The People vs. Cashmere

by Karen P. Williams

  More tears came.

  “Let me see your arms.” She ran her hands along my hands and arms, and scanned them, I guess, looking for new cuts or scratches. Then she smiled. “Something Ms. Hope said stuck.”

  I smiled through the tears.

  “Think about what I said.” She walked way.

  I lay back on the bed. Ms. Hope’s words were in my head like she was standing in front of me. “Don’t become defined by your pain. Ask yourself, ladies, Are you a victim or a survivor?”

  As I turned over in the bed, something caught my eye. A book was sticking out of the edge of my bed. I stretched a hand to retrieve it. I grasped the tip, and then it fell out of my hands. I pulled myself closer to the inner edge of the bed, toward the wall, and grabbed it again. It was the book Ms. Hope had given me, the one I’d only half-finished, For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enough. As I flipped through the pages, something fell out onto my lap. It was a folded up letter.

  I took the folds out and was surprised to see Ms. Hope’s writing, which was addressed to me.

  Cashmere, there are times I don’t want to come to work. Y’all girls work the hell out of us sometimes. And when I reach for the phone to call off, you come to mind. Cashmere, you may look up to me, but I look up to you at the same time. I tell myself, if Cashmere can get up, manage a smile, or even a laugh, I can keep going as well. Cashmere, I know you been through a lot, but you gotta keep going. You have made so much progress, and I know things can only get better for you. You been through the fire, and you came out. Girl, you have so many blessings around the corner, you just have to be open to receive them. And now you are. Believe in Him, and know you are truly something special. See ya in the morning, Hope.

  I read the letter over and over until it was crinkled up in my hands. Then I leaped out of the bed and yelled, “Ms. B!” scaring the hell out of the staff that was sitting on me.

  Ms. B came running down the hallway, her eyes wide. “What? What is it?”

  I smiled. Don’t run from the pain, run toward it.

  “Fool. I thought you were whipping on my new staff.”

  I shook my head. “Naw, it’s nothing like that. If Ms. Hope was here, she would kill me.”

  “You know she ain’t never left, Cashmere.” Ms. B winked.

  I got it, what she meant.

  “Ms. Hope’s spirit is gonna always reside in East B.”

  I laughed and felt more tears come, but they weren’t bad ones at all. I felt good as hell. “I hope so, ’cause these heiffas need it, just like I needed it.”

  If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn Ms. B’s eyes had teared up at that moment. Turned out I was right, and tears did drop from her eyes.

  “I’ll make a deal with you, Ms. B. I’ll shower if you give me a pen.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “Normally, I don’t make deals with kids, but your ass stinks, so come on.”

  She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and walked me to the showers. “Just out of curiosity, Pierce, what do you need a pen for?”

  “I want to write the judge. You said I had court, right?”

  She nodded.

  Chapter 29

  It was like a ceremony, me going off to court. They didn’t forget when I had tried to AWOL, and since I was at their facility the longest before being sentenced, I was transported with two staff.

  The first thing I did when my public defender greeted me was politely ask him, “How are you?”

  He looked surprised and stuttered. “Fine, and you?”

  “Better, sir, much better.”

  I was the same way with the judge, who glared down at me again, like he did last time. “And how are you, sir?” I asked. He narrowed his eyes. “Ms. Pierce, I have been pushing your court date back. Do you know why?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I had no desire to see you in my courtroom.”

  People in the room laughed, but I remained poised. Ms. Hope would’ve been proud. Even Daddy. “I must say, Pierce, I am pleasantly surprised. All I have been getting is positive behavior files and letters from the facility where you’re detained. But I’m tired of reading. I want you to tell me where you are now.”

