Allegedly

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  Allegedly.

  I pull a piece of paper I scribbled on out of my pocket.

  “I need to find one of these.”

  She looks at it, then at me.

  “Wow, you really are trying to take the SATs.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “That’s the only reason anyone really needs a graphing calculator. I took them last year.”

  “What’d you get?”

  “I got 1500.”

  I hold back a smirk. I’m smarter than New Girl.

  She taps the keys and pulls up the calculator. There it is, just like what the other kids had, a mini black box computer.

  “That’s the TI-84. It’s the one you need. It comes in pink, if you want.”

  I don’t care about colors. But the price . . . $199.99!

  “Is that really how much they cost?”

  “Yeah. They’re pretty expensive.”

  “Can I . . . get that from a store, instead of online?”

  “Yeah. We can go together. I can help you pick one out.”

  Together? I hold my face still. But I guess it couldn’t hurt, since she took them before. She knows what to look for. I nod and see her smile for the first time since she has been in the house.

  “We should run away.”

  Ted and I lay tangled up in each other in bed on the third floor. I nuzzle against his neck, touching his pulse with my lips. I don’t want to think about the real world right now. Sex makes me forget the real world. Ted is so strong, he has muscles everywhere, throbbing out of his skin. Sex with him relaxes me, brings me to a place of peace. I can hold him, wrap my legs around his waist and squeeze him like a lemon until I see stars, real stars. And when we’re done, I’m light-headed, my lungs exhausted but begging for more. I breathe different when I’m with him. I’m high in space, among the stars, flying into the sun.

  “Run where?” I whisper.

  “I don’t know. Anywhere. Down south maybe.”

  A patient sleeps next to us, dying slow. His machines beep softly, counting down the seconds.

  “With what money? And how are we gonna get these things off?” I ask, pointing to my ankle bracelet. Sometimes I wonder if it knows when we’re having sex and if whoever is watching us knows too. I’m shy when I think of others knowing. I want this to just be our world, our secret.

  “That ain’t nothing. I know someone who takes them off. We’ll be straight.”

  I rub my cheek against his arm. His skin is so soft and smooth. I hope our baby has his skin. I’d never want to stop kissing and cuddling it.

  And that one little thought brings me back to earth. I shouldn’t even be thinking about our baby when they’re going to take it away. Ted doesn’t know yet and I don’t want to tell him. He has been so excited. Started talking baby names with the cooks, and even asked Ms. Legion about a full-time position. He is doing everything a soon-to-be father should be doing. Except there won’t be a baby to do it for.

  “I don’t want to be on the run, Ted. Not with a baby.”

  “I don’t want you in that house no more. Not with our baby. We got to do something.”

  I wiggle a little out of his hold. Ted looks at me but doesn’t say nothing, which makes me shiver. I’m always nervous when he stares at me like this because I don’t know what he sees. There wasn’t a mirror in my cell or in the bathrooms, so for a long time I didn’t know what I looked like. I had to see myself in other’s eyes, the same people who told me when to pee, eat, and shower. The ones who cursed at me for killing a little baby. To them, I was a monster with horns, red snakeskin, and yellow lizard eyes. Momma just kept saying I wasn’t taking care of my hair, scolding me for the nappy tangles I didn’t even know how to deal with. Then one day, a few weeks after my birthday, I walked in the visitors’ room and Momma went pale, staring at me like she hadn’t seen me in years. After a while she said, “Boy, you look . . . so grown-up.”

  When I finally found a mirror, I went cold. Do you know how much time, how much you have to go through, to not recognize your own self? Four years, that’s how long. I was fourteen and a stranger. Same me in a whole new body, taller, thinner, with breasts, hips, and fuller lips. My hair was a thick mess of curls down to my lower back. The only part of me recognizable was my eyes. I tried to cry, but couldn’t. Stayed away from mirrors ever since.

  “I am going to do something,” I say.

  I just don’t know what yet.

