Girls from da Hood 13

by Ms. Michel Moore

  In a loud tone, he said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh?”

  I was startled and answered, “I’m just going to get something to eat. I have not eaten since lunch.”

  “You ask me first, or you wait until your mom gets home. Whatever is in this house is mine. You have to ask,” Tyrone barked. He took a chocolate bar out of his pocket and said, “Here, you can have this. I won’t eat it anyway.”

  I stayed in the same spot. I did not know whether to run or approach him and take the candy bar. But I was pretty hungry, and I could not wait until my mother got home.

  “Hurry up before I change my mind!” Tyrone said loudly.

  I start to walk toward him, but then he dropped the candy bar between his legs. At that moment I walked back to my room.

  “So you’re not hungry anymore, huh, dumb little bitch?” Tyrone angrily hissed.

  A few hours later I could hear from my room my mother coming in from work. I could hear almost every night my mom worked from Tyrone’s loud, deep voice. He would always ask my mother for money before she could even settle in.

  “I only have a hundred and twenty dollars. It was a slow night tonight,” my mother mumbled.

  “It was a slow night, huh? Do you think I’m stupid, Theresa?” Tyrone’s voice grew louder.

  At that moment I knew he would hit her. I put in my headphones on and started listening to music because I hated to hear my mother scream. Music was always my escape. I waited a good two minutes before unplugging my headphones, and I heard nothing. There was a strong silence in the house. I had gotten curious why it was so quiet. I went out of my room, and I saw Tyrone just sitting in the chair, falling asleep. I walked into the kitchen and saw my mother wiping her eyes on her gray sweater.

  “Are you okay, Mom? What did he do to you?”

  “Yes, I am okay, Renee. Just go into your room until I’m done with dinner.”

  I followed orders and returned to my room. It was then I heard my mother scream and Tyrone yelling. “I told you, you bring your fucking earnings to me. All of the earnings, not just some,” he demanded.

  I ran out of the room just in time to see Tyrone hitting my mother in the head with a pan repeatedly. This was the worst he’d ever been. So many thoughts were going through my mind. I never had been so scared in my life, but I also never felt so much hatred in my heart.

  I snatched a knife off of the coffee table to try to stop him from harming her any further. My mom lay unconscious on the floor with blood spewing from her skull. I was livid. I was terrified. I had so much hurt in my heart that I could not deal. My emotions became overwhelming. I’d never felt this kind of inner rage before, but it was empowering.

  “Oh my God, oh my God! You killed her! You killed my mother!”

  “So fucking what if I did?” he taunted me. “Renee, what are you doing with that knife? Little girls are not supposed to have sharp things in their hands.” He slyly smirked, walking slowly toward me.

  My eyes filled up with tears as I clenched the knife handle. I could feel the hard rubber handle of the knife bruising my palm. “Don’t come near me. You better not come anywhere near me,” I shouted, pointing the sharp end of the knife toward him.

  “All right now, you little bitch. I’m done playing games with your crazy ass. Now like I said, put that damn shit down before you be laid out on the floor next to your hardheaded, no-making-money mother.”

  Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he attacked me. I was overpowered. My back hit the corner of the coffee table as he body-slammed me to the floor. The impact made the knife fly out of my hand toward my bedroom door. He dragged me away from the knife as I tried fighting him off.

  “You want to be an adult? Well, I’ll show you what adults do.” Tyrone snickered.

  When the monster turned me over on my stomach, this gave me an advantage to grab the knife. I reached for the shiny blade and hid it under my stomach. When I heard him unbuckle his pants, I turned over. With no remorse, I leaned up and repeatedly stabbed my mother’s tormentor in his chest. His eyes grew wider. He didn’t speak. He was silent until he took a huge gasp then fell to his knees. His oversized frame then collapsed on top of me.

