Perfect Weather For a Kidnapping

 Fear is a neccessary and important emotion; a great motivator. / Courage is not the absence of fear, but our ability to act in the face of it.

Do you know how it feels when a new baby is born into the family and that first time you lay eyes on them (especially if it is your child or your new baby sibling)? That's how I looked at Scott when I first saw him...even though he was 13.
He was young, hyper, and simple. Now he's old, hyper, and simple. I digress. I recall the exact moment I saw him. After Joseph had found me, my mom allowed him to stay for the week. There was some discussion I'm sure and much to my adopted mom's (a-mom) concern, she allowed a few of the family members to come see me, including my brother Scott. They were scheduled to come on Joe's last day there and pick him up (his ride had to return home). The only condition was that we had to meet somewhere else other than my house. I could not begin to tell you why. There are a million reasons I could think of that could have been my a-mom's and I'll probably never know.
Anyway, we went to my Aunt Pam's (read the previous posts). Her house sat on a small hill. A car pulled up and my bio-aunt Robin, my bio-grandmother, and my bio-little brother got out. My brain had not caught up to everything, but I saw him and felt a feeling I had never had; the feeling of being someone's big brother.
I had a cousin who was practically my best friend. He was younger than me, but to actually HAVE these people. Scott has never talked to me about that day; what he was thinking, if he was nervous, etc.
For a moment, I felt joy.
I had this older brother who dreamed of finding me for almost 15 years. I had a younger brother to be protective of. Joe, Scott, and I were finally together.  It was strange for me to think of people I didn't know out there loving me, missing me, wanting me around. We all talked, but my memory of what is foggy. I think that my b-aunt Robin went and talked with my mom or dad...Foggy. They weren't there very long before it was time for them to leave. I, of course, got teary-eyed as I watched them load into the car.
Scott had a trapper keeper with him and as he was getting in the car, it opened and several paper clips fell to the ground. I helped him gather them up, secretly tucking one into my pocket. In my heart, I was freaking out that Joe and Scott were leaving. It was not enough time...not near enough.
Fast forward; my a-mom has passed away. I've kept in constant contact with my brothers and talked with a lot of family. One main element they expressed was that the sweet old lady that got out of the car at my a-aunt's home (the one called "BJ", my b-grandmother) was a violent and mean woman who would as soon shoot you than to say hello. She was horribly racist, had viciously beat all of her own children, and continued with Scott. I even saw a picture of Scott as a toddler, his face all bruised up. I have no proof the marks were her doing. Still... I cried so hard and so much. I had had some physical altercations with my a-mom, but never seen anything to that extreme.
These stories and images, especially the ones concerning my little brother, incubated in my mind. I was a little angry that no one had stopped her from doing that to him (I don't know if they did or not, but it is what I thought). I was fearful of her.
One time, when spending the night at her house, Scott and I started talking about mom. He told me that there was a trunk of her things locked in his closet. He said he had never looked inside and that he thought (among many things) the clothes our mom was murdered in were in there. BJ was in bed, we thought. The house was quiet. I asked Scott if he was sure we would be okay. Keep in mind we were young, curious, and dealing.
Scott pushed his bed against the door to keep her from surprising us. Then we got into the closet. We took a deep breath, staring at the trunk. Getting it open proved to be easy. On top were pictures, a letter...nothing special. So close to going further, and then...*knock knock knock*  "Scott! Why is this door locked? What are you doing?"  Her voice was no longer sweet and elderly. It was heavy and forceful.  She began to cuss as we scurried to put everything back in its place.
It was too late.
This woman was strong enough to push our baracade free. She stormed in and started yelling! If you've been reading my other posts, you'll know that I was a timid kid afraid of my own shadow. My heart was racing and I was almost in tears...that is, until she balled up her fist and started punching him in the back as he fell into a protective ball. I snapped...
I pushed myself between them and began shouting at her. "Look old woman! If you put your hands on him again, I swear to GOD you're gonna regret it!"  I must have been huffing like an angry bull, my hand now a fist. I was either going to pass out or knock her out. Never in my life had I been in this position.  She started yelling at me again and telling me to get out. 
"Scott, come on!"  I know she wanted to say something else; to tell Scott he wasn't going anywhere. But that wasn't an option. I stared her down, staying in between her and Scott until he was out of the room.
He had to go back later that night after things had calmed down, but I had decided he couldn't stay there.
It's a blur between that moment and the day our plan (Joe, me, Scott) went into action. I had obviously cleared it with my a-dad, for Scott to come stay with us. This preacher that Joe knew, and at the time I trusted, agreed to be our get-away driver. In the middle of the night, through Scott's bedroom window, he made his escape. We were so quiet.
It was at least an hour drive to Teague, Tx. The preacher didn't ask for money or anything. He drove us to my childhood home. Joe, Scott, and I were living together...as brothers...and I had committed my first criminal act. Yep, we were together, but you know this "curse" was not about to let that last.

