CHAPTER

Two

“Ma-ma!” Meechie called as she dropped her bag on the living room floor.

“She’s not here,” Uncle Lee yelled from the front porch.

“What time is it? Where’s Erin?”

I listened to Meechie talk to herself while I relaxed on the couch. Meechie was busy looking in the fridge for something to eat.

“There’s never nothing here to eat!” she announced.

I chuckled under my breath in agreement. “I know.”

“My mama ain’t went grocery shopping this month. I think she sold the food stamps again. That’s probably why we ain’t seen her in a couple of days. I hate when she does that.”

Aunt TeeTee being on crack was embarrassing to Meechie. She tried to hide her hurt under her anger, but I knew it upset her to see TeeTee high.

Grandma told me Aunt TeeTee, whose real name was Lauren, started smoking crack when Uncle Lorenz died in a car accident a few years back. She said TeeTee and Lorenz were tight and she just couldn’t get over his death.

I didn’t remember much about Uncle Lorenz, but Mama told me when I was a baby he would take me out with him so he could pick up women. He would lie and tell them my mom left him to take care of me alone. Mama said he would come home with a pocket full of phone numbers, and I would have ice cream all over my face.

Meechie went to her secret spot to count her money, then came back with a crisp $20 bill in her hand.

“I’m about to order some Chinese food from Chang’s. You want to walk with me?”

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

Meechie picked up the phone to order her meal. I sat there hoping she would order me something too. I was embarrassed to ask, so I sat in silence listening to my stomach growl. I knew Meechie would share with me, but I felt bad because she had to make sure Erin ate, too.

Instead, I went to the kitchen and looked through the cabinets. I was lucky to find a pack of chicken-flavored instant noodles hidden behind some empty boxes. I felt like I had won the lottery. I hid the noodles behind the toaster and waited for Meechie by the door.

“Are you ready?”

“Yep.”

“Come on. Let’s hurry up and get back before Erin gets home.”

Grandma’s street was quiet; however, a couple of blocks over it was a completely different story. Drug dealers and gang members were common characters in Grandma’s neighborhood. We had to pass that block to get to Chang’s, which was only a couple of blocks away on West Florissant. Grandma always told us to walk together.

Mr. Chang had been a staple in Grandma’s neighborhood for years. He served up the best fried rice or “Chinamen” in the Northside neighborhood of St. Louis. “Chinamen” is what everyone in my family called the Chinese restaurant. I thought it was mildly derogatory, but everyone said it, so I felt it was okay. Although Chang’s restaurant was a hole in the wall with three tables and a bench, everyone went to Chang’s. Even the most unsavory characters: bums, gang members and local dope boys all looking to gain something. The dope boys were always flashing their sparkly gold teeth and harassing girls as they walked in.

“Hey, girl, let me holler at you for a minute.”

Chang had a habit of telling everyone their order would be ready in 15 minutes, but we always had to wait when we got there.

Meechie and I didn’t talk much on our way to Chang’s. I mostly listened to the symphony happening in my belly and wished my pants had more than a buffet of ketchup on them.

“Chang, is my order ready?” Meechie asked, tossing her money on the counter.

“Five minutes!” Chang said, peeking out of the little window on the counter.

“Hurry up. I’m hungry.”

Sitting in Chang’s for those five minutes tripled my hunger. I was relieved to hear Chang call Meechie’s order. “Special fried rice with egg foo young gravy.”

Meechie grabbed her food and we headed back to the house. The aroma of her fried rice forced me to think about the pack of instant noodles that awaited me.

Between my thoughts, I could hear Meechie rambling on about her plan to see her boyfriend, Eric, and go to Saints that weekend.

Saints was a skating rink in the Olivette where everyone hung out on Saturday nights. It was like a club for teenagers. It even had a party room, equipped with flashing lights and a D.J. All of the players and dealers were always in attendance, along with the girls who aspired to be their girl-friends.

“Who are you going with?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Why? You want to go?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have any money.”

“Your mama ain’t been home yet?”

“No, I haven’t seen her in days. Maybe she’ll come home this weekend. ”

“Where she be going anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

Meechie paused. “Do you think she’s smoking crack?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen her high, just drunk.”

It wasn’t farfetched that Mama would be smoking crack. There were a lot of crackheads in our neighborhood. My stomach began to hurt more at the thought of Mama smoking a crack pipe in an alley or abandoned building. Although, that would’ve explained why she was never home.

Meechie and I made it back safely to the house. Meechie sat at the table to prepare her rice with the condiments Chang left in her brown paper bag. I headed for the kitchen to make my noodles. I grabbed a pot from under the counter, filled it with water and turned on the stove.

When the water got hot and it was time to add the noodles, I couldn’t find them. They weren’t in the spot where I hid them. I looked all over the counter and on the floor. They were no place in sight. I knew only one person could have taken them—Uncle Lee.

“Uncle Lee!” I yelled down the stairs.

“What!”

“Did you eat my noodles?”

“Yep, shouldn’t have left them. They’re mine now!”

My heart sank with disappointment. I didn’t get a chance to eat because I skipped lunch to dodge the G-Gs. I sat at the table, fuming, with tears in my eyes.

“What’s wrong with you?” Meechie asked, stirring her rice.

“Lee ate my noodles.”

“You left them out? That was stupid.”

“No, I hid them behind the toaster.”

