Nikki Grimes - A Girl Named Mister

then hide my face

when my touch

sends up sparks without flame.

Lord,

what is this cool fire

that licks my skin,

and why do I tingle so?

Gabriel?

Is this what you meant?

Gabriel?

Are you still there?

Who will believe me?

Who?

And what if no one does?

What then?

I march through the next day

numb, that one question

circling my mind

like a vulture

ready to pick my thoughts clean.

I feel my belly,

flat as ever,

and close my eyes,

remembering the fire

of God’s touch,

hearing the echo of the word

Messiah.

And what about Joseph?

We are as good as married,

our betrothal

as binding as any other,

and nothing less than

a paper of divorcement

could end it.

Of course, we have never

shared a bed,

nor will we

until our wedding night.

So, if I truly am with child,

Joseph will know

the father

is someone else.

And what will Joseph-

No. I am not yet ready

to consider

what hard or bitter things

might await me

in the distance.

Besides, the Lord Jehovah

will meet me there.

Yes?

“Are you deaf?”

My mother’s voice penetrates,

unwelcome,

reaching me easily from downstairs.

“What?”

“Is your homework done?”

she asks.

I trade Mary, Mary for my notebook,

and yell down “Soon!”

That’s as close to the truth

as I can manage.

Lucky for me, I’m a good student.

By the time she calls “Lights out,”

I’m done.

I flip the switch.

“Goodnight,” says Mom.

“Goodnight,” I answer.

I place Mary, Mary beneath my pillow

and feel a little closer

to God.

Where have I been?

I wake and look around

as if the world is new,

or old.

I can’t tell which,

only that

the fog inside my head

is lifted

and I can think again.

I can see.

Trey was bad for me.

Time to move on.

Off to school.

English lit to study.

Friends to concentrate on.

Volleyball to play.

Pray coach and teachers

don’t call on you.

Got lots of catching up to do.

Long as I can remember,

Seth and me,

we were two peas

in a pod,

exactly alike

in every way.

That’s no longer true

and there’s nothing I can do

to change things back.

We’re in different places now,

like I entered a room

Seth doesn’t have a key to

and the best we can do

is wave through the window.

I just hope one day soon

I’ll figure out how

to crack that window open

an inch or two,

without, you know,

smashing it to bits.

Somewhere between

bites of pepperoni

and a swig of milk,

Seth asks,

“So, what’s with you and Trey?

Are you, you know,

hooking up now?”

I almost choke,

no joke.

Milk sputters

down my chin.

I grab a napkin,

start dabbing away,

my brain on fire

from the fuse

she just lit.

“It was one time, Seth!”

I say, teeth tight.

“One time!

And I’m already sorry.”

“Okay, okay!” says Seth.

“I was-you know-

just wondering.”

I cut my eyes at her.

“Okay!” she says.

“I’ll shut up.”

That is

the smartest thing

she’s said

all day.

All through practice,

Seth snatches looks at me,

as if she’s wondering

what I’m doing here.

I want to yell,

“Virgins aren’t the only ones

who can sing!”

But who am I kidding?

I do feel weird being here,

singing about a God

I broke my promise to.

If everybody knew,

maybe they’d ask me to leave,

and maybe I would.

And maybe I should.

“Haven’t seen Sethany

around here much lately,”

says my mom.

“You two get in a fight?”

“No,” I say. “We’re both busy, is all.”

I study the wall

just right of her head,

hoping she doesn’t notice

how adept I’m getting

at avoiding eye contact,

wishing she wasn’t

so dang nosey.

“We broke up, by the way,”

I told Seth over lunch.

She quit munching her sandwich

long enough to look up

to see if I was okay.

I didn’t say anything,

just shrugged my shoulders

in a way that said Don’t ask.

Not now.

She took the cue,

smiled to let me know

she was relieved,

and finished eating

in silence.

I miss the old days

before I pulled away from church,

when I trusted Seth

with all my secrets,

even face-to-face.

Funny how my fears

weighed half as much back then,

as if telling my best friend

split them in two.

I used to say or do whatever

and never worry

that she’d judge me

or love me less.

If only we could be

that close again.

What if I took a chance

and let her in?

“Here’s the ugly truth,”

I tell Seth after school.

“Trey never really

cared for me.

He just wanted

to add me to his list.”

I ball my fist,

fighting back the tears.

Seth slips an arm around me.

“It’ll be alright,” she chokes out.

“Besides,” she adds,

“he’s not worth the dirt

under your fingernails.

He’s a supercilious, joyless jerk.”

Clearly, Seth’s been

hitting the dictionary again,

which makes me smile

in the middle of my cry,

which is exactly why

I love her.

Later that week,

I finish up an essay for English

as my cell phone rings,

putting a period on my homework

for the night.

It’s Seth, of course,

calling to remind me

about Youth Group Video Night.

“It’ll probably be lame,” she says.

“Ya think? Bet you anything

it’ll be The Princess Bride .”

“Again!” we say in unison.

“Come hang with me anyway,”

pleads Sethany.

“We always have a blast.”

“ Escuchame , pero

yo no hablo Ingles ,” I say.

“Girl! Quit it!”

We ping-pong words

back and forth awhile

before I finally say yes.

I can’t help but smile

at the ease of it,

feeling like we’re almost

back to normal.

His heart must be

a light switch,

something he turns on and off

whenever the mood hits,

‘cause here he is,

weeks later,

pressing another girl

up against the hall lockers.

I can’t fly by

fast enough.

What was that line again?

“You’re killing me, girl.

You know I’m falling

in love with you.”

Yeah.

Right.

Color me stupid.