Lil Brothers remarks

So I guess the idea of this is to talk about the past. So I have decided to talk about racism and how it has affected me in my life. I grew up wih the word everyone fears. Our grandmother and uncle Jimmy used the word like it was drinking water. To me its just a word that people use to get under peoples skin. I feel us being black we should be stronger then the ones who want to down grade us or bring us down to their level. I was beaten and called the "N" word my whole child hood.

I remember one time my so called cousins turned the neighbors lights of and blamed me for doing it. I was beaten and beaten till I did not cry no more. Bj made sure I always had long hair, this was done to her advantage. It was easier to grab me by the hair and use it as a hammer to the wall.


I try to advoid talking about things that have happen to me in my life. I like to run from the past. Now it seems like we need to share this with the world in a blog. This will take me some time to get use too. I am not a writer nor do I like writing. So followers bare with Lil Brother as I need to get the motivation to actually express my feelings. Alot of my childhood has been blocked out. We all have had a rough childhood
some can relate most will think we just made this up. If you are reading this and find this hard to believe do your research and find the little girl locked in a closet. She is family!!! I will post again just give me time this is a difficult time in my life that really I dont like talking about.

LIL BROTHER

LOOK WHO I FOUND

        After being adopted by the Sneeds in that little country town. I only had a few memories, but they were all nice. All but one. The day my dad came to get me and take me back to Dallas. I remember, I cried the whole hour and a half trip. Growing up, talking about Chris with the family was taboo. No one knew where he was at, or who he was with. But from the first day that I got back to Dallas, I swore on my mom's grave that I would find my brother. After a while, I promised myself that I would find him before I go to college. And I did that.
I remember the day. I was about 17 years old and I sat on the living room floor of my Aunt Robin's house. My cousin's fiancé was listening to my aunt Robin as she told her the story of the Beaty boys and what happened to my mom. As she got to the part of the story about Chris and how he was away somewhere lost and had been for most of our life, I looked up at my cousin's fiancé and she was in tears. She had never experienced anything like that. She asked why no one had tried to find him. We informed her that the only info that we had was the name of my brother, (Christopher Beaty). The name of the family that adopted him, (the Sneeds). And the name of the town, (Teague). She then went to get a map, and we located Teague. To our surprise, it was not all that far. So my cousin's fiancé offered to take me there if I provided the gas for the trip. That very next weekend we were on the road. I'm a city boy at heart, so when I say this town was country, please believe me. One gas station and one grocery store. As we pulled into town, I wondered how I was going to find this family. Hell I didn't even know if they were black or white. So as we pulled into the gas station, I asked the first black person I saw. "Do you know the Sneeds?" the older man nodded yes, and instructed me to follow him, "They live across the tracks". So we followed. As we crossed the tracks, the paved road turned into a small dirt road. Like some shit off of Mississippi burning or something. But we followed anyway. As we pulled up at this house, the driver of the car in front of us pointed in that direction. As we came to a stop, unsure what my next move would be. My cousin's fiancé pointed at this kid coming out of the house and said, "He looks like a little brother". As I looked at him, the first thing that came to mind is, "he looks just like my dad". So I got out of the truck and approached this kid. My first question was what is your name? He replied, "Little Billy". Wow I thought, maybe I got the wrong kid, because my brother's name is Chris. So I then asked if he had any brothers. He replied, "Yes, I have an older brother". That's when I got excited. "What's his name?" I asked with a big ass grin on my face. His response confused me even more, and knocked that damn grin off my face too. "Willie", he said. "My big brother's name is Willie". Now I'm lost. But looking at this kid I just felt inside that this was Chris. So I kept pressing, even though I could see him getting nervous and uneasy. "So growing up, you don't remember any other brothers?" he replied, "well, I do remember this kid that used to stay with us when I was little, but he was just a friend and his parents came to get him." With tears swelling in my eyes I told him, "that was no friend that was your brother. That was me, I'm your brother." He looked at me for what seemed like eternity, and began to cry. Hell I didn't know if I should leave or hug him. (Hell, I was on probation at that time so I didn't want noooo trouble). After a while, he told me to follow him and we walked down this country ass road around the corner.
