My relationship with Kiarra continued to be strained, and maintaining my composure during some of our conversations was increasingly difficult. She was allowing Xavier to move in with her during the summer so he could work before entering law school in the fall.
"Lundyn, I need you to understand," she pleaded one day during lunch.
"I don't understand, and I never will. How am I supposed to be cordial to him?"
She paused. Then she bit her lip and looked at the floor. This had become her trademark when she was about to relay Xavier’s message verbatim.
"It would be better if you waited until the right time to come around him."
"And what does that mean?" I was desperately trying to remain calm.
"I don't know. He said he would tell me when he was ready for you to come over."
My first reaction was to slap her because she had to be crazy, but then I wanted to hug her because her soul had been deflated. Xavier had done something horrific to my best friend, and I remained helpless. I sucked my teeth and sighed before I thought about it. Then I just shook my head.
"Ki, I'm here when you need me. You know you can call me anytime. Let's plan to have lunch every day so we can catch up."
Kiarra hugged me and began to cry.
Francine surprised me with lunch when I went to visit her at the end of April. She was giddy and seemed pleased to have my company. I still didn't trust her.
"To what do I owe this treat?" I asked, mindfully refraining from sarcasm.
"After all this time, I realized I never made you lunch."
"This isn't required."
"There you go with that professional crap again. I'm trying to be hospitable."
"I do appreciate it." I smiled as she sat across from me.
Without prompting, Francine proceeded to tell me about her training program and how she looked forward to being hired. She was willing to work the three to eleven shift if that was the only one available.
"Don't think I'm not afraid," she said after she slurped her coffee. "I'm scared as hell."
"Francine."
"Oh, sorry! But you know this is so different. But I like it."
"What do you like?"
"I like getting up in the morning, getting dressed and having somewhere to go. I like riding the bus downtown, walking in that building and taking the elevator."
Her excitement was like that of a high school girl who was anticipating her first day of work.
"And I feel good," she continued. "I can't explain it; I just feel good on the inside."
"What frightens you?"
"Every now and then I see one of my old partners. We used to look out for each other. Peggy lives in the garage on Liberty Avenue. She looks like she should be dead." Francine's demeanor became almost sullen. "That could have been me."
Francine's honesty was startling.
We sat silently – neither one of us knowing what to say. The moment was disquieting.
"You've made great progress," I finally said, trying to be therapeutic.
"So have you. I know this is about me, not you," she quickly stated. "But I need to tell you that I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize to me."
"I'm sorry your mother chose drugs. That's a terrible thing for a mother to do to her child."
I swallowed hard to fight the tears welling in my eyes. "Thank you, Francine."
As I left her apartment, I hoped she understood that my feelings were probably the same as those of her children.
While heating my left-over lasagna, I read the first chapter of Romans, which details God's wrath against those who choose to live unholy. After I ate, I sat down on the couch with my journal.
April 30, 2005
The holiday season of 1998 was consumed with multiple family festivities. Kristen was married the Saturday before Christmas, and I was a bridesmaid. Afreeka, Romen and Nina also attended the wedding. After the ceremony, Kristen and her husband, Larry, returned to Greece where they planned to live. Romen spent Christmas with Nina's family, and Afreeka spent Christmas with us.
Afreeka and I spent each night talking about our lives. Afreeka was a junior at Edinboro and having reservations about being a social worker. As much as she wanted to, she wasn't sure if she could really help people. We talked about the irony of our occupational choice – in spite of our lives, we had both chosen to be social workers. We realized, and admitted to each other, we were seeking healing by helping others.
In February of 1999, I was informed of Barbara’s death. No other information was available. Holy Family sent a letter to the Woodard's to inform me. The letter was sterile – I called Romen and Afreeka. Romen said nothing; Afreeka didn't return my call for three days. The pain of our life with Barbara had tainted any feelings of grief or remorse from my siblings. I was numb. Barbara was gone, and she would never know I loved her. I couldn't remember ever telling her that.
Romen completed his MBA in May of 1999 and announced his engagement to Nina while we celebrated with him in State College. He had been offered a job at her father's accounting firm in Erie. This was another step for Romen – he had his MBA, he had a job and he was in love.
Until next time…
Jamel's mother, grandparents and brothers joined us in Pittsburgh to celebrate the conferring of his doctoral degree. It was my first time meeting them, but they seemed to know about me. The dinner gathering was pleasurable, and his mother was very interested in Jamel's decisions about his future. He had secured interviews in Charlotte, North Carolina and Arlington, Virginia and remained open to his possibilities. While he talked to his mother, he made sure to make eye contact with me.
Our trip to Virginia Beach the following weekend was perfect. Jamel and I discussed our celibacy agreement, and he graciously booked two adjoining rooms. Although the first night was difficult for both of us, keeping our promise was paramount.
