Beyond the Teacher's Reach

© 2011 by Zebony LaVie. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 06/06/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0174-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0102-3 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0103-0 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011907953

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Rodney Scot Stoner- Photographer & Trey Rigdon- Graphic Designer

Contents

Growing Up Fast

Daddy’s Girl

The Ultimate Decision

I Shoulda Listened To My Mama

THE V-CLUB

Burnin’ Up

Suburbia

SEXTING

They Called Him P. K.

I AM MODESTY

Tay Baby

Back In The Days When I Was Young . . . I’m Not A kid Anymore

ANGRY

Scarred

Mom’s Treasure Chest

Feeling Like Two Strikes

LOSING BYRON

The Action of Love

Outed

Surplus

Ain’t Nothing Precious About Her

On Top of The World

Just Clowning

Give Us Perfect Perfection

The Laying On Of Hands

Hotlines For Help

Abortion Facts: 1-800-395-HELP

Child Abuse Hotline: 1-800-4-A-CHILD

Homeless/ Runaway National Hotline: 1-800-231-6946

Mental Health InfoSource: 1-800-447-4474

National Adoption Center: 1-877-648-4400

National Child Abuse Hotline: 1-800-422-4453

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-HOPE

National STD Hotline: 1-800-227-8922

National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE

National Teen Dating Abuse Help: 1-866-331-9474

National Victim Center: 1-800-FYI-CALL

National Youth Crisis Hotline: 1-800-448-4663

People Against Rape: 1-800-877-7252

I dedicate this book to the many teens that I’ve worked with throughout the years, I’ve seen the things you go through, and I know that this life is not easy. And to other teens and young people who feel hopeless and depressed, my prayer is that God speaks to you and meets you wherever you are, while you read this book.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My Lord and Savior—I must thank my Lord, Jesus Christ, for granting me with the knowledge and the wisdom to pull this book off. I am so grateful for the countless second chances that He has given me in life. And I say, with absolute assuredness, that I am nothing without Him.

My Family And Friends—De’Toure, my loving husband, thank you. Thank you for putting up with me. And for enduring countless nights without me. You’ve been very patient. I appreciate the way you handled the many nights that I spent with my face glued to the computer screen, working diligently on this book. And to my happy, handsome, full of life two-year old son, thank you for allowing mommy to squeeze in some time to write here and there. I’m so fortunate to have a ball of life like you, to take breaks with when I need a few minutes away from my writing. To Grandma and Aunt Van, thank you for your prayers. Mom and dad, thanks for believing in me as a kid, and always knowing that I’d be a writer some day. I’m grateful mom, for the times (way back in the day) when you allowed me to stand in the kitchen and read to you while you washed the dishes. You paid attention to my stories and would get disappointed when they ended without an ending. Then you’d ask me where the rest of it was . . . I was always so anxious to read you what I’d written, that I didn’t bother completing the story first. The fact that you always wanted to hear more made me feel like a writer. Rickey, my eldest brother, thanks for always being there when I needed you. You really know how to make things happen! Davon, my other brother. I could write an intriguing book on your life alone, now wouldn’t that be a story! You’re currently on a journey, and I hope you turn everything over to God. I’m grateful that He’s working on you. And just because you’re gone from our physical presence for a while, does not mean that you’re forgotten. You’d better believe we think of you often. And thanks Charles, my brother from another. I appreciate you being my midnight phone call when I had so many questions about my subject material. You were there to assure me and help me through some tough decision-making. And to my other brother from another, from teenhood (you know who you are), thanks for always encouraging me to write. This wasn’t quite what we had in mind for my first book, but I’m so grateful that God placed an assignment such as this in my hands. I’m praying for you, always.

My Helpers—Thanks for giving a beginner a break! To my photographer, Rodney Scot Stoner, it has been a pleasure and a blessing. Your work speaks volumes. To Trey Rigdon, you are a mastermind with graphic design, thanks a lot for all of your help! And thanks to all my volunteer cover models, I appreciate you: Joshua Truong, Matthew Slyman, Maquasha Hawkins, Zaina Mujtaba, Quintin Nelson, Francis Lopez, and Claudia Green. And thanks to Zipporah Camille Thompson for all of your help, I appreciate your willingness to lend your hand and your talent. To Dartina, thanks for gently pursuading me to cut off some of my loose ends, I appreciate it. Thanks also to those who volunteered their life stories and experiences to help me gain an understanding of the many issues that today’s youth are going through.

My New Readers—Thank you in advance for allowing me to entertain and minister to you. You all will play a huge role in elevating me to new heights in my career.

Edited By: Dartina Hull

Growing Up Fast

The noise began softly but grew louder and louder. The tapping sound was irritating from the start. One of those bad-behind chaps was at it again. Little noisemakers, one would think they were all born at rock concerts.

