Baby Girl

Casydi

I’m just your typical American teenager, except I’m not into frills. My name is Casydi Williams, but I prefer Cass. I’m nothing extraordinary, really. I was always the target of the bullies in the orphanage. They loved to call me “Oreo.” My eyes are unusually large.

They’re a unique shade of teal with specks of gold. That’s the first thing people notice about me. My skin is mulatto, whatever that means. Georgina once called me that. My long, wavy, brown hair falls to the small of my back. My nose sports a stud.

My ears are adorned with gold hoops all the way up on both sides, and my right brow has another gold hoop.

I got sick of being the constant target as a kid, so I got the piercings to give me a tough look. I usually wore torn jeans, tank tops, and black combat boots. For the most part, it worked.

My mom was a beautiful woman with chocolate skin, her name was Aayla Williams. She got pregnant with me when she was 18, by her boss. She didn’t tell him about the pregnancy before she ran away.

She didn’t want him to know anything about me. She never really told me much about my dad, other than she was scared of him and that he was a powerful man. I don’t even know his name.

She changed her name to Anna Jones. It's a very common name, so as an alias it should keep us safe. Mom had me using the Jones name too. We moved every year around my birthday, so he wouldn’t find us.

She was certain he was looking for her.

My mom died in a car accident when I was 5. It was my first day of kindergarten. I remember waiting for her, holding my teacher’s hand. All the other kids had already left.

My teacher took me to the principal’s office and sat me down. The principal came out with a woman in a tacky dress suit, Georgina. I didn’t like her, in fact I despised her. She was my caseworker.

She always wore a horrible perfume that smelled like an old lady’s armpit. It always made my nose wrinkle. The principal told me about my mom, then he sent me on my way with the unpleasant, smelly woman.

I was scared and sad, but I didn’t cry.

I didn’t have any family, so I got placed with a family that already had four kids. I remember staying there for only a short time. The three boys were mean to me and their little sister.

When the oldest one, the nine-year-old, took his sister's doll, she cried. I told him to give it back, but he shoved me down instead. I hit the back of my head on a metal bed frame. I jumped up and scratched his face. I must have scratched him pretty hard because he bled.

He ran off crying to his mom, saying I scratched him for no reason. After getting a belt to my butt, one for each scratch mark, they sent me back to Georgina, claiming I had “anger issues.”

They may have been right, I was always angry. I was placed with six other families before Georgina said I was a pain in her ass. To get rid of me, she put me in an orphanage.

I ran away from the orphanage the day after my 14th birthday. Mikey, an older boy at the orphanage, liked to try to touch me and the other girls. He was big, but I always pushed him away. I told Georgina about him, but she didn’t care.

She said I was being over dramatic, and that I just wanted attention. For my birthday Mikey wanted to give me “something special.” He got behind me while I was in my room. He put one arm around my waist, pinning me to him.

His other hand shot down the front of my top, grabbing my breast. “Happy birthday, Oreo. I have something for you,” he said, his foul breath hot on my neck.

I elbowed him in the gut, then clawed the front of his basketball shorts, causing blood to drip down his leg. I don’t think he’ll try that move again, but it was still my breaking point. I'd had enough.

I hitchhiked across four states to get to Wyoming. There, I found a little diner. I was hungry so I stopped in, and I never left.

Zeke owned the place. He was a large, bald man with a heart of gold. I don’t mean fat either. He was tall and incredibly fit with big muscles. He could be really intimidating, but I knew better. He took one look at me and knew I was a runaway. “Hey there baby girl, what can I get for you?”

I sat at the counter on a stool. I read over the menu; everything sounded so good. I didn’t have much money so I settled on a Dr. Pepper. I remembered my mom drinking them all the time. I hadn’t had a soda since being with her.

He set the soda in front of me along with a club sandwich. I looked up at him, fearful. I couldn’t pay for it. “On the house.” He winked at me and smiled.

I tore into the sandwich; I was so hungry. It was the best thing I ever tasted. “You want some fries?” My mouth was full so I just nodded. “Where are you from?”

He placed a plate of fries in front of me. I wiped my face and swallowed. “California.” He nodded. “Where are you headed?” I really didn’t know. I just wanted to get out of that place.

“Away.” He hmphed. “You got a name?” I don’t know why, but I felt like I could trust this gigantic man. “Cass Williams.” I decided to go back to my real name, the one my mother gave me. I was done with that old life.

Zeke offered me a job at the diner and a place to stay. His only condition: I had to graduate high school. I was glad to agree. I would be free for the first time since my mom.

