Living in Darkness

Living in Darkness

Nikkie Alexander

Copyright © 2021 by Nikkie Alexander.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-63795-436-2 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-63795-437-9 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-63795-435-5 (E-book Edition)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Book Ordering Information

Phone Number: 315 288-7939 ext. 1000 or 347-901-4920

Email: info@globalsummithouse.com

Global Summit House

www.globalsummithouse.com

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Preface

IF YOU BELIEVE YOU WILL ACHIEVE My faith in God was tested over and over again through my journey but my belief in God helped me make it through all I went through in the book you’re about to read. I tried to control things I had no control of, and it wasn’t until I gave all my worries and troubles over to God was I able to see the light.

Chapter 1

One of the worst days of my life was June 20, 1987, ten days after my thirteenth birthday. I was at home where we lived with my grandmother in Houston, Texas, on Eppes Street. There was me; my mama; my sister, Tammy, who is two years younger than me; and my three even younger brothers, Derrick, Marcus, and Terrance. My favorite uncle Mark, who is eight years older than me, and my older cousin, Reginald, also lived there. My mama and grandmother were getting ready to go to my great-aunt’s house for a Father’s Day dinner. My mama was telling me to go and do something, and I was upset with her because she was leaving us at home once again, and no one knows when or if she’ll return. I walked away from her mumbling I was not going to do anything and went into the kitchen. She followed right behind me and asked, What in the hell did you just say? I didn’t respond. I just slowly turned around to face her and stubbornly folded my arms across my chest. I then gave her a look that said, Let’s hurry up and get this over with, as I leaned against the counter and rolled my eyes. I was now taller than she was, but this did not stop her from getting all up in my face. What in the hell did you just say? she asked again, slowly enunciating each word. I still didn’t respond. I just continued to stand there. If you don’t change that bad ass attitude of yours, she began, I am going to kick your ass. She screamed, getting closer, crowding my personal space even more. I don’t know what your problem is, she continued, but you really might want to solve it. I only succeeded at pissing her off worse by just staring at her as if she’d just lost her damn mind. I then changed that stare into a look of total madness, challenging her. This is when she grabbed the broom that was leaning against the wall at the same time pulling my hair, bringing my face within inches of hers. Do you think you can whoop me? she then asked. I didn’t answer; I just continued to stare unblinkingly at her. However, if looks could kill, my mama would have dropped dead right there on our kitchen floor. Do you think you can whoop me? she asked again. I still don’t respond, I just continued to stand there. Nikkie, she said. You really might want to change that badass attitude of yours because the very next time you start some shit, I am going to beat your ass with this broom. I don’t know what your fucken problem is, but I do know you are not grown, so stop acting like it, she went on and on. Yeah right, you really have no idea what my fucken problem is, and you have no idea why my attitude is so bad. Yeah, okay, you just choose not to know, were all the comebacks racing through my head now really wanting to start a fight with her, but I just stood there, arms folded, staring at her with so much anger and madness, knowing I would never do so because she’s still my mama. I then wanted like hell for the scene to be over with just as she released the grip she had on my hair, put the broom back into place, and calmly walked away.

When Mama and her boyfriend Bobby were getting into the car to leave, I was standing in the driveway glaring at her with so much hate, hate that was so intense. If it were something to be seen, you could have seen it slowly seep from my pores like rising steam from a tea kettle. As they began to drive off, I continued to glare at her until the car was no longer in my view, not knowing this would be the last time I laid my eyes on my mama. I wonder what time she’s going to come home, I thought to myself as I just stood there in the driveway. Every time she leaves if it’s the club, to a family member’s, or to the store I always wondered about her late-night returns. As soon as I turn 18, I am getting the hell away from here, I think to myself as my mood quickly travels from anger to sadness. I had made up my mind to join the army once I finished high school so I could be somewhere extremely far, far away. This plan was 5 years away, so for the time being, I dreamt about going to live with my dad and my stepmom, Shirley. They have a younger son, Ken, that I’ve never considered to be my half anything, only my brother Ken. I would go over to visit for holidays, a week or two in the summer, or just for a weekend. When things at home got too hectic, I would call and go over to get away for a while. I never wanted to call too often because I didn’t want to outwear my welcome. Even though I had no problems while visiting, I always felt this way. There were a few times when I didn’t feel comfortable and thought because I didn’t spend a lot of time with him, he didn’t somehow see me as his real daughter. There was a time when I was standing in my grandmother’s driveway and was looking down the street at Shirley’s dad’s house, which was about eight houses down from ours. I was mesmerized at the scene before me, which was a lot of girls and women dressed up in beautiful white dresses, all waiting to get into a black limo. I stood there and wondered who was getting married and later found out when Shirley’s brother, Marvin, who was friends with Uncle Mark, asked me why I wasn’t down there for my daddy’s wedding. I told him I didn’t know and felt so heartbroken as I remembered everyone standing around in their beautiful dresses. I’ve always wondered why I wasn’t one of them or, furthermore, why wasn’t I even invited. It broke my heart all over again when I sat in their living room and looked through their family photo album, at the scene I witnessed, and really wanted to ask both of them why wasn’t I there for one of the most important days of my daddy’s life.

