Tales from the Street

By Gail Rose Sharbaan

From single motherhood to Uncle Jazz in drag, Tales from the Street focuses its readers on a unique viewpoint of urban family life. This series of short stories opens with six-year-olds engaging in social commentary concerning the adult world of sex, childbirth and motherhood proclaiming, "You always bragging about your daddy, but you don't have two mommies like I have ".
Varying themes, including brutality, infidelity and sexual experimentation, feature strong African-American women surviving, living and loving.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 5, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469746234

Gail Rose Sharbaan

Gail Rose Sharbaan, a native New Yorker, still resides in the city that provided education, countless events of inspiration, and the birth of her two children. She served as fiction editor and writer for African Voices and feature writer for QBR. This is her first book of short stories and poetry.

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All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Gail Rose Sharbaan

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

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ISBN: 978-1-469-74623-4 (ebook)

Contents

Family Affairs

Being: Just for Today

Shaded Absolutes

Marie

Milk Crates and Millionaires

Mr. Roger’s Hood

Done Finished Where I Been

The Dark of Dawn

From the Debt She Owes

Circles

He Feels Like a Love Poem

Justice

Moving On

The Bernard’s

Generation Sneakers

Walking the Line

Phat

Along the Way

I Been Trying to Tell You About

lines—Instead I’ve Been

Learning About Circles.

As Water Greets the Shore

Funky Politics

Curious

Next to you

Recall

The Sun

Train rides and other missed adventures

When

Claws

She Struts By

Meeting You

Dedicated to all of those that believed in me until I was able to believe in myself

Thank you—

Rose Harris

Lucy Ferguson

Danielle Johnson

Dominique Sharbaan

Max Rodriguez

Carol Butts

Sylvia Hall

Azaline Doyle

Aleah Long

David Harris

Yvonne Carter

Denise Shelley

Michelle Brown

Sakeena Beaulieu

David Welsh

Jonathan Clark

And a host of other family, friends, and spirits too numerous to name.

SHORT TALES

Family Affairs 

It’s a wonder Tanya never ran out of breath, talking about her daddy as she did. She had more air than those winos on the corner of the block who were always trying to outtalk each other with tales and lies. Tanya sat poised on the steps in an old tenement building in the south Bronx with her friends. She was giving out candies to all who chose to listen, while she bragged about the things her daddy did. It was important for her to let her friends know how special she was, for Tanya was the only one in the neighborhood who had a father still around.

While the four of them played Old Maid in the hallway of the building, Tanya continued her brag on my daddy scenarios. The other children became restless and probably a bit jealous, so they all told her to shut up. Tanya jumped up off the steps and tried to snatch the unfinished candy out of the other girls’ hands. What she accomplished was messing up the card game. Tanya stood up on her bird legs like a jack in the box springing into action. Her too-straightened hair flew in the wind she created as she moved. Tanya placed one hand on her narrow hip, and with the other hand pointed her finger straight in the face of Rhonda, a girl smaller than she. With eyebrows knitted in the middle of her face and lips hiding behind her teeth, Tanya roared,

You’re just jealous ‘cause your mama is too ugly, so you never gonna have a daddy. Your mama probably found you in the garbage can anyway. That’s why you ain’t got one.

Trudy, the biggest of the five and six-years old, jumped to the defense of the littlest one, and told Tanya, Watch your mouth ‘fore you lose it. Tanya poked out her bottom lip and sat back down; she knew messing with Trudy would mean she’d have to go home with at least a bloody nose.

When things calmed down a bit and Tanya took her seat on the steps again, Alisha said, You all ways bragging about your daddy, but you don’t have two mommies like I have, so I’m better than you.

Trudy turned to look in her face. What did you say?

Alisha wiped her nose on her shirt. I got two mommies.

Rhonda, the littlest one in the crowd, stopped picking up the cards to ask How can you have two mommies? Nobody has two mommies.

Oh, yes I do. Both of my mommies were pregnant with me, and when I was born my legs came out of one and my head came out of the other.

Trudy scratched the top of her head as she thought about this. Thought processing was always slow for Trudy, and this one took more time than most. Rhonda looked confused—more confused than she was in her normal state. Tanya knitted her eyebrows back together, mad. She snatched the cards from Rhonda. How about another game of Old Maid?

How can two women be pregnant with one baby? asked Trudy, as if Tanya had never spoken.

Easy. All they have to do is be together, replied Alisha.

Oh.

Well, I got two mommies, sort of. Tanya retorted.

All eyes looked at Tanya. Tanya’s brows relaxed.

Your mommy had another lady who was stuck to her when she was pregnant too? Rhonda looked at her in amazement.