I took summer classes and graduated early. I had just turned 16. I never made friends at school because I didn’t care to; I just wanted to finish. Zeke was my only real friend.

He was more like a dad to me, the only person in this world I cared about and who cared about me.

The weekend after graduating, I had a really nasty customer. He came in and sat in my section. There was nothing special about him; he was pretty average. Average build, average height, average looks.

I greeted him, told him about the specials, asked for his drink order, the usual. His reply: “don’t let your nappy hairs get in my drink. In fact, get me something in a bottle, that way I know you don’t poison me, ni**er.” At first, I was shocked.

People don’t toss around that word in polite company. It’s just not right. No one’s ever had the nerve to call me such a crude, tasteless, and disrespectful name. The more I mulled over the word, the hotter my anger burned. “Well, don’t just stand there, get your sorry ass moving.”

I was seeing red! My hands curled into fists, my jaw tightened. Suzie, the petite, red-haired waitress, spotted me. “Cass, I need you.” Her cool, gentle touch on my arm made me jump. I seized him by the collar, yanking him out of his seat.

I wanted to wreck his face. To show him just how worthless and pitiful he was. My fist was primed to wipe that stupid surprised look off his face.

A hand as big as a bear’s paw caught my fist mid-swing, while an arm as solid as a steel bar wrapped around my waist. “You get your pansy ass out of my diner, and never come back. If I ever see you again, I’ll personally toss you out like the garbage you are.”

Zeke dragged me through the back of the diner. He plunked me down in a chair behind the building, where we took our breaks. He was pacing in front of me like a trapped beast. His eyes were filled with murderous intent.

He was livid! I clung to the sides of the chair to keep myself seated. I knew I was done for. I had finally found happiness and now it was slipping away. Just like that, I lost everything I had worked so hard for.

All because of that racist jerk. I hung my head, shaking it in disappointment, my eyes squeezed shut. I won’t cry.

He stopped in front of me and took a few deep, calming breaths. “Baby girl, are you okay?” My head jerked up, surprised, speechless. Zeke continued, “I heard what that bastard said to you. I almost let you hit him, but there were kids in the booth behind you.”

Okay, I cried. A tear slipped from my eye and I sprang up, wrapping my arms around Zeke. No one ever stood up for me. He truly did care about me. I wasn’t fired. I still had a job. I still had a home.

He rubbed my back, comforting me. “I’m alright now. Thank you, Zeke.” He kissed the top of my head and let me go. “Good. Take a few, get yourself calmed down, and come back in when you’re ready.”

I nodded and sat back down while he went back inside. After a few deep breaths, I pulled some napkins from my apron to clean my face up. When I was calm and ready to go in, I stood up and dusted myself off.

I reached for the door handle, but I was shoved from behind. My lip hit the lock, causing it to split open. I spun around to face my attacker. “So the little nigger thinks she’s tough, huh.” He swung, hitting me in the jaw.

He caught me off guard, but I quickly recovered. He swung again, but I was faster. I ducked his blow, just barely. I punched him in the nose. It hurt my hand, but he grabbed his face, screaming. “You fucking bitch!” I made a better fist and connected to his head, near his ear.

He crumpled to the ground. Zeke burst the door open and went straight for the guy. He grabbed him by the throat, hoisting him in the air. “You done fucked up, son. Your dumb ass is going to jail.” Just then the Sheriff rounded the corner.

Zeke practically tossed the guy into the sheriff’s arms. “I got video and witnesses. I’m pressing charges and so is she.” The Sheriff looked at me for confirmation. I nodded in agreement.

Zeke put his arm around my shoulders, kissed the top of my head, and led me inside. He sat me down and attended to my lip; I had forgotten it was bleeding. “You’re a tough little cuss, but your fighting skills are crap.” I chuckled. He always knew just what to say.

“Are you going to teach me, old man?” I teased him. “You’re damn right I will,” he answered with a serious tone. Then he placed a Dr. Pepper float in front of me. “Drink up. It’ll help you feel better.” Dr. Pepper was my favorite, but I’d never had it in a float. It was amazing.

After that, Zeke trained me to fight. He had me run a mile every day. He wanted me to build up my stamina. Once the mile became easier, he increased it to five miles.

He had me lifting weights to get me stronger. He taught me fighting stances and how to punch, kick, and block. He even got me a punching bag and hung it in the break area. Sometimes we would spar, but he always won. He would never just hand over a win.

I was getting pretty good. He even told me so, but he expected me to keep training, to never stop. “Once you stop training, you get sloppy,” he would say. He would check on me once in a while to make sure I stuck to it. Of course, I did. I was determined, and I was damn good.