"Don't tell Romen," she said glancing at me. "Let him enjoy the weekend. I'll tell him later."
As always, I agreed to keep my sister's secret.
Afreeka and I spent Memorial Day weekend of 2000 in Erie with Romen. We arrived Friday afternoon and met Romen at the church for the rehearsal. We spent the evening meeting and greeting with Nina's family – all of whom were careful not to make references or ask about our parents. The following day, on a cool but sunny Saturday afternoon, Afreeka and I were two of ten bridesmaids in pale yellow designer gowns. This was her first wedding.
During brunch on Sunday, Romen cornered Afreeka. We were sitting at the edge of Nina's parents' deck when he sat down in front of us.
"Why the silence about grad school?" He looked at Afreeka and then looked at me.
Afreeka didn't answer, and I bit my cinnamon roll.
"Afreeka, our lives are hard. Life will only get better, if we make it better." Romen tried to make eye contact with Afreeka, but she was looking past him. "You can't quit now."
Tears began to stream down Afreeka's cheeks.
Romen continued, "I won't let you give up." He took Afreeka's hand and squeezed it.
"I'm tired Romen. I want things." Afreeka's voice was whiny.
"I'll help you." Romen lifted her chin so their eyes met. He wiped her eyes with the yellow linen napkin and smiled. "You know I'll help you."
Afreeka smiled, and Romen hugged her. "I love you." Then he hugged me. "I love you, too."
We sat in silence for a moment. I thanked God for my brother and sister.
"We all gotta do this." Romen smiled at us. "Okay?"
"Romen, you've been bossy my whole life."
Romen ate a piece of bacon off her plate. "And your point would be?"
Afreeka smiled. "Okay, I'll do it!" She paused. "I already got accepted into Temple."
Romen stood to walk away. "Thanks for being the prettiest bridesmaids." He winked and as he walked away I could tell he was smiling.
Until next time…
The closing ceremony for My Sister's Keeper was extremely moving. The four clients were given time to talk about their journey. This was the most difficult part for Francine, and she opted to be last.
"It's hard looking in the mirror at a monster," she began, looking directly at me. "But when you get forced to look, then you have to decide if you want the monster to live or die. I came into this program because I was living under the by-pass at Point Park and winter was coming, I had already been in jail, to rehab and had tried to kill myself. To me, this was just somewhere to spend time. I thought I could be evil and just get over until they put me out. I hated Dr. S; she took away the pills that let me sleep all day. Then this young girl comes into my room. She was all serious, trying to tell me about goals and being whole and stuff like that." She paused and looked at me. "I didn't want to hear it. I was mean and nasty and thought I could scare her away. She refused to leave. She kept coming back." Francine bit her bottom lip as the tears began to fall. "She was feisty like I used to be, and like my daughter. When I looked at her, I saw my children – the children I don't know, the children I walked away from. That's when I knew I had to kill the monster. I needed to find me and get this life thing right before it was too late." Francine was now crying. "Thank you Dr. S for making me wake up. Thank you Lundyn for not giving up."
I hugged her, hard – not trying to absorb pain, but to let her know I was truly happy for her. This chapter in my life had a happy ending. I had connected with Francine and helped her look beyond her past into an uncertain future. In the process, she helped me on my own journey toward being whole.
Later that evening, Jamel and I went to dinner on the Gateway Clipper. While we danced to “Your Song” by Brian McKnight I told him I loved him.
"Do you love me enough to spend the rest of your life with me?"
"Yeah."
He stopped dancing and looked at me. "I've been in love with you for months."
"Me, too."
He kissed me while we danced.
When the boat docked, Jamel and I held hands, letting our arms swing, as we walked back to the parking lot.
While driving to my apartment, I told Jamel about my journal. Before he could ask, I gave him an invitation to read it when it was completed. He wanted to know the intricacies of my life, and I was comfortable sharing them with him.
