Jessica Watkins Presents
My Storm
by TIFFANY PATTERSON
Copyright © 2017 by Tiffany Patterson
Published by Jessica Watkins Presents
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
2006
“You better not say anything.” The bulky prison guard sneers at me, gripping my arm.
I flinch at the pain, but I don’t even look up at him to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s hurting me. Fuck him, I think as I cut my eyes in the direction we’re walking. We continue down the long hallway, my over-sized orange jumpsuit dragging against the linoleum floor. A ray of sunshine catches my eye, and I realize we’re heading toward the front of the corrections facility. I haven’t seen the front of the building since I first arrived about a month or two ago. Easy to lose track of time in a place like this. My curiosity finally takes over and I wonder out loud. “Where are we going?”
“You’re leaving,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling me toward the metal doors.
I squint in confusion. “Leaving?”
“That’s what I said, ain’t it? Or you could stay here. It’s not like you won’t wind up right back in this shithole. Your kind always do,” he says sharply and then mumbles under his breath about what a waste all the girls in this place are. He presses the buzzer and waves to the overhead camera to have the security guard in the control room release the door.
We pass through one sliding metal door and have to wait until the one behind us closes before the one in front of us opens. I swear, even though this is just a juvenile facility, they are clearly preparing inmates for life in an adult prison. The guard next to me remains silent, eyes on the door in front of us. My mind begins wandering.
Why am I being released? I couldn’t afford bail. And there’s no one I can think of who cares enough about me to post it. Where am I supposed to go? I can’t go back to what I was doing before. I’ll die before I do that shit again; a promise that I made to myself while I was in here.
The clicking of the door in front of us as it opens, draws my attention and my heart begins palpitating. The guard roughly grabs my arm again and begins to pull me down another long hallway. I’m inclined to snatch it back, but I control my temper.
“You need to get your shit. You ain’t have much on you besides some trampy clothing, a beat-up wallet, and a ratty notebook anyway.”
“Jenine Edwards,” the guard behind the front counter reads my full name from an old school ID.
My eyes widen, hoping no one has touched my notebook. It’s not worth much to others, but it’s my prized possession. I open the envelope holding my meager belongings. The wallet is empty except for my ID. I know I had a twenty in here too, but I assume some guard took that because I don’t see it. I hate that the money is gone. I flip through the pages of my notebook, happy to see it looks like it’s still intact. Two photos spill out. The small piece of me that isn’t numb inside, blossoms with happiness. I look into the chocolate face of the woman, her skin wrinkled from time and life, but her eyes shine bright as she looks down at five-year-old me sitting on her lap. The picture behind it is one of me when I was a few years older, maybe around nine. It’s me in a pair of pigtails. There’s an older girl around sixteen with me. She has her arm protectively draped around my shoulders. Her all-seeing eyes are a mixture of protectiveness and sadness. These two—the older woman and the younger one—are the only two people I know who’ve ever loved me. My grandmother and my older sister. The latter one was a secret that I wasn’t supposed to know about. One is dead now. The other... Well, I don’t know where she is. She probably forgot all about me. But I’ll never forget how she protected me as a kid. I swallow a lump in my throat as I wish she were here to help me now.
“Let’s go.” The guard gruffly pulls me out of my reverie and toward the entrance area to another door. Again, we wait for one door to close before the next one opens.
I work hard to shove the emotions that had just bubbled to the surface back down where they belong. The door in front of us slowly creeps open, and I am caught between wanting to sprint out of this hellhole or turning the other way to run back inside, because I don’t know what lies on the other side for me.
“Why the hell hasn’t anyone tried to contact her family?!” a familiar, demanding voice inquires.
My heartbeat quickens, and the small vessel of hope I thought had been all but extinguished begins to grow in my chest. It can’t be. We round the corner and I see her. She looks more mature than the last time I saw her, but those hazel eyes are still the same ones from the picture.
“Ma’am, we’re going to need you to calm down,” a male guard replies.
“The fact that you’re still standing on two feet and not laid out is indication that I’m calm right now,” she quips back with snarl. “She’s been here six weeks and no one has tried to contact anyone for her? What was she arrested for?”
“Prostitution.”
“What?!” she asks incredulously.
I close my eyes at the shame of that one word.
“Yup, girlie.”
“Lieutenant,” she cuts the smug guard off. “Lieutenant Coral Coleman of the United States Army, not girlie.” She takes a step toward the guard, and I notice a man behind her move to intervene. He’s not a guard. The way he hovers protectively over Coral, I assume he’s with her.
“Well, Lieutenant, the inmate whose release you’re demanding was arrested for prostitution.”
Another pang of guilt seizes my chest. The guard nor Coral have noticed us yet.
“She’s fucking seventeen years old. You find a seventeen year old out on the street…” She pauses as if her next words are hard to say. “If she was prostituting, was locking her up your only solution?! Where’s my sister?” she demands.
At this point, it looks as if Coral is ready to tear this place down brick by brick. And the tall, good-looking man with the green eyes behind her looks like he’d help her.
“C-Coral,” I call out shakily, still shocked she is actually here.
