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“She’s coming off of another bad hangover,” I overheard one girl whisper to another one.
When they finally got her under control, they searched her belongings and found that she’d somehow gotten hold of some alcohol.
“That heifer is crazy,” I heard yet another girl in the room say.
Once the supervisors found what she’d taken, they escorted her out of the dorm room. The other girls just sat and watched the whole thing go down without saying much more. It was strange watching all of this unfold. It was like being in a movie for the mentally ill. I felt as if I was watching things happen but not actually a part of it. In some ways the dorm room filled with cots felt like a ward at an insane asylum. Perhaps we were all just too emotionally empty to react to the madness that was going on around us. Perhaps we just couldn’t cry or talk about our pain anymore. Whatever our reasons, none of us moved an inch as the girl was being removed.
* * *
Later, after everyone had gone to school, I took a long shower, got dressed and hung out in the common area. I was waiting on Maggie to arrive with my transcript so I could get registered at a new high school as well as take me to the doctor to have my hand examined. I picked up an old issue of Vibe magazine that was lying around and started reading an article on Usher. God, if I had a boyfriend as fine and as rich as him, I’d be set, I thought to myself. I’d just finished reading the article when I heard Maggie calling out my name.
“Oh, there you are,” she said with a monotone voice. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” I said as I stood up and followed her. Maggie got me registered and I started school on the same day. At least she thought enough to get me a book bag and plenty of supplies, I thought to myself. I didn’t know what my future held but there was no sense in worrying about what I couldn’t control.
* * *
Several weeks went by, and I hadn’t seen or heard from Maggie. I thought she’d left me hanging just like everyone else. I didn’t make any waves, nor did I consider any of the girls to be my friend. At this point they were only acquaintances. I had a few conversations with some of the girls, and we even shared a few laughs but nothing real meaningful developed after that.
The adult supervisors had therapy sessions that they encouraged everyone to participate in. A group of us would form a circle and openly talk about our problems. Sometimes I participated and other times I didn’t. It was depressing to sit and hear details about the situations some of the other girls came out of. Some were drug users, some were homeless teens from different states and others were selling themselves on the streets in order to buy food or purchase a bus ticket to a new town. It was sad, and downright horrifying listening to stories of sleeping in abandoned warehouses with rats and begging for money on the street corner. One girl named Africa, who was the same age as I was, talked about how she’d stand on the street corner and sing for money to get food. Her parents came to the United States from Haiti, but they both died in a fire when she was twelve. She was placed in a foster home but was abused by her foster mother, so she ran away. While living on the streets she had to constantly fight off men who tried to attack her while she slept on a mattress with a sickly stray dog she was trying to take care of.
“I named my dog Port-Au-Prince, which is where my family is from. He protected me during those times. No matter how sick he was feeling, he wouldn’t let anyone get too close to me. He would always bark, even when it hurt to do so.”
“What happened to Port-Au-Prince?” I asked her. Before she could answer, she started crying. “I was singing on a corner one morning trying to get enough money to buy him some food. He was lying down beside me, and when I’d finally gotten enough money I called to him, but he didn’t move. He died while I was singing.”
“What song were you singing?” asked another girl.
“An old song by Sam Cooke called ‘A Change Is Gonna Come.’ My mother loved that song.” Africa sang for the group, and by the time she was done I was in tears. One thing is for sure, I didn’t want any part of what I heard had happened to her to happen to me.
* * *
Early one Saturday morning, the group was scheduled to go for a fall outing to a local theater to watch a stage play. I had just boarded the group van but was pulled off of it by Maggie. I hadn’t seen her in weeks. I followed her back inside and upstairs to the office where we’d be able to speak privately.
“I really wanted to go see that stage play, Maggie,” I said to her.
“Well, we have to do something else instead. I have to get you over to a doctor for a blood sample.”
“Blood sample for what?” I asked.
“I got in contact with the man that your mother said might be your dad. At first he said that he didn’t recall who your mother was and that there was a mix-up,” she explained. “I didn’t hear from him for a few weeks and then, out of the clear blue sky, he called me back.”
