*****
The days quickly turned to weeks and with it came the reality that I missed my period, which wasn’t unusual because it had been late before; however, on the second week, I sent out a search party lookin’ for it. I went to Walgreen’s and bought one of them little test kits, you know the ones where you wait for the color to change to see if you are pregnant. School was in full blast. My roommate primped for hours in front of the mirror getting dressed to go to a club called The Moon. It was a hot popular spot where the young folks hung out on the weekends. A rap group called Poison Clan and J.T. Money were performing. I watched as Shanana got dressed hoping that she would hurry up and leave. The anticipation of taking the pregnancy test was burning me up inside. Shanana put on a tiny outfit and high heels. For the life of me I could not understand why some big people tried to wear clothes that they knew were too damn small for them.
“How do I look in this?” Shanana asked, as she paraded in front of me with one of her stomachs protruding over the other. She looked like a Black version of Ms. Piggy. However, Shanana was blessed with a congenial personality, the kind that could wring the last smile from your lips on your worst day. I just shrugged my shoulders, nodding my head as if to say, no comment. Shanana already knew how I felt about her hoochie mama dress code. Determined not to have her jovial spirits dampened, animated as usual she responded, hands on hips, “Big girls need love too,” she said flippantly, and at the same time, she turned around and tooted her butt up in the air and strutted out of the door. I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics as she bounced away on a mission. As soon as she was gone, I tore into the box of the pregnancy test, my hands trembling badly, my heart racing in my chest. When the test showed the results, I could not believe it. The damn thing said I was pregnant.
I was tempted to go to the store and buy another one, or better yet, go see a doctor and let him charge me to tell me what I already knew. I plunged down in my chair thinking this couldn’t possibly be happening to me. Fucking men! Fucking Marcus! I was tempted to call his sorry ass and make him fork over the money for an abortion. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I exasperated, banging my fists on the table. I was finally about to achieve my dream of entering law school, now my life was ruined. I began to sob uncontrollably. I thought about all the girls that I went to high school with that had got knocked up and were shunned in a way that society does when you’re a failure. I used to feel sorry for them and in some strange way, it made me feel proud that I made the right choices and never fell victim to the lures of the streets. When I went home, all my family and friends often referred to me as “Hope, the future lawyer.” This reference made me hold my head dignified. For a woman, especially a young Black woman, there can be no other personal devastation than an unwanted pregnancy, for it entails the complete solitude of misery and despair that renders a woman powerless over her own body. The unwanted burden of a life, God’s bliss to a woman, is often viewed as some cruel evil curse bestowed upon her.
I had to get a grip on myself. I was a wreck. I got dressed in a daze without combing my hair and I meandered down the hall in a fugue. People stared at me openly, a few called my name, I just kept walking.
At the pay phone, I called Nandi. She answered on the first ring.
“I’m pregnant,” I cried into the phone wishing that I would wake up and this would all be some bad dream.
“And I’m Michael Jackson, hee hee,” Nandi sang playfully.
“Nandi, I’m fucking serious! I took the test and it came back positive.”
“Lawd have mercy! Hope, girl, are you serious?”
I nodded my head on the phone like she could see me. “If I used a rabbit, they would have charged me with cruelty to animals.”
“Who’s baby is it?”
I could not believe Nandi would have the nerve to ask me such a dumb question.
“Who in the hell do you think it is? It’s Mar-cus!” I said his name like it was some virulent disease.
“OK, calm down, calm down. We need to talk, I’m on my –”
“Talk? Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about! I’m getting rid of this bastard!” I screamed on the phone and suddenly looked around and all the girls in the dorm were eavesdropping. I glared at all of them as if I were possessed by demons ready to kick ass and take names later.
“Stay right there, I’m on my way girl. Please think, don’t panic. It’s not the end of the world,” Nandi said with her voice filled with sympathetic overtones that made me want to cry more.
“Have you talked with Marcus yet?” Nandi asked.
“Hell naw!” I cried. “I should cut his little dick off. He did this to me on purpose.” I was giving the girls in the hall an earful.
