The Girl in the Window

Turned out that the niggas real name was Zack, but he wanted people to call him Stackz. My imagination did dances with the reason for the choice of his name. Just taking one glance at the nigga and my mind went straight to that horrible category.

Although I told the nigga off the first time he tried to come on to me, his eyes weren’t giving up. Almost every time I got up, his eyes were glued to my ass. Every time I wore a lower cut shirt, he’d stare at my cleavage with the look of lust in his eyes. It made me feel uncomfortable when I got up, so I tried not to get up as much. I didn’t know what the nigga was capable of and if he was feeling me enough, he might have tried some tricky shit.

He did try some shit. Once I walked past him a little too close and he gently rubbed my arm to get my attention. His touch was actually pleasant and hard to ignore in my miserable state. I slowly turned to look at him.

“Yo Shade, can I at least get yo’ number?” he asked.

“I don’t text a lot.” I said softly, and then walked away. It was too obvious what he wanted from getting my number. When I came back, he kept trying.

“That don’t matta. We can talk in person.” Then he smiled. For some reason, his smile looked grimy, dirty even.

“Zack, I thought I told you—”

“Whoa, who da fuck is Zack?” I rolled my eyes.

“Stackz, I thought I told you that I don’t wanna fuck you.”

“I ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout fuckin’. I just wanna talk an’ get to know you.” Yeah, the way Wanya wanted to talk, I thought. I shook my head then sighed.

“It’s okay Za – Stackz.”

“What you mean? You gon’ give a nigga a number or somethin’?” I shook my head. “Damn, why you act so boujie like yo’ pussy made of gold or somethin’?”

“Damn Stackz, I jus’ don’t wanna get to know you. Don’t be gettin’ all salty ‘bout it.” He sucked his teeth and insulted me under his breath. I was so annoyed by him at that point that I grabbed my belongings and moved to an abandoned seat in the back corner of the room. He insulted me across the room, drawing attention, and then echoing whispers. I could imagine the things coming from people’s lips.

“Damn, I was just playin’ Shade,” he yelled. Everyone looked back at me. I never really liked drawing attention because it was usually negative attention. Plus I was even more upset because he was being bipolar.

“Settle down Zack,” my teacher Mr. Watkins said.

“I don’t know who dis Zack is you keep callin’,” the nigga said.

“Apparently you do if you responded.”

“Man, I don’t know who da fuck you think you talkin’ to.” I couldn’t believe the amount of idiocy that was being emitted into the air from that fool.

“Alright. You can head to six twenty four.”

“I ain’t goin’ no where.” If Mr. Watkins could, he would toss the nigga out the classroom. Mr. Watkins was one big dude. But of course he couldn’t physically touch him. So instead he picked up the phone, called six twenty four (the In School Suspension room) and got someone to escort the roach. After some bull he put up, he finally gave in and cussed and shouted his way to the room.

I didn’t like being in the back of the room because it was full of fools causing ruckus. However, I was too scared to get up, risking everyone to look at me. I already had enough of that before the whole scene with the nigga. That was until Mr. Watkins said:

“You may move back to your seat now, Shade.” Although I got the attention I didn’t want, I was happy he got me out of the chaos.

This time getting on the bus, Amara sat in the right seat. She was on the inside, near the window, happy to see me.

“So Shade,” she started to say as soon as I sat down. “Are you coming over to my house today?”

“Yeah, I prolly will.” She smiled.

“But when are you gonna fix that thing with ya’know, Jim.” I lowered my eyes and looked at my hands.

“I don’t know, when I get da courage. I ain’t talk to my ma in a minute. She know I’m mad at her.”

“Why?

“For quitting her job. If Jim leave, we will be real broke.”

“I understand.”

“I swear sometimes I think my ma is stupid.”

“No, she is prolly not stupid. There is prolly more to it.”

“I know but goddamn. Dis ain’t the first time she done some shit like dis.”

“When else?” I sighed. It seemed like day by day she wanted to unlace me. Who was I? To most I was a two eyes weirdo who talked little and when I did talk, something weird or unpleasant came out. To others I was all the above plus a freak who fucked everyone’s ex, boyfriend, girlfriend, brother or sister. Nothing else mattered but that. But I was much more. Everyone had their issues, but mine were buried. With each layer came a more disgusting truth.

My eyes were glued to my hands that were pilling away my cuticles. I could feel Amara’s eyes on me.

