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story contest. After that , it became the first story in the published,
“Happy birthday, Maddi,” said my Daddy as he watched his ten year old test drive
her new cassette-radio. It was the perfect gift for the green-eyed kid who knew every
instrumental break to every song played on the air for the past eleven months; all
the Pro-Keds or Converses or whatever those shoes were that you said you wanted.
“Yup.”
When Daddy closed the door, that was the end of our relationship. What a liar.
Instead of coming back to see my sister, Chandra and I, Richmond Charles Lee (the
only man in my life at the time besides my gym teacher) ran off to the Blue Ridge
Mountains with some nineteenish hot-to-Trotsky; only to discover that he was unable to
keep his footloose up with her fancy-free. So, upon issuance of a Divine warrant,
Daddy’s cardiac proceeded to arrest, arraign, indict, try, convict and sentence him to
death on December Tenth, 1974. Maybe, I thought, if he’d stayed with us when his
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cardiac arrested him, he’d only be serving probation today. I can’t seem to remember
a time when capital punishment was the law in New York State.
After the rigomorolis of seeing her (pompous) in-laws at her husband’s funeral
had set in , my Mommy took her new position in society with the same stride she had
taken the new society with. Becoming a widow and being forced to take a second job
(as a barmaid, of all things) was right in line with Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan and the
women’s liberation movement; Ralph Nader and the consumer advocacy brigade;
Angela Davis; Assata Shakur (Joanne Chesimard) and the Black Panthers; along with
the ‘Death to J. Edgar Hoover’ and ‘Aluta Continua’ (The Struggle Continues) buttons
everybody was wearing — and the countless offers to become ‘kept’ by the wide
cover her home owning incidentals like food, water and oil. Every smidgen of the
pittance she was thrown by her main employer, the Board of Education, had to go
towards the mortgage. Once in a while, she could squeeze enough out of her financial
stone to take her babies to an African crafts fair; or to a more spectacular event like
Dance Africa — at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. If nothing else, Suzette Hopkinson
Lee took pride in the fact that her children had their own bedrooms on a tree-lined street
in Queens and were culturally aware.
“Why are you eating your cereal without any milk, Madelyn?”
“Beecuzz, Mommy. You put that powdery stuff in it and you never did that
before.”
“Oh, I see. Since you’re so smart, how do you know whether I put powdery stuff
in it or not?”
your messy-behind room, Maddi — now, that’s nasty! Clothes and shoes every gotdam
where... get upstairs outa my face if you can’t drink the milk I buy!”
By the age of thirteen, while experiencing my last year in private school, I was a
back of my hand.
“Hey, Mom! Did you realize that there are three different ways to get to Coney
Island on the train from here? Either you could take the A to Franklin Avenue, transfer to
the shuttle upstairs and change at Prospect Park for the Brighton Line, or you could... “
“Not now, Madelyn: Mr. Whitney is here... “ she said as I burst through her
while?”
It seemed like every night now, I was going outside. That was, until Dondi from
131st Street gave me something else to do. One night, I was outside on the porch,
practicing a tune on my soprano recorder (I got it from school) and Dondi stopped by. It
was a documented fact that he was the finest guy in the neighborhood and all the girls
were after him, but I just knew that he really wanted to be with me. I knew because he
“Hi, Maddi. What’s that? I didn’t know you could play the flute.”
Besides — when I was eight years old, I wrote him a letter. He was supposed to
check either the YES or the NO box to indicate whether he loved me or not.
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suggestion of my preferred method of punishment might get me off the hook, but y’know
“Oh, nothing. Tell me Maddi. Have you ever had sex before?”
Daddy said that he knew Dondi’s father very well and that Dondi was a fine boy.
He also said that when we grew up, we had his blessings to get married.
“Yo, Bro, what does having sex have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“Don’t change the subject, Maddi. Have you?”
“Why?”
“Because — I wanna have sex with you. You play that flute — or whatever you
call it, and stuff like that. So, what is it? I don’t have all night. Are you down or what?”
It took Dondi three days to return that letter to me, but when he did, the YES box
was checked. Little did we know that he was also checking the life of my cherry away.
