Ch. 1, Daydream Believer

They say that when a boy has no father in his life, he grows up to become a menace to society—a tyrant, or maybe even in trouble with the law. To an extent, this may be true. However, if in theory this saying is true, then it does not only apply to boys—it may apply to girls as well.

 Girls, too, need the leadership of a good father: a man who leads by example what a good husband and father should be. Then consequently, after daddy's little girl grows up to become a woman, she would have no trouble recognizing a real man when she sees him.

 Indeed, there is no doubt that girls with a positive father figure at the home generally grow up to marry positive men, while those with a negative father figure (or without a father at all) usually make the wrong choices in relationships over and over again.

I guess I'm a prime example of the second type of woman.

 Sadly, throughout my life, my father was nowhere to be found. I never knew my biological father, and my grandfather died when my mother was just a child, so I never had the privilege of knowing him either.

Now, just because my father was not in my life, it never meant that I did not desire the same things that every woman wants. I wanted a career, children, a "complete family" with a home, and a sense of security. And, for a moment, I had them all—well, most of them, anyway. I thought that if I worked hard enough, I could have anything my heart desired—but I soon found my life taking a complete turn for the worse, which was a huge disappointment, because originally, my life started out so well.

Initially, I made good grades in school, and earned a scholarship to college, and most importantly, I spent the majority of my life in church. So how does a woman like me find herself in trouble with the law, you may ask. It's a very complicated situation. In order to grasp the whole picture, I guess the perfect place to begin my story is my senior year of high school, when I was 17 years old.

—-—➿➰➿——

 It was fall, September 25, 1992, the night of our high school's homecoming. I, my best friend Jasmine, and four other girls were nominated for homecoming queen. The six of us, along with our escorts, wait patiently on the football field for the announcer to declare the name of our 1992 class homecoming queen.

I was nervous, not necessarily because of the homecoming queen aspect, but because I hated being in the spotlight, which was something that I should have been used to by then. In fact, any other Friday night I would have no problem "shaking my groove thang" on the football field with the rest of the band. However, this night was completely different.

This time, I was not in my dance line uniform and I was not performing during half-time with the rest of the marching band. Instead, the band was standing in a parade rest mode, directly behind the six of us nominees along with our escorts. With bright light shining directly upon us, the twelve of us literally stood in the spotlight—and that was what made me extremely nervous— so nervous that I almost dug a hole in my stepfather's arm, clenching so tightly.

However, standing in the limelight was not my only reason for being nervous. The second reason for my jitters was that my stepfather was my escort—and that was somewhat of a complication in itself.

For one thing, Joe Kendrick was an old-fashioned kind of man was old-fashioned values and money. He worked hard to make his money and he knew exactly how to keep it, which at times could be quite amusing to observe. In fact, on many occasions, my little sister Tia and I jokingly called him the black Sam Walton, because although he was financially blessed, Joe would rather drive around his old beat-up pick up truck and save money than buy a new car.

In fact, Joe's favorite past times were fixing up old cars, fishing, and networking with people in high places, such as doctors and lawyers. If he ever had the opportunity to fish and network at the same time, Joe would immediately jump on the opportunity. One thing about him, Joe was a smart businessman, and he knew exactly what it took to make more money.

Now, to others, Joe was a fun, kind-hearted man. I, on the other hand, had a hard time differentiating whether Joe loved me like a daughter or hated me like an enemy. To be honest, most of the time, Joe and I would not see eye to eye.

Nevertheless, this was a special night, and Joe had been the closest thing I had to a father. Therefore, I was content with the fact that Joe had agreed on being my escort.

As I stood there in all my nervousness, I could not help but think about my boyfriend, Cayman. I guess listening to "our song" Come and Talk to Me by Jodeci, moments before the halftime show had something to do with it. I just could not seem to get that song out of my head, nor could I stop thinking about Cayman. Of course, in all honesty, I missed him, and I wished he was home instead of away at college as he was. But, it was only wishful thinking.

Thank goodness for Jasmine though. She had also been nominated for homecoming queen. I could not help but wonder how she was handling the spotlight dilemma, so I look past the nominee that stood next to Joe and me, then looked over to Jasmine and her dad. Making a funny face, Jasmine crossed her eyes and turned her nose when she saw me looking at her. I smiled, because her silliness had once again help me get past my stage fright.

