Authors: Ally Derby
“I don’t take kindly to threats, Mrs. Asher, so if you want your visits, I suggest you stop them right now.”
I see my mother’s mouth snap shut, and she hesitates for a second. I wish she would tell the old hag to go to Hell. Then again, I have watched my mother morph from a ray of sunshine to a momma bear, and it’s not looking good on her. This is my fault, too.
She walks in the room and gives me a genuine smile. “Happy birthday, sweet girl.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I hug her and then pull away quickly.
“So”—she looks at me, trying to figure out why the short embrace, the short tone, the overall shortness—“how is your roommate, the pregnant one?”
“She’s not a roommate, Mom, and ’she hasn’t returned, so I have no idea how she is.”
“What do you mean she hasn’t returned?”
“Girls come and go every day—well, except me.”
“It’s your birthday; please let’s celebrate, not have this argument again.”
“Okay, so since I can’t have cake, gifts, sleep in my own bed, or know what is going on in my life, I have a request.”
“Hadley,” she whispers.
“No, Mom. I mean it. I want the plea. For my birthday, I want to know when I can walk out of here and not wonder if I’m going to end up in Bedford Hills, the women’s prison. I hear it’s far worse than this place.”
“We are working on it.”
“No more, I swear, Mom. I will refuse visits. I will refuse calls. I will—”
“You are my child, Hadley.”
“I am not a child anymore, Mom. This place took that away from me.” I clear my throat. “I will never be a child again. I will never feel safe again. I will never believe a damn thing anyone tells me, because from the mouths of the people I trust, I have heard for nine months all the glitter your promises used to hold vanish.”
“I promise you—”
“When? Give me a date. Tell me when, Mom,” I demand.
“I don’t know a date, Hadley.” She is being firm.
“Then a month. For God
’
s sake, you
’
re psychic, aren
’
t you?”
When she gasps and covers her mouth, I hold back the apology that plays on the tip of my tongue.
“I-I—”
“Isn’t that what you promise the people who hand over their money so you can read their damn futures, Mom?”
“I give them promise and hope, Hadley. I watch them; I read them; and I give them promise and hope.”
“And what good are promises and hopes if there is no truth behind them, Mom?” I force myself to stand, walk over, and kiss her head. “I will not be taking visitors in any form until the plea deal is sitting in front of me. And I swear, if they don’t give me the same thing as they offered with the nine months I have been in this hell, I am going to have a real hard time ever believing a promise or allowing myself to hope again.” I turn to the guard. “I’m done here.”
“Hadley, don’t do this. Don’t do this, dammit! I just want what’s best for you. I just want—”
“Then do as I asked. That’s what’s best for me, Mom.”
After I am searched, baring my ass to yet another person, I head back to my unit.
“How was your visit, birthday girl?” one of the YDAs asks.
“Uneventful,” I respond, walking to my room.
Over the next two weeks, I take no calls. I speak as little as I can. I tell Mrs. Keller I don’t want her advice, and I wait patiently for the day that my lawyer and mother walk in and hand me a piece of paper to sign with a date set in stone for when I can definitely walk out of these doors.
chapter fifteen
My Hell….
I am escorted by two guards from my unit to Keller’s office at ten o’clock on a Sunday night. When we enter the hall her office is located in, there are three guards outside her door and the nurse who did my intake.
When I walk in, I see my lawyer and my father.
I look past them and at Keller. “I said no visitors.”
“Hadley, have a seat.”
“No, I know my rights. I don’t have to—”
“Hadley, there has been an accident,” Mrs. Keller says as our eyes lock. “I want you to sit down.”
I hear a muffled sob, and I look at my father, whose face is tear-stained, his eyes bloodshot, and he looks high.
“Dad, where is Mom?” I feel my knees begin to shake. “Dad! Where is Mom?” I yell.
His sob echoes through the room.
I look around. “Someone tell me where my mother is, dammit!”
“Hadley,” Mrs. Keller is beside me, “Sweetheart—”
“Answer my damn question! Where is my mother?”
She tries to grab me, and I push her away. “Get away from me, you bitch!”
“Hadley, I want you to sit down so we can talk this through.”
“And I want every one of you to burn in hell, including you!” I point to the lawyer. “Dad, was Mom in an accident? Is she in the hospital? Answer me, dammit!”
“She’s gone!” he cries.
I lunge at him, grab his collar, and shake him. “What do you mean? What do you mean she
’
s gone?”
“Hadley,” Mrs. Keller says, as she grabs my hands.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t you touch me!”
Guards surround me.
“Back off now!” Keller screams.
They don’t move.
“I said now!”
I grab my chest as I feel it tighten. “It’s breaking. Oh, God, it’s breaking,” I cry out.
My body feels heavy, and my lungs are sore as I try to breathe, but when I do, the pain in my chest intensifies. The room is spinning, but it’s all in slow motion. Then it’s all blurry, and I shake because I’m cold, so cold.
As my knees buckle, I feel my body being lifted.
“Hads.” My father sniffs. “Oh, God, Hads, you’re stuck with me now.” His voice is flat, monotone, almost unfeeling. I know he took something—a pill or ten. I don’t blame him, not one bit. I want something to dull the pain, too.
He sits, and I hang on to him, knowing if I let go, we will both break into a million pieces. We are going to, anyway, but right now, for just right now, I need this, and I know he does, too.
“Everyone out,” Mrs. Keller says.
“She pushed you,” I hear one of the guards whisper.
“Don’t question me. I am the administrator on duty. Now out. Mr. Preston, I am going to walk outside and give you all time—”
“Don’t go.” My voice and body tremble in unison.
