nia

Nia is not surprised that 19-year-old Ally, who I just dropped off, didn’t know she was pregnant until the day she had her baby. She has seen it all.

“I seen too much.”

Nia speaks in quiet tones. 

“I was four months before I knew I was pregnant with Ivy.”

Ivy is her baby girl, looking at me in the rearview mirror from her car seat beside Nia. 

“But actually, there’s a big difference between four and nine months. How could she not know?” 

We’re going to Applebee’s because she left something when she went to dinner with her best friend. 

“She’s pregnant now and scared. Before I had Ivy, I was scared too. I didn’t have nobody to show me anything. My own momma gave me up when I was five. Grew up in the system. Thirteen different foster homes ‘fore I was fifteen. Then lock up. When I got out I was stupid: didn’t care about nothing but nails and hair and clothes and fighting and boys.”

“I got pregnant. I was 19, same as that other girl you drove. And I had nobody. I was scared. Mostly I was scared I’d do her the way my momma done me. Like abandon her. Then Ivy was born way way early. She weighed one pound. I knew when I saw her, I would never leave her, never hurt her, not on purpose. It was like the feeling that there was something bad or wrong inside me was just gone.”

Ivy giggles in the back seat. I look at her and smile: “You thinking something funny back there, little Ivy?” Nia looks down at her and smiles, then, still smiling, looks back in the mirror at me. 

“I was still scared ‘cause I didn’t know anything, and Ivy was so little. The first day the nurse gave her to me, she was so tiny, I freaked out and yelled at the nurse: ‘What are you doing? I ain’t’ ready.’ But the nurse just said, ‘You her mama. You’ll know what to do.’ She was right. I mean, I didn’t know what to do. But I knew I’d know if I needed to.”

“I get that. I’m impressed.”

Ivy and I smile at each other.

“My old friends don’t understand. You no fun anymore. You don’t do nothing. I don’t even try to explain no more. Church is the same. I stopped going. I believe in God, but at church people just making rules they can’t keep and judge they neighbors for not keeping ‘em. I follow God my own way now.”

“Me too,” I say.

“Plus, I don’t trust nobody to take care of Ivy or even carry her. So I’m alone a lot. That’s why I’m excited my friend’s pregnant. We understand each other, and we can help each other out.”

That’s where we’re going now, to her best friend’s. It’s her birthday, and Nia will do her hair and decorate her apartment. She’s got a bunch of bags, so I offer to carry them in so she can get Ivy.

“I got the bags,” she says, “But would you bring Ivy in though? She seems to like you.”

I lift the tiny child and carry her inside.

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