Chapter Six
Cash
I quickly shower and throw on a pair of jogging pants. I want to get back to her story. I need to get in her head so, once again, I begin reading her private journals.
My eyes peered through the dirty window of the public school bus as it pulled into the parking lot.
The imposing, dirty edifice that loomed before me would be my school for the next year.
I had literally been thrown into what the government termed “Bussing” and it would forever alter not only my future, but my psyche as well.
The one thing I had going for me was that I was a survivor. I always have been. The circumstances of my life have seen to that, even from a very young age.
I learned early on that there would always be fear and that I would have to learn to do it afraid. Whatever the task at hand was, I would have to forge on and do it afraid.
The noise jarred me from my thoughts as I was shuffled through a herd of loud jeers and taunts. “You are going to get it the last day of school and every day in between!” These were not empty threats. They were promises of impending judgment for crossing territorial lines.
My days would not be spent studying or learning. They would be spent surviving, literally surviving.
This was just the beginning of a year that would be spent avoiding guns, knives, fights, and verbal abuse.
The proverbial “School of hard knocks” was now my new reality and I would carry the lessons throughout my life.
The things and the people I saw here would stay etched in my memory and I would use the lessons I learned to make a difference for years to come…
It didn’t take long for me to learn the ropes.
Things like being in class by the time the bell rang were now a necessary behavior for survival. I had no thoughts of obtaining brownie points with my teachers; that was irrelevant. Now it was about my day-to-day existence and not getting hurt. The thought of good behavior, or being the teacher’s pet, never entered my mind.
Even the teachers feared the students. Why wouldn’t I?!?
Things like getting caught in the halls, or worse yet, in a stairwell, now held threats of physical or sexual assault.
Missing the bus due to daydreaming was no longer an option.
It could literally cost me my life in this neighborhood.
Each day was the same routine of running through the hallway while juggling an armload of books in order to make it out to the bus on time.
You see... I not only had to be on time for one bus, but now two.
The first bus leaving the school would usher me back into safer neighborhoods and then a second bus had to be caught to take me home.
The four walls of our home, in the safe, suburban neighborhood could not protect me from the effects of what my eyes were seeing and what my ears were hearing on a daily basis.
If I was going to survive, then I was going to have to make friends and those friends came in a most unexpected way.
I had sauntered into the bathroom and walked right into a pack of girls who were bullying a fellow student.
Today is no different than my school days. The insults of choice remain the same for girls: hair and clothing, of course.
“Look at her hair! What are you doing to make it look like a rat’s nest?” they taunted and jeered.
I, in my ignorance, joined them to try and establish some sort of pecking order in the crazy mob.
I remember when, once they were gone, she looked at me and asked, “Why are you doing that? You don’t even know me. You are just trying to fit in like I am. We’re no different. You and I—we’re the same.”
She went by ‘Dee’ as a nickname and from that day on, we became best friends.
It would help us to navigate our way through the next three years of hell.
It was a hell we would have to endure for the sake of the education we were not really receiving.
I finally just quit school in order to avoid the stress of it all.
We were inseparable and as the years went on, we adapted.
We learned a different culture and a different language as far as communication with our peers. We learned a different way to dress and do our hair. We learned to eat different foods.
We learned an overall different way of living.
Ironically enough, those years of hell cultured me.
Life has a way of making its path known and I would need the gift of being a chameleon and being able to adapt to different cultures, people, languages, and worlds.
Those years of being immersed into an unknown world have served me well.
From Prince to pauper, from Princess to servant, I am able to relate to all different types of people.
From the inner city to the rural country, from the USA to the jungles of Guatemala, I have adapted and, yes, I have literally been there and done that.
There is no culture I do not feel comfortable in and I credit it to being thrown out of my element and being forced to adapt to the unknown time after time…