A Girl Named Mister

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A Girl Named Mister Page 5

by Nikki Grimes

on her own.

  You shouldn’t try

  handling this alone.”

  I dropped my eyes,

  grabbed my books,

  and ran.

  Team Spirit

  Coach says

  I have none

  since I’m leaving the team

  at the end of the season,

  just before the biggest game.

  “You looking to play

  in the city club off-season?

  ‘Cause I gotta tell ya,

  this ain’t the way

  to hold your spot.”

  What can I say?

  Sorry, Coach, but I can’t play

  because I’m pregnant?

  Forget it.

  So I just shrug and leave Coach

  shaking his head.

  And when Sethany finds out,

  she stares me down

  like I stabbed her in the back.

  But I’ve got no choice.

  I can’t tell them why.

  I can’t even

  tell myself.

  Too Tender

  They ache.

  This morning

  strapping on my bra

  causes way too many

  decibels of pain.

  If anyone so much as

  bumps into me,

  they’d better plan

  their eulogy.

  Daydream

  Any day now

  my period will start.

  Any day now

  menstrual cramps will crush

  the kernels of fear

  quickly greening in me

  like saplings.

  Any day now

  I’ll be plain old fifteen again,

  a girl passing silly notes in class,

  giggling at the sight

  of condoms.

  Wish-less

  Cake or no cake,

  I knew I was too old

  for wishing.

  36B

  I study myself in the shower,

  unable to deny

  my breasts are bigger,

  just like they show you

  in those sex-ed movies.

  I hold them up,

  figure they must be

  a 36B now.

  It’s almost funny.

  I used to wish for this.

  Nobody Told Me, and If They Did, I Forgot

  Why do I even bother

  leaving the bathroom?

  Leaving home?

  I might as well

  hang a sign around my neck:

  Warning: Steer clear.

  Girl about to barf.

  Silent Lie

  I hope Mom doesn’t make a habit

  of coming home early.

  “I know the regular season’s over,

  but doesn’t your volleyball club

  practice today?” she asks.

  Here’s where lying

  would come in handy.

  I try another tack,

  pretend not to hear her,

  then hurry to my room,

  calling over my shoulder,

  “Homework!”

  Punishment

  What else would you call it?

  I know girls

  who have sex every day

  and walk away.

  Me, I break God’s law once,

  and look what it gets me.

  If this isn’t punishment,

  I’m missing the point.

  But then I think of Mary,

  who God gave a baby

  just because he wanted to,

  and she didn’t do anything wrong.

  So maybe punishment

  is not the point

  after all.

  I don’t know, Lord.

  I don’t know anything, right now.

  Color me confused,

  and scared.

  Ad

  I feel like

  one of those ladies

  in the commercial

  about allergies.

  She’s walking around in a fog,

  and everything is fuzzy,

  especially around the edges,

  and no matter

  how many times she blinks,

  nothing seems clear.

  That’s how it is for me.

  I don’t want anybody

  to notice, though.

  So I try to smile

  when I catch anyone

  looking at me,

  and I keep going

  through the motions.

  Mirror

  I used to love

  the full-length mirror

  on my bedroom door.

  Not anymore.

  Sleepless

  I wake in the middle of the night,

  fingers fluttering over my rising belly.

  My mind is split between

  worry and wonder.

  This inchworm of a life

  taking root in me

  is suddenly real.

  How did I get here?

  How could I be so stupid?

  What am I going to do now?

  I reach for Mary, Mary,

  searching for answers,

  but the words all blur.

  How many tears are left in me

  is anybody’s guess.

  All I know is,

  I had enough to last me

  through the night.

  Bedtime

  Home again,

  I hurry to my chamber.

  My cloak barely hides

  the changing contour

  of my belly.

  Soon enough I will look

  as though I swallowed the moon.

  I must tell Joseph

  that the life nesting in me

  was placed there by Jehovah.

  But why would he believe?

  What if, convinced I have broken

  God’s holy law,

  he drags me before the priest,

  has me judged and sentenced

  to be stoned?

  What if-

  The bloodied face of Salome

  floats to the surface of my mind.

