Caught Up (24 page)

Read Caught Up Online

Authors: Amir Abrams

42
“C
O?” I call out, raising my hand. It's Wednesday night. And all of the South Wing residents are in the dayroom, either watching TV, playing cards or some sort of board game, reading a book, or huddled at a table talking about whatever it is they talk about. Things I am not privy to. As usual, I am sitting away from the rest of the girls in here.
Alone.
Even after that girl jumped me, they all still blame
me
for her getting put in lock-up. Ad Seg. Or whatever it's called. The point is,
she
attacked
me
. Not the other way around. And, yet, I'm being treated like the villain.
Whatever!
“What is it, Simms?” Officer Linden says. She's a brown-skinned lady with big brown eyes and big thick lips with bad acne and a nasty attitude. She hates her job. I only know this because I overheard her once talking to another CO saying how all this was is a high-paying babysitting job. How she hated coming to work and having to deal with “these disrespectful kids.”
I feel sorry for her.
I feel sorry for me.
“Can I have a pencil and four sheets of paper, please? And three envelopes?”
She lets out a disgusted sigh, getting up from the steel table she's sitting at, the one closest to the door. She walks out into the hallway, then a few seconds later she returns with a new notepad.
She gives me permission to walk over to her table. She writes my name down on a sheet of paper, then hands me a numbered pencil, several sheets of paper, and envelopes. I thank her.
All she does is grunt. Then adds, “Don't bother me for the rest of my shift.”
I remind myself to pray for her tonight when I am praying for myself.
I turn to walk back to the table I was sitting at and there's a boy sitting there. I blink. It's the same boy who is always winking and licking his lips at me.
Hasaan, I think.
Boys and girls aren't allowed to sit together unless there's a CO sitting there with them. He knows this. I glance around the dayroom for another vacant table. There are none.
He grins knowingly.
Lucky for me one of the COs notices that he's moved from his table to mine without permission and yells at him. “Banks, who told you to move?! Get back over where you were sitting!”
He curses the CO out, tells him to suck his privates. The next thing I know, there are COs hopping up from their seats, tackling him down to the floor, then dragging him out of the dayroom.
And this becomes the excitement for the night.
“Yo, dat's effed up,” someone says when everything finally settles. It's a guy's voice. I don't turn to see who it is. I don't care. “Franklin 'n' da rest of da COs in here be on some BS, yo. They ain't even have ta do my boy dirty like dat.”
CO Linden barks, “Lewis, shut your trap. Or you'll be next.”
He sucks his teeth loudly. Then mutters something under his breath before going back to his card game.
“I can't stand that stuck-up
bish
,” I hear one of the female residents say. She says it loud enough for me to hear it. And I know she's talking about me. They're
always
talking about me. “She stays tryna get someone in trouble. Dat's why nobody likes her now. Kreesha shoulda knocked both her eye sockets out.”
Her friends laugh.
I take a seat at the table, ignoring her comments.
I have to get out of here.
God, please get me out of here. I beg of you!
I stare at the blank sheet of paper, take a deep breath, then pick up the pencil and start writing.
Dear Mom,
How are you? I hope you are doing OK. I know you are still very angry with me. I know how upset and disappointed you are in me. I'm disappointed in me. I know I've hurt you. And I am so very sorry for that. I hope that one day you can forgive me. You haven't stopped loving me, have you? I know I've said and done some bad things, disrespectful things. But you wouldn't really disown me, would you? I couldn't handle that if you did. I think I'd die.
I'm OK, I guess. I mean, I guess it could be worse. No. It can't get any worse than this. This is hell for me, Mom. But I am trying my hardest to make the best out of it by following the rules here. Something I know I should have been doing while I was home. I thought your rules were stupid rules. But they weren't. These rules here are crazy. I take back everything I've ever said about your rules being stupid. The only thing stupid was me not listening to you. I'd give anything to have to follow you and Daddy's house rules again.