She turns those intense hazel eyes on me, and I see something I haven’t seen in a long time from anyone. Concern. If I could still feel my heart, I think it’d be breaking right now.
“Tasha,” she whispers as she comes toward me.
It’s the first time I’ve heard someone call my name with any type of emotion besides disdain in a long time. Within seconds, I am enveloped in strong arms. Although I haven’t felt them in years, her arms are just as comforting as they were when I was seven years old and she hugged me after beating up a couple kids who were bullying me. My first reaction is to pull away, feeling dirty, shame, and then anger.
A frown forms on her face when I push out of her embrace. I avoid her gaze, looking over her shoulder at the man who obviously came with her.
“What happened to her?” she asks as she pulls back and stares at the ugly bruise around my right eye. I look back at her to see she’s still looking at me, but the question is directed at the guard behind me.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Fight.”
I roll my eyes at his lie, but I remain silent.
/>
Coral looks up and her eyes narrow as if she can tell he’s lying. She’s always been good at reading others. She turns her eyes back on me. “Let’s go. You won’t ever be back here again.” She gives the guard behind me another hard glare before tapping me on the shoulder and jutting her head toward the door, signaling that it’s time to go. The man who is with her comes over to us.
“Tasha, this is my friend Liam. Liam, this is Tasha, my sister,” she introduces.
“Nice to meet you, Tasha,” he greets me friendly. The hard stare he gave the guards has transformed into a friendly smile when he looks at me. He’s handsome and by the grin he gives me, I can tell he’s a charmer. But still, I don’t know this guy, and very few men have been nice to me without wanting something in return. So I hesitate to return his greeting.
“Hey,” I say as I give him a small wave.
“Come on,” Coral encourages me, and we walk toward the door. “It’s a few hours’ drive back to the city. Do you want to get something to eat before we head out?”
“Back to the city?” I pull up short. My eyebrows almost touch my forehead. That is the last place I want to return to.
Coral must see the terror in my eyes. She steps in front of me, gripping my shoulders. “I’ve rented a hotel suite for the next couple of days. We’re not going back to the Bronx. It’ll be okay,” she reassures.
I begin to wonder if she knows the whole story about how I ended up here. “I-I thought you forgot about me,” I confess out of nowhere, biting my tongue so I don’t spill anymore of my fears.
She begins massaging my shoulders consolingly. This time I don’t recoil from her touch. It’s the first one in years that doesn’t send a wave a nausea through me.
“I’ve looked for you for a long time. I could never forget about you. I made you a promise. I failed at keeping it, but now that I’ve found you I won’t let anything happen to you. Okay?”
Her words hit me dead center and all my emotions come rushing to the surface at once. I look up at her through watery eyes and nod, unable to form words. It takes a moment but I manage to swallow them down, regaining my composure. We catch up with Liam who is waiting beside a white Mercedes. I’ve only seen cars this nice from afar. I’m shocked when Coral presses the button to unlock the doors.
She must notice the surprise on my face and tosses me a half smile. “It was a graduation gift,” she says, tilting her head toward Liam who is on the passenger side.
“Maybe she’ll let you drive it.” He grins.
“Not until she gets her license. Get in.” Coral holds the back door open for me.
I climb in the backseat. As we pull off, the sense of relief I feel magnifies the further we get from that awful facility. I gaze up at the sky and wonder what happens next, but I’m too tired to think for too long. I can’t remember the last time I’d felt safe enough to sleep more than a few hours at a time. Soon, I relax and rest my head on the back seat and drift off into a deep sleep, feeling safer than I had in a long time. My big sis has come for me.
****
I step out of the bathroom of the luxurious hotel suite with the softest towel I have ever felt wrapped around my body. Another one is on my head, absorbing the water from my wet hair. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent shower. I’m pretty sure I stayed under the hot water spray for over an hour.
“Tasha,” Coral calls through the closed bedroom door. “I have a change of clothes for you.”
I pad over to the door and open it ever so slightly.
She holds up the clothes for me to see. “Can I come in?”
I nod and open the door a little wider, allowing Coral entrance. I look over her shoulder for her friend, Liam, who’s here with us, but I don’t see him.
“Li picked these up from the store and went to go get something to eat. It’s late and room service is closed for the night,” she explains.
I take the pair of sweatpants, T-shirt, and panties from her hand, embarrassed to think that her friend even bought me a pack of underwear. Coral turns her back to me, giving me some privacy to dress. Once I’m done, I sit on the bed.
Coral walks over to me and points to the towel on my head. “Can I?” she asks.
I notice the hairbrush and comb along with other hair products. I nod, grateful for her consideration in asking. I’m pretty sure she can tell I’m squeamish about being touched. In spite of my usual displeasure of being touched by others, I sigh at the comforting feel of my sister’s fingers in my hair.
“I’ve missed you, Tash. Where were you living?”
I lower my head and shrug. “Mama moved us to Virginia for a while after Nana died. From there we moved to Atlanta and then back to Virginia before she disappeared.”
“How long has she been gone?”
I shrug again. “Close to four years, I guess.”
