Tainted angel
Dwayne Jones Jr.
“Until the lion writes his own story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” The Soy Autor writing process was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2016, this innovative program launched at Cook County Jail with young men awaiting trial for violent offenses.Through the process of drafting, revising, illustrating and publishing memoirs, the Authors’ Circle develops reflection, critical thinking, literacy skills, conflict resolution and positive self-projection.
In collaboration with:
Cook County Sheriff’s Office
Tainted Angel Dwayne Jones Jr.
It was Christmas Day.
My mom, dad, brother Cortavius, little sister Ebony and two baby brothers Tywon and Josh, and my little niece Amya were toge ther in my sister’s room at the hospital. We all had our heads
down, tears running down our faces, dreadfully praying for her
to make it. It was her third day on life support from brain surgery.
We prayed for her existence. I stood on her left side, rubbing her arm and hand to see if she would make a facial expression. She didn’t. But I looked closely to her face. Her mouth was open as
well as her eyes. It hurt me that she wasn’t responding or talking. I continued to rub her arm.
“I love you, Teisha.”
I seen a couple of tears fall from her face and I knew that my sister could hear me.
Soon after, the doctor came in. “We have to take her off life support.� We all knew it was too early. When they pulled the plug, Teisha quickly flat lined.
Everybody broke down in tears. I broke down. The loss and confusion of how she just passed away.
We all said our goodbyes to Teisha and left. I drove the 30
minute ride from Hennipin County Hospital back home with
my mom. As we pulled up to the house, my mom and siblings were crying. Amya didn’t even know what had happened to her mother.
We walked up the stairs going up into the porch. I look down and to the right. I can see a couple pairs of Teisha’s shoes on the floor. I continued walking in the house. I see pictures of her when she was younger until now.
My body and my heart wouldn’t let my brain reconstruct itself to actually let me know my sister is really gone. As I look at her pictures I remember how sweet she used to be to me.
Teisha used to go shopping. She always would take me to the Mall of America to get on the rides and take me out to eat. I felt so
comfortable with Teisha, that I could do and tell her anything.
When I was 11 years old, my sister Teisha met this guy, Mr.
Price. Teisha was just 16. He was 20. I always thought he was
a bad influence, the way he dressed and how much drugs and
alcohol she told me he used. But I’d always see my sister happy, and that’s what mattered to me.
A couple months later, she got pregnant. She’d just turned 17, had started working at Macy’s and was going to school at the
same time. When she was six or seven months pregnant, Teisha got her own apartment and took eight months off for vacation.
Teisha had delivered my precious niece Amya Price. My mother was with her through the entire birth. Two days later, Teisha
was back at home with Amya. I was dying to see her, to be the best uncle in the world.
She was my everything, my first niece. Teisha was doing her best, taking care of Amya on her own. She supported Amya. Clothes. Shoes. Food. And a roof over her head.
And Mr. Price‌he was just there.
When Amya was almost three, Teisha started having money
problems and moved back with my mom. She’d lost her job. She’d quit school.
Did she give up on life or this is how it is being in a relationship with a child?
I saw my sister stressing out cause of no job. She was losing
weight, wearing big black shades to cover her black eyes from her abusive relationship with her boyfriend.
I was heartbroken that my sister was getting treated like this.
How long would this go on with nobody doing nothing about it? My sister wasn’t talking like she used to and black marks
appeared on her arms, chest, legs and back. A few on her face, as if somebody was trying to put cigarettes out on her.
I felt depressed and sad that she couldn’t share her story with me, like I had mine with her.
Amya’s third birthday was the happiest day I ever seen my sister. Dressed in an all red jogging suit with white shoes, preparing all the food for everybody at the party, especially the kids.
In the backyard Amya and all the kids were in the bouncy house, jumping around. Amya and Tywon couldn’t barely
stand, Tywon got so mad that he bit another boy. So we had to take him out and put him in the car so he could think he was doing something better than the other kids, fake driving.
After that, I walked up the stairs of the back porch and through the back door. I walked down the hallway and into the living
room. I sat down and played a few video games to myself. As I played, I looked behind me and seen my sister putting in the candles into the cake on the dining room table.
I notice her losing weight. She was still chubby, but not like she used to be.
At 6:30pm everybody came into the house to sing Happy Birthday. They got cake and ice cream with a hot plate to take home.
Two months later, in September, my mom and Cortavius, Ebony, Josh, Tywon and I moved to the other side of the neighborhood, to Girard from Irving. Teisha was still in the old house on Irving with only lights, a mattress and a TV in a six bedroom house with no furniture.