  I took a deep breath. “Well, sir, I’m in a much better place. See, for the longest I been fighting ’cause I been angry about my dad, my mom, being put in the situations I been in. When I was fourteen, my dad was in an accident and was never the same. Mama abandoned me and my sister. That’s where it started, my anger. I let my anger consume me, and when I came here, I gave up on myself. On life, period. I already knew my life was over, so I felt no need to pretend that I cared about anything. I was abused, raped, degraded, and I couldn’t do anything about it but scratch myself to avoid feeling it when those flashbacks came in my head. This may sound crazy, but I never wanted to die. But then again I never wanted to live, ’cause I felt I had nothing to live for. Then, sir, someone came into my life and, man, they were a sheer blessing. They taught me one of the most important things anyone could teach me—How to be a survivor.”

  “How so?”

  “She taught me that everyone is a victim once, but you don’t have to remain one. You have to come to terms with what you been through so that it won’t be a crutch for the rest of your life. So it doesn’t trap you. Then once you acknowledge what happened to you, you let go, so you can progress. And, sir, I had to do a whole lot of letting go.”

  There were chuckles.

  “Letting go was such a weight lifted off my chest. I didn’t have to be angry anymore. And, most of all, I started caring about myself. It’s been a while since I started doing that. I started feeling like I was worth something. And I am. I’m priceless. And I want the chance to get out of here and accomplish something eventually. I have so many reasons to, and most importantly, I owe it to somebody. ’Cause if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here.”

  I didn’t want to start crying, but I got like that whenever I thought of Ms. Hope.

  “Sir, I did not intentionally kill my sister. It was an accident, and if I could change that day, I would. The only thing I had then was taken away. And I was always taught to handle stuff by fighting, but in the end, all I end up doing is hurting myself.

  “So, sir, I have changed, but I accept whatever you choose to do with me. I just ask for a second chance to do things right now.”

  “What do you want to be?”

  “I always wanted to be a hairstylist and open my own shop, sir.”

  The judge didn’t look convinced by what I just said, and no one was saying anything. I licked my dry lips, as the judge seemed to be studying my face. He shifted some papers, read them again, and wrote something down.

  The judge gave me my sentence, and whole body wobbled. I didn’t hear him right. “What?” I blurted out.

  “I said, ‘Ms. Pierce is having a birthday in two weeks. Release her on probation on her birthday. ’”

  “I don’t have life, sir? No electric chair?”

  “Pierce, if you don’t leave my courtroom, I’ll change my mind.”

  My smile was so wide, my face ached. I hugged my public defender and was about to go for the judge, but changed my mind. I smiled graciously, feeling like I’d just won a million bucks. I kind of did, getting my freedom back.

  Damn, Ms. Hope. Thank you for everything. You saved me.

  Since I didn’t have any relatives I could stay with, they placed me in this emancipation program. The first thing I did was find out where Daddy was buried. The hospital was so kind. They told me they’d paid for Daddy’s tombstone. They gave me the address in case I wanted to go see him. I did. I put flowers on his grave.

  The program I was in provided me with a place of my own. I was even given spending money to purchase furniture and clothes. It was a little studio, but it was mine. The program paid my rent and utilities, and for me to go to a school of my choice. I picked a beauty college within walking distance of where I stayed.r />
  Now, finding a job was another thing. I couldn’t find one because I had no real work experience, except for Sweet Tooth Café. And that was only for a short period of time. And I had no reference, except Caesar. But he was part of my past, and I had no intention of dealing with him again.

  My P.O.’s name was Ms. Chisolm, a buff-looking black woman that always had her nails and hair done. She said to me, “You know you violating part of your probation by not working, don’t you, Cashmere?”

  “I can’t find anything. I don’t have experience with much, except for hair.”

  She laced her fingers together. “That’s right, you are in hair school.” She put her purse on her desk, opened it pulled out a card from her wallet. Then she took a pen and circled something and slid the card to me. “I’m only doing this because I see you really trying. And sometimes other sisters gotta help other sisters out. Then what you in turn do is, do this for another sister.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Tell Bev, Bosey sent you to her. She know I’m a good voucher.”

