Darkness Before Dawn (18 page)

“Now don't you worry none,” Edna replied. She dug around in another cardboard box and pulled out three cellular phones. “I don't steal,” she told me quickly, “but I do know how to make a deal with the winos around here. I think this one still got some juice and some air time on it. Call yo' mama.” Edna handed me the phone. I was stunned.

“Why didn't you give me this earlier?” I asked as I punched the numbers.

“'Cause you wasn't ready.” Edna busied herself in another corner, digging in another of her numerous cardboard boxes.

The phone rang and connected. My mother answered almost immediately. “Hello!” Her voice sounded urgent and worried.

“Mommy. ...” I began to cry as soon as I heard her voice. “Can you come and get me? I'm in big trouble, and I'm ... I'm ... so sorry, Mommy.”

With directions from Edna,
even in spite of the heavy snow, Mom and Dad arrived at Edna's basement refuge in about ten minutes. Slowly, painfully, I told them the whole story, leaving out nothing. I wouldn't leave Edna until I had told them everything. Edna gave me the courage to speak just by being there. Mom hugged me and cried with me. Edna watched silently, feelings of sorrow as well as joy on her face.

Daddy wanted to break something, to hurl a rock at the face of the man who had tried to hurt his daughter. “I told you I didn't like that dude! Maybe now you'll listen to me!” He stomped out of the small basement, cursing and shouting. He wasn't ashamed to show his angry tears. Then he came back down the steps, gratefully thanked Edna, and offered her a large sum of money. She forcefully refused it.

“Next time you see a stinky old homeless person,” Edna told him with dignity, “give that wad of money to him! Works better if you give it to a stranger. You git better blessin's that way. I'd like to think of myself as this here chile's friend.”

I guess Daddy felt ashamed. “You're right ma'am,” he said. “I'm going to be more generous next time I see a person in need. And you truly are her friend. I can never thank you enough.”

“You just did,” Edna said, winking at him.

He walked back out into the snowy night several times. I could tell he was seething. He kept storming back into the tiny room, breathing hard and curling and uncurling his fists.

“I'm sorry I lied to you, Daddy,” I said suddenly. “I thought I was grown and could handle myself in any situation. Oh, Mom, I was so stupid!”

“Many women much older and wiser than you have learned the same terrible lesson, my baby girl,” Mom soothed. “It just hurts me to my heart that this had to happen to you! I was so afraid and so worried that something terrible had happened to you. Every mother worries like that when her kids are out at night.” She was shaking with anger.

“I'm just glad you were able to get out of there!” Daddy said. “It could have been so much more terrible if . . .” He couldn't even finish the thought.

“When did you start to figure out that something was really wrong?” I asked.

“When we got home from the movie, I saw your note, so initially I wasn't worried,” Mom began, wiping her nose on her coat sleeve. “Then, when you hadn't called by two, I started to get angry ...”

“... because we had just had a big blow up because of that,” I finished for her.

“Your phone didn't even ring—it just gave me a recording. I must have called thirty times, getting angrier and more worried every minute.”

“By three we started calling your friends, but all of them said you left the dance early with a headache,” Daddy added angrily. “You had them all fooled, too!”

“I'm sorry, Daddy,” I said tearfully. “I'm so sorry!”

Mom continued, “So I called Leon's house and he was in bed asleep. He said he brought you home right before midnight, but when he tried to call you after he got home, there was no answer. He just figured you didn't want to talk to him.” I hung my head in shame again. Leon, who had been so kind and so genuine with me, who had given me the lovely silver necklace, I had treated like dirt—dumped him to run off to be with Jonathan.

“He's been all over the city looking for you since I called,” my mother added. “He really cares about you, Keisha.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“I called the police then,” my father told me. “There was very little they could do that we had not already done, but they did check the hospitals and accident reports.”

“So when you called, I was frantic!” Mom burst into
tears again. “All I could do at that point was pray for your safe return.”

