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Authors: Tysha

BOOK: Young-Minded Hustler
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Chapter 11
Mommy to the Rescue
Cherise sat in the office of her soul food restaurant and catering establishment, counting money. It was the fifteenth of the month and time for her to make a deposit into her business bank account. Frustrated that her numbers didn't match the sales receipts, Cherise opened the bottom desk drawer and grabbed the bottle of Hennessy to help calm her nerves.
She began cooking for family and friends who needed catering services more than eight years ago. Soon thereafter, she began receiving requests from strangers to cater their special events. After a while, the requests began pouring in like rain and Cherise's modest-sized kitchen became too cramped and confined. A Piece Of Soul Catering and Café was a profitable business that Cherise took pride in. Cherise decided to put the money back in the safe and go cook up the most profitable item not on her menu—cocaine. Turning her hobby into a business gave her the perfect tool to hide how she really made her money. She'd promised herself that once the catering turned a profit, the drug dealing would stop but no matter how hard she tried, Cherise was addicted to money.
Cherise walked over to her state-of-the-art sound system and turned up the tunes of Mary J. Blige. Cherise put fire to a Black & Mild before she got to work, only to be interrupted by her ringing cell phone.
“Ma, they trippin' and got me down here shackled in chains like I'm a mass murderer and shit,” complained Raequan before Cherise could even greet him with a hello.
“What in the hell are you talking about, boy?” Cherise sighed.
“They arrested me and Prince for no reason, Ma. You gotta come down here and get me out. Come on, Ma,” fumed Raequan impatiently.
“Where you at boy? I know them stupid-ass cops ain't got you in that fuckin' county,” yelled Cherise. “Where they got you at, Raequan?”
“I'm at juvie, Ma. Please come and get me out of here.”
“I'm on my way.”
Cherise ended the call, grabbed her purse and car keys, and ran out the front door of her restaurant. Cherise was so intent on getting her son out of handcuffs that she forgot to lock up the establishment. She was two blocks away before it occurred to her. After quickly backtracking, she was on her way to Shy's house, who, for some reason, was not answering her cell or house phone.
Cherise hightailed it over to Shy's house to find out if she knew of their sons being arrested. When Raequan called from a strange phone number, Cherise knew something was terribly wrong.
One second after dialing the last digit of Cherise's cell phone, Shy heard tires screeching and knew it was her.
“Shy, where you at? Shy!”
“Quit screaming like that, girl; you're going to have the neighbors all in my business. Come on in here.”
Cherise was short of breath and excited as she jogged into Shy's house. Shy knew without a doubt that her friend would make a federal case out of the boys being arrested before she even knew what the circumstances were. Intent on not allowing Cherise to stress her out, Shy lit a cigarette and relaxed her back against the oversized pillows thrown on her couch.
“Cherise, please calm down before we go down there. You're all hyper and I am not in the mood to get locked up because you can't control your temper.”
“Fuck you! Do you know Raequan and Prince got arrested for no damn reason?”
“How do you know that?” asked Shy.
“Know what?”
“How do you know they got arrested for no reason?”
“Because when I talked to Raequan he said—” began Cherise.
“See, there you go again, jumping to conclusions before you get the whole story about what led up to them getting arrested. It took me awhile to accept it but not everything those boys tell us is gospel,” explained Shy with a smirk.
“Whatever, bitch, give me one of them Newports,” said Cherise.
Knowing Shy was right, Cherise decided to regain her composure before going down to the Martin P. Joyce Juvenile Justice Center. The last thing she needed was to get locked up for showing her ass and assaulting a cop.
Shy was sure that Raequan's version of the arrest would have a boatload of holes in it. That boy was born a liar. A trait inherited from his sorry-ass father.
“All right, Shy, I'm going to smoke this cancer stick, down a can of beer, and try to think logically, but should one of them pompous police officers try to keep me from seeing my baby, I cannot be held responsible for what might go down,” promised Cherise.
“If they keep us from seeing our boys, I'll act a fool right along with you,” said Shy, giggling.
In the thirty years Shy and Cherise had been friends, not one day passed that they hadn't spoken with each other. No matter if the weather called for sun, rain, sleet, snow, or they were happy, angry, passive, or pissed, you could put money on Shy and Cherise communicating with each other. The two were as close as any sisters from different parents could possibly be.
Shy was born five years after her sister and she was truly a spoiled little poor girl. Tara and Shy's parents were considered the working poor, only managing to earn a little over the national minimum wage, but they sacrificed and made due. The sisters shared their father with an older half-brother from his first marriage but C-Lok lived with his mother and only visited on holidays and summer breaks from school. Growing up, Shy had no idea that her family was poor because they had a nice house, clothes on their backs, and food on the table every night. As Shy grew older, she began to take notice of how hard her parents worked without complaint. Shy began working at age fourteen to help relieve some of the financial burden on her parents.
Shy and Cherise were two peas in a pod. Their preadolescent years were filled with jump ropes, hopscotch, tag, and roller skating in the middle of the streets, little league cheerleading, and weekend sleepovers.
Their teenage years consisted of basement parties, union hall jams, Sunday night Skate Connection, basketball games, South High School variety shows, and, most importantly, wide hips, C-cup breasts, plump, round asses, and lost virginity.
It was after seven o'clock when Shy and Cherise walked through the doors of the juvenile detention center to see their sons. Despite the sign notifying visitors of visiting hours, the two mothers stormed toward the front desk on a mission.
Shy and Cherise looked around at their surroundings, and memories of their own stay behind the brick walls came flooding back to them.
“Shit, they have cleaned this place up since the times we used to be arrested for fighting,” said Cherise.
“Yeah, girl, I know. The updates make it look like a friendly place. Look, they even have artwork on the walls and plants all over the place,” noted Shy.
The counselor manning the front desk looked up from his paperwork when he heard the sound of clicking heels growing closer and closer. One look at the women's faces and he knew they were ready to do battle. After another glance, William Beldon recognized the women and braced himself to do battle.
“Hey, William, haven't seen you in quite a few years,” greeted Shy.
“Hello, Miss Shy. What's going on with you, Cherise?” replied William.
“Shit, we down here to see our sons, Prince McGee and Raequan Jackson. They were brought down here a couple of hours ago and we need to see them now,” demanded Cherise.
William took a deep breath before speaking again. His shift would be over in less than a half hour and he was not in the mood to do battle with two overprotective mothers. If they'd kept a closer watch on their boys, they would not be standing in the juvenile detention center, demanding to see their pride and joy.
“Yeah, I recognized the names when they were checked in. Prince looks just like his father; even his mannerisms remind me of Melvin. Cherise your son kind of looks like Prince. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Look, William, go get them so we can make sure they were not the victims of police brutality. You know how y'all do,” spat Cherise.
“First of all, I am not a police officer. Secondly, for someone who needs something from me, you sure are getting on my bad side.” William smirked.
“William, please forgive Cherise. She's just upset about what happened today and we are both stressing out right now. Look, we go way back and I know this is a huge favor to ask but please, let us see Prince and Raequan. I won't be able to get any sleep tonight unless I see for myself that Prince is all right. He has never been detained overnight before. His having to stay here is foreign to me,” Shy explained.
“All right, Shy, I'll bend the rules for you,” said William while rolling his eyes in Cherise's direction, “but please make it quick. I could get written up for this.”
 