    Now I still have memories from being with the Sneeds before my dad came to get me. But the only people I remembered were Mr. and Ms. Sneed, the older brother Willie, and my brother. I never remembered seeing anyone else. So now, 12 years later, I have my brother directing me away from the house I remembered. We walked up the steps to another house around the corner. As Chris knocked on the door, I was totally lost as to what is happening. This older lady opens the door and speaks to my brother. "Hey lil Billy". My brother speaks and then asks her if she knew who I was. She looked at me and then at Chris. Then she looks at me again, and as her eyes rested back on my brother, her response throws me ass first into the twilight zone. Mine you; I have not seen this town or anyone in it since the age of 5. Now, standing here in front of this strange lady, she says, "yes lil Billy do you know who it is?" Chris replies, "He says he's my brother." "That's who he is lil Billy" as she grabs me and hugs the life out of me, she is almost in tears, "Joseph, where have you been". "Everyone has been worried about you." You see, twilight zone. This shit is getting bad. This was aunt Pam. We then walked two houses down to another house. They called all kinds of people over and they all remembered me, but I remembered no one. After an hour of seeing all these people that I did not know or remember, I still had yet to see the ones I did remember, Mr. and Ms. Sneed, and Willie. After a while Aunt Pam tells me that Ms. Sneed was very sick, bed rest. And she will call first in order not to shock her. After it was Ok'ed to go to the house, we all went to see Mr. and Ms. Sneed. It was beautiful. I felt like my life was complete, I found the missing piece. Boy was I wrong. I believe, this is the part of my brother's life that no one really understands. At this point he just had an eye opener. Imagine someone walking up to you at the age of 15 or 16 and telling you that your life is fake. Your mom and dad are not your mom and dad. Your brothers, cousins, aunts, grandparents, all, not real. Then once that settles in, when you ask about your real parents. One is dead, and no one knows who the other is. Imagine these people you've been calling mom and dad your whole life are not even your real parents. Tell me, could you swallow that .Shit, not me .another thing that I found ironic during this experience was when I discovered, everyone in this small town knew the truth but my brother. How can a whole town keep a secret from one kid? I remember I met this big booty country girl during my visit to this town. (This was during my Mack daddy years, don't judge). Anyway, one evening as this girl and I talked on the phone, she told me that her mom wanted me to come over. She wanted to see me. Now first thing popped in my head was, wow now this was some country shit. Like back in the day when you meet a girl, you had to meet the parents. I was not used to that shit. Where I came from, you met, talked, and even slept with girls without knowing if they even had parent. (Shit I hope reading about all this sad shit you didn't think I was some kind of angel? Just wait I plan to tell all the bad stuff I've done also. If you know me, you might realize that you really don't know me. Lol) anyway, not to get off track. So here I am walking down this dirt ass road to this girl's house to meet her mom, hey whatever it takes to get that. So as I walked in her mom walks up and hugs me. She begins to tell me how she thought about me a lot and wondered if I was ok. She told me how she used to change my diapers. Besides being confused as hell, I couldn't help but ask myself, "If this girl is my cousin, I can still hit it because I was adopted, so technically we are not kin. (I said stop judging me). So after she got all of her hugs out the way, I told her that I did not remember her. She then told me that everyone in the town knows the story of me and my brother. She said some of the parents even told kids the story of our mom on the run from this man who was supposed to kill her and her kids. And how she brought her kids to this small town to try and hide them from him. And how my dad came to get me and Chris was left behind, and our mom ended up getting murdered. Funny how the same kids my brother went to school with, the same people he saw everyday knew the truth. But all those years he had no idea. That's why people don't understand why I can find him at 2 in the morning passed out on the train tracks from taking Ms. Sneed's high blood pressure medicine. But you'll have to ask him about that. I'm just the one that found him
   

I Thought It Was A MIDNIGHT Train To Georgia

Only boring people get bored. If you have a creative and open mind, you will never be without entertainment.

Since I will most likely be out of commission the next several days having a reunion with my brothers, I feel comfortable  throwing a second  blog up. This is more of an adventurous summer tale during an unusual moment in life.

