Nikki Grimes: A Girl Named Mister

Copyright © 2010 by Nikki Grimes

A bright light turns the night

of my chamber into day

and pries my eyes open.

What do I see?

A being lit from within,

a giant whose voice

is quiet thunder.

“Fear not,” he says, too late.

I quake, rubbing my eyes

anxious to wake

from this dream.

“I am Gabriel,”

says the voice, more soothing now.

“I bring a message from God.”

Trembling, I rise

ready to listen.

Still, what am I to make

of his amazing words?

That I, a virgin,

am to be mother of Messiah?

All things are possible

with God.

The truth of it

falls on me like rain.

I slowly drink it in,

then lift my arms,

surrendered.

“I am yours, Lord.

Do with me as you will.”

He wraps his light around me.

I am never the same again.

How did it happen?

I told myself

it’s only touching.

I told myself

my clothes are still on.

But who was I kidding?

Even through

my rayon-cotton blend

his touch

burned the world away.

Blame it on my mother.

She’s the one who named me

Mary Rudine.

The name is some throwback

her old-fashioned thinking

came up with.

Nobody but Mom

has called me Mary Rudine

since forever.

First it was Mary,

then it was M.R.

Mister is all anybody

calls me now.

My boyfriend used to think

it was cute,

a girl named Mister.

Used to think I was cute.

Used to be my boyfriend

what feels like

a million years ago.

Then again, I used to be

a good Christian girl,

the kind who would never, well…

Just goes to show

how little people know.

Even I was surprised by me.

Now, I close my eyes

hoping to see

exactly where I went wrong.

Was it that long ago?

I remember one morning

sitting in church,

keeping my eyes on Dante,

the cutest boy in the band.

Mom caught me.

“Quit eyeing that guitarist

like candy,” she whispered.

I laughed easy.

In those days,

Mom and me,

we could talk

about anything.

A second home,

as familiar as skin.

Crammed inside its walls

memories of

Sunday school,

all-church picnics,

and vacation Bible school

Sword drills.

My youth group meets there,

and choir, of course.

Even my old Girl Scout troop

once hung out

on holy ground,

meeting in

the church basement.

I could always

count on the deacons

to take dozens of cookies

off my hands.

I’m just saying,

God’s house

was cozy territory,

no question.

Until this last year.

Don’t ask me why,

but something in me

started pulling away.

For as long as I can remember,

I have loved to sing in the choir.

“Sing, Mister” folks call out

as my voice does a high-wire

reaching for heaven’s hem.

I don’t know what my friend Sethany

concentrates on,

but whenever she sings

about the Lord

her face gets this inside-out glow.

That’s all I know.

Ankle deep,

my faith a thing

I wade into now and then.

Not like Sethany.

She’s mid-sea

and thinks I’m

right behind her.

I’m not sure when it happened,

but one Sunday I woke up

and for me,

church was mostly about

hanging out with friends

at God’s house.

And for the longest time,

that seemed to be enough.

After worship,

Mom would flash me a smile

that said “Good girl!”

as Seth and I

trotted off

to youth group.

I turned the music

of the world

way up,

my feet itching to dance

to a new rhythm,

something other than

gospel.

Mom calls volleyball

my new religion

just ‘cause

I practice every day.

How else will I get better?

Let her razz me

all she wants.

I figure

since I was good enough

to make the team,

maybe volleyball

can help pay my way

to college.

It could happen.

you know what they say

about miracles.

It was a Tuesday.

It was almost cliché.

He raced round a corner,

rushing to class,

and smashed into me.

My books went flying

and so did my temper.

Thanks to this bonehead

I was going to be late,

which put me in no mood

for his apology,

and I was all ready

to cut him down to size

with my eyes,

until I caught his.

Those long lashes got me,

the way they softened

the hardscape of his face.

One look,

and they softened me too.

“Are you okay?” asked Trey.

I said something, I think,

or maybe I just nodded,

or smiled.

It’s not my fault

I can’t remember.

Blame it on

those stupid lashes.

I asked around,

found out Trey

is one of those guys

who hangs out on the fringes

of our group.

He doesn’t go to church

but seems to like

Christian kids,

so I figure

he probably believes in God.

That’s one point

in his favor.

I never thought

he was perfect.

I won’t tell myself

that lie.

But he was fine,

had a twinkle in his eye

with my name on it.

And when he smiled

I fell into him

headfirst,

got lost in his laughter.

I saw no danger.

After all,

we were just friends.

I remember the first time

he claimed me.

We were at a party

with a bunch of kids from school

just after Thanksgiving.

I’d gone with Sethany.

Trey had shown up on his own,

like always.

Seth and I were chatting away

when some guy

from a school ‘cross town

came up to me for a dance.

Before I had a chance to speak,

Trey threw me a look,

then got all in this guy’s face,

smiling though

and saying nice as anything,

“Excuse me, but

this is my girl.”

Trey found me in the library,

surprised me with a kiss

on the back of my neck.

The heat of it

ran up and down my spine

and I’m thinking,