Chapter Twelve
Kapri
It was the beginning of the tenth grade, and the devil was on my shoulder, ready to ride. Having gone to Catholic schools for years, I was far from accustomed to what I saw here at Central. I had cursed out one too many nuns at my old school, so they asked me not to return the following semester. My mother was disappointed but never talked down on me, although she did mention that being in contact with my pops was hyping me up to take on his off-the-chain characteristics, which probably did have some truth to it. Mom knew I had mild, inherited mental issues. But, in truth, that was her fault for choosing my daddy’s deranged ass to lie down with in the first place. Nevertheless, now, here I was in the middle of what I could only describe as total chaos. Kids were running through the halls with no teachers around. Fights were going on, and no security interceding. It was pandemonium. And no matter how badass I was at my former schools, this was an entirely different element altogether.
The fact that the students were not wearing uniforms, as I was accustomed to doing, made matters worse. It was like a sea of colors bouncing off the walls. Everywhere I looked, some sort of a ghetto fashion show was taking place. It was easy to see which kids’ families probably sold drugs and which ones did not. Top Tens, Levi’s, thumb-size gold ropes, and Max Julians… It was the early eighties, and crack had replaced heroin as a quick high in Detroit. Yearning to get a job in one of the factories was now replaced with getting a sack. That was the thing to do if you were a teenager and wanted to be or feel important . . . secure that bag.
I was raised in a single-parent household, but we were considered upper-middle class just the same. Or at least that’s what the judgmental neighbors renting the homes surrounding us felt. We owned the house we lived in, and my mother drove a new car almost every other year. Wearing new gym shoes or new jeans was second nature to me as was going on real vacations out of state, not just hanging out at the local park at the first of the month. I never understood struggle or the harsh life of poverty, thank God. My mother had a steady job since before I was born. She was an assistant supervisor for the Department of Social Services. Her checks were constant, and she and I were quick to catch a flight whenever she felt the need to leave. There was not one time that I can remember doing without or our lights being shut off or going to bed hungry. Even though she and I bumped heads often, I had to respect the job she had. She always held us down. In my book, she was the real MVP. On days when we were so-called bonding, I would let her know how I truly felt.
My father and mother were as different as night and day. He had long since been out of the picture. For lack of better words, my mother used to say he was not of the world we lived in, and getting with him was a major mistake, although my conception wasn’t. He wasn’t born in Detroit, like my mom. My grandparents moved the family up North from New Orleans when my father was a young child. It had long been rumored my grandmother had cast some swap black-magic spell on a well-to-do white man in their small rural town. And the result of that was she and the entire family fled to Detroit to avoid getting lynched.
Once here, my granny continued her uncanny palm and tarot card readings. She would often cover my face with her left hand and tell others that her supreme powers had skipped a generation, and I had been blessed with the same gift as she. My mother thought “my inherited gift” was all total bullshit. Needless to say, she kept me away from my black-magic granny and that side of the family as much as possible.
My father wanted to be in the streets, ripping and running. So, of course, eventually, life caught up with him. He murdered a man in cold blood, yet claimed it was self-defense. But that twenty years he was doing said something else. Me being me, I’d gone down to the main library and pulled any news article they had available with regards to my father’s case. To be extra sure of what had taken place that ultimately separated him from his family, I got copies of the court transcripts. After studying the documents page after page, word for word, it was easy to see why he got twenty years. His actions earned every bit of that time. My mother was correct. My father was not of our world. But I loved him just the same. I would write to him at least once a month, although I was never allowed to visit. He was in jail locked up, not me. That was the reason my mother gave whenever the subject of visits came up in conversation. So, after a few years, I gave up on seeing my dad until he touched back down. Secretly, I held that against Mom, but it was what it was.
The only connection I kinda sorta had on his side of my family tree was Diane. She and I were first cousins and only ten months apart in age. The few times I was able to go over to my paternal grandmother’s house, she’d be there, making the visit more eventful. Not superclose, no matter what I was going through, we stayed linked, and she’d pull up if need be. I guess in her case, blood was thicker than water.
“Look, Kapri, when you get to this school, just keep your head down and do your work. There’s no need to make friends with those old hoes in training. And definitely, no exchanging numbers with them boys. Most of them come from bad families and probably sell drugs or worse.”
“You mean worse like your baby daddy?” I knew I was pushing my mother’s buttons with that snide remark, but I was already angry I even had to go to Central High School in the first place.