Romen was my first call, and the Woodard's were my second. I had already told them I was going to say yes when Jamel asked me to marry him.
This was a time I should have been sharing with my sister and my best friend. Afreeka was still refusing to return my calls, and Kiarra was still under Xavier's demonic spell.
After praying and thanking God for making me happy, I took my journal from the top drawer of my dresser. It was almost complete. My journey into my past had to be resolved before moving on with my life. There was no fear, only anticipation for putting my story in writing. Facing the pain was no longer intimidating – it was the source of strength that propelled me forward.
June 12, 2005
Afreeka received her Master's Degree in August 2001 from Temple University, and after working as a caseworker for two weeks, she decided it wasn't what she wanted to do. Having to tear families apart was too much déjà vu; so she quit and took a job as an airline reservationist. She set a goal to see the world before her thirtieth birthday. I began a photo album collection of all the post cards she was sending from each place she visited.
At the start of my senior year I had already decided to attend the University of Pittsburgh for graduate school. Although I wouldn’t admit it, I still needed the closeness of the Woodard’s – Oakland was far enough from Franklin Park to be gone, yet close enough to go home. Kristen would be disappointed, but she would pretend to be happy for me. I sealed my letter to her and planned to mail it on campus.
As was my usual, I was watching the Today Show while getting dressed for my class at ten. My mind didn’t initially register what I saw, and I sat down to pay attention to the television. I called Mom Woodard and she was crying. Her college roommate lived in New York and worked on the 64th floor of Tower Two. I got in my car and went home.
September 11th shook me to the core, and I begged Afreeka to promise me she wouldn’t get on another airplane. She argued that life in America included the freedom to travel and our government and economy would not be held hostage by terrorists. She attempted to explain her desire to see the world and flying as the only vehicle to make that happen. I wanted to be angry with her, but she was determined to continue traveling once it was safe again. I sought God's assistance and asked Him to put a hedge of protection around my sister.
Two years later, in September of 2003, Afreeka relocated to Baltimore with US Air. She promised not to distance herself from me and Romen.
Gladys and Earl Woodard, who I had come to call Mom and Dad by the time I was twelve, threw a party for me when I received my Master’s Degree in April of 2004. Romen and Nina, who was six months pregnant, surprised me after calling to say they couldn’t make it. Afreeka bought me a dress from Neiman Marcus, and we had our pictures taken at Olan Mills. The day after my party, Afreeka and I went back to Erie with Romen and Nina for a few days before flying to Los Angeles. Afreeka’s graduation gift was spending a week in Beverly Hills.
My sister and I spent many hours talking about our mother, Barbara. Afreeka admitted she was still angry about what her drug use had done to the family, but she no longer hated her. After several therapists and hundreds of dollars, Afreeka was almost at the point of feeling sorry for Barbara. I admitted my need to love her and my anger about the abandonment that tormented me. I wrote her a poem and planned to frame it with one of the only pictures I had with her.
Daydream
I wanted to tell you
what I was thinking
but I didn’t think
you would listen
so I kept it to myself
and dreamed th
at
you and I were free
to be like in my dream.
Afreeka and I cried for our mother. We cried for each other and for our family that was torn apart. We made a vow to never use drugs or drink and to get married before we had children. Then Afreeka told me about Rasheed, who she only dated because she didn’t want to be alone. He fell in love with her. She broke his heart because the fear of commitment overwhelmed her. I told her about Sam. Afreeka made me promise to wait on true love.
Then I showed Afreeka the poem I had written to my father. She wasn’t sure the man I remembered was really my father. Her best guess was that he may have been a drug dealer or one of Barbara’s many boyfriends. Although I vaguely remembered the man and didn’t know his name, I chose to claim him as my dad. His abandonment was easier to accept than never having a face to remember. I was about five the last time I saw him. I remember him buying me a dress from Sear’s on Highland Avenue and then taking me to eat at Vento’s. The poem I wrote was based on my memory of sitting across the table from him.
