by Aisha Graham
“Literally anywhere”, Loraine insisted. Vivian understood, but argued that all she could remember was how Loraine allowed her stepfather Ray to disrupt the peace in their home. This was difficult for Loraine to defend. However, Loraine still didn’t understand Vivian’s motivation in staying because in a way, Vivian was perpetuating the very thing she hated about her mother. Vivian got frustrated and stormed out of the kitchen. Evita could sense the tension in the house for the rest of the night, but as a young child, had very little understanding of what was going on.
“The food is ready!” Georgia gleefully shouted from the kitchen as she poured two large bowls and placed saltine crackers on two saucers. The two of them shared small talk in between healthy bites and afterwards, Evita cleaned the area around the couch where Georgia was previously asleep.
That night, Evita lie on the couch searching aimlessly on her phone for evidence of her lovechild sibling. She used all of the social media platforms she could find, but of course kids these days didn’t use their real government names. Maybe the boy was still too young for social media? According to Evita’s calculations, Junior should only be about twelve or thirteen years old. Maybe his name wasn’t really Carl Thomas, Jr. and it was a way for Michelle to get under The Reverend’s skin.
Evita completed one last internet search and finally, she came across an article for a middle school baseball team, in a small North Carolina town with the starting pitcher named Carl Thomas Jr. He looked just like Evita and her father; the same small forehead, thin eyes, and thick eyebrows. Evita sat upright on the couch to get a better look. After finding the name of the middle school, she searched its address and neighboring housing complexes. At least this was a start. Evita knew she couldn’t approach this boy at school, but she’d be able to drive down and scope out the area. This way, Evita could see whether or not he was picked up from school, and by whom, as Evita was unsure whether his mother was even still alive.
It was time to be proactive. While Georgia lie like a sack of rocks in her bedroom, Evita snuck photos with her camera phone of Georgia’s bruises and scars. Georgia slept, unaware, like a baby with a loud respiratory problem. Evita slowly backed away, silencing her phone and dimming the backlight to ensure Georgia’s slumber went uninterrupted. She tiptoed through the door frame and slowly pulled the door shut, still gazing at Georgia through the crack in the door.
As the edge of the door met its frame, Evita slowly released the door knob. As she turned around, there standing tall over Evita, was The Reverend. He was frowning with deep cracks in his skin, sweat falling down upon Evita’s face from his. He stood there staring at his daughter in frustration, and all you could hear were his deep heavy breaths. Evita clinched her eyes together while fiercely closing her fists, hoping The Reverend was a figment of her imagination.
He was still there when she reopened her eyes. Evita closed her eyes again, even tighter this time, while whispering repeatedly “you’re not real, you’re not real”. When she opened them again, Evita was slouching upright on the couch as the sun was rising through the curtains.
DAY 29
EVITA still held her phone in her hand, lit with the pictures of Georgia’s bruises. There was an incoming call from Diana blaring on the screen.
“Hello?” Evita whispered not wanting to wake Georgia.
“How’s it going? Are you okay? How’s your grandmother?” Diana was now aware of how determined Evita was, and was definitely concerned about her methods in solving this mystery. Most of Diana’s patients isolated themselves to heal, but Evita pushed herself out into the world, finding solutions to her problems, which proved to be a little dangerous. Diana was admittedly worried.
“My grandmother’s fine, but I left”, Evita vaguely explained.
“Where are you?” Diana asked.
“I went to visit someone near my father’s house”, Evita said, reluctantly giving more information than she intended.
She didn’t want Diana trying to stop her pursuit. “You’re not going back to your father’s, are you?” “I have to.” Evita’s mind was made up.
“It’s not safe”, Diana warned and suggested that they call law enforcement to assist Evita.
“I have to, I’ll call you back”, Evita abruptly ended the call to avoid any more back and forth. Georgia came out of the bathroom in a soggy night gown, wiping her eyes.
“Any breakfast?” Georgia offered as she headed to the fridge to begin cooking some pancakes.
