Losing It

by Zaria Garrison

  Standing in the closet, Keisha stared up at the mountain of boxes, realizing there was no way she could carry them all at once. It had taken her six months of shopping to accumulate so much. Each time she went to the store, she’d pick up one or two boxes. There was no way she’d buy enough at one time to arouse suspicion. Now she had to get rid of it all in just a few hours. She rushed to the kitchen for garbage bags.

  The bags were stuffed when Keisha suddenly realized the police would search her dumpster as well as her apartment. Sitting on the floor, she began to cry. Her plan was falling apart right before her eyes, and she was at a loss for how to stop it. She sat bawling for a half hour, going over and over in her head each detail that she’d meticulously planned. Then it suddenly dawned on her. Standing up, she began unpacking the bags and placing the boxes back on the shelves. The answer was simple. She just wished she’d thought of it sooner.

  I’ll just frame Sharmaine for poisoning Rodney, just like I did when I shot Leon.

  Cackling like an old witch, Keisha left the storage closet.

  When they arrived at their home, Camille and Jeanna slowly climbed the stairs to their rooms. Just as they neared the top, Jackson called out to them. “Are you girls hungry? I can ask Consuela to fix us something.”

  “No thanks, Uncle Jack. I’m going to my room and watch a movie,” Jeanna answered.

  “What about you, Camille?”

  “No. I can’t eat,” she answered. Camille went into her room and lay down on her bed. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she brushed them away, reluctant to cry. Instead, she got up and went to Jeanna’s room. She knocked on the door then waited for her sister to answer.

  “Come in.”

  “Can I use your phone? I want to call Danté.”

  Jeanna pressed pause on the movie she was watching. She turned around and looked at Camille. Her face was scrunched up, as if she were trying to remember something. “In all the excitement, I think I left my purse at Mom’s. I don’t have it,” she said.

  Camille plopped down on Jeanna’s bed. “Dad still has mine.”

  “Why don’t you just use the house phone?”

  “Uncle Jack is downstairs. He’s worse than Dad. I don’t want to hear his mouth.” Camille sighed loudly.

  Ignoring her, Jeanna pressed play and went back to her movie. Camille pushed some clothes aside and lay down on her sister’s bed to watch with her. When the movie was over, she reluctantly went back to her room. After a long, hot shower she put on her pajamas and climbed into bed, but as hard as she tried, Camille could not fall asleep. She got out of her bed then went to her dresser and opened the drawer. Digging through her underwear and bras, she searched, hoping she’d find a joint she’d forgotten about. But there was no use; it was all gone.

  Camille went to her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She dressed quickly then checked the hallway. The upstairs was completely dark. She sneaked downstairs and froze when she heard noises. Peeking into the family room, she saw that Jackson had dozed off on the sofa with the television on. She tipped past the open door as he snored loudly.

  As she reached the back door, she realized Jackson had not set the alarm. That meant she could easily get out of the house and get her car out of the garage. Still tiptoeing, she grabbed her keys from the hook and went out the back door.

  Once outside, she saw the garage doors standing open. Quickly, she ran to her Honda Accord and hopped inside. As she started the engine, she thought up a quick lie. She pulled up to the gate and stopped.

  Otis poked his head out. “What are you doing out so late, Miss Camille?”

  “I’m taking my dad a change of clothes at the hospital. Uncle Jackson is staying here with Jeanna.”

  “I sure was upset to hear about your little brother.” Otis sadly shook his head.

  “Thanks, Otis. I won’t be gone long. I’m just going to drop these clothes off and come right back.”

  Otis looked at her oddly for a few seconds, and Camille thought that surely she was busted. Then Otis pulled his head back inside and pressed the button, opening the gate. He waved to her as she drove away.

  It didn’t take her long, as she exceeded all of the speed limit laws, before Camille was pulling up to Danté’s apartment building. She jumped out of the car and rushed up the steel stairs. Once she reached the door, she pounded loudly. After several moments passed, she heard Nichole’s voice on the other side.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Camille. I came to see Danté.”

  Camille stood fidgeting as she heard several locks click before Nichole finally cracked the door open.“Danté is working the late shift tonight, Camille. He’s not here.”

  “Um ... I’m sorry to come by so late. My little brother is in the hospital, and I just really needed to see Danté.”

  “Oh, yeah, I saw that on Entertainment Tonight! Is Rodney gonna be okay?”

  Camille shrugged her shoulders. “We don’t really know yet.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “I’ll tell Danté you came by.” Nichole put her hands on the door to close it.

  “Um, wait. Do you know where I can get some weed?”

  Nichole frowned at her. “No,” she said. Then she closed the door.

  Camille walked slowly back down the stairs to her car. She got inside and sat for several minutes, trying to remember how to get back to where Danté had taken her the first time she’d bought weed. He had been driving, and the whole trip was a blur.

  She was still sitting and thinking when she heard someone tapping at her car window. Looking over, she thought she recognized his face, so she rolled down the window.

  “What up? Ain’t you Danté s girl?”

  Camille stared into the dark brown face of the young man leaning into her car. “How do you know who I am?” she asked.

