by Bobby Love
When I woke up the next morning and the guards were calling breakfast, I refused to get up and didn’t want to eat. I stayed in my bunk and slept for the next few days, trying to sleep away the pain. I didn’t clean myself. I didn’t move. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything except lie in my bed and try to imagine how I would survive twenty-five years in prison. And for the first time in my life, my big imagination showed me nothing but darkness.
CHERYL
The summer before I was to officially start my senior year at Columbia High School in suburban Atlanta, I spent my days relaxing and having fun. Sis and her husband, Jerry, had a nice three-bedroom house, and they made me feel right at home. Sis’s son Corey was just three years old, and I loved him like he was my own little brother. I had my own room, and Sis didn’t make me feel bad that the reason I was there was that I’d messed up so badly in New York. But she was very clear that I had to take my schoolwork seriously.
Before the semester started, Sis took me over to the high school to register me and to show me around. Columbia High was a big school surrounded by massive green fields for sports and recreation. In addition to the football field, there was a full-sized track circling another field as well. Columbia catered to the mostly Black students in the neighborhood, and I’d be just one more walking through those doors on the first day, thanks to all of Sis’s hard work getting my transcripts and records forwarded from New York.
I was nervous on my first day, but I was determined to do whatever it took to graduate. I had let so many people down with my behavior, I just wanted to make it right. Plus, my pride was at stake. Back home, we made fun of the kids who got held back or had to repeat a grade. “You’re not a dummy, Cheryl,” I told myself as I checked my hair one last time before heading out the door. “You’re going to graduate.”
At first the kids at Columbia called me “New York” and made fun of my accent and my clothes.
“Those sure are some ugly shoes,” one girl said to me that first week.
I looked down at my suede sandals with the sling backs and thought this girl simply had no taste. She didn’t know what was fashionable in New York.
I wanted to say something back to her in her face, but I didn’t. I just kept walking because I wasn’t there to start any fights. I had to graduate. That’s what I continued to remind myself.
Thankfully, as time went on, the kids stopped making fun of me and I slowly started making friends. I became close with a girl named Karen, who loved to hear all my stories about life in New York. She hooked me up with all of her friends and she even convinced me to join the soccer team.
When she first asked me, I said, “But I don’t know how to play soccer.” Karen assured me I’d learn, and sure enough I did.
I almost didn’t recognize myself. My life very quickly felt different from the one I’d left behind. For one, I was exercising, not only playing soccer but also running on the track to stay in shape. I was going to pep rallies and all kinds of extracurricular activities. I could throw myself entirely into my school community now that I was no longer burdened with running a household. I was free to be a regular teenager. And my grades showed the difference too. Soon, I wasn’t just thinking about graduating, I was thinking about excelling. It was like a revelation to me. I thought to myself, If only I’d gone to class and done my work, I could have done so much better in school. In Atlanta, I was loving my classes, loving doing the work, and I loved getting good grades.
Sis kept a close eye on me and wouldn’t let me goof off if I had work to do. I felt her watchful gaze, just like when Mommy used to tell me she had eyes in the back of her head. But the truth was, it felt good to be watched, to know somebody cared about my well-being. And I wanted to make my sister proud of me. Sis’s dream for me was to finish high school and then attend Spelman College, the prestigious all-Black women’s college there in Atlanta. Sometimes she would drive me by the campus and say, “See, Cheryl, that’s Spelman. And across the way is Morehouse, where all the successful Black men go. That’s where you’re going to end up too.”
But Sis wasn’t always about school and the future. She knew how to have fun, too. We were always talking and laughing, and every Friday we’d have what I called “sister time.” We’d go to the beauty salon and get our hair done for church on Sunday, then we’d go out for dinner, just the two of us, and we’d be laughing and joking the whole time.
But as the calendar year came to a close, and the winter holidays approached, I started to get homesick. I talked with my father and little brothers almost every day on the phone and with my girlfriends almost as often, but I still couldn’t keep myself from missing my life back in New York. And then I got some upsetting news from the guidance counselor at my school.
Right before Christmas vacation, she called me into her office to make sure I understood that when school started up again in January, I was to report to Open Campus, not Columbia High School.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, based on your transcripts from your former school, you have quite a few credits to make up if you want to graduate on time, and that is what you want to do, isn’t it, Ms. Williams?”
“Yes,” I said warily.
“Well, for students in your predicament,” she started, “we send them to Open Campus, where you can double up on certain courses in an accelerated format so that you can finish school on time. And it looks like you need to do that for a few courses, particularly in math.”
I rolled my eyes. I hated math and had never been good at it. Now I was going to have to make up all the math I’d skipped in New York.
“So does that mean I’m not going to graduate from Columbia?” I asked for clarification.
“No, no, dear. You will still be a Columbia student. You can still come to all the Columbia functions and participate in the clubs and sports and dances. You just have to go to Open Campus for your classes.”
“Will I graduate on time?”
The woman smiled. “Yes, Ms. Williams. If you do everything you need to do at Open Campus, you will graduate from Columbia with your classmates.”
