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Authors: T. Styles

Tags: #African American, #General, #Fiction

Prison Throne (5 page)

BOOK: Prison Throne
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Knowing the code was 4578—the number Lamont gave Louie the Knife—because he told the story a million times, she gained access. The lock popped open and with a soft tug she grabbed what she wanted from inside.

She slogged up the stairs toward the front door, clasped her father’s keys and walked out of the house without informing her parents.

Once inside of her father’s navy blue 1994 Honda Prelude, she drove a mile up the street to the 7-Eleven. Parking the car in two spots at the same time, she grabbed the item from her father’s chest, walked into the store and pointed the gun at the store’s employee.

“Hands in the air,” she said so dryly the cashier giggled. “This is a stickup.”

 

****

 

With her work done, Snow walked into the house, leaving the gun and the money she’d stolen on the driver’s seat of the car. When she bent the corner to the dining room, her parents were still at the table…waiting.

             
“What took you so long?” Lamont asked with a lowered brow. “Is your stomach upset?”

This bitch better not be pregnant
, he thought.

             
“No. I’m fine.”

             
“Well what’s up, baby?” Maureen asked, only five seconds away from crying. “You’re scaring me.”

             
Before she could respond, the front of their house lit up in an amazing display of red and blue lights. The thundering sound of police banging on the door startled everyone but Snow.

             
There was no use in Snow leaving the table. If they wanted her, they would have their way and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Instead, she remained calm, grabbed the cold undercooked chicken, took a bite and waited for her new fate.

 

****

 

Snow sat in the van and glanced out of the window as it drove down the street. A few other girls were inside and although they introduced themselves to one another, nobody bothered to speak to her. She didn’t care much; at least that’s what her mind said. Besides, she’d had a long week and all she wanted to do was be alone.

             
After robbing the store, she was evaluated by a psychiatrist because it was totally unlike Snow. She was a straight 'A' student and every member in the church’s congregation spoke in her defense. It was agreed that for whatever reason, she simply snapped. However, she still needed to be punished.

So Snow was remanded to Strawberry Meadows Group Home. In her parents’ honest opinion, after Slack Jaw Morris placed his hands on her she probably lost reason, and when the judge saw the spit juice collecting in the corners of his mouth, she agreed.

              When the bus stopped in front of a building that resembled anything but a home, Snow’s body trembled. It wasn’t until then that she realized that all of her life she had the benefit of her parents’ love and protection. But who would protect her now?

Strawberry Meadows was a co-ed facility for children who were not totally bad, but on the verge of getting into trouble. Although the program was meant to put troubled teenagers back on track, they didn’t have enough employees to handle the one hundred and twenty kids who roamed the halls. As a result, it was a breeding ground for strife.

              “Get off the bus!” yelled a white woman who hopped on the vehicle when the doors opened. She was a mammoth sized beast with huge eyes and boulders for fists. “You’re at Strawberry Meadows now! In here, I’m your mama!” Although she preferred the
mother
moniker, the children called her Ms. Brush Face behind her back. She had so much hair on her face you could barely see her eyes.

             
Snow popped up from her seat and entered the line of girls moving toward the exit. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she made her way toward the entrance.

She would hate it there!

She was sure of it!

             
Until she walked through the doors and saw Rasim.

             
Now everything she went through made sense.

             
God had brought her there to meet him.

CHAPTER
3

RASIM

 

Rasim, Chance and Brooklyn illegally occupied the room of ten girls. Basically, they were going through their personal shit. Unfortunately, all of the girls were at a Wellness Seminar meant to advise them on protected sex and STDs and the friends took full advantage of their absence.

The boys were not even supposed to be in the Girls’ Wing. Their hall was on the opposite end of the building. But Rasim and his friends did everything but follow the rules.

Brooklyn sat on a bottom bunk examining the insides of a red duffle bag. “Look at this shit,” he yelled holding a rubber dick in the air. “This bitch horny as shit.” He tossed it to the floor and proceeded to pilfer. He was low-key mad that women had a toy to satisfy their needs. Where was his portable pussy?

