Chasing Butterflies (24 page)

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Authors: Amir Abrams

BOOK: Chasing Butterflies
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53
“O
hmygod!”
Crystal shrieks, looking into the phone screen, mortified. “I can’t believe she scratched your face and neck up.”
I remove the ice pack from my hand. The swelling is starting to go down some, but it still hurts.
It throbs.
“Yeah, but you should see her,” I say, not that I’m proud of the fact that she has two black eyes, a swollen lip, and possibly a broken nose.
That’s what Omar said.
“Well, if you ask me, she got what she deserved,” Crystal says. “She had no business bullying you.”
I purse my lips and nod slightly. “You’re right. Still . . .” I look up at the ceiling as if I know Daddy is looking down at me shaking his head. I groan inwardly. “It doesn’t make it right what I did to her.”
“Nia, stop. It doesn’t make it wrong, either. I know you. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. But obviously she does. She should have given you your journal back when you asked for it.”
I agree. “And I gave her ample time to.”
“Exactly. Where is she now?”
My breath comes out in a frustrated huff. “She’s still locked up, I guess.”
“Oh. When is she getting out?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Hopefully never.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice, then you wouldn’t have to ever see her again.”
“Exactly.”
“I still can’t believe you were arrested.”
I shudder at the memory. “Unfortunately.”
“I can’t believe you were in handcuffs. And they placed you in the back of a cop car? And read you your rights?”
“Yeah.”
“Ohmygod! That’s so crazy.”
“I was scared out of my mind,” I confess.
“I bet. I’m horrified for you. Did your, uh, . . .”
“Omar?”
“Yeah, him. Did he bail you out?”
I tell her there’s no bail in New Jersey for teens. God. It’s a good thing I had his number in my cell; otherwise I don’t know whom I would have been able to call. I guess I would have been stuck in there.
“You’re a statistic now.”
I roll my eyes. “Really, Crystal? Is that your best attempt at consoling me?” I shake my head. “Some friend you are.”
She laughs. “I’m sorry. I’m only playing. But did they put you in a uniform?”
“Crystal!”
“Sorry. You know my heart is aching for you. But that is sooo
Orange Is the New Black
.”
I suck my teeth. “Bye, Crystal. I’m hanging up on you.”
“And I’ll call right back,” she says, suppressing a smile. “You know I will.”
“Bye.”
“No, don’t you dare. You’re my best friend.”
I can’t help but smile. “I can’t tell,” I say teasingly. I feign a pout. “If you were really my friend, you’d help me escape this modern-day Alcatraz.”
She shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you lost your journal, though.”
“Me either. I’m so sick over it.”
“I would be, too. I can’t believe that girl. What’s her name, again? Rita?”
“No. Sha’Quita.”
Ghetto Girl.
“Yeah, that. She’s so . . .”
“Ratchet,” I finish for her, pacing the cheap carpet in the bedroom.
“Well, that’s not quite exactly the word I was going for. But I’ll take it, for a lack of a better one.”
“Well, that’s what she is. I have to get out of here, Crystal.” I lower my voice. “I can’t stay another minute around any of these crazy people. They’re a bunch of alcoholics. And weed smokers. And sex addicts. I—”
I step on something, and practically jump out of my skin.
I look down.
Ohmygod! Ewww! I’ve just stepped on Sha’Quita’s leopard-print panties
.
I kick them across the room. Then I start pacing the floor again. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose it if I stay here another night. I am so out of my element here. I feel like a leper. I don’t fit in here, Crystal. I swear I don’t. I’ve tried but I can’t do this. These last two weeks have been awful.”
I feel the tears coming.
I fight them back.
“I can’t believe you beat her up, though,” Crystal says, clearly not hearing a word I’m saying to her. “Did you pull her weave out of her head?”
“Crystal, stop!” I hiss. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying? I just told you I have to get out of here. Do you see this place?” I hold my iPhone up and slowly turn it around the room so that she can see the bedroom in its entirety, particularly Sha’Quita’s side of the room.
She gasps. “Oh no.”
“Oh,
yes
. And all you can think to ask is if I pulled that girl’s weave out of her scalp. As you can see from the look of this nasty room, I have more pressing issues to deal with other than that girl’s weave-
less
head.”
She giggles. “
Sooooo
you did pull her nasty horsehair out. Good! I hope her scalp is raw.”
“Crystal!” I plead. “Focus here.
Please.
