she say, “I mean we have an entry procedure but most of that has actually been completed for you.
The only thing we really need is income verification. Are you currently receiving AFDC?”
“No.”
Eyebrows up again, she look down nose over glasses.
“My muver get AFDC for me and my daughter.”
“Oh you’ve had amniocentesis?” She looking at my belly now.
“Huh?”
“You said your mother was receiving a check for you and your daughter?” She nod her head to my stomach.
“Not this baby! I got another one ‘sides this one coming.”
“Oh, I see, so your mother has custody of you and your daughter, in other words you’re on her
‘budget.’ ”
“Umm hmm.” This bitch ain’ no dummy.
“OK, well I need a copy of your mother’s budget, a current phone or utilities bill, OK?”
“OK.” I stare at her hard. “I got to go get all that now?”
“No, no relax, we’re gonna give you a few tests; test your reading and math level, see whether to put you in pre-G.E.D. or G.E.D.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Well G.E.D. classes are for students whose basic skills are up to par and they’re ready to just go into a class and start working on their G.E.D.
Pre-G.E.D. is when the student needs some work to get to the level of the G.E.D. class.”
“What level that?”
“Well, to enter G.E.D. classes a student should be able to read on an eighth-grade level. They should score 8.0 or better on the TABE reading test.”
“I was in the ninfe grade at I.S. 146.”
“Then,” Cornrows smile at me, “you should have no problem.”
“What’s the problem?” I axes the fat dark-skin woman who is looking over my shoulder at my answer sheet. She got leggings like mine ‘cept hers black. She got on blue blouse, look nice, like silk. She look OK I guess. I like light-skin people, they nice. I likes slim people too. Mama fat black, if I weigh two hundred she weigh three.
The fat lady is looking at me. I looks back, she ain’ answered my question.
“What’s the problem?” I axes again.
“Well I think maybe you may need to take the test again—”
“You the teacher?”
“One of them.”
“What you teach?”
“I teach the G.E.D. class.”
“Who the other teacher?”
“Ms Rain.”
“What she teach?”
“Ms Rain teaches the pre-G.E.D. reading class.”
I know thas where I b’long, “Thas where I b’long,”
I tell her.
“Hmmm,” go fat black heifer and look at me. I don’t believe this bitch no teacher.
“Do you want to take the test again?”
“No.”
For me this nuffin’ new. There has always been something wrong wif the tesses. The tesses paint a picture of me wif no brain. The tesses paint a picture of me an’ my muver—my whole family, we more than dumb, we invisible. One time I seen us on TV. It was a show of spooky shit, an’
castles, you know shit be all haunted. And the peoples, well some of them was peoples and some of them was vampire peoples. But the real peoples did not know it till it was party time. You know crackers eating roast turkey and champagne and shit. So it’s five of ‘em sitting on the couch; and one of ‘em git up and take a picture. Got it? When picture develop (it’s instamatic) only one person on the couch. The other peoples did not exist. They vampires. They eats, drinks, wear clothes, talks, fucks, and stuff but when you git right down to it they don’t exist.
I big, I talk, I eats, I cooks, I laugh, I watch TV, do what my muver say. But I can see when the picture come back I don’t exist. Don’t nobody want me. Don’t nobody need me. I know who I am. I know who they say I am—vampire sucking the system’s blood. Ugly black grease to be wipe away, punish, kilt, changed, finded a job for.
I wanna say I am somebody. I wanna say it on subway, TV, movie, LOUD. I see the pink faces in suits look over top of my head. I watch myself disappear in their eyes, their tesses, I talk loud but still I don’t exist.
I see it over and over, the real people, the people who show up when the picture come back; and they are pritty people, girls with little titties like buttons and legs like long white straws. Do all white people look like pictures? No, ‘cause the white people at school is fat and cruel like evil witches from fairy tales but they exist. Is it because they white? If Mrs Lichenstein who have elephant stomach and garbage smell from her pussy exist, why don’t I? Why can’t I see myself, feel where I end and begin. I sometimes look in the pink people in suits eyes, the men from bizness, and they look way above me, put me out of their eyes. My fahver don’t see me really. If he did he would know I was like a white girl, a real person, inside. He would not climb on me from forever and stick his dick in me ‘n get me inside on fire, bleed, I bleed then he slap me.