“Girl, like I said, stay your ass out of the way.”
The first week of public school, I stuck out like a sore thumb. Sure, I had all the latest fashions at my fingertips, but just because you look the part doesn’t mean fitting in was automatic. I kept my circle small, which consisted of only me. Years of going to school with white people had rubbed off on me. Well, at least, that’s what the other students remarked when I would speak. So, after a while, I just decided to shut up altogether. It was better than getting ridiculed and potentially having to snap. The students there thought I was an easy target to bully because I was a loner. But bullying me? Those types of problems they truly didn’t want. The failed to realize I was the actual threat. As for my studies, I didn’t have to worry about my abrupt silence affecting my grades. I was miles ahead of the others in all of my classes without effort. After a few months of being enrolled at Central, I became bored. And that boredom was the spark to ignite the small fire, which resulted in the blaze that later shaped my life.
* * *
“I swear to God, you guys need to stop talking to me. Why don’t y’all grow up?” I was fed up. I had just about enough and was not willing to take anymore. I missed my old friends and my old school. They may have mostly been white, and maybe some were racist, but at least they kept their hatred for me under wraps. These females here were far from being subtle when it came to them disliking me. It was not my fault that my eyes were light chestnut brown, and I was cute. It was my natural hair that reached down beyond my shoulders that I had to brush, not theirs. And as for my complexion, once more, not my own choosing. They could blame God for making me light-skinned. But all of these physical attributes about me, these hoodrat bitches ridiculed and mocked.
I continued to hold my head up because I knew they were just jealous. And in reality, I guess I would be too if some new girl came from out of nowhere catching their boyfriends’ eyes and turning heads. But that still didn’t give them the right to put their hands on me. Talking shit was one thing. I could handle that because I was good with my words. But now they were starting to cross the line, so I was going to have to prove to them I was also good with these hands.
“Why you running around here acting like you white? Like you better than the rest of us? Don’t nobody give a fuck you think you pretty, ’cause you not.” One sternly questioned me as if I were her child that needed reprimanding.
“Yeah, you stuck-up stank bitch. You ain’t that pretty no matter how long your hair is. You think all these guys around here wanna wife your ass? Bitch, they just want the pussy.” The next girl, wearing an emerald-green Michigan State hoodie, backed up her friend trying to tear me down, but I wasn’t going out like that. Although I was far from arrogant, my self-esteem had always been on high even in my darkest times.
“Look, I done told y’all to stop messing with me. I’m not with all the games and certainly not in the mood for this. Go find something else to do and somebody else to do it with, ’cause I’m not the one.” I was at the end of my rope, trying to ignore their daily rounds of tag team dogging me. I promised my mother and myself that I was going to change. I was going to do better and just finish this semester without incident. But I was nearing the point of no return if these girls kept it up. I was done playing nice. Something had to give, and it was about to.
“And okay, Kapri, what if we don’t stop? What you gonna do? Go get some of your white friends to jump us? Or do you think you a beast? Is that what it is?” Dumbly, she had both hands tucked in the pouch of her hoodie and had the nerve to want all the smoke.
I was tired of this school, and especially these same two girls bullying me. Why wouldn’t they just go somewhere and do them? I’d made it clear numerous times that I wasn’t interested in them or their little ugly, broke boyfriends. They could all kick rocks. “Listen, I’m warning you both,” I promised, showing no fear, ready to show them the real Kapri James, the one that was banned from every Catholic school in Metro Detroit. The one that could not be stopped once started.
I was on the verge. I knew what I was capable of. The mocking continued. The threats got more violent, and their need to impress the other students increased. I knew it was about to pop off soon. They had me cornered and grew more aggressive. All I wanted to do was sharpen my pencils and finish my social studies paper. But they had other plans, and I guess that was too much like right. These girls were out of control. They were coming at me like I had actually done something to them, but I hadn’t. No matter what they’d said or done since me arriving at this school, I never lashed back out. My only crime I could figure out was being me. Their voices started to get louder, and the situation grew intense. I was no fool—far from it. I knew what was about to happen next, so I readied myself and stood my ground.
Before I could look to see where the teacher was, I felt the harsh sting of a hand slap across my face from one female. The girl in the hoodie then kicked my lower leg. I didn’t buckle or fold. I took each of the blows like a bona fide trooper. Then something inside of me clicked all the way on. That small amount of pain was all the motivation I needed to feel an inner wrath brewing strongly. It was like I was a prizefighter, and the bell just rang. All I saw was red. All I wanted to do was shut them down and shut up the hot-box talk they were doing. I’d had enough. I was done being their victim.
