God Don’t Like Ugly by Mary Monroe

Author:Mary Monroe [Monroe, Mary]
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2010-06-11T22:00:00+00:00

I woke up in the city hospital two days later. Muh’Dear, looking like she had not slept in a week, and a blank-faced Mr. Boatwright were standing over me.

“Who done it?” Muh’Dear whispered, glancing over her shoulder toward the door and wringing her hands.

I closed my eyes and groaned. Now was as good a time as any to pretend I was too sick to speak.

Muh’Dear asked me over and over, “Who done it? Who done it?”

Mr. Boatwright was frighteningly silent. He looked away every time I looked in his direction. He looked at the floor most of the time, twitching and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat and in a low, meek voice, told me, “Annette, I’m prayin’ for you. With God’s help, we gwine to pull through this mess unscathed.”

I was not in that much pain but I was weak and disoriented. All I could do was remain still and listen. Finally, I spoke, “I don’t know who got me pregnant,” I said. What else could I say?

Muh’Dear gasped and threw up her arms. She fell back against Mr. Boatwright, almost knocking him down. “Lord, it’s worse than we thought, Brother Boatwright. The girl done fooled around with so many, she don’t know which one got her in this mess.” Muh’Dear had to fan her face and catch her breath before continuing. Her face had become a mask of rage. “Bride of Satan!” she shrieked.

“Sister Goode, we just gwine to keep a tighter hold on the girl, that’s all. She runnin’ with the wrong kind of kids,” Mr. Boatwright added, humbly.

I saw red. I pulled myself up and glared at him. There was a burning sensation in my nostrils, and my flesh crawled. “I don’t care what you do to me, I am not going to stop being friends with Rhoda,” I said evenly. Muh’Dear was stunned. She threw her arms around Mr. Boatwright.

“The girl ain’t responsible. It’s all that medication,” he mouthed, fumbling with his shirt pocket, reaching for his handkerchief so he could fan his sweaty face.

“Rhoda is my best friend. The only friend I’ve got.” I started to cry. The hospital room was cold and impersonal, but I was glad I was in it and not in my room, where I’d probably conceived Mr. Boatwright’s baby.

Muh’Dear let out a weak sigh and looked at her watch. “I got to get my tail to work. Judge Lawson will think I skipped out on him.” She paused and looked at me, shaking her head so hard her scarf came untied. “Where did I go wrong? I’ll tend to you when you come home,” she said, as they prepared to leave.

I was propped up in bed watching TV when Rhoda arrived and handed me a get well card later that day.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“It’s from Florence.”

“Oh.” I set the card on the nightstand without reading it. I wanted to read it, but not in front of Rhoda.

“She gave it to Pee Wee to give to me,” she informed me.

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