New Girl’s still sleep, along with the rest of the house; the only time it’s ever quiet in here. The sky is fading from black to a dark sea blue so it’s at least six in the morning. I should know because this is the eighth day I’ve watched the sun rise. The eighth day I’ve gone without sleeping. The eighth day, at this exact time, my body tells me two things: I need to pee and I need some water.
After I finish up in the bathroom, I tiptoe downstairs, doing everything not to disturb the peace the early morning brings, anything not to wake the rest of the monsters. But a low voice echoing from the living room stops me at the first landing and that sinking feeling of dread curls up next to Bean.
“Hi, Daddy! Hello? Hello, Dad? It’s me, Kelly.”
I knew Kelly had a daddy, but it’s still weird to hear her talk to him. It makes him real and she seems too evil to have such a gift.
“Yeah, I know it’s really early but there isn’t another time to talk. These girls are always following me around in here. They’re always in my stuff, Daddy.”
Her voice is so innocent-like, not fitting her at all. I move down a few more steps, hugging the wall, and spot her curled up in Ms. Stein’s chair with the house phone we’re not supposed to use without permission.
“Daddy, I really think . . . Oh! Nothing, really. I’m just calling to make sure you’re coming on Sunday for visitation. I need to go to . . . what? Why didn’t you tell me? Well, when will you be back? Four weeks! But what about New Year’s? No, you said you’d come and you’d bring Ginger. . . . Well, maybe you can talk to Ms. Stein and see if . . . ugh, yeah I know, Dad. But we don’t have to tell Mr. . . . what? Yes, DAD, I’m taking them. No, you don’t have to call her! I’m taking them, every morning, like I said I would.”
Pills! She taking pills? What kind? Are they like Momma’s?
“But can you just . . . just how long do I have to stay here?” she begs. “You said it would only be a little while. Yes, Daddy, you don’t have to . . . okay . . . okay, fine! Okay? Well, can you at least come see me before you go?”
I lean a little farther but my foot slips down one step with a loud thump. Shit! I stumble back, trying to keep quiet but it’s too late. Kelly notices and quickly slams the phone down. Caught, no use pretending. We stare at each other, her eyes narrow slits filled with rage, her hand still gripping the receiver. My eavesdropping just gave her another reason to kill me. I’m too scared to move, too heavy to run. Trapped again.
If I just let her kill me, it’ll all be over. But Bean . . .
Just as she stands up, ready to attack, Ms. Reba comes out of her bedroom in her night sweats. She yawns, before noticing the both of us.
“What are you two up to?” she barks.
Kelly doesn’t break her stare. She cracks her knuckles against her hips then shrugs at Ms. Reba.
“Nothing. Just making breakfast,” she says, her voice back to normal, and heads for the kitchen. Ms. Reba raises an eyebrow at me and I head back upstairs. Saved, but only for the moment.
It took Ms. Cora two days to convince me to go. Two whole days. Trust me, it will be fine, she kept on saying. I told her she’s crazy and refused but gave in on the third day. We drove to the precinct the next morning.
“Now remember, you’re going to tell the whole story, just like you told me. Don’t leave anything out. Every detail is important. The detective is doing a huge favor talking to us first before we make our statement to the DA. And don’t forget the part about the . . . Mary?”
As soon as I see the building, my feet stop working. Sounds drown out until I can hear nothing but teeth tap-dancing in my mouth. This building . . . all these windows . . . they’re watching, waiting . . . to take me.
“Mary? Come on.”
Ms. Cora pulls my arm. I shake her off and clutch to a nearby bus sign, but my legs still want to run.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
The shakes start, bad. I can’t go in there. I can’t! It’s the last place before this whole nightmare started, the doorway between the then and the now. If we never went in there, if Momma never . . .
“They’re going to give me a cheeseburger and take me away again!”
Ms. Cora stops pulling me and straightens, her eyes softening.
“Mary, I’m sorry, but what they did to you was wrong. They questioned you without an attorney present and your mother gave them permission to do so. It was a setup. But this time, I’ll be there. I promise, they won’t pull that bullshit while I’m there. I won’t let them take you. No burgers. Now, let go of this dirty thing!”
They put me in the same room they did before and I think the same thing as I did back then: the floor is so nasty. Momma would be disgusted. The door opens and a memory walks in.
“Hello, Mary. Do you remember me?”
Mr. Jose hasn’t aged one day. Still has dark black hair with a little bit of gray in his beard. Tall, lean, and tan with a thick accent like Marisol.
My chest tightens as he closes the door. He has a file in his hand, a real thick one, and a little recorder. He sits across from us, just like last time.
“Nice to see you again,” he says, smiling, like he cares.
You’re no Benson. You don’t care, you suck at your job.
“Can I get you anything? Water? Maybe a—”
Ms. Cora grabs my hand as I rocket up from the chair, stopping me.
“It’s okay! It’s okay! No burgers, remember? We talked about this.”
Mr. Jose glances between Ms. Cora and me a couple of times. He puts his hands on his thighs, closer to his gun. I think about the knife in my bag and change my mind.
