The dried urine reeking from under the graffiti coated seats turned up the corners of her tightly clenched lips, further supporting her repulsion. She barely saw through the hazy scratched casements, as she pensively stared outside, on that bumpety ride home. Tuning out her surroundings came easy. She welcomed moments of relief from her mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted frame.

Her self-appointed seat in the back of the bus gave a panoramic view to experience the scenes and happenings in front of her and surrounding her every moment, if she chose to give them attention. It was all a part of her daily routine which was predictable and unavoidable.

On the ride home, the youth who got on the bus were loud, blasting their boombox, and many of them would try to either get away with paying very little or they tried to get away with not paying at all. There were the usual excuses like, "I forgot my money at home man," or "That's all I got man," or "This raggedy ole bus aught be free man." And those excuses would be allowed whenever there was a white bus driver, who was too afraid to challenge them, but they could never slide with a black bus driver. They didn't play. Many of them would stop the bus, stand up, face the back of the bus, and say firmly, "Either pay up and turn off the music. Or get off the bus." Dead silence waited a second for the youth to respond. Then the tough youth would immediately get off the bus in a huff, mumbling profanities, and the remaining youth would go up and pay with a negative attitude and sit back down.

Seniors who got on the bus, sat in their regular seats, and nodded off to sleep while holding their bags as close as skin is to a body. Occasionally an intoxicated man or woman, or a scabulous looking bum would get on the bus, and every one they'd sit near would either pinch their nose and turn their back in disgust. Or they got up and sat as far away from the stench as they could.

Drunks or bums were either trying to bum a cigarette or get a light for the discarded cigarette butt they found somewhere. And once the bum or drunk got the cigarette or the light, they would proceed to make small talk with the intention of asking for some spare change or for "a few dollars to hold" knowing they had no means to or intentions of paying it back.

At any given time, smoke from a newly lit cigarette would instantly fill the air of the public transportation, where anything seemed to go on, and secondhand smoke would wrap itself around every single body and venture its way up every single pair of nostrils without fail. "Next stop, Andrew Square!" the bus driver would suddenly yell. At that point, there would be one more stop before Loretta's. And immediately a small knot of anxiety would begin to form inside Loretta. The anticipated chaos she might encounter when she got home was almost inevitable. Home was an unpredictable kind of place.

It was the last day of school at the predominantly white high school she attended, and she was glad. It was full of prejudice instructors pretending to care about the twenty-five inner city black students who rode over thirty miles a day in order to get a better education than they would in the city they lived in. Loretta even rode a public transportation bus before getting on the school bus that took her and the other black students to school. But summer had arrived and there would be a respite from the intentional eye contact avoidances from white classmates. There would be a respite from all those hard to decipher inapplicable-to-life papers to turn in. And a respite from all those bland tasting school lunches. Loretta couldn't be happier, but her emotionless face didn't reveal it.

As the bus pulled over to Andrew Square and let off two elderly women and let on a very tall slender dark man with a newspaper tucked under his arm, the bus driver yelled, "Next stop, Columbia!" The small knot of anxiety grew larger inside Loretta at the bus driver's announcement. The tall man holding the newspaper remained bent over when he got on the bus because of his height and he sat down in the back across from Loretta. He immediately reared back in the seat, unfolded the newspaper, and stretched it out wide hiding his face completely. He seemed out of place since he was well dressed wearing a starched light blue shirt, dark brown creased tapered pants, a thin dark brown belt and pointed dress shoes. He seemed to be in his late thirties. His jet black curly hair was neatly cut and he seemed to have a naturally stern expression. It seemed odd for him to sit in the back of the bus where the teens usually sat. At one point Loretta's senses were telling her his actions were a little suspicious. And just in case he tried something crazy, Loretta was on guard to fight or flight. The tall man kept rattling the open newspaper as if it was not straight enough for him to read. His actions seemed deliberate and annoying but it was time for Loretta to get off the bus so her focus shifted. Loretta abruptly stood up and hurled her book bag over her shoulder and staggered down the center aisle towards the front of the bus.

She bumped into the shoulders of a few seated passengers on her way to the front, but passengers understood that a bump was usually unintentional. Nevertheless, a look would be given that said, "Just don't do it again." Loretta held firm to the slightly cool metal poll when she made it to the front of the bus. She stood there until the bus stopped and the driver opened the door. The driver yelled, "Columbia! This bus is going to Ashmont Station!"

When Loretta stepped off the bus, the rickety fiberglass doors with thick black rubber strips clapped shut behind her. As the bus moved away, a wide trail of exhaust smog lingered behind it. Immediately Loretta mustered up enough energy to put on her game face for the familiar neighborhood happenings she would encounter.

