Random Family: Love, Drugs, Trouble, and Coming of Age in the Bro

by LeBlanc, Adrian Nicole

  Jessica lay on the thin mattress. She flipped the photograph over and over, her daughters’ faces tumbling, like a puzzle she couldn’t crack. She comforted herself by telling herself stories about the life she longed for, rather than the one she had.

  Jessica emerged from segregation with a reassignment to the general population and a stack of mail: she’d placed a personal ad in a newspaper and now had lots of pen pals from all over the country. One of her most interesting correspondents claimed to be an attorney, who lived in the same town as Cesar’s latest prison—Elmira, New York. There was also an eight-page letter from Cesar’s buddy, her ex-love, Tito; Tito had been transferred to Sing Sing, where he was serving twenty-five to life on the murder charge. She received a note from Big Daddy, her favorite stepfather, who reported that Lourdes had rejected his recent invitation to the Poconos. Jessica also received a letter from the locked-up son of a fellow inmate, who’d been inspired to write because he’d been looking through his pictures and was reminded of how fine she looked. Her older brother, Robert, mailed a homemade computer-generated greeting, tucked in with another Jehovah’s Witness brochure. There were belated Valentine’s Day notes from her daughters, including one from Serena, with hand-drawn hearts and a computerized unicorn. Serena had gotten two F’s in school: “I couldn’t bleive it, But I am doing better now.”

  Amazon, Jessica’s inmate friend who practiced Santeria, offered Jessica a free consultation in honor of her upcoming birthday. They met in Jessica’s unit after evening count. Amazon had visions of Serena: “She’s going to run away. You’re never gonna see her again.” She still saw Serena running even with Jessica free.

  Jessica’s twenty-eighth birthday fell on a cold day in March. Her friends started her special day with a corsage made of Tootsie Pops. One pinned it onto her uniform, while another handed her a bouquet snatched from the desk of a guard. During her shift in the kitchen, Jessica spotted her friends sneaking out contraband—tomatoes in pockets, peppers behind books, onions tucked into waistbands. They prepared her favorite chilikida—crushed Doritos, cheese, peppers, onions, tomatoes, and chilies together, mixed with water, zapped in the microwave. They baked a cake.

  But Jessica could not shake Amazon’s prophecy, and she tracked the older woman down for a follow-up. Jessica believed in Amazon’s visionary powers. Before she’d fallen in love with Torres, Amazon had predicted that Jessica would give birth to two children fathered by a man in a uniform. This time, Amazon saw another man. This new one would be tall and strong. “He would complete me,” Jessica said in the same dreamy voice she used whenever she described the early days with Boy George. Amazon told Jessica that this new man would make her feel love as she had never known it, and Amazon envisioned Jessica’s belly growing again.

  Jessica was back in therapy. Throughout the spring, the doctor noted her progress:

  . . . Ms. Martinez presents as angry and seems to deal with frustration by acting out those feelings. She reports cursing people out as well as having frequently beaten people up while on the outside. She says it provides her with a sense of pleasure and satisfaction to see the person suffer as she feels they have made her suffer. Inmate reports a history of suicide attempts (9 times) and says the only reason that she is alive today is because of her children particularly her ten-year-old daughter. Appears to have borderline features with a narcissistic bent.

  Inmate . . . discussed the sexual abuse she received from her stepfather which occurred over a period of many years. She had a great deal of anger toward him and her mother who she felt did not protect her or provide her with the nurturance that she needed. She again repeated that the only time she feels alive is when she is feeling pain. . . . We agreed to meet again and begin work in the workbook The Courage to Heal.

  Presenting problem: Explosive rage reactions, long-term depression, unresolved issues of sexual abuse.

  The doctor also noted a pattern: Jessica’s emotions were extreme at the beginning of the sessions, but visibly improved after even the briefest of talks.

  Again and again, Jessica returned to her “lack of trust in others and a deep-seated fear of being hurt.” She spoke frequently of her daughters. In May, the doctor noted:

  She . . . brought in pictures of her children that she received yesterday. Ms. Martinez proudly shared pictures stating that it was the children that were helping her to stay focused and not lose control. . . . Especially her ten-year-old daughter.

