Hood Lemonade Jamika's Vendetta Read online

  Dedication:

  Every woman that has ever doubted herself, made mistakes, been betrayed, wiped her tear-stained face, overcame obstacles and went through heart-break and/or loss. Yes, you fell down but you keep getting back up. This one’s for you!

  Acknowledgments:

  First and foremost, I want to thank the Most High for giving me the gift to write and the perseverance to see it through and for every trial and tribulation I went through to have the experiences I needed to write this story. Thank you for your many and continued blessings.

  My sons, Elbun Jr. and Taeshaun. My life hasn’t been the same since you guys entered it. You are the definition of unconditional love. I appreciate your patience when I’m super busy or have to be away, and your arms that are always open and waiting for me when I return. I love you beyond words, forever!

  Special thanks to my family, friends and beta-readers for believing in me, reading my work and offering their constructive criticism. Thank you for being there and for giving it to me straight, with no chaser: My mother, Phyllis and sister, Sheena; My cousin and bestie, Nikia Baynham (KeKe); Dana Smith, Patricia Johnson, Earl Dodd, the Hunnighan family, Michael Rogers and Cyntia Jean; My Publisher, Tamika Newhouse; Editor, Kiera J. Northington; My Author friends, Yasheca, Phoenix, and Ladonna for being genuine and helping the “new girl”. Y’all are the ish and I couldn’t do it without you!

  To my ‘Love Jones’ Open Mic Family: Rebecca “Butterfly” Vaughns, DJ Inspecta, Enigma, Jo, Ebunix, Lil Ebunix, Mark These Wordz, Red Wordz, Jordan, Shameka “Poetry” Thomas, Young Merk, Winky, Ladi Medusa, See No Evil, Brillo and all of you for your support and for keeping the creative sparks in front of me; To all people originating in the hood or poverty stricken areas, who first-hand understands the struggle; And lastly but definitely not least - to you, my beloved readers, supporters, and social media friends/followers/fans and everyone else who buys this book, I thank you ALL in advance.

  Sincerely,

  T.J. Hope

  Visit me online at www.tanishahope.com

  Chapter One

  As Jamika looked down the barrel of his Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum, her life flashed before her eyes. She wasn’t that surprised that her life would end at the hands of a man. It seemed that both life and men have had a vendetta against her for as long as she could remember. She always seemed to be slowly hurling toward this end. Bad situations seemed to follow and stick to her, like flies on shit.

  Her first memory of this was back in New Jersey, when she was five. Her mother, Felise, had her young, and had to be about twenty-one years old at the time. Felise loved to party, so Jamika and her eight-year-old friend Lil’ Tray had plenty of time to explore the grimy streets of Newark. They hadn’t realized just how dangerous their hood was, until the day their perception changed.

  Lil’ Tray was the cute, mischievous type. He was slick, with the IQ of at least a twelve-year-old and was always talking the Dope Boys on the corner out of their change. They got a kick out of how street smart he was to be so young. He was rough, but never with Jamika. He treated her like a little sister and many days let her help him spend his change at the corner store.

  It was starting to get dark, so they decided to walk to the store for sodas before their mothers called them in. As they walked in the store past the beer case to where the sodas were kept, Jamika said, “I can’t wait ‘til I grow up.”

  “Why?” asked Lil’ Tray.

  “Because, I wanna drink beer, my momma always be happy when she drink beer.”

  “Yeah, mine too. Wanna get some?”

  “He not gonna let us buy beer.”

  “Just watch out for me.”

  Jamika peered down the aisle at the store clerk, who was busy arguing with an angry customer that claimed she’d sent her son to buy items and he’d been cheated. Jamika gave Tray the ‘go ahead’ with the wave of her hand, and he stuffed the beer under his arm inside his jacket. They walked up to the counter and placed fifty cents next to the arguing woman, and gestured to the two twenty-five cent sodas they had selected.

