Checking the clock I could see that it was damn near seven. Mom would be getting off work any minute. I called to ask her if she wanted me to make breakfast. I really wanted to know if she’d left work early. I got in bed and turned on the TV. I’d do this on a Saturday morning if I was up. I didn’t want her to be suspicious. I looked like I had been up all night and concocted the lie of the century just in case she questioned why I looked so tired.
Mom came in at her normal time and called out to me. I tried to sound as groggy as I could, indicating that I had just woken up. As usual, mom came in and looked in my room. She kissed my forehead before going into her room and stripping out of her clothes. I could tell that she was exhausted.
I got out of my bed and moved next to her. I massaged her shoulders and back. She sighed in relaxation, and I gave her a full body massage. I put baby oil on my mom’s dry feet and rubbed them until they were soft. Before mom went to sleep she commented that I smelled like beer.
“We’ll talk about it when I wake up,” she said sleepily.
Damn! I’d forgotten that she knew everything.
18
I spent my eighteenth birthday with Linda and Cherie over at Juanita’s house. Juanita’s house was where everybody hang-out and shoot-up, or smoke rock. Her grandmother had passed away and left the house to her. The house was beautiful but after some time, it looked like a junkie’s habitat. Anything illicit, from drugs to tricks and dealers, was found there.
I had been staying there on and off because my mom had kicked me out when I was sixteen years old. She could not take me getting high anymore, because I was killing her. I tried to understand what she was going through, but I just couldn’t.
Much had changed in the past few years. It happened so fast that I really didn’t know what hit me. I was caught up in drugs and lost my identity. There were times I’d stare in the mirror and wonder where the years went. I looked old for my years. I felt used and warped. Drug abuse and prostitution had beaten up my once young, innocent body. I had been through it all.
I started turning tricks early in life to support my coke habit. I had a heroin addiction that kept me on my knees and back. I didn’t blame my mother for throwing me out. I’d have done the same thing if I were in her position. It wasn’t until later that I understood what she meant when she said: I was killing her. Mom couldn’t bear to see me destroy myself. Part of her was dying with me.
The evening of my sixteenth birthday I was hanging with my so-called friends. One of them passed me a pipe. He took the foil out of his jeans pocket and put two pieces of rocks in it.
“Here cutie,” he said with a friendly smile. “Blast off.” He waved the lighter like it was a magic wand. I wanted to try it and took the pipe.
“Thanks,” I said leaning back and taking a hit. The rock was good, melting as soon as the flame made contact. I exhaled and was caught up admiring the smoke disappearing. I wanted to fade away. I no longer wanted to be here. I spent another birthday away from my mom. She was the only person I ever really loved.
“How was it, cutie?”
I heard him asking through my thick dark cloud. Did he really care? I sneered with disgust. Deep inside controversy lurked. I managed to flash a pretentious smile. I had practiced the routine to shield me from the torment I felt.
“It was good,” I nodded.
Out of nowhere, he leaned and kissed me on my neck. Maybe it would’ve felt good, but I was high and didn’t want to be touched. My stiff reaction warned him against trying that again.
“Damn cutie, you’re too tense. Let’s go get a room and I’ll massage your back.” He winked. I was captured by his eyes and sexy smile. “What do you say?” he asked reaching for his coat.
“Yeah, that would be nice.” I heard myself saying and rose. I’d rather spend my eighteenth birthday in a clean room than here with my junkie friends. Nobody had spoken to me since I got here. I wanted to leave.
We got in his car and drove to a Red Roof Inn off the expressway, mostly occupied by travelers. There were no junkies. The desk clerk gave us a look that was everything but inviting, with a tight smile to match.
“May I help you?” She managed to ask.
“Yes, we would like a room. Something away from the expressway if that’s available.” My date responded.
“Of course sir, do you have three pieces of identification. One with a picture and two credit cards?” she asked derisively.
“Is there a registration form that I should be filling out while you check my cards?” He asked sarcastically.
I smiled when he slid the plastic across the desk to her. We stopped at the soda machine and got a couple of cans. He held my hand intimately. I strolled to the room. It felt good.
The room smelled fresh he turned up the air conditioner. I got in the shower. After that he gave me the best massage. He kissed my back and worked his hands down to my butt cheeks.
“Would you like me to continue?” he asked.
Wow! I was stunned. So much respect it had me tingling all over.
“Yes, please,” I sighed enjoying it. My body was so relaxed that I had to fight to stay awake. I’d been up for three days and my body was suffering from sleep deprivation. “Oh yes, ugh…” I moaned when he kissed my back again.
“Get some rest, cutie. I’ll have something here for you to eat by the time you wake up,” he said. I felt safe and fell into a deep, pleasurable sleep.
I felt him pulling the covers over me and kissing my forehead. I felt the tear rolling down my cheek.
“Happy Birthday, Jasmine.” I whispered to myself.
Free
“Hello! Good morning, housekeeping.” The yell came from outside the door followed by banging on the door.
“Just a minute!” I yelled back.
I got up from the bed, walked to the door and checked the peephole.
