by Landis Lain
Please, no!
She had almost made it out to the lobby of the theatre when a hand grabbed the back of her coat and an arm was thrown across her shoulder. Sasha froze.
“Hey,” said K Smooth, resplendent in purple and black, “I thought that was you. We need to talk.”
Sasha dipped her knees to try to slide from under his arm, but he tightened his hold.
“Let me go!” she said in a strangled voice. He pushed her against the wall and leaned close, as though they were having a conversation. She breathed in short bursts of fear.
K Smooth’s satin tan face moved close to hers. He stroked her neck with one long finger, subtle menace oozing from his pores.
“How’ve you been?”
“Get off me,” she said, but stood frozen and terrified. There were people milling around the movie theatre, but no one paid them any attention.
“I heard you had a baby,” he said.
“What of it?” Sasha looked around wildly.
Scream!
“D Dog wants you to call him,” said K Smooth. “He’s 5-0’d right now but wants to hear from you.”
Sasha shook her head. 5-0’d was Death Lord slang for D Dog was back in jail. Why would he need to talk to Sasha? Shouldn’t he be calling his lawyer?
“I don’t have his number,” she managed to say.
K Smooth reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“What’s your phone number?” he asked. “Program it in to my cell.” She eyed the phone as though it was a rat with sharp teeth. He handed her the phone. She hesitated, then took it.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Sasha, eyes tracking wildly for an escape.
“Go ahead,” said K Smooth, stepping back. “But don’t damage my phone. I wouldn’t like it. I ain’t D Dog.”
Trembling, Sasha headed to the nearest bathroom and went into the stall. She used the bathroom and then turned around to throw up. She washed her face and hands in the sink, swishing water in her mouth to get rid of the taste of regurgitated popcorn. She went back into the stall to spit it out into the toilet and leaned on the wall for a long moment. She finally came out of the stall. Her hands shook as she looked through the phone. It took her three tries, but she finally programmed her telephone number into the phone, washed her hands again and came out of the bathroom. K Smooth and several other young men in assorted Death Lord Gear stood waiting.
“Thought for a minute we were going to have to come in and get you,” said K Smooth. One of the other Death Lords snickered. Sasha handed the phone back to K Smooth. He glanced at it and pressed the call button. Sasha’s ring tone ‘Foolish Heart’ sang out from her pocket.
“Just making sure you didn’t give me the wrong number,” said K Smooth, putting his phone into his baggy jeans pocket. Sasha shook her head, tasting the metallic flavor of hate and fear in her mouth. “D Dog will call you. You’d best answer if you know what’s good for you.”
“Or what?”
K Smooth didn’t answer. He grabbed her wrist so hard that Sasha cried out. She could feel the delicate bones grind together. He glanced around. People were giving the Death Lords a wide berth.
“We will walk you to your car,” he said. “And explain the facts of life to you.”
Sasha’s knees locked into place. She was terrified but not moving.
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Her voice was shaking and shrill. She snatched away, and he let her wrist slide from his grasp. Sasha bolted past K Smooth toward the service desk.
“May I help you miss?” The service clerk looked concerned. She eyed Sasha closely. “Hey, are you okay? I saw what happened.”
Sasha was breathing fast, almost sobbing. She looked behind her. The Death Lords had disappeared. Her eyes wildly tracked the movie theatre lobby. They were gone. Sasha swallowed and looked out the front door windows. No sign of them. It was dusk. She wasn’t going out by herself.
“I need someone to walk me to my car,” said Sasha.
The young woman nodded. “Let me get security.”
The security guard walked Sasha to her car. He was an older man, with wire-rimmed glasses and a fatherly concern.
“Thank you,” said Sasha, when she got to her car.
“You sure you don’t want to make a complaint?” he asked.
Sasha shook her head. “No, they were just being stupid. I’m okay.”
“You seem like a nice young lady,” he said. “Hanging out with hoodlums is a bad idea.”
“I know. It won’t happen again.”
Sasha drove home slowly to allow herself time to calm down.
She kissed her mother and bundled Ricky up without saying much.
“What’s wrong?” asked her mother, frowning. “I thought a day to yourself would be good for you. You look worse now than you did when you dropped the baby off. You sick, baby?”
“I think I ate too much popcorn at the movies,” said Sasha. “I’m a little nauseous. But I had a good day, Mama, until the end. Thank you.”
“You want to stay over tonight?”
“No,” said Sasha. “I left my books at the apartment. I need to do some studying.” She wouldn’t be able to keep herself in order if D Dog called while she was home with her mother. Mama would ask too many questions and Sasha had no answers for her.
Her mother drove her back to Spartan Village. Sasha kissed her, grabbed the baby and used her key to let herself in. She waved, and her mother drove off into the dusk.
She put Ricky down for the night and sat at her kitchen table looking at her phone as though it was a snake. Every light was on in the tiny apartment. She wasn’t going to sleep tonight. K Smooth and his boys were out there, someplace. A few minutes later a hard knock landed on the door. Sasha jumped. She got up slowly and peered out through the peep hole. She opened the door.