It was almost midnight and Loretta was getting home later than usual since she was asked to work longer than usual at her after school part-time job. It was Friday and the atmosphere was full of spontaneity. From the outburst of a woman arguing with her man about where he was going, to the roar of the crap shooters when the dice rolled a lucky seven. The velocity of the dark night was as reactive and uncertain as a walk through the jungle. The commotion among the maze of dark red brick buildings entertained every craving of pleasure and satisfied every form of escape. From inconspicuous handshakes exchanging drugs and drug money, to the whistling for a taxi to detain a lady-of-the-night for a secret rendezvous. Small groups of young teens wearing bell bottoms, platform shoes and popcorn shirts with full fros and picks in the back, were huddled together like mini football teams on every corner. Every conversation was about shootin the breeze or spillin the beans on the latest neighborhood gossip. Small white Styrofoam cups stayed half filled with moonshine concoctions in one hand and beer chasers in the other hand. The smell of potent weed chased Loretta's nostrils along the way home.

Nothing was off limits to Loretta's eyes and her sensors were keenly on alert. Several vermin were rummaging through the nearby dumpster and immediately hid as she quietly approached her apartment building. But she wasn't afraid. She didn't even flinch as these were familiar happenings in her neighborhood. At the tender age of sixteen, she trekked alone many nights witnessing and sensing a pendulum of mood swings and intentions of the unsettled relationships in her neighborhood. And whether she encountered angry exchanges between drunken couples, or repeatedly heard the heartfelt melody of a love song about a relationship that has gone wrong, blasting from an open apartment window, it was a familiar yet unpredictable place.

Loretta's smooth mocha frame was built for what she had to endure. As late as it was, Loretta's appearance looked as good as it did when she left that morning. Her jet-black afro was profuse. It was perfectly patted and was a flawless complement to her black windbreaker. She sometimes coordinated her attire with dashiki prints of vibrant tangerines, royal blues and warm golds. She was a fox when she wore her black long sleeve bodysuit top with hot pink chunky bracelets and matching earrings. Her African garb commanded respect and her presence was as intriguing as it was fascinating.

Loretta only made herself available to peers she felt were safe enough to be in her private space. She was mature for her age. She had a lot of heartbreak and hardship early that caused her to see life more seriously than many of her peers. She understood the patterns of relationships and how they worked through seasons. Loretta had an exceptional power to see through anyone's schemes. She could see someone's motives as easily as she could see through a clean glass.

Loretta always found a way to maneuver through the shadowy night with ease until she reached building nineteen where she resided. Upon her arrival, she'd hop up the concrete stairwell, and saw that the elevator was still covered with tape and was not operating, then in a flash, she'd leap up two flights of stairs to apartment #134.

That night when she unlocked the door and entered the three-bedroom apartment, she tossed her weighty book bag on one end of the couch and plopped her exhausted body down on the opposite end. She immediately reached over and turned on the TV before falling back and sinking into the comfy sofa. She rested her head on the pillow in the corner of the couch, and it wasn't long before her eyelids started to droop down and she was nodding off. As she slipped into a half-trance, half-sleep state, she could hear a faint knock on the front door. The knocking grew louder and louder until Loretta forced herself to sit up. And just as she was about to stand up, her younger sister Devon jumped in front of her and headed for the door first. Devon had an endless supply of energy, even that late at night. She danced into the living room with a slight smirk on her face, as if she was expecting someone.

Devon was a year younger than Loretta, but she was shorter, stockier and feistier than Loretta. Being too tired to care about Devon rushing to answer the door, and somewhat relieved she didn't have to do it, Loretta laid back on the couch and let her eyelids drop down but not all the way. She could still see that Devon stood on her tippy toes, squinted one eye, and looked through the peephole like she normally did. Recognizing the person on the other side, Devon immediately unlocked the door. It was Nita's latest boyfriend, Nelson.

Nita was Loretta and Devon's mother. Nita had been dating Nelson longer than any of the other boyfriends she'd had and all three of her children liked him. Even her son Butch was smitten by Nelson's charisma. Butch was normally skeptical about any man Nita allowed in her life, except for his father. Ten-year-old Butch was like a watchdog when it came to his mother, but he wasn't home that night. He had gone to his fathers for the weekend. Devon was delighted to see Nelson and she greeted him with a full smile.

Loretta and Devon treasured the time they spent around Nelson. He quenched an inner thirst for fatherly bonding and to be shown attention since their absentee fathers had never been present in the home. Nelson was gentle and kind and spent quality time with them. He told them jokes, helped them with their homework occasionally, and he always complimented them on a new look they wore.

Nelson was a good cook too and the girls were always thrilled to see him at work in the kitchen. He made the most delicious hot buttered yeast rolls from scratch; better than the girls had ever tasted. He was truly like the dad they never had. And even though Nelson was a kind, big, teddy-bear-type of a guy, he could easily turn into a grizzly bear. He knew how to throw his six-foot two, two-hundred-eighty-pound weight around, when he wanted to. And that night Nelson showed just how much of a heavyweight he could be.

