“I’m here FOREVER!”
These words were screamed by my childhood buddy/play cousin Nicole* as she rammed her opponent’s head into a wall. An hour ago, I’d been pulled out of one of my classes by another friend, Renee* and given the rundown.
“So Nicole got into it with [Such and Such] during 3rd period and they had to go to the principal’s office. We went to study hall for 4th period and [Such and Such's] sister tried to check her about it.”
My eyes were wide as I tried to figure out why this story warranted me being pulled out of class. Nicole had been kicking ass and taking names since elementary school (including an incident where she took a razor to the face of a girl who bit her boob during a fight in 7th grade). Her having an altercation wasn’t exactly news. “So what did she say exactly?”
“The girl asked if Nicole was going to fight her sister and Nicole says ‘No. I was gonna maul that ‘ho.’ So then, the girl walked away like ‘Man, I’ll kill one of these lil hoes over my sister.’ So Nicole’s probably gonna fight her in study hall after lunch. We have to be there if she needs back up. ”
An hour later, I stood in amazement with my hair tied up and watched Nicole lay waste to this young lady with no assistance needed from anyone. I’d seen fights, but never anything like this. Nicole had walked up behind the girl and tapped her on the shoulder. As soon as she turned around, Nicole nailed her in the face with a right jab. What followed was a one-sided melee. Nicole unraveled the girl’s cheap weave and then proceeded to ram her head into the wall. “Bitch you gon’ kill who? I’m here forever!”
That was the moment that I knew I did not belong at Collinwood High School.
Over the next three years I would find another, less-violent crew of friends to spend most of my time with. I still had love for my childhood buddies Nicole and Renee, but if I was going to get out of this school unscathed, hanging with them was not the way to do it. Thankfully, they knew me well enough to understand that I was not a brawler and our friendship remained intact. I also knew who to call if push came to shove and I needed back-up. My Collinwood game plan was simple: keep my head down, my grades up and my legs closed. I figured this was the best way to stay out of trouble.
The new crew was more interested in boys than brawls and that was fine by me. Like me, they were in honors classes and that alone, came with a stigma. As quiet and unassuming as I was, I was still an “Honors Girl,” which placed the Stuck Up label squarely on my forehead once again. It was unavoidable. But at this point, it was a label I could live with, as long as it was clear that I was not the average girl roaming the halls of Collinwood High School, I was fine. I’d spend three years watching the girls with fat asses, creative weaves and fake Coach belt and purse combos treated as prizes. I’d also witness several more brawl-like fights (one of which resulted in students being locked in homeroom for over an hour because a gun was found in the building.) The dominating thought in my head: I’m better than this.
Life at home would get crazier for me during those years. Having fallen deep in love, my mother decided to move in with her new love interest who lived out in the suburbs. She offered me the opportunity to move with her to Bedford Heights, which would have put me in the same school as my BFF, but I turned the offer down. I simply didn’t have the energy to start over again so I’d finish out the remainder of high school at Collinwood. Without my mother in the house to stand up for me, my Aunt harassed me to no end. Our relationship was one of pure contempt and there was nothing my Grandmother could do to keep us from screaming at each other. I didn’t understand. She was a crackhead. We had to hide money from her for fear it’d be stolen. She brought drugs into my Grandmother’s house and my Grandmother was aware of it. She should have been put out on her ass.
It came to a head one night in December. Once again, my Aunt was accusing me of playing my music too loud and disturbing her (she was more than likely high and paranoid). That evening, she practically kicked down the door to my bedroom and began shouting. As hesitant as I’d been about conflict in the past, I refused to let her scare me. I jumped off of my bed and met her shouts with my own. The next thing I knew, she’d pushed me. My blood boiled and out of pure instinct I shoved her back. “Bitch, don’t fcuking touch me!” I screamed. A shoving match ensued and I ended up trapped between my Aunt and my dresser. Pushing wouldn’t work anymore. I’d have to hit her. We were the same height and thanks to the drugs, I had a few pounds on her. She’d been in the army, though, so I couldn’t let her punch me. I’d been using my right hand to hold my weight up against the dresser. I began to reach for a weapon. When I closed my hand around an eleven ounce can of Isoplus Oil Sheen, I gripped it and summoned every bit of strength in my body to smash the can against her head. Before I could connect, my grandmother was in the room, standing between us, threatening to call the police.
I spent that night down the street at Nicole’s house. I may have been too good for the hood shit at school but apparently, I wasn’t above dealing with hood shit at home.
To be continued…
