Social Work

Part 2

I snatched up a pair of black skinny pants and a loud purple paisley top. I hoped the top would draw attention from my face, but I was doubtful . Kids rarely missed a beat. And little black girls will read you for filth. The bun had to go, so I used a little argon oil and curl creme on my damp hair to give my curls a bit more umph. 

I never felt I was beautiful in a conventional way. But my presence always commands attention. I'm 5'9 and 215lbs (the last time I weighed myself) with shoulder length curly ebony hair and a chocolate brown complexion. I rock a thick scar through my right eyebrow, compliments of my cousin Duke and his friends the summer before middle school started. I never wear any makeup besides a little mascara and lip gloss, but keep some on hand for special occasions. Today was one of those occasions. I gently dabbed Fenty #420 on my face and neck, praying Ed's handprint would disappear as I blended it out carefully.

As promised, Feli texted me the address for Angela. Ten minutes and 4 streets later, I found myself on London Ave. I arrived to find who I assumed was Angela sitting on the stoop with earbuds in, her light blue backpack tucked securely between her knees. I felt eyes burning into me as I switched off my 2017 Challenger. Mary J Blige "Be Happy" still playing in my mind. I stepped out of the car and Angela stood up as if she was ready to bolt. Thank God I hadn't worn heels. I swear I'd chase this child if need be. 

"Hey there, are you Angela? I'm Mrs. Davis-Bradley. But you can call me Maya." Angela relaxed slightly and sat back down silently. "What are you listening to? I was just listening to Mary when I pulled up. I swear that lady knows my whole life." I sat next to Angela on the stoop, but made sure to give her space. Angela replied without looking up. "I'm not listening to anything. I just put my earbuds in so people won't talk to me. And apparently that's not working anymore." I chuckled. "No, I suppose it didn't work this time. I'd like to talk to you, if that's ok."

Angela rolled her eyes. I noticed how long her eyelashes were. This child was beautiful and I wondered if she even knew it. Dark skinned with deep dimples, bright eyes and box braids. "So what are you supposed to be? Some kind of social worker or something?" Angela asked in a sarcastic tone.  I chucked again. "Or something. So listen. I couldn't help but notice those bruises on the side of your leg. Wanna tell me what happened?" Angela looked at me from feet to head before she answered. 

"I couldn't help but notice the bruises on your neck you tried to cover up with make up, either. Wanna tell me how THAT happened?" Ok, Angie. Kids really don't miss shit.  I let out a long sigh before responding.  "I'll tell you. But I asked you first. So what's up." Angela hesitated, then replied nonchalantly, "I fell off my skateboard."

"Really? Well mine came from my husband choking me last night. Now that I've been honest with you, can you give me the same respect?" Angela looked down at her classics for a few seconds before she met my eyes again. "Why did he do that to you? You don't seem that bad," she said. I could hear pain in her soft voice and suddenly this 13 year old seemed much younger. 

"It doesn't matter what I did. He should have never hurt me like that. When someone loves you, they should protect you. No matter what. Ed didn't hit me because I'm a bad person. He's a shitty person because he hit ME." I went for the gusto and added "Is that why your mom's boyfriend hit you? Because he said you're bad?" Angela sighed. "I never said he hit me. I fell off my skateboard." Before I could argue, Angela hopped off the steps and started down the sidewalk, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.

"Hold on a sec," I shouted. "I want you to take my card. You can call me anytime. I really do want to help you." Angela walked back over and gently took the card from my outstretched hand. "Thank you." she said quietly and walked away from me, headed back towards the park.

I knew something was up. I also knew Angela would eventually call me. But I didn't know WHY I felt so certain about it. Yet and still, I was worried that something would happen before getting Angela to talk. As I was walking back to my car I heard a very soft "excuse me" coming from around the corner of Angela's house. It was so faint, I thought I was trippin at first. 

"Excuse me" I heard it again and this time it was slightly louder, more urgent somehow. I then saw the older gentleman, half hidden behind the city recycling bins. I walked over. "Yes sir, how can I help you?" The gentleman, who introduced himself as Samuel, looked to be about 65-70 years old. His salt and pepper hair complemented his cocoa colored skin. He reminded me, a bit, of Morgan Freeman. "Ma'am, can I please have one of your cards? I wanna talk to ya bout Angie but I can't do it here. One of them fools might see me talkin to ya and cause me all kinds of hell round here." "Of course! And thank you!" I replied. "You can call me and I'll meet you somewhere. Or we can just talk on the phone. Whichever you prefer." Sam nodded and smiled. He began his slow and deliberate walk back into his house.