It was the only time in our existence that we all lived together (in the future, look for a story about a kidnapping). Joe, Scott, and I ended up residing in the home I grew up in. They had quickly gotten to know my friends...my best friends; Norola, Edwardo, Joseph (not to be confused with my brother), Kylla, and Ignacio. We did everything together, so much so that rumors, I learned, would spread about us. All of them false, but hell, we were rock stars like that.

Usually, when we all got together, an adventure ensued. We would gather on a daily basis to watch television, talk about life, or dance like fools. Sometimes, one of us would get a bright idea and the others would feed off of it. I don't recall who initially thought of it, but this would prove to be one of our more dangerous escapades.

Early Saturday morning, we all gathered together on the train tracks that ironically formed something of a racial border through town. Typically, mostly blacks lived on one side, while whites lived on the other side. My older brother, Joe, and friends, Joseph and Ignacio, were not with us. Norola, Kylla, Edwardo, Norola's sister, my "new" little brother, and me trekked towards the unknown. Thinking back, maybe it was a spontaneous idea, because we didn't bother to tell anyone.

I remember it being perfect weather. We walked, talked, laughed, and my brother hopelessly flirted with Norola's sister. We walked for hours.
At some point, we the tracks crossed a bridge over a small creek. We scaled down these large rocks that led underneath the bridge. It was a little hidden "paradise".
I was prone to getting struck with random moments of melancholy. I suppose it isn't surprising, if you've been reading our other blogs. Solitude was usually my cure. So, as everyone chatted and laughed, I went exploring.
The location really was peaceful and inviting. Trees were scattered between the bridge and an open pasture. I took a deep breath and then my legs began to shake. The weakness sort of rolled up my body  until my head began to spin lightly. I quickly sat down. After a few seconds, I tried to stand but my legs were like jelly. I think I called out for Scott because I could hear his voice.
When he found me, I told him that I was having trouble walking and didn't know why.  If my memory serves me, Scott actually picked me up and carried me back to the bridge.  We sort of waited around a little bit to see if the feeling would come back to my legs. Everyone was concerned, not just for my condition but also because the sun had started its journey down and it was a two hour walk back home. 
We discussed our options and Scott insisted that he could carry me back (showing off for the girl, no doubt lol). With some help, I was carried back up to the train tracks.
Scott slung me over his shoulder like a knapsack and joined the others back towards home.  I'm not sure how far we had gotten, but we heard the noise. It was soft and distant. That didn't last long.
A wave of panic hit the group. Scott tried to stand me up, but my legs were still useless. "Chris, you need to run" Scott insisted. I agreed. My legs did not.
So, the girls ran back to the rocks that led us under the bridge. Edwardo and Scott each took an arm and dragged me down the tracks. I tried so hard to get my legs moving, but I think they just flopped around.
To be honest, it was kind of a blur at this point. The train must have been close enough to freak everyone out. The girls went spilling over the large rocks. Scott, in one last act of...hmmmm....something, took my arm with both of his hands and flung me and Edwardo (who was still holding my other arm) off the tracks and onto the rocks which embraced us in pain.
My eyes were shut as the train went chugging by. We all just lay there, motionless until the air grew silent and the train had disappeared. Edwardo's back was hurting and I wasn't any better. Somehow we made our way back down to the creek. Now, we were starting to really worry. We needed a plan. Here's what we did.
Scott, not failing to mention his time with boy scouts, dug a shallow hole to put me in. Seriously...he said it would make me comfortable (and truth be told, it was). He also started working on building a fire. We had decided that we needed our strength, which meant food. So the girls set off for a four hour (2 hours there, 2 hours back) search for food and water.  Edwardo helped take care of me as much as he could, but his back suffering.
Long story longer, Scott made a fire, the girls made it back with food, and after some time I started to gain movement. Once I was able to get to my feet (my first experience with hypoglycemia), we all made the final trip back across the train tracks. It felt so good to be back among civilization. All of us parted, almost unceremoniously.
Scott and I dragged ourselves back home, but found that Joe was at Edwardo's house. We were anxious to rest, but more anxious to share our day. As soon as we entered Edwardo's living room, Joe reacted like a big dog. He tackled us, wanting to wrestle... ... ...Really, Joe?
I grew up in one of THE smallest towns you could live in. Adventures are where you make them...but I don't recommend looking for them on the railroad. That was just stupid.
-Nanaki

Nerd Is The Word You Heard

Our country should operate on this philosophy; Everyone should be free to choose, free to speak, and free to act as long as it doesn't infringe on anyone else's freedom. That is the closest we can get to a "free" society.