  We get dressed and I walk out of the room first to get back to my floor before anyone notices. The elevator dings on the first floor by the lobby. Heading for the kitchen, I pass the main office when I hear her voice.

  “And there’s no one here she’s more friendly with than others?”

  My stomach drops down to the basement. I take two steps back and almost faint in the doorway. There she is. Ms. Carmen. Standing behind the receptionist desk with Ms. Legion. She notices me hovering by the door and grins. What is she doing here?

  “Hello, Mary,” Ms. Carmen says, her voice calm but icy. “Just picking up your time sheets so we can compare it to checkout records. You know, make sure you are where you say you are.”

  Ms. Legion smiles. “Mary is one of our best volunteers here. Very gentle with the patients.”

  “Is that right?”

  I can’t move. Having someone from the group home, in the one place I have peace, brings back the type of fear I haven’t felt since Ray was still alive. How do I get her out of here before . . .

  The elevator dings down the hall. Ted backs out a woman from the fourth floor in her wheelchair and I stop breathing.

  No! She can’t see him.

  “Well, Mary seems to have a lot of free time on her hands to get into . . . trouble. Maybe she can volunteer some more hours,” Ms. Carmen says.

  Ted spots me and smiles, pushing the patient in my direction. My legs go numb.

  “We could always use more help,” Ms. Legion says with a laugh.

  We lock eyes and I must look terrified because Ted stops short, his smile dropping. He straightens defensively and frowns. “What’s wrong?” he mouths at me and I don’t know what to do. My heart is beating so fast it’s bruising my chest. I stare straight at Ms. Carmen. This can’t be happening.

  “Good. I’ll make sure her counselors know,” Ms. Carmen says, grinning.

  Without looking at him, I shake my head slightly.

  Go back, Ted. Go back.

  From the corner of my eye, Ted hesitates but quickly turns the patient in the opposite direction, pushing her down the hall.

  “Mary?”

  Ted glances over his shoulder but keeps moving.

  “Mary? Do you want to give Ms. Carmen a tour?”

  My mouth drops, but no words come out. I look down the hall, desperate to run into the comfort of Ted’s arms. Ms. Carmen raises an eyebrow, eyes darting at the hallway. She circles around Ms. Legion, walking toward me. My muscles are squeezing so tight I might pass out.

  Ted, please, run!

  She swings the half door open, heels clicking as she picks up speed. The room begins to go dark. She brushes past, stepping into the hallway just as Ted turns and disappears into the dining hall. She whips around, scanning in both directions. Nothing but patients, slowly rolling around in their chairs. Ms. Carmen glares at me, the hunt not over.

  “Ms. Legion, does Mary have a boyfriend here?”

  Ms. Legion is shocked yet amused by the blunt question.

  “Well, Mr. Thomas has a little crush on her,” she laughs. “But he has a crush on everyone.”

  Ms. Carmen’s eyes narrow and I can tell she’s annoyed but knows she can’t lose her temper in front of strangers. Might raise suspicion. Momma used to do the same thing.

  “Well, I have to get back to the office,” Ms. Carmen clips. “Thank you for your time.”

  I walk away before being dismissed, straight to the second floor, my lungs on fire as I collapse on the bed with 204.

  “And by then, I could sp
rint four miles in twenty-six minutes and was benching something like over a hundred pounds!” Ms. Reba says. She rocks back on her heels, all impressed with herself.

  “Oh. Is that so?” Winters mumbles by the front door while signing some paperwork.

  “Yeah, the best years of my life were in Junior ROTC.”

  He spots me by the stairs, lurking like Ms. Reba’s cat.

  “Addison.”

  I give him a nod.

  “I keep telling the girls, the army can really make a man, I mean, a woman, out of you. Discipline, knowledge, free education. How long did you serve again?” she continues.

  “Thirty-five years.”

  “Wow, that’s something! And then, you were off on disability?”

  He pauses for a moment, then shakes a thought away.

  “Yep, something like that.”

  He signs the last documents and gives them to Ms. Reba while the rest of the girls head upstairs from therapy. My stomach feels funny and I really have to use the bathroom.