When Nelson entered the apartment, surprisingly he didn't speak to the girls. He went straight to Nita's bedroom. Her bedroom door was shut, but that wasn't unusual. His presence ushered in an odd feeling and Loretta's spirit picked up on it and opened her eyes and sat up. Devon gingerly walked over to the couch where Loretta was and sat beside her. Both girls sensed something was wrong. Unexpectedly Nelson yelled, "Oh yeah! I'll be right back!" And he stormed back through the living room, walked past the girls without saying a word, and went out the front door slamming it shut. There had been no drinking, no arguing, and no fighting. The girls were confused. Normally, that was the chain of events - loud music, drinking, laughing, yelling and then fighting before someone slammed a door and left. But this time was different.

As soon as Nelson left, Loretta got up from the couch and went over to the living room window. She saw Nelson rambling through the trunk of his car. He was very upset about not finding what he was looking for, tossing one thing then another to the side. Meanwhile, Nita's bedroom door opened, and a family friend came out of her room. Terry was average height and heavy set, but he was moving fast. He scurried through the living room fidgeting to put his other arm through the sleeve of the navy-blue windbreaker he always wore. He didn't say anything and never looked at the girls who watched him moving with fearful speed. The girl's adrenaline skyrocketed, and they were full of thoughts that something awful was about to happen. Seconds after Terry ran out the door, Nelson came back into the apartment. It was like a revolving door, only Nelson was holding a bulky rusted chain. His eyes were fierce, and his facial expression was terrifying. The girls had never seen Nelson look so enraged and frightening. Both Loretta and Devon stood up when he re-entered the apartment, but their bodies and emotions were frozen with fear.

Nelson held one part of the thick chain doubled around his hand, while the other half of the chain was dangling below it. As Nelson headed for Nita's bedroom, Nita was coming out of her room shutting the door behind her. Immediately she stretched forth her short thin arms towards Nelson trying with all her might to push him back from coming at her. But her petite frame was no match for Nelson's. Yet, as Nita pushed, Nelson slightly gave in. He could have easily shoved Nita into a wall or down on the hard floor. In the hype, somehow the two of them maneuvered their way into the living room, in full view of the girls. The girls had never seen their mother look so afraid or be so apologetic. Loretta thought, "Nelson was one of the good guys. Why would she do this to him and make him so angry?" With tear-filled eyes Nita looked up at Nelson and whimpered, "Don't kill me." Then she cried loudly, "Please don't kill me Nelson! Please, don't kill me!" As Nelson raised his arm with the rusty chain tightly wrapped around his hand, preparing to haul off and pound on Nita's small frame, Devon appeared in the living room pointing a black handgun directly at Nelson. Loretta had been in such a fear-frozen daze, that she never saw Devon leave the living room. Coming out of her trance, Loretta was shocked to see the gun.

With eyes peering through Nelson's soul, Devon fearlessly warned Nelson saying, "If you don't leave, I'll kill you." Time seemed to stop as everyone waited for Nelson's response. Nelson was completely caught off guard, but his huge stature slowly began to move backward. The fierce rage in his eyes began to recede, though he never took his eyes off of Devon and the gun. With a stern voice Devon warned Nelson again, "If you don't leave, I'll kill you." Devon's eyes were fixed on Nelson as she aimed at his heart without a flinch. Accepting the reality that his thick rusty chain was no match for the small gun pointed at his heart, Nelson lowered his arm from mid-air and continued to back away. With disappointed eyes, the three females glared at the man they once treasured. When Nelson reached the front door, he put up his middle finger and said, "I'm gone. You people are crazy." Then he turned, quickly opened the door, and left.

Nita immediately yelled, "Lock the door! Lock the door!" Loretta rushed over to the door and turned the top lock and slid over the chain as quickly as she could. Nita ran back to her bedroom and slammed her door shut. On the other side of the door, the girls heard their mother crying and felt helpless. Loretta struggled between thoughts that her mother deserved the trouble she had brought on herself, and she didn't want her mother to be hurt or get killed. Nita had done this kind of thing many times before but this time, she put them all in grave danger. That night the girls found solace in the quiet release of tears they shed on their pillows.

The next morning, Loretta and Devon had already dismissed in their minds that last night was just another one of those experiences they hated that happened at home. It was the norm to ignore the uncontrollable, unpredictable events that happened in the house. That morning Nita came out of her bedroom and said nothing. She had no apology. She showed no remorse, and not one thank-you entered the air for saving her life.

As usual, Nita made a cup of hot black coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. She was covered in her full-length light blue terry cloth robe. She looked drained mentally and emotionally but would never admit it. She sat and sipped her coffee in a normal morning routine. Loretta and Devon were already sitting at the kitchen table slurping from their favorite bowls of cold cereal. And as if the thought came suddenly, Nita put her cup down and with a dazed look she said, "Nelson went out drinking last night, and he hit a guardrail on the highway." After taking another sip of her coffee, she continued, "He was going so fast, he was killed instantly." Before the girls had a chance to process the tragic news, Nita told Devon to go get her cigarettes and matches off the table beside her bed. Devon brought her mother what she asked for and both girls went to their room, shut the door, and laid on their beds in silence.