A Daughter's Worth (Final)
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Transcript of A Daughter's Worth (Final)
A
Daughter’$
Worth
Jasmine‟s emerald green eyes did not flinch as the judge slammed down the gavel,
finalizing the guilty verdict. Guilty, the word hit her like a five fingered slap but she maintained
her composure. She could see that underneath his white bushy eyebrows, the judge‟s beady eyes
staring back at her, satisfaction dripping from his paper thin lips. Jasmine‟s eyelids squinted
dissecting his facial expression. The judge‟s thick hand shook as he held onto the gavel longer
than expected. Jasmine‟s lips curled upward like she was the Grinch who stole
Christmas. A hand gripped her elbow and lifted her up. Following the translucent skin full of
purple and blue veins upward Jasmine looked into the albino eyes of a guard. His Botoxed filled
lips poked out like a fish with saliva gathering in the corners. “Lets go,” he squeezed out of his
tight lips. Jasmine tried to jerk her elbow away but he tightened his grip on her until her elbow
became numb.
Like a distorted painting, washed out brown walls, chairs, tables and floors started to fill
the white space in her view. The jury that she had grown to despise came into full HD, along
with the Barney Fife looking judge. He still held the gavel in his arthritic hand; a look of a
person possessed by the power of the system permanently was etched on his face. This was not
some dream that she will wake up from.
Her neck snapped backwards at her mama. Her head lay in between her knees, rocking.
Trembling hands covered her extra large ears. Jasmine could remember sitting on her mama‟s
lap when she was younger, playing in her Indian hair, pushing it back behind her ears. She would
giggle at the sight of how big they were, but it fit her for some reason. One birthday she
remembered closing her eyes tight until a dull pain formed behind her eyes, secretly wishing that
she could have her mama‟s ears before blowing out the candles on her birthday cake. Simple
shit. If only she knew what lied ahead of her life she would have wished for something different.
Jasmine tried to will her mama into looking at her. She wanted that one last look to let
her know that it was over, everything was ok. This was nothing compared to the living hell they
had been living in for the last two years. Life can start for her now. She didn‟t have to look over
her shoulders or get locked into the basement out of punishment. She could breathe, not cry
helplessly. But that connection never happened. Instead Jasmine had Mrs. Cherokee‟s
expressionless face to tattoo in her memory as the last moment of connecting with civilization.
Her once soft beige complexion was drained from her face. A thunderstorm had formed in her
eyes. She did not even entertain a blink. Mrs. Cherokee stayed that way until she crossed the
threshold of the door she came into.
That same expression stayed with her even after it was lights out. She sat up in the
bottom bunk. Her left leg bounced repetitively under her elbow. Her eyeballs pounced around the
cement floor; from the sliver of light coming from the narrow opening known as a window to the
lightly rusted metal bars and back to the moonlight dancing on the floor. The old bunk bed
squeaked under her body. She heard her sleeping cellmate fidget around on the top bunk.
Jasmine pulled at her ponytail. The sound of the doors clanking shut still rung in her ears
like a CD being played over and over. Life; at eighteen, when her life was suppose to be starting
another chapter, at least not this kind of chapter. Just a week ago she had slid through her senior
year at North Side now this. What the hell happened?!
Tammy Cherokee‟s gray two door sedan pulled into the asphalted drive way. In the
corner of her eyes she saw her son‟s nosy neighbor on her half porch. Her large gut swallowed
the side rail as she leaned to listen intently at something. With her ear pointing toward her son‟s
home Tammy knew what had caught her attention.
She had never liked this neighborhood. The one level flats were too close together. The
paper-mache walls which reminded her of a Motel 6 did not attempt to block out the sounds that
were created on the inside, but her son insisted that this was the best location for his family.
Nosy Niece‟s hand and floppy arms waved at her before Tammy stepped out of her car.
Tammy‟s tight lips cracked a smile that could scare Freddy Krueger. Her voice screeched
through Tammy‟s window. “Hey girl!”
Tammy did a half wave, mumbling bitch under her breath. Once her flats hit the asphalt
she focused on that front door. She almost made it until Nosy Niece‟s voice floated over to her
son‟s front steps.
“They goin‟ at it in there ain‟t they? I heard glass shatterin‟ and everything. Was „bout to
call the police but then I realized they already there,” she laughed.
