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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you God for the special gifts and talents You have bestowed upon me. The lessons You have taught me my entire life weren’t taken to heart. Thank You for continuing to teach me. The Life Exam I’ve received these last five years was long and hard in its instruction but I will never forget it.

Diana, no matter what you accomplish in this life I will always be proud of you. Never fear the unknown. Reach until you get it. Come to me if you don’t. I’m Mommy, I’ll always be here for you with love.

Dasia, my sweet little Poopah de Doop. I simply adore you. You came to me when I just didn’t know what I needed. You made me breathe when I had no air. I promise you the world is yours. Mommy loves you.

My mother, my father and my brother. Sometimes I wish we were on 22nd Street again. In my memories it was just perfect.

Mrs. Billie Hudson, thank you for your expertise. You did a wonderful job. Are you ready for novel number two? Miss Sharon Gray of Eve’s Literary Services, thank you for your input on part one. Candace, the book cover lady, thank you for your patience and skills. To Michelle, my ATL therapist. Thank you for always listening. Gevell, Keisha, Sheila, Turgenia, Miss Lisa, Jackie, and Linay. You ladies are always there for me. I truly appreciate all of you. Teresa D, my number one Niagara Falls fan. Jamie, my number one Niagara Falls fan. I love you both.

If I haven’t mentioned you I apologize. I truly thank everyone who has ever read a paragraph, a page or a sentence, and encouraged me to write.

If you have ever been in love, or something that was within the classification, this book is for you.

Wanda D. Hudson

Prologue of My Life

Part One

What else can I possibly do to make him marry me? I don’t ask for anything but his love, I’ve lost weight for him, and if he asks me to get on my knees and beg I will. Maybe he found out about my miscarriage. Is that why he treats me so bad?

“Lynnde! Don’t you hear me calling you? Is dinner ready yet? I’m hungry.”

“I’m coming right now, Otto.”

This should do it. He asked for steak, mashed potatoes and peach cobbler for dessert. Through his stomach and into his heart. Yep, this should do it.

Part Two

“Why don’t you move back home with your mama and daddy? I’m trying to get on my feet. If I get a place in my name and I’m late with the rent then what?”

“Don’t worry about the rent, Terrance. I’ll pay it. I’ll pay all the bills.”

“Aight. Can you start by paying my car note?”

I should end this right now. I don’t love him. Hell, I don’t even love myself. Speak up, Lynnde.

“Well, are you going to pay it or not?”

“Yes, Terrance. Of course I will.”

Part Three

Thank you, God, for allowing my eyes to see another beautiful day, especially this one, my fortieth birthday. I can’t believe I’m forty. Earlier in my life, I thought forty would be the age when you could stick me with a fork and I’d be done.

When I was in my twenties, of course, I knew all there was to know. During those years life was made up of money, love, and sex. Once I hit the big three-zero, I thought I was an expert and wouldn’t need any help with the coming years. Now as I look back, I realize what a dumb ass I truly was.

During my early years, the one fact that eluded me was life is a learning process, a never-ending education. The more knowledge you receive, the more fulfilling your life will become. Open your mind. Listen. Don’t only hear.

And with that, let the story begin.

A Fool Is Born

I’m A Big Girl Now_____________________________

My first venture into the real world was a trip to Florida as a so-called adult. I went to attend a stewardess school, but I blew that opportunity in a major way.

At age eighteen I was pregnant and got rid of my baby by wishing her away. You should know that wishing was one of the things I did best. Wishing my baby away was much more despicable than any man made remedy. I made a mistake by thinking I was an adult and acted like a child when the reality of life confronted me. The saying, “Be careful what you wish for,” is oh, so true. I never prayed much, but when I did, it was always something bad to happen. I suffered a miscarriage. God gave me the most beautiful gift He could give, and I wished He would take it away because of my stupidity and ignorance. Death should’ve come and taken me away for having such hateful thoughts.

My father and I didn’t get along very well during my teen years so I blamed him, not the in-your-face fact that being eighteen and ignorant was my fault. If he’d treated me better, I wouldn’t have been in such a rush to leave home, and my pregnancy never would’ve happened.

One day, during my senior year of high school, I saw an advertisement for a stewardess school in Florida. That was it for me, my ticket out of his house. I figured I’d go to the school for the six weeks it required, get the training, and make tons of money as a flight attendant. Then, I’d take care of my mother so well she’d never want to see him again. This had to work. This, I had to do.

The best part of the deal was that the training was free, as long as you signed an agreement to take a job with an airline of the school’s choice. That was fine with me, I just wanted out of that house.

Everyday my father spouted lectures on air travel safety and it’s history. We never interacted much but got along pretty good during my last weeks at home. Most of his energy towards me was for the fact that he was happy that the school was free. I should’ve given him free things all along if that’s what it took to make him happy. But what could I have given him if my unconditional love wasn’t getting the job done?

My parents threw me a big going away party that almost made me change my mind after seeing all the people who came and hearing all the testimonies of love for me. I started to think, “Why should they miss me, I’ll just stay here.” My long-range goals told me otherwise.