Ever since I could remember, Jasmine had always been like that. Jasmine was my best friend, and had been my best friend since kindergarten—at the age of five, Jasmine and I became friends through a scuffle in the classroom.

I cannot remember who accidentally tore who's paper first during class— all I know is that the argument between the two of us ended with pieces of paper being thrown everywhere, and with Jasmine and I being placed in time-out. Of course, back then, we were afraid of getting into trouble, so we immediately made up. Instantly, we became best friends, and remained friends from then on.

But who would have thought that Jasmine and I would someday become nominees for our high school homecoming? Although we weren't side-by-side during half time, I was delighted that she was nominated for homecoming queen as well. Jasmine and I were from a very small town, and our high school was small and conservative, and consisted of only 20% African-Americans. The chances of Jasmine or me winning as homecoming queen were slim to none. Nevertheless, we savored the moment anyway as another fantastic high school senior moment.

While the announcer continued to stall the crowd, I began to daydream about Cayman and the last time that we were together. It was not necessarily a good memory though. He was angry with me again. Why Cayman was angry with me this time, I had no idea. In fact, since Cayman began college a few months ago, he seemed to be angry with me most of the time. Although we had been dating for a little over a year, once again, our relationship was on the brink of ending.

Why should I care? I wondered.

It was a senseless question because I knew why I cared. Cayman Deon was my man, and I was head over heels for him. He was smooth. He was suave and preppy, and everything I thought I ever wanted in a young man—not to mention the fact that he was also so very intelligent!

Yes indeed, Cayman Deon was 100% college material, and I knew that he would succeed in everything he did. That's why I felt about him as I did. In fact, I hoped to someday spend the rest of my life with him.

But, things were different now. I was a senior in high school and Cayman was a freshman in college, which was probably the main reason that he was treating me as he did.

It's sad how some guys go off to college and lose their everlasting mind! I thought. I will definitely remember that next year when I'm away at college and...

Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by our half time announcer.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice echoed. "our new 1992 class homecoming queen is...Nakita Lark!"

Wait a minute, I thought. Did he just call my name?

I looked at Joe. From the surprised look on his face, I knew that I heard the announcer correctly.

My face lit up with excitement—I felt like I was in a dream! Reality did not set in until after our 1991 homecoming queen handed me a bouquet of flowers and then placed a crown on my head. I stood there, somewhat basking in the moment.

It was then that the football players began to line up on the sidelines, preparing to come onto the football field. Completely dressed in uniform and wearing their helmets, each player got down on one knee. However, to show congratulations, Alex, another one of my closest friends, had taken off his helmet, kneeled proudly on one knee, and then held his football helmet in his fist, high in the air for me to see.

Moments later, we marched off the football field and then the football players began to jog onto the field. I could not help but become a little teary-eyed when Jasmine congratulated me with a friendly hug, and then our high school band crowded around me from all directions to give their congratulations as well.

I never felt so loved in my entire life—I could almost burst with happiness! I could not wait to tell my family the good news, so the first person I called was my mother, Marigold.

Of course, back in those days, only the extremely rich had cell phones, so I was lucky to find a vacant payphone on our high school campus. I quickly grabbed the payphone and called home.

"Hello?" My mother answered.

"I won!" I yelled through the payphone.

"You did?" she exclaimed, "I'm so happy, Kita! I'm sure Joe is proud of you, too."

"Yeah, he was almost as shocked as I was." I laughed.

"To think, our first black homecoming queen!" she said, "And I missed it."

"It's okay, Momma," I replied.

 I understood. Besides, I knew that my mother wanted to be there with me, but she had her hands full at home.

My mother was the oldest of her three sisters, Faith, Hope and Glory. She had taken on the responsibility of taking care of Mama Rose, my 73-year-old grandmother, who had recently had a stroke. Of course, my grandmother wasn't the only person keeping my mother busy. My little sister, Tia, was home as well.

"I'm sorry I missed it, Kita. I'll be sure to give Mama Rose and Tia the good news, though," she said.

"Okay, Momma. I'll be home after the dance."

