Allegedly

by Tiffany D. Jackson

  “So what do we do?” Winters asks. “I have to report this, obviously.”

  “You can’t make her get an abortion?” Ms. Stein asks.

  Winters laughs. “She ain’t like the others, Judy. She ain’t stupid.”

  “What about the baby?” Ms. Stein asks.

  “What about it? You heard what I said,” Ms. Carmen scoffs.

  “But you can’t just take a child away from someone, can you?” Ms. Stein asks.

  Ms. Carmen chuckles, evil like a witch. “With her record, parental rights aside, she’ll be delivering that baby straight into ACS’s hands. I’ll make sure of it.”

  From the Deposition of Charles Middlebury—

  Dawn Cooper’s Neighbor

  Mary . . . that Mary . . . such a weird little kid. She never blinked. Never made a sound, but stared with those cold-blooded eyes of hers. Her momma was always screaming at her, she was always getting into trouble.

  I was watching my programs when my floodlights came on in the backyard. I get up to look, ’cause sometimes boys be cutting through my yard on the way to the ave., only it’s Mary I see out there. She was outside by the big tree, digging. I tell you she was trying to dig up a grave for that little baby. Digging like a dog trying to hide his bone.

  Poor Ms. Dawn. Shame she had such a bad little thing. People always want to blame the parents, but Ms. Dawn’s the sweetest lady you’d ever meet. She’d never even hurt a fly.

  There was this girl named Ariel, like in The Little Mermaid; had the smartest mouth in baby jail. Very small, but very pregnant. Once she got too big to walk, they kept her in my cell block for safety. But when her water broke, safety didn’t mean shit. She was lying on the cement floor, screaming and begging for hours. I watched it tear her in two, the floor covered in gooey water and blood with that funny metal smell. The COs didn’t care. They took their sweet time letting her out. She ended up giving birth in the infirmary, handcuffed to the bed. They took her baby right away and she was back in her cell two days later, crying for weeks.

  “They’re not supposed to do that,” she said. “They’re not supposed to just take him away like that. I didn’t even get a chance to hold him!” But that was the scariest part. They CAN just do that. They can do whatever they want.

  So at two o’clock on Sunday afternoon, I am doing something I’ve never done before. I am eagerly waiting for Momma.

  Herbert flies in circles around my head, a little slower than usual. Maybe he’s getting old. I have no idea the life span of flies, but Herbert’s a survivor. He’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.

  At 2:35, I hear Ms. Reba greet Momma at the door, searching her bag for any weapons or drugs before leading her into the room.

  “Baby! Isn’t this a surprise?”

  I have to act fast. I only have fifteen minutes before she disappears.

  “Hi, Momma!”

  I run into her hug, almost toppling her over.

  “Lawd! What has gotten into you?”

  She backs away, smoothing down her dress. It’s a royal blue church suit today, black trim with a black hat. Her ugly green Bible clashes, but she’ll never stop carrying it. It was her mother’s. I pull her over to the couch and yank her down.

  “Momma, do you love me?”

  “Well, of course I do, baby, you know I do.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Momma, but it’s time. You have to tell the truth.”

  “The truth about what, sweetie?”

  “You have to tell the truth about what happened to Alyssa.”

  She stiffens with a hard blink, her smile fading. She opens her crocodile purse and pulls out a tube of hand lotion, thick and white as frosting. Her hands are always rough and dry. She can take hot cake pans out the oven without flinching.

  “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know what I’m talking about. The night Alyssa died. You have to tell them . . . your plan. I just can’t do it anymore.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Momma . . . I’m pregnant.”

  She blinks hard. Nothing but pure blankness. This isn’t a good sign. Tense and rigid, she stands and walks to the window, staring out into the sun.

  “They’re gonna take my baby away if you don’t tell them the truth!”

  Nothing. She looks gone. She can’t be gone though. I need her here.

  “Momma, please say something.”

  Nothing. The woman is frozen and my heart can’t take the waiting. Then, without a word, she picks up her purse and heads for the door, as if I said nothing at all.

