B-More Careful Page 3

  Acting more like a mean big step-sister than a mother, she constantly put down and scolded Netta for anything and everything. Netta’s only avenue of escape was school and the paper dolls she cut out of magazines and newspapers to play with. Learning came naturally to her. She excelled in school, but instead of encouraging her daughter, Renee poked fun at her calling her Ms. Smarty-Pants.

  The ghetto was getting the best of Renee. Over the years, it stripped her of all her hopes, dreams, morals and principals. With no hope in sight, she began drinking heavily, losing herself in the bottle. This accelerated the aging process. She began to look older than her years. When Renee turned twenty-six, she looked thirty-six. She felt forty-six, while her ten-year old daughter was looking all the youthfulness of a budding young lady. This made Renee jealous, and when she was drinking, she became verbally abusive to her young daughter. If Netta took too long doing her hair for school, Renee cursed her out.

  “Bitch, you ain’t cute. Stay the fuck out that damn mirror!” she would say.

  For Netta, locking herself in her room was merely the beginning. She did everything possible to avoid Renee. For Renee, one thing led to another. She swiftly slipped into the world of drugs. She gave up on life, accepting her conditions and her station in life. Dope would forever be her Achilles’ heel.

  While the dope was working its magic on her, the hostility toward her daughter disappeared. All the obscenities ended. But it didn’t matter, because by now Netta was immune to Renee’s foul mouth. Young and naïve though, Netta began to grow suspicious of her mother’s on-and-off displays of kindness. Until one day, home from school early, Netta found her mother nodding out on the toilet with a needle still stuck in her arm. This was a bad omen of what was to come.

  The measly monthly welfare check that the Jackson family received was gobbled up by Renee’s dope habit. With a dope fiend for a mother and an absentee father, times were hard for Netta. She confided her problems to Miss Mae, spilling her heart out about her mother’s addiction. Miss Mae comforted Netta, welcoming her into her home with open arms.

  Netta’s trips to Miss Mae’s house increased in light of her troubles at home. Making sure all her basic needs were met, she also planted seeds of wisdom in Netta’s young mind. She passed down old time morals and principles to Netta. They’d talk for hours at a time.

  Miss Mae would always tell her, “Looks are God-given, so be thankful! Praise is man given, so be humble. And conceit is self-given, be careful.”

  Nodding and listening, Netta absorbed every word. Trying to keep Netta grounded and level-headed as a young teen, Miss Mae stayed in her ear, giving her words of wisdom. Physically, she was beginning to fill out. Netta’s beauty was blossoming every day, and every day, Miss Mae would tell her, “Your body is a temple, cherish it!”

  This was a warning to Netta to examine everything that went inside her body. First and foremost were drugs. She didn’t want Netta to fall into the same trap so many others had. But Miss Mae didn’t have to tell her about the dangers of drugs. She had a living example of what not to do, her mother.

  Whenever Renee wasn’t high, she’d caution Netta about her frequent trips to Miss Mae’s house. You could hear the jealously dripping from her voice.

  “Stay away from that old lady’s house. You ain’t no baby no more. She ain’t ya mama. I am!”

  A day Netta will never forget in her lifetime was the week before her twelfth birthday. Her whole world turned upside down. She was on her way home from middle school, walking leisurely toward her building when she noticed flashing red lights from an ambulance and several police cars. Her gut feeling told her something was wrong. She made her way through the maze of bystanders to the entrance of her building when a gurney pushed by two EMS workers rolled by. Struggling to see the face of the person on the gurney through the crowd, she finally got a good look when one of the EMS workers slightly lifted the sheet. She saw the lifeless form of Miss Mae.

  “Oh, no, Miss Mae!” Netta screamed, as she reached for the lifeless body.

  “Ma’am, please step back,” the EMS worker asked, as he continued through the path of people gathered all around.

  As she stopped and took a few steps back a female EMS worker approached Netta.

  “Are you related to the victim, Marilyn Morris?”

  Netta didn’t even answer. How could she answer a question like that? She was more than related, Miss Mae was all she had. As tears began to stream down her face, Netta turned to the EMS worker and simply whispered, “She was my grandmother.”

