To dance with ugly people (1)

To Dance With Ugly People

TO DANCE WITH UGLY PEOPLE Lorene Stunson Hill

Lorene Stunson Hill

To Dance With Ugly People All Rights Reserved Copyright @ 2014 Lorene Stunson Hill This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, digital, electronic or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Copyright Š 2014 Lorene Stunson Hill All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1519175489 ISBN-10: 1519175485

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To Dance With Ugly People

Dedication Lorene Stunson Hill

To my loving and patient step sister Deborah Ann Burnside Stunson Swint, who has always accepted me as I am and has gently reminded me for over twenty years, that I had a book to write. It is through her encouragement that I have finished this work of art.

Thank you, sweetheart

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CONTENTS

Preface 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Vulani Ringi Ring - Children Circle Dance Klama - Puberty Rites Sanga - The Chase Nmane -Honor the New Bride Bewa - Communicate Social Control Wali - Tough Dance Gadzo - War Dance Agbaei - Courtship Babasiko - Proposal of Intimacy Fume Fume - Altered Consciousness Boboobo -The Joy of Achieving Independence Bademalor -Dance after a Hard Day's Work Sikyi - Express Oneself in Courtship Kpanlongo - Invitation Dance Gue - Pelon - Tall Mask Other Books by this Author

To Dance With Ugly People

To Dance With Ugly People

Preface: “This novel is a book in which I was able to express a new divine awareness. I realized I had experienced a lot in life that had left me strewn and unsettled; the book brought about the resurgence of a strong feeling of cohesion. In this book I have tried to present some of the elementary principles of human nature that can be outside of perceiving, but not outside of holding dear, I call it “Ugly People.” For example, the violence of feelings, the slave of passion and the dark tyranny of despair. My life might not have been full of ease and luxury; but I preferred to glorify my existence, as I lived it, enticed by the wealth of experiences placed in my path. Watching the world around me, I became interested in Fate.

Stories, of the sudden deaths of the rich and famous awakened even more trains of thought on Destiny.

We strive to travel, what we think are the right paths in life, but, does destiny have to have the final say? Is fate everywhere we are, involved in everything we do and not only just the end? What do you think? On, that same note, I would answer, “Yes, it does!” And so this book was born. I could feel my heart glow with excitement and enthusiasm as I wrote this book.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.”

Lorene Stunson Hill

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Lorene Stunson Hill

“This novel does not deal directly with Africa; instead it uses the Art of African Dance as a beautiful premise for this author’s fiction novel. An African Dance is used as the Title of each chapter. I chose to do so to place the musing of life into deeper dimensions. A definition is listed after each Title.

Every dance is treated both as a theme and used as a dramatization to bring forth an enchantment of visual images on a non-literal basis, to highlight the drama (Dance) of each stage of my protagonist’s life. The chapters may seem, to some, to show a bleak interpretation of the dance, if taken too literally. The characterization of each chapter is not a representation of the actual Artful meaning of each of the African Dances depicted.

Lorene Stunson Hill To Dance With Ugly People is an epistolary novel … written as a series of documents. The usual form is letters, although diary entries, newspaper clippings and other documents are sometimes used. Recently, electronic "documents" such as recordings and radio, blogs, and e-mails have also come into use.

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Chapter One

Vulani Ringi Ring Children Circle Dance – Celebration of youth.

To Whom It May Concern: Even as a girl, four years old, the pain was worth something; it taught me how to dance, emotionally. The adults in the house did acquiesce in my situation, failing to be observant or even interested, as we joined together every Sunday for a family gathering.

The large yellow stucco house where we assembled, on Boston Street, in a quiet, luxurious, tree lined neighborhood belonged to my Big Mama. The huge and rambling house sat on a hill in Detroit, Michigan. The era, the mid-fifties, was a time that spawned the celebration of “Michigan Week.”

A celebration of the economic, cultural and natural resources, which made Michigan great. I imagined my great grandmother, an entrepreneur, who was lucky in real estate - rare for a woman of color - had contributed to that economic growth.

She left that big old house to Big Mama.

The sun beats down boiling hot, as we climbed the tired, aged, cracked concrete steps that led up to its weathered front porch. The surrounding grass baked crisp, looked like straw. Mama mopped her forehead with a dainty white laced 9

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handkerchief, several times, along the dreaded journey.

Summer in Detroit was hot, lethal. The winters were brutal, bitter and cold. Mama always said, during winter ice, Big Mama was going to slip on those steps and break her neck. Mama told Big Mama, often, that she needed to move, but Big Mama loved her house and owned it outright. She told Mama, she was crazy.

Big Mama liked giving me pennies and listening to me count. I often practiced counting on those exhausted, crooked and lengthy steps. I was silently counting on that day, too.

One… Two… Three… Sixteen steps! That wisdom made me smile.

We had dinner at Big Mama’s house, after attending church. The dining room table, always neatly set with gold trimmed china, sparkling crystal glasses and polished silverware was inviting. The smell of fresh baked peach cobbler overpowered the table. A table already filled with steaming hot aromatic and delicious homemade foods. We called “Soul Food.’ The savory smells that filled the air had us all ready to indulge.

I always looked angelic, in frilly dresses, with a petticoat underneath. I wore ribbons in my hair, ruffled socks that matched my panties and white patent leather shoes. After dinner, the adults would spend time in the front room, laughing, dancing, drinking and playing cards. However, I was filled with sickening dread as Big Mama’s third husband placed all of his attention on me. “Give me some sugar, baby girl.” He would say.

“Go ‘head baby, give Grandpa a kiss.” Big Mama would urge me on.

Reluctantly, I kissed him on the cheek. They all said I was his favorite.

To Whom It May Concern:

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When no one was watching “Grandpa” would sweep me up into his flabby muscled arms and carry me to the stairs, off the kitchen, that led to the basement. I didn’t want to go down there! I hated descending those rickety stairs to where it was dark, damp and eerily below the surface of the land. The tipped, tiny and filthy windows, sat high near the ceiling yet bottom level with the earth. It made me feel like I was entering a grave.

At the foot of the stairs a single dusty light bulb and chain hung from the ceiling. Once Grandpa yanked on it; it only dimly lit the room. Disturbed by his touch, it rocked side to side, creating ominous shadows and shapes as ranks of light swept and swayed about the floor and walls.

I clung to him; afraid of the space we were in. The bathroom we entered had a sink, with a crumpled and dented, rusty metal bucket beneath it - no pipes. The small stained toilet, starting to sink into the ground, giving it a slumped, hunched-back look, sat so close that while sitting on it, his knees were against that rotting pail. He pulled the door shut, a makeshift group of left over wooden planks nailed together, and locked it. My stomach tensed listening to that splintered door scraping mournfully along the floor, groaning and straining until securely closed. The bathroom was dark, with a shadowy light streaming through the spaces between the slats of the door.

Rejoining the group, Mama is always smiling, dancing deliriously or playing cards, the sight of me seemed to upset her. I didn’t belong in the room. She was having a good time at the drunken party, too impaired to see my fright, my predicament. She fussed at me instead. She said I was selfish. I didn’t really feel her words affecting me then, because I was alienated from my body, from myself and perhaps, in some ways, I still am. Giving me a mean stare, Mama usually ordered me outside to play with the other children. Somehow, the play was gone out of my life.

Why should I dance against the dust?

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To Whom It May Concern: In case you didn’t know, Big Mama was Mama’s mother. I didn’t know Big Mama had died. No one told me she was gone. I just remember being dressed in my Sunday best and it wasn’t Sunday. Everyone else was dressed somberly in black. I was five and a half years old. When we arrived at Big Mama’s house I drifted around searching for her. Daylight crept softly through the house and I felt something was wrong. I finally heard someone yell, “The cars have arrived!”

Mama hurried me out of the house and we climbed into a big black car. Silent, Mama positioned herself and vainly smoothed her skirt. Sitting in church, with my ankles crossed and feet swinging, I decided Big Mama had gone to the store and was probably back at her house. Puzzled and sad, I watched Mama, my aunts, uncles and cousins cry their eyes out.

I was confused. We were in our church, but I hadn’t ever seen it filled with so many people and beautiful flowers.

Mama took me by the hand and led me down the purple carpeted aisle, towards a large dark gray box, surrounded by more flowers. I pulled ahead eagerly, full of anticipation.

“Just a second child.” Mama whispered.

As she lifts me off the ground, I couldn’t wait to see what was inside. I DID. I screamed. The sight astounded me! I gasped for air so rapidly my lungs burned. I went limp in Mama’s arms. Big Mama was lying there! Mama lowered my shuddering, rag doll limp, body back down to the floor. Carrying an angry look, she snatched me back down the aisle, my legs flailing about like a puppet, my throat had closed and I was terrified. It hurt to swallow. I was thirsty and the very way Big Mama looked was frightening. She had red lipstick on, and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Those were things she’d never done. I clasped both hands to my chest hoping to hold 12

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back my cries. A strange woman, weeping, pulled me into her arms.

“That’s better,” she said, careful not to look too long at my face.

The spirits were wailing all around us was telling me Big Mama would not be coming home. Later, at Big Mama’s house, as I waded through the heavy throng of people, I could hear, not every particular word, conversations cementing the fact that my relationship with Big Mama, as I knew it, had reached an end.

“She was too young. Just turned seventy-four.”

I heard another click her tongue, “Livin with that old fool killed her. Wit’ his ugly ass.”

She started reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

“Met him at the liquor store,” her companion interrupted.

I melted deeper into the crowd continuing to listen.

“Them chillins gonna sell this house.”

“Shame,” another answered, her eyebrows raised.

“Gonna miss her and this old house,” Big Mama’s best friend sighed.

So would I. For hours, I prayed for my Big Mama to still be alive, for my mother’s forgiveness and for a banana split.

To Whom It May Concern: Big Mama was special, my best friend in so many ways. I started having dreams of my own death. I was always dreaming of and startled awake by the sensation of falling, but unable to remember most of the dream. To lull myself back to sleep, I would try to recall every curve of Big Mama’s face and the sparkle in her eyes, sometimes crying myself back to sleep.

Big Mama had been an ample woman. She was a tall, large framed lady with long silky hair that she parted down the middle and pinned behind her ears. She had soft, delicate hands and in contrast to her big, plump, stout feet. The biggest feet I had ever seen on a woman. She most often went barefoot. Walking away from the bathroom sink, one day, I saw 13

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her step on a big, water bug roach with her bare feet. I thought she had to be a strong woman to do something like that! When I heard the crunching sound of that annihilated bug, I could not prevent an involuntary shudder. After swiping her feet across a rug, she kept right on walking. Big Mama’s favorite thing to do was to go fishing. I would sit in her kitchen and watch her mix her fish bait - Water and Wheaties cereal - rolling it into little balls. To my horror, she would pour from that same Wheaties cereal box a bowl of cereal for me! FISH FOOD! I’d dump it in the garbage the minute she left the kitchen. If I could have her back, I would eat every drop.

Sometimes, Big Mama took me along, when she went fishing. I loved to lie on the shore, near her, as she sat by the lake. Stretched out on the grass with my hands folded behind my head. I stared up at the sky. It was usually clear and blue with small white clouds floating by. I enjoyed the feel of the breezes, the chirping birds and listening to the wind rustling the leaves of the trees.

Every now and then, I would give a sideways glance at Big Mama. There she sat wearing a print muumuu. Its hem sweeping the ground, barefoot with her shoes by her side. Her fishing pole always in the water, as she waited patiently. She always wore her favorite old wide brimmed straw hat, falling down over her eyebrows. Her high cheekbones and the slight point of her nose was prominent in her silhouette, adding to her beauty.

She had a bucket of fish, she’d caught, sitting nearby; a container of worms she’d dug up herself and a container of minnows she’d snatched out of the shallow waters. The thought of them made my skin crawl.

“Gonna help clean these fish, aint you girl?” She knew I found I found fish to be disgusting.

“No, Big Mama,” I answered hesitantly - praying she’d never order me to obey.

I would hear her chuckling, her shoulders shaking. That chuckle no longer filled my world and warmed my heart 14

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To Whom It May Concern: Big Mama had lovely soft skin, like silk. I would crawl into her lap, when she allowed, my cheek pillowed on her breast. It was like sinking into a comfortable sofa. I would lay still against her, because if I squirmed too much, she would put me down off her lap. I loved caressing her fleshy arms, rubbing her plump belly with my fingertips as I dozed off. I heard people say she looked white. My skin was as white as Big Mama’s. If there was anything in my life I was sure of, we were not white.

Black people were referred to as Negro, colored or worse, but we were not white. I didn’t understand how significant that was; how tormented my own life would be, until I started school.

Big Mama said she and her second husband, a stout man as black as shoe polish (Mama’s Daddy) were run out of Alabama because white people felt she looked too white, like an interracial couple. Big Mama’s first husband, hung by an angry mob, was something Big Mama would not discuss. She said after she and her second husband settled in Detroit, he vanished - my Mama was a babe in arms. She said she wasn’t surprised. When she married him, it had mostly been a “longing.” A kind of possession that did nothing to relieve the troubles they were having. She already had six children and then four more for him.

Big Mama’s mother was half black and half white, married to a half black and half white man. She felt my knowing our heritage was important. My great great-grandfather was a white plantation owner, who had lived in a beautiful white mansion. He owned my great-great grandmother who slaved in her master’s kitchen, but went home, at night, to an old ugly run down shanty to join her husband and children. Her master would visit the shanty to lay with her while her husband stood by helpless, a vile act, nearly driving him out of his mind. Big Mama said the reverend would have to chase him down the dirt road and hold him. One day they found him hanging from a 15

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tree, his mother never speaking another word. I saw an old, fragile, yellowing picture of him, my great-great- grandfather, once. I was too young then to understand slavery. He has been just a very tall, slender and mean looking white man to me.

I didn’t care if my Big Mama looked white, she was always very beautiful to me. My Mama, if it wasn’t for the fact that she wore Big Mama’s eyes and high cheekbones, you wouldn’t think she was Big Mama’s daughter. But, she was Big Mama’s baby girl, the youngest child and only daughter out of her ten children. Big Mama is so large and Mama so small was why we called my grandmother Big Mama. My uncles called Mama “Little Mama.” I rarely saw my uncles, most of them lived out of state. They would surprise us and come to town.

I’d hear a knock at the door, open it and happily jump into their arms.

To Whom It May Concern: On rare occasions Big Mama, Mama and I got dressed up to go downtown to the prestigious J. L, Hudson Department Store on Woodward Ave. Big Mama looked elegant when she wore her pearl gray sheath dress with matching gloves that fastened with a single white pearl button. She’d pin her hair back with the pearl hair combs, she wore only for special occasions.

Mama was slender, shapely with ample breasts; she wore her hair all the way down to her waist. She was only five feet five. Her wavy hair was dark brown, with natural golden highlights, which accented her lightest of browns tanned complexion and shiny hazel eyes with flecks of green. I envied her skin color because I was so pale. The men turned and looked when we walked down the street making me feel proud to have her as my mother.

When we approached the J. L. Hudson building I would try to take it all in. I would stretch my neck to see all the way up to its roof. It was the tallest store I had ever seen. It was a 16

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massive, fine building of red brick. I felt like I was entering an enchanted palace once we passed through the revolving doors.

Often, I took an extra spin around inside those doors, irritating Mama. There were floors and floors of sights, sounds and smells. Once we boarded and elevator, a colored man, in uniform, stood in the corner operating it. He would smile, looking down at me and I’d grin back. He would shove a lever back and forth causing the elevator to raise or lower, giving me a funny sensation in the pit of my stomach. As the elevator doors slid open and shut at the different floor levels I gazed at the sights. He would announce the items that could be purchased on each particular floor. When the elevator stopped at a floor, and its doors slid open.

“Household goods, Bedding and Draperies,” he’d announce melodically.

The elevator door would shut and we’d rise up to another floor.

“Children’s Clothing and Toys,” he sang out.

I dreamed of getting off on that floor, but we always got off on a floor when he called out, “Women’s Fashion.”

I remember that once I became an adult, years before the store shut down permanently, I would go there as often as I could. I couldn’t afford to buy much, but I explored every floor, every shelf and every corner. I couldn’t get enough. I explored everything I couldn’t as a child, sometimes spending an entire day there. I wore my Sunday best, a habit from childhood, although it wasn’t expected anymore. I’d travel through the toy department, that forbidden floor more often. Visiting their candy and peanuts counter was heavenly. I never left the store without the same goodies Big Mama always bought me – hot peanuts and pink coconut Bon-Bon’s!

To Whom It May Concern: Big Mama had said Mama got married, the first time, when she was sixteen. She had married so young that Big Mama had to sign papers. Mama fell in love with a seventeen17

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year-old classmate, in High School, an almost handsome boy, Big Mama said. With pock marks from acne and black as burnt toast he thought he was cuter than he really was. He dropped out of school and got a job so he could marry Mama.

Big Mama said that Mama was so headstrong, she gave Big Mama no choice but to give her permission. In the kitchen one day, she said, “Those two was school kids filled with fire, Dani!”

She continued to beat egg into her cornbread batter.

“The only way I knew to fix it was to let them marry.”

She was pouring cornbread into a black cast ironed skillet that had hot lard, sizzling with reaction, in the bottom.

“I had to think of yo Mama’s reputation ya know.”

She shoved the cast iron skillet into the oven, slamming the oven door shut, turned and looked at me while wiping her hands on her apron. Big Mama had little patience with those who choose to sin without marriage.

“Now, don’t you go being a fast-tail girl when you grow up! Do you hear me, Dani?”

“Yes, Big Mama.”

She turned her back to me to stir a large pot of collard greens. All I really understood was Mama had a husband before Daddy and I really wanted was to eat! Their marriage lasted three months and afterwards Mama went to a different High School.

Big Mama also said Mama lost a baby. I would have had an older sister or brother. That confused me. Lost it where? I didn’t question it. I watched Big Mama place the lid back on the pot of collard greens and wished the food would hurry up. Big Mama looked over her shoulder and said, “You gonna do what I say girl, be good, good reputation?”

“Yes, Big Mama.”

“Set the table.”

“Yes, Big Mama.”

Big Mama said she was happy when she married Mama “off” to Daddy because he was an older man. She said she’d 18

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hoped he’d calm Mama’s ways. I discovered that Mama was Daddy’s second wife and no one ever spoke of the first one. I was born four months after Daddy and Mama married – premature by only two months. That was difficult to figure once I discovered my birth certificate, but I counted on my fingers and realized I was conceived before they were married.

I had crept into their bedroom – forbidden unless allowed – and squat near their dresser as I took a peek. I couldn’t imagine Daddy not following any rules of correct behavior.

Big Mama was the only person who ever cared to explain my heritage. When Big Mama died, Mama had just married her third husband, Ray – having divorced Daddy when I was two.

Daddy had also married his third wife – Ernestine when I was three.

To Whom It May Concern: Over the years Mama began to fight, scream and curse Ray increasingly. She did not have her specially made clothing sewn by a seamstress or go downtown shopping at J. L. Hudson.

We were always moving and Ray couldn’t seem to keep a job.

Ray was always beating Mama because of the things she said.

Mama walked around with swollen eyes and busted lips, sometimes bent over in pain more times than I care to remember. She often wore dark glasses.

Policemen dressed in dark blue uniforms, with badges pinned to them, were always showing up to our house to break up their fights. Over time I could identify them, particularly by their hair. A bald headed officer generally held Mama back. A blond restrained Ray. Sometimes it took several to restrain Ray. The one with shaggy red hair always stood back with his hands folded below his big belly, watching, staring with his cool blue eyes. I feared he was there to restrain us if we got out of hand.

I eventually discovered he was the superior officer over them all. Often his eyes would dart around the room and then lock 19

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on me. I stood with the other children clinging to me, the youngest in my arms staring back. Concentrating on him gave me some relief from the reality of the moment. He was dressed neatly. Knifelike creases ran down the center of each pant leg and he was wearing a pistol.

During her marriage to Ray Mama was sick all the time and having more babies. When she was due to deliver her fifth child in a few months Ray’s drinking worsened. Ray drank whiskey every day, called it his medicine. He was always telling me how much he loved my Mama. He said he loved the kids and me. Sobbing, he’d say he didn’t mean to hit Mama. I hadn’t ever seen a man cry. I was confused. I would stare at him as if I was seeing him for the very first time.

“Are you scared of me?” He asks.

“No,” I said, frightened to death.

Ray would drag a kitchen chair close to me and sit there, leaning close to my face.

“Honestly, are you scared? I hate to think I scare you or the kids.”

He’d reek of the smell of booze. I’d hesitate. Finally, speaking up I said, “You scare me when you hit Mama.”

I didn’t like him sitting so close to me. I wanted him to move back. I wanted the conversation to end. I was sure he saw it in my face. He’d drop his head.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want a new dress?”

He was crying again. All I wanted him to do was stop hitting Mama. But, somehow his posture and tears made him seem powerless.

To Whom It May Concern: In worn out faded gold letters, William and Ernestine Dobson was on the mailbox where Daddy lived. The other mailbox beside it belonged to the owners of the house Daddy rented.

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The owners had the larger house up front. Daddy’s house was a tiny house sitting far away behind it.

My stepmother, whom everyone called my stepmother Tina rarely paid attention to me in the few days a month that I visited. Tina’s daughter from a previous marriage, the two daughters, Daddy had with Tina and I slept in one bedroom while Daddy and Tina slept on a sleeper sofa in the front room.

The dingy green walls of the bedroom were decorated with a mixture of children’s drawings and The Lord’s Prayer. I found that depressing.

Times were tough for Daddy. He worked hard to keep at least the rent paid, some food on the table and squeeze out child support to Mama. When I wasn’t at Daddy’s house, to my delight he’d even meet me on the corner of the block where Mama lived and give me all of his pocket change. He always wanted me to have my own change in case there were little things I needed for school. These visits were our secret. He knew his child support was spent on more whiskey for Ray. His children staying in school were very important to Daddy. He was only able to finish the fifth grade and he’d longed to finish his education most of his life.

One day before classes started, right in front of the school, a familiar car U-turned and parked at the curb near me.

I was thrilled when I turned to look and Daddy stepped out of the car. He dropped to his knees spreading his arms wide as I ran and jumped into the most secure place I’d ever known. I was thrilled that the other children on the playground who called me ugly names could see that someone loved me! But it hurt me when we were at the home he shared with Tina, to prevent arguments, Daddy didn’t see me at all. Tina’s hurtful attitude towards me stung even more when Daddy chose to not see, to look the other way. I knew he loved me, but he said he needed a mother for his other kids.

Daddy worked two and sometime three low-paying jobs and still was unable to afford much heat in the winter. I remember sleeping in a wool cap, scarves, a winter coat, mittens, socks and even boots to keep warm. Shivers rattled 21

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my bones. The tiny space heater barely warmed a small spot in the house. Because of the living conditions Daddy feared I would not want to come visit. During one of our rare private moments, he asked, “Do you hate it here?” His eyes were full.

“No, Daddy, never!”

We stood on the porch, shivering, as the snow blew up against the house. I said everything I could to try to reassure him, but, he seemed far away. I loved him so much. He seemed somewhere else, in uninterrupted, deep thought. I just stood by holding his hand. Visiting Daddy was the more important thing in my life. It was much more peaceful than life at home with Mama. Soon, Daddy stopped worrying so much.

He was moving his family to an Apartment complex. A Housing Complex some would say was in the ghetto. Low income apartments in the city. He said it was cheaper, much bigger with plenty of bedrooms. He said the city had done a cleanup and there were no unsavory people or dangerous places.

To Whom It May Concern: It wasn’t long before Ray took all of his rage and frustration out on Mama. Awakened by the sounds of a fight, of the destruction of our future, I was in the throes of a family being torn apart. There was crashing and banging and the sound of his fist hitting her flesh. He pulled Mama around like a rag doll, by her hair, slamming her head into the wall. There was so much screaming, I wasn’t sure which scream was mine.

Mama crumpled to the floor like a rag doll as Ray climbed on top of her – hands around her throat.

“I know you’ve been with that bastard down the street!” He screamed.

He had released her throat.

“So what!” Mama spat in his face. “At least he pays attention to me and spends time with me!”

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again.

“Whore!” Ray screeched as he grabbed Mama’s throat

Ray jumped up and began dragging Mama around by her hair.

“Bitch, you were seeing ME while married to William, I know you’re doing that shit to me, now!”

I gasped.

“Good Bitch!” Mama yelled back, as she somehow struggled free from his grip.

Backing up, screaming, Mama yelled, “My new man got money, you old drunk!”

Ray lunged at Mama and fell. Scrambling to his feet, he snatched at her skirt yanking her to the ground and began choking her again. Ray was nearly choking Mama to death. My little brothers and sisters were wailing and jumping on his back and in his rage he was tossing them off like rag dolls. I stood cradling Mama’s newest baby.

More policemen burst in saving Mama’s life. The couple who lived downstairs had called them. Officers were wrestling Ray; they forced him to the floor. Mama was cursing, her voice was squeaking and strained, and sometimes nothing came out. She was trying to call my stepfather all kinds of bad names, "You black ass, son of a bitch, I'm gonna kill..."

She was crawling, pointing at him, blood was flying out of her mouth with every word she was able to scream. Another officer went over to help her up. I could hear the whine of an approaching ambulance. The officer lifted her up off the floor and escorted her from our second floor flat to the ambulance waiting outside.

My legs were trembling violently, I felt paralyzed as I was trying to calm the children. A neighborhood crowd had gathered around our lawn, news had spread quickly.

Ray went to prison, that day, with us looking on, in full view of everyone in the neighborhood. We were the talk of the neighbors for months. They took my stepfather away in a squad car. I felt sad for him because of the painful way he looked when he glanced back at us. When the officer placed a 23

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hand on top of his head and guided him into the back seat, I felt I knew his hurt, his pain. As far as I knew, we were the only family he had. He was going to have no one who loved him. I never heard of him again. He was another living being who seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

Mama's best friend took the baby. I took care of the other kids the best I knew how. The downstairs neighbors checked in on us, every day and so did the officer with the ugly red hair. I grew to understand he was a man who liked everything about being a police officer. The excitement, the danger, and the chance to be a hero, particularly to children caught up in situations like ours. He brought us candy, coloring books, and crayons. His face it up as the children squealed with delight. I surprised myself when I hugged him. In those days, people were ashamed if anything about themselves or their family ending up in the newspapers. Mama's violent experience ended up in the newspapers! For years I didn’t know that Daddy kept the black-bordered newspaper clipping from the Detroit Free Press, locked away in a strong box. He unlocked the strong box and let me read it when I was fifteen.

The Detroit Free Press: April eighteen, nineteen sixty Newspaper item: Domestic Violence Case Dooms Man: It has come to the attention of this reporter that on April seventeen ninety sixty, our community experienced another tragic incident of Domestic Violence. Iris Duane suffered a hairline fracture, bruised larynx, and fractured pelvis when brutally beaten and strangled by her husband Ray Duane.

She, hospitalized for an unknown period of time, is the mother of five young children. Her husband charged with domestic violence, attempted murder, torture and aggravated battery by the State of Michigan is in jail awaiting his sentencing.

According to the Detroit Police Department battles at this residence, on Marsh St, are a recurring event. In this reporter’s opinion, this brutal attack and prior history will put Ray Duane away for a very long time.

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To Whom It May Concern: I was twelve years old and Mama said I was fat. I wasn't like my classmates, thin and pretty, either, but fat? I felt awful knowing I was an embarrassment to her. She said she could not dress a fat girl the way she wanted to. I knew that to her, appearance was of substantial importance. She bought me dresses, skirts, blouses, and shoes, but I wasn't looking good enough for her. Mama screamed at me when I ate, telling me to put food back. I felt she had a helpless hatred for me. I did not fit the image of the daughter she had envisioned. When I tried to express the pain I felt, she said, "That should be your motivation to lose weight."

When one of the other children stole a piece of pie or cake, I received a slap in the face. She accused me. I had to have been the one who took it. I was the deceitful one, sneaky! One day, after expressing her frustration to a room full of her girlfriends, she forced me to stand on a scale, in front of them. I didn't know why they were there, perhaps a Club meeting or card party. Mama stood on the scale after me to demonstrate the fact that, at my age, I weighed more than she did. She was a small woman. I was a towering, sizable child, growing rapidly. I felt hurt. I left the room, in tears, frightened tears, that filled my eyes, clouding my vision. I didn't understand why I deserved that display, that humiliation! I heard them talking in hushed tones, as if they were discussing something scandalous. They spoke in vague terms, hunched slightly together. It hurt more than the fruitfulness of the growing pains that rocked my body.

"She has unruly hair, even though it is long. It's a mix between good and nappy."

"Appearance is so important." “Especially for girls, maybe her Mama should try a "wet set" for her hair, at the salon." ''That does not help the weight! The poor thing."

"They need to use a hot comb on that hair."

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"She's so fat she won’t ever get a boyfriend."

"Boyfriend? No decent man wants to marry a fat woman."

“Put her on a diet, is all she can do."

"The girl will just sneak food!”

I cried myself to sleep.

To Whom It May Concern: My peers at school hated me, too. Several girls chased me almost all the way home whenever they saw me after school, carrying scissors to cut my hair, jealous that my hair was longer than theirs. I was afraid to go to school, I was afraid, after school, to go home. Word would spread that I was going to get “beat up,” and crowds waited outside, in the schoolyard, to witness. I went to Mama for help, and there were none. Mama said, "If you let them cut your hair I'll shave you bald, and see how you like that!"

I knew she would. Mama said, "If you're stupid enough to let them beat you up, it's nothing like the beating you're going to get when you get home!"

I knew she meant that, too! I was alone, trying to dance a children’s circle dance with tortuous people.

Classmates nagged at me constantly to admit that I was white. They would surround me in groups, when I walked down the halls.

"You white aint you?"

"No, I am not white," I would answer, pronouncing every word distinctly, in spite of the fact that I was terrified.

"You better stop lying."

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By then my head, hair having been snatched several times by those standing behind me, was throbbing.

My face turning scarlet. I refused to cry. I refused to say I was white. So, they’d threatened to beat me up after school. A fist shoved in my face, their faces becoming a blur, would seal the threat. I looked for back doors to escape out of, windows to crawl through, and back streets to travel, even If it was far out of the way of my usual route home. I was lonely and miserable.

I had no friends. I had no one to spend time with, so I spent a lot of time in the library. I loved words. I loved reading. I loved reading about African culture. One day I found a word I thought explained who I was. I liked the word, "Mulatto." I preferred to think of myself as one. I found it in an old tattered and worn Noah Webster dictionary. Its sound was exotic, dreamy, even if not used in America today: 'Mulatto, An offspring of a black and a white parent, or a person whose heritage contained African ancestors mixed with white ancestry.'

At school, classmates used terms drearily like "HiYella, Red-Bone, and White Girl," with contempt. The boys used the terms more seductively; "Red-Bone!" Followed by a lusty groan or a whistle, licking their lips, reaching out trying to fondle my blossoming breasts or behind. I hated it. Always striving to avoid conflict, I ducked, dodged, and hid as much as I could. I was more than lonely.

To Whom It May Concern: The family as we all know was a sorrow for me, too. My relationship with Mama had a very angry, perhaps violent component. The infinite amount of chores she left for me must have no mistakes. Any offense ended in a 27

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beating. A fiery hot lashing would awaken me, from a deep and peaceful sleep. My eyes jolting open I’d find Mama standing over me, beating me with a strap.

The beatings were for little things I forgot to do. A few crumbs found on the kitchen table, failure to wipe standing water off the sink or omitting to sweep the kitchen floor! My poor startled heart would pound like the slap note rhythms of a barrel shaped drum, resonating loud in my ears. My arms, flailing about, trying to fight off the swing of her arm, would be hit in the barrage. I tried to run, or duck deeper under the covers.

"What did I do?" I’d screamed repeatedly.

Often, I would get a strike across the face, on the inside of a thigh, making it hard to walk and even on the bottom of a foot, making a shoe uncomfortable.

My pajamas would rip, sometimes, from her reaching out to grab me and pull me back into the beating.

I wanted to die. When it was over I'd become sick of the pain and would throw up. I’d lie clutching my bed covers weeping, nursing the ugly, raised red welts left on my body, crimson because of my pale white skin. Always in the following morning I would dig, desperately, for clothing with long sleeves, regardless of the weather, to hide my wounds. I would be weak, my limbs heavy, and every move sluggish. When finally dressed, my clothing rubbing against the, sometimes, bloody, welts were agonizing, as I sat in the classroom. Nevertheless, I had to bear the pain. The hateful girls hovering around me got in the way of my hiding them. Once they spotted an ugly welt, usually on my hands, wrist, or legs, they laughed at me.

One day the loud whine of a safety signal disturbed the classroom; Air Raid Sirens went off, a common practice 28

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during those years. Was it a drill or an actual warning?

Teacher, as always, yelled, "Get under your desks, children, DUCK AND COVER!" The teacher ran around the room, pulling down the shades, if a bomb dropped, we could go blind looking into the light. All of us scrambled around, crawling under our school desks. Under my desk, my hands clutched behind my head and neck, crouched down, I glanced around at the paralyzing fear on the faces of my classmates. I wished they understood that, that was how I lived my life, every day. Running and hiding, ducking and covering in paralyzing fear. I cried, often, when I was alone in my room, because no one loved me and I had Daddy on a limited basis! It seemed that just being me on this earth seemed to upset everyone.

Perhaps, I could run away, but I didn't know where to go. I didn't know where to hide. I didn't know what to do.

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Chapter Two

Klama – Puberty Rites – Youthful entry into adolescence.

To Whom It May Concern: Daddy planned a party for my thirteenth birthday, a family birthday party, at his place. Mama seemed reluctant. One morning after I had dressed for school, and was eating breakfast, I watched Mama busy herself around the kitchen. I couldn't stand the wait for her approval, my birthday party was in two days. Once again, I begged Mama to let me go. Mama suddenly creamed at me, "Go to your damn Daddy, Dani, and don't come back!"

She stormed out of the kitchen. My throat slammed shut I gasped for air. I was so upset by her words, it was hard to swallow my food. I stopped eating and cried. Her six-year-old dragged into the kitchen, after hearing her words, rubbing his eyes, he grinned and said, "Mama said get out!”

The other children sitting around the table started giggling.

I left for school early. It was the last day of school before summer! As I stepped out of the front door, I was stunned! I stood on the lawn, watching my belongings fly 30

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through the air, littering the front lawn. I looked up at my bedroom window, just as Mama leaned out, letting go of another armful of my clothing; our eyes met. Her eyes were laser beams burning deep into my soul, hard featured and hateful.

I rushed around trying to scoop up as much as I could. My tears were blinding. I writhed under that violation, glancing up and down the street embarrassed.

Now the whole neighborhood would know I was unloved. I walked to the corner store, slowly, spilling articles of clothing along the way. It was frightening. I trembled as I walked, tears building up, again. I reached the corner store, where I usually stopped every morning, on the way to school, for a sour pickle and a peppermint stick. My visit that particular morning was not as simple as that.

When I walked in, the proprietor looked at my face and he melted into absolute surprise. I stood there, clothing piled in my arms, tears flying everywhere. I wanted to use his pay phone with the change I had in my pocket. He ran from behind his counter and hugged me, "Why is the matter with you?" He said in a foreign accent.

He was from Bangladesh and a kind man. His hugs and concern lulled me. He and Daddy had talked several times, when he was standing outside while Daddy stopped in front of his corner store to see me. I sobbed, shaken and frightened. I was blubbering, asking him for help. He shook his head in disbelief, “You’re such young child! I call father?"

“Yes,” I whimpered.

He gave me a free sour pickle and a peppermint stick. Daddy picked me up on the corner, in front of the store, taking time to thank the owner. I felt like Daddy 31

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was picking up the trash, in spite of the fact that I had never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life!

To Whom It May Concern: Daddy took me home to his third wife, Tina. She was the same age as Mama, fourteen years younger than Daddy. She went to High School with Mama. For days, she walked around like she didn't know what hit her. She seemed at a loss. She had children of her own. To her, I was somebody else's child and worse, the daughter of the woman she hated most in High School.

Being decent to me was simply a duty Daddy imposed on her. She did not want to take me into her family, since she was already completely happy. If Daddy showed me any love and affection, she became upset. She felt he was showing favoritism over her own children. She told me, spiteful, that I had better not think I was cute because I had light skin, hazel eyes, and long hair. She would twist her mouth and remind me of that fact until the day I left her house. It was an ugly way, for a young girl to grow up.

She spit out hateful stories about my mother. She said Mama was prancing around school classy, beautiful, light skinned with long silky hair, and so stylishly dressed. I know, as Big Mama’s only daughter, she made a special effort to dress her well. Tina said all the boys were lusting after Mama. She told me Mama got married while still in High School, as if it were the scandal of that year. If not, it was a scandal as far as she was concerned. She said my mother was whorish. I didn't know what that meant, even though I’d heard Ray call her similar names, but I knew it was an ugly word. As Tina said those things, I saw her eyes 32

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fill with tears, and her lips quiver. I could see she was upset and filled with raging hate. I was sure she was looking at me, at those moments, with the same expression she must have looked at my mother: Icy, bitter, and contemptuous. Oddly enough, as she raved on, as upset as I was with Mama, I still began to feel protective of my mother. It gave me a chill to think of Mama being the object of such loathing, and so much contempt. I thought of how I felt, hated by those that tormented me in school.

My stepmother, dark complexioned, tall, with short jet black hair was pretty. She said her schoolmates made her feel ugly, called her derogatory names. Secretly, I felt sympathetic towards her. I knew her pain. I knew the anguish of wanting to be accepted. I understood her.

She had no idea! Because she became enraged with every word I spoke, I had no idea of how to express that feeling to her. She stared at me. She lit a cigarette.

She was the only woman I had ever seen smoke. Her face, enclosed in a cloud of thick haze, as she raged on, puffing furiously, which only left her dark eyes peering eerily through the smoke, watching me. I remember calming down, often, and just looking deep into her very human eyes and loving her. There were tears in them and I understood. Those were her personal tears, her pain. I’d always feel a slight quivering in my stomach, because I understood personal tears, too well. I decided, I didn't care what she did or said to me I was going to love her. I sighed with resignation.

To Whom It May Concern: Tina walked out of the room, each day she raged about my mother, with memories that would never go 33

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away, hanging loosely from her being. I on the other hand carried her version of events wrapped up in the bundles of my soul. Of course, I was delighted to be living with Daddy, whom I adored, and I wanted to love me, acknowledge me and feel proud of me. I hoped Tina and I could work through our pain. I hoped I could make her happy. I would refuse to become the "fast-tail" girl, Big Mama spoke of, and Tina expected me to become.

Several months later, my "period" started at school, during recess. I ran home, hysterical, thinking I had somehow ripped myself apart. No one had prepared me, helped me understand the changes to my body. Tina looked nonchalant as I waited for the severe pain from what I thought were wounded - to strike. Badly shaken, all I felt were mild cramp-like twinges. Tina returned to give me a tightly folded paper bag. She sent me to the bathroom, alone, to figure it out for myself. Trembling and horrified, bleeding from such a private area, I tentatively opened it and peered in at objects I’d never seen before.

The giant sanitary pad and sanitary belt didn't make sense at first. It took several months to figure out how to wear it properly, without the metal fastenings of the belt digging into my flesh or my having “accidents� on the back of my skirt.

The only thing Tina said was it would happen every month, emphasizing how to remove all signs of the affliction before I left the bathroom. I felt so dreadful. I felt like something disastrous, secretive, and frightening was happening. When Daddy got home from work, he patted me on the top of my head and asked if I was o.k. I nearly died! I couldn't believe she'd TOLD Daddy such a personal thing! I could hear them talking in the next room.

"Everything's all right?" Daddy asked Tina.

"Yes." 34

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“Is she going to school tomorrow?"

"Of course she will be."

Daddy and Tina were talking about me, as if I had a head cold. I felt devastated, embarrassed, and was sure everyone at school would know. My stomach was cramping and I didn't feel like going anywhere.

The first year or so, of the misery, I tied a sweater around my waist each month because I couldn’t forget the first time someone at school pointed out an "accident," on the back of my skirt, everyone laughed. I ran to the girl's wash rooms in tears, washing the back of my skirt and ran home. I, deprived of my puberty rites, wasn't told menstruation was a wonderfully beautiful female transition from girl to womanhood, the first step towards the ability to create a new life. Instead, I felt terrible. I became so stressed and tense as I neared "that time if the month" that suddenly, my periods became irregular. I would go months without one, a phenomenon I was happy with! Perhaps, I willed it on myself.

To Whom It May Concern: Rules were abundant in our house.

Children didn't complain about the rituals put on us, reluctantly, we always obeyed. We watched television, went outside, or indulged in our favorite things, ONLY after all chores were completed. Our life was all about rules. We all had different bedtimes, curfews, and chores according to our age. We had to go to church every Sunday. When we dressed, Tina's oldest daughter would get upset and cry because her hair did not hang long like mine. Tina would look at me, as if I were a walking, ravaging disease that she preferred to leave behind. Tina liked to sew matching 35

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dresses for us to wear. I hated them. We had to change into our "play" clothes the minute we got home from church or school.

In spite of all of the chores, we did go on family outings to the drive-in. Daddy would impatiently jangle his keys; a signal that he was ready to go; when we took too long to get ready. We always arrived at the drive-in at least an hour early to allow us time to play in the playground. But it would usually be two hours before the film started. Tina would pack a basket of food for us, no going to the concession stand. Inside the basket were napkins, popcorn, boiled hot dogs, buns, and cupcakes.

We carried a cooler filled with ice and Kool-aid and we drank out of old jelly jars. We would race to the graveled playground area, just below the giant movie screen to swing, slide and climb monkey bars before the movie started.

To explain a little more about Daddy’s personality, the drive-in movie could have been one of my favorite outings, but it was always questionable whether we would see an entire movie. The moment, Daddy saw anything he considered inappropriate or intimate on the screen he would start the car and leave! I'd also cringe – the people simply kissed too long and passionately. Daddy was inflexible. He wouldn't say a word; just leave! Often we were unsure of what the offense was. The younger kids would always protest, escalating Daddy's bad mood and his terrible driving.

"Please, go back! Daddy, we'll close our eyes," they wailed.

Nothing moved him. He'd fly through the streets, zipping in and out of the traffic, stopping within a half an inch of the car bumper in front of him. He could not get us home fast enough! I'd sit there stomping on the floor 36

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each time he braked, sub-consciously trying to help him stop the car, with a white-knuckle hold onto the doorknob.

The only movies I remember seeing from beginning to end, with Daddy, starred Jerry Lewis, John Wayne, or was a cartoon meant for children.

Daddy governed our television at home, too.

There was one black and white television in the front room, to which, everyone watched. I saw him sob heavily, once in my life, in front of that television. It was a time of sadness for the whole country. Lee Harvey Oswald had shot and killed President John F. Kennedy. I also cried watching the horse drawn carriage gliding along the street with the flag draped casket of "Our" President. That was what Daddy called President Kennedy, “Our" President. “Some white folks don't want us to have nothin'."

He said.

I hadn't ever heard Daddy talk that way before.

To Whom It May Concern: I was cared for, physically. I was grateful for that, but Tina seemed so far away. I think she relived the days with Mama, every time she looked at me. It was there, haunting her, lingering between us like an invisible wall, when relating to me, and that upset me.

I did everything I could think of to make her like me.

Through our chores, we children did all of the housekeeping and laundry. I did my work above and beyond and cooked, too. However, when Tina did anything like laundry, my hair or ironing clothes that pertained to me, she muttered scandalous words, in a voice hushed into submission. She would complain, 37

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"I guess your Mama will think your clothes aren't ironed properly," and then, "I hope your clothes are clean and spotless enough for your Mamas taste," and add, "I hate doing your hair, too, if I mess it up, your Mama gonna have something to say."

When Tina took us shopping, it was most often at Salvation Army, something she no longer needed to do. I was accustomed to shopping at Salvation Army, but I always looked around anxiously, hoping no classmates saw us go in. I winced with irritation, at her choice of some of the clothes she chose for us, like our huge plaid winter coats that were three times too big.

A sharp embarrassment, that she called "growing room." She remained very uncommunicative about the packages of beautiful clothing Mama sent me. I often dreaded the packages because they upset her so.

Tina rarely laughed, but when she did, she put her hand over her mouth and her eyes closed. Compared to Mama, Tina seemed hard, simple, and plain. I would never tell her that. Tina, taller than Daddy and narrowly built, I felt, dressed in old woman's clothing, undergarments, and she never wore makeup, except for bright red lipstick. She wore her hair simply styled, no jewelry, nail polish, or perfumes, either. She spent money timidly. A complete opposite of Mama. Course black hairs sprouted out on her chin. She would hide in her room and pluck them with tweezers. I peeked one day when she left the bathroom door slightly ajar. As I stared at her, I wanted to believe she did care about me. She has been just a confusion of gentleness, hate, secrecy, and regret. Her childhood hadn't been so great, either. I grew to believe she watched over me from a distance.

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For instance, often, I would starve myself until my brain hissed and grew foggy. Mama lectures on my being too fat still lingering in my mind. I’d get so hungry my eardrums whistled a sound I grew familiar with in the moments just before I would faint. I fainted often, trying to be thin. One day Tina stood looming over me, she was angry, she cared, "I don't want to see you ever do that ever again, young lady, you are not fat! I want to see you eating food from now on. Do you hear me?"

Slowly coming out of my haze, I responded, "Yes, ma'am," in hushed tones.

She stormed out of the room, leaving me lying on the floor.

To Whom It May Concern: I had a home. I had to be happy about that, but I still felt like someone else's child, a hireling. Even with this truth, I felt no anger. Daddy was happy to put a roof over my head, give me food to eat and a bed to lay in at night – I saw it as survival. I cooked nearly every dinner, cleaned, did the laundry and anything I had to do, to keep everyone happy. I felt responsible for everyone; it was my duty because I had suddenly come into their lives, disrupting it.

One day, Daddy, and Tina went to visit Tina's sister and took the others. I was fourteen and left alone to fry chickens for dinner and do some of the laundry in the basement, not joining the family was something I'd gotten used to. It was hot in the apartment so I opened the back door to the kitchen, locking the screen door; there was only a warm breeze. I was thinking that the breeze was effecting nothing; the kitchen was still very hot. I glanced over at the door and was startled to find the boy from the 39

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building next door standing outside of our screen door, looking into the kitchen, grinning. He was sixteen and held back several grades in school, taking special classes, because he was nearly mute. The young people in our buildings called him ignorant, dumb and retarded.

I saw the classmate’s at School encircling him and taunting him, running behind him, even throwing rocks. I could see in his eyes that he was tortured. Knowing how it felt, I always treated him differently, kindly, and better than the others. I welcomed him every chance I got with a hello or asking how he was doing. I ignored the laughter and would even give him a shy wave in the halls or across the school courtyard. He would always grin, delighted! I learned to regret it though. I had to run an errand for a teacher, one day. Carrying my hall pass I was surprised when he caught up with me in the hallways in a particularly isolated area of mostly locker’s with no classrooms nearby. Had he been hiding there? He began grabbing and trying to kiss me, eventually mashing me up against a wall. The sounds he made where pig-like, disgusting. I was terrified. He was so tall and big I was helpless. My face was embedded in his chest as I gasped for air. Groping my breast, then sliding his hands down my body, he grasped my behind, pulling me into his crouch, his hardness grinding against me.

Tears falling I began to let out a muffled scream and a male teacher came racing around the corner and forced him off me. He was suspended from school.

“May I help you?” I asked.

He simply stood there smiling. I fumbled around the kitchen uncomfortable for quite a while, hoping he would just leave. I wished Daddy was home. I was wearing a lemon yellow dress. It had a scooped neck and back, was sleeveless, and cinched at my waist. My hair, pulled up on 40

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top of my head with a rubber band, to keep cool, was flopping around as I moved. I had bare legs and was barefoot. He mashed a piece of paper against the screen for me to read, "You look party."

He couldn’t even spell pretty. I timidly asked him to leave, making gestures that indicated, to go away." He recoiled, looking sad, and continued to stand there, staring at me. I could see he was angry. He started making the same sounds all of the other boys make, "Mmmm, Mmmph!" I looked over at his face and at the look he was giving me. I knew that look. His derogatory actions and sounds started to frighten me. I was at home alone and scared. That screen door wouldn’t be hard for someone as big as him to get through. I ran over and slammed the door in his face and double locked it.

Later, after calming down, I traveled down to the basement, confident that he was gone. After all, he lived in another building. The laundry room was in the basement. I hated basements, period and particularly the one in this building - this one was dark and dreary than most! I loaded the washing machines with clothing, looking over my shoulders every few minutes. I felt like someone was watching me from the shadows. My first instinct was to run screaming, but I knew Tina would be angry if I didn’t get the laundry done. All of a sudden, he appeared. My stomach sank. He looked at me with narrowed eyes that filled my chest with fear. I tried to fake that sort of courage and lack of fear that I hoped would make him think that he had better back off. It did nothing to change his posture. I backed up, slowly, trying to reach the stairs leading out of there. My knees and back were so stiff, with fear, I could hardly move. But before I could run he lunged at me grabbing both of my wrists, 41

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pulling me across the floor. One of his hands quickly let go of my wrist and vice gripped my forearm.

I dragged my feet, trembling. I watched him unsteadily make his way over to a discarded mattress lying in a darkened corner. I couldn't believe it was me he was dragging! It felt like a bad dream! Oh GOD, how did I get here? What would Daddy say? I mentally called out to Big Mama for help! The closer to the mattress we got, the harder I fought. I lashed out at him with clenched fists, scratching his face, and tried to kick him. My heart was pounding so hard I could even feel it in my fingertips. He yanked me to him and then slammed me onto the mattress, on my back, so hard the wind rushed out of my lungs.

Feeling his hands all over such a private area shot sheer terror into my soul. I began to cry. I tossed my head from side to side. He was trying to give me an opened mouth kiss. I could feel him thrusting against me, missing the place he wanted to enter. I thrashed about, it hurt to struggle, wiggle, and kick under his weight. I bit him. He yelled and was steaming mad, grabbing me by the neck, pushing me back down. Straddling me, my screams became squeaks, the tighter he squeezed. I couldn't breathe! I was going to die. My vision dimmed and the world was going black.

I felt myself going limp, as I heard the sounds of someone coming down the basement stairs. The sound seemed to be in a tunnel far away. He began to tremble easing the grip on my neck groaned, jumped up and disappeared into the shadows as quickly as he appeared.

Someone WAS coming down the stairs! I lay there couching and struggling to get my breath, pushing my shirt down. As I slowly sat up trembling, in a daze and dizzy, and still struggling to breathe the fat, old woman from 42

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down the hall, had finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

She shuffled into the laundry area, squinting and peering over at me. Abhorrence all over her face. I sat there too frightened to talk or move.

"You kids always down here messin around. They need to move that old mattress. Where the boy at? I outta tell your Mama!"

I hid my pain and bruised neck with scarves and turtleneck collars and told no one. I had bruises from head to toe, wearing bracelets to hide my bruised wrist. I thought that I would be blamed. I replayed that day over and over in my mind and each time determined I HAD done something wrong. I shouldn’t have slammed the door in his face. I shouldn’t have opened the door. I shouldn’t have gone into the basement. I avoided him with every inch of my being but when I accidently ran across him, I would drop my gaze and keep walking, praying he did not follow. I was a frightened wreck for an extremely long time. Daddy asked me why I seemed so jumpy and was always looking back over my shoulders. I told Daddy, I didn’t know.

To Whom It May Concern: Daddy was a fabulous-looking man, even with the deep lines in his face. He was a husky, tall man with big hazel eyes, soft wavy hair, and a fantastic smile. Everyone said we had the same eyes, same smile. Serving our country, in the Army, during World War II, he lost most of his teeth in hand to hand combat - most of his teeth were stamped out. Infection set in and all of his teeth were removed. He also wore a steel plate in the back of his head. He had several medals due to his bravery. He wore 43

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false teeth and suffered with migraines. When we were little, Daddy chased us around, holding those false teeth delighted with our playful screams.

We would run through the house squealing with delight.

Daddy looked like a college professor, to me, with his reading glasses balanced on his nose. When he was a boy, he had to leave school early to pick cotton in the fields and earn money for the family. His body bent from dragging the heavy sacks, hands bloody from picking cotton because of the sharp thistles, I often wondered if it was the reason there was still a slight lean to his stride. He could not read or write very well. He often asked me to read or write for him and I was honored, proud of my ability to help.

Daddy worked in the hot sun and was very tan.

One day I saw him with his shirt off and was shocked to see his white belly - untouched by the sun – he was as fair skinned as I was. At first, he seemed to be horrified and grabbed for his shirt hurriedly to cover himself. However, we laughed as I made fun of him for having such a pale belly. Daddy's parents passed away before I was born. He was away at war. Daddy gave me his mother's first name, Marie, for a middle name. I had very little information on his parent's or my lineage on their side, just old pictures. I was curious though, in the pictures, their side of the family looked white like Big Mama! I asked, “Daddy, were your parents white?”

I knew it was a dumb question, but wanted to hear his answer.

"Dani? At your age, you know we colored folk."

"Grandpa and Grandma look so white." I said, curious.

Daddy simply chuckled and said we are light skinned folks.

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Daddy was reliable, on time and very routine. He left for work the same time every day, hours before we got up in the mornings. He came home from work the same time every night, six days a week. When one of us did a bad thing, Tina always told us she had called Daddy at work. That scared us stiff! No one wanted a punishment from Daddy! Daddy had a heavy hand. Daddy rarely gave anyone a spanking, but the few given – were absolutely remembered. He usually gave a lecture and a punishment, which was enough pain for me. For me, Daddy's anger was the worst thing in the world!

To Whom It May Concern: Daddy loved the Horse Races. Don’t get me wrong, he worked hard, paid his bills and only went to the races in the little spare time he had with money left over after all of our needs were taken care of. Daddy always told us when we grow up to pay all bills, put food on our table, and take care of our families before we spent money on anything frivolous. We were always excited when Daddy won at the races, because he would give each of us money. The younger child spent theirs on laps full of penny candy. The older ones bought their favorite trinkets.

I bought fashioned paper dolls, (dressed and designed new clothing for them myself), long after most girls would feel they were too old for such a thing.

Fortunately, one day, Daddy won a huge amount of money at the horse races. He bought a house! Daddy cried. I cried with him. We were moving. I was so happy. I felt freed from so much of the fear of living in that tenement building where we lived. Freedom from so many bad things that happened and I never told Daddy 45

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about. The new house, on Turner Street, was on the Eastside of Detroit, across the street from Tappan Junior High, a tall well-proportioned building. Tappan was an expansive building taking up the entire block. The building was full of tall windows and sat on an uneven concrete court, surrounded by a fence. It was a blessing for us to move to that house. We all ran from room to room screaming with excitement.

My stepsister, two grades behind me, crossed the street to go to school at Tappan and the others attended Turner Elementary. I was going to High School – Mackenzie High. The house was a two-story white house, all bedrooms on the second floor. The inside walls were also painted white. I felt that white was boring. We had a front porch, with bushes under the windows. The backyard was large and fenced with lots of grass and a garage. Our back gate led to an alley where everyone set out their trash and garbage. A huge garbage truck rumbled down the alley early every Tuesday and Friday, except holidays. I would watch them out of my back bedroom window. I loved that house.

I shared a bedroom with my stepsister, but it was a nice large room. We all were able to choose a color to paint our bedroom. I knew it was best to let my stepsister pick our color - admitting there was a pinch in my heart because I wanted some say in the decision. She chose pink. I hated pink. The living room and dining room became light blue, Tina's favorite color. The kitchen remained white. There were many more chores and duties in the new house and Daddy demanded it all done to perfection, in order to keep the house as neat and nice as possible.

We were delighted to discover that beyond our alley, across a vacant field, we could enter the parking lots 46

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of a large neighborhood-shopping plaza. We spent every minute we could, after getting our allowance, browsing that plaza. We would walk along, snacking on our favorite foods, peeking into windows. We had our favorite places to visit, S. S. Kresge, Federal's Department Store, and White Castle. Sometimes, we would go to the weekend matinee at the Mercury Theater, if Daddy approved of the movie. We would get up at 5:00 and 6:00 a.m., on Saturday, to complete every chore in order to make it to the matinee showings. I loved it!

To Whom It May Concern: I was fifteen years old, going to High School and in the 10th grade, my classmates more mature than Junior High, and the name calling reduced. My academic life still had some giving me questioning looks. There were occasional whispers students didn't think I’d heard. I wanted them to like me in High School. The thing that bothered me the most, was one question, "You got a boyfriend?” Or “Why don't you have a boyfriend?"

I agonized over that. Here was another thing to make me feel different from everybody else. I didn’t understand everyone’s obsession over having a boyfriend.

I wanted everyone to leave me alone. I got the question all of the time from Mama, relatives, neighbors, and even strangers I'd meet on the street. I felt pressured. I didn't even think about boys in that way.

Honestly, other than Daddy, I, wasn’t impressed by the male species, didn't intend to have a boyfriend. While most of the High School girls around me were chasing 47

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boys, giggling and chatting about them in the locker room, I kept to myself. I stayed involved in my schoolwork, my chores around the house and my part-time job as a babysitter.

Baby-sitting was ok for the most part. But, every time our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Holt asked Daddy if I could babysit for her, my stomach muscles knotted up. I hated her husband.

Daddy always said I could do it, without asking me.

I hated babysitting over there. Mrs. Holt usually needed me to sit with her children while she shopped, went to choir-practice, or attended her club meetings. When Mr. Holt came home, always before her, he would be drunk.

I, sitting on the living room couch, could hear him shuffling up the stairs of his front porch.

Their kids were always in bed, upstairs, when he would arrive. I was taught to respect my elders and always said, “Good evening, Mr. Holt.”

At first, he'd shuffle past me, silent, heading straight to the kitchen. In a few minutes he would appear with his mouth stuffed with bread, carrying a wad of bread in his fist and stop and stare.

My heart would sink. He would come sit next to me or sometimes across from me and I would get up. He'd follow me. He’d slur, "Hold on, sugar, don't be so jumpy."

Mr. Holt was easy to push away due to his drunkenness, but it was so tiresome and scary. Sometimes he’d reach out to touch me or try to grab me. I was growing increasingly frightened of him because things were escalating. The last time I was there he grabbed me attempting to kiss me and when I broke free he chased 48

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me. He seemed to think it was funny. I would jump away from his reach and he'd say, "Awww, come on, sugar. Give me a kiss."

"What?" I squealed. "Leave me alone!"

Whenever he had managed to grab me, my skin crawled as I struggled to get loose. His hands were "old hands", scratchy, rough, dry and wrinkled. Appalling! I always wanted to run home, but I had strict instructions, from Mrs. Holt to not leave the kids alone with Mr. Holt.

It was my responsibility, so I endured.

No one seemed to acknowledge that Mr. Holt was a drunk. The most Mrs. Holt ever said to me was to pray for him. I couldn't understand how Mrs. Holt, an attractive woman, with deep dimples, and a long, slender body could stay with him. Mr. Holt looked like an old shriveled man and he was not that old, drinking had dried him up. Brittle whiskers surrounded his coffee colored, furrowed face. He dressed as if he had pulled his clothing out of a Dumpster. I don’t think Mrs. Holt was aware of his trying to touch me. I think she believed he simply staggered home and fell to sleep on their bed. When she got home, I tried to talk to her, “Mrs. Holt, Mr. Holt…”

She cut me off!

"Pray for him, Dani."

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was rare, but whenever, Mr. Holt came over to see Daddy, I always said, "Yes, sir," and "No, sir."

Showing the respect that Daddy demanded, but it made me sick.

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One day, I found a snapshot of Mama. I was bewildered because it dropped out of Daddy's billfold while he was pulling out some papers on the dining room table. In my heart, I knew he still loved Mama! In my heart, I knew Tina knew it, too. In the photograph, Mama was wearing a tight fitting sweater and matching skirt.

Made up professionally, her hair was styled fancy, curling down her back. She posed with her head thrown back, hands on her hips, flashing a huge grin. It was something to see.

My chest puffed up with pride - she looked like a fashion model - a sweater girl - a tear slid down my cheek because I loved her and she hurt me so. I wondered if that was how Daddy felt. I hid the photo in my room. That coming weekend was my weekend, to spend time with Mama. Going from her place and back made me feel like a displaced person. I felt unwanted, and unsettled - in the line of fire, always. One night, Daddy sat in the living room alone reading the newspaper. I walked over and hugged him around the neck. He smelled of Old Spice. Daddy always smelled of Old Spice and I loved it.

“Why do I have to visit Mama?" I asked.

Daddy ran his hand over the stubble along his jaw.

"It's a fair thing to do. Makes your Mama happy. She loves you, Dani.”

But there was sadness in his voice that I didn't understand, so I dropped the subject.

"Yes, sir."

“It’s not your worry.”

“Yes, sir.”

In spite of that, it was a worry because the men who visited Mama were also trying to seduce me. It was my worry because I felt troubled, I needed help, needed someone to talk to. I stared at Daddy unable to find the 50

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words to tell him. It had been a long time since he and I had been alone so I sat silently watching television smelling Old Spice. I enjoyed the closeness.

I loved Daddy so much a sob worked its way up into my throat, choking me. I gasped away the pain not wanting him to see me cry. How would I explain suddenly bursting into tears? After we sat a while, I said, "Daddy, I picked up the snapshot of Mama, I saw fall out of your billfold."

Our eyes locked for a moment. He said, "Have a good night, Dani.

"You too, Daddy, I love you!"

"Love you, too."

Our little secret. I left the room and hid the picture deeper in my room.

To Whom It May Concern: Mama has been always in her bedroom, getting ready to go out, when I arrived. Her date was usually waiting in the living room. I took care of her children (my brothers and sisters) while he was out. I would ask questions about the child care and she would always answer in that absent voice that I hated so much.

"Mama, can the kids have cookies while you're gone?"

"I don't care."

She was slipping on her stockings.

"Can they stay up past eight, there's a cartoon special coming on. “I don't care."

She went to her makeup table.

"When will you be back?"

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"When I get back."

She was applying lipstick.

"See to it my guest have what they need, while I get dressed," she instructed.

"Yes, ma'am."

Over time, I learned Mama had many boyfriends.

They were always saying things to me in a whisper, always trying to reach out and touch me, even if just to hold my hand. I didn’t like to be touched.

"You're prettier than your Mama, did you know that?"

I knew they were telling a lie.

"How old are you?"

I never said.

The man who came to see Mama most was called, Stone. I’d open the door and let him in "Your Mama in her room?" He’d slur.

"Yes, sir." I’d answer.

One day he said, "Hand me that cigarette lighter over there, honey."

I glanced across the room and saw a lighter, shaped like a dark-green frog, sitting in the center of one of Mama’s stiff white doilies. Stone seemed nervous and I was suspicious. I stuck my hand out holding the lighter, cautiously. He grabbed my hand and the lighter, yanking me to him as he lurched forward to catch me. Sitting back down, he dragged me into his arms, trying to kiss me. I felt one hand caress my breast. I struggled and pushed against him, feeling his hot breath in my ear as he spoke, "I bet them boys in school are sniffing after you!"

The only sniffing I knew about, belonged to dogs.

His breath was rank with the smell of booze and cigarettes. I was able to struggle free. I jumped to my 52

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feet, infuriated! Just as he straightened himself up, Mama made her entrance; she did not see my distress.

Mama smiled radiantly, whirling around with her arms over her head like a ballerina. I took a deep breath because she was so beautiful. She was wearing a very tight, satin dress with a straight skirt, kick pleat and a thin belt fastened at her waist. The dress was silky and red, reminding me of a China doll. I stared at Mama remembering Big Mama's words, "Old whores and hot ass young girls wear red."

Stone leapt up, as if nothing had happened. Mama smelled so good, the perfume drifted across the room to where I was standing. Stone strutted over to Mama like he was King of something. He threw his arms around Mama, sliding his hands down until he’d cupped her butt and lifted her off the floor, I wondered if it that hurt her.

He spun her around. I gasped.

"Baby you look so good!" He said.

