Lies of a Real Housewife

by Angela Stanton

  I wasn’t his girlfriend. That was clear. It was just sex. We enjoyed

  each other’s company so that made it more than just sex to me. I couldn’t tell you how many nights I spent with Jay. It used to be me, my home-girl, Tina, Jay, and his homeboy, Ellerbee, or like we called him, Kinky B. You couldn’t find one without the other. One of the good things about that set up was we

  knew how to have a good time.

  Just in case you didn’t know, Jay had money long before the world

  came to know him as Young Jeezy. Because of his hustle, Jay had mad respect on the streets. No matter what he did or what he was doing, he always found the time to bless someone. So I knew he would in turn be blessed. Our sexcapades, or rendezvous lasted well over three years. He knew all my friends and I knew his boys. He slept with a couple of my friends, and I did with a couple of his too. Hey, we were young. We had money and did whatever we

  felt like doing. That was before the fame came.

  I won’t go into too many details about our sex life. Like I said be-

  fore, Jeezy was a real good dude, and to me he was much bigger than just sex. He never once disrespected me, and never treated me like a freak or a whore. He would do anything he could to help another person. For those reasons

  alone, I still have the utmost respect for Jay.

  Instant happiness and genuine excitement was what I felt for Jay

  when I saw him doing his Young Jeezy rap on TV. Every time I did, I ran to the phone, and had one of my cousins on the end verify that I knew Jeezy. Not

  only that I knew him, but we had relations and all.

  The women locked up in prison with me had to be living inside a

  box their entire lives. They actually refused to believe that it was possible

  for me to personally know someone on television as famous as Young Jeezy.

  Seeing Jay on TV while I was in prison actually did something for

  my spirit. It gave me hope and inspiration. I was so glad to see that he was doing well. He was smart and had done the intelligent thing. He had taken his money and turned it into something. If someone that close to me, someone

  who I had been with, someone from my own hood had made it, so could I.

  My life at this point was manageable. I had gotten myself into a

  routine, and if I kept it up all of this would soon be over. My life would eventually be back to normalcy. I was looking forward to being back at home with

  my children, my mother, my grandmother, and family.

  It became habitual for me to be waking up at five every morning. I would be showered, dressed, and clean my room by seven, in time for chow. Then I would go to the chow hall, and be back in my cell, waiting on the guards to do headcount. After headcount, I would report to my detail. I worked in laundry room, and probably washed and folded over two thousand uniforms per day. At three-thirty in the afternoon my detail was over. I would report for chow by five. Then after the second headcount conducted at six in the evening, I would be in my cell either reading or writing until I fell asleep.

  At least that was the plan.

  November 16, 2004, was a day that changed my life forever. I was

  six months deep into serving my sentence. Then I had the most vivid and realistic dream about my mother the night before. In my dream I was standing at the doorway of an apartment, watching my mother walking up the sidewalk. She was carrying three buckets. Then she walked right past me and went inside the house. There were three aquariums sitting in the middle of the living room floor. I closely scrutinized my mother emptying the contents of the three buckets into one of the aquariums. My mother handed me a net. I watched through the glass as an assortment of tropical fish frantically swam

  back and forth. They were trying to absorb their new environment.

  One particular fish caught my attention. While observing this beau-

  tiful creation my mother said, “Take the net and separate the fish.” I grabbed the net, and began reaching for the fish I had observed previously. The net wasn’t long enough to reach the bottom of the tank where the fish was swim-

  ming.

  I stuck my arm in the water right along with the net. Before I knew

  it, a snake was swimming toward my hand. I tried pulling my arm out of the tank as fast as I could, but it was too late. The snake had sunk its teeth deep

  into my skin, and then swam off.

  My mother examined the bite mark. Then she kissed the area of

  impact, and like magic, it healed instantly. She looked at me and said, “Angela!” Once she was certain she had my undivided attention she continued, “Honey, you had no business with your hand all the way in the tank. That’s why I gave you the net. If you hadn’t had your hand in the water he wouldn’t have been able to bite you. Therefore you have to come out from amongst thee and be ye separate.” She then shook my head with her hands to make sure I understood. “You have to come out from amongst thee and be ye separate.

  That’s the only way you’re going to make it. You got it?”

  “I got it ma,” I replied. Then just like that she had disappeared.

  I was instantly awoken from the dream, only to fall back asleep mo-

  ments later. This time an angel awoke me. Lying on my back asleep, I felt the warmth of a mother’s touch rubbing my chest. I was awaken by the touch and encountered an angel floating on the right side of my bed. The angel was the

  most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

  She looked just like some kind of a fairy, except I could see right

  through her. She was a purplish-blue color, and was glowing. The angel said to me, “Angela honey, it’s time for you to wake up!” I looked over at the clock and it was five a.m. It was the same time they woke us up every morning. I looked back for the angel, and she was gone. I was overcome with joy and a sense of peace that surpassed all understanding. This was my first encounter with a heavenly being. The whole ordeal confirmed that God was really in

  my life!

