“I know you aren’t drinking, too, Adrienne.”
She looked away. “I’ve had a few.”
I grabbed her chin and made her look me in the eyes. “Listen to me: You have to stop trying to live fast and grow up faster. There is nothing but trouble in that lifestyle, and it’s so easy to find. You’re seventeen, Adrienne. You know when I had my first sip of alcohol? I was fourteen. Rodney made me drink a whole cup of moonshine, and when I was drunk and passed out, he came into my room and violated me. I don’t want that to be you. You have to be mindful of what you put in your body because you never know who is waiting for your inhibitions to be low enough to take advantage of you. Do you get that?”
She looked at me, teary eyed. “Yes.”
“That goes for you, too, Miyah,” I said, cupping her chin as well. “I don’t want either of you to find yourself in my shoes. You can be a victim, and the world will still see you as the perpetrator. If I hadn’t gotten parole, I would have spent thirty years of my life in prison for defending myself. Women don’t have the luxury of saying no and that being enough. They willalwaysblame us—it’s the way we dress, the way we look, the natural curves of our bodies. You can cover up or bare it all, and men will still say you asked for it. The last thing you need to be out here doing is putting yourselves in positions where you can’t say no.”
They both nodded. I wasn’t trying to mother them. I was simply speaking from my own experience and the horror stories my old cell mates shared with me. We were born with two things already working against us: being black and being women.
“I have something for y’all,” I said, standing from the bed.
I went into my closet and pulled down my keepsake box. Taking it back in the room, I placed it on the bed and pulled off the lid. On top of everything in the box were two stacks of bound letters that I’d written to each of them over the years. Stamped on the front in bright red letters was the phraseReturn to Sender. Even when they were returned, I kept writing, hoping that one of them would get the mail before Kennedy.
I handed each of them their stack. “I told you, I never forgot about you. I don’t know how much of a difference these letters will make now, but I wanted you to have them.”
They reached out with trembling hands and took them from me. Miyah sniffled.
“Mama kept telling us we had to forget about you,” she said faintly. “We weren’t allowed to say your name in the house. For the longest time, she wouldn’t let us come over here because she knew Aunt Penny and Uncle Clive were in contact with you. She kept saying y’all were trying to turn us against her.”
I shook my head. “I would never try to turn y’all against her. I just…I believe in my heart that she knew what was happening to me, and she did nothing to stop it.”
Adrienne looked away, and the expression on her face told me she knew something.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing, just…I remember her asking me once if Rodney ever touched me. It was right after you…right after he died. I remember waking up to her standing over me one night, and it scared the shit out of me. She asked me over and over if anything happened. I kept saying no, and she kept asking to the point where she was digging her nails into my arms and shaking me like I was lying.” She shook her head.
Part of me was worried that somethinghadactually happened to them, and they just didn’t remember. The thought terrified me. What if I’d been too late? What if they were carrying around repressed memories? Could it be the reason Adrienne was acting out?
If it ever came to pass that Rodney had touched them, too, I would kill my mother with my bare hands. She’d let a predator into our home, the place we were supposed to be the safest, and he’d ruined us.
I wrapped my arms around both of my sisters and held them close to me. If I could help it, no one would ever hurt them. That was a hill I was willing to die on.
After an emotional spiel in my bedroom, my sisters took turns reading each and every letter I’d written. I tried to keep things positive with telling them about my day or how proud I was of their accomplishments. I ended every letter with how much I loved and missed them.
A lot of tears were shed in that room.
Uncle Clive came in to see what all the fuss was about and found us huddled up together crying. Once I assured him that these were cleansing tears, he left the room, but came back shortly with three bowls of ice cream. He was such a great uncle. Even with me pushing almost thirty, sweets always made me feel better.
We ventured out to the big front porch to get some fresh air and began reminiscing about all the fun we’d had here. Like me, this was the one place they could just be kids. They didn’t have to worry about being yelled at or talked crazy to. They simply got to be free.
We were so engrossed in conversation that we weren’t paying attention to our surroundings until Kennedy’s car pulled to a screeching halt in front of the house.
“Shit,” Adrienne said, standing.
Amiyah and I did the same. As our mother stalked up the front steps, I could practically see the steam coming from her ears.
“Mommy, we can explain—” Miyah started.
“Shut the hell up, Amiyah,” Kennedy yelled.
“How did you even know we were here?” Adrienne spat.
“I can always find you. Believe that.” She stormed up the front steps and came straight into my face. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from my children?”
Adrienne sprang into action, putting her body between us.
