part 1, romans 12:9
The girl who went to church always piqued my interest. We grew up together. The first time I seen her I think she was praise dancing to Yolonda Adam’s or some shit. In my eyes, she was an angel. Innocent. Pure. All the things that make kids precious. Real Bible thumper. She kept da good book on her hip like a glock. I honestly couldn’t tell you if it was the Old Testament, New Testament, King David or Steve Drive. All I know is she wore that muthafucka with every outfit.
Her folks seemed to have they shit together. Me and my folks lived in the projects, but they lived in a house a few blocks up. Her step daddy was the pastor so I assume they was havin’. Her real pops got killed in the streets. They say her moms got with the pastor nigga a month after baby dad got killed, but you know how people talk. They were a church family. She had two little brothers. Same routine, school and church. I barely ever seen her in our younger years. The mama and the pastor nigga had her put up. She was an enigma.
I remember riding down the street one night on my way home and seeing the girl on the side of her house crying. I was still a young nigga so I definitely didn’t stop and see what was wrong. I kept it pushing. In that moment, I just didn’t understand how someone who loved God so much could be sad. My carelessness turned into curiosity. Why the fuck was she crying? I got home and told myself I would find out. She was always avoiding me though. I mean I never went out my way to speak either, but you can always tell when someone is avoiding you.
Elementary ends. Years passed. I didn’t see the girl too much in middle school. We get to high school and guess who I see on the first day? Sistah Mary Clarence. But this time was different.
“Where yo Bible at foo”, I said with a smirk.
“At yo house”, she said back with a choosy face.
At that point I was unimpressed. I’m like that’s yo Sundays best? We ain’t spoke not one word to each other ever in life and you spit some unoriginal game at me like I’m just play pimpin?
That was the equivalent to “without me?”, after a girl say she getting in the shower. I allowed it though. Remember, I was yet to complete my mission.
So I’m like,
“You know yo folks ah have a heart attack if you left yo shit at my joint”.
“Fuck them they need to have one yesterday”, she said with a straight face.
I’m like oh lord this girl brains is cooked. You know, I’m young and judgemental. At the time she was sounding dumb, but in hindsight she was really tryna check my spiritual temperature. I didn’t peep her troubled soul. I didn’t understand that she was baiting me. She also had a mission. Long story short, she gave me her number.
We talked. We texted. We had sex at 14. It was neither of our first time, but she definitely had to show me where to put it in. I’ll spare the details since we were kids. I was happy. I was in love. I was content. The mission I had in elementary didn’t even matter no more. I ain’t give a fuck why she was crying in front of her house in the 5th grade. Until I did. My mama asked me about the girl. She asked if I looked in her eyes lately. I said not really. She said you’ll never know the hurt a woman carries until you really look into her eyes. I ain’t know if my mama had just watched “The Color Purple” or was genuinely putting me on game, either way I knew it was time.
Up to this point, our conversations were pretty surface level. We used to talk about her being a Christian and how I wasn’t. I told her how the slave masters used Christianity to control us mentally and manipulate us spiritually. She told me without God, don’t none of this exist. I told her we both God. She told me that’s why we were made in his image. I said energy. She said spirit. We were playing the same song, just a different key.
I’ll always remember one conversation we had in particular. We were sitting on the stairs smoking outside of my mama joint. It went as follows:
Me: So wassup with dat Jesus shit for real?
Her: Nigga what do you mean that Jesus shit?
Me: Like yall really believe that shit? Or y’all just be bullshittin so yall can police everybody?
Her: So you believe in the stars, the moon and the universe and shit, but draw the line at J. Christ? That’s crazy.
Me: So learn me something, cause I’m yet to see a nigga walk on water.
Her: I’m just saying, you can’t have one without the other. You thinking small not big. Imagine the universe doing all these amazing things and a nigga somewhere in that universe can’t walk on water? Make it make sense. Everybody need something to believe in. Don’t mean it’s right. Don’t mean it’s wrong. Just something to believe in.
Me: Glory Hallelujah, I’m ready to get baptized and turn my life around.
Her: You play. I hated my baptism.
Me: Why?
Her: Cause my hair got wet!
Me: See now you thinking small not big.
Her: The whole day was a buzz. You know girls hate feeling dirty. I felt dirty that day. And my hair being wet didn’t make it no better.
Me: Had to wash them devils off of you.
Her: You ain’t lying.
We continued the conversation on a lighter, less political note. We bonded over a blunt that was not hitting because we smoked it outside. The genuine happiness to be in each other’s presence provided warmth as we sat in the cold. That particular night I don’t think we believed in anything but each other.
part 2, 1 Corinthians 13:6
We were closer than close, wasn’t using condoms no nothin. Something was still off. She was still a mystery. There was still more to be said. More to learn. The thing about life though, when you ask you will receive. The real question is can you handle what you’re receiving? Is what you’re receiving worth knowing?
The information I received at 14, was that my 14 year old girlfriend was pregnant. She came to me crying, I was at home watching 106 & park. “Say Something” by Timbaland and Drake was playing which was ironic because I was incapable of saying anything. I was scared, terrified. What the fuck my mama gon say? How the fuck ima take care of a baby? I was confused. I knew I always pulled out, but I also heard the stories about pre cum getting girls pregnant.
I was definitely anxious, but she was devastated. Her cry was uncontrollable. The kind of cry people let out when they witness a murder. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot red. It was very uncomfortable to watch. I couldn’t console her. Shit, I couldn’t console myself. Defeated. That’s the only word to describe how we felt.
