Diary of a Mistress

by Miasha

  Angela gasped. Her face froze, and she felt paralyzed. Within moments other people entered the room and took seats. Among them were an older white woman with short red hair, whom everyone referred to as master or judge; the doctor who had originally 302’d Angela; and Dr. Whitaker, who would act as Angela’s public defender. Everybody greeted one another and greeted Angela as well. But she didn’t respond to any of them. Instead, she stared into space.

  “Ms. Williams?” Dr. Whitaker said, a concerned look on her face.

  Angela shook her head as if she was snapping out of a trance. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was thinking about something.”

  “Are you all right?” asked the man who was reading the paper.

  “Yes. I’m fine. We can start,” Angela said hurriedly, still appearing zoned out.

  The master looked at Angela strangely, and said, “Well, it looks like everyone is present, so we can begin. Doctor,” the master said, gesturing toward the doctor who had committed Angela.

  “Good morning,” Dr. Wayne began. “Ms. Williams was brought to Frankford Torresdale’s emergency room eight days ago, where I determined that she had attempted suicide. I based my analysis on the amount of Vicodin and alcohol that was found in her bloodstream. I believe that had she taken one more pill, she would have died, which is why I 302’d her.”

  “Frankford Torresdale, Frankford Torresdale, Frankford Torresdale,” Angela mumbled.

  The master looked over at Dr. Whitaker, who was sitting beside Angela. She shot Angela another strange look before she asked, “What have you observed from the patient, Doctor?”

  Angela’s foot began shaking under the table.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Dr. Whitaker began, trying to ignore Angela’s distracting behavior. “In these past eight days since being admitted, Ms. Williams has not attempted suicide, she has not asked for any items that could be used for such an attempt, nor has she spoken of any such actions. She also has not shown any signs of depression and has been in a better mental state with every passing day. I advised her to start a diary as a way of expressing herself privately. She took my advice, and not only has she followed it, but she has shared with me how beneficial the method was for her. Based on our sessions and on reports from other staff members, it is determined that Ms. Williams is not a danger to herself or anyone else, and is capable of being placed back into society.”

  The master turned to the young black guy and asked, “What do you have for us today, Doctor?”

  “Is the patient on meds?” the young man asked.

  “Yes. I prescribed antidepressants,” Dr. Whitaker responded, looking through Angela’s chart.

  “Well, she needs them now. Master, it’s clear that the patient still requires treatment.”

  “That’s not true,” Angela said in her defense, again seeming to snap out of a trance. “You just want me to stay in Taylor’s. It’s your job to put me there. That’s why you’re here. What other purpose do you city solicitors serve? You’re just a prosecutor with a doctorate. You don’t know me. You haven’t worked with me. You haven’t seen how I’ve progressed. You’re just here to make me look unstable so they can commit me. I’m not stupid.”

  Dr. Whitaker interrupted. “Ms. Williams, shh. You are making this very hard on yourself,” she whispered to Angela.

  Meanwhile, the master watched Angela closely.

  “All I wanna do is get out of here!” Angela shouted with tears in her eyes. “Something has happened to somebody I love dearly, and I need to be by his side!”

  Everybody grew perplexed, not knowing what Angela was talking about. For all they knew, she was crazy and needed to be medicated.

  “I don’t think she’s ready. Maybe a couple more months,” the city solicitor suggested to the master.

  “Ms. Williams, I’m committing you to another sixty days in Taylor’s Institution for Behavioral Health,” the master said.

  “Noooo!” Angela sobbed. “Why are y’all doing this to me? Y’all want me to kill myself or something? Is that what y’all want?”

  “Remove her, please,” the master said, as she focused on signing some papers.

  Dr. Whitaker sorrowfully patted Angela on her back. The driver who had brought Angela to the hearing forcefully escorted her out of the conference room.

  “Ashley!” Angela screamed when she saw her sister waiting outside the room.

