Page 32 of Wasn't Supposed To Be Yours
“That’s exciting news for you, Blake. I tell you all the time how proud of you I am, but I really need you to know it. All the dreams that you had as a kid when it came to fashion, it really feels good to see you out here chasing them and getting to the bag the way you are. You know I don’t mind flying to New York with you. Since we’re going to leave tonight, that gives me more than enough time to pack a bag, and take a nap because you know this back, and forth drive is going to kick my ass,” I said to her, and she laughed.
“Thank you, best friend. I appreciate you. You know I love you more than life itself,” she said to me, and I smiled at her words because I knew that it was true.
“I love you more. More than my Chanel bags,” I let her know, and she chuckled. We talked a little bit more on the phone, and she let me know to text her once I’d made it to the facility. Iassured her that I would, and like she was my man, I let her know again how much I loved her, and then we hung the phone up.
The sun eventually started to rise, and once it did, I felt like the time that I spent in the car started flying. During my ride, my mom and Free called me, both wanting to know how I was doing, and how the ride was going. I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t hear from Tommie because her ass went out last night, so I’m sure that she was somewhere laid up with a hangover. Not only did she go out last night, but her ass turned her phone location off, so there was no telling where she was, and who she was with. I didn’t care what my sister did because she was grown, but I just prayed that she wasn’t somewhere with Gino’s ass.
Gino was my sisters situationship, and the two of them were toxic as hell. It wasn’t Free’s and June’s level of toxic from the past, either. Their shit was much worst, which says a lot because June and Free were bad, too. Police used to get called for the two of them, and I had to leave my house a couple of times in the middle of the night to get Free out of jail. Tommie has been through some of that same shit with Gino, but drugs would be involved in their shit, and I think that’s why it’s worst. Back then, Tommie used to pop pills, and that shit would fuck with her mind, and have her spazzing. Gino would do pills as well, along with smoke weed, and he was a heavy drinker. With the drugs in their system, they would both act irrational, and I felt like they did so much better when they weren’t together.
These days, Tommie no longer popped pills. I knew she didn’t because her whole vibe has changed for the better. When Nivea died, we all had our own fucked up way that we dealt with that. I just became more closed off than I’ve ever been in my life. Free’s ass had gotten meaner, and Tommie turned to pills. Along the way, she would neglect her children, which is why Free had done a lot for Tommie’s girls. I never once judged Tommieon her shortcomings because I knew that she lived with trauma, just as I did, and Nivea dying was the icing on the cake.
Tommie had daddy issues just as I did, and I know that’s where a lot of her anger came from. I wouldn’t trade my sister for anything in the world though. I could call Tommie right now, even with me knowing that she was sleep, and tell her that I just got into it with a bitch at the gas station, and she would get out of her bed, come flying to wherever I was, ready to kill the bitch. I never had to question my sister’s love, or her loyalty. She may get on my fuckin nerves at times, especially with that slick ass mouth that she had, but that was my girl.
I eventually pulled up to the prison. I parked my car, leaving all my valuables in the glove compartment, having no reason to bring them with me. The only thing that I kept with me were my keys. Once I was out, I locked the doors behind me, and I got in line with everyone else, waiting for the visitation bus to come, and pick us up. This process was nice and smooth because luckily for me, as soon as I got in line, another bus was coming for us. I made my way onto the bus, took me a spot in the middle, having the row all to myself, and before I knew it, it was our time to get off.
Once inside, we formed another line, and it was the same drill as always. It’s crazy when you think about it because I was now a thirty-seven-year-old woman, and I’ve been coming down to this very same prison to visit my dad since I was two years old. My mom tells me stories, saying how she hated bringing me down here as a baby, but my dad wanted to see me, so she did it.
I went through the whole process of giving the officers my ID, so they could scan me in. I was handed a set of locker keys for me to stash my car keys, and wallet inside. Once that was over with, it wasn’t long before the group that I was in was called, so that we could go to the visitation room, where it was always ice cold.I made sure that I always came to visit my dad with a jacket on of some sort because I would freeze my ass off if I didn’t.
My dad preferred for me to pick a table that was towards the back, so that’s what I did. I sat for about five minutes, and I watched as inmate after inmate came out. As I was sitting, my leg was bouncing up and down, and I guess that was my way of showing that I was excited. This was the only version that I had of seeing my father, so when those moments came, I couldn’t control how happy I was.
I started getting antsy in my seat, feeling like his ass wasn’t going to come from the back, but eventually, that cocky walk swaggered from the back, that big smile was showing on his face, showing off those dimples that I’d inherited from him, and you would have thought that he was walking out of his room from a 5 star resort somewhere in the Caribbeans, instead of coming from the back, where his cell was, and where he’s spent the last 30+ years.