“Sit down,” she says, not as patient as before.
A whole twenty seconds pass before I sit, but push my chair closer to the door. Ms. Cora smirks, shaking her head.
“Can I just say, strictly off the record,” she says to Mr. Jose. “When I called, you didn’t seem surprised to hear from me at all.”
He smiles and I move my bag between my legs.
“You know, sometimes you just have a hunch about things. And this case . . . I always had a gut feeling there was a big piece of the puzzle missing.”
Gut feeling?
“You mean evidence?” Ms. Cora asks.
He grins.
“No, there was plenty of evidence. But . . . nothing seemed to add up. Their stories never matched the evidence found. I said that plenty of times, but people told me to leave it alone. Same people won’t like that I’m talking to you now.”
“Well, people tend not to think clearly when a black girl is suspected of killing a little white girl,” Ms. Cora says, crossing her arms.
“No, people tend not to think clearly when a baby is murdered. Period. At the end of the day, what’s important is finding out what really happened to that little girl, bringing the person responsible to justice.”
Ms. Cora nods in agreement and Mr. Jose looks at me.
“So, are you ready to talk?” he asks.
My gut flips as I count the grays in his beard. Maybe he is a little like Benson. Still, I don’t trust him. He was the one who put me away. Gave me my cheeseburger and took me to the crazy house. Only said yes to the cheeseburger because I’d never had one before. That’s what I get, trying to be sneaky without Momma knowing. Should’ve said no.
“Mary, you don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he says. “Whatever it is, I’m here to listen. Just give me a chance to set the record straight.”
I look at Ms. Cora, who smiles and touches my back.
“Go on. It’s okay. I’m here with you.”
Ms. Cora says she won’t let them take me this time. Maybe Ms. Cora is like Elliot Stabler, Benson’s partner. She reads through the bullshit. I believe her. I trust her.
So I close my eyes and tell him the real story.
Transcript from the November 23rd Interview with Mary B. Addison, Age 16
Detective: For the record, can you please state your name and age.
Mary: Uh . . . my name is Mary Beth Addison. I’m sixteen years old.
Detective: Alright, Mary. Now, just tell me everything that happened. From the very beginning.
Mary: Okay. Ummm . . . Alyssa was crying from the moment her momma dropped her off. Momma kept trying to rock her to sleep. She didn’t like the way she was being rocked, I don’t think. She cried louder and louder. I took her and rocked her and she fell right asleep. Momma said, “Fine, she should sleep with you then.” Then Momma set the crib up in my room.
We were asleep when Alyssa started crying again. Momma came into my room cursing. She was having “a day.” I asked if she was taking her pills; she slapped me. Then told me to get them for her. I went and got her pills. She said, “Stupid, I told you to bring your pills! I need to calm this baby down.” Alyssa was crying really loud. I got my pills and gave them to her. Then she told me to warm up a bottle. I went into the kitchen and put the bottle in the microwave. I was gone for thirty-five seconds, because that’s how long Mrs. Richardson always told me to heat the bottle for. When I went back in the room, Momma was stuffing something in Alyssa’s mouth. I thought it was the witch stuff that Mrs. Richardson uses, but it was the pills. Then Momma tried to shove the bottle down Alyssa’s throat. She started choking. Momma grabbed her hard and tried to save her, hitting her back. But she was hitting her too hard. She stopped crying and wasn’t breathing. I ran and tried to call 911, because that’s what you do in an emergency, we learned that in school. But Momma slapped the phone out of my hand.
She told me stop because if they come and find Alyssa dead, she’ll go to jail. She said we had to bring Alyssa back. She told me to bring her Bible and her cross. I kept saying that we can’t, but then she was hitting me and I started crying. She went in my room with Alyssa and locked the door. I heard noises. Like she was hitting something. I kept banging on the door but she wouldn’t let me in. Then I broke in the room. Momma was swinging her, by her feet, and singing, chanting. I tried to grab Alyssa but she flew out of my hands and hit the wall . . . I didn’t mean to throw her. I was trying to save her! I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry.
Detective: It’s okay, Mary. It’s okay. Take your time. Do you need a break?
Mary: No. No, I’m okay. Then Momma . . . shoved me out the room again. The phone was ringing and ringing, but I was too scared to answer it because I dropped Alyssa and I knew that was bad.
Detective: Then what happened?
Mary: I don’t know how long it was, but Momma came out. She sat me on the sofa and said she couldn’t save her and that she was dead. I was crying and Momma held me. Then she said, “How much do you love your momma, baby girl? You wouldn’t want nothing to happen to your momma, right?” Then she told me all the stuff that would happen to her, how they would beat her up in prison and maybe even give her the death penalty and that I would be in foster care, getting raped by men. But, she said they go easy on kids and that I wouldn’t even go to jail. That I would be free real soon and we would move away, start over, and she would buy me a puppy. She said, “So if anyone ask, tell them you did it, baby girl, you tried to save her. They won’t punish you too bad. You won’t get a beating. And you’ll be saving your momma.” She made me promise, swear on her Bible.
