The waiting room of Planned Parenthood smelled like lemons. All the girls, no boys, seated in the chairs. The receptionist talked extremely loud and never put on the glasses around her neck. There were some magazines stacked neatly on a black plastic table; people were too self-conscious to walk to the back and get a magazine, especially after making a grand entrance. The two girls glanced around the waiting area, and found two empty chairs in the front. Storm wore the only smile in the waiting room. The girl next to, her was her best friend. At least that's what she told people; Storm says that they're just "cool like that".
They had met in the second-grade. Their teacher, Ms. Cason, asked everyone to stand at their desks and introduce themselves to the class. She suggested the students include the names of their mothers, fathers and siblings. Storm raised her hand and informed everyone that she would go first. She rose, engulfed in a pink dress trimmed in lace. She wore pink and yellow lollipop barrettes, pink tights, and pink fingernail polish and black patent-leather shoes. Ms. Cason smiled widely at her. Storm walked to the front of the class, positioned herself front and center of the blackboar d and began, "My-name is Storm. I don't claim my mamma or my daddy, because they don't take care of me. I live with my grandma and her name is Laty. Oh, and I ain't got no brothers or no sisters or nothin'." She then flashed dimples so deep they left a pool of shadows when she was not smiling. That was Storm.
Her best friend wore a navy-blue dress. She had no lace or ribbons; her mother persuaded her that she was not yet old enough. Her hair was French-braided with white beads secured with aluminum foil. She played with her Popsicle eraser until her turn arrived. Ms. Cason asked her to stand and recite her name. The girl stood, looked at her penny-loafers andburst into tears. Storm laughed out loud. The girl cried harder. Storm walked over to the girl. She gave her a pink tissue and told the class, "This my best friend. That's all y'all need to know." It has been that way every since.
Inside the Planned Parenthood office, a girl in a blue and gray catholic-school uniform searched her purse for something she couldn't seem to find. Another girl sat in the comer by the door. She retrieved her mirror from her coat pocket and applied fresh lipstick each time someone walked through the door. It took everything in Storm to refrain from informing the girl that the color was already too loud. "I don't wanna. start nothin'" Storm said aloud. Storm continued to flip through the magazine on her lap. She had gone to the table three times, before they called her number. She returned to her seat, with a stack of papers. She pushed her best friend in the head.
"Eh, I should lie about my age, huh?"
"What difference will it make, Storm? We just want to know if it's true or not." She's getting' on my nerves.
"The receptionist already think I'm lyin' bout my name, why not put down I'm seventeen? I look it. And if I'm not pregnant, then who the hell stole my period?" She laughed.
"I don't know, and you look like a fifteen-year-old with a big butt. You got lipstick on your teeth. " She always think everything is funny.
Storm pinched her arm and told her to shut-up. Her friend began to respond but she decided against it. She glanced at Storm and shook her head. She thought about how Storm had stopped biting her nails eleven months ago to make herself appear older. Because it was a nervous habit, it was replaced by Storm chewing the inside of her jaws. She told everyone that's her innocent look. I keep telling her that's why she always got lipstick on her teeth
She glanced at the stack of papers Storm was filling out. She noted that Storm had misspelled pregnancy. "It's a "g" before the "n" in pregnancy." Storm erased the word and wrote it again without looking up. Her friend lowered her body in the chair and drifted, and thought about the time she and Storm had been picked up for curfew.
They had been walking down Ashland to Harold's. It was 11: 17 at night, Storm had checked the time on her pager. When the squad car pulled up, Storm threw her purse strap around her neck so she could run without any interference. "No, Storm it's too late to run. They already got us." Storm looked at her and rolled her eyes. One of the cops, a tall handsome man, got out the car. The other cop stayed in the car. She pulled out a flashlight and blinded the two girls.
"You can get that damn light out our faces. We ain't goin" nowhere. And we ain't dirty ... we just goin' to get somethin' to eat." Storm glared at the woman.