He lowered her to the floor. They both laughed and hurried out of the door like they had some wild, crazy secret that everyone else was left out of; they were in their own world. Only, I was the one with a secret. I hated visiting my Mama.

To Whom It May Concern: The next weekend I spent at Mama's I eased over to sit at her dressing table. I sniffed an oval shaped bottle of perfume, a jar of Pond's Cold Cream and spread Jergen’s lotion on my skin. I peeked at mascara, blush, face powder, and eye shadows, all of the things I never saw Tina use. I occasionally glanced up into the mirror, to watch Mama get dressed. She was wearing a buttoned up 53

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cream colored silk blouse, a brown straight skirt with a thick black belt at her waist, and lots of gold jewelry. She looked so pretty. Mama stopped, and our eyes met in the mirror. Her mouth pushed into a straight line and brow furrowed, she said, "You look so plain. You need to start wearing makeup, Dani. You're old enough."

She strolled over to me and began to apply blush to my cheeks. Not since I was a small child had she been so close to me. I could smell her lotion and feel her touch, her warm spearmint gum, breath floated in the air. I, filled with a strange elation, like the pleasure of a suckling child, wanted to crawl into her arms and cry. When she finished, I peeked at myself in the mirror and loved it. I did not appear to be so pale. I seemed to glow.

Just as she was about to apply a light colored lipstick to my lips, a horn blew. She dropped the lipstick, hurriedly gathered her purse, and rushed from the room and out the front door. I was racing behind her, though, trying to thank her, the front door slammed in my face. I rushed over and peered out of the window. I watched Mama get into a car with four men. Two were in the back seat. The one in the front on the passenger side got out and held the door open so she could slide into be seated in the middle. They all laughed and one of them howled like a wolf, as the car roared away from the curb. I stood in the window and cried until my head was hurting, because in spite of everything I realized I loved my Mama very much.

My life was mixed up, it felt like night and day, life at Mama's house compared to life at Daddy's was polar opposites. Mama was so demonstrative with her men, touching their faces, sitting on their laps, and patting their behinds. They were touching her in return. At home, Daddy and Tina never touched, hugged, kissed, or seemed 54

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to go near each other. They never showed any signs of affection toward each other, at least that I could see. I was confused about the proper behavior between a man and a woman.

One weekend, I asked Mama if it was okay to hug and kiss. I admitted to her that I did not see Daddy and Tina touch, hug, or kiss each other. She really seemed to enjoy that. I really had so many more questions to ask, so I tested her attitude with that one. She said, "Wait until my man gets here, I'll show you all the hugging and kissing you want."

I blushed, I was not sure that was the answer I wanted.

To Whom It May Concern: After begging him for weeks, Daddy decided to allow us to go roller skating on Sundays' after church. I was the oldest and responsible for everyone's safety. I loved the skating rink! I loved the Motown music mixed with the roar of the skater's skates on the rink hardwood floor. The music twirled around the room, caught on the breezes of each skater who glided by, as they swooped, sailed and squealed with delight.

The music slightly lower, sometimes higher than the voices in the room, was wonderful. The smell of roasting hot dogs and popcorn filled the air. That particular building was once an old warehouse, an immense space of joy spread far and wide! Crowds of people, some adults who were not skating, were laughing and having fun, their voices loud and clear seemed to fill the building up to its rafters.

All of my favorite music played: The Supremes, Four Tops, Marvin Gaye, The Miracles, and more. We 55

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could not play music aloud at home. I slept with my transistor radio turned down low, buried under my pillow every night and carried it with me, blasting, as I walked to and from school. The driving beats, tambourines, violins, hand clapping, and influences of African sounds made me want to dance! I was a lousy dancer.

From the beginning, I was a lousy skater. I hit the floor on my first attempt so hard that I bruised my left knee, elbow, and the left side of my face. The other skaters were swooping and sliding around me, some jumping over me. I was scared to death. A man snatched me up. I looked up into his handsome face, thankfully.

My heart was beating fast. He had lifted me off the floor, as if I were as light as a feather, a good feeling for a girl who usually felt big and awkward. I seemed to float up off the floor with his protective arms and we glided around the skating rink while he held me securely. He made me feel small, delicate, feminine and safe. It was exhilarating.

"Thank you," I said, trembling.

"My job," he answered. "I suggest you skate when they announce beginner skaters only, okay? I'd hate to see you hurt yourself. I will teach you how to skate."

He looked down at me, perhaps feeling he'd been a little forward and said, "Well, if it's okay with you."

He was soft-spoken and seemed shy.

"Thank you," I said again, still shaken up.

"It's a deal then." He seemed surprised.

He was so comfortable to be with, so polite with kind, with gentle eyes. I answered, "Yes, a deal."

We met again to skate; he introduced himself.

"Zachudra," he extended his hand. I shook it.

"Dani," I answered.

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He was twenty years old. He was huge, probably six feet five inches tall and very muscular. He wore tight pants and a ban-Ion sport shirt that had the logo of the skating rink on it. I wondered where he found such big clothing.

He was the first man to hold my hand gently, outside of the family. He had giant, tender and nice hands. I was nervous and embarrassed by my attraction to his hands; my hands were sweating. He didn't seem to notice.

When he placed his hands on my waist, I stiffened.

I still struggled with the idea that I was fat and didn’t like to be touched. I wondered what he thought. I was a tall, big-boned girl, five feet nine, wearing a size thirteen/fourteen sized dress, and I felt that I was appalling. I saw an amazon when I looked in the mirror. I had huge hazel eyes and long, slightly wavy hair, a color Mama called "Sandy headed." My complexion was extremely fair. I found my features precise, but washedout and plain. I wanted to be pretty, outstanding.

Zachudra taught me how to skate, he said, to save my life, with a chuckle and I laughed, too. He whistled all the time, a kind airy whistles, to the Motown tunes while we skated. I would bob my head and tap my foot, the best I could while wearing skates. I followed his directions easily and he was pleased. I could tell by his shy sheepish smile. One day he said I was a fast learner and decided I was ready for some fancy couples skating.

"Stand here, take my hands, like this." Heinstructed.

He crossed his arms in front of himself and reached out for my hands. We slid a few steps that away, and then slid a few steps the other way. We swayed back and forth holding each other all the way around the ring, coming to a quick stop - he taught me that too. I was giggling with delight when we stopped. I loved it. Zachudra wore his 57

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emotions in his eyes. He was watching my face intensely, tenderly, smiling with his eyes.

"That was so much fun." I grinned. I was giddy as a little girl.

He grinned back, gazing at me. I had become a great skater. I skated until the flying dust from the hardwood floors made a white film form on my hair, and stick to my skin. I wanted to tell Zachudra how much he meant to me, brought so much joy to my life, but somehow it did not feel like it was the most appropriate thing to say. I did not know much about spending time with a man who was kind to me. I did not know anything about attraction between a man and a woman. I just enjoyed having him as a friend. I spent my weekdays looking forward to Sunday!

To Whom It May Concern: I was always the one my stepmother singled out to go to the store when she needed something. Her timing usually stunk; she'd insist I go just after I’d finished putting my hair up in roller's, washed my hair or changed into ratty clothes to perform some messy chore around the house. I did remember Mama had always taught me to look my best in public and wearing hair rollers or frumpy clothes wasn’t it. I sought to hide in the shadows and did the best I could to stay out of her way, but that didn't help. She always found me saying she had to send me because I was the oldest. She'd say.

"Tie a scarf on your head, stop trying to be so cute and get to the store."

I always raced around hurriedly removing the rollers, or changed my clothes or find a hairdo that went 58

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well with wet hair before I'd leave the house, irritating her.

Being the oldest meant I was responsible for everything! If anyone shirked their dish duties, I had to wash them. On my week to clean our room, Tina inspected it, on her daughter's week she didn't come near the room, so her daughter took advantage of that. She would shove messes in the closet and under the beds for me to clean on my week. We had high pitched whispering arguments over it each time. Any broken vase, any clothes that fell from the clothesline into the dirt or even if the toilet overflowed, it was always my doing. I had to re-wash and re-hang the clothes, plunger the toilet and clean the floor, or pay for a broken vase out of my allowance. Daddy looked the other way.

I had to go to local Farmer Jack grocery store, one day. A male stranger, with no breathing room abruptness, suddenly stood next to me, too close, at the meat counter.

It’s startling me. I just ignored him, at first, wanting him to move away from me. He stood there with his eyes fastened on my face. I turned to give him a quick look, making sure I did not smile and moved away. He looked to be near my age. He followed me.

"Will you marry me?" He yelled.

I looked back at him as if he was crazy, and I walked faster.

"What's your name?" He asked.

I stumbled over my own feet, I was so nervous.

"You didn’t ask, but, Dane Ransom, nice to meet you." He said.

I paid for my groceries, gathered my bags, and left the store. I hoped he wouldn’t follow me outside. I rushed home, glancing over my shoulder.

When Daddy saw me flushed and flustered, he asked, "What's wrong?"

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"Nothing," I said and then I told him, "I think a boy followed me home."

I was tired of keeping secrets. Daddy stepped out onto the porch and looked around. Tina followed him. I heard her say, "She probably was prancing around the store acting cute, tossing her hair around."

Tina seemed annoyed. Daddy walked back into the house.

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Chapter Three

Sanga – The Chase – Gay and flirtatious first romance.

To Whom It May Concern: The next Sunday that I went skating; there were, as always, many kids, from several different schools, regulars at the skating rink, except one. I glanced over and saw the guy from the grocery store-and he was watching me!

"Who is that? He's staring at you." My little sister said. "You got a boyfriend?" She continued teasing.

It took several moments for me to gather my composure.

My little sister, five years old, was watching me and screeching by then, "Oooo, Dani got a boyfriend!"

She was singing it! Embarrassed, I shouted, "No, I don't. Shut up!"

I shoved her.

He was walking towards us! I knew he was not going to my High School. I noticed how nicely he was dressed. He seemed older. Perhaps he wasn’t in High School at all. As my eyes subconsciously glided down his 61

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body I noticed his feet; he was wearing pointed toe boots.

I hadn't ever seen a black man wearing cowboy boots before; strange. I looked back up into his face, "Hi," he said, smiling.

"Hi." I whispered, looking frantic.

He stared at me. My sister adjusted the angle of her head so she could see him better. I didn't say anything else. What did he want? I had the feeling that whatever it was, I wasn't ready. I didn't want to make any impact on the world, let alone anyone's life.

At home, I generally stayed to myself. I was of minimal importance to everyone, anyway, and felt comfortable in that safe role. I didn't want to stir things up around the house. I didn’t want to stir things up in the world. We smirked nervously at each other and I turned and walked away. I was silent, torn-apart. I hadn't intended to hurt his feelings. Giving him a quick backward glance, he looked upset. Later that night I actually considered giving up skating to avoid seeing Dane again, but I loved skating too much.

To Whom It May Concern: The next week was the first time I ever felt reluctant to go to the skating rink. At the concession stand, I stood gripping my little sisters’ hand, as I purchased her a soft drink, when suddenly I felt someone touch my arm. I turned quickly and Dane stood there smiling at me, "What are we going to do?" He sounds playful.

"About what?" I felt agitated.

"About us!"

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“There is no – US!” I snapped. “Anyway, I am not comfortable with someone like you."

"Someone like me, what am I like?

"I suppose – I don't know what I think. You, you seem too forward." I rambled.

I slowly walked away, dragging my little sister behind me as she struggled to stay close and inspect him and he followed.

"I see what I want," he said. “I go after it.”

I gave him a look of disgust.

“OK,” he said. “Let’s start over. I'm just glad to have had a chance to talk to you. You are so quiet. So pretty.”

“Thank you.” I responded.

“I don't know what to think of you,” he continued.

“I see those big gorgeous eyes of yours and my heart stops."

"OK!" For some strange reason I wanted to cry.

He held out his hand for me to shake.

"My name is Dani," I said, refusing to take his hand.

"Isn't... Danny a male name?" He asked cautiously.

"It's spelled D -A - N - I,” I responded.

“I guess not." He said.

My sister and I found a bench to sit on and he sat next to me. I noticed Zachudra watching us.

Dane continued, "You're a beautiful lady. How old are you?"

I blushed and muttered.

"Fifteen." I slid over closer to my sister.

"I'm sixteen, seventeen next month." He said.

"Nice!"

I wished he'd go away.

"I'd like to get to know you better. Would you like to skate?"

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The color drained from my face.

To Whom It May Concern: Time wears you down and Dane was persistent. If I wasn't skating, Dane would stop skating and lean over the roller rink railings, looking at me in the intense way he always does, to say, "Hi” My little sister would grin. Zachudra was skating with harboring with hurt eyes and a weak smile. I couldn’t help but notice.

I was concerned for Zachudra. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong. I was searching for logic, for a reason for him to look so sad. I had a feeling it was the attention Dane was giving me, but, I did not know how to deal with such situations. I’d hoped Zachudra would bring it up. Zachudra was my friend; he took care of me, like a big brother.

Dane was attractive in his own way, but not so very handsome, to me. He had the chiseled, strong features of an Indian like I'd seen in the movies, a mysterious boy. His big ears, and wide set dark brown, puppy dog, expressive eyes were adorable. He had smooth coppery brown skin, was about six feet three inches tall, and medium built. I saw the other girls watching him out of the corner of their eyes. He had a deep voice and was well spoken, a voice that charmed the females with whom he’d skate, watching me over their shoulders. He made the girls swoon.

Zachudra and I were working on my skating backwards. We were enjoying our time together, talking casually. Dane and I chatted occasionally, in passing, but that was the end of that, for now. I guess I had so many other things on my mind. Mama, particularly. I found 64

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that, now that I was getting older, whenever I was with my mother, I closed myself down emotionally, and didn't care, so we argued constantly.

Mama had married her fourth husband. He was an older man, a nice man, older than Daddy. He was financially secure. During my visits, Mama had grown bolder and perhaps nastier towards me. She started making derogatory remarks about Daddy, reminding me of what a terrible child I was, and denying the things she had done in the past. She and I disagreed and even quarreled loudly. Her new husband would try to talk to her, but this time Mama had a husband whom she could tell to shut up, or he talked too much, without getting a punched in the mouth. I told Daddy, I refuse to go over there anymore and much to my surprise, he said, "Okay."

When Mama threatened to take Daddy to court, Daddy got the newspaper clipping out of his strong box.

For some reason, that was the end of that.

To Whom It May Concern: My weekends were free for skating, now, and I was allowed to go without the others, because I had a curfew and bedtime later than theirs. It felt like freedom. It was a freedom hard to describe, although Daddy still dropped me off and picked me up. I wasn't babysitting them anymore. I began to skate Friday and Saturday nights alone, bringing them with on Sundays. For the most part, I had no one looking over my shoulders, no tattletales running home with the news. Yet, I have been so naive, and so unaware of the possibilities!

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Dane was still so perseverant, he kept dropping hints, about a relationship, during our chats. I finally accepted his offer to skate. Dane was charismatic and had a way of illuminating life with hilarious stories about the people that he knew. He used his extraordinary imagination to spin hilarious tales. He was also confident and very persuasive. I found him unusual and fun, he made me laugh. I was surprised at how much I was beginning to enjoy his company. I felt foolish for having avoided him for so long.

Zachudra was watching us, questioning me, often.

Now that we were discussing the subject, I found myself torn between my feelings for him and Dane. He interrupted our skating and took over, occasionally, as if we were on the dance floor. I felt uncomfortable, and Dane glared at him. I became aware of their competing against each other.

"I don't like him for you, Dani." Zachudra had said.

My voice turning dry and scratchy with stress, "Why?" I croaked.

"He's not good people. I want what's good for you, Dani."

Tears were in his eyes.

I spotted Dane following Zachudra outside on his "smoke" break one day. I peeked out and wondered what they were talking about. They were arguing! Shaken, I didn't know what to do. I felt the hair lift on the back of my neck. Zachudra slowly began to avoid me. I asked him regularly if I had done something wrong. He said of course not. Yet, I missed him. Every time he passed by, ignoring me, I was heartbroken. Zachudra didn't whistle anymore.

His joy was gone.

Within weeks, Zachudra quit his job. I was shocked and unnerved. His sudden departure left a void in my life, 66

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drawing me closer to Dane. We began to skate together, often. When I sat down, for a rest, he joined me, settling next to me, watching me, lovingly – never letting me out of his sight. He sometimes touched my hand and looked at me as if he couldn’t believe I was there, or might vanish before his eyes. I remembered asking Big Mama once, "What is love?"

Big Mama said, "It's a cravin' o f a kind that git a hol of you."

That sounded too complicated, even now at sixteen, I wasn't sure if I wanted to mess with that at all.

To Whom It May Concern: As time went by, I missed Zachudra terribly and Dane was my steady companion at the rink. I was quiet, aloof, and watchful, about everything in my life, anyway. I was more so when it came to the world of love and romance so I tried to dismiss the idea of it from my mind.

Male hormones had been mostly trouble for me! Big Mama's words had meaning to me, I wasn't so sure I wanted something that could "get a hold of” me.

There was a strange factor in the push I got from life to fall in love. No one ever taught me anything about it and most importantly, no one ever taught me how to protect myself. But everyone kept suggesting I needed a boyfriend. One day, Daddy called me to the living room, "Now that you are sixteen, boys can call the house," he said. "You can talk for only ten minutes, you aint going to be tying up my phone."

"Thank you, Daddy," was all I could think to say.

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knew to give my telephone number to - Dane. He called nearly every night; our conversations were awkward, the others would stand around grinning in my face. After they were scolded and went off to mind their own business our talks became more relaxed. So relaxed, I learned the hard way that Daddy meant ten minutes. He walked right up to me, one night, snatched the telephone out of my hand, and slammed the receiver down. My punishment was that I couldn't receive any calls for a week. I just read more, one of my favorite pastimes.

When school lets out for the summer, Dane started coming over to our house, even without an invitation from me. He’d just show up. The first time he arrived, Daddy yelled up the stairs at me, and I wasn't familiar with his tone of voice.

"Dani, Company," he seemed surprised.

"Company?" I questioned him.

"Get down here!"

I was shocked to see Dane standing on our front porch, sweat beads popped out all over my forehead.

Daddy hadn't given me permission to have boys over! I really was miserable with fear of what awaited me once Dane left. As I slid past Daddy to step outside, he gave me one of his, "you better behave" stares. I didn't know how to act. I decided we'd stay on the porch and perhaps Daddy wouldn't yell too loud after he leaves. At least, I kept him out of the house.

Dane was well dressed in a nylon shirt, dress slacks, and his favorite - pointed toe boots. The only things I could think to discuss, were books.

In the end, his visits were okay with Daddy. Several times a week we sat on the porch chatting about events, books, and each other. I was reading, "To Kill a Mockingbird," and to my delight, Dane was an avid reader, 68

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also. He was reading, "Stranger in a Strange Land," a science fiction novel. I still was confused by him and attracted to him. He had razor sharp intelligence, a certain warmth, and intensity. I slowly began to look forward to his visits. The boyfriend thing was coming to life in earnest.

To Whom It May Concern: Gradually and without design, we grew closer and closer, we had feelings for each other. In a slow unremitting way, I have turned toward a place I'd never been. I was falling into him. I was content, more than ever before. I was surprised. I had someone in my life that enjoyed spending time with me, paying attention to me and caring about me. We sat in quiet discussion one evening when Daddy rushed up on us and punched Dane in the side of his face. I jumped up screaming, hysterically.

Dane was sent rolled down the steps, landing in the front yard flat on his back.

Daddy was yelling at the top of his lungs, about our hips touching! OUR HIPS TOUCHING! I was mortified. Dane was very amiable as he scrambled up, brushing himself off, saying, "Sorry, sir, if I did anything to offend you."

Daddy continued to yell. Dane ended our conversation, quickly, he left.

I just knew he would never come back. I was crying. Daddy was yelling, "I won't allow you to set bad examples for the other girls in MY house!"

"What are you talking about?" I screamed.

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"It's indecent to have your hip all pressed up against that boy."

“We were just talking "I sobbed.

I was in such a state, I ran to my room, crying, slamming the door. Daddy followed and shoved it open so hard; it banged against the wall and he continues to yell, "You don't shut the bedroom doors in my house!"

I was fighting with Daddy! I couldn't believe it. My thoughts had their own mind. I was amazed at my own passion. We yelled at each other for quite some time. I didn't know where it was coming from. I was furious. My heart, torn in two different directions, was in pain. I finally took a deep breath. My voice became small and fear started to develop, I wiped away my tears. I didn't want Daddy to ban Dane from our house. Daddy didn't say anything to me for days, but he eventually allowed Dane to come back to see me and from that day forward, we sat on opposite ends of the steps.

To Whom It May Concern: The next time I saw Dane we sat in nurtured silence. I wanted to speak up; say how I really felt about what Daddy had done, but it's difficult when others control your world. I had to abide by Daddy’s rules and live with Daddy’s ways. It seemed forever before Dane pierced the silence between us, asking, "Dani, may I take you out, on a date? Uh, with your father's permission, of course."

A date! My palms were sweating, parts of my soul floated off, nervous, I hadn’t ever gone on a date! I said, "I’ll ask Daddy!"

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When the day came I was excited, and very intense, about my first date. I wanted to look perfect, be perfect. I floated between confidence and fear. We rode the bus to the theater district. It was Downtown. I hadn’t ever seen Downtown after dark. I peered out of the windows at the city looming so giant and brightly-lit. It was thrilling. The flashing lights consecutively lit up the night!

In the darkness, of the movie theater, we moved down the aisle quietly and edged into two end seats. Dane puts his arm around my shoulders. His eyes shone in the darkness. There was a deep connection and feeling between us. It astounded me. He leaned over and gave me a gentle kiss. Our first kiss. Above his lip, a mustache was forming. I could taste the sweet flavor of the Coke he was drinking. He presented me with a box of Good and Plenty candies. I popped one in my mouth.

"Sweet," he whispered in my ear, "Just like you."

I couldn't concentrate on anything other than being there, with him, on a real date. Smelling his cologne, feeling the strong muscles in his arm, I barely knew what was happening on the big screen.

We were there to see, "To Sir with Love." And then, I spotted Sidney Poitier, I was riveted to the screen, there stood, to me, the most elegant and beautifully refined man I’d never seen, and he was black! I became so absorbed in the film, the words, and the scenery that I rode a roller coaster of emotions. I cried and shivered with emotions, profoundly so, at the end. Dane hugged me tight, smiling. He seems astounded by my extreme reaction. I guess I felt worldly, having visited the elements of a foreign country on the big screen, experienced my first date, and I was feeling fantastic about my own regal man, Dane Ransom, sitting by my side.

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Dane walked me to my front door. I noticed Daddy quickly peeking out of the curtains. I had made it home by curfew so I was not worried. After the curtains closed, Dane reached out for me and hugged me tightly. I almost burst into tears again, because no one had ever hugged me. I nearly melted in the heat radiating off his body. I languished in the pleasure of it. He slowly backed away from me thanking me for the date, and sprinted off the front porch. He was running down the street, leaping in the air, it looked like a slow graceful dance. I stood on the porch and watched him until he disappeared into the shadows of the night. I was grateful to him. Grateful to him for dating me, for visiting me and paying attention to me. It seemed, other than Big Mama, no one else had ever cared so deeply about me. We went to the movies every Friday night.

To Whom It May Concern: The girls in the High School locker room chattered noisily, mostly about boys. It was hard for me to join in on their conversations. Many things they talked about were unfamiliar to me. A black cloud, brought on by the graphic descriptions one girl gave of her having sex, was hard to shake! She said she loved it, her description sounded brutal to me. If that was sex, I didn't want to participate. I would blush, one minute, and the color would drain from my face the next. I kept myself busy in my locker so they couldn't see.

I didn’t have a best friend. Most students were cordial, though. Some boys would stare. I still heard an occasional, "RedBone" or "Hi-Yella," from them, but now it was said in a seductive manner as if it were a special thing.

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A few girls of my own race still rolled their eyes. I’d never attended games, dances or joined any extra-curricular activities. Daddy and Tina weren’t allowing me the luxury of any of that. Tina had learned to drive and drove me to school and picked me up. I really did envy those that did fit in and I wanted to, badly. I daydreamed about having a best friend, being a cheerleader at a Football or Basketball game or perhaps becoming Class President. Anything that would make me feel like a normal high school student, a viable person. It just wasn't going to happen.

At times, all the suffering in my life came out so black with misery that the world seemed like midnight, but when I’d see Dane, day light came back so bright that I trembled with excitement. A night that can roll over into the daylight, due to someone else's presence, had to come from inside – I clung to it. Is that LOVE? I still didn’t know.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane was the first person whom actually seemed interested in having serious conversations with me. My opinion mattered to him, and the more he shared his life with me, the more my heart opened up to him. His mother died weeks after giving birth to him. I could hear the pain in his voice. Suddenly, the matter of my life with my mother (a sort of abandonment) felt like a shared experience. The pain coming from him, was my pain. Life was not easy for him growing up, either. He'd never met his father. He spent most of his life bouncing from one relative’s house to another. I knew that feeling too well, bouncing from Mama’s house to Daddy’s and back. My own voice cracked, with sorrow, when I tried to provide words of comfort. As I watched him, stretched out across 73

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our lawn daydreaming, a tear ran down my cheek. He said he never had a birthday party, "I want a cake with white icing, trimmed in blue, but chocolate inside." He paused.

"Maybe balloons, presents and a big banner saying Happy Birthday Dane."

He feels as unloved as I did, and had a life I was familiar with. I wanted to make it better. Dane was encompassing my whole life. I was feeling something very new, very deep. To make an impact on someone else's heart was a little frightening, for someone to make an impact on mine was terrifying.

One particular day, I had a horrifying experience, Daddy stopped me on my flight to my room and asked, "You two don't fool around, do you?"

He was giving me that stare he gives when he thinks you may have done something wrong. I knew what he meant. Of course not! I was too shaken at the moment to care. Anyway, what WAS his idea of fooling around? Holding hands or hips touching was obscene to Daddy. I wasn’t totally certain.

"No Sir." Daddy continued to watch me.

"May, I go now?"

"Yes, but remember what I told you."

He hadn’t told me anything.

"Yes, sir." I said.

I stood there, a moment, with a skinned knee and elbow that Daddy hadn’t noticed. Was the man, I didn't tell Daddy about, who’d grabbed and dragged me into an alley two hours ago fooling around? I didn’t know people did that sort of thing. Was I doing something wrong?

I’d simply walked to the Library. A man driving by saw the attack, parked and ran into the alley and punched him, 74

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saving me. I ran like I’d never run before. Life was exhausting. I threw myself across my bed and cried.

To Whom It May Concern: One Sunday at the skating rink, I was excited and surprised to run into a male cousin whom I hadn't seen for years. He was one of Mama’s brother’s son. He was leaving just as my sister and I were coming in, but he turned around, re-entered and asked me to skate. I rushed into it, joyfully. We laughed and talked about family and eventually he left.

I didn’t realize that Dane walked in as our skating was ending, hid in the shadows, and watched. After my cousin left, Dane suddenly appeared, grabbing my arm, hurting me. He ranted and raved vehemently, almost bringing himself to tears. He told me I was to skate with him, only! I had never seen him like that. I was so astonished I trembled. When the trembling ceased, my feelings calmed, I tried to rationalize his actions. Perhaps I should be feeling more flattered than frightened. It was extraordinary to have someone care for me so intensely.

He was jealous!

Whether there was anything wrong with his furious reaction, I wasn't sure. He hadn't known it was my cousin and I finally told him. I finally saw it as a little thing, something to forget. Dane meant too much to me to question little things. Having Dane in my life took me away from painful circumstances in so many ways. I had suffered loneliness all my life. I wasn’t giving him up. I felt complete with him. His voice was so deep and intimate on the telephone at night that it made me feel desirable.

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enough to have him standing next to me. His hands, so warm and comfortable, as he held mine made me feet treasured.

We loved to walk. We would walk in different directions, from my house, to explore other neighborhoods. Those were the times we could be alone without anyone looking over our shoulders, and talk without anyone trying to listen. Dane had firm, strong, masculine hands. As our fingers slid apart because we were heading home, approaching my house, I could feel his reluctance. Daddy considered young people holding hands, in public, indecent. He would have a fit if he knew.

Dane was my first thought when I awoke in the morning, most of my thoughts throughout the day and the last thought before I went to bed at night. I was in love.

The feelings inside me were overwhelming. We would meet across the street in the schoolyard of Tappan Middle School, just to hold hands for a few minutes and he would slowly kiss my lips. Whenever he came to see me, I swear I could be anywhere in the house and recognize the sound of his long masculine stride, outdoors, gravel on the sidewalk giving away under his feet. I could hear the thump of his feet as he climbed the front steps two at a time. I would listen to the swish, swish sounds as he swipes his boots on the doormat to prevent tracking debris onto Tina's living room carpeting.

For the first time in my life, I had someone who was committed to me and my happiness. In my mind, I had someone who would never leave me, who would never break my heart and who would never hurt me. I was no longer alone in the world and would do anything for him. My whole world had narrowed down to this one person - Dane Ransom.

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To Whom It May Concern: I became temporarily distracted from my love life nearing the end of July, nineteen sixty seven; the Detroit riots broke out. There was lots of screaming people running in every direction. Fires were burning in the city.

Standing on our porch, I could see the red glow of fire in the horizon. I was crying, frightened for them. I was crying, feeling terrified for my family.

It was a horrifying time for everyone in Detroit. On television, people were shoving, pushing, shouting, fighting, throwing rocks, and starting fires. The shopping center on the block behind our house was plagued by vandals who were looting. Crowds lifted the bars in front of the stores and broke every window. There was vandalism, violence, and panic everywhere. Curfews came into play. We saw people running past our house carrying television sets, clothing, and anything they could get their hands on. We were so used to traveling out of our back gate to that shopping plaza, had become friendly with store owners and cashiers, that it was devastating to witness what was happening to their businesses and workplaces.

The National Guard and 82nd airborne were called, many believed that the violence escalated with the deployment of the troops. I hadn't ever seen anything like it. Just like scenes from a movie, huge army tanks rolled into view as I peered out the window, rumbling past our house, pushing their way through the violence. A uniformed soldier’s hand held a gun guarding fire trucks putting out a fire across the street. The uniformed soldiers, with artillery, had intense looks on their faces. A tense quiet filled the air of our house, and I sighed with 77

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regret for what was going on beyond our door. The noise, at night, kept us awake.

Daddy ate slowly, with a worried face, he insisted that we all sleep on the floor. It was in the news that a sniper was on the roof of Tappan Middle School, right across the street from us! So therefore, there was a huge presence of the National Guard in our neighborhood, because of it.

Often, I crawled over to a window and peeked out. I never saw anyone on the roof. The news reported that crowds were overturning police cars and setting them on fire. It indicated some white police officers caught up in the confusion were pulling guns on black police officers, assuming all black people were involved. Officers didn't bother to go into certain areas of town, they just let the Armageddon burn itself out. Some telephone lines were down, power out and streets dark. It was chaos.

There was a knock at our door late one night. We all cowered. Daddy became enraged discovering Dane had run through the streets, in the dark, ducking and hiding from the violence and danger, to come see if I was all right! I couldn't believe he would do such a thing. That was the night I knew he loved me!

"Are you all right? I couldn't sleep, Dani, I had to know! I heard there is a sniper on the roof across the street."

I was so afraid for him. I nodded and burst into tears. Although, unsaid, it felt wonderful to have someone to love who loved me back. I prayed to God that he would get home safe!

Daddy yelled, "Boy, get home before you get yourself killed."

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Dane worked a full-time job in a factory making army equipment on the evening shift – he had graduated High School, just before the riots broke out. He called me on breaks, during lunch and anytime he could sneak off to a telephone.

I was well into my senior year. We still went to the movies every weekend. Even with all the people surrounding us, for me the theater was our private place.

It was easy for Dane to entice me to sit in the dark back corners of the room. It was something, the way he made me forget myself, during our searching kisses. My time with him was the most important thing in my life!

I allowed him to do forbidden things. He caressed my breast through my clothing, slid his hand under my blouse to explore further. The secrecy progressed to him sliding his hand underneath the hem of my dress, stroking my knees. His touch caused a tingle to vibrate through my body so strong; he had to have felt it coming from my insides, from my soul and out because I loved him so much. Entranced by his touch, I still wanted to guide his hand away.

Then, one evening, in our own corner, he slowly slid his hand up my thigh. I froze, overwhelmed with the desire to shove him away from me. But, I loved him. I stiffened as he snaked a finger under the elastic of the leg of my panties. I began to cry and memories came rushing back!

"I have to go to the bathroom," I insisted, snatching his hand from between my legs.

I bolted from my seat and ran to the ladies room. I didn't feel comfortable with him touching me like that.

Was I wrong? Was it my fault for letting him go as far as he had gone? I was tormented by the things he wanted me to 79

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do and our connection and feelings of love. I didn't want to upset him. I went back to our seats, shoving and pushing his hand away.

We had dated so Jong; Daddy began to relax, began to trust me enough to let me have a key to the house, to let myself in after our dates. Daddy's trust meant a lot to me. He even allowed us to spend time sitting in the living room, after each date, knowing everyone in the house was upstairs in bed for the night. I enjoyed cuddling, talking softly, on our couch, but Dane tenaciously begged me to let him see my breast.

Nevertheless, I had refused him for so long, and as persuasive as Dane was I finally allowed him to unbutton my blouse and unhook my bra. With a quick movement of his fingers, behind my back, my bra sprung open, and my breast bounced out. I watched his face as he stared at them in awe. He looked ecstatic, but I quickly covered them up, feeling self-conscience.

His exploring my body became a regular part of our time together, and I began to hate it. I wanted to spend time together as we use to, just being together. I felt sad as I had to fight so hard to protect myself, it was disheartening that he continually tried to go too far. I never thought I would have to struggle with him. The girls in the locker room said, boys had a constant “need,� it was a term of endearment to them. I sighed.

To Whom It May Concern: I began working three hours a day, four days a week after school, as a participant in a program called In School Youth Work Study for children in low-income families. My job title was a File Clerk at a major insurance 80

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company. It was liberating to earn my own money. I was also a member of Junior Achievement, meeting at our church, on Fridays after school. For the first time in my life I felt as if I were a part of something and had a room full of friends. We had so much fun. We were taught how to run a business. We invented a can opener. Rubber serrated edges were glued to one side of a wooden paddle on which we decorated the other side. We were to learn every aspect of production, marketing, sales, bookkeeping, etc. I loved it. My team had the highest sales.

Dane was proud of me and said we should celebrate.

"Want to go to a house party at my friends’ house?" He asked.

"Of course," I said.

I'd never attended a party before. At these parties, he said the parents were never home, the girl who threw these parties had parents who worked nights. I thought seriously about that, for a moment, basically because I couldn’t ever see that happening in Daddy’s house. Daddy didn't ask and I didn’t tell!

The night of the party, I wanted to look special and impress his friends. I applied mascara, a dusting of blush, lip-gloss, a trace of eye shadow and perfume. I was not an expert at brushing my hair up into a pile of curls on top of my head, but I did my best. I twisted ringlets close to each ear that played with my earrings whenever I moved my head. I placed ringlets at the nape of my neck, leaving them to bounce down my back.

I wore a black and white Polka dot A-line dress that zipped up the back with a scoop neckline, no sleeves, and length just above my knees. I added white tights, black baby doll shoes, and large white hoop earrings, with many, many black and white bangle bracelets on each wrist. I 81

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gave a shy smile and blushed when Dane arrived. All Dane could do was stare at me. He was wearing black and white, also, we had agreed to match.

"Look at you!" He was grinning from ear to ear.

"You look beautiful!"

"You're quite handsome yourself." I responded.

I curtsied. I felt proud to be by his side, he looked so good.

We walked to the bus. When we arrived, we walked up a circular driveway that led to the most amazing house.

Dane rang the-doorbell. An older man, older than I expected, probably in his late twenties, answered the door; he was boldly checking me out, his expression intense. I cringed. I had a bad feeling. Secretly, I wanted to turn around and go home. I felt a dread low in the center of my being. The party was in the basement, but the music had floated upstairs to fill the entire house to its core. The house filled to its rafters allowed the music to drift, blasting in our face when the front door opened.

Gladys Knight and the Pips, "Midnight Train to Georgia" was playing.

To Whom It May Concern: I held Dane's arm tightly; as we strolled down the stairs to the basement, I could feel the pleasure he took in my dependency, "Why are you trembling," he asked.

"No reason." I said. I really hated basements.

"These are my friends, our friends, relax."

It was a huge; barely lit finished basement. I think they were using blue lights. Music blasted, people were dancing. The floor and walls were vibrating. Food and liquor were everywhere. Everyone stopped what he or 82

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she was doing to greet Dane excitedly and stare at me as he did the introductions. They had that familiar, stop in their tracks, is she black or white, slight jaw-dropping stare. Obviously, nothing distant or civil about it. More than once they glanced back at me, to help make their decision.

It troubled me. It was so dark in that basement; it took a while for me to focus. As things came into focus I scoured the room, from the ceilings to the floor. As my vision slid over to a far corner of the room, I gasped. A naked girl, lying on a couch, was having sex. I jolted my sight away from them, examining the faces of others in the room. Everyone continued to dance, chat and drink as if nothing was happening while I sat there with the look of total shock on my face. I wanted to say, “Did you see that?” I was speechless. Embarrassed, I still felt drawn to peek back over to that corner. She’d thrown her head back in ecstasy!

My cheeks burned, hot tears sprung into my eyes, I wanted to go home. I began to search the room for Dane, discovering most of the people seated were kissing and fondling each other. It was an assault to my sensibilities.

Dane snuck up behind me and snatched me to the middle of the floor to dance. I felt weak and hot tears rolled down my cheeks. Suddenly, my world had become so brazenly sexual. So many things were happening that I just couldn’t grasp. Was this a house party? Why would Dane bring me to a place like this?

Many people were watching us dance. I didn't want to indicate anything to them that showed I was uncomfortable. Several dances later, it felt like hours, Dane was thirsty and he made the motion of drinking and pointed towards a room at the back of the basement. I was struggling with how to tell him I wanted to leave, but 83

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was obedient. I found the room and opened the door. It was almost as dark as the rest of the basement and the man who’d opened the front door stood behind a bar giving drinks to a couple who gathered their drinks and exited. I had to lean close because the music was so loud.

I said hello and asked for two Cokes.

“Cokes?” He seemed surprised.

He sat two cans on the counter. As I reached for them, he grabbed one of my hands tenderly. I glanced up at him as he let my hand slide slowly out of his, giving me a tickle with one of his fingers in the center of my palm.

Immediately, I bolted out of that room without the Cokes.

I pushed my way out of that room so fast the door slammed against the wall. I bumped right into Dane, who’d walked over to see what was taking me so long. I became hysterical, crying, clinging to him, trembling, and hanging on tight. I screamed to the top of my lungs, "I want to go home!”

He seemed upset with me.

To Whom It May Concern: I was so upset with Dane that we never discussed that party again. We went back to our old routine, doing the things we felt comfortable with, but there was a growing conflict. The things I witnessed at that party continued to plague me. Dane, being youthfully horny, advancing our relationship sexually continued to plague him. Dating him had turned into a wrestling match.

I hated spending so much of our time together fighting for my own personal boundaries. Our warm kisses now led to Dane easing me back onto the couch and climbing on top of me, grinding the rock hard, stiffness in 84

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his pants against one of my thighs. He begged me to open my legs, and I always refused, struggling to push him off.

"Stop it!' I whispered, begging for understanding!

"Come on Dani, please! I love you."

He was clawing my skirt up and I was yanking it down.

I lay there afraid of losing him, afraid of making Daddy unhappy. Daddy was upstairs. It was terrifying for me to think Daddy might get up, come downstairs, and catch us!

Dane would get angry, and sometimes he would leave. I could tell he was frustrated and getting increasingly impatient.

One night, after refusing to open my legs, he tried to force them open, fear started to develop in me, he said, "Dani please! I’ll pull out! You won’t get pregnant.

You love me don't you?!"

He used that like a knife. It cuts right through me to think he felt I didn't love him. Pull it out! I didn’t want it in. I wasn't ready for that! Tears welled up in my eyes and began to fall.

"What's wrong," he asked, sounding defeated and exasperated.

I just cried and he left, angry, again. I always missed him the minute the door closed. I did have this passion for him, so strong it hurt. He felt just right. He smelled just right. His hands fit my hands just right. Life was pushing me to do what he wanted and, I thought about Daddy, I didn't want to disappoint him. I had spent half the night fighting for my virginity; I looked at the stairs; the family, upstairs, safe in their beds. I wondered if they had to fight for anything. I slowly climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Once settled in bed, I felt sobs starting low in the center of my being. I had a habit of putting my hand to my chest as if that could stop the feelings.

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The sobs came anyway because I loved Dane and life was becoming so complicated!

To Whom It May Concern: Nearing my eighteenth birthday on a date with Dane, somewhere between the movie theater and arriving home Dane whispered several times that he knew of a way I could please him. It made me leery of our upcoming deep kisses while sitting in my living room, so I begged him to tell me before we arrived. Dane said it was without sexual intercourse. The words sexual intercourse caused me to look down at my lap, feeling embarrassed. My head starts to hurt. My thoughts alternated from a slow soul wrenching dread to hoping we could finally overcome our problem. I wanted to keep Dane happy.

My mouth was dry, as I sat on the couch. Dane by my side, leaned back against the couch, unzipping his bulging pants. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my arms. Repulsed, I turned away. Dane took my hand. I snatched it back. He reached for it again, and kissed my palm. In a raspy voice, he gasped out instructions. Dane pulled my hand towards his lap. I resisted, until he successfully forced me to do what he wanted. My skin crawled. He thrashed about in ecstasy. I didn’t like what I was touching and began to ease my hand away. Dane became dangerously close to screaming, "Don't stop, baby pleeeease!"

My heart leapt up into my throat! He might wake up Daddy!

Desperate to keep him quiet I continued. When he became satisfied my eyes were big as saucers. I wrenched my hand from his grasp and ran to the downstairs 86

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bathroom to scrub with soap and water. I vomited! When I returned, he’d laid back, spent and had left himself unzipped. I ran back to the bathroom and vomited again!

When Dane left, I started up the stairs, softly, and as I passed everyone's room, I found them all quietly sleeping.

I still felt like I'd disappointed them all. However, I held back the source of the cry I wanted to have, deep in silence, until I slipped under the comforters on my bed. I cried small, quiet cries that never woke my stepsister, or anyone else in the house. I unenthusiastically kept Dane happy, doing that manipulation after every date, fearfully listening for any sound from my family upstairs, terrified of getting caught by Daddy and fighting back the urge to vomit again.

To Whom It May Concern: I was graduating from High School soon. Daddy was extremely proud of me. He said that with my diploma, ability to type and take shorthand, I'd make a good living.

In contrast, I wanted to go to college. I was very excited.

Daddy knew I had been awarded a scholarship to the University of Detroit, as part of a program entitled Project One Hundred. He chose to ignore it. I felt it was my chance to fulfill my dream of becoming a teacher.

I, chosen among many high school graduates from inner city schools, with academic potential; was honored. I had excellent grades, and Daddy failed to understand why I would want to get any more education. He saw it as a waste of time, "What do you hope for?" He said.

I couldn't believe he asked that question.

"A career, Daddy. I want to be a teacher."

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"You're already a smart girl and can be a secretary, Dani."

My face was hot. I feared he would forbid me to go.

Starting the first Monday morning after graduation. I was to attend a six-week summer session, a requirement of the program, and Daddy didn't like the idea. He wanted me to get a job. I would attend classes four days a week in the fall.

It was hurtful that Daddy showed neither pride nor approval of my academic achievements. It was even more painful that Dane was upset. He said he was fighting for what I had promised him. I didn't understand. In spite of how I felt, I hadn’t ever told him I loved him. I didn’t know how.

"You are going to meet somebody on campus and forget about me." He said.

"I don't want anyone else."

I tried to reassure him. He looked doubtful.

"I refuse to let you make a fool of me, Dani, I just as well walk away now."

My lips trembled, "Why? I wouldn't do that to you, I'd be proud of you!"

"You just won't listen, Dani. I’m nothing but a factory worker.

“So!” I took him in my arms with a big hug and laid my head on his chest.

"I just want to go to school, can't you understand that?"

He said, "No, you choose me or school."

There was a long silence and he peeled my arms from around him and walked away.

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To Whom It May Concern: I didn't hear from him for days. I just couldn't understand, why he had stood there hanging his head, looking injured, as I tried to explain things to him. I felt my throat constricting, remembering him looking like that.

Memories of him walking away from me had burned into my psyche, kept running through my mind. I couldn’t think of anything else. It caused me to lose sleep. I was unable to concentrate and discovered that I didn't want to get up in the mornings to face my lonely world.

Every minute I loved Dane, written on my heart, was brought up in the painful memories of the things we shared. I was so tired, hurt, and devastated! I hoped my wanderer would find his way back to me. I just lay, day dreaming, hating the lack of fond emotions in my life, missing every angle of his familiar face. I cried, my life felt so empty.

My graduation was held in the High School gymnasium, but emotionally I was not there. It should have been one of the happiest days of my life, but heartbroken I searched the crowds eagerly for Dane's face.

Everyone was buzzing around me, taking pictures and I had a solemn look on my face. Daddy wasn't happy with me, "You still worried about that boy. Tina and I have planned a nice day for you and this is all the thanks we get, that look on your face?"

They had tried. The house, decorated with balloons that matched my school colors - Royal Blue, and Gray, looked festive. I had cake and wrapped gifts on the dining room table waiting for me.

Still, I wanted Dane!

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"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"I don’t want to hear, sorry, you straighten up and show me a smile.”

I did. I forced a smile. I convinced myself Dane was just late. Or, he would show up at the house and apologize. I was still trying to rationalize our break-up mentally, replaying every word we’d said, so hard, that I barely heard anything said during the commencement exercises and ceremony.

I looked around the room at all of the graduates, so full of joy. Some had shunned me, some had been friendly and I wished I could feel their joy. Dane was off somewhere, unaware of the impact he had made on my life. After the ceremony, I received hugs and congratulations from my family, trying to regard them pleasantly without showing the strong emotion I really felt. I kept thinking Dane would step through the door any minute, proud of me! He never showed up.

To Whom It May Concern: During the first couple of weeks, of the summer session, at University of Detroit, I was nervous, overwhelmed and found it hard to concentrate.

Nevertheless, I knew I was where l belonged. I loved the campus, the teacher's, and the students. Everyone was grown up, accepting of one another. Being a part of this academic process started to make me feel good about myself, and it was a wonderful distraction from my breakup with Dane. My favorite thing was to sit on the lawn, leaned against a shady tree, feeling the breezes while studying. I sat and watched the students walking across the lawn, chatting with excitement, nodding their hello 90

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but not bothered by my simple, ordinary presence.

Everyone seemed to have a goal, a purpose in their life, and I was one of them!

I had a new friend, Reille. The first day I met her, she was walking across the lawn and instead of the usual friendly nod she approached me. “That looks comfortable.” She chattered on as she sat next to me.

Taken aback, at first I was stunned. Her manner was so carefree, I just went with the flow. With lots of animation and joy, she could speak to anyone, creating pleasurable conversation anywhere. Why stop and talk to me? I listened as she rattled on. I loved it. I laughed. From then on, I laughed every moment I spent with her. She was always reading romance novels, while I immersed myself in textbooks. I simply smiled through her protests, "Textbooks! Read something more interesting" I didn’t know how she thought she was going to pass her classes with her head buried in that stuff. Reille was petite, four feet eleven and wore a size two! I hadn't ever heard of such a size. She said she was born in France.

Her father, a redheaded French man and mother, an African American were married in the USA, but returned to France for her birth. I found myself staring at her at times. She looked like a tiny doll. Her ancestors were also a product of a slaver mixed with enslaved African black, but her hair was red, wavy, silky, and lovely and her complexion a little darker than mine. I hadn't ever seen a naturally red headed black girl before.

Reille lived in the dormitory; I was still living at home, catching the bus to and from campus. I went back to the insurance company, where I’d worked after school, and they hired me part time. My weekends were so empty. I bought myself a new pair of roller skates and went back to the old roller-skating rink. I asked around 91

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about Zachudra. Most people had no idea of whom I was talking about. Finally, the concessionaire, who had been there since my early days of skating, knew something. I waited patiently for him to finish serving his customers, hopeful, perhaps I would get to see my old friend again.

"The cops killed Zachudra," he said, wiping the counter nonchalantly.

I stared in disbelief. He said while he was attempting to pull off an armed robbery, the police shot Zachudra dead. I couldn't believe it! My mind raced through my memories of him and I couldn’t believe he would do such a thing. Too stricken to weep, I left, walking, numb. I needed the time to think. I never had a chance to tell him how much I cared. Zachudra was dead!

The tears fell.

To Whom It May Concern: I don't know what prompted Reille to start talking about her childhood. Hearing about France was fascinating. Then, Reille said that in Paris when she was young, her father took her to a male prostitute! I was shocked! He took her brother to a female prostitute when he turned thirteen. He took her brother to a female prostitute when he was young. She told me her brother, repulsed by it, refused the services, but she loved it! She then looked for as much sex as possible. My jaw dropped as she told me her father called her, “his little whore.� The family moved to the United States to learn the customs of her mother's people and hopefully calm her adventures down. She was laughing hysterically.

I had blushed until my face was on fire. Suddenly, Reille realized her story was shocking to me. In my world, 92

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Daddies didn't do things that were so disgusting. I couldn't comprehend the mechanics of it and wasn't sure of what my own response should be.

“I'm sorry." Reille, murmured and her face paled.

She tried to hide her face in her hands and then buried her face in a pillow. When she looked up, her eyes were watery, she moved close to me, she took my hands in hers, and in a slow gesture of warming them, she massaged them looking concerned.

“You’ll stay my friend, won’t you?”

Her hands were small, with long delicate fingers.

My heart was thumping furiously.

“Of course I will.”

She began to talk very softly, "Want to go get something to eat?"

We never discussed her life as, "his little whore," again. As shocked as I was, to hear her story, she seemed to be worldlier to me. I was crazy about my new friend, perhaps because we were so different. I was relieved and happy to know she understood our differences. I made a pledge to myself, to accept that we had different upbringings. I would not argue the fact, quite different upbringings, however, we remained close friends. She with her sauntering walk that made her hips swing and I trudged alongside her, clumsily. Not even in High School had I had such a wonderful close girlfriend.

Reille was fastidious; she lived on cottage cheese and fruit, water, and cheese pizza. She grew up attending Catholic school. Her parents had money and Reille and her younger brother, were their only children. She had a bank account to withdraw money at will. She had long, heartwarming conversations with her parents over the telephone, often, and I envied that. Her life seemed so balanced and cohesive. She seemed so happy and self93

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confident. The project One Hundred summer session ended and I worked full time, waiting for the fall semester to begin.

I also read as many books as I could, “Their Eyes were watching God," "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/when the rainbow is enuf," and "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings," for a few. I whiled away time, many afternoons, wrapped up in movies and dropped by to see Reille, occasionally, until she went home until fall classes began. When Reille left, my life seemed very empty. She was gone. Dane was gone.

Zachudra was gone.

To Whom It May Concern: I decided I’d marry an old man with one leg and bad breath, if he came along, just to alleviate my loneliness and get out of Daddy's house. College life had caused me to become tired of his strict rules and ways. I also hated the lack of privacy there. Oh well, I’ll get out someday.

Fall classes started and I was delighted.

Reille had thoroughly enjoyed her trip back home. I envied her enthusiastic renditions of her adventures. She talked of exclusive restaurants, beach parties, travels to exotic places, and glamorous hotels. Her face sparkled with happiness. I fantasized about being there, myself. We fell back into the swing of things, classes, studying and campus lunches.

Every once and a while Reille and I skipped class, I always felt guilty, but I wanted to be a part of her world.

We ate cheese pizza, watched foreign films, or just chatted in her room. She had enlisted the both of us into a 94

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network of students whom alternated skipping classes.

Those attending took notes, allowing those who didn't, to copy the notes. I went along with the program, apprehensively and our grades were suffering.

I loved exploring Reille's mind. For someone who devoured endless romance novels, Reille didn't believe in fantasy. She said it was a waste of time. Life for her was simple and raw.

The life she said, the road on which we traveled, our destinies already set, was easy, "Why worry about anything, Dani, what's going to happen is out of our control."

She also felt that life was a measured destiny. It's predestined when we are born and when we will die. She believed in reincarnation. She said we live many lives. I was fascinated. I wondered if her ideas were a defection from her religion, or the truth. I really was intrigued and wished I hadn't spent so much time in church yawning into my gloves. I had no basis for an argument or an opinion.

Surprisingly, Reille and I did have things in common; we noticed some of the same things that had the same meaning to each of us. There were causes on campus that drew both of our attention. There was breaking news on television, to which we both responded with a gasp. Even a guy or two, passing by caused us both to turn, look, and then smile at each other. Sometimes, there was a quick glance between us, over something we heard. We both knew what our glance meant. We talked about things, sometimes we did not, but as connected as we were, there was still that part of her, which made her Reille that had to step out of the box. I grew used to it.

One day, on campus, I rested against a tree with my eyes closed. I felt a presence. I thought Reille had come out to join me. I opened my eyes to see, Dane as he 95

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stands in front of me. I was startled. Loneliness had bothered me, I had stored up a lot of sorrow for myself and the sight of him made me angry. I was experiencing emotions I neither understood nor could explain, perhaps an animal instinct of caution. I felt apprehensive. It seemed that even the birds ceased to sing. Surprisingly, he gave me no immediate relief, I had no idea why he was there, and that was all I could think. I just stared at him, confused.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane broke the silence.

"Let's leave town," he said.

"Leave town? You’re not funny."

Flabbergasted, I didn’t smile. That was the last thing I expected him to say, but he had successfully distracted me. That was typical of Dane, smooth as silk.

"How about a hamburger?" He asked.

I was hungry, "Okay, I guess so." I answered hesitantly.

I was still gazing at him, he looked wonderful. My heart was starting to melt. He reached out and took my hand, spreading such a comfortable warmth. I followed with quick, long, dancing steps trying to keep up with his long legged gait. We walked to a crowded little restaurant down the street. It was full of people eating, arguing, and reading to each other out loud creating a steady buzz.

Disoriented, with his appearing so suddenly, I barely spoke a word. I could hardly hear him over the rumble of voices.

“I’ve missed you,” I was shocked to see tears well up in his eyes.

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I refused to cry. He told me he had bought a car, a nineteen sixty three Blue Riviera. It sat parked across the street from campus. He still had the same job and asked how I was doing. I still found it hard to talk, I had considered, I would never see him again. Sitting there, he stunned me. He sat watching me, munching his burger.

"Dani, remember what I said the first time I saw you?"

I answered, quickly.

"Will you marry me?" He said, "Will you?"

Tears suddenly sprung up in my eyes. Why was I drawn back in so quickly?

"Dani," he said. 'I’m serious."

I was overwhelmed. My loneliness dissolved. I broke down and cried. Somewhere between the apologies, hugs, and kisses he presented me with a gold wedding band, no engagement ring, and I said, "YES!” Loud enough to float over the noise of the crowd.

Several heads turned to stare at us. I was flattered.

I was excited. I was thrilled! Perhaps, I was stupid. He put the gold band on my finger and when I got home, I held out my hand and told the family my good news! Daddy turned gray! Another of his superstitions reared its ugly head. He yelled at me to get that ring off my finger and put it away, I had jinxed my marriage he wailed! He remained seriously upset for another day. In spite of Daddy’s dreary predictions, Dane had won the chase.

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Chapter Four

Nmane – Honor the new bride – Becoming a woman.

To Whom It May Concern: It was just a matter of weeks before Dane started accusing me of being interested in the men on campus.

He was suspicious of the male classmate, assigned to work with me on a science project. If he was on campus looking for me and saw a male walking across campus with me to the lab, he got angry. After class, I would enter the hallway and find him standing there glaring. He would not accept the fact the men, on campus, were friendly, but more interested in getting an education than in getting to me, they knew I had a boyfriend. In my mind, having such a dilemma was another sign of how much he loved me. He was making school a burden and I accepted it lovingly! I felt a lot of pressure, pulled in two directions; I loved school, and I, loved him, but I was determined to work it all out. I tried to keep his mind on our future life, together.

Dane took me to see our new apartment. He had rented the upstairs unit of a two-family flat. He filled it with hand me down furniture given to him by several of his family members. We had linens, towels, dishes, glasses, and 98

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silverware, extras from their homes, very few pieces matching. I felt grown up walking through my very own home. One of his sisters had redecorated her home, so all of her old curtains hung from our windows, and old bedspreads covered our beds. Excitedly, I gave him new bright yellow curtains to hand at the kitchen windows and tiff starched doilies that I picked out myself, to place on tables, following the tradition of Big Mama.

I knew I was taking a chance going there, alone, with Dane but I wanted to see the place. He kept trying to fondle me and I kept pushing him away.

"Come on Dani, we're getting married!"

He began to unbutton my blouse I gently removed his hands.

"You have to wait," I said irritated.

He began to kiss my neck slowly pushing me down onto the bed, sliding my skirt up. I shoved my skirt down and asked him to take me home. The look he gave me withered me. He sat there for a moment in a fury of righteousness.

He took me home. He didn't say a word all the way there. I barely had my legs out of the car and the door closed, when he sped off, tires screeching down the street.

I expressed my love for Dane constantly. It wasn't enough.

I even tried to make the repairs that my refusal to have sex and my education made necessary, to keep our relationship safe. I changed my behavior at school. I was distant from my lab partners, stayed far away from my classmates, as much as possible, and literally became standoffish, except in my interactions with Reille. It was something I hated grievously. I was finally somewhere where I was accepted. I don't know why my mind hadn't disintegrated from the sheer bludgeoning of it all. In my world, outside of campus, I had no voice. I could find no 99

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understanding. To them, it was far more impressive to get a husband, than an education.

To Whom It May Concern: I decided we would marry during winter break, in December, to avoid my missing any classes. I would have been in college six months, by then, with all of the struggles it seemed much longer. I was sure that once Dane became my husband, he would feel more secure.

Perhaps, once I was his wife, I would have satisfied society, everyone at home and Dane, they would let me pursue my educational dreams, in peace.

Tina insisted on a church wedding and we only had six weeks to plan. I thought it was stupid. It was hard to imagine walking down an aisle with all those people watching me. I would shrink into oblivion under all that attention. I wanted to go to the justice of the peace. My protests ignored, I let Tina make the arrangements. The invitations, handwritten by Tina, went out only three weeks before the wedding; an address, map, and RSVP were enclosed.

Mr. And Mrs. William Dobson invites you to join them in a celebration of love as their daughter, Dani Marie Dobson is united in marriage to Mr. Dane Ransom on the twenty first of December, nineteen hundred sixty eight at two o'clock in the afternoon at Woodward Baptist Church, Detroit, Michigan. *Reception to follow immediately afterwards, at the Dobson residence.

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Tina had gone to a rental shop and picked an empire style off-white wedding gown, with a train that flowed from the center back to hang just slightly longer than the dress. Off-white was the only color they had in my size. She dragged me in for fittings. Once I tried on that dress with the veil affixed to my hair, I felt more enthusiastic.

"You look so nice, Tina said.

I was surprised to hear a compliment escape her lips. I hugged her.

"Let's go get shoes," she said, seeming uncomfortable with the hug.

She was smiling, excited for me. It did cross my mind that she was smiling, happy to get rid of me.

I felt it was the wedding, she never had, having gone to the justice of the peace. There were arguments over Mama's youngest daughter or Tina's youngest daughter being my flower girl. Tina won. Eventually, Mama refused to come to the wedding. She was angry with me for marrying at a young age and Daddy was having his doubts, too. A relative of Dane's told Daddy, Dane and a couple of his friends had stolen a car and gone joy riding just before he met me. Daddy yelled at me as if I knew that. He said I was marrying a hoodlum! At that point, after all of the changes and pressure I'd been under I didn't care what anyone said. That was Dane's past. I looked at Daddy, my eyes filled, I hated seeing him unhappy with me, but I had ceased trying to satisfy everyone. The plans were made, I was going to marry Dane. Daddy said, "Do what you want," and he walked away.

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To Whom It May Concern: The wedding chaos caused me to focus on my education, the only reality in which I cared to live at the moment. I was hungry for education. I was hungry enough to know that hunger had its pleasures. It was dreamlike for me to ease into my desk, in every one of my classes, and no one in my life saw that! Education was a milestone for me. No one in my life cared! Most importantly, the man I was going to marry, didn't care, and in some ways, I was inharmonious about marriage.

My wedding day was getting close, Reille asked me about birth control - the pill.

"There are some side effects, at first." She said.

"Side effects?" I asked.

"Well,� she hesitated. "There can be some pretty unpleasant ones. I had painful cramps and spotting for about a year and some nausea. Eventually it goes away."

I was looking at her with such a stricken look on my face, she said, "Maybe you could get the contraceptive foam, for now." “Foam?

Reille shook her head. We went to the drug store.

Reille bought a Vaginal Spermicide foam: It had an instruction sheet with pictures: 'Just before intercourse, place tube against the nozzle of can and press. Once the tube is fully inserted into vagina and press dispenser.' I guessed that was simple enough. I hid it in my room.

Reille gave me the most beautiful nightgown I had ever seen for a wedding gift. She called it lingerie. There was no time for a bridal shower. It was a white slip negligee, with spaghetti straps, made of lace nylon, 102

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designed straight-lined with a double frilled hem. A matching see through robe billowed over it, moving with the slightest breeze. There were also matching bedroom slippers that looked too delicate to put on my feet. I feared they would disintegrate from just one wearing.

Daddy sat me down to talk. All he had to say about marriage was, not to nag, keep a clean house, and understood my husband’s needs. He said Dane would go out, he was a young man, and I should understand. He emphasized that marriage would involve hard times and struggles, standing by his side would draw us closer together, make our marriage work. I listened but in spite of his previous objections, I honestly felt Daddy was glad to have one less mouth to feed, too. A quiet filled the air momentarily.

To Whom It May Concern: We were married! December twenty one nineteen sixty eight at Woodward Baptist Church, an unseasonably warm day with very little snow. Dane was dressed in a black, double breasted suit looking so regal. The flower girl and bride's maids wore burgundy dresses that Tina made. The groomsmen and ring bearer, wore black tuxedos with matching burgundy ties and cummerbunds.

Relatives from both sides of the families, neighbors, friends of Daddy, Tina, and Dane were there. Reille had to go home to Minnesota for the winter break. Her mother was ill. She couldn't attend.

The reception was at Daddy's house - no alcohol, beer, or wine - Daddy saw to that, but he didn't know Dane's friends were sneaking out to their cars drinking anyway. There was no wedding dinner, just snacks in 103

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bowls all over the house; Potato chips, pretzels, pigs-in-ablanket, jelly beans and peanuts. There was also fruit punch in several locations. There was no music. All of the children were running up and down the steps, screaming, and hollering running in and out of the house. I tried to calm them, "You all be quiet." I said.

"You be quiet," My sassy little sister yelled back.

I began to wonder why I wanted to teach the little brats!

The older women had congregated in the kitchen, their voices rumbling with gossip. The men sat watching a football game, shouting at the television set. The few people, our age, were bored. My gifts were stacked on a table waiting for me to open them as if we were attending a child's birthday party. Dane asked me to tell Daddy we were leaving and would come pick up the gifts on another day. I was tired and agreed. Daddy led everybody out of the house, pummeling us in the face with rice, as we ran off to our shiny Buick, decorated with white streamers, strings of cans and "Just Married" on the back window.

After waving goodbye to everyone, I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, glad that it was done! I smelled smoke and opened my eyes. My new husband was sitting beside me with a lit cigarette, a Camel, smoking, driving along flicking ashes out of the window. I did not know he smoked!

Once we were home alone in our flat, I kicked off my painful shoes, rambling nervously. I was feeling light, warm, and feminine. I wanted him to notice. I would dance away my virginity, that night; although, for me just being in love was everything. Dane, of course, had different thoughts; he had a desire, of a kind, burning in 104

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him so hot, that this new "ownership" of a bride did nothing to relieve it. Love was secondary; satisfying his hungry lust was primary and would make everything complete.