Can’t he see I am a girl for flowers and thin straw legs and a place in the picture. I been out the picture so long I am used to it. But that don’t mean it don’t hurt. Sometimes I pass by store window and somebody fat dark skin, old looking, someone look like my muver look back at me.
But I know it can’t be my muver ‘cause my muver is at home. She have not left home since Little Mongo was born. Who I see? I stand in tub sometime, look my body, it stretch marks, ripples.
I try to hide myself, then I try to show myself. I ax my muver for money to git my hair done, clothes.
I know the money she got for me—from my baby.
She usta give me money; now every time I ax for money she say I took her husband, her man. Her man? Please! Thas my mutherfuckin’ fahver! I hear her tell someone on phone I am heifer, take her husband, I’m fast. What it take for my muver to see me? Sometimes I wish I was not alive. But I don’t know how to die. Ain’ no plug to pull out.
‘N no matter how bad I feel my heart don’t stop beating and my eyes open in the morning. I hardly have not seen my daughter since she was a little baby. I never stick my bresses in her mouth. My muver say what for? It’s outta style.
She say I never do you. What that child of yours need tittie for? She retarded. Mongoloid. Down Sinder.
What tess say? I don’t give a fuck. I look bitch teacher woman in face, trying to see do she see me or the tess. But I don’t care now what anybody see. I see something, somebody. I got baby. So what. I feel proud ‘cept it’s baby by my fahver and that make me not in picture again.
“Again?”
Is she saying something? It’s teacher woman,
“Would you like to take the test again?”
I shake my head no. What for, it gonna be the same, I ain’t change. I still me, Precious. She say I in first class which meet Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, 9 a.m. to 12 noon. I say, “I usta going to school everyday all day.” She asks me if I could get use to something else. I don’t say nuffin’, then I say loud, “YES.”
II
First thing I see when I wake up is picture of Farrakhan’s race on the wall. I love him. He is against crack addicts and crackers. Crackers is the cause of everything bad. It why my father ack like he do. He has forgot he is the Original Man!
So he fuck me, fuck me, beat me, have a chile by me. When he see I’m pregnant the first time he disappear. I think for years, for a long time I know that much.
After my baby and me come out of the hospital my muver take us down to welfare; say I is mother but just a chile and she taking care of bofe us’es. So really all she did was add my baby to her budget She already on the ‘fare wit’ me so she just add my daughter. I could be on the ‘fare for myself now, I think. I’m old enuff. I’m 16. But I’m not sure I know how to be on my own. I have to say sometimes I hate my muver. She don’t love me. I wonder how she could love Little Mongo (thas my daughter. Mongo sound Spanish don’t it? Yeah, thas why I chose it,
but what it is is short for Mongoloid Down Sinder, which is what she is; sometimes what I feel I is. I feel so stupid sometimes. So ugly, worth nuffin’. I could just sit here wif my muver everyday wif the shades drawed, watching TV, eat, watch TV, eat.
Carl come over fuck us’es. Go from room to room, slap me on my ass when he through, holler WHEEE WHEEE! Call me name Butter Ball Big Mama Two Ton of Fun. I hate hear him talk more than I hate fuck. Sometimes fuck feel good. That confuse me, everything get swimming for me, floating like for days sometimes. I just sit in back classroom, somebody say something I shout on ‘em, hit ‘em; rest of the time I mine my bizness. I was on my way to graduate from I.S.
146 ‘n then mckface Miz Lichen-stein mess shit up. I…, in my inside world, I am so pretty, like a advertisement girl on commercial, ‘n someone ride up here in car, someone look like the son of that guy that got kilt when he was president a long time ago or Tom Cruise—or anybody like that pull up here in a car and I be riding like on TV chile—JeeZUS! It’s 8 a.m. o’clock! I know I woketed up at 6 a.m., lord where the time go! I got to get dress for school. I got to be at school by 9 a.m. Today is first day. I been tessed. I been incomed eligible. I got Medicaid card and proof of address. All that shit. I is ready. Ready for school.
