Crazy Summer (46 page)

*****

Summer buried her twins in Augusta next to her mother, brother, and Big Danté. Lil’ Danté wasn’t so lucky. He lived and was sentenced to three consecutive life sentences. He was housed in Augusta State Medical Prison. Life came at him too damn fast. With his chin, mouth, and right jaw blown away, he was probably the ugliest person in the world with nothing to live for. He didn’t know if he was coming or going. He was labeled mental health, and Summer never went to visit him. He would die right there in prison. Summer would call the warden every week just to ask if he was dead yet.

The warden would respond no.

Then she would wait him out.

*****

Several years had passed. Summer was in the same house in Alpharetta, where she relaxed in a rocking chair on her screened in back porch. She had five grandkids, two of them were from Jeremy and the other three came from her Hollywood superstar daughter Alisa McKey. Alisa lived in California, and Summer had made sure she plugged Alisa into some money. She married a rapper who was worth over six hundred million dollars.

Summer wore her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She looked out in the open fields where her grandbabies all played together. She had already begun to put them in position to make it to the top. They were all worth three million apiece and wouldn’t be able to touch it until they were eighteen. She would raise them herself, nobody else. Her oldest granddaughter, who was thirteen, came outside with a cordless phone and handed it to her.

“Thank you, Summer,” Grandma Summer said and took it. “Hello,” she said into the phone. 

“Is this Mrs. Summer McKey?” a voice asked from the other end.

“Yes, it is.”

“Ma’am, I’m calling to inform you that your daughter was killed in a car accident.”

“Are you sure?” She didn’t sound concerned whatsoever.

“Positive, ma’am. She was identified.”

Summer hung up the phone and placed it in her lap. She stared blankly at her acres of land. She tried to concentrate, focus on something else, but it was almost impossible. She stood slowly to her feet and placed an arm around her granddaughter’s neck. They walked together.

“You got a good future ahead of you, Summer,” she whispered, then kissed her cheek. “All you gotta do is follow my lead,” She told her as they went inside the house.

As long as Summer had her blood on this earth, she would stay on top of her game. She went to the bar, poured herself a stiff drink, and sat down in her leather chair. Her German Shepherds were posted on each side of her. She sipped from her glass, then crossed her legs. She was ready to continue her legacy. She touched the tips of her hair, twirled them around her fingers. She sipped again while staring at her granddaughter.

Summer’s eyes were becoming heavy, and she hadn’t shared a word with the younger Summer. The granddaughter couldn’t help but to notice how her grandmother was acting. She stood quickly and caught the champagne glass before it hit the floor. She sat the glass on the table and took Summer’s hands in hers.

“Come on, Grandmother, let me help you to bed.”

Summer stood slowly, but without hesitation. She held on to her granddaughter, and they walked slowly up the stairs together. At the same time, they looked at each other.

Then, in unison, they said, “No pressure. No stress. No pain. No gain.”

Summer looked surprised. “Who taught you that?”

“You did, Grandma. You don’t remember?”

Honestly, she didn’t.

Nearly two months later and after Alisa was buried, Summer slipped into her own little world. She had been admitted into a Georgia regional mental facility because she had a history of things such as this. In Atlanta where several test were run, their conclusion was that she was indeed experiencing trauma after the loss of her daughter.

Summer was later admitted into Ridgeview Institute. It was supposed to be a far better facility, but over a period of time, she really lost it. They had her in group therapy classes to share her thoughts and feelings with other women who were experiencing the same situation as her. However, Summer refused to talk and began frequently experiencing hallucinations. She basically talked and mumbled to herself, barely speaking to anyone, and when she did, it was about her Michael Jackson jacket with the zippers that she had in the fourth grade.

One morning, she was sitting outside in the Serenity Garden, and a light wind blew against her skin. She shivered slightly and shoved her hands in her pockets. Just above, the sky grew cloudy and gray, and thunder clapped. She jumped and pressed her hands against her ears. She then started swinging back and forth on a wooden swing all alone. Her hair was in tight, neat braids with little girl hair bows attached to the ends. She began singing to herself in a low whisper.

“Old McDonald had a farm.
Ee i ee i oh!
”

She sounded terribly sad and lonely. Thunder cracked again, and a light drizzle began to fall. One doctor and a female nurse approached her.

      “Summer,” the female nurse said in a soft, calm voice. “Let’s go inside now. It’s raining.” She grabbed her by her hand.

      Smiling, Summer stood up, and reluctantly, she touched the nurse between her legs. The nurse jumped and her eyes widened. When she brushed Summer’s hand away, Summer laughed.

