The girl with the Red Armband

The Girl with the Red Armband

Summer shuddered when she stared at the blank document. There was nothing more terrifying than an empty page.  Time was the enemy, as she only had a few hours till morning.

During s late August and the wind seemed to stay away all night. The owls continued their nighty interrogation.  Summer drew a couple of circles on the page and took a sip of coffee; then she glanced at the clock again. When beggars die there are no commits seen’ The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. The voices went through her head. She hadn’t even read the entire play, but certain words and phrases were stuck in the mind. She found it challenging to read even though she’d always been a book nerd. She pulled her laptop in front of her and typed a sentence. What more was there to say about the betrayal of Julius Caesar. She got up, stretched, and peered out of the kitchen window. The moon was a neon strip of light.  

Start at the beginning. Write one word at a time. All good stories are true.  Why was it so hard to try to write that first word? Images of pages bleeding with red ink came to mind. Every word would be questioned and her brainchild would be deemed a failure.

Maybe she would get to doze just for an hour or so, but this feeling in her gut kept her more awake. She had these feelings often and didn’t understand them. It seemed as though she could see events happen before they did.   She learned early on that trying to force herself to sleep was futile, so she got up and did something. Summer paced in front of the oak table. Just as she put her water cup in the sink, a car pulled into her mother’s gravel-spined driveway. Who would be coming over at one o’clock in the morning? Perhaps one of her stepfather’s errant workers wanted to borrow some money. Summer squinted through the kitchen blinds. Two men chatted and walked towards the front door. Summer rushed towards the door and looked through the peephole. Two young male police officers stood at the door. The doorbell was so loud and would wake her mother up. Maybe they had gotten the wrong address. The cops frequently confused her mother’s address with some drug dealers.

She opened the door, regarding the cops with a combination of suspicion and exasperation.

“May I help you?” Her lip trembled.

“Yes, mam. We’re looking for Summer Lancaster. “

Summer folded her arms and shivered.

“I’m Summer. “

The tall officer held out a piece of wrinkled paper. 

“We have a warrant for your arrest.” 

Summer wanted to run, but she couldn’t move. What kind of a joke was someone playing? Were these men dressed up as police officers and planning to take her off and rape her?

“Are you kidding me?” Summer said.

The tall officer looked like a boy and an old man at the same time. His face blurred and then returned to normal. Summer squinted, hoping a migraine wasn’t coming on. Sometimes it was so hard to trust her perception. Were these officers real or some figment of her imagination? Summer pinched herself a couple of times. Her eyes wanted to close. If only she could drift off to sleep and totally forget the conversation she was having with the police officers.

Summer’s heart stopped for a moment. Maybe the sleep deprivation had caught up with her and she was in a trancelike state. Could it all be some kind of nightmare?

The officer cleared his throat.

“Look we’re not here to judge anyone. Just doing my job,” the tall man said.

Summer tried to control both her body and her voice.

“I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but I haven’t done anything to anybody. I’m just trying to finish a paper.”

The police officers studied her face. 

“Like he said, we’re not here to judge. I just want to do my service to the people.”

Summer rolled her eyes.

“I need to wake up my parents. “Summer invited the officers inside wondering if that was a mistake, but they looked legit. Granny always reminded her anybody can get accused of anything, but why would anyone want to target a shy person like her? Maybe she was insane, or she possibly looked like someone else. She wanted to call Hal who had been a friend but wasn’t really a friend.

Summer bit her lip to keep from laughing. She used to laugh whenever she got disciplined, she was a kid. She also was the kind of person to laugh at funerals; not because she was amused but laughter was just tears in disguise.

“Yawl want something to drink?”

“No thanks, “said the tall guy.

“What in the hell is going on here?” her mother said.

“Don’t know,” Summer said. 

Her stepfather walked to the door.

“What in the hell do you want?” her stepfather asked.

“Sir, we have an arrest warrant for your daughter,” said the taller cop.

Bobby glanced at her with suspicion.

The shorter, Muppet-faced cop studied Summer’s face and put the warrant down in front of her.

“What? Bomb threat?”

“Yes mam.”

Summer perused the warrant full of misspelled words.

Summer shook her head.

“I think this is a misunderstanding,” Bobby said. “The police keep coming to the wrong address.”

“Look, we’re not here to judge anyone,” said the short cop. He put his hands in his pockets. 

Summer tried not to laugh. She always laughed when she got nervous, plus the idea of Uncle Fester being used as evidence in a courtroom seemed beyond ludicrous.

“Now I’m all for punishment that fits the crime, but she ain’t no threat to anyone. This is just ridiculous.,” Bobby said.

“I think it’s just a mistake,” Summer said. The taller officer pulled out his handcuffs. 

“Now there ain’t no need to do that,” Bobby said.

