Thank You For Sharing

A Story by Jennifer Ryan

A brief piece I am thinking of elaborating on. One of those that was deleted.

Andrea

She stumbled alive from her sticky sheets, and made her way into the bathroom. Retching into the toilet, she tried not to notice the fresh track marks gracing her forearms. Her body had a need, an itch, a burn that would not allow her to do anything else until she fed it. Going into the kitchen she noticed her baby girl sitting in front of the television eating out of a stale box of cereal. She knew her diaper probably needed changed, and she would get to it in a few minutes.

Sifting through the cabinets where she kept her stash, she rummaged through the small amount of food in her pantry. Clanging through the pots and pans her panic rose. “Where the hell is it,” she questioned aloud.

“We smoked it all up.”

She whirled around to see Lester, naked and stroking his hard on, behind her. His skin was saggy and tallow. She wondered sometimes what in the world was she doing with a man, who had lost his two front teeth in a fight, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. She had tried to tell him to leave that guy alone. He was an ex-football player for God sakes, but he wouldn’t listen.

“When did we do that?” She asked her tone tight. This was getting old. She wanted her fix damn it!

She continued her search, hoping he was wrong. Her hands were beginning to shake and her skin was crawling. Nervously she tugged at her hair, coming back with small tufts in her hands.

“I told you, last night. Don’t you remember,” he encircled her waist poking her with his own needs.

Lester was her supplier, her friend, and sometimes her pimp. She met him while she was living on the streets and pregnant with Shellie. He took her in, showed her the ropes, and every once in a while expected a few favors in return.

Ignoring his ministrations, she searched the lower cabinets beneath the counter top.

“Come on, are you going to take care of me or not?” She hated when he whined.

“I can’t. I can’t right now. I gotta have it. I-I need it.”

“I’ll tell you what,” he whispered in her ear. “You give me what I want, and then I will go get you what you want.”

She turned around quickly facing him. “I don’t have any money Lester, you know that,” she barked staring him down with her bloodshot, kamikaze eyes bulging from their sockets.

They had played this game before. She’d give in, and then after it was over he would demand money.

“That’s all right,” he replied quickly. “We’ll just put it on your tab.”

‘Oh well,’ she thought following him back into the bedroom. ‘You can’t get blood out of a turnip.’

She awoke a little later this time, and rose up on her elbow. Lester was gone, and the needle was sticking out her arm. She had no idea how long she had been out. The light was dim in the bedroom, and she could see the sun setting from the dip in the blanket hanging on the window. Grabbing her robe she walked out to the living room.

“Shellie,” she called hoarsely. “Come here baby.”

Shellie did this sometimes. She thought it was a game to hide from her mother. Then as her mother searched for her, her features etched in fear, Shellie would giggle while her mother fumbled through her narcotic haze.

“Come on baby. Mommy is not in the mood today. Come on out and I will fix you something to eat.”

Not getting a response, she started checking the rest of the small two-bedroom apartment. She wasn’t in the closets, she wasn’t under the bed, and she wasn’t in the bathroom. She checked the kitchen cabinets again, only this time for another kind of prize. Just as soon as the reality of the situation was kicking in, she heard a knock at the door. Hoping it was the neighbors with her wayward daughter, she opened the door wide.

“Are you Andrea Humphrey?”

The officers engulfed the door, leaving her standing in their shadows.

“Yes,” she says shakily. “Why?”

“Do you have a daughter Ms. Humphrey?” the other officer asked.

“Yes, yes I do. Why, did you find her?”

The two exchange looks and the first speaker takes over.

“Ms. Humphrey your daughter was killed today. She was out wandering around on Interstate 37. A semi driver tried to avoid hitting her and killed them both.”

Andrea’s knees quaked, and she felt the need to vomit again. Grabbing ahold of the doorknob for support, she slid down slowly. The officer immediately came to her aid, and helped her to sit on the ratty sofa.

“Ma’am, what was your child doing outside the home?”

“I, I don’t know?” she sobbed. “I wasn’t feeling well, and I went to lie down. She was out here watching cartoons, I thought she was okay.” Wrapping her thin arms around her body she began to rock back and forth. Just like she used to rock her baby when she had a stomachache, or when her teeth were coming in.

The second officer noticed the marks on her arms. “Ma’am are you under the influence of an illegal substance right now?”

“No! No, why would you ask me that?” Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, sensing what was about to happen.

The second officer pulled up the sleeve of her robe exposing her track marks. “Search the house,” the first officer said.

She knew what they were going to find, and it was only a matter of time. Lester left it there, by the bed, in plain site. That cop didn’t need to be a genius, nor did he have to bring out the bloodhounds. She knew he would see the liquor bottles everywhere, and the pills she had taken to down the effects of the heroine. It wasn’t bad enough her baby was dead, but now this. God damn that Lester!

“Found it,” he said in a singsong voice, shaking the bag in front of him as he made his way back into the living room.

“Ma’am, you might want to put something else on,” the other officer said sternly.

