Dangerously Dope Days

By Black Rose

Cheyenne Ayers is in the process of growing up in Michigan, near Detroit. In 1989, shes eleven years old and moving fast toward adulthood, but shes happy, living with her mother and older brother and sister.

Then a series of events and tragedies shakes her world down to its core, leaving her wondering who she really is. One of her siblings disappears, and from that moment on, everything changes forever. As Cheyenne begins to realize hard truths about herself, her family, and her past, she comes to understand that the ups and downs of life yield lessons that cannot be unlearned. Through each dangerously dope day, she learns to appreciate all that has been and all that will be on her path to the future.

In this novel, a young girl living near Detroit in the early 1990s deals with the aftermath of a disruption in her family and discovers facets of herself she never imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532037047

Black Rose

I was born and raised in Chicago Ill, I use to hate going to school because I thought of it as being boring I finish grammar school then found a job in a restaurant two blocks from my house paying little of nothing. However, a few years later I got married and had two daughters, shortly afterwards my husband died leaving me to deal with life as I saw it or the best I could. Then, I began to think of something with great importance my daughters was in 7th and 8th grade and soon will be in high school which mean I got to go back to school in order to help them. My father took care my daughters once attend kennedy king college, then john marshall law school, trainco Business school,.the university of phoenix was the last one as of now I got my Associates Degree.

Book preview

THE W WORD

I t all started with those two words. White Girl! Why did she have to call me that? I’m black! Sure, my jet-black hair went down past my butt. My eyes are blue like toilet water when you put that little blue thing in it. But, I’m black, and I’m tired of being mistaken for a white girl!

I jumped out of my seat. I just couldn’t help myself. It was like I had blacked out or something. Before I knew it, she was on the ground and I was pounding away at her face.

Whose face? Taylor Harrison. Taylor look like both a frog and a fish. Her mouth ran like water, her breath stank, and to tell the truth, I think she a he. Just kidding.

Taylor always picking on kids because she got bigger cousins who already in middle school. I wasn’t scared of any of them. They can all come get it.

Mrs. Klein, my teacher, ran toward us as the students started to crowd around and yell the words, fight, fight!

Stop Cheyenne! Mrs. Klein yelled at me.

Mrs. Klein’s a BBBW, a big-boobed black woman. Her boobs walked into the room before she did. The worst part about it, she ain’t fat. She just got big huge boobs. And she always wearing these horrible dresses that looked like they were from eighteen sixty-five. Mrs. Klein kept her white hair slicked back in a bun. I think I saw it down once in the six years I’d been in elementary school.

I couldn’t stop whipping Taylor’s behind. I had to show her that I wasn’t white and the only way to show her was to beat her black behind into the ground. Everybody knows white people can’t fight, and if, no when I win, that’ll prove to all the kids I’m black.

Just as I was about to shove her face into the ground, Mrs. Klein picks me up like I’m a piece of paper. The principal, Mr. Jefferson, who had decided that it was time to come save the day, picked up old girl. Her face was swollen on one side and she still talkin’ junk.

I’m gonna’ get you after school. You’d better watch your back, she said while feeling her face. Yeah, it’s lumpy, I thought. I had done it just the way my older brother Darius taught me.

My brother Darius told me to be silent but deadly. That meant, I was never to start anything, I was never to open my mouth when someone else was running theirs, but I was to always finish a winner. Just as I had done today. I came out the winner, and I hadn’t said a word.

I stood there and stared her down as she ran her mouth more and more. All the kids went from chanting, to laughing at her. It’s over. If the kids didn’t know I’m black before, they know now. I just proved it.

Mr. Jefferson grabbed both of us by the arm and said, That’s no way for young ladies to act. Mr. Jefferson a tall white man. He could be Larry Bird of the Celtics’ twin brother and he sound like the guy who plays the father on Alf. For the most part, Mr. Jefferson was nice, but, once you were on his list, the bad list that is, he watched you like a hawk.

Just as he began to walk us down the hallway to his office, Jerry, the class clown runs out the class and yells, Taylor got beat up by a white girl!

Mrs. Klein quickly followed with, Boy get back in here!

My heart sank into my knees. Tears ran down my face. Uncontrollable tears. Before I knew it, I was crying like a baby. I couldn’t believe it. After beating Taylor up and defending my honor, I’m still a white girl?

