Written by Erin.
Someone I knew once a long time ago wrote this. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to let her know I've read it! In the midst of this I think of the Bob Marley songs we used to listen to as kids. I realise we lived on two different sides of the same city, but that was about the only difference.
Southside Chicago, 2003
Motherfucker say it my fault cuz I went to Walgreens without consultin’ his sorry black ass. Went to get some aspirin – I was pregnant, six months gone, an’ my back was killin’ me. I was walkin’ home, and here he come, stormin’ at me like the Lord God Almighty, an’ I can tell right quick that he ain’t playin.’ He grab me by my hair first thing, an’ start draggin’ me down the street, sweet as you please.
It’s Sunday, nice weather, plenty of niggas standin’ at the corner on King. He draggin’ my pregnant ass down 35th Street in broad daylight on a Sunday afternoon, and no one bother to check him. Couple of niggas by the liquor store cheerin’ him on, yellin’ “What she do?” He don’t say nothin’ – too busy yanking my weave out by the root. “Went to get some aspirin, motherfuckers. Didn’t know I needed no permit for that in the state of Illinois.” I think this, but don’t say nothing, cuz I knows what’s coming, and it be bad enough without me runnin’ my mouth.
We almost to his truck now. I figure he gotta let go of my hair to drive, but instead he grab hold of me with his left hand and unlock the door with his right. I see him reach under the driver seat, and I start to cry. I don’t usually give no motherfucker the satisfaction seein’ me cry, but this time it my baby I’m thinking of. I know what underneath that seat. When he pull it out I ain’t even surprised. I just wrap my arms tight around my belly, and I pray. He keep a baseball bat under that seat (he a banger, say he need it for protection). But right now he need it to bang his baby mama for buyin’ aspirin on a Sunday afternoon. He say right off he ain’t gonna hit my belly, say it ain’t worth the jail time.
He start swinging at my legs. This a Louisville slugger, I mean the real deal. After the first few hits I lay still and pretend I’se unconscious. I learned that from my mama. She was usually tweakin’, couldn’t feel no pain anyway, but when my daddy punch her she roll up into a ball and pretend she dead. An’ she was dead, might’s well been. Even when she open her eyes, she never see me. It like she not a real person – she ain’t whole. Something always missing in the way she looked at me. But your mama your first teacher. She your first teacher even if she smoke crack, and my mama be mine. My mama survive by playing dead, an’ thas what I do soon’s this motherfucker start swinging that bat.
I just lays there and don’t move. I try not to think about the pain. I think ‘bout my baby instead, the li’l man in my belly, and how he finne grow up and be the kind of man don’t beat his woman with a bat, how he gonna be the kind of man don’t stand by when he see some nigga draggin’ a woman down 35th Street by the hair. He gonna know what a woman is, and that she sacred. Her body a place of worship, and he gonna say “holy” every time she pass. He gonna remember where he come from, from my body, mines, same body survived his daddy’s beatin’s, and my daddy’s before that. This the cradle that carried him, the cradle of civ’lization, and he gonna remember what that mean.
Motherfucker stop hitting me now. He tired. He drop the bat, an’ I can hear him breathin’ hard. He climb into the truck to find his Kools, and thas’ when I start draggin’ my own damn self. There a bank right there, and I know I can get in with my card. That motherfucker don’t have no ATM card. He a gangbanger, like I said, an’ he deal in cash. So I drag myself to that bank, and I leave that motherfucker smoking Kools in his truck, and next day I leave his ass thoroughly. He try to get me back. He say he kill me if I don’t come back. But I say, “Listen, motherfucker. You want to kill me, you can gone do it right now. Cuz I know if I stay with your sorry ass you’ll eventually kill me anyway. An’ I don’t see no reason why I should suck your dick in the meantime.”
You ask what make me a good mother? I tell you what. I don’t play dead no more. Cuz when you got a shorty to take care of, being dead ain’t no game. Your mother your first teacher, and I’ma teach my son what a woman’s power be. I’m gonna teach my son what it mean to stay alive. Ain’t no nigga worth what I been through. Ain’t no nigga in this world worth playin’ dead for. Only one thing matter now. Gotta keep on rising. I got to stay alive for my seed.
