Beyond the Hurt

  BEYOND THE HURT

  A Novel By

  AKILAH TRINAY

  REVISION PUBLISHING

  Published by ReVision Publishing

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written consent from both the author, and Publisher ReVision Publishing, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  For information regarding special discounts or bulk purchases, please visit www.revisionpub.com or contact ReVision Publishing @ revisionpublishing@gmail.com

  Library of Congress Catalog Number: 2016930517

  ISBN: 978-0-692-56655-8

  Copyright: @ 2016 by ReVision Publishing

  Beyond the Hurt

  Written by: Akilah Trinay

  Edited by: Nicole Walker

  Cover Artwork: HotBookCovers.com

  Acknowledgments

  All glory belongs to God! Who is truly the head of my life and is the reason why I live and breathe. He has blessed me with a loving family; friends who keep me lifted and encouraged every step of the way, and a praying church family. However, I have to personally thank my mother, Trina Norris, my father, Andrew Spider Norris and my sister, Tabia Norris. They have been the absolute backbone to this project and without them I am not sure if it would have happened; from reading the manuscript, to designing logos, to pitching in funds. I love you beyond…

  Taking on this task was not an easy one and I have one person who took me from a place of talking about writing this book, to actually making it happen. Michael McGrew has been my inspiration through this entire process. His writing success was the blueprint for me and he literally provided me with the blueprint that he published himself (wink wink).

  To the few who read a chapter or the entire story: Breya Harden, Marilyn Barnes, Dominique White, Delores Fractious, D’Angelo Tate, Cierra Hudson, Dontrail Hunter, Ky’Onna Jacobs and Sonja White; your input and time spent is much appreciated.

  My most heartfelt thanks are to my financial backers: Anton McCall, my brother from another mother; Stephanie and Fletcher Brown; Nicolas Keen Swearingen aka Nic-Nic; Sir Jade Pope; Josette Tippens and family; Vanisha and Terrence Boyd Jr.; Felicia Brown, Love Luv; Chante’l Williams and Bhati Gant; Andre Anderson; Kori Boxdell (you are truly amazing!); Alma and Stan McKenzie; Latina and Rick Fortenberry; Etta Brown; Andrea Jones; and Aunt Gloria. These individuals along with countless others helped to fund this project. They believed in me and for that, I am forever grateful. For every prayer, FB share, Like, Repost, and encouraging word: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

  Dear Readers:

  Please sit back and enjoy the ride that you are about to embark on; journeying through the lives of three families that are far from perfect. The families represent our struggle sometimes with trying to take life into our own hands, allowing the enemy to distract with the pride of life, and not allowing God to be in control. You will find that there is some vulgar language throughout the story to maintain the integrity of the characters. Reader discretion is advised.

  This book is dedicated to my parents; family, friends, loved ones, and students who dream of making something happen; take the leap of faith and do it!

  Prologue

  Debra Tucker

  February 27, 2010

  English 101

  Professor Greene

  First Draft Narrative Assignment

  My Life - Evolution of Man

  Evolution - noun

  1 the process by which different kinds of living organisms are thought to have developed and diversified from earlier forms during the history of life.

  A man has to fight for his freedom. Although as a woman, I understand this concept. Each and every blow translates strength. He is a warrior. He lives to share the story of his battles, showing the wounds to his companions, earning him stripes, credibility, and respect within the community. He lives. But what happens in war? People die. Innocent people die; families are destroyed for the sake of power and survival. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is money.

  Every human being in America is in search of money by any means necessary. Some take handouts; others work hard and never play. While others take, what they believe belongs to them. Daily, there is a grind, a hustle to be successful, to be loved, and to stay on top. Money. Power. Respect. If this were a fraction, the common denominator would be women. Can’t have life without a woman, right?

  My story is simple. Structured in a way to make people listen every day, I didn’t realize my story started before I was even a thought. I lived this life before. My brother Samson was born dead in more ways than one. Society says that a Black man doesn’t stand a chance in the urban community beyond the age of eighteen. The murder rate amongst young black males agrees. But my brother was literally born dead. He didn’t cry, not a peep. My mother was hysterical and in almost a blink of an eye, he took a breath. He opened his eyes. Samson took on that persona for his new life. He makes his own rules; he dances to the beat of his own drum.

  It seemed odd to me that we were related and born of the same flesh. I was born alert, aware and curious. Eyes wide open, understanding and questioning at the same time. However, our worlds were different, yet the same, our experiences were disconnected but connected. Charlene and Edmond were to blame. The two that came together in love multiplying it by two. Charlene Tucker understood her husband. She was aware of the support she needed to provide him with knowing the black man’s daily struggle to do right by his family by being financially supportive, staying faithful to his vows and providing a well-balanced, structured environment for a family to thrive. If it was only that easy, but it was something, you would definitely have to be built for.

