Under the Peach Tree (8 page)

My body felt heavy, sedated. I tried to move my arms, but could barely manage the slightest movement. I inhaled, cracking my eyes open and quickly shutting them again once the bright white light dared to intrude. My body felt foreign to me. I tried wiggling my feet, and once that was a success, I began stretching out my legs. Eventually, my arms came back to life, and I slowly lifted a hand to wipe my eyes as I tried to adjust to the white light above.

I heard a door open and close, and then a hand softly pressed against my shoulder. “Please rest, honey, let the drugs wear off.”

I turned to meet the voice. I could barely make out her face through all the sleep in my eyes. But her smile was big and reassuring. “Where am I?” I croaked.

“You're in the hospital, sweetie. You've been here two days.”

“Why?”

“You were found unconscious and badly beaten on the side of the road. The doctors suspect you'd been lying out there for at least twenty-four hours. You were extremely dehydrated and in shock . . . and there's one more thing.” I could now make out her face perfectly. She was a pretty white lady, mid-thirties, with sparkling gray eyes, brown hair, and a friendly smile. She was genuine and I liked her from the start. “You had a miscarriage.”

My heart sank deep into my stomach. I gasped for air, grabbing at the white sheets at my side. My baby . . . John's baby . . .

Momma said she'd beat it out of me, and she didn't lie.

I felt the tears begin to threaten my resolve. “Okay,” was all I managed to say.

“I'm so sorry, sweetie,” she said, rubbing my shoulder. “I need to ask you some very important questions. It's procedure.”

I nodded, not able to say much. All I could do was try to keep the pain inside. I'd save the misery for another day.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

She removed her hand from my shoulder and began jotting down notes on a pad I'd just now realized occupied her other hand.

“Name?”

“Hope Williams.”

“Where do you live?”

I blinked in response, caught off-guard. She eyed me patiently and I watched as her happy eyes darkened as she understood my unspoken words. She chose her next words carefully.

“How long have you been homeless?”

“Not long. My momma kicked me out and then I started walking and passed out.” I looked around the hospital room. “And now I'm here.”

The nurse's eyes never left mine. “Was it your mother who beat you?”

“No,” I lied; it was instinct. Even when Momma hated me, I still protected her. I knew they'd probably put her in jail, charge her for murder, but she was still my momma. And somewhere in my heart, in some small corner, I loved her. I loved her enough to spare her the conviction she rightly deserved. I also had enough love for her so that if one day she ever decided to love me, there'd be some in return.

“Then who beat you? Do you understand that the police are going to come in here and question you? A serious crime was committed against you. You came in bruised, beaten, and bloody. Whoever hurt you made you lose your baby. That's murder!”

And the tears came, like a flood splashing down my face. “My baby . . .” I wasn't even given the chance to bask in the thought of a baby. I wasn't given the opportunity to smile and be happy or to regret it. I didn't get the chance to rub my stomach and smile, to talk to my baby, to think of names, to wonder if it was a boy or a girl. I didn't get the chance to make a promise to myself to be better to my baby than my mother was to me.

I finally had something to call my own. The best gift in the world. The one that would replace all the gifts I never got on my birthday or holidays. I lost my chance to be happy, to be loved.

“Who did this to you?” the nurse asked again.

I could've told her the truth. In fact, a big part of me wanted to make Momma pay for everything she ever did to me. A part of me wanted revenge on John, for denying me and my baby. A part of me wanted Faith to lose everything she loved, so that she could see how I felt. But even though Faith rejected me, I loved her too much to hurt her more than I already had. She was another reason I said nothing.

“I don't know who did it. It was a group of people.” I looked the nurse right in her eyes and didn't blink. I could tell she believed me because she saddened and backed away. It was the best lie I ever told.

As the nurse had promised, the police officer visited me, questioning everything about me: who I was; where I lived; if I had any relatives who could get me; who attacked me; if I wanted to press charges and file a report. Everything. And of course I lied. I gave false names and false addresses.

He said that children services would be by later to pick me up because I was being discharged from the hospital. But by the time they came to get me, I was already gone.

 

 

For three nights, I slept on a park bench in the city. Freezing and shivering in my sleep. Jumping awake at the slightest noise knowing nothing could be safe about the city. I wasn't trying to get raped or killed. Multiple times I had thought about praying to God, wondering if He would actually hear the cries of His sinners. Faith had told me once that God turns a deaf ear to the wicked. So I didn't bother praying.

I constantly replayed in my head the image of Momma's shocked face when I told her I was pregnant by John. I always skipped over the part where I got beat, and losing my baby. Something about seeing Momma's pain made me sleep better on cold nights. Maybe it was because I liked knowing that I wasn't the only one suffering. I hoped then that she cried just thinking about it. I hoped she kicked John out so that he ended up with nothing, just like me. I thought he was a good man, and maybe he was, but one bad decision can ruin a person's image. I could've said the same for myself.

That next day, I was in need of a shower. I was still bleeding from after having the miscarriage; I had terrible cramps and found no relief. I didn't have any money and I needed a new pair of clothes and toiletries before I bled through my clothes. A corner store sat a few blocks down the street. My shirt was big enough to hide a few things and I decided to take my chances stealing the things I needed.

I walked into the store and paid attention to the fact that there were no security cameras or mirrors that would reflect what I was doing. The man at the register was an Arabic man who wasn't paying attention to me. He spoke loudly into his phone, turned toward shelves of cigarette cases. I grabbed a box of tampons and stuffed it under my shirt. I walked to the other aisle and grabbed some soap, toothpaste, and aspirin. I stuffed them under my breasts inside of my bra and was thankful for big boobs and a baggy shirt. I turned around and quickly left the store before the man even registered my presence.