Tammy fought the urge to jump across the small patch of dead grass and choke the mess
out of this woman. Instead she coughed out a laugh. “They just messing around, you know how
young couples are.”
“Uh-hum.” Nosy Niece crossed her arms over her flower printed housecoat. Her friendly
smile wiped off.
Tammy slid her key into the deadbolt lock and scurried inside before Nosy Niece could
interrogate her any further. The strong smell of stale cigarette smoke occupied itself as though it
was part of the furniture. She could feel her eyes becoming itchy already. A sneeze tickled in her
nose. The sight of the flipped over couch and loveseat paralyzed the mobility of her legs. The
once thick glass table that she had given her son after he had married his third and current wife,
Rochelle, lay in several large pieces on the Japanese inspired rug. She and Rochelle had picked
that rug out together two months ago. This was after her son begged her to spend time with his
wife, to know her better. When she met Rochelle, Tammy was determined to keep her distance.
She did not feel like going through it again. Her son however felt compelled to bring her around
countless of times pushing them to become friends. His face would glow as he sat at the dining
room table constantly referring to them as his „two favorite women‟. Tammy almost believed her
son‟s newfound love for this woman; until she started to see with each visit Rochelle‟s shoulders
slacking ever so slightly and her soul sucking itself into some imaginary world. That was when
she knew…
The sound of feet sliding across asphalt woke Tammy Cherokee from her daydreaming.
Her arms ricochet off the door slamming it back into its place. The silhouette of Nosy Niece
disappearing.
“Kobe!” Tammy yelled. Her sweaty palms held onto her Parkview Hospital windbreaker.
“Kobe,” she said a little bit unsure than the first shout. No answer. She knew this house so well
that there was no need for her to have her eyes open, but she used the whimpers to help guide her
anyway. Each step seemed to soften the whimpers as though they had healing power. She knew
they didn‟t, she knew what the disappearing whimpers meant. At the second bedroom door her
hands fought with the doorknob.
“Kobe,” a quivering voice said. She was not sure if it was hers. Inside Kobe had his thick
factory hands wrapped around Rochelle‟s skinny neck. Her face was swollen triple its normal
size. A bright burgundy color painted her face while her terrified eyes nearly popped out of their
sockets. Within a half of a second Tammy had flew across to the other side of the room and
placed one shaking hand on her son‟s shoulder. The tension and violent anger radiated through
her hand. For a moment Tammy Cherokee felt dazed, unsure of the raw emotion she now shared
with her son. Her words hid in her trachea.
One last banging of Rochelle‟s head against the wall sealed whatever message he was
trying to express. His six foot five boxer‟s frame stormed out of the room, not acknowledging his
mama at all. Along with him left the thick fog of hatred. The room suddenly lit up without the
help of the ninety-nine cent light bulbs.
Rochelle‟s lifeless body slid down the beige colored wall. Her eyes remained closed.
Raspy breaths blew out of her purple lips. Kobe‟s handprint was still visible on her neck. Tammy
reached out her hand but stopped midway. Instead she walked backwards out the door still aware
of the lingering violent rage she felt from her son.
“Guilty of first degree murder,” the first juror had said. Not an ounce of emotion or
compassion was in his voice. Tammy Cherokee long ago blocked out the faces of the jurors.
Now all she saw was a sea of white blurriness. In no way were any of these unfamiliar strangers
a peer to her daughter in law. Not one looked like Jasmine or knew her; never had they sat down
and had a conversation with her to get to know her. The only thing they would remember was
what she was accused of doing and the fact that she was going away for life. All were pale faced,
no brown or yellow complexions, just white. What happened to justice and having an equal
opportunity hearing? She pleaded with Rochelle to say something to Jasmine‟s lawyer but she
should have known weak minded Rochelle would not say a thing. Every time anyone touched
her she would break into a bowl of jello. Understandable considering what she had been going
through these last two years, but still something should have sparked inside of her after seeing
her only child being arrested for such a heinous crime. Tammy wanted to spit at her for being so
emotional and weak. At least she had her child still here in this world even if she was going
behind bars. Her son was never coming back. He was now food for all of the worms and
centipedes, thanks to Jasmine. Of all the things he had done her baby did not deserve to be
murdered at the hands of an eighteen year old.
