The Girl in the Window

I anticipated my talk with Sasha. Although it had me anxious to the max, I was ready to tell her. I felt like it would cool things down between me and her regarding Darnell.

On the good side, Sasha quickly learned to enjoy Amara’s company. Instead of constantly having aimless conversations about… shit, we actually had intellectual conversations that let us express our views and outlook on life. It gave us the chance to get to know each other better. Hopefully after telling Sasha this, she would still consider my friendship.

She did just as I asked by not having Darnell at her house that day. Her mothers were just leaving as I walked into their house. Sasha was wearing a pretty knee length sundress with her hair covered with a scarf. She gave me something to drink and asked how I was before we got more serious.

“Okay, befo’ you tell me what you gonna say, lemme tell you dat you was right about Amara. And she’s sexy, with the dark skin.” I smirked.

“I told you.”

“Jus’ was too brain washed to see.” She sat on her couch with her leg folded underneath her. “Oh and I know what you said ‘bout her if she go both ways, or is gay, but don’t think I won’t fight fo’ her.” I chuckled.

“You can have her. I ain’t datin’, ‘member?” Her eyes filled with excitement.

“Oh fuck yes. Even if she ain’t gay, by da time she done wit’ me, she will be.”

“I can see dat.” We shared a laugh.

“Okay. What were you gonna tell me?” My smile relaxed to a more serious look.

“Um…” I cleared my throat, beyond nervous. “‘Member how I tol’ you dat I been wit’ more guys den I know?”

“Yeah… so?”

“Well uh… one of dem was… Darnell.” At first she was expressionless. I looked down.

“Oh my god, what the fuck?” she said quietly. I looked at her and her eyes looked wet.

“What da fuck Shade. Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Was dis befo’ or after we fucked?”

“Before.” She sighed.

“So you knew dis da whole time befo’ we fucked?”

“No! You didn’t give me his name. You just said best friend. Plus I didn’t remember his name.”

“Shade… do you just have sex with anybody?” The way she said it made me feel shameful.

“I have a problem, Sasha. I don’t just fuck anybody. Only certain people.”

“What do you mean?” I refused to let my mind go to that place. I didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to remember. His name? I shrugged my shoulders. She sighed again, this time more relaxed.

“I forgive you. I mean, I understand. I mean, Darnell was a ho too.”

“Ugh, Sasha, I’m not a ho.”

“Then what is it? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. I just need sex… to deal with feelings of loneliness.”

“Why do you feel lonely?” Didn’t want to remember. His name?

“I don’t want to sit here and spill all my insides out today. I’m not strong enough for dat. Maybe piece by piece. I’m sorry. I care for you, I do.”

“Well… at least that explains why you’re so weird around him when I’m around.”

“Yeah. Feel bad about it.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause he tried to get to know me.”

“Ah, you hurt Darnell. Been tryna figure out why he been so off lately.”

“What’chu mean? What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s doing what you’re doin’ but it’s kinda different. When did you have sex wit’ em?” I had to think really hard about it.

“It was somewhere near the end of da school year las’ year.”

“Oh yeah. You were probably his last, uh, not counting me. Guess he finally felt that what he was doing was hurting him more than it was other people. Thought he lost hope and he was gonna go gay. Den I woulda had to kick em out da house ‘cause we don’t do no butt rippin’ ‘round here.” We both laughed. “I’m kiddin’, I love Darnell. And I know he ain’t ‘bout none of dat shit.” Let’s hope not, I thought. “But I’m sure he’ll find a good girl someday, you know, someone who gon’ take care of him, an’ dat he’ll take care of too.”

“Ha, you soun’ like his mom.”

“Might as well be. You know guys, dey’ll fall apart if dey ain’t got a woman to help dey ass out. I even done da niggas laundry befo’. Once you do dat, you officially close.” I shook my head in agreement.

“Yeah, you right wit’ dat one.” It was a major relief to get what I thought off my chest. I was expecting a fight or a heated argument. But things went down like they did in a dream. All peace, no war.

