William, 15
(Denise’s oldest son)

I can’t believe she’s tripping over something so stupid. Boys fight. It’s not like I’m going to be a criminal because I got into one fight. She’s the one who has me going to this stuck-up, stupid school, anyway. If she’d let me go to the school up the block from our house, I’d be around more people who look like me and know what I’m going through. These white folks don’t care nothing about me. Oh, God. I can hear her now, “Don’t care anything about me.” Uh. I can’t believe I have her voice in my head, sitting here correcting myself when she’s not even around. How square can you get? I want to go live with my father, but how do I tell her that’s what I want to do? There are too many people in this two-bedroom apartment, anyway; her, me, Benjamin, Sarah and Naomi. I could use that argument to get out from under her thumb, but how do I convince Dad to let me stay with him?

Naomi, 14
(Denise’s oldest daughter)

I cannot be pregnant. I cannot be pregnant. I. cannot. be. pregnant. Oh, God. What am I going to do? I can’t believe I trusted that Kenny-fool! “We don’t need a condom, baby. I can’t even have kids. I had an accident when I was little,” he told me. Mother will lose her freaking mind if I’m pregnant. Kenny’s mother just laughed when I told her: “Why you cryin’? I bet you wasn’t cryin’ when y’all was doing the do. Cryin’ ain’t gone help nothin’. It is what it is. If you pregnant, you pregnant. I’ll take care of it while you finish school.” She didn’t even act like it was a big deal. She said all that to me without even turning away from the television, like she honestly thinks it’s that easy. Doesn’t she know my mother is going to kill me if I’m pregnant?!?! Oh, GOD! What was I thinking?

Sonjie, 12
(Angela’s oldest daughter)

Let me not crease this magazine, or Momma will know I found it under her mattress. Um! Look at his thing. I wonder what it would feel like to have that inside me. Momma think I don’t hear her and Daddy in’nere at night. I hear them. They so nasty. She be moaning and calling his name, talking about, “Uh, that’s my spot, baby! That’s my spot! Right there, baby!” Tee-hee! I can’t wait to be with a boy. I like walking down the street in front of them high school boys. I don’t look 12. My friends are still flat in front and back, but I’m not. Plus, I’m tall like my Daddy’s people. They don’t know I’m only in sixth grade. They cain’t do nothing for me, though. If I didn’t learn nothing else from my Momma, I learned this: don’t ever hook up with a dude who ain’t go money to spend on you. Yeah, I cain’t wait to be with a boy, but he gotta have a car and some money before I give up anything.

Quintenerra, 6
(Romina’s middle child)

My Mommy embarrasses us. She doesn’t mean to. She can’t help it. She’s slow. I heard my grandparents call her retarded. I asked my teacher what retarded meant, and she said it means slow to learn. My teacher wanted to know why I was asking her about that word, and I started crying. I think she thought about my Mommy then, who’d come up and volunteered in my class, and she realized why I was asking. The other kids laughed at my Mommy. She wasn’t like their Mommies. My teacher assured me I’m not retarded. She said I should be in the second or third grade, based on my abilities. I asked her if I could go to the second or third grade now. She laughed cheerily and told me she thought I needed to stay with children my own age but that she would give me higher-level work so I wouldn’t get bored with school. I was excited at first and then I thought about it. If my Mommy can’t read or write that good, do I want to be able to read and write better than her? Wouldn’t that make my Mommy feel bad? I wonder if it would be OK to pretend I’m retarded. I don’t know.

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This is Installment #3 of “The Pride.” If you missed the beginning, go to “The Pride: From the Beginning” to start at the first installment.

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Copyright© 2009, Faydra D. Fields, All rights reserved.

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