Then she gave me a blanket with all this stuff inside and told me to bury it in the backyard. “Bury it deep or we be dead meat,” she said. I was so scared, I didn’t want to get into trouble, so I ran outside and started digging with my hands. It was so cold out, felt like I was digging forever. It had been raining all day. My nails . . . there was so much dirt under them, mud all over me. And lights . . . these little flashing lights. Our neighbor had his Christmas lights on. Momma came outside and told me I was in the wrong spot. “Not this tree, the other tree!” So I ran over by another tree and started again.
Then there was this big light, like a flashlight. Mr. Middlebury turned on the lights in his backyard. He was yelling at me; I didn’t know what he was saying. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran to tell Momma. When I ran inside, the police walked in. I thought Mr. Middlebury called them.
Then I heard Momma tell them, “I don’t know what happened. She was alone in the room with her.”
Detective: Why didn’t you say anything when the police got there?
Mary: Momma told me not to. And she was watching . . . I’d get a beating if I did, because she made me swear on the Bible. Swear to God.
Detective: Do you know what kind of pills your mother was taking at the time?
Mary: Not really, they had long names.
Detective: And . . . this cross you mentioned, what did it look like?
Mary: It was small, and gold, used to be on a chain. It had these different color crystals on it.
Detective: What colors were the crystals? Can you remember?
Mary: Umm . . . like blue and yellow and red. Definitely red.
Detective: Did your mom wear the cross a lot?
Mary: All the time. It was her mother’s. She never took it off.
“You did good in there,” Ms. Cora says on the car ride back to the group home. “I’m really proud of you.”
I don’t say nothing. I can’t stop thinking about what just happened. That was exhausting, pouring the entire truth out after holding it in for so long, like holding your pee forever and finally letting it go. I’m drained, light-headed, and a little nervous. At least Mr. Jose asked all the right questions this time. He has been close to the truth all along.
“So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she asks.
Damn, that’s coming up, I forgot all about it. I was supposed to spend it with Ted. We were going to go to the parade and Boston Market. Not anymore.
“I’ll be at the group home.”
“Well, why don’t you spend it with me and my family?”
“No thanks.”
She frowns, stealing a glance, and I wonder what she is thinking.
“Okay, I won’t pressure you,” she says. “But, if you have no plans for Christmas, then you should come. That’s when we have our big party.”
I don’t want to think about Christmas yet. Christmas reminds me of Alyssa. And I don’t want to think about Alyssa any more than I already do.
Momma is cooking.
She’s probably stuffing the turkey right now. Already cleaned the greens, shredded the cheese, and boiled the sweet potatoes. Did she make her sour cream pound cake? Or her cranberry sauce with the orange peels? She probably won’t glaze the ham until later. It’s early and she still has the rice and peas to take care of.
“Mary! Quit daydreaming and put the water on!”
Ms. Stein is directing Thanksgiving dinner from her seat in front of the TV, watching the Thanksgiving parade. The kitchen counter is covered in cans and boxes, the makings of our dinner: Glory’s collard greens, string beans, corn, three boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese, two boxes Stove Top Stuffing, one can of cranberry sauce, and one box of Entenmann’s pound cake.
Marisol and Kelly went to their families’ houses for the day, which leaves Tara, Kisha, China, Joi, and I left to cook. New Girl walks down the stairs, all dressed up, her hair washed and blow-dried straight. She looks pretty, not sick and mousy as usual.
“My dad is picking me up today,” she said earlier in our room, busy deciding what she was going to wear. “We’re going to my aunt’s house in New Jersey. I’ll be back after nine, but he said he would talk to Ms. Stein about curfew.”
She puts on her peacoat and sits on the bench by the door, smiling. I’ve never seen her this happy before. She can’t wait to see her dad. I would be the same way if I knew who he was.
Ms. Reba shoves the turkey in the oven. She seasoned it with butter, salt, a little pepper, and nothing else that would make it taste good. She also threw the turkey neck and giblets in the trash. Momma would’ve had a heart attack if she saw that.
“You ain’t spending today with your moms?” China asks.
I shake my head.
“Why?”
That’s a good question.
I put on the water for the macaroni and cheese. China shrugs and starts to open up a can of green beans while Tara struggles to read the Stove Top Stuffing instructions.
I guess this is better than spending Thanksgiving in baby jail. The food will taste the same but with better conditions. The COs hated working on any holiday and were extra mean. I spent most holidays on lockdown, the day passing like any other.
“After that’s done, set the table! And don’t forget the cups. And put them rolls in the oven when the turkey’s done,” Ms. Stein says.
The turkey will take at least four hours, so I have some time to kill. I sneak upstairs and check my phone. Two voice mails from Ted, begging me to call. The last message is from Ms. Cora.
“Hi, Mary! I was going to call the house but, well, you know. Anyways, I have good news. We filed the post-conviction motions yesterday. They’ll review and we should have a hearing by the beginning of the year. I’ll call you next week so we can start to prepare. Anyways, enough of that legal talk. Hope you’re having a happy Thanksgiving.”
