“As long as I remain a ghost with no face, we are.” Theresa had placed enough distance between them to turn her back and walk away. Washington needed to make sure her words were exact. “Theresa Stockton of the East Central Block Bloods, if anyone knows who I am, even if these bitches you brought with you are the ones who spread the word, I’m going to make sure to close casket everybody you love and that everyone you bang East Central Block with buries you, too, out of respect for me. So who am I? That ain’t a trick question. You already said it.”
“Crazy-ass Wash . . . Washington,” she stuttered.
“You damn right. Now get the fuck out of my sight before I make one of those sheriffs looking down here beat the fuck out of you!”
The girls started running as if they were playing a game of tag and Washington was it. When they were out of sight, she looked at Temper and, in her intellectual voice, said, “My daddy is an evil man, and I couldn’t live with him if I wanted to. I have a restraining order against him.”
“Umm, who’s your daddy?”
“A very well-known, bad man who has pull with every gang, pimp, hit man, and dirty cop, FBI, CIA, and Interpol agent from coast to coast, but I think for the safety of the rapport we’re building, you don’t want the answer to that question, do you?”
“Hell nah, I don’t, but can we be best friends then?”
Washington laughed until she realized she was laughing alone. “Oh, you were serious? Guess I’ll have to research what exactly a best friend is, and I’m tempted to decline based on the timing surrounding your inquiry. It seems like you’re interested in being my best friend for the perks that come along with my birthright.”
“You don’t even consider your birthright a perk. You’re not hiding it for safety reasons. You’re hiding it because you hate it. You already said your uncle was your favorite person, and that nerd shit comes too natural, unlike the act you had to put on to hit those bitches up, so why would I find what you hate a perk you’d give to your best friend? Yeah, I deducted, deduced, or whatever the hell you said you do too. I’m in it for your brains and your loyalty. Real shit, I actually like the version of Washington everyone calls crazy. You can keep the gangster kingpin daughter’s version to yourself.”
“Temper, you are special too,” she giggled, “and to be honest, I prefer an equal combination of both sides of me. Incarceration and fair sentencing forced me to suppress anything I might have inherited from my father’s status. I’ll give you a definitive answer to your question in time. Still, we can be best friends on a trial basis now, as long as you knowingly never have me in police presence for obvious reasons, and stop calling me Washington. Call me Tyger.”
“Why, Tyger?” Temper laughed, anticipating another wild explanation.
“It’s my name. Tyger Rae Le’shay Washington. I guess my parents thought they were poetic.”
The girls both broke out laughing as a friendship built under the juvenile court’s dim hallway lights.
Chapter Seven
The judge warned Temper it could take up to 180 days to be picked up by the group home. Three days after court, Temper was breaking down her bunk and retrieving her property. She hated putting on the clothes Isabel had arrested her wearing. They were reminders of the past that her sentence was supposed to erase. There was a deadly omen living in the clothes. Every second she wore them felt like her last—her last seconds free from the clutches of juvenile jail and the last with life in her body. Although she was technically still in jail, she felt they’d arrest her again if she didn’t take them off. As proof of life for the omen, the MOTHER necklace Lena had gotten her was the first item the sheriff handed her after she dressed.
“Fuck that,” she mumbled as she threw the necklace in the trash along with the duffle bag she’d packed eight months ago that held her family heirlooms. Now Temper’s past was in the trash except for the picture Isabel gave her of her and her parents. Isabel told her she’d taken the picture out of her property in Vegas, not wanting anything to happen to it. For a few minutes, Temper battled the urge to retrieve her family heirloom from the discarded bag. After debating it, she decided that she had to get rid of everything from the past if she genuinely wanted a new life.
“I’m sure you want to burn those clothes. Everyone who regains their freedom does. Don’t worry, we’re going to stop at a department store and a pharmacy so you can grab a few personal items before I take you to the Perky Lane group home. I’ll do all the talking on the ride there, and your job is to listen. If you have any questions, by the time I drop you off, I’ll be able to predict your future. How? Because I’m Elenore Bentley, your probation officer, and until you turn eighteen, I’m in control of the blueprint of your life. Get in the back, and don’t try anything stupid.”
“Are you saying you’re God? Because He’s the only person in control of my life.”
“I said no questions.”
“That was a statement,” Temper corrected her.
“Do you want to taste freedom today? I can come and get you another day. The judge gave me a hundred and eighty to get you suitably placed.”
Temper didn’t answer immediately. At that moment, the actions of her new best friend Tyger played in her mind. She’d hit a public defender in front of a judge to get freedom the way she required it. Yes, Temper wanted freedom too. However, a fresh start was a requirement. It felt like a continuation of her past. She had to stand up for the sake of her future.
“No, I’m good. You can walk me back inside,” she declared, closing the rear door on the SUV she was supposed to get into. “And when you come back to get me, can you please bring me new clothes to put on? I’m not picky. Grab whatever you like in an adult small. The way I see it, if I’m erasing my past, I’m not going into my future with any part of it.”