Mom, I don't know what I was thinking. I only wanted to have some fun. I wanted my summer to be different from all the others. All I wanted was some excitement. I didn't think I'd get caught up in a bunch of drama. You were right, though. And now I wish I would have listened to you. But it's too late now. The damage is already done. I am here. At the mercy of a judge.
Stuck.
And scared.
The girls here are vicious. They all want to fight me. They've threatened to slice my face open. And stab me in my neck. I am afraid to go to sleep at night, even though the COs have put me in a room by myself. At night, it is the scariest here. I don't sleep. I can't sleep. I am too afraid to. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Sometimes I think about dying. Not that I want to hurt myself because I don't. It's just that I'm already dying inside. The longer I stay in here, the more of me withers away. I've lost everything.
But I know I have no one to blame but myself. I am the one who put myself here. It's my fault. And whatever happens to me in court or in here I know I brought on myself.
I just wanted to write you and let you know how much I miss you. And love you. I am so sorry for being disrespectful to you and for breaking curfew and sneaking out of the house and bringing drugs into our house. I should have never done those things. Please give me another chance to make it right. I'd do anything to be home, in my own bed. Being here has shown me how much I've taken my life, my freedom, and my family for granted. You never really know just how good you have it until it's taken away from you. You and Daddy have always wanted what's best for me. I know that now. I was too stupid to see it before.
I love
you
so much, Mom. Please, please, please come see ME. Or write me back.
Please
!!!!
 
Love,
Kennedy
When I am done, I reread the letter to my mom, then fold it and seal it inside an envelope. My next letter is to Jordan.
Dear Jordan,
I know you are mad at me. And there's a chance that you might not even open this letter or read it. But I had to write you anyway. I had to say I am so, so, so sorry. You were right! There's so much I want to say to you. All did was use me. And now he wants me to rot in jail and take the blame for something that I had nothing to do with. The only two things I'm guilty of are: falling for a guy who was never any good for me, and dissing my two best friends. Malik never really cared anything about me. I know that now. And Sasha was never a real friend. She was just a girl I hung out with and went to parties with. She didn't care about me. She was jealous of me. I feel so stupid. Can you
please
find it in your heart to forgive me? I was such a fool! I'm so sorry for hurting you. I was wrong for putting Sasha and Malik before you and Hope. I see that now. You were so right about everything. I really hope it isn't too late to make it right between us. I miss my best friend!!!
I am so alone in here. And I'm scared, Jordan. Please write me back. If you choose not to, I understand.
 
Friends forever (I hope),
xoxo
Kennedy
P.S. Next week I will be on honors level and I will be able to have visits from friends. Two friends can visit. The visiting time is on Saturdays at 10:30 in the morning. Please, please, please, please come see me.
I neatly fold her letter, then slip it inside an envelope and seal it. I do not know what will become of either letter once they are mailed. The only thing I can do now is wait. And hope. And pray.
I feel all of my emotions rushing over me.
And then there's an aching in my heart.
Malik.
Tears spring up from my eyes, but I fight them back, unwilling to break down in front of everyone in the dayroom. I'd given him every part of me. Did things with him that I never thought I'd ever do with anyone.
I gave up my virginity to him.
Because that's what he wanted.
Because that's what I
thought
I wanted.
Because I loved him.
I put myself out there.
Made myself vulnerable.
Because I thought he loved me.
But it's all a lie. Everything. I was so stupid. His sister, Mercedes, was right. His baby mother was right. Hope and Jordan were right. My mom was right. Everyone else knew, saw it, except for me.
But I got caught up. Caught up in his lies. Caught up in his touch, in his kisses, in his promises. I got caught up in wanting to believe that I was the girl of his dreams.
And now I am here.
And he is out there.
Free.
Doing God knows what.
Perhaps ruining the next girl's life.
I lay my head down on my folded arms resting on the table. I am so helpless. The feeling that I am alone starts to overwhelm me.
“Snitches get stitches . . .”
“Don't you love me . . . ?”
“I'ma need you to ride dis out for me . . .”
