Daze In the Life of Mr Can't Get it Right

By Pervander Sen

This is the story of Shakim. Born into an unfair life. Then his mother dies and he's moved to Harlem at the beginning of the 80's crack epidemic. Looking out the window every night he could only dream of a lifestyle better than the one he was living. From the stoop to the street, there was no turning back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098311599

Book preview

26

Chapter 1

I try to remember as much as I can about her, but very little comes to mind. Maybe because I was too young, or maybe she was just too young while still trying to find herself and struggling with two kids. I’m not making any excuses, because it was so long ago, and what did I know as a child. I just wish now that I could just understand.

2016 Jerome Avenue. It was my mother, my sister and I in a huge two-bedroom apartment. It was always dim and quiet there. She stayed in her room most of the time while Nadine and I played our two board games and inventing ways of entertaining ourselves in the room we shared. She was my best friend and we did everything together from the moment we woke until the moment we went to sleep, we were together.

We even went to the same school together also. With her walking me it was easier to get past the large armory building on Kingsbridge that gave me the chills when looking at it’s large, dark structure. They used to say stories about a witch who lived there who captured kids to never be seen again which didn’t make the trip any easier, but with my sister next to me I wasn’t worried at all.

I’d see her in the halls between classes or the cafeteria where she’d remind me where to meet her at after school. As soon as we got home she’d help me with my math and then prepare our clothes for the next day. And this would have to be done before we could even think about watching TV. Th en at night came Nadine’s best work, which was making the ghosts go away by talking to me until I fell asleep. This was the daily routine at 2016. She did whatever it took to care for and protect me, and she was only eight years old.

Some of you may be familiar with this type of daddy scenario, the one where man meets woman, they fall in whatever and bear two kids. Man ends up realizing that he still wants his own life back so domestic dreams fall fl at. This leaves the very young woman with the bulk (if not all) of the responsibility. I now realize how hard it is to give up on what you could’ve been, but she seemed to grab up the pieces of what she had left and tried to make due.

In doing so she rarely had time for Nadine and me, it was just us and the TV. Sometimes we’d go to the neighbor’s house and have fun with some kids our own age. Their mother Tina and my mother were hangout partners, so at eight when it was time for us to go, she stayed behind. And as usual, the eight year old made sure that the six year old took a bath, ate a snack or something, and went to sleep comfortably. I guess she thought she was doing what was right by my mother.

I knew that there were nights when she was just as scared as I was with all the bumps going on in the middle of the night and remained heroic for my sake. She knew I was terrified of the dark and just to comfort me she’d tell me to stay in bed while she searched for where the noise was coming from. Those were the longest minutes of the night waiting for her to get back, and when she did it was to tell me that the coast was clear. Those were the same nights when we thought that our mother didn’t care about us and that we’d be better off living with our grandmother. Then some time in the middle of the night (or even later) we’d hear the clicking of the lock, and knowing that it was her we’d be relieved and there’d be no hard feelings, until she’d do it again. Still and all we lived in fear and anger before she came but said nothing so we could be rewarded with a weekend trip to grandmas.

On the weekends everybody came to grandma’s house. Aunts, uncles, cousins, you name it, they all came to gather, eat hardy, and relax. I was accustomed to calling my grandma ‘ma’, matter of fact Nadine and I were the only two grandchildren who did. That’s because before we moved to the Bronx we lived with grandma who was the face that everyone in the house called ma so we did also leaving to call our mother by her name, Nilda.

I was also anxious to see Aunt Merlene’s son Darien who was like my brother. I adored him and always looked forward to seeing him there. We were the same age, but he was so much cooler and mentally ahead of his time than I was. Hanging with him made me behave braver than what I really was because I looked up to him and didn’t want to appear soft.

Either way, the joy of it all kept me on my best behavior, because living at what I called home was a cemetery compared to grandmas. There was really nothing that I liked about being there, it was dark, unwelcoming, and there was no sense of love… At least where I stood in that big empty room playing with those plastic army men that only moved with my imagination.

