Beyond the Hurt (6 page)

Jamie Lynn pushed past the scarlet woman jetting out to her car that was parked directly across the street. “I don’t have time to deal with thirsty women. I definitely didn’t come out here to be disrespected.”

Distracted by his ear action, Lance almost missed her breaking away. “Jamie, wait up.” He quickly followed her out onto the sidewalk hoping to stop her. “Wait up, please. I don’t know that woman.” Lance softened his tone.

“Well it sure looked like you did.” Lance reached out and grabbed her wrist. Jamie jerked back and stopped in her tracks to hear what he had to say and to avoid any further attention brought to their conversation. “Now, I am not your girl and you don’t even know me at all. But I refuse to be disrespected. If that is
your lady, I apologize for being in her way.” She folded her arms and looked away in frustration. A few of the bar patrons who noticed the commotion observed the exchange.

“It’s not like that.” He took the napkin that was still in his hand, tore it into small pieces, and dropped it right on the sidewalk where they were standing. “I don’t know that woman, I just met her tonight and I guess she thought she had to go above and beyond for her tip. She only did all that to make you jealous because she knows that she is ugly.” Lance smiled and nudged her arm, trying to make a joke out of the situation. Jamie stayed stone-faced still awaiting his explanation as to why she should proceed with an evening with him. “Tell me this, Queen. Why did you come down here?” Lance made sure to use the upmost respect when he was in the company of intelligent women. In addition, he knew that he was in a tight space. His mama made sure to school him on how to woo a lady.

“Honestly, your mother speaks so highly of you when I go into the bank. She told me that you have some women issues, but that a woman like me was what you needed. I guess I wanted to see for myself.”

“Well that is true to a certain extent, but please understand that if it was me and you, you would not have to worry about a thing. If you just give me an opportunity to show you what I am about, I am sure that we can get past all this.” He took a step closer to her and placed his hand on the side of her face, gently caressing it. His hand was almost covering the entire side of her cheek. He slid his palm down and rested the tips of his fingers on her chin. He flashed a reassuring smile, “Will you allow me to take you out?”

Jamie could not resist his charm. She loved a challenge. Any man that was too easy to attain, was a turn off for her. A little competition never hurt anyone, especially if she was winning in the end. She pushed the button to unlock the car and motioned for him to come onto the other side. She was still hungry and with all of the recent unfolding of events, it was the least she deserved. Lance opened her door, gently protecting her head, making sure she was securely in before he ran to the passenger side and hopped in.

Jamie checked her mirrors and noticed a silver Range Rover creeping up on the side of her car blocking her from pulling out of her parking space. The high beam lights were piercing her eyes making it difficult to make out a clear picture of the driver. A medium sized woman about 5’5” hopped out of the car with a wooden baseball bat in her hand. Three other women surrounded the car on all sides yelling for Lance to exit the car and confront them.
I don’t need this.
Lance thought to himself recognizing it was Darnise and her ghetto cousins, which he often referred to as the “Zoo Crew.” When it came time to get revenge on the men that so easily did her wrong, her cousins knew how to put fear in the hearts of men, take them to school and teach them that messing with family was a huge mistake. They were her ride-or-die chicks. He immediately leaped back out of the car to intersect any intentions of the perturbed women. Darnise was known to get down with the best of them in the neighborhood fighting with no rules. Lance figured it would be utterly impossible for Jamie to take down these ruthless gutter rats on her own, especially on his behalf.

“Darnise, this is not the time or the place for this,” Lance stated trying to reason with her.

“This is how you treat me? All these years and you are blowing me off for the next…” Darnise was instantly cut off by Jamie.

“Lance, get back in the car please.” Jamie spoke firmly through the lowered passenger side window. Lance didn’t seem to understand her request and stared blankly back at her as if she was speaking another language. He took another step toward Darnise with his hands raised, hoping she would surrender allowing everyone to depart from the scene unharmed. “Get yo’ ass back in the car!” She repeated again, this time screaming it. Lance immediately jumped back in the car at her request. The whole ordeal was turning him on. The fact that the two women were ready to go to blows in his honor boosted his ego; at least he saw it that way in his head. He secured himself in the car, she put her car in reverse, hit a quick U-turn and was out of their sight.

Charles and Elijah devoured as many beers as their stomachs could tolerate. They needed to remain functional and decided it was best that they sober up a bit to get home. The waitress brought over a couple glasses of ice water and the bill to close out the order. Charles dug deep into his handy arsenal of cheesy pick-up lines and dusted off a few of the award-winning options he would plant on the waitress when she returned. He whistled to grab her attention with a few snaps, hoping that since Lance jetted out on him he wasn’t going to need her contact information. It would be his honor as his friend to pick up the pieces. She just rolled her eyes, wiping down the table hoping he got the message that she was not interested.

