Free Like a Woman by Debra Busman Page A

I really like this one,” she smiled, pointing to the black case with turquoise beadwork. She hadn’t seen Jackson come in, but she could feel her presence and had noticed both the pimple-faced suit and the other red vest move quickly over to firearms.
    Her bald red vest was becoming much less attentive so she figured he had spotted Jackson as well. He took out the black leather case, cradling it in soft, pudgy hands. “Now, this is a pretty one. You got good taste, little lady. I know your daddy would really like this one, but it will cost you quite a few weeks of allowance money.”
    â€œOh, I’ve been saving up for this,” Taylor crooned. Then the call came over the loudspeaker for manager assistance in the firearms section. Taylor wished she could go over and watch Jackson in action, but she knew this was her move. The red vest excused himself and said he’d let her decide.
    â€œThank you for all your help. I think I can take care of myself now.”
    It was all too easy. Taylor had the knife case in her pocket and was out the door on Jackson’s new bicycle in less than a minute. She didn’t think anyone was after her, but she tore through the alley down to 23 rd before circling back to Cindy’s garage just to be sure. Waiting for Jackson, she checked out the bike, thinking, Damn, leave it to that girl to pick out the best damn bike in the place from two hundred yards away .
    â€œNice bike.” Jackson was leaning up against the door, smiling.
    Taylor blushed, startled. “I got it for you, baby.”
    â€œThey just made that too damn easy,” Jackson said. “My mama always said fools be so busy watching out for black folks that they never see the white ones robbing them blind.”
    â€œI’m not sure this is exactly what your mama had in mind.” Taylor laughed.
    â€œYeah, whatever. It works. Anyway, I got something for you too, baby.” Jackson pulled something out from under her jacket and handed it to Taylor.
    â€œHot damn, it’s a fucking tool belt,” Taylor exclaimed. “It’s beautiful! Check out this leather. I gotta steal me some more tools for all these little holders. What you think goes in here? How the hell did you get this out?”
    â€œWell, those three boys were so busy chasing some skinny white girl on a bicycle down the street, I just figured, what the hey, and helped myself.” Jackson paused. “Probably shoulda gotten me a gun while I was at it.”
    â€œYou’re the best.”
    â€œYeah, guess I am.”

the mother sucks the baby’s marrow
    the mother sucks the baby’s marrow out of her existence. the baby curls into her pain, fetal, futile. body closed, eyes closed, mouth closed in toothless grip on tiny pink thumb, feeding herself. little mouth sucking sounds like puppies on a teat. the young girl gnaws her nails down low, biting torn and crooked bits and spitting them away. “I AM NOT GIRL. I AM NOT PRETTY.” eyes glaring. mouth working like a wolf caught in a cold steel trap, leaving its leg behind. the woman’s mouth, too, reaches for fingers and nails. a lineage of pain eating at the hunger. because mouths don’t think about what it is they’re doing. because mouths reach blind for whatever is at hand .

like a woman
    The other girls tell me I am going to have to dress like a woman if I’m going to make it on the street. “Screw you.” I laugh. “I’ve been fucked all my life and I’ve never had to wear a dress yet.”
    â€œJust tryin’ to help you out, girl,” they call out as they walk on down Santa Monica Boulevard, ankles bowed out over wobbly spike heels, popping their gum and adjusting their spaghetti-strap bras as if they had something special going on down there. Don’t none of us ’cept Lisa have any tits yet, and even if I had ’em I wasn’t about to go dressin’ in no drag shit. For one