Say U Promise

by Ms. Michel Moore

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

When their parents are discovered brutally murdered in a ditch, Kenya and London are left orphaned; forced to navigate through the unforgiving streets of Detroit alone. They might be identical twins, but they are as different as night and day. With one fighting relentlessly to make it out of the ghetto, the other eagerly embraces everything their deceased parents believed in: selling drugs, living fast, and even dying young if it means getting paid. Kenya is coldhearted and crazy, just like her Pops. Nothing is off limits, and no one else matters—not even her sister, if she gets in her way. Blood may be thicker than water, but in one sister’s eyes, cash is king; it’s her only family, and most definitely the head of her conniving household! After several brutal experiences, the sisters are forced to flee Detroit, and once again their lives are turned upside down. This time, the consequences could land them both in jail—or dead and unclaimed in the county morgue.

Release date: June 27, 2017

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

How did this happen? How did I get here? Here to this point. These little simple-minded third-generation punks done got the drop on me! Well, I’ll be damned, three damn young kids. I swear on everything I love, I can still smell the breast milk on their stankin’ foul, immature breaths. Yet, here I lie stretched out in my best suit ready for a Saturday night of partying. I’m covered with dirt. My pants leg torn at the knee and my snakeskin shoes scuffed the hell up. These murdering sons of bitches! They straight caught me slippin’. Why did I come tonight? Why?

In between my coldhearted stares of these pint-sized killers, I see the small dark pools of blood slowly growing from Melinda’s gunshot wounds: one in her side, one near her collarbone. My loyal queen was gasping for air as she choked on her own mucus. I grew infuriated seeing her suffer like she was. I had a love so strong for her as well as the love we shared; our bond was unbreakable. Melinda was more than just my wife. She was the mother of my two precious daughters, my best friend, and my road dawg. Me-Me, as I’d always called her, was damn near my everything and because of my arrogant, stubborn ways, the woman who’d birthed my seeds now lies inches away from me, dying, and I can’t do anything to help her. How really messed up is that? I mean I really dropped the damn ball this go-around. Make no mistake, this one’s all on me.

Why didn’t I just wait for my brother like Melinda begged me to do? I really didn’t trust these young cats off rip, but as usual I thought I was bigger than the game and the rules didn’t apply to me. Stupid me. I’d violated every rule of the game and was now paying the ultimate price. I’d just met these busters looking for a quick come up and was letting them cop from me on the humble. What can I say? My bad! I got greedy and wanted that money. Shit, I ain’t gonna lie. It started gettin’ good to a guy. Me and mines was eating good, driving good, dressing good, smoking good, and riding good. We were what poor folk around our way considered hood rich and we played our part well.

They say loot will change a person; hell, I can testify to that shit. Flat out, it got me off my square. I fucked up this time. No doubt! How could I believe in any honor among thieves? It didn’t exist. How could I have forgotten the basic levels of being in the life? The rules of the dope game never ever change, just the players. Live by the gun, blah, blah, blah, shit’s tight now. Time is ticking. I’m not brand new to the streets. I’ve been around death long enough to realize that my wifey, Melinda, has just taken her last breath in this lifetime and I, as hard as I was fighting it, was undoubtedly next in line for that same fate.

I’ll be damned, here it comes. I can’t feel my left lower leg anymore. Now the right! The last bullet these assholes let loose caused a burning sensation that ripped right through my flesh, knocking me off my feet and in this ditch. Still wishing for a different outcome, I wanted to beg for them to spare my wife’s life, but I had no intention of going out like a straight bitch. I have my pride, and if nothing else but on point and principle, I’m gonna keep it gangsta ’til the very end. Besides, I knew my Me-Me was already gone. The mother of my two daughters was dead, finished, over, and it was my damn fault. Yeah, it’s pretty much a wrap, for both her and me.

If I could turn back the hands of time, I still wouldn’t change a motherfucking thang. I can’t say I honestly regret one minute of it. Me and my girl had a ball doing what we did, living how we lived. Just thinking about slangin’ could get my manhood rock hard. From being posted on the corner of Linwood Avenue, taking two dollar shorts on a top side hit of powder to grinding up on my first cake of that good stuff, that shit was real, hell sometimes maybe even too real. My sweetheart, Melinda, was with me from day one. She always had my back. Now here we go again, but this time we won’t be able to get high and laugh this one off.