Tammy made her eyes peel themselves from Jasmine‟s back. A trinket of crimson red
blood trickled down each dip of her knuckles before settling into her khaki pants. She did not
attempt to stop it. That was her only sign of knowing that this was all real. She looked up once
more just as Jasmine was about to be swallowed up by whatever was on the other side. That was
when she saw, that was when she, Tammy Cherokee, saw the glimmer of truth.
Rochelle finally looked up. Above her blinked a neon pink sign with the words Midnights
Bar. She had no idea how long she had been walking or how long her legs protested for her to
stop. She decided to let them rest now. The bar inside was nearly pitch black to her relief. Very
few people were sprinkled throughout. No one paid attention to her. She plopped down at the
bar. A mirror was behind the colorful liquor bottles. The face that looked back at her was
unrecognizable. She almost jumped at the sight. Half of her lips had swollen to the point where
they drooped. Both eyes held a black ring around them. Tears came up to the surface. Rochelle
closed them to prevent from spilling them. When she opened them a startled female bartender
stared back at her. Her eyes held a million questions along with concern.
“Gin, straight.” Rochelle‟s voice was deep, authoritative; the opposite of how she felt
inside. However she was not pleased at being stared at like a circus freak either. “Gin!” she heard
herself say again.
The bartender proceeded to fix her requested drink. Each move was careful. She slid the
drink over to Rochelle, her lips parted as if about to say something. Rochelle grabbed the glass
and threw it back. A burn flamed in her throat but it immediately coating the pain her whole
body was feeling. The glass clinked as she slammed it down. “Another one!” she demanded.
Rochelle glanced around before settling her eyes back onto the bartender. She had not even
begun to pour her drink yet. Irritated Rochelle leaned forward and snatched the liquor bottle
along with her glass out of her hand.
“What?! Haven‟t you seen a bitch with a black eye before?! Gone, I got this!” She did not
see the scowl the woman had given her but she felt it, she always felt the distasteful looks black
women gave her. With her light skin, bone straight hair that almost reached her butt she has had
plenty of dark skinned women‟s two-cents being thrown at her.
Rochelle poured a double shot then drank the clear liquid. Her whole insides lit up. She
closed her eyes and imagined the liquid going through her body. All of what happened that day
was singe by the fiery liquid. She pictured them melting into ashes in the pit of her stomach. She
also imagined everything else melting away too, her dignity, self esteem, and self respect along
with any common sense she had left. Everything her mama told her, warned her about suddenly
became too far to grasp or comprehend; so much that she had no idea what to do next. Call the
police? Hell, he was the police. Call her mama? No that would send her to an early grave. In an
establishment of people never had Rochelle felt so isolated. Looking down she saw her shadow
in the gin. It seemed to mock her. The glass became a muddled mess as tears resurfaced.
The door to Midnights flew open. Rochelle nearly jumped off the barstool. A laughing
couple walked in. Both were huddled under a jacket covering themselves from the downpour
outside. A flash of lightening nearby flashed illuminating the doorway, then it was gone and so
was the couple; off somewhere probably slobbering over each other. The memory of meeting
Kobe trickled into her mind, hesitantly as if it was not sure if it wanted to appear. It projected
itself clearly in her glass full of gin. This time the tears broke free. Hot tears made their way
down her sore face then into her glass creating a ripple effect.
“You alright?” the female bartender whispered. She tried to get Rochelle‟s attention but
Rochelle was too hunched over her glass to catch the gesture. It almost seemed as though she
would jump right into it if she could. Rochelle attempted to lift the glass; however her hand
shook terribly. A splash of liquid hit her face, she did not try to wipe it away.
“Ma‟am?”
Rochelle‟s eyes bucked open as if seeing this woman for the first time. She noticed the
woman‟s taunt mahogany skin showing no signs of a blemish or her age. Her almond shaped
eyes slanted even more like a Chinese. Tiny microbraids fell forward almost covering her apple
shaped face. She was stunning in her own way, Rochelle thought.
“I‟m fine,” Rochelle answered, embarrassed now that a stranger saw her cry.
“Do you need me to call someone?”
