Don't Let The Lipstick Fool You:. Lisa Leslie
routes through all forty-eight states and into Canada and Mexico. Her CB radio moniker was Sugar Chris, and her driving motto was, “I don’t go fast, but I do go steady.” She hauled all kinds of cargo in that truck, from baby diapers to washing machines to tomato sauce, and when school was out, Mom would haul Tiffany and me in her cab, too. We would spend the summer driving across America, talking, laughing, and, along the way, doing our shopping for the coming school year.
On the road, my mother was always trying to keep costs down, so we would stay at places like Days Inn. Their rooms were inexpensive, and kids under twelve got to eat breakfast for free. One morning the waitress came over to take our orders. Mom told her what she wanted, and then she explained that Tiffany and I would be getting the free breakfast. I was ten at the time but was already very tall for my age. The waitress looked at me, then looked at my mom and asked, with a bit of attitude, “Are you trying to tell me that this big old girl is only ten years old?”
The whole thing made me really uncomfortable. Mom told the waitress that I really was ten, and when the woman got kind of fussy about it, my mother had the manager come to our table. Mom explained the problem to him, and the manager looked across the table at me. Mom said, “Let me explain it this way.” She got out of her chair and stood up, all six feet three inches of her. The man seemed to get the picture, and I got my free breakfast.
Mom had all kinds of interesting experiences on the road. One night at a truck stop in Garland, Texas, she saw a poster for a “win a truck” contest that WMAQ Radio was holding. She filled out an entry form, and unbelievably, Mom won the contest and a new 1996 Ford truck. She got to add all kinds of bells and whistles to it, all the chrome and accessories that she liked, and that brand new rig put Mom into the elite fleet of trucking. She started hauling high-priced commodities. Sony rented her entire truck just to send one small computer from New York City to Anaheim, California. T.G.I. Friday’s hired her to haul one handmade telephone booth, worth a half-million dollars, from Hickory, North Carolina, to San Francisco.
Of course, the driving was not easy. Mom had to haul through rain, sleet, snow, gusting winds, and lightning storms. She jackknifed her truck three times but, fortunately, never got seriously injured. On one trip to Columbus, Mom was driving on a highway in Ohio, and the snow was blowing sideways across the road. Her trailer was empty and very light, so when a fierce wind whipped up, it blew that rig right off the road. The truck was in a ditch, and Mom was stuck in waist-deep snow.
I worried about her constantly when she was away, but the thing that troubled me most was that she could come home only if she got a load that brought her near Los Angeles. After driving from Alabama to Phoenix, for example, Mom would check in with her dispatcher to see if she could get some cargo to haul from Phoenix to L.A.
On those occasions, Mom could usually spend two or three days with us. We could hear her truck pulling into Compton from a block away because it was so loud. She would drive up with her big trailer and then back that rig up, move it forward, and back it up again until she was perfectly parked in front of our house. Tiffany and I would be in our front yard, jumping up and down and cheering her on. We were always so excited. Mom would shut down the truck, step out of her door, and step right back into our lives again, even if it was just for a short time. Tiffany and I would yell and scream as we ran to greet her, and it did not matter that she was dirty, grimy, and sleep-deprived. For her whole stay, we practically attached ourselves to her hips. She would tell us stories from the road, and we hung on every word.
When it came time for Mom to leave, Tiffany and I would promise ourselves that we would not cry. But when she climbed into her truck, we could not hold back the tears. I would hold Tiffany, and we would watch the truck drive away until it disappeared from sight. Then I would do what I had done so many times before. I would sit by the door and cry, and then I would pull out the photo album and look at the pictures of Mom and me holding hands. She was just so beautiful to me. I would look at her picture and wonder where she was, where she was going, why she had to leave me. I was never angry with her about it, but I was always a little hurt.
One of Mom’s friends looked after us the first year she was on the road, but then Mom thought leaving us with family would be a better idea, so my Aunt Pete came in from Texas to help. Her real name was Minerva. She was my grandmother’s younger sister, and she brought her teenage daughter, Kriscita, with her. When Kriscita came to California I did not know her, but my favorite cousin Braquel did. Kriscita appeared to be very conservative and proper. She talked with an accent, kept her hair in a ponytail with a bow, and only wore dresses, very long dresses. Kriscita was a breath of fresh air to me because she was so sweet. She was a Christian, always had her Bible, and never cursed, and she would not bow to peer pressure. This girl stood up for what she believed. I was impressed with her. She stayed with me in my room, while Dionne kept Tiffany and Marquis with her. I was excited to have my cousin in our home. I thought Kriscita could do no wrong.
But Braquel had a very different opinion. “Girl, don’t believe a word Kriscita says,” she warned. “She is such a liar. All this sweet stuff is just an act.” I did not believe her.
Maybe it was all an act, or maybe Kriscita’s new California lifestyle was a bad influence. I cannot be sure, but before long, Kriscita was completely out of control. She swore, wore suggestive clothes, and even dated one of her high school teachers as a student. She was also really disrespectful to her mother. All that “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am” had gone out the window.
Then there was Aunt Pete. She was like a character out of a movie. At times, she was fun-loving. But most times, she fussed and cussed about everything. Her negative personality was the complete opposite of my mom’s. She barked commands and called me names. “Get your tall, skinny, lanky self and your big feet into this kitchen and come clean up.”
I was already Miss Sensitive, so of course, I would start crying. Then, I would go into the kitchen to clean up somebody else’s mess. I would plead with her. “Aunt Pete, it’s not my week.”
“I don’t care. Get in there and clean up, anyway.”
One night I rebelled and talked back. “No, I’m not cleaning nothing! It is Kriscita’s turn, and I’m not doing her work.”
I lay down in the hallway in protest, and all I could think about was my mother. I knew that if Mom was home, she would defend me. She would know I was telling the truth, and she would treat me fairly.
Well, I lay in the hallway so long that I fell asleep, and I woke up to Aunt Pete whuppin’ me with a belt. I cried and jumped up to protect myself, then walked to the kitchen to start cleaning. I muttered under my breath, “I can’t wait to talk to my mom,” and I looked over my shoulder to be sure that Aunt Pete had not heard me. Not only did I have to do my chores; now I had to do Kriscita’s, too. She was out late, fooling around with her teacher, and I was the one getting the beating. I felt like Cinderella living with her evil sisters.
While I cleaned anything and everything, Aunt Pete taught Tiffany how to curse. Tiffany was still in preschool, but she was smart for her age. Mom did not let us speak baby talk to Tiffany. We had to use real words, so Tiffany was good with language even as a toddler.
Every afternoon Aunt Pete would stand with Tiffany in our front doorway, and if kids stepped on our lawn on their walk home from school, Tiffany would yell out, “Get your a—off my f———grass!” Aunt Pete thought this was hilarious.
When I talked to Mom on the phone, I whispered, “Mom! You gotta come home. Aunt Pete makes me clean up all the time. I have to clean up her mess and my mess, everybody’s mess. Mom, you are not going to believe this. Tiffany curses like crazy. She says all the bad words, and Kriscita is dating her teacher! She don’t come home till late. Mom, they even took the toilet paper out of the bathroom. Now everybody keeps their own roll in their own room. You gotta come home, Mom! You just gotta!”
I spoke quickly because Mom was calling long distance, and I did not want to waste money. I intentionally left out what was really bothering me the most: that I felt abused and taken advantage of. Mom had enough to worry about on the road without worrying about me, too. I always kept quiet.
When Mom finally