But, for real, I really am black. My mother black, and from what I knew, my father was too even though I never seen him. My brother and my sister black, my Auntie, my Grandma, everybody, so I really don’t understand.

Forget the all the Run DMC, the NWA and EPMD I constantly played on my Walkman that my Auntie Marcie bought me. Or even the Luther Vandross, black people love them some Luther. Forget my guess jeans and my chucks. Forget the fact that I had whipped up this fish-frog looking girl.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I am not white! I yelled.

Mr. Jefferson looked down at me like I was nuts. Oh shoot, I thought to myself. He white. I’m for sure on his bad list now. Not only was I going to his office for fighting, but, I offended him.

Taylor just had to dip into the kool-aid and say, Yes, you are white. I don’t care if yo momma is black. You a white girl and I’m gonna get you. Me and my cousins.

Mr. Jefferson quickly interrupted Taylor’s attempt to save face. Both of you be quiet! Nobody cares about who’s what. Just act like ladies, he said softly when he realized he was talking to two eleven-year-old girls. Mr. Jefferson always talking about little girls acting like young ladies and little boys acting like gentlemen.

We live in Hamtramck Michigan in nineteen eighty-nine. There’s no such thing. Everybody rowdy. Our parents were even rowdier than us.

Have a seat ladies, Mr. Jefferson said as he went into his office and closed his door. I don’t want to hear a sound out of neither of you.

That wouldn’t be hard for me. I could keep my mouth shut. Taylor was the only one who would have trouble with that. Surprisingly, she sat there with a blank look on her face. Maybe I dazed her a little with all those punches. Hee hee. Then I looked again, she was crying. I guess it’s the embarrassment of getting beat up by a white girl, or it was the fear of facing her parents.

I didn’t know, but, none of that made me scared. Of course, I wasn’t embarrassed cause I ain’t get whipped. And I’d only get in trouble if I lost. Momma’s saying is, don’t come home beat up or I’m going to beat you.

We sat in the school office for about an hour. Taylor quiet as a mouse. She and I both had stopped crying but, she still stared off into space. Taylor trying not to look at me. She kept her body turned toward the office window.

Are you okay, dear? a woman said to Taylor in a sweet voice.

Yes mom, Taylor said.

Mom! This woman don’t look like a frog-fish at all. Her mother looked totally different from what I expected. She tall and thin with beautiful fluffy light brown hair. Her makeup was perfectly applied to her caramel skin. And she has on a suit. The ones the business people wear.

I finally figured it out. Taylor’s a fronter. She chose to pick on me because she thought she could beat me. There I was minding my own business when she knocks my books off the table and calls me out. That even explains the name Taylor.

Hi Mrs. Harrison, Mr. Jefferson said while walking out of his office. How are you doing today?

I’m well Mr. Jefferson, Mrs. Harrison said. She appeared to be angry, but, in a lady-like way.

Mrs. Harrison please come into my office, Mr. Jefferson interrupted just in time to stop her from going off. He was staring at her butt when he did.

I sat in the office with the secretary waiting for my mother to walk through the door. No Sheila Ayers, that’s my mother’s name. Another hour went past. Taylor had already gotten her punishment and was gone home. I, on the other hand, was left waiting. Momma not going to show up, I thought. She too busy doing her own things to be bothered with me fighting. I continued to stare off into space so the whole moment wouldn’t seem so awkward. It was.

About thirty minutes later, my mother walks in with her Gazelle’s on looking too fly in her black and yellow biker short outfit with the matching shoes. Her hair in a bob with rhinestones in the back that spelled her named, Sheila. One thing’s for sure, Momma a beautiful black woman. Brown skin with big pretty lips. She said that her lips were her God-given feature because they so kissable. Whatever that means.

Fighting again? she asked when she stepped into the office. Girl what’s wrong with you?

Mr. Jefferson said, Of course we have to suspend her. It will be for a three-day period.

She ignored him, got me and walked out the door. On the way home she asked, Did you whip her?

Of course I did, I said.

All right. I don’t owe you a beating then. That’s my girl. Momma stopped for a second, then she said, But for real Cheyenne Marie, you need to stop getting into petty fights over these white girl comments. Cause I know that’s why you fought.

