Forever Blessed (Women of Prayer) (5 page)

Keisha made her way to the couch and plopped down right next to Laney. “Whatcha’ readin’?”

Laney jumped and threw her book in the process. She would never get used to this woman.
Every seat in the room was empty and she had to sit down right next to me. Hasn’t this woman ever heard of personal space?
She picked up her book. “It’s called, "Pride and Prejudice," by Jane Austin. Ever heard of it?”

Keisha tilted her head and looked at the cover. “It don’t have no pictures in it? Nope, I can’t say as I have. Is it good?”

“Yes, it is. I enjoy this book very much. I brought it with me. It’s about hard times and feelings of despair, yet it also speaks of hope. I used to see myself in this book. Confused about what love is, and what love isn’t. Now, it takes me to a place where love isn’t disguised as lies and pain. This book is a special place I go to escape. I have read it 24 times.” Laney looked to Keisha, surprised she had shared so much.

“Um, well, that’s real nice, Laney. I ‘preciate that. It sounds like it’s a nice story.” Keisha glanced toward the table and her waiting paperwork. “Can you help me with somethin’? I’m s’posed to have this paperwork done to give to Ms. Sheila and it ain't makin’ no sense ta me.”

Laney followed Keisha’s gaze to the paperwork on the table. “Sure, show me what you’re doing. Maybe I can help.”

Keisha led the way to the table and handed the papers to Laney. “I’m s’posed to be makin' a budget, but I ain’t never had no budget. I don’ know what t'do.”

Laney smiled and started asking Keisha questions and helping her fill out the forms. Before they knew it, it was ten o’clock and time for Laney’s appointment with her advocate. Laney handed Keisha the papers. “We’ll finish these up as soon as I am done with my session, ok?”

Keisha took the papers and smiled at Laney.
Maybe the pretty white lady ain't so uppity after all. She kinda nice.
“Thanks, Laney. I mean that. I p’reciate it.”

             
             
             
             
Chapter Six

Laney didn’t know what to expect when she entered the small room used as the private counseling room. The woman sitting in one of the pink armchairs was tall and gangly. Her salt-and-pepper hair was shoulder-length and reading glasses sat on the tip of her nose, as if she looked down at everything and everyone. Everything else about her was loud and obnoxious. Laney took it all in; her brightly-colored gypsy skirt, matching shirt, the purple scarf tied around her neck, and her bright blue eye shadow.

Cyndi grinned at the seemingly well-put together young woman standing before her and stood up to greet her, “You must be Laney. Come on in and have a seat.”

Laney sat down in the chair opposite the one Cyndi had been sitting in and waited for her to continue. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this. Sharing feelings and secrets was meant for best friends in the eighth grade, not a grown woman whose secrets read more like the “Nightmare on Elm Street.” It was part of the deal. There was nothing she could do.

Cyndi watched a flood of emotions cross the features of this pretty woman.
Lord, help me reach her. She has been hurt so badly and has hidden who she is for so long, she may not remember the person she used to be.
“We are going to start off with prayer.” Cyndi bowed her head and began to pray.

Laney looked around the room while Cyndi prayed. This “prayer” thing was getting old. Did all these women really believe what they were saying? That some big powerful God in the sky who knows everything is going to save them?
If that is what they really think, they must have all been hit up-side the head one too many times.
If there was a God, he sure didn’t save her. Where was he when she needed him? When she was lying on the floor in a puddle of her own blood, where was he?
Yeah, right. God is a fairy tale.
The one thing her husband said that was true was that
God was for weak-minded people who couldn’t handle their own problems. A crutch, nothing more.
Hearing Cyndi winding down, she quickly bowed her head. She might as well give the appearance of being agreeable.

Cyndi got right down to business. “Laney, you are meeting with me for several reasons. One is to help you realize you are more than what you have been told you are. I want to help you remember who you used to be. The things that have been pushed so far back, the things about you that define who you are, your likes and dislikes. Let me guess. He told you how to style your hair. What clothes to wear. What you could eat. Who you could see. What movies you could watch. What books you could read. Places you could visit. Stores you could shop in. What groceries you could buy. And on and on.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I want you to remember how you like to wear your hair. It’s time for you to become your own person again. Many people look at me like I am crazy. I wear bright, wild clothes that flow. I wear them because I like them. They make me happy. I didn’t always get to do that. When I walked away from my husband 10 years ago, it was an epiphany when I realized I was not an extension of my abusive husband.”

This information settled on Laney’s heart like a brick. She should have known this woman had been abused too. Yet…there was something about her. She didn’t look scared. She wasn’t nervous. She was confident. Laney wondered how long that took. She worked hard to give that impression. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

Cyndi continued. “You also must realize that what happened to you is not your fault. You did nothing to deserve this abuse. You didn’t say the wrong thing. You didn’t cook the wrong meal. You didn’t vacuum the wrong way, or any other number of things he claimed caused him to hurt you. A man chooses to cause pain. You are not at fault.” Cyndi paused. “Laney, you look distracted. Are you okay?”