School something (this nuthin’l). School gonna help me get out dis house. I gotta throw some water on my ass and git up. What I’m gonna wear what I’m gonna wear? One thing I do got is clothes, thanks to my muver’s charge at Lane Bryant ‘n man sell hot shit. Come to building go from door to door, I got your size he call out in hallway I got your size. I got to get dress. I wear my pink stretch pants? I think so, wif my black pesint blouse. I go splash some water on my ass, which mean I wash serious between my legs and underarm. I don’t smell like my muver. I don’t. I ain’ got no money for lunch or McDonald’s for breakfast. I take piece of ham out frigidare, wrap it in aluminum foil, I’ll eat it walking down Lenox, not as good as Egg McMuf-fin but beat nuffin’. I double back to my room. On top my dresser is notebook. Ol’ Cornrows say bring self, pencil, and notebook. I got self, pencil, and notebook.
Can I get a witness! I’m outta here!
I always did like school, jus’ seem school never did like me. Kinnergarden and first grade I don’t talk, they laff at that. Second grade my cherry busted. I don’t want to think that now. I look across the street at McDonald’s but I ain’t got no money so I unwrap ham and take a bite. I’m gonna ask Mama for some money when she get her check, plus the school gonna give me a stipend, thas money for goin’ to school. Secon’
grade they laffes at HOW I talk. So I stop talking.
What for? Secon’ thas when the “I’mma joke”
start. When I go sit down boyz make fart sounds wif they mouf like it’s me fartin’. When I git up they snort snort hog grunt sounds. So I jus’ stop getting up. What for? Thas when I start to pee on myself. I just sit there, it’s like I paralyze or some shit. I don’t move. I can’t move. Secon’ grade teacher HATE me. Oh that woman hate me. I look at myself in the window of the fried chicken joint between 127th and 126th. I look good in my pink stretch pants. Woman at Lane Bryant on one-two-five say no reason big girls can’t wear the latest, so I wear it. But boyz still laff me, what could I wear that boyz don’t laff? Secon’
grade is when I just start to sit there. All day.
Other kids run all around. Me, Claireece P.
Jones, come in 8:55 a.m., sit down, don’t move till the bell ring to go home. I wet myself. Don’t know why I don’t get up, but I don’t. I jus’ sit there and pee. Teacher ack all care at first, then scream, then get Principal. Principal call Mama and who else I don’t remember. Finally Principal say, Let it be. Be glad thas all the trouble she give you. Focus on the ones who can learn, Principal say to teacher. What that mean? Is she one of the ones who can’t?
My head hurt. I gotta eat something. It’s 8:45
a.m. I gotta be at school at 9 a.m. Ham gone. I ain’t got no money. I turn back to chicken place.
Walk in cool tell lady, Give me a basket Chicken look like last night’s but people in there buying it oP or not. Lady ax, Fries? I say, Potato salad.
Potato salad in the refrigerator in the back. I know that. Lady turn roun’ to go in back, I grab chicken and roll, turn, run out, and cut down one-two-six stuffing chicken in my mouth. “Scarf Big Mama!” this from crack addict standing in front abandoned building. I don’t even turn my head—
crack addicts is disgusting*. Give race a bad name, lost in the hells of norf america crack addicts is.
I look at watch, 8:57 a.m.! But shit I’m almost there! Coming around the corner of 126th onto Adam Clayton Powell Jr Blvd. I throws the chicken bones into the trash can on the corner, wipe the grease off my mouth with the roll then stuff rest of roll in my mouf, run across 125th, and I’m there! I’m in the elevator moving up when I realize I left my notebook and pencil in the chicken place! Goddam! And it’s 9:05 a.m.
not 9:00 a.m. Oh well teacher nigger too. Don’t care if she teacher, don’t no niggers start on time. The elevator goes Bing! I step out. My class last door on left. My teacher Miz Rain.
I’m walking across the lobby room real real slow.
Full of chicken, bread; usually that make me not want to cry remember, but I feel like crying now.
My head is like the swimming pool at the Y on one-three-five. Summer full of bodies splashing, most in shallow end; one, two in deep end. Thas how all the time years is swimming in my head.
