CHAPTER 1GAMES FEBRUARY 1997                   The iron pimp squeaked to a halt at McNichols and Linwood to collect another crumbled dollar. A wild eyed man’s body was confined to static while his hands danced in his pockets for imaginary change. His coat was soiled, jeans tattered and ancient shoes soaked. Everyone on the bus knew what was happening; he wanted the bus to escort him through a couple snowy blocks to escape the skin drying winds.                 The driver drove a block before questioning, “Pay your fair man.”                 Through a crooked sneer the man replied, “Hold up man, I got it.”                 By the next block the bus driver stopped the bus, the man staggered a little. He dug deeper into his pockets, his swollen palm revealed a few nickels and pennies. The bus driver demanded, “C’mon man, get off the bus!”                 “C’mon brother, just take me to Livernois.” The local hobo pleaded.                 The bus driver stood up, six feet and 4 inches; his block head contained two tired and fierce eyes. “Get off!” The hobo bowed his head and tip toed off the bus.                 The thunderous engine roared again, knifing through the chattering thoughts of Sharon Stuard. There was a charcoal skinned boy staring at her, birthing poignant loneliness in her heart. The boy looked like her brother Corzell who had been locked away. The smell of the mildew and mothball passenger sitting on the window seat next to Sharon couldn’t wipe the stench of her uncle’s cigar from her clothes. The sweet taste of her cherry lip gloss didn’t compare to the taste of freedom leaving her uncle’s home to go back to Santa Rosa.                 Sharon’s bland expression didn’t reveal her heavy conscious. Her east African slanted eyes avoided the 20 something year old man staring at her like a piece of meat. His eyes glued to her jeans made Sharon consider how old they were and how badly she needed a new pair. Her thickened thighs were about to bust out of the thin threads. Sharon hoped the three light skinned girls would get off the bus before her. They were petite and well dressed. They talked a mile a minute and if it had only been one Sharon wouldn’t have let them stare her up and down like they did when they first got on the bus. Once McNichols reached Livernois Sharon got off the bus.                  Sharon matured early, and although guys always paid attention to her there was nothing that could have prepared her for puberty in the hood. When the honks first started Sharon enjoyed the attention, she realized that she had power in her body. She understood early that men desired her hips, legs and budding breast. This made Sharon feel good to be wanted but it wasn’t enough. The male attention had become aggravating. Sharon wanted help, love, friendship and understanding. The honks from cars couldn’t heal the wounds of Sharon’s broken home, so it was only a seed of power. That power could not blossom with the thorns of hunger, lack of stability and mourning always pricking Sharon’s heart.                 Sharon figured that she could get her way since the boys thought she looked good. She never considered herself really attractive. Her heavily greased pony tail needed a perm and her clothes were two years old. If Heather relapsed again Sharon considered using her looks to live with a older boy, maybe a dope dealer or a young man who had a job. She hadn’t come to realize that it took more than her looking good to get her way.                             Sharon took three steps from the bus and heard a car horn honk, they seemed to double every month since the summer. Sharon kept walking, hoping her shoes didn’t get soaked from the slush. Sharon thought she was safe from the honking car until it came to a stop, almost splashing mud, and gray slush all over her. Agitation creased through Sharon’s dark brown features, but subsided slightly to the more realistic emotion of fear.  The 1985 Oldsmobile 2 door Cutlass Supreme was upon her now. The car stopped blaring UGK’s “Riding Dirty”, occupants begging for attention. The smoke gray color matched the cancerous exhaust seeping through the tail pipes. Sharon couldn’t help but think the driver was delusional to be posing like a fly gangster when his muffler could be heard from two blocks away. The passenger rolled his window down, swiveling his head out slightly, “What’s up lil mamma? Where you on your way?” “I’m going home.” Sharon replied looking straight ahead. “You want a ride baby?” He sounded kind to Sharon. Sharon stopped, giving him due acknowledgement. His face was the tone of a squirrel with similar rodent like features. Two front teeth were fighting against his small but purple lips. He looked like the typical hood nigga with his baseball fit tilted backwards. Sharon found one feature she liked, his eyes were hypnotically captivating. After the hazel color magnetized Sharon, the toddler innocence enthralled her attention, “What’s your name?” “My name Lydell. I live right around the way on Stopel. You new around here?” Lydell questioned over the murmurs from the back seat. Sharon studied the car; there were three occupants so she became alertly defensive. “I been staying over this way. How old are you?” Sharon quizzed. Lydell