Even though I missed such a grand occasion, every time I was over, we would always have great family fun. Once we spent the night at the beach, and I had an awesome time. We would go to the movies, the zoo, out to eat pizza, or fly kites in the park while having a family picnic. My most favorite of all was to go to the park and watch my dad play baseball in uniform with his team. When my dad and stepmom would go to work, I would stay at the house with Ken, or we would go over to our Grandma’s, which is my dad’s mom where my aunts Yolanda and Tonya would look after us. Ken was older than my other brothers that were home with Mama, so we would play cards together or watch a movie or whatever activity he came up with. Whenever it was time to return home, it was extremely hard to do so. During a few of my visits, I returned home with some things I shouldn’t have. While packing my bags to leave, I took some of Ken’s toys, the ones that could fit into my bag, back home to my other brothers. Mama asked me about it the first time, and I lied to her saying Shirley told me to bring them because Ken had so many, and she would only throw them away. I felt so bad about lying to her and taking Ken’s things, but I only wanted to share a lot of the toys he had with the little of nothing they had. Another time I was visiting, my dad, Shirley, Lil Ken, and I were lying across their bed watching television. My dad had just come from work and repeated his daily ritual. He would return home, take a shower, grab his red-and-green Christmas can and roll him a joint, then begin talking to his family. While lying across the bed, I became so emotional just listening to my brother say the word daddy. This was a word not yet familiar to my ears or tongue. I didn’t spend nearly as much time with him as my mom; therefore, I found it exceedingly difficult and uncomfortable to call him daddy. Even when I came over to visit, I would spend most of my time with Shirley if we were not all out together; and when I talked to him, I wouldn’t call him anything, just simply start a conversation or just say something like Shirley wants you when she would send for me to get him. So, to hear it easily come from Ken gave me a little pain and a twinge of envy. The first time I ever remember uttering the word, I was about eleven years old. We were at my Grandma’s house and he was leaving to go to the store, and my grandma wanted something else, so she told me to go to the door and stop him. I went to the front door and just stood there for several seconds. He’s going to the car, I must stop him, but what do I say? I know I can’t call him by name, or I could just tell her he left already is all in my thoughts as I continue to stand there. Daddy, I finally say, calling out to him after what seemed like forever just as he opened the car door. He looked up, just as surprised as me; I could tell by the expression on his face when I called out to him. I wondered if this was his first time hearing me call him daddy or it had been a long, long while ago because I will assume, as a little girl, I did so even though I don’t think I ever did. I really wish the family bed scene would have gone as well because my emotional status had become so uncontrollable I had to leave the bed and go into the next bedroom so no one could see the stream of tears that began to fall down my face. Shirley came in to see why I left the bed so abruptly and found me in the other bedroom crying. She asked what was wrong, and I wanted to tell her so many things, but I just couldn’t, so I lied to her, telling her I was thinking about the stillborn brother my mama lost. I don’t know where that lie came from. My mama did have a stillborn before Derrick, but I was not thinking of him. My tears were because I wanted what Ken had, and I never wanted to leave. They have the family life I’ve always dreamt of. I wanted to ask if I could stay, but I just didn’t know if they would have me, better yet if mama would even go for it. I know she would give my dad a hard time if I wanted to move in with him and no longer stay with her, so I just decided not to even bother and put him through such trouble were my final thoughts as I’m brought back into the present.