We were snuggled in one bed listening to the night sounds on the beach. Lying in Jamel's arms was pure bliss. I relaxed against the warmth of his body and felt consumed by his arms so gently wrapped around me. It would have been so easy to give in to my desires, but I wanted to wait. We discussed several times that good sex doesn't make you love someone, and true love is not dependent upon sex. 'Sex is the ultimate consummation of the union of two people united in love by God's Holy ordinance of marriage,' Rev. Morgan stated during the Young Adult Revival in January. 'Make a New Year's resolution to live holy,' was the charge to everyone in attendance. I wanted to do this right and keep my commitment to God's divine plan. As Jamel pulled me closer to him, I exhaled.
"It's okay," he whispered. "Close your eyes and just enjoy this moment."
I slept peacefully and awoke the next morning with no idea of what time Jamel had gone to his room.
The weekend was surreal and tranquil. I was in love with Jamel and planned to tell him over a romantic dinner when he returned from his interview in Charlotte. My heart was willing to follow him anywhere. I called Romen, and he said he saw it in my eyes during his visit. Then I called the Woodard's and admitted I was in love.
There's something magical about coming into your own and suddenly recognizing you like yourself, and on top of that, having someone who loves you in spite of anything else. That's how I felt as I entered Kathleen's office for my final Thursday visit. Up until that moment I thought it would be difficult, but I was ready. Although many unresolved issues remained, looking back at my life had clarified my past. Drugs had taken the best of my mother and my siblings had been separated – these were my greatest heartaches. My happiness was a quilt of memories – Romen, Afreeka and I remained connected even when distance separated us; the Woodard's had come into my life and, in addition to their love and nurturing, they introduced me to Jesus; I had a best friend I was prepared to be strong for; and now I was in love with a wonderful man. Lundyn Bridges had not been destroyed, I had not fallen down. I had become fragile but was now rebuilt and fortified.
Kathleen
let me talk during our visit. I felt good and I'm sure she was happy for me. Her only concern was my procrastination in finishing my life history. I promised her, and myself, I would.
Later that evening, I sat down with my homemade chicken salad – wing dings on top of the last of my lettuce, my last tomato and a half can of black olives. I had been thinking a lot about Kiarra and continued my life story, picking up where she and I met.
May 26, 2005
I met Kiarra Dillingham at the start of the fall semester of my sophomore year. As I awaited her arrival, my anxiety peaked at the thought of meeting another roommate, especially after the catastrophe with Melissa. My application for a single had been denied and left me with thirty-five people in front of me on the off-campus housing list. When I thought about living alone, I didn't mind being so far down on the list – I really wasn't ready to live in my own apartment.
The night prior to Kiarra's arrival, I meticulously set up my side of the room, hoping to set an example. Kiarra arrived a little after ten the next morning. I was sitting on the bed staring at Denzel in Courage Under Fire. I had seen it at least ten times. I muted the movie and greeted Kiarra as she came in with her parents. She greeted me with a warm smile as I introduced myself.
"Yellow and red," she said looking around the room. "I like that – bright and bold."
"I was hoping it would match your things."
"My comforter is red – it's a match."
I helped her bring her bags into the room.
"I didn't bring my television or microwave," she said sitting on the unmade bed. "I assumed you already had one."
"All the comforts of home." I smiled at her as I gathered my old books and my book list for the new semester. I turned off the television and excused myself from the room to allow them time to set up. When I returned after lunch, Kiarra was unpacking her last suitcase.
"Is it always this quiet?" She asked as I entered the room.
"It's still early. Things will change tomorrow when the freshmen move in."
Kiarra was a transfer student from Shippensburg University. Coming from Riverdale, New York and going to a rural area proved to be too much of a transition. She had initially planned to be a math teacher but was thinking of changing her major – she just hadn't decided what that might be. Kiarra was the middle child of five – her brothers were older and her sisters were younger. Kiarra had chosen Chatham because she preferred a small school and fell in love with the campus after visiting her oldest brother's girlfriend.
Kiarra and I talked that first night until four in the morning. She humbly mentioned her lead roles in her high school plays and her win at the Apollo Amateur Hour when she was only eleven. She excelled in math and science and stayed on the Honor Roll through middle and high school. Her brothers were alumni of Morehouse College in Atlanta, Georgia where they were now living. Her younger sisters were in their freshman and senior years in high school. The senior was an All-American basketball player, and the freshman was a singer and dancer. Kiarra shared a close relationship with all of her siblings.
By the time the first semester ended, Kiarra became my best friend. She was the second person I told about me – Kristen had been the first. It was difficult telling Kiarra about my family, especially because I envied her family. My family life had been haphazard, at best, before uniting with the Woodard’s. Kiarra absorbed the information, and as she always did, since the first night we sat up talking about ourselves, she found the bright side of every situation. We spent spring break that year with the Woodard’s. She also met Romen and Afreeka and promised to help us find the twins. The following year, we spent spring break in New York, and she showed me where Montel Williams filmed his talk show – she said if all else failed, Montel could find the twins.
Until next time…
I fell asleep on the couch with my journal.
The booming thunder woke me on Friday morning. In spite of the grayness, I was looking forward to having lunch with Kiarra and reminiscing with her about my journal entry. However, I arrived at work only to discover Kiarra called off. My nemesis, Xavier, scored again! My anger turned to concern because Kiarra promised she wouldn't call off work at his whim. I tried calling her – no answer. My anxiety consumed me, and I immediately assumed the worse – Xavier killed her. My thoughts made me nauseous, and I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes to pray. Dr. Solis startled me when she knocked on my door.
