Gospel According to Prissy Page 3

  Miriam worked with each of her girls, wanting to get to know them as much as she could as she tried to help them accept what they couldn’t change while focusing on something positive to do with their lives. Each inmate was different, and each one required a different approach. In the early years, she eventually had to transfer a couple of the women out of Braden. She simply hadn’t been able to reach them. This had left her with a sense of failure she would carry for the rest of her life. At the time, though, she couldn’t risk their disrupting everything she had managed to accomplish up to that point. But she had learned a lot since then, and now she was even getting requests from women in other prisons who wanted to serve their time at Braden.

  In the noise of the shuffle of inmates being led back to their cells, Miriam didn’t notice her at first. Then, she glimpsed the denim coveralls, the yellow tee-shirt, and the generous number of barrettes in bright colors fixed in the little girl’s hair as she crawled out from under the dark blue curtain that had been used as a backdrop to where she and the governor had stood at the podium. Prissy marched across the stage without fear or hesitation, smiling, her head slightly tilted, and pointing at the governor: “Give generously to him and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this Santa Claus will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to.”

  “Well, who have we here?” Governor Rushing asked. Cameras clicked and flashed from every direction as the governor picked up the small child, smiled and turned toward the bright lights.

  “This is Prissy, one of our children who lives in the family wing.” Miriam glanced around looking for Roylene just as she came rushing onto the stage.

  “I apologize, ma’am,” she said holding out her arms to Prissy. “I took her to the bathroom and then before I knew it…”

  “That’s quite all right, Roylene.”

  “Well, of course it is,” the governor chimed in. “So, your name is Prissy?”

  Prissy nodded her head, and each of the barrettes bounced in a different direction.

  “Where did you get such a pretty name?”

  “I was named Prissy because I was born in a prison. What’s your name?”

  “My name is Garland Rushing. I’m the Governor of North Carolina,” he answered obviously taken aback.

  Roylene stepped closer and reached for the child.

  Obediently, Prissy let the guard take her. Smiling broadly at this man who was now her new friend, she said, “Do not withhold good from those who deserve it, when it is in your power to act.”

  The governor raised his eyebrows slightly and looked at Miriam. “Is she quoting scripture from the Bible?”

  “Yes. She is quite remarkable, isn’t she?” Miriam kissed Prissy on her cheek and squeezed her chubby little hand. “Why don’t you take her to the playground now, Roylene, while we finish up here.”

  Roylene held tightly to Prissy determined not to let her charge escape again, and with long strides quickly left the stage and exited through the nearest door. Miriam couldn’t help but notice the flash of cameras following Prissy until she was out of sight. She also couldn’t help but hear Prissy’s parting message to the governor: “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.”

  By now the auditorium was cleared. The inmates had been taken back to their cells. “I can’t thank you enough for taking the time to do this…” Miriam started moving toward another exit that led to an area away from the playground, hoping the governor would follow. Surely he had other things to take care of. He followed.

  “Warden, that little girl…does she always talk that way?”

  Miriam knew there was no getting around it. It was always better to simply tell the truth as she knew it – especially where Prissy was concerned. “We all knew she was special from the moment she was born.” An assistant to the governor opened the door and Miriam stepped outside into the late afternoon sunlight, followed by the governor and several others. “She had an awareness and an intelligence that babies don’t normally have until they’re much older.”

  “Was she a drug baby?” the governor asked.

  “Not at all.” Miriam tried to keep from sounding defensive, but, frankly, she thought the question to be out of place. It never ceased to amaze her how many people assumed all incarcerated women were mixed up in drugs. The fact that Prissy’s mother had AIDS was irrelevant to this particular situation and something the governor didn’t need to know. Of course, there had been a drug baby born in the prison in the past. It was a normal delivery in every way except for the mother’s resistance to the usual doses of narcotics given for the delivery, indicating there might be a problem. The new born immediately showed signs as well. Although quite placid at first, in fact so placid that it needed stimulation to breathe effectively, within hours it became inconsolably agitated. The doctor on duty had eventually prescribed paregoric, an old-fashioned favorite used to relax nervous babies; but when that didn’t work, he went to phenobarbital to help the baby until the drugs could be gradually eliminated from its system. But when Prissy was born, she wasn’t like that.

