Full Figured 11

by Treasure Hernandez

  “Turn around and assume the position,” the CO ordered.

  Following orders, Janiyah stepped out of her clothes. She turned around and walked to the wall. All she had on were the state-issued, low-cut Bob Bakers and some white tube socks.

  “Well, look at this.” One of the COs started messing with her as they patted her down.

  Janiyah could feel the latex gloves probing her body. The women were aggressive as they patted her down. One of the COs forcefully pulled her butt cheeks apart. A lubricated finger was forcefully entering her anal cavity, pushing itself in and out of her.

  “I think we got us a tight bitch.”

  Janiyah didn’t know who this new CO was, and she didn’t care, for that matter. She wasn’t going to let some bitch come in and violate her for no reason. As the CO who was sliding another finger inside of her turned her head to say something to the other CO, Janiyah took the opportunity and elbowed the CO in the jaw.

  “We got us a fighter.” The other CO attempted to cuff Janiyah, but she continued swinging.

  Both COs began using street force, kicking and punching Janiyah as she continued to defend herself. Janiyah knew being violated was not supposed to be part of the strip search. She looked at the door, hoping she’d be able to make an escape, but saw another CO guarding the entrance.

  A low whistle to the tune of “Love Train” became audible. That’s when Janiyah knew these weren’t regular COs; these were COs that had been paid off by members of the Set It Off Bitches coming for her ass. The Set It Off Bitches were a group of prison girls that belonged to The Nietas street gang. They had been messing with Janiyah for months, and she knew it was only a matter of time before shit hit the fan with them. She was cool with them at first, but when she refused to cut a rival inmate of theirs, they saw that as a direct violation against them. As Janiyah continued fighting and defending herself, she could hear the electric humming of the taser, but she couldn’t tell which of the COs had it.

  She felt the hot metal pierce her skin and give her an electric shock. Janiyah’s ability to defend herself weakened as the first ten-second shot jolted her system. Immediately, another ten-second shot was issued in rapid succession. By the time the third shot penetrated her skin, Janiyah had fallen to the ground and lost control of her bodily functions.

  The last thing she saw was a CO spraying pepper spray in her face while she received another jolt of electricity.

  Chapter Two

  Water was supposed to heal everything. Clean the body, cleanse the soul. Preachers dipped men in bodies of water to baptize them. Some women submerged in the wetness to give birth or to purify themselves. Lather with soap, rinse off. Water was supposed to be good for you inside and out. Detoxify and purify from inside and out.

  “Aw, shit, they really fucked her up.” Janiyah heard an inmate in the next stall yelling.

  Hot steam enveloped her body and sent vapors in the air. The calming effect had her in an illusion, taking her away from her current situation. She leaned against the tiled wall as she inhaled and exhaled. Janiyah’s eyes felt heavy as she followed death’s cousin into a temporary sleep. Hearing her name and the fact that she was expelling blood from some orifice on her body forced Janiyah to attempt to lift an eyelid. Her ears jumped up like they were leaping from a springboard. Her body tried to straighten up from its current leaning position. Janiyah tried to see the water gathering around her feet. She could feel it; she knew she was getting wet.

  Janiyah slowly moved her arm across the wall to grasp the handle so she could turn the water off. Her eyes fluttered faster than a hummingbird could flap its wings. She grabbed the handle and exerted all her strength into turning the handle. It felt like it was taking forever for the waterfall to slowly dissipate. The reach for the towel that was hanging on the hook took more effort than normal. When she could finally hold it, Janiyah brought the dampened rag to her face so she could wipe away the excess water.

  “This bitch is just lying there taking up a shower stall.” Another inmate talked about her like the situation personally inconvenienced her.

  “Yeah, don’t say nothing to the CO standing at the door until I’m done in here. I don’t want this bitch fucking up my shower time,” another inmate announced.

  The two sets of feet squished in their flip-flops as they went in the opposite direction from where Janiyah was standing. She wondered how long they’d been standing there—or if they were responsible for what had happened to her. Her mind was spinning. Janiyah felt like she was stuck, looking at a psychedelic pinwheel that was turning fast enough to make her dizzy. She couldn’t focus on anything.

