Basketball Wives Reunion Rundown

Y'all read it right! I have titled this lil review its rightful name. After the last two shows (reunions), the ladies really have shown themselves worthy of a lot more respect. I mean, some are still a trip & are just putting on a 'show' because everybody else was being decent & because Shaunie has turned Mother Theresa on 'em, but at least they were able to keep it up for the duration of the reunion show. Mmmkay...first things first....Why was Kenya on the show again? Still mad they never addressed the fish thing. I LOVE a good prank & it seems wasted since they never brought it back up. *shrugs* Moving right along...Suzie tried to make herself 'relevant' at some point during the show...Everybody had on their nice girl attitudes & here comes Suzie flying all off the handle, "F#$& you, Kesha! Shut the f#$& up!" Really, Suzie? You ain't said nothing the entire show & the first thing you say gotta be gangster-laced? It was like the Tami demon took over her body or something. The tapes show that you talk too much. You & your lisp are all too eager to "run tell dat" all the time. You might not have said what Kesha said you said but you have said a lot! Don't get mad because your track record that YOU have set. Good job, Royce, on your acting gig....& on the stage play too. LOL! That scene with her and her daddy...that breakdown...that ugly cry face...Yeah...seemed a little dramatic to me...but that's just me...Or is it? Kesha! I hear you, girl! You found your voice and it only took you ALL season! Tami is so full of it..."I just wanted you to say what you wanted to say...I wasn't going to get mad...I just wanted you to have a voice." Then when Kesha started talking, it took everything Tami learned in anger-management & the thought of a lawsuit not to come across that stage on poor Kesha. It's apparent you haven't changed, Tami, because you still won't own up to taking ol' girl's purse and bullying her. So you ain't changed yet...You just had a 'Come to Jesus' meeting with Shaunie, your lawyer & your heart doctor right before the show. You're still Tami the Bully. NOOOOOW...The moment you've all been waiting for...........drumroll, please......... JENNIPHA & EVELYN!!! (Sidenote: Shaunie, there is a significant difference in getting reckless with your mouth and with your hands. I don't care for how Jennipha tends to handle things but truth is truth. Friends or foes...If you put your hands on me, we are no longer friends, we're foes & anything goes when it comes to foes! Nia, Niya...whatever is a grown woman & chose to assault someone ON TAPE!! I do feel like the charges will be dropped but they knew how Jen was before that incident, so Nia/Niya Badwig should've handled herself a little better than that. Period.) Anyhooooo, on to the bright note of the reconciliation of Jen & Ev. This was the point that made me say...ok...maybe I should remove the ratchet title cause they're growing up! Many are saying that the lie detector questions were stupid but I disagree. They were quite relevant & asked the IMPORTANT questions. Do they miss their friendship? & Is Jen jealous of Chad & Ev's relationship? Those questions/answers got to the core of the problem. Just like in the core of an apple, the seeds of their problems were planted underneath all that other mess. I was sincerely touched by them coming together...and I ain't gonna lie cause I ain't ashamed...I shed a tear or two...maybe three...maybe I even almost had the Royce ugly cry face...It was freakin' touching, man...& anybody who didn't tear up just ain't got no heart, or they're men. All that time wasted...all the hurtful things said and all these ladies had to do was be honest and say, "I'm hurt & I miss you...I miss 'us'." But hurt makes you do & say hurtful things sometimes when you don't know how else to express it. Maybe if we all could record our lives & play it back so that we could see the folly of our ways or take polygraph tests to help convey our true feelings, we may just be able to make amends with important people in our lives...Maybe we could mend meaningful, valuable relationships. Maybe. I can't wait to see what Season 5 BASKETball Wives brings...Until next season, BW fans...or until Ratchetball Wives LA. What? Them hood bunnies ain't earned their title yet! LOL! #Allthislove,there'sgottabesomehatethrownupinheresomewhere! HOLLA!!!

Just look at Evelyn's face...All that pain...So glad she allowed herself to recognize it, feel it & let it go.

My Conversation With Kyle Minor

Kyle Minor, Author of In The Devil's Territory

Conversation with Kyle Minor

By Joy Quarmiley

            First, I would like to thank you so very much for taking time out to allow me to have this conversation with you. I am honored and I hope to do you justice.