  After a bit of a struggle, I got up from underneath him. The rush was intense but exciting. Blood gushed out of his chest to the floor. Just to make sure my mother and I were really rid of him, I gripped the handle of the knife once more. I continued plunging it into Tyrone’s chest and rib cage until his soul was no more. Tonight I was going to make sure he was dead. There was no way he was going to kill my mom and get away with it. I hated Tyrone so much.

  I finally stopped and began to breathe heavy. I went to my mother, but at that time I thought she was already gone. I called the police, but dumbly at the age of fifteen, I did not know I’d committed a crime. I had no idea I could and would be punished, when all I felt like what I was doing was protecting myself from an evil asshole.

  Later, I found out that my mom was not dead on the floor as I’d presumed. However, later that night, at the hospital, she did actually take her last breath. But I did not care one bit about killing Tyrone, let alone being punished for the heinous act. I was what the old folks in the South called blood-thirsty.

  See, the feeling of killing my mother’s killer did not leave me. Even now as I thought about it, the ill thought of doing it again excited me. But then the thought of my mother dying killed me inside. I would never get the painful heartache of my mom dying out of my system.

  Chapter Three

  Calming Meadows. That sounded nice, right? You would think it was a peaceful place, but it wasn’t. It was the name of the mental hospital I was sent to after committing murder. Well, the second one I was sent to because the first one I hardly remembered anything about. They had me so drugged up. For some reason, they thought I was going to kill anyone I came in contact with. But I wouldn’t. Murdering random people wasn’t in me. To be honest, I did not even remember the name of that place. All I remembered was that I spent half a year of my life in there. When I was almost sixteen, I was moving to another mental house because the last one closed. Maybe it was a good thing that the last place closed, because I would not be so dependent on drugs. Or just my luck, maybe it was a bad thing just like everything else in my life.

  White walls with flowers on them were what I saw as I followed the woman down the hall to my room. Behind these pretty walls were pain, murder, confusion, and cries for help. I entered my room and saw a girl lying on one of the beds in the room.

  “Hello,” I softly spoke to the girl on the bed.

  “Don’t waste your time or breath on that one. She doesn’t speak to anyone,” the woman coldly announced as if the girl were not there in the room. “Her name is Shondra, and Miss Thang has not spoken to anyone since she arrived here about six months ago.”

  I looked over to her, watching her every move, but she didn’t make a move. She just kept staring at a picture on the wall of people sitting on the grass at a picnic. Shondra was a thick Italian girl with long black hair, pale skin, brown eyes, and a longer nose.

  “Have fun you two.” The woman sarcastically snickered as she walked out of the room.

  I started looking at the walls in the hallway again through the door in my room. I was lost in the screams of tragedy. Each and every flower I could see on the wall had so much meaning behind them. Out of nowhere, I heard a girl screaming a loud and very intense scream. My roommate who supposedly never ever talked once in the last six months of her being here jumped up.

  “It’s happening again,” Shondra screamed as she continued to look at the picture. I did not think she knew she said it out loud.

  “What, Shondra? What’s happening?” I asked. I didn’t get answer. Shondra just lay back down in her bed as if she’d said nothing.

  Hours passed, and it was time for dinner. I left my room, and to the dining room I went. As I sat down to eat, I overheard two workers talking. It was about the scream. I heard th
e workers say, “A girl found her roommate dead after she committed suicide.” I immediately thought, why is this happening to me? I hate this place already. After I was done eating I went to my room.

  Exactly an hour later a man came by saying, “Lights out, ladies.”

  Shondra had already gone to sleep. I turned off the lights and lay in my bed. I could not go to sleep at all, and all I could think about was Tyrone’s face, his voice, and the way he looked at me. I started to feel the same surge of anger I felt that night. The truth was if I had the chance I would do it all over again. My soul wept, and my heart was dying. My mom was gone. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I never knew how much hatred you could have for one person. I tried to protect myself, and all I got as a reward was to be stuck in a crazy house for the rest of my life. These thoughts made me so angry, but I finally fell asleep.

