Authors: Dwayne S. Joseph
Growing Pains (10 page)
13
Yo . . . sup B . . . You down?
Brian clenched his jaw and deleted the text message he'd just received from Tyrel. He'd gotten numerous messages from Will. This was the first correspondence he'd gotten from Tyrel since their near blowup at Will's house. Brian slid his phone back into his pocket.
Was he down?
To rip off Old Man Blackwell. A man who knew his mother well. A man who'd always given him smiles and respect.
Was he down?
To disrespect Old Man Blackwell in order to respect bonds of a friendship that went back so far he couldn't remember a time without it. Tyrel and Will. The two musketeers in their three-musketeer tandem. One for all and all for one. No blood existed between them, yet to say they weren't brothers just didn't make sense.
Was he down?
Blackwell or his comrades, who struggled to survive in the war of life.
Brian shook his head, dragged his hand down over his face, and exhaled heavily through flared nostrils. He shouldn't have had to make a decision like this.
“Hey, Brian.”
Brian looked up. His teacher, Mr. White, was standing in front of him. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts and dilemma that he'd never even noticed his teacher approach him. “Hey, Mr. White,” he said, his voice low.
“Do me a favor and hang out after class, OK?”
“I have something to do,” Brian said.
“Just give me a few minutes. Maybe fifteen, tops.”
Brian opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it. “OK,” he mumbled.
His teacher nodded and then walked off. Brian frowned and wondered what his teacher wanted. Hopefully it had nothing to do with his mom.
Despite the fact that Mr. White had insisted he'd had no intentions with his mother, Brian still had his doubts. He'd watched their interaction at the dance from afar. He'd seen the look of interest in his teacher's eyes. He wanted his mother whether he admitted it or not. Although Brian liked and respected, and even trusted to a certain degree, his teacher, that want in his eyes bothered him. He took a breath and let it out slowly. He had enough on his mind as it was. He didn't need any more shit to deal with.
His cell phone buzzed again. Another message. He pulled it out from his pocket, held it beneath his desk, and looked down at it. It was a note from Carla.
My mother had to go into work to cover for someone. I need to talk to you. Come over after school.
Brian texted back:
Talk about what?
Talk about what?
Thirty seconds passed, and then:
Just come over. It's important.
Just come over. It's important.
Too much shit,
Brian thought.
Brian thought.
He replied,
OK,
and then slid his phone back into his pocket. Fifteen minutes later, the bell rang, letting everyone know that the school day had ended.
OK,
and then slid his phone back into his pocket. Fifteen minutes later, the bell rang, letting everyone know that the school day had ended.
While the students rushed out, Brian remained seated. When the room was empty, Mr. White approached him with a paper in his hand. He put the paper down in front of Brian. Brian looked at it. His exam. With a C- on it.
“You want to explain that to me?” his teacher said.
Brian looked at the paper, then at him. “It looks like a C-,” he said nonchalantly.
Mr. White nodded. “On your paper,” he said. “You want to tell me why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“I know you know the answers to these questions, Brian, yet you answered some incorrectly, and there were a couple that you just didn't answer at all.”
Brian raised his brow and shrugged.
“What's going on, Brian? This I-don't-care façade isn't working. I know you. I know you care about your grades.”
“Nothing's going on,” Brian answered. “I just screwed up. Didn't study properly.”
Mr. White frowned and looked at him, his eyes clearly stating that he wasn't buying Brian's bullshit. “Are you in any trouble?”
Brian said, “No.”
“What about your mother?”
Brian shook his head. “No.”
“Are your boys in trouble?”
“Nah. They're good.”
“So then what's the deal? I don't want Cs on your papers to become the norm.”
Brian bent the corners of his mouth downward and kept his lips tight as he exhaled. “Nothing's the deal, Mr. White. I just screwed up on the test. That's it. It's not going to become routine.”
His teacher looked at him, his eyes still filled with skepticism. “Screwed up, huh?” he said.
“Yeah.”
“So I guess that means that I should expect the usual with your next exam.”
“Yeah.”
His teacher nodded. “And there's nothing going on? Nothing on your mind? Nothing that you need to talk about?”
Brian grit his teeth and remained silent for a brief moment. He needed to talk to someone, but he was part of a three-man cartel. There was no one he could talk to. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I'm good.”
Mr. White nodded again. “OK. I'll take you at your word. I'll see you next Monday.”
Brian gave a nod back, then gathered his book bag and rose from his desk. About to walk away, his teacher, who'd gone back to his desk, called out to him.
“Brian, before you go, I just want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here with a closed mouth and an open and nonjudgmental ear.”
Brian's heart beat heavily, and for a brief moment he toyed with the idea of opening up. There was a sincerity in his teacher's voice, something reassuring about it that he found trustworthy. He stared at Mr. White as the teacher watched him.
Open up,
he thought. He wanted to, needed to.
But how do you tell someone that you're a thief?
Open up,
he thought. He wanted to, needed to.
But how do you tell someone that you're a thief?
Brian gave a half smile. “Thanks,” he said, and then quickly left the classroom.
14
Fifteen minutes later, Brian was ringing Carla's doorbell.
She wanted to talk about something important. He didn't know what she wanted to talk about, but she'd never wanted to talk about anything important before.
He took a deep breath as he waited for her to open the door, and blew it out slowly.
Will's near screwup at Patel's Laundromat. The decision about Old Man Blackwell's, and the near fight with his best friend. The struggle to remain focused in school. Now Carla wanted to talk about something important. The storm was looming closer. He could feel it.
The door opened.
Carla looked at him for a short second, and then stepped to the side and said, “Come in.”
No smile. No hug. No kiss.
Very different from the last time they were together.
Whatever the important topic was, it wasn't going to be good.
