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you will remain lucid until he passes sentence again and invites you to comment.”
    â€œIf he’s already sentenced me, I don’t need to go back to that courtroom,” I protested, still rubbing the knot on my forehead. It didn’t take long for it to become as numb as the rest of my body.
    â€œThe court has to be thorough. You fainted before the judge had finished making his comments. I guess this is not your day,” Debra said in a weary voice. “I guess the judge is having a bad day, too. He wants to make an example of you….”
    â€œI have to spend three months down here in prison?” I asked, struggling to sit up.
    Debra dropped her head and nodded.
    â€œI did all I could do for you. I am so very sorry, Mrs. Webb.” Debra’s eyes were red and swollen. It was obvious that she’d had a bad night herself. She had lost her daughter to a system that few people could understand. Now she was losing me, too. To another system that few people could understand.

CHAPTER 7
    U nlike a lot of the Black girls that I knew growing up in Ohio, near Cleveland, I had a pretty good life. Even after my daddy died from stomach cancer when I was thirteen. Mama was eight months pregnant with my baby sister, Frankie, at the time. I missed my daddy, but I was thankful that I still had Mama and a lot of other relatives in the area.
    Mama always made sure I had everything I needed. She collected Social Security for Frankie and me, but she also worked part time. Frankie and I never had to wear secondhand clothes or eat meals purchased with food stamps.
    I put myself through college by working three part-time jobs and falling back on a couple of student loans. That was enough, but Mama still insisted on doing all she could for me. “I don’t want nobody running around here feeling sorry for us,” Mama told me more times than I could count.
    There were times when all Mama could spare was some loose change. She wouldn’t take no for an answer when I tried to refuse to take it from her, telling me, “These few pennies ain’t much, but it’s a few pennies more than you got.” I was lucky that I’d been raised by a generous and caring woman like Mama. It made me have a lot of hope in mankind.
    My love life was average, but by the time I’d finished college, I was ready to settle down and start a family. Mama had told me that it would be nice to settle down with a man who could take care of me, but she expected me to always be able to support myself, too. I looked forward to my future.
    I had just started teaching second grade at Butler Elementary when I met Inez McPherson. The year before, she had opened Soulful Nails, the first Black-owned nail shop in our neighborhood. It was in a strip mall between the office of a gynecologist and a popular beauty shop, so there was a steady stream of women in the area at all times. Business was good for Inez. The shop was always neat and clean. There was a large TV, reading material, and restroom facilities to accommodate her customers. And most of them tipped well.
    Other than our nails, Inez and I didn’t have much in common. But we hit it off right away. I enjoyed her company a lot more than I enjoyed the company of my other friends and my family. I was twenty-two, and she was the only person in my life who treated me like an adult at the time. Mama had a key to my place, and she’d sneak in during the week to do my laundry and clean the little one-bedroom apartment I rented above a candy store. No matter how much I told her not to, she never left my place without leaving a pot of something that she’d cooked on my stove. “Girl, you ought to be glad I come over here and cook you a mess of greens every week,” she’d tell me. “This way, I know you eating at least one decent meal every week.” I didn’t like to argue with my mother. I rarely won, anyway. No matter what the outcome, it did