One day after school, I walked to my old house to check on
Teisha. I walked up the front porch stairs and knocked on the
door. Mr. Price answered. Asked was Teisha there. “Yeah,� he said, with alcohol in his breath and a bottle in his hand.
I walked through the door into the dining room and looked to the left in the living room. I saw my sister sitting on the end of the bed watching movie with junk food all on the floor. I walked into the living room and sat next to her and said, “Hey, Teisha. You all right?”
She didn’t say anything, just holding her stomach like she was sick. At that moment, I thought she was scared to tell me anything cause of the type of relationship she was in. That led me in suspense. She looked like she’d lost another 20 pounds.
Moments later, I see Amya running around with chips in her
hand, laughing, being a kid. So I give my sister a hug and told her “see you later, cause I got school tomorrow.� But the next day after school, I came home and see Amya there with my
mom. My mom told me Teisha was too sick to take care of her. So she has stayed with us ever since.
Two months later, on Teisha’s birthday, she came to my mom’s house to have some family time. I saw her whole figure had changed from plus size to skinny as a stick. She had trouble communicating and sometimes would write notes to tell us
something. The pain in my heart was unbearable, as if my soul sank down a monster earthquake and was trapped forever.
I was in 9th grade. Fourteen years old. And weighed more than her.
That day I wanted to go to the Mall of America to get a couple of Hollister shirts for school. She gave me $40, just enough for what I wanted. I told her thank you and Happy Birthday. She nodded her head and waved. I always knew Teisha cared for me and her family.
But she didn’t seem to want to tell us what was going on between her and Dujuan. I was worried.
A month later, on December 18, 2009, I told my mom I wanted to go live with my Dad for the first time in my life. While I was talking to my mom, I saw Teisha lying on the bed with a jacket, blue jeans and shoes, exhausted, just lying on her stomach. My mom let me go that same day to my dad’s house in Milwaukee, WI from Minneapolis, MN.
Just four days later, I got a phone call from my sister from
the Hennipin County Hospital, trying to talk with me. I gave my dad the phone to try to talk to her.
“Teisha broke out into a seizure.� The doctors got on the phone and said they had to give her medical attention.
That night, on the 22nd of December, my birthday, we drove eight hours to get to Minneapolis, MN from Milwaukee, WI to see Teisha. We made it to the hospital around 10pm. We walked into the front lobby and asked for Corteisha. They knew, and guided us to her room.
As we approached the room, I see tubes in my sister and a big patch on her head. I asked the doctor, “Did she hit her head or something?”
“No. We did brain surgery. At this time, she’s brain dead… If we take her off life support, she will die. Sorry.”
My heart dropped and I stared into space. Somebody very valuable and special to me was slowly drifting away.
My dad, his wife Toni, Auntie Tanya and Cortavius were in tears. So was I. We sat next to Teisha. She had enough power to
recognize my dad, Toni and me. She seen my dad and started
crying with no sound or facial expression. My dad started crying, too, and started to wipe Teisha’s tears away.
Teisha had enough power to reach out and wipe my dad’s
tears away. She slowly reached out and grabbed my dad’s left hand and started twisting his wedding ring.
It was like she wanted to know what it felt like to be married. OR what true love is.
Three days later, on Christmas, Teisha was still on life support.
Before she had movement. Now, there was no movement at all. What did she do to deserve this? I asked myself.
She stayed in school, then dropped out, worked and then quit because of sickness and money problems. She always stayed
home with her baby daddy. As I stood in the room with my sister Teisha, my family members were crying while little Amya and Tywon were running around.
My heart was in my stomach, being there for the last
moments with my sister. I stood next to Teisha the whole time I was there. I knew she would’ve done the same thing for me. Moments later, the doctor came in. “We have to pull the plug. It’s been too long.”
They pulled the plug.
She didn’t make it through.
About a year and a half later, my mom called. “The doctor told me the death report. The person she has having sexual
encounters with, that person was reloading her with AIDS every time they were intimate,” she said.
I knew Mr. Price was physically abusing my sister, but he also
ultimately gave her the disease that caused her death. I knew
my sister was strong, but I didn’t know everything she was going through. I didn’t know what I could do to help her. Now every Christmas I celebrate for Teisha and my precious niece.
Dwayne Jones Jr. has been a successful maker of music since the 10th grade. A high school graduate from the Milwaukee public school system, Mr. Jones knows the rewards found through hard work as he juggles three jobs in Chicago, IL.