“Well, what did he say?” I asked, holding my breath on her every word.
“Apparently he has a cousin named Simon.”
“The man that my mother got caught up with?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, great. If my biological father is related to Simon, you can forget it. I’ll just stay here at the group home.”
“Well, hang on before you say that. Simon and the man who may be your father are as different as night and day.”
“Go on, I’m listening,” I said.
“Simon got in contact with his cousin through another family member and reminded him about a particular house party they’d gone to years ago when they were both young men. An encounter occurred between Simon’s cousin and your mother.”
“But Justine doesn’t remember this, right?” I asked.
“I don’t know what your mom remembers. Anyway, I got a phone call back from Simon’s cousin and he has agreed to be tested just to make sure he doesn’t have any children out in the world he’s not aware of.” I swallowed hard. I felt my heart racing and I couldn’t calm myself down.
“So, we’re going to head over to the clinic for a blood sample and let science tell us if we’ve located your biological father.” I exhaled loudly. My feelings were somewhere between happy and terrified.
“I know this isn’t easy,” Maggie said.
“I’m afraid,” I admitted as I swallowed hard.
* * *
Several weeks after my blood sample was taken, Maggie resurfaced again. I was in the common area playing Monopoly with Africa and a few other girls when Maggie rushed in and called out my name, “Keysha.” I could hear the excitement in her voice. I captured her gaze.
“Come on, let’s go upstairs into the office.” I excused myself from the table and followed her. The upstairs office was as busy as it always is. The phones were ringing, the typewriters were dinging and there was a continuous hum of several conversations taking place at the same time. I took a seat in front of the desk where Maggie sat.
“The test results came back.”
“And?” I asked, fearing the worst.
“We’ve found him,” she said with a smile. I couldn’t believe it. I suppose I should have been happy but I was actually mortified by this new information.
“Well, aren’t you happy?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I mean, who is he? What is he like? Does he even care about me?”
“His name is Jordan, and he’s doing very well. He’s married and has a son who is a few years younger than you.” She paused in thought for a moment. “He and his wife have agreed to come and meet you.”
“Come and meet me?” I began to feel a panic attack setting in. “How about coming to get me the hell up out of here?”
“Keysha, don’t get upset. I mean, your existence is very shocking and unnerving to him. This has changed everything for him. He never knew about you.”
“Well, he does now, and I don’t understand why he just doesn’t come down here and pick me up so that I can go!” I was emotional and shouting at Maggie. I didn’t mean to shout at her but my emotions weren’t in full control.
“Keysha, you have to understand the situation he’s in, too. He had to explain you to his wife and the rest of his family. I mean, give him credit, he was man enough to admit he’d had an encounter with your mother. He and his family have yet to make a decision on what to do.”
“Well, I’m part of his family. What about what I have to say?”
“Calm down, okay?” Maggie said, trying to get me to relax.
“Okay, I’m cool. When will they be here?”
“In a few days. His mother is coming into town, and he wants to wait until she arrives before he comes because she wants to meet you, as well.”
“Well, what’s his name?” I asked again.
“His name is Jordan,” Maggie said. For a moment I felt good about knowing his name, but then random thoughts began dancing around in my head.
“What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t want me? What if—”
“Slow down, Keysha. Be patient. There are a lot of things that are still unclear, okay?”
“I can’t be calm,” I said, feeling my nerves buzzing.
“Keysha, whatever the outcome of all this is we’re going to do what is best for you.” Maggie smiled at me warmly. I didn’t say anything else. I just tried to maintain my composure and hope that my father was the type of man who would understand me as well as get along with me.
ten
On the day I was scheduled to meet my biological father for the first time I was a nervous wreck. I wanted to look my best for him. I wanted to look perfect for him, but the clothes I owned made it impossible to look perfect. My hair was in horrible shape, my skin was full of pimples and I just felt completely inadequate. I was all set to just forego the meeting, but Maggie insisted that I at least meet him.
