by Ni-Ni Simone
“Yeah, I’ma need a whole lot of time to believe that. You know what, Mrs. Brown?”
“What’s that?”
“You stay goin’ deep.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for—to make you think.”
“I do think about my little brothers and sister. I wonder how they’re doing.”
“Maybe you should write them a letter,” Mrs. Brown suggested.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Mrs. Brown continued. “Now tell me this, how do you feel about your life back in Jersey? Do you want to return?”
“I don’t think so. I just want to stay here. Not move back.”
“Okay. And one more thing before the bell rings, how’s your love life?”
“Mrs. Brown.” I blushed, suddenly feeling shy.
“Well, I know you have one. A pretty girl like you, I can only imagine how boys and their hormones are lined up. I want you to know that boys are okay, but you have time for that. Plenty of time. I want you to stay focused on school. And at the same time, if you have a boyfriend, make sure you two share similar goals. And that he wants to be something in life.”
“We do,” I said. “He wants to be a lawyer.”
“We?” Her eyes lit up. “And he wants to be an attorney. Impressive. Are you going to tell me his name?”
“Brooklyn.”
“You made up.”
“Yeah.” I blushed.
She clapped her hands in approval. “I’m happy for you. He’s a great kid. You made a wonderful choice. And I know for sure he’s going to college, which leads me to you. This is your senior year; what are your plans?”
Plans? “To find a job.”
“And college?”
College? “I’m not going to college.”
“Why not?” She looked puzzled.
“I’m just not.”
“And why not? Last year you were a straight-A student. I expect the same this year. There are a lot of great colleges around here.”
“Mrs. Brown, who’s going to pay for that?”
“You can get a scholarship. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. You just have to want it. And together, you and I can make it happen.”
“Mrs. Brown, you realize that when I first came here, I didn’t think I would stay the whole day in school, let alone go to college. One thing at a time here.”
“And you survived your first day, and the day after that, and the day after that. You will be fine.”
I paused and drifted into a thought. “You really think I could go to college?”
“I think you can do anything you set your mind to. And, yes, even go to college.”
36
Back to Life
I’m closing my home . . . and I’m done with foster parenting. I’ve had enough.
That was what drop-kicked me in the chest and sailed my stomach to my feet the moment I walked through Ms. Glo’s front door from school. I couldn’t believe my ears.
I’d forgotten my year was up. That I’d been livin’ my life on a timeline, and not a never-ending supply of days to do whatever I wanted to do, or bloom into whoever I wanted to be. I had an invisible clock attached to me. And it had stopped tickin’.
Now my life was back to bein’ at e’rybody else’s mercy, a screwed-up movie, directed by e’rybody else’s thoughts and beliefs of what was best for me and Kamari. I knew nobody would ask me what I wanted. I also knew that if I blurted it out, especially with my social worker sittin’ on the couch—pen, pad, and my life in hand—she and Ms. Glo would think I was pissed off again.
And I was.
Pissed off that I’d forgotten I ain’t really live here.
This was not my home.
My family.
My crew.
My hood.
This was Oz, and Ms. Glo was the fake-ass Wiz, who’d built you up with hope, love, laughter, dreams, deep thoughts, good times, courage, and the indescribable feelin’ of comin’ home to somebody, besides Kamari, whose face lit up when you stepped into the room. Only for you to reach the end and find out all she really offered was a deflated balloon that led to the land of nowhere.
I was so stupid.
I let the screen door slam behind me, so they’d know I’d stepped into the living room. Janette looked over at me, her face covered in surprise. “Hello, Yvette. I didn’t expect you home from school so soon.”
Ms. Glo’s face lit up the way it always did. “Did they let you all out early today?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I hesitated. “It was a half day.”
“Great.” Janette smiled. “Ms. Glo was just telling me that you’re doing incredibly well.”