The male cop started to laugh. He asked the girls their names. "Whatever." That was Storm. Her best friend told the police an alias "Candace Williams." The cop sighed and threatened to take them down to the station if Storm refused to tell her name. Storm rolled her tongue over her top teeth and looked the big cop straight in his eyes and repeated, "whatever." The cop told the two to get in the back of the car. The best friend stared at Storm. "Why couldn't you just give him a alias like everybody else does?" Storm flashed her dimples at her best friend. She stopped mid-stride, saluted the male cop, winked at the female cop and climbed into the back seat. On the way to the station she said, "So I guess this means we just gon' be hungry for the rest of the night." Both of the cops had laughed and had pulled over at Harold's.
Storm's pager began to vibrate. She examined the waiting room for a pay phone. Her dimples danced even before she glanced at the numbers.
"Storm, is that Torrance?"
Storm violently shook her head "no". She fastened the pager to her belt. 'Naw, that ain't his triflin' ass."
"Did you pray?"
"Pray for what?" Storm looked up from her stack of papers directly into her friend's eyes.
"I don't know.
She always make me feel stupid I know she doesn't mean to, but damn. Storm had just finished reading the promise of discretion on the bottom of the last page in her booklet when the receptionist yelled, "Storm E. Rhodes!" Storm got up and shoved her purse and coat into her friend's arms. She stopped after taking a couple of steps, smiled and said, "Well, when I come back we'll know if we have to kick Torrance's ass or not." A couple of the girls laughed. Her best friend didn't say anything, but she did notice that Storm had lipstick on her teeth. Please don't let her be pregnant.
I hate pissin' in cups! was etched on the wall in the Stall. Storm read it and agreed aloud. The toilet was clean, but way too low. There was a metal container that held paper toilet seat covers, but it was empty. Storm filled the cup in a hurry and drip-dried.
"Here's the sample, do I go back to the waiting room?" she asked the nurse.
The nurse shook her head, fake gold dolphin-earrings swinging, and pointed to an empty examining room. Storm just stood there. The nurse pointed again.
"Huh?" Storm urged.
"In there, you need to undress down to your under-wear and put on a gown. Someone will be with you in a minute .... as soon as possible."
"Thank you." She said flashing a grin. She enjoyed making people react to her. "That's how you let people know you're not afraid of them, or yourself!" is what her mother told her before she called her a "stuck-up little bitch" and kicked her out of the house. Storm began taking off her sweatshirt. She stopped with the shirt hanging around her neck and began rubbing the tattoo on her stomach. It was a chocolate ice-cream cone; three melted drops spilled down her almond-colored skin. "I ain't that light-skinned," Storm thought. She finished undressing and put on a lavender paper gown. She lay on the table, arms hugged around her shoulders. I can't believe Torrance ain't show up. Looking up at the ceiling, she noticed a sticker of a white cheerleader doing a split. The cheerleader held blue and black pom-poms high over her head. She yelled "smile" in a big bubble seeping from her mouth. "Fuck you! " Storm said loud enough to make herself jump.
In the waiting room, Storm's best friend felt empty and alone. She turned to the girl on her left. The girl was engaged in filing her fingernails. Minnie-Mouse was wearing a different colored spandex dress on each nail. She smiled at the stranger and said, "Your nails is tight. Where'd you get them done at?" The girl looked up, and started to cry. She stood-up, gathered her things and walked to a seat in the back of the room. O.K., that's the second person that done cried on me today. Throughout their nine years together she had never witnessed Storm cry. When she cried her eyes swollen shut after her father passed, Storm rocked her back and forth with a dry face. When Storm recited the poem she had written for the back of her mother's obituary to everyone in their English class, she had grimaced at the tears in her teacher's eyes. Every time Storm's best friend was sure she'd found a movie that would bring moisture to Storm's eyes, Storm only remarked how "corny that part was." Storm's grandmother would say "Storm's has a man's spirit. She been here before." Storm spoke whatever rested on her mind, whether it was words of sadness, happiness or untruth; afterwards she would say something off the wall like "Let's go get a gyro." Nothing ever seemed to dampen Storm's spirits; so when her best friend walked in her bedroom that afternoon and saw her crying for the first time, she was scared.
