Clifford winced. “Ow!”
“There you go throwing out those million dollar words again,” said Clifford.
They got to the car and Clifford opened the passenger side door for her, like he always did. It still surprised her when he hustled to the door and yanked it open for her. They had been out to eat three times and he was always kind and considerate.
“What a gentleman,” said Sasha. “Thank you.”
“It’s all good, little mama,” he said. He closed her car door and jogged around to his side of the car. The chatted while they rode and when Sasha looked up they were in front of the nursing home. Clifford pulled into the back of the building employee parking lot and put the car into park.
“Thank you for the movie and dinner,” Sasha said. She moved to open the car door but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait.”
She leaned back and he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. He lifted from the kiss slightly. Sasha stared back at him with wide eyes.
“I got something to ask you,” said Clifford.
“Ok,” she said.
“I want you to come and stay with me,” he said. “I got a place and you could live with me. I’ll take care of you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I really like you,” he said. “You are beautiful. We could kick it for a while until you decide what you are gonna do.”
“I’m pregnant,” said Sasha.
“That’s the beauty of it,” said Clifford. “You could stay with me for free. I’ll take care of you, you take care of me. I can’t get you pregnant so it’s no harm, no foul, ya know?”
“What?” asked Sasha, stunned. His arms snaked around her.
“The damage is already done,” said Clifford. “We don’t have to worry.” He leaned in and kissed her hard. Sasha pushed him away.
“Stop!”
Clifford leaned back. “What’s wrong, pretty?”
“I gotta go,” she said, blinking back tears. She grabbed the handle on the door and wrenched it. Nothing happened. “Unlock this door!”
“Don’t be like that, beauty,” said Clifford. “The door handle is broken on that side. I have to open it from the outside.” He touched her face with his hand.
Sasha snatched away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Oh, you gonna be like that?” asked Clifford, expression morphing into a snarl. He made no move to get out of the car. He grabbed her arm and leaned in again. “That’s the trouble with you fine chicks. Y’ all think you all of that and won’t give a righteous brother no play.”
“Get off me!” She pushed him back with one hand.
“You ain’t no virgin, girl,” said Clifford. “You should be glad I’m willing to treat you nice. You used goods, you know.”
“Let me go!” she was struggling in earnest now.
Sasha tried to pull away but he was strong and in her face. She felt like she was suffocating. She panicked. She started screaming.
“Girl, stop, okay!” he said, releasing her, looking around in panic. “Stop screaming! You trying to get us both fired, girl. Or me, arrested? Wait a minute.”
He opened his car door and hustled out to her side of the car. He opened the door and stepped back, hands held up in surrender. “See? You can get out. I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He held out his hand but Sasha refused to touch him. She got out of the car.
“I’m sorry, you know?” She stomped away from the car. He trotted behind her, still pleading his case.
You wanna think about what I said?” asked Clifford. “You don’t sound like you got anyplace else to go. I’m just tryna’ help, ya know. But a brother gotta get something in return.” He stepped in front of her and Sasha halted abruptly.
Sasha could feel her lips trembling so she said nothing.
“Girl, don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I ain’t no rapist.
Sasha cast Clifford one angry, fearful look and slid past him.
She stomped into to Tender Comfort, went to Miss Tarver’s office and told her that she would not be back to work. Then she headed for the doors at the opposite end of the hall and out into the cold night.
Brielle
Mrs. King was reading a poem to the class. She’d told them that they would be called upon to recite later, and she was giving them a sample of what she expected. Nobody wanted to do it, so nobody volunteered. Mrs. King’s deep contralto voice rang out to all corners of the room. Brielle had her eyes closed listening as the soft cadence of Maya Angelou’s words spilled over her.
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings?
I know why the caged bird sings!
Mrs. King finished the poem. Brielle opened her eyes and smiled. The rest of the class clapped politely, but Brielle could tell that most of the class wasn’t feeling it like she was. Mrs. King was her favorite teacher because she put so much feeling into her poetry reading. She was always telling her students to stretch their minds and learn a new way to communicate.
“This stuff is kind of lame,” said Chauncey. “Nobody talks like that anymore.”
“Really?” asked Mrs. King. “What about your rap songs?”
“They have some meaning for our lives,” said Chauncey, “This stuff was back in slavery time. That’s over, now.”
“Interesting that you say that,” said Mrs. King. She gestured around the room. “I look around you and all you guys have on jeans, big shirts and two hundred dollar basketball shoes. What are you, if not a slave to the fashion of the day?”
Damon laughed. “Good one.”
“Man,” said Chauncey. “Shut up.”
“So, you think booty shaking all around is poetry?’ asked Mrs. King.
“Yeah,” said Chauncey with a cocky smile.
