by Landis Lain
“None of you black chicks heard of birth control?” asked the younger white girl in the group, angrily. She was skinny to the point of emaciation and dressed like a Goth with piercings and tattoos on every available inch of ghost white skin.
“See, Becky,” said Avery, point a finger. “You always want to make everything our fault.”
“Last time I checked,” said Becky, glowering darkly. “Sex minus birth control equals baby, every time. You’d never catch me doing it without protection.”
“You’re in the same shelter we are, Becky,” said Avery. “You’re no better than us black chicks.”
“I got beat up. That’s why I’m here,” said Becky. “Not because I keep forgetting to take my pill. And the name is Rebecca, Scar face.”
“Shut up, you-,”
“No name calling,” said Gail.
“She started it,” said Rebecca, rolling her eyes at Avery.
“No,” started Avery. “She-,”
“This is not productive,” interrupted Gail, holding up her hand. “And we refrain from making racial or personal slurs. We have talked about this. Belittling others is the beginning of the abuse cycle is it not?”
Avery and Rebecca had the grace to look ashamed.
“We were talking to Sasha.”
Everyone looked at Sasha. Sasha was silent for a long time, not breathing.
“Go ahead,” said Gail encouraging. Several murmured, go ahead, go ahead….
“I feel like-,” Sasha stopped and choked on her words.
“Take your time.” They all murmured it, this time, in unison.
“I feel like I failed, everything,” said Sasha, tears blurring her eyes. “I was pretty. I was smart. I got good grades. I was supposed to go to college and here I am, like - a statistic. Teenaged. Pregnant. Homeless.” She spit the words like bullets from a gun, sharp and staccato.
“Sounds like a reality show,” quipped someone. Everyone laughed, but it wasn’t really funny. Gail patted Sasha on the shoulder.
“I’m not Sixteen and Pregnant,” said Sasha. “I’m not on T.V. I’m not special. I’m just another sad, baby mama.”
“You are not a failure,” said Gail.
“You made a mistake, girlfriend,” said Suzie, the tall blond who had been silent until then. She had tears in her eyes. The others nodded.
“A poor decision,” said Rebecca.
“Mines is named Eduardo,” said Theresa. They each named their mistake by name in quiet solemn voices.
“We call that taking ownership,” said Gail. “We own up to our mistakes, to our poor decisions. It gives us power to make it better.”
“We set goals,” said Theresa.
“I just want to go to sleep and when I wake up the baby will be gone,” said Sasha. “Mama won’t be mad and-,”
“Gotta deal with reality, not fantasy,” said Avery, firmly. “You had the choice to get the baby gone.”
“And you didn’t take it,” said Suzie.
Sasha wiped tears from her cheeks with her hand. Gail passed her a box of tissues.
“Mama wanted me to have an abortion,” said Sasha. “I wasn’t doing that.”
“So, you are choosing to have a baby,” said Theresa.
“I don’t want a baby,” said Sasha. “I just don’t want to kill it.”
“Okay,” said Avery. “So maybe you can give it up for adoption.”
“I want it to go away. I wanna be in my bedroom, watching T.V. and talking to my friends on the phone,” said Sasha, chin quivering.
“That ship has sailed,” said Rebecca. “There is a no whining rule here.”
“It’s not productive,” said Avery. “Oh, shoot, I agreed with Becky. Bring on the Rapture!”
Rebecca scowled but said nothing else.
“I don’t even have my cell phone. I’m a failure,” Sasha buried her face in her hands.
“Sasha,” said Gail, soothing. “It is not a failure when you try and don’t reach your goal. It is practice. Practice makes excellent. That is what we talk about here. How old choices don’t have to define your entire future. You can do something different. You can still go to college. Still meet your goals. Be brand new.”
“I’m still gonna be stuck with a baby,” scoffed Sasha, voice muffled. “No job, no college.”
Avery snorted. “Plenty folks go to college with a baby. I got two. If I wasn’t running from crazy, I’d still be in college. I’m going back as soon as I figure out how to get away from his evil tail.”
