When the Smoke Clears
An Urban Novel
by
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Prologue January 2008 “HARRIS!! S. HARRIS!!” The Portsmouth City Jail Deputy hollered outside the bars of the small cellblock. “HE SLEEP!” An inmate returned in a high-pitched cartoonish voice, sending laughter throughout the day room. The deputy smirked sarcastically to hide how truly agitated he was by the foolishness of the inmates. “LAST CALL FOR SECOYA HARRIS!!” “YOOO,. Whassup??” A smooth baritone voice answered from the confines of his cell. “You S. Harris?” The deputy asked. “Yeah.” “Get Dressed. You got a visit. Ill be back in five minutes to transport you,” the deputy said before moving on to the next cellblock, calling out more names for the thirty-minute non-contact visits. Secoya rolled off the two-inch thick plastic mattress that was not much of a mattress at all. The wear and tear from the countless number of bodies that had slept, sweated, pissed, vomited, and even defecated on the 6.5ft X 2.5ft mattress had cracked the plastic covering and deflated its insides. The mattress itself symbolized the frustration, hopelessness, anguish, worry, stress, and pain of those locked within a cage, isolated from society; their identities reduced to a number in the system. The pencil marks of restless days and nights counted down on the ragged mattress was the unforgiving realization of potential and time lost, and the nagging contemplation of what should or could have been. This was jail. This was despair. However, the mattress wasn’t the only object you could visualize the despair; you could see it everywhere and in everything. You could see it in the piss yellow walls and blood stained cement floors. You could see it in the darkened windows that shut out the warmth and love from the rays of a bright sunny day. Most of all you could see it amongst the faces of the men and women that were forced to accept a cell as their home. Secoya untied his du-rag made of old bed sheets, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. He blew in his cuffed hands and checked his breath; although he would never be closer than the six inch thick glass that separated the visitor from the inmate, he did it anyway. He lotioned his dark-chocolate skin that had gotten noticeably lighter from the lack of sunlight over the past three months locked up. Even the deep black waves in his hair didn’t shine like they once did, but no one inside would notice because they all looked the same—unhealthy from depression, stress, and deprivation of fresh air and sunlight. Secoya took a quick glance into the tattered and hazy mirror then stepped out of his cell and walked carefully through the maze of inmates sleeping on the murderously cold concrete floor. “Hey Dep! Harris is ready!” Secoya yelled at the gates of the cellblock sally port. The retired marine nonchalantly popped the gates letting Secoya out the congested fifth floor-housing block, and escorted him to the elevator. As the elevator descended, the elder deputy attempted to make small talk, but Secoya was more captured by the deja vu of having been there before—different jail, different color jumpsuit, but the same shit. The ding that alerted the patrons at the arrival of their desired floor released a floodgate of memories within Secoya, as it always did on every trip, but nothing could turn back the hands of time. The doors opened and the deputy ushered Secoya into his designated visitation booth and walked out, locking the heavy steel door behind. Secoya took a moment to peep outside his booth and distinguish the voices chattering through the phone with their loved ones on both sides of him; not that he liked being nosey, but in that environment, he had to be. His first visit he saw a dude get punished in the small room because he wasn’t aware, never noticing the rival gang members sitting two booths down. By the time the deputies got back into the room, homeboy looked like he had been trampled by a stampede. Content with his surroundings, but not comfortable, Secoya waited anxiously for his visit to walk through the glass double doors. The anticipation of seeing Innocence, his girlfriend, strut through the doors, turning all heads as she breezed past, was the highlight of his week, every week, for the last three months. As Secoya considered the seemingly endless possibilities of outfits his baby could wear, she appeared in front of him walking as fiercely as Tyra Banks towards his booth. The thigh length NorthFace shirling that he had bought her in D.C. hugged her frame like a glove, concealing the little bit of stomach she still carried from giving birth to their son before Secoya was locked up. As usual, jaws dropped at the sight of her beauty and magnetic glow that radiated from her almond brown complexion. Her face was flawless beauty beneath her new Rihanna-style hair-du, and having a baby only added more shape and appeal to her perfectly sized thighs and voluptuous rear end. Innocence smiled as she approached Secoya. She knew everyone, including several women, were watching her as she made her way past them, and she delighted in the fact; but not for her own pleasure or gain, it was all for Secoya—the love of