Keysha's Drama (8 page)

T
he 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.

The following Saturday evening, I was sitting on my cot reading another copy of
Vibe
. This time I was reading an article about how Beyoncé Knowles got her start in show business. Just as the article was getting good, I heard Grandmother Katie call my name. I looked up and saw her approaching me, wheeling a small suitcase behind her. Jordan and Maggie were with her.

“Let's start packing your things You're not staying here another night,” said Grandmother Katie.

“What's going on?” I asked, confused.

“You're going to come live with me,” said Jordan.

“What if I don't want to live with you?” I was being defiant.

“No, you're coming to stay with me. You have no idea of what it took to make this happen.” Jordan spoke as if I had no real choice in the matter. He was serious, but I was suspicious. Inside I really wanted to be happy, but I wasn't. Since I'd given up hope that anyone was coming for me, I'd gotten sort of comfortable living in the group home. Now I felt as if I were being uprooted once again and being carted off into the unknown.

“And you have no idea of what I had to go through just being here.” My words were full of pain and contempt for him. I felt like fighting him, but I didn't know why.

“There is no need to be nasty with me. I'm your father and I want to help.”

“Oh, now you want to be my father.” Now I was really ready to fight. I'd shifted my body weight from one foot to the other and was about to unleash a verbal assault on him.

“Come on, now,” Grandmother Katie's soothing voice cut the tension between us. “Now is not the time to have this conversation. Keysha, come with us. There is so much that needs to be said and understood. Now is the time for healing your bruised heart. It is not the time to create more wounds with angry words.”

Grandmother Katie was good. She was very skillful in the way she defused the tension between Jordan and me. For the moment, I decided not to fight with him.

“Come on, start packing your belongings,” Jordan said to me in a nicer tone of voice.
Here I go again
, I thought to myself.
I wonder what my life is going to be like now
.

I
said goodbye to Africa and a few other girls that I'd gotten to know. We promised to keep in touch with each other, and I promised Africa that as soon as I got settled in I'd call her. We hugged each other for a long moment before I finally departed with Jordan.

During the long drive to my father's house, Grandmother Katie began asking me questions about my mother and our lifestyle.

“Has your mother ever held a job?” she asked.

“No, not one that I can think of.”

“Have you been in touch with your other grandmother?”

“No,” I answered her.

“What exactly happened to her? I know that she was mixed up in some type of mess with a bank, or at least that's what I've been told.” I didn't want to talk about my Grandmother Rubylee. I missed her, and it was still difficult for me to talk about it because it made me think about my Aunt Estelle and how she passed away.

“Can we not talk about this right now?” I asked.

“Okay,” said Grandmother Katie. “I understand. We can talk about it later.” I remained silent for a long while as we drove down the highway. My father didn't say much but I could tell that he had a lot on his mind. I suppose we are alike in that sense. Whenever there is something eating away at us, we prefer to remain silent and think about the situation before talking about it. I know that my thoughts were all over the place. I was fearful, uncertain and confused. I felt like I was being forced on my father, and that made me feel as if I was some germ no one could get rid of.

“We have enough room for you,” said Jordan, who only began speaking after I saw Grandmother Katie nudge him. “You also have a brother. His name is Mike.”

“You'll be in the upstairs bedroom down the hall from him. He's a bit apprehensive about your coming to live with us. He's been the only kid in the house for a long time, and he now has to learn how to share.” I didn't know what to say so I remained silent.

“I know you'll find living with me to be a lot different, but I know that it's for the best.”

Whatever
, I thought to myself. In the back of my mind, I was already thinking about running away. To where, I don't know. I just wanted to be alone and not be bothered.

We turned into this community where there was nothing but beautiful green grass and large homes. I took in everything. I saw both black and white people out mowing their lawns and planting flowers. A few younger kids were riding their bikes along the sidewalk. We finally turned into a driveway and I focused on the house.

“Here we are,” said Jordan as he drove down a long driveway. My jaw dropped when I saw the home.

“This is where you live?” I wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming.

