by Earl Sewell
“WTA.” He looked at the page very perplexed as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune. “Water! You want some water, Wesley?” he asked.
I nodded my head. I almost wanted to say, “Duh!” But I didn’t.
“Oh, no problem. I’ll get some for you.” He rushed out of the room, calling for the nurse. A short time later a doctor entered.
“Wesley, I’m Dr. Murphy, the surgeon who worked on you.” Dr. Murphy appeared to be in his mid-fifties. He had a mixture of salt-and-pepper hair and eyelids that sloped downward, as if weather-beaten into saggy folds of skin by one too many hours of suntanning.
“I’ve asked your dad to sit outside in the waiting room with your grandmother while I examine your wound.” Wound? I thought. Jesus, what happened to me?
“Now, Wesley, you may feel a burning or stinging sensation.” I nodded as I braced myself for the pain.
“Okay, here we go.”
“Aguuuh!” I tried to howl, but my voice couldn’t produce the kind of painful moan I needed it to.
“You’re one lucky guy, Wesley,” Dr. Murphy explained as he continued examining me. I tried to speak again, but it hurt like hell.
“Don’t talk just yet. I’ll give you some water in a moment. When I do, you need to sip it—don’t gulp because that’s not going to feel good at all if you guzzle it.” After he was done, a nurse came in and sat a plastic pitcher of water and cups by my nightstand. I was glad to see her. I did as the doctor suggested and sipped the water slowly. My first sip was like pouring water on cracked, dry soil.
“I’m going to go get your family. I’ll be right back,” Dr. Murphy said before exiting the room. I drank more water, which caused my stomach to grumble. I suddenly felt as if I was going to puke. I did my best to control the urge, but it wasn’t easy.
Before long, Dr. Murphy returned with my dad and Grandmother Lorraine.
“Oh, I’m so happy to see you.” My grandmother rushed over and kissed me on the forehead. Her lips felt like rose petals. I hugged her with my left arm and held on to her for a moment. When she finally pulled away, I noticed she was wearing a brown blouse with a matching headband. Grandmother Lorraine had blond dreadlocks that cascaded down her back. She was wearing her glasses, which had slid down to the tip of her nose. The brown freckles sprinkled beneath her eyes and on her cheeks stood out against her extremely light complexion.
“I was just telling Wesley just how lucky he is.” Dr. Murphy stood beside my bed, placed his hands inside the pockets of his white lab coat and looked directly at me. “The bullet went straight through your shoulder. The projectile severed your clavicle bone and exited through your back. The bullet could’ve easily deviated and punctured a lung or broken a rib.”
“I’ve been shot?” I asked for clarification.
“Yes, you have. It may take a little more time for everything to come back to you,” explained Dr. Murphy. “Certain types of trauma can cause a repression of short-term memory. You also suffered a concussion when your head slammed against the concrete. The force of the impact to the brain may cause blurred vision, vomiting and sometimes the loss of your short-term memory.”
“He is going to remember everything, isn’t he? Charges are going to have to be filed,” my dad interrupted Dr. Murphy.
“It’s hard to tell. Sometimes in cases like this a person can be told what occurred, but they can’t remember the incident. In other cases, patients have temporary memory loss and experience flashbacks.”
“Is this similar to what soldiers go through?” my dad asked.
“That’s called post-traumatic stress disorder and happens when there is prolonged exposure to mental or emotional events. That’s a little more severe. Overall, I believe that Wesley will recover physically and go on with his life. This particular episode may remain repressed or he could have full recall. Either way, I’ll provide you with information to help him through that part of his recovery.”
“Oh, thank You, Jesus,” my grandmother blurted out as if a great anchor of uncertainty had been lifted from her heart.