  Janiyah expelled blood and chunks of food from her mouth. She drooled a thick saliva that ran down her chin and dropped into the drain. She shook her head and looked down. A few drops of blood splattered and turned a light pink once they mixed with the unscented lather she used to wash with. Janiyah struggled to stand, yet she was determined to stand up on her own. She put a hand to her face so she could feel if she had any cuts. She was okay with bruises, but if her face was cut up, her career was as good as dead. Nobody would hire a scarred model.

  “I can’t be cut up.” Janiyah talked to herself. “God, please don’t let my face be cut up.” Janiyah winced as she gently guided her fingers along her eyes, cheeks, and mouth. Some areas felt soft and tender, so she knew she had swelling, but thankfully, she didn’t feel any open wounds.

  Trying to remember what happened caused her head to hurt. The migraine she experienced was worse than the electroshocks she felt when she consumed too much gum with phenylalinine in it.

  “Yo, model girl.”

  Janiyah felt a pair of hands escorting her out of the stall. The water traveling under the soles of her feet made it slippery and difficult to walk. Soap and urine nestled between her toes as she felt her body being lifted in the air.

  “We gotta get you to medical.”

  The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t remember who the lady was or where she knew her from. Janiyah’s body was lifted up and tossed over someone’s shoulder like a rag doll, which was what Janiyah felt like. She was at the mercy of whoever had her in her grasp. Her face lightly grazed the small of this woman’s back. The smell of the generic soap was strong. The harsh chemical scent pierced her nose. She didn’t understand why they said the soap was unscented. They should have called it like it was: nasty chemicals scent.

  Janiyah tried to open her eyes and see her surroundings, but lifting her eyelids felt like adding fifty extra pounds on a bench press at once. She hadn’t had a chance to see her fingers before she was lifted up. She wanted to look at them and make sure they weren’t red or brown. Janiyah struggled to lift her hand up to where she could see. She gave up and figured it really didn’t matter at that point.

  Being carried from the shower only served to make Janiyah even more lightheaded. She wanted to barf but feared that expelling any more fluids from her body would cause whoever was carrying her to drop her. Janiyah feared she’d land on her head, possibly break her neck . . . possibly die.

  Despite Janiyah’s current situation, she believed she had a life to live, that life outside of the belly of the beast was possible. Janiyah wanted to show everyone that her circumstances hadn’t broken her and that she wasn’t going to let anything bring her down. She was determined to make it out of there alive and ready to take on the responsibilities she had outside. Janiyah had a booming modeling career to get back to, and despite everything, there were young, plus-sized babies who looked up to her. She knew that was her calling.

  “CO!” the woman who had her over her shoulder bellowed. “CO, I need help!”

  The woman began to pick up her pace, and Janiyah’s head wobbled like a bobblehead. It went faster and faster, and Janiyah’s mind continued to play tricks on her as the pinwheel turned. More blood and food chunks tried to force their way from her mouth. Janiyah almost choked trying to hold everything in and swallow it back. The contents burned like
scalding hot water from a teapot going down her esophagus and back into her stomach.

  “CO!” the woman carrying Janiyah called out.

  Janiyah felt another set of hands grasp her from under her arms. A few seconds later, her body was being gently placed on the cold cement. She couldn’t hold it any longer, and her mouth betrayed her brain and expelled everything she’d just swallowed. The taste in her mouth was horrendous. If Janiyah wasn’t feeling so busted, she might have felt bad for anyone who had the displeasure of being within a few feet of her. But she didn’t even have the strength to care.

  “Yo, thanks for helping me. You didn’t get barfed on, did you?”

  “Naw, the little joker missed me by a few inches.”

  The man, whose voice also sounded familiar, replied, “Rockwell, Phylicia—what happened to Wade?”

  Janiyah couldn’t focus on who had inquired about her well-being. She was too busy expelling more fluid and chunks and struggling not to pass out.

