On the Inside

1. Darlene

Life as a janitor working at a top-notch hospital can be quite interesting. For starters, my job description does not say 'janitor' - it says Environmental Services Technician. 

Sounds fancy, doesn't it?

It's not. I do the work of a janitor. I get paid like a janitor. I even get treated like a janitor. Like shit, that is. 

Yet, it does wonders when it comes to the women in the outside world. Try meeting someone at a bar, and telling her 'I am janitor', and see how she turns and runs. Now say, 'I am an Environmental Services Technician' and 9 times out of 10 she will go, "Ooh tell me more. Are you like one of those climate scientists trying to save the world? You must be smart as hell."

Alright, to be honest, I just made up that statistic. Though it's probably not far from the truth because, for me, it worked like a charm one time out of one. I may have failed math in high school, but even I know that's a 100% success rate. And it worked on the only woman I had my eyes on for over a decade - Darlene Smith. 

Sigh, what can I say about her. She had held my heart since the moment I saw her standing outside the newly sold house just opposite mine in Compton, on the South side of Los Angeles where the houses are small but the hearts big. 

We went to the same public high school, proudly ranked 763 out of 800 high schools in the State of California. I was the kid who sat at the back of the class and made paper planes, she was the one who answered every question and frantically took notes on paper after paper. I smoked joints under the bleachers she was the captain of the girls basketball team. She was the prettiest girl I had ever laid eyes on, with her velvety dark chocolate skin and bright eyes that put the universe's galaxies to shame. I was butt ugly, and a 100% sure she never laid eyes on me - like ever. 

Our differences didn't end there. 

She went off to community college, and then to law school. I dropped out of high-school and did odd jobs to support myself - till the day I got arrested and thrown into jail, for a crime I did not commit. 

*******

2 years ago

"Hey Deion, pay attention to the judge," a voice whispered in my ear, snapping me out of my dazed state. 

I shook my head, and immediately straightened up. "Sorry, Darlene," I whispered back to her, nearly melting in my chair when she looked at me again and smiled. 

"Are you representing the plaintiff, Ms. Darlene?" the wrinkly, old judge was asking her by the time I finally pulled myself together again. 

 She rose from her chair, like a sphinx rising from the ashes. Except, she was the hope I so desperately needed, and the ashes were that of my wasted past. 

"Yes, sir. I am representing Mr. Deion," she replied to him, then turned to the jury. 

"Dear members of the jury, thank you for your attention. Today, I stand before you to defend my client, Mr. Deion Anderson. I firmly believe that he is innocent of the charges brought against him."

She gestured towards the prosecutor, "Now I know that you have been shown evidence that Mr. Anderson was present at the scene of the crime. His fingerprints were found on the weapon, and eyewitnesses place him at the location."

The prosecutor rolled his eyes at her, I wanted to punch him in the face, but she just continued calmly, "But what you haven't been told yet is this, Mr. Anderson is an employee at the bar where the stabbing occurred. He was the first one to help the victim, and it was only once the ambulance arrived did he leave the scene." 

"Here is the sketch of the man who witnesses identified as the suspected shooter." Darlene pulled out a sheet of paper from her folder and handed it to the one of jurors who passed it around. "I ask you, respected members of the jury, does my client look anything like the man in that sketch?"

She tilted her head, and pointedly looked at each one, before delivering the punch line, "Except for the color of his skin, that is."

That's how she secured my acquittal that day. I was tending the bar when a White patron was stabbed with a knife that I had handed to him as he sat with a couple of friends, ordering beef sliders and beers. I also attempted to intervene and break up the fight at its onset, and applied pressure to the wound in the man's abdomen after he was stabbed.

Yet, the only thing that mattered was the color of my skin. 

The police were told, a Black man stabbed the White one. I was the first Black man they found, and I was walking away from the scene. So naturally, I was guilty of a crime I did not commit. 

"Darlene, wait up," I ran after her when she exited the courtroom. "I just uh...I wanted to say, I am so very thankful for you. The other public defender they assigned to me almost had me convinced that a plea deal was my best choice, given the overwhelming evidence against me."

Her shoulders slumped and instead of the smile that had always captivated me, she had a frown on her face. "I can't believe that. He had clearly not done his homework at all."

"Yeah, he seemed pretty lazy."

"That's not laziness Deion, that's criminally incompetent."

That should have been the end of our conversation, but I was talking to the Darlene Smith. The girl who I hadn't stopped thinking about since the moment she stood across the road from my house - 10 years ago. The girl who probably had no idea I even existed before she was assigned to be my public defender. 

"We went to school together and I lived in the house across the road from yours." I blurted out in one breath. 

She just stared at me. 

"I am sorry, I - I know you don't remember me. But that's ok. I am not really remember-worthy, ya know. I just uh..." I nervously rubbed the back of my neck while trying to come up with a coherent sentence. "I just wanted to say that our whole neighborhood is so proud of you. You're like a legend."

"Thank you," she simply smiled, letting me breathe a sigh of relief. She didn't think of me as a weirdo. 

Stupid and lazy sure, but not a weirdo. That, in my books was a win!

With new found confidence, I continued to stand there, "So what brought you back to this part of town? You could have been a big shot lawyer anywhere in LA."

Her smile widened, "You know what they say. You can take a girl away from home, but you can never take a home out of a girl, especially a Black girl." She shrugged her shoulders, "I guess, South side of LA is home."

"Well, thank you again for coming. You saved my life," I reached out to shake her hand. "I owe you big time."

Oh how I wish I could capture the sweet laughter than followed, and listen to it at my own whim. But alas, wishes never come true. If they had, my first and only wish would have been to somehow become worthy of Darlene Smith. 

That was never going to happen.

She was a lawyer, and at that time I was simply a bartender who had no job and was just released from jail. 

"How about you make something of yourself Deion. And we'll call it even," she clasped my hand and gave it a firm shake. 

"I will try my best," I grinned at her. She turned to leave and I was about to make peace with never being able to talk to her again, when she paused and turned around again. 

"I think I still have one of your paper planes that landed on my desk, 10 years ago," she said softly. "You used to be very talented with your hands."

"What?" I whispered in shock. But she was already gone. 

I didn't see Darlene again for 2 years. And when I did, she was almost unrecognizable.  

*******

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