“Well she looks like a grown-ass woman,” he yelled at Kim.
“You asshole. How dare you?” She raised her voice at him.
“She’s the reason I came around so much,” he snarled, using the cruelest tone. “You don’t think it was you,” he tormented her. “Who could really want you?”
I grabbed my bathrobe and ran into the front room. He had almost finished dressing. “Get out and stay away from my aunt. She deserves better than your ass.” I opened the front door. “Out,” I demanded. My aunt wasn’t looking at us. She was fidgeting, pacing around like a caged animal. “And leave the keys,” I reminded him. Preston slammed the keys onto the floor and left. I went toward my aunt.
“I’m sorry, Auntie. I should have said something but you were happy and I thought that if I could avoid him . . .” My voice trailed off.
“He been bothering you? How long?”
“A week.”
“I’m so sorry, Gabby.”
“It’s not your fault. He was an asshole.”
“It’s like I’m a magnet for the worst men,” she cried. My aunt crumpled, the air draining right out of her.
“It’s gonna be all right. You really do deserve better.” I tried to comfort her.
“Did he really try to hit on you? Could he have been kidding?” she pleaded, as if she wanted me—no, needed me—to lie, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
12
On Saturday morning I woke up at 3:00 A.M. to get to the bus stop in downtown Brooklyn to take the bus to Elmira. I told my aunt that I was going and that I would spend the night with a friend from school who lived closer. Of course that friend was D-Waite. It’s not that I had to lie about being with my boyfriend but she had been depressed since Preston left, and I didn’t want to shove my happy love life in her face. D-Waite arranged for a cab to pick me up. He also insisted on giving me a hundred dollars for the trip even though I told him I had it covered.
I got to the bus stop and stood in line with a lot of single women and families. There were only a couple of women on the bus when I boarded. I grabbed a seat next to a window and went to sleep, which wasn’t hard because D-Waite and I had spent most of the night not sleeping. I woke just as the bus driver stopped outside the prison. I followed the other passengers, who knew the routine.
“You going to visit your man?” an older woman with kind eyes asked me.
“No. My father,” I said. Strange that a week ago I’d never said the word out loud and here it was rolling off my tongue.
“Must be really looking forward to seeing him. How long since you done seen him?” she wanted to know.
“I’ve never met him,” I admitted, and suddenly felt embarrassed and stupid for getting on this bus and traveling hours to visit a man who may have wanted nothing to do with me.
“Well aren’t you brave. Pretty thing like you. Any man would be proud to have a daughter like you.” I smiled in response because I didn’t know what to say. “If he refuses to see you then just fuck him. It’ll be his loss.”
Eventually a door opened and we were led into a screening room where we had to give our identification and say who we had come to visit. The gruff corrections officer stared down at my ID and scowled at me.
“A person under the age of eighteen needs to be accompanied by an adult.”
“But I’m going to be eighteen soon,” I pleaded.
“Well you can come back then,” she barked at me.
The lady I met in line stepped up to the desk. “She ain’t got to be eighteen if she visiting her daddy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that the prisoner was your father? What’s his name and ID number?”
“I don’t have his ID number but his name is John Thompson.”
The guard did a double take. “Big John Thompson?”
“Yes, that’s him,” I answered, relieved that she knew who I was talking about.
“He know you coming?” Her voice had taken on a more respectful tone.
“No, ma’am.”
“Wait over there.” She pointed to another line.
It felt like I waited forever. A woman was turned away and wound up screaming obscenities at the officers. They had to threaten to ban her from visiting again if she didn’t behave. That’s when I learned there was only one bus and it waited outside until visiting hours were over. I wondered if I would be in her shoes in a minute. Who knew how many people had come to visit men they had been told were their father? I only had my mother’s word, and since she’d lied to me about my father my whole life I suddenly didn’t know if I could even trust it.
“Gabrielle Davenport!” another guard called out. I went over and he led me through a series of heavy, clanging steel doors until I was in what looked like a public school cafeteria. “Wait here!”
He left the room, but there were a few other officers guarding the prisoners. Mostly women and children sat on metal picnic tables visiting inmates all around the room. People kept buying things out of the vending machine against the back wall. Just the sight of food reminded me that I hadn’t eaten yet. Even though it was only eight o’clock, I’d already been up for five hours. I glanced all around the room until I saw the door where the inmates were being led through. The door opened and a tall, imposing man with a short haircut and a manicured beard entered. His eyes took in the entire scope of the room, eventually coming to rest on me. With a few strides he stood across from me.
“Sit.” It sounded like a command and I knew to follow it. This wasn’t a man used to his orders being disobeyed. He studied me before saying anything more. Finally he spoke.
“So she kept you.” His words shocked me.
“You knew about me?”
“I knew that your mother was pregnant. I didn’t know that she hadn’t gone through with the abortion.”
“Abortion! Sorry I wasted your time.” I started to stand up but he grabbed my hand.
“That was her idea. I wanted her to keep our baby.”
