Until today.
“Mary! Are you deaf or something? Don’t you hear me calling you!”
Ms. Stein hovers over my bed, spit flying out her fat mouth as she screams in my face.
“I think she’s sick,” New Girl says softly.
“She ain’t sick. Mary! Get out this damn bed, what are you doing!”
I roll over and face the wall. She keeps on yelling, even pulls the sheets.
“Mary! You got to get to school. You’re gonna be late! Get the hell out this bed!”
She pokes my arm one, two, three times before I sit up and look at her. Her eyes widen like I was a dinosaur, ready to rip her to pieces. Because I really am ready to kill her if she touches me again. She backs away from my bed, bumping into New Girl’s.
“Fi . . . fine, Mary,” Ms. Stein says, while New Girl creeps away. “You sick? Alright. You can stay home, but just today.”
I stay in bed for four days straight, sleeping. Every time I wake up, I’m tired again. New Girl sneaks me food from dinner, wrapped in napkins. I find it on my bedside table in the middle of the night, pick at it a little, leaving most of it behind for the mice.
On therapy day, Ms. Veronica comes up and tries to talk to me. She snaps her fingers in my face and I ignore her. She and Ms. Stein go in the hallway to talk.
“I think she may be seriously depressed,” Ms. Veronica says, all worried. “What happened?”
“Nothing! She came home one day and was like this,” Ms. Stein shouts, aggravated. “Had to call the nursing home and tell them she’s sick. They’ve been looking for her.”
Ted’s been looking for me.
“We may need to have her evaluated,” Ms. Veronica says.
All they do is evaluate me. They’ve been evaluating me since the day Alyssa died.
“You, uh, think she’s having another episode or something?” Ms. Stein asks.
“I don’t know. I’m just making a suggestion.”
Episode? What is she talking about? I’m not Momma!
“Well, she has been talking to herself a lot more lately,” Ms. Stein says. “Not to any of us though.”
No way! I stopped doing that years ago. Didn’t I?
I don’t move. I just lay like a dead worm, listening to their lies.
“You think, maybe, it was too soon to let her out?” Ms. Stein asks, pretending to be all worried. She ain’t worried. She’s lying, trying to get rid of me any way she can.
“Has she been taking her medication?” Ms. Veronica asks.
“I don’t think so. Last time I checked, they were all pretty full.”
“This is so strange,” Ms. Veronica says. “She writes so much in her journals. She’s filled up four books already. I thought she was making progress.”
I turn over and fall back to sleep.
On day six, Ms. Stein busts into my room like she ain’t going to take no for an answer.
“Mary! There’s some lady on the phone. Says she’s your lawyer and if she don’t talk to you, she’s going to call the police. What’s this about? What you doing with a lawyer?”
I roll out of bed and the room spins. My stomach is bigger, like it grew overnight, and I almost topple over. I smell like a bum on the subway.
“Mary! I’m tired of this shit! You better tell me what’s going on. What you got a lawyer for?”
For the first time in days, I answer one of her questions. I shrug.
She follows me down to her office where she left the phone.
“Yes,” I say, my voice hoarse and scratchy.
“MARY! Jesus, I thought something happened to you,” Ms. Cora says. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you sound like that? Is that lady in the room with you?”
Ms. Stein is standing behind me, breathing funny from her walk up and down the stairs.
“Yes.”
“Ugh, I knew she was going to be a pain in the ass. I’ve been calling the last three days. Anyways, no need to talk, just listen. We’re ready to file a motion, I just wanted you to be aware. Can you come by my office on Wednesday? I want to go over some more details with you before we do.”
“Okay.”
“Mary, are you alright? Are they mistreating you? You can tell me. Just say yes or no and I can get you out of there.”
Is it that easy to get me out of hell? And go where? No Ted, no Daddy, no Momma . . . I might as well stay. Life is the same, inside and out of here. I glance at Ms. Stein, standing by the door, anxious and angry.
“No.”
Ms. Cora is silent for a bit.
“Okay, if you say so. But if that woman gets in my way again, she’ll be mopping floors at Rikers after I’m done with her.”