Second, I want to congratulate you on the win of the 2012 Iowa Review Prize for Short Fiction for your story “Seven Stories About Kenel of Koulev-Ville”. I also read that you’re a three-time honoree in The Atlantic Monthly Student Writing Awards and a winner of Random House’s Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers contest, where your short story, “You Shall Go Out With Joy & Be Led Force With Peace”, was featured. Not to mention all of the magazines you’ve been featured in! Those are all great achievements for such a young writer (I’m 35, so, yes, we’re young! ;) and many were accomplished before you were even published! That’s amazing!

 Your novella In the D evil’s Territory is quite a hot commodity. I had to order it to get my hands on a copy, which I am still anxiously waiting on. Every copy in the libraries in the state of Ohio was checked out and had a lengthy waiting list. I hope to be that popular of a writer one day.

Now, let’s converse…I’m going to start with the basics first.

JQ

I know that you were inspired by many books and writers, like Nabokov & Kate Bernheimer but how did it come about that you really determined that writing was your passion?

KM

I started out writing for magazines, and while I was writing for magazines I began to get interested in literature. I was reading rather haphazardly. Someone would tell me about Don DeLillo, so I’d read all of his books, straight through, in chronological order. Then I’d find out Donald Antrim liked DeLillo, so I’d read all his books. I was working my way, sideways, through contemporary literature. These books were making me feel things, and I wanted to make things that made other people feel things.

JQ

You write both fiction and nonfiction, correct? Which do you think is more difficult to write? Why?

KM 

I think that fiction, along with poetry, is the higher calling, and also that it generally attracts the better writers. Most of the better writers of nonfiction also write fiction or poetry, and that’s why they’re better writers – they’ve appropriated from fiction and poetry. But I don’t think it’s usually very easy to write anything well. Most good things come slowly.

JQ

Which genre do you prefer?

KM 

I read in all the genres. I love books in all of them.

JQ

What is your writing process?

KM 

Right now, it’s summer, and I don’t have to teach, so I get up around six in the evening, play with my kids until eight. If there’s a basketball game on, I’ll watch it until eleven-thirty or so. If not, or when it’s over, I get to work, and I work until around eight in the morning. Then I play with my kids for awhile. Then I go to bed. Then I do it again the next day. I’m doing this seven days a week right now. It’s great.

JQ

How do you find time to write, attend readings all over and still mentor aspiring artists?

KM 

I say no to as many things as I can. And I choose to spend my time writing instead of doing other things that are more pleasurable.

JQ

Like I said before, you achieved many high accolades prior to being published. Was it difficult to get published?

KM 

It’s not difficult, in this age, for anyone to get published. What’s difficult is to make something that is worth the reader’s time. If you attend to that, you’ll find a good home for your work.

JQ

How was your experience with editing, with Okla Elliott, The Other Chekhov? 

KM 

It was great. We read all 13 volumes of Constance Garnett’s Chekhov translations, and then we picked the ones we liked the most. We found that there was a grittier Chekhov lurking among the popular “subtle” Chekhov, in stories such as “Gusev,” “The Murder,” “The Two Volodyas,” and so on. We liked this Chekhov better than the Chekhov of “The Lady with the Lapdog.”

JQ

I read that you were named in The Columbus Dispatch in their “20 Under 30 Artists to Watch” in 2007. I imagine that being so young, maybe other ‘experienced’ authors may not really give you a lot of credit or it may be difficult for them to accept that you’re so well established so early on in life. Is this a barrier for you? What other barriers, if any, do you encounter in this profession- personally or professionally?

KM 

I’m not so young anymore. I’m 35, and there are a lot of younger writers who have had more worldly success. No one seemed to be bothered by my age when I was younger.

JQ

Do you have any suggestions to help me become a better writer? If so, what are they?

KM 

Read everything, and devote your whole life to writing. Hardly anyone is willing to do those two things.

JQ

Your novel, The Sexual Lives of Missionaries, is due to make its much anticipated debut in the spring. Do you have any other projects lurking in the wings?

KM 

I don’t think it will be out until 2014 or so. It’s not yet gone to market – probably this fall is when my agent will sell it. When it’s done, I’ll write another one.

