The Recovery
By DaveTheWordsmith
Disclaimer: Boondocks is owned by Sony Pictures Digital Inc. and Aaron McGruder. All the copyrights associated with Boondocks belong to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.
Love ain't fear for your life, day and night
Isolated from your loved ones
And I know it ain't make up to cover your scars
Compromising who you are
-"Black and Blue" by Raheem DeVaughn
"Huuuuuuuey, I feel sooooooooooo awwwwwwwwful!"
"You're not awful, Jazmine."
Sitting in front of the Woodcrest Methodist Church, thirteen year old Jazmine embraced me with a hug that that yearned for affection, equal reciprocation; a hug that would last forever. The streetlights lined up and down the street gave us light in the pitch black darkness.
I patted Jazmine lightly on her back. I could tell my face fixed itself into a serious demeanor, a big contrast to my subtle, yet kind gesture. "Jazmine, you need to tell your parents what's going on so they can take you to a doctor and a psychologist to recover from this."
After a few minutes that I perceived to last an eternity, Jazmine let go of me. Her lips curled into a small smile. "Huey, thank you so much," she looked up at me with her big, worried eyes, reddened from crying. "You're the only one I could talk to about-"
Both of us twitched at the sound of a car horn. Tom and Sarah's black Mercedes pulled up at the curb so we could climb in the back seat. I withheld the information about Jazmine's situation until we wound up at their house. It took a few minutes to explain what happened to Tom and Sarah. Once I debriefed Jazmine's parents, Tom couldn't stop yelling threats of killing the person responsible for harming his daughter. Sarah, on the other hand, fainted in her chair. I caught her before she fell out of her seat.
By now you probably asked yourself, what's happened to Jazmine? Don't worry. I'll explain.
It began a few weeks ago on an ordinary summer morning...
"Now remember Huey, don't forget to get the new freshly squeezed orange juice in the tall glass bottle!"
"All right, Granddad."
He reminded me for the tenth time about his prized orange juice he wanted from the store. I'm thirteen, going on fourteen; not sixty-nine, going on seventy. I won't forget, Granddad.
The humid heat engulfed me without warning once I stepped outside, away from the comfortable AC. Barely a few steps from the front door, the presence of sweat beads reared their ugly heads at the top of my forehead. That damned sun; why couldn't the heat wait until later that day? That alone reminded me why I hate August more than the other eleven months. It turns July into it's bitch.
With each step my feet took down the sidewalk, more sticky sweat slid down from my forehead and slipped into my mouth. Occasionally, a nice, cool breeze whipped past my shoulder or my face to relieve my grief the heat caused me. Now you can see why I hate August so much.
My "nigga moment" senses "tingled" right on time. Across the street, a small fight started between two young niggas after one confronted the other about why he hung out with his girl, who hysterically stood between the two. I knew this because all three of them made their business public; an obvious act of ignorance; a red flag for a nigga moment. The group migrated to the store. And what do you know, all hell broke loose. After both guys circled each other and threw missed punches, the taller of the two socked the smaller one in the face, who quickly ran out of dodge. It seemed more of those situations happened frequently; heat makes niggas worse. I inspected the crowd of people to find the girl. She left the scene. Wise move.
I found a gap in the crowd of curious people standing over the man who got knocked out, and made it to the store. Just as I stepped to the glass automatic doors, I felt a large presence behind me. I turned to face the guy; the same nigga with cornrows who dished out the lucky punch. I knew I stood six feet tall, so I estimated he was a foot taller than me. I recognized him as the star center of our high school basketball team. And damn, did he really smell like weed.
He scowled at me. "I saw you starin' at my broad, lil' nigga!" His mouth rattled as much as his big chain he had on. Two other tall dudes came by his side with their "tough" faces on. The combination of a nigga moment and nigga synthesis sneaked upon me. I needed to stop it before it turned into a complete fuckin' disaster. "You gone' get it now, nigga-"
He aimed a remiss punch at my face. I leaned to the side to dodge his fist. Before he could react, I leaped toward him and kicked him in his chest. He flew to one side and splashed on his back. After I landed on my feet, I stood in a ready stance, hands up to block any more attacks. The other two niggas screamed. They ran off to their bikes by the entrance of the store and left. The one I knocked down slowly got up. He saw me and ran away with the other two niggas. I lowered my hands and relaxed my body.
Typical wannabe, fake ass thugs: all bark, no bite.
I continued my mission to get Granddad's orange juice. My hands instinctively went into my pockets to make sure I had the money Granddad gave me.