By 11:30 a.m. I was sitting in the office on one of the chairs awaiting their arrival. Finally, after waiting what seemed like an eternity, Jordan, his wife and his mother finally entered the room, and I was stunned into silence. They all looked so well and healthy. Jordan was impeccably dressed. Everything about him looked expensive, and I began to think that there had to be some type of mistake because there is no way that a man who looked like him would ever be involved with my mother or Simon. He was very handsome; he had smooth brown skin and eyebrows shaped exactly like my own. He didn’t have any facial hair, and although his eyes appeared to be closed, I could tell that he was watching me and his vision was as sharp as a hawk’s. Sometimes I hated my ability to read a person’s thoughts through their facial expressions. My father did not look very enthused about being there. I stopped reading his mind and focused on his clothes again. He had on a gray pinstriped business suit with a very nice yellow satin shirt and matching tie. He had a gold watch on that was bling-blinging all over the place and some very expensive-looking shoes. My other grandmother looked very regal. She was tall and full-figured and had on a beautiful dress that flowed well with her body. Her hair was styled nicely and had beautiful streaks of gray running through it. She looked as wise as she was beautiful. When I looked into her eyes I could see pain in them. As I studied the two of them, I saw another part of myself that I hadn’t known and for some reason I felt cheated. In my heart I knew we were connected, but in reality our relationship was estranged. Then there was Jordan’s wife, Barbara. She walked into the room with her nose wrinkled up as if she smelled a foul odor. Everything about her—from the way she was dressed to her demeanor—said uptight, confrontational and mean-spirited.
“Come here, baby.” My other grandmother summoned me to her once we made eye contact. I took a deep breath, stood up and walked over to her. She embraced me tightly and for a brief moment, the warmth of her hug felt beautiful and I got lost in the sweet scent of her perfume, but I didn’t hug her back. I didn’t know her like that.
“My name is Katie,” she said, smiling at me. “I’m your grandmother.” I looked into her eyes and somehow I felt as if she could see right through me. I wanted to say something but my words got trapped in my throat. These new feelings were foreign to me. I was looking into her eyes and felt like I knew her, but I didn’t. I looked over at Jordan, and my heart started beating so fast that I thought it was going to smash through my chest.
“Hello. My name is Jordan,” he said with a very commanding voice that made me nervous. Just hearing such a strong and unyielding voice made me swallow hard. We stared at each other for a long moment. Then without even thinking about it we both said, “You’re reading my thoughts through my facial expressions.” It was the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. We had never known each other, but we knew each other in this bizarre way.
“It’s okay. We’re going to get you out of here,” said Grandmother Katie. I backed away from my father because I didn’t fully trust him. He was a total stranger, and yet he wasn’t.
“Hello,” I finally greeted him begrudgingly. I don’t know why I had an attitude toward him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, trying to sound concerned, but I didn’t truly think that he was.
“Does it look like I’m okay?” My tone of voice was filled with snake venom. Our eyes locked on each other again; he was trying to understand me just as much as I was him.
“Keysha, come here.” Grandmother Katie once again summoned me to her side. “I know how you must feel but things are going to change, I promise,” she said. I was so nervous at that moment I felt the urge to pee. I took a deep breath and began biting my fingernails.
“Hello, I’m Maggie Russo. I’m Keysha’s social worker,” Maggie greeted Jordan’s wife, who looked like someone had just stolen her million-dollar lottery ticket.
“How did this happen?” Barbara asked Maggie. “We never knew about her.”
“Jordan, if you, your mother and your wife would come over here we can discuss this situation a little more privately. Keysha, would you please have a seat over there in the manager’s office.” Maggie directed me to a small office that was just on the other side of the wall. I exhaled loudly and stomped over to a seat and made more noise than I needed to. I didn’t go inside of the office right away. I hovered near the door where I could still hear their conversation. I listened to them talk about my case.
“Jordan, you can’t deny that girl if you wanted to. She looks just like you,” I heard Grandmother Katie say. “I know that you didn’t know about her, but now you do. You can’t leave her in this situation. She’s your flesh and blood.”
