“Mary Addison?”
I nod. She said my name like she knew it, which only makes me think of Alyssa.
“Date of birth,” she says, taking her time standing up.
“October thirteenth.”
“Hm. Okay, change into this. Then up on the table.”
The nurse scans around my belly, then jams a stick up my insides. It’s cold; the stick, the jelly, the room, and the woman running the machine. When she is done, I change back into my jeans while she scribbles on some paper.
“Here,” she says, passing me a folder. “Take this to the front. Oh, and happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, not meeting her eyes and rushing out the room.
Ted is waiting outside the discharge door, grinning. I stop by the booth and another nurse hands me an envelope.
“Take this. Give it to your guardian. Results in a week. Appointment in four weeks.”
Inside is a bunch of paperwork where the most important figure stands out: I’m eight weeks pregnant. Stapled to the report is a fuzzy black-and-white picture of my ultrasound. Ted looks over my shoulder.
“Wow,” he says, taking the photo out my hand. We stand outside the clinic, studying the picture, the fall wind blowing through my hair.
“It looks like a kidney bean. Red beans and rice!” he says.
I laugh. “I was thinking more like a jelly bean.”
Ted is in some type of trance, but happy. “It’s there.”
“Yeah. It’s there.”
“Our bean.”
He smiles and stuffs the picture in his hoodie. We walk down Fulton while I tell him about the appointment.
“That’s it? Vitamins? What kind?”
“Prenatal.”
“Aight, let’s go get you some then.”
We walk two blocks up to a Duane Reade pharmacy and Ted stops at the counter.
“Yo, my dude, where you keep them vitamins?”
The young sales guy glances at me, then at him.
“In the back, against the wall.”
Ted turns to me. “You thirsty?”
I nod.
“Aight, I’mma get you some water. Meet me in the back.”
I walk through the aisles to a towering wall of vitamins. There is an entire shelf for prenatal vitamins. More pills. But these pills are good for me, good for Bean, so I should take these. I grab the first bottle I see. Seventeen dollars and ninety-nine cents. I only have five.
“Can I help you?”
The sales guy from the front startles me. He looks my age, skinny and pimply faced, grinning in his red smock, with dry-looking cornrow braids.
“Are you looking for something specific?”
I don’t say nothing. Just stand there with the bottle in my hand and I don’t know why, but he makes me feel uneasy. Maybe it’s the way he’s smiling, like he’s up to something. And he is so close. Too close.
“Maybe I can—”
“Yo! The fuck is you doing?”
Ted walks behind him and he scoots away.
“Yo, you pushing up on my girl, son?”
Ted jumps in his face and Sales Guy shakes his head hard. Ted’s voice sounds like a giant, the store feels smaller with him in it.
“Nah, man! I was just . . . helping her and . . .”
“Then why you all up in her fucking face for?”
Ted is inches from his nose. Sales Guy looks scared. I’m scared for him.
“Back the fuck up!”
He bucks and Sales Guy jumps back a foot. Ted glances at me and I freeze.
“Why you look like that? Come here.”
I don’t move. I can’t move, but I want to run away. Ted, my sweet Ted . . . is a monster. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, that story was mad crazy.
“I said, come here,” he says roughly, pulling me by my hoodie. I whimper, bracing for a smack. Instead, he leans down and kisses me, his tongue slipping inside my mouth. He tastes like fruit punch, lips greasy with Vaseline. His angry voice, the Sales Guy, the world, all forgotten because he has never kissed me like this before. He backs me against the vitamin wall, hand slipping around my waist. That’s when I feel him grab one of the bottles and slide it into my coat pocket. He cuffs my face, eyes glowing, and gives me another kiss before turning to Sales Guy.
“The fuck you looking at?”
Sales Guy chews on his words. He knows Ted is up to something, he just can’t figure out what. Ted grabs my hand and pulls me through the aisle.
