Lawd, Mo' Drama Read online

  LAWD, MO’DRAMA

  OTHER BOOKS BY TINA BROOKS MCKINNEY

  All That Drama

  Strebor Books

  P.O. Box 6505

  Largo, MD 20792

  http://www.streborbooks.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Lawd, Mo Drama © 2007 by Tina Brooks McKinney

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4165-6065-4

  ISBN 10: 1-4165-6065-3

  LCCN 2005920448

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  DEDICATION

  To Jimmy Hurd, author of Turnaround and Ice Dancer:

  your genius with a pen will be missed—you really left us too soon.

  If I’d known I was in the presence of an angel waiting to ascend, I would have been more proactive to spend time with you. All I know is that you touched my life in a brief period of time and I feel cheated. I wish I could go back to the day I first met you and surround myself in your warmth. But I can’t, you’re now a shining star for all of us, showing us the way. Damn, Jimmy, I miss you, I ain’t even gonna lie. But you taught me something in your passing. I will never take life for granted and I will never, ever pass over an opportunity to tell someone how much they mean to me. You will never know how much you meant to me.

  You left too soon.

  I love you!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Once again, I must thank God first for showing me the way to this literary world. As a child, I always loved to read so I thank him for giving me the courage to go one step further. With that said I of course would like to thank Zane and the Strebor staff for believing in me. Charmaine, you deserve a special shout-out for all your hard work and efforts on our behalf. I can’t thank you enough. Pardon the length of these acknowledgements but I have a whole lot of folks that I need to thank and some I want to put on blast!

  I also can’t help but to thank my husband, William, for putting up with me always focused on this laptop every night and never complaining out loud about it. My children, Shannan and Estrell, thanks for showing up at my signings and telling everyone that will stand still about my book. My sister, Theresa, for all delightful flyers and the love you show me. My mother, Judy, and my father, Ivor, I got nothing but love for both of you! It’s been a long road but I am beginning to see the light. Special shouts out to my longtime friends Angie, Val, Andrea, high school friends Launa, Tammy, Lessia, Muriel and Wanda for always having my back, I do appreciate ya’ll.

  Tee C. Royal is another shining star in my book. She is one of the “real” people in this industry that ain’t in it for the money but for the love of books.

  To Shelley Halima, Harold Turley, Darrien Lee, Allison Hobbs and Nane Quartay, I love you all and I can’t thank you enough for taking my late-night calls and support. Shelley, you’ve become more than just a writer friend, you’re more like a sista. In fact, I send the entire Strebor family a group hug, too! Remember to share the word, not just about your book, about all of our books. Special thanks to J. Marie Darden for editing Lawd, Mo’ Drama. As far as edits go, I had a lot of help, Kathy Shewbart, Gail McFarland, Jo Marie and Lenora Harrison. I hope I got everyone, if I forgot anyone charge it to the brain, not my heart!

  Cory and Heather Buford, how loudly can I say I love you for the web design that you did for me. If anyone is looking for a great web design team that is not trying to rip you off, please check out [email protected]! You won’t be sorry.

  Greatest appreciation goes out to my strong supporters, Muriel Broomfield, Dee Ford, Craig Barnett, Sam Willis, Mike Ray and Ronny Napier—Powertalk-FM, Kim Sims, Donna Cager, Dionne McKenzie, Marvin Meadows, Vanessa (I don’t know your last name but you sold the hell out of my books) and Lawd knows there are others but my mind froze. To those I didn’t mention you know I love you. Carla M. Walker and Tina R. Hayes for all that you have done for me and your fight against haterism, coming from a circle close to you! Janet my sister, I love you girl, C. Lindsay, (another writer ready to explode), VJ, another sister in spirit. Porchia Foxx, I miss your presence in our lives and can’t wait to hear you again on the radio. That other fool is driving me crazy! Thanks to you, Porchia, I have learned to make my haters my motivators!

  To all the reading/writing groups that I belong to, thank you. Special shouts out to Raw4all, Passion for Reading, Sexy Ebony Readers, APOOO, GAAL Book Club, The Sunshine Boys and a host of others, thank you for your support, I could not have made it without you and my heart is full when I think of your participation in my success. Also, thanks to all the book clubs that I didn’t mention that have showed me love. And I cannot forget Monica, David and the rest of her family that shows up at every Strebor event! I love you guys. Rowenna and Kim, ya’ll are off the chain and Stephanie Hester who has been with me from day one.

  To my fans, I can’t thank you enough for your kind emails and support. I cry at each of the emails that I receive and save them in a scrapbook. I love the interaction with you so please keep it up! Keep writing me and I will keep answering you! And if you’re an aspiring writer, just do it! Love you all.

  To fellow authors, T.L. Garner, Cydney Rax, Trista Russell, LaTanya Williams, Thomas Green, Gayle Sloan, Sybil Barkley, Allisha Yvonne, Vanessa Johnson, Eric Pete, Lissa Woodson, best of luck to you all! I can’t list all the authors who have touched my life as much as I would like but again charge it to running out of room this time.