Amara ceased to amaze me with her style. That day she wore a pancho looking shirt with beautiful patterns on it. Her earrings were big and colorful and matched with the pancho. I wanted to tell her that she looked nice but I didn’t want her to second guess anything.

“Shade,” she said like she was the happiest person in the world to see me. “I tol’ my mom about you. Hope that does not sound weird.”

“Not really. I used to tell my parents about cool people I meet.”

“Why do you not anymore?” Because I can’t tell my mom shit, and my daddy dead, I thought. Instead I shrugged my shoulders. Just when she was about to say something, someone came up behind me, tapping my shoulder. I turned around to see Jada.

“Yo Shade,” then her attention went straight to Amara. “Who dis?”

“My name is—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout none of dat,” I said cutting Amara off. “Tell me what you want.”

“Whateva.” She fixed her hair, a gesture she did when she felt inferior around someone. It was probably Amara. “Lorraine wants to talk to yah.”

“Why?”

“She jus’ does.” I sighed.

“Right now?”

“Nah. Tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, whatever. Bye.” She walked away knowing I didn’t want her around anymore. I turned back to look at Amara. She looked upset.

“Why you did not introduce me to your friend?”

“‘Cause you don’t wanna know her.”

“Why?”

“She’s not a friend. She’s not even a good person. Jus’ trust me.”

“Okay.” We were quiet for a little while. “Shade, you know more about me than I know about you.” Oh lord. “How come it is like that?” I sighed. I wanted to open up a little more to her, but I didn’t know how.

“Amara… I have a lot of personal problems.”

“Like what?” I let my eyes wander. I didn’t know exactly what to tell her. Didn’t know where to start and if to start.

“Amara… you’re a really cool friend, you are…”

“Shade, you can trust me then. I won’t hurt you. Trust me, we feel better when we share our secrets with someone we care about. I want to be your friend because I like who you are as a person.” Her words were so kind that I couldn’t deny telling her something.

“Um… maybe somewhere secluded.”

“My house… maybe?”

“I guess. Where do you live?”

“Fox Hollow.”

“Oh… you live in the same neighborhood as me.”

“You want to come tomorrow ‘cause I was going to tell you that my mama wants to meet you.”

“Sure, that’s okay wit’ me.” She smiled. I was so ready to come to her house. I tried to keep my lewd thoughts from surfacing, but she was so sexy to me. It was beyond her looks and beauty defined without hair. It was her smooth voice. Her thoughts. Her mind. Whether she was gay or not, having her around just as a friend was a gift.

I was a good student, but I had a temper. Everything was good until my temper got out of control. Since I was older and had a lot more control over my temper, teachers in my high school tended to not know, or not believe it mattered anymore. But people who knew me since middle school knew how I could get. So not only did I have two colored eyes, and a strange nature, I also had a fearful temper. All of this left me short on true friends.

Class was so boring without Sasha. She was either extremely late or skipping. Either way, she wasn’t there. Even our nonsense conversations were a lot more entertaining than the teachers blabbering about that boring book Huckle Berry Finn. The story was good but it was hard for me to adapt to the way it was written. My eyes wandered and I kept staring off into nothing. People whispered to each other and snickered. With my lower self confidence, I automatically assumed they could have been talking about me. But I knew better. Nothing but sighs and contagious yawns came out of me. Sasha couldn’t do this to me again.

Always being around Monroe was just rubbing things in for my already bad day. He was clearly still in a bad mood, maybe even worse than before. Somehow I kind of got the idea of why he was upset. Obviously Molly had something to do with his anger. He hadn’t talked to her at all for the past few days. But I knew Molly better than she knew. We had the same class together in middle school. She was the daughter of a redneck bastard that was one step from a skinhead, white supremacist. But his dear daughter Molly wanted to rebel against her daddy to be friends with the super black white boy that cherished white people. She claimed she wasn’t racist but she wouldn’t make friends with a true black person, especially not a guy. From my guess, Monroe felt confident (foolish) enough to ask Molly to be his girlfriend, for he had been longing for that white girl. Unfortunately for Monroe, Molly couldn’t disregard the way she had been brought up by her dad, or overlook, Monroe’s black skin.