  It was then she learned that her guardian angel had been the victim of a brutal robbery and rape. Some unidentified dope fiend assailant had pushed his way inside her home. Needless to say, Netta was crushed and overwhelmed with a feeling of incredible loss. Not just Miss Mae, but her safe haven was gone as well. That day was the last time she would ever cry over anything or anybody ever again. When Miss Mae died, a part of Netta died too.

  The clouds can be dark even when there’s no storm, and even in her drug-induced state, Renee was sympathetic towards Netta. Being kind, she gave her time and space to grieve. She knew how close the two were, but it always has to rain before the sun can shine again. So, it wasn’t too long after the funeral services of Miss Mae that it was on between the mother and daughter duo. For no apparent reason other than she could, Renee was at her daughter’s throat. Renee was miserable, agitated and aggravated over the lack of dope money. And when she was miserable, she had the tendency to attempt to make Netta or anyone who happened to be around her miserable. So, as soon as Netta walked through the door, she let loose a steam of cruses at her.

  “Bitch this! Hoe that! Where the fuck you been?” was all she repeatedly said. For a moment, Netta forgot she had a mother and she blacked out. Calmly, she walked toward Renee as if to go in her room. Then suddenly, she snatched Renee out of a chair by her shirt collar and slammed her into the wall. Still holding her collar, looking her dead in the eyes, Netta told her “Stop calling me bitch. My name is Netta.” She spelled it out for her. “N-E-T-T-A. If you ever call me out my name again, so help me God, I’ll kill you!”

  Then real calmly, she released her grip as if the blackout was over. She let her mother’s thin straggly body slide down the wall until her feet touched the floor, then she let her neck go.

  Terrified, Renee had never seen this side of Netta before. She shook her head in agreement.

  “Okay,” Renee said, catching her breath and regaining her composure.

  Her daughter was physically bigger than she was now and much stronger. Renee didn’t realize just how strong Netta was. However, she knew now. From that day forward, any thought Netta had ever entertained in her day dreams about a normal mother-daughter relationship ended with that incident. The two simply occupied the same space, and rarely, if ever, did they speak.

  Renee, being drug-induced and twisted, left Netta alone to fend for herself, with no parental support whatsoever. Her sick reasoning behind this was: Since Netta wants to act grown, let her be grown. Bitch ain’t gonna put her hands on me and then think I’ma bust my ass for her. Let her get her own.

  Nothing in life was ever given to Netta, but life itself. Sad to say, and so hard for people on the outside looking in to every really comprehend. Netta walked with an imaginary label that read ‘HAVE NOT’ on her forehead. So, she resorted to stealing and taking what she needed.

  Denied the bare necessities in life, like food and clothing, she had to do what she had to do. At thirteen, she began stealing food out of the grocery stores. At first, these thefts were out of necessity, but the rush of power she received from stealing after getting away with her crime turned Netta into a kleptomaniac. The more she got away with it, the more addictive stealing became. As time went on, it became an everyday habit. The name of the game to her was survival; adapt and adopt.

  When Renee would bring home her no-good junkie friends to get high with, Netta would watch them patiently through the cracked d
oorway of her bedroom. She’d sometimes make an appearance but would quickly return to her room as Renee told her she had to stay in her room whenever she had company. However, as soon as they would drift off in nod mode, Netta would relieve them of any and all valuables they had. She didn’t care if they had spare change, she was taking it. She stole everywhere she went. Life wasn’t fun and games. She had to steal to eat and that’s just how it was. Corner stores were among her first targets. Realizing those were too risky, she started hitting supermarkets, slipping in and out undetected.

  As the time passed and Netta turned fourteen, food was no longer the only necessity and clothing became just as important. Taking notice of how shabby her wardrobe was, she began to boost clothes. She felt like Cinderella, trying on all the new outfits in her room as she fixed her hair in a different style with every outfit she tried on. The stolen clothes she wore made her feel good about herself. She felt important like she was somebody.