Rochelle shook her head violently. The alcohol was taking effect. She swore she had seen
the mirror move. Out of nowhere, Rochelle laughed. The loud screech startled the concerned
bartender. “Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters?” A small snort escaped. She placed her hand
over her face and laughed even harder. The bartender stood at her full height. A faint, unsure
smile had crossed her lips. She walked away to attend to another customer all the while keeping
one eye on Rochelle.
That did not last too long. The usual Thursday night crowd swarmed in taking up the
bartender‟s time. Rochelle was content with that. She did not know this chick from Eve and did
not feel like having a Dr. Phil or Oprah moment. Nope, it was her and her cheap bottle of gin.
She could go to hell for all she cared; right along with him. A few customers eyed her with
sideway glances but she kept drinking, unmoved by their presence.
Suddenly the air in the bar became too thick. She opened her mouth wider to gulp in
more air but all it did was dry her mouth. The gin did nothing to moisten her tongue. She tugged
at her neck, her heart racing all the while. The same tension she felt earlier came like a freight
train.
“What the hell are you doing here?” a voice seethed in her ear. She did not have to turn
around for her to know who it was. His hot breath covered the right side of her face.
“Answer me dammit!” he squealed again. Even though her husband was whispering it
still seemed louder than the other bar noises.
Rochelle‟s whole body stiffened under his touch. She looked at him through the mirror.
“I-I..” she stumbled, unable to finish her sentence. His nails dug into her exposed skin.
“Did I tell you to leave?”
Rochelle sucked in her bottom lip and shook her head; still looking ahead. Seeing him
through the mirror prevented her from seeing his real self. Others around them were oblivious or
too drunk to see what was going on. The young bartender noticed though.
“Kobe?”
Kobe glanced up. “Sabrina.” The sound of her name slithering out of his mouth made her
cringe.
Sabrina stared at Rochelle. “Is there a problem?”
“I was just wondering…” Kobe started. Sabrina cut her eyes at him, shutting him up.
Rochelle looked at her with new admiration. That used to be her, confident, not scared of
anything. Now, she was a muddled mess of weakness. She wanted to cry for herself, for the
death of her soul.
Sabrina continued to stare at Rochelle with an intensity that scared her. This was her
opportunity; her one moment to scream at the top of her lungs what a counterfeit this man
standing next to her was and how he just beat the crap out of her only hours ago. When she
opened her mouth all that came out was, “I‟m fine, really. It‟s ok, no problems.” That voice was
unrecognizable even to Rochelle. She dropped her head in defeat.
Her husband squeezed her arm even harder making her get up. All the while Kobe held a
cocky smile as Sabrina continued to eye Rochelle. He led her through the circus of tables to the
door. It was still drizzling outside. Rochelle turned her head back. An unspoken conversation
was passed between them before the gray sky and rain swallowed her up.
Before he pulled out into traffic, Kobe was already beating her face in with his right fist
while driving the car with the other hand. Rochelle fell into an unconscious state before they
reached their home five blocks away.
“Guilty.” The word caused her body to shut completely down. All of the air was sucked
out of her lungs. She felt if she were to breathe in too much the stench of that word would choke
her to death, right there in the courtroom. Rochelle had to put her head down to stop the merry
go round vertigo she was feeling. That word swam around in her head creating a bad migraine.
She squeezed her eyelids tightly wishing she would wake up from this whirlwind of a nightmare.
Except when she re-opened her eyes she was still in the courtroom. Her daughter already had
been escorted out. Only a few lawyers were left conversing together in what seemed like a
heated discussion, unaware of her small presence. Even Kobe‟s mother had left. She placed her
open palm on Mrs. Cherokee‟s chair. It still was warm. “I‟m sorry.”
“You didn‟t do it,” Mrs. Cherokee said with tranquility that even she could not
understand the source of it.
“What?”
“You didn‟t kill my son, she did.”
Jasmine had told the story so many times she probably could recite it in her sleep. With a
straight face and a slight shrug of the shoulder Jasmine answered, “I don‟t know what courtroom
you were in but I did confess to killing him.”
“You weren‟t even there that day!” Tammy‟s voice started to rise. “You were at Hanna-
Homestead all day! Did she make you do it?”
Jasmine could feel her ears starting to burn. Her jaw muscles poked out as her teeth
clinched together. She glanced around to the cubicles next to her, all being occupied by other
prisoners. Swinging her head back around she said through clenched teeth, “You don‟t know
what the fuck you are talkin‟ about ol lady, so I suggest you shut the hell up!”
