Tawanda Blake

01 - The Heart Wants What It Wants (1).mp3

THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD: Prelude

This story begins in the late 80’s in a little neighborhood called Willington. My name is Payshence, Pronounced (Patience). This was the award-winning name because my mother went into labor in the liquor house bathroom. She always reminded everyone when she spoke of the night that changed her life, that it took patience and will power to keep from having her baby on that filthy floor. The ceramic looked like tile out of an insane asylum. It was indecent from where the drunks would go and take a whiz. Aiming for the opening of the toilet, they would sometimes miss the toilet and pee on the floor. It reeked of urine. The stench would send you fleeing for your Hazard materials mask. Ma definitely hadn't planned on going into labor there of all places. No child of hers would be born there even if they needed to tie her legs closed with rope into a nice fat knot. Then that is what she was going to do at all cost until she made it to the hospital. It took a lot of patience. In addition to the agonizing pain, I was a friendly reminder each time she looked at me.

We lived in a neighborhood infamous for crime, drugs, and gang banging. All of the families stuck together. Most predominate black families had been there since the neighborhood originated. You could walk down the street and be gunned down or beat down if you were not from our hood. There was a liquor house on every block. You could hear the music at night from miles. That was the greatest thing to hear as a child. There was always immense laughter. The singing that said, "I am happy and drunk." You can either like it or get your head clobbered with a bottled beverage that altered the happy person’s mental status. The euphoric sound traveled to your eardrum. You could be doing yard work or, in your home cooking. You would find yourself snapping your fingers as well as tapping your feet to the beat and singing along to whatever song you heard.

Cheritee is my older sister, she and I would sit and watch the many fights that would break out at the hot spot. A house that was an eye shot away, really across the street. (AKA Big daddy’s liquor house). We watched a man get beat to a pulp from our room window. If I did not know any better I would have bet money that it was the incredible hulk who did major damage to that savage. "I want my damn money!” One man shouted out angrily. The assailant had on a Navy blue suit, a paisley tie decorated in different shades of blue, and a pair of black leather Sunday shoes. It seemed like he had just left church. His head was bald and shining from the sun. Sweat was pouring from his face. However, even if he left church, he did not seem to have minded to flatten the man’s face who he was pulverizing, “I aint got ya money man! Don’t hit me again man!” He was pleading to Mr. Sunday shoes. The man assaulted held his hands up as if to say "I surrender! Here is the white flag!" He wore a dingy white tee shirt and a pair of worn sneakers, he also wore a ball cap that didn't quite fit. The cap hit the ground on impact from the fist that hit his face. Cheritee and I continued to stare out of our bedroom window. We were nosy kids! We didn't want to miss anything.

My parents rented a one-bedroom duplex. We had a living room that was located right at the front door. As soon as you entered, there was no foyer. We had one cream colored sofa that brightened up the dim area. The forest green curtains in the living area always stayed shut. The sofa had forest green leaves all over it. A matching chair sat obliquely from the sofa, and a dark wooden center table. We had a middle room, one bedroom, and a single bathroom. The middle room should have been our dining room. Yet, my parents transitioned it into a bedroom for us. This is where my sister and I slept. We had a single twin bed that we shared in that area alone. Our bed was positioned beside the super window. We had long forest green curtains that extended to the floor. They never stayed shut because we were always in the window watching the life of the streets as if it were a TV show. The room was whopping to “us“. The color of the carpet was forest green. The kitchen sat cater- cornered from our bedroom, and was fully equipped with everything we needed. The duplex was more than enough for our family. We were just like any other kids in our very own playground. I remember one night waking up hearing some kind of commotion. Even through the sleepiest eyes, I knew there was a fight. I lay silent as the cursing and screaming continued to get closer. I prayed that they didn't know I was awake. It ended as quickly as it began. I never heard my parents insult or see them mistreat one another. Those were the best days of my life. I couldn't have been more than four years old living in that duplex. As the saying goes you remember everything traumatizing and everything that makes you extremely happy.

My parents had always dressed my sister and I like twins. This is funny because I thought we really were. Cheritee and I were only eighteen months apart. It was apparent that we both got the short genes.

My mom’s name is Lola, she was a hot commodity back in the day from my understanding. She was on fire! A straight knockout punch. "Hail to the queen!" is what men should do when her shadow appeared. She was four feet tall and fierce. Lola was beautiful. She had a slender frame, big deep-dish dimples, and she could win the heart of the president with that million-dollar smile. Not to mention her round eyes that anyone could love. She always wore an afro. It was naturally curly and jet-black. Her hair would curl up around the edges of her head forming thick waves that flowed past her earlobe like a horses mane. Move over Jerry curl. There is a new sheriff in town! My father adored her dearly. Now just remember... This is "through the eyes of a child."