“Let's get her out of here,” Daddy said suddenly. “We've got to call the police.”

“No! Daddy! Not the police!” I burst into tears again. “I just want to go home!”

“The police are already involved,” Mom explained. “They need to know that you've been found safely and they have to make a report so that the monster who tried to do this to you can be dealt with properly.”

“No!”
I screamed. “I don't want anybody to know. I don't want to have to talk about it ever again! Please can we just go home? Please?” I buried my face in my mother's arms.

“I will be right there with you, Keisha,” my mother promised. “We'll make this as quick and easy as possible. Then we'll go home. I promise.”

“I know it's hard, baby,” my father said, choking back tears. “I wish I could take this away from you. I wish I could take you to a place where nothing bad ever happens to Daddy's little girl.”

“Will I get in trouble for cutting his face?” I asked fearfully.

“No, dear. Not at all,” Mom replied. “You were defending yourself. And I am so glad that you were able to!”

I gave Edna a tearful hug as my parents got ready to leave with me. Edna whispered into my ear, “Yo' spirit is a shinin' silver star, chile. Can't nobody take that away from you. Remember that, you hear?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I told her tearfully. “Thank you, Edna.” With that, my parents whisked me away. I was silent during the ride to the police station, thinking of Edna's last words:
Yo' spirit is a shinin' silver star, chile. Can't nobody take that away from you.

When we got there, I had to tell the story again, in slow and graphic detail this time. But the young female police officer who questioned me was patient and gentle, and let me cry when I needed to. In spite of Jonathan's threats, I gave a complete description of him, and how to get in touch with him through his father.

“What will happen to him?” I asked the police officer with dull concern.

“If we find him, he will be arrested, then probably released on bail,” the police officer said.

“He'll be allowed to come to school and pretend nothing has happened?” I asked in amazement.

“No, I'll do the follow-up myself to make sure he is not allowed to be within a half mile of any school. He won't be able to bother you or any other girl in that school. I promise,” she assured me.

“Will there be a trial?” I asked fearfully. I couldn't bear to have all the personal details about what happened to me showing up on the six o'clock news. I would die of mortification.

The police officer was honest. “If you press charges, if he is indicted, if they feel they have enough evidence to convict him—yes, there could be a trial.”

“And if I don't press charges?” I asked her.

“Then he is free to do this again. And again. To other unsuspecting girls.”

“Can I go home now?” I asked in desperation. I couldn't handle one more thought. I wanted to think of nothing at all—no fear, no danger—nothing.

When I walked into my house, I glanced at the scribbled lie I had left for my mother. Everything looked the same in the house, but I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. The long, dark sofa, the picture of the black choir singers on the left wall, the blue carpet—it all seemed to look back at me and mock me. I ran to the shower to wash away the pain and the shame of the night. I felt as if I would never be clean or safe again.

My skin seemed to absorb the needles of hot water, but I never really felt their warmth. My eyes focused on nothing—not the water swirling about me, not my body huddled in the bottom of the shower stall. My thoughts focused on nothing as well. To think would be to remember, and I couldn't bear to remember anymore.

I sat on the floor of the shower, long past the time when the water ran hot, long past the time when the water turned to chilly darts pricking at my skin. I didn't care. When I heard Mom's insistent knocking on the bathroom door, I finally turned off the water, wrapped myself in a towel, and stepped from the shower.

“I'm all right, Mom,” I lied. I didn't think I would ever be right again. I shivered fiercely in the chilly bathroom, my hair dripping onto the throw rug beneath my feet. I kept my head down, embarrassed to look at myself in the
mirror. I opened the bathroom door, where Mom stood with a towel she had warmed in the dryer. I took it gratefully as I hugged my mother once more.

“Sleep, now, baby girl,” Mom said quietly. “Don't think. Don't worry. Just sleep. It's over now. You have come through the fire a stronger and wiser person, I know. Get some sleep. I'll be right here. I will not leave you. I promise.”

