"I can't answer that, but whatever your journey, God has equipped you," Pop Woodard gently replied, flipping through his Bible. "God knows where you're going and every stop along the way. You just have to listen to His voice to navigate." Pop Woodard began to read Matthew 17:20. “ ‘He (Jesus) replied, because you have so little faith, I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, Move from here to there and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.’ Sometimes we don't see it," he said, closing the Bible and taking my hand. "But God equips us for the journey. If you have the faith, Lundyn, you can tell the mountain to move."
We talked until after midnight, and I also shared with them how worried I was about Romen’s refusal to acknowledge his pain.
Mom Woodard always gave a fresh perspective. "The only difference between you, Afreeka and Romen is Christ. Have you shared Him with them?"
I had not made any conscious efforts to witness to my siblings about the difference Jesus made in my life, but at that moment I resolved I would. My siblings needed to know the God of comfort, too.
That night, I slept soundly. The Woodard's continued to be my source of reassurance and going home always felt good. Even the deepest of my wounds were healed by their love.
We had breakfast by the pool before they took me to the airport. Three days in Naples was therapeutic. As the plane landed in Pittsburgh, I tucked all the love of the Woodard's into my heart. Their continued support would be the strength I needed to face my current challenges.
Jamel met me at the airport and we went to eat at the Olive Garden. Over dinner, we talked about my visit with the Woodard's and I attempted to explain how their love changed my life. Jamel indicated his desire to personally thank them. Then he winked at me. When Jamel dropped me off at my apartment, he kissed me as we stood at the door. This kiss was different – he held me tightly, like he didn't want to let me go. When I opened my eyes, his were still closed like he was savoring the moment.
"Does this mean we're not friends anymore?" I asked modestly, still wrapped in his arms.
"Well, I hope this means we're ready to take this to the next level."
"Yeah," I smiled. "Me, too."
Jamel kissed me again. Then he took a deep breath and stepped away from me. He held my hands in his and smiled. “See you tomorrow.”
I watched him walk down the hall before closing the door.
My efforts to re-connect with my best friend were futile. Kiarra also stopped attending Bible study and Sunday services. She remained cordial at work, and that drove me crazy. I mailed her a four page letter describing the value of our friendship and asked her to please call me so we could talk. On Wednesday evening I saw Xavier picking her up from work in her car. He rolled down the window as I walked by and smiled at me. At that moment, I understood why women threw bricks.
My sessions with Francine began to take on new meaning in March. She seemed to take her goals more seriously and finally committed to a training program. Manpower initiated a Customer Service program in conjunction with Citizens Bank, and Francine had been accepted. She enjoyed working on the telephone and never having to see people face to face. She even admitted feeling sorry for people who couldn't pay their bills because that had been her at one time. When children answered the phone she refused to badger them, even if she suspected the mother was at home and the child was lying. That was progress for Francine, but I still didn't trust her. History had proven the inconsistencies in her personality and demeanor.
As a part of my healing, I took a deeper look at Francine. She was, I assumed, very much like my mother. I wondered if my mother had had Francine's guilt and allowed myself to believe she ended her life because the guilt was greater than what crack could erase. I wanted Francine to be whole – I understood her brokenness and knew she needed to be healed on the inside. No amount of therapy would matter as long as her heart remained guilty. I began to earnestly pray for Francine. I also asked God to give me a door to talk about the saving grace of Christ.
Against everything I learned in graduate school, I became adamant about being deliberate in witnessing to Francine. After realizing God had been the difference in my life, and after admitting I cradled my feelings of worthlessness, I made a concerted choice to be whole. My zeal to share this new found deliverance was a burning desire. It was more than just me wanting to do it – I knew I had to. Meeting Francine was not by accident – there was some bigger picture I had yet to see clearly. Francine was searching for a release from the guilt of giving up her children for drugs, and I was searching for a release from feeling abandoned by a mother who chose drugs over me.
By this point, I was thoroughly engaged in therapy. Although a month had passed since my last journal entry, I promised myself that Saturday morning would be spent penning more memories.
March 10, 2005
As much as I began to appreciate the stability of living with the Woodard's, my spirit was wrenched. My siblings and I were separated, and my hopelessness wouldn’t let me believe we would ever live together again. My caseworker arranged the monthly visits with my siblings, but these were subject to change, often without notice, based on the schedules of Mr. & Mrs. Teague and transportation arrangements from Girls Hope where Afreeka now resided. The visits were welcomed but emotionally draining. Four hours once per month was insufficient. The twins cried at the end of each visit, and my mind would replay Rah'Lee begging me not to let go of her hand. Romen never said much – I suspected he didn’t want to cry. He tried to encourage us to be strong and always remember being together. Afreeka was very angry at our mother and spent each visit making sure we were angry at her, too. Hustin spent each visit pretending to be Romen’s shadow, as if he were trying to take in enough of him, unsure of when, or if, he would see him again. I made sure to tell my brothers and sisters how much I loved them and hugged each of them, hard and long, before we parted. It was the hugs that sustained me until the subsequent visit.