assumed Sharon was at least 15 but guessed she was 17 by her shape. From what he could tell her 5’3” frame had been matured about the legs for a long time. The only thing that kept Lydell unsure was her chubby cheeks. He told the truth, “18.” Sharon shook her head, “You to old for me.” The driver moved in on the conversation, bearing a beard, “How old is you?” “I’m 12.” Sharon announced indignant. “Damn, the Lord making yall like that now? You must gone be 16 tomorrow.” Lydell smiled. A giggle pierced through Sharon’s timid fear and false armor of composed strength. Sharon enjoyed the conversation but she didn’t feel ready. Cordially Sharon admitted, “No, I’ll be 13 in April.” Lydell could sense her conflict. Masterfully he eased her apprehensions, “Yeah, you to young for me now. I still want you to know that you beautiful. If you ever need anything or got a problem with any of these niggas come and see me on Stopel.” “I got you.” Sharon responded nonchalantly. “Serious, if you need anything I got you.” Lydell said with a serious face. “Like a big brother?” Sharon replied sarcastically, hoping he was sincere. “Yeah, cause you to young for me…NOW.” Lydell emphasized. Sharon blushed, feeling better already and totally forgetting the question at hand that the eager driver posed, “So you want us to take you to your crib?” “Naw, I’m straight. I’ll see yall on Stopel.” Sharon stated. The rust bucket pulled off roaring, leaving Sharon to walk on up Florence. Her thoughts running ramped again. Sharon was happy her mother Heather was off drugs but disgusted with her behavior. Heather acted like Corzell didn’t exist. Letter on top of letter piled for Heather to visit but she never did. Heather had been sober for 18 months and was NA crazy. Heather showed up at every convention in the Mid-West. Heather had her weight back and was trying to live her life.                 Sharon was exceptionally happy that she was away from her Uncle Russell. She had been there since Thursday. Uncle Russell was a cop and strict. Sharon got tired of hearing him go on and on about what type of girl she should be. Most of all Sharon hated cleaning his house for free. She made her great escaping by claiming she would be spending the night with the Butler’s. Sharon made a left on her street and hoped her mother was home from the NA convention. Stepping foot on her porch Sharon could hear boisterous laughter, Heather was home. Sharon opened the door and smelled cheap reefer. A pack of Newport cigarettes sat on the table next to a tall fifth of Paul Mason. The bottle was ¾ empty. Bags of empty Mcdonald’s decorated the table while the contents of French fry containers, nugget boxes and burger wrappers lay idly on the floor. These were all danger signs in Sharon’s mind. Heather was supposed to stay sober. The more disturbing image was a string bean man sitting next to her mother. His hawk face gawked at Sharon, stopping on her voluptuous thighs, and then moving up to her slim waist. A skimpy joint hung from his obese charred lips. His process hair glittered under the dim yellowish light bouncing about the room. Heather formed an artificial smile that Sharon saw through, she was mad Sharon came home. Heather introduced, “Sharon this is my good friend Ron.” Sharon guessed they met in NA but kept the comments to herself. She mugged Ron, allowing the repulsion of his polyester green shirt with green slacks and green off brand snake skin shoes soak into her mind. Her stomach flipped from the mixture of his over used cologne and thin cloud of weed smoke. Ron orchestrated his mustache-less monkey mouth to ask, “How you doing?”  The way he asked made Sharon’s skin crawl, he asked invitingly. Sharon guessed he was in his late 30’s. His sunken in jaws revealed he had just recently separated from the pipe. He hadn’t divorced his crack addiction. Sharon nodded her head grudgingly, conceding his diabolical presence. Sharon placed her eyes on Heather. She wore a night gown that stopped just below her panties. Heather’s big, smooth, deep syrup dark legs were oiled with Vaseline. Heather’s eyes were heavily hooded, foundation make up flawless and hair surprisingly still in tact. Sharon asked, “How long you been back?” Heather didn’t blink, “Well, Ron and I decided to come back on Friday.” Sharon looked around for Sunny, she wanted to pick with her mother. A better argument came to mind, “Why you ain’t tell Uncle Russ so I could come home?” “I needed a break.” Heather’s synthetic delight to see her daughter diminished. Sharon felt unwanted, “Where Sunny at?” “In his room sleep.” Heather retorted. Sharon wanted to know why Sunny always got to tag along while she either had to spend the night over Uncle Russell’s or across the street with the Butler’s. Heather continued, “Don’t come in here with all that negativity.” “What’s for dinner ma?” Sharon sensed that she would be leaving very soon. “It’s all gone. Why you ain’t eat over Russ house?” Heather scorned. Sharon was shattered; Heather didn’t even have the decency to save her some food. Sharon walked out across the street to the Butler’s house. After three taps Mrs. Butler came to the door looking exhausted as usual. Sharon didn’t realize that she got on the Butler’s nerves