Big Girls Drama (8 page)

Jeffrey was gone. I made him pack his belongings and get the heck out of our home. Of course, he didn't take everything, saying he was going to do whatever it took to get our marriage back on track. Evidently, he didn't understand he was the one who derailed it in the first place. I was tired of dealing with his disrespectful ways. He must have thought since I was younger than he, I was going to be gullible enough to deal with his bull. But he was sadly mistaken.

I sat on the couch, listening to the soothing sounds of the late Luther Vandross. I was already in my fleece pajamas as I thought back on how awful of a day this had been. I chuckled to myself because if it wasn't for having bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all.

There was a knock at the door, and I picked up my cell to see it was after midnight. I knew it better not be Jeffrey trying to crawl his trifling behind back up in here because it wasn't happening. I didn't care if he didn't have anywhere to go. He could sleep on the front lawn as far as I was concerned.

Peeping through the peephole, I was surprised to see it was my brother, Victor.

Opening the door, I said, “Boy, what are you doing here?”

He grabbed his chest and blew out a sigh of relief.

“Girl, I'm mad at you,” he said pushing his way past me.

I closed the door behind him and watched as he walked in with a suitcase. He dropped it to the floor and turned to face me with his hands on his hips now.

“You can't answer your phone?” Vic asked.

I did see he'd called me several times, but I wasn't in the mood to talk. I should have known my brother would eat up the highway to find out why I wasn't accepting his calls.

“I thought something had happened to you,” he said, walking over and giving me a strong, loving embrace.

“Vic, I'm sorry.”

“I'm just glad you're okay. Now, I should whoop your ass for scaring the hell out of me.”

I giggled as I said, “Come over and sit down.”

I took my brother by the hand and led him over to the sofa. We both plopped down, him harder than me since he looked exhausted. I knew he was. Especially since he'd just driven six hours to get to me.

“Your ass owes me some gas money, a trip to my therapist, and a spa day for the years you aged me thinking something had happened to you.”

“It's been a day,” I said taking a sip of my wine. Before I knew it, my eyes began to water. Just the thought of my brother being here was enough for me to cry uncontrollably because I knew I was with someone who truly loved me.

“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.”

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 title 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.