I Man'I'festo

My Manifesto

By Joy Quarmiley

I enjoy writing because I enjoy sharing. Sometimes it’s my own thoughts I share and at times it has been others’ thoughts that I felt were significant enough to share. I like to make valid points in my writings. Provide a message. The things I tend to write about are my family, my children…These are, to me, though very much the same, still quite different in the way that I think about them and talk about them in my writings. I’ll explain further in a moment. I also tend to write about television (shows, especially ‘reality’), moral dilemmas/thoughts, and just interesting everyday happenings at work or wherever funny or interesting things happen. If it amused me, I assume it will amuse everybody.

            I write about my family and my childhood memories with them, because those were the happier, less stressful times. There are times in my stories that I might be writing fictionally but throw in a nonfictional incident that happened with me and my siblings. I think of my family all the time and often times find it difficult not to want to write about them.

            Like I said, my children are on a different brainwave and in a special, separate heart chamber than my ‘family’. I talk mostly about my ‘family’ in past tense. What ‘used’ to be…How it ‘was’… I tend to write about my childhood. When I write about my children I write about now. I write about my motherhood and their childhood. I believe I write about them with a different kind of joy…A motherly love. This is why I can’t include them entirely in the term ‘family’ though they are indeed that to me. Then there’s my husband who rides solo on his own nerve…er..um…brainwave. J (Love you, babe!)

            I love writing about reality television (this includes the daily news/headlines). I like to write up funny critiques and thoughts that everybody else out there in Couch Potato Land is thinking. I throw in little bits of actual knowledge here and there to keep my readers grounded, but like the show I write about, it’s all for entertainment purposes only. If a reader gets hold of one of the seeds I plant amongst all the jokes and broken language, I’ve accomplished much more than I originally set out to do.

            My moral dilemmas/thoughts writings are where I am purposefully planting seeds. I joke a lot but I do have a serious side and I like to show ‘her’ every once in a while. I want my readers to know that I do know and understand everything is not a laughing matter. I talk about everything from spirituality to parental concerns. I like tapping into my more serious side every now and again…I like to think I tell the truth and keep it 100% real and hope that anyone who reads my deeper, more serious thoughts gets that.

            You can also find a lot of my everyday run-ins in my writings. If I laugh at it, I want you to laugh at it. If my mouth hit the floor in disbelief, I want your mouth to hit the floor. If I cried…I want you to console me. J I was the kid that looooved Show & Tell. If I found something in my huge four acre yard, like the tomato bug I found once, no matter how afraid of it I was, I would jar it up and bring it in. (There I go mentioning childhood memories.) I think that’s why I took so vastly to Facebook once I discovered it. You mean I can post my every thought…my every day happenings…Jokes about my workplace ‘characters’?!?!? I was on it…am on it! Addicted. I have even gotten to the point that if something happens that is way interesting, I have said to myself, “I can’t wait to post this on Facebook!” Then I started my blog (www.j-quiz.blogspot.com) and all I got to say is, the blog world is no longer going to be the same. I need to just go ahead a set up an account on it to get paid because I will be blogging a LOT. If you’re interested, please visit and become a follower.

            Well, I guess I put the ‘I’ in my man’I’festo. These are the reasons I write. If I couldn’t write about these things, I could only imagine the mess the explosion of my brain would cause. I honestly don’t know what I did with all my thoughts prior to some of these outlets. I mean I, at times, wrote poetry…but I have never written like I am currently writing. And I’m not going to sit here and front…Facebook sparked my desire to write. However, I do know, by the monster that’s been unleashed since the creation of my Facebook account, writing has been embedded and was lying dormant in me for quite some time. My Facebook friends encouraged me to start taking my writing seriously and I am now enrolled in a Master’s program with a Major in Creative Writing. I’m glad I listened.

Jack & Jill: REEEEE-MIIIIX!!!

A Nickel’s Worth

A short story written by Joy D. Quarmiley

When Jack reached the bottom of the hill, he dusted himself off and used his fingertips to assess the damage to his crown as he waited on his older sister, Jill, to come to a stop as she was rolling at a rapid speed down the knoll right behind him. Once she came  to a moaning halt at his feet, one of which were shoeless, he helped her up and picked some grass as well as a broken-stemmed dandelion out of her pigtails.

“So where’s the bucket?  ,” Jack inquired.

