There are a few things you should know about Aniyah Williams:
One is that she's a prostitute.
Two is that her parents died when she was 16 and her older brother left her afterward
And three, she isn't a believer. After all, how can she believe in a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE FIRST THING I NOTICE ABOUT CHARLE'S HOUSE IS the freshly painted black door. His house was a townhome in a better area, far off from the hood part of the Bronx. Everything here was straight out of my dreams. Even his car, a black Lexus was just as new looking as the rest of the neighborhood. Smooth clean sidewalks, trees which I'm sure were quite the view in spring, and almost a basketball hoop on every driveway.
"Damn what do you do that get you a house like this?" I ask stepping out of the car and reaching for my suitcase.
"Why? Are you saying that black men always do drugs or something sketchy to get a house like this?"His face is set cold and glaring at me.
I put my hands in the air. "No, I didn't mean anything like that."
He breaks out a smile. "Kiddin, chill sis. I was just playing."
I roll my eyes at him and head up the steps towards the door which felt a bit like torture. There were like a million steps I had to take before I would reach the top.
"You need help?" Charles asks me, noticing my struggle but I ignore him, taking the final step towards the black door he opens after getting the house key.
"You're home," a petite lady says walking towards us, a huge smile in place. She had her afro in a colorful bandanna and was dressed in a long modest skirt that reached her knees. Nothing like the short skirts I would wear. My mind drifts back to what Charles said about her. A modest, Christian woman.
"Hi, I'm Jada," she smiles at me and then squeezes me into a warm hug which I squirmed out of.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" she asks, her eyes looking up and down my face. She's judging me, I think. That's what they all do.
"Yes a bit,"I lie. Before she can say anything else, two kids start running toward me, squeezing me into a hug. Two girls looked like identical twins, their hair in beaded braids. They looked just like Jada herself.
Charles chuckles at them. "And these the twins I told you about. Faith on the right and Grace on the left."
"We're both 6 years old and twins," one of them exclaims while the other one nods and bends my hair down to play with my braids, tugging at them.
"Girls, don't be rough with Aunt Aniyah okay? Why don't you lead her to her room instead?" Jada suggests.
"Okay," they say in unison and while the other grabs my arm, one helps me with my suitcases. Such a perfect family. Compared to me though. Jada probably thinks I'm horrible. I should leave here soon.
"Auntie here's your room", Faith I think, announces. They had placed me on the ground floor in a simple room with a queen bed, desk, and a small walk-in closet. Still, it was bigger than my apartment back home which was the size of a living room altogether.
"Hello, you there?", Grace, or Faith, waves her hand in my face.
"Yeah, I guess I'm just a bit tired. I'll let you guys go and play and do your stuff," I say. They run out of the room but not before giving me another hug and closing the door. Collapsing on my bed, I couldn't help but compare myself to Charles's life. Unlike me, he obviously had a decent job and was now a Christian. All that stuff made no sense though. If there was a God why did he kill my parents? Where was that miracle? Why did he leave me, a 16-year-old to take care of myself and allow my brother to leave me? Even if he was there and I wanted to become a believer, I had done so much wrong. I lied, wore short clothing, and slept with men for money. I was nowhere near holier-art-thou Jada who obviously hated me.
