My oldest daughter, who will be 18 this month, couldn’t have been more than a couple of months old on the day Tawanda tried to rob me.
I drove my 1988 white Nissan Sentra down Washington Street and looked over at my little angel, who was in her baby carrier strapped to the passenger seat. Washington Street was in downtown Baton Rouge, on the south side.
The locals call it “The Bottom”.
As I approached the end of Washington Street, I saw this girl I knew, Tawanda, standing in front of a little bar about two blocks from the end of Washington Street.
I was on an impromptu trip in the middle of the day. Back then, in the late 90’s, not many people had cell phones. People, especially drug dealers, still used pagers and I hadn’t had the chance to stop at a payphone to page a dealer. I had my infant with me and I wanted to get the shit and get the hell out of that neighborhood and go home.
When I saw Tawanda, I breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of eliminating the whole “payphone paging” part. I pulled into the small parking lot of the bar and she came right to my car. I told her to get in but she had to sit in the back seat, behind me, because I had my angel riding in the passenger seat.
Tawanda got in and turned back onto Washington Street and drove to the stop sign at Highland Road, the road that drives you straight into “Tigerland” at LSU.
I remember asking Tawanda which way to go at the stop sign when, all of a sudden, she put her arms around my throat and started choking me from behind, demanding me to give her my money.
I turned left onto Highland Road. Tawanda had her right arm around my neck and she was using her left arm to tighten her grip.
Tawanda was a crackhead but she wasn’t no skinny ass crackhead.
This girl was at least two or three inches taller than me. She wasn’t sickly looking, like I probably was at that time. Tawanda was dark brown, her skin was very pretty. She had short, dark brown hair and she had muscle…lots of muscle.
I was gasping for air as she was choking the shit out of me, Tawanda switched and began choking me with her left arm so she could then use her right arm to steal the $42 which she knew was hidden in my right hand, balled up like trash in my tightly clamped fist.
At that moment, only me and God knew that money wasn’t about to leave my fucking hand. I looked over at my angel who was still sleeping peacefully in her infant carrier…completely unaware her mother was being asphyxiated by the big black girl behind her, riding in the back seat.
We were swiftly approaching the outskirts of LSU and both Tawanda and I knew something had to give, and it had to give quick. We passed Highland Precinct, on the left, and Tawanda was grabbing my hand trying to pry it open, and she was still choking me.
It was really hard to drive, while being choked, also having to shift the five-speed transmission of my Sentra. I saw the Taco Bell sign on the right. Since Tawanda was exerting most of her force to arm wrestle the money out of my hand, I was able to use my left arm to loosen her grip around my neck and I told Tawanda, “I’m going to Taco Bell and you know the people sitting right there in the parking lot!”
Tawanda quickly replied, “Yeah, and Ima tell da people you ouchere tryinta buy crack wit yo baby!!”.
Oh yeah…fuck…I hadn’t figured that curve ball in, yet, as I pulled in the parking lot at Taco Bell.
There he was, sitting as usual in his unit. There was always a cop at Taco Bell and the relief I thought I would feel (ironic is my life) at seeing the nice policeman swiftly turned in noia and I drove right past him and headed back out onto Highland.
Tawanda was really mad now and choked me harder, but she couldn’t get that fucking $42 out of my hand.
The three of us were now headed back the same way we had come, and I had to figure out how to get this angry woman out of my car, while still keeping my money so I could then get my dope. The original mission surely would not be aborted.
We were approaching Highland Precinct again, and just as I was thinking I should hit the next left on West Polk Street, to see if I could get one of my boys to help me out, Tawanda told me to hit the next left on West Polk Street so she could get her cousin, Yella, make me acquiesce to her desire. I turned left on Taylor Street, made a right on Minnesota Street and there at one of the places I spent much of my money, were a group of guys. I recognized at least three of them, and I felt flooded with relief.
My angel was still sleeping.
Tawanda said, “There! There! My cousin gonna get you straight!”.
Her cousin, Yella, and his friends recognized me and my car. As soon as I pulled in the driveway, one of them saw me being choked and opened my car door.
Tawanda was promptly removed my vehicle.
I purchased my cocaine.
My angel and I headed back home.
I never saw Tawanda again until almost ten years later, when we were locked up together.
We didn’t speak.
Tawanda Hayes was murdered not long after she was released….stabbed to death.
Tales From My Drug Years: Episode 1
So this one night I was Rocky’s shooting cocaine intravenously. The year was probably something like 2002 when this anecdote from my life was born. If memory serves, and it usually does (more on my eiditic memory later), I had been on binge for a couple of days and then I ran out of coke. I had the money to buy the coke but it was election time so drugs, in general, were scarce. It’s always like that in the fall. But, somehow, some way, I got me some money and was I able to score me some dope. After I got back from getting the dope I went and got my only rig, the same fucking rig I had been using for probably at least a week because back then that’s what I had to do. There were none of these fancy-dancy needle exchanges until the heroin junkies started dropping like flies from the fentynal onset.