“Sss…Ow-wah!  , “Jill retorted as she checked out her skinned knee and a stinging scrape on her elbow. “What bucket? You were the one that was s’posed to be fetchin’ the water! Not me! So don’t be askin’ me where the bucket is! You left it! And you better go back up that hill n’ get it too or mama’ll skin your hide!”

“Aw, shucks! I thought sure you’d grab it! How’d you fall anyway? You’re such a klutz, Jill!” said Jack as he shook his pounding head and for a slight moment thought he might have a concussion…so he stopped and began rubbing his bruised cranium again.

Jill poked herself in the chest with conviction, “I’M a klutz?!? “, then pointing at her scowling brother with more conviction and one balled fist on her hip, as she saw her mother do many of times, she sneered, ”You’re the one that fell FIRST and then you tried to grab me to keep your balance! YOU pulled ME down! That makes YOU, my dear brother, the KING of Klutzes!” Each time Jill referred to herself or Jack she pointed with so much fervor that Jack thought for sure she’d sprain her finger.

Jack looked down with his brows furrowed, knowing full well that Jill was telling the truth and kicked his shoe that had fell off his foot and came to rest upside down next to him. “Well…”, as he sat down to put on his shoe, “Could you at least go back up there with me to get it? After I scooped up the water, s-somethin’ I saw in the bucket spooked me n’ that’s how come I fell. I-I don’t wanna go back up there by myself…” He looked up at his sister sheepishly with those puppy dog eyes, which always seemed to win his mother over whenever she was in her hardest of moods. To his dismay, Jill had a smug look on her freckled face as she retorted, “Hmmph! You called me a klutz and now you need me to protect your clumsy derrière? “ Jill took a slow, taunting stroll around her little brother as he attempted to tie his shoelace, got frustrated and instead tucked it into his scuffed shoe, all the while watching her out of the corner of his eye suspiciously. Then came the all-too-common question that Jack dreaded…

“What’s in it for me?”, she inquired.

Jack jumped up aggravated at his harrying sister for, yet again, taking advantage of him in another one of his weaker moments. “AWW C’MON, JILL! I DON’T HAVE NOTHIN’ ELSE TO GIVE YAH! You already got my jacks! I done give you my lunch quarter three days in a row last week! MY pet frog is now YOUR pet frog and he’s DEAD! I AIN’T GOT NOTHIN’ ELSE TO GIVE!” He threw his hands up in exasperation and slumped hopelessly on a nearby tree trunk. Jill amused, albeit not in the least bit sympathetic to her brother’s outburst put her foot on the same stump her brother sat on, fixed the strap on her Mary Jane and replied as she slyly glanced at her brother, “Sure you do…Ma gave you a nickel to come n’ fetch the pail of water, didn’t she?,” she dusted off the toe of her shoe, straightened up and smoothed out the front of her freshly grass-stained dressed, “THAT’S something. A nickel… for your hide… I’d say that’s quite a fair trade.” A toothy grin spread across her pie face that showed she was extremely proud of her quick-wit. Jack pouted, dug his heels into the ground, stood up, grunted and said through clenched teeth, “FINE-AH! You can have the durn nickel… AFTER we get back down the hill! ” Satisfied with her underhanded barter, Jill turned to face her pouting brother, curtsied, fanned her hand in front of her motioning for her brother to go first and said, “After you, Your Highness, KING of the Klutzes!” Jack glared at his snickering sibling as he began to saunter back up the hill.

As Jack came closer to the well, his anticipation grew. He could hear the grass crunching under his sister’s heavy steps and slowed down so she could catch up. As Jill got closer, she also began to tense up. Both children slowed to a stop just a couple of yards away from the well. They were now both standing side by side, silently staring at the well. Jill, finally grew impatient from just standing there, she turned to Jack, crossed her arms and asked, “Well, chicken-run…Where’s the bucket?” Jack timidly pointed toward the well, “I- I thought I left it on the ground…right there…next to the well.”

