A new beginning

Three years later Quisha was moving to Detroit. It had taken her longer than she anticipated. She never told her mother the real reason she’d moved out, but her mother had been hinting at her leaving when she turned eighteen anyway, and it was just as well.

Quisha eventually saved up enough money for airfare and still gave money to her mother to help with her younger siblings and that delayed her.

Her mother eventually left Dennis; his cheating finally came to a head and her mother got tired of his lies.

Quisha come back home. Dennis is gone. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind as she looked out the airplane window. She took a deep sigh and looked towards her future as the plane landed at Detroit Metro Airport. It was her first plane ride and her first time out of her small town altogether.

Grabbing up her bags, she headed outside and waited for her cousin Bridget, who arrived a few minutes later. She hadn’t seen Quisha in years, but she recognized her right off the bat. She got out of her car and walked around to hug her.

“Hey, Cuz,” Bridget said and embraced her cousin.

“Hey,” Quisha said and hugged her back.

“It’s good to see you; it’s been what—about ten years since we’ve seen each other last?” Bridget asked.

“Yes,” Quisha responded.

“Back then you was a little skinny, no breast, no butt girl,” Bridget teased. “But look at you now. You got your mother’s cute figure. She always was tits and ass,” Bridget said and laughed.

“I guess,” Quisha said as she got into the car and looked out the window as they left the airport. She never really got out much, so the scenery was exciting.

“What’s that coming up?” Quisha asked of the giant tire on the side of the road.

“Oh, that’s the Uniroyal tire,” Bridget laughed. It’s been a part of my life my whole life, so I

guess I’m not as impressed.”

The cousins made small talk and eventually pulled up to Bridget’s three-bedroom ranch-style home on Detroit’s Northwest side. It was a cute brick house—the street was clean and neat and so far nothing like what Quisha’s friend, Tamla tried to scare her with.

“This is your room,” Bridget said, directing her towards the back of the house. Each of her children had their own room, but now her daughters had to share a room. They were young enough not to care. The room was small and juvenile, covered in pink paint with Black ballerina decals on the wall, but it was clean and would serve what Quisha hoped would be a short purpose.

By month two, Quisha had a job working at a local mall and hoped to start school that fall. She didn’t have a car and had to rely on public transportation, which was often late. She would sit on the bus and dream of her car—her Bentley-and a smile would curve her lips. One day.

* * *

One year later

Quisha eventually found her groove. She juggled work, school and getting study time in when Bridget’s children went to sleep. She saved up for and eventually got a car, which helped, especially during the winter months. Snow and weather colder than forty degrees was not something she was used to.

“Girl, I tried to tell you,” Bridget said one day. Quisha had come to Michigan ill-equipped to handle the harsh winters. She didn’t have a heavy coat or boots. She came to love winter in Michigan once she got used to the cold. Especially around Christmas time with the snow.

She even went to the Christmas tree-trimming ceremony in downtown Detroit. Bridget piled everyone into her car and they made an evening of it. As the children ate smores by a giant bonfire, a group of cute guys came over to make small talk with Quisha and Bridget.

“You need to get that stick out of your ass. You’re too uptight,” Bridget told her when the guys gave up and walked away.

“I don’t think I’m uptight,” Quisha argued. “I want to complete school. And a man doesn’t figure in my plans right now.”

“I understand. I was teasing,” Bridget said. “But that one guy was really cute.”

“Cute doesn’t pay the bills and working at dead-end jobs barely does either. So excuse me for wanting to better myself,” Quisha said, a little perturbed. Her cousin was always trying to pawn different men off on her when school and getting her education were priority number one.

“No, I get it,” Bridget said and left Quisha alone.

* * *

College~second semester

One night while Quisha walked to her car on campus, a man’s voice from behind startled her.

“Hey, girl,” he said and looked her over.

“Hi,” she said tentatively, but she kept him at arm’s length. She’d seen him on campus from time to time, but he never seemed to be going to class, or seemed to be there for the purpose of learning.

