Harlem Girl Lost

by Treasure E. Blue

  “Stop showin’ yo’ skirt, nigga. Y'all dead already.” Chance looked at Silver while she stared back in numb fear. “If you're finished crying like … How dat Snoop Doggy motherfucker say it? Crying like a beeeiiitch. I got ta hurry up kill both you asses—I got some papers that has to be delivered!”

  “How about I give you—”

  Stickbroom stopped him. “Nigga, don't try dat negotiation shit on me! I know everything you thinkin’ before you think it. Who da fuck you think taught Adrian?” Seeing Chance's confusion, he added, “Oh, that's A.O.'s real name—Adrian Olsen.” Stickbroom shrugged and aimed at them. Silver couldn't breathe.

  Suddenly, Chance sprang for Stickbroom's gun, but he was no match for the bullet that ripped through his flesh, knocking him off his feet. Silver screamed and ran toward her fallen husband. Stickbroom smiled. “Ya know what, lil’ girl? I always like ya mother. I wanted ta fuck her real bad.” He smiled. “Damn, I getting a hard-on thinking ‘bout her ass. Anyway, say goodbye!” He pointed the weapon at her head, but suddenly Birdie's huge hands grasped Stickbroom by the ankles and yanked him off his feet, causing the gun to slip out of his hand. Birdie used his weight to hold him down.

  “Silver, run!” he gasped. “Run!”

  Silver leaped quickly to her feet and flew out of the room, but when she reached the front door, she stopped and turned around, watching Birdie battle viciously with Johnny for the gun. Infuriated, she let out a banshee-like yell and ran over to join the brutal battle. She picked up the nearest weapon she could find, a thick glass ashtray, and began pounding Stick-broom repeatedly over the head until blood flew everywhere. Still full of rage, Silver beat him until he showed no signs of movement. Exhausted and bloodied, she looked down at the unconscious man and then rolled Birdie over in her arms.

  Birdie opened his eyes and stared up at her. “Silver … you came back for me?”

  “Yes, Auntie, I came back for you. You just hold on, okay?”

  Tears began to fall from Birdie's eyes as he shook his head. “No, baby, Auntie Birdie not gonna make it.” Silver attempted to argue, but he stopped her. “It's okay, baby. I'm ready.” Silver remained silent as trickles of blood began to flow from his mouth. He gripped her hand tighter. “Silver, you and your mama was the best thing that ever happened to me. Y'all was the only ones who ever … loved a big old faggot like me.”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes. “No, Auntie, you can't leave me. We're all going to Atlanta and—” Birdie stopped her in mid-sentence with a smile. “Silver, what's the worst word in the world?”

  Silver frowned. “Can't. But you—”

  “What is but ?“

  Silver smiled wanly. “But is a self-defeating word used by procrastinators.”

  Birdie smiled back. “My baby!” And just like that, he was gone.

  Silver gently closed Birdie's eyes and kissed him on the forehead. “I love you, Auntie,” she said softly, and then slowly rose to her feet.

  She stepped toward Chance, who was writhing on the floor in pain. Blood streamed from his upper chest and back. She had just started to help him up when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to see a battered and bloodied Stickbroom Johnny standing and pointing his gun at them.

  He sneered and without a word, moved the barrel of his gun and calmly unloaded three shots into Birdie's dead body. Shocked, tired, and bloodied, Silver couldn't move. She accepted her fate and stared down at Chance. Knowing it was truly over, Silver and Chance embraced, saying good-bye with a simple kiss.

  Suddenly a loud noise from behind Stickbroom startled them all. In growing disbelief, Silver watched a yelling Mitts charge into the room and tackle Stickbroom from behind. His forward momentum propelled the two of them toward the window, and they crashed through it. She rushed toward the window and saw Mitts hanging tightly to the window sash. Stickbroom's lifeless body hung limply on the spiked gate below, where he had been impaled. Mitts desperately struggled to climb back in.

