A Street Girl Named Desire: A Novel (3 page)

The nurse's unfearing response, and her authority, caught Nika off guard. Suddenly, the woman before her became a person who commanded respect. At a loss for words, Nika sheepishly muttered
under her breath, “I'm … I'm sorry I spit at you, lady, but you know I'm right. I got every right to know where my baby at.”

The nurse simply stared at the ceiling as she wiped the remaining spit from her face. She then inhaled deeply and spoke in a slow, measured tone. “So you want to know where, and what is wrong with your child? Is that the question you want to know, young lady?”

Shamefacedly, Nika nodded yes. The nurse took a half step toward her while taking off her glasses. Nika uneasily scooted back in her bed, fearing the worst. The nurse glared at Nika, and spoke through gritted teeth, “Well, let me answer that question by posing another: What the hell is wrong with you?”

She walked around to the foot of Nika's bed, picked up the chart and readjusted her glasses.

“Let's see, February 4, 11:41 p.m., one Jane Doe female, mid to late teens, and one newborn fetus, female, arrived via ambulance to emergency trauma center. Both victims diagnosed with acute hypothermia, mother and fetus suffered sufficient loss of blood and air to the brain. Baby Desire …”

The nurse looked up from the chart. “Oh, by the way, that's what the newspapers and the people around the country call your daughter.”

After a brief pause, she continued, “Baby Desire, undetermined months premature, weighed in at one pound, six ounces, placed in humidification tent, in the neonatal intensive care ward, probable drug-related birth.”

The words spilling from the nurses mouth overwhelmed Nika. Suddenly, visions flooded her mind: of wandering through the
streets in search of crack, of being assaulted by a beastly man who had kicked her out of his vehicle, of taking a euphoric hit of crack to relieve her pain, of feeling something inside of her tumbling about in anguished trauma. She pondered the flood of memories, then lowered her eyes in shame.

The nurse looked up again. “Don't put your head down now, missy. I ain't nearly finished answering your questions.”

The nurse stopped reading from the chart because she had seen cases such as this so often in the past twenty-three years at Harlem Hospital that she could describe the condition of a drug-addicted newborn from memory. “Mild to severe tremors; asymmetrically shaped arch in spine; abnormally small cranium; legs are barely the size of an adult's middle finger and feet are barely the size of the tip of an adult's thumb. She has a little breathing tube the size of a piece of spaghetti, so air can pump into her lungs, as she can't breathe on her own. While most newborn babies are crying for their milk, your baby is crying because she's fiending for a hit of crack. That sweet, beautiful, innocent child is suffering in the most horrible way because her mother wanted what she wanted when she wanted it.”

For the first time, Nika looked at the nurse's hospital badge for a name: Nurse Dixon. Nurse Dixon threw the chart to the floor. She continued speaking, strained through her words.

“Now you show sudden goddamn concern for your child's health, demanding shit after nobody but you were the one to put her here.”

Nika did not respond as the nurse continued to assault her with the truth.

“Tell me this one thing … what … gives you the right to
show concern now?… TELL ME!” Nurse Dixon hollered. “And all that stuff about suing … you need to worry about those two police officers standing guard outside your door who are about to bring charges on you, so keep on.”

Nurse Dixon stood there with her hands on her hips, awaiting a response from Nika. Her patient sat in the bed, holding the bedsheet tightly up against her chin as if it were a shield. It was the first time the nurse had truly looked at the scared and defenseless teenager. She could see remnants of Nika's innocence, now that she was unarmed by attitude. The child's eyes were soft and wide, begging for help in a way that her mouth wouldn't allow. What Nurse Dixon saw before her was a broken, misguided girl—a mere child curled up in a ball, trembling.

The nurse approached Nika slowly. She put her hand on Nika's shoulder and soothingly rocked her back and forth. Nika shivered as she reached out and pulled the nurse closer, spreading her arms around the woman's shoulders in a tight hug.

“I'm sorry … I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt my baby,” Nika cried hysterically, as tears rolled silently down the nurse's face.

“If my baby die, I don't know what I'm gonna do,” sobbed Nika. The weight of what she had done pressed down upon her chest like a freight train. All she could do to release the pressure was let it pour out in her tears.

Stroking her hair, the nurse assured her that God would make everything right.

“Dear God …,” Nurse Dixon began, and the rest of the words didn't matter as they fell over Nika and slowly began to help lift the weight.

They prayed together as Nika fell into a deep sleep.

Though Nika recovered rapidly in the week since she had awakened from her coma, the same could not be said about her daughter. When Nika saw Desire for the first time, the tiny child looked helpless in the incubator. The worst part was seeing the many tubes inserted in her. It brought tears to Nika's eyes each time she saw the sight. She prayed to God every night that if He saved Desire she would become the best mother she possibly could.

On their seventeenth day in the hospital, Nika and Desire had their first visitor—Miss Hattie Mae Evans, the woman who had saved their lives. Hattie Mae was a strong, religious woman who attended church several times a week without fail. Her life was typical of the black women who had struggled their whole lives, made it to this age, and now felt the need to help others carry their burdens. She had been born poor in the South, migrated to New York in her late teens, got a job as a housekeeper, married, and had a family. She lived off the modest pension check of her deceased husband, who had been a Pullman porter on the railroads. Her only son had died during the Vietnam War. Since then, she had committed her life to Jesus Christ.

Noticing a shadow in the doorway, Nika looked over to see a heavyset elderly woman carrying a bouquet of yellow carnations. The woman rocked from one leg to the other as she made her way closer to the bed.

“Nika, I'm Hattie Mae,” she said, extending the arm that had a purse dangling from it.