“Yes, and now you'll be living here,” said Jordan. The house was two stories tall. It was a soft shade of green with red roof shingles. The underground sprinklers were on. I noticed that there was a greenhouse attached to it that appeared to be filled with all types of flowers that were bursting with color. Once we reached the end of the driveway there was a large black iron gate. Jordon touched a remote that was in the car and the gates opened up. We drove in, and he parked the car in front of one of the doors of the five-car garage.

“Okay, we're here,” Jordan said once again as he glanced into the rearview mirror to look at me.

“Do you like it?” he asked with a slight smile.

“It's all right,” I said, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I was completely impressed.

“It's just all right?” he asked again.

“Yeah, it's just all right,” I answered him back.

“Jordan, why don't you give her a tour. I'll take her things up to her room and meet you guys up there,” said Grandmother Katie.

“Is it okay with you if we take a walk around the property, Keysha?” asked Jordan.

“I guess it's not like I have a choice,” I answered sarcastically.

We got out of the car and stepped into the bright sunlight. I heard a chorus of birds singing, and for the first time noticed all of the trees that surrounded the house. I counted a total of eight.

“This is the garage,” Jordan said as he opened one of the bay doors. We stepped inside. The garage was bigger than the apartment I lived in with my mother. Everything inside was organized and in its proper place. Items like bicycles, the lawn mower, leaf blower and hedge trimmer hung from hooks in the ceiling. There was plenty of shelf space and plastic color-coded and labeled containers on each shelf. To my right I noticed a car covered with a black cloth. Jordan noticed me staring at it.

“Do you want to see what kind of car it is?” he asked. Before I could answer he walked over to it and removed the covering. Beneath the cloth was a black sports car with an eagle painted on the hood.

“This is my 1979 Pontiac Trans Am,” he said proudly. “I've spent a small fortune rebuilding it to its original condition.”

“Do you ever drive it?” I asked. He looked at me strangely as if the thought of pulling it out of the safety of the garage would take an act of God.

“Rarely. This car is a classic. I drive it each year in the Memorial Day parade but that's about it.” I looked around the garage a little more closely and saw that there was an additional door.

“What's in there?” I asked.

“Go ahead and take a look,” he said. “I'll be along once I finish re-covering the car. I don't like dust getting on it.” When he said that I quickly realized that his old car meant a great deal to him. I walked over to the other door and opened it up. Inside was a small workshop. It was tidy and well organized. On the shelves were various containers of paint, wood stain, tools and other items used for building and repairing.

“This is my workshop,” Jordan said as he entered the room.

“You build stuff?” I asked.

“I restore things,” he said. “Have you ever heard of the phrase, ‘one man's trash is another man's treasure'?”

“No, I've never heard of the expression,” I lied to him. I don't know why I did. I just did.

“It means that what one person tosses away, another person may find value in.”

“Was the old-time car someone's trash?” I asked.

“Yes, it was. The man who had it sold it to me for only a few hundred dollars. It was just sitting on his property rusting away. I had it towed here and over the course of about seven years I rebuilt it.” I was impressed but I didn't let him know it.

“So what do you build in here?” I asked.

“I restore furniture that I buy at garage sales.”

“You're basically like the junk man who rides around in a raggedy pickup truck picking up everyone's junk on the street,” I said as I found a way to identify with what he did. I could tell that he didn't like my comparison because he didn't respond to my comment. I wanted to laugh at him for being so sensitive but I didn't. “Where do those stairs lead to?” I pointed toward the back of the room.

“Come on, I'll show you,” he said. I followed him through the work area and up the back staircase. When we got upstairs I was speechless at what I saw.

“This is the apartment above the garage. I had it converted to a workout gym,” Jordan said as he flipped a few light switches so that I could take a better look. There were a number of machines positioned all around the room. There was a flat-screen television mounted on the far wall, and two treadmills were situated in front of the television.

“Do you know who this is?” he asked pointing to a mural on the wall. The wall painting was a life-size portrayal of two boxers. One had knocked the other one down and appeared to be towering above him yelling down at the other man on his back.

“That's that boxer man,” I said, not remembering his name.