My best friend, Esta, (no, not Esther) was there with her fiancé, Larry. We’d been best friends ever since her family moved down the street from us when we were both eight years old. She was an only child like me, so we became play sisters. Larry became her play boyfriend at age ten, her real boyfriend at age sixteen, and now it seems that they are in it for the long haul.

Many of my relatives were there from my mother’s side, and a few of my female friends from school came as well. I usually hung out with Esta and Larry, you know, like a third wheel. They never seemed to mind, and if they did, they never said so.

School and home, at least that’s what my father always said, were enough for me. I couldn’t wait to leave. Countless people told me I blossomed into a beautiful young woman, and I was in a hurry to show myself to the world.

The looks that I received from the boys at school blew my head up to the size of a watermelon. I felt like one of the Super Friends. Kapow! Blam! Boom! Any woman would die for the breasts, booty, and thighs that I had. It was a shocker because it seemed like I transformed overnight. I still stare at my freshman picture and smile at how shapely I was for a sixteen-year-old girl.

My father wouldn’t allow me to date boys and as he put it, “All them boys wanna do is get into your desperate pants. Ain’t no man gonna want no woman that’s been all over town and got a bunch of raggedy ass kids trailing along behind her.”

I was only a teenager and never understood what he meant by calling my pants desperate. The only thing I put in my pants was me. He did allow me to go to my high school prom with a boy of his choice.

What a nerd he was. He was the only guy besides Larry who attended my going away party. All the boys I knew were scared of my father. They thought he was mean and crazy. Hell, I knew he was mean and crazy. They were right. I don’t blame them for not coming. My father played racquetball with Willard’s father and it was either, “This boy or the TV.” Reluctantly I replied, “Thank you, daddy.”

Willard Sims. Willard wore black-rimmed glasses, plaid bow ties, and I’d swear his father’s leisure suit pants. My father probably didn’t think he was the type to try anything like the cool boys would.

Yeah right. Every time he looked at me he drooled. When we were slow dancing, I only danced because I liked the song, he tried to move his hands from my waist to my rump. I gave him an “uh-uh fool, don’t try that mess” look, and his hands moved up to my shoulders.

When Willard brought me home he whined for a kiss on my lips.

“Duh-huh, Lynnde. Uh, huh, can I have a kiss? Duh-huh a nice long wet one would be nice. Let’s use our tongues, too.”

N-A-S-T-Y. I didn’t want my first kiss to be with that dork.

“Willard, kissing is special to me. I want my first kiss to be with my husband, okay?”

He still wouldn’t give up trying to place his lips on mine. Willard looked at the ground and then circled his head as if he was examining the universe. He startled me when he shuffled his feet like he was about to roll a strike.

“Duh-huh, let’s get married then.”

Under my breath I muttered the words, “stupid ass,” and was quite rude by going into the house and closing the door in his face. I wanted to slam it but my mother would have had a fit. Willard was outside a while because I heard his car start up as I undressed. Before going upstairs to my room, I was busy staring at one of my prom pictures that I took with Esta and Larry and telling my parents about my evening.

Three days after my big shindig, I arrived in Florida. So many emotions were running through my mind and body, but excitement was the one that stood out the most. My mother and I cried at the airport and my father told me to buck up and be a man about it. That statement made me think he wanted a son.

When the plane landed, I felt like I traveled to another country I was supposed to conquer. There were people from the school holding signs letting us know which way to go. I looked like an idiot half walking and running towards them, making sure they weren’t going to leave me.

Upon arriving at the school I met my roommates. Eliza Parker was from North Carolina, and Tamara Hunt was from Texas. They were also eighteen, fresh out of high school, and had the same high hopes as me. There were twenty-five of us in the class; sixteen women, and nine men.

Well, we all know I never became a stewardess, and you wouldn’t have either if you met him. Who could concentrate on stewardess business after seeing the finest male creature to ever walk the earth? Keep in mind I was a young know-it-all who learned what she thought was correct in less than twenty-four hours.

Lamar, Lamar, Lamar. Uh, uh, uh. Lamar Hilton was twenty-eight, beautiful, and would become my husband. Please stop laughing and let me finish my story. He stood six feet-two inches tall and had smooth sweet butter pecan brown skin. His eyes were big, sexy and brown, and he had a Rudolph Valentino mixed with Billy Dee Williams flair. His lips were plump, and I would share my first kiss with them. He had muscles, more muscles, and a voice that could soothe any savage beast, so just imagine what it did to me. All he had to do was show his pillar white teeth-inviting smile, and he had me right where he wanted me.

Lamar brought me a rose to class every day and took me to dinner every night. I was going to leave out the part about the roses being fake and the dinners being at a fast food joint, so you wouldn’t see how dumb I really was, but if I’m going to tell my story, I might as well tell the truth.

