1st Day 8th

1st Day 8th

We doing what now?

I was not into this day. I was forced to leave my grandparents, my cousin had been 3 doors away my “entire life”, and my sisters and godmother’s were within 20 minutes of the house in which I was built. I was not prepared or even knowledgeable about this move. Wasn't consulted, informed, or even dreamed that my mother would just up and marry some man that she, just months ago, wouldn't even accept his calls.

One night she decided to answer, I suppose, and the next thing I know I'm in the car riding with her, headed an hour away from Landover, to Herndon, Virginia. I might as well have been going to Omaha.. It was far, it was rural, it was white.

I was not prepared. At all. thought that we were just having some fun, like she did with the rest.

The Reasons that we did

I knew that, just several months prior, my mother had someone that she was serious about, someone that, I even thought, would be in our lives forever. He was familiar. He knew our land, he was from our land. He was protective.

He also was an undeniably despicable man that broke my mother’s heart by getting married to another woman the weekend we took a family trip to our beach house in Hilton Head. I remember the day we returned from the trip like it was yesterday.

My godmother called and told my mother that she had something to tell her that couldn’t wait and she needed to get to her. My brother, mother, cousin and myself hopped into my

Nana’s car and headed over to Fountain Club. My mother, mind positively assuredly running a million miles a minute, unsure of the news to expect. She absolutely was not good, though she is a master of emotional suppression, I knew she was definitely worried. She was going so fast at one point, she was approaching a red light, and politely went through it exclaiming; “Red light, Ran it!” as the entire car erupts in laughter, everyone but ME is blind at my mother’s obvious pain.

But she was my mom. My baby. The woman that I had spent my life protecting. The woman I vowed to die protecting. She had been through entirely too much with males who were not men. She was not the woman in need of a savior or desperately requiring male financial support. She did require their acceptance, after being told so many years she would never be loved, respected or seriously pursued because she had 2 children.

Though the same support and programming that I was receiving, she was not raised the way my grandmother and I experienced. The lack of love from her father was not a case, and he and my grandmother were together, consistently, from marriage to death.

I can relate because I happen to encompass this same ability. My mother did not need a man to take care of her, house her, or even support her endeavors. My grandparents were loving, strong, inclusive, guiding, supportive, and would never allow the fiasco of a marriage with her and my dad to happen to her again.

We pulled up in front of the building and parked as My mother exited hurriedly. As children, we naturally turned our attention to the kids there, and ran towards the large grassed area in front of her building with my brothers and sisters. Keeping my concentration on my mother and younger siblings simultaneously, I watched my godmother inform her something, extending her arms to pull my mother in. She simply stood there, staring blankly into space. The news of this man, who made such a fuss of making sure to see her before our week long trip, repetitively telling her how much he loved and would miss her. Even hurrying her back.

This man had gotten married while we were gone for the week, to a woman my mother also knew. To a woman that honestly felt that she was his only, when I know for a fact we spent 3-4 nights a week at this man's home. With his sons and my siblings. There was no sign that my mother was in a competition with any other woman, especially for this man’s proposal.

She was hurt. I learned about an attempt on her life, but taking pills was a statement of frustration and a need to regroup.

That was not a true attempt at her life. Rather a cry for help. That cry was heard, and answered. Within a month my mother was in nursing school. I couldn’t have been prouder of her. She was being the woman I knew she could become, a face to face fighter. A woman who was confident enough to not only push forward and show face, but to elevate on their asses!

Now, I have NEVER known my mother to work in a job that was not befitting a woman of her standards. My mother worked for the top radio station in DC, under one of the LARGEST known DJ/VJ’s in the industry. She was in accounting for a major designer clothing store, as well as executive assistants for officers within a major telephone company.

The Meeting

The latter is where and how she met Dad. While the relationship she HAD been in was going, what she justifiably assumed, down the aisle, she had given him her number when his mother, who she was Executive Assistant for, introduced them. A year later, after she was in nursing school, she began accepting the call from “......Tell her to call me, I’m in the book..”

We used to find him abundantly dorky, like when he said John Hammit instead of Got Dammit, and laughed every single time he left the EXACT same message, every call. Apparently she had been accepting his call and rapping a taste. He had a certain “something” about him. As an adult, I now understand that his aura and energy was pure. He was unused. He wasn’t a gentleman of many women, he had a plan, owned his own home at 27, parents were together and homeowners, father excelled, and was still rising, in his career, mother a total Boss!. Though we don’t get along because, once again, I am not an easily possible, bendable, or manipulatable person. I had no desire to replace the family I did have and was not a child who never had, never experienced, or never felt love. I had no need to latch onto the wing of a woman I did not know. Especially when the love, respect, and appreciation I had for my Nana, was not because she was the sweetest grandma.

It was because she was BOSS as well. She found no excitement in building her man over her. She saw no purpose in not reaching for all one desire and making damn sure well you attain it, or something higher. My Nana was NOT a sucka. She put her all into making us strong, educated, unbreakable forces to continue with the plight to wealth, knowledge and familial allegiance.

I needed nothing but additional experience, which I soon got.

After our visit to Herndon, I noticed that trips were being made more and more frequently, more so without me, but more frequently nevertheless. He was spending more time at our house, even allowing me to drive his brand new beloved Maxima to the corner and back alone. He was so nervous I felt bad because I KNEW he was calling my bluff and didn’t really think I was gonna pull off in it. I was 12. I know he was praying to every God and requesting the creation of new ones in deep pleas I wouldn’t mash his car up. So I went to the stop sign and turned around, a cool 75-100 feet.

