A Street Girl Named Desire: A Novel Read online

  Nika felt at ease talking to Hattie Mae. She didn't feel looked down upon. She didn't feel lonely anymore. It felt warm to know that someone would come and see her every day. It seemed she could depend on Miss Hattie Mae, but something wouldn't allow her to put all her cards on the table just yet. As much as Nika told Hattie Mae, there was a whole lot she never even mentioned.

  The worst story Nika could never face, let alone tell, began in 1970 in the Wagner Projects. Nika's mother, Sandy, had been seventeen when she got involved with an older neighborhood dude everyone called Ray-Ray He was a mere 5′3″, but he held his own on the streets. He fancied himself a ladies man, but in all actuality he was a trick and young girls were his weakness. His primary sources of income were being a numbers bookie by day and a small-time pimp by night. If a person hit real big, he'd prefer to cut a man's throat than to pay him. One fifty-year-old man, who was unfortunate enough to hit the number twice in one week, accidentally fell off a roof a day before he was supposed to get paid off.

  Ray-Ray's tactic for hooking whores was even worse—he'd get them hooked on drugs. His favorite target was teenaged girls—the younger, the dumber, the better. He knew most young girls weren't diving into heavy drugs, but they considered weed harmless, because everyone did it. He used the herb as his devil in disguise.

  One girl he was interested in was Sandy Mitchell. Sandy had a minimum-wage job as a cashier at the gas station on 125th and First Avenue. She was single-handedly raising her three-year-old daughter, Nika. When she met Ray-Ray, she was struggling to make ends meet. She thought Ray-Ray was sweet, because he'd give her daughter a dollar every time he saw her. Soon, he began visiting her in her small, one-bedroom apartment. He even assisted her in paying overdue bills. It was only a matter of time before she gave him her body, each time smoking a blunt before making love.

  He took his time stringing Sandy out. He started first by lacing the weed with a little cocaine, then later on with heroin. Before long, Sandy began waking up dope sick, with flulike symptoms. One morning, she woke up in intense pain and complained to Ray-Ray about her illness.

  He nonchalantly answered, “Oh, it must be the heroin that's making you feel like that.”

  She displayed a confused look. The fact that he could have been giving her more than herb had never crossed her mind.

  He continued, “It's the heroin I mixed with the weed that's making you jones, baby.”

  Sandy was pissed off and wondering how he could have done such a thing without her knowledge. She jumped up in anger. “Ray-Ray … you been giving me fuckin heroin without me knowing about it?”

  “Shit, I thought you knew. Fuck, I told you it was an Amsterdam blunt. That's how they get down in Europe.”

  “I thought you meant you got the weed from Amsterdam Avenue, not that you was lacing that shit with heroin.”

  Ray-Ray got out of bed and shrugged. “Shit, don't blame me if you ain't hip to what's up. Besides, you was the one asking me to bring the shit home every night.”

  He began to imitate her in a high voice. “Ray, don't forget to bring some of that shit we had last night. Ray, that smoke was good, roll me another one.”

  He threw his hands in the air, staring at her for emphasis.

  Sandy shivered in pain. She tried to get out of the bed, but doubled over from the pain in her back, and fell to the floor hugging her cramping stomach. Ray-Ray helped her off the floor and back into the bed. He stared at her in disgust, then went into his pants pocket and pulled out a glassine bag.

  “Here …” Ray-Ray passed the bag to Sandy, who threw it down on the bed.

  She stared at it. “I know you ain't fuckin crazy. I'm not fuckin with this shit.” She threw it back at him.

  He shrugged. “Do you, then. I'm just tryna help you out. You said you feel fucked up. All you got to do to feel better is take a toot and all's good. Suit yourself.”

  He turned and went into the bathroom to take a shower.

