Wait! Susan’s what?! Nope, I don’t think so…

Oh, they have me mistaken!
I am Angela Davis. I am Nikki Giovanni. I am Kizzy Kinte.
I am Harriet Tubman. I am Afenni Shakur. I am Thug Life.

If something’s not going right, I will at least break a bottle in protest!
Maybe it’s my soft looks, voice, or demeanor but the people are confused.
I admit, my generation is soft. We don’t fight for anything.
The man can fire 45 professors and we would sit back and say, “I didn’t like him anyway.”
We want handouts. Well, I am not that person. I’ll take what I want.

All these thoughts went through my head as I sat in the Superintendent’s office.
I walked up there myself. No one held my hand.
I wore a pair of black slacks and a crisp white shirt.
I looked polished and elegant like a doll.
My freshly suntanned skin glistened like a California girl who just came off the beach.
My hair left sweet ribbons of fresh shampoo in the air.
I even dashed myself with a hint of Ralph Lauren, Romance.
I felt and looked great.

Despite all the odds, I was sitting in the head guy’s office and I’d bypassed a bunch of goon middlemen. I knew I was supposed to be here. He’s a busy man, and doesn’t spend much time on anything because he has so many things to do.
But here I was, sitting for the last 30 minutes right across from him, comfortable like we grew up together.

I had my book “Crumb Snatchers” in my hand, fresh off the press. I did everything to my book on my own, with no resources but my brain. No one like me was supposed to make it this far, not even past his secretary.
Only big named authors, with big money was supposed to be sitting back, relaxed with the Superintendent, who has the power and money to say weather he wants your book in his schools.

I’d already handed off my book to his head reading curriculum personnel to be read.
She brought back her report early. I was happy for that. I sat back and ran his expensive $100 ink pen I plucked from his memos through my bony fingers.
The Superintendent was making important calls. Important calls for me.

As I listened in, I could hear the delight in his voice when he spoke of me to his other important friends. Important people know important people.

Each time he made a new call, he’d be so excited and say he had a young girl in his office.

“She has a book, and she did this, this, this, this and I think she’s going to go far. This is just precious,” he said, admiring my pictures from my very first book signing, my poise and confidence. And he was so proud.

I really started to like him. Until he made one more call.

He started the call to the “Dr… I have this young girl in my office, and she is impressive, genuine, what can we do to help her get her more opportunities.”

I dropped the ink pen. I’m saying to myself, I am a gangster.
If you ask a gangster if I am a gangster; they will acknowledge me.
I’m A business-woman. And I take care of mine.
I have no fears, no doubts. I’m pretty but, nobody better not touch me.
I abide by the G-Code. 100. This is my creed.

And now the Superintendent is going awestruck like I’m the belle of the ball at a Sweet 16 debut. I did tell him I earned my M.A. That took me five years of hard, hard work at school!
For the most part, I passed 16!

On one hand, my mom passed down dimples to me, and cheeks that flush rose when I blush. And my aunt handed me a slender figure, the stuff you can see on runways ran by youngsters.

Yet, this is no kid stuff. I need to get this book deal. This is my life. I plan to live my dream.

The way I see it, I am not Lil’ Bran, Precious, Sweetie or Susan’s Lil’ girl anymore for that matter. I am Brandi. That’s B.R.A.N.D.I., and I am about to take over the world!
People can’t call me Susan’s lil’ girl anymore!
I remember a lady around 60, who hit her husband on his shoulder and identified me as Susan’s lil’ girl to get him to by a book, she can’t do that.

The world takes big dogs seriously. I just look like a lamb, but I am really a lioness.

He hung up the phone looked at me and smiled. Then he handed over a card that turned into another guy giving me a check.

“You have the book deal, and go to all of my other schools and they will support you too, sweetie. Tell them I sent you,” he said with pride as if I was one of his kids he helped raised.
I sat in amazement and forgot everything. All I heard was, "go to all of my schools."
“You’re young and you’re going to go far,” he told me.

He looked deep in my eyes and I knew he looked past my pupils, past their connecting veins to something further.

I looked at the digits for the check and changed my mind.
I figured my new best supporter could refer to me as Susan’s lil’ girl anytime.