I imagined my whole world would change that night. I felt a dizzying fear, but free because I was a wife.

Dane began yanking at the zipper of my dress, pushing the skirts of my gown up, wrestling me, as I giggled. I was surprisingly happy to be his bride. I was afraid he would tear my dress. I needed to return it the following week. I jumped up, and pushed him off, breaking the link to his needs.

To Whom It May Concern: Disappearing into the bathroom, I put on the beautiful negligee, robe, and slippers Reille had given me, pulled my hair over my shoulders and applied perfume. I looked at the gold band on my finger, and slowly eased out of the bathroom, shyly presenting myself. Dane was lying across the bed, naked. He slid off the bed and walked towards me. I studied his face waiting for a reaction. All of my fantasies about love, searching, reflecting a lifetime of feeling came together at that moment, waiting for his him to say I was beautiful!

He pulled me to him and whispered in my ear.

“Take that thing off!” Always come to be naked.”

Thing! Naked! My face drained white. I felt faint. I had made a mistake already! I was distressed and trembling.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. I returned to the bathroom and stood there lost in incipient dreams and youthful expectations.

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Tearfully, I reentered the room holding the negligee in front of me, wearing only my panties. I slid onto the bed next to him, clinging to my gown. He yanked it away from me. Then he was on me, aggressive! I lay there watching the ceiling. Suddenly remembering the foam, I twisted my body and reached into the bedside table for my birth control. He snatched it out of my hand, without looking at it and pitched it across the room.

Panting in my ear, the sound of a wild animal, he reached his hand between our bodies, grabbed his penis. I was a virgin, there was no mistake, and then in a quick moment I wasn't anymore.

I let out a muffled scream. He looked into my face, eyes glazed over like a blind man. Any smile I may have had, had turned into a grimace. My mind was screaming.

The bed we lay in having old springs that creaked and groaned was eerie. The creaking was a loud tooth-rattling sound, a rhythmic screech that kept up with the rhythm of his assault on my body. The groaning of the bed added to the grunting of Dane. I couldn’t believe this was what all the excitement was about! I felt like I had walked into a nightmare!

To Whom It May Concern: Christmas slipped quietly by. I was surprised at how much I missed Christmas at home. We drove by Daddy's and they gave us a monopoly game and the wedding gifts we had left behind. The visit was short, Dane wanted to drive by his siblings houses, all five of them, we gave nor received any gifts.

I cried quietly on Christmas Eve; I was surprised that I missed the special way Daddy celebrated the 106

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Christmas holiday. The family spent Christmas Eve preparing food. Each of us had our own specialty dish down to the youngest child, who made Kool-aid. My specialty was corn bread stuffing. Daddy's specialty was sweet potato pies. After everyone finished, wrapped and put away the Christmas dinner we cleaned the kitchen and ordered pizza, (The one time a year that Daddy bought pizza) and watched our favorite holiday movie, “A Christmas Carol."

Daddy was such a creature of habit. He really didn't put a huge emphasis on Santa Claus, he said he worked too hard to earn the money for the gifts to give credit to anyone else. He did not destroy any of the children's fantasies if they mentioned Santa, though. That was the only time of year that bedtime rules were broken. We stayed up until midnight, sang Christmas Carols and said, a “Merry Christmas," to each other just before going to bed. The next day everyone slept late, had a big breakfast, and cleaned the kitchen. Then we went running to the tree.

Every gift was gift-wrapped; nothing was set out as if Santa Claus left them. The children were still thrilled to see that Santa had eaten the three cookies and drank the glass of milk left for him.

We were married a few weeks before Dane took me back to my parents for a lasting visit. Daddy searched my face, looking for changes, and I could barely look him in the eyes, but I put on a grin. I was uncomfortable with him knowing I was doing something as intimate as having sex. I guess he assumed I had adjusted well. I was extremely content being a married woman, though. It seemed like everyone looked at me differently. Even the ache between my legs seemed to validate my status, but I'd had no idea.

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To Whom It May Concern: I struggled with the conflict that I loved Dane but cringed when he rolled near me in bed. I felt guilty. As he demanded I was always in bed naked and available to him on a whim. I could be reading a book, and he would take it from me.

I, always alarmed by his urgency, did not know how to respond to Dane's sexual frenzy. I needed tenderness.

Tears slid down the sides of my face. I knew I would have to go through it as many times as necessary to keep my husband happy because I was his wife. I would have to go through it as many times as necessary, until it no longer made me sick to my stomach. I would have to go through it because I loved him and I knew he loved me even more for letting him do it to me. However, I felt like I was still a little girl, full of sorrows, locked in elementary dreams, waiting for the magic to happen.

Reille was a couple of days late getting back to winter classes. Her mother was still ill, but doing well enough for her to return to school. Reille was as animated as usual and had done a lot of shopping to add to her winter wardrobe. I on the other hand could only afford a coat. I loved the coat. It was the first coat I’d ever owned that actually fit me; a black fake fur, quarter-length jacket.

She said it was cute, but was eager to rush over to her own closet.

"Dani, look at these."

She pulled out a tan Mohair jacket and matching skirt, "Oh, and look at these."

She was pulling out a green wool jumper and white cashmere sweater from her closet.

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She continued to pull out items, dresses, skirts, slacks, and a coat. There was a pile on her bed, beside me, many of them green.

"Aren't they wonderful?"

"Yes, beautiful."

I fingered the fabrics.

"Why did you buy so much green?" I asked.

"It looks good with my red hair."

She jumped on the bed beside me, grinning, "How was it? “How was what?�

"The wedding night, silly, tell me all about it. Was it delicious?"

She was perched on the edge of her seat and ready for details. I blushed and squirmed a little before I answered, "That's private."

To Whom It May Concern: Dane had ultimately become more affectionate, kissing, hugging, and holding me. The powerful reality of having a husband was mysterious and dreamlike because I still was naive in so many ways. I felt secure. I had someone to love that loved me back, and would for the rest of my life. "Til death us do part," was something amazing and safe.

When we cuddled in bed at night, he often said he wanted me to realize how beautiful I was. Our sex life had become comfortable for me. I mostly loved being so close to him, melting into his flesh. I was worried about birth control. I would twist away from him to reach into the bedside table for it and he would make it impossible for 109

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me to use it. The first time he really paid attention to what I was doing, in lieu, of just snatching and throwing, he said, "What is that shit?"

I was clothed in nakedness, cold air blowing, chilling me to the bone, I wanted to use it and get on with things.

"Birth control," I said in a low voice.

I twist and turned trying to free my hands to use the birth control. He had begun to suck on my neck, and I asked him to wait, reaching around his head, to press the tube against the nozzle. Dane sat up suddenly, knocking the can and tube out of my hands onto the bed, agitated. He threw it across the room, as usual. It crashed so loudly against the wall, I shrank back.

"We don't need that, I'll be careful!" He said.

"Be careful?�

"I'll pull out!� He snapped.

Of course, he didn't.

Our life settled into the day to day tasks; I didn't drive so Dane took me everywhere. He forgot me quite often, establishing in me the habit of waiting and expectation. He would drop me off at my parents, and forget to pick me up. Daddy would have to take me home.

That became so embarrassing I stopped going over there.

Dane would leave me at the grocery store, and forget to come back for me. Sitting outside the market, waiting I'd eventually realize I had to call a cab. I always forgave him.

There were also the nights that he did not come home at all. I would sit staring out the window, all night, crying, afraid something horrible had happened to him. I was so in love and the feeling I had so excruciating and burdensome, it almost made my heart stop, but I waited.

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He would always say he dropped by a friend's house, after work, and fell asleep on their couch.

To Whom It May Concern: Worrying about Dane left me needing to find other things to do that would help me keep my sanity, take my mind off things. Between school and working part time, I squeezed out time to visit his sisters and learn how to cook his favorite meals. I wanted to be the best of wives.

On those nights he failed to come home, I’d stand in the kitchen cooking. I loved Dane for accepting me. I wanted him to be happy. Dane went out with his friends leaving me home alone more often on weekends. I remembered what Daddy said and did not complain, but I missed him! I helped him prepare to go out, running around finding his cologne or a particular shirt he wanted to wear.

I did anything he needed, ironing, searching for cuff links, or sewing on a quick button to help him look sharp when he stepped out the door. I wanted the world to see I took care of my man. Don't get me wrong, Dane and I had lots of fun together. We went to the movies, enjoyed browsing bookstores and shopping, always to buy clothing for him.

He would bring wonderful food home, after his late shift: ribs, barbecue chicken, pizza, or donuts, and I ate greedily. For the first time in my life, I did not have to share with a large family. Some of the delicacies he brought home, I hadn't ever tasted before - Fried shrimp, Chinese food, and Philly cheese steak. I was in heaven gastronomically. I would sit in the middle of the bed and 111

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eat, watching the late night Sherlock Holmes movies on television.

I enjoyed the warmth and closeness between us when we were together, and the feel of Dane's skin. I loved running my fingers over his back and behind. I loved the taste of his full mouth. That man made me cry with the joy of just having him lying beside me. I would stare at him while he slept, and touch his hair and kiss his lips, when he was there with me I was elated with the life I had with him - Good made up for the bad.

I treated him as if he were my favorite doll. I ran his bath water, suds his body, washed his hair, rubbed his back, and spoon-fed him fancy deserts. I watched him dress, buttoned his shirt, buckled his belt, and helped him undress at night. There were people in the world, having no idea what it felt like to have the exulting affections I showered on Dane. I combed his hair, greased and scratched his scalp while he sat on the floor between my legs. I even took his shoes off for him at night. I clipped his nails: hands and feet. I kissed and hugged; lotion his body and even shined his shoes. Sadly, those moments still didn't stop him from failing to come home at night, often.

Dane showed up on campus one day to take Reille and me to lunch.

"You two look great together.� Reille giggled elbowing me in the ribs.

"Shut up, Reille,� I said playfully.

I treasured the fact that my husband and best friend got along so well. We had lunch quite often. We even insisted Reille come to dinner at our place.

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I was still finding it uncomfortable, even tormenting to go to bed nude. Daddy’s teachings were rigid and engraved in me. We wore pajamas and put on a robe when we got up and left our room. I was sleeping soundly, anyway, one night and when the radio alarm clicked on in the morning I hated it. Music blasting, I woke up. I headed to the bathroom. Opening our bedroom door, a thick, black cloud billowed into my face filling up our bedroom. The smell of smoke was strong. At the same moment, someone started pounding on our front door, downstairs, I screamed, "Dane, wake up, fire!" I was in instant panic. "No, no, no!" I was screaming.

Dane leapt out of bed. The room had filled with smoke, we grabbed each other, left the bedroom feeling our way along the walls. The smoke was so thick we couldn't breathe, couldn't see our hands in front of our face. We ran back to the bedroom, slamming the door.

The house was on fire! The pounding and shouting continued downstairs. We made our way over to a window, and pushed it up. We looked out at a crowd gathered below. I stood frozen we were going to die. The whole neighborhood lined up below. Some were holding each other, others crying, holding their hands over their mouths in sheer disbelief, but most were waving their hands frantically, screaming, "Jump!"

The ground looked like it was a million miles away.

I felt terrified. I began thinking about the decision we had to make at that moment, nervously. It was a decision no one ever thinks they would have to make in their lifetime.

To me I had to decide to die jumping or to die in the fire!

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The room which was filled with smoke, had us gasping for air hanging out of the window. Horrifying - Stress!

"You're going to have to jump, Dani. That's the safest route," Dane said.

I melted in his arms draped in my own tears, my mind blank. We clung to each other desperately. I could feel him trembling, yet trying to act brave.

"You're going to be okay," he said.

I had never loved him more than I did at that moment!

"I can't do it," I began to cry. "I can't do it!"

"You've got to go first, I won't leave you!" He insisted.

I stood at the window glaring down at the ground teetering on the edge of jumping when someone shouted, "Use the front door the fire is contained in the basement.

Run! Right now! It's moving up fast. Run!" Holding our breath, on the brink of blacking out, we made it down the hall, stumbling and falling down the steps while hearing our front door crash open. Light burst into view and we headed towards the light. As we ran out into the open, I could feel the heat of the fire on my back.

We'd forgotten we were both butt naked. I fell out onto the frozen front lawn crying; I couldn’t even feel the cold. People pulled us to our feet and wrapped their coats around us. I collapsed into Dane's arms, again.

The furnace had blown up, due to faulty wiring and the landlords who lived in the downstairs apartment ran out leaving us upstairs, saving themselves. They gave us no warning. It was the neighbor across the street that ran over and pounded on the door, eventually crashing it in.

The fire truck and ambulance pulled up. We lost everything in that fire we'd only been married eight114

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weeks. The stress of fear of fire was something that lived within me for the rest of my life.

To Whom It May Concern: I was staying with Daddy, Dane staying with a sister. I had excruciating cramps, a heavy, clot filled, period. I felt stress had brought me to the painful experience. I hadn't had a period the previous month, normal for me, so I figured this one was making up for lost time. I was so bent over, Daddy insisted on taking me to the emergency room. I was having a miscarriage! Everyone was thankful we survived the fire – I would have other children someday - they said. Dane was unusually unresponsive.

I coughed up and blew black soot into tissues for months, so did Dane. He returned to the old flat to see if he could salvage anything. I refused to show my face in the neighborhood after running out in front of everybody, butt naked. There was nothing left, black smoke and water had damaged all. Clothes had turned to ash; the furniture had melted and books turned to toast. Dane said the walls blackened and charred, windows shattered, and water damage was everywhere, showing total destruction. We moved to another flat, downstairs this time, with very little furniture. I refused to live upstairs, again.

When Dane and I got back together, I was experiencing the deep searching kisses we once enjoyed.

He had missed me. I missed several days of classes. It seemed the incident even drew Reille and I closer together. Over time, Reille came to dinner at our new place. Dane would go pick her up while I ran around putting the final touches on my housekeeping, dinner, and 115

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table settings. I wanted her to be impressed, to notice that there was something I was good at, homemaking. I had that certain competitive edge. Reille kept her dorm room a mess, threw her clothes around, and couldn't even boil water!

We would laugh, play cards, and sometimes, watch movies. Dane would take her back to campus, afterwards, stating I had worked so hard I should go on to bed and get some rest. It felt wonderful entertaining in my own place.

Dane was enjoying the time we spent with Reille and accepted the comfortable feeling he had when he visited campus. I introduced him to everyone I could. He'd even stopped complaining about my attending classes. Life was good.

One afternoon, I was watching, walking up the path to Reille's dormitory, exchanging pleasantries with those who crossed my path. Dane and Reille were sitting on the steps. Dane reached over and gently brushed the shoulder of Reille's dress. There was something in his touch. There was something in his eyes. There was something in the way she held her head, something deliberate in the way she jumped up and sashayed in front of him, perhaps the deliberate sway of her hips. There was something ambivalent, something new that would change my world and I was too naive to understand it.

I was heading over to her dorm room, to work on an extra credit project to improve our waning grades. They both spotted me at the same time. I smiled and waved vigorously. They waved back. They were the two most important people in my life. My heart gladdened to think Dane had stopped by to take us to lunch, again. Dane jumped up and rushed to greet me. “Baby, I was looking for you."

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He wrapped both arms around me, pulling me to him, rocking us side to side. I reached up and kissed him gently. I thought I saw panic in Reille's eyes. She interrupted, "Let's go get pizza, my treat."

We did and had a festive evening.

To Whom It May Concern: One week later, as we were lying in bed, Dane was fondling my breast and suddenly sounded like he was near death.

"Hell no, I ain't having no babies!" He screamed.

I was dumbfounded. He jumped up off the bed, rushing around the room, grabbing his clothing. I didn't move at first, because I was in shock. I got up slowly and went to him, to comfort him, not certain of what was wrong. He shoved past me, his face grim, "Your nipples are dark, look at them. Why were you flinching when I touched them?"

"It hurt!" I said.

He gave me an angry glare. He continued, roughly shoving past me getting dressed. He paused for a moment and squeezed my naked breast. I pushed his hand away.

"You're pregnant!"

He kept yelling and stomping around the room. I started weeping. I didn't know what to say. I needed him to hold me. He kept throwing the birth control every time l tried to use it, why was he angry with me? He was dressed and gone before we could have a real discussion. I went to Reille; I stood in the door of her study hall, she looked up and saw in my eyes I needed her. I shook all over. Fear had paralyzed my tongue. My throat burned and my 117

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breath grew shallower. Reille came flying out of the study hall, cradled my arm, and led me to her room. I told Reille I was pregnant. I burst into tears, there were no words for the stabbing pain of Dane's reaction. I was crying so hysterically that she began to cry too. Tears were flying everywhere. My face was red, swollen, and ugly.

We went to Planned Parenthood. We found out it was true. I had cried so much over Dane's feelings; I hadn't dealt with my own. I was like a zombie, by then. I only wanted to remove the black cloud, brought on by this news. I just wanted to live peacefully. Life had left me fragile. I didn't want to lose Dane. Dane hadn't come home that night. The next day, Reille called.

"You can take Quinine. That will abort it!" Reille said.

"Quinine? Abort it?"

"Don't worry, it won't hurt you.” She continued. “It will abort the baby.”

“I… I, don’t know!”

“I will see what I can do. I'll call someone and get the pills for you."

"Thank you," I whimpered, not sure of what I was doing.

"It is best to keep this as our secret, let it seem like a miscarriage, don't tell Dane."

"Okay," I whispered.

To Whom It May Concern: It seemed all of the fun had gone out of our life. I was, all the time, nauseous. I felt awful and attended my classes less and less. I had a little baby inside me! Choking on my own heart, I was so lonely. Dane openly 118

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demonstrated the fact that he did not want the life flourishing inside my body. I was lonelier than I'd ever felt in my life and I did not think that was possible.

My breast doubled in size. Dane loved them, sucking hungrily on them. He was using my body for his pleasures with no regards to the baby or me. There was a new rage in the sex. Sometimes it felt like he was trying to shove the baby up into my ribs. Dane's twentieth birthday was approaching, on a Friday, leaving the whole weekend for a celebration. I imagined there were men, who would consider becoming a father, a wonderful gift, but not Dane. My world was his world and what made him happy made me happy. He had become my reason for living, breathing and existing. When we lay naked face to face in the dark and move into each other, as selfish as he was, it pierced my soul.

I remembered him lying in the grass dreaming of a birthday cake and decorations. I wanted to ease the tension between us, help him forget the seed he had planted. I bought an expensive, and luscious chocolate cake with white icing, blue trimming and "Happy Birthday Dane" written in dark blue lettering. It was sitting in the center of the dining room table, surrounded with gifts wrapped in bright, bold, and beautiful wrapping paper with lots of bows and ribbons.

I decorated the house with paper streamers, balloons, and a huge 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY DANE' banner. I printed the banner in our computer lab at school, with the help of some computer programming majors. I took a soaking hot bath, with bath oil until l saturated my skin. I stepped out of the tub, my skin feeling like silk and dabbed my skin dry with a towel. I sat watching out of the window, waiting for him to come home. I dozed and my dreams grew dark...I awakened with a start, 119

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"Dane!" I called out loudly...Two days later he still hadn't come home.

I had cried and vomited so hard my face was swollen. Blood vessels in my eyes had burst, causing red patches to float in the whites of my eyes. I had hives, red patches of itchy misery, all over my body. On Monday, when I didn’t go to school looking as deathlike as I did. I couldn’t reach Reille. Reille said she had gone out of town, in a rush, due to a family emergency. She was so sorry she hadn't been there for me when I finally talked to her with a broken voice. When I got home from school that day, Dane was in the bed asleep. When he awakened, he refused to explain his absence. My shoulders drooped.

"I have always been there for you," I said, tears filled my eyes.

To Whom It May Concern: Reille finally brought me the Quinine pills. She wanted to stay with me, but I begged her to let me do it alone. She left, taking our secret with her. By now, alone, the only voice I listened to was a small voice inside me. I hadn't heard that voice before. I felt locked up inside myself. It was saying fight him: Fight! You have to fight for your baby.

As I swallowed one pill after another, I ignored it and became more detached. I was arguing with my small voice. What would a fight accomplish? What would I do?

Where would I go? I had built a life with Dane. I'd be alone again. I had to survive the best way I knew how. I refused to think about what I was doing to my baby, to my body. I was eighteen years old and in the dark scary corners of my mind, I felt like a monster. I wrote: 120

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No one loved her. Men only wanted to possess her, bed her.

No one seemed to acknowledge her pain, her tears and fears.

Certainly this cannot be fair.

The only voice she heeded to was a small voice inside her.

It said to lie here on the beach where the sun may warm and comfort you. She did.

It said rest here while the moon soothes you all night long. She did.

It said one bright morning when she knew herself to be warm, comforted, and soothed, sit here and listen to the intoxicating sounds of the ocean.

Calmed by the guidance offered by her small voice she sat on the beach.

The gentle waves caressed her body and slowly flowed back out to sea.

She felt content, intoxicated and lovely.

A strong significant wave roared into the shore to collect her.

She closed her eyes happy and content, leaning into its comforting arms, all the way to the bottom of the sea.

I swallowed a few more pills. I lay down and waited. It would happen any moment. Perhaps I’d die! I started to moan. You know that moaning sound a person would do in church. The sounds they would make when they knew the angels were coming. I woke up when Dane came home. He was shuffling around the house, 121

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indifferent. Did he know what I had done for him? I dozed off, again, my dreams grew darker. I was running through the fields, chased by blackbirds.

To Whom It May Concern: It had been six weeks since I had taken the Quinine. I had expected it to devour the life inside of me, immediately, although the thought scared me half to death. Dane was dragging around, but we actually seemed to have settled down and accepted the fact we were going to be parents. Dane was talking to me, at least, but never about the baby. Obviously swollen with child, I spread the news among the family, at school and advised my employer. Reille seemed dumfounded.

Late one Sunday afternoon, I sat embroidering a bib and suddenly doubled over, in agonizing pain; a quick and intense pain, that went trembling through my whole frame. Thinking it was my bowels, grasping my stomach, I sprinted to the bathroom bent over. I dropped to my knees and then crawled up to sit on the toilet. I thought my intestines were in a knot. I sat on the toilet, moaning, and the tight fullness inside me seemed to burst. I groaned long and loud filled with unbelievable pain, as a rush of fluid and giant clots splattered out of me into the toilet bowl. My groaning turned into screams, screaming for Dane! Bells were ringing in my head.

That old brain hissing, foggy feeling of fainting was coming back. I jumped up and looked into the toilet.

When I saw the bloody lumps in there I almost passed out.

I fell back against the wall, and slowly slid down to the floor. Blood was pouring from between my legs as Dane rushed into the bathroom. I screamed the words to tell 122

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him what I had done. He began stuffing bath towels between my legs.

I woke up in a hospital bed. Everyone was giving his or her condolences. Daddy was sad for the loss of another grandchild. I had a D and C procedure, sent home the following day; I lay in bed quietly. Dane and I didn't look each other in the eyes for a while, but stole glances at each other’s face when the other was looking elsewhere.

We continued those surreptitious peeks for quite a while.

From then on, we would look at each other through a veil of secret knowledge and shame. I dismissed what I had done from my mind and convinced everyone and myself that I had an unexpected miscarriage.

Dane was trying to allow me to use birth control, haphazardly. He wasn’t throwing it. But, he wasn't allowing me to use all of it or acting like, my pushing the foam into my vagina was equivalent to asking him to dip his penis in poison. Within the next four months, I got pregnant and had an early miscarriage, again. I was a touchy, achy and tearful creature. Dane was irritated and angry most of the time and for the first time, in our marriage, I didn't care. I felt like my body was a train wreck and it was his fault.

"You've got to do something Dani. This shit is stupid!" He yelled.

I talked with my doctor, who put me on birth control pills and they caused me to start gaining weight. I was having a lot of heavy spotting and migraine headaches.

To Whom It May Concern:

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Time went by, old wounds healed, and I noticed another change in Dane. It was a change I'd never seen before. Dane was going to the store and it was icy and snowing. He floored our vehicle down the street, swerving and sliding back and forth from curb to curb, bouncing off one curb back over to the opposite curb, the car was looking like the silver ball in a pinball machine.

Neighborhood cars parked in their driveways avoided disaster. Dane bounced off a curb, one more time and slid across the street to sail into a tree. He totaled our nineteen sixty five Ford Mustang down the street from our house. When I heard the noise I knew it was him, I ran to the accident scene. Dane seemed to be disoriented, nodding off while telling me what happened. I helped him out of the car and back to the house.

I figured he'd been working too hard. He started paying a doctor known for writing doctor's notes, diagnosing phony illnesses to give employees time off from work. Between the regular strikes under union contracts, the fake doctor excuses, and false notes from funeral homes stating a member of his family had died, Dane rarely went to work.

Most of these were excuses in which, his employer gave paid leave and some weren’t. I had my part-time job’s income, but he began borrowing money from his family, often.

I didn't understand Dane's extreme impatience, constant irritability, and treatment of me. Couldn't he recognize my devotion to him? One evening, I didn't want to wear a slinky dress, he insisted I wear to a party we were invited to. He had purchased it for me, a year ago.

The dress was red. I had worn it several times, to please him, but had gained some weight and felt the dress was too tight. Most of my clothes had begun to confine, to irritate, and annoy me. I let him know I wouldn’t be 124

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wearing it and just as I turned I immediately saw his fist coming at me, a loud cracking sound resonated in my ears; pain seared up into my brain. Agony rattled back down through my face; it seemed as if my brain had exploded. I came to my senses lying flat on my back. I hadn’t ever been hit like that before. I couldn't believe he had done that. I started to scream at him. One of my eyes was throbbing, was swollen shut and I struggled to see. I was crawling, trying to get up and he was yelling back.

"Come here!" He screamed, yanking me up, pulling me over to the closet.

"Put that fucking dress on," he shouted.

I was crying.

With rage in his eyes, he started shaking me. I was terrified, trembled, gasping for air, in shock. I didn't know this man! I scolded myself; I felt there was something I should have done differently, to prevent the incident.

Suddenly, he begged for my forgiveness, saying he was sorry and had been smoking weed with friends. I still stared at him in disbelief. Dane said he would never do it again. He didn't know what came over him. He hugged, kissed, and made all sorts of promises. The next day, he bought me a beautiful gold locket on a thirty six-inch gold chain, something I had wanted for a long time. Albeit as sorry as he said he was, he wanted to make me understand he didn't like my tone of voice.

He said I was disrespectful, I used unnecessary tones, and humiliated him. He said he wasn't going to tolerate it. Therefore, for future reference he wanted me to know I brought it on myself! I stared in disbelief. I loved him so much, but there was a fear chasing me, now, suddenly standing there was a wall forming between us.

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To Whom It May Concern: Someone I love, beating me, was nothing new, really. Someone I love, hurting my feelings, was nothing new. I knew how to survive. I just never imagined the person would ever be Dane!

I felt disoriented. Dane began to complain; many complaints about my cooking, housekeeping, the laundry, and anything he could think of. He even said I was lousy in bed, and getting fat –which hurt most! I also couldn't fathom such a thing as lousy in bed. I was giving him sex.

What else was I supposed to do?

"You just lay there, Dani. Why don't you move, act like you want me. Fucking you is like fucking a corpse."

I would cry, feeling embarrassed. Move? How can I move while he's pounding me into the mattress? The more I thought about it the harder I cried. I didn't know what to do. Maybe I should throw my legs up around his waist, as I saw that girl doing at our first party. I tried it. I sent his shirts out for proper laundering and pressing. I went back to his sisters for more recipes'. I ironed the sheets, sprinkling them with baby powder to give him a more comfortable sleep. I put shining wax on the floors. Dane had just become more paranoid and unhappy.

"Who have you had fucking in this bed?! Who you are fixing these sheets up for?"

I was horrified.

"You, Dane!”

"Stop throwing your legs up like some kinda whore, who taught you that?"

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I just couldn't win. Dane was still going out a lot, but now checking on me at home, which was new. He would call five or six times a night, but refuses to tell me where he was. If I failed to answer the telephone, whenever he would come home, he looked crazed, yelling and slapping me around. A diabolical shadow would cross over his face, the veins in his neck would throb, and his jaw muscles jump, as he shouted, "How am I supposed to know where you are?”

He’d hesitate.

“Where were you?

He’d pace the floor.

"Who were you with?”

I couldn’t get a word in.

“When I call, you'd better answer the damn telephone!"

His look was always terrifying, his slapping me painful, so much so, for months I answered the telephone on the first ring. I found it hard to accept that things were getting worse in our marriage. He was drinking and smoking weed. He would come home, staggering, violent and slurring his words. I never knew what would set him off. I was feeling worthless, useless, and hopeless. I struggled with that Every time he approached me, I flinched. Yet I have been determined to stand by him, try to help him. He was my husband. He didn't realize our first wedding anniversary had passed. I sat alone that night. What a way to honor the new bride.

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Chapter Five

Bewa – Communicate Social Control – Beginning and end of rainy season.

To Whom It May Concern: Reille was sobbing on the telephone when she called me and asked me to come over.

"I need to talk to you, Dani."

I wondered if there was a problem with her mother. There was so much sadness in her voice, that it broke my heart. Other than Dane, she was the most important person in my life. I didn't waste any time getting to her. Once I arrived, she asked me to sit down and simply said, "I love your husband and he loves me. We are in love."

I almost smiled, she was joking. She was always saying things that made my hair stand on end. I studied her face. My mouth dropped open. She wasn't kidding.

But, Reille was my very best friend, so it had to be a joke! I gawked at her. She was still talking. I didn't really care to hear what she was saying, anymore. I choked back pain and mentally focused on the fact that I loved Dane, we'd 128

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built together. We shared struggles I admitted, but…? The stabbing pains of jealousy hit me, hard! In stunned disbelief, I was refusing to let her win and preparing myself to tell her that!

“Dani, Dani," Reilie wailed, breaking into my consciousness. "My feelings are as much a surprised to me as to you." She was crying, fervently.

"I can't help it."

The back of my eyes was burning, boiling, and stinging, begging for relief, but I refused to let her see me cry. I told myself that as Dane’s wife, I had the control. I felt my heart crack, I didn't feel in control. She put her face in both her hands, “I’m sorry!"

I trembled, breathing in the pain between us. I sucked in the pain until I shuddered. You know, that thing that everybody does when too ashamed, they lie to themselves and pretend it didn't happen. I tried to do that.

I didn't say anything. Reille looked at me, her face crumpled.

"Don't hate me!" She screeched.

I left. I went home, climbed in bed, and lay there. I was unable to move. The pain had paralyzed me. I was barely breathing; the only things I could move were my eyes. I hoped that meant the end of me because I didn't think I could stand up again and bear their betrayal. I heard the front door open and close. Dane was moving through the living room. When he entered our bedroom, I lay there looking at him with a calm gaze. But, the room turned into a whirling spin, everything was spinning. I was silently praying!

“I’m sorry." He said.

Sorry? I was wishing he would move closer so I could dig my nails into his face and claw his eyes out.

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Then, maybe he would kill me for what I'd done. He just stood staring at me.

"Dani, I was just fooling around. Stop being stupid.

I love you! I didn’t know she was going to tell you that.

Reille was a stupid mistake. She called me and I told her..."

He stopped talking. He stared at me. My face was a sphere of grief. His voice was white static in my brain. His words were useless, it was obvious he was oblivious to the pain he brought to me with his repeated scandals. He waited, as if, expecting a response. I said nothing! I continued my silent prayer.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane's affair with Reille hurt so badly at times, I held my chest, again! A stupid habit. I decided if I did not resist the pain, but simply relaxed and accepted it, pain no longer felt as if it were a discomfort. I still had a husband.

Nothing in my life was free, not even my feelings, I had to pay for them, always, in some way - pain.

I started to hate the way I looked. I hated the way I thought. I hated me. It was as simple as that. Reille's mother died a week after she proclaimed her love for Dane. She quit school. The campus was no longer a miraculous place for me. Tragic. I hated my classes; I sounded awful in Spanish class, trying to trill my R's. When we dissected an animal in Biology, I wanted to throw up. I was assigned the poem, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," in English class to write a report on "its universal meaning to man." All of my classes were stupid to me. I decided to quit school, too.

I found a full time job at National Bank of Detroit, downtown, as a Trust Account Clerk, but when you are full 130

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of silent troubles people think you are standoffish so I had no real friends there. In life, I only had Dane. It became obvious to me; I would have to do my best to overlook his faults.

I thought about Dane and Reille, together, a lot. I was tormented. How long had it been building between them? When he drove her home after dinner at our place? How long had they been together while I sat stupid and naive? When she visited and I would step away to the kitchen, did he smell her hair? Did she touch his hands, in a slow gesture of warming them, as she has taken my hands once? I hated the thought of him enjoying her sexual dance, while his plump serpent slithered inside her, sliding back and forth, pumping, and growing until it spilt into her womb? Did she move her hips? As jealous as I was, blaming myself, I was too inexperienced to know I hadn't really been fulfilled, myself.

I hadn’t ever experienced that powerful pleasure, the true reward of love making - an orgasm. If I knew, that would have been my next question – Did Reille feel her womb quiver into ecstasy?

For me, sex with Dane was a routine of hammering sameness, no foreplay, no real passion, just his lust, ramming himself inside me, pounding out his pleasure, and rolling off. However, I felt inefficient in bed. In mid whirl of it all, I began to eye my well - fed body with scorn.

I dieted ruthlessly. I went to a doctor for diet pills. He advised I was tall and big boned, not very overweight. He measured my shoulders and measured my thick boned wrist. I got a diet plan from him, instead.

I secretly found out about "black beauties” from students on my old campus. I never saw them as a drug, because most students took them to stay awake during long overnight study sessions, and the pills did suppress 131

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appetites. After a week of taking them, unable sleep at night, hyperactivity causing me to clean the house constantly, unable to eat food, I came down with a crash. I passed out and slept straight through a weekend and all of the following Monday. I nearly lost my job because I failed to call in. I threw them in the trash! I played with makeup, buying beauty books to teach me the art of painting my face. I discovered pearlescent eye shadows blushes and powders. I experimented with all kinds of colors and liquid eyeliners to get the "natural" look. I poured over Naomi Sims beauty book wishing for her dark skin, a gorgeous face, and regal presence. Yet, I refused to wear lipstick!

I stood in the bathroom mirror, one day, putting on makeup and thinking back on the day I came home from Mama's and announced to Daddy and Tina that I wanted to wear makeup. To my surprise, neither of them protested. The next morning Tina stopped me at the door, as I was leaving for school, withdrew her tube of lipstick, Crimson Red, from her pocket and painted my lips! With my very light complexion, I felt like I looked like Bozo the Clown! I was humiliated. That was Daddy and Tina's idea of wearing makeup.

Kids were passing through the neighborhood walking to school; I was horrified as Tina pushed me out the door, sending me off to school. They might see me!

They did, they stared! I pulled a small mirror from my purse and looked, it was worse than I thought. My skin seems to scream white and my lips were shrieking red. To me, I looked like I was bleeding. I frantically scrubbed it off, but a red stain remained on my lips. I felt my lips looked swollen, infected and tripled their size for the rest of the day. Ever since then whenever I try on lipstick, no 132

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matter the color, my lips always seem to look red stained and swollen to me!

I wanted to change myself for Dane. I dyed my hair reddish-brown. The dye caused my hair to dry out and frizz. A lot of it fell out! I clipped off the dried ends, wrapped it in giant rollers to try to iron out the frizz. I was painting my nails the most outrageous colors possible and even practiced the way Reille walked. Dane watched me experiment with my looks with lively yet indifferent eyes, making no comments, never complimenting.

My obsession soon wore off.

To Whom It May Concern: I had no idea why, but Dane started staying home a lot. In the evenings when I got home from work, he was there, he should have been at work. He wanted to spend time with me, he said. The pain of everything softened.

We spent late evenings, lying in bed reading. We had sex; I had learned to pretend excitement, by reading romance novels. I felt more comfortable being with him that way, pretending. I enjoyed being close enough to him to snuggle. For me our time together actually began to feel romantic. He hugged me, and said he loved me. He stopped hitting me. I had hope again.

He and I visited bookstores and spent hours browsing, sometimes making purchases. I enjoyed the classics, mysteries, and black female authors. He loved science fiction. We grocery shopped together, played cards, board games, went to the movies and took walks.

On our long walks we talked about the books we each were reading. It was just as if we were dating again. We spent many months bonding again. I was so happy!

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I really loved Dane. I wore his ring, took the vows, and made the promises, for better or worse. He used the pleasure of me loving him, as if it was a power given to him, for granted. So much power, he felt, that all he had to do was bestowed the pleasure of himself on me. Perhaps, he was right. He knew I would be grateful to keep him in my life. What could I do with that? I was feeling grateful. I was willing to forget, forgive, do, and accept almost anything to make our marriage work. I resolved to build a better life for us. What he saw as his mother’s and father’s abandonment had created in him, a man who walked too fast through life, living selfishly, forgetting those who loved him. The only mystery was why I expected it to be any different.

He eventually went back to work. Our time together reduced. He stopped reading; he started going out again, and visiting the flat upstairs after work instead of coming home, a place he'd started visiting just before he crashed our car. He was irritable again. He nodded off at the kitchen table while eating his meals. I felt disturbed by his wild, ill, distraught look.

He was doing uncharacteristic things, like becoming uncaring about his appearance. I thought he was coming down with something or had been trying to work and party too hard.

"Believe in the devil?" Dane asked one day.

"Yes, why?"

"I got the devil in me."

I didn't like hearing him, saying that.

"Yeah? Well...." He went silent.

I was confused.

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Dane visited the upstairs apartment a lot, practically every night. Our neighbors upstairs were four white guys, hippies with long hair, bell-bottom jeans, tiedyed shirts, and beads. They had parties and the music playing twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The volume low at times and at others the walls of both flats thumped to the beats.

I hated whatever it was that lured my husband upstairs instead of coming home to me! I hated them for it. They were very nice to me in spite of the fact that I stared rudely every time I saw them. Dane was having a hard time getting an erection. Our sex life changed. When he had a successful erection, there were times he struggled to reach an orgasm - sex lasted so long I wanted him to get off me. One time he even fell asleep on top of me.

I lay in bed, one night, unable to sleep reading a book. Holding the book above my face in deep concentration, I could hear the floor above me, screeching - screech - screech – screechy - screech, so I lowered the book a few inches and peered up at the ceiling knowing Dane was up there. What were they doing? The sound reminded me of that old creaking bed, we owned at one time, groaning with each lusty thrust. Finally, I lowered the book onto my lap and waited for it to stop. Dane appeared in the doorway of our bedroom, eventually.

"Hi." He said.

"Hi, what was that noise I heard in the ceiling?"

He shrugged. "I guess it was me." He said nonchalantly.

"You?" Surprisingly, I wasn't shaken by the things, Dane did anymore. He didn’t answer my question.

“I’m tired, going to sleep on the couch.”

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He headed to the living room couch. I decided I should at least throw a cover over him. I got up and found a bedspread. I went to him and spread it up to his chin; he was staring up at me.

"I don't know why I did it, Dani."

He cleared his throat. "I don't want to keep anymore secrets."

I could feel myself go still inside waiting for him to continue.

"I want to start being honest, no more lying," he said, "There was this big woman up there, a really big woman, we were smoking grass and the next thing I knew we were having sex on the floor in the bedroom over your head."

He was crying, confessing, and pleading for forgiveness. I had never heard him beg, before. He said he even sat on the bathroom floor, in front of her and watched her "douche" afterward. I didn't know what a "douche" was. Within minutes, her legs were wide open for another man in another bedroom. He was so high he passed out as soon as he finished his confession. I slipped back to the bedroom, crouched back under my covers, hoarding warmth and slept.

To Whom It May Concern: My mind stayed confused in those days. One night Dane couldn’t get an erection. He said it was job to “get it up.” It just flopped. I began to distract myself by listening to the weather outside. The rain was pouring down; thunder rolling in and lightening flashing. It was loud. My arm was going numb. I let my mind wander back to my childhood. I recalled how when we grew up; Daddy 136

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always said something bad could happen during a storm.

Everyone had to sit down, together, and be quiet. Daddy unplugged all of the appliances, threw sheets over the mirrors, and wouldn't allow us to sit near a window. We sat in the dark, in wide eyed terror, until the storm finally subsided. As I grew, I began thinking the whole thing was ridiculous. As an adult, I turn nothing off, didn’t care about noise and even went outside in the storm. Crazy I guess.

My mind drifted back to the present moment because my arm was cramping. He suddenly reached up, grabbed the back of my hair, and forced my face towards his lap. I screamed and pushed at him, my hair flopping in my face because of my struggle. ''You better not bite me," he roared.

I became ill with the thought of what he was trying to do.

Vomit rose up in my throat. I was dying! I couldn't rescue myself. I felt a huge heave wretch my body when suddenly vomit shot from my mouth splattering past his penis against his belly, spewing back in my face. It was like a bad dream. He jumped up screaming.

“Bitch!”

I rolled over, hung off the side of the bed and vomited on the floor.

"What was that for?" He asked.

"You're finally learning how to please your man, and you do that."

I didn't answer.

The mess was all over the place. The taste in my mouth was foul and made me sick all over again. I ran to the bathroom to vomit again. I cleaned up the mess. I slept on the couch, that night, using a blanket to cover my quivering body. My leaving the bed, enraged him; he called me ignorant and frigid. I began to wait several hours 137

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after Dane went to bed before I would lie down next to him. I would lie, retaining the formal position one learns from sleeping on park benches, on the couch, waiting, listening for the familiar sounds of his sleeping. I wasn't walking into that storm again. Perhaps bad things can happen on stormy nights.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane called me at work and asked me to come home early. He'd never done that before. I rode the bus home feeling sick to my stomach, not knowing what to expect. When I arrived, he struggled with his words and talked all around whatever he needed to tell me. In an unseemly manner, he blurted out he was a heroin addict.

I stared at him blankly. I had never heard of heroin. I didn't understand the word, addict! That fact made me feel panicked. I couldn't grasp what his revelation meant!

Dane was looking at me with broken eyes. He looked shattered, drained, and tearful. That old feeling of wanting to take him in my arms and make it all better, came rushing back.

It seemed natural somehow, to want to comfort him, but it waned. He explained how he would keep things safe. He wouldn't hang around drug houses. He would buy the drug and use only at home. He had just as well spoken to me in a foreign language. He looked at me and took a deep sigh, waiting for my response. I stood there speechless: Heroin? Drug houses? Safe from what?

Addict? Use what at home!?

"You understand, don't you, Dani?"

I scowled with a vexed frown, I was frightened, and my insides were rattling!

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"No!" I said truthfully.

He immediately became upset, I don’t think he understood that I had no clue. I didn’t know drugs, or drug addiction existed. I don’t know how that information got by me because I was aware of smoking weed.

"Dani, I'm human and I make mistakes, I started off smoking weed upstairs, they, they said they had something I'd like, that would give me a better high. I tried it."

He hesitated, standing there like a demanding child.

"I got a habit now. I need you!”

For the first time, Dane said he needed me! But, he needed me for what seemed like an onerous task. I went to the library to read about heroin. 'A highly addictive opiate known as horse, smack, or poison.' I was heartsick and confused. I researched and read until the library closed. I found out about a recovery program called a Methadone Clinic in Detroit and called them. There was a two to two and a half-year waiting list. Two years! I put Dane on the list. It was the era of Woodstock, peace and love. Sex, drugs, n' rock n' roll ruled the world. All I knew was I was in the middle of trouble; it was hard to see any peace or love in that. Dane was using heroin regularly, sniffing it up his nose.

His hands trembled when he smoked cigarettes.

His eyes were red; he was lethargic and had a cloudy mental capacity. I often was the target of his rages and outbursts, but most often, he would just pass out. Dane's newest revelation of his addiction, with its impending misery, pain, and devastation, was to determine the boundaries of my life for a very long time.

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To Whom It May Concern: I walked through the house; a scarf tied around my hair, carrying a bucket filled with soapy water, washing the walls, doors, and sometimes spots on the floors. I cleaned house with purpose and urgency. I spent my workdays in misery and suspense, not knowing how much, if any, I needed to clean up when I got home. What was I cleaning? Blood!

A home should be a happy place. Every time we breathe, we breathe life into a house don't we? Doesn't the laughter of a happy family breathe joy into a house? If someone is murdered in a house doesn't it leave an ominous imprint? The first time I saw what I needed to clean up, a shock rushed through my body so strong it rumbled throughout our house. The couple of times a day Dane used heroin, blood squirted from his violated veins and up against the walls, doors or mirrors wherever he was standing. Most often, in his haste to get his next "fix," blood would drip on the floor.

Dane and I would see each other, while I cleaned, and never talk about it. He was off into his own abstracted calm. He had the drugs he needed and it didn't matter to him. He was unconcerned. He had been having nosebleeds from snorting heroin, so he resorted to using heroin intravenously. To keep our secret from the world I cleaned! I cleaned it up, over and over again. I wondered what blood splattering up against the walls of a house did to it. I think the house trembles.

I saw Dane "using" often; the shock of seeing it the first time actually wore off, but I still shivered. He would put the white powder in a spoon with a little water. He'd flick his lighter and wave the flame under the spoon, to cook it. He'd then draw the liquid into a syringe.

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Holding the needle pointing up, he gently pressed the plunger and tapped the tube, like a nurse would do, to remove air bubbles. He’d yank at the belt that he'd cinched around his upper arm, making it tighter, forcing his veins to pop out. Once he found a bulging vein, he'd slip the thin needle into the vein, blood squirting out, shooting up against the wall. He was in the vein, so he injected. I quivered. Once he had injected the 'poison ' into his body, bringing that warm sense of well-being he craved, he removed the tourniquet. I watched his face melt into a pure slobbering, ecstatic stupor - a mess. His forearm swollen was starting to scab and to discolor.

I had no social life. I always made excuses to prevent anyone from dropping by to visit. I would make up every type of lie, I could think of. Raised cleaning and scrubbing, I was working harder than I had ever dreamed to keep our place clean. I was scrubbing, sweeping, washing clothes, dusting, doing the dishes, and cleaning up messes left by his friends, often times cleaning their blood off of surfaces, too, because all of them "used" while sitting in our flat. I even polished the windows to impress those on the outside. I was trying to keep things looking as normal as possible.

As I dipped my rag into my bucket of warm sudsy water, slightly turning pinkest red, once again I reflected on the drudgery that I had to endure. Where does happiness come from? I was trying to be there for Dane and help. I was doing the right thing, I was sure, so I cleaned in a fury of righteousness. My deep love for him was the thing that shaped my life. I know what you are thinking, but I couldn't begin to tell you why I endured so much. Why I still loved him with my whole heart.

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To Whom It May Concern: Dane's flaming addiction became expensive. He burglarized our own place, his sister's house, and a cousin's apartment. His whole family, fed up with him, and frustrated couldn’t believe he was doing it. He knew relatives were the easiest for him to rip off. They banned him from their homes. Our vacuum cleaner, my extra TV, VCR, silverware, typewriter, jewelry, sewing machine, and every unopened wedding gift (We still had a few doubles) disappeared. I'd worked hard to buy some of those things, but there were certain gift from Daddy that bothered me most – The typewriter and my birthstone ring.

“Dane, where is my typewriter?"

He sat silent.

"You're wrong." I said.

"I don't care." He was in a bad mood.

"My birthstone ring, what did you do with it? You know I got that for graduation!"

I had tears in my eyes.

"Sold them, Dani, what do you think, don't be so stupid, I sold or pawned all of it. I needed the money."

"Sold them, to whom, Dane? A Pawn shop? "Will they sell my ring and typewriter back to me?''

"Dani, leave me alone! You do not have any money to spare. We got bills."

I was heartbroken.

Occasionally, in our lives, there’s the perfect moment, the hot spot in time that sticks out in our mind.

That moment for me was the minute I opened a small box among my graduation gifts. When I saw that amethyst and pearl ring with its fourteen carat gold band I squealed.

I hadn't ever seen anything so beautiful – it was my birthstone ring. I’d never received such a generous gift in 142

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my entire life. Dane had sold or pawned it and a piece of my soul.

He pawned our wedding bands next. I didn't care. I found out, he'd won my gold band in a poker game the night before he proposed to me. It was a smaller size man's wedding band, size nine. I was self-conscious, anyway, of the fact that the wide band, meant for a man, fit my finger perfectly. It was becoming clear to me Dane would do anything to find the money he needed for drugs.

He also hid our financial struggles with fake prosperity, keeping our place filled with his friends. I hid the humiliation and abuse behind fake endurance, facing the world with a smile.

To Whom It May Concern: It wasn't long before our flat matched the music playing twenty-four hours a day, upstairs. Dane's friends would come and go, or sit around the living room almost seven days a week, using drugs. I had to learn to sleep through the music and noise. The volume low at times and at others the walls of both flats thumped to the separate beats.

Dane would stay out in the living room, with the crowds, all night without coming to bed. When I opened the front door, returning home from work in the evenings, all heads would turn and watch me. It felt like I was intruding in on my own living space. Staring straight ahead, I would propel myself through the living room, past the dining room to hide myself away in the bedroom. In my peripheral vision, I noticed their bodies angled obliquely askew from each other. I supposed for the 143

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privacy of using drugs. There was a strange smell out there - Marijuana? I hadn’t ever smelled it before.

Dane begged me to join them in the living room.

Hesitant, I sat squeezed up against Dane, vaguely bothered by the poignant smell. The body angles shifted slightly away from me, again. I was in a room full of men who seemed to know I was there, but out of respect for Dane, gave little indication that they heard, saw, or cared about my presence. It gave me goose bumps.

Each person was taking a drag on a joint, it became apparent to me that was where the smell was coming from, and passing it on. When it reached me, I declined and passed it on. The smell clung to my hair, clothes, and the room. I had never encountered its’ like, to compare to any other scent I had ever smelled before. It was an aromatic stink; mixed with a smell that was almost sweet.

I grew to love the music they listened to, Barry White, Isaac Hayes, and Marvin Gaye. The music was romantic for a room full of men, I thought. I sipped wine. I hadn't ever tasted wine, before and experienced my first high.

Dane said it was a "contact high," from inhaling the smoke from the weed. Whether from the wine -or the weed, I'd never felt that way before. It was a relaxed and uninhibited feeling that took over my body and I began to giggle.

I would look around at my surroundings in my own living room, seeing nothing I had ever envisioned for my life. All of us "High" huddled together, behind the walls of my living room, as if we were in a secret cave. We were doing nothing, I thought, accomplishing nothing. I drank my wine, felt my highs, unaware of their real secrets. I knew nothing about the drug culture. I did not know those 144

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crowded around me were narcissistic drug addicts, lunatics, and badly behaved people. I had no idea they had no morality. They would do whatever felt good to them. They would do whatever was needed to supply themselves enough money for drugs at any given time and Dane had become one of them.

Sick as it sounds, sitting in that room, being a part of that madness was the only way to spend "quality" time with my husband. I became the hostess. I served snacks; cheese, cookies, crackers, and meals. I became the good hostess. I watched their faces as they ate ravenously, as insatiable as they smoked, snorted, popped pills or injected their drugs.

To Whom It May Concern: I soon distanced myself from their world and it seemed to bother Dane. I was tired of hangover and going to work nauseated. When I got home from work, I preferred to relax in my room. Dane interpreted that as my needing us to spend more time alone. It was true, and I didn't bother to tell him different. He said we would start going out more. I was skeptical. Even though his next “fix” was most important, we started going to the movies again. It was the era of the 'blackploitation' films. We saw "Cotton Comes to Harlem." It was the first time I had seen so many black faces on a movie screen who weren’t maids or butlers. I was thrilled! The theme of the movie didn't matter; I floated onto that screen. I laughed, my soul danced and I enjoyed every moment. I was proud of my people! I studied their faces, examined the way they dressed, walked, and talked. I explored the decorated rooms, the cars they drove, and the outdoor scenes. I 145

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wanted to see everything. I left feeling as if I’d taken a short vacation from my life, my reality.

As content as anyone in my situation can be, one night, I lay in bed reading. Just before drifting off to sleep, Dane brought me a glass of juice.

"What's that?" I asked drowsily, my book was lying in my lap.

I stretched, arching my back, thrusting my bare breast forward.

"Grapefruit juice." He whispered, reaching over to tweak one of my nipples and then the other.

The naked thing? I had actually grown accustomed to going to bed naked. So accustomed that when I'd tried night gowns and pajama’s I felt uncomfortable and couldn’t sleep because they seemed to twist around my middle, wrap around my neck and knot up causing me to sleep on lumps. I went back to nudity.

I studied Dane, I was thirsty but, not crazy about grapefruit juice. I didn't know it, but he'd laced the drink with Vodka and Acid (LSD). To be courteous, I didn't want to tell him to take it away, I actually pinched my nose and drank it. It was frosty cold - it was pleasant, but I shuddered at the aftertaste. Dane laughed and so did I. He asked if I wanted a little water, apologizing for bringing me a drink I wasn't crazy about. I appreciated his thoughtfulness, and our laughter was a nice moment between us. I settled down and went back to reading.

Dane had turned out the overhead light, leaving my small bedside lamp on, and closed the door, saying, "Get some rest."

Suddenly, I felt strange. It had been about five minutes, since Dane left and I started to feel very strange.

I called out loudly to Dane to come help me. My body was going from numb to tingling, and back again. My vision 146

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was blurred, and my stomach boiling. L grew hot, my senses clouded and it was difficult to breathe. As Dane entered our bedroom, I looked around the room; shadows began to crawl all over the walls. Objects were swirling, moving, and leaping off the walls at me. I started screaming!

To Whom It May Concern: That night, men's clever dances, segregated from females, began to shake the fabric of my life. Male characteristics that had no place in my life, had put me in jeopardy, I felt I might drift off into the universe. Dirt spots, cracks, and crevices began to jump off the walls and race towards me. I thrashed about, in the bed like I was being possessed, trying to swat the creatures away. I thought I was losing my mind. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the bed lamp was off! It was dark, only the moonlight shone eerily through the Venetian blinds. In my field of vision, several shadows of men were in the room.

Shadows of men, distorting into whatever strange forms, my mind was coming up with, were standing around my bed.

The moonlight emitted an eerie ring of light that seemed to vibrate around their swirling forms. Everything was changing colors. My senses, distorted, I thought I smelled weed, booze, and sweat. They were moving towards me. Nothing made sense. Nearly lifeless, my entire thinking process wiped out; I tried to move away from them. I felt the breath rush out of me as one of them climbed on top of me, caressing me, and kissing me. It had to be Dane, but in front of an audience? Psychedelic lights flashing in my brain. I could feel my breast pressed into his 147

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chest. He kissed deeply, I could feel my mouth being explored. I wasn't struggling.

With brief moments of regaining "consciousness," I felt my legs being pulled. Was another person mounting me? I couldn't move. I kept fading in and out. I could only see the outlines of shoulders, arms, and hands. It felt like I was in a dream. I had the sensations of being under a mild anesthesia. The shadows were still climbing on me, one after another. Where they jumping off the ceiling, flying from the corners of the room, or sliding all around, as I peered over their shoulders at other screaming faces on the ceiling?

My hearing was distorted, everything noisy was like multiple sounds colliding with one another, and I heard a distorted version of, "It's all right. I'm here."

My mind was ablaze. My senses slowly melting into focus. I lay spread eagle, feeling my new light blue sheets soaking wet and cold beneath me. I needed to vomit, I wanted to vomit, and I began to vomit. I must have passed out. When the world came back into focus, again, I was lying in a tub of cold water, naked. Dane was on his knees beside the tub, wiping my face and shoulder's with a wet cloth. He spread the cloth over my forehead. I watched him with a vacant expression. I could hardly remember anything. Why was in the bathtub? He was rambling on, "Baby, I just slipped a little Vodka and Acid in your grapefruit juice. It was a joke. You scared me to death.

You had hallucinations, an acid trip, that's all?"

That’s all?

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The day after it happened, I didn't want to face life, I’d become too aware of what I thought had happened.

Dane had sold my body for drugs. My inability to communicate social control and boundaries in my own life made everything that happened in the dark, the night before, too gross to comprehend. I dressed for work. I could barely walk. It was odd that the living room was empty. Dane lay on the floor, mouth hanging open, snoring, irreparably oblivious to the fact I left for work I boarded the usual bus. My good friend, Patrice, who everyone called Niecy, also worked at the bank. I'd befriended her on the bus rides to work. I sat next to her.

We had become fast friends. But I was listless, dull-eyed, and tired, that morning. She gave me questioning looks, but asked no questions. Something else was on her mind.

She reared back in her seat, and stared out of the window.

A library book lay in her lap. I glimpsed at the title, "New York City." Finally, she started talking, "Dani, I am falling in love with New York. I am going there. You're going with me."

"What?"

I was not in the mood to think about that.

"We can save money and go."

"What?" I said once again.

I had a hangover, and was feeling dismal!

"Let's open a joint savings account, it will be our secret money, kept from our husbands."

Niecy was married to a severe alcoholic and I to a raging drug addict; I couldn't imagine us being able to create a savings.

"What do you think?" She continued, bouncing around in her seat, making me seasick!

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"Okay." I didn't know what I was really saying, I just wanted her to stop bouncing.

"Great! We can make a deposit every payday. Just a little every two weeks."

She was rambling on. "It might take a year or more to save enough."

"Okay."

I wanted aspirin.

"I'm so excited," she squealed. "We are going to visit the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building and Radio City Music Hall," she went on and on until I said, "Niecy, I have a headache!"

I needed her to leave me alone. I needed to figure out my life!

To Whom It May Concern: I couldn't image Niecy leaving her husband alone, for any amount of time, let alone leaving for days to take a trip. I couldn't imagine Dane accepting the fact that I was going to New York, without him, either. But, I was up a tree with Niecy, agreeing to go to New York, and afraid to climb down, how could I admit to her that I knew we'd never get to New York.

I reflected on the first time that I met her husband, Juan. I was part of a group of women who attended a festive noontime Tupperware party at Niecy's house. In the middle of the party her husband burst into the room screaming, "Monkey's, monkeys, up there.�

He was looking at the top of the living room curtains. He stood pointing at the top of her living room curtains, peeing in his pants. It began to splatter on the 150

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floor. It was an endless piss. I thought that he had to have the bladder of a horse. He started screaming, again; he began running, pointing, and ducking. Niecy was screaming, "Stop it, Juan," repeatedly.

Everyone recoiled, staring down at the carpeting in disbelief. I was looking up at the curtains, too! They all left, appalled, in a hurry, but I stayed. Niecy ran behind Juan trying to control him. He was a short, thin and frail man. Niecy, much bigger than he was, wrestled him to the floor. He lay limp in a rumpled mess having a bowel movement in his pants! The stench filled the room. I cleaned up after the party. Niecy took him to clean up and remove his soiled clothes. I heard the water running the bathtub. My heart broke for her. How humiliating! Some of those women, worked with us, and would go back to work and spread gossip. Niecy returned to the living room with a carpet cleaner, "He's settled down." She said She turned on the machine. I kept glancing at her, amazed. She seemed so calm. I patiently. When she turned the carpet cleaner off, I asked, "Niecy, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm okay."

She begged me to stay for dinner, to thank me for helping. I called Dane and he was not happy about it, but I stayed anyway.

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hiding secrets from the world. She looked at me pensively, "You know, Dani, he stopped drinking, cold turkey, five days ago. I wanted to give a party, live like everybody else, and have people over. I’m so sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for." I said.

"He's a drunk, I should have known better. He's been in so many rehabilitation programs in the past, it's ridiculous. He always goes back to drinking!"

I sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a Sears and Roebuck catalogue, while she prepared dinner and talked.

"Met him while I was in High School," Niecy seemed to be daydreaming, a little distant.

"He was twelve years older than I, my older brother's best friend. I'm sorry I ever loved him."

I put down the magazine and stared at her, "When did he start drinking?" I asked.

"He said, since he was ten, he hid it well.

She said her brother didn't know it was so bad. He wouldn't have introduced him to her.

She said she had seen him take a drink, but was married a year before she realized he drank so excessively.

I guess he let his guard down. She loved him by then.

"I heard about DT's in the programs he'd been in, but I'd never thought he'd do this!� She said. “He said he could quit cold turkey this time."

She continued to seem distant as she talked about him; I was a little concerned. We changed the subject, began to chat, and even had some laughs about some of the weird people we worked with, and the strange people who boarded the bus.

Niecy prepared a lovely meal set her table beautifully, all three of us sat down. She had refused to let 152

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me help with anything. She said I had done enough. Niecy carefully prepared my plate and reached it over to me. It smelled wonderful. Steam rose up off the plate in a variety of delicious aromas. I took it and thanked her. She prepared her husband’s plate with the same care and reached it over to him. He reached for it. She shoved the plate of hot food into his face! I jumped straight up out of my chair, shaking and trembling. I stared at him horrified.

He just sat there, he didn't yell, he didn't move! Hot food was running down his face, dripping off his chin. I glanced over at Niecy and saw the first signs of a tear in her eyes. I excused myself and mumbled a suggestion that I go home.

But, I ran to her front door. She ran behind me, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dani?"

She said it in tones that did not reflect what had just happened. I managed to hug her, praying silently that she would be all right and croaked out a sick sounding, “Yes.”

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Chapter Six

Wali – Tough Dance – Strength.

To Whom It May Concern: Walker, Dane's best friend, asked Dane for a place to stay. They had known each other since third grade. We had three bedrooms. Dane offered him one of them.

Walker was a heroin addict, too. The last time I saw him was at our wedding. I called the Methadone Clinic, with his permission, and placed him on the same waiting list, as Dane.

Dane was working the evening shift high at work. It was disconcerting to have Walker up with me every morning and at home every evening, he worked days. I knew he was "using" in his bedroom. He was dope sick within ten minutes of waking each morning. I was paranoid. I felt uncomfortable when I took a shower peeking out from behind the shower curtain – although I had locked the bathroom door. When I undressed in my bedroom - it seemed someone was watching - my imagination. I checked the locked door, repeatedly. He often stood at the entrance of the kitchen while I cooked.

"Could I get you some coffee?" I’d ask, hoping he'd go somewhere and drink it.

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"No, thanks. Am I disturbing you?"

I said he wasn't - not true.

I felt awkward cooking in front of him. We had dinner together many nights, at first in uncomfortable silence. Sometimes he would sit at the kitchen table in a lethargic heroin nod.

He still managed to do things that I appreciated such as setting the table, making lemonade and even washing the dishes after dinner. I sensed he found his drug use embarrassing and wanted to be as functional as possible. It wasn't long before I began to feel relaxed about having him around the house.

The hippies upstairs moved away. It was pleasant now that crowds, no longer hung around our living room.

If anyone from those days dropped by, Walker answered the door and sent every one of them away. We talked about lots of things, over dinner, and he had funny stories to tell about him and Dane growing up. He was very subdued one evening, when he came to the table. I, felt comfortable asking, "Why do you use drugs?"

Walker took a sip of his lemonade and lowered his glass to the table, eyes lowered.

"The rush makes me feel on top of the world, at peace." He said. "It's an escape."

I was looking down into my lap, rethinking my intrusion into his privacy. As I looked up Walker shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable, and stared at me.

"Does my answer bother you?" “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked such a personal question."

"It's okay. Why do you love Dane?"

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To Whom It May Concern: I wasn't sure I wanted to have that conversation with Walker. I thought about it carefully, "Why do you ask that?" I said.

“He’s not easy to love,” he said.

He did know Dane!

"I love him because of the moments, since I was fifteen that swept me along in such a rush of experiences that felt so magical, I could hardly catch my breath. I can’t forget that" I was squirming by then. Walker just calmly watched me. I continued.

"He brought a lot of joy to my life. It's the good times that are hard to forget." I finished.

"Falling in love, is just like falling into drugs." He said.

"What do you mean?" I was astounded.

"At first, you take it slow and easy, a little bit at a time. Right?"

"Love or drugs?"

"Both.... ., "Okay."

"It feels so good, the need for it grows; you want more time with it. You discover it is on your mind morning, noon, and night. You reach for it, wait for it, hunger for it, and feel you cannot survive without it. Then the misery seeps in, but you’re hooked."

