“Oh, Mother!”
Ask me what I fear most:
my mother’s eyes
welling with disappointment,
wondering where
she’d gone wrong.
They watch me now.
They do not mean for me to notice,
but I do.
I wish I had some remedy
for their disbelief
and disappointment.
I cannot decide
which hurts worse.
These days,
I feel Mom’s eyes on me
every time I leave a room.
Some mornings,
she’s Lois Lane
grilling me over Frosted Flakes:
“I haven’t seen that shirt before.”
“Is that the new style,
shirt hanging out your pants?”
“Don’t girls wear belts anymore?”
“Honey, are you gaining a little weight?”
Sometimes, she’s Superman,
still as stone,
mum as Clark Kent,
but looking for all the world
like she’s got
X-ray vision.
That’s when I know
I can’t keep the truth from her
forever.
Lately,
every day after school
I speed-walk round the track
once or twice,
doing my best to dodge
all the boys warming up
for baseball practice.
So what if I can’t play
my own sport right now?
I refuse to grow
gross and flabby
just because.
Eyes straight ahead,
I charge past
a clump of kids
and leave them
eating my dust.
“i’m pregnant,” I write.
“i guessed,” answered Sethany.
“there had 2 be some reason
ur sick all the time.
other kids notice 2 btw.
i was just waiting
4 u 2 tell me,
on ur own.”
“yeah. well, i don’t know
how i’m gonna tell my mom.”
“what did trey say?”
“didn’t tell him yet, either.”
“what r u waiting 4?”
I’m not sure
how to answer that.
Eventually, I type in
“armageddon.”
“Shalom!”
A voice melodious as a lyre
fills the family courtyard.
There is only one person it could be.
I throw my arms around Hadassah,
my girlhood friend.
As ever, I am happy when
she comes to visit me.
She greets my parents before
we climb to the roof
for a leisurely hour
of weaving and conversation.
After trading ordinary news,
we work side by side,
silent at our hand looms
while the sun lavishes her warmth
on our spring afternoon.
Too soon, though,
the silence grows heavier than
I am used to.
Hadassah is the first
to shatter the stillness.
“You have changed
since I saw you last,” she says,
noticing that I am larger
than she remembers,
though not knowing why.
Thankfully, the billowing
folds of my garment
do much to hide my belly
four months swollen with child.
I wave off Hadassah’s comment,
as if there were
no truth to it,
and weave on,
wondering if she will
press the point.
Thankfully, she does not.
Yet, I can almost feel her
penetrating stare,
hungry for the one secret
I can never share.
But suddenly I realize
the perfect way
to throw her off the scent.
“Have I mentioned
that Joseph and I
are soon to wed?”
Hadassah’s hands leave the loom
long enough to clap for joy.
“I knew it!” she cries.
“Tell me everything.”
I try on shirts
with Sethany for company.
She stares at me,
stares at my reflection
in the mirror,
eyes lingering on
my lower half.
She makes faces
at my belly
till I have to laugh.
Of course, we both know
there’s nothing funny
about my trouble.
“Time to tell Trey,” says Sethany,
catching me off guard.
I cut my eyes at her.
“Hey! That’s all I got to say
on the subject.”
Which means
she’s just getting started.
“Seth!”
I groan loud enough
for her to hear.
“It’s gonna be rough,
still, the daddy
needs to know.”
On and on she goes.
“I’m not saying
it’s gonna be easy,
but at least you know
God’ll give you the words.”
I snort. “Yeah. If he’s still
talking to me.”
“Ooooh,” says Sethany.
“I see. So, you’re telling me
God forgives murderers,
but can’t forgive you.
Well, that’s a new one.”
Sarcasm aside, she’s got a point.
“Say you’re right,”
I concede,
“so what?”
“Get up in his face
and spit it out,” says Sethany.
“Don’t go shy all of a sudden.”
I nod, whisper, “Okay.”
Then Sethany switches her attention
to new shirts I should
try on.
“Look at this one,” she says,
holding up a green number.
“It’ll bring out your eyes.”
Then, she surprises me
with a hug,
guessing how badly
I need one.
Soft as fleece,
God’s forgiveness
falls over me
like a quilt,
and this time,
I let it smother
my guilt.
The next morning,
I feel strong enough
to carry out my plan.
Today, I’ll tell Trey, I think.
Him first, then Mom.
That settled,
I march into school
and wait by Trey’s locker.
I lean against the door,
close my eyes,
and let the combination lock
dig into my spine-
anything to keep me
from feeling numb.
“I got some treasure in there
I don’t know about?” asks Trey.
I look up, part my lips
and manage, “Hi.”
“Whoa! This mean
you talking to me again?”
Tell him. Go on!
“Trey, I-uhm, I-”
My mouth fails,
my practiced speech
becomes a heap
of dead syllables
crushed between my teeth.
“Cat got your tongue?” says Trey.
I nod, turn away,
but somehow stop myself
from running.
Do it. Do it!
I tell myself,
then turn back,
wrap my tongue
around the truth,
and throw it like a ball,
hard as I can
till it hits home.
“Trey, I’m pregnant.
And it’s yours.”
“I’m too young
to have a kid,
and so, I don’t,”
says Trey.
“You need to take
that fairy tale
to some other fool.”
His words ricochet
inside my head,
hot and deadly.
“There is no one but you,”
I say.
“Oh, yeah? And how do
I know that’s true?
Because you say it?”
Trey slams his locker door
like the period