Whoa, wasn’t expecting that. I’m almost relieved she has such fire in her. She’ll need it to win.
“So Wednesday, yes?” she says.
“Yes.”
“Good. See you then.”
On Monday, I take my first shower in a week, eat two bowls of cereal, and go to school. After class, I head to Greenview. Ted must have been watching from a window somewhere because he runs through the lobby to meet me.
“Mary!”
He stops short, hitting an invisible wall when I give him the same look I gave Ms. Stein. The response is the same: fear. I’m getting pretty good at this. I brush past him and he follows.
“Mary, please, baby, can we talk? Can we go somewhere and talk? I just need to . . . I can explain. Please?”
Ted is a ghost. I hear his voice but I don’t see him. Maybe he died. Maybe he’ll move on.
“Baby, talk to me! You know I’ve been mad worried about you,” he says, desperate. “You turned your phone off?”
In the kitchen, I grab an empty plate. I’m so hungry I could eat an entire floor’s worth of food and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ve been starving Bean. Our Bean.
Ted follows while I load up my plate with mashed potatoes, string beans, and four slices of dry meat loaf. I take my plate to the locker room and sit on the bench. He stands near me, rubbing his head nervously.
“I can’t believe you came there,” he says. “You know how dangerous that place is?”
The food has no flavor. I know it’s on purpose because the old people can’t have too much salt or butter, but it tastes like air.
“Niggas be robbing and raping girls like you. How’d you even know where I was at?”
There is an old crinkled newspaper on the floor by Ted’s feet. I scoop it up and skim the first page.
“How’s the baby? How’s Bean? I see he’s growing . . .”
Ted reaches for my stomach and I drop the fork, holding the knife at his neck, right at his Adam’s apple. He backs up.
“Yo, Mary, chill!”
When he is a good five steps away from me, arms held up like I have a gun, I go back to my paper. The first word I don’t recognize is tacit. I grab a pencil out of my smock and circle it.
There was only one CO in baby jail that liked to open my cell. This tall fat white man with a red beard, I never knew his name. He’d come in, put my dinner on the floor, jerk off with a grunt, then leave. I’d lay there, letting the remnants of him dry on my skin before wiping it off with the bedsheet. It would be days before they’d let me take a real shower to wash myself clean. It really was no different than what Ray used to do to me, so I didn’t complain about it. It was what I deserved. I killed a baby.
Allegedly.
I think of him as a cool breeze joins me in the shower. It runs through the curtains, tickling up my legs, like his chilly hairy hands undressing me, touching my new body, developing right before his eyes. The whole house is drafty, but not like this. I step out of the shower and the bathroom door is a wide-open invitation. I stand there, dripping wet, a puddle of water surrounding me.
I never leave the door unlocked. Ever.
Another breeze glides in. Shakily, I test the doorknob. It’s not broken, but there is a keyhole I never noticed bef
ore. Someone must have a key to the bathroom. But why would they open it?
I look up and China is in her room across the hall, staring down from her bunk bed. Staring at me naked. Was she watching me take a shower this whole time?
Am I dreaming?
I wrap myself in a towel and run down the hall. New Girl isn’t in the room. Her side is perfect as always. But my side . . . it looks like there’s been a blizzard. My bed is covered in a blanket of snow-white feathers and cotton. I pick up a piece and hold it to my face. It smells like my hair gel. My pillow . . . it’s been ripped to confetti.
Kelly. It had to be.
New Girl walks in with her laundry, while I clutch my towel to my chest, wet hair dripping down my shoulders. She pauses, glancing at the mess, but says nothing and folds her clothes like normal.
“Reba’s cat peed in my laundry basket again. Washed my clothes twice and I still can’t get the damn smell out.”
Is she stupid; how can she just ignore this? What’s wrong with her? I’m so pissed but scared at the same time that I don’t know even what to say.
“I tried to call my dad again,” she says, while slipping on her pajamas. “But no one answered.”