I found the nearest restaurant and locked myself in the bathroom. I washed out my underwear, cleaned my body, freshened up, and left. I went to the cashier and asked for a cup of water. When she gave me the water, I swallowed three aspirin and sat down. The food smelled so good, I felt sick. I hadn't eaten in a few days. I walked back up to the counter and waited for the girl to come back to her register.

“Welcome to Burger Queen. What can I get for you?”

“Um, can I get a free sandwich?” I said barely above a whisper. I was embarrassed to be asking for free food.

“No, you have to pay for it. Only water is free,” she told me kindly.

“But I ain't got no money and I ain't ate in a few days.”

She looked concerned. “I'm sorry to hear that, but it's company policy.”

“Can I talk to your manager?”

“He's not in today. I'm sorry.”

“He ain't gonna know you gave me a sandwich,” I said, hoping I could convince her, but she barely blinked.

“I can't,” she said and hesitated before walking away. “I'm sorry.”

I left the store feeling defeated. I was on the verge of breaking down. I was sixteen with nowhere to go, I lost my baby, and I hadn't eaten in days. I needed a miracle. Faith once told me that God knows what we need before we even know it ourselves.
If that's true, God must be like Momma, 'cause He never gave me anything I needed.

I sat at a bench, watching a black car pull up in front of me. A woman got out of the driver's side and walked around to the passenger side and began helping an old lady out of the car. My eyes locked on the woman as she stood, straightening her back, taking a step forward with the cane in her hand. Maybe it was her godly appearance that attracted me to her. She was an old church woman, black and big and dressed to a tee in her church clothes. Her big purple hat matched perfectly with her suit. Dark sunglasses shaded her face, making it impossible to see her expression. She walked with a black cane and had the younger woman, maybe in her mid-forties, escort her inside a building. I was drawn to the woman like a moth to a flame. I didn't realize my feet had a mind of their own until they began guiding me to where the two women stood.

“Excuse me,” I said, watching the younger woman turn around to me. I didn't know what I was going to say; I just felt the urge to be in the old lady's presence.

“Can I help you?” The younger of the two smiled.

“Who is it, Norma?” the old lady said with a deep country drawl that was melodic. She turned in my direction, looking at me, but her face still seemed to question me. “Who is it?”

“A girl.” Norma frowned. Even when she frowned she was pretty. She reminded me of Faith, beautiful and light skinned, except Norma was aged by stress and maybe something else I couldn't put my finger on. Now that I saw her up close, I realized she couldn't have been older than forty. “Child, you look lost. Are you okay?”

“No.” I didn't mean to tell the truth, but something about the old lady's presence made me want to.

She took a step toward me, seeming to not see me, and reached out her hand, feeling her way to my own. Once she had my hand, she squeezed. “Child, you got all your feet? All your teeth? All your toes and a working brain?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you're okay. As long as you ain't dying, you're okay,” she said.

“I been sleeping on a park bench for days and I ain't had a good meal in about two. Am I still okay?”

She smiled and took off her glasses. Her unfocused eyes were gray and shadowed. “I'm blind. Am I okay?” She laughed out loud, sharing a joke with only herself. “Yes! And you are too. See, God always provides.” She turned to where the other woman stood. “Norma, give this girl the money in my purse. God told me to carry all of this money on me today. I didn't understand why until now.”

Norma quickly reached in the old woman's purse and handed me a large stack of money. I was speechless. Norma seemed to be as well.

“Take the money and get yourself a nice meal and a hotel.” The old lady smiled again, oblivious to our shock. “You want the wisdom of an old lady? I've given you a seed, you plant it, water it, love it, and watch it grow. A fool spends all of his money in one day.” She turned away from me and allowed Norma to escort her to the building.

“What is your name?” I asked her, feeling elated.

Norma stopped right before they entered the building and turned around to me. “Her name is May Baker,” she said. “Pastor of Rising Faith Ministries.”

I watched them go inside, hoping it wouldn't be the last time I saw her.

I did exactly what May Baker told me to do. I got myself a nice meal, making sure I didn't spend too much on food, and then I went around the corner to the cheapest motel and gave the man enough money to keep me sheltered for a week. Thankfully I had an ID at sixteen, but once the man saw my age, he began asking questions. I ended up tipping him thirty dollars to stop asking.

I sat down on my bed, counting the money while eating leftovers from my lunch. It was a total of $3,000. May Baker had given me $3,000! I wanted jump up and go shopping but remembered the bit of wisdom May Baker gave me, to plant my money and watch it grow. I didn't know what that meant, but I figured I'd start at the bank.

I sat with a personal banker for about an hour, going over opening a student checking account, establishing credit, putting my money into an account where the bank would match me a dollar for every dollar I would deposit. Thankfully they allowed me to open an account without a guardian.

After leaving the bank, I found the nearest thrift store and bought a week's worth of clothes for only twenty dollars. They weren't the best clothes but that didn't matter to me. I had something to wear. After that, I ordered Chinese food and watched TV in the motel until I fell asleep. I remember dreaming about my money turning into $6,000, and it kept doubling until I was a millionaire. It was a good dream. Too bad it wasn't real.

I woke up that next morning with the biggest urge to find May Baker, but I swallowed it. I didn't even know why I wanted to find her; I just knew that I did. Even when I swallowed the thought, I still felt it pressing at the corners of my mind.