As we sat and smoked the joint, Rabbit and Trish came to see me. I again repeated the news that I was being forced to leave the county. We sat and cried for a while. Then we all reminisced about some of our greatest jacks, gang fights, and shootings. We remembered fallen homies and discussed which of the new lil homies coming on the sets would be able to stay down enough to maintain the gangs' reps.

We tried to fool each other and say that it really wasn't good-bye, it was "so long," and we'd keep in touch. But I knew those were just words. Every time I was taken from people I loved, they'd never kept in touch. How could they? They didn't know how to get ahold of me. Hell, half the time I didn't even know where I'd be. I'd long since learned that good-bye meant just that.

We laughed and joked until the nurse walked in and gave them nasty looks as she gave me a shot of pain medicine. She then told everyone they'd have to leave because visiting hours were over. Each of them gave me a long hug and said good-bye. As they walked out, I tossed up "Tray" with my right hand and "Crip" with my left.

With tears in my eyes I looked up at the ceiling, "I hope you're happy!" I screamed.

A deal's a deal, the quiet voice said.

Yeah, it is, I replied in my mind. I rolled over and went to sleep. I'd need my rest. I'd soon be headin' for Lancaster.

20.

LIFE IN LANCASTER hadn't changed much, except beatings had stopped for good. Diane's diabetes had slowed her down quite a bit. The doctor told her she had to lose weight, but she said her "power" was in her weight so she "wasn't goin' on no fuckin' diet!" As a result, she was still extremely overweight and had to take insulin shots. But even in this state, she was just as mean as ever.

Diane had stopped requiring the children to call her "Momma"-said it got on her "last good nerve." One of the other children told me Diane had screamed at them, "Who'd want to be your fucked-up-ass momma? Don't call me that shit no more!"

Of course, now that I had no physical fear of Diane, I loved messing with her in any way, and as often as, I could. So as soon as I discovered she hated us calling her "Momma," that's all I called her. And knowing how she hated whining, I'd be sure to say it in the whiniest voice I could muster. I loved watching her cringe when I said it. Yup, the tables had turned in Lancaster.

Connie's hot foots intermittently continued, except I never got them anymore. I told them bastards that I'd kill the first one that looked like they was fittin' to put a match anywhere near my feet. The other kids knew about my gang activities, and getting shot, and weren't looking to try me. That's all it took to stop Connie's attacks-she was a wimp without her cronies. I still had to watch my back around her, though; she was the type to punch you from behind and run.

I wasn't immediately returned to school. The doctors had told Diane that I should stay off my legs for a couple of weeks. Once leaving the hospital, I was never taken to another doctor for a checkup, to see if the bullets and pellets had moved or anything. Life went on like the shooting had never happened.

When I first got back to Lancaster, I'd periodically call Fly, Rabbit, and other homies, but Diane started hoo-bangin' about the phone bill, so I began to call less and less. It was quickly apparent that if I didn't call my homies, we didn't talk. No one called to see if I was okay in Lancaster-even though they knew how much I hated it there.

Talk about out of sight, out of mind.

- Before long, I got an itchin' to go. It wasn't even my hatred for Diane or Connie. I simply felt, foster home or no foster home, I didn't belong in Lancaster. Although I knew it was time to run, I didn't want to repeat the pattern of run, return, run, return. And for some reason, that lil Voice kept telling me not to hitchhike-not this time.

I didn't trust many people, so I didn't hang with too many-unless there were drugs or alcohol involved. I began talking to the few friends I did have to see if anyone would help me ditch Lancaster one last time. One of these friends, Sylvia, was a white girl who also attended my school. She lived with her twenty-year-old sister, Anne, and Anne's boyfriend, Roger.