I hear the door close, and I bury my head into my father’s chest. The tears come harder, faster, and completely uncontrollable. I cry loudly, unable to maintain any composure. I sob and so does my father. I become exhausted, and then he rubs small circles on my back until the darkened world becomes pitch black.
We stay this way for hours in the blackness, a sob escaping every so often, reminding the other to sob, too. It’s awful. It’s hell. I want to join Dad and take a pill or something to make the hurt go away, but it would only be temporary, just like it is for him. Then it comes back, and you have to take another and another and then …
Fly chasing. It’s all fly chasing, and I hate flies.
I decide for a moment that I want to join Lana and Mom. I just want it all to end, but then I realize he would be left here alone, so I hold on to him tighter, and he squeezes me back. When he gets fidgety, I know his meds are wearing off. I know he will have an excuse to leave. I need answers first. I need them so badly, but not as badly as I need her.
“What happened?” I whisper.
He takes in a breath, his chest rumbling and shaking.
“Your mother slid through an intersection. Her car was struck by a truck. It was quick; she didn’t suffer,” Mr. Preston answers for him.
“When?”
“This morning,” he answers. “Services will be this weekend. Mrs. Keller—”
“She wanted to be cremated, but I don’t want her to be cremated. I need to see her. Will they let me see her, touch her, just once more? Oh, God, I need her to know I am so sorry.” I begin shaking. Cold, so cold.
“She knows, Hads. She knows,” Dad cries softly in my ear.
“Mrs. Keller will transport you to the service,” Mr. Preston answers the question looming in my head.
“You have to leave, don’t you?” I whisper to my dad.
“Yeah, Hads.”
“I need you to get better, Dad. I need you to get better.”
“I will.”
After many more minutes, many more tears, and many more hugs, Mr. Preston and my father walk out of Mrs. Keller’s office.
“I am so sorry, Hadley.” She hugs me, and I fall apart again.
Exhaustion? Need for comfort? Or is it that I believe she actually cares that my life that was cracking apart just shattered. Whatever it is, it makes me accept her kindness enough to actually cling to her as the tears rain down my face again. The silent sobs shake my body, and they don’t stop. It scares me. I feel like, for the rest of my life, they will continue.
The rest of my life … Oh, God, how much more can I take of this miserable existence? How much more hurt can I take? I am truly alone in this world now. Mom was my rock and my soft landing. I treated her like she was the bane of my existence when, in reality, she was the only reason my existence was tolerable.
More trembles, more sobs coursing through me, shaking me, taking my breath away, and tears, so many more tears.
“Shh, I swear, Hadley, it doesn’t seem like it now, but someday, it will not hurt so badly. Someday, sweet child, the pain will dull, and you will find the will to move forward.” The pain in Mrs. Keller’s voice is raw and real, as real as mine, while I feel her tears trickle on my cheek.
I hear a sigh from behind me, and I pull away and wipe my tears. As she holds my shoulders, I look into her gaze, and her light brown, tear-filled eyes mourn for me. I take a deep breath, but the tremors shake me so deeply that my body feels like it will give up.
“The nurse is going to give you something to help you sleep. Then Mr. Keller and I are going to walk you back to your room. You’re going to fall asleep, and tomorrow, you either stay there, or you come here with me. Do you understand, Hadley? I will not let you be alone. I promise.”
I swallow and nod.
The nurse comes in and hands me a small medicine cup with two pills and a cup of water. I swallow them down, and the nurse pushes my hair from my face, cups my cheek, and wipes away a tear.
“Okay, let’s get you back,” I hear Mr. Keller’s voice. “You’re going to be real sleepy soon, Hadley.”
I don’t remember much about the walk. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t walk the whole way. I’m certain I was carried.
~*~
For three days, I am allowed to stay in my room. For three days, I lie in bed, hugging the stuffed Yolo tightly, pretending it is my mom, wishing it was her, praying for the ability to fall asleep and wake up and this to have all been a nightmare. For three days, I am watched over by different guards or YDAs. For three days, Mrs. Keller comes in and makes sure I eat. For three days, I refuse to talk, bathe, or function. And for three days, it is allowed.
Day four without her is just as hard. Sadness is overtaken by guilt: guilt for not eating all my vegetables; guilt for pushing her away when she only wanted to talk; guilt for the Saturdays I stayed in bed, pretending to be asleep while I hid a book under the covers because the fictional characters I loved were more important than helping her with chores. Then there is the guilt for snickering at her quirkiness when it was truly kindness, guilt for being angry at her for my father’s issues and not being able to change him, guilt for every eye roll I gave her, every hard time I gave her. And most of all, there is guilt for the last time I saw her, for turning my back on her because I couldn’t fight.
Now I beg God to turn back time and promise that I would never, ever make those mistakes again, but he isn’t listening to me. I can’t blame him; I am an awful, hurtful, wretched person.
Mr. Keller comes in and hands me a skirt and sweater. “You need to shower in the morning, put these on, and I will be here to take you to Blue Valley for your mother’s service. I hope these are okay.”
I nod, then sadness returns and I cry. I cry all day.
The drive is torture, but maybe less so because Mr. and Mrs. Keller are the ones escorting me. We are in a white minivan with the OCFS logo on it. I am not even cuffed; she took them off when we got in the van.
When we pull up in front of the funeral home, Mr. Keller opens the door, and I get out, then run to my father, who is standing on the sidewalk next to my stepbrother. JJ hugs me, and then my father’s arms surround us both. And, yes, we cry.
No words are exchanged, because no words have been invented yet to describe the feeling of loss we are all dealing with. We walk inside, where I see an empty room with no flowers that leads to an empty room with a pine box. Nothing fancy like in the movies or on TV. It’s just a simple, light pine box.