I feel myself getting weaker as the seconds drag by. It’s about that time. The clock is about to stop. I know I’ve done wrong and more than likely the devil has left the light on for me. That’s okay though. I earned my spot in hell. But God, if you can still hear me, for Melinda’s sake, please take care of our little daughters, Kenya and London; especially Kenya, who has an inner rage and a lust for the streets just like her old man. They’re the purest thing that came out of all this madness. Game over, lights out!

From da cradle to the fuckin’ grave!

Buzzzzzzzzzzz . . . It was a typical morning in the small family household located in the middle of the crime-infested Detroit neighborhood. The digital alarm clock was making what seemed like an intolerable sound, yet there was still no movement from either one of the “different as night and day” teenage twins. The alarm going off on the clock at 6:45 a.m. every school day was a normal occurrence, just as normal as the girls trying to ignore the sound and their grandmother’s sometimes annoying voice.

“Get up!” Gran, cane in hand, yelled with a Southern drawl even though she’d been living up North in the city for decades. “Both of you gals get up before you’re late!” Every morning was the same routine. She thought, Lord have mercy, don’t let these girls end up like their mother Melinda because if they do, I don’t know what in the world I will do!

Gran had two children of her own. Melinda was her youngest, her baby. Everyone knew she’d tried her very best with both of her loving children, but to no avail; the black-hearted streets had other plans for them. Both had died young living the life she wanted so desperately for them to leave alone. Her son, just barely eighteen, had overdosed on drugs, heroin to be exact; and Melinda, who always thought she was too smart for her own good, was found shot to death in the projects in a ditch with her husband, leaving the girls, her only children, orphans.

Hattie Jean Lewis was a devout Christian woman, who stood tall in her faith and love for the Lord. She used to stay up countless nights and shed many a tear, worrying about her little girl. Damn, why did she have to meet that low-down, good-for-nothing Johnnie Roberts? Gran frowned up her face questioning why things had gone so wrong. Sorry, Lord. She quickly repeated over and over, Let thy will be done. If you thought it was best to call them home, I know you know best and only you can help me with these girls, especially Kenya.

Gran started loudly singing church hymns; that always got the entire household up and going. Not because the twins love hearing them, but the complete opposite. Whenever it came to going to church one of the sisters, Kenya of course, always bucked at the idea. She was considered the wild child of the two and everyone who would encounter the girls could easily tell the difference. Gran didn’t care how much Kenya rebelled. God was the head of her household and Kenya, London, and anyone else who stepped foot inside her home was going to follow suit. Gran would drag Kenya to services week after week praying she would soften her heart. From experience, the old woman knew good and well that everyone would need and call upon the Lord one day, Kenya included.

With a “mad at the world” attitude, Amoya Kenya Roberts was the first one of the girls to jump out the bed. The second verse of her grandmother’s song was unbearable to the young teen.

“Morning, baby.” Gran tried to kiss her on her forehead, but Ms. Kenya, waving her hand backward, was having none of that. Since the twins’ first names were so close, everyone called them by their middle names. Kenya was what you would call the most outgoing one of the two. She often joked and kept a smile on her face; that was, as long as she was having her own way, which she often demanded. Having a thirst for being the center of attention, she was most certainly the life of the party. However, just as easy as the jokes, smiles, and laughter could begin, they could be brought to a screeching halt. Kenya possessed a short-fuse firecracker temper that was unbelievable. The teen with a beautiful face, loved by some and hated by others, could and would snap just like that at a drop of a hat. Kenya was truly her father’s daughter in every way you could imagine, from personality and demeanor to his hustle by any means to get paid pedigree. And for that reason, among many more, her immediate family worried about her and what unseen tragedies that mentality could ultimately bring to her.

Amia London Roberts was the latter of the girls to get up and start her day. “Hey, Gran.” She smiled as she reached out to her granny. Knowing another day wasn’t promised to anyone, she hugged and kissed her every chance that she got.