A hearing? A trial? Wow, this is really happening.
I grab yesterday’s newspaper and dictionary and lay down, circling a new word: perfidious. It means unfaithful and disloyal, like Ted.
Momma . . . maybe I should talk to her again, make her see . . .
Bean makes me so tired it’s hard to keep my eyes open.
“Goddamn it, Mary! I told you to set the table!”
My eyes fly open and the sun is setting. So much for a quick nap.
I rush downstairs, the house smelling of turkey. New Girl is exactly where I left her, leg tapping like she has some type of nervous tic. She looks up at me, her eyes big and watery.
“He . . . he’s just running a little late,” she says, her voice cracking under her fake smile. “Traffic. Lots of traffic. He’ll be here any minute.”
It’s been five hours.
I don’t say nothing. Instead, I go to the kitchen and find the turkey out of the oven. Beige in color, dry as a paper bag. Not even some of that generic gravy could help this bird taste better. Joi pops the cranberry sauce out onto a paper plate.
Tara turns the Stove Top Stuffing into mushy slop, similar to what we used to eat in baby jail. China does her part by at least adding some seasoning and butter to the green beans, corn, and greens while Kisha mixes the Kool-Aid. I push the dinner rolls into the oven and start setting the table. Ms. Stein bought Thanksgiving-themed paper plates and a matching tablecloth.
New Girl stares off into nothing. Her pale face is sweating from sitting in that hot peacoat for so long. China walks in and sets the sides on the table. She glances at New Girl.
“I don’t think her peoples is coming to get her,” she whispers, uncovering the dishes. “She should probably just give up.”
Our eyes meet, both knowing it ain’t that simple to give up on people you love that don’t love you the same.
“Dinner is ready!” Ms. Reba announces, bringing the dry turkey to the table. Tara brings in her stuffing, knowing damn well she should throw it in the trash.
Ms. Stein hobbles into the dining room. She looks over at New Girl, but doesn’t say anything. China is the only one kind enough.
“Aye, New Girl. Why don’t you come over here and eat with us while you wait for your peoples.”
New Girl shakes her head a few times.
“No . . . no. My dad will be here any minute. I don’t want to . . . spoil my dinner.”
Ms. Reba and Ms. Stein glance at each other, sharing a guilty look.
“Poor child,” Ms. Stein mumbles as she sits at the head of the table. Tara sits down next to her, greedy as ever.
“Who gonna say grace?” Kisha says.
“Grace?” Ms. Stein grumbles, while Ms. Reba sharpens the knife.
“Yeah,” China says, looking at me. “We got a lot to be grateful for.”
She’s right. God didn’t abandon me. I’m alive. I’m out of baby jail and got a lawyer that’s gonna help me keep Bean and set the record straight. I’m gonna go to college. And Ted . . . well . . . I don’t know. I rub my stomach and glance at New Girl, who’s struggling to hold back her tears.
She pretends she doesn’t see me coming, remaining frozen while I sit next to her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she whispers, her head hanging low. “I’m stupid, right? To just sit here . . . but he wouldn’t . . . he just wouldn’t. He’s just . . . running late. There’s a lot of traffic today, with the parade going on.”
I put my hand on New Girl’s knee and don’t say what we’re both thinking. Because I’ve been there before, I know what she’s feeling. Parents aren’t supposed to disappoint their kids like this. It’s the cruelest type of punishment. I tap her knee and stand. She nods, takes off her coat, and follows me to the table.
“Just for a little while. I can’t have too much. Don’t want to ruin my dinner.”
Ms. Veronica is late. Again.
But Ms. Stein don’t care; she has us all sitting in our circle in the basement, waiting. No supervision, no one to stop all of them from ganging up on me at any moment. I sit closer to the storm door, farthest from Kelly.
“Damn yo . . . this is so fucking stupid,” Joi whines. “Where is this bitch? I have to call Markquann before lights-out. He was supposed to take me shopping today and I haven’t heard from him. I’m worried about my boo.”
Marisol chuckles. “You still think you dating that nigga? Estúpido.”
Joi rolls her eyes.
“Whatever bitch, mind yo’ business.”
“I’m so sick of this shit, man. I don’t need no doctor like you bitches. I’m straight,” Marisol says, flipping back her hair. Kelly chuckles and crosses her arms.
“Straight in what way?”
Marisol shoots her a glance that would’ve started a fight any other day but China jumps in.
“Nah yo, I can fill in for her. I’m good at this, getting shorties to talk about their feelings and shit,” China says and cracks her knuckles. “So Tara, tell me, what are you feeling right now?”
“Hungry,” Tara says and the group snickers.
“Interesting. Let’s try something else. What you wanna be when you get out of here?”
Tara shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you turn eighteen, like, soon?” Joi asks.
Tara nods. “Four months.”
The room sighs. She really doesn’t have to say anything more; everyone knows what that means. I think about Ted and rub my stomach.
“Yo, you should join the army or something,” China offers. “You mad strong, they’d like you.”