Sylvia agreed to help me. She let me use her phone to call Uncle Jr. collect, and he helped me make plans for my return home. We both agreed that the sooner I could get out of town, the better. It was decided that Jr. would go to Western Union the next day and send me some money. But, as usual, it would take a couple of days for Jr.'s money to arrive, and once I left Diane's I couldn't go back. So I'd need some place to stay till the money came. We talked to Sylvia's sister and Roger, telling them as little as possible-that I was running from an abusive foster parent and needed a place to stay for a few days. They agreed to let me stay with them. I returned to Diane's that night, packed a small bag, which I hid in the closet. After everyone went to bed, I took off.

Sylvia's sister and boyfriend did meth. So during the day, I'd lie around and watch TV. But at night, when everybody got home, we'd "toot" crystal, smoke weed, and drink. When Jr.'s money came, Sylvia and her family took me to Thousand Oaks, gave me a few lines of meth and a joint "for the road," and put me on a bus headed for San Diego.

Little did I know, I really was leaving Lancaster for good.

21.

WHEN I ARRIVED in San Diego, Jr. had great news: I was going to be temporarily living with my daddy. My real daddy.

Immediately after Larry and I had been given to Mr. Burns, Daddy and Jr. spent an additional four thousand dollars in legal fees, trying to win us back. The additional money was spent in vain. Daddy and Jr. showed up with their newly hired lawyer who'd filed numerous documents on their behalf. Mr. Burns didn't show up, but his lawyer did. The hearing didn't last long. The judge reminded everyone that Mr. Burns had been given sole and complete custody and pretty much told Daddy and Jr. to quit wasting the court's time.

My daddy and uncle hadn't really spoken since. But Jr. wanted to make sure that this time I stayed out of Lancaster for good. He was also concerned about my hitchhiking all over California and the possibility of my ending up dead as a result. He'd called Daddy to tell him that I was on my way to San Diego, that he had a plan to get me out of the system but it would take awhile, and he wasn't sure what to do with me in the interim.

"Bring her here!" Daddy had said without hesitation.

I'd long since forgotten the pain of being taken from Daddy and Jr. Actually, I'd pretty much decided to forget that part of my life. I never allowed myself to think about Momma, Daddy, Jr., or Grandma-at least not without being loaded.

Jr. said that Daddy and Lori were separated and Daddy was now living with some chick named Samantha who everyone called "Sam." I was excited about seeing Daddy, but I was also troubled. I still carried the resentment about his marrying Lori so soon after Momma's death. And it'd been almost six years since I'd seen my daddy. A lot had happened in between then and now. On top of all of that, I was now grown-at least I thought I was.

- Daddy and Sam lived in a little house in a section of San Diego called Normal Heights. As Jr. and I pulled up, I was a nervous wreck.

What if he doesn't remember me?

Don't be silly, I answered myself. He's still the same daddy. Problem was, though, that I was no longer the same daughter.

As Daddy came out of the house, he had a huge grin on his face. He still looked the same: smooth cocoa-brown skin; slim, but well built; his curly black hair now had wisps of gray waving through it, and his face had a few more wrinkles. But he was still a handsome man, and he still had those beautiful brown eyes and big warm smile.

He approached Jr. first. They shook hands, gave each other a long, warm hug, and then patted each other on the back before letting go. Then daddy turned toward me.

I wish these damn butterflies in my stomach would stay still!

He just stood there for a long time looking at me. I looked back at him nervously, unsure of what to say or do.

Oh, hell. Now the butterflies are disco dancing!

Very slowly, he walked up to me and gave me a big bear hug and kissed me on the cheek. We didn't cry. We just stood there staring each other up and down for a while, no one saying anything. Then he introduced me to the white woman standing behind him.

"Punkin, this is Sam. Sam, this is my daughter, Cup."

Aside from her unusual height (she was five ten), she was a plain-looking woman. She wore no makeup and her dirty-blond hair hung scraggly around her shoulders. Sam and I exchanged hellos. I tried not to stare at her, but it's like they say: "game recognizes game." I had been on the streets long enough to recognize a prostitute when I saw one. And Sam was a pro, although the plainest one I'd ever seen. I started to say something, but Daddy spoke, interrupting my train of thought.

"Come on y'all, let's go in and get something to eat."