We sat silent for several minutes. I absorbed that information thinking of how it fit my feelings about Dane.

We got up and began to clear the table.

"Still and all, I'm telling you, you can take drugs until it kills you.” I shouted after him as he carried the dishes to the kitchen.

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“You can love until it kills you!" He shouted from the kitchen.

I sat back down. I was pensive for a few minutes, maybe not in total agreement with him, but I shuddered.

"Did Dane introduce you to heroin?" I asked.

He returned to the dining room table and sat down.

"Yes, but l made the decision to use. I'd tried weed; LSD, cocaine, and then I ran into Dane one day and he gave me some heroin.

“Why were you doing that?”

“At first I was trying to fill a void in my life.”

"This void, did the drugs helps you escape from it?"

"Yes." "What is the void?"

"Some other time."

I imagined I was getting, too, nosy.

"Dane fills an emptiness in my life, and he hurts me at the same time." I said sheepishly. Somehow I felt safe saying that. "I guess it's a kind of love I've grown accustomed to."

"Love and drugs that are an intensely pleasurable send rushes that snares your body and soul." He said.

He hesitated and continued.

"Even when and if you break free, you crave it to some extent for the rest of your life."

I heard Big Mama's words, "It's a cravin of a kind that git a hol on you."

I had goose bumps, he placed his hand on mine, sensing we had connected in some spiritual way. We sat musing over that tough dance.

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Walker, a medium built man, the same height as me… five feet nine. He had small features, black hair, a softer texture than most, and a seal-brown complexion.

His strong chiseled hands, with thick veins in the backs of them, filled me with the desire to touch them. When he touched mine, I felt indecent. His eyes were gray, unusual for a man with dark skin. I would get lost in them because they were so extraordinary. I remember the first time I met him; I actually did a double take, to look at those eyes again.

One day Walker said, "If you feel like company, Dani, I'll walk to the bus stop with you, I go that way, just after you leave."

I said, “Sure.”

Walker got up each morning twenty minutes earlier than he needed, to inject heroin and let the initial exhilarated rush wear off. In spite of that, I enjoyed his company. As we exited our neighborhood, onto the main street, it was always lively with cars, cabs, buses, and delivery trucks. Men, women, and kids were waiting at the bus stops, too, heading to school or work.

I often wondered if people thought we were a couple. He was protective. He insisted on walking on the sidewalk closest to the street. As we passed strangers, he would place his hand on the small of my back and guide me along very guarded. He always stood protectively by my side, waiting for my bus, leaving to catch his only after seeing me safely board mine.

Some mornings he was unable to go to work and I missed him. He'd often woken up sweating, with muscle spasms and stomach cramps. I'd see the debilitating pain in his eyes when he'd tell me he couldn't make it, the craving wrapped around his spine, was too much for him 158

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to bear. He hadn't secured his morning fix the night before, for one reason or another, and had to go in search of the pain relief he needed.

One morning it was colder than I had expected.

Walker took off his coat, eased it over my shoulders, and closed it around me. He looked into my face as he pulled the wide men's collar up around my ears and put his arm around me. I felt awkward at first. The inside of his coat smelled pleasant, like a mild floral incense, I enjoyed the warmth of him and his coat. I relaxed. He was such a gentle soul.

Dane and Walker's addictions were getting worse every day, causing them to need more and more of the drug. They were both "using" every eight hours, sometimes more, hiding on the job, at the end of their day, to use, in order to make it home. Sometimes, Dane, desperate, would use saliva in his spoon in the parking lot.

The veins in their arms were collapsing and closing up. I rode with them several evenings, fearing for our safety, in search of their drug. Once we arrived, Dane, Walker walked hard, and fast up to the dope house, looking anguished.

As I waited in the car, they’d disappear inside. I felt terrified. I watched the door they had entered, my surroundings and anyone who came within reach of the vehicle I sat in, anxiously.

A van pulled up next to me, one time, and a suffering dirty blonde woman lay awkwardly between the headrest and window. Her man jumped out of the van and ran into the house. I could hear an argument coming from inside of the building, and then, "Fuck you Mother Fucker!"

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entered and left that house, sometimes leaving children sitting in their back seats.

I sat there watching, amazed and saddened. I sat in an area awash with human wreckage.

What was taking Dane and Walter so long?

During the many trips I’d made with them, I’d glanced around at the ruination of a neighborhood where dealers operated openly. The area had become dirty.

There were addicts, too impatient to wait until they got home, who’d find a dark corner, risking arrest, just to get their fix. They’d toss their needles in bushes where children may easily find them. They talked funny, walked funny and sometimes laid around nodding, some would even take a piss leaving their penises hanging out. Police vehicles were often rolling by slowly. Everyone would scatter.

I would panic at the thought of Dane, or Walker getting arrested.

To Whom It May Concern: Walker frightened us sometimes. It was rare, but he wouldn't come home for days and Dane and I would drive and search for him. Usually, he would show up eventually, but once we found him lying in the bushes with the other addicts near their supplier’s house. His legs were curled under him as if he'd slumped over from a sitting or kneeling position. He had slightly rolled up his sleeve and the needle was still stuck in his arm. That was his answer to the monster deep within that was always seeking a better high. I never understood why he did this because he had our home to come to. We understood and cared for him.

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We dumped him in the car and drove him home. Heroin was a rising tide of black water in our lives. Knowing I had so many questions, Walker got Dane to join in on some deep discussions. I shuddered to hear them telling of addicts shooting up in their calves, feet, and even in their testicles. They talked about young people injecting between toes and in their thighs, trying to hide their drug use from their parents. They were sharing with me. I reveled in it, bathe in it, let it swirl around me and sink into the core of my mind.

I nursed them the best I knew how, mostly trying to feed them when their appetites were waning; they hardly ate unless I pushed. They were thin, losing weight rapidly, with bruised and swollen arms. During another evening of sharing, it was a setback when they explained that they could overdose. Walker exchanged a look with Dane, he admitted, his voice a little shaky, a little rough, that he had already rushed Dane to a hospital once before, due to an overdose. I had no idea. When did that happen?

I was alarmed. Dane said, "If it happens in front of you Dani, pack ice on my balls or drag me to a tub of cold water."

"What!" I squealed.

"You need to remember that, Dani." Walker interjected. “Call an ambulance if it doesn't work, for either of us."

Either of us, I wasn’t putting ice on anybody’s balls!

The dark cloud, brought on by that dismal news made me get up and go to bed. They followed, watching television in the bedroom, shooting up. I watched them nod off eventually falling asleep. Walker in an armchair, Dane across the foot of the bed. In a deep sleep they both looked so peaceful, who would think, they were living such 161

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a nightmare. Who would think I would be living the nightmare with them?

To Whom It May Concern: I wanted the Dane I fell in love with, back. I did not understand the drug ravished junkie, complacent human being, he'd become, filled with aberrant behaviors. Walker on the other hand was hurting, embarrassed, and sorry for any discomfort he may have caused. If I analyzed it, I would call him a functional drug addict. I left the bedroom to get a glass of water and walked around our living room, as I stood there, my philodendrons, hanging from the ceiling caught my attention. The pot hanging in the corner held the only things growing, and thriving in the morose atmosphere of my home life. My intention was to grow them long, to run their vines along the crown molding all the way around the room. I’d seen it done in a magazine once. They were half way there. I didn't really know why I even bothered. Those plants, the pots and dishes in the kitchen, two small televisions, and a few necessary pieces of furniture were the only things in the house they had not pawned or sold.

Walker grew up Jehovah Witness. He was dragged door to door by his mother spreading her belief to which she called the “Truth." For him, life was a supreme and horrendous joke. He hated it. He would stand by her side obediently when his mother knocked on the door of a residence. Even though they faced many with positive attitudes, far too often curtains would part and the resident would refuse to open the door, or if opened some sort of insult was hurled their way and most embarrassing a door would be slammed in their faces, he was ashamed.

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He hated the insults thrown at them, was intrigued by those who seemed to expertly spew out Bible verses related to their own particular religion. He cringed at the intrusion that was obvious, most people felt, when they approached someone standing outside.

Being, Jehovah Witness made him different in school, also. He did not want to be different. He wanted to fit in. The birthdays and holidays, celebrated made him feel left out, because he could not participate. He got a beating, once, when caught enjoying a birthday party at his friend's house, who lived around the corner.

Celebrations such as these were out there in the world, everywhere, he said. He could not cope with the restrictions of his life and the distance in his relationship with his mother.

The regimental scheduled study sessions and visits to the Kingdom Hall were not enough of a shield against the peer pressure he felt. He sat silent when the children got back to school from Christmas break, chattering about the many gifts that Santa Claus had left them. He looked on, despising it. His mother couldn’t afford toys anyway.

He was in pain. He chased after anything that allowed him to feel like he fit in, which were usually the wrong things.

As a teenager, he experimented with weed, stole cars, and even involved himself in several home burglaries with groups of young men. His father had died when he was eight, he felt lost. When his father was living he did not participate in the religious practice of his wife, but did not celebrate holidays and birthdays out of respect for her beliefs. Anytime Walker tried to express his pain, his father sent him to his mother who sat him down to study. As he grew older, Walker rebelled against his mother, their religion. He went through a 'shunning' from the church because of the things he was doing.

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Finally, he refused to participate in her religion at all. His mother shunned him, also. He got a girl pregnant. The church shunned her! The girl miscarried. Losing his relationship with his mother was the void in his life. His home was the streets for over a year. Of course, he ran with the wrong crowd for a while. They continued to burglarize homes, snatch purses, smoke weed, and drink.

He said he was lucky he graduated High School. He was lucky to be alive.

His mother accepted him back, eventually, but was distant. He was smoking weed away from the house. The decision to lie was an easy one. His, keeping it secret from his mother, was in constant search for a better high, to numb his pain.

He ran into Dane again, and invited to our wedding, rekindled their relationship which began his journey with heroin. Walker loved it when the sedative effects of the drug took hold, he said. He often raided his mother's purse for money, until he found a job. I listened carefully, he seemed depressed after revealing all of that.

To Whom It May Concern: Our second wedding anniversary had been days ago, on a Saturday. Walker was away for the weekend.

We had plans to go to the Fox Theatre downtown, an elaborate spectacle with an atmosphere of elegance, to attend a play. Afterward, we would dine at a well-known Chinese restaurant, a dimly lit romantic atmospheric place with lots of red and gold Chinese lanterns. Locked infamously into my devotion to Dane, I was excited about celebrating our union in such a fanciful way.

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I was getting dressed and heard voices coming from the living room. Dane had company? My married life was composed entirely of anticipation and waiting; I wanted them to leave. I was wearing the color that Dane said looks good on me - out of all colors, red! I wore a beautiful new, off-the-shoulder-dress, found on the bargain racks at a second-hand shop. I applied perfume and a shimmering dusting of iridescent powder to my collarbone and shoulders. My hair pressed straight, falling just below my shoulders, shined. I wore red pumps and rhinestone earrings that sparkled and glistened on my ears.

I wanted to surprise Dane. I looked in the mirror and in one of those rare moments I thought I looked pretty good.

My shoulders were lovely, my hair shimmering and makeup exquisite. I had to admit red WAS my color. I walked to the hallway and called out, "Dane would you please come help me with something?"

I couldn’t wait for him to admire my appearance. I got no response. I became impatient.

Finally, Dane approached me, he didn't acknowledge my new dress, he didn’t notice how lovely I looked and said, "Let's celebrate right, why don't you try a little skag?"

Skag! I looked like he’d slapped me.

He said, “Let’s hang around the house, a little skag won't hurt you, Dani. You'll love it, baby."

Dust landed on my heart!

For the first time – I hated Dane! I became so weak, I nearly fell to the ground. A huge knot rushed to my throat. I had looked forward to our celebration for months. I whispered, begging him to keep our plans, a gentle way, to say, "NO." To Skag. Fury slowly spread across his face, he blurted out, 165

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"I’m not taking your fat ass anywhere!"

Time stood still. I burst into tears. My brain cells flared up deep inside my head. I was devastated.

"Dani, you don't share my life, you don't understand me!" He yelled. "If you loved me, you'd try it."

He walked out of the room.

I had gotten use to the confines of his drug use. I sat on the side of the bed trembling. This was supposed to be MY night. He didn't care how much he hurt me.

Pushed into that painful realization I wondered if there could be any more pain hidden in the shadows of the life we shared. Was there any more misery waiting to jump out and punish me? Well, there was! I heard the voices, several, speaking carefully and deliberately low. Shaken, and with swollen eyes, and a puffy face, creeping toward the sound of them, afraid, I ended up at the edge of the dining room – to peer around the edge of the wall separating them into the living room. There were three men sitting on the couch, rubber tourniquets tied around their arms, waving spoons over candlelight. Dane hadn't had any men sitting around our living room for quite a long time. Dane had just started roping a belt around his arm. The room was filled with candlelight. Flowers laid on the coffee table, as if Dane were preparing for a romantic evening. I was confused. I wasn't sure if I should draw attention to myself, so I turned around, heading back to the bedroom, just as Dane saw me. My heart seized.

"Dani, wait!' He yelled. "Come join us."

He jumped up and ran over, grabbing me around the waist, from behind, burying his face in the top of my head. Walking backwards, leading me to the couch, he was whispering how sorry he was. He said I looked beautiful, sexy. I gently resisted, but allowed him to lead me. Once we were seated on the couch the other men in the room 166

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moved in too close and one of them grabbed at me. I couldn't believe it! Getting a firm grip, I couldn't pull away. Dane was holding on to his grip, also - they dominated me. Another took over Dane's hold while the last one grabbed my wrist and held them tight. Dane was drawing heroine into a syringe from a spoon. He walked over and started slapping the hand held tightly by one of the men.

"Stop it," I screamed.

I began to kick. We were wrestling, until they pinned me down.

"You're going to enjoy this, Dani" He was bringing the syringe towards my hand. I began to struggle again, trying to kick harder, screaming!

"No, please!�

I felt the sharp sting of the needle pierce the back of my hand.

To Whom It May Concern: I had no choice but to surrender. I went limp. My heart was jumping and my eyes huge. When they let go of me, I fell back violently onto the soft pillows that decorated the couch. The effects were immediate. A rush, a warm euphoria shot straight to my brain. My heart was hopping around, my brains drew tight, and then a jolt of pleasure seemed to melt and fill my body. In time it seemed to settle into the pits of my stomach, stirring wildly in my gut. My body racked with nausea. I couldn't move and lay huddled on the couch like a battered child.

They all stood, looking down at me. My body shuddered with all its might. What I was feeling was very powerful, 167

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very strong. Was I melting? Was I floating high above them?

Suddenly, I started retching and rocking with dry heaves; I hadn't eaten all day, saving room for the sumptuous meal I had planned to have at the Chinese restaurant. Staring down at my hand, which was hurting, and a bruise forming, I wanted to jump up and run. Dane sat down next to me and injected heroin into his vein with the same syringe he had used on me. He sank back into the couch, like liquid rubber, savoring the effects of the drug. The other two men in the room, passed around the syringe, doing the same thing. Dane occasionally tried to fondle my breast, but his hand kept sliding past and landing on my lap. His eyes slivered open to leer at me, "Happy Anniversary, baby." He mumbled.

My anniversary celebration had turned vulgar and disgusting. I felt queasy, and strange. I could no longer hold back the nausea. I stumbled to the bathroom at the back of the house. On my knees, my face lay against laid against the cold porcelain; the little bit in my guts emptied into the toilet. I mostly had muscle wrenching dry heaves.

Lights were flashing in my head. I crawled out of the bathroom, stood up and slid quietly along the wall of the elongated hallway, to the bedroom at the back of the house and collapsed onto the bed. Staring at the ceiling, drowsily fading in and out, hot tears welled up and slid down my face, as I thought about the life I was living.

I felt very weak. Blood had spilled into my mouth; I didn't know how I burst my lip. In the moments, before I fell asleep, coaxed and wheedled into my own profound self-destruction, I reached a turning point. It made me realize that just trying to love someone and hoping they'd love me back, I had stumbled into martyrdom. It crept up on me and I couldn't lie to myself. I was staying with Dane, 168

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filled with self-sacrificing trust that everything would get better - hope.

I was sure I had become a junkie. I should have left him a long time ago, but I had loved him so. If I could have one wish granted at that very moment, it would be for my stupid ass to die. Floating between dreams and pain, I prayed for sound sleep. When I awoke again, Dane was out cold in the armchair, the others on the couch. My head pounded. Horribly thirsty, I drank a glass of water.

My thirst was unquenchable and it made my head hurt worse. I yanked my hair back into a rubber band and washed my face for half an hour. I spat blood in the sink and stood there shivering, watching myself in the mirror.

My legs were wobbly and my body felt doughy, slimy. That was good, I supposed. Decomposition!

To Whom It May Concern: I was nodding off and queasy for the next twentyfour hours. Caught up in the nightmare fearing had become a heroin addict, I prayed that I would be alright.

Survive – something I’d done all of my life. I, left alone with hopes and dreams that the moments I’d experienced were just an illusion.

On the bus ride to work, the next day I kept falling asleep – nodding off? I would awaken, jerking myself upright, repeatedly, opening my eyes. It seemed like everyone on the bus was staring at me. Niecy asked what was wrong. I lied, "Sleepy! Dane's bad cough kept me awake all night," I had a humiliating day at work, too, telling coworker's I was ill. I got off work early and nodded all the way home.

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My mind still too wrecked to think about it; I lay in bed, in pajama's, with my stomach numb and woozy. Walker came home and was very upset When Walker found out what Dane had done, he bolted from my bedroom. I heard crashing: Chairs falling and thumping against the walls and I sat up in bed. He and Dane was arguing and it broke out into a fist fight it was too frightened to move. I looked at their battered faces for days and neither of them said a word to me about it, we continued to move through our lives as if it had never happened.

I was scared. I had come to a new place in my marriage, always cautious about what was going to happen next. I had no idea of how to protect myself. In Dane's frame of mind, anything could happen. I found myself relying on Walker to protect me. He reassured me, I wasn't an addict. He said vomiting probably helped a lot.

He remained around the house a lot more. The three of us began to go to the movies, Dane's way of placating the things he did, I thought. I didn't care about the reasons. I loved movies. I needed the escape from our horrific life.

They nodded off throughout the movie while I crawled, mentally, as deep into what was happening on the theater screen as I could. I was still awestruck seeing so many black actors on the screen. I blushed all the way through Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss. We saw Shaft, Hit Man and many westerns, which were Walker's favorites. I hated leaving and facing the realities of my life.

Another reality surfaced in the privacy of our bedroom. Dane would cozy up to me and discussed his friend's, their girlfriends, and wives. Laughing about things, they'd said to each other and crazy moments in their lives. I really wasn't interested. I discovered that was 170

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his way of easing the fact that these women were selling their bodies to support their man's drug habit.

He went on about how safe it was. I stared at him in disbelief. What was he telling me? He explained that their men solicited the "tricks,� drove their women to motels, and waited outside. I was disgusted. Without saying it directly, it was clear Dane was introducing the possibility of my doing that. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was subtle and evasive, but obvious. It was clear he wanted me to agree to do the same thing for him.

I played stupid, ignoring him.

To Whom It May Concern: Walker told me Dane admitting to him that he was involved in several illegal activities, a car theft ring, a group that burglarized homes and he calmly stated he was thinking of joining a prostitution ring in Canada! What an idiot, I thought. I was becoming restless about my life. It was becoming hard to live in our environment. My heart trembled. I hated my existence.

I wished that the Methadone program would hurry up and open for them.

I couldn't help feeling a pinch of hurt listening to Dane state how much he wished he had someone who loved him as much as his friends’ wives (the women selling their bodies). It hurt more knowing he wanted me to do such a thing.

"You're worthless."

He said it like spitting out something disgusting.

Being a woman in my world was tough, but I continued to survive. It wasn't easy. Drugs had drained Dane's libido, had squashed his sexual abilities, entirely. I actually was relieved. We just continued to read, see an occasional 171

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movie or watch television. He asked me to go for a ride, one day; he had something to show me.

I noticed we were heading towards the seedy side of town. His hands were tight on the wheel, his jaw taunts; I could see the muscles in his jaw jumping. He slowed and started pointing.

"There's a prostitute,� he said. “What l am asking you to do is different. I will be there with you, Dani, waiting outside. See what they have to go through. You miss sex don't you?"

I was sick of his desperate need for drug money. I heard him, but chose to remain silent. I was curious, though, and stared out of the window. I watched the women with the same interest of studying animals in the zoo. Some of the women glanced back at me, and then looked down at the ground. Others, threw their hands on their hips, posed, and stared right back. I guessed prostitutes had been around all along, and I just hadn't noticed. I looked at their faces, some pensive, others desperate, but most animated.

There were those without makeup, others with painted lips, wearing false eyelashes, and makeup so severe they were almost clown-like. Their hair worn in many ways, tied up, some with colorful pieces hanging from it, others tossed wildly. It all intrigued me. I saw breasts spilling out of the tops of low cut tee shirts, bottoms hanging below too short hot pants and clothing so tight, I didn't know how they got into them. They ranged from bad-skinned drag queens to normal looking women. One woman wearing black jeans and a pink jacket, modest make up, looked like she was headed to the grocery store.

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invade their bodies, I felt sad and reflected back on the time Dane had slipped me that LSD. I didn't like to remember that night. Buried in my mind's inner conflict, of that reality, was a lot of shame. Were they high? Dane said many of the women were addicts. I cried for them.

Dane looked at me strangely and for some reason, he never asked me to do that again.

To Whom It May Concern: While in the kitchen, I heard Walker In our room, one morning, waking Dane, cursing about the fix he'd just injected.

"You cheated me. What you do with my fix. It only knocked the edge off, man."

We walked to the bus, Walker was silent, and he was ok, but looking distressed, l asked, "What's wrong? Was something wrong with the...

Aw... Drug?"

In spite of his discomfort, he finally spoke, "Dope sick is awful. It's a craving that wakes you up and crawls into your soul. We're held captive by our suppliers, Dani, going to be a rough day at work today, that's all."

"I understand."

"Do you?� He snapped. “You don't! You have no clue."

He was upset, short with me like never before, even though I saw remorse.

"You are a gentle soul, Dani, ignore me! You go through enough with Dane and me, I hate what he puts you through."

"Me, too," I whispered.

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Walker was angry with Dane. He continued his rant,

“Dane is my friend and he is a piece of shit. The drugs drive him; it reroutes his conscience and moral priorities."

'What does the drug drive you to do?" I asked pensively.

Walker didn’t answer directly, he began to talk about his mother. Their relationship had remained very strained.

"Heroin made me feel exactly like I wanted to feel.

Heroin numbed me to whatever pain I was feeling.”

He said the first time he stayed out until midnight, his mother met him at the door distraught, hysterical, hair uncombed, haggard looking and her face was tear streaked. He even laughed heartily at the memory, composed himself, and continued with his story. He said he felt it was stupid that he, as a grown man, his mother got hysterical if he stayed out past ten o'clock. She was constantly placing the Jehovah Witness magazines in his reach. It didn’t help his pain. One day she accidentally walked in the bathroom, caught him shooting up, and threw him out of the house.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"She refuses to see me, now."

"I'm so sorry," was all I could think of saying.

The look of devastation on his face was heartbreaking.

To Whom It May Concern: Have you ever wondered why life so difficult, sometimes dangerous and often such an unpleasant journey? It wasn't easy to be alive. My heart broke over Walker's relationship with his mother. I decided to clean 174

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his room for him and perhaps leave a snack or something.

I knew men really didn’t know how to clean. I opened the door to his room, the first time since he moved in. I stood amazed! It was a very dark, curtains pulled tightly together, and foul smelling place. I wondered if it was a reflection of his very dark journey. No person was free from his or her own demons. It looked like there had been an explosion in there. Startled in my walk through the room, unknowingly stepping on God knows what, I instinctively began to pick up trash.

There were old newspapers, paper, bottles, and candy wrappers everywhere. I saw plates with globs of stuff that once was food, turned green and moldy. It was shocking! His room had piles of clothes and shoes, smelly socks, and open containers with rotted liquids inside. The stench was horrible. Piles of this stuff covered his bed.

There was nowhere to sleep! I couldn't see the floor, could barely see the dresser, night stand or the chair that sat in the corner. Paraphernalia lay all over everything. Where did he lay down at night?

I felt like I'd discovered a terrible secret. How could someone who is so helpful and neat around the house be a man who has such a nightmare of a room? I felt that mess was too personal. I didn’t think he’d have wanted to see it. I backed slowly out of his room and closed the door. I gave him wary looks for a few days wondering if it was a reflection of how he felt about himself. I never let him know I'd seen his room. I watched him as he left the table and walked into that room, my mind felt an acute pinch. He must be living a hot torture.

When l could ignore the drugs, the three of us were having easier times. Dane was using doctor notes, etc., to get time off from work and he, Walker and I were spending our evenings together. We played a lot of music, 175

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cards, and watched television. Dane finally seemed overwhelmed and weary of his drug addiction. He, alarmed by the tracks on his arms, made an issue of them.

He yanked up his sleeves thrusting his arms towards me, "What are these, Dani?"

"Nee.... dle marks?"

I wasn't sure of my answer. I wore a worried face.

"Call them what they are, Dani. Tracks, fucking tracks that tell the world what I am a junkie. I walk around in the summer wearing long sleeves. Everyone knows. It's obvious." He yelled.

I told him everyone doesn’t know. I tried to reassure him that we were so close to getting help, and this wasn't the time to give up. I was concerned because I saw ulcerated sores on his arms. Dane got up to go to the bathroom, walking with a lean, and a on his tiptoes shuffle. He seemed very depressed. Later I found him sitting in the bathroom scrubbing the tracks on his arms with a face towel. He had scrubbed so hard he had rubbed away flesh! Blood was everywhere. I screamed for Walker, who came running and we bandaged him up. Dane's arms were an even bigger mess than before, for a while he had to use other veins in his body to shoot up. It made me feel sick.

Surprisingly, I had to battle with Walker, at times. I knew he was high. Dane had passed out. He went down like a falling tree. It was a dead faint. He passed out in the hallway just outside of the bathroom, the needle still stuck in his arm, drops of blood dripping down. I screamed, "Dane! Oh my God! Walker help me!"

I ran down the hall towards Dane, dropped to my knees and started slapping his face. His body rigid, his teeth clenched and face grimaced, I that his eyes were 176

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closed, I thought, for a moment, he was dying. Blood was on his arm and had started to back up into the syringe.

I jumped up and hurried to the kitchen for ice, screaming again for Walker. Walker came sprinting down the hallway. When I got back to Dane, Walker shoved me away, hard. I fell back against the wall, stunned. He had bent over Dane, snatched the syringe out of Danes arm, and proceeded to inject the fluid in his own arm.

"Dammit Dani, get out of my way." He yelled.

I screamed,"What are you doing?"

I lunged at him.

"Shut up, Dani."

He pushed me back, harder.

"Stop it," I screamed.

I lunged at him, again. I grabbed his arm, we struggled, and he shoved me again, holding me against the wall. I couldn't believe the rage in his eyes. Frightened, I sat still. I couldn't believe what he was doing. He had a crazy, hungry look on his face. He collapsed against the opposite wall, eyes closed, enjoying the euphoric rush. I sat there feeling alone. Dane began to stir. I didn't know if I should pack ice on his balls or not. Walker lay enjoying the peace and warmth of the drug. I wanted to run from the house screaming! Dane eventually crawled into the bathroom.

To Whom It May Concern: I had outstayed and prayed on my situation. The day I’d dreamed of finally arrived. The Methadone clinic had openings for Dane and Walker. I couldn't believe it!

"I'm dreaming," l shouted, swaying around the kitchen.

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"Yeah, you're dreaming, I'm not here." Walker said, scratching his ass, heading to the refrigerator.

I ran to him and hugged him.

"The Methadone clinic called!" I yelled. "You and Dane will start next week."

Meditative and staring at me, he said slowly.

"I'm - I'm scared."

I stopped dead in my tracks and thought about it, "Me, too."

On the first day the three of us sat in the crowded waiting room nervous and full of anticipation, like three orphans close to adoption, we could hardly breathe. The both of them had used heroin that morning. I was hopeful.

During the interview, I had to convince the administrators that I was not a heroin user or addict, which was amazing to them because of the environment I lived in. Their Methadone therapy began in 20 to 40 mg and would increase over time. Walker was receiving different dosages than Dane. I learned that Methadone did not provide the euphoric rush of heroin and stopped the feeling, even if they "used." Their dosage would gradually increase until they felt comfortable and free of the cravings. They would eventually take up to 60 to 120 mg a day.

They seemed hopeful, also. We went in seven days a week, after work and on weekends. Each day the clinic administered it to them in small glass vials, which they drank. They could not take it home. The program would last a year. Alongside them, I attended classes, counseling sessions, group therapy, and got nutritional instruction.

They got individualized health screenings, behavior (emotional) therapy and a counselor.

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Methadone. A better addiction, but addiction nevertheless.

The detoxification procedure included eventual reduction of the Methadone over the year until they were down to one to six mg a day. Then they would go through a process called withdrawal.

The whole drug use, abuse, and methadone sagas had aged me. I felt old and tired. On the surface, things went on as usual, but we had a lot to accomplish. We were all working. They suffered headaches and runny noses.

Dane seemed depressed and Walker was okay, we worked hard to keep Dane's spirits up. The three of us were like good old friends who survived the same near fatal automobile accident. I was determined to get us through it. I cleaned, scrubbed, cooked, and made sure their hygiene and eating habits were impeccable. Many of their symptoms disappeared as their dosages of methadone increased.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane was still a very social person. He had to be in control of everything. Because both he and Walker was taking a lot of unpaid time off, so he decided that we would give gambling parties. We had three weekends of gambling parties a month. They played bid whist and poker. The "house" got a cut from each table. Card tables were set up all over the house, five in the living room, three in the dining room, and six in the emptied back bedroom. Most of the people who came, worked with Dane. Dane was also selling food. I should say I was. I worked like a slave m the kitchen. I fried chicken, fish, and pork chops. I made potato salad, pots of collard greens, corn bread, and peach cobblers. I cooked spaghetti with 179

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garlic bread, chicken and dumplings, pot roast and potatoes, cakes and pies.... The list was long. Dane had me sell the food at four dollars a plate and up depending on the menu. The many party goers cleaned us out. We made lots of money.

The parties would start on Friday nights and last all weekend long. As people would leave, more would flock in. I would go to bed with the house full of people and wake up to a house full of people. The crowd would dwindle down by Sunday night with maybe 10 people. I was always exhausted. Walker ran around delivering the plates to the people, collecting money for the dinners and the cuts from the tables. I think the whole thing was illegal, but it kept Dane happy. What kept Dane happy kept the whole house happy. We would leave the assembly of people alone in our house, with a co-worker's Dane trusted, to keep order, while we kept our appointment at the Methadone clinic.

Sometimes, there were fights - just a few.

Someone at a table would accuse another of cheating.

Dane and Walker managed to break up most fights before it reached a violent stage.

Dane told anyone involved in a fight, they couldn't come back, "Maybe you just better stay away."

He gave them his do not come back glare. Mostly men attended the parties, but there were a couple of wives and the occasional, Slut. She would slink around, from table to table, sitting in men's laps, bending over to reveal her breasts or ass. Wives were giving their ogling husband dirty looks. The slut would set her eyes on seducing at least one man to take home with her, or to go home with her, each visit. I was scared out of my wits one night when one girlfriend, whose man the slut was 180

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seducing, jumped up from her chair, grabbed the slut by the hair and screamed, "What you looking at bitch! Disrespecting me and I'm sitting right here."

I was glad we were nearing the end of our year at the clinic. Perhaps the gambling parties would end, too.

To Whom It May Concern: The end of the program was approaching rapidly, they only had three weeks left. We were in classes preparing for withdrawals and their cause and effects. We were full of fear and dread, but we all put in for leave of absences from our jobs, two weeks. I was surprised they still had jobs to put on leave for. They both had unions to back them up. The method was to go cold turkey off the Methadone. Dane and I, our third wedding anniversary, having been six months prior, felt it would be the best year ever to give up living like any kind of drug was a priority, the goal, and sole purpose in our lives.

The first day of withdrawals arrived. All three of us were eager for it to end. Even in their wretched illness, I doted over them. I never dreamed I would witness that much human suffering. They were two souls in the midst of torment. I spent most days sitting in the hallway between the two bedrooms with little sleep. If I got any sleep at all, it was lying on the couch.

They were suffering from cramps, dry heaves, diarrhea, and aches worse than the flu. Ten times the aches of the flu. They were fatigued, vomiting and shaking.

Walker's stomach fluttered while Dane's cramped. The both of them were sweating profusely, yet freezing, 181

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screaming about being cold and tearing at blankets they could neither endure nor abandon.

They lay spent and ashen, in rumpled, soaked sheets, on sweat drenched pillows. They were sweating heavily, eyes salted and hair matted. I washed and replaced warm, freshly ironed, bedding, constantly. They shuddered as I swabbed their heads. I would go days without a bath or even a change of clothes. We rode the tide together, they too weak to fight back, and me praying to the Lord for their strength the strength to hang in there with them.

Days would go by and I wouldn't know what day it was.

Dane started holding his head begging for a "fix.� His headaches were excruciating. He said it felt like someone had shot him in the back of his head. They had calf and leg spasms, anxiety and dehydration. I felt so alone and scared. I finally broke down, crawled into a corner of the bathroom, and had a good hysterical cry, pulled myself together and went back to nursing them, again.

Walker kept saying he was losing his mind, going mad. His arms kept flapping around, as if he were fighting off crows, he had no control of his muscles. The wild leg movements amazed me. Their moods fluctuated from utter despair to happiness that they were getting it done. I sat with them both alternatively. To give them a sponge bath was like wrestling a bear. I limited myself to the places I would wash Walker. I would prop them up, roll them from side to side, read to them, feed them, and keep encouraging them. Sometimes, irritable, they would blast barrages of curse words at me, shoving and pushing me, telling me to leave them alone, then turning limp in their bed.

Finally, things started getting better. Dane developed an excruciating itch with no rash in contrast, 182

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but that was okay with him compared to what he'd been through. They began to sleep off and on and their appetites improved, including Dane's appetite for sex. He was so excited about his ability to get a weak erection; he was climbing on top of me every chance he got. He never lasted more than one minute, at most.

We were to return to work in a few days. I wasn't sure we would make it. They were both very weak and still a little lethargic, but sleeping through the night peacefully.

I made them take walks to build up strength. We went back to watching television, eating at the kitchen table and even attending movies. I slept a lot, gratified that the ordeal was over.

To Whom It May Concern: We were going to the movies once a week. We spent many months seeing the films I loved, (Blaxploitation a portmanteau of the words "black" and "exploitation," was still popular).

We saw “Shaft's Big Score”, “Super fly”, and “The Legend of Nigger Charley”, “Hammer”, “Black Mama, White Mama”, “Blakula”, “Trouble Man”, and “Black Snake”. My favorite movie, "Sounder," starring Cecily Tyson, we saw several times. We had escaped from the world of drugs, together!

I worried about their having the compulsion to relapse. I tried to keep the both of them as busy as possible. Walker seemed happy and showed so much gratitude for my being by his side during those horrible days. Dane was more depressed and treated me as if it was something I was supposed to do. Dane seemed complacent about a 183

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possible relapse. Walker seemed cautious and careful about it. I saw signs that Dane was drinking alcohol.

Walker and I fell back into the routine of keeping each other company morning and night, our daily trek to the bus stop and sharing meals. Dane did his own thing; attending gambling parties at his friend’s houses, staying out all night, etc. Sometimes he would revert to the fake doctor excuses to take time off from work. One night, when we were alone, Walker knocked on my bedroom door. I got up, wrapped myself in a robe, and opened it.

He asked if he could talk to me.

“Sure!" I responded.

I cared deeply for Walker and would help him with just about anything. I opened the door, concerned. Issac Hayes, was playing softly in the background. Walker left the doorway. I stepped into the hallway to see where he was going. He returned carrying a chair. He placed the chair at the foot of my bed and straddled it. I sat down on the edge of the bed near the headboard.

"Walker. What's wrong?" I asked.

My heart was racing. I was afraid he had used heroin again. He had seemed so down for several days and I had asked him about it, he said he was okay.

In many ways I had bonded with Walker, he satisfied my yearning for understanding and my need to be comforted. We shared our pain, fears, and tears. I couldn't imagine what he needed to tell me. There was a long silence. I started feeling uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to get the conversation started. Walker began to cry softly, quietly and my heart leapt. I watched the drooping of his shoulders and a single tear slide down his face. I wanted to jump up and take him in my arms.

"I love you Dani," he vowed in a broken voice.

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My heart stopped and started again, stopped and started once, again. I gasped for air. Did he mean as a friend? I loved him, too. Suddenly, the words of the music playing in the background rang loud in my ears. He was playing the song of a man loving a woman who belonged to another. I started to cry, softly, quietly, too! At that moment, that song was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

“I have to leave,” he said, his voice trembling.

He was looking grim with the downcast helpless look of a man bound to a woman and bound to circumstances beyond his control. I had a mournful look on my face, too, as tears slid down my cheeks.

"Please don't leave," I whispered.

It had been a long time since anyone had said “I love you,” to me! I was choking on the pain of living without him. My stomach, arms, and legs, where a storm of electric nerves – tingling; warmth spread from the pits of my stomach down deep between my thighs. My nipples hardened and wetness filled my heated private space. For the first time in my life I was experiencing Foreplay! I hadn't ever felt anything like it, kind words, tender moments and a slow building of passion and he hadn’t touched me. I think that if he HAD touched me at that moment I would have exploded into something I was unfamiliar with - an orgasm! I felt ashamed. I sensed his strong desire for me. Still and all, being Dane's wife was the feeling that took control.

It felt like a stone had lodged in my throat. My heart surged ruefully. I could smell him, that scent, not cologne, that aroma that was his, alone. Walker dropped his head and continued,

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"You are the most wonderful woman I've ever known. You are beautiful, sexy, and loving. I’m not a good person, I really am not."

"Walker, please don't leave," I repeated.

"I wouldn't want to do anything to hurt you, Dani.

You have a ways seen the good things in me. You've stuck by me. That's something you didn't have to do."

"Stay," I tried one more time.

"We both know I have to leave!"

Walker was crying harder. So was I, my body was telling me he was right, because I was acutely aware of being Dani Ransom, Dane Ransom's wife. If Dane stayed I might do something wrong. When I woke up the next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, Walker was gone.

Dane hadn't come home that night. Lonely, I cried. My eyes filled each time I heard that Issac Hayes song, my heart squeezed whenever Walker flashed through my mind.

To Whom It May Concern: I had to get off birth control pills. I was gaining weight and still suffering uncomfortable side effects. The doctor said to use another form of birth control while off the pill, and after I’ve had a regular menstrual cycle, on my own, he would insert an intrauterine device (IUD). I was afraid of the IIUD, couldn't imagine walking around with it inside me. But, I had to do something.

After a couple of tries, Dane refused to use condoms, would snatch and throw the foam and decided he would just withdraw. I got pregnant. I was going to have this baby! Dane knew it was a waste of time to say anything to me, against it. I was in my own realm. I 186

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enjoyed being pregnant. I had cravings for lemons and poached eggs. I walked around with a lemon, constantly. I ate dozens of eggs. I ravenously craved poached eggs, the egg barely remaining in the hot water a second and poured over toast. Dane looked ill watching me eat.

I developed the heavy breast he liked and so hungrily sucked, exciting him into an erection and ultimate sex. When milk developed, he was always grabbing at my breast drinking. My breast was flourishing and leaking, my nipples prematurely cracking and too tender for a bra. We even managed to buy a small two bedroom house, our mortgage Twenty seven Thousand dollars. I wanted a home for our child. It was strange and pleasant owning a house. The rooms weren't very large; our bedroom filled almost entirely with our double bed that, the cheap wood of the headboard polished until it shone. I kept every room straightened up and mercilessly clean almost a clinical neatness.

The windows sparkled. Dane was away from home a lot and someone was calling and hanging up every time I answered. But I was in my own world - motherhood. The baby's room was set up with a yellow crib, matching rocking chair, and dresser, with a changing table. I hung Winnie-the-Pooh decorations on the walls and musical mobiles over the crib. I had embroidered nursery rhymes on pillows of a quilt, on bibs, and cloth diapers. I didn't need anything else in my life while awaiting the birth of my child. A child I was anxious to love and bring home to the room I had so lovingly prepared. I'd sit in the rocking chair stroking the movements in my protruding belly, the baby would sometimes shove its little foot so hard against my flesh I could count five toes. Dane never walked into that room, once.

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Often, I just wandered around the house touching the walls, straightening a picture precisely as I liked it, or picking up a speck of trash I spotted on the floor. My child was going to live in a sterile environment. Dane and I were actually living separate lives and I was very happy.

To Whom It May Concern: I was busy embroidering little bath towels when the doctor called me and asked me to come in and see him immediately! I thought I would pass out. My world had ended, I imagined every possible horrific thing. I hurried to his office and vomited, panicked, "Is something wrong with my baby," I burst into tears.

"Mrs. Ransom, sit down."

"I don't want to sit down."

Warning signals were going off in my brain.

"Mrs. Ransom, settle down, being upset isn't good for the baby." He said, "You have to stay calm. Regretfully, I have to tell you that you have syphilis.�

He just blurted it out and continued talking, describing my treatment. I stood staring, speechless. I couldn't have heard him right. I have what?

"Wait a minute," l interrupted him. "Syphilis, I can't have syphilis, I only have sex with my husband.�

The doctor simply gave me a knowing look and I knew what that look meant. I suddenly felt weak in the knees and eased myself onto a chair. I had gotten it from my cheating husband! He advised he would keep a close eye on the baby. He was sure I had no reason to worry. I would get a penicillin shot and all would be well. Dane had visited the clinic because he found a sore on his penis and 188

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was told by the clinic that he had syphilis, they advised my doctor. My doctor had tested me pretending it was a routine prenatal test during my last visit.

My doctor hesitated, seemed a little uneasy and then added that there were other ways to please my husband, when I didn't feel like having intercourse; manually, orally (of course after treatment). He continued on, advising that sex wouldn't hurt the baby, etc. I glared at him, I could feel the heat building up in my face. Was he justifying what Dane had done? Was the doctor blaming me for Dane going out and getting syphilis? I got so angry it seemed like cotton was in my ears, his words coming from a faraway tunnel. I got up and left in the middle of his sentence, waited in the waiting room until they gave me the shot of penicillin. How dare Dane endanger my baby! I was walking around with a nasty disease in my body mingling with the genes, chromosomes and cells important to the development of my unborn child's fingers, toes, heart, and lungs, brain and nervous system.

Every stage of its formation contaminated with his father's filthy lust. I felt rage! Dane still managed to find a way to mess with my dreams of having a baby. I started to cry, shaking, trembling, and vomiting.

I screamed at Dane until I was hoarse. I screamed until a blood vessel burst in my eye. I screamed until I had to go lie down to recover. Dane accused ME of cheating.

He said I gave it to him! It was too ridiculous to argue anymore, my baby had better be healthy was all I knew.

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I worried every waking moment and had nightmares at night. I dreamed of a deformed fetus. I knew it wouldn't stop until I held my child in my arms and everything was okay. I felt shamed every time I went into the doctor's office. The doctor and I, our relationship turned chilly, made the wait for my child's birth more agonizing. I was too far into my pregnancy to change doctors.

Dane had the nerve to lay poking me in my back with his erect penis, at night. I wanted to roll over and slap him. I begged off using the discomfort of my pregnancy as an excuse. He really didn't care. I knew he was getting sex elsewhere, anyway, and I didn't care! Early one morning as I got out of bed, my water broke, unleashing panic. It was a big splash onto the floor. I was three weeks late and more than ready to have my baby. Brutal pain tore through my body as I clutched Dane while we eased our way to the car and made our way to the hospital.

Within an hour, I was pushing the button lying on my bed for a nurse, “The baby is coming,” I yelled.

The nurse simply patted my thigh and said, "It's your first child, honey. You've got many hours before that baby will come into this world."

When she walked out of the room I had this extreme urge to push, my entire body was already in its own earth shattering, trembling and rocking shove towards my crouch, so I pushed. The baby popped out, landing between my legs. I grabbed and squeezed the emergency button, nonstop screaming frantically, to summon someone, anyone.

A nurse sauntered in (because many women were hollering that day) and I screamed, "It’s between my legs!"

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When she pulled back the covers and saw, people came running from everywhere, racing my bed to the delivery room. I thought - too late now. When they lay my baby in my arms, l was awestruck. I cried.

"He looks just like you, Dani!" Dane said.

"Ready for another?" My doctor cracked.

He was trying to be funny. My second thought was sadness, temporarily. I did not want my child to be as light as me! I wanted him to be brown like Dane. I was serious.

Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly, after all I had to have blood transfusions due to the loss of too much blood.

Once I came to my senses it was clear to me my baby boy was a blessing, born big, fat, and healthy, Nine lbs. Twelve oz. I touched him, counted his toes and fingers, peeked into his diaper and examined every inch of him. All of him was there. When I looked into his eyes, I was complete.

That moment changed my life was the most special thing on this earth. I had someone to love who would love me back. I knew I would die for that little guy. Dane seemed excited. Niecy and Tina came to the hospital.

Tina and Dane ran around the hospital like headless chickens, not knowing what to do, while Niecy took control. Niecy was summoning nurses and issuing orders as if she owned the hospital.

“Nurse, nurse, this mother needs an extra blanket.”

Or “Nurse, the baby needs to tee shirt.”

I smiled.

"Doctor her hand is swollen, something is wrong with the IV." She insisted.

I named the baby DeAndre Ransom.

I did not give my baby a middle name. I didn’t like middle names. I also made it clear that no one was 191

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allowed to come up with some silly nickname. My proclamations were to call him by his name, ‘His name is DeAndre. Call him DeAndre."

DeAndre became my reason for living. I decided he would be an only child. When I was young, I wished to be an only child. I chuckled to myself, thinking back on the things that bothered me: Kids everywhere crowding me in, whether I was in Daddy's house or Mama's. Everyone fighting for every morsel of food on the table, wearing cheap clothes because the clothes budget had to be stretched so far, to tattle tales and being blamed for things the others did. I would focus only on him. My life would be his life. My heart would beat in his chest. I was a Mother!

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Chapter Seven

Gadzo – War Dance – Fighting back.

To Whom It May Concern: The joy of staying home and raising my son until he was older was a gift I bestowed on ME! I quit my job.

Dane was angry and constantly complaining. I loved every moment I spent being a mother. Dane started drinking again. I was finding increasing amounts of empty bottles of Seagram Seven hidden around the house. I was concerned because Dane was a mean drunk. He was gloomy. He seldom smiled, he was slovenly and unconcerned with the baby.

He would come home in the middle of the night, drunk, creating nightmares for me. Dane would get up in the middle of the night and pee on just about anything.

Trying to make it to the bathroom, he'd start peeing the minute he bumped into something. He peed in large flower pots that held my artificial trees; he pissed up against the doors, out of open windows and on the kitchen floor. I would step in puddles, in the mornings while opening the refrigerator. Dane was cruel, too, awakening me, and dragging me by the hair. It would hurt so badly.

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order me to clean it at that moment. He was becoming a sexual deviant and I refused to satisfy his many new fetishes. One of them was the need for me to pee on him while having sex. He found that the hardest to let go of.

One night I was getting out of bed to go urinate just as he entered the bedroom, "Where are you going?" He slurred.

"To pee." I answered him absent mindedly.

Suddenly, he jumped me, pinning me to the bed, refusing to let me get up. My bladder wasn't as strong as it was before I had the baby and I had to go urgently. I cried.

We wrestled, he was hanging onto me with a sinister look on his face, and until my bladder was in such agony I peed on myself, wetting the bed. He let out a black hearted laugh, "That wasn't so hard to do, was it? Now when I tell you to piss on me, you do it.�

I sobbed, humiliated.

Dane had a constant rage, as if something was burning him up from the inside out. Things escalated to his beating me again. Once again, I never knew what would set him off. I would lie there, because of the pain inflicted, with unprotestingly surrender, hoping to reduce the beating and still be alive for my son. My eyes glazed over, in a silent scream. During many beatings, I pulled myself into a fetal position to protect my face and body from the blows. I didn't want to end up with broken bones, or in the hospital in critical condition. When I did that, I guess he knew my fear. He would strut away satisfied with the beating he had just given me. He was taking my spirit. The black eyes, busted lips, and wiping blood from my nose with my fingers, was all I knew anymore. Along with my spirit, he was taking my heart away from him. Walking painfully slow with a bruised 194

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body; I was not the same; something precious was leaving me. I could feel the drain.

To Whom It May Concern: I remember the day we visited Dane's older brother in the hospital. He had his appendix removed. As we walked into his room we had to pass bed, one and there lay a man bandaged for burns. I staggered backwards from the site. All I could really see were his eyes and so much pain in them. Dane and I learned that his wife boiled a huge pot of grits, fed up with his physical abuse, waited until he was asleep. She carefully removed the covers he was sleeping under and threw that pot of steaming hot, sticky grits on him. It was a horrific sight to see! He lay there silent as a tomb, obviously suffering. The image stuck in my head.

A week later, Dane staggered around the house, naked, trying to find the bathroom. Frustrated, trying to avoid cleaning up more piss, I decided to get up and guide him to the toilet. To my horror, he had walked into the baby's room. He bumped into the crib and stood there peeing all over our son. Rage crawled up my spine! It was as if I'd blacked out and became someone else! I don't even remember jumping him from behind. You'd better believe I did. We fell back onto the floor. We wrestled up off the floor and all the way through the house. One of my house shoes knocked loose.

He grabbed my arms painfully I squirmed loose.

"Stop it, Dani" He kept yelling.

I wanted to hurt him! We battled, until we were bumping up against the front door. My robe had fallen off and I was naked. He tried to open the front door and push me outside. He had done that, before leaving, me shivering and pleading to get back in. However, this time he couldn't 195

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manage. I had the strength of Wonder Woman. We fell to the floor, again. We were deep into a violent War Dance.

HE HAD PEED ON MY BABY! I was in a witch-hunt hysteria! He was going to burn one way or another! I managed to get to my feet. I bent over his body, close to his face and roared and slapped him with a strength that rose up from my toes to the tips of the fingers on that hand. His head wobbled, "Do you remember, the grits? DO YOU! You sleep soundly at night!"

I let out a demonic roar!

His eyes were big as saucers. He couldn't believe his ears.

He couldn't move. I strutted out of that room, butt naked to bathe my screaming baby. Once we have spoken, again, Dane admitted he was jealous of the baby! I listened quietly, sensibly to his idiotic statements. He admitted that while watching me bathe DeAndre he remembered how I used to treat him that way, comb his hair, comfort and care for him. He said I was a terrible and negligent wife, who gave all of my attention to the baby. I had stopped doing those things for Dane, milestones before our baby was born. Perhaps if he'd given me a kinder and gentler life I would have continued. I looked him straight in the eyes and told him to grow up. He hated it; I saw his face crack! I stood, head held high, and waited for a slap. He just walked away, mumbling, "Bitch."

That was fine. I was a mother, something that was too strong, too beautiful for me to listen to his shit.

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DeAndre was a beautiful little baby, who laughed with two little teeth sparkling in his gums. He had cut teeth prematurely. His fat thighs and arms filled with baby rolls went well with his plump belly and round cheeks. Any man would be proud. I begged Dane to watch him while I looked for a job. He said no because he had a new membership to a gym and needed to do his workouts. I hired a young girl, from our area, as a babysitter. It wasn't long before I found out Dane was not going to the gym, he was hanging around the house sleeping with our seventeen-year-old babysitter in our bed! We no longer had a marriage, just an existence. I had my son; he had his women. I had resolved myself to refuse to care.

Strangely, I found comfort and peace in that. It came from a force somewhere outside myself. When I thought of it, I could hear my heart beating a concert, edged on by that force, halfway the human voice, halfway drums - survival. Other than my music ridden heart, I wasn't hearing any other sounds - no small voices. I felt it down my spine, in the pit of my stomach, like a tickle in my throat, and I knew I wasn't going to lie docile allowing him to center my life anymore! I was sure of it. I had made peace with the universe.

Dane didn't know who I was anymore. I caught the side way glances, and questioning looks, he gave me. It wasn't long before I'd received another beating, and it was the happiest beating I had ever had! I fought back! I bit him, pinched, and even kicked him. Further, l scratched the hell out of him. I dug my nails into him so deep they were snapping. Afterwards, beaten badly for fighting back, I couldn't move, but he cowered in a corner, trembling, hands covering his face, bleeding and moaning. I guess his face and body was hurting him some! From that point on, he flinched, when he tried to beat me, it was hard to 197

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protect himself while beating me. He beat me fearful of what was unfamiliar to him my fighting back, he wasn't so sure of himself. I was afraid, terrified he might kill me, often. In excruciating pain, I continued to fight. There were times he was able to restrain me, but when he'd stop beating me, and turn to walk away, I’d jump up and throw things at him, emptying the top of our dresser - broken glass everywhere. I had GOOD aim. I cracked him in the head or center of his back many times. I even threw a lamp once.

To Whom It May Concern: DeAndre was six months old. One morning l got up to prepare a bottle for him, and clicked on the kitchen light. Dane had been sitting there in the dark, at the kitchen table. I jumped, screamed to the top of my lungs. I thought he hadn't come home the last night.)

"You scared me to death!" l cried.

I went to the room to get the baby who was crying because my screams awakened him. I was taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. When I returned with the baby Dane just sat there. I started to sit down. He put his hand up, in a gesture to stop me. I stood still.

"I want you to take the baby and get out, Dani.

Right now."

How do you cope with a statement like that, spoken so suddenly? I stood there in a daze, feeling like I'd just been stabbed in the heart and my mind was slow in realizing it. A gentle tremble began to shake my body. I eased into a chair, our eyes locked.

Angry tears slid down my cheeks, crisscrossing my nose and dripping off my lip. I felt outraged for my baby's 198

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sake. Dane had gathered our things together and he pointed to pack bags, sitting in a corner.

"I want you to leave, this morning." He said.

I felt like I was dreaming. My hands were trembling. I was thinking, but too upset to think straight. This was my house, too. I worked for more than, and paid more mortgage payments than he ever had. I actually felt sad, heavy hearted. Can he do that? Where would we go? How will I take care of my son? My life was flying out of a window, whirling around in the wind! I flashed back to the day Mama threw me out; I stared at him in disbelief.

"You are telling me to get out?"

"Dani, I can't be the man you want me to be."

I would never forget those words. Life became lightheaded and then heavy as it weighed suddenly on my shoulders.

I was light, floating, faint and then landing again, reality.

He had made conscious decisions throughout our marriage. He said he hadn't planned on things going this way. I hadn't, either. He’d didn't even bother to acknowledge how I had stood by him through hell for the last five years.

"I’ve already called William." He said.

He had the audacity to call my father!

"You called Daddy," I screamed.

To me he had told the world, I was not worthy of love, of being a wife. As he talked, I grew more vehement.

I wished, at that moment, for the strength to beat him half to death and throw him into the streets. Going beyond my rage, I knew I didn't love him anymore. I had summoned up the courage and financial stability, anyway, to divorce Dane. I had decided it would take a year or so to organize it all. Why was I so hurt? He had beaten me to it! I wanted to leave him, not have him throw me out like last week’s trash. I wasn't ready. I even found myself begging him to 199

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reconsider, causing me to wrestle with myself. Wrestle with why I felt so degraded. I continued to stare at him.

He simply cut his eyes at me.

To Whom It May Concern: I, thrown out of my house, was afraid of it. I told Dane to take me to Niecy's. I refused to allow him to dump me back in Daddy's lap, because that was what he wanted to do. Niecy was divorced. He didn't like that Niecy was outspoken and free and had told him to his face that he was an “ass." He wanted me under the strict, watchful eyes and rules of Daddy's house, bound and unable to enjoy myself.

"Why Niecy's house?"

He looked upset "That's where I want to go." I said.

"Oh. What about the baby, Dani?"

"What about the baby! How could you ask that while putting him out of his home?"

Dane got a funny look on his face then. He looked scandalized.

I called Niecy and she welcomed us. To upset Dane, more, I pretended to be excited. I acted anxious to get to her house and even told him to hurry up. He was pissed off. He dropped us off at Niecy's house. He stood by the car door, allowing Niecy and I to carry our things in.

He never was the gentleman. Dane told Niecy, showing total indifference, to bring me back, Thursday, for the rest of my things. He wasn't going to be home. The door would be unlocked, so lock up when we leave. I despised him. I called Daddy to let him know we were safe.

"How can he give up a lovely wife and beautiful son?" Daddy asked.

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"I don't know, Daddy."

He had no idea of what my life had been like being married to Dane.

You're leaving your home?"

"I have no choice.

"I guess so. Where are you staying?"

He didn't offer for me to come home!

To Whom It May Concern: Niecy wanted to give me the money from our New York vacation fund. I refused to take it.

"You need it for the baby!" She insisted.

“I’ll get a job.”

She was happy to have DeAndre and me living with her. She had plenty of space. The shock of this sudden change in my life left me lying in bed unable to function.

Niecy comforted me and took care of DeAndre. We sat up late into the night, if I felt like I needed to talk. She knew my pain. I thought about what I should do with our future, for my son's sake. It was hard to get past the feeling that I was not worth the time or effort to try to fix whatever it was I needed to fix.

Niecy took me back to my house on Thursday. As I looked around, my throat closed and I cried and choked as I packed the last of our things. Niecy's face was grim. Back at her place, I lay around in bed, again. I looked like death.

Whatever the truth, whenever Dane was at home with me, breathing next to me, it was what I'd become accustomed to. Habit, I guess. Now, suddenly, he wasn't around. I sobbed uncontrollably. Here I was without the status of having a man, without the support of being a part of a family, without the title, wife.

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With Niecy's help, I finally realized the past had played out and the future was still up to me. I imagine I could deal with more hardship. It was as simple as that. I had a lot of junk deliberately dumped on me in life, and I would just have to shake it off and move on. I reached out to Daddy for help. I broke down and poured out my heart.

I told him some of the horror stories of my married life. I couldn't tell him everything. Daddy was in enough shock over the things I did reveal. His expression mirrored pain, empathy, patience, and sadness. Nevertheless, I, shocked and hurt by his curt response froze for a moment. My father said he had his own problems. He said that as a grown woman I would have to deal with my own trials and tribulations. It was the old adage, 'You made your bed, lie in it.� I went back to Niecy's house. Because I was quiet, many saw me as sedate, docile, rather than daring. I, seen as a plodder instead of an enterprising person, put doubts even in Dane's family's mind. In spite of it, they made Dane leave the house and let the baby and me move back in.

To Whom It May Concern: I had a home and no income. I resented standing outside in the freezing snow, shivering in the cheap fakefur coat I’d had for years, waiting in the welfare lines. I had to find some kind of way to pay my mortgage. We stood for hours, lines a block long. I had to get there two hours early if l wanted to see anyone. They slammed the door shut, once they reached full capacity.

Everyone outside, cursing, knowing he or she had to come back even earlier the next day.

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The welfare office was a dismal, almost unbearable place filled with mean sour faced caseworkers with attitudes. It was obvious they didn't think much of us there seeking help.

After trying to fill out personal information sheets, they nastily interrogated me assuming I didn't even know who my baby's father was. The words they used and the tone of their voices made it obvious they assumed every derogatory thing about me, possibly, until proved different. Although my answers and paperwork proved them wrong, they continued to talk down to me and interrogate me as if the welfare money was coming out of their own purses. I sat there, a good person, hardworking by nature just seeking some temporary help. I had gotten a grant to enroll in school - night classes. Niecy promised to babysit and I found someone in class who was willing to give me a ride to and from class.

I felt tike trash sitting there in the welfare office.

They wanted so many different papers and proof of everything that came out of my mouth. My head spun trying to figure out where I would get all of it, I'd leave and return, repeatedly, standing in that line hours before the office opened and they would still be so nonchalant. I hated that place. Dane was driving around town in the car I paid for through payroll deductions. He was free of responsibility, enjoying himself and it made me sick. I, alone, trudged through the snow, fighting to get to the bus, for a ride to get free government cheese and powdered milk and bread. I was struggling to survive.

After standing in line freezing, waiting for the free cheese and food, I would have to carry the heavy bags; my baby zipped up inside my coat, for warmth, to catch the bus back home. During those days, I cried until I couldn't cry anymore.

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I experienced real frustration, when the courts were useless in the pursuit to order Dane to pay child support. He wouldn't show up in court. I was terrified each time I went to court because Dane threatened to hurt me if I filed for support. Awarded only $30 a week, I wondered if it was worth pissing him off! Nevertheless, I needed all the help I could get. The courts would seek to garnishee Dane's paycheck and he would quit his job, living off whatever woman, he had in his life at the time.

After paying my bills with my welfare checks I was penniless. Finally, I just stopped going to court. Of course, Dane still demanded that he visits his son, but he kept his attention focused on me.

To Whom It May Concern: I still had flashbacks of the beatings Dane gave me; triggers would set off boxed up feelings. Nightmares awakened me, usually after one of his visits. Still and all, I had to take care of my son and myself. I wished I could put up an invisible wall around DeAndre. Dane was grabbing and fondling me, and I was pushing and shoving him off, during his visits. I consistently struggled to keep him away from me. Sometimes, he would bring a woman with him, "Dani, I'd like to introduce you to the woman who will be helping you raise my son." He'd say.

I wanted to puke. The face of that woman would change every month and every one of them would stand there grinning, giving me a triumphant look. Fools!

He made it clear he was angry about the court papers he'd received and would never give me a dime for 204

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child support, always so sure of himself. I would plead. I would cry, hoping for sympathy. I got nothing.

"I am not paying any money, for you and some nigga’ to lay up and enjoy."

"It's for DeAndre, Dane! They'll garnishee you."

"I won't work." He answered smugly.

I quivered with rage. Dane actually thought he was meeting some financial obligation by bringing over ridiculous material things. He brought over a large aquarium filled with fish; a bike big enough for a five-yearold and a drum set suited for an eight-year-old. DeAndre was one year old! I believed the items were stolen items, anyway. He even searched the house, looking for them each time he came over, telling me I had better not have sold them. His sexual advances were starting to alarm me. He was starting to show a violent rage when I rejected him. Something, I was very familiar with. He didn't understand why I wouldn't sleep with him. I told my lawyer at the Legal Aid Office. I also advised him that when Dane takes the baby with him, I would worry myself sick, and Dane always brought the child home wearing a soiled diaper, jumpy and unsettled. The lawyer said that visitation with DeAndre was from 1:00 to 6:00 on Sundays.

If Dane wasn't there at 1:00 on the dot, to leave! The following Sunday I left at 1:01. It felt good! Free!

I left that day wanting to smell fresh air, feel summer on my face, and have joy in my heart and peace of mind. DeAndre and I went to the park and afterwards to the movies to see, "Claudine," starring James Earl Jones. I fell in love! He'd portrayed a man with such sensitivity, kindness, and grace. A man who could also be serious about a woman's life and needs at the same time. His presence on the screen was magical and that voice! What could I say? I melted.

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I laughed, I cried and I left there praying for a man just like him. I left filled with hope.

To Whom It May Concern: The following Sunday, I stood at the door ready to go. At 12:57 there was a pounding on the front door so loud; it sounded like a police raid. I thought the door would break down. I barely had the door cracked open when Dane shoved it in so hard; l flew backwards and fell to the floor. DeAndre started screaming, as l struggled to get to my feet. Before I could, Dane trampled over the baby to get to me; he grabbed me by my hair. It hurt so badly that I could hardly stand the pain. He pulled and yanked at my jacket to drag me to a back bedroom. I was shaking, terrified. At the side of the bed, he lets go of my hair, I drop to my knees. I couldn't even scream. DeAndre, just learning to walk, was behind us screaming for me.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy."

I tried to calm things down as Dane pulled me up from the floor and slammed me onto the bed. He said, 'Take your clothes off!"

