As Lawrence’s chapped lips moved from the hollow between her collar toward her budding breast, Mia threw her head back in the crisp afternoon air. She briefly opened her eyes only to catch sight of the mishmash of green and orange and red of the flame tree  carelessly strewn across the cloudless sky. She felt vulnerable--like a fragile butterfly—caught in the curious fingers of a tanned boy. Yet, she trusted him completely; content in the knowledge that he will set her free, and marvel at the traces of residual color on the ridges of his fingers. His labored breathing, the gruffness of his callused fingers, the tantalizing warmth that escaped his parted lips and his smell intensified her blossoming feelings of womanhood. When his insistent fingers began to slide the zipper that held her frock together, she unlocked her lips.

‘What is the matter baby?’

‘Laurie, I have to tell you something. Promise me you won’t be angry.’

‘Che men, we can talk later. Don’t spoil it, come on now,’ he groaned as his fingers tried pushing the zipper down. Mia took his hands by the wrists, freed herself and sat under the tree with her back to him. Lawrence spat on the ground, lit a cigarette, and blew rings in the air patiently waiting for the stirrings in his groin to cave in. In the distance they could see a boisterous marriage party on its way home. The golden tassels on the whirling blood red umbrella shone gloriously in the summer sun. Her eyes followed the trail of dust that the party left behind it. Silence raised its ugly head as the revelers diminished beyond the bougainvillea that marked the start of their neighborhood.

‘I am pregnant,’ she finally said in a tone that mimicked the guilt a child experiences while explaining a crumbled cookie jar. Veiled
beneath the guilt nestles a quiet conviction: that the other person
will somehow understand. She felt immensely relieved, much like the
aforementioned child--as if a boulder was lifted off her chest. For
almost ten weeks she’d let this secret—their secret--breed in her womb. The mere thought of letting it in to her mother scared her: not for herself but for her child. That her mother would drag her to the nearest clinic for abortion was not lost on her. She wanted to keep this child; she wanted it to have a father, something that she never had. She wasn’t sure how Lawrence would react to this news: he was always so careful about protection…

‘Mia, are you even listening to me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mia! This is fucking crazy! Man! This is the fucking happiest day of my life! The great Lawrence Braganza will be a father…boy o boy,’ he drew her closer and kissed her on the mouth. Then he carefully placed his ear on her stomach and chuckled with the unbridled glee of a kid. He then lit another cigarette, sat facing her after seating her, and starting blowing perfectly circular rings in her face. The news jolted him out of his reverie that the cynical of the lot called life. The would-be mother was only seventeen going on eighteen in about a month’s time if he wasn’t wrong. If that old troll found out about them, she could pay the police whatever it takes to get his ass busted. The police were after his ass after the screwed up drugs deal that did not get them their cut. The great Lawrence Braganza was in deep shit and it
took an unreliable piece of latex to drive the last nail in his coffin.

‘Oh Laurie! What a fool I was to hide this from you! I am sorry…I
misunderstood you…I am evil, a bad Christian girl,’ she began to sob softly, ‘it is our child after all. I am so sorry…’

‘Don’t be sorry. I love you Mia, naah Mrs. Mia Lawrence Braganza. Sounds grand, na? Listen baby, It’s about time that we get married. You love that church in Mapusa, don’t you? We’ll marry there, after the first rains, which is only about a month’s time. But baby, we’ll have to be very careful, your mother especially, know what I mean dear?’

She nodded in agreement. She felt like a rabid sinner everytime she thought of her mother, the sacrifices that she’d made just to see her smile. All the years of want would flash before her eyes, the sight of her mother seeing her off to school on rainy mornings soaked to the bone, for she had to choose between a raincoat and an umbrella. But these feelings would be quickly gagged by those of rebellion and anger as her mother would rile at the mere mention of Lawrence. How could she despise the man who loved her daughter more than his own life?

Meanwhile, back at the Villa, Sandra closed the door of her apartment behind her and glided down the flight of stairs with the air of someone who’s got a million chores to do. She was dressed in a fine silk dress that she wore only on special occasions, the last time she wore it was on Maggie’s birthday. With a cane basket in one hand, her hair tied in a severe bun, and a dab of perfume behind her temples, she made her way toward Joe’s restaurant after depositing the key for Mia at Maggie’s. As was her wont, Maggie complimented her and bolstered her confidence about landing the job.

As Sandra sauntered onto the sunny street, she waved back at Maggie with a sheepish grin. Not far from the church where she’d first set her eyes on Mia’s father, Mia waved out to Lawrence as he mounted his bike and drove down the dusty street leaving her frantically fighting the dust storm that ensued.

To Be Continued

Note: Dear reader, I’ll be posting the subsequent parts in short bursts, so that the reader is not compelled to commit blogicide.