We began to stay out there more and more as it got closer to summer, meeting his parents and attending church with him and his parents. I was not forced so I went along with ease, simply because I knew she needed me. There were times when I knew she didn’t, so I was able to enjoy my moves.

The Beginning of the End

The Christmas of 1992 was the first Christmas that they were spending together, and the first time in 6 years we were allowed to even mention his name let alone see his face or travel to Myrtle Beach to spend Christmas with him. I didn't make a fuss because my brother was so excited to go, I wasn’t scared of him, never had been. My grandmother is an angel, so seeing her was my only purpose, but my brother would definitely need me.

While there, my grandmother came to Maryland for Christmas and would be back down for New Years. A few days with the old man wouldn’t hurt, or so I thought.

In my grandmother's absence those few days, My father exuded every possible characteristic of an unfit human being, let alone parent. He tried to sell me for $10 for his habit. Of Course that did not work. Then, he left the house for 11 hours without concern, care, or informing so that I would have at least been prepared to tend to my 7 year old brother.

I reached out to my mom when I realized his unpredictability. She told me not to mess this up for her, she couldn’t ask him to just disturb his trip and she didn’t drive. Call my grandmother, call the police and figure it out.

I was mortified. That was not the first time that my mother did not see more importance in my issues than others, but, to leave us with my father, after all he had done, all that we went through to get away from him, all of the things he followed us to do to me. To do to her- the concern of the danger her children were in, and the safety of us was not, at that moment, worth her immediate attention. Regardless of who she was with, what their family was doing, how she got there or any other sequence of words structured to formulate a sentence mattered at that moment.

My brother and I were definitely in danger, with a man she wouldn’t even be around alone and ONLY sent us to not have her children with her when she met Dad’s family for the first time. I could not believe she carried it like that and simply hung up on me. I wanted her to be happy And, more than anyone, knew that she deserved her happiness, finally. I just never thought it would come to my brother and I detriment. I did learn at that moment, if not me to do something, than who.

I called my grandmother who left Maryland immediately to be there with us by morning. She wasn’t upset that she had to leave early or that her plans had been ruined or any other emotion to make me feel unworthy, the way my mothers response, or lack thereof, made me feel. Once again, something I brushed off. Enjoyed the rest of my time there and let it go.

I did not know that was the beginning of the end of the close, loving, sisterly, motherly, relationship I had grown to consider ours. My grandmother was involved in my upbringing, but, from my view, my mother was never forced to do anything. She was supported and even given a baby shower when she came home pregnant with me. Our entire family joined her in maintaining ang experiencing her youth, finishing school, teaching, baby sitting, nurturing me, as well as her.

My grandmother didn’t threaten her with convents, or homelessness, or jail, or the taking of her baby from her, removing her from my life. Even though they knew that she was in an abusive relationship with an out of control drug addict, whose rage I often caught the power of through being called belittling name calling, constantly told i wasn’t “going to be shit”, I'm not smart enough, I'm not a boy-I don't need school, as well as being dragged, pulled pushed, bound by tape and hung in closets. They never even tried to take her from me.

This is the man that my brother and I were left, alone, in his care, without supervision, for a week. Honestly, I was relieved. I could give 100 different ways that week could have ended for all of us. I just thanked Jehovah that it didn’t and kept moving. I genuinely did not think that I harbored any emotion over that incident. But I did. Though the emotions that I experienced, I didn't understand, not having the time to process because tending to the situation at hand didn’t allow for the harboring of feelings.

She had never, truly, been a mother. I took care and protected her. Whether from my father, from my grandparents, from my godmother, from people that spoke ill, to the kid who joined on her size and weight. Yes, my mother was 4’11 and 100 lbs. But no, she could not hoola hoop in a cheerio. And yes, we were fighting for that with a guarantee that I threw the first punch.

Evident Change

My sister had been raped by 12 men a few months prior to the move. We were both 12, and though we were very similar, the girls our older sister hung with made her feel the need to prove maturity, independence and the ability to make her own decisions. Clearly she had not. I stole my grandpa’s 22 and its bullets, gave it to her and told her she could come with me to VA whenever she wanted. My mother was even more adamant because for some reason, everything bad all of a sudden came from the one place I loved. The home and environment I had only known. A home I was proud of a place Im still proud to be from.

Because of my sister's love and admiration for my mother for her impeccable style and the way she carried herself, as I admired her mother for her strength and take no shit attitude, she was willing to come, often, at first.

She was the first to witness the switch of character that my mother made and found herself unimpressed by her “fakeness” in the way she spoke to us, what she did and didn’t accept, what we could wear, etc. My sister and I were outside at the park, after getting tired of hearing my name called every second, for things I didn’t do or couldn't control.

It was the first time that I had gone outside in the neighborhood and noticed there were a few people of color that lived around. My sister and I found ourselves making friends, after we took pictures with her new polaroid. We were so excited to take and immediately get our pictures, so we had a whole slide photo shoot.

The pictures were NOT 12 year old looks or poses, but, they also were not poses that we had not been taking. My mother had just taken us to Kings Dominion and bought us matching biker short, sports bra outfits like Oaktown’s 357 wore. We were allowed to roam and take pictures, same way as so many others before, and, my mother had seen. I will NOT say that the pictures were age appropriate, but, they were not unseen first time pics.

