The White Horse (7 page)

She put on her skates and entered the rink, moving slowly at first, then picking up speed, cutting through the skaters like a Roller Derby queen. Big, nasty gals on wheels. Don't mess with me. Her mother used to watch them on TV. Saturday afternoons, beer cans and babies on the floor. Where's Bobby? Dammit, Raina, I told you to watch him. He's getting in my purse again.… The packs circling the rink, then clashing on the rail in a snarl of flashing fists and yellow hair.

She paused to catch her breath. A boy skated up beside her.

“Hi.” He smiled. He had a baby face and glasses. “I've been watching you. You skate real good.”

“Thanks.”

“You come here often?”

“No.”

She took off. The deejay said, “Let's turn back the clock,” and played a song she'd never heard.

He was beside her again, his braces gleaming. “I come here a lot. What grade are you in?”

She pulled ahead. He stumped along behind her.

“I'm seventeen,” he called. “How old are you?”

She was too small, that was the problem. People thought she was a puppy they could pick up and put in their pockets. All she wanted to do was think about Sonny, and this stupid kid was ruining it.

“You got a boyfriend?”

She lost him, streaking through the skaters until the breeze was blowing on the sparkling bay and the sun was shining. She and Sonny were sailing. He looked so strong. He knew exactly what to do. He used to have a boat, and a mother, and a life. Let's not think about that now, Sonny said; let's be happy.

But the kid was in her face, the lights bouncing off his glasses.

“Why are you acting so stuck-up?” he said.

“Leave me alone, okay?”

“I'm just being friendly.”

She stopped skating and faced him. “Listen to me, you stupid little twit. Go find somebody else to play with.”

He looked so shocked, she almost laughed. Then he was staring at a knife like he couldn't figure out how it got in his hand. “You shouldn't act so rude,” he said. The knife swung out and ripped her jacket.

She jumped back and flew, but she couldn't lose him. Round and round the rink, the music blaring, the strobe lights flashing in some weird dream where he was trying to kill her and nobody noticed. She glanced over her shoulder. His face was blank.

She sailed out of the rink to the snack bar, the street, down the sidewalk, dodging traffic, through the crosswalk, people shouting, the kid calmly knocking down an old man in his way.

Saw a cop car ahead. Didn't stop; she'd be dead. Burst into a store past a rent-a-cop running, walkie-talkie squawking, down aisles crammed with clothes, to the housewares section; startled faces, glass smashing, the kid behind her crashing through shoppers and displays.

Out a door to the street, down some steps, almost fell. Legs shuddering, heart thumping, her breath the only sound now in the world.

There was nowhere to go.

Maybe Bert would help her. The Laundromat was empty. She ricocheted off a washer toward the bathroom door. Was it locked? Jesus God. Fingers fumbling with the knob. Wrenched it open, pulled it shut, turned the bolt.

The kid slammed into the door. He pleaded and howled, he kicked and snarled, fists raining on the wood. She crouched beneath the sink. The kid finally calmed down. He kneeled on the floor and put his mouth beneath the door and said, “Why'd you have to do that? That was rude.”

It got real quiet, but she didn't move. She couldn't understand what had made her keep running. Why was she trying so hard to stay alive? Why hadn't she run toward the knife, like Sonny?

A long while later Bert came back.

Chapter Thirteen

It seems amazing that anyone can have a baby, like a puppy in a box outside Safeway. You want one? You got one. You don't need any training. You can even be on drugs or drunk or crazy
.

I see these little girls with their big bellies. They think they're growing somebody to love them, someone who'll never go away. They're happy because people are finally paying attention; asking, How're you feeling? When's the baby due? They're important; they've got appointments to go to, and doctors and nurses who care what they do
.

Then it hurts like hell and the party's over and the baby's screaming and they're all alone
.

I see them bouncing their crying babies. I say: Just hold them still and close. But the girls don't listen or look at the babies; they're watching the door to see who's coming in. Maybe it's the dealer or their speedfreak boyfriend, still looking cute, he hasn't lost his teeth
.

The girls want to play. I'll be right back, they say, handing the baby to whoever's around. Here's his bottle, he likes Pepsi. Then they're out the door. For an hour or a day, sometimes longer
.

The girls don't nurse their babies. They think it makes them look ignorant
.

Sometimes I hold the babies and I feel so bad. I look into their innocent eyes and think: You could've been born to anyone, but you had the bad luck to get stuck with a kid who doesn't know enough to support your head and forgets to change your diaper till it's dripping
.

You can call the county and make a report, but nothing happens unless the kid's practically dead
.

When I was little lots of people came to our house: teachers and social workers and cops. The cops scared my mother, but she told the others: It's none of your business
WHAT
I do. She'd made us; she could do whatever she wanted. One social worker told my mother not to hit me. Like this? Looking right at the woman while she did it. The woman left. They all did; there were so few of them and so many of us. In the places where we lived, all the families were like ours: apartments crawling with lice and mice and kids. One social worker went out on the balcony to smoke. I said, You better not stand there; sometimes people get shot
.

People think kids get used to where they live, but we were scared every single minute
.

I hid inside books. And I liked going to school. There were bells and snacks and assignments and rules. But homework was hard; you could never find a pencil, or a clean place to put the papers down. And it was always so noisy: the TV blaring those scary movies my mother loved; chainsaw massacres and vampire zombies, the little kids watching, their eyes bugging out
.

You need a home to do homework. So sometimes I didn't do it. My teachers thought I was making up excuses
.

