Daddy's Baby

by Landis Lain

  “Sorry,” said Sasha.

  “Naw, it’s cool” said Clifford. “I could understand you. You just sound really smart. I like smart girls. Just not too smart, you know?”

  “Okay,” said Sasha. “But I’ve been thinking about how I might be able to go to college.”

  “When is your baby due?” asked Clifford. He listened while she gave him the information.

  “So where is dude at?” he asked.

  “Back home,” said Sasha. “He doesn’t know.”

  “You ain’t gonna tell him?” asked Clifford, incredulous. “That’s messed up.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes.

  “He broke up with me,” she said. “Why would I go back to him? Why would I tell him anything?”

  “Because,” said Clifford. “Dude got rights. You got his baby in there. I hate how these babes all act like every brother is a deadbeat and won’t take care of his kids, when half the time dudes don’t even know about the baby until the kid looks them up on Facebook twenty years later.”

  “So, if your ex-girl told you that she was pregnant by you, you would step up and marry her?”

  Clifford reared back as though she had slapped his face.

  “Naw!” he said. “I’m only twenty four. I’m too young for marriage. But I would work something out. Ima’ take care of my kids. You should at least tell the brother and give him a chance.”

  “I’ll think about it,” said Sasha. She smiled at Clifford.

  Damon

  Damon knocked on Mr. Tally’s office door.

  “Come in,” said Mr. Tally in his deep, mellow voice. Damon pushed open the door and stepped into the office. He closed the door behind him and looked around at the office curiously. There were two heavy-laden bookshelves that bulged with books. Mr. Tally was sitting behind his desk, typing on a laptop. There was paper piled up and strewn across every available surface.

  “Hey, Mr. T,” said Damon. “How ya doing? Could I talk to you?”

  “Mr. Hamilton,” said Mr. Tally, looking up from his work. He stood, moving his big body with surprising speed. “I’m fine.”

  He held out his hand and gave Damon a quick shake. Then he gestured with his hand.

  “Have a seat, sir,” said Mr. Tally, sitting back down. “What can I do for you?”

  “Damon cleared his throat.

  “I need a favor,” he said. “And I don’t really know many teachers that well here.”

  “What sort of favor?” asked Mr. Tally. He was looking wary.

  “See,” said Damon, looking down at his hands. “I want to apply for the Bill Gates scholarship. I have to do it by January. I need somebody to give me a recommendation and you’re the only person I thought of here that might could do it.”

  “Might could, huh?” asked Mr. Tally. He smiled. “I think it’s great that you’re considering going for it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You surprise me, though,” said Mr. Tally.

  “How so?” asked Damon.

  “I’ve looked at your grades, and you’re a pretty good student, but your teachers tell me that you could put forth a lot more effort,” said Mr. Tally. “Doesn’t sound like you really want this scholarship. It is very competitive.”

  “I do, sir,” said Damon, fiercely. “I’ve kept my grades high enough to apply for it.”

  “Yeah,” said Mr. Tally. “But for me to recommend you for it, I’ve got have some assurance that you’re going to try to do better than high enough to get by.”

  Damon wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t.

  “I want to get into a really good school,” said Damon. “But most of the really good schools cost the world and my parents ain’t got that kind of money. They already got two in college. My brothers had to go to junior college first because it was cheaper. Both my brothers work but my parents help out. My oldest brother is married with a couple kids. He’s on his own. Then there is me. My sister goes here. My mom is laid off and my dad’s about tapped out financially.”

  “Why did come here for your senior year?” asked Mr. Tally, as if he really wanted to know.

  “My moms kind of wanted me to come here from the get go, but it was tradition. All my brothers graduated from Southern, so I wanted to go there, too. My old man said it was cool as long as I kept up my grades.”

  “So you kept them up just high enough to keep your parents off you back, huh?” asked Mr. Tally, referring to Damon’s B average.

