Angie

Angie
By Mia L. Hazlett
11/3/2014

This sucks. My life is over at fourteen. I’m gonna die. I’m so alone. I can’t talk to anyone. I lie on my bed holding my cell praying for him to call. He promised he would call. A quick vibration and “BFF” pops up on my iPhone along with a picture of Shayna.

“Girl,” I say, “He hasn’t called me. He came up to my locker after 4th and he said he was gonna call me after ball. I dun text him like ten damn times. Can’t nobody tell nobody they don’t have no time to text back. “

“Watchu doin’ now? Let’s roll down to his practice,” Shayna puts an idea in my head.

“I just gotta wait for my parents to get here, ‘cause I’m watchin’ Jordy. He gonna be outta practice by the time they get home,” I get the idea out of my head to roll up on him at his basketball practice.

“Well if he ain’t called by the time they get home, we gonna go knockin’ on his front door. He ain’t gettin’ outta this girl. If he thinks he is, the brotha dun lost his damn mind. He’s gotta know he can’t avoid us,” Shayna has always had my back.

“Girl what am I going to do?” I got my boyfriend out of my head and now it is just BFF to BFF.

“Whatever you do, don’t tell your parents. First you gotta see what Chris is gonna say, because you know your Daddy is gonna flip,” Shayna reminds me what else I am scared of.

“What if they kick me out? I mean they don’t even know I have a boyfriend. Shayna I’m so scared.” My voice cracks and the tears follow.

“Girl don’t cry. It’s gonna be okay. They ain’t gonna kick you out. And even if they do, you can come over here. You know my mother would never let you be on the streets.”

Somehow, every time Shayna tells me not to cry, I cry harder. The downstairs door opens. My mother is home. Maybe there is time to catch him at practice.

“Girl I have to go set the table for dinner. My mom just got home.”

I hang up with Shayna and go to the bathroom to wash my face. If I don’t wash my face and get my puffy eyes to go away, I will end up telling my mother. The one thing I’ve always been able to do is talk to my mom. If my mother asks me anything, I’ll lose it and tell her. She can’t know yet.

I throw the cold water on my face and I’m not sure if it is the water on my face or me bending over, but whatever happened, I now stand over the toilet throwing up. Back to the sink. Too late. My mother is behind me rubbing my back as I rinse my mouth out.

I turn and face my mother, “What’s going on babygirl?” she asks.

“Mummee, I’m pregnant,” I crumble into tears in my mother’s arms.

She holds me tight to her chest and whispers into my ear, “I know baby. I already know.”

Copyright © 2014 Mia L. Hazlett