by K'wan
Persia’s road to recovery was a long and difficult one. The physical pains of withdrawal were so bad that she wouldn’t wish them on her worst enemy, but they failed in comparison to the mental scars left behind by the whole ordeal. Ironically enough, when things were roughest, it was Richard who was there to help her get through it. He was there to listen when she felt like talking, and to talk when she needed to be encouraged. He even footed the bill for her to be treated in an outpatient program at a private treatment facility to spare her the embarrassment of anyone finding out what she’d been through. After the way she’d treated Richard all those years, most men wouldn’t have bothered, but Richard was there to help her put the pieces back together. Persia still didn’t accept him as a replacement for her father, but she developed a whole new level of respect for him.
A sharp whacking sound against her desk snapped Persia out of her daydream. She looked up to find Sister Francine standing over her, cold blue eyes glaring at her, and tapping her infamous three foot ruler against her meaty palm. Even before Persia had been a student at St. Mary’s the first go-around, she had heard stories about Sister Francine and that ruler. They said she wielded it with the grace and skill of a samurai.
“Ms. Chandler, would you care to share with the class what it is out the window that has you so fixated that you’re ignoring today’s lesson?” Sister Francine asked in her snooty tone.
“Ah, it’s nothing. I guess I was just daydreaming. I’m sorry,” Persia said, hoping her apology was enough to send the old crone back to the front of the class and out of her face. It didn’t.
“Daydreaming won’t get you a passing grade in my class, Ms. Chandler. Knowing the work will.”
“Yes, Sister Francine. You’re absolutely right. I’ll be more attentive,” Persia told her, still trying to take the high road.
“Of course I’m right, which is why I’m the teacher and you’re the student, a student who is with me for the second time at that. Maybe you feel like you don’t have to pay attention like everyone else because you know the work already. Is that it, Ms. Chandler, are you a know-it-all?”
Persia looked up at the nun, feeling her temper swelling. Sister Francine was goading her. For as bad as Persia wanted to slap fire out of the old bag, she knew that would definitely get her booted out of school and possibly brought up on charges. Grudgingly, she swallowed her anger and simply answered, “No, ma’am.”
“Oh, but I think you do. So since you know the lesson plan so well, why don’t you get up and solve the problem on the board for the class?” Sister Francine challenged.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Sister Francine,” Persia said barely above a whisper.
Sister Francine leaned with her pale knuckles on the desk and glared at Persia with her cold blue eyes. “That wasn’t a request, Ms. Chandler. You can get up and solve the problem in front of the class, or I’ll write you up. We both know what a demerit would do to your delicate record at this point, don’t we?” She held a piece of white chalk up in front of Persia.
Persia sighed, before plucking the chalk from Sister Francine’s fingers and getting up from her chair. The walk from her seat to the blackboard was like walking the Green Mile, on her way to the electric chair. Persia could feel the eyes of every student in the room locked on her. “Don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up,” she repeated to herself, taking short quick breaths. As she approached the board, her eyes floated across the riddle of numbers, letters, and decimal points, Sister Francine had scribbled on the board. When Persia raised her hand she noticed that it was sweating so bad that the chalk had begun to stick to her fingers. She looked over her shoulder and saw Sister Francine was watching her, smirking smugly. Taking a deep breath, Persia made the first few stokes with the chalk. When she placed it back in the tray, just beneath the blackboard, she turned around and gave Sister Francine a half smile. It took her less than twenty seconds to solve the problem, and embarrass the nun in front of the class.
Sister Francine stalked toward Persia, face flushed red. “You think you’re smart don’t you?”
“No, but I’m not a dummy either,” Persia told her. She had been counting her father’s money since she was three, so math came natural to her.
“Are you and I going to have a problem, Ms. Chandler?” Sister Francine asked, with her hand tightening around the ruler.
Persia looked from the ruler to Sister Francine’s angry face. “Not unless you create one.”
Sister Francine looked like she was thinking about it, but decided against it. “Go downstairs and see Father Michael.”
