"Dana," Uncle Jerry commanded, "I don't know where your

mother is, but you betta get upstairs. It's too late for you to be out

here anyway. Birthday or not, you still have a curfew."

"But my mother said I could stay out until t.."

"Look, you go upstairs girl!" Uncle Jerry barked, "It's too late for

you to be out here."

It was hard to hold in my tears but I did. And I

kept a calm face. Everybody sang Frankie Beverly's, "Before I Let Go!"

I was too embarrassed to look at Sherman who stood near by the

entrance with his boys. I walked out the courts toward my fucking

building! I can't wait until I grow up and have my damn freedom!

Freedom to come and go as I please! Where's Mommy? Damn it!

"Where you stepping off to?" Someone asked me from behind.

I turned around and it was (Scream!) Sherman! No, he can't be talking

to me. Me? Out of all those fly home girls in the park?

"Home." I tried to be nonchalant. I pretended as if guys chase

after me all the time.

"Why? It's still early. Shouldn't you be enjoying your birthday?"

His lips looked so juicy and mouth so clean.

"Yeah, but my uncle doesn't like to see me talking to any guys.

He's very protective of me."

"Oh. He saw us hookin' up?"

"Yeah."

"Where he at? I'ma talk Money into letting you stay."

"I don't think you'd want to. He's the tall one over there." I

pointed. He looked over at Uncle Jerry and I saw his eyes shutter at

his great height and confident aura. Uncle Jerry's chest and back were

stronger than gravity. His body stood upright while he was spinning

the turntables. The Johnson & Johnson's baby oil brought out the

cherry brown in his complexion. The shine brought out the definition

in his arms. I know one thing for sure, Uncle Jerry should be called

DJ Sheppard. 'Cause he kept colorful herds of women flocking around

him. They may say that they're in love with my uncle but I believe

it's just lust. That's my family's trademark. We, the Strongs are

a symbol of power, popularity, sensuality and respect. The curse of the

Strongs is our trademark can sometimes work for us and other times

work against us.

"Oh he got that," Sherman said, "but he can't walk you home

now can he?" I blushed. We talked and flirted up 13 flights of stairs until

we reached 10:30. We made our time quality. In our conversation we

came to know the truth about Sahidah. She befriended him and twisted

stories around, telling him falsehoods about me, to keep us from getting

acquainted. But see we were destined to meet.

"Thank you Sherman for walking me home."

"Nah, don't sweat."

Somebody in apartment E turned their radio up. "Beautiful Ones"

played on the radio. We slow danced against the brick wall.

Intimacy with Sherman frightens me because I hardly know him, but

damn! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Home girls would

love to kiss a guy like him. They would dream all day and fantasize in

the staircase about a guy like Sherman. It curls me up inside to think

of all the girls who're sweating and looking for him right now in this

very moment. Wondering where did that fine guy go? Humph, he is

spending his time with me y'all!

He made me feel so special! The Force MD's "Tender Love"

played behind apartment E's door. He tried to kiss me but I

weaved my way out of it.

"So we gonna keep in touch, right?" He asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

"What chu' mean you guess?" He went to steal another kiss from

me. I turned my face around and he missed my lips. He laughed right

in my face.

"What chu' doin'?" I felt embarrassed.

"I'm not ready to kiss you, yet."

"Come here." Sherman gently touched my chin and exhaled

through his nose. His nose touched my nose. His determination turned

me on. He tried again and this time he succeeded because I surrendered

to the warmest and softest peck. He disconnected and smiled,

"Happy Birthday, Dana." He wrote his math on a small piece of

paper and placed it in my palm.

"Thank you, Sherman." I watched him fly down the stairs by two's

reciting Big Daddy Kane's lyrics while I held my hand over my heart

so that cupid wouldn't shoot it.

16

sheltering-deaths

Whew! My period came today. I jumped up and down, punched

my stomach, did cartwheels in the grass so that the sperm wouldn't meet

my egg. I even douched but ultimately I prayed. It turns out that

Nawnie's fingers wasn't itching for me, they were itching for Auntie Geneva.

Thank God! She's six months pregnant and she's wilding out. Nawnie

tells me all the time, not to worry about her, it's just her hormones.

Hormones my ass! How dare she wake me up 5:30 in the morning just

to clean both of the bathrooms! My cousins and I instantly became her

slaves. Troy was ordered to sweep the entire hallway, Jason was to dust

and wash loads of clothes, folded and packed them in the shopping carts.

Deshawn had the kitchen and the refrigerator and freezer. Donell

scrubbed the bathroom tiles and mopped the entire floors.

Well, I know this move is going to be somethin' interesting. A new

place, new faces, new guys and new experience. The longest we've ever

lived anywhere was in Queens with Daddy-James. That was for six

long abusive years. We lived from house to tenement to projects and

now the shelter. Family members (and I ain't mentioning no names)

have often said that Defrager was not a sufficient provider for her children.

They said she partied too much and we didn't get enough stability.

I believe Mommy did a great job with us. She made sure we said

our grace before every meal and our prayers before bedtime. I kind of

dig Mommy's spontaneous personality. I think it made it easier for us

to adapt to different environments and situations. We learned the law

of detachment early.

The time had come and Nawnie cried. She pleaded with Mommy

in her sweetest way to let us stay with her. Her point of having us

stay with her was so that we didn't have to resort to some homeless shelter.

