What's His Is Mine

Books by Daaimah S. Poole

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DAAIMAH S. POOLE

Kensington Publishing Corp.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

DAFINA BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2010 by Daaimah S. Poole

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

 

Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-4622-6

 

Table of Contents

Thank you to Allah for making this and all things possible.

My boys Hamid and Ahsan, I love you. Thank you to my mother, Robin Sampson; father, Auzzie Poole; stepmother, Pulcheria Ricks-Poole; and sisters Daaiyah, Najah, and Nadirah Goldstein. Also, lots of love to all my extended family. It's a lot of y'all.

Thank you to Ieshea Dandridge, Tamika Wilson, Maryam Abdus-Shahid, Miana White, Carla Lewis, Darryl Fitzgerald, Gina Del Lior, Sharon Long, Elaine Petitt, Fred Holman, Nyla Goldstein, Lacretia Saunders, Linda Saunders, Devon Walls of Starshooterz, Camille Miller, Candice Dow, and Allison Hobbs.

Special thanks to Black and Nobel bookstore, Khalil at City Hall (Philly Book Man), DC Book Diva, and African World Book Distributors.

To my readers, I thank you a million times for your constant support and for spreading the word. Thank you for e-mailing, Facebooking, and always showing love. I so appreciate it. E-mail [email protected], DSPbooks.com, Facebook.com/DSPbooks, and Twitter.com/DSPbooks.

Thank you so very much to Audrey LaFehr and Martin Biro of Kensington Books. You will never know how much I appreciate you both. Also thanks to the entire staff at Kensington Books.

Thank you, Karen E. Quinones Miller. I owe you the world—you are the greatest agent, friend, and mentor.

 

Thanks,

 

Daaimah

“H
ello. Hello.
Hel-lo!
” my daughter Alexis yelled. I didn't say anything, because I couldn't. I just listened intently from the other end of the call. I wanted to tell my oldest child to stop yelling, but I was getting comfort from just hearing her voice.

“Ugh, I wish they'd stop playing on our phone,” she said as she hung up.

I wish I were playing. What my daughter thought was a prank call was actually me, checking in. If she only knew how desperately I wanted to say,
Hello, it's Mommy. I'm in Detroit. I miss you. Don't be mad at me—I'm sorry I killed that woman and I want to come home.

I wish I could say that to her, because I missed her. I missed my children, my boyfriend, and my entire life that I left behind. When life gets hard, people say,
I wish I could just get up and walk away.
I used to have those types of thoughts, but it is not that easy or fun.

Last year, I accidentally killed a woman, and instead of turning myself in, I ran. And since then I have experienced the hardest twelve months of my life. When life goes wrong, all you can ask yourself is, How did I get here? If someone were to ask me, I wouldn't know what to say. My life hadn't been great, but it hadn't been like this, either.

I had my daughter Alexis at sixteen and my son, Jamil, was born a year later when I was seventeen. Then by the time I was nineteen, I was married to my ex-husband Tyrone, a truck driver thirteen years older than me. We had a daughter, Kierra, and our marriage lasted about fifteen years. I wanted out of the marriage because I was tired of being tied down. So I divorced my husband and decided I wanted to make up for lost time.

I began hanging out with my coworker's ex, Adrienne. It was all so exciting at first. We went and did everything. Adrienne took me to some really nice parties filled with young, handsome, and rich professional athletes. My life changed instantly—I went from sitting on the sofa watching movies to partying all night in Vegas. My life had become so exciting, and then to top it off I met the man of my dreams. I met my Kevin at a basketball game and we hit it off.

Kevin was the most compassionate, romantic, humble, and attractive man I had ever met. We fell in love quickly and had a beautiful, long-distance relationship. I visited him in Rome, Italy, where he played for the Italian basketball team, Lottomatica Roma. My life was like a fairy tale. Then the fairy tale began unraveling when Kevin came back to the States to play basketball for the Philadelphia 76ers. That's when I learned I was pregnant and I had to come clean about all the lies I had told Kevin. I deceived Kevin about so many things in the beginning of our relationship because I didn't think we were going to become serious.

I lied to him about my age. I said I was twenty-nine when I was actually thirty-three. I told him I was a nurse, but my real job was in the hospital's billing department. I also told him I had only one daughter, who was five, but I failed to mention my two other teenage children. When I came to Kevin with the truth, he was upset with me, but he forgave me and things went back to normal.