The scrolling strobe lights from the DJ booth flashed on the entrance. Charles spotted Darnise and her cousins trudging into the establishment in his direction. He lowered his head as she scanned the room in search of someone. With her crew beside her, they stuck out like a sore thumb.

Darnise kept in shape. Lance liked to describe her as “healthy in all the right places.” From his perspective, milk did her body good. However, her attitude often worked as a defense toward men whom were interested. She was far from an ugly girl, but her cousins often overshadowed her beauty with their bright indiscreet red, pink and blue weave colors, nails and lashes. Her skin-tight black freak ‘um dress, pressed each curve of her body. It was obvious to him that she had an agenda that evening that quickly faded to black. She caught the attention of all the patrons as their eyes were glued on her and her posse. She appeared to be in search of someone. She was panting, her chest inflated and deflated with each breath. He wanted to approach her, yet he knew that if Darnise was in the building just after Lance left, that the two probably had a showdown in the parking lot that Charles knew he wanted no part of. He buried his head down in his arms, hoping that she would not notice him and carry on with her evening. She was too determined for that. She made her way to the back of the bar thoroughly glancing over each guest seated at their respective tables.

“Charles, I see you! Why are you acting like you don’t see me in here?” Charles continued to keep his head lowered in hopes that she would think it was a mistaken identity and leave. “I knew you would be in here, I saw yo’ car so I knew Lance would not be far behind. Who is that girl that he left out of here with?”

“Oh hey Darnise, that
is
you. I almost didn’t recognize you in the dark.”

“Don’t play games with me Chuck. Who is the girl Lance left here with?” Her cousins stood watch around the table focusing on the entrance and exit doors.

“I ain’t got nothing to do with y’all situation, I don’t know the girl, but if you really want answers you should go holla at Miss Lydia. I am sure she is just waiting to tell you all about it.” He smirked with a hint of sarcasm in his tone knowing Miss Lydia wouldn't dare to entertain a conversation with her.

“Come on y’all, let’s get out of here!” Darnise exclaimed, rounding up her cousins disappointed that he was of no assistance to her. She huffed and puffed like a six-year-old girl the entire route from the table to the exit. She completely ignored the advances from the men in the bar that grabbed for her wrists to catch her before bursting out of the club.

The hour was growing late; by now Charles ingested two beers over his public drinking limit. Elijah was alert, not nearly as intoxicated as his friend. He decided to go out and grab Charles’ car from the valet, it was best for him to drive Charles home and retrieve his car the next day after he sobered up a bit. Elijah made the arrangements with the owner to leave his vehicle overnight and presented the valet with the ticket for Charles’ car. The young man dashed off down the dimly lit street and returned in seconds with the vehicle.

Elijah pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the parking attendant for his marvelous work in not damaging or scratching his boy’s baby. Charles’ black on black fifth generation Chevy Camaro was his pride and joy. He opened the car door, turned up the CD player, rested his head on the headrest and waited for Charles to make his way out of the bar. Without warning, the sound of Fourth of July fireworks exploded in his ear, the front windshield and passenger side windows immediately shattered scattering small pieces of glass throughout the interior of the car.

The next sounds were more recognizable. As each round was emptied into his vehicle, his body seamlessly reacted to every impacted bullet. Blood leaked from his flesh into the fabric of the seats, covering what was left of the glass still standing. The sleek leather upholstery was tattered, exposing the underlying cushion. After the first three shots, Elijah gasped for air, gurgling trying to fight against the influx of fluid that was entering his mouth. The next three shots delivered his unwarranted fate.

The entire body of bar patrons rushed to the front of The Shadow Bar after the ringing of shots fired ceased to witness who the unsuspecting victim would be. Charles was clear as soon as he recognized his mutilated car, now a casket holding his friend. He frantically sprinted over to the car in disbelief that something like this could happen. He searched left and right for any sign of the killer.

“Somebody, call an ambulance!” he hollered to the people who stood immobile with no urgency. “Somebody call 911!”

Chapter 6

“Samson, let me speak to mama.” I forced out with all my mustered up strength.

“She’s not here. What’s up?” he asked with grave concern. “You need something? Somebody messin' with you?”

“No, fool. You can’t do anything anyway,” I responded with irritation. “Where’s Mama?”

“I told you she ain’t here!” he repeated again in the same manner as the first time.

Samson was a master of getting under my skin. For some reason, he thought he could fix everything for me and fight all my battles. One time back when I was in middle school this really hideous, overweight eighth grade monster of a girl tried to punk me for my lunch. In actuality, she did punk me for my lunch, my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and goldfish. She shoved me in the middle of the cafeteria, knocking me to the ground in front of all the students. I looked up as she took a bite out of my sandwich, leaving crumbs on her lip and chin. She didn’t even have the decency to wipe off her filthy mouth.

