I know wherever Stephie is tonight
she’s thinking hard about the baby, us,
herself, and Jason. She’s out there alone
and I can’t help. Sixteen. I know. She might
not know how much she’s loved, or who to trust.
YOU DREAM ABOUT A KID LIKE THIS COACH HARDEN
Jason hasn’t told me much himself
but there’s a rumor going around the team
about his girlfriend. When I heard it, I felt
sick. You coach for twenty years, you dream
about a kid like this, an athlete born
for greatness. Varsity his freshman year,
state all-star two years in a row. More
natural talent than I’ve ever seen here
at Marshall High. And he knows how to work
for what he wants. He could go anywhere—
free ride, recruiters calling every day.
Now what? He’s not one to shirk
responsibility. He seems to care
about this girl. But you should see him play.
IT WOULD BE GOOD FOR HIM MRS. MASON (DONTAY’S CASEWORKER)
I thought I’d finally found a good, safe place
for Dontay, far from his old friends and school,
with such a nice family, of his own race.
This summer they were going to join the pool
so he could learn to swim. I hope he meets
new friends, I said. It would be good for him
to know some different kids. But Dontay treats
this like a punishment. I hate to swim,
he says, I hate that part of town. He can’t
seem to adapt himself. It’s sad. Now
he’s run off, and he’ll be hard to find. Three days
since he left. I’m not sure they want
to take him back. He’s good at heart. But how
can I help Dontay if he won’t change his ways?
LORD, GIVE ME STRENGTH ROBERTA (CARMEN’S GRANDMOTHER)
I got to get my own self in control
before I try to talk to Carmen. Right now
I’m so mad at everyone, the whole
world look ugly to my mind. I don’t know how
LaRayne could leave her girl like that.
It ain’t how she was raised—she knows what’s right!
But ever since she took up with that ol’ fat
ugly thing she call a man, seem like she might
do anything. Now she don’t even know
her child’s in trouble. Least she could do is call!
Lord knows, I want to get the child free.
I want to help her straighten out. But oh,
it’s hard. Lord, give me strength to carry all
the burdens people tryin’ to put on me.
CAN’T RISK TAKING ANY ACTION MR. HYDE (ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL)
I got a student complaint this afternoon.
A Harris Murphy claims he was harassed.
Note in his locker, incident in the lunchroom
involving Bradley Smith. We could get slapped
with a lawsuit, either way we go.
Brad’s mother is a lawyer. I can’t risk
taking any action until I know
the facts. This isn’t drugs, where we can frisk
the suspect, search for evidence. I
gave the boy a pamphlet. My advice:
Gain some weight. Consider what you wear.
Stand up and look the bully in the eye.
I told him: You’re too young to make this choice.
Just wait. There’s lots of pretty girls out there.
NOT MUCH I CAN DO MRS. GOLDSTEIN (KATIE’S ENGLISH TEACHER)
Katie used to be among the best
students in my sophomore honors class.
Her work was careful, A’s on every test,
good writer, conscientious. For the last
few weeks, or maybe months—when did this start?—
her grades have fallen, first to C’s, now D’s.
She’s not doing the reading; there’s no heart
behind her writing. She’s in class, but she’s
half asleep, and when I ask her to stay
after school, she says sorry, she can’t,
she has to be at work by three o’clock.
She didn’t turn her paper in today.
It’s half her midterm grade. I guess I’ll grant
her extra time. She doesn’t want to talk.
PART IV
THE DEEP END
ACROSS WHATEVER SECRET STEPHIE
Keesha found me crying in the doughnut shop across
the street from where she lives. I was sitting there alone
late Friday night. Stephie, is that you?
She sat down in the booth with me. The doughnut shop
was almost empty, just one old man and me. It stays
open all night long, and it seemed safe, but I was getting kind
of nervous. Keesha’s face looks hard sometimes, but she’s kind-
hearted. Her eyes can look right through you. Straight across
whatever secret you might carry, she follows and stays
with you. I must have felt a little more alone
than I admitted, because when she sat down, the doughnut shop
seemed brighter. My words just simmered up. I said, You
won’t tell anyone, will you?