“You wanna talk about it later?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I answered under my breath.

“You were right Shade, you do have some personal problems.”

“I know. That’s why I’m such a mess.”

“You gotta work on them.”

“I know. Been tryin’ but it’s hard.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“That would be nice.” She kindly lightened the atmosphere by breaking out in a random but humorous story. At first I didn’t laugh or anything because my mind was in that dark place. But after some time, she got me laughing. It was crazy how she could get me in a bad mood one second then in another second I was in a good mood. It was bipolar like her tone. Most times when I felt down, either intentionally or haphazardly, I stayed there for a while until I became neutral again. But Amara had me on roller coasters.

When we got off the bus, Amara linked arms with me. It was something that made me feel a little different about her friendship. It was weird to say that already she was one of my closest friends because she knew the most about me, but she still barely knew the surface.

Our creepy neighbor was sitting on his porch cracking peanut shells. Amara was talking to me but I was too focused on our neighbor. His wind chimes jingled away with the slight wind and his eyes were on us. I could hear each peanut shell crack before he popped it into his mouth. From how hard I was staring at his mouth I swear I could almost hear him chewing. Then the wetness of his swallow. His hand grazing through the bag to pick out the perfect shell, and then his hand grazing the bag to pull it up. With the slightest squeeze of his thumb, it cracked. I could hear him chewing again. He slightly waved at me with his two fingers, his face neutral.

“Ay, what’s up Shade?” A familiar voice that was not Amara’s broke my attention. I looked up to see Wanya. I didn’t even notice that we stopped walking.

“Oh Wanya,” I said, refocusing myself. “Just the nigga I wanna see.” I looked at Amara who was looking at Wanya. I wondered if she remembered his name coming up in the list of people I had sex with.

“Uh Amara, can I talk to Wanya for a second? I’ll come to your house in a minute.”

“Okay,” she said like her feelings were hurt, probably because I didn’t hear a word she was saying. I watched as she walked off. I bet she thought I was going to dis her to get some dicking from Wanya, but that wasn’t the case.

Being the infamous Wanya, he had some music playing. It was that crack rap again. The lyrics went something like



“Who she, yo’ next piece of ass?” he asked. I chuckled.

“Nah, she’s straight.”

“Is she like African or something’?”

“Yeah, it’s obvious ain’t it?”

“Yeah. I know how you be likin’ dem African lookin’ people. I knew you was tryna hit dat when you first saw her. She got a wagon dough.” I smiled.

“But for real dough, what’s good wit’ you tellin’ dat grimy nigga Zack ‘bout me and you?”

“Who da fuck is Zack?”

“You know Zack.” I sucked my teeth, rolled my eyes then said: “Dat nigga Stackz.”

“Oh shit, das his real name? I’ma make fun of dat nigga like mad now. But what’s up?”

“What you mean Wanya, I don’t want dat nigga knowing my business. You betta leave out names when you talk ‘bout me. Don’t even talk ‘bout me, shit.”

“Aight chill. I won’t do it again.”

“Too late for apologizes. The damage is done now. Now da nigga want me to fuck ‘im.”

“Well, why not?” I pushed him really hard on the shoulder, making him stumble backwards.

“What the fuck I look like? I don’t jus’ fuck no random niggas I don’t even know. Don’t act like I did dat shit wit’ you neither.”

“Aight my bad, you right.” Although Wanya was no more than a nigga, I knew him as a casual friend for two years before we first had sex.

“Plus dat nigga look like a roach.” He laughed a little.

“Chill, das my nigga dough.”

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t want ‘im talkin’ to me no mo’. Now if you excuse me, I have some African girl to smash.” He laughed hysterically.

“I knew you was lyin’.”

“Nah, I’m kidding. She straight for real. I wish she was gay.”

“Okay, but when can you give me some ass?”

“When you stop listening to that ghetto ass music.”

“Aight, I see how it is.” I walked away ready to see Amara again.

When I got to her house she opened the door before I got to knock. She still looked a little upset but I could tell she was happy that I came back. After saying hello to her mama, we went straight to her room. I sat on her carpet and she stood in-front of me.

“Shade, I was talking to you and you did not even listen.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to. I was distracted by that neighbor. Doesn’t he creep you out?” She relaxed a little.

“All neighbors creep me out. ‘Specially that crack head looking guy across the street.” I chuckled.

