Daddy's Baby

by Landis Lain

  The people in the welfare office treated her like the benefits were coming out of their own pockets. The caseworker, a big old fat bleached blond with mountainous acne scrunched up her face like she smelled something bad and had the nerve to tell Sasha that “you girls should stop being so loose and careless with your bodies, then you wouldn’t be in this situation,” like Sasha had planned on purpose to be in the nasty welfare office, homeless, pregnant and battered. She told Sasha that there was a waiting list and gave her a bus ticket and directions to the homeless shelter, because the apartment vouchers were all used up for the month of September and October. Sasha would have to find temporary work, unless the doctor put her on bed rest, in order to get cash benefits to pay for an apartment that she would have to find for herself. She stumbled out of the welfare office in despair.

  Damon

  Damon watched her closely, taking in the long back settling into slim hips, swaying just a little provocatively, tapering to long, long, never ending, slender muscled thighs and calves and slim dainty feet. Brielle would have laughed her head off if she’d known that Damon thought that her size eleven feet were dainty, but he wore size fourteens so almost everyone’s feet were smaller than his.

  Damon watched Brielle walk away and felt a tightness in his whole being. The girl had a body. She was tall but not Amazonian like some tall girls. Until recently, he was attracted to thick girls like Sasha, but there was nothing thick on Brielle except for her hair. He took a deep breath and walked out of the lap pool area, feeling a lot lighter. He was glad that she’d accepted his apology. He didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed before just how fine Brielle was. And she was nice. A really nice girl. Jada said that Brielle was someone you could count on. A ride or die friend was how she put it. Not a sister. But not a sexer, either. Something new.

  He left the pool area, turned a corner in the hall and nearly bumped into Kyzie Bronson.

  “Watch it,” she said. She stepped away from him as though he had some bad body odor, her face scrunched up with distaste.

  “What’s up with you?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, eyeing him up and down. Kyzie was one of the many young girls who made Damon nervous, if for a different reason than most. She had never liked him and watched him with narrowed eyes whenever they came into contact.

  “You got some kind of beef with me?” he asked. “At least something new?”

  He’d hit her in the face during a water balloon fight some years back. Forget the fact that his sister and her friends had ganged up on him during the fight. He also probably shouldn’t have dropped the beetle on her head while she was cleaning the water off of her face and hair. He could still hear her panicked screams. She had never forgiven him even though he’d apologized and gotten a smack upside his head from his father for harassing girls. Apparently, she could hold a grudge for her whole life.

  “No,” said Kyzie. “As long as you treat my sister nicely, we’re as cool as we’ve ever been.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Damon.

  “I see you watching her,” said Kyzie. “If you dog her, you are going to have some problems with me.”

  “Are you threatening me?” he asked, voice strangled with incredulous amusement. He was twice her size, after all.

  “You take it how you want to,” said Kyzie. “I don’t trust you. I heard what you did to that Sasha girl last year.”

  “You know you’re a little evil child, right?” he asked.

  “And don’t forget it,” said Kyzie, giving him one last malevolent glare. She turned and left Damon standing in the hallway, feeling chilled.

  Later in the waning light of day, he was shooting hoops with his brother David. Kyzie’s warning had left him edgy and restless. He liked Brielle, a lot more than he’d ever liked Sasha and he didn’t want to do anything to mess things up. Sasha had made him feel that he was the man because an older woman was coming on to him. Damon shuddered at the memory of how enmeshed he’d been in Sasha without knowing her at all. He hadn’t realized how needy she was, how starved she was going to act. How could he have been so stupid?

  David dance around him and dunked the ball, unchallenged. The street lights clicked on.

  “Was’ sup with you, boy?” his brother asked. He threw the ball to Damon, who caught it and dribbled it lazily.

  “Question for you.” He tossed the ball to his brother, who caught it and cocked his head to the side. David was twenty and he and Damon were extremely close.