“Mom, please.” Jordan wanted his mother to be silent for a moment. “I have a family,” I heard him say. “I can’t just move her in and make everything work.”
“Can’t you find a nice foster home for her?” I heard Barbara ask.
“At her age, it would be difficult for us to place her in a foster home.”
“She has problems, right?” I heard Barbara ask another question.
“Problems that are not her fault,” I heard Grandmother Katie argue back.
“Let me interrupt you guys for a moment,” said Maggie. “Right now, Keysha is hurting emotionally. She’s been through a lot, but she’s nowhere near as bad as some of the other cases I’m dealing with. She’s not pregnant, she still enjoys going to school and she’s drug free. I have kids younger than her who are pregnant, drug abusers and prostitutes. Many of them have been assaulted as young children and have self-esteem issues that you couldn’t possibly imagine. In my heart, I know Keysha is a good kid. What she needs right now is a good, stable home with a lot of love and attention. Now, Jordan, biologically she is your daughter and responsibility. The state is overburdened, and a lot of kids fall through the cracks. However, it is understandable how this can be very disruptive to your current family. You have two options. You can agree to take your daughter with you, or you can sign over your parental rights and let her continue living here until she turns eighteen.”
“What happens to her then?” Jordan asked.
“It’s hard to tell. We do offer some assistance with college or job training, but it’s a very hard road and only a small percentage of the kids actually make it. A lot of them end up falling into a life of crime or some sort of addiction.”
“What about her mother? Did she sign over parental rights?” asked his wife.
“She automatically lost them once she was placed in jail,” Maggie answered her.
“Will she get her parental rights back once she gets out of jail?” I heard my father ask. I felt so worthless when I heard him ask that question. I felt like he didn’t see me as a part of him. I went into the office and sat down because I didn’t want to hear any more of what he had to say, because I knew that in the end he’d leave me hanging just like my mother had.
* * *
About an hour later, Grandmother Katie came over and sat next to me. She draped her arm over my shoulder and hugged me once again.
“This is all going to work out,” she reassured me but I didn’t believe her words. “We’re going to get you out of here. It’s just going to take a little time though.”
“You’re kidding me, right!” I blew up because I figured it was all just a big lie. “You know what. He doesn’t want me! You don’t want me! His wife doesn’t want me and neither does the state! Nobody wants me so I might as well just go and kill myself to make it easier on everyone!” I yelled at the top of my voice. When I quieted down, the entire staff was glaring at me through the office door, stunned into silence. I couldn’t take the pressure so I ran out of the office and back to the sleeping area. I lay facedown on the cot and cried out loud into my pillow.
eleven
The following day, Maggie told me she would be meeting with my mother to discuss what the best options would be for the unborn baby she was going to have while still in jail. I told her I wanted to go with her because I wanted to see her. I had questions I wanted to ask her. When we arrived at the jailhouse it was scary. There were metal detectors and armed guards everywhere. We had to take off anything metal that we had on before going through the detector. Even after going through the detector, I had to be patted down to make certain that I wasn’t sneaking in anything that I shouldn’t be.
I went into a room with Maggie and sat at a long table that had partitions on each side for privacy. In front of me was a thick sheet of bulletproof glass and a black telephone. On the other side of the glass was an empty chair with the same setup. I had to wait for a long time before the guard brought Justine out. When I saw her, I was actually happy to see her, even though the circumstances weren’t the best. I picked up the phone at the same time she did.
“Hey, Mommy,” I said, noticing how tightly her hair had been French braided. I couldn’t help the way I felt at that moment. My feelings were trapped somewhere between angry and uncertain.
“What’s going on?” Justine asked.
“Nothing. I mean, a lot. Things are so chaotic right now. I’m living in a group home for teens and the other kids in there seem real crazy.”
“Did that social worker get in touch with the man who might be your daddy?” Justine seemed to be indifferent about whether I found out the identity of my father. I think she was sensitive about the fact she really didn’t know who he was after all of these years.
