Should Have Known Better

I tried to move my legs and realized I was lying in a bed. I saw a television hanging on the wall behind my mother.

“You can’t move. The doctor said you shouldn’t move,” she said, leaning into me over the bed rail. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“My head?” I went to touch the sharp pain in my head, but I couldn’t move my hand. I looked down to see my hand chained to the bed rail. “What?” I pulled at the chain. “What is this?”

“Calm down,” my mother whispered. “They’re outside.”

“Who?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me? They’re going to come in here.”

“Who’s coming in here? What’s going on? Where . . . Where are R. J. and Cheyenne?” I rattled the chain.

“Oh, stop it, now, please calm yourself.” She looked over her shoulder outside of the room, but I couldn’t see what she was looking at.

I heard a door open and my mother stood up, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Calm down, sweetie,” she said pleasantly. “I think everything is going to be OK.”

She moved from the bed and I saw a thin black woman with short blond hair walking in. She was wearing a pantsuit with heels. A golden badge was hanging from the waist of her slacks.

My mother reached over the bed railing and grabbed my hand.

“Who is this?” I asked. “Did something happen to my children? Where are my children?”

“Your children are fine, Mrs. Johnson,” the woman said. “I’m Officer Russell.” She kept her hands at her side. “I’m with the Atlanta Police Department, Children’s Services.”

“Children’s Services?” I looked at my mother. “What’s going on?”

The woman traded stares with my mother and my mother nodded to me.

“I’ll wait outside,” she said, gripping my hand. “I’ll be right outside that door if you need me.”

I tried to push up in the bed, so I could sit and see around the room, but my head was throbbing and the chain kept sliding down to the bottom of the rail.

“Be careful, Mrs. Johnson,” Officer Russell said. “You’ve really hurt your head. That’s why we had to bring you to the hospital.”

“What’s going on? Can someone please tell me what’s going on and where are my children?”

“Well, let’s start with last night. Do you remember anything?”

I saw blue lights flashing. Cheyenne’s finger pointing to the front window. An empty glass on the dining room table.

“The police officers. The roadblock,” I tried.

“Yes.”

“Something was wrong with R. J. I had to get to him.”

“Mrs. Johnson,” the woman started, sitting down on a small corner of the bed where my feet couldn’t reach. “You were driving drunk.”

“Nooo,” I cried faintly. I could remember the lemon face poking into my window. The smell of the back of the police car. I was kicking. I kicked the window. Glass went everywhere.

“Your blood alcohol level was four times the limit in the state of Georgia. There are some things I need you to know.”

“Where are my children?”

“Your children are fine. They’re with their father,” she said calmly.