Full Circle Read online

  Full Circle

  Ayana Ellis

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Poem - FULL CIRCLE

  The Beginning . . .

  PART ONE - Life As a Shorty . . .

  1 - Carin

  2 - Carin

  3 - Panama

  4 - Carin

  5 - Carin

  6 - Carin

  7 - Carin

  8 - Carin

  PART TWO - Street to Chic

  9 - Carin

  10 - Carin

  11 - Monty

  12 - Carin

  13 - Carin

  14 - Carin

  15 - Carin

  16 - Carin

  17 - Carin

  18 - Carin

  19 - Carin

  20 - Carin

  21 - Monty

  22 - Carin

  PART THREE - Seasoned

  23 - Carin

  24 - Carin

  25 - Carin

  26 - Carin

  27 - Carin

  28 - Carin

  29 - Carin

  30 - Haman

  31 - Carin

  Epilogue

  Copyright Page

  This book is dedicated to:

  The memory of Michael Anthony Jasper

  a.k.a. Mikey April 26, 1978–July 4, 2004

  R.I.P.

  Reginald “Black Reg” Caraway

  and Gwendolyn

  “Don’t Even Try It!” Wheeler.

  You are truly missed by many.

  And to Mr. Lawrence “Shake” Francis for

  becoming a part of my life for a reason,

  season, or a lifetime. By the time this

  book comes out I don’t know if you’ll still

  be around so I’m thanking you for that

  special moment in time when you were

  here. You’re a good man. Thank you for

  everything, my likkle rude-bwoy.

  Acknowledgments

  To my past I pay homage. I would be nothing without you.

  To the victims of domestic violence, please know that there is a way out. Don’t ever think that staying is your only option or that there is no better life awaiting you after being in an abusive relationship. Time heals all wounds, and sometimes even though you are being ridiculed and you don’t have support a lot of the time it’s because people don’t take you wanting “out” seriously. Get serious with yourself and get out of that situation. Fight your way out of that situation and survive by any means necessary. Seek help and shelter and reclaim your life. You are loved, you are special, you are necessary and important to someone and life is beautiful. Live to tell your story and to lend a helping hand to another individual who feels hopeless in this situation. Run and don’t look back. No matter how good some days are, know that those dark days of abuse are lurking right around the corner. It doesn’t stop, it just takes breaks.

  Thank you to those of you who supported me in my time of need but a special thank you to those who did not. Your ignorance of the situation, ridicule, and lack of compassion has only made me strive harder to become a better woman, a stronger woman, and a God-fearing woman.

  Last but not least to my daughter, Nia S. Kerr. Mommy goes through the struggle so you won’t have to, my ladybug. Live your life full of knowledge and free of ignorance.

  Poem

  FULL CIRCLE

  Based on a true story

  “Full Circle”

  Some grow and see Daddy, jeans baggy

  Not giving damn near enough

  But Momma seems happy

  So baby girl grows up, imitating what she sees

  Can’t wait to grab her a loser

  Soon as she hits her teens

  No male role models, Mommy is too strong

  To have a man in her house, black woman sometimes we are too strong

  So she raises baby girl on her own

  But li’l mama knows that she’s missing

  The male figure in her house, so she goes out sniffing

  Trying to find him, in the streets, in dark ghettos and slums

  Nobody in the family has a man, she wants to be the first one

  She runs into his fist, hit after hit

  Her lip is split, she shakes it off and spits

  Blood

  She’s hardened, but beg her pardon, see she’s still looking for daddy

  So she could distance herself from her mother’s life and the burdens she’s seen her carry

  By any means necessary, she spreads her legs, as he begs to go deeper

  Surrounded by a cloud of reefer, begging to please keep her

  Painting a canvas on her pretty body, purples and blues

  She calls him daddy happily, as she’s being abused

  She has that father figure in her life, her body numbed and bruised

  Momma can’t stand it but she knows li’l mama’s a product of what she didn’t do

  Blame Momma, not Daddy, why is that the case?

  Li’l mama, has a permanent smile on her face

  From wired jaws, once held no flaws, now her scars inside

  Are far more deeper than the one he put over her eye

  Damaged gem, so many men, got a peek of her internal décor

  She’s about two men short of being called a whore

  Ass is fat from all the pumps and slaps, they begging for more

  She goes back and picks a loser that stands in front of the store

  ’Cause she grew up seeing daddy, jeans baggy

  Not giving enough

  But momma seemed happy

  Hiding times that were rough

  When li’l mama asked Mommy tell me what’s wrong

  Mommy’s overprotectiveness couldn’t tell her daddy is gone

  Instead she paints a pretty picture pretending to be strong

  Not knowing li’l girls need knowledge and truth

  So they won’t try to belong

  In circles that will hurt you

  Mommy seemed happy

  So baby girl will follow Mommy’s footsteps quite naturally.

  By Ayana Ellis

  The Beginning . . .