“Yes,” I answered her.
“Did he come down to see about you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered again.
“I didn’t think he’d really show up after all this time, but Simon said he would.” She paused in thought. “Well that’s the best that I can do for you right now. Hopefully he’ll take you in.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I said, feeling my anger swelling up. “He doesn’t want me.”
“Well, neither did I, but you’re here.” Those words hit me like a wrecking ball slamming against a structure being demolished. I wanted to holler at her but I didn’t. My heart just iced over and I realized that coming to see her wasn’t such a good idea.
“You have to make it on your own,” she told me. “I can’t do anything more for you. You’re old enough now to make your own choices. Hopefully, you’ll make some good ones so that when I get out of here I can come and stay with you.” What was that supposed to mean? I mean, damn! I can hardly take care of myself, and she’s telling me to start preparing to take care of her. At that moment, I wanted nothing more to do with her. At that moment, I heard a little voice in the back of my mind telling me I was worthless and should disappear off the face of the earth because no one cared about me.
“Well, that’s all I have to say,” she informed me and then hung up the phone. I looked at her one last time and tried to read her thoughts but I couldn’t. I got up and left the room. Maggie, who was waiting for her turn to speak with my mother, didn’t say anything to me. I suppose the look on my face said it all. She went into the bulletproof room to speak with my mother without saying a word to me.
* * *
Three weeks had gone by since I’d seen Grandmother Katie and my father, Jordan. Just like always, I figured they had left me hanging and had no intention of coming to my rescue. I didn’t expect them to return at all because, as I heard his wife put it, “I’ve got problems.” Hell, in my mind, we’ve all got problems.
I was having a very difficult time concentrating on my schoolwork. I couldn’t focus, especially after being rejected by my biological father and mother. I just didn’t care about much of anything anymore. I didn’t care about school, my grades, or the people at the group home or anyone, even myself. The only thing that kept me from going nuts was books.
One day when I was feeling particularly low and depressed, Africa came over to my bed and sat by me.
“You don’t look so hot,” she said.
“Things are just real jacked-up for me right now. My life isn’t worth living,” I said.
“Sure it is,” Africa said, trying to reassure me, but her words were of no comfort. “I know what it is like to feel the way you do.”
“No, you don’t,” I snapped at her.
“Yes, I do,” she snapped right back. “You look as if you want to just give up on everything.” I didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ve been there several times but I never had the nerve to go through with it. I guess I was too afraid to take my own life.”
“So what kept you going?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just took one day at time. Some days were better than others, but I always knew that I’d find a way to make it through my problems.”
“Don’t you want to get out of this place? Don’t you want to live with a family again?” I asked.
“Listen, when I was fourteen I joined this all-girl gang. For a while they served as my family, but the things we were doing—well, let’s just say I have plenty of regrets about it. I barely made it out of the gang alive, but I did, and I’m thankful for that. Yes, I do want to get out of this place, but not right now. It’s safe for me here, and it’s much better than living on the street.” I didn’t say anything else.
“Hang in there. It will get better. It has to,” said Africa, who then got up and left. It was thoughtful of Africa to try and cheer me up, but it didn’t help because I still felt all alone. Maggie told me I should keep a diary of my feelings and share them in group, but I wasn’t really sure how to do that. All I knew was I was hurting really bad and I wanted my mother and father to know how much I hurt.
During our Saturday trip to the library I came across a book called The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank. At first I didn’t think I’d like reading some white girl’s diary, but for some odd reason I sat down at a table with it. I opened the book and started reading it and got pulled into the story. I checked the book out and went back to the group home. I sat on my cot the rest of the day and read. I cared about Anne in a way that I have never cared before, and when I reached the end of the book, I cried for her. After reading what she’d gone through I decided that my life wasn’t as bad as it could be. I mean, at least I didn’t have to hide from soldiers inside a dark room and remain motionless and silent for hours on end just to save my life. I also didn’t have to live on the streets like Africa had to.