“Sit down,” I said grabbing her arm and pulling her down.

“Wait.” Then she popped up and hooked up her iPod to this radio player thing that I made a personal note to invest in.

“You like African music?”

“Never really heard any but I’m open to a lot of music.”

“Good. I got a lot of Cabo Verde music ‘cause I like the Portuguese and African sound to it. And some West African stuff.” She took off her jacket and stood in-front of her room mirror that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. “I like dancing to the songs too.” Then she started dancing. Her moves were very sharp and energetic. She seemed to dance with every muscle in her body, using every limb with the same energy. Her dancing was wonderful. I smiled. Then I noticed something on her back. I stood up to get a better look. Her back had scarring. But it wasn’t regular scarring like from injury. The scars on her were purposely done and in a specific pattern. They were only on the back of her left shoulder. She turned around.

“Oops, forgot about that.”

“Did you do that?”

“No. Someone in my village back in Ethiopia did.”

“Why?”

“It is for beauty. Uh, Africa is very tribal and certain tribes have certain standards of beauty. In the tribe I’m from, scarring makes you more beautiful.”

“What tribe is that?”

“The Hamar.”

“Oh, never heard of it. The scars look nice though.”

“Thank you.” She walked to her bookshelf and pulled out a book. It was almost like a text book and it read Ethiopia. I slightly laughed.

“You gon’ educate me on Hamar people?” She smiled.

“Yes!” She went to the table of contents. The book started with the history to the present of the country then there was the climate geography and extra. Then it was separated by tribes. Of course, she went to the Hamar tribe.

“You see the scars?” she asked pointing to a high definition color picture of a woman with scars on her back. Some looked purposely done with craftsmanship and others looked like whips.

“Yeah. But what are those other scars? They look different, like whips.”

“Yes. It is a badge of honor. We have rituals when women beg to be whipped by the tribes Maza. He whips the girls who beg to be whipped because it creates a bond between the Maza and his sisters if they have problems in the future and it creates a debt that he will have to pay. I wanted to do it but I was too young.”

“Sounds painful.” She shook her head.

“It is not painful at all. It is like getting a cut you didn’t know you had. You do not really feel it at first, but it is a little sore later but you feel good that you got it. The ritual is really exciting, you should see it.”

“What does the whip look like?

“A pathetic stick.” She chuckled. “It is not like those heavy cow skin whips those crazy Europeans used on African slaves. My back scarring probably hurt worse than the whip would. We Africans take pain better than you Americans. You all cry about little things.”

“Maybe, but not me.”

“I know.”

“What else is there?” She turned the page.

“When girls get their whippings, the boys have to do cow jumps.” I laughed.

“That sounds crazy.”

“Yeah, but it is a high honor. It is not literally jumping though. They line up cows and the guy runs across them. The guy has to get his hair cut in the front, then rubbed with sand. Then he is rubbed in cow dung.”

“Yuk.” She laughed.

“Our cow dung is different. American cows eat crazy things that make their dung smell worse than normal.”

“Okay, tell me more.” She giggled.

“You like?”

“Yeah. I’m figuring out why you’re so interesting.” She smiled then looked at the picture.

“They have to jump four times if he wants to marry. When he marries, he is in debt to the woman’s family for marriage costs. Then after the ritual, there is a big dance where the women choose who to dance with and flirt with the guy.

“But guys can beat their wives before she has two kids. But they can’t beat too bad or it is really bad on him. My papa never hit my mama though.”

“Where is your dad?”

“He passed away. He was old when they marry. It is like that most the time there. Oh but Mosi is lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Mosi is married.”

“Say word?”

“Yes. He did before we moved. He has a daughter too.”

“Damn, I never would have known.”

“Yep. That is where he is right now. She has her own place. He wants her to move in with us so she does not have to work but she likes working. They are cute together.”

“How old is she.”

“Eighteen.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty one. He is in college now, a freshman. He has a full scholarship to Duke because he is really smart.”

“Wow, he is smart. Are you smart?”

“Ha! Of course. I make straight A’s. I never made anything lower. If we make bad grades, my mama would send us back to Ethiopia but we wouldn’t be a part of the tribe anymore, so it would be miserable.”

“Mm, I see. My ma wants me to make good grades too. Only once in middle school I got a C, and my life was miserable. She made me go to school everyday in these ugly green pants and a pale blue button up shirt until I brought my grades up. And she made me eat oatmeal for every meal. I could only go to school and back and I didn’t go anywhere else. It was horrible. She is always so serious about grades because her parents didn’t enforce it and now her life is harder.”

