Page 7 of His First Wife

“Are you okay?” my mother asked. “Is there something wrong with the baby?”

“No, Mother. Just listen to me. I need you to come and get me.”

“From where?”

“I’m in jail,” I said finally. The baby kicked at my stomach. He must’ve been sleeping for a while because I hadn’t felt his kick in a minute. I turned my back toward the woman behind me and whispered into the phone. “I need you to come and get me out NOW.”

“Jail? Stop toying with me, Kerry,” she said with a thin laugh. “I can’t sit on the phone and play games with you. I have to get myself ready to go to the airport.”

“Mother, I’m serious. I’m in jail.”

“No, you’re not. Stop playing. It’s not funny. Jail? Could you imagine?” I could hear the seriousness slipping into her voice. She was whispering into the phone as if there was someone in the room with her, but I knew she was alone. This was just her way. The last bit of Southern belle left in Thirjane Jackson made it impossible for Mother to say certain words aloud, for fear that someone, even a ghost, might hear her. She was the kind of woman who still wrapped liquor bottles in brown paper before throwing them into the trash to hide them from neighbors, ordered the newspaper even though she didn’t read it, because it didn’t seem fitting for a house to be without a newspaper, and opened and closed the blinds promptly at dawn and dusk each day. Bailing her only daughter out of jail was certainly not on her to-do list.

“I’m not playing, Mother,” I said. Big Foot tapped me on the shoulder and groaned tiredly. She wanted her cheeseburger. “Look, I don’t have time. I need you to come and get me. I’m in Riverdale.”

“Riverdale? Why in God’s name would you be out there? Are you serious? Kerry, why are you in jail?”

“I can’t explain it all. It’s just me and Jamison; we had a fight and I was arrested.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. My mother was very cold on Jamison. Not lukewarm. Cold. She never thought he was good enough to be my husband and at my wedding (which she half-refused to come to), she actually whispered “You’re her first husband,” when he and she danced at the reception. As could be expected, hearing that we were fighting was music to Mother’s ears. She’d probably be happy to hear that there was another woman involved. I’d done a good job of hiding it from her for so long, but I was worn out.

“Arrested for arguing with your husband? That seems unlikely. What happened?”

“Well, I’d gladly tell you if I had time,” I said, mimicking her inexcusable properness. With a raised index finger, I signaled for one more minute to Big Foot.

“Oh, this is ridiculous. How could you be in jail? My daughter? And you expect me to come and bail you out?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And how do you expect me to come and do that? I’ve never been to a correction facility before. I don’t even know where one is.”

“Mother, I’m pregnant and tired. Just figure it out,” I said. She always made things harder than they had to be. And God forbid she forgot about herself for one second.

“Why can’t your husband come and get you?” she asked.

“Mother, this is not the time for you to debate the validity of my marriage. I’m in jail!”

“Ma’am, your time is up,” a guard said. She looked like a little plump Ewok, standing with Big Foot. I signaled for one more second again.

“Oh, God. I just don’t understand how you could be in jail, Kerry. I taught you better than that, didn’t I?”

“Mother, I need you to stop and come and get me now. We can talk about it when you get here. Okay?”

“I suppose so,” she said as if I was asking her for a kidney. I was her daughter, who was about to give birth in a jail with Big Foot and an Ewok looking on and my mother was only thinking of a bad headline.

After I gave her the precinct information, I was led back to my holding cell by the same gold-clad guard who took my fingerprints. As we walked down the hallway, which had cells on either side, kind of like a hallway in a dorm (but with bars instead of doors) I thought back to Jamison and how I’d ended up behind bars. I felt so humiliated, so stupid for what was happening to me. I loved Jamison with all of my heart. I tried my best to be a good wife, a good companion to him. I had left my job, a job I loved, so I could help him out with his company. I believed in him. I was there for him when he needed me, even put up with his crazy ghetto mama and her constant judgments about me.

I’d been crying all morning so my eyes were already swollen to the size of golf balls, but still tears managed to fall as I walked down that hallway, a prisoner with her belly protruding so far in front of her that she couldn’t see her feet. I wanted my bed, I wanted my husband, I wanted last night to be a bad dream I was about to wake up from.

I needed to curl up in a corner and be by myself, alone with my tears and my baby until my mother showed up. But when the guard and I stopped at my cell, I realized that alone was now impossible. While I was away, I’d gained a roommate. A cell mate. There she was, sitting on a wooden bench with her legs far enough apart that you’d think she was a man. Her face toward the floor, she had a head full of blond weave that was completely matted. It looked like a little cocker spaniel was stapled to her skull. She was wearing a soiled wife-beater, and tattoos mapped both of her arms. If the rest of my jail experience hadn’t been real thus far, I was confident that she was about to make it all a reality. That was clear. I felt like a nervous kindergartener walking into her first day of school, and when the guard opened the door for me to walk into the cell, I wanted to cling to her arm for dear life. I was big and bad at Coreen’s, but I was no fool and I wasn’t trying to have a real girl fight.

I stepped inside and the woman didn’t move to say hello.

“Um . . . do I get another call?” I asked, turning to the guard. I rubbed my stomach and flashed a “Don’t leave me in here with this woman!” look across my face, thinking maybe the guard would have mercy.

She didn’t even respond. She just pointed into the cell with the golden pyramid ring atop her index finger like I was the escaped cocker spaniel hanging from the woman’s head.

“Well, I need to use the bathroom. Is there one I could use?” I asked, stepping into the cell. The guard grinned and returned the petrified look I had with a “Lady, please” eye roll. She pointed again, but this time it was to a little commode that was in the far left corner of the cell. I’d seen it earlier, but thought for sure it was for something other than using the restroom.

“Okay,” I said glumly. She slammed the door and smiled, showing a gold tooth for the first time.

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