'Gotta go now.' Excerpt from a work in progress.

Excerpt from a work in progress.

The police were at the Brown’s house when I got home. The Browns were my current foster family. Mine and three other teenage girls’, along with one baby boy, born three months ago to my roommate, Robin. Candie Walker, another housemate, four foot tall by four foot wide blond with angry grey eyes and a rose tattoo on her neck was handcuffed and sitting in the back of one of the cruisers.

I looked at Mr. Brown who was sitting on a porch rocker. His eyes caught mine for the briefest of moments then darted away.  He gestured his head in the direction of Kanisha Griffin, Candie’s roommate. “Candie went off on Nisha, tried to kill her.”


“Why, what happened?”

“Nisha got into her stash of cookies under her bed. Candie kept screaming bout Nisha eatin up her thin-mints and then tried to stab her with some scissors.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“Mrs. Brown got a cut on her hand when she tried to get between them two. Like stickin your hand in a dog fight. You the ones gonna get bit.” His jaw clenched to match his clenched hands.   He sat stiff backed on the rocking chair and watched as the police talked to the other girl.  Perspiration glistened across his furrowed brow as he strained to hear what was being said. 

His anxiety brought an ironic smile to my lips as I moved into the house.  My room was empty.  I took the backpack I had used for school from the shelf and emptied it into the trash.  Then started rolling up the few items of clothing I owned. I had just stuffed the packed bag back into its place on the shelf as Robin Leslie, my roommate, came in with her sleeping baby in her arms.

“Were you here when the stuff went down?“ She laughed as she spoke. I took the baby from her arms and sat on the bed to hold him. He felt good in my arms. Like I mattered to someone.

Robin was a tough fifteen year old with hair died jet black, black nails, black lipstick and spiked jewelry adorning her fair skin. Her baby’s hair was almost golden and his skin almost as brown as mine. His face round and soft with grey eyes. I kissed his cheek, inhaled deeply his sweet baby scent and smiled into his sleeping face.

‘No. I just walked up a minute ago.” I starred at little JJ’s face. ‘JJ’ stood for Jordan, after Robins brother, and James for my last name. Robin and I had become best friends in the last six months we'd lived together. “Is he Mr’s Browns baby?” The words sprang from my lips before I could stop them. I had always suspected it was true.

Robin froze for a moment, as shocked by my question as I was. “Yeah, he is.” She confessed in a whispered sigh. “You gonna tell? You know they’ll just take him from me and ship me off somewhere worse. We’ll never see each other again.” Her mistrust of the system was understandable to me.

“No, I’m not gonna tell. I kinda knew it anyway, they way he looks at you and always leaves when you come in and all.” My eyes never left the sleeping baby’s face. He was so peaceful and beautiful. “I’m leaving.  I wanted to be sure you and him were gonna be ok.” Robin sat down next to me on the edge of the bed and stroked the baby’s hair. “Did he hurt you?” I pressed.

“No.  He was just kinda pitiful, sniffin around like he ain’t got none from his wife for a while. I thought if I gave it to him once in a while it would make things easier around here.” Her face was sad but there were no tears. She was too tough for tears.

“You think he’ll help you take care of JJ?”

She just shrugged.

“When you leaving?” Not why or how, only when. She had been in the system long enough and said goodbye often enough to know that sometimes people just gotta go. I had no answer because I hadn’t worked it all out yet. It would be soon.

Noise and commotion from the front of the house drew us away from our tête-à-tête. We ran to the front door. Mr. Brown was on his feet, cussing and shouting. One police office was on his radio while another cop ran down the driveway with Mrs. Brown at his heals screaming “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Both were chasing Candie as she sped away in the cop car.

“The suspect took control of the squad car…” Cop number one reported to the station. The officer in pursuit pulled his weapon, stopped in the street and pointed it at the retreating vehicle. He didn’t fire.

“Was the suspect handcuffed?” demanded the voice on the other end of the line.

“Yes sir. She must have worked her hands to her front and climbed over the seat. She is heading west on Riverdale!”

“We are in pursuit.” The communication disconnected. Sirens could be heard in the distance as they approached.

“Damn it!” the officer shouted into the air.  He turned and scowled in our direction as the sound of our hysterical laughter and the wail of the now crying baby broke through the tumult.

A lost puppy

As friends go I am an awful one. I’m selfish, I forget important anniversaries, I missed appointments, and I sleep through planned events. I am never the one to bring over a dish during a crisis. I am not the first to visit if you are sick. But I have been told that my skill is to listen and to inspire. Me, Nya March, inspiring! I know! That is hardly believable to me either, but that is the term I have heard over and over again. I am the one who says go for it! And I listen without trying to make it ‘about me’ or trying to ‘fix it’. I just listen, offer Kleenex, and make tea. Or so I’ve been told. Ok, so maybe not a ghastly friend, but certainly not as heroic a friend as I would like to imagine myself.