Elenore hadn’t expected Temper to call her bluff, and her pride made her feel the need to show her power. “Wrong answer. I gave you direct orders, and you disobeyed them. You violated your probation conditions, which you didn’t allow me to explain to you. That’s a new charge.”
She removed the handcuffs from the holder on her hip and began reading Temper her Miranda rights. Temper didn’t know she was violating her probation if she offered her a choice. She thought about apologizing and asking for another chance. But if she made wavering an option this time, she always would.
She was roughly taken back inside Central Juvenile Hall handcuffed, and Tyger was on her way out with her camera hanging around her neck and her backpack on her back. She gave Temper a smile after deducing what had gone down and approving of it.
As expected, Temper’s probation officer lied about the incident. Her violation sentencing was the same as the previous—suitable placement. When Mrs. Bentley came back 179 days later, she had new clothes for Temper to wear out of the juvenile hall’s door, and out of respect for Mrs. Bentley’s request, Temper didn’t say a word on her ride to Perky Lane.
With two weeks to go before she’d turn 18, and a month left in the probation system, she was thankful for Isabel’s weekly visits and therapy sessions. Though many of the sessions were painful, like a scab being slowly torn away from an unhealed wound.
“I dreamed of it again,” Temper said softly, almost inaudibly.
“Of ‘it’? We talked about this, Temper. Your son is not an ‘it.’ He is a person, and until you realize that, I don’t think the dreams will ever stop.”
“I know he’s a person. Damn, can I just tell you about it? You said talking about it . . . I mean, talking about him more should help me deal with my feelings about him, right?”
Isabel nodded.
“Then let me talk.”
“I’m listening.”
Temper took a deep breath, lowered her head, and closed her eyes. “I was alone. I couldn’t tell if I was in an empty jail ward or a hospital by the beige walls because everything was dark. The EXIT sign at the end of the hall gave off a little light, but the only thing I could make out was the
closed doors lining my path. I felt cold, so I looked down at my body to see what I was wearing, and all I had on was a T-shirt, his T-shirt. I knew it was his by the way it made me feel—safe. Whenever he would sneak me into his house to sleep over, he’d give me one of his oversized shirts, and I’d feel safe.”
“Why do you fear saying his name?” Isabel whispered in hopes of sounding soothing, but of course, Temper took it as an attack.
“Ain’t nobody scared of that nigga. I don’t want to say his bitch-ass name because he ain’t important and you already know who I’m talking about.”
“You’re right, I do. Please, keep going.” Isabel thought it would be best to hold off on pointing out the psychology behind Temper’s name avoidance.
“Like I was saying, he’d give me his shirt to sleep in, and that was all I had on. No shoes, no pants, and no underwear. Another thing that was weird was my hair was down. Like, straightened and hanging over my shoulders. I never wear it like that. It makes me feel . . .”
“Feel what?” Isabel asked, encouraging her to say it.
“Feel less black. Not that I’m embarrassed about being Asian or anything, but the chicks I hang around are chicken heads, so I keep my hair braided or pushed back in a ponytail. You know, so they won’t feel bad.”
“And so you don’t feel different,” Isabel added. However, Temper pretended not to hear her.
“But that part isn’t important. It was just weird. Anyways, I tried to grab one of the doorknobs to see what was behind it, and it was locked. I checked a few more doors, and they were locked too, and then I heard him crying. He was crying like somebody was hurting him. I tried to get into the room where he was, but I couldn’t. I beat on the door, and nothing was happening. He kept getting louder, and it seemed like I was getting farther away from him. I wanted to save him, and I couldn’t. He screamed for a few seconds more, and then he said some fucked-up shit to me.”
“What did he say?” The suspense had Isabel sitting on the edge of her cold metal seat. If she were any closer to the glass that separated them, her heavy breathing would fog it up. Temper had told her of a couple of dreams that involved her being pregnant but none where the baby had spoken directly to her.
“He said, ‘Mama, why you not saving me?’ But I was trying to save him. I really wanted to, and then I heard a big boom behind the door where he was at, and I woke up. I couldn’t catch my breath, and then I threw up. I know it was a dream, but I felt like shit for hours because I didn’t save him. Why though? It’s not like I want to raise him. I just wanted to help him.”
Isabel shook her head in disbelief as she came up with the right words to say. “The why is a truth that lives inside of you. I can speculate or form a theory, but ultimately only you know what that dream means to you.”
“I thought you said you were here to help,” Temper giggled.
“Hell, I thought I was here to help too,” Isabel said as she joined in on the laugh. “But seriously, you sharing your dream with me did help. You just don’t see it yet.”
It was visits like those that ultimately helped Temper “Wite-Out” her past and start anew.
* * *
When Temper’s time was served and Mrs. Bentley released her from probation, the only thing she kept as she walked out of Perky Lane’s doors was her friendship with Tyger. The picture was the last piece of her past she had to trash. She didn’t feel a thing as she tossed it.