  “Prissy has always been special – from the very beginning she learned things so quickly – walking, talking, and she even potty trained herself. And then she started to read. At first it was picture books – simple words and big pictures, but she quickly moved on to more difficult books – subjects that normally only older children would be interested in. She had an insatiable desire to learn. All the while, she seemed to be developing her vocabulary for what she really wanted to do – read the Bible and quote verses from it. And she isn’t biased.” Miriam laughed and turned to make sure the governor was keeping up. “She quotes from all the different versions: American Standard, New American Standard, King James, New King James, and even the New International version. Tanya, her mother, says Prissy has the gift of prophesy. All I know is that she seems to know instinctively when one of the inmates is worried, and she quotes appropriate passages from the Bible to help her get through it – with her unique touch, of course; she hasn’t quite mastered the concept of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Still, in her own way, she helps fulfill the spiritual needs of the inmates, and she has also brought out the mother in us all. I can’t begin to tell you how much she is loved by everyone here.”

  By now they were standing near the parking area where the governor’s limo was waiting to take him to his next appointment, as Scott tactfully reminded him. The other people who had come with him were talking a discreet distance away from them.

  “Don’t you find it a little strange, though, even unnerving? I mean, how old is she, anyway? Four? Five?” The original purpose for the governor’s visit was now forgotten. It was Prissy who held his interest.

  “She’s five years old. No, we don’t find it strange at all. Remember, most of the inmates have known Prissy all her life. For Prissy to be any other way would be –well – strange. Governor Rushing, Prissy is a happy, well-adjusted little girl in every way. She likes to play with the other children, she loves chocolate ice cream, and she has a favorite doll.” Miriam didn’t feel it was necessary to tell the governor that Prissy had named her doll Mary Magdalene. “She just happens to have an exceptional ability.” Miriam glanced at the reporters who were hovering nearby and then drew herself up to her full height of six feet. “I would hate for a story to get out about her that would cause attention to the facility here for the wrong reason,” she said looking down at the governor who was a good three inches shorter than she was. “We are successful at Braden because, in spite of the fact that we are a prison, we strive to make things as normal as possible for everyone staying here – even our children.”

  “Of course, I understand completely.” Smiling broadly, the governor took her hand in his. His nod was barely perceptible before cameras once again started clicking and flash bulbs flashing. “Nothing is going to get printed that I don’t want printed.”

  Miriam watched the governor’s two-vehicle motorcade leave the parking lot and move towar
d the main gate. She had an uncomfortable feeling that this wouldn’t be the last of the governor’s curiosity over Prissy.

  The next morning Alice rushed into Miriam’s office still holding her purse and car keys and waving a newspaper in front of her. “Did you see this?”

  Miriam took the paper. On the front page beneath the large photograph of the governor holding Prissy she read the headlines:

  FIVE-YEAR-OLD CHILD PRODEGY QUOTES SCRIPTURE TO GOVERNOR AND INMATES

  * * *

  “Hey, girl!”

  Lara looked up at the tall black college student who had shortened his long stride to match hers. He was surrounded by several giggling coeds. He was probably only a little younger than Lara and he looked at least twice as tall. Lara had been working at the college for just over two months, and during that time there hadn’t been a day to go by that the school’s star basketball player hadn’t made a point to speak to her.

  “Hey, yourself, Tyree Archibald Jones,” she answered cheerfully.

  “You still workin’ here, Foxy Lady? I mean, just takin’ off like that for a few days. I was startin’ to worry. Like maybe some other liberal arts, coeducational college had took you away.” The teasing words slipped easily out of his mouth causing a fresh burst of giggles from his female admirers. His eyes, however, suggested something of a more serious nature. He had been on registration duty at the motel where he worked part-time when Lara checked in the day before. Just like then, he didn’t ask any questions now, but Lara wondered how much Tyree already knew. If he knew the real reason she hadn’t been at work for the past week, then everyone else on campus probably knew as well.