  Ashley just stood in the hallway with tears in her eyes. She felt bad for her sister, but there was nothing she could do. Truthfully, she thought it was best for Angela to be detained. At least then she knew her sister was safe. Whenever Angela was out, it seemed Ashley was always on edge, worrying that every time the phone rang it was somebody with some bad news about her sister.

  “They want me to kill myself!” Angela continued to scream as she was being restrained and taken out of the hospital.

  Meanwhile, Dr. Whitaker joined Ashley in the hallway.

  “I don’t know what went wrong in there. Your sister was doing exceptionally well. I-I just don’t understand,” Dr. Whitaker said, vexed.

  “I thought she would be getting discharged today. When I spoke to her, she said she had done real well and she was confident that she would be getting out. What happened?” Ashley asked.

  “She just went blank. In the middle of the hearing, in front of the judge and the prosecutor, it was like she just blanked out. Then she verbally attacked the prosecutor and started mumbling things under her breath. I-I don’t know. I’m as confused as you are. But, anyhow, they gave her sixty days,” Dr. Whitaker said with pity. “I feel so bad for her. I mean, she really did try hard all week. She desperately wanted to get out today. She was determined not to get committed.”

  Ashley shook her head and said, “Some things are just out of our control. I just hope she gets better.”

  “That’s the truth,” Dr. Whitaker agreed. “Just keep in touch with her. Check in on her every chance you get. I’m sure she can use the support.”

  “I will,” Ashley said, then she walked toward the elevator to leave the building.

  Monica was sitting as far away as she could from the smelly homeless woman who was stretched out on the steel bench they had to share. Still in the dirty, bloodstained clothes from hours before, she felt disgusted. She was combing her fingers through her tangled hair when a heavyset black woman opened her cell.

  “Monica Vasquez,” the corrections officer said.

  Monica stood up from the edge of the bench and followed the officer out of the cramped cell. She didn’t know where she was headed, but she prayed it wasn’t anywhere near the woman who had been going through withdrawal in another cell or the one who had been complaining loudly about the bloody tampon that was in the toilet stinking up her cell.

  “Match your feet up with those footprints right there,” the officer told Monica.

  Monica did as she was told. She wanted to know what was going on but was too afraid to ask.

  “Hold this under your chin,” the officer said, giving Monica a piece of paper. “I’m gonna take a front shot and a side shot of you. Then you’ll go over there and get fingerprinted.”

  Monica broke her silence. “Um, excuse me, what is this for?”

  “You’re being charged.”

  “Charged? Charged with what?”

  The officer yelled to another officer, “She wanna know what she’s bein’ charged with.”

  “Attempted murder,” the other officer yelled back.

  Monica’s heart dropped. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But, but…I didn’t attempt to kill anybody,” Monica said.

  “Well, that’s for the jury to decide, not us,” the officer said as she snapped a picture. “Soon as you get done, you can make a phone call.”

  When they finished fingerprinting Monica, an officer escorted her to a pay phone.

  “Mom,” Monica said once her mother picked up.

  “Oh, Monica, what are they saying?” Monica’s mother asked, concerned.<
br />
  “They charged me.” Monica’s voice cracked.

  “With what?”

  “Attempted murder,” Monica struggled to say.

  “Oh, Monica, sweetheart. It’s all in the news. They’re painting you as a monster. I have to keep changing the channel so the kids won’t catch it,” Monica’s mother cried.

  Monica broke down, “Mommy, what did I do? I didn’t try to kill my husband. I didn’t and I never would have wanted my kids to see a thing like that, Mommy.”

  “I know. I know. The minute they set bail, call me. I’m coming to get you, okay. I’m getting you out of there. We’ll figure this out together.”

  “Mom, how is Carlos? Is he going to be okay?”

  “He’s in ICU. But the doctors said they were sure he would pull through.”

  “Oh, God,” Monica wailed. “What about the boys? How are they holdin’ up?”

