Mea Jackson. A young sixteen year old girl longing to be loved by anyone who accepts her. Mea has seen more things than a teenager should but living in Baltimore, that's never anything new.
What happens when Mea is selected out of a group of kids f...
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Mea | Baltimore, Maryland
"Started to call them people on him, I was battered He hitting the window like it was me, until it shattered He pulled me out, he said, "don't nobody love you but me Not your mama, not your daddy and especially not Bey""
Humming the lyrics to Kelly Rowland's Dirty Laundry while I did my homework felt so therapeutic for some reason. Of course I knew the context of the song, I wasn't stupid. But, I felt a sense of pride within myself at the fact that I was one of the many young fans that actually understood how important this song was to Kelly and her discography.
Given the context is very traumatic, I was happy she let us into that space and became open with us when no one told her to. There isn't a lot of women, let alone in the music industry that will speak out about being a victim of abuse so I was happy Kelly did it. I couldn't imagine how scary it was honestly.
Finally being done with my history homework, I laid flat on my bed. Unfortunately, I was here with Mr. Morgan as he somehow forgot there was an inspection today and he was running around like a drunk chicken with his head cut off. I was upstairs by myself while the younger babies were out back with Ms. Duncan.
Perks of being the oldest in the group home was that it was normal for me to not come out of my small room. Technically, I didn't need to be here during the day—only nighttime. But, that's a topic for another day.
"Mea, get your ass down stairs before I yank yo little ass up!" I heard Mr. Morgan hiss over the intercom. I scurried to my feet and tucked my phone into my sweats before hastily walking down the stairs.
Our normal supervisor for the inspection, Angela Beyince or Angie, gave me a warm smile.
"Hey little Mea" she said, giving me a side hug. "Hi Ms. Angela" I told her, reciprocating the hug. Mr. Morgan was lurking around the corner, trying to be nosey of our conversation. "How's things?" She asked as we walked side to side while she inspected the dingy group home. I shrugged, "besides the school shootings and almost getting robbed every night, amazing!" I told her in a fake cheerful voice.
Ms. Angela knew of my situation. Coincidentally, she was also my social worker. I honestly don't know how she got that position if she's normally stationed out in L.A but she's been working here partially for a few years and somehow got on my case. She was more like a big sister to me than anything because she was great for advice.
Sometimes.
"Have you spoken to her?" She asked me. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "I rather not. I do need to speak to him, though. It's important and I truly don't want to but I unfortunately do" I told her.
She kept me near her as she inspected the building. She talked to a few of the younger kids to get their perspectives on anything going wrong here and like always they all said the same things.