Monroe was the darkest in the class. His skin was sun raped with the richest black. A taste that was bitter, but disgustingly delicious. Nutty like a black bean, smooth like it too. But he couldn’t see it. He didn’t know the richness of his skin and the significance of it. He couldn’t see the roundness of his nose, the darkness of his eyes or the thickness of his lips. His blood burgundy (not strawberry) when he bled. His hair coils when it grows. His hands large and rough like a manual laborer. A curve in his back that only a black man could possess. Muscles carved especially for black men. Too much for someone like Molly.

But in Monroe’s eyes, he was not his looks. Monroe was just as white as he wanted to be. He could do without the African in African American. When Monroe looked in the mirror, he saw a white man. He could never refer to himself as black. Giving him the name black was an insult to our race. But unfortunately, he was black.

“You didn’t know Molly’s dad is a racist, did you?” I cut all the bullshit and went right to it.

“God damn, shut up, Shade,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry for whatever she might have said to you. I’m sure it was full of shit.” He stayed looking angry, but I could tell he was listening. “I remember one time when I was younger I liked dis boy. He was a white boy but for some reason, I liked him. And stupid me told him that I did. Den he said, ‘Uh, but I don’t like black people. They look dirty,’ and that broke my heart. I remember thinking ‘damn, there must be something wrong with black people.’ Den I thought the same things you thought. ‘Why are we always in ghettos? Why are we always doing crime? Why do we always kill each other? Why does no one like us?’” I took a break. What I was about to say next brought back memories that led to sadness. “I asked my dad this one day when he was in prison.” I swallowed the knot in my throat down. “He told me that there was a reason to our problems. We were not always like this. He said it started with a ship full of Africans and a passage. He told me to have a sense of pride in black people and in myself. He told me everything. He said ‘Some white people just can’t appreciate the beauty in us. But never forget, that we are.’” Monroe’s face looked less upset. He looked sad. I rubbed my eyes so my tears would go away. “So don’t be ashamed of who you are,” I added. I couldn’t say anymore because I started thinking about my dad. Monroe was silent. He was basking in the load of information I just dropped on him. By the look on his face, I could tell he was considering every word I said. After a good few minutes the lunch bell rang.

I just knew lunch would be boring without Sasha. But it gave me one on one time with Amara, whose mom I had yet to meet. That day Amara decided to sit next to me since Sasha wasn’t there. When she sat next to me, I grew nervous. She smelt so good, better than Sasha, and her body was warm. I could feel her warmth coming from her arm. Looked around at everyone surrounding us. My thoughts were entering that place that I couldn’t go, but wanted to. She ate the lunch she brought then looked at me.

“Where’s Sasha?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” She went back to eating. I tried hard not to look at her. She seemed to have no problem exposing her body. The shit she was wearing was short and deep cut. That meant she was showing her cleavage and some of her stomach. I guess she figured it wasn’t too cold for pants that were more like capris which of course, had designs on them since her shirt was plain. She was brave to wear patterned pants at my school. But the good thing about my school is that they’ll talk shit about you to themselves, but they wouldn’t humiliate you in front of your face. To me, of course, her style was praise worthy. She was different from all the same Jane’s at my school. However her wonderful style was temptation to me.

“Shade?”

“Yeah?” My tone made it obvious that I had broken my concentration.

“Why are you so quiet?”

“Just thinkin’.”

“About what?” I should have known she would ask that.

“How I like your style.” She smiled.

“Thanks. I like your style too.” I laughed.

“No you don’t. You’re just saying that to be nice. I have no style.” She laughed and so did I. It was sweet that she didn’t admit it, but made it obvious that she agreed.

“Shade, do you have a boyfriend?” Damn that question. That time I had a better way of answering it, though.

“No. Last time I had a boyfriend was freshman year.”

“Why has it been so long?” Fuck. It felt bad for me to lie to her so I gave her the best truth I was willing to give to her.