Chapter 2

Seeing me standing around in the driveway now gives Junebug who is my neighbor that lived directly across the street from me and his cousins, Tommy and Zanetta, and our other two or more friends the reason to migrate into our yard. My grandmother’s house was like the neighborhood hangout spot. There were so many of her grandchildren or children living there or forever visiting her, bringing everyone from all ages in the neighborhood to her house. She has a three-bedroom, one bathroom, kitchen, living and dining room home that is always filled with family and friends. About a year ago, she had light green and white siding put on it, covering up the chipped brown wood, making it look 100 percent better. There’s also a lil house in the backyard adjacent to the garage where she sleeps and spends most of her time. The lil house is a one-room, one-bathroom miniature home where she has her own television and phone; it’s like having an entire house all to herself.

There’s now about ten or more of us standing around in the driveway. Majority of them were friends, the rest is my sister, Tammy, my cousins, Earnisha, Angie, and her sister, Netta. Summer had just begun, ending the previous school year, so there we are, just chilling out in the driveway with not much to do. Besides, it was just way too hot to do anything else. Usually, about eight to ten of us girls would be standing around in the streets doing cheers or in the front yard stacking ourselves extremely high, making pyramids. I loved cheering and always wanted to be a cheerleader but knew Mama couldn’t afford the uniform and didn’t want to ask my dad, so I just didn’t worry much about it and never tried out for the team. We would hang out making up new dance routines for the next house party, or they had just recently tarred our streets, so a gang of us would grab our roller skates and skate through the neighborhood. I didn’t have a pair of my own, so I would always borrow my uncle Mark’s.

As the day went by, Junebug began to bug me over and over again to go across the street to the neighbor’s house that lived to the right of him to get the new girl, Stephanie, to come outside. We both met the new kids on the block about three weeks ago. Stephanie was a year younger than me, and Carl, her cousin, was seventeen. They would sometimes come over and hang out with us; Stephanie was cool, and we clicked immediately, but I quickly noticed Carl wasn’t up to speed with everybody else. A week after meeting them, Carl had asked me to go out with him, I told him no. He was tall and skinny, not too attractive, but not too bad looking. He was just a bit different from the other boys and was simply not boyfriend material for me.

Junebug continued to bug me and had begun to wine and plead and continued to ask repeatedly. I really didn’t want to go, but I finally gave in, saying I’ll go ahead and do him this one favor. I headed down the driveway and across the street with Junebug tagging along beside me. The plan was for me to go over and see if Stephanie could come outside. And if she couldn’t, then ask her some questions about Junebug to see if she liked him. The entire time, he would be hiding on the side of the house, right by the porch, where she couldn’t see him, but he can listen to our conversation. Junebug is blue black, tall, and extremely skinny; I wonder why I am doing this because I really don’t think she’s going for it, I thought, smiling wickedly to myself as we walked toward their house. We finally made it across the street, and I went up the four or five steps to their porch while Junebug got into his hiding position. We looked at each other, he smiled his crooked smile, and I gave him you-get-on-my-nerves look as I smiled back and knocked on the door. I’m standing there waiting for someone to answer. Hopefully, no one will, I thought to myself. No luck, Stephanie does. Hey, what’s up? I say. She says, Are you coming outside? I ask. No, she says. We can’t come out until my aunt comes back. Okay, I say, and before I can question her for Junebug, Carl appears next to her at the door. He says nothing to neither of us; he just walks up with this stupid smirk on his face. I glance at him for a second and then turn my attention back to Stephanie. Carl stands next to her and holds something I can’t identify in his hand. Stephanie smiled, looked at him, then back to me as he reached it out to me through the burglar bars. It had just gotten dark from the time Mama left, and all our friends had come over so I couldn’t see what he held in his hand until it was too late. He still doesn’t speak to me, he just calmly says, Get off my porch as he raises his hand higher and points a .22 handgun, he had been holding, to my head. I now see the gun for a split second and immediately take a right turn to leave their porch, but I’m only able to take one step before the gun goes off. I don’t hear it, but it does. I stand there for a few seconds, swaying back and forth, repeating repeatedly, It’s hot, it’s hot, no longer able to keep the little balance I have. The blast then knocks me backward off my feet as Junebug screams and comes from his hiding spot and catches me as I fall backward from their porch, badly scraping my knees, landing onto their driveway. Stephanie then turns to Carl asking, What did you do? as she watches me fall from their porch. I don’t know, Carl replies in surprise. I was just holding the gun, he says. You shot her, Stephanie cries, backing away from him and holding her hands up between them in a get-back gesture as she quickly runs to the phone to call 911 while Carl runs and places the gun back underneath the sofa from where it had fallen.

