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.