“Why would I wanna fight for some white man’s war?”
The group laughs. Tara giggles, sounding normal, cheerful, despite what she’s up against. I wouldn’t be laughing.
“That’s what my daddy used to say,” Tara says. “My daddy was like, mad smart. When my moms didn’t want me no more, he took care of me. I was the only one of the kids that got to live with him, that’s how much he loved me. He used to say never fight for the white man, ’cause the white man don’t care nothing about black people. He died when I was thirteen, white man’s AIDS got him. I got sent to the white man’s foster care, the white man’s school, the white man’s prison, and now I’m in the white man’s basement talking to y’all.”
The group cackles as loud shuffling echoes above us. Ms. Veronica comes booming down the stairs, almost tripping at the bottom.
“Girls, I’m so so so sorry!”
“Ms. Veronica, you late. Again!” Joi shouts, foot stomping.
“I know, I know, but traffic . . . traffic was just terrible. Whew! Okay, okay, so where should we start? Oh no, wait, let’s take out our feeling notebooks first. Right?”
“Nah, Ms. V, I’m the therapist today,” China says.
Ms. Veronica flusters then nods.
“Um, okay! You know, role reversal could be good for us here.”
China grins and leans back in her chair, pretending to take notes.
“So Ms. V, what you wanna be when you get out of here?”
“She already out of here, dumb ass,” Joi groans. “She ain’t ever even been in here!”
“Man, you don’t know her life! But fine! I’ll change the question. Ms. V, you made it out the hood. Congratulations! Now, why you do what you do?”
Ms. Veronica fidgets, but holds a fake smile.
“Well, people say I’m a good listener. I can really get people to open up.”
Kelly chuckles. “Is that what you think you’re doing here? Getting us to ‘open up’? I hate to break it to you, but you’re doing a real shitty job.”
Ms. Veronica takes a deep breath.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear you say that, Kelly,” she says, her voice shaky but determined. “But I am trying my best to . . . give you the emotional tools . . . to help you succeed.”
“How? By making us write in these stupid books?”
Kelly tosses her book in the middle of the circle. Ms. Veronica’s face stiffens.
“You know, even though I haven’t been exactly in your situations, I can still relate,” she says, growing defensive. “I . . . I lost my first boyfriend, my first love. And I was in a dark place for a long time. Even had to move back home with my parents. But I dug my way out of my depression, went back to school, and found a career that I love. So you see, ladies, I’m here, almost to be an inspiration. That you, too, can overcome anything.”
An entire minute goes by and no one says nothing. Finally, Kelly busts out laughing.
“What is so funny?” Ms. Veronica demands, clearly offended.
“Yo, Ms. V,” China says slowly. “No disrespect, but are you really trying to tell me you having a dead boyfriend is like being in a group home?”
Ms. Veronica’s face turns red. She starts to say something but stops herself.
“You know it must be real nice being able to come and go whenever you please, even to go to school,” Kisha says sharply. “Not having no record and getting a job wherever you want.”
“And it must be real nice having a home to move back to,” Joi snaps. “With real parents taking care of you. You lost your boyfriend? Looks like you were able to replace him real quick. I lost my pops and my moms might as well be dead if I knew where she was. I’ve been in group homes since I was fucking twelve! How you suggest I replace them?”
The room tenses. Bean moves and I wonder if it can feel the years of pent-up anger trying to dig its way out of a shallow grave.
“So yeah, you right, China,” Joi says, rolling her neck. “I wouldn’t know nothing about her life!”
Ms. Veronica swallows, avoiding eye contact.
“You know what,” she croaks. “I think we should end our session early today.”
Joi huffs. “Don’t you mean on time?”
There are two DMVs in Brooklyn. One downtown and one in Coney Island.
“Go to Coney Island,” one of the cooks in the kitchen told me. “The lines there are shorter.”
He lied. I waited forty-five minutes just to get a ticket number. That’s when Ted walks in.
“What are you—”
“I overheard you talking,” he says with a guilty expression.
Damn, I miss his voice . . .
The place is empty except for us, or that’s how it feels when he talks to me. Like we’re the only two people in the world. I want to stand here forever looking at him, hating him and still loving him at the same time. He still has my teeth marks on his arm. I walk away and he follows.
“Mary, come on, talk to me. You can’t just not talk to me!”
There is one empty seat left between a grandma and some lady with a heap of kids playing around her. I wiggle into the seat and he stands in front of me. The pink ticket says D097. The monitor says D013. This is going to be a long wait.
“Please, baby,” he begs. “Let me explain. About what you saw.”
His shoes look brand-new and fancy. Not the shoes of a poor group home kid like me. He kneels down just to meet my eyes.
“Baby? Please,” he whispers, hand pressed against my thigh.
“Don’t touch me,” I say.
“Yo, stop trying to push me away.”
“I said, don’t touch me.”
“Mary, what you saw, it wasn’t like that!”
The lady next to us with the kids is hanging on to every word of our conversation. Across from us, an older man in a construction jumpsuit watches, eyeing Ted like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
“Those are new,” I say, a bite in my voice, nodding at the floor.