  “Someone stabbed her on her left side!”

  Janiyah heard the news as she could feel someone trying to touch an area right above her hip. The shock caused her to moan softly. Janiyah did not have the energy to release the boisterous scream she felt inside.

  “Call for medical.”

  The action around her seemed like a horrible parody of Grey’s Anatomy. Jibberish filled her ears for a few more minutes, and soon she was unable to hear anything at all. The pinwheels went faster and faster, and she no longer attempted to open her eyes. The darkness of having her eyes closed was easier for her to handle.

  Janiyah had been beaten and stabbed. All she needed to be was crucified, and she could pay for her own sins.

  Chapter Three

  “Niyah Wade!” A firm voice penetrated her ears.

  Her eyes opened. She hated being distracted from her dreams. This wasn’t really a dream as much as it was a memory. Janiyah had just done her first runway for an African designer who flew her out to London. Amere Kikayou was of Kenyan descent, but he’d lived in “the city,” as he and others called London, since he was ten. Amere loved big girls and felt like they should be celebrated like the skinny girls were. He found Janiyah after friending her Facebook profile, and it took a lot of convincing to show her that he was the real deal.

  Once Amere showed Janiyah his Web site and then asked for Gun’s number so he could personally ask her husband for permission, Janiyah was sold. Amere flew both Janiyah and Gun to London, made sure they stayed in good hotels, and had assistants help them navigate one of the largest cities in the world. Amere took photos of the two of them enjoying London’s financial district.

  Amere’s photos of the couple went viral. Janiyah became a household name, and his African-themed designs became a classic; simultaneously showing African pride and uplifting the big girl figure.

  “Niyah Wade!” The woman’s voice continued, just as sharp. Janiyah recognized her tone, and she knew the woman was upset with her. Only Oz mispronounced Janiyah’s government name, and she only did it when she was upset with Janiyah. A good number of the inmates called her Niyah, and most of the COs called her Wade. A few people called her Ja to be funny in their attempt to give her a hood name. She only answered to Janiyah or Wade.

  Janiyah turned to face Oz. The disappointment was all over her face. Her rich, chocolate-colored skin reminded Janiyah of DeJ Loaf. Her tapered Mohawk helped her look younger than the forty-nine years of age she knew Oz to be. Below each of her eyes were two teardrop tattoos that stuck out like sore thumbs on her otherwise unblemished face. Her nose was big, and her chin was large and sharp. When she opened her mouth, Janiyah could’ve sworn she was wearing veneers, because her teeth stayed bright white.

  Oz was crouched in the seat next to her bed. Janiyah tried to sit up and found that she had been bandaged tightly, and she couldn’t bear the pain to move an inch.

  “Just relax, mama. You been through a lot these past few days,” Oz commanded.

  Her real name was Osmonda Rockwell. Everyone there called her Oz. She wore her name like a term of endearment. She once told Janiyah that ever since she saw the television show on HBO, she knew she was destined to become a real-life character.

  Oz was there for life for murdering five on a failed armed robbery attempt. The way Oz told the story, she and her accomplice had staked out this couple for months. They targeted the family because the man of the house had done her accomplice’s sister dirty. She didn’t like being the side piece to a wife and two children. They broke in the house and didn’t anticipate that the man would be ready for them. He was waiting with a gun. As soon as they entered the home, he shot her partner. Oz jumped out of the way in time and was able to get off a fatal shot, which sent the man to his grave. To avoid leaving witnesses, Oz ran upstairs and shot the wife as she was trying to call 911 on her cell phone. She then marched into the children’s rooms and killed the two kids like they were characters in a military video game. When she ran back downstairs, she saw her accomplice attempt to get up, and she shot her twice to put her down, treating her like she was a thoroughbred with a broken ankle. Oz killed her to keep her from snitching. Oz was ruthless back in her day, and even though Oz had changed her ways since being locked up, Janiyah was always careful around her.

