Keysha's Drama (10 page)

T
he following morning, I woke up and for the first time in ages I felt very well rested. The bed I was sleeping in was the most comfortable bed I'd ever been on. It was just right; the linen smelled fresh, and the pillows were soft and fluffy. Just as I was enjoying my blissful moment, I was startled out of my mind by the presence of Barbara sitting in the vanity chair staring at me. It freaked me out because I didn't know what to think or what was about to go down.

“What's going on?” I asked as I quickly sat upright in my bed.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked with a wicked undertone in her voice and an evil glint in her eyes.

“I slept fine. Why are you in my room?” I didn't like the invasion of my privacy one bit.

“This is my house. I can go into any room of my choice.” I couldn't argue that point with her so I didn't.

“You and I need to have a little girl-to-girl chat,” Barbara said as she leaned forward in the seat and locked her gaze on me.

“You're Jordan's daughter, there is no denying that. You look more like him than Mike does. And since you were obviously conceived before Jordan and I were married, I can't hold your existence against him. Especially since he didn't know about you. But that's not what I'm here to talk about.”

“Well, get to the point,” I snapped at her. I didn't like her attitude or the way she was talking to me and I wanted to let her know it. It was bad enough that I didn't measure up to her standards but now she was about to reinforce my shortcomings.

“Yeah, we need to get some things ironed out. According to your social worker, Maggie, you're sexually active.” I twisted my lips and rolled my eyes at her.

“Yeah, I know about it.” She paused briefly. “There are some rules and boundaries we need to get ironed out. You will not set one foot back in this house if you go out and get yourself knocked up. I don't care if you are Jordan's daughter, getting pregnant out of wedlock is not acceptable.”

“Jordan knocked up my mama out of wedlock,” I reminded her.

“That was then, but this is now. I expect you to do well in school. Failing grades will not be tolerated and will be dealt with accordingly.”

“You know what, I'm not even trying to hear you. You don't know anything about me and you're not trying to, either. So you can just talk to my hand.” I held my hand up in front of her face.

“Do you know why I feel this way, little girl?” I didn't answer her question.

“Because I think you're going to follow in your mother's and your grandmother's footsteps and become a jailbird and a failure.”

“Whatever,” I snarled at her. “I'm not even trying to go to jail,” I said to her, even though I felt as if some situation would befall me and I'd end up in juvenile court for one reason or another.

“Then prove me wrong,” she said. “Prove me wrong by shocking the daylights out of me.”

I looked up at the ceiling because I didn't want to listen to her anymore.

“No boys are allowed in the house without an adult present.”

“So does that mean that Mike can't come in when I'm here all alone?” I was being a smart-ass because I didn't like her rules at all.

“You know what I mean. I don't want any of your male friends from your old neighborhood visiting this house,” she said, raising her voice at me. I could tell that my indifference and lack of fear were irritating her. I was getting a twisted joy out of it.

“So what are you trying to say? You think that just because I'm from the inner city that all of my friends are thugs, prostitutes and dope dealers?”

“Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if they were.” She moved my hand from in front of her face.

“I guess you don't know or see that Mike wants to be a thug. His pants were sagging more than anyone I've ever known.”

“He's just going through a phase, that's all. As long as he continues to be an honor student, I can live with his temporary fascination with hip-hop culture.”

“You have an answer for everything, don't you?”

“You know, Grandmother Katie will be going home soon.” She stood up. “And when she does, it will just be the two of us. And you should know I'm the only queen in this house.”

“Is that all?” I asked, glad to see she was about to leave. It was now very clear to me that we would never get along.

“For now. I'm sure we'll have future conversations, because I know you're going to mess up.” After that comment, she walked over to the door but stopped just before exiting.

“Oh, by the way, Grandmother Katie is taking you to my hairstylist so that your hair can be taken care of. I can't have you walking around looking bad about the head because it makes me look bad.” When she turned her back again, I stuck my tongue out at her in a gesture of defiance.

I really liked my Grandmother Katie. She had a way of knowing just what to say and how to say it without being offensive or mean-spirited. I also liked her because she didn't judge me. She accepted me for who I was and saw me as a young lady who was very badly bruised. I fell in love with her for understanding me in ways that I didn't understand myself. I enjoyed talking to her more than I did Jordan, my snotty brother, Mike, and my wicked stepmother, Barbara. What made her even more special was that we'd read some of the same books and had fun talking about them. Grandmother Katie said that once she returned home she'd ship me a few books that she thought would interest me. She was planning to leave on Wednesday, which I was rather sad about because she was the only person I felt comfortable talking to.