I said goodbye to my mother, and then, as I placed the telephone back on the receiver, my thoughts immediately went back to Cayman and his mother, who for some reason, had found much favor in me. Since she had always been so nice to me, I wanted to call her and let her in on the good news, too. So, once again, I grabbed the payphone, put in another quarter, and then dialed her number.

Now, Mrs. Deon was a medical technologist at a laboratory in Birmingham. Normally, she would have been at work, so I was delighted when she answered the telephone.

"Hi, Mrs. Deon," I said.

"Hello, Nakita. How are you tonight?" she asked.

"I'm great." I gleamed. "I won homecoming queen!"

"You did? That's great, Nakita!" she replied.

"Cayman, guess what. Nakita's a homecoming Queen!" she said, handing over  the telphone to Cayman.

 "Congratulations," he said, almost in a whisper. "You're still three times the lady, huh?"

"I let out a small giggle. "I thought you were at college," I said, still trying to contain my excitement.

"Nah, I came home for the weekend."

"Will I see you tonight?"

"Of course, I'll be there soon."

 As promised, about a half hour later, Cayman arrived. Then together, we went to my high school dance, where he escorted me onto the dance floor as 1992's class homecoming queen. Then, after listening to several country as well as rock 'n' roll songs, Cayman and I finally slow danced to our favorite song Come and Talk to Me by Jodeci. To me that was pure ecstasy and itself.

After the dance, and virtually when the weekend was over, I was on a natural high when I rolled into my first period class on Monday morning. And since all homecoming court nominees were asked to bring something dressy to wear for pictures for our school yearbook, I was still floating on air when the bell rang for second period. I raced outside to my compact-size"hoopty-ride" and grabbed my dress. Then, after a quick change of clothing, I immediately headed to the school library for pictures. Jasmine was already there.

"Congratulations again, girl." she said with a smile.

"Thank you, girl," I replied. " I guess blondes aren't the only ones to have fun!" I jokingly said while playfully tossing my long dark brown hair over my shoulder.

We laughed, because all the girls on homecoming court (except me), had blonde hair, including Jasmine. Although she was African-American, she had recently cut her hair short and dyed it blonde. So yes, the joke was a bit corny, but Jasmine had no trouble getting it.

"Friday, you left the dance early." she said.  "Where did you and Cayman go?"

"Out for pizza. What about you?"

"Kareem took me back home then we talked on the telephone until about 1:00AM." she chuckled.

I laughed along with Jasmine, but I already had a clue why Jasmine was talking on the phone with Kareem instead of actually being with him in person. It was no surprise to me, especially since Jasmine's parents did not care for Kareem very much at all. There was a good reason why they didn't approve of him, too. Kareem was always getting Jasmine into trouble, so her being grounded on homecoming night did not surprise me.

Yes, Kareem was definitely bad news. Jasmine, on the other hand, was goal-oriented. She and Rhonda, another one of our closest friends, had recently enlisted into the Navy. They were scheduled to leave right after graduation, which was probably a good decision for Jasmine, because the distance between her and Kareem would be beneficial. Nevertheless, I could not help teasing Jasmine about the whole ordeal.

"Kareem got you in trouble again, didn't he?" I chuckled.

"Yeah," Jasmine replied. "I don't know why I put up with him."

"You? Girl, I don't know why I put up with Cayman. At least Kareem doesn't break up with you every summer."

Suddenly, our conversation was interrupted. The other four homecoming nominees had walked in, tossing their long blonde hair as they stepped. And for some reason, they weren't too thrilled to see Jasmine and me sitting there.

"Oh, great!" the photographer finally said. "Everyone is here."

"I want the homecoming queen to sit in this chair, while the rest of you stand behind her. Take your places and give me a few more minutes to get everything set up," he said, then he turned his back to finish what he was doing.

With my crown on my head and artificial roses in my arms, I sat in the chair as instructed, while the other girl stood directly behind me.

"Look at her," one of the girls snapped. "she actually thinks she's all that," she said, which for some reason the other three girls found to be quite amusing. They began to laugh in pure delight.

"I should slap that crown off her head." the same girl protested.

Of course, I held my peace and stayed seated with my back turned to them. I thought to myself, Surely this girl is not crazy.

I never believed the girl had the nerve to do anything anyway, so I just sat there without a second thought. But, to my surprise, the girl boldly knocked the crown right off my head.

