kansas. As I listened to his lavish confessions of being on the take, it became clear to me how he could afford this SUV and all of the other Stuff he was bragging about. Why this information he thought impressed me, I’ll never know. I guess with his good looks, conceited attitude, and supply of never ending dirty money, getting the ladies wasn’t a problem. And I guess that’s why he turned me on so much. The thrill of it all. In addition, it wasn’t the fact that he did all of this dirt to get the things he wanted in life. With half a brain, anyone can do that. The thrill in it for me was at the rate he was buying up all of this stuff, Internal Affairs was probably on his hot little ass. Yes, I got the thrill that I might just be the last good piece of ass he gets for quite some time.

As he went on and on about how easy it was for him, and how many policemen, detectives and Internal Affairs personnel were also involved, and how he was cool with all of the Big Ballers, I just nodded and smiled, occasionally giggling making him believe I was really impressed with how corrupt our system really is. This man had no idea of who I really was. For all he knew, I could have been with IA. It would have been so delicious to have had him drive back over to the Kansas side as if nothing was wrong, let him walk into work bright and early Monday morning with that deep dimpled grin, exclaiming over how many women he pulled that Friday night at the Policeman’s Ball. Then have his sergeant solemnly escort him to his office, where I would be sitting ever so sexy, yet dignified. Officer Matthews, his sergeant would say, this is Detective Stacy Cole, with Internal Affairs. I could see his face lose it smooth chocolate color as he looked at me with no inkling of how he couldn’t have known I was a cop. I would love to see his face as it retorted into a look of total disbelief. How his little narrow mind would be calculating how many names he dropped as he was telling his tales, and how his beautiful big brown head would drop as he listened to the tape of all the names of the drug dealers he revealed that night. Fear would strike his face as he thought about all of the people he had just brought down in the department. I could watch, as his magnificent Nubian color would change to ash gray as he dropped all of the Big Baller names and places their transactions took place. He would know then, his Big Ballin days were over, literally.

I snapped out of that fantasy and back to the real world. After driving around for a couple of hours, I suggested we go back to my place. I have to admit, it was worth it. However, I didn’t risk seeing Ricky again. With all that he was into, I didn’t want to become a victim, because at the rate he was going, the IA or someone lesser of the law was going to come after him. He was too greedy. Pretty and too greedy. I let that night be just that. That night.

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By the time Amanda called me back, I was not in the mood to go car shopping. I had had the Toyota Sequoia on my agenda for quite some time. But after a while, it just didn’t seem all that exciting. Thinking about Jeff with a shiny new Lexus and how easy it was for him to purchase his just didn’t seem like that much of an accomplishment. I worked my butt off for everything I had and been working for Bingham Computers for five years. One of my closest friends Martin, who’s been at Bingham since he graduated from college, gave me the scoop on the position. Being he was the sales supervisor, he put in an excellent recommendation for me. And along with my credentials and references, I was a shoe in. It would be my shining moment when I purchased that Sequoia. It was going to get people to notice me and say, Hey, now there goes a woman that’s gone after everything she’s wanted and gotten it. There goes a woman who knows how to get everything that she wants without having to depend on anyone. Just the thought of it made me want to go out and conquer the world. Somehow, the world didn’t seem all that it was cracked up to be.

I sat in my room on my bed looking at the wooden water buckets. Before I knew it, a couple of hours had passed. My memories of those buckets raced thorough my head so fast I hadn’t even noticed the time. It was two in the afternoon and I hadn’t done a damn thing. I looked at my answering machine and saw the light blinking. I knew the phone rang about ten different times since I’d been sitting on the bed starring out of the window. Suddenly it felt stuffy and humid in my room. I don’t know whether it was because it was so warm outside or I was having a hot flash, but I knew I needed some fresh air. I got up and walked over to my window facing Broadway. I looked outside at the traffic and pedestrians. All looking like they had some place to go, some purpose for their day. I glanced over across the street to the Folgers’s Coffee plant. I opened the window and felt the cooling sensation of the breeze, mixed with just a hint of one of my favorite scents, strong coffee.

Fortunately, that’s my only drug of choice. But I guarantee, if it ever becomes illegal here in the US, I would sell major bootie to get my caffeine fix. I don’t know how many times my girl Amanda has had to wait for me to drink my last sip of coffee, or how many times we’ve had to stop at a Quik-Trip or Starbucks to get a dose of caffeine. I swear, if I cut myself I know I’d bleed Columbian coffee beans.

