Read A Girl Named Mister Online
Authors: Nikki Grimes
A Girl Named Mister
Nikki Grimes
Cave quicquam incipias quod paeniteat postea
Thoughts on the Long Walk Home
Fama malum quo non aliud velocius ullum.
Mary: When Gabriel Comes
I.
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?
II.
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.
“Be careful about starting something you may regret.”
—Syrus,
Maxims
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.