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II
Brooklyn Technical High School, eighth wonder of the world. Some of the
predecessors to the experience were: folk singer Harry Chapin; television stars Kim
Coles and Lou Ferrigno; and General Manager of the metropolitan hip-hop music
station, 98.7 KISS, Barry Mayo. When I attended Tech, there were some seven
thousand students enrolled and I swear to you that well over forty percent of them got
in through bribery. The test proctors were salaried wimps and the mandatory entrance
exam was simply, too difficult to cheat (comprehensive, Mommy would often
suggest). And so entered the likes of Alvarez, Swann and Pou Putt, Luxevan,
‘Pickpocket’ McLaughlin; Brown, Green & the Pinkhouse Brothers; James, Tygers,
military after high school; most of them had a child along the way somewhere (whether
they knew it or not); a few of them tried their luck in college and one of them died.
My heart was instantly lost in the walls of my new school. It was a dimly lit,
architecturally explicit mammoth of a building, bustling with solid marble halls and
sculptures; detailed moldings carved from inlaid rock and a rail-riding subculture of
brainiac pubescents. We didn’t know how to stay seated, wear our hair or pay for lunch,
but we all knew that Tech was ours — and we loved it (did I mention our innate inability
syllabus, I opted to join the Student Council. I’d always had a thing for Knessets and
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Parliaments, Congress, the Supreme Soviet and whatever that synoddy (get it?) group
is in the Vatican that lights up the different colored smoke based upon its governing
decisions. Looking back, I think I got a real kick out of being in the middle of anybody’s
(political) business.
“That wraps up our orientation meeting,” said Mr. Raymoney, our Student
“Yes. My name is Madelyn Lee — and I’d like to know if we have to wear these
stupid, HELLO MY NAME IS tags at our next meeting. I’m sure that if I ask anyone here
what their name is, they’ll be more than happy to tell me.”
At the sound of the period bell, a gang of applauding hands shoved me under the
Council are dingbats who didn’t pass the cheerleading auditions. You look as if you
might have a head on your shoulders.”
“You would look pretty silly talking to me in the hallway if I were headless, huh?”
from that day on, Cedric James, the fat Student Leader with the scandalous
eyes, became the best friend I ever had... except for maybe Daddy, or Mr. Golden in
from the television repair shop Daddy used to have in our garage before he left New
York. But since I was still more interested in concert recitals than cathode rays, I
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searched for something to assuage my disappointment over not being allowed to take
the entrance exam for the High School of Music and Art.
“Cedric, my Mom can’t afford any more music lessons for me right now and the
neighborhood band I was in has decided to split up. It’s that new disco stuff -- y’know?
Everybody wants to be a rootiepoot dee-jay. If you ask me, it stands for dumb jerks!”
“Whatsamatta, Maddi.”
For some reason, I could always talk to Cedric. No matter what I said, how
ridiculous it sounded or how long I took to say it, he was there to listen to every last
word.
“Look. Mommy just doesn’t realize — I like, can’t live without my music! I was
raised on music and what not; you know what I’m sayin’? My Daddy was in a famous
band during World War Two! Why should I break tradition now?”
“Madelyn... “
“What.”
“Um, Maddi... “
There was a deliberate pause in our banter as Cedric leaned over to stare at a
light refraction on a nearby desk.
He is TOO fine, I said to myself as I watched him stare into space.
period.”
I didn’t even answer. It was clear that I would be at that southeast exit. I was in
love with that beautiful, slightly overweight... okay, so I lied. Let me try this again. I was
After eighth period that day, I ducked and dodged my regular social set and
waited by my lonesome, for Cedric at the southeast exit. Pou Putt saw me standing
“Want some?”
in his leather bomber jacket, the wait for Cedric became much easier.
As soon as ‘Fats’ arrived, he took me across the street (Fort Greene Place) to
the steps of an abandoned brownstone. There we sat until Mildred and the last of the
secretaries from the general office revved up and drove away into their evenings.
“Come take a walk with me, Maddi,” said Cedric after the final secretary pulled
off.
“Whatsamatta, Cedric?”
He led me down the block and across DeKalb Avenue to the ascension of Fort
Greene Park. That park was so beautiful — I was almost scared of it. I’d played hooky
there a couple of times, but you don’t exactly stop to observe the beauty of your
The top of Fort Greene Park has a granite tower and if you sit on the tower’s base at
sunset, you can wave to God, Gabriel and all the rest of the crew from Heaven’s Gate
(Plus, I guess, a couple of brothers from the Navy Yard projects playing basketball).
You just don’t go there because you have some — albeit righteous — gossip to expose.