Everything was fine until I started receiving threatening notes. The notes said
Go kill yourself bitch! Six million ways to die
. . .
choose one,
and
Watch your back, bitch.
I didn't know what to make of the notes, so I just threw them in the trash. I figured they were from a crazy groupie. Not keeping the notes was the worst mistake I could have made. If I would have just told Kevin, I would have been prepared when Kevin's ex-girlfriend—not “crazy groupie”—tried to kill me.

She came to the hospital while I was visiting my newborn and put a gun to my head and carjacked me. Then she made me drive to a park and basically let me know she was going to kill me. I didn't want to die, so I fought back and we tussled for the gun and it went off. When I stood up she was on the ground, bleeding and lifeless. At that very moment I should have called the police and explained, but instead I got scared and called Adrienne.

Adrienne helped me dump the gun and suggested that I go on the run. At the time, running made sense. I had just committed a murder, I didn't want to go to jail, and I didn't have any proof that she was stalking me. I didn't mean to kill her—it was self-defense. But who would believe me? What proof did I have? The only thing I could think of was being sent to prison for life. I couldn't go to jail, so I ran. I wanted to get far away from Philadelphia, so I ran all the way to The D—Detroit.

The D is cold. Literally and figuratively. A lot of the auto plants and a bunch of other companies have closed, and people just don't have jobs here. There is so much crime and drugs, and the unemployment rate is horrible.

Adrienne dropped me off at the train station and I just jumped on the first train and somehow I ended up here. The train ride was crazy. I just remembered asking myself,
Where the hell am I going? What am I doing?
But I couldn't turn back. I knew the police were looking for me and had a warrant for my arrest. I knew my DNA was all over that park and on that crazy lady's clothes.

In my mind I envisioned my face plastered all over the news and on posters with “WANTED” in big, bold, capital letters. But I figured the longer I stayed away, the easier it would become to disappear. Big news stories only last for a few days . . . weeks at best. I knew eventually I would be able to simply blend into society.

On the train ride I found the driver's license of a woman from Milwaukee. Surprisingly, the photo sort of resembled me. To make myself look more like the identification photo, I cut and dyed my hair blond and started wearing glasses. I don't really worry about anyone recognizing me, because I don't recognize myself. I've been living under the name Brenda Douglas and have everything in her name.

I worked in a Detroit restaurant owned by a Chinese man named Mr. Kim. There was a bar in the back of the restaurant. I was employed as a waitress during the day and also worked as a barmaid a few evenings a week. I found the job looking through the classified section of the
Detroit Free Press
newspaper.

Mr. Kim trusted me enough to let me run his Laundromat on the nights when I was not working the bar. At the Laundromat, I basically made sure the machines didn't overflow, gave out change, and sold laundry detergent. I didn't make a lot of money, but on the side I washed and folded clothes.

I think my coworkers at the restaurant assume I'm a battered woman on the run. I heard two other waitresses talking about me. They asked me a lot of questions that I never answered. I just acted busy and ignored them. I always looked mean and unapproachable. I kept my guard up. I basically lived like a hermit over the last year, because I didn't need anyone in my business.

I rented a studio apartment—one big room. I didn't have any friends and I didn't socialize. I read a lot of novels and tabloid magazines. I watched television, but I stayed away from the
Law & Order
type of shows. Every time I tried to watch the news my body shut down and I got really scared and extremely nervous.

I lay in bed every night and I thought about my family. I wondered what they were doing and how they were. I wished I could kiss them and hold them. Sometimes being without them was so hard, I felt like I was going to go crazy. So to keep my mind off of things, I prayed. I prayed a lot. I thought of going to church, but it was too crowded. So I just developed my own personal relationship with God. I prayed that I would be forgiven for taking that woman's life. I prayed to be united with my family. I prayed to get my old life back. I prayed for the strength to do the right thing. I thought I was ready to do the right thing, which was go back home and turn myself in. I didn't know what was going to happen to me when I did, but being alone was miserable. It was hell. I had my freedom, but I didn't have peace. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my children. I was ready to go back to face my fate. If I got five months or even if I got a life sentence, I knew I would be able to pull through. If nothing else, at least I would be able to see my children again.

From working all my jobs, I was able to save six thousand dollars and I was thinking about getting a good attorney to prove my innocence. Six thousand should be at least a good down payment on an attorney.

After a little more thought I decided it was the right time. I was ready and my decision was made. I was going home. I didn't have any choice. I wrote down everything I wanted to do once I got back and mentally prepared myself to leave. I even wrote Adrienne a letter and mailed it. I thanked her for her help and let her know I would be home soon.