“You gonna have ta chalk it up to da game, baby . . .”
“You my heart, Kennedy; dat's on e'erything. But I ain't rockin' wit' no rat, yo.”
The realization, the gravity of my situation, weighs heavy on me. I can't breathe. I feel myself starting to hyperventilate.
“. . . He doesn't know howta love anything other than what's between yo' legs, li'l girl . . .”
I start heaving.
I think I am having an anxiety attack.
I clutch my chest. Then without warning, unmoved by the stares on me, I cry my eyes out.
43
A
nother week flies by, and I am still here, rotting away. Confused. Torn. Hurt. Sad. Dejected. You name it, I'm feeling it.
I still haven't heard back from Jordan. And my mom is still refusing to talk to me. My whole life is a mess! And to top it all off, I don't know what is going on with my case. Or when my next court date is. I haven't spoken to my attorney since my last court hearing. And I've left him several messages, begging him to please come see me.
My dad is the only who has come to see me since I've been here. And as happy as I am to see him, our visits are always strained. He sits across from me looking so, so helpless. So conflicted. Then when it's time for visiting to end, he stands up and wraps his arms around me telling me how much he loves me. Then I have to sit back down in a hard plastic chair and watch him walk out the door. Sometimes I'd rather he not even bother coming here. Seeing him leave—knowing I can't leave with him is so painful.
I know it hurts him as well.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
For being so stupid!
“Kennedy, you have to tell them whose guns and drugs they were in that bookbag,” Daddy insisted last night when he'd come to see me.
I turned my gaze from his, casting my eyes down to my feet. “I can't,” I whispered.
“What do you mean, you
can't
? Why not?”
“Daddy, I can't be a snitch. I just can't. Nobody wants to be known as a rat.”
Yeah, snitches get stitches...
He raised his brows. “So you're more concerned about what the
streets
are going to think of you for doing what you need to in order to save your own butt?”
“Daddy, I have to be loyal.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “To whom? The streets? A bunch of reckless street thugs? What about the loyalty to your family? To the ones who have always been there for you, huh? You mean to tell me you're willing to throw your whole life away protecting some thug?”
“Daddy, he's not a bad person.”
“Then who is he? He sure isn't all that good, either. Any boy encouraging you to disrespect your mother, break curfew, and run away is nothing but bad news in my book. I want to know who he is so I can have a few words with him.”
I blinked back tears. “Daddy, please. I can't tell you who he is.”
“He's a coward, that's who he is,” Daddy snarled, narrowing his eyes. “A punk. A worthless piece of—” He catches himself, shaking his head. “Your brothers all want to come home and handle him out in the woods like real men do. But they all have too much to lose. We all do. And so do you. What has gotten into you, Kennedy, huh? This girl you've become isn't the daughter your mother and I raised you to be.”
I shifted in my seat, lowering my head. He was right. This isn't who I am. Or who they raised me to be. I wasn't surprised at his irritation, though. But seeing the hurt in his eyes killed me. I know that it's been building up inside of him, this anger. And I'm sure he wanted to yell, scream, and threaten me as well. And under different circumstances, he probably would, even though he's never raised his voice at me before.
Daddy shook his head, confused. “What has gotten into you, Kennedy?”
“I love him, Daddy.”
He frowned. “Sweetheart, what you think you feel for that scum of the earth may feel like love to you. But trust me. Anyone who is willing to let you take the fall for him isn't worth loving.”
Daddy's words stung. He was right. And even though I know everything he said was true, there's still a part of me that doesn't want to believe it.
I swipe tears away as I dial Malik's number. One of the afternoon social workers is nice enough to allow me to use the office phone. And I am thankful.
Malik answers on the fourth ring. “Yo.” His voice booms through the phone. “Watz gucci, yo?”
“Malik. It's me. Kennedy.”
“Oh, a'ight,” he says nonchalantly. “Watz good? You a'ight?”
