Chapter One: Erykah CHAPTER ONE Erykah "Ma, can you please slow down?" I scrunch in my seat, clenching my stomach for dear life. We ride over the bumpy road, bouncing up and down like her car has hydraulics. She rolls over a pothole and then comes to a stop, shaking her head at the creaky gate that is taking forever to open. "This is supposed to protect folks from getting shot at in the jets, huh?" She arches her eyebrow at the sign. I lean back with a shrug, cause I''m thinking the same thing. How''s a shabby gate supposed to provide safety for one of the worst project buildings in Lynwood Heights? I guess after Lil Mark died last year from that drive-by, the city came up with the idea to have a security gate installed to "protect the residents," but I''m sure a few metal bars aint stopping nobody from bangin''. Momma pushes through, even though the gate is still rattling open, then mumbles something under her breath. Something about how we''re running late, but I just press my earbuds in and mellow out to Ari Lennox.
The inside of this car feels like a freakin'' sauna. I probably shouldn''t have worn this hoodie, but when we left this morning, I had the chills. Momma said it''s probably my hormones or my anemia. Regardless, I just wish it wasn''t so damn hot already. It''s not even eight a.m. and my phone says that it''s 92 degrees outside. Unfortunately for me, Momma refuses to blow the air, talkin'' bout it eats up her gas, but damn, I thought that''s what gas was for.
I would think she''d have more consideration being that I''m already uncomfortable as hell, but her car, her rules. She pulls up next to a candy-red Oldsmobile that belongs to one of the OGs from around here. It''s hella fly, making Momma''s car, a 2009 Altima, look basic as hell. The sun is beating our ass from the sky, and even though her hair lays like a second skin over her warm brown cheeks, the most she does to beat the heat is lower the back windows, like that''s gone do something. I press my sweaty water bottle against my neck and think about how much more my life is about to change within the next few hours. I''m starting to feel like we should just turn around, so I can think about this some more, maybe even convince Momma that I don''t need to go through with this, but there aint no turning back. I mean, I do want to see my boyfriend Miguel and all, but I''d rather be getting dropped off so me and him can chill, not because my momma is taking us to an abortion clinic. Momma keeps saying that me and Miguel are too young to raise a child and this and that, but that''s just because she doesn''t like him.
I don''t think she likes any of my friends, except for Kelly. Lots of girls my age survive through teen pregnancy. My momma had me at nineteen, but she says it''s not the same as my situation because she had her diploma and her and my daddy were married. At first I thought having an abortion just might be the best thing, but as each day goes by, I can''t help but think of how I''m getting another chance at having a real family again. "Erykah, call that boy and tell him to hurry up or I''m driving off without ''im." Momma eyes me down while her fingers tap the leopard-cloth steering wheel. I told her the only way I''d go to this appointment was if Miguel could come. I pull out my phone just to make her happy.
Me: Can u plz hurry? Moms is trippin''. Miguel: Be down in a min. Cleaning this oatmeal off Mitzi. Me: Awww. Give her kisses 4 me. Miguel''s daughter, Mitzi, is two years old and looks like a little chocolate baby doll with a head full of thick curls. She mostly lives with her mom, but Miguel watches her every now and then. Momma doesn''t know that Miguel has a little girl.
She doesn''t need to know. She already calls him a thug because he sags and lives in the roughest part of Lynwood Heights (Miguel moved in with his sister, Lita, after he had a falling-out with his mom). She says I shouldn''t even be focusing on boys right now, but if I had a girlfriend, she''d probably say the same thing. Me: Hey Miguel: Sup? Me: Are we doing the right thing? I stare at my phone as the three dots appear next to his name, but then they disappear, without a response. Maybe we should''ve just left his ass at home. I lay my phone facedown on my thigh and take a few sips of warm water, which I want to just spit out of the window. Finally, he responds. Miguel: You gone be straight.