“For what? I got up and solved the problem like you asked.”
“Yes, but you disrupted my class in doing so. Now leave, or I’ll have you removed,” Sister Francine told her.
“This is some bullshit,” Persia grumbled, walking back to her desk. She snatched her bag, hastily stuffing her books into it on her way to the door. As she was walking out, she gave Sister Francine the finger.
“It’s that attitude of yours that got you into trouble in the first place,” Sister Francine called after her. “There are no shortcuts to an education, Ms. Chandler. You can either get it in here or on some random street corner. The choice is yours!”
CHAPTER 3
Persia sat in the waiting area outside Father Michael’s office, waiting her turn to see the school’s headmaster. From the shouting coming from the other side of the door, somebody was getting ripped a new asshole. Persia didn’t know who it was, but she would’ve hated to be the recipient of whatever punishment awaited them. There were two other girls in the waiting area, too, sent down for one offense or another to be punished. One of them, a girl she had classes with, tried to engage her in small talk, but Persia wasn’t very receptive. She was still fuming over what had happened with Sister Francine.
From her first go at the school, Persia had never been a favorite among the faculty. She was one of the few black girls who attended the prestigious school and the most outspoken. Her mother and Richard contributed to the school, so Persia was given more leeway than most, and she always seemed to be testing her boundaries. When Persia had to come back to St. Mary’s, hat in hand, some of the faculty was glad to see her humbled, Sister Francine being one of them. Her mother urged her to be strong and not feed into the bullshit, but at the end of the day she wasn’t the one sitting in a classroom getting embarrassed. Thankfully, Persia would be graduating soon, and could put Sister Francine and all the other bullshit that came with being in high school behind her.
The was a break in the screaming, and Father Michael’s door swung open, and someone shoved a young girl through it, before slamming it shut again. She was a thin blonde, with pale skin and pouty lips. Her uniform skirt looked wrinkled, and her tie hung askew around her neck. On her face she wore a bored expression, but her eyes seemed to light up a bit when she saw Persia. The blonde walked over to the row of seats where Persia and the other two girls were sitting. She looked at the girl sitting closest to Persia and motioned for her to move over. The girl didn’t utter a word; she just vacated the seat.
“One day someone is going to kick your little pasty ass for being such a bitch all the time, Sarah,” Persia told the blonde.
The blonde shrugged. “Probably, but even after the beat down, I’ll still be a bitch.”
All Persia could do was laugh. “Even when everything else has changed, you’re still the same, Sarah.” Persia was Sarah’s best friend. She and Marty had been the only two white girls to embrace Persia when her family moved into their predominantly white neighborhood years ago. They were like the three amigos. When Persia was running the streets with Karen and her crew, she didn’t see much of Marty and Sarah, but tragedy brought them back together. While Persia had been on her drug binge, Marty was brutally raped by some rappers they had met at a club. The mental trauma of what had happened was too much for Marty to cope with so she committed suicide, reducing the number of amigos to two. Marty’s death hit b
oth of them hard, but it rocked Persia. She felt like when her friend needed her most, she wasn’t there.
“So, what’re you in for, Ms. Goody Two-shoes? I thought you were cleaning up your act,” Sarah said.
“I am, but Sister Francine is in rare form today.”
Sarah sighed dramatically. “Why doesn’t that old bitch just die already?”
“We should be so lucky. So what did you do this time? I hope you didn’t stick firecrackers in Brother Lance’s cigarettes again. It took a month for his mustache to grow back the last time.” Persia laughed. Sarah didn’t. From the look on Sarah’s face, Persia could tell whatever she did wasn’t a simple prank this time. “What happened?”
“Fucking snitch is what happened,” Sarah said angrily. “A few days ago I sold those trailer park tramps Vickie and Jean a couple of beans. Them and a few of their nitwit friends popped them and one of the girls tweeked out. Of course when the pressure came down all of them pointed their fingers at me as the supplier. My dad is in there talking to father Michael now, pleading with him not to call the police. I’m in some deep shit, Persia.” Sarah broke down and started crying.