Storm had torn the sheets off her bed. A bookcase was knocked over and all the books were on the floor. Her spiral curls were all flat and two of her nails were broken. Storm stared at her best friend. Her friend didn't say anything; she felt hurt. What's wrong with her? What the fuck is up? Storm then flashed her dimples, smeared with electric-blue eyeliner and velvet-black mascara.
"It's 12:30 and he ain't even here! You got some car-fare, cause I'm finna' go to Parenthood." Storm said.
Her friend didn't respond. She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and showed it to Storm.
"O.K. I'll take that as a yeah. What you doin' here? Shoulda' knocked before you came, or paged me or something'?" "My fault." Storm wiped her face with a Noxema pad. She pulled her make-up case from under her bed and applied a fresh face. Her friend grabbed the gel from off the dresser and molded Storm's hair into a ponytail. Dag, she got that good hair. She picked up two of the books from the fallen bookcase and threw them on the bed. One of the books title was Mama and the other was For Colored Girls Who Considered Suicide When the Rainbow ain't Enough. Storm sat in the middle of the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees.
"You need a hug?"
"Naw, not right now." Storm replied.
Storm smacked her tongue against the back of her teeth and said, "I just bought those sheets. Let's go, I want to stop and get a bag of Salt and Sour." So that's what her and Torrance was on last night. Of course he wouldn't show and prove.
The two girls were to attend a house party together the night before. It was the friend's ideal. The house belonged to a hype, who would rent out the basement for two-dime bags of crack cocaine. Every Saturday night one of the folks would give him the bags, and the party would commence. Initially, the police closed down the first two parties. The neighbors stopped calling the police because they would rather have "all those gang-bangers in one place, 'stead of the corners."
"Let's cut through the gangway. I got to holla' at Torrance about something." Storm said.
"Man, naw. Then you gon' change your mind like you always do."
"You know I ain't gon' let you kick it by yourself. I just need a minute."
"Whatever, Storm."
Storm walked over to the entrance of the building. A group of boys were crouched around a dice game. She left her friend sitting on a fire hydrant by the curb.
"Torrance, come outside with me for a minute."
"Hey Stormy. Hol' on, I'm breakin' these marks."
"Torrance, I want you to come now. I..."
"I said wait, Storm!" Torrance yelled, but not really. He talked like that to everyone, and he was always frowning. That's why mostly everyone agreed that they made a good couple. Storm's best friend definitely disagreed. She couldn't stand him, but she never said that to Storm. She ain't gone never leave him alone. When Torrance slammed Storm in the bushes in front of the park- for throwing a brick through his front car window- and then punched her in the back of the head, her best friend ran home and got her brothers. After they beat him up, Storm didn't talk to her for about three weeks.
"Wait? Don't make me throw them dice! Come on Torrance!" Storm arched one eyebrow to let him know she was serious.
"Here we go." Torrance laughed.
"Just come on."
Torrance got up from the dice game and brushed off his knees. "What you want?" asked Torrance. He counted the money he won, and stuffed it in his drawers.
"You so nasty!"
Torrance just smiled. He looked at Storm's friend sitting on the hydrant. She returned his look. And what the hell he lookin' at? What? He turned back to Storm and leaned back on one leg.
"What?"
"Oh, you ready now, huh. Well, we've been together since I was in about fifth-grade. And just cause we've been together since then, doesn't mean we won' be together forever. I mean I know you be messin' around. I don't trip. But now, I don't know, I feel like I'm out growin' you." Storm looked-up at the streetlights. She noticed someone had thrown a pair of worn-out, dirty, gym-shoes around the neck of one of the poles. She followed the length of that one, downward, to where her friend was sitting underneath.
