Page 7 of Kisses Behind The Spotlight 2: Finale

“Go ‘head and turn around for me.” She twirled her finger in a circle a few inches from my face.

“Ummm, this is my real hair,” I informed her.

“Oh, it’s nice. In that case, I just have to run my hands through it to check for contraband,” she suggested.

“Huh? I don’t have anything in my hair,” I affirmed, shaking my head from side to side.

“Uhhhh, no. I’m still going to need you to turn around so I can check your hair,” she doubled down.

Since I was young, white people loved asking to touch my hair, and I hated it with a passion. I wasn’t an exotic pet. If I wasn’t going to get my hair braided or treated, nobody touched it besides Q. Taking a deep breath, I turned around, facing the off-white walls while I braced for another degrading arrest ritual. The officer roughly ran her gloved hand across my scalp in all types of motions. Up and down, side to side, then a hard swirl in the middle before she tugged a handful of hair so roughly that I stepped back involuntarily.

“Oh shit. It really is your hair. Oh my God, your hair is so soft,” she complimented. “What type of hair products do you use?”

My face frowned up, and I was happy she couldn’t see me roll my eyes. The bitch almost scalped me.

“Thank you,” I forced out. “I use a homemade concoction,” I lied. I wouldn’t tell her or those heavy hands anything.

A gentle knock sounded at the door, waking me up from the nightmare that was actually a new core memory. I couldn’t do hard time.

My eyes swiveled to the door, and Amill’s head slowly poked through.

“Bestie,” Amill bemoaned, and rushed inside the room.

Yaseer trailed in behind her. Mama Marissa and Yaseer brought me a salad earlier and sat with me for a few hours. They insisted that I get a second look at my injuries outside of the jail nurse who treated me. I couldn’t be marrying into a better family. Mama Marissa held my hand while my face was cleaned and covered, and I received a tetanus shot to be on the safe side.

I sat up in the uncomfortable chair, and her hand gently cupped my chin. “My dad said the lawyer already put in a request for all body cam footage from the arrest. We are going to sue the fuck out of them.”

I offered Amill a faint smile as she plopped down in the chair next to me. The moon hovered brightly in the window across the room, signaling that I must’ve fallen asleep for longer than I realized. That didn’t surprise me because I didn’t get an ounce of sleep in that hard jail bed, and my body was exhausted. Jet-lagged, stressed, and sleep-deprived. It was all bad.

“I’m so sorry you guys went through that.”

“Me too. My face is going to heal. I’ll be fine. I just hate that Q has to be in jail another night. It was terrible. Would you believe the officer processing me asked me to take my wig off?”

“No she didn’t,” Amill gasped.

“Yes, she did,” I chuckled. “Then said she had to check it for contraband and pulled my hair.”

“Can we sue them for that too?” Amill turned to ask her dad.

“It wasn’t that hard. I don’t think it’s sue-worthy,” I laughed.

“Okay. Well, my dad said you haven’t been home to shower since you got out of jail. We can stay at your place, mine, or go to my parents’. It’s up to you. You at least need to shower and change. Especially if you plan to go to Q’s bail hearing in the morning.”

“If my Uncle Sam gets here before visiting hours are over, then I can leave. Otherwise I’m going to stay here for the night, and you can grab some clothes for me to wear to court.”

A light tap sounded at the door before it opened again, and my Uncle Sam entered the room. His reaction mirrored mine. He paused and allowed his eyes to take in my father’s condition. The room was silent now, except for the beeping of his machines.

“Fuck,” he murmured and went to stand at my dad’s bedside. “Sorry it took me so long to get back home. My flight got delayed. What are they saying?”

“He has a moderate traumatic brain injury with a small cerebral contusion. They were keeping him sedated because of swelling but are going to start reducing it now to see how he responds.”

Uncle Sam closed his eyes and tilted his head back towards the ceiling as he inhaled deeply. When Uncle Sam opened his eyes, he reached down to squeeze my dad’s hand.

“You gotta fight, James. You got this,” he whispered to my dad.

“Yaseer, Amill, can you guys give us a few minutes alone?” Uncle Sam requested.

“Yeah, we’ll wait outside, and my dad can pull the car around,” Amill replied, standing up from the seat.