I remember being angry alot about the lack of anywhere to buy a needle because here’s the deal whether you like it or not does not change the fact that a junkie is going to get high and there’s not a fucking thing in this world you could ever say or do to stop him unless you were a cop and arresting him or you were his murderer.
So, I get to Rocky’s bedroom after returning from making the score after searching for 20 minutes (more about the weird shit i do when I get high later) for my needle I finally found it. I dumped some of my powder into a cap or maybe it was a spoon, I actually don’t remember…weird…and then I turned on the bathroom sink and caught the water coming out of the faucet with my left hand cupped. My right hand, at this point, is holding the needle with the point in the water from the faucet which is filling, as best as it can, my cupped hand.
I begin to draw up the water and just as about 10ml are at the mark on the ruler on the rig, the long part of the syringe which is used to draw the liquid, the plunger, pops out of the rubber grommet which is what causes the suction. The reason for this is that I have literally used this needle so many times that the plastic stick part actually destroyed the threading which made the ball holder shaped divet in the rubber grommet too big and the ball on the end of the plunger stick just popped right out.
To say I’ve been here before, many times would be a vast understatement.
I wasn’t going to dick around with this useless ass broken ass motherfucking needle anymore. There was a CVS Pharmacy right down the street. It was one of only two in my city which stayed open 24 hours along with the pharmacy.
I knew what I had to do. I threw on my shoes and I’m sure a black, long-sleeved top and whatever shoes I owned at the time. It was always only one pair, whatever currently happened to be on my feet. I grabbed my keys and off I went to Rite Aid. No way in hell Rite Aid was gonna sell me a bag of needles but perhaps there was some way I could convince the pharmacist. Thing is, I was jonesing for this hit so bad that I knew, as I was driving there, I wasn’t fucking taking no for an answer.
I pulled into the parking lot and proably sat there and freaked out a little bit but not much because I knew…I mean I FUCKING KNEW I WAS GONNA LEAVE WITH WHAT I CAME FOR, PERIOD.
I walked into the store and headed straight back to the pharmacy. It was weird because it was only the pharmacist there working. There was no tech. The pharmacist asked how she could help me and I said, “I need a pack of U-100 diabetic syringes”.
The pharmacist then asked for my diabetic card to which I replied I hadn’t one.
The pharmacist looked at me and said, “I’m sorry but without the card I can’t sell you these."
This wasn’t shocking. I knew she would refuse me. I had nothing prepared to say, though, so I winged it and here is how it went: I said, “Ok, well, then I guess I’m gonna go climb into the dumpster on the backside of the parking lot and dig in the trash until I find a needle. When I find one, I’m going to put it in my arm and get high. When I come down will probably be about the same time you get off work and when I see you leave I’m going to follow you home so that I know where you live. Then, I’m going to find everyone in your family and I’M GOING TO FUCK THEM.
The pharmacist replied, “Here, I will sell you this bag but don’t ever come into this store again”.
To this day, I've never been in that store again.
FML...it’s not hard to show love
Here is the thing and I know it's true
people are people, just like me and you
we come here and write while looking forward to
your likes and reposts and when they don't come
it's like tissue being ripped through
by this time everyone is aware that our brains release dopamine
when our shit that we write is liked or perhaps there's a share
All I am saying is that hitting like is not even hard
even if you feel like what you read was not worth your regard
What's hard is being the writer who feels like their writing is trash
that type of feeling is what causes decisions which can be rash
like the one my good friend made last Monday
she committed suicide and every day since has been less than a funday.
I have to fucking do a wake and funeral on Tuesday.
My French Poem Which Quickly Devolves into SOBER YES SOBER (apparent, even to the crazy one) Craziness
Timing is fluid in this post.
I wrote a poem in French last night and now it's gone and I don't know why. I can't write in French? I'll have whoever deleted my post know that according to
Duolingo, I am in the top 10% of fastest learners of French, GLOBALLY.
AND I DID NOT SAVE A COPY.
LET THE EXPLETIVES ABOUND BECAUSE THAT POEM DIDN'T JUST FALL OUT OF ME. IT TOOK A COUPLE HOURS TO WRITE (MOSTLY BECAUSE I AM NOT FUCKING FRENCH) AND NOW IT'S GONE WITH NO REASON NOR RHYME.
you deleters could have at least added rhyme....or an explanation for the deletion even though the explanation would have been ridiculous and so I am ASSuming that's why you chose not to explain.
I hate people.
I love people.
I can only love people from a distance because when I am close it makes me hate them.
OH MY FUCKING GOD.
I AM ANGRY.
NOW...I HAVE TO THANK YOU WHILE NOT DWELLING ON THE FACT THAT I'M HAPPY TO BE ANGRY BECAUSE ANGER IS MY CATALYST FOR WRITING.
oh my god, the fucking poem just reappeared. I presume in an attempt to discredit me. How can you discredit a person with no credit?
ok well since you are obviously listening, why can't I have a profile pic or background pic and everyone else can?
yeah, I'll take my lick, I made the title ridiculous so I didn't recognize it.