“I had his name added to the prayer list at our church. There are a lot of good people pulling for him to make a full recovery,” my grandmother said loudly and clasped her hands. “Praise God,” she squealed. A smile crossed my face as I studied her. Everyone at my grandmother’s church was familiar with her distinguished raspy voice. Nearly every Sunday she would do her fair share of shouting and testifying, yet it was still strong enough to command attention whenever she spoke. At that very moment there was a rapid succession of knocks at the door.
Two uniformed officers entered the room. “Hello, folks. I’m Officer Miles and this is my partner, Officer Davis. I was wondering if we could speak to Wesley for a moment. We need to ask him some questions.”
“Sure. He just woke up not long ago and things are still a little fuzzy. He appears to be experiencing some memory loss,” Dr. Murphy explained.
“Do you remember what happened?” asked my dad as he poured more water into my cup.
“I just can’t concentrate right now,” I whispered as I vainly tried to recall the incident.
“Can you tell me the last thing you remember?” asked Officer Miles as he pulled out a writing pad.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I just remember waking up in this room,” I answered honestly.
“Do you remember what you were doing yesterday?” asked Officer Miles. I paused and tried to remember, but I got nothing.
“No,” I answered as I continued to search my mind for answers or clues.
“We should talk to the girl,” Officer Davis suggested to his partner. “If he can’t remember, it’s going to be difficult to get a conviction.”
“Now hang on a minute. Don’t give up on him. Give him a little more time to recover. He’ll remember.” My dad had gotten upset. “I don’t want you guys to give up because of this.”
“We’ll talk to the girl and then we’ll come back in a day or so to see if he can recall what took place,” said Officer Davis.
“Well, I’m working on getting an attorney,” my dad said.
“No need for you to do that right at this moment.” Officer Miles removed a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to my father. “Call this number and give them the police report number. They’ll tell you which state prosecutor your case has been assigned to. We’ll continue our investigation and provide them with a report of our findings.” My dad exhaled loudly as he took the business card.
“Get well soon,” said Officer Miles. He and Officer Davis turned and exited the room.
“I’ll go and have the nurse order you some food,” Dr. Murphy said before stepping out.
“Wesley, think back. What happened?” my dad pleaded.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.
“That’s it. Leave him alone,” Grandmother Lorraine interrupted. “Let him get some rest.” I picked up my cup of water and took a sip. Just as I finished off the cup, my mother walked into the room. Without acknowledging anyone, she moved past my father and grandmother and hugged me. She reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke. After a short embrace she pulled away and glanced accusingly over at my father.
“Don’t say a word to me and don’t start saying a bunch of crap because I don’t want to hear it,” my dad snapped.
“I told you that Wesley was a handful, but at least when he lived with me he never ended up getting shot. Maybe I need to take you back to court and claim that you’re an unfit father,” my mother spat.
“Stop it! Both of you!” Grandmother Lorraine moved between them. “This is neither the time nor place for squabbling. Come on. Let’s go out into the waiting room so Wesley can rest.” Grandmother Lorraine escorted both of them out of my room. I then rested my head on the pillow, closed my eyes and groaned.
three
KEYSHA
I squeezed into my black one-piece bathing suit, then shoved my hair under the matching black swimming c
ap. My suit was a little tight-fitting. It seemed to have shrunk since the last time I wore it for swim class. I made a mental note to pick up a new one the next time I was at the mall. I could’ve rented a swimming suit, but something about a rented bathing suit just grossed me out. Once I got my bathing suit to completely cover my behind, I walked out of the locker room and onto the pool deck, shivering uncontrollably. I felt as if I’d just walked into a freezer. I immediately snatched up a large towel from a nearby rack and draped it over my shoulders to keep warm. The scent of the chlorine was extra strong, so I knew that by the end of the class my skin would be desert-dry and itchy, which meant that I’d be using a good amount of moisturizer. Another reason to hate my Monday-morning swim class.
“Hurry up, ladies, and take a seat on the bleachers,” Miss McFadden, the swim teacher, bellowed out as she grabbed the attendance sheet for roll call.
