It is 1994. East Saint Louis. Mississippi River town. Post-white flight. All Black folks. House on corner. Brick and mortar. No picket fence. All ours though. Family stayed close. Friends were too. Church around corner. Saving lost souls. Redeeming the crackheads. Pimps and hoes. Saved from AIDS. Jesus, the drug. God the Father. Holy Ghost power. Saving lost souls. We needed it. Kept us intact. Daddy was preaching. Mama sang gospel. Psalms and seances. Hot breath sermons. Fire brimstone hell. Golden paved paradise. Living for afterlife. Saving lost souls.
Nobody saved home.
Notice on door. Furniture on lawn. Momma and Daddy. Children in tow. Five of us. Trek up interstate. Daddy’s big dream. Suburbs we go. Freshly painted walls. Brand new carpet. Not ours though. Foreigners next door. Blonde-haired girls. Peach-skin boys. Friends with alcohol. Kids with cocaine. Life just changed. I sang gospel. Not here though. Songs too whitewashed. No soul steppin’. No jive talkin’. Life too whitewashed.
Suburbs: better life. Who said that?
I was fine. Poor and Black. Ninth grade year. Junior High School. All black kids. G-Funk Era. Poppin’ and Lockin’. We had us. Pretty brown girls. All best friends. Double-dutch throwin’. Hands on hips. Our backbones slipped. Shimmy-shimmy cocoapuff. Pretty brown boys. High top fades. High top sneaks. Walk that walk. “We Real Cool.” Me: Sanctified Girl. I wore skirts. Boys peeked under. Fingers for sex. I peeked back. Palmed ‘til hard. “Bump n’ Grind”. Me: Sanctified Girl. Losing saved souls.
Not here though. Suburbs: better life. Who said that?
It’s still 1994. I am fourteen. New school year. New high school. All white kids. Trying something new. Parties and sex. Me: Sanctified Girl. Rolling up joints. Smoke filled rooms. Jesus Fucking Christ. Sin feels good. Pardon my mouth. Principal’s office again? Don’t call Momma. She prayed daily. Don’t call Daddy. He preached nightly. Me: sanctified girl. Losing saved souls.
Suburbs: better life. Who said that? I was fine. Poor and Black.
I’m still fourteen. Cute Black girl. Party on weekend. All cool kids. “Come join us!” Late night Saturday. Too few friends. Too much pot. Falling from grace. Popular basketball player. Dark corner downstairs. Kissing and giggling. Wait, too soon. Pinned against wall. No, no, no. Too far gone. God’s forsaken me. Get me home. Cry in shower. This my fault? Slow down, Zenique. Momma and Daddy. Pray for me. “Baby what’s wrong?” Losing my soul.
Suburbs: Better life. Who said that? I was fine. Poor and Black.
Not here though.
Listen to the author read “I was fourteen: a memoir”
Zenique Gardner Perry is a writer and freedom fighter, an MFA Fellow of Creative Nonfiction at Washington University and co-founder of Undo Bias Consulting. She lives in St. Louis, MO with her husband, niece, nephew and a baby girl Rottweiler named Sevyn. On Twitter she is @Zenique_GP