Strange Days

I was oblivious to the shit my mother was going thru by being a "white" woman in the 50's (technically she's Puerto rican/Cherokee and her father was Irish) having me by a half african, half sicilian man and then going on to marry a full blooded black man. Her family cut her off, her mother wouldnt speak to her, and her brother said she died.

I was quite oblivious to race period...i was a black-haired curly-topped light skinned-ed kid, with my "black" nose, my little friends at that time were black, white, purto rican, chinese and I think one of the kids was portugese. We lived in an apartment building, that was clean and safe enought to not be called the projects, and it was wonderful. Walks to Weequhae(sp) park down the street, mommas having their sun chairs in the back parking lot while the kids played there.


I remember being the oldest, and anything that came out of my mouth was true to them kids. They would look up at me in wonder as I told them about aliens that took people to their planets, sharks that could swim on land, bugs that lived in your mattress and most of all the man who lived in the basement apt all the way at the end of the parking lot.

the end of the parking lot was where the last buliding sat, along with the huge metal garbage dumps, broken cars, mattresses, old sneakers hung from the wire, and you just know there was a rabid dog in there somewhere, not to mention a rat or two.

So as the mothers lay sunning, gossiping and drinking, we would huddle across the yard, and everone would look up at me expectantly for the story of the day. Would it be sharks (afterwards, I'd chase them around with the du du....du du....dudududu..." shark sound while they screamed. Which I always got in trouble for, go figure, I wasnt the one screaming! Or maybe the story about the aliens, and how they came to my room last night and asked me who they should pick up next, and have them beg me for hours to see if I had given their name, lol, some were actually hoping I did, but I never got fooled by that.

Or maybe...today was the day, when we talked about MR WILSON! Mr wilson lived in the basement apartment in the last building at the end of the parking lot. While all the other buildings were accessable thru the basement door, his wasnt cause it was piled high with shit, and you would have to wade thru it to even get to the door...and then there was the smell...So I would start out by how he moved here, as we slowly made our way to the end of the parking lot.....strolling nonchalontly I would, tell of his evil exploints and having been in jail for killing and eating little kids, the we would round the rusty oldsmobile and be face to face with his basement door.

Why was it dark down here when it was sunny out? I never knew. I would keep up the soothing conversation as we walked closer, I was so smooth, some kids even leaned on the rail to hear me clearer, towards the end of my tail my voice would get higher and higher, until i was screaming that he was coming and banging to make sure they thought he was and OH, the shrieks...(you should have heard the horrendous noise that came out of these kids mouths), across the parking lot like some hysterical ambulance wailing at the top of their lungs....some even crying.....screaming MissssTER WALKeeeeerrr gonnnne get UUUUUUUUUsssssss. The mothers would put down their drinks and books, in anticipation of the deluge of children jumping into their laps and just look at me.

My mother would look at me thru her dark glasses....finally she would pull them down onto her nose so I could see her eyes and say "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

In an attempt not to laugh, i would slam the toe of my Ked on the ground just hard enough to hurt (cause oh if she saw me laugh, i would be hurting much more)::shrugging:: "Nothin momma, I was just telling them a story."

"Well your stories are fucking killing us" she'd say and the other women would murmer with approval. "Sorry?" I'd say. "Go on and play" she would say, and "NO MORE STORIES!"

who waS she kidding? the kids would beg for it, i was like a story junkie and they were jonesing for the high i gave them...they couldnt get this shit in school, at nightime bedstories, reading time at the library....hell nah, this was the real deal right here, I even had a kid piss in his pants once. I got a beating for that one. They would be on me from the time I walked out the door, tell us a story, tell us about Mister wilson, you can have my candy....you can have my toy, just tell us a story.

What could I do?

I told em a story and it went that way the whole summer....the more I said no, the more they begged, the more I gave in, the more I got my ass whooped. What a summer.