I don’t know where he came from; it was like one morning he was just there. No introduction, it was like we were to just accept him, and all of a sudden she was home. At first I thought that she came to her senses and started being home more because of us, I was wrong. Yes she was becoming domesticated, but it wasn’t because of us as much as it was of him, Desmond. He looked like a light-skinned, huskier version of Lionel Richie; I didn’t like him at all. He seemed to look at our home (on day one) like it was about to be his domain, and by the way my mother was acting maybe it already was.

I didn’t understand the strength of a relationship between a man and woman until I tried vying for some of the attention that Desmond was getting. And since she was now home I wanted to use that opportunity before we’d lose her to the nightlife again. This wasn’t the first man to pop up out of nowhere. A dude would be around for a short while, treat us nice, and by the time we were familiar with his face as well as hers, they’d both be gone again. Every moment that I tried to get with her I’d end up losing in hurtful disappointment, He’s just jealous… or selfish… she’d say even though that wasn’t really the case. I just couldn’t understand that even in the same household she still couldn’t give us the time of day unless it was part of the ploy to get us to like him. We hardly saw her. She stayed in her room with him, followed him around the house, and walked right back past us, we were non-existent.

As he began coming around more (although I think he never left), he figured he’d charm us by bringing us bags of candy or small gifts. And since Nadine seemed to be the one warming up to him quicker, she got more of everything while I had to be satisfied with what I got. I really didn’t care because I never asked him for anything in the first place, fuck him…

It began with light pops on the leg or arm. She’d brush it aside like it was nothing, but I knew different, the initial facial expressions were evident that it hurt. It made me mad and I wanted to ask Why did you do that? but questioning him would’ve cost me an ass whipping for not knowing my place, so I suppressed the anger while at times watching her wincing in pain. Sometimes I’d cry watching it progress into biting, pinching, beltpops, and wrestling holds, Chill out Des… she’d say when she saw me standing there knowing it was having an effect.

Chill out? How about get the fuck out?

He knows I’m playin’. he’d reply, then she’d send me to my room so I could hear the light yelps and grunts from my room. Do you hear that? I’d asked Nadine and she’d just look at me, slightly lift her shoulders, and continued to do what she was doing. I just wanted to leave.

Things escalated when the hits began turning into small fights. Screaming matches would quickly end when the sound of a hit occurred, but still he was there. Then there was that one Sunday when there was a lot of yelling and screaming coming from her room. These days my ‘bad behavior’ became worse and going to grandmas for the weekend was out of the question. And even with my door cracked and hers closed, I could still hear what was going on in her room. Then the door opened and Desmond stormed out with my mother rapidly behind him. Des?… Des?… she repeated as he grabbed for the doorknob. She grabbed his right arm and with his left he swung into her stomach deeply and she dropped. My eyes began to well with tears, but I was too choked up to make a sound. He stood over her while she lied there curled in a fetal position in apparent agony.

For the first time I wasn’t afraid, I wanted to be brave and actually do something to him. I hated him and wanted him to finally pay for making my mother cry again. I ran to the kitchen grabbing glass bottles out the garbage and when he saw me coming back with two in tow, he ducked as I launched one (without thinking about my mother lying there) down the hall. It missed, and as I prepared to throw the next, he darted out leaving me crying hysterically with my mother still on the floor.

I called out her name repeatedly as she lay there crying silently for about an hour. When she finally got up I asked her if she was okay, ‘I’m okay, I just need to rest for a minute." she replied. We walked slowly to her room where she continued to reassure me that everything was okay, and although I wasn’t convinced, somehow I was convinced to keep the incident a secret between the two of us. I don’t quite remember the words it took, but this, in my mind, was the start of a bond between me and my mother. Something that we shared between us that I guess made us cool. Figuring I had finally gained her heart, even if the core of it was rooted in a secret and all else that I knew was, Desmond was gone and I had my mother back.

