Sunny rain, p.1
Sunny Rain, page 1
Sunny Rain
By
Ci Ci Foster
Copyright © 2010 by Ci Ci Foster.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Published by 4 Hearts Publications
P.O. Box 570473
Tarzana, CA. 91357
www.4heartspublications.com ISBN: 978-0-615-32400-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Cover design/Inside Layout: www.MarionDesigns.com
In Loving Memory Of
My Great-Grandmother Mary Jackson
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my husband, Kevin for your unconditional love and support. You pushed me to follow my dreams when the path seemed impossible. To my beautiful daughters, Diamond and Imani, I do it all for you!
To my editor, David Bain, thanks for all your hard work and valuable insight. Your feedback helped me take Sunny Rain to the next level. Allyson Wood, thank you for taking time out your busy schedule to read my book. Kimberly Gibson, you support everything I do! I’m lucky to have you for a best friend.
To my business partner and good friend, Mashari Bain, thanks for hooking me up with that erotic poem. You naughty, naughty girl! Frantz Saint Louis, thank you for coming up with an amazing title.
A special thanks to the Westley clan and the Foster family. Sherron Acklin, Essie Foster, Joyce Goodman, Eric McElroy, and Grandma Louise, your support means so much!
This list wouldn’t be complete without my parents, John and Mary Westley. You never doubted me and I love you for that!
Enjoy!
Winter 1989
Natalie Ellis
The cold breeze danced throughout the overcrowded neighborhood. I quickly made my way up the busted stairs to the first floor apartment door. Unlocked. Again.
I threw my backpack on the floor in the living room. Removed my heavy coat, scarf, and gloves.
The tiny two-bedroom apartment lacked style. Frayed secondhand furniture filled the cluttered room. Scattered Jet magazines covered the shaky wooden coffee table. A crooked picture of Jesus hung above the sagging, floral sofa. No family pictures displayed. Only Jesus.
I crept to Momma’s bedroom. The offensive funk of stale beer and cigarettes greeted me at the threshold. All too familiar. She was sleeping in a fetal position at the foot of her full-sized bed. Tiptoed out unnoticed, closing the door behind me.
My stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Went into the kitchen to find something to eat. Cockroaches scattered when I turned on the dusty light above the sink.
Looked like a tornado had hit the kitchen. Two-day-old dishes. Empty beer bottles. Books and old mail.
I started a fresh pot of coffee for Momma before fixing myself a peanut butter sandwich with half-molded bread, carefully peeling away the mold, just like Momma showed me. The jelly jar sat empty on the counter.
Momma woke just as I was finishing up my homework. She shuffled into the kitchen wearing her favorite torn robe, holding a pack of cigarettes. Her small five foot three frame made her appear much younger than her twenty-nine years. Momma’s thick, coarse hair stood wildly on her head. She was in dire need of soap and toothpaste.
“Hey Natalie Pooh,” Her voice thick from sleeping. She bent down and kissed me on my forehead. The familiar stench of beer made my nostrils burn.
“Hi, Ma. I made you some coffee.”
She stood by the sink, trying to pull herself together. Suddenly, Momma ran to the garbage can and buried her face in the bag, releasing breakfast.
The pungent smell of vomit quickly filled the room.
Momma went to the sink and ran cold water over her face and neck.
“Oh, I needed that. You find something to eat all right?” She patted her face dry with a napkin.
“I had a peanut butter sandwich.”
Momma scanned the nearly bare cabinets looking for dinner options.
“Shit, what am I going to cook your daddy?” “He not my daddy.”
“What I tell you about that? He take care of yo nappy head ass, so he is yo daddy,” Her bloodshot eyes focused on me.
Keys jingled at the front door. Momma’s eyes widened in fear. I swallowed a lump in my throat.
John Michael Roberts, my play daddy, entered the living room and slammed his newspaper and car keys on the sofa.
Never trust a man with three first names. Momma’s warning rang in my ears.
Momma said, “You home early.”
“Too cold to finish the job today. Wind chill got down to minus seventeen,” He removed his hardhat and coat. “What’s to eat?”
Momma scrambled about the kitchen looking for something to prepare quickly.
“I’ll make you some spaghetti. It’ll only take a minute.”
John wrapped his chapped hand around Momma’s neck. “How many times I gotta tell you to have my dinner ready when I get home?”
Momma struggled for air and tried to break free from his grasp. I dashed to him and beat my tiny fists against his legs. “Let my momma go.”
John released Momma from his grip. Pushed me down on the stained linoleum floor. “Stay yo little ass outta this.”
“Leave her alone, she just a kid.” Momma pulled me to her chest.
John grabbed Momma’s tiny arm. “What the fuck you been doing all day, huh? You been wit that nigga Tone?”
“No!” Momma yelled.
“Let me find out you lying and I’m gon kill yo ho ass! You hear me!” John threatened.
“I’m—I’m—Baby, I thought you were coming home later. It won’t happen—” Momma struggled to free herself.