  “Man, that’s awesome. Wish I had the chance to, you know, go the distance. But, I was needed on the home front,” she says.

  Winters lets out a tired sigh, clearly bored. He glances over in my direction again. “Addison, can I help you with something?”

  I fidget with the bottom of my shirt, thinking of the right words to say. “I . . . have questions.”

  They look at each other, dumbfounded.

  “Okay,” he says, slowly.

  We three stand there in silence. I don’t want to do this in front of Ms. Reba. She’ll tell Ms. Stein and then everybody will know.

  “Well, Mary?” Ms. Reba snaps.

  He glances at her and takes a hint.

  “I think she wants to talk to me alone.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure thing, boss.”

  “Come on, Addison,” he says, longing to be anywhere but here. “This way.”

  We walk into the visitors’ room and he closes the door behind us. Since I’m never in here at night, it looks sort of funny with the lights on and the blinds closed. The walls look extra gray, the fake plants extra fake, and the sofas crusty and worn down.

  “What is it, Addison? I’m sure my wife would like me home at a decent hour for once.”

  He has a wife! I never knew that. I can’t imagine anyone being married to him. He’s stiff as concrete.

  “Well, Mary?”

  “Um . . . Ms. Carmen said I was a ward of the state. What does that mean?”

  He crosses his arms.

  “Oh, so you can say more than three words at a time,” he snickers. “Why don’t you ask Ms. Carmen that?”

  Because she doesn’t like me! You don’t like me either but you’re the less of three evils.

  “Mary, I ain’t got all day. Now, what do you need?”

  Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. What I need doesn’t matter anymore. It’s what Bean needs that matters most. Bean needs to be protected, from the others.

  “Are you gonna come by here . . . more often?”

  “What for?”

  “’Cause.”

  He frowns and takes a deep breath.

  “Do I need to come by here more often?”

  There is a creak and a thump by the door. Probably Ms. Reba, listening in. My stomach knots up and I fall silent.

  “Well?”

  Or maybe it’s not Ms. Reba. Maybe it’s Kelly. Or Tara. Or Joi. My throat clinches tighter. First rule I learned in baby jail, snitches get stitches.

  “Mary, quit beating around the bush and spit it out!”

  But he has to know, right? Doesn’t he see the cuts and bruises on everyone? Doesn’t he read Ms. Stein’s incident reports? He can’t be this blind.

  “I . . . need to talk to the lawyer.”

  “What lawyer?”

  “The lawyer . . . Mr. Harris.”

  He looks at me for some while until it dawns on him what I’m really asking.

  “What for?” His voice grows louder.

  “’Cause . . . I didn’t do it.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Mary, I don’t have the time or the patience for this! Look, you already served your time. You’re in here now until the courts see fit. You got yourself pregnant—”

  “But I didn’t do it!”

  “Mary,” he warns, pointing a finger in my face, just like Momma. “You’re about to stir up a pot that’s better left unstirred. You start down this road, it’s gonna lead you to trouble.”

  What kind of trouble is worse than what I’m in now? He shifts to his good leg and grunts.

  “Look,” he says, his voice softening. “Folks wanted you dead for killing that little girl; they won’t be so forgiving if you keep on fooling around and lying like this just so you can have your way.”

  But I’m not lying. How come no one believes me? This is all a big mistake.

  I didn’t mean to throw her. I didn’t mean to throw her. I didn’t mean to throw her . . .

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “Now think hard about this, Mary. ’Cause you start down this road, there’s no turning back. And you may wind up somewhere not as nice as here.”

  Nice? Is he serious?

  “And if you’re not happy here, why on earth would you want a baby here?”

  “Well, why do you want my baby?”

  It came out. This unrecognizable voice, low and deep, from that place inside me I keep hidden, taking us both by surprise. Winters coughs and gathers himself.

  “You don’t have that lawyer anymore, Mary. You have the state. That’s it. And ain’t nobody wanting that damn baby but you! You want a lawyer, then get one. See what you can afford with that allowance of yours.”