  Stop it! Stop it!

  I order myself.

  Where is your faith?

  Do you truly believe

  God Almighty would bless you

  to carry his son,

  then stand idly by

  while both your lives are taken?

  I bow my head,

  soak in the silence,

  and wait for my heart to slow.

  Lord, forgive me.

  I know you will protect us.

  Please ready me for

  whatever trials lie ahead.

  Good News

  Wringing my hands,

  I wait by the well

  at the foot of the last tel

  Joseph must climb

  on his way home.

  He is pleased,

  though surprised,

  to see me.

  We trade holy kisses

  and mount the hill in silence.

  Joseph is the first to speak.

  “What brings you out

  to meet me?”

  “Well, I-I, uhm-”

  “Yes?”

  I look around,

  then lead the way

  to a grove of olive trees

  where we can be alone.

  “Mary,” says Joseph,

  “why are you being

  so mysterious?”

  “Joseph,” I whisper,

  “do you believe in

  the mysterious?”

  Before he can answer,

  I squeeze out the truth.

  Once the words

  are in the air,

  Joseph stares at me, silent.

  The weight of the pain

  and doubt in his eyes

  presses me to the ground

  and holds me there

  till I feel faint

  and finished.

  Aftermath

&nb
sp; At long last,

  Joseph finds his voice.

  I tremble at the sound of it.

  In pinched tones, he says,

  “I care for you, Mary,

  and will not turn you over

  to the priest.

  But come tomorrow,

  I will give you papers

  of divorcement.

  You will then be free to go

  wherever you wish,

  only please,

  go from here.”

  A tear on his cheek,

  Joseph turns his back on me

  and heads for my father’s house,

  our hearts blending

  with the darkness.

  Wrath

  God, you must be

  mad as hell.

  I made you a promise

  and stomped on it.

  Go ahead.

  Tell me you’re angry.

  I know I’d be.

  Can’t stand to look at me?

  That makes two of us.

  Lonely Night

  My bed and pillow both

  seem made of rocks.

  There is no sleep to be found.

  Even my thoughts toss and turn.

  If I were still a little girl,

  I could curl up next to Mother,

  let her tell me

  everything will be alright.

  Lord Jehovah,

  please be my mother

  tonight.

  Fat

  Who will want me?

  No more tight abs to show off

  at the beach.

  No slender waist to catch

  a cute boy’s eye.

  Four months and look at me!

  Soon, I won’t be able to see

  my feet anymore.

  Or, I could be lucky

  and stay pretty small, like all

  the women in our family.

  Yeah. Like I’ve been lucky so far.

  Look at me! I’m hideous!

  There’s not much to do about it

  except cover all the mirrors

  in my room,

  and race past

  all the rest.

  Comfort

  I crawl into bed,

  pull Mary’s words to my chin

  like a warm blanket.

  Her faith is so strong.

  Maybe if I keep close

  it just might rub off.

  Morning Has Broken

  I.

  I rise

  like any other morning,

  inviting Jehovah

  into my day.

  “Shalom, Father,” I whisper.

  Whatever waits for me

  is at Jehovah’s choosing,

  and I chose, long ago,

  to put my trust in Him.

  II.

  Joseph arrives at my door

  before breakfast,

  no parchment of divorce

  in either hand.

  “Mary,” he says,

  eyes gleaming with new light,

  “in the dead of night,

  in the deepest heart of sleep,

  an angel came

  and told me

  all the words you spoke

  were true.

  He said that

  I should marry you

  as planned.”

  The sun and I stand still.

  “And?”

  I wait, and wait,

  and wait until

  Joseph, my Joseph,

  sings out,

  “I will!”

  If Only

  Alone on the rooftop,

  I mourn the sunset.

  I am in no great haste

  to keep the promise

  I made myself at sunrise:

  to tell my parents.

  If only Joseph’s angel

  would speak to them first!

  Joseph kindly offered

  to stand with me.

  Yet, I declined. This

  I must do on my own.

  But what words can I use

  to convince my parents that

  everything will be alright?