Yeah, I still had it. The money equaled the exact total amount Granddad figured the juice would cost, plus sales tax. For an old man, he still had a sharp, thrifty temperament when it came to spending money.
I entered the store and kept my head down while I journeyed to the section in the back that housed the various dairy, vegetable and fruit products. As I went down an aisle, I swore I saw a teenage female with two large, orange afro puffs zip by to the right at the other end. I assumed my imagination played tricks on me.
I grabbed the large glass container of orange juice and spotted the expiration date on the label. The orange juice wouldn't expire for a while so I placed the container under my arm.
"Huey, is that you?"
"Wha…"
A girl appeared by my side, and I recognized her face.
Jazmine DuBois grinned. "Hi, Huey!"
I still don't get why she's so happy all of the time. We're only here in the grocery store, where I lost count of how many white people stared at me suspiciously and didn't want to walk in front of me. However, I noticed a band-aid on her forehead. Something in my brain longed to ask how she hurt herself. I regret that I paid no mind.
"Hey, Jazmine. You here with your parents?"
Jazmine looked askance. She returned her focus back to me and shook her head "no". She put her basket full of groceries down by her feet. I presumed Jazmine received the request to buy groceries for her parents, like me.
"They're not here, they're at home. Oh, I'm getting ready for my play at my church! We have our second rehearsal tonight! Wanna come?"
At this point, I started to ponder my options: go to an institution I absolutely do not agree with, sit down with other people who pretend to enjoy the show, and listen to a group of naive teenagers recite an untrue story based off of traditions told by the Ancient Egyptians. Or, I can finish my book about the history of the Moors and Kemet, something every black man should read.
"Sorry Jazmine, I can't make it," I didn't glance at her as I left to head to the check out line. I sensed her apparent disappointment.
"C'mon, Huey, pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?"
I stopped. "No."
"Awwwwww..."
I peered over my shoulder at Jazmine. I expected her to dart over and cling onto me with her usual vice grip of an embrace. However, she picked up her basket and went on her way. I figured she'd cry on the way home.
The cold air from the AC blew violently on my face once I made it inside the house. Granddad had laid himself out in his chair with the foot rest up, taking a nap. Riley sat at the end of the sofa, talking shit with the Xbox 360 controller in his hands.
"About time you got back, nigga. You still owe me a game. I guess you scared to play wit' me. No homo."
"No I'm not, Riley. In a few minutes, you'll see who's really scared."
"Whateva', nigga."
To my right, the Xbox 360 played Red Dead Redemption on the big screen. To my left, my little brother, who couldn't say hello to anyone who came home. That's Riley for you.
"Hey Granddad, I brought back the orange juice," I tapped his arm laid out on the arm rest.
Granddad's eyes barely opened. His arm came up as though it could levitate on its own and pointed toward the kitchen.
"Put it in the fridge…" He mumbled before he went back to sleep.
The next two weeks flew by without any problems. Granddad didn't run out of orange juice and blame one of us, usually Riley, for drinking it all. Riley thought he consumed the entire container. I checked and found another half-full container of orange juice, so we avoided Granddad's lectures. My online meeting with the Africans Fighting Racism and Oppression, or A.F.R.O., members went well. And yeah, I beat Riley in Super Street Fighter IV numerous times to make up the times he beat me. Jazmine didn't bother me with questions or requests to play games with her every time we met. I didn't mind it too much. I kept note of those unusual actions and went back to business.
Then one day...
"Boys, get the door!" Granddad ordered from the bathroom.
"You get it, nigga…" Riley turned under the covers and went back to sleep.
You'd have to press a fully loaded magnum to Riley's head to make him get up. My feet shuffled across the carpet once I got out of bed, dressed in an old tee-shirt and sweat pants. I moseyed down the stairs to open the door. Tom and Sarah stood outside. Tears fell from their eyes.
"Damn, you guys okay?"
Tom wiped a few tears from under his red, baggy eyes. Sarah stood by his side, in the same crestfallen state.
"We don't know what's wrong with Jazmine, Huey! She won't talk to us at all and we don't know what to do!" Sarah wailed. She sobbed on Tom's shoulder.
"What's goin' on? What's the matter?" Granddad stood behind me, his mouth and eyes open with concern; thankfully, with his clothes on.
Tom sighed. "Robert, all of this week when we picked her up from play rehearsal, she acts so…so depressed and…so quiet!"
"Well, you know how thirteen year old's are! One day, they're on top of the world! The next, they wish they wasn't alive!"