She looked at me and shook her head, kind
of like nothing is a secret. She told me, There’s a shop
that sells used baby stuff, two blocks down from here, across
from Pizza Hut. I knew about it. I’d gone in there alone
the day before, thinking, if this baby stays
with me, how will I take care of it? Keesha stayed
and talked (well, listened) for two hours. When I asked, Where do you
live? she brought me here. She lives here alone,
I mean no parents; the kids who live here kind
of fend for themselves, I guess. A room across
from Keesha’s is empty, sort of. A guy set up a shop
to make jewelry out of colored wire, and in one corner of the shop
there’s a bed. Keesha said, No one stays
here right now; you can use that bed. Across
the street, people were fighting, a woman was yelling, You
bastard! I pulled down the shade, tried not to hear. That kind
of thing, these days, makes me throw up. Keesha left me alone
and I kept thinking, Can I raise a child alone?
Do my homework every night and then go out to shop
for formula and Pampers? What kind
of mother would I be? Not one that stays
home and sings lullabies, that’s for sure. Not someone you
would trust to guide a child across
the kind of world I see out there. You
can’t shop for what you really need: patience, strength, a man who stays
with you. Can I even get myself across the years ahead? Alone?
HOME COURT JASON
It’s like I’m playing forward for one team
and guard for the other
in the final quarter of the last
game of the season. I want two things
at once—Stephie safe, back home,
trusting me like before,
and my name in the sports page headlines. Before
the game today, some of the guys on the team
helped make missing-person posters. Stephie’s brother took them home
and her mom and dad and a bunch of other
people put them up. It’s one of those things
where if she is okay, she’ll be embarrassed, but the last
thing anyone wants is another story like the one last
year, where a girl was missing for two weeks before
anyone reported her, and then they found her body in the river. Th
ings
like that can happen, and I’m scared. Coach said the team
could play without me if there were other
things I had to do tonight, but it’s the last home
game of the season, and what could I do at home
besides wait for a call that probably won’t come? In last
week’s game, I messed up bad. I want another
chance to get it right before
the tournament. We’ve got the best team
the school’s had in ten years—big things
could be ahead for us. And for me, next year. Things
I’ll have to turn my back on if I stay home
with Stephie. Stay home and watch ESPN, watch the team
I could have been on, knowing I missed the last
chance I had to make it big. Sometimes before
I take a shot, all the cheering and other
sounds on the court fade out. It’s like I’m in some other
place where everything
is clear and silent. When that happens, especially before
a free throw, I know I’ll sink the shot. It only happens on the home
court, and the moment never lasts,
but how can I describe it? It’s like the two teams
are playing with each other, not against, like it’s home
court for everyone, and everything’s okay. I used to feel (before
this baby) like Steph and I were on one team. Could that feeling last?
THE RIVER KEESHA
So. That’s that. Stephanie runs
off; her parents search until they find her,
bring her home; everyone lives happily ever after, I guess.
So much fuss about one girl. Of course I’m glad
she has a home, a brother, parents
that want her there. Whatever.
Good for Stephie. She’ll be fine, whatever
happens with the baby. If she runs
into trouble, her boyfriend or her parents
will be there to help her out. This morning, when she called her
family and they came to get her, they were all so glad
to see each other. I stood back and watched. I could’ve guessed
it’d be exactly like this. I’m glad she’s gone. Now I guess
I can get my homework done, and whatever
else I got to do today. I should be glad
(I am glad) I got a bed. Not every kid that runs
off is so lucky. Like that one girl that used to roll her
blankets out under the Fourth Street Bridge. I never saw no parents
look for her. No missing-person posters. Oh well. Who needs parents?
Only—sometimes, like today I guess,
I think about that girl, how no one seemed to notice her
or come and take her someplace safe. It was like, whatever
happens, happens. The river running
under that bridge still sings its glad
and endless song, whether that girl is there or not. I’m glad
I found Stephie Friday night. Before she left today, I said, If your parents
ask about me, just say the simple truth: I’m a girl that runs
track with you. Don’t tell them how I live. I guess
I’d rather stick with what I got than take my chances on whatever
someone else might think is good for me. Some caseworker with all her
rules and regulations. I don’t need her
stickin’ her nose in my business. I’d be glad,
though, if I thought my father asked, just once, Whatever
happened to Keesha? Tried to find out where I’m at, like parents
are supposed to! Tobias knows I’m here, and I guess
if anybody asked, he’d tell them. Now I see he runs
with older kids. They’re prob’ly glad he doesn’t have strict parents.
Whatever they want from him, he’ll do it. If Mama was alive, I guess
her heart would break. But me, I’m strong—no tears run down my face.
LOW-KEY, KEEPIN’ QUIET DONTAY
I thought I could chill at Carmen’s house a couple
nights—her grandmama’s usually cookin’ up
some food. There’s always kids and good times
over there. So I stopped by, but it was quiet—
just two of Carmen’s little cousins playin’
while her grandmama was talkin’ on the phone.
