A Time of No Fences

By Michael Ollie Clayton

A Time Of No Fences is the story of a mother fiercely determined to save her son from crack addiction by any means necessary. While at the same time, the next door neighbors are literally blowing the roof off the sucker with their all-night crack parties. The chapters go back and forth, moral and amoral, alternating between redemption and destruction. Will Nikki win out over crack Can she turn her teenage son's life around, or will she forever lose Travis to the mean streets

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257519262

Book preview

A Time of No Fences

A Time Of No Fences

Michael Ollie Clayton

Some fences keep you in; some fences keep you out.

This book is dedicated to all of you who have been where I have been, who have tasted the hell that I have tasted, who have survived the kind of fire  too much fiya can ignite.

Copyright © 2006 by Michael Ollie Clayton

ISBN #: 978-1-365-62877-1

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

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

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Contents

A Time Of No Fences

Some fences keep you in; some fences keep you out.

This book is dedicated to all of you who have been where I have been, who have tasted the hell that I have tasted, who have survived the kind of fire  too much fiya can ignite.

Copyright © 2006 by Michael Ollie Clayton

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter One

Prologue One

A haunting, stirring energy creeps into every fiber of his being as he poisons  himself...over and over again.

When he runs out of poison, he feels as though he is being chased by a rabid pitbull...with no car to jump on, no tree to scamper up, no house to run in...running as the creature nips at his heels...frightened like never before...awaiting the feared beast to sink its incisors, its fangs deep into vulnerable flesh.  He can feel the heat of the crazed dog's breath much too close to his bare legs.  In short stabbing pangs he feels real thoughts of fear...knowing bionic jaws are but seconds away.  The painful intrusion of sharp teeth thrashing and gnawing his tender meat is an inevitability.  But he brought it on himself.  That's what he gets for being in the neighborhood.

The limbo of fear, the painful anticipation...was but purgatory swollen moreso by subconscious terror...and he wonders:  How long will the beast terrorize me?  How much skin, muscle and bone will this leviathan rip away until it is satisfied?   Until I am dead? ...Powerlessness, multiplied by the rage of the unknown.

Nikki was in a deep sleep on the sofa in the living room of her apartment.  As usual, she had stretched out on the sofa after a long day at work to unwind only to end up sleeping well into the night.  She hated it whenever she woke up at midnight, or near midnight, coming down hard on herself, talking shit to herself because her body no longer bounced back like it did just several years ago.  She wasn't sick, she was just bone tired from the routine her life had become over the past few years.  Work.  Home.  Work.  Home.  Grocery Store.  Home.  Work.  Home. Church.  Home.  Work. But more and more, it all started to feel like work.  Even going to church required getting up, getting ready, travelling to, being phony, being spiritual, coming home, cooking.  At the end of the 7th day, she did not have rest, instead, maybe two decent hours to really call her own.  But it wasn't always like that.  Once, there was an easier time.  An easier life.

Her mother, who would be living with her for the rest of her life because of the osteoporosis that got together with gravity and contorted her Infiniti of a body into a Geo, woke Nikki several times insisting that she get in the bed.  But try as she might, Nikki could not lift herself from the couch.  Weariness magnetized her to the soft, cushy sofa.  Even raising her head was a monumental task.  

As her mother stooped over her, all Nikki could do was babble incoherently.  "Where...that...boy...at?  Dark-k-k...it's night out there...ain't come...home...yet?  Immo git...up...that boy...Immo git up in a min-.  Travis...come...home...yet? 

Travis...Immo...a minute."  Her mother watched Nikki's eyes roll shut as she helplessly drifted back to deep sleep.  She felt her daughter's pain, knew what it was to be a fragile vessel playing host to an inner tempest, a war called maternal will versus physical reality.

Po' child, said Nikki's mother.  She pulled the shoes off Nikki's feet, and gently positioned her head in a way that she wouldn't get a cramp in her neck.

Hours later, there was the sound of keys jangling at the front door, and of a key being inserted into the keyhole.  Nikki was half-conscious, and thought the sounds a dream.  She tossed at the sound of the tumblers falling on the lock.  But it wasn't until she felt the cool midnight air of early spring rush between her legs that she became fully conscious.  The appearance of a figure at the door frightened her and she bolted from the sofa, adrenaline giving her youthful vigor. 

Who-o-o...?

It was her son, Travis.  He was sweating profusely, and his eyes were open very wide.  He seemed to be scared.  As he attempted to shut the door, Nikki said, Travis, turn right back around and get out of my house!  She didn't mean it, but for a split second she sure felt it.

Mama, they tryin' ta kill me!

Who?  Who tryin' ta kill you? Nikki asked mockingly, the smell of liquor, tobacco and God-knows-what-else filling her nostrils.  Before he could answer, she said, Ain't nobody tryin' ta kill you.  You done told me that too many times.  I don't want to hear it no more.  I can't hardly believe nothing you say anymore.  Her voice went up a pitch.  You done come in here and scared the shit out of me...nuff ta give me a heart attack!  

Mama, they tryin' to kill me, repeated Travis.

