My first crack deal

I heard my mother calling me. "Lia." I walked into the living room. "Yes?" "I want you to go downstairs to meet someone for me. Give her this." My mother placed a piece of crack in my hand. It was presentably packaged in a plastic sandwich bag. "Get the money first," she said. "Alright." I walked downstairs and waited for the woman. My mother didn’t tell me her name or what she looked like. After a bit, someone knocked on the hallway door. I opened it. She was a white woman, a brunette with beautiful eyes. She reminded me of one of Barbie's friends. "Where’s your mother," she asked. "Upstairs." She was uncomfortable. We both stood there, quietly. Neither of us wanted to ask, 'Where's the money?' or 'You got the stuff?' But one of us had to. So I went first. "Where’s the money?" She reached into her pocket, pulled out a ten-dollar bill and gave it to me. I safely secured the money in my hand then gave her the crack. I watched her leave the building. I went back upstairs to our apartment. My mother asked, "Where’s the money?" I gave her the ten dollars. She went back into the kitchen behind the venetian blind. And I went back into my bedroom. That was my first crack deal. I was eleven years old.
Tags