“Who is that again?” Chance asked with sly eyes while looking down at the rubber ding-dong. Why trouble with a fake when he held the real thing? So he wanted her name so that he could attempt to dick her down later. He was standing in front of the bed going through a ripped black suitcase on the top bunk. The clinic cured him of Chlamydia and now he was ready to use his new stick.

“The bitch with the big nose and sores around her mouth,” Brooklyn advised, pointing at his own nostrils. “You don’t want that.” He shook his head in disgust. “Trust me.”

He could speak for himself. Chance pulled up her face in his mental Rolodex and was determined to have his stick in her mouth before the night’s end.

“You better get that shit checked out first,” Rasim said going through a blue suitcase across the room. “I saw you scratching your joint earlier today.”

“Fuck you looking at my dick for?” Chance laughed.

“Nigga, you was standing next to me while I was killing mothafuckas in Spades. You don’t remember that shit?”

“You better watch that nigga reference,” Brooklyn joked while pointing at him. “We can protect you when you’re with us but you could get your shit cracked if you dolo.” He focused back on the bag. “Remember, youngin’, you brown, not black.”

“It’s the same thing,” Chance interrupted as he picked up another bag. The other didn’t yield any benefits. “If you ain’t white, you fall in the same category. Nigga.”

While they joked on one another, Rasim went into his heart. It troubled him that his heritage was often the topic of discussion. Truthfully, although he was Pakistani, he was often confused with Indian or Hawaiian people. His features could be mistaken for any number of races.

Eventually Rasim brushed the shit off his shoulders when he found five dollars in a bag. He tucked it in his pocket and moved to the next duffle when Brooklyn yelled, “Ain’t these old ass mothafuckas the parents of the girl who came today?” He was clutching a picture of Lamont and Maureen Bradshaw in his paws. A baby blue duffle bag belonging to Snow sat at his feet.

Snow’s parents rode up to the center after she was registered.

Rasim stared at the picture and said, “Yeah, that’s them.” He returned his focus to the bag he was robbing. Besides, the girl was cute, really cute, but she didn’t talk. She roamed around like a mummy and it crept him out.

“You better watch that chick,” Brooklyn quipped as he eyed Rasim. “She be staring at you like she gonna eat you alive. She may be a cannibal and shit.”

“Who you talking about?” Chance questioned. “Church girl?”

“Yep.”

Chance nodded when he recalled her hazel eyes, big breasts and pretty face. “I’m telling you now, if you don’t hit that I will. Flat butt and all. That’s on my mother’s heart.”

The three of them laughed because it was true. Snow was a looker. The only thing that messed Snow up in her own opinion was that although she had a pretty face and huge titties, her buttocks were as flat as Monday’s newspaper.

“Yeah, she lacking in that area for sure,” Rasim admitted. “God must’ve put too much up top and didn’t have nothing left for the bottom. But leave that girl alone, Chance. She seems nice.”

Brooklyn and Chance paused before both of them erupted into laughter. They performed as if they were in their own room and could make as much noise as they wanted.

“You feeling Pancakes, huh?” Brooklyn joked.

“I’m not saying that,” he frowned. “All I’m saying is that she ‘aight and to leave her alone. You mothafuckas always go too far and shit.”

“Okay, but if you want to fuck her just remember she’s wearing these,” Brooklyn said raising a pair of big panties.

Rasim walked over to him, grabbed the yellow bloomers and swung them around. Thinking the shit was hysterical, Brooklyn and Chance did the same thing by grabbing other pairs. They resembled Jamaicans at a party waving flags in the air.

They were in full fool mode when Snow entered and paused at the doorway. When she saw them laughing at her expense with her drawers in their hands, her heart dropped to her belly. She couldn’t believe the sight and the embarrassment caused her face to itch.

