Prologue #9
“How so?” I asked after clearing the roughness.
“The love you have for your family is only a fraction of the total mass of your heart. You’ve been saving that for a man who deserves it.
And, each year you’ve waited, that love has only grown warmer and warmer, to the point that not even you can contain it.
It spills from your pores daily. It falls from your tongue as you speak about a man who you’ve yet to meet.
“It oozes from your smile as you imagine your days together. You’re a large ball of love, just waiting to explode, but for the right person. The Range Kason has experienced is not the Range your truest love will experience. Just like the colors we’re seeing of the sun are unreal, untrue.
“They’re surface level. Just like the woman you are in Kason’s presence.
But, that’s not what you see for yourself, and you shouldn’t.
Just like the sun, you are the solar system.
Nearly 100% of it. The brightest star. The biggest. The boldest. The hottest. That’s how it is supposed to be.
You’re supposed to be the biggest, brightest, hottest, and boldest part of your man’s entire world.
“So, you’re not wrong for declining his proposal.
However, I want you to understand that maybe– just maybe he needed a bit of weathering in his system to understand not everything is alright.
On the other hand, it might be time to grieve and gather yourself as you prepare to join another solar system.
“One that understands your power and your position without you having to explain it. Your beauty is layered. Dense. Incredibly so. Far from surface-level. Your heart is beautiful. Your intentions. Your mind. Your morals. Your body. Your brain. You– all of you. Go where you’re seen– heard– revered– recognized– rewarded– respected– You know? ”
I nodded.
“You’re the sun, Range. We’re all suns. Just in different solar systems.”
“Because there’s not enough room for us all in one,” I sniggered.
“Hardly enough in our own,” Roaman clarified with a chuckle.
We’d reached my car. Hers was just a few feet away.
“Well, this is us,” I sighed, hardly ready to end our time together.
“I love you, love,” Roaman replied, sipping from her tea.
“In every lifetime.”
“Meet me there.”
“Don’t beat me there.”
My hand pressed against her back as our chests collided, gently. I pulled away, daring to take another look at the dark-skinned beauty whose face resembled mine. I stretched the door of my Mercedes to accommodate me and the tea in my hand.
Raspberry.
Lavender.
Lemon.
Vanilla.
Honey.
It was an addictive combination Roaman had introduced me to years ago. I didn’t indulge often. I saved it for our solo dates and was never disappointed.
Clarke’s landscape lulled me as I embarked on the forty-five minute journey to my destination. Clarke Correctional Center was frequented in my line of work. The trip was one I’d taken more times than I could accurately count.
My left hand gripped the steering wheel, highlighting the diamond on my hand. Though its presence was enlightening, I rejected the idea of settling. And, strangely, it felt like a settlement piece.
Unless he changes.
Kason’s agenda was clear. His schedule had miraculously opened. He was more inclined to dates and dinners and days of exploring one another. However, my schedule hadn’t changed. My days were still filled with cases, clients, courthouses, correctional facilities, and calls.
One. One.
Two. Two.
Three. Three.
Leon Thomas was on the stereo, doing very little to tune out the counting in my head as my thumbs tapped the wheel. My bottom lip was pulled between my teeth. I exhaled and inhaled after each set of numbers.
Teyana Taylor’s voice followed. Involuntarily, my neck began to roll to the beat. The anxiety that swelled quickly subsided.
I’d long ago lost track of time. Reality didn’t center itself until my tires had halted, my briefcase was by my side, and I was being buzzed into the depressing facility that held far too many wrongfully convicted Black men.
The system was corrupt. While it often got it right, it just as often got it all wrong.
And, when time permitted, I dedicated my time and resources to the less fortunate who had been imprisoned unjustly.
The blaring machine notified the correctional officers of the foreign object on my person.
“Step forward.”
The wand scanned my body, never reaching my breasts. They were prohibited. They concealed well.
“All good,” Lee cleared his throat. “To the window to check in.”
A wink of my right eye confirmed the deposit that would be waiting for his loyalty. The keys on his belt jingled as a chuckle fell from his lips.
“Next.”
Two women stood behind me, one carrying a baby who should’ve been home, familiarizing themselves with the world in their first few weeks of life. However, they’d been disturbed and brought to a prison where bacteria and germs were plentiful and extremely harmful to newborns.