“No thank you, I have to go.” Evita began grabbing the little bit of things she brought into the apartment and rushed to brush her teeth. She hugged Georgia very tightly, which surprised Georgia. It was a welcomed and unfamiliar sentiment. Georgia hadn’t been hugged in years. She had no close family anymore, and no friends other than a few church members. The hug brought pain to Georgia’s bruises, but filled her heart with satisfaction.
Georgia had been brainwashed to think Evita was unruly and didn’t “fall in line” with authority. Now, she could see Evita was brave, and was raised to stand on her own, which was the real root of The Reverend’s discontentment toward his own daughter. He accidently raised an even more independent version of his wife, who he resented for the same traits. Now, he’d pay for it.
Evita sat in her car for a while, contemplating her three options; head to her father’s house a few miles away, head to North Carolina to stalk some pre-teen she’d never met before, or head to the police station to expose the photos she technically captured without permission, which could possibly be illegal. It was still early morning and by her calculations, Evita would reach the middle school around the time that Carl Jr. would be dismissed. Evita knew she’d see his mode of transportation and be able to follow it to its destination.
Evita decided to tackle the most difficult task, Carl Jr. She drove for hours in silence, brainstorming what she would say to this mystery kid once she finally saw him. What if her father’s former mistress was actually the one to pick him up?
Was Evita planning to stalk these people on their way home? The answer to the latter was “of course”.
Evita stopped only once, to use the bathroom, during her entire trip. She finally approached the school which was isolated; it wasn’t surrounded by a neighborhood like Evita was used to seeing in the city. The only things in the visible area were trees and back roads. Evita parked in the lot at 3:26 PM. The school’s website said the dismissal bell rang at 3:30 PM.
Evita sat in the far faculty parking lot, staring through the window, waiting for the doors to open. She planned to move around to the pick-up area when all the students walked out. She stared and stared, watching the leaves sway in the strong breeze as dark clouds formed, seeming to bring a storm soon. Evita heard the bell chime in the distance and the double doors to the main entrance swung open. She snapped out of her trance and quickly drove over to in front of the school, along with the other mothers picking up their children, and a few school busses.
Hundreds of kids ran out, but Evita noticed Carl Jr.
right away. He was tall and slender just like their father once was, before all of his years of stress-weight gain. Evita’s heart dropped. It was like time slowed down, just for her to clearly view her brother. He even walked like their father, with the same cadence to the swinging of his arms, and the same heaviness in his steps. Evita was watching a pure version of the man who caused so much grief to her family, stride right past her view.
The teenager climbed into a car that was three ahead of where Evita was parked and she immediately pulled out to follow behind. She couldn’t clearly see who was driving, but it was definitely a woman behind the wheel. There was a large gray afro visible through the rear-view window. Evita proceeded to follow them through the back roads and woods. She made sure to always allow a car or two to stay between them, so they wouldn’t notice Evita was tailgating.
When the cars finally reached civilization and hit the highway, the car sped off. Evita wor
ried she wouldn’t be able to keep up while simultaneously keeping a good distance. She memorized the license plate in what seemed to be a split second. After exiting the highway, the car took one last turn into another wooded area. Evita was hesitant to continue following at this point. Of course, she did so regardless, and slowly tailed Carl Jr. and his guardian all the way down a dusty one-way street. The car reached a cul-de-sac of three houses surrounded by a forest of evergreens.
They pulled into the driveway of the home on the far right. It was a small one-level brick home, with nice pink and yellow flowers planted alongside its driveway, which led up to unpruned bushes planted aside the porch’s white railing. Evita stayed a few feet behind, still in the roadway, as she watched Carl Jr.’s tall physique slip out of the passenger side door. The gray-afro lady stepped out simultaneously. She was much shorter and much rounder.
They both looked back toward Evita’s vehicle, wondering who she was. Evita quickly turned her gaze downward at her lap to avoid eye contact, wishfully thinking they’d just walk away. They didn’t. The boy signaled to his female guardian to stay near the car, and he slowly walked down the driveway. As he approached Evita’s window, she hesitantly opened it.
