2. Love you, Baby Girl
I was nervous. I would be seeing my firstborn.
Jazlyn.
She was only born three months before I went in. She’s now twenty-four years old. Sure, her mom sent me pictures throughout the years. She wrote me letters and talked to me on the phone, but I didn’t get to see her in-person.
Jazzy was a whole woman now. She was not a baby or a little girl I could scoop up and apologize to with candy and stories.
She was a woman who didn’t need father-shaped scars that affected how she saw herself, or worse, how she let young men see her.
She was a college student at Cherry University.
She was studying political science, just like her old man did while in the pen, because God apparently enjoyed irony.
Her mother, Jackie, sent me her awards through Kai when she could stomach it.
Some years, she sent nothing. Some years, she sent school portraits and birthday party favors.
My favorite were the dance recitals when Jazlyn was little.
My baby girl made the honor roll every year.
In my pocket, I kept her graduation picture in her cap and gown.
I would pull it out whenever I felt worthless, which was constantly while inside.
It was a nice reminder that something I went half on turned out to be amazing in this world.
Jazlyn had an amazing relationship with my sisters, especially YaYa.
I knew it was no coincidence that she chose to go to Cherry University.
YaYa and her twins took her on a college tour when she was seventeen.
She chose Cherry because she admired my sister.
When we would talk on the phone, Jazzy’s voice would light up at the mention of the new clothes Aunt YaYa got her and the makeup she helped her sneak into her Mama’s house.
Jazzy turned out to be an amazing young woman, and I had nothing to do with that.
I wasn’t in any of the pictures.
I didn’t kiss any of her boo-boos or scars.
I wasn’t able to attend any of the parent-teacher conferences.
As proud as I was of my baby, I knew that I did not have the right to claim her loudly. Jazzy was the product of her mom’s hard work.
My best friend told me that Jackie tried to date a couple of times, but with Jazzy’s gymnastics, dance, and basketball schedules, Jackie was too tired.
While Jazzy’s mother and I were never more than a fling, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
Over the years, half of my share in both legal and illegal investments was split between Camilla and Jackie.
I would always make sure Jackie had whatever her heart needed, so my princess would not want for anything.
Channy and YaYa never understood what I did for Jackie once I was able to set up an operation from jail. They held a grudge against her for stopping Jazzy’s visits to the prison.
But as much as it hurt me to not see my princess in person, I understood it. She wanted to keep our baby far away from the realization of prison. She wanted her innocence to be protected. It didn’t mean it didn’t carve me hollow.
I was planning on surprising her, but my dad suggested letting YaYa warn her I was coming.
I had only been home for three days, and my sister had been managing my schedule emotionally as if I were one of her systems. She barely slept and barely sat down.
She was scheduling interviews with Good Morning America and the talk show hosts.
She wanted my exoneration to be louder than my conviction.
YaYa acted as if she had stopped moving, the whole family would collapse into the floorboards.
YaYa had always been like that. Strong enough to be unfair to herself. I picked up the phone again. I stared at Camilla’s message thread, then locked it. Nah…Camilla could wait a few hours.
My daughter had waited twenty-four years.
Cherry University looked alive, bustling with students who had no cares in the world.
Students crossed campus in loud groups, with backpacks hanging off one shoulder and coffee cups in hand.
Music blasted from passing cars. Girls laughed too hard outside the student center.
Somebody argued about parking near the library while a campus shuttle hissed to a stop nearby.
This was normal life.
That was the part prison couldn’t prepare you for.
The world kept moving while you stayed trapped in one year for decades.
Technology changed. Slang changed. Buildings changed.
Whole neighborhoods disappeared and came back renamed.
Kids grew into adults while you felt trapped in time, and somehow everybody expected you to walk back outside like time owed you an adjustment.
I parked near the humanities building and sat there gripping the steering wheel longer than necessary.
My daughter was somewhere on this campus.
Twenty-four years old.
Twenty-four.
I repeated it in my head because I still couldn’t make it make sense.
The last time I saw Jazlyn in person, she had pink barrettes and missing front teeth.
She cried because Jackie wouldn’t let her take a stuffed rabbit to the visitation.
