I started crying. A woman who got on my nerves most of the time complaining, got it. I felt like I had been given a sign revealing I had made the right decision. I needed one.
CHAPTER 21
I was thinking about when I had to start over again a few years ago, after I got sick. If I was losing everything now, the way I felt, I may as well follow my heart to try to be what I really wanted. I wasn’t sure what I had wanted at the time, and I had to figure it out. I spent thousands of dollars for Graphic Art/Design school. I liked it, but that wasn’t it. I knew it in my heart, so I decided to follow it.
I started writing for cathartic reasons. I had no one to be angry with for what had happened to me. I was feeling sorry for myself and resentful for a time, just after my diagnosis. I had worked so hard to do better after I got off drugs; I filed all my back taxes and took a vacation. I was doing well for a long time. Then I got sick.
I resented having to start again. I didn’t mess up. I hated life for a time, I had been re-defined by no choice of my own. I had to learn to like myself again with limitations unfamiliar to me. I had often wondered if I was writing because I had something to think about now, and whether or not I would run out of things to say. Did anybody care what I was writing about? Would I be able to make a living at it was never the issue.
I soon found out writing was not as easy as I thought. I knew I would learn whatever, to master it; I had things to say. I had never felt so strongly about anything in my life. Although, I questioned my judgment; I was willing to sacrifice everything for writing. I was not used to feeling this way, but I just knew it was right. The discomfort that came with this decision bothered me from time to time. I would be ready for it now.
I thought about what Deputy no Badge said, “You counsel the women, and everyone likes you. Thank you, really.”
I couldn’t talk. What she had said meant more to me than anything. When I was finished with her letter, I went back to my bunk.
Marcie said, “I love the art gallery under the bunk you made.”
“It’s hardly a gallery, but thanks.”
“Are you going to take down the pictures before you leave?”
“No. It’s my contribution to the women here. You can have what pictures you like when I’m gone. Just let me finish the collage first.” I was going to be released soon. My mom had sorted out my time with the court. The deputies never answered my second snivel. I knew if mom sorted it out, it was a done deal. She told me she had, when I spoke to her on the phone. I was still a little nervous about it.
I could hear Cookie calling me from above, in her cell. I went to the bars and stood on the steps. Cookie showered me with birds while I looked up. This reminded me of the feeling I had when I flew June Bugs in the backyard when I was little.
I had wondered what was taking her so long; I had sorted her with commissary a couple of times. I was off my antibiotics days ago. She always said, ‘they’re coming’ when I asked. After I got them, I realized it was taking so long because there were so many. Cookie reminded me of someone I knew, I just couldn’t remember who.
I hurried and gathered them up so as not to get into trouble so close to my release. I hid them under my mattress, with my underwear that I had sneaked inside, to wear under the jail issued panties I had received coming in.
By the time I finished my collage it had poems, birds, and some cool magazine pictures. The time had come; we calculated it would be tonight when I went home.
The women had a release party for me. They made spreads and lemon pie. We drank tons of coffee. I gave away my shower shoes and cup, my razor, and what little toothpaste I had left. I gave away my paper and pencils, and the rest of my commissary and a few birds. They all promised they would write, but I knew our lifestyles were too different outside. They had affected me positively, and I was glad for that.
Sandy came over and woke me up. My name was being called over the speaker system. I hugged everyone, even women I didn’t really know. Everyone wished me luck with writing. I was released from jail in the middle of the night. Philip picked me up; he had some tacos for me, and a pack of smokes – in addition, a guy with him named Juan, he had met waiting for me to be released. Philip was giving him a ride home, explaining to me it was not far from where we were going. I didn’t care, I was out.
The man had been waiting for a ride from much earlier on, he did not have any money when he was released. He and his wife did not have a car. We dropped him off at home, it wasn’t too far out of the way. He thanked Philip, and told him if he ever needed help to come for him. Moreover, he would help without question. I believed him.
I was ready to grieve.
My car was in my mom’s driveway. I went to Philip’s, we waited for a decent hour to go over and pick it up.
Philip said, “Mom had the tree removed from her yard.” He sounded like he was preparing me for something. I knocked at the door. My mom unlocked it, and said, “Come in, its open.” The antique buffet sat by the front door. I looked at the buffet and saw my keys; the flowers I was saving were gone.
“What are the boxes in the driveway?”
“Those are Lady’s things, they are being given to a charitable organization.” I hated my mother by the time she finished her sentence.
“Did you save anything of Lady’s for me?”
“No.”
Lady had given me something of hers, about a week before I went to jail. I promised to keep it, Lady insisted. I thought she was making a peace offering, alternatively her being drunk. We had nothing to make peace over. Lady was always upset and easily offended. It was a bottle of wine, I took it without questioning her. I was in a hurry at the time, she seemed comforted to know I was keeping it. I had not starting drinking again, anyway. I wrote it off as her lack of sobriety, or craziness. Now it was as if Lady knew this would happen to me.
I took my car keys and left the house. Philip was still outside in his truck blocking the driveway waiting; I looked up at him, crying. He pulled his truck from across the driveway after a few moments, out of my way. Then I left.
CHAPTER 22
We gathered for a barbecue at Philip’s house. I didn’t feel like anyone was missing. Everyone seemed to be making the best of a situation. I had given up on my desire for their change. We were back to doing the same old thing and that was okay with me. I sure as hell did not need anyone else committing suicide.