  Oz said she stayed in a hotel following the murder. She paid a gigolo to engage her throughout the night. What she hadn’t anticipated was that the family had paid for a top-notch security system that had taken a picture of her when she entered the house. With no money and the overwhelming evidence stacked against her, Oz turned herself in. She was twenty-six at the time and had been locked up since.

  “I need to sit up,” Janiyah replied. She hated when people stood over her, especially if she was laying down. “How did I get here?” Janiyah asked.

  “I found you and carried you to a CO. You got stabbed twice,” Oz informed Janiyah like she was delivering the six o’clock news.

  “Thank you.” Janiyah knew Oz was the only inmate on the yard who cared enough for her to do that.

  “Yeah, well, you’d better be thankful. I spent two days in the hole for carrying you to the yard.”

  “I’m sorry. That ain’t right. You saved me.”

  “Whatever. It ain’t nothing.” Oz shrugged her shoulders. “I took that time to meditate and pray to my God. ‘As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.’” Oz quoted from the Bible. “The hole don’t scare me. Anyway, back to you. Of course, no one knows who stabbed you.”

  “Oh, wow. I didn’t see that one coming,” Janiyah replied sarcastically.

  “You know how it goes, baby girl. People see, but nobody talks around here,” Oz said as she took a seat. “I’m glad you’re okay, though. You had me real scared.”

  “You know me, Oz. I don’t break that easy.” Janiyah slowly turned to face Oz. “I’ve been through worse than this and I survived.” Janiyah tried to force a smile through the pain.

  Unfortunately, Janiyah had had a very rough upbringing growing up. She never liked to talk about her past, but in the two years she’d been there, she and Oz had grown close enough for her to share her history. She had grown up in a very abusive household. Her stepbrother started molesting her when she was six. He was fifteen, a wrestler, and weighed a ton. Janiyah looked like one of the kids that could’ve been on the Barney & Friends show. She didn’t understand what was going on at first. When she started to feel uncomfortable and she tried to push him off, he used her as his personal punching bag.

  Her stepbrother wasn’t the only man in her family to take advantage of her. Her father did too. He and her stepbrother used to pass Janiyah around between the two of them. Every now and then, her father and/or her stepbrother would invite their friends and have her do strip tease shows and then make her sit on their laps and rub their pants until she felt something poke her. Her father and stepbrother would take money from their friends afterward.

  As she grew older, they would l
ay on the floor and tell her to straddle them. Her father used to whisper to her that he was teaching her how to ride a horse and that one day Janiyah would be the best jockey in the world. Janiyah didn’t care about becoming a jockey. She didn’t even know what a jockey was, but she always did what she was told because she knew if she complained, she’d get beat and punished for days. They would punch, kick, and push her around as if she were a rag doll.

  For years, as Janiyah’s body grew, so did the men who invaded her body and her mind. Janiyah thought it was normal, that other girls got touched the way she got touched. One night, when her stepbrother had Janiyah lying on her stomach, she accidentally coughed in his face, and he completely flipped out on her. It was one of the worst beatings he had given her.

  “Don’t you ever disrespect me like that,” he said as he kicked her on her side.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it,” Janiyah cried out as she balled herself up in the fetal position to try to protect herself somehow. When her father came home and saw her all bruised up, he made her promise to say she fell down the stairs if anyone asked anything in school.

  Sure enough, the next day when she went to school, she was immediately sent to the nurse’s office. Her father was called in, and he told them the same story she had given them. They weren’t too convinced, but there wasn’t much else they could do at that time.

  Janiyah always wondered why they treated her the way they did. She daydreamed a lot about how her life would be so much better if her mother was still around. Her mother died of cancer when she was five years old, so she didn’t remember much about her, but it didn’t stop her from imagining how different things could have been.

  It was the PE teacher who figured out what was going on. She saw punch marks on Janiyah’s back while she was changing for gym class in the locker room. At fourteen, Janiya got placed in her first foster family, and by the time she graduated from high school, Janiyah had twenty different mothers and about six or seven fathers. She had about three sets of grandparents too.