I’m not making excuses for myself, but I was just out of high school, had never been away from home, and didn’t know anything about men or being with one. There was no way I was prepared for what was about to happen to me. What was I supposed to do with a grown man I thought I had to have? Nothing. He knew it and I knew it. In this life who ever does the right thing before checking out the wrong one first? Many of us do what’s pleasing to us or whatever feels good. It doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong.

My problem was I always was in such a hurry. For years my mother said not to rush my life along, that age would come fast enough. I hated to admit it but she was right. She was always right. Some people are smart like that, so don’t work against it, just accept it.

I was almost kicked out of the school for being late and missing class. With the instructions I gave, I could’ve crashed a plane that was still on the ground. I was in love. Uh, that statement didn’t call for any laughter so cut me some slack, will you?

Lamar was from Detroit and said he was on a mission to better his life. He didn’t volunteer any more information and I didn’t ask. Who cared, I was his woman, he was my man, and we’d be married one day. Now I’m laughing. How could I have been so stupid?

After one week of him giving me the beauty queen treatment, he said we should become one. Lamar claimed I was his soul mate and he wanted to show me how much he cared for me. People search their whole lives for their soul mate, and I found mine on my first try. Dumbass. He also said it was going to be beautiful, and he’d be gentle with me, since it was my first time and all.

I told Eliza of my upcoming sexual romp and would’ve told Tamara but she dropped out of school the first week. She had a nightmare of being killed in a plane crash and that was enough for her.

Since I didn’t have much money Eliza and I went shopping for my first time outfit at a store called

Cheap Is Where It’s At. I flipped over a two-piece blue short set that was neither made of silk or satin. To this day I don’t know what the material was, but I hoped Lamar would love it as much as I did. Fear became my friend shortly after my purchase. I told it to leave because I trusted Lamar totally. Lamar loved me even if he never told me so and would never do anything to hurt me. After we were together physically, he’d tell me he loved me, I was sure.

We arrived at the Roadside Motel at 7:30 that evening. As soon as we walked into the room he began kissing me. He stuck his tongue into my mouth and then licked my face. I thought that was nasty. Who wants someone else’s spit all over them? And another tongue in your mouth, too? I didn’t know what was coming next and the fear that left me earlier returned with its best friend, terror.

Insecurities crammed my mind as I excused myself from the room.

“Lamar, uh, I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t take to long. I have a special thing for you,” was his sexually vibed response.

I backed away from him and as I bumped into the doorframe I said, “Oh, uh, okay.”

In the bathroom I sat on the toilet watching my hands tremble. Lamar asked if I was all right, so I must’ve been in there a long time. I answered “yes” but should’ve said no, came out, and told him I wasn’t ready for this. Of course I didn’t do what was right for me. I put on my seven-dollar outfit, decided it was now or never, and walked out of the bathroom shaking like a stripper at closing time.

Lamar had fallen asleep so I turned to walk back into the bathroom. I planned on asking for some extra courage to come from somewhere to join me. I was unlucky in my attempt. Lamar woke up.

“Hey, lover girl,” he mysteriously whispered to me. “Where are you going? Come on over here and let me give you something good.”

I didn’t say anything as I turned to him with a mild look of fright on my face. He was totally naked.

Lamar smiled and started to rise up off the bed. His body parts rose right up along with him. As he walked towards me I thought, “What in the world is he going to do with that thing and where is he going to put it? Won’t it get in the way?”

By then I was petrified and lost my senses. Instead of running or telling him that I was scared, I stood still like a frozen fudgecicle, complete with a stick up my rear end. Lamar reached me, pulled me close to him, and began kissing my face, neck and mouth. He made sounds that I never heard before. The only thing I was paying attention to was that thing down there. It was touching me and I wanted to cry, faint, and throw up.

Lamar hypnotized me with his eyes and growled in a below ground zero voice, “Don’t be scared, it’s going to be good.”

When he picked me up and carried me to the bed I felt like a queen in a romantic movie. My heart started moving up out of my stomach but that feeling didn’t last for long. I felt sick all over again when he got on top of me. That thing was on me. It was down there. Nothing has ever been down there.

What was I supposed to do now? I love my mother, but she didn’t tell me anything about this. All she said was that sex was beautiful, only have it with your husband, and it was going to hurt. Why didn’t she tell me what to do or how I should feel? Too late now.

Lamar told me to relax and that he wouldn’t hurt me. That fool didn’t know what he was talking about. I do know that he enjoyed himself because he kept saying how good it was, and making some other incoherent noises.

This was supposed to be enjoyable? My entire first experience was traumatizing and the pain was unspeakable. How can you enjoy what felt like a Mack truck trying to enter a cheerio? Picture that for a second will you? Talk about tears. I cried out loud, but he didn’t hear me because the louder I cried, the louder he yelled. I was scared his penis was going to come out of my back, or get stuck inside my ribcage.

No, my first experience wasn’t enjoyable at all. Where was the gentleness? He rammed that thing inside of me and kept on ramming it. How many times was it supposed to be rammed? Maybe he wanted a prize for a certain number of stabs and jabs. I wasn’t ready for sex at all.