“Don’t they all,” Nandi responded frankly.
I ran my fingers through my hair trying to regain some semblance of my composure. I reasoned, “I don’t want to meet you here, I need to get out and get some air.”
We agreed to meet at Subway on Buffow Street.
As I hung up the phone, all eyes were on me. The hall was so quiet you could hear a rat piss on cotton. I walked back to my room on legs that felt like rubber. It was the longest walk of my entire life.
*****
We sat at a table inside Subway next to a window with a view to the streets. Cars passed in the night, occasionally strobbing flashes of light across Nandi’s face. For some reason I was famished, and the air conditioner was turned up high enough to turn me into a human icicle. I ordered a steak sandwich with extra cheese and a Coke with a bag of chips. Nandi looked at me like I was crazy. She was a faithful vegetarian. I was too until that day.
It was about a quarter to ten and I could not believe this lady had her two bad-ass kids out this late. They ran around the place recklessly knocking over things in their path, making enough noise to raise the dead. I had a headache and they were getting on my last nerve. I could not believe this white woman would not restrain her kids, but when that little bad boy ran his egg head ass under my table and knocked my drink in my lap, God forgive me, I looked under the table and saw the malice in his blue eyes as he then ran his fire truck over my toes. I snatched his bad ass up from under that table so fast he bumped his head causing the table to rattle. He wailed, crying, as if I were torturing him. Actually, I kind of squeezed his arm too, as I took him over to his mother. “Your boy was under my table,” I said jaws clinched tightly.
“She’s a girl,” the lady said flatly, taking her child and cooed, “Mama’s baby got a boo-boo on her head.”
That’s when I noticed the golf ball sized lump on the child’s forehead that must have come from the table. I walked away not wanting to believe I had one of them in my stomach. The other child was somewhat smaller, smarter, the sole witness to what I had done to his older sister. One look at me and the child took off running in the opposite direction, reminding me of a scene from the Little Rascals. I sat back in the booth. Nandi was curled over laughing hysterically at me.
“Did … you … did you see the way …” Nandi laughed so hard she could barely get the words out. “ … that little kid ran away from you like you was the real Boogey Man.” Nandi held her sides as she lost her breath in giddy laughter. Regardless of my somber mood I couldn’t help but to smile at her hilarity. Finally she stopped laughing, however, the corners of her eyes still held a tinge of humor. She reached over and held my hand in a sympathetic gesture. “You’re going to be OK,” she assured, then leaned closer and whispered, “An abortion is out of the question.”
“Shiiiit!” I lisped indignantly, looking at the white lady with them bad-ass Bebe’s kids running around. It looked like the poor woman lost her mind and got used to it.
“I ain’t havin’ no damn babies.”
“You have a precious life within your womb. Regardless of the circumstances, you were placed on this earth to do God’s will. To give life, not take it.” I couldn’t help it, I began to cry. Nandi had a way with words, making everything sound spi
ritual. I turned away from her, looked at my reflection in the window and saw facets of my life pass by me.
“At least talk to Marcus. See what the man has to say.” Nandi pressed on. “The man wants to marry you, he loves you Hope.” Angrily, I wiped the tears away from my face with the back of my hand.
“Stop being so mean. What’s done is done, just call the damn man! See what he has to say.” The moment lulled into a pregnant pause. Nandi could be so damn persuasive. The girl sounded like my conscience talking to me at times. I agreed to follow her advice.
Nandi planted a seed of determination that seemed to germinate in my mind and she knew it as she gave me a triumphant glare, the kind that a sista gives another sista that is so empowering and caring that you know, no matter what, she is with you one hundred percent. We hugged. “It’s the woman that does not believe she can achieve her goals, thus she fails from the start. As long as you believe that you can, you give yourself and the baby positive energy, you’ll be fine. If Marcus wants to play papa make his ass come to mama,” Nandi said in a conspiratorial tone and winked her eye at me.