I'd forgotten what a good cook Daddy was. We ate, and then sat around laughing and catching each other up on what had been happening since I'd been gone. Jr. told us about the school he was teaching at. He also informed us about Grandma, who'd gotten worse. He said that most times, she didn't even know who he was. I made a mental note to ask him to take me to see her.

Daddy told us all about how he'd tried to make it work with Lori, and about Kelly-who now had a two-year-old son. At the mention of Kelly's son, I felt a small tug at my heart. The baby who had been beaten out of me would have also been around two. Then I remembered the IUD that was still inside me. It must have been working because I hadn't been pregnant since my miscarriage.

I wonder how long they're supposed to stay in? I usually forgot it was even there.

I brought my mind back to the present conversation. Daddy was telling us about Kelly's baby's daddy-a Mexican kid who was in a gang. Daddy said he didn't think that Kelly herself was in the gang, but I knew better. Most kids who hung out with gang members were themselves gang members. Even if that person didn't think they were a banger, everyone else would, so it didn't matter. The night I got shot, those Rollin' 60's didn't step out of the car and announce: "Okay, everyone NOT a gangbanger please step aside so we can shoot only those who are."

I made another mental note to talk to Kelly to find out whether I was right.

When it came time for me to talk, I wasn't sure which parts of my past to tell, which to keep secret, and which to pretend never happened. Jr. had already seen the welts on my back, so he wasn't too surprised when I told them about some of the physical abuse I endured at Diane's. But everyone gasped when I told them about the half-cooked meat-that's when I impressed upon them the extreme importance of ensuring that all of my meat was cooked extra, extra, extra well. When I told them about the lock and chain around the fridge, they all hit the roof except Daddy. He got really quiet and started balling and unballing his fists. Jr. gave a heavy sigh.

No one said a word for a while. Someone had to break the silence. I decided I'd do it by continuing my update. Experience had taught me that people-especially adults-have trouble accepting and believing the idea of children having sex. I decided that from then on, the parts of my life involving Pete, Mr. Bassinet, and my "business partners" never happened. So I picked up the story by telling them about Fly, the Gangstas, and getting shot.

I was dying for a cigarette. So it seemed like a good time to announce that I smoked cigarettes-and weed.

At first no one said anything. After a moment, Sam looked at me, smiled, and handed me one of her Marlboros. I preferred menthols, but beggars can't be choosers. I kicked back, took a long drag off the cigarette, and closed my eyes as I enjoyed the soothing feeling of my nicotine jones finally getting satisfied.

Daddy and Jr. were silent. They looked a bit shocked and unsure about how to respond.

"Well, Cup," Jr. said, "it's a little too late to be trying to raise you now. But be aware that those cigarettes will kill you. And weed will only lead you to stronger drugs."

He didn't know how right he was. But for me, it was too late to be worrying about stronger drugs-the only worrying I did concerned where I could find a connection in San Diego to get some. So I just smiled, nodded, and took another hit off my cigarette.

The eerie quiet returned.

Jr. finally broke the silence. He brought us up to date about what he knew about Larry. Since Momma's death, Larry and I had been treading the same road-continuously in and out of foster homes. Several months after I had gotten out of the hospital from my gunshot wounds, Larry turned eighteen and was eligible for his trust-fund money. But six months before his eighteenth birthday, Larry showed up on Jr.'s doorstep, demanding he be given his money early. Jr. explained to Larry that he couldn't get the money till he turned eighteen. Larry became enraged and stormed off. When Jr. asked where he was going, Larry told him not to worry about where he was going but to just make sure to have his money in six months.

When Jr. told us that, it pissed me off.

Of all the people who had treated us like shit since Momma died, why did Larry have to be so mean to Jr.? Jr. was one of the only people who gave a fuck about us, and yet Larry was treating him like he was the bad guy!

