by Tracy Brown
Her mind wandered back to the conversation she had had the evening before with her father. She had dropped Octavia off at her grandfather’s apartment. Bill Storms had asked his daughter why she was wasting her time on a convicted felon who never finished high school and had no hopes of ever making as much money as she did.
“Here you go traveling all them hours upstate to visit some thug doing time.”
“Daddy . . .”
“You’re a smart girl, Mimi. Intelligent, got a good job, nice home, money in the bank. Lucky for you, you look just like your daddy, so you’re pretty.”
Dominique had laughed at that. Bill Storms knew he was a good-looking man.
“Seriously, you got a lot going for yourself. People in the entertainment industry know your name. They respect and admire you. And even with all that, you insist on being with a hoodlum like Jamel. He ain’t got no job . . . probably never had one. What kind of contribution can he make to your lifestyle?”
“It’s not all about money, Daddy,” Dominique had explained. “I’m not one of those women who dates a guy based on his net worth or the title he holds at his job. If I like a man and he treats me right, makes me laugh and gives me good conversation . . . I’m fine with that. Financially, I can take care of me. I don’t need a man to do it.”
Her father had nodded. “I think that’s good, Mimi. But, damn. Date somebody with some potential. You work around all those producers, music execs, and . . . professional men. Why waste your time with a damn drug dealer?” Bill had laughed as if the thought of it was absurd to him.
Dominique understood how her father felt. And what he was saying was absolutely right. But what he (and everyone else, for that matter) failed to realize was that she was in love with Jamel. There was history between them that few could understand. They knew each other well, and their conversations were great. What Jamel lacked in credentials he made up for in chemistry. And that was enough for her.
As two little boys who couldn’t have been older than seven or eight years old began chasing each other around the visiting room, one red-faced, scowling officer yelled, “Please keep your Future Felons of America under control! There is no running in here. Make them sit down or your visit will be over before it starts.”
Dominique, as well as several other visitors, was absolutely outraged by the officer’s remarks. “Did he just say ‘Future Felons of America’?” she asked a woman at the table next to her.
The woman nodded. “They say whatever they want because they get away with it. They see all of us as one big pit of niggers. It’s as simple as that.”
Dumbfounded, Dominique watched as the boys’ young mother told them to sit down and be quiet until their daddy came out. Finally, the inmates began to enter the room one by one. Each one walked over to the corrections officers’ desk first, where they were instructed to stay on the opposite side of the table from their visitor and to refrain from excessive touching or kissing. The inmates then proceeded to their assigned tables, where each one was greeted with hugs and smiles from the visitors who waited for them.
Dominique sat waiting patiently for Jamel to come out. Each time the door swung open, she hoped that he would be the young black man in green prison garb who emerged. But so far, each prisoner who entered was headed for another table. Finally, she watched as the door opened and Jamel stepped confidently into the room. He walked so gracefully and with such pride that it commanded attention. Dominique caught a couple other girls watching Jamel as well, and it only made her prouder that he was headed her way.
She stood to greet him and kissed him deeply. The kiss was shorter than she wanted it to be, since the COs had their eyes on them. They sat at opposite sides of the table and held hands as they stared at each other, smiling.
“Hey, you!” Dominique was ecstatic to be here with her boo. She missed him like crazy.
Jamel thought she looked so pretty. She had gotten her hair done, and she looked nice. She couldn’t stop smiling at him. Her skin seemed to glow with happiness, and he was honored that a woman of her caliber was this visibly excited to see him.
“Wassup, baby girl? You look good.”
Jamel smiled, and his deep dimples made Dominique’s heart race. To her, Jamel was so sexy. As she talked to him about her trip up north and about all the new developments in her life since they’d last spoken on the telephone (the night before), she couldn’t help longing for the day when she wouldn’t need to sit on a prison bus to come and see him. She wanted to wake up beside him each morning, to fall asleep in his arms each night, and to spend all the time in between in his presence. She was so in love with Jamel.
They talked about everything from the times they spent together before he’d come to jail to the times they planned to spend together when he came home. As the conversation switched from what they’d done in their past to their plans for the future, Dominique couldn’t hide the troubled expression on her face.
“What’s the matter?” Jamel asked her.
She looked around the room at all the families there. Some were baby mamas bringing a bunch of little kids to see their fathers. Some were mothers and grandmothers coming to see their sons. Some, like Dominique, were ride-or-die chicks standing by their men. But they all had one thing in common: They shared the misery and degradation that the penal system put their loved ones through, and they all wanted it to be over. Dominique was sick of leaving her beautiful home in the middle of the night only to travel for hours to reach this dungeon. She was sick of having to defend her relationship against the naysayers. And, truthfully, she was sick of missing Jamel. All her friends had the warmth of a man to snuggle up to in the coming winter months, while the man she loved was locked behind gates, walls, and barbed wire.
