“All of them?” she asked.
“My daddy. People I went to school with. Everyone who’s ever accused me of something.”
“Could you please elaborate?”
I got up from the chair and started pacing the floor. “I’m sorry. I know this must make zero sense. It doesn’t even make sense to me and I’m right in the middle of it.”
“Right in the middle of what?”
I smirked. “Hell. Right smack dab in the middle of hell.”
“When did people start accusing you of things?”
“Second grade.”
“Second grade?”
I sat back down and folded my hands on my lap, trying to prevent them from shaking.
“Yes. It was the day someone beat up Brenda Morrison and two other girls in the bathroom. Brenda had two black eyes, three broken ribs, and a smashed knee. I’ll never forget the way she looked when they took her away in the ambulance.”
“And they said you did that to them?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t make sense. I was terrified of Brenda. She was the biggest bully in the entire school.”
“Why do you think they accused you?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Brenda said I did it. So did the others. She said it was me, but it couldn’t have been. They said I followed them into the bathroom from the playground but I don’t even remember half of recess that day.”
“There were more instances after that one?”
“Several.”
“Please tell me about them, Jonquinette. If it isn’t too painful.”
“It’s painful, but that’s why I came here.” I finally looked Dr. Spencer in the eyes. “There was Mrs. Greer’s dog.”
“Mrs. Greer?”
“Our next-door neighbor when we lived in Florida. She was the nicest old lady and I swear I’d never do anything to hurt her. I’d never do that. Not ever.”
“But someone did?”
“She said I was on the porch complaining about Shadow, her poodle, barking. I never did that. I loved Shadow.”
“Whom did she tell that to?”
“My parents. She came over after…After…” I hesitated.
“After what?”
“After someone poisoned Shadow. It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t even know where to get any rat poison but—”
“But?”
I lowered my eyes. “My daddy found an empty can under my bed.”
“And Shadow was poisoned to death?”
“Yes. Poor thing.”
“And the next incident?”
“Seventh grade. Someone put hair remover in the shampoo bottles in the girls’ locker room.”
“They said you did it?”
“No, no one said I did it that time.”
“Then what makes you think you had something to do with it?”
“Three empty bottles of hair remover in my locker.”
“Oh, I see.”
“It just went on and on until—”
“Until what?”
“Until the really bad things started to happen.”
“What sorts of things?”
The tears started falling before I felt them coming.
“I can’t do this.” I wiped my tears with my bare hand. “I’m sorry but I just can’t.”
Dr. Spencer got up, walked around the desk, and started caressing my shoulders.
“Jonquinette, please continue. I can’t help you unless you confide in me.”
“I didn’t really come here to discuss my childhood,” I whispered.
“Then what did you come here to discuss?”
“The things that are happening to me now.”
“Like?”
I was so ashamed, but it had to come out. “The reason I think I’m insane is because I wake up sometimes and I’m wearing clothes I’ve never seen; my hair is curled instead of up; my glasses are tossed someplace; a couple of times they were even broken. And then there’s the other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
I clamped my eyes shut. I’d never felt so degraded. “Dr. Spencer, sometimes there are strange smells on my body, on my breath, all over me. Sometimes there’s sticky stuff between my legs and—”
Dr. Spencer sat down on the corner of her desk, facing me, and lifted my chin with her hand so I’d look at her. “Jonquinette, are you telling me that you have sex with men and don’t remember it?”
“That’s the really crazy part, Dr. Spencer.”
“Please, call me Marcella.”
“Marcella, I’ve never been with a man. I’ve never had sex but—”
“But?”
“Somehow I managed to break my hymen and even contract one venereal disease.”
“How do you know that?”
“An OB/GYN told me. My freshman year in college something happened to me. I had gone to the library one day to study and I somehow blacked out. Afterward I went to the campus clinic because I was sore down there and I didn’t know why.”
“And this has been happening ever since then?”
“Yes, it has.”
Admitting it caused an instant breakdown. I grabbed hold of Marcella’s arm and began to cry. I buried my head into her chest; She wrapped her other arm around me.
“I’m so afraid,” I whimpered. “What’s wrong with me? Am I really insane?”
“No, I don’t think you’re insane,” she said reassuringly. “If you were insane, you wouldn’t have sought me out to help you. And I will help you, Jonquinette. I promise you that.”
9
jude
Jon had lost her fucking mind. I couldn’t believe she went up there and told that bitch all of our fucking business. She was going to have to pay for that. And promising that doctor chick that she’d let her continue to help? Not as long as there was one breath left in my body.
To top things off, Jon had the nerve to leave there and go to the grocery store. She knew how much I hated the grocery store. Nothing but a bunch of bratty-ass kids begging their parents for candy, sugar-infested juices, or salty foods.
When I took over, we were walking down the pasta aisle. Of course, there was a hard-headed chap blocking the way. I jerked my cart toward him but he didn’t budge. Just glared at me and rolled his eyes. His mother was picking out a box of elbow macaroni.
“Ahem, could you tell your kid to move the hell out my way,” I lashed out at her.
She snickered like she couldn’t believe I’d actually said that.
“Are you going to move him or should I just knock his ass over with my cart?”
She grabbed her son by the shoulders and pulled him aside. “Move over here, David.” She leered at me. “You don’t have to be so rude, miss. He’s just a child.”
I picked up the nearest jar of spaghetti sauce and smashed it on the floor. I leaned down and picked up the lid. There was shattered glass attached to it. I held it up and she hauled ass with her kid in tow. I laughed. That’s what she gets, fucking with me.
I smashed a few more jars to get rid of some of the anger Jon had stirred up in me by telling our business. By the time I turned the corner, one of the store managers was rushing to see about the noise.
“You need a cleanup on aisle five,” I told him. “Some bratty kid was pitching a fit and his mother allowed him to have a tantrum. If I were you, I’d make them pay for it. It makes no sense.”
He shook his head in dismay. “I don’t know what’s wrong with kids these days.”
“Me either. If you hurry, you might be able to catch them up by the registers. She has on this horrid pastel dress and he has on a Teletubbies tee.”
“Thank you, miss,” he said before taking off for the bank of cash registers.
I smirked. I knew that heifer and her brat were long gone if they had any sense.