I shrugged. “I guess.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Ms. Glo looked at me strangely, then walked over and draped an arm over my shoulder. She said, “I was just telling Janette how much you’ve grown over the last year. How you are such a respectful and beautiful young lady. That anything I ask you to do, you’re right there. And what a wonderful mother you are to Kamari.” She squeezed me tight.
Janette grinned. “She also told me that there was a certain young man, your age, who was hanging around quite a bit.”
I didn’t even respond to that. ’Cause as far as I was concerned after today Brooklyn, along with e’rything else I had to leave here, no longer existed.
Heat rose up my back and made me want to shake Ms. Glo’s arm off of me, but I was trying to collect myself, so that I didn’t pop off, or worse, burst into tears.
“So do you want to tell me about this special young man?” Janette said, like we were on the verge of being girlfriends. Not.
“No,” I said a little too fast. “I don’t.”
Janette squinted. “Why not?”
“Yvette,” Ms. Glo said, “I apologize if you feel like I violated your privacy, but Janette was so proud of your progress and the great choices you’ve made, I wanted to fill her in on everything.”
“Yeah, well,” I stepped out of Ms. Glo’s embrace. “I also heard you fill her in on how you’re closing your home and you’ve had enough of me and my baby.”
“That’s not true,” Ms. Glo said defensively. “Where did you get that from?”
I bit the corner of my bottom lip.
Say what you gotta say and you better not cry. Don’t drop one tear. You are not weak. And somehow, someway, you gon’ handle this.
“Look, Ms. Glo. It’s cool. Thank you for the last year that me and my baby have been here. Y’all was like family, but e’rybody knows that nothin’ good last forever. And my time is up.” I looked over at Janette. “That was the agreement, right? A year?”
Janette answered, “Well, yeah, but . . .”
“No need for buts; it’s cool. Did you really think that I thought I’d be here forever? What’d you think, I forgot? Psst, please. I was just waiting out my time, chillin like a villain.”
“Yvette,” Ms. Glo said, “that is not how you feel, and you know it.”
I cocked my neck to the side. “Now you’re telling me how I feel? Is that your new business? You’ve gone from taking kids into your home, having them love you like a mother, to now being a mind reader?” I clapped my hands. “Good job, Ms. Glo.” I looked back over at Janette. Tears pounded against the backs of my eyes.
Don’t cry.
My eyes burned and tears crept around the brim. I was doin’ my all to push them back, but failed.
I wiped my moist cheeks with the backs of my hands. “Look, I’m not some weak little girl. I got this. Okay. I knew what time it was when I got here. So all I wanna know is where am I goin’ from here? Can I do independent living or something?”
“Independent living?” Janette looked taken aback. “You want to live alone? You’re a teenager. Don’t you want a family?”
“Kamari is all the family I need. I don’t need nobody else. Not Ms. Glo, not Tasha, and damn sure not my mother who’s been swallowed up by the street. Me, myself, and I, and Kamari, we good.”
>
Janette shook her head. “No. I don’t think independent living is what’s best for you or Kamari. You need a family.”
“I don’t need nobody!” I screamed. “I’m so tired of e’ry-body tellin’ me what they think is best for me! Nobody cares about that. Nobody. All of my life I’ve lived from pillar to post. Had to beg, borrow, and steal love from whoever my mother left me with. I’m tired of that. I’m tired of loving people who don’t love me back. That’s why I had my baby, so I would know that no matter what, somebody was there for me. There to always love me. So please, let me, for once, make my own decisions.”
“Yvette,” Ms. Glo said, “listen you misunderstood . . .”
“No, when I walked in the door, I understood perfectly well and I heard all I needed to hear. You’re closing your home. You can’t do it anymore. The year is up. And you’re right, my time’s up.” I wiped more tears. “All I’m asking, Janette, is that you please don’t place me with more people. I just wanna be by myself.”
“So you didn’t like it here?” Janette asked.
“I loved it here!” I said too fast, when I should’ve said the opposite. “This was my home. And yeah, okay, okay, I know I said I didn’t forget that my time here was limited, but I did. I forgot that this was a plea bargain sentence. I love Ms. Glo and I love Tasha. They’re like my family. But I’ve had enough of families who you love but don’t love you back.”
