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  The money he and his crew had won in the dice game from Diego and Lonnie allowed the party to continue for a few more days, but the constant celebration had decreased their funds at an alarming rate. Don had managed to cuff close to a thousand dollars for himself. His friends had no idea that he'd taken the money, but the paranoid mind frame the crack joints kept him in made him think that they were on to him and beginning to mistrust him. They were sitting back drinking beer and trying to figure out where all the money had gone when Don stormed out of Semo's house leaving his friends totally shocked.

  When he opened the back door of his mother's house, Rhonda was in the kitchen making a sandwich. His older sister put down the piece of bread in her hand when he brushed past her. She started to initiate an argument with him, but one look at the expression on his face and she decided that it would be better to leave him alone. For the first time in her life she felt like she didn't know her younger brother. Somehow he managed to appear much older than his seventeen years. His boyish face was gone, replaced by a man's face—hardened and lined. His eyes seemed to hold a strange, hungry look.

  Don bound up the stairs to his room.

  Rhonda found herself sighing in relief as he went upstairs and wished that he would return to wherever he had been for two weeks.

  Later that night his mother came into his bedroom, hollering at the top of her lungs.

  “Donald Haskill! Wake your ass up right this minute! Where the hell have you been for two weeks? Boy, you ain't grown! You must be losing yo gotdamn mind! Who the hell do you think you are walking in here after you been gone for two damn weeks?”

  Don awoke at the sound of his mother's irate voice and stared at her for a minute trying to focus his weary eyes. “C'mon Ma, you acting like you didn't know where I was at. I called Rhonda and told her to tell you where I was. You hollering and I got a headache.”

  “This is my damn house! I can holler around here as long as I want to! You don't pay no damn bills around here! Boy, I know for sure that you have done lost your damn mind! Who do you think you talking to? I ain't one of your little hoodrats! I wish your father was here to set your ass straight! You wouldn't be doing this stuff if your father was alive! I swear, I work too hard to have to put up with this bullshit!”

  Deciding that he had his fill of his mother's yelling, Don turned toward the wall with his back to her. That only made her yell louder.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Your ass is gone end up in jail running them streets like you ain't got the sense God gave a billy goat! I didn't raise you like this! I don't go to work and school so you can have a place to lay your head when you're tired of running the streets! You think it's a joke out there! Yeah, it's big fun! It always is until somebody blow your gotdamn head off or you get yo ass into some trouble that you can't get out of! I see young boys like you all the time! Think they so smart and they know it all! We stuff little boys like you into body bags every day! Donald Haskill, I am talking to you! Do you hear me?”

  He pulled the cover over his head. “Yeah, I hear you, Ma. Everybody in the neighborhood can hear you. You picked a fine time to come up in here with all that hollering. You finally managed to remember that you got two kids and now you want to act like a mother. You don't be acting like a mother when you over yo boyfriend's house. You don't come home, so why should I?”

  Baffled, Hazel Haskill stood for a second looking at her son's form under his covers. She let out a disgusted sigh as she quietly said, “I don't believe you just said that. I guess that I was wrong thinking that my almost-grown children could understand that for the first time in a long time, I'm happy. You are not about to make me feel guilty for living my life. I've always taken care of my children and you're not going to make me feel like I haven't. What I don't deserve to have someone who cares about me and that I enjoy spending time with?”

  “I don't care, Ma. It's your life. Like you said, we too old for you to be worrying about. I won't do it no more. Now can I go back to sleep?”

  “You know what, Donald, forget it,” she said. Knowing that she was wasting her breath, she stormed out of his room and slammed the door.

  Don knew from experience that his mother's bark was a thousand times worse than her bite. She had yelled at him millions of times, but she never hit him or threatened to put him out. It was so rare that he saw his mother, he hated that she seemed to be yelling whenever he did. Underneath the covers he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  It was storming outside when he awoke the next afternoon. With his bedroom window wide open he sat and watched the jagged lightning flash across the sea-water–hued sky. The heavy rain pelting against the trees, cars, houses, and concrete made him depressed. After checking to make sure no one was home, he returned to his room and watched the thunderstorm as he smoked premos.