“Are you lost? Can we help you?” He asked very politely as he hunched to meet Evita with eye contact. They must’ve noticed the D.C. license plate and assumed that during a visit from out of town, Evita took a wrong turn.
“Umm, no not exactly, but I have a question”, Evita said with a shaken voice. The boy took a step backward and squinted at Evita’s features. He recognized his own traits on the face of this much older stranger. He was afraid to hear what her question was, as he sort of knew where it was headed. He looked back at the woman at the top of the driveway, as if for approval to continue talking. The lady stood eloquently and patiently on the porch with her arms crossed in front of her.
She shouted asking whether everything was okay. The young man assured her everything was fine, and that he was helping a damsel in distress. The woman smiled, waved at Evita, and told her to drive safely. She walked inside and closed the front door behind her. Carl Jr. permitted Evita to begin her interrogation.
“Who’s that woman?” Evita asked, getting straight to the point. Although her facial expression was stern, the boy somehow felt instinctually comfortable.
“That’s my grandmother”, he said with a confused expression.
“What’s your name?”
“Carl”, he replied making Evita’s stomach explode.
She had to take a few deep breaths.
“The next questions I’m going to ask you are extremely personal, okay?” Evita’s voice was becoming shakier. She didn’t want to be the one to break such life changing news to this young kid, but she decided he needed to know. He agreed to answer anything Evita asked.
“Where’s your mother?”
“I never met her. Or well, I don’t remember her”, Carl Jr. hung his head in disappointment, “she went missing after I was born. I’ve always been with my grandmother.” Evita knew right away what this meant.
“Do you know who your father is?”
“I’m not allowed to speak on that”, he started to walk away.
“Wait!” Evita called out. “Please, if you know anything, I need to know, too.” Carl Jr. could see the desperation in her eyes, matching the tone of her voice. He came back toward her car.
“I never met him either, but my grandmother said he’s a bad man and that it’s best I never know him”, Carl Jr. paused, “would you rather speak to my grandmother?” Evita agreed as she didn’t want to stress him out anymore. Carl Jr. walked toward the house and waited on the porch as Evita parked her car in the driveway. Carl Jr. led Evita into the home. In the living room, Carl Jr’s grandmother sat on the couch, resting before it was time to clean and cook dinner.
“Oh! Hi!” She stood up abruptly, smiling, holding her hand out for Evita to grasp. She was the epitome of southern hospitality, cheery and gleeful to have a guest in her home. That is, until her eyes adjusted to Evita’s features, the same way her grandson’s eyes did a few moments prior. The smile quickly disappeared and she pulled her hand swiftly out of Evita’s grip.
“Carl, who is this?” The old lady was noticeably upset. Evita interjected realizing she never properly introduced herself to the poor child.
“My name is Evita.”
“You have to leave right away”, the grandmother stated, growing frantic at the sound of Evita’s name. “What did she say to you”, she asked looking toward her grandson, “what did you say to him”, she asked Evita while becoming extremely aggravated.
“It’s okay grandma—”
“Go to your room, baby”, she was able to calmly instruct Carl Jr. in the midst of her emotional breakdown. He quickly paced into the bedroom in the back of the house and shut the door.
“What are you doing here”, Grandma whispered.
“I apologize for making anything weird, or awkward. I didn’t say much to your grandson at all. I just wanted to confirm what I already knew.”
“How did you find us?”
“Well ma’am, it’s a very long story.”
“I have nothing but time”, the grandmother said as she fell back into her couch cushions, covered her lap with a throw pillow, and raised her eyebrows as a cue for Evita to begin explaining. Evita slowly sat next to the old lady and inhaled deeply.
Evita explained everything from her dreams, to seeing her own grandmother for the first time in years. She explained the gruesome photos and letters she had been finding, which led her here. The old lady began weeping, which for Evita, was a norm at this point. Instead of making Evita uncomfortable, it was just further confirmation that all the evidence she had found, had been correct.