Hey, you can’t knock the hustle.

Sweet Surprise

I’m back now. My first blog of 2010. Hooray!

Thinking back, I remember the day well. It was my Godson’s birthday.
For at least an hour I went back and forth in my head about what I should get him.
I decided to send him a card and a copy of my new book, “Crumb Snatchers.”
Anytime I give someone something I love to give them the coolest gifts.
Give nice, receive nice, is my motto.
I didn’t think much of the gift. Well, I thought he would think the money was cooler.
I figured I’d just slide him the book.
I knew some kids wanted my book but I didn’t think he would read it with a little girl on the cover.
You know, he’s at that age, 10, and he’s a boy’s boy, a tough boy.
If a little girl’s on the cover, he may not read it, or at least I thought.
A few months passed and he sent a message to me over the Christmas holidays.
He told me his teacher wanted to meet me.
I thought nothing of it – my mood was down and after the first school picked up my book random people wanted to see me more all the time anyway. Following your dreams is sometimes tough. I felt a little down and out.
I was grateful, busy, sick and halfway wanted to go.
I figured I would put seeing her on my list of things to do.
After I slept on the idea the next day, my Godson sent me another message.
I put seeing his teacher a little higher up on my list.
I wanted to let him know he’s important and I would do the things he asks me to do.
The next free Monday morning I had, I went unannounced to my Godson’s school and met with his teacher. (I figured if she requested me, I was invited anyway.)
She had a copy of my book and told me she enjoyed reading my work. I thanked her for the compliment.
I was a bit shocked because I didn’t recall selling her a book.
She told me my Godson brought her his personal copy after seeing me on a newsletter at the school.
I instantly smiled because I remember giving him that book over the summer for his birthday.
Things were working in my favor. In our favor.
The teacher asked me to do a reading for the kids.
I hesitated a bit because I was just getting over bad congestion and hardly had a voice.
She told me my Godson was coming in the next class.
I figured it would be a nice surprise. I wanted to see him anyway.
I agreed to stay and talk. Besides I have learned, anything going great, don’t interfere, let it continue…
The teacher went to get the kids. I stayed behind and sat in a small corner.
A few minutes passed and the door opened wide. The first kid to walk through was my Godson. His little eyes lit up.
My eyes lit up. His look gave me instant energy. We hugged.
And everyone else filled the classroom in with little amazed looks on their faces.
I now had the floor. It’s show time. I introduced myself and caught the approving glance on my Godson’s face. That was the confidence I needed. I read a snippet of my book and fielded intelligent questions for the next 30 minutes.
The day really started to turn out fun! The kids wanted more.
I met with the librarian and the school placed an order for my books.
I left the school just amazed. I went from being in a bad state, lacking motivation and not wanting to go to another school to instantly being put back up on top of the world. All off the voice of one little kid and a birthday gift!
I think I’m more honored for him to pull me up out of the ashes at just 10, than he is honored for his Godmother to be a best-selling author.
I can’t decide. One thing I know for sure is that he helped me remember that this is my destiny.

In Love With Him

Legend.

BOOK SIGNING

www.brandiworley.com for more details.

Moving on Up! *Que the Jeffersons*

Check out my new home. www.brandiworley.com

www.lulu.com/brandiworley

Cozy.

Unfortunate Events of Joon

When the storm comes Momma gets excited. She runs around the house telling us kids to open up all the windows to “Let God air out the house.”
We do what she says. The breeze usually feels good. But we know its running from a monster. Like the birds did a week before. And the horses prance in circles around their pastures. Animals know when bad weather is coming. Even bees stop buzzing as if they know to hide.
Momma’s just different she looks at the glass half-full.
I sat on the front porch that day in my pajamas. My hair blew in the wind. I watched some neighbors board up their houses. Momma wouldn’t board up the house because neither of us could muscle the plywood nor wield a hammer properly. So we prayed God would keep us safe.
As I sat, I wondered what my old friend, Joon was up to. A few minutes later I saw him make his way down to my porch.
Just as we always do we made simple conversation. Well, I usually let him do most of the talking. I listen. I could tell someone put a few dollars in his pocket. He walked with an extra hip to his step. Someone probably paid him for hammering their plywood.
I liked when he had a little money. At the least he can buy himself a hot meal.