Ted peeps down at his shoes like he forgot he had some on.
“They were a gift.”
Has Ted always been such a liar? Yes. I knew it all along. It never made sense for him to love someone like me, after everything I’ve done.
The old woman next to me is so deep into our business she missed her number. She jumps up and Ted moves to her seat.
“I know what you’re thinking. And I just want to explain. I should’ve been honest with you. But baby, it was for us.”
D027. Time and this line could not move any slower.
“The girl you saw . . . she’s not my girl,” Ted whispers. “She . . . I just live with her. Aight. There. You know everything now.”
Ted is wearing cologne or something. He’s never smelled like this before. Everything about him seems new. He’s a whole new Ted. Or maybe I never really knew him at all.
“You live with her? For free?”
“Not really . . . sort of.”
It hurts to look into his eyes. It hurts to be so close to him. To want him and not want him at the same time. Feels like my arms are being pulled out from both sides.
“You sleeping with her?”
He exhales and doesn’t look at me.
“Baby, I would’ve been out on the street.”
A knife cuts me open from my heart down to my belly button. I’m bleeding to death and no one can see.
“But it’s different, with you,” he adds.
I turn away and stare at nothing. He must take me for an idiot.
“You don’t believe me? Do you?”
He reaches for my hand and I snatch it away so fast I almost hit the lady next to me.
“Baby, I’m doing this for us. So we can have paper for Bean!”
I don’t respond and he doesn’t push me. We sit there silent, frozen, stubborn as boulders.
D038.
“I forget sometimes, how young you are,” he says and slouches in his seat. “You just don’t understand.”
“You can’t blame my age for your lies.”
Ted raises an eyebrow. He wants to respond, but is smart enough not to. There’s nothing he can say to save himself.
We wait in silence for another thirty minutes. Ted only moves to stretch his legs in his seat.
D072.
“Me and Leticia, we just cool. She’s smart and knows how to work niggas. So we came up with this plan to, you know, have her bun up with some of the dudes in the building and niggas on the block. They give her money, buy her clothes and all that shit, and she gives me a cut. We figured we could make more money if we brought in some of her friends that are like her. I link them, like I’m doing a homie a favor, and they hit me up too. But I’m not out spending the money like that. I’ve been saving the money for us. For Bean.”
I look down at his shoes again. Bright green expensive laces. He kicks his foot out.
“I told you, these were a gift! Leticia gave me these. But I don’t love her, baby, I love you. We’re different. You know that.”
Stop talking, Ted. Just stop.
D080.
“I didn’t tell you about it ’cause I knew you wouldn’t understand. I was gonna use the money to get our spot when the baby was born and dead all contact after that. I swear, baby.”
“How many girls?”
“Huh?”
“Girls, Ted. You have more than just Leticia. You have more places to stay. How many?”
Ted winces and turns away. The number must be high. How long has he been pretending to be broke? How many times have we pooled our money together like he had none?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
“The same reason you didn’t tell me.”
For a moment, I forgot I told him about Alyssa. And then I understand. It wasn’t shame, it was fear that kept him from telling me; fear of the reaction from the one person who matters more to you than anyone in the world.
We hear my number called and I scramble out of my seat. Ted follows to the window, hands in his pockets, sulking. The woman looks like she has been working at the DMV for over a thousand years, face sagging to her chin, hair dyed black with white roots.
“I need to get an ID,” I say.
“Where’s the paperwork?” she asks, smacking her lips.
I open my bag and hand her my birth certificate. She tips her glasses to the end of her nose, looking over my shoulder.
“Is this your guardian?”
“No. He’s . . . my cousin.”
She stares at him again.
“Then who is your guardian?”
“I’m . . . I don’t know.”
“Are you in foster care?”
I shrug. “Sort of.”
“Then you need to come back with your guardian.”
“But . . . I have all my stuff here.”
“Do you have your MV45b?” she asks, losing patience.
“What’s that?”
She sighs.
“I need your birth certificate, your social security card, and an MV45b form. You also need your legal guardian here with you with a proper state ID to vouch for you. We can’t process you without it.”
She shoves the paper back toward me and clicks a switch for a new number.
Another roadblock. It never ends.
I walk away, slipping my birth certificate back into my bag. Why wouldn’t Ms. Stein or Winters tell me that? Aren’t they my guardians? Did they know? They did know. They did this on purpose. It’s punishment. They knew that I would have to tell them what I needed an ID for.
Ted walks behind me, rubbing my shoulders while we exit.
“It’s okay, babe. We can get you a fake ID. I know a dude who . . .”
I squirm from under his hands and step away. He throws his hands up.
“Aight, Mary, that’s enough! Quit being like that! I said I was sorry. I’m fucking here and not with them, aren’t I? What, you rather me sleep on the fucking sidewalk? You want me to be a fucking bum on the street?”