  Sandy fumed and tried to bury her head in the pillow, but she tossed and turned all the while. After a few uncomfortable seconds she sat up and looked at the small glassine bag on the bed and went for it. She sat back on the bed and opened the folded bag and used her pinky finger to scoop out some of the powder and sniffed it deeply. In a matter of seconds, the pain in her back, the chills and the nausea were gone. She laid onto the bed gently, letting the smooth, melodic high overwhelm her.

  Ray-Ray closed the bathroom door, smiling wickedly to himself.

  It didn't take much after that for Ray-Ray to convince Sandy to sell her body to support her habit. He simply told her he didn't have any money because business was slow, but he knew how she could make some real fast. At the beginning, Sandy had it easy, because Ray-Ray would send the clients to her apartment.

  As soon as Sandy began working for the small-time pimp, he started to abuse her physically. In his mind she was his property and he could do whatever he wanted with her, and he just happened to get off by beating the shit out of women. He would beat Sandy so brutally, anybody watching would have thought she was a man. He beat her with a closed fist, chair legs, two-by-fours, whatever he could get his hands on. During the abuse, he'd get a large hard-on while he watched Sandy whimper in submission. Afterward, he would make Sandy repeat that he was a better lover than any tall man she'd ever been with. It was then that he would turn gentle and compassionate, claiming that he only beat her because he loved her. In the same breath, he'd tell her he would kill her if she ever left him. If he couldn't have the pussy, no one would.

  In no time at all, Sandy became a full-fledged junkie—mainlining heroin in her arms, and needing nearly a bundle a day to maintain her habit. It was around then that Ray-Ray was arrested on his third felony and had to do some hard time. This was both a blessing and a curse for Sandy. It freed her from Ray-Ray, but it also forced her to hit the streets and make shit happen on her own.

  When she wasn't high, Sandy had plenty of time to think while strolling, looking for tricks. Her thoughts were always the same. She imagined getting off drugs. She wanted to get a real job and raise her daughter properly. She wanted to go back to the person she had been before she met Ray-Ray Then the fear of withdrawal would set in. She didn't want to feel that pain wracking through her body. The numbing effect provided by the drug always won over her desire to quit. Every day, the same dream, though, because she would be reminded of it every time she looked into her daughter Nika's pure eyes. They were like opals that always seemed to be looking out, but you could never see in. Those eyes observed everything the one-bedroom apartment had to offer.

  Ten-year-old Nika sat silently inside the dark, cramped closet for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. She wasn't afraid of the dark, like most kids her age; she was used to it. She knew by the sounds of the grunts, the squeaking of the bed-springs, that it was time to make her move. Ever so slowly she opened the closet door and slid on her belly as smooth as a snake. When she reached the foot of the bed, she peeked up and saw the john's white, hairy ass pump uncontrollably up and down on her mother. She had her timing down to a science. She reached her hand inside the man's pocket and pulled out his wallet. She thumbed through the wallet and skillfully pulled out large bills only. She was careful to place the wallet and trousers back in the exact same manner she found them. With the stealth of a ninja, she silently slid back into the closet just as the John reached his climax.

  Sandy trained Nika well. Over time, they proved to be perfect partners in crime. Eventually, their good fortune ran out. The drugs and beatings from Ray-Ray had robbed Sandy of her youth and beauty. She had begun to look haggish. She was a muggy-mouthed dope fiend with rotting teeth. Multiple scars above her eyes gave her the permanent look of a seasoned boxer. This began to limit the number and quality of the tricks she was able to attract. Her habit got bigger, while her resources for supporting it shrank.

  One night, wretched in pain and dope sick, Sandy thought about how she had spent the entire day tryi
ng to earn some money. After struggling all day she couldn't even borrow a dollar. As she staggered through her apartment door, Nika eagerly greeted her, searching her pockets for food. She hadn't eaten in three days and was beginning to lose her balance. “Mommy … ?” Nika asked in desperation. “Did you make any money?”

  Sandy couldn't respond. She ran to the bathroom, but didn't make it to the toilet. She sat in a pool of despair, rimmed with her own vomit. Nika ran over and helped Sandy's trembling body onto the couch. Nika wiped the river of sweat from her mother's forehead.

