Big Girls Drama

by Tresser Henderson

  “Sis, no. Don’t do that,” Vic said scooting closer to me. I fell into his embrace as he asked, “What happened?”

  “It’s bad, Vic.”

  “What do you mean? Do I have to kick someone’s ass?”

  “He’s not worth it.”

  “By he, do you mean that husband of yours?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Kicking his ass would make me feel better,” Vic said.

  With eyes still brimming with tears, I sat upright. Vic took his hand and wiped my tears away as he looked at me with concern. I smiled warmly at my brother, happy he was by my side.

  “I’m glad I came.”

  “I’m glad you came too. Jesus must have known I needed you.”

  “Well, I hope Jesus intervenes before I kick your husband’s ass. Where is he anyway?” he asked looking around for him.

  “I kicked him out.”

  “Good, because if you hadn’t, I was.”

  “You are so crazy,” I said giggling.

  “You damn right I am. Now get it together so you can tell me what happened.”

  I explained to Vic everything that I’d been through today, from my doctor’s appointment, to my conversation with Mom, to finding another man sucking my husband’s dick. Vic looked on like he was not surprised, with his lips twisted up and forehead creased with frustration.

  “I rebuke all this nonsense in the name of Jesus.”

  “Amen to that,” I said.

  “I can’t believe you’ve been dealing with all of this and you didn’t bother to tell me.”

  “I knew you would come running to my rescue.”

  “And why shouldn’t I?” he asked.

  “You have a life of your own. I don’t want you always rushing to my rescue every time bad things happen to me.”

  Tilting his head he said, “Kell, I’m your older brother. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

  “But what about your boyfriend? I know he gets tired of you coming to me.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Well what?” I asked looking at him suspiciously.

  “Aaron and I are over.”

  “What?” I said in disbelief.

  Aaron and my brother had been together off and on since he came out. He was his love that gave him courage to stand in his truth. So to hear they were no longer together surprised me.

  “Me and Aaron have been over for about two months now.”

  “Two months? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

  “Probably the same reason your behind didn’t tell me what was going on with you.”

  He had a point there. We held each other’s gaze before both of us burst into laughter.

  “I guess we are more alike than I thought,” Vic said.

  “I think so. Here we are trying to deal with our own drama, and we still end up by each other’s side in the end.”

  “I guess the lesson is we need to start telling each other everything because we will always be here for each other.”

  “That’s true. As much as I’m not happy about you flying down the highway to get here, I’m glad you are here, Vic.”

  I leaned over and hugged my brother again.

  “I hope you mean that.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Vic.”

  “I’m just asking because your brother needs a favor.”

  “Anything. You know I got you. So what do you need from me?” I asked.

  “I need a place to stay.”

  Sonya

  15

  Sitting in the kitchen at the table, I stirred my coffee with a spoon thinking about everything that happened yesterday. I still couldn’t believe my daughter would be so gullible to hold drugs for some punk who didn’t give a damn about her. All she could see was I was the enemy. If she knew like I knew, she would know I was the number one person in her corner rooting for her to be successful in this cruel, cold world.

  A tear formed as I thought about my own mother. Today was her birthday, and she would have been fifty-four. And as much as she wasn’t a mother to me, I still loved her. Any issues I had, I had to thank my mother for. We were close at one time, but it was in the friendship sort of way and not in the mother-daughter way that it should have been. Growing up with my mother only made me want to be the best mother I could be to my own child.

  I was always put in situations which made me question the type of love my mother had for me. No child should ever have to figure out if the love they are receiving was right or wrong.

  A lot of it started when I found out later in my childhood my mother cheated on my dad. The way I found out about my mother cheating, Daddy was at work one day and Mama decided to invite over her “friend.” And I use “friend” loosely. Mama’s “friend” ended up wanting to see her bedroom. Not only did he want to see her bedroom, he wanted to see her bra, her panties, her sheets, and he also wanted to see how good my parents’ bed was to sleep on. Only, they didn’t do any sleeping.

  Mama had the door pushed closed but not completely. I was able to watch them through the crack in the door. To me, it looked like wrestling. I was too young to understand what was really going on. This was why I didn’t think there was a problem mentioning it to my dad. Needless to say, he lost his mind. My parents argued for hours while I sat in my room crying and thinking it was all my fault. Dishes were thrown as explicit words followed. The next thing I heard was the slamming of the front door, not knowing that was my father leaving us.

  From that point on, Mama acted like I didn’t exist. Daddy left me with someone who didn’t want to acknowledge me as her daughter, and that hurt me tremendously. She fed me and clothed me, but no mother-daughter affection occurred between us. So I blamed myself for the outcome of not having a mother or a father.

  A few weeks later, Daddy came back. They were hugging and loving on each other again, and Mama started talking to me more. I was happy, but Mama was never satisfied with what she had. Mama ended up cheating on Daddy again. And again. And again until I lost count. The sad part about the whole thing was Mama was dumb enough to allow them in our home again. It was like she wanted to get caught. She almost was when Daddy arrived home not even ten minutes after one of her men left. That let her know she needed to take her cheating elsewhere.