Or maybe she is just numb to this kind of stuff now. Maybe this house has finally crushed all the goodness out of her, to the point that she doesn’t even care anymore. I dry off, put on my pajamas, and start cleaning.
“He’s mad at you,” I mumble.
“I don’t get why. It was an accident.”
“And the peanuts?”
New Girl’s cheeks turn red, staring at the floor.
“He ate those nuts by accident and blamed me for it. He’s not good about his diet at all. Mom always said he ate too much junk food. I love my dad. I’d never hurt him.”
I want to ask what it was like, having a dad. A real dad. But I’m too embarrassed. I don’t want her asking who or where mine is since I have no clue. Momma knows. I know she knows, she just won’t tell me.
“Why do they think you were trying to kill them?”
New Girl shrugs.
“You know how crazy parents are.”
She’s right. I do.
“My mom has cancer and my dad . . . he was just tired all the time from working two jobs. I was only trying to help out and make him dinner, but I wasn’t allowed to touch the stove. That’s why they got mad. And I left the gas on, by accident.”
She wasn’t allowed to touch a stove? Momma had me at the stove since I was three.
“They were so smothering. Wouldn’t let me watch TV, drink soda, have a cell phone or Facebook page, or . . . anything. They didn’t even let me go to school, said it was too dangerous. I have more freedom here.”
I guess that is hard, having COs as parents. Still, I don’t see the big deal.
“What’s wrong with your mother?” she says, folding back her bedsheets.
“How do you know something’s wrong with her?”
“You talk about her.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do. In your sleep, sometimes.”
I’m having nightmares again? When did that start?
“Does she drink or something?” she asks.
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. A lot of the girls . . . their parents got problems like that.”
I stare at her hard. Momma is not like other parents. She doesn’t do drugs and she only drank because of Ray. That’s not her fault.
“She’s not a drunk,” I snap. “She just . . . forgets to take her pills sometimes. What’s wrong with your parents?”
New Girl sighs and turns off the light.
“They’re perfect and I’m not.”
Notes from Dr. Jin-Yee Deng,
Psychiatrist at Bellevue Hospital, NY
Through records, we confirmed Mary’s father had, in fact, passed away before she had been born. Her mother confirmed Mary knew this, but had never seen a photograph or video of him.
When reminded of her father’s demise, Mary’s reaction was that of disbelief and amusement, stating, “My real daddy is gonna come get me. You’ll see.”
Momma looks mad when I walk into the visitors’ room. And she’s a week early, which is unlike her. I keep my distance and don’t stand too far from the door.
“What you up to, child! What’s gotten into you?” she spits, hands on her hips matching the sass in her voice. “Ain’t I told you don’t be bringing up no old mess!”
Today’s church suit isn’t like the others. It’s dark gray with black shoes and one of those black hats with the birdcage. She looks like she belongs in a funeral home.
“They told me you got some type of lawyer! What for?” she asks.
We stand there staring at each other.
“Answer me, young lady! What you get this lawyer for and why didn’t they ask me? You can’t just . . . run off and do whatever you want. You can’t just go making your own decisions! You just a child!”
Maybe I’m still asleep and this is all a dream. Maybe Momma hasn’t been taking her pills and is seeing things again. Or maybe she got the Alzheimer’s and belongs on the fifth floor. That has to be it. That’s the only explanation for her complete blindness. I stopped being a child six years ago.
“Momma. I’m PREGNANT.”
I say it nice and slow so she gets it, but she looks at me as if I said the stupidest thing ever. Same look she gave me when I tried to tell her about Ray coming into my room at night.
“Well. Since you so grown, since you don’t need your momma no more, fine then! Just fine!”
She grumbles while slipping on her coat.
“I ain’t have to take this shit no way.”
All I can do is stand there like a dummy, speechless and amazed. I can’t believe she has the nerve to be mad at me! She flips her scarf over her shoulder and stops to glare at me.
“Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial,” she preaches, her finger waving. “For when he stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him!”
And then she storms out, so mad she could spit flames, with her record-breaking short visit.
chapter ten
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?”
Allegedly Page 15