“Damn right it won’t happen again. I’m sick of this shit. I’m gonna teach yo ass a lesson this time.” John held both Momma’s wrists with one hand while he removed his belt with the other. He wrapped the belt around his hand and swung the buckle at Momma’s face. The buckle landed on her nose, as she tried to shield her face.
Screaming and yelling.
I hid under the kitchen table to avoid the ruckus. “Momma!” John chased Momma around the tiny apartment swinging his belt like a madman. Squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears, attempting to make it all go away.
Cursing. Yelling. Broken furniture. Chaos.
I begged God to make it all go away. Finally, he heard my prayers.
John grabbed his coat while chiming in a few more “sluts” and “hos” before slamming the door behind him.
Momma lay on the floor in a fetal position, crying her eyes out. Slowly, I approached her shaken body. She pulled me in a tight embrace. The fresh bruises on her pretty face glistened with tears. We lay in each other’s arms, crying and shaking until daylight.
John never returned that night. Glad he didn’t. Beating my
Momma like that. My resentment for him grew stronger day by day.
* * *
There’s nothing more brutal than a Chicago winter. Although snow had not yet fallen, temperatures reached a negative six degrees.
My fiasco with Momma made me late for school the next morning. Missed the bus and had to walk the seven-block trip. My toes were frozen, and I could barely feel my fingers by the time I made it to school.
Fifth grade spelling class was my favorite subject. Since we changed classes, I got to sit next to Rodney Wilson. All the girls loved them some Rodney Wilson. He was athletic, with light brown eyes and smooth caramel skin. I was still at the stage in my life where I thought boys were gross except Rodney Wilson.
Barely listening to the teacher, I starred at Rodney from across the aisle. He threw a piece of crumbled notebook paper on my desk when the teacher turned her back to write on the board.
Ooh, a love letter. I knew he liked me too!
Unscrambled the paper under my desk to find a wad of gooey boogers stuck to the paper.
“Gross!” I dropped the paper on the floor.
Rodney and his crew laughed at me. I’d never been so hu- miliated.
“Natalie, no talking, and pay attention to the board,” the teacher scolded.
From that moment on, I refused to look directly at Rodney. Out the corner of my eye, I could see a sly smirk on his face. My heart was broken. Fought back the tears welling in my eyes.
That afternoon, I rushed home to share my day with Momma. The door was wide open, and I heard unfamiliar voices inside. A knot formed in my stomach. Peeped around the corner to see what was going on. Two police officers and a woman were talking to Momma who sat on the couch smoking a cigarette, crying. She wore a gray jogging suit with matching Reebok sneakers. Her hands trembled as she put the cigarette out in the ashtray. Momma’s once-pretty face was now swollen and badly bruised.
I braved up and walked into the apartment. “Hello. You must be Natalie,” The woman said.
“Yeah,” I replied shyly, while moving closer to Momma. Momma placed her tiny arm around my shoulder and kissed my forehead. “It’s okay baby, these people are here to help us.”
The woman kneeled down in front of me. “That’s right Natalie. Don’t be afraid. Can you come in your room and talk to me?” The woman was older than Momma, with very kind eyes.
<
“My name is Mrs. Smith, and I work for Children’s Services. Do you know what that is?”
I shook my head.
“Children’s Services offers assistance to families in need. Would you like for us to help you?”
I nodded.
“Good.” Mrs. Smith took a pen and notepad out her bag. She made herself comfortable on the tiny floor. I remained standing, leaning on the bed. “I just want to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me what you can remember. It’s okay if you don’t know.”
I nodded again.
“How does John treat you?” “Mean,” I said quietly.
“What are some of the things he does to treat you mean?” “He hits and he yells a lot.”
Mrs. Smith asked, “Does he hit your momma too?” “Yeah,” Tears welled in my eyes.
“How does that make you feel?” I said, “Sad and mad.”
Mrs. Smith wrote in her notebook while she questioned me. Before I knew it, I had told this complete stranger our deepest family secrets. She was there to make it all better. Mrs. Smith assured me that I was doing the right thing and she would see to it that John would never hurt me again.
After our interview, Mrs. Smith asked Momma’s permission to use the phone. Momma dug the phone out of a pile of paper on the kitchen counter and gave it to her. Mrs. Smith spoke softly on the phone with her back turned away from us. I tried to hear what she was saying but couldn’t. A few minutes later she ended her call and returned to the living room.
Mrs. Smith said, “Natalie, I need to speak to your mother alone. Can you wait in your room until we’re done?”
I went back to my room peeping around the corner. Those adults talked for a long time. Couldn’t hear what was said, but my heart dropped when Momma burst into tears. A few minutes later, Mrs. Smith returned to my room and explained that I’d have to go with her. Something I didn’t quite understand about protective custody.
Momma entered my room. She placed the few clothes I owned in a small garbage bag. “You’ll be staying with your grandma. It’s only for a little while. Momma has to get better, so I can take care of you. I need you to be a big girl and go with the nice lady. I love you, and don’t you ever forget it.” Momma pulled me in a tight embrace and kissed me on the cheek.
Tears poured down my face. “I don’t wanna go. I wanna stay with you.”