“You’ll find that out later.” She giggled.

“Okay.”

“What about you? You have a boyfriend?” It felt like déjà vu. I had asked Sasha the same thing. But I doubted Amara’s answer would be anywhere near Sasha’s.

“No. I’m single right now. Only been three weeks.”

“What happened?”

“I cheated, well, not like had sex cheated. He just could not handle the thought of the person I cheated with.”

“Oh, ha, been there, done that.”

“But I mean I do not usually cheat. It was just that he was becoming an asshole.”

“Oh well in my case, I was more of the asshole.” She smiled for a moment then her face got serious.

“Have you ever really loved someone?” Automatically my mind rushed to that place I dug deep in my mind to forever be buried. That deep dark place that was haunted grounds, forbidden to be trespassed by curious questions. But her question trespassed all over those grounds, and tormented the troubled souls around it. There was no way I could tell her right then and there. I didn’t even know his name. From the look on my face that I knew I had, I couldn’t get out of it with a lie.

“Who was it?” I let out a breath that I had been holding in for a while.

“I can’t talk about it right now… I’m sorry.”

“I understand…” She looked down for a quick second. “His name was Gershom. We were dating since middle school like, seventh grade. He was so nice to me. We talked about almost everything like friends would, but we were dating. I don’t know. It was almost perfect. He was cute too.”

“What happened?”

“Three shots. Two to the stomach, one to the head.” She rubbed her eyes to keep the tears from falling.

“Why was he killed?” I asked. A chill crawled across my body.

“Gang shit.” It was the first time she used profanity. “They had to kill someone to get in the gang. I asked myself, why him? What did he do?” She sucked snot and rubbed a tear away. “But it’s always Allah’s decision. Allah is the best knower.” Her mention of god made me fear her judgment of me to come when she really got to know me. “But unfortunately, to Allah, he’s going to hell. So am I.” She laughed. “I shouldn’t even be laughing about this.”

“Don’t feel bad. I’m nothing but a sinner in disguise. I’ve shamed god a long time ago.”

“It would be funny if we all die and there is no god, heaven, or hell.”

“Yeah. It’ll be da sickest joke of all jokes.”

“And for people like us…”

“Relief.” She smiled genuinely at me. There was a different softness in her eyes. It was beautiful. The nicest someone had looked at me in a while. I looked down at my untouched excuse for teriyaki chicken and decided I was hungry enough to eat it.

“I cannot wait for you to meet my mom.”

“Is she Muslim too?”

“Yes, but she is very accepting and she loves me. I make her faith harder ‘cause I’m such a mischief maker to my religion. I would be called a hypocrite. But mama says that is up for Allah to decide and she can only be devoted for her own sake. She said it would be wrong for her to judge for only Allah should judge. So she will not judge you if she trusts that I have made a good decision in making you my friend.”

“Have you always made good decisions wit’ who you befriend?” She nodded her head.

“I know someone good when I see em.”

“I wish it was that way fo’ me. I’ve made some trashy friends. I just hope things don’t go wrong with you.”

“I will never be a bad friend to you.”

“It’s not you I worry about, it’s me.”

“Aw Shade.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “You are a good person, I can see it, no matter what you have done. I know you are not capable of truly being a horrible person.” She was too god to be true; heaven sent. She had everything: beauty, intelligence, kindness. Something had to be off about her. It was against the rules of nature. The death of her lover alone couldn’t be enough. Or maybe she was that good of a person. I envied her on the low, but my feelings for her turned that envy into infatuation; desire. From what I knew about her was that she was straight. That killed my hopes but I still adored her. However, I felt it was too soon for me to express that to her.

I could only smile at her comment and thank her.

For the first time in my entire life, I was looking forward to seeing Monroe. Something in me told me that he would have something to say regarding our conversation before lunch. His attitude was different, in a good way. It looked like a resurrection of his former self and outlook on life, and his next step was to gather knowledge for his new self.