“Yeah, well OBVIOUSLY, you thought wrong! You better find mama’s bucket or it won’t be just your hide she’ll be skinnin’! No water AND no bucket…You might just wanna skip town, lil bro! Maybe a circus’ll take you in or somethin’…” Jill gave Jack a pat on the shoulder and sardonically shook her head as if she felt bad at the thought of her kid-brother out there in the cruel world on his own at the tender age of eight. Jack thought, “You’d have a better chance gettin’ picked up by a circus than me, bearded girl!” However, he dared not say it for fear of his heavy handed sister serving him an open-handed palm sandwich as she had done many a time before. Instead, he threw his mother’s annoying offspring an irritated glare and began to creep closer to the water source. Where could that bucket be? It couldn’t have grown legs and run off! Maybe the thing he saw in it took off with it! “Help me look,” Jack said to his sister. He went around one side of the well and Jill took the other side…They took very cautious, calculated steps around the water-wielding structure. Step…by…step…the two crept in silence, not sure what they would find on the other side of the well. They reached the opposite side…AND LO & BEHOLD! There was the bucket…sitting upright, as if waiting on the pair of them. Relieved, Jack took a step toward the bucket. The bucket shook violently! The children jumped and simultaneously hugged each other. Jill realized that she looked like every bit of a wimp to her younger brother, whom had grown respectfully fearful of her in his eight years. So she abruptly let go of her sibling, gave him an impatient shove and whispered, “Stop being a scaredy-cat! Get the bucket! It’s probably just a toad, silly!” All the while, she never took her eyes off of that bucket. Jack scowled and stood slightly on his tiptoes to see if he could see inside the bucket to no avail.  Jill gave him another push towards the pail. Jack used one arm to catch himself on the well’s wall and the other to swipe at his sister. “Don’t rush me,” he whispered emphatically, “Let me go at my own pace!” Jill crossed her arms and huffed, “At this pace, we’ll be late for school in the mornin’!” Jack rolled his eyes at his sister’s dramatic exaggeration and started to inch towards the bucket once again. The birds seemed to stop chirping, matter of fact, it seemed that all the sounds of nature ceased as he crept closer… and closer …and closer …until….Jack felt a vast thrust to his back and he went crashing into the bucket knocking it over! As the bucket tumbled to its side and rolled a little ways down the hill, a terrified bunny leaped out and bounded hastily toward some nearby woods.

“A BUNNY?!?! A FURRY, CUTE BABY BUNNY?!?! THAT’S what you were scared of?!?!? AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!,” Jill exclaimed and doubled over in laughter. “YOU FELL DOWN N’ BROKE YOUR CROWN OVER A POOR, WITTLE, HELPLESS BUNNY WABBIT!! HAHAHAHAHAAAA!!”

Jack jumped up, pierced his lips and furrowed his brow so tough that it looked like every feature on his face came together with his pudgy, now flared nose… He held his balled fists straight as arrows down to his side and enraged he growled, “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT, CONJILLA ELIZAH-ANN BERCHENSCHWIEZER?!? WHAT ON GOD’S BEAUTIFUL GREEN EARTH MAKES YOU SO MEAN?!?” Jill observed how perturbed her little brother was and decided it best to at least straighten up and stifle as many of her giggles as she could. “First…Don’t be callin’ me by my government name all out in the wilderness like that! And…second…(sniff)…you were taking so long…and I have to pee (snicker)…so I wanted you to come along… I was just trying to help, bubby…Honest… (giggle)…I didn’t know you’d fall so …so…ungracefully…,” Jill smiled the most innocent smile she could muster and then quickly offered, “Here… let me get the bucket so we can fetch this water and skedaddle on home…Dinner will be ready soon and mama has gotta be wonderin’ where we are!” She hurried over to the bucket, picked it up and emptied the little bit of water that was left in it. “We’ll get some fresh water.” Jill avoided her brother’s stewing eyes she walked past him to the well… “C’mon, Jack,” Jill stated, “It’s still your chore to fill the bucket.” Still breathing slightly heavy, with his white-knuckled fists still being held laboriously to his sides, Jack tried earnestly to bring his wrath under control. He made very calculated steps toward his smirking sister. He snatched the wooden bucket from her grip, placed the bucket on the ground and began to pump water into the bucket. As he pumped the water, Jill did what she did the first time they came to fetch the water…she leaned over to look at herself in the gradually climbing liquid. Simultaneously, Jack looked into the bucket to check the level of the water and with an astounded look on his face, he jumped back and kicked the bucket over, emptying all of the fresh pumped water out onto the grass. In the commotion, Jill stepped back into the spot where the spill transpired. She slipped in the wet grass, grabbed onto her cowering sibling and they both began to tumble head over heels back down the mound for the second time that dreary afternoon. This time, Jill reached the bottom first, dreadfully sore from the recurring descend. Jack’s shoe followed shortly with a thud to her head. Jack stopped thereafter in a heap right next to her. Groaning, Jill queried in an agonizing voice, “Wh…What did…you see…this…time?” Jack flipped over slowly to his back to face the sky…He looked over at his grimacing sister and uttered, “Y- …You mean you didn’t see it this time?!? It was sooo ugly. Grotesque even…It was the most HIDEOUS troll EVER!! I’ll have nightmares for weeks!”

