Roger stood at the podium with his face buried in his notes. He flipped back and forth through the stack of papers, ignoring Janae, who was standing right next to him.
She prayed to God that this would be her first and last press conference. She was petrified as if she was being hauled off for slaughter.
“When this starts, make sure you are standing right next to me. And try your best to look confident and calm, and look straight into the camera,” Roger clipped, immediately going back to flicking the pages of his notes.
“Okay,” Janae said, sensing that something was wrong. She closed her eyes and tried to shake off the doomed feeling she woke up with that morning.
Reporters and video crews started to stream into the room, and Janae’s chest grew tighter. The lights in the cramped space glared, making her feel completely exposed.
She pressed her eyes shut, again. Help me be strong for Malik.
The podium separated Janae and Roger from the reporters, but they were still so close she swore she could feel their breath on her skin, stale hot breath that was now making her nauseous on top of her nervousness.
One reporter eyed his watch while two others talked on their cell phones in rushed voices. Janae noticed one guy who wore a black jacket with a Channel 10 insignia on it. Every once in a while she would catch him staring at her, and then he would jot down a few notes on a small pad. She tried to ignore him, but he wouldn’t stop staring and then jotting down more notes. She could feel her nostrils flare a bit. Under different circumstances she would have been tempted to snatch that damn pad away from him. Now, she just shifted her body away from him to obstruct his dead-on view.
Roger leaned toward her and smiled tightly. “Here we go.” He held up his hands to the audience of ten. “Let’s get started. I want to thank all of you for coming to this press conference. I know every one of you in here in some capacity or other, and I want you to know that I appreciate your interest. First I want to tell you what the CPHR is up to, and then I will take your questions.”
“Who is this you have beside you, Roger?”
Janae didn’t flinch. It was the Channel 10 reporter. She was determined to look directly at the camera, the way Roger had instructed her earlier.
“Just give me a sec and all will become clear. I gather most of you were just at the DA’s press conference.”
Ah, that’s what it was, Janae thought, that’s what that funky vibe was all about.
“I was told that the office announced its new effort to ‘get tough’ on juveniles who commit adult crimes. That they’ve decided to create a special unit so that they can up the ante on the number of these defendants being prosecuted as adults.” There was an edge to Roger’s voice, and his cheeks were a bit flushed with anger.
“Let me begin by saying that what the DA is doing is fundamentally flawed. The goal of the Pennsylvania juvenile justice system is three-pronged.” He held up his right index finger. “First, it must protect the community. Second, it must impose accountability. But there is a third charge that is equally important, and that is to restore the juvenile—that’s the child we’re talking about here—to a place where he can be a functional and productive citizen in his community once he has paid his debt to society. The DA’s office is being tragically shortsighted in its goal. To aggressively go after more and more of these kids and try them as adults when it has been scientifically proven that emotionally and mentally they are not equivalent to adults is to truly turn them into criminals. They plan to lock these kids up for five, ten, fifteen years with actual adult criminals. The problem is, when they come out they are adults. Really young ones twenty-five, thirty, and what are we going to do then when they really have been criminalized by the system we’ve housed them in?” He raised his open right hand at the reporters. “That’s all I am going to say on that subject for now. We at the CPHR”—he turned his body slightly and pointed to the banner behind them—“we have a bit of news ourselves. The CPHR is representing a juvenile in one of the more recent homicides in this city. The DA intends to try our fifteen-year-old client as an adult on a charge of first-degree murder. However, he is currently in the juvenile system, and our plan is to keep it that way.”
“But shouldn’t he be in adult court with the other teenage murderers that the DA mentioned who are, literally, terrorizing communities?” asked a reporter.
The reporter may as well have taken a knife and stabbed Janae in the heart, speaking of Malik as a murderer. You don’t know my son. You don’t know his heart. He could never do what they have accused him of.
Roger kept talking, as if the reporter had never parted his lips. “It is our position that my client is innocent of these charges, and we intend to make sure that by the end of this case the evidence will bear this out.”
Janae reached for Roger’s hand and squeezed it. He finally called Malik innocent.
With his free hand he patted their embraced hands and then pulled her closer to him and the podium. “This is my client’s mother, Janae Williams. That’s J-A-N-A-E. She is here to support her son.” Roger paused. Releasing Janae’s hand, he leaned forward pointing at the reporters. “Now, let me be clear. In no way do I support, condone, or acquiesce to the use of my client’s name simply because I have told you his mother’s name. It’s poor journalism when the media exposes a child to condemnation and stigma when the system hasn’t even determined yet that he’s done anything wrong.”
“His name is already out there,” one reporter shouted.
“There’s no need to perpetuate the wrong,” Roger retorted.
“Why the press conference, Roger? Murders happen in this city practically every day. Why is the CPHR getting involved in a homicide, and why this case?”
