This piece highlights three excerpts from my unpublished manuscript (One Crow’s Sorrow, Two Crows’ Joy © Ceta Gabriel) that collectively reflect the theme of this issue, “Carrying the Mantle of Peace.” Each excerpt is from a different era in my life. I read several of these excerpts at the Logos Readings in Little Burgundy, the neighbourhood where I grew up. This is the first time I’ve published my work in a digital magazine.
Caution:
My story is not for everyone. However, it speaks loudly for a generation of youth who did not have a voice.
We hear stories about the era of the addicts, the dealers, the fetishized communities, but we never hear the story of how all those things affect the families—and in particular, we never hear the story through the eyes of the children.
This is an auto-fictional story. It is not romantic. No palatable packaging. Just a complex series of nuanced, semi-fictional, real and raw events.
This is an auto-fictional story. It is not romantic. No palatable packaging. Just a complex series of nuanced, semi-fictional, real and raw events.
This is an auto-fictional story. It is not romantic. No palatable packaging. Just a complex series of nuanced, semi-fictional, real and raw events.
There is violence, a deep emotional tug, humour, and at times very vulgar language.
Sometimes that can be uncomfortable.
Time waits for no one – Era 2
When the music changes, so must your dance.—Elaine Welteroth
The change was clear. The smell of the drugs stormed through my entire neighbourhood. It filled the air, the parks that had slowly become my home away from my home. I could smell it on every street corner. See, crack cocaine affected even non-users.
A lady started to come from the CLSC sometimes to take me, my brother and sister to the park and to our swimming lessons at the Des Seigneurs Public Bath (our community pool).
She was nice, especially because she always had snacks and baby juices that came in little glass bottles. We would play for a while, and then she would bring us back home.
Mum said that it was so she could have some time to do what she needed to do with the baby, and also to clean the house without being distracted.
But that didn’t make much sense, because when we came home, the house was still messy, there were people over, and the baby hadn’t been changed.
Despite being only about six, I clearly remember that I started seeing less and less of my father; his presence slowly began to dissipate and fade from my memories during that time.
One day, we were heading back home from Ralph the butcher’s with my mom. We made a pit stop at Auntie Bonnie and Uncle Pierce’s place because my daddy was there. I was on my way up the second flight of stairs when I noticed she had dropped her grocery bags on the floor and the meat and veggies were falling out. I began to pick them up.
She knocked on his door with haste—knock knock knock. As my uncle opens the door, he inhales—he knows his cousin.
Mum started yelling at Uncle Pierce, “You tell him to come to the fucking door. Why did you let him in your house, hunh? You are my family!”
Uncle Pierce was trying to calm her down saying, “Cybil, don’t do this!” Of course, my father heard her cursing, so he made his way to the door.
She hawked and spat, right in his face. All of a sudden, I saw him try to leap over my Uncle Pierce’s shoulders, screaming, “You dirty biii…”
But my uncle caught him in mid-air, pulling him back saying, “Dread, I am sorry, but that is my cousin, and you can’t be doing that.”
I stopped picking things up.
I was sucking my thumb and twisting my hair to soothe myself, I guess. My mom was crying, and my daddy and uncle were both screaming and yelling.
[By 1989, my house was a full-fledged crack house: holes in the walls and doors to match, no doorbell, no food, piles and piles of dirty laundry, dirty dishes, roaches and filth.]
Summer’s love – Era 9
You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.—C.S. Lewis
Weeks flew by and it was nearing the end of the school year. Cypress and I had made plans to go to the States for the summer, to this small town in Maine, in New England.
Two nights before I was supposed to leave for Maine, I headed over to my mother’s house because I was already late for curfew at my grandmothers’.
Glamah and Nanny had a rule: if I didn’t follow their curfew, they weren’t letting me in. I was a stubborn one and spent many a night sleeping in their stairwell.
They came to check on me but there was no way I was going to be running their household.
It was just after 11 o’clock at night. I had smoked some good “piff”; my eyes were blazing, and I was ready to go home to write, make music and get my munchies on. My mother answered the door, all paranoid as usual, so I walked to my room and found her friend Geraldine hiding in my closet.