  It had gotten a little darker, and both children started to feel a little afraid walking down the streets of the neighborhood without an adult. Jamika said, “Tray, let’s go on to your house ‘fore your momma get mad.”

  Tray answered, “It won’t take long to drink it, let’s go to our secret hideout.”

  Jamika and Lil’ Tray had their own hideout in their apartment building. There was a little side space on the bottom floor that led to an old utility closet, with downward slants in the door. Nobody ever went in there, but them. They would watch people come and go through the downward slants in the door.

  They sat in the old closet looking at one another. Finally, Little Tray popped open the can of beer and handed it to Jamika. “Uh-uh, you go first,” Jamika said.

  “You the one wanted to drink it,” argued Little Tray.

  “Uh…alright,” she agreed. Jamika took the can and took a big gulp. “Eeel…this isnasty,” she yelped while spitting the beer out. “Here, Tray.” Tray took the can from Jamika and swallowed. He drank more and more. Jamika looked at him confused. “You like that?” she asked.

  “Not really, but I don’t think you’re supposed to like it, it supposed to make you happy, remember?” he reminded her.

  “Oh yeah!”

  “Just hold your nose and drink it, that’s how I take my medicine when I am sick.”

  They sat exchanging the beer until there was none left. “I don’t feel too good,” Jamika said with her hand across her stomach.

  As she reached for the doorknob to leave, Lil’ Tray snatched her hand back and pulled the string to turn the closet light out. They could hear people approaching and he did not want anyone to find their secret hideout.

  Three men entered, but Jamika nor Lil’ Tray could see their faces. Only their pants and shoes were visible through the downward slants in the door. One of the men with Reebok sneakers on said, “Man, I’m fucked up, I want me some pussy tonight.”

  “Hell yeah,” replied another man with old, dirty no-name shoes on. They smelled heavily of alcohol and drug usage.

  Although the children only recognized one of the odors, their young instincts informed them that they might be in danger. They silently decided to remain quiet and still until the men left.

  “I have an idea,” the man wearing the Reebok sneakers was saying, “let’s wait in this little space over here and the first bitch to walk in here, let’s grab her and fuck the shit out of her.”

  “Man, you niggaz crazy,” another said, wearing jeans and Adidas sneakers.

  “You little punk, you don’t know how to hang. It ain’t gon’ take but a second. We’ll be all the way across town by the time somebody finds the bitch,” said the Reebok wearer, with authority.

  They stood there holding onto one another, afraid and unbelievably still, listening to the men laugh and talk with their sentences full of obscenities, for what seemed to be hours. Jamika did not know what ‘fuck the shit out of’ meant, but was sure that it couldn’t be a good thing. She was hoping that her mother was not the next woman to walk through the doors of their apartment building.

  It seems that before that thought could fully tantalize her mind, a woman entered the building. She no longer felt sick from the beer. She shivered violently against Lil’ Tray, afraid of what they were about to witness.

  They could make out in the dark, the woman being dragged to the small space, while being beaten and having her clothes ripped from her body. Two men were holding her down, while the third man had his way with her. Tray and Jamika could smell the foulness of their breath; odors of drug usage and feel their weight against the old c
loset door.

  The same fear that had entered Jamika earlier now came to Lil’ Tray. What if that was his mother? They could not tell if it was one of their mothers, enduring this brutal assault. Lil’ Tray reached up and pulled on the light string. The light came to life, illuminating the small space. He was sure that at that moment, one of the men would yank open the closet door and find them in there.

  The man that was between the lady’s legs, beating himself inside of her like her pain and covered screams meant nothing, didn’t see the lights come on because his eyes were closed. He stopped pumping her, because the other men had suddenly let her go. He opened his eyes and a look of horror crossed his face. He snatched himself from the woman and cried, “Mom, what are you doing on this side of town? Oh God! Momma! I am so sorry!” The man took off running as fast as he could. As he reached the street, a car horn could be heard, a car sliding on the snow-slicked street, and then the thud as a car struck the young man. The other two men ran off into the night.