I forced myself to tune my mind back into the conversation. Jr. had moved on and was now telling us about what happened six months later. Right on Larry's eighteenth birthday, my brother and Jr. did all the necessary legal stuff and signed the appropriate papers enabling Larry to get his twenty-five thousand dollars. What happened next is still not clear. But this is the story Larry relayed to Jr.

After putting twenty thousand in the bank, Larry and some chick he'd met in a park took the rest and caught a cab from San Diego to Disneyland. Why Larry caught a cab to Los Angeles instead of going the much cheaper route of renting a car, no one knows.

Anyway, they went to Disneyland, stayed in the Disneyland hotel for a few nights, partied their asses off, and then caught a cab back to San Diego. Once they returned to San Diego, Larry was out of money and went to the bank to retrieve more. Well, guess who was waiting for him when he got there? Mr. Burns.

(Mr. Burns knew that we would each get a portion of my mom's life-insurance money when we turned eighteen. However, we never learned how Mr. Burns knew Larry had actually gotten the money. Nor did we ever learn how Mr. Burns knew that Larry would be at the bank that day, or how long he stood there waiting for Larry to show up. Hell, to us it really didn't matter, since one thing had proven certain: whenever money was involved, Mr. Burns had an uncanny custom of showing up.) As soon as he saw Mr. Burns, Larry was getting ready to start cursing him out. But before Larry could really lay into him, Mr. Burns dropped to his knees and apologized. He started crying, talking about how he'd made a mistake; how he'd gotten scared to be suddenly stuck with two kids; how he'd done the best he could. He told Larry that he had no clue about how bad it had been for us at Diane's. In between snot and tears, he went on and on about how he'd figured that, as a foster mother, Diane was the best caretaker for us till he could get himself together. He ended his speech by screaming out that he loved Larry and would never intentionally do anything to hurt him-that all he ever wanted was a relationship with his son.

Larry was hard up for love, attention, and acceptance. We both were. I temporarily found some in drugs, booze, and bangin'. And although Larry had also found drugs and booze, their solace and comfort were only temporary for him too.

Larry had been longing to hear those words for years. Now here was his biological father telling him that he loved him. Telling him that he wanted to be a part of Larry's life, that he wanted the father-and-son relationship they'd never had. He was almost begging Larry to give him the chance to love him.

Larry fell for it-hook, line, and sinker.

They walked into the bank together, with Mr. Burns hugging Larry so tight they looked like Siamese twins. Mr. Burns kindly and caringly assisted Larry with his withdrawal. Then, because Mr. Burns said they could bond better if they lived together, he took Larry to live with him in his house. Actually, Mr. Burns didn't have a house. He owned a car stereoinstallation shop in National City (a small town south of San Diego) and lived in the back of it. The two of them lived there happily for a couple of months, during which time Mr. Burns convinced Larry to invest in his shop. The deal was that Larry would give Mr. Burns eighteen thousand dollars, and in return, Mr. Burns would make periodic dividend payments to Larry.

Of course, the payments never materialized. And it didn't take long for Larry to run through the little amount of money he had left. Once that was gone, he complained to Mr. Burns about not receiving any return on his investment. Mr. Burns always had some excuse as to why he wasn't paying, but assured, promised, and swore to Larry that the money was forthcoming.

After a couple of months, Larry finally caught on that Mr. Burns had scammed him out of his money. Realizing that he had nothing left to lose, Larry finally stood up to Mr. Burns and demanded the return of all of his money. For a moment, Mr. Burns didn't move or say a word. He just stood there staring at Larry intensely. Then he calmly and slowly walked to the phone, called the police, and had Larry escorted out.

As the police escorted Larry out the door, Burns screamed that if he ever returned he'd have him arrested for trespassing. Once outside, Larry started crying so hard that he was literally blinded by his tears. The police had to take his arms and guide him out to the street. The cops must have felt sorry for him when he told them he had no money and nowhere to go, because they gave him a ride to Jr.'s. Larry showed up on Jr.'s doorstep, angry, devastated, crying, and completely broke.