  To my co-workers, Gaynell, Alita, Kelvin, Leslie, Talisa, Diane, Maceo (it’s so hard to be you), Bill, Grady, Turtlehead, Sherman and Al, thanks for supporting my book and showing me love.

  Not Alone

  By E

  A tragedy has occurred

  In this place we call home

  A victim of circumstances

  Whose cause is unknown

  Not quite living

  But not quite dead

  Food for thought for the person not eating

  But seeing this instead

  Why did God send my girl this way?

  The only changes she’ll be seeing

  Are in mattress frames,

  Room scheme & color decor

  But her footprints will never grace this floor

  My floor

  That I built just for her

  Lord

  Why me?

  I see

  My joy, my love, my world

  Sitting in her crib dead to my world

  No sound, no words

  My baby girl

  But to the end of her road

  I will carry the load

  As long as I’m living she’ll never be

  Alone

  LEAH

  I was sick and tired of being sick and tired! My energy was drained. For the first time in my life, I could understand why some women killed their children before turning the guns on themselves. Not that I’d made a conscious decision to do harm to my children. I was beginning to feel that it was the only way out of my current situation.

  My mind wandered as I sat at the kitchen table shuffling through a mountain of bills. I arranged the bills in order of importance and then by amounts. Any way I stacked them, I didn’t have the money. I picked up the phone to call the mortgage company to request an extension and sighed. I hated making “begging calls,” but this time I couldn’t put it off. A foreclosure notice was tacked on the door for the entire neighborhood to see. We didn’t have an
ywhere to go, so I had no choice but to grovel.

  A bored switchboard operator answered the phone.

  “I need to speak with someone about the status of my mortgage,” I said, trying to get mileage out of humility.

  “Hold on,” she said.

  I waited through seemingly endless country melodies. Just once, I would have liked to hear a song I could sing along to while I was placed on ignore. I was prepared to stay there a while longer when the line clicked over.

  “This is Mrs. Turner. May I help you?”

  “Hello.” I took a deep breath. “My name is Leah Simmons, and I need to speak to someone about a notice that was posted on my door yesterday.”

  “What is your account number?”

  I could tell by her voice that Mrs. Turner was a sister. I felt like I could be real with her. I read her the number, then held my breath in anticipation.

  “What is the name on the account?”

  “Um, Kentee Simmons,” I mumbled.

  “And you are?” She was all business, dashing my hopes for sympathy.

  “I’m his wife.” I drew another deep breath.

  “Mrs. Simmons, I cannot speak to you about this account since your name does not appear on it. You need to have your husband contact this office to discuss the account.”

  “That’s the problem.” I began to explain my situation, and I did not bother to hold back the stress and fear I was feeling. I sounded like an imperiled cartoon character to my own ears.

  “Mrs., um, Simmons, calm down, please, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” she said with more kindness. I was truly babbling and could not stop my anguished moans.

  “My husband left me with three small kids. My oldest is five and the twins are two. We have no food, no money, and now this! I don’t know where the hell he is, and I can’t wait on him to correct this. My family can’t be put out in the street!” I cried. As if slapped, all three children started crying in the background. I rose from the table and stumbled into the bedroom so I could hear what Mrs. Turner was saying. I didn’t like leaving my children in a distressed state, but I wasn’t able to hear anything above their chorus.

  “Hold on,” she said, placing me back on hold and forcing me to listen to that awful country music.

  While waiting, I tried to compose myself. I absolutely hated having to make that call, and loathed Kentee for putting us in that situation. Before I met Kentee, I had a good job and was doing fine. He talked me into quitting my job and having babies but, at the first sign of trouble, he left our asses. I wish I had listened to Marie!

  The phone line clicked. “Mrs. Simmons, I need to get a number so I can call you back. I’ll try to help you, but you have to understand our rules. If I discuss this loan with you, I’ll be terminated. The bank monitors any call over three minutes, so I need to go. I’ll phone you on my break,” Mrs. Turner said.

  Relieved, I gave her my number and prayed that she would call before the phone was disconnected.

  Kayla, my oldest child, was banging on the door demanding to be let in. She was my drama queen. I could not have a pity party unless she joined in. Ever since Kentee left me, Kayla cried every time I shed a tear. Even when I snuck into the bathroom for a solitary cry, her radar detected my distress, and she sought me out.

  “Lawd Jesus,” I lamented. “Can’t I have five seconds of peace?” I yelled, hoping Kayla would get the message. It was a silly thought, since Kayla was only five going on six. She understood nothing outside of her own wants and needs. She had matured since the birth of the twins but still required special attention.

  The twins were another story. Malik was a dream child and almost a loner. He was content to sit in his room or in the living room playing quietly. He did not like a lot of noise and preferred to do everything himself. Mya, on the other hand, was off the chain! The twins were born two weeks early. I had an emergency C-section because Mya was not in birthing position. She kept getting in Malik’s way, so the surgeons had to go in and get them both at the last minute. Malik came out first and they had to fight to get to Mya.