You don’t understand how it is, I said. People want to beat me up cause they think that’s what I am.

So, Momma said. Whip em’ if they jump and keep going. Plus, Ray Charles can see you’re black. Ya’ll kids will say anything to instigate a fight.

Who Ray Charles?

Momma laughed, Ooh girl.

THE CURSE

D arius, my older brother, was sitting on the couch talking to one of his many girlfriends when I walked in the house. He stopped his conversation and asked, Did you get her?

I laughed, Yeah I got her.

Momma got mad. Don’t encourage her to go beating up people, she said.

Without thinking, I yelled out, But you asked me the same thing!

Momma turned to me. Girl shut up and get in your room.

I hurried into my room to put away my things. As I was leaving, Darius smirked at me immediately making me feel better. I swear he the best brother ever. He a nice looking, dark-skinned dude. About six-feet tall. Darius in high school. He the starting center on the basketball team. That and his smile kept the girls knocking at the door.

My mother couldn’t touch me with Darius around. He would jump right in the middle if she tried to give me a whippin’. One time he even took a whipping for me. Stood there and took it like a G.

Darius acts more like a father than a brother. That’s okay with me. Even though I’ve asked, Momma refused to talk about my father. So Darius all the father I need.

Right when I got in my room and sat on my bed, Darius came. Hey what happened? he asked. They called you white girl again?

You know it, I said.

Darius put his arm around me. You understand there’s nothing wrong with being white, right?

I do, but I’m not white. I’m black. I was getting angry. How would you like it if someone called you something you’re not?

I wouldn’t care, Darius laughed. Shy, like I told you before, it doesn’t matter.

I cried. It did matter to me what people thought. He had no clue of what I had to go through every day with all those kids calling me white girl. I guess to him it’s a joke. You don’t understand man. This is a big joke to you.

You right, I don’t totally understand because nobody mistakes me for a white girl, he laughed. I laughed a little too. Darius had a way of making me feel better with his corny jokes.

You know what I mean, I said while shaking my head. How come I don’t look like you? Am I adopted?

Darius stopped laughing. No! What would make you think that? He became upset.

Just forget about it.

I didn’t mean to sound all crazy, he said calmly. You’re not adopted. God made you, you and God made me, me. You look different because you are different. We’re all different Shy.

I started smiling again. I get what you saying. I almost let go of the subject but, I needed more from my brother. Do you know who my father is? I couldn’t help but ask.

Darius looked confused. Shy why you asking me that?

Because I want to know. And when I ask momma she starts yelling.

He waited a long time before he said anything else. Imma just tell you Shy, I don’t know who your father is, but that don’t matter. All that matters is that you are my little sis. Darius tried getting past the subject again but I wasn’t having it.

Why do you always dodge the question Darius? I asked angrily. Is he dead? Is he white, is he black, what?

Darius became super angry. I told you Shy I don’t know who your father is! I wasn’t there when the whole thing went down.

Momma walked into my room with a belt in her hand. Darius jumped in front of her. Don’t whip her! He screamed.

My mother pushed him. Darius, get out of my way. She’s gonna get it. I’m tired of her getting suspended from school.

Ma don’t whip her! She didn’t start it, he said while grabbing the belt. What you want her to do, stand there and get beat up?

Boy get out my way! Momma screamed.

My mother tried her best to get the belt away from Darius. She couldn't remove it from his grip. Darius and Momma tussled over the belt for about five minutes before she gave up.

Okay. I won’t whip you this time, but next time I’m going to get you. And you’re not going to just sit here and play all day Shy. You’re going to clean up every inch of this house including my room. I want you to get up and start now and no going outside for the rest of the week! My mother walked out of my room appearing to be disappointed that she didn’t get a chance to whip me. Darius smiled behind her back as he walked out after her.

I started cleaning up my room. My door squeaked open again. Jasmine, my sister came bouncing in. Jasmine older than me, but younger than Darius. Jazz short and what all the guys called thick. She has brown skin like my mother and a mouth like a car motor. I’m surprised I didn’t hear her walk through the front door.

Jasmine, Jazz for short, in the ninth grade and crazy. She stay in fights too. Her situation different though. Jasmine always thought people were jealous of her. Actually she just got a big mouth.