Estranged Fathers
Grey swirls of smoke
that dance like little devils
and mask his face
hiding the thoughts
that can be read in his eyes.
Hatred for a world
that won’t let him be his own man.
Shame, maybe,
because he’ll never know
the idiosyncrasies of his children.
This is a poem for my father
because I saw this in his eyes.
While sitting on Venice Beach, I reflected on my life and realized I had much to be thankful for. My life significantly improved while living with the Woodard’s. Things became predictable, my home life was stable, and I had been nurtured and loved. I even began to believe God did answer prayer. This was the life I always dreamed about, but in my heart of hearts, I always wished it could have been with my real family. Romen, Afreeka, Hustin and Rah'Lee deserved to have that too.
My childhood had been consumed with a myriad of intense emotions. I loved Barbara, and my heart ached because she died before I was sure of her love for me. The fear of abandonment tormented me because it seemed like I was always being separated from the people I needed. Sometimes I felt selfish for being happy the Woodard's had come into my life and rescued me from impending doom. The promise I made to myself to find the twins seemed to be a mere pipe dream. These were feelings I couldn't escape. These were uncontrollable. This was the pain I had tucked away in my past; this was the weight that had kept me in emotional bondage.
The End!
My journal was now complete. My five months of therapy were complete. The past was not as formidable as my childhood memories made it seem. My life lesson in faith was difficult, and I failed repeatedly because I wanted to understand the 'whys'. As my faith began to increase, I began to understand the insignificance of 'why' and how my faith in God's divine hand over my life was the important factor. Although many of my questions would never be answered, I was able to put my past in perspective. The events of my childhood were no reflection of who God allowed me to become. I could not escape my childhood – it shaped and molded me. The hardships of living with Barbara strengthened me and taught me resiliency. Though separated by miles, my older siblings and I maintained a bond. By grace, we circumvented the horrors of the foster care system. God sent Romen’s coach to intervene on his behalf and make a way for him to get his athletic scholarship. Afreeka had gone to Girls Hope, and even though she was experiencing a setback, I believed she would be okay.
I was beginning to realize how abundantly I had been blessed. God had been faithful, and life taught me it was really true that “the prayers of the righteous availaeth much.” The Woodard’s prayed when I couldn’t pray for myself, and God answered. My faith in God was growing, and my commitment to allow Him to continue leading my life was energized by my newly discovered positive outlook.
I sent Kathleen a Warm Spirits basket with a note of my indebted gratitude. In addition to helping me emotionally, she taught me about therapeutic relationships.
In celebration of the completion of my journal, Jamel and I went to dinner. Afterwards, we went back to my apartment and I let him begin reading the chronicles of my past.
Chapter 8
After submitting my finalized clinical notes to Dr. Solis, I packed my office. During my exit interview, Dr. Solis encouraged me to consider a research position in the Department of Epidemiology. I admitted being unsure if I would remain in Pittsburgh. She promised to provide an outstanding recommendation for whatever I intended to do.
"You're a good therapist," she said as I stood to shake her hand. "You're also a great friend."
I hugged Dr. Solis. "Thank you. This opportunity has meant more than you know."
Kiarra was sitting in the chair across from the door as I exited Dr. Solis' office. Her hair was casually pulled back revealing the fresh hand-print in her face. She wore no make-up, not even her trademark lip gloss. Her clothes magnified her weight loss, and the sparkle in her eyes was gone. My friend had aged in sorrow. Kiarra slowly stood as if her body hurt and mumbled good morning to Dr. Solis. She weakly smiled and squeezed my hand as she went in for her exit interview. I took her seat to wait for her. When she was done, instead of going to lunch, we went back to her office.
"Kiarra, are you okay?"
Her cast down eyes and broken spirit were evidence she was not. She shrugged her shoulders.
"Tell me what you need." I sat on the desk facing her.
"I can't take this anymore. I want him out of my apartment, but I'm afraid of what he’ll do if I tell him to go."