  “Nerds get jumped,” said Damon, with a shrug. “Four point oh will get a brother fronted off.”

  “I heard you got fronted off without the four point oh,” said Mr. Tally.

  “True,” said Damon, slightly stunned that he had never thought of it in quite that way.

  “You want to tell me what happened?” asked Mr. Tally.

  “Why you want to know about that?” asked Damon, frowning. “It’s dead.”

  “You are asking me for a favor, Mr. Hamilton,” said Mr. Tally. “Not the other way around. I am not in the habit of lending my recommendation to people that I do not know and trust. If I give you a recommendation and you mess up, I look bad. I don’t like to look bad.”

  “Oh,” said Damon.

  “Now, if the problem was with you, I want to know about it,” said Mr. Tally. He steepled his fingers in front of him and leaned forward on his elbows. “Then I make my decision as to whether or not to give my recommendation.”

  Damon started the story about Craig Frazier, haltingly. Damon remembered the scene vividly; recalled the metallic taste of fear and shook his head to clear it.

  “Then,” he said, winding down, “I called my dad on the cell phone to tell him I wasn’t going back. I knew that there were witnesses and if my moms heard about it from somebody else, she would be at the school taking no prisoners and making things worse.”

  Mr. Tally shook his head in sympathy.

  “So, what happened?”

  “Sherry finally brought D. Dog up on charges of domestic abuse. He got convicted. He’s supposed to be back in Lansing, but I haven’t seen him. I don’t know what happened with Sherry. She probably had to leave, too.”

  After he’d finished his story Mr. Tally stared at him for a long moment.

  “It’s interesting,” Mr. Tally said, leaning his elbows on the desk, the fingertips of his hands still touching in front of him. He looked a Damon very solemnly.

  “What?” asked Damon.

  “I’ve been watching you around school,” said Mr. Tally. “You’re a loner, like you got in big trouble before and are down to your last chance to get it right. I would have thought that you were the one who caused all the problems before you told me this story.”

  “I guess it was my face or my eyes that caused the trouble,” said Damon, with a snort. “Dudes always think I’m trying to talk to their women.”

  Mr. Tally laughed.

  “Oh, you that fine, huh?” he asked.

  “That’s what the babes say,” said Damon, with an ironic twist to his mouth. He looked down at his hands. Then he confessed his secret shame. “Actually, I acted like a punk. I should have fought D. Dog. I got suspended anyway, for walking out of school without permission.”

  “The coward runs to run another day,” said Mr. Tally.

  “So, now I’m a coward?” asked Damon, taking offense. He rose out of the chair

  “No, it’s a figure of speech,” said Mr. Tally. “Sit down. You used your head. You were out manned and outgunned with Craig and his boys. Only a fool would have fought under those circumstances. You would have got a knife in the ribs for your trouble.”

  “True,” said Damon, feeling the little tight core of shame in his midsection loosen a little. “My dad told me that, too.”

  “You cannot let other people determine what courage and what cowardice is,” said Mr. Tally. “Or you’ll be letting people make your decisions all your life.”

  “Okay,” said Damon, thinking that Mr. Tally was about to let him down easy.
He felt sick to his stomach because he had been counting on Mr. Tally to come through for him.

  “Mr. Hamilton, look me in the eyes,” ordered Mr. Tally. Damon looked up and met the man’s eyes. “Tell me why I should recommend that you get this scholarship?”

  “Cause, Mr. Tally,” said Damon, and even he could hear the desperation in his own voice.

  “I got to get up outta Lansing. I feel like I’m dying here. This place is so, so-,”

  “Insular?” asked Mr. Tally.

  “That’s a good word,” said Damon, filing it away in his mental vocabulary. “It’s just small. I can’t work at the factory. No jobs. MSU is a good school but it’s too close to home. Too close to trouble. I don’t want to stay here and do nothing.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I’m not really sure,” said Damon, shrugging. “But whatever it is I got to learn about it first. I got to read everything I put my hands on so I can find out what it is.”

