Story Week: "Fancy That", Part IV

click here for Fancy That, Part I: Paulette Reese
click here for Fancy That, Part II: Arthur Reese
click here for Fancy That, Part III: Portia Reese

(final character sketches: Shuntae Reese, 13 year old daughter of Portia Reese.)

Shuntae Reese

My mama Portia is a trip. She is a straight up hater.

Got the nerve to put me on punishment. I’m thirteen years old. I’m too old to be on punishment.
“Shante, you bad. You bad for no reason.”

I don’t agree with that. I gotta be bad.

I can’t be soft on these ATL streets.

Fighting and stealing ain't nothing but a thang to me.

I do what I have to do to get mine.

So now, she somehow got the bright idea that I need to spend the summer down in the country with my grandparents. Said that I get into too much mess up here. Talking about how she tired of the school calling her and me getting suspended.

"With summer coming along, no telling what you'll get into.Let your grandparents deal with you this summer. I need a break,” she said when she broke the news.

She don't know what she's talking about. I've only seen my grandparents twice. I don't even know them. How are some strangers going to deal with me?

Me being bad wasn't the reason I was gonna be staying in the country this summer. My mama don’t know that I had my ear to the wall listening to her and her boyfriend Ross talk in the bedroom two nights ago. The walls are thin as toilet tissue, and I heard them talking about me. Ross was from Jamaica, and offered to take her there for the summer. The only thing was that she would have to find something to do with me.

“I can take you, Portia, but not that doggone Shuntae. Shuntae is crazy. She give you too much grief. Her ass don’t deserve no summer off in Jamaica.”

I thought my own Mama would stick up for me, but I guess she was blinded by the swaying palm trees, strong coconut drinks, and sandy white beaches Ross kept talking about.

Ross never could stand me, and the more Mama let him talk, the more I knew that she was going with him.

“Me and Ross, we going to Jamaica,” she said later while washing dishes. “You gonna go stay with your Grandma and Grandpa down in Fitzgerald. Good country air might do you some good.”

I wanted to tell her that fresh Jamaica breezes would do me better.

I couldn’t be mad about it. I knew I was in the way, especially since Ross had moved in. He always frowned up at me whenever he saw me. He had a right to look at me like that, because I stuck him up every time he laid his wallet down.

Mama loved him. I couldn't stand him.

To me, he was imposter. Just one more hater.

And now, he was taking my mama away from me.