      They took her to the assessment room and locked her inside alone until her psychiatrist came to speak with her. While Summer waited, she stripped herself naked and stuffed all her clothes in the top desk drawer. Then she urinated in the middle of the floor.  She laughed at herself and started talking sadly.

      “Hey, Mommy, Danté loves me. Have you seen the twins on TV yet?”

      She shut down again, and her eyes turned moist until her lips begin to tremble and she started to cry uncontrollably. She sat in one of the two loveseats and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Tears streaked her face.

      “Hey, Bookie baby.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, when suddenly a soft knock came from the other side of the door.

      A male psychiatrist with a chiseled face and a hawk-like nose poked his head inside the door. When he noticed the puddle of yellow urine in the middle of the floor, his smile suddenly faded. Then when he noticed Summer on the loveseat in a fetal position crying, he could only shake his head in disgust. 

      Later that evening, Summer was placed in a private room. Her psychiatrist had prescribed her an assortment of medications. She was given Ativan to reduce anxiety; Benadryl for sedation; Geodon, Risperdal, and Seroquel to treat her schizophrenia; and Thorazine to control her hallucinations.

      She now sat quietly in her private room alone where her TV stayed tuned to either Little House on the Prairie or Wheel of Fortune. The medicine had her dazed and drained, sometimes causing her to sleep for nearly twenty hours a day. As the weeks passed, Summer gained nearly twenty pounds, and she hadn't even noticed.

       The following evening, Summer received a letter in the mail from her son Lil’ Danté. She opened it and began reading it while sitting in her room.

     
Well, they say the fruit don't fall too far from the tree. You could've at least let me come to my sister’s funeral. God don't like ugly, as we all know. Now your crazy ass is sitting in that crazy house all alone. You might as well tell me where that money’s at so I can get me a lawyer and get up out of here. I'm the only person alive that you can trust. And furthermore, I'm the only person alive that knows you're probably playing crazy just like you did before to beat that federal indictment. You’re so smart; you're CRAZY SUMMER. That name fits you to a T. Now what I suggest is that you go ahead and turn everything over to me. And I mean, you need to tell me something by next week. You fucked up my whole life, and you owe me.

      Summer read the letter over and over again all night until finally she tore it into tiny little pieces and ate it. When she woke up the next evening, there was another letter from Lil’ Danté with more harsh words and his demands for money. Again, she ripped it up and shook her head violently. She could hear his voice, and it was getting on her nerves.

      “Shut up, damnit!” she shouted, but his voice continued to reverberate in her head.

     
You killed my daddy, bitch. You made me kill the twins.

      “Shut up!” she yelled louder in a demanding voice.

      She pressed her hands against her ears and started kicking and screaming. Her words were slurred, and she made annoying sounds as if she was retarded. Within the next twenty minutes, she began clawing at herself and ripping plugs from her face. Then Summer rammed her head against the metal door until she was sitting in a pool of her own blood.

      The next day, she woke up strapped to a gurney on the psychiatric ward. Her vision was blurred, and her head and face were wrapped in gauze and bandages. There was an IV needle wedged in her inside elbow. She was at a point in her life where she didn't know if she was coming or going. 

      Another two months went by before the doctors allowed Summer to go swimming or to the Serenity Garden. On this particular Sunday afternoon, her granddaughter, Summer, had come to visit her. She was casually dressed and cute as a button. They ate lunch together in a sitting area made of gray stone with a fountain in the center. Summer wasn't really talking to her either, just twisting her mouth into a grin. She finally mumbled something in her ear.

      “Michael Jackson got my jacket.”

      Her granddaughter just looked at her and shook her head.

      When Summer got back to her room, she opened another letter from Lil’ Danté that came to her under an alias name.

Crazy Summer, Crazy Summer, Crazy Summer, Crazy Summer, Crazy Summer. Just thought I'd let you know that your psychiatrist is an undercover federal agent. Be careful, Mama. They're watching you.

For the first time, Summer didn't rip up the letter. Instead, she started to come up with a plot. Seven days later, she had finally put her plan together.

Summer and her psychiatrist were walking on the courtyard. She pretended to faint and fell to the ground. When the doctor stood over her, she looked at him with a devilish smile and wedged a sharpened piece of plastic into his jugular vein. She then got to her feet and hit him again and again. He was pronounced dead on arrival to the hospital.

Summer was satisfied living in her own world. She was placed in her own padded room, where she lived happily without Lil’ Danté’s letters or his voices.