Trying to understand what she’d done so wrong, her eyes rolled over Brooklyn and her things that sat on the floor. When she considered him long enough, she observed Chance whose eyes were as wide as the gateway to hell. But when she looked at Rasim, she was devastated. The disappointed mien she wore let Rasim know how deeply he hurt her feelings. And it fucked with him too.

In a panic, she dodged out of the room, crying the whole way.

 

****

 

Rasim looked all over Strawberry Meadows before he finally found Snow sitting in the Movie Room. It was the place the staff played VHS tapes on the weekends for those who didn’t have passes to go home. Or families to go home to.

              Snow was sitting on the sofa with her thighs pressed against her body. Her forehead rested on her knees as she sobbed quietly.

Since the radio was playing, Rasim figured she turned it on to conceal her weeping.

              As he stood over top of her, he struggled with what to say. He didn’t even know the chick and had no idea why he was so concerned. But he moved closer anyway and sat next to her.

             
At first Snow thought the person sitting down was just another boy who had taken an interest in her. She raised her head and was surprised that it was Rasim instead, seeing as how he was so damn mean. Still, she scooted away from him, closer to the arm of the couch. Taking a moment to wipe her tears with the ball of tissue clutched in her hand, she rested her head back on her knees.

             
“You ‘aight?” Rasim asked looking over at her.

             
She nodded on her knees.

             
“Then why you crying?”

             
She shrugged.

             
Damn! Why she gotta be so fucking weird?
He thought.

             
“Look, I’m sorry about that shit in your room just now. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings and stuff.”

             
Finally, she looked directly into his eyes. At that moment, Rasim thought he was looking at another chick because he had never been so close to her face before. His heart rate sped up as he examined her features. Her skin was fair and she was saucer-eyed, allowing him to see the hazel hue of her irises. She was more beautiful up close and Rasim was gone.

Suddenly his tongue fluttered around in his mouth as he boxed with what to say next. “I…I didn’t mean to get you upset.”

She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her t-shirt. “Then why did you?”

Wow! Even her voice
is pretty, he
thought.
She should use it more.

Her tone was breathy like Marilyn Monroe’s and he hadn’t expected her to talk that way.

Rasim knew he had to compose himself before he looked like a fool so he said, “I was just fucking around with my friends. I didn’t mean nothing by it. Really.”

She looked away from him and he was relieved. Now he could check his red Polo shirt and blue jeans to make sure he was still fresh.

Just then “You’re All That I Need”
by Method Man and Mary J. Blige came on the radio and he watched her move her lips although no sound came out. It was clear that it was her favorite song.

“I’m fine,” she said out of the blue. She looked at him again and he swallowed. “Thank you for asking.” She rubbed her arms because it was chilly in the room.

“If you fine, why you still crying?” he questioned.

She sighed and looked down at her legs. “Because all my life people have ignored me. Made fun of me. Just because I have a flat butt and I’m not as cute as other girls. And I guess…well, I guess I thought when I got here people would treat me differently. I’m tired of being alone.”

Rasim shook his head. He understood how it felt to be an outcast because although he had friends, he was always judged for his religion and ethnicity. “I get that,” he nodded.

When she rubbed her arms again she asked, “Is it cold in here or is it just me?”

“Yes,” he admitted. It was definitely chilly. He felt that the staff was trying to freeze niggas out and shit.

When he saw her shivering, Rasim reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of her underwear and placed them over her right shoulder. “Maybe these are big enough to keep you warm.”

At first she was horrified, believing he was doing an outstanding job of insulting her, until he flashed the smile that made him young boy famous.

Suddenly giggling felt good. Like butterflies tickling the inside of her stomach but better. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized she had never really laughed.

“You see,” he said running his finger along the side of her face. Now that he had his swag back, he would use it to the fullest. “Make time to laugh at the dumb shit. Besides, even with that flat butt, with a face like yours, you still a ten.”

Rasim squeezed her cheek lightly, stood up and bopped out.

In Snow’s personal opinion, Rasim was the grooviest nigga ever!

BOOK: Prison Throne
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