  Raised in God’s shadow,

  nursed on the Mosaic Law,

  I have been a regular at Temple

  all my life,

  have daily listened to

  my mother humming psalms

  as she grinds meal for flatbread.

  I have priests for kinsmen,

  and am daughter to

  a righteous man.

  So how, Lord,

  am I to tell my parents

  that their unmarried daughter

  is with child?

  And once my words shatter

  their dreams for me,

  will they ever be able

  to look me in the eye again?

  I breathe deep,

  descend the stairs,

  and pull Gabriel’s words round me

  like a cloak.

  One look at my face

  and my mother draws near.

  “Mary? What is it, child?”

  My tears come quickly.

  “Oh, Mother!”

  Fear

  Ask me what I fear most:

  my mother’s eyes

  welling with disappointment,

  wondering where

  she’d gone wrong.

  Their Eyes

  They watch me now.

  They do not mean for me to notice,

  but I do.

  I wish I had some remedy

  for their disbelief

  and disappointment.

  I cannot decide

  which hurts worse.

  Watching

  These days,

  I feel Mom’s eyes on me

  every time I leave a room.

  Some mornings,

  she’s Lois Lane

  grilling me over Frosted Flakes:

  “I haven’t seen that shirt before.”

  “Is that the new style,

  shirt hanging out your pants?”

  “Don’t girls wear belts anymore?”

  “Honey, are you gaining a little weight?”

  Sometimes, she’s Superman,

  still as stone,

  mum as Clark Kent,

  but looking for all the world

  like she’s got

  X-ray vision.

  That’s when I know

  I can’t keep the truth from her

  forever.

  Warm-Up

  Lately,

  every day after school

  I speed-walk round the track

  once or twice,

  doing my best to dodge

  all the boys warming up

  for baseball practice.

  So what if I can’t play

  my own sport right now?

  I refuse to grow

  gross and flabby

  just because.

  Eyes straight ahead,

  I charge past

  a clump of kids

  and leave them

  eating my dust.

  [email protected]

  “i’m pregnant,” I write.

  “i guessed,” answered Sethany.

  “there had 2 be some reason

  ur sick all the time.

  other kids notice 2 btw.

  i was just waiting

  4 u 2 tell me,

  on ur own.”

  “yeah. well, i don’t know

  how i’m gonna tell my mom.”

  “what did trey say?”

  “didn’t tell him yet, either.”

  “what r u waiting 4?”

  I’m not sure

  how to answer that.

  Eventually, I type in

  “armageddon.”

  Friend

  “Shalom!”

  A voice melodious as a lyre

  fills the family courtyard.

  There is only one person it could be.

  I throw my arms around Hadassah,


  my girlhood friend.

  As ever, I am happy when

  she comes to visit me.

  She greets my parents before

  we climb to the roof

  for a leisurely hour

  of weaving and conversation.

  After trading ordinary news,

  we work side by side,

  silent at our hand looms

  while the sun lavishes her warmth

  on our spring afternoon.

  Too soon, though,

  the silence grows heavier than

  I am used to.

  Hadassah is the first

  to shatter the stillness.

  “You have changed

  since I saw you last,” she says,

  noticing that I am larger

  than she remembers,

  though not knowing why.

  Thankfully, the billowing

  folds of my garment

  do much to hide my belly

  four months swollen with child.

  I wave off Hadassah’s comment,

  as if there were

  no truth to it,

  and weave on,

  wondering if she will

  press the point.

  Thankfully, she does not.

  Yet, I can almost feel her

  penetrating stare,

  hungry for the one secret

  I can never share.

  But suddenly I realize

  the perfect way

  to throw her off the scent.

  “Have I mentioned

  that Joseph and I

  are soon to wed?”

  Hadassah’s hands leave the loom

  long enough to clap for joy.

  “I knew it!” she cries.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Gone Shoppin’

  I try on shirts

  with Sethany for company.

  She stares at me,

  stares at my reflection

  in the mirror,

  eyes lingering on

  my lower half.

  She makes faces

  at my belly

  till I have to laugh.

  Of course, we both know

  there’s nothing funny

 

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