“That weak minded bitch made you kill for her just like she made my son beat the shit
out of her!”
Jasmine flew out of her chair. Her hand smacked the thick pin striped glass that separated
her from normal civilization. Pin prickles were poking her palm but all Jasmine concentrated on
was Tammy Cherokee. Not once had she even flinched. She maintained complete eye contact
with Jasmine. Pity shielded Tammy‟s face, Jasmine did not want pity from nobody. This is what
it is. Now this stupid ass lady decided to come in here declaring what she thought she knew
about her mama. She deserved to be in the ground just like her son.
“She deserved her spineless ass getting beat!” Tammy continued.
“My mama didn‟t deserve shit! I swear to God if you touch her I‟m a beat your ass! Get
off me!” Jasmine‟s petite frame was swallowed up by one of the guard‟s. Somehow she managed
to slip out of her grasp like a wet noodle. All one hundred and ten pounds of her flung itself at
the plexiglass.
Tammy Cherokee stood up; the corner of her lips curling up slowly.
“Bitch, bring your ass back here!” Jasmine screeched. “You coward!”
Jasmine‟s body was peeled off the table. Her screeching obscenities filled the hollowed
walls. It took three prison guards to literally carry her back to her cell. They tossed her onto the
floor; a loud pop was heard but Jasmine was running on too much adrenaline to know if anything
was dislocated. She did not attempt to move from the spot she landed on. She probably would
not be able to move anyway; it felt as though the weight of her situation settled itself on her
back.
The coolness of the floor seemed foreign to her fevered skin. In the background the
weathered bars were slid into place. Jasmine‟s throat started to close. Hot patches of dryness
scratched the back of her tongue thickening it. She could no longer produce enough spit to get rid
of the scratchiness. That was her last straw. For the first time in years Jasmine cried. She cried
for all of the abuse, the many times of feeling neglected, the deaths she has witnessed right at her
feet. For the hand that was dealt to her, having to become an adult way before it was time and not
being asked permission. She especially cried for her mama. The death of her husband should
have freed her but it seemed to push her deeper into herself. Tammy Cherokee‟s words played in
the recorder of her mind. A new emotion trembled all over her body. She felt guilty for even
entertaining it. How come all of her short life her mama preached repeatedly about standing
strong and to not let a man dictate who she was, only to fall into that same trap herself? If she
had practiced what she preached Jasmine would not have been here. But wouldn‟t anyone have
done it?
Finally Jasmine opened the letter. Her orange jumpsuit clung to her body. The little
breeze did nothing for her. She took in a gulp of air before settling into the words in front of her.
The familiar handwriting stared back at her.
My Jazzy,
I’m sorry. I know that does not even come close to what you wanna hear
or deserve to hear for that matter but it’s all I’ve got. I’m for sure you can feel
the weight of this, whatever you want to call it, just as I do. I myself am in my
own prison only I don’t have the bars that shut you in. Sometimes I crave that
instead of the anguish that has become my skin.
I don’t even know where to begin. Jazzy I had no intention of putting you,
my only child the one I’ve prayed for, to have gone through what you have;
what we’ve have. I was selfish and scared. Scared to grow old alone, especially
when you leave for college. Don’t ever lose who you are Jazzy, even through this.
I’ve disappointed myself Jazzy, more than you ever will know! That will always
be indented in my head. The nightmares hunt me worse now than before. I can’t
make these voices disappear. Nor can I help the images of what they might be
doing to you in there.
I know I haven’t visited you yet. I will. It’s just that I wouldn’t know what
to say to you face to face. The thought of going paralyzes me. I’ve imagined
every possible image of seeing your face, and I only can imagine you angry as
hell at my weak self. However I will come after I know you have forgiven me. I
know it’s too soon, but have you? I love you always,
Mama
Jasmine folded up the last letter her mama had written. The early afternoon sun jabbed at
her vision. The soil beneath her feet was newly dug up. They sunk a little. She moved them to
prevent from being swallowed up by the earth. In the distance sprinklers came on watering the
first green grass of the spring. The crisp bite of the wind went through her orange jumpsuit. She
shivered but not by the wind but what was in front of her.
“Lets go,” a guard ordered. She took Jasmine‟s arm. It was not a tight grasp but it seemed
to sever her skin anyway.