  “Yes, I am still here.” Lara stopped in front of her office. “They can’t get rid of me that easily. Thanks again, Tyree, for your help yesterday.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Tyree looked at the shiny brass plaque that had been installed on the front of her office door a few weeks earlier. “Vice President for Development,” he read out loud. “My, my.” He straightened an invisible tie and stood at attention in front of Lara, making his six foot, ten inch frame seem even taller. “Madam Vice President, on behalf of the student body at North Carolina Piedmont College, I’d like to tell you how glad we are that you are one of us.”

  “Why, thank you, Tyree.” Lara did a little curtsy, obviously enjoying the friendship of this student.

  “It’s about time we got somethin’ good to look at around here. See ya around, if you know what I mean.” He winked at Lara and loped off in the direction of the gymnasium, the girls following him like tentacles on a medusa jellyfish.

  Lara entered her office and switched on the light.

  “I see I’m not the only one who’s glad you are back.”

  Lara jumped, startled at the unexpected voice. Sylvia had followed Lara into her office along with her usual strong scent of Taboo perfume and Lara’s morning cup of coffee.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Sylvia Anderson had been part of Piedmont College ever since it had opened its doors twenty years earlier. She knew about everyone and everything on campus, and she actively participated in the various fads started with each incoming class of freshmen. She occasionally even started a few herself, “just to keep things lively and make a statement for academic freedom.” This year it was jeans shredded at the knees and sweatshirts with the sleeves ripped off. No one ever questioned the way she looked and dressed. That was simply Sylvia – along with the mass of wild, untamed red hair, her bottle-green eyes, and the Taboo perfume. She was outgoing, outspoken, energetic, and totally reliable. And she had come with the job as Lara’s secretary. Lara had liked Sylvia from the first day she started working at the college; it was hard not to. Sylvia set the cup of coffee down on Lara’s desk.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” said Lara. “I’m just a little jumpy.”

  Sylvia glanced at Lara’s face as she moved around the desk, trying not to be obvious. The bruises and scrapes were almost healed now. The emotional scars would take longer – maybe never.

  The small quiet office seemed to explode with activity as Sylvia watered a plant on the window sill, filed some folders in Lara’s bottom desk drawer and removed some papers from the “out” box. Lara got up and closed the door to her office. Even though she had only known Sylvia for the brief time she had been working on campus, she felt she could trust her.

  “Sylvia, I want to tell you something that I hope you will keep to yourself. And I also need to ask for your help.”

  Sylvia sat down in a chair opposite the desk without saying anything and waited for Lara to continue.

  “I have left my husband. The divorce papers will be filed this week along with a restraining order. I’m not sure when Jake will be served, but it will be soon.”

  Sylvia nodded. “What can I do to help,” she asked.

  Tears unexpectedly filled Lara’s eyes. It had been so long since she felt anyone was on her side. The pretense she had wrapped around her life in order to protect Jake’s image and, she had mistakenly thought, her marriage had made it impossible to discuss her problems with anyone. Now, finally admitting out loud to another person that her marriage had been one terrible mistake was almost more than Lara could stand.

  “Never mind,” said Sylvia. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand. Honestly, I do. I’m just glad that you feel you can tell me about it.” Sylvia did understand. She hadn’t believed for a minute that crap Lara told everyone about a door falling on her and all that other stuff when she was working on that old house she and Jake had bought. Sylvia suspected Lara was in an abusive relationship the first time she took sick leave. Lara did a good job to cover up the bruises and cuts with make-up, but other things besides the so-called accidents indicated that there was more serious trouble at home. Lara’s reluctance to talk about Jake or her home life. The fear that she tried so desperately to conceal whenever Jake dropped by her office unexpectedly. And even though Lara stayed busy, there was little she could do to hide her raw nerves and unhappiness. Sylvia had experienced it herself as a young girl in her own family until her father finally drank himself to death. She could still remember always running everywhere – never walking – as though her tormentor were right behind her. Even now, at the age of forty-five, she still felt the scars left from the horror she and her mother had gone through. And she still ran everywhere. She had recognized the same signs in Lara.