“Are you okay?” She asked, taking the seat to the right of my desk.
My thirty-second pause was insufficient time to compose myself. I was unsure of what type of response would be appropriate. Telling Kiarra’s personal business might put her job in jeopardy. I realized my inability to separate my personal life from work might also make me look bad – but my emotions defeated me. As the tears flooded my feeble attempt to maintain any professionalism, I told her everything. After moving her chair next to mine, Dr. Solis held my hand as I spoke. Then she called her brother, a police officer, and had him accompany me to Kiarra's house.
Kiarra was curled up in bed. There was blood on the sheets. I could hear her whimpering.
"Ki," I said sitting down and pulling the covers away from her bruised and swollen check. "I'm here."
I followed the paramedics to Magee Women's Hospital. Xavier forcibly had anal sex with Kiarra. I hated him. The advocate from Women's Center and Shelter joined me at the hospital. Her report was disheartening. Kiarra refused to press charges.
My best friend needed to be nurtured, and I took her to my apartment, let her take a shower and then put her in my bed. No words were exchanged. There was nothing to say. Our routine had been that Kiarra would spend a few days at my apartment after each episode before returning to Xavier. I knew this time would be no different, yet I begged God to restore her sanity.
Jamel called that evening excited about his trip to Charlotte. He questioned my tone and came over after hearing the latest episode. I spent the rest of the evening crying in his arms and wrestling with whether or not to call Kiarra's parents.
Xavier returned to Kiarra's after a two week hiatus. He was working as a clerk at a law firm, at least that's what Kiarra told me. Kiarra remained reserved, but we made every attempt to have lunch together during the week. This was my way of checking on her and making sure she was alive. Each new bruise fueled my anger with Xavier, and I prayed fervently asking God to let my best friend live long enough to get out of the relationship. Our friendship became tenuous, but I held on. Kiarra’s lashing at me became her way of expressing her anger toward herself – I understood that. I also knew Xavier wanted me to walk away, and I refused.
Although he had not yet secured a position, Jamel informed the Medical Director of his job search and his intention to relocate. He was confident this would be his last summer with the Adolescent Obesity Program and told his clients he would be leaving when the program concluded. As his departure from Pittsburgh was imminent, I began to seriously consider my options. The thought of leaving Pittsburgh was now intriguing.
My time at the Institute was coming to an end. Francine finally seemed to be acknowledging her past. She also consistently mentioned contacting her son and daughter in the near future. She said she needed to be whole and felt ready to deal with that part of her past. Whenever Francine asked about my weekend, I seized those opportunities to witness about Christ's forgiveness and love. My own therapy had been healing, and I understood what the pastor meant when he said 'you can't give to others what you don't have yourself'. I had initially seen Francine as hopeless, but now that I was able to see her differently, I understood she could be free from the pain of her past. I began inviting Francine to church, and even though she never came, I continued to give her directions.
My phone calls to my sister seemed to go unanswered – her response time increased to almost two months. Romen and I discussed driving down to Baltimore for a surprise visit with Afreeka. Her avoidance was getting on my nerves. Romen remained stoic and indicated he
was willing to go to Baltimore with me, but he felt Afreeka had turned her back on us. I continued to keep the unification of our family on my prayer list.
The more I journaled, the more appreciative I became of the Woodard's. Bitterness robbed my childhood and I was grateful for their efforts in loving me. I was also looking forward to July and spending two weeks in Athens with Kristen. I had never been out of the country.
June 7, 2005
In May of 2000, the family gathered for Afreeka's graduation from Edinboro University. Her original plan included working for Child Protective Services while she pursued her MSW (Master's of Social Work) at Temple University. However, I could tell by her lack of enthusiasm that she was indecisive about graduate school. No one pressed her about it because we were celebrating. Romen was elated – Afreeka had also graduated from college, and he remained determined that the Bridges children would make it. He was also getting married at the end of the month. Romen had a lot to celebrate. Afreeka spent the week after graduation with her boyfriend in Atlanta before coming back to Pittsburgh to get me. We spent two days with the Woodard's before leaving for Romen's wedding. During our conversation on the drive to Erie, it became very apparent that Afreeka wanted a nice apartment and a new car more than her Master's Degree.
"I can always go back and get it," she told me as we drove to Erie. "I'm tired of being poor, Lundyn. I want things. I want to go places and do things. I want to go to a store and just buy the things I want without looking at the price tag."
I understood Afreeka's frustration. I had been given the opportunity to live with the Woodard's. They had done much more than provide a bed and a dresser – they loved me and provided me with things above and beyond what most parents do for their children. My heart ached for Afreeka – she deserved those things too. There should have been someone to hug her at night, take her to the mall and let her buy things, someone who showed up at the school on her behalf. Now it was too late. Afreeka had graduated from college, and those voids would remain in her life. I sat quietly while she drove.
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