Butterfly Arising Read online

  Sasha felt a spurt of temper. “What if I don’t go?”

  “Then I will put you in jail for contempt of court and remand the child to the custody of the court. Protective services will step in,” said the Judge in a hard voice. “Your baby will go to foster care if there is no one else. Is that what you want?”

  The numbness Sasha had been feeling since her trip to the waterfall receded abruptly. Her skin crawled. Fear made her stomach clench.

  “No, ma’am,” said Sasha, hands pressed to her chest. “If you take my baby away, I may as well die.”

  “Neither one of us want that to happen,” said Judge Garcia, softening. “Hence the counseling for yourself, and parenting classes with your baby for the next year. Or jail, today.”

  “Counseling,” said Sasha. She wanted to throw up at the thought of losing her baby. “I’ll do the counseling.”

  “So ordered. Go with the bailiff. He will show you where to get your paperwork.”

  Judge Garcia motioned to the bailiff, a heavyset older man in grey slacks and a navy-blue blazer, who stood up and walked toward Sasha. He eyed Sasha as though he, too, thought Sasha might be just a bit crazy. Sasha wanted to scream that she wasn’t. Why couldn’t people just leave it alone? Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? Sasha wanted the numbness back. She wanted to go back to the place where she couldn’t feel panic or pain or anger.

  She turned to leave.

  “Oh, Miss Anderson,” said Judge Garcia.

  Sashed turned back. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she answered the Judge.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I suggest that at some time within this next year, you disclose the name of your baby’s father to the court. He has some responsibility.”

  APATHETIC

  Alone.

  Sasha sat in the counselor’s office looking at the sand colored walls. She had her earphones on and was listening to Beyoncé’s “Me, myself and I,” the soundtrack of her life in the last few months. At least she wasn’t living with his three kids like the woman in the song. She had one baby and he belonged to Sasha. All by herself.

  On the wall in front of her hung a painting of a ponytailed young girl, sitting cross-legged with her back to the world. The girl’s shoulders hunched like she was holding her knees with her arms. Her head was bowed. She was sitting in the foreground of the picture on lumpy sand. The background depicted murky, turbulent water and the orange setting sun. Sasha squinted at the small engraved sign below the picture and read, Life has taught me two things: There is a God and I am not her.

  Sasha swallowed a lump in her throat and closed her eyes as Beyoncé continued to bemoan her fate in song. Sasha could relate to the lyrics except for the part in the song when she said the sun would come out again. Beyoncé was super rich. She could probably buy sunlight. In Sasha’s world, the sun did not shine. Like the girl in the portrait, Sasha felt hunched over, back to the world; her view dark and murky.

  “Me, myself, and I,” mumbled Sasha. She rubbed her jean clad thighs to dry her sweating palms. She used to dress so cute. Now, it was baggy jeans and a big t-shirt, preferably long sleeved. To hide all of what she couldn’t share with the world.

  Alone.

  Sasha felt like she’d been alone for months, years, though this was the first time she had been truly by herself in weeks.

  The baby needed twenty-four-hour care and Sister Evangeline Anderson Redmond was not kidding when she said that Sasha was taking care of her own baby.

  “I have to work,” Mama had been firm. “Grown folks take care of their own children. I will not babysit unless you must work or go to the doctor. Beyond that you are on your own.”

  Her few high school classmates, including her best friend Gabby, were away at college and Sasha had lost touch in the months that she had been homeless. Sasha had never been popular with other girls and she was done with boys.

  Alone.

  No one understood that Sasha felt isolated even when there were people around. She closed her eyes as the music flowed to Alessia Cara’s song “Here”. The song was about a girl who stayed at a party she shouldn’t have been at. Sasha shuddered and pressed the off button.

  Sasha had picked this doctor from a list provided by the court because she had Saturday consultation hours and because Mama liked the slogan “Counseling with a God Centered Focus.”

  Sasha thought back over the last month. At first the Judge had been sympathetic; everybody treated potential suicides like they were insubstantial, like they had to be wrapped in cotton balls. Until the story was told; Or not told in this case. Once everyone learned that Damon Hamilton was not Ricky’s father the Judge had been angry and vindictive, in Sasha’s opinion. Her mother had been beside herself. Until the trip to the river; then everybody was all about a visit to the crazy house for Sasha. So far, crazy did not provide much insulation from the hard facts of life.

  Sasha inhaled deeply and let it out in a long exhale.

  She looked at the back of the girl in the picture. Who painted the back of a person? How weird was that?

  A receptionist opened the window.

  “Miss Anderson,” she said. “Doctor will see you now.”

  Sasha pulled off her headphones and stuffed the I-pod into her jean’s pocket. She walked slowly to the door that the receptionist had pointed to and took a deep breath. She was in this all by herself.

  Me. Myself. I. Am. Not. Crazy.

  Sasha didn’t hold out much hope that the doctor would believe her. She straightened her shoulders, pushed the door open and walked through.

  INVISIBLE

  “No shrink couches?”

  Dr. Stanton laughed and gestured to the lazy boy arm chair. “No, but it does recline if you are so inclined,” she said, smiling. “Ooh, I made a rhyme. Good one.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes.

