THE DEBT - by Big Dee

My mother calls me "Our Pillar" now. This same woman, who used to call me possessed. I'm sitting in my apartment, staring at a credit alert. Six figures. More money than my father made in a year. The AC is humming that expensive hum. Lagos is glowing outside my window. Everything I have now, the 2013 version of me couldn't even imagine. "So why are my hands shaking?" "I know why." It's the voice. The one that lives in my head. I call her The Archivist because she keeps perfect records of every single thing I'm trying to forget. "Look at you," she whispers. "Big girl now.. but do they love you, or do they love the alerts?" "They've changed," I say to the empty room. "Have they? Or did you just get expensive enough to respect?" I don't answer. "Let me remind you of something," she says, and I already know what's coming. June 2013. "Your father stopped speaking to you. Just stopped. Looked right through you like you were a ghost. But he spoke to the Pastor about you. Reported his own daughter like she was a criminal case." I close my eyes, but it doesn't stop her. 'She is stubborn, Man of God. The spirit of rebellion is strong in this one.' That's what he said. And the Pastor looked at you like you were dirty. Then he prescribed the fix. Three-day dry fast. To 'break the yoke.' I fasted. I starved until my ribs poked through my church dress. My mouth tasted like metal and failure. On the third day, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried into a towel so quietly that the neighbors wouldn't hear. Because if they heard me crying, it meant the demon was still inside. I didn't break. So they labeled me: The one who needs deliverance. The girl the prayers couldn't save. I stand up now....Walk to the window....Look out at this city I've conquered.... "I made it," I said. "I proved them wrong." "Did you?" The Archivist sounds almost gentle now....almost. "Or are you still trying to prove you weren't the demon they said you were?" " Every wire transfer, every inverter, every 'God bless you, my daughter' is just another receipt." "You're collecting evidence. Building a case. Waiting for them to admit they were wrong." My phone lights up. Mama. I stare at her name on the screen. I want to answer, I truly want to... I want to hear her say "I love you" without it being a thank you for money. Just once. But I don't pick up. Because even if she says it, The Archivist will file it under: Lies told to keep the deposits coming. The phone stops ringing. I sit back down. Stare at my hands. I am a Senior Lead. I am the success story. I am the Big Girl who made it out. But what am I doing? Am I being responsible? Or am I still trying to prove I was never a demon? The phone buzzes again. Another alert. I'm winning, right? So, why does it feel like I'm still losing?

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