  “I know everything that happens around here. I seen you with Danté the other night.”

  “Well, he’s not here right now. I was just about to leave.” Camille began to roll up her window. The young man stuck his hand in to stop her.

  “What’s your hurry?” he asked.

  “I told you. Danté’s not home, so I’m just—” Camille stopped talking as she noticed something tucked behind the young man’s ear.

  He noticed her looking and pulled the joint out. “You wanna smoke?” he asked.

  Camille stared at him, not answering for several seconds, trying to decide what to do. She’d already sneaked out of the house, and Danté wasn’t home. Her last stash of weed had been flushed down the toilet, and she desperately needed more. Besides, by the time she got home, she figured she’d be in a world of trouble anyway. This might be her last chance for a while.

  She nodded her head. “Yeah,” she said.

  The young man stepped back and motioned for Camille to get out of the car. Without budging, she just stared at him.

  “Come on, girl. I ain’t gonna smoke this out in the open.”

  Then he suddenly noticed how scared she looked. Like a wolf that had just spotted a limping rabbit, he grinned at her and stepped closer to the car. He leaned in the window again. “My name is Alfonso, but everybody around here calls me Blue. Come on, get out. My apartment is right across the hall from Danté. We can hit this up there.”

  Slowly, Camille opened the car door and got out. She followed Blue up the stairs and into his apartment. The stench in the room caused her stomach to turn as soon as she was inside. Camille thought it smelled like a combination of urine, feces, sex, and strawberries. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand to keep from inhaling. Then she looked around the dimly lit living room; at least she assumed it was the living room. It was the identical space that Danté and Nichole used as one, but this one had no real furniture. There was a lamp sitting on top of an old milk crate, an ugly black bean bag chair that had burst, scattering beans all over the floor, and a filthy mattress with a dingy blanket on top.

  Suddenly regrett
ing her decision, Camille turned toward the door. Quick as a flash, Blue stood in front of it, blocking her way.

  “I ... I changed my mind. I don’t wanna smoke,” she stammered.

  “Cool. Let’s do something else.” Blue stared at her from head to toe. Then he stuck out his tongue and licked his crusty lips.

  “No. I want to go.” Camille’s whole body was shaking with fear.

  Blue ignored her and grabbed both of her arms. He violently threw her onto the mattress. She screamed as she landed on the floor. Blue quickly jumped on top of her, pinning her down.

  “No! Stop!” she screamed as he tugged at her clothes.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t want it. I saw that video of your mom. Whores run in the family.” Blue ripped open her T-shirt, exposing her bra.

  Camille struggled and kicked, but he was much stronger.

  “Let me go! Stop it!” she screamed even louder.

  Danté sauntered across the courtyard of his apartment complex on his way to his building. He stopped suddenly when he noticed Camille’s car parked out front. Anxious to see her, he bounded up the stairs. He’d just put his key in the door when he heard screaming. Standing still, he strained his ears to see where it was coming from.

  Blue grinned perversely at Camille’s exposed breasts inside her bra. Then he bent down to kiss her. Frantic, Camille spit in his eye. Blue cursed her then viciously slapped her face. She screamed in pain.

  Suddenly, the front door came crashing open with the power of Danté’s foot.

  “Get off of her!” he screamed.

  “Are you crazy? You just broke my door!” Blue screamed back.

  With his attention diverted, Camille drew up her knees and hit him directly in the groin. Blue cursed in pain and rolled off of her. Danté rushed over and helped Camille to her feet. The two of them ran across the breezeway to Danté’s apartment, leaving Blue on the floor, cursing and screaming at them.

  Once they were safely inside, Danté locked and chained the front door. Then he helped Camille sit on the couch. He looked at her, confused. “What were you doing over there?”

  Camille sat crying and still shaking, unable to answer him.

  Danté went to the kitchen and came back carrying a small bag of ice. He handed it to Camille. “Put this on your face,” he said.

  When she reached out to take it, he noticed her ripped T-shirt and exposed bra. He quickly left the room.

  Lightly, he knocked on his sister’s bedroom door. “Nichole, you up?” He peeped in.

  “Yeah,” she answered.

  “Um, can you come out here? I need your help.”

  Nichole waddled into the living room and saw Camille sitting on the couch. She sped up her waddle and sat down next to her, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. Realizing Camille was in no shape to answer, she looked at Danté. “What happened?”

  “That crackhead Blue attacked her. Can you get her some more clothes?” Danté clenched his fists and paced around the room, trying to contain his anger.

  A few moments later, the two of them returned to the living room. Nichole had given Camille a fresh T-shirt and helped her wash her tear-stained face. Before returning to her room, she gave Camille a warm hug. “It’s over and you’re fine,” she said. Then she waddled back down the hallway to her room.

  Danté sat down on the sofa and pulled Camille into his arms. He held her tightly.

  “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I never should have gone in there with him,” Camille said softly.

  “No, don’t blame yourself. Blue is crazy. You’re not the first girl around here he’s attacked. I should have warned you to stay away from him.”

  Camille shook her head. “I went over there with him to ... to smoke weed. I came to get you to buy some for me and he offered, and I ... I’m just stupid,” Camille cried.