  There were two identical recliners facing one another in the middle of the room. In the corner by the window, there was a desk with a telephone on it and lining the wall behind the desk were books of every size and hue. The walls were painted a soft sea blue and hung with portraits of dolphins and turtles. The lights were low and would have been more soothing had Sasha not had a mortal fear of the dark. A multi colored pillow-filled love seat occupied a corner of the room.

  Dr. Stanton was barely five-feet tall with a dark pixie haircut, cinnamon skin, dimples, beautiful white smile and the biggest butt Sasha had ever seen on a person that height.

  “Yes, it’s all mine,” said the doctor, patting one of her ample hips with a bejeweled hand. “Nicki Minaj ain’t got nothing on me.”

  “Ha-Ha.”

  “I’m Michelle Stanton,” said the doctor, holding out her hand. Sasha touched the outstretched hand with her fingertips and sat down.

  “You can call me Dr. Stanton or Dr. Michelle, just so you call me when you need me.” She smiled.

  Sasha did not return the smile. Craig had smiled at her. Damon, too. Smiles meant that someone wanted something from Sasha. In her experience, it was something she probably did not want to give. Or worse, would regret giving.

  “Are you going to tell my mother what we talk about?”

  “No,” said Dr. Michelle, shaking her head. “It’s called confidentiality. What happens in therapy stays here unless you tell me otherwise. Then, you sign a permission slip for me to talk to anyone else.”

  Sasha nodded. She was skeptical about therapy. Her parents had done it when they separated, but still divorced. She mentally shrugged. Life was already so out of control, what difference did it make if the therapy doctor told someone? Sasha sat in the chair. It enveloped her in mahogany leather softness.

  “So,” said Dr. Stanton. She sat down across from Sasha in the other recliner, “What would you like to talk about?”

  Sasha shrugged. “The Judge said I had to come here for a year or she’ll take away my baby.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “Have you harmed or abused your b
aby?”

  “No, ma’am,” said Sasha, shaking her head. “But, sometimes I think I hate him; or it’s hard for me to feel anything for him. He’s caused me so much trouble.”

  “How has he caused you trouble?”

  Sasha bit her lip. “If he wasn’t around, things would go back to normal. Not out of control.”

  “What was normal like?” asked Dr. Stanton.

  “I graduated from high school with honors.” The words tumbled from her lips as she ticked off her accomplishments. “I was on my way to Michigan State University. I had my dorm room assignment. I had time to read a book. I could write a story. I was cute. I never wanted a baby. He messed up everything.”

  “Then why didn’t you have an abortion?” asked the Doctor.

  “I couldn’t do that,” said Sasha.

  “Why not?”

  Sasha mumbled, “I just didn’t.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Sasha. “I didn’t do that.”

  “Then, why didn’t you give the baby up for adoption?” asked Dr. Stanton.

  Sasha snorted. “Nobody wants me. Why would I make Ricky feel like that? He is my baby. Nobody is taking him away from me. That’s why I’m in this stupid counseling session, because the judge threatened to take him from me. She thinks I’m psycho.”

  “Do you think you are?”

  “No.” She thought it over for a second. “Probably not.”

  “Probably not, what?”

  “Crazy,” said Sasha. “I’m not nuts but I don’t feel normal.”

  The questions continued, relentlessly until Sasha had had enough.

  “I don’t want to talk anymore,” she said, standing up. She was breathing hard. She moved toward the door, ready to run out of the office and keep going until she got to the end of the earth. And then run some more. Disappear.

  Alone.

  The Doctor nodded. “Our time is just about up, anyway.”

  Sasha nodded.

  “Before you go, I have homework for you,” Dr. Stanton said. She stood up and walked to a credenza. She picked up a pink journal and walked back to Sasha. She held the journal out to Sasha. “You said that you used to write.”

  Sasha nodded warily.

  “Sometimes,” said Dr. Stanton. “There are things we only want to tell God. I want you to write them down in this book. I don’t care what it is you are feeling, jot it down. Tell your story. You never have to show it to me but keeping things pent up inside is a bad way to do business.”

  “Why?” asked Sasha, accepting the journal. “Not even God cares what I think.”

  “You ever blow up a balloon?” asked Dr. Stanton. She cocked her head to the side.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What happens when you put too much air in one?”

  “It pops,” said Sasha.

  Dr. Stanton nodded. “It explodes into pieces. Can it be put back together?”

  “Of course not,” said Sasha. “It would be destroyed.”

  “In my business, we strive to avoid destruction,” said Dr. Stanton. “So, the journal is for you to let a little air out. Tell a story. Curse whoever has done you wrong. Whatever helps, okay?”

  Sasha nodded.

  “I’ll see you next week.”

  Sasha walked to the door.

  “Sasha…”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  What now?

  Dr. Stanton smiled. “It’s even okay to be mad at God. God can take it.”

  STUNNED

  Sasha unlocked the door to her mother’s house and went inside. She walked past the living room through the kitchen to the family room where her mother was sitting in a rocking chair with Ricky, murmuring to him as she rocked.