Without thinking, I raised my right hand back a little past my shoulder. My hand did not tremble one time. And I did not hesitate when I brought it forward. Strangely, I smiled when I dug the pencils I was holding deep into the first female’s shoulder. I knew for sure I had done damage when she stumbled backward into the chalkboard, screaming for someone to help her.
The second girl didn’t want to go out like her friend did, so she tried her best to go head up with me. Hands and fists started to fly. I gave as good as I got, but she was overweight and quickly running out of steam. I was solid, however. In a short period of time, a bitch like me was just getting warmed up. I couldn’t grab her hair, because she had so little. Instead, I used my palm and smashed her head into the side of a desk twice, maybe three good times. Fist tightly clenched, I socked her dead in the mouth before grabbing a globe off the shelf and bringing it crashing down on her face.
With all the other students yelling and urging us on, I didn’t hear the teacher reenter the room. The teacher was screaming for the other students to help break it up, but they knew better. The middle-aged woman tried her best to get me off of the girl who I had knocked to the ground, but I was in full-blown beast mode. I had the bitch by the hood, fast-track dragging her near the window with thoughts of throwing her out of the motherfucker. At that moment, I had already manifested it into taking place and me fighting a murder case.
Nearing the end of the clash, the girl was leaking badly from her nose and mouth, and a tooth was missing. Her eye was starting to swell, and she was in tears. As for me, I had a tiny gash on my right cheekbone, but that didn’t slow me down any. In reality, I had tasted my own blood, and it made me go insane. The more the teacher and now security attempted to drag me away, I would break loose and attack once more.
“I warned you bitches to stop playing with me like I’m some sort of a game. But, naw, y’all kept thinking I was weak because I wasn’t saying nothing back. And now y’all both done caught these hands. Trick hoes got the nerve to be crying, pointing the finger of blame at me. Well, fuck y’all, and matter of fact, fuck this school. Yeah, I beat the shit outta both you bitches, and I’m still pretty!” I wiped a small bit of blood off my cheekbone, swearing shit wasn’t over, and I’d see both of them in the streets one day or another.
By the time I had decided to settle down, both females, the entire classroom, school, and staff knew I wasn’t to be fucked with. I’d made that clear. I’d come to Central High School, minding my own business wanting to do right. But them hoes wouldn’t let me be great. They put me to the test, and needless to say, I passed. Today, they learned to never judge a book by its cover. Pretty bitches can buck too.
Not being able to get me back in a civil state of mind, the dean of students looked up my records file and called my mother. I knew when that woman placed the call, she didn’t know what consequences she was about to endure, especially when she tried to slip in the fact that I had been injured. You can only imagine that conversation ended abruptly after that revelation. We lived only a few blocks from the school, and as fate would have it, my mother was on vacation. So, yeah, my mother arrived quickly.
When she stormed into the office, she searched the room with her eyes. She saw me sitting off in the far corner with a damp paper towel pressed to my face. I could tell she was about to be on the warpath. Normally, I’d be ready to give her some lame, made-up excuse for my behavior, but this time I was innocent. I’d done no wrong but defended myself. They struck first, so there it was.
“Hello, Ms. James, I’m the dean of students that called you.” She extended her hand as if my mother were in the mood for pleasantries. She didn’t know my parent. My mother looked at her with sheer resentment as if the dean of students were the devil himself offering to buy her soul.
“Please don’t be condescending to me, whoever you are—not now, not ever.” She took a few steps back, giving the dean the once-over.
Despite other staff members trying to explain the details of what went on, my mother irritably breezed past them all. As I sat there, my adrenalin was still at an all-time high, and I was still on go status. Despite our differences and clashes throughout the years, my mother knew her child and could sense that emotion in me. Not saying a word, she pulled my wrist down so she could see the damage. Needless to say, her eyes bucked at the sight of her child’s face. She was livid. I’d never seen my mother so angry. I’d done a lot of wild things throughout the years, and she never reacted as she was now. All along, I believed that my firecracker temper and mental deficiencies came from my father. Now, seeing my mother act as she did, I wasn’t so sure. I just prayed she didn’t have her gun in her purse. Because the way she was carrying on in the middle of the office, pulling that thing out and letting it sing revenge seemed like it was coming next.