Therefore the rage, anger, and hateful and embarrassing verbal slaughter that we received over the pictures completely confused me. I remember my mother earlier complimenting my sister's outfit. The same outfit I changed into so we could match for our pictures (I mean it was ‘93, come on now, how was folk to know we were together, duh!).

I could understand the boob push up in my sister's picture, but how I get in trouble for a body I didn’t create. She did that playing because she was hating mine grew first, and there was no accentuation I required in that department. I mean we literally had on bell bottom fitted jeans and vest. Nothing necessarily revealing, but also nothing close to our Kings Dominion outfits of the previous summer.

This was the incident that cultivated the first time I truly ran away from home. I was hurt, embarrassed, confused, belittled, made to feel that I was just losing my mind and “knew better” than to be doing what I was doing.

What lady?

It was laughable. And for me to have to sit through humiliation from my mother for the appeasement of another, especially a man,, while actually praising my sister, I was definitely charged.

I began to not want to go over there as much as possible. At this time, it was still possible because not having me and my brother with her allowed a freer movement with him and his family. I was fine with that. In my mind, he was not going to be around long. And, as usual, I'd be right there, like always, with open arms to love her back to her arrogance. I loved that part of my mother. I used to love the confidence that she had in herself and who and what she was and deserved.

She surely should have known

I couldn’t understand what about him made her doubt that.

That I couldn’t answer until I myself experienced a similar situation, difference, Im unwavering and punking me or even TRYING to is not now nor has it ever been an option. My momma taught me that. My village reiterated it. Even my father., making a ring and holding rounds on the corner of Manson Place & 82nd Ave, faking like he was breakin it up every time cars came by, between Myself and another young lady I'll be damned if I make famous naming, in the 2nd grade. When she bit me because she couldn’t go anymore, my father smacked fire out her ass and ended the fight.

After that, they wanted to jump me, even the older middle school girls. That's something they definitely should have kept between themselves. I planned on putting the orange knife (butcher knife, orange handle) and the big black knife (black handle machete) in my bag in the morning before school, after my mother and grandmother left for work the next morning, as they usually did. My plan was to pull and chop. Jumping me has never been an option.

I hadn't expected my mother to go alone that morning and my grandmother lagged behind. So, I adjusted and improvised. Taking the precise moment I heard the shower curtain slide front and back, indicating her shower entrance, only 2 minutes before I HAD to leave for school, and placing those very knives in my bookbag. I left that house without a care in the world, and, all should thank God that, for some reason, my teacher went to put my graded work in my bookbag, instead of on a desk like normal, while the class was in PE.

I cannot lie, I remember vividly, my plan was to whip them out and chop suey them bitches. I mean. Yea.

I had already been pounded on too much prior. I didn't take that lying down from a grown ass man, I sure wasnt taking from some pissy tailed girls.

Our principal was not in that week due to training, and the meanest teacher in the world was in his place. They were real smooth about the search and seizure. So much so that I still thought I was walking home, mentally preparing myself for the battle ahead. Not scared a bit. Until I heard my name called to the principal's office.

I didn’t remember telling anyone but my cousin about the artillery. I know she didn’t say anything, that was against code. Especially when I gotta defend myself, not a chance. It couldn’t be about that. But what else could it be, I thought as I turned to check my bookbag as I walked out the class toward the office, I noticed that is exactly what it had to be because in my bag the knives were not. I walked into the office and was greeted by my mother. Sitting there, crossed legs covered in gold studded jeans, black suede stiletto ankle boots, and a brown waist length fur with 4 large gold buttons down the front. All I could think about was how dope she looked, as I turned my attention to the huge black man with salt and pepper hair I had grown accustomed to seeing in the 6th grade hallway, not sitting behind the principal’s desk.

I immediately clammed up. He was known to be the meanest person on the planet. Never smiled, laughed, or played. With anyone. Probably not even himself (RIP).

I remember having to explain, very plainly might I add, why iI had the mind to bring such weapons to school. I proceeded to inform. The threats from the older girls seemed real and cemented as if no way to escape. That on top of the fact that I walk home and have been told many times not to run home from nobody, crying, or beat up. WIth all of these factors taken into account, I felt it was best to protect myself from what was, to me, absolutely an upcoming event that is present. Surprisingly to me, but prepared either way feeling I acted completely within reason,. Even responding with, being taught not to tattle tale when asked why I didn’t tell an adult. Also taking note i still have to walk home.

I was nipping that in the bud. I listened when I was told if you let someone do something once, they will continue to do it. Bullying was not something that I had experienced and was not from the blood which accepted such treatment.

I was suspended for 3 days and was not recorded for a true incident. The meanest man and the world not only genuinely understood my position, he also altered so that I was never on record for weapons. I knew, as well as them, had the principal been there, it may not have turned out so smooth.

I have always been a person that stood up for herself and others. If I believed I was right, and was proven so many times even by 2nd grade, I stood my ground unwaveringly.

What made her think that I was going to do so at this late in the game?

I found myself in the position of taking summer school to progress to the 8th grade. Without thought or question, the classes were registered, paid for, and transportation was arranged. I had begun to spiral at this point because of hormonal changes, changes in environment and the way I was being treated, changes physically with my body and being noticed by MEN. The one person that I would run to about these things was no longer available for me to speak to about these things. I knew that my peers aint no shit, they may have physically been experiencing the same things, but they were just as confused. They also were not entering into this new dynamic that, to this day, I can not explain.