  “Shoot,” said David, “Since you ain’t paying attention to the game.”

  Damon said, “You remember all the crap that happened with Sasha.”

  “Of course,” scoffed David. “Like, dude, you got stalked and threatened. I’m supposed to forget it?”

  “I don’t even know what happened?” said Damon. “Suddenly, Sasha was all up in my chocolate.”

  David waited.

  “I mean, at the time, I was like, dang, I’m the man,” said Damon.

  “She was fine,” said David, bouncing the basketball.

  “Then, she was all, do you love me, don’t you want me,” said Damon, rubbing his chest with the palm of his hand.

  “And the problem with that was?”

  “After the sex was over, we didn’t have much to talk about,” said Damon.

  “Was she stupid or something?”

  “Not that,” said Damon. “I thought she just wanted to have sex.”

  “Of course you did,” said David. “Thinking with your little head instead of your big one, man. We’ve all done it. Some of us more than once. Sex will get a brother hooked up in some mess with a quickness. Makes a brother so stupid he’d sell his mother.”

  He bounced the basketball and went up for a shot. Damon half-heartedly tried to block the shot but was more interested in talking to his brother

  “Then why do it?” Damon had asked. He pulled down the rebound and dribbled the ball.

  “You tell me,” said David, rolling his eyes. He reached in to slap the ball out of Damon’s hands, but Damon feinted to the left and dropped back to take the shot. Swish, all net.

  “It felt good,” said Damon, honestly. “Nothing ever felt that good.” David ran to retrieve the ball.

  “Yeah,” said David, laughing. “It is the stuff, ain’t it?” Damon laughed, too, but still felt a little sick inside. He was silent, trying to figure out a way to put into words what he was feeling. David ran past him with the ball and made a lay-up. He grabbed the ball and then walked back over to Damon.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “It causes a lot of problems,” said Damon, finally voicing his disquiet. “It was crazy.”

  “Which is why you’ve got to be careful who you hook up with,” said David, with a nod. He patted Damon on the shoulder in comfort and continued.

  “I don’t get girls,” said Damon. “They are so confusing.”

  “Chicks lie,” said David, with a decisive nod, then narrowed his eyes.

  “She ain’t pregnant is she?”

  “Nah,” said Damon.

  “It’s like this, if she tells you she’s taking birth control pills, she’s probably not. Even if she is, cover up anyway. If she is taking pills that means she is protected, not you. You take responsibility and you will be all right. Just be more careful next time.”

  “It’s not that,” said Damon, still not making his point clear. “I just thought she wanted to play around. But she was serious.”

  David cocked his head to the side and studied Damon for a minute.

  “Oh, you dog,” he said, light dawning. Damon nodded.

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Man, girls are different. I do not care who they are or where they come from. If they are giving up the honey, they got some feelings for you, no matter what they say. Even if they start out playing, they get serious quick. Females are much more emotional than they let on. If you’re not ready for that, better stick to sports,
my brother, although, you suck at basketball.”

  “Whatever,” said Damon and slapped the ball out of his brother’s hands. “I only let you get by me so you wouldn’t feel bad.”

  David didn’t explain how Damon was supposed to ‘stick to sports’ when girls were splattering up against him like bugs on a windshield, and Damon didn’t want to ask and sound like he was complaining about being popular. He couldn’t really explain what he was feeling in words anyway.

  “I like somebody,” he blurted.

  “Yeah, so?” asked David. “She like you back?”

  “I think-,” said Damon. He nodded his head.

  “So, what’s the problem?” asked David. “She got a crazy ex, too?”

  “No.”

  She’s-,” Damon stopped

  “What?”

  “She might be special,” said Damon, slowly.

  “Wrap it up,” said David and took a shot.

  “All net,” he crowed and ran to retrieve the basketball.

  Damon kept silent. David did not understand. Damon just knew that sex felt great, but mixing it up with emotions was messy.