Her tears long ago stopped flowing, now only her heart cried. „A Loving Devoted
Mother, Rochelle Cherokee. 1970-2010‟. Her mind took a snapshot of her mama‟s headstone as
she was escorted back to the gray correctional center bus. Its lettering peeled off; only the sticky
adhesive was left. The guard proceeded to handcuff her to the window. The bus coming to life
rumbled under her. Exhaust filled the bus. Rochelle did not seem to notice any of it. Instead she
kept her eyes planted on the white clouds creeping lazily across the sky as they exited Memorial
Park Cemetery.
Jasmine‟s mama, Rochelle Cherokee, parked her sky blue Navigator truck in the gravel
pathway at Memorial Park Cemetery. Before she got out she already could see her Nana‟s
headstone. It appeared to laminate over the other‟s; however she knew it was her imagination.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel with dear life. About fifty yards away another
family, a man, woman, and a boy who looked no older than five stood huddled together. The boy
was intently staring straight at her. Both of his brows met in the middle of his wrinkled forehead.
This was no place for a child to be, mingling with the dead. They say children can see the dead.
Rochelle wondered how many spirits he could see now.
After fifty deep breaths, Rochelle finally stepped out of her car. As if it was a comfort
mechanism, she maintained eye contact with the boy as she walked forward. It was like he was
reading her mind. His perfectly round eyes pleaded with her conscious to stop. She did not listen
though. The cool metal in her jacket was the only indication that this moment was real. She held
onto that. Vultures flew in a circle above her, waiting. Suddenly a vicious wind swirled around
her. Now nature was protesting.
She needed to get this over with before her mind connected with the common sense she
had locked somewhere in her. The toddler had turned toward Rochelle. His eyes held peace and
curiosity. Rochelle‟s slim hand wrapped itself around the handle. It fit like a glove, like it was
created just for her, for this moment. His chubby hand waved at her. She pulled the trigger as she
waved back.
Kobe‟s large hand met Rochelle‟s cheek with a force that nearly blinded her. It took a
moment for the stars to subside. By the time they cleared another round of punches had started
again. Her knuckles became colorless as she gripped the cherry wood dining room table.
“What the hell is this garbage uh? You expect me to eat this?!”
“I‟m sorry baby. I‟ll fix you something else,” Rochelle whined.
“You should have gotten it right the first time you ignorant bitch!” Kobe grabbed a chunk
of her thinning hair and pulled her head back. Her head felt like it was detaching from her body.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks into the swallow walls of her ears. Her lips quivered
uncontrollably.
“Yours is just fine ain‟t it? You could care less about my food but you can make sure
yours is steaming hot uh?”
“Here, take mine.” Rochelle lifted up her plate to him. She could see his face through the
steam.
“I don‟t want your shit, I want my shit to be hot when I come home, you hear me?!”
Rochelle tried to nod her head but couldn‟t. “You eat it!” Kobe poured the food over her face,
within seconds she could feel blisters forming all over her face. As if that was not enough, he
broke the plate on her forehead. She wrenched in pain. The room had started to spin and she felt
her vision slowly fading to black. She could only wish for death. This was too much. The
beatings were becoming worse lately. She was sure it was the stress of the case he was working
on at work. Long hours took him away from his second hobby – beating her. Why don‟t he kill
her already, she wondered. She never prayed so much for something in her life like she has been
doing at night. God must be too busy with more legitimate requests than her meek one. Dying
would be too easy she guessed.
Her husband jerked her back to consciousness. His lips spread as he glared down at her.
So much power was held in his eyes. His chest heaved in and out; his breath heated her face, the
sweet smell of Chardonnay filled her nostrils. A wave of nausea came over her making her even
dizzier.
“Look at you, why the hell did I marry your ugly ass?! Your hair‟s falling out, you have
no meat on your bones! You know I like my women thick with curves like Beyonce, Trina. Now
them are some real women!” He got closer to her face and whispered, “Your daughter is looking
mighty thick too. Filling out in all the right places.” He licked his dry, ashy lips. A look of
obsession dripped from his face.
“Don‟t you touch my daughter!” Rochelle growled.