Unlike me and Darius, Jasmine’s father take care of her. She has a closet full of new clothes and shoes. Jazz get her hair done at one of the most popular salons around our way. And, she gets a weekly allowance. None of her many things came from Momma. Her father, Moses, been working for one of the big three for years. He makes a lot of money and gives Jazz whatever she wants.

Jazz keep a lot of friends too. She can’t walk home from school without a boy trying to talk to her. Something that don’t fly with Momma. Even though my mother was strict on that, Jazz would sneak into my room and talk to a boy every day. When Momma caught her, Jazz would say, I’m going to live with my daddy. She fronted though. Moses stricter than Momma. Jazz would never go live with him.

Jazz acted totally different when she got around her father. She kept quiet and sweet like a little puppy. Jazz said words like sir and ma’am. Another fronter move.

Hey did you get her? Jazz asked.

Yeah, I did, I said with a big old smile on my face.

Jazz gave me a high five. That’s my little sis. Don’t nobody mess with you. Jasmine smiled from ear to ear. So what happened, did she call you white girl?

Yes, I answered.

Well you are a little white girl, she said sarcastically.

No, I’m not! I screamed. I wanted to punch Jazz in her face.

Calm down! It don’t matter, anyway. So what if you are white?

But I’m not. Her comments had me hot like fire on the inside. That's what I have to deal with. Jazz not like Darius at all.

Between you and me, I believe you are. But, don’t tell momma I told you that. Jasmine don’t get when to stop. Think about it. You have blue eyes. Who has blue eyes? White people. You have hair down to your butt. Who has hair down to their butts? White people. Except for the little girl across the street. She might have Indian in her family but, as far as you, it’s only obvious. You’re white.

Shut up! I yelled.

Jazz laughed, Hey calm down. I’m just playing. But think about it Shy. There’s nothing wrong with being a white girl. God don’t make mistakes. White is beautiful. Black is beautiful and so is everything else God made. Jazz must’ve gotten the hint. She stopped playing. I continued cleaning up my room again. You want me to help you clean up?

No. I got it.

Just before she walked out she said, You been going to that school for six years Shy. If them kids don’t know you black by now, they dumb as hell.

Dumb or not, I realized that nobody understood what I was going through. They didn’t understand that being mistaken for a white girl is a curse where I live. Everybody wanted to beat me up at school. Nobody wanted me around them. I ate lunch by myself. I played by myself at recess. My brother has friends. My sister has friends. I have nobody but them. It was almost like I had some sort of disease. God why!

THE LIFE

S ummer. I put all my elementary school drama behind me. Junior high time!

Summer nights in Detroit were hot. The exact opposite of winter; extremely cold. My mother always said Michigan had two seasons winter and summer no in between.

Another Friday night in the life. It’s eighty-six degrees at nine o’clock in the evening. Friday nights at my house were the best. My mother would put on FM 98 and play the Detroit mixes all through the house. She’d have about four different spades tables going all at the same time. The whole neighborhood would come.

Moving around became impossible sometimes because of all the peoples. My brother and his friends sat in his room playing Nintendo while my sister and her friends chilled down in the basement dancing.

Once in a while, my brother’s friends found their way down to the basement to talk to my sister and her friends. Darius wasn’t having it. He’d yell at them Aye get back up here! Darius very protective over the both of us. Jazz couldn’t talk to any of my brother’s friends but, Darius talked to all of hers. I never understood that.

Momma walking through the house as usual looking good in her jean shorts and her white halter top. All the men stared at her and some of my brother’s friends did too. I laughed watching them.

Everyone either playing spades, laughing, talking, dancing, eating or doing it all. I sat down with Jazz’s father, Moses, learning how to play spades at one of the tables.

Moses a tall skinny old man with a gray beard. I overheard my Auntie Marcie say that Moses was my mother’s sugar daddy. That anything my mother wanted, Moses got it. Everything made sense after Auntie gave that piece of information. My mother lives in a house with three kids and as far as I know, no job. Yet, she always manages to keep herself in the latest gear, have the flyest hairdos and drive the nicest whip.

