Harlem Girl Lost (14 page)

He bent down. “Yeah, bitch, this is gonna be a little something to remember a nigger by.” He grabbed Silver by her collar and prepared to give her a permanent Frankenstein scar across her pretty but battered face.

Like a streak of lightning, Chance appeared and hit the
bigger boy across the side of his face with a brick, knocking him down instantly. Chance pounced upon the boy with blind fury, relentlessly hitting him from all directions. Out of control, Chance dropped the bloodied brick and brutally beat the boy until his face turned into a bloody pulp. Seeing this boy, this nigger strike his beloved Silver—his woman, his wife, his life—was just too much for Chance to bear.

Diego was the first to reach him, but to no avail—Chance had already beaten the boy unconscious but wouldn't be satisfied until the bully was dead. Finally, five other boys joined in to help Diego pull Chance off him. Chance struggled violently to be released as the boys begged him to calm down. The fight left him only when he spotted his Silver. “Silver?” He rubbed his eye. “Silver!”

The boys released him, and he walked slowly over to his battered girl. Unable to believe his eyes, he cried when he saw her bloodied and swollen face. He knelt down and cradled her head in his arms. “Everything is all right, baby. Don't worry, I got you now, I got you,” he moaned. He softly kissed her and was helping her get up when Diego yelled, “Chance, watch out!”

Chance and Silver turned around to find the bloodied boy on his feet, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out a switchblade and flicked it open. Chance and Silver stared at the boy in horror.

Suddenly Mr. Bonds, Silver's homeroom teacher, pushed his way through the crowd.

“What the hell is going on here?” he yelled. He looked at the bloodied boy. “Young man, what in God's name happened
here? What is your name?” He grabbed him by his shoulders. “Who did this to you?” he asked, looking around.

A sense of relief came over Silver when she saw Mr. Bonds, but it was short-lived. The older boy raised his blade and sliced Mr. Bonds’ throat.

The students watched in horror as blood spurted from the teacher's neck like water from a pump. Mr. Bonds’ face turned colorless as he stumbled uneasily for a few paces, holding his neck, before collapsing. The students fled in all directions as the knife-wielding killer approached his next victim, but Chance pushed Silver out of harm's way.

“Get out of here, Silver. Run!”

The older boy circled Chance and smiled mockingly as he tossed the knife from one hand to the other. Without warning, the older boy swiped at Chance's hand, slicing it. Chance winced in pain and quickly backed away, feverishly searching for an equalizer, but there wasn't a bottle or stick to be found anywhere. In one swift and brazen move, the older boy charged in for the kill and lunged directly at Chance's heart. Chance nimbly sidestepped, shoved him off balance, and ran out of the schoolyard in a desperate search for a weapon. He knocked over a bunch of trash cans behind him, but the older boy simply swatted them aside and gave chase.

After running two blocks, the older boy on his heels, Chance turned into a dead-end alleyway and was trapped, with nowhere to run. His mind raced a hundred miles an hour.

The older boy stopped at the entrance of the alley, smiled, and walked slowly toward Chance, savoring the moment.

“You done fucked up!” the older boy said as he showed
Chance his knife. “In a minute you gonna feel this cold blade in yo’ motherfuckin’ stomach, and as I twist this motherfucka around, I'm gonna be watchin’ yo motherfuckin’ eyes as you die slow, motherfucka!”

Chance grabbed the nearest thing to him, a garbage can lid, and began to back away, swinging the lid to ward him off. The boy kicked the lid away and Chance fell, stunned. The older boy stood over Chance.

“You's a dead motherfucka!”

Moments later
, a police car pulled up in front of the alley in time to see the bloodied older boy walk out with the knife still in his hand. Silver, Missy, and Diego jumped out of the squad car in a panic.

“Oh, my God, where's Chance?” Silver cried.

The police immediately pulled out their guns. “Freeze! Drop the weapon!” one of them yelled.

The older boy turned to see two officers pointing their weapons at him while four more squad cars screeched to a halt. With a tired, zombie-like look, he continued walking as if they weren't even there. The newly arrived police officers jumped out of their squad cars and took up positions.

“Drop the weapon! Now!”