  Jumping out of bed, I had the entire room cleaned. I couldn’t wait

  until they turned the phones on so that I could call my mother, and tell her about my dream along with my encounter of such a pretty angel. I was so fascinated by the unknown. I always had been, but I wondered what the dream meant. After replaying it in my mind over and over again, I had kind of fig-

  ured it out in my head.

  My dream meant exactly what she had said, “Come out from

  amongst thee and be ye separate.” It was time for me to step away from any-

  thing, and everything negative.

  I remember sitting in the dorm hall at a table with three other women

  who were from my dorm. We were all enjoying a board game of ‘Life’. I was the pink car. Ever since I could remember, the pink car always had to be mine. It was my lucky car. Even as a little girl over at my Aunt San’s, playing with

  my cousin’s Maurice, Man-Pan, and Jo-Jo, I always had the pink car.

  If I couldn’t have the pink car I wouldn’t play. I wasn’t compromis-

  ing, sorry. As we played the board game I imagined how my life would have been had I made different choices. Nobody ever went to prison in the board game. So really, losing the game was never an option. Everyone always won the game. Some just ended up with more money than others, but that was the

  board game Life, not real life.

  I was just about to spin the wheel when I heard my name being

  called over the loud speaker.

  “Angela Stanton report to the Chaplain’s office…”

  I was glad that my name had been called. This would give me a

  chance to get out of the dorm and enjoy some well deserved fresh air. Then one of the women playing the board game with me said, “No Angela! You don’t want to go to the Chaplain’s office! Anytime they call you to the Chaplain’s office it’s always bad news!” I stared at her, and immediately the dream popped to the surface
of my mind. Then I thought about the angel, and what

  she had said to me. “It’s time to wake up!”

  Instead of going to the Chaplain’s office, I ran to the pay phone. I

  called my grandmother’s home collect, and I could hear the despair in their voices as they accepted my call on the other end. I already knew that my mother was gone. I didn’t even need to ask the question. My cousin, Donna, tried to tell me what I already knew, but she was too emotional, and could

  hardly speak. She just held the phone silently as I screamed for my mother.

  “Donna please let me speak to my mother!” I said, after getting no

  response from her. The phone remained silent, but on the other end of the line, I could hear my grandmother crying through the phone. She was mourn-

  ing for her baby.

  “Donna… Do-o-o-n-n-n-n-a-a-a! Pl-e-e-e-a-a-a-s-s-e-e-e! Donna!

  Please let me talk to my mother!” In two simple words she replied, “I can’t!”

  When I regained consciousness, I was in the infirmary. My feet,

  knees, chest, and my wrists were bound. I kept trying to fall back asleep. “Please GOD! GOD pl-e-e-e-a-a-a-s-s-s-e! Please father NO! No-o-o-o-o-o! I want my mommy. My mo-m-m-y! OH GOD… NO!” My heart and soul

  pleaded, to no avail.

  Every time I woke up, I wept uncontrollably until I cried myself

  back to sleep. I refused to eat, and drink. I just wanted to lie there! Lie there and die! My hopes were dashed. Life as I knew it was over. In the middle of the night during a deep sleep, I awoke to the feeling of breath in my ear, and I heard my mother’s voice! “Angela I’m with you! Angela I will never leave

  you! Angela I love you!”

  I jumped up. Well, I tried to jump up. I was further confined in re-

  straining belts and chains, but I opened my eyes to the sound of her voice. She was nowhere to be seen. I never imagined that my mother would die while I was in prison. I was filled with the guilt of all my misdeeds. At this point it seemed as if everything was my fault. Had I been there for her, maybe things would have worked out differently. Why couldn’t I be there for her

  now when she needed me the most...?

  My mother was fifty-five years old when she lost her life to a mas-

  sive heart attack. It fell on me like a ton of bricks. At twenty-seven years old, I was crushed by the weight of losing the only friend I had ever had. Lying on my back, I was feeling powerless by the thought that I couldn’t be there for my mother. I couldn’t be there for my children. Four concrete walls surrounded me and seemed to close in faster in more ways than I could ever have imagined. There was no one there to comfort me. I wasn’t surrounded by any family member. I was totally and completely alone in a very cold, dark place. There was no light and no help came from anywhere. It was then that I felt God had finally forsaken me.

  I was in the infirmary for three days, doped-up under medication. Whenever I came down from my high, I was forced to deal with the pain of losing my mother. I cringed in the face of my reality, and could have stayed doped up forever, but I knew I was dying in that place. Every time I thought of any type of food, it would cause me sickness. All I could think of was my mother lying dead in the city morgue. Naked, her body would be stretched out on some cold, metal table. She was gone from my physical world and I

  could no longer communicate with my best friend.

  Her flesh would rot, and the thought of her never being able to eat

  again made me sick. The problem was that there was no food inside my stomach for me to regurgitate. It proved to be a painful experience every time I went through a vomiting spell. I had cried so much, the salt from my tears burned my cheeks. I actually had scars on each side of my face left behind

  by my tears of pain.

  My brother tried desperately to have me transported from the prison

  to my mother’s funeral. When this didn’t work, he had no choice, but to call Phaedra. This time she actually came through. At the time of my mother’s death, my brother was committed to a professional basketball contract. He was drafted overseas, and had been playing in Italy since graduating from college. Lee had to make it home from Italy, bury our mother, and return overseas. This was a trying time for the both of us. She really was all we ever

  had.