“Ma’am, do you want your room cleaned?”
“What time is check out?” I asked her.
“Your room has been paid for another day. Do you want me to clean it?” She asked again.
Paid for another day? I wondered to myself. I remembered him saying overnight when we checked in. I opened the door.
“No, thank you. Is it possible that I have some fresh linen?” I asked. The housekeeper turned up her nose at me and passed me clean sheets with towels before turning on her heels.
I stood in the middle of the room looking around trying to remember the last thing I did before I fell asleep. I walked over to the bed and saw a note.
My date from last night had to leave. He paid for another night. According to the note, there was money and heroin under the mattress. I looked and they were there wrapped in tissue. I put two hundred in my pocketbook. The dope was on the bed. I remembered the massage and going to sleep. The food was on the nightstand. I couldn’t remember if he did me while I was sleeping. I hoped he used a condom.
I ate, cleaned the works and tied my belt around my arm. Having selected a good vein, I pricked my skin with the needle. Hoping that this was good dope, I shot up. On my back, I let the heroin course through. My body shook and my eyes settled in the back of my head. I went into convulsions right before I blacked out. Those were my last moments of freedom.
Mom
I stood watching mother scrambling eggs in a bowl with pepper and grated cheese. While she waited for the butter to melt I placed my head on her shoulder. We sat at a table in the dining room and looked through the mail. Mom always waited for the last minute to look at the mail unless it was a bill. Mom drank her coffee. I kissed my mother on her forehead.
“I’m sorry.” I said. She did not respond. I walked to my room crying like I’d never cried before. I was wiping my eyes when I heard a car. I got off the bed and looked out the window. Two men in suits were getting out. The doorbell rang, and my mother’s voice called out, “Who is it?”
“Police, ma’am, we’re looking for Joanne Reyner.”
I sat in the recliner listening t
o the detectives telling mom that my body had been found in a motel.
“We need you to identify the body,” the detective said.
Mother’s shriek of agony brought neighbors running. One caught her before she passed out. I wish I could have told my mother not to mourn my death but rejoice it. No longer would I have to worry about fittin’ in.
birth of a gangster bitch
Princess Madison
I was thirteen when it happened, an ex-friend of mine chatting me up as I walked into the school building.
“What did you say, bitch?” I asked as the school bell sounded.
She ran off without responding and I chased after her. The bitch must have dipped into a hallway locker or sump’n. I went all over the building searching for her. We were from the same projects and always attended the same school. That evening I went to her building but she wasn’t around. The next day I searched the halls at the school looking for her. I made a bee-line as soon as I caught sight of her and was all up in her grill before she could say boo.
“What’s up with you?” I said accosting her.
“What’s up? What’s up?” she recanted not backing down. “Why you invading my space, bitch?”
“I heard you going round dipping your nose in people’s biz, bitch.”
“I ain’t said nothing nobody don’t know bout you. I known you a long time and I for sure know you got a whorish mother.”
“Bitch you talking ‘bout my mother like that?” I asked removing my earrings.
I stopped close and center. I wanted to get off the first punch. It was gonna be a good one, I thought looking in her eyes.
“Whatcha gon’ do bout it,” she threatened taking one too many steps till our noses rubbed like Eskimos kissing.
I swung immediately decking the bitch. She fell dazed in the school corridor. I was on top of her unleashing lefts and rights in rapid succession. Before I knew it, the fake ass school security bum-rushed me and held me good until the cops arrived. They let her go. The tin badges put me in the cruiser. They drove around telling me all this bullshit about being good and all that.
I really wasn’t trying to hear what they had to say but had no choice. So I listened to their lecturing.
“Nobody is gonna get away with calling my mother a whore.” I said.
They decided not to arrest me. The girl did not press any charges so for my own good, they escorted me home. When we reached my mother’s apartment they knocked and we waited outside. Her red eyes were wide and she looked scared as hell when she answered the door.
“Ms. Jennings we brought your daughter home because she was involved in another scuffle at school. This is the third time that we’ve been called to the school. You’ve got to keep a better eye on her.”
The officer spoke to my mother in the hallway. When they were gone I walked in and smelled why she was nervous. The smell of marijuana lingered crazy all over the apartment. I was ready for her when she jumped in my shit.
“Amila you gotta do better girl. You cannot be getting into fights everyday it’s just not right.”
“Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t start it.”
“What did that girl say that cause you to go nuts breaking her nose?”
“She tried to diss that’s all,” I replied shrugging.
“Everyday it’s the same thing you ain’t nothing but trouble, girl.”
I stared at my mother and felt pity. I didn’t want to tell her what caused the problem. She needed someone around to protect her. Furthermore, no one was gonna disrespect my mother and get away with it. If I had to fight everyday to keep the haters away, so be it. I was thinking along those terms when I saw another man walking out of my mother’s room. I turned away and shook my head in disgust. Without saying anything else I went to my room and slammed the door.
It was a different man everyday. Sometimes it was two or three different men. Different complexion, some fat, some skinny but always there was somebody. They all wanted to spend their money for her time. She was my mother.