"What you high or somethin'? Messin' around with who? Don't start this shit again. You must' a found another man or somethin'. I don't know what fo', you know I ain't finna let you go."
"You don't have to let me, I'm already gone!"
Storm tried to walk away, but he grabbed her arm. He glanced in the direction of the fire hydrant and let her arm go.
"What, you tryin' to act like you love somebody?" Storm flashed her dimples at Torrance. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the forehead.
"Storm, what's the business? Why I always got to prove myself to you? Don't you know by now that you can't handle everythin' by yo'self?"
"It's the only way I know how." Storm laughed and looked at her best friend, who had stood and began to stretch. "Here I come." she yelled as she continued laughing.
"It ain't funny. You know I love you. Why do you put me through this? I love you more than I love my-"
"Torrance, I'm pregnant. Where's the money for me to get my nails done?"
"Huh?" Torrance grabbed the place where he kept his money.
"You said you was goin' to get my nails done."
"Stormy, quit playin'. Do you know for sure? Did you go to the clinic?"
"Nope. I'm goin' tomorrow, after I get my nails done."
"What time?'
"Why?" she asked, dimples flirting. A boy asked her friend to dance, and she answered no because he smelled like cigarettes.
"Quit playin', what time?" Torrance rubbed his temples. He then pulled a blunt out of his shirt pocket.
"Why? Don't light that while I'm standin' here."
"What time so I can take you! Damn."
"Oh, about 11:30." Storm grabbed the blunt and tore it in half.
"Why you do that for? You play too much. I'll be there at 11:00. Come here and give me a hug or somethin'."
"Ain't! You know I ain't' in to that lovey-dovey shit!"
Storm snatched twenty-dollars out of Torrance's hand and ran to catch-up with her friend, who had begun walking.
"What you was gon' leave me? We finna turn this party out, and don't be actin' all shy, yo' ass betta dance!"
"Did you see how dark it got earlier today. I just knew it was gon' rain."
"I love the rain, it's so damn sexy. But, I know you still spooked of the rain."
"Naw, not really .... not anymore."
Both girls had sweated their hair out, partying until four in the morning.
Storm's friend was tired of the waiting room and she had only been alone twenty-two minutes. She thought about a poem Storm had written with just one line, "While sitting in sweet silence, I smiled." When Storm first showed it to her, she thought it wasn't finished; now she thought it was kind of funny and sad at the same time. Storm came back to the waiting room smiling.
"What the hell is funny, what did they say?" She could barely get her words out.
"Nothing, call a cab. We finna' go over Torrance's house."
"For what? Would you tell me what happened?"
"Yeah, I'm straight. But I'm gon' fuck him up. He still ain't paged me yet!" Storm answered with lipstick on her teeth.
She went to the pay phone to call a cab.
"I got to get out of here, I'll be outside waitin'," Storm said.
"O.K." She called the boot-leg cab company. When she walked outside, she saw Storm and Torrance sitting on the hood of his car.
"The cab said they gon' be here in about ten minutes. Hey Torrance." Sorry muthafuka.
"What's up?"
"You want me to go back and cancel the cab?"
"No, we still takin' a cab. I ain't fucking with him like that." Storm pointed her head in Torrance's direction.
"Storm, I'm for real. My car stopped comin' back from Statesville."
Storm did not respond to Torrance; instead, she turned in the opposite direction and said, "Let's go wait in the store for the cab." Torrance put his head down and jumped in his car. He drove off leaving skid marks in Planned Parenthood parking lot.
"Storm, are you sure you're OK?"
"Yeah, I told you I'm straight."
"Storm I'm for real. Are you gonna to be O.K.?"
"Sweetie, I'm straight. On the real."
Well, that's all I need to know. She looked at Storm and smiled. She then reached out and picked an eyelash off of Storm's face.
"Thanks, and you know what Miriam, I did pray. Man, I'm hungry as hell."
"Yeah, me too." Miriam replied as she searched the bottom of her purse for enough change for two bags of Salt and Sour.
©Copyright Danielle Akua Smith