Jr. put him up for a while, but Larry refused to work, even when Jr. demanded it. All Larry did was lie around, watch TV, eat, sleep, and run up the phone and electric bills-while not bringing in a cent. And on top of that, Jr.'s house was robbed while Larry was supposedly sleeping on the couch.

Jr. stopped talking. He bowed his head and told us that he'd been forced to put Larry out.

"You should have never taken his sorry ass in!" I snapped.

"Cup," Jr. said in a voice clotted with sorrow, "he's my nephew and I love him. There's just nothing else I can do for him."

No one said anything. Wasn't really anything that could be said. Jr. took a moment to get himself together before continuing his story.

He said that shortly after putting Larry out, he began to get phone calls from people demanding Larry's money. It seems that instead of getting a job, Larry had created his own lil hustle: he'd befriend a family with a sad-sob tale about how he'd found our mother dead and how he was placed in brutal foster homes. Once he had them feeling sorry for him, he'd tell them that if they let him live with them, he'd give them some of his trust fund. Problem was, Larry neglected to tell them that the first part of his trust fund was gone, and he wouldn't be getting the rest of it till he turned twenty-one. So, they'd take him in, expecting a big payoff. After a few weeks of his eating them out of house and home and still seeing no dough, they'd demand some money, at which time Larry would direct them to Jr., who had the unfortunate task of informing them that Larry was broke.

At that point, they'd put Larry out. He didn't care; he'd just go on to the next sucker and start the game all over again. But I guess his supply of suckers soon ran out, because Jr. said he hadn't gotten one of those phone calls in a while, and hadn't heard from Larry since putting him out. Jr. had no idea of his whereabouts now.

I was indifferent to the news about Larry. Of course I hoped Larry was okay, but I'd long since stopped allowing myself to get attached to anyone. I really didn't care if we never saw each other again.

Besides, I was too self-centered to think about anyone else. So now that all the catching up was over, it was time to get back to my problems. Jr. told us the plan to keep me out of the system permanently. He'd been talking to a lawyer friend of his who told him about something called emancipation, which means the law makes a child legally grown before they're biologically grown. Because emancipated minors are considered legal adults, they're able to legally enter contracts and don't require guardians as other minors do. To get me emancipated, Jr. said the lawyer would have to file some papers with the court. The court would then assign someone to investigate me to ensure that I met all the requirements and was truly capable of taking care of myself.

"What are the requirements for this 'emanciation'?" I asked.

"Emancipation," Jr. corrected me. He relayed what the lawyer had told him. First, I'd have to have no living relatives willing to take me. (That one was easy, seeing as no one in my family had ever even offered to take me in, except Aunt Becky. But since L.A. didn't even want me in their county, Aunt Becky wasn't an option.) Second, I'd have to be living as an adult, meaning completely on my own and in my own apartment.

This thing is starting to sound better and better, I thought.

Finally, I'd have to be regularly attending school and be financially capable of taking care of myself, which meant I'd have to get a job.

Damn, there's always a catch!

"It's the only way," Jr. said, ignoring my reaction. "And we need to get the process started as soon as possible, because if we don't, your father is sure to return and take you back to Lancaster."

"He's not my father!" I screamed. I hated when people referred to Mr. Burns as my father. "His name is sperm donor, asshole from now on!" I snapped. "That's all he's ever done, that's all he's ever been, that's all he'll ever be!"

"Okay, okay," Jr. replied. " 'Asshole,' 'jerk,' whatever you want to call him, we've got to beat him to the punch. Like it or not, we all know we haven't seen the last of him."

"Okay, let's do what we gotta do," I sighed.

It was agreed I would stay with Daddy till we could find me an apartment of my own. Meanwhile, we'd look into having my Social Security checks redirected to me so that I'd have some type of income till I got a job. Jr. was going to have his lawyer immediately start the paperwork to petition the court for the emancipation. We'd have to act fast. From day one, Diane and Mr. Burns split all monies-the Social Security and foster care checks-she got for me. So there was no doubt that as soon as Diane stopped receiving money, and as a result stopped forwarding Mr. Burns his share, he was sure to come calling. Whenever money was involved, Mr. Burns always got a sudden urge to see his children.