Challenge Accepted

My uncle, my mother’s brother, decided that he was the best to handle me. He told my mother that she was not putting her foot down enough and that what I was doing with her I sure wouldn’t do with him. I found it laughable then, same as I do now. How could a person who was barely there for his own child, as well as hadn’t consistently been in my life since i was 7, was trusted to “snap me back into reality”.

Since the move to Virginia was pretty much complete, and my summer school was at a high school in Maryland, I was taken to stay with my uncle in Maryland, with him dropping and picking me up daily at school.

This actually did nothing to me to help in any manner. First mistake, I was not a troubled or disobedient kid. I was hurting, missing my mother, lacking the love and attention I had grown accustomed to as well as experiencing bodily changes I did not understand and couldn't explain.

Bottom Line: ABSOLUTE WRONG APPROACH

This was something that he should have known himself. This was something that most involved should have known, in my opinion. Instead, everybody had an opinion, associating me with my father, not knowing the psychological effects I experienced and dealt with. Effects that I didn’t understand to be abandonment issues. All I wanted was my mother back. I couldn’t understand what I did to lose her. Initially, the running away was to get her attention, since it was the only way, to me, that I could attain it, I began to sulk into that. Taking me to my uncles was like leaving me in Myrtle Beach like the Christmas before. She kept my brother, which further looked like, since he was conforming, let me get rid of her and keep the good one.

Although I was not aware of the conversation with my mother and uncle was about “controlling” me, I was pretty excited to see him. At one time, he was one of my favorite people in the world. I believed that I would finally have someone who knew my mother and I both, and would be able to help. At the least that was the thought prior to me walking into him and my aunts house in Cheverly. The big bright smile immediately faded when I was informed that I was there for punishment for summer school. I was Major Payne’d into understanding that I am going to school, studying, and babysitting while there because I am “wild” and need to be “reigned in”.

I took that shit as a whole challenge. I did what I was asked. I always had a word or two, which could get me into trouble from time to time. Other than that, I was cool, which earned me a weekend visit from my cousin.

We were relinquished to the house at night and could SLIGHTLY venture during the day. The Friday that she arrived we were outside a bit, talking to what I now know, grown ass men (late teens, early 20s) who payed much attention to my cousin and myself.

During those times, if I lied about my age, I was saying 14 or 15. They would still talk. If that was ok, then 12 would have been too, now that I know and understand there isn't a damn thing a 12 year old can do to #1) convince a teenager she’s 15, let alone a grown ass man; and #2) A 15 year old should be ok anyway, close to 20 or over. Hell close to 15 is too old for a 12 year old.

But what did I know?

I'm thinking that I actually have someone believing this travesty of age fluctuance. Even if they did, they were still horrible men, predators.

Well, that Saturday, my cousin and I invited the predators over. We were on the porch with them for the most part. Until one had to “use the bathroom” and we found ourselves all inside the house. Of course, these man boys telling us we were good, they weren't going to try anything, we should just watch a little tv.

We obliged. My baby cousin is in the house with us, and 2 early 20 year old men in the home. My cousin and I relaxed when they didn't try anything, and we told them that my uncle would be back sooner than he was supposed to, as to hurry them out. Though we somehow found ourselves on separate couches kissing, them trying their very best to work it elsewhere. Both my cousin and I were very uncomfortable, her getting scared, I just spazzed out and put them out. They were very pleading and apologetic, especially when my cousin said stop more than once. She was 2 weeks older, but still my baby. I have always been protective, and she had just been given away by her mother for her mothers boyfriend molesting her. I could see her fear and she would not feel like that by my hand or on my watch if I could help it. I could help this.

After a few minutes I got them out the side back door. Though I hadn’t noticed, my uncle was closing his car door as I was locking the back. My cousin hurried to ensure the same structure was in place from his departure and we sat, me holding my baby cousin, on the couch in the den and pretended that we were so deep into the show we hadn’t noticed his arrival.

I remember thanking God that I hadn’t cut on the light in the kitchen, so he should have missed the creep's departure.

Nope. He had not. He walked right in asking what we were doing with “2 niggas in his house, his son there, and we dont know this that and blah blah blah.” I let him go. I had already told my cousin to do what she does when she feels required, but DO NOT speak. That was if we got caught doing anything. Ever.

When he paused, I looked him dead in the eye and asked him what he was talking about? Half attitude because “how dare you, half needing more information before confession. Cause if he didn’t have proof, he definitely was not getting a confession.

He turned beet red and asked me if I thought he was crazy because he saw 2 boys and asked them where they were coming from and they said his house. That I knew was a lie because the way they went, I saw them go past him with no interaction as he was coming in AND had he really got into a convo with them, he;’d have lost it knowing they were way too old. This was not a “did you know how old” scenario.

He had no hard proof, just yelling and saying the meanest, most hateful things to me. I definitely argued back, he beat me and took my cousin back to the group home the next day. That hurt her more than me. Because that was when I made my plan to escape. The next morning he had to drop me off at school. I never told anyone that my sister was going to the same summer school and we had the same classes. I was leaving school with her tomorrow and not returning to my uncle's house. I was sick of playing his game and, even though he was right, he was guessing. That genuinely hurt my feelings because, though I recognized the situation that I had put all of us in, by the time I realized it could’ve been too late.

Many different scenarios could have come from that. I learned my lesson, and he wasn’t the teacher.

That next day, I walked into the school and found my sister giving her the situation and plan. As usual, she was down. I spent the rest of the summer with my godmother, my mother picking me a week or 2 before school started, laughing at her brother's failed attempt, boasting how she told him he couldn’t handle me. We had a quick connecting moment over that and I settled into the home and environment.