Click.
Clack.
Bright lights beamed down on the waiting area of the gray-scaled dwelling. It lacked life. It lacked color. It lacked so many essentials for the human experience. My heart tightened as my heels crashed into the tiles beneath me, driving my presence deeper into the building.
Though I had the ability to walk out of the door, Clarke Correctional Center felt like a never-ending maze.
Others didn’t have the privilege of exiting.
Once they were in, there were a million obstacles necessary to be rewarded freedom.
And, more than likely, because of the system’s design, they’d return.
“Here to see?”
My mind drew blanks. I took in a deep breath.
“HERE TO SEE?” The officer emphasized.
My senses returned. So did my thoughts. My body warmed all over.
“Unless you want to be searching for a new position by noon,” I paused, taking a look at the name tag, “Quinta, then I suggest you lower your voice when you’re speaking to me. You’re too pretty of a girl to be jobless. Don’t piss me off this morning.”
“I aske–”
“Quinta,” Lee called out.
Her pretty brown eyes lifted in his direction.
I turned to find his index finger and thumb pressed together as he ran them across his lips.
“You’d be wise to listen,” I advised.
“My apologies,” she breathed out, “Who are you here to see?”
“Josiah,” I revealed, “Josiah Blackwood.”
I was hoping my memory served me correctly.
Everything felt like a blur at the moment.
Unsure why, I rubbed my right hand against my temple, hoping to shed light on my lack of readiness and slight incoherence.
I’d began the morning as confident as any other, but that confidence was dwindling with each passing second.
Focus, baby.
Snap. Snap.
Teddy’s voice attempted to pull me from the fog.
“And you are?”
“His attorney. I have reserved the room designated for client and attorney. I’m fully expecting privacy with my client as we discuss the details of his case. Material is sensitive and will need to be protected. Is the room I requested available?”
The keys of the computer felt Quinta’s frustration.
Her beauty was staggering. I’d never encountered her at the facility.
It was likely she’d been transferred from another area or had been employed in the last few weeks.
Either way, she was a pleasant view in the midst of the bleakness of the facility.
“It is.”
“Thank you.”
I slid my credentials in her direction. Almost immediately, I was given a sticker with my name in bold print, and " attorney " was printed beneath it in even bolder letters.
Bzzzzzt.
The first door opened shortly after buzzing.
Bzzzzzt.
Then a second door opened.
Bzzzzzt.
A third door presented a new door.
Bzzzzzt.
The fourth door opened, finally giving me access to the other side of the center.
Bzzzzzt.
A fifth door welcomed me into the visitation area.
It wasn’t the same as public visitation.
In fact, it was far from it. Literally and figuratively.
There were four rooms, two reserved for attorney and client-privileged visits.
The others were for hearings and in-house court proceedings when prisoners caught additional cases while incarcerated.
I pushed open the door with the number two plastered on the front. The coolness gripped my skin. I secretly praised myself for wearing the blazer I’d tossed over my shoulders on the way out of the door. Unfortunately, the knee-high skirt and tights underneath were the culprits of my discomfort.
Shit.
I parted my briefcase and removed the pack of wipes from the pocket.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
I split the wipes, three in one hand and three in the other. The first set slid across the table, disinfecting the surface. The second set cleared the chairs.
Mine and Josiah’s.
I discarded the wipes in the small trash can that was protected by metal and attached to the wall. The constant movement warmed my body generously. As I lowered my body into the plastic chair, I pushed my hair out of my face and straightened the invisible wrinkles in my clothes.
I removed the unopened file from my briefcase, quietly chastising myself for not taking the time to look over it. However, in some cases, it wasn’t necessary. In almost all the cases Chemistry handed over, it wasn’t required.
Because it didn’t matter who the defendant was or what their charges were, they were innocent in my eyes.
So, the paper didn’t matter. The accusations didn’t matter.
Not even their statements mattered. Whatever needed to be done to dismiss or acquit would be done.
Whatever needed to be said would be said.
Whatever needed to be fabricated would be fabricated. Whatever needed to be destroyed would be destroyed. Losing wasn’t an option. It was too much like second place. And second place was unacceptable.
I settled in my seat, folder between my fingers. As I peeled the cover back, the familiar buzz garnered my attention.