“You did?” I relaxed down in my seat.
“Yes. I did, but your mother hated my life. She didn’t want you anywhere near it. That’s why she lied, because she knew if she told me that I had a child I would have never abandoned her or you.”
“But how do you even know that I’m your daughter? Maybe I belong to some other man.”
He burst out laughing. “Did you know your mother? She wasn’t like that. Besides you look just like my mother did at your age.”
“I do?”
“Yes. So your mother must have told you about me?”
“No, she never said anything. My Aunt Kim told me a few days ago.”
“And Evelyn?” The look on my face must have told him everything he needed to know. “What happened?” He didn’t hide the hurt in his eyes.
“Cancer. She died three weeks ago.” I couldn’t believe it was that recent. It seemed so long ago with everything that had happened.
“Who’s taking care of you? You must be, what, sixteen? No, you’re seventeen.”
“And a half. I live with my Aunt Kim at Cumberland housing projects.”
“Your mother would not have wanted that. She didn’t want you near that place.”
“I’m graduating in May and then I’m off to college. It’s not that long.”
“College? You’re going to college?” He started grinning like a proud father. “Where you going?”
“Harvard if I can work it out. My scholarship doesn’t cover it all but my dean is helping me look into some grants.”
“Harvard? Your mother did a real good job with you. Really good. She must have been proud,” he said softly, sounding equally as proud.
“Yeah, she was.”
“You need anything? Anything?”
“No, I just wanted to see you. To . . . I don’t know. With my mother gone I guess I . . .”
“I’m glad you came.”
“Why did you see me? You didn’t know. Do you get a lot of visitors claiming to be your children?”
“No, you’re the first. I did hear there was some girl in the Cumberland claiming she was my child. It made me nervous because I was really careful. I made a point to be careful not to have no baby mamas. I figured anybody bold enough to lie to me deserved a chance to do it to my face. I never thought I’d actually have a child.”
“And now you do,” I added.
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I am your father. You are my child, Gabrielle, and that means that you are under my protection. Is there anyone who needs to be dealt with?” His voice took on a dark, ominous tone.
“No, I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. For a second I thought about Preston, but then I realized how much it would hurt my aunt and I let it go.
We talked and caught up for the next almost five hours. I learned about his childhood and how he and my mother met and fell in love in ninth grade. He told me about his family, most of his relatives, wound up working for him and many of them ended up behind bars. His mother passed away a couple of years ago and he had been allowed to attend the funeral. I told him about my life before my mother died and about school. The only person I left out was D-Waite. Something told me that he wouldn’t be cool with his daughter dating a drug dealer.
“Five minutes!” a guard yelled out, signaling the end of visiting day.
“Gabrielle, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way because today has been the highlight of my life. But, I don’t ever want you to come back here.”
“But—” I started to protest before he interrupted me.
“It’s not that I don’t care or that I don’t want to see you. I do, but not inside these walls. You don’t belong inside here. Give me your phone number.”
I told him the number with tears stinging my eyes. “Aren’t you gonna write it down?” I worried.
“I got it. It’s the most important number I know.” He brushed away my tears with his hand. “I’m gonna have someone contact you. His name is Bruce. If you ever need me I want you to go through him. He’s safe.”
“Will I ever see you again?”
“I hope so. I could be out in seven. We’ll see.”
“Can I write you?”
“Yes, but just know that these people read everything. Be careful what you put down in writing and don’t worry about anything. You’ll be taken care of.”
“But I’m fine.”
“I know, but you’re also my child.” He stood up and I did the same. For a moment neither of us knew how to react. Finally I went to him and threw my arms around him. I realized that this may be the only chance I may ever get to hug my father so I had to take it. A sigh of relief left my lips when he wrapped his arms around me.
“Thompson!” the guard called out in warning, but I noticed that he used a different tone than I’d heard him use for the other inmates. This one was tinged in respect and apology. Big John turned and smiled as he walked out of the visiting room.
In the line for the bus I saw the woman who had spoken to me earlier. “It must have gone good with your father. You look happy.”
“Yeah, it did.”
“I bet you’re glad you took a chance and came to visit him.”
“Yes, I am.” I grinned. Maybe my life was actually going to be all right.
13
“Yeah, I told him not to be stupid,” one of the passengers on the bus shouted into her phone. “Shit, those COs will fuck you up just for looking at them wrong,” she continued. “But his ass gotta be a hard rock. Uh-huh, you got that right.” She sat directly in front of me, carrying on her conversation like she was sitting alone in her living room. Most of the other passengers were half asleep, drained from the experience of visiting their loved ones behind bars.
“Jesus Christ!” someone snapped, but the woman on the phone didn’t hear or she chose to ignore them.
“Bitch, I told you that I told him that. Ain’t you listening to nothing I said?” she hollered at the person on the other end of the phone.
“We all listening. You talking so loud we ain’t got no choice,” a woman responded to her comment.
“Well I was minding my business. Why don’t you mind yours?”
