The Lore of Ace

Hi, names Ace and I am not one of the guys.

I am not a tomboy. This wasn’t a choice, it was a necessity. It was survival. 

I grew up in Tulsa, OK. An urban town, in a rural state. Whatever the fuck that means. Uh idk…anyways…where white people had it all and brown folks like me didn’t. Gram said it was on account of the fact that the town put a railroad between the haves and have nots. Sanctioned us off. I believe this is what they call red-lining. My family ended up on the wrong side of the tracks. Where people from the rich side would either look at us disgusted or afraid. I'm mixed though. Moms white, Dad’s black, which came with its own confusion. But I’ll get into that later. I’m whatchu call light skinned. I have hazel eyes which I think are pretty most of the time. When they catch the light they look green. That’s why my favorite color is green or purple because purple makes green look good and green is just a fucking tuff color. 

Growing up I always felt like an outsider. Not many people in Tulsa were mixed. I got stares from both sides. Got bullied by a lot of black girls and laughed at by a lot of white ones. I never felt I fit in anywhere until I met my chosen family. Which happened to be a big ol group of guys which is funny because trusting men was real hard from a young age. I was 4 when I learnt that. 

In the concrete room of my grents house, where we would go if there were tornadoes, I was playing dress up with some of my grams’ old garments. I loved putting on her bright colored sweater, the one that had little beaded dolls dangling from all sides. My ma and her boyfriend had showed up to my grents house uninvited. He came downstairs, entered the concrete room and shut the door behind him. He said “come and give me a kiss.” I stood there frozen, I felt my heart pull into my esophagus. It felt like everything was twisting up in my throat. He stalked across the room and put his lips on mine and began sucking on my bottom lip. My eyes were wide open. All my muscles tensed up into a rock. Even though I couldn’t formulate words in my head for myself to explain what was going on, I knew I didn’t want it. He pulled away slowly. I couldn’t move and that's all I wanted to do. He stared into my eyes and told me what a good little girl I was and that he loved me. And that I should get up the stairs and help my grandparents. I began to back away slowly like I was trying to get a rottweiler not to bite me. Then I ran upstairs and couldn’t speak for the entire day. 

Adults think we won’t remember things as kids when we grow up. But all of my memories like this one are burned to the inside of my skull. Forming permanent grooves in my brain. 

I grew up with my brothers Steve and Bales. They ain’t my real brothers but they are the closest I’ll ever get. And we were basically raised under one roof. Bales is tall, with honeycomb skin like mine and Steve is short, darker than me, with a strong jawline…he’s the type of guy you don’t want to mess with, if you get him angry…but on the inside he’s soft as mush. Bales, on thé other hand, is even tempered, super good at cookin’ anything (unless you hate butter) and can handle a knife like nobody’s bidness. We all get into fights with each other. I have to admit, I poke at them to start something. But in the end I always wish I didn’t. Even though I can hold my own..they always win. Getting them real riled up is a losing battle. All that’s play. In real life, I know they will always have my back.  I ran around with the guys but when gram would see me with my brothers and all their friends, she’d say, “What are other people gonna think, gonna say? You gotta think about your reputation.” I never really gave a fuck about that. Tearing around town with them was fun. Boys had a certain typa freedom that made me feel like a wild animal. 

My ma gave me up when I was born. I was born in Cook County, IL. Gram said that was a rough part of Illinois. I wouldn’t know. All I know is that my gramps got a call saying my ma had left me in a drawer, like she was using it as a crib. She stepped out for 3 more days than the person who was taking care of me thought she would. Probably to buy her drug of choice at the time. Cocaine, I believe. I never tried it…I don't think i ever will...she left me with someone who called and said “you need to come get this baby, her mom ain’t doing good.” Gramps drove up all the way from Tulsa, OK to get me. He buckled me up in my carrier right next to him in the front seat. He said I didn’t say a peep all the way home. I was probably already so comfortable in his presence I guess. 