  My stomach bubbles. I’m screwing this all up.

  “Can you just talk to my momma? She knows what really happened.”

  “What do I look like, a detective?”

  “But she knows the truth.”

  “Mary, I—”

  “Please!”

  Winters pauses to stare at me, pleading. He takes a long, tired old man sigh.

  “I’ll . . . see what I can do.”

  I think that means no.

  I head back to my room and the girls are all quiet. My sheets are in the hallway again. But this time there are holes cut in them; my flat sheet is a slice of Swiss cheese. Someone must have heard me talking to Winters. That doesn’t bother me. What bothers me is who else has a knife in here besides me.

  chapter six

  Excerpt from the New York Times: “Arraignment

  of Nine-Year-Old Girl Who Killed Infant’’

  Hundreds of protesters lined up outside the Brooklyn Criminal Court awaiting the arraignment of the unidentified nine-year-old girl who killed three-month-old Alyssa Richardson last December. The angry mob, dressed in T-shirts with pictures of the infant, demanded the child be tried as an adult, arguing the juvenile penalty is not harsh enough for the crime. Many of the protestors were women, some pushing strollers with toddlers holding signs that read, “How can you kill a baby like me?” while others chanted “Six years, not enough!” One arrest was made of a woman who threw pacifiers at the van carrying the young girl to the courthouse.

  Protestors traveled from all over the country to participate in the rally. The organizers, Justice for Alyssa, have collected over 50,000 petition signatures. “We drove here from Tennessee to support baby Alyssa,” says Paula McDermin, mother of four. “It’s just a slap on the wrist, that’s all this kid will get. She killed a baby! She deserves to rot in jail for the rest of her life!”

  Civil rights activists are concerned that the African American girl will not have a fair trial, citing that race could play a major part in the outcome and her safety. Already, the child’s name has been spread across online conservative groups and there have been reported death threats to the young girl’s mother, Dawn Cooper, who was babysitting Alyssa at the time of her murder. Cooper has since moved from her home and has gone into hiding.


  “There would never be this type of outcry if the baby was black. Period,” says Tamika Brown, public relations rep at the National Action Network. “Doesn’t matter what you say about racial equality, you’ve never seen white families storming the steps of city hall demanding justice for a little black baby. They’re pushing for the death penalty and don’t even realize executing this little girl is no different than murdering that baby.”

  I have a date with Ted.

  A real date. It’s Saturday, so we can spend a few hours together without anyone expecting us to be someplace else. He’s taking me to the movies, promising we’ll get popcorn and soda, maybe candy. I haven’t been to the movies since I was seven.

  After a shower, I stare at myself naked in the mirror. My new stomach looks funny on me, real out of place. Will Ted still love me when I’m fat? I think so.

  You’re supposed to dress up for dates, like in the movies, so I comb my hair down and put lots of gel in it so that it slicks back into a low ponytail. I bought some lipstick at the drugstore on the way home from school. Wet n Wild in pinktastic, one dollar and forty-nine cents. It makes my lips look like pieces of bubble gum.

  The one dress I own has history. A social worker gave it to me before a parole hearing. Black with little white, yellow, and pink flowers. It’s tight around my stomach and too short, so I put my jeans on underneath. I wanted to buy something new, but that calculator I bought with New Girl took a huge chunk out of my savings. At least I got it for half the price at the pawn shop. It’s a little dinged up, but it will get the job done.

  I crack the bathroom door open slowly. If I walk out and bump into any of the girls looking like this, it’ll mean nonstop teasing for weeks. They’ll know, and I can’t have them knowing my business. Thank God the hallway is empty. I slip out and tiptoe downstairs. They’re in the TV room watching a movie with Ms. Reba. I’m supposed to check out before leaving, but that’s like walking into gunfire. I’d rather take my chances going AWOL; Ted is worth it. I creep past the room and open the front door. Momma is standing there with her hand held up as if she was about to knock.