Word got back to my brother, who happened to be at school that day. Normally, he would be behind the bungalows smoking weed with his buddies or cutting school to hang out at the local barbershop. This day he waited until the final school bell rang and surrounded the big black roly-poly roach girl with his friends. He forced me to spit in her face as he knocked her to the ground. He and one of his boys held her down, he instructed me to sock her in the head and kick her in the stomach. I didn’t want to look like a punk again, so I did it. I was fearful that as soon as he was no longer around to protect me she would have me slaughtered. She would fry me up and have me for supper. But, I manned up and did as I was told. From that day on, she left me alone. I knew that anytime somebody bothered me, that he would not hesitate getting involved. Yet that is what I feared, and often the boys that I had crushes on were his homeboys or his enemies, which made all of them off limits.

“Well, when Mama gets home, tell her to call me. It’s an emergency,” I demanded.

“I don’t think that Mama is going to be home for a while,” he started with some hesitation “Mama and Daddy got into it again. They were cussin and yelling, so you know it had to be something bad, because, Mama don’t ever use that kind of language. Daddy just walked out into the back house where he keeps his liquor and never came back in. He didn’t take his truck this time. I know he is back there getting drunk. Mama packed a small overnight bag and smashed out. I’m sure she went to Big Mama’s, but you know I ain’t mad because that means I get the house to myself,” he smirked. “I think I might just call one of my shorties over to the house.” He conveniently left out the truth of the matter, but I had already heard what went down.

“Boy, please! None of these girls are checking for you, unless you are about to call one of those hoodrats! You know the one Mama and Daddy caught you fooling around with when they returned from Riverside. They said she was all the way tore-up, from the floor-up, basket weave and all!” I reminded him through my panting. “But never mind all that, when Mama gets home, have her call me please?”

“You right. I just stopped by the house real quick to pick up some clothes. Pops doesn’t even know I am here, but if I see Mama, I’ll tell her. Bet. Gone.”

The dial tone revealed the harsh reality that I would have to face this alone. I tossed my cell phone to the side, slowly picking myself off the bathroom floor trying to avoid my fresh vomit spread over the toilet seat and floor. The odor from my regurgitated breakfast, lunch or dinner, because I was definitely unsure of which one, caused my insides to turn. I was empty. My stomach had no more acid to release. My lower back, abdominal pain, and headaches made it very difficult for me to keep my food down, not to mention the sight of endless blood made me nauseated. My head was spinning and pounding. Every gasp for new breath sent my body into shock. It felt like a sharp knife was driving into my belly repeatedly.

My roommate had not arrived home from work to assist me in my weakened state or to hound me with questions of my condition. Although we had just met, we had an instant connection. She was studying the same major at UC Riverside and came from a similar home environment. I was certain that my mother would have a-million-and-one questions to ask me as well, but at the end of the day, she was my mother and she would understand. She would be able to provide some answers for me. She could lead me in the right direction of what decision to make, and she would be able to make me feel better about myself right now.

Ha. Who was I kidding? My mother was never there for me when I was sick, or at all for that matter. The one time I stayed home due to severe menstrual cramping, she was too busy attending to other endeavors. This is code for cleaning up Samson’s mess or preoccupied with her patients at the hospital. I had to get my own heating pad. My tears didn’t sway her in any way. She claimed I was being a baby and to suck it up. “Women hurt and go through pain” she would tell me, “so get used to it now; so you can endure it later.”  Every opportunity provided for my mother to be just
that
, was lost amidst her inability to connect with me. We were constantly at odds. Don’t get me wrong. We love each other; we just didn’t speak it verbally. We show it uniquely, at least that is what I came to believe and understand.  To the outside world, it may be classified as dysfunction, but in our little world, it was our existence.

I knew that being alone was not the best option for me. I had to get myself to a hospital or to the Health Clinic on campus, but I didn’t have a car.  9-1-1 was the only course of action. I propped myself against the cabinet with my half-naked body exposed to the icy chill from the floor. My numb fingers trembled as I juggled the phone in my hand. I was terrified.

The night prior, after much coaxing from my roommate, I surrendered and purchased an over-the-counter Early Home Pregnancy Test Kit. I knew that taking one at-home pregnancy test was not the most efficient way to determine if I was in fact pregnant, but I had to know. I remembered learning that there may not be enough hormones in the urine after a missed period to make that declaration.

My body just didn’t feel the same, my breast were slightly larger and my nipples were sometimes numb. I shrugged it off as typical menstrual symptoms because there was no way I was pregnant after one time of meaningless sex. It was certainly not baby making or lovemaking. I despised every minute of it. Okay, let’s not say I despised it, but I was not prepared or in any way mature enough for the moment. I agreed to have sex because I refused to be the only freshman virgin in college.

