Sisters from Philly

By Donnell Harris

Priscilla “Prissy” Wilkes made it her personal mission to break the chains of dependency of social services for her and her two sisters, Mocha and Jazz. She was going to make sure they didn’t contribute or join the ranks of teenage pregnancy. She wouldn’t allow herself or her sisters get lured by the materialistic things that the drug dealers could provide for them. Most young ladies in the hood found it flattering to have drug dealers peeking on them and desiring them, but not Prissy. She would shut them down as soon as they tried to get out of their lane. Their mother was the product of someone getting caught up with a midlevel drug dealer, and all she got out of the deal were three daughters by three different drug dealers. Well, they may look alike with their honey complexion, slightly bowed legs, and natural provocative walk, but that was the extent of it. She was going to put into action what was constantly being reiterated to her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728309996

Donnell Harris

Donnell Harris was raised and educated in Camden, New Jersey then migrated to Baltimore, Maryland in the early 80’s to raise his children. He was a Correctional Officer at Baltimore City Detention Center (Old City Jail) while attending Sojourna-Douglas College majoring in Criminal Justice. Working presently at Social Security Administration as a contract armed security officer.

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© 2019 Donnell Harris. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/30/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1000-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-0999-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019906238

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

FOREWORD

Priscilla Prissy Wilkes made it her personal mission to break the chains of dependency of social services for her, and her two sisters, Mocha and Jazz. She was going to make sure they didn’t contribute or join the ranks of teenage pregnancy. She wouldn’t allow herself or her sisters get lured by the materialistic things that the drug dealers could provide for them. Most young ladies in the hood found it flattering to have drug dealer peeking on them and desiring them, but not Prissy. She would shut them down as soon as they tried to get out of their lane. Her mother was the product of someone getting caught up with a mid-level drug dealer and all she got out of the deal was three daughters by three different drug dealers. Well, they may look alike with their honey complexion, slightly bowing legs and natural provocative walk, but that was the extent. She was going to put into action what was constantly being reiterated to her.

SISTERS FROM PHILLY

Angela Angel Wilkes was born and raised in North Philadelphia. Standing five-five with a honey complexion on a petite frame, her slightly bowing legs and flaring hips made her one of the most beautiful and desirable young ladies walking the streets at the age of fifteen. Catching the attention of mature high-profile drug dealers was considered a grandiose thing coming from the low-income environment she was raised. She was considered a hell of a catch if you can trap her. Never hearing intimate or encouraging words from her mother or absentee drug addicted father to affirm her self-worth, she found herself like other young black girls seeking it any place. The intimate words those older gentlemen would whispers to her as she walked pass made her blush and giggle like the school girl she was. Words like, be the pendulum of my heart or you sustain me like the air from those slicks talking mature preying men made her feel wanted and very desirable. Eventually, she found herself lowing her guard. Surrendering to confusing emotions, she surrendered her virginity at the tender age of fifteen. With the feelings that marijuana induces and her first sexual experience, she thought she was in love. How was she to know she was just being played.

She was sixteen when Priscilla Prissy Wilkes was born. With her father abandonment during her pregnancy, she thought she was being careful with her heart. Smoking a joint that was secretly laced with cocaine at seventeen and snorting her first line not much later. Monica Mocha Wilkes came screaming and kicking into the world when she was eighteen followed by Jasmine Jazz before her nineteenth birthday. Before her addiction completely conquer her ambitions, she wanted to get her G.E.D. Something that three generation of women on her side of the family have never accomplished. She had hoped to break the chain of illiteracy that plagued her family tree and the dependency of social services to sustain them. Being dropped by her daughters’ fathers, she found herself dwelling further into the drug scene. Her once smooth complexion were starting to diminish and lose its shine. The once radiant smile that had men crashing their cars admiring her was replaced with yellowish teeth with gaps. Her light brown eyes that once could hold a man capture lost its ability with the dark rings surrounding them giving her the appearance of a raccoon. Her once high cheek bones were now sunken from sucking on that glass dick and snorting heroin. She was a mere shell of the vibrant, sexy and desirable woman. By twenty-five, she turned slightly cold to words of admiration and love would never enter her heart again. Being slightly bow-legged, men still found her walk extremely sexy and desired her body but at a price. Keep all the bullshit words of affection, she could give a damn about them. Her only concern was how many dead presidents were you willing to spend to crawl between her honey thighs and test drive her little red corvette?