I could barely stand. I was exhausted. I let my mother lead me down the hall to the pinks and pastels of my bedroom—the soft, comforting bed of my childhood. I collapsed into my pillows and finally slept. I did not dream.

I slept most of the rest of that Sunday, refusing to talk to anyone except my parents. Rhonda called several times, but I wouldn't take the phone. Jalani called, as well as Gerald and B. J. Leon called every hour on the hour, patiently waiting for the chance to talk to me. But I just couldn't. The police called to report that when they arrived at Jonathan's apartment, the doors were unlocked but he was gone. I ate very little, even though Mom fixed special treats to entice me. I faced the wall and kept the world outside of my bedroom.

My father told me that Jonathan had not been at his father's house either when the police went looking for him, nor had he returned to his apartment. The police found plenty of evidence there, however—the broken bottle, my shoes, smeared drops of blood—more than enough to back up my story.

I know it didn't take long for everyone at school to know what had happened. Rhonda told me later that when
the police showed up at the home of Mr. Hathaway, a student in the eleventh grade who lived next door to him told her girlfriends what she had seen and overheard. Those girls called several of their friends, who each called several more, so by Monday morning the school was buzzing with rumors and half-truths. Even though I wasn't there, I could imagine exactly what they said.

“You hear about Keisha and Jonathan Hathaway?”

“Yeah. That pig! I knew there was something wrong with him.”

“Those funny yellow eyes—like an animal of some kind.”

“I thought he was fine!”

“The way I hear it, he ain't fine no more!”

“She sliced him big time!”

“She didn't mean to—she was just tryin' to get away!”

“Yeah, right. She probably tried to mess him up!”

“I'd rather have me an ugly dude who treated me right instead of a pretty boy who did me wrong!”

“Well, she always trying to be Miss Thang! She probably asked for it.”

“How you say that? Don't
nobody
ask for nothing like that!”

“If a girls says
no,
that ought to mean
no!”

“Yeah, you right, but she always wore her skirts so short and her shirts so tight!”

“Look at you, girl. Look at your skirt! Does that mean you lookin' to get raped?”

“I feel you. You right. She didn't deserve that.”

“I feel sorry for Keisha. I heard she won't come out of her bedroom.”

“Poor kid.”

“And for sure she won't come back to school.”

“Well, would you?”

“Not with everybody talking about me and knowin' my personal business. I don't blame her.”

“She ain't got nothing to be ashamed of! I'm proud of her! Women gotta learn to fight back!”

“Serious mess, girl. Watch yourself.”

“Back at you.”

“Peace.”

And I just couldn't bear it. I refused to go to school, even though I was physically OK, and I refused to talk to anyone on the phone. When my friends came to my house, I locked my bedroom door and ignored their knocks. I know it hurt them, but I couldn't help it. I refused to talk to the police and I wouldn't sign the statement pressing charges. I was supposed to go to group sessions for victims of crime, but I refused to get dressed. I just lay in my bed and faced the wall. Two weeks passed, and I still couldn't move on.

My mother told me that Jonathan Hathaway had disappeared. No one had seen him since that Saturday night. His car was gone, but his clothes and the rest of his belongings remained in the apartment. His picture appeared on the front page of the newspaper, with a reward offered for his arrest. A small story accompanied his picture, but they didn't print my name. Everybody knew, though. I know that everybody knew.

My mother wanted to give me the chance to heal, but I'm sure I was starting to get on her nerves. She called several counseling centers to ask for help and tried suggestions from all of them. She told me that she even drove over to the place where Edna lived to see if she could get her to talk to me, but nothing remained but the furnace and some empty cardboard boxes. Edna had moved on.

On March first, I heard the doorbell ring. I could hear my mother talking to whoever was at the door, probably telling her that I didn't want to see anybody. But soon I heard steps approaching my bedroom door. Whoever it was, I wasn't interested.