The air in this particular park was as crisp as a fresh potato chip and would crumble
under the weight of that sort of everyday, high school he said, she said.
When we reached the tower, we sat down at the base, right next to each other.
Cedric took my hand and my heart started its drum roll on cue:
Roll,
Roll,
Roll,
Roll,
Tap,
tower and fell asleep in the grass beside mine; ‘bout the same time that the sun decided
to call it a day.
I mean — we had our respective roles to play in school, and all. But our hearts
had long been denied membership in the Screen Actors’ Guild; as they would never
beat normally again.
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III
“Hey, Maddi. I want you to meet my friend, M.O.,” said Cedric as he oozed his
it was December Tenth, 1978; four years after Daddy died, halfway through eleventh
grade and forty-five minutes into my Christmas vacation. I wanted to go home.
bravado, truant, unattractive, ethnocentric, egotistical; I even saw him pull his privates
out in front of a teacher once or twice. But, he chased me high and low and got in
trouble with the police in the midst of all his courtin’. For example: We all were in front of
the McDonald’s at the intersection of Flatbush Avenue and Fulton Street when the
manager of the place wanted Marcus to leave. An argument ensued, then the manager
went behind the sales counter to press the button they press when they want the
‘riff-raff’ out of the store. The police materialized from thin air.
“Whatever you do Marcus, my Mommy says don’t run. If a black man runs in
Fortunately, Marcus ran away with only a summons lodged in his chest pocket;
and for the rest of the year, we all unanimously decided to mcboycott that
establishment — and waste our parents money in the Kansas Fried Chicken located
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I ALMOST DIED FOR YOU, MADELYN. CAN I HAVE YOUR FONE NUMBER?
— said a note that flew past me a few days later after the mcincident; in the guise of a
paper airplane.
“Fone?” I asked.
“Sorry, Maddi. Tech is a school for brainiacs in math and science. Nobody said
that we had to know how to spell.”
my number! The same way everybody got the answers to Ms. Fiorenza’s English
quizzes. The same way everybody else got the lowdown on who was gettin’ busy with
have smacked her right her in her neck. “I took the liberty of giving your phone number
to someone.”
No kidding, I thought to myself.
“Oh? Who?”
“That guy, K.O. . You know, the one who hangs with Cedric all the time — much
to my dismay.”
“Need some attention, do you? don’t worry, chum. Giving my phone number to
anybody you want to without my knowledge or permission is just fine. How can you help
she was doing something over at Rolling Stone Magazine. Two years ago, Rolling
Stone folded against unrelenting pressure from SPIN Magazine, but Paulette was the
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go-getter type. I’m sure she survived the changing of the guard.
I suppose this next paragraph should be about graduation. The End of High
School. Before it came, the anticipation of The End was so sweet — like a tangerine.
But the actual End was sour — like a lemon.
Some got lost in the military after high school; most of them had a child along the
way somewhere (whether they knew it or not); a few of them tried their luck in college
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IV
I was always fond of going to McGuire Air Force Base. Port Authority Bus
Terminal was the absolute worst, but the specific gate where I had to stand and wait for
the bus wasn’t too bad. It only smelled like one person urinated on the floor instead of
six people.
I tried to take a trip out to McGuire every weekend that I didn’t have to work. It
was really, quite a nice ride once you passed Exit Ten on the turnpike. South Jersey
was generously endowed with flors-n-fauns-n-fleurs; fleas, flies and flutterbys. As I look
back now, I seem to remember someone telling me that a weekly, hour and one-half of
viewing all-American lawns and falling leaves (or was it budding leaves?) from a moving
“That’s okay, Doll,” the bus driver replied. “Say baby — when am I gonna get that
phone number?” Smitty was a washed out looking old fool, but he did seem to possess
a genuine understanding of the perpetual assemblage of girls on his bus who were
stricken with love for their servicemen.
One evening, a day or two after Marcus’s birthday, I’d decided to help him
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celebrate. My idea was to surprise him by arriving unannounced. I’d done it once before
and he was tickled pink. This time, I went for the gusto! I wore his favorite outfit;
somewhere along Church Avenue in Brooklyn) and heaved two, large presents into my
oversized satchel. I also carried a disposition that was far beyond mere conceit — I was
completely convinced! What can I tell you? My black, leather pants did it to me every
time!
looking for Tygers and he’s over on Fort Dix at the NCO club.”