“Ha, that is crazy.” There was silence for a while. She flipped through a couple more pages before she closed the book.

“Speaking of your mama,” she started to say. “How did she mess up before?” I looked at my hands.

“My younger brother’s dad, he was married to my ma before. He had even more money than Jim and he just left us one day then we were broke again. My mama ain’t have a job ‘cause she was dumb and quit it after they married. He ain’t pay a penny in child support.” I left out so many details in that story that it was pitiful. But I wasn’t prepared to go that deep.

“I’m sorry. That must suck.”

“Yeah, my whole life sucks.”

“No. It will get better.”

“Sure.”

“Take my word.” She sounded crazy for saying that, as if her word would actually make things better.

“I hope so.”

That creepy neighbor was still sitting on his porch as I made my way back home. It was the twilight of the day and the sun was golden on his face, helping his pasty complexion. One of his bright eyes was shined on by the sun, making it look ghastly. He looked inhumane and to the random bystander, he almost looked angelic, heaven sent. His face showed serenity, peace and benevolence. For some reason though, to me, he was like a fallen angel. God’s reject that only had one place to go. But not even hell would take him for he was beyond judgment even by Satan himself. His sins were unspeakable to the entire world but hidden behind that tranquil face and beautiful house amongst the decrepit red brick faced houses that did nothing but frown. His eyes told a story that nobody could see because the color was too blinding. His skin was dead to the world, like his eyes, only more shallow. But his eyes told the true uncanny story behind his presence in the dying neighborhood.

His gaze was fixed on me and something else, but I was his main focus. His wind chimes were too lazy to chime with the dragging wind. His house was definitely out of place. He had flowers growing around the small tree in his front yard and hibiscus plants dying out for the winter. His house was the most inviting of all the other houses. It was the most neat and lively. While every other house deteriorated, his house was coming to life.

“Fuck.” It was like I ran into a wall of someone’s house and all the air escaped my lungs. Someone grabbed my arms to keep me from falling. That someone was Wanya.

“Dammit Wanye.” I grabbed his arms. “Did you really just wait for me to come back from Amara’s house?”

“Yeah! You know I couldn’t miss out on your tellin’ me what da pussy like.” I rolled my eyes then started walking again. He walked along with me.

“I tol’ yo’ ass dat she’s straight.” He chuckled.

“I’m just fuckin’ wit’ you. I came from hollerin’ at my nigga Carmello den I saw yo’ ass starin’ hard at dat nigga.”

“So what den, you thought it was okay to jus’ stand in-front of me an’ have me fallin’?”

“I mean, wa’s good wit’ dat nigga? You plottin’ on doin’ him a favor?” I glowered at him. The way he said “doin’ him a favor” I knew he meant something rated R.

“You workin’ on getting’ an ass whoppin’ today.” We got to my house and sat on my porch. He was lucky I was in no rush into my house. I looked at the door like it was the gateway to my nightmares. Deliberated whether I wanted to face the horrors or not. Decided I’d rather fuck with Wanya for a little while.

“So what’s good? You gon’ let me in?”

“Nah. My mom’s home and she’ll flip shit if she see me bring you to my room.”

“What make you think I want ta go in yo’ room?” I sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes.

“Look nigga, you claimin’ yo’ guilt already. Pussy runnin’ yo’ mind.”

“Damn, I can neva give you some bull like otha bitches.”

“Wanya, you too predictable. But I changed the lock.”

“Come on Shade.” He placed his hand on my thigh, slightly rubbing it with his thumb through my jeans. His touch ignited a spark on my flame. It created condensation, then perspiration. “I ain’t have none since you top me of off last. Help a nigga out.”

“Wa’s dat, anotha bullshit story?”

“Nah girl, I’m bein’ straight wit’ you.” He looked me dead in my eyes without smirking; his smirking was usually a give away for a lie.

“So what you tryna say?”

“I’m sayin’ you got me sprung, girl.”

“Oh, okay.” I said sarcastically. He chuckled.

“You always think I’m lyin’.”

“I mean, most niggas do.” He stared at me, his hand still on my thigh. I looked away. The perspiration was becoming a flash flood. I barely moved my legs in a closing position then changed my mind. That would be a give away to him that I was feeling sex.