  Mom used me as her alibi, taking me with her as she did her dirt with all these different men. She gave me this long talk about how I could never tell Daddy because he would leave us again and we wouldn’t be a happy family anymore. She would leave me in the car to read or listen to the radio while she went in and did what she had to do. On most occasions, she forgot I was still in the car. Or maybe it was that she didn’t care. A few times I had to knock on the door to tell her I was ready to go home. A man usually came to the door with no shirt on, looking sweaty and nasty talking about she’ll be out in a minute. A couple of times, her conquest had the nerve to come to the door naked, with his manhood pointing directly at me. The look they gave me still gave me chills. Lucky for me, she was a selfish mother and didn’t allow any man she was messing with to touch me.

  When I reached sixteen and was interested in boys myself, she pushed me into dating. I did, thinking this was what I was supposed to be doing. When I got a boyfriend, she would go pick him up on her way to her rendezvous and have him be my company in the car. Of course, I loved this because I didn’t have to be by myself anymore. She always told me it was okay for me to “do it” in the car if I wanted to but to be careful and don’t get anything on the seats. Never once did she mention protection. She was worried about the seat of the car.

  My boyfriends at the time thought Mama was the coolest woman ever. I did too for a while . . . until I was thirty men deep into sleeping around just as much as she was. I started to be known as the girl with the mother who was cool with her daughter sleeping with men in the car. Each relationship, if you can even call it that, was tainted by the boys bragging about being with me. My titl
e as a whore was stamped and approved, and the only person I could blame was myself.

  Dating quickly became no longer fun. At eighteen, I was ready to move out on my own. This was due to my now-growing belly. I became pregnant, and the father of my baby denied it since I was the slut around the streets. Hear anybody tell it, this baby could have been anybody’s child. This devastated me. I considered having an abortion, but knew I couldn’t because I really didn’t believe in it. This baby didn’t choose to be born and shouldn’t have to die due to my reckless behavior. This child was a gift, and I had to cherish it. My father was not too happy about this but eventually accepted my pregnancy and supported me as much as he could.

  So I cleaned my act up, stopped sleeping around, and concentrated on graduating from high school, which I accomplished. I soon had Meena, who I was determined to be a better mother to than my own mother was to me. I got a job. I got my own place, and I applied for college and went on to get my associate’s degree in the health industry.

  Mama still thought I could be her alibi, and she could use my place to have her fun, but I quickly nipped that in the bud. Mama wasn’t happy, but I didn’t care. I was trying to get away from her and her trifling ways. It was bad enough I had to keep her secret rendezvous away from my dad for years. I felt like I was betraying him. It always crossed my mind to tell him, but I was afraid it would ruin the relationship he and I had with each other, so I continued to keep my mouth shut.

  Mom only cared about herself. She didn’t truly love my dad, and it was her fault I was as promiscuous as I was. She didn’t teach me to value myself, but I guess she couldn’t when she too didn’t see value in herself.

  My life was just beginning, and I was not about to have my mother’s twisted behaviors come upon my child like it did me. She didn’t have enough love and respect to not involve me in her philandering, so I was not about to allow her to be disrespectful around her own grandchild.

  It wasn’t long before Daddy found out again about her cheating. He left her soon after I left home. I feel like my father knew what she was doing but was waiting for me to get out on my own, and I appreciate the sacrifice my dad made for me. My mother never knew the damage she did to me emotionally—if I could call her a mother at all. She was a woman who only cared about herself. And by herself she was when she died. All those men and all those so-called friends were ghost when it came to her passing. Thinking about that always made me feel bad for her. At the same time, I knew she reaped what she’d sown.

  As for my dad, he passed away when Meena turned eight years old. I’m glad she had some memories of her grandfather. She definitely had a bunch of pictures with him so where one grandparent failed, her grandfather took up the slack.

  Meena was the reason I pushed forward and made something out my life. She didn’t have a clue the sacrifices I made for her. I was a mother, and I was going to show my daughter more love than a child could handle. She didn’t understand it now, but I knew the day would come when she would see how much I truly loved her.

  Monica

  16

  I thought it was about time for this conversation I was about to have. I figured I had some time to spare before meeting with my friends for lunch so now was as good a time as any to confront the woman who was causing so much dissension in my marriage. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. As I stood at her front door, a part of me wanted to turn and walk away. But I knew this was long overdue, so I rang the doorbell and waited for someone to open the door.

  “Monica, what are you doing here?” Isabelle greeted with rigidity. She looked as flawless as ever, wearing a belted yellow, white, and tan floral print fit and flare dress with a soft yellow cardigan.

  “Good morning, Isabelle. I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment.”

  She seemed skeptical as she asked, “Why didn’t you call first?”