Reluctantly, I obeyed him; impatient, he started shoving my skirt up to my waist, ripping at my pantyhose, yanking my panties off.

"Stop It!" I screamed. “The baby's behind you!"

The look in his eyes was horrifying, I thought he was going to kill me. He grasped my wrists, painfully, with one hand, forcing them above my head with unbelievable strength. He bit my breast. I screamed. The muscles in his jaw began to clinch, I closed my eyes as he began hurting me. I could hear my baby boy screeching, a sound I’d 206

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never heard coming out of him before, nor ever would forget.

I opened my eyes and was shaken to my core. I couldn't believe what I saw. DeAndre had climbed up on Dane's back, clinging to his shirt, he was riding his Daddy's shoulders as he raped me. When Dane finished, slinging DeAndre onto the bed next to me, he stood up; he had the look of murder in his eyes. He left, quickly glancing back at me, he had so much fury on his face I was surprised the bed didn't get up and run. I grabbed DeAndre to hold him close and comfort him; we clung to each other for hours. I bruised and barely able to comb my hair, decided I needed help.

I went back to my lawyer at the legal aid office in tears. The lawyer remained expressionless as I accused Dane of rape. I was told that what happened wasn't illegal. I was Dane's wife and it wasn't against the law for a man to have sex with his wife! The lawyer told me to hold on, the divorce would be final soon. I left in despair. I went to the police department. They told me he would actually have to "do something to me" before they could act. I wanted to file for a restraining order. They said he hadn't done anything wrong; also –therefore, I had no case. I guess they'd have to find my battered and beaten body or I would have to drag myself into the police station half dead to get some help. I felt so alone.

Since I had moved back into the house, Dane not only visited, but watched the house, regularly. He would sit on the porch, or start banging on my bedroom windows late at night. He always said he'd better not see any men.

He had threatened to beat me to death if I dated. No other man was going to be near his son. Even though I knew it would be a fight to the death – His or Mine, I lived on the edge, frightened.

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To Whom It May Concern: I sat gazing at the walls of my home, one-day; I'd lost myself into those walls, thinking. Sometimes, we have to take our control back, I was afraid of the next time Dane would come over. I made a decision. I went to the store and bought sharp knives. I taped knives inside my lampshades, put a knife under each couch cushion and under the pillows on the beds. I put a knife in the stereo, and on the windowsills behind the curtains. When I knew he was coming, I always wore something with a large pocket and gently slipped a large knife into it.

At one time, I was a living woman. Right then, nothing was living inside me - only rage deep pain, psychological pain. Trampled on most of my life, I was tired! I was only a shape. I had erased myself. My inner spirits were in combat!

The following Sunday, I stood at the door ready, in more ways than one. DeAndre was taking a nap. At 12:45, the doorbell rang. I opened the door and Dane stepped in slowly, acting smug and arrogant, as if there were no problems between us. He looked at me lustfully, and reached out and grabbed me by the flesh above my elbow.

I responded rapidly, "Get your hand off me," pushing him in the chest.

Still grasping the flesh of my arm, he said, "Don't you want to have some more fun?"

"Fun!" I answered sarcastically. "You're disgusting."

"You know you liked it rough." He was sneering.

I felt his nails digging, a little, and my flesh began to pinch. He glared at me.

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"Let go of me," I hissed, and I began to pull away.

He squeezed my arm tighter. I jerked away, causing him to scratch me. I stepped back, crossing my arms over my chest.

"That just makes me notice them more. You still have nice tits, Dani." He grinned.

My face lost its blood. I gave him an incredulous expression. I could feel his impatience. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one up. He inhaled deeply, watching me.

He was thinking, deciding what to do next I said, "Get out Dane." He continued to smoke.

"Bitch, I'm here to pick up my son," his words spat at me.

There was fire in his eyes; he shoved me in the chest like a child on the playground daring another child.

His cigarette fell to the floor; he crushed it beneath his shoe into the carpeting, and lunged at me. I snatched a knife out of my pocket and slashed out at him, cutting him across his arm and on a small portion of his chest, deeply.

He screamed. I trembled as I watched the blood flow.

I barely remembered doing it. He stumbled backward, grabbing his arm, looking at me as if he was seeing me for the very first time. Visibly shaken, he grabbed a handkerchief and tied it around his arm. I had frozen momentarily. He slapped me so hard, it caught me off guard, and I staggered back. I fell back onto the love seat, dropping the knife from my hand. I scrambled to reach and snatch another knife from under the seat cushion just as he lunged at me again, bleeding. I held the knife inches from his face. He stopped immediately.

"Calm down," he pleaded. He slowly eased himself up off me.

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He held one hand out in front of him, the other over the wound on his arm, backing out the front door. I felt triumphant!

I felt frightened about what would come next. I’d stabbed a man! I suddenly felt like a fugitive. For weeks, I flinched and trembled every time I heard a police siren and ran to the window to peer out. I wanted to see if they were coming to my house. I guess he hadn't reported it.

Dane stopped coming by for quite some time. It was a relief. When he wanted to visit, he called first, ironic because he was still tapping on my bedroom windows at all hours of the night. He was even sitting on my porch sometimes at 2:00 in the morning. It was his way of controlling me and making my life miserable. I just kept my knives right where they were. I also bought a baseball bat.

Summer had moved into fall, my favorite time of the year.

I'd open every window to listen to the wind-driven leaves, and breathe the fresh air. I called it, letting the house air out; perhaps some wretched memories would blow out with it. Outside DeAndre would gleefully jump into the piles of leaves I'd raked up, while I barbecued hot dogs. I liked barbecuing in cool weather. I enjoyed being outside during that time of year.

DeAndre's squeals of delight were enough to agitate the squirrels, cause the dogs to bark and make me smile. Sometimes the leaves would fall from the trees, in a strong wind, like snow floating around my head and shoulders. Although, I wore a sweater, I loved the chill in the air. Being out in my backyard alleviated some of the pain and offered a pleasant distraction for me. I watched the colorful birds, hoping to see a red one. I heard it was good tuck for a red bird to land on your windows. The playful squirrels scampered around eating the bread 210

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crumbs I'd drop for them. I watched and imagined the clouds connecting in the sky were shapes of various things.

It was very satisfying; afternoons in my backyard were pleasant as I dreamed of better things to come.

The doorbell rang one-day. I moved slowly, feeling dreadful, thinking it probably was Dane at the door. There stood Walker! His eyes, filled with light, almost sparkled and I marveled at the sight of him, "Walker!" I drew in a breath.

I hugged him, burying my face in his neck. I let go and stood back to just stare into his face. It was the same expressive face, full of tenderness, sorrow, and memories.

It was overwhelming to see him, again, my eyes filled. He said, "How have you been, Mama? I heard about the baby!"

I grabbed his hand, trying to yank him into the house.

"Come on in! Come see him." I said, "No, not this time, I'll come back another day. You look wonderful."

"Thank you." I said, releasing his hand.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"How did you find me?"

"I ran into Dane."

“I’m surprised he gave you the address.”

We stood on the porch and talked a little longer.

He said he would drop by from time to time to see how DeAndre and I were doing. I said I'd welcomed it and cautioned him that Dane was acting like a mad man, our divorce wasn't final yet. A shadow of fear crossed my face.

Walker asked, "Are you okay?"

"I am."

"I can handle, Dane, Dani."

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He hugged me tight, so very tight. I didn't want him to let me go. We stood, quietly, staring in each other’s eyes before he left. I wondered if I had opened the door to something I couldn't handle.

To Whom It May Concern: Fueled by that visit from Walker, I felt a new zest for life, uplifted. I walked around with too big a smile on my face. I took longer walks. I enjoyed long, lingering baths, bought myself sensual lotions and nice perfume. He had ignited passion in me. I eagerly waited for Walker to come back to see me again. He did call and ask if he could drop by. I cared so deeply for that man.

When Walker stepped inside the house he caught a whiff of the perfume I was wearing, he grinned, "Nice." He said.

I turned and I looked at him. "Thank you."

"Trying to get sexy on me?"

Knowing he was coming I'd accented my cheekbones and eyes with the makeup I had. I blushed.

"It's no big deal." I blushed again.

He was staring at me and smiling, “I’ve missed you." He said.

“I’ve missed you, more." I whispered.

Then he hesitated.

"How's Dane treating you?"

"He doesn't make life easy for me." I admitted.

"He's a fool."

I beamed, "Want to see the baby?"

We tiptoed into the baby’s room.

"He looks like you."

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"I love him to death."

We left the room and sat in the living room.

Walker reached for my hand.

"I still love you, Dani," he said, looking serious.

I couldn't answer. I was still married, legally.

"Dani, Can we go out to dinner some evening?"

I said I would love it.

To Whom It May Concern: Walker was forbidden fruit. When he hugged me, the warmth of his body seemed to penetrate my bones!

Somewhere between fear and anticipation, he stirred a desire in me that needed fulfilling. We went out to dinner.

When we returned home, he asked,"Can I see you again?"

"Yes, I enjoy your company."

I inserted the key into the front door. He moved close to me and placed his hand on my cheek to move my face towards his. He kissed me gently. I recognized the emotions in his eyes, the same eyes he had when he first proclaimed his love for me, years ago.

I was feeling hopeful, confused, reserved, and afraid - a mess. I needed him in my life. I needed love in my life. I hadn't seen him for such a long time and he had always been a wonderful man. His desires were obvious and it frightened me, despite the desire he stirred in me, Dane was the only man, I'd ever had sex with. Walker hugged me so tightly, kissed me so tenderly, we moved from the front door to my bedroom.

I felt like a virgin again. I began a soft cry. He looked shocked and gently wiped tears from my cheeks, with silent understanding. He pulled me to him. I leaned 213

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into him, for comfort and reassurance, feeling my breast against his chest. My nipples grew taut. He wrapped his arms around me. His face buried in my hair. His hands ran over my back for a long, lingering time, then slowly moved down to my buttocks. His touch was electric. I felt a stirring between my legs and a shiver throughout my body. I'd never experienced such a gentle dance. I couldn’t help myself. He slowly undressed me, starting at each part of my body as he exposed it. He undressed himself, still gazing at my naked body, as I lay across the bed.

"Beautiful!" He whispered.

It all began to feel right to me. How could I explain those feelings? He climbed in bed and lie next to me.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

"Yes." I clung to him. Desire was overtaking us both. I couldn't believe we were together. We kissed repeatedly until we dissolved onto the mattress as one. It happened so easily, so gently and so naturally. I felt sensations, tingling pleasures I'd never known before. He hadn't jumped on top, pleasured himself with no regards to me, as I'd experienced in the past. We moved gently against one another, as I held all painful memories at bay.

Walker and I continued to see each other, having an unbelievably good time. I hadn't ever experienced such patience and gentle touch in a man before. We had been together six months before Dane found out.

"Was that Walker?" He demanded, stepping out of his car watching Walker's car travel down the road.

"What was he doing here?"

"Visiting."

He stared at me.

"You're fucking him aren't you?"

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I saw the familiar jaw jumping. He was grinding his teeth. I didn't answer. I was afraid because our divorce wouldn't be final until the following month.

"You stupid, Bitch! Walker is married," he said, looking smug but enraged.

My breath caught in my throat.

"Married?" I know I sounded pitiful.

I dropped to the couch, confused, holding my head in my hands.

"You are fucking him!"

Dane went to Walker's job. They had a disruptive argument. Dane loudly proclaimed Walker was "fucking" his wife, embarrassing him. Dane threw the fact they had been friends, since childhood in Walker’s face. Dane made Walker feel guilty, and threatened to go to his wife.

Walker stopped seeing me, leaving an enormous gap that I didn't know how to fill. I paced the floor. The pain never stops in my life. I felt as long as I was breathing, pain would never stop. I didn't want to cry anymore.

Walker finally called me and apologized. He said he didn't want me to think the feelings he had for me weren't real. Frantically, he had married the same girl he got pregnant, in his youth, who was shunned by the church, and had grown bitter. He explained that he felt sorry for her and needed a place to stay. He found out after marrying her, she hated sex. During the actual sexual act, she would show obvious signs of distaste and disgust, constantly telling him to hurry up. She hated sex so much, he said, she’d snatch herself from him, impatient, causing him pain.

She felt she only needed to have sex to get pregnant. Once, she had their daughter, she wasn't interested anymore. He said, she was a good woman, in many ways as giving and loyal as me. He said they had a 215

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beautiful daughter, almost a year older than DeAndre, and wished I could meet her. He couldn't bear the thought of living without her. His wife openly told him to find sex somewhere else; but anytime she thought he may have been with another woman it caused a rift in their marriage. He guessed it was okay as long as she knew nothing about it. I ached for him, in many ways, but I couldn't be a part of a marriage that wasn’t headed for divorce. I wished him well and we hung up.

I cried for days. My body ached for the pleasures he brought me. Six months later, through rumors, I learned Walker had an awful fight with a man at a bar. He had started using heroin again. Walker, who was badly beaten in the fight, went home and got a gun. He came back to bar, and shot the man in the head, killing him.

Walker was in prison, expecting a sentence of life. I felt a sob start sorrow in the center of my being, climb up my throat, choking me. I gasped for air from the pain of it and screamed.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane dropped by one day, distraught. He admitted he was involved in a burglary ring, a monstrous thing to do, but I wasn’t surprised. Apprehended, he bailed out and was due in court in a matter of days, he needed my help. He begged me to write a letter to the judge, proclaiming him as a good father, a wonderful husband, and a fantastic human being who my son needed at home with us badly. That was a laugh and I did laugh loud. We were divorced. I refused to write anything for him and I told him it wouldn't work anyway. He was outraged. I 216

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looked in his eyes and saw the demon emerging surprised it was out in the daylight!

I thought, LET HIM ROT IN JAIL. I begged the good Lord to forgive me for my thoughts. Maybe that would stop Dane, stop his ability to devour people's world. He only got two years’ probation! Burglars' broke into my house the following week! They came in my side door, while I was at the grocery store, left the side door off its hinges, propped up against the side of the house. I was frightened and angry. I knew it was a message from Dane, for refusing to write that letter.

They stole my television and photos from my photo album that I told Dane he couldn't have. I stood in my ransacked house feeling the presence of the devil.

Awarded the house in our divorce, Dane had to Quit claim it over to me. It stuck in his craw. I dismissed his rage; our son needed a place to grow up. Dane wasn't paying any child support. I deserved to have the house. Within the next two month's my house was broken into again. More pictures from the photo album, money from a top dresser drawer and the replacement television was gone. I sobbed, heartbroken. I felt helpless and afraid.

I threw myself and my thoughts into class and studies, trying to take my mind off my fears, the one week everyone was buzzing about a weekend party that was coming up. A classmate, Jerome, was throwing a welcome home party for his brother, returning home from the army from Vietnam. He begged me to attend. He wanted to introduce me to his brother. I rarely went anywhere. I was tired of feeling depressed, frightened, and lonely. I decided to go to the party. I wasn't anxious to meet a man but felt sure I would enjoy the socializing.

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Niecy baby-sat, my classmates picked me up, and the party was wonderful. It was a surprise party. Jerome's older brother, Jermaine was delightful. Once introduced to each other, I found he was courteous, polite and good company for the evening. I had a good time. When the party ended, Jermaine joined us on the ride to take me home. We all laughed, sang, and talked gleefully. As we turned onto my street, everyone sat straight up in their seat, peering into the darkness. A house near the far end of the block, was it on fire? My house was on that end of the street! It was such a dark night I was astonished how the house illuminated the night. As we got close, I realized it was my house! We jumped out of the car, I started to run towards the house, and Jermaine grabbed my arm, “No, stop, let us go in first.�

To Whom It May Concern The house had every light turned on. The front door was gone! Every curtain in the house flung open and all windows lifted up, causing the lights to flood the night.

Jerome and Jermaine disappeared inside, while we were waiting, anxiously. Jerome's girlfriend went door to door asking the neighbors if they'd seen anything and she called the police. My next door neighbors weren't home and I knew Kacy and her husband, the neighbors on the other side of my house, had gone out to dinner. Jermaine came out of the house shaking his head.

"It's pretty bad." He said. "Food is thrown all over the house, mostly flour, juice is poured in the floors creating a mess, and dirty diapers from your diaper pail are thrown everywhere."

When I saw my house I burst into tears and broke down,"Why! Why has he done this, again?"

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Trembling and badly shaken I fell into Jermaine's arms as he wrapped them around me to provide comfort.

After the police left, I told them that I suspected Dane, the ringleader of a burglary ring who’d gone to court within the prior three months. They took down the information.

My friends stayed and sat up with me all night. They tried to lighten things up, telling jokes, playing cards, and playing music. When my next door neighbor, Kacy, and her husband got home, they ran over to see what had happened. I was exhausted, in tears and even more frightened. I couldn’t continue to live like that!

When the morning light began to break through, Jermaine said they would be leaving soon.

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes, I’m okay."

"You don't look it" "I know, I’m exhausted."

"What are you going to do?"

"Call my father."

He stood watching me, "Want me to stay until a door is installed?"

"No. I have my next door neighbors."

At dawn, I called Daddy. He gave me a credit card to go buy a new door and have it installed. I'd have to pay him back.

I never saw Jermaine again. Who would want to get caught up in the mess of my life? My home did not feel the same, either. I had lost all sense of security and peace. Everywhere I went in the house I wondered if they had been there, or touched this or handled that. It was extremely disturbing. It cost me many sleepless nights, jumping at every sound I heard. I was full of dread. I often tiptoed into DeAndre's room to carry him back to my room 219

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to sleep in my bed. Even at his young age, I found it comforting to have a male lying next to me.

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Chapter Eight

Agbaei – Courtship – Youthful problems with dating.

To Whom It May Concern: My new front door was natural wood, needed painting, and was missing the mail slot that was a part of my old door. I decided to keep it that way, and buy a mailbox to attach to the house. I wrote a note and taped it to the house next to the doorbell it read: Dear Mr. Mailman: Please ring doorbell to deliver the mail.

I will have a new mailbox in the near future.

Thank you.

The wind blew the note off the house. It was lying on the porch, so the mailman rang the doorbell. He waited and then rang it again. The door was partially open, beckoning him. I had been in the bathroom rinsing paint brushes, running the water so hard I didn't hear it. I had just re-entered the living room as the door eased open. I froze. When I saw him standing there I felt something 221

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jump inside. He wasn't strikingly handsome and by no means homely, just warmly good-looking.

"Excuse me. Sorry if I startled you. I've got your mail."

He spoke with a strong voice.

He was looking around the room.

"What happened to your door?"

"Burglars."

"They took the door!?

"Well… um… Yep, unbelievable isn’t it?”

Disorientated by my attraction to him, I was fumbling my words, trying to explain that I’d left a note on the house for him. He stepped back out and looked for it. He picked the note up, and read it, smiling.

"Don't worry about that, I’ll ring the doorbell as long as you need.

Are you all right?"

"Yes," l answered. Thanks for asking." I said shakily.

My eyes began to fill thinking of the whole incident and he began to blur. He seemed shy, at first, but seeing the tears, he tried to lighten the mood, "Are you painting yourself or the door?" I laughed.

To Whom It May Concern: I needed the humor. I wiped my tears letting out another chuckle. I had paint on my face, in my hair and at over my clothes.

"When I get off duty would you like me to drop by and give you a hand?" He asked.

"Oh, no need, but, thank you for offering."

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He looked at me, concerned. I sensed his sturdy kindness and steady ways, immediately. He extended his hand.

"My name is Chancelor. I don't know what my mother was thinking. Call me Chance."

I chuckled, again. I shook his hand, "Dani." I responded.

His hands were large, masculine, and strong, yet soft.

"Your mail," he reached it towards me.

When I took the mail his hand gently brushed against mine. Left handed, he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. There was an uncomfortable silence between us. His eyes caught mine; they were soft. He showed a broad smile. Then he dropped his gaze. There was so much gentleness there. I drew in a quick breath. There was a wise look about him, it was in his eyes. I had a sudden notion, that this was what my whole life had been about, a journey towards meeting this masterful man. The master drummer I'd read about in books about Africa. My insides jumped again.

He adjusted his mailbag and slung it over his left shoulder. I watched the muscles in his forearm flex and could tell by the fluidity of it that he had done that thousands of times.

"Oh yeah, he said, "You have this, too." He gave me a Lane Bryant catalogue whispering, "My kind of woman."

I blushed, took the magazine, and stood gently caressing its surface, staring at him. He watched my hands, intensely.

"Well, Miss Dani, I've got to get going, maybe one day I'll stop in for a cool drink."

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"I'd like that." I responded, smiling.

He walked down the porch steps, stopped, and turned to look back at me, for a moment, straight at me, his face serious, "If you need some help let me know."

He continued down the street to complete his route. I surprised myself. I stood on the porch watching him. The easy way he moved his body was deliciously disturbing, enough to draw me in deeply. He was lithe, moving with intensity and power, without effort, graceful.

He emitted power that was strong, supreme, and elegant.

I could tell by the strength of his speech, the way he said his words, that he was going to become a part of my life.

Emotions stirred inside me. I loved the way it felt. He turned and waved. I blushed because he caught me watching him.

To Whom It May Concern: I was beginning the second year of my two-year community college studies. I had completed one year, quickly, attending classes in the summer, to shorten my stay. I was going for an Associate’s Degree in Accounting. I earned a few extra dollars tutoring classmates in bookkeeping and accounting. I was good at breaking down balance sheets, flow charts, and reports, well enough, to help them understand. I had always wanted to be a teacher.

It was hard to get my own studying done, many days, while DeAndre was running around the house, but I managed. My next door neighbor, Kacy, and I had an arrangement. We took turns cooking.

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I cooked for both families for a week and she cooked for both families the next. She was thrilled because she loved the bread I baked. It relaxed me to bake.

Baking bread was relaxing for me. I would run around my kitchen, flour flying everywhere, slinging globs of dough into greased bread pans, shoving them into an oven. With his nose straight up in the air, DeAndre would sit in a chair, sniffing the delicious aroma. I would have a textbook in one hand, while cleaning the mess I made with the other. Kacy and her husband were wonderful neighbors. Her husband crossed the driveway and mowed my lawn every time he mowed theirs, front and back. She babysat for me when Niecy was unavailable, which was more often now that Niecy had a new boyfriend. Kacy and I would sit on my front porch together and watch our children play. When Dane banged on my bedroom windows late at night, my telephone would ring. It would be Kacy's husband.

"Dani. Do you want me to get rid of him for you, call the police?"

I always told him, No, and apologized for the noise because I didn't ever want his family involved in the mess of a life I was living.

My loyal Niecy was such a great friend. Niecy's new boyfriend made me nervous. He was possessive the way Dane was in the early days of our dating. She seemed so happy, though. She talked about him all of the time. I hated to see anyone break her spirit. Niecy was such a generous friend. She decided one day to give me my "independence." That was her term for teaching me how to drive. She taught me how to drive with so much patience and skill, I thanked God for her. Unbelievably, Dane with his finger on every phase of my life, tried to run 225

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me off the road, as I ran errands, driving Niecy's new car, he thought I was driving another man's vehicle. Dane had such a miserable grip on every phase of my life!

To Whom It May Concern: I found myself thinking about the mailman, a lot.

He was celestial and mysterious, and it was hard to get him off my mind. I had a new mailbox attached to my house and wondered if he meant it when he said he'd stop by for a cool drink. He was older and that appealed to me.

I had put DeAndre down for a nap, one day, and walked over to the window and looked out. All I thought about was how much I'd like to see him again. I just felt like being with someone who was comforting to have around and easy to talk to. I saw him delivering the mail across the street. My heart was racing. I tried to calm myself down by looking at my neighborhood, cars parked in some of the driveways, tall trees providing plenty of shade, and everyone’s maintained lawns. Sprinklers were hissing, watering lawns, here and there. It was a neighborhood of single-story brick houses. Some were similar to the others, everyone had a front porch, but no house was exactly alike. Other than the burglaries at my house, it was a nice place to live.

My mind drifted back to Chance. He had intrigued me. I was at the window, curtains barely parted, peeking out. I didn't want him to see me spying on him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him go up on the porch next door.

Anticipation was causing me to squirm and he passed right by my house. I felt more than disappointed, my eyes were burning a little; I felt filled with quiet misery and despair. I guess I had no mail.

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The following day, I went on a tutoring assignment and when I returned home, my mail was in the mailbox. A week later, I was in the kitchen and heard him coming up the porch steps. I dropped a plate. I, covered in flour, again because I was baking bread, looked a mess. I listened as he tapped on the door instead of ringing the doorbell. I had to calm myself down, act nonchalant. I told myself that if he put the mail in the mailbox, and left, it was no big deal. I even refused to rush to the door. After all, I had some dignity. I even counted to ten before walking to the door. I opened the door slowly. There he stood, his smile slid into laughter.

"Look at you! He roared with laughter.

“I dropped by to see how you're holding up. Looks like you’re drowning in flour!”

I watched him, happy to see him, and took the mail, "Oh, shut up… I was baking bread." I smiled.

His eyes fixed on me seemed softer than the first time I saw him.

"Baking bread, I'm impressed. Got a cool drink for an old mailman, or are you too busy?"

His uniform shirt was stuck to his back from perspiration.

"Not at all, come on in."

I, looking happy, dusting flour off my clothes onto my entranceway floor, moved aside so he could step inside. He dropped his mailbag in the corner by the door.

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serious look when he noticed me studying him. His body was agile and his muscles moved with the intensity and power of a man who worked hard. Unusual for a man his size. His build was my James Earl Jones!

"If you're busy, I understand." He said.

"Oh, no, no problem, come in, have a seat in the living room."

His eyes met mine again, and this time he didn't look away and neither did I. I finally broke our stare, to go to the kitchen and get him a glass of lemonade. I knew he was watching me walk away.

When I returned, I moved slowly towards him, studying him again. He was a solidly built, tall and big man who moved up and down the street as if he were twenty years old. Because of the heat, his uniform had short pants and his strong muscular legs were exposed. His short sleeve shirt showed his big strong muscular arms. Once I was standing in front of him, I was conscious of his smell, his heavy breathing, and the heat generating off his body.

I became so nervous the glass trembled and the lemonade tilted precariously in the glass. His hand gently caressing mine, in his reach to take hold of the glass to steady it.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

I was embarrassed that he noticed.

"Just clumsy." I responded.

When he touched me a shiver traveled up my arm.

I had feelings for this man and I'd just recently met him!

While he drank his lemonade, he kept his eyes on me, looking at me in his intense way. A tiny drop of lemonade dribbled down his chin. I wanted to kiss it off. I’d never understood magic and passion all mixed together, but I have now, as deeply, as profoundly, as is possible without his having ever touched me. I was in love with his spirit.

"Cold enough?" I asked.

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"Yes, great."

We talked briefly, mostly about my having everything in order after the burglary. In a short time, he gave me his glass; my fingertips tingled as they touched his skin. He had to go finish his route. As he stepped off the porch, he looked back, for a few seconds, eyes missing nothing, as if he were taking a photograph of me that he would never lose.

To Whom It May Concern: The detective, I think the most attractive white man I’d ever seen, assigned to my case – burglaries – dropped in to update me on the investigation. There was no proof that Dane was behind the burglaries. He felt that Dane had sent someone else in the burglary ring to rob and vandalize my house. He advised me to get a shotgun.

He told me to aim in the direction of any intruder and shoot. He promised me I would hit something. I cringed over the thought. He told me even if they were on my porch and I knew it was a threat - shoot them. He said to drag a foot over the threshold and give him a call. He gave me a card and wrote his home telephone number on the back. He said he was going to see to it there was an end to the burglaries at my home. I thanked him for his concern.

I was flattered; he was flirting with me!

Speaking of Dane, he called and asked to come by, he said he had money to spend and wanted to pick DeAndre and me up. I'm not sure why I said okay, I guess I was thinking if he was willing to spend money I'd better take advantage of it. Dane was living with an older woman. Driving her car, he picked us up, and drove to her 229

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job, picked up her paycheck that she had signed over to him. I was sad for her. Dane cashed her check and took DeAndre and me shopping. I felt so ashamed to be allowing him to buy things for DeAndre, under those conditions. I really wanted to go home. What was it about him that made women fools? I couldn't put her down; I had been and probably still was, just as stupid.

I had consensual sex with Dane that evening. I didn’t know I had a real need to be held and I wanted him to continue to take care of DeAndre. Over a small period of time, I continued to sleep with him with small cries of passion, not orgasmic, but from the need to feel it thick inside me, again. I wanted someone to love me. I felt guilty. I felt confused. I didn't want to believe Dane could do whatever he wanted, in my life, but I was allowing it. I wondered how Dane really felt about himself when he did such things. I hated what loneliness were doing to me. I hated what I was doing to the woman he lived with. He would slap my naked butt and say, "Anytime you need it, baby!"

Ashamed, I’d roll over and say, "I’m tired, Dane, you can go home."

Dane was so pleased with himself; it made me sick.

That's the reason I decided to make that dangerous decision to stop sleeping with him. Dane was furious, but I thought about that poor woman at home waiting for him, signing her checks over to him. I was that woman, at one time. I had to stop what I was doing. Women should stick together, care for each other and refuse to sleep with each other’s men! It seemed to me that life should be so simple. If I treat people well, they treat me the same. Not true. But, I couldn't continue to do something I wouldn't want another to do to me.

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Ironically, Dane only took us on that one shopping trip. I regretted all of the miles of life that I'd given him.

My own story, a man and a woman, haunted me. There was something about it, I didn't know what it was, but I couldn't stop our mingled destinies, as parents of DeAndre Ransom, from spiraling out of control. God help me.

To Whom It May Concern: It seemed waiting to see Chance again, was a merciless wall of time, It was endless. I know I fell back into Dane’s arms to soothe the fire in my gut I had for Chance. What was the cause of his hesitation? One day, I had nothing to do; I went into the living room, pushed aside the curtains, and sat down to watch for him. The streets were empty. Sometimes, the mail just seemed to reach my mailbox by magic without my seeing or hearing anything. Strangely, I found that intensely erotic. I would take the mail from the box and gently run my hand across it, feeling funny in my underbelly. Everything about him had become erotic to me, unpredictability turned me on.

I often thought of where I might be in life and what I might be doing if I'd turned down Dane's proposal of marriage when I was eighteen and continued my education. Still and all, I couldn't live that way always, wondering what if. When those feelings become too strong, I'd think of DeAndre and how he wouldn't be a part of my life if I hadn't met Dane, and then I'd become grateful. I was puzzled when Dane dropped by and said; he was leaving Michigan and moving to Los Angeles, California. His reason was an attempt to find work. He admitted that my pursuit of child support led to any job he obtained in Michigan becoming garnished for child 231

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support. He was adamant I would never receive a dime from him. His ignorance slid past my ears and I couldn't have been happier. I drifted off into a fantasy of freedom!

Chance finally stopped by again and to my delight continued to drop by, regularly. He would tell funny stories about the people along his route. One woman had opened her door, naked, when she heard him putting the mail in her mailbox. He expressed outrage. I was distressed and jealous. It really disturbed me to think that other women out there, along his route, desired him. It bothered me more to think he may have been interested.

Chance had a dry sense of humor, and he spoke with a wisdom I had never known. For him everyday task, I supposed, but for me the stuff of poetry. He was full of philosophical ideas. I could listen to him for hours. I hated it, when he had to leave and continue on his route and could feel his reluctance to go. There was something in the mind of Chancelor Wylie. Was he falling in love with Dani Marie Ransom? I hoped so.

Chance stopped by nearly every day he delivered mail. He would sit at the kitchen table talking, watching me, while I prepared DeAndre's lunch. I would sit across from him at times as he watched me steadily and I watched back. I'd serve him a cool drink, every chance I got standing behind him, just to be able to place my hand on his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles running from his neck. He often spoke of how nice I looked. I reveled in it, soaked it in, and enjoyed his compliments. He made me feel like a beautiful woman. When he was near me my loneliness dissolved.

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Neighbors working in their yards, stepping out of their cars or peering out of their windows were beginning to stare as I invited Chance in. I didn't care. I was enjoying the courtship. Complaints started coming in to the Post Office about his route: Delayed mail delivery, time spent at my house and other foolish lies. I knew the main complainant was a man who lived straight across the street from me. He had made many advances towards me, since Dane and I divorced. I always turned him down.

He kept saying I was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. I simply thanked him for the compliment; I'd seen how badly he treated his wife before she left him.

Now, that Chance was being invited into my house, it enraged that man. Several times, as I opened my front door for Chance, I glanced past him and saw him standing in his driveway glaring over at us. One day he came over to me as I was preparing to push DeAndre, in his stroller, to the store. He asked me what I wanted with that old man. I had to tell him it was none of his business. When the superiors at the post office confronted Chance, a consummate professional who began working for the post office since the age of eighteen, he told them he could spend his lunch hour as he saw fit. They left him alone and that situation blew over quickly.

The most wonderful thing happened, Chance asked me out for our first date just for coffee, he said. I happily said yes. Kacy was throwing a party for her son's 6th birthday, on that night, and asked if DeAndre could spend the night at her place. I had babysitting covered. We went to a small corner diner and I admitted to him, I preferred tea. When our hot drinks arrived, he sipped his black coffee, intense eyes on me.

"You're going to school. What do you do for fun?"

He asked..

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"School’s fun. However, I enjoy sewing, reading, and movies. I love the theater, most of all."

"Oh? What was your favorite play?"

I hadn't expected him to ask that. I blushed, giggled and stammered for a moment, “I haven't ever seen a play, except on television and perhaps some school plays."

"How do you know you Jove them so much?"

"Oh, I just know. Raw talent, right there in front of an audience, that's extreme. I love things extreme that stimulate my mind."

"I see," he seemed deep in thought.

I liked his intelligence and ability to reach into the subtleties of my mind and spirit.

"What do you do for fun?" I asked.

"Bowling. I go to tournaments all over the country."

"I throw gutter balls." I admitted.

"We'll have to go sometime. I’ll teach you."

“I’d like that."

"How old is your son?"

"Two. You have any kids?"

His eyes stayed on mine a few seconds. He took a sip of his coffee, then glanced out the window.

"Two. Boys... Seventeen and Nineteen."

He seemed sad.

"Living with you?"

"With their mother. I’ve been divorced seven years."

"A long time."

"Yes. I brought her out of the ghetto. She just had no drive or ambition; it was hard on the marriage... She sort of sat around doing nothing but complaining all the time. I came home one day she was gone back to her old 234

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neighborhood, took my boys, went on welfare, and is living back on the rough side of town. I don't think it’s good for my boys, but we haven't been close since the divorce. They won’t leave their Mama."

"I'm sorry."

To Whom It May Concern: I was seeing a deeper side of Chance. He put his cup down, leaned forward and folded his hands in front of him, "And your story?"

"Divorced nine months. It’s a long story.”

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. Warmth traveled up to my heart.

"I have enjoyed you tonight, young lady." He said.

The look in his eyes was tender. "I want to see you again."

He continued.

“I'd like that.”

"I want you to know I'm thirty nine."

"Sound like you think that's old."

I started doing the math, fourteen years older than I was. The same difference as Daddy and Mama, Daddy and Tina.

"Does that bother you?"

“No, of course not."

"You're a special woman."

"Thank you."

"You've caused me to spend a lot of time thinking about you, Dani. Perhaps I was afraid of you. Where were you when I was nineteen and looking for a wife?"

I thought for a minute and answered, "In kindergarten."

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He let out a loud, chest heaving laugh. His laughter had not subsided when we stood up to go, hugging me, I lay my head on his chest. I loved the sound of him, his mouth still open with laughter, his heart pounding furiously. I kissed him gently on the cheek and the laughter validated to an end. He enclosed me into a big bear hug.

To Whom It May Concern: Even if Chance walked past my house, I could watch his stride out of the window, see his muscles flexing along his arms and legs and dream of him. I had become someone barely recognized. I wanted him. I made myself blush! I wanted more of him, to know more about him. I ached for him.

I became concerned when two weeks went by and another mail carrier had been delivering the mail. I was frightened, nervous, had Dane done something? I was going crazy. I didn't have a telephone number to call. I hadn't given him my number either and it was unlisted.

Finally, I stepped out on the porch as the new mailman walked up my steps, "Excuse me, sir, but where is the regular mail carrier?"

He hesitated and then said, "He has been in the hospital, ma'am. He had a heart attack."

My heart stopped. Tears quickly flooded my eyes, clouding my sight.

"Is he all right?" I asked, forcing myself to keep my voice steady.

"Yes, ma'am.

He is at his mother's home recovering. I heard he will be back to work soon, probably desk duty at first."

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"If you talk to him, will you give him my best wishes? Dani… Dani Ransom."

"Sure will," he gave me my mail.

I cried throughout the next couple of days, barely able to function. I called Niecy.

"Dani, he's going to be okay." She reassured me.

"There's no man to compare to him." I whined.

"Nothing he does is normal, Niecy, I’m not use to a man whose mind is as quick as his."

"Girl, I’ve got to meet this man."

I played quiet music and prayed.

To Whom It May Concern: When I saw Chance delivering the mail, again, I jumped up and down cheering in my house. I was filled with joy! He was a beautiful sight, moving carefully along the street. It seemed to take an eternity for him to reach my house. I decided if he didn't knock, I would chase him down the street. I yanked my door open when he knocked, tearful. He had lost a considerable amount of weight.

"Got a cool drink for an old mailman?" He flashed that wonderful smile.

I hugged him tight, burying my face in his chest, tears welling up in my eyes. Deep feelings were rising. I recovered and asked, "Are you OK?" "I am good," he said, “I missed you!” And, he hugged me again.

He walked over and sat in my recliner. My heart was racing; I didn't want to ask him too many questions, "You scared me to death."

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"Stop that, I don't have any intentions of becoming a statistic."

I grinned. I did like his gentle manner, sense of humor. After we talked a while Chance slowly got up and moved towards me reaching for my hand. I wanted to say, don't go.

"Walk me to the door." He said.

I stood up, hesitantly and took his hand and he led me to the door. My hand was stiff at first, but I relaxed and felt his fingers curl into mine. I liked the way it felt, natural, comfortable, and familiar.

At the door, he asked, "Do you think you can get a babysitter for Friday night? I'll pay for it. I'd like to take you out to dinner."

I said, “I’d love that." I wanted to jump and shout.

"Make it dressy." He advised. "Is that okay?"

"OK." Niecy would take DeAndre for the weekend. Dear Lord, It’s me again, thank you for saving that man's life!

To Whom It May Concern: When we drove into the parking lot of the restaurant my mouth dropped open, my eyes were big as saucers. I exhaled softly and a gentle "Ooooooo" escaping my lips. It was the most elegant place I’d ever seen. There were gorgeous stained glass windows, picturesque gardens, and water fountains. I stared in disbelief. Chance was watching my face, smiling.

"You want to sit here in the car until your eyes pop out, or go in?”

I slapped his arm and he grabbed it, pretending I had hurt him. He walked around the car and opened my 238

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door. I stepped out of his vehicle feeling like Cinderella exiting her carriage.

"Am I dressed properly for this place?" I asked, smoothing the skirt of my shimmering navy blue fulllength maxi dress, with a halter neck.

"You are breathtaking!" He answered, putting his arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him. He was wearing a dark gray three-piece business suit. He was so handsome.

Once we had our seats at our table, I felt like royalty. I hadn’t ever experienced anything like it in my entire life. I hadn't ever seen so much silverware and so many dishes and glasses in a single table setting. We were having a five-course meal. I hadn't ever heard of a fivecourse meal. I hadn't experienced any of the foods served, either.

The first serving was Soup Butternut squash with scallops - hot and delicious.

The second serving was the Appetizer Tiny crab cakes - delicious and spicy.

The third serving was Salad Goat cheese and beets sprinkled on it - with the best house dressing in the world.

The fourth serving was the Main Course Grilled filet of beef with mushrooms, potatoes and asparagus The fifth serving was Desert – Vanilla ice cream with berries and chocolate syrup.

I thought I would explode. I was living a dream.

Chance had ordered champagne, which, of course, I hadn't ever tasted. I loved it. The sensual explosion in my mouth 239

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was heaven. I loved the taste, the fizz and tingling bubbles that seemed to fill my mouth and glide all the way down my throat. I had a heavenly experience.

To Whom It May Concern: Throughout the meal. I watched Chance carefully.

Since, I had never seen so much silverware I had to wait until he started on a course of the meal to know which fork or spoon to use. He put his napkin in his lap I copied his every move. I could tell he was amused watching me, but that was okay with me. I asked him endless questions, what this was and what that was. I was like a child spending the evening with her Daddy. He loved it. He laughed, smiled, chuckled, and at times roared. I was wide-eyed, excited, and just beside myself. I had died and gone to heaven.

After dinner, Chance leaned back and took a sip of his coffee, some of the best coffee he'd ever tasted, he said. Nearly bursting I the seams I had hot tea. I examined every inch of that room as we left, burning it into my memory. As he drove home, he reached over and took my hand in his; we rode in silence for a while. We were driving in the rain, windshield wipers slapping, we drove through some very nice neighborhoods, gated neighborhoods, and country clubs in the exclusive sides of town. He asked me if I liked any of the homes. I studied his profile as he drove; he didn't seem to want to take me home.

"Are you're worried about dating an old man who’s had a couple of heart attacks?"

"A couple?"

I was still woozy from the champagne, sleepy, but too excited to fall asleep.

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"Both my father and brother died of heart attacks when they were forty. My father dropped dead playing the organ in church."

I must have looked worried.

"I'm taking medication, and doing quite well. Are you still interested?"

I had a fear. What if he dropped dead on top of me? But I answered truthfully, "Absolutely!"

Chance turned into the huge parking lot of the most exclusive hotel I’d ever seen. A giant sparkling white building with glass revolving doors, strobe lights, sliding through the air like those at a movie premier, and a doorman. I looked over at him. He stared straight ahead and asked, "Do you want to go in, I have a room reserved for us?"

It was such a beautiful place. I turned and stared at its awesomeness.

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Chapter Nine

Babasiko – Proposal of Intimacy – Flirtatious theatrical and elegant.

To Whom It May Concern: Being with Chance had been chasing me all day. No one had ever made me feel the way he did. He had made a reservation and paid for the room. He had picked up the keys earlier that day. The room was on the fourth floor. I wasn’t going to disappoint him. He took my hand, and led me through the lobby. His hand was so hot the heat permeated up my arm. The lobby was elegant - gorgeous.

There was an enormous crystal chandelier overhead, plush carpets, and prestigious furniture. The staff was impeccably dressed. My head riveted trying to take it all in. Every inch of it gleamed; it was so clean. We rode a glass elevator up to the fourth floor. Each floor had balconies on which you could look down into the lobby.

Chance opened the door to an exquisite room. He led me in and I sat on the very edge of the bed. That room had so many beautiful things in it; I didn't want to disturb the

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ambiance. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. The curtains and bedding were stunning.

Chance sat in one of the two chairs on each side of an antique table, watching me. I eased off the bed and walked around peeking into the bathroom, touching the furniture and opening drawers. I stopped and stood watching him.

“It’s OK?'' He asked.

"It's the most beautiful place I have ever seen!"

I felt full of emotion. Why would anyone spend the kind of money it must have cost for dinner and this room to spend time with me? I'd never been in a hotel room before and of course, nothing so perfect. I felt grateful. He studied me for a moment, "Are you comfortable?" He asked.

I sat back on the edge of the bed, gingerly. My mind was racing. Why were things so hard for me? I adored this man. Would things change between us if I allow him to invade my body? I had only known him for a few months.

I was afraid! What would he feel like? Would he hurt me?

Would he enjoy me? I began to weep out of pure frustration. His face fell, "Darling, my last intention was to upset you! I can't bear to see you cry, Dani. If it is too soon I’ll be happy to take you home. I want you to feel safe. Please do not allow me to make you feel obligated or pressured!"

He looked so upset. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys. He had been so remorseful and full of tenderness I jumped up and said, "Please, no. I don’t want to go home."

My thoughts and emotions were so conflicted I felt flushed. Chance meant so much to me. I felt bad about my response, I thought I might throw up. I repeated: "I don't want to go home."

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To Whom It May Concern: Chance sat in the chair, looking confused and concerned.

"Tell me what I’ve done wrong, Dani?"

"Nothing, it’s me! This has been the most wonderful evening of my life." I answered.

He studied me for a few moments.

"Pretend I’m not here." He blurted out.

I gave him a questioning look. What does he mean?

He walked over to turn on the television and sat watching television like I wasn’t there. I flopped back down on the bed, lay back and threw my arm across my face. I had only slept with my husband, had a drug filled nightmare of a rape I did not remember and had a brief affair with Walker. How could I become so intimate with this man whom I’d only know for a short time?

As I lay there in deep thought, Chance turned the television off, I removed my arm from across my face, and he was standing beside the bed. The mattress jostled as he sat down next to me. I looked up at him, eyes glassy, and he was looking at my face.

"I would be happy to take you home. No problem!

But I want you to know, I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I want to make love to you. If you're not ready, I understand. I will wait, Dani."

I touched his arm and he leaned down and kissed me quickly. I scooted back up against the headboard and patted the spot next to me. I had accepted his proposal of intimacy. He sat next to me. Chance leaned over slowly, cautiously and gave me a kiss with tongue, his mouth was cool, and his lips warm, "I might bite," he said, smiling lips still pressed against mine.

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I smiled, loving the tenderness or his lips. He reluctantly allowed our lips to part and sat up and back against the headboard, he said, "You’ve had very little sexual experience. I believe your husband was probably the only man you've been with? I understand your fear."

I lied, "Yes, he was," because at that moment I felt new and inexperienced.

He whispered, "I wouldn't hurt you, Dani!"

He kissed me deeply, kissed my face, my neck and shoulders. I was at peace as he undid the neck of my dress and slid it over my head. I was wearing a strapless bra and panties underneath. He easily sipped both off, leaned over, and kissed my belly. I reached up to unbutton his shirt, but, my fingers were trembling. He stood up and removed his shirt and pants. I looked into his eyes as he stepped out of his underwear. The bed jostled again, when he climbed back in. I watched him, rising up on his side, leaning on one elbow, gazing at my body, "You're more beautiful than I imagined."

He pulled me to him and I buried my face in his neck, allowing my breast to absorb the heat from his chest. My belly enjoyed the fullness of his. My nipples were standing at attention, throbbing, my body filled with anxious anticipation. He was awakening sexual desires in me that I didn't know I had. Lying in Chance's arms was a fantasy.

He gently circled and caressed my breast with his fingertips. His hands were so strong yet gentle, they almost were not there. When he took my breast into his mouth, it drove me crazy. He flicked each nipple with the tip of his tongue. Electric currents shot through me, flooding me with more desire. I became wet between the legs. He whispered, "Dani, you are a dream come true."

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I was quivering with expectation. I closed my eyes.

I felt sexy and desirable. He eased himself inside over me, near me so tenderly I wasn't sure how he got there. We were together, greedy for fulfillment. I whimpered as a feeling, new to me, shook and filled my body. He was riding my waves of ecstasy. I started to weep with joy, quietly. I was whispering his name. I hadn’t ever had such an exquisite sensation in my entire life! I didn't know how to tell him I'd felt things I'd never felt before. He had showed me what was missing in my life!

Most importantly, I knew our union was as meaningful to him as it was to me. His eyes were shiny with a small collection of tears. We took a bath together in the huge soaking tub. He sat behind me and I rested between his legs, my head Jeaned back on his chest. He ran his soapy hands over every inch of my body and I felt another stirring between my legs. He pulled me up to straddle him; we made quick love again, in the tub. Later, we lay in bed, spooning.

"What do you want out of life, Dani?" He whispered.

I could feel his warm breath on my neck.

"I want peace in my heart, life without turmoil, and to be happy. I want to feel important, to somebody."

"That's beautiful!"

I was so afraid of how much I loved that man. We drifted off to sleep.

To Whom It May Concern: The next day, a delivery truck maneuvered its way into my driveway. A delivery man walked up on my porch 246

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carrying a huge bouquet of the most beautiful flowers I'd ever seen. When I opened the door, he inquired, "Dani Ransom?" “Yes." "I have a delivery for you."

He placed the bouquet in my arms, my jaw dropped and he grinned. I rushed to find a tip for him, shut the door and sat staring at them. I searched through the gorgeous arrangement for a card. It reads: Darling: Thank you for a lovely evening.

You bring me joy.

Chance.

No one had ever given me flowers before. Of course, I shed tears. I was feeling unraveled and strange. I stood staring at them, yellow roses - a small sticker explained their significance - Joy, Friendship and sunny feelings of warmth and happiness. That was exactly the way they made me feel. Mixed among them were a scattering of white baby's breaths and beautiful greenery.

It was Saturday evening and Chance told me he wouldn't deliver the mail again until Monday. The flowers were a flight of fancy for the rest of my weekend.

When we saw each other again, there was a new thrill in the air. We began to chat about personal things.

There were more hugs and kisses than ever before. As we grew closer, I felt blessed. Comfortable enough to talk about some of my childhood pain and l loved the way Chance always strived to keep things lighthearted and 247

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funny. When I shared childhood experiences about my skin color, his response was, "So, you're light, bright and damn near white. Who cares? Better than being shit brown!”

He was laughing, pulled me to him, and hugged me. He labeled himself as paper bag tan!

"Chance!" I said with pretend indignation. “Where do you get this stuff?"

I laughed too. I was so happy, I was afraid to jinx it.

I had a wonderful man in my life. I hadn't heard from or seen Dane for months, I had no complications, either. I was almost afraid of the joy, fate had allowed. One day as I carried groceries up the walk to the porch of my house, I stopped and appraised it. The living room had two wide windows that seemed to hold the glittering sunlight. It was a red brick house, had a concrete porch painted to match the red brick. It had black wrath iron railings that traveled up alongside the edges of the steps. On the left side of the porch was the kitchen window, a beautiful bay window that sparkled. It was, for the first time, a warm and inviting place. I decided my house was happy, too.

To Whom It May Concern: Niecy was so thrilled to meet Chance, grinned as they joked and laughed. She, acting like my mother, gave me her approval I was sorry I couldn't get as excited over her boyfriend. She was such a wonderful friend. I really didn't know what I’d do without her. We fought like sisters, sometimes, but she was always there for me. She baby-sat at the drop of a hat. When Daddy had a heart attack, she was right there by my side. She was the one who never forgot my birthday, bought DeAndre a pile of 248

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presents each Christmas, I never worried about him doing without, and she constantly picked up items of clothing she felt would look good on me.

I believed Niecy's new man beat her. She wouldn't admit it. She tried to hide it. I was sad because my life was so happy. She was a new mother and worshipped her son.

Niecy's real name was Patrice so she named him Patrick.

She said her new man was just a sperm donor. I laughed. I could tell there were problems in their relationship. She was spending a lot more time at my house, and more than welcomed.

Always spunky, during her pregnancy, whenever Niecy got mad at him, she would come over to my house.

On a typical night, I'd hear her gentle rap at the door and open it; she would waddle, huge with child, right past me saying, "Good night."

I’d respond, "Good night," yawning and follow her into DeAndre's room. I’d pick DeAndre up and carry him to my bed. She'd crawl into his bed and go to sleep. At first, her boyfriend would come over, shortly after her, banging on the door and yelling. I'd threaten him with the police and he would leave. Eventually he just stopped bothering to follow her. I gave her a key just in case she came over and I was away with Chance.

To Whom It May Concern: Chance was concerned about the situation with Niecy. He was mostly concerned about her boyfriend following her to my house. I explained how important Niecy was to me and he understood, but still wasn't crazy about the situation, concerned for my safety. We were 249

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spending a lot of time at Chance's house, anyway. He had a beautiful home. A mansion compared to the modest house I owned.

He had four bedrooms and two and one-half bathrooms with a finished basement. He had the biggest bed, I'd ever seen in his master bedroom. He called it "King Sized." It had four thick, sculptured bedposts reaching for the ceiling. That bed was scrupulously comfortable and would completely fill one of my bedrooms. I was awestruck. As DeAndre slept comfortably in another room, he and I spent many nights making love in that bed.

Sometimes, when Chance left to run a quick errand, I would travel through his house, going room to room, imagining living there. His living room was all black and white with peach throw pillows strewn along the couch and love seat.

A picture window almost filled one wall of the living room, with peach colored curtains that he never closed. Through the windows, I could see the great expanse of his front yard, in his upscale neighborhood, and the old woman that was always outside bending over her flower garden. She would stop and stare when Chance, DeAndre, and I entered the house. I wondered if the furniture and decor was his or his ex-wife's idea, perhaps both. Every wall in every room was white. The dining room had a tablecloth and curtains that were a combination of powder blue and mint green. His bedroom had navy blue bed coverings with light blue sheets with red throw pillows.

Every piece of furniture in the house was a dark mahogany and polished until shone. To me it gave the home a mortuary took. There were no flowers, no paintings, no pictures, no vases, and no knickknacks. I 250

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thought it all a little odd and imagined how I would redecorate.

To Whom It May Concern: Whenever we were at Chance's house, he wouldn't allow me to clean or cook for him. He said I was a guest.

That really hurt. I didn't want to be a guest. I wanted him to marry me. I asked him if he ever planned to marry again. He just said marriage was a sad thing. I was sad about it. I was willing to live with him, notwithstanding, it crossed my mind that Daddy wouldn't approve, but I didn't know how to bring the subject up to Chance, anyway. I just relaxed. Chance, DeAndre and I were busy enjoying life. He took me to an Italian restaurant for a sevencourse-meal! Seven courses! It blew my mind! We had antipasto with raw vegetables and pickled mushrooms, cups of broth, ravioli's, our main course, salad, and slices of melon with smoky cheese, plus cookies for desert. On sunny weekends, he drove us to Belle Isle, an island that snakes across the Detroit River. We went canoeing, to the aquarium and to dairy barns. The concerts in the park were my favorites. Chance really enjoyed the Belle Isle Grand Prix races, on Labor Day weekends.

I loved that Chance was unpredictable. He came over very early one Saturday morning. I answered the door sleepily, rubbing my eyes. “Are you all right?" I asked, yawning.

"Let's go to Niagara Falls?" He said.

"Niagara Falls? Now today? You can't be serious?"

"Yes, I am. Get dressed. You got one-half hour."

He drove us to see Niagara Falls!

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DeAndre and I were excited. Once we arrived, Chance guided us around. I inched over and peered at the massive falls, looked through the binoculars, the view was spectacular. It was a wonderful day. We had lunch, bought souvenirs, and drove back the same day. Chance had opened my world!

To Whom It May Concern: Dane moved to Los Angeles. He started calling two or three times a week. Whenever I heard his voice I had a certain feeling of doom, but I continued to hold civilized conversations with him. He said he had a new job and was doing well. He offered to send me a copy of his six-month performance appraisal. I wasn't interested.

I was happy in my world. I had finished school, had an Associate’s Degree in Accounting, and was actively looking for work. Dane had touted Los Angeles, made it sound like there were endless jobs there. He bragged about the weather, his apartment and the restaurants he went to, places called Carl's Jr. and Red Robin. Nothing seemed to compare to the places Chance had taken me.

He said he couldn't wait to show me Lake Arrowhead. I really was catching on to the fact, he was strongly hinting at my moving to Los Angeles, but I ignored him. I was hoping for a future with Chance.

I think from the minute I saw Chance, I loved him.

He continued to open my world. I had never seen a real beach, so he took us away for a weekend. I laid back and watched him trying to get DeAndre to take his first dip into the water. DeAndre, kicking and screaming, ended up on his shoulders. It was a beautiful sight. I laughed as Chance frolicked in the water with DeAndre bouncing on his 252

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shoulders, holding on for dear life, both arms in a stranglehold around his neck.

The sounds of the ocean were soothing, the air fresh and the sky beautiful and blue. Chance finally ran DeAndre over to me, snatching a towel to wrap him in, depositing him in my lap and racing back out to the water whooping and hollering. I loved watching him. Later, at dusk, we walked along the water's edge letting the surf roll in up to our knees. As the surf went out again the water running through my toes and down my sandy feet, I felt content. All of the stars came out from the heavens to light up the skies and watch us have a good time. It was a pretty night. It was romantic.

Somewhere in the distance music was playing.

Hearing that music, Chance and I danced slowly. DeAndre clapped his hands, grinning. The wind was blowing my hair around wildly; I clung to Chance’s hand, hoping I never had to let go. Perhaps, unbelievably blessed, all my dreams had come true after all.

To Whom It May Concern: Chance was still very concerned about Niecy's situation, of course, nothing ever happened when he was around. Over time, Niecy's relationship with her boyfriend worsened. She was afraid to go home and she owned the house. She and the baby were staying with me for a while, so she could have time to think. Her little boy was five weeks old and she was still on maternity leave from work.

He called threatening Niecy, often, and would bang on my door at times. He loved to stand in my yard screaming threats, just long enough to disappear before the police 253

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arrived. Her ordeal brought back gut wrenching memories of my life with Dree.

The reason Niecy was afraid to go home was the last time her boyfriend beat her, she fought back and he beat her so badly, she had to be admitted to the hospital. I saw her in her nightgown one night and noticed the deep dark bruises on the exposed areas of her back. We had one long slumber party one night, hoping to escape any current nightmares! We spent it reminiscing about old times and she was still stuck on our going to New York.

Surprisingly, we hadn't heard from her boyfriend for quite some time, so we relaxed a little. One September morning when I arose from glorious, dreams of Chance, I decided to let in the morning air. I opened some windows and doors. On such a quiet morning, I could hear neighbors starting their ritualistic morning routines, the children chattering, heading to school, cars revving up to go to work and Lawnmowers starting to cut grass.

Feeling safe, Niecy decided to walk to the corner store. Within thirty minutes, I heard screaming. I knew it was Niecy. I could hear her hard heels clashing against the pavement as she ran. I rushed to the door, yanking it open. Neighbors were standing on their porches. Just as I opened my front door, Niecy came tearing up the porch steps, her mouth bleeding, and flew right past me, screaming.

"He's after me. Close the door." She screamed louder.

"Close the door!"

Caught up in the terror and the frenzy of the moment I fumbled with the door while looking outside for any signs of danger. I saw groceries scattered up and down the street. He had jumped Niecy in broad daylight and was already barreling up my porch steps, taking two 254

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steps at a time. He tore into me like a defensive lineman on a football field. He knocked me up against the wall so hard the breath rushed out of me as I slid to the floor.

Dazed, I scrambled to my feet and could hear Niecy's terrifying screams and the sounds of a fist hitting flesh, a sound I was too familiar with. He had grabbed her baby and was leaving. But, he halted; I was standing in the doorway with a baseball bat in my hand. I said, "Put that baby down or I'll crack your head wide open!"

He stood staring at me and said, "Next time, I'm going to beat some bitch’s ass!"

He stepped towards me and I raised the bat. I would have used it. He saw that in my eyes! He laid the baby down.

He left just before the police arrived. My knees were knocking so hard they hurt! Niecy filed a report, described his car, and gave them her address. He was arrested, but bailed out, and got probation, first offense. Niecy filed for a restraining order. I, cast down by the experience, remembered the misery I'd lived, and felt so bad for Niecy.

To Whom It May Concern: Chance wanted to lift my spirits, remembering my love of plays he started giving me tickets to the matinee showing of various plays.

"Take your friend, enjoy yourself."

"Aren't you going?"

"Naw, I'm not a play kind of person, but you are!

Enjoy!"

Kacy was kind enough to baby-sit Niecy's small child and DeAndre each time we went. Niecy was excited and had a good time, a nice distraction from her problems.

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Over time we have seen, "Ain't Misbehavin'," "'Your arms too short to box with God," and several others. Every time a play, I may be interested in, came to town Chance bought my matinee tickets. He wasn't interested in seeing the plays, but he and I always had long discussions about them afterwards.

He would just sit back and enjoy my animated reactions to the play. He said he enjoyed watching my eyes light up.

Giving me tickets to the plays, taking me places I had never been and providing experiences that were new to me brought him so much joy because of my delightful reactions he said. He lived for my responses, reactions, and excitement. We drove to the Tulip Time Festival oneday in Holland, Michigan. It was unreal. I saw authentic Dutch clothing, tulips, and even wooden shoes! It was like traveling to a foreign land. I imagined it was just like being in Holland. There were so many nostalgic Dutch buildings.

There were symbols of Dutch heritage, cobbled streets, and Dutch cuisine.

We'd often cuddled in his bed and discuss world affairs. His favorite show was sixty minutes. He was my teacher. He took me places physically, emotionally and culturally in so many ways, I had never known before.

We'd sit on a bench at the downtown Museum of Art, DeAndre is sitting between us, and stare at a painting. He would ask me what I thought of it and then tell me what he thought. I couldn’t grasp the feelings or the tone of some of the works. We would move to another bench, sit, and stare at another painting, repeating the whole process. Sometimes, DeAndre gave us his opinion, too."Ugly!"

My favorite stops were the Historical Museum and the downtown public library, both massive buildings filled 256

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with knowledge.

We always stopped outside the museums for hot peanuts and munched on them all the way home.

To Whom It May Concern: During Niecy's stay, there was a point that I wasn't seeing Chance very much. He had serious issues with his sons and problems with his ex-wife that were taking up all of his time. He'd taken a leave of absence from work. I knew one of his sons was addicted to drugs and the other in some other kind of trouble with the law, but Chance chose not to discuss it with me in any detail. I missed him so much. Chance did call on rare occasion and was always apologetic, expressing how much he missed me but somehow our conversations seemed distant. I feared everything was falling apart.

Niecy was wonderful company during his absence.

I felt we needed to be cautious though, I was on welfare and she wasn’t supposed to stay there. I actually wouldn't allow her to hang her clothes in any of my closets.

Although times had changed, I found myself dodging the proverbial "Welfare Lady," syndrome remembering the days depicted in the movie, "Claudine." Being on welfare, myself, the movie haunted me. I couldn't help but try to hide the fact that she was living with me. I hid the nice things Chance had given me and even feared allowing Chance to stay at my house for any length of time, thinking I’d get "caught." Niecy thought it was hilarious, but she agreeably continued to live out of her suitcase.

Now that I had my degree in hand, I couldn't wait to get a job. I knew Niecy would be returning to work soon, also. It was tragic though to see Niecy, such a strong 257

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woman, beaten down by a man. She had permanent dark circles under her eyes, a scar on her bottom lip and severe sinus problems from his having broken her nose once. He rode around in a big black convertible and with his top down, two black Doberman Pinschers sat upright in the back seat, vicious and snarling with their heads held high.

He was cruising up and down my Street, regularly, trying to frighten us. Niecy kept herself locked up as if she was in prison.

Niecy wasn’t sure of what she was going to do, she needed to report back to work and was terrified of his following her. One day we realized we hadn't seen him cruising the streets for a couple of days. With a little investigation, we learned that his Doberman Pinschers had attacked him and nearly ate him alive. He was in critical condition in the hospital and not expected to live! Niecy and I looked at each other.

"GOD don't like ugly," was all she had to say. Even though there was sadness in her voice. She went to pack up her things. He died and she moved back home, her symmetry restored, she even collected Social Security for her child, more money than he ever gave her, and went back to work.

To Whom It May Concern: My neighbors on the opposite side of my house of Kacy's were an elderly couple. The husband was an old drunk. He was always coming over, offering to buy me a ham. A ham!

"You like ham, don't you? Be nice to me, I’ll buy you a ham, sweetheart."

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I thought he was funny. When he reached out for me and I saw those old wrinkled, dry and rough hands, I shuddered.

"Go home, Mr. Daniel’s. Go home to your wife." I was constantly telling him.

Most often, I just wouldn't open my door. He and his wife had their daughter later in life. She had three children, was addicted to drugs, she brought the kids over to her mother, one day and they hadn't seen her since.

They had no idea where their daughter was. I felt sorry for Mrs. Daniel’s, at her age, trying to raise three small children. The oldest six, middle child four and youngest two, all girls. One day she ran over to my house in a panic.

The two older children, one in kindergarten, the other in pre-school weren't at home. The two-year-old had slammed the door and locked Mrs. Daniel’s out of the house when she stepped out to get her newspaper. I threw DeAndre on my hip and ran next door with her. We begged and pleaded with the little girl to open the door.