  Lara blotted her eyes with a tissue that Sylvia produced from one of the desk drawers.

  “Where will you go, or are you planning to stay in that old mausoleum of a house? I mean, you can stay with my boys and me…”

  “Thanks, Sylvia. I have a place for now. Later, I’m not sure yet. I guess I’ll just figure it out as I go along.”

  Sylvia nodded. “If it’s any help, I can keep an eye out and let you know if he shows up here. As you know, my office faces out onto the parking lot.”

  “Thanks, Sylvia. That’s what I was hoping you would say. I don’t think he will try anything here, but I don’t want to give him the chance.”

  Sylvia nodded. “I am all for being prepared. I don’t know if you are aware of it or not, but if you do need a place to hide, there’s a darkroom in that area where the copy machines are set up. There’s a door leading into it located behind the big Xerox machine. Gayle in Public Relations occasionally uses it when she’s developing photos for the brochures she sends out. If you need it in an emergency, I mean. He’d never find you there.”

  Sylvia walked over to the door. “I’m going to be in the copy room for a few minutes and then I’ll be in my office if you need me.” She turned back toward Lara. “Listen, Lara. You have made a lot of friends since you’ve been working here, and most of us have been through some sort of shit during our lives. It might not be the same shit you’re going through, but all shit smells bad. You don’t need to feel like you’re fighting this alone.” She smiled and left, taking with her the papers she had collected and leaving th
e scent of Taboo.

  * * *

  Lara wasn’t consciously aware of making the decision to leave Jake, or, as far as that goes, did she know the exact reason why. There had been problems in their marriage even from the beginning. Jake’s drinking, for one. Lara simply couldn’t understand Jake’s need to drink every evening when he got home from work. She finally gave up trying to understand and added it to a growing list of other things they couldn’t ever seem to discuss. Things that with increasing frequency ended up with Jake getting verbally abusive or physically violent. In waves of paranoia, he blamed her for whatever was going wrong in his life – an unhappy client, the weather, an over-cooked egg – it didn’t matter. For a while Lara believed she simply had to try harder to make their marriage work. No marriage was perfect, after all. She would try cooking better meals, or try dressing nicer. Maybe there were things she could help him with in his work even. But the harder she tried, it seemed, the more frustrated and abusive Jake became.

  When Jake changed jobs and they moved to Rocky Mount, Lara decided to apply for a job at the college located nearby. Since Jake was working long hours and gone most of the time anyway, this would perhaps restore some of her own confidence that had all but vanished. After all, she had a college degree. Working at the college would give her a chance to use her education, and it would also keep her busy. Maybe busy enough so that she would quit worrying about Jake so much – about what he was doing, and what he was going to do. And maybe then he wouldn’t find so much about her to criticize.

  Looking back on it, it was probably then that on some level she knew she would leave him. But it was not until a short time later, somewhere in the fog of physical and mental suffering, that she realized the true reason: Now she would no longer accept the blame – not for a rotten, rain-soaked crop of tobacco and not for his feelings of inadequacy. She had lost her faith and trust in him. And somewhere along the way during the nine years they had been together, she had also lost herself. Then Jake killed her baby. Now she felt nothing for Jake. She felt neither love nor hate – there was only indifference. The same indifference he expressed when he learned of the death of their baby. Jesus Christ, Lara, I don’t see what you are so upset about. It wasn’t even formed yet. It was just a four-week-old embryo. It was nothing. Nothing mattered any longer. Not her marriage, not Jake, not even her own life. There was only indifference. It was also at this time she realized that if Jake ever physically harmed her again, she would kill him. It was then that Lara left.