Dominique finally shrugged. “It gets harder and harder to come up here,” she said. “Seeing these cops treat these women and kids like this. One of those bastards called those two little boys over there ‘Future Felons of America’ before you came out. They’re so disrespectful and so rude to everybody.” She shook her head as she thought about the indignities she’d seen many visitors suffer over the years since Jamel had gone to prison. “When you get out of here, Jamel, you have to swear that you’ll never come back. I don’t want to be bringing our kids up here to visit you, having to deal with some asshole talking to them crazy or looking down on them.”
Jamel nodded. He understood how she felt; he also suffered indignities at the hands of the modern-day overseers. “I promise,” he said. “I’m never coming back here.”
Dominique nodded, feeling somewhat reassured. There was another issue pressing her, and she cleared her throat and finally brought it up. “Did your son’s mother come up here to see you?”
Jamel looked caught off guard by the question, but tried to recover quickly. He debated whether or not to lie about it, but then figured that he may as well tell the truth. After all, if she was asking she must already know something. “Yeah,” he said. “Shonda came up here and brought my son to see me.”
Dominique watched him sit back in his chair and stroke his chin, his eyes shifting from her to the little girl at the table next to them. His sudden interest in the toddler only confirmed for Dominique that he was uneasy with the direction of the conversation. She pressed further.
“When?”
“Last month, I think it was.” He licked his lips as if they were suddenly dry.
“You think it was last month?” It was a rhetorical question. Dominique didn’t really expect an answer, so she wasn’t surprised when she got none. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“ ’Cuz I thought you’d be upset like you are now. That’s why.”
Dominique smirked. She had to hand it to him. He was crafty when it came to shifting blame. “Why would I be upset that you had a visit with your son? What would upset me about that?”
Jamel shrugged. “All I know is you got the same look in your eye as the prosecutor in the courtroom. I feel like I’m being interrogat
ed, cross-examined or whatever. It’s not like I lied to you. I just didn’t mention it ’cuz I didn’t want to bring no drama between us. I get enough of that from Shonda.”
She said nothing for several moments. “What did you and Shonda talk about?” she asked.
Jamel shrugged again. “We didn’t really talk much. I was just chilling with little Anthony the whole time.”
Dominique had to resist the urge to laugh. “Anthony is six years old. What did you talk to him about for five hours?”
“See what I’m saying?” Jamel gestured with his hands. “Interrogation.”
Dominique was done listening to him. Her mind had already begun to imagine what Jamel and his baby mama had discussed during their secret visit. She could only assume that there was more going on between Jamel and Shonda than he was willing to admit.
“So now you’re gonna sit there quietly?”
She looked at him and his handsome, rugged features and loved and hated him simultaneously. “What can I say?”
He smiled coyly. “You can say that you love me.”
This time, she was the one who shrugged. “You already know that,” she said. Choosing to drop the subject, she walked to the vending machine and got a pack of donuts for herself and a bag of Dipsy Doodles for Jamel. She understood that there was history and possibly even love between him and Shonda. But she was determined to keep him focused on their future together, and in order to do that he had to let Shonda go. Dominique wondered what she could do to help ensure that happened.
She returned to the table and sat across from Jamel. She watched him sizing her up and was confident that she was the flyest chick in the room. She hoped he knew how lucky he was to have her. Deciding not to ruin the visit by dwelling on the situation with Shonda, Dominique allowed Jamel to change the subject. For the remainder of the day, they held hands, kissed, talked, and laughed, and before they knew it, the time had sped by. As the CO happily announced that the visits were over, Dominique and Jamel stood together and embraced strongly. He was going to miss her, but part of him was relieved to see her go. Even though she had dropped the subject, Dominique knew about Shonda’s visit. How had she found out and what else did she know? he wondered.
She walked toward the exit along with all the other visitors, casting a longing glance over her shoulder at Jamel as she left. Once back on the bus, she leaned her head against the window, feeling emotionally drained. This part of visiting Jamel was by far the worst—leaving him. Especially when there were unresolved issues between them. She had mixed emotions, on one hand feeling elated that she’d spent an entire afternoon with the man she loved, but on the other hand feeling distraught that she was having to deal with Shonda being part of Jamel’s life whether Dominique liked it or not. Finally, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the day when he would finally come home and be back in her arms where he belonged.
Octavia was nervous as hell. She lay beside Dashawn in the bedroom of his fifth-floor apartment that he shared with his brother. They were home alone, and Octavia had become quite familiar with this room, this apartment, and this boy she had been spending much of her time with in the past couple of months.
They had a ritual that had become the highlight of her week. Each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, when she was supposed to be attending dance classes, Octavia instead spent the afternoon with Dashawn. His mother was seldom at home, and even when she was she didn’t ask questions. As the mother of two boys, she didn’t mind them having girls over. With that in mind, Octavia and Dashawn would go back to his apartment and spend time holed up in his room, kissing and touching and exploring each other’s bodies. It made Octavia feel so grown up, so sexy and desired. They would carefully watch the clock to ensure that she left in time to make it to the dance studio, where she’d stand out front and wait for her mother to pick her up. With the demands of her job, the time she spent writing letters, sending packages, and talking on the phone to Jamel, and the Friday nights she spent with her girlfriends, Dominique hadn’t even noticed that anything was different with her child.