  “They would be fine if the damn police would leave them alone. They keep questioning them over and over. I had to tell them to get out of my house,” she explained, still crying.

  “Mom, what did I do to deserve this? I just tried to be a good person, Mommy. I just tried to be a good wife and a good mother. How did I mess that up?” Monica cried.

  “Monica, you hold it together. You didn’t do anything, you hear me? You just hold it together. I’ll be there as soon as they set bail.”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  Monica hung up. She returned to her holding cell, where she cried the whole time she was waiting for her turn to see the judge. She had never felt so much pain in her life. The thought of Carlos being in ICU without her by his side was killing her. Then there was the fact that her kids were in the middle of this big mess that she created, all over a woman. She didn’t think she would ever be able to forgive herself for putting her family through so much over something so small and worthless. Her husband having an affair didn’t call for all that, she thought. She was paying big-time for her mistakes, emotionally and soon to be financially after figuring lawyer fees. She wished she could turn back the hands of time.

  Angela was strapped to a stretcher with her hands and feet bound securely when she was returned to Taylor’s. The staff, including Vanessa, looked at her with shock. They didn’t expect to see her return, let alone in restraints. Her face was pale, and her eyes were half closed. She looked exhausted, as if she were passed out. Her hair was no longer arranged neatly in a bob, but looked frizzed and disheveled. Her clothes were wrinkled. It looked as if she had been in a fight.

  Vanessa was the first to go to admissions. “What happened?” she asked.

  “They said she just snapped and went crazy at the hearing,” an EMT told her. Vanessa followed procedures and reported the information she had gathered to the rest of the staff so they could prepare for Angela’s stay. One staff member went to Angela’s room to make sure there weren’t any items there that Angela could possibly use to harm or kill herself. Another staff member went into the kitchen to get lunch out for Angela. Vanessa checked Angela’s chart and prepared her meds.

  Angela was taken to her room after being evaluated, searched, and given food and medicine. She had been cooperative, but in a puppet kind of way. It wasn’t like before when she eagerly did what she was told. This time she just let the staff do whatever they wanted to her. She wasn’t necessarily compliant, but she didn’t refuse any procedures either. She was like a corpse being prepped for her funeral. When staff members searched her, she stood slumped over, putting no effort into helping them along. If they wanted her arms lifted, they had to lift them themselves. When it came time for her to eat, Vanessa fed her. The only things Angela did on her own were chew and swallow. Vanessa even put her medicine in her mouth for her and held a cup of water to her lips for her to drink. All the while, Angela never spoke a word. Her facial expression never changed. For the staff, the difference between Angela the day before at the cookout and Angela hours after her court appearance was like day and night. In their field it was quite a common occurrence. But for Angela, it was devastating. She had come so far just to end up right where she started, and this time it was over a man who wasn’t even her husband.

  It had been a long wait, but Monica was finally on the list to see the judge. She bit her nails nervously as she sat in front of the monitor.

  “Pick up the phone, ladies,” a corrections officer instructed Monica and two other women in the room.

  “Hello,” Monica said softly.

  “Vasquez, Monica Vasquez?” the voice on the other end of the phone said.

  “Yes.”

  “Verify your address, please.”

  Monica slowly recited her address.

  “Birth date?”

  “July 15, 1972.”

  “Okay, Ms. Vasquez, you understand you were charged with attempted murder…”

  Monica sighed.

  “Your record is clean, but under the circumstances, with there being children involved, we will not be able to grant bail for you—”

  “What?” Monica cut the judge off.

  “You’ll remain in custody for the duration of your trial. Your preliminary hearing will be one month from today.”

