How Much Time Do You Have?

By Zachary Perkins

How Much Time Do You Have? a compilation of short essays, sees Perkins seeking closure on the first quarter of his life as he waxes honest about the greatest trials and tribulations he's had to endure thus far. Perkins uses his larger-than-life personality to transport readers to whichever moment of his life is being highlighted at this time. Whether it be finding the courage to come out to his friends and family, or navigating facing eviction and repossession in the same year, the life of Zachary Perkins is a whimsical ride in every approach of the word. Sometimes the volatility throughout (in moments such as Perkins finding out that his best friend's have just been arrested in connection with the murder of their son) leaves you on the edge of your seat. Other moments, such as seeing the world through the lens of a then 16-year-old Zachary and the unconventional methods he emplored to express his sexuality leave you no choice but to root for him. While the stores feature in HMTDYH? are gripping, compelling, and unbelievable - Perkins is clear throughout about what he wants readers to take away...your life and all of the mistakes you may have made along the way don't deserve to define you..

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zachary Perkins
• Release date: Apr 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201844165

Book preview

How Much Time Do You Have?

How Much Time Do You Have?

Zachary J. Perkins

Copyright © 2021 by Zachary J. Perkins

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Tracklist

Thank You (The Intro)

Schoolin’ Life

I Got the Juice

Thinkin Bout You

Forbidden Fruit

Broccoli

Cry Your Heart Out

Ctrl (Lost)

Unwritten (The Outro)

About the Author

Thank You (The Intro)

Thank you for watching me walk across the stage, for walking me through my heartbreaks. Thanks for the love every step of the way, with no support, this wouldn't be as great. Thank you for making me stronger than most -Kehlani

To anyone reading this book, thank you first and foremost for listening. So often in this life, we’re often struggling to be seen or heard. With that being said, I’m speaking my truth and I may never shut my mouth again.

Our stories and our experiences are universal and there truly is healing that happens when we can meet others where they are and speak openly and candidly, something that has propelled my desire to write this book.

I thought this book wouldn’t come out until after I had children, I don’t know why I thought this but it was just the plan I had set forth for myself and up until recently, change had always been something I was reluctant to allow into my life.

I’m now realizing that change is often necessary because many times the things we wanted for ourselves aren’t the things that serve our best interest(s). There are so many people I want to thank for getting me to be the man I am today:

Mommy, thank you for giving me life in every sense of the word. To be raised by such a selfless and giving person has been such a master class in humanity to look up to. I couldn’t imagine navigating this life with anyone else by my side.

Dad, thank you for not only stepping up but stepping in. I can never find a sufficient way to repay you for all of the knowledge, grace, love, and opportunities you’ve afforded me. I hope to be half the man you are in this lifetime.

Precious, Kalena & Courtney, my pseudo children, thank you for helping me realize how strong I can be. You ladies have annoyed me every single day but no one on this planet has enabled the protector in me as you all have. I’m so proud of whom you’ve all grown to be. I know you’ll each change this world in uniquely beautiful ways.

Grandma Hazel & Big Mama, though you may not be here with us anymore your collective impact is perhaps the strongest on me. I love as hard as I do because of you and I’ve made it my mission to show up for those who show up for me. Thank you for framing the idea of family, not only the biological members, but the ones who’ve remained loyal and good to us.

Mason, although it saddens me that you’re not here anymore I cherish all the time that we did get to share and your trademark smile is forever imprinted on my heart. Because I knew your heart in this lifetime, I’m that much more appreciative of every moment I get in this lifetime.

Tyler & Valerie, when your respective parents asked me to be your godfather, I was very nervous to take on the responsibility due to losses in my life. However, I’m so grateful for you both for being such sources of light in a life that is often filled with darkness. Just remember I got you now, I got you then, I got you till the very end.