Oh, my knees were past my ears and damn near embedded in the pillow. I wasn’t a gymnast going for the gold so none of it felt good or natural to me.

Lamar stopped drilling for oil a few hours later. Thank you, Jesus. He asked me if I enjoyed him. Arrogant idiot. I said yes and should’ve kept my mouth shut because we did it again and again and again. Then he went to sleep.

My first romp with Lamar felt like an attack by some kind of wild beast - a gorilla running wild in the city with the SWAT team, the FBI, and the Secret Service in pursuit. My initial thoughts were that Lamar was fine with all the trimmings, but if this is what sex was like, he’d better find himself a new love.

As I lay next to him in the fetal position afraid to move, I needed my mother. She truly loved me if she did this with my father to get me. Oh, God. I just pictured my parents having sex.

While straightening myself up and walking to the bathroom, my mind was filled with one question. Did all the pain I just felt come from one woman named Eve because she ate an apple?

At some point in my brief lifespan, someone told me Eve is the reason hurricanes are named after women; women talk too much, are so nosey, get beat up, cheated on and are just plain nags. The person that said it was a man. Dummy.

After that night I had officially moved to a town called Fuckville because that’s all Lamar wanted to do. No more fake roses and cheap dinners, just a whole lot of sex; mornings, evenings, and everything in between. Most of the time I didn’t want to have sex with Lamar, but he was a man, and you know you must please a man.

Eliza said I was crazy and that having sex that much wasn’t normal. Still, she high-fived me while ranting and raving, “Thank God for the pill.”

Out loud I replied, “Yes, thank God for the pill.” But silently I thought, “What’s the pill?”

Now look, if I knew nothing about sex and how to do it, what was I supposed to know about protection? The dumb look on my face prompted Eliza to blast me with, “You do know about the pill don’t you?” I didn’t answer her and was cursed out for the second time in my life. She told me to pray that I wasn’t pregnant. Where was my period anyway?

For once I didn’t make a wish or say a prayer. Being pregnant wouldn’t be so bad. Lamar and I loved each other so a baby would be complete our family. No, he never told me he loved me, but his actions spoke louder than any words. His sexual actions showed me he loved me. A man wouldn’t have sex with you if he didn’t love you, right? Who just laughed?

Only two weeks of school remained and Lamar and I went into over drive. He acted like he was never going to see me again. He knew he was never going to see me again is the correct statement. During our last night together, I asked Lamar what would he do if I were to get pregnant. He told me all the things he knew I wanted to hear, including how he’d marry me and we’d be the perfect family.

“Why did you ask me that?” He curiously added. “I know you want a career and want to wait to have kids. It’s not possible because I know you’re on the pill, but I’ll be ready and waiting when our time comes.”

What’s up with the pill anyway? “Yeah, Lamar. You’re right. Uh, I was only making conversation.” We then started our final love making session and finally stopped, signaling our last time together. I didn’t know this at the moment; I thought I’d be married in the coming months and my life would be wonderful.

At the end of the graduation ceremony Lamar and I discussed the possibility of his coming to see me in a week. “Damn, girl. I hope I can make it one week without you. You know how I can’t sleep without gettin’ some lovin’ from you first.”

I wanted to ask him to marry me right then and there. I explained my home life to him and we agreed to stay at a hotel when he came to visit. This conversation took place at the airport where we shared a final farewell kiss and went our separate ways.

Three smiling faces and a bundle of balloons greeted me as I exited the plane. I was happy to see my parents and couldn’t wait to tell Esta of my first grown up experience. She spent the night at my house and we stayed up all night gabbing. I told my parents how well school went and about the people I met, all the while bragging about how the life of a stewardess was the career for me. Of course I didn’t tell them about Lamar. I’d wait until he came to visit, and we’d tell them of our love and impending marriage together. What’s so funny?

My life went on even though I thought I wouldn’t make it without Lamar. Three days had passed and I hadn’t heard from him. Most likely he was busy getting reacquainted with his family and friends.

On the fourth day I decided to call him. Instead of hearing his sexy voice, all I heard was a recording saying the number had been disconnected. Figuring I misdialed, I dialed again, and stopped pounding the keypad twenty times later after finally accepting that it was the wrong number.

The period that never came kept me in the bathroom checking myself. Esta suggested that I go to the free clinic to take a pregnancy test. My naivety showed and I blew it off as a time zone thing.

Esta let me have it then. “Lynnde, New York and Florida have the same time! What’s wrong with you?”

Knowing it was my fright and my stupidity working against me I fought back. I listened to Esta, knowing she’d never harm me, and went to the clinic. Once the nurse told me I was pregnant, I started to cry like an innocent man in the electric chair. Esta said I should tell my mother, but I decided to tell Lamar first. Once he arrived we’d tell my parents together. Please let him call tonight.