I never told my mama about the girl being pregnant. She still doesn’t know. The girl on the other hand missed two months of school. The teachers told us she had surgery and didn’t feel well enough to attend class. She stopped answering my calls. Stopped replying to texts. I was never allowed to come to her house, so I couldn’t just knock on the door. I walked past her house everyday after school and never saw her. I knew something was up. She hated them. She would never willingly confine herself. She loved outside. She loved me.
So one day, I said fuck it and dropped my nuts. I knocked on the door. The pastor nigga opened the door. The conversation went as follows:
Pastor nigga: Why the fuck yo lil ass knockin on my door after dark? You lil niggas be askin for it.
Pressed me. Whole time he clutching. Like he knew. I’m on some nerd shit no gun, knife, slingshot, nothin. My pops was in jail, so it wasn’t like I can go get that nigga. Can’t scare a nigga with a phone call. But the pastor nigga was extra on tip, I’m peepin his energy.
Me: My bad pastor, I was just tryna see if yo step daughter been ok. They sayin she had surgery.
Pastor nigga: You think you slick huh lil nigga? I know why you here.
Me: I dont know what you talkin bout, I’m just checkin on my classmate.
Pastor nigga: Nigga y’all fuckin.
Looked me dead in my eyes when he said it. I’m shook at this point. On the other end I’m wondering why this nigga so mad over his step daughter but I digress. So I’m standing there speechless because obviously he know something. Tell me why this nigga start buffin’ my lil ass. He stepped outside, closed the door, and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. I’m talking about dangling like a pit bull when you grab ’em by the neck.
Me: Bro, bro, bro
Pastor nigga: Aint no bro lil nigga. You lucky I don’t kill you and say you tried to break in my house. She don’t live here no more. We sent her down south to stay with her auntie. And that’s cause she fast and you can’t keep yo dick in yo pants. I did y’all a favor. Yeah she had a surgery. The kind that erases y’all fuck up. Go home lil nigga.
Then he shoved me off the porch. Left my shirt drunk and feelings hurt. I’m walking home not knowing how to feel honestly. My girl gone. My baby gone. I just got super pressed by her step pops. Was he right? Maybe he did do us a favor. I wonder how she felt about everything. Or how she felt during the process. Do she hate me for not being there? Hate me for not protecting her against her parents? Did she wanna keep it? Get rid of it? I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.
So obviously I go into a deep depression. Black hoodies and beanies in the summertime type of depression. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t focus. Every time I managed to get some sleep I would have the same dream, or nightmare. The baby’s face. I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl, I just knew the baby was mine. It haunted me though. I was being punished spiritually. I could not focus on anything else but this. My grades dropped because of this. I had to go to summer school for the first time in my life because of this. This thing had taken over my life.
One day in summer school as I’m listening to Goapele on my I-pod, I look around and noticed the room looked familiar. This was the class me and her had together. I didn’t notice initially because after the incident, I skipped that class everyday. I wanted to forget, but there I was remembering every thing. I remembered how she always wanted to debate me specifically. How she would look at me and smile. What I remembered next is what opened pandora’s box.
When we had this particular class together we would always email each other on the computers when we got bored. I wanted to reminisce so I hopped on one of the computers to look at our old messages. What I saw shocked me. I had an unread message from her in my inbox. The date lined up to around the time the pastor nigga buffed me. Maybe a week or two prior to that. The message reads as follows:
Dear loml,
I know this will reach you one day, you’re smart. I really don’t even know where to start. But I’ll say I love you. I’ll always love you. I really hope nothing I tell you makes you look at me different. I always wanted to be honest with you and I was for the most part. But there are certain things about my life, myself… that I can’t even face. I cry every night. I’ve cried every night since the 5th grade. Since my baptism. That was the first time he raped me. He raped me in the morning and baptized me that afternoon. He kissed me and told me I was always prettier than my mama. We was in his office in the church when it happened. I thought this was how all girls had their first time. I cried in pain as he moaned with pleasure. I was bleeding and he kept going. Kept going until he finished. He told me it had to stay between us. Made me put my hand on the Bible and swear by it. Said if I told anybody I would be betraying God’s trust. He said that’s why you’re getting baptized. It’s your reward from God for what you gave me. He hugged me and told me I was a woman now. A part of me died that day. I felt dirty. Like a stain that won’t come out. This pain was tattooed on me forever. So after my baptism I cried on the side of my house for hours. I thought it would be a distant memory but he continued to rape me every night up until now. I wish my mama didn’t work nights. Maybe if she was there he wouldn’t have to use me. I hate her for not asking me what was wrong. I hate her for not being there. I hate myself for letting him get me pregnant. It was never yours and I knew. I made sure you pulled out. Him on the other hand never gave me a choice. I never wanted it to be like this. I wanted to tell you but he knew right away. He made my mama believe that it was yours. He convinced her to take me to the doctors office and get an abortion. My mama never said a word to me about it. She just made sure I was ready for the appointment when it came. We didn’t talk in the car on the way. Or at the doctors office. Or on the car ride back. The baby my step dad put inside of me was no more. And neither was I. The next morning they found me on the bathroom floor foaming at the mouth because I swallowed a handful of pills. I’m in Georgia with my auntie now. They have me at this youth rehab place. They said I’m a drug addict. They said my drug addiction led to promiscuity. They said that’s the reason for my teen pregnancy. I just thought you should know so you don’t think I got rid our baby. I know you’ll be a good dad someday. I always loved you more than I love myself. You gave me a reason to love. And without you here there is no reason to live. I’m going to continue to try and kill myself. This version of my existence is unable to move on. I hope I see you in another lifetime. I still believe in God but less in people. Please find something to believe in as much as I believed in you.
-the girl that went to church
Awwww, this was good! Made me tear up.