“Hmmmm…,” pondered Jill still in pain, “That’s funny…I looked in the bucket and all I saw was my…,” Jill glared at her mother’s son and said through clenched teeth, “…REFLECTION!!” She reached over, punched Jack in the arm, got up, gave her tattered, stained dress a defiant tug and stormed off toward home. Jack massaged the assaulted spot on his bicep as he yelled to his retreating sister, “IF IT MAKES YA FEEL ANY BETTER, I REALLY DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS YOU THE FIRST TIME!” Grinning pompously, Jack folded his arms behind his head and smiled up at the dusk sky with a fulfilled, albeit labored sigh, “I got my nickel’s worth… and then some.”

Now: A Short Story

NOW

By Joy D. Quarmiley

            Wow. They all care….now. I’ve been wanting someone to care for so long. Look at ‘em…Scurrying around down there. I’m a big deal…now. Hear that world?!? I’M A HUGE FREAKIN’ DEAL NOW!!! I matter…now…But now…You know what…Now…I don’t want to matter. Do I? I mean…Why should I at this point? Let me take a moment to think…to think back…when I wanted to be noticed…to matter.

            I grew up with nothing. Nothing is an understatement…well, it may be an overstatement for some. I know many were just as, if not more, poor than me and my family – if ‘family’ is what you want to call it – but I couldn’t imagine having less than what we had. I grew up in little old Springfield, Ohio, in the Robinson Drive Projects. We, my big brother, Jermaine and my little sister, Rekita (Kita) were made fun of daily for our attire…or lack thereof, and our smell. I always had to wear Jermaine’s old, beat up, run down clothes and shoes, which my mama got from second-hand stores. I used to think I really had it bad having to wear his double-handed-down hand-me-downs, but my kid sister had it worse. She had to wear my triple-handed down hand-me-downs and she was a girl. Sometimes the clothes and shoes were too big for her, but mama would just stuff the shoes with toilet paper and tuck and fold the clothes til they ‘fit’.  As if the clothes weren’t bad enough, we often smelled like mildew because, though we had a washer, we didn’t always have detergent, so we just washed them in water…sometimes, if the gas was on, it would be hot…Most of the time it wasn’t. Then, we didn’t have a dryer and my mama would sometimes forget to hang our clothes after washing them, hence the stench of mildew. When we didn’t reek of mildew, we smelled of cigarette smoke and cat urine…sometimes a combination of all three.

I remember Kita crying about her clothes when she got old enough to care…which was in middle school some time. She begged mama to buy her some new digs. “Even from the second hand store, Mommy! I just can’t wear these boy clothes no more! ” she cried. Mama didn’t care though. She was way more pissed about Kita’s ‘ungratefulness’ than sympathetic. That little outburst caused my sister to be given a breath-taking blow to the chest that day…which was pretty light compared to some of the other beatings we received throughout the years.

Kita’s saving grace was a lady that moved in next door and noticed how Kita dressed. Being that she had a daughter about Kita’s size, she would give Kita clothes her daughter grew out of or didn’t want. Mama didn’t like it, but she was always careful not to burn bridges with those who could be of use to her at some point in time, and that lady had a car, so she became mama’s private taxi. She allowed Kita to keep the clothes, though she would sometimes burn cigarette holes in anything that my sister seemed to take a real liking to, just to let Kita know that she was still in control. My sister learned quick to hide her excitement whenever the neighbor lady gave her anything really nice.

