The 'N' Word, Book 1 (11 page)

She kept rocking him, his little body restrained, the darkness blanketing them in arms of dull comfort.

“You’ve got the heart of a tiger, and together, we’re going to beat this thing… it’s just a matter of time…”

Chapter Four

Name: Ryan Goldie

Charge: Embezzlement

Name: Stuart Prior

Charge: Second degree murder

Name: Aaron Pike

Charge: Assault and Battery

Name: Percy Campbell

Charge: Aggravated assault and robbery

“W
HY DON’T THEY
have photos of these guys in here, too?” Trudy asked as she leafed through the folder while sitting at Mia’s kitchen table, scanning the sheets chock full of inmate profiles for crucial information. “Fire” from the Ohio Players played on the small radio that Mia had had in her possession since she’d been a teenager. The thing cracked and groaned a bit with static-filled outbursts and the antenna seemed to almost have to touch the ceiling to receive a fairly decent signal.

“Because it’s not a dating service!” Mia rolled her eyes as she lazily got to her bare feet, stretched and yawned, and made her way back over to the old, white gas stove. Picking up the metal spatula that lay at the side, she turned the thick pork chops over, eager to get the damn homemade gravy on the things with a side of buttery mashed potatoes and cabbage drizzled with bacon grease. This was her cheat night, and she was going to have whatever the hell she wanted.

Trudy suddenly stomped her foot.

“Cut that out!” Mia turned towards her, brows bunched and vexed as could be. “I got that double fudge chocolate cake in the oven, girl. You’re gonna make it fall!”

“Well, shit,
excusez-moi
, but this is frustrating. If I’m going to do this, I need to see what these guys look like!”

“Didn’t you just warn me about convicts the other day? Aren’t you the
same
woman that acted as if my mere presence at Holman would turn them into frenzied zombies, out to get me as soon as I stepped foot inside the building? You told me I shouldn’t even work there, let alone date one!”

“No, you don’t understand.” The woman blushed, her expression coy as she turned away. “I’d
never
date a convict again—most got this crazy jail bird mentality—but hell, it would be nice to see who I’m dealing with, have a little eye candy.”

“Mmmm hmmmm.” Mia shook her head in disbelief as she turned back towards the stove. “So, are you going to do the program or not?” Mia shot her cousin a glance from over her shoulder, eye-balling the divorced mother of three.
Love you to heaven and back, girl, but you’re crazy!

“Not.” Trudy burst out laughing and pushed the damn thing back across the table, her face full of disgust. “I’d end up getting some Jeffrey Dahmer type of man then, before I knew it, he’d be released and talkin’ to me about boilin’ my black ass in a pot of stew or like that one fool, turnin’ me into a damn lamp shade! Put the lotion in tha basket! Ain’t nobody got time for that!”

“Come on, Trudy! Please?” she begged, pressing her hands together as if in prayer. She threw on a pair of sad eyes in an effort to seal the imminent deal. “I asked so many and only got four people to sign up.” She held up four fingers, driving the point home. “I feel like I’m all alone in this, like on some island. I need help.”

“Wiiillllson!” Trudy joked as she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Remember that from Castaway with Tom Hanks?! Wiiiillllson! The soccer ball was floatin’ away… That shit was funny as hell.”

“You’re a real sick woman.” Mia grimaced. “Come on, seriously, Trudy. These men need someone to talk to.”

“Tell it to the judge. They shoulda thought about that before they did what they did…sittin’ around with no one to talk to is a small price to pay, I’m sure.” She popped a juicy orange slice in between her lips, and worked it around nosily in her mouth, smacking in between each exaggerated gulp as if she were chewing gum. Mia stood there watching the woman consume the sweet, juicy fruit and twisted her lips in annoyance.

“…I hope you choke on a seed.”

Trudy burst out laughing. “Now that wasn’t very nice, Mia,” she mocked with a sly grin, then popped another orange slice in her mouth. “When is that food gonna be ready? I’m famished.”

“In about ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Well.” Her cousin shot a glance at the clock on the wall. “That’s far too long. I gotta go, baby girl.”

“So soon?! What am I going to do with all this food?” Mia slid on a black and white plaid design oven mitt with a burn mark in the middle and took a peek inside the old oven. “The cake is almost done, but would need to cool.”

“Can I fix me a plate to go? I gotta pick up Josh.”

“He had practice tonight?”

“Mmm hmmm.” She grabbed her lightweight purple windbreaker that hung loosely on the back of the chair and slid it on. “And I’m supposed to drop two of his friends back off home, too.”

“Okay, well, I guess I can pull the plug on this. Let me get your plate together.” The woman nodded as Mia quickly retrieved the foil and a few paper plates. “The cake will have to cool like I said. Come by tomorrow after work and I’ll get you some.”

“Oh honey, you know that I will!” she squealed as she accepted a plate of pork chops, cabbage, dirty rice and mashed potatoes, and three more just like it for her children. “Your double fudge chocolate cake is a kiss from the Devil, honey. Bad for you but too damn good to resist!” She grinned from ear to ear.

“Alright, be careful out there; you know the roads around this time of night are pitch black. They still haven’t fixed that light.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Thanks for dinner, sweetie.” Mia grabbed her cousin in an embrace and kissed her cheek, causing the lady’s large plastic bag laden with food to swing back and forth. Then, she walked her to the front door. The barely-hanging-on screen stretched across the squeaky thing as Trudy made her way onto the terrace, a dim, yellow light casting a hazy glow above her layered bob. A cluster of swooping gnats and other tiny flying insects moved about the illumination, flitting about in contentment. Tossing a look over her shoulder, she gave a light wave.