  “No, Momma, stop!”

  I jump, grabbing her sleeve, pulling her back. She spins around and slaps me, hand like lightning. The grease of her lotion sticks like oil to my flaming cheek.

  “Now you listen to me, little girl,” she says, finger in my face, voice seething. “I know the devil got inside you and made you kill that little girl, but I didn’t raise no ’ho! You know better than to open your legs up and let some boy inside you!”

  The devil got inside me? She’s lost it. She’s absolutely lost it.

  “Now, I have to go. You’ve upset me. My blood pressure must be sky-high and Mr. Worthington will be all worried sick about me.”

  I grasp at her sleeve again, struggling to hold her.

  “Momma, don’t do this to me! I’ve done enough for you. You have to!”

  “There ain’t nothing for me to do! I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re gonna have to accept the consequences of your actions, Miss Missy!”

  She breaks free, eyes glaring. Then she snatches one of the visitors’ magazines, rolls it up, and before I can stop her . . . SMACK! Herbert is a smudge of legs and wings, plastered to the wall. My heart sinks to my feet.

  “Pesky little thing,” she mumbles, throwing the magazine away.

  And with that, she straightens her hat, storming out. All I can do is watch, accepting the consequences that I let her go free. Again.

  chapter four

  From the Deposition of Connie George, Chief Nurse Officer of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, Kings County Hospital, Brooklyn, NY

  Dawn Cooper, wow, I haven’t heard that name in years. Yeah, she worked here, long ago. Level one neonatal unit, was great at showing new mothers how to breast-feed and swaddle. She loved them babies, almost a little too much, you know. Not saying there’s anything wrong with that, but she was always a little too . . . attached. Real touchy and kissy, took her time bringing infants to the mothers. I caught her feeding and rocking one to sleep in an empty room once. Odd but harmless.

  Her husband died and she took some time off, but when she came back, she was never the same. Forgot to fill out charts, blanking out in delivery rooms, getting really agitated with the new mothers; she even started singing and praying hard over the preemies in intensive care. Parents were uncomfortable. I had to let her go. The last time I saw her, she came in with her daughter. I was glad for her. She seemed happy at least. And, I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been working here for close to twenty-five years and I’ve never seen a new mother look so, well, regular, after giving birth. She was glowing. Good for her, I thought. Seemed like having her little girl was helping her get back on track.

  Momma calls herself a healer. Says she has powers to heal people, like Jesus. She always used to talk like that when she was having “a day.”

  “My prayers are powerful! I can heal the blind, bring the dead back to the living. God made me this way. But I save my special prayers for you, baby girl.”

  She prayed for Alyssa too. Now look where we are.

  Ted takes my hand, but I can hardly feel it. I’ve been numb all week. I feel nothing as he drags me inside Brooklyn Tech, the steel doors slamming behind us. The building reminds me of baby jail, with its hollow blue halls and bright hospital lights. Stench of cafeteria food and sweat from the gym baked into the walls makes my stomach hiccup. I stop moving.

  “Chill,” he laughs, pulling me. “You’ll be aight.�
��

  I hold his hand tighter.

  We should go, this place is dangerous. Doesn’t he see that?

  There are a lot of kids here. They don’t know me and I don’t know them, but they look like the ones in baby jail. Eyes dead of life, heartless, cold-blooded; smelling the fear I stank of like dogs. They line up at a table outside the auditorium for another practice SAT. Ted insisted I take it, even though I don’t see the point anymore.

  We stop at the end of the line. Ted tries to let go of my hand and I don’t let him.

  “Chill,” Ted reminds me, squeezing away.

  I move in the line with slow shuffling steps, looking every three minutes at the corner where Ted is waiting. He nods and smiles back. A girl behind me notices and rolls her eyes.

  “So fucking sprung,” she mumbles and I stay forward, eyes down at my sneakers. Gray with blue Nike stripes, the laces black with dirt. A girl in front of me has on pink sneakers with turquoise laces and jewelry hanging off the tongue. She could eat dinner off of her shoes.