I did exactly as instructed, laid the test on a flat surface, and soaked it with my urine. I waited what felt like eternity for the results of the test. Finally, within the small square portion of the test, my fate appeared.

“9-1-1 Karen, what’s your emergency?” The voiced boomed in my ear.

“I’m not sure what is going on with me.” I felt an anxiety attack sneaking up on me.  “I’m alone. There’s blood everywhere.” I attempted to steady my breathing, but to no avail. “I can’t stop vomiting.” My hands were trembling making it difficult to maintain the phone in my cold numb fingers. “Please help! I’m scared!” My words echoed in my own ear.

“Ok. What is the location of the emergency?” the operator requested.

“I’m at 3…5…9…5… Can-yon Crest Drive.”

“Ok. And is that a house or an apartment?”

“It’s an apartment. Can you send someone please?” The operator’s lack of urgency annoyed me. I could feel the sweat from my pores soaking into my underclothes, which were already soiled with blood.

“And what’s the name of the housing unit?”

“The Plaza. Unit 125.” I scanned the room. My eyes focused on the door. I was hoping my roommate would come busting in the door to my rescue.

“What is the phone number you are calling from?”

“951-555-7928” With each question, I felt my temperature rising and my eyes welled with tears. I swallowed hard to keep myself from crying, inhaling and exhaling.

“And what’s your name?”

“Debra Tucker.”

“And how old are you?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Is the bleeding serious? Do you feel like you may lose consciousness?”

“I’ve never bled like this before. Please help me! Send someone now! I can’t take these pains in my stomach.” The pains were becoming more severe and frequent.

“Ok. We have an ambulance on the way. That is 3595 Canyon Crest Drive, correct?”

              “Yes! Please hurry!”

“Ok. We have help on the way. If anything changes or gets worse, please call us back at 9-1-1.”

I hung up the phone and situated my head on a rolled up bathroom towel, shifting my body into the fetal position. I closed my eyes and began to pray for the Lord to make it all right. Although we didn’t frequent church, we did pray at home. That’s all I knew how to do. Church was never a priority in our home. My dad spent many Sundays locked away in his man cave, enjoying his day off. Big Mama often urged us to attend with her, but my mom never quite saw the need. As long as she knew how to get a prayer through, it was enough.

It took the Emergency Medical Technicians nearly five minutes to come to my rescue. The last thing I remembered was being loaded onto the stretcher.
Thank you, God!

The bright lights pierced my eyelids forcing them to open. I was sprawled across the hospital bed in the private room surrounded by all the different pieces of medical equipment. I had multiple tubes and lines branching from my limbs. The beeps, buzzes and alarms made getting any rest virtually impossible. I slowly lifted my right arm to view the arterial line that was nipping my skin. Gradually, I shifted my head to examine the line attached to the monitor to ensure my blood pressure was good. 117/76 mm Hg, my blood pressure was normal. I was fine. I wanted nothing more than to get out of that hospital bed and back to the normalcy of my apartment.
Did no one come to see if I was ok? How long have I been here? Did my mama call me back?
All these thoughts rushed through my mind. The petite Filipina registered nurse who was assigned to my room abruptly interrupted my pondering. She lightly tapped on the door to notify me of her entering the room. Her voice was sweet and soothing, almost making me feel at ease in the frigid recovery area. The pale wall coverings and unappealing pastel drapes effectively prevented the outside world from breaking its way in.

“Hi, my name is Ana and I am your nurse. I am here to take your vitals and verify if you need any additional treatments,” she explained.

“Is everything OK?” I inquired with dire concern.

“Dr. White will be in shortly to explain what happened?” She carefully noted all my vitals on her chart and left me to my wondering thoughts. I decided I would attempt to rest my eyes a bit before my doctor arrived.

Just as I began to journey into the first stage of REM, my doctor entered the room, “Hello Debra. I’m Dr. White. I’m glad to see you are awake and feeling better.” I was not quite awake, however I was delighted that my doctor was young, African-American and female. That was not common where I was from; it even lifted my spirits. All the times I went to visit my mother at work I never saw a young sista, brotha, or any Black person for that matter, as a doctor.

I still remained weak. I repositioned myself on the hardwood-floor-of-a-bed and braced myself for her report.

“Did you know that you were pregnant?” She jumped right into it. For a moment, I had even forgotten the reason I was there in the first place.

“Yes.” I said with hesitation.

“When did you find out?”

“Last night.” I was unclear where the line of questioning was leading, but I decided to be compliant.

“So you haven't taken any prenatal vitamins?” With each question, she made notations on her clipboard.