  “Jamika!” Tray screamed. Jamika sat there, dazed. She had held her hands so tightly over her ears that they hurt, but she still had heard everything. She’d heard him but did not move. Tray grabbed her arm in one hand and the old closet doorknob in the other. They left together, stepping over the naked, bleeding, battered woman. They didn’t stop until they reached Lil’ Tray’s apartment.

  Peggy was jolted from her sleep by the intense pounding on her front door. She looked at the clock; it was 10:30 pm. She had been asleep since around 6:00. She ran to the door, realizing she had forgotten to call Lil’ Tray in. Who could be possibly banging on the door like that? Had something happened to the him? If not, she was going to beat his little ass for not coming in before dark.

  As Peggy reached the door and opened it, she saw both kids standing there shaken, eyes as big as quarters. In the distance, she heard sirens approaching, which wasn’t uncommon in this neighborhood. But, the way these children were looking at her made this time different. She knew they were somehow linked to that siren. “What in the hell is going on?” Peggy shouted at them through a voice still heavy with sleep.

  The children looked at one another then back at Peggy. Both were silent. “Jamika, what happened, baby?” Jamika’s eyes filled with silent tears and her lips quivered, but she could not speak. “Tray?” Peggy asked impulsively.

  “Mo-m-momma, a lady is hurt, a-and the man in jeans got hit by a car, w-we was there,” Tray stuttered.

  “What? Let me go see what is going on. Always some crazy shit going on around here. Why does your breath smell like beer? I know damn well you ain’t—” When Peggy realized how shaken the children were, she stopped herself in mid-sentence. “Make yourselves some sandwiches, there’s some potato chips on the counter; let me go see what in the hell is going on.”

  As Peggy approached the scene, many had gathered. Some heads turned to look at her, especially men. It is amazing how even in times of tragedy, men will still be men, she was thinking. Peggy was light-skinned, about 5’2”, with a small waist, rounded ass and a sexy walk that matched her feisty attitude. Felise, Jamika’s mother, was caramel-colored, about 5’5”, thinner than Peggy, with a figure that wouldn’t quit.

  Peggy spotted Felise, standing over at the corner, talking with her mother, Marjorie, and some other women she recognized that lived in the complex. “Girl, what happened?” she shouted over all the noise to Felise.

  “That guy got hit by a car,” Felise said, pointing to the young man in jeans and Adidas sneakers, now covered with a yellow tarp lying in the street.

  “He’s dead,” she continued, “that’s Ms. Baten’s son and they found her in the building naked and beaten up really bad.”

  “Are you talking about Ms. Baten that brings over the canned goods for the needy families?” asked Peggy.

  “Yes, they are questioning anyone that may have seen something and can help them to find the connection. She’s in some type of shock, critical condition, can’t say a word.”

  After Peggy explained to Felise what the children told her, they explained to the children that they couldn’t say a word. Neither woman wanted their child to be the center of an investigation, or put in a dangerous situation.

  They boarded up the old closet door and gave the kids a “when the street lights come on” curfew. They knew that this hood was slowly robbing their children of their innocence.

  Chapter Two

  Felise was on a long distance phone call with her grandmother, Big Momma. She had just finished telling her about the incident with Jamika and Little Tray witnessing the rape. She thought long and hard about sending Jamika to Ft. Lauderdale to live with Big Momma for a while. Ft. Lauderdale is where Felise had been raised. It was a lot safer than Newark. All of the extended family still lived there. They had many aunts, uncles and cousins. Jamika’s father, Sly, lived there also.

  Felise had met Sly at a football game, six years earlier. She was only sixteen years old and a junior at Dillard High School. Sly was a senior at Ely High School. At the Soul Bowl, the biggest rival game of the year, he had spotted her on the varsity cheerleading squad.

  She had been getting water from the cooler, upset that Ely had won, when she was tapped on the shoulder. She turned and couldn’t believe who was standing there. It was Gerard ‘Sly’ Patterson, the most notable high school running back in the county. She had heard about him from girls everywhere she went. They would talk about how attractive he was and how much they wanted him. Here he was tapping her on the shoulder. What could he possibly want with her?

