Two days later, I went in front of an old white lady, with even whiter hair. She had to be at least two hundred years old. Because of all my misdemeanors, my bond was set at one thousand dollars. No problem. I called Kiesha.
Chapter 9
Twenty days later, I was still stuck in the county jail serving my thirty-day sentence. I couldn’t believe Kiesha had left me there to fend for myself, with a bunch of crazy playa-hating ass bitches. It was her version of tough love, I guess. She visited me every week and tried to convince me to go to rehab as soon as I got out. She even offered to keep my baby until I got my life together. I had to admit, nobody had every care about me the way Kiesha did. She was more than a friend to me; she was family, but she was really irritating my very asshole at the moment. I finally took the AIDS test that I’d dreaded for so long, and waiting for the result was just as aggravating as not having any drugs.
I saw a doctor, who told me my baby was severely underweight, and there were some other abnormalities I didn’t understand. I wasn’t surprised at all, though. The AIDS, the crack, the abuse; it was all killing my baby. When he asked if I wanted to know the sex of this anonymous fetus that was already on its deathbed, I immediately declined. There was no sense in getting attached to a child who wouldn’t live to see its first birthday or even speak its first words. After my doctor’s visit, I went back to my cell and cried silent tears. My bunky was a white girl around twenty years my senior, with bad skin like a meth addict. I was introduced to her as Crystal, but her nickname was actually Meth. Get it? Crystal Meth?
“Roxanne!” Meth called out from the top bunk.
“What?” I said, with a shaky voice.
“Are you crying?”
“No,” I lied, thinking she must’ve heard my sniffles. I laid in the fetal position while my baby kicked and my heart ached.
“I can tell you’re crying, I can hear it. Shit, if you don’t wanna talk about it, just say so. I won’t press it.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Fine, I just hope you don’t wake me up with that shit when I fall asleep.”
I took a deep breath and began to gather my thoughts. Maybe it would help if I talked to someone, even if it was just Meth. It had to be better than lying here sobbing. I sat up straight on my double padded bunk that I was granted because of my pregnancy.
“You know what it is, Meth? This is the first time I had a chance to sit and analyze shit. I’m just now realizing I’m a horrible person.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I really am. I’m a really bad person. I stole my mother’s boyfriend; I stole my last boyfriend’s car. For the past six months or so, I’ve been slowly killing my own baby.”
“Shit, Roxanne, you don’t got enough time for me to tell you all the bad shit I’ve done in my life. But that don’t make us bad people. We just made some fucked up decisions.”
I wanted badly to believe Meth. But it was Meth, and how could she possibly have given me any worthwhile advice? Maybe if it had come from a counselor or something I would’ve given some validity to her words. In my opinion, Meth’s words of wisdom held no merit, but we continued to talk and the one thing that stuck with me is she repeatedly said, “It’s never too late to change.”
That night, I stayed up way past lights out and I kept thinking about my mom, and how I had destroyed what little relationship we had. Although she wasn’t the number one mom in America, she was the only one I had, and deep down inside I still loved her. I wondered if she would ever find it in her heart to forgive me. Putting myself in her shoes, I thought, no fucking way, but I wanted forgiveness. Kiesha was the only person in Toledo who gave a flying fuck about me and I just thought if I was ever gonna make any serious changes, I would need some kind of support system. After contemplating going back and forth a thousand times, changing my mind; I made the decision to reach out and call my mother in the morning.
When breakfast came around, I was dead tired from staying up all night, but Meth saved me a bagel and some orange juice. I was called to health services for the results of my AIDS test. How is it going to be living with AIDS? That’s all I could think of sitting outside of the nurse’s room with five other inmates. No one said a word as we sat there and I could tell everyone was lost in similar thoughts. Fear had taken control over the entire room. The first three girls were in and out fairly quick, and the third even let out a resounding “yes!” They were all happy to test negative and it showed on their faces. The fourth girl wasn’t so lucky. She stayed in the room way too long for it to be good news. I wasn’t surprised at all when she came out in tears. I couldn’t feel sorry for her at the time, because I knew I was about to walk in her shoes.
The nurse called me dead last and when I walked in, she eyeballed my belly before looking at my face. I knew she was judging me, like I gave a fuck. I knew she was thinking about how my baby was going to be born with an incurable disease. I really felt as if I could just drop dead on the spot, before she even hit me with the bad news. So, you can imagine how my head was spinning when she gave me the yellow sheet to sign and said that my test came back negative. Talk about shock and awe. I was at a loss for words, because I just couldn’t fucking believe it! I still can’t believe it. The image kept flashing in my head of the writing on the mirror. Welcome to AIDS, bitch! I signed the paperwork, moving extra slow because I was still dazed and confused. I had questions that I knew the nurse wouldn’t have the answer to. Did he really have AIDS? If so, did I really just get that lucky and dodge that bullet?
