Losing It

by Zaria Garrison

  “Do you want bacon with your eggs, Mr. Jack?” Consuela asked.

  “Give me beef bacon. I don’t eat pork.” He turned to Jeanna. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  Jeanna looked down at herself. “I am dressed.”

  “Why aren’t you dressed for church?”

  “Um ... we haven’t been to church since, um, Dad made us leave ’cause Mom was there,” she stammered.

  “I know that, but you are going today. This family needs all the prayers it can get, especially with your brother in the hospital. Run upstairs and change.” He smiled at Consuela as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him. “Thank you,” he said.

  Slowly sliding her chair back from the table, Jeanna obeyed. Just as she reached the kitchen door, Jackson called out to her. “Oh, be sure Camille is dressed for church also. We’ll go visit your brother after service.”

  Jeanna nodded and left the kitchen. When she arrived upstairs, she went into her room and walked over to the closet. She stared inside at all of the dresses her mother had purchased for her. There had to be close to one hundred dresses neatly pressed and hanging on hangers, but Jeanna had no desire to wear any of them. Every time she chose one, she’d suddenly think of the day she and her Mom went shopping and bought it, or she’d suddenly remember a special occasion that they went to together, with Jeanna wearing one of the dresses. All of them held a special memory of Sharmaine, and Jeanna could not bear to look at them.

  Instead, she left her room and went over to Camille’s, hoping she had a dress she could borrow that would not hold any significance. They were not the same size, but Jeanna knew Camille kept a closet full of clothes she’d outgrown. Jeanna curled up her fist and knocked lightly. She knocked several times more, but there was no answer. Finally, she pushed the door open and walked in.

  “Camille?” She looked around the room, and then went to check the bathroom. It was empty. Worried, she rushed back downstairs. First she ran into the family room, but when she didn’t find Camille there either, she ran to the kitchen. “Camille’s not in her room,” she said breathlessly.

  Jackson looked up from his plate of food. “Are you sure? Did you check her bathroom?” he asked.

  “Yes, and I checked the family room. I can’t find her,” Jeanna said. Her voice was filled with concern and tension.

  “I’m right here,” Camille said.

  They all turned around as Camille and Danté walked through the back door.

  Jackson stood up from the table. “Camille, where have you been?” He suddenly noticed the bruise on her cheek. “What happened to your face?”

  “It’s a long story, Uncle Jack. I’m home and I’m fine,” Camille answered.

  Jackson turned his attention to Danté.“You’re that thug I saw her with the morning she came home high. What did you do to my niece?” he screamed.

  “He didn’t do anything, Uncle Jack. He saved me. Leave Danté alone,” Camille said. She stepped in front of Danté, blocking Jackson as he charged toward them.

  “Saved you from what?” Jackson demanded.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. Camille came to my apartment last night and one of my neighbors attacked her. She spent the night there,” Danté said. He stopped speaking as he watched Jackson’s lightly tanned face growing darker in color due to his anger. “Nothing happened. I swear it. I just wanted to make sure she got home safely.”

  “He’s telling the truth, Uncle Jack,” Camille said.

  “Where is this apartment?” Jackson asked.

  “My sister and I live in Sand Poole Manor. It’s in—”

  “Bankhead!” Jackson screamed, interrupting him. “You had my niece in the projects in Bankhead?” Jackson’s eyes narrowed into slits. His voice was so low it sounded almost like he was growling at Danté.“Get out! Get out of this house now!”

  “But, Uncle Jack, he didn’t do anything. I went there on my own,” Camille whined.

  “Shut up, Camille! I want this trash out of this house now!” he bellowed.

  “Uncle Jack, just listen to him,” Camille pleaded.

  Danté backed up toward the door. “It’s cool, Camille. I’m leaving. Just promise me you’ll think about what we discussed in the car.”

  Camille nodded her head.

  “I’m sorry to cause so much trouble. Later,” Danté said. He walked out of the back door and closed it behind him.