Until next time…
My entry seemed trite, but I was looking forward to going out with Jamel and forced myself to write something before going to the movies. As I was preparing to leave, Romen surprised me when he arrived about one-thirty that afternoon.
"I hope you don't have plans, Baby Sis," he said putting his bag in my room. "It's been eating at me, and we need to talk about how to help Afreeka."
Jamel was gracious about our plans being postponed. He said he would work on his defense and told me to enjoy the time with my brother.
Over lunch, Romen and I talked openly about Afreeka’s alcoholism and how to begin helping her. The difficulty, we both knew, was in getting Afreeka to admit she had a problem. Addiction was very familiar to us, but we were neophytes at recovery. This was the first time Romen and I talked as adults. He wasn't giving me the answers or making all the decisions.
As Romen was packing to leave on Sunday morning, I convinced him to attend church with us. The morning scripture was John 6:35 and Rev. Morgan preached on Jesus as the Bread of Life. With all the faith I had I prayed for Romen’s heart to be receptive to Rev. Morgan’s words. During our phone calls I seized every opportunity to witness to my brother about God’s healing. He always listened, but now I was grateful he was hearing this for himself.
After church service we took Romen to lunch at Applebee’s. While we were waiting for our meal I attempted to make small talk about my job. I noticed Jamel smiling and when I asked him to tell Romen about the Adolescent Obesity Project he changed the subject. He told Romen that he really liked me and was looking forward to meeting and getting to know his family and Afreeka. Jamel smiled at me and extended his right hand to Romen. “I will make sure she’s happy. I give you my word.”
"That's my baby sister," Romen said shaking his hand. "As long as she's happy, I'm happy."
Jamel had been patient through the interruption of our Saturday plans and I was determined we would still go to the movies on Sunday evening. I also r
eally wanted to see Hitch. Although Jamel had planned to work on the defense for his dissertation, he willingly obliged my request. It was a much needed break for both of us. Jamel was getting frustrated with his research and life had me on an emotional roller coaster.
On our way home from the theater Jamel told me I was consuming his thoughts and interfering with his ability to complete his defense. I was unsure of how to take his comment and wondered if he was trying to nicely break up with me.
Before getting out of the car, after he parked on Negley Avenue, Jamel took my hand and said we needed to talk. My stomach knotted and the one block walk from the car to my apartment seemed to take forever. Jamel took my hand but said nothing as we rode the elevator and walked down the hall. As I opened the door, Jamel was standing close behind me and I was afraid he could hear my heart pounding. We entered my apartment together and Jamel turned me to face him. He rested against the door and gently pulled me into his arms.
"Lundyn Bridges, I am falling in love with you."
"I thought you wanted to break up with me," I said, fighting back tears.
Jamel kissed me, and before I knew it, our true feelings, the ones we were so desperately trying to conceal, exploded. I gave thought to breaking my vow of celibacy as Jamel's hands made their way under my shirt.
Then the phone rang.
Kiarra was whimpering. “I’m sorry. Lundyn, I'm sorry.”
“Are you okay? What’s the matter?”
“You’re my best friend Lundyn. I’m sorry. Please help me.”
“Ki, I’m on my way.”
I knew the sound of her brokenness and my heart told me Xavier had hit her, again. There was no anger; my love for Kiarra wanted her to love herself more than sex with Xavier. I wanted Kiarra to be free of the pain she was holding so tightly. My mind raced and I couldn’t find the words to pray.
When we arrived, I let myself in and found her curled up on the couch. Her arms were tightly wrapped around her knees, and her stare was blank. She never acknowledged our entrance. I joined her on the couch and held her, being careful not to touch her busted lip and bloodied nose. There were no words, we just cried together. Jamel suggested we leave her apartment, and after I packed a bag for Kiarra, he drove us back to my apartment. I thanked him and asked him to call me later.
Before going to bed, Kiarra agreed to call the Domestic Violence Hotline in the morning. I felt inept, unsure of what to say or how to comfort my best friend. My journal was the comfort I sought, allowing my tears to water the pages, as I continued to pen the pieces of my past.
March 11, 2005
After living with the Woodard’s for a few months, I began to understand Pop Woodard’s desire to be a comedian. His jokes were the epitome of corny, but the more I liked him the easier it was to laugh. I also learned to appreciate the closeness of another person – it translated into love. Mom Woodard was learning to do my hair and, although it sometimes took her an hour to make the part straight, I appreciated her willingness to keep trying. She began showing me how to cook and set the table. Then she began teaching me how to wash clothes. She was just like a real mom, and by the end of the first year that's what I was calling her.
Although initially uncomfortable as the only brown skinned child with thick lips and a tight curl pattern in their upscale Franklin Park neighborhood, I quickly acclimated and gained acceptance with the other children in the community. The children were fascinated by me – the little black girl who was quick witted, played basketball and could out run most of the boys. They never asked where I came from, and I never volunteered the information. I knew they really weren't my friends because I was seldom invited to the parties and sleepovers. Afreeka was my friend; these children were my playmates. I used their curiosity about me to engage them – it was my first conquest in taking control of a situation.