“You know we’re learning how to do the backstroke today,” said Maya Carter just before I sat down next to her. Maya was my swimming partner and we were at the beginning stages of a friendship. I had met her not too long ago when our swim rotation in gym class began. The only reason that I said anything to her was because she seemed pretty cool. And she didn’t hang with the snobby girls who were constantly gossiping about everybody.
“That is a very nice-looking tattoo,” I said, admiring the details of the body art gracing her right shoulder.
“Thank you. My mom and dad still don’t know that I ran off and got this yet. Believe it or not I’ve only had it for a few weeks. When my parents do find out they’re going to hit the roof. Hopefully they won’t find out until I’m like eighteen and grown.” Maya laughed, but didn’t seem overly concerned about keeping her secret away from her parents.
“Where did you get it done?” I asked out of curiosity. I’d never thought about getting a tattoo until that moment. I thought a rose or even perhaps getting something in memory of my deceased aunt Estelle would be worth looking into.
“I went to this tattoo parlor on Wilson Street. I can get the address and the name of the tattoo artist who did this for me if you’d like,” Maya offered as she tucked her hair beneath her swimming cap.
Maya was part Latino, and part African-American. She had a cute round face, brown eyes and recently arched eyebrows that made her eyes look mysterious. Pretty black hair cascaded down to her shoulders and she had a contagious laugh that made me want to smile and chuckle every time I heard it. She was an honor-roll student and a member of the drama club. It would have been easy to have been jealous of Maya. From my perspective, Maya seemed to have it all: beauty, brains and talent. She was even dating a hot guy named Misalo, who could dance just like Usher, or so I’d heard.
Maya was a junior like me and had two younger siblings, a sister named Anna, who was a freshman, and a brother named Cory, who was in seventh grade. Her mom worked for the state as a translator. Her mom spoke three languages—English, Spanish and Chinese. Her dad worked for ABC News in Chicago as a producer for the evening news. Maya didn’t really know what she wanted to do with her life. Some days she wanted to be an actress, other days she wanted to be a therapist and sometimes she talked about being a talk show host. I personally believed that she’d make a good talk show host because she just loved to gab about everything. I don’t know how her boyfriend, Misalo, puts up with her indecisiveness and her talkativeness. I mean, if I let her, Maya would talk my ear off.
“We’re learning how to do the backstroke already? Dang, I just figured out how to do the dog paddle without splashing water in my face or sinking. Learning how to swim is such a struggle for me. Whenever I leave this class I’m completely exhausted.” I was about to continue on with my whining, but Maya interrupted me and changed the subject.
“So how did your weekend at your mom’s house go? I meant to call you, but I couldn’t use my cell phone,” Maya said as she yawned very loudly.
“How did you lose your phone?” I asked as I glanced down at my toes and wiggled them. I needed to give myself a pedicure because the red polish had started to chip on the second toe of my right foot.
“Girl, no. There is no way I’d ever lose my cell phone. You know I keep my cell phone attached to my ear, which is why the world seemed to have stopped spinning when my mom took it from me.”
“Why did she take your cell phone away?” I asked, being nosier than usual.
“She blasted me for going over my minutes and texting too much. She got really ticked off when she got the cell phone bill. I mean, OMG, it’s too hard trying to manage how many texts I send and receive. Although I will admit I sent Misalo so many messages that my thumb got sore. See.” She held up her right thumb. “Kiss it. Make it feel better.”
“Listen here, crazy girl, if you don’t get your nasty thumb out of my face…” I warned as I shoved her hand away. “Your mom didn’t go through your text messages, did she?” I asked, absolutely horrified at the thought of someone taking my phone and reading all of the texts that Wesley and I sent to each other. “I hope you didn’t have any crazy or sexy conversations going on.”