  As soon as he was gone, Camille turned to Jackson. “Why did you do that? You had no right! This isn’t your house!” she yelled.

  “Don’t you dare speak to me that way, young lady. You had no business sneaking out in the first place to meet that punk. Get upstairs and change clothes so we won’t be late for church.”

  “But, Uncle Jack—”

  “Don’t test me, Camille. I’m not as easygoing as your father. Now, do as I say.” Jackson sat down at the table and went back to eating his breakfast.

  Camille opened her mouth to speak again, and he shot her a look that let her know he wasn’t playing. She stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

  Jeanna was standing speechless in the corner, stunned by what she’d just witnessed. Jackson took a slow sip of his coffee then turned to her. “Move it!” he barked.

  She quickly followed in her sister’s footsteps.

  When he got off the bus at his apartment complex, Danté saw Blue rushing in his direction.

  “You broke my door. You gonna pay for it!”

  “Get away from me, Blue,” he said calmly. Danté walked swiftly past him.

  Blue followed closely behind. “I let you borrow my Jeep to go visit that honey in the first place,” he said.

  “That’s not your Jeep. You stole it and I could have been arrested for driving it. I’m warning you, stay away from me, Blue.” Dante reached his building and began climbing the stairs.

  Blue trotted up swiftly behind him. “What about my door?” He pointed to it with the knob hanging off. The wood was splintered around the sides. “Look at it,” he said.

  Danté put his key into his apartment door, ignoring him.

  “You owe me!” Blue yelled.

  Danté opened his door and walked inside his apartment. He slowly turned around and looked at Blue. “All I owe you is a beat down for what you did to Camille. Unless you are ready to collect, I suggest you stay away from me.” He slammed the door in Blue’s face and locked it.

  Turning around, Danté looked over at Nichole. She was sitting on the sofa with the television tuned to a local minister. Her Bible sat in her growing lap. “You’re late for church,” she teased.

  Danté smiled at her. He grabbed his Bible from the bookshelf and sat down beside his sister on the sofa.

  “This ain’t over!” Blue yelled outside Danté’s door before walking back down the stairs to the courtyard. He kept walking until he reached the end of the complex. He ran up the stairs and knocked on the last door in the building. After several moments, a face peeked out at him.

  “I need to see Rip,” Blue said.

  The person behind the door closed it without a word. A few moments later, it opened up again, and Blue walked in to the lavishly furnished apartment. He couldn’t help staring at the long black leather sofa that sat in front of a fifty-inch plasma television. Under the television was an elaborate stereo system with CD, DVD player, and equalizer. Huge speakers hung on the walls.

  The face in the doorway turned out to be a tall, thin, and beautiful black woman. Her long, straight black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was dressed in only a long T-shirt. Blue couldn’t help noticing that it barely covered her butt cheeks. Diverting his attention from the furnishings in the living room and from her behind, Blue followed her down the hallway, where she pushed open the bedroom door.

  Inside the bedroom there was a king-sized sleigh bed with Rip sitting in it. Although his birth name was Marion Sawyer, everyone called him Rip. He was given that name because if anyone crossed him, there was only one thing left to say about them:
Rest in peace. Rip was the son of a Japanese mother and black father. That ethnic makeup gave him a smooth brown complexion with eyes that slanted at the corners. Lounging in his bed, he wore a red skull cap over his slick, black hair and a matching T-shirt.

  Weighing over four hundred pounds, Rip rarely left his apartment. He didn’t have to, because everyone in Sand Poole Manor knew him. All of the drug dealers worked for him, and he was the unofficial king of the projects. Most people held only two emotions toward him: They either feared or revered him.

  Blue felt a little bit of both. He took a deep breath before speaking. “I got a score to settle. I need to buy a gun,” he said.

  “You got money?” Rip asked.

  Blue’s eyes darted back and forth. He watched the woman who’d led him down the hallway climb into bed next to Rip. “Um, no, but I’m good for it,” he answered.

  Rip slowly shook his head. “You are good for nothing, Blue. Get out of here wasting my time.”