Southside Chicago, 2003
Motherfucker say it my fault cuz I went to Walgreens without consultin’ his sorry black ass. Went to get some aspirin – I was pregnant, six months gone, an’ my back was killin’ me. I was walkin’ home, and here he come, stormin’ at me like the Lord God Almighty, an’ I can tell right quick that he ain’t playin.’ He grab me by my hair first thing, an’ start draggin’ me down the street, sweet as you please.
It’s Sunday, nice weather, plenty of niggas standin’ at the corner on King. He draggin’ my pregnant ass down 35th Street in broad daylight on a Sunday afternoon, and no one bother to check him. Couple of niggas by the liquor store cheerin’ him on, yellin’ “What she do?” He don’t say nothin’ – too busy yanking my weave out by the root. “Went to get some aspirin, motherfuckers. Didn’t know I needed no permit for that in the state of Illinois.” I think this, but don’t say nothing, cuz I knows what’s coming, and it be bad enough without me runnin’ my mouth.
We almost to his truck now. I figure he gotta let go of my hair to drive, but instead he grab hold of me with his left hand and unlock the door with his right. I see him reach under the driver seat, and I start to cry. I don’t usually give no motherfucker the satisfaction seein’ me cry, but this time it my baby I’m thinking of. I know what underneath that seat. When he pull it out I ain’t even surprised. I just wrap my arms tight around my belly, and I pray. He keep a baseball bat under that seat (he a banger, say he need it for protection). But right now he need it to bang his baby mama for buyin’ aspirin on a Sunday afternoon. He say right off he ain’t gonna hit my belly, say it ain’t worth the jail time.
He start swinging at my legs. This a Louisville slugger, I mean the real deal. After the first few hits I lay still and pretend I’se unconscious. I learned that from my mama. She was usually tweakin’, couldn’t feel no pain anyway, but when my daddy punch her she roll up into a ball and pretend she dead. An’ she was dead, might’s well been. Even when she open her eyes, she never see me. It like she not a real person – she ain’t whole. Something always missing in the way she looked at me. But your mama your first teacher. She your first teacher even if she smoke crack, and my mama be mine. My mama survive by playing dead, an’ thas what I do soon’s this motherfucker start swinging that bat.
I just lays there and don’t move. I try not to think about the pain. I think ‘bout my baby instead, the li’l man in my belly, and how he finne grow up and be the kind of man don’t beat his woman with a bat, how he gonna be the kind of man don’t stand by when he see some nigga draggin’ a woman down 35th Street by the hair. He gonna know what a woman is, and that she sacred. Her body a place of worship, and he gonna say “holy” every time she pass. He gonna remember where he come from, from my body, mines, same body survived his daddy’s beatin’s, and my daddy’s before that. This the cradle that carried him, the cradle of civ’lization, and he gonna remember what that mean.
Motherfucker stop hitting me now. He tired. He drop the bat, an’ I can hear him breathin’ hard. He climb into the truck to find his Kools, and thas’ when I start draggin’ my own damn self. There a bank right there, and I know I can get in with my card. That motherfucker don’t have no ATM card. He a gangbanger, like I said, an’ he deal in cash. So I drag myself to that bank, and I leave that motherfucker smoking Kools in his truck, and next day I leave his ass thoroughly. He try to get me back. He say he kill me if I don’t come back. But I say, “Listen, motherfucker. You want to kill me, you can gone do it right now. Cuz I know if I stay with your sorry ass you’ll eventually kill me anyway. An’ I don’t see no reason why I should suck your dick in the meantime.”
You ask what make me a good mother? I tell you what. I don’t play dead no more. Cuz when you got a shorty to take care of, being dead ain’t no game. Your mother your first teacher, and I’ma teach my son what a woman’s power be. I’m gonna teach my son what it mean to stay alive. Ain’t no nigga worth what I been through. Ain’t no nigga in this world worth playin’ dead for. Only one thing matter now. Gotta keep on rising. I got to stay alive for my seed.
posted by Teaine at 2:43 AM
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