At first, I honestly thought that it was because my mother was beautiful and sexy. She had long toned legs that led up to nice, firm, brown ass. Her long hair bounced to the rhythm of her sashaying hips as she moved. I knew there were men who just straight up dug being with a pretty woman. As far as I was concerned, it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to hear anyone talking mess and if I did hear that shit, I’d be on them like stink on shit.
Couple weeks later in school, the same fat-head chick tried to set it on me as I left school. So I followed her and her friends around the corner and off came the jewels. I jumped on her swinging wildly. I don’t know where all this anger be coming from but I handled mines when I got down. She kept trying to pull my long braids. I beat the shit outta that bitch. By time five-oh came and dragged me off, her nose was bleeding real bad and her lips were busted. This time they took both of us down to the local precinct. All the time they kept repeating the same question:
“Why are you two dealing with each other like boys?”
“Are you girls, young ladies or thugettes?”
Call me whatever, I don’t care, I thought coldly staring at her lumps. All I knew was the bitch had it coming. Now just let me out of this car so I can murder this bitch. I shot her the look of death as I was thinking.
They took us to the precinct and we sat around waiting. We were in a cold stare-down, me and this bitch. She switched up quick and started bawling loudly when her mother came. Her mother was telling five-oh that she wanted to file charges against me for assaulting her daughter.
“This is the second time this little bi…” she started.
The police waved his hand stopping her. Then they gave her the papers and locked me in a cell.
When my mother came they told her I couldn’t file charges against the bitch. I was furious. Imagine, she started it and I couldn’t do anything. When I got home nobody could say shit to me. No one did. That evening my mother broke out with her date like nothing was wrong.
“Stay in and do your homework. I’ll see you later.” She smiled as if nothing was wrong. The most important thing on her mind was being with a man.
“Mom, where are you going?”
“Amila don’t ask me those types of questions. This is grown folks business, alright? Do your homework and then get some sleep.”
She fixed her make-up and was out. I ran after her yelling.
“Mommy, how could you just leave without not even kissing me?” I asked hugging her. I loved my mother.
“Here, baby,” she said stooping and landing a wet one on my cheek. “All right get back inside and make sure the door is locked, okay sweetheart? Mommy will be back soon enough,” she said and was gone. The fragrance of Wild Orchids trailed after her. That’s how it was. Mother worked her charms on these men with money and got her fair share at the end of the evenings.
Most weekends, mother would be gone Friday and Saturday. She’d return dog-tired on Sunday morning. I’d be left to do what I wanted to do, alone at home. It should’ve been a happy time. Imagine being home alone and doing whatever you wanted to do, every weekend. The situation was every teen’s fantasy but those weekends were the worst times of my life. There was radio, television and reading. The fact is, I was lonely and needed something else to keep me busy. I took up smoking and although I hated to do it, I’d seen mother seemingly enjoying it. Soon I learned to like the fact that I could inhale without coughing my eyes watery. Next I started drinking. Pretty soon I couldn’t wait for mother to leave on her dates. I resorted to helping her get out the door of the apartment with the quickness.
“Why are you rushing me off, Amil?” she asked without the slightest hint of suspicion.
“I just learned that Black people have this bad habit of being late for everything and I’m trying to clean up the act of everyone around me.” I smiled.
“Clean up your act first. You just gotta make sure you get to school on time, girl.” Mother chuckled and wa
ltzed out the door.
As soon as the door was shut, I raced to the bar and poured myself some Disarrnao. It was sweet, palatable and didn’t burn my stomach. Lighting the cigarette, I held it the way mother did. I swirled the thick drink, just like she did with my pinky finger sticking out. Then I threw my head back and laughed just like she would.
After two drinks I’d get tired of the mimicking. Over a month, it became three or four glasses before I’d get sleepy. Everything including sleep started going down easier. I no longer sat around waiting for mother to get home but was fast asleep couple hours after she was out the door.
Some mornings I’d awake feeling nauseous. In class I felt at any minute I could sneeze and my whole head would go up in an explosion. This was my introduction to drinking. Looking forward to my next drinking session allowed me to hide the truth behind the wry smile I wore publicly. I called it dealing with reality. Others may call it alcohol abuse.
I thought that beating her ass would be the end of that and I resigned to the feeling that the bitch had the ass-whupping coming. I arrived home about six o clock about a week later to find my mother’s name tagged all over the building. ‘Sheryl a ho’ was scrawled on the side entrance, on the bullet-in board in the lobby and inside both cars of the creaky-ass elevator. My first thought was to go upstairs and see that bitch, who was now fast becoming my most hated enemy.
We were a very happy family. My parents gave me the best and everything seemed to be going well. Then came the day I saw my father’s head blown wide open in front of me. I died a sudden death inside when I was forced to watch as my mother was raped repeatedly by who I thought were looters. I found out later through the police that my misfortune was an actual hit. I hated my mother after the discovery. They’d lied and covered it up well. It took the death of my father to unleash a sincere desire to get even with all those who perpetuated fraud.
Lipstick Diaries Page 7