I kept glancing back at the nurse as I left the room. I was waiting for her to say something else, but there was nothing left to say. As far as she knew, I didn’t have AIDS. They had already told me it would be best to get another test in six months to be on the safe side, but I didn’t care about six months from now. I just wanted to enjoy the moment. Euphoria, I think the word is. That’s how I was feeling. I still had a chance at living a normal life. Maybe my baby could even live a normal life. Meth was right; it wasn’t too late to change. As I made my way back to my floor, all I could think about was the baby in my belly. I was becoming attached to whoever was growing inside of me. For the first time, I really wanted my baby to live. For the first time, I took a moment to think about what life would be like as a mother. The thought reminded me of my own mother, whom I was supposed to call that day. I took a seat by the phone that was outside the rec area.
I wasn’t sure if the number had changed, but I put it on my pen list just because it was one of the only numbers I had memorized. I took a deep breath still contemplating my decision. I wanted to make things right with my mother, but the rejection would turn my euphoric state into one of depression. I got up, grabbed the phone and began to dial before I changed my mind. As I waited for the call to go through, I grew nervous and began to bite my nails and spit them out on the floor. There was a big sigh of relief when I heard the automated voice inform me that the charges were accepted.
“Hello,” my mom said.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Roxanne, is that really you?” she asked as if it had been twenty years since we last spoke.
“Yeah, it’s really me, Mom.”
“Shit, I thought it might’ve been your sister using your name again.”
My heart began to pound as I realized she may have only accepted the charges, thinking I was Carrie.
“So does that mean you gonna hang up now?” I asked.
“No, I’m not gonna hang up on you.”
We both fell silent and I had trouble finding my words. It had been almost two years since we’d had the fight over Terry.
“So how you been?” I started.
“Better than you and Carrie. I haven’t been to jail one single time.”
“It’s just traffic warrants and stuff. I’m not in any major trouble.”
“So you’re not working on the corners anymore? Is that what you're trying to tell me?”
I became immediately
irritated with my mother, and we hadn’t been on the phone two minutes with each other.
“Listen, Mom, I know we didn’t turn out to be the best kids in the world, but you and Dad didn’t put a whole lot of effort into raising us either.”
“Now you listen to me—”
“Mom, please! I didn’t call here to argue with you, I just really wanted to apologize for everything that happened because of me and Terry.”
“Well, you don’t have to apologize for Terry. As a matter of fact, I wanna thank you. Thank you, Roxanne, for getting that crackhead bitch away from me, before he ruined my life like he did yours. Keisha tells me everything when we talk and we talk more than you know. I see Terry all the time and he looks so skinny, it’s pathetic. I just laugh and shake my head. But you don’t have to apologize for Terry, because you honestly helped me dodge a bullet. But that karma is a bitch and I can’t say you didn’t get what you had coming with him. I just started seeing someone again and he’s a really good man, I think.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Mom. You seem to be happy.”
“You're still my daughter, Roxanne, and I still love you, believe it or not. And I wanna see you happy too, but you got a lot of fucking changing to do before that can happen.”
“I know… I know. But at least I have some motivation to change now.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’re what?” she yelled.
“I’m pregnant. I’m almost six and a half months.”
“Well, do you know who the father is?”
I didn’t want to tell her it was Terry’s baby.
“No I’m not sure, but I’m not looking to find out either. A lot of mothers are single parents.”
“Hmph. Single parents? So, you're gonna raise a child?”
That was the question that had been lingering in my head since the moment I found out I didn’t have AIDS. I wasn’t even close to convincing myself I had a clear answer, but what I did know was today, I had a new zest for life. First, the negative AIDS test and now I was getting a chance to repair a broken relationship with my mother. I was so happy that she was even talking to me, I shed a few happy tears as our conversation continued. I wipe my tears away and I began to pee on myself which I thought was super extreme. I wasn’t that damn happy.
“Mom I gotta go!” I hung up the phone looking down at the big puddle I had created. It didn’t look or smell like urine, but it took another inmate to walk up and tell me that my water had broken and I was going into labor. I froze up not knowing what to do next. Luckily, the inmates I had made friends with during my stay, went into action and alerted the staff. I was rushed down to health care in a wheelchair, then I waited about thirty minutes for an ambulance to arrive and take me to the hospital. There was a county deputy in the back with me, along with a paramedic. When the paramedic begins to question me about drug use, I faked as if I was in excruciating pain so she would leave me alone. Before I arrived at the hospital, my contractions did increase, along with the pain. The paramedics lifted me from the wheelchair to the gurney, still trying to obtain information about me. I finally got fed up and told them the truth, that I was a crackhead, and they whisked me away to a room.
The female deputy stood outside the door, while a pretty nurse lady hooked me up to a monitor, asking me was everything okay. I heard the county jail deputy joking with the staff and I wondered what they talking about me. My body was burning up inside and I could feel the beads of sweat forming.
“Nurse!” I yelled way too loudly because she was only a few feet away.