“Yo, hold up a minute,” Sales Guy nervously calls after us. Ted walks faster. He drags me out the door, through the alley, and across the street. We’re five blocks away before he slows down.
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have done that with you.”
I laugh, out of breath from our escape. Is this what regular kids do? Do they feel this rush? This love? Ted grins and is back to himself, like nothing ever happened.
“You hungry?” he asks.
We walk into a Burger King down the block and he sits me by a window. I try to give him five dollars, but he doesn’t take it. A few minutes later, he returns with a tray of two Whoppers with cheese, fries, and a Coke. All that running and kissing has me mad starving. I finish my burger, licking the sauce off my fingers. Ted laughs.
“You want another one?”
I do, but I don’t want to be greedy, so I shake my head. He smiles but it fades fast, folding his hands on the table. His fist looks like a cat used his knuckles as a scratching post. I can see why Sales Guy was nervous.
“Baby . . . I gotta tell you something.”
The burger and fries drop to the bottom of my stomach.
“Remember when we first met, you asked me what I did. And I didn’t tell you, ’cause . . . I didn’t want you looking at me . . . different.”
Oh no. What if I’m dating a murderer? A real murderer.
He gives a long sigh. “When I was fourteen, I was a wild boy, man. Out partying and drinking like I was a grown-ass man. Most of my crew was older than me. So I just did what they did. And did what they say. They say to kick someone’s ass, I kicked they ass. They say stick up that bodega, it was handled. I was in and out of juvie, small stuff, nothing major, all year. My file was thick. Social worker came to my house, told my mom my nine lives are almost up and I better straighten up. But I wasn’t at the house that night, I didn’t know.
“I was with my boys, drinking and shit on my homeboy’s stoop. This girl walks by. My boy talked her into drinking with us. She got real drunk. We were all drunk, mad faded. My boy brought her inside, we all followed. She passed out, I guess. Then . . . he had her on the couch, he lifted up her skirt . . . after the second guy, she woke up and started screaming, and my boy told me to hold her arms down.”
Ted shifts in his seat a little, eyes on the table.
“They covered her mouth, ran a train on her . . . I was mad scared and . . . I let go of her arms. She kicked the last dude out and ran off. My boys blamed me for letting her go. When the cops came, later that night, they arrested all of us. Charged us with rape. The girl was thirteen.”
He finally looks at me.
“But I swear, I didn’t rape her!”
He didn’t rape her, but he sure held her down for others to. How could he be so stupid? He reaches for my hands in a panic.
“Baby, I was scared and drunk . . . I . . . I didn’t know what I was doing! But with that and my other charges, they sent me upstate, bumped out at seventeen. My boys I was with, they blamed me for us getting caught. ’Cause I let go of her hands. I ran into some of them the other night on the way home. That’s where I got all this.”
He points to his busted lip and black eye.
“But I swear on everything, I didn’t rape that girl. I would never do that. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just a kid.”
That was the defense my lawyer tried to use. The “she’s just a kid, she didn’t know what she was doing” plea. But when you’re caught red-handed trying to hide the evidence, i
t means you had some idea of what you were doing.
“So?” I finally say.
“So. I just wanted you to know. That’s all.”
I relax and let him touch my arm again. How can I judge him; I’ve done way worse.
Allegedly.
“But hey . . .”
He scoops a hand from under the table and sets down a Hershey’s chocolate pie.
“Happy birthday,” he says hesitantly, staring at me as if to say “is this okay?”
He remembered. I knew he would.
“Thank you.” I giggle and read the box. Chocolate mousse, whipped cream, with a cookie crunch. He grins and relaxes.
“It ain’t much, but next week, I’mma take you to the movies. Just didn’t want the day to go by . . . and nothing.”
I smile at him, at my pie, at our day. No one else is happy I’m alive except Ted.
Ted takes out the ultrasound picture, studying it hard. His smile could light up a pitch-dark room.
“So, right, if we have a boy, what you want to name him? No junior though!”