The next day Nandi was scheduled to fly to Atlanta to help organize a Million Youth March. That night, I drove to Marcus’ apartment and didn’t even bother to call. I was in a bad mood, like the fetus inside of me was turning me into the Exorcist, that girl in the movie that was turning her head all backward and puking in people’s faces.
Marcus’ friend Stan answered the door. I could have sworn the damn man rolled his eyes at me as he walked away without speaking. All of Marcus’ buddies were kind of peculiar and antisocial. Of course, all of them attended Florida State, so naturally I figured that was where the friction came from. As I walked in, Marcus and his pals were eating pizza, drinking beer and watching the game. Their glares unnerved me. I could tell Marcus was not happy to see me. For some reason, when he got around his friends he would change just like that. They all came from aristocratic, well off families. They all drove BMWs and nice SUVs. I guess they thought FAMU College was nothing more then a welfare college for impoverished Blacks.
“Marcus, I need to speak to you,” I said evenly while trying to keep my temperament in check. Without looking up from the television he waved his hand like I was some annoying fly and mumbled something about wait until half time. I thought I heard one of his buddies snicker at that.
“Marcus, it’s important.” I raised my voice.
He waved for me to be quiet. Stan glared at me with so much disdain, I was tempted to ask him what his damn problem was. The whole time a sista was trying to be polite but I could feel my hormones raging inside my body like a time bomb.
“Marcus, please!”
“Hope! Can’t you see that it’s almost two minutes before halftime in the damn game!”
No he didn’t just curse at me, I thought as red flashed behind my eyes. Stan and the rest of his friends turned as if following his lead; they stared at me like I was an alien invading their territory. I was as close as a Black woman could get to becoming a sociopathic bitch. Here I was, pregnant, with this man’s child and don’t want the bastard, and he is treating me like I am gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. If he only knew I was thinking about killing his child, and possibly his ass too. Calmly, I strolled over to the television, snatched the plug out of the wall so hard that it sent sparks flying. Walked over to the door, flung it open with all my might, and one of the pictures on the wall came crashing down. The scowl on my face was carved like granite stone. My nostrils flared, eyes bugged, as I screamed at the top of my lungs, “All ya’ll, get the fuck out!”
Marcus stood up with a beer in his hand, eyebrows knotted together in dismay.
“Hope! What’s wrong with you girl?”
“Boy, I told you I need to talk to you. When you get around your damn friends you want to get all brand new and don’t want to give me no respect!” I turned to one of his friends, eyes blazing with fury. “I told ya’ll asses to get out!” I said belligerently. They all looked at Marcus. He slumped his shoulders. “Yo, fellas, let me holler at her.” They grunted and shot me a few cold looks, but reluctantly they gathered their things and left. As Stan walked by he gave me a mean and evil look. A look that I would see again and it would cause my whole world to come crashing down around me.
One by one they left as I stood at the door. Outside, I heard Stan say just loud enough for me to hear, “You can take a nigga out the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out the nigga.”
“Stan, kiss my ghetto ass!” I yelled and slammed the door.
“Girl what the hell is wrong with you coming in here actin’ like you done lost your damn mind?” Marcus said hotly.
I stalked over to him, more than willing to engage his ass in battle. I was not myself and we both knew it. I was over the edge.
“Marcus, I’m pregnant.” I threw the words at him like they were some evil curse. He considered me for a moment, eyes narrowed like his brain was trying to decipher what I just said. I could not read his stoic expression, but I will never forget it. I saw infusions of something in his eyes, like a boy not really sure of his manhood. I watched his demeanor because a woman needs the complete support of a man, not a boy unsure of himself. Then he grinned at me and that grin said I had fallen victim to his game. I wanted to slap that silly grin off his face. He smiled and had the nerve to try to hug me.
“Hope, we’re having a baybee,” he lullabied happily. I shoved him away from me.
“We ain’t having shit!” I snorted.