Andrea lifted her face from her cupped hands and said, “It’s not mine. I swear. My boyfriend must have left it. He’s probably the one who left the door open. He’s to blame here, not me.”

“Just do what he says,” the other cop said. “We can take you to jail as you are, but I think you would be better off if we didn’t.”

Wiping her eyes, she stalked back to the room angrily. Snatching the first things she saw she stomped back out.

They read her, her rights and handcuffed her. She regretted not being able to bring her purse, due to she didn’t know who she was going to call now. This had happened before, and it wasn’t her first time going to jail. She knew as soon as she explained to them it was Lester, not her, that had left the door open, then they would have to let her go. Hanging her head low she made her way out the door.

Her neighbors were assembled, lining the way for her walk of shame. They shook their heads, and let the tears flow for the little girl. She was so sweet and gentle. If only she had a better mother.

After she had been interrogated and harassed, she finally lamented and gave up Lester.

“Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” the first officer had said in a sickening sweet voice.

‘That depends,’ she thought. ‘I can’t see Lester thinking it isn’t going to be bad.’

After she was processed and attired in her prison garb, they left her to her thoughts as she lay hunched up in the corner of the cot, the cold wall pressed against her back. She sobbed as she buried her face in her bended knees.

Her baby was gone. Her sweet Shellie was no more, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She continued to blame Lester, and anyone else she could think of. She blamed the driver of the truck for not looking, her mother for abandoning her when she was a child, her father for abusing her and making her run away. She blamed the system, for not giving her more assistance in helping her change her life. Everyone was to blame, but her.

A lot can happen when a person has nothing to do, but to reflect on what they have done. It hadn’t always been like this for her. When she first found out she was pregnant, she was ecstatic. She would finally have someone to love, who would love her back. Then it got hard. Really hard, and she didn’t think she could do it. Some days the baby wouldn’t quit crying, and God she had no money, no prospects, no one to turn to. Then the drugs happened, and it helped her forget about all that for a while. Not even a good fix could make this pain go away.

The judge sentenced her to five years for the drugs and twenty for child neglect. The sound of the gavel coming down had resonated in her ears even more than the words.

“I hope you have learned your lesson from this Ms. Humphrey,” the judge said. “Not only have you ruined your life thus far, but now you have helped end the life of an innocent child. I hope you take this time to reflect and lament.”

She nodded her head, and tried not to cry while the bailiff led her to her fate. Andrea knew deep down she should have been watching her better. She should have told her how much she loved her. She should have tried harder to overcome her demons, and be the kind of mother she had always wanted to be. Wiping the tears from her eyes she knew there was only one thing left to do, and that was to accept facts. She was to blame. It was her fault her baby was dead. It was her fault she would never see her sweet smile, smell her hair after a bath, or hear the tinkle of her small laugh.

Prison life kept an even flow. After she got through the initiation beatings from the other inmates, she was left to herself. Depression set in quickly. Andrea saw no reason for her life to keep going. The only person who had ever meant anything to her was gone. She let it happen. She didn’t deserve to live. She could barely look at herself in the mirror, much less take yet another agonizing stab at life behind bars. She deserved to be in hell. Hell, where she could burn like she once had before the needle pricked her skin. Only this time there would be no release, just a constant ache for the drug.

First she tried tying her sheets together and hanging herself. They weren’t long enough, and one of the prison guards caught her before she could try anything else. After that she slept on a bare mattress. Then she tried starvation. That didn’t work either, and they put a feeding tube up her nose. They told her this wasn’t an option for her. She had to atone for her misdeeds. Finally, she found a serrated edge at the end of her cot. She sawed her wrists open, screaming in pain with each draw. She had practically bled to death before they finally found her.

The warden looked her over and said to the other prison guard by her side, “Call the psychiatrist. She’s getting moved, today.”

Her new home was the psych ward of the prison. Her term here was indefinite, and in some ways it was better. A lot of screaming and crying, but it was better than the regular cell block. At least here you got to stay in your cell if you wanted to. That is where Andrea liked to be, in her cell away from the others and the accusatory eyes. Going to these meeting was the only drawback. The only reason why she even came to this one was the warden threatened to take her cigarettes away if she didn’t cooperate. Without Heroin in her system for over 6 months, nicotine was the only thing she had left.

“So, that’s why I am here. That’s why I tried to kill myself,” Andrea said with resignation. She was sitting in a semi circle with several other inmates, who also had tried to end their own lives. She noticed none of the women wanted to look at one another. That was fine. They kept her favorite posture as well, eyes downcast and head down.

The shrink sat off to the side where the circle opened into a large horseshoe. She had a simple face and a large frame. When she sat, her voluminous skirts would engulf the chair, leaving only the sound of its creaking. Her name was Dr. Crowder, and she always was engrossed in her notes, seeming to be as happy to be there as her patients.

“Thank for sharing Andrea,” Dr. Crowder said not looking up from her writing pad.

“Thank you Andrea,” the rest of the group said in unison. “Thank you for sharing.”