“We have to have a plan,” said Gail. Everyone nodded. “Short and long term goals. Your short term goals are to make some decisions about you and this baby.”
“What about the boy?” asked Suzie. “He has some responsibility here.”
“He broke up with me,” mumbled Sasha.
“But does he know about the baby, chica?” asked Theresa. “Did you tell him?”
Sasha shook her head.
“You should tell him,” said Gail. “Maybe he can help.”
“Everyone is looking for a rescue!” snarled Rebecca. She stood up, fisting her black tipped fingers. “Don’t you people get it? Nobody cares. That’s why we are all here in this crack house of a shelter, whining to each other about our problems.”
“Don’t you mean meth house of a shelter?” asked Heather, rolling her eyes. “Wasn’t that your drug of choice?”
“Who is you people?” drawled Avery. “You think you are different from us, Rebecca?”
Rebecca shook her head. “No. That’s what is so messed up. Nobody cares about me any more than they care about you.” She turned and stomped out of the room.
“I can’t stand that girl,” said Avery, rolling her eyes. “She could kill hope in heaven.”
“She could definitely do with an attitude adjustment,” said Heather. “But she’s had it rough.”
“And the rest of us been living in luxury!” quipped Avery.
Everyone chuckled.
“Back to you,” said Gail, turning to Sasha. “You might want to let the young man know that he is going to be a father, no matter what else you decide to do.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Sasha, brightening. “Maybe he will be glad.”
“I doubt it,” said Avery. “But he might surprise you.”
“Hope, eh?” asked Theresa.
Sasha nodded her head. “I’ll think about it, hard.”
“Hope,” everyone murmured in unison.
Brielle
“Hey, Bri,” said Sammie, answering her cell phone.
“Hey, girl,” said Brielle. She had brooded all day about Damon. She’d finally finished swim practice and was at home sitting on her bed. She’d called Sammie first thing after finishing her homework. Sammie was her one friend that she could count on who wouldn’t spread her business around.
“What’s up?” asked Sammie, when Brielle didn’t immediately launch into her usual conversation about fashion or who was in love with who at school.
Brielle explained her conversation with Damon.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, biting her lip. “I’ve been in love with this boy forever. And he finally likes me, too. And now this.”
“That’s messed up,” said Sammie. “I know how you feel about Damon. But you already knew about him and Sasha.”
“I know,” said Brielle. “But I didn’t know it from him. Somehow Damon admitting it makes it seems worse.”
“Is he still hanging out with her?” asked Sammie.
“He says no,” said Brielle.
“Do you believe him?” asked Sammie.
“I want to,” said Brielle. “More than anything I want to. But if he could dog her like that-,” her words trailed off.
“You think he could do it to you, too?”
“Yeah,” said Brielle, with a sigh. “I would be so crushed.”
“Well, he did tell you the truth,” said Sammie, in bracing tones. “He did say that he liked that you are a virgin.”<
br />
“True,” said Brielle, feeling better. “And the bible says we should forgive.”
“You’re not thinking about having sex, are you?” asked Sammie.
“Oh, no,” said Brielle, very certain. “I mean, of course I think about it, but I’m not ready to do anything like that with anybody. I’d be too scared.”
“That’s good,” said Sammie, sounding relieved. Then her voice got mischievous. “You know thinking about it is conduct unbecoming of a debutante.”
Brielle burst out laughing.
“A debutante is pure, upstanding, intelligent and well-read. She carries herself like a lady at all times,” quoted Sammie in a nasal voice.
“You’re stupid,” said Brielle. “You know that?”
“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” said Sammie, laughing.
“Seriously,” said Brielle, sobering. “How could he? It was like I was talking to a stranger when he was telling me what he did.”
“He is kind of, when you think about it,” said Sammie. “You’ve hardly ever said ten words to him until recently. He just started crushing on you.”
“I feel like I’ve known him forever,” said Brielle.