He didn’t. The next day I called information and was given a number that wasn’t even close to the one Lamar gave me. That was probably just a mistake. Lots of people forget their phone numbers, right? Maybe he did try to call. We didn’t have call waiting so every time someone was on the phone I behaved like a drug fiend. When no one was on I kept picking it up, so I was a wreck either way. All those feelings were behind me now. I had his number and I couldn’t wait to tell him of our joyous news. I’d have to put my career on hold but I didn’t care. Lamar loved me. I’d have a good husband and a baby, that’s all I needed.

My heart jumped championship double-dutch as I dialed his number. When he answered four rings later, my stomach did the jitterbug.

I heard aggravation and sleepiness along with his, “Hello.”

“Hi, Lamar,” came from me in a short excited breath. “How are you? I haven’t heard from you and I miss you. I hope everything’s all right.”

“How did you get this number?” was his abrupt response. No “hey baby,” or “I miss you too,” or anything else a man would say to the woman he loved.

“I called information because I wrote your number down wrong. I miss you, Lamar.”

Instead of receiving the same affectionate phrase in return, I heard one that stung worse than two full beehive attacks.

“I didn’t give you the wrong number. I gave you the number I wanted you to have. What is it you want anyway?”

Damn. What happened to all the sweet talk I was getting down in Florida? I needed to hear some of that right now. Tears swelled my eyes as I lost all sense of control and blurted out my joyous news.

“Lamar, I’m pregnant. I’m sorry. I love you.” I sounded like a jerk, but all I wanted to hear was how he loved me and everything would be fine. He didn’t say anything. “Lamar, baby, did you hear me?

“Yeah.” After a heated pause he exhaled heavily and then said the last words he ever spoke to me. I still hear them. The frostbitten hateful tone, that he must have wanted to direct towards someone else, sprayed all over my body. This was a mistake. He loved me. He couldn’t mean what he was saying.

“Your getting pregnant is your problem. My wife and I are expecting a baby and I can’t, and won’t, do a thing to help you. You’re on your own. What did you think was going to happen? Did you think I would marry you or something? Well, if you did, you thought wrong. You’re not my type. You’re just a kid. Next time you want to play a grown up do yourself a favor and play by the rules. Protect yourself. Don’t be so stupid and think someone like me is going to be with someone like you. And don’t ever call here again because I’ll deny knowing you.” The line went dead as I responded.

“Hello? Hello? Lamar are you still there?” A dial tone was the only thing that answered me. My heart went underground and my brain followed. And then came the tears, so many tears. I thought my head was going to explode. What did I do to make him speak to me that way?

Did I hear him say he had a wife? When did he get married? What about us? Didn’t he love me anymore? Did he ever love me? What about his baby? Doesn’t he even want his baby?

After my last thought, I began slapping myself. This was a nightmare; this wasn’t real. Maybe that wasn’t Lamar on the phone. Maybe I called the wrong one? That’s it. I called the wrong man. My Lamar would never speak to me that way.

Why didn’t anybody tell me that man didn’t love or care about me? He probably didn’t even like me. They should’ve told me I was just being used for my super friend body. Who are they? Oh don’t give me that. You know who they are. The people that don’t have a name or a face but are always in your business.

That’s when I felt pain all over my body, especially in my stomach. You stupid baby! If it weren’t for you, Lamar would want me. This thing has to get out of me. All I have to do is get rid of it. I’ll call Lamar back and everything would return to the way it was. He wasn’t really married; he just said that because he was scared. He loved me; he had shown me how much. You only have sex with someone you love. Yeah right. I’m so damn dumb. Where is death when you need it?

Crazy thoughts rambled through my head and out of my mouth.

“Oh, I know what I’ll do. I’ll drink a glass of bleach and get rid of it that way.” I pulled myself together and went to the laundry room to get the bleach. After I retrieved the gallon jug, I thought I’d need all of it, I went into the kitchen, got a glass, and went back upstairs to my room.

Talking out loud made things seem rational so once again in a voice that sounded like mine I heard, “The sooner I drink this bleach and get rid of this problem, the sooner I can call Lamar back and tell him I made a mistake. He’ll want me back then.”

I poured myself an eight-ounce glass of bleach and turned the glass slowly towards my mouth. As soon as it touched my lips it burned and I dropped the glass on the floor. My parents never redid my room and the blue carpet in there still has a white spot in the center of it.

Once I stopped gagging I had another brilliant thought. I’d fall down the stairs. Dumb idea. All I did was twist my ankle. Why did I let this happen? Lamar was so fine. I was too stupid, always in a hurry. Just go away, baby. Please, just go away.

I was miserable. I called Esta and asked her to come over. When she walked in the door I started crying, which was the only thing I could do right, and told her what a fool I’d been.

“Oh, Esta! Lamar rejected his baby and me! I don’t know what to do!”

“Lynnde, calm down. I’m here for you, but you have to tell your mother.”

“Esta, I can’t tell. It will hurt her.” Thinking of my father’s reaction of killing me, she seconded the motion of not telling.

Trying to sound sensible, Esta said, “Why don’t you call Lamar again? He was probably surprised by the news and didn’t know how to react.”