  “Hold on, Mitts!” she urged him. “Take my hand, I'll help you. Just don't look down!” As she reached for him, he lifted his head, and that's when Silver noticed that she was seeing him without his dark glasses on for the first time. A sudden and indescribable feeling overcame her as she stared into his bright hazel eyes. She snapped out of her momentary trance and stuck her hands out. “Grab my hands!”

  Mitts looked up at her and spoke gruffly. “Silver,” he said sadly, “I'm sorry I was never there for you.”

  Silver gasped in disbelief as past encounters with Mitts flashed before her mind's eye. It was then she realized the man hanging from the window was none other than her father, Kenny.

  “Daddy?” she said timidly. He nodded in shame. Grabbing one of his huge hands, Silver valiantly tried to pull him back in, but it was useless—he was much too heavy for her. Wide-eyed, she stared down at him and realized that he also knew it.

  His voice cracking, he said, “I think Jesse can finally forgive me for what I've done to you and her.”

  “Daddy,” Silver cried, “hold on. I'm gonna go get some help.”

  But Kenny shook his head. “No, I can't hold on much longer. Just let me look at you one last time.”

  He stared up at her while Silver continued to shake her head. “Hang on!” she urged.

  He smiled, rubbed her hand with one of his fingers, and then let go, falling to the same grisly death as Stickbroom.

  Chapter 30

  CLOSURE

  Silver held Birdie's and her father's funerals on the same day. Both were buried beside her mother. After Chance recovered from the bullet wound, it was time for them to leave New York forever. But before they left, Silver told Chance that she had two important things to do before she could hope to have some closure in her life. Chance asked her if she wanted him to go with her for support, but she declined, knowing it was something she had to do on her own.

  Silver waited inside the dank visiting room at notorious Sing-Sing, the penitentiary in upstate New York. As she sat before the Plexiglas window that separated prisoners and guests, patiently awaiting his arrival, she was totally surprised by her sense of confidence, because she had thought about this day for many years and she often wondered how she would react when it actually arrived.

  Suddenly, the steel door clanged open, and a tall, lanky man with a thick mustache entered in front of a guard. He hobbled as he walked because of the chains connecting his ankles to his wrists. As the officer escorted him closer, Silver rose to her feet in nervous anticipation. The officer showed the prisoner his seat, and he sat down. As the officer walked away, the man reached inside his pocket and lit an unfiltered cigarette. He stared at Silver and then spoke in a harsh voice.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Silver's eyes glistened with tears as she stared at the aging, leather-skinned man. He took a huge pull from the cigarette, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Did that fat bitch of a wife send you here for me to sign them dang divorce papers?”

  Silver stared at the man who had taken her mother's life in a motel room almost nine years earlier.

  “Well, what the hell do you want?” he demanded.

  Silver simply kept her eyes on him and remained silent.

  The man waved her off. “I ain't got to take this shit from no bitch.” He turned his head and yelled, “Guard!”

  Silver remained unmoved and continued to look at him, but this time with a smile. He turned away from her as he waited for the guard and reached inside his pocket to pull out another cigarette. He lit it and then glanced up at her, eyes narrowed. She could sense his questions, his uncertainty. Surely he knew the date—not only was it her birthday, but it was the anniversary of her mother's brutal murder, September 18.

  He fidgeted and grew impatient, calling for the guard once again. Sweat formed on his forehead. Unable to take the pressure, he snapped at her again.

  “What is it that you want, lady?”

  Silver remained calm. S
taring deep into her eyes, the man dropped his shoulders and sighed. He lost his bluster and suddenly looked like an old man.

  “I know who you are. I'm sorry I took your mother away from you,” he said slowly. “I … I couldn't control myself. I was sick.” He paused. “You got every right to hate me, but you don't have to worry, ‘cause I'm already gonna burn in hell for the things I did.”

  The guard arrived and placed a hand on the prisoner's shoulder. He rose to his feet and walked somberly away with the guard. Suddenly he stopped and turned toward Silver again.