  Felise was much too confident to let him intimidate her. She turned around and looked at him. He looked her up and down and walked a circle around her. “Why are you out here bending over like that, girl, you betta watch that big ole thang,” he said with a smirk, gesturing to her butt.

  “Well, I can’t help that. Is it okay if I get a drink of water?” she asked sarcastically.

  “I guess that’s no crime. Listen, I’ve been watching you from the field all night, and I’d like to get to know you. Why don’t you write down your number so I can give you a call?”

  Felise couldn’t believe her ears. Gerard Patterson wanted to get to know her. She considered herself to be attractive, but Gerard was way out of her league. She looked him over. He had dark, chocolate skin, a nice low haircut, hazel eyes, a broad chest, and firm calves and legs. “Well?” asked Gerard.

  She had wanted to blurt out, “Yes, yes,” but even then, she knew never to be too eager. Also, her mother did not allow for boys to call their apartment. “Hmmm. You give me yours,” she said.

  He quickly jotted down his telephone number and handed it to her. “You didn’t write your name on here,” she said, smiling.

  “You don’t know my name?” he asked, surprised.

  “No,” she’d lied.

  “It’s Gerard, and yours?”

  “Felise. When is a good time to call?” she asked nonchalantly.

  “Call me tonight, around eleven o’clock. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  “Okay, then.”

  On the bus ride back to school, the other cheerleaders had wanted to know what she and Gerard had talked about. Felise hadn’t said a word. She just smiled and looked out the window, thinking of him.

  That night, her mother had gone out and the timing was all right. She had called Gerard and they had hit it off. They spoke for three hours that night. By the time they hung up, she was calling him Sly and he was calling her Fe-Fe; they were meeting tomorrow after school.

  They had begun dating and everyone knew about the star running back and beautiful cheerleader that went to rival schools. He had been the first to talk Felise into sex. After only seven months, she was pregnant with Jamika. She told Marjorie, who decided that they would move to Newark to escape the ridicule of her sixteen-year-old daughter being pregnant. It was then 1984, and not an acceptable condition for a girl that age. They would go where they didn’t know anyone and start a new life.r />
  Jamika was born five months after the move, and they’d been there since. Jamika hadn’t ever met her father, and Felise hadn’t seen him since they left Florida. She found herself just a little curious as to what Sly was doing these days. If he had gone to college and pursued ball, he could be playing professional football by now. She imagined her little girl’s father as a football star. Going back to Ft. Lauderdale might not be such a bad idea after all. She’d have to finish her community college classes first.

  ***

  Marjorie’s boyfriend, Walter, was driving down to Miami to visit relatives. He had agreed to take Jamika to Ft. Lauderdale since he had to pass there anyway. Felise had agreed to send Jamika down for the summer only. Felise would be able to work and go to school without worrying about sitters.

  The decision had become final after the babysitter had held Jamika upside down by her ankles and shook her, because Jamika did not want to eat her peas. Felise had slapped the lady, and the police had gotten involved. No charges were filed.

  Marjorie made Jamika a basketful of food to hold her out over the trip. Marjorie, Felise, Peggy, and Lil’ Tray were all there to see her off. Felise said, “Now Jamika, I want you to be a good girl, it’s only for the summer and I’ll call you every week.”

  “Okay, Mommy,” replied Jamika.

  Marjorie kissed her, saying, “I love you, baby. See you soon.”

  “I love you too, Grandma.”

  Walter started the engine and Lil’ Tray jumped into the van. “You can’t go, she’ll be back,” said Peggy.

  “I just want to say bye,” said Lil’ Tray, as if he was losing his only friend. Lil’ Tray climbed in the back with Jamika and looked at her as if he would never see her again. “Jamika, take this so you’ll remember me.” He handed her a flattened quarter that had been run over by a train.