The Fight Read Online Free PDF Page A

boys should be with the boys and the girls with the girls. Call me selfish, but I still like my idea better.
    As it stands now, Mama and I are in one room at the end of our very small hallway. The bathroom is at the other end next to the room Daddy, Bryan, and Jay share. My other three uncles, Carl, Sean, and Junior, all sleep in the den.
    The house sounds big, but it ain’t. It’s actually very small and not big enough for all these folks up in here. I have to be careful as I stumble my way toward the bathroom. Bryan must’ve just turned the floor heater on to knock off the morning chill and it wouldn’t be the first time I burn myself.
    I open the door to Daddy and the boy’s room before going into the bathroom. I try not to wake anybody up. Bryan, though, is already up and in his van, smoking a joint or doing something else he thinks is revolutionary.
    Without any dresser or closet space of my own, I have to keep all of my stuff in my two big black Hefty garbage bags on the left side of the closet. I don’t have much, but what I do have I like to keep as neat and as orderly as possible. One bag has all my underwear, T-shirts, tank tops, and head rags in it. It also has all my toiletries, my towels, and anything else I might need to access quickly in the dark. The other bag has the rest of my clothes and my other two pairs of shoes.
    I usually pick out my clothes before the boys get home in the evening. That way I can consider my outfits in peace and lay it out on Daddy’s bed or on Bryan’s bottom bunk to make sure everything matches. We don’t have a floor-length mirror, so I usually stand on top of Mama’s bed and look at my outfit in her vanity mirror once she gets up, if it’s not too late in the morning.
    So, here I am, digging through my trash bags—now turned dresser drawers—looking for a clean towel and the rest of my bath stuff. In this house, if you don’t keep all your things stashed away, they’ll either end up used, abused, or in the pawn shop on Central and Rosecrans.
    â€œDang, Jayd. You straight look like a girl Lil’ Bow Wow with them cornrows and that thug rag on your head,” Bryan says, coming in the bedroom smelling like weed.
    â€œShut up, Bryan, and move outta my way. I get first crack at the bathroom. I got to catch the 6:35 A.M. bus, so step back,” I say, pushing him out of the way. My uncle Bryan is nine years older than me, but he still acts my age.
    â€œWhy you always got to be so pushy? That’s why you ain’t got no man.” And with that last stab at my ego, he goes into the kitchen to eat a couple bowls of corn flakes. Though Bryan can work a nerve sometimes, secretly, he’s my favorite uncle.
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    Bryan is the only one in the family to go to any type of college and is now a DJ for the independent radio station KPFK. It’s real cool having an uncle who’s a DJ. I get hip to all kinds of music I would normally never hear, like all the stuff he grew up listening to: Run DMC, Public Enemy, Salt ’n’ Pepa, KRS 1, and Sade just to name a few. But, he also plays hellafied oldies too, like Tina Turner, The OJays, Bob Marley, Marvin Gaye, and so on. Mama says Bryan has a gifted ear and mind, and that I have a gifted soul to be able to appreciate all that good music.
    And appreciate it I do. The music out nowadays don’t even compare to what my uncle plays on his show. He calls it The Other Side of Compton in dedication to the history of our fine city. You see, I didn’t know this, but back in the day, Central Boulevard—which we live near—used to be the happening spot for jazz. Yes, jazz. Not gangsta rap or drive-bys, but jazz music.
    Now, don’t get me wrong—we still love NWA and Eazy-E, Dr. Dre, Snoop, and all them—but it’s nice to know our musical roots go deeper, ya feel me?
    â€œJayd, most of them g’s in the street don’t know half