  Later in the evening the storm passed and he ventured out. His small supply of drugs was dwindling and he needed to pick up a few bags of crack. He still had a couple of nickel bags of weed, but without crack he just didn't want to smoke it. As he dressed, looking out the window, the dark streets of the ghetto looked inviting.

  He headed out the door with the pool hall in his mind, but his feet steered him toward Harper Court. Along his journey he spotted a familiar figure standing at the bus stop. He slowed his walk to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating or mistaken. It was Juanita.

  Quietly he snuck up on her. She never felt his presence until he had backhanded her in the mouth. He complemented the slap with a left jab to the ribs that buckled her knees. He rocketed a right hand to her jaw that lifted her off her feet to finish her off. With a whoosh she landed on her butt, hard. He prepared to stomp her.

  “Bitch, where my shit at?” he snarled.

  Juanita lay on the ground holding her jaw with one hand and her ribs with the other.

  “Damn, Don, you ain't have to hit me like that. I ain't do shit.”

  The sight of her on the ground with her miniskirt hiked up exposing her scar-free, caramel legs aroused him. Don realized that he really wasn't all that angry about the crack she had stolen. He was just going through the motions. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he really missed her—her company, her soft body, her expertise with her mouth. Extending his hand, he helped Juanita to her feet.

  Inches from her face, he threatened, “First of all, bitch, if you ever steal anything from me again, Imma stomp yo fuckin’ guts out. Imma shoot you in yo fuckin’ thieving-ass hands. Second, now you my motherfuckin’ woman so where the fuck is you going?”

  Cowering, she answered, “I was finta go to the Westside and try to find my brothers so I could get some money to get something to eat. I'm hungry as hell.”

  “Well, bitch, you ain't going to the Westside no more, you going with me. I'll feed you as soon as I pick up this package from them niggas at Harper Court. C'mon.”

  Don started walking. Happy to be let off the hook Juanita fell right into step—plus she knew what he was going to Harper Court to get. They walked along silently until they reached the gate to enter the park. Diego wasn't around, but his workers peddled his wares, regardless of weather, time, or police. Don swung the rusty gate open. He approached one of the workers and purchased an eightball. Elated that his cop was successful, they went to Don's house.

  At home, Rhonda was preoccupied in her bedroom with studying and talking on the telephone, so she didn't see the couple walk past her room. Once in his room, Don went through the ritual of placing a towel at the bottom of his door. Juanita sat on Don's bed and looked around. It was a typical teenage boy's room. Posters of basketball players and rappers hung on the wall and a few small trophies were displayed on the top of Don's dresser. Clothes were tossed on the floor.

  As Don prepared to smash down a piece of the eightball to make crack powder, he asked, “Bitch, what was you thinking when you ran off with my shit? I couldn't even believe that you peeled me like that. What—you wadn't having a good enough time?”

  “
It was cool,” she pouted. “When y'all got to gambling you forgot all about me like I didn't mean shit to you. That hurt my feelings. At first I thought you was really digging me, but the minute Diego and those fools showed up you didn't pay me any more attention. That made me jealous and mad. That's why I took yo stuff so you wouldn't never forget me again.”

  “Shit, you tripping on that dice game, Diego and them goofies had big paper on them and we was trying to separate them from it. I'm sorry that it took so long, but when the gamble is good you got to stick with it. Now gone stick a few Tops for me and help me break down this weed.”

  In silence they removed the stems and seeds from the weed and each of them set up a joint to be rolled. Don sprin kled his with crack rather thoroughly, but if his was a snowfall, Juanita's was a blizzard.

  “Damn, girl, I can't even see the weed on that boy with all that coke on it,” Don commented as he sealed his premo.

  “It's just that Diego and them shit be a little weak,” Juanita said bashfully. “You got to really lace these motherfuckas to get high.”

  “Whatever,” he said as he waved his lighter back and forth on his joint to dry the rolling papers and fuse the marijuana and crack together. After smoking his premo and engaging in another marathon sex session with Juanita, Don fell fast asleep.