To all of my friends, I won’t even run the risk of attempting to name you all, because if you truly know me, then you know how terrible my memory is. But I sincerely want to thank each of you for being my village. I quite literally owe my life to you all. You guys always manage to pick me up before I’ve even realized I’ve fallen. Thank you for always encouraging me and of course putting up with my foolishness. I love you always in all ways.

For so long I’ve had such a convoluted relationship with closure stemming from my issues with control. But the older I get, and the more I live my life I’m learning that some things simply are out of my control and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I want to make it abundantly clear that I haven’t sought out to tell nobody’s story but that of my own but of course when we share parts of our lives with others, our stories become intertwined.

This book represents closure, new beginnings, and embracing all of the parts of me, the good and especially the bad. I may look back on experiences shared in this book and feel sadness connected to certain parts of my life but I’ve lived my life unapologetically and authentically. This is my story. This is my truth. These are The Chronicles of Zachary.

Schoolin’ Life

At fourteen they asked me what I wanna be, I said Baby twenty-one, so I’d get me a drink." - Beyonce Knowles

tw: death, violence & weapons

When I was around six or seven, my family and I ended up living in a very…characteristic part of Houston. But I was a kid, and you’re not even privy to those things at that age. I mean, after all, my biggest responsibility was being up on time on Saturdays to watch the Disney cartoon block on ABC. 

One morning, I sat in front of the television watching The Replacements. I had started eating a fresh stack of pancakes my mom had made me. My dad was busy getting one of my sisters ready for the day when someone began knocking on the door.  

My parents hated me answering the door because I would never check the peephole first to see who was at the door. I was a towering three feet and some change, so it wasn’t exactly an option. 

Besides, I figured it couldn’t have been anybody besides Brian Jr. 

Brian Jr. was my dad’s childhood best friend’s son, who also lived in our complex. We would watch the cartoons at each other’s houses on a rotating schedule. 

I tried to ignore the constant knocking. But the knocking continued, and nobody came to get it. So I took matters into my own hands. I opened the door, and a very tall and skinny woman who looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks was standing on the other side. 

She looked like many of the women I’d often see leaving this one apartment in our complex. Each of these women would leave said apartment at varying times throughout the day. They all looked exhausted, no matter the time of day.

We were to stay away from said apartment at all times. I wondered why so many women were staying in this one apartment. I’d later learn that apartment was functioning as a brothel, and this woman at my door was a prostitute. 

Y’all got any more of those pancakes? I can smell them down the block, she asked, peeking around me to see into the apartment. 

I’m almost sure she was planning on making a beeline for my plate that was still sitting in front of the television. She’d never get the chance to do so. The next thing I knew, my mom came and snatched me up and told this lady to leave our house as she slammed the door in her face. 

I couldn’t understand why my mom had such an adverse reaction. She scolded me about answering the doors for strangers. She highlighted the dangers I could put my family and me in by being so reckless in doing so. This lady seemed harmless, and I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t have any pancakes. We had plenty to share.

Occurrences like this always left me with open-ended questions about life. I absorbed everything around me. I wanted to know how everything functioned and why it functioned that way. Sometimes I would pose questions that not even the adults around me had an answer for.

This led to me becoming an avid reader before I enrolled in school. Newspapers. Magazines. The Junie B. Jones franchise. It didn’t matter. I read everything I could get my hands on, and then I loved reporting my latest finding back to my family.

My parents, being as proactive as possible, enrolled me at Halpin Elementary. Halpin was a school for the gifted and talented in Houston. 

After scoring brilliantly high on my entrance exams, the principal had an idea. She suggested I skip Pre-K.

My parents declined the offer. 

They wanted me to be with kids my age, especially since it would be my first year of school. I understood their reasoning behind it. At the same time, it left me feeling underserved in school settings. 

I ended up resorting to being the kid who talks too much because I never felt like I was being stimulated. It was like my teachers never knew what to do with me. They knew that if they left me alone for more than five minutes, I would entertain myself, no matter how unconventional my methods may have been. 

---

In first grade, I returned to the public school system seeing that Halpin only offered classes for Pre-K and kindergarten students. 