  “You can’t do that here?”

  “Naw, man,” said Damon. “I’m too weird for this place.”

  “I see a fire burning in your eyes, Damon,” said Mr. Tally. “An unconventional fire that can take you far. I’d like to see that.”

  “Me, too,” said Damon.

  “This first quarter, you’ve been going through the motions because I know that you’re a very gifted student,” said Mr. Tally. “You test scores indicate intelligence off the charts.”

  “Yes, sir,” admitted Damon. “Yet another mark in the weird-o-meter column.”

  “Being intelligent does not make you weird,” said Mr. Tally.

  “Right,” said Damon, dropping his eyes. “It ain’t cool to be too smart.”

  “You think Bill Gates let other people decide how smart he should be?” asked Mr. Tally. “I’ll bet he’s saying ‘nerd’s rule’ all the way to the bank.”

  Damon laughed.

  “Yeah, but he’s a white dude,” said Damon.

  “And?”

  “White dudes got it easier.”

  “Most do, some don’t,” said Mr. Tally, with a shrug. “Plenty of poor white folks out there. You got no control over other people’s opinions. However, even if they do have it easier, what does that have to do with you?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” said Damon.

  “There’s always going to be somebody got it easier than you,” said Mr. Tally. “Man up. Deal with it. That’s the only way to succeed.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Damon, sullenly looking at the floor. Here it comes, the when I was a kid I walked ten miles in the snow and built the school with my bare hands and learned to read from the bible while simultaneously picking cotton, lecture.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” said Mr. Tally, leaning back in his chair. Damon looked up eagerly. “You’ve got two weeks left in the first quarter. You start blowing up the report card with A’s instead of B’s and I will recommend you for that scholarship. And no slipping for the rest of the year.”

  “You saying all I got to do is get all A’s and you’ll help me with the application?” asked Damon, feeling a wary optimism.

  “Mr. Hamilton,” said Mr. Tally, pointing his finger directly at Damon. “If you get all A’s, I will make it my business to find you a full ride someplace.”

  Damon lips parted in a blinding grin. He jumped up from his seat and reached across the desk to shake Mr. Tally’s hand.

  “I could do that. Thank you, Mr. Tally,” he said, grinning foolishly. “I will not disappoint you.

  Mr. Tally took his outstretched hand and shook it. He looked at Damon, closely. “Make certain that you don’t.” Damon turned to leave.

  “Oh, Mr. Tally,” he said turning back around.

  “Yes, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “You’ve got the complete works of Charles Chesnutt,” said Damon, gesturing towards the burgeoning shelves.

  “Yes, I do,” said Mr. Tally.

  “I was wondering if I could borrow it,” said Damon, looking like he’d hit the lottery. “I’ve wanted to read the Marrow of Tradition for a while. I promise to take good care of it.”

  “Yes sir, you’d better,” said Mr. Tally, starting to laugh. “Don’t forget where you got it. I know where you live.” He walked over, bent down, plucked the black bound book off the shelf and handed Damon the book.

  Sasha

  “So, did you like the movie?”

  “It was good,” said Sasha. “I like how it was a happy ending. It was romantic.”

  Clifford snorted. “I figured you’d like it. It was a total chick flick.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Sasha, feeling happy for the first time in a long time. “She had real problems, like depression and self-medicating and stuff, but he stuck with her. He loved her.”

  Clifford rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, she had enough money for depression, ya’ know? In my hood they’d call her a dope fiend.”

  “That is so cynical,” said Sasha, poking him with her elbow.

  Clifford winced. “Ow!”

  “There you go throwing out those million dollar words again,” said Clifford.

  They got to the car and Clifford opened the passenger side door for her, like he always did. It still surprised her when he hustled to the door and yanked it open for her. They had been out to eat three times and he was always kind and considerate.

  “What a gentleman,” said Sasha. “Thank you.”