And for a few weeks there was no sign of him either. In fact we were steady making preparations to leave 2016. There were boxes everywhere; some disappeared throughout the days with just empties that were ready to be packed. Nadine and I couldn’t wait to leave, at night we talked about making new friends and what new school we were probably going to go to. So long Jerome Avenue…

C’mon yall, get dressed… we getting ready to go. I had no idea what Nilda was talking about. The last time she woke us up in the middle of the night there was a fire in the building. I was curious as to where we were headed to, so I got dressed quickly and was energetic from just being up this late. ‘Where you think we goin’? I asked Nadine as if she knew. I don’t know, but who caaaaaares." she answered and threw her coat on.

We walked out the door so fast that we didn’t even realize that weren’t coming back to even say goodbye to the old place.

When we got downstairs it was snowing hard, but not hard enough for the excitement in me to fizzle out from what I saw in front of me. An all too familiar white Cardoba with a burgundy leather ragtop parked with boxes in a stuffed trunk. I didn’t have to guess, I knew exactly who our transportation was, ‘Are you ready?" he asked as a knot emerged in my stomach from the shock. He strapped the rest of our boxes on the hood and packed the rest in the backseats. On the way there I said nothing being that I was too busy trying to hold back the tears. My mother betrayed me, the bond was dead, and what’s worse was now he was coming to stay.

Months later they were married, and due to my attitude, I was excluded from her wedding and Darien instead was a ring bearer. I sat next to grandma wishing I could leave with her that day because I had no idea who the lady in the big white dress was. I was just so angry that nothing seemed real until this nightmare was over.

With a new household to claim as his own, I guess he felt it was time to begin laying his influence upon us. From chores to hygiene, dressing, talking, everything was now done his way, and when I rebelled Nilda beat me. Not only beat me for rebelling, but for everything. It didn’t seem to matter what I got beat for just as long I was crying and in pain. Plus, seeing Nadine go untouched (not that I wanted to see her get it) made me feel as if I was some sort of mistake that she had and wanted to get rid of. So, the more things she did to me the more distant I became and yearned to live with grandma. I told Nadine that one day I was going to run away. Well if you’re leavin’, then I’m comin’ with you. she’d say, but since I didn’t have any idea where I was going I’d reply, ‘No you’re not. But always the partner she vowed to leave with me ‘..because you’re not leaving me by myself in here. When she said that, I knew that she was feeling the same way that I was.

Nadine…

What?

Do you think that she loves Desmond more than she loves us? she just shrugged her shoulders as I continued, Well…all I know is I’m leavin’ ‘cause I know when somebody don’t want me around.

And as time went on he eventually had things running completely his way. My mother changed more and more, and even found herself deeply immersed in religion. I really didn’t care for or understood religion so becoming a Jehovah’s Witness was too demanding and totally stopped me from having a childhood period. I studied academics at school, and the bible (under strict command) at home, so cartoons, birthdays, holidays, pretty much anything related to fun was prohibited, and I had to now adjust to not being a child anymore, which made me act out even more at school. Yes, it cost me an ass whipping, but for any moment of fun and laughter it was well worth it.

Then came the day Nilda sat me and Nadine in the living room to talk with Desmond by her side. ‘I sat yall down to tell the two of you that you may be havin’ a little brother or sister comin’ in the world soon. Now I didn’t know what Nadine was thinking, but I could really care less. For the sake of peace though, I faked a smile, And before the baby comes.. she continued, I want you to get used to callin’ me mom."

Okaaay and? …

and you will start callin’ Desmond dad…

I sat silently waiting for Nadine to respond, she shrugged nonchalantly and said Okay., which put the focus on me for an answer. God I didn’t want to do this, but it was totally on me right now. I slowly lowered my head, and clearly, but very adamantly replied Nope..he’s not my father…and he don’t even have a job. I don’t know what possessed me to say that last part, but when I looked up all I could see was rage in his eyes just glaring at me. My mother, now in obvious disbelief in what I just said and whom I just said it to, demanded that he get his respect. BEAT… HIS ASS! I looked at her with the same disbelief as everything in me drained. Trembling, scared, and about to pee on myself, I knew that I was in for a world of hurt. She grabbed me by the arm, dragging me into my room. She told him to hold me while searching for something to beat me with. I struggled, but his grip was tight, lifting me over his legs while seated. She found and extension cord and began whipping me as hard as she could. Nadine, who usually was amused by my beatings stood there expressionless. I was pinned and being whipped on badly. I went numb through the pain because of the anger from someone I hated had got the green light to hurt me, all because I refused to call him dad? A title (no matter how many beatings it would take) he would never hear come out of my mouth. After it was over, she had the nerve to put lotion over the whelps that she helped to create. Literally, ain’t that a bitch…