No, silly. My daddy goes to see another lady on the ground floor of my building and she said that since my daddy loves her, too, she is my other mommy, so long as I keep it a secret. That’s why I got two mommies and a daddy. Tanya felt so proud that she had outdone Alisha.

Trudy was still processing the first bit of information, totally disregarding Tanya. So what you’re saying is that your legs came out of one woman and your head came out of the other? Well, where was the rest of your body?.

Who cares, she is still ugly. They probably got the rest of her in the same can they found Rhonda, Tanya roared.

Why don’t you shut up, Tanya, and let the girl talk? Trudy threatened.

Alisha had had about enough of Tanya and her insults. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Every time I say something, she always puts her two cents’ in. She wiped her ever-running nose on her sleeve and stood up to look Tanya straight in her eyes. Tanya jumped back in surprise at Alisha’s aggressive movements.

I’m tired of hearing about your daddy, and I am tired of listening to you starting fights. I’m going home. Alisha held her head up high and walked down the landing until she reached the door to the building. She turned around to see if anyone would follow her. They were all asking Tanya for another piece of candy. No one came, so she turned the corner of the block and headed home.

A cool breeze brushed Alisha’s pigtails as she strolled home. She passed by the garbage that the sanitation men refused to collect on their run through the neighborhood. Rats played catch on the mound of debris, enjoying the end of a fall day just as the neighborhood people were doing. Alisha turned into her building, a few doors away from the chorus of singing winos hanging around a burning garbage can, and ran up the four flights of stairs to her apartment.

Before she reached the door she smelled the fried chicken and collard greens cooking on the stove. Her mouth watered from the aroma. She opened the door that always remained unlocked until everyone was home, and ran into the kitchen where one of her mothers was mixing Kool-Aid.

Alisha ran into her mother’s arms and hugged her really tight while she mixed the aroma with the comforting smell of mommy. Her mother became concerned when she didn’t let go and asked her, Is something the matter?

Alisha did not know how to ask her, Why is it that there are no men in our house? She didn’t know how to tell her mother that she felt something was missing and that Tanya always made her wonder about what it was. Instead she said I just wanted to tell you that I love you.

Oh, that is so sweet. Her mother bent her smiling face toward Alisha and kissed her forehead. Now, go wash your hands and we’ll eat.

Being: Just for Today 

It was Halloween night in 1970. James Brown was screaming from the stereo to Get on the Good Foot Uncle Jazz and I wanted to party, but could not figure out what to wear.

Uncle Jazz thought we should use our imagination instead of wearing one of those store bought costumes. The only things my mother had that we could use for a costume were a red blouse she wore when appearing feminine was an absolute requirement and a pair of sneakers with holes in them. Since my mother was on the large side, her jeans swallowed me up. Although I was a little discouraged, Good Foot was playing and we just wanted to party.

From out of nowhere, Uncle Jazz produced a bag of all kinds of makeup and stockings. I was so overjoyed; I never thought to ask him where he got it from. I just wanted to get into it.

We both stood in front of the big mirror that hung on the wall in the living room, wearing our new stockings and begun putting on makeup. I mimicked everything he did. He was moving his hips and bending his knees to the music, as James Brown screamed, ‘Get on the Good Foot’, while applying lots of foundation on our faces. We put on false eyelashes and highlighted our eyes with blue eye shadow. We then painted on blush and accented our lips in red. Uncle Jazz looked like a lady, and I tried to look like him.

We rummaged though my mother’s drawers and found two bras in which we stuffed plenty of newspaper. After that, we were faced with the problem of finding a dress. I ran to the closet and pulled out my mother’s feminine bright red blouse. It fit me just like a dress but Uncle Jazz was another problem because he was a grown man and Mommy’s stuff didn’t fit him like it did me.

Again, from out of nowhere came this dress that clung to the hanger! It was smaller than my mother’s shirt and barely covered his gorgeous thighs when he put it on. The dress highlighted the fake fabulous bust line by using see-through nylon on the shoulders and chest area. Additional material trailed down the back of the dress, sweeping the floor. When Uncle Jazz stepped into the high heels that also came out of the bag of treats, all I could say was ‘Wow!’

We placed long flowing wigs on our heads. As Good Foot played for the fifth or sixth time, we gyrated our hips and swung our newly found hair. I put on my mother’s old weekend sneakers, belted my waist with a dingy white rag and looked in the mirror. I looked grown! Uncle Jazz was one of the best looking women I’d ever seen!

We went to the party, walking down the street on Halloween giving everyone a treat. Uncle Jazz walked with his head held high, trailing fake hair and nylon in the wind. He looked like royalty—a queen, in all his glory.

I tried so hard to put one foot in front of the other just like he did. I looked awkward in my mother’s oversized raggedy weekend sneakers, trying to bounce my hips from side to side, but I was happy to be grown for a night. When we got to