Gram and gramps raised me up until about 8 and then gramps passed away due to many health conditions and gram because she was his swan. A broken heart. They say that swans mate for life and when one dies that grief takes over the other. That’s what happened to her. They were really something else special. They lit up this world. Helped everyone they could. The energy they both had and generosity towards everyone in their life was unmatched. 

Life really changed after that. I had to go live with my aunt, my mom’s sister. She would sleep all day and then drink all night with different men. Some, more constant than others. Bales, Steve and I had a whole lotta freedom due to this. We tore around the neighborhood, stealing gum from the gas station, smoking grass, like real grass and whatever else our hearts wanted to do. But sometimes I was left alone with Auntie. I had to watch my tongue otherwise I'd get cracked with a belt. Praying always that it wasn’t the thinner one. That one left marks. 

Bales’ father lived with us for a while, he was a big guy. At times, he felt like a pops to me. He was super funny, had a big ol smile and would share these elaborate stories to pass time. He was also a jealous man. He threw our dog Lucky down a full flight of stairs one time. Just because my aunt said Hi to some man at the convenience store. When he wasn’t whipping us…which left cuts. He was getting into my aunt. 

After dinner one night she was sassin’ him back about some guy that she had become friends with. I don’t know if it was more than that or not but like I said before…he was a jealous man. He grabbed her from the kitchen chair, put her on the table and began to strangle her. Bales, Steve and I tried to get him to stop but we were so little at the time. He overpowered us by a long shot. He bucked us off his back and all three of us flung to the floor.. I hit my head and was knocked unconscious. But Bales and Steve saw the rest. Auntie, grasping furiously and flailing her legs, finally got purchase with her foot through the window. She was bleeding and shards of glass were sticking out of her shin. That got him to snap out of his rage.

She said looking into his eyes that night felt like another entity had grabbed hold of his spirit. 

I’ve seen rage like that. Recently in a white boy’s eyes towards me. He told me ugly n***** don’t belong here no matter how light they are. He said girl or boy...or whatever the hell you are. Ugly don’t belong on this side of the tracks. I was just trying to buy milk that wasn’t expired. Being called a n***** wasn’t what hurt me most. It was ugly that cut me. 

I liked wearing dresses and experimenting with makeup when I was little because gram introduced me to all of that. She was a beautician. So, I got dolled up with her. But I quickly realized the gaze of men. I felt their eyes, predator-like. Looking at me as if I was something they wanted to tear into. Something they wanted a piece of. Didn’t matter how old I was. My ass was always an object of desire. So, when I was 12 I started dressing like the guys, I started leaving my hair natural and I took my switchblade to it. I knew that this would get the gaze off of me. In my own home, I noticed that men who were visiting my auntie wouldn’t give me 2 looks. This felt like safety. It didn’t stop all of 'em though. 

On a night that felt chillier than ever, my aunt had a man over for some late drinkin’. I passed out in their back and forth storm of words. I was used to sleeping in the noise. In the middle of the night I heard my bedroom door creek open. The smell of cologne and whiskey filled my nose and footsteps rattled my ears. I was dumb tired and my brain was all fogged up.. I said, “Bales...is that you.” And then I felt raw flesh, like cowhide or like sandpaper on my stomach rising up to my chest. I got up quicker than a cat in water and socked whoever it was right in their temple. Not on purpose I have to say. Knocked him straight out. I ran to the light, switched it on. It was Bales’ father. 

I ran away that very night. Bales, Steve and I started wandering the town streets and on a warm sunny afternoon, where puffy clouds were scattered amongst the blue, we ran into a boy named Two-Bit. He had skin that glowed in the sun, curly wavy hair and gave off the air of an island of paradise. Even though I had had all this trouble with men, I felt safe with him instantly. He was respectful and cared too much about fighting, superheros, and Mickey Mouse to care about much of anything else. We became close friends. Friends is all my brother’s friends wanted to be with me anyways.