  “I did, but no one answered.”

  Her expression let me know she knew I called. She just didn’t pick up. I should have used my home phone because she would have answered thinking it was Devin. But since I called from my cell, she deliberately ignored it.

  “Can I come in?” I asked, still waiting for her decide.

  “Well, I guess since you’re here,” she said tersely as she stepped to the side, allowing me to enter.

  “Please, follow me to the kitchen,” she commanded, and I did as she asked.

  When we entered her kitchen, I had a seat at the kitchen table and watched as Isabelle went over to the cabinet to retrieve a mug. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, I wondered if she was going to be hospitable enough to offer me a cup. But when she sat down across from me placing the ceramic mug in front of her, I knew this was just another way she was letting me know she didn’t like me. Again . . . church people.

  You would think since I’d been married to her son for seven years, she would have come around already. But the conversation I overheard the other night let me know she still felt some type of way about me. It was time to get our issues out in the open once and for all.

  “Okay, Monica, what is it that you need to speak to me about?”

  “I want to know why you have so much animosity toward me.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked like she didn’t know what I meant.

  “I know you don’t care for me. I want to know why,” I said.

  I looked Isabelle squarely in her eyes awaiting her answer. She returned the glare as she stirred her coffee before taking a careful sip. Placing the mug down, she began to address me.

  “You are not the woman Everson and I wanted for our son.”

  She was straight and to the point as she looked impassively at me. I nervously shifted in my seat before responding.

  “I get that, but Devin chose me. Isn’t that enough of a reason for you to at least try to get to know me?”

  “Monica, you are Devin’s rebound. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows this,” she responded coldly. “So to me, there is no reason to get to know you any better because I think it’s a matter of time before my son comes to his senses and moves on to someone more fitting for him.”

  More fitting I thought. Did she just say that to me? Yes, she did. You know why, because there is no one around for her to hold back her negative comments. I had to inhale before continuing to speak to her because I knew if I didn’t, this conversation was going to take a turn for the worse, and I was going to be the one who took it there this time.

  “Regardless of what you and others think, Devin still chose me. He saw something in me that he loved enough to want to marry me,” I spoke firmly.

  Isabelle picked up her cup and took another sip before leaning back assertively. She asked, “Monica, who are you really?”

  This question caught me off guard.

  “What do you mean?” I asked with a frown.

  “Seriously, who are you? As long as you’ve been with my son, we haven’t met any of your family.”

  “I know he’s told you I had a brother who died. My parents are no longer living.”

  “We know that’s the story you told our son.”

  “Story?”

  “Monica, I’ve had you investigated, and it’s almost like you never existed.”

  My heart began to beat rapidly at the mention of her investigating me. You would think I wouldn’t be shocked by anything this woman did, but I was. The mischievous look she was giving me made me wonder if she found out about my past. Was this a game of who was going to break first? Maybe she had nothing and was waiting for me to spill my life story to her, but that was never going to happen. If she was a real woman, she would have asked me about my past before having me investigated. I would have respected her more for it.

  “Why would you do that?” I asked coolly.

  “Mr. Woods and I are prominent figures in the community and have a reputation to uphold. More importantly, you are with our only child, whom we love dearly. Knowing whom my son is married to is understandable, don’t you think?”
>
  “What I think is you had me investigated to see if you could find out some dirt on me.”

  “So dirt does exist on you?” she asked with a raised brow.

  “Everyone has dirt, Isabelle. So, please don’t sit there like your past is pristine. As I recall this happily ever after marriage you and Mr. Woods are portraying is not so happy since it rumored he’s had numerous affairs on you.”

  Her condescending gaze quickly changed to anger at the mention of her husband’s “indiscretions.” She was so busy trying to dig up dirt on my past, she needed to use that same private investigator to find out what her husband’s been up to lately.

  Clearing her throat, Isabelle leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she clasped her hands together.

  “Monica, if you want the real, here it is. I don’t like you. You are an okay-looking woman, but you need to pull away from the table. I’m still trying to figure out how my son could stomach laying up with you. Now, Georgiana, she’s beautiful and a model.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I think you are an opportunist who took advantage of my son during a difficult time. You dug your claws in him as soon as you got the opportunity and ran with him to the alter. Georgiana is the love of his life, and I think you know that already. You are nothing to my son, and the quicker you get that through your head, the better we will all be. Now, as for my marriage, my husband and I are happily married. Believe the rumors all you want, but the fact still remains, my son does not love you, not like he loves Georgiana.”

  A seething hatred rose within me as I absorbed this “Christian woman’s” words. I watched as she confidently picked up her coffee again and sipped it like we were having a pleasant conversation.

  “Devin does love me,” I insisted.

  “Keep telling yourself that, honey. I know my son, and it’s only a matter of time before he divorces you.”

  “Do you really think I’m going to give up that easily?”

  “It’s in your best interest to,” she said sharply.