Kobe‟s smile became wider. “How you know I haven‟t already touched her?” Rochelle‟s
breaths were rapid now. She tried her hardest to break free even with her sudden burst of rage,
but he maintained his hold. He seemed to enjoy her reaction. “Uh-um, I see her walking around
in her little boy shorts, teasing a brotha!” His laugh sounded demonic.
Suddenly a pulling sensation tugged at her. It felt like her soul was leaving her body
before she had a chance to die. She closed her eyes as a serene peacefulness washed over her.
Her insides marinated in it. In her mind frame her next movements were fluid and slow. She did
not open her eyes until she heard the blood curdling scream ring in her ears. The second swing
caused a blood shower to rain down on her. It was cooler than she had expected but then again
this was Kobe, of course he was cold blooded.
His body fell backward; eyes bulging out of their sockets. “What the…” Blood covered
his hand in seconds. “You bitch!”
“No you the bitch! You should of killed me when you had the chance you worthless sack
of shit! So you looking at my daughter uh? You get off on little underage girls?! When I say
don‟t touch my daughter I mean don‟t touch my daughter! You crossed the line mu‟fucka, now
it‟s time for you to get a taste of your own medicine!” Rochelle put all her weight on his thick
neck. Surprisingly he was unable to move. Blood continued to squirt out of his neck.
“Get the hell off of me you crazy…” Before he could finish his wife plunged the sharp
steak knife into his body. She felt his thick layer of skin as it went into his body. She never
experienced such adrenaline. Every beating came out through that knife. She had no idea when
he had stopped flopping around like a fish. She really had no recollection of anything until she
heard her daughter‟s voice piercing behind her. By then she was drenched in her husband‟s
blood. Everything came back full force. Her whole body started to shake convulsively.
“What the hell did you do?!” Jasmine screamed.
“I-I, he, he said. I was protecting you!” Rochelle‟s voice became clearer, stronger. “He
said that he was going to touch you! I had to! He‟s not going to touch my baby girl! You are my
baby! I gotta protect you?!”
Jasmine took her mama into her arms. They rocked until her mama‟s shaking subsided.
Then Jasmine put her mama‟s face in both of her hands. Their eyes met. “Leave.”
Rochelle looked at her daughter; eyes squinted. “What?”
“Leave mama, now.”
“I can‟t…
“I said go! I got this! I‟ll clean this up…” Her words no longer registered in Rochelle‟s
mind. She could have been speaking French for all she knew. Jasmine snapped her fingers in her
mama‟s face. “Mama, I need you to focus! Get the hell up outta here. I don‟t give damn where
you go but you can‟t be here.”
“I-I‟m sor..oh my..Jazzy…she said,” Rochelle stuttered.
“Mama! Go!” Rochelle pushed her mama toward the back door that led straight to the
garage where her Navigator truck was. Using the spare key that was in the paint can by the door,
Rochelle started the truck. Suddenly the realization of her body nearly knocked the oxygen out of
her lungs. Blood was everywhere, in her nails, on her shirt, even on her black bra. She looked
around the garage. In the corner were red rags left over from Kobe working on his car. Kobe.
He‟s gone. She killed him. She actually killed him.
Rochelle climbed out of the truck and stripped down completely naked. In the back of her
car, luckily she had a set of clothes that she packed when she purchased the truck five years ago.
All the weight that she had lost these last several months could not hold the clothes up right. It
did not matter, she stuffed the bloodied clothes into the gym bag then hopped back into the
driver‟s seat. One last look toward the house that was her life for so long and she was gone, just
like her daughter told her to do.
Jasmine wiped down everything she thought her mama had touched. Every few minutes
she stared down at her mama‟s nightmare for two long years. Even in death his face held that
cockiness that Jasmine had grown to despise from the first day her mama had brought him home.
She lifted up her size eight Timb boots and stomped on his face. A loud crack vibrated under her
foot. Now his head was to the side, the smugness gone. She gave a satisfied smile before
examining the room one more time. Then she acted.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“I killed my step-father,” Jasmine cried into the phone.
“Ma‟am, what was that?”
“I said I killed my step-father, he was trying to rape me and I killed him. Please
come…oh god, what have I done?!” Jasmine dropped the phone onto the kitchen floor.
“Ma‟am?! Ma‟am? Are you there?”
Jasmine glanced down once again at her mama‟s abuser. A smile laced her lips.