  “Name?”

  The lady at the table looks like she grew up in the projects; that’s what Momma would’ve said if she saw her. Tan skin with short, bright red hair, a gold chain, bracelets, and rings with hoop earrings to match.

  “Um, Mary Addison.”

  “School?”

  “Don’t go to one.”

  She looks up at me for the first time, like I said something strange. She isn’t as young as I thought.

  “Home school?” she asks.

  “Umm . . . yes.”

  I guess.

  “ID?”

  “0031496.”

  “What?”

  Wait, where am I?

  “Hello? Your ID! I need your ID.”

  “I . . . I don’t have one?”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Didn’t yuh read di flyer? Go stand over there!”

  I stand aside with a pocket of kids that look as homeless as I feel. Ted watches from the corner, his face hard like he is about to hit someone, but he doesn’t move.

  0031496. My ID in baby jail. Momma played the number all the time, never won though. Even if she did, I doubt she’d have given me any of the money.

  When they are done with the regular registration, the same lady calls us pack of misfits back over.

  “Yuh all lucky dis is just a practice test and not di real deal. ’Cause next time, they won’t let yuh take di test. Yuh need to get yourselves an ID. Do it now before it’s too late.”

  I look over at Ted and he nods. Then she gives us a form that asks for our name, number, and address. That’s the last straw. I put the paper down and walk away.

  “Aye! Gyal! Where yuh going?”

  The lady chases after me and I stop a few feet from Ted.

  “Where yuh going? After yuh wait all dis time now.”

  For the first time, I notice her thick accent, like she is from an island.

  “I can’t put my address.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause.”

  She blows out air. “Meh trying to help yuh. We won’t—”

  “I don’t want them . . . anyone . . . knowing I’m here.”

  The lady keeps a straight face, but I think she knows what I’m talking about. She looks at Ted then back at me.

  “Listen to me, ’ere, chile, don’t ever let anyone stop yuh from bettering yourself. Yuh scared of people knowing, yuh scared of change? Good. Change is scary. Get used to it! But nothing comes from nothing.”

  My head drops like it always does when I’m being lectured. I stare at her shoes. Plain black. Looks like they’ve been worn a while and . . .

  “Look at meh when meh talk to yuh! Don’t put your head down, nothing to be ashamed about! Why yuh give up so?”

  Because it’s easier this way, to give up, walk away and avoid the fight. That’s a rule in baby jail, don’t bother trying. Why break that rule now? But the way she’s yelling, makes me feel stupid.

  She huffs, hands locked on her hips.

  “Yuh know what, yuh can pick up your scores from our office. Meh write down the address. Come next week. Meh name Claire. Yuh can ask for meh when yuh get there.”

  Ms. Claire, I say in my head. Momma always told me to call adults Mr. or Ms. I do it to everyone except Winters. He’s too much of an asshole to pay respect to.

  “Yuh got your pencils?”

  I dig in my bag and pull out a pack of brand-new number two pencils from the dollar store. One pack, one dollar and nine cents.

  “Your calculator?”

  I pull out the calculator Ted stole from the office. She snatches it out of my hand.

  “Dis little ting ’ere? Yuh need a proper graphing calculator.”

  I have no idea what that is.

  “Come now. They starting.”

  Continued Deposition of Ms. Ellen Rue—

  Mary Addison’s Fourth-Grade Teacher

  She said she wanted to be a teacher, just like me. Was always my little helper! She would clean the boards, straighten the classroom, and sharpen all the pencils. Used to tutor her classmates during lunchtime too, that came easy to her because she was so much ahead of everyone. I reported her progress to the principal and we had her tested. Turned out, she could skip at least two grade levels. But when we told her mother, she flipped out. Threatened to sue the school for unauthorized testing! She thought Mary would think she was better than other people, that she was “too good” for regular school. It was bizarre. Most parents want their children to advance and would be thrilled. It just didn’t make sense to leave her in a class where she wasn’t challenged. Poor Mary. She was just so bored.