We would get a marking for our conduct in our planners every night. We were to get these planners signed every night. I would get an ‘S’ for Satisfactory on a good day. But most days, I was bringing home a ‘U’ for Unsatisfactory, which was because of my mouth every time. 

After bringing home U’s every day for about a week straight, my teacher pulled me to the side. She was curious to find out what had gotten into me recently. I explained to her that I wasn’t trying to be disruptful in class, but I would always finish my work first. This resulted in me being bored often. This left me with no other option than to entertain myself until the class completed their work.

Sometimes, how I elected to distract myself also served as a distraction to those around me.

But that wasn’t my fault that I was more interesting than addition and subtraction. 

My teacher told me I owed the class the same respect and courtesy to finish their assignments. Her tone made me fear she would call my parents and make this a more significant issue than it needed to be. 

So color me surprised when she said, So you’re bored, huh? What would you like to do instead? 

I pondered for a minute before I said, I like to write. 

Books? Poems? Songs? she inquired, wanting more clarity to my vague statement. 

Well, I started a book last summer that I never got to finish, I replied. 

Of course you did, she added with a chuckle. How about we do this? Anytime you feel bored in class or have the urge to distract those near you, how about we work on your book? 

I agreed, and over the next few weeks, I became more and more involved with my book. Every Friday, I would share my latest pages with my class. I’d gauge their feedback to determine if I needed to rework that week’s chapters. 

I obsessed over every detail of that book. It was about a boy going on a series of adventures, and each day he’d embark on a unique journey that would end in him learning the definition of an unfamiliar word. It was essentially my reimagining of a children’s dictionary. 

About a month into my writing sessions, my teacher could see how passionate I was about this book. She realized I had channeled my energy into something productive. She was happy she finally shut me up. To not interrupt my momentum and the newfound peace the class had, she made accommodations for me. The rest of my grades from the year became dependent on how much progress I had made with the book. 

Every week we’d get a group of PALS to come from the nearby high school to serve as mentors and tutors of sorts for us. I told them about my book, and one of the high schoolers volunteered to illustrate my book for me.

After I’d set the scene for that particular chapter, she’d bring my words to life through images. Then we’d scan and upload them to my constantly growing book. Shortly before the end of the year, I finally finished my book. 

My teacher threw a party so that I could present my final copy to everyone in first grade. On the last day of school, she handed me a floppy disc with my book. 

Don’t forget the super cool teacher who let you write this book in her class when you get rich and famous, you hear? she jokingly said as she hugged me goodbye. 

I never got to publish that book. We can thank my dad, who didn’t see the sentimental value in anything and threw my floppy disc away after we moved a few years later. So while this may be the first book I’ve published, this isn’t my first foray into writing a book.

That book will sadly never see the light of day. However, the impact my first-grade teacher left on me is one that I could never forget. 

Instead of writing me off as having behavior issues or acting out, she adjusted the curriculum to meet my needs. She was the first person who made me believe in my writing and myself, overall.

Writing my book allowed me to flourish in ways I never could’ve imagined. It didn’t do me any favors for me socially, though. The other kids felt like I was getting special treatment, and they resented me for it.

I tried to ignore it for as long as I could. But they were relentless. There were a group of maybe 10 kids in my class who were dedicated to making my life a living hell. I let a lot of it slide off my back, but there’s only so much a person can sustain before retaliating. 

The kids would tease me about the size of my head or accuse me of being gay - yes, I know I am today, but denial. It would be the entire class picking on me at a time, and I’d tell the teacher or any adult whom I thought would help me. Instead, each time they were dismissive. Then the bullying would get more intense because now I was the big-headed, gay boy who was also a snitch.

My teachers would even call me out because I was the kid who always knew the answer to the question. Or I’d be the first one to go to the SmartBoard and show my work. I couldn’t help that these kids were focused on tearing me down. If only they were as concerned with improving their year-to-year reading levels. 