“You just know Jada really well, but Damon has been like a ghost most of the time. He’s older and doesn’t talk all that much. He keeps to himself,” said Sammie. “He talks to us, but he’s such a big brother about it. He doesn’t get all into his own business.”
“How’d you know that it was right with Khalil?” asked Brielle, changing the subject. “That he was okay?”
“When he told me that there was no pressure,” said Sammie, promptly. “That was cool. I felt like I could relax and we could just like each other.”
“Yeah,” said Brielle. “Why couldn’t I like somebody like Khalil? Somebody cute and nice.”
“Damon is cute and nice. He is cool,” said Sammie. “Maybe, if he knows that you’re not ready, he won’t put any pressure on you.”
“But why would he just stop kicking it?” asked Brielle. “He got what he wanted from her, dumped her and now there is me.”
“I don’t know, boo,” said Sammie. “Maybe he really is sorry and he’ll be different with you. Madre says that girls have to stand up for themselves and not get taken advantage of.”
“Your mom always says that kind of stuff,” said Brielle. “It makes perfect sense until you’re the person that has to make a decision about a boy you like.”
“True,” said Sammie. “He didn’t have to tell you about her.”
“How do I know if he’s sorry?”
“I don’t know,” repeated Sammie. “You should ask your mom about this one.”
“She’d tell my dad and he would act all crazy,” said Brielle. She flopped onto her back and lay looking up at the ceiling.
“Probably not,” said Sammie. “Not if you asked her not to.”
“She might act crazy.”
“Naw,” said Sammie, “Auntie Evie is okay. Or you could talk to my mom about it. But that would be just like talking to your mom, because they tell each other stuff about us, anyway.”
“Yeah,” said Brielle, gloomily. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I know,” said Sammie, her voice brightening. “Let’s ask Jamel. He’s a dude. And he’s related, so he has to be straight with us.”
Sammie touched his number over the three way and he picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Mel-ly Mel,” said Sammie. Jamel was Sammie’s favorite cousin. He was in the eleventh grade also, attended St. Mary’s Catholic high school with Sammie and lived down the street from Brielle, so they spent a lot of time with him.
“Hey, cuz,” he said.
“I have Brielle on the phone,” said Sammie. “We have a question to ask you.”
“Okay,” said Jamel. “Hey, Bri.”
“Hey,” said Brielle. She took a deep breath.
“I have this friend,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” said Jamel, tone skeptical.
“Anyway,” said Brielle, rolling her eyes. “I have this friend who really likes this guy. And he says that he’s really into her, too. But he tells her that he dogged this girl out last year after she had sex with him a whole bunch of times. He said it made him feel bad because he didn’t really like that girl, so he broke it off. But he likes this new girl because she’s a virgin and-,”
“Hold up,” said Jamel, interrupting. “You’re going kind of fast.”
“Should I start over?” asked Brielle.
“No, I got it straight, I think,” said Jamel. “What’s your question?”
“I want to know if this new girl should trust that he’s really sorry about messing over the first girl. Will he treat the new girl better?” A long pause followed.
“Damn,” said Jamel, finally breaking the silence. “How did this girl find out about the first girl?”
“He told her about the other girl,” said Brielle. “He said that he didn’t want to start anything with this new girl before she knew the truth. He acted all sorry.”
“Well,” said Jamel, after a long pause. “At least he told the truth.”
“That’s what I said,” said Sammie. “But we figured since you’re a dude, you know how they think and could tell us what to do?”
“Dudes are dogs,” said Jamel.
“You, too?” asked Sammie, teasing.
“Most dudes, I meant,” said Jamel. They all laughed.
“I mean,” said Jamel, getting serious. “You have to be in charge of how far things go. Any dude will do whatever you let him get away with. If you don’t say no, why should he?”
“That is so typical,” said Sammie, disgusted.
“Don’t get mad at me because I gave it to you straight,” said Jamel. “My player card is being revoked as we speak.”
“I know, babe,” said Sammie, laughing. “You have our deepest sympathies.” Jamel and Brielle joined in.
