The Emerald Truth: Four

Standard

Dr. Wilhelmina Harris didn’t have an appointment for another 2 hours, so the light rapping on her door surprised her. She opened the door for Dorian Shaw, one of her more unwilling patients. He hadn’t been to see her in some time and she assumed it was important if he was here. “Good morning,” she said with a smile, letting him into the well-lit room. It seems as if the sun was shining in the room as beams of white light illuminated the modest room. “Hey Doc, do you have a minute? I didn’t make an appointment or anything but…” Dorian started before the doctor ushered him inside.

“No, no, it’s fine. Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to the oversized teal sofa in the center of the room as she sat in the matching armchair.

“Everything I say here is confidential, right?” Dorian said, wiping his damp palms on his slacks. Continue reading

The Emerald Truth: Three

Standard

They’d shut the door, but Noelle could still hear from inside. “She stays here or the deal is off,” Kyle said, puffing his chest towards Santos, whom was unfazed by his bravado.

“She‘ll Have world-class care.”

“No deal,” Kyle said, starting back towards the room, before he was seized by Santos.

“Eh, amigo, don’t forget, I own your Black ass. One phone call and your little girl will have a lot more to worry about. This isn’t a discussion,” Santos growled into Kyle’s face, before releasing him and straightening his jacket.

“My daughter is staying here. You need me,” Kyle said, unwilling to back down. Santos smiled, his gold molar shining against his weathered skin. “Fine. I’ll have a patrol car sit out front. Just in case,” he said, pulling out his phone. At least, in the motel room, she’d have the option to escape. Santos dialed a number and Kyle took the opportunity to go and prepare her for the worst.

“Dad…”

“We don’t have time. If I’m not back by midnight, I want you to go out the bathroom window.”

“What?”

“I don’t have time to explain. If I’m not through that door, you need to leave. Go as far as you can with what’s in your bag and I’ll find you. I promise,” he said, planting a kiss on top of her head. As much as she wanted to believe him, she couldn’t find the words to say as he walked out the door. The empty feeling that settled over her was familiar, since she’d been abandoned before. Continue reading

The Emerald Truth: Two

Standard

Dorian had been seeing things, or so he thought. It’d been a while since he was haunted by the ghosts of his wife and daughter. In the beginning, he saw them everywhere, in the faces of every stranger. At night, he could almost feel Olivia’s arms around him and smell the conditioner in her hair.

It had nothing on the déjà vu he was having today, and it wasn’t Olivia. He looked over his shoulder for the 3rd time, looking for the familiar shape. As he approached the building, he turned around, his back to the rotating door. He’d felt it: someone was following him. He scanned the busy avenue, looking for anything or anyone suspicious. Continue reading

The Emerald Truth: One

Standard

I can help!” Noelle repeated, following behind her adoptive father. Kyle ignored her again, going over his checklist in his head once again. He just wanted this night to be over.

“Dad!” Noelle yelled, hands on her narrow hips. The moniker still caught him off guard; never did he expect to become a father in such a short amount of time.

“El, you are helping me. Your job may be the most critical of all.”

“Packing bags? That’s kid shit!”

“Yes, well, with the way you’re acting, I’d say you were very much qualified.”

“What if you need me to squeeze into a ventilation system or sweet talk a guard? I’m useful!”

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me, El,” Kyle said, sighing.

“Then what is it?” A knock on the door interrupted them.

“It’s time to go.” Continue reading

2. Spark

Standard

Of all the men Ray brought home, Trenton was the worst. Outside of the often visible and audible PDA they engaged in, he never seemed to leave. Reagan, now 15, usually ignored her mother’s company, since they never stuck around long anyway.

Reagan stood in the bathroom, snapping pictures of herself in the new striped shirt she’d purchased with her first paycheck. She’d felt him creep past a few times, but ignored him. If he was hovering for the bathroom, he could wait; this was HER house.

The last time he walked by, he lingered in the doorway. Even though he was obviously homeless, his clothes and shoes were always brand new. “Don’t you think those shorts are too short?” he said. Reagan turned to see his eyes snap back upward to her face.
“What?” she said. Normally, she’d answer respectfully, since he was an adult, but she didn’t take kindly to her mother’s company talking to her. At all.
“You got…a lot going on. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you,” he said. By now, he was obviously looking at her body with more than concern. Reagan reached the handle and slammed the door in his face.
 
She remained there for the rest of the afternoon. Alma marched up the stairs and banged on the door with all the strength her palm could muster. “Reagan Mae Dobson, you better get the hell out my bathroom before I tear this door off the frame!”

Reagan opened the door, now clad in her grandmother’s robe. “I thought you had somewhere to be. Why are you in my robe?” Reagan tried to open her mouth and tell her grandmother what happened but she closed it. The only thing she felt was shame and couldn’t handle whatever her grandmother would say. She crossed the hall into her bedroom and shut the door.

Alma was on her heels, joining her in the room before the latch could catch in the doorframe. “Reagan, talk to me,” Alma said. She knew something was wrong with her granddaughter and she feared the worst.
“Trenton told me my shorts were too short.”
“Well, who the hell is he? If I bought them, they’re okay.”
“No. It’s not that,” Reagan said, folding her arms across her chest. She couldn’t shake the disgust that snaked up her spine. Alma sat on the bed next to her granddaughter, patient as she waited for her reply.
“It was the way he…looked at me. Like he does when he follows Mah into another room.”
“Lust,” Alma sighed. Beneath the surface of her smooth cocoa skin, she was fuming.
“Talking about he didn’t ‘want anyone to get the wrong idea about me’,” Reagan said. She roughly wiped away the tears that had begun to fall, annoyed she’d become this emotional again. Alma pulled the girl into her chest and held her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Reagan. You’re a good girl, you always have been and I promise that it will never happen again, as long as you are under this roof and there is breath in my body.”

Continue reading

Photograph

Standard

“I wanna meet this girl who’s been occupying all my baby’s time,” Ricky’s mother, Phyllis, said. Before her son could reply, the waiter returned and deposited their brunch in front of them.

“Things are still new. I don’t wanna chase her away,” Ricky laughed before scooping potatoes into his mouth.

“Tell me all about her.”

“She’s wonderful, really. Smart, funny, gorgeous. She keeps me in check.”

“I love her already.” Time with his mother was precious to Ricky, since he’d so nearly lost her at the beginning of the year. The one thing she wanted was to know her son would be taken care of. He hadn’t told his mother, but he’d already begun falling in love with Alex.

“You should bring her to the barbecue this weekend. I promise, no grilling,” Phyllis said, mimicking the Boy Scouts pledge.

“I’m going to see her tonight so I’ll bring it up. No promises,” Ricky said. He was excited that his mother was excited about his new relationship, especially since she had been so negative about the girls he liked.

“Just promise me you’ll try and make this work. Treat her with all the respect and dignity you show me,” Phyllis said, taking her son’s hand. Ricky smiled and nodded, giving his mother a squeeze back.

“I promise.” Continue reading

DSW

Standard

It was inevitable that I’d sell my body for money. Most of the girls I graduated high school with went on to procure dance cards to gyrate under hot lights the day after our matriculation. It was just the environment we’d become products of: most of our mothers were slaves to their vices, leaving us defenseless in homes throughout the county. One way or another, a man would make us victims, by force or voice. Continue reading