“Look Wanya, it ain’t you, i’s me. I fuck too much. I needa chill out some.”

“How long has it been?”

“Almost three months.”

“Damn! That’s a record for you.”

“Yeah whatever. But I wanna withdrawal some.”

“Come on. You’ll never make it cold turkey.”

“Yeah, you sayin’ dat shit ‘cause you want some.”

“No for real though. I’m kinda helpin’ you too.” Honestly he was right. Who was I to think that someone like me not having sex all together would make things better? I had to take bigger breaks, little at a time. Plus, the down pour became a thunderstorm rattling my insides and making my eyes become wilder. It was his smooth touch and sly talk.

“But my mama home.” He turned around and looked between my house and the one next to it.

“How ‘bout da back yard?”

“Nigga what?”

“You know, behind da bushes. Den yo’ mama or no one else will see us.”

“Leave it to yo’ ass to go somewhere crazy.” I stood up and we walked to the backyard behind the bushes. Hearing the dying out insects and the crunch of the ground gave me rush of ecstasy. It was that same feeling I got the first time I snuck having sex, nervous as ever that I would get caught, especially in a place where the chances were high. The feeling made me smile, but my eyes watered from the deep pain behind it.

He pulled me to him, his arms wrapped around my back.

“You ain’t ‘bout to rush shit now ‘cause I been waitin’ to give you some for a while,” he said. Then he snuck his face under my chin and started planting kisses on my neck. I tilted my head back to let him kiss away. But even he could go but so slow before he pulled my clothes off. We both stripped down to our under garments before I made him sit on the ground. He leaned back on his elbows looking at me as I took the hair tie out of my hair.

“Those are some sexy drawers you got on.” He said sarcastically. I was rocking my “no dick for me!” granny panties.

“Well, I won’t tryna fuck you. Don’t push yo’ luck.”

“Aight, aight. You won’t be wearin’ dem anyway.” I smirked and sat on top of him, my legs around his lower waist. I leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead as his hands traveled up my back to unhook and pull my bra off. He knew how I liked my breasts done. After a while of tending to my breasts, he ripped my underwear off like he never wanted to see me in them again. Then he lifted himself up to take off his boxers.

“Wait,” he said sitting up. “I feel like eating some pussy today, but you prolly pissed ‘bout twenty times an’ sweated down dere and I don’t wanna taste like I’m eatin’ yeast infection.” I sighed.

“All dese damn requests.” But I had an old habit that I didn’t break to always remind myself that I had a problem that I shouldn’t go back to. Thinking of it had me thinking twice about fucking Wanya, but at the same time, I thought about the cold turkey. I was sexually frustrated and my fingers and glass bottles weren’t making me happier. I grabbed my book bag and pulled out my never missing small pack of unscented baby wipes. He watched as I pulled them out the pack. It was getting dark and the light that was in my backyard was beaming on us. I didn’t want to be out there forever.

“Turn around,” I ordered, but he didn’t look away. I rolled my eyes and did what I had to do. I tried to do a quick wipe down but he took the wipe and wiped it how he wanted. Then I lied down and let him do work. I hadn’t had the feeling of a tongue on me since Sasha and feeling it again was like a druggie taking a hit of crack after not having any in a long time. He wrapped his hands around my hips, daring me to move away. Him going down on me felt so good that I started moaning just seconds in. I came up to lean on my elbows, watching him.

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered under my breath. Then right when I was about to come, he stopped. “What?”

“You’re wet and hell and I’m hard as fuck. Lemme get up in here.” He was trying to get on top, but I wanted to be, so I pushed him back. The walls of my vagina wrapped around him and weren’t letting go. I leaned back to work my hips better. With his hands he crushed the dirt on my ass into my flesh, rolling it up to my back. He sat up and kissed my neck, massaged my breasts. Then he picked me up for a split second to put me on my back. I slapped his chest because I wanted to be on top, but wrapped my legs around him, not wanting him to stop. Then I thought that going as long as I did without sex was probably good because it helped me appreciate it more. It almost felt like I was a virgin again. I was singing an anthem. Then I wondered how it would have felt if I went longer.

After we were done, I was trying to get up and leave as soon as possible. But Wanya wasn’t.

“Damn Shade, you always bust and bounce.”

“What you want from me?” He sucked his teeth.

“Lemme hold you for a lil’ bit. I’s cold out here.”