I would describe my older brother as charismatic and funny. When we were reunited, I immediately saw  confidence, sometimes to the point of irresponsibility. He was all R&B  music and women. My younger brother, the baby, has a big heart and thinks simply. He was into rock and rap and somehow fell into the Latin culture. He was fun and youthful. Joe has his opinions of Scott's "Latin life" in Minnesota, but there were a lot of people that genuinely liked Scott. Amazing they were so "happy" despite what they had grown up with.
Then, there is me. Really, I was a nerd. My mom picked out my clothes until she died. I listened to pop music and oldies. Even though they were 20 years old, I was into the Monkees. I was addicted to video games and daydreaming that I was someone else. Yes, I'll admit my darkest secrets; I had invisible friends and played with stuffed animals and action figures until a disturbing age.
One of my best friends introduced me to the X-men and thus began my superhero craze. Power Rangers were part of my daily schedule. Watching people save the world by extraordinary means was the highlight of my days. I even watched the original black & white Mickey Mouse Club and Disney movies from every era.
The one great thing about my life was that my a-parents and my friends never judged or critiqued my interest. I had total freedom to explore music, movies, and art  in any direction I wanted to go. The reason that matters so much is because it allowed me to talk to almost anyone from any clique. I also think it helped me really define my eyes and ears for entertainment. I am confident that I can tell garbage from something that took effort and time.
I get  lost  in the beauty of creation. I do not comprehend people that embrace trash and refuse to challenge themselves with the intricate workings of art. I have my guilty pleasures, but studying a scene from a great movie or appreciating the vocal range of a singer is like solving a mystery or cracking a code. It helps me think deeper and without limitations.
I'm not suave or funny like Joe. I'm not as open and friendly as Scott. Though my grades slipped in school and the world made fun of my use of the English language, what education I have is what has gotten my through life. It IS who I am.
We  live in a society where people are forced to "dumb down" in order to not be made fun of by people with "street smarts".  There were people I couldn't hang around as a teenager because I used words that they didn't understand. But instead of them improving their vocabulary, they ask that I reduce mine.
My point? Don't EVER be less than what you are. For some it will be a tougher road than others, but to be ashamed of who you are is to die slowly...it means to let others control you. We live in a free country, right?

My Part In The Dream

Imagination is the tool of problem-solvers. The more we accept things the way they are, the chance for improvement dies.

To love someone means a lot of things. It means you care for their well-being. Love is going the extra-mile. Often, love and logic refuse to sit at the same table. We either make decisions out of logic, out of love, or out of hormones.

