Chapter 4

"I'm not trying to cause any arguments, but I think as a young girl, you should not be on the streets. How old are you?" "Twenty" I lied. That was my fake age. Temporary people didn't need to know my personal information. "Right," he said, not believing, but he continued. "You're twenty, pregnant, alone and homeless. It's dangerous. You shouldn't be out on the streets like that." "And are you suggesting something or stating facts I already know?" I didn't mean to sound rude, but he was telling me things I already know. Things that run through my mind every day. It was nothing new. "I said I wanted to help. That's what I'm going to do." "How? How are you going to help me?" "By giving you a place to stay and feel comfortable." "Really?" I couldn't believe my ears. "I don't like shelters so if that's what you're suggesting, been there, done that." He shook his head. "No, I wasn't suggesting you stay in a shelter after all shelters are not comfortable." He was getting me curious by the minutes, "Then where? Where would I live that is so comfortable and safe?" "With me." "Then, where? Where would I live that is so comfortable and safe?" he wasn't suggesting shelters so where could be so safe and comfortable that I'd want to live there. "With me," he answered. I was taken back at his words, "What?" "You can live with me." he was too calm. How could he ask a stranger to live with him and look so relaxed? "Are you crazy?" Why else would he ask a stranger to come and live with him? "Are you working with social workers, police or just someone who wants a baby? Because if you are thinking about giving me a home then taking away my baby, it's not going to work. I'm fine. I can live on the streets." No matter how hard it was, I could survive if I had my baby with me. I could survive if I continued drawing. I could survive. I've spoken to other homeless persons who have lived on the streets for over ten years. They survived. But they didn't have a baby. He shook his head, "I'm not working with anyone. I don't want your baby. If I wanted a baby, then I would have gotten one for myself. All I want to do is help a teenage girl who is pregnant and living on the streets." "Why? Why do you want to help me?" I had to ask. Everyone has a reason for doing things. He must have a valid reason why he wants to help someone he's just met, someone who could be lying to him, someone who he knew was lying to him. "I know what it's like to be in this position." I looked in his eyes, and I saw some emotions for a few seconds but quickly disappeared. "That's not enough information." he didn't look like someone who was homeless or has ever been homeless. He looked like someone who was born wealthy. In a big mansion with people serving at his feet. "Tell me how you know what it's like to be in this position." "It's personal." I laughed, "And asking me to move in with you, a stranger, is not personal? You could be a murderer, for all I know. I need to know." "Would it make a difference in your decision?" I rolled my eyes at his ridiculous question. "Of course. You don't look like someone who knows what this life entails." "Looks can be deceiving." I raised my eyebrows at his statement, "Indeed and that's why I need to know your story." He remained silent for a few minutes, so I thought he wasn't going to tell me, but he started talking. "My mother was in your position when she was pregnant with me. She was sixteen years old, and her parents were very religious. She was the pastor's daughter, and she sinned. They had to maintain their status in the church, so they told her to leave. The person who got her pregnant wasn't in the church; he was a biker, so he didn't want a baby." he paused and look out the window then continued. "She didn't have anyone to help her; she was struggling to provide for me. Someone violated her while she was pregnant with me." I could hear the emotions in his voices. He took a deep breath and continued, " I lived on the streets until I was three. I don't know how she managed to run from the law. We never stayed one place too long, two days the most. I was three when my mother was able to rent a one-bedroom apartment in Harlem. She worked as a waitress until I was twenty-three. She's struggled to take care of me, and so I want to help someone who seems to be in the same position my mother was in with me. I don't want anything else, to help." As I listen to his story, shivers ran through me, would I end up in the same position as his mother? I didn't want to work in a diner for the rest of my life. I didn't want my child to be subjected to the bullying I felt when I grew up. I didn't want people calling me a prostitute because I got pregnant. I wanted a better life, and this man was offering me just that. But how can I trust someone I don't know, someone I've only seen twice. It didn't make much sense. What if I decide to live with him and he started to come on to me? What if he changes his mind about taking my baby from me? What if he's lying? What if he's a serial killer? What if he's a human trafficker? What if he's trying to help? There were so many "What ifs" that I had to consider. The good and the bad.