“No, I don’t think that she did. Even if she had she would not have been able to unscramble what all the IM codes meant. She still doesn’t know what BFF, LOL, or TTYL means. In fact, she thinks WTF means Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. It’s strange, she can speak all of those languages, but when it comes to texting, for some reason she is totally clueless. Seriously, though, how was your weekend with your real mom? Is she still trying to get you to do the scam thing?” That’s another thing about Maya. The girl could talk about several subjects at one time and not miss a beat. How she’s able to remember everything was a total mystery to me.
“Maya, all I have to say is that I had one hell of a weekend,” I proclaimed, and threw my hands up.
“Really? Well come on, spill the beans and tell me what happened. I want all the details, too.”
I glanced at Maya, who was on the edge of her seat with anticipation. It was clear that I had her full attention.
“Well?” she cajoled. “C’mon and spill the details.”
Maya is a good person, but she’s very nosy and the type of girl who could get you in trouble with a teacher for talking too much.
“Why do you care, Maya? I mean, honestly…you barely know me.” I was a little suspicious and mistrustful of anyone who wanted to get close to me, especially after what I’d gone through with Liz Lloyd, a girl I met when I first attended the school. That friendship led me down a path of destruction where I was accused of selling drugs and caught a court case. I just didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.
“Well, I’ll never get to know you if you don’t talk. They don’t teach Mind Reading 101 here.” Maya laughed at her own joke. I laughed along with her, even though I really wasn’t in a laughing mood.
“I’ll give you the details about my horrific weekend some other time. I have a new dilemma I’m dealing with,” I admitted just before I began to confide in her.
“What is it?” It was killing Maya not knowing. She was the type of person who’d hold up traffic so she could take in all the details of an accident until she was satisfied that she’d figured out what happened.
“I’m going to run away,” I whispered.
“Run away!” Maya blurted. She didn’t pick up on the fact that I was whispering.
“Shh, dang, girl, you’ve got a big mouth!” I scolded her for broadcasting our conversation to the world. “If you can’t keep this between me and you, I’m not going to tell you a damn thing. In fact, I shouldn’t be telling you at all because I don’t think you can hold water.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so loud. It’s just that that was the last thing I expected you to say. And for the record, I can keep a secret. I know plenty of stuff about a lot of people around here that I’ve never told anyone about.” She paused for a moment and allowed me to digest what she’d just said. “What are you running away for?” she whispered.
“Wesley. I need to see him right way.” We paused as Miss McFadden began to take attendance.
“I thought you said he was in Indianapolis,” Maya said with a quizzical look on her face. “Here,” she answered Miss McFadden just after she’d called out her name.
“He is, but I have to go to him. He needs me. I just know he does.” My mind drifted away as I thought about Wesley and the turmoil he was undoubtedly going through.
“Keysha Kendall.” Miss McFadden’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“Here,” I yelled.
“Keysha, you’re not making any sense. What’s the urgency? Did he get hit by a car or something?” Maya said jokingly.
“Yes,” I answered in a tearful voice. “Wesley’s been shot.”
“Wesley got shot!” Maya once again announced to the entire gym class.
“Who has been shot?” Miss McFadden searched all of the faces in the bleachers for an answer. Then everyone turned and looked at Maya and me.
“No one,” I immediately answered so that everyone would stop staring at us. As soon as Miss McFadden continued on with roll call I slapped Maya on the thigh. “I’m not telling you anything else if you’re going to yell out like that,” I growled through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry. You just keep surprising me, that’s all. I get a little excited sometimes. I don’t mean anything by it.” Maya was now whispering and being extra cautious about how she was reacting to what I was telling her.
“Where’d he get shot? Is he alive? Is he paralyzed? Why did you even come to school today?” Maya was firing off questions before I had a chance to answer them.
“All I know is that he’s been shot and I need to get to him,” I said, absolutely convinced of it.
“Well, can’t you call the hospital at least to find out his condition?” Maya asked.
“I don’t know what hospital he’s in. I still have to find that out,” I said, admitting that I knew very little.
“Then how are you going to go see him if you don’t know where he is?” Maya glanced at me curiously.
