"Ain't nothing like a friend that's there for you when you just need somebody to understand."
_
I had been lying in mama's bed wide awake with the covers pulled over my face. This was my favorite sleeping position, but I had been awakened by the smell of pickles. Mama was up in the kitchen eating the last few pickle slices that we had left in the fridge. I hated the way they smelled . It wasn't all that bad of a scent, just not one of my particular favorites.
I didn't really want to get out of the bed, because I just hadn't been feeling the occurring day. In a way, I wanted to stay in bed for forever. But, I knew that I needed to apologize to Mr. Swisher because he deserved it.
Yawning and barely forcing myself to move, I got up from the bed and grabbed a wash cloth from the closet of which we had stored most of our cleaning materials in. I then entered the bathroom, turned on the cold water from the tub, and threw the cloth in. I removed the previous clothes from my body, then placed them into the basket full of dirty laundry. When I sat down in the water, chills began running down my back as I instantly started to shiver.
When I was done scrubbing and rinsing my body, I let the water drain out, then I got out and dried myself. After lotioning my dry skin, I put on a white T-shirt with grey jogging pants.
Mama knew that I was up, because she came into the bathroom and grabbed a piece of tissue. I could tell by the redness in her eyes that she'd been crying, still. Last night a lot of secretive information had been told. And I had been trying to put it behind me on this day, but knowing that Mama was out prostituting---while I was living with my daddy getting abused and waiting for her to come get me---had been one of the most difficult things to take in.
After making sure that there was nothing else for me to do, I grabbed a jacket, then headed out of the door. I didn't even tell Mama where I was headed nor that I was even leaving the apartment. We hadn't exchanged words with each other after I'd suggested speaking with my daddy.
I closed the door behind me, then walked over to Mr. Swisher's door, and as I lifted my fist to knock, I realized that I couldn't. I couldn't face him. I could not look that man in his sparkly brown eyes, and tell him that I was sorry. Even though it was killin' me inside that I hadn't apologized yet, I wasn't sure if I even know how. I want to tell him that I shouldn't have said the things I said, and that I was truly sorry, but I just couldn't find it in me to express that.
I hung my head low, my chin sat just above my chest. I guess just like Mama, I had a way of showing my guilt, too.
I walked over to the bench in the lobby, and took a seat. Unlike yesterday, the birds were flying high, and they were actually humming. They shouldn't have been though. They should have not reminded me of the fact that I was supposed to be happy at the moment. I deserved to feel ashamed for what I had said to Mr. Swisher. He was the only person that ever listened to me, and heard every last word I spoke. He didn't deserve my disrespect, and I shouldn't have been that way towards him.
I had been sitting upon the bench and suddenly a small bony finger taps my shoulder. I turned around, and it was Mia.
She smiled at me, all while waving. But, I didn't wave nor smile back.
I looked her up and down and saw that she was wearing a white sun dress, with sandals of the same color. Her long sandy brown hair was flat ironed, with a part down the middle seperating it.
"Not in a good mood today, Jayme?"
"No, not really. What about you? You seem to be happy this morning." I tried to wipe my silent tears away, before she noticed me crying.
But before my friend could utter a response, someone from near had called out her name.
We turned around and a really tall, slender-like girl came running down the steps. She had been a shade lighter than Mia and me, but her hair was a shorter length than the both of ours put together. Her eyes were a darker brown than ours, too. She had on a red top that showed her belly, and skinny jeans that showed off her petite figure. She carried a baby on her hip, that represented the same shade as she had.
"Here." She said, handing Mia the baby. "I'm gonna need you to watch KJ for me while I run to the store."
"Ugh, whatever. Hurry back." Mia waved her off.
I couldn't help but smile at the little guy, because he was so cute. He smiled back, and even reached out for me to pick him up.
Mia didn't tell me that she had another baby brother.
"He's Kahdeejah's." She said, looking at me. "I know what you're thinking. KJ is Kahdeejah's son."
Instantly, my brows rose. "What? But she looks so---"
"Young?" Mia finished my sentence. "I know. She's 18. Got pregnant with him when she was 16." I could tell she felt shame-faced telling me this.
"Really?" I wasn't surprised to hear about a 16 year old getting pregnant; that was something I had seen everyday in the neighborhood. It was just that Mia's family came off a little different to me. They didn't seem so ghetto and careless like the rest of us 'round here.
"Yeah," my friend said back, her head moving from side to side, a display of obvious disbelief. "She's real fast."
"Why do you say that?" I was curious.
"When Kahdeejah was younger, she'd been sexually abused by a man who we believed was a friend of the family." Mia spoke with seriousness. She started doing things that my parents didn't approve of. And she smokes weed. She 'ont even know who her baby's father is."
Because I knew how it was being a victim of rape, I knew that being sexually abused was devastating. Sometimes it'd make you feel worthless, and you'd see no reason to believe in yourself, or anything.
"I don't think she's fast." I added.
"But," The girl looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "You don't know Kahdeejah. You really don't. You can't just say that."
"You right. I might not know her, but I know how it is to be a victim of something like that."
"A victim of what exactly, Jayme?" Mia asked, confused.
"Rape." I breathed heavily. "Just like your sister, I was sexually abused, too. It ain't nothing nice. You do what you do to cope with it," I then looked at Mia with reassurance. "to get through it."
Mia's response to what I just told her, was her hugging and holding me really tight. I could hear her saying a silent prayer, as she cried with me. I didn't really pray much, and I wasn't sure if I would pray more in the future, but Mia's prayer for me felt nice.
In my opinion, it was nice to have someone listen to me, and understand what I had been saying. I didn't always need somebody to lecture me nor preach to me. I just wanted somebody to be there and hold me as I soaked in hurt.
And, thanks to Mia, I figured that I would try one more time to talk to mama. This time, I wanted us to really listen and hear each other. Whatever it was that mama had to say, I was going to listen. And, I hoped that she could do the same.
