The People vs. Cashmere Read Online Free PDF Page A

ear.
    A weird pain came into my chest. “Mama,” I said quietly. I sidestepped some of the glass and tapped her gently on her shoulder.
    She didn’t budge. “I’ll be there!” she yelled into the phone. Then she turned around to face me, her face streaked with tears and snot. She was breathing hard and sniffing. She looked at me and slammed the phone into the wall.
    â€œMama! What is it?”
    â€œCashmere, Desmond was in an accident, and he’s in the hospital. And it’s serious.”
    Mama’s crying was fucking driving me crazy and putting my nerves on edge as we drove to the hospital. I was crying too, but not like her. My crying was silent. And it was pissing me off too. So each time I felt a tear drop, I scratched it off my face. My sister pissed me off too, ’cause she was way too calm about the situation. She wasn’t doing shit, except snoring on the back seat. The nerve of that bitch.
    But then again I think I was just trying to make myself angry, just build up anger so there was no room anywhere in me for pain, ’cause, truth be told, we didn’t know what to expect as we made our way to the Kaiser Hospital.
    â€œCashmere,” Mama said in a hoarse voice and parked the car. “Wake your sister up.”
    â€œDesiree, get up.” When she didn’t budge, I reached over and punched her in the arm. “Wake up!”
    She woke with a start. “Bitch!”
    I ignored her and jumped out the front seat and closed the door behind me. I glanced at Mama. Her hands were shaking as she puffed on a cigarette. She ground it out with her shoe.
    Desiree hopped out of the backseat and followed behind us as we walked to the hospital entrance and went directly to the lobby to the reception area. The farther we walked in the hospital, the more fearful I got. I was biting on my lip so hard, it started bleeding.
    We stood at the reception booth waiting for the receptionist to acknowledge us. When she didn’t, Mama said quietly, “I’m here to see my husband.”
    She looked at Mama before staring at a list. “Well, let’s see. There’s no husband on my list of patients on the pop sheet,” she replied sarcastically.
    â€œBitch!” I fired, “you betta check yourself, talking to my mom like that!”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œMy sister said bitch , ’cause that’s what you are,” Desiree said, calmly rolling her neck in a half-circle. “Now read that chart, fat ass, and tell us what fucking room he’s in or get fucked up!”
    We stepped to her, both our fists were balled up.
    She turned red and took a step back.
    Mama grabbed our shirts gently and pulled us back. “Move, girls. His name is Desmond Pierce,” she said softly.
    â€œRoom 113,” the receptionist said stiffly, as Desiree and I continued to glare at her.
    â€œYou lucky my husband is sick, else I’d mop this muthafucka with your shiny-ass face. Come on, girls.”
    Wasn’t shit could prepare us for what we saw, or that shit the doctor told us about Daddy when we stepped into his room.
    He shook Mama’s hand. “I’m Doctor Polanski. Ma’am, there’s really no easy way to say this. Desmond fell asleep at the wheel of his truck, and it flipped over on the ramp. Right now all I can say is, your husband is paralyzed in every sense of the word. He can’t move or talk, ma’am. I believe he is also in shock.”
    â€œOh dear Lord, no!”
    My hands went numb, a sob stuck in my throat, and my head was clammy and sweaty. I had no strength in me to cry when he said that shit. Mama couldn’t stop moaning, and Desiree couldn’t stop cursing. With each step to Daddy’s room, my heart was slowing down. I thought I was going to pass out.
    Then suddenly Mama did, and me and Desiree had to catch her before she hit the floor.
    â€œMama, wake up,” I sobbed. “Wake