“Hey, Sash!” said Suleiman, bouncing into the apartment. He was smiling broadly. He always smiled when he saw her. “It’s cold as a witches t- uh, toes, out here. What’s up? Where you been all day?”
Sasha turned away. She was so glad to see Suleiman, but she dreaded the upcoming conversation. He closed the door, dropped his book bag on the floor and took his coat off. He dropped it next to his book bag. Suleiman cocked his head to the side.
“Hey,” he said. “You okay?” Sasha shuddered but couldn’t get a word out over the lump in her throat. She jumped when Suleiman put a hand on her shoulder. He turned her gently, eyes narrowed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is something wrong with the baby?” He looked around wildly.
“No,” said Sasha. “Ricky’s fine.”
“Did you have a fight with your mom or something?”
“I’m okay.” She bit her lip.
“That’s the biggest lie ever was told,” he said. “Come on, tell a brother what’s wrong.” He grabbed her hand and Sasha cried out. He gentled his hold and pushed up the sleeve to her flannel jacket. He stood for a full minute, staring at the bruises forming on her small wrist. Then, he looked up to meet her eyes.
“I am going to kill whoever did this,” he growled, enraged. His nostrils flared, and he clenched his jaw. “I’m going to kill him by inches. It will take him five years to die. When I finish with him he is going to be a spot on the da-, on the sidewalk.”
Sasha looked terrified. She snatched her wrist away and held it to her chest.
“Please, no,” she whispered, and backed away.
SICKENED
November 10,
Violence makes me want to hurl. It makes me so sick I just want to go hide in the closet and never come out again. It’s scary to think what people do to one another. Folks are so mean. Why are people so mean?
“Babe, I asked who did this to you,” said Suleiman. “Don’t act like you’re afraid of me. You know I’d never hurt you!”
She rubbed her wrist and ignored the endearment. She could take him to task for that later.
“No, I don’t,” said Sasha,
defiance in her tone. “You just said you were going to kill who did this. It was going to take him five years to die and he was going to be a spot on the sidewalk when you got through. I don’t know why you thought that would be incentive for me to tell you anything.”
“You’re not going to tell me that being abused is okay with you!” said Suleiman.
“Do I look like I’m insane to you?” she snapped. “No. I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for it and I doggone well don’t like it. But your violence will not take away my hurt!”
Suleiman cast his eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath. He held it for a few moments and then exhaled loudly. Sasha waited for him to blast her.
“You’re right,” he said, reaching over and taking her wrist gently. “Violence is never the answer. It’s just that I can’t stand
to think about anybody hurting you. Have you been to the police?”
She shook her head. “I can’t just go to the police. What if it was Mama who did this to me?”
Suleiman rolled his eyes. “Unless your mother has hands the size of a small gorilla, she didn’t do this. No woman did this. I can see the finger prints and this was a big hand. He had to squeeze hard to mark brown skin like this.” He gently rubbed feather light touches on the spots with his thumb. The navy-blue bruises were roughly the size of his own finger tips.
“If you are silent about your pain, they will kill you, and then tell people you liked it,” he murmured.
“What?”
“It’s a quote by Zora Neale Hurston,” he said, meeting her eyes. “It seemed appropriate to the circumstances.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?” asked Sasha, fearful.
“I’m taking a picture of this,” said Suleiman.
“No pictures!” Sasha grabbed her wrist and turned her back to Suleiman, her shoulders hunched.
“Why?” Suleiman walked around her and lifted her chin with his finger. Sasha’s eyes were giant pools of misery.
“I can’t say,” she said.
“Why can’t you say?” he asked. He moved a bit closer. “You can tell me anything.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you hurt!”
“Me?” he said incredulously. “Why would anybody hurt me?”
“Snitches get stitches,” she said simply, eyes fearful. “Or dead. Their friends and family, too.”
Suleiman dropped his hand and turned away for a few moments. Sasha watched him clench his fists and then visibly gathering self-control, he un-fisted his hands and turned back to face her. He touched her shoulder. She flinched.
“No one,” he said, “has the right to hurt you.
“What’s your point?” Sasha asked, miserably.
“It’s like pulling the wings off a butterfly,” said Suleiman. “There is no point to a bully picking on someone weaker. You cannot let this buster get away with something like this. The next time he might do something worse to you or even hurt the baby.”
Sasha stiffened. “No one is hurting my baby while I live. I’d kill them.”
Suleiman snorted. “How you gonna stop him? Violence is not the answer, remember?” He reached to take her by the shoulders.
Sasha stepped back. Suleiman dropped his arms.
“He’s already hurt you, Sasha,” said Suleiman. “Threatening to hurt your friends or family is an intimidation tactic, meant to keep you, the victim, in line. But he is not going to stop hurting you and it will get worse and worse.”
“He’s going to be angry and if I don’t answer when he calls me,” moaned Sasha. “Why can’t he just leave me alone? He kicked me to the curb. I thought it was over. I thought I could be free and now it’s started all over again.”
“You don’t have to answer the phone,” said Suleiman, firmly. “It’s your phone. You pay the bill.”
“It will get worse if I don’t,” said Sasha. She turned and flounced away. She dropped to the couch in exhaustion. “I’ve seen what they do to people. I know what they do?”