“Mornin’, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Gran.” London beamed with joy as her sister came out the bathroom, interrupting their embrace.

“Dang, why y’all two gotta be so mushy all the time? It’s too early in the morning!” Kenya asked while turning her lip up, “And, London, why don’t you stop being such a butt kisser? I mean dang!”

London paid her sister no mind. She loved her grandmother. They would discus all sorts of important subjects. Prejudice and racism in America and civil rights struggles that had taken place in Alabama and throughout the South. They shared conversations about Dr. King, Malcolm X, and even the Black Panthers organization. Not only did London like to hear about the struggle of her people, she promised Gran one day to be part of the solution. The honor-roll teen loved to read books and would spend countless hours at the library. She would study every chance she got, even at night when the troubled neighborhood she lived in was quiet and still or her sister was chattering away on the phone.

While London spent her nights studying, Kenya would stay posted on the phone. She could often hold a conversation for what seemed like hours on end talking about absolutely nothing of any value. Meeting different boys at the mall and exchanging phone numbers, she’d tell them all kind of things a normal fourteen-year-old had no business knowing about life in general, let alone repeating. Everywhere she’d go, the boys, some her own age and some much older, flocked around Kenya like bees to honey, but London didn’t care one bit. Her only focus was obtaining and maintaining good grades and a high GPA. Their Gran had taught London that knowledge was true power, and with a good education, she could easily write her own ticket in life.

London always daydreamed, wondering if her mother had stayed in school and hit the books as much as she heard that she’d hit the streets getting into mischief with her dad, would she still be alive today. Nevertheless, bottom line, Kenya, not giving a damn about jack shit, was hell-bent on living her young life recklessly and London, determined to make something of hers, studied, wanting to be labeled something other than a hood rat.

Both London and Kenya got dressed for school. They were only fourteen, but each had already developed their own style of dress. Kenya picked out a pair of light blue jeans that were neatly pressed and had a jacket and baby T-shirt to match. She grabbed her new designer bag and belt, throwing them on the bed. After finally pouring herself into her pants, she turned around in the mirror and smiled as she thought, Both tight and right.

“Humph, should I were my K-Swiss or my new Air Force 1s?” she then questioned out loud, still checking out her own ass.

“I think you should wear the K-Swiss,” London whispered under her breath.

“Did you say something over there Miss Power to the People?” Kenya had a smirk across her face, turning to face London. Kenya loved her sister, true enough, but she knew the girl had no taste whatsoever. “K-Swiss you said, then I know it’s the Forces today.” They both shared a laugh as London playfully threw her pillow across the room at her twin.

London pulled out a pair of black slacks and a plain black polo shirt. She wasn’t into all of those high-priced designer clothes that her sister liked. Why walk around with someone else’s name plastered across your chest and behind? Why be a free walking billboard on display? Free promotion and advertisement for the white man, I don’t think so. No way, not the kid, she thought as she watched Kenya get dressed.

They both had long sandy-brown hair that stretched past their shoulders. Kenya always let hers hang and flow wildly, while London favored hers pulled back off the face in a ponytail. Their features were identical. If not for their clothes and obvious different characteristics, many of their own distant family members and friends couldn’t tell the twins apart. With two different agendas for the day, they were out the door on their way to school—separately.

“I hope none of these fake thirsty snakes try to start no bullshit with me today. I’m definitely not in the fucking mood for their messy asses!” Just as Kenya turned the end of the long block she spotted Carmen. She was her girl, for real, for real; her best friend. If ever there was a female who had your back no matter what happened or jumped off, it would be her. Kenya had been in serious physical altercations with groups of jealous girls several times over, and Carmen was always there standing right beside Kenya, if not in front of her, showing their opponents what was really good with them both.

Carmen smirked, tugging down on her skirt. “What up, twin? What’s happening?” Carmen always smiled when she said that shit because she knew that it irked Kenya. Her friend always wanted to be known for her own identity. As far as Kenya was concerned London was London and she was herself, twin or not.