Late Sunday evening, I was sitting in my room with my back resting against the headboard of my bed. I was feeling rather sad because I had gone to the hairstylist and she'd had to cut most of my hair off because it was too damaged. I was also missing my mom and wished she and I could do things like going to get our hair and nails done. Grandmother Katie knocked on my door and asked if she could come in.

“How are you feeling this evening?” she asked. That was another thing that I liked about her. She seemed to be genuinely concerned about me.

“Kind of sad,” I said.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. I moved my feet so that she could sit on the bed with me.

“All my hair is gone, and I just miss my mother a little,” I admitted.

“Well, darling, your hair is nice. I bet in time you will grow to like it. And if I were you, I think I would miss my mother, too. You should take some time and go see about her.”

“I'm not ready. I mean, the last time I saw her she was mean to me, and I just don't feel like getting my feelings hurt again.”

“It wasn't easy for you growing up, was it?” she asked.

“I guess not. I mean, I never thought that we had it bad or anything like that. Things were just the way they were. I thought it was normal.”

“Tell me something about you that you really like about yourself.”

“What do you mean?” I asked because I was confused by the question.

“Tell me something about you as a person that you really like about yourself.”

“Nothing. My hair is whacked out, my skin looks like volcanoes are about to erupt on it, my butt is like my mother's, it's too big for my body and guys are always making me feel self-conscious about it.”

“Those are all of the things on the outside. Tell me what you like about you, the person?” she asked.

“No one has ever asked me that question before.” I paused in thought. “I don't know what I like about me. I feel like I'm just here.”

“Well, I've only known you for a short time and let me tell you what I see. You're a very smart and shapely young woman who has been able to survive on her own with very little adult supervision. That's a sign of character. You have a strong mind that guides you and hungers to learn, and to me that's a sign of a very intelligent young woman. Keysha, I want you to work on the mental voices in your head that feed you negative information about yourself. You don't need to be your own worst enemy. When you hear the voices of doubt and self-defeat, you have to quiet them with more positive things about who you are and what you can do and accomplish. If you belittle yourself, you only open the door for others to do the same.”

“Wow, how are you able to do that?” I asked.

“Do what?” she asked. I began trying to express myself with my hands as I spoke.

“You have a way of getting around me and my barriers. You know how to go directly to my fears without me telling you. What are you, gifted or something?” Grandmother Katie smiled at me.

“I listen with my heart and soul,” she said, which confused me even more.

“No one has ever called me intelligent before,” I admitted, holding my head down. “Everyone has always expected me to mess up. When my mother and other grandmother thought I was pregnant, they were happy because it meant more money would be coming into the house.” I swallowed hard because I was embarrassed by that fact. “I love my Grandmother Rubylee, but all she ever does is try to steal from people. I don't want to be like her or my mother. I don't want to rip people off, but that's all people expect me to do. Even Barbara doesn't think much of me.”

“Listen, baby. Let me tell you something. You don't have to be like your mother and grandmother at all. The choices you make are your own, and if you choose
not
to follow in their footsteps then you will not. You are in control of what you do, not them, not me and certainly not Barbara.”

“Tell me honestly, why doesn't Barbara like me?”

“Barbara cares more than you think. She just has a different way of expressing it. She may be rather blunt and frank, but she means well. You wouldn't have made it into this house if she had not agreed to it. Give her credit for that. She may be stern—”

“And stuck-up,” I interrupted her. She smiled and nodded her head.

“She has her moments. I think that once you and Barbara get past this odd time you'll discover that you guys aren't as different as you might think you are,” she said, being sure she'd selected the right words.

“What about my daddy? What was he like growing up?” I asked.

“Oh, your father was a mischievous and a curious young man,” she said, chuckling as she thought about Jordan as a young man. “When he was around eight or nine, he'd heard from somewhere that you could dig your way to China. So he went into the garage and got a shovel and dug up all of my flowers because he wanted to see if he could dig to China.” I laughed at the silliness of my father's logic. “I made him replant every flower he dug up. As quiet as it's kept, that's probably why he likes gardening so much. Your father is a very loving and generous man, but he also likes control and can be stern and hard. However, if you're ever in a jam, he'll never leave your side.”

I didn't really believe everything she said, but I took it for what it was worth. “What about Mike? What's your take on him?” I asked.

“He's just a typical teenaged boy trying to find out who he is. He's at a very impressionable age.”

“So the thug thing is just an act?” I asked, looking for confirmation.