  “I don't know if this means anything,” he said, “but your momma bought you a Barbie doll and jump rope for your birthday.” He lowered his head and disappeared through the doors with the guard.

  Driving down south on the interstate and leaving New York behind, Silver and Chance stopped off in Bayonne, New Jersey, to complete her final closure mission.

  When the morgue had released her father's body to her, they'd also given her the items that were on his person at the time of his death, including his wallet. After he was buried, Silver had looked through his wallet and found a picture of him when he was younger and beardless. To Silver's surprise, she'd discovered she was the spitting image of him. She'd come across other small pictures and some telephone numbers, too. Curious and quite nervous, Silver had decided to call them and inquire about Kenneth Duboise, but to no avail—the people who answered knew nothing about him. The very last number that she'd found had a New Jersey area code. She'd called it, and after the second ring a lady had answered.

  “Hello,” Silver had said nervously. “My name is Silver Jones, and I'm calling about Kenneth Duboise.”

  The lady on the other end had been silent. Silver was unsure if she had hung up. “Hello?”

  “May I ask who's calling about Kenny?” the woman had asked.

  Chance pulled up in front of a large, Victorian-style home in a beautiful suburban neighborhood. He looked at her. “Well, this is it. You ready?”

  Silver looked at the house, took a deep breath, and nodded. They got out of the car, and Chance gently took her hand as they headed up the walkway. Silver looked at Chance one final time and then rang the front bell. Almost immediately, the door opened and a fair-skinned woman in her sixties appeared. She lifted her hands to her mouth as she stared at Silver, then extended her arms and walked toward her, tears slipping from her eyes. As they hugged, the door opened wider and a man about the same age with radiant white wavy hair appeared. He took off his glasses, revealing bright hazel eyes. He looked as if he couldn't believe it, and gave her a tearful, loving hug as well. Silver looked exactly like their son, Kenny, who'd left home years ago after he became strung out on drugs.

  Silver looked at Chance, unable to believe the loving welcome she received. These were her real grandparents!

  “Welcome home,” her grandmother said. She took Silver by the hand and led her inside the house while her grandfather hugged Chance. “Come on in, son.”

  Inside, about thirty family members had gathered to greet them. Her grandmother introduced them to everyone, and each member welcomed them into the family. Silver felt goose bumps cover her body, because as she stared at them, their bright hazel and silver eyes stared right back at hers. This was definitely family!

  Silver was surprised to find out that in addition to having two grandparents, she also had three younger sisters, a younger brother, three aunts, two uncles, and a slew of cousins, nephews, and nieces. Later that evening, Chance, who was having a conversation with his grandfather-in-law, looked over at Silver, who was smiling and talking to her sisters. She winked at him. Chance knew one thing for sure—she would never, ever have to be lost again.

  Epilogue

  Silver enrolled in medical school that fall and eventually went on to become a doctor. Chance also went back to school and received a doctorate in psychology. He became a well-respected and prominent psychologist specializing in children. Years later, Silver and Chance moved back to New York and opened private practices right in Harlem, where they provided their services free of charge at Missy's House. They were also the proud parents of twins, a boy and a girl, whom they named Jesse Kenneth Haze and Jessica Ernestine Haze, nicknamed “Birdie.” They also moved Silver's grandmother out of the nursing home to live with them in the very brownstone that she had grown up in. The elderly woman loved them dearly because she believed she'd been given a second chance to have a son and a daughter. She was at peace with herself for the first time in many years and extremely happy.

  In time, Chance also found and was reunited with his sister, Karen, who was fortunate enough to have been raised by a loving family and was now happily married and working as a registered nurse in a Long Island hospital.

  Silver and Chance dedicated their lives to helping other families devastated by drugs and alcohol. They often spoke at public schools throughout the inner cities, educating children about the dangers of drugs and the importance of education.

