All That Drama

Published by

Strebor Books

P.O. Box 6505

Largo, MD 20792

http://www.streborbooks.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

© 2004 by Tina Brooks McKinney

Originally published in trade paperback in 2004.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

ISBN 13: 978-1-4165-5015-0
ISBN 10: 1-4165-5015-1

LCCN 2003116580

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

http://www.SimonSays.com

I would like to thank God first and foremost for allowing me to finish my dream. This book would not have been possible without the love and support of my family. I especially want to thank my husband, William McKinney, for believing that I could do this and for putting up with my late nights at my laptop. Many thanks and praise to my children, Shannan and Estrell, for their love, faith and confidence in me.

I want to thank my friends, Kathy, Kim, Vanessa, Lindsay and Angela, Scott and Erica. Without your support, I might have given up on this book a long time ago. Thanks for the endless readings that you all did, I really appreciate it and this book is for you, too!

My other friends and family, this list is numerous and I don’t want to leave anyone out. Special shout-outs to Angie and Valerie, my long-time childhood friends, the real-life Sammie, Regena Barnes, Diane Turner, cousins Laura, Tarcia, Donna, Mike, David and Kevin and the rest of my Baltimore family.

Special thanks to Zane and Charmaine and the rest of the Strebor staff, to my Strebor authors who showed me the way and my road dogs: Harold, Shelley, Darrien and Allison. I would also like to thank my boss Kelvin Walton for his understanding and support. It’s on now!

And last but certainly not least, Ivor and Luetta Brooks and my sister, Theresa. Love you all!

I
f I knew yesterday that I would be fighting for my life today, I would have done things differently starting with last night. First of all, I would have gotten laid for real. I would have been fucked until my feet curled over and my back refused to stand straight. I would have gone downtown to a club, scoped out two fyne brothers, possibly cousins, took them home and fucked the daylights out of ’em. Sounds freaky but you would be surprised at the thoughts that flow through your head as the blood oozes out of your body.

Prior to today, the very thought of being with more than one man never appealed to me, but after all that I have been through over the last couple of months, the sheer freak in me has arrived.

If I had a chance to do things differently, I would not risk picking up someone with either a tiny dick or one that was rendered useless after a few minutes, so, nothing less than two men would be acceptable.

“Oh God, what about my children. I don’t want to leave them alone,” I moaned even though no sound escaped from my lips. The fact that they did not come to my mind first does not by any means lessen the love that I feel for them. Hell, I wish I would have thought about them first but shit, let’s be real; I’m bleeding here and can’t control my thoughts or dementia at this point.

At least they have my mother who’ll continue to watch over them and make sure they do well in school and whip their asses if they don’t. I can’t help but to cuss at the powers that be that got me here, but
bear in mind, I was not about to cuss at God since I might be meeting him soon.

Vivid images flood my head. I flash forward to all the special moments that will occur in my children’s lives, their proms, dating, marriage and then children, my grandchildren.

Whoa, hold up, what the hell am I thinking; I am not even ready to think about either of my children dating or getting married, much less fucking! My injury must be worse than I thought.

I have a pre-designed plan for my daughter which is to lock her up at the onset of puberty, not letting her go until she turns twenty-one. If she only knew, she would be chanting, “Bleed, Momma, bleed.”

For my son, I want to do everything in my power to keep those scrawny chicken heads away from him. I want him to grow up to be a real man, one who is self-reliant and self-supporting.
Did they hire someone to try to knock me off?

Ok, I am pissed now.
How the hell did I wind up here? Yeah, I did my shit, but was it worth this?
Sammie came out of the house and lifted my head onto her lap. She gently rocked me encouraging me to hold on. I had so much to tell her but I could not speak.

“Hold on, Marie. Hold on,” she cried, dropping more tears into my already full eyes.

The blinding light that I saw in the distance was getting brighter and kept drawing my attention. When I first arrived on the porch, I turned my head to keep it out of sight, but I kept checking it to make sure it did not come any closer.
Damn, where is Five-O when you need them?

My mind sought to gallop along a path of fantasy of which I had no control. I simply refuse to go softly into the light!

S
ammie Davis was accustomed to chaos in her life. Lord knows it was so common to her it could have been her middle name. If things weren’t stirred up, then she was not happy. For Sammie, it had always been that way and it drew me to her like a bee to honey.

Me? I can’t live that way. I am too used to law and order. But when I do get the urge to creep on the wild side, Sammie is my freeway of choice. Truth be told, I’m an undercover drama junkie. I want to hear about it, I just don’t want it anywhere near my back door!

I met Sammie on the most embarrassing day of my life. It was the first official day of spring and the temperature had reached 70 degrees. I wanted to wear something very colorful to celebrate the arrival of the season. I chose a bright pink skirt set that accentuated my shapely legs. I purposefully left my coat hanging in the closet.

I am an avid commuter. I prefer taking the subway to work because I hate to drive. The morning I formally met Sammie, in my haste to leave the house I grabbed my old maternity slip. It fit securely when I left the house and did not shift when I climbed into the car, but as I was rushing to catch the train, the slip chose to show its tattered condition. Not realizing what was happening, my leg movement became restricted. I was in trouble. Sammie stopped me from kissing the concrete by snatching me up by the scruff of my neck. Sammie didn’t laugh, as I would have done after witnessing the steps I had just performed. Maybe her heroics were a normal course of events to her, but to me, she was a savior.