Suddenly the older boy paused, dropped the knife, and fell to his knees. They ordered him to lie on his stomach and spread his arms. He complied. As the officers cautiously approached him, they noticed a stream of blood flowing from under his still body, forming a dark puddle on the pavement.

Suddenly, one of the officers turned. “Freeze!” he yelled.

Everyone turned to watch Chance slowly walk out, his shirt covered in blood.

“Oh my God!” Silver gasped.

All weapons were now pointed at Chance as he raised his hands up in the air and followed their orders, kneeling with his hands behind his head.

Minutes later, the police pulled a white sheet over the victim. As they were handcuffing Chance, Silver frantically ran toward them.

“What are y'all doing? He didn't do anything—why y'all taking him away?”

The detective spoke nonchalantly. “Young lady, this is police business. Step to the curb.”

Following the detectives, Silver nervously jumped in front of them. “Why y'all taking him away? He didn't do nothing but defend himself.”

Missy and Diego tried to calm her down, but it was fruitless.

“I'm not going to ask you again, young lady,” the detective said. “Move to the curb! This is police business!”

In a raging fit, Silver lashed out. “Fuck you, you stupid motherfucker! He ain't do shit!”

The white detective turned to Missy and Diego. “If you don't get that little black bitch out of here right now, I'm gonna take her smart ass downtown, too!”

The comment made Silver even angrier. “Your mother's a bitch, you white bastard!”

Beet red, the detective pulled out his billy club to hit Silver,
but a black officer stepped in front of him, put a hand on his shoulder, and shook his head.

“Not while I'm around. I suggest you just calm down!”

The white detective looked around at all the eyes staring at him, then knocked the black officer's hand off his jacket and spat on the ground as he tossed Chance into the backseat of the patrol car. He gave Silver and the black officer an evil look before driving off.

Silver cried as she saw Chance somberly watching her from the back of the squad car. “Chance!” she yelled. She broke free from Missy and Diego and began running alongside the squad car. Chance placed his face against the glass as she touched the window. “Chance, don't leave me, baby … Don't leave me. I need you.” As the car picked up speed, Silver lost her balance and stumbled. “Chaaaance!” Silver yelled, pounding the pavement and weeping uncontrollably in the middle of the street.

Battered, bloodied, and bruised, Missy and Diego comforted Silver all the way home. When they finally got to her building, they noticed two white detectives standing in front of Silver's building, talking with Birdie.

“Goddamn, Silver,” Missy said, surprised, “that detective musta really been pissed at you. They already found out where you live.”

Birdie moaned when he spotted Silver with her friends. “Silver,” Birdie yelled, his voice breaking, “I got to talk to you right now.”

Missy tapped Silver on the shoulder. “Yo, Silver, you know I got your back if you want me to testify.”

Birdie grabbed Silver by the hand. He appeared not even to
notice her battered face as he led her into the building, the two detectives close behind them.

“Baby,” Birdie said sadly, “I got … well, I got some bad, bad news to tell you.” Looking down, he slowly continued. “Your mama … your mama has gone bye-bye, and she won't ever be coming home again.” Birdie broke down and hugged Silver tightly as he sobbed. “I'm sorry, baby! I'm so, so sorry!”

As she stared into Birdie's wet face, Silver grew numb and her mind went blank.

Two weeks had
passed since the funeral. Silver remained sullen and silent. Losing her mother to a violent death and Chance to Spofford was too much for her to handle. Birdie, who believed in superstition, knew that death and bad luck came in threes. He simply hoped for Silver's sake that he was wrong. Silver had seen more hell in her short life than most adults had in an entire lifetime. Birdie allowed Silver to stay home from school for the two weeks, understanding how she wanted and needed a break, but then felt it was time for her to start going back to school.

On her first day back to school, Birdie chose to walk with Silver. They happened upon Mitts, the dope fiend. As they approached, Mitts reached inside his tattered and stained coat, pulled out a single long-stemmed red rose, and held it out to her. Silver looked at him for a brief moment and then slowly walked over and accepted it. “Thank you,” she said softly. It was the first time she had spoken since learning of her mother's death.