  “Please help me. God, please help me,” Sandy cried as she rocked back and forth in Nika's thin arms. Nika was desperate to help her mother, and knew what the solution could be.

  “Mommy, you want me to go to the supermarket and steal something? We could get some food and some stuff to sell. We could get money, for the candy that makes you sing. The candy in the green bag. I could get it from the guy on the corner.” She rocked her mother faster. “I remember how you showed me. Give him the money real fast in one hand, get the bag with the other. Fast.”

  Shaking her head, Sandy said, “No … no, baby, the store is closed.”

  “We could get on the train and tell people we are homeless. Last time we did that we made almost forty dollars.”

  Sandy thought about it for a second. “No, we did that at rush hour last time, it's … it's too late now.”

  Nika put her head down and accepted another hungry night.

  “All right, Ma.”

  Nika went into the bedroom and came back with a blanket. She wrapped it securely around her mother's rail-thin, shaking body. She walked into the kitchen and returned with two ice cubes. She stuck one into her mother's mouth. She slowly slid the other back and forth across her mother's forehead.

  Nika must have drifted off. When she opened her eyes there was someone standing in front of her that she didn't fully recognize. It was a woman. She had a blanket wrapped around her body. Her black hair was soaking wet, matted against her head. Her eyes, small and dark, were surrounded by a shade of yellow that matched her lone three teeth. Her eyes had large, dark circles around them as if she had been punched. Her lips were bloated and puffy, like balloons.

  “Come here.” Sandy curled her finger from beneath the blanket, motioning for her daughter to come closer. “It is time that you start earning some money for Mommy, for a change.”

  Sandy dragged Nika into the bathroom, and brought her out decorated in heels and lipstick.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was several months before Desire was released from the hospital. By this time the story had long ceased being of interest to news reporters—and thus, politicians—but not to government agencies.

  Prior to the custody hearing taking place on that day, Nika's lawyer had her criminal charges dropped. She was relieved not to have to worry about jail time. However, she did have to concern herself with the Administration for Children's Services. Once they started an investigation, they stayed on offenders like a plague.

  Nika stood nervously before the judge in her custody case. Standing alongside her was her court-appointed lawyer. Nika gripped the Bible Hattie Mae had given her.

  Judge Katie Ross, black, in her late forties, glanced intermittently at the defendant and the court papers in front of her. She was surprised by the young age of the defendant.

  “Ms. Mitchell,” the judge barked. “After reviewing your case and all the issues involved, I'm mandating you to an eighteen-month drug rehabilitation program, at which time a social worker will monitor your progress on a weekly basis. Now, in the matter of Desire Mitchell, the court will assign her to the custody of the foster care system.”

  Nika screamed loudly and covered her face with her hands.

  “No … don't take my baby from me. I'm sorry for what I did. I won't smoke no crack no more. Please don't take my baby!”

  Her lawyer attempted to calm her.

  Nika yelled louder, “Get ya fuckin hand off of me, bitch. I'm not letting y'all take my baby!”

  In an instant, a female court officer hurried over to restore peace.

  “Ms. Mitchell. You must restrain yourself and allow me to finish,” the judge said, pounding her gavel on the desk.

  In a stern whisper, her lawyer said, “Nika, listen to me. If you ever want to see your daughter again, I suggest you calm down right now. Keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?”

  The lawyer challenged Nika's malicious stare until Nika gave in to a more calmed expression.

  The lawyer turned smoothly to the judge. “Your Honor, please forgive us for our brief moment of outburst. I'm sure you can understand a mother's feelings under such circumstances.”

  The judge stared at the counsel briefly, then at Nika. “Ms. Mitchell, right now you are acting on emotions, but in time you will see the reasoning of my decision. At this point and time, Ms. Mitchell, you must look at your present circumstances. You are homeless, unemployed, and addicted to an illegal substance. With all these things going against you, what could you possibly offer your daughter?”