Deep shit was an understatement. Sarah’s father was a pharmacist and she would regularly tap his inventory, and push pills to the locals. It had been Sarah’s side hustle for years and never once had she gotten caught, until now. Not only was Sarah looking at getting expelled, but her father could potentially lose his license and be sent to prison for what she was doing.
Persia hugged Sarah close, and tried to comfort her as best she could. “Everything is going to be okay, Sarah.”
Father Michael’s door opened again, and out stepped Sarah’s father, Herman Thompson. He was wearing a white lab coat, and his glasses sat askew on his nose, as they always did. His thinning white hair sat on top of his head messily, as if he just stuck his fingers in a light socket. Mr. Thompson was a jovial man who was always smiling, but not that day. His thin blue lips were turned down into a frown and anger danced behind his eyes. Persia had never seen him like this and it made her uncomfortable enough to let go of Sarah.
“Are you happy now, Sarah?” Mr. Thompson said in a rough voice that didn’t match his nerdish demeanor. On the rare occasions that he got angry you could hear the faint traces of his Polish accent. “I work my fingers to the bone to give you a life better than the one I had growing up. The best clothes, the best school, all the latest electronics. Do you know how many extra hours I have to put in to keep up with the tuition at this place?”
Sarah looked frightened, more frightened than Persia had ever seen her. “No, Papa,” Sarah said, barely above a whisper.
“Of course you don’t, because you’ve never done an honest hour’s work in your entire life!” Mr. Thompson snapped. “I deny you nothing and in return you piss on my head and tell me it’s raining every chance you get.”
“Papa, it didn’t happen how they said. I was just—” Sarah started explaining, but was cut off when Mr. Thompson slapped her across the face.
“I’ve had enough of your damn lies!” Mr. Thompson raged. He looked like he was about a slap her again, but Persia stood up and got in between them.
“I think you should calm down, Mr. Thompson,” Persia said in her most respectful tone. She hadn’t meant to get between the father and daughter, but her legs had already shot her to her feet, before her brain could relay the message that it was a bad idea.
“And who are you to tell me anything, when you’re worse than her?” Mr. Thompson looked Persia up and down. “Persia Chandler, you’re in no position to give me advice about my daughter with the way you spit on every effort your parents have put forth to give you a good life.”
“That’s not true,” Persia argued.
“Isn’t it? Persia, I know all you kids think I’m just the nerdy guy from the pharmacy, who is too caught up in the table of elements to pay attention to what’s going on in everyday life, but I know a bit more about the way of the world than you give me credit for. I know your mother and both your fathers, so I know the sacrifices that were made to keep you flying straight. Your father gave his freedom for you to be able to have more than a fighter’s chance in the world and you piss your blessings away just like this idiot.” He pointed at Sarah. “The problem with you the kids of your generation, we give you too much, and never make you earn your keep so you wouldn’t know a blessing if it slapped you in the face.”
“I know I’m blessed,” Persia said, thinking of all that she had gone through and lived to tell about it.
“Then why don’t you start acting like it and stop giving your mother and your stepfather your ass to kiss, when they’re just trying to make sure you stay straight? If you want to be a statistic, like your little friend Marty, be my guest, but don’t bring my kid down with you.”
Mr. Thompson’s remark cut Persia deep. It had never been a secret that he didn’t care for Marty, but to speak ill of the dead was uncalled for. “See, I was trying to keep from disrespecting you, Mr. Thompson, but your ass is out of line. It’s easy to point the finger at Sarah, and even me, and talk about how much we’re fucking up, but what about the part you play in it as an absentee parent?”
“That’s ludicrous! I’ve been in Sarah’s life since the day she was born,” Mr. Thompson said proudly.
“Paying the bills and throwing money at her to keep her out of your hair doesn’t qualify as ‘being there.’ Half the time you don’t even know where Sarah is because you’re either too busy working or entertaining your private clients,” Persia spat. A look of shock came across Mr. Thompson’s face. “Don’t look so surprised, Herman. Just like you know my dirt, I know yours. Don’t sling mud if you aren’t prepared to have it slung back at you.”