  I got my first taste of heartache from my father. It may sound crazy but I remember being shot from my father’s testicles into my mother’s womb. I remember the warm feeling of love when they created me. I remember closing my eyes with joy; happy to be born to two parents who loved me and who would raise me right; happy for my mother because she wouldn’t have to be a single mother like the rest of her friends. I remember resting in her womb, a tiny embryo of a thing, nestled happily when she called my father and told him the news. Unfortunately, he was not happy. I didn’t understand it. After all, weren’t they in love? They made love. They laughed, they made memories. My mother and father created me on Valentines Day. I was their love child.

  My mother carried me full term, to work, home, to friends’ houses. Every day she’d sing to me and I’d kick from inside. I couldn’t wait to come out and meet this woman who loved me so. Nine months later when my mother gave birth to me, my daddy was not there. He broke my heart many times before I entered the world. I knew from then that I would probably get into the pattern of messing with the wrong men. When I was born, my daddy was someplace in Miami “with friends” while my mother cried, not because of labor pains but because the man she had loved for four years was nowhere to be found to celebrate the coming of his first daughter. He wasn’t there as her feet swelled and she bled from stress, scared that she might lose me. He wasn’t there to take her to work or bring her home. He wasn’t there to help her wit
h her cravings, he wasn’t there to see her face glow with excitement when the baby moved. No, she worked until the ninth month and rode the train every day faithfully.

  I remember looking at my father. I was a day old. My auntie called him and told him that I was born. He came “as soon as he heard the news.” I knew it was him by the way he held me. Only a dad could hold his child this way. He held me gently and his eyes were watery. He kissed me softly on the lips and said, “Li’l mama” in soft little whispers. He kissed me over and over, then he put me over his shoulder and patted my back. I remember thinking, I love this man. I forgive you, Daddy, even for future mistakes, I forgive you in advance. When it was time for me to leave the hospital, I looked up at him from my car seat wondering if he was going to get us out of this ghetto as a good daddy should. My mother had endured a lonely pregnancy. My dad was nowhere to be found during the nine months she carried me. She had such a hard time bringing me into this world, but she did it. She never had a doubt as she carried me for nine months back and forth to work with her. She laughed and talked about me all the time and couldn’t wait to see me. Yeah, I heard her talking, I felt the love from day one. I felt the love they had for one another when my father shot me into my mother’s womb and settled me there. He aimed for that egg and he held my mother tight and said, ‘I love you,’ on Valentines Day.

  Which is why I would never understand why he left when he learned about me coming. She tried, she tried to be happy, she tried to move on, but she wasn’t strong enough. Her pretty face, bodacious behind, pouty mouth, and gracious sex weren’t enough to keep my father around the way he should have been. But at the age of twenty-six, my mother was more naïve then most when it came to love. She thought that being a good woman would keep her man close to her. She never dreamed that my father would leave her, especially when she got pregnant. Her loyal heart, her tears, her pain were not enough to make him stay. Giving him the best gift a woman could give a man, a daughter, was not enough to hold my hustler father down. He’d come around when he was damn good and ready. But in the meantime, her bitter heart got the best of her. She thought he loved her. I thought he loved me.

  Yeah, my first taste of heartbreak was from my daddy and it’s been downhill ever since.

  Darren

  When Jackie told me that she was pregnant it rocked my world. We had been together for three years and nothing ever happened and I assumed that nothing ever would. I was thirty years old and already had a child from a previous relationship. Me and my son’s mother were just beginning to get along; finally, I was free of baby mama drama. My son was four years old by the time I met Jackie. I didn’t want to have any more children anytime soon, and if Lorraine found out that I was having another baby she’d give me hell for sure. Besides, I was in the streets and the money was getting good. I didn’t need the pressure of having to be home with a new baby and her newly sensitive mother. But Jackie insisted on keeping this child no matter what I said to try to convince her to do otherwise. Initially, out of frustration, I skipped town to clear my head and different situations pulled me further away from her. I didn’t mean to let so much time pass before I checked back in. I loved Jackie so much. But money, other women, a minor coke habit, and small bids here and there had me so far removed from our relationship. My life had spiraled out of control and before I knew it, years had gone by and my guilt wouldn’t allow me to look into my daughter’s eyes, knowing that I had failed her. I could only pray that one day things would change, but for now I was gone and there was no turning back. Not for Jackie, not for Carin, not for love. It was all about getting money and nothing came before that.

  PART ONE

  Life As a Shorty . . .

  1

  Carin

  The year was 1994 and my Ready to Die and Illmatic tapes were on heavy rotation. That was all I seemed to do, blast my music when my mother wasn’t home. It was my escape. I loved all kinds of music. Since I spent most of my time alone, music was my company. I didn’t think anyone I knew loved music more than I did. Even though I was only fifteen, someway, somehow I found my way inside the Palladium night club most Fridays to see new acts perform. I was more than open when I realized that tonight’s guest would be none other than Biggie Smalls singing “Juicy.” The first time I went to the Palladium alone the bouncer laughed in my face and told me to take my young ass home. Not to be outdone, the next day I went to Forty-second Street to obtain my fake ID. I came back the next week to see Biggie and he let me in. I wanted to laugh in his face but decided to just enjoy the show.

