Free Keysha's Drama by Earl Sewell

article on Usher. God, if I had a boyfriend as fine and as rich as him, I’d be set , I thought to myself. I’d just finished reading the article when I heard Maggie calling out my name.
    â€œOh, there you are,” she said with a monotone voice. “Are you ready?”
    â€œYeah, I suppose,” I said as I stood up and followed her. Maggie got me registered and I started school on the same day. At least she thought enough to get me a book bag and plenty of supplies , I thought to myself. I didn’t know what my future held but there was no sense in worrying about what I couldn’t control.

    Several weeks went by, and I hadn’t seen or heard from Maggie. I thought she’d left me hanging just like everyone else. I didn’t make any waves, nor did I consider any of the girls to be my friend. At this point they were only acquaintances. I had a few conversations with some of the girls, and we even shared a few laughs but nothing real meaningful developed after that.
    The adult supervisors had therapy sessions that they encouraged everyone to participate in. A group of us would form a circle and openly talk about our problems. Sometimes I participated and other times I didn’t. It was depressing to sit and hear details about the situations some of the other girls came out of. Some were drug users, some were homeless teens from different states and others were selling themselves on the streets in order to buy food or purchase a bus ticket to a new town. It was sad, and downright horrifying listening to stories of sleeping in abandoned warehouses with rats and begging for money on the street corner. One girl named Africa, who was the same age as I was, talked about how she’d stand on the street corner and sing for money to get food. Her parents came to the United States from Haiti, but they both died in a fire when she was twelve. She was placed in a foster home but was abused by her foster mother, so she ran away. While living on the streets she had to constantly fight off men who tried to attack her while she slept on a mattress with a sickly stray dog she was trying to take care of.
    â€œI named my dog Port-Au-Prince, which is where my family is from. He protected me during those times. No matter how sick he was feeling, he wouldn’t let anyone get too close to me. He would always bark, even when it hurt to do so.”
    â€œWhat happened to Port-Au-Prince?” I asked her. Before she could answer, she started crying. “I was singing on a corner one morning trying to get enough money to buy him some food. He was lying down beside me, and when I’d finally gotten enough money I called to him, but he didn’t move. He died while I was singing.”
    â€œWhat song were you singing?” asked another girl.
    â€œAn old song by Sam Cooke called ‘A Change Is Gonna Come.’ My mother loved that song.” Africa sang for the group, and by the time she was done I was in tears. One thing is for sure, I didn’t want any part of what I heard had happened to her to happen to me.

    Early one Saturday morning, the group was scheduled to go for a fall outing to a local theater to watch a stage play. I had just boarded the group van but was pulled off of it by Maggie. I hadn’t seen her in weeks. I followed her back inside and upstairs to the office where we’d be able to speak privately.
    â€œI really wanted to go see that stage play, Maggie,” I said to her.
    â€œWell, we have to do something else instead. I have to get you over to a doctor for a blood sample.”
    â€œBlood sample for what?” I asked.
    â€œI got in contact with the man that your mother said might be your dad. At first he said that he didn’t recall who your mother was and that there was a mix-up,” she explained. “I didn’t hear from him for a few weeks and then, out of the clear blue sky, he called me back.”
    â€œWell, what did he say?”