Chapter 3

What happened, I silently asked myself as I just lie there in the driveway. I am in no pain, I only know I am lying on the ground, and I really want to get up. I wonder why I’m lying here, simply having no idea what just happened. I then hear someone scream, which makes me afraid, but I don’t know what I’m afraid of. I just know I really need to get up because something bad is about to happen. I tell myself to do it, to get up and run, but I can’t move, I just can’t move. My cousin Angie, who is sixteen at the time, and Robert, another neighborhood friend of ours, watched me fall from the porch, after the gun went off, along with everyone else and quickly runs across the street to help me. They get on either side of me, Angie grabbing one arm and Robert the other, and slowly lift me up from the driveway. I’m still fully awake when they picked me up, and the first thing I asked was why everything is so dark and why I can’t see. I then noticed the pain in my knees as Angie and Robert begin to lead me back down the driveway. I am talking to them, asking a lot of questions as they slowly lead me back across the street. What happened? Why can’t I see? What’s wrong? I ask over and over again but got no response. My cousin never tells me what happen, she only continues to tell me not to worry, everything is going to be okay, she’s taking me home. I then begin to open and close my eyes, hoping this would bring everything back into focus, but I still can’t see a thing, I just can’t see a thing. Blood was now pouring from my nose and mouth, quickly soaking my blue shorts and white-flowered shirt, and the white sandals I wore now felt like they wore a ton, making every step I took an exceedingly difficult one. My head started to feel fuzzy, and my speech began to slur as if I’d suddenly become intoxicated. I continued to talk to them, but Angie still never answered any of my questions; she only continued to comfort me while her own sundress was being soaked with my blood.

We’re finally home, I thought to myself, feeling some sense of security, but not knowing why, as we walked onto the grass in the front yard. I stopped there in the yard and began to fidget very badly. I somehow got my arms free from them and began touching all over my chest. I’m fidgeting so badly I need something to do with my hands, so I reach up and snatch off the chain I’m wearing from around my neck, dropping it onto the grass. I felt so confused and restless as I just stood there. Come on, Nikkie, someone says, taking a hold of my arm, leading me through the yard again. Everyone that was standing around in the driveway was now screaming and crying as we walked through, trying to get to the front door. No! No! What happened? Oh! Oh! Oh! Screams and more screams. Oh my God, he shot her, no! No! Everyone is crying; there are so many screams and cries. Why is everyone making so much noise? I confusingly think to myself. I hear everything they’re saying, but I just don’t understand. Someone is shouting, Call 911! Call 911! There are so many screams and cries. We finally make it to the front door. I then stumble over the two front steps, falling flat on my face, and try to get up again, but I just don’t have the strength. Help me up. Please help me up, I try to say out loud, but the words just won’t come out of my mouth, so I reach my hand up and silently asked for help. I feel so weak and lightheaded; I can’t get up by myself. I think, someone, please help me. They reached down and once again picked me up, leaving blood all over the wooden floor and the bottom of the front door as they lead me to the couch where Muh was sitting.

Chapter 4

Muh is the nickname we call my grandmother, it is short for Muh dear, but her real name is Doris. after the shot went off, my sister rushed out to the lil house to get her. She was probably out back resting, preparing for work the next day where she worked at Richard’s Florist as an extremely talented florist. She would come home from work daily, go out back to get a little rest, then come in and tend to us until Mama later returned if she decided to return. She would then make us clean up the house we had messed up during the day. Since I was the oldest, I would do most of the cleaning if my cousins were not over visiting. My grandmother would then go into her kitchen and begin cooking dinner for us. Every single day, we would stand in the kitchen’s doorway and asked her what she was cooking. She would always say cows’ cock and onions, never looking up from her pots. We would then say, Uuh! That’s nasty, we’re not going to eat that, turning up our noses. Muh would then tell us to go away and do something constructive with our time. Tammy and I would grab a deck of cards or turn on the television. She would come right in and say, I said something constructive. I enjoyed reading, so I would go and retrieve one of the books I would have borrowed from Angie, who is the family bookworm, and begin to read.