I was relatively new to the Atlanta area and I have no sense of direction so I could not tell you whether I lived west or north of the city. But I can tell you, with exact detail, about every woman’s hairdo on my stop and how she acquired it. I can tell if it is sewn, glued, stapled or borrowed ’cause hair is my thang! I can’t do shit with my own but I pay a handsome wage to have it done. Mine is God-given and chemically altered. When it comes to hairstyles, Sammie is the queen of the weave. She kept me constantly guessing what the hell she would do to it next. One day, she showed up with this yellow hair that was woven into a birdcage. I was totally outdone because Sammie’s hair always matched her outfits no matter what color she wore. I always wanted to ask Sammie who did her hair but she intimidated me. Now that I’d made an ass of myself, I really didn’t know what to say to her.

I had noticed Sammie as she started appearing at the Indian Creek train station about six weeks before the incident. She had a presence that commanded your attention as she confidently strolled to the train every morning never appearing to be rushed. On the other hand, I arrived at the station hell-bent on catching a train and willing to knock somebody on their ass if they got in my way.

No matter what the weather, Sammie always appeared in the shortest of skirts and the highest of heels. One thing that stood out about Sammie was that she didn’t have the usual baggage like other women carried. We carried canvas bags, grocery bags, dog-eared novels, tennis shoes, Walkmans and bottled water. But not Sammie; she never carried anything other than a tiny clutch, which was always coordinated with her outfit and her hair. I envied that clutch because there was no way my shit would have fit in that tiny little bag. Her bag was so tiny that not even my cigarettes and lighter could be squeezed into it, and I wouldn’t dare leave the house without them. Silently, we boarded the train. Sammie took the seat next to the window. After a moment’s hesitation, I sat down beside her. Despite Sammie’s flamboyant yellow attire, I could not help but to steal glances at the sheer coordination between her hair, mini skirt and the clutch. Her black leather shoes even had yellow lines running across them. I always wanted to wear yellow but did not have the confidence to do so.

Feeling embarrassed, intimidated, and a bit of an idiot, I could not muster up the courage to say thank you. She just looked out the window as if nothing had transpired. She was so damn cool! God, I wished I could be that cool. We continued to ride in silence for the next two or three stops.

The sun had not risen so it was still dark outside, but Sammie continued to gaze out the window. I wanted to say something witty to Sammie but old fears and insecurities captured my tongue.

“That was the funniest shit I have ever seen in my life,” Sammie declared.

“Excuse me, what did you say?”

“I said that was the funniest shit I have ever seen in my life,” she said, trying to suppress her boisterous laughter. “You were about to eat the concrete big-time!”

“You’re right,” I uttered a small giggle still torn between humor and humiliation.

“And, what really blew me away, you left the shit in the middle of the sidewalk. That’s what I can’t get over!” Sammie said with her hand covering her mouth trying to physically contain her laughter.

“What was I supposed to do, pick it up and claim it? I don’t think so!” I replied in a huff.

The train was approaching Georgia State station, near the mecca of downtown Atlanta. It was also my queue to begin gathering my stuff. The slowing of the train matched my thought process.

Picking up on my distressed state, Sammie said, “Girl, it was not that serious. You tripped; that’s all. At least I think that’s what your ass was doing!” No longer able to hold back, she exploded with laughter.

Her laughter was what I needed to make me loosen up. Once we settled down, I introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Marie Morgan and normally my clothes don’t attack me.” Sammie laughed again and I joined in.
Whoopee, I’ve finally found my witty retort,
I thought to myself proudly. “I just grabbed the wrong slip this morning. I didn’t feel it until it tripped me up and you saved my ass.”

Together, we departed the train and began walking down Peachtree Street. My job was about three blocks away and I was glad that I had worn tennis shoes instead of high heels like Sammie wore. I set the pace and surprisingly Sammie kept up with me.

“I just wish I could have seen your face as you were going down! Girl, when you started wind-milling your arms I didn’t know if you were trying to fly or fighting off a fucking bee,” Sammie said, chuckling all over again.

“You know what’s the worst part? I thought I was looking too cute this morning when I left the house! I was switching my ass off like I was walking down the runway in a spring fashion show. Then I realized I was about to miss the train and all hell broke loose!”

Explaining the situation was like lighting a fire under her ass ’cause she started laughing, saying, “Not to mention raggedy slip breaking loose!” I was beginning to get tired of being the butt of a bad situation. I glanced at my watch.

“Look, I really need to hurry ’cause I don’t like to be late. You want to meet after work for drinks?” I asked, speeding up my pace.

“Sure, where do you want to meet?” she asked.

“Hell, we could meet at Five Points. What time do you get off?” I was almost running at this point.

She yelled back, “I get off at five o’clock.”

“Me, too,” I yelled back over my shoulders.

If I had thought that our meeting at Five Points would have changed the course of both of our lives, I don’t believe that I would have bothered to show up.