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Authors: Shawn Goodman
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because it’s not their fault. But then again, I have enough to worry about. What the hell can I do for some retarded girl anyway?
When I look at Mary, though, all my hardness goes out the window. Right off I see that she’s several months along. A skinny little thing with a big belly and swollen breasts. She has a woman’s body, but her face looks like a child’s. She wears this dumb smile like she trusts everyone and wants to be friends. If you could see that face, open and with the dumb fucking smile, it’s as if she’s been sent to this world as a test for all of us. God’s saying, “Treat this girl well and in her own way, she will look after you. She will be the test of goodness among you. Love her, and above all else, protect her. Because if she is harmed …” That’s what I’m afraid of, because this girl
will
be harmed here. I can sense it.
She stands looking straight at me, smiling, with her hands on her belly. It’s the most innocent smile I’ve ever seen. I look away and then storm off. This girl, this Mary, is bad news. You just wait and see. She’s not smart enough to protect herself, and some girl, like Coffee or China, or one of the guards, is going to use her up. And I have to either watch it all play out or get involved. Like I’m going to get involved in this Mary’s shit. Fuck that. Next time she flashes me that smile I’m going to knock it off her damn face.
But at bedtime, I find myself thinking about her and her baby. I say a silent prayer for her even though I stopped believing in God a long time ago. I never pray for myself because it doesn’t do any good, but maybe it can work if you do it for someone else.
28
T his is my next assignment: to write about a woman I’ve felt safe with.
It’s June 7, 2002. I’m at the hospital in the maternity ward. I’m almost sixteen years old and it’s my first year in lockup. They tried to send me to a group home where I could have the baby and then learn how to be a mother, but I was too messed up. I didn’t follow the rules and eventually tried to run away.
After the cops picked me up (pretty hard for a pregnant runaway to stay on the down-low; maybe I should have thought of that before I ran), they took me to the Center. I stayed there until it was time to deliver. Then, when my water broke during lunch (pizza squares and Tater Tots), they took me in shackles to the local hospital. Once I was there, the shackles came off and everybody treated me differently.
Ms. Williams stayed with me the whole time. Eventhough it took twenty hours and she has children of her own to look after.
I was assigned to this big fat nurse who was also a midwife. She was the only black nurse in the whole hospital, and I think she took a special interest in me. She said some really beautiful things to me that I will never forget. Her name was Mona.
When Mona met me, she took my own bony hands in her large soft ones and said, “Child, if I’m gonna help you have this baby, then we need to git a few things straight. First off, I know where you come from. You come from that prison for kids. And that means that you done something wrong or somebody done something wrong to you. And here you are, still a child yourself, yet gettin’ ready to have your own child.”
I wanted to interrupt, but I found that I couldn’t speak. She rubbed my hands so gently, talking in this gospel-like voice, singsongy and sweet. I just listened like a little girl at story time. Those hands of hers must have been magic.
Mona said, “Child, I done wrong too and, you know what? Don’t nobody care. Least of all God. And if God don’t care ’bout that, then why should any smaller peoples care? Certainly don’t nobody here at this hospital care what you done. You just another woman ready to bring a new person into this world. And sugar, that’s
the
most beautiful thing ever! You’ll see. And when you do, I’ll be right here with you.” She said this last part
When I look at Mary, though, all my hardness goes out the window. Right off I see that she’s several months along. A skinny little thing with a big belly and swollen breasts. She has a woman’s body, but her face looks like a child’s. She wears this dumb smile like she trusts everyone and wants to be friends. If you could see that face, open and with the dumb fucking smile, it’s as if she’s been sent to this world as a test for all of us. God’s saying, “Treat this girl well and in her own way, she will look after you. She will be the test of goodness among you. Love her, and above all else, protect her. Because if she is harmed …” That’s what I’m afraid of, because this girl
will
be harmed here. I can sense it.
She stands looking straight at me, smiling, with her hands on her belly. It’s the most innocent smile I’ve ever seen. I look away and then storm off. This girl, this Mary, is bad news. You just wait and see. She’s not smart enough to protect herself, and some girl, like Coffee or China, or one of the guards, is going to use her up. And I have to either watch it all play out or get involved. Like I’m going to get involved in this Mary’s shit. Fuck that. Next time she flashes me that smile I’m going to knock it off her damn face.
But at bedtime, I find myself thinking about her and her baby. I say a silent prayer for her even though I stopped believing in God a long time ago. I never pray for myself because it doesn’t do any good, but maybe it can work if you do it for someone else.
28
T his is my next assignment: to write about a woman I’ve felt safe with.
It’s June 7, 2002. I’m at the hospital in the maternity ward. I’m almost sixteen years old and it’s my first year in lockup. They tried to send me to a group home where I could have the baby and then learn how to be a mother, but I was too messed up. I didn’t follow the rules and eventually tried to run away.
After the cops picked me up (pretty hard for a pregnant runaway to stay on the down-low; maybe I should have thought of that before I ran), they took me to the Center. I stayed there until it was time to deliver. Then, when my water broke during lunch (pizza squares and Tater Tots), they took me in shackles to the local hospital. Once I was there, the shackles came off and everybody treated me differently.
Ms. Williams stayed with me the whole time. Eventhough it took twenty hours and she has children of her own to look after.
I was assigned to this big fat nurse who was also a midwife. She was the only black nurse in the whole hospital, and I think she took a special interest in me. She said some really beautiful things to me that I will never forget. Her name was Mona.
When Mona met me, she took my own bony hands in her large soft ones and said, “Child, if I’m gonna help you have this baby, then we need to git a few things straight. First off, I know where you come from. You come from that prison for kids. And that means that you done something wrong or somebody done something wrong to you. And here you are, still a child yourself, yet gettin’ ready to have your own child.”
I wanted to interrupt, but I found that I couldn’t speak. She rubbed my hands so gently, talking in this gospel-like voice, singsongy and sweet. I just listened like a little girl at story time. Those hands of hers must have been magic.
Mona said, “Child, I done wrong too and, you know what? Don’t nobody care. Least of all God. And if God don’t care ’bout that, then why should any smaller peoples care? Certainly don’t nobody here at this hospital care what you done. You just another woman ready to bring a new person into this world. And sugar, that’s
the
most beautiful thing ever! You’ll see. And when you do, I’ll be right here with you.” She said this last part
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