“What happened to your daughter?” Evita hesitated to address the older woman by her name, realizing she never knew it in the first place.
“Lawson, you can call me Ms. Lawson”, she wiped her face with her arms and caught her breath.
“Ms. Lawson, what happened to Michelle?” Evita grabbed the ladies thick, aged hands in between her palms.
“Your father did this sweetie. He took my daughter from me the moment they met”, Ms. Lawson explained through loud sobs. Evita had heard a similar story before. She sounded just like Loraine. Ms. Lawson explained how after Carl Jr. was born, Michelle continued contacting The Reverend for months on end. Ms. Lawson believed in tough love and thought that Michelle needed to learn to stand on her own feet for the sake of her son, and this is why she decided kicking Michelle out of the house was the best solution. Ms. Lawson admitted this was a big mistake.
Michelle ended up staying at a motel and waiting at a nearby restaurant. Meanwhile, a childhood friend, who was a recent college drop-out, looked after Carl Jr. in exchange for free leftovers from Michelle’s job. This didn’t stop Michelle from repeatedly calling The Reverend’s church. He used *69 to figure out the number, which eventually led to him finding the address of the motel. One day, shortly after the hostage incident with Vivian in the basement of their home, The Reverend made his way down to North Carolina. By time he reached Michelle, it was nightfall.
The Reverend knocked on her motel room door while covering the peep hole. Michelle was still very much naïve and opened the door regardless. The Reverend pushed through the door as soon as he heard the lock turn. Michelle was struck to the ground, crouching, while Carl Jr. lie crying on the bed, startled by the noises. The Reverend slammed the door shut behind him.
“Get up!” He yelled at Michelle as he rolled up the sleeves of his suit shirt. She immediately stood on both feet, begging and pleading for him not to hurt her or the baby. Michelle had never seen him like this. From her recollection, The Reverend represented dates, dinners, and good sex. That was it. There was laughter and good times for a week or two and The Reverend returned back to his family. Michelle didn’t know what to do or how to respond. She stood there starin
g at him as he huffed and puffed. He didn’t know what to do either. The Reverend eventually calmed himself and sighed deeply.
“You have to stop calling my house and my church.”
“You have to take care of your fucking son!” Michelle yelled with the intention of neighboring guests hearing her.
“Shut up!” he frustratingly whispered.
“I’m not going to shut up!” Michelle’s response ignited a yelling spat, back and forth until The Reverend lost all control. He began beating Michelle to the ground with closed fists. In his mind, this was the only way to stop the noise. After a few minutes of punches and kicks to her face, arms, and torso, Michelle lie on the dirty motel carpet, unconscious, as Carl Jr. continued to cry. Blood swelled atop the pores of her skin as her breath ceased to exist. The Reverend picked the baby up and tried his best to comfort him for about five seconds and placed him in his car seat.
“Shut up!” he whispered to the baby in the same frantic tone as he did his mother minutes prior. The Reverend rushed from the room to put the baby in his vehicle a few feet away, without any idea as to where he’d take him. He then, rushed back into the motel room. As he opened the door, Michelle staggered upward and began swinging on The Reverend. Blood trickled down the sides of her face. Michelle could barely breathe, but adrenaline fueled her movements. The two of them exchanged more blows and scratches to the body, while Carl Jr. cried at a distance in the car, until finally, The Reverend pinned Michelle to the bed, and began choking her.
Michelle smacked his wrists and scratched his forearms and hands. The Reverend grabbed one of the worn pillows from the bed and placed it over Michelle’s face, waiting for her body to stop moving. The kicking and hitting came to a halt. The Reverend held the pillow there for what felt like hours, as he struggled to catch his own breath. He slowly climbed off the bed, and tip toed toward the door. The Reverend quietly shut the door, noticing that no one was outside and that he was free to go. He drove Carl Jr. to the doorstep of his grandmother, placed him there in his car seat with no clothes, bottles, diapers, or food, and never saw either of them again.