  Survival of the fittest (Biology) - The continued existence of organisms that are best adapted to their environment, with the extinction of others, as a concept in the Darwinian theory of evolution. Compare with natural selection.

  Natural selection - The process whereby organisms better adapted to their environment tend to survive and produce more offspring. The theory of its action was first fully expounded by Charles Darwin and is now believed to be the main process that brings about evolution.

  A man teaches his son the best he can to survive in a world that wants to eat him alive. A world where his success is not celebrated by the masses but instead is hindered. If there is no father present, then the son has to make due the best way he can. He finds prominent figures in the community to imitate but not everyone makes the best role model. The hope is that if one doesn’t make it to the destination that they saw fit for their life, their offspring, their legacy will continue and eventually make it to that Promised Land.

  Note to self: Make sure I finish this assignment…

  Chapter 1

  “I never thought we would see the day,” Charlene sighed as she gazed into her husband’s dark, tired eyes in between shuffling boxes around. “Edmond, our baby is going to college.” Edmond Tucker rested in his smoky-brown, one-man Lazy-Boy recliner, sipping his chilled Miller Genuine Draft, his morning pick-me-up. He was too tired to give his wife a response, taking a break from all of the packing. “At least one of our children will go on to be successful and carry out the family legacy.” She continued as if knowing her husband would maintain his silence as he often did when she carried on her rant about the children. “I just get so worried about Samson. Out all hours of the night, no real job. You know it is not safe in the streets. And not to mention, he just mooches off of us. We are enablers, honey.”

  Edmond sat anchored, flipping back and forth t
hrough the sports and cooking channels. Her endless tirade agitated him to his core, especially in moments of relaxation.

  “Stop complaining woman!” Edmond finally broke his silence, shifted his body upward, disappointed that he had to leave his posture of comfort to address his wife. He slammed his half-finished bottle down hard on the hardwood floor, adjacent to his chair, luckily avoiding a shattered mess. “That boy is finding himself, like every other man must do in this life. He ain’t no different from me when I was his age. You remember? You had no problem hanging on my coattail then. You liked that part about me.” He paused to gaze in her direction for confirmation. “Let’s just be proud that he is still alive and he has the decency to love and respect us and hasn’t given us any extra mouths to feed. It could be worse.” He rested his case and sat calmly back in the chair, hoping his wife would take that and leave him in solitude. He steadily had to remind her that the son that they gave birth to twenty years ago was still immature, but evolving as a man in his timing.

  “I guess you’re right dear. But you were definitely hounding me back then. Get it straight!” Charlene spoke quickly to ensure her husband that she was listening and didn’t want him to get all worked up. It was difficult for her to adjust to Samson being so independent refusing her motherly advice and nurture. He was a licensed mama’s boy; but to her dismay, he was drifting away. “But that is my baby and…”

  “Charlene Baby…not another word.” Edmond didn’t budge this time; he just raised his hand to command silence.

  “I think I am all set to go,” I said interrupting them from their intense conversation about my no-good brother. He always knew how to be present while being absent. Many of their heated arguments centered on Samson and the hopes and dreams my mother had for him and how he frequently managed to disappoint her. My mama was very naive when it came to Samson, he constantly played on her emotions and she just let him. She was clueless to the fact that he was no longer the little boy that would run and jump in her lap or ask her to kiss his wounds so they would magically feel better. It was quite sickening if you ask me. She never gave me that much time or energy. I guess you can say I longed for that type of attention. I was a young girl with questions, curiosities and it was rare that I even found comfort in discussing them with my mother. My father on the other hand, was the best support system I had. He was genuine, strict, but I knew he had my best interest at heart.

  My older brother, Samson Tucker, is a highly intelligent man, strong and athletic, but extremely lazy. From the time he was a little boy, he relied on his witty charm to get by. He frequently skipped class avoiding any homework obligations, but he would magically pass all of his classes with a C average. He would even receive high reviews of his potential and guaranteed success if he only “put his mind to it,” as Mr. Garren, his English teacher, would say. I believe that he paid all of his teachers off or promised them discounts at NUMMI, since our father worked there and was referred to as the “HNIC,” knowing our dad wouldn’t even give his own mother a discount if she was stranded on a deserted island with no bus pass. And I am well aware that you cannot take a bus off an island.

  New United Motor Manufacturing, Inc. (NUMMI) was an automobile manufacturing company jointly owned by GM and Toyota. My father commuted every day to Fremont knowing that he was well valued at the company, being that he was part of the decision-making team to have the plant reopen and focus their production on high-quality, profitable small cars manufactured in the United States. He generated an abundance of revenue for the company. So yea, we were your typical middle-class family, not rich, but definitely comfortable.