“I can’t call Lamar until this baby is gone!” is the passion that blared from every pore of my body. “Why couldn’t this happen to someone else?” We then heard the front door open and my mother calling my name.

“What are we going to do now? We have to do something,” were Esta’s panicked filled words. Her eyes were about to lift up and out of her head. At that moment I realized how much I loved her for wanting to help me. She was just as scared as I was, and I hated myself for putting her through this.

A disgusting mood took over me. Thinking I could wash it off I started towards the bathroom. Esta looked at me as if she were waiting on an order. “Grab my shades off the dresser. I need to use the bathroom.” She obeyed and I ran into a temporary safe haven. The disgust I felt changed to a clammy feeling on my body. It made me want to jump out of the window to escape my life.

I called to my mother, “I’ll be right down,” and thought how glad I was that it wasn’t my father. We went downstairs and told my mother we were going for ice cream, and I’d be back in time for dinner.

“Okay, baby. Be careful and don’t eat too much. I don’t want you to spoil your dinner.”

Mother, I love you. These words came from the sweetest woman on earth. No way was she going to find out what I had done.

Esta and I walked to the park and sat there for a while. She seemed to think somehow my parents would understand, and they would love to be grandparents. I couldn’t see what she saw. All I could see was my mother crying and my father yelling at me for the entire world to hear. I’m sure he’d say he wished I were a boy because boys don’t do stupid things like this. Who would he think did this to me? It wasn’t a boy at all. It was a grown man.

Why didn’t I know about the pill? Why didn’t Lamar tell me? I should never have had sex with him in the first place; I didn’t know what I was doing anyway. This is all my father’s fault. Everything is his fault. If my mother had taken us away from him none of this would be happening. I swear I’m going to make it my first priority to kill him as soon as this baby is gone.

As we sat in silence I thought about the one positive force in my life. What did I do to deserve Esta? Right now, I wish I were her. She has a good father, a boyfriend that wants to be married to her, and most importantly, no unwanted baby ruining her life. She isn’t stupid like me. Nobody is stupid like me.

My walk home was an episode from Lost In Space. I felt as if it were my first time traveling a route I’d taken so many times. I wanted to ask myself where I was and who I was. Once I saw my house, my starring role in a show that will never air made all my who’s, what’s, and where’s disappear.

The only good thing about arriving home was that I got there before my father did. My mother was glad also; she wanted to talk to me. Please don’t let her know. She can’t know.

“Lynnde, I’m so proud of you for having the courage to leave home and take on the world. Whew, I’ll never be as strong or as smart as you, and in no way would I be able to be a stewardess so high up in the sky.”

My mother who sometimes didn’t think her heart could hold all the love she had for me, and even though she’d miss me, was so glad I wanted to take a chance in life.

“Lynnde, baby. You get out into this big ole world and show it what my baby is made of. Don’t let anything or anybody hold you down. If you ever get scared don’t be ashamed, no there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just come on home to your mama because I’ll make sure you’re safe and always have so much love.”

We were standing up facing each other while holding hands. After hearing what she had to say, I fell to my knees and burst out crying.

“Oh, baby. Don’t cry. I don’t want to see my baby cry. Everything’s going to be all right, you’ll see. Now stop all this fussing, you hear me? I don’t want you to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

She held me close and rubbed my face, head, and back and it felt so good. I wasn’t able to speak. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her and would never do anything to hurt her. This baby had to go now. This would devastate my mother. She wanted so much for me, and I couldn’t let her down. I’ll take an oath if I have to. I’ll never let you down, Mother.

“Baby, remember when you were sixteen and I told you I never graduated from high school because I became pregnant with you? To this very day I’ve never regretted my decision of getting married and having you. I wouldn’t change a thing if I could.”

I can’t hurt her. I can’t. This baby has to go.

We heard my father pulling up in the driveway, and I got up with my mother’s help.

“Go and fix yourself up, baby. I don’t want your father asking questions because this is between me and you.”

She watched me walk up the stairs with a look of pride on her face that I never noticed before. This baby has to go.

After dinner I turned in early, telling my parents I had a busy day tomorrow. I was scheduled to go back to Florida in nine days and said I wanted to go and see a few people. This time when I walked up the stairs, they both watched me. I felt sick to my stomach. The thought of committing suicide turned on the light bulb in my pea brain. The grief stricken vision of my mother’s face quickly turned it off.

As I lay in bed, I saw Lamar and the nights we spent together. What kind of man would keep having sex with you especially if he knew you didn’t like it? I never actually told him I didn’t like it but he knew.

Every time he was finished with me I wanted to talk. He would always say, “We have to get back to the school now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Why was I so stupid? I should’ve asked him if he was married or if he had any kids. Maybe I should have waited two weeks instead of one before having sex with him. Maybe he would still want me.

The only thing I could think of next was asking God to take this baby out of me. I got up out of bed, got down on my knees and started asking Him to do just that. I can’t say that I was praying. You’re not supposed to pray for bad things to happen. I’d say I was wishing. Wishing for this not to be happening. Wishing for this to go away so I could start over again. Wishing for Lamar to come and see me and tell me he wanted us to be a family. I wished all night long during my interrupted sleep. Wishing that I still wouldn’t be stupid, dumb, retarded, shoot, all of the above, in the morning. Wishing for a solution to the confusion I’d made.