Although I didn’t see much of him, I still knew who my dad was, Earl Coleman. We usually saw him when we went to grandmas because he owned a club nearby. Sometimes he’s come around and calls us from downstairs. Grandma didn’t like him much and he knew it, so he would talk to us in front of the building, not because he was scared of what she might do, but just to keep the nonsense to a minimum. Nadine was a little more apprehensive, but I could care less what grandma thought, I was going to be with my dad. If the chance also arrived, I’m leaving the block with him to either watch him play basketball or play video games at the club. But most of all going to see my other brothers and sisters was a joy. I loved them so much and I think they felt the same because they always made me feel like I belonged to something. My mother’s side not getting along with anything that had to do with daddy didn’t matter to me because he was mine to love and accept, and I refused to give that title to anyone else.

During my mother’s pregnancy she worked home care and attended college part-time, leaving us in Desmond’s care until 8 o’clock . In that time he chose to flex his authority upon me beginning with extremely hard chores with threats attached if they weren’t done to his satisfaction. With Nadine now in afterschool programs I didn’t dare defy him. I also started to learn what it was like to live in constant fear of someone.

Th e dude would beat me senseless, even for things I didn’t do. For example, one day I was laying down on a pillow in the living room watching T.V. when I felt either the hot sting of leather or rubber across my back. At first I jumped, then froze from the pain that paralyzed me.

What did I do? I did everything that I was supposed to do. My homework and chores were done, so what could it have been?

"GET UP AND CLEAN THAT MESS YOU MADE AND

LEFT UNDER THE SINK! he demanded. I was in a lot of pain and unable to move fast enough for him so he started whipping me more. I tried to run and ended up backing into a corner with my arms extended trying to block the lashes, but it didn’t work, wherever he hit it hurt. I felt the heat of my urine coming down the seat of my pants but I was still too afraid to move. OKAY, OKAY, PLEASE….THAT’S ENOUGH; I WON’T DO IT NO MORE!"

Are you telling me what to do nigga?

No…

He hit me again and pointed outward, I dashed out the corner. ‘WHERE?  WHERE! I screamed not knowing what he was talking about in the first place. ‘In the kitchen clean that shit out or I’mma whip your ass again! and I quickly went inside the kitchen to clean a mess that I didn’t make. One that I suffered for, one that Nilda would later admit to doing herself, and one that neither would apologize for. I hated them.

Since Nadine didn’t return from afterschool until a little after four, I started waiting for her on the stoop. And since I didn’t want to get caught, I’d sometimes stay at Sammy’s or Daisy’s because they both had second floor windows. I’d look out the window until I saw Nadine coming and meet her in the hallway. She’d ask why I wasn’t in the house, and I’d tell her where I was, and she’d just shrug it off. She held it over me but I begged her not to tell. I just didn’t want to be left alone with Desmond anymore, and at this point I was getting equal amounts of hits and beatings between the both of them. I got beat for everything, eating too fast, eating too slow, a wrong math problem, lost a pencil, expressed a thought, whatever. Whether public or private I got hurt, blood and all, they did so much between them that I don’t think they knew who left what mark or bruise on me. After grandma asked me about the bruises and I told her who put them there she decided to step to Nilda to tell her how she felt about a stranger hitting her grandson. She lied, and left him out of the equation completely, It was me ma, not him. They just don’t get along and he’s looking for somebody to blame for his bad behavior. Grandma was still skeptical while I was becoming angrier at the fact that now she was protecting him. Now it was clear whose side she was on. Every night I cried myself to sleep wanting to leave that house, believing that she also felt the same and hated as well for telling on her husband. I was so scared. I knew she told him, and eventually he was going to come after me so I stayed on my P’s and Q’s and on my best behavior.