Laney looked at the closed door, then at the window. She could see outside, but she couldn’t see her children. She could sense the panic starting to rise like the bile when her husband started his approach. She heard the background noise, she heard words, but they weren’t making sense. “Where are my children?” She felt hands on her. She fought. She felt tears, searing her flesh. Who was crying? “I need my children, where are my children?” More hands. “Leave me alone. Let go of me.” She felt as if she would burst, like a bomb had been planted deep in her chest, intermingling with the pain, just waiting for the trigger to trip. She screamed, “I want my children!”

Laney opened her eyes, unsure of where she was. She looked around, acclimating herself to the surroundings. Sitting next to her was her friend, Sheila and then she remembered. Awareness accompanied by panic flashed across her features.

Sheila quickly laid a hand on her arm, willing her to relax. “It’s ok. Your children are right here. They have been waiting for you to wake up.”

Tears of relief spilled as she quickly enfolded all three of her children in her arms, breathing in their scent. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Relishing the feel of their skin next to hers, the softness of their hair as she ran her fingers through it, the heat of their cheeks and forehead as she pressed her lips to their skin. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let them go. They were her lifeline. Without them, life was not worth living. The air around her would be poison if her children didn’t breathe it as well.

Laney opened her eyes and watched Sheila quietly leave her to the safety of her children. She closed them again, and clung to the three life preservers that kept her afloat.

             
             
             
             
Chapter Seven

“That’s the last of it, Keisha.” Laney deposited the last box on the kitchen countertop in the small apartment that Keisha and her son, Junior, now called home.

Keisha looked around. It wasn’t much, but it was all hers. “Thanks, Laney-girl.”

“Only you could get away with calling me that.” Laney began taking dishes out of the boxes and ran some water to wash them up with. Scrunching her nose and holding one up she asked, “Where did these come from?”

“That big ol’ church down the street. They help out the shelter by donatin’ stuff. They real nice like that.”

“Well, these are real nice.” Laney rolled her eyes and started to laugh. In the center of the plate was a big rooster. She plopped the plate into the sink and bubbles flew up.

“Hey girl, you best watch what you’re doin’. You’re getting’ them bubbles all over my floor!”

Laney started laughing harder and flung a handful of bubbles in Keisha’s direction. Keisha retaliated and before they knew it, bubbles were everywhere and both of them had wet splotches all over their clothes. They collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles.

Sheila watched, unnoticed, from the doorway. What a difference a week makes. Granted, the safety of this moment would be short-lived, evaporating when reality sank in, but for the time being, both women were free. Hopefully, they would live out their lives in freedom, free of abuse, fear and insecurity. They had a long way to go. Sheila prayed for them daily.

Her heart ached for Keisha.
Lord, give her strength to do this. Keep her safe, Lord.
Given Keisha’s background, she was unsure if the woman would follow through and keep her distance from her boyfriend. It would be a struggle, but she’d learned a long time ago to let go and let God. God had to be Keisha’s source of strength. What Keisha did from here on out, depended on her. Yes, everyone from the shelter would still be here for her and yes, she could call anytime day or night, but Keisha had to remain strong. This had to be her decision.

Then there was Laney. In the past week, she had flourished. Her shell had begun to crack and emerging was a beautiful chick, ready to embrace the world. Her first hesitant steps were traumatic, but each step thereafter was steadier and more graceful.

Sheila leaned against the doorframe, contemplating the two women before her. They couldn’t be more different. Keisha with her dark skin, unruly hair and a smile that lit up the room. She was uneducated yet she knew more about life and heartache than any one person should. Her heart was bigger than her pocketbook and her mouth ran a mile a minute.
Where is she going, Lord? Please reveal her purpose to her Father. Her steps are ordered by you. Help me to turn her over to you. To trust you. Lord you know how much I love her. Oh Father, protect her and Junior. Give them peace in this place, Lord. When her thoughts start wandering, give her the courage to stay put.

Sheila’s thoughts wandered to Laney, her tall girlish figure sprawled across the floor, red hair spilling onto the linoleum. Her fair skin and a light sprinkling of freckles across her face gave the youthful appearance of a teenager, not a thirty-four-year-old woman.
All the education in the world didn’t keep her from a painful relationship. Lord, she’s had her feelings locked away for so long, she doesn’t know who to trust. Help me reach her, Lord. Reveal yourself to her. Show me what to do, what to say. She’s been hurt by your church, Lord. She doesn’t understand the sinful nature of man and the perfect nature of you, oh Lord. She watched her mother being abused all those years and the church standing by, watching, because it was none of their business. Help her to see you through all that. Help her to know things are different now, better than they used to be. People care. Lord, how do I reach her?

As different in looks, backgrounds and temperaments as these two women were, in the past week they had formed a bond no one could break. They both understood each other’s pain, sorrow and loss. It was an unlikely union, yet Sheila has seen stranger friendships form. Nobody knew who they would connect with, especially in extenuating circumstances.