His voice is loud and demanding, but his eyes are begging for forgiveness. I turn away to keep from being melted by them.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
The words come out in a hiss, like a rattlesnake, poisonous and deadly. He steps away from me then sighs, all the fight leaving him. Torn, I quickly walk to the train before I have a chance to change my mind.
“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Mr. Giggles! Noooo!”
Ms. Reba’s screams wake up the entire house. I’m not usually nosy, but when I hear all the doors open and the girls whispering, I follow the voices downstairs. And there’s Ms. Reba, wailing by the doorway. Hovering over, from what I can tell, all that remains of her cat.
“Oh no! Noooo. Please, no!”
I never really paid much attention to that cat. You barely saw him but he was a quiet pain in the ass. His white fur covered the house like Saran Wrap and he hated using his litter box. He’d rather piss on the couch instead.
“Holy shit,” Joi gasps. “Do you see that thing?”
The cat is a gory mess. Eyes carved out, holes throughout his body like he was jumped in the shower at baby jail, tail chopped off and hanging from his mouth. The hallway reeks of the bleach Ms. Stein likes using on the floor. He must be soaked in it. We all stand around, staring at each other. Why would anyone kill Mr. Giggles?
“Noooo . . . why! No no no no no . . .”
This all seems too familiar. Ms. Reba kneeling on the floor, wailing in front of her child. Reminds me of Mrs. Richardson and Alyssa . . . I can almost feel the mud soaking through my pajamas.
I didn’t mean to throw her . . .
The coldness sets in and the shakes start, violent as a seizure. I take a step back, bumping right into New Girl, watching Ms. Reba, her eyes cold.
Ms. Reba stands up, hands bloody, face dripping with snot and tears, eyes blazing in rage. The whole room stiffens.
“YOU! You . . . you little bitches! You little bitches killed my baby!”
My heart stops, hearing her hoarse voice echo almost the exact words Mrs. Richardson said that night. Feeling the stabbing pain of her blame. All these years, it’s what hurt the most.
But I didn’t mean to throw her . . .
Ms. Reba jumps up, arms swinging. The girls scatter and shriek. I’m so stuck in my past that I can’t move and Ms. Reba is heading right for me, ready to kill. This is it. I’m going to die because I’m Alyssa-ing again. That hollow hole in my chest tightens. Ms. Reba lunges with a scream and I am ready to die, imagining her claws ripping me into shredded meat. But instead she snatches Kisha by the ponytail and shoves her against the wall by the throat.
“Who did it! You fucking better tell me!”
“I . . . I . . . didn’t do it, I swear,” Kisha screams.
“Tell me! You fucking tell me! Tell me NOW!”
“Reba, yo, calm down, man,” China yells, trying to break them apart. “Kisha wouldn’t do some shit like that, man!”
Ms. Reba spins around and backhand slaps China to the floor. Kisha coughs, beating against Ms. Reba’s hand, fighting to breathe. Tara tries to save her while Marisol helps China to her feet. The rest of us are frozen in fear.
New Girl calmly takes my hand and pulls me up the stairs as Ms. Stein comes hobbling fast out of her bedroom.
“Reby! Reby! NO! Stop! You’ll kill her!”
“I can’t! No, someone else got to do this,” Joi coughs, last night’s dinner by her feet. “Y’all, I can’t breathe. This shit ain’t right!”
The eight of us are on the floor, cleaning up what’s left of Mr. Giggles. Ms. Stein took one blue sponge, cut it into eight pieces, gave us a bucket of water, Ajax, and a trash bag, and then told us to get to work.
New Girl and Joi’s job was to get rid of Mr. Giggles while the rest of us crawl around on our hands and knees, scrubbing puddles of blood seeping into the wood. But damn . . . the sight of that mutilated cat. Joi threw up twice just holding the bag open for New Girl.
“No, I’m not playin’ y’all! I can’t do this shit,” Joi croaks, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “This mad nasty. I didn’t kill that fucking cat; one of you bitches did it!”
“Yo, shut the fuck up, Joi,” China barks, losing her patience. “Ms. Stein said if we don’t clean this shit up we’ll all be on house restriction for who knows how long!”
“I don’t give a—”
China jumps to her feet and slams Joi into the door by her neck.
“I’m not gonna be on no fucking house restriction because of your dumb ass! We in this together so you better clean that shit up or I’mma put your fucking face in it!”
“Whoa,” Kisha mumbles. China has never lashed out like this before. No one knows what to make of it so no one moves. Joi gasps for air, teary eyes shifting down to Kelly. For a change, Kelly doesn’t come to her defense, thinking the same as the rest of us—no one wants to be on house restriction. No one wants to go back to life in a cage. China finally lets go of her neck and Joi slumps to her knees. Kelly glances at me, eyes narrowing. Without makeup, you can see her face is still a little scarred with red patches in the shape of random continents. I quickly look away.
“Yo, don’t you have a man, Joi?” Kisha asks with a chuckle as China goes back to cleaning. “If you ever want to see him again, you better clean that shit up.”
Joi’s eyes widen, her lip trembling before she swallows up some air and picks up the garbage bag. New Girl sighs and grabs the cat bare-handed, tossing him into the bag.