“Okay, okay, I’m busted. Who hired you?” I tried to answer him jokingly, but I was
really P.O.’d. Who was this guy and who were the two, pre-teenaged wannabees who
explained while he pinched the bootie of the shortest girl. “You can wait for him in the
rec room.”
For some reason, time seemed to virtually stand still in that recreation room. Like
a quiet before a storm, I guess. Every now and again, a new face would pop in the front
door and stare at me; as if they, like that Jerry-person, knew my name, rank and favorite
breakfast cereal. Other than the feeling like I was on exhibit though, the wait wasn’t so
bad... just long. By the time Marcus walked in, it felt like three or four centuries had
passed.
“Happy birthday, big guy,” I said between kisses, “I wanted to surprise you... I’ve
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of my nipples with his finger. I gave him the largest present I brought along and
“Why?”
I was puzzled by his response, but I was also exhausted from the long bus ride
there and the even longer wait in the rec lounge; so I said, “Look, Marcus. Do whatever
you want to do with the present. You deserve it, it’s yours. But Hunnie. Can you please
take me out of the rec room so that I can get some sleep?”
“What’s wrong, Marcus? Got somebody in your room?” I thought a little humor
was in order at the moment.
“No, Maddi,” he paused for a long time , then said, “There are two girls. One was
couldn’t.
“Fine, Marcus. Now that I’m here, get them out. Okay? No problem.”
“I can’t, Maddi.”
“Jeez, Marcus. What do you mean you can’t?”
“They live ten miles away from the base and I don’t have access to a car until
I should really thank that Jerry-person for the whole fiasco. Marcus never had to
get ‘busted’ by me (as word on the base would eventually have it) , but that
Jerry-person never told him that I was around until after he sent the trampy duet I’d
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any of the 1,639 registered vehicles on the base, he took me to some buddy’s room
to get out.
“It’s okay, Marcus. We’re not married. I can’t force your hand. I’ll see you in the
morning.”
I slipped into the icy cot in the far corner of the room, then I pretended that I was
the Suez Canal being opened. The salty water of the Dead Sea flowed freely and
rapidly over my face. All was quiet and I felt warm under the water. Just then, a tongue
boat smashed across a reef on my cheek and a finger raft swayed over my mouth.
“Madelyn, I love you. I swear I’m sorry.” Exploring hands went down and scooped
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It was squints-over-easy for breakfast, as I watched the sun shine on what was
left of our Mimosa tree in the backyard. I had been standing with my face mashed into
the windowpanes on the back door for a while. I was thinking about how I kept telling
Mommy to cut that sickly branch from the tree last year. the branch had developed
crusty, white blotches and a darkened hull. Well, she didn’t cut it off, so the whole tree
ended up dying.
“Madelyn.” Familiar flames were licking my neck, but I did not turn around to put
them out.
I reached for the extinguisher, “I know, I know. What about the people who think
I’m going to Spelman to marry a Morehouse man, right? Forget it, Mom. I’m insane. I’m
having my child. You take care of your baby — whoever he is this week — and I’ll take
care of mine.”
When I turned around to face her, SUZETTE LEE STORM of the FANTASTIC
FOUR said FLAME ON... and tried her best to kill me.
I know I had no business eavesdropping on their conversation, but the top of the
stairs looked so unoccupied. Gert wasn’t really a bad person, she just found out that
every dollar she made over the 25-thousand mark and had the audacity to bring home
required an additional lick up society’s behind. And so did you by the time she got
through making you pay for those licks. But even in all the bourgeoisie, my Mom and
her sister were some kente-cloth wearing hunnies; and you’d best believe I’d stab you
over my girls.
“Madelyn,” yelled Mommy from the living room. I knew her next call would be
from the foot of the stairs, so I hopped off the top step and ran into my room.
“Okay.”
Gert was very slow and deliberate, generally; so by the time she made it to my
room, I had already filed my nails and put a coat of clear polish on two of them.
“How are you feeling, Madelyn? Your mother tells me you’re in delicate
condition... “
“I’m fine, Untie Gert, thank you.”
“You know, Maddi... ” Gert’s lecture began as she stirred the drink she brought
upstairs around with her finger (I used to hate when she did that); “ ...My firstborn, your
cousin Allen, was so beautiful as an infant. His head was so round and flaky, you know?
But later on, I realized that his beautiful, round, flaky head was going to cost me money.