My wish came true. I woke up at 5:30 in the morning with the nastiest cramps I ever had in my life. I smothered myself with my pillow to stop from screaming out loud. What in the world was happening to me? I begged for the cramping to stop but it didn’t. It got worse. I wasn’t the smartest person on earth but maybe I was having the baby. It wasn’t time yet, was it?

Aloud I silently asked God to please let the hurting stop. I tried to get up and go to the bathroom, but the pain wouldn’t let me move. Then I felt something wet between my legs. I’m thought I was dying.

The agony that took over my body prevented me from opening my mouth and calling out for my mother. The pain was worse than Lamar. I promised myself right then and there that I would never have sex again. Damn, I was dumb.

Dialing 9-1-1 was my next thought, but the noise would wake up my parents. Oh, God, let this pain stop. I need to get to the bathroom, get some towels and go boil hot water. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you’re having a baby?

When the cramps began to ease, I stood up. The heavy feeling and the wetness between my legs was enough to make me vomit. I walked slowly towards the light switch and hoped the baby didn’t cry out too much. If my parents heard it, I’d be busted. Flipping the switch and seeing my bed made me muffle a scream. The blood, there was so much blood. My thighs down to my toes were covered in it. The sheets were blue when I put them on the bed. They resembled dark wet spinach green. The light smell of ignorance combined with freshly rotting fish attacked my senses. I wanted to disappear. Why don’t I know what just happened, and where is that baby?

Hating the way the blood felt on me made me walk with my legs apart. It was thick and discolored and slimy. When I reached my bed, I stood and stared at it like it wasn’t mine. There was no way all that could have come from me. I moved the covers back thinking the baby was under them, but it wasn’t. Where did it go? After the pain I just felt, I know that baby came out.

Painstakingly, I managed to pull off my pajamas and put on my robe. If that baby was still inside of me I was going to get it out. I went to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and began to push. The feeling was excruciating and I didn’t know what I was doing, but I kept on pushing.

More blood came out but still no baby. Taking a shower would make me feel better and maybe, with enough scrubbing and water pressure, I could wash that baby out of me.

After my shower I went downstairs to get some garbage bags for my sheets, there was no way they were going to come clean. I put on some underwear and a Kotex pad, and kept checking it for confirmation of what just happened to me. While stripping my bed down, I still felt cramps, but strangely, there was no trace of blood and no baby.

My mother kept aspirin in the medicine cabinet and I took a few to subside the aching throb. There was nothing in there to help my brain shove out smart thoughts, though. The garbage bag containing my sheets and pajamas were hid in my closet. I’d wait until no one was home and throw it in the dumpster in the alley where it wouldn’t be thought about again.

It was 6:34 a.m., and at 7:30 every one would be gone. I’d call Esta and tell her I had that baby, but I didn’t know where it was. She’d know what to do; she’d help me find it.

I didn’t know anything at age eighteen. If I told my parents, I wouldn’t have had to endure the coming years of unnecessary heartache I put myself through. Even after I called Esta, and told her what happened, and even after we came back from the free clinic and the doctor explained to me that I did indeed have a miscarriage, I would’ve handled it better.

I thought I wished my baby away, thought God didn’t think I was good enough to have a child. My losing that baby made me think I wasn’t good enough for anyone, and that it was my fault. I didn’t realize it was something I had no control over. Instead of hating myself for years, and thinking I was unworthy of any good happening to me, I could’ve been loving me and meeting people who would be a positive force in my life.

Wishing my baby away made me turn to food to comfort me. I thought if I ate enough, and felt full all the time, my body would feel complete, whole, like a baby was actually inside me. The only problem with that was I never felt full enough. I just kept eating and eating and only felt like I was extremely overweight.

From the day of my miscarriage, until the nine days later when I was supposed to leave, I gained a total of twenty-six pounds. After my airport episode, which I’ll fill you in on in the next chapter, my weight doubled. Within six months of my miscarriage, I put on another forty-three pounds. Of course now I realize I should have told someone. I needed help. Depression consumed me and I relinquished everything but the air I breathed.

There was my mother who never said anything to me about my weight besides, “Lynnde, baby don’t worry about your weight. Most men like a woman with a little meat on them.”

My father was the total opposite. I disgusted him. He paid for me a year’s membership to a health club because he thought he was going to die watching me go up and down the stairs.

“Damn! Looking at your fat ass is going to give me a heart attack you fat-pig-hog girl! Ha, ha, ha!” I’m glad my mother wasn’t home to hear him say that or to see my reaction. I did what I did best; you got it, burst out crying. As I walked up to my room crying, all my father said was, “Shit, I hope you hurry up the stairs, I’m sick of hearing your voice.” Yeah, he loved me all right.