Plus, everyone was into the white prom queen type girls. Blue eyed blondies. Straight silky hair. The kinda hair you can run your fingers through without it getting stuck an inch from your scalp. I envy girls like that. Walking around with freedom to be. I don’t want to be white or anything. I like that I’m unique. That’s what gram and gramps said growing up. “You’re so unique. You won’t see yourself comin’ and going” but I think unique comes with a price sometimes. The soc girls seem like they never had anything that taught them, they were unsafe to be who they want to be. That’s the freedom I crave. Because I am boylike people treat me as if I’m so strong, that I can handle anything but I can’t. Some days I’m so sick of being strong. I want to be held. I want to surrender to the softness inside. Some days I want a boy to lay their coat down on the mud so my heels don’t get dirty. I want someone to tell me how beautiful I am. And for someone to look at me with eyes of protection. Anyways…like i was saying, Two-Bit felt safe. He taught me how to fight. When I told him about my punch to the temple of Bales’ father, he started calling me Ace. That’s how my name came about.

I started stealing books from the library about what Ace meant. I came upon a book at the local library about how a card deck had all types of meanings behind each card. Like spiritual meanings. The ace of spades looked tuff. I started reading about an American troop that sent the ace of spades to a Vietnamese troop before battle and the Vietnamese troop was so superstitious about it, that they didn’t come the next day. American soldiers would leave the ace of spades on battlefields after they had won and this shook their opponents. This card is the death card, but also the highest rank and most powerful. I needed to be feared to be respected. So that story of me becoming a sharp hitter got around town and I became Ace to everyone. 

Two-Bit, Bales and Steve brought me to this gang of guys that they had hung out with every time I was left with Auntie. They call themselves the Greasers. We go to the Curtis’ brothers house a lot. The older one, I call him superman but his name is Darrel, makes us chocolate cake a lot. Steve is always complaining that it’s too dry. Which most of the time it is but there’s so much frosting that I can barely tell. Soda the middle one is the sweetheart of the bunch, he has a crush on me but I just give him shit. I love the jokes we throw at each other. Ponyboy is sensitive and writes a lot. I got a huge soft spot for that kid. There’s also Dally, who has quite the rep but I’m not afraid of him. I get him. I understand why he is the way he is. And then Johnny who I want to hold and keep safe like a porcelain doll, wrap him up in the bubble stuff and store him in a safe spot forever. Now that my blood family is gone, this is my family. I don’t know what I would do without them. 

Death has a way of softening and hardening you at the same time. The numbness and sudden sharp stabs. My mom died of a heart attack at 11pm on August 17th. The emt found her on the grass outside of her friend’s house. She was already gone. They put her on life support. But there was too much brain damage. Even though I never really knew her, I know that there is so much about me that is her. Gram told me she was a scrappy little girl. And super intelligent. She would dance around their living room, crazy energy and a knack for blowing bubbles with bazooka gum. I don’t care what anyone says, you can’t blow bubbles with bazooka gum, it's trash. So if she could do that, I know she was really something raw. Just got caught up in a lot of shit. I get angry thinkin’ about her abandoning me in that drawer at times. How gram and gramps would have done anything for her, like they did for me. Sometimes, it feels like a relief that she’s gone. There’s no hoping anymore that one day she will come and hold me and be the mom I needed. But for the rest of my life I think I'll wonder…did she love me, was she proud of me, did she daydream about me? 

She was wearing a watch when she passed. It’s eerie to think about time still ticking as she lay there. I wear it now every day. Still smells of cigarettes, still ticking and reminding me that it will keep going and I will one day not.

My dad died on July 6th 1961. When I asked the grents about what happened to him they’d just say he didn’t get very far but never explained until I was 7. They always gave me answers that they felt would protect me. But Bales’ father told me he was hung in the greenwood district on archer street. Right off the corner of my grandparents house. I think he was running to them.

Death doesn’t scare me anymore. I think about it often. About 10 times a day. And I honestly have peace about going. Life can be brutal. Imagining the weight being lifted off my shoulders is peaceful. I’m not suicidal or anything. Just not afraid of it. Before gram passed she said that her blessings had much outweighed the bad. Some days, I don’t know if that’s true for me. So, I guess I don’t mind to keep fighting to see if that scale tips.