Mr. Thompson was so embarrassed that his face turned beet red. “If you were my kid, I’d knock you in the mouth for what you just said.”
“Well I ain’t your kid and if you even think about raising your hand to me, what’s going on with your kid in school will be the least of your concerns,” Persia said in a matter-of-fact tone.
Mr. Thompson stood there, glaring at Persia as if he was trying to decide whether he wanted to test her. He was angry, but he was no fool either. For as much as he wanted to slap the taste out of the teenage girl’s mouth, he knew there would be repercussions. Mr. Thompson had enough to deal with already and didn’t need the kind of problems that would come with getting into it with Persia.
“Mr. Thompson!” Father Michael called from the doorway of his office. He was leaning against the doorframe, thick arms folded across his barrel-like chest. He had seen and heard enough.
Mr. Thompson gave Persia one last look before addressing his kid. “Let’s go, Sarah.”
Sarah snapped to attention like she had just been struck by lightning. The whole time her father and Persia exchanged words, Sarah stood in the corner, too afraid to move or speak. She knew her father had a bad temper and didn’t want her friend getting hurt trying to defend her. Sheepishly she followed her father to the door. Before she left she looked over her shoulder at Persia and mouthed that she would call her later.
Persia took slow deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She had known Mr. Thompson since she was little, and he had always been kind to her so she felt bad for disrespecting him, but she felt like he forced her hand. When the time was right, she would reach out to apologize, but it wouldn’t be any time in the near future.
CHAPTER 4
“See, that’s the problem with you cats. You spend all your time living for the now and don’t give much thought to the future. I’m all for enjoying life, but I wanna enjoy it for more than a day. I wanna enjoy it for all my days,” Tut was saying to the young men gathered around him. There were about four or five of the young cats and all their eyes were locked on him, hanging on every word that he said. Tut was young, but he had the charisma about him of an old head, which is what put him on Ramses’s radar.
Tut was a kid from the rough side o
f the Bronx, trying to make the best out of a bad situation like everyone else. Unlike the other kids he hung around with on street corners, Tut was from a two-parent household where both mother and father worked and neither of them did drugs. They weren’t rich, but they weren’t poor either, so Tut getting caught up in the streets was by choice and not circumstances. He watched his parents bust their asses day in and day out at their jobs, just to have to struggle to pay bills and not enjoy their lives and he was determined that wasn’t how he was going to go out. Tut could never see himself working for forty years just to put his boss’s kid through college. Tut wanted the immediate gratification that came with fast cash, so he set out to make his way.
He started out hustling packs for an older dude in his neighborhood. He was able to make a few coins, nothing major but enough to fill the gaps in his pockets. Tut was trying to stack what he made working for the older dude to one day buy his own work. For as appreciative as he was for the opportunity to feed himself, Tut had never been very good at following the direction of others. He wanted to be the master of his own destiny. His plan was cut short when somebody came through one night and blew his employer’s brains out. Tut now found himself back at square one. He needed to find a new plug.
As it happened, Tut went to school with a dude named Omega, who was said to be getting big money uptown. Every time he saw Omega he was dressed in whatever the latest fashions were and kept a bad chick on his arm. Tut knew Omega from having classes with him, and sharing some of the same friends, but he didn’t know him well enough to step to him about getting money. One day an opportunity presented itself that would change that.
Some dudes had run down on Omega in the bathroom and tried to rob him for his chain. Tut just happened to walk in on the robbery. He didn’t have anything to do with it so he could’ve easily walked away and left Omega to his fate, but he saw it as his way in. That day in the bathroom, Omega and Tut had stood back to back and fought off the kids. From then on, he and Omega had started hanging out around school, and their relationship eventually spilled over into the streets. Omega started bringing Tut around and introduced him to Benny and Chucky. Tut never really rocked with Chucky, but he had major love for Benny. It had been Benny who gave Tut his first job with their organization, and he always looked out for him when he could.