He shared no words with Molly after coming back from lunch, which was once a ritual for him. But some of what he knew then had died. It was easy for me to zero in on Molly’s conversation. It contained of nothing but bickering and bullshit, just like her life. She was the sixteen and pregnant type. Many girls, including myself, who had low or damaged self value let ourselves use sex (or some other mechanism) to make us feel good about ourselves. On the outside we might try to think we were all high and mighty, but on the inside – where our thoughts take over – we know without true knowledge that we are inferior.

Monroe thought he was different and could win Molly over because he wasn’t “the typical black guy” but she was no better than her ignorant father.

“How did you know what happened ‘tween me an’ Molly?” Monroe asked. I couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ve known of Molly since middle school. The Molly you know now is different from the Molly I knew then.”

“How?” I let out a short dry laugh.

“She was just as bad as her dad. A real bitch. See Monroe, what you got ta understand is dat when a white person is racist, it’s ‘cause they’re ignorant an’ unless you educate dem on their ignorance, nothing for dem will change. Feeding into their hatred by disclaiming your race an’ talking bad ‘bout it only makes things worse for you.” He looked slightly defeated, realizing that he had done wrong for so long.

My teachers had a way with moving me near people with some kind of issues. Everyone had issues, but some people were just problematic. Chaotic. Destructive, without anyone knowing it.

Amaya was this chick I knew since ninth grade. She was pretty but not what I would consider sexy. She was cute like a child you wanted to play with. She had cinnamon brown skin and a teddy bear nose. Her lips were plump and pink and had big brown eyes that sealed her baby doll look. Even her stride exampled innocence. Her legs moved like a child’s under her frilly, girly dresses. She would smile and hold her hands together, reminding me of Ebony when she got her favorite candy. She was going on seventeen and didn’t know what a dick looked like. It wouldn’t surprise me if she never touched her vagina out of curiosity. She and I were like night and day on so many levels. But she was uncomfortable with herself.

Forth period was my art III class. Being in the class gave people the opportunity to talk to me more. I was no real artist. I wasn’t horrible but I wasn’t the best. Amaya had a lot more artistic talent but was runner up to Kimora who had a skillful eye when it came to painting. I only took the class because I was running out of classes to take.

During that time in the class, we were working on watercolor. I had a picture of a landscape somewhere in Madagascar. Amaya was working on one in Italy. Watercolor was my best medium, it wasn’t the same for Amaya’s. But her skills made our pieces look equally good.

“Amaya,” I said. I got no answer. It was obvious that she was ignoring me. I rolled my eyes. She was on that bullshit again. “Amaya…?” She sighed. “Dis some bull, Amy?” She finally looked at me with a bright smile on her face.

“Yes Shade?”

“Can you hand me the salt?”

“Of course.” She handed me the salt. I looked at her, giving her cat eyes.

“I don’t know why you want people to call you dat. It’s an ugly name.”

“It’s better than Amaya. Amaya sounds too ghetto.”

“Really, Amaya? My name sounds more ghetto than yours does.”

“No, yours sounds fine, and it has a reason for it. Not Amaya.” I put salt on my wet paper and watched as the colors fizzed. Amaya kept working on the same place that she had been working on the days before. I questioned everyday how much of a perfectionist she was. Nothing was ever good enough for her.

“Why Amy?” I asked.

“‘Cause it’s a normal name.”

“Yeah, an ultra white name.” She shrugged her shoulders. Problems.

Soon enough my mind slipped away from her. I thought about Amara. It was the same cycle with Sasha. That strong feeling of lust I had killed me. But I had to calm it down because Amara was straight. To be completely honest with my self, there were times when I wished I was a guy. There had been a good number of times where I met a straight girl that I wanted to fuck. But the thought of that was bad. I felt guilty for putting Amara in that category. I didn’t want her to be just a play thing, she was more than that. The added fact that I was refraining from sex only made things worse. What could I do with a straight girl though? There was no choice but to keep from sex.

When I got on the bus after school, for the first time ever I saw Amara. Unfortunately, she sat in the wrong place. She was in the back with all the fools and all the people who only talked to black people. They weren’t always fools back there. At first there were the people who only talked to black people, which were smart people, and smart black people. But freshman had a way with ruining things.