“Damn,” Kisha says, sucking her teeth. “I’mma mess up my nails doing this shit.”
My back aches from squatting for what seems like hours. And I’m starving! We haven’t had breakfast or even changed out of our pajamas yet. Bean moves, elbowing everything in its way. I try to hold in a whimper but the stench of bleached cat makes me dry heave. China glances over at me from across the room. She frowns, starts to say something then shakes her head, eyes falling back to the floor.
“You ever been pregnant?” China asks Kisha, scrubbing next to her.
“Yeah,” she says like it’s nothing. “Twice.”
“Word? Why you never keep them?”
“’Cause I don’t wanna get all fat like psycho! I like my ass the size it is,” she says, slapping her butt with a smirk. “I made a little change though. Got them stupid niggas to pay for it. Tell them it’s four-fifty at the clinic when it really be like two hundred. I got myself a nice little Coach bag from Macy’s last time.”
Kisha giggles, all proud of herself while China shakes her head and keeps scrubbing.
“Anyways, my moms wasn’t gonna let me keep no baby,” Kisha says, all the humor gone from her voice. “Real talk, she barely wanted me. She wanted my sister though. Pretty light skin baby girl, hair just like psycho. Bet she playing with that girl’s hair now. She could never leave it alone.” She pauses, face darkening. “But whatever, I don’t need no kids. What I look like being some baby mama?”
China stops to look at her. Kisha zeros in on one spot and scrubs harder, nails long forgotten. Even Tara stops to watch her dig her way to the basement.
“You ever want kids?” Kisha asks China, out of breath but focused.
“I got some already,” China huffs. “A baby brother and sister.”
“Where they at?”
“I don’t know. Foster care, somewhere. Tried to get my aunt to keep them but she wasn’t trying to feed any more mouths than she already got. But when I turn eighteen, I’m gonna get them back.”
“They gonna let you do that?”
“Why not? They my blood.”
Kisha looks doubtful but doesn’t argue. Ain’t that something? Everyone swears I’m stupid for even dreaming of keeping Bean and this girl thinks she’s going to get some kids back that aren’t even really hers.
“I got a couple of more months in here. Gonna get my certification, get a job, then I’m out!” China snaps then looks at the rest of us. “Ain’t trying to fuck that up by killing some stupid cat!”
The room stays quiet while our sponges work against the floor, blood and gritty bleach powder covering our hands. New Girl ties up the bag of what’s left of Mr. Giggles and puts it in the backyard. Ms. Reba probably wants to bury him, have a funeral or something. That’s what you’re supposed to do with the dead you love. I wonder where they buried Alyssa and what the funeral was like. Did they bury her with her favorite blanket? What does it say on her stone? Will they ever let me visit?
Damn . . . Alyssa-ing, even while covered in cat blood.
“I was pregnant once,” Tara says and the whole room stops. The idea of Tara, of all people, being pregnant . . . I think it’s an SAT word: aghast. It means to be horrified, stunned, disgusted, and confused. We look like every one of those words.
“So why’d you get rid of . . . it?” Kisha asks cautiously, sitting back on her heels.
Tara shrugs and rings out her soapy blood-filled chunk of sponge. “Daddy said the white man would never understand.”
It’s Sunday. Visitation Day. Two weeks since I last saw Momma. We’ve been on house restriction since the Mr. Giggles accident so I honestly don’t mind her coming. I take a cold shower, have breakfast, and wait in the visitors’ room for her this time. We need to talk. Things are getting serious. Ms. Cora filed the motion and we have a court date. That means there is going to be another trial, with more lawyers, doctors, and people in our business. I have to get Momma to see that the easiest way out of this is to tell the truth.
Two thirty rolls around. I’m real tired and ready for my nap. Bean makes me so tired all the time. I sit in one of the armchairs and try not to get too comfortable. Momma will be walking in the door at any moment. Thanksgiving was a week ago, but maybe she’ll bring a slice of her sweet potato pie. She did one year, when I was still in baby jail. It was the best thing I had ever tasted.
Two thirty-five. I look out the window, expecting to see her parking, but the streets are empty. I tap my fingers against the windowsill, staring at the baby birds in the trees on the sidewalk. There’s seven of them, flapping around, chirping.
Where’s your momma, little baby birds? It’s dangerous out there.
I look back at the clock. It’s 2:45. Wait, where’s Momma!? She’s never late. Never.
I pace around the room, rubbing my stomach like I could rub right through to Bean’s head. Something’s happened. This isn’t like her. What if she got in an accident? What if she’s sick? Who would tell me? Troy?
What if she got hit by a car or something? Momma never looks both ways before crossing a street. And she’s not taking her pills! She always gets lost when she doesn’t take her pills. I don’t even know where she lives! She never told me. Should I call the police? Maybe Mr. Jose. No, Ms. Cora. Maybe Ms. Stein might have her number . . .
Then it hits me, and this confusing type of relief wraps me up like a blanket, but I still feel cold. She’s not coming.
She’s just not coming.