I scoop a spoonful of the pie. It’s delicious.
“Hmmm . . . Benson.”
“Okay. What about a girl?”
I think of Alyssa, but swallow back her name.
“Olivia.”
He laughs and stares at the picture again.
“Yo, this is so dope.”
Making Ted happy is the best birthday present of all. A present I don’t deserve because if he knew the truth about what I did, he’d hate me. He’d break up with me and then I’d be alone. No Ted. No baby. No Momma . . .
My eyes feel heavy again. Ted looks up at me.
“Aw, baby, don’t cry.”
He switches to my side of the booth, wrapping his arm around me. This is the second time I’ve cried in less than a month. Now I’m sure it’s the pregnancy.
“It’s aight, babe. It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers in my hair, smoothing my back.
It’s not going to be okay, but I can’t tell him that.
chapter five
Notes from Dr. Alex M. Spektor,
Chief Psychiatrist at Bellevue Hospital, NY
Upon arrival to Bellevue, Mary was prescribed two antipsychotics: phenothiazine, to control the reported aggression, and Tegretol, to stabilize her mood. She was also put on a continued regimen of Ritalin, in order to treat her previously diagnosed Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.
However, Mary never demonstrated or showed any signs of a learning disability, least of all hyperactivity or impulsivity. School records give no mention of disruptions or violence in the classroom. Every progress report highlights her attentiveness, thoughtfulness, and ability to follow direction. In her eight months of residency, although she never spoke a word, she demonstrated cognitive awareness, a sharp memory, and follow-through of tasks given, like coloring inside the lines or writing complete sentences. We requested the official documentation and reports from her original diagnoses, but no one could provide the information. This led us to question whether she was ever tested at all.
The Learning Center is way downtown, right by Brooklyn City Hall. One more train stop and we’d be in Manhattan. That’s where Ms. Claire told me to go. I forgot all about the test until Ted reminded me.
“Let’s stick to the plan. Just ’cause you having a baby, don’t mean you can’t go to college,” he said.
I halfway disagree. I have so much more to worry about, like how to keep Bean and stay out of baby jail. But, maybe if I get into school, they’d see I’m better and stop all this adoption crap. So we went first thing Saturday morning after chores and checkout.
The center is big, bright, and new, like they just finished building the furniture this morning. We stand in line at reception.
“Nice place.”
“Expensive place,” I correct him, losing interest by the second.
Ted smirks and kisses my temple. Ms. Claire steps out of an office and hands some packets to the receptionist. She is dressed different today, slacks and a striped button-down. No jewelry, but her hair is still flaming red.
“More applications, Candace. Make sure these go out tonight.”
She turns and spots me.
“Ah! Yuh came. Good, come. Leave him there.”
I look at Ted and he nods, taking a seat in the waiting area.
Her office is a tiny box, not even a window, just bare bones. A desk with stacks of papers, two chairs, and a small bookshelf of SAT and college books. She shuts the door behind me.
“Give meh time to find it.”
She shifts through stacks of hundreds, finding mine at the very bottom.
“I want to talk to yuh ’bout dis ’ere.”
I sit, because bad news is always taken better when sitting.
“Yuh got a 690 in critical reading, 520 in math, 660 on the writing.”
I shrug.
“What is dis ting yuh do wit your shoulders? Yuh know how good that is? That’s excellent! Compared to everyone else, yuh aced it!”
She is grinning hard, waiting for a reaction. I try to give her a real smile, but give up.
“Only reason why yuh math may haf been so low is ’cause yuh didn’t haf the proper calculator.”
The calculator. Right. I have to buy one of those.
“Are yuh in a prep course?”
“No. Studying on my own.”
“Well, how yuh gonna learn anything new if yuh not taking the proper studies?”
“I didn’t read the whole book yet.”
She nods.
“Well, we have a prep course that yuh can take,” she offers.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“No money.”