"Who is they?"

Travis hesitated, groping for an answer.

Ain't nobody tryin' ta kill you, Nikki said in one breath.  I ain't hearin' it!  Just git yo black ass out of my house, said Nikki as she pushed Travis back to the door sill.

More as a reflex, he grabbed the edge of the door with one hand and the inside knob with the other.  "Mama, please let me stay?" begged Travis.

Nikki ran back to the sofa.  She reached under the bottom of it and pulled out an old but nonetheless effective, nonetheless lethal  pump shotgun.  Before she could lift it two feet off the ground, Travis grabbed the barrel and yanked the gun from her.  Without thinking, he turned the shotgun and aimed it at his mother.  Sit down, Mama... he said, the words having no emotion, no inflection.

Nikki didn't budge.  It wasn't fright that kept her at a standstill.  It was defiance, goddamnit!  Gun or not, her child was not going to tell her what to do.  As they faced off, the seconds seemed long and interminable.  She was not scared of Travis, she was scared of the barrel of the gun, but still refused to back down.

A voice came from the back of the apartment.  Who that in there makin' all that noise?

It ain't nothin', Mama! shouted Nikki.

Don't tell me it ain't nothin', her mother snapped back.  I know what I heard.  I might not can't see too good, but I can sho' nuff hear, she said with authority.  Don't make me come out there...

Nikki flinched, reacting to her mother's words.  Mama, don't come up here.  Stay back there.  This boy is on that shit again, and ain't no tellin' what he's capable of...

Travis?  Travis, said the grandmother, come on back here by me, baby.  Come back here now. A gentle but firm order.

Travis lowered the shotgun to his waistline.  He moved back a couple of steps and kicked the door shut with the back of his foot.  He slowly, cautiously lay the shotgun on the floor by his mother's foot, his subdued motions clearly a peace offering.  As he rose, Nikki caught a glimpse of his face at an angle that didn't seem so threatening, so disrespectful.  He looked like he did when was an innocent little boy...and for a moment, she forgot her anger.

Travis! called out the grandmother.  Travis obediently followed the sound of the stern voice emanating from the back room.  His grandmother was sitting on the edge of her queensize bed when he entered the room.  He had been missing in action for over 48 hours and was more than happy to see his grandmother, to see a welcoming, familiar face.  He strolled to where she was and took a seat next to her.  His eyes were glossy, and his mouth was dry.  Travis had to swallow twice before words came from his mouth.  Bigmama, I'm so glad to see you.  Mama won't let me stay here.  I done told her that somebody's tryin' to kill me, but she won't listen.

In the darkness of his grandmother's room Travis felt safe.  When she reached out and took him in her arms his body slumped, and he was overtaken with a peaceful, easy calm.  She pulled him closer to her, and held him tightly for a few moments, ignoring his strong body odor.  Just gotta put it in the hands of the Lord, baby.

As they sat embracing, Nikki quietly tipped into the room.  She was carrying an iron in her hand.  Travis' back was turned to her, and he didn't know that she had come into the bedroom.

Once upon him, Nikki raised the iron above Travis and brought it down with mild force, enough to stun him.  CRACK!  Travis released his grandmother and fell from the edge of the bed to the floor.

Whatchu do that for?! asked the grandmother, startled.

Nikki ignored her.  She bent over Travis and tied the electrical cord from the iron very tightly around his ankles.  Travis groaned.  He wasn't out, just dazed.  He covered his head with his hands as the pain from the blow swelled...filling every inch of his stinking body.  Nikki raced to the closet in her mother's bedroom and hurriedly shoved boxes, shoes, hats and clothes until she found a yellow nylon rope she remembered putting in the closet a week earlier.  Quickly, she uncoiled the rope and rushed back to where Travis was laying.  She grabbed his right wrist and pinned it to his left wrist.  After she bound his hands behind him, she went into the kitchen and got an extension cord and hog-tied Travis, doubly reinforcing the cord and rope that held him.  She went to the night stand next to her mother's bed and picked up a pair of scissors.  She cut the iron from the electrical cord and tossed it aside.

When Travis gathered his senses, he tried to wriggle free.  Git this shit off me! he yelled, twisting and squirming in vain.

"I ain't taking nothin' off you!  You come running into my house in the middle of the night, and point a gun at me!-boy, what are you on?"

Travis, you pulled a gun on-

Nikki cut her mother off.  Mama, Immo take care of this!  She stepped menacingly closer to Travis.  I said what are you on? demanded Nikki, her voice razor sharp.

From the floor, Travis said, I ain't on nothin'...I swear to God...I ain't on nothin', he repeated.  Now take this shit off me! He rocked back and forth violently, but to no avail.

Don't make me go in that kitchen and git that broom.  I'm asking you for the last time, what are you on?

Travis was furious, and his immobility whet his anger.  He wriggled uselessly.

Bigmama, git up from there and take this off of me! he yelled.

Bigmama sat still.  Baby, your mama is your mama.  I can't tell her what to do with her child, she said, bowing her head, refraining from reacting to a tone of voice her grandson had never before used toward her.