By the time Jazz was eight, their mother had moved them down into the Allen Homes section of Philly down by 11th and Brown Street. Being the older sister, Prissy decided when she was ten that she wasn’t going to emulate her mother or the other female members of her family. She remember sitting on the dining room floor with her sisters reading when she heard her Aunt Sissy said, Shit! If they want to keep giving me a check each month and food stamps to feed my children, I’m good with that. How could she be good with that? They had one outdated television with fuck up receptions. You have the same couch my mother gave you three years ago, but now, it look like something had been crawling and laying on it that was very dirty. No, filthy as a motherfucker. All sorts of unfamiliar stains consumed it. The smell alone made you want to sit on the floor. When they spent the weekends with their cousins, they had to eat in shifts. She didn’t possess a lot of plates or anything else. So, after you eat you had to wash off your plate and pass it to the next cousin. You really have to watch Toni and Tweet none washing asses. Every morning they were in the habit of taking a shower, but she watched her cousins especially the boys, skip that soap and water for two and three days respectfully. They might share the same heritage blood, but families do go their separate ways. Didn’t Noah’s sons?

None of them have ever experience maintaining a job for more than two years. Whether it was because of the heavy partying they did every Friday and Saturday night that Monday came upon them too quickly or taking off on pay days almost consistently that warnings was made, they eventually would lose their jobs and wouldn’t seek another until his benefits expires from unemployment. Either way, they might seek employment again after another three to five years, maybe. With their disposition, they attract exactly what their hand call for. They seem to attract the exact kind of men that didn’t work consistently or used that their prison record restrict what they can apply for. Yet, they seem content living in the conditions they were living in. She wasn’t going to mimic their nonproductive norms that existed in her neighborhood. She didn’t want to know how to work the system. She wanted to stand on her own two feet and provide for herself. How could she begin to take care of herself if she had another mouth to feed like a baby? Shitty pampers and all that. Na, she won’t be a part of that statistics. Babies having babies crew. Becoming pregnant or have a child by the time she was sixteen wasn’t happening. She was going to keep her legs closed and her ankles cross until she got married. No materialistic things that they could buy for her was going to make her break a promise to herself. Granted, she was just as poor and under pledged as her peers, but she promise herself, she was going to rise above her situation. Time after time she heard her teachers advocate the importance of education to up-lift one self. Well, she decided to put that theory to the test. She also understood her position in the family and the importance of certain characteristics that will be emulated. Since she was going to take the lead, she will be setting her standards high and her sisters will be following them or else.

By the time she started Spring Garden School in the 1100 block of Melon Street in third grade, she did her home-work on the school. Residents were zoned in the Spring Garden and zone to attend Ben Franklin High. With a graduating rate of seventy per-cent, students either attended special admission or magnet schools such as Bodine High for international affairs or Carver High for science and engineering. She was regularly seen dragging her sisters the ten blocks to the Ramonita G. de Rodriguez library at 6th and Girard. Once they had completed their home work or study for two hours, she would take them to the park to play or patch up with some of the girls from their complex. Jazz was consider the rebellious one. Where as Mocha would humble herself to Prissy demands and instructions, Jazz had to be threaten. She didn’t believe that shit stinks. As time progress, Prissy threats weren’t enough to check Jazz. Occasionally, she had to get physical with her to force her to submit. But after a few meaningful ass kicking’s, she realized that an ass kicking does goes a long way when diplomacy won’t work. By the time she was graduating from middle school, she was a straight A student and so was Mocha. She thought Jazz always seems to manipulate that B every year to prevent her from being a straight A student as payback to Prissy. How do you get a B in gym?