My grandmother is now rocking me in her arms. She is crying, and I wonder why she’s crying. I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why she won’t stop. She just keeps on rocking me and crying. I’m so tired, I think to myself, continuing to wonder what’s wrong with my grandmother as I now become sleepy. I’m so sleepy, all I want to do is go to sleep, so I closed my eyes, laid my head on my grandmother’s chest so I could do so, but she won’t let me. No! No! she says, frantically grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. Wake up, Nikkie, wake up. You can’t go to sleep, she repeats over and over, continuing to roughly shake me. You can’t go to sleep. What’s wrong? I silently and confusingly asked myself. What’s wrong? Why won’t she let me go to sleep? My grandmother then starts to pray. I hear her pray as I continue to drift away, lying in her arms, resting so peacefully. I’m not sure of all she’s saying, I only hear her asking God for something. You don’t want to die, do you? my grandmother asked. My grandmother is asking me something. What is it she’s asking? were my thoughts as I opened my eyes once again, fighting off the deep waves of sleepiness so I could answer her. You don’t want to die, do you? she asked again. No, I answered. No, I don’t want to die. Then ask God to please let you live, she said to me. So, I asked God to please let me live.

The ambulance that was called for me had finally arrived. I hear the paramedics enter the house, their voices mixing with those of my family and friends that were still crying. My grandmother was still tightly holding on to me as they asked a few questions and quickly prepared me to leave. Now I’m being put onto a stretcher and swiftly wheeled through the living room and out of the front door when the commotion around me increases and becomes extremely noisy again. My mama, I think to myself, I now hear my mama and I wonder what’s wrong. Why is she screaming and making so much noise? My baby! My baby! What happened to my baby! she screams as I’m being wheeled out of the doorway. I want to call out to her to see if she’s okay, but I can’t, I just can’t.

My mama was still at our aunt’s house when she received the phone call from my grandmother that she should come home right away. Muh didn’t tell her what just happened, she only told her to hurry up and get home. Before getting to the corner of our street, she saw the ambulance and thought something was wrong with my grandmother. My mama then jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop. She ran straight through the neighbor’s trees and bushes, which is a shortcut, but the trees are so big and tall it looks like a jungle, scary to go through, and not to mention they hold plenty of stickers. This didn’t matter to her; she needed to get to the house to see what happened. This is when she first sees me. The paramedics were bringing me out of the house lying on the stretcher. My clothes were completely covered in blood. There was blood still coming from my nose and mouth. She sees this and starts screaming immediately as they wheeled me very quickly passed her to the waiting ambulance. She then starts to run after the stretcher to try to catch up with us because she doesn’t know what happened; she only sees I am hurt very badly or lying there dead. My baby! My baby! she screams over and over again, still trying to catch up with us. I just lay there and listened to her scream and cry; I hear everybody’s screams and cries, but they are now starting to fade away as I’m being put into the ambulance.

My mama was left behind crying, kicking, and screaming hysterically, fighting, trying to get away. She wanted to get to the ambulance, but David Earl, our cousin, who had just brought them home, was holding her back. Let me go! she screams as he fought so hard with her to hold her back. What happened? she asks. Let me go! Let me go! She cries over and over again. I need to get to her, please let me go! Their fading screams were now blended with the sounds of sirens. My mama was left behind, still fighting with everyone to get away as we started to drive away.

Inside of the ambulance, I am now asking the man who is trying to take off my shirt why he’s doing so and why my mama is crying. Everything is going to be all right, he said to me. But why is she crying, I asked. He never tells me why mama is crying; he only keeps trying to remove my shirt. No! No! I say to him, frantically holding on to my shirt. I don’t want him to remove it, but he keeps trying. My bra was showing, and I desperately wanted to cover up; I just didn’t want him to see me. Calm down, he says to me, Please, sweetie, you have to calm down. I’m looking for your gunshot wound, so you have to calm down, he repeats over and over again. I hear everything he’s saying, I just don’t understand. He continued to look for my gunshot wound. Since my shirt was drenched in blood, he thought I was shot in the chest. Calm down, calm down, he says over and over again in a voice as gentle and soothing as an angel’s I would imagine. I finally give up struggling with him and let go