This being said, it is no wonder that I spend a lot of weekend’s home with old movies, trying to avoid phone calls, mostly the calls from my mother. Of course I answer, or at least return, her calls at least once a day but to answer all of them would send me leaping from my sixth story window to my certain and eagerly awaited death. The call I took that afternoon from Margo March, my daughterly debt paid for the day, was 45 min of slurred weeping over her varicose veins and being unable to fit her favorite cowboy boots since her bunion surgery.

“Mom, how about if you started line dancing again with your club, the exercise would help with the bulging veins… well the drinking sure doesn’t help either…you’ve got insurance, mom, go see a podiatrist…don’t say stuff like that, Mom! Dad died in the line of duty. What?! Do you honestly think he jumped in front of a bullet just because YOU gained 15 pounds?!… I gotta go Mom. I love you…Yes, I know you really, really miss Dad." A I did to.


“Ben and Jerry, meet Alfred Hitchcock.” I mumbled into my empty apartment once I hung up. My rear is going to be as big as Alfred’s again if I don’t get a date sometime soon. Since this was a working dinner I had one eye on the screen and one eye inside a claims binder. There were discrepancies all over the place between the police report, the info given on the claim form, the photos and descriptions of insured items. Someone was trying to pull of a scam for sure and the company paid me well to be sure they didn't succeed.


I woke up abruptly to an empty ice cream tub, my file folder on the floor, an info-mercial on the TV and my cell phone chirping a reggae rhythm at me from my pocket. At least I knew it wasn’t Mom. I didn’t give her my new cell number.

“Yeah, this is Nya” I answered, a little too brightly; trying not to sound like the caller had just awakened me. I looked over at the clock. 11PM, Not too late to go out!

“Hey Nya. It me, Terri.” At 11:3o at night ? “I need your help with something.”

* * *

Terri Hanson twitched incessantly. By twitched I meant she bounced, hopped, tapped, shrugged, grimaced, wiggled and blinked. This motion in turn caused her hair to sway, breasts to jiggle and her iconic long flowing skirts to dance. The more excited or agitated the more rapid and pronounced the movements. There seemed to be nothing motionless on her entire person. Sometimes you could just block out all the movement but other times it was mesmerizing; like watching a humming bird in flight or a crowd of small, hyper children at play just after consuming copious amounts of cake candy and soda at a party.

Terri, my mentor and friend. With all her quirks and oddities she is the most thoughtful and kindhearted person you could meet. And she is honest. More honest than most, including I at times, could handle. With Terri there was no pretence. What you saw is what you got. And to have her on your side was to say you never had to stand alone. If she needed my help, that I could give. Be on time for a movie? Probably not. But help? Yes.

“What’s up T?” She had sounded a little distracted and didn’t answer immediately. “Terri?” I prodded. “Mel and the twins, ok?” Melvin and Teresa Hanson had 10 year old twin boys, Alvin and Ali. Fraternal, looked nothing alike, they were often sick.

“Yeah, yeah they’re good. It’s nothing like that. This is gonna sound a little weird though.” I could hear an involuntary grimace twist the corner of her mouth. She was nervous.

“Well?”

“I think something has happened to Prater.”

“Prater?! You’re not really calling me about Prater.” I regretted the irritated sound that distorted his name as it left my lips. “I’m sorry. What makes you think something happened to Prater?” I would try to be concerned because my friend was concerned. Yes, sound concerned, Nya!

Prater was an odd, nervous character.  There is one in every workplace.  He hugged the walls as he plodded along, rarely looked anyone in the face and answered back a ‘hello’s’ just a shake too quick and a few decibels too loud as if shocked that someone actually spoke to him. Prater liked Terri. He would smile at her and hesitate at her desk. He’d say things like: “I’m almost finished reading a new book”... chuckle, and “It’s a sunny day outside today”... snort, or “I had a tuna sandwich for lunch today”…. It wasn’t a crush or anything like that. Terri just always treated him with dignity and respect so he gravitated toward her. I, on the other hand, wondered what sort of nepotism landed him in our office.

“Didn’t you notice that he wasn’t around all week?” Terri scolded.

“People do get the flu or take vacations.”

“Prater has not missed a day of work in eight years. For any reason. He got an attendance award at the last four employee appreciation banquets. Don’t you pay attention to anything?”

Not anything to do with Prater Kellerway.  “When was the last time you saw me at an employee appreciation dinner?” Never! “You got his number?”

“No answer.”

“You got an address?”

“Yes. I want you to go there with me tomorrow. That’s the favor. Be ready at 9:30. In the morning!” She emphasized. “I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll be ready.” I promised, flipped my phone closed, unfolded myself from the couch, stripped as I walked to the bedroom and flopped into bed. No date tonight and a Sunday tracking down a lost puppy by the name of Prater Kellerway. What a freakin fantastic weekend.

*   *   *

An intro to a detective story I was working on some time ago.  Still a work in progress.