  What Jessica imagined of Serena she extracted mostly from memories of herself at Serena’s age. Besides Serena’s letters, and the odd update from Coco, Jessica had little information about what was really going on in her daughter’s life. Jessica mined her own adolescence for clues. She’d cut herself to relieve anguish, scratching the thin flesh of her underarms and comb marks on her inner thighs. As a woman, Jessica preferred somebody else’s blood. “I’m getting so fucking fed up, I don’t care who has to pay, and whoever has anything to do with this is gonna pay, every tear I shed,” she said. “I try to tell myself, ‘Forgive, forgive, forgive,’ but my heart’s filling up with revenge. But revenge—that’s the only satisfaction I’m gonna get.” She wondered if her fierce attachment to men like Torres and George was due more to hatred than to love.

  That August 1996, Torres showed up late for his sentencing at the federal courthouse in New Haven. He wore a navy uniform from the boiler company where he now worked. He looked like Boy George as he rose to stand before the judge—except for the short ponytail and his obvious nervousness.

  Torres had agreed to plead guilty to a misdemeanor charge when confronted with the positive results from the twin boys’ DNA saliva swabs—which an FBI agent had traveled to Troy to obtain. Jessica wasn’t allowed to attend the sentencing, but she asked her attorney to request three things on her behalf: first, that Torres acknowledge paternity of the twins; second, that the children bear his last name; third, she wanted him to help support the boys financially, or, at the very least, provide bus fare so that Milagros could bring them to Danbury.

  The judge dismissed all three requests—they were civil court matters—although he told Torres that losing his wife and job was punishment enough for the criminal charge. He gave Torres probation for violating Title 18, U.S.C., Section 2243 (b) of the Federal Criminal Code—Sexual Abuse of a Ward.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Ramapo Anchorage Camp, in Rhinebeck, New York, sponsored a special program called Mild Month. Mild Month was a supplemental program for children having social and educational difficulties, which ran in May, during the school year. Mild Month aimed to provide children with consistent structure, close attention, safety, and fun within routine. The young counselors were college students studying education, social work, and psychology. The counselor-to-camper ratio was one-to-one; if attention was the problem, the staffing fulfilled the need. Ramapo’s philosophy was that if the campers felt secure, they could master the life skills necessary for school. Children were rewarded not for accomplishment but for effort and attitude.

  Coco had signed up Mercedes and Nikki for camp during the winter, and when May finally rolled around, she bravely stuck to her decision. It was a bold, unprecedented move—to willingly place her children in the hands of strangers—which incurred the disapproval and scorn of her family and friends. In her community, good mothering was premised on keeping one’s children away from authorities. Coco had been trying to deflect the criticism and begrudging comments and ill will for weeks. “You gotta take risks in this world,” she said.

  On the day of departure, Milagros sternly received Mercedes’s and Nikki’s good-bye kisses, standing on her slab of porch. She wore a large T-shirt and Lycra leggings. One of Jessica’s twin boys lay on his stomach on the dry dirt before her bare feet. He seemed content, intermittently fanning his legs. Milagros certainly doubted Coco’s wisdom. What kind of camp had male counselors for little girls?

  All week, Coco had quizzed her daughters about good-touch and bad-touch, which
the children had learned from an abuse-prevention coloring book. Milagros dictated from her step as the girls kissed their cousins: “No mens going to touch you. There ain’t no reason for no mens to touch you, you remember that?” Coco reminded them to wear shirts beneath their tank tops.

  “I love you, Mommy, I love you, Frankie, love ya’aw,” Nikki blandly repeated to everyone.

  “She been saying it for days,” Coco said, scrutinizing Nikki. Frankie wasn’t even outside. Coco told the girls to go inside and say good-bye to him. He brooded on the couch, listening to his Walkman while watching sports. He accepted their kisses, but didn’t say anything. Frankie didn’t like good-byes. Coco didn’t either, but she still had a few more hours with her daughters.

  When they arrived at Ramapo, Nikki led Coco and Mercedes down a wooded path covered in pine needles. The camp sat on its own freshwater lake on 240 acres of wooded hills, fields, and streams. They heard singing in the distance. Coco carried Nautica; Mercedes gripped Coco’s free hand. The singing got louder nearer the drop-off point. Counselors poured over the sloping hillsides, skipping and clapping. They greeted their charges and helped carry their bags. Most of the campers, who lived in New York City, had come by bus. Mercedes clutched her mother’s leg. Coco was swept up in the excitement.