The year I found out about my existence, I had little time to adjust. That Christmas Eve, my A-mom (adopted mom) was unusually peaceful. She was calm and relaxed. It was the happiest I had seen her in years. I recall all of us sitting at my a-grandmother's house and she seemed to be content.
The next morning, Dec. 25th, when most kids were waking to Christmas gifts and holiday breakfast, I was waking to the sound of my father's voice. "You're momma's no longer with us. She's gone." Then, he walked out.
I'm going to be brutally honest; I was relieved. I thought about how hard it was to please her, the guilt trips, getting hit, screamed at...and part of me thought "freedom".  I mean, I never had it because of her. Maybe that makes me  an ass, I don't know.
My second thought was fear and loss, but I didn't cry. I sat in my room in silence. I never left my room after I woke up. I peeked out only once, in time to see them carry my mother's body through the hallway on a stretcher. I sat in my room...completely lost. The "family curse"...
I quickly called my newly found brother and told him. He found a way back home. The time between the morning she died and the funeral was nothing but arguments with my a-brother (adopted brother), Willie. As far as I was concerned, I was the only one trying to interject my mother's last wishes, but no one listened to me.
You need to undestand that Willie was a pompous, stuck-up military brat. He joined the Navy and would breeze into town long enough to throw money around and make promises that he wouldn't keep. It was nothing new when he did the same after mom died. I have no doubt that he was greiving, but a grieving asshole is no different than a regular asshole.
So, time came for the funeral. There was a large turn out. I remember listening to songs, shaking hands and smiling. No tears, though. Even as I watched my dad cry (which I don't think I had ever seen), I could not cry. People started talking about my behavior, concerned for my welfare. I felt nothing...nothing.
After the funeral, I was further and further losing grasp on life.
Returning to school, I had to suffer through all the condolences and cruelty (yes, teenagers are relentless even in the face of tragedy). One night, I called my little brother (who, by this time I had only met once) and told him that no matter what happened I was so happy to have met him. I think I called my friends, but don't remember what I said.  They arrived at my house at the moment I popped open a bottle of my deceased mother's medication. Timing... I don't even remember what it was, but it seemed poetic...taking every pill I could find in the house. My friends went on suicide watch, insisting that we all spend the night together. The next morning I snuck out of the house and wound up at the cemetery next to my mom's grave.
I finally had a breakthrough one day when I walked into the living room. It had been a day like the others, but catching a floral arrangement out of my eye something happened. These white flowers were sitting in the corner, in all of their fake glory. It was an ugly arrangement that I noticed during the funeral as people got up and told lies about my A-mom. People that never came to our house to check on our family, didn't know how she suffered and in turn made us suffer. They had no clue who she was. Here was this floral arrangement staring at me. I lunged for the flowers, with every intention of throwing them out into the front yard. Instead I began shaking it and screaming "I hate you!" over and over again. I finally cried, ending up falling asleep on the floor. I wanted her back alive.
Fast forward; my brother, Joe, had talked me and Scott into going to college with him. We even travelled to meet with a guidance counselor (or maybe she was an admissions director, idk). I felt like I had a plan and wasn't going to go at it alone.
But as we got closer to making college a reality...I was given more news. Joe had been arrested and was looking at 12 years behind bars...ggggreat...
With me losing my brother again, I had no direction. My a-dad was dating some gold-digger and neglecting me. My a-brother was working as a guard at a prison in Texas.  I became obsessed with finding out more about why my mom died, why I was left behind with strangers, and anything else worth knowing. I went on a hunt for information, talking to anyone I could in my small little home town. I didn't find out much except that my b-mom (bio mom) left me and Joe with my a-family because they couldn't have kids of their own and were financially stable. I also found out where my mom's killer was...in the same prison where Willie worked. Timing?
Willie refused to help me contact this guy. I think I might have even written him a letter, to which he didn't respond. Shortly afterwards, Willie quit working at that prison and I'm led to wonder if he did it because of me.
A little time passed and things got more complicated when I found out that Joe had been moved to the same prison. He was in the same prison with our mom's killer. I was freaking out. If Joe found out, I was afraid of what he would do. I wanted my brother out and killing him might keep that from ever happening. Joe wrote me a letter. He knew...that's all he would say.
I started making phone calls and contacted the warden. Apparently, my brother never knew or forgot that I was responsible for the interruption between him and that murderer. Timing...
I think, as I read my brother's post, did I do the right thing? I did not grow up carrying the weight of knowing everything like Joe did.  The family I grew up with was falling apart and the family I had been taken away from me again...or so I thought. I acted out of love, so I guess I am without regret. That killer's life was not worth my brother's.

-Nanaki

Women got to love them

Resurrection of Christopher (Diapers and the Death of Lil' Billy pt 2)