  “I’m home, Mama,” said Sasha. Her mother looked up.

  “Hello,” said Mama. “He just went to sleep.”

  “I’ll take him,” said Sasha.

  “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

  Sasha walked to the couch and perched on the edge of it, facing her mother.

  “How was the counseling session?”

  “It was okay,” said Sasha. Her mother met her eyes, no doubt looking for the crazy lurking there.

  “Are you being cooperative?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Sasha. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I need to know what your plans are,” said Mama.

  “Plans?”

  “Where are you going to be in the fall?”

  “You want me gone?” asked Sasha, stunned.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Mama. “Look baby, I know things have been hard for us, but we’ve gotten better. You’ve been making progress. But you are not moving forward here. I need to know your plans for school. What you do impacts me, you know.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Sasha.

  “It’s time out for sorry,” said her mother. She leaned down

  and kissed the baby on the forehead. “You have a child to raise.

  If you are here, you behave as a child. So, I ask you again, what are your plans?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Sasha. She slumped back on the couch.

  “Well then,” said Mama. “I have a plan for you.”

  Here it comes. Dumped again.

  “When you were away I deferred your admission. We will contact Michigan State and see if you can get into school for the fall.”

  “I’m not sure how I can go to school with a baby,” said Sasha. “I might have to wait a couple of years.”

  Evangeline rolled her eyes.

  “You cannot stay here with this baby and do nothing with your life.”

  “But…”

  “No buts,” interrupted Mama. “You will go to school. I will help you pay for it.”

  “I…”

  Mama held up one hand. “Or you can go in the military. You and Uncle Sam negotiate your future. Leave the baby here with me, while you pay for childcare. Or you and the baby can live outside. Those are your options.”

  “I need some time to think about it, Mama,” said Sasha, panic rising.

  “Think fast,” said Mama, standing up. She walked to Sasha and handed the baby to her. “It’s time out for the pity party. Watching ‘The Little Princess’ and ‘The Wiz’ on video over and over does not help.”

  “But…”

  “You have to do what every other woman does when she has a baby. You pull up your big girl panties and get it together.”

  Sasha nodded. There was no reasoning with the steamroller that was Evangeline Anderson Redmond.

  Her mother stood and continued, “I need you to get a degree so you can get a good job to take care of yourself and this baby. You will get a job and buy diapers. Unless those other options sound viable to you. You pray about it and give me your answer later.” She handed Sasha the baby and left the room

  Sasha stayed on the couch for a long time with Ricky. She looked down at his sleeping face. Prayer was mama’s answer for everything. Prayer hadn’t netted Sasha much, but she had nothing else. She felt battered; first by the therapy session and then by her mother’s edict.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. She hugged Ricky close, breathing in his essence of soft baby mixed with lavender baby lotion. The scent calmed her mind a bit.

  “God, do you hear me?”

  A while later, Sasha got up and went to her room. She put Ricky down in the crib. She took the pink journal out of her purse.

  Write.

  Sasha sat down at her white vanity. She opened the flyleaf, and carefully printed her name.

  Sasha T. Anderson

  Let out some air.

  June 6, she wrote.

  Once upon a time, I was a princess. Then came reality. It bites.

  BEGINNING

  “How is the world treating you today?”

  “Sun is still shining,” Sasha responded to Dr. Michelle.

  The first two therapy sessions had not gone well.
Sasha sat sullenly and answered questions one word at a time or with a shrug. But today, for some reason, Sasha felt she could speak. Maybe because the question wasn’t dealing directly with how crazy everybody thought she was.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Never does any good to complain, Dr. Michelle,” said Sasha.

  “Sometimes it does.”

  They had settled on Dr. Michelle because Sasha couldn’t call the woman by her first name; it would be disrespectful of her elders. Dr. Stanton sounded way too formal. Spilling her guts to Dr. Stanton smacked too much of talking to the therapists and psychiatrists doctors at the hospital. Even though a clinical psychologist was a crazy people’s doctor, too, Dr. Michelle felt safer somehow.

  “I wrote something.”

  “Did writing make you feel better?” asked Dr. Michelle.

  “I’m not sure,” said Sasha, “But at least it was something. I’m not just sitting in the corner, holding my baby, or looking out the window at nothing.”

  Dr. Michelle nodded in encouragement.

  “It’s about before.”

  “Tell me,” said Dr. Michelle.

  “It’s hard.”

  “Can you read it out loud to me?”

  “Okay.” Sasha started, halting at first but picking up speed.

  June 6,

  Once upon a time, I was a princess. Then came reality. It bites.

  When I was a princess, I could do anything. I could fly, and dream and it would all come true one day. In my castle, I was safe from all harm. I should have stayed there.

  When I was born, there were no black princesses in the cartoons. So, my Daddy’s artist friend drew a picture of a beautiful brown princess and Daddy paid to have it embroidered on a blanket. He had them put Princess Sasha on the top of the blanket in pink and purple letters. He always wrapped it around me and kept me warm. It was a fairy tale. I had the handsome king and the queen-pretty Mama who loved me. It was perfect.