We had snapped off her hair in bits and pieces when she was going down fast before our eyes, but in the five years she had been gone I had never been able to snap apart the same hairs that leaped for joy off her sad, miserable head. Was she laughing that I was even trying? Was she trying to tell us she was better off over there, stronger, healthier, with a full, young head of hair so resilient she had no need to claim or destroy these? I had seen her suffer and watched her go, and made up my own mind at that time that I would never beg God to let me stay in this world when my closest friends became pain and suffering. And with me knowing I had gotten myself into a big mess with Leroy, my pain and suffering had already showed up. I knew the story of girls and women like me well—abandoned, forever struggling, forever explaining where Daddy was, pained that they didn’t know, suffering in silence, pretending not to care, getting old before their time. And why should I pass all that on to another little Black baby when I could save it and myself from all trouble? Besides, if I get rid of it—who will know, who will see, and most of all, who in this world will care?

SIX

“GIRL, YOU AIN’T got no money?” Nakesha asked me that next night. It was Wednesday, November 18. I was one more day pregnant. About six weeks if I had it right. Soon I would be seven. Each passing week meant I would have to pay more money for the abortion.

We were sitting Indian style with our backs leaning against the black leather couch. I had thrown the kids in Leroy and Renelle’s room with the remote control. Nakesha leaned forward to slick Wet n Wild’s Glamorous Red nail polish on her crooked toenails. I was trying to brush capfuls of pink lotion through my dried-out hair, but I had to stop sobbing long enough to be able to do it. We had BET blasting way louder than we would have dared to at home, and JoJo and Devonte’s fine asses were gyrating in front of us singing “Freakin’ You.” There was no point in me wiping my nose or my tears anymore; neither were going to letup anytime soon.

“Girl, nope,” I told her. “This the only job I got, and you know they don’t pay me nothing … I spend it on lunch and stuff.”

I saw her eyes slant to ask me, “Yo’ mama don’t give you lunch money?” But then, she shook her head like I didn’t even have to explain.

“I bet Leroy got some dough hid in this house,” she said instead. “If we could find it, girl…”