Doin' Me (21 page)

The sun's brilliance obscured Reyna's vision as the car traveled down Fairmont Drive, away from John George Psychiatric Pavilion. She had no memory of the trip there three days ago. Emergency room doctors had placed her on a 5150 hold and then had had her transported to the county's psych facility after failing to find anything physically wrong with her to explain the constant wailing and combativeness. After three days of probing questions and evaluations, Reyna had arrived at her own diagnosis: she'd lost her mind, along with everything else. Oddly enough, this time she didn't blame anyone but herself.

Spending hours isolated in a small room had a way of bringing out the truth. When she was surrounded by those white walls and that dark linoleum, her pride and denial vanished and the bare truth emerged. Her predicament wasn't Peyton's fault; she'd allowed him to take advantage of her. Her relationship with Tyson didn't end because he didn't believe her; the foundation of the budding relationship had been built on her lies and omissions. It wasn't even Pastor Jennings's fault for manipulating and using her all those years. After Jewel came to her rescue, Reyna could no longer blame her mother for her insecurities. In that cold, sterile room, Reyna came face-to-face with the real perpetrator: herself.

Stubbornness had driven her to make bad choices. In rebellion, she'd deputized herself captain of her ship and master of her soul. She'd allowed hurt to fester and transform into bitterness, which ate away the tenderness of her soul. Pride had blinded her on her quest for independence. The enemy had disillusioned her and beguiled her into believing no one controlled her, that she was in control. Lying flat on her back on the metal-framed slab that served as a bed, with a braid on each side of her head, Reyna accepted that she controlled absolutely nothing.

Pastor Jennings had many warped teachings. Ironically, one of the few biblically sound ones had echoed in Reyna's head all night.

“God will never leave you or forsake you. You'll never get too far, where His hands can't reach down and grab you,” her former pastor would say.

Tyson had told her the same thing with different words, but she hadn't wanted to hear it then. She was ready to listen now.

“Would you like to stop and get something to eat?” Jewel asked from the driver's seat. “We could pick up Zachary's to go.”

“That's okay. I'll make a sandwich at home.”

Home
meant back under her mother's roof and in her old bed. She thought it best to make a clean break and not wait to move out of the town house. She'd be going to back to her mother's house in thirty days, anyway.

“You really should eat a decent meal,” Jewel insisted.

Reyna detected the worry in her mother's voice. Jewel had good cause to worry. In the last ten days Reyna had lost twelve pounds.

“If you make fried chicken, cabbage, and macaroni and cheese for dinner, I promise to eat two platefuls.” After Jewel saved her life, she didn't want her mother worrying about her.

“You got a deal.” With exact precision Jewel made a U-turn and pulled into the grocery store parking lot.

Reyna napped in the car while Jewel shopped. Images in her mind of her seated at Pastor Jennings's table, reciting the sinner's prayer at age seventeen, disturbed her rest but gave her the peace she'd been searching for. She was both physically and spiritually exhausted; instead of resisting, Reyna welcomed the comfort. “Come into my heart, Jesus,” she whispered repeatedly until uncontrollable tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I'm sorry, Lord. Come into my heart, Jesus.”

Supplication was still being made when Jewel loaded the grocery bags and entered the car.

“I can't do this anymore,” Reyna cried, gripping her mother's arm.

Jewel threw her purse on the backseat. “You can't do what anymore, baby?”

“I can't live like this anymore. This is not who I am. I need God. I need to feel His presence again.” She collapsed on her mother's shoulder.

Jewel lost track of time in the parking lot as she held her daughter and prayed for her restoration. It didn't matter that the vanilla ice cream she bought to accompany the peach cobbler she'd planned to make would melt. Her child had finally come back home.

 

 

“I found one I like,” Reyna announced, walking into the kitchen three days later. “I can check in on Friday. It's a little pricey, but I think it's a great fit.”

“As long as it works for you, don't worry about the cost.”

Reyna kissed Jewel on the cheek. “Thanks, Ma. You won't regret it.”

Jewel pulled a paper towel from the rack and dabbed her eyes. “I know I won't. You can do all things with God's help.”