"Robert, no thirteen-year old's supposed to behave so withdrawn and so sad! A thirteen-year old's supposed to act happy, curious, sometimes mischievous, like a normal teenager! Jazmine can't see a psychologist for another two weeks!" Sarah shook her head, tears in her eyes. Tom looked down at me. For once, based on the fear and concern I could see in his eyes, I did wonder what happened. It's unusual for Jazmine to ignore anyone. "Help won't be available for a while, so Tom and I figured Jazmine would tell the truth to someone like Huey."
"Huey? Why Huey?"
"Me?" I didn't get it. Why would they ask me to help their own daughter when they're the parents?
Tom nodded his head in affirmation. "Yeah Huey, you. We've noticed over the years she really respects you. She feels too embarrassed to tell us what's wrong, so we hoped you could find out what's wrong when you talk with her."
Usually, I would completely reject doing such a thing. I'm not a psychologist. I'm not trained to handle these types of situations. However, I conjured a plan that could help me figure out what's wrong with Jazmine. "Tom, does she have another rehearsal coming up soon?"
"Um...yeah, her next one's tonight."
"All right, meet me here this evening before you pick her up so I can meet with her, alone. This problem may have a connection with what's going on at those rehearsals," I turned and went upstairs to my room. This kind of thing took careful planning and decision making. I don't know why I decided to take the responsibility of finding out Jazmine's problem. Something inside me said I should. And that night, in due time, the truth would reveal itself.
Later that night, Granddad and I stayed at home. Riley went out with Ed and Gin Rummy doing who knows what. I stayed busy on my laptop the rest of the evening, digging up research on teenagers and sudden shifts in a teenager's moods. To remove the uncomfortable silence, I turned on Public Enemy's Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos, which helped me concentrate. As I perused through each informative website, it seemed strange how parents of their own child couldn't find the solution to this kind of problem, and sometimes someone else has to fix it. Breezing through each website, I got closer and closer to finding the last piece of this jigsaw puzzle of a problem. I browsed through one last website and looked at the time; one more minute. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my backpack lying on the floor.
Before I could leave the room, Granddad stormed in. He dragged me like a toy wagon along the floor the way he pulled on my shirt.
"Hey!"
"Let's go, boy! Tom and Sarah are outside waitin' to take you to the church to pick up Jazmine from rehearsal," he continued to pull me by my shirt collar. We descended down the stairs to the front door.
"Granddad!" Standing in the door way, I finally slipped loose from his grip and straightened out my shirt. "Granddad, if you wanted the place to yourself, I could have left a long time ago."
I guessed correctly by the way he mumbled under his breath before he left. I got into the backseat of Tom and Sarah's car idling out front. Behind the wheel, Tom sped off as soon as I got in. The sudden departure knocked me onto my side. At least he didn't act melancholy anymore; neither did Sarah.
"Remember Huey, we'll wait in the parking lot in case something goes wrong."
"Tom, don't worry. I'll figure this out," I said. I thought to myself: why ask me for help when you doubt me at the same time? "Tom, have you noticed anything strange about Jazmine since two weeks ago?"
"Well, let's see," Tom tapped his chin with his finger while he made a left turn with his other hand. "Usually Jazmine would stand outside with the other children after rehearsal. The past few nights, we waited thirty minutes for her to show up. She told us she rehearsed some parts longer than the others because those parts required more time and effort. She does have the leading role, you know."
Tom made the problem more obvious and didn't notice. I didn't want to smile on the outside. In the inside, I knew I did. Within a few minutes, we reached the church, which didn't look very spectacular; not one of those scamming mega-churches, just a regular looking church. I gave a quick thanks to Tom and Sarah who dropped me off at the entrance while they entered the parking lot across the street.
A few kids waited outside for their parents. No Jazmine. I stood outside for an hour. By then, everyone left except for me. The air grew colder by the minute and I wrapped my arms around myself. I knew I should've brought my jacket.
"Huey?"
Jazmine once again popped up by my side. I happen to know when someone comes in my space. Somehow, my radar did not pick her up.
"What are you doing here?" Her face looked puffy and red. I assumed she finished crying earlier. Her swollen left eye, slightly black underneath, immediately grabbed my attention. It resembled someone hauling back and smacking her in her face. I hoped the contrary. Jazmine's thick pink coat and matching jeans couldn't hide her body's tremors, which couldn't manifest due to the weather. Her skin color, except her face, appeared more pale than usual. Tom and Sarah didn't lie: Jazmine looked terribly hurt. I motioned for her to follow me a few houses down past the church and into an alley, where no one would hear us.
