Memoirs From A Daughter Of Crackheads: Stories Of Childhood Trauma To Spiritual Triumph

By Keisha Khanyahl

The 80's were perfectly imperfect. There was good music, fancy fashion, and drugs being flooded into every urban neighborhood in America. Crack, sometimes called Rock, made its presence known in unimaginable ways, especially for the children growing up during this time.

This book is a collection of stories, childhood

• Language: English
• Publisher: Keisha Khanyahl
• Release date: May 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087870328

Book preview

1

GOT ANY ROCKS?

I was in 4th grade and was walking home from school as I always did. It was a day like any other day. The sun was shining, and I was with my friends who also lived in the same cul-de-sac. We were talking about the usual stuff, such as what snack we wanted to eat, or how much homework we had. I was almost home, and we were coming around the corner of the large, tall hill. I could smell the trees near the creek. I wish I knew what kind of trees they were, but I remember they smelled amazing, just like how I had imagined a forest would smell.

My friends crossed the street to go to their apartment complex, and I continued to walk one building down to get to mine. I walked up to my house, not paying much attention to the note that was on the door, other than to snatch it off of the handle so I could use my key to get in. I walked into my apartment as I always did and plopped down on the couch. I looked around, enjoying the silence. I have always loved the sound of silence.

After a few minutes, I got up and went into the kitchen where the phone was. I was supposed to call my mom at work as soon as I got home each day to assure her I’d made it safely back. It was the 80’s. There were no cell phones in those days. I picked up the phone to call her but didn’t hear a dial tone or any noise when I pushed the buttons on the phone. At first, I thought nothing of it. I figured I would just call her from the phone in the bedroom after I ate a snack. I opened the fridge to see what we had to eat. Nothing! Then I suddenly noticed that the light wasn’t on in the refrigerator.

I had no need to turn on lights in the house because it was still light outside, but after noticing that there were no lights in the fridge, I decided to try turning on the kitchen light. It didn’t work. I tried all of the lights in the house but none of them worked, so I went into my mom’s room to call her and tell her I was home and to let her know the lights didn’t work.

Again, I heard no sound from the phone. Great. There were no lights and no phone. I couldn’t call my daddy, either. He had moved out of the house several months before. Daddy could fix this, But I couldn’t call Daddy.

I wasn’t overly worried because my mom got off work at five. All of the clocks were digital and none of them were working so I didn’t know what time it was. I decided to go outside and play with my friends until my mom got home, but none of my friends were out so I had no choice but to go in and do my homework.

It was the last thing I wanted to do. I hated homework! I grabbed my backpack, sat down at the kitchen table, and studied until it was too dark in the kitchen for me to see what I was doing. The sun was going down so I moved my operation to the living room where there was a large window and it was still a little light outside.

I wondered what time it was, or if my mom was due to be home soon. I was hoping my mom would know what to do to fix the lights and phone. Or maybe Mom would call Daddy and he would come over and fix them.

Then I’d get to see him!

Well, I continued to do my homework and got lost in it. Before I knew it, there was no light coming from the big window. It was pretty dark out. My mom always made it home before it got really dark. Where was she?

Since I could no longer see, I thought it was a good idea to open the front door, turn the couch around facing the doorway and push it close to the door so that I could use the streetlights to see. At this point, I was no longer doing homework. I just didn’t want to be in the dark all by myself.

I wasn’t afraid of the dark or even things I should have been afraid of such as a stranger seeing a child home alone in the dark or possibly being kidnapped. I was extremely comfortable on that cul-de-sac. But I was worried about my mom.

It wasn’t like her to leave me home alone at night. Looking back, I wonder why my neighbors didn’t say anything. They had to have noticed I was sitting in the dark with the door open.

I sat there in the dark on the couch with the door open for what seemed like hours. I didn’t know how long it was in reality. I was cold, so I grabbed my blanket off my bed to keep me warm. I was hungry but we had no food. There I lay, on the couch now sleepy. My eyes drifted closed and I almost fell asleep, but just before sleep overtook me, I saw headlights from a car.

Finally, Mom’s home.

But when the car pulled up it wasn’t my mom. I’d recognize the sound of my Mom’s Gremlin pulling in the driveway from a mile away. The car I heard was not the Gremlin. The Gremlin sounded like a raspy old lady. So, I curled into the couch to try to sleep. Just as I was getting comfortable, I saw a familiar face. It was my aunt. It was her car I’d heard! I was so happy to see her. I thought maybe my mom had sent my aunt to come and get me.

My aunt wanted to know why I was sitting with the door open, and why the couch had been moved. I explained why. I asked if she had talked to my mom. She hadn’t, so I guess Mom hadn’t sent her. She just happened to have been coming over for a visit.