“She’s not gonna give us trouble,” said the shorter cop. Summer was relieved the police decided not to handcuff her.

The taller cop rapidly read her rights then she followed them out to the car. She’d never ridden in a police car before and had always been curious.

Summer glanced out the window and wondered why the town seemed so surreal. The town seemed wrapped in a miasma of guilt and bitterness.  She felt like she had walked into one of Kafka’s novels.

She thought to herself, “This isn’t me, sitting in a police car on such a clear night. This isn’t me, feeling like I’m about to drown in the dark air.  No, it must be someone else driving through town in the last moments of nightfall.

Summer gazed out the window and at the constellation traveling to a time long overdue. 

 After the officers took her to the station, Summer had to wait on a hard bench.  A heavy-set bald man asked for her to follow him into a small room. She sat across from the man who was reading over paperwork.

“Look, I have no idea what is going on,” Summer said.

The man looked into her eyes. He had gimlet-like eyes.

“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want. You have the right to a lawyer, but it always looks good when folks cooperate with us. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of things.”

Summer wanted to believe that the man was looking out for her, but the voice kept urging her to be quiet.

“So, are you willing to talk to me?”

Summer nodded. Maybe she could go home after she explained to the man that it was all a misunderstanding.

“So can you tell me about your relationship with Sue Dickerson.

Summer shrugged.

“She's a friend i met in the literary club.”

The man furrowed his brow and looked puzzled.

“But why did you send her a doll with a detonator? Isn’t that a strange thing to send someone?” Summer’s face reddened.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stuttered. She considered telling him about getting drunk with Hal and joking about the Adams family but she decided not to. What did Hal do when she got up and went to the restroom? She wanted to kick that dufus, as she was sure he had something to do with her predicament.

“But you were angry ? “

Summer shook her head.

“Why would I be? We were friends.”

The detective scratched his head and lowered his glasses.

“Look, it sounds like maybe you need some professional help. If you cooperate and agree to get help; things will go better for you.”

Summer wanted to bang her fist on the table. She bit her lip to hold back the tears.

“I don’t need any help, thank you very much. I think I should wait and get a lawyer.”

The man closed the folder.

“Okay. Well, thanks for talking to me. You do need to stay away from this woman. If you get convicted, you’ll be serving fries the rest of your life.”

Summer followed him to the holding cell.

 After the interrogation, an officer put a red armband on her wrist and told her to sit in the holding cell. The room was full of people and smelled of sweat and body odor. Summer sat down next to an African American woman who could’ve been anywhere between thirty and fifty. Maybe she was a younger woman whose life made her appear ten years older than she actually was. In a way, being in jail was no different than being a stranger in her hometown. Summer was always a loner and never hung out with anyone other than the goofball, Hal.

“What you in here for?”

“Bomb threat.”

The woman’s eyes got big. Summer felt everyone looking at her.

“You serious? “

She heard the other inmates whisper.

Summer shook her head.

“I really don’t know what’s going on.”

The woman snorted.

“Well, maybe he deserved it,” the woman said.

Summer blushed. There was no point explaining anything, as no one would find the story believable.

“I have no idea what’s going on. “

Shameka shook her head.Summer felt sick. 

“You don’t look like someone who belongs in a jail. What’s your name?”

“I’m Summer, “she said softly.

“Shameka.”

No one in the room said a word. 

“Got kids?”

Summer shook her head. She kept hearing people chant, “Lock her up.”

“So, what really happened? You wearing a red armband for a reason. You lucky you’re a white gal. The judge will let you go home if he’s in a good mood."

"You just better hope they don't send you to the psych ward. It’s worse than over here,” Shameka said.

Summer’s eyes widened.

“You mean the hospital?”

Shameka shook her head.

“The psyche ward is where they send the inmates to detox. You ain’t got no rights over there. You can’t even make a phone call. I’ve only been over there once. And let me tell you, it’s the worst place I’ve ever been.”

Summer shuddered. Would she get sent over there? The detective obviously thought she needed psychiatric care. 

“Sounds awful. Sorry, you got put in a place like that,” Summer said.

Shameka’s eyes softened.

“That’s how life is. But I got through it. You can’t let em get to your head,” Shameka said. “Don’t go to no psyche ward. It’s better to be guilty than crazy.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Summer said.

“Girl, you gotta a lot to learn. There ain’t no justice. You better just keep your mouth shut and stay away from trouble. It ain’t worth all this. And once you get put in the jail or the hospital, they’re ain’t no getting out. “Shameka paused.

“But you’re young. And you’re an innocent-looking white gal. You got a chance as long as you don’t do anything dumb,” Shameka said.

Summer looked at her watch.

“Well, maybe when you get out you can find a job and things will get better.”