“Very funny. Ha-ha, motherfucker, very funny. I been told your ass about that twin shit! I didn’t know I had my own personal comedian to walk to school with!” Kenya snapped.

“Damn, girl, is that a new hookup you rocking? That shit is seriously hot to death. I know that ain’t no regular off-the-rack shit, is it? You’ve been straight holding out on this one!”

Kenya was cheesin’ from ear to ear, taking in every last one of the compliments Carmen was dishing out. Kenya knew there wasn’t a girl from miles around who could fade her style or unique way of rocking her gear. Everywhere she went, people would be on her envious of her wardrobe.

The girls’ uncle was always showering them with money, jewelry, and, most importantly of all to a stuck-up Kenya, clothes. The majority of their gear he would get from New York or Cali. Sometimes he’d even have his weave shop owner girlfriend pick out and send garments back from overseas when she’d travel. After his older brother, Johnnie, and his sister-in-law got murdered back in the day, he always tried to look out for his little nieces the best he could. Even when he’d get locked up, which was quite often considering the ruthless lifestyle he lived, he made sure he had his woman continue to hold the twins down. Gran, knowing it was blood money he was spending, didn’t like all the expensive gifts he gave the girls, but what could she do? He was their family also: blood. Matter of fact, he was the only one out of the Roberts family who even tried to maintain a relationship with both London and Kenya after their mom died. She knew he truly loved his nieces and would die for them if need be and Gran respected that fact.

Finally, after letting Carmen go on and on with her praise, Kenya, extremely loyal to her friends, told her she would gladly let her have some of the pieces that she didn’t want or couldn’t fit in.

“Thanks, girl, I love you.” Carmen started trying to hug her friend for always looking out even though she didn’t have to.

“Urgg fall back, chick! What I tell your ass ’bout all that kissy-lovey shit? Save that for them busters you be dealing with,” Kenya hissed, trying to play that hard role.

Carmen looked at her girl and shook her head. If ever there was a person in need of a hug and some affection it was Kenya. Carmen knew that her best friend had major issues with trusting or loving anyone or anything. She didn’t know or even care to know where Kenya had developed those feelings, because everyone in their Detroit hood had their own problems and demons to deal with and she and Kenya were no different. Life was hard in the Motor City.

As they slow strolled down Linwood Avenue, the pair encountered all types of ghetto hood antics, the girls loved to fuck with the “common folk” as they called them: “Y’all girls look pretty today, can you spare a dollar? Get an education, do you have a quarter?” or “I’m trying to get something to eat and I need thirty-five cents.”

Kenya, immune to sympathy for the next person’s bad luck in life, had heard every crackhead, drug addict, and sorry-ass story in the book known to man. Sometimes she and Carmen wouldn’t hesitate humoring themselves by making them do outlandish things no sane human being would even consider. She would have them bark like a dog for fifty cents or imitate other farm animals for their own childish amusement. There was no limit to what they could easily encourage a Detroit crackhead to do if the price was right. And since times were so hard and cold in the city, the price was always right.

As Kenya and Carmen passed the liquor store, Daisy appeared. She was a middle-aged woman hard in the face strung out on heroin, who used to be friends with both Kenya’s parents and wouldn’t let the young teen forget it. No matter where the girls would go in the economically stressed neighborhood of longtime homeowners, they were reminded about their deceased parents’ impact on the community and its residents, whether they were fond memories or not.

“Yeah, me, your mama, and daddy used to get our souls proper back in the day! All top side, uncut! That good shit!” Daisy rocked from side to side to the imaginary music that was playing in her drug-infested mind. “I’m telling you, Kenya or London or whichever one you is, your daddy only copped the best shit this damn city ever seen! Oh, yeah! Ol’ Johnnie Roberts knew how to play the game, for real!”

Always begging for this, that, and the third, she felt Kenya and London were obligated to give her spare change whenever she asked for it just on the strength that she and their parents shared needles or blow from time to time. Some mornings, this one in particular, Kenya was in one of her moods and cruelly decided to make Daisy dance for a dollar, recording it on her cell phone so she could laugh at it later and post on Facebook. After humiliating her parents’ less fortunate friend with not much coaxing, she and Carmen ran off giggling.