"Jazmine, I want to ask you a question. Be honest with me," I could see the air fly out of my mouth. It resembled smoke from a cigarette. I looked over Jazmine's shoulder and saw Tom and Sarah sitting in their parked car, their eyes on both of us. "Okay?"
"Uh…um, okay," Jazmine shied away, wringing her hands. She twisted the tip of her sneaker on the concrete. Her wistful eyes moved away from me.
"Has anyone done something to you that felt afflictive?"
No reply. The high pitched whistling of the wind took over the silence. I asked Jazmine the question once again. She blinked uncomfortably a few times a few seconds later. I made a mental note of that and resumed my search for the truth.
"Did something distressful happen to you with your church camp group?"
Silence.
"Did you start to feel uneasy when you started your rehearsals?"
She twitched a little and the blinks returned. I hit the target. The websites hit the nail on the head. All the symptoms in Jazmine came out: the depression, loneliness, a complete shift in moods, and attempts to hide the whole story.
"Jazmine, I think I'll talk with the camp counselor and the pastor. Maybe they have clues that can help me figure out what the problem is," I walked out the alley and proceeded towards the church.
"Huuuuuuuuuey, NOOOOOOOOOO!" Jazmine dashed by me and stood in my way, arms outstretched to block me. She stared me down so fiercely, she could've hit me in the face with her gaze alone. I examined the anxiety and pain in Jazmine's bright eyes. I slid past her and continued on. As I passed her I could see her lips trembling and soon she started to cry. "Nooooooooo Huey, don't do it!" Jazmine raced after me. She jumped towards my right side and held me down on the ground, crying.
"What the hell?" I felt so frustrated. I'm sure at that point I couldn't hold my serious demeanor anymore. I couldn't close my mouth, partly open in shock. "Why won't you let me go?"
"Because Pastor Williams said he…he'd-"
"He'd what, Jazmine? Is the pastor responsible for this?" I couldn't help staring at her swollen eye.
"Yes! He said…he said he would kill my mommy and daddy if I didn't do what he wanted!" The tears started to flow harder down her face like two miniature waterfalls. "He…he…he wouldn't let me stop until he said...he was coming!"
Her words struck me hard in the chest. "Jazmine, h-how many times has this happened?"
"Twice, Huey! It was so…so...disgusting! Huuuuuuuey, I feel sooooooooooo awwwwwwwwful!"
To this day, I haven't forgotten that night.
A few weeks later, Tom gave us an update about Jazmine's progress with her therapeutic sessions. One day at a time, she showed improvement in her disposition. In no time, she returned to her cheerful, annoying at times self. Jazmine went to the doctor and received a clean bill of health along with treatment to heal her eye and her forehead. Later, Tom hired a "dream team" of lawyers. They put the pastor in prison for a long time. Tom made a wise decision to have his family go to a different church outside of Woodcrest. No one wanted to believe a situation like child sexual abuse could have happened in this community, since no such accounts in a Christian church existed. There's always a first for something in Woodcrest.
As we walked back to Jazmine's house, she continued to thank me over and over and over again for helping her overcome her fear of the church and potential situations that could involve sexual abuse. When we arrived at her place, I stepped in front of her. I looked straight into her eyes. "You don't have to thank me anymore, Jazmine. I only acted out of fair, appropriate judgment. That's all that matters."
Jazmine creeped up to a few inches from my face. She crossed her legs. "Huey, I won't take no for an answer. You'll accept my thanks, or else."
I couldn't keep my right eyebrow from rising. "Or else what?"
"Or else, this," her warm, soft lips met mine; I knew she wouldn't want to let go. I couldn't control my arms that wrapped around her lower back while we continued to kiss. I finally broke it off and gazed into her eyes.
"Maybe I should never accept your thanks, if that's what the consequences will be," Jazmine blushed and headed to the front door.
Jazmine smiled. "Don't be so confident about that, Huey Freeman. Next time, I may not be so gentle," she said before she went inside.
I walked back home, knowing I helped someone move past a horrible event in their life. As they say, helping one person alone will make a big difference in the world.
I suppose one obvious bonus from my actions included a kiss from Jasmine as a reward, which proved my efforts resulted in a true, positive result.
Before I took one step into the house, I spotted Riley in the hallway, arms crossed.
"I saw what you did, Huey," he smirked. "You still gay 'doe."
"Better than to not have done it at all," I sauntered past a frowning Riley.
I guess I'll beat him in another round of Super Street Fighter IV so he'll shut his mouth.
...
The End.