Earl Sewell - The Keysha Diaries, Volume One

“Who is it?” I asked aloud.

“It’s me, Toya.” Dang, why doesn’t she take a hint? I thought to myself. I just want to be alone right now. I opened the door and she was standing there with her son perched on her hip.

“Girl, I need a real big favor from you,” she said. I wasn’t in the mood to give out any favors, but before I could tell her that, she unlatched her son, Junior, from her hip and handed him to me.

“I need you to watch him for about an hour,” she said. I prepared to hand him back to her.

“Have your grandmother watch him,” I said.

“Come on, Keysha, you know that she’s going blind and can’t see too good. I only left him in the house because he was asleep. I mean, she can watch him but it’s not like she’s really keeping an eye on him.”

“Then why don’t you take him with you? He’s your son,” I said.

“Girl, because I just got a phone call from my cousin telling me that my man is on her block all hugged up with some girl, and I need to go see what’s going on with that.” There was a long moment of silence between us. I wanted to tell her that she should take her baby with her because I just wasn’t in the mood to deal with him right now.

“Come on, girl. I promise I’ll only be about an hour.” I sighed, and she took my grumbling sound as confirmation that I’d watch him.

“Thank you so much,” she said, then left abruptly.

“Don’t leave him here all night, Toya. I have to register for school in the morning,” I yelled out behind her as she rushed down the corridor and out of the building.

Junior was quiet and didn’t say much at all. I could tell that he was in some sort of deep thought. He was about fourteen months old and had beautiful eyes. I sat him down on the sofa and asked if he wanted something to eat.

“I don’t have much, but I think I can whip up something that will hold you over for an hour,” I said to him. Junior didn’t respond. He only stared at me with sad eyes. I knew the sadness in his eyes all too well. I suppose in many ways he and I had something in common—a mother who wasn’t ready, or equipped, to be one. I opened up the refrigerator and removed a package of bologna to make a sandwich. I suppose he can eat this, I thought to myself, uncertain of what he could and couldn’t eat. I fixed him up the perfect sandwich and just as I was about to cut it into smaller portions, I noticed that he’d drifted off to sleep again. This baby was still asleep when Toya woke him up to bring him over to me, I thought. I placed the sandwich back in the refrigerator in case he wanted it later on. I went and sat down next to him and situated him so that his head was resting on my lap. I began to stroke his hair and think about what it would have been like if Ronnie and I would’ve had a baby. I wondered what his or her skin complexion would have been like. I wondered if the baby would’ve looked like me or him and if we would’ve made it in spite of all the obstacles that would have been in our way. Ronnie was my first, and I suppose in some ways I’d never forget him. I thought he loved me just as much as I loved him, but I was wrong. Ronnie was only interested in getting down with me and nothing more. It’s hard when you don’t feel loved. Now that I think about it, that was the reason behind sleeping with Ronnie in the first place. He kept telling me how much he loved me and I believed him. I mean, when a guy tells you that he loves you, he has to be serious about you, right? I mean, I can honestly say I’d never heard my mother tell me she loved me. Sometimes, I just wanted to be hugged. Even though I was a teenager, I still liked to be hugged, but my mother wasn’t the hugging type. I felt like I was going to cry when I thought about how empty that part of my heart was. I stood back up and went over to the countertop, which was next to the stove, and retrieved some mail that I’d placed there. I gathered all of my school registration forms, found an ink pen, then sat back down on the sofa and filled out the forms. In many ways, going to school was the only thing that kept me sane. Now how sad is that for a teenage girl? I mean honestly, I didn’t know of any girl my age who actually liked going to school.

* * *

About two hours later, Toya returned. When she knocked on the door, I was all set to snap out on her for taking so long. I’d gotten irritated trying to keep Junior entertained because he only slept for about forty-five minutes. Keeping his little bad butt entertained was no picnic. When I opened the door, I held my words because patches of her pretty long hair had been ripped out. The T-shirt she was wearing had been ripped and the side of her face and neck had clearly been scratched up.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“It’s a long story. Where is Junior at?” I turned around to call her son to the door but he was already making his way to her side. He gave her leg a bear hug.

“You got into a fight, didn’t you?”

“I had to let her know not to sneak around with my guy,” Toya said. As I scrutinized her more closely, it appeared that the other girl had got the best of Toya, but I didn’t say anything.

“Well, tell me how it went down,” I said, wanting to know every detail. I was about to step aside so that she could come in but she wouldn’t.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, but I will tell you this. I found out that he has a baby with her, as well.”

“Girl, stop lying.” I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing.

“I’m not—” Toya’s voice cracked from all of the emotional energy she was trying to contain.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said as she picked up Junior and walked across the hall to her apartment.

* * *

It was getting late, and my mother hadn’t arrived home yet. When she left earlier that day, she only told me that she was going to take care of some business and would be back. I was hungry, so I pulled out the black skillet from the cupboard along with the rest of the bologna and cheese and fried myself up a sandwich. I loved fried bologna and cheese. I pulled down my mother’s Murphy bed and turned on the television before I sat down. I flipped through the channels and finally stopped to watch a rerun of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

“Why can’t I live like Hillary Banks?” I said aloud. “Have a rich daddy, a goody-two-shoes brother and a crazy cousin who’s always doing something that he doesn’t have any business doing.” The lifestyle that the characters were living seemed so phony and unrealistic to me, but I still enjoyed watching it. During a commercial break, I heard the key enter the lock in the door. A moment later my mom walked into the room. She opened the refrigerator and noticed that the bologna was gone.

“I know you didn’t eat all of the damn bologna,” she started snapping out on me. Her voice was loud and confrontational, which made me edgy and confrontational, as well.

“I was hungry. What was I supposed to do? Slit my wrists and suck my own blood for food?”

“If it fills you up, that’s what you need to do,” she shot back sneeringly.

“Whatever,” I said, sucking air through my teeth and rolling my eyes at her.

“You better stop rolling your eyes at me before I knock them out of your head.” I ignored her violent comment for the moment. She then moved in front of the dresser where the television was and began removing some of her clothes from the top drawer.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Out to a club,” she answered.

“You know I register for school tomorrow and I still need supplies,” I reminded her.

“And?” she replied as if my needs were not her priority.

“I need those school supplies,” I answered her back loudly. I hated it when she acted as if I was unimportant.