Stop worryin Ma. Easy for him to say, just like it is for everyone else. I keep asking myself if I''m really making the best choice or if I''m just doing what everyone else wants me to do. Six months ago, I was planning to do extra hours toward the business program that I''m studying at school. It''s one of the reasons why I wanted to go to East Prep, so that I can learn the basics of what it''ll take to own a beauty salon, but lately all I do is obsess over YouTube, searching videos like, What does abortion feel like? and Can I have kids after abortion? When I told Miguel I was pregnant, he didn''t speak much on it, just said he was gone "be a man about his" and that he''s down for whatever I want to do. Part of me feels like he''s not ready for another child, but I keep telling myself that it''s just my hormones making me overthink everything. As we sit in front of Miguel''s building, Momma looks at me with beads of sweat rolling down her forehead. I prop my seat up a bit and shrug, before sending Miguel another message about how he needs to hurry up.
"See? This is the stuff I''m talking about. This boy is not responsible, and you thought you wanted to have a baby with him? How much you wanna bet he''s gone cause you to miss your appointment?" She glances at the time, then looks at me with her deep, hazel-brown eyes. "He said he''s coming, dang." "Watch your mouth, Erykah. I''m not the one who got you pregnant." She waves her finger. "Of all the things I would rather be doing, this was not on my monthly agenda." Umm, it wasn''t on mine, either.
I suck through my teeth and clench the water bottle tightly to avoid saying some shit that will probably make Momma wanna just leave my ass stranded. Let me be clear. I didn''t get pregnant on purpose. This wasn''t supposed to happen. But it did. A really heated night turned into a moment of irresponsibility. It wasn''t our first time not using a condom. Matter of fact, we did use one that night.
but not the following morning. Miguel took me to get the Plan B pill, but we had to wait almost a week to buy one, since he hadn''t gotten paid yet. The box said it''s best to take it within seventy-two hours. I knew something was up when I started gagging at the smell of Takis two weeks later, and I love Takis (chili dynamite flavor, to be exact). So glad that''s no longer a thing, because now I crave them like crazy. I took three pregnancy tests at my bestie Kelly''s house instead of turnin'' up for my sixteenth b-day like we had planned to do and got a triple reminder that my ass had slipped up, but TBH, I was just in denial. I swear the pink lines on the last test were glowing, rubbing it in my face even more that my ass was not experiencing stomach bug symptoms like I had told my momma the night before. It took a heart-to-heart talk with Kelly''s mom to make me realize that even though having a baby might not be easy, it''s not the end of the world.
But my momma''s reaction was a whole ''nother story. She basically gave me two options: get an abortion or get out. Momma even threatened to send me to stay with my dad, but he''s living his best life with his new family on the other side of town, and I doubt he''d be all open arms taking in his pregnant and estranged sixteen-year-old daughter. Last I heard from him was Christmas, when he sent me and my little brother, Jayden, a sorry-ass card with two twenty-dollar bills in it. Momma said that she can''t afford to feed one more mouth and that me having a baby at sixteen would be a huge mistake. Sometimes I just wish me and Kelly could swap moms. I mean, Mrs. Lancaster is super into church and stuff, but not the kind who blasts Kirk Franklin on Sundays or who has pictures of Black Jesus all over the house.
She''s the one who told me that no matter what I did, God would still love me, and that I should let my heart help me decide if I wanted to go through with my pregnancy. She really is like a second mom to me. I aint gone front. I feel like she gets me more than my own momma sometimes. "His sister is still bringing you home after your procedure, right? I wish I could bring yall back, but I''ll be late for my shift." Momma looks at the time on her phone. "Yeah, she''s supposed to." I stare down at my phone, waiting for Miguel to send me an OMW text.
Momma''s eyes are posted on a group of teenagers who are huddled on the sidewalk, sharing a blunt. I low-key inhale the musky scent, which would normally make me gag, but for some reason, it''s making me feel less nauseous. I wish she would try to be a little bit more compassionate. It''s like she can barely even look at me when she talks, and even though I know she''s hurting, she has to understand that I''m hurting too. Things had been really good between Momma and me ever since I transferred to East Prep Career and Technical Academy last year. Kelly''s mom, who''s one of the principals there, helped me to get accepted. It''s literally the best school in our district, so Momma was all for me transferring, especially because she knew that would separate me.