Protect Me

“Just ask her, I bet she’ll say yes this time,” read the message that flashed on Jamie’s cellphone screen. He let out a deep sigh before replying, “My mom never lets me go anywhere…not even gonna waste my time.” The response came almost instantly. “If you wanna see me in this dress, you’d ask.” The message was followed by a picture that made every hair on Jamie’s body stand.

Jamie, himself, had stood. He was walking now, to be more precise. He wasn’t sure what he’d say yet but he straddled every ounce of confidence he could muster and used that to guide his steps to the living room. His mother would usually be nestled into her favorite love seat half sleep with a mug of tea watching the 9 o’clock news. Tonight, she’s standing directly in front of the tv, eyes glued to a breaking news broadcast. Jamie assumed there wouldn’t be a better opportunity, “Mom, is it cool if I go to this party tonight?” He swiftly bowed his head and shut his eyes. Surely, Janice Mae’s boy would never fix his mouth to ask to go to a party on a school night. Not her responsible son, not Jamie, who would never be like the other boys of this town. Jamie was giving himself the same speech his mother had given him time and time again.

“Come again?” Janice asked without turning to direct her attention to her son. Jamie opened his eyes and lifted his head. He could tell that she was not being as attentive as usual. He decided to take advantage by speaking fast, “A party tonight, can I go?” 

“Sure, sure…whatever,” Janice exclaimed while shooing him away with one hand and adjusting the tv’s volume with the other.

Janice Mae, single-handedly, provided enough care and nurture for her son, Jamie, to never feel the consequences of his father’s absence. She prided herself on that, but tonight’s news was enough to make her rethink that. Maybe there were things that a boy would still need his father for, things that she simply couldn’t teach Jamie. The news report was of, yet another, police brutality incident against a young, black male. To make matters worse, the incident took place downtown (a 12-minute walking distance from their home.) This left Janice stunned beyond belief, inducing a heightened state of paranoia. She had been trying to explain to Jamie the dangers of being a black man in the South but the information never seemed to stick with him. “If he had a father around, maybe he’d listen to him,” she said out loud. This statement grounded Janice temporarily. “Where did Jamie even go?” She thought to herself as she searched for her cellphone. She realized she hadn’t been paying attention when he was talking to her. 

Janice Mae called Jamie’s phone fifteen times for an hour but never got an answer. Jamie’s a good kid, he’d never ignore his mother’s calls. She kept trying to reassure herself of that fact but doubt outweighed any positive thoughts. Around her eighth unanswered call, Janice had begun drinking wine straight from the bottle. She’d enjoy her occasional glass or two, but never a whole bottle. By the fifteenth call, Janice found herself in the fetal position on her kitchen floor sobbing. She was certain that something had indeed happened to her son. She grabbed a hidden bottle of aged bourbon from under the kitchen sink. Another hour passed. Another bottle finished. Janice still lay on the kitchen floor, but now she was talking to someone. 

“My fault? How could it be my fault?” Janice screamed in despair. There was no one there but a voice replied, “You let me leave the house! You let them kill me!”

“Noooo!” Janice screamed through her sobs.

“How could you let them kill your son? Your only son? How could you let me out of your sight? You don’t love me, do you? Just like you didn’t love dad. That’s why he left you, isn’t it?” The voice grew louder and angrier. “He wouldn’t let this happen to me. He wouldn’t let them kill me.”

Janice’s cry grew deeper. She moaned, “I love you, please…”

The front door flew open and closed with a slam. “Mom! Mom!” Jamie was yelling in search of his mother. The sound of Jamie’s voice brought Janice to her feet. Disoriented, she stumbled into the living room. At the sight of her son, Janice fell to her knees. Jamie sat at her side, “Mom, what’s wrong? I got your calls.” Janice hugged her son tightly. Then the voice spoke to her again, “Don’t let them kill me, mom.” She pulled away from Jamie. “Is everything okay?” Jamie asked looking into his mother’s face quizzically. “Protect me, mommy. Don’t ever let me leave you again,” the voice came again with a sinister edge. Jamie helped his mother to her feet and walked her into the kitchen. When he saw the empty bottles on the floor, his first thought was to ask his mother about it but WHAM! Janice struck her son on the back of the head with a frying pan. 

Janice was listening to the voice. She had to protect her son, she needed to make sure he wouldn’t leave her sight again. Her plan was to tie him up but she understood that Jamie was almost twice her size with his tall, athletic build so tying him up wouldn’t be feasible if he was awake. She drug her son into the basement where she tied him to a water pipe then gagged him with a sock and taped his mouth shut. When he came to, she tried her best to explain that this was all for his protection but it was clear to him some sort of delusion had set in on her. “The police can’t kill you now! You hear that! I’m protecting you! I won’t let you leave me ever again! See! Because mommy loves you,” she yelled while her bloodshot eyes flashed wildly around the basement as if she was looking for someone. 

Jamie, bound to the pipe, didn’t even struggle to get away. He sat there crying silently as tears streamed from his eyes. Janice returned to the main floor of the home when she heard the home phone ringing, locking the basement door behind her. Jamie was sure that his mother wouldn’t actually harm him, but what he didn’t understand was why she was behaving this way. He had to be quick about freeing himself so that he could talk some sense into her. He was bound at the wrist behind his back but his fingers were free to feel around. His fingers ran across a cold, hard surface with a jagged edge that lay flat on the ground behind him. When the object was in a firm grip, he maneuvered his hands in such a way that he was able to use the object to see his wrist free. Once his hands were free, he was able to cut the rest of the rope that had him bound to the pipe. After freeing himself, he ripped the tape from his mouth and removed the sock. He gasped loudly and took a large inhale of new air. He tiptoed up the stairs leading to the basement door. It was locked. He sat down on the steps and rested his face in his palms. He was starting to cry again when he realized he could hear his mom moving around in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what she’d do (in this new mental state) to him if she returned and saw that he’d freed himself. So he made the effort to return to the spot he was in, that’s when he noticed the small basement window that had been above his head. He quickly unlatched the window and tried his best to squeeze through, pulling himself out by digging his hands deep into the dirt on the other side. On the other side, he began to cry and kiss the ground in a celebratory manner. 

Meanwhile, a police cruiser (designated to patrol the area due to the protesting that was incited by the incident earlier) happened to be driving by. “Well, what do we have here?” At the sight of Jamie crouched at the side of the house, the police turned their blue lights on and pulled over to investigate. They exited the vehicle with guns already drawn.  Jamie jumped to his feet when he saw the lights and officers. The officers immediately began yelling, “Get your hands up now,” over and over as Jamie slowly stepped towards them trying to explain the situation. “I live here, I have my key in my pocket. Just let me get my keys,” Jamie was saying but the officers couldn’t hear him over their constant commands. “Just let me ge…” Jamie was saying as he began to reach into his pocket. The sudden display of motions triggered the officers, they began firing their weapons.