“What’s so funny, y’all?” It was Allan, their homeboy from around the way. Randomly, he always seemed to appear out of nowhere when they least expected him to. He always walked with the girls to school. “I said what’s so damn funny? Why y’all laughing so hard?” He gave both of his friends a stupid look as he repeated his question, not receiving an answer the first time. They girls looked at each other and busted out laughing again.

“Nothing, nothing.” Kenya was wiping the tears off her face. “It’s just I didn’t know that people could be so desperate that’s all.”

Allan never got the joke and the girls let it go, especially because Allan’s mom was a closet head. Ain’t no true secrets in the hood and his mother’s smoking crack most certainly wasn’t one of them. Everything in the dark always comes to light, please believe.

The trio finally arrived at Central High School. While Allan was a junior for the second time, both of the girls were only freshman, but you damn straight couldn’t tell by the reception they received. As soon as they cleared the metal detector, it was all smiles and handshakes on their end for the most part. Every guy in the school wanted to get with Kenya if they weren’t gay, and of course her ever-present sidekick Carmen came along for the ride. Even the upperclassmen, who usually didn’t fuck with crab-ass freshmen, would stop what they were doing to gawk at the girls’ asses bounce by in those tight jeans or hooker short skirts that the two were infamous for wearing. But of course as always there had to be haters on deck lurking. You know that bullshit goes without saying. Hell, real talk, haters make the world go round and what school wasn’t blessed with them, Central students included, who regularly took hatin’ on the next person, in particular her, to the next level on a day-to-day basis.

“They should rename this bitch Hater High but that might be too much like right!” Kenya blurted out loud as she mean mugged a few chicks who were giving her just as much shade and fever as she was giving them.

As much attention as the fellas gave Kenya and Carmen, the other girls would stare them down and often roll their eyes at the pair. Truthfully speaking, there was not one single female who really liked the conceited pair. However, Kenya made it perfectly clear she couldn’t care less if any bitch in the entire school liked her or not; they were damn sure gonna respect her. She was settling for nothing less.

“Hey, ladies, I like your outfits.” One girl grinned at Carmen and Kenya, while trying to be a real smart-ass.

Kenya peeped that shit out and let the girl have it Kenya Roberts style. “Girl, I like your outfit too. I know I say that every week when you wear it, but it’s so cute.” Carmen and Kenya gave each other the side eye and snickered as they left the dusty female looking and feeling stupid as hell for even trying it in the first place.

“You crazy!” Carmen was smiling and falling against the locker after Kenya had cleverly checked one of their many frenemies.

“Man, fuck that skank-a-dank low-budget bird! She runs around here, always trying to be slick-mouthed all the time like her own shit don’t stank. Imagine that whore trying to come for me!” Kenya huffed, caught up in her emotions. “She should try putting that jaw of hers to better use and maybe, just maybe, one of those losers she fucks with would upgrade that yesteryear wardrobe she be rocking!” Kenya tried to hold her laughter as she gave the girl one more casually fake smile from across the hall as she entered her class. Once she made it inside the classroom and took her seat, Kenya was quickly surrounded by guys wanting a few minutes of her time. After a few moments of her holding court, the bell rang for the start of first period.

“I love you, Gran!” London lovingly told her with affection as she left out the front door. Let me double check. I’ve got all my books, my homework and my lunch. London always took her own lunch so she could sit under a tree and study if she found time. As she slowly walked down her block, the compassionate teen always took time to speak to all of her neighbors, asking if each was having a good day. She, unlike her sister, was friendly to everyone, which was why everyone on the entire close-knit block loved London much more than her cynical-minded twin.

At the very end of the street barely stood the house where Amber and her family lived. She was London’s best friend ever since she was four years old and came to live with Gran. Even though she had her sister to play with, Amber made living on Glendale bearable. At first London seemed to miss her old toddler playmates, her own bed, and her own house, not to mention both her parents, but with the love of Gran and the friendship of Amber, she would grow into her new life without any noticeable problems.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey, Amber.” London returned her friend’s smile.