First grade boy say, Pick up your lips Claireece
‘fore you trip over them. Call me shoe shine shinola. Second grade I is fat. Thas when fart sounds and pig grunt sounds start. No boyfriend no girlfriends. I stare at the blackboard pretending. I don’t know what I’m pretending—
that trains ain’ riding through my head sometime and that yes, I’m reading along with the class on page 55 of the reader. Early on I realize no one hear the TV set voices growing out blackboard but me, so I try not to answer them. Over in deepest end of the pool (where you could drown if not for fine lifeguard look like Bobby Brown) is me sitting in my chair at my desk and the world turn to whirring sound, everything is noise, teacher’s voice white static. My pee pee open hot stinky down my thighs sssssss splatter splatter. I wanna die I hate myself HATE myself. Giggles giggles but I don’t move I barely breathe I just sit.
They giggle. I stare straight ahead. They talk me.
I don’t say nuffin’.
Seven, he on me almost every night. First it’s just in my mouth. Then it’s more more. He is intercoursing me. Say I can take it. Look you don’t even bleed, virgin girls bleed. You not virgin. I’m seven.
I don’t realize I’ve gone from walking real real slow to standing perfectly still. I’m in the lobby of first day of school Higher Education Alternative/
Each One Teach One just standing there. I realize this ‘cause Miz Rain done peeked her head out last door on the left and said, “You alright?” I know who she is ‘cause Miss Cornrow with the glasses had done pointed her out to me after I finish testing and show me my teacher and classroom.
I make my feet move. I don’t say anything.
Nothing in my mouth to say. I move my feet some more. Miz Rain ask me if I’m in the A.B.E.
class. I say yes. She say this is it and go back inside door. The first thing I see when I step through door is the windows, where we is is high up, no other buildings in the way. Sky blue blue. I looks around the room now. Walls painted lite ugly green. Miz Rain at her desk, her back to me, her face to the class and the windows. “Class”
only about five, six other people. Miz Teacher turn around say, Have a seat. I stays standing at door. I swallow hard, start to, I think I’m gonna cry. I look Miz Teacher’s long dreadlocky hair, look kinda nice but look kinda nasty too. My knees is shaking, I’m scared I’m gonna pee on myself, even though I has not done no shit like that in years. I don’t know how I’m gonna do it, but I am—I look at the six chairs line up neat in t
he back of the room. I gotta get there.
The whole class quiet. Everybody staring at me.
God don’t let me cry. I takes in air through my nose, a big big breath, then I start to walk slow to the back. But something like birds or light fly through my heart. An’ my feet stop. At the first row. An’ for the first time in my life I sits down in the front row (which is good ‘cause I never could see the board from the back).
I ain’ got no notebook, no money. My head is big
‘lympic size pool, all the years, all the me’s floating around glued shamed to desks while pee puddles get big near their feet. Man don’t nobody know it but it ain’ no joke for me to be here in this school. I glance above teacher’s head at the wall.
Is a picture of small dark lady with face like prune and dress from the oldern days. I wonder who she is. Teacher sit at desk marking roll sheet, got on purple dress and running shoes. She dark, got nice face, big eyes, and hair like I already said. My muver do not like niggers wear they hair like that! My muver say Farrakhan OK but he done gone too far. Too far where I wanna ax. I don’t know how I feel about people with hair like that.
The teacher is talking.
“You’ll need a notebook like this,” she hold up a black ‘n white 79-cent notebook just like what I left in chicken place. As she talking girl walk in.
“It’s nine thirty-seven,” teacher say. “Jo Ann you late.”
“I had to stop and get something to eat.”
“Next time stay where you stop. Starting tomorrow this door will be locked at nine o’clock!”
“I better be on the side that’s in,” grumble Jo Ann.
“We agree on that,” say teacher, she look Jo Ann in eye. She not scared of Jo Ann. Well gone Miz Rain.
“We got some new people—”
“I found something!” Jo Ann shout.
“I beg your pardon,” say teacher but you can see she ain’ beggin’ nothin’, she mad.
“No, I’m sorry Ms Rain”—I see right now Jo Ann is clown—“but I jus’ want to say, do anyone need an extra notebook I foun’ in the chicken place?”