In the first swing of the new school year I was at the top of my class. Besides math I knew the answers to just about everything. Once I read or heard it I could repeat it back verbatim with the answer included. Sometimes I’d blurt out the answer without raising my hand which was rude to the other students. The teacher would get annoyed and tell me to stop and give others a chance.

After school, I’d make a stop at the video arcade to see who I could bum a game off of. I loved video games; it was an adventure out of this world.

The last few days were surprisingly easy on me when my mother got admitted into the hospital. Desmond’s mother watched over us while he stayed with her there. Also, Uncle Perry’s wife Reina and her daughter Halina shacked up with us so it made things fun and also safer for me. Aunt Reina was so pretty to me, she was my first crush. It was so long since I had this much peace that I hoped that they would stay for good. Anything to keep this guy’s hands to himself.

Anyway, one day after a day of venturing, there was a crowd in front of our door. Some were crying, some talking to one another in whispers. I had no idea why everyone started hugging me so tightly and rubbing the back of my head, just smiling, staring at my moves. Inside the house it was packed, it must be her and the baby I thought to myself searching for my mother. I saw aunts, uncles, and people I didn’t see in a long while and there was grandma sitting there crying with people crowded around her. Come with me. she said in a low tone grabbing my arm, taking me into my room. I thought that this was where Nilda and the baby were, but standing there was Aunt B and Uncle John. Where’s Nilda? I asked, and then grandma (sitting at the edge of my bed) grabbed both of my arms and replied, She’s gone…

At first I didn’t understand what she meant, Huh?

Nilda died.

What?

She’s gone…God took her last night.

I started to cry. I didn’t understand the emotional extent of a death except that there was no coming back. I tried thinking about some of the good things, birthdays, holidays, and other stuff but couldn’t. Nothing could ever outweigh what she allowed to happen to me. I started crying harder, overdoing it, and faking it because grandma and others were watching. My uncle grabbed me tightly, like I was about to do something to myself. Not at all, I was ready to start packing.

In my mind though, I wish she would’ve known how I felt about what her and Desmond had done to me. That I wasn’t being bad, I just wanted my mother to pay attention to me. Now you’re gone and I’m never going to get that chance, ever. I wanted to be with my sister right now, she knows what to do. We sat and cried together. She was all I had now.

After the funeral Desmond wanted to discuss custody. He must’ve been crazy, there was no contest at all, Those are my grand(children) and they’re staying where they belong…with me.

It didn’t take much to make me happy despite the loss of my mother. I was sad, but I wasn’t in mourning, because I had no idea what that was. All I knew was I was free and safe with grandma now, where I always wanted to be. Unfortunately, the request came with an extremely expensive price tag.

Chapter 2

It didn’t take long for me to unwind in the pleasures of being at grandma’s, even though the tone was a lot more different than it was on weekends. It was almost as quiet and dark as it was in the Bronx, and despite grandma and Aunt Gilda there was really no one there. Uncle Vernon spent so much time at the law firm he worked for he was rarely seen except for payday. On that day he would come through all Big Willie status throwing cash everywhere then disappear for another few days. He worked a lot of hours and sometimes days on end, so if he wasn’t laid up in some fancy hotel, he was stretched out in some woman’s bed, and this made me the sole male in a house full of women. 

Aunt B had a four year old son named Simon who we nicknamed ‘Dada’ who would call me over (across the street) to play sometimes. We didn’t have much in common because of our age difference, but just being with another boy was good enough for me. Darien coming from Queens every week wasn’t a guarantee so most of the time I was bored and lonely.

Lenox Avenue didn’t look as occupied with people as it did on weekends. During the week, it was also quiet and lifeless, just people going to work, coming back home and no hanging out. The only dudes out there were the hustlers doing them, whatever that was.