“You’ve been on your own this whole time?”
I remain silent, not wanting to admit everything that’s happened to me in the last four years. Just thinking about it makes me want to climb right back in the shower and scrub my skin until it’s raw.
“We have a few more days to talk. You don’t have to tell me everything now. But…” She pauses uncharacteristically, seemingly unsure of her next words. “I think you should let me tell my aunt and uncle about you. That way you can stay with them—”
“No!” I yell, standing. “I don’t want them to know about me. They’re not even my relatives. They’re yours.”
“I know, but they’re really good people and I know they wouldn’t mind taking you in. You can’t be on your own again, Tasha,” she states emphatically.
“Fine. But why can’t I stay with you? You came back for me, so why can’t I just come live with you?”
My sister sighs heavily before answering, “Tash, I’m only in the States for a few more days.”
“Why?” I croak, feeling a band of cold seize my chest. I thought I had found some type of solace. I should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
“I’m only on a two-week leave. I’ve spent seven of those days looking for you. Exactly six days from today I’ll be on a plane back to Iraq.”
“Iraq?” I ask astonished and frightened.
Coral rises from the bed to stand in front of me. “Yes. I’m in the middle of a twelve-month tour.”
This time I don’t even bother to stop the rush of tears that springs from my eyes. I can’t believe it. Just when I thought I would be okay, my one lifeline is telling me she has to leave again and go back to a war zone no less. While I was in juvie I watched the news a lot whenever they let us. Every other day it seemed like they were reporting on a new bombing or more U.S. soldiers that were killed in the line of duty.
“It’s dangerous over there. Do you have to go back?” I question, knowing the answer but hoping against hope she’d tell me she’d stay with me.
“Tash, I have to go back. Otherwise, I’ll be AWOL and eventually, arrested. Plus I promised—”
“You made a promise to me too!” I spit out angrily. “You said you’d always look out for me, but you’ve been gone! I was all alone.” My whole body begins to vibrate with anger and fear.
“I know, sis. I’m sorry. I never stopped looking for you, though. Not once,” she adds, squeezing my shoulder.
I stare up into her hazel eyes and the tense set of her jaw. I know she is telling the truth.
“That’s why I want you to live with my aunt and uncle. They’d be there for you in my absence. And we could tell Stacey. You don’t have to be alone.”
“I don’t want them to know,” I say shakily, wiping a few tears from my eyes and snot from my nose. I can’t think of anyone who’d want me. I’m tainted. My own mother and father didn’t want me. Of course, no one else would either.
“I thought you might say that.” She pauses. “I’ve done some research on a place. They take in young girls who’ve been in your situation.”
“You mean like a foster home or something?” I quest
ion skeptically.
“No. It’s nothing like a foster home. This place is based in Central Massachusetts and it’s run by a couple of nuns. They have counselors, job training, and a place where you can finish school. You didn’t graduate, right?”
I shake my head. “No. Mama pulled me out of school to move. Then we kept moving so much that I fell so far behind until I just stopped even trying.”
“Do you still write and draw?”
I nod and motion to the notebook that I took out of the envelope that contained my belongings at the facility.
Coral looks at the notebook and turns back to me, grinning. “See, at this place you could take classes on creative writing, earn your diploma, and maybe go on to get your degree if you want. I’ve already checked it out. They take in about five girls a year, but you get your own room with a lock and key. Meals are served family style, and most of all, you don’t have to be afraid. I’ll call every week when I can and I’ve already created an email account for you, so you can email me whenever you want once I leave.” She pulls out a small business card.
Haven House, I read silently from the card scripted with big, purple letters. The address, phone number, and website address are listed on it as well. I flip the card over, and the insignia is of two hands holding a smaller one. Put your hand in ours and we’ll never let it go, again I read the back of the card in silence.
Coral hands me another piece of paper with the email address she’s created for me. For the first time in a long time, a hint of a smile appears on my face. The paper reads BXGirl1988. The BX is for the Bronx, the New York borough we were born and raised in, and 1988 is the year of my birth. I think of all the planning it took not only for her to find me, but to set me up with all of this.
“You never forgot about me?” I croak, still looking at the card in my hand.
“Not once,” she states adamantly.
“Tell me more about this place,” I whisper.
“Let me finish your hair as I tell you.”
I nod, sitting back down on the huge bed facing the mirror. Coral sits behind me, legs splayed apart, so I can fit between them for her to do my hair. This position reminds me of so many girls I remember sitting between their mother’s legs getting their hair done. My mother never took that kind of time with me. My nana took care of all my grooming needs as a child. I look over Coral’s mocha skin and slim yet toned physique, comparing it to my dark chocolate skin and plump body. I was teased as a child because of my complexion and body. I enjoy the gentle way Coral massages my scalp, moisturizing it and my hair before combing out the knots from the ends to the roots. It eliminates some of the pain and soothes me. As she does my hair, she continues to tell me about Haven House. It’s far enough from the city, out in a rural area surrounded by lots of nature. They specialize in treating adolescent girls and young women who’ve endured past trauma. The facility is funded by a federal grant.
My Storm Page 1