“His name is Muhammad Ali. He's fighting a man by the name of Sonny Liston. In this scene, Ali has knocked Liston down. Liston was the heavyweight champion at the time. Ali is yelling ‘get up' to him.”

“Why is he yelling at him?” I asked.

“Because Liston knew that he couldn't beat Ali so he tried to cheat by placing an eye irritant on his boxing gloves. So every time he hit Ali near his eyes, the irritation prevented Ali from seeing clearly. Once Ali's trainers realized what was going on, they washed the irritant away and Ali went back out to whip Sonny's behind.”

“Oh,” I said as I walked up closer to the mural. “Who painted it?”

“Your uncle did,” Jordan answered. I looked back at him and noticed that he was just watching my every movement. His sharp eyes made me nervous. He made me feel as if he was mall security or someone watching and waiting for me to steal something.

“Don't stand behind me like that,” I said, snapping at him.

“Stand behind you like what?” he asked.

“Like you're waiting for me to break or steal something.”

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel that way,” he said.

Next to the Muhammad Ali painting was a cabinet filled with track and field trophies.

“Did you win these?” I asked.

“No, actually most of them belong to my wife, Barbara. She was an exceptional high school and college track and field athlete. The three on the bottom shelf belong to your brother, Mike.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

“He's out with his mother. They'll be home in a little while. You'll see him then.”

I got tired of looking at the workout room and decided to walk back down the stairs.

“Come around this way,” Jordan said, and I followed him around the side of the garage down a short brick path, which was lined with thick, neatly trimmed bushes. Once we got around the bushes I saw the in-ground swimming pool.

“Do you know how to swim?” he asked.

“No,” I answered.

“Well, I can teach you how. It's real easy once you get the hang of it.” I didn't answer him, I just looked at how pretty the water was. “We'll have to wait until next summer for swimming lessons though. I'm going to have to drain the pool for the winter next week.”

We walked back down the short brick path past the garage and to the door at the rear of the house. I stepped inside and held the door open for Jordan. Upon entering he began talking.

“We'll start in the basement,” he said and I followed him down a few steps. To the right there was a door, which he opened. It was his office. His computer, desk and photos of various entertainers were hung on the wall. I walked in and looked at one photo of him and TuPac.

“You knew TuPac?” I asked.

“I wouldn't say that I knew him but we've met before,” answered Jordan.

“So what is that you do?” I asked.

“I'm the executive vice president for Hot Jamz 104,” he answered.

“That's, like, the hottest radio station in the city,” I said, sort of excited about the possibility of getting to meet a famous entertainer.

“Yeah, but our last rating has us as the number-three station in the city and I have to change that.”

“Oh,” I answered, not fully understanding what he meant. We came out of the office and went toward the rear of the basement. It was a typical basement. Gray concrete floor and walls. There was nothing exciting about looking at the laundry shoot or the washer and dryer.

“Over here, this is what I wanted to show you,” he said as he opened another door, which led to the greenhouse. I stepped inside and saw an array of potted flowers blooming along with another door which led inside.

“It's pretty,” I admitted and then turned and exited the room. I could tell that Jordan wanted to explain all of the flowers but I didn't care about that.

“I planted all of the flowers around the house,” he commented as we walked out of the basement. “Gardening is something I've always loved. Have you ever planted a seed and then nurtured it into a flower?”

“No, and I really don't care to,” I said with honesty. However, I suppose that my tone of voice made me sound rather snotty.

“This is the family room,” he said as we walked out of the basement and up a few stairs. There was a large sectional brown leather sofa that looked huge enough to seat at least seven or eight people. At both ends of the sectional there were recliner seats. The oversize sofa even had cup holders and a compartment to keep ice cold. Another large flat-screen television was mounted on the wall along with a complete home theater system. He waited for a response from me, but I only nodded my head. From there we moved into the kitchen, which looked like it was out of a magazine. The refrigerator had a crushed icemaker, there was a center island where food could be prepared, and there was an abundance of cabinet and shelf space. From there it was on to the formal dining room. There was a beautiful wooden table large enough to seat eight people. The table was completely set but looked more like a display rather than a place to eat.