I recall sitting in art class one day, and I kept hearing snickering from the table across the room. But when I would look up, the snickering would stop and they would put their heads down in unison. I decide to just ignore it and I went back to trying to decide what I was going to draw.

Before I knew it, the snickering had returned and now all of the tables around me were struggling to hold in their laughter. What was so funny? I wanted to laugh. Suddenly, Sara Lee, a girl in my class, walked up and handed me a piece of paper that was folded up. I opened it up and there was a caricature version of myself staring me back.

Of course, my head took up the majority of the page. My lips and ears had been overdrawn. Eventually, the picture made its way around the room. It became a living document. One by one, everyone added to the drawing a bit before passing it to the next person. 

Finally, All around me, I could hear pockets of snickering. 

I opened the paper, and it’s so crazy looking back on that era of life now. Everyone around me was in control of my self-esteem. As I felt the tears welling in my eyes, I sniffled so hard that my tear ducts cleared instantly.

Despite what any of those vultures said or thought about me, I refused to let them believe they had won. I certainly would never let them see me cry. I picked my things up and went and sat at a table by myself in the back of the room, facing away from my class. 

I needed today to be the last day any of these bitches fucked with me. Besides, it seemed like none of the adults in my life would advocate for me so I quickly learned the importance of being your biggest advocate. 

I turned the drawing over, and I started writing everyone’s names down on the back of this paper. I didn’t even need to look around to confirm who was in the room. 

I had each of them laughing in my face, permanently ingrained in my head at this point. As I sat there, they continued to taunt me, and again the teacher was watching this entire scene play out. She intervened not once, even though I’m almost sure she had also seen the picture by this point. 

They’d come up and thump the back of my head or launch spitballs across the room at me. Each time they fucked with me, I’d put a tally next to their name. I honestly don’t know what these lines symbolized or what I would do with this information after class that day.

The class was almost over when my classmate Sara Lee came up and looked over my shoulder. As she approached, I added two more tallies to my list.

What are you doing? she asked, with confusion painted across her face.

Like I said, I wanted today to be the last day any of these bitches came to school thinking I was the one to play with. An idea popped into my head as I remembered a scene from Degrassi. You already know, if that show was my inspiration at that moment, things were about to take a turn for the worst. 

Looking this girl dead in her eyes, I told her that the tallies equaled how many times I planned to stab or shoot everyone in the room. Shock value was the goal. But once I saw the way this girl’s jaw hit the ground, I instantly knew I had taken things way too far. I had even shocked myself with that.

In hindsight, I don’t know why I said it. 

She never changed her expression as she slowly backed away. Sara Lee ran to tell our teacher about the project I had been working on. 

I wasn’t a violent person. Hence why I hadn’t beaten anyone’s ass leading up to this day. Besides, my family had no weapons of mass destruction at home. The next thing I knew, I was in the counselor’s office, sandwiched between my dad and a few of my teachers. The principal sat across from us at her desk. 

The counselors asked me what had been the catalyst for my actions on that day. I began telling them about all the harassment I was facing at the hands of my classmates. Every single one of my teachers present deserved an Academy Award. They all acted as if this was the first they had heard of this. 

Why didn’t you tell us anything? You know we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on, Zachary. The gaslighting was insane. 

Things had gotten this bad BECAUSE of everyone’s insufficient response to my crisis. The adults excused me from the meeting. I sat outside while they determined an appropriate course of action. 

They called me back into the office and told me I’d have to spend the next week at M.R. Woods. M.R. Woods was an alternative school in the district. As far as seven-year-old me knew, it was essentially a prison for children. 

I mean, all schools are, but I digress. 

On the way home, my dad wondered why I would do something like that, to begin with.

They all bully me. I don’t have any friends, dad, I said as I turned my head to stare out of the window.

I knew my dad was fuming at this point. He probably wanted to whoop my ass, but he offered an olive branch instead. I’m your friend, he said, with a slight tenderness in