With the legal business out of the way, we all sat around laughing and talking-mostly Daddy, Jr., and I talked about Momma and our memories of her. 'Cept we never talked about the day she died. That was still too painful. So, we kept it to the good times. It was the first time since Momma's death that I allowed myself to bring her back to the forefront of my memory. Being there with Daddy and Uncle Jr., I felt kind of safe-just like old times.

After Jr. left and Sam went to bed, Daddy and I had a chance to have a down-to-earth talk. One thing Daddy and I agreed on was that although we were still father and daughter, a lot of time had passed since we'd seen each other, and a lot had happened during that time. He said he didn't need to know the details, he could look at me and tell I'd grown up faster than I was supposed to-or needed to. We decided not to try to start from where we'd left off-I, an innocent eleven-year-old girl, and he, a father desperately trying to get his kids. We agreed to just start from where we were now: I, a young woman, already brutally and involuntarily thrown into maturity and self-reliance; and Daddy, a different man who'd rapidly aged as a consequence of being bitter and resentful about losing the only woman he'd ever loved, and the only children he'd ever had. He said he had vowed to never love again-at least not like he'd loved Momma. We were both totally different people from the man and girl who had stood crying in the judge's office years before.

Since we were gettin' real, I thought it would be a good time to ask Daddy about Sam. As I suspected, she was a ho. But daddy said he wasn't her pimp. He said it was more of a "business arrangement." (This I understood! But I kept quiet about my business partners.) It didn't shock me that Daddy was dating a ho. Sam was cool and I liked her. Besides, I felt I was the last person to be passing judgment.

Daddy, Sam, and I hit it off immediately because they knew it was too late to start trying to be parents or for me to try to be a kid. Sam smoked weed, too, so there was always plenty of it around, and Sam and I regularly got high together. Nor did I have to hide my drinking, since Daddy and Sam drank too. Yup, the three of us were like roommates, and I loved it.

- Soon after my return to San Diego, Daddy took me to see Kelly and Lori. They lived in an apartment in the eastern portion of San Diego County called Lemon Grove. Lori looked exactly the same: still skinny, still pale, and still cookin' her butt off! She gave me a big hug and disappeared into the kitchen to make my favorites: macaroni and cheese, and chocolate cake.

Daddy went to help Lori, leaving me and Kelly alone to get caught up. Kelly looked much older than she was and, although she'd never been thin, she was much larger than when I'd last seen her. She told me it was because she'd never lost the fifty-five-plus pounds she'd gained from pregnancy, but the weight gain had been well worth it because she adored her little boy, Jason. I was impressed with her motherly devotion until I realized that Kelly wasn't really taking care of Jason. Her mother did most of the hard work. Lori fed Jason, bathed him, and changed his shitty diapers; she cleaned up his vomit and sat up all night rocking him when he was crying, fussy, and refused to go to sleep. Kelly dropped out of school and spent most of her days lying around the house, watching TV, or hanging out with her homies. She came and went as she pleased and only played with Jason when he was clean, fed, smelling good, and happy. The part I loved, though, was when I found out that although Lori did all the hard work, Kelly still got to keep the welfare check she received every month for Jason.

What a life!

For a moment, I thought about getting pregnant again, because, shoot, Kelly looked like she had it going on-the joys of motherhood without the work, plus she got a monthly check. I was starting to seriously contemplate this plan when I remembered that it was only Kelly's mother who allowed Kelly to escape the responsibilities and demanding tasks of motherhood. I didn't have a mother. So I abandoned what I realized had been a stupid idea.

Besides, what good is having children if they ain't gon' have no grandma to love and spoil them?

Up until that point, I wouldn't allow myself to think about my own grandma. But I suddenly found myself missing her. I got teary-eyed as I thought about her and reminded myself to have Jr. take me to see her. I made another mental note to remember to never have children-since I truly believed you had to have a mother for that.