Nika was pleased to finally have a visitor who wasn't employed by the hospital. She greeted Hattie Mae with a smile, then lost
her hand inside of the elderly woman's oversized grip. Hattie Mae then placed the flowers in a cup that was on the food tray.

“These are for you and Desire,” she said. “Ize been following y'alls progress on the news.”

There was a long silence as Hattie slowly glanced around the room, while Nika stared at her hard—watching her look.

“Do you know how ya gots here?” Hattie Mae asked.

“In the hospital? Well—” Nika began before Hattie Mae interrupted her.

“Naw, anybody can get in a hospital.” Hattie Mae seemed to lose patience. “I'm talking about dis predicament. How you get here in life? In such a short life. You livin too hard, chile.”

Nika stared at the braids in Hattie Mae's hair, secretly admiring the neat separations between the six plaits. She looked at the elderly woman's face, noticing the smoothness of her brown skin, except for a few, sparing deep lines. It looked as if her flesh was folded over in those creases.

“Ya hear me?” Hattie Mae tapped the blanket to get Nika's attention. “Ya living too hard.”

Nika wanted to respond, even if for nothing else but to keep her visitor around. There was no television or telephone in her room, so she had nothing to do. She appreciated the visit from Hattie Mae because it relieved her boredom.

“Ya living too hard,” Hattie Mae repeated restlessly, wanting to make sure the young woman she had rescued heard her loud and clear.

Nika's lips got heavy every time she felt she had the answer to Hattie Mae's original question. Her mind darted from one moment to another, but she quickly dismissed each scenario as being
“the one” that got her “here.” She scratched her head. She was at a loss as to where to begin, so she didn't.

“You watch the news then visit the people in the hospital?” Nika asked quizzically. When the words came out of her mouth she was just as surprised as Hattie Mae. She didn't know what made her say it, but it had eased through her lips.

Hattie Mae stood up in a rush. She grabbed her coat and pocketbook and held them tight to her body.

“Chile, you betta learn to recognize the work of the Lord,” she indignantly announced, and walked out the door.

Nika was surprised when Hattie Mae returned the next day. The old woman even brought another gift. This time, it was a small, finger-puppet-sized stuffed bear. She returned every day, bearing a present for Nika and Desire. To ensure Hattie Mae's visits, Nika quickly learned that she had to simply and directly answer her visitor's questions. Every time she began another long foray into the abyss of despair that had gotten her to the night in the snow, she looked at the woman before her and wondered how and why Hattie Mae stood to listen to such stories. But Hattie Mae was always undaunted by the tales.

Every day, Nika dug up a completely different story. One day she told Hattie Mae about foster care life. She explained that the foster parent she was placed with couldn't have cared less if she was there or not, so long as she received her checks and food stamps. She also mentioned that her foster mother had had a serious numbers habit. On another day, she told Hattie Mae about how being in the foster home made her desperate for attention;
there were simply too many kids in the home for her to receive the care she needed. She started stealing the toys that belonged to the other foster care kids in the house. She claimed it was there that she became a kleptomaniac and a natural liar. It didn't take Nika long to realize that the longer and better her stories, the longer Hattie Mae would stay. So she kept the stories coming, and the meetings between the women became a type of therapy for them both.

She talked about her foster mother's boyfriend, Uncle Skeeter, who'd had droopy eyes and a big fat potbelly. He had been married, but had stayed over at their apartment every Saturday night to get his groove on with her foster mother. She enjoyed his visits because every time he came over he would bring a brown bag filled with candy for all the kids. Nika said she got more candy whenever she sat on Skeeter's lap.

On another occasion, Nika confessed to Hattie Mae that she had been known as the fast little girl who was hot in the panties. She told her that she would let boys run trains on her on rooftop landings to feel wanted.

Hattie Mae didn't ask simple, obvious questions.
Where's your mother? Who's Desire's father? Where do you live?
She had her one question: “How did ya get here, in this moment?”

On one particular day that Hattie Mae visited, everything felt different. When she walked into the hospital room she didn't say a word. The only sound was from outside, the crackling of frost sealing itself to the window. Hattie Mae quietly took off her coat and sat in the chair next to Nika's bed. Instinctively, Nika looked off into the distance and began to speak:

“Sometimes I would go to the apartment of a friend who lived
across the street. I would go over there and eat. Quite honestly, I didn't even really like her that much, because she was kinda slow. She looked kinda homely, you know … but I'll be damned if I didn't act like her best friend in front of her parents. On one of my hungry days, I went over to her apartment. She hadn't invited me or nothing. I just wanted something to eat. Her father answered the door as usual. He told me his wife and his daughter was out of town visiting some relatives. He let me in and made me a sandwich and gave me a glass of milk. He watched me eat it, the entire time.”

Nika began speaking as if in a trance. Her eyes began to water as the memory flooded her. Hattie Mae braced for the ending that she could sense was coming. Nika continued.

“After I finished, I noticed he was still still looking at me, but this time in a way I knew. It was the same way the boys on the block used to act when they were trying to get the nerve up to ask me for some pussy and the same way Uncle Skeeter used to look at me when I walked past him in my underwears. To make a long story short, he told me he wanted to eat my pussy out. And I let him. I don't know why, I just did. He told me not to tell his wife, and especially not his daughter. He gave me a twenty-dollar bill. When he put that money in my hand, oh, my God, I was in shock, all I could do was stare at it. All of a sudden I started feeling real funny and my body started shaking. I didn't know what to think, how to feel, for a while. But then, I just figured something out. Or I guess I thought I did. Three things changed from that day on. One, I never, ever starved again. Two, I never fucked anyone for free again. And three, I never had an orgasm like that ever again.”