Brian said, “Hey,” then walked in, giving Carla a quick peck on her lips as he passed by her.
Carla closed the door and then turned toward him. She was wearing a blue New York Giants T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, and had New York Giants slippers on her feet. She loved football and bled New York Giants blue.
Carla was very much a what-you-see-is-what-you-get type of girl. Jeans, sweats, T-shirtsâthese were the things she preferred to wear. She liked makeup and liked to get her hair done every week, but other than that, she was not the type of female to feel the need to dress to impress all the time. That was one of the things Brian liked about her. She was an around-the-way girl in the truest form. She kept it simple, but was always sexy with it.
Brian looked at her. Used X-ray vision to see the curves he knew very well beneath the clothing. He was there because she wanted to talk about something important, but they had the house to themselves. He couldn't fight the stirring in his black South Pole jeans.
He put his bag down. “You look good,” he said, the tone in his voice indicating that he was hoping talking wouldn't be the only thing they would do.
Carla frowned, folded her arms across her chest, and said, “I'm pregnant.”
Nothing more.
Brian stopped breathing.
He just stared. His gaze going from Carla's eyes to her stomach.
Pregnant.
That meant there was a baby inside.
Brian stared. Didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Just stared.
“So,” Carla said. “Say something.”
Brian swallowed saliva that wasn't there, but still didn't move, blink, breathe, or speak.
“Brian,” Carla called out. “Brian, say something.”
Brian's gaze traveled up from her belly to her eyes. Tears were running from them, and trailing down her cheeks.
He hated to see her cry. He finally breathed, and then said, “Are . . . are you sure?”
Carla nodded and brushed dark brown hair away from her face. “Yeah. The test is positive.”
“The test could be wrong.”
“I took four of them. They all had the same result.”
“Four? What the hell? What made you take the test in the first place?”
“I missed my period last month.”
Brian clamped his hand behind his neck. “Last month? Shit. Why are you just now telling me this?”
“I was sick last month with the cold, remember? I didn't know if somehow the cold made me miss it.”
“Colds don't affect a fucking period,” Brian said louder than he intended.
“I just wanted to be sure, all right?”
“Fuck, Carla! How can you be fuckin' pregnant?”
Carla wiped tears away furiously with the back of her hand as her face grew red. “What do you mean how can I be? Your ass was the one who insisted on us not using any condoms.”
Brian dragged his hand down over his face, cursed, and then turned and paced back and forth. “Goddamn,” he said, pissed at himself for her all-too-true statement. “This is fucked up, Carla. Real fucked up.”
“Don't you think I know that?” Carla snapped back, her tears falling fast. “I wasn't trying to be nobody's mother right now.”
Brian sat down on the faux leather sofa. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, bounced on the toes of his right foot, and stared down at the floor.
Pregnant.
“Goddamn, Carla,” he said again. “I got enough shit to deal with.”
“Well, I'm so glad I added to the shit you have to deal with, because I certainly didn't have any of my own to add to!”
Brian slammed his fists down on the sofa cushions. “Fuck!”
Carla wiped tears away. Said, “So what are we going to do?”
Brian looked up at her. “What do you mean what are we gonna do? We gotta get money together for an abortion. What you think?”
Carla closed her eyes, put her hand over her mouth, and sobbed heavily.
Brian slouched back against the couch and interlocked his fingers on the top of his head.
Pregnant.
He stomped his foot down and cursed out loud again.
Fucking pregnant.
He hated that it invaded his thoughts right now, but his thoughts went to Will, Tyrel, and the answer they were waiting for.
Was he down?
Fifteen minutes ago, his mind, still not completely made up, his answer on its way to being a no. He had to draw the line. Boys or not, he couldn't disrespect Old Man Blackwell. But Carla hadn't sent him a text saying that she needed to talk about something important. She hadn't told him that she was pregnant. Fifteen minutes ago, he hadn't needed money for a goddamned abortion.
“I . . . I'm not getting an abortion,” Carla said.
Brian's eyes snapped open. “What?”
Carla shook her head slowly. “I . . . I'm not getting an abortion,” she said. “I don't believe in them.”
Brian closed his eyes a bit. “What do you mean you don't believe in them?”
Her voice stronger, Carla said, “I'm not getting an abortion. It goes against what I believe.”
Brian sat forward. “I'm not trying to be a father right now, Carla!”
“Like I said, Brian, I'm not exactly looking to be a mother either, butâ”
“But nothing! Shit! There are no buts. You can't have this baby right now.”
“You don't own me, Brian. You can't tell me what I can't do.”
Brian slammed his hand down on the cushion again and shot up out of the sofa. “I don't give a shit if I own you or not, Carla. You can't have that fuckin' baby!”
“So what are you gonna do, Brian? Leave me if I do? You gonna be just like all of the niggas in the street and not take care of your responsibilities?”
Brian gritted his teeth again as a sharp pain throbbed behind his right eye.
Responsibilities.
A word the man who'd helped give him life had never known about. Brian swore he would never do what his sperm donor had done. He swore he'd never leave his children fatherless. Never leave them to fend for themselves. Never let them cry themselves to sleep at night wondering why their daddy didn't love them. Wondering what they'd done to make him disappear. He'd swore he'd never leave them alone to figure out what to do with the opposite sex. He swore he'd never force them to figure out how to be a man on their own.
Responsibilities.
He didn't want them. Didn't need them.
He wasn't ready.
He shook his head. “I gotta go,” he said, grabbing his book bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Without saying another word, he rushed past Carla and ran outside.
As the door closed behind him, Carla called out his name. He paused for a moment. He was wrong and he knew it. Carla needed him. But he couldn't deal with this right now.
He walked off down the block, his destination unknown.
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