The tapping had no rhythmic quality; it was sporadic and chaotic. The noise had moved from my ears to my head and was now pounding. The thumping seemed to shake my entire body. I rolled out of bed, kicked it out of frustration and stomped up the stairs. The three youngest children were sound asleep in their room. And I knew it wasn’t Shawnie or Betty making the noise because we shared a room. Betty was asleep. Shawnie was sitting on her bed, quietly coloring by her night-light. Initially, I tried to ignore the tapping; I was determined to sleep through it, I didn’t feel like getting out of bed just to yell at some kids. But it had gone too far, was going on too long. At my house, ten minutes of noise was too much.

I stomped up the stairs, and the tapping softened. I heard whispers and giggles coming from the middle boys’ room. I flung open their door and stood in the doorway, staring into the darkness. More whispers and giggles.

I’m not playing with you boys! I flicked the light on angrily. Both of them threw their heads into their pillows, pretending to be asleep.

Who is making that noise? They looked up at me. I know you’re not sleep. Whoever it is tapping, you’d better know this: If I hear it again, I’m not asking no questions. I’m coming in here swinging mama’s belt.

I cut off the light and slammed the door. All I could think about was my alarm clock going off in the morning at four, urging me to begin my day. I made my way back to my bed and thank God, they stopped the tapping. It was midnight and I was finally able to get some sleep. As I drifted off to dreamland, I cried a few frustrated tears. I was so tired of everything.

Mama had three jobs. She was a receptionist at a hospital during the day, a security officer at a grocery store at night, and a cashier at the neighborhood gas station during the weekends. She worked all day, everyday, and caught naps in between. Mama had birthed eight children; one had passed shortly after birth. It was another girl, and mama had named her Berry.

But out of her seven living, I was the oldest. I was 15 going on 16, but not looking forward to getting another year older. In my world, each new year meant more responsibility. Attempting to raise my siblings and perform well at school, growing older meant harder schoolwork and possibly another child for me to raise. Mom didn’t have time to be home with her kids, but she sure did find the time to make them. Most of us had different fathers, whom we never saw. All we really knew was each other. And we knew that mom was the one who brought home the groceries.

James was 13, with a tall muscular build. He thought he was God’s gift to teenage girls. My main job with him was monitoring and making sure he didn’t get some hot-tail girl pregnant. I didn’t need any more babies to look after. I also had to stay on him about his schoolwork. It was almost impossible to keep him on task. He never had his face in a book; it was always in some ghetto girl’s face.

Shawnie was 12 and fairly quiet. I didn’t have to follow up on her too much. She stayed to herself and didn’t cause trouble. She wore glasses and looked like the smart kid, though she was only able to pull C’s at school. At home, I had to remind her to eat dinner and take a bath. I was concerned that she had a learning disability. But whenever I approached mom about it, she shunned me off and told me that Shawnie was just a little shy. Mom assured me that once Shawnie came out of her shell, she’d get good grades and behave like her brothers and sisters. She also told me to count my blessings, to be grateful that Shawnie didn’t misbehave. And I was grateful, but I didn’t want my sister to go without getting help if she did have a problem. My mom had been telling me to be patient with her for years. And at this point, I didn’t think she was ever going to change. She would probably be dependent on others for the rest of her life.

Betty was a bit of a wild child. At only 10 years old, she was already chasing after boys. She was always in fights with other girls at school, and she used profanities that I could never use. Mom said that Bee, as we called her, took after her Daddy. A menace to society, he had been in and out of jail since his teenage years. I used mama’s belt on Bee pretty often.

Tony was 7. He was a handful, the average boy. Always into any and everything. Darius, 4 years old, worshipped his older brothers. In particular, he mimicked almost everything that Tony did. Whenever Tony hid his vegetables in his underwear during dinner, Darius mimicked him. Even when Darius secretly liked some of his vegetables, he still wouldn’t eat them just because his older brother didn’t. Reggie was three, but he acted like he was still a small baby. He craved attention. I tried to give him special doses of love when he wanted it. I was old enough to understand why mommy was never home, but my adorable baby brother wasn’t. It did annoy me though that when he’d cry, he didn’t understand that other children had needs before his wants. He and James shared a room, but he would bring himself to my bed most nights.

Life for us was crazy. We lived in a pretty nice house, with me as a 15-year-old playing mom to six other kids. I had to threaten most of them to make them obey to me. Yet ironically, on those rare occasions that they did see mom, they were extremely obedient towards her.

Our house was chaotic, I didn’t have enough time to keep up with all the children. I woke early each morning to prepare everyone for school. I had to get Reggie ready for daycare. All of my siblings took the school bus, except for Reggie. I walked with him so we could take the city bus. We had to ride across town to the cheaper daycare center. After dropping him off each morning, I took another city bus to my school, catching a quick nap on the way. I usually made it to school with 10 minutes to spare before classes. I used those 10 minutes to do any last-minute school preparation for myself. Unfortunately, I couldn’t supervise my other brothers and sisters to make sure that they went to school. I just hoped that James was honest with me each day when he said, Stop sweating us. We all got on the bus. Dang.

