Page 1 of Blake University: HBCU Chronicles: Brynleigh & A.Z.
brYNLEIGH HOWARD
Bobbing my head up and down, I hummed along with the Rod Wave song that was blasting from the speakers mounted on the wall of the suite that I was cleaning.
Vigorously, I wiped down the tattoo chair then proceeded to wipe down the counters, chairs, and anything else that a person could have touched.
My boss, Penz entered the room and grabbed his bookbag from the hook on the wall.
“I’m done in here,” I announced dropping the wipes I’d used in the trash.
“Cool.” He gave a curt nod. After I put the cleaner back in its rightful place, he hit the light switch, and we walked to the front of the tattoo shop. “Be safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You be safe too.”
Penz locked the door while I made my way to my black Toyota Corolla.
Once I was inside the car, I glanced at my watch and realized that I was supposed to be meeting Craig in five minutes but was at least ten minutes away.
Wasting people’s time wasn’t something that I liked to do, so I attempted to rush while being careful because I didn’t need a ticket or an accident.
I loved being the assistant of a very popular tattoo artist, and he paid me well, but it wasn’t like I was a brain surgeon.
He paid me a nice salary, but I wasn’t rich, and shit was expensive.
My Corolla was nine years old, and I prayed that it wouldn’t give out before I could afford to replace it.
Not to mention I didn’t need any new or unexpected expenses, so a ticket which would cost me fines and make my insurance go up was out of the question.
Needing extra money was the entire reason that I was meeting Craig.
He had the plug on ecstasy and molly, and I knew plenty of college kids that loved to take the party drugs.
Shit, it wasn’t just college students, but they were my biggest market.
I refused to sell any to high school kids.
My sister told me I was the only drug dealer with morals that she knew.
Doing that shit just didn’t sit well with my spirit.
Adults, however, could do what they wanted to do, and if they wanted to take drugs, I would serve them.
Being that I couldn’t afford college, but I had goals and dreams, I had to do what I had to do.
I stuck with Craig because he was solid.
He wasn’t out there selling that synthetic bullshit or pills laced with Fentanyl.
When I pulled into the gas station, his red Kia was already parked on the side of the building. As soon as I parked beside him, he got out of his car and into mine.
“Sorry I’m late,” I apologized before his 5’11 frame was even inside the car all the way.
“You good. I’ve only been out here about two minutes myself.”
Another reason that I liked dealing with Craig was the fact that he kept things strictly about business.
He didn’t flirt with me or make cringy inappropriate comments.
And I damn sure didn’t try to flirt with him to get discounts.
We were cordial but kept things short and about business.
I couldn’t stand a thirsty ass man that had to make everything sexual or awkward.
Opening my center console, I pulled out the money that had already been counted and set aside for him. He passed me a sandwich bag full of ecstasy pills then another that contained molly. I for sure wasn’t about to count the pills, so I would assume that he gave me the correct amount.
“Nice doing business with you. Be safe.” Craig nodded his head at me and got out of the car.
Despite the fact that I’d been selling drugs for the past five months, my palms still sweated every time I made a purchase.
The entire time I drove home with the pills in m y possession, my heart beat a little faster than normal.
The last thing I needed was a drug charge.
On the other hand, struggling to make ends meet forever wasn’t an option either.
The money that I made from husting went either into my savings account or toward furthering my education.
I was currently taking a Safe Sleep class along with Infant CPR and First Aid.
My desire was to become a night doula. I also wanted to become certified to teach certain courses.
I wanted to start my own business that catered to new moms. I wanted to be more than a ‘babysitter’ or a ‘nanny.’ I wanted to run a legit business that allowed new mothers to get rest while being assured that their little one was in good hands.
It was so important for women that had just given birth to feel supported, seen, and to be well rested.
Too many women didn’t have help after giving birth for whatever reason.
Once I got my foot in the door and began getting clients, I would then hire staff and eventually have an entire agency of night doulas as well as post-partum doulas.
I had one more week of the Safe Sleep class, then I was going to take a class on breastfeeding support.
Along with taking classes and getting certified in various things, I was also saving to get my own place.
At the age of twenty-four, I had never lived completely alone.
After leaving my mom’s house, I moved in with my sister, Breesha.
She made more money than me and wanted to help me get on my feet, so I only paid the light bill and bought food and cleaning supplies.
Rent on a decent place was well over $1,000 a month, and I’d need everything from furniture to pots and pans, so my money needed to be right before I even started looking at places.
Life was hard as shit, but I was trying my hardest to get it together.
Selling pills had been lucrative so far.
I just wanted to stack a few more thousand then stop because I damn sure wouldn’t be getting hired to be anyone’s night doula with a drug charge on my record.
I drove under the speed limit on the way home because I wasn’t taking any chances.
I had been living with my sister for exactly one year, and I hoped to be in my own place in the next three months or so.
Living with Bree was cool, but having my own space would be better.
Bree was twenty-one and though she was only younger than me by three years, she was still on her shit and that made me feel like I was slacking.
She was lucky enough to have a huge following on social media.
We were both popular in high school, but I was the cool tomboy that was friends with everyone, and Bree was the pretty girl that all the older guys wanted, and all the females wanted to be friends with.
Our parents kept us fly, and Bree loved taking pictures and being a social butterfly.
By the age of eighteen, she had more than ten thousand followers on IG.
Bree decided to start a YouTube channel, and by the time she was twenty, she was seeing no less than $15,000 a month from IG, Tik Tok, and YouTube.
From there, you couldn’t tell her shit. Being so young and making so much money on a monthly basis was a learning experience for her.
Her first few months, she blew money on designer purses, trips, shoes, and jewelry.
That put her in a position to catch the eye of ballers, some local and some that flew her out.
When they started spending money on her, she got smarter with her own money and decided to get her own place.
Bree lived in a luxury apartment building, drove a brand-new BMW, and her condo was decorated with the most expensive items she could find.
She was living the life for sure. I didn’t envy her.
She was my sister. I was proud of her, but I was ready to find my purpose.
Not even the money that she earned made me want to try my hand at being an influencer.
I liked to bullshit and have fun on social media, but I wasn’t trying to turn it into a job.
Bree and I looked a lot alike. She was 5’6 with pecan brown skin, a slim thick frame thanks to genetics and her skinny BBL.
We both had flat stomachs and tiny waists.
When Bree decided she wanted a BBL, she had to gain seven pounds just so they’d have some fat to remove.
God didn’t show us any love when He was passing out breasts.
Bree was an A cup, and I was a strong B.
She had already made an appointment to get her boobs done, but I was good with what I had.
I stood 5’8 and weighed 130 pounds. No big boobs or childbearing hips, but my booty looked good in tight jeans and leggings, so I wasn’t too mad.
While I liked a good time, most of the college parties and kickbacks I went to were for the purpose of selling pills.
Bree on the other hand got paid to make content, and her followers wanted to see her young, turnt, and living her best life.
Four to five days out of the week, she was in somebody’s hookah lounge, club, or five-star restaurant.
Bree could literally do her makeup and get dressed up on a Tuesday to have dinner with her homegirls.
Sometimes, she’d go places alone and people would watch just to see if she would post who she was with.
People were always interested in who she was dating.