“Mike is just imitating what he sees rappers do on the television. He's lived a privileged lifestyle, and as far as I know, has never been near a bad neighborhood. His mother sees to that.” I was quiet for the moment because once again I was feeling jealous. I just couldn't understand why he ended up with everything and I ended up with nothing.

“Listen, I'm going to leave my phone number with you. I want you to call me if you ever need anything or just need someone to talk to.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Keysha, can you do me a favor?”

“What?” I asked.

“Smile for me. You don't smile much and you have such a beautiful and warm smile.”

“I really haven't had much to smile about. Smiling would mean that I'm happy and that everything is going okay, but it's not.”

“It's not going right, even just a little bit?” she asked.

“Well, yeah, on the surface all of this appears to be perfect, but at times I wonder if it's too good to be true and what did I do to deserve this?”

“You see, that's the negative voice you need to work on. You shouldn't say what I did to deserve this. You should say ‘I do deserve to live where I feel safe and loved.'”

“Okay, I'll work on that,” I said.

J
ordan and Maggie took care of the details regarding getting my records transferred to Thornwood High School, which was my new school. Going to a new school as a new kid is never easy. In my case, going to two new schools in such a short time was even more difficult. I didn't know anyone—well, I knew Mike, but he was a jackass. I didn't know exactly where my classes were, and I didn't know which teachers would be mean and difficult, so on my first day I was very nervous. I was worried about the way I looked and how people would perceive me. I was worried about my new haircut because I knew girls talked about other girls with short hair. I was paranoid that someone would say something mean about my pimples, which actually were looking a lot better since Grandmother Katie had shown me how to use Proactive Solution. But still I had some concerns about self-image.

Thornwood High was within walking distance of the house. I thought for sure Mike would at least walk with me, but he had football practice at 6:00 a.m. on my first day. As I approached the school, I saw kids hanging out in the school parking lot. Kids were pulling up in Mustangs and BMWs, which was unheard of at my other schools. I looked over at a group of girls who were standing next to a silver Mercedes. I listened as they sang the lyrics to a Missy Elliott Song.

“Why don't you just take a picture, it lasts longer,” said one girl who noticed me studying them. It was clear that I'd annoyed her. I walked away quickly before I ended up getting into an altercation on my first day. I walked through a set of large brown doors and searched for a sign that would point me in the direction of my guidance counselor's office. I had to stop and meet my guidance counselor, some dude named Mr. Sanders, to pick up my class schedule. I didn't see any signs so I asked a guy who was passing by.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where the guidance counselor's office is?”

“Go all the way down the hall and make a left,” he said and continued on his way. I followed his directions and a short time later entered the guidance counselor's office.

“Excuse me,” I said to the receptionist. “I'm here to see Mr. Sanders.”

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

“Yes, I'm a new student. He's expecting me.”

“Name,” she said without looking at me.

“Keysha Wiley, I mean, it's Keysha Kendall now.”

“Oh, yes. We've heard about you.” I quickly caught an attitude.

“What have you heard?” I asked. She didn't answer, only looked at me as if I'd offended her.

“Are you Keysha?” A very tall Caucasian man with a round belly and thick glasses appeared from one of the offices.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well, come on in,” he said with a pleasant voice. I entered his office and sat down. He shut the door and took a seat behind his desk, which was very junky. There were papers piled up everywhere.

“You'll have to excuse my desk. My student assistant is out with the flu,” he said as he searched through the mountain of papers and folders on his desk.

“Here we go,” he said once he found my file. He leaned back in his chair and studied it for a moment before speaking.

“The scores that have come in from your other schools aren't very impressive, that is with the exception of your literature grade. You did well in that subject.” I wanted to explain the reason I did so poorly was because my mother never prepared me for school and how I was expected to become pregnant and bring a welfare check into the house, but I didn't think he would care to hear my drama.

“We're going to monitor your progress and see how well you perform academically. This is a tough school, Keysha, and the teachers here expect nothing but the best.” He glanced up at me. I didn't know what to say. School for me was just a place I could go to get away from my mother. I hadn't paid attention to my grades since middle school. After I saw that my mother couldn't care less, I stopped putting forth an effort. Mr. Sanders exhaled loudly.

“Here is your schedule.” He handed me a sheet of paper and began to explain it to me.