Travis glanced back and forth at both of them.  He fixed his eyes on his mother, who was staring at him with holy disgust.  He sensed no compromise in Nikki's eyes.  Emotion gave way, and he said, Mama, I just smoked one rock...just one, Mama.  He choked up.  I o-only smoked...one, he stammered apologetically.

"Travis, I told you to stop.  I thought you said that you had stopped..."

Mama, I can't stop.  His eyes were suddenly sorrowful, and tears began streaming down his face.  He said, "Mama, all somebody's gotta do is show me a rock..."

********

Nikki prepared breakfast.  After she set the table, she called Bigmama into the kitchen.

It smells so good, baby, said Bigmama as she took a seat at the small glass-top table that sat in the center of the kitchen.

Thank you, mama said Nikki.  She rinsed the bottom of a red plastic pitcher that contained orange juice under the long J-faucet that sprouted from the sink in the kitchen.

Bigmama stared out the kitchen window above the sink.  The sky was somber, strewn with gray clouds.  It's gonna rain today.

Looks like it, said Nikki over her shoulder.  After she wiped off the bottom of the pitcher she set it next to a bottle half-full with syrup, then took a seat at the head of the table.  Nikki clasped her hands, bowed her head, closed her eyes, and said, "Gracious Father, thank you for the food that we are about to receive for the nourishment of our bodies...for Christ, our Redeemer's sake...amen."

"Remember the Sabbath, and keep it holy..." said Bigmama at the conclusion of the blessing.

Bigmama kept her eyes shut, head bowed, and hands clasped until Nikki said, "Jesus wept..."  They began to serve each other eggs, bacon, and pancakes.

As she buttered her pancakes, Bigmama asked, When you gonna take that boy loose?  You done had him tied up for two days now.

I know how long he's been tied up! snapped Nikki.  She opened her mouth to add more, but stopped herself.  She took a deep breath, then quickly exhaled.  Nikki said, I don't plan on letting him loose for a while, her voice low and serene.  It takes time to get that stuff out of your system and off your mind.  It's gonna be a long time before he can even think straight.  If I take him loose now, he's just gonna go back out there and do the same thing all over again.  He's going to be gone for two, three days, then he's going to show up here all funky and stinking with that same old, tired story:  'Somebody's tryin' to kill me.' Or, 'Somebody's after me.'  Mama, I know the pattern, and I'm sick and tired of it.

Bigmama shook her head.  You gotta leave it in the hands of the Lord...

"'The Lord' helps those who help themselves, except Mr. Travis been helping himself to something else, so I'm gonna help the Lord help him.  He's staying tied up until he withdraws.  And that's that! I made the decision last night.  Mama, Nikki pulled back from the table, my child was so out of his mind that he pointed a gun at me.  I was the one who went for the shotgun first.  But I wasn't intendin' on aiming it at my own child.  He done said so many times that 'somebody' was out to git him.  I was so fed up that I pulled the shotgun from under the sofa so that he could shoot whoever it was tryin' to kill him.  She got worked up.  Exasperated, she said, Mama, you know I wouldn't give my child a gun to kill nobody.  I knew no one was after him...

"My own child stuck a gun in my face... Nikki's eyes were wet.  She wiped the corners of them and stiffened in her seat.  He's staying tied up until he withdraws.  I'll just have to feed him and treat him like a baby until he gets straight...because, Mama, it ain't gonna happen by itself."

Chapter Two

Prologue Two

"Git y'alls asses back in dem goddamn fields.  Da war his over.  As I speak right now, the boundary is bein' drawed up to separate the illicit from the accepted.

And one mo' thang:  I don't want none of y'all prayin' 'cause y'alls inner-city urchins...and er'body knows that urchins don't go to heaven.  Y'alls just wastin' y'alls time tryin' to pray.  So ifin I catches y'all callin' y'all selves prayin' Immo whup y'alls asses.  Nah git in dem goddamn streets and pick my coca leaves, niggas!

There they were...the whole lot-six in all-breaking the law, destroying brain cells, wasting money, wasting time...transported to a higher, more energetic state of being by a substance that had its origin in the dirt of the earth.

In the background, there could be heard, ironically, the low hum a Quincy Jones song coming from a small radio that sat on the floor in the corner of the kitchen:

Walked in the joint

They were lined up back-to-back

Anything you could name, no shame, unh-unh

Stuff like that...

What makes you feel like doing stuff like that?

What makes you feel like doing stuff like that?

Before my eyes was the promise of paradise

Is she real?

Can she feel?

Was she a dream?

If you know what I mean...

'Cause she was built out of stuff like that

Stuff like that...

I can't tell you what I saw

Made you wonder if it was against the law

Wasn't how high you could go

But exactly how low...

What makes you feel like doing stuff like that?

I knew I was captured by the rhythm of the magic flute

Pulling and urging me to taste the forbidden fruit

Though I felt naive

I didn't want to leave

Fever was in the air

And all of a sudden I didn't care...

No reason why...just had to testify

What makes you feel like doing stuff like that?

What makes