Even though Moses had a lot of money and treated us all nice, it was clear that he wasn’t mine or Darius’ father. He’d bring loads of things through the door, all for my sister. Christmases were even worse. Me and Darius had to sit back and watch as Jazz opened gift after gift after gift. The whole thing used to bother me but, after hearing the words look what my daddy bought me about a hundred times, it stopped. I cared less.

Play this card right here, Moses said while pointing to the ace of spades.

Being around Moses was fun. For the most part, except for the gift situation, he treated me no differently than he treated Jazz. Moses a good dude. He obviously cared for my mother. Stuck around when he didn’t have to.

Darius’ father locked up for murder. Auntie Marcie said his father would never see the light of day. My father a myth. I have no clue who he is or where he’s at. Nobody ever talked about him. Not even my Auntie and every time I asked about him, I would get the same answer, don’t worry about it, you loved. After a while, I stopped asking.

Now play that one, Moses said.

I sat at the table with four old men, that includes Moses. He teaching me how to play good. The last time he came over, he taught me how to run all the spades out of someone’s hand so my other cards that weren’t spades, no matter how low the card, would win books. I’m getting real good. One time I won a game without his help.

Now play this one, Moses said.

How old are you now? One of the men at the table asked. He a medium height black dude with pump waves. The man looks like a black Mr. Furley.

I’m twelve, I answered.

When will you be thirteen? He asked with a strange smile on his face.

Just as I begin to answer my mother jumped in, None of your business. Now quit asking my daughter questions.

I only asked her how old she was, he said. This dude staring at Momma hard.

I know what you asked her, and she answered you. She will not answer any more of your questions, my mother said in her intelligent sista voice.

The man smiled at Momma, then he smirked at me. You have some beautiful eyes. He turned to Moses. She looks like a little Indian girl with blue eyes. The man turned back to me. You look an awful lot like one of my friends named Victor? Do you know who Victor is?

My mother stopped the conversation she was having with someone else and screamed, Get out of my house and take your pump waves with you! I’m not playin’! The whole room got quiet. I hadn’t seen my mother that angry since she caught my brother booty-buck naked in bed with his old girlfriend.

Without speaking, the man got up from the table. Moses escorted him out the door. He laughed as he walked out. I wondered about what he had said, but my mother got so upset I just let it go.

My brother came running out of his room and asked, Is everything okay momma?

Everything’s good now that I got that nigga out my house, Momma answered. He almost made me cuss. I don’t like cussing around my kids.

Darius asked, What nigga? Who you talking bout?

Moses jumped in the conversation. Don’t worry about it D. Problem solved. His eyes got big. Darius saw and went back in the room with his friends.

Auntie Marcie walked through the door with her loud self holding two bottles of St. Ides. She got on a gold leopard print jumpsuit. Hey everybody! Let’s get this party started. Marcie in the house. Marcie is in the house! she yelled.

My Auntie Marcie crazy. She a couple years older than my mother. Auntie has the prettiest dark cocoa brown skin. Her hair’s done up in a long black pony tail. She got a gold stud in her nose and even though Auntie don’t need it, she has a pound of makeup on her face. Everything about her screams fabulous. The whole room lit up when she walked in. All of us immediately forgot about what happened and got to laughing and talking again.

Hey Auntie baby, she said while kissing me on the check. Every time she saw me she gave me a kiss on the cheek. Afterwards, I would run to the bathroom to see if she had left a perfect lipstick stain on it.

Hey Auntie! I said. I ran straight to the bathroom mirror. Not quite perfect but, the lipstick mark did sit on my face. I immediately ran back into the room so I wouldn’t lose my spot.

Ya’ll gon let me get in this game or what? It look like ya’ll only got three players, she said while planting herself in the seat where Mr. Furley was. Little bit are you playing by yourself?

No. Mr. Moses is helping me play, I smiled. I sat down on Moses’ lap and we started playing again.

Jazz came upstairs to get something out the refrigerator. Right before she opened it, she turned around and stared at me like she wanted to kill me. Jazz ran to my spades table. Get off my daddy’s lap, she said in a quiet but crazy voice.

She’s okay, Moses said.

Jazz pulled me by my hair and yelled, Get off my daddy’s lap! He’s not yo daddy so get off his lap!

Ouch! I screamed. Let me go Jazz!