  All the morals and principles she learned while under Miss Mae’s care were abandoned. Greed set in. Greed has the ability to blind a person, making wrong seem right, and vice versa. Greed can cause a person to change from good to bad, and Netta was ready and willing to change. Whatever it was, it had to be better than this. She had been a good girl all her life and what had it gotten her. She was tired of not having nothing or having to go without. Never again. Never again would she settle for less, when she needed more.

  Boosting clothes became Netta’s hustle. She became so good at it, hustlers would pay her in advance by placing orders for a specific article of clothing by a certain designer. Netta’s nifty trade of boosting for others turned clothes into cash. Now she didn’t have to steal food anymore. It was kind of hard thinking about solving math problems, when she hadn’t eaten, and her stomach was growling from hunger.

  Entering Southern High School for her freshman year, nobody could tell Netta a thing. She was the best dressed person in school, bar none. She had a unique sense of fashion. She was always wearing the latest designs from the hottest designers. Even teachers were impressed with her sense of style. She was the envy of half the school. To her, school was a fashion show. So, every day, she tried to make a fashion statement. She was turning the heads of both guys and girls alike.

  Not having anything for so long affected Netta so much that she became materialistic. Almost every girl at school hated Netta. Females can be so petty and jealous at times, especially over nothing. Now, Netta was the target of their hate. If they only knew all the trials and tribulations she went through to get what she had. If they only knew what her home life was like, they might have sympathized with her. But they didn’t. So, they couldn’t. All they saw was the fruits of her labor and all they knew was that the new girl was taking all the boys’ attention from them and they didn’t like it.

  Upper male classmates and her junior classmates were all trying to holler. They liked what they saw, but Netta had no time for boys. Day-to-day survival took up all of her time. Her mental development was way ahead of her physical desires, even though you couldn’t tell. When Netta walked into a classroom or down the hall, she deliberately walked provocatively. The seductive twists of her hips suggested that she had something between her legs that no other woman in the world had. The jeans and skirts she wore hugged every curve of her body, emphasizing her round ass. Her body language screamed all eyes on me. She was sexy, yet she carried herself with class.

  It was only a matter of time before some female drank a little too much haterade and tried their luck. In fact, that day arrived sooner, rather than later. In the cafeteria one day during lunch, a girl jumped in front of Netta standing in the lunch line. Pretending shit was a game and trying to play Netta, the girl bumped Netta for no reason, causing her to spill her canned soda. Netta immediately recognized this stunt as a test. Since it was a test, Netta was gonna make an example out of her, so she bumped the girl back.

  When the girl turned around to say something, Netta bashed her upside the head with the plastic food tray she was carrying. The swinging of the tray landed Netta’s lunch on everyone in reach. Seeing that her opponent was dazed, Netta jumped on her and proceeded to beat the shit out of her. Netta fought like a boy, punching the girl in the head like Sugar Shane. It took two male security guards to pull Netta off the girl and they almost got knocked out too. There was blood everywhere and not a drop of it Netta’s.

  Fighting gave Netta an adrenaline rush, like when she stole something nice. All the negative emotions she had pinned up inside her toward her mother were unleashed on her opponent. This was a way to vent her anger. Wild and reckless, no matter how big or small the opposition Netta fought them. In school or after school, it didn’t matter where. Every day she had something to prove.

  Willing herself to win, Netta’s fear propelled her on, even when she wanted to quit. The more she fought, the more vicious she became. Netta, tired of just throwing punches, now sought to disfigure her victims. Present yourself for battle and guard your grill. Her favorite way was to slice the face with a straight razor, leaving a nasty cut. She permanently marked people for life. Quickly, the word spread that she was crazy, and her fights ceased as quickly as they began.

  With other housing projects attending the same high school, her rivals never once jumped her. Murphy Homes was too deep at Southern; to jump one was to fight them all. Bonded by love for the hood, the Murphy Homes girls stuck together. Though none of these girls were actually Netta’s friends, they were associates. If anything, Netta was a solo. So, in exchange for watching her back, she’d hook them up with gear and clothing they couldn’t afford on their own. Generally, when she came up on something, they got hit off too. These acts of generosity endeared her to them.

