Scraping By (Post-Script, Part I)

Their ramshackle house stunk of weed and liquor and piss and sex, Elizabeth thought, feeling a little grouchy for not the first time. She was making more money now, as a ho, but just when she thought she was on her feet, Moses had stopped paying over any of Douglas's child support, she was back to being in the gutter.

"Happy MLK Day, Mommy!" Katie said brightly. She was watching BET, as she always did. Her friends were Black. The cultural she consumed was Black, as was that of her white siblings. It would be the only world she knew, Elizabeth thought. She picked up her daughter, kissing her despite her fatigue.

"Happy MLK Day, baby," she said. Truthfully, she'd forgot. She was scraping by with the chicken job and the ho/stripper job. But the booze was pricey ... and the **** were too. Her dealer gave her some for sexual services, but she could still barely keep food on the table.

"Can we go to the parade, Mommy?" Katie asked. She didn't mean the fancy parade downtown, the 'white' parade. She meant what passed as a parade here.

"Sure, baby, we can sit on the stoop and watch," she said wearily. She looked at the help wanted ads. She needed something to feed the kids and feed her addictions. Hmm ... a maid. On the white side of town. Shit, was that her old neighborhood?

She fed herself and the kids some cheese grits. Then they watched the jalopies go by, the folk celebrating.

"Go inside," she told the kids, kissing Katie on the cheek. They went in, but Elizabeth lingered.

"Hey bitch!" one of the thugs yelled. "Give us a show!" Elizabeth smiled despite herself, pulling up her robe to reveal her thonged ass, with the Black power and Africa tattoos prominent. And she started shaking, her own lewd contribution as she heard the men cheer.