“It’s not fair,” said Jamel, sobering. “It’s just the way stuff is.”
“True,” said Brielle. “It sucks.”
“Yeah, you chicks have it rough,” said Jamel, not sounding like he thought so at all. “Try asking some girl to dance one day.”
“We like boys!” said Brielle.
“You know what I mean,” said Jamel, laughing.
“Yeah, we do,” said Sammie.
“I’m just saying, you gotta be ready to say no, if no is what you mean,” said Jamel. “Unless he’s some kind of rapist, he’ll back down and respect you. He might not like the stop sign, but he’ll obey the law.”
“That’s a lot of pressure when you really like a boy,” said Brielle.
“I guess,” said Jamel. “But, no dude is going to respect you if you don’t say what’s up.”
“Okay,” said Brielle.
“Anyway, thanks, babe,” said Sammie. “We’ll chat later. See ya”
“Sammie,” he said. “Hold up.”
“What?”
“Is this you?”
“No.”
“Oh,” said Jamel, relief in his tone. “I thought I was going to have to find Khalil and jump him for putting shady moves on my cousin.”
“No, you don’t,” said Sammie. “That’s sweet of you. But, he is a gentleman. Plus, he’s scared to death of my daddy.”
“Then,” said Jamel. “It must be you, Brielle.”
“What if it is?” asked Brielle. She was feeling belligerent.
“Nothing,” said Jamel. “You’re my girl. I don’t want nothing bad happening to you either. So tell Damon to keep his hands above the waist, okay? Or better yet, in his pockets.”
“How do you know it’s Damon?”
Jamel snorted.
“Please,” he said. “You’ve been in love with that dude forever.”
“It shows?” asked Brielle, appalled. She felt her face with her free hand.
“Ya think?” said Jamel. “Kyzie told me y’ all were at school, giving each other the eye so hot the w
alls were sweating.”
“Ha-ha,” said Brielle.
“Besides, I know all about Sasha,” said Jamel. “She stalked Damon all over Lansing. It’s a wonder he will even talk to another babe.”
“Lansing is so small,” said Brielle. “Everybody’s business is all out there. The girls at school have been grim-ming me about Damon. They’re like mad that he likes me. Everybody’s telling me all about the stuff with Sasha.”
“Yeah, remember that,” said Jamel. “I know all about her, and I’m not even at the same school. You be careful what you let that dude talk you into. If I know about Sasha, I’ll know about you, too.”
Damon
Damon was studying in his bedroom. It was Sunday afternoon and Damon had the day off work. His desk and chair were crammed in next to a bulging bookcase that housed Damon’s most prized and eclectic possessions of assorted books, video games and childhood sports trophies. A mix of old and new school, one wall was covered with pictures of historical civil rights leaders like Malcolm X and Medgar Evers. There was Gandhi, Rosa Parks and Thurgood Marshall, as well as Ralph Bunche. Mixed in were also several science fantasy posters and one of Damon’s favorite basketball players, Stephen Curry. On a separate wall, Damon had several pictures of scantily clad young women, torn from various magazines, strategically placed around the lone window. His bed was pushed up tight against the third wall, which sported a picture of the Cat in the Hat above his bed. The Cat had been his mother’s creative brainstorm. But she’d substituted Damon’s youthful face for the cat’s and Damon wouldn’t hear of it being painted over. His mom called it the brat in the hat.
Damon had finished his homework. He lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, trying to get into Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and failing miserably. He was so engrossed in trying to absorb the story that he didn’t hear the door swing open and Ephraim and Stump step into his bedroom, until Stump spoke.
“Hey, man,” said Stump. “Was sup?”
Damon gratefully tossed the book onto his pillow and sat up. Ephraim grabbed the desk chair and turned it backwards to sit on it and straddle it. Stump leaned against the political poster wall and slid to the floor, big gym shoes stuck out in front of him.
“You know,” said Damon. “You got all the goods man. Hey, Ephraim.”