Jordan Belcher - Status

Then I went to Rodrick’s and read his status.

I couldn’t help but think it was directed toward me. It was sad. He was trying to force me to forgive him by using a scripture. A trademark Rodrick Brown move: make somebody else feel guilty to get his way. I wanted to comment on his status and ask him how many times was a person supposed to forgive a habitual liar and cheater, but I knew he’d respond with something slick and we’d go back and forth over the internet and both end up looking like idiots. I thought about changing my relationship status—he’d get the picture then. But I knew if I changed it, guys would be messaging me like crazy and I didn’t want any new attention right now.

And, I hated to admit… deep down… I wanted to see if Rodrick would get a wake-up call this time and see that I was the woman he needed. I know I’d said I didn’t care if I ever saw him again… well, it still held true if he didn’t change.

“You always on yo phone.”

I looked up and saw Stuart Bradshaw sitting across from me. He was the security guard over the DMV. Eagerly, he started taking the clear wrap off his bowl of turkey salad.

“So?” I said jokingly.

“You know I got handcuffs, right?”

“And I got pepper spray.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

He laughed. And after gobbling down a few forkfuls of salad, he said, “Ruth told me to keep an eye on you. She told me to tell her if I saw you on your phone while on the clock.”

“I hate that B.”

“Me too. I wonder if she got somebody watching me to see when I get on my phone.”

I chuckled. Stuart was my Site friend also, though he rarely made updates. His girlfriend, Joanne Dunley, however, posted every five minutes, it seemed. And they were some of the bitterest stats ever. It seemed like every other day she had an issue in her life—car broke down, dog died, airborne virus, stress bumps. I was surprised Stuart was still with her.

“How’s Joanne?” I asked.

Shaking his head, he replied, “I don’t know. She’s at home right now looking for a job. She got fired for writing up the owner. I told her not to do that.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. And I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to yo daughter’s birthday party. I had to go get her car fixed and when I went to pay for it, her card got denied and I didn’t have mine on me—”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand what you’re dealing with.”

“Thank you,” he said.

He finished his meal and got up to leave. Before he walked out the break room, he turned back toward me with a knowing grin.

“I’ll see you later, Mayweather.”

I blushed. But how could I be surprised that he’d seen the video?

My phone beeped in my hand. I had a notification. When I clicked on it, I saw that Rodrick had tagged me in his status update about forgiveness. Now the stat showed up on my profile page. He was trying to make sure I saw it, and I know he wanted me to respond.

I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure.

When I walked in the new daycare center, I had no idea where the kids were. I had no idea where anybody was. The place was empty.

“Hello?” I said softly.

I pushed through the first set of doors I saw and was surprised to see at least thirty kids sitting on the floor, legs crossed, paying close attention to the police officer at the front. I thought this was some kind of drill until one of the staff members came up to me.

Her eyes were full of grief. “Which child is yours?”

My eyes scanned the rows of kids. I didn’t see Kylie.

“I don’t see her,” I said.

The woman swallowed. “Was her name Kylie Brown?”

Was? I repeated to myself, looking confused. Why was she speaking about my daughter in the past tense?

“Her name is Kylie Brown?” I corrected her. “What’s going on?”

“Your child is missing.”

I called Rodrick to find out if he picked Kylie up. When he told me he didn’t even know where the daycare was, the reality of my daughter being kidnapped became very real. My chest felt tight, skin started to perspire, and I felt dizzy all of a sudden.

I had to sit down. But as soon as the police officer pulled out a chair for me, I shot back to my feet. “Find my daughter now!”

“That’s what we’re trying to do,” said the officer, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Calm down. Is there anybody else who could’ve picked her up?”

My mind raced. And then a surge of hope went through me. Why didn’t I think of her sooner? I called my mother fast and asked her did she have Kylie.

“No,” my mother said, and my heart sank. “Am I supposed to?”

“These people at this daycare can’t find her. Momma, I’ma loose it here in about ten seconds!”

“Have you called Rodrick yet?” she asked with panic in her voice.

“I just talked to him. He didn’t even know where the fuckin’ daycare was. Momma, what am I supposed to do?!”

“She’s probably just hiding somewhere. You know she likes to hide. It’s her first day at that daycare. Maybe she went off by herself and got lost.”

I watched a parent walk past with two of her kids, straight out the door. The rest of the kids were still sitting on the floor. They looked restless, probably would rather be playing. Tears started to come down my cheeks.

“Momma, I’ma call you back.”

“I’m on my way. Keep it together, Tyesha.”

I put the phone in my pocket and threw my hands up helplessly. “I don’t know where she is. I need to find her. I need my daughter! ”

I collapsed into the seat and started sobbing into my hands.

The cop said, “Are you sure no one else could have picked her up?”

“No!” I shouted. “What kind of place would let anybody come get her? There are only three people that are allowed to pick her up—myself, Velma Fenty, and Rodrick Brown. None of them have her!”

The same daycare staff member that told me my child was missing came over after the cop called her. He asked her a couple questions about the safety precautions they used to make sure kids didn’t fall into the wrong hands. According to policy, anybody coming to pick up a child had to sign off. Nobody signed for Kylie.

Then the lady told us some news that stirred me to the core.

“One of the children mentioned that they saw Kylie leave out the back with a man. I’m not sure how accurate a 5-year-old can be, but I don’t want to leave it out if it helps.”

I instantly responded, “What did the man look like?”

“He said the man had a light skin color and was tall. But to a 5-year-old, everybody’s tall, right?”

The cop started to open his mouth to ask her a question but I cut him off. “Where is the boy?” I asked hurriedly.

She led us to the back of the seated children and pointed to a Black boy with a stylish design in his head, fingering for him to come over. He got up and walked over in a casual pace. He blinked at us all, just an innocent child. But to me he could possibly be my daughter’s savior.

“What complexion was he, baby?” I questioned. “Was he light like this woman here?” I asked, touching the staff member’s arm next to me, a white woman with a pasty skin tone. “Or was his complexion more like mine?”

The boy scrunched his face, thinking hard as his eyes jumped between us both.

Me and the staff member’s skin color were close. I hadn’t had much sun lately, other than the pool party, so my hue was on the lighter side. But clearly our tones were different. I still had color, more of a warm yellow. The staff member had almost no color, nearly pure white. And up her forearms her skin was dotted with tiny sun spots, which made her skin look even whiter.