her life. She could care less about shining and parading around somewhere as gloomy and pitiful as the jail, but she knew that it mattered to Secoya, and for those 30 minutes she wanted to put a smile on his face. “Hey baby,” greeted Innocence, flashing a smile bright enough to melt ice to water. “You like?” She stood up and twirled in a circle while playfully patting her hair. “Yeah… It looks good on you bae,” Secoya said, admiring her butt in a pair of BEBE tights just as much as her hairstyle. “Boy boo! You didn’t even look. I caught yo eyes lookin’ at my booty boy,” she said laughing. Secoya smiled. “So whats happenin bae?” asked Secoya. “Well, I went and put flowers out for King earlier today. They finished his headstone too, it’s nice. I took some pictures for you.” A somber look filled Secoya’s eyes. “Oh yeah…” he said somewhat ambivalently. King’s death was something he was still dealing with, even though it had been months. “Oh, and your mother told me to tell you hello and that your brother and Bree called.” “Bree?.. Damn, what he doin?” Secoya hadn’t heard from Bree going on six months. “She didn’t say. But he said hold ya head up and he sendin’ some money to me for you.” “Word, that’s what it is,” he replied. Hearing from Bree was the best news Secoya had heard in months. “I talked to your lawyer today too.” “What he say?” Secoya asked anxiously, preparing himself for the worst. “Four years in Portsmouth and Norfolk ran concurrent, and a additional two years on the violation in Norfolk ran consecutive, if you plead guilty to the conspiracy charge. The Commonwealth agreed to Nolle Prosequi the Possession with Intent to Distribute and trafficking.” Secoya dropped his head. “What about the other thing?” he whispered nervously.
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About the Book
Virginia is for lovers, but in the heartless and unforgiving streets of Virginia’s ‘7even Cities’: where disillusioned hustler’s pitch narcotics on project blocks without a conscience, disgruntled stick up kids terrorize the streets with their ambitions attached to ski masks and twin pistols, and dispirited young females strip themselves of their self-worth and sell their most sacred possessions all for a piece of the “Devil’s Pie”, love is an ideal often spoke about, but seldom seen. The 7even Cities, where the disenfranchised take to the streets to obtain the “American Dream” of lavish homes, luxury automobiles, and tailored garments, while the aristocracy relentlessly aim to squander their hopes with oppressive laws and a multi-million dollar penal system. This is Virginia through the clairvoyant eyes of Marquis “Cream” Cureton in his classic debut novel, “When the Smoke Clears: An Urban Novel.” Inspired by true events, ‘Cream’ narrates the story of Secoya “Smoke” Harris, a promising college basketball player with ambitions as vast as the oceans are blue, who tip-toed the fine line between success and the streets. Originally from the gang infested streets of Compton, California, Smoke cant resist the lure of the underworld of the 7even Cities, and in one costly decision finds himself incarcerated in Virginia’s Department of Corrections and marked for death by his big homie. His basketball career ruined and future bleak, Smoke apprehensively makes the decision to dive head first into the streets and get money the only way he sees possible—trafficking marijuana. Beef inevitable, bodies dropping, and indictments looming, Smoke drowns himself in a cloud of haze from the finest bud California has to offer in order to escape the harsh reality that in the streets nothing last forever, and no one ever wins; there are only those that survive the game and live to tell about it behind penitentiary walls, and those that lose, taking their last breath in the streets. Which side will Smoke find himself? Only God knows, “When the Smoke Clears.”
About the Author
Marquis “Cream” Cureton is bringing realism and substance back into the Urban Novel genre. A Rialto, California native, Cream excelled in both scholastics and athletics as a child, and managed to navigate the susceptibility of Southern California’s gang culture without succumbing to the austere statistics of deceased or incarcerated young black men. After moving to Virginia’s “Seven Cities,” Cream continued upon his tumultuous expedition, ultimately graduating high school with honors and earning academic and basketball scholarships to a prestigious Pennsylvania College. However, materialism, poor choices, and moonlighting in the streets eventually caught up with Cream, forcing him to relinquish six years of his life to the state of Virginia’s Department of Corrections for weapons and distribution charges. Acting on the tutelage of his college professors, and an unwavering desire to reclaim his life, Cream tapped into his uncanny ability to viscerally articulate his experiences in life, in love, and in the streets, into eloquent words that stimulate the mind and rouse the emotions. “When the Smoke Clears: An Urban Novel” is the first of Cream’s Collection. Marquis “Cream” Cureton currently resides in Portsmouth, VA where he is completing his Bachelor’s degree in Communications at Old Dominion University.