I'll stand up while everyone laughs and points...I do it well, I've had much experience.
I'll shall leave this pile of crazy exactly as it is.
I Got This
"My God, I've got to break that button", Lily said.
"What button?", said Lily's head
"you know which button, the one that makes me run away from things I shouldn't dread. The one that makes me stay in bed, the one that makes my legs feel as if they're really made of lead....the one that stops my mouth from saying all the things I should have said".
"Why don't you just start writing without stopping then mind the outcome once you've fled?", said Lily's head, "Goddamn you're so misled".
"I'm sleepy, it's time for bed", Lily said.
When writing that shit I do believe that my fingers bled
All is right with the world.
Anything to Not Write What I Have Always Dreamed of Writing: Fear of Failure
J'adore ma chien
j'adore ma chat
j'adore un grande bifteck
sur ma plat
j'ecrite en anglaise
j'ecrite en française
j'ecrite cochon latin
Quand je suis sur ma fiance
je ne connaisse pas
je n'écrit pas un livre réelle
attendre! Oui, je sais!
parce que dans ma diriger le succès toujours irreelle
Va te faire foutre papa!
A Good Place to Fart
Eleven reads only one heart
the disappointment I would've had once
would've stopped me writing before I could start.
People are hard to please
So a human I think I am not
I give my likes freely and I do it with ease
Learning the Laws of Thermodynamics is always a good place to start
Just like under the covers with all of your lovers is always a good place to fart.
Lazy much, Ed?
I have to go to work now
I should have already left
now I am bereft
I could instead devise an invisible theft
...you know for money...so I don't have to leave
I enjoy tattooing myself badly
the pain I welcome
I enjoy it gladly
You can make fun
but I am nowhere near done
embarrassing my dear fucking daddy
I miss my fucking mom like I miss my fucking leg
it got cut off I'm a pirate and I'm walking on a peg
and it's really fucking weird cause we never could get close
my dad took me from
the one I needed most
I have no memories before the age of six
it's funny he always had a camera on me
but there are no pics
maybe just a few
and by "a few" I literally mean one more than two
My dad the one who raised me was really fucking mean
when he married my stepmom they became a team
and they had my sister and I turned really green
I was jealous and angry and I was obscene
trying to get attention any way that I could
and I always was bad cause they never noticed good
they also never noticed when I'd make my wrists bleed
or I'd take a bunch of pills and smoke a lot of weed.
They only really cared when I ever dared to disobey
in any kind of way that would make other people say
anything out of any ordinary way
when I was there I wasn't allowed to play
couldn't ever play couldn't cross the street so
I'd stay in my room and I'd use my feet
to dance in front the mirror til it was time to go to bed
and even though I had nightmares there wasn't any dread
I could sleep and sleep
never counting one sheep
just enjoying my nightmares playing on repeat
anything was better than being in that place
and I HATED THAT HOUSE
and I HATED THAT SPACE
and I HATED MY ROOM
and I HATED MY FACE
and I HATED YOU AND I HATED TIME AND SPACE
GET TOO CLOSE AND YOU'LL GET PUNCHED IN THE FACE
but then I'll show you my panties all covered with lace
I'm using Wayne's beat to write my silly song
and I know I ain't paid so I know that it's wrong
trying to fit in where I suppose I don't belong
but when it blows up
(I'm talking about my song)
getting played all the time
I hope that HE will like my rhyme
and all the baby steps the baby made without a crime
Are there any more babies out there young like me?
Still young and shit with the whole world to see?
I just want em to know they can be what they be
they are beautiful and silly
and some are funny
sad some days you're just really fucking mad
AND YOU KNOW WHAT, GIRL?
THAT DON'T MAKE YOU BAD
nothing makes you bad cause you're really good inside
so don't let the world and it's people make you hide
STAND UP STRAIGHT, CHEST OUT, CHIN UP
and then if they don't like it?
THEN YOU UPPERCUT
FUCK THIS WORLD DON'T LET IT GET YOU DOWN
ACT LIKE AN ASS
BE FORTY AND A CLOWN
cause I swear if you don't
this place'll make you drown
and I swear when you go
you'll go without a sound
Take it from a bitch
who was one to "make a block"
a bitch on her knees
butting heads with a glock
fuck that life
and fuck that strife
that fucking shit make it hard to be a wife
when you've done too much
and you've seen much more
and always are you looking
for the magic door
that'll take you away to your own paradise
I'm still trying to find mine
that would be nice
I hope you find yours
the best way you can
do it better than me and I'll always be your fan
we can choose to love
we don't have to hate
but if hates what you choose then you choose your own fate
I'm past mid-life and this is what I've found
WHAT GOES AROUND REALLY DOES COME BACK AROUND.