She was seething with an uncontrollable rage that nearly rendered her speechless.

“Look. I don’t care what you’re going
through. Don’t come.”

The person on the other side of the phone line said, “You don’t threaten me.”

Her eyes laser beams. “Oh, yeah, bitch?”

She was fuming. Chandra said, “Who are you calling a bitch?”

It took a minute for the upset mother to gain her composure. She was pacing around her high-tech kitchen, clad in a cheap knockoff Baby Phat outfit and nine inch pumps.

She hungrily pulled on her cigarette. A beautiful framed photo of her only child, her daughter, set on a niche above the stove. She was holding onto the telephone for dear life, her breathing coming in short gasps.

“If you show your face at my daughter’s house you will be dealt with.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Chandra asked, gripping the telephone with one hand and holding a needle with the other, pulling the rubber band around her upper arm with her teeth, feeling the tightness made her smile.

The Mother smiled like a Cheshire Cat. “I will tell her everything.”

And the phone went dead in her ear.