  Silver started every lecture the same way. “Hi, my name is Silver Haze, and I was born and raised in Harlem, poor and by a single mother. Today, I'm a doctor, and I owe it all to my mother for providing me with the secrets of life. Today, I'm going to share with you some of the secrets that she taught me, but first, in order for me to do that, I must tell you about a very bad word. It's a word that I haven't used in years. That word, children, is can't”

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I must thank God. Though I questioned your existence many times, it is clear and without doubt: Your love and supreme compassion carried me forth when I could not carry myself.

  To my four beautiful children, Steven, Treasure, Trevor, and Justice: I love you guys more than life itself. Everything I do, everything I live for, is for you. Never, and I repeat, never, let anyone tell you otherwise. As long as you stay leaders and never followers, as long as you say “hell no” to drugs, as long as you remember never to use the worst word in the world, and you know what word that is, you will grow to become the fine individuals you are destined to be. Love, Daddy.

  To my father, Robert Smalls, over thirty years ago you used to tell people, “Harlem is going to be a tourist attraction, and brownstones are going to be worth over a million dollars,” and they all laughed at you. You are the most honest, giving man I have ever known. You would give a person the shirt off your back if they asked. I never understood that and hated that shit. But in time I learned that in order to receive, one must first give. You are truly a rich man, rich in love, rich in health, and rich with family only because you gave unconditionally.

  To my brother, Rob, hold that shit down in the feds, nigga, and I'll take care of the rest when you come home. To my sisters, Rosalyn, Andrea, Karen, and Gail, I hope I'm finally making y'all proud of me—it just took your lil’ brother some time to get his things together. My nephews and nieces, Tony, Michael, Lamont (Smalls), David (nada is hot, kid), Leon (my twin), Adrian (A.O.), Robert (my brother's boy), Cherice (my reesy neecy), Christina, Janaya, and Ayanna, Uncle love y'all.

  To the Sellers family, thanks for showing me what it's like to have a “real” family! Love you, Dolly! Thanks Tiah for everything.

  A very special thanks to Tracy Sherrod, the greatest agent in the business.

  To Nakea Murray of As the Page Turns, you are without a doubt the best publicist in this urban fiction business. Your time is coming real soon! You are a true friend and are never fake or phony—I love you for that!

  To Carvelas, the D.C. Bookman, thanks for everything. I can never repay you. P.S., learn how to shoot Blackman … it is not a game!

  To the team at Random House: Melody Guy, Danielle Durkin, Jane von Mehren, Libby McGuire, Kim Hovey, Tom Perry, Brian McLendon, Gilly Hailparn, Lindsey Benoit, Dreu Pennington-McNeil, Penny Haynes, Patricia Nicolescu, Erin Bekowies, Barbara Bachman—thanks for everything.

  To my baby Annette—thanks for the love and support—I really do need you!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR


  Using the streets as a means of survival, TREASURE E. BLUE soon found himself involved with some of Harlem's most notorious elements. Retiring from the game at the tender age of sixteen, Blue managed to become one of the youngest people to receive his GED in New York State. Joining the military at seventeen, he developed a voracious appetite for books.

  After serving his country honorably, he joined the New York City Fire Department and worked as a supervising fire inspector in the Bronx. He is also an active member of the American Studies Association. Blue is the father of four children and he lives in New York City. He is currently working on the screen version of Harlem Girl Lost and writing his next novel. You can contact the author at treasureeblue@yahoo.com.

  Harlem Girl Lost is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2004 by Treasure E. Blue

  All rights reserved.

  ONE WOR LD is a registered trademark and the One World colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-49581-5

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Blue, Treasure E.

  Harlem girl lost: a novel / Treasure E. Blue.

  p. cm.

  “A One World Books trade pbk. original”—T.p. verso

  1. African American women—New York (State)—New York—Fiction.

  2. Harlem (New York, N.Y)—Fiction. 3. Street life—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3602.L85H37 2006

  813′.6—dc22 2006050733

  www.oneworldbooks.net

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