  Blue thought for a moment. “Give me some crack. I’ll sell it for you and we can trade,” he suggested.

  Rip and the woman laughed loudly. “You think I’m stupid enough to give a crackhead crack? You ain’t gonna sell it. You gonna smoke it.” Rip continued laughing at him.

  “All right, I’ll get some money. How much?” Blue asked.

  “One hundred,” Rip answered. “Oh, and bullets are extra.”

  He laughed some more as Blue walked back up the hallway and left the apartment.

  Camille sat in church next to her sister and Uncle Jackson, intently listening to Bishop Snow preaching his sermon. Her mouth dropped open in awe as he was saying virtually the same thing Danté has said to her in the car on the way to her house that morning.

  Bishop Snow began by reading a passage from Psalm 32:7: “Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah.”

  Camille was mesmerized from that point forward. As hard as she tried, she could not tear her eyes or her ears from Bishop Snow.

  “Saints, sometimes in life we want to run and we want to hide. Life is not a crystal staircase. It gets hard and rough,” Bishop Snow preached. “No matter who we think we are, we are not immune to the pain that comes with being a human being. We experience hurts, losses, and disappointments. Sometimes we need to get away from life’s troubles and ease the pain. We are just like scared little children, and all we want to do is hide.”

  Everyone around Camille seemed to slowly fade to black and disappear. The choir members dissipated, and all of the ushers evaporated into thin air. Jackson’s seat was empty, and so was Jeanna’s. Sitting alone in her pew, dressed casually in her favorite green dress and black sandals, Camille suddenly felt as if she were alone in the church and Bishop Snow was boldly speaking directly to her.

  “We try to hide with alcohol or drugs, but that’s not the answer,” he said. “Those things don’t help us hide; they tear us apart. I’ve heard that it actually feels good for a few moments. Satan tricks us into thinking that being high is a good feeling, but I’m here to tell you it’s all a lie. Drugs defile our bodies and make us act crazy. We don’t know who we are or where we’re going.”

  Tears ran down Camille’s face, and she struggled to keep from crying out loudly as he continued.

  “But I’m here to tell you this morning that there is a place you can hide. There’s a place you can run to any time of the day or night. It doesn’t matter who you are or where you are from. There is a hiding place.”

  Camille held her breath in anticipation as she waited for Bishop Snow to give her the answer. Things in her life were more painful than her heart could bear. Inside, she felt as if there were a big pot of water boiling and any second it was going to boil over and cause her to completely explode.

  Tell me where this place is. Where can I go hide? she thought.

  “Your hiding place is in the bosom of Jesus Christ,” Bishop Snow said.

  Suddenly everyone that had previously been around her magically reappeared, and Camille no longer felt that she and Bishop Snow were alone in the church.

  Oh, poo, that’s what my mom always said, but I can’t trust her. I can’t trust anybody. Camille suddenly jumped in her seat, and Jeanna looked at her strangely.

  “Did you say something?” Camille whispered.

  Jeanna shook her head.

  “Be quiet,” Jackson whispered to them both.

  Camille stared at her uncle, and then she looked around the church. Turning in her seat, she looked behind her. A grey-haired old woman in a big white church hat smiled at her.

  “Turn around. What is wrong with you?” Jackson whispered.

  Camille obeyed and sat frozen in her seat, unable to move. She had no idea who said it, or where the voice came from, but Camille was sure she’d heard it clear as a bell.

  You can trust God, was all it said. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the still, small voice was gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “This was all I could find for you,” Keisha said.

  Sharmaine stared at the bag of clean clothing Keisha brought to the hospital for her to wear. “Where did you find these? I haven’t worn these jeans in months.”

  Keisha sighed. “They were hanging in your closet. So was the blouse.”

  The two women stood alone in the hospital bathroom, unpacking the bag.

  “I’ve lost so much weight since I’ve been ... Well, since I’ve been having these episodes. They don’t fit anymore.”

  Keisha dug into the duffel bag the clothes had been in. “I brought a belt.”