“Girl, he knows that hiding place. Nowadays you have to take your food with you or hide it somewhere you know he won’t find it.

Get a bowl.”

I sprung out of my seat as if it was Christmas morning. Meechie gave me half of her rice. I ate it quickly. I even licked the bowl when she wasn’t looking.

Erin came in a little while later, full of energy and attitude.

“What you eating, Meechie?”

“I went to Chang’s and got some rice.”

“Ooooh, I want some,” Erin said, looking in Meechie’s rice box.

“It’s gone.”

“Why didn’t you save me some?”

“Little girl, you better leave me alone. Ask Grandma to buy you some when she gets home.”

Erin was a few years younger than Meechie. Just like me and my sister Sissy, her and Meechie didn’t have the same daddy, but that didn’t matter. They were thick as thieves. She was a smart-mouthed little somebody that could hold her own. She was always rolling her neck, causing the multi-colored ballies in her hair to swing.

Meechie and Erin continued to argue back and forth, until Erin retreated to their room to change clothes. I sat at the table, looking out the window until I grew tired of the noise and decided to sit on the front porch.

I watched the little kids return from school with their blue-and-white uniforms on and listened to the random bass from cars passing by on the street above. Grandma’s street was a one-way. Most of the traffic on the street was from neighbors or visitors.

All the homes on the block were brick, with wood shutters and covered porches. I loved the look of the neighborhood—it gave the appearance that hard-working, middle-class people lived there. Since most of the homes on the street were occupied by older people, the lawns were always neat and the street tidy. It wasn’t unusual to see people sitting on their front porches, drinking cool drinks and enjoying the shade. Since Grandma had been living in the Northside for over twenty years, she knew all the neighborhood kids and their mothers. They called her Mrs. Rose.

Most of the people who lived on the Northside had been there for many years. If they didn’t know your name, they damn sure knew your mama’s or grandparents’ names. It wasn’t odd to be reprimanded by the matriarchs of the neighborhood. If one of them saw you doing something, they would make sure you got in trouble for whatever you did.

Grandma told me black people weren’t always welcomed in her neighborhood. She said, “When black folks started moving into the city, they did their best to run us out. They threatened us, destroyed our property and worse, but we fought through it and stayed.”

I couldn’t imagine white people staying in Grandma’s neighborhood; I never saw any. I did, however, understand the unpleasantness of white people in St. Louis.

Each time I went with Grandma to the buffet at the Clocktower Plaza, in St. Louis County, the white people always gave us mean looks. It felt as though they didn’t want us there. I would ask Grandma why they were looking at us that way and she would tell me not to pay them any mind. She also reminded me that Missouri was the last state to abolish slavery and some white people felt we didn’t deserve to be free.

Seeing how badly black people were treated intensified my craving for Washington. The truth was, I hadn’t experienced racism there. The white people I encountered there were nice and helpful. I felt welcomed there; not so much in St. Louis.

I sat and thought about how much I missed my friends and family in Washington. I wished I could go back there. Before we left, I asked Donny, my step-dad, if I could stay and he told me no. Something about my dad not letting him adopt me. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. It wasn’t like my dad ever called or came to see me.

In fact, we had been in St. Louis for over a year and he never came by. Mama said he lived 30 minutes over the bridge in Alton, Illinois, but when I asked for his number, she always changed the subject. At this point, I had only seen him one time—the summer I came to visit Grandma when I was 11. He told me he was going to come and get me the next day, so we could spend time together. I waited on the front porch all day, but he never came. I was hurt and disappointed. Mama voiced her opinion by telling me, “I told you his no-good ass wasn’t coming.”

I didn’t know too much about my dad, other than the stories I heard from Grandma. She told me he was an attractive guy, with a big Afro and thick glasses, who drove a yellow Pinto. Grandma told me Mama was in love with him, but he broke her heart. I don’t think she ever recovered. She referred to him as a piece-of-shit playboy who screwed every chick in town.

I could tell Mama hated him, yet she often reminded me of how much I looked like him. Maybe that’s why she was never home—she hated me too. She sure treated me like she did. Every time I tried to talk to Mama, she always ignored me. If I pushed too hard for attention, she would yell and curse, “Get your worrisome ass out of my face!”

Other times, she would throw things at me or beat me with brooms, belts or her fist. My fear of her caused me to be afraid to ask her anything. She was so mean and hateful towards me, but I loved her unconditionally. Mama was all that I had in St. Louis. Everything I had grown to know for the last ten years was in Washington. Every day, I questioned why she ripped me from my friends and family. I wondered if bringing me to St. Louis was part of her plan to get rid of me.

On the days when my pain became unbearable, I wrote to God in my journal. Donny always encouraged me and Sissy to read and write. We played Scrabble a lot too. He told me, “Education is important. If you’re smart, you’ll go far in life.” I looked up to Donny, so it was easy to follow his directions. Writing to God kind of reminded me of me, Donny and Sissy praying together before bed. It made me feel safe. I felt God was the only person who could understand what I was feeling and eventually fix Mama.

I wanted her to be happy, but I didn’t know how to help her. She always looked so sad and occupied; maybe that’s why she drank and partied as much as she did. I felt sorry for looking like the man who hurt her so deeply. My sympathy forced me to feel obligated to right his wrongs. In some way, I felt I deserved to suffer if it meant that one day, I would have the opportunity to feel loved by Mama. I’ll do my best to make Mama happy. Then she’ll love…I hope.