“Jerry, those are excellent questions. Murder does happen in Philly practically every day. You’re right. We need to start asking ourselves why. Too often the focus becomes prison. Build more prisons for the prisoners. It’s not working. In fact, the problem is getting worse. The victims and the alleged perpetrators are getting younger and younger. And what is the DA’s response? Let’s charge them as adults. Let’s ignore the fact that they are not fully developed and are not capable of thinking and processing decisions the way adults do. Let’s throw them in prison and ensure that if they ever get out, they really will be criminals.”
“So what’s the solution? We can’t have these kids taking over the city, terrorizing anyone who has the misfortune to cross their paths,” said the same reporter sarcastically.
“Let’s get real, Jerry, the chances of you becoming a victim, a white middle-aged guy who probably lives in the suburbs, are slim to none. We are talking about young black boys who are victimizing young black boys. So you asked earlier why the CPHR is getting involved in a homicide case; here’s the reason: it is our position that the DA’s office and the criminal justice system as a whole deal unjustly with black boys. And the consequence has been that a whole generation of black males is endangered and should be afforded protection under the laws of our land. We also filed a companion case in federal court seeking to broaden the scope of the current Endangered Species Act to include threatened human life. All of this to address the dire conditions that too many young black boys face on a daily basis in this country.”
The guy from Channel 10 had an aggressive glare in his eye. “Is it your position that they should somehow be exempt from the consequences of their actions? Under this broadened law, would they be protected from a murder charge if they’ve committed a murder?”
The entire time he spoke, his eyes were locked on Janae.
Roger leaned into the podium. His voice boomed through the microphone: “There are two important words here. Endangered and protection. In this country when a species is endangered what do we do?” He paused and the reporters looked at each other.
“I’ll tell you. We seek to protect it. And why do we protect it? Because it has value. Imagine a world where there is no tiger. They are endangered. Already
three types of tigers no longer exist. Imagine if they were all gone. Do you remember the first time you saw one? Do you remember trips to the zoo, the way they would pace and arch their majestic backs? And if we got lucky they would open their ferocious mouths in a yawn and then we could really see the threat and beauty of them? How would you describe the extinct tiger to your future grandchildren if we as a society didn’t take efforts to save the tiger now? Much like the tiger, African-American boys are endangered. And if we don’t do something about it, they could share the fate of those long-lost tigers.”
“Just so I am clear,” the Channel 10 reporter said. “You are claiming that black boys are animals that need protecting.”
Roger frowned. “Yes. Yes, that is exactly what I am saying. But we are all animals, aren’t we?”
“Why should they be protected, any more than other kids who have committed a crime?” another reporter questioned.
Roger looked at him intently, begging him to get it, not as a reporter, but as a man, a fellow human being. “Because they are the ones endangered. It’s not even close, the number of black boys we are losing to violence, illiteracy, and drugs, on a daily basis, compared to white boys. It’s a crisis that is staring us dead on. Why should we care about tigers existing more than our fellow human beings who can think and reason and if given the right opportunities help solve the great mysteries of the world?”
“If they were that great at reasoning, then maybe they wouldn’t be endangered,” the Channel 10 guy offered, with a smirk of amusement. “Just maybe a little Darwinism is at play here. Maybe they don’t survive because they are not fit—”
“You racist bastard! You actually believe that nonsense—that kids like my son are inferior because of the color of their skin!” Janae exploded into the microphone. The rumbling of her voice was followed by the thunderous sound of her amplified movement. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. Her dress clung to her, the unnatural fibers responding to the moisture that seemed to spill out of every pore on her body. Her chest was burning as if her heart was on fire.
Photographers snapped numerous photos.
Roger tugged at her arm. Instinctively, he reached for the closest mic and covered it with his fist.
“Do you like your attorney comparing your son to an animal?” a voice bellowed from the crowd of reporters. It seemed like there were more than ten now, their microphones and cameras aggressively angling toward Janae.
She shook her head uncontrollably. “No! No!”
Roger gripped Janae’s waist, blocking her from the journalist. “This press conference is over.”
“I think I heard her say no,” said one of the reporters. “Why are you making an argument, Roger, that your client disagrees with?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Janae forced her way around Roger, anxious to set the record straight. But Roger pressed Janae closer to him, trying desperately to silence her. He held up his free hand. “I want to thank you all for coming . . .”
He didn’t let Janae go as he gathered his notes. He glanced behind him in search of a second exit from this pillbox of a space. The energy in the room had risen considerably. The podium no longer served as a divider between Roger and Janae and the reporters. One of the closest reporters shoved a small silver box in Janae’s face.
“What are your thoughts on the DA’s move to step up its efforts to try more and more juveniles, like your son, as adults. Do you think it’s a racist policy?”
Janae tilted her head to get more than a side view of Roger. Her breathing was beginning to return to normal. The chaotic emotions she had been carrying around had made their escape. She felt suddenly an odd sense of control over her life. She reached for the microphone briefly tugging against Roger’s soft pull of resistance.