My mama didn’t like any of us much…but her dislike for my sister was on a whole other level. I didn’t know why for a long time, but it later came out that my ‘bum daddy’- as my mama so wretchedly called him- had a baby on her. The mother of that child died in a tragic car accident and my mama, for the undying love of my father, took ‘that baby’ in. We didn’t know nothing about ‘that baby’ til Daddy brought her home after the accident. Rekita was ‘that baby’. Mama referred to her as that whenever her and my dad got into arguments and my mama felt that throwing ‘that baby’ up in my daddy’s face gave her leverage. Well…Kita was not really a baby…She was three when she officially joined our family…again, if ‘family’ is what you want to call it. I think she would’ve stayed a secret had her mama not died. Probably would’ve been better off being a secret.

My father left on Kita’s fourth birthday. Went to pick up the cake and never came back. Should’ve known something was up…Ain’t none of us ever got no cake for our birthdays before then…or after. Kita and I are one year apart so I was five when he left, but I still remember my daddy and everything thing about him. Things were so much better when he was there…before my mama found out about ‘that baby’. She just wouldn’t stay out of his face and when she was drunk, which was almost all the time, the arguing turned violent. She stabbed my daddy three times in 6 months. I figured he couldn’t take the fighting no more – couldn’t take the risk of that bi- woman killing him, so he left. I was mad at him for a while, but later I understood. If I could’ve left, I would’ve. That’s about the time that I really started disliking my mother.
     Mama stopped drinking so much when I was in the fifth grade but that was only because she traded one habit for another. Her addiction to crack cocaine revealed itself that year on Easter Sunday. My mama took the ham the pantry gave us & just disappeared. We ate the little bit of candy that came in our baskets from Salvation Army for dinner that night. Ate it before the roaches claimed it like they did all the food that wasn’t in cans. We wouldn’t have devoured our candy that first night if we knew that would be our last meal for three days. That’s when mama decided to come home. That was the first, of many, crack binges.

Mama favored my older brother the most. He was a spitting image of my father. They had a love/hate relationship…like her and my daddy. She really loved him, sometimes inappropriately, when she was high. Then on the rare occasions where she was sober she was disgusted by the sight of him. Jermaine had an athletic build and could’ve been a good football player. He won all of the games when we played street football with the other neighborhood kids…when they would play with us. Jermaine didn’t get teased once he got into middle school. He left Grayhill Elementary a tall, scrawny kid and showed up after the summer to Clark Middle School as “Maine”, the player and the thug. He had a confidence that seemed to develop overnight. Being his brother didn’t help me out none. He would give me ‘pep’ talks about how to handle my bullies in the privacy of our home, but he didn’t really acknowledge me much in public. It was cool though…I understood…He had a reputation to uphold- as he reminded me in each and every one of our ‘pep’ talks.

Jermaine was killed when he was 18. He dropped out of high school in his sophomore year and with nothing else to do with his free time, he started robbing folks. One of his dope boy victims saw him talking to a girl outside her house. He ran up on my brother and shot him. That was when I really became a non-factor in life. My mama would say things directed at me, but look through me…as if I wasn’t there. When she asked me to do something and I didn’t do it to her standards, it was “Your brother” this and “Your brother” that. She even told me a few times, “It shoulda been you. You ain’t good for nothin’!” Didn’t matter how many times she told me that…the first time broke me.

When my brother died, my mother became evil. I mean, she was no angel before, but after Jermaine was killed she focused all of her heartlessness on me and my sister. I don’t care to go into detail, but I will say that’s when the dislike I had for her changed to hate. At times, I wished she would die from one of her numerous overdoses. My sister despised her too…she told me a few times. I think the only thing that kept Kita from killing my mother was her undying hope for a good future. I ain’t never had much hope. I don’t even know how Kita kept hers alive in that hope-stifling house. I envied that about her. I envy her now. She had the courage to walk away and never look back. My mama had some kind of hold on me. I guess I felt if I stayed, she would change and love me. I was an idiot for even having hope for that.