I saw something wash over his face, something between hurt and dejection. Marcus got down on one knee. “Hope, please don’t kill my baby … our baby,” he said somberly as he wrapped his arms around me pressing his face tightly against my stomach. I tried to peel him off of me but he clung to me for dear life. He dug into my resistance with his poignant pleading, “Hope, please don’t kill the baby. I’ll take care of it and support you while you go to law school. I have enough money saved up for a home, at least a nice down payment, plus I have nine acres of land.”
“You do?” I asked dumbfounded as my mind changed lanes on a highway of life’s young indecisions fueled by a new impetus to survive, the life that I now bore within me and a woman’s intuitive instincts for her baby.
“Hope! Please! Please! Marry me,” Marcus said sentimentally. It’s amazing all the damage a penis full of semen can do. OK, I can’t lie, Marcus’ financial status along with an unexpected baby played a big factor in my decision to marry him.
*****
A month later, using Marcus’ family’s money, I had a big African-style wedding. Nandi designed all the clothes. My sorority sisters, the Deltas, were my bridesmaids. We had a ball. Even though none of Marcus’ family came except his querulous ass mother, she could have stayed home. It seemed like nothing I did was right for her and the old bat made no secret about her contempt for me. And to make matters worse, my father arrived with his young girlfriend. He was dead drunk and embarrassed the hell out of me. However, for the first time in my young life, I had some semblance of happiness. About eight months later I gave birth to a healthy six pound baby boy. It was the most painful experience of my entire life. It felt like I had shitted out a bowling ball. It was Nandi’s dumbass idea to have a natural birth. Hello! Girlfriend might be taking this Afro centric thing too damned far.
Lawd have mercy, when the nurse pulled the covers back showing my son, Marcus Jr., I damn near fainted. The baby was dark as coal with a head full of hair, with them little beady eyes just like his father. I was going to have a lot of explaining to do. I had just given birth to another man’s child. There was no doubt in my mind who the real father was. The thug, Life Thugstin, was a father and didn’t even know it. The next time I would hear of him would be in a crowded courtroom where I would be a prosecutor and he would be on trial fighting for his life.
*****
Chapter Seven
“All in the Name of the Game”
– Life –
>
Nightfall. I crept into Frenchtown on a real mission to find Nina Brown. I needed to talk to her. If she knew where Trina was I was going to force her to tell me.
I wore dark blue Dickies with a matching shirt and black Timberland boots. I had my best friend, Jesus, tucked safely in the small of my back.
Strategically, I entered from a back street not wanting to risk detection. The streets were clogged with traffic. I heard a gunshot up ahead. I stood in the shadow and watched. This place was like the Wild Wild West. A fight or something broke out up ahead in the pool hall. That’s when I spotted Nina Brown. She had on the same clothes. I walked right up to her and tried to blend in with all the commotion. I made a crucial mistake. Hustlers always recognized new faces. That’s part of their business. Nina Brown looked up at me horrified.
“Boy, what you doin’ huh? You crazy, that’s lil Stevey D over there. They been lookin’ all over for you. They just jumped on a boy from Miami, damn near kilt him, took his dope and his car.” As on second thought, she squinted at me, pulled my shirt.
“You shot that boy so many times, almost kilt him too, and where is my dope you promised me nigga?”
“I gottcha.” I handed her the hundred dollar bill I had for her.
“Where is Trina at?” I asked.
Nina Brown was not paying me the least bit of attention, as nervously she looked up the street to a money green Chevy doing the smooth creep in our direction. She danced her eyebrows, a warning. Four or five dudes were headed our way and they walked with a purpose. They had my full attention. Nina whispered that it was Stevey D and his henchmen. When I saw the little runt with them I knew that I was busted. “That’s him,” she said pointing at me, just as niggas in the Chevy piled out four deep. One thing I can say about Nina Brown, she stood her ground. I noticed one of the cats that got out of the Chevy ducked down. I couldn’t see where he was, shit was happening so fast, my mind raced to keep up.
“Watch the Chevy to your right, watch the four men going up on you to your left.” Quickly, I decided Stevey D was not the real threat. I needed to keep my eye on the possible shooter hiding behind the car.
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