In a way, it was too similar to the Bronx, me and Nadine going to school, watching TV until eight, and then going to bed to do it all over again. Except now I slept on a cot in grandma’s room while Nadine was doing the same in Aunt Gilda’s. No one to talk me to sleep or tell me that all is okay. Just turn off that light and lay down…

Our school situation was still the same, one a few blocks from home too, we’d go together and came back separately. I was excelling in the fifth while she was paving her own way in the sixth (she got left back). From the way I grasped the curriculum, I bridged and had a few classes with her. I was still disruptive, and the teacher would ask her to Please control your brother., she’d get pissed and later tell grandma and Aunt Gilda about my latest episode. Every time he finishes his work he gotta make noise and get in trouble, then the teacher always bothers me about it. she complained. Grandma threatened to whip me, but Aunt Gilda was more civil. She praised the fact that my increasing intellect allowed me to have spare time on my hands while others worked, so instead of a browbeat I got criticized with a half-smile. "I know that you’re very smart and that’s a helluva good thing, but you must allow others a chance to learn and do their work or you’re gonna get your ass bust!" laughing and playfully popping me in the back of the head. I don’t think she was upset or wanted to chastise me for being smart, she just wanted me to have more focus and self-control. She was really the only person close to me who encouraged me to use my brain through newspapers, novels, textbooks, games, and puzzles all designed for adults. And whenever I’d complete one of her tasks the look of disbelief and joy on her face was a victory in itself.

Taking me and Dada to the park on weekends wasn’t only fun for us; it also allowed Aunt B to have a few drinks without any protest. When she got nice and tipsy she’d spend wild money on us and keep us out for hours. She sang funny little songs that she made up from the top of her head that would keep me laughing. Dada didn’t like it when his mother drank so he’d find the bottle in her purse and empty it onto the pavement, then she’d get pissed and playtime was officially over. But that wouldn’t stop her, on the way home she’d always stop at some hole in the wall bootlegger and it’d be off to the races again. After witnessing the transaction we were sworn to secrecy, but in her present state it wasn’t hard to tell what she was doing anyway. It didn’t matter to me though, I was outside all day and was happy and satisfied with that.

Uncle John hardly came around, but when he did I enjoyed every minute of it. He’d entertain me with his best jokes, in between time expressing grief from the loss of his sister with funny little stories about their past. I’d memorize his jokes and make them funnier when I added my own flavor to them so I could entertain my classmates, and it worked. But when the show was over, so was my fifteen minutes of fame, so I asked him to teach me more because I think I had a knack for it and he obliged.  I loved Uncle John’s style, he was always so carefree and happy and I wanted to be the same way. Either die laughin’ or fuckin’, but neva cuss in front of your grandma or you’ll certainly die cryin’.

Uncle Vernon (whenever he came through) hardly said anything to me, and who needed words when he spoke with dollars. Take that and get the fuck outta here alright. he’d say in a low tone then kick me in the ass. I didn’t mind because the five in my hand certainly eased that pain, shiiit, kick me in the ass again and let’s make it a ten.  He donned himself ‘A Superstar’ because of his fine taste in suits, physical appearance, and most of all women. A smooth, dark-skinned brother with a mellow, sophisticated voice and a mean winning streak when it came to gambling. So much that when he betted on something (like the horses) people would follow suit. But his spending habits were terrible, what he made in two weeks was gone in two days.

When daddy came around you could see the displeasure in grandma’s face. Even before he’d yell up to the window for us to come down you’d know he was already there because of his loud, intimidating voice. A voice strong and stern enough to know that (when he was talking to someone) whatever he said, he meant. Grandma, who was more the quiet and reserved type would hear him and squirm, utterly unable to stand such a boisterous and obnoxious character.

SHAKIM!….NADINE! he’d yell for about two minutes. Nadine just stood there reluctant to answer, looking at me guessing to see what I was going to do. And without hesitation I took the lead and went to the window. Be right there daddy… I answered, and as soon as I backed out of the window grandma would say You better not leave the block with him y’hear? Now since she became the one who took responsibility of us she felt she had the rank to call the majority of the shots. True enough, however, it also stemmed from a not so peaceful past between them that made him (in her and eyes) untrustworthy. That didn’t hold any weight with me though; I just wanted to see my dad. What’s goin’ on there baby boy? he asked while embracing me, rubbing the top of my nappy head. Nothin’ daddy. I replied, trying to avoid looking up at the window knowing her eyes were on me.  Daddy must’ve read my body language because he looked up and said calmly Hey there Miss Nelson…, and in a stern, no-nonsense voice she replied Hello Earl.