“Your math scores are very low so we've placed you in a remedial class.” I cringed when I heard that. “Now this doesn't mean you have to stay there. If you can prove yourself, we'll move up to a basic math class, and if you do well there, you can move on to a class that's at the correct level. Math is the first class that you have. Second period you're in a basic science class because your other school didn't offer a science program. Third period you have gym, fourth period you have study hall, then lunch, social studies and finally literature. Is that okay?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

“No, you don't,” he answered me honestly. “But I'll tell you the same thing I tell all of my other students. School is what you make of it. If you don't put forth an effort, you're going to get poor results. You're responsible for the decisions you make regarding your education.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Come on, I'll show you where your locker is and then walk you to your first class so that you don't get a tardy slip.”

When I walked into my math class, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me. Mr. Sanders spoke with the teacher briefly, and then I was instructed to sit next to this chick who was wearing all black. I mean, she was the strangest-looking white girl that I'd ever seen. Her hair was raven black, her eye shadow was black, her lipstick was black and her fingernail polish was black. She had multiple piercings in both ears, her bottom lip was pierced and all of her earrings were black. The girl looked like the daughter of Morticia from
The Addams Family
, but she was nowhere near as sexy or as cool as the character Morticia. I cautiously sat next to her because I didn't know if she was diseased or something. Shortly after Mr. Sanders left, the teacher gave me a math book and opened it up to the section we were going over. She told me to follow along, so I took out my math notebook and a pencil. The class was studying basic addition and subtraction.

“Hey, girl,” whispered the chick wearing all black. I nervously glanced over at her. She stuck out her tongue and flicked it back and forth against her lips, making an odd noise. Her tongue was pierced, as well.
This chick is crazy as hell
, I thought to myself. I looked at her clothing more closely. She had on a black top, with black jeans and black combat boots. At that moment, I told myself that my problems weren't so bad.

“This class totally sucks,” she whispered but I didn't respond. “I know you can hear me,” she said but I continued to ignore her.

“Ahhh, you're a new chick,” she said. “I'm going to have to break you in, girl.” I was horrified at the thought of exactly what she meant by that.

The bell rang and I pulled out my course schedule to see what room my science class was in.

“Let me see your schedule,” asked the girl. I hesitated.

“Come on, let me see the damn thing. I'm not going to eat it.” I was still hesitant.

“Look, you're new, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“That means you don't have a frigging clue as to where you're going. Let me see your schedule and I'll tell you which way to go.” I handed it over to her. She began to bob her head up and down.

“Oh, cool. We have the next four classes together.”

“You're kidding, right?” I asked.

“Nope. Looks like that jackass Mr. Sanders thought you were going to be a problem child so he stuck you in all of the classes with problem kids.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because only the problem kids get low test scores and end up in a classroom full of rejects. Like you and me.” I looked at her like she was crazy.

“I'm Liz.” She stuck out her hand for me to shake it. It was the first time I'd noticed that all of her fingers had black rings on them.

“I'm Keysha,” I said as I shook her hand.

“Come on, stick with me. I'll make sure you get to your classes.” We walked out of the room and into an overcrowded hallway filled with students. As we made our way through the crowd I heard other students boldly degrading Liz.

“Aaaaaa—It's God-Lizard,” said some basketball jock.

“Aaaaa—It's Hillbilly Bob from Hillbilly Heaven,” Liz quickly fired back.

“It's the Lizard Wizard,” said another student.

“Ooh, it's Loser Lou,” Liz said as she gave him the middle finger.

It was strange watching how Liz maneuvered through that crowded hallway and through all of the teasing and wisecracks. I felt bad for her and began to think that she was misunderstood, just like me.

We entered the science room and I followed her to the back table and sat next to her on one of the stools. We were the first students in the class.

“Look, I need a lab partner, so what do you say? You and I can be partners.” I was hesitant at first because I wasn't sure that I even wanted to be around her.

“Look, you're new. No one is going to pick you and since I don't have a partner, the brilliant science teacher is going to pair us up anyway. So let's just cut the middleman and be partners.”

“What's up, Lazy Liz?” said some guy who had just walked in.

“Bite me! Groovy Grover,” Liz shot back.

“Groovy Grover?” I laughed out loud.

“Yeah, that's Garret Groover. He's a complete idiot. Don't pay him any attention.”

“Girl, I'm not trying to get any of your fleas,” said Grover. Liz gave him the middle finger and stuck her tongue out at him.

“Look, just sit someplace else. If you don't want to be my partner then I don't care. Just go and sit someplace else and leave me alone,” said Liz.

“No,” I said. “I'll be your partner.” I felt sorry for her.

“Cool, we can both flunk the class together.” She laughed and so did I.