To shieldmy face from the intense sunlight, I adjusted my Nike cap. Additionally, I was trying to cover up the fact that my weave was tangled, and my frontal looked like a wet band-aid for now. My preference in the summer is typically braids; nevertheless, my cousin Trecee, a burgeoning hair stylist, utilizes my head as a training model. I consistently benefited from complimentary hairstyling services, and the results were always to my satisfaction. In the hood, it’s common for someone in your family to be good at something, whether it was doing hair, nails, scamming, boosting clothes, or fraud.Myhustle was stealing.
Honestly, I hated the way I lived because it wasn’t a way out. I didn’t like stealing, but it put food on the table, and it paid the bills. My employment as a bagger at Kroger provided minimalfinancial compensation, and my supervisor, Ms. Keisha, offered limited work hours due to various professional disagreements. Most of that stemmed from her being petty. As crazy as it sounded, it was the truth. I opted for a full-time position, only docking part-time hours. My dreams of being a teacher had to get put on hold because I couldn't afford full-time school with part-time work. I had to think quick on my feet with a come up; something that would get me paid faster. Bills were always due back-to-back. It seemed like every time I turned around, something was past due.
As far as family, my cousin Trecee and my best friend, Mimi, were all I had. My mama passed away when I was ten. My daddy, her pimp, killed her, then himself. Though I never knew him, it was rumored that he killed her because she was trying to leave him. Their story didn’t make the local news because nobody cared enough to look into a pimp and hooker love story. Her obituary made it into the Commercial Appeal though, but that was it. No one could afford a lavish funeral for her either. They buried her in a cheap prom dress, shoes from Payless, and a pine box.
My auntie Yolanda, Trecee’s mama, raised me, but she treated me like a horrid stepdaughter, and I always felt out of place. Living in the projects, she couldn’t handle much. If I were her, I’d be upset if I had to take on another mouth to feed too. Yolanda had six kids and six baby daddies. We lived in a three-bedroom duplex, and I shared a bunk bed with my pissy ass cousin, Moriah. I used to tell myself, when I was old enough to move out on my own, I’d never have to come back to her house ever again. Suiting 18 years old was old enough, she put me out on my 18thbirthday. For a while, I lived on the streets, shacking up in homeless shelters and Christian women’s shelters that would accept me.
The fairy tale story I dreamed about; a man rescuing me, flourishing me with love and money, never came. I hustled my way through life on my own. Turning tricks became common every now and again, but I never hit it big, and niggas wanted you to do too much for money. EverythingIown, I got it on my own, and I was doing whatever I needed to do to get it.
“Here.” The sound of the front door creaking open jarred my attention away from fondling with my Nike cap and scratching my scalp. Trecee was holding two glasses of red, ice-cold Kool-Aid for Mimi and I.
“Y’all better drink this shit before my mama come home, y’all know she don’t play about her Kool-Aid,” she giggled and sat down on the hot concrete steps with us.
“Girl,” Mimi popped her tongue after taking a sip. “It’s the first of the month, she ain’t got her stamps yet?”
I glanced over at Trecee, waiting for a response. She shrugged, looking straight ahead. “I don’t know what she does with her food stamps. Nine times out of ten, she’s selling them.”
Yolanda never worked. As far back as I could remember, she couldn’t keep a job. It was mandatory for her to work at least thirty hours so she could keep her food stamps, and that income needed to be reported to avoid her case getting closed. I caught on to her schemes when I was 16. Instead of working a job, she’s created fake check stubs and offer letters. For a while, she was settling for unemployment, but that only lasted for so long.
“Trecee, you make enough money to take care of her. I see them cute ass Gucci shoes. Girl those are fly,” Mimi bragged.
Gulping the last of my Kool-Aid, I glanced at the Gucci sandals laced on her feet, complementing her pretty white French tip toes and gold toe rings.
She smiled and wiggled her toes. “Bae got them for me as a birthday gift. I couldn’t wait to open them until then. I also can’twait to go to Turks and Caicos. Mimi, you and Oliver are still coming right?”
“I saw that too when you posted them on Instagram, and of course I’m going. I need a break from these damn kids. I sure as hell wouldn’t mind taking a baecation every now and then, instead of going to Greenville, Mississippi. Y’all know Oliver is country as hell,” Mimi giggled, before taking a sip of her Kool-Aid.
“Oh girl, uh uh, kick his ass to the curb. What’s the point of being with a nigga if he can’t afford basic shit like Turks and Caicos? All I got to do is snap my fingers and my nigga dropping a bag on me,” Trecee boasted. “What I look like taking care of my mama’s lazy ass withmynigga’s money anyway?”
Shaking my head, I looked off, hearing her rant on and on. Trecee lived a ghetto fabulous lifestyle. Her boyfriend, Rome was known in the streets for dabbling in a little bit of everything. It was no secret that he had old money—enough money that his great grandchildren were already rich. Trecee had been fucking off with Rome since she was 19 years old. He was her first trick. They met at Yums, a popular Chinese restaurant on Lamar at the time. Yolanda had given us money to fetch my little cousins something to eat, but it wasn’t enough. We held up the line, fishing our purses and pockets for loose change. Rome paid for our meal, including extra shit too, and he gave us a ride back home with his hand on Trecee’s thigh. I had a backseat view to everything, hearing her lies, sounding like she was older than what she really was, and saying unnecessary shit because it sounded good.
Over time, I watched her blossom from a girl into a woman dealing with him. He had her sneaking out of the house, dressing differently, and talking with a certain cockiness than usual. She got her first piece of hood dick and has been crazy about it since then.
We used to act like best friends, thick as thieves, aside from cousins, but dating Rome changed her. Nowadays, she was too good for a lot of things and looked down on Mimi and I for our common palette. Rome had her drinking Fiji water, eating salmon and avocado, acting like she was too good for ramen and rotel. She was sporting a Benz too, cruising the streets with the top down. The only reason she was on this side of the hood was because she was still receiving mail at Yolanda’s house, on the way here, she spotted Mimi and I walking from the Lamar and Airways shopping center, so she gave us a ride here.
Trecee was changing and there was nothing anybody could do about it. Smelling herself would be the more appropriate thing to say, but I’d be deemed jealous for speaking on her because she had more than me. Shealwayshad more than me.
“You’re supposed to take the hood with you when you make it, fool,” Mimi chided.
Trecee scrunched up her face. “Why is that? My mama has no problem living the way she lives. She’s always been on welfare.”
“You know how crazy you look sporting that pretty ass Benz in based on income housing, laced in Gucci and Prada? I’m sure she wants to know what marble floors feel like.”
Trecee released an exasperated sigh and slapped her hand against her scrawny thigh. “Just like I found a man who’ll take care of me, she can do the same thing.”
“If you say so,” Mimi mumbled, her voice wandering off.
“Nah, that’s not the real reason.”
“What you say Syn?” Mimi asked.
I jolted my head back and darted my eyes at them both.
“Welfare is guaranteed and consistent. Dating a nigga who gives you a monthly allowance isn’t. He can kick you to the curb at any second.”
Mimi pursed her full lips and held her hand out for me to clap it. “I know that’s right bitch.”
Trecee didn’t seem enthused because she knew it was the truth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