“What in the entire hell have you let happen to my daughter? What kind of wild kingdom zoo is this? I should have all you sons of bitches arrested.” My mother was adamant that someone was going to pay for my injury.
“Ms. James, please. If you just wait and calm down, I can explain.” The dean put her hands up in hopes of changing the hostile climate and the huge problem she was now facing.
“Look, lady, just get on with it and tell me what the fuck happened to my damn child in this place,” she raged, flinging her arms with her purse hanging off her shoulder. “Somebody better tell me something—and quick! I swear to God, somebody better start talking!”
“Ms. James, please calm down. Please, please, and let me explain.”
“First of all, it is Mrs. James, thank you very damn much, and second, explain what? All I know is I sent my child to school this morning and in your care, and she ends up looking like this.” In one furious motion, I was yanked up out of the chair as my mother grabbed my chin, showcasing my face. “This right here is criminal. I’m calling the damn police and pressing charges on whoever did this to my daughter.” She swiftly scanned the office but saw no other child. “Matter of fact, where is the little animal bastard? I want to see their parents too. I’m pressing charges on them too!”
Then my mother was told that not only had I probably fractured one girl’s jaw, but I also punctured a girl’s upper shoulder area with some pencils, and they had currently both been rushed to the hospital. You would think the fact that I was victorious in whooping not one, but two supposedly bad bitches would have calmed my mother down. But it did the complete opposite. The teacher stood idle while two girls jumped on her baby? Naw! That part was not sitting well with her.
My mother grilled the principal until it was further disclosed that there had been no adult supervision when the altercation occurred. That was all my mother needed to hear. I knew her and how she moved. She didn’t like all of the stunts I was known to pull, but she never stopped backing me up, especially if I were in the right. She swore that everyone involved with my injury was going to fall. My mother assured them that it would now be her job to make sure someone else lost theirs.
As the staff started pointing fingers, not wanting to take the fall, we stormed out of the building. Once in the car, she tossed her purse in the backseat. Her gun didn’t fall out, but a hammer with a wooden handle that we always kept in the junk drawer and a butcher knife did.
I just turned around and faced the front, knowing my mother was still heated. I kept a wet paper towel pressed to my upper jaw area. The car was silent as we headed straight to Sinai Grace Hospital to see if I would need stitches. Sadly, I did and was informed it would forever leave a small scar. I tried not to cry as I looked in a mirror but reasoned with myself that I was still fly. The doctor gave me some antibiotic ointment, a script for a few pain meds, and discharged me. I wanted to beat those bum bitches’ asses all over again. And someday I would.
“Kapri, you have to do better. I know this time it was not your fault, but your temper and that mouth are gonna cause you trouble. And one day, I’m not going to be able to save you. One day, you might have to pay the price. Just like that no-good father of yours.”
“Ma, like I said, I was minding my own business. They came to me starting it, so I finished it. And as for this,” I looked in the mirror at my stitches as my mother drove us home, “I guess I’ma just be a cute girl with a scar ’cause I’m still gonna be serving them hoes.”
“Girl, didn’t I just tell you about that mouth. Now I gotta deal with all they asses up at that damn school.” My mother shook her head as she turned onto Lodge Service Drive.
“Dang, okay, my bad. Sorry, Ma, I meant serving them bitches,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood as she drove. “And FYI, you was in that office going on they asses. You was on the heads, for real, for real.”
My mother looked at me and could only laugh because she knew I was telling the truth. She had bossed all the way up on them. Thankfully, she didn’t have to swing that hammer or skin gut a bitch. I’m not sure what she thought she was going to be going against when she got up to that school, but one thing for sure… My mother was prepared to go hard in the paint on my behalf.
After that incident, I left Central High for good, which was okay with me. I had grown weary of any type of authority figure by then, except for maybe my mother. I felt I had bottomed out and had learned all I needed to know to survive. Usually, my mother was on my side, and I was spoiled. She’d just proven that again by following through with her threat to sue the school district along with the parents of the two females who had attacked me. The lawyer advised my mother her best bet for a financial settlement would be though DPS because the girls’ parents were drug addicts on that pipe.
After searching for another district schooling that would allow me to enroll midsemester, we discovered I was blackballed because of the pending lawsuit. Without so much as blinking an eye, my mother sued them too for discrimination. In the time being, before I would start homeschooling, I was enrolled in a charter alternative school specifically opened for at-risk youth. And that is where I would first lay eyes on who would be my future husband.