Arlene’s Bio:

Arlene L. Walker is passionate about the written word. Her friends tell her even her Emails are writ full of drama. For years, she worked as a stenographer writing other people's words until one day she was forced from the workplace. She decided to pursue her lifelong dream of becoming a writer. She enrolled in the UCLA Writers Program to pursue a Certificate in Fiction. She began to enter first one short story contest, then another, and another. She was thrilled to finally garner an Honorable Mention in a publication last year, but being in the top ten of the WOW! Women On Writing Fall 2009 Flash Fiction Contest is her highest achievement to date. When she's not spending time with her family, Arlene is either reading, writing, or working on her blog about her Bucket List escapades, Adventuresalon.blogspot.com. Her favorite quote is by Ayn Rand who said, "It isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me." Next stop for Arlene is penning the Great American Novel.

Colored Girl Movie

By Arlene L. Walker

I am a colored girl movie, starring an ill-gotten child, and a no-count man.

Produced by God.

Directed by the devil.

Music by Motown.

Love Child, the Supremes' latest hit, playin' in the background. Flat on my back, I raise my head, look down between my legs, and all I can see is the top of the doctor's scalp. He pop his head up like he a groundhog checkin' is it spring yet. He got slanty eyes and buttermilk skin. He look like the peoples my brother Junior always talkin' about since he got back from Nam. Calls them gooks. If Doc ain't one, he could play one in the movie that is me. Hmmph. And they say we all look alike.

Doctor Nam got my essence splayed open with some contraption, and he act like he cain't believe what he see. I pull the covers tight around my neck. Mirror Motel is cold. Then I remember: my covers is really my grandmama's coat. Got it last Christmas. She die on Christmas Eve; I receive my inheritance on Christmas day.

I'm gettin' tired of all this pokin' and proddin' going on down there. Finally, Doctor Nam look up at me. First time since I got here he look me in my eye. He say, "You no hab a sex befaw?"

No, I think. I no have sex before, but before the words can find its way from my mind to my mouth, the movie in my head skips. Turn the horizontal adjustment knob. The picture settles on Jimmy B., and the B don't stand for boyfriend. Not no more.

I sees Jimmy B. half naked layin' on top of me, one hand over my mouth stifling my doubts, the other hand full of my boobie. He gruntin' and grindin' so much he work my skirt up and my panties down with his thing. It feel kinda good, too. I cain't lie. But before he can jig hisself up in my kitty cat, he spit. And there it is. I am still a virgin at 15.

Pregnant one, though.

Picture skips again.

Doctor Nam done brought two new co-stars into the one-window room. Look like the same two mens was on guard outside the door. A narrow Negro, with a process and a Kool menthol hangin' from the corner of his mouth, is the one I give my money to. The other one is a greasy-haired, shifty-eyed white guy in a blue velvet jacket, but I can tell he just a no-count like my ex. Dogs don't know no color lines. They really is colorblind.

I'm wishin' Thin Man's cigarette ignite all the chemicals in his hair and he explode like a stick of dynamite. Only at the end of my movie...when the credits are rolling...after I'm done here. I leave them in my wake like Clint Eastwood do in those spaghetti westerns. Cain't figure out why they calls them that, cause they never eat no spaghetti.

Back from commercial break, they gawkin' at me like I'm the Ape Lady. I hear words like "hymen intact...get the ether," and I wish I could turn the volume down.

Instead, I look up at the mirror on the ceiling, and then I feel it while I see it. A knifing pain, hot and sharp, burning up one side of me. Now I know what a stuck pig feel like. Mr. Blue Velvet put his handkerchief over my mouth so the neighborhood don't know our business. Smells like some concoction from chemistry class. My eyes rollin' back in my head slow and easy. I wish...I wished I woulda just jumped off the roof twenty-five times like my friend Doretha. Baby blob just come out in the toilet after that.

Oh, God, the pain. Bring that goddamn handkerchief back here. Sticky stuff trickling, stomach cramping. Owwwaahhh, my heart hurts. I know Doctor Nam can feel my spine by now with that metal rod. Somebody coulda mentioned it was gonna hurt like hell.   

Feel like all my insides gushin' out now. It's like...aghhh...pain and satin, steel and love, hate and beauty wrenched outta me. Wretched joy cut from my core with a loop-shaped knife; broken up, ripped apart, torn asunder. My baby's soul, red and angry, hovering like a cloud. And finally...gurgling relief. It's like the end of a bad movie. I feel nothing inside. A big old hole.

Fade to black.

Roll the credits.

Carry the blame.

 

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