By the end of middle school, I had come to realize my inquisitiveness and love for books gave me an academic advantage over the kids who preferred playing Nintendo to reading. It made me feel special when the teachers were amazed by my academic ability. Sometimes I would intentionally ponder a question, and just when the teacher was about to call on someone else I would answer slowly – giving the perfect answer using perfect diction.
The one new thing I did learn was Tail Gating – I had no idea it was such a major event in Pittsburgh – it’s like one big cookout and everyone wearing black and gold is invited. I had never heard of a Perogie, but after one year with the Woodard’s they were among my favorite foods. It was always amazing to Pop Woodard that I ate a hotdog without a bun because I really didn’t like bread.
Pop Woodard loved sports, and he made me learn all about baseball and his favorite - football. He grew up watching the Steelers play at Forbes Field, and he and his father went to the final game on December 1, 1963 to see the Steelers play the Eagles. Pop Woodard had fond memories of the days when he and his dad walked to Forbes Field during the demolition process. His dad would gather with his friends while Pop Woodard played with the kids imitating their favorite players. Five years later, in the spring of 1968, he and his dad began their Saturday outings to the Northside to watch the construction of Three Rivers Stadium. His dad, a steel worker, often criticized phases of the construction as if he were an engineer. Just like a coach in the stands, his dad always had a better way than what the architect had planned. Although they had only been living in Lawrenceville for five years, the thought of having to go to the Northside to watch a game was insulting. For some reason, people in Pittsburgh have never liked crossing the river.
Pop Woodard fondly recalled the numerous conversations between his dad’s friends and how they planned to boycott the new stadium. His favorite memory was when his dad surprised him with tickets to the opening game at Three Rivers Stadium.
These were the stories he shared with me during the construction of Heinz Field. Every time we were going somewhere remotely near the construction site, we always detoured to check on the progress. Pop Woodard talked about his attachment to Three Rivers Stadium – the memories of his dad were there. In spite of his disappointment, he expressed pride in the new stadium and anticipated going to the opening game. I often accompanied him to the home games and had grown to like football. I learned to pray for good weather because Pop Woodard had no sense of temperature when it came to football – I dreaded the days when I had planned to go and it rained or snowed.
Until next time…
Kiarra was sitting at the dining room table sipping hot tea through a straw when I turned over. As I stretched on the couch and mumbled good morning through a yawn, she tried to smile. The sadness in her eyes confirmed what I already knew – she had not, and would not, call the Domestic Violence Hotline.
The room was silent and only faint traces of sunlight gleamed though the closed blinds. I let Kiarra sit quietly at the table as I contemplated the right thing to say. The phone interrupted the silence. After almost a month, Afreeka returned my call and I confronted her about her drinking.
"Who said I have a problem?" She was almost yelling. "You and Romen think you can figure out everybody's problems."
"Afreeka, you know that's not true. I just want to help you."
"I don't need help because I don't have a problem."
"We made a promise we wouldn't drink or use drugs," I reminded her.
"That was a childhood promise, and there's nothing wrong with social drinking."
"It's not social if you do it every day!"
Afreeka hung up. My ten attempts to call her went unanswered. I called Romen, and he told me to let her cool off. My fear was that months would pass before Afreeka would call back.
"This thing called life is complicated," Kiarra said, as I stood redialing Afreeka's number for the eleventh time. "It's never what you expect, is it?"
"It hurts," I answered, turning to face her. "I want so much to help the people that I love."
Kiarra stayed with me for a few days and called off work to let the swe
lling in her lip go down. The other bruises were easily hid under her clothing. Despite my constant urging, Kiarra made excuses for not following up at Women's Center and Shelter. I was mindful not to be angry because, therapeutically, I understood her denial.
On Wednesday, Kiarra returned to work and received a dozen red roses with an apology note from Xavier. After hearing about the roses, I went to her office only to find her engaged in a phone conversation with him. I sat across the desk from her while she finished her call.
"He said I should have known better than to bring up the past when he's working so hard to move toward our future."
"What?!"
"I wanted to talk about what I did to make him angry so I wouldn't do it again."
"Kiarra he punched you in the mouth."
"No he didn't. He only slapped me."
"Ki, listen to yourself! Do you hear what you're saying?"
"He said no one could ever love me like he does."
"He's dangerous!"
"I love him."
Kiarra was meeting Xavier after work and I was devastated. It was difficult getting through the day so I appreciated the paperwork to keep my mind occupied. At four-thirty, Jamel knocked on my door and reminded me it was time to leave. As he walked me to my car, I updated him on the ongoing saga.
"Lundyn, don't take this wrong, but this yo-yoing is unfair to you."
"Why can't I help her?" I whined. "What can I do to make her understand?"
"There's nothing you can do. Kiarra has to make some choices."
"I can't just let him kill her!"
"If he's that violent, then he might hurt you, too."
I had never thought about my own safety. In my mind, I didn't love Xavier and would have no reservations about running him over with my car if necessary.
"Lundyn, you need to walk away."
"I can't! And, how could you ask me to do that? I thought you understood friendship?" I got in my car and drove off, leaving Jamel standing on O'Hara Street.
Lundyn Bridges Page 12
