As mother imagined a life without Joe, most of who she was, remained the same. No matter where we lived, men found her. Not just pimps, but businessmen, bikers, blue-collar workers, and preachers. Yes, preachers.
I remember playing jax on the steps with my sister when the community paster came up. Without shame, he looked at us and said, “hi” then continued into the house. There was no bible in his hand, and he wasn’t there to teach the Torah. He was mother’s customer. We stayed outside, as we knew to do until he emerged and left to go home to his family. We hated it; we hated him.
As we got older mother needed more living space. Next stop, Big V-Village. The complex earned its name by being compared to the Vietnam war because of its deadly gang violence. To mother, this environment was home. She knew most of the gang members because they were also in the prostitution and drug game. In fact, when mother was away and we were home alone, the gangs protected us. They would sometimes guard our home, or we knew which one to call if something was wrong.
Big V-Village would soon become a scary place like our home before. Not because of the gangs, but because of Margaret. Margaret was mother's friend, and she was also Joe’s sister. If mother had to work, Margaret would look after us. She was as evil as Joe. Margaret didn’t rape, she beat, and my eldest siblings were the target of her rage. We would hear their screams as the extension cords cut their flesh. There was nothing we could do because according to Margaret, they deserved it.
When Margaret wasn’t available mother would have Clarence watch us. Yep, my rapist. But he wasn’t only my rapist, he was my sister’s rapist too. My siblings and I would regularly see him take her in the room, close the door and rape her. She was a child, her voice meant nothing. In our world, children did what they were told. Besides, who were we going to tell, the preacher?
S
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