  All night I sipped on a drink called Kamikaze that had me feeling woozy. When the show was over, I caught a cab on Eighth Avenue and headed home, happy to have partied the night away, not having to think about my boring life at home. Music was my freedom. I would come home and tell Sinny of the fun I had at the clubs that I would sneak into and she’d just shake her head, wondering why I would go out alone. That’s what I did. I rolled alone. I didn’t need a group of girls or a clique. I did what I had to do with or without the help of anyone. Yesenia, or Sinny as I called her, was my best friend. If anyone was a product of her environment, it was Sinny. All she knew was “the block.” She never wanted to party or go anywhere if it didn’t involve lying up with some dude. Sinny had been sexually active since she was twelve years old, and her life revolved around opening her legs. We had been friends since the sixth grade, but we really became tight during the first year of high school when she began seriously dating a guy who was like a brother to me, named Tron.

  I grew up in a project in Brooklyn, and about six blocks down Bushwick Avenue was another project called Williamsburg Houses, where Yesenia and my boyfriend, Chauncey, lived. Through Chauncey was how I met Tron, who started dating Sinny once he and I became friends. I guess you could say I had everything to do with that connection. Every day Sinny and I would meet up at a park outside of her projects, smoking our weed on a bench, waiting for Tron and his cousin, Panama, to come through. I would always play innocent when Chauncey would ask me why I chose to hang around Sinny, Tron, and his cousin so much. At that time I hadn’t recognized my infatuation for Panama, but slowly I realized that I had a thing for him.

  It was already six in the evening and Tron hadn’t come through yet. I was getting antsy. The fall weather was cool and the streets were rather quiet. It seemed as if Sinny and I were always the only two people out in the streets no matter what time of the day it was; me running from my morbid home life, her running behind Tron. I pulled out my small radio and began listening to “Gimme the Loot.” As we sat side by side quietly, inhaling the yellow smoke, I bopped my head in agreement to everything this man was saying. Biggie was the truth. “You don’t know shit about this.” I laughed and started reciting the words.

  “I know about that,” she said.

  “Must be through Tron, ’cause your ass don’t have no culture. You don’t listen to music, you don’t party. I don’t get you, Sinny. Why don’t you ever come party with me?”

  “Don’t nobody wanna be up in no sweaty-ass club with all those people!” she snapped.

  “Tron got that ass on lockdown, that’s the fucking problem.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Yes, he does. You’re too young to be having some boy tell you what to do and where to go. Please, I wish I would have some guy telling me I can’t go somewhere. Where is he anyway?” I asked. I really didn’t care where he was, but I was sure that he’d have his cousin with him. Panama was so damn fine! He had a tanned, pecan complexion, hazel eyes, and pretty, dark, wavy hair. He had dark features all over. His eyebrows were thick, his eyelashes were long, and he had the most perfect set of teeth I had ever seen on a boy. And although he was nineteen years old, in my young, fifteen-year-old mind I was going to make him mine. Not that Chauncey would approve, but I was allowed to daydream. I daydreamed about him every night and pictured myself in his arms all the time. He was my first crush. The first time I saw him he was oblivious to my
presence as he stood off to the side, irritated with Tron and Sinny’s constant bickering. He rushed Tron and threatened to leave him if he didn’t come on. He was so sexy in green army fatigues, a black T-shirt, fatigue hat, and black chuckers. I knew that Panama wasn’t thinking about me. He wanted someone who would give it up on a regular basis like Sinny did with Tron, and I wasn’t ready for that. But when I was ready, it would be given to Chauncey, my boyfriend of a year-and-a-half. There was no doubt in my mind about that, because I loved him. Panama was just an infatuation, but Chauncey was the real deal. Everybody in our neighborhood knew that little fly-ass Chauncey was my man. Girls constantly gave me dirty looks. I’m sure since I was a virgin, Chauncey had to have banged a few of these girls, but his loyalty and respect lay with me and that was all that mattered. Besides, Sinny lived right across the walk from him and she’d tell me if she saw anything funny going on. I loved him dearly. We were more like homie lover friends and our relationship was solid. It was based on friendship. I met Chauncey, a cute, skinny, brown-skinned dude with big lips and a big heart, while hanging out with Sinny one day. I had always noticed him but he seemed withdrawn and shy. Then one day he approached me and asked me where I was from, and the rest was history. We spent most of our time up in his bedroom where he had everything you could ask for. He had plenty of movies and video games, a stereo system, and a queen-sized bed. We would listen to Clue tapes all day and get high. Chauncey wanted nothing more than to keep his head between my legs.

  Chauncey always told me that he loved me so much because of my ability to love with my heart and not my eyes. His mother was an alcoholic and was never home. When she was, she was stumbling drunk. When I first met his mother she was babbling drunk, eyes red and glossy, drooling, stuttering and slurring telling me how pretty I was. It was embarrassing to him. I sat his mother down and handed her a glass of water as Chauncey hid his embarrassment behind shades. As she sipped her water I made her bed and asked Chauncey to help me lay her in it.