I must have frowned because the woman added, “It’s going to be okay. You’ll like Open Campus. It’s very nice.”
“Open Campus? That’s where the dummies go!” my friend Karen said when I told her what the guidance counselor said.
“Stone Mountain?” Sis said when she found out where Open Campus was located. “That’s where the Ku Klux Klan holds their meetings.”
Now I was really upset. I had to leave my new friends and start all over at a school for dumb kids where I might also run into the Ku Klux Klan! This was not what I signed up for.
Sis was equally worried. But she was more concerned with how I was going to get to Open Campus, considering it was a good hour from her house. She called my guidance counselor and found out that there was a city bus that stopped close to the school.
“I’ll drive you to the bus stop,” Sis promised, “but you’re going to have to get the rest of the way there yourself.”
Luckily, just one week into the semester I met a girl named Yvette who lived close to my sister’s house. Her father drove her to Open Campus each day. She asked him if he could pick me up too, and thankfully he agreed.
Open Campus wasn’t that bad. It felt like just another school, but there were fewer kids in each class because these were all kids like me, who for one reason or another needed an alternative path to graduation. I met a few girls who were pregnant or who already had kids. Some, like me, had fallen behind with their credits. School started at 8:00 a.m., and we weren’t finished until 4:00 p.m. There was no time for fun or socializing. I just kept reminding myself why I was there and what I had to do. It also helped that my godsister had promised me that if I graduated on time, she was going to take me on a girls’ trip to Los Angeles to see all of our favorite celebrities and then go to Disneyland. That was a real added incentive for me.
As the semester progress
ed, I would regularly go check the board where the teachers posted who was on track to graduate at the end of the year. I saw my name and was determined to keep it on the board. Sis continued to talk to me about college, and I really started to think about my future after high school. Now that graduation seemed like a certainty, I could actually consider what would come next for me. Sis took me to a college fair at Columbia one evening, and I collected a handful of glossy college brochures and went home that night imagining myself as a college student. Sis always said education was the key to success, and judging from my other siblings, I knew she was right. Sis was the only one who had gone to college. George Jr. joined the military and then had come home and gotten addicted to drugs. My brother Bruce had already done time in jail. Meanwhile, Sis had a stable, well-paying government job and a nice house with her husband. She had the life I wanted, so I kept working and planning.
True to her word, my godsister took me on that trip to Los Angeles, because I kept my word and graduated on time. My father, stepmom Estelle, and my godmother Katherine all came down for my graduation ceremony, and I have to admit I was so proud of myself, I practically strutted across the stage to collect my diploma. I felt like I had really accomplished something important, and I felt like I had truly earned that trip. I felt so grateful to have a godsister who would spend so much time and effort planning such a magical vacation for me. On the plane ride back, I thanked God over and over for letting me have such a wonderful experience.
When I returned to Atlanta, I found a job at a summer camp, and Sis helped me get ready to start college. I wasn’t prepared for Spelman quite yet, but I was set to begin at the local community college. Sis said I could start there and then transfer to Spelman when I felt it was time. Sis took me shopping so we could build out my college wardrobe, and then I decided I should get a job so I could pay for more of my expenses. I was still homesick, but I was excited about opening this new chapter of my life.
I lasted one full semester at community college. I liked it, but I was too homesick to stay. I couldn’t deny it anymore. I had tried to be happy doing my classes and planning for a future in Atlanta, but I couldn’t stop yearning for my friends, family, and my life back in Brooklyn. We were sitting in Sis’s dining room one afternoon and I told her in a quiet voice that I had something important to tell her. I wanted to sound mature, but I just blurted out, “Sis, I want to go home!” And then I waited for her reaction. I knew she was going to be mad.
Instead she laughed. “Dag, Cheryl, I thought you was going to say you were pregnant or something.”
“No way!” I said. “I just want to go home.”
Sis paused and then reached for my hand across the table. “Well, I can’t keep you if you don’t want to stay. If you want to go, you can go.”
“I’m sorry, Sis,” I said, getting choked up. I didn’t want to let her down.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “But is everything okay, though? You feel comfortable here, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I said, wanting to reassure my sister. “I had a lot of fun. I love being here. I just want to go home. I miss New York. I miss Daddy. I miss my friends. I miss Don and Scott.” It all just came tumbling out. I was a teary mess.
“Don’t worry, Cheryl,” Sis said. “I’ll send you home.”
And she did.
It felt so good to be back. Back in New York. Back to Brooklyn. Back to the Pink Houses. Back to our apartment. The first thing I did when I got home was jump into my bed and just luxuriate in the comfort of something so familiar. I called my friends then, and they had me out at our favorite Chinese restaurant that very same night. Within a week, it felt like I had never left. Scott and Don were better at cleaning up and keeping the house straight, but I quickly slipped back into my role as head of household. By then, I didn’t mind. My friends and I continued our social life, going to clubs, dancing and partying, and I went back to church and reclaimed my place in the choir.