Get your stuff and let’s go, she said.

As I was gathering my things to leave, I saw the note on the door. I didn’t quite understand it, but I handed it to my aunt. She told me the lights had been shut off because my mom hadn’t paid the bill. The note must have been from the electric company. I figured the phones were off for the same reason. You didn’t need electricity to use the phone, not in those days. The phone bill hadn’t been paid either, I guessed.

We left right afterward and my aunt took me to her house, where she lived with her boyfriend. Well, technically it was his parents’ house and my aunt lived there with them. Her and her boyfriend’s room was huge, and I liked being there. Mostly, I liked being with my aunt.

My aunt’s boyfriend’s mom had a lot of cats, and I enjoyed touching their soft fur. When we got to the house, his mom took me into the kitchen and gave me something to eat. Once I was done eating, I went to my aunt’s room. She turned on the TV for me. I got cozy in her bed. My aunt then moved to the corner of the room and started smoking. My whole family smoked cigarettes. I was used to it, but the smell of this smoke was much different.

The smoke looked different, too. The smell was quite strong, thick, and nauseating. It wasn’t weed. I had been around enough weed smokers in my young life to know what that smelled like as well. No, this was different, and the smell was disgusting. Then I looked over at my aunt and realized she was using a pipe. I kept wondering why my young aunt was using a pipe. Pipes were for old men in rocking chairs. Plus, I had never before seen a pipe that looked like the one my aunt was using. It was glass, not wooden like an old man’s pipe. A glass designer pipe? But why was the smoke so thick and white and gross smelling?

I began to cough—a lot!

I told my aunt the smoke didn’t smell good and it was thick and was making me cough. My aunt snapped at me, saying, Well, get over it! This is what I do. Now, be quiet and watch TV.

I asked her several times if she had heard from my mom but she had not. Eventually, her boyfriend came home and joined my aunt, who was still smoking from the pipe. They sat in that corner smoking and talking shit about my mom Gail and how she could just leave me at home alone like that without even checking on me to see if I were okay. How irresponsible she was.

They aired all of their thoughts right in front of me! They sat in that corner smoking all night long, with one or the other of them leaving throughout the night only to come home and continue what they were doing. I could hardly sleep. I was worried about my mom!

The room was so smoky. I can’t stop thinking about the smell. I missed school the next day, but I was okay with that. In the morning, my mom finally did call my aunt. I didn’t know where she was or if she’d even been concerned about me all night long, but I was glad she was okay.

I was so happy when she came to pick me up from my aunt’s house. No more stinky glass pipe smoke! Guess what Mom asked my aunt when she was done hugging me and speaking to and thanking her boyfriend's mom?

As soon as the boyfriend’s mom walked away, she asked my aunt in sort of a whisper, Y’all got any rocks?

2

JACK IN THE BOX

I was so hungry. I had not eaten in almost a week. There was no one, just me, all alone in that house with Buddy. I had no money and no means to get any money. I had no food.

Nothing!

Buddy had people bringing him food, but I was not his responsibility. It’s not like he could be responsible for me or anyone else. Buddy couldn’t even take care of himself. He was a crippled old man. I’m not sure how he got that way. I just know he always kept a container around to piss in because it took him at least 20 minutes to make it to the bathroom which was literally on the other side of his bed.

I hated being in that house with him alone for days at a time. Even if I’d had food, I wouldn’t have been able to cook it. We had a gas stove. Whenever anyone used it, a piece of paper had to be lit on fire and used the get the fire going. I probably would have burned the house down trying to light the stove to cook. At the age of nine, I didn’t have any life skills. I didn’t even know how to boil water.

I was quite accustomed to begging Buddy for 50 cents to walk across the street to the market and buy a couple of packets of Top Ramen. I would break up the noodles in the package and then pour them into the brown paper bag the clerk gave me. I would then open the flavor pack and pour it into the brown bag, as well, and then shake it up real hard and fast. That would be my food for the day. I would try to make it last all day so I would have the second pack for the next day. Then I wouldn’t have to ask Buddy for more money.

Asking Buddy for money was always a task I wished I could avoid. I was always at my hungriest when I asked Buddy for money. It was this simple 50 cent request that taught me the lesson I’ve never forgotten—nothing in life is free.