His eyes scanned the room, and it didn’t take long for them to fall on me. I was such a fuckin crybaby because the second his eyes landed on me, I saw the gleam that appeared in them, and that melted something in me because I started crying, as I stood up from my chair, waiting for him to make it over to me.
Over the years, my dad would always tell me that he hated to see me crying, especially since he knew that his shortcomings, and his absence were the primary reason for a lot of my tears, so the second he saw those tears fall from my eyes, he moved swiftly throughout the visitation room, making his way over to me, and I crashed into him, putting my head into his chest, crying because I was happy to see him. His strong arms lifted, and he cradled the back of my head with his hands, being gentle with me, like he always was.
“Sssh. Sssh. You’re breaking my heart, baby. Come on. Don’t do this shit to me,” his voice was soft, cracking a little bit alongthe way, as if he was moments away from shedding tears of his own.
My mom used to tell me that I was my dad’s favorite person, and that I had power over his emotions that no one else ever had. She’s told me that as long as she’s known him, she’s never seen him cry, unless it pertained to me. My dad was tough, and he could handle a lot of things. My mom told me in the past that years ago, when he was sentenced, he never shed a tear. She said that it was her, his mother, and his side of the family that had broken down in court, but he remained calm. She told me that he didn’t break until she put me on the phone one time, and I started babbling the words, “da- da”.
“Henry. Don’t make me be the bad guy, please. That’s enough contact. Please take your seat across the table,” I heard one of the guards demand my father. I knew that was eventually going to come, which is why I really had been trying to control my emotions, but it was hard to.
My cycle had come on yesterday morning, and around that time of the month, my emotions were all over the place, which is why I was much more emotional this morning than any other time in the past.
“It’s okay, daddy. I’m okay,” I said, pulling away because I knew my dad.
He was going to pretend that he didn’t hear the guard, and he wouldn’t let me go until I was finished having my moment.
He used his hands, so that he could wipe my tears, and then he placed both hands on the side of my face, kissed my forehead, and like the gentleman that he’s always been to me, he pulled my seat out, so that I could sit down, and once I was seated, he walked around the table, taking his seat.
I looked at my dad in complete adoration. I didn’t adore the position that he was in, but it was more so me merely adoring how handsome he was, and how handsome he continued to getover the years, even with him getting older. I have no idea what the hell was in this prison water, or the food, but it had him aging backwards. If he beat parole, and was able to come home, I could only imagine the women that were going to be on his trail.
My rich chocolate skin was inherited from my father. I know that a lot of dark-skinned girls would grow up, and have insecurities about their complexion, but I never went through that phase in my life. My daddy used to call me a beautiful, black barbie, and always tell me how the two of us had perfect chocolate skin, so he built me up to be confident in my skin tone sine I was a little girl.
Before my dad had gotten locked up, he used to have long hair, and it was often styled in braids. I know because of the many pictures my mom has shown me over the years. Being in prison, he had to cut his hair, so he’s been rocking waves for as long as I could remember. I don’t know what kind of products his ass was mixing up while he was in here, but his hair was so nice, and healthy. He kept a clean face, and his skin was so perfect.
He's gotten so many tattoos during his time here, so as he sat before me in his orange jumpsuit, with his arms folded, you could see both sleeves that he had on his arms, along with the ones that were on his hands. He dedicated his entire right arm to me. My baby picture was there, along with my full name, which was Dionne Giselle Henry. You would think that because he’d gotten these tattoos while he was locked up, that his tattoos would look like prison tattoos, but these were truly works of art, almost looking like my sisters, Free’s work.
“I hate when you do that shit. Break my fuckin heart doing that,” he voiced, and I laughed, while rolling my eyes.
“Daddy, that shit hurts, seeing you coming from the back like that. Mommy had already given me a pep talk on the way over here, telling me not to cry because she knows how it upsets you,but that little pep talk went out the window the moment that I saw you. How are you? You look good,” I complimented him, and like that was his favorite thing to hear, he started smiling.
“I’m cool. I feel like I’m in a good spot in my life right now. I’m locked in with life in a way that I’ve never been locked in before. I been staying out the way, getting into my bible more, and telling God all my hearts desires. With my parole hearing coming up sometime this year, I’m not trying to do anything to fuck that up, you know?” he asked me, and I smiled at his question, only hoping that the things that he was saying were the truth.
So many times I’ve come down here to visit my dad, and I would ask him how he was doing, and he would always have these good things to say, and tell me about the positive path that he was on, only for a few days to go by, and I wouldn’t hear from him, which would leave me with no choice but to call down to the prison to see what was going on, and I would learn from one of the officers that he was in trouble again, and was spending time in the hole.
“What about you, baby girl? What’s new in your life? How are your sisters?” he asked me. Even though my sisters weren’t my dad’s children, he made it his business to ask about them each time that I would come visit him.