She kept screaming, "No!" Then she began to cry because she really didn't know how to open the door.

I circled the house looking for an open window, an open basement window, anything that would get me in that house. I found nothing. I was on my knees, my face lay against the door patiently giving the child instructions on how to open the door when I heard, "Can I help?"

A familiar strong masculine tone resonated behind me. I looked over my shoulder and there stood Chance!

"Chance.” I screamed.

I jumped up and threw my arms around him and quickly stepped away – we were in public and he was on the job.

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"The two year old is locked inside." I pointed to the front door.

He stood there thinking for a moment. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. He searched his wallet and pulled out a credit card. He got down on his knees, jiggled and worked the items between the door jam and the door, and it popped open. We were jumping with joy. He stood up and winked at us both and said, "Don't tell anyone I can do that."

That was one of the reasons I loved him so much!

To Whom It May Concern: I had my Chance back! Life was good again. There was a bowling tournament coming up soon, in Philadelphia and Chance had asked me to go. I was so excited I couldn't think straight. Within a couple of days, he gave me our plane tickets for safekeeping. This was going to be a weekend trip, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

I hadn't ever flown before. I was scared, (How does anything that big stay up in the air?) and thrilled. We would board our plane Friday morning and be back home early Monday morning.

My son asked, "I go to Niecy house, Mommy?''

"Yes, baby."

"I want to go to Kacy's." “Kacy is coming to get you Sunday night.�

DeAndre was three, going on four and having opinions about decisions I made in his life.

"Why?" "To spend the night. I will be home Monday morning."

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"Why do you have to go?”

He was clinging to my leg.

"Promise me, you will be a good boy?”

“Yes.” "Yes, what?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Chance and I dropped him off at Niecy's. He ran up her walkway and continued running right past her, through the front door and down her hallway, towards a toy box in her back room.

"Stop running, DeAndre, before you fall and bust your butt!" Niecy yelled after him.

I laughed, gave her a hug, and thanked her, she whispered, "And you thought something was wrong."

"I know." I said. “Everything is wonderful.”

To Whom It May Concern: I squeezed Chance's arm, and buried my face in his armpit almost all the way to Philadelphia. The flight was terrifying. I would fly again, if I had to, but there wasn't a single thing I enjoyed about flying. The takeoff created weird sensations in the pit of my stomach, the cabin pressure created pain in my ears – I chewed gum frantically praying for relief. Every bump or sudden drop, caused by air pockets, was horrific. The landing made me squeeze my eyes shut.

Once we landed, I wanted to jump off that plane and kiss the ground. Thankful to our Father God, almighty for a safe arrival, I had a grin on my face, a mile wide, when I saw the hotel we were staying in. Extravagant! Bell hops, concierge, room service, elegant restaurants, chandeliers, plush carpets, heated indoor swimming pool, 261

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the list was endless. This place was so chic. Chance was so particular about proper protocol he became infuriated, and called a meeting when he saw fellow team members fall out of line. He was team captain and their actions and representation of themselves was very important to him.

A bunch of his fellow teammates walked through the lobby with buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken on our first night, some even dragged their clothes through the lobby in trash bags and one particular couple got into a loud and rowdy fight. He’d wanted them to represent Detroit in a classy way.

"Colored-People!" He proclaimed with disgust and then he chuckled.

“Kentucky Fried Chicken and Garbage Bags!”

I laughed, too, and then we both burst into hysterical laughter. I was surprised that there were men AND women on Chance's team. The women inspected me with scorn, the moment they saw me. I heard the men teasing Chance for having a young girl with him. He just beamed. We made love passionately over that weekend, but I was jealous of one of the women on his team.

Everyone was around Chance's age and she brushed me aside brazenly. Chance made many strikes and she would run over to hug and kiss and slither all over him each time.

When he sat down, she would strut in front of him, and make attempts to sit on his lap, with me sitting next to him. I wanted to slap her silly. Had he been seeing her?

She seemed a little too familiar to me, although Chance seemed indifferent. She would buy pitchers of Miller Beer, his favorite, for the whole group, but set it on the table in front of Chance.

She'd ask him for guidance each time it was her turn to bowl. I was pissed off! My imagination ran wild. I had become so suspicious of the tournaments that I hadn't 262

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attended before. That night Chance brought several bottles of wine back to the room, intended to last the weekend. He left the room to get ice taking a little longer because he’d held a conversation with a gentleman in the hallway. Upon his return, he stepped into the shower, immediately. He wasn’t aware of me being so enraged that l had gulped down one of the bottles of wine and was starting on the second. I was drunk! Later, when he returned to the bedroom wrapped in a towel, I cried snotty, ugly and embarrassing tears about that woman. I yelled, accusing him of preferring her to me. I felt he hadn't put up enough resistance to her advances, so I accused him of having slept with her on prior bowling tournaments. Suddenly, I THREW UP ALL OVER THE BED! When I woke up the next morning, embarrassed, the bedding had been stripped off and was crumpled on the floor. I felt I had lost Chance due to my disgusting behavior. He was sitting by my side, shaking his head.

"You think you're going to live?" He asked.

I felt nauseous and my head was pounding. I couldn't lift my head off the pillow. I put my face in my hands and apologized, tearfully. I wondered what he thought of me. Shame filled tears began to fall rapidly. He undressed me and helped me to the bathroom. He got in the shower with me and held me up while lathering my body. The maid puts new bedding on the bed while we were in there. I lay in bed the rest of the day, sick, while he bowled.

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bed with me. He kissed my face gently and slowly slid his mouth to my breast, I felt my body heat up quickly. This man, my man was amazing. I was enjoying the sensations, I didn’t know what to do. I threw my head back, looked at my hands that clutched the headboard of the bed, and then I grabbed his shoulders. I didn't recognize myself. He whispered in my ear, sending a thrill through me, "I don't want you to ever feel jealous of another woman."

I looked up into his face, he meant it! Our eyes met. It was an incredibly good feeling. We were both hot and sweaty. He was gazing at me with such unbelievable intensity. We snuggled and slept for a couple of hours.

Later, he called room service and ordered our dinner.

That woman on his bowling team stayed away from him the rest of the weekend, giving me dirty looks.

I'd grown use to Chances departures and returns to my life. I knew he still felt responsible for his sons, he traveled to bowling tournaments and I felt he dealt with some doubts of his own about our relationship. But, he always left me with tickets and passes to different venues to entertain myself during his absences. I missed him anyway.

He’d say, “Take a friend, as long as they don’t wear pants.”

“Niecy, wears pants,” I’d say sarcastically.

“You know what I mean, Dani.” He’d laugh.

His returns to my life were always joyful, full of passion, news, and amazing stories. His enchanting views of life, period, were something to live for. His tales stimulated and excited me and so did his existence. He had a way of intensifying my view of life. However, Chance wouldn't discuss our future. My love for him was a fire burning inside me; yet, I felt I really didn't have him.

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Maybe I was like Big Mama, I had very little patience for those who chose not to marry. On occasion, he bought me gifts. The gifts were more fanciful than practical: A silver tea set I’d probably never use, an Oriental rug or an expensive set of China, most of them he’d found through his travels. There would always be such a glint of happiness in his eyes when he would present each new treasure to me. I adored everything he gave me, but I wanted a ring. I wanted to be his wife. I wanted him!

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Chapter Ten

Fume Fume – Altered Consciousness – Change in life cycle.

To Whom It May Concern: There was a damning realness to my responsibilities; once I had become a mother. Literally, I no longer existed. In every faction of my life, my son had to come first. He was a living and breathing human being that meant more than I did. I was afraid if I gave up on that reality, in any way, I might turn into something horrible and DeAndre would suffer. Ergo, I doted on him. My life was his life, my heart beat in his chest, and my needs were secondary to his needs. He was my responsibility until he became an adult.

There were those who said I was too obsessed with DeAndre. I refused to stop off after class with classmates for frivolous things; DeAndre was waiting and expecting me. There were those who said I was overprotective. I sat on the front porch and watched carefully when he went outside to play. I felt validated in my conviction when life really rattled my cage. I saw a news story on television about the search for a missing young boy, aged four.

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Found raped and murdered, I cried hysterically. I swear to you until that moment I thought molestation and rape only happened to women and girls. That news story caused me to look at the world in a totally different way.

What does a man do with a boy? I just couldn't understand it.

There were those who said I was irrational. I refused to leave DeAndre with anyone other than my family, Chance, Kacy, or Niecy. I didn't want my son harmed in any way. Thinking back on my past abuse and the lack of caring I grew up with, it seemed very rational to me. Almost as if on cue, fate tested me. I had an interview with a prestigious financial planning firm and no babysitter, whom I trusted, was available. Since his birth, Daddy and Tina had made it clear that they were not babysitters. Tina had a "You had him, you raise him" attitude just like Daddy. The oldest two, still living at home, would baby-sit, if I paid them, but I had very little money. It was rare, but Dane's sister would ask for DeAndre, on occasion, but I wouldn't allow it.

I didn't trust the people who hung around Danes sister. The job interview was extremely important, set up by the school career counselor. I was desperate, and having no other alternative, I took him to her house.

Within an hour, she determined it was okay to allow my nearly four year-old son to go outside and play on her porch, alone! A bicycle caught his attention. In the movements of complete innocence, he left her front porch. Full of vulnerabilities, excitedly he edged towards its approach. DeAndre stuck his hand out as the young man on a three speed racer sped by. The spokes of the wheels sliced the top digit of his right index finger, it went flying through the air, off!

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The impact knocked his beloved plush toy Rabbit, Humphrey, out of his arms. The rear wheels of the bike ripped through him. I found Humphrey, days later, lying pitifully, all alone, missing an eye, his whiskers and his round nose; his insides had exploded out. Humphrey was part of the family. He went wherever we went. The sight and smell of Humphrey, left lying out in the rain represented, for me, the brutality of DeAndre's experience, and the lack of empathy in the human beings who walked past Humphrey, leaving him lying there in the dirt.

To Whom It May Concern: DeAndre's dismembered fingertip was packed on ice and he was rushed to the hospital. Summoned to the hospital, missing my interview, no one would tell me what had happened. I, was hysterical and at the age we think death happens to other people; being called to a hospital; the reality of it came creeping in. The burn of dread was consuming me. Squinting through tears, I could barely speak when I arrived. A nurse held me up guiding me through the halls. We turned a corner and found the doctor. When I heard what had happened my spine turned to ice.

"Oh, GOD oh, Jesus Christ...No!" I screamed. "My baby. Where’s my baby! I was wrong to leave him there...Oh, GOD...."

The room was spinning. I nearly passed out. The doctor suggested, patiently, that I try to get a hold of myself, it wasn't good for DeAndre to see me in such a state. Led to DeAndre, I calmed down. Once he drifted back to sleep, I quietly knelt beside his bed. I said a prayer, 268

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speaking to GOD, that my baby would have efficient use of his right hand. DeAndre's finger wasn’t reattached the doctors said that at such a young age, there is so much rapid growth that it will rebuild itself. He reassured me that the finger would eventually look normal and will always perform perfectly. I spent weeks, cleansing and changing his bandages. DeAndre created a term for my grimacing each time I saw that wound, "Mommy Pains."

Every time I looked at that bandaged finger searing pain shot through me. I had such earth shattering discomfort, it was difficult to manage it!

It's not my intention to bore you by going on and on about DeAndre, but being a single mother was burdensome and terrifying in our ambiguous world. I just needed someone to talk to. I worried about DeAndre’s growing up without a father figure in the home. I wasn't a man. I couldn't teach him manly things! I couldn't fist fight.

How would he learn how to fight bullies, a problem he was sure to face, I felt, because of the color of his skin? I worried about doing a good job. I had to teach him to live spiritually, always keeping good values. I wanted him to talk like he had sense, to show kindness and respect for others. I wanted to introduce him to Jesus. I had to teach him manners at the dinner table, how to act in restaurants, to show pride in his race and pride in himself.

It was overwhelming! And, oh my, one day he would date and have questions, grow whiskers and need to shave, I had a lot to do - alone!

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accounting job at her church and I got that job. It wasn't full time, the pay wasn't great. To supplement the pay I also worked in their church nursery providing child care for Sunday services, Tuesday Bible study and Thursday night choir practice, mostly caring for babies. I’d have a baby in my right arm and a bottle under my chin to feed it, a baby in my left arm screaming, a toddler hanging on each leg. I only had one elderly lady in there helping me.

That was the hardest job I’d ever had.

I took DeAndre with me to the nursery, and at times, to the accounting job. They allowed him to play while I worked. Because I worked there he had free membership in their Royal Ranger's Troop. It was a very Christian version of the Boy Scouts. He spent many hours playing there and going on outings - as long as I was one of the chaperones. When he sat in his child sized rocking chair singing hymns he was proclaiming that he was “making a joyful noise onto the Lord,” he reminded me of Big Mama, then, who rarely went to church but was always singing hymns.

I hadn’t gone to church since I left Daddy's house.

Although the values were engraved in me, perhaps I wasn’t going out of some sort of childish rebellion, a declaration of independence, because we were ordered to go to church growing up. On my own I didn’t have to go unless I wanted to. Dane hadn't gone to church a day in his life, other than our wedding day. Now that I had a child, and I questioned the darker side of man, it made religion seem important. I'd always prayed and never stopped believing. I called it spirituality. So, I taught DeAndre about the bible and to say his prayers every night, on his knees, before he went to bed, but I realized I'd deprived him of the full Sunday school and church experience.

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We started going to church with my elder next door neighbor, dropping her grandchildren and DeAndre off at late Sunday school while we attended the evening Sunday service. I worked during the two morning services. As the collection plate passed around my neighbor would sit next to me multiplying figures on paper, handing me the paper and a white envelope, whispering that it was the amount of money I was to put into the collection plate. I glanced down at the paper. She knew how much I earned, had taken 10 percent and called it tithing. I couldn't afford that!

I loved the extra things Chance brought into my life, but I paid my own bills, living on a tight budget. She’d watch me, peering over the top of her glasses, as I rambled around in my purse. I’d grabbed two dollars, turn my back to her, and pushed them into the envelope. She was breaking her neck trying to see over my shoulders. I’d placed the envelope in the collection plate and after several weeks of that, I stopped going to church.

To Whom It May Concern: I decided to go talk to Daddy about the perils of motherhood and instead he informed me that the entire family was moving to Florida! I sat speechless. They were moving to better Daddy's health. Daddy was retired. He couldn't shovel snow anymore or deal with the cold and ice. They had already bought a house (a new construction) in a city about an hour outside of Orlando, Florida called, "Deltona." Daddy and Tina were flying down there to pick out their lot in a couple of days. They were going to rent a house while awaiting the completion of their new home. I was going to have no relatives in Michigan. I instantly felt 271

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alone, left standing on the corner with no one to come pick me up, alone! I felt panicked. I felt abandoned.

Mama and I were never close and she had moved to Denver, Colorado years ago.

That type of solitude frightened me. I feared it might crush me. I was overwhelmed with anxiety. What about DeAndre, with no grandparents, I, alone, would be responsible for molding a boy into a man who would someday go out into the world, have a wife, a family and a career? What if I did something wrong? Who would tell me? Daddy would be all the way down in Florida. I cried a lot over that reality.

I wasn’t sure what my future was with Chance.

That reality made me angry with him. DeAndre loved Chance. He asked Chance often, If he would be his Daddy.

Chance just laughed it off and would tell him he already had a Daddy. My family’s leaving created tension between Chance and me, of course. I knew it was my fault. I became more demanding, anxious and agitated. I wanted to feel safe. I didn't want to be alone. I wanted to become his wife and he hadn't committed to me. I felt it in my heart that he loved me, but he never said it. Now, that I think about it, I'd never said that I loved him, either. A lady shouldn't be so forward; the man should say it first!

We never discuss how we felt about each other, only what we thought of each other. I was frustrated. I couldn't ask him to marry me, and was stressed because I couldn't imagine living without him. I was miserable.

To Whom It May Concern: Due to my fears, I found myself listening to Dane, intensely. How purposefully my mind ate away all of the 272

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atrocities he brought into my life in the past. My mind meant well, perhaps to keep me from going insane. His calls were becoming increasingly important. Feeling rejected by Chance, memories of Dane's indiscretions had faded into ashes. A single desperation for a father figure in DeAndre's life, had arisen inside me and taken over my life. I believed Dane had changed. Dane was still pushing for our move to California.

Dane seemed so happy and excited by the possibility of our moving to California. Without my family, feeling my relationship with Chance was headed nowhere; I had to do something. I decided I needed to prove to the world that I had the ability to lead my own life, make my own decisions and believe in myself, because society had led me to believe I needed a husband to survive. Why not start over in a new place? I would go to California, I would not go back to Dane. I would live on my own, allow Dane time with his son and prove them wrong. Dane and I would raise DeAndre.

Each time I was with Chance, I found it hard to find the words to tell him what I was thinking, without tears.

Lots of tears. I would close my eyes, and take a deep breath, when I opened them, all I could think of was how much I loved him. Finally, his long absences bothered me so much, I broke down, sobbing, and told him what I had been planning. At first, he just stared at me, as if he wasn't sure of what he'd just heard. I shuddered. The look on his face made me want to reconsider. I tried to retract a little and remind him that I was only thinking about it He was expressionless, still staring at me. He sat there, a while, like he was in a trance. My face pulsated, but, my primary thought was if he wanted me to stay; he'd make some kind of commitment to me. He didn't. He finally spoke.

"I wish you well."

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To Whom It May Concern: Each of those words felt like a knife slicing up my soul. What?

"I wish you well!"

It killed me. He continued by saying he knew I would be successful at anything I tried. I saw tears in his eyes, but nothing at all came out of his mouth about our love, our future, or how much we meant to each other.

Crushed, I stared at him. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life searching for love. It hurt badly. To be a female in this world was to be an open wound, controlled by men with cravings, controlled by their decisions, helpless. I was leaving and I didn't think I could ever not have him have me! How could he let me go?

Weeks went by and with Chance gone out of my life, I missed his heat. I lay in bed, at night, cold, and shivering. I didn't know such misery existed. I wouldn't ever feel our bellies sliding against each other, me unable to lay quiet under the weight and thrust of him. My womb would contract, at times, so sharply from loneliness, hungry for his fire. I would cry out and double over. I hungered for him, so. I sincerely believe I began to operate in a state of altered consciousness.

I placed ads in the newspaper to sell my furniture to pay for our plane tickets, still hesitating to make the final decision to go. I told Dane I needed time, but things were moving in the direction of our move to California, without a doubt. I still kept a watch out of my windows, just to look at Chance. Chance continued to deliver mail and after a while, someone else started delivering. A week passed without me seeing him. I stepped out on the porch 274

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to inquire about him, as I'd done before. Chance had another heart attack!

Niecy rushed me to the hospital. He was still in Intensive Care and they wouldn't allow me to see him because I wasn't family. I dropped to my knees. I was a wreck. That man made my soul sing and I couldn't see him.

I had never met anyone in his family. None of them were ever at the hospital whenever I was there. I was ready to tell him I loved him. I spent several weeks waiting, calling his phone and agonizing. Chance finally answered his telephone. He didn't sound good. It would be several weeks before he would return to work and he told me to take care of myself. I cried with joy - he was alive. I cried in pain - the decision I was making was killing me. I was beside myself, inconsolable and still moved forward with my plans to leave.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane was exceptionally kind and gentle on the telephone. It reminded me of when I first fell in love with him. He often asked to speak to DeAndre. DeAndre giggled and chatted with him over the telephone, "Coming to see you, Daddy." He’d ask.

DeAndre would nod his head in response to whatever was said to him, as if Dane could see him through the phone. Dane was promising things that every child dreams of. It was heartwarming. Dane sent a copy of his one-year performance appraisal from his job, and it was impressive! Dane's sister called often to reassure me that Dane had changed. She had never called me like that before. She was giving him rave reviews. She said if 275

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anyone knew he was a new man she did because she was the one who raised him.

His sister suggested I Quit Claim my house over to her, in lieu of going through the time consuming task of selling the house. Even Dane's brother called me from Los Angeles with promising news about a job and a place to stay.

"My wife can't wait to meet you," he said. "She's got a job lined up, you will sit through an interview as just a matter of protocol - the job is yours."

"Thank you, I'm anxious to meet you both." I said.

"We got a place for you, a couple of month's rent already paid."

"You didn't have to do that!" I was shocked.

"No, anything to help my baby brother. He's happy, he's got his family back."

"He explained that we are not getting back together, didn't he? We'll just be in the same city and raise DeAndre together."

"Oh, yeah - yeah - sure."

I hung up and took a deep sigh, I was tired of the cold, ice, and snow, anyway.

DeAndre was close to five years old, growing up, and would be going to school soon. I did not want to see him dredging through the snow to get to school. I also wanted him to see his parents getting along, always there for him and as a united front. I grew up feeling sad because something was missing in my parental relationships, an angry distance, a secret hate, and a lot of resentment. I wanted my son to see a good example of parenting.

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I couldn't tell Chance goodbye. I just left quietly. I knew it would be excruciating to say goodbye to him face to face. I felt if I saw his face I wouldn't leave. Deep in my guts, I was having second thoughts. But, I had gone too far to turn back. Frozen by my responsibilities to DeAndre, although it made me sorrowful, I kept my thoughts on his future. I was doing what was best.

"Goodbye, Chance,� I whispered out into the universe.

I cried openly.

The flight was no better than my first experience flying and it was a much longer flight. Flying just wasn't for me. I hated it. DeAndre has been just fine. We arrived in Los Angeles on time. When we exited the plane, Dane was waiting for us. He put on a wry smile and gave me a hug, picked up DeAndre and carried him to pick up our luggage. I followed. I was excited about being in a new city. Once settled in the car, Dane drove me to my apartment.

The apartment complex had single story units and it looked nice. My apartment had only one bedroom. Dane said DeAndre would sleep on the couch, which was a sofa bed. I wasn't crazy about that, but it would do. With rent and utilities were paid for a couple of months, I was surprised that they even had the cabinets and refrigerator stocked. I barely had twenty dollars in my purse. There was even a working telephone! I called Daddy quickly to say we'd arrived safely. Dane went back outside and carried our luggage in. I looked around the place. It was an older building, not great, but nicely furnished. I asked him many questions like, "How much is the rent?" "Are the utilities included?"

"Where is the office?"

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To Whom It May Concern: I needed to work, immediately. I wanted to know when I would start work. He said an interview was set up for the following Monday, three days later, but not to worry the job was mine. We had a bite to eat. While we were eating, DeAndre said he needed to go to potty. His Daddy went with him to show him where it was. When Dane returned, he seemed upset, "He sits down to pee?" He snapped. "He's a boy, why did you teach him that!"

I started feeling a little tense, I didn't like his tone of voice, but I answered, "He does bowel movements, too Dane and it became a habit!"

DeAndre came around the corner looking frightened. I gave Dane a questioning look, his mannerisms felt frighteningly familiar. He straightened up quickly and smirked, saying, "Oh, well, let's go over to my brother's house.

They are dying to meet you both."

We drove to their house, a luxurious house surrounded by shrubbery and gravel instead of grass. His oldest brother greeted us at the door. He was an older, shorter, fatter version of Dane, except his eyes were piss yellow and hooded. We stepped into the house and his wife, a tall, thin, dark, sinewy, looking woman with satiny skin, stood in their foyer. Her manner was snobbish. The foyer of her home was stylish and elegant. Her dress impeccable, her jewelry sparkled. She wore clothes that anyone would envy.

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She had puffy sockets under her eyes and did not smile. She looked me up and down, inspecting me. Finally, she tried to show some civility, invited us into their den, and offered us a place to sit and something to drink. It was obvious she did not like me. She sat looking down her nose, at me. I didn't like her, either. Her husband's nose was in the air, full of himself. I didn't like either one of them.

"That boy looks just like Dane, but he could use a little sun couldn't he?"

Dane's brother guffawed like a fool.

"Haw, haw, haw." He continued. "In this heat, he'll get some color."

I didn't crack a smile. I wanted him to shut up. Our conversation was brief because I advised them that we really were tired and had to go. We'd had a long trip.

During the ride, home, I didn't say anything to Dane about his family, although I was upset. I just wanted to get a shower and go to bed. Dane dropped us off. I gave DeAndre a bath and took a shower and we settled on the couch to watch TV. Left with an uneasy feeling, the day had sent up several red flags, but I told myself I'd just let my imagination run wild.

To Whom It May Concern: DeAndre fell asleep and I was nodding off. A news bulletin flashed across the television. ELVIS PRESLEY HAD DIED! I sat straight up. It was all over the news. It was the first time a celebrity’s death had really affected me. I'd always thought that people with money had the best of medical care. I was thinking back on the years of going to the Mercury Theater, behind our house, and seeing every 279

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movie Elvis ever made. I often thought, as the scantily clad women and Elvis gyrated all over the screen, kissing, and hugging, of what a fit Daddy would have had. I was stunned, absorbed in the television when the front door unlocked, opened and Dane walked in. I leapt up just hearing the key in the door, frightened. I was almost relieved when Dane stepped inside, but anger rose up.

That scared the life out of me.

"Why do you have a key?" I shouted.

I was perplexed and started to tremble into a rage.

A sick feeling came over me.

"I live here." He said smugly.

"Live here?" I screeched.

I felt like I'd just been kicked in the stomach, a rush of heat ran straight up to the top of my head. I thought I might faint. Everything was floating around me, I felt like I was flying far up above my head, looking down. I wanted to land and wake up from that nightmare of a thought. My mind was racing. I had to gather my thoughts.

“You don’t live here, that was not the plan!” I continued to screech. DeAndre began to stir under his covers.

"They… they said they had an apartment for ME!" I stammered.

"So.” “They accidentally left out the fact that you lived in it?"

"I guess so."

I stared at him. He was drunk!

"You can get your own place, later.” He barked.

The words and promises everyone had spoken over the last few months were racing through my mind.

"So, everyone lied to me?"

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"Maybe, I misled them a little.” A sick grin spread across his face.

“I wanted to get your ass out of MY house. My family was wrong to make me leave it in the first place.

You had men running in and out of MY house all the time.

No MAN should be in MY house, but ME!" He raged on. I gasped, rocked backwards. I was crying, feeling foolish, destroyed and humiliated.

"Is there a job?" I whimpered.

He hesitated. He rolled his eyes, "There was, but my sister-in-law said you're too fat! You'll be a liability to her company. A health risk. She is not going to send you in for an interview. Your fat ass gotta find your own job. She said if you lose 30 pounds, she'd reconsider."

I felt slapped in the face. I was numb. My brain had shut down.

To Whom It May Concern: I stood trying to unlock the shock of that day, I just stood there dazed. I had loved and lost in the past.

However, now I'd lost my home, I had lost Chance and I had lost everything. My whole world was in ruins. Dane walked towards the kitchen.

"Didn't you look in the closets, the dresser drawers?" He glowered.

I hadn't looked at anything because I was tired. I simply got our pajamas out of the suitcase and threw the clothing we were wearing across a chair. I didn’t answer him.

I sat back down on the couch. My mind was racing.

How was I going to get out of this, I had so little money?

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Where would I go? I turned and looked at my son, lying calmly, sleeping, a tear slid down my face, I adjusted the comforter covering him. My face taunt, I stood up just as Dane rounded the corner only wearing a pair of pajama pants, the front obviously tented. He came close, facing me, his eyes were dark, flat, cold, and lifeless. He whispered, "Come with me, quietly, or he'll see something awful happen.” He pointed to DeAndre.

He stepped back, waved his hand, for me to lead the way. I did, filled with concern and mere disquiet. Overcome with shame, I struggled to find meaning in the decision I'd made. I went into the bedroom. He followed, closed, and locked the bedroom door. When he locked the door, I knew I wasn't going to get away. I quivered. He shoved me hard, sending me tumbling back, falling flat on my back onto the bed. He came over to the bed and just looked at me, like he was trying to decide what part of me to defile first. Anger blazed in his eyes.

"You're going to cooperate, or you know what will happen."

I froze, my heart raced. I looked away when I felt my tears come, but he didn't care. I shuddered when I felt his hand on my breasts, first cupping, and then squeezing.

I couldn't look at him. He straddled my body, and I felt the cold air on my skin, as he ripped away my pajama shirt. I wore no bra. I would’ve screamed but I didn’t want to wake DeAndre. He laughed.

“You’re not going to enjoy this much are you?

Well, I am.”

The tears were coming faster now, and I couldn't stop them. I shook my head, saying “No!” I tried to get up, but he pushed me back onto the bed. I didn’t want him!

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out from under his bed and tied my hands above my head, then to the bed. I guessed he knew I would resist him. I felt my stomach churning. He ripped away my pajama pants and underwear. I remained tearful but strangely calm. He got off the bed and quickly removed his pants, letting his penis free. I refused to look at it, I now refused to acknowledge him. I pulled my legs together. He just laughed. I rolled my body away from him and he pushed me back onto my back and straddled me. I was resisting, it hurt! He struggled to force my knees apart and because I was resisting, it hurt! He kissed me. I refused to kiss back.

"Been giving it away to somebody else, haven't you?" He sneered.

Every inch of me was still screaming don't touch!

Falling on me, he began kissing my face, my tears, pleasing himself, again. Tens could multiply the heinous acts Dane brought into my life. Here I lay beside him, feeling more violated than I ever had before, he'd taken my respect, he’d taken my self-confidence and he’d taken me, again. I, disgraced, felt filthy and nauseous. GOD, I wished I had some hot grits!

My time as his prisoner was bewildering. I cried, prayed, and thought of DeAndre's safety. I stayed with him because I had no money! Two telephone calls and one letter to Daddy sustained me to a certain extent. I couldn't reveal the truth to him, but at least I knew someone was out there, in the world, to escape to. I had stepped into a bad dream. I experience a detachment from life and a heightened reality. I needed it to survive. Dane's arrogance and hypocrisy were unending. His drinking gin was endless. His dishonesty was constant. I dreamed of all sorts of escapes, but they all seemed to have little chance of success.

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To Whom It May Concern: Going back to the beginning of my unbelievable ordeal. The next morning, after Dane's assault, I stayed in the shower an hour, trying to scrape him off me. The next morning he ordered me to cook breakfast, waving his hand menacingly, strutting around butt naked as if he were a stud. I didn't want to frighten my son. DeAndre didn't finish his breakfast, I felt certain he sensed my distress.

"Eat everything on that plate, boy," Dane ordered.

DeAndre sat there watching Dane studiously. Dane snatches him up by one arm and beat him mercilessly, with the flat of his hand. The sound of it was horrible. I screamed and struggled to get my child away from him.

Dane slapped me. He threw DeAndre back in his chair. He told him he would sit there until he ate every drop.

Dead man walking! He was already drinking Tanqueray Gin that early in the morning. Life was a living hell. One evening he threw DeAndre at the deep end of the pool, and just stood there, calling it teaching him to swim. The child had terror on his face as he fought for his life, splashing frantically. Horrified, I screamed, begged, and cried, pleading for anyone to help. I couldn't swim!

Dane finally dove in and retrieved him after residents stepped out of their apartments to see what all the commotion was.

My four-year-old son was terrified of his Daddy.

Dane beats him for sitting on the toilet to pee, for leaving food on his plate or speaking too proper. He even beat him if he didn't like DeAndre's facial expression. He found every excuse known to man to beat that child. Dane continued to brag about the past, he admitted to sending 284

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someone to burglarize my house. He said he was trying to scare me into moving. He was relentless about that house.

He said he was determined that if he couldn't live in that house, then neither of us could. He was proud of himself.

Triumphant! Me, crushed, hurt and I detested him. Even more so, I detested myself for falling for his lies.

Although he was forcing himself on me nearly every night, Dane had a girlfriend! He even introduced us.

She had a gorgeous face, but dressed like a slut. She had a tiny waist and huge breasts that she made sure everyone could see, in her low cut blouses. She wore multicolored hair, thick makeup, and had tattoos up and down each arm and both legs. She wore skirts so short you saw her scanty panties straining to cover her ass on a regular basis.

She gave me dirty looks. Dane told her I decided to move to Los Angeles and he was just letting us stay with him until I got a job and my own place. I heard them arguing, standing outside of the apartment, often.

"You'd better get rid of that Bitch." She'd scream.

"I'm not interested in her. She's my baby's momma."

"I don't care, who she is! I know you're fucking her."

"I wouldn't do that to you." He lied.

"Bull shit!" She screamed.

If it wasn't for my son, I think I might have killed myself. Dane had rioted through most of my life, setting fire to all of my dreams, shoving me left and right in the directions he wanted me to go. He had lifted the bars of my soul and broken my spirit. My life with him had been an atrocity, and I was again living in constant panic, trying to survive. I could barely endure the self-pity I felt.

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To Whom It May Concern: I tried to enroll DeAndre in school, but with him turning five later in the year, they wouldn't accept him until the fall of the following year. Dane worked the evening shift. He let me use his car during the day to search for a job. He didn't want to babysit and I didn't want to leave DeAndre with him. I decided I'd let DeAndre sit in the lobby of the places I applied for jobs. I got DeAndre up in the mornings to leave before Dane got out of bed. We would come back fifteen minutes (all the time he needed to get to work) before Dane was due to leave for work.

We did anything and everything to avoid being around him. He didn't like it!

"You'd better start bringing my fucking car home earlier." He'd yell. "Where the hell have you been? Bet you a’int even got a job yet, Bitch."

I always blamed it on a late job interview. He'd grumbled as he snatched his keys from me and leave.

There were no job interviews, DeAndre and I spent days sitting in the park, finding free stuff to do in Los Angeles, sitting in the car beside the road, or sitting in libraries. It was August and eighty-four degrees outside. The heat was lethal or seemed to be because of the clouds of toxic smog that stung our eyes and gave me chest pains. The city actually sent out smog alerts. Who'd ever heard of such a thing? I hated that city. By the time, we got back to our apartment each day, DeAndre and I would be burnt and starving. We always dreaded the weekends.

Bone tired, one day, I took a chance and drove to Dane's brothers' house. I poured my heart out to them.

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beatings, the forced sex, and his drinking. I wept passionately. I begged them for the money to go to Florida. It all was pointless; they called me a liar! They said Dane does not behave that way and he does not drink. If he was drinking it had to be because of me! I walked out of their house in a blinding stupor. The cold reception I had encountered and their absolute refusal to help me astonished me. The heartless way they turned me away gave me chills. Dane gave me a black eye, for doing that, and took his car away. My heart sank. Confined to the apartment, I found it increasingly suffocating.

With his family denying his sins, Dane's abuse flourished openly and with impunity. He tried to force anal sex on me, but with my struggling and fighting, he couldn't get inside me. He didn't give up easily, slapping me, choking me to make me lay still, but I kept struggled. It didn't matter to me if he killed me - he wasn't going to commit sodomy. I was profoundly despondent.

I always lay staring at the ceiling when he was on top of me; it cracked, peeling with a sick pink color, was ugly. The whole apartment was depressing to me.

I had to get out of there or I would go crazy. One day, I sat in the living room while he and his girlfriend argued outside the apartment, again. I knew he was having sex with both of us. In his mind, I was trapped, I was broke, and was alone. I had nowhere to go. However, in my mind, as I listened to them fight, I decided I was going to fight. I was going to find a way out of there, come hell or high water.

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I longed for Chance. I wished I could write him a letter and he would come and get me. God, I loved him so.

Howbeit, I couldn't contact him after what I'd done. I thought about Niecy, too. She was the only one who protested the loudest about my decision to move. I didn't know why I hadn't listened. I knew I could call her and she'd send the New York vacation money, but I refused to destroy her dream. I called Daddy, instead, but I couldn't bring myself to tell him anything either. I hoped he would hear something in my voice and insist I come home by sending me the money. It didn’t happy.

Dane, so self-assured and thinking he was in total control gave me money - CASH - to go to the office and pay the rent. What a mistake! What a blessing for me! As soon as he left for work, I grabbed a change of clothes for DeAndre and myself and shoved them in a paper bag. I caught a cab to the Greyhound bus station. I was so scared Dane may have come back home and discovered we were gone my knees were knocking. I was constantly looking over my shoulders. Arriving at the bus station I paid for a trip to Florida.

Back at the apartment, Dane had turned around and come back, to find us gone. His next door neighbor stepped outside, watering a plant at his doorway.

"Evening," he said to Dane.

"Have you seen the woman that stays with me?"

Dane asked.

The neighbor shrugged, "I think she and the little fellow left in a cab."

"Where was she going?" Dane continued.

"Couldn't say," the neighbor responded.

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With wary purpose, we boarded the bus, sitting as close to the front as possible, safer I thought. Could I manage this? I was so afraid. I was alone. No one knew we were on that bus.

We rode and transferred from lumbering bus to lumbering bus for the next five days. There were numerous schedule changes; late arrivals and hours spent huddled in tiny bus stations.

We'd end up, unexpectedly, changing buses, stopping for unscheduled layovers and sometimes awakened at four thirty a.m., to be taken off the bus for an hour so that it could be cleaned.

It was always a relief to get off the bus to stretch my legs after the long cramped hours of sitting on that bus. The bus jostled as everyone rushed to get off for a cigarette, a sandwich, or a breath of fresh air. Halfway there, somewhere in Texas I decided to call Daddy and tell him we were on our way. It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. To go back home, probably unwelcome, feeling stupid was even harder to do.

I sat staring out of the Greyhound bus window. In the quiet hours after midnight, looking at the black starless night, I quietly let tears of despair slide down my cheeks. I watched the moon suddenly move in. The night tossing up losses like bits of wreckage in my mind, I cried. I cried often. Every time I had a new cry, it would be harder than the last. Exhausted and anxious I told myself that DeAndre and I were headed to a wonderful and new beginning. We would be all right, but this time it has left me unnerved.

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ears were ringing. It hurt so badly, when I thought of what I'd done; it felt like someone had stuck their hands inside my chest and pulled my heart out. My muscles cramped.

My skin felt like something was crawling on it and I would get antsy. Sitting still on the bus made me want to scream, jump up and start running. I felt like a latent storm. I felt pitiful and stupid. I felt jittery, confused. I had lost everything. I had let Dane destroy my life again! How could I cope with so many emotions all mixed up together? Was I having a nervous breakdown? Was it against the law to drive someone right out of his or her mind? God, help me!

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Chapter Eleven

Boboobo – The Joy of Achieving Independence – The new life envisaged.

To Whom It May Concern: DeAndre, curled up, sleeping in the seat next to me, was shivering. The bus was frigid, a sharp contrast to the boiling heat outside. I dug a blouse out of the bag I was carrying and covered him. AJI I had in the world was this newly five-year-old curled up next to me, a few clothes and the joy of achieving independence from Dane.

A vision of hope glimmered here and there in my mind.

There were a few unruly people during our trip.

People who swore they were lost and blamed Greyhound, those who said the bus driver was going the wrong way, and some who complained about everything. In contrast, most people were kind. Many people wanted to talk; they practically tugged at my sleeves. Some did during stopovers, in most cases, they were feeling abandoned, disappointed, or betrayed. I couldn't believe the number of people suffering in this world. I wasn't alone.

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There were so many stories, some piercing, others intimate, and many unbelievable. They have told of lost loves, runaway children and mothers or fathers who abused them. I heard about situations that were so extreme I felt like I had read one book after another. For most, loneliness were the absolute end of all things.

Perhaps our lives really were already destined, as Reille believed. Sometimes life just doesn’t seem to work out.

I immersed in a world where some people glared reproachfully, appearing hostile, if anyone tried to sit next to them. I was glad I had DeAndre sitting next to me.

Others were eager for someone to take a seat, to talk to anyone, speaking of discomfort, hardship, and pain, having nothing else worthy of mentioning. It was sorrowful.

Nevertheless, they all showed little signs of fatigue. Their grit and resilience seemed boundless. I admired that.

DeAndre was the smallest thing on the bus, during our seemingly endless ride to Florida. The bus didn't travel the most direct routes either. We'd go north and then back south, traveling back roads, stopping in tiny roadside towns dropping off one passenger. I received hot dogs, cookies, open cans of soda, chips stacked on plates for my son from well-meaning passengers. If the food was open, I threw it in the trash. I only allowed him to eat from sealed packages and drink from unopened containers. I felt like a Mama bear protecting her cub. I wouldn't allow DeAndre to have soft drinks, anyway. He only drank juice, milk, and water.

Perhaps I had a silly fear of Cola soft drinks. I had known a girl who was addicted to Coca-Cola! She was drinking twelve to eighteen cans a day. She would get a ferocious headache if she went without. She woke up drinking Coca-Cola and went to bed drinking it. She had dark circles under her eyes, couldn't sleep at night without 292

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it. She came to me in search of someone to talk to. I gazed at her hopelessly; I didn't know what to do. I was horrified that a soft drink so easily purchased in a store could cause so much misery. She stopped drinking them, but her withdrawals became so severe she nearly died. She ended up in the hospital! This bus ride had given me time to think back on a lot of things.

To Whom It May Concern: I was disappointed to discover that my biggest problem was taking DeAndre in the rest room. The bus rest rooms were usually cramped and dirty. The bus station rest rooms weren't always clean either. During the long layovers, most people washed up in the station rest room sinks. When I walked into the ladies room with my son everyone stopped what they were doing to give me dirty looks. Women were walking around topless, in their underwear, brushing their teeth, applying makeup and more. I heard comments from time to time that he belonged in the men's room. DeAndre wasn't any help.

His eyes were as big as saucers, as he inspected the female bodies, "Mommy, I see her titties." He squealed.

"Breast DeAndre! Titties is not a nice word, apologize to the lady."

"I'm sorry." He whispered as she scrambled to cover herself.

He'd continued to gawk.

They should have kept their clothes on, anyway. I was able to wash up without stripping naked. I refused to leave my son sitting outside alone. I forbade him to go into the men's restroom alone! I had nightmares over that.

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Sharing another memory, a classmate of mine, Angel, at Wayne County Community College had gone to the Grand Opening of an exclusive mall in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. Yes, it was a community, which discriminated against black people. She was a strong independent lady and decided she had as much right to go see such an extravaganza as the next person. They received hateful looks.

While shopping, her five-year-old son needed to use the restroom and she sent him into the men's room and waited outside. He was taking longer than expected, so she began to pace. She wasn't sure if she should enter or not. She began to look around for a man who would be kind enough to go in for her, when suddenly the bathroom door burst open. Two white boys, teenagers, came out, arms across each other's shoulders, stumbling around, bent over laughing. One said, "One less Nigger will be born!"

The two of them howled with laughter. Angel said it felt like lightning struck her in the brain as she burst through the men's room door and there lay her naked son... Her baby! His penis cut off and stuffed into his mouth! She hadn’t heard anything. Blood was everywhere.

She passed out. Paramedics took both of them away. Our entire class sets up a vigil at the hospital. The doctor reattached the child’s penis, but wasn't sure if it would be completely sexually functioning when he grew up. They never caught the teenagers who did it. I really didn't think she would ever be the same again.

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We really had a lot of good times and drama among my fellow classmates at Wayne County Community College. I remember my house burglary, with the front door missing, being a major event. Nevertheless, as a class, they gave me many things to remember. I thought about Ruby, a grin came to my face. She was majoring in accounting, also. She was so beautiful, light-skinned, a tad chunky and extremely confident. She was spunky, and full of adventure and mischief. She did things just for the hell of it. If a sign said, “Don't,” she did, just to see what would happen. She looked at me one day and said, "You wanna' make some money?

"What do you mean? How?" We would bartender at this rich man's house and earn fifty dollars, each, for one night! I told her I didn't know how to mix a drink. I wasn't familiar with liquor at all.

"Girl, pretty as you are, they aren't going to give a shit! I'll protect you!"

On the night of the party I caught a cab over to Ruby's house and knocked. She opened the door butt naked! My breath sucked in so fast and hard I started coughing.

"What’s the matter, haven't you seen a naked woman before?"

I looked back over my shoulder, looked around and up and down the street, hoping no one saw her. She continued to fuss as she strutted away from the door, she said: “I got the same things you got. Come on in here."

Outspoken and self-assured, I was crazy about this woman’s personality. She had a teenage daughter named Anya – A name I had chosen years ago if I had given birth 295

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to a girl. Ruby treated Anya as if they were best friends, not mother and daughter.

To Whom It May Concern: Ruby padded around the house naked and barefoot, fixed us a sandwich, washed dishes, put a load of laundry into her washing machine, and chatted endlessly. I, growing impatient finally said, "Ruby would you please put some clothes on."

"Oh girl, you so bashful! You look nice, by the way.

Come help me pick out something to wear."

I sat on her bed while she showed me one outfit after another. We finally made a choice. I looked at my watch.

"Won't we be late?" I asked.

"Of course we’ll be late. We got to make an entrance, don't we?"

"But we are the bartenders. We’re getting paid."

"They can drink beer until we get there. “Since you don't know how to mix drinks, no matter what drink they ask for, if I’m too busy to help you just pour some rum into some coke."

"What is rum?"

She turned and looked at me, "Oh, Lord! Help this child."

I laughed.

"I'll show you what rum is when we get there. If they say that you didn't give them the drink they asked for, use that innocent voice of yours and tell them you don't know anything about booze. Smile sweetly!"

"What if they get mad?"

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"They're going to see how cute and sweet you are!

They aren't going to get mad. But if they do, I’ll fix it. I'll protect you."

I was getting scared and close to changing my mind.

To Whom It May Concern: We arrived at this extraordinary house. A black man owned it! The minute the door opened Ruby jumped into character. She began swinging her hips, winking at everyone, hugging necks, and talking loud. I just dragged behind like her like her pet dog; my head hung low and posture tense, watching her performance. One thing I noticed was there were no other women! Each time a man got too close to me Ruby would push him off and say get away from her little sister. She was not having it. I was relieved. If I could, I would have hung on to the back of her skirt. We made it to the basement, which was set up like a nightclub. We were at a gambling night party, for men.

There were wall to wall men, who belonged to this club.

We got behind the bar and I did as Ruby instructed.

One man after another leaned across the bar, in my face to tell me how beautiful I was. It made me uneasy.

“Hi” “Hi” "You live around here?"

"No." "I don't blame you for not telling me where you live, you don't know me."

I shrugged.

"We can change that, what are you doing after you finish here?"

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"Going home, alone."

Chance was a steady part of my life at that time.

"Oh! Of course. Here's my telephone number," he gently held my hand and wrote his telephone number on the back of it.

He set precedence, every man that followed wrote a number on ME. If your ego ever needed a boost that was the place to be. I looked over at Ruby and she nodded her head, signaling that it was okay. We had men writing their telephone numbers on our hands and arms all evening.

When Ruby got a chance, she whispered to me, "Girl, you have pulled some men, tonight. See what I told you, you’re beautiful. If you don't want any of them, I will copy their numbers down when we get home.”

She giggled. “Honey most of them have wives. Half of those numbers are from where they work."

I couldn’t begin to remember which number went with which face. As far as I was concerned she could have all of them.

To Whom It May Concern: I was having so much fun, pouring the rum and coke, until, one extremely drunk man got irate and started yelling at me. Ruby rushed to my side and cursed him out.

When he started to come across the bar after her, Ruby screamed, "MIKE!" That guy was pounced on and thrown out, immediately. Mike owned the house and considered Ruby as his little sister. He told me he now had two little sisters.

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time. Including tips, I had earned eighty three dollars that night.

When we got to Ruby's house, she had eleven numbers written on her hands and arms. I had twentyone. She drove me home, we chatted, and laughed about the outrageous things we saw and heard. "Men are full of shit." She said. “You ever heard so many lies in your life?"

I just laughed. Ruby had very little trust in any man, but pursued them always. It was a totally new experience for me and I was feeling the couple of glasses of wine I drank. As she pulled up to my house, Chance's car was in my driveway and he stepped out of it.

"That’s your man, Chance?" She asked. I said, "Yes." "Is it okay to leave you?"

"Of course, Ruby, he is a sweetheart."

"I had great fun tonight," she said smiling.

"Me, too. Thank you” "I'll see you at school Monday."

I got out of the car and she left. I walked over to Chance and he looked concerned. I hadn't told him about the party. I began chatting on and on. I showed him the money I had earned and he just watched me. Then he gently took my arm and examined it. He looked at all the telephone numbers. He said, "You let those men touch you like that?”

“I… I was bartending.”

He had a dark look, “Remember, the door slams both ways.”

He got in his car and left. Prophetic perhaps, but I was too tired, had drank too much to worry about it. I considered it another one of his marvelous philosophies.

The next day we laughed.

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I described the events of the evening and I promised to inform him whenever I'd planned a late evening to prevent his worrying about me. I became tearful as I remembered how much he cared for me.

To Whom It May Concern: The bus rambled on and on. I was getting sick and tired of that bus. My behind was going numb. I wiggled around a little trying to get some feeling back and thought about Ruby again. Ruby met a man, after calling the telephone numbers, we collected that night. He became her boyfriend and she had him living with her within the first two weeks of dating him. She was so happy.

Whenever she had a free moment, she'd drop by my house and chat. Heartened by her new romance, I would just sit and listen as she told me how she loved him deeply. She was so excited; she hadn't had a boyfriend for years. She leaned over and spoke softly, "Dani, I am so happy, I’m afraid to brag too much for fear of angering the spirits."

Ruby was part Indian, and had spent part of her youth, growing up on an Indian reservation. One day, Ruby came home early. Her man had her daughter in her bed! Both of them were naked. He was on top her, caught in the middle of pleasuring himself. Her fourteen-year-old daughter had her legs thrown wide open enjoying it. That man was forty-six. Anya was hollering, groaning and moaning so loud neither of them heard Ruby come in.

Ruby calmly got her gun and shot him dead, lying right there on top of her child. I couldn't imagine the sights and sounds in that house that day! I still shuddered thinking 300

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back on it. Ruby went to jail. I cried for Ruby. I prayed for her. Anya had to grow up fast, at fourteen.

I had always prayed. If I really thought about it, God had been good to me. After all, I was not in the nut house, I had not murdered anyone, and so far, no one had murdered me! Most importantly, I did not have a daughter! In no way had I ever wanted to bring a female child into this world to suffer the things that women go through. I didn't think I could bear watching my daughter endure life. I'll just leave it at that.

To Whom It May Concern: It means so much to me to have you to talk to. As you now know the course of my life, of course, I ended up in the middle of some kind of drama on the bus. It wouldn't be my life without it. The bus picked up a passenger on a back road in some backwater town. He climbed up on the bus and stood there as if he were saying - "Here I am world!" I was reading a book I'd purchased at the last stop. His eyes riveted from face to face, as he checked out the passengers.

When he reached my face, his eyes locked on me.

Feeling watched and wondering why the bus was sitting still so long, I looked up, saw him and thought, "Oh No!" He swaggered down the aisle, eyes fixed on me and slid into the empty seats across from me. He turned, knees, and feet in the aisle passageway, and looked at me.

"Hey, Momma."

Shivering, I thought, Oh my God, I can't deal with this!

"You are FINE!" He continued.

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"I'd rather not be bothered, sir." I was in a solemn mood.

"SIR! Baby, I'm your MAN! When I get off this bus, you come home with me!"

"I'm married."

"No, you not!"

I glanced up front at the bus driver and caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. The bus driver announced, "Remove your feet from the aisle, sir."

He did, but his head riveted right back to watching me.

I glanced again at the rearview mirror, saw the driver still glancing up into it, watching. I turned over on my side to face DeAndre, who was sitting in the window seat. My back to the stranger, I could feel his eyes, like laser beams, drilling into me.

"I like that view, too!"

I felt so uncomfortable. I tried to erase him from my mind. I watched out the window. The bus ride was getting so boring it seemed never ending. Passing images of towns and cities, the scenery shooting by like postcards, was no relief. I counted the trees as they whipped by, I counted birds up in the sky, and I even counted light post.

It got so crazy and I was so tired I dreamed I had jumped off a skyscraper. I would soar through the sky, clothing billowing in the wind and I'd wake up just before I hit the pavement.

To Whom It May Concern: The bus stations were uniformly terrible. In the tiny towns, most were small storefronts or one room, functional spaces, with a desk, vending machine, and a 302

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single toilet. At our next food stop, a larger station, DeAndre and I were sitting at a table in old cracked plastic chairs having lunch. As we tried to eat the table rocked side to side, annoying me. The bus station food was always expensive; I was going through my money quickly.

The stranger on the bus approached, "I can fix that for you. Join you?"

"I'm sorry, but I'd rather you didn't and we can move to another table."

"Why?" "I'm uncomfortable."

"About what?"

He was getting louder.

Feeling worried about DeAndre hearing the nonsense, I said, "I just met you. I'm not interested."

"I'm just supposed to accept that. Get to know me!�

He was even louder and people turned to look.

I looked at him, puzzled. I stopped eating, took DeAndre by the hand and we boarded the bus early. I prayed he didn't follow us. Once the bus was fully loaded with passengers, we continued on our way. For the first few hours, silence ruled our space. As if he'd sat, during that time thinking about things, the stranger suddenly looked over at me and said, "When I get off this bus you goin' with me."

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Do you know how many women would love for me to bring them to my house?"

I was afraid of him. I stayed silent, the bus driver, and I, eyes met again in the mirror. Suddenly the stranger jumped up out of his seat and started yelling. I leaned over to shelter DeAndre.

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"You bitch. You bitches are all alike. You say are you looking for a good man and when one comes along you act like a bitch."

The other passengers gasped and the bus began to roar from their loud whispers.

DeAndre started crying. The bus driver pulled over to the side of the road. I didn't know he had already called the police. I was trembling.

"I ought to slap the fuck out of you, bitch."

A couple of male passenger's and the bus driver started walking down the aisle towards us just as the police car rolled into view. They dragged him off the bus.

The bus driver looked at me with his mouth twisted into a look of "you bad girl," he said,"You should be careful of who you pick up on bus rides."

He touched my shoulder and smiled. I could only give him a weak smile, back. I gave a statement, some passengers did also and the driver filed the necessary paperwork with the police, and closed the doors of the bus. I had been a part of another delay. The stranger, standing beside the road, struggling with the police was still yelling, "Bitch!"

As we pulled off and continued on our journey.

To Whom It May Concern: When we reached Florida, the bus drivers changed shifts. I thanked our bus driver for his help. We had arrived at a little gas station, combination Greyhound wait station, in Deland. Deland was a small rural community outside of Deltona, where Daddy lived. The numbness in my butt had traveled up to my shoulders. When I got off that bus, I was 304

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walking like Frankenstein. I dug in my purse. I had thirty three cents. I called Daddy and let him know we had arrived. I sat on a wooden bench clutching my paper bag of clothing, holding my son by the hand and carrying my purse with now thirteen cents in it. I was in Florida!

I wasn't sure if I would be welcomed back home, but nothing could ruin how free I felt. I took a deep breath and leaned back on the bench that DeAndre and I sat on. I let my mind wander again. I heard a passenger say something in protest, about when the next bus would arrive, "Life's a bitch!"

That reminded me of a student I tutored. She said that blurb all the time. Her name was Simone. The accounting department had assigned me to her. She was part of a program geared toward getting people out of ignorance and poverty. I was to tutor her, to bring her grades up. I had heard of her, rumored to be bi-sexual and strange, but I did my job.

Women on welfare could get an abortion using Medicaid. The school was aware of it because Simone had informed them each time that she had one of her four abortions. She would request a couple of days of leave from school. She used abortion as a means of birth control! Officials had addressed the situation several times and I, asked to address it delicately, wasn't sure if that should be my role, but I needed my job. The goal of the school was to turn her life around. She had an eight-yearold daughter.

I went to her second floor apartment to meet her.

She opened her door and I was shocked. There stood a badly shaped, bucktooth, chubby woman who was a peculiar shade of brown, because, there was the paleness of her skin. The whites of her eyes were like dirty pond 305

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water. She even dipped snuff. She took a spit past me, while I stood there, outside in the dirt. Her hair was sticking up all over her head. She was slovenly and unconcerned about it. She knew I was coming. She wore this old tattered sack of a dress and flip-flops. She, thrilled to see me, beamed. She had twelve teeth. My first thought was men would fuck anything. Forgive me Lord.

I felt bad for thinking that after I had gotten to know her. As I tutored Simone, I could see she was sweet, simple and childlike, but very loving and caring. It became obvious the men who had slept with her really were taking advantage of a woman who was vulnerable and unable to determine the right thing to do with her body. Her daughter came in to introduce herself and she looked almost as bad as her mother. Simone did well though. I tutored her through a whole semester. I had to report results to the accounting department and meet her in her classroom after every test to review her test results.

To Whom It May Concern: I was proud of Simone. At times, she and I would talk freely. I tried to build up her self-confidence and esteem. As we grew close, I delicately brought up her abortions.

"Life's a bitch." She would say.

I wanted to give her some knowledge to help prevent men from taking advantage of her, but anything I asked about her personal life, her answer was always, "Life's a bitch.”

“Believe me, I know, Simone.”

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I would try to get her to open up. Sometimes, she would become distracted from her studies and stare at me saying, "You so pretty."

I'd say, "Thank you, Simone."

At other times, she would try to get personal, "You got a man?"

I'd say, "Yes." "Do you like it when men do you?"

I didn't answer, but hoped we’d finally begin to discuss her many abortions. I said, “Do you?”

“No. Is your man’s thing big?”

I pointed out instructions in her book and we continued the lesson. I discovered it would be too hard to address Simone's sexual issues without her delving into mine. I decided to approach it another way. I brought over a straightening comb, straightened her and her daughter's hair, and fixed it up nice. I found decent clothing and shoes at the Salvation Army and instructed them on how to dress better. I was thinking perhaps a higher selfesteem would help her re-think some of her decisions. As I washed and then pressed her hair I discussed selfrespect. Before I could stop her, she gave me a strong suffocating bear hug and a, snuff laced, kiss with a resounding smack, pressing her lips all over the side of my face. I struggled to get free. I had to use a handkerchief to wipe off all of the slobber.

Dreadfully, Simone became obsessed. She was like a dog moaning, following me around at school, in anticipation of any scraps of affection I may drop her way.

Disgusting! But, I felt so bad for her. On the last day, I would see her as a tutor, she had taken her final exam. I brought a little present and sat waiting in her classroom 307

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wondering where she was. She slowly came in carrying her paper. She sat in a chair across from me and handed me the paper. She had earned a "B." This was a woman who in the beginning was earning "D's." I began to express exuberant pride. You know the excitement you express for a small child the first time he or she goes to the potty. I felt great and told her what a wonderful student, she had been. I noticed she was just sitting there staring at me. It startled me a little. Suddenly, she lunged at me knocking over her chair, screaming, "I love you!'

I leapt up from my chair, stumbling backwards; my chair went crashing to the floor. Chairs were dropping left and right as she struggled to get to me and I battled frantically to get away from her. I didn't look forward to wiping all that spit off my face again. I ran for my life! She was hot on my trail, screaming, chasing me through the hallways.

"I love you! I love you!"

I was so embarrassed. People in the hallways stopped and stared. I knew so many people were aware of her reputation. I shuddered to think they would categorize me with her. I burst into the office unable to talk. An administrator intercepted and took her into a separate room to talk. I quit tutoring on the spot. The last thing I heard Simone say, when they asked her what she was doing, was, "Life's a bitch."

I wonder what ever happened to Simone.

To Whom It May Concern:

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I looked at DeAndre sitting next to me; his face is full of sweetness, clutching Humphrey, and fought back tears.

"Is Grandpa coming soon Mama?"

He looked up at me.

"Yes, baby."

He had such a horrible experience in California. I lived with that horror every day. I hoped and prayed my decision to come to Florida was the right one. I yearned for a future that would bring hope, renewal, and a new beginning. Speaking of new beginnings, I forgot to tell you about Humphrey!

I told DeAndre that Humphrey was in the hospital.

A term he was familiar with after the bicycle incident. A classmate asked if she could take Humphrey home to her Grandma who would enjoy fixing him. I said yes. Grandma emptied all of his insides, laundered Humphrey, re-stuffed him, and hand mended him. Grandma found new eyes and whiskers and sewed them back in place. She created a bed for Humphrey out of a box with a mattress, pillow, and quilt. It was adorable. She placed him in his new bed and gift-wrapped it. Moved, I pulled out my wallet to pay her and she refused to take any money, "All I need to know is that your little fellow is happy, honey."

I gave her a hug. DeAndre and I went to her house, one evening, and the squeals of delight that escaped him when he opened that box was one of the most special moments of my life and Grandma's. Humphrey was still part of the family! Daddy finally arrived. I have to say I felt the sting of having Daddy picking me up, again, standing on a corner, only, this time I had DeAndre. I also have to say I felt a great rush of relief! Daddy looked serious. I knew he was worried about us. I tried to explain as much 309

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as I could, during the ride home, but the flurry of thoughts running through my head dizzied me and made it difficult.

I was moving back home and I sensed they were afraid of it and so was I. I stared out of the window quiet as any other dead thing. There was an uncomfortable silent period.

I glanced at Humphrey sitting on DeAndre's lap.

Perhaps, in the new environment of Deltona, Florida, I could be laundered, re-stuffed and hand mended - given new eyes. Traveling through Deltona, mile after mile, there were no houses - just trees. We'd pass several blocks of homes and then more endless trees. Daddy lived in the forest! There were very few street lights. The nights were blacker than black. There were no shopping districts, no movie theaters, and absolutely nothing to do. As I settled in, I laughed as my step-sister who kept referring to "Deltona," as "Dull Tona." There was one Kentucky Fried chicken, a few corner stores and one 7-Eleven. My intuition told me that living in that forest would be the death of me. I needed big city excitement. The most exciting thing we did was to walk to 7-Eleven and buy junk food. Everything necessary to keep from dying of boredom was an hour or more away in Orlando.

I had arrived in Florida on a Sunday. I read the Sunday paper, classified section, saw an ad for a job at an insurance company in Orlando where our next door neighbor worked. Daddy took me in the next morning. I got the job on the spot, to start on Tuesday. I would earn $10,000 a year. I was desperate for a job. Dane was calling Daddy, enraged and irrational, raising hell saying I'd stolen his money. Holding my breath, I heard on another line.

Dane was calling me a thief! I was scared, though. I despised Dane and his lasciviousness! Daddy was unmoved and too much a gentleman to curse Dane out.

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Dane had refused to support his son, stripped his own son of the only home he had ever known, and taken me through hell, but still had the balls to be harassing my father and calling me a thief.

I just concentrated on getting to work. I had to ride with my neighbor. My neighbors Daddy had given her a gas card and I was ordered by my Daddy to pay the gas card bill. I was thankful for the ride. She was still living at home, the mother of a small child, also, I assumed she left to raise her small daughter, mostly traveled to and from work. Instead, she partied, shopped, and stayed in the streets. She was driving to Orlando, constantly! She attended all kinds of social events, visited every mall in town, and was a major connoisseur of several restaurants.

She saw every movie that hit the big screen. Her gas bill was enormous.

Daddy would casually present her gigantic gas bill to me every month, stating she had to pay for maintenance on the car, buy tires when needed and keep up the insurance, tags and titles. I needed the transportation in order to keep my job, but it was killing me. I had been assigned bills to pay at Daddy’s house and was desperate to save enough money to get my own place.

To Whom It May Concern: I was twenty-nine years old. My name was added to a chore list taped to the refrigerator. It was a jolt to my perceptions of moving back home. It made me feel like I was thirteen again. Over all of those years nothing had changed. The rules were the same rules I grew up with. I didn't need chores, curfews and bedtimes, I needed a 311

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man, I needed love and I needed a glass of wine! There were no mentions of actual curfews and bedtimes but in unspoken words, the house locked down, you could hear a pin drop, by ten o'clock every night.

Deltona was as quiet as a tomb at night. There were no city noises! There were no sirens, no fire truck, no traffic noises, and no signs of human life in the streets.

Nothing! When we finished eating, the table was cleared immediately, and whomever’ turn it was to wash dishes, had to get on it immediately. We were required to turn around and make our beds the minute our feet hit the floor in the morning. One morning I had to urinate so badly, I couldn't possibly hold it until I made my bed. I ran to the bathroom. When Daddy passed by the room and saw that unmade bed, he yelled at me as if I were still a child.

No one past the age fourteen lived in Daddy's house without a job, paying something towards rent and one of the bills. I had to pay the power bill and some rent.