 
Shy sat in the stiff chair with her left leg shaking a mile a minute. Her nerves were more on edge than she wanted to let on. Sitting in the visitation room, waiting to see her son, had her stomach doing flips. When the door opened and Shy set eyes on her son, it took all she had not to burst out in tears. Shy knew that if she was strong, Prince would be too. The last thing she wanted was for him to be worried about her when all of his attention needed to be on the situation at hand.
“Hi, Mommy,” said Prince with a forced smile.
“Hi, baby, are you doing okay? You all right?” Shy knew Prince was feeling afraid, slighted, or guilty whenever he addressed her as Mommy.
“Yes, Ma, I'm doing okay. You know I ain't no punk. I can get through this standing on my head. We go to court in the morning and the judge will probably send me home with you.”
“Well, you know I'm going to go get you a lawyer. There is no way in hell I can send you along this path with a public defender. They get their paychecks from the same place as the prosecutor. You have to look out for yourself.”
“Ma, don't go wasting money on no lawyer. I didn't even do anything so nothing's going to happen to me. I'm good,” Prince arrogantly said.
“Then you really do need a lawyer if you didn't do anything. Boy, don't you know that you are guilty because of the color of your skin and the way your pants hang down off your behind? You don't know everything, Prince. If you did, you wouldn't be down here now. Enough with all of that. Tell me what happened, and what did you do today, skip class again?”
“Yes, Ma, I did. We were all hanging out at the corner store up there on Earl and Market Streets. We were just hanging out and shit.”
“What?”
“Oh, I'm sorry, Ma. That was a slip of the tongue.”
At that moment Prince was glad to be in a room with glass separating them, because he knew Shy wouldn't hesitate to hall off and pop him in his “filthy mouth,” as she labeled it. Prince loved and admired his mother but she had no idea how the streets were. Being young, black, and male in the city of Youngstown was like being in a war zone from one day to the next. The pressure to have money, material possessions, and the strength to beat somebody down for disrespecting you was mandatory.
“Anyway, we were just chillin' and laughing and stuff when a couple of girls we knew rolled up, so me and NuNu—”
“Who? How many times do I have to tell you that if their street name isn't what their momma put on their birth certificates, I am not interested? Now who is NuNu?”
“Carlos. Me and my boy Carlos went across the street to holler at them. The next thing I know, Raequan and Mike are taunting some old white lady who was trying to get inside the store. Then all of a sudden, they mug the lady and go running off behind houses and stuff. I was not involved in all of that mess. You know that ain't me, Ma.”
“Why did you get arrested instead of Mike?”
“Ma, we all sport white T-shirts, baggy jeans, and braids. That lady probably wouldn't be able to tell us apart if we had our names printed across our chest.”
“Well, I do have to agree with that. Sometimes I have trouble keeping the names and faces straight,” admitted Shy. “So tomorrow at court you'll let the judge know that Mike was involved and not you, so maybe I won't need to get you a private attorney.”

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