Reyna's cheeks flushed at her mother's vote of confidence. It had taken almost thirty-one years for her to realize her mother was a ride-or-die chick.

“I have to start preparing. I hope you don't mind me not helping with dinner.”

“Take care of your business, girl. I have some calls to make.”

Reyna trotted off to her room and began making preparations for the rest of her life. She didn't doubt the power of God. She believed He'd forgiven her and restored her, and denial no longer ruled her. She acknowledged she had become an alcoholic and needed help beating the addiction. Old issues remained that needed to be dug up. She needed help identifying triggers, and she needed to learn how to properly deal with problems, instead of numbing the pain.

After much prayer, she'd found a faith-based recovery center online. The luxury, state-of-art center, located in the beautiful Santa Cruz Mountains, was small enough to provide an individualized recovery plan and resourceful enough to help her manage her personal and financial problems as well. A ninety-minute drive, the center was far enough from the city for her to focus on getting better without distractions. After a thirty-minute phone assessment, both she and the counselor agreed she was a good match for the program.

She had three days to completely move out of the town house and pack for the ninety-day stay. Utilities had to be turned off, and a change of address request given. Most importantly, she needed to call and plead with Starla to do her hair. Dealing with her hair would be a distraction at the center. Single micro braids would be perfect for the three-month stay. She hadn't spoken to Starla since the incident at Kevin's house months ago, yet, Starla called and welcomed her back into the fold and offered to assist her in any way possible.

Reyna figured the entire crew knew about her rededication to the Lord within seconds of Jewel calling Mother Scott, because they all called. Tyson must have known too, but he didn't call. She couldn't dwell on that now; it was time for her to “do her.”

Her next order of business was to call Paige and resign from her position. She was grateful to Paige for not firing her, but Tyson had gotten her that job. She thought it best to cut ties and stand on her own two feet. It was time for her to trust in God's provision and not Tyson's resources.

 

 

“Ouch!” Reyna screamed and winced when Starla started the first braid two days later. They were sitting on Jewel's front porch to avoid tracking hair in the house.

“Girl, I can't believe you're tender headed. I barely touched you.”

“I've never had my hair braided,” Reyna said, pouting.

“Stop whining, before I send you to the mountains looking like Simba from
The Lion King.
”

Reyna turned and looked upward. “You wouldn't dare?”

“Yes, I would. Now, turn around and hold still,” Starla ordered. “I'll give you a Tylenol before I leave.”

Reyna gritted her teeth and obeyed. She didn't have a choice; she was scheduled to leave for the center in eighteen hours. She'd completed every task, including mailing the keys for the town house to Tyson's post office box. She still hadn't heard from him and didn't expect to. He'd made it crystal clear: he was done.

“What time is Tyson picking you up?” Starla inquired three rows later.

“He's not. My mother's taking me. We're not a couple, you know,” she answered, hoping to prevent further questions about Tyson.

Starla smirked. “Since when does that make a difference?”

“It makes a big difference now,” Reyna commented with a hint of sadness. “At any rate, he's not coming.”

Starla continued braiding, and Reyna continued wincing.

“What's that you were saying about Tyson not coming?” Starla said a quarter of the way through.

“What?”

Starla held Reyna's head up.

Reyna winced again, not from pain, but from shock. Tyson stepped from his BMW and walked toward the porch. Her breath caught as every deliberate step accentuated his muscular body. She wouldn't consider him tall, but the tailored suit added inches to his stature. The closer he got, the more nervous she became. Was he going to wish her well or spit more painful darts?

“Hey, sis,” he said to Starla and gave her a light side hug. “Do you have a minute?” he asked Reyna, without bothering with a greeting. “I need to discuss a private matter with you.”

Reyna didn't miss the slight, but her heart still fluttered. “I'm kind of busy right now.” She would not place her life on hold again for a man, even if she loved him.

Starla held up her wrist and looked at her watch. “You're right on time. It's time for me to take a break. Be back in ten.” By the time Reyna looked up, Starla's back was across the threshold of the front door.

Reyna's shoulders shrugged. “I guess you're in luck.”