Just the other night, Octavia had gone into her mother’s bedroom and lay across her bed as she watched Dominique load up two boxes of food for Jamel. While Dominique struggled to fit a fourth box of coffee cakes into the care package, Octavia had propped herself up on the huge mound of pillows and asked a question.
“Ma, why do you do all of this for a guy like Jamel?”
Dominique had paused and looked at her daughter as if the question was unexpected. “What do you mean, ‘a guy like Jamel’?” she asked.
Octavia had shrugged. “I don’t know. The jail thing. He’s a drug dealer, right?”
Dominique had set the box aside and sat on the foot of her bed, facing her daughter. “Well, Octavia,” she began. “Everyone makes mistakes in their lives. Sometimes good people make bad decisions. I’ve known Jamel for a long time, so I know that he’s a good person. He was living dangerously and it caught up with him. Now he’s paying the price for the bad decisions he made. And once he’s done paying his debt to society, I think he deserves a chance to get it right again.”
Octavia had nodded, impressed by her mother’s explanation. She liked how Dominique made it sound so simple. Octavia decided to apply the same philosophy to Dashawn. He had made some questionable decisions as well, like his recent choice to drop out of school. He hated school and felt that he had already learned enough to pass his GED. Octavia had been struggling over whether or not to dump him. Her mother and her grandfather had always told her not to waste her time with idiots who weren’t going anywhere in life. But hearing Dominique express hope for Jamel’s future had given Octavia reason to be optimistic about Dashawn’s.
Today, Octavia and Dashawn had decided that it was time for her to lose her virginity. She was nervous but excited at the same time. She was about to go from being a little girl who was babied all the time to a young woman who was making adult decisions of her own. And no one or nothing could stop her.
As he kissed her, she tried to push the thought of the pain out of her mind. Her friends at school had told her that the first time was painful, and she was most nervous about that. But she wasn’t about to turn back now. Dashawn climbed on top of her. She spread her legs, closed her eyes, and held her breath as he entered her.
Thankful
It was Thanksgiving Day and Camille had the dining room filled to capacity with food. Turkey, ham, greens, corn-bread stuffing, candied yams, macaroni and cheese, cranberry sauce, and assorted breads adorned the long mahogany table. Frankie sat at the head of the table flanked by Steven and Lily, Camille’s mother. Misa, Shane, and Camille filled in the rest of the seats, and everyone bowed their heads as Lily said grace.
“Dear Lord, please bless this beautiful meal that is laid before us on this Thanksgiving Day. Bless the hands that prepared it with love and bless this family as a whole, O Lord. Father, we come to you with grateful hearts, thankful for the roof over our heads, the clothes on our backs, the cars that we drive, and the air that we breathe. We know that without you, none of this is possible. Thank you, Lord. We ask that you look down upon us and root out those things that are not pleasing in your sight. Replace those things with the fruits of the spirit and give us all a desire to seek a closer walk with you. These, and all things, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone chimed in. Misa and Camille exchanged knowing glances and suppressed their laughter as their mother helped Shane with his napkin. Each year, at Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, Lily launched into a prayer worthy of an evangelist. But aside from these three days, she cursed, gossiped, smoked, and drank more than anyone. It was an inside joke between the two sisters that they had shared since they were kids growing up. As Frankie carved up the turkey, Camille sliced the ham, and everyone began to dig in to all the trimmings.
“This looks delicious, baby,” Frankie complimented his wife. “It gets better every year.”
Camille glowed from t
he compliment, and her smile lit up the room. “Just make sure that you all save room for dessert. Mama made a cheesecake, a German chocolate cake, and banana pudding!”
“Wow!” Steven said, excitedly rubbing his hands together. Camille had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she reminded herself that this was Thanksgiving and Steven was part of the family. Regardless of the fact that he freeloaded all year long, on this day he got a pass.
Misa frowned. “How come you didn’t announce my carrot cake, Camille? I was part of the culinary team, too, this year.” Misa smiled at Frankie, Steven, and little Shane. “It is so moist and delicious, if I must say so myself. Make sure you try it.”
“I didn’t announce it because you didn’t bake it—you bought it from Alfonso’s!” Camille shook her head and chuckled. Misa considered stopping by her favorite bakery to be her contribution to the feast. She slyly gave Camille the finger without their mother noticing, and heaped some more macaroni and cheese onto her plate.
“Misa, next year we’re gonna have Thanksgiving at your house,” Frankie teased. “I want to see if you know your way around a kitchen.”
She smiled. “Frankie, I can cook. Don’t listen to Camille. My baby has survived for three years and he’s growing tall and strong. Must be my good cooking.”
Camille sucked her teeth. “Please. Shane is growing tall and strong because he eats dinner over here every night.”