  “You walked out of that room like a zombie,” Ted says, handing me a hot dog. We sit on a bench at Fulton Street Mall, what they call a street mall. There’s a Macy’s, a Jimmy Jazz, a Foot Locker, and a bunch of jewelry shops. The streets are always packed with vendors selling oils, books, gospel CDs, bags, and cell phones.

  We pool our money together for two hot dogs and a can of Coke. I’m glad Ted took me here. I’m not ready to go back to the house; my mind is still recovering. The test took forever with words I don’t remember ever seeing in the dictionary and math problems as long as the alphabet. The other kids had those calculators Ms. Claire was talking about. Black and bulky, not like my puny little white one.

  “I need an ID. And a calculator.” They are the first words I’ve spoken since we left the school.

  “Calculator shouldn’t be hard. But how you gonna get an ID?”

  “Do you have one?”

  He pulls out a plastic ID from his wallet. I smile at his picture.

  “Oh, you laughing,” he says, tickling me.

  “You look so young.”

  “That was me, three years ago. My moms brought me to the DMV with my birth certificate.”

  “Oh.”

  Now I see. I don’t even know if Momma ever had my birth certificate. She’s never been great about keeping stuff like that. Maybe my white father has it. Maybe he’ll take me to get an ID when he comes.

  We sit for a long time in silence, just people watching. It’s an Indian summer day, I once heard a CO call it. When it’s super warm even though it’s supposed to be cold. I unzip my hoodie and arch my head back, letting the sun beat my face. A couple of flies bounce around a trash can on the corner. Herbert’s family. Thinking of him makes me think of Alyssa and how I couldn’t save either of them from Momma. Damn, I think about her so much she has become a mood, an emotion. I am Alyssa-ing over a fly.

  “What happened to your brother?”

  I snap back up. Ted never asks about family stuff. I forgot I even mentioned I had a brother. He stares off at the people passing, expressionless, and my body tenses up, ready to run. Why is he talking about this now?

  Oh God, maybe he knows.

  Maybe he Googled me like New Girl did and he knows about me. He knows about Alyssa.

  He can never know about Alyssa.

&n
bsp; I start to breathe funny before he places his arm over my knee, massaging my calf. I love when he does this. I love whenever his arms are around me in any way. Even though the thought of him knowing scares me, it makes me start talking.

  “I was . . . six when my momma had him. Ray Jr. He was tiny, a preemie or something. He looked just like Momma, brown skin, big eyes, but with the tiniest little fingers and toes. I always wanted to be a big sister, I just never thought it’d happen, you know, ’cause Momma was . . . well, Momma. But when she brought him home . . . he was so cool.”

  Ted smiles.

  “So you’ve always liked babies?”

  “Yeah. I guess. Maybe ’cause of the way they smell. You ever smell a newborn? It’s so different . . . just new. They’re like these tiny, brand-new humans that don’t know who you are, or what you’ve done, or anything. But they love you anyways.”

  “See! I knew it! This ain’t no mistake.” He rubs my stomach. “It was meant to be.”

  I swallow, Alyssa-ing, guilt coming over me.

  “Anyways, one night, Momma put Junior to bed and he didn’t wake up. That was it. She was sad. Ray beat her pretty bad after that. He lost his firstborn son and blamed her.”

  “But was it her fault?”

  All the feeling in my face is gone. It’s like he can see right through me, all the way into my mind, into our history.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Did she do something wrong? You know, like did she forget to feed him or something?”

  Now I’ve lost feeling in my legs. No one has ever thought of holding Momma accountable. For anything. The smoke from the roasted nut cart on the corner turns my stomach over. Or maybe it’s the conversation. I shrug and sip the last of the soda.

  “I don’t know. Who really knows what they’re doing with a baby?”

  Ted shrugs.

  “You came out aight though.”

  That is true, I survived. Well, if you call this surviving.

  “What happened to Ray?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Ted looks like he wants to ask how, but doesn’t. Does it matter how he died? He’s dead. I know how, I just don’t feel like saying. I don’t feel like talking about it.