by coming over all the time and using their phone. Mrs. Butler pulled up the energy to listen to Sharon one more day, “Hey Sharon.” “Hey ma, is Kierra in?” Sharon asked. “Yes, did you know it’s a school night baby? It’s 8 in the evening, shouldn’t you be preparing for school?” Mrs. Butler asked sincerely. “I already did it mom.” Sharon said, really wishing that Mrs. Butler was her mother. The Butler’s lawn was manicured; their steps were accompanied with rails. Inside was a smoke free environment, accentuated with family portraits and West African artwork. Like Sharon’s their carpet was stained but their floors weren’t contaminated with roaches. The Butler’s had books cluttering space, shelves and even the kitchen counter like Sharon’s house had roaches. The Butler’s was the only family Sharon knew to have bought the Encyclopedia Britanica from the T.V commercials. They had books on computer, American History, Black History, politics, Jet magazine, Essence, The Source, comic books, Geometry, Biology, phone books and any other type of books.  When Sharon came through the door she noticed the new boy on the block sitting at the kitchen table eating. Sharon wished he would find his own surrogate family and leave hers’ alone. Sharon walked into the back room and saw Mr. Butler and Junior watching a basketball game. Sharon smiled broadly, “Hey pa.” “Sharon, where have you been?” Mr. Butler asked nicely. Sharon noticed it wasn’t anything like Ron or Lydell; it was the type of attention that showed concern. “I was over my uncle house for the weekend. Is Kierra upstairs?” Sharon asked. “Yeah, go on up.” Mr. Butler said. “And hi to you too Junior.” Sharon said like she had an attitude. Junior didn’t move his head from the T.V, he was barely audible when he responded, “What up?” Sharon just put an extra switch in her hip and walked up the stairs. Sharon fantasized of being Junior’s wife to get in with the Butler family. She considered them to be something like the Cosby show. While Corzell was in jail, their oldest son was away in college. While her mother struggled drug addiction Mrs. Butler worked at the hospital. While her father was gone, Mr. Butler seemed very active in his children’s lives and worked as a teacher. As far as Sharon could tell the Butler home had no problems. She knew Junior wanted her. If older men desired her why wouldn’t Junior? Reaching the top of the stairs she found Kierra practicing a dance routine. Sharon always looked at Kierra as being slow socially. Kierra caught on to the dances and trends but in a lot of ways she was still a tom boy, the girl hadn’t even gotten a perm yet. Kierra played on the basketball team. Sharon giggled and coached, “You going to have to throw some booty in it.” Sharon then demonstrated by rolling her hips and popping her butt. Kierra was reminded of ultimate 12 year old femininity by Sharon. Kierra wanted Sharon’s style.  Kierra hoped to impress Sharon with news, “Girl guess what?” “What?” Sharon paused. “I started my period.” Kierra replied, happy as hell. At the time it happened Kierra felt a mixture of feelings, one was messy. Sharon had coached her about it for the last 4 months and explained that after a girl’s period started she became a woman. Sharon looked startled, Kierra had been 12 since October, Sharon felt that was more than enough time. Kierra questioned, “What?” “Girl, that’s old news. I started mine when I was ten.” Sharon stated. “Quit lying.” Kierra shot. “Ki-Ki, you met me when I was in the 5th grade. I had B-cups then. I ain’t got to lie. I thought you was gone tell me you finally tongue kissed or something.” Sharon came down hard on Kierra. Kierra sat down on the bed, wishing that she could tongue kiss a boy.  “Don’t worry, you pretty as hell. Soon as your titties start growing it’s on. You should let me hot comb your hair. You would really see then.” Sharon informed. “My daddy said I can’t get a perm yet.” Kierra said with puppy eyes. Sharon sucked her teeth, “It’s not a perm. You damn near a grown woman now, you started your period. You a young woman so you should be able to do what you want with your hair.” Kierra feared the consequences. Sharon picked up the signals and kept trying to sale herself, “All you got to do is wrap your hair up when your daddy come home from work. Who picking yall up from school?” “Tomorrow my mother is going to get us on her lunch break. Will it be gone by Wednesday, my daddy get us Wednesday and Friday.” Kierra seriously contemplated. “Girl, I’m telling you it’s not a perm. If you don’t want him to know then just put it in a pony tail. He ain’t gone be able to tell the difference. Men don’t know stuff like that.” Sharon guessed, based on her mother’s lack of respect for male intellect.  Kierra let the idea roll around in her head; if it’s not a perm her daddy shouldn’t be mad. Kierra agreed, “Ok, tomorrow after school then. How long it’s gone take?” “It don’t take long. Let me see your routine.” Sharon said, feeling like a girl; her sole reason for coming to the Butler home. She felt like a girl when Mr. Butler gave her money for receiving A’s and a dollar here and there for helping with chores. She felt like a girl when Mrs. Butler reprimanded her for cursing, and she liked it.