My Mango Season

Braddock and Inner City shifted things for me….Well at least on the outside. Abandonment, abuse, and my parents’ dysfunctional relationship left me voided, internally. Questions about love and what it meant began to consume me. The noise from my early childhood experiences precluded an understanding of love. I didn’t know what it looked or felt like. I longed for the attention that a father would give his little girl and the validation a mother would give her daughter. I was looking for the blue print my parents were supposed to have drawn years prior but weren’t able to because of their own issues. In turn, I looked to a man to fulfill me. I believe I fell in love a million times back then. As soon as I would meet someone, they’d become my husband, in my mind of course. I could only imagine the conversations I had with guys back then. Some of you reading this could probably attest to that.

Proceeding Calvin, I had a couple more relationships that were as innocent. First, there was Jefferson Thomas, also known as “FLIMP”. He was the “Intelligent Thug” I’m not gonna say what “FLIMP” stood for but I will say that he was too smart of a guy to carry such a name. His “actual” name was more of a reflection of his true self and how I saw him. Jefferson attended Braddock for a short period of time but couldn’t commit because he was consumed with life and the streets. A kid himself, he had fathered a child and was trying to figure out how they both would eat. He recently reminded of how I would encourage him to do the right things but he was unable to hear me because of the loud background noises.

And then there was Byron. Called “Butchy” by everyone, Byron and I met when we moved into the “projects”, James E. Scott Housing Projects (“Scotts”). Babalu had moved us there by my tenth grade year. Now you wanna talk about a life changing experience….Although we’d always lived in bad neighborhoods, we were surrounded by people who’s concern for us overshadowed the the environment itself. That wasn’t the case in the projects. The people seemed just as hard as their surroundings. Nubians in the “Scotts”, we were picked on. It was sort of like an initiation to either make or break you. My siblings were able to fight through it and became “a part of the family”, sort of. Me, on the other hand, didn’t want any parts of the people or the community. I couldn’t walk to the corner store without Eric pushing me or jumping at me as if he were gonna hit me. Or the guys hanging out on the sidewalk staring at me while saying “You got a couple mo mango seasons, lil mama.” That meant it was only a matter of time before you were ready to have sex with them. And to make matters worse, the “Scotts” were flooded with drug holes.

Byron was a drug dealer and then some. He drove an old school convertible with a forest green exterior and all white leather interior. I would hear him coming before I could see him. I can still hear “The Chronic” blasting from his car as he drove through the new projects (near the rail road tracks) to the old projects. The bass of track would be the loudest, drowning the lyrics. But who cared, the song was crazy. And Miamians only cared about bass anyway. The minute I heard that song I knew it was him. No matter what time of day it was, I’d run to the boys’ room window to see him. He would always park his car in the spaces designated for our row. He eventually caught on to the fact that I was watching him.

My dad had a relationship with a woman named “Noonie”. Noonie lived in the row in the back of us, but spent a lot of time at our house. She and I weren’t the best of friends, but I will tell you about that later. Noonie also had a relationship with Byron. He was her supplier. One day Byron asked me if wanted to go to the movies with him. Naturally I wanted to, but couldn’t go anywhere and leave my siblings home alone. Babalu would have killed me. I’m having palpitations now just thinking about that day. Byron told me not to worry about it, he would take care of it and to just get ready. Before I knew it, Noonie was telling me she would look after the kids until I got back. Now knowing what Byron did for her so that I could go to the movies, how in the hell was she going to watch anyone? She would be too busy getting high. I wasn’t concerned about that, though. The only thing I was thinking about was Byron. I was floating and afraid at the same time. I mean I had been watching him for months and had finally gotten the chance to be close to him, he had chosen me…. I was also afraid that Babalu might find out.

We pulled up to the movies. If my mind serves me correctly, the theatre was in Hialeah. I laugh thinking about that day….What was I doing? I mean this guy was at least 6-7 years older than me (I was 16) and I knew what he did for a living. Shit, I could have been caught in a turf war or his girlfriend could have followed us or even worse, he could have kidnapped my ass…..SMH. But because I didn’t have anyone looking after me nor teaching me, I made decisions about boys with my heart not my head. I was looking for someone to mend the pieces my parents had broken.

We saw “Cliffhanger”. You all remember the movie, starring Sylvester Stallone. About half hour into the movie, Byron asked “You ready to go?” Knowing what that meant, I replied “No.” Needless to say, we watched the movie in its entirety. About two hours later, the movie was over and I was in panic mode…..I was nervous because I knew what was next. Insecure, and naive I went along in silence. I didn’t ask where we were going nor did I tell him to take me home. We ended up at a motel close to Bayside. While sitting in the car waiting for Byron to rent the room, I had a chance to get away but didn’t. I guess I was afraid that he wouldn’t want me if I didn’t go through with what was about to happen. We walked upstairs, I before him, and there I was……in a motel room with Byron. The comment about “Waiting a couple of more mango seasons” had come full circle. The room was dark and remained that way. I got into bed first, taking off my clothes afterwards. He took his off and got on top of me, at which point I stopped him. As naive as I had been, common sense suddenly kicked in. Byron didn’t have a condom, and after I made it clear that we wouldn’t move a step further unless we used protection, he grudgingly went downstairs and purchased some.

Once he got back, he immediately took his clothes off and put the condom on in the same manner. I was turned off upon insert. I was in pain. I was hurting from the act itself and because he didn’t care that he was hurting me. He was only interested in himself. He didn’t even take the time to kiss me. How could this be the outcome of my beautiful fantasies about him. All the times I had daydreamed about us being together, I never imagined that I would end up disgusted with him. After about 5 minutes, it was over. While he was in the shower, I lied in the bed crying, mad at myself for being so stupid.

I had dance practice that afternoon and couldn’t be late so I had Byron drop me off. We were practicing at the Cultural Arts Center on 62 and 22nd, not too far from where we lived. We sat in the car and talked for a couple of minutes. I was extremely uncomfortable. My first thought was that someone would see me in the car with this dude. It’s crazy how I wasn’t thinking the same thing when I got into his car hours prior. My second thought was that everyone would know what I just did. Ms. Nichols and everyone else would be able to look at me and tell that I had just had sex. They would be so disappointed in me. Before I got out of the car, Byron looked at me and said “You know you mine, right?” ( I know it’s a question, but he made a statement and wasn’t actually asking a question). Afraid, I looked at him and said “Yes”.