“What can I help you with?” she asked and took out her phone just in case the situation went sideways. He caught on.

“My name is Kevin—don’t worry, I’m not a criminal,” he said with a smile. “I just wanted to give you my card. I’m a recruiter looking for new talents. I applaud your efforts for going to school,” he continued. “But, um, I know a place where you can make at least five hundred a night, and that is the low end,” he said and handed her a card.

Quisha watched the stranger walk away, but she didn’t study the card until she was safely in her car. She glanced at it, shrugged her shoulders and put it in the glove compartment.

* * *

That night

“Girl, some guy approached me on campus trying to recruit me for a stripper pole—please,” Quisha told Bridget.

“Don’t knock it. I’ve done it,” Bridget said and stopped when Quisha looked at her.

“Well—it was before children and stretch marks,” Bridget said laughing. “Matter of fact, shaking my ass is what helped buy me this house,” she continued. “I mean it helped to pay my tuition. I danced for two years. So I can’t knock a woman for doing it to further her life goals,” Bridget finished.

The two women stayed up late talking and catching up on the week’s events. They may have shared a house, but they both had busy schedules and only saw each other in passing.

“Hell, if I still had my figure I would ask you for that card,” Bridget said. The women laughed until they were too tired to stay up any longer.

* * *

A few months later

Bridget was back to her normal self. She had left Quisha alone for a while. Bridget wanted Quisha to loosen up and mingle with the rest of the world.

“Get up and get dressed—we’re going out,” Bridget told her one night Quisha she lay across the bed studying.

“You’re determined to help me fail aren’t you,” Quisha joked, but she was half serious.

“No,” Bridget responded. “I just know you can study and have a little fun too. I did it and look where I am,” she said and spread her arms wide to show off the home they shared. She often boasted of the money she made too. She was a first generation college graduate in her family and was proud of how far she had come and where she was now.

“Come on,” Bridget pleaded.

Quisha closed her book and got up to shower and dress.

“Where are we going?” She asked Bridget as they drove to their destination.

“There’s this new bar downtown that’s really hard to get into,” Bridget said. “A friend of a friend told me to give his name at the door and we will be let in,” Bridget said and parked the car. They walked passed a line of people standing outside. Bridget gave the person’s name and was let in promptly. She smiled at Quisha.

“Told you,” she said confidently.

Quisha was tired from studying and working, but she let her hair down a little and stood by the bar as Bridget danced. As the patrons danced, a tall, strikingly good-looking and well-dressed White man with a neatly trimmed beard and piercing eyes caught her attention.

It was something about him she couldn’t pinpoint. She admired him briefly before Bridget came back over to her.

“That was fun,” Bridget said.

The women made small talk and swayed to the music as they people-watched. They laughed and pointed at some of the people who didn’t have any rhythm.

“He’s Black—he should know better,” Bridget said and both women were reduced to a fit of laughter again.

“Compliments from that guy over there,” the bartender said, interrupting them. The ladies followed his finger to the good-looking, well-dressed White man that Quisha had noticed earlier. He raised his glass to them and they did likewise.

“He is gorgeous,” Bridget said. “I’m going to have to go out with you more often,” she said. Quisha often drew attention from men wherever she went. She was naturally pretty, but sometimes over-enhanced her looks with makeup. Bridget was slightly envious, but she loved her cousin. They expected the man to join them, but were a little relieved when he got sidelined by some other people.

When the ladies had their fill for the night they headed home.

“That was a fine White man,” Bridget said.

“Yes, he was,” Quisha agreed. “I spotted him earlier.”

“I don’t mess with them though,” Bridget said.

“Why?” Quisha asked.

“Girl, I ain’t trying to be some White man’s midnight booty.”

“What?”

“You know. They don’t mind sexing you behind closed doors, but don’t want to parade you on their arm in public,” she finished. They were quiet the rest of the trip home—tired from the day and night. When they got home it was after two and even though she was dog tired, Quisha stayed up another hour-and-a-half to finish reading for an exam.