  Nika sadly eyed the floor.

  “Ms. Mitchell,” the judge said softly. “I have three children of my own. I cannot come close to knowing how it would feel to have my children taken away from me. However, I do know this … I know that if I weren't in the position to care for them, I would be happy and grateful to place my babies with someone who can do better than me.”

  Nika looked up, directly into the judge's eyes. Her experiences with Nurse Dixon and Hattie Mae had humbled her. Though initially they seemed to be the enemies, something inside of Nika allowed her to look past the possibility they were threats and understand that they could actually want what was best for her. She had not been expecting a lecture along with her sentence, but the judge had convinced her of something she hadn't wanted to see. She put her head down in devastation, letting the judge's words sink in.

  “You have not lost your parental rights. You will be allowed to see your daughter on a supervisory basis, until you complete your rehabilitation program, get housing, and demonstrate to the court your transition into society,” the judge announced.

  Still uneasy and desperate, Nika pleaded, “Your Honor, ma'am, I understand everything you said and you are right. I'm gonna do everything I gotta do, but not knowing the people who gonna get my baby, I'm not sure if they gonna give my baby the attention she needs. My lawyer had warned me this might happen. So we filed papers to have somebody I know take temporary custody.”

  “Yes, I read the petition. However, that would apply only to the maternal grandparent only. And even still, for someone to be considered a candidate or a foster parent, they have to meet certain criteria. Unfortunately, the candidate was rejected because of age. At sixty-five, she is well past the foster parent maximum age, and that rules her out already.”

  The courtroom grew still. The judge shuffled the papers a few more times, then she noticed the name of the petitioner: Hattie Mae Evans. She stared at Nika for a moment.

  “However …,” the judge's voice dragged, “howwweverrrr, I'm overruling the decision and will grant temporary custody to the petitioner.”

  Nika couldn't believe her ears.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For the first seven Month of her year-and-a-half-long-stay, Nika had a hard time adapting to the Therapeutic Community she was placed in.

  A typical TC is a long-term drug rehabilitation center in which the stay can last from twelve to thirty-six months. Similar to a boot camp, it is designed to break a person down and then rebuild him or her, both mentally and spiritually. Nika wanted to leave as soon as she arrived. Never in her life had she had to follow such strict orders and allow people to talk to her any old kind of way. On many days, she felt she could not take it any longer and wanted to leave, but always one thing stopped her—her baby. She knew she had to survive without so much as a glitch.

  Hattie Mae and Desire had bonded. At eighteen months old, Desire's health was no
longer an issue. In addition to having Miss Hattie as a foster mother, Desire had Hattie Mae's church congregation behind her. Miss Hattie beamed with newfound pride and joy when she watched Desire get baptized. She praised the Lord for Desire's deliverance into God's kingdom and knew from that day on that He would take care of her.

  Over the course of time, Nika hadn't missed a single supervised visit and became a model recovering addict inside her program. She obtained her GED, and her social worker was so impressed that she recommended unsupervised visits. In her mind, Nika started to become the person she had fantasized about being every time she had succumbed to the urge to hit the streets, and the crack pipe. With each new success, she felt her true self coming back. She saw herself being the mother that she knew she could be: caring, loving, attentive, and drug-free. The dream was starting to become a reality. But then Nika started slipping. Addiction, she would soon learn, was a lifelong cycle, a battle that she would fight each and every day of her life. This was the aspect of recovery no one could truly prepare her for. She would soon find herself overcome, despite all the progress she had made, by the urge to use again.

  One night, at nearly 10 p.m., Nika was supposed to have Desire back home three hours earlier from her unsupervised visitation. Hattie Mae was going crazy with concern. Just as she picked up the phone to call the police, there was a knock on the door.She didn't even bother to look through the peephole before ripping the door open. It was Nika, with Desire sound asleep in her stroller, hugging a little pink teddy bear. Hattie Mae pulled Desire from the stroller and hugged her tightly.