Shameka smiled. These total strangers had shown her more compassion and she’d learn more from them than her professors and classmates.

“You don’t understand how it works. No one will hire you. It’s like you got a mark on your forehead.”

Summer looked down. Maybe she should study law and help people like Shameka. She used to think people who got arrested were monsters and always guilty. But she’d have to study harder if she wanted to law school. The thought of getting sent to the psychiatric ward scared her more than anything. What could possibly be worse than jail?

 Hopefully, the judge would not be too late. Then she could call Bryson to come and get her. He’d certainly had enough experience getting his errant workers out of jail.

All the patients got quiet when the judge walked in. Summer took a deep breath and rehearsed what she would say to him. Of course, it was a misunderstanding.

Summer listened to the other inmates trying to make their case. The first man was not allowed to post bail. Summer was unable to gauge the judge’s mood.  She kept looking at her watch and tried to resist shaking her knee.

When her name was called, she sat at the chair in front of the desk at the back of the holding cell. The judge read over some papers then looked up at her and lowered his glasses. Summer tried to make eye contact. His brown eyes felt detached. She wondered if he had a daughter her age.

“You know this is very serious.”

Summer forced herself to meet his eyes.

“I think it’s all a misunderstanding. I never threatened anyone with a bomb. “The room got very quiet.

She looked into the judge’s eyes. Maybe making eye contact would make her more believable. How could anyone possibly perceive her as being a threat? She wanted to say something about Orwell and fascism but bit her lip. 

“Okay. I will release you back to your parents. You can’t leave town or have any contact with the victim.”

Summer clenched her fists. The victim? Who was the freaking victim? No, she wasn’t sure there was such a thing as Karma. The real bullies continued to hurt people without any kind of consequences, or so it seemed to be that way. 

Summer felt a brief moment of relief. No bail. But she couldn’t leave the state. She wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere. Everyone in town would know about her tale of crime and punishment, so her innocence really didn’t matter. And if people thought she was crazy, she’d be lucky to get a job serving fries. Her life was already over and she hadn’t even celebrated her twentieth birthday. Taylor Swift’s song, “Mean” went through her head. She imagined herself singing, “Someday, I’ll be living in a big ole city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”  Yes, there were many cities she’d never seen. There was a place for her somewhere. She wouldn’t let the liars in her spiteful town win. No. Wouldn’t they be happy if she succumbed to depression and wound up in the psychiatric ward drugged up to oblivion? And then she would have a psychiatric diagnosis for the rest of her life. Wouldn’t they love to take away her sense of autonomy? How many other people were walking around town, convinced that they had some kind of condition that made them dangerous or useless? She heard a bunch of voices shouting in her head. “Not guilty.” Summer sometimes had these flashbacks to events that never happened: hangings, suicides, lynchings, mill villages, etc. People in terrible circumstances where innocence was a liability.

Summer sat back down.

“Girl, you better straighten up. You don’t want to be stuck in one of them orange jumpsuits. I thought they’d send you over there.

“I guess so.”

Summer called her stepfather from the payphone in the lobby. Bobby came by at eight. She climbed into the truck next to Sam and Mike. 

“Glad you got out,” Sam said. “You’ll just get a smack on the wrist.”

“Yeah, you would know,” Summer said. Sam grinned. He wore his criminal record like a badge of honor.

Sam had been in and out of jail for years. Summer never understood why Bobby kept hiring him. For a brief moment, she felt a chill go throughout her entire body. She had been diagnosed with Raynaud’s syndrome, and people always commented on her hands. They tingled but not in a usual way.  Then she briefly saw little specks. Migraines, but her headaches weren’t typical. After the aura, she would hear voices. The light was too intense. She would have to call in sick today. Everyone would know of course, in such a small town. But everyone complimented her for being a good worker and she would soon have enough savings to move into an apartment.

After Bobby dropped her off, she walked back into the house, feeling exhausted and relieved. Maybe she could sleep but it was more challenging to sleep when she needed it the most, or was she having a sleepwalking episode? Who could she call for help?

She walked to her room and scanned her bookshelf for her bible. Sometimes when she was troubled, she would open the bible to any page just to see if a verse applied to her.

She opened the page John chapter 12  why was this ointment not sold for three hundred pence and given to the poor? This he said, not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and “had the bag, and bared what was put therein. John 6-7.

A thief? Summer re-read the passage.  Then she opened her phone and realized she hadn’t checked her credit card account. Her eyes widened when there was a charge on her account that she hadn’t recognized.  The charge was for an Amazon purchase. Hal was the only person who had been on her computer. They had been joking about sending an Adam’s Family doll to this student who looked like Morticia Addams.  Summer’s face reddened. She texted Hal and tried to remember what she had done while she was drunk. And why did a woman who seemed to be a friend want to ruin her life?