“Call me when you get in, okay?” Mia prompted, feeling the loneliness already seeping in—and the woman was still in sight.

“Yes, Mama.” With a giggle, Trudy walked to her red Ford Focus that was parked in the uneven driveway. Mia stood at the door a moment or two longer as the car disappeared from sight, eaten up by the darkness of the nocturnal world. Finally, she closed and locked the door then made her way back into her kitchen, immediately turning off the stove.

The cake can finish from the heat of the oven…

She grabbed a vibrant green plate with little white daisies around the edge from a cabinet and placed a small sampling of everything she’d cooked onto the plate. Licking her finger, she wrapped a fork inside a paper towel and made her way to her kitchen table. The Brothers Johnson crooned, “I’ll Be Good To You”. Dipping her fork into the mashed potatoes, she savored the buttery flavor as she propped up her feet on a nearby wobbly chair. She bobbed her head to the music and ate her meal.

I hate when Trudy leaves… The house gets so quiet…dead…

Mia came from a large family, accustomed to children racing around, adults laughing, the old folks talking loudly, and gospel music playing in every room. But, she’d moved quite a distance away to teach at Compass School in Atmore, Alabama. Most of her siblings had moved to other states altogether, bitten by the travel bug. Originally from Auburn, Alabama, it took quite a while to get used to the change. In many ways, Auburn was a college town. Most of her older relatives worked at Auburn University, and the majority were educated. Mia, however, sought to set roots elsewhere, make a bit of a difference, but her attachment to her family didn’t allow her to drift terribly far.

Atmore appeared to be a compromise… but it was more like a wake-up call. Not nearly as bad as living in neighboring Mt. Vernon, however, she’d been fairly sheltered from such events as store and car theft and property damage.

Also, despite her close-knit family, Mia was a bit reserved. She enjoyed being alone most of her childhood and teen years, for peace and quiet often came at a premium. In this case, though, her wishes for independence became a nightmare-come-true. She lived in an old two-story home that sang creepy songs from the wind and enchanted her with bountiful sunlight when morning glory showed her wares; but, when the night fell upon her, it swallowed sound and sight, and all the senses struggled to grasp onto anything real, alive, and tangible. The house became a mere vacuum, eliminating evidence of life, but providing proof of emotional loss. It held secrets and told them, too; one just simply needed to listen.

The floors creaked all on their lonesome and the occasional human-like hum would come out of nowhere, typically during her beginning stages of slumber. Nevertheless, she wasn’t afraid, merely accepting that there were some things in the world she couldn’t understand. Besides, she was the fifth child out of seven, the daughter of a preacher father and school teacher mother, and their house had been filled with the purest of love, occasional whimsy, and beautiful stories passed down from her great, great grandmother. She carried those memories close, bided her time, and made the two and a half hour drive back home once on the third Sunday of every month.

Dressed in her Sunday best, she’d walk in the place, focused on finding her father at the head of the sanctuary to give the ailing man a big hug and hear him preach. As a child, his words had held far less power. She’d hold her Bible near to her chest, but secretly desired to read such musings as Walt Whitman’s, ‘Leaves of Grass’ and ‘The Rose That Grew From Concrete’ by Tupac Shakur. She didn’t know how to tell her father that the ‘Word of God’ didn’t give her the same passion and fever as, ‘Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost. How could she tell the man that she didn’t see the world the same way he did, wanted to branch out and spread her own wings and plant her roots, too? Once she attempted the feat, her father had grown angry, displaying a strange manifestation of himself, something she’d never witnessed before in all of her life.

Yes, the man had raised his voice from time to time, but Daddy didn’t seem to have an angry bone in his tall, wiry body. Yet, on the day she told him the Bible contained contradictions, words that seemed untrue, he hit the roof so high, he burst through the ceiling straight to heaven and filed a complaint regarding his daughter to God himself. She never went in that direction again, but she’d made her way somehow, forced to bury what was in her heart.

Yes, she buried her deepest emotions, but they didn’t know that, the moment they’d tossed dirt upon her, the seeds inside her started to grow…

She bubbled with promise and vowed that, as much as she loved her family, there had to be more out there in the world. And, she wanted to see it!

She’d went through her brief spell of rebellion, fights, acting out, and then like a light switch, she returned to her true, adoring self… Or was she truly adoring at all? Only time would tell as she struggled with fascinations to keep one perfectly planted foot in the lush garden of life and the other in the searing valley of Death. She secretly delighted in her hidden combination of sour and sweet, derelict and divine… though she kept her musings hidden, deep within herself, year after year.

Maybe that’s what killed her relationship with Rodney… no one, especially him, seemed to truly ‘get’ her, understand her. Maybe that is why she was so attracted to that which was so pure and good, and that which was diabolically evil. It was a shameful magnetism, one she’d never admit to a living soul. She tucked her secrets away, and proceeded with life, desperately trying to follow the straight and narrow path of what was expected of her. Nevertheless, she began with baby steps. She got a new job, relocated, then purchased her first home. The sad, rundown structure seemed to whisper love letters in her ear, begging her to move herself inside and promising to not do her any harm. So, she’d grabbed her belongings, and purchased a few new ones and set up shop. One room with burgundy and baby blue Damask print wallpaper housed wall-to-wall books, many of them filled with the writings of the Greats. From classic to contemporary poetry, they lined the walls, protected, cherished, and loved.