On the Come Up (10 page)

AnnMarie never knew why. Whether Blessed had chosen her over this man. But she caught her one time, days later, standing in the bathroom, face to the wall, weeping. Shoulders caved in, head bowed in prayer, making small little sounds, like sorrow. AnnMarie felt a stab of fear and ran to her, pressing herself against her mother’s big frame, afraid Blessed would disappear into that black hole of sadness and never return.

She felt Darius’ hands slide up her back, his arms engulfing her into a deep caress. She rested her head just under his chin and heard him sigh.

She said, We gonna have a baby.

Yeah … yeah, he said.

When the bus pulled up, she got on, walked down the aisle and took a seat, banging her knees against plastic, cramming herself in next to the window. Dang, she was uncomfortable. She sat up, unbuttoned her jeans which helped a little, she’d have to get some new jeans soon ’cause this just wasn’t working.

Out the window the icy rain came down in sheets but it was moist inside too and she felt warm and wet all over—forehead, back, pits dripping. She wanted to take off her down coat but the nausea was pushing its way around her stomach, knocking up into her throat, bus lurching through traffic just made the bad feeling worse. She leaned her head on the glass and tried to breathe.

By the time she walked into Ida B. eight minutes past nine, the hallway was empty. Still she took her time, wandering into Room 5 where three girls sat at the long metal table, their bellies big, seven, eight months along and another girl, a new girl she’d never seen before slumped at the far end of the table. Hello, AnnMarie, Miss Westwood said. We’re reading from
Views of the City
, page 68. Go on, Camille, keep reading.

AnnMarie’s view was of the new girl. Got her hand cupped under her chin, head tilted, eyes on the ceiling. Girl need to get her braids worked on. Wash her hair, something. Dandruff there in the part-line.

Her eyes drifted up to the clock on the wall. Heard the heat hissing through the radiator. Only ten fifteen. English, math, then lunch. Her stomach pitched and groaned. She leaned back and unzipped her pants. Hand on her belly, she counted seven girls today, the last two drifting in just before ten, the room quiet now as they sat, doing silent reading from a book called
Desiree’s Star
. AnnMarie brought the book up to her face and tried to focus, but her mind drifted to her stomach again and to her feet that felt too big for her shoes. Finally, she scraped back her chair and stood. Miss Westwood looked up, expectantly. I’m thirsty, AnnMarie whispered. Can I get a drink a water?

AnnMarie wandered down the hall to the drinking fountain. She filled her mouth and swallowed, burped then drank some more. Outside Miss July’s office there was a bulletin board that AnnMarie liked to look at.

When AnnMarie returned, Miss Westwood was setting a bag of Golden Delicious on the table. Go on, girls. Fuel up. Chairs pushed back, everyone stood, stretched, yawned, then reached
over and took a apple. Did everyone make it to the end of the chapter? Miss Westwood asked. How many got to the end … A couple of hands went up. Let’s talk about what Desiree wants. Who is Desiree anyway? What makes her unique?

The new girl leaned over and whispered, They got a McDonald’s out here?

Lunch bell rang, they left the building, walked down Liberty Avenue, the new girl taking her time, walking mad slow even though it was bitter cold outside. The streets frozen, heaps of snow crusted black with dirt and exhaust, refusing to melt. AnnMarie asked her name, where she from, how old she was and the girl said, My name Crystal.

AnnMarie’s eyes went wide. She said, Shoot, tha’s my homegirl’s name.

Word?

We was gonna go to high school together, over there in Springfield but then she moved again and I was out there by myself. You know Springfield Gardens?

The girl didn’t answer, shuffling along, her gaze on her feet.

Yeah, it was fucked-up, AnnMarie went on. I hated it out there.

Tha’s too bad, the other Crystal said.

They stood in line, the girl playing with her lip, looking up at the menu board.

How many weeks are you?

Huh?

How far along are you?

Crystal looked at AnnMarie like she don’t understand the question.

AnnMarie said, You pregnant, ain’t you?

Huh-uh, noooo …

AnnMarie frowned. How come you at Ida B. then?

Crystal tsked. They made me go.

Tha’s crazy, AnnMarie said. So you ain’t pregnant?

My mother told me I got to go the doctor.

You do a pregnancy test?

I was supposed to go but I missed my appointment. I don’t want nobody touching me down there. Huh-uh.

AnnMarie frowned, looking at her belly. Girl, let me see you.

Crystal pushed her jacket aside and lifted her tee. AnnMarie saw the skin tight around a melon-size bump. Oh, yeah. She definitely pregnant.

Can I help you? the boy in uniform asked.

I only got a dolla, Crystal said out loud.

AnnMarie glanced at her. Why she want to go to Mac Donald she only got a dollar.

What can I get for a dolla, Crystal asked the boy.

The boy swung around, looking up at the board. You can get a hamburger. Seventy-nine cent, but a cheeseburger put you over. That’s a dolla five with tax.

Ummmm, the girl said, pulling on her lip.

Dang, AnnMarie thought. This girl got to be slow.

Go on, AnnMarie said. I got you. Get something to eat.

When she got home that afternoon, she sat on the bed and cried. Why she acting so nice. Spending cash money Darius had given her on this stranger. Only thing that girl got in common with Crystal was her name. She missed her friends. Niki spending all her time over in Jamaica with the plump girl, Latania. Nadette dancing nights. They’d stopped practicing almost completely. Last time she was over there, the nausea hit her like a Mack truck. She
didn’t even make it home, puking her guts up right there at the curb.

