My Name Is Venus Black(13)

I still haven’t totally agreed for sure before a buzzer signals the end of dinner. “You better be ready,” she says. “I’ll meet you outside the kitchen at eight P.M.”

I nod, trembling.

I know Truly can tell I’m scared to do this, because she leans into my ear and says in her husky voice, “You’re the one who’s looking at years behind bars. Plus, don’t forget Leo.”

Like I ever would. It’s for him that I’m about to do the second-worst thing of my life.



* * *



—



I AM THERE early, a black rubber shower mat rolled up under one arm. Just around the corner, six girls are watching TV and another two are playing poker, using ripped-up pieces of paper as money.

When Truly shows up with her own bath mat, she hisses, “What’s wrong? You look scared, but you should be smiling. We’re about to be free. I’m mainly doing this for you, you know.”

I shrug my shoulders and try to look relaxed. “Thank you. I really am grateful,” I tell her. “I just hate doing stuff where you could get caught—”

“Are you serious? You’re in the biggest trouble of anyone in this building! And you’re afraid to skip out of juvie? Are you going to bag out on me?”

“No,” I say defensively. I can hear the TV in the community room and the other girls talking. This plan seems so stupid, like we aren’t being sneaky enough, like we’re escaping in broad daylight, even though I know it’s dark outside. In Denney, you never get a sense of day or night, because of the lack of windows and all the fluorescent lights.

Truly signals me and then opens the kitchen door, pointing out the latch where Belinda has taped a nickel so it wouldn’t automatically lock when the cook left. As we enter the kitchen, I instinctively grip Truly’s knobby elbow and she knocks my arm away. “Don’t be a sissy!” she hisses.

As we quickly cross the big kitchen, I catch whiffs of tonight’s dinner along with the scent of something sour, maybe the dishrags. After we pass the enormous sinks, we come to a huge walk-in pantry.

We drop our mats and hurriedly empty the cupboard of all the dried goods and cans. On the count of three we pull the shelf away, and sure enough, there’s an old wooden set of doors back there, secured only by a metal latch. All we have to do is slide a lever and the door swings open.

Before I have time to be afraid, Truly tells me to grab my mat, and then we’re both outside, running across the large yard behind Denney to the chain-link fence. It reaches up above our heads a good ten feet.



We rush to take off our Velcro shoes and our socks and begin to climb. But barefoot and lugging the rolled-up mat, scaling that fence proves even harder than I imagined. My toes and fingers scream in pain, and I have to keep switching the mat from one arm to the other, trying all the time not to drop it.

The steady drizzle doesn’t help. Neither does the cold.

Truly is lighter than I am, and she reaches the top first. I hear her swearing as she struggles to drape her rubber mat over the strands of rusty barbed wire. Then I see her crawl over fast as a crab. And then she’s inching her way down. In seconds, I hear a grunt as she lands in the grass on the other side, safe.

But I’m still going up. When I finally get near the top, I manage to fling the mat over, but it keeps sliding around. How am I going to get myself over?

“Get your feet way up close by your hands,” Truly calls from below. I try to take her advice, positioning my feet nearer to my hands, but every time I get close, the mat threatens to slide away.

I get one foot over the top and then manage to heave myself up far enough so that I can straddle the mat. I hug it and the fence for dear life, relieved and euphoric—until I realize my hair is completely tangled in the barbed wire.

“My hair is caught!” I scream to Truly. “I’m stuck!”

I don’t have a free hand to work on the mess. I battle with my hair, yanking my head and trying to twist free. But nothing works. I hear myself saying fuck over and over, conscious of the fact that I’ve actually never used this word aloud before. In private, Jackie and I said shit, but fuck was for the bad kids.

I shout for Truly to come up and help me from the other side. But no one answers. I look under my armpit and there she goes, running toward the lights of the boulevard.

My heart sinks, but I don’t really blame her.



I notice I’m shaking in exhaustion and pain. And then I start sobbing like an idiot. But it’s my next thought that fills me with horror: How long can a barefoot girl cling to a cyclone fence before her toes and fingers give out and she’s scalped by the weight of her own body?

Then I remember that staff will find me missing at bed check. And I can already picture how it will all play out. How the guards will come running across the yard, yelling at me to come down, until they realize I can’t. Then they’ll have to call the fire department or something. And they’ll probably cut off all my hair, which will feel like the worst punishment of all.

I imagine years from now a small chunk of my hair still stuck atop this fence, flying in the wind like a black flag. I wonder if the girls who see it will be inspired by my attempt or if they’ll view it as proof that you can’t escape your fate.

Soon the rain lets up, but I’m still shivering from the cold. Then I realize that if I crane my head to look under my arm, I can see a small patch of clear sky over by the Boys & Girls Club. I’m able to pick out Venus pretty quick, but it’s the wrong time of year for Leo. Then a bright light flashes on in the yard, and I hear voices calling out to one another. I am rescued! I am caught.