"I went to my church for our weekly potluck dinner.""Oh cool. What did you eat?""Well I cooked." Juicy tried not to look surprised. He went to church AND he cooked? She was impressed. She hadn't been to church since being a little kid wearing an Easter dress. "I made chicken pot pie. I used biscuit dough for the top, instead of a pie crust. People seem to really like when I do that.""What church do you belong to?""Now I'm with Allen Temple AME. Once I told them I cooked at my last church, they recruited me to be in charge of the potluck dinners we have weekly for the homeless."She contemplated him quietly. "You belong to an African Methodist Episcopal Church? And let me get this straight; you cook for the homeless?"He shrugged. "Or whoever; the church, the homeless, guests, friends…" he sat down at the table with her. "I don't do all of the cooking myself. We have seventy or eighty people that come through. During winter or holidays it's twice that. One of the
"Juice, can I talk to you?" She had been pressing Miss Barbara Jean's hair in her small back room. Three other customers were waiting semi-patiently. Even though it had been weeks since she'd been attacked, it seemed that she was still trying to play catch-up in order to get to where she had been before her attack. She over-booked but only because people begged her to do their hair, or their daughter's hair and etc. Troy had gotten the wonderful idea to bake muffins which reduced much of the grumblings of those left waiting for hours."Sweetie, I'm kinda busy right now-" Juicy swiped at her sweating brow. Her back hurt and she still had a bandage over her head. She'd been on her feet non-stop for the last six hours."Uhm..." Troy entered the room while four sets of eyes glared at him. Having a white man breech their hair secrets was a huge no no. And though he fed them tasty baked goods, that would only get him so far.He boldly removed the curling iron from Juicy's hand and tugge
Troy sat on the Greyhound bus several hours later. He hadn't called his parents to explain that he was coming by; he hadn't wanted anything to sidetrack him…well truthfully, he just hadn't wanted to chicken out. If he was there, he couldn't just walk away if things got rough.Sighing, he reviewed the last words that he'd said to his Dad; 'I'll call you tomorrow…' And that had been over seven years ago. When the bus landed in the station he considered calling his Dad to come pick him up, but that would have been too weird. Instead he sprung for a cab, though under normal circumstances, he'd never splurge on such a thing. He stared out of the window as the driver passed familiar spots, as well as spots that should have been familiar but had changed over the years. He did not want to do this. He did not enjoy being back in this place that marked a time of his life when he had been unsure and in pain. Sure, there had been pain over the years while he lived on the streets. But i
Things moved sideways and for a while there was nothing but his staring eyes as he wavered on his feet. When he came to he had a moment of confusion as he tried to reconcile his past and the present. After a moment he remembered that he was not seventeen. He was soon to be twenty-five and he controlled his life.Troy checked under the bed for his box of keepsakes. Sitting on the side of the bed, he opened the cigar box, surprised that his mother hadn't moved them. He picked up the Pokémon cards and chuckled that these; his prized possessions were still in their hiding place. He left them out for his nieces and nephews and then dug through the box, rediscovering the little trinkets that had been so important to his childhood. He shook his head, unable to connect to the kid that had saved the ticket stub to the movie The Matrix. Absently he returned the box under his bed, and then he opened the desk drawers finding only some pens and pencils and scraps of paper.He suddenly rem
Troy picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, more as an excuse to stall than anything else. How did he tell his family that he'd been pretty much homeless since running away? "Well, for a while I didn't do very well." He cleared his throat and glanced at the kids, not wanting to go into details, especially in front of Lorie's eldest as the young girl seemed to hang onto his every word. Also, his disappearance had hurt his family. He didn't need to add to that pain with too much detail."What do you do for a living?" Lorie asked and then blushed as if she had no right to the information.He smiled in response. "It's h-hard for me to hold a n-normal job." Everyone put together the meaning of that and nodded in understand or looked elsewhere. He was unemployed. Troy cleared his throat. It was a true fact and he had come to terms with it. There were just certain jobs that were impossible for him to do. Once he'd gotten a call from a temporary service wanting him to drive a
Troy's lips began to twitch. He dropped his silverware on the table and it clanged loudly. "That's what you're concerned with, that a black woman might get her hands on my money?"Bob looked embarrassed and glanced at Lorie for support. Lorie threw up her palms as if to say that he was on his own for putting his foot into his mouth."It's just that your decisions haven't always been all that great-"Troy's jaw clenched. "How do you know, Bob? Tell me how you would have any ideas about my decision making skills?" Lorie's husband stood and ushered his children away from the table and Mom placed a hand on Troy's arm.He ignored it and continued. "Tell me, Bob, how would you survive the winter if you just got let go from your last fast food job because you stuttered so much that you couldn't take an order—and you're down to your last fourteen dollars, it's winter and your choices are A. suck a dick," his mother gasped and covered her ears. "B. Go to a shelter, or C. Go home to M
Troy had been in charge of inspecting the building and he said that this one was good. The foundation was solid; there was no mold so no hidden water damage, no termites and the nearby shops kept it safe from hidden predators. He grinned and gave her the thumbs up. Later he approached the city with a request to purchase it for a dollar even though it had not been posted for sale. However, once the city's inspectors had shown evidence that the building had been used for drug activities, it was given the ok to sale. They had one year to rehab it. They did it in four months. Juicy would not be surprised on days when she would enter the building, while it was being rehabbed, to see several homeless men—including her own, sleeping there because they had pulled an all-nighter. She would stare at them with thankful admiration, knowing that she would never see these people in the same light again.One day Juicy and Troy stood in front of a building. Stenciled across the window were the
"That woman should be ashamed of herself!" Miss Marcie said, a perpetual grimace ever present on her wrinkled brown face. Juicy wrapped the stiff piece of hair around the curling iron, expertly pumping the handle until there was a smooth curl bouncing beneath her fingertips."What did that heffa do now?" Juicy asked, barely listening to the old woman's idle gossip. It was hard for her to focus when she had so much shit cluttering her head. Is that how Troy felt; head wanting to explode?Miss Marcie continued. "Oh she came out wearing them stretchy slacks, with that big behind of hers! You know that woman shouldn't be prancing around-" Juicy listened as Miss Marcie's voice droned on and on while she threw in a 'hmph' or a 'you don't say?' in the appropriate places. Finally the last curl was in place and Juicy liberally sprayed Miss Marcie's hair to 'set' the curls. The older woman's face broke into a smile, probably for the first time in a week. "Beautiful." She beamed then paid Jui