“I know Pooh, but Momma is sick. After I get all better, we can be together again. I promise,” She wept.
Mrs. Smith chimed in, “You’ll see your mommy soon. She’s going to come and visit you.”
Reluctantly I followed Mrs. Smith to her car, crying every step of the way. I’ll never forget the pained expression on Momma’s face as long as I live. I was so upset I cried myself to sleep in Mrs. Smith’s car. When I awoke, we were parked in front of a big white building. The sign above the door read “St. Francis Shelter.”
Mrs. Smith explained that I would be staying here one night until she got in touch with my grandma for placement. Halfheartedly followed her into the quiet building.
The St. Francis staff did a brief medical evaluation. Once the process was complete, Mrs. Smith gathered my belongings.
Mrs. Smith said, “Natalie, It’s time for me to go. I’ll be back tomorrow around noon. You be good now.”
I nodded. Fought back the tears. Refused to let the shelter workers see me cry.
The shelter woman led me to a room with five tiny beds. “Put your pajamas on in there.” She pointed to an adjoining bathroom. “Take the bed by the window.”
I changed into my favorite plaid pajamas. Jumped in bed and pulled the covers over my head. Cried all night, not getting a wink of sleep.
By the time morning rolled around, I was exhausted and irritable. The morning staff woke everyone up for showers and breakfast. I took a ten-minute shower and headed downstairs for breakfast.
The overcrowded cafeteria was very noisy. Kids of various ages and ethnic backgrounds occupied the seats. I sat next to a girl with long, fuzzy cornrows. She looked about twelve years old. “Who said you could sit next to me?” she demanded.
“Nobody. I just saw—”
“I see you new and don’t know the rules. I’m Shawanda and dis is my crew right here. We run all dis here. You got that?”
“Yeah,” I said nervously. Realized I should have sat next to the nerd with the coke-bottle glasses.
A bunch of kids stopped eating to see what was going on. Where was staff when you needed them? Shawanda must have liked the attention and decided to put on a show.
“I say we teach this newby a lesson,” The girl with the ponytail said.
Shawanda said, “You right. That’s just what I was thinking.” She took my food tray and dumped it in my lap. Hot pancakes and syrup dripped down my legs.
I jumped up from the table to defend myself. Staff came rushing to my aid. Never got a lick off.
The taller staff grabbed Shawanda by the arm and forced her out of the room. “That’s it. You’re outta here.”
The other staff escorted me to the sleeping area where I changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I no longer had an appetite and was scared as hell to go back to the cafeteria. Staff gave me permission to stay in the room for breakfast. I knew I’d have to face Shawanda and her crew again later at school if I didn’t get the hell out of there. I sat on my bed crying the whole time. Where was Mrs. Smith? She’d promised to come back for me.
The girl who slept in the middle bed entered the room holding a banana and carton of milk. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“Thank you.” I took the food she offered me. “My name is Anna. What’s yours?”
Anna was a short, slightly plump Latin girl with long dark hair. She wore a pretty cream sweater and jeans.
“Natalie.” I fumbled to get the milk open. “How long you been here?”
“I think two weeks. I was only supposed to be here two days though. My caseworker told me she was gon find a place for me to live and come and get me.”
“I’m going to live with my grandma.” I sipped the milk.
Anna shook her head. “That’s what they always tell you, then you don’t hear from them again. Trust me. I’m older than you, so I know more.”
“How old are you?” “Twelve. How old are you?” “Ten.”
“See, you just a baby. That lady not coming back to get you. That’s what they all say to get you to go with them.”
My eyes teared up again. “But I don’t wanna stay here. I want my momma.”
“Stop acting like a baby. If you wanna make it around here, you better get tough.”
* * *
Anna’s harsh words haunted me the whole time during school. If Shawanda and her crew stepped to me, I’d be ready. Knew how to talk enough trash to get them to back down. Wasn’t going to run, even if it meant getting my butt kicked.
School went by without incident. Shawanda and her crew found somebody else to pick on. Halfway through the math lesson, she was sent out for disruptive behavior.
After school, I was becoming more convinced that Anna was right. I bugged the staff every fifteen minutes if I had a visitor. They all told me to calm down, and when she came, they would let me know. Prayed to God that I’d eat all my veggies if he’ll have Mrs. Smith come back for me.
What if I never got to see Momma again? I can’t stay here with these people. I never should have went with Mrs. Smith.
Around five o’clock, a staff member poked her head in my room. “Natalie, get your things together, you’re leaving.”
There is a God! Now, about those vegetables…
I quickly threw my clothes in a trash bag and followed the staff to the lobby, where Mrs. Smith was waiting.
Mrs. Smith wore her long hair in a tight ponytail to the back.
Her long coat was buttoned to the top of her neck. “Hey, Natalie,” she greeted me.
“You taking me to see Momma?”
“No, not yet. We’re going to your grandparents’ house. You’ll be living with them for a little while.”
“When I’m going to see Momma?”
“Soon. Let’s get you settled in your new placement first. Your new caseworker will be setting up a visit with your mom.”