  Samson has charm. It is undeniable. His ability to control the minds of people is unnerving. He is a certified manipulator, but I don’t blame him, he got it from Mr. Tucker. My dad was the gentle gangster type, a smooth Mack-daddy. I know he had all the ladies back in the day. I once stumbled across his high school yearbook; all his special messages were from the ladies: Hey Big Daddy, Have a nice summer Cat Daddy. It was actually very disturbing to read, imagining that my father was having any type of sexual encounters or women that were flocking to him in that way.

  Yet, I wasn’t surprised. Women constantly threw themselves in my father’s direction, even in the presence of my mother. She attempted to save face and appear, as though it didn’t bother her, but I know deep down it was a struggle for her. They met in community college and spent several years getting it together, understanding one another and how to make a relationship work. He is handsome though, my father that is. Women swooned over his milk-chocolate skin tone and salt and pepper hair with more salt on the sides than pepper. My mama had a good catch, a good-hearted man, and a great father.

  Unlike me, Samson had no desire to attend college of any kind. Be it community college or trade school. He enjoyed his daily hustle. In his mind, he was living the “thug life.” This was obviously not the case. He couldn’t even withstand his first tattoo session because he claimed the needles weren’t clean, the first prick he was claiming that he may be infected. As a result, he lacked the tats, the gun and the baby mama. What type of thug do you know in Oakland like that? He basically lacked the “thug” requirement. Now “Thug Life 101,” states that at the very least you must tote a gun. However, he assured me that after his next deal went through; he was going to buy a .45 from one of his boys who had hookup on artillery.

  We lived in a quaint neighborhood on the east side of Oakland. There was not much criminal activity that took place beyond the occasional bike theft or break-ins, so Samson went out looking for commotion and activity. He yearned for street credibility; he wanted to earn his stripes. In my opinion, Samson was far from possessing “swag” or the guts to use a gun, but living in Oakland, I knew why he would need it.

  “It is definitely time to go.” I announced to my parents to get them moving. I had everything possible from the house I could think of packed, stuffed, tucked away in plastic bins, bags, suitcases, and boxes. My parents and I would be taking the drive down to University of California, Riverside. They promised to help me get acquainted with the campus and get everything situated in my dorm room. The truth is, my father wanted to make it known to any male specimen on the campus that if they even attempted to look in my direction they would be subject to deal with him personally and forfeit any opportunity to live to tell another soul about the encounter. My father was one hundred percent serious about me not dating. For most girls my age their fathers would, at the very least, give them the “wait until you turn 18-and-you are grown speech,” but nooo, not Mr. Tucker. He believed that as long as I was his precious baby girl and as long as blood was pumping through my veins, I was not to even look in the direction of any man, young or old, especially old or older than me. That is unless he selected him and he measured up to his standards; which was relatively no one.

  My father was beyond overprotective. He hardly ever let me date and if I did manage to manipulate him into letting me go out to a movie with a guy and some of my girlfriends, in the afternoon on a Saturday, he had to meet him. He was required to fill out a two-page form including his address, social security number, nicknames (just in case he had to ask around the neighborhood), parents’ names and contact numbers (home, cell, pager, AIM, email, etc.) I think my father was a private detective or police officer in a previous life. Nonetheless, I was forced to sneak around if I was to have any chance of a relationship or a life. If he ever found out that, I lost my virginity just two weeks before I made the decision to move to Riverside, he would have me slaughtered. He wouldn’t be able to live with the fact that his baby girl was not as innocent as he assumed and his protective measures were not foolproof.

  “I am so proud of you, Debra,” my mom cried, tears rolling down her face, smearing her well-applied makeup. She stayed in full makeup at all times, not because she was an unattractive woman, but because she knows what my father likes. She is all about keeping her man happy and satisfied. “I remember just the other day, the fi
rst time I looked into your almond brown eyes, not knowing a thing about what this world would bring, and look at you now, seventeen, beautiful, intelligent and going to a University. The first in the family; all grown up and making us proud.” Suddenly, her tears mighty-morphed into anger, transforming her skin from a cinnamon brown into a swampy dark green, as if The Hulk was staring dead in my direction. She caught a glimpse of the box I did a poor job of hiding, out the corner of her eye. “I know you are not taking my new cookware out of this house!” Busted. Charlene Tucker had a good way of making a special moment sour in an instant. “What else do you have in these boxes of mine?” she demanded. Little did she know; I packed several of her household items in my plastic containers. A girl needs supplies to live. I was going to college, and she clearly didn’t need it. I felt that if she hadn’t used it up until now, it was just like mine.

  “Let the girl alone!” my father interceded. Saved. “The more she takes now, the less money she will be begging for later and as much crap as we have in this house, I am happy for her to take it off our hands.” Most of the items my father helped me package; he knew his wife was a hoarder. Every sale she saw as an invitation to add items to her home collection. Charlene could open up an emporium right in the center of Downtown Oakland, if she played her cards right.