My crown flew across the room and onto the floor. I turned around in my chair and looked at her, but before I could utter a word, Jasmine stepped in to appease the situation. She picked up my crown and handed it to me.

"Some girls are so stupid!" Jasmine protested with one hand on her hip. "Try that again and see what happens." she said.

Jasmine then stood behind my chair again. She continued to stand with one hand on her hip, eyeing the other girls as if she were daring them to touch my crown again. It must have scared them, because suddenly everything was as quiet as could be.

Jasmine then leaned over and whispered in my ear, "They're just trying to make you lose title as homecoming queen, but I know all about that tactic."

 Yes, indeed, Jasmine had stood up for me. Somehow I made it through the rest of that day without any more "disturbances". However, that little ordeal with those girls had completely bombed my blissful moment, and by the end of the day I began to feel really bad.

 That evening, I returned home from school to find my grandmother sitting in her wheelchair in front of the television. It was comforting to see her because I could always talk to her about anything. She always listened and always kept my secrets to herself, no matter what the secret was.

 My grandmother, Rosemary Lark, we often call Mama Rose, was a tall, heavyset woman. She had long salt-and-pepper hair that she usually kept pulled up into a tightly braided bun. She was a proud woman and always kept herself looking her best. Even after her stroke and sitting in her wheelchair, Mama Rose always seem to stand tall, which was one of the many things I loved about her. As soon as I saw her sitting in the den in front of the fireplace, I immediately walked over to her and hugged her.

"Hi, Mama Rose."

"Hey, Kita," she said then pat me on the back. "How was school today?"

"It was...  all right, I guess." I said, sounding a little half-hearted.

"It doesn't sound like it was that good of a day to me," she replied.

I sighed a little, and then explained to her what had happened.

"I had a feeling this would happen." she sighed. "Kita, those girls are just jealous. You can't let them steal your joy." she said.

However, I remained silent and just continued to look at the floor.

"Well, apparently, the majority of that school favors you," she added, but still, I was quiet.

And then, due to my silence, Mama Rose suddenly blurted out something that seemed to be off the subject.

"Well, Nakita, you're not living up to that name of yours, are you?"

It completely caught me off guard.

For one thing, our family had an annoying habit of shortening each other's name, so I found it strange that Mama Rose would call me Nakita instead of just Kita.

Secondly, I always thought my name was odd. I often wondered why my mother chose such a bizarre name for me in the first place. It would have been nice to know that there was a meaning behind my name.

"What do you mean about 'not living up to my name'?" I asked.

"You don't know the meaning of the name Nakita?" she asked back.

"No, Ma'am." I replied.

"It means victorious, unconquerable," she said with one hand on her hip. "And, as long as you keep God first in your life, you are just that... Victoriously-unconquerable!"

"Unconquerable?" I laughed sarcastically "Yeah right."

"Yes, unconquerable!" she explained. "Kita, throughout your life, you're going to meet jealous people. But what you've got to remember is that you are a blessed child of God." she said. Then she smiled and changed back to a more playful mode.

"But first, we need to talk about this 'queen' thing," she joked. " Just because you made homecoming queen, don't get the big-head." she laughed. "Everyone knows I'm the only queen in this family!

I laughed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, Mama Rose," I said sarcastically.

"Besides, I was a fox in my day, and I still am!" she joked.

"Back in my day," she began to say, however, I already knew what Mama Rose was about to say, so I finished her sentence along with her.

"I was beau-tee-full!" we said in unison.

"I had heard that joke so many times that I could not resist mocking Mama Rose and finishing her sentence. However, Mama Rose pretended to be displeased with me.

"Well, well, we'll." she laughed. "The student has become the teacher. So, why don't you take your grown self in the kitchen and cook something, then?"

"Okay, Mama Rose." I laughed, playing along with the comedy. "Are you gonna teach me how to bake a homemade cake today?"

"Girl, you know that stuff goes straight to your hips!" She said as I grab the handles of her wheelchair and began wheeling her in the direction of the kitchen.

Yes indeed, we had a good time that day. While Mama Rose critiqued my cooking skills, we laughed and carried on so much that soon I had forgotten all about those girls at school, their mischief, and even their hater-isms.