Ms. Glo grabbed both of my hands. “Listen . . .”
“Ms. Glo . . .”
“Be quiet.”
“Ms. Glo . . .”
“Be. Quiet. And listen to me. When you walked in the door I was telling Janette that I no longer wanted to be a professional parent. That I loved you and Tasha, and Kamari like my own. And I couldn’t imagine you three being anywhere else but with me. That’s why I said I was closing my home. Not because the year is up and I want to put you out, but because I want to keep you. Whether you believe it or not, you’re my family too. So no, I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay. But if you want to leave, I’ll understand.”
I wanted to say something. I just didn’t know what.
“Yvette,” Janette said, “as you know your mother has been missing for some time now, and the state would like to move forward with finding you an adoptive family.”
I sucked my teeth. This chick just went from bad to worse. I dropped Ms. Glo’s hands and took a step back. “Adoption, at my age? Yeah, okay. Like somebody really wanna adopt a teen with a baby.”
“I would like to adopt you,” Ms. Glo said. “If you’ll allow me to. I know I’ll never be your biological mother, and I don’t ever want to take her place. I just want you and Tasha and Kamari to officially be a part of my family. So what do you think about that?”
Silence.
Complete silence.
What do you think about that?
I ain’t know what to think about that. About this. It all felt too good. Too real. Too possible. Too much like a fairytale.
This wasn’t Wonderland.
But it was everything I’d ever wanted.
And the complete opposite of what I thought I’d ever get. No Nana. Munch. Jail. Loosies. Forties. Flip.
No fear.
Just this: Somebody who loved me and wanted me around.
But did I deserve this? Was I worthy? I was a street kid, who came here with nothin’ but an attitude, a court ordered sentence, and a toddler in tow.
I wasn’t Perfect Patty.
I was Yvette, with a baby.
I looked over at Ms. Glo, who Kamari had just walked over to with her arms out. Ms. Glo picked her up and Kamari laid her head on Ms. Glo’s shoulder.
This was my family.
I walked over to Ms. Glo, hugged her and said, “I think I’d like that.”
Don’t miss the first book in the Throwback Diaries series Down by Law
Available wherever books are sold
1
The Message
All I could do was get off the ground and run.
No lookin’ back.
No time to hook off on nobody.
Just zoom through the streets of Newark until I reached the corner of Muhammad Ali and Martin Luther King Boulevard and made a mad dash for Douglas Gardens. Better known as Da Bricks. Twenty L-shaped, seven-story buildings that took up four blocks, connected by a courtyard. To the right was a basketball hoop. No net. Just a rim. To the left was a row of ten rusted clotheslines, where the only thing that hung safely was a beat-up pair of white Converses.
There were begging-behind crackheads er’where, scratching they necks, carrying they snotty-nose babies on they hips. And dope fiends who stood up, nodded out, but never fell down.
There were some people leavin’ out for work. And some just coming in; rushing straight from the bus stop to they apartment. Never speaking to nobody. Never looking no other way but straight. Never coming back outside until the next day.
Old ladies hung out the window and cussed out anybody making noise.
Winos sat on the stoops and complained about yesterday, every day.
Somebody’s boom box echoed through the air. And another somebody was spittin’ rhymes.
Kids raced behind the ice cream truck like roaches who’d seen the light.
Fresh ballers had a pot of money at their side while they rolled dice.
B-Boys break danced, making the cardboard come alive.
Then there was me. Twelve-year-old Isis. Five feet even. Short arms. Short legs. Skin the color of honey. A too-big booty bouncing. And size six feet zippin’ er’thing, as I burst into building one-seventy-two, rushed up the pissy stairway, and swore that once I got inside, to apartment three-twenty-five, I was never gon’ come back out. Ever.