  Sasha

  “I already went to Human Services,” said Sasha. She had huge circles of fatigue under her eyes and she wanted to fall on the floor and not get up. Gail, the woman who helped run the shelter, stopped her monologue briefly and eyed Sasha through the thickest glasses that Sasha had ever seen. “They told me that it will be at least thirty days before my application is finished being processed. That’s why they sent me here.”

  “Well, that is step one,” Gail said, primly. “We have a bed open for you, but we need to have you placed somewhere before it’s time for your baby to come. We don’t have the facilities for a newborn, since we are a battered woman’s shelter.” She looked at Sasha’s bruised face with pity, which looked even worse nearly two weeks after the fight with her mother. Fortunately, it didn’t ache anymore.

  Sasha nodded, weary to her bones. After sleeping rough for nearly two weeks, all she wanted to do was fall into bed, close her eyes and never open them again.

  “We also require a twice weekly counseling session,” said Gail. She handed Sasha a sheaf of papers.

  “You need to fill out all of these forms. You have to go through initial screening and then go to all of your doctor’s appointments.” She led Sasha down a long poorly lit hallway.

  “All of the residents are currently out but will return in time for dinner, so you have the place to yourself.”

  Sasha was silent.

  “You have until Friday to get acclimated to the house.”

  Gail glanced back at Sasha and Sasha nodded to show that she understood. Gail turned and continued with her monologue.

  “Any illegal drug use or alcohol use will result in expulsion and require you to leave the shelter. You have to leave in the mornings by nine a.m. and go look for a job. You’ll be required to check back in before seven p.m., with a completed jobs log. Meals are at 8 in the morning, noon and five p.m. All the residents are expected to help with the cooking and cleaning. Curfew is 6:55p.m. At seven the doors close. No boyfriends or men visiting. You cannot tell anyone where this place is for the safety of the other residents.”

  Gail stopped in front of a utility closet and took out frayed sheets and a red army issue blanket. Bleach scent wafted off of the sheets, causing Sasha’s empty stomach to roil in rebellion. She swallowed audibly to hold back the vomit.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Sasha, voiced choked. She took the papers, sheets and blankets that Gail handed her and followed her into a dismal little cell of a room that contained a stripped down twin bed and a ragged desk and chair. A battered oak chest of drawers was squeezed into the corner. The room was so small that all of the furniture touched. It looked like a prison cell that Sasha had once seen on television.

  Once Gail made certain that Sasha was situated, she asked gently “Is there no one you can call to come and take you in?” She stood in the doorway, looking rumpled and nerdy in her chinos, duck shoes and green raglan sweater. At least she was kind, though. Sasha shook her head, too depressed to say a word.

  “All right, then. Welcome to Haven House. We hope you’ll heal and regroup quickly here.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Sasha. Gail closed the door behind her. Sasha sank to the naked mattress, dumped the linen on to the bed beside and covered her face with her hands. There were still some tears left.

  Brielle

  “You know your boy Damon dogged that girl, Sasha Anderson,” said Asia.

  Asia was Brielle’s girl at school. She could always be counted on to have the latest gossip. She spit it out, quick and staccato, like she was a newswoman commentating a particularly exciting or gruesome news story. Usually Brielle was into it, but this was news about Damon, and not what she wanted to hear. The gossip got on Brielle’s last nerve.

  “Really,” said Brielle. They were sitting into the cafeteria at the lunch table. Brielle was slowly eating a second piece of pizza. She saved the tossed salad and cookie for last, because by the time lunch rolled around Brielle was starving. If she ate too fast she’d throw up in the pool later and wouldn’t that be nasty. Asia continued talking about how fast Sasha was and what a dog Damon could be until Brielle wanted to scream. She put a stop to the commentary by standing up.

  “I’ve got to go,” Brielle said. Asia looked puzzled.

  “Got to talk to Mrs. King about my essay before class,” Brielle said.

  Asia’s expression cleared up and she nodded. “Catch you later, girlfriend.”