“Because you talking so loud you done made it mine. Hell, I can’t hear myself think you making so much damn noise.”
“Hold on,” the woman spoke into the phone.
“It’s just rude,” another person added.
“Some people don’t have no home training. Telling all their business,” one of the few men on the bus added. I got nervous, bracing for a full-scale revolt against the woman on the phone.
“I’ma call you when I arrive. These Negros acting all crazy.” She hung up to lots more comments and a few cheers. Aside from that incidence the ride home was uneventful.
The entire bus ride back I replayed the visit over and over in my head. It could have just as easily gone the other way with him rejecting me or not believing me, but none of that happened and now I had a father. Growing up I had craved a dad, someone to show me how to ride a bike and protect me from weirdoes.
“Not everybody gets a father. Some people don’t even have a mother,” my mom would always explain to me when I complained. After a while I stopped saying anything and kept the loss to myself. I didn’t want to make her feel bad that she wasn’t enough, because the truth was she could never be a father to me. It didn’t matter how many times people referred to her as both the mother and the father; I always knew the difference. When I’d see kids with their daddies I used to ache. It got to a point where I would pretend that my friends’ fathers were mine, but it wasn’t the same and I knew it. But now it appeared that I was one of those people who had a father; only he wouldn’t be taking me anywhere or spending quality time together with me.
D-Waite was waiting for me when I got off the bus. The big-ass smile on his face made me so happy. I’d texted him when I left the prison but I didn’t expect him to be there.
“Come here.” He opened his arms to embrace me. “You must be tired. So tell me everything. Did you see him?”
“Yeah, I did.” A smile broke out on my face. “I’m his daughter.”
“Really? No blood test? No drama?”
“No. He said that I look exactly like his mother did at my age.”
“Guess you’re not my favorite little orphan anymore.” He kissed me on the lips.
“As long as I’m still your favorite something.”
Instead of playing with me he grew serious and nervous, like he was keeping some secret and didn’t know how to tell me something. It was the same way my mom acted when she had to tell me she was sick.
“What? You’re making me nervous.” My stomach started churning.
“Call your aunt.” He held my hand. “Do it.”
I retrieved my phone and dialed the number. “Hi, Auntie.” I was so excited to share my news with her but her voice was shaky.
“Hey, baby,” she mumbled.
“You all right?”
“Fine, just tired.”
“You don’t sound so good. I’m coming home.”
“Nah, I’m . . . I won’t be here. I’m going out for a walk.” She slurred her words as she hurried off the phone.
I stared at D-Waite. “She sounded terrible.”
“She’s using again,” he told me.
“Are you sure? I mean how do you know?”
“One of my boys told me yesterday that she bought from him. I thought I fixed it.”
“What did you do?”
“I made sure no one would sell to her. Let’s get a cab.” We hopped a cab to Cumberland and got to Aunt Kim’s in about ten minutes. When we pulled up outside I saw Mika, Naynay, and the rest of their group hanging out on the steps of the next building. She stuck her middle finger up at me as we passed but didn’t say anything. D-Waite took my hand and led me inside the building. I was sure that didn’t buy me any points with those girls. We entered the apartment, which looked as if someo
ne had tossed it searching for something. My aunt was nowhere to be found.
“Oh my God! What if something happened to her?”
“What did she say?”
“That she was going for a walk.”
“Let’s go.” D-Waite grabbed my hand and we hurried outside. He approached a couple of guys out front.
“Y’all seen her aunt?”
“Kim. She’s my height, brown long hair?” I pleaded.
“Crackhead Kimmie?” one of them asked, clearly familiar with her.
“Man, why you gotta go there?” D-Waite chastised the guy.
“Have you seen her?”
“She just went that way.” He pointed to the backside of the building.
“She on it?” D-Waite asked.
“If she ain’t then she about to be. She had the itch, man.”
“Gab, go back inside and wait for me.” D-Waite motioned toward the door.
I shook my head, refusing to budge. “I’m going with you.” I stood my ground.
“You can’t. You shouldn’t see this,” he warned me.
“Let’s go!” I took his hand.
“Shit! Fine, but this was not my idea.” He picked up the pace and led me around the back of the building across the street and down a block. As seedy as Cumberland was, this took it down to a much lower level. This was the skid row of Brooklyn. Homeless people were milling around, sleeping right in the middle of the block, drinking, and getting high. This appeared to be a lawless haven for debauchery and criminal activity. A young kid ran up to D-Waite.
“You holding, man? I’m wiped clean.”
“Fuck out of here!” D-Waite shouted at him.
“I got customers need some shit,” he pleaded.
“I’m clean, man. I can’t help you.”
The guy started to walk away.
“Wait. Bizzy, you seen a woman people call Crackhead Kimmie?” He glanced apologetically at me.
“Yeah, she went up there.”
“Shit!” He slapped his hands over his face.
“What?” I moved his hands from over his eyes.
“You don’t need to see what’s up in there,” he warned me again, but I took his hand and led him in the direction Bizzy had pointed.
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