I had to walk into his dark and smelly room where he sat at the edge on the side of his bed, watching TV in a T-shirt and drawers. His drawers were always nasty looking and piss-stained from not getting his dick in the piss container right. That piss container sat on the edge of his dresser. Piss drops would be all over him—his hands, his bed, you name it. And let’s not even discuss the fact that he had no means of washing his hands or being sanitary at all. Often, his dick would be hanging out of his pants. He didn’t care who was around. I remember once when his dick was hanging out and one of his relatives saw me in the room with him and immediately tried to cover him up and put the disgusting thing away. But Buddy simply took the cover off and pulled his dick back out. He had no shame. It was as if he wanted me to see it or something. Maybe he was secretly hoping I wanted to see it.

I didn’t want to see it and was frightened by it.

Anyway, to get a measly fifty cents, I’d have to sit on the side of that bed next to him and ask for the money. He always knew what I wanted the moment I entered the room.

The first time, he started by touching my thigh—just one hand on one of my thighs. But as time went on he started putting his hand between my thighs. I thought he maybe wouldn’t do that if I closed my legs tight, but it became clear that he liked that position more. He kept saying how warm my thighs were.

I didn’t understand that back then. After a few months, he’d touch my thighs between my legs and graduated up to my newly-budding breasts. It started with my shirt on while he said things like, I’m just going to feel on these every now and then just to see how they are growing.

Gradually, he moved his slimy, dirty, un-sanitized hands under my shirt. With every ask for a mere fifty cents, this is what I endured. For what it was worth, he usually gave me a one-dollar food stamp. That was what I was worth—a single food stamp.

Well, on this day, I sat and ate small bits of dry noodles while watching Luther Vandross on Soul Beat. Don’t you remember you told me you love me, baby? Great song! I was so glad to at least have a room in that house where I didn’t have to be around Buddy. It was getting dark and I was preparing to go to sleep when there was a knock at the door. It was my mom. I was never allowed to open the door without first telling Buddy who was there. He’d tell me if it was okay to let them in or not. I had gotten to the point where I wasn’t even happy to see Gail anymore. I didn’t get excited even when she had been gone for days. But this day was a good day.

It was a good day because my mom asked if I was hungry. Of course, I was hungry! She told me to get changed that we were going to take the bus to Jack in the Box. I was so happy. a night with no noodles. I got myself as cleaned up as I could. I had not bathed or even washed up in weeks, and I had no clean underwear or clothes, but who cared? I was about to eat something good. I never took a bath because even though Buddy was crippled and had a hard time getting to the bathroom, I believed that if he knew that I was in there naked in the bathtub, he would have given it his best effort to get in there with me.

Buddy was never happy about being home alone. He knew it would be a loss of money for him because there would be no one to deal with the dope fiends who came to the door for what he was selling. Buddy was too crippled to answer the door himself. By the time he would get there, the druggie would be gone so he would lose money.

Me and my mom got the key to the house and left, but we went in the opposite direction than we would usually go to get to the bus stop. We went up a hill instead. I figured my mom must have known of a short cut. I was just a kid and didn’t know much about where I was. Anyway, almost at the top of the short hill, we made a right turn into an alley. We walked about halfway down and stopped at these one-room apartment type buildings. There was grass in front and cement blocks. My mom told me to stay there and that she would be right back because she needed to get something. She walked down a pathway. At the time it seemed to be a long pathway, but it really wasn’t that long at all. Gail had been gone a while—a long while. I sat on the cement blocks and continued to wait.

It wasn’t completely dark when we’d left Buddy’s, but while I was waiting in the alley, the sky darkened completely. The longer I waited, the more afraid I became. There were a lot of people out there. None of them were kids, but there were both ladies and men, and they didn’t look right. Some looked dangerous. They appeared to be in zombie states. They stared straight ahead but were like robots with no programming waiting to be told where to go and what to do. It was almost as if they were sleepwalking. All of them would look at me, this little nine-year-old girl who didn’t belong. None of them cared enough to ask if I was lost or if I needed help. No, they just walked in their trancelike state past me as though I was a part of the landscape. I thought I could remember my way back to Buddy’s and considered going back, but my mom had the key to the house and Buddy would not be able to get up to let me in.

So, I just sat there. It seemed like forever, though it was more like a half-hour.

When I saw my mom walking out of the pathway, I was relieved. I’d learned not to ask too many questions of my mom even when I wanted to. At the moment I wanted to say, What did you need to get from here? Why did you leave me alone out here for so long?

No, it was best to keep quiet. You never could tell what mood Mom would be in. Besides, when we were leaving, I noticed she looked like a zombie, too, like the other people I’d seen walking down the street while I was waiting.

We continued down the alley to E.14th Street, where we crossed the street and waited for the bus. She didn’t say much to me while we were waiting. There was not a whole lot to discuss.

I wasn’t in school, so she couldn’t ask me about my studies. I was sure she didn’t care about how I had spent the day. No, at that point my focus was