Auntie Marcie got pissed. Jazz stop acting like that! What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy? She pulled Jazz’s hand off my hair.

That’s not her daddy. That’s my daddy and I don’t want her sitting on my daddy’s lap.

Auntie Marcie turned to one of the people who was standing against the wall. She said, Take my spot in this game real quick. She escorted Jazz out of the room while mumbling under her breath, You’re acting like a two-year-old. You know better than that!

Jazz stayed good until Moses started treating me like I was his. As long he made it clear that me and Darius were not his children, she didn’t have anything to say.

One time, Moses took is old ancient self to the local basketball court. He called himself teaching Darius a couple of moves. It didn’t turn out too well. He ended up hurting his leg so bad that my brother and a couple of his friends had to take him, put him into his car and drive him back to the house. My sister saw it and got to screaming, What did you do to my daddy? She ended up throwing a cup at Darius. Hit him in the eye. Momma gave Jazz the whipping of her life. After Jazz realized that nobody intentionally hurt her father, she calmed down.

It’s too much drama going on in here tonight! One of the ladies that in the house said.

Momma quickly snapped back, Well then get out! The lady turned her head and continued the conversation she was having with another person. Another thing about my mother, since she was born and raised in our area, people understood thoroughly that she wasn’t one to be played with. I saw all kinds of people shut up and keep moving when Momma got upset. Only one lady challenged my mother and she ended up in the hospital.

Well I’m back, Auntie said while taking her seat back at the table.

Jazz walked out after her. Once again, she looked at me like she wanted to kill me. I refused to move from his lap. Auntie caught Jazz staring and said to her, Get your drink or whatever you was gon’ get and go back downstairs. One of the men went to deal the cards. Auntie caught eyes with Moses. So what happened in here before I walked in the house.

Marvin said something to little bit about Vic, Moses said.

What? Auntie was acting like somebody got shot. What did Sheila say?

Moses shook his head. She threw him out.

I know that much, Auntie said while shuffling through her cards. What did she say?

I just told you she told him to get out, Moses said sarcastically.

I jumped in the conversation. Who’s Vic?

Auntie quickly answered, Nobody baby. Go ahead and play your hand.

Momma rushed over and asked, What ya’ll talking bout over here?

We ain’t talking bout nothing. Trust me it’s done, Auntie answered.

The whole conversation shut down. It became the most boring card game I had ever played. Everyone kept quiet. Usually when we played cards, everyone talked junk to one another. Vic’s name shut the party down.

After the party was over, I laid down in my bed to chill. I stared up at the ceiling trying to get to sleep. Something I always did. Jazz walked into my room looking like she want to rip my head off. Yeah, Auntie ain’t here to save you, she said. Jazz pounding one of her fists into the palm of her other hand. I told you not to sit on my daddy’s lap. He’s not your daddy.

I pretended not to be fazed and said, Man get out my room. Jazz scared the hell out of me. She fight like a man. Nobody tries her. Jazz even spent a month to Juvie for putting some girl’s face in the toilet at school.

She jumped on top of me, grabbed me by my shirt, drew her arm back as if she was going to pound my face in and said, What? Say it again. After holding her fist up for a minute pointed toward my face, Jazz put her arm down, grabbed me by my shirt with both hands and said, If you ever sit on my daddy’s lap again, nobody’s going to be able to pull me off of you. You understand? That’s my daddy.

I know that’s your daddy, I said sarcastically. Jazz ain’t gon’ see me scared but, I have to calm her down somehow. Let me go before I tell momma.

Jazz laughed. Tell momma? I don’t care if you tell momma. Go ahead and tell her.

I will.

Jazz was hard, but she couldn’t beat my mother. While getting off of me she says, I’ll take all that pretty right off your face. Make them blue eyes black if I ever catch you sitting on my daddy’s lap again. Better yet, don’t even talk to my daddy.

I won’t, I cried. I don’t need your daddy. I got my own daddy.

Jazz laughed again. You do? Where he at? He ain’t here. Momma don’t even know who your daddy is so how you know. You probably not even her daughter. Jazz walking out. Just as I thought the whole thing was over, she turns around, "Oh, and you do need my daddy. Why you think momma living in this house and driving the car she drives? Why