* * *
“What da hell wrong witchu?” Daddy stood up and slammed both hands on the kitchen table as I clung to his waist and buried my head into his side. My mother, Queenie, and brother, Face, did they best to stop the guns, blades, and bricks of rock that lay on the glass table top from sliding to the floor.
“Isis. You hear me?” Daddy lifted my chin.
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I wiped snot with the back of my bruised and trembling hand.
Queenie frowned. Shoved a hand up on her hip. “Ain’t nuttin’ wrong wit’ this lil high yellow heifer.” She snorted and popped her full lips. “’Cept she selfish as the day is long. Mannish. Spoiled. And she stay lookin’ for a reason to tear up our groove and bust up our party. But I tell ya what: Had my rock hit the floor, or one of them guns went off, you was gon’ have a reason for dem tears. Now tell us what happened to you!”
“Relax, Queenie,” Daddy said sternly. “Now, baby girl—”
“Baby?” Queenie sucked her teeth. “This strumpet ain’t no baby. When I was her age, I was ripe, ready, and on my own. Baby? Puhlease. Ain’t no dang babies around here. Now, Isis, you heard what I said—”
“Pop! Queenie!” My fourteen-year-old brother, Montez—who we called Schooly ’cause Queenie said it didn’t matter that he was a touch of retarded, he was still the smartest black man she knew—bolted into the room. “Yvette is at the door crying and saying some chicks jumped and jacked Isis for her Shell Toe Adidas and her dookie chain.”
“And my neon jelly bracelets!” Yvette’s quivering voice squeaked in from the hallway.
I could feel all eyes land on me.
Before I could decide what to do, Face stuffed a nine at his side.
“Sit down,” Queenie said. “And put that gun back on the table.”
“But Queenie,” he pressed.
“What did I say?!”
He put the gun back and Queenie walked over to me. She slung me around, and my wet lashes kissed the base of her brown neck.
“You let some hos do what to you?” She shoved me into the corner and sank her elbow into my throat, pinning me against the wall. The heels of my bare feet was in the air and the tips of my toes just swept the floor.
My he
art raced.
Rocks filled my mouth.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think.
All I could do was suck up snot and do my best to not to choke on it.
Queenie pressed her elbow deeper into my throat, causin’ me to gag. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you! You out there in the street lettin’ some hos disrespect you?”
I lifted my gaze to meet hers and spotted a gleamin’ blade in her right hand. My eyes sprang wide and drops of piss drowned the seat of my panties.
I froze.
She leaned into my ear. “I asked you a question.”
Silence.
“Answer me!”
“I can’t . . . breathe. . . .”
She eased the pressure of her elbow a little, just enough so that I could speak but not too much where I could move. I licked the salty tears that ran over my lips. My stomach bubbled and I knew at any moment Queenie’s elbow would be speckled orange.
I hesitated. “They-they-they-they-they . . . snuck us. We was mindin’ our business and they stole on me. All me and Yvette was doin’ was walkin’ down the street and some chicks came outta nowhere. I swear to God, Queenie, I didn’t see ’em comin’.”
“Who was it?”
My eyes shifted from hers to the floor. “I don’t know.” I shrugged. Then looked back at her.
Queenie eyed me from my torn neon-pink and stretched-neck T-shirt, to my skin-tight Jordache jeans. Her thin neck turned into a road map of thumping veins and her glare burned its way through me.
I chewed the corner of my bottom lip.
Queenie was going to kill me. Question was: when?
I glanced over at a boney and freckle-faced Schooly, whose sunken chestnut eyes revealed that he was petrified. He was nothing like our eighteen-year-old brother, Ezekiel Jr., who up until he saw the movie Scarface we’d called Lil Zeke. Now we had to call him Face.
Face would try anything once, including runnin’ up on Queenie. But Schooly . . . Schooly was slow. A straight pussy. Always went to school. Never smoked weed. Never did no licks wit’ us. Never got in no trouble. Never talked back. And with his twisted left leg that dragged, there was no way he was gon’ leap over here and save me.