  However, Juanita was wide awake. She waited until she was sure that Don was sound asleep and called his name softly several times. When he didn't respond she was satisfied that he wouldn't awaken anytime soon. She retrieved her purse from the dresser. She opened it and removed a glass crackpipe and a cheap cigarette lighter. Wanda had shown her how to take the metal part off the lighter and use the small lever in the back to turn the gas up to produce a makeshift torch. Her crackpipe wasn't as elegant as Wanda's, but it got the job done. First she inspected it for cracks in the glass and then she made sure that the screen was still in place. She pinched a rock from the pile of crack on the saucer under the bed and dropped it in the pipe bowl. Flicking the lighter, she held the orange flame to the crack and with her lips on the stem pulled the white-hot smoke into her mouth. The rock sizzled on the pipe screen and melted.

  Don caught her completely off guard. He snapped, “Bitch, what the fuck do you think you doing!”

  Juanita was so scared she almost dropped her pipe. She was busted—there was no denying it. It was too late to hide her equipment. Now if she could just get out of this one without getting her ass beat.

  She crawled on the bed with Don and pressed her naked breasts against his chest. With her free hand she gripped him between his legs. With tugs and jerks she began to arouse him. He felt his nature rising, but tried to ignore it and pursue his line of questioning.

  “Bitch, I know you ain't smoking the hooter in my momma's house! Let go of my swipe, you hear me talking to you!”

  “I'm sorry Don-Don, I wasn't trying to disrespect yo mama's crib. It's just that after that good fucking you just gave me I wanted a bump off the whistle, you know. If you want me to leave, then I'll go.”

  She accentuated every word with flutters on his member. She could tell that he didn't want her to go. Since Wanda had turned her on now it was time to pass on her knowledge.

  She cooed, “Don-Don baby, I'm sorry, boo. It's just that I was looking out for you. We be wasting all that good-ass crack on them pussy-ass premos. All we smoking is paper. That shit don't even get me high no more. And if you think it feel good when I suck yo dick when you smoking a 'mo, wait till you try it smoking the pipe.”

  From the curious expression on his face, Juanita knew Don was buying her line of bullshit. A little more prodding and he would be eating out of her hand.

  Meekly, Don asked, “Girl, how you know that shit ain't gone fuck a nigga around? I mean smoking 'mos is one thing. To tell you the truth they ain't get me anywhere near as high as they used to. I'm cool with premos. That way you smoking weed and crack, but with the pipe all you smoking is crack. The hooter ain't shit to fuck around with. I heard that shit can kill a motherfucka. I ain't finta be no hype neither.”

  “Don, I know a down-ass nigga like you don't believe everything you hear. A big, bad nigga scared of the little ole pipe.” She laughed scornfully. “Everybody is doing this shit. You can't even tell because everybody don't turn into no clucker. That only be those weak-minded motherfuckas that can't handle their drugs. Them and old people. Young people like me and you can't get addicted like that. Plus them people's lives already be fucked up. Then they start smoking and everybody want to blame it on the crack, but how you start off is how you finish. If you was fucked up before you started smoking then you gone be doubly fucked up when you is smoking. But look at people like me and you. This shit can't fuck us up 'cause we already straight. Plus with premos all we doing is smoking the paper pipe. Smoking crack is smoking crack, I don't care how you do it. Plus you don't have that crazy ass noid feeling that weed give you. You better get with it. This shit is going on. It makes you feel like a super motherfucka. Try it. I guarantee that you ain't gone never find nothing that make you feel as good as this.”

  Juanita's words, and her grinding and fondling of him, had him confused. Before he knew it Don had the glass stem between his lips taking his first blast. Juanita doubled his pleasure by giving him a simultaneous blow job. To him, it felt like his entire nervous system was being sucked into her mouth. Somehow he managed to synchronize his next hit with his ejaculation. He wanted to scream for her to stop, but he didn't dare. Dropping the lighter, he sank back onto the pillows. He never saw Juanita's sly smile as she headed for the bathroom to rinse out her mouth.