My evening and nighttime routines were even more hectic than my morning one. I picked Reggie up from daycare, and then came home, laid Reggie down for an afternoon nap and cooked dinner. Usually most of my siblings were home by now, and I instructed them to do their homework and study. In between boiling, broiling, baking and frying dinner, I helped with homework. Asking James to help was like asking a snake to walk. He always acted completely incapable; he never even tried. At first this angered me, but I got used to it. I had grown accustomed to doing everything myself. After dinner, I was able to do most of my homework, and most of the children did their chores. Or they played outside or watched TV.

On the days that I didn’t have time to complete my homework, I’d pull an all-nighter. Sipped, swallowed, and chewed on whatever I needed to in order to stay awake. And by the grace of God, I maintained a B average.

I was usually able to get the children to bed by 10:30. They didn’t go straight to sleep, but they stayed in their rooms only to avoid being spanked. On good days, I was able to go straight to sleep, waking here and there due to noise interruptions. But on most days, I used a couple of those hours after their bedtime to catch up on things. During the school year, I lived most days looking forward to the summertime.

Overall, I was able to understand my mother’s position and I didn’t get angry with her over our circumstances. Especially when I’d grown so accustomed to being the second mother. She’d had me in charge of my younger siblings since the age of nine. I was okay with how things were, as long as there were no other children coming behind Reggie. I remember once, a few months back, when I was enraged with her. At that time, I might have even hated her. It was approximately 11:30 on a weeknight, when I heard her sneaking into the house. Our house had three bedrooms, and since she was rarely home, she didn’t take a room for herself. She slept on the living room couch, out in the open. There was no privacy, and most of the time she didn’t need any.

I heard her take off her jewelry quietly, while she fumbled around the furniture. At first, I was happy she was home. I hopped out of bed and headed down the hall. I wanted to say hello, and give her a big hug. Seconds later, I heard an unfamiliar low male voice. It sounded seductive and drunk.

Chuck was the last guy that mom had brought home, and that had been almost a year ago. He was at least decent enough to come over during the daytime. Mom and Chuck had conversed for hours that day. But when he saw the rest of my siblings, he ended the conversation abruptly. The kids had come in from playing outside. I saw Chuck’s lips moving as he counted each child that came through the door. His smile turned to a frown. He didn’t conceal his thoughts either; he turned to mom and said, Dang . . . You need to slow down, baby, you definitely going too fast. That was the last we saw of him.

This night was different though, and I was suspicious. I wondered why she didn’t bring this man over during the daytime like she had Chuck. I crept into the hallway and quietly stood in the dark, near the living room entrance. I heard my mother and the strange man making sexual remarks and whispering to each other. I saw them through the darkness as they heavily petted one another. Seconds later, they were undressed and kissing. Everything had happened too quickly. I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. Within moments, they were lying on the couch together, out of my view.

Eventually, out of the panting and whispering, I was able to decipher something the man was saying. Girl, I’m gonna give you another baby, he mumbled.

That was enough! I shook with anger. I ran into the room in the middle of their episode and ignored both of their nakedness. I was too angry to notice, all I saw was red.

"Give her a baby? Give her a baby? Are you serious? Don’t you mean give me a baby? I began to choke up as tears entered my throat. That’s all you no good niggas do. Nasty men, you lay down with . . . with my mother, then leave me with the baby!" They were so shocked by my outburst; I think their hearts skipped a beat. Mom tried to calm me down, not even covering herself. She stood there naked, trying to shush me. I couldn’t help it, I cried. I cried so hard that I thought I was crying blood.

My brothers and sisters had come to see what all the commotion was about. By the time they made their way to the living room, mom was half-dressed, and her man was fully dressed. Mom and I exchanged words while her man stayed and watched, probably hoping I’d calm down so he could finish his business. But after everyone arrived to the living room, he became uneasy. Oblivious to what was going on, most of the kids were excited to see Mom. Hugging and kissing her, and saying they missed her. James was no dummy though. He looked at Mom, then at her man and rolled his eyes. Then he looked again at Mom’s man, gave him a long threatening stare, and left the room.

That was the man’s cue to leave. He didn’t even say two words to Mom, just walked past her, slapped her on the butt and left.

Today was a new day. Mom was off work due to a holiday and I intended to have a heart-to-heart with her. She sat down on the couch, sipping tea and watching television. The kids were quiet. I made sure of that. I bribed James by promising to introduce him to one of my high school friends. I didn’t need to bribe Shawnie, but I promised her a candy bar just to be fair. I bribed Betty by telling her she could go to a friend’s house later that day. Tony