  There was a problem getting me transported to the funeral. Fulton County was under scrutiny because of the Brian Nichols case which had happened earlier the same year. He was the prisoner who had escaped while being transported. He had murdered a Judge, a court clerk, a deputy and a civilian. As a result, Phaedra was unable to get anyone from Atlanta to do a prisoner transport. After a couple of days, I was finally informed that my brother paid Gwinnett County to transport me. Phaedra knew a sheriff there

  who agreed to do the transporting.

  The women incarcerated with me tried all they could to offer com-

  fort. They washed and ironed my clothes for me and styled my hair to a cute pin up do. Although I was pretty on the outside, my insides were ugly. I totally ceased all communication with anyone and everyone. I didn’t even want their comfort to be honest. They didn’t know me, and I didn’t want their hands on me. In my mind, I was really tripping HARD… And at times, I was

  known to have violent outbursts.

  I felt remorse, guilt and shame all at the same time. I just didn’t want

  to be bothered, and was having a hard time coping with reality. Practically on the verge of losing my own damn mind, I didn’t know who to trust. I was

  giving everybody the side-eye.

  Having flashbacks became a normal occurrence, and I was reverting

  to my former self. I was back to being that angry, hateful young girl I was before meeting Phaedra Parks. It was an ugly, dark demon I thought I had buried for good. I didn’t want that spirit to rise back up. So I fought it. I accepted their gestures of kindness, but it didn’t really matter to me. I had absolutely no reaction at all. I didn’t have a clue as to what was going on. Nothing and I mean nothing, seemed real to me. I was in a total state of devastation and shock. This was the worse heartache I had ever experienced. I didn’t call back home and didn’t speak to the guards at the prison. I didn’t speak to any of the women locked up with me. The minute they all saw my face, they knew. The

  grim-reaper forewarned them. He had been by my doorsteps.

  The funny thing was that a week earlier, I was standing in the chow-

  line when three of my dorm mates, or should I say ‘fellow slaves’ passed by me causing quite a commotion. In the middle of the other two, was a girl barely able to walk. Her name was Angela. Yes, she had the exact first name as mine. Angela was crying hysterically. So being the compassionate person

  that I am, I immediately offered my assistance. I asked, “What’s wrong?”

  She held her head up with all of her strength, looked me dead in my

  eyes and said, “My mother just died.” Exactly one week prior to the death of my mother. I remembered thinking, God I couldn’t imagine how she was feeling. What would I do if I were in her position? I thought to myself that this was just another sign from above. Seven days later, the reality of my fel-

  low slave became mine.

  Every word and every thought that came to mind made me think

  of the one person I had always depended on, my mother. Here one day, she was gone the next. It now seemed just that quick. Not only was I thinking of losing my mother, but now, what about my children? What would happen to them? Who would care for them? What about my baby, Emani? What about

  the promise I made to myself?

  After I had been molested, I pledged that I would never allow the

  horrible experience to happen to any of my children. My mind was running a thousand miles-a-minute. My thoughts were never letting up, not once. There was no single moment of peace. I couldn’t even begin to think straight. Nothing at all was making sense to me. I found myself now qu
estioning God. Was there even a God? A God so merciful that he would allow one person to go through so much pain...? What was the purpose of our existence? Were we

  just born to die...?

  When the Gwinnett County sheriff arrived to pick me up, it took me

  a long while to make it past all the barbed wires. With every step, it seemed like I was pat-down and searched. I was scanned with metal detectors as I passed through metal doors. Malnourished, dehydrated, I was left deprived of the ability to accurately think. I was moving slowly because I was feeling

  so weak.

  It had been seven days since the day my mother left this earth, and I hadn’t eaten one single crumb. I barely had enough strength to lift my feet from the ground. Gwinnett County officials handcuffed me, and I was placed in the back seat of their patrol car. Finally I would be going back to Atlanta, Georgia. Never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that I would be

  returning to attend my mother’s funeral.

  The trip was long, and heart wrenching. When I stepped over into

  the back seat of the police car it seemed as if I had crossed over into another realm. The atmosphere was different. The air was so heavy. The Gwinnett county officers there to transport me looked like the enemy. They wore bulletproof vests, carried side-arms, Tasers, mace, and handcuffs, along with hog-ties. A shotgun was strategically placed on the front seat. This was done all for me, just in case I wanted to get stupid. I was too weak and couldn’t

  think clearly.

  It was a very dark gloomy day. The skies opened up resulting in a

  light drizzle. The rain from the sky appeared like tears and made the somber atmosphere even sadder. A reality I didn’t want to face awaited my return. I hadn’t thought about my other family members. All I could think about was

  my children, and having to stare death in the eyes from close up.

  Remember all those times before when I told you I wasn’t afraid? Well, that day I was scared to stare death so close in the eye. I would rather it had taken me and not my dear mother. Fear had its grip on me this time, and I couldn’t shake it. I kept trying to hold on to whatever hope or life I had left. I didn’t want to see death.