My father’s name is Dazmond. Everyone called him Daz. He was an average build,and maybe five foot eleven. As cliches go, he was fit like a boxer at one hundred and eighty pounds. I have his complexion, but I favored my mom. My dad and I both had that golden honey complexion. My father always said, “Payshence, you have been dipped in sunshine. That's the reason your skin is so bright.” It was not hard to tell who my father was. I overheard my family say on numerous occasions that during his boisterous days, Daz was a bonafied fool. He would carry two pistols with him at all times. He did not mind pulling out a gun and capping a person if they even looked at him in an offensive manner. Clean and crisper than a new one hundred dollar bill that just left from the U. S Treasury to our front door. Yep! That was my dad. The old folks would see us walking, and and a scraggly elderly man would always wave and shout out, “Look at that Daz! You gone look out for the old man?” The man was asking for some type of money.

" You know you sharp! You should be mayor!” My father would give the man money beaming with pride. It must be nice to get money just for giving a complement. He was always sharply dressed. His clothes were so neat. People probably thought we had a built in cleaner that custom washed and ironed every single article of clothing he wore. There was a vertical crease down each pants leg. Dressed for a funeral, I always heard people say.

My father had been the hero at one point in his life. My aunt’s boyfriend had beaten her terribly. The imprudent man almost killed her. Her boyfriend knocked her eye out of her eye socket while pistol whooping her with the butt of his gun. When my father heard about what happened, he went and found the person. Shot the man once in the cranium, and two bullets to the chest. The man still didn't die. My dad never spoke of this incident. It was rumored among the hood gossipers, the incident frightened my father.

Dazmond was always ardent at home. The reckless man was an element that I did not see. He now worked all the time. He would come home with an adult jumpsuit on. He looked as if he had been working in an excavation all day. He was always covered in mud and grime.

Back then we had a wood burning stove right in the living room; we needed it to heat our home. We had to keep it filled with wood. There was a duct attached to the stove. Also from the stove, the heating duct attached to the wall. If you stomped too loud or put too much wood in the stove the pipe would come out of the back of the stove, the room would fill with a black smoky haze. The Smoke was an automatic lung adjustment. My dad was the man of the house so he always kept the stove full. Shoot, we loved it! If you bumped against it in full throttle, your body part would be lacking skin where there was once flesh; it sizzled like bacon with no eggs, hardly a treat. We were not supposed to touch it. Our parents would often leave us alone. My father worked close by. Lola was a worker for my grandmother at the liquor house. We would have to look out for ourselves; we had a whole kingdom to explore! Cheritee and I had found the basement under the duplex filled with hay. It was our town; we would play down there from time to time. We were lost in our own imaginations, creating new journeys daily.

The neighborhood was notorious for families that lived there for years. That also meant my family. My uncle AJ lived right next door in the adjoining duplex. His name was Alphonzo. My grandmother lived seventy five feet away from our house around the corner. My grandfather had another house around the block. That was the hang out for all the kids in the neighborhood. I had an aunt whom I really did not know all that well. She lived fifty feet away from us. Her name was Lois. She kept a watch on the house from a distance when my parents were away. One day Cheritee and I were at home alone doing our regular raid through the house, getting into things. We had one of those old record player stereos that ziiiiipped! At least it made that noise when you bumped into it. We were jamming. However, we were also peeping out of the window ready to take cover if anyone emerged. Oh my goodness! We saw her coming! We were children. How were we supposed to know that if we left the window open, everyone could hear the noise? We saw her come out of her duplex in a rage. She made her way swiftly to our house not missing an admirals march. We hurried to the radio, Cheritee got to it first and shut it off. Cheritee then Jumped in the closet. I dived under the mattress and hid between the box spring and the mattress. “Okay, give me a break! I was only four years old!” I just knew I had hidden myself well. It was not many hiding places in our room. We couldn't get away fast enough from that evil spirited woman!

Lois was a tall and lean woman. She had a smooth cocoa complexion. She was not unattractive, but she always had a scolding look on her face like she was pissed, and that made us afraid. She had very short hair. The texture looked soft. Her lips were thin and she never smiled. Her eyes were slant like a Japanese doll. I sometimes wished I knew what she was thinking. Even at one hundred and twenty pounds, she looked like she could cut you to shreds just by laying eyes on you. That made me more fearful of her! All at once, Lois had snatched me up by my arm from under the mattress. Lois slapped me across my face. I could have sworn I felt the wind blow as she did it. Which meant she was going full speed ahead to knock every single four year-old brain out that I had. Cheritee was snatched out of the closet as if she were a criminal being caught for murder. The razor sharp hands slapped Cheritee across her face too. Lois left us standing in the middle of the floor with our faces stinging from the hit, Dang the trauma! Lois left without making one sound. She never spoke as she walked out of the front doo. Even though we were four and five-year-old, we knew that we had better shut the window the next time.

Published by Outskirst Press