Tyson's facial expression remained hardened. “Luck has nothing to do with it. This is business.”

“I'm listening.”

Tyson stood facing her, like she was on the witness stand and he was the cross-examining attorney.

“Do you know how to get in touch with Peyton's family?”

The question caught her off guard. Why would he ask her anything about the man who had destroyed his house?

“I don't know anything about his family, other than they live in Oregon. At least that's what he told me, but that may not be true.”

“So you expect me to believe you lived with the man for months and never met or talked to his family?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

“Believe whatever you like. It's the truth. Why don't you ask Peyton yourself?”

“I can't. He's dead,” he answered, then folded his arms and stared at her like he was waiting to scrutinize her reaction.

At that moment, Reyna knew God had changed her heart. The hatred she had once felt for her abuser wasn't there. It had been replaced with pity.

“How? What happened?”

“According to police, the husband of the woman he was messing with came home early from a business trip and caught them in bed, doing coke. The husband went ballistic and beat them both with a two-by-four. The wife died immediately, but Peyton died two days later from internal bleeding.”

Her hand covered her mouth. “Oh, my God, what a horrible way to die.”

“For some unknown reason Peyton had the address to the town house in his pants pocket, which is why the police contacted me, the owner. I wasn't able to give them any more information than they already have. I thought you might know something to assist them in contacting the next of kin.”

“Sorry, Tyson, but I don't know anything. As pathetic as it may sound, I didn't know much about the man before I moved him in,” she admitted.

“If you remember anything, give this investigator a call,” he said, holding out a business card.

“You keep it,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm leaving in the morning.”

“That's right,” he said, like he'd remembered something important. “You're checking into a treatment center. Good luck with that.” He replaced the card in his breast pocket and backed way. “Oh, yeah, congratulations on rededicating your life to the Lord,” he called over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

A feeble strand of hope bubbled up in Reyna. He might never admit it, but he still cared. His body language might have been aloof and his voice cold, but every time she gazed at him, dark green flecks in his eyes communicated the feelings his heart would never again acknowledge.

The description and pictures on the Internet didn't do the recovery center justice. What was described as a “luxury rehab treatment center” was in actuality a resort. The single rooms were actually one-bedroom villas with a queen-sized bed with a pillow-top mattress and daily maid service. Meals were prepared three times daily by an in-house chef, and snacks were available twenty-four-seven. Computer and Internet services were available in the media center. The fitness center contained all the latest exercise equipment and a spa, complete with body massages.

Of all the recreational activities offered at the recovery center, Reyna most enjoyed the early morning walks along the two-mile trail that encircled the facility. The immaculate landscaping borrowed from every hue in the spectrum to create a magnificent kaleidoscope of color.

During these daily walks she met with God. On most days she talked about her life and the mistakes she had made, while He listened. Some days she simply walked and cried. She lamented that she would never know who her father was. For comfort, she heard Him speak to her spirit, assuring her that He was her father and that He would never leave her. Reyna admitted being angry at her mother for waiting so long to talk to her and teach her how to be a strong woman. In the process of forgiving her mother, Reyna was also able to forgive Pastor Jennings. Their actions hadn't always been in her best interests, but they loved her. Like her, they weren't taught how to effectively express love on a daily basis, but in a crisis their actions revealed what they couldn't express verbally. The Father, in His gentle way, opened her heart to receive the truth that she, like them, was a product of her environment. To demonstrate forgiveness, Reyna sent an e-mail to her mother and Pastor Jennings stating that she had forgiven them and thanking them for coming to her rescue.

A month into her stay, Reyna finally stopped crying herself to sleep. She couldn't help it; the nights were the hardest, when she felt the most alone. The mountains, beautiful and calming during the day, were dark and cold at night. The night sky there seemed darker than the one back home. When the lights went out at curfew, it got so dark inside her room, Reyna couldn't see her hands in front of her. She couldn't see anything, but the sun's brilliance always welcomed her the next morning, giving her the energy to face the day.