  “Thanks again.” I walked out of her office.

  The next day, I skipped school to visit the salon, hoping Bev would hire me. It was on the same street as the café I used to work at with Caesar. Pain tugged at my heart, but it passed after I thought of how fortunate my ass was. I was given a fresh new start. Man, I was going to make the best of it.

  I took a deep breath, smoothed the skirt on my business suit, checked my stocking to make sure they had no runs in them, and stepped inside the salon. The salon was pretty big. It was decorated in leopard and candles were all around the place. They were also burning incense. I hated that scent, ’cause Black used to burn it all the time. I could hear Too Short when I walked further in the salon past the lobby section.

  I tried to keep a smile on my face as I passed stylists pressing, perming, flat-ironing, and curling hair. You could smell hair being burnt. Customers waited on the leopard print couches yelling at each other, some on their cell phones, others flipping through magazines.

  I got a couple of strange stares as I walked a bit farther. I ignored them.

  One stylist whispered to her customer, “You know who that is?”

  I ignored that, although I didn’t want to.

  “Well, rumor is—”

  I tuned it out and asked another stylist, “Excuse me, is Bev here?”

  A couple of females were now checking me out. Fear rose within me. What if they recognize me from the track? Well, that wasn’t real likely, ’cause I wasn’t on there too much. But maybe they’d heard about me and my sister.

  I pushed those thoughts away and waited for a reply.

  The tall, slim woman said, “On the end with the loud voice.” She used her curlers to point to a woman in the far back booth putting relaxer on a woman’s hair.

  I went up to her. I caught the tail end of her conversation.

  “Yeah, girl, if the dick is good, the dick is good. Pass that shit around, if you gonna brag about getting dicked the fuck down!”

  Her client burst out laughing. “Girl, you know you crazy!”

  “Bev?”

  She spun around and said, “Yeah, babe?” Her smile was genuine.

  Cool. I cleared my throat but still managed to stutter. “I-I’m Cashmere. Bosey said to see you about a job.”

  “Bosey? Oh, that’s my husband’s P.O. Well, girl, welcome to the family.” Bev reached over and hugged me. She was a stranger, but it felt nice. Genuine.

  “All right now, dig it, girl—You work on commission. It won’t be much, and that all depends on what you can do.” Bev blew out a cloud of smoke. “What can you do?”

  “I can braid, press, perm, and weave, and I’m working on my license right now.”

  Her eyebrows rose when I said braid.

  “Well, without a license, you can’t do very much, so for now you can be my ‘poo-poo’ girl.”

  “What?”

  She put her weight on one leg. “Shampooing, and you said you could braid, right?”

  I nodded.

  “That will work too, ’cause I do a lot of sewn-in weaves. You can braid the shit down for me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Five for every shampoo you do, and eight for every head you braid.” She yanked me by my hand before I could answer. “Come on.”

  Now all the chicks were staring at me as I stood with Bev in the center of the salon.

  “Y’all listen up! This is Cashmere, the new poo-poo girl. Don’t give her no shit.”

  Somebody said, “Murderer!”

  Color drained from my face, and I felt cold. I almost walked out, if it wasn’t for Bev grabbing my arm and holding me there.

  “All the reason not to fuck with her, right?”

  I managed a smile at that; a few others did as well.

  “Y’all bitches don’t even know her, and I’ll bet she ain’t got half the skeletons y’all hoes got. So don’t fuck with her! Everybody deserves a second chance.”

  Some of the women nodded.

  The bitch who called me a murderer shrunk in her chair, and my eyes penetrating hers made her shrink deeper.

  Someone said, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  I smiled. I now had a job. I was really getting it together.

  Bev was crazy as hell. And her craziness always had me cracking up. Every time I turned around, her ass was sending me to get her skinny ass some fried fish, hush puppies, and potato salad.