But I had promised Sis that if I went back to New York, I’d continue with my education, so I made sure to find a community college where I could start pursuing my dream of becoming a nurse. Daddy couldn’t really help me navigate the higher education system in New York, so I was pretty much on my own, but I knew if things got too complicated, I could ask my godmother or any of my friends for help.
I ended up enrolling in Kingsborough Community College because they had a pre-nursing program and because it was just blocks away from our church. That was convenient. I could go to class and then make it to choir practice on Thursday nights. I let Sis know that I had followed up on my promise and was keeping up with my studies. Daddy was happy that I was in college too. For a nineteen-year-old, I thought I was doing pretty well.
One day, when I came home from class, I checked the mail and found a letter addressed to me from a prison in upstate New York. I couldn’t imagine who it might be from. I tore open the envelope in the elevator on the way up to the apartment and almost fell over. It was from Deon, my boyfriend from the eleventh grade who had disappeared without a trace. All this time I’d thought he’d just gotten with another girl and dumped me, when in fact he’d been caught dealing drugs and was sent to prison.
Deon explained all of this in a letter, begging me to forgive him and asking me to take him back. I laughed and showed the letter to my girlfriends later that night. I honestly hadn’t thought about Deon for over a year. And then he just showed up in my mailbox. I crumpled up the letter and threw it away, thinking that would be the end of it.
But Deon’s letters kept coming, pleading for forgiveness and telling me he’d changed. In one letter he sent a picture of himself and I had to admit he looked good. I’d always thought he was cute, but during the two years since I’d last seen him, he’d matured and gotten cuter. I kept that picture in my purse and I started writing him back, telling him to come find me when he got out. And that’s exactly what he did.
Deon’s mother had always liked me, and she drove Deon to see me on the day he got out of jail. He hugged me so tightly and swore that thinking of me was the only thing that had kept him sane while he was in prison. I was a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, and I talked to my friends that night to ask them what they thought I should do. Deena told me to give him a chance, but Carla told me to let him go.
Although I didn’t fall into his arms right away, I waited and watched as Deon got his life together. He got a job at the Wonder Bread factory in Queens and enrolled in community college. He still lived with his mother in Queens, but we managed to see each other quite often. Slowly but surely, I fell back in love with Deon, and our lives were a combination of college classes, work, and clubbing on the weekends. My friends gave us their approval after a while, and I felt like I was living the life I’d always wanted.
One day, when we were at Deon’s mother’s house just hanging around watching TV, all of sudden he told me he had something for me. I thought it was going to be one of my favorite chocolate bars or something, but he pulled a blue velvet box out of his pants pocket and got down on his knee. He opened the little box to reveal an engagement ring with a tiny diamond.
“Let’s get married, Cheryl,” Deon said. “I want everyone to know that we’re together forever.”
I looked at the ring and I looked at Deon and I yelled out “Okay!” We kissed and snuggled for a bit and talked about our wedding and the kids we’d one day have, but then I looked at the clock and realized my father would kill me if I was late getting home.
I showed off my ring to my family and friends right away. They all made fun of me because I was so excited.
“Y’all don’t even have a wedding date,” Deena liked to point out.
“I know,” I said, “but we’re engaged and that’s what’s important.”
Now when I rode the bus to my classes at the community college, I’d look at bridal magazines, already planning for my future.
A couple of months later though, Deon started acting funn
y every time we were together. One Saturday I was at his house and we were watching TV in his basement. Deon kept getting up and fidgeting around with things.
“What’s wrong?” I finally asked, exasperated.
“Nothing,” he answered, but he wouldn’t look at me.
“There’s obviously something wrong,” I pressed. “You can tell me.”
Then he came and sat next to me on the couch but he kept his head down and avoided looking me in the eye.
“Cheryl, you know I like you a lot,” he started.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Those words never led to anything positive.
Deon looked pained, but he continued with his speech. “It’s nothing you did, Cheryl. It’s me. I’m just not ready for all of this.”
“What do you mean ‘all of this’?” I said, my voice cracking.
He shrugged. “Us getting married and stuff.”
“You asked me to marry you, remember?” I said. “I didn’t ask for all this. I was okay with the way things were.”
Deon shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I just think we should take a break, that’s all.”
“So it’s not just that you don’t want to marry me, you don’t want to be with me?” I said as I did the calculations in my head. I just knew Deon had another girl somewhere. He’d always been a big flirt.
I took off my ring, threw it in Deon’s face, and stormed out of his house toward the bus stop.
“Cheryl, wait!” Deon called, chasing me down the street, trying to talk nice.
I let him apologize and say nice things, but I wouldn’t even look at him. When the bus came and opened its doors, I climbed up the steps and didn’t even look back. I cried all the way to Brooklyn.
I kept crying for several days after that. My heart was broken. And I had been so excited about getting married. My friends told me to forget about Deon and just get back into our New York life. And that’s what I tried to do. We went out clubbing again. I still had school and choir practice at church. But my body and my mind weren’t really in it. I would go out with my friends, but I just didn’t seem to have the energy to keep up. If we went out, I’d find myself falling asleep in class the next day. The only thing I wanted to do to forget about Deon was eat and sleep.