AnnMarie let out a moan.

Her mother came to the door, asked her what’s wrong but AnnMarie didn’t answer, just pulled the covers over her head and cried some more, the tears pouring down her face like she Niagara Falls. Her mother hobbled in, sat on the bed. Don’t worry, Blessed chuckled, those your hormones talking. She pushed a tissue into her hand and told her to blow.

Blessed been doing that lately. Acting nice. Awake and on her feet. Acting like a mother to her again. Three weeks ago, she’d told Carlton and Carlotta they had to go. AnnMarie couldn’t believe it. Pinky’d returned from Trinidad and Blessed told her, I’m gonna be a grandmother,
Praise be
. AnnMarie moved back into her bedroom. Got to sleep in her own bed again, close the door if she want to.

Around dinnertime, AnnMarie got a craving for oranges and ate two before her mother fed her curried chicken and rice, heaped the plate full and brought it to her on a tray. AnnMarie pulled out her homework, did two math questions then fell asleep in front of the TV. Woke with the fat feeling in her stomach so she walked over to Darius’ house for some exercise.

He’s out, AnnMarie, his mother Darla said, but come on in.

She waited in his studio room. After a while, she fell asleep on the couch and when she woke again, she lay there listening to the far-off sounds of the street, feeling warm and heavy all over. Darius’ sister voice came through the floorboards. She was yelling something about a robe, where her robe at, something. Vanessa pregnant too except her baby daddy live in Averne, met him at a house party six months back. You lucky, she’d said to AnnMarie. Darius loves you.

Upstairs, Darla was in the kitchen.

She said, Where you going, AnnMarie, sit for a minute.

AnnMarie pulled out a chair and sat. Darla said, Are you hungry? I got these rice and peas over here. You want me to make you a plate?

AnnMarie said, No thank you, Miss Darla, I’m okay.

You sure? You look small to me. Darius’ mother had a soft way of talking, always with the soft voice. It was no surprise Darius never did nothing she said. Still, AnnMarie liked her. Always asking, How you, you hungry, you thirsty? What you need.

AnnMarie said, Birth class start up on Monday. I hope he go with me.

Birth class, what kind of birth class?

They told us about it at Ida B. Wells where I go to school. Like a Lamaze class or something, you know Lamaze? They teach you how to breathe, contracting, when to push … That’s what my teacher said.

When I had my babies, I never took a class. I just breathe on my own, she said chuckling. He gonna do that with you?

I got to talk to him about it.

Okay, then. Okay. Mrs. Greene slid a plate of rice and peas in front of her just as Darius walked in with Raymel. Raymel barely spoke to her these days. Ducking his head, looking the other way like he embarrassed. Upstaged and outshined.

AnnMarie turned in her seat, said, Hey baby.

Darius said, What up but kept going through the kitchen, down the stairs to the basement.

You goin’ to these classes with AnnMarie, his mother called with her soft voice. Darius didn’t answer. All AnnMarie heard was they shoes on the wood steps.

She wondered if she should follow him. She hadn’t told him
she was coming but why should she’ve. She heard the
thump thump thump
of a bass line start up, lifting through the floor. Mrs. Greene didn’t seem to notice, sweeping crumbs into her hand. AnnMarie got up and went downstairs. Raymel was lighting a blunt, the weed smoke filling the air. AnnMarie crossed to the window and opened it.

Darius said, Blow that shit out the window. Raymel glanced at AnnMarie, then took a step, exhaling toward the window, saying, So what you gonna do?

Darius tsked. I ain’t gonna do shit. He want to trip like that, let him … He owes
me
.

AnnMarie sat on the couch and watched him hit the blunt. He said, Remember that night at the Palace. Those cuts was mine, he trying to take credit.

She wondered who they talking about. Probably Big Mike. Those two in some kinda rivalry. It bored her. Darius and his beefing. Who said what to who. Who down and who ain’t. Not enough room on the ladder for everybody. She stared at the posters up on the wall. Lil’ Kim with her skinny waist, squatting in that pose a hers. AnnMarie didn’t have a waist no more. Just blubber and a baby.

She stood up.

Darius said, Where you going? Glancing at her now as she crossed to the door.

I’ma head home. She paused in the doorway, hoping he’d walk with her.

But he beckoned to her with his chin so she crossed the room and took the kiss he planted on her lips. She didn’t say nothing about Lamaze or the weed smoke she knew was bad for the baby.

All the bus rides back and forth, AnnMarie had time to think. Out to Jamaica where the school was. The Ida B. girls housed on the ground floor of a three-story cement building used by Rainbow Academy, a suspension site for violent offenders. All the last-chance kids no school wanted. The bus winding along Snake Road past the airport, planes hovering mad low in the icy sky, one after another, their bellies looming as they made their descent. AnnMarie would turn her face from the window. She thought about the little things. Like how she had to pee all the time, how she felt bloated like a whale—face, feet, hands, stomach, legs—but she couldn’t help herself. Pangs a hunger gnawing, she’d go through boxes of saltines with cheese spread, peanut butter out the jar, oranges, mangoes, cornflakes with milk. Song fragments drifted in. She’d try to piece them together, search for the words gone missing but was frustrated by her own fatigue.