  Aside from the distractions of fighting and boosting, Netta was a gifted student, intelligent with a quick wit. Learning came easy to her. She passed from grade to grade effortlessly. Getting good grades was a pattern she had established since elementary school. She had an uncanny ability to focus on the task at hand, no matter what was happening around her. She made the honor roll every year, maintaining a 3.7 grade point average.

  By eleventh grade, Netta was placed in advanced scholastic classes. Almost immediately, she soured to the idea of being in special classes. Because none of her peoples were there, it was a culture class for her. The geeks and the brainiacs in her class were mostly black. However, they weren’t from the hood. Even if they were, it didn’t matter, they just weren’t ‘bout it ‘bout it. The only thing Netta had in common with them was the color of her skin. Feeling out of place, she purposely let her grades slip. A semester later, she got dropped from the program.

  Back around her homegirls, Netta continued to prosper in class, but her mind wandered to boosting. She would cut class and go on stealing sprees, burning up all the local malls. She hit the Lakeside Mall, Mondawmin Mall, Security Mall and the Old Town Mall. Though she never got caught red-handed, she got hot. Her face became too familiar. She’d walk in the store and security would be right there like PADOW! It became very difficult for her to boost. So, she took her show on the road. Venturing out to neighboring states to do her dirty work, she hit Virginia, D.C. and Pennsylvania. These were places where security was more laxed, allowing her to grow more and more confident with each conquest. Maybe a bit over confident.

  Hearing about a local church-sponsored bus trip to New York, Netta decided to try her hand at boosting in the Big Apple. She bought a ticket for a seat on the bus and anxiously waited for the day of the trip. Little did ‘Miss No Receipt’ know, but this would turn out to be the one trip she would never forget.

  Chapter 3

  “Hittin’ in the hole, boy and girl! Cop and bop! It’s hot out here,” a worker shouted in the alley.

  “Line up. No change, no singles and unball that money!” another yelled.

  This was the concrete jungle Mimi had to navigate every morning on her way to parochial school. Passing dozens of dealers and fiends alike, her
only comfort was that she knew no one would dare bother her. Everyone knew Mimi and her notorious father, not to mention her twin brothers. The twins were two of the biggest drug dealers in Baltimore. Her father was an aging gangster who was still widely respected.

  North Avenue and Long was her block. It was one of the main drug strips in all of Baltimore. It was just a notch below the notorious Pennsylvania Ave. and Gold. Fiends from far and wide came here to sample of some of the best dope and coke in the city. Her new neighborhood was a far cry from her former county residence. But since her parent’s breakup, Mimi’s mother, Tina, wanted nothing from him, not even financial assistance.

  Humbling herself, Tina wanted no parts of her ex-gangster husband and her ex-gangster life. It was a tiring, draining life she had lived for most of her young and adult life. She didn’t want it anymore and she didn’t care about the money. So, Tina had no choice, she went back to work, saving just enough to buy a row house for her and her three children.

  Tamia Johnson, a.k.a. Mimi, was the baby of her family. She was also the only girl. Her family consisted of her two twin brothers, Timothy, a.k.a. Tim Tim, and Thomas, a.k.a. Tommy, her mother Tina and her father, Willie Johnson.

  A product of a failed marriage, Mimi’s dad dropped out of her daily life at the tender age of 10. The breakup was due to the constant arguments over Willie’s women, or legally speaking, ‘mistresses.’ And when he left, this caused the family foundation to crack. The man of the house was gone. So, her stable family which was once a blessing to Mimi slowly turned into a curse.

  Too young for Mimi to understand, her father Willie was from the old school. He was an old-time hustler. He had a gang of women and illegitimate kids. He also owned several bars scattered all over Baltimore. This is what caused the problems in his marriage. He believed it was all right for a man to be a man, as long as he took care of home. And Willie did that. His family was well taken care of. They never knew what it was like to do without. Willie was a very good hustler, and as a result, his family was what you would call ‘ghetto rich’.