37. Chanice
Chanice
My hands tremble as I apply my lipstick.
Each rocky breath causes me to shift, resulting in my smearing it a little.
Even when I’m done, I can’t seem to get my hands to stop shaking as I try to count to ten and breathe through my nose.
Nothing is working, because today is the day when everything might change, and I have no control over any of it.
I take in another gulp of air and press my palm to my chest. I need to get it together before I go into the living room and face the kids, but tears build in the corners of my eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say to my reflection. It has to be. There is no other option, and I refuse to recognize any different outcome. We are going to walk into that court as a unit and come back out the same way. The world is not going to hand them any more shitty outcomes.
If there is a god or a universe that is looking down on us, it will finally let them have the life they deserve.
Let me have the life that is my dream coming true.
I have to believe that something is going to finally give us a break.
That’s all I can think of as we quietly make our way to the courthouse.
Standing outside is Alex and our solicitor. His brows are knitted together, and his mouth is tight as he stares off. When he sees us, he tries for a smile, but it’s clear that it’s strained.
“Are we ready?” Dana, our solicitor, asks.
I reach out to grab the kid’s hands. We all link together, including Alex, becoming one force that hopefully can’t be torn apart.
Walking into the building and going through the security check makes this even more real. Seeing our mother dressed up and standing near the courtroom we are supposed to go in really has me choking on reality.
Her normally ragged hair is pressed straight to give her a more put-together appearance. For the first time in years, she isn’t skinny enough to look like she will blow away in the breeze. Her dark skin, given to us all, is smooth and shiny. This is the healthiest I have ever seen her look.
When our eyes meet, she has the nerve to smile before running over to us like it’s a happy reunion. Going first for Gabby, she tries to pull her into a hug. Gabby pushes back and comes to hide behind me.
“Hi, babies,” she says to us while trying to grab Jamal.
Heat creeps up my neck as I step up to her, my fury propelling me forward. “Get away from them,” I practically shout.
“These are my damn kids.” Her smile melts, revealing the sneer we are all more used to.
“The hell they are.”
I can see she’s about to really cause a scene, and so can our social worker because she comes and grabs her, ushering her away from us. My cheeks are still heated, and I’m breathing heavier than I was before, but I lower my shoulders.
“You okay?” Alex asks, pulling me into his side.
“I’m good.” I watch her walk away before turning to the kids and grabbing their hands again.
The tears are back, and this time Gabby is inconsolable. She’s still weeping when they call us into the room.
They all shuffle into the front seats, while I go sit next to Dana at the table.
I look back at them and see Alex has his arms wrapped around Jamal and Gabby.
Imani holds his hand that hangs off Gabby’s shoulder.
I smile at him in gratitude and then look across the aisle at our mum and the social worker.
Our mother is pouting, already upset that her wants were not immediately met. Her entitlement showing.
Disgust has my gut bubbling, so I turn to face the front.
“Let’s begin,” the judge says while looking between us. The social worker, Reyna, stands up and begins to present the facts.
“Ms. Deidre Jones lost custody of Jamal Jones, Gabriella Jones, and Imani Jones four years ago due to neglect. In that time, they have been staying in the care of their biological sister, Chanice Jones. The situation was always meant to be temporary while their mother attended parenting courses, addiction counseling, and procured a better living situation. It may have taken some time, but she has completed our rehabilitation plan. We believe she is now a suitable guardian and that the kids should be returned to her care.”
I try to keep my eyes forward and not shoot daggers at the woman who saw exactly what the “neglect” was.
The person who, on more than one occasion, has shown up at our home and gushed about how well the kids are doing.
The so-called protector of a child’s best interest. I try not to hate her for not seeing the obvious choice.
“So what brings you to my court today?” Judge Martin sits forward and intertwines his hands.
“Their sister would like to maintain custody of the children.”
Dana stands up and introduces herself, garnering the judge’s attention.