So, standing out in the middle of the street, I've just been slapped with the news that I'm a different person. The person delivering this news? My long lost brother. My parents? Not my parents. Where do you go from there?
As my brother explained these things, all I could say was "Okay." Such a stupid thing to say. I remember my nose twitching like a rabbit. I don't know if I was getting ready to cry or my nerves were in overdrive. I wasn't thinking anything for a few moments, but for whatever reason...I knew everything he said was the truth.
I remember telling Joe that I needed to go to church or I would get in trouble (all that was going on, THAT's what I was worried about...but you don't know my A-mom). He offered to give me a ride. On the way, we decided that we needed to see my mother's sister, my Aunt Pam. Aunt Pam was the aunt I felt the closest to, both geographically and emotionally. She was the only aunt I spent any real time around.
When we pulled up in front of her house (across from the church), and got out. As soon as my aunt opened the door, I said something along the lines of "Do you know who this is?"
Without hesitation, she said "Yeah, it's Joseph."  For some reason, that's when I truly broke down. She KNEW who he was just by looking at him. I was so angry and in pain. Why did she know him? If he was MY brother, why was I the only one in the dark. Son-of a bitch!  I was at a loss.
My cousins were comforting as they could be. My aunt asked me "Why are you crying?"  I think I looked at her with disbelief. "This is a happy occassion!"   I'm not sure if she was trying to be positive or was simply insensitive to my major identity crisis and the fact I felt robbed of time with him.
You see, I had one brother that I grew up with. He was my adopted brother. He was significantly older than me and was borderline worthless as brothers go. I grew up dreaming of having a twin or someone close to my age so I wouldn't be so freaking lonely. Here he was, pretty much an adult.
I ran to the bathroom and bawled. My cousin checked on me, but I didn't come out until Joe came to get me. My aunt and cousins gave Joe and me space to talk. In what couldn't have been more than 30 minutes, he explained how I was part white, how my mother had been murdered, and  how I ended up in Teague. Then, he told me I had a second brother...youngest of the three.
Part of my was happy to hear this, most of me was just still in a psychological coma. Then, I had the thought of my A-mom (adopted mom). I was going to have to face the woman I was most afraid of in the world, who was always ill and angry.
My aunt decided that she would call my A-mom and tell her over the phone, ease her into it. We would find out how she wanted to handle all of this. To my surprise, she told us to come back home. I was sticking to Joe like a life saver...not physically, but I was very aware of where he was at all times. It was as if I was afraid he would disappear or something.
When we got back home, we walked into my A-parents bedroom. My mother was lying in bed. I looked at her with contempt when she recognized him and hugged him. I was furious when she pulled out hidden photos of him. My mother's comforting words to me? "Why are you crying? I thought you knew." (must run in the family). She beckoned me for a hug. Honestly, I imagine she was upset, confused, scared, and embarrassed that I had found out that way. Was she worried that she was getting ready to lose me to my b-fam (bio-family)?  I don't know if she knew this, but as difficult as it was living in that house...I NEVER thought of leaving. What memories must she have had of him living with us until his dad came to get him, not to mention the ones of when he was taken away. She kept saying "I knew you'd come back to us one day."
Other than Joe, I had no one else helping me process this.
As hard as we tried to go on with our lives, things had changed. I had been de-constructed. I know she wanted me to remain "Lil' Billy", and truth was...part of me wanted it too. But I was no longer "Little Billy", nor was I "Christopher"...yet. I was starting life over. The "family curse" had followed me to this new family, though they protected me from it for years. It found me, and it wasn't through with me.
-Nanaki