Esta knew I wasn’t happy but she did her best to try and cheer me up. She wanted to be a fashion designer and used me as a model, which kept me in style for the fat girl that I’d become. As long as I looked nice why should I worry about losing weight? Being two hundred and ten pounds was all right with me. Never mind the fact that I had once been one hundred and twenty five, that didn’t matter. I had gotten rid of my baby, and anything bad that happened in my life was deserving of me.

Of course there will always be the whys. Why didn’t I just tell someone? Why wasn’t I smarter? Why was I even born?

I never thought about Lamar after my miscarriage. He didn’t care about me so my baby and my life were none of his business. I didn’t even want him anymore; he wasn’t fine enough to make my life miserable. No man was for that matter. One day I’d learn that looks weren’t everything.

My first life lesson was about trust and ignorance, and never having the two meet at the same time. This is a lesson I didn‘t learn until much later. Once I accepted it as the truth, nothing seemed like a burden anymore. Eventually, I learned to be responsible for me, and that no one will take care of you better than you can. No one will care for you if you don’t care for yourself.

Daddy’s Baby Girl______________________________

So we can get on a more personal level call me Lynnde; all my friends do. When I was little, my father called me Lynnde-hop. Sometimes he called me baby girl, little Miss Lee, Sweet Peach or Pumpkin. When he was trying to be funny, he called me Melon Head. When he called me by my full name, I knew I was in trouble. Right now, I’d pay any price to hear him say my name again.

My father suffered a stroke one year ago and is unable to speak. His stroke is all my fault. He was in my care, and I should’ve prevented it from happening. My mother had gone to New Jersey to visit her sister and it was my responsibility to make sure he was eating.

We planned to go dinner and I was to pick him up at five o’clock. I left work late, 4:43 p.m. I’ll never forget the time. Traffic was horrendous and I didn’t arrive at my parent’s home until 5:45. He was slumped over in his chair, and I knew it was a stroke. I’m not one of those wanna-be-a-doctor types, but if you knew my father, you would’ve known, too. He was constantly moving around trying to do any and everything at the same time. My mother relentlessly begged him to retire before she died.

“Oh hush up, woman. You ain’t going nowhere,” he’d grumble. “If you leave, who’s going to make my lunch?” She’d get so mad but before going to bed every night she’d have his lunch planned for the next day.

He retired at the age of sixty-three from his job at a plastic factory after working there since graduating high school. Well, he may have retired but he never slowed down. He took things apart that weren’t broken, put them back together, and swore they worked better.

Growing up as my father’s child was decent, but not the best at the same time. We didn’t have the best relationship. I know I mentioned all the pet names he called me, but that form of love stopped when I reached the age of seven. I thought he must’ve wanted a boy and asked my mother once if that were true.

“Lynnde, baby your father loves you more than the air he breathes. Don’t you say that again, you hear?”

“Yes, Ma,” I replied. I did say it again but for my ears only.

My father was the disciplinarian, and I received an average amount of butt whoopings and more than enough lectures. He said he’d support me in whatever I chose to do, as long as it benefited me in the long run. I remember how excited he was when I tried out for the junior varsity basketball team. He attended all of my games and cheered me on even though I wasn’t that good. When I didn’t make varsity, he suggested that I run track, play soccer and softball. My physical skills were pushed to their limit, but I wasn’t good at any sport. Still, my father hung in there cheering me on.

Sometimes I felt he was pushing me too hard, which confirmed my thoughts of him wanting me to be a boy. I didn’t have a childhood that would require me to see a therapist, not that there’s anything wrong with therapy if you need it, but I do remember several loud arguments between my parents followed by days of silence.

When he called my name on those days, I hated him. His voice was so full of rage that I jumped when I heard it. A few times he whooped me so hard I peed on myself. When he noticed I peed, he’d whoop me harder and tell me it was for me not being man enough to control my bodily functions. I wanted to say to him, “Look at me you stupid dummy. I’m a child. I’m a girl child.”

Wishing for death to come and take him away was my only hobby. I hated him most in the mornings after praying hard at night that he’d die in his sleep. Seeing him bright and early the next day confirmed death had failed me again. That’s why his stroke is my fault. Half of the wish I called for so many years ago came to pass, and I did nothing to stop it.

I remember the first time my father cursed at me. No, this was the second. The first time he had a bit too much to drink, and cursed my mother and me because it was the drunken thing to do. I was eleven.

The next day we went to a friend’s house two blocks away. Unfortunately, he came and took us back home. That’s the only time in my life I was ever mad at my mother. Didn’t she know how bad I wanted to get out of his house? Why didn’t she go someplace where he couldn’t find us? So what she didn’t really want to leave; she was supposed to do what was best for her child. I didn’t talk to her for three days.

The second time he cursed me was in the car on our way to the airport. Remember I mentioned I was scheduled to be in Florida to interview for a stewardess job? Well, after the miscarriage, I didn’t know how to tell my parents I couldn’t go. I should’ve told them the truth, but I thought they wouldn’t understand and would hate me.

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