  The next day I woke up. Today I was told I had to go speak to someone once a week. I actually felt like this was a great idea because I did not have anyone else to talk to. My roommate never spoke, and everyone else was a little too insane to talk to. Demented, deranged, mad, or whatever you wanted to call it.

  I walked along with some random lady I hadn’t met before. I entered Mrs. Sims’s office. Mrs. Sims was a dark-skinned African American woman. She was very overweight, and she was short and had very short hair.

  “Hi, Renee, please take a seat.” She smiled.

  “I didn’t know we were already on a first-name basis. Call me Miss Turner, please,” I rudely stated as I sat down. Only a friend could call me Renee, and I trusted no one in this place.

  “How is your day so far?” she asked with this fake happiness in her voice.

  I studied her for a while before I answered. I could tell she wasn’t sincere. She had done this a million times before. “As good as it could possibly be living in this place.”

  After our session, Mrs. Sims gave me a notebook so I could start writing about my emotions. “I will surely put this to great use,” I said sarcastically as I walked out of her office. In my head, I could already tell she knew I wasn’t going to write in this bullshit. I thought it would be nice to talk to someone around here, but why would I want to talk to someone who wasn’t genuine with me? No, thanks. I’d rather not speak to anyone at all.

  * * *

  A week later, Tuesday morning, it was time to visit Mrs. Sims again. I sat in her office with the notebook in my hand.

  Mrs. Sims asked, “Have you written anything yet?”

  “Why should I?” I replied. Then I added quietly, “I can see right through you.”

  “What was that, Renee?” Mrs. Sims asked.

  “I asked you not to call me Renee!” I repeated. At this point I was angry. My mom was the only person who mainly called me Renee. I remembered a couple times Tyrone called me Nae. I calmed down a little because at least she didn’t call me Nae. “I’m sorry. Please just don’t call me Renee,” I said.

  She reassuringly smiled. “Okay, Miss Turner. Is that better?”

  I thought she was happy to see I had a little self-control. I had so much anger inside of me. Why did I have to be in here? I asked myself that even though I knew the answer to that question.

  Mrs. Sims started talking about religion. “Do you believe in God?” she asked.

  “I did believe in God once before. Why?”

  “Well, why do you not believe in God anymore?” she quizzed as she wrote some notes down about me.

  I really did not like talking to a stranger about personal things, especially when she was only talking to me because she was getting paid. But there was something about her that made me want to keep talking. “Because I was a good child. I respected my mother and believed in God but . . .” I could not finish my sentence.

  “But what, Miss Turner? Go ahead. You can tell me.”

  “But my mom got killed by my stepfather, and now I’m stuck in this place.” I paused for a second. “So why should I believe in Him? He ain’t did shit to help me when I needed Him.”

  “You need to open up your heart and let all these evil emotions out.”

  * * *

  When our time was up, Mrs. Sims said she wanted to see me Friday, too. Of course, she reminded me to write in my notebook. I went to my room and noticed Shondra staring at the picture on the wall. She wasn’t making a sound, as usual. I continued to look at her for a minute, and it actually looked like she was counting the people in the picture on the wall.

  * * *

  I started seeing Mrs. Sims twice a week after that. A lot of time went by. I didn’t know how much. It seemed like weeks, or maybe months. But maybe it was just a few days. I was so confused. I started to think about how I wasn’t open to letting God in my life yet. But I was starting to trust Mrs. Sims. I gained so much respect for her in such a little amount of time. I felt an ounce of happiness. This feeling was weird and unusual because I had been pissed for what seemed so long now.

  The time between sessions sometimes went by so slowly. Wednesday, Thursday, and now it was finally Friday. I was ready to talk to Mrs. Sims, but it was still twenty minutes before the time for me to go. I couldn’t wait anymore. I was walking down these halls finding myself looking at the flowers on the walls once again.

  I finally reached her office after walking these long halls thinking about the stories behind these flowers. I stopped because I could see that her door to her office was mostly closed but open just a little. I could hear voices inside. I started to walk away, but I heard my name. “Renee,” I heard Mrs. Sims say. She knew I didn’t like being called Renee. I told her that time after time. So I did not walk away. I stayed and listen to their conversation.

