Lies of a Real Housewife (24 page)

As much as I didn’t want to believe it, the truth was that neither

my mother nor grandmother was going to be there. I knew that I had to fight this head on. So without any hesitation, I aske
d my brother to take me to our mother’s grave. I needed to come to terms with what was going on. I wanted to get over the devastation of never seeing my mother again. I needed to do

this before I came in contact with my children, and that’s exactly what I
did.

I stood at my mother’s graveside with my brother. My mother was

beneath the ground, but we finally had our moment. I saw the headstone with my mother’s name on it, and I knew then that it was over. I cried until I made myself sick. My brother carried me from her grave, and drove me around

until I could get myself together.

Later that day, we arrived at 306 Ormond St. in Atlanta, Georgia. This was home to me, my mother, my grandmother, and so many other people in the family. Like a dried up desert, my grandmother’s home stood, nothing like I remembered. It was clear that my grandmother’s presence was obsolete. My grandmother purchased her home in 1955. In the fifty years that she had this home in her possession, none of her utilities were ever disconnected, and

she had the same telephone number ever since Bell South was estab
lished.

The first thing I noticed was that the lights were disconnected. Then I noticed there was no running water, the phone was off, and the gas had been disconnected as well. The house was filthy and infested with spiders. I looked at my oldest two boy
s Lekwaun and Leontae. They were very happy

to see their mother. I couldn’t imagine for the life of me what type of life they had grown accustomed to. Their clothes were three sizes too small, and their shoes were old, beaten up, and dirty. My baby girl,
Emani, was running all over the house barefoot. My baby didn’t even have a single pair of shoes in her possession. I wasn’t angry and I wasn’t being ungrateful, I just felt like

they deserved more than that.

I was trying my best to make myself comfortable with my present

situation. I knew my aunt did the best she could with what she had, but it was just such a cheerlessly, sad homecoming. I tried as hard as I could but I just could not stay in that house. With my grandmother gone, it appeared that all my
crack-head cousins had taken over. All types of people were in and out of the house at all hours of the night. Complete strangers stood over me while I

slept. I couldn’t take it.

There was no way I was going to live there. Not with my children. Everything I looked at, everything I touched, and everything I heard reminded me that my mother and grandmother were gone. This home was not the

same place it was before I went to prison. I packed up what little we had, and

we left.

My youngest son’s father, Sli
m, suggested that my kids and I live

in his house until I got on my feet. That worked for about seven hours. He realized I wasn’t interested in having sex with him. I mean for God’s sake! I’m sitting here crying. The thought of my mother’s death breezed t
hrough my mind. I had snot running from my nose, I was screaming at the top of my lungs, and he wanted me to have sex with him. So I packed up my garbage bag full of belongings, took my baby girl, and my three sons. Then we left

walking, and ended up at t
he city shelter.

I had called Phaedra several times. I left her several messages but

she never called me back. I should’ve known something was up when I called her the first day I got out, and received no response, but I continued calling. It was hard for me to imagine that she had just written me off like a bad habit. I myself would lend a hand to a complete and total stranger, so I couldn’t understand what was making her act so cold toward me.

September 3, 2005, I checked into the Atlanta Union Mission home-

less shelter. My children and I were residing in one big room along with

several other single mothers and their children.

My baby girl cried all night. It wasn’t her fault. Emani just didn’t

know me. She was in an unfamiliar environment and was scared to death. Babies know that they are helpless. They know they can’t stop someone from

hurting them, just like I couldn’t stop the molester from hurting me.

I knew how she felt. The other mothers were becoming frustrated

because I couldn’t stop her
from crying. No matter what I did or which way I moved, my baby was dissatisfied, and didn’t mind voicing her opinion. All I

could do was sit there hopeless, and miserable. So I cried with her.

When I was released from prison I was given a check for twenty-

five dollars, and instructions to report to the parole office in seventy-two hours. You don’t leave prison with a job, a home, and a car. Well at least, not everyone does. I know I didn’t. All
I had was a lot of worries, a bunch of stress, responsibilities, and a criminal record. Once a criminal—always a criminal, You have all heard this statement before, right…? Yeah, well it remained the truth. There was almost no such thing as fully redeeming one’s

self. Or was there?

