When I went to the seventh grade prom at Cutler Ridge Middle School, she messed it up by doing the same thing, hunching some Niggah in the bathroom at the school while Millie Vanillie's "Girl you Know its True" boomed from somebody's stereo.

She was supposed to be serving drinks. I guess when she got thirsty she pulled on some dick until her throat was satisfied from the eruption that spurted from the blackone-eyed

snake.

I was too mad. She did a host of other shit I couldn't think about now because I didn't feel like crying and messing up my make-up.

She knew I was thinking about something. Mama smiled uneasily, standing up from the couch. Looking ravishing.

Mama said, "I couldn't make a career out of it."

She looked depressed.

I didn't feed into it.

I gave her a knowing look. Since she was the queen-of-reminding you-of-your dirty-panties- from your-past, its time to flip the script.

"Because you were caught in an orgy with the First Sergeant, your element leader and their wives by some General, and you were all court marshaled, right?"

She was in denial. "Anyways. It didn't go down like that."

Yea, right. I read her papers behind her back. "Whatever."

Her eyes became a little withdrawn.

"You're about to get married, baby! Miss Francine Jakes Mann-Lester. Can you believe your big day has arrived?" Mama asked.

"I know, Mama." My earrings dangled freely, gifts from whom else: Mama.

"Are you ready? Getting cold feet?"

"No, Mama. I don't have cold feet."

"Baby. Every woman gets cold feet."

Through clenched teeth I said, "No they don't."

She was determined. "Yes they do."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Mama, not every bitch gets cold feet."

"You're in church, watch your mouth."

"I'm in my home. This isn't a church. Or have you forgotten?"

I was getting mad. On my wedding day. Of all days to piss me off she would pick this day.

I was set to marry Samuel Lester. He was a business man who took a T-shirt venture from the soul of the 'hood and took it to a level that

brought him $500,000 a year.

Street hustling inspirational shirts in the 'hood, being ridiculed, talked about, slammed and slandered certainly paid off.

He now drove a Rolls Royce and had a fitness video coming out.

His brother, Prado, hated everything that he did. He claimed Samuel stole his ideas.

I didn't believe him. He seemed to be a jealous man anyways, always trying to take what his brother earned.

My Mama was like that.

Mama got in my face and I held my breath. This was the story. Mama and I were always going at it.

She still hadn't realized that I cut the umbilical cord from her navel when I sucked my first dick when I was fourteen years old.

She always wanted to hold my hand. I wanted to do shit on my own, but no, Mama was like the solar eclipse.

Blocking my sunshine.

Nothing was right for her. If I made straight A's she wanted me to make them the next year. I could never satisfy her.

She always bragged about me around Goulds, the town in Miami, Florida we're from. My baby this.

She made the honor roll that. Your child isn't as smart as mine. My life was reduced to a bunch of stats.