I remember it all. It was all so quickly still. As if everything that happened was condensed into a minute. I told myself I wasn't going to fall or fail, and that I would kick down anything that tried to stop me from finding my fate. I can still feel the sweat from my forehead drip down across my nose, scuttling past the nostrils and seep right into the cracks on the chapped skin of my upper lip.
2017, South East London.
Each day had a newly pitched siren blow against the cold wind, echoing into the slightly open windows of sleeping naive children. I felt my eyes pull towards my lap, gradually giving into the deprivation of rest for 18 hours. The car bumped, turned and jolted down the road, bits of supermarket sacks and fatigued elastic intricately wrapped around the back doors to keep me detained- I'd successfully demolished the crooked door bolts. I woke up in a chair, surrounded by seated men. I thought I was back at home until I noticed there was no syringe, belt, stench of tobacco and my tight-right blue peplum dress wasn't torn until it resembled an old beaten rug. There was a blindingly bright white light dangling from the ceiling and the room was bare. I cleared my throat and pulled the collar of my dress from my neck to notice my necklace wasn't zigzagged across my collar bone.
"Sorry Kid, no jewels in holding." A deep, masculine voice abruptly spoke, matching the overwhelmingly tall, dark haired, pale skinned man that towered above me. I nodded and sat forward in my chair, fingers swimming through my dishevelled wavy blonde hair.
"Now, to my understanding your name is... Carol Willits. Ya 17, arrested for under aged drinking and soliciting in a public area. Correct." The man strode towards a wooden chair before me and took a seat, hands clasped in front on the wobbling oak desk, peering into my eye. I shrugged.
"You tell me boss. You're the one with the notepad and taser on your hip... How much do you use that thing anyways, and are the guys always Black or do you like to get exotic when you nearly kill peop-"
"Enough with the police brutality jokes, wise guy. I take it you can't take anything about this seriously. But based on that crack of yours, you seem pretty educated on law enforcement. Yes, there are times where the person is not responding positively to my requests so.. I must resort to the taser. Nobody dies and black loves do matter. Ya happy?"
"I'll take it from here Dandeberry, thank you for trying to inform our little Angela Davis about what goes on here where we have authority zags should be treated with respect." Another man interrupted. He was slightly shorter than the last ignoramus, but had a slightly more intimidating demeanour. Dark eyes, coffee stained teeth and a low-cut Afro. He sat in the chair after tapping Dandeberry on the shoulder, eyes scanning me the whole time. I grew uncomfortable with his glance and shifted in my chair, suddenly wanting to drape my thin silky kimono over my chest. He noticed my discomfort and averted his eyes to his hands.
"Chief of Police Officer Demetrius Rolling. And you are...?" He started, his voice equally as deep.
"... Carol Wickins."
He raised one eyebrow "Ah so we got your name wrong huh Wickins?"
I yelled profanities in my head, smiling through gritted teeth. "Uh-huh."
Rolling leaned forward, raising two fingers to the two other men who I didn't know, signalling that they should leave. Dandeberry stood by the door, trying to resist Rolling's command. Rolling sighed and signalled he stand by the desk.
Rolling leaned forward towards me, still staring into my eyes. He took a two second pause before saying "Carol Wickins, I'm reporting in your account. Plead guilty and here are your choices: You will be serving two months of community service as well as regular visits to the Quiet Storms Rehabilitation centre in Luwinsam. Or you plead not guilty and spend a year in a detention center. Pick your poison, the trial date will be set for next week Thursday, goodbye."
My jaw hit the floor and a tear slide down my hot face. Dandeberry smirked at my pain and mouthed something along the lines of "Good on ya Chief" prior to strolling out. I got up, grabbed my kimono and headed out. Walking past the cells, I walked to reception and collected my phone, purse and chain, sliding my hands down to my hips. I limped out of the station to the bus stop and waited, watching the shops close and pigeons flock to the rooftops. There was a family of five just before the station; the parents swinging the young boy down the road tightly in their hands, a teenage girl too in tune with her tunes and a slightly teenage older brother, saying sweet nothings into his phone and smirking down the line. I was so caught up in the scene, I barely noticed the bus that halted in front. I rushed in, tapped an old debit card against the reader and plopped myself into a single seat to the right. My eyes wandered around the bus; out of the window I couldn't help but watch people go by, their lives more interesting, captivating and legal than mine, I wished for a single day where I wasn't struggling and I had a plan. But I was slapped in the face by reality; she had grown her nails out to slit my cheeks and her hands were soaking in lemon juice.
After a short while, I got off the bus and took a two minute walk to the house. It wasn't long before my sandals grew damp under the pool of urine near the flat entrance door. I sighed, rolled my eyes and pushed in the three numbers of the flat. The buzzer rang until I heard a voice, and I pulled the door back to my chest with all the strength I had left from today's events. The lift was, as per usual, out of service, so I hiked to the seventh floor of the complex, debating on whether it was too late to leave, but by the time I decided to retreat, I was facing flat 602, Edinley House.
I pressed my knuckles against the door, waiting for the door to rattle open and see a face I knew too well. Just as predicted, the locks shifted and jangled, before I met the smile behind.
"Well, well, well. Come in Ms Wickins." He grinned, caressing my hand from behind the door. I quietly stepped in, looking back before closing the door. He lead me upstairs to his living room, where I saw his mother sat cozily in the brown leather vintage couch.
"Hi Mrs Rolling." I shyly waved. She smiled back and waved slowly, drifting to sleep with a pack of Melatonin in her left palm, three discs missing.
"Come on sweetie, two hours is all we've got." He says and I'm praying he isn't lying like last time.
He guided me to his mother's cramped bedroom, took me in and pointed to the silver spoon and lighter. I sigh, closely my eyes and sitting on the small, creaky bed, waiting for this day to come to an end. Suddenly, I hear a deep voice in my right ear.
"Cheer up baby girl, you're grown enough to earn your money."
The only difference this time was how much was on the spoon.
