Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
We continued. With each foot farther inside the area, the air thickened. Breathing came hard. Less than three minutes in this place, and I already wanted to get out of here.
How the hell did you last here for so long, Jasmine?
Two young girls strolled in front of a liquor store. They couldn’t have been more than teens, but their clothes represented adults—bright green, sequined shorts displayed the bottom of their behinds, red tube tops hugged their tiny breasts, and surely those were huge blonde wigs on top of their heads. Pink powder coated their eyes as if they shared the same make-up compact. An old guy stumbled over to one of them, holding a brown bag in his hand, probably filled with a bottle. His mouth moved for a few seconds. They both laughed. As the town car moved along, I glanced over my shoulder to see what would happen. Both girls disappeared with the man in the alley.
None of this is right. How the hell is all of this going on?
Sophia’s voice ripped through the silence. “What do you think of South End?”
“I’m not happy. I knew it was bad here, but not this bad.”
She tossed me a skeptical look. “How did you know it was bad?”
“Every now and then I read articles.”
“Newspapers only print the stuff that helps them sell.”
“So you’re saying it’s not all bad?”
“No, I’m saying that its worse. No one cares about blacks killing blacks. You’ll never read about that. Girls getting raped and boys being beaten until they have no soul, you’ll never see that on the news. What sells is black people murdering white cops, and vice versa.”
More scantily-dressed girls decorated the next corner.
I turned away. “How old are they?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Do the cops know?”
“Most of them are paid off. The few good ones are scared to get killed by the dirty cops.”
Rage filled me. “Someone has to clean this place up.”
Jasmine’s face flashed in my head. I grabbed on to that image and held it close to me, scared her beauty would fly away. In my mind, we stood together, in the middle of South End, cutting a ribbon for some grand opening to a solution. Whatever South End needed to heal, Jasmine could figure it out. She’d lived here, been hurt in the streets, terrified at night, and ready to flee, when she’d earned a full scholarship to Harvard. In my background investigation of her before we dated, I learned that Jasmine volunteered in South End all the time—from assisting with the day care at the neighborhood’s Baptist church to the Help Clean Up South End program held every summer.
“Who would care?” Sophia asked.
“Jasmine cares,” I said.
“Jasmine?” Sophia smirked. “Soon as she got that fancy degree, she stopped coming by to visit.”
“My understanding was that she gave you money and came by all the time to pay your utility bill.”
“She did, but she always said she was too busy to stay.”
“When I met her, she was looking for a job, probably to help you and your family some more.”
“Well thank God she found something else.”
“What?”
“A rich man.”
Unease sat in my gut.
The town car slowed down which didn’t comfort me at all. I’d forgotten that we were even going to get out and walk around. Not even the security team riding behind us could comfort me.
“Does Benny have people here?” I wiped the sweat off my forehead.
“Benny has people everywhere. Knowing him, your cook or maid probably works for him. You shouldn’t trust no one, but me.”
“I only trust Jasmine.”
“Sounds like a lonely life.”
“We’ll see.”
The car parked right in front of a huge building. It must’ve been at least twenty floors high. Four other buildings towered over us.
“You’re now in the heart of South End,” Sophia announced. “You know what they call these projects?”
“No.”
“The Chops. Can you guess why?” She grinned.
“No.”
“When you chop something, you cut into it hard with repeated blows. That’s what these buildings do to people. They scar them, keep them bleeding on the inside. The Chops.”
“Sounds bright and sunny.” As I opened the door, I forced myself to appear braver than I felt. “You should write travel blogs.”
Her harsh laughter roared behind me, and the rough odor of South End seeped into my skin and clogged my lungs with sickness. Police sirens blared around me.
Above my head, a mother poked her head out the window and screamed for her son. Curlers hung from her head. “Tyrone, get your tired ass in here! Don’t make me come down there and get you!”
The woman began to yell something else, and then paused when she spotted me. In fact, things quieted all around as more and more people focused their gazes on mine.
Whispers rode the chilly breeze. I caught Jasmine’s name a few times. A few others murmured the name Finderella. People began to crowd around, yet a good distance remained between them and me. Others opened their windows and peered down. Chatter rose. Kids pointed.