I need you to stay with me. Geez! I’m in a crisis.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I feel awful for you.”
“Well, you should.
I
feel awful for
me
.”
“Wait. Did you say they smoke crack?”
I shake my head. “No. Marijuana.” I whisper into the phone. “Lots of it, especially Sha’Quita and her mother.”
“Ohmygod! They smoke it
together
?”
“Sometimes, I guess. I don’t know. I only walked in on them once passing it back and forth. She even offered me some.”
I don’t know why I tell her this, but I do.
Crystal gasps. “Who?
Rita
?”
“No.
Sha’Quita
. And, yes, she did. Her mother did, too. Once.”
Truthfully, it feels good to not keep so many secrets from Crystal. She groans as I fill her in on the goings on the last several weeks. But, for some reason, I don’t tell her about the time I woke up to the sounds of Sha’Quita in bed with some boy. Or the time I overheard her on the phone, making out.
I’ll save that foolery for another time.
For now, I need to get out of here.
Fast.
Before Keyonna comes home and tries to fight me, too.
“I just can’t believe any of it,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “It all seems like something from off of a horrible reality show.”
“Yeah,” I say, solemnly. “ ‘Raunch and Filth,’ they’d call it.”
She chuckles, then apologizes. “I don’t mean to laugh. But this is all too unreal.”
I push out an agonizing breath. “I know. Imagine how I feel. I’m seeing it with my own two eyes. I’m living it in
three-D
. And I still can’t believe any of it. I can’t believe people live like this. I mean, I know they do, but it’s still unbelievable to me. To not want better. To not want to
do
better.”
“Nia, you know you can’t do better if you don’t know better. Maybe that’s the best they have in them.”
I shrug, half believing that this is the best for anyone. “I guess.”
“I’m not saying it’s right or wrong. I’m simply saying, who are we to judge? We haven’t had to walk in any of their shoes, so we don’t know what their stories are. Everyone isn’t as fortunate as us.”
I swallow. She’s right.
Still . . .
I’m not in the mood for a moral lesson. Nor am looking to play social worker, or social scientist, or be in a social experiment to try and figure it all out.
I’m just not that invested in knowing the cause.
The only thing on my mind is an escape.
She wants to know why I didn’t tell her how miserable things really were here for me. I tell her because I wasn’t ready for her to know the whole truth, only bits and pieces of it. That I hoped things might improve. But they haven’t. And I can’t keep it in any longer.
“I’m telling you, Crystal. I’ve been living in hellfire ever since I stepped off that plane and walked through these doors. These people are unreal.”
“Poor thing,” she says sympathetically. “What are you going to do now?”
Hurl myself over a cliff.
“I don’t know. As soon as I get off the phone with you, I’m calling my aunt. She has to send for me.”
Crystal gives me a look of uncertainty. “You think she will?”
“Of course. She has to. Once I tell her everything that’s been going on, she’ll get me the heck out of here.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go to Georgia.”
I sigh. “Me either. But what other choice do I have? It’s either here, or there.”
She frowns. “That sucks. I wish there was a way you could come back here. To Long Beach.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Sadness washes over me. I miss my home. My friends. My life. I miss Daddy.
“I can’t stay here,” I whisper into the phone, wiping tears as they fall from my eyes.
Crystal cries with me. “You don’t have to. I’m going to ask my parents if you can stay here with us. I know they’ll say yes.”
My heart leaps. “Ohmygod, Crystal! Thank you! You think they will?”
“I know they will.”
There’s hope after all.
“Ohgod, thank you! I love you, girl. I owe you big time.”
“I love you, too. And, as soon as they get back from vacation, I’ll ask them. Okay?”
Wait—
“
Vacation?
Your parents are away?”
“Yeah,” she tells me. “They’re in South Beach.”
“When are they coming back?”
“In two weeks,” she tells me.
My heart drops.
All hope deflates.
Oh, well... so much for an immediate rescue.
“Oh, no.” I sob. “I can’t stay here that long, Crystal. I have to get out of here
now
.”
“I know. Don’t cry, Nia. I promise I’ll see what I can do. Maybe you can go to your aunt’s until then.”
I nod. Sniffle. Wipe tears away. “Yeah, maybe.”
I glance at the time. It’s almost eleven. I don’t want to call Aunt Terri too late. But this is an emergency. It’s a life-and-death situation.
“I better go,” I say, sitting on the edge of my bed, wiping my wet face with my hand. “I need to call my aunt before she goes to bed.”