I've seen your house, stood outside in the dark. So many rooms with nobody in them. We never had enough beds. Or socks or toothbrushes. We never brushed our teeth. No one taught us what to do. Ray was a boy, he didn't have to do nothing, so Sheila got stuck taking care of us but after a while she got sick of watching kids and ran off with this guy and got married and pregnant. He beat her up bad and she begged to come home but my mother said No, you made your bed. Sheila standing in the hall, tears running down her face. Please let her stay, Mom, I said, but she wouldn't
.

After Sheila left, things got wild. My mother was gone a lot. She'd come home flying. People were spying on her, she said, watching her from the rooftops with binoculars. I'd see my brothers in the street; they'd wave and keep going like I was part of something they'd left behind. Sometimes I missed school because I had to watch Bobby, but I didn't mind. He loved me best. He'd sit on my lap and we'd look at books. He was such a smart baby. He learned so fast
.

One time it got late and my mother didn't come home and there wasn't any heat and Bobby was freezing, so I wrapped him in a blanket. There was nothing to eat so I asked the neighbors and they gave us some wieners and milk. When my mother came back and found out she was pissed, like I'd done it just to make her look bad
.

After Bobby died lots of people came around, asking questions and investigating. They went away again and nothing changed but me. Then my mother had Brandy, but I never really knew her; I was doing the foster care thing
.

You read about these girls in the newspaper who don't know they're pregnant until the baby drops out. People say, she must've known. But sometimes the girl doesn't. She doesn't want to know. She's completely freaking out. So she keeps getting loaded so she won't have to think, so she doesn't have to notice her swollen belly. Trying to get so loaded, she passes out. Hopes she never wakes up, because she feels so quilty.

What if the baby's screwed up and it's all her fault?

Miss Johnson, I'm so scared. Please help me
.

Chapter Fourteen

I almost burst into tears when I read what she'd written.

“Are you telling me you're pregnant?”

She started to reach for a cigarette, then put the pack away.

“How far along are you?”

She shrugged. “A ways.”

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“What did they say?”

“Don't know,” she said. “I didn't listen.”

My fingers itched to slap her, hard. Someone had beat me to it.

“What happened to your face?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it, some kind of teenage thing? You break out in bruises?”

“It's a long story.”

“Your mother do that?”

She smiled.

“Your boyfriend?”

“No. Forget it.”

I was trembling, I was so upset.

“You come into my classroom, tell me you're pregnant, looking like you were dragged down the street on your face—”

“It was just some guy.”

“Did you call the police?”

“They wouldna cared.”

“Why not?”

“It was a trick.”

“What kind of trick?” Duhhh.

“You know. A john.”

I felt as if the top of my head had lifted off and was shooting around the room.

“You're selling your body?”

“I ran out of Girl Scout cookies.”

“This isn't a joke!” Tears filled my throat. “What about the baby? What about AIDS?”

“I'm careful.”

“Careful!”

“There's ways,” she said. “Anyway, the baby's father used. But he hardly ever shared needles.”

I've heard so many sad stories in this room, so many tearful variations on this theme. I'm pregnant, Miss Johnson. What should I do?

“Have you had an AIDS test?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I'm scared.” Fear wiped away the sneer. She looked like what she was: a child.

“Raina, you've got to think about this. You've got to make some important decisions.”

“I know. I was thinking maybe you could help me.”

It's too late! I wanted to shout. I wanted to run out of the room. I wanted to lay my head down on the desk and sob.

“Have you talked to your family?”

“Yeah. My mother.”

“What did she say?”

“Too bad.”

“That's it?”

“She said to call back. She was doing something.”

“What about the baby's father?”

“He's dead. He got in an accident.”

“I'm sorry.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “We were gonna be married. He would've been a real good daddy.”

Oh yes, junkies make wonderful parents.

I had never felt so angry.

“Well,” I said finally, “let's consider your options.” Let's write them on the blackboard in chalk. Let's review the alternatives. Discuss the pros and cons. “Have you thought about having an abortion?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It's wrong.”

“But it's not wrong to smoke and drink and take drugs while you're pregnant.”

She wouldn't look at me. “It's too late,” she said.

She lifted her ripped coat. Beneath the layers of dirty clothes was a mound of hard white belly.

I thought I was going to vomit through my nose. I thought I was going to choke her. A humming in my head got louder, closer. But I am a professional.

“What about letting the baby be adopted?”

“Maybe.” She slumped in her chair. “I don't know.”

“You can't take care of a baby. You know that.”

“I could go on welfare and get an apartment.”

“Raina, you can't be serious.”

“I'm old enough.”

“To be someone's mother?”

“I took care of my brother.” Tears filmed her eyes.

“What happened to Bobby? Raina, please tell me.”

“It wasn't my fault!”

“Of course it wasn't. You were too young to be responsible for Bobby. You're still too young. You need time to grow up.”

“It's too late now.”

“No, it isn't, Raina. There are lots of people who would love this baby and give it a wonderful home.”

“Not if it's all screwed up. And people will know I'm the one who did it.”

She cradled her head in her arms and sobbed. I should've kept my mouth shut. But I didn't.

“It's a little late to think about that now, isn't it? Where was your head, Raina? You're not some idiot. Have you ever heard of fetal alcohol syndrome? There are people who would die to have a baby. They try and try but nothing happens. While people like you keep pumping them out, and the kids have kids and it goes on and on. Look at your family. The damage. My God. What's the matter with people? Can't they see what's going on? We're producing a nation of pinheads!”

I paused to wipe the froth from my lips and noticed someone standing in the doorway.

“Superintendent Kelley,” I said, “so nice of you to drop in.”

Chapter Fifteen

The teacher was rich; why did she drive a piece of shit? Raina could not believe the car when she got in. The upholstery was shot. The windshield was cracked. They were up to their knees in empty Cheetos bags.