“If i’s cold, den go home.”

“Come on Shade, I don’t know when I’ma see you again.” I looked at him sideways. He looked like a little boy asking for his mama. I almost wanted to laugh, but I didn’t. I sat down between his legs and let him hold me.

“Damn, you ain’t let me do dis since like, three years ago.”

“Hm, you sound like you likin’ it a little too much.” He slipped his hands under my breast to cradle my stomach. Couldn’t lie, I was enjoying the affection.

“Maybe I am.” I sighed.

“I went over dis wit’ you before Wanya. You don’t like me, you jus’ like how I fuck.”

“Maybe then, but iunno now.” I turned my head to look at him.

“Tell me five things you know about me.” He didn’t say anything for a while. He just stared at me, expressionless. I blew air through my teeth then shook my head.”

“Damn, not even one thing—”

“You like to write when you’re upset or bored and sometimes when you’re angry but when you angry, it come out like shit.”

“Okay.”

“You sing with yo’ friends Lorraine and Jada at the corner store sometimes an’ you always felt that Lorraine had a better voice.

“You’re too scared to tell people you bi ‘cause you don’t want anymore negative attention.

“You don’t like yo’ thighs or tits ‘cause you think they too big.

“You don’t like yo’ gray eye ‘cause it feels like a fake part of you.

“And’ you like dark skin niggas ‘cause whoever was yo’ first is dark and you still stuck on ‘im. I know I won’t yo’ first. You ain’t bleed.” I got a little chocked up at the last fact. Or maybe it was because it did slightly care. Maybe it was both. It was because whether he cared or not, I felt it couldn’t work.

“Wanya, it can’t happen,” I said.

“Can’t even give it a shot?”

“Wanya, you might know dat much, but you don’t know enough. I’m a fuckin’ mess right now, an’ you ain’t what I’m lookin’ for.”

“How?”

“You ain’t got no goals, no means. You flow through life, and I ain’t tryna deal wit’ dat.”

“Damn, it ain’t like we gon’ marry.” I sighed, then moved out of his hold. I picked up my bra and put it on, followed by my shirt. Then I pulled my pants on and tossed my ruined underwear under the bush. Wanya sat there trying to figure out what he did wrong.

“I see you later Wanya.” I picked up my book bag and walked to the front of my house. The creepy neighbor was no longer on his porch.

The first person I was greeted by coming into my house was my mama. She had a crazed look on her face.

“Where da hell have you been, Shade!” I walked past her, not wanting to talk. Jim was sitting on the couch, watching as I walked towards the stairs. “I’m talkin’ to you girl, where have you been? It’s nine thirty. I been callin’ your phone ‘round the clock! Don’t you know how to pick up a phone?” I stopped at the bottom of the stairs to deal with her.

“I was at Amara’s house.”

“Amara, who is that?”

“My friend from school.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Where does she live?”

“Where da new neighbors live.”

“An’ you said dey was prolly niggas.” She shook her head, smirking.

“Whatever.” I made my way up stairs. Of course she followed me.

“Why are your clothes so dirty? And you got dirt on yo’ arms.” Fuck my life.

“I rolled in the dirt.”

“What for?”

“For inspiration.” She stopped following me and sighed. A face of anguish covered her face. It was something she did when I reminded her of my dad. Even though it was a lie, what I really did, did sparked inspiration.

As soon as I got to my room I hit the shower. I balled up my pants that were soiled and needed immediate washing. I dusted the dirt out my bra and shook it out of my shirt. Hit the journals. I had to write something regarding what just happened between me and Wanya. I wrote Lust, but scratched that out; Sex, scratched that out; ‘to love’ was close but not good enough. Then I ripped out the paper and threw it in the trash. For minutes I stared at the blank sheet. Then I wrote Real Love.


Then I stopped because I couldn’t quite think of the right lines to write. I’ve only loved once, and never again.

It took me by surprise to hear sniffling by my door. There was only one option of who it could have been. I walked to my door and sat in-front of it. I listened to her cries for a little while. She probably wanted to tell me something but couldn’t bring herself to doing it. But she didn’t have to say anything. I understood her pain.

“I love you, mommy.” For a second her crying stopped. I knew she heard me.

“I love you too.” Then she got up and left. Although my ma gave me hell sometimes, I knew she had her own problems that were hard for her to get over. I still loved her genuinely, though.