Unfortunate happenings always hit him. He drank. He walked the streets all day. He smelled like a drunk. In a few more years he would be eligible for senior citizen benefits. Which he would probably waste. His wife left him because she couldn’t take the poverty-stricken lifestyle anymore.

Momma gets on him from time to time.
“Joon go cut your grass.” “Treat Rena right, Joon. Do right by that woman.” “Stop drinking so much.” “Go pay your bill.” “Stop being so stubborn.” “Joon you need to stop letting people park their old cars in your yard.”

Joon hates it when Momma preaches to him. He befriends me, because at least I don’t talk back. I guess what she tells him goes in one ear and out the other.

Joon’s a boney man. Yet, he’s stronger than anyone I know.
One day he came under the porch wearing thermal underwear. In mid-August. I told him it was thermal. He insisted it wasn’t. I really was quite sure that it was thermal. Again, he insisted it wasn’t. Momma even came out on the porch and said, “Joon, go take that thermal off and put a t-shirt on.”
“No, ma’am, this ain’t no thermal,” he proclaimed in a defiant tone.
I didn’t want to be disrespectful, ridiculous or not, he’s still my elder.
Without looking, as I wiped sweat off my brow, I just mumbled under my breath, “That shit is thermal.” I sucked my teeth then I let it drop.
Had that would have been a normal person, they would have passed out from heat stroke. Not Joon. He can walk all day without an inkling of arthritis. I never hear him talk about pain. I know his house isn’t clean but he never has a cold or food poisoning.

But let me get back to my story. Well Joon’s unfortunate story. With the storm coming, everyone needed cover. We sat on the porch and Joon told me he was going to the shelter. I figured he would be. It’s just him and his old banged up trailer. I wanted him out of that trailer. It swayed in light wind. The newscaster said Gustav would be a category 4.
I figured the storm would come along and help some people. As Joon talked, I thought about people patching up their already patched up shacks. I figured they probably should at least hope to get it blown down instead of patching some more.
Saving that crap for what? I thought.
Momma would let the storm come through and rip up everything and she would say, “I’ll just go and get a new one.” There’s a blessing in the storm.
Momma had a point. Joon didn’t patch his trailer up because he couldn’t afford the plywood. The plywood probably valued more than his hut. I hoped for him that the storm would take it down. I knew he wouldn’t. I figured that in his state FEMA would help him. I had seen FEMA fix people up. Folks, whose homes were raggedy before the storm, but filed a claim on it and won the award. I liked them because at least they actually took the money and fixed the house up.

The storm came and ripped up everyone’s home. Even Momma’s house took on roof damage. FEMA came out in droves. Some people got help. Some people didn’t. Every day I sat on the porch. Each time in a new pair of pajamas. I watched people get their homes fixed up. Every other house had a roofer on top its structure.
As things started to die down, Joon came back to visit me. I jumped with excitement when I saw him. I figured he would tell me how much FEMA gave him. Then I would put it in his mind to go buy himself a new trailer. I had all kinds of things I wanted to tell him. I had to listen though.

Joon talked to Momma.
Joon said, Mr. FEMA man came for the home inspection.
The man walked in the un kept yard. He walked past the junk cars. He walked past the dead animals. He walked to the broken steps. He opened the rickety door. He followed Joon to the threshold of the door. He smelled the stench of human fecal rot. He backed up. Joon smiled a toothless grin at Mr. FEMA.
“Come on in man, this is my house.”
Mr. FEMA backed up some more.
“Oh, man, come on in,” Joon said.
“Oh, man, turn the lights on,” Mr. FEMA said.
“Ain’t no light,” Joon replied.
“Go ahead on in, my bedroom is in the back,” Joon pointed.
“Man, I’m not going in this house,” Mr. FEMA replied.
Joon stood confused.
Mr. FEMA pulled out his hand held computer and typed in a few things. Joon thought maybe he would get something. Mr. FEMA shook his head no.
Joon stared in utter disbelief.
“Now, Mr. Jarvis, you know and I know, that this is an abandoned house.”

I guess that’s the last thing he wanted to hear. But he really did live there.