  “She’s making progress,” Mrs. Sims said. I smiled with joy even though I was mad she had called me Renee. “But she’s a brat with an attitude problem.” The other lady laughed as Mrs. Sims went on. “I don’t think I can help this one. She is a firecracker. We talked about God. She doesn’t believe in Him.” Mrs. Sims went on and on telling this lady my business.

  I was angry, annoyed, and irritated. I trusted this bitch. How could she do this to me?

  I heard the lady say, “It’s almost time. I’m going to be back to talk about the rest later!”

  She started walking toward the door. I noticed her face. She was an Asian lady with long hair, and she was very short, just about Mrs. Sims’s height. I knew this lady’s face. I’d seen her before. It just came to me that she was the same random lady who took me to Mrs. Sims’s office the first time I went.

  I ran to my room so annoyed. I hated her now, and I never wanted to speak to her again. I punched the wall and left a hole in it. My fist started to bleed. Shondra stared at me with no lifelike emotions, then she started looking at the picture on the wall again. This time I could even hear her in a light and very low voice counting the people in the picture.

  Chapter Four

  I always thought of times I shared with my father, Juan, and my mother, Theresa. My dad was Mexican and Mom was African American, so I always had different backgrounds as a kid, at least before my father left us. The best time I had with my mom and my dad was when I was nine, but it was also the last time I saw my father.

  Oh, yeah, I remembered those days my father and mother and I would go to the amusement park. We would always get on the Ferris wheel two times before playing in the arcade. Oh, how I missed sitting between my mother and father on the Ferris wheel. It felt like the safest place in the world. But like all good days, there are always bad days to come. The day my father left was a tragic moment in my life for me. It made me feel empty, like there would always be something missing. And I knew it would feel like that for my mother too.

  It was early Saturday morning. I had just woken up from the sound of my mother crying. I walked into the living room and saw my mother with over fifty tissues around her on the floor.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?” I looked wide-eyed sitting beside her.

  “Nothing, honey. Just a little tir
ed, that’s all.” My mom wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “Then why are you crying, Mom? Do you cry when you’re tired?” I asked, knowing she was lying.

  “I’m just tired, hon, that’s all. Nothing is wrong with me,” she repeated in an annoyed tone of voice.

  My dad walked through the door with a lady with long, blond hair. She was very short and very skinny. She had on a blue sleeveless shirt and a short skirt.

  “So this is her? This is the woman you put over your wife and daughter?” My mother was heated, crying even harder.

  “Theresa, please do not start this with me. We have talked about this a thousand times before. We have grown apart from each other, and its time we move on,” my father replied.

  I was still baffled. I had no idea what was happening and why they were arguing. My father looked at me but said nothing at all. He looked ashamed.

  “What’s going on? Why are you two arguing?” I looked toward my mother and father for answers.

  “You’re too young to understand, Renee. You will understand someday,” my father told me, wanting to shut me up.

  “No, she is not too young. Your father is leaving us, Renee. He is not going to live here anymore.”

  “Well, Mom, where is he going to live then?”

  “With that home-wrecking whore over there.” My mother pointed to the short lady with fever in her voice.

  “Why are you leaving, Daddy? I don’t want you to go.”

  “Look, sweetheart, Daddy will always love you, and I will always be right here for you. But Mommy and Daddy need to be apart for a while to clear our heads. There’s more to it than that, but I can’t tell you just yet. But in the future, you will understand, when you’re older. You will still see me but just on the weekends. Or I will come visit you a lot. It will be as if I were still living here,” my dad claimed, kneeling down and hugging me.

  As my dad continued, I did not listen anymore. I felt like he did not even care about me anymore. My dad never even gave me a good reason for him leaving, if you asked me. “No, I want you to stay. Don’t go! Don’t go, Daddy. Don’t go!” I said and started crying. I truly did not want my dad to leave us, and I just could not understand why he was leaving.