“Did you get a chance to finish that report in English you were working on?” Amber had a sympathetic look on her face, hoping for the best. She knew all the hell that her best friend London caught trying to study at home; with Kenya blasting the radio half the night and talking on the phone the other half, London fought hard to keep her grades up and her sanity intact.

“Yeah, I got it finished, finally. The teacher wanted at most four pages, but I ended up with six and a half. I tried to cut some down,” London said nonchalantly, always known for overdoing it when it came to schoolwork.

Amber grinned, telling London the exact same thing she said after every A paper that London received. “Please don’t forget the little people when you become president one day.” They both smiled as they continued walking down the same side street they took every day.

“Hello, girls.” The old lady who walked her little dog every morning waved.

“Hi,” they answered in unison.

They always stopped to talk to old Mr. Phelps. He was practically blind and a lot of kids in the neighborhood would throw stuff on his porch to scare him and always left his gate wide open. He being eighty-one and blind made him an easy target for kids and drug addicts alike who often took advantage of his disabilities. London, known for being overly nice, would sometimes lose her temper, like her sister, and get in the zone falling into the dark side. It didn’t happen often, but seeing some of her peers mess with the elderly or people who couldn’t stand up and defend themselves was one surefire way to get London up in arms and to prove she was also her father’s daughter.

“Hey, Mr. Phelps,” the girls yelled up to the porch where he sat every morning. “How you doing? Do you need anything on our way back from school?” they both inquired.

“No, girls, I’m fine, just fine. I’m just getting some of that good morning air, thanks for asking.” Mr. Phelps smiled and thought how nice London and Amber both were. He knew those two girls were going to be somebody someday. Especially London, who’d always made sure on Sundays to bring him by a healthy plate that her Gran would cook.

“I hope there’s not going to be a science test today,” London stated while kicking a can down the street.

“Me too,” Amber agreed as the high school came in sight.

Both girls chatted between themselves about school, homework, and other things that teenage girls talked about: boys. Although her sister was the self-proclaimed diva of Detroit’s Central High, London went through school practically unnoticed by both boys and girls alike. The only people at school who noticed Amia London Roberts were her teachers. She was the only one in class who would turn in all of her assignments on time, sometimes the only one who turned them in period. They admired her ambition. Yet, some of the least enthusiastic instructors hated the fact that London had a lot more knowledge than they possessed on most subjects and never once seemed to let them forget that fact.

Some teachers just wanted to cash their paychecks, avoid conflict, and go home to their families. However, London was having none of that. She had a thirst for knowledge and made all her teachers earn their salary, each and every penny. Gran used to joke that London had been here before, and many she’d encounter believed her grandmother’s assessment to be true.

As London and Amber entered through the doors of school, they went their separate ways. London went in and out the crowds with ease. She didn’t want to bump into anyone or call attention to herself. If she were to make eye contact with any of her sister’s sworn enemies, she would give them a faint smile and try to avoid confrontation if at all possible. Some days, of course, were better than others.

“Hey, twin,” Shannon hissed with a hint of nastiness she was infamously known for.

“Hello, Shannon,” replied London nonchalantly, trying not to look up. She knew both Kenya and Shannon equally hated each other and that made Shannon in turn hate London because she looked exactly like her sister. All this crap probably over some stupid boy, thought London. “Why are females so one-dimensional? They need to elevate their brains,” she mumbled underneath her breath.

“Excuse me, but did you say something over there you want to repeat, Ms. Thang?” growled Shannon as she bucked her eyes out wanting trouble.

Having more self-control than her sister, London shook her head and walked away, not once looking back. She heard Shannon and her girls still laughing as she made her way down the hall, but she didn’t care. London scurried up the hallway quickly before the last bell rang, not wanting to be late. As she passed by one of the classrooms, she saw the most popular girl in the entire school surrounded by a flock of boys. She waved at her sister, Kenya, who waved back. London had to get to class. The bell was ringing.

After three grueling years of high school passed, it was the last week of the term. The twins had made it and were going to finally be seniors next semester. The only thing left before vacation was final exams. Kenya acted as if passing them would be a total breeze. Concentrating on tests w. . .