“Who is they?” asked Suleiman. He followed her to the couch and sat down next to her. “Talk to me, Sasha.”
“He’s got anger problems,” said Sasha. “People get hurt when he gets mad.”
“Yeah,” said Suleiman. “This dude has a problem with your anger, not his. He can get as mad as he wants to and then shove his anger down your throat and make you think getting angry with him is crazy. It’s called Stockholm Syndrome.”
Sasha looked at him. “What’s that?”
“In a hostage situation, when they want to really torture prisoners, they don’t just beat them. That makes the person tough or just kills the hostage. It feeds hatred and rage, and those are powerful emotions. But if you alternate between brutality and kindness, you act the bully sometimes, then act kind, act like the victim made you do it, then the victim starts to think that they are delusional for hating the bully. It’s all their fault, the victim’s I mean, for making the bully beat them. The victim becomes dependent on the torturer. They identify with their attacker and sometimes fall in love with them.”
“I didn’t know there was a name for it.”
“In the real world it’s also called abuse,” said Suleiman. “It is against the law. You should call the police.
“The police can’t keep me from getting hurt,” said Sasha.
Suleiman touched her cheek with his hand. “Nobody can keep someone from getting hurt when that person doesn’t know what’s coming. But, maybe they can keep it from happening again.”
Sasha met his eyes. “I just want it to go away.”
“How long has this been going on?”
She shrugged and looked down at the floor. “Awhile,” said Sasha. He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up. She met his eyes.
“Sasha!”
“He saw me at the movie theater,” said Sasha, not explaining who ‘he’ was. She shuddered. “It’s been over a year.
He dumped me. Why would he start lurking again? Or send his boys after me?”
“Ah, babe,” Suleiman said. “I’m so sorry.” He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her. He led her to the living room and they sat on the couch in silence for a while.
“Suleiman?” Sasha’s voice was tiny.
“Yeah?”
“If you take the picture we don’t have to say anything yet?” Suleiman paused and licked his lips. He glanced at her wrist and his jaw tightened.
“Let’s compromise,” said Suleiman, meeting her eyes. “I’ll take a picture. We will print it out and date it. We will e-mail it to ourselves also. You write down what happened. Then, when you think you can tell, you report it to the police, okay? I’ll go with you.”
“Okay.”
“You said dude is going to call?”
She nodded.
“He got a name?”
“Craig Frazier.”
“Then we will tape the calls,” said Suleiman. “If he threatens you, again, we go to the police.”
“Suleiman?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared to stay here by myself tonight,” she said. “His boys are out still there.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know,” Sasha said.
Suleiman stood up, bringing her with him.
“You put some ice on that wrist,” he said, reaching down to grab his jacket. “I’ll go get my stuff.”
WOUNDED
November 12,
Sometimes when I think that my problems are horrible, something else comes along that is so bad it takes my breath away. I wonder why bad things happen. Life makes no sense. Even when somebody acts like a superhero I discover that they have kryptonite, too.
When Sasha heard screaming she sat up in bed and glanced at the sleeping baby. Disoriented, she leapt out of bed and ran to the living room. She dropped to her knees and touched his shoulder.
“Suleiman, Suleiman, wake up!”
Suleiman
exploded up from his sleeping bag on the floor and grabbed for Sasha. He rolled her body below him and drew back his fist. Sasha whimpered in fear and threw up her hands to block the blow.
“No, please!”
Panting harshly, Suleiman dropped his arm and rolled off her onto the floor, where he lay on his back. After a few fraught moments Suleiman got up and turned the lamp on.
Suleiman looked down at Sasha. She was sprawled on the corner of the blanket, looking up at him with terrified eyes.
He took a deep breath and cursed. He reached down to help her up off the floor.
She flinched when his hands touched hers.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She was trembling. “I’m really sorry. Did I hurt you?” He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her hair.
“No,” she said and murmured something into his shoulder. She clutched his t-shirt in her fist.
“I can’t understand you,” he said. He took her shoulders and
shifted her back to look into her eyes.
“I said,” said Sasha, shakily. “That is the last time I try to wake you up!”
Suleiman leaned in to kiss her on the forehead.
“I’m supposed to be protecting you and I almost kill you,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?” asked Sasha. He released her and shrugged, turning away from her, chest heaving. Ricky wailed from the bedroom.
“I should go.”
She grabbed Suleiman’s arm.
“Oh no,” she said. “Don’t turn away from me. I asked you a question. We’re supposed to be friends, right? Just wait, while I grab Ricky.”
She ran to the bedroom and gathered the baby from the crib. He quieted as soon as she picked him up. She hunted around the bed and found his pacifier and stuck it into his mouth. Content now, Ricky sucked and clutched at her hair. When she came back out of the bedroom Suleiman was slumped forward on the couch, shuddering. He sat head down, elbows on his knees, clutching his sweat-drenched t-shirt in one fist. Sasha grabbed the blanket off the floor with one hand and threw it around Suleiman’s shoulders. She sat on the couch next to him, rocking the baby. Ricky fell asleep in Sasha’s arms. They sat like that for a long time. The sun was peeking into the curtains before they spoke.