“Yes?”
“I’m hot as fuck!” I explained.
“I could bring you some ice chips, would that help?”
“Hell yeah, it will. Maybe some crack too,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me?” the nurse said.
“Nothing.”
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
I nodded as the nurse dashed out of the room and all of a sudden, the only thing I could think about was just taking one hit. Just one single hit. Drugs always helped me get through whatever I was going through at any moment. I was used to dealing with everything on a day to day basis, with getting high as my crutch. Now here I was, burning up with increasing pains and I had no drugs. But then I realized I could get drugs to soften the pain of childbirth. I couldn’t wait for the pretty nurse to come back, so I could ask for the strongest shit she could find.
“Here you go,” she said, as she came back with a Styrofoam cup full of ice chips. “I hope I didn’t take too long.”
“What’s your name, nurse?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I forget to tell ya? My name is Jenny.”
“Okay, Jenny, this shit is really starting to hurt.”
“Are your contractions increasing?”
“Ooooo shit!” The minute she asked the question, I felt a stabbing pain in my stomach. “I need some kind of pain drugs, now,” I demanded.
“Let me go find your doctor,” Jenny said, before heading to the door.
“Okay please hurry.”
Not even two minutes after she left the room, I got hit with another strong contraction that made me squeeze the pillow as hard as I could. If this little fucker lived, I was gonna name it demon child, because the pain I was in could not have come from God’s work. My nurse came back with the doctor and all I can tell you about him is he was short and foreign. Probably Middle Eastern, if I had to guess. I continued to bitch about the pain, until the doctor gave me the epidural and some saline into my IV. Soon after, he slipped his fingers inside me and alerted the nurse that ready or not, this baby was about to come out. The pain meds kicked in quickly, but I was still burning up inside, with sweat dripping like tears down my face. I prepared myself to push when the doctor said so and after four, long, hard pushes, out came this tiny little ugly thing, shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t believe that tiny thing hurt so bad coming out. I didn’t get a chance to see it more than few seconds, before they took it away. They said it was a boy, and last thing I heard them say was something about his trouble breathing.
Chapter 10
The next morning before I went back to jail, I found out that my baby boy was five and a half pounds and hooked up to a breathing machine clinging to life. The doctor said he was lucky to make it through the night, but now that he did, his chances of survival could increase day by day.
I was visited by a social worker who informed me that if my baby survived, he would have to become a ward of the state, unless one of my family members would take on the responsibilities. All of this was no shocker to me considering all the circumstances, but to be honest, I still wasn’t prepared for any of it. I hadn’t even come up with a name for my son until the night before when they forced me to. I tried to think of one man in my life that had been decent enough to me to name a child after. Nothing. I wound up naming my son under pressure, while watching a Nike commercial. Yes, I named my son, Nike, because it was all I could come up with.
I told the social worker that my mother would take Nike if he survived, even though I was thinking no way in hell she would. Before I knew it, I was on the road and then back in my cell with Meth asking me a thousand questions. I knew I needed to call my mom back before she got a call from the social worker. I was still sore and kind of weak, so I told Meth to wake me up in a couple of hours. As I lay on my back trying to get comfortable, I wondered how Nike was doing. I still didn’t have a clear image of him in my head, because he was taken from me as soon as I spit him out. In my heart, I knew he was Terry’s baby, but sometimes I wish it was someone else’s, like a rich John who was married and would pay me to keep quiet.
It didn’t matter because I’d take it to the grave before I admitted to my mom that he was Terry’s. What if he looked just like Terry? I thought. All kinds of crazy thoughts started roaming through my head and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I asked Meth to take a peek out in the hal
lway and see if all the phone lines were tied up. She informed me that one phone was open, and I took a deep breath to pull myself together to get up out of bed. I felt a headache coming on as I dialed my mother’s number, trying to think of an easy way to word everything I had to say. I massaged my temple because it always lessened my headaches when I did that. I massaged away the entire time I waited for the call to go through.
“Hello?” my mom said.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Shit, Roxanne, don’t start calling my house collect every day. I just got my bill paid up for when Carrie was in jail.”
“I’m sorry, Mom, but this is really important. I hope you still really love me, because I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”
“Oh, let me guess, you wanna move back home?”
“Well… maybe, but that’s not the favor.”
“Wow. Well, what is it then?”
“I had my baby yesterday,” I said, intentionally blindsiding her.
“What? How?” my mom yelled. “You just told me you were six months or something like that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re a pregnant prostitute on drugs.”
I let what I had said sink in for a minute. Until now, I had never told my mom about my drug habit and she hadn’t seen me to confirm or deny anything.
“Roxanne, you really let Terry turn you out with that shit?”
I couldn’t tell her that Terry wasn’t the one who convinced me to smoke crack. I could, but it would be a bold-faced lie. I was the biggest determining factor in my addiction.
Roxanne: From Addict to Hustler Page 9