  “Thank you, Keisha. You think of everything.” She gave Keisha a quick hug then walked into one of the bathroom stalls to change clothes.

  “How’s Rodney?” Keisha called to Sharmaine over the wall.

  “There’s been no change since we spoke last night, but they let me and Leon see him for a few moments.”

  “And?” Keisha waited for an answer as she heard Sharmaine sniffling.

  “He looked so small and frail with all those tubes and wires. It was the worst feeling. I don’t know how any parent survives losing a child.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard,” Keisha said softly.

  Sharmaine suddenly came out of the stall and looked at Keisha. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Keisha. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.”

  Keisha turned her back to her without answering. Sharmaine slowly backed into the stall to finish dressing.

  A few moments later, Keisha’s hand appeared at the top of the wall. “Hand me your dirty clothes. I’ll take them home and put them in the laundry.”

  Sharmaine quietly obeyed. When she was dressed, she came out of the stall and went to the mirror. Before she had a chance to ask, Keisha handed Sharmaine a washcloth and her makeup kit.

  “The blogs are going crazy with this story. Sandy Thorne has reported Rodney has cancer, and another one claims it’s the swine flu. Do you want me to put out a statement to dispel all the rumors?” Keisha asked.

  “No. I don’t care what they think. If you have to say anything at all, just state that our family appreciates the well wishes and we ask for privacy.” She took out her compact and began to apply her foundation.

  “I’ll say it, but it’s going to be hard to get it. There are reporters camped outside. Hospital security has their hands full keeping them out.”

  Sharmaine reached for her eyeliner and put it on. “I understand they want their story, but sometimes they can be such vultures. He’s just a little boy. He’s no celebrity.”

  “You’re right, Sharmaine, but you are a celebrity, and the reporters work for the public, your public. It’s the same public that sent you tons of flowers and presents when Rodney was born. Many of them have sent stuff for Rodney in the past few days. They care about what happens to him.”

  After taking a paper towel to blot her lipstick, Sharmaine turned to Keisha. “I understand what you are saying. It’s just that over the past
several months, my public has been a lot less than adoring. I want to protect the children from that. I always have.”

  “Of course you do. I’ll prepare a simple statement without any details.”

  Keisha gathered Sharmaine’s makeup and dirty clothes and placed them into the duffel bag then the two of them left the bathroom and began walking down the hallway back to the waiting room.

  “Are you hungry?” Keisha asked.

  Sharmaine shook her head. “I can’t eat anything.”

  “You need to keep your strength up. The last thing you need is to get sick while you are here taking care of Rodney.”

  “I guess you are right,” Sharmaine said.

  Keisha perked up. “I brought you a homemade smoothie. It’s in a cooler in the waiting room.”

  “No. I think those things are giving me the runs. I’ve had diarrhea for days. Can you go to the cafeteria and get me something? I want to eat something solid.”

  As they entered the waiting room, Sharmaine lowered her voice when she noticed Leon had fallen asleep in a chair in the corner. “Bring me a sandwich and get something for Leon too,” she whispered.

  Ignoring her, Keisha walked over and reached into her cooler. She pulled out the plastic bottle she’d filled with the arsenic-tainted smoothie and put a straw in it. “It’s right here, Sharmaine. Besides, I don’t have time to stand in line at the cafeteria.”

  Sharmaine looked at her with a puzzled look on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had something to do.”

  “I put off all of my errands yesterday so that the kids could come over. I really need to take care of them today.”

  Sitting down in a chair near Leon, Sharmaine curled her feet under her. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. Go ahead and take care of your errands.”

  Keisha held the bottle out to Sharmaine and she took it. Then Keisha gathered up the duffel bag and cooler. “I’ll call you later,” she said. Then she walked out of the waiting room while waving good-bye.

  Sharmaine looked lovingly over at a sleeping Leon. His head was leaned back against the wall with his mouth hanging wide open. She giggled softly as she noticed a small drop of drool falling down his face.