She looked straight into the camera. “All I know for sure is that my son is innocent of this horrific crime. I also know that he is very much a kid and should be treated as one,” she said and smiled softly, revealing just how beautiful she was. “Malik would be totally embarrassed if he heard me say this, but he still has his very first security blanket. Please, please don’t paint him as a monster. He’s not. He’s not.” She released the microphone and turned away from the camera. She removed Roger’s hand from her waist and the two of them made their way out of the conference room.
ROGER’S FACE WAS NEARLY CRIMSON BY THE TIME HE AND JANAE REACHED his car. He snatched the back passenger door open and flung his briefcase onto a stack of papers. He turned to her, with one hand on the hood of the car to support his weight.
“What the hell do you call that, Janae?”
She covered her face with her hands and leaned back heavily onto the car. When she removed them, her eyes were red and swollen with tears. “I’m so sorry. I blew it, Roger. Plain and simple.”
“You sure did.” White puffs of air escaped his nostrils and mouth. “That little outburst of yours—” He looked at her intently. “Make it your last.”
She nodded her head eagerly in agreement. “It won’t happen again. I promise you.”
“No, Janae, promise yourself.” He sighed, followed by a lengthy pause. “Well, do you need a ride home or something?”
She wiped at her tears with the sleeve of her jacket. “No. My boss said I could work a half-day. The bus stop is on the corner. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“JANAE WILLIAMS.”
She immediately looked up at the unexpected call of her name. Calvin was walking toward her. He wore a long camel-hair coat over a suit. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, which he removed before he sat down beside her on the bench in the partially enclosed glass bus-stop booth.
She shook her head slightly. “You just missed Roger.”
“So you do remember me?”
“What are you—stalking Roger?” Janae said, wiping at the last traces of tears.
Calvin chuckled, revealing perfect white teeth. Money for a dentist was hard to come by in Janae’s world. “Some might say that. But, I actually wanted to talk to you.”
Janae’s brow furrowed.
“I was at the press conference.” He pointed over his shoulder toward the building.
“I didn’t see you, Mr. Good Dental Coverage,” she said with a little sting to it.
He completely ignored her slight. “You were too busy acting the fool to notice me.” His right eyebrow arched severely.
Janae shook her head. “God, was it that bad?”
“Yes,” he said definitively. “Under no circumstances can you afford to lose your cool like that. You end up hurting your son. Remember, anything stupid you do they will use against you.”
Janae’s eyes swelled with tears as she felt the sting of his words.
Calvin and Janae sat in silence for a moment, watching the cars pass by. He shifted in his seat to face her. “Janae, where is Malik’s father?”
Janae flung her head back in nervous laughter. “He doesn’t have one.”
“You forget, I went to college. I know he at least had a father.” Calvin smiled, revealing those teeth again.
Janae returned the smile, feeling a calm come over her. She pulled David’s business card from her coat pocket. “He’s right here.”
Calvin read the card. “David Mitchell. Music Magician.”
“He’s an entertainer,” explained Janae, adding air quotes for “entertainer.”
“You should call him. Your son needs his father. Especially now.”
Janae pressed her eyes closed and shook her head. “Shouldn’t a father already know that his son needs him? I’m not even sure if that number is any good.”
Calvin didn’t respond.
With her eyes diverted she spoke just above a whisper. “I can count on one hand how many times the music magician has seen his son. I was a teenager when I had Malik. When I told David I was pregnant, he made it crystal clear that he didn’t want to be a father—and he wasn’t going to be one. He’s n
ever changed his mind. He has never called me about Malik. He has never paid child support. He has never anything.” A tear dropped from Janae’s eye, staining the business card. “When he gave me this,” she flicked the card, “he didn’t say ‘call me so I can know how my son is doing.’ He wanted to show me what he was accomplishing with his music. So no, I won’t be calling him.”
“Is there someone else, Janae?”
She shook her head. “It’s me and Malik. It’s always been just the two of us.”
Calvin sat, pensive.
After a while, she turned toward him. “I bet you’re the kind of father who’s always there for your child—best schools, attends every game and teacher conference. You’ve already been to my child’s hearing and press conference, and you don’t even know him.” She chuckled. “You have children, right?”
Calvin shook his head. “No children.”
“What are you waiting for?”
He inhaled deeply and then rested his back on the glass. “I want to do it right. I wouldn’t want to miss anything.”
“Yeah, well, I understand that. I guess I already screwed up the whole father thing for Malik.”
Instinctively, Calvin put his hand on Janae’s upper arm and squeezed lightly. “Don’t say that. You’re not to blame for a man’s actions. And it’s not too late. Just because his biological father doesn’t care to be around, doesn’t mean that another man wouldn’t want to.”
“There aren’t exactly many father figures where I’m from.”
Calvin smiled. “Maybe you need to broaden your horizons a bit.”
Despite the chilly weather, Janae felt a heat rise up in her chest. She pressed her lips together and nodded slowly. “Okay, okay. I, I’ll, um, keep that in mind.” She could see the bus a few blocks away. She stood. “Thanks. You’ve helped me calm down. But I have to go to work. If I lose my job . . . I don’t even know.”
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