So much money in fact, that now every time his birthday comes around, I toast to yet
“I’m keeping my child, Untie Gert. Even millionaires live beyond their means —
you, niece.”
When she left the room. I cried. I wasn’t sure if I was crying because it was one
of the things I could do openly (besides eat twice as much and let someone else change
the cat litter) while I was pregnant and get away with; or if I was crying because I hurt.
Marcus hated to break the news to me in my condition, but his romantic interest in me
had waned and I could decide the baby’s destiny on my own. That Marcus made me
hurt. Mom made me hurt. This baby dogging out my stomach made me hurt!
After I got through using all the bathroom tissue on my nose, I sat down with the
Now Marcus was seeing some hoochie named Juanita (what a nice name for a
baby) who lived just a mile or two from McGuire. Last year (behind my back, no doubt)
, it was LaTonya, and a son who was supposed to be his. Before that, it was
pick-a-number. I’m not certain if he ever really loved me, but I thought I loved him —
that was the important thing. And Junior Embryo wouldn’t let me forget it.
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VI
Anissa Avette Tygers. My first and only child. My best friend. My capacity to
love in full bloom, so to speak. However, I always compare her delivery to the nightmare
that girl had in in the film, THE FLY (the modern version). The man she loved ruined a
molecular transportation experiment and fused his own rudimentary structure with that
of an inconspicuous fly. Later on in the film, the girl got pregnant; and in one of her
pre-natal dreams, she gave birth to a squiggling, monolithic larvae. This to me, is the
epitome of the expression, rude awakening; as she realized that the man she loved was
no longer that man she loved but an insect — incapable of emotional reciprocation and
undeserving of such a gesture of love as the nurturing of his (its) unborn child.
lovely! The Right Triangle. The 360-Degree Circle. The True Black Head of Hair. You
know, like the scientists say, Life-As-We-Know-It. HER FATHER DOESN’T LOVE YOU,
said a voice. SHE’S A BASTARD, said another one. The doctor let me touch the
amniotic sac and detached umbilical cord while the nurses cleaned my girlfriend off.
THE WORLD WILL BLOW UP AND SHE WILL DIE, said the voice I heard earlier; HE
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VII
“Hiya’, Maddi.”
How he got my number this time, I will never know. It was December Tenth,
1985 — a personal eternity since our last encounter. Anissa was already three years old
and looking like her father... you ain’t just sayin’ it. I mean, I’m tellin’ you what.
Over the phone, we agreed to meet at the Eighty-Two Club; on Second Avenue
and East Fourth Street in the Village. I was a sucker for that particular club’s Twilight
operating hours (5am - 9am). I knew that once we got inside the club, my lamebrain
sense of erotica would succumb to the weird ambiance and was hoping for a chance
that his would do the same. I mean, speaking on this from a scientific standpoint again, I
have always supported the Big Bang theorists over the Black Hole posse.
My boy. I took a step back and cased his physique before we actually sat down.
He was clad in hi-top Wilson sport sneakers; some kind of strangely formal, yet
shakes of talc were powdering the outside and the colored lights in the club made the
snow dust on his hair sparkle for a couple of seconds before melting the dust away,
altogether.
For most of the night, we sat cloaked in velvety robes of vulnerability and silence,
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on a sofa at the rear end of the club. I sat mesmerized — purposely protruding my lips
and my right knee a bit (in case the knucklehead finally asked me to marry him, or
something). When I got tired of that embarrassing posture, I encircled his breadth as
best I could with my twiny arms; all the while brushing my face against his like a kitten,
just inside from the cold.
“My Cedric. How come I feel like I know you so well and hardly know you at all —
“Bugs you out, don’t it,” he answered playfully while giving me one of his more
unnecessary grins.
“No, it just bugs me.”
They were my forever, those seconds that he cuddled and ended up snoring
through, in my arms. At dawn, we made a promise to get back together in a couple of
days. But time had finally returned us home from Fort Greene Park — a day late and a
dream short.
He was nice enough to put me in a cab when it was time to leave the club.
“We’ll talk soon, I promise, Maddi. Here’s ten dollars for the cab. that should be
enough, right?”
“Yup.”
When Cedric closed the car door, that was the end of our relationship. At that
instant, every throbbing ache of unified being we had left for each other was erased
from our hearts and entered as a random speck in the Scheme of Things.
###