I thought to myself, “Self, why the hell is my room the safe room for these frigging people?” I started to tell her, less than politely, that she needed to get the fuck up out of my room, out of my house, out… But I saw the terror in her eyes! A grown woman, crouched down in a ball like a little kid hiding from their mother, a kid who was trying to avoid the inevitable ass whoopin that was coming. Only, that was not the case. “Oh shit, sorry about that, Zy,” she said. “I thought you were Lux.”
He’s her pimp. Geraldine started to relax a bit. Climbing out of the close, she began to tell me one of her stories with that funny but sad laugh of hers.
He’s her pimp. Geraldine started to relax a bit. Climbing out of the close, she began to tell me one of her stories with that funny but sad laugh of hers. She was a booster when she was off the clock, you know—any hustle to make a dollar. One time she tried to recruit me for her shoplifting operation, but I was a lone rider, and she got the drift. But before Geraldine could get into her story, the doorbell rang again.
She ran right back in to hide, holding her breath so he couldn’t hear her. She knew what was coming! Lux was on the shorter side, reddish-brown skinned with greenish-brown eyes and a small frame.
He was “shitty sharp” we called it. Not the mouth full of gold, jerry-curl juiced, that loose crocodile-and-fur-skin-wearing kind of fool that you see on TV. Nah, Lux was new school, dressed fresh for death in a white T with some loose jeans, a fitted cap, a fresh pair of J’s and line-up to match his fade. His chain hung at mid chest, a matching bracelet dangling on his wrist.
He smelled like that new cologne, hints of Versace or Creed for men.
He had a soft tone to his voice, was light on his feet—he must have been a runner—and he always greeted you with a smile. “Where is she?” He said calmly, “Cybil, tell me where she is! You and I both know that you know where that bitch is at. She owes money to the block, and I came to fucking collect!”
Got to see it – Era 7
If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.—Isaac Newton
I barely had enough time to sit down in my seat when—over the intercom—the school secretary asked my teacher to send me to the office. I was thinking, “Aw shit, Glams is going to kill me! Fuck, man, suspended, ah damn it!”
So, I moseyed on down to the principal’s office. To my surprise, Petra and Marguerite were sitting outside waiting too. Now I was freaking out. My mind was running like a train with no brakes. I thought to myself, “They saw us smoking; now I am really in trouble!” I was already trying to devise an excuse to tell Glams and Nanny something that was the truth but maybe not disclose the actual sequence of events. I am no liar and I really don’t like getting caught in lies, so I try my best to tell the truth…
Petra, Marguerite and I waited for what felt like forever before Mr. Jeffers, our principal, called us into his office together. He began by saying, “I have noticed that you girls are falling off track,” as he reviewed our files. “You are all about to be suspended and your grades are failing,” he said, finishing off a piece of raw broccoli that went crunch, crunch, crunch as he chewed and swallowed.
“How rude!” I thought to myself.
“So, I have a plan to help you out!” He paused and pulled a whole cucumber out of his drawer and began crunching on it.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
“I’ll tell you what: I’ll lift the detentions if you follow my offer! A woman named Jhora Tolbart came into my office looking for three girls that I thought could use a positive role model in their lives. I have chosen you three! Now the choice is yours. All you have to do is meet her, see what her intentions are, hear her out and then make your decision. If you like her, commit to the meetings. If not, then you will face suspension!”
I responded, “That’s not much of a choice now, is it, sir?”
We were so annoyed with him. Who did he think he was, choosing us to be this role model’s guinea pigs?
“Nonetheless, the choice is yours to make,” he replied. We were silent for a few minutes and obviously we agreed to meet her. We were so annoyed with him. Who did he think he was, choosing us to be this role model’s guinea pigs? I did not need any help; I just needed to get rid of my detentions. We were willing to do it to avoid the suspension, but we were not going to do it nicely.
I went home that evening. I was not going to tell my glamah, but she already knew about it because Mr. Jeffers had taken it upon himself to call all our parents to let them know about our agreement. I guess that was his way of sealing his deal, and there was no backing out now!