Amara sitting in the back had me thinking about her the whole time. No matter how strange it sounded, I could smell her the whole ride home. She had a distinctive smell. It was like a fresh wild fire, extinguished by rain. The incense in African stores. That red wood hiding in those tress with that attracting smell. Herbs of all kind. Smoke escaping her lips. Fresh pine cone. Jamaican incense. The bark of a sap tree. May showers. Scented oils from Afro-centric people. Kwanzaa. Somali rose. Camwood in scented black soap. Africa.

The bus stopped at my bustop. I slowly got off, not wanting to look back after my thoughts. I made my usual direction towards my house, ignoring my creepy neighbor and his eerie wind chimes. Then.

“Shade! Shade!” I turned around to see Amara running towards me. She had a hysterical smile on her face. This crazy girl! I thought. Her enthusiasm made me smile. When she reached me, she linked her arm with mine. It gave me a warm feeling. Since we were outside of school, I didn’t care what anyone thought. She could be my girlfriend to them.

“Shade, why did you go without me?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think straight.”

“Okay.” I liked having her arm linked with mine. To others it could just be a friendly gesture, but to me, it was intimacy.

“Where do you live, Shade?” We were coming up on my house. I looked to my left where my house was. She followed my eyes. “You live there?” She pointed at my small town house.

“Yeah.”

“Oh! I live really close.” We passed two houses after mine before we got to her house. I recounted. My house, the house next to mine, the one next to that, then her house. One, two, three. I almost thought I was mistaken until I saw that unmistakable window. I slowed down my tracks a little. I almost dragged her down. She made an expression in another language. Almost like say “oh shit”.

“Shade, why you stop? We were going in.”

“Oh.” It was the best thing I could think to say. We walked into her house. She told me to take my shoes off at the front door. If Sasha thought my feet were pretty, she had yet to see Amara’s. Something had to be wrong.

In her kitchen that was slightly bigger than Sasha’s, was what appeared to be her mother.

“Mama,” she said speaking louder. Then they shared words in their language. Their voices were direct and had bass. They spoke without slurring or mumbling. The only thing I picked up was my name. Her mother smiled then walked up to hug me. It was the first time I met someone’s parent who hugged me. I hugged her back.

“Oh Shade. It is nice to meet you,” she said holding my shoulders. “Amara said a lot about you.”

“Okay mama.” Then she spoke in that language.

“Shade, would you like something to drink?” Her ma asked.

“Sure, thank you.”

“Okay, we have ice tea, is that okay?”

“Yes.” She gave me and Amara a glass. We took a seat around her kitchen table that was the darkest wood I had ever seen.

“So Shade, how has school been for you? What grades do you make?” Her mom asked.

“A’s and B’s,” I answered.

“That is good, that is good. You seem like a smart girl.” Then someone walked into the house. It was a tall skinny guy. He looked a little older than me. By how much he resembled Amara, I assumed it was her brother.

“Mosi,” different language, “this is Shade.”

“Hello Shade,” he said. He looked less cultured than Amara, but that was typical for guy foreigners. They receive more harassment because men can be cruel and more close minded. Their mother left to go upstairs.

“So Shade, you think Amara is crazy yet?”

“Shut up, Mosi.” I laughed a little, only because she was a little bit at times.

“I mean,” I started to say. “Sometimes. But it’s okay. I like her crazy.” We all slightly laughed or smiled.

Amara and I finished our drinks and headed off to her room. My heart pounded with every step we took. Maybe she had a sister, I thought. So far the chances were looking slim. But the first thing I took note of about her room was how cultured it was. The other parts of her house had hints, but her room was like a taste of Africa. And her room smelled like her. I took a whiff in without making it so obvious. Her walls had a lot of artwork on it. There were prints of African inspired patterns and beautiful landscapes. There were a lot of paintings of prints and women. There were some of very attractive African men. She had one shelf dedicated to sculptures and figurines. The stereotypical elephant with its trunk up was on it. Two giraffes accompanied the elephant. There were also small carvings of abstract people lying around. I looked at her jewelry and I wanted to snatch some of it away. They consisted of beautiful bead designs and cowry shells. She had some large earrings also that were made from beads and cowry shells as well. Some of the jewelry looked bought and some looked hand made with some serious skill. The hand made ones looked the best.

