"I'm not less of myself, ma'am. Let me make that perfectly clear. I'm not full of myself either, been hurt to much in my life for that. But I am a God-fearing man. In him I live and in his grace my books exist. Don't need to boast. Somebody else does that for me. I call them haters and fans."

"I think I'm going to order your books now. You have a very unique way of life. The way you talk, my God I would like to get to know you."

"I'm but a whisper of wind from your esophagus, pretty lady. I'm here one minute and the next second I'm a part of your memory bank. One cent. Nice to meet
you. Don't want the free drink, but thank you. I gotta get back to writing."

I looked at the little old fart and she had tears falling down her eyes.

"I misjudged you," she said.

"Don't sweat it. We ain't perfect."

"Is it true? That you went through four years of childhood rape? My God, young man."

"How do you know that?"

"I just read your synopsis on the Barnes and Noble site. I commend you, Sir."

"No problem. But look, I gotta go."

"Just so you know I am going to buy your first book. And if I like it, I'll by the entire series," she said and I kissed her hand...

She smiled and I took the escalator back to the second floor, my head high, looking
forward, holding both sides of the rubber mobile railings and never looked down.

Not for a split second.

Watching white folks from the second floor Google and follow the lives of multi-millionaire African Americans had
me a little spooked.

One mother had three little girls. One was dressed just like Britney and the other dressed like Bey. And the other was dressed like Rhianna with the Mohawk permed across his (wait a minute) that's a boy shit my bad.

Two little girls and slightly older son. And the two little girls were arguing.

"No, Britney is better than the Wig Queen!"

"MAMA SHE SAID BEYAWNSAY IS THE WIG
QUEEN!"

"Girls, cut it out! They are entertainers, don't take them so seriously," she said, trying to read E Lynn Harris' Mama Dearest.

"But you told us to dress like this Mommie."

"Yes you did. You bought the make up and the clothes!"

"And why I gotta wear the short Britney wig while she wears that lace front wig its longer than mine."

Britney looked at Rhianna. "Which one looks better."

She turned to the side. "Mine?"

Beyawnsay rolled her pretty little eyes and said, "Or mine?"

"Well," said the mother, closing the Mama Dearest book.

Rhianna stayed out of it. Humming Go Hard lyrics.

"Well at least Beyawnsay writes her own lyrics!"

"Britney is the best dancer!" she spat back, getting in each other's faces again. Sibling rivalry.

Rhianna kept humming, watching a Neyo video on YouTube. He turned the volume up. Snaps. That was the Irreplaceable video.

Beyawnsay was snapping her fingers and singing You must not know bout me! While watching Rhythm Nation, throwing shade at Britney.

Mom smiled brightly. "Now that's the best dancer, Britney. That ain't Nasty Boys."

Britney got up, her hands on her hips. "I don't wanna stay here anymore. I want Daddy!"

"Girl, Daddy still hyperventilating from going to the I Am Sasha Fierce concert," said Beyawnsay proudly, her head high.

"Yea, Daddy thinks he's Beyawnsay, too."

"I'm gonna tell you again!" said Mom sternly, "My gay best friend ain't your father or your gay daddy, either."

I found this hilarious, how all this mind control leapt around the table and it went unnoticed.

I knew even then that if I became famous from writing books I would keep just a small fraction of a part of me with me at all times, a part of myself I would never reveal, never can be bought or shoved out of me.

That little small part of a fraction of PHAROAH stays in my heart.

That's the "foundation" of my spirit, and the gateway to my eternal soul.

I wrote the most devastating stuff in private, in my room before Mama did what she did behind my back on a telephone phone call I will discuss later on in the book.

I cut phones off, I didn't get on the internet. I totally blocked out the outside world with curtains and blinds closed, letting in no light.

Just the glow of my screen and me. Battling it out emotionally.

The rest of the book I finished at South Dade regional Library, where I met a lot of good people, staff mostly who urged me on, praying for me to have the strength to finish the book.

South Dade regional sent off to have all my titles bought and shelved in their library, and for me that represented a full circle, since I was raised in GOULDS and suffered the brut of my pain in GOULDS. Cutler Bay was Goulds' alter ego.

I will NEVER consider GOULDS no damn Cutler Bay. I'm from GOULDS, bitch. I loved GOULDS with all my heart, despite what I've gone through. I would NEVER turn my back on GOULDS.

For the most part NO ONE knew who I was. A bestselling author that was slowly taking over the world in their company and they hadn't a clue. Honestly, for me, the tranquility meant one thing: Peace.

That was my definition of writing in peace.
Regards.

PHAROAH