  Monica was angry. She slammed the phone down and immediately started crying. The other two women in the room were giving her strange looks as the CO escorted her back to her cell. She wasn’t even able to call her mom and tell her what had happened. The CO said she was too irate to be let out of the cell, which made her even madder. She lost control, screaming and cursing out the CO; kicking the bars, the walls, and the toilet. Eventually she crawled into a corner and started softly banging her head against the wall. Hurting and desperate for comfort, she shut her eyes in an effort to force herself to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  “Hi, I’m here to see my daughter, Monica Vasquez,” Monica’s mother stated as she approached a big counter inside PICC penitentiary on State Road.

  “Let me see your ID, please,” said the light-skinned woman behind the counter.

  “Stand still. Don’t move,” Monica’s mother said to Chris and C.J. as she let go of their hands to get her driver’s license out of her purse.

  The twins followed their grandmother’s instructions and stood still beside her. Their big brown eyes looked around at the people in the waiting area and then up at the police officers behind the counter. They seemed scared but didn’t say a word.

  “Okay. Sign in here, and make sure you sign their names too,” the woman told Monica’s mother as she slid a clipboard across the counter. “Oh, and how old are they? Are they school-age?”

  “Yes, they’re five,” Monica’s mother answered.

  “Well, you’re not supposed to bring kids here during school hours.”

  “They’re my daughter’s sons.”

  “Still. That’s policy. You can bring them here after school hours.”

  Monica’s mother began to get frustrated. “Well, I didn’t know that. I came all the way here to see my daughter. And these are her kids. She’s looking forward to seeing them today. Can you make an exception, please?”

  The woman looked over at the clock. It was two fifteen. “All right. This is what you can do. You can have a seat over there and at three thirty you can come up here and do the sign-in process again.”

  “Are you serious?” Monica’s mother asked. “I have two five-year-olds with me. They’re only in kindergarten, for Christ’s sake. They’re not missing anything, believe you me.”

  “Listen, that’s not my rule, ma’am. Now I’m really working with you. Usually, you would have to leave and come back another day or go up without the kids.”

  Monica’s mother rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. She fought back tears and swallowed her pride as she realized she had little choice in the matter.

  “Okay,” she said, then led her grandsons over to the waiting area.

  “Knock, knock,” Vanessa whispered a
s she slowly opened the door to Angela’s room.

  Angela was lying on her bed facing the wall, still in her nightclothes. She wasn’t under the covers. In fact, the bed was neatly made. She was stiff. Her eyes were open and unblinking. The room was dark and cold and silent.

  “Angela,” Vanessa whispered as she stood in the doorway. “I’m getting ready to leave. Do you need anything before I go?”

  Angela didn’t respond. She didn’t even budge. Vanessa walked into the room and stood over her.

  “How about you get out of your pajamas and take a warm bath? You may be able to get some sleep if you get comfortable,” Vanessa suggested. “Where’s that bubble bath stuff you like? I’ll run the water for you.”

  Still there was no response from Angela. If it weren’t for her stomach moving up and down, Vanessa would have thought she wasn’t breathing.

  “Ms. An-ge-la,” Vanessa sang softly. “I’m trying to help you out. You know once I leave nobody’ll be back in here to check on you. So you better tell me if you need anything now.”

  Vanessa was trying everything to get Angela to talk to her. It had been over a month, and she still didn’t know the whole story of why Angela had been sent back to the institution in the first place. But whatever the reason, she knew it was getting the best of Angela. She knew how bad Angela wanted to get out and how hard she had tried to make that happen. She knew Angela was crushed, and she felt sorry for her.

  “It’s two fifty-eight, Ms. Angela,” Vanessa warned. “My shift ends in two minutes. I won’t be back until tomorrow. You better tell me what you need. Something to drink? Anything?”

  Angela said nothing.

  “All right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye,” Vanessa said as she slowly left Angela’s room.

  It was a quarter after five by the time Monica’s mother and sons were able to see Monica. She came into the visiting room wearing a red jumpsuit. Her hair was braided in the back, and she appeared to have lost weight. She lit up, though, when she saw her mom and the two boys.