Mommy reassured her over and over again that we would be okay.

Donell and I spent time joking with our cousins, soothing their feelings

of missing us, until it was time for us to leave. We left early that

Saturday afternoon. Bags and bags of clothes and books were heavy but

lighter than those burdens.

We, Mommy, Donnell and I, were back to being one again. We are

a tight knit team. We kept close and watchful of our belongings in the

shelter area. We left one shelter in the Bronx on the Grand Concourse

for another one in Manhattan. Mommy had to go through humiliating

paperwork with unprofessional office workers who played their

radios loud when their supervisors weren't around. This shelter had

a different feel, down to the smell and its vibrations, but each place had

a similar sound at night. At night, I could hear the cries of babies.

Their cries gave me some sort of consolation. It made me feel, for

some reason, that everything would be okay, that God was somewhere

around us, because God protects babies and fools. Having babies in a

place like this is sad but at the same time comforting. It felt like

music to a lonely, depressing, quietness.

Every week, Mommy would go to the office to find out about any

vacant apartments. It was always the same ol' story,

"Ms. Strong, we have to transfer you to the main branch. They

have the information for you over there. But first you have to sign

your name on this waiting list and fill out the rest of these forms."

"But, I'm already on the waiting list! I've been on the waiting list

for two ears now! What exactly are y'all doing around here besides playing music all day?"

We kept our clothes and bed area clean. It was word of mouth

that the head security does room check once a week, and depending on

how clean we kept our sleeping area, they are supposed to speed up the

process of moving us into our apartment. But don't bet your life on

that. All of our valuables were kept locked in a locker. We received

three cot beds, which we sprayed down bleach and Lysol disinfectant,

then covered it with plastic from any bed-bugs. We combined

our three cots into a king size bed. Mommy hung two of her canvas

paintings over our bed. She said those paintings were to help us visualize

our dreams and our new home. One picture was of a marijuana plant sitting

on a windowsill with a woman holding a broom smiling inside of her loft

apartment sweeping. Her walls were the colors of soft orange.

Mommy said this painting symbolized "freedom and happiness" to her.

The other picture was a stage facing an audience of thousands of

people with their fists in the air. She said that painting symbolized

"liberation" to her.

We kept quiet, stayed close and clear of those who were lost in the

system. The lost ones had no knowledge of self and they were the type

of people who were addicted to pain, drugs and drama. They were the

murderers who slaughtered their dreams and depended on the system

to take care of their families.

Mommy kept in touch with Nawnie to find out who called or what

mail came in for her. It was mostly mail for me. Absentee cards,

absentee calls week after week. I stayed committed punishment for weeks

throughut the summer. Not one of my apologetic letters softened

Mommy into releasing me. I should�ve never lied about cutting classes.

Mommy detests liars. She told me I was a lousy liar. Couldn�t even lie

right just like my father, that�s why she�s not with him now.

Summer school was my only outlet. School lets out at noon but I

told Mommy it was let out at 1pm. I hated lying to her but I really

needed some airtime. Being that I was not allowed to go outside, I

would go down the hall to the recreational center that was located

inside the shelter. That was fine with me �cause the recreational

center was the hang out spot for all the cuties. The shelter we were living

in used to be a public vocational school. It was settled on the strangest

location. Not on a corner or the center of the block but it was settled

right in the middle of projects downtown in Manhattan. The trees

were healthy and green. The grass wasn�t broken. The playground was

visibly colorful and the elevators were clean. What made these projects

decent was seeing old Chinese and white people walking around and

sitting on benches, feeding pigeons and squirrels. They even had windows

in their bathrooms.

I�ve been calling Sherman, and every time his baby�s mother picked

up, I hung up the phone, wishing I had the talent to disguise my voice

into one of his homeboy�s deep tones. If she was a nicer person maybe

I would ask for him. I would even consider not pursuing him.

Coincidentally, the day my punishment was over was the day

Sherman called.

"What�s up Dana?"

"Sherman?"

"Long time no hear. Your grandmoms said you moved and she

gave me your number. Is it okay for me to call?"

"Yeah. Wow, I thought I�ll never hear from you again."

"Nah, that ain�t me. You may not believe this but I been missin� you."

"I�ve been missing you too. Every time I call, some mean girl picks

up. Was she your girl, Elaine?"

"Elaine? Hell no, she ain�t my girl. That was probably my baby�s

mom. We not getting� along tho�. You got a pen? I want you to

take down my beeper number."

"Hold on." I ran into the recreational center and snatched a pen

from a cutie�s back pocket.

"Okay, go ahead." I wrote his number on top of my lifelines.

"Sherman, are you sure I can page you? I don�t want no problems, now."

"You cool, you cool. Me and my girl broke up. What chu� doin� tonight?"

"Nothin�."

"So let�s hook up. Maybe I could come over and see you?"

"Uh, no!"

"Why? What? You livin� with a man now?" He teasingly asked.

"No, no, I don�t have a man. Just my mom�s is strict, you know.

I�d rather go to your place."

"You cool with that?"

"Yes."

"So meet me on the corner in front of Wendy�s at Union Square.

I�ll see you at six sweetness?"

It was confirmed. I slowly hung up the phone and couldn�t believe what I just heard come out of Sherman�s mouth.

Copyright© 2003 Darcel Turner, Dana Dances on Paper (July 2003,Dances on Paper Press)