  6

  TWO-AND-A-HALF WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE DON'S first hit of the crackpipe. He had spent every last cent of the money he had stolen from his friends. It had taken the connivance of his girlfriend and the space of a little over a month and a half to change him from a friendly, outgoing youth into a paranoid recluse. Juanita was his constant companion. He ventured outside the safe confines of his home only for crack or cigarettes.

  Dark circles appeared under his eyes from lack of sleep; his weight dropped off by the pounds. His diet consisted of candy bars, Cheetos, and chicken wings. Don's once unblemished face was now pockmarked with pimples and blackheads.

  For a time his friends still tried to kick it with him, but they found him distant. They were unaware that his growing crack habit was responsible for his aloofness. He began to borrow money from them and never repaid it. Dre, his best friend since third grade, knew that Don was going through a thang, but he didn't suspect that his troubles stemmed from drug abuse. Not one to abandon a friend, Dre tried for a while to tolerate Don's moodiness, but even he began to fade out of the picture.

  Rhonda had no idea of what was going on with her little brother. She blamed Juanita for all of her brother's recent changes. All she knew was that before Juanita started coming around her brother seemed normal. Rhonda hated the hold Juanita seemed to have over Don—she couldn't stand the girl. It was exasperating to see that young tramp leading her brother around by the nose.

  One Saturday morning when Juanita walked to the store to buy a couple of loose cigarettes, Rhonda decided to try and talk to her brother about his girlfriend. She knocked on his door.

  “Who that?” Don asked as he duffed the pipe he was cleaning under his pillow.

  “It's Rhonda,” she said sweetly. “I want to holler at you for a minute.”

  “What you want?”

  “Boy, let me in this damn room.”

  “Hold on,” Don said as his eyes swept the room to make sure there wasn't any incriminating paraphernalia laying around. Content that he could stand a light inspection, he walked over to the door and lifted the latch. “Come in, girl.”

  Rhonda entered the room, noticing a strange burnt odor, but she didn't know what it was. She looked over at her brother. He had returned to his bed and flopped across it. “You need to let some air in this damn room, boy. It stink in here. I hope that ain't yo feet smelling li
ke mildewed cardboard.”

  Don raised his middle finger. “I know you ain't bother me just to tell me that my room stank. You worry about your room and I'll worry about mine. What you want?”

  “Look boy, I just came up here to see what's up with my little brother.”

  “What you mean what's up with me? Shit.”

  “Something's up. You don't kick it with yo buddies no more. No basketball. A couple of weeks ago you couldn't be paid to stay in the house, now it seem like you never leave. You used to attempt to go to school, but a letter came from the school saying that you haven't attended school this semester. I ain't even showed it to Mama yet.”

  “She don't care. If it ain't got nothing to do with them fucking cops, a schoolbook, or her faggot-ass man, she don't want to know nothing about it.”

  “Mama do care. It's just that for the first time in a long time she got a chance to be happy. She ain't got to be here nursemaiding us. We grown. Well I am anyway, you just think you grown. Laying up with that little hood booger.”

  “That's what this about. Juanita. You just don't like her. Well, you ain't got to like her. She's my woman. What yo lonely ass need to do is get you a man so you can stop worrying about what I'm doing and who I'm doing it with. Sound like you jelly of her.”

  Don's comment blew Rhonda's mind. “I know you don't think I'm jealous of that slut. You have got to be kidding me. Jealous of what? She ain't got shit. Not a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. Boy, you are really bullshitting yourself if you think I'm jealous of that homeless-ass tramp.”

  “Yeah, well why you all up in here talking shit about her,” Don snarled.

  Rhonda had to catch her breath before she said any more. She hadn't come up here to argue with her brother. “Look, Don-Don. I just came up here to check on you. I don't know what's going on with you, but I don't like it. You done lost all yo weight and your face is looking bad. You ain't had yo hair cut and there's a crazy odor always coming from yo room. You can talk to me 'bout anything. I'm your big sister and I love you.”