It frustrated my efforts to save money to get my own place. I had to get out of that house! It didn't matter that I worked, after work I had to honor that chore list of his. We still washed clothes on Monday, ironed on Tuesday, and vacuumed on Wednesday. We washed windows on Thursday and grocery shopped on Friday. A thorough house cleaning was done on Saturdays and Church on Sunday. Do you see why I needed to get out of that house?

The first time I followed the troop to the grocery store we pulled up to a grocery store named Winn-Dixie. I thought that was the silliest name for a grocery store I had even heard. It didn’t help when I passed through the doors of the store and saw a sign on the door that read, "Y’all come back, now."

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I was drinking bottled water. I spit the water out of my mouth and screamed with laughter. Laughing hysterically, I howled, "Y’all!"

Coming from the north, I thought that was hilarious. Daddy’s and the crew stopped dead in their tracks, turned and gave me the most solemn stare. Well, I straightened up quickly. It was funny to me!

True to Daddy’s rules the grocery list was always the same because; the nightly meals were always the same, regimented since I was fifteen. If I wanted anything different or for DeAndre I had to buy it myself. The grocery list provided the following meals.

Monday: Meatloaf, green beans (out of a can), and mashed potatoes (out of a box).

Tuesday: Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese (out of a box), and green peas (out of a can).

Wednesday: Beef stew and Cornbread.

Thursday: Chicken and Dumplings.

Friday: Spaghetti (No meat or meat balls) and Fried Fish.

Saturday: Hamburgers and French Fries.

Sunday: Pot roast, greens, potatoes, corn bread and Peach cobbler and ice cream.

You get the idea?

For the week, we knew what we'd eat every single day. The same menu repeated week after week for years.

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that, the past as an independent adult had robbed the present of all appeal. Life had allowed me to push my doors open wider and staying back at home, living my youth again was a struggle. I was a troubled young woman.

To Whom It May Concern: DeAndre would follow Daddy around. He was delighted to have his grandpa back in his life. I was shocked and hurt when Daddy said I needed to get DeAndre out of his way, and raise my own child. He actually said to stop depending on him to do it. A chill prickled through me. I did everything for DeAndre. They seemed paranoid with fear of my dumping my responsibilities on them. I had to explain to my son that he needed to leave grandpa alone.

Able to put DeAndre in school in Florida, the rules were different, I asked Tina to walk him to the corner and see that he got on the school bus in the mornings. I needed her to go and wait for him each afternoon and walk him home. Of course, there would be a couple of hours before I got home from work. I arrived home from work; one evening and sitting around the dining room table were Daddy, Tina, and a family friend. They asked me to sit down; they wanted to talk to me.

I was told I had to put DeAndre into a day care because it wasn't fair for me to expect Tina to raise my son for me. She wasn't well and getting older and I was ungrateful to expect her to take on that much responsibility. After all, they'd given me a place to live, what more did I want! I looked over at Tina, and a twinkle brightened Tina's eyes. It left me very anxious. How could I 314

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afford Day Care? I was vulnerable. As vulnerable as that water bug, roach in the shadow of Big Mama's foot. I heard the crunching sound of my own annihilation. I'd never be able to move out of their house with all of these expenses. I could not prevent an involuntary shudder. It was not an easy thing to get my mind around.

I put DeAndre into a daycare, on the route to work.

He would start kindergarten the following year, after all.

He would be six. We dropped him off on the way to work and picked him up on the way home in the evening. I had such a rough day at work, one day, I became "full of myself� as Daddy would say and stopped at the store and bought myself a bottle of wine. I thought, I work, I pay bills, I keep my son out of their way, and I have a right to relax and have a drink. I walked in the door and put the bottle in the refrigerator - Daddy gave me a dirty look.

Later that evening as we all sat around watching television in the living room, I got up, poured myself a glass of wine and sat back down. As I raised the glass to my lips, everyone had turned and was staring at me. I said, "It's just a glass of wine."

I started sipping my wine. Most went on watching television, but Daddy's eyes were fixed on me, compelling me to meet his eyes. I sensed an energy barely contained.

He studied me in silence. It was as if the air in the room had changed. I poured the rest of the wine from my glass down the drain and threw the bottle of it away. DeAndre and I went to bed. The next day Daddy said, "Don't go traipsing around my house drinking liquor. I don't ever want to see that again!"

I came home to another dining room table conference two days later. With the shudder of expectation, I sat down. They were concerned with the 315

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fact that I was an alcoholic! An alcoholic! I loved my Daddy, but I had to get out of that house!

To Whom It May Concern: Thanks to my income tax refund, I'd mailed it the first week of January, I finally rented a house in Deltona.

The rent was decent, but I would be struggling. I had no furniture, just a mattress, a card table and a television. I had a telephone bill, power bill, rent, gas card payments, water bill and day care to pay. I also had to pay a boy on the block to keep the grass cut. Food was scarce and I couldn't afford to run the air-conditioner - in Florida! At least the daycare gave DeAndre breakfast, lunch and snacks. I couldn’t afford anything but one set of underwear that I washed nightly. I was definitely feeling the stress! I finally mentioned the expensive gas card bill to my ride and she got angry, and went on a rant, "Excuse me! You got nerve! You gonna help me pay for it when I need new tires? You gonna help pay for maintenance on my vehicle? You gonna help me pay for my car insurance? You gonna pay part of the car notes? If so, I'll pay the gas card bill!"

I felt hot in the face. I hated confrontations.

Maybe, she was right.

Our car rides together, from then on, grew tense.

She wouldn't stop at a store when I asked or do any additional driving, for me. She drove to and from work, picked up or dropped off DeAndre and that was it. She didn't cut out any of her extra-curricular trips to Orlando, though. I guess I had put my foot in my mouth. I started making partial payments on my telephone and power bill and even the rent because there were times I had to take 316

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DeAndre to the doctor, or just provide a tiny birthday or Christmas for him. I knew it wouldn't be long before I lost my place. I was tired, depressed, and overwhelmed.

Racing through the house one day to answer the telephone, breathlessly I said, “Hello!”

I listened for a moment and burst into tears. A gentle voice, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth said, "Dani, Dani, please don't do that," It was Chancelor Wiley! I cried and cried shivering with joy, yet completely shaken up. I had been certain there was no way back to him.

"How did you get my phone number? I sniffled.

"Your father. He is listed in the Florida phone book."

"Oh, Chance. I was so wrong."

"Stop that and clear the traffic, the big man is on his way.”

I laughed through the tears. His voice was as if it was sent from heaven, “I will be there next month, on the tenth. I'll be staying out near the Orlando airport. Do you think you can get out there?"

I was crying, stumbling over my words.

"Yes, I can. Yes, I will. I will."

I had no idea how I'd get there, but I would find a way.

I was thrilled! I was renewed. Warmth flooded my body and I stopped shivering. I was happy!

"I'll call you again,” he continued, “and make sure we have all of our plans in place. Stop that crying, young lady."

"OK." "Take care of yourself."

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"You, too."

"Good bye."

"Good bye."

I hung up in a happy daze. I couldn't believe it. I cried off and on, with joy, most of the night. I had wonderful dreams. Once again, sleep was a kind of peace.

He was coming to Florida to see me! I didn’t know how he could forgive me, but I thanked the good Lord for the blessing.

I told my stepsister to tell Daddy she was spending the weekend with me beginning on the 9th and asked her to baby sit my son. She offered the use of her car. I told her it had to be our secret. She was very happy for me.

There I was, a grown woman, who had her own place and her own life, but was scared to let her Daddy know she was going to meet a man at a hotel. Do we ever grow up?

Waiting for that weekend was agonizing! I packed a few things over and over again. I even spent some rent money on a nightgown. I was getting so nervous, but I was going to meet a man. Not just any man - my man - Chance.

To Whom It May Concern: When Chance put his arms around me, I felt myself dissolve. That man took my soul to the light – literally. He was so tender, so sweet, and so forgiving. He had more gray hairs. He was still so light on his feet - almost ghostly.

His hands were still beautiful, but older. I inspected every inch of him over that weekend. Everywhere I walked, I could feel his eyes on me, watching my hips, my breasts, and my mouth, and I said, "Chance the day I got on that plane was the hardest thing I'd ever done."

He simply said, "Let's put that behind us."

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He wouldn't allow me to continue to talk about it.

When we lay naked the first time, he didn't even have to enter me. As soon as he touched me with those fiery hot, tender hands, allowed his breath to caress my breast and he moved into the position to enter me, our bellies touching, a warmth traveled through my body and I exploded into an orgasm. The feeling of him sliding deep inside of me sent my body soared in all directions of ecstasy.

Our bodies would separate and we would lay back and relax. Soon, he'd grow hard again, I'd become wet, and we would make love again. I loved that man.

"Where are you living?" He asked "Deltona, about forty-five minutes to an hour from here.

"You like it?"

"Not really. I make do. It's in the woods, isolated and boring. I have transportation problems, too. I work over here in Orlando."

"Whose car are you driving?"

"My sister's."

He appeared pensive whilst asking me about the costs of maintaining my own place. I was only caught up in the thrill of being with him. Of course, he wined and dined me all weekend, finding the most exquisite places to go. He took me around Orlando showing me the town in a gorgeous car he had rented, but mostly we lay in bed making love. When he had to leave, I cried myself sick. I followed him to the airport and he turned in his rental car and asked if I'd like him to rent one for a month or two for me. I said, “No.�

We stood hugging for the longest time.

"You'll hear from me, Dani." He said, eyes glassy.

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"I'd better," I whimpered, trying to contain myself. “I want you to take this,� he folded some money into my hand and gently squeezed my hand into a fist.

Driving back home to Deltona, I cried so hard I could hardly see. I almost ran off the road. The crunching of the gravel and jolting of the car brought me back to my senses as I fought the steering wheel to get the car back up on the highway.

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Chapter Twelve

Bademalor – Dance after a hard day’s work – Wanting to celebrate.

To Whom It May Concern: Let me tell you about my job. For the first time in my life, I gained many girlfriends! The first day on the job, I got up, dressed, I was eager to get to work on time. I caught the elevator to the second floor and suddenly felt as if I dare not enter such an elegant office. I walked slowly, I was very nervous. I opened the door to a large room that was empty of employees, with the exception of the office manager sitting at the far end in a glassenclosed office. Very few lights were on. He looked up at me, nodded and smiled, and his attention returned to the top of his desk.

I settled at my desk and heard the sound of his chair, squeaking, sliding backwards away from his desk, he stood up and walked to, and stood in the faint light of the doorway of his office and watched me. I had to be sitting at least twenty rows of desks away from him, second row from the back. He aimed and started shooting giant rubber bands at me! They soared through the air, turning, 321

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flipping, wavered, and finally falling on the desks in front of me. My mouth dropped open, my heart fluttered, I thought he was crazy; out of his mind! He was a tall, friendly, very dignified white man, probably in his mid0twenties. His dark hair and tanned skin made him attractive. He was like a precocious child.

"Darn it." He said, snapping his fingers. "I only got as far as row sixteen. I'm going to hit a new girl, yet!"

He looked playful and inviting.

"A bright good morning to you, Dani Ransom, welcome aboard." He smiled.

"Thank you," I said hesitantly.

I was tickled thinking about his method of welcoming me aboard. He returned to his seat. I thought I was not working for an insurance company. I am working for the nut house! Employees begin to file in slowly, lights flickering on everywhere. Each girl that found rubber bands on her desk laughed and turned to look back at me.

I assumed they'd gotten the same greeting on their first day.

Many people greeted me and I sat waiting patiently for the supervisor to arrive and give me instructions. Her desk sat adjacent to the office manager's office. I sat at the end of the aisle, across from a row of office windows, with office machines and tables lined up against the wall underneath them. There was a tall, very skinny girl already busying herself at the copy machine, she tossed aside a rubber band that had landed there, yawned, and scratched her behind. Her skirt was rising and falling with each movement of her hand. An elderly lady, Ellen, came running in late, breathless, and practically falling into her seat in front of me. Suddenly I heard,"Psst, Psst," coming from behind me.

I turned around.

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Sitting at the desk directly behind me was the cutest pixie of a girl with long dark curly hair, flying everywhere as she moved her head. Golden hoop earrings jiggled and shimmered on her ears, I wondered if they were real gold. She was chewing gum wildly. She said, “You be black, or you be white?"

I stared at her for a moment. The girl sitting next to her had heard the question. She paused, waiting for an answer as she looked up at me with innocent eyes. I suddenly felt cornered. It was a question I was so sick and tired of. Matured I handled it a lot better now. Yet, I knew subconsciously that the pain from it wasn't out of my system. I didn't know why it still knocked the wind out of my soul. I studied her. Her big eyes were like a baby deer's. I felt certain she wasn't the type who wanted to hurt another person. I answered, in the manner that she asked, "I be black."

She didn't seem to be satisfied. She said, "No! For real?"

I answered, "For real."

Accepting my answer, she continued to shuffle papers on her desk, looked back up at me and said, "Nice to meet you. My name is Karen."

"I'm Dani."

"You sure you black?"

"Karen!"

I looked back at her in mock disappointment.

“Okay,” she giggled.

To Whom It May Concern:

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Sitting next to me was what I thought to be the most beautiful white girl I'd ever seen. Her name was Glenn. I didn't know a human being could look so soft!

Glenn’s hair shined, soft blonde hair, like cotton spun gold in the sunshine, big blue eyes and she wore flawless makeup, the kind that looks as if she wasn't wearing any at all. Her face was gorgeous. Her body was long and sleek with a tiny waist and perfect breasts. The way she dressed was perfection. Her hair floated softly on the breeze when she walked, her skin glowed delicately, and even her clothing moved in a billow of materials when she rose from her desk. Her perfect sparkling teeth looked like they could melt in her mouth. I would stare at her because she looked like a movie star. She reminded me of the paper dolls I used to cut out when I was a child. Then, she opened her mouth! Hillbilly - Redneck - came flying out!

Perhaps it's called a southern accent, I wasn't sure, but it was so amusing. Using her familiar twang, she said, "Ma thought she'd gotta a boy, I'm a girl, called me Glenn anyways. I can't fool nobody; I'm a tomboy from the hills. I moved here to the big city, year ago."

"Big city?" I begged to differ, but I didn't.

Glenn was married and had a son who was the spitting image of her husband. Glenn had so many men chasing after her, she cheated on her husband regularly.

She changed men like she changed the dozens of shoes she wore. Our side of the office was set in rows of two desks pushed together, sharing one telephone. The number of men that called and asked for Glenn was endless. The secret meetings, she set up, scandalous. I didn't hold it against Glenn, I liked her very much. Of course, she was caught, eventually, but I'll tell you about that later.

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As you know, my job was in Orlando, Florida. I’d like to give you my views on life in Florida. Florida is the most roach, bug, crocodile, armadillo, snakes, gecko, and creepy crawly critter state in the world, to me. Particularly in those, Deltona woods. Driving down the street, the critters were on the road. I could open the door to my house and they'd run inside and chase us outside.

DeAndre and I were running, jumping, screaming and hollering all the time. Sometimes, we stood in the front yard, calling Daddy's house from a neighbor, waiting until Daddy came over to chase a gecko, a snake, and one time an armadillo out of our house. Florida even had some of the most gigantic roaches I’d ever seen, that could fly, called Palmetto bugs.

The state had a smorgasbord of creatures and I was working with a smorgasbord of individuals. Sitting at my desk, one day, I looked up and saw one of those huge Palmetto bugs flying around the office high above us. I seemed to be the only one bothered by it. I swear the thing was three inches long. It got just above me and abruptly dropped from the sky, falling into the back of my blouse! I did a crying, screaming, jumping, so close to a strip tease, you have ever seen. My co-workers' jumped up surrounding me; some reaching into or under my blouse, other's sheltering me from the view of the few men that worked in the office. Finally, the battered, dead bug fell from underneath my clothing, and those surrounding me were screaming, too. I was teased for months; my desperate dance seemed to endure me to everyone's heart.

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There was only one other black employee, who worked in the office, on the other side of the room. Their desks sat three in a row. We gravitated towards each other. She was my height, a very dark complexioned, slightly overweight girl with a round face and extremely short hair that she wore close to her head in waves. Her hairstyle reminded me of a roaring twenties flapper. She said she knew I was black by the spread of my nose and my full lips. I loved it. From the heartbeats of my ancestors, I felt comforted by my blacker self.

On the day, I met her; she was wearing an expensive cream colored form fitted dress that buttoned down the back. The hem falling just below her knees, a wide belt fastened around her waist, it was beautiful! She was only nineteen. Her name was Jasmine. She was always dressed impeccably, wore thin golden chains around her neck, eight of them at different lengths, with delicate charms dangling on each. She was giddy and liked to take risks. She had her own apartment and a car, no children, but I still wondered how she managed to afford it all.

I watched for her every day, just to see what she was wearing. I was impressed! Business suits, stylish skirts, silk blouses, neatly creased business slacks, and high-heels, surrounded me. I bought one simple pattern for a pull over top, skirt, and pants with elastic waist. I spread the big tan sheets of tissue paper out over the floor. There was considerable pinning and cutting; I had blisters on my fingers. Using a second hand sewing machine and lots of thread, I had sewn five outfits: dark blue, brown, green, black, and gray that looked just alike. I wore cheap flats. Take it or leave it -it was all I could afford.

Jasmine and I became good friends. She whispered the secret to her wardrobe. She had a lifelong friend who 326

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shoplifted for a living. Jasmine would go into expensive stores, see an outfit she wanted and then her friend would go in and steal it. I couldn't imagine doing such a thing! In my third month of employment, I got an increase and promotion; I now earned Ten thousand two hundred fifty dollars a year…we had similar jobs and I knew her income hadn’t afforded such luxurious items, but I was shocked.

My promotion moved me from numbering folders all day to assembling insurance policies, for mailing. I had to see to it the proper paperwork and forms went out with each policy. I was paying less and less of my rent and the landlord was threatening me with eviction. Jasmine said she lived in low-income housing, in Orlando, an all-black community. One day during lunch, Jasmine drove me out there to put in an application. A place called Sunshine Village Gardens Apartments. I expected a beautiful place full of flower gardens, a playground, and green grass. But, the place was the most depressing thing I'd ever seen. It was like driving into a prison yard. Tall gray, steel, structures; two story buildings, four apartments to a unit with small windows. Long gray metal and concrete steps led up to the upper floor. There were no trees, no greenery or play-ground, just concrete courtyards with the hot sun burning down. It was sunny all right, true to Florida's reputation.

I hated it, but needed somewhere affordable to live. My application was approved. I moved in on the first of the following month. Daddy helped me move. I thought the money I was giving Daddy for the power bill each month, was a greedy on his part, but he’d secretly saved it so I could put a down payment on a car. I loved my Daddy even with all his quirks. I went to a "Buy here - Pay here" dealership and got a nineteen sixty eight Dodge Dart, beige. My payments were Seventy dollars a month.

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To Whom It May Concern: Daddy gave us a bag of groceries. I had a twobedroom apartment on the second floor. I still owned only two mattresses, a card table, two chairs, and a television.

My kitchen, stocked with two pale blue plates, two forks, and a pot, was tiny, with just a stove refrigerator. The sink sat against a wall with a few cabinets above it. The landing outside my door was a narrow gray concrete area reached by a scaffolding of steps with gray steel railings. I lived in apartment number FOUR, in a building up near the front. I remembered reading an article on numerology.

Its gloomy prediction was, “FOUR House, POOR House.�

That figured!

The massive complex consisted of numerous units.

The steel front doors to each apartment, clanged shut, giving the place a somber "jail cell" look and sound. The first time I yanked open the door to my apartment, an odor slapped me in the face. The door had a tiny round peephole, old and cracked. All of the windows were on the back wall of the apartment and stuck shut. The carpet was dry rotting. The bathroom was filthy. I felt helpless. Daddy asked me if I'd be all right. I said yes and he left. Dread and loneliness hit me in the pit of my stomach. They lived so far away.

Jasmine, whom everyone outside of work called Jazz, lived in the building behind me on the first floor; she had a one bedroom. My first day there, DeAndre and I walked around there and she wasn't home. People stopped what they were doing and stared at us with drawn faces and serious eyes. I decided against continuing to knock on Jazz's door and went back to our apartment, locked us in and watched television.

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There weren't many families: husband, wives, and children in the enormous complex. Mostly single mothers on welfare occupied the place. Their men showed up by the dozens on the days that they got their welfare checks.

Very few occupants got up in the mornings to go to work.

People sat around on old broken chairs outside their doorways, or on the steps leaning against the railings. The inside of the apartments, so stifling, I couldn't blame them. Children were running everywhere, dirty, hair uncombed, fighting and cursing like grownups. Drugs ran rampant in the place; I recognized all the signs, and when I would leave out for work in the mornings, or return home in the evenings, those sitting outside hurled insults at me.

"Red-bone," was mild compared to the things they added to it. They never yelled it out into the atmosphere.

Nevertheless, things said were loud enough for me to hear. Everyone liked looking as if he or she didn't know who was saying it. They would just peer at me. I learned one thing; "Redbone seemed to be a favorite in the south."Hi Yella" a favorite in the north. Aside from that fact, I always heard, "White girl," the most.

Often, their tone of voice sent chills through me.

Although the words stung, I just squeezed DeAndre's hand and we would race to the car each morning and race up the stairs every evening. Frightened, I didn't dare come out again after we locked ourselves in. I remained content enough, behind closed doors, proceeding with my newest project to read the bible cover to cover. I was halfway through it.

To Whom It May Concern:

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One evening I had a bag of groceries and DeAndre by the hand. The steps leading up to my apartment was packed with people - men and women. My heart sank.

How would I get past them? No one bothered to get up or move aside. I had to manipulate my way, stepping through to this spot and over to that one, pulling DeAndre along. I felt men caress my leg and saw them bend to try to look under my skirt. I wanted to scream! I cried to Jazz and she just said to ignore them! She didn't know how it felt. My emotions danced over the floors, of my apartment, and bounced off the walls, smashing against the front door repeatedly like a fly trapped in the house and didn't know how to get out of my situation.

Times were very hard. DeAndre's child care expenses were going higher and my car kept needing repairs. After I paid all of my bills every two weeks, I was lucky to have twenty dollars left‌ but at least I was able to pay all of my bills. I would go grocery shopping with so little money I had to buy three for a dollar box of macaroni and cheese and roman noodles. Any unexpected expenses for DeAndre such as medicine or co-pay for doctor visits threw my budget out of control.

I worried about DeAndre, too. He started school soon. Each weekday morning as I passed the crowds of kids waiting for the school bus they were yelling obscenities at my car, smoking cigarettes, fondling each other and fighting. Those were the High School aged children. DeAndre's bus would arrive later. On a morning break, I drove fast and furious back over to the apartments to watch the crowds of children waiting for the Elementary School bus. I was shocked and appalled.

Smoking, screaming obscenities, fighting, shoving each other into the street. Oh my God! I couldn't go to work and leave DeAndre home alone, expecting him to leave for 330

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school on time and stand in the middle of that! He would be only six years old. I didn't know what to do.

Stressed, I had to figure out a way to pay for private school. I had my telephone shut off. I stopped using the air conditioning; it was always breaking down anyway. I found a private Christian School. I could drop him off as early as six a.m., and he could stay as late as seven p.m. The school was extremely expensive but I begged until they came up with a reduction for me, something they said was rarely done. They called it a scholarship, funded by the parishioners.

They highly recommended, though, that I start attending their church. I did. My part of the private school tuition was equal to what I’d paid for day care so I was grateful. DeAndre was the only black child in the entire school. That school had students ranging from kindergarten to Twelfth grade. DeAndre was treated as some sort of a celebrity. I took a sigh of relief. I had at least some peace of mind.

Chance called me at work, he was coming to see me again.

It had been six months since his last visit. His usual message had me grinning from ear to ear, "Clear the traffic, the big man is on his way."

Chance didn't have a jealous bone in his body. One day, on the telephone, I asked him why he uses the term, "Clear the traffic," I would never cheat on him. He said he expected other men to be interested in me. As a beautiful woman, I may find that hard to resist. However, when he was coming to town, they needed to step aside!

"You're a young, vibrant, woman, Dani and we live a long distance apart. I'd like for you to wait for me, but just in case..."

Somehow, that was flattering, but bothered me.

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"And you?" I asked. "Do you seek out companionship?"

"This old man does well to save it up for you."

"You're not an old man." I protested.

I was excited that Chance was coming to town again. I would pick him up at the airport and take him to his hotel.

He had a two bedroom suite reserved so DeAndre and I both could spend the weekend with him.

DeAndre and I got to the airport very early for his late night flight. I remember it was a Friday after work. The full moon was shining. We sat in this area across from the airport, known as a good spot to watch airplanes take off and land. It was a romantic night. I decided that night, the Orlando airport was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen, but I hadn't seen much. To DeAndre we were in fantasy land. We then walked around, checking the airport out, as we headed for the Gate of Chance’s arrival.

When I saw Chance, I was filled with joy. He held my hand and DeAndre's as we walked to baggage pickup. He looked so good to me!

We had a wonderful weekend. He said he was only happy when he was holding me in his arms. I took him to where I lived, and he wasn't looking so happy, he seemed so serious. He was quieter than usual. He walked around looking very sad. I was embarrassed by my place, but he had insisted on seeing it. He stood outside the door, staring into space, for a long time. Everyone in our area seemed to ease out of his or her apartments, staring up at him. Later that night we had a serious talk about my getting out of there. Unbeknownst to him I'd like nothing better, but I had to live where the rent was affordable for me. I refused to live depending on Chance, to send me money monthly.

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When he had to leave, I accepted enough money to turn my telephone back on and pay a few months of the telephone bills. We parted sad and down hearted as usual.

I hated it. I wanted to be able to come home and dance after a hard day's work, with my man.

To Whom It May Concern: Jazz said she knew of a way I could earn extra money.

"Come by my apartment Friday night," she said.

Typical of Jazz, she had forgotten and was getting ready to go out. For such a dreary looking building complex on the outside, stepping into Jazz's apartment was like stepping into another world. She had elegant looking furniture, drapes, throw rugs, linens, and table settings. Beading hung from the ceiling to separate the living room from the dining and kitchen area.

There were paintings on the walls; luxurious bed covers and she kept the place spotless. Her bathroom was sexy with scented candles, plush rugs, and toilet covers.

Even her air conditioner worked.

Her symmetry was excellent. We sat down and she explained that there were a lot of single guys, and some married, who'd pay for a home cooked meal. She was doing it. Dozens of men were in and out of her apartment, but I hadn’t known it. She said she had more customers than she could handle. She met them at the bars she frequented and business grew by word of mouth. I would cook meals, using the food they'd provided. They would take some home, leave some for DeAndre and me, and pay me. No cost to me at all. She said sometimes, I would freeze their food for them to pick up later, but make sure 333

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they bought the freezer bags and containers. It sounded too good to be true. Nevertheless, I craved having normal food in the house again.

Jazz admitted that after the men had been around me for a while they may want to stay and sit at my table and eat. She admitted she enjoyed it, but it was up to me.

She told me to stop being so stuck up. She loved calling me "stuck up." She admitted she had slept with a few of the men and gave me a wink. I took a deep breath. She said if the sexual advances became a problem, just shove them off. With that, I was having second thoughts.

"I run errands for them, too," she said. "But...

I interrupted her.

"I know, I know, it's up to me!"

"Girl I even cleaned some of their apartments for pay."

I said, "Well, I can try it and if I don't like it, quit."

"Sounds, good to me," she said. "I know a few guys asking for meals, I will call you, first, bring them over and introduce them to you." “OK.� I said hesitantly.

To Whom It May Concern: Jazz introduced me to six men. Seeing black men, they evidently knew, going in and out of my apartment stopped the verbal abuse that I was getting from the other tenants. I even came home one day with groceries, and was shocked when everyone scooted over making room for us, and in a special way, I felt welcomed for the first time. The sun seemed to shine brighter.

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one particular man who would make himself comfortable at my card table. His name was Joe. He kept making sexual advances and the way he ate his food was disgusting. One Saturday afternoon, the sounds vibrated off the kitchen walls, responding to his chewing, sucking and licking neck bones, his eyes were trained on my back. The sounds were repulsive proclamations of implied sex, with moaning and groaning - staring at me. I heard him perfectly well, but chose to remain silent, not to disturb the peacefulness I was trying to reserve, but his voice demanded to be heard, "I gotta let Macon know 'bout these neck bones baby!"

He'd suck louder.

I sighed and responded.

"I am not your baby."

He was satisfied. He had my attention.

"I got feelings for you."

I wiped the water from my hands on a rag, took a deeper sigh, turned around and leaned back against the kitchen sink hoping to destroy that dismal news.

"I have someone in my life."

"I hear he don't live here."

He picked up another neck bone and took a bite slowly, waiting for my answer. I asked him to box up the remainder of his meal because I had errands to run.

Scraping his chair against the floor, he pushed his chair back, stood up, and left, erasing the strained seriousness from the atmosphere.

I was making good money, cooking, and DeAndre and I were eating well! I just wanted to live in it peacefully. I had been cooking for over three months. I had many happy customers and most were gentlemen.

Late one night there was a knock at the door. The thick steel doors, tiny, cracked and dirty peephole, made it hard to see who was standing there. I couldn't hear what the 335

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person on the other side of the door was saying, either. I opened the door, slightly. I had the fantasy that perhaps Chance had come to town and surprised me. It was Joe. "I got a frozen to pick up."

I hated the way he used “frozen.� He was trying to tell me I had frozen food for him to pick up.

I said, "No, I don't think so."

To Whom It May Concern: That night I was so sleepy and groggy. I was afraid I may have forgotten his order. I removed my schedule from a kitchen drawer, flipping through pages to double check. For a minute I felt panicked, I stopped flipping pages and looked at him. It dawned on me that I never schedule anyone to pick up orders that late at night. Joe was gazing at my breast.

"Don't you ever need a man?" He asked.

It felt like a brick landed in my stomach.

"Joe, I'd like for you to leave."

He had an erection. The front of his pants jetted out like a tent. He saw me look there, "That's what I got for you, baby, rock hard and ready! I can keep you happy 'till your man gets back."

I hadn't had a man for months. I actually felt quick stirrings between my legs. What, was wrong with me! I didn't want him! A tense quietness filled the air. I had tried not to be worried about what I was doing, allowing men in and out of my apartment, but now with the seed of terror planted, it was too late to turn back.

He made a step toward me and I stepped back, bumping into the sink. He rushed to me, yanking me into his arms, penis poking me in the abdomen. He bent me 336

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backward, sliding his lips down my chest stretching the soft material of my nightgown. He was trying to get into my breast, put a nipple in his mouth. I twisted and turned back to the sink and reached over it to the stove and grabbed a cast iron skillet. He jumped back.

“You won’t hit me with that, Baby.”

He stepped towards me again. A shudder of disgust traveled to my toes, I just knew he was going to overpower me and rape me, but I held the skillet higher and screamed, "Yes, I will! I will crack your skull wide open! GET OUT! Don’t EVER come back!”

He left.

I cried the rest of that night. I had to do something about Chance and me. I needed someone who loved me and would be there. I was so tired of doing it all, alone. I wanted someone I loved, in my life, to take care of me. We take care of each other. To protect me and make me feel safe. At least someone to take me to the movies, out to dinner, to hold me passionately at night. I went to work the next day with a swollen face. I cried quietly at work every time I thought about it. I listened to the other's women around me, talking on the telephones to their significant others. I saw their faces as they jumped up happily when their man surprised them and picked them up for lunch. I envied the desks of flowers and candy delivered on Valentine's Day while nothing sat on mine.

The long distance relationship Chance and I had was eating me up with loneliness.

To Whom It May Concern:

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My pixie co-worker, Karen told me about low income housing in Fem Park, Florida just outside of Orlando. Tenants had to have proof of employment and rent was based on earned income, no welfare allowed. I couldn't get over there fast enough to put in an application. The two story apartment buildings were a beautiful red brick, there was green grass in the courtyard, and flowers surrounding the front office. Everything was so inviting. It took a week for me to get approved and I moved in the following week, on the first of the month. I loved my new apartment. When I unlocked the door to my upstairs unit it smelled fresh and clean. Clean gold colored carpeting was in every room. The kitchen and bathroom were nicely tiled. The windows let up, the kitchen was big, and the bathroom clean and roomy. It had two bedrooms.

The stairwell was inside. You opened a downstairs door and entered a small foyer to walk up the carpeted stairs. I loved it. The air conditioning worked. I even had a few more pieces of furniture I'd bought using my earnings from cooking. Cooking, by the way, I had given up. I was up to earning twelve thousand dollars a year, now. My neighbors were nice and the complex was filled with a nice mixture of Black, White, and Hispanic families.

Of course, there were single parents, also, and a portion of the complex specifically for the elderly. The girls at work planned a surprise house warming party for me. I knew they were coming to see my place, but I wasn't aware of the surprise party. I hadn't ever heard of house warming parties, so I wouldn't have suspected anything, anyway. I knew Karen, Jazz, Helen (an older lady who sat in front of me) and Glenn were coming.

Thinking of Glenn, she had become mixed up with a dark Hispanic that I was afraid of. She was a possession to him. His smile and kind words were wicked. The way 338

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he’d sound so demanding on the telephone when he called her at work (which was several times a day) was scary. His mandates promoted a dangerous myth of peacefulness. He would tell her she was going to meet him at a certain place, ignoring her protests. The way he stood hovering near her car when we all left work to head home, waiting for her, made us all recoil.

At first, Glenn seemed possessed. It seemed he had some hex on her (They believed in that a lot in the South).

She described wild, frantic, screaming sex with him. She needed to get herself together and check on her world, I thought. She knew in her heart of hearts that it was a matter of time before her marriage would be in jeopardy.

Yet, she didn't have the power to keep the monster at bay.

I heard her screaming with passion in his parked car, during lunch, in the farthest corners of our work parking lot, as I sat on a bench. She returned to her desk disheveled, bruised and her makeup smeared. She didn't seem so soft to me, anymore. She seemed haggard, aged and exhausted.

Her marriage was teetering on the verge of divorce, because her husband found out. Glenn promised to stop seeing the monster. But her husband didn’t know the monster occasionally stood outside their bedroom window and watched him and Glenn make love. Glenn knew. The monster would tell her when he’d be there.

Their bedroom curtains were sheer, and aware of the plush and thick bushes that covered their window, he’d squeeze up into the bushes, bleeding from the lashings he'd received from the thorns and branches of the shrubbery. Glen would open the blinds and he stood peering through their bedroom window.

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monster. His answer to her obedience was to beat Glenn later, take her body violently, and guarantee that he will never let her out of their relationship. I feared his violent rages that Glenn described. Rumors floated through the jaws of the women we worked with, but Glenn needed help.

To Whom It May Concern: Glenn said the monster could make love to her all night long, repeatedly, until daylight, with her husband sitting at home in a window watching out for her, distressed. Perhaps it was my imagination, but Glenn could feel the presence of the monster in the afternoons. I sensed her restlessness. Yet, usually the monster mostly came out after dark. There were exceptions to that, also, during lunch, she moved as fast as she could around corners avoiding their usual meeting places. She was smart enough to know when the monster would be waiting outside for her.

The night of the house warming party, there were many more co-workers than I had expected to show up, but Glenn rushed through the door, slamming it. The monster was following close at her heels. Everyone else walked through the door carrying trays of food, soft drinks and bottles of wine. He had followed Glenn to my apartment. She was sincerely ready to end the affair. The monster stood poised on my outdoor back porch near my sliding glass doors, waiting, but not daring to try to venture into. He stood outside trying to find spaces between the vertical blinds to peek inside, tapping on the glass. Glenn was in such a state that she didn't question 340

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the fact that I was running to the bathroom, often. I didn't like fear it disagreed with my stomach.

We decided to call the police. He was gone by the time they arrived. We had a nice party, although, Glenn demonized, could feel the monster was nearby. She was going to have to decrease the strength of the monster and increase her own. Everyone had a theory about Glenn, but lifted the mood of the party by playfully teasing me about Chance. She couldn't prevent the questions that were floating in the air, as everyone gave her questioning glances. I worried about her, but we ate, drank and giggled and had a wonderful time. My favorite gift was a painting in a gold colored frame of a Tiger and her Cub. Chance was coming to visit again. I hadn't seen him for five months. I don’t care how mad I’d get with Chance, when I’d see him again, I’d melt and it all would fade away. He loved my new apartment and said the last place had given him nightmares, he was angry with me for not allowing him to help me get out of there. But, we let discussing all of that go. We were together, again! We stayed in another swanky hotel and he took DeAndre and me to Disney World. I was a bigger kid than my son was. I was running around, jumping on rides, eating, and just going crazy with excitement. It's definitely a place of magic. We had a day at Sea World and one night he practiced his culinary skills and cooked a sumptuous meal at my place. It was one of the best three day weekends ever. On my final night with Chance he said, "You're a part of me, Dani. I carry you in my heart, my soul, and my mind.

Don't ever forget that."

It was a beautiful statement, yet he hadn’t ever said, “I Love You,” and neither had I. I always hated when he had to leave, but that time I was in absolute hysterics.

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When I’d stop crying, I’d get angry with myself. In my mind, he still wasn't committing to me. What was I going to do? Over the next few months I told Chance over the telephone how much I missed and needed him. I cried sometimes, sorrowfully, so pitifully I could hear his voice crack.

"Dani, please don't cry! I'll be back as soon as I can."

"When are you coming back?" I'd ask.

"I tell you what, clear your calendar for September."

September was in six months.

"Uh Huh." I mumbled.

I was frustrated! I hung up feeling deserted and alone once again. I hungered for Chance. Going month after month, without him, was getting to be the most miserable thing I’d been through.

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Chapter Thirteen

Sikyi – Express Oneself in Courtship – Courtship and sexual encounters.

To Whom It May Concern: Perhaps there was a natural substance in the human body, or at least in mine, that acted like a drug.

The drug didn't remove the actual pain, I felt, but rerouted the sensation so that I no longer cared. Dealing with Chances absences, I found myself standing guard over my own emotions. I believed the drug allowed me not to take moral responsibility for the things I decided to do to maintain my sanity. Jazz sensed my frustrations and insisted that I should have a social life.

"Go out with me Friday!" She said.

I drove to Jazz's apartment Friday night, parked my car and she drove to the venue. I was not an expert on the nightlife in Detroit, but before the extravagances of dating Chance, Dane and I had been out socially to a couple of clubs. The clubs up there were nice looking establishments, with downtown ambiance, and people 343

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dressed to kill lined up to get inside. I envisioned the places I'd seen then, would compare to where Jazz and I were heading. Jazz pulled into this huge dirt yard with an old falling down shack, sitting in the middle of the lot. It was, at one time, a small wooden house. Cars were parked haphazardly all over the place. Outside its front door, on the ground, was a crowd of men down on their knees shooting craps. I just sat there staring at it all.

I said, "This is it?"

Jazz looked at me, frowning, "Stop being so stuck up!'

"I'm not going in there." I screeched.

She said, "Well, I am!"

She got out of the car slamming the door so hard it rocked the car. She strutted across the dirt yard, stumbling here and there into potholes, and right up to the crowd of men squatting at the door. I saw her hesitating and looking down, easing her way through them. The men, inspected her, barely moving aside to let her in. She disappeared inside. I told myself, if I had to sit in the car all-night, I wasn't going in there. As time ticked by, and I began to get hot and uncomfortable, I began to think; perhaps I should have tried it.

I was tired of sitting in the car, thoughts were racing through my mind. Maybe I WAS stuck up. It probably didn't look so bad inside. There could be a wonderful guy in there ready and waiting to meet me. It was hot and every time I let down the window mosquitoes rushed in to eat me up. I was miserable. I nodded off. An hour and a half-later Jazz tapped on the car window. I nearly jumped out of my skin. She begged and pleaded, wanting me to come inside. I guess the need to express oneself in courtship became overpowering. I was hot and sweaty, but I stumbled across the yard following behind 344

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her. As we walked through the crowd of men, I felt someone touch my leg.

Once we stepped through the front door, the tiny living/dining room area was set up like a restaurant.

People were leaning against tall tables eating and someone was handing out plates through a window-like opening from the kitchen. We made a right turn and there was a narrow hallway that led to the bar area, one wall of that narrow space was lined with more men than you'd believe. I took a deep breath, but I wanted to run back to the car.

To Whom It May Concern: I stood and stared. The space was so narrow we had to make a choice. The choice was, if we wanted to reach the club at the back of the house, we had to slide past them with our backs to them and have our buttock fondled or slide past facing them and have our breast fondled or crouch felt up. Jazz grabbed my hand and yanked me towards them. She chose the breast; I chose the behind, my butt pinched or fondled several times along the way. When we finally stumbled out into an open space, it was evidently two bedrooms gutted to create one large room with a long bar near the entrance and a bathroom in the rear.

When we approached a table, the bar, too big for the room, sat to our left. We kept moving and reached a table with raggedy chairs, and a concrete top, where two men were seated. Both of their faces broke out into wide grins. Jazz did the introductions, "Dani, Red. Red, Dani."

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Jazz sat on Red's lap, as if to say this one is mine. She continued, “This is Fred.”

She waved her hand in the other man’s direction.

"Nice to meet you," I said as I seated myself.

"Nice to meet YOU!" He bellowed back.

I groaned inwardly, he hadn’t shown any signs of being a gentleman. Jazz continued to grin at Red. Red was her boyfriend and she’d said it was his nickname because he was so light skinned. I was not attracted to light skinned men, but to each their own. Fred and Red – This had to be a joke. A woman barely clad, in a tight uniform, walked over to our table, "What ya’ll drinkin?"

I said, "Wine."

The waitress continued to stand there, looking at me, with full wide eyes glaring, as if I'd just confronted her. Red said, "No baby, I got it. Four rum and cokes."

The waitress turned and walked away. I said to him, "I wanted wine."

Jazz said, “They a’int got no wine in here. Stop being stuck up."

I shifted in the uncomfortable chair and splinter pricked my leg, ripping a hole in my stockings. The hole ripped into the back of my pantyhose. A run quickly raced up to my butt and down to my heel and I felt my heel pop out of the hosiery. I felt miserable. I wanted to get up and leave. Asked to dance often, with Fred, I kept saying no thank you. The big old run in my stocking and I was not getting out there on that dance floor. Jazz kept giving me looks of disappointment. She danced and danced. I hadn't ever drank rum before and that night. I drank five rum and cokes to drown out my woes and Fred's disgusting conversation; something about his sexual prowess.

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Red and his friend were buying the drinks. They would have another drink placed in front of me before I finished the last. I was quite drunk. When we were leaving, Fred helped me to the car. I do remember no one fondled me, while draped across another man. We were heading home and all I could think of was crawling into my bed. Fred was driving Jazz's car. Red and Jazz were in the back seat. When we reached her apartment, drunk out of my mind, I still knew what they had in mind. Red was going to stay the night with Jazz; Fred was certain he was going home to drive me home and spend the night with me! He was not! Once he realized that he started screaming and hollering at me, loud and defiant, inside Jazz's apartment, "Bitch, all the money I spent on you tonight, you gonna give me something! The least you could do is suck my dick!"

I was too drunk to be frightened. Jazz jumped between us to calm things down. I staggered to my car, got in, and woke up the next morning flopped across my bed fully dressed. I had no memory of how I got there, only GOD knows. I said a prayer of thanks for my life. I vowed I'd never drink like that again! I even swore I would never go out with Jazz again!

To Whom It May Concern: Almost two months went by with my refusing to go out, but, Jazz wasn't through with me. She had a man to introduce to me, but her biggest worry was her new steady boyfriend, a man closer to my age. They kept breaking up and getting back together. She attributed their reunions to a voodoo lady, whom she visited after 347

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every breakup, for some magic spell to get her man back. I just looked at her. She believed in that stuff, too!

I remembered, when she first introduced me to cooking for money, she’d said I was cooking for black men who wouldn't eat food with red sauce: Spaghetti, Lasagna, etc. It was believed that women put blood from their menstrual cycle into the sauces to put a spell on them and they'd never be able to love another as long as she did that. That made me ill, how filthy can one be! The whole idea of voodoo was scary; for me, I didn't want to think about it. I didn’t want to believe in it. I'd never heard anyone speak of such things when I'd lived up north.

The guy I was to meet was her last boyfriend, Red's best friend. I felt like I was being unfaithful to Chance, yet at the same time, I was so lonely. His name was Robert, divorced, father of two. Jazz was having a little dinner party for the four of us. When I walked in, they were waiting for me. He was good looking. He was tall with a slight build. Jazz said he was thirty five. Nevertheless, I had a wonderful time and he was a very nice man. After dinner, he walked me to my car and I gave him my telephone number.

Robert and I began dating. He had lost nearly everything in his divorce and was paying child support. He lived very modestly but had a decent paying job. We stopped by his place once because he had left his wallet.

He lived in single story apartments that used to be an old motel. He had one room with a bed, dresser, table, and a microwave. There was a tiny bathroom. I felt moved by his situation. He loved going fishing. DeAndre got a kick out of it and Robert took us fishing, often. I just sat and watched, as fond memories of Big Mama flashed through my mind. I always smile when I think about my 348

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grandmother. Robert had an older brother who lived in Melbourne, Florida.

Before he met me, he went there every weekend.

He called it "home.” DeAndre and I went along a couple of times. They were wonderful people, crazy about DeAndre and me. They liked fishing, also. His brother would sit there, by the lake, with his bamboo pole asking me, "How his ugly ass get a pretty girl like you."

I'd laugh while he and Robert mocked an argument over who was the ugliest. Robert's flamboyant sister inlaw was a darling. She and her husband had raised Robert from the age of twelve, when he and his brother's parents died in a car crash.

They hadn't been able to have children and had been married thirty years. She would tuck DeAndre and me in bed, in her guest room, at night seeing to it we had all the comforts of home. I laid there like a baby! She gave me such a warm motherly feeling that I enjoyed so much.

She’d hug me with so much affection I wanted to cry. She told me she hoped Robert and I worked out, he needed someone like me. Robert's ex-wife had been such a Bitch.

She made Robert sleep on the couch. During the night, Robert would tip toe to our room and every time she'd yell from her room, "Robert, get your ass out of there and quit pestering that child!"

"Yes, ma'am." He’d say.

Robert would scurry back to the couch. I loved those people. I was beginning to feel like part of a family again and it felt good.

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Robert took us to dinner, usually fast food. He introduced us to Burger King. We drove quite a ways to get there. They had a burger called a Whopper that was huge and tasted wonderful. I hadn't ever seen anything like it! The first time I saw one, I couldn't believe my eyes!

I stretched my mouth to eat it. It became our favorite place to go. We played with DeAndre in the park and bought ice cream cones for a treat. I was enjoying his company. My feelings toward him were so warm I decided it’s only fair to tell him about Chance.

He seemed concerned, but the most he said was he hoped I’d pick him. I had Chance on my mind a lot. How do you tell someone you love that you are so lonely, you are dating another man? I finally did. I told Chance during a telephone conversation. It was excruciating. I told him the long distance thing we had wasn't working. I did cry.

Chance's voice was full of emotion as he said, "OK, Dani. All I want is for you to be happy. Can I call from time to time?"

I answered, "I guess so," and I hung up, crying.

Robert called one day and said he had a surprise for my birthday. He had dinner reservations and tickets for the play, "Othello,” starring James Earl Jones, in Orlando! I worried about how Robert afforded it, but, James Earl Jones! It was an extraordinary experience. That day seemed magical. Robert looked great dressed up. I felt like a dream had come true when James Earl Jones walked on stage. When James walked to the edge of the stage, I gasped, I swore he looked directly at me! Riding home, I daydreamed about the experience and thanked the good Lord for Robert.

Robert and I continued to date; he even took me to see the play, "Dream Girls." He treated me like a queen.

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passed – Chances previously planned visit. In the back of my mind, I still imagined Chance would have still called and said, “Clear the traffic, the big man is on his way.”

But, he didn’t. One night after DeAndre was asleep Robert and I sat on the couch watching television. He was lying with his head in my lap. We were as comfortable as old friends, but I guess he knew the time was ripe. I felt him watching me. He slowly moved his hand under the soft cloth of my shirt until it rested partly on my brassiere and partly on the soft flesh just above it. He moved his hand to my back, unhooked my brassiere, and cupped the flesh of one of my naked breasts. Warmth spread through me.

"I want to make love to you." He whispered.

I pulled my arms into my overlarge shirt and manipulated my bra off. He reached back underneath and gently stroked both breasts. He sat up, pulled me to him, and kissed me urgently. We fell back against the couch. In sync, feeling our natural harmony. Having sex for the first time with any man, remained the hardest stage of relationships for me. He stood up, extended his hand to me.

"Let's go to the bedroom."

To Whom It May Concern: Leading me to my bedroom by the hand, I enjoyed the warmth of his touch. Great strong hands! He was tender, gentle, and sweet. His mouth moved across my body like a warm gentle breeze. He caressed, kissed, and held me. He half sat up, leaning on his elbow and looked at my face, my shoulders, my breast, my stomach, my pubic area, and back up to my face. I actually felt beautiful. He 351

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watched my face as he softly caressing me with a barely there touch until I felt myself wanting him.

He gently positioned himself between my legs while kissing me at the same time. He tasted so good! His breathing became rapid as he pushed his hips forward. To my amazement, searing pain shot through my body. The pain rattled my teeth! He was HUGE! GIGANTIC! I was trembling and trying to breathe! I started shaking and crying. I was pushing him in the chest.

I cried, softly.

"Please get off me, it hurts!”

He rolled over, he looked upset! I was trembling, whimpering, and unable to speak for a moment. How in the hell did he have two kids? What woman could take that? I didn't know such a thing existed.

"Are you all right?" He asked, concerned.

I kept crying, but said, “I think so."

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said looking very sad. "It takes getting used to. Next time I will try to be gentler."

Next time! I stared at him. I didn't ever want to feel that again. My insides were throbbing. I was bleeding.

"I won't put all of it in next time." He said.

I lay there in a daze, my insides throbbing with pain.

To Whom It May Concern: I tried my best to avoid sex, but a week later he wanted to try again. He was tender, holding me, kissing me as usual, but I felt panicked. The foreplay was amazing.

I’d never been so dripping wet, other than with Chance.

But, when he positioned himself between my legs, I froze!

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asked me to relax because, if I didn’t, I’d make it painful. I tried and it didn’t work. It was too painful. Your body doesn’t know what to do. God, the pain! More pain than ever before. I wanted to scream and push him, but hated hurting his feelings again. I felt beaten up. His ex-wife had two kids; maybe there was something wrong with me. I went to the doctor.

I was shocked to hear the doctor say I was fine, but whoever HE was, I needed to leave him alone. He was damaging my insides. The mouth of my uterus was inflamed; his length could be disturbing my IUD, which added to the severe pain. The doctor had found vaginal tears. He gave me medication to heal. I had to tell Robert I couldn't see him anymore. I wanted to reconsider, but the answer to that found its path into my thinking. I'd be crazy. We embraced. It was devastating. I missed him and his family very much.

Robert’s sister in-law called me regularly, trying to find out what had happened, she wanted us to stay together. She even offered for DeAndre to come spend weekends with her without Robert. I felt badly and had to decline. It was two days before Christmas and I heard a knock on the door. I went to the door, opened it and no one was there. At the landing in front of my door was a pile of Christmas gifts, beautifully wrapped gifts. I put the gifts under the tree. I knew who had delivered them.

I told Jazz my story. She said she would never look at Robert the same again. She thought it was unbelievably funny and even cracked that my “Thang” was even stuck up. She and her boyfriend had broken up again, by the gleam in her eye I wouldn't put it past her to try to get next to Robert to try it out for herself. I was surprised that the thought of it hurt a little, I wished things could be different between Robert and me.

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To Whom It May Concern: Jazz asked me to go for a ride, one day. DeAndre had gone to the movies with my sister to see Star Wars.

We traveled down an old narrow dirt road with weeping willows hanging so low the branches brushed against the car.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see.� She giggled.

We reached a curve in the dirt road and pulled into the yard of an old run down wooden framed house. I looked around. We had driven so far back into the woods; or was it swamps, I was surprised a house sat back there.

It sat alone. I remember thinking I couldn't live out there in so much isolation.

"Who lives here, Jazz?"

"You need to have a reading," she said. And, I'm going to get my man back."

"This isn't?"

I gave her a hateful look.

"Yes, it is."

"The voodoo lady?"

I asked, startled!

"Yep, and don't call her that She is psychic and have some powers!"

"I am not going in there, Jazz."

"Yes, you are."' “I'll just wait here for you."

The car door slammed and Jazz was halfway up the steps. I didn't know what was scarier waiting out in the car, in that overgrown yard, or going inside! I could hear frogs croaking; the sound of water gurgling and the huge 354

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tree in her front yard cast a giant shadow alongside the car that was eerie. There were crunching sounds coming from the brush. I followed Jazz, begrudgingly. I sat on a couch, covered with a sheet, just as Jazz disappeared behind some curtains. When she emerged, again, this little, scrawny, and feeble black woman, her face old and wrinkled followed behind her. For some reason, I stood to greet her. She motioned to me to follow her.

"I paid for you." Jazz said dubiously.

I rose slowly. I was scared, curious, and very skeptical, but I followed her behind the curtain. Moving slowly, she took a seat in the dimly lit room, on a wooden chair, at a small table. The aged woman looked at me, motioned to me to take a seat in the chair across from her and said dryly, "There's snakes in the house."

I jumped up, looking around the floor. My heart was pounding. I didn't see any snakes! The old lady sat there shuffling cards and laying them out. She studied them.

"Sit down and give me your hand," she retorted.

I sat with my arm outstretched and watched her as she studied my palm, glimpsing back at my face ever so often.

"You're not from here."

I thought it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. “There are two men who love you."'

I figured she could say that to anyone who walked in there. Did she mean Chance, Robert, maybe Dane or Walker? Perfect!

"Beware of riding in cars!"

My heart sank a little.

"What do you mean?" I asked, shaken.

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She ignored me.

Okay, my rise and fly instinct crept in. I kept thinking this whole thing was ridiculous and I was going to kill Jazz when I got out.

"You will carry another child." She continued.

"No you are mistaken, I'm not having any more children." I proclaimed fervently.

She kept talking.

"Beware of riding in the car with the one who loves you."

"Which one!" I said, irritated.

I got up to leave. “I see you coming into a great deal of money...

I sat back down.

"You will live in an impressive White House with a white picket fence."

What was she trying to tell me? I felt like I had ridden a roller coaster of emotions in that room. So many things were going through my head; it was hard to get a grip on anything. I left feeling shaken, uncomfortable and confused. I was upset with Jazz for taking me there and terrified of riding home in her car. I guess the old woman had poetic license to speak with such embellishment, as frightening as they were.

To Whom It May Concern: I asked Jazz why the old lady told me there were snakes in her house. She said very casually "Somebody gonna die."

That terrified me! The old woman died a week later of natural causes. Jazz never did get back with her boyfriend. It took me a while to relax about riding in cars 356

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with others and eventually I put everything that old woman told me out of my mind. Anyway, fond memories had come flooding back, I heard from my old next door neighbor, Kacy in Detroit. She hadn’t called often, but had never lost touch with me. She told me my old house was going to pot. Rented several times, no one was taking care of it. Overall, it looked horrible. It had become the neighborhood eyesore. That made me unhappy, I missed living in that house. She said she missed me very much. I felt, the house, being empty and abandoned makes a house fall down due to lack of love and I loved that house.

I ultimately asked her about Chance. She hesitated, but gave in to my persistence. She said Chance looked terrible. He seemed so hurt. He was dragging around, delivering mail, looking like he'd lost his best friend. It was supposed to be a secret that he was taking our break up so hard. He even knocked on her door a couple of times to ask if she'd talked to me. She said he was very quiet, didn't say a lot and always polite.

"He doesn’t see anyone, Dani."

“How would, you know, Kacy!”

“I just know.” She said.

She made me cry by saying how much we belonged together. She knew I had let Chance go, but said she really hoped I'd find it in my heart to take him back. I changed the subject. Whenever Kacy called, I love it because she kept me up on the gossip, current events, and music up there in Michigan. Compared to Michigan, Florida was boring and behind the times. I really missed Michigan, but I'll admit, was spoiled by Florida's sunshine, I did not miss the snow. It had been one month since I'd stopped seeing Robert, ten month's since I'd last seen Chance. I refused to go out with Jazz and loneliness was setting in. I rolled over, 357

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sleepily and answered my telephone, late one night. I wondered who would be calling me that late.

"Clear the traffic, the big man is on his way."

"Chance?" I whispered, crying softly.

I sat up in bed. He said, softly, “I don't care who you are seeing. Even If he's lying there next to you, right now, I'm driving down, I'm on my way."

I gasped, "I can't believe this!"

"Believe it! I just cleared Georgia. I’m in Florida right now, tell him to get up and go home now and leave your front door unlocked."

It was Sunday night and I had already gotten the next day off for what I called a "Sanity" day, time to relax and regroup. I ran around picking up the apartment, took another shower, and waited. There was a knock on my door at 3:00 in the morning. I opened it and Chance rushed in, grabbed me, while kicking the door shut, kissing me passionately. We ended up on the floor right there in the living room, ripping away at our clothing and giving each other just what we needed. It was the most sensual moment of my life. It felt like something magic was happening inside my body, something miraculous.

Multiple orgasms rocked me wildly. Afterward, I lay in his arms thinking that this was where I belonged!

To Whom It May Concern: I went back to work on Tuesday, leaving Chance laying in my bed. It was hard to do. My co-worker's introduced me to new places to eat; but paydays were the only time I ate out for lunch. It was nice working in a place where we were all an extended family. Glenn always brought in lunch and prepared a lunch for me. Helen 358

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started bringing in bags of clothing; her grandson had out grown, for DeAndre. They were stylish and expensive clothing and DeAndre always looked great. Karen saw to it that I got a ride to work whenever my car broke down or was in the shop. Jazz was like my little sister, determined her big sister was going to have fun. It was amazing working with all of them; they made me laugh, daily. There was a rare day I did not laugh at somebody. They told the most outrageous stories and got themselves into some of the stupidest situations, I couldn't help but snicker.

Since Chance was in town, and everyone was going to a new restaurant that served crepes, for payday lunch, that Thursday, they begged me to invite him.

He said, "Oh no, you're not setting me on display in the middle of a hen party!"

"A hen party!"

"Yep," he laughed.

I knew there was to use in begging, I gave up, “All right."

I was anxious to go. I hadn't ever eaten crepes.

Chance had slipped me some money. We filled the large table, eight of us. They talked about everything, pausing in their chatter to check out our handsome waiter each time he approached our table, raising their eyebrows, grinning, and returning to where they left off. The waiter’s good looks caused the conversations to become sexual. There was sexual acrobatics that one described, quick sex described by another, and angry sex common for the girl at the end of the table. On payday, we had two hours for lunch so there was time for a lot of conversation.

I was surprised I could still hear conversations that made me blush. They settled into a long learning of one another's sexual preferences and habits. Sometimes there were exaggerated sighs and mild curse words, but it all 359

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remained friendly. I was amazed at how they could talk so freely about such things. There was trust, curiosity, and disagreements without anger among them all. Everyone ceased talking, once the food arrived; I could see the pleasure that good food brought to their expressions. They ordered wine and insisted I try some. It wasn't sweet like I was accustomed to, but my co-worker's kept buying it, and I drank three glasses. The wine began to lull me. What a kick it had. I was tipsy, too tipsy to have to go back to work.

I was slurring so badly, they hid me in the computer room, shoving me under a table that had a covering over it that touched the floor. The girl in the computer room promised to keep an eye on me. I fell asleep. From time to time, a co-worker hovered in the doorway until it was safe to kneel and peek at me under the table. They covered for me with all sorts of lies. My bosses rarely noticed I wasn't there, but if they asked I was in the bathroom not feeling very well, or I went to our offices across the street for supplies. It worked! I was finally able to struggle to my feet and go sit back at my desk by four o’clock, closing time was four-thirty. I looked like shit.

A co-worker drove my car home with me laid out in the back seat. A car full of the other girls followed. I introduced them all to Chance. Between the giggles and admiring stares, they told him it was their fault that I was in the condition I was. Chance thought they all were adorable. For a bunch of women, he said, they really cared about me. He seemed to be enjoying his visit. He didn't ask me about any other men. We just had a wonderful time together.

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To Whom It May Concern: The following day, Friday, after meeting Chance, the girls teased me for getting drunk on wine and started gossiping and telling other's in the office how handsome and majestic Chance was. Majestic? You'd think those girls had never seen a black man, before, "He was something to see," Glenn exclaimed, grinning.

I blushed at the stereotypical cracks they made about sex with a black man. They had no idea! I thought of Robert. However, I smiled to myself - Chance was majestic.

I took a couple of half days off while he was there another week. Chance was staying until Friday. He told me he was retiring and filing the paperwork to get the “ball rolling� as soon as he got back. He had been with the post office over twenty-five years.

Late one night Chance laid beside me and started talking, softly, "When I first saw you I wondered how your hair would feel falling across my face, how your breast would feel against my chest and if that peach-like skin of yours would melt if I touched."

"Why hadn't you told me this before?"

"I don't know." He whispered.

"I couldn't get you off my mind. I wanted you so badly." I said.

He chuckled.

"Wanting you, as much as I did, was hard, I'd sworn I'd never fall in love again." He admitted. "Never?"

"That's how I felt."

"Are you in love, now?"

"Yes." "Me, too."

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In a round- a-bout way we'd finally said we loved each other. I just snuggled up closer to him. I still didn't quite understand the love we'd been fighting forever, but now it seemed to be curled around our hearts. Sometimes I thought it all was an illusion, being with Chance. A dream.

As I moved inside it, underneath it, around it, I could feel its power and the giving of myself to it. I was going to be with this man forever!

To Whom It May Concern: As usual, it ripped my heart out for Chance to leave, he told me to stop crying, and he was going to start coming back more often. I did tell him about my relationship with Robert that it hadn't worked out – He didn’t ask why and I didn't tell him why! I wanted him to know I was his. I held him, wrapping my arms around him and nestled, the side of my face, just below his collarbone.

He stood, holding me, stroking my hair.

I decided to start going back to the movies, weekend matinees for one dollar and fifty cents to occupy my time. In my mind, I had new movie star love interests.

I fell in love with Denzel Washington, a gorgeous man, watching him in "Carbon Copy." Morgan Freeman, regal looking in "Death of a Prophet." I cried watching the historical, "Ragtime," falling for Howard E. Rollins Jr. In the meantime, I taught myself how to crochet and did a lot of reading becoming so distracted it took me a several weeks to realize I missed my period. I hadn't used birth control the first night Chance and I made love!

I'd had my IUD, in place for years, it was time for a new one. The doctor had removed my IUD days after I broke up with Robert. He wanted my body to heal and 362

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rest before he would insert another. It was the last thing on my mind when Chance took me in his arms that first night. The next day I purchased suppositories designed to form a coating over the cervix for birth control. I hadn't panicked then. I didn't mention anything to him either. I thought he was probably too old to make a baby in just one night. Having missed a period, I now had my worries.

Had he impregnated me on the first night? Had the spermicidal suppositories been efficient enough birth control? I had doubts because menstruation could be so irregular for me at times, but I was scared.

I became fidgety and nervous; terrified when I realized my breast were tender and nipples turning dark. I had been talking on the telephone with Chance regularly.

He was having problems with his sons, again. In their twenties they just couldn't pull themselves together. His ex-wife claimed he still owed her back child support. He was trying to dig up old records to prove he'd paid it all.

The retirement process was getting on his nerves, red tape, headaches, and time delays. He'd had a small heart "incident," but was okay, taken to the hospital, staying overnight. He sounded defeated and tired. I'd never heard him sound like that before. How could I add to it and say, “by the way, I am pregnant!� I thought I'd tell him another time.

I was sickened over the thought of another child.

What would Daddy say! He was always harping on DeAndre needing a father. Telling me how I needed to stay out of the streets and bars, living so wild. I needed to go to church and look for a decent man. I wondered how he knew so much about my life. I found out from my stepsister that he had hired a private detective, a member of his church, for a reduced fee.