  “It’s all good, little mama,” he said. He closed her car door and jogged around to his side of the car. The chatted while they rode and when Sasha looked up they were in front of the nursing home. Clifford pulled into the back of the building employee parking lot and put the car into park.

  “Thank you for the movie and dinner,” Sasha said. She moved to open the car door but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait.”

  She leaned back and he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. He lifted from the kiss slightly. Sasha stared back at him with wide eyes.

  “I got something to ask you,” said Clifford.

  “Ok,” she said.

  “I want you to come and stay with me,” he said. “I got a place and you could live with me. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I really like you,” he said. “You are beautiful. We could kick it for a while until you decide what you are gonna do.”

  “I’m pregnant,” said Sasha.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” said Clifford. “You could stay with me for free. I’ll take care of you, you take care of me. I can’t get you pregnant so it’s no harm, no foul, ya know?”

  “What?” asked Sasha, stunned. His arms snaked around her.

  “The damage is already done,” said Clifford. “We don’t have to worry.” He leaned in and kissed her hard. Sasha pushed him away.

  “Stop!”

  Clifford leaned back. “What’s wrong, pretty?”

  “I gotta go,” she said, blinking back tears. She grabbed the handle on the door and wrenched it. Nothing happened. “Unlock this door!”

  “Don’t be like that, beauty,” said Clifford. “The door handle is broken on that side. I have to open it from the outside.” He touched her face with his hand.

  Sasha snatched away. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Oh, you gonna be like that?” asked Clifford, expression morphing into a snarl. He made no move to get out of the car. He grabbed her arm and leaned in again. “That’s the trouble with you fine chicks. Y’ all think you all of that and won’t give a righteous brother no play.”

  “Get off me!” She pushed him back with one hand.

  “You ain’t no virgin, girl,” said Clifford. “You should be glad I’m willing to treat you nice. You used goods, you know.”

  “Let me go!” she was struggling in earnest now.

  Sasha tried to pull away but he was strong and in her face. She felt like she was suffocating. She panicked. She started screaming.

  “Girl, stop, okay!” he said,
releasing her, looking around in panic. “Stop screaming! You trying to get us both fired, girl. Or me, arrested? Wait a minute.”

  He opened his car door and hustled out to her side of the car. He opened the door and stepped back, hands held up in surrender. “See? You can get out. I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He held out his hand but Sasha refused to touch him. She got out of the car.

  “I’m sorry, you know?” She stomped away from the car. He trotted behind her, still pleading his case.

  You wanna think about what I said?” asked Clifford. “You don’t sound like you got anyplace else to go. I’m just tryna’ help, ya know. But a brother gotta get something in return.” He stepped in front of her and Sasha halted abruptly.

  Sasha could feel her lips trembling so she said nothing.

  “Girl, don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I ain’t no rapist.

  Sasha cast Clifford one angry, fearful look and slid past him.

  She stomped into to Tender Comfort, went to Miss Tarver’s office and told her that she would not be back to work. Then she headed for the doors at the opposite end of the hall and out into the cold night.

  Brielle

  Mrs. King was reading a poem to the class. She’d told them that they would be called upon to recite later, and she was giving them a sample of what she expected. Nobody wanted to do it, so nobody volunteered. Mrs. King’s deep contralto voice rang out to all corners of the room. Brielle had her eyes closed listening as the soft cadence of Maya Angelou’s words spilled over her.

  I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,

  When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,

  When he beats his bars and he would be free;

  It is not a carol of joy or glee,

  But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,

  But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings?

  I know why the caged bird sings!

  Mrs. King finished the poem. Brielle opened her eyes and smiled. The rest of the class clapped politely, but Brielle could tell that most of the class wasn’t feeling it like she was. Mrs. King was her favorite teacher because she put so much feeling into her poetry reading. She was always telling her students to stretch their minds and learn a new way to communicate.