When she got off the phone,
she told me Carmen got locked up a couple
days ago. She said, This time it’s serious, they ain’t playin’
with her now. I asked when Carmen’s court date was comin’ up,
but she didn’t say. She was bein’ quiet,
the way old folks do sometimes
when they be really mad. Might be times
she blamin’ me for Carmen’s troubles. I wish I could phone
Carmen, but there ain’t no way. I found a quiet
place in the downtown library, spent a couple
hours there, then came over here to see what’s up
at Jermaine and Dan’s. New CD’s playin’
on the boom box; some girls come over; everybody playin’
’round, just chillin’. It’s a good time
over here tonight; things lookin’ up
for me. Jermaine got on the cordless,
called out for pizza. Dan has a couple
six-packs, and everybody feelin’ pretty good. Just a quiet
group of friends together on a quiet
night. I’m tryin’ to stay out of trouble, playin’
it safe, hopin’ Mrs. Mason gonna get a couple
extra kids so they’ll take up her time
and she’ll forget about me. Every time I hear a phone
another placement for me, or maybe makin’ up
a mess of trouble, listin’ all my problems in her quiet
voice, then gettin’ on her cell phone,
callin’ some authority or other. I’m through playin’
’round with all that drama. It’s too many times
now she takes me out to meet some nice couple,
tries to cheer me up with all her talk about good family times.
Couple weeks or months go by, phone rings again,
I’m on my way. Nope. I’m playin’ this low-key, keepin’ quiet.
MY INSIDE SELF CARMEN
You wanna know, for real, what keeps me alive
in here? They try to think of everything
so you can’t kill yourself—Velcro shoes
instead of laces, special bags for sleepin’
so you can’t make a rope out of your sheets,
and that little camera in the corner
starin’ at you, seems like into every corner
of your thoughts. They think I stay alive
just ’cause they make me. I could fill a hundred sheets
of paper if I wrote down everything
they do to keep us in control, awake or sleepin’.
But it ain’t that. I wake up every day, put on the shoes
they gave me, and think about the day I’ll get my own shoes
back. I get way back in a corner
while my roommate’s still sleepin’,
and I can just see out the window. I stay alive
by lookin’ hard at one tree branch. I watch everything
that happens on that branch. One day last week, sheets
of ice covered every inch of it. Sun on those ice sheets
was shinin’ like glass, and I remembered those shoes
Cinderella wore. You know how in that story, everything
turns out okay when she comes out from her corner
and that glass slipper fits her? Sometimes I stay alive
by thinkin’ of those stories. Rapunzel, Sleeping
Beauty. (The tangled branches in front of Sleeping
Beauty’s castle—remember those? Asleep between her sheets,
almost dead, but then the girl comes back alive.)
I know they all just stories. I sure ain’t got no glass shoes,
or any prince to find me in a corner,
get me out. It’s just that sometimes, everything
in here makes me feel dead, and everything
alive is someplace else. Instead of sleepin’
off the hours and days, I find some corner
of my mind to keep alive. They give us two sheets
of paper, once a week, for letters, and I treat them like new shoes
to take me where I want to go. I write things down to keep my inside self alive.
Last night I dreamed a little squirrel was sleepin’ in my shoe
in a corner of my room at Grandmama’s. There was sheets
of colored light on everything. Me, Grandmama, and the squirrel was all alive.
I DON’T CALL THIS STEALING HARRIS
I need a sleeping bag and a change of clothes.
I need some food.
I know where my parents hide the house key
and where they keep $100, in case
of an emergency. I know when they’re at work.
And I know my rights.
They don’t have the right
to throw me out with just the clothes
I’m wearing. I might not start work
for a couple weeks, and I need food
till I get paid. In this case,
I think two wrongs do make a right. Still, this key
feels wrong somehow. Calm down. Put the key
in the lock; turn it to the right.
I don’t call this stealing, but I have a bad case
of nerves all the same. I’m only taking my own clothes
plus some cereal and cans of food
that my parents should’ve given me. If Dad came home from work
and caught me here, would he say, Look, I’m sorry, let’s work
this out, or would he take my car keys
too, so I wouldn’t have a place to keep the food
I “steal” from him? I don’t know. Right
now, I think I better grab my clothes
and get out fast. King wants me to play. Sorry, boy, it’s not a case
of me not having time for you. It’s a case