Mr. Wrong After All

Acknowledgements

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. —
Proverbs 3: 5-6.

Father God, thank you for your son, Jesus.  Thank you for opening the windows of heaven and allowing your gift of creativity to rain on me. I feel your limitless love and abundant peace surrounding my life daily.  Amen.

KD, I never knew true unconditional love until God, with his awesome omnipotence, gave me your hand. Your faith filled patience and constant support makes me shine. You are my muse and I will love you until infinity becomes measurable. Z.I.G., mommy loves you!

Venessa, thanks for listening. Your friendship encourages my soul to crawl out of its hiding place.

Finally, I dedicate this book to the memory of my parents, Sarah and Dumas Evans. From day one, they believed that the sun rose and set on their little girl.  They taught me that I, with God’s help, could climb any mountain. I thank them for their unselfish love and dedication. Even though they are no longer with me physically, their beautiful spirit breathes into me every day.

THE JOURNEY BEGINS

Chapter 1

Nicolette Evans

The beautiful campus of Georgetown University was much more intimidating than it appeared in the brochure, especially for a country girl like me who was accustomed to the nonchalant, small town Alabama life. Before leaving for college, I had never traveled further north than Birmingham.

My parents were not the types to spend extra money on vacations. My father was the pastor of the small but intense congregation of Shades Temple Pentecostal Church. The membership of about two hundred, saved, sanctified and Holy Ghost– filled, yet poor, parishioners did not pay a salary that would allow our family to live high on the hog by any standard, but they gave all they could to my father. After hearing one of his “it is better to give than to receive” sermons, I watched elderly women who were facing eviction from their homes give money to my father instead of paying their rent. When they were ultimately left homeless, their pastor would ridicule them for not having real faith.

“God punishes those who do not believe in Him or in His anointed,” he would preach as he looked down at them from his pulpit.

If only the congregation really knew what kind of man their pastor really was, I’m sure a lot of them would have kept their hard-earned money in their pockets. There were occasions when we often ate rice for dinner or when the electricity was disconnected because whatever money he made was usually spent on liquor and other women. It was important to him that his members never knew what life was really like within the boundaries of the four walls of our house. My father had the entire congregation fooled about the kind of man he really was. Those poor and downtrodden members believed that their pastor was above reproach. They came to him for guidance, in times of indecision and comfort, in times of tragedy, and he was the consummate expert at putting on a front for them. It was enough to turn even the strongest of stomachs. I watched him lay hands on the sick, claiming to be anointed by God with the ability to heal. I remember thinking that those healing powers must have also extended to his dick because he laid that on many women, and a few men, all in the name of God.

My father wanted my mother to be home and at his beckoned call. He was one of the last men on earth who truly believed that women were created for only two things.

“Woman was created for man’s pleasure,” my father would preach to his congregation and to his wife and three daughters. “This is the way God designed it and we are not to question His will for our lives.”

I never questioned God’s will. It was my father’s. But no matter what my father said or how loud he said it, my mother never questioned or even argued with him. She just did as she was told. I often felt sad for my mother because she never seemed to be happy. I mean
really
happy. The kind of happiness one feels when they are truly satisfied with the direction in which their life is going. Behind her loving smile, I saw pain and discontent. She heard the rumors about my father and other women. She knew he drank and how often. She knew all of the vile and sometimes violent things he did, both inside and outside of our home. Sometimes my father didn’t even try to hide what he was doing.

I remember when he brought home a woman that everyone in town knew to be a prostitute. My father claimed her pimp had abused her and she needed to stay with us for a while. Just until he could be sure she would be safe. Well, my father went the extra mile to insure her safety. He volunteered to sleep in the same room with her the entire two weeks she stayed with us.

Then, there was the way he abused his daughters. Because I was the oldest, I think I suffered the lion’s share of it until I left home. When I was ten years old, my father almost choked the life from me for refusing to do what he wanted. I went to my mother crying uncontrollably, hoping she would do something, anything to stop his horrible behavior. But, before I could even finish talking, my mother shut me down immediately.

“Nicolette, you listen to me. Your daddy is your daddy and you will not disrespect him with your childish lies,” she chastised. “Your father is the pastor of the church and I don’t want you going outside of this house telling people our business. That would not look good.”

I could not believe the words that poured from her mouth. At the time, I wasn’t sure whether it was because she didn’t believe me or because she had decided it would be best if she ignored everything that was happening around her. I later realized that it was the latter. My mother used denial as a coping mechanism. She put up with all of his crap and kept all of his secrets.

My father was probably too selfishly wrapped up in his own world to even notice how miserably unhappy we all were. Then again, maybe he did notice but just didn’t give a damn.

I was determined not to live my life with that same discontent as my mother. I knew that there were other places for me in the world besides the kitchen and the bedroom. The first step to finding these places was for me to get the hell out of Prichard, Alabama and out into the real world.

Knowing that my parents didn’t have the money to send me to college meant I had to work extremely hard to earn full scholarships. I studied from sun up to sun down and gave the phrase “burning the midnight oil” brand new meaning. I don’t think I slept at all during my senior year of high school.

Lord, please give me the knowledge necessary to make excellent grades. I need to earn a scholarship so that I can escape this awful place.

My father would not allow me to get a job outside of our house. Instead, I babysat for my cousins and other neighborhood kids in our home in order to make extra money. That way my father could keep his eye on me and make sure I wasn’t out somewhere “sinning” with a boy. Yeah, boys were another issue where my father had definite opinions. We were not allowed to date, as he believed boys only wanted one thing. Sex. And, who would know about that better than a man who always had sex on the brain twenty-four-seven and usually it was with everyone except for with his wife.

I once made the mistake of having one of my male classmates call me to discuss a history project we were working on. My father almost had a stroke when he answered the telephone.

“You are not to have boys call or come by to see you. Do you hear me? They just want one thing and when they get what they want, you’ll be left with nothing but regret and a screaming bastard to raise. I will not allow that kind of shame on my house or my church,” he yelled.

My father’s attitude and behavior toward many things was what fueled my desire to leave home on the first thing smoking as soon as a viable opportunity presented itself.

When the news of my scholarship to Georgetown leaked, the entire town was excited. With an SAT score of 2100 and an ACT score of 32, along with my 4.0 grade point average, I had actually earned six scholarships. Three of the scholarships were to colleges within the state of Alabama. Turning down those three schools was an easy decision to make because there was no way in hell I was staying here. Another scholarship was to Stanford, all the way out in California. I wanted to get away but not that far away. The other was to Tulane in New Orleans. Far, but not quite far enough. New Orleans was still within driving distance. My decision was easy. Georgetown
University was closer than California but farther away than New Orleans, which made it the perfect choice.

The members of the church raised money to help my parents with the expense of driving me to DC. Instead of using that money for gas, my father spent a huge chunk of it, on God only knows what, and purchased me a train ticket with what was left and, as usual, my mother didn’t say a single word about it.

Instead, she cried like a baby the entire week leading up to my departure. My younger sisters were little chatterboxes and begged to come to DC for campus visits and for me to send them each Georgetown t-shirts. They couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Alabama either. My father made sure that I had a brand new Bible, complete with a rainbow of highlighted scriptures to read whenever I was tempted to drink, smoke, steal, cuss or, his favorite, have sex.

“Satan is going to come at you now that your protective hedge has been removed.”

I just stared at him blankly and nodded my head, pretending to give a damn about his bullshit.

Just as soon as I am away from here, I plan to forget any and every thing you have ever said