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Daddy knew about the men that I cooked for, knew about Robert and that Chance came down to see me. Of course, he was going to imagine the worst of me, finding out I was having a baby. He already complained about how I handled my money and how I was living, period. I remember becoming so angry, I wrote my salary down on a piece of paper and beneath it listed my bills. I screamed at him, telling him if he knew of a better way to do it to let me know and threw the paper at him. I left. I hadn't been back to Deltona since.

I could just hear him raising hell over me finding the money to raise another child. Daddy would just KNOW Chance will leave me alone paying no child support just like Dane did.

All I needed was to show up swollen with another child! I dreaded walking into that storm!

To Whom It May Concern: I went to a clinic and confirmed I was pregnant!

The words of that scrawny voodoo lady came to mind, "You will carry another child."

It was hard to take. I cried a lot. I cried on the telephone to Kacy and Niecy. Kacy said, "Dani, do you want me to stop him one day and sit him down and tell him?"

"No," I said. "That wouldn't be fair, it should come from me!"

I would sit by the telephone for hours trying to get up the nerve to call him. I finally did. Chance was so quiet on the line, that all I could say was, "Chance. I'm sorry."

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He finally answered saying it was okay, I didn't get pregnant by myself. He said he would call me later. I waited for a week. No call back. I called him a lot. No answer. I waited another week. I called Kacy. She had seen him delivering mail, but he hadn't knocked. I asked her to stop him and have him call me. I was in trouble; I was weak and numb. I was tired all the time. My imagination was running wild. I couldn't think straight. I needed him to talk to me! I grew bitter. I tried to keep all the anger bottled up inside of me. At night, I would lay looking up at the ceiling. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking at all? Did he care about what he was doing to me? Chance had mangled my world. I'd cry out the sounds of sorrow, which couldn't be contained. I felt hollow in my belly, a feeling of mourning, a tear nestled in the corner of my eye and then slid down my face. I couldn't take it anymore, in a rage, I made my decision. A decision I had to make now! Time was running out, I was approaching my third month. I was going to have an abortion.

I began to read about abortion. I read that prior to the 19th century Protestants and Catholics held abortions permissible until “quickening" that fluttering a woman feels -the moment the fetus was believed to gain life. I needed to rationalize my decision. I was searching for logic. I was getting an abortion! I was sick of struggling. I'd been hurt too many times. I was tired of giving men so much power over where my life would go. I was tired of letting men get away with everything. They plant the seed, get up, and walk away!

I was raising one child, alone. I couldn't do it for two. I didn't have the strength! Why should I? Dane went on with his life. He was living free, refusing to pay child support. I alone had to worry about affording daycare, diapers, formula, and food, raising DeAndre. He didn't 365

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need a babysitter for nearly every move he made. He didn't stress about keeping a roof over the child's head. He didn't sit with DeAndre during illnesses, injuries and hurt feelings.

I was experiencing emotions I understood, but couldn't explain because in my heart it didn't seem possible for Chance to be like that! What was going on! I had no answers. I had no choice. I refused to be stuck with all of that responsibility again. How could a wounded woman so descended ever have any peace! I went to the abortion clinic. I was in such a vulnerable state of mind. I got counseling and reading materials. I was upset, but the procedure was scheduled.

To Whom It May Concern: I tried to dismiss it from my mind during the days that led up to the abortion, but it would creep up on me and make me hold my belly and bawl. I kept it secret from those I worked with. I called Kacy and gave her the date and time scheduled for the abortion, on a Friday. I asked her to stop Chance and give the information to him. I also asked her to tell him if he wants US, to contact me before that date. She did. How much pain, fear, shame, and anger can one person stand! With the strength of all my being, I was holding on to the fading light of a sacred yesterday, praying he would call. I got no call. I was so alone.

Jazz took me to the abortion clinic. I was eleven weeks into my pregnancy. My mouth was dry. My hands were shaking. While I waited, I thought I would jump out of my skin. When they called me, I signed a few papers and an emergency contact sheet. Sent to a room filled with other paled women waiting their turn, some were 366

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holding the hands of their nervous boyfriends or husbands. I could only clutch the arms of my chair.

It seemed like an hour had passed before they called my name. I was feeling faint I went through another counseling session. Escorted to a cold room and told to dress into a tissue thin smock, I shivered as I waited. They gave me something to calm me and reminded me I could change my mind. I lay there gazing beyond place and time, my little girl or little boy was going to be ripped from my womb, and I felt empty, regretful! GOD, forgive me! I felt the cold.

Instruments invade my private place, the pressure and pulling, very little pain. Probably not as much, pain, as I would have felt without the medication. Horrified by the surrounding sounds, the man standing between my legs and the invasion of my insides, my shrieks were inward. I'd convinced myself I had no other choice, but I felt so devastated and hauntingly lonely. My soul, filled with remorse, burdened, and woeful and would be for the rest of my life.

It took ten painful minutes.

After the procedure, they took me to recovery.

Later, Jazz took me home. She put me to bed. She let me cry. I lay limp, spent, and ashen. She cooked meals, and froze them for the entire weekend. She went and picked DeAndre up from school and told him Mommy was sick and he needed to let her get plenty of rest. He tiptoed and whispered the whole weekend. I sat in a corner of my bedroom with my back to the wall. I sat there staring, listening to the new baby, downstairs below me, and crying. I had no appetite and couldn't sleep. I couldn't help wondering if Chance felt any sadness, any loss, and any pain? Does he feel any grief? I went to work on Monday, in a trance. I wore my pain in my eyes. My co-workers 367

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concerned had no idea why I was so glum. I wore my problems in my tears. Every time I shut my eyes, I relived that abortion for weeks. I couldn't pretend what I'd done hadn't happened. Chance had gone on with his life, I imagined, forgetting us. I swore I’s never forget that. I wondered what happened to our love, passion, and tenderness.

To Whom It May Concern: Jazz, trying to cheer me up invited me to a party.

There was a birthday party given by some friends of hers who were from Jamaica, coming up. She said there would be many Jamaican men there. I wasn't interested in any men!

"Girl, Jamaican men goes crazy over yellow women. And you a little thick, too, with long hair. You gonna draw them to you like flies."

"Jazz! Stop stereotyping people.� I complained.

"I guarantee you'll get a man."

"I don't want a man."

"A man is what you need to get out of your dreariness."

"I'm not dreary."

"Go with me, please!" She begged.

I went. The party was nicely set up. One man after another came over to me to introduce himself. I just sat on the couch. I had a few conversations about the beauty of Jamaica; I'd never been there. I could see in their eyes; they were homesick. In so many ways, so was I. Each man, I met, wrote down his telephone number. I enjoyed watching everyone laughing, talking, eating, and having a good time while listening to the music. Most of the music 368

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had a Jamaican beat, but many of the recent hits played, also. A song began to play that I'd never heard before. I was enjoying the music and then I paid attention to the lyrics. They were playing a song by Gangsta Boo, tears welled up as I listened to the sorrowful sounds of a woman telling her love he’d abandoned her and love didn’t live there anymore.

They played the song again and half way through I was a mess! I still loved Chance so very much and just couldn't understand what had happened between us. Jazz escorted me out explaining I had lost my mother recently.

I heard male voices yelling, "Call me," as we exited.

To Whom It May Concern: Kacy called a couple of months after the abortion to see how I was doing. As usual, she filled me in on current events up in Michigan. She carefully eased the subject of Chance into the conversation.

"Have you talked to Chance?" She asked.

I couldn’t believe she would ask that.

"He hasn't talked to ME!" I shouted boldly.

"He loves you Dani." She continued, carefully.

"Yeah, right! I don’t want to talk about him!"

I began to cry. Kacy exhaled.

"I promised I wouldn't tell you, Dani, but he came over the day of the abortion and sat on my couch and he cried. He just didn’t know what to do. There’s so much happening here that’s making his future uncertain. Dani, he cried, he cried giant tears. He cried his heart out."

"He abandoned me Kacy."

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"Not in his heart! It tore him apart, knowing you were going through that, alone. He loves you!"

"He could have called me!"

"Dani did you hear me! When a man loves a woman that way, I can tell. Any man that can feel about a woman the way he feels about you is worth saving. He is suffering his mistake!"

"Mistake? I had an ABORTION, alone!"

"Dani I cry for all the pain, events and time that have separated you two. You belong together. I can see it in his eyes, he is tortured. Just think about forgiving him, okay?"

"I don't know." I mumbled.

"You're stubborn, but as soon as he gets things in order he is coming for you!"

"It's not meant for me to find love, Kacy!

Sometimes life just doesn’t work out!

“Oh, Dani, please…!"

I hung up on her.

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Chapter Fourteen

Kpanlongo – Invitation Dance – Recreational life cycle.

To Whom It May Concern: My life had become a blur. Swaying on Jazz's invitation dance, I partied - recklessly. There was a time I thought a lady wasn't supposed to gallivant in bars. Down in the deep canyons of my belly, I didn't care anymore. I started going out with her, again, not caring where we went, what we did, or how we did it. A temporary release from the tension that was getting thicker, waiting to swallow me up and bury me beneath its depths. I was drinking and meeting men so fast, I had to catch my breath.

I met a Merchant seaman; a weathered man whom I discovered had a fetish. Of course, it was sexual and I found out in the heat of the moment. I had dated him one month and we were finally going to have a night of passion. In the midst of full open-mouthed kisses, fondling and heavy breathing, his penis remained flaccid. He jumped up, snatched his belt out of his pants that he'd thrown across a chair, and turned towards me. I sat straight up in the bed, 371

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"What are you going to do with that?�

My cheeks colored and eyes snapped. I tried to visualize my reasoning for putting myself in such a situation. He wasn’t attractive to me at all. It didn't come to me. It was something in the way he described the fetish, though. His seductive need to whip his belt across a woman's buttock, a form of pleasure for her, he said, that kept me listening.

I quivered over the fact I actually took a moment to think about it! Whatever it took for him to get it up! In my inebriated condition, I was horny! Stupid and half drunk, I rolled over, asking to experience it, to see how it felt. I thought it would be a gentle tap of the belt. The belt came down, lashing across my butt, burning like fire. He got in three licks as I leapt up screaming. Screaming for him to get out. He had a stiff erection, and was ready to strike me with the belt again, but I was out of reach. He wasn't hitting me with that belt, again! He just stood there studying me. I was afraid he might force me. He was a big burly man. I bravely told him it wasn't for me and asked him, again, to leave. He did. Relieved, I fell back on my pillows and closed my eyes. Ashamed, I pulled the sheet over my head, wanting to hide my face. The front door slammed. I got up and locked it.

I met a garbage collector. He was impotent. I dated him six weeks, wondering why it took him so long to make a move. Finally wrapped in hot kisses, one night, as we lay in bed, his penis just lay there, too. My eyes widened. He said he was sure a woman as pretty as I could solve his problem. He snatched me back into more kissing and rubbing, pausing occasionally to lap his penis around. He pulled my hand in between his legs. Nothing. My mind buzzed - Tell him to get up and get out, it was screaming. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. We spent the night 372

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cuddling. I wanted a man so badly! He just lay there with hurt eyes, and a weak smile. The next day I said we wouldn't be seeing each other again.

Then there was the High School counselor whom I sought out, me the shy one, at a party, to try to save my sanity. I needed a man desperately and from across the room, he was gorgeous. He had an erection the minute I walked over to him. His pants tented, I couldn't help but notice. I glanced down at it, and looked in his face. He was smiling. I found such a public display of an erection interesting. Evidently, he didn’t wear underwear. Jazz took his friend home for the night and I took him home.

Satisfied for one night, I never saw him again. I guess I could put him on a list as my first one-night stand.

To Whom It May Concern: The parade of men still left me feeling lonely. I began to feel ashamed. I stopped going out. A co-worker whom I'd gotten to know well asked if she could give my telephone number to a man that her husband worked with. She said he was the nicest man. They had him over to their house for dinner often. He was totally trustworthy.

I envied her, her husband, and daughter, a happy family.

All three obese had such a loving relationship and home life. They were the kindest people I’d ever known. I was thrilled to meet a man outside of the bars! I even stirred up a little hope. Being such a lovely couple, perhaps they saw the same qualities in this man. There could be a future for me.

He and I talked on the telephone for a couple of weeks and I didn't find him interesting, but I trusted the possibilities. I invited him over. I had grown so open 373

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minded, it wasn't so bad that he rode up on a bicycle - he didn't own a car. Do you know what was bad? He was the ugliest man I'd ever seen! I’m talking about putting a paper bag over his head, ugly! Jump up and run from the room, ugly! What were they thinking? I'd never asked them how he looked. I didn't want them to think I was shallow enough to judge a man by looks, alone, and I’m not. But, we all have our limits!

He was skinny, rail thin and tall. He was black as night, and his skin so taunt and dry it stretched over his skeleton like the membrane of a drum. He had pickled bulging eyes. He immediately made excuses for the discoloration of the whites of his eyes, saying he had allergies. My guess was that man had a severe drinking problem. His hands so bony, the bones stick out. When he casually touched my arm, I almost screamed. Those bones scraping across my flesh, sent a shock up my arm. I just knew I would faint. I could almost say he was gruesome.

The most meat he had on his body was in his lips and nose! The only thing that did not have bone protruding out of it was his wide nose and ballooned lips.

I quickly became too busy to see him from that point on, and he was the hardest to get rid of. He was persistent I spotted him in a discount store one day. I couldn't bear the thought of dealing with him. Just as I was about to duck out of sight, he spotted me. I shivered inwardly.

"Hello," he said, "I was just about to give up on you."

"Hello," I said, frowning.

I rarely answered my telephone trying to avoid his calls.

"Why have you been avoiding me? There's a lot I can do for you, baby."

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"Not, really, I take care of myself." I responded.

He was staring, his jaw dropped. He looked even more like a concentration-camp victim, then.

He'd said he was born at home with the help of a midwife. His name was Berry. Like a fruit!

The mid-wife spelled it wrong on his birth certificate, his mother’s intention was to name him Barry.

"Let's go to your house." He said plaintively, full eyes glaring.

I went numb over the thought. It's awful of me.

To Whom It May Concern: I stood there regretting I'd run into that store that day. He glared at me in confusion.

"I moved." I lied.

"Moved?"

"Back home with my parents." A bigger lie!

He followed me outside. At my car, I stood squinting up at him in the warm sunshine.

"You can come see me!" He suggested.

He scribbled his address on the back of his store receipt. I didn't answer right away. He had to have a screw loose somewhere, I thought. I stared down at the paper. I was so totally tied up in thoughts of how much I wanted that man to leave me alone. So absorbed, I was oblivious to how pleasant the day was. I tried to ignore him as I became aware of that. The flowers were showing their beautiful blossoms and the melodies of the birds singing were all around. I absent-mindedly answered, "Sure, I'll do that sometime." I told the final lie.

He walked away, towards a bicycle chained to the bus stop sign. I opened my hand and the crumpled piece 375

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of paper fluttered away like a dove floating on the wind. I guess because I had opened the door, the universe allowed me to meet another guy, at the Laundromat, and over time we finally lay in bed. I just wanted to cuddle, I sincerely missed having more in my life than sex from a man. We watched a movie on a television I kept in my bedroom. Later, after I turned out the lights and my back was to him, I nodded off. The mattress started shaking. I opened my eyes and listened. I could hear squishy sounds.

His hand slapping against his flesh as he jerked himself off.

His up and down motion had the bed rocking. His heavy breathing was annoying. His orgasm caused the bed to vibrate. He roared like a lion, the mattress trembled as he shuddered to a finish. He had masturbated lying next to me. I sat up at looked at him, disgusted. He had rolled over and was falling asleep!

How rude! He wasn’t ever going to be on top of me roaring and convulsing like that. The next morning, over breakfast I told him I wouldn't be seeing him again. He discussed it with me, showing the food in his mouth, answering me, between wide opened mouth chews. He finished his meal and stood up, stuck his thumbs in his belt, glancing at me and then looking away.

"For real?"

"For real."

"Your loss!"

Later, I discovered he had stolen the twenty dollars I had lying on my dresser.

To Whom It May Concern: DeAndre's birthday was approaching. I didn't have the money to take a cake, birthday hats, and party favors 376

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to school, like all of the other mothers had. I even broke down and called Dane. I was doing nothing but working my way back to the old troubles. I didn't want DeAndre to feel left out! I wanted my son's birthday celebrated like the rest of the children. I put DeAndre on the telephone and Dane promised him the money. He told him to look for the money to arrive in the mail in three days. We ran to the mailbox every day up until the day before his birthday. It never did arrive. I wanted to spit in Dane's face. Miffed, my anger rekindled against him, I cried hysterically. And then I had an idea.

I pulled out a poster board and created a colorful display about Africa. I found my book of African recipes, I’d purchased for twenty-five cents at a Library book sale. I dug around the apartment and found a multicolored tissue paper I had bought on sale for ten cents at the drug store.

I had flour and sugar in my cabinet. I went to the store and bought yeast and two large bottles of cooking oil and was barely able to pay for that. I lined large baskets I’d found at garage sales with colorful arrangements of my tissue paper. I stayed up late into the night preparing, "African Donuts," a simple recipe I'd found in the book of African recipes, and I laid them out on paper towels!

The next morning I called my job and informed them I would be late. I warmed the donuts in the oven, placed them in baskets, and took them into his class along with the display of Africa poster. It had "Happy Birthday DeAndre" on the top and "Africa" as a second heading. I used colorful craft paper. I had a cut out the African continent, people wearing the traditional dress, and the animals of Africa from my old encyclopedia (I ruined the encyclopedia) and some magazines. I only owned three encyclopedias, anyway, A, G and H. The poster also showed the natural resources of Africa and the recipe for 377

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"African Donuts!" I was thrilled with how everything turned out and DeAndre was delighted!

The children in his class were so excited and fascinated; they crowded around the poster and ate the Africa delicacies greedily. I could feel the excitement in the room. I wasn't sure if it was true, but I told the class that, in Africa, children received "African Donuts" for their birthday, instead of cake. They didn’t know any different!

DeAndre was beaming with pride. The teacher's eyes lit up; other teacher's bought children from other classes to view the poster.

DeAndre's teacher decided, while she had the poster, she would spend time giving lessons on the African continent! She returned the poster weeks later and thanked me. There weren’t enough cake, balloons, party hats, or party favors to top that in DeAndre's eyes! He had brought something unique to the class and he and I both were proud.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane had my telephone number now and was calling me, unbelievably, still bringing up the money I’d stolen! He'd "stolen" my life! Could he give that back? He was still afflicted with triple maladies: Untamed arrogance, diseased selfishness, and consummate barbarity. Dane started calling me day after day; sometimes leaving his telephone off the hook to keep my line tied up. I felt sorry for the woman who paid his telephone bills. I was despising Dane and growing bitter every day. I became so upset I wasn't eating and having trouble sleeping. I just had the feeling that something more than the harassing 378

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phone calls was happening. Terror coming from memories I guess.

When I did sleep it was fitful. Have you ever had a dream so real you woke up screaming? I was having a recurring one. In my dream, Big Mama appeared. She said old ladies don't dance, but she did! She got up, grabbed hold of the hem of her skirt, and did a jig! I laughed.

"Furthermore." She is rambling on, “When you stop dancing, baby, you're through, just don't dance with ugly people!"

My dream always shifted, I was suddenly on the rooftop of a tall building. Standing there on that rooftop, I felt terrible. Raining, it was wet, cold, and it was slippery. I ended up on a ledge, slipping and almost losing my balance. Someone grabbed my arm and my reaction caused me to fall over the side. The person caught me by the arm. I looked up and there stood Dane staring down at me, he had grabbed my arm, stopping my fall. I could hear Big Mama whisper, “ugly people,” so I looked down, terrified of how far away the ground was but dreading looking back up into Dane’s face. I looked back up anyway and he had morphed, as things do in dreams, and there was Chance. Chance was holding me by the arm. I reached up with my other hand and grabbed the jacket he was wearing. I glanced down at the streets below again and felt a twinge of sadness but no fear. I then looked back up at Chance. I said calmly, "You can't help me. Let me go, let me die!"

I let go of his jacket and flailed about making it hard for him to hold on to me. I did everything I could to break loose from him. I didn't want to be a burden in his life anymore. I noticed his white-knuckled grip. His eyes locked on mine, I could see his pain, but he couldn't hold on any longer. My struggling had worked. In one smooth 379

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motion, I was soaring through the air, waiting for impact. I felt calm, blissful, and at peace. The sensation of falling, filled my body, giving me a sensation I really didn’t like, somehow consciously, so I would wake up, startled and screaming every time!

Dane had a new girlfriend and I was shocked when she called and told me she'd cursed him out when she saw the telephone bill. She promised me it wouldn't happen again. She sounded intelligent, responsible yet frustrated. I could tell she was in love. I knew I would have to pray for her. I was thankful for her being there to control Dane, I had a hard enough job holding the house strong for DeAndre. I didn't need to be looking for another storm season of Dane. I guess my biggest fear had been that Dane would show up on my doorstep one day. I scoped out the scenery outdoors every time I left my apartment, fearing he was out there waiting for me. Fear was paralyzing. The call from his girlfriend was reassuring. The nightmares stopped.

To Whom It May Concern: Dane would never know the agony of the life I lived. At the break of dawn, lying in bed on a Saturday morning I decided to drive to Deltona. I couldn't survive in this world alone, anymore. I hadn't been out there since Daddy and I argued.

Greeted warmly in Deltona, the younger girls having grown-up, only one had married and moved out, Tina's middle child. The girls were planning a party for Daddy and Tina's twenty seventh anniversary. The plan was for the four of us to split the cost. They give me the amount of money I owed on a slip of paper. I wasn't sure 380

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how I was going to afford it, but I had started working a second job. I'd found a church that needed a worker in their church nursery. I worked Wednesday nights and all day Sundays. After a lot of thought, I decided I would get a car payment deferred. I was allowed to do that once a year. I'd pay the interest, and have the deferred payment attached to the end of the loan.

I loved the thought of giving them a party and I wanted to buy a nice gift. I admit I carried some intense resentment, for a short period of time, towards Tina. It built up after I left Deltona, because of her favoritism.

When her daughter was pregnant, Tina would run up to her, hug her, and rub her bulging belly affectionately. I'd watched, filled with envy. I hungered for a hug and touch like that. Tina hadn't come near me when I carried DeAndre. When he was born, I went home to my husband from the hospital, left alone to care for myself. I had lost too much blood, had blood transfusions and was in a very weak state. When her daughter had her baby, Tina wouldn’t let her daughter go home, she moved the daughter and new baby in with her to care for both of them.

After arriving in Florida, she, Daddy, and a friend held an intervention to chastise me for expecting Tina to “take care” of DeAndre. Tina took care of her daughter's child, every day while her daughter was working, to save her the expense of day care. She continued to keep her daughter's children, even after she had another. Tina was caring for a newborn and very young child all day long.

They said to me that she wasn't well and was getting older back then. She was even older and I imagine even more ill by now!

It hurt and I sensed that she knew she was wrong.

Most of the time she wouldn't even look straight at me.

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She, always caught up in her own children's lives, didn't have it in her heart to sit down and talk to me, apologize or even explain. Most painful was her inability to let go of the past and her emotions towards the way I looked. After my divorce, I needed a mother figure. I tried to talk to her about things and even tell my deepest and most painful secret – Dane's affair with Reille. Tina seemed cold and disinterested. She'd never met Reille but her spiteful response was, "You were the pretty one, thought you was so cute, sometimes people feel it's their turn to get something. She probably figured you needed to be knocked down a few notches!"

I just stared at her. She stared back. She straightened her face back to her usual somber expression she reserved only for me. I'd gotten past all of that, though. I believe reading the bible helped me. Perhaps living in separate cities, time spent apart also brought us closer together. We'd had many pleasant telephone conversations as long as we kept the discussion, general. It was going to be her night and I was going to see to it that she had the time of her life, in spite of our differences. She did take time out of her life to raise me.

To Whom It May Concern: The night of the anniversary party was glowing with excitement - Electricity was in the air! I couldn't remember the last time we all were together. Some of Tina's relatives, who had also moved to Florida, attended and neighbors from blocks away were walking up to the house. Their place was going to be full of folks once we 382

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welcomed the expected friends and members of their church.

The kitchen was buzzing, pots were boiling on the stove, side dishes, baking in the oven, and the grill was heating up. Heavenly aromas filled the air. Everyone's cooking talents were a part of the feast. It wasn't a surprise party for them, but we insisted they find something to do. They weren't allowed home until 7:00.

It was a backyard party. We had mosquito lamps, candles lit, decorations streaming from tree to tree. It was beautiful. Everyone was there except my stepsister, who had gone to run an errand. Tina and Daddy walked in and both their faces lit up. It was a wonderful celebration We ran in and out of the house, adding more food to the platters, taking turns at the grill, and serving nonalcoholic drinks. We worked hard to keep the guests happy. I grew so tired, when my stepsister returned from running her errand, I went inside and lay down in their large family room, pushing their French doors, leading to a side patio, open for air. I lay down and turned to face the back of the couch prepared to take a short nap. Nodding off, I hadn’t heard anyone enter the room. Suddenly, I heard a voice, I thought I was dreaming.

"Is the traffic clear? The big man is here."

It reverberated behind me.

I flipped over, rapidly, and there stood Chance! A little stab of something started in my chest and plunged to my stomach. My mouth fell open. Tears sprung to my eyes. My heart was melting. I loved that man. I slid to a sitting position; I couldn't believe my eyes. I was speechless. He stood there smiling. He held one hand out and I placed mine in it. He pulled me up, pulled me to him and held me against his wide chest, cradling me in his arms. He whispered, 383

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"I am so sorry, I love you more than life. Will you marry me?"

I dissolved against him. Chance slid down to one knee, careful to prevent me from falling. He brought out a small box. Opening the box, he revealed the most exquisite diamond ring I'd ever seen.

"Dani, will you honor me and be my wife?"

He slid it on my proper finger of my shaking left hand. I shed a flood of joyful tears. I couldn't talk. I was mute! Unmindful of the stares of the people from the other rooms, who’d my stepsister had gathered together to watch. I stood there in shock, partaking in the wonder.

My stepsister who had appointed herself a matchmaker, her head bent around the door, was giving sly glances into the family room, also. She was secretly praying that I would say yes. She had been talking to Chance for months and her errand was to pick Chance up from the airport in Orlando. My eyebrows furrowed, fighting back heavier sobs. I caught my breath, gazed at him and said, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" The crowd cheered.

To Whom It May Concern: The partygoer's attention turned to us. There were hugs, kisses, and congratulations from the crowd.

DeAndre was jumping up and down. The celebration turned into an engagement and anniversary party.

Suddenly, engagement gifts appeared with everyone grinning from ear to ear! I was the one surprised after all!

Chance led me around holding my hand, and the warmth 384

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from him, flowing straight to my heart. It was so intense it still had the ability to permeate my soul.

Late into the night, we slowly wandered away from the party to a more private spot. He pulled me to him for a quick hug and kiss. Tears started to build up in his eyes. I studied his face. There was a vague sense of tragedy about him mixed with joy.

"Dani, I loved the child we created. Circumstances forced me to become the bastard I was. Leaving you alone to suffer rocked my manhood.�

Chance was crying, quietly. My heart shattered. We fell into each other's arms.

"Let’s not talk about it," I whispered.

"No, no. I understand, but want you to know I've always wanted to protect you. I felt a lot of shame for not doing the right thing."

We sat silent for a moment.

"Dani, tell me what you want."

"I want peace in my heart, life without turmoil, and to be happy. I want to feel important, to somebody."

"The same thing you said years ago."

"Yes." "You have it now." He said.

To Whom It May Concern: We discussed how Chance would retire, sell his house, and would live with his sister while finalizing his plans to move down here. We would live in Florida. He and I went out to the backyard to join in on the celebration.

My stepsister glowed as she watched us. Everyone was laughing, talking, and enjoying the festivities. We spent 385

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another couple of hours there. The party ended, the crowd clearing out.

As we left Chance carried DeAndre to the car and pulled open the driver's side door, holding it for me, always the gentlemen. On the long ride home, DeAndre slept. I was still a little stunned! I looked over at Chance; he had the most incredible crooked smile. I was still trying to comprehend the fact that Chance was back in my life. I broke the silence, "Why do you want to marry me?"

He sat quiet a moment.

"I love you!"

He seemed surprised that I asked the question.

"What were you afraid of? I need to know." I said.

"I was afraid of how much I loved you and your youth. I wasted so much time."

"Are you afraid, now?"

"No, of course not, marrying you is an answer to my prayers. I was afraid you’d say no."

I was strangely aroused. I couldn't wait to get him home. There wasn't another man in the world that could make me feel the way he did. I looked over at him, my eyes slid down to his shoulders, so broad and strong, I couldn't wait to get inside them. I kept driving. I kept dreaming. I was going to marry Chance. Pinch me! We would settle into a lifelong learning about each other. We would learn each other habits, preferences, and quirks. I was daydreaming fare into the future. Years of togetherness would lead to wordless conversations because we already knew each other so well. We'd know how to disagree without bile. We'd trust, and know each other. We would lean on each other needing no one outside of our world, only each other joined as one. God is so good to me!

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To Whom It May Concern: The next morning, the sun’s rays fell across the table, the kitchen was quiet; the only sounds were the forks tapping the plates with each bite. Chance was staying three weeks! I was overjoyed. I excused myself from the table and went to the bathroom. The telephone rang and Chance answered it for me. I could hear the conversation from where I was. He was talking to Dane!

Chance's voice was very calm, authoritative. I stepped out of the bathroom and stood by his side. I couldn't imagine what horrors Dane had brought into my life, what terrible things he was saying to Chance. Chance took the stance of a man who had everything under control. He was listening carefully, lifting his chest up slightly, and thrusting it forward. I knew it was a stance of anger.

"She doesn't have anything to worry about." He said.

At that moment, I loved Chance deeply! I continued to listen to Chance's side of the conversation.

"Don't call here anymore upsetting Dani." Chance stiffened, "I said don't call here anymore!�

He looked defiant.

"Your son?"

He turned and looked at me for a loving moment, loving me so much.

"Fine, we'll see you in court. Be prepared to face charges of physical and emotional abuse, be prepared to start paying your child support, and then you and my lawyer will discuss your son."

He turned and gazed out of the window, "No, SON! I've been keeping an eye on YOU!" 387

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A big smile spread across his face.

“Who am I? I'm her husband!"

He turned his head and winked at me.

"You're tracking me? Well, you know where I live, then. I'll be waiting for you... “ Dane evidently interrupted what Chance was saying.

So Chance continued calmly and slowly,“Anytime!"

Dane hung up on Chance. Chance stood there looking like he'd just won the battle. He hung up and turned to me.

"I've waited years to do that, I've got a paper trail on him, through detectives and public records. He's been a bad boy. He won't bother you again, and if he does, it won’t be for long."

I fell into the arms of my man, so grateful, so relieved.

"Don't worry about anything, I am here to take care of mine."

To Whom It May Concern: Life without turmoil, I felt so safe, so warm. I had peace in my heart, a peace that will last forever after. I wasn't just happy. I was ecstatic! Over the next few weeks, we cooked together. We played games with DeAndre. We made love. We planned our wedding, the venue Daddy's backyard. We planned to jump over the broom as a representation of our African heritage. I made him promise me, no limousines, though. I hadn't ever seen a limousine that didn't remind me of a funeral.

We bought his suit, white, and DeAndre's matching suit. They were wearing gold ties and vests with African 388

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designs on them. We paid for my dress. My dress was a delicate, billowy white dream with an empire waist. Soft shimmering gold threading flowed through it. It was an elegant, luxurious and exquisite wedding gown. I would only have a Maiden of Honor, my stepsister, who was wearing a gold dress. There would be no bridesmaids or groomsmen.

Chance's best friend, a bowling partner, was coming back to Florida with him to be his Best Man. DeAndre was our Ring Bearer, and my halfsister's three-year-old daughter, the Flower Girl.

We left everyone's clothing at the stores for alterations; we made appointments for several fittings.

Chance's last fitting would be the day he returned, one week before the wedding. Our wedding would be on, September sixteenth of nineteen eighty three, just after Chance's forty seventh birthday. I had so much passion for Chance. He had an intelligence that was raw and mystical.

He showed me what it was like to be a woman who's loved. Overwhelmed by his emotional and physical power, he had given me the universe.

The day came that he would have to leave, heading back to Michigan to tie up loose ends. We had planned on my going back with him, and have me fly back home in a few days. However, due to several people being out sick from work, my request for time off - had to be denied.

Chance wanted me to quit, he said he'd take care of me, and if I wished to, could look for another job later.

But, everyone had become family at work and I hated to let them down. Those sick were the co-workers’ closest to me, Glenn had broken her foot and Karen had undergone an appendectomy. I told him I felt it was my responsibility to be there for my boss and co-worker’s.

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much, my heart. After all, I couldn’t do that to Chance.

With everything he had to straighten out back in Michigan, the last thing he needed was my being unemployed.

Chance was standing by the sliding glass doors to the back porch staring out into the distance. With tears in my eyes, I asked shakily, "Is everything okay?"

"I hate to leave you. I respect your decision, but I sure do wish you could come back with me."

I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist, laying my head on his strong back, "I'd have to come back in a few days anyway. The wedding is a couple months away. You'll be back, soon."

"If that idiot of an ex starts calling you again, let me know."

"I promise.

He turned around, put his arms around me, and held me so close and tenderly for such a long time, I started crying. I moved into him. I was conscious of how warm his body felt, through his shirt. He moved his arm farther around my waist and pulled me even closer. The warmth moved up into my arms, into my body and straight to my soul, again, to remain there forever. I could smell him, a good masculine, and clean smell - a part of him I'd never forget. I could feel his legs against mine, our stomachs touching. He felt so good to me.

We talked around the edges of everything, fighting for time, dreading the click of the door, that evening, when two people had to part. We made love for an hour, maybe more, incredible, powerful, transcending love filled with multiple orgasms. Afterwards he would lie beside me with one hand moving on my body. It was spiritual. He moved into me, again. I moved into him. I took him to the airport and kissed him goodbye.

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Left to finalize our plans, my mind was racing. We would search for a house together, when he returned. I waited by the telephone for Chance's call to let me know he had arrived home, safely. During the hours before Chance's expected telephone call, I was on the telephone.

I called Niecy, Kacy, and an old classmate in Michigan to spread my good news.

Kacy screamed, with excitement.

"I'm coming down. We're coming down. My whole family! We'll be there! Check out some hotels for us."

Niecy jumped up and down, I could tell by the rattling of her voice.

"I'll be there, can I stay with you?"

"Of course."

Niecy was so excited she was rambling on and on.

"I'll help you with last minute details and help with your makeup, fix your hair and get you dressed!"

"That would be wonderful."

"Oh Dani, I'm so happy for you!

“Thank you, my best of friends!” I said.

She said, “Awwwww!”

I called some of my co-workers’, Jazz, who was five months pregnant and Jazz screamed, too.

"I'm gonna waddle my fat ass in there, I'll be in my eighth month, but I don't care! Maybe I'll add a little excitement to your wedding and have this kid early!"

"You'd better, not!" I yelled.

I wouldn’t put it past Jazz to do something like that.

I even called Robert's sister-in-law. We'd remained close friends. Robert's sister-in-law was still hoping I'd be her daughter-in-law. She actually believed Robert's new girlfriend; a woman with seven kids had put a spell on him, to lure his interest away from me. She thought it ridiculous for him to date someone with so many kids. She said the 391

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woman had pursued him for a long time, even while he and I were dating. I told her to believe in that stuff was nonsense. She said the woman, who Robert was with, actually lived in the same apartments as I, on the far end, but I'd never seen them! In the end, she gave me her blessing. I relaxed, satisfied I’d informed everyone I needed of our upcoming wedding when it dawned on me – Chance was late.

He must have had a delayed flight. All of a sudden, the rain started pouring down. Lightning struck the ground so hard, just outside my window, it ripped a hole in the night. I jumped. A clap of thunder shook creation, so hard that it sounded like an explosion. You'd think God was warning us, trying to tell us that something terrible had happened. DeAndre ran into my room and leapt in my bed.

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Chapter Fifteen

Gue-Pelou Tall Mask – Mediate between the world of the living and the spiritual world.

To Whom It May Concern: The next morning I felt a stir of anger. Chance hadn't called me. He knew how much I worry. Then I calmed down; he probably thought it was too late to call last night, he was a considerate man. He would call me any minute. I stretched and slid out of the bed. In the silence of the early morning, the rains had finally stopped. The telephone jingled, seemingly exceptionally loud. I raced from the bathroom, glancing at the clock, eight thirteen a.m. I snatched up the telephone prepared to chastise him playfully, "Hello!" The word coursed out from my lips with ferocity.

"May I speak to Dani, please?"

I didn't recognize the voice, it was a woman.

"Yes, speaking." I said slowly.

"You don't know me, my name is Liza Wylie."

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"Yes?" My mind was racing. She was Chance's ex-wife.

Something was wrong. I felt the pressure building in my head.

"I got your number from Chance’s phone book."

"Okay?"

I felt apprehensive; I grabbed the headboard to steady myself as I sat down on the bed. I was feeling faint.

Had Chance gone back to her? I started to tremble. I said nothing. My heart was pounding so hard in my ears, I could hardly hear. My breathing rapid, my world slowed down to a crawl. Why was I talking to this woman instead of Chance?

"Dani, are you there?"

"Yes." "Dani, my son picked Chance up from the airport."

I was listening, "Okay."

"Chance was driving and had a massive heart attack. He drove the car into a house.”

I still prayed for a miracle!

“Is he Okay,” I asked shakily, "Dani, Chance has passed away."

"NO!" I screamed. “NO… NO… NO!” Through my screaming I heard the words, "Dani, I'm so sorry, my son is in the hospital in critical condition and may not live..."

I couldn't believe my ears! It didn't seem real.

Maybe she was mistaken. Chance is dead?

I felt like someone had just kicked me in the stomach. A flood of hurt, despair and gut wrenching sadness flowed into my room, drowning me, sucking the air from my lungs, blocking the light from my vision, muffling sound from my ears. I slid off the bed and onto 394

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my knees. I interrupted the end of her statement with my screams, "Please, Lord, Jesus Christ, No, no, no...You're lying to me." I shrieked.

I cried hysterically. She was silent. All of the suffering of every woman who ever lost a love one came out in my voice, floated from my soul. So dark was the misery. The morning was no longer light. I was a person trying to comprehend something that was too horrible to bear. She knew it and started crying softly. DeAndre was wailing, frightened by my actions.

"Dani, is there someone I can call to come and stay with you?"

I couldn't hear her.

"JESUS!' I screamed very loud.

She began to pray for me, for her son. I was of no help for her sorrow. I dropped the telephone. I was perspiring, shivering, rocking back and forth, and moaning long and loud. I felt like every system in my body, my brain, and my soul was shutting down. He was only forty six years old! We were getting married! I was trying so hard not to be angry with God. Was he punishing me! No theory could stop the questions from floating on the air! I was screaming, "GOD, why!"

It was all I could do. Finally, I picked the telephone up, again.

"Dani, Tell me you are OK." She had stayed on the line for such a very long time. “OK." I finally whispered, easing the telephone away from my ear.

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"Dani, when you come to the funeral, you are welcome to stay with me”.

I hung up.

To Whom It May Concern: Niecy and Kacy decided that they would attend Chance's funeral. I thanked them profusely, but refused to go myself. I wanted to remember him as he was. I refused to see the man, who created so much beauty in my life lying in a casket, perhaps looking different than he did in life. It made me weep.

I was an emotional mess. I probably should have seen a doctor. My heart was beating wildly, all the time, my throat closing and I was shaking like a leaf. For days every time I'd fall asleep, I'd wake up in a panic, praying it all had been a dream. I was screaming his name and crying in my sleep. Family and friends were calling, expressing their shock and sympathy. Weak, my grief was ripping me apart. With not a full day to mourn, Daddy and family come to see me. Daddy was looking at me with grave concern, he asked if I wanted to come live back home. I couldn't believe he’d offered. I said no.

My Chance had passed away during the Friday night storm that shook DeAndre and me to the core.

Daddy always said something bad could happen during a storm. Should I have sat in the dark, silent with all appliances unplugged? Would the Good Lord, have spared Chance if I’d followed the rules? All of these questions were causing me to lose my mind! All of my thoughts were crazy. The whole universe seemed to have gone insane!

Monday morning, after less than three hours of troubled sleep, and a particularly brutal night, I went to 396

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work. Still deeply wounded, battered, and exhausted, I felt dizzy, frightened, and alone. Karen and Glenn were still out sick and Jazz had suffered complications in her pregnancy over the weekend. They weren't there to hold my hand. Life wasn't making any sense anymore. I wanted to touch Chance, see him and love him but couldn't. It felt like I was standing on shifting sands, circumstances changing unpredictably fast beneath my feet. Discovering what had happened, everyone at work was consoling and solemn; a few had met Chance when he was in town.

Working was difficult. When I needed to go to the bathroom, feeling tired, I'd slowly rise to my feet, leaning against my desk until the dizziness passed. In the bathroom, I cried. I hadn't eaten in days and still couldn't eat. When people talked to me, it was as if they were in a tunnel, standing on the other end of the room. I needed rest. The office lights seemed dim, but actually, the lighting was fine. My world had fallen apart. I couldn't think anymore. That night, I went to bed early, hoping to rest. The bedside telephone rang sharply, waking me up. I still hoped it would be Chance on the line every time that the telephone rang. I said, "Hello" into the receiver.

"Dani! Are you okay? It's Niecy. I can't sleep, I've been so worried about you."

I burst out crying.

"That's it! I'm coming down:" "But, I'm okay."

I burst out crying, again.

“I can’t even take off for a death in the family,” I blubbered in the phone.

"Oh, my God, let me come down there."

"They said he isn’t family!" I was into hysteria by now.

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"All right then. Please calm down. conversation isn’t helping you.”

"Okay."

“I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

This

To Whom It May Concern: I stayed tormented for months. For me, the pain would never end. When you live in pain and confusion life plays tricks on you. I slept in large T-shirt's that Chance left behind, it seemed his scent was still in them, so I drew my knees up and stretched the material to bury myself in the smell. I couldn't think about too many things, plan anything, or go anywhere other than work. I focused on keeping close to home, paying my bills, and keeping my son fed, and in school - surviving.

"Beware of riding in the car with the one who loves you," popped into my mind one night. Had that old woman predicted Chance's death? Had I cheated death, unable to go back with him because of my job? I felt shaken, thinking of that eerie prediction. Did the snakes in the house mean more than just her death? She'd continued on, stating I'd come into a great deal of money and live in an impressive White House with a white picket fence. I couldn't see that, through the dark clouds that currently surrounded me. There was nothing impressive about living life without Chance.

Slowly I tried to pull myself together. Chance had been gone for four months. I enrolled DeAndre in a small T-ball league. I joined the other parents, in the stands.

They grumbled about the heat, spoke loudly and defiantly about certain actions and calls by the umpire, and bragged 398

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about their own child's prowess. When the clouds flew away and left the sun exposed, its light warming the blue skies, I'd stared up, with tears, rolling down my cheeks, and talk to Chance. The only thing that gave me some comfort was that he was in heaven. He was with our child.

How do you go on when one minute you're planning a wedding, a new life, a family and then in the next minute it's gone? I think it would be easier to just stop breathing.

To Whom It May Concern: Jazz was in the crisis of her life. Her pregnancy had been difficult since her fifth month. Laid off from work she was now using the free clinic for prenatal care. She had been in labor for days, and every time I took her to the hospital, they'd tell me to take her back home. They said to walk. I walked and walked with her, feeling her suffering. I rushed her back to the hospital downtown again. I refused to leave.

"Do something!" I screamed.

"Give her a C-section, anything! This girl cannot suffer any more!"

Jazz had no health insurance so she was treated carelessly, but they finally took her in. I called her mother, an older lady who'd had Jazz later in life. Jazz was her only child. Her mother had raised Jazz alone. A delightful woman, after pacing the floor for hours, I offered to take her to lunch. We walked along the streets of downtown Orlando in search of a place to eat. I stopped at the first restaurant we reached. She stopped dead in her tracks, "No baby, they don't allow colored folk to eat in there!"

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Already on edge, I stood staring at her in disbelief.

I yanked the door open and pulled Jazz's mother in with me, to show I was serious. I felt if we really wanted to go somewhere to eat, we had the right. Everything and everyone stopped dead still. Everyone was watching us as I guided her over to a table. The look on Jazz mother's face was sheer terror!

"You really shouldn't be messin with them," she spoke quietly.

Shaken by the way she looked, I thought she might have a heart attack! I got up and left, pulling her, stifflegged, behind me. I think she was in shock.

Back at the hospital we used a vending machine to get snacks and continued to wait. Jazz's little girl was stillborn! We fell into each other's arms, sobbing. I saw the baby. She was so beautiful, looked perfect and I couldn't believe anything was wrong with her. A light skinned little angel, looking just like Red, her father.

I never knew about Jazz getting an official report on the cause of death, but I felt it was the prolonged labor - The hospital’s fault. They gave Jazz a run around for months, in her search for answers, but through her mother, I learned every bone in the baby's body was broken – proof enough for me. It was horrible that it took someone else's tragedy to help me forget myself.

Jazz cried for weeks. I stayed close to her, trying to help and eventually her pain deepened mine. We were kindred spirits, now. Jazz sat folding baby clothes, placing them in boxes for storage, she calmly said, "My baby was gonna be dressed sharp wasn't she?"

"Definitely." I answered.

“Dani, a loss can rattle our world, but life goes on."

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She was studying me intensely. Jazz took pride in being strong and stoic and I imagined she wanted to pass some of that power on to me. Even while suffering her own pain Jazz could see I wasn't doing so well. Her words resonated within me. I caught my breath; I knew it was time to move on with my life. For me, it was like taking a hot shower after an injury, the muscles relax but the ache remains. I left Jazz alone and went home, thinking of nothing but Chance. I just didn't have Jazz's strength.

Crossing my threshold alone, I cried, weakened, and spent.

Lacking the energy to put on pajamas, I fell into bed in my panties. The pain wasn't severe but it was piercing.

Anything that reminded me of him shot right through me.

In the mornings, my toothbrush seemed to weigh five pounds. Sleep was a kind of peace and I wasn't getting much of it. Niecy called and asked if I would be interested in taking some vacation time and going on that New York vacation we'd planned many years ago. She still had our New York vacation account and had contributed money over the years. It would be a four-day, three night stay over the Labor Day weekend. She had enough to fly DeAndre, and me, to Detroit. Kacy would keep DeAndre and Patrick for us. Niecy and I would fly to New York City the following morning. I told her I would think about it.

"Dani, you need to get away."

"I guess so."

"Promise me you'll think about it."

"I promise."

I was looking to put my pain to rest; perhaps this trip would be a great way to ease some of my misery. I went to work the next day to look at the vacation schedule.

I really had experienced a detachment from the world. When I lay in the quiet hours after midnight, unable 401

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to sleep, my imagination had terrible power. In my mind, I’d go to a favorite place. A place of comfort. I'd lie there on a beach, but the ocean roars ashore dragging up the wreckage of my life, tossing it in my lap, and rolling back out to sea... Uncomfortable, I got up and wrote a letter.

My Dearest Chance: When I look up to the heavens, you are the stars in the sky.

You are the music of my soul, the trumpet of my life. You are my very own “Master Drummer." I thought the world of you.

Our time together ended too soon. When I need to see you, I crawl inside my soul and you are there waiting for me. I adore you. I miss you. I love you.

Dani.

To Those Who Are Concerned: My name is Patrice "Niecy" Noel Nigeria. The trip to New York was a lifelong dream of mine. Dani and I were finally going. I just had to chronicle our adventures, myself. Dani was a little down. I was hoping the trip would give her the shot in the arm she needed. My son Patrick and her son, DeAndre were happily settled at Kacy’s. We were on our way! Once we arrive in New York, a van was scheduled to pick us up at the airport and transport us to the Americana Hotel and then our adventure would begin.

When I first met Dani, I knew we would be friends. It was a spiritual recognition. Our lives were acutely similar in so 402

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many respects. Whenever she spoke of the drama in her life, which is rare for her to do; she would be utterly candid. She was always so vulnerable that her life was one terrible shock after another. By the time I took my seat in her life, the tragic opera was in full swing. I always tried to help her with wise counsel, but I hadn't always had control of my own life. I wanted to help support her emotionally.

She's a most wonderful friend. She spoke often of her vile mother, not for sympathy, for understanding, because when she was young, she had such an awful vision of herself, of who she was and still is. As far as her marriage, I don't know what to say, her husband was an odious man.

Once he had his fill of her, he discarded her, but wouldn't let her go! He had such clandestine ways. I cringed every time I saw him. Life pounced on her. I didn't know people could anguish for years and survive. She did. I admired her ability to keep moving forward. I would go to the end of the earth for someone I admired. When life got to be too much she'd reach out to me and that forged our friendship. Sadly, though, she needed more than just a friend, she needed love. Most often, she tried to heal herself in private. Dani's life was a minefield! She needed someone strong enough to defuse the bombs and for her that was Chance.

Dani just couldn't see her beauty! With her silken light peachy complexion, sparkling big hazel eyes and full lips she was gorgeous. Her wavy hair, the lightest of browns, the sun dancing light off its soft luxurious waves.

The way people made her feel about herself was a magnificent conspiracy. She had a splendid figure, fuller at times, but it always turned men's heads. Her heart made her beguiling to others, her voice so pure you hung onto every word.

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Dani had always stepped lightly, courting the shadows to avoid a slap in the face or the lashing of the belt of life, yet she had always been the one that fate dealt a sour hand. I knew she was suffering, I could tell by the drop of her shoulders, and her tendency to look down at the ground in lieu of holding her head high. She suffered mostly in silence. I think the drip, drip, drip of solitude, she, unceasingly untouched by love, was causing her to become unraveled.

Only, I had no clue, how close to undone she'd become.

At the beginning of our trip, Dani's face sparkled, she was so exuberant and curious. I knew that she needed to explore a world outside her own. Something to make her forget herself. My heart gladdened at the thought that I could provide that escape for her. Boarding the airplane, I could see that Dani dreaded another flight, but at least the flight from Detroit to New York was a short one. I was worried and watchful.

To Those Who Are Concerned: We settled in our seats. After takeoff, the stewardess asked if we wanted a drink.

"Yes," Dani said with absolute consent. "We both will have one!"

I looked at her.

"And what will you ladies have?" The stewardess continued.

Dani looked at me and I gave her a shrug. Her behavior was uncharacteristic. I, watching her with a blank expression, was trying to understand. We were heading to 404

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New York, the most exciting place in the world, and she was worried about a drink! “Martini." She blurted out.

I didn't even know what a Martini was.

"Martini?" I asked.

"I heard it on a soap opera. It sounds sophisticated, doesn't it?"

"No." She looked at me with her forehead wrinkled up; her nose squelched up and said, "I hate flying, I need a drink."

"All right," I said with hesitation.

The stewardess brought the drinks to us on a tray, we both looked up at the same time. We thanked her as we each retrieved our drink from the tray. The drinks had an olive floating in them. We sat staring at them, at first, and then glimpsing at each other and took a sip.

"Ugh. That's nasty!" She said, staring down into the glass. "I hate olives, too."

"It's the nastiest thing I've ever tasted." I agreed.

I'd known Dani to drink a little wine, but this stuff was atrocious. Defiantly, Dani pinched her nose and gulped the rest of her drink down.

"Pinch your nose and gulp it fast." She said breathlessly.

To Those Who Are Concerned: Dani kept insisting that I drink my drink. She was holding her own stomach; I bet her guts were burning. I said, "I'm not drinking that!"

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She took my drink, pinched her nose, and let the liquid slide into her mouth, down into the canyons of her belly. I couldn't believe it. She got tipsy quickly and started to cry. She began to complain about her girdle! She complained that it was too tight, all in the earshot of other passengers. She ran to the bathroom and threw up. I stood outside the door, concerned. Once, we were seated, again, I began to complain about her behavior, she just smiled radiantly, saying, “It's okay. I took that damn girdle off, Niecy." She slurred.

Opening her small purse, she showed me that her girdle was crammed inside, leaving little room for anything else.

She stumbled back to the restroom, I in tow, to throw up again. I was exhausted when we returned to our seats. It had been a long morning. I fell back in my seat, as she said, "I loved him, Niecy."

This time she was blubbering.

"I know."

"Why did he leave me?"

“He didn’t leave you, he will always be with you.”

She laid her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. I was relieved. I had to maneuver Dani through the airport after we departed from the plane. She managed baggage pickup, but fell asleep during the ride to the hotel. By the time we reached our hotel room, her head was throbbing.

I told her, "That's what you get. Now you're going to feel like shit on your first day in New York."

“I’ll never drink, again." She groaned.

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To Those Who Are Concerned: The Americana Hotel! Wow! What else could I say? Each floor titled after an American state, we were in New Hampshire. The first thing I did was rush over to a window and look out over New York City! Dani stood next to me with a cool rag on her head. Horribly thirsty, she took one of the glasses, filled it with water, and took some aspirin. Nothing was going to stop us from enjoying the city. We were already encountering things that swept us along in a rush of experiences that felt enchanted. We were going to Radio City Music Hall that night. We got dressed. We were going to explore the city on foot, first.

We began by skulked about the hotel, not sure of where to go, looking into every room, nook, and cranny available to us. It was a beautiful hotel. We even met two male hotel employees, but we were in a hurry to leave.

After we walked up and down Times Square, ate at a small diner and ventured a few blocks this way and that, it was near the close of the day. We went back to our room and dressed for Radio City Music Hall. The doorman hailed us a cab, which felt so classy; he even held the cab door open for us.

"You girls visiting?" The cab driver asked. “Yes," we echoed and giggled.

"Where you girls from?"

"Detroit."

"Florida."

Dani told him how excited we were and that it was our first trip. He drove us around for about fifteen minutes, chatting about the sites and events in the city. He finally pulled up in front of Radio City Music Hall. We paid the cab fare, stepped out of the cab and stood there in awe.

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The marquee had to be a block long. Inside, its grandeur, glitz, and glamour surrounded us. The draperies, carpets, and chandeliers astounded us. The place was larger than life. The show we saw was fabulous. After the show, we stepped outside, we stood a while, breathing the air of New York City, watching the people, the way they dressed and the way they moved. I glanced up and down the streets and noticed we were around the corner from the Americana Hotel. All we had to do was, walk around the block to get there. The cab driver had ripped us off. It was a moment of lightheartedness, though; we laughed.

From then on we walked or remained as passengers on a tour bus. The next day we had reservations to see the city on a tour and tickets to the Broadway show, "The Tap Dance Kid." To Those Who Are Concerned: I barely slept from all of the excitement, Dani even less. In the darkness, she moved quietly, like some nocturnal cat. Moving in the shadows to stand, silently, watching out of the window. Dani rubbed her forehead, willing good thoughts to find its way past Chance's death, past all her worries for DeAndre, and past all of her painful memories.

We got on the tour bus the next morning. When we reached China Town the wonderful aromas from the Chinese cooks made it impossible to live without eating there. The authentic decor puts the look of the Chinese restaurants back home to shame. As we rode past the Brooklyn Bridge, which spread over the East River, I gawked because I hadn't ever seen a bridge before. We couldn't grasp the concept of New York as a group of 408

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islands, although we were looking at the suspension bridge connecting Manhattan to Brooklyn.

As the tour bus rumbled on, we saw an area called the Bowery. If one tried to walk down that street, he or she would have to step over the bodies lying along the sidewalks. At first, Dani turned away and then I watched her peering out of the window, loosing herself, if just for a moment. I was staring, too, silently pleading for one of them to move, and was relieved when I saw one of them jostle a bit. Dani turned to me, silent, tears in her eyes, I don't know what confused or offended her most - The fact that people lived like that or that no one seemed to help them.

When we passed through Harlem, we were thrilled to see the Apollo Theater, but then I focused on the people, particularly because some of them were throwing rocks at our bus. No one let that deter them. We were smiling the whole time admiring the fascinating city with all of its quirks. We went to the Statue of Liberty. The bus, of people, disembarked at Battery Park and we boarded the Liberty Island Ferry. We were going to the Statue of Liberty! Lady Liberty really was green! We chose to climb the iron, spiral stairs to her crown and look out over New York. Her insides were like the ironworks of a new highrise under construction surrounded by giant iron walls!

That climb grew to be the longest, sweatiest, most miserable thing we had ever done. Hot and exhausted, we wanted to turn around and go back down. You cannot turn around and go back down in the Statue of Liberty!

Horrible. We stopped often, shifting the load of our body from side to side or to sit on benches nestled in corners on the way up. Our clothing was drenched; our hair was wet as mops, dripping onto our shoulders, but we finally reached the top. As embarrassed as we were by our 409

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appearance, the view out of the Statues’ crown would always be one of our most unforgettable memories.

Magnificent! Our makeup was running down our faces.

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. My knees were so weak and shaky, I barely made it out of there.

Dani wasn’t in any better shape. We were so glad it was the last stop on that tour.

That hadn't spoiled anything for us, we went back, showered and was ready to go on Broadway to see, “The Tap Dance Kid!” I saw Dani, light up, and flush. It was obvious she drew great pleasure sitting in the audience of a Broadway play. She said she had always wanted to be an actress on stage. Something I hadn't known. The delight on her face caused me to stare at her more than the action on stage. She was watching those actors in absolute admiration and amazement. As we left our seats, she kept looking back, furtively, at the stage and awesome auditorium.

To Those Who Are Concerned: During our second day of traveling by tour bus, our third day in New York, we saw the United Nations building.

We stopped at the Rockefeller Center, and sat in the audience of a talk show and ended up on the top of the one hundred two story landmark Empire State Building. I swear the building does seem to sway in the wind! Dani seemed distracted, again. Thinking about Chance, probably, swollen with the need for his intensity, she was burning with the desire to kiss him again. She needed him to hold her, badly, she had said, late the night before. She wished he could have been on the tour with us. Painful, 410

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miserable, gut wrenching loneliness had washed over Dani. I could do nothing about it.

Back at our hotel, we saw the two male hotel employees, Bellhops, we had met earlier. They were nice guys, they took us out for early evening coffee. Dani seemed to perk up slightly. We felt glamorous when Dani and I dressed for and attended a dinner and a show at the Copacabana, that night. The place was stunning! It had a performance stage with a dance floor in front of it. We watched several couples dancing and enjoyed a performance by Barry Manilow. That night we collapsed in bed. That night, Dani stayed on her knees willing her mind to get better, telling God, she's done everything she knows to do.

"I can't live without him," were the whispering sounds coming out of her in the dark. She cried for the first time since we’d gotten off the plane.

"Dani, don't talk like that, yes you can!"

I whispered back, in the dark. But, she was her own secret keeper. She was suffering.

To Those Who Are Concerned: On our last day in New York we were sad, hated to leave, we had to do some packing and preparing to leave; checkout was eleven a.m. We got up at five thirty in the morning, walked into one of those little diners down the street, and had breakfast. Our stay in New York had been blissful. Afterwards, we strolled up and down a few streets enjoying the sights and came across a Subway entrance.

Curious, we stood at the top of the entrance and stared down the steps. “What do you think?” I asked Dani.

“Scary looking,” she said.

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We took a deep breath and walked down. The subway was desolate looking and had poorly lit platforms, with graffiti-strewn walls and roving gangs like groups of boys who were staring at us. Once, we witnessed a man jumping the turnstile, and all of the commotion it caused, that was it, we ran back up the steps screaming, yet, fear can be seductive. We laughed at ourselves.

We gathered up our coins and caught a cab to Fifth Avenue. We wanted to see what the famous shopping district was like. After browsing, outside of the stores, we decided to brave a subway ride back to the hotel, short of money and needing to hurry back and pack, in order to check out on time. I told Dani we just couldn't go home and not be able to say we rode the subway! I felt entitled to the experience.

I didn't know Dani had a fear of basement-like spaces. I didn't notice that she slowed her gait as we reached the bottom of the stairs. Being an obedient friend, she moved deeper into the subway with me. It was a bit frightening, for me, too, at first. I imagined that being underground in the subway, was like being in a giant basement for her. Dani stood with her eyes toward the ground. Her heart beats, fast - too fast. I should have grabbed her hand, turned around and raced fast and far away from there, but I didn't. I couldn't help but look at the faces around us. They seemed to sneak in from different directions. There was fear, excitement, uncertainty, nonchalance, and impatience as they waited to make their way to their individual destinations and work.

For Dani, the tunnel was beginning to spin rapidly and I saw her shut her eyes and place her hand on the side of her face. She glanced over at me. We were standing on the platform waiting for the train. Painful, miserable, gut 412

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wrenching loneliness had washed over Dani. I was worried about her. She finally seemed calmed down. Way off from somewhere, I heard a train. I stood there peering down the track. I had a weird feeling, the hair on the back of my neck rose up. Dani closed her eyes again. She opened them and gazed straight ahead.

Something soothes her, relaxed her. The tranquility on Dani's face was startling. Her hand clutched the gold chain around her neck, Chance's chain, sent to her by his ex wife. Was it Chance that she was seeing? Perhaps intense undying love, of the living, for those who are dead, can be a magnet. She could smell him, that good, clean, masculine smell. She could see him clearly, every inch of him standing there, waiting. The roaring locomotive of the train, halfway to the point of where it would stop, was hurtling through the dark tunnel. As the locomotive broke into view, the prying eyes of its passengers were peering out of the windows as the rest of the train slid rapidly in after it.

Dani's legs, shaking and trembling, face flushed joyously, somehow or another she was prepared to feel Chance's spirit. Life had already drained her tears. She closed her eyes, wearing a tall mask, happy and content, she had no choice but to surrender. She stepped forward and leaned into his comforting arms.

"Chance!" She shouted, just loud enough for me to hear, I turned and looked in her direction, drawn by her voice, just in time to see life jettisoned her off the platform, onto the tracks, in front of the moving train. I passed out. Is death a victory of goodness over evil? No one can ever hurt her again!

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The local newspapers read: New York Times September fifth, nineteen eighty three Woman Visiting New York Jumps In Front Of Subway Train

By Times Staff Writer A Metro train fatally struck tourist, a thirty three year-old woman, after she jumped onto the tracks in front of an approaching train. Her name withheld until the next of kin has been notified. The woman, killed instantly, was pronounced dead at New York Presbyterian Hospital at eleven a.m., was traveling with a friend.

To Those Who Are Concerned: Dani was pronounced dead, just at our appointed check out time, eleven a.m., at the Americana Hotel. The Bellhop who’d taken her out for coffee was tapping on our hotel room door to remind us.

To Those Who Are Concerned: In Florida there was an article that reads: ORLANDO SENTINEL September eighth, nineteen eighty three 414

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Woman Dies on Tracks of Subway in New York

By Sentinel Staff Writer Local resident, Detroit native, Dani Marie (Dobson) Ransom jumped in front of an approaching subway train, after touring New York City, on September fifth, nineteen eighty three, to the horror of several onlookers and her travel companion, Patrice Nigeria.

Ms. Nigeria was quoted as saying, tears and horror on her face, "I thought everything was okay, she seemed to be in good spirits and having so much fun."

Upon further questioning, "I hate to think"... She broke down, "I can't talk... Too much pain." She walked away.

Ms. Ransom, leaves behind her young son, DeAndre Ransom, aged nine. No details of her injuries were made available. When this reporter reached her next of kin, William and Ernestine Dobson, by telephone, they had no comment.

To Those Who Are Concerned: She didn’t know it, but Dani was left a great deal of money In Chance’s will. He’d evidently had some very lucrative investments. I would like to think that Mr. Chancelor Wiley and Ms. Dani Marie Dobson Ransom are together, living in that impressive White House with the White Picket Fence, gloriously in love.

Sincerely, Niecy 415

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TO DANCE WITH UGLY PEOPLE All Rights Reserved Š

Summary: As a youth Dani suffers through abandonment, resentment and hardships that plagues her life. Experience the strength & measures she took to find happiness and respect toward the woman she has become.

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