THE DREAM

    For years I woke up, drenched in sweat, from the same fucked up dream. I'm 5 years old and I was standing in my grandmother's living room, in the dark looking at this thanksgiving pumpkin cutout that was taped to the screen of her floor model TV. I stood there for what seemed like hours looking at this fucking cutout as if it was a new episode of the Cosby show. All I can hear in the background is my dad and the rest of my mom's family yelling and crying about 10 feet away in the dining room. Still staring at this stupid pumpkin, I could hear my grandmother over everyone else. The phone rings, its him…. Crazy as it may sound. Although I was not on the phone I could hear my grandmother as well as him also, I heard every response. "I'm sorry BJ, I loved her". My grandmother responded as loud as she could. "No you didn't you black son of a bitch, you killed her". "I'm just going to kill myself BJ I'm so sorry". "You need to kill yourself, you need to jump off of a bridge you son of a bitch", from this point I always wake up abruptly after hearing three gunshots. When I awake I'm soak and wet from sweating. I've had this dream at least once a month since her death. Believe it or not, that night really happened. I remember me and my dad going over to my grandmother's house. As we got out of the car, before we got to the door, he turned and looked at me and said" you won't be seeing your mom any more". That was all the therapy I got. Talk about learning to deal with shit yourself. Anyway, we walked in and I went and stood in the living room as my dad went into the dining room with my grandmother and aunts. My mom's killer really called. Now did I really hear his voice? Or was that part of the dream? Hell, I don't know I was just a fucking kid. Lucky I remember that. Now like I said I had that dream all the way into my adulthood. And I remember when the dream stopped.
    I had been in prison about 6 or 7 years. I was no model inmate. I had anger issues, on top of the fact I was a light skinned nigga so I had to prove myself, or at least I thought I did. Don't believe the hype, prison is nothing like people or movies make it out to be, the closest thing I've seen to it is the HBO sitcom, OZ. so because of my behavior, I moved around several prisons. But because I always knew he was in prison, everywhere I went I looked for him. But Texas has over 140 prisons, talk about needle in a haystack. But towards the end of my time in prison….. Well shit happens. I arrived at this one prison, and for the first time I don't look for him. Maybe I gave up. Maybe I was ready to let it go. Hell who knows, but I made no attempt to see if he was at the same prison. Out of the blue I get a letter from my brother telling me that the guy died. He knows not when, where, or how, just that he died. Well of course all kinds of red flags went up. Well, because I went to an urban school in the hood. After graduation, half of the graduating class went off to college, and the other half went to prison. One of my old classmates worked as secretary in the laundry. Which means he had access to every inmate at the prison? I gave him the name and approximate age of this person. He returned the next day to tell me that he was in another building located on the prison. I would never in my wildest dreams ever imagine that I would have the opportunity to face my mom's killer. You could not imagine all of the things that went through my head. From about the age of 12 or 13 I told myself that I had forgiven him. Maybe I just told myself that growing up in order to keep my sanity, maybe I really had forgiven him. All I know is that I did nothing for a whole week after getting that information. I would lay in my bed day after day. Until I woke up about 5am one morning, drenched in sweat. I had not had that dream in months. Now I realized I had not forgiven him, never was. And something had to be done. Watch OZ, that shit is real. Funny thing about prison. It is a world within itself. It has laws, and leaders, a government, and flooded with drugs. Smaller version of America. Corruption runs rapid within the prison walls. So one day I got this connection so that this officer would let me pose as if I worked in the kitchen chow hall serving food. I did this so that I could see every inmate that passed through to eat that way I would catch him…… hold up let me back up. Because I need you to be where I was at mentally throughout this whole thing. Earlier that day I packed all of my property and placed it under my bed. I placed a single picture of my mom in my shirt pocket. All of this was done because I'll admit I had every intention in the world of killing the man that shot my mom in cold blood in the parking lot and then ran over her with the truck like she wasn't shit. I knew once I killed him, that I was going to lock up; they would probably give me life. But fuck it, a life for a life. I paid all the money I had, but I was able to stand behind this serving line with this big ass knife in my sock and I wasn't nervous or anything. It had to be done, it would be.
    If you've never experienced prison, the kitchen chow hall holds about 150 inmates. Imagine all of these animals hungry as hell so this was not a quiet place, always loud as hell. This makes me believe in GOD. Over the years I forgot his face and what he looked like, hell it was 20 something years ago. So I had no idea how I would spot him. One of the ways the prison controlled the inmates from eating more than once was using a roster. Every inmate that comes through the line has to give the officer hi housing number, which was all I had no this "son of a bitch". Inmates walked in by groups of 20 or 30 at a time. I was about 40 feet from the officer with the roster. But when this one inmate walks in, alone, for the strangest reason, the whole chow hall got quiet. Just quiet enough for me to hear this inmate give the officer his housing number. It was him. And just then, in a sudden flash, it all came back to me. Now I remembered what he looked like, it all came back. As he got closer I realized that he actually looked the same just much older, glasses, salt and pepper hair. But the same none the less. As he passed me to sit down, I spoke just to hear his voice. I watched as he went to sit down. I then nodded at the officer to inform him that I was about to do what I had to do. I then jumped over the counter and went over to the table where he sat with two white guys. As I sat across from him, I asked his name. He confirmed his name. I then took the single picture out of my pocket and I slid it across the table and asked him if he knew this lady. Through his glasses he looked at the picture, then at me through the top of the glasses, then back at the picture. Then with a long sigh, he asked "so. Which one are you?" I told him. And proceeded to ask questions. Well because I did not appreciate the other two guys just sitting there being nosey, because they had clearly finished their food. So I snapped at them and it scared the killer which created a scene. Funny how things happen, at that exact moment another inmate walked through the door and yelled out "old man Scott, the folks looking for you". He then called for the other guards outside to notify them that he was here. Apparently they had somehow gotten word that he and I were on the same prison, so all of that day they had been searching. So as he jumps up in fear for his life, he squeezed through the tables and wall to make his way back to the door, in the safety of the prison guards. My chance was gone. So I jumped back over the counter and made my way to the back of the kitchen. Went out the back door and made my way back to my cell. 2 days later they transferred him to another prison. A week after that he died, supposedly of natural causes. (They say). But that's another story. Trust me prison inmates and guards have a government. Shit happens. I have yet to have that dream to this day. It's been over 10 years. Life




                                                                        -jboogie