As I took in a good deep breath and savored the aroma, something else captured my sense of smell. I began to smell the poignant sweet smells of Baby’s Breath, Roses and, Tulips. Mrs. Anderson who lives in the loft above me has a little garden out on her front balcony. That scent cascaded down into my window and wrapped itself around a distant but very fond memory. It was late fall. How Mrs. Anderson got her flowers to bloom so frequent every year, I’ll never know. In SoHo IV lofts, we have a balcony and a ledge on front window seal for planting flowers. So far, all I’ve accumulated is dirt, and it’s still in the bag in the utility closet, waiting for me to decide on what to do. Mrs. Anderson said she’s going to come and help me this year, going to lend her green thumb. She’s a sweet older lady who I take to the grocery store and shopping from time to time. We’ve talked a few times about her husband who passed away ten years ago, and my mother, who died a year ago. I’ve even taken her to the graveyard a few times to place flowers on her husband’s grave. A couple of times she’s made a bouquet to place on my mother’s grave.

I took in another deep breath as the smells threw me back to when I was a child. Those memories always brought warm feelings to my heart.

Especially after an afternoon spring shower, the smell of the grass, tree bark and other sweet fragrances, took me back to when my mother would persuade me with candy and ice cream to help her in her garden. That garden was Miss Cecilia’s pride and joy. The whole entire neighborhood knew about my mother’s garden. She always loved to work in her garden after a good April rain. God’s cried his holy tears especially for this garden little girl, so we have to make it our duty to be sure we have those tears stored in our buckets out back. I looked over at the four water buckets underneath the window and smiled. It became a mother-daughter tradition for us to go out after the rain and see if all of the buckets were good and full. Now be careful girl and don’t spill any. The sound of my mother’s voice was as clear as it was twenty-five years ago. We’ll take one at a time to the side of the house. I remembered the stern tone in my mother’s voice as she gave me directions. But when I looked into her face all I saw was pride at how this little fat five year old was concentrating so hard on trying not to spill one drop of Gods tears. I’d be grinning from ear to ear and stick my chubby chest out, heaving, while huffing and puffing with both hands on the handle of the bucket. I knew even then what my mother’s garden meant to her. There were tulips on the north fence, petunia’s on the south fence. A bed of roses to the right side of the back yard, with baby’s breath in-between each rose bush. It always amazed me how my mother could come up with stories on how each flower came to be.

I remember my favorite story about Baby’s Breath. We were working in the garden one afternoon after a good spring rain and had stopped to have a glass of homemade lemonade when my mother told me this story. After my mother brought me home from the hospital, she took me out to the garden. I was born October 1, 1968. Every flower in my mother’s garden was in full bloom. She bent down over her roses to smell their sweet scent. She told me when she did this I breathed the sweet smell of baby’s breath, and from that scent planted the seed that grew the flower. And it had been in her garden ever since.

As I grew older and more knowledgeable of Wonder Garden Nursery on State Street, I soon became aware of where Baby’s Breath really came from. But the memory of the story she told me nearly thirty-four years ago, will remain with me forever. As I took another deep breath in from my window, the smell of coffee overpowered any other scent surrounding the area. That brought me back to the cold reality that my mother was dead. The stories, the laughter, and all of the things I ever did or were going to do with her bring more pain than anything else these days. Even though I feel close to her every time I think of all of the gardening we did throughout the years, I can’t help but remember how she was when she died.

I walked over to the buckets. Bending down I gently touched each one. The doctors said my mother died of congestive heart failure. But I know she died because she wanted to. She willed herself to do so. The phone rang. I heard it in a distance, even though I was just a few feet away from the nightstand. I sat down on the floor. With tears in my eyes, I heard Amanda’s voice come on and start to talk about the gang getting together for dinner tonight. I sat down on the floor, with tears streaming down my face. My mother knew the only way she could get out of that abusive relationship with my father was to die. My vision was clouded with tears as I remembered how she had tried year after year to leave, but always came back home to Arthur’s house. I hadn’t called him daddy in over twenty years. My hand gently caressed the buckets. Since momma’s death, I’ve lost all interest in plants and flowers. There is no love or joy in the process. All I can remember now is the arrangement of her favorite flowers spread over her casket. Momma why… why did you leave me?

I stood up and turned to look at the time on the clock on my nightstand. At least I had the buckets to keep her with me at all times. Damn it’s late. It was going on six o’clock. I wiped my eyes and walked over to the cordless phone on the nightstand. I dialed Amanda’s number. Her answering machine came on. Amanda plans tonight sound like a good idea. I’ll meet you guys over there around nine. Catch you then. I put the phone down and sat on the bed. I was totally drained. A whole day totally wasted again. But I was going to make sure the night would well make up for it.

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Chapter 2

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Daniel

A S I STOOD in front of the mirror in my bathroom drying myself off from a much-needed shower after playing basketball with my best friends, it got me to thinking of my past. My friends, Martin Adams, Earl Pookie Hollingshed, Big Anthony Banks and me, were the best of friends growing up on Tremont Street in Kansas. We all lived right down the street or right around the corner from each other, with the exception of Big Anthony who lived on Second Street in the housing project Juniper Gardens. We played basketball like we had invented the game. When our parents couldn’t find us, they knew where we usually were, either