"Just leave. Leave everything."
"I can't do that."
"Yes, you can. Your lease is up at the end of the month. Just come to my place."
"I'm sure Jamel is sick of me."
"This isn't about Jamel – you're my best friend."
"He'll just come to your house to get me."
"Let me worry about that."
Kiarra wept so hard her body seemed to convulse. She was hurting – her heart was shattered and her spirit was shredded. I wanted to believe she would leave Xavier for good, but she was holding on to a pseudo concept of love that was incomprehensible. As always, I just held her.
"Romen and I are going to Baltimore this weekend. Why don't you come with us?"
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Kiarra shrugged her shoulders and then blew her nose.
After taping the last box, I helped her pack her car and then hugged her, again. My prayer was that she would find the strength to leave her apartment while Xavier was at work. History told me she would be at home waiting for him, desperate to fulfill his every whim to keep him from a violent tirade.
Jamel was standing at the top of the steps in front of the glass doors. He waved to Kiarra as she drove off.
"Need help packing your stuff?" He kissed me on the cheek.
"It's packed but can you bring down a box for me?"
"How's Kiarra?" He asked as he pressed the elevator button.
"She says she's tired. I told her to leave everything and go to my place. I also invited her to go to Baltimore this weekend."
Jamel continued to tell me Kiarra would only leave when she was absolutely prepared to never go back.
Kiarra never called or came. As usual, I asked God to keep her alive and to give me the words to say. I called the Woodard's to confirm our flight arrangements to Greece in July. Then I called Romen to let him know I booked a hotel room at the Hyatt in Baltimore. He was leaving Erie at six o'clock on Saturday morning, and we were leaving for Maryland as soon as he arrived in Pittsburgh. We would have twenty-four hours to find Afreeka. Both of us hoped her address was still the same.
Romen and I arrived in Baltimore a little after one o'clock. We drove to Afreeka's apartment and found her drunk. Her apartment smelled musty, and there were liquor bottles and beer cans everywhere.
"Hey," she slurred when she opened the door. "What ya'll doing here?"
Romen said nothing. I noticed the veins in his temple protruding as his breathing became audible. He pushed past her and entered her apartment.
"Afreeka, what are you doing to yourself?" I was screaming and fighting tears. I didn't know this person who was masquerading as my sister.
Afreeka plopped down on her couch, on top of the clothes and beer cans. "Ya'll should call first. I might a cleaned up a little after my party last night."
"Do you still have a job?" Romen stood over Afreeka. His tone was direct.
"Why?"
"Do you still have a job?" Romen's voice was raised. "Answer me!"
"Hell yeah, I got a job! How you think I throw my party every Friday?"
The moment was paralyzing. I was still standing at the door, sobbing. Romen sat in a dining room chair wringing his hands and shaking his head.
"Afreeka, go get in the shower. We need to talk." Romen got up and put on a pot of coffee. Afreeka laughed to herself but did as directed. While she was in the shower Romen began picking up the bottles and cans. I forced myself to move from the doorway to the kitchen and I washed her dishes. Then I picked up all the clothes haphazardly scattered about the apartment and put them in a garbage bag. Romen poured three cups of coffee and set them on the table. When Afreeka came out of her room, we were sitting at her dining room table. She joined us, sitting between me and Romen.
We sat in silence, drinking black coffee, for about five minutes. Afreeka began to sob, and her body heaved as if it might succumb to the weight of her pain. Her words were inaudible, and her breathing was labored. I reached over and held my sister. As I had done so many times with our mother, I tried to absorb her pain.
Afreeka smelled of alcohol – it was in her skin. My feelings vacillated between anger and compassion.
“I don’t want to be like her. I don’t want to be an alcoholic or a junkie.” Afreeka spoke emphatically in spite of her stupor.
Romen moved his chair so he was sitting directly in front of her. He wrapped his arms around Afreeka.
Lundyn Bridges Page 15