  “Hei-di hei-di hei-di ho!” some of the counselors shouted.

  “Rickety-rackety rickety-rackety row!” others called back.

  Coco joined right in. “I like that. That they ain’t worried about making a fool of themself. That they want the kids to laugh,” Coco said. She wondered how people got jobs like this.

  Nikki’s bunk counselor, a dark-haired college freshman named Sarah, reached down and shook Nikki’s hand. Nikki held her white teddy bear beneath her other arm like a briefcase, turned to Coco, and said, “Bye, Mommy.”

  “Ain’t you gonna give me a hug and a kiss?” Coco asked.

  Nikki quickly kissed and hugged her mother and sister. Then Nikki retrieved Sarah’s hand and walked away. Nautica called after, “Can I go with you?”

  Sarah walked back over to Nautica, knelt down, and looked her in the eye. “I’ll make a deal,” Sarah said. “How about this? See that dirt at the end of the grass? You can walk us up to there.” To Coco’s surprise, Nautica let Nikki go at the boundary and watched her sister disappear into the rowdy crowd. Mercedes, however, refused to move.

  Mercedes’s counselor, Beth, suggested that Coco escort her to the bunk. Beth was a Ramapo veteran. She led the way through a wooded path to a brown cabin. Name tags decorated the beds. Welcome notes lined the wooden walls. Beth invited Mercedes to find her nametag. Mercedes turned her head shyly into Coco’s belly. “It’s in green,” Beth suggested. Mercedes bit her finger.

  “Think, Mercedes, concentrate! You getting nervous. You looking at the names too fast!” Coco said.

  “You have a good bed. It’s right by the table where there are books,” Beth hinted. She confided to Mercedes that each night after they brushed their teeth, the bunk mates selected a story and she read it aloud.

  Coco scanned the cabin. “Oh, I didn’t know they could bring a radio!”

  “It’s the counselors’,” Beth said.

  “I don’t wanna go,” Mercedes said.

  “What’s wrong, Mercedes?” Coco asked.

  “Mercedes, we can go to the—” Beth started.

  “I said I don’t wanna go,” Mercedes said.

  “Ai, Mercedes—” Coco said.

  “I ain’t going. I am going with my mother,” Mercedes declared. She gulped down a cry. Coco mouthed to Beth over Mercedes’s head, “Can she be with her sister? She’ll be okay if she can stay with Nikki.”

  “Mercedes, your sister won’t be far away. It’s time for your mother to go,” Beth said. Mercedes shook her head. Other staff members, sensing impending trouble, joined them as they walked toward the sing-along. Out of earshot of the counselors, Coco whispered, “How about a bribe? Mercedes, when you get home, I’ll try to get you anything you want.”

  Mercedes stopped. She stared at her mother, tears still wet around her eyes. “I don’t believe you,” she said, considering.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Get ready to go now. The longer this goes on, the harder it is,” Beth warned.

  The counselors trailed Coco, who followed Mercedes, who headed for Nautica, who had planted herself in a sandbox. She’d wet herself. Coco lifted Nautica and headed for the car. Mercedes rushed toward Coco, and the counselors picked up speed. They trotted beside Mercedes, listing all the things that camp meant you could do: pick strawberries (and eat as many as you wanted), go to the play center and build with blocks, take boat rides on the lake, eat dinners of burgers and fries.

  “I ain’t staying,” Mercedes called back over her shoulder. “I am going with my mother.”

  “Your mother is going to go now,” Beth said, panting.

  “I ain’t staying.”

  “Bye, Mercedes,” Coco said. Mercedes dove for Coco’s leg like a shortstop grasping for a ball. The counselors pinned Mercedes to the ground. Coco broke free and ran. Nautica bounced and looked back and forth at her wailing mother, her screeching sister. Clumps of sand fell from Nautica’s wet butt.

