Women of Color and the Lives They Lead

This story takes place in what you would call the ghetto section of Chicago. Close your eyes, imagine if you can, I guarantee you can see it, now close your eyes. The streets are filled with trash that the neighbors put outside last week for Mr. Jones to come and pick up. He and the rest of the crew went on strike. The cats and dogs went ramming through the trash pulling garbage along the front of the projects. No one bothered to get out and clean, being it’s not their job. Hey, nobody said they were going to pay me, so let it stay until the strike is over. The city forgot to come and mow the projects. Grass is about four feet tall. I’m afraid to go out I might get mugged. Nobody certainly would find me due to all this wooded, grassy area out here. The lights are so dim. I wonder if anyone really can see that there are people living here. I’m afraid they might decide to build a freeway here thinking there is nothing here but trees and grass. Oh it’s awful, the paint. Well whatever color the building is I don’t really know, being that I see all shades of faded gray, white, red? I tell you the truth. How in the world did I end up in a place like . . . 324 apt #4 Timbuktu Circle? I sit by my window and as I look to the skies, oh what a beautiful sight. I imagine as I sit on this third floor, out to the east I see, I see Prince Charmen coming for my rescue. Oh he is tall, black, and handsome with nice hair, and big beautiful brown eyes. Rather sexy I would say the least. Oh and what is that in his hands? Eleven red roses and one yellow one just for me. Don’t forget his clothes. He is dressed in a black tux, with a gray tux style shirt with gray buttons. His face is trimmed all around even with a light beard and mustache tailored along his side burns. Oh is this Mr. Right or what! I tell you the truth. I have been dreaming this same dream from the time I was twelve, and now I’m sixteen. That’s how long I lived here in this jailhouse with my step-mother Idressa and her six kids. My daddy moved out again around the time that I was twelve. He moves in and moves out whenever he feels like it. I don’t really know what my daddy ever saw in Idressa. His name is Charles. I remember the days I use to sit on his lap and play "get-e-up horsy". I remember picnics in the park with him. I remember going to school and the kids picking at me, saying my dad must be my great-granddad. They were looking at his gray hair and teasing me about it. So one day I came home and asked my dad if he would use one of my black crayons and color his hair black so that the kids wouldn’t pick at me anymore. He did change the color but not until years later. My real mother’s name is Priscilla. I don’t know where she is. Probably the old witch Idressa put a spell on her and ran her off. Well, let me tell you about myself. I am sixteen years old. I am very mature for my age. Idressa tries to keep me hidden. That is when she is sober, which is not very often. But I guess she is afraid that my dream might come true one day and her three witchy daughters might not have a chance. I believe I am very respectable, well that’s what they tell me in school. They call me pecan tan. I have a nice tan complexion, no bumps, clean clear smooth skin. My hair is auburn and shoulder length. My eyes are gray, can you imagine? Idressa doesn’t clean up or anything. Her sorry kids, well . . . I told you she has three girls, Shellia wears her clothes so tight I think she greased herself down with cooking grease and laid down and paid somebody to smooth them on her. But she gets that hair done every week, looking good. Shellia is sixteen, the same age as I am, but you’ll never tell it looking at me. What I have I let it show naturally. Home girl pushes up and sticks it out!! Hey you think that Shellia is a riot, let me tell you about Lavisa. Girl friend wears a size D cup, trying to cram it into a B cup. Can you imagine? Her clothes are so short, but . . . if that is the way she likes it, that is her life. Tangenika, that’s my buddy sometimes when she is not roaming the streets, she's more down to earth. My step-brothers are wild. No one ever stays home but me, just sitting here dreaming how I must be rescued. Idressa stays so drunk that most of the time she wouldn’t know if I was coming or going. But the times she is sober she tries to make sure I’m in place. The house, I am so embarrassed about it because no one will clean up behind themselves. Whenever I have company over, they have to give me two days in advance so I can clean. Otherwise I am not cleaning up after those clowns. One day my friend Sondra came over. She bumped into me and I knocked the picture off the wall. I think ten-thousand roaches and their babies must have come from under that picture. I was so embarrassed, Sondra itched all the way home and then had nightmares about roaches for two weeks. I think she is seeing some kind of doctor to cure her itching. Well it’s dinner time. I better go and see what I can find in here. It’s quiet now. I guess I better fry me some chicken and fries. That will be my dinner. Then go to bed. I have to look my best at night, hey I never know when Mr. Tux may decide to drop by. He shonuff is not at my school. Every night I wash my face with ambi soap. Then I use the face cream. I make sure my hair is done and I look my best in my satin sleepers. Idressa use to tell me that I shouldn’t be afraid of the rats we had because they were afraid of humans. They would just run off when they saw us. I don’t know what rats she was talking about because the rats we have must think that they live here and have rights too. Cause when we come, they don’t run. They keep right on eating whatever food Idressa’s kids left. Rather it is in the bathroom or wherever it may be. Next to my bed I leave my glass slippers with the puffy white feathers on top. My day is normal other than that. I wake up, bathe, go to school, get off the bus, come home, eat a snack, do my homework, eat dinner, bathe, and go to bed. Same thing day in and day out, thinking all the time it’s going to be different one day.