  Although the doctors assured me that neither of them had suffered any brain damage, I was beginning to have doubts about Mya. She was not developing as fast as her brother, and she had these inexplicable tantrums that I couldn’t understand.

  The noise level on the other side of the door was deafening. I opened the door and left the bedroom, realizing that peace would not be found there. Kayla was curled up in a ball in front of the door. I wanted to step over her, but I did not. I helped her up, wiping away her tears. When Kentee left, Kayla had reverted to wetting the bed and her clothes. To avoid embarrassment, I had resorted to putting diapers on her. I needed a conveyor belt to wipe all their butts and keep them clean. I should have also been receiving a residual check from Pampers for all the money I had spent with them.

  “I’m hungry, Mommy,” Kayla whined.

  I glanced at my watch and realized that I had missed fixing their breakfast. It was already lunchtime. The whimpering that normally grated my nerves only shamed me this time. She was right and I was wrong. I led Kayla to a chair and went to look in the cabinets to see what I could fix.

  “Mommy,” Kayla whispered.

  “What?” I mimicked her whisper.

  “What’s wrong with Mya?”

  I was floored. I could not think of a response that would satisfy her. I didn’t know my damn self.

  “Honey, Mommy doesn’t know.”

  It was not much of a response, but it satisfied her curiosity for the moment. I continued pulling things out of the cabinet. The pickings were slim. I would have to go to the grocery store soon but it was too big of an ordeal; requiring planning and money. Kayla and Malik would be yelling out the things they wanted added to the cart and Mya would scream if anyone looked at her. Because of her heightened sense of smell, she hated all cleaning products and would toss them out of the cart every chance she got; leaving liquid spills up and down the grocery aisles.

  I decided to wait on the store until after I dropped the kids off at my mother’s. My mind was spinning, and I found no relief. Kayla was right, there was something wrong with Mya and none of the doctors I had taken her to had offered a reasonable diagnosis. I attributed that to not having insurance. The emergency room could only handle so much. Kentee decided to cancel our insurance after the children were born. He claimed he made enough money to pay his bills and that insurance should be called “just in case” because most folks did not use it and never got their money’s worth. Although I didn’t agree with his premise I could not make him spend his money on things he didn’t believe in.

  Unlike her brother, Mya still did not sleep through the night. At times during the day she would have these little fits; constantly screaming and kicking. Her fits were not tied to any particular situation; she fell out for no reason. How was I supposed to explain that to Kayla when I didn’t understand it myself?

  Like a robot, I fixed lunch on autopilot. I did not even remember cleaning up the kitchen. I was worn out and, despite all the love I had in my heart for my children, I had nothing else to give.

  I shoved the pile of bills onto the floor and lowered my head to the table. My mind wandered again. I thought of putting an end to all of the pain and frustration. Too tired to think, I waited for the phone to ring and end the suspense that had been building up all day.

  Yesterday, while my mother watched the kids, I went to different churches and non-profit agencies trying to get some assistance. I managed to scrounge up $125 from the Salvation Army, $750 from St. Vincent de Paul, and another $500 from various churches. Families in Need was also reviewing my case to see if they could assist me to cover expenses like my light and phone bills. But if I lost the house, I would need that money to cover rental expenses somewhere else.

  I felt the tension knot that had formed in the top of my head move closer to the center as I tried to hold back tears. My eyes were already so swollen I doubted they would
ever return to normal.

  For the life of me, I could not understand how my relationship with Kentee had taken such a drastic turn. Flashes of my life—before and after the children—ran through my brain. Sure, things were different since we had kids, but I thought he would expect that. “Was I living in a vacuum where he couldn’t see what I was dealing with?” I questioned the walls, but I did not get a response.

  I used to greet Kentee naked—or damn near naked—when he came home from work. As long as Kayla was bedded down, I would sit on his lap and feed him his supper. I kept a spotless house and took special care of my appearance.

  But that was then, and this is now. After the twins’ arrival, Kentee normally came home to find my hair standing on end and the house turned upside down, with no place to walk, let alone sit. And forget about a home-cooked meal. I assumed he understood but, obviously, he didn’t.

  The shrill ringing of the phone interrupted my musing. A quick glance at the clock told me that I had lost an entire day and had no idea where it had gone.

  “Hello,” I answered, my voice shaking.

  “Mrs. Simmons?”

  “This is she.”

  “This is Mrs. Turner from SunDale Bank. I spoke with you this morning. I did some checking to be certain I relayed the proper information to you. I discovered that I was the loan officer assigned to your husband’s account when he first applied for the house you currently reside in. I need to make sure you understand that I have risked my job to call you. I’m doing this because I can relate to your situation. If you tell anyone where you got this information, I’ll deny it. Is that clear?”