I'll Give It a Shot

I went outside and met some of the neighborhood kids and teens, creating friendships rather quickly. Finding that I could give it a chance, I decided that I would relax a bit and give the whole situation a shot. I arrived in Herndon a non-smoking virgin, who was smart, quick witted and fast enough to not seem like a lost soul in heaven. I made a mark as to who and what I was rather early, without pause. I stayed out of trouble and made sure to pay attention to who was who and what was what.

I can't say that I was excited. I can't say that I didn't want to see what the possibilities were ahead. I was fed such a large bowl of bullshit. I was told that this move would be better for my mother, brother and I. I was told of all the possibilities. I was not informed of the racism or the obstacles that I would have to overcome in order to achieve or even get close to those possibilities.

The first day of the eighth grade was the beginning of my baseball to the head smack of reality.

Let's Get this Party started Right!

I was excited to wear my new clothes, as with every year, I was definitely well prepared for the new start in the wardrobe department. I was always well kept. Hair, nails, heels. I was always well maintained. That was one thing that would never waver. How others saw me was a reflection of my family. That would be maintained at all costs.

I was fresh dressed in my Calvin Klein jeans, a dark brown ribbed fitted shirt, and chocolate nine west heel ankle boots. I remember vividly because I was up trying on variations the night before until well past midnight. I was determined to follow what I had been being told all summer; how you are perceived is how you’re handled by others. If your presentation is nice, then you will act nice. In essence, you will be treated nicely as well.

I wanted to make sure to have a better year with grades, actions, respecting my mother, you know, the usual for a “problem” child.

I had fallen into the mind frame that all that had been occurring was all my fault. There was no responsibility taken by any adults in my life, ever. It was always what I did, not what CAUSED the infraction.

I made it to the bus stop, on time, and prepared for the new beginning I was promised. I was the first there, greeted quickly by the brother sister duo I had befriended over the past few weeks. We chatted a while until the bus arrived. I boarded without any thoughts other than “The first day of the rest of my life.”

I'm still 12, excited at my 13th birthday coming within 2 weeks, so you know I’m grown right? I was excited about becoming a teenager. I was excited for the classes and groups I was registered for, 2 being Drama/Choir and Journalism. I had been set on being a lawyer since I was about 5 or 6, when my research ability and the excitement that I exuded at gaining whatever I was seeking, was noticed. Defeat assumed projects were never an issue with me because I never entered anything automatically claiming loss. I have always attempted, not only things that I knew I was good at, but also have always felt, there isn't much I can’t do. A try beats no attempt every time. Which is why I have no issue trying anything I desire at least once. So I was ready to indulge in learning, something I have always loved, constantly being taught knowledge is power and beauty is nothing without brains. I understood, believed,, and finally succeeded due to this training.

The bus ride was very short, I mean you could clear the way one end to the other in under 30 minutes, so it was actually longer than I expected, with a few additional stops, arriving at school. Of course being the “new kid on the block” I was the target of attention during the short ride. Being informed of the important middle school information I MUST know before getting there. The sister of the duo had been filling me in over the past few weeks. For such a small town, there sure was a whole lotta shit popping. I couldn’t understand it then, though I OVERstand it now.

As the bus pulled into the depot to unload his vehicle, I gathered my things and started to run my fingers over my hair to check for fly aways.

I had very long hair for the years prior, in 6th grade I got to cut it into an Asymmetric cut, in 7th grade I was allowed to cut the overgrown tail off and keep my top, shorter bob cut. Oh but this is the 8th grade. The leaders of the school. Last year before high school. This grade, we have EVENING dances at the community center several times a year. This grade was my introduction.

I exited the bus and told my sister-brother duo that I needed to go to the bathroom and I would catch up with them. We departed with a wave as we entered the school building, the duo to the right, and me to the left, directly into the bathroom door. I handled my stall business, washed and dried my hands, and began to tap my fly aways and edges in place. I wasn't able to get T-Boz side pieces, but I surely got her Page Boy!

Just as I was beginning to be satisfied with my reflection, and nerves calmed down enough to put on an unbothered face, hand literally still in my hair, I felt myself being snatched from the back color of my shirt and literally slipped, slid and flipped across that linoleum floor. I can hear 3 girls giggling and discussing my rag doll performance, yet I could not see the third one because she clearly was behind me going to work. She did not hit me or anything, just used the back of my shirt about half a min to spin dry me, although I was not wet, go figure. This only lasted about half a minute until I could get my bearings to defend myself. But it felt like hours. My mind is running 80,000 miles because I haven’t a clue what is happening or why.

When I could finally get some bearing, I noticed this chubby white hand attached to an arm way too fat to be attached to an eighth grade girl. I finally shook her off and they scurried out as I picked myself up off the floor. I was immediately pissed at my shoe selection that day. Who would think they would be attacked on their first day of school, in a new town, where they only know 5 people, max. I sure didn't. But it damn sure was not about to happen again.

I gathered my belongings and left the school. There was no way I was about to go a first, full day at school, the new student to the state, not to mention the school, and be humiliated. Culture is culture. Life is Middle School. I knew it was already being bragged about. I didn't even know who did it. There was no why. SO I didn't even bother wondering about that. I simply packed up and headed out.

If the bus ride to school was 15 minutes, which stopped, the walk couldn’t be more than 30. As mad as I was, I could make it in 10. I left out the same door I came in. I walked down Elden St, toward Herndon Pkwy, processing the events that just occurred. Adamant that the next day I would have my revenge. That was a guarantee. I was upset that I slept in the situation. I didn’t even turn to look like normal when I heard the door open. That was the first time I sat heavy in my mind, never relaxed to the point of doubt. Anything can happen at any time.