  Danté looked at her, surprised. “How could you have smoked that whole bag already?”

  “I didn’t. My dad flushed it down the toilet.”

  Danté sighed with relief. “I’m glad he did,” he said. Then he paused and took a deep breath. “Camille, I think you are smoking too much. It’s becoming a real problem for you. Please, don’t do it anymore.”

  Shocked, she sat up and looked at him. “But you are the one who gave me the first joint.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I used to smoke back then, but I don’t anymore. I quit, and I want you to quit too.”

  Camille folded her arms across her chest and slumped back into the couch. “You don’t understand. My life is going crazy.”

  “Right. Poor little rich girl.”

  “Rich people have problems too. You have no idea what it feels like for people to call your mother a whore.”

  Dante turned to her slowly and looked her in the eye. “Did you forget? My mother was a whore. I don’t even know who mine or Nichole’s father is because of what she did.”

  He was correct; Camille had momentarily forgotten.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s different. At least no one is trying to make you forgive your mom.”

  “You’re right, but that’s because they don’t have to. I mean, I used to really hate her; then I realized that I was only hurting myself by holding in the hatred and anger, so I forgave her.”

  Camille was dumbfounded. “I don’t understand. If you don’t smoke anymore, why did you help me get weed?”

  He turned away from her and blushed. “’Cause you’re so beautiful. I wanted you to like me, and I was afraid to say no to you. Besides, I thought you could handle it. I was wrong.”

  Flattered by his admission, Camille snuggled up close to Danté and laid her head on his shoulder. “Can I chill here a little while before I go home?” she asked.

  “You’re staying here. It’s too late for you to drive around Atlanta alone. I’ll go with you in the morning. I can ride the bus back.”

  “My dad is gonna freak out again.”

  “I’m sure your parents have their hands full with Rodney. I’ll explain it when we get there. How is he doing?”

  She looked at him, confused.

  “I saw it on the news,” he explained.

  “Oh ... he’s not doing good. I went home, but I couldn’t sleep, so I came here.”

  “Getting high really doesn’t make you feel better, Camille. It just helps you hide from your problems.”

  “Can you think of a better plan?”

  Danté could, but he felt he’d said enough. Instead of answering, he got up and went to the closet. He came back carrying two pillows and two blankets. Placing a pillow on the edge of the couch, he invited Camille to lie down; then he covered her with one of the blankets.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently. He threw his pillow on the floor and lay down in front of the couch, then stretched out on the floor and covered himself with the other blanket.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Jeanna awoke the next morning, she heard the buzzing of her television. She raised her head and looked around her room, realizing she’d fallen asleep with a movie still playing. She yawned and stretched then got out of bed. Her room was a complete mess, as she had not cleaned it since her mother left. As long as nobody bothered her, she watched movies all day and most of the night. Digging through the piles of clothes on her bedroom floor, she found a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Holding them to her nose, she sniffed. Clean enough, she mused.

  Without bothering to shower or even wash up, Jeanna peeled off the clothes she’d worn the day before and put on the shorts and T-shirt. She went to her dresser and grabbed a bottle. Holding it high, she spritzed herself all over with her favorite fragrance, Bath and Body WorksSea Island Cotton. Then she left her room and headed downstairs.

  Consuela was standing at the stove, scrambling eggs in a large cast iron skillet when Jeanna entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Miss Jeanna,” she said.
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  Jeanna sat down at the kitchen table. “Morning. Where’s Camille and Uncle Jack?”

  “Your uncle went to the guest room to shower and get dressed. I have not seen your sister this morning,” she answered.

  “I don’t want any eggs today. I’ll just have a glass of juice and take it to my room.”

  Consuela turned and looked at her. “Miss Jeanna, you need to eat something. Besides, I’m going to clean your room today.”

  “No! I mean, I told you I’d do it myself.”

  “You told me, but you did not do it. I peeked in there yesterday. As soon as I clear the breakfast dishes, I have to go in there and clean. You also have not been bringing your laundry down. Your room is full of dirty clothes.”

  “Just leave it alone. I’ll do it!” Jeanna screamed, startling Consuela. She looked at her strangely then turned back to her pan of eggs.

  “What’s all the commotion about?” Jackson asked as he entered the kitchen.

  Jeanna was surprised to see him dressed in a suit and tie. “Um, nothing. I just don’t want Consuela cleaning my room,”Jeanna answered.

  Jackson straightened his tie then sat down at the table. “Just leave her room alone, Consuela. Leon and Sharmaine have spoiled these kids rotten. You have enough to do around this big house anyway. Let her live like a pig if she wants to.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Jack.” Consuela fought the urge to say more. Maybe no one else noticed, but she knew that something was wrong with Jeanna.

  Before Sharmaine left, Jeanna’s room was always spotless. Consuela never had to clean it. The other children used to joke that Jeanna had OCD because she kept her room and herself immaculately clean. She wasn’t sure, but Consuela also suspected that Jeanna was not bathing regularly either. Every morning, she knew Jeanna drowned herself in cologne, and that wasn’t normal. Consuela realized, however, that she was only the maid, and it wasn’t her place to interfere.