“Okay. But make sure you call me back right after you talk to her.”
“I will,” I say, right before hanging up.
Seconds later, I am scrolling through my phone in search of Aunt Terri’s number. Then dialing it. It rings twice before a recording comes on. “The subscriber you’ve reached has a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. . .”
I blink.
Oh, no. This can’t be right.
I try the number again.
“The subscriber you’ve reached . . .”
My heart stops beating.
I immediately try her house number.
Then I burst into tears, when the recording says, “The number you have reached has been disconnected . . .”
Defeated.
Dejected.
Distraught.
I end the call.
54
F
rantically, I scramble around the room, pulling open drawers and stuffing my things inside my duffel bag. I snatch open the cramped closet and start yanking my clothes off hangers, tossing them inside my suitcase.
I have no plan.
Well, I do.
To get the heck out of here.
But with no money and no friends here, I’m at a loss.
My options are limited.
Real limited.
Stay here. Or wander the streets.
No, you can’t just wander the streets. Are you crazy, girl?
Those streets are dangerous at night.
What if you’re kidnapped, or worse... killed?
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohhhhhhhhmygod! What am I going to do?
I start pacing from the door to the window and back.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I feel myself starting to lose it.
All of my life I’ve done what’s right.
I’ve been a good kid.
Never broken any rules.
Gotten good grades.
Stayed out of trouble.
Never gave Daddy any problems.
Did everything asked of me.
And for what?
Just so Daddy could die on me?
So I could be bamboozled into coming to New Jersey?
For Aunt Terri to disappear on me?
It just isn’t fair.
All these crazy thoughts start racing through my head. Thoughts of running away, thoughts of hitchhiking my way back across country, back to Long Beach.
Then I start imagining Sha’Quita getting out of jail and coming back to slaughter me in my sleep, or having me jumped by her crazy friends.
Stop.
Get it together, Nia. Think.
I try Aunt Terri’s number again. “The subscriber you’ve reached has a number that—”
I end the call.
Oh. God.
How could she do this to me?
How could she—
Something slams into the wall, startling me.
It’s the door.
“Oh, you like sneakin’ hoes, huh,
bisssssh
?”
My eyes widen in horror.
It’s Keyonna.
And she looks crazed.
“I-I-I didn’t sneak her.” The words stumble out of my mouth as I step back.
She lunges at me. “Don’t lie to me! Quita tol’ me everything! You got my baby locked up. Snitchin’-azz trick!”
“I—”
Whap!
Ohmygod!
She smacks me so hard tears spring from my eyes, and I’m seeing stars.
My hand goes up to my stinging face.
And then Kee-Kee has me cornered, fist clenched into tight fists. “Sneak me,
bissssh
!”
“I-I-I didn’t sneak her!” I scream, tears flooding my eyes. “I don’t deserve—”
Whack!
“No, tramp! You deserve ya azz—”
“Kee-Kee,
whatdafuq
, yo?!” Omar demands, charging into the bedroom, yanking this crazy lady away from me. “Yo, I know you didn’t just put ya
muthafawkin’
hands on her.” He’s up in her face, pointing his finger inches from her eyeballs.
Now I’m more scared than ever because he has this ice-cold look in his eyes. And every vein in his forehead is protruding. I’m afraid he’s going to hit her.
Or worse.
I’m terrified.
I’ve never been witness to any of this type of violence.
Ever.
I’m shaking.
“Yeah, I slapped that sneaky ho,” she yells in his face. I can see spittle flying from her lips as she speaks. “Quita’s locked up ’cause of this trick!”
“Yo, shut ya dumb-azz. Quita’s locked up ’cause of her own damn self. She stay runnin’ her mouth ’n’ you know it. She popped off at the wrong one ’n’ got that top rocked. Period. But word is bond, yo,” he warns, his tone bone chilling. “If you
ever
put ya hands on my seed again, I’ma break both ya arms, sister or not; ya heard?” He narrows his eyes at her.
She curses him, calls him every dirty street name you can possibly call someone. Tells him she hopes he ends up back in prison. Then she threatens to have him
handled
for getting up in her face.
I can’t believe any of this.
“Yeah, a’ight. Tell them mofos they know where to find me!” He walks over to me. “Let me see ya face.” I drop my hand. He touches the side of my face, and I wince.
His nostrils flare.
He shakes his head. Then he says, “Yo, pack ya stuff. We gettin’ the
eff
outta here.”

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