“I believe their social worker, Reyna, has really undersold what she means by neglect. The children were malnourished, missing school, and living in a home with no heat in the middle of winter. If they hadn’t walked all the way to their sister’s home with no coats, they would still be living in that situation, if not dead.
It took Ms. Jones two weeks to even notice they were missing. ”
I clench my hands, but can’t help the tears at the memory. Seeing them when I opened the door, freezing and small, is not something I will ever forget. Nor the tears they cried for days as they ate and slept in a bed.
She broke them, and I have spent years putting the pieces back together. And now she wants to do it again.
Reyna goes to say something, but Dana holds up a hand and keeps speaking.
“My client, Chanice, a child of Ms. Jones as well, knows very well what living in her house looks like. This is obviously a continued pattern that has not improved in twenty-three years. There is no guarantee that she won’t continue these behaviors, further hurting these children.
“Chanice has a solid job, a townhouse with enough rooms for all of them, and a track record of being a good caretaker. She should not only maintain custody of the kids, but also be granted full rights as their legal guardian.”
“That’s rubbish,” our mother yells and stands up.
Reyna puts a hand on her shoulder and tries to lower her back down, but she keeps looking at me like this is my fault.
“These are my damn kids, and I’m a good mother!”
“No, you’re not!” Jamal yells, standing up as well.
I turn and squeeze his arm, but he doesn’t sit until the judge calls all of our attention.
“Were the conditions correctly explained?” the judge asks.
Reyna clears her throat and at least has the decency to look down. Before she can say anything, our mother speaks.
“I was working out of town. The teenager was watching them. I didn’t know the heat got cut off. She could have called me.” She is now giving the stink eye to Imani, and I can’t help the gasp that comes out.
“Are you really blaming them? Are you serious? With what phone?” I ask.
“Little girl, you don’t know anything.”
I scoff and turn to face the judge, raising my hand. “May I speak? I’d like to tell you exactly what I know.”
He nods and leans forward in his seat.
“This was not the first time she had left us alone, and this is not the first time I have taken care of my siblings. I have been responsible for them since I was five. I fed them, I watched them, and I even had to make sure they didn’t get near any of the needles that were lying about, because god forbid I throw them away.
We all knew the type of beating we would get if we did.
” I fold my hands together, trying to stop them from shaking. Pulling my shoulders back, I continue.
“I learned how to not only get but administer Narcan at twelve. I knew how to do CPR and check for a pulse. I have seen her overdose multiple times.” I wipe a tear away.
“And I understand that addiction is not something she chose. Much like her own mother. But even when she wasn’t high, she would beat us, starve us, and put everyone in front of us.
I went to the food banks, donation centers, and thrift stores to make sure we had everything we needed.
I was the one who made sure we were okay.
If I’m being honest, I don’t know why she wants them back.
She has never wanted to be a mother. Not only has she shown it, but she has told us so herself. ”
“No, I haven’t!”
“Yes, you have!” I point a finger at her. “You have told me you didn’t want me. You have told me you don’t love me, and even in the happy moments, the rare times that you were good to us, you made sure to let me know that this was a gift we didn’t deserve.”
I can’t stop myself from crying. The tears pouring out of me are pushed forward by the memories I’m forced to think about. It’s years of trauma being spewed out in front of this audience. Still, I gather myself enough to keep speaking.
“Addiction counseling and a new apartment aren’t going to change the fact that she blames us for the life she has. She’s never going to treat them right. She never treated me right. Please don’t let this happen to them.”
I’m furiously wiping my face, but the tears won’t stop. Trying to breathe evenly, I stare straight into his eyes. The room goes silent as the judge looks back and forth between me and our mother. When he seems to come to a conclusion, he sits back.
“Have these circumstances been documented?” he asks.
His question punches me in the gut, causing all air to escape. I bend forward, trying to breathe as reality slowly shifts.
“There had been a few calls while Chanice was a child, and one when she was no longer a part of the household, but this is the first time the kids have been taken out of Ms. Jones’s home,” Reyna states while looking at her folder.