I glance over at the social worker sitting at her desk, writing in charts. I lower my voice. “No, I'm not all right. I'm scared, Malik.”
“Oh, word? Don't be.”
“How can you say that? That's easier said than done. You're not the one sitting here being charged with stuff that isn't yours. Why can't you write the judge a letter and tell them that it's yours?”
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Hol' up . . . you talkin' mad reckless right now. I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, yo.”
“
Whaaat?!”
I snap. “Are you freakin' kidding me?”
He sighs heavily. “Nah. I ain't 'bout to go down for some ish dat ain't mine. Dat's all you, yo.”
“What do you mean it isn't yours? It was in
your
truck where
you
told me to go get it!”
“Nah, you buggin'. You wanna be 'bout dat life, then you need'a woman-up 'n' eat dat, yo.”
“Malik, I've given up everything for you.”
He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Ha! Yeah, right. Don't hit me wit' dat ish, yo. You wanted to be all fast 'n' grown for yaself. I ain't have jack to do wit' dat. You gave up ya life 'cause dat's what you wanted to do. Now deal wit' it.”
My heart sinks.
No, there's no way I heard him right. There has to be a bad connection. Or I am hearing things.
“W-what did you just say?” I ask, trying to make sure I heard him correctly. I hold my breath. Wait.
He repeats himself. “I said you gotta wear dat, babe.”
I can't lie. My heart literally drops to my lap and explodes into a thousand pieces. This time I know I've heard him correctly, but I still want to believe, hold on to the possibility that somehow there's a mistake.
There is none.
And I am floored!
“How can you do this to me?!” I scream. The social worker taps her desk, giving me a look to lower my voice. “I'm sorry,” I say, covering the receiver, then lowering my voice. “Malik, I'm in here because of you.”
“What? Hol' up, yo. You in that joint 'cause of yaself.”
“No! I'm in here because you gave me your gun and told me to go back to your truck, get the bookbag in the backseat, then put the gun inside. You told me to—”
“Get da
fuqq
outta here, yo. You buggin', for real for real. Ain't nobody put a gun to ya head to tell ya to do what you did.”
Tears flood my eyes. “Ohmygod! How can you do this to me?!”
“Nah, love. Like I said, you did it to yaself. Next time know how ta move.”
I stare at the phone, flabbergasted.
“Malik,
please
. . . don't do this to me,
please...
I thought you loved me!”
“Look. I'ma holla atchu later. You on some ole other ish right now.”
And before I can open my mouth to get a word in, Daddy's words come back to haunt me just as the line goes dead.
“Anyone who is willing to let you take the fall for him isn't worth loving . . .”
A few seconds later, I am being dragged out of the social worker's office back to my cell, kicking and screaming hysterically. It takes three COs to get me back into my cell. They place me on the bed, facedown. Tell me to stay still, but I am too busy crying to listen to anything they have to say.
I am distraught.
The COs are finally able to retreat from my room, slamming the steel door shut. I hop up from my bed, pacing the small space like a wounded animal. I squeal. Yelp. Howl.
“I can't believe that mofo! That . . . that . . . lowlife! I should have never let myself get involved with him! Aaaaaaah! Let me out of here!” I scream, banging on the door. I am caged in, like, like some savage. I start pounding and kicking the door. But it is no use. No matter how hard I kick and bang on the door, the door isn't budging. It isn't going to open. All it's doing is hurting my hand.
“Simms, knock it off!” a CO shouts.
I keep banging and screaming.
“I said stop making all that noise or I'm going to drop your levels and place you on IP.”
“I don't care about room restriction,” I cry out. “Leave me alone! I don't have any reason to stay on honors level! I want to go hoooooooome! Pleeeeeaaaase, let me out of h-h-heeeeere . . .”
I know I said I wanted a little taste of the wild side, a little slice of the hood pie. But I was so wrong. I take it all back. I don't want any of it. I want my life back.
I fall out on my little thin bed on its metal frame and cry and scream into my pillow until my throat burns and my eyes swell shut.

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