“You like?” She walked over to her jewelry and picked up a pair of earrings. She took out my boring hoop ones and put in a pretty pair of earrings. They had three strands of beads on each one with a color pattern. Each string was a different size and ended with a cowry shell. Then she put a thick matching necklace around my neck. I looked at it in the mirror. I really liked the way it looked.

“See, now you look more African. But I have to braid your hair like it too.” She actually got out a comb and some shea butter. She sat on her bed, which was lower to the ground than normal, and instructed me to take seat on the wonderful rug she had on the floor. She gave me a pillow to sit on. I sat between her legs. Temptation on both sides. I wanted to touch the smooth dark skin on her legs. Only in dreams.

“Tell me now,” she demanded.

“Tell you what?”

“Why has it been so long since you had a boyfriend?” I felt as she worked away at my hair and sighed.

“Because I don’t date anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I just hit and quit now.”

“Hm.” Her hands moved quickly. “How many?” She was so quick witted.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. I know it’s a lot.”

“More than ten?” I nodded. “Try to remember. Say their names. Starting with your first.”

“Wanya. But I didn’t quit him. I kept hitting. I did just this year, the beginning of the school year.”

“You like him?”

“Nah, he’s a nigga.” She laughed. “Then there was Brandon. He was horrible. I don’t even wanna talk about it.

“Antwaun. For some reason ghetto niggas can put in work. He only got it three times ‘fore I fucked him over.

“Sean. The biggest dick white boy I ever met, but he didn’t know what to do wit’ it. I helped him out. He got it twice.

“Angel. Darkest Mexican I met. He was one tone lighter than purple. He was good. He was like a second Wanya.

“Marcelous. He was horrible. Only thing good about him was his looks.

“Malik. He likes to hit my ass really hard. Somehow I liked it. He got it four times.

“Lance. He was okay. But he was a hit and quit.

“Jorge. This fine ass Dominican. He looks like a black guy, but has a Spanish accent.” I was at number nine and I was just remembering the names. This was awful.

“Um… this is bad,” I said.

“It’s okay Shade.” I sighed.

“Tyrone. He was good but he was tryna take things to another level.”

“So you do not want a relationship?”

“No, I don’t want none of dat. Donté was a smash and dash.” I skipped the girl. “Makiegh was another hit and quit. Nijee was one too.

“Sean two. He was this really skinny tall guy wit’ a big dick. He knew how to use it. I hit it five times. Um…” There was more, and that was shameful. The next was a girl, but I left that out. I knew I had the order wrong, I was just saying what I could remember.

“Fernando, another Dominican and another hit and quit.

“Rodrick. Boring. I faked an orgasm with him.

“Phillip. He was okay, hit it twice, the second time wasn’t as good. Fuck… there’s more.”

“Keep going.” I sighed. I thought hard and made sure I wasn’t missing anyone. Not including Sasha, there were two others.

“Well, Gero. He’s good. He tried to hit again but I’m on detox. And last… he wasn’t the last but I’m saving him for last, Darnell.”

“Oh… he’s in my class. That is Sasha’s best friend, right?”

“Unfortunately. I told her I fucked ‘im. She forgave me.”

“Well, he is cute.”

“He’s good in bed too like, really good. The best out of all of dem.”

“Damn.”

“I hit it only twice dough ‘cause he was tryna go deeper than sex.” She announced that she was done with my hair and sat in front of me. I ran my fingers through my hair. She had box braided my whole head.

“Ugh, now you’re more beautiful,” she said. It was so nice of her to call me beautiful that I smiled from ear to ear. It had been a while since I heard it.

“So, why do you not want a relationship?”