I remember kneeling in that prison visiting room, trying to make her smile while correctional officers watched us like we were animals pretending to be family.
Then one day she stopped coming. Jackie said Jazzy began having nightmares, and they got worse after visits. Jazlyn began wetting the bed and asking too many questions afterward. The type that wasn’t fair for Jackie to have to handle alone.
I never argued.
What kind of man asked his child to grow up around metal detectors and body searches just so he could feel loved for two hours?
So I let Jackie make the decision.
And every year after that got quieter.
I reached into the passenger seat and grabbed the envelope beside me – it was filled with pictures. All the ones Jackie sent over the years. I had photos of her Kindergarten graduation, Middle school dance, and her prom.
I kept every single one inside the prison in a box beneath my bunk. Men used to joke that I guarded those pictures harder than contraband.
Would knowing I kept Jazzy close to my heart be a comfort for her?
My phone buzzed again.
I answered reluctantly. “What’s up, YaYa?”
“You there?”
“Damn. Hello to you, too.”
“You nervous?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
I looked out the windshield, watching students walk past.
“A little bit.”
Kenya softened immediately. “She’s nervous too.”
“She said that?”
“She asked me what kind of coffee you drink.”
I rubbed my jaw slowly.
“Do you think she hates me?”
“Jared.”
“I’m asking.”
“She doesn’t know you enough to hate you.”
That was worse somehow. I leaned my head back against the seat. Prison taught me how to survive hatred. Hatred had rules. Anger made sense. But indifference? That shit could hollow a man out.
“She got class in an hour,” Kenya continued gently. “She’s waiting outside the political science building for you.”
“Alright,” I muttered. “I’m walking over there now.”
“And Jared?”
“What?”
“Don’t shut down if she asks hard questions.”
I scoffed quietly. “Everybody always thinks I’m angry.”
“Because you are angry.”
“I got a reason.”
“I know,” she said softly. “Just don’t punish her for it.”
The line went quiet after that. That was the thing about YaYa. She knew exactly where to place the knife emotionally.
“I’m hanging up now,” I said.
“I love you too, Big Bro.”
I sat there another moment before finally getting out of the car. Cold air hit my face immediately.
Students brushed past me without recognition.
That still threw me sometimes. During the trial, my face had been everywhere.
My face was front and center at every news station.
I was in newspapers and court sketches. A white city official’s son was murdered in broad daylight in the crossfire of gang activity.
They threw the book at me and made an example of me.
Now I was just another Black man in a Nike tech outfit walking across campus.
I preferred this version of my life. I kept my hands in my pockets while moving toward the political science building. Old instincts had me scanning automatically.
No matter where I was, indoors or outdoors, I scanned my perimeter, clocking the entrances and exits. I was hyperaware of being under surveillance and could spot security cameras anywhere. I avoided crowds and would go out of my way not to walk by a group of people.
As I approached a tall building with glass solar panels, I saw my baby girl. At first glance, every thought in my head disappeared.
Jazlyn stood near the fountain wearing dark jeans, boots, and a cream-colored sweater with Cherry University across the front. Her beautiful, natural curly hair was pulled into a puff. Her dark brown skin glowed under the pale morning sun.
She looked so much like me it almost hurt to breathe. I recognized my features through the pictures, but they didn’t do this moment justice at all.
It wasn’t just a physical resemblance, it was the way she stood. She stood still. My princess was observant and watched everybody before they got too close.
My daughter.
My chest tightened so suddenly I almost stopped walking.
She looked up then. When she saw me, she froze. For a second, we just stared at each other across the courtyard while students moved around us like background noise. I watched recognition slowly settle into her face.
I moved first. Walking to her slowly. As much as I wanted to run to her like a kid at Disney World, I didn’t want to scare her, so I took it slow as if I were approaching a scared animal.
Jazlyn swallowed hard before crossing her arms over herself.
“Hey,” she said.
Her voice was shy, and she looked nervous.
I stopped in front of her. Up close, the resemblance hit even harder. My princess had my eyes and even the same crease between the brows when thinking too hard.
I had missed everything, and the grief of that was hitting me fresh every time I looked at her.