Im stepping and thinkin, plotting and thinking.. Then I remember, I didn’t buy any tennis shoes this school year, it was all heels and flats, because I was finally allowed to wear them. Just as that thought finished, a car pulled up beside me and asked me why the hell I was not at school. It startled me because, again, I don't know anybody in the state, my parents were gone before me so I knew it wasn’t them. I jumped and noticed a familiar, crooked tooth smile staring back at me. I knew who he was. A neighbor I had just met a few days prior, the older brother of a peer who was in his last year of school.

I looked at him and burst into tears. As I inaudibly tried to tell him what happened. He was shocked at my breakdown, immediately pulled over into the paint store parking lot and walked over to me, and walked me to his car, as I sobbed and explained what happened. He told me that I had to find out who the girl was by asking the sister of the duo that day after school. He told me what she was known for, she was 2 years older than me and had stayed back. And was sort of the teenage generation slut bag. I told him as long as it dont get on me, I aint gotta worry about her choices. I told him she was cool and I wasn’t the type to get pulled into clicks or peer pressured or any of that.

I told him that my only issue is that I don't own any tennis shoes. He laughed. 'A 13 year old that doesn’t wear sneakers?” he asked. Now laughing and feeling better after he let me know these things happen, and I can't control it. I could only control what I did about it. I had to do something about it, that was the bottom line. I arrogantly let him know that I only wear 9West heels and ankle boots, I wasn’t a little girl anymore. These fights etcetera were so elementary.

He was amused, we were still in the painting store parking lot, which was directly next door to a FOot Locker.

He looked at me and as he was exiting the car and shewing me to do so as well, as he said, “Well, let's go in here and get you some sneakers Ms. Lady.” then smiled at me from outside the driver's door.

I exited the car, a little surprised, and jokingly said, “You can buy me sneakers but we aren't doing anything for them.” But I meant every word of it, and he knew that. He also said, “Do you know how old I am?” as he met with me and we continued to walk down a few paces to the store.

I thought for a moment and realized that I had not. Our interaction had never been this extensive. I was surprised he even took the time to assist.

“No, I guess I don’t.” I said with a slight chuckle myself.

“27.” He flatly stated.

I made no reaction other than “oh.” I didn't think for one second that what was happening was wrong in any way. I just saw it as someone cared and was helping. I needed that at that moment because, the way things had been going, anything was possible.

We walked into the store, the clerk asked to assist and he told them to give me whatever I want. I smiled, thanked him and proceeded to grab New Balance 996 sneakers. I walked over to the clerk, asked for 5 kids and proceeded to have a seat and wait for him to bring it out.

I noticed his attention on me, though he did not make the conversation show anything other than concern and assistance.

We spent the next few hours together. He fed me, we smoked and I rode with him to handle a few errands' ' before being dropped off, so we didn't pull in the neighborhood together. I came around the corner in the neighborhood, past the park, right as the bus I would have been on arrived.

The sister and brother duo were exiting just then, while sister yelled my name and ran over, brother slowly followed behind her, as he always did, quiet and cool. As she approached she was inquiring about my day and how she had heard about me being beat up in the bathroom when we separated.

I laughed at the beat up and told the Rag Doll story, at this time laughing. I gained the assailants name, familial status, where she lived, the whole gammat. I didn’t even have to ask because her fountain flowed freely, I learned and pinned that in that moment.

We chit chatted a bit until my little brother’s bus arrived, and we departed to the house.

I had to squash my brother's questions about the bag and contents, thinking my mom and I went shopping without him. I eased his mind with the tale of books, walked us in the house, settled him into homework and snacks, and retreated up to my room to organize for the next day without fear of parental question or interruption. As I began to gather the next day's gear, I noticed all my jeans were fitted, or bell bottom, and I had no fight gear. I was informed of fight gear from my Elden St savior. He told me what to wear for agility and how to get her ass just like she got me, except once she was on the floor, BEAT HER ASS!

That is all that I had planned anyway, this just gave me an added process to the plan. I began pacing the floor thinking what to do. My mother did not wear sweats, my brothers were too small. But, just like Goldie Locks, Papa Bear sweats would have to do. Though he was 6’4 and the sweatsuit was going to be a bit baggy, it wouldn't fall down and I would be agile. I couldn’t get it then, just in case he noticed prior to tomorrow morning, and I was trying to make sure that there were no more issues. I'm being good now, remember.

I had my plan. I just had to make it through the night with no inquiries about me NOT being in school, and I would be fine. Which I did. There were no scratches or bruises, which would cause alarm and question. I went to sleep that night more excited than the night before. I dozed off smiling replaying my vision of the intended retaliation and victory over and over, thinking of all possible variables, even some that weren’t possible.

The next morning I awoke earlier and my parents departed earlier.

I made the decision to not take any books to school. Wasn’t necessary. They were gonna have to pull me off of her and that, for sure, was getting me suspended. Which I did not care about.

I exited the house and walked to the bus stop with my hands in my pockets, fresh sweatsuit and slick new sneakers. I looked and felt like a winner. That was exactly what I was going to do.