She despised Kita for being an everyday reminder of my father’s infidelity and she showed it. Not just by hitting on her or making her clean the house from top to bottom all the time, but sometimes mama let our ‘uncles’ that she would bring home from local bars have sex with Kita. Kita was about seven when that started happening. Mama would get paid for it and she, too, would 'serve' these men. That’s how mama fed her habits. Prostituting herself and my half sister…and me…but I don’t want to talk about that. That lasted til Kita was thirteen. She started her period and didn’t know. One of the tricks seen it and freaked out. My sister got beat bad that night for messing up my mama’s money with her ‘triflin’ ass’- mama’s words - not mine. That period was kind of really like a period, you know, at the end of a sentence because it marked the end of those days of her being pimped out by my mother. My mama was an addict but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that if my sister ended up pregnant, her dirty little secrets might rear their ugly heads and land her in jail for a long time. She kept whoring, kept pimping me but left my sister out of it. I wanted a period. 
     She didn’t like me because I was just the middle child…least that’s what I figured. Nothing special about me. I got good grades for awhile til I realized nobody cared. Kita’s teachers seemed to care for her a lot and she always got good grades, did so through high school and ended up getting a scholarship to a good university out North somewhere. I got a job right out of high school working at a tire shop. I didn’t leave my mama’s house though. I thought Kita needed me…so I stuck around…only for her to up and leave a month or so after she graduated. I should’ve known she wasn’t coming back by the way she wouldn’t…or couldn’t look at me when she and her friend packed up all her belongings into that Chevy. She hugged me though. Held onto me for a very long time. I should’ve taken that as a hint too. We had never embraced like that. That was her way of saying “Goodbye forever.” I guess. I wanted to tell her I was proud of her, but I couldn’t get the words past the lump in my throat. As the Chevy made its way down the street and around the corner, I watched it…watched it til I couldn’t see it no more. When I turned around, mama was standing in the doorway smoking a cigarette, with a scowl on her face…She mumbled, “Good riddens, homewreckin’ whore,” flicked the butt of her Newport into the unkempt flowerbed, turned and slammed the door. I wish I would’ve told Kita I was proud of her. I wish I would’ve told her I loved her. Maybe that would have made her feel valid. Maybe she would’ve validated my life by keeping in touch. Some of the most important things are left unsaid…and that’s a shame. She put us on a shelf in her past and never so much as came by to dust that shelf off. She was a runner too…just like our father.

Mama got sick not long after Kita left. She had gotten HIV from one of her many partners. Of course, she wasn’t big on her health being that she was a crackhead so by the time she ended up in the emergency room due to a bout with what we thought was the flu, she had full-blown AIDS. Once again, I felt obligated to stick around and ignore my needs and wants. I nursed my mother for a year and a half until she died...finally. You would think that her illness would’ve made her nicer. You would’ve thought she would desire to ‘make things right’ before she met her demise. Not my mother…She stayed true to form up until she took her last miserable breath. She died with her eyes open…staring at me…dark and cold. I tried to give her credit…I wanted to think her wickedness was drug and alcohol induced. She disappointed me. Her soul was evil and she made sure I was damaged real good before she left this Earth. I didn’t shed a tear.

I had a few failed relationships. I didn’t respect women…all because I hated my mother. I did get seriously involved with a young woman prior to mama’s death. She was beautiful and intelligent. She reminded me a little of my estranged sister. I was envious of her… my girl…What I hated about her, I loved about her at the same time. I was blinded by jealousy, so I brought her down to my level. Killed her confidence with my words and my heavy fists. Her beauty deteriorated behind my abuse. I even started her on heroin…that wasn’t meant to sound prideful…but it is what it is. That was my drug of choice. Started using after Kita left to cope with mama. Heroin became my friend and me and my friend had threesomes with my girl.

She’s dead now. My girl. Died about 3 hours ago in our apartment during one of our threesomes. Overdose. What would never claim my mama’s wretched life all those years that she used, took the life of the only one that ever made me almost feel like I mattered- within a year. Maybe I should’ve introduced mama to heroin. Anyway…she’s still there. Laying cold in our apartment. They’ll find her. She deserves a proper burial. She mattered to a lot of people. I made sure she distanced herself from those people during our relationship though. I hate myself for that. But that’s who life molded me to be. A hateful, unloved nobody. Some get dealt a good hand in life, but for some of us the cards don’t even get taken out of the box. We start with nothing and end with nothing. I’m not feeling sorry for myself neither…I’m just saying- it is what it is. Hey…Thanks for listening…All this thinking and for once I’m clear on what I should do. For once, I’m going to put what I want first. It’s my turn now…It’s my turn! Thinking about myself… since no one else is… or was… until now… Now. Now - when it’s too late.