The Perplexed Procurer

1

'Sweetness' Adoni Smith

The year was 1970, somewhere in the West Indies, far away from the land I have obtained now. My mother was a nurse and my father was her childhood sweetheart, I didn't get their blessings so I was raised by my grandmother whom I'd forever love. From what I was told, I only had two people who genuinely cared for me.

Back to 1970, the year I was born. I came out face down, causing my mother unfamiliar pain and the start of her resentment towards me—her only child. With her vagina ripping down to her anal cavity, she was happy to have me out of her. My father also, as they expected a boy in a family dominated by girls.

"My God! It's a freak," the white doctor looked sadly towards my ignorant father who had his face scrunched up with disgust. With my mother nearly unconscious from the natural birth, she looked down to see my anatomy that of a woman and a man. Highly disappointed she closed her eyes and wept as my father promised they could always try again, which was their vow to leave me stranded in this cold world.

"Sir," the doctor warned, cuddling me into his body. I guess he had seen my circumstances before I could even step foot on earth. He urged the nurses to clean me up and before they could get my mother or father to sign my birth certificate, the delivery room was vacant.

From there on I was attempted to be taken by the government, a good black family ripped apart. Luckily, I had my GranMa, my entire world in a woman. She signed my birth certificate and moved us to the states. Though she wasn't of any blood relation, she treated me like she birthed me.

She was my mama instead of my grandmother.

She raised me, taught me everything I knew about this cold world. As I gained conscience, I resented people—women—because of what I wasn't blessed to have. I vowed that a bitch like my mother would never bring harm to anyone again, and since then, I ran whorehouses that accumulated more wealth than Rockefeller and Rothschild combined.

My GranMa who was dark as ripe cherry, sweeter than any natural sugar, and as stern as a drill sergeant, supported me in all of my endeavors. I remember the first time she felt a thick knot in her coat pocket:

"Sweetness," her nickname for me and the name I went by, "what is this?"

I remember how proud I felt, how accomplished I felt. Her love for me was that alone, love. I never had to question anything regarding this lovely woman. Nights I would come inside with nothing but cotton in my pockets, GranMa would always have a hot meal, bath and bed ready for me. So, when I started hustling, pimping, I had one reason in mind.

"That's a bankroll, Ma. Now your medicine can be endlessly supplied, I talked to the doctors and everything is looking better." I remember her flawless dark skin glowing, she held me tightly and promised me to promise her something.

"Promise me you won't lose yourself in those wicked streets, Sweetness. Remember who you are at all times, this is your game, your life."

And I have kept that in the back of my mind since it was told to me. The only thing that she wanted from me now was a family, I was her only experience with children given she hadn't been able to have children. Still, her love was that of a woman who carried me for nine months. I would give her grandchildren indeed, if I ever found a bitch that measured up to her standards.