We had gathered before, but something was different, we were becoming, making our relationships more meaningful. The significance of being together was working, it never had before. Nothing matters about the past. I am not playing imagine either. When they are just like this, I like them. I am grateful I have them today tomorrow I may feel different. I wanted to enjoy the moments with them.
I sat back in my chair, and in the moment I could pray about the past when it bothered me. The opportunity to let go of my sadness was here right now.
I was trying to fix the stuff in my head with them, and me. I could tell by being with them they were doing the same.
“Remember, we are just people,” I had said aloud. “We all make mistakes.” I forgave them. I let go of my anger with all of them.
I forgave Lady.
Her death had become something positive for us. Lady’s death was an awakening; the resurrection of each of us. I felt different. Her death had made me look deeper inside myself and others. Her death reflected the truth in all of us. Her death made me more forgiving, and loving. It made me remember and also forget.
I just wanted to be with them in the moment, exactly like this.
CHAPTER 23
Jen called to see how I had been doing since my release. I learned from Jen that two weeks before Lady committed suicide, our stepfather Robert had tried to get Lady to put her hand down his pants. Jen called to ask me if I knew, and should she tell Philip about it? Jen had often asked for my insight into situations and relationships, the way I do with Mary. I said, no, answering both questions.
While I was hoping my judgment about this was right, I was hoping if ever Philip found out, would he forgive me for my dishonesty? Was I unlike my mother? Had this been Lady’s burden, a sexual relationship with Robert? What would he have done with her anyway, he is over seventy years old? I had learned in college about this sort of thing, if the abuser, Robert, was trying to elicit inappropriate sexual behavior this late in the game, it probably was not the first time. How long had this been going on? The thought of this made me sick and completely confused my judgment. Why didn’t he ever try that with me? I had unanswered questions.
How could my stepfather stand there and attend Lady’s funeral looking everyone in the face? I was stuffed with anger, on top of my confusion. I felt like a taxidermist had made me full. I should be mounted on the wall. I wished I had found out when I was released for the funeral; I would have confronted him. I have not grieved for Lady yet, now this.
I saw my Stepfather as opinionated, yet an under spoken man who was kind. Why he stayed married to my mom I do not know, I did not think they liked each other. They are like Jekyll and Hyde, each one of them representing a character. Robert was my pick for Dr. Jekyll. Now, he had become Mr. Hyde.
Lady was my grandfather’s favorite grandchild; he gave her the attention she lacked at home. I always thought there was something mean about him, and I stayed away from him. My grandfather and my grandmother babysat us sometimes, when we were little. My grandfather, mom once told me once, had molested my mother. Had my mother become desensitized to inappropriate sexual behavior from men, because this had been her experience with them? Did Lady learn from grandpa not to tell? Maybe my stirring things up and confronting my family was the wrong approach for Lady. Lady didn’t confide in me anymore at that time. Lady probably would not have been believed or listened to by our mother. Mom doesn’t want to deal with anything, she keeps secrets. I wondered if mom knew about this?
When I told my mother about Robert’s brother offering me oral sex when I was sixteen, I asked her, “Why is he still coming to our house after what he said to me?”
Mom had said, “Robert talked to him, it won’t happen again.” I still feel betrayed by her every time I see her face. Why tell her? My mother can’t help us. Maybe that is why Mamma told Lady she had to leave her house, that morning she died.
Maya said Robert had also tried to get her to give him a hug that she was uncomfortable, with when she was around fifteen years old. I thought this was an error in her perception, since she was the only one this had happened to, that I knew of. We were a harem. Maya and Lady had become his choices. I wondered if there was anyone else this had happened to?
I felt guilt for stirring things up with them for the first time. Who was I to try to force the release of their pain? I realized also, I had helped with our being estranged by rejecting them constantly. I know Lady did not want to cause any more problems than her addiction to drugs had caused already. Lady told me she felt like a burden on us, the last time I spoke to her on the steps. Were her invisible obstacles because of Robert?
I do not know what I believe anymore. How could this be the same man who made me feel in control for the first time, flying June Bugs? My son’s middle name is Robert; Malcolm calls him grandpa when he speaks to him. Robert taught me math, black history, and to read no matter what – things like the dictionary and what I couldn’t learn in school. James Baldwin, Neruda, Alex Haley, Malcolm X, Melvin Van Peebles, Langston Hughes and Dick Gregory. I used to watch Phil Donahue and Tony Brown’s Journal with him on TV, talk with him for hours.
I wiped tears from my eyes, wishing this was a black and white issue. I might know what to do, or understand. I hopped in my car. I just kept driving wishing I could play ‘imagine’ with Lady, wherever she was.
CHAPTER 24
I entered the 405 freeway on-ramp headed north. I started to cry uncontrollably.
* * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andrea Carr is an accomplished author/storyteller. She has been writing emotionally driven, self exploratory stories since 1999 from her homes in Orange County. She grew up in Huntington Beach and later moved to Los Angeles California after leaving a Mental Health Career, as a Psychiatric Technician for the State of CA.
Miss Carr has the uncanny ability to weave words cleverly and simply. Her literary works create thought provoking images both vivid and personal, allowing the reader to be moved with “soul honesty.”
Connect with Andrea on line:
http://www.andreancarr.com/
Family Tree the Novel Page 9