  “Okay,” said Brielle and walked away, stifling a sigh of relief.

  Brielle was a more than a little irritated. Damon expressed the least interest in her; everybody wanted to know why. He hadn’t done much more than walk her to class, carry her books or sit next to her, and the whole school was buzzing about how she was different that Damon’s usual fare. Like Brielle was ugly or something. One girl named Charlene had even walked up to her in the locker room this morning and asked Brielle,

  “What you got that I don’t have?”

  “What?” Brielle had asked. Mommy was constantly telling Brielle that she should try to be tactful when she spoke to people, but Brielle had a hard time remembering that when she was put on the spot. Unless she was trying to stammer out words around Damon, her mouth had its own mind and the willingness to speak it. Brielle couldn’t figure out why she was so shy around him.

  “What are you talking about?” Brielle asked the shorter girl.

  “You heard me,” said Charlene. “What do you got that I don’t got?”

  “I don’t follow you,” said Brielle, with a sniff. “But offhand, I’d say I’ve got height and correct diction.” She rolled one braid between her fingers and stared down at the shorter girl. She had just finished her morning swim class and her hair was still damp. She could feel a bead of water run down her thumb and she released the braid and rubbed her thumb and fingers together to get rid of it.

  Charlene was one of those girls who had to be the center of attention. She was short, shapely and wore her clothes sausage casing tight for maximum effect. She tried to date the most popular boys in the school and thought that she sweated perfume. She traveled with an entourage named Susan and Ellen, two mousey girls, one white, one black, who in Brielle’s estimation, had never held an original opinion on any subject. Charlene was hawking on Damon something fierce, but Brielle didn’t like to make enemies if she could avoid it.

  Brielle was not one of the popular crowd; swimming not being a mainstream sport for black girls. She’d never had a problem with Charlene. She was beneath Charlene’s notice. Or as her friend Sammie would say, she was above Charlene’s notice, since Charlene barely topped five feet in height. Word was that Charlene had tried to talk to Damon, but he’d let her know in no uncertain term that he was not interested. As a result, Charlene and her girls had a mad on with Brielle.

  “Damon said you talked about me,” sa
id Charlene. The two girls behind her nodded like trained lap dogs.

  “That is a lie. Why would I?” asked Brielle.

  “He said you said I act like a freak. Damon told me that I should act more like you, if I wanted to get with him,” said Charlene, looking like she wanted to spit. “So what you got?”

  “Some dignity,” answered Brielle. She could feel her temper drop to freezing. “If he doesn’t like you, why are you fronting me off? Take it up with Damon.” She folded her arms in front of her and glared at Charlene.

  “You’re not even cute,” said Charlene. “You’re all big and stuff. He must be trying to get with you because you’re giving up the honey.”

  Brielle was suddenly so mad she couldn’t see straight.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Brielle, through clenched teeth. “Damon was right. You are acting like a freak.”

  “Who are you calling a freak?” snarled Charlene. She pushed Brielle hard against the locker. Brielle righted herself, and shoved Charlene, causing the smaller girl to stagger back into her friends arms, but before she could launch what would have been a stunning blow, she felt someone grab her arm. She looked around.

  “Don’t,” said Kyzie, who had walked up just in time to hear Brielle’s last statement and see the push. Eyes narrowed and she spoke very softly so the other girls had to strain to hear. “You get expelled, mommy will kill you. Besides, you have to swim tonight. Don’t mess up your arm.”

  Kyzie turned to Charlene. “Step off, Tinker bell, before I let my sister dust you off.”

  “Forget you,” said Charlene, giving Kyzie the finger.

  “Oh, that’s classy,” said Kyzie.

  Charlene took a step forward.

  “Don’t,” repeated Kyzie, freezing Charlene with a look. She smiled, a feral gesture with so much menace in it that Charlene backed up. “I don’t have to swim. I’m not trying to get expelled either. So, we can take it outside after school.”