“Because.” I let my eyes trail off. Then I thought of my number. All of them made nineteen. Then there were the girls which made it twenty two. And there was one more I didn’t say. “I don’t want my heart to be broken…” I looked down at her patterned carpet. If I could sit on it forever, all would be well. I could die on the carpet.

“Aw. But what about the ones who open up to you?” I shrugged my shoulders.

“I didn’t even ask you, are you a virgin?” She giggled.

“No. That is why I’m going to hell. I am ‘sposed to marry first.”

“How many guys?”

“Well, not as many as you, but two.”

“Who was your first?”

“The boy I loved who died. Then the second time was just ‘cause I was horny.”

“Does your mom know?”

“Yeah. My mama knows everything.”

“And your brother?”

“Yeah! Me and Mosi are like best friends. I tell him everything. I tell him the most stuff. You know guys. Dey do not want to tell anyone anything.”

“Yeah, I know.” I ran my hand through my wonderful braids and looked around her room.

“Did you do the art on the walls?” I asked. She smiled, then looked around as if she had never seen the art before.

“Yeah, I did most of it.”

“Damn, I ain’t know you had skills on the art field.”

“Yeah, jus’ a lil’ bit.” Everything in her room was so peaceful. It put my paranoia at ease. It’s bad when at my own house I feel paranoid.

“I should hang out here more often. Your house is so peaceful.” She smiled.

“You can if you want. But what is wrong with your house?”

“Everything…” Something about her made me want to spill my insides out to her. She was so easy to talk to, understanding, and nonjudgmental. Even Sasha suggested that I was a ho (although I could agree that there was a personal reason behind it) but Amara tried to get to understand why, and she still didn’t judge me.

“Is it your mom?” she asked.

“Her too. But it’s more because of who she’s marrying. I don’t like who she’s marrying.”

“Why?” I sighed. I could feel my throat start to close. I swallowed and fought to keep from crying.

“He keeps…” Sadly I let a tear slip out of my grip.

“Aw Shade.” She stood on her knees and hugged me. My arms fell limp around her waist as her breasts pressed against my face. With my tears I wet the crease of her breasts. “You don’t have to tell me if you do not want.” She sat down in-front of me.

“But I need help. I don’t know how to tell my ma.”

“What does he keep tryna do?” I rubbed my eyes and sucked snot.

“He keeps tryna fuck me an’ I don’t know how to tell my ma. An’ the only reason why she wanna marry ‘im is ‘cause he got a little money. She quit her job an’ everything.” She gave me a few seconds to cry. Rant. “He knows I been sleepin’ ‘round too an’ he keeps talkin’ ‘bout it. It makes me feel horrible. It’s like he’s tryna justify him wanting to fuck me ‘cause to him, I’m a whore.” My face got wet quick. I covered my face and brought my knees to my chest. I rested my hand on my knees and cried. I almost shook, I felt so bad. I had never told anyone my problems with Him. And his verbal abuse only did more damage. How could I say I wasn’t a whore? I didn’t even get money out of it, making me a bad one. At least my ma got money out of it. “And the worst part about it is that I am a whore. Worse than one.” I felt her arm around my shoulders.

“Shade, you are not a whore,” she started to say, softly. “You are just looking for love, but you are not looking in the right places. But you need to tell your mama. In dis society, your bond with your mama is very important. Right now it sounds like you don’t have much of a bond with anyone.”

“I don’t. Most people don’t like me ‘cause I’m weird and ‘cause I sleep around.”

“Shade, I like you.” She put her head on my shoulder. I brought my head up.

“I have to tell her.” I would be damned if my mother married that pedophile. He was almost twice my age. I had to tell her before they married.

Amara nodded her head.

“You do have to tell her.”

“I wanna kill Jim.” She shook her head.

“You do not. You will just get in trouble.”

“I know. I want him gone.” I liked her compassion. For so many years, it was what I needed. “Can you be my best friend, Amara?” I could feel her smile on my shoulder.

“I was already your best friend, Shade.” Amara was better than Jesus. She at least was there when I needed her. Yes. She was Jesus to me.