  Coco glanced over her shoulder and saw Mercedes kicking and bucking in a human web. “I guess that’s what they do, they hold them in a hug,” Coco said, pausing to catch her breath. Her voice cracked. Wrenching herself away from this vision, she broke into a run again, flying past the trees. When she reached the parking lot, she cramped up and plopped Nautica down on the hood of a car. Coco placed both palms flat on the hot metal, her chest heaving, tears pouring down her cheeks. She could hear Mercedes wailing through the woods. Leaving Mercedes was the hardest thing she’d ever done. With the exception of those nights she’d left her with Lourdes as a baby, it was the first time Coco and her daughter had ever been apart.

  On the way home, Coco stopped at Price Chopper and bought Serena a cake to celebrate her graduation from middle school. Milagros hadn’t planned a party; she felt that parties were for birthdays. Coco thought the special day should be acknowledged. She decorated Serena’s cake with a tube of blue frosting. Serena ran over as soon as she spotted Coco. Coco held out the cake; Serena had anticipated a gift. She silently read the homespun message and scrunched her face in disappointment. Coco dropped the cake in Serena’s hands. “That’s life!” Coco said, wounded. She turned her back on Serena and ran into her house.

  Coco filled the first uneasy day of the girls’ absence with music and the smell of King Pine. Cleaning gave her a sense of control. Frankie swept. He wiped up a sticky puddle of soda that had been inside the refrigerator door for months. Coco scrubbed the dishes, then the sink. She tossed away piles of papers and stray toy parts and sorted through clothes. She emptied drawers. She did load after load of laundry.

  Pearl liked to lie on her back on the floor beneath the glass table from the Rent-A-Center, watching her mother move about the kitchen. Every few laps, Coco would bend over the tabletop and Pearl would look up, as though she were gazing at a star. Coco would try to get Pearl to speak. She’d raise her arms and say, “Say, ‘I’m a miracle. God bless me, I’m alive.’ ” Pearl, smitten, would throw her hands up in the air.

  Ordinarily, Coco hung her laundry indoors, even on gorgeous days; sometimes she just felt too rotten about the marks on her skin to be seen. Plenty of folks shunned the indictment of daylight and stepped out for fresh air only in the forgiving dark of night. In warm weather, Coco avoided tank tops and short sleeves. But that day, she felt good enough to wear her T-shirt and to hang the wet clothes outdoors. Nautica trailed her. Pearl clutched the railing near the steps. Coco playfully clamped clothespins over Nautica’s jumper, making her into a contented porcupine. One by one, with determination, Nautica passed the pins back. “Mommy’s little helper,” Coco said. Nautica grinned into her neck with feigned nonchalance.

  Coco dragged the baby pool to the s
idewalk. Pearl grabbed on to the edge and watched it fill. She loved water. Whenever Pearl’s sisters were in the tub, she crawled in and joined them—a few times, fully clothed. Now Coco plunked her in the pool, and she splashed with pleasure. Frankie chased Coco with a hose. Pearl was so excited to see her parents playing that she threw herself backward gleefully, and sank. Coco rounded the corner just as Pearl slipped under. Coco scooped her up.

  After lunch, the girls napped. Frankie went off with his friends. Coco wrote Mercedes and Nikki letters (she’d already written each girl twice the night before). The laundry dried beneath the sun. A lawn mower buzzed in the distance. A dog barked. Coco listened to her talk shows and organized her prized photographs of her children in an empty box of baby wipes.

  Frankie came home early with a movie appropriate for children, a gesture Coco appreciated. Coco cooked and everybody ate and watched the movie together on the living room floor, which had been mopped and spread with fresh sheets. Coco always rested better with Frankie beside her, especially since Pearl had joined them. Once, he’d saved Pearl’s life. She was having a violent seizure, and he’d woken up to her head slapping against his leg. That night, they all drifted off to sleep together, Pearl’s oxygen machine hiccuping predictably.

  A few days later, Coco ripped open Mercedes’s first letter. It had been dictated to a counselor onto a donated pharmaceutical memo pad:

  Dear Mom,

  I miss you and I miss home, even though I like it here. I love boat riding! I like learning center. We had a party, and we ate ice cream, and we played a game called, “What Time Is It, Mr. Wolf?” with all my friends. We are going boating again tonight. I love you, and want to see Frankie. This letter is for him Frankie. I miss Pearl. I will love you forever (even when you are mad at me). We played Frisbee, too. My favorite song is “Boom Chicka Rocka Chicka Boom.” I will sing it for you. I want you to call me. I have friends here.