The Keysha Diaries, Volume One. Earl Sewell
what the best options would be for the unborn baby she was going to have while still in jail. I told her I wanted to go with her because I wanted to see her. I had questions I wanted to ask her. When we arrived at the jailhouse it was scary. There were metal detectors and armed guards everywhere. We had to take off anything metal that we had on before going through the detector. Even after going through the detector, I had to be patted down to make certain that I wasn’t sneaking in anything that I shouldn’t be.
I went into a room with Maggie and sat at a long table that had partitions on each side for privacy. In front of me was a thick sheet of bulletproof glass and a black telephone. On the other side of the glass was an empty chair with the same setup. I had to wait for a long time before the guard brought Justine out. When I saw her, I was actually happy to see her, even though the circumstances weren’t the best. I picked up the phone at the same time she did.
“Hey, Mommy,” I said, noticing how tightly her hair had been French braided. I couldn’t help the way I felt at that moment. My feelings were trapped somewhere between angry and uncertain.
“What’s going on?” Justine asked.
“Nothing. I mean, a lot. Things are so chaotic right now. I’m living in a group home for teens and the other kids in there seem real crazy.”
“Did that social worker get in touch with the man who might be your daddy?” Justine seemed to be indifferent about whether I found out the identity of my father. I think she was sensitive about the fact she really didn’t know who he was after all of these years.
“Yes,” I answered her.
“Did he come down to see about you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered again.
“I didn’t think he’d really show up after all this time, but Simon said he would.” She paused in thought. “Well that’s the best that I can do for you right now. Hopefully he’ll take you in.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I said, feeling my anger swelling up. “He doesn’t want me.”
“Well, neither did I, but you’re here.” Those words hit me like a wrecking ball slamming against a structure being demolished. I wanted to holler at her but I didn’t. My heart just iced over and I realized that coming to see her wasn’t such a good idea.
“You have to make it on your own,” she told me. “I can’t do anything more for you. You’re old enough now to make your own choices. Hopefully, you’ll make some good ones so that when I get out of here I can come and stay with you.” What was that supposed to mean? I mean, damn! I can hardly take care of myself, and she’s telling me to start preparing to take care of her. At that moment, I wanted nothing more to do with her. At that moment, I heard a little voice in the back of my mind telling me I was worthless and should disappear off the face of the earth because no one cared about me.
“Well, that’s all I have to say,” she informed me and then hung up the phone. I looked at her one last time and tried to read her thoughts but I couldn’t. I got up and left the room. Maggie, who was waiting for her turn to speak with my mother, didn’t say anything to me. I suppose the look on my face said it all. She went into the bulletproof room to speak with my mother without saying a word to me.
* * *
Three weeks had gone by since I’d seen Grandmother Katie and my father, Jordan. Just like always, I figured they had left me hanging and had no intention of coming to my rescue. I didn’t expect them to return at all because, as I heard his wife put it, “I’ve got problems.” Hell, in my mind, we’ve all got problems.
I was having a very difficult time concentrating on my schoolwork. I couldn’t focus, especially after being rejected by my biological father and mother. I just didn’t care about much of anything anymore. I didn’t care about school, my grades, or the people at the group home or anyone, even myself. The only thing that kept me from going nuts was books.
One day when I was feeling particularly low and depressed, Africa came over to my bed and sat by me.
“You don’t look so hot,” she said.
“Things are just real jacked-up for me right now. My life isn’t worth living,” I said.
“Sure it is,” Africa said, trying to reassure me, but her words were of no comfort. “I know what it is like to feel the way you do.”
“No, you don’t,” I snapped at her.
“Yes, I do,” she snapped right back. “You look as if you want to just give up on everything.” I didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ve been there several times but I never had the nerve to go through with it. I guess I was too afraid to take my own life.”
“So what kept you going?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just took one day at time. Some days were better than others, but I always knew that I’d find a way to make it through my problems.”
“Don’t you want to get out of this place? Don’t you want to live with a family again?” I asked.
“Listen, when I was fourteen I joined this all-girl gang. For a while they served as my family, but the things we were doing—well, let’s just say I have plenty of regrets about it. I barely made it out of the gang alive, but I did, and I’m thankful for that. Yes, I do want to get out of this place, but not right now. It’s safe for me here, and it’s much better than living on the street.” I didn’t say anything else.
“Hang in there. It will get better. It has to,” said Africa, who then got up and left. It was thoughtful of Africa to try and cheer me up, but it didn’t help because I still felt all alone. Maggie told me I should keep a diary of my feelings and share them in group, but I wasn’t really sure how to do that. All I knew was I was hurting really bad and I wanted my mother and father to know how much I hurt.
During our Saturday trip to the library I came across a book called The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank. At first I didn’t think I’d like reading some white girl’s diary, but for some odd reason I sat down at a table with it. I opened the book and started reading it and got pulled into the story. I checked the book out and went back to the group home. I sat on my cot the rest of the day and read. I cared about Anne in a way that I have never cared before, and when I reached the end of the book, I cried for her. After reading what she’d gone through I decided that my life wasn’t as bad as it could be. I mean, at least I didn’t have to hide from soldiers inside a dark room and remain motionless and silent for hours on end just to save my life. I also didn’t have to live on the streets like Africa had to.
* * *
The following Saturday evening, I was sitting on my cot reading another copy of Vibe. This time I was reading an article about how Beyoncé Knowles got her start in show business. Just as the article was getting good, I heard Grandmother Katie call my name. I looked up and saw her approaching me, wheeling a small suitcase behind her. Jordan and Maggie were with her.
“Let’s start packing your things You’re not staying here another night,” said Grandmother Katie.
“What’s going on?” I asked, confused.
“You’re going to come live with me,” said Jordan.
“What if I don’t want to live with you?” I was being defiant.
“No, you’re coming to stay with me. You have no idea of what it took to make this happen.” Jordan spoke as if I had no real choice in the matter. He was serious, but I was suspicious. Inside I really wanted to be happy, but I wasn’t. Since I’d given up hope that anyone was coming for me, I’d gotten sort of comfortable living in the group home. Now I felt as if I were being uprooted once again and being carted off into the unknown.
“And you have no idea of what I had to go through just being here.” My words were full of pain and contempt for him. I felt like fighting him, but I didn’t know why.