I’m taking him to the store for a minute…be right back. She raised her hand and nodded a sign of approval. I think the only reason that he gave her that much respect was because she had us and there was less responsibility for him, because he could’ve been let her have it.

We went to the store, I got some goodies and ten dollars for me to split with Nadine (she only saw the goodies).

I wouldn’t see daddy again in months…

Since grandma wanted to keep us on the straight and narrow, somehow she found another Kingdom Hall for us to go to, and soon it was back to studying three times a week and going door-to-door with the congregation. Coincidentally it was located across the street from our school, which meant that everyone in the hood was going to see me in my monkey suit. Jehovah’s Witnesses were always getting cracked on, so this just added to my own personal suffering, I was embarrassed. Everyone had jokes, especially the older cats, they called me names like ‘Reverend Ike’ or ‘Frederick K. Price’ oh it was endless. On really bad days I’d be the victim of ball-bursting, underwear shredding wedgies. My baby balls were on fire, but after putting the contribution money in a video game the pain eventually subsided. By the time I was finished services would be more than halfway over, so I’d spend the rest of the time in the bathroom. I truly had no interest, time, or respect for religion.

What did interest me though were the things that were going on Lenox. While the neighborhood slept, there was a mob of dudes (at least fifteen of them) laughing, drinking, gambling, and talking to some of the prettiest girls that I’ve ever seen. Not far from the party that was popping, there was someone on the side conducting business, illegal business. Several others were out there doing the same thing, making exchanges then melding back into the crowd. I watched them almost every night until I fell asleep.

On weekends catching some sleep was close to impossible. The streets were packed with even more girls, drinks, and loud music blaring out a large speaker placed on the ledge of a first floor window. The hustling wasn’t only across the street; it was on our side, the middle, and also down the block. This time there were even more guys making money and screaming colors YELLOW YELLOW!, RED IS OUT!, "GOT THAT BLACK

RIGHT HERE YO! I had no idea what they were talking about or even selling for that matter, but each one of them moved up and down the block catching whatever customer they could. Th ere were petty arguments whenever dudes would bump heads over a customer they both wanted. When the argument got out of hand, someone would intervene saying YO…

THERE’S ENOUGH DOUGH FOR EVERYBODY OUT HERE, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND STOP BRINGIN’ THAT HEAT AROUND HERE!" and things would soon calm down afterward.

From the expensive brand named clothing, to the jewelry and wads of cash, it wasn’t hard to tell that these dudes were paid. I’m talking rap video fly, big chains, Cazelles, name brand sneakers, Gucci, Fendi, A.J. Lester, or some other designer label, it was intoxicating.

I fantasized about being one of them, looking fly with a drink in one hand and a broad in the other, and most of all that aura of power and respect.

I watched this until everyone was just about gone except a light skinned dude named Fats who owned the first floor apartment with the speaker in the window. It was a celebration…a party dedicated to the amounts of cash that his pockets could hold. 

Going everywhere with Aunt B was getting played out, I needed to expand. I wanted the combination of freedom that I had with Aunt B coupled with the independence I had when I was alone at the arcade. Adult supervision cramped my style, too many restrictions, Don’t do this…don’t do that…don’t go over there…stay right there. and the beat goes on. Bottom line, I needed to do my own thing.

It was March of 85’, one of those 70 degree spring-like mornings. Grandma was sitting in the window peacefully eating breakfast. I knew what I was preparing to ask her was going to spark a confrontation, plus my behavior in school was nothing to brag about either. But this in the house crap was killing me.

Ma…

What?

Can I go outside?

She didn’t even look in my direction, like it wasn’t even a question worth addressing. For what? she answered anyway.

Because… I said more simple and direct, It’s boring in here.