When they reached the school, Birdie slowed when he saw Silver's grandmother standing in front of the school with two
police officers. With them stood a woman wearing a tweed jacket and carrying a briefcase. As Birdie approached, he got the uneasy feeling that his premonition was right—tragedy did come in threes. The lady with the briefcase spoke first.

“Mr. Alton?” the lady inquired.

“What is this about?” Birdie asked suspiciously.

“My name is Sandra Corde, I'm a social worker from the Bureau of Child Welfare, and I'm here to serve you notice that custody of Silver Jones has been granted to Thelma Jones, her maternal grandmother.”

Birdie shook his head while looking at the papers she handed him. “Oh, no, there must be some sort of mistake. Jesse did not want her to have Silver, she told me.”

“Mr. Alton, the State of New York makes the decision over who a child is awarded to after the untimely demise of her guardian,” Corde coldly informed them. “Since there are no records of Silver's biological father, she automatically goes to the next of kin, which is her grandmother, Mrs. Jones.”

Birdie pulled Silver behind him. “No, this ain't right. I can't allow you to take Silver away from me.”

“You have no say in this, Mr. Alton. It is a matter decided by the courts.”

Holding Silver closer to him, Birdie exploded. “Bitch, fuck you and fuck the courts, I'm not gonna let you take my baby from me!”

One of the police officers got on his radio and called for backup.

“Mr. Alton,” the social worker said, “it is not necessary to display such rage in front of the child; she's already been through enough.”

Growing agitated, Birdie snapped, “Bitch, if you try putting your hands on this child, I'm show you real rage!”

The police officer attempted to calm Birdie down, but made the fatal mistake of getting too close. “Take it easy, buddy, or we'll have to—”

Birdie hauled off and punched him in the face. The other officer immediately pulled out his billy club and swung at Birdie's head, but Birdie was much quicker than the overweight cop. He blocked the blow with his arm, disarmed him, and began beating them both with the club.

Within moments, four police cruisers screeched to a halt, and the uniforms jumped Birdie from behind. Birdie put up a valiant fight but yielded to the eight billy clubs raining down on him.

“Silver, Silver …,” Birdie managed to gurgle. “I'm sorry … I'm sorry, Silver! I'm sorry … I'm sorry … I'm …”

The police refused to let up, beating him until he slipped into unconsciousness.

Inside Silver's new home
, the same home her mother had grown up in, Silver's grandmother set the rules. She assured Silver that living there would not be a vacation, and that if it weren't for the state checks she was getting for Silver, she would have let them put her in a foster home. Her grandmother vigorously controlled every waking moment. Silver assumed the bulk of the household chores, including scrubbing the floors, doing the laundry, and taking out the trash. Silver wasn't even allowed to watch television or go outside to play with her friends
because her entire day was filled with homework or chores, a move carefully calculated by her domineering grandmother.

After dinner, Silver usually went straight to bed, partly due to boredom and partly due to exhaustion. At those times, Silver thought about her mother, Birdie, and Chance—she missed them all. These were also the times that she cried herself to sleep without a single person to comfort her or tell it wasn't her fault and everything would be all right.

As time went by, her grandmother began to detest her as she had Jesse. If her grandmother was at all dissatisfied with the chores Silver had done, she would beat her. If Silver came home a minute late, she would beat her. Her grandmother's weapon of choice was a six-foot brown extension cord. She would whup Silver so viciously that the beatings left hideous and permanent scars on her back. It seemed at times as if Silver could not do anything that satisfied her grandmother. Her grandmother would strip her buck naked after a beating, run hot bath water over her, and then pour a bottle of witch hazel over her. Then she was forced to sleep in the tub to cleanse her of what her grandmother called “the devil in her.” She regularly made cruel comments comparing her to her mother: “You ain't shit, just like your damn momma! You gonna wind up just like her, a dirty whore—you watch! But I be damned if you kill me like that bitch kill her father!”

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D
espite enduring five years of virtual hell, Silver had grown into a beautiful young lady. Her grandmother despised her for it, so much so that she forced her to wear old-lady clothing to disguise her sex appeal. Over the years, the insults, beatings, and slave-like duties did not let up—they grew worse, and so did her grandmother. After her grandmother retired from teaching, she began to drink more and more wine, and the more she drank the more miserable she became.