Hey Best Friend,
I’m sorry it took me so long to write you, but Isabel has kept me busy since I moved in with her. It’s like having a roommate, friend, therapist, and mama all in one, and she’s driving me crazy. In my first month here, she enrolled me in a GED program and got me a job at the skating rink. After that, she started adding more to my plate by the week. Now she has me volunteering at a runaway shelter, going to church with her, and I’m learning to speak Khmer, which is Cambodia’s official language, and Spanish, which is hers. The funny thing is, I’m catching on to both quickly. Las Vegas is better than I thought it would be, but I still haven’t made any friends besides Isabel. I found out that I can visit you once my juvenile record is officially closed, which should happen in the next month. How is the emancipation stuff coming along? Before I left Perky Lane, I heard the staff say you had made unbelievable progress in the six months you were there before I moved in, which doesn’t surprise me because you’re an incredible person. Just in case this letter doesn’t get to you before the last day of this month, congratulations on completing high school. I can’t wait to brag about my best friend who graduated from high school a month before her sixteenth birthday. You are something special, Tyger!
Can’t wait to read your response,
Temper
It took Temper four months to send her first letter to Tyger, but she didn’t have to wait that long to hear back from her.
Temper,
Your life is so tossed, but that’s what makes you you. Yes, best friend, I am officially a high school grad, and next week I’ll be spending my sixteenth birthday moving into my dorm room at USC. In other words, there’s no need for you to come from Las Vegas to visit me here when your record gets sealed. Unfortunately, I’m still on probation or, as they call it, a ward of the court until I complete my emancipation course, but that is less than six months away. Besides all the scholarships I received, I also qualify for financial aid thanks to the arrest. Life is funny like that. It will throw you under the bus, run you over, and all the pain you’re going through is delivering you to your next destination.
I think it’s cool that you’re learning two new languages, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the fact that they are coming easy means you are smarter than you think. Congrats on the job and the GED prep. Once you take the test, you should look into taking a few history courses so we can work together in the future, but I’ll go into details about my full plan for us later. Oh, and I guess I’m a lesbian now. There’s this girl in the Cutie Cakes therapy group who goes to school here on campus, who kissed me in the timeout room when I was homesick from public school. She told her friends that the nerd wasn’t that square, and word of me being gay spread. Next thing I know, I’m being moved to the opposite end of the hall, near the nurse’s station on the way to the kitchen to a room by myself, and different girls started sneaking in after lights out to test out these lips. To keep it short, I had an intimate encounter with a girl here while the overnight staff slept on the couch inches away from my door, and I enjoyed it.
Placement life is taking its toll on me. That means it’s time for me to go. I’m also starting to get too attached to the staff at Perky Lane. Mostly all the ones who graduated from USC. Maybe it’s because the majority of them hooped and they’re the coolest nerds I’ve ever met. FYI, I hate my therapist here, and we will never get along. She got word of my nighttime activities and moved me out of the main building to one of their satellite houses. She waited to announce it the same day I made it to level C and could control the van’s music and ride in the front on group outings. It’s only been a week, but I miss being around fifty girls every day. Their personalities were beginning to entertain me, among other things they had to offer. And before I forget, I’m your only friend, and Isabel is only a fill-in until I’m free. Smile. Don’t bother writing me back here. I’ll write once I’m in my dorm. Counting down these days until I’m out of here.
I miss you, best friend,
Tyger Rae Washington
Months passed before Temper received another letter from Tyger, and she didn’t bother reading it after opening it. Once she saw the number written on the bottom of the letter, she called her.
“Nine months? It took you nine months to write to me? What kind of fucking friend are you?” Temper jokingly yelled into the phone at the sound of Tyger’s voice.
“A very busy best friend. I know we have a lot to catch up on, but did you take your GED test yet?”
“Yes, and I failed horribly, but why was that the most im
portant question?”
“Because I was going to tell you that if you haven’t taken it and passed, I found a way to get us working together without you having it. Are you ready to move back home? I moved out of the dorm when they sealed my record, and got an apartment.”
“I can’t move back to L.A. Are you crazy?”
“Why not? You are off probation, your record is sealed, and—”
“And my past life is there. But even if my past moved away, California isn’t the place for me. My family is here in Vegas.”
“Isabel isn’t your family. She’s the reason you were in jail if I recall correctly, and be honest, the only reason California isn’t for you is because of your past.”
Tyger was right, but Temper wouldn’t confirm it. During the almost year and a half when she lived in Vegas, Temper had become colorless, and her nationality couldn’t be judge by any other title but human. She even chose “other” when selecting a race on multiple-choice forms. She spoke four languages now, and her style had grown to a business-casual look, which was a trick Isabel taught her from working undercover on maintaining a neutral front. Meeting Isabel was destined, and though she was growing fond of Tyger, she had a bond with Isabel that not even she could touch.
“She is my family, and you’re right, it is my past. Did you forget there was a hit put on me when we went to court? Or what about the bitch who tried to fight me at Perky Lane? She said she was sent by her hood’s chief enforcer to get me. Why would I willingly move back to be killed?”
There was a moment of silence that sent a chill down Temper’s back. It felt like she was paying homage to the dead. She didn’t want to think about the past nor discuss it, but that time had come.
“You never told me why, though. What did you do to get both the Crips and the Bloods after you? Better yet, who did you cross?” Tyger’s questions were valid, and Temper knew she deserved an answer.
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