It was time for me to report to the parole office. They informed me

that I was free to visit the day I left prison, but that turned out to be a lie. Unless of course you maxed out, meaning, you served your total sentence. Even
if the justice system did forgive, society never would.

I didn’t have anyone to keep my children. I didn’t even have enough

money to catch the bus to drop them off, and then come back, and pick them up. I couldn’t see how that would work. I made a decision that morning, I

got my children dressed, I got myself dressed and we waited at the bus stop.

When I walked into the parole office I sat all the way in the back, all

the way up against the wall with my children. We sat there as a family side by side.
I had to protect my children. Child molesters didn’t have a warning sign on their foreheads. We were sitting amongst some of America’s worst criminals. I really should have thought twice before I took my children with me, but what other option did I have? If I didn’t report they would lock me

up, and there was no telling with
whom
my babies would end up going to.

I saw the chief parole officer walk to the front of the waiting room

several times looking at me, and discussing my status with one of his peers. After about an hour he called me to the back. My children and I took a seat inside of an office, and he angrily closed the door. He stepped out only to return fifteen minutes later. When he stepped into the office he stared at me, then he stared at my children and said, “Ms. Stanton, don’t you know that you are not suppose to bring children to the parole office?”

With the explanation that I was aware of the rule, I told him that I
had lost my mother and grandmother to death during my incarceration. I

went on to tell him that I was living in a shelter. I had just gotten my children back, and I didn’t have anyone to keep them. Every time I thought about my situation, I instantly felt
weak and tears welled up in my eyes. These were the kind of tears that I could not stop from running down my cheeks no matter

how hard I tried.

“Ms. Stanton, you need to find someone to keep your children, and

report back here in the morning!” He yell
ed.

I did as he instructed. My aunt kept my children the next morning. I had to take them back to the same home that I vowed never to return to. I suppressed every depressing hair-raising thought to the back of my mind, and began my journey to the parole
office.

When I arrived at the parole office I signed my name on the clip-

board, and just as soon as I put the pen down, I was immediately escorted to the back. Once I was there, to my surprise, two federal agents were awaiting my arrival to arrest me for conspiracy. They called it conspiracy against the federal government. Before I knew it, I was in the back of their vehicle, hand-

cuffed yet again, and headed to the Richard B. Russell building.

I was in a total state of shock. I was under the presumption that I had

served all my time. Now what was going to happen to my children? On the way to the Russell building, I was surprised when federal agent, Steve Lazarus asked me if I was interested in
making my case disappear. I was all ears

while wondering just exactly how we could make that happen.

The federal agent told me all I had to do was set up Jeezy. I could

have literally dropped dead. Not believing what I had just heard. The first thought
that came to mind was how the hell did they knew I had any affiliation to Young Jeezy? I hadn’t seen or spoken to Jeezy in over two years. So

what or who gave the feds the impression that it could be pulled off?

I mean even if I could, Jeezy had nothing to do with my case. Why

would I set this man up because I got in trouble on a case that he knew noth-

ing about? Jeezy didn’t even know I was in prison.

“How do you know I know Jay?” I asked.

“We have our ways of finding out anything we want to know Ms.

Stanton!” He answered with a smug smirk on his face.

He wouldn’t admit it, but I already knew. The feds had been listen-

ing in on my telephone conversations. When I was locked up, all my phone calls had secretly been recorded. While I was serving time
in state prison, the feds had been busy preparing their case against me. Every time I made a phone call they were eavesdropping, listening for any information that might

further incriminate me.

Out of curiosity, I played along with their game. I wanted to see

what kind of case they were trying to build against Jeezy. Then Agent Lazarus gave it to me straight when he asked, “Do you think you can get him to

sell you some drugs?”

In my mind, I was pondering, were they stupid? I’m not a drug deal-

er. Jeezy knows that! I couldn’t believe that they played the game just as dirty as the streets played it. If they wanted Jeezy that bad they would have to get him on their own. I refused to be a part of their ploy. Jeezy had never done anything to me, or anyone I knew. I was not going to help the feds bring him down. My case was my own responsibility and Young Jeezy had nothing to do with my misdeeds. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I had to get