Sheets

I froze last night. The temperature dipped below 33 degrees. When I was little I learned in a science class that water freezes at 32 degrees and I always remembered that.
That’s how I know I froze.
I slept under two blankets, swath like a newborn, yet I shivered. Sad little shivers prickled off my body from under my pajamas.
The night before I stripped my bed of the sheet, fitted sheet, and pillowcases. I figured I could do without them just for the night. I didn’t feel like washing my only set. After a horrible bout with a cold I didn’t have the energy.
I’d have to take you back about three months ago to tell you how I ended up with one set of sheets.
It came from a difference with mother. She insisted that I get 500 count sheets and nothing less. I walked the aisles of the pricey department store for sheets and watched her as she stocked piled up on a cache of fresh sheets.
“What’s the point?” I asked.
“Ohhh baby, you’re going to see once you lay on these sheets. These are luxurious and not scratchy like the ones you buy,” she responded in somewhat of a slight snobbish air or one accustomed to finer things in life.
I sighed. On her salary she could afford the nice sheets and more. On the other hand I was content just to get a dollar to actually stay in my hands. If I wasn’t robbing Peter to pay Paul I tried to keep a dollar to eat.
She bought about three new sets of sheets. She did offer to buy me a nice set. I declined. I didn’t want any handouts, let alone expensive, soft, comfortable what I may fall in love with sheets. I asked her if she would bring me to the dollar store so I could get some new sheets. She scoffed at my choice of a plain, dusty colored set. I knew that I had a boring set of sheets but I was happy that they were clean.
When we got home she surprised me and gave me a set out of her three new sheets she just bought. I really didn’t want them but decided that I would try them out anyway. She made them sound so good.
I slept on the new 500 count sheets for a week. During that time I slid off the bed, had to adjust the sheets every morning, which I hated. Pulling and tugging on the corners every time I woke up to keep them neat and crisp. The final day on the sheets I washed them and gave them back to her with thanks. She said that I was missing out on great sleep without such splendid sheets. Now, if you know my mom, you know that she can sell anything and she almost had me thinking that I was missing out on something great.
I surveyed my friends and asked them what they sleep on. A lot of them, mainly recent college grads said that they buy “good” sheets. Then I began to think that I was alone with a knack for cheap sheets.
The next trip to the store I fell in with Momma and ended up splurging two high-end sets of sheets. I slept on them and hated them both. Again, I gave them away.
That brings me to now, the girl with one set of sheets. I kept a set that my aunt gave me from awhile back. They look like the sun and match my seafoam green colored walls. My room is decorated to give off an Asian inspired, calming effect and the colors help. That’s how I ended up with the soft banana sheets against the sea walls. I would take that one set sheets and wash and put them right back on the bed for the weeks.
Last week I caught a horrible cold and knew that I was dirty with cold germs and so were my lone, faithful banana sheets. Sense would tell you that as I battled a cold I couldn’t just quickly wash the sheets, dry them and have them back on the bed, considering I spent most of my time in the bed. I couldn’t do both. My proud sheets held me down as my temperature hovered around 100. They looked as if they shown more brightly as its master lay in a slumber. Until I woke up yesterday evening with enough strength, I didn’t say it but I knew I needed clean sheets in order to get better sooner. I had no spare. I dragged myself up and stripped my bed. I lied to myself and said I could get my favorite sheets into the washer and dryer. I lacked clear sense. My body said different. I hit the bed with a cotton mattress cover and three comforters. I knew I should be ashamed. My sheets lay in a crumpled pile in the clothes hamper looking at me like, “What have you done?”
I slept that night. In the coldest winter ever. I left my sheets, thinking that I could do without them. I woke with a goal to buy a new set of cheap sheets. I couldn’t figure out why I needed them. I made it to Wal-Mart and bought a clearance set of green plaid sheets to bounce off my green walls and figured I’d be much warmer tonight.
I then called up to ask one of my friends, “Friend, why is it that a sheet with three blankets can keep you warmer than just three blankets? When we all know that the sheet is thinner, more flimsier and lighter than the blankets.”
I wanted to know, I needed to know.
Friend responded, “It’s a tighter weave.”