In The Promised Land
By
Angela Joseph
Marva stared at the young girl seated opposite her. “How long have you been smoking
marijuana?”
Carlene opened her mouth as if to speak then clamped her lips together. Marva’s gaze
swept over the girl’s smooth, dark skin, eyes black as coal and with the same potential to ignite,
thick hair permed and brushed away from her face, pointed chin extended in a defiant thrust,
long nails with chipped, red polish. She had given her age as fifteen, but her manner made her
appear much older.
“Did you hear my question?”
The girl looked up at Marva then quickly lowered her gaze.
“Not long,” she said.
“Okay, how many times have you smoked marijuana?”
“Twice.” She looked sideways at a calendar on the wall.
“Do you realize you could have been burnt to death last night? Do you? Answer me.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Where did you get it?”
She shifted her gaze from the calendar to Marva and back again.
“Did your boyfriend give it to you?”
Her head drooped.
“Carlene, look at me.”
The girl’s head came up slowly, but her eyes remained downcast.
“We went through this before about your boyfriend. If he’s the one giving you this thing,
then he’s no good for you. Do you know how dangerous marijuana is? Do you want your
freedom taken away, or do you want to be expelled? If you’re expelled, you’ll have to go back
to court, and the judge could send you to juvenile detention center. Is that what you want?”
Marva could see by Carlene’s widened eyes that her words were taking effect. She
pressed on. “How do you think your aunt will feel about this? She agreed to put you up one
weekend every two months. I don’t think you want to lose that privilege.”
“No, Sister I want to go by my aunt. She’s the only relative who cares anything about
me.”
“Does she know you’re seeing this boy?”
Carlene shook her head.
“And I guess she doesn’t know you’re smoking marijuana either, is that right?”
Silence.
“Okay, so what’s your punishment going to be? Suspension from going to your aunt’s
house next month, or you work to repay the cost of the mattress and sheets?”
The girl’s eyes met Marva’s. “I’ll work, Sister.”
“Now, Carlene, you know I’m not stupid. If I agree to that, you can meet Mr. Marijuana
and have a good time. So, here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to arrange for you to work three
evenings a week at the China Clipper restaurant washing dishes. Frank will take you with the van
and bring you back, or maybe sometimes I’ll pick you up. Don’t try any tricks, because you
never know who’ll be driving.”
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