  And the thing was, staff gave me a bit of hell at first, but once they saw how quick I could braid, they showed me love. One thing hairstylists that did weaves hated to do was braid hair. It hurt their wrists.

  And another thing about working in a salon with females is that you always learn the lastest gossip, whether you want to or not. Who was back in town, who left town, who got arrested, who got robbed, and the most popular topic, who was fucking who.

  I listened quietly as I placed a cap over this lady’s head and sat her under the dryer in the back of the salon.

  Gee Gee, this buck-tooth stylist with gray contacts that could press good as hell, was talking and usually the one to initiate the gossip, her and Rona, and this short stylist named Quida, with the squeaky voice and childlike face. The other ladies who worked in the salon were usually tight-lipped but always listened in.

  “I don’t know why she with that fool, always coming up here bragging about how good her man is to her. He ain’t shit.”

  Rona, the pretty, brown-skin stylist with freckles, added crimps to a lady’s hair. “Okay, girl.”

  “You know you ain’t never lied,” Quida said.

  Gee Gee laughed. I wished she would close her mouth on her buck teeth. They weren’t a pretty sight.

  “Shit, yesterday, girl, I was getting me some chicken from Louisiana Chicken, and that fool was picking up a raggedy hooka.”

  Rona laughed and stomped her feet, almost burning a client, and Quida giggled as well. Some of the other ladies in the salon laughed with Gee Gee and Rona.

  “I’ll tell you, that’s why I stay the fuck alone.” Gee Gee had her pressing comb in the air like she was testifying. Then she snickered and pulled the cape off of her client. “But I will participate in some good dick every now and again. Okay, baby, you done.”

  “Cashmere!” Bev was calling me from her office.

  When the door opened, I heard somebody mumble, “Speaking of the devil,” but I didn’t get the chance to see who they were talking about until I came back from seeing what Bev wanted.

  After getting the letter back from her to give to my P.O., I dashed back outside. When I did, I gasped at my auntie sitting at the rinsing bowl, her head back and her eyes closed.

  Gee Gee said, “Baby, can you wash Mrs. Malone’s hair?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m gonna get you taken care of, Mrs. Malone,” Gee Gee told her.

  I pursed my lips when she wasn’t looking. My aunt looked pretty much the same, sitt
ing in that chair like she was Queen of Sheba and shit. I turned on the water and waited for it to get hot before turning on the cold.

  “Now be gentle. My husband is taking me out to the theatre,” she yelled. “Gee Gee, make sure you get my hair silky.”

  “I will, babe.” Gee Gee rolled her eyes at my aunt.

  If my auntie only knew, I thought as I scrubbed the dandruff out of her hair. I dug my fingers into her scalp like Bev had trained me to do.

  “What play you gonna see?” Quida asked.

  “Play? Who said anything ’bout a play? I’m going to see the new Tom Cruise movie.”

  There were a few muffled giggles and a whole lot of coughing and whispers.

  My auntie hummed, the same tune she used to hum around the house. I stayed silent and rinsed the shampoo out of her hair before applying conditioner and a cap.

  The chatter in the room continued throughout this. Gee Gee was now talking about somebody else’s lowdown husband.

  My aunt jumped in the conversation. “And it’s a damn shame women don’t know how to keep their damn husband at home.”

  I coughed to cover my laughter, as did the other women.

  “’Cause my man knows his address. He damn sure knows when to come home and not to be in the streets with these triflin’ heiffas with no sense of direction.”

  Gee Gee’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

  “Okay, Mrs. Malone, can you please go to the dryers,” I said in a professional voice. I had changed, but my voice didn’t. Which was exactly why she froze.

  I now stood in front of her, my hands behind my back, so when she opened her eyes, she had no choice but to see me.

  Her eyes were wide, and all I saw was eyeball when she focused in on me. She stuttered at first, trying to find the proper words to address me, I guess. When she wasn’t able to, I offered her a smile to let her know that I was cool, that I held no grudge, but she didn’t smile back at me.