That is usually the end to most arguments, but she doesn’t look convinced.
“But yuh close . . . yuh can’t get the money nowhere?”
I shake my head. She taps her chin, as if she is thinking.
“Hmmm . . . when yuh plan to take the test?”
“December.”
“December? Chuh, that’s too soon! Why yuh in such a hurry? Why rush?”
Because I need to get out that damn house. Because I’m pregnant and they’re going to take my baby away and I don’t have time to waste, I want to scream. But it’s not her fault. She’ll never understand what I’m dealing with. She sighs and moves some papers around.
“Yuh know, when people rush tings they make more mistakes, see? Haste makes waste! Come now, take your time. Push it back to January, or even March. Are yuh free on Saturdays?”
I shrug. I guess.
She reaches behind her and grabs a couple of small handbooks and a flyer, throwing them on the desk in front of me.
“Come to meh workshop. It’s every other Saturday in Flatbush.”
She writes down an address on a piece of paper.
“Yuh can sit in. We go through text, lessons, and tips, take a full exam. Practice makes perfect. Di more yuh take di test, di better yuh get.”
She holds out the paper and I don’t take it. Didn’t she hear me? I said I have no money.
“Take it! Meh not looking for your little money.”
Then what is she looking for?
“And dis ’ere too, take these work sheets. Yuh two weeks behind.”
I hesitate before grabbing the work sheets and she holds the other side, looking at me real serious like.
“How old are yuh?”
“Sixteen.”
“Hmph. Yuh hav’ di eyes of a forty-year-old.”
I don’t say nothing. I don’t like this woman for some reason. She can see inside me, leaving me naked and exposed. The only other person I know like that is Alyssa’s momma. I fidget just thinking of her, ready to run into the comfort of Ted’s arms.
“Anyway, remember what I told yuh. Let nothing keep yuh from your dreams.”
I nod and rip the paper out of her hand.
Continued Transcript from the December 12th Interview wit
h Mary B. Addison, Age 9
Detective: Mary, do you have any brothers or sisters?
Mary: Yes. I mean, no.
Detective: You sure? You don’t seem too sure.
Mary: I used to have a brother.
Detective: Really. What happened to him?
Mary: He died.
Detective: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know how he died?
Mary: He was sleep and he didn’t wake up.
Detective: I see. I’m sorry. Did you help take care of your brother?
Mary: No. I was too little.
Detective: That’s right. But you’re a big girl now. And since you’re such a big girl, you were helping your mommy take care of Alyssa, right?
Mary: I’m tired. I want to go home. Where’s Momma?
Today they’ve decided to be creative. Not only is all the bedding ripped off and thrown in the hall, but my clothes are piled there too. My roommates giggle as they watch me put my life back together. I hate them. They make me miss my cell; at least I had some sort of peace in there. I head to the basement, knowing in an hour I may come back to the same mess and have to do it all over.
New Girl is at the computer again. She doesn’t leave the basement and I don’t blame her. It’s the safest place for her. She scrambles away when I reach the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s just me.”
She blinks, then exhales. “I thought you were . . . never mind. Doesn’t matter. They all hate me.”
Can’t see them hating anyone more than me. Unless . . .
“What did you do?” I blurt out.
She strangles the ends of her sweater with a blank face. “Nothing.”
“No one is in here for nothing.”
Her eyes widen for a moment and she blows out air with a nervous sort of laugh.
“It was something stupid and everyone . . . overreacted. They didn’t even give me a chance to explain. Not that they would believe me. They only believed my mom. And she’s never really liked me to begin with.”
For someone so different, I can’t believe we have something so painful in common.
Misjudging my silence, she stammers out, “BUT this is them trying to teach me a lesson. I’ll be out of here soon.”
New kids always think this is just temporary; the rest of us know this is the end. I almost feel bad for her, but I’m in no better position. She needs to pull it together and realize that this is what she signed up for when she did whatever it was she did.
Allegedly Page 8