One thing she didn’t have to concern herself with was not having to seek them out after school especially Jazz to dragged them to the library any more. No matter how hard their girlfriends tried to persuade or entice them with different offerings to skip a day, they remained strong and convicted to their academics. They would meet up there and study, test one another then go home together. This was their routine for the past three years. On some Saturdays after leaving the library, they would take adventures together. She would pay their way on SEPTA to go to Fairmount Park to watch the guys play basketball and admire the luxury cars cruising through at five miles per-hour. They would also travel down to Penns Landing to sit and stared across the Delaware River at Camden, New Jersey. With the ability to walk across the Ben Franklin Bridge into Camden, they venture down to the new water theme park and Aquarium they have built to stimulate Camden’s deplorable economy. Visitors flood there every summer for the free outside concerts. They watched from their position as the ferry brought unsuspecting white people into one of the most notorious cities in New Jersey. Drug dealers with their portable boom boxes would sit for hours keeping a close eye on the under cops trying to blend in while selling their drugs to the predominately young white college students at Rutgers University. Sometimes, they wouldn’t go into Camden, but just sit at the half way point with its benches and stare at both shore lines, or stay to admire the city lights. Looking down into the murky water, they watched the barges move slowly up and down the river bring their products. They would watch the guys in Camden diving off a massive tree stump into the water. They seem to be having so much fun without considering the repercussions of rashes or bacteria infections from the filthy water especially on those hot and steamy days. One day, they spotted them somehow. They was waving them over to come join them. Surely, they must be delusional.

Although only thirteen, Prissy had guys in their late teens under her spell. Her deep bronze complexion, and thick silky hair had guys mesmerized. Her lips were slightly fuller than her mother, but she didn’t escape her slightly bow legs. Her natural swing of her hips had full grown men salivating after her. The lustful stares she received from them privately made her giggled. The way she naturally held her right hand as she walked, like she was pushing up on something earned her the nick name Prissy. She had an air about herself that made some people assumed she thought she was too good to live in the hood. A lot of girls had jealousy in their eyes and malice in their hearts because of the unwanted attention she was receiving from the drug boys and perceived her prissy disposition as being soft. She had rip out a lot of weave out of bitches’ heads stepping to her incorrect and talking slick. She learned from her older cousins to always carry a jar of Vaseline to prevent permanent scratches to the face. The women on her side don’t scratch. They punch. They would grab a bitch’s weave then put in heavy work with their free hand. She built her reputation by fucking up the right bitches and the guys knew; she wasn’t giving up shit to nobody at no price not even a simple kiss.

She would grind every summer baby sitting or washing drug dealers’ cars in her court yard with her sisters helping. She could feel their eyes roaming over her body as she stretch for certain spots. Salivating over her muscular shape bow legs and imagining what you would do between that gap. She allowed them to utter dumb shit out of their mouths to a limit before shutting them down with her eyes. If you are pleased with your private show and want to give up an additional five or ten dollars, thank you. When winter brought snow and it brings a lot of snow in Philly, they would grab their shovels early in the morning and head out the door. They would pool their money together to buy their used clothes but fashionable from the many Thrift Stores. Known for her heavy hands, she have punch many guys in the mouth for saying lude, unappropriated and provocative things to her. One corner boy even boasting about offering her a thousand dollars if she would spend just one hour with him. Although he was warned about her wrath, he tried his hand anyway. They had a very vicious argument as he tried to defend his honor. Repeatedly, calling her a bitch wasn’t a very smart thing to say. Even as she was walking away, he called her a bitch again then burst out laughing. She only smiled back at him. She almost caught him sleeping a couple of days later with a broken beer bottle. As he was sitting on his perch admiring himself and not concerning himself with what was going on right around him, sleeping could be fatal, very fatal. Her hand was already in the downward motion getting ready to thrust it deep into the side of his neck when it was suddenly halted.

Whoa, young lady a voice said impeding her stealth attack causing her target to leap to his feet.

Let go of me, motherfucker! she demanded staring at the surprise look in her target eyes as he stared at the broken bottle and what could have transpired.

Are you trying to get a murder rap? the guy asked forcing the bottle from her hand.

Get your motherfucking hands off of me! she insisted unable to escape his vice like grip.

Are you going to calm down? he asked staring into her light brown eyes.

Yes, now remove your hands.

He released her slightly smiling then stared over at the guy. What did you say that got her so upset and remember who the fuck you’re talking to also? he advised the guy who was visibly shaken.

I said something that I shouldn’t have said he admitted avoiding the question and especially, the cold stare.

I already know that. What did you say?

I offer her a G to have sex with me he confessed still avoiding staring directly into his eyes.

"You did, huh?

Yeah, O.G.

Well she apparently found your offer very inappropriate, but you will still give her that G you was so eager to spend.

Yes sir he replied pulling out his knot then counting out a thousand dollars then extending it to him.

You didn’t offer me the G stupid. Give it to the person you offered he told him slightly snarling.

He extended the money to her. Here Prissy.

"Fuck you bitch! I don’t