That weekend, I went to my mom’s house because my glamah and nanny were stressing me out! Okay, honestly, they’d put me out because I had gotten too mouthy. Glamah was always stressing about her rules and regulations, her roof, her floors, her doors, this and that… I was like, “What is your problem, lady?” And she let me have it! “As long as I live,” she demanded, “you will respect me, little girl! That includes doing your chores, respecting my curfews, staying in a child’s place. Now until you get that, you do not have a place here.”
I was growing a shorter and shorter fuse with these women. Always trying to tell me what to do, when I could do it and how I was going to do it. I figured I did not need this bull and I told Glamah that. After the smack to my lips and the shakedown that she gave me, she told me to git going back to my mother’s house before she killed me!
“I raised my family already and I don’t have to put up with this!” she said.
I was glad to go back to my momma’s house because that meant I could run my life, basically. There were a few general things I needed to do as far as following rules, but for the most part I did what and when I pleased!
For the next couple of months I took advantage of the situation because I knew school would be starting again soon and my grandmothers would be forcing me to come back. I did all kinds of stuff that summer. I was sneaking out at 4 a.m. and walking down to Iyonla’s house for sleepovers in my long johns pj’s. My skirts started getting shorter and shorter, my legs longer and longer. I babysat a lot, to keep money in my pocket.
And back then, I did not understand that my ability to trust depended on how much I trusted myself, but I was learning.
We were seeing Jhora weekly now, and as it turned out, the universe was conspiring in our favour, sending us someone who would later inspire me to challenge my own existence for the first time. But like most people who don’t recognize that they need help, I resisted every ounce of it. Out of fear really, to be honest, fear of all of the things unknown, because I did not trust what she was saying. And back then, I did not understand that my ability to trust depended on how much I trusted myself, but I was learning.
I will never forget the exercise we did one time on values, morals, and principles. I was big on principles! The story goes like this: we walk down a path and meet ten different people we could choose to help by giving them one of our morals or values. At the time, we had asked Jhora if Iyonla and Cypress could join the group, and we became the Fabulous Five Positive Images, with Jhora as the fearless ringleader.
Jhora carefully pleaded the urgent case of each person in need and gave us time to evaluate each reason. Then we had to decide what we were giving and to whom, to be good Samaritans. We were all in deep thought, and you could imagine we were all thinking about our choices, because they would reflect who we were, whether we were selfish or kind-spirited. I kept fidgeting; I just could not get comfortable.
I, the lefty, was sitting between Iyonla and Petra, both righties, trying to get behind giving away my values and morals to help the right people in the right way—it was very awkward for me. I couldn’t help but feel like I did not want to give any values away. At first, I decided to give away a few and then I quickly scratched that out. I thought I would throw a little tantrum and sit this one out. Nobody would know that I was selfish or that I would not help people in desperate need. My mind kept saying, “If you give your morals away, you’ll have nothing for you!”
Thinking I was going to get away with that, I started to suck my teeth and tussle to let everyone know I was not happy.
Thinking I was going to get away with that, I started to suck my teeth and tussle to let everyone know I was not happy. But Jhora kept at it. Later, each of us, one at a time, were to say which moral we gave and why. So, everybody was keeping score of the reasons. You would see us shake our heads in agreement, if we thought there was a good enough reason to let it go. The group pressure got to me, and I was all anxious at this point because I had just been to war with my mind. I had already degraded and belittled the hell out of myself for being a selfish, unkind, mean-hearted and mean-spirited person.
When it was my turn to speak, I started off by saying that first I was going to give my pride away to this one for this reason, and then I was going to give my honour away to that one for that reason. But I couldn’t lie, and I ended up deciding not to give any of them away. Whoa, man, was I glad that was over! With a straight face, I looked up at everyone, waiting for someone to say something. I was ready—armour already on—because I was going to let that roll off me like water… and then curse them the fuck out.
Jhora began to speak. She said, “Girls, when you give your values and morals up to help someone, for whatever reason you feel compelled to, in the end you lose a part of yourself that you cannot get back.” That stuck with me.