One night, while struggling to fall asleep, she applied the dark-light scenario to her life. Sure, she was in a dark place right now, but if she endured and persevered, the Son would carry her to a brighter day. Determined to succeed, Reyna followed the program to the letter: praying and connecting with her higher power, journaling, meeting daily with a counselor and giving accounts of her thoughts and actions, and learning to replace drinking with positive behavior. In the process, she discovered she had a knack for beading. When Jewel and her gangsta girls came to visit on Family and Friends Day, Reyna sent them each home with a necklace and bracelet set and sets for Starla and Marlissa.

Whenever Tyson drifted into her thoughts, she opted to pray for him instead of pining for what could have been. Unselfishly, she prayed for him to find the right woman to share his life with. After asking God to give her the strength to handle Tyson being committed to someone other than herself, she moved on to another petition. She refused to allow her feelings for him to distract her from receiving the tools to change her life.

 

 

A brighter day—a breakthrough—came eight weeks into the program, during a group therapy session conducted by Dr. Candace. While at the recovery center, staff and clients used first names only to protect their confidentiality. There wasn't a set format for group therapy. Any and every topic could be discussed in the sessions as long as every participant followed one rule: no lurking. Everyone had to share truthfully.

Rose, a suburban housewife and mother of two adult children, started the discussion. “I don't know how I became a drug user. I mean, I've thought about it over and over, and I can't figure it out. I have a loving husband and family. Nothing traumatic happened to push me over the edge.” She threw her hands up. “I just don't get it. How did I get here?”

“I've been thinking the same thing,” Josh said, jumping in. “I was next in line to make partner at the firm. I had it all . . . houses, cars, a boat. I even bought a thoroughbred. Next thing I know, I'm disbarred. I can't remember why I started using in the first place. I think it was a dare.”

“Any more comments before I address Rose's and Josh's comments?” Dr. Candace asked.

“I'd like to say something,” Reyna said, unsure if she possessed the courage to be transparent.
I can do all things through Christ.
“I know why I became an alcoholic.” She eyed Rose and Josh, who looked at her expectantly. “On the surface, it was easy for me to blame my verbally and physically abusive boyfriend for my drinking, and I did for a while. I convinced myself that I needed alcohol to mentally cope with my environment. Eventually, I did more escaping than coping. Since I've been here, and even before I arrived, I've accepted the truth. I became an alcoholic because I didn't know my value.”

She paused to let the statement settle in her spirit. This was the first time she had talked openly about having low self-esteem.

“When you don't know the value of something, you'll abuse or misuse it. I didn't know my value as a child of God, as a woman, or as a human being, for that matter. As a result, I abused myself with alcohol and allowed my so-called boyfriend to verbally and physically abuse me. Had I known my worth, I wouldn't have gotten drunk and given my virginity to a stranger. Had I realized I deserve respect and honesty, my ex wouldn't have had the chance to rape me. He never would have moved in with me.” Her voice trembled, and she used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes. Although she was working on forgiving Peyton, discussing the vicious attack proved difficult.

She went on. “One sip became three, and an ounce became a pint, because I didn't love myself. I showed up at work in my slip because I devalued myself.” She used the tissue Dr. Candace had handed her to dry her eyes. “That's how I became an alcoholic.”

“How do you perceive yourself now?” Dr. Candace's question broke the silence that had followed.

“Since I've been here, I've begun learning who I am and what I like. Before I got here, I couldn't tell you one activity I enjoyed doing alone. I defined myself through others and what
they
liked. I thought I needed a physical person to validate me—to make me feel special. I thought I didn't finish school and open up a practice because someone I trusted told me I shouldn't. The truth is, I didn't really believe I'd be successful, and I used their opinion as a reason to drop out with just a year to go.” Another truth spoken for the first time.

Reyna continued. “Today I know I'm valuable. I'm not perfect, but I'm worth more than a bottle in a brown paper bag. I've made many mistakes, but there's more good than bad inside me. I may not get it right the first time, but I have the power to complete anything I start.”

Rose and Josh looked perplexed, like they were analyzing her words. Reyna prayed God would use her testimony to minister to them. In the meantime, she added them to her expanding prayer list.