In this corner we have the funk body snatcher

As the bus arrived at the school, I actually felt myself relax, which somewhat surprised me. I had no worries or fear. Just the perfect plan and the determination to see it through. The other students began to disperse the bus, in no particular fashion. I stood, dead ass fluffed my sweatshirt, and exited the bus full of confidence and sure to flourish in the success of my personal retaliation. There was no way that I could walk into this school “ready to learn”., as the woman from the office so directed from the loud speaker, as I entered the school. The sister and brother duo stated their desire to tag along. I told them it would be best to go the same route they had the day before, as I would as well.

They turned to the right and I turned to the left, same as the day before, into the bathroom doors.. Except this time I stood behind the door. I waited patiently for a few minutes, and genuinely thought she wasn’t going to come in. Which made me mad because then I would have to walk up on her in the hall and proceed to whipping that ass. Just as I started to exit to search for her, the door flung open and those same sucka laughs I heard the day before, I heard again. And big white came strutting her acne covered, stringy blonde hair, wide box body into the bathroom,

At which time I grabbed a handful of her oily, straw textured hair. Yanked her head back, and as her hyena for friends stood in shock, swung her big ass around until she was on the ground, as I had been the day before. Instead of trying to keep swinging her as she did me, I absolutely had to send the message that, though you may catch me once, and as long as I’m able, I'm coming back with a vengeance only God could measure.

I sat on top of big white and committed my first ass whipping in the name of slavery. I pounded all of the frustration that I had piled into my soul and released it upon her face as I sat comfortably atop the mountain of a belly. I definitely lost the vision of her face, or any other for that matter, during that encounter. I did not empathize with it one bit nor was I sorry for it. I did absolutely nothing to deserve to be the victim of a future nazi’s unwarranted, unprovoked, and unnecessary violence attack the day before. I actually walked home, humiliated. So the knots and blood that started to appear across her face did not make me stop, but it did make me tune back into the channel.

A few head bangs later and I was being snatched off of her by an administrator that one of the hyena’s found she needed help, like I did yesterday, as she laughed.

Today was different though, and as I was being dragged out of the bathroom, getting a few kick stomps in as I stepped over big white, I made it known to the hyenas they were next. It was not going to be any way that these white girls were going to treat me like it was the 1960s. I did nothing to deserve that treatment, my actions were a reaction, as it always is.

I was taken down to the single black administrator at the school during that school year for sure. He immediately let me know his disdain for me and chastised me without hearing my side, speaking very strongly about people he knows nothing about, and making big white the victim, essentially sending me home until I could come back the next day with my parents. Cool.

One thing that I knew for certain, 12 things I knew for sure, momma ain't gonna play that She was never one to allow a teacher, school system, administrator, or anyone else allow her daughter to be abused. I was sure of that. I took my ass home with pleasure. Of course “running into” Elden St. savior, getting a ride home, and smoking until about 1pm, went home and took a nap, woke up in time to make it to the buses to get my brother. I walked, almost forgetting about earlier in the day, and ran into the sister brother duo.

Of course there was lots to discuss. But I already saw her ability to stir and start drama. I choose to keep the convo to a minimum on my part and do a little more listening.

Sister spoke as my brother stood there rolling the tree I was absolutely hitting. By this time, I had started puffing here and there, when I was at my sisters over the summer, not at the point I was purchasing and rolling myself, about this time I was on my way though. She told me of all the stories of my beating up big white in the bathroom were circulating to the highschool, which was weird for me. Why were high school kids concerned with the functions and fights of the middle school? I asked just that. Sister said that big whites older sister is in her senior year of high school, but has already been quoted in not wanting no trouble. I was getting curious as to the stories that were being told.

They went something like I jumped from behind the door, picking big white over my head and slamming her on the bathroom floor, before proceeding to repetitively pound her head into that same floor, in a rage. I wouldn’t stop until the police and administrators and all these over exaggerated accounts of the alleged altercation.

I gave a slight chuckle and simply said it didn’t happen like that. Just as we were finishing the tree, my brother's bus was letting them off. I gave slight to no conversation until he walked up and we went to the house. I immediately got out my black and white composition book and began writing. I knew that informing my mother wouldn’t be the task. It was more about how she felt about what happened after. I needed to make sure that I documented the day before’s events as well as the retaliation.

Once I wrote it out, it didn’t sound too bad. I wasn’t thinking about the feelings of anyone honestly. I knew what I felt like and, if this year was to have any chance at success, I needed to make sure that there was an understanding.

SImply put-

I may not win, but I can fight and aint scared to lose or throw the first punch. That’s just that. I would not spend my entire life being abused or mistreated and disrespected by anyone. There was no way that there would ever be another human to replace my father, and I welcomingly accepted it. How could anyone who was a part of my upbringing ask me to?

That evening as my mother and dad sat quietly listening to my recount of the past 2 days. I sat at one end of the table, dad at the other, and my mother in the middle. They were quiet as they processed what I told them and did not say a word. It even took several minutes after I finished for one to speak. My mother looked angry but also apologetic for me. That was something I missed from her and had not seen for awhile. I was surprised when dad began to speak, in my favor.

I sat there, clutching that black and white composition book so tight that my knuckles were white. I just knew that this was going to be another botch at my aim to do right.

BUt it wasn’t. My dad was upset and hurt that I was attacked, though they both understood my reasoning for not coming straight forth with them. Acknowledging the newly relaxed tension environment, and wanting to maintain it as much as I did, they were still adamant that I tell them what is happening from the beginning. I understood and agreed. Informing them that this was something that I would not have been able not to do, for several reasons.

One would be the fact that the reality is that I would be a target daily. Bullying, harassment, consistent chastising, until I just blow up and spaz out. That wouldn’t go past the first day. That also looks crazy, and as we now know, creates crazy people. And #2, there is no way that I was just going to let anyone use me like a rag doll and render me defenseless, not kill or paralyze me, and I NOT return with all the vengeance I can muster.

My mother nor I were raised to be beat on. Yes, my father could be vicious in his attacks, but my mother was not defenseless. She always fought back, we always attacked together. This time, for the first time in a long time, wasn’t any different.

My dad finally asked what was in my book, respectfully, which I appreciated. I told him that it was the incident of each day, with dates and times, so that I could start keeping a record of the events I may need to defend myself for.

He looked amused as I handed him the book known for assisting with the learning of writing or journaling.

That expression quickly turned to impressed as he opened it to see the well written, eloquently stated accounts of events. It was more legal than journalistic, and he made a comment about the torn pages out of the book. I explained that I messed up the handwriting several times and had to start over, a habit I carried into writing music, and still tend to do today.

My mother is going off at this point. In the kitchen preparing dinner, slamming cabinets and rambling off about that school not knowing who she is and something about NAACP and Fox5. I loved every bit of it. Finally, she was on my side again.

The next morning we went into the school. Me and my parental army went to the front desk and asked for my grade administrator, who just so happened to be the “brotha” that chastised me the day prior and created a victim of big white. We were told to have a seat and wait, my mother interjected with a tart, “We’ll stand.” and stared the curt old white lady down as if to rudely let her know “Tuhday is not the day.”

Ms. Ma’am took that information in stride and quickly called Brotha Mista down to the office. He hurriedly came in, quite surprised at my father standing there in his immaculately fitted suit, my mother in a modern professional fit with her stethoscope over her shoulders.

He politely greeted them, extending his hand, only dad responding with a quick “hello” and a one up hand shake. I knew then this was going to be good. I smiled as we followed him into his cramped, overfilled office, through a few halls of the school. My mother was silent the whole way. My dad not really saying too much himself, obviously noticing the nervousness of Brotha Mista, as I had.

As we entered the office, the small talk diminished and we got right to the point of the meeting. Brotha Mista began by stating how this was not the way this school conducts itself, my behavior would not be tolerated and a whole bunch of other blah blah bullshit that made me out to be the joker, and big white Batman.

Absolutely not. As he began to spin in circles repeating himself, not responding well to the pressures of my parents and I staring him down like the top hat tap dancing fool he was. My mother pretty much let him know that in so many words before asking him did he ever hear my side, or even inquire, because all he was focused on was the events of the day before instead of what led to that event.

Reminding him that I am not only new to the school, I am new to the town. I did not know this young lady nor had I had any prior interaction with her before the bathroom “brawl” as he so vibrantly put it. He, of course, stuttered over his no as he tried to quickly justify his position. That was shut down by my dad who suggested that he hear what the documentation I had stated.

Brotha Mista tried hard not to allow me to read, by now the principal has entered and is looking at Brotha Mista like he aint handling his people right. She was right. He was not. Because he could not. We were not “his” people, this was made clear by his rejection of my account.

That is until my mother raised her voice for the first time since we had entered the meeting and let them know that not only would they hear me out, but, also that they would handle this situation fairly and according to its specific “special circumstances’ or she would have “FOx5 and NAACP all up and through of they wanted to try some racial shit.”

I was like “Yea! What?!!”

They all flustered their words and movements with statements and rebuttals of how that was so not necessary.

Dad, at that point breaking his silence, seemed mom and I had it pretty well covered, revealed his observation that not only was big white and her parents not at the meeting, they also weren’t required to be for their daughter had not been sent home.

That of course had a spin on things. I began to read without introduction while I could catch that moment of silence, the events of 2 days prior. A few side comments of wow and oh my goodness from the other admin in the room, looking at Brotha Mista a little funny now. He sat staring almost through me as I read. I could feel he hated me, if not from the start, for sure from here. I loved that too!

By the time I was finished reading the cause, the effect was unanimously understood, as I made sure to direct through the writing of it. I was genuinely humiliated and there was no way that any one in that room, unless they were just down right cowardly, would allow an incident as such to slide. I was reinstated back to school that day and told not to entertain any of the gossip that I may run into because of the incident. We were all under the agreement that I would not be bothered by anyone else, even referring to big white as a trouble maker, further questioning Brotha Mista’s decisions in the matter.

I felt proud. I handled the situation my way, also, taking responsibility for my actions, involving my parents, and honoring the chain of command in events. The decisions I made that day to retaliate I will never regret. I will never regret that experience. I encountered a situation, alone, in a new environment, and stood tall on my own 2 feet. Yes, she got me that day, but I made sure she thought before she stepped on an ant for fear of what could return to her. The following year she found herself spraying me down with perfume so I wouldn’t smell like weed. When I got so high at school I threw up over the juniors lunch table and had to be wheelchairs out of the cafeteria when the nurse and mother called to pick me up. But that’s a whole nother series in itself.

She essentially lost that image that she created for herself, based on her older sister. The one guy that she drooled over came home from Baby Prison and was on me, while I gained the popularity she once had. Simply from beating the ass of the girl with the biggest mouth in school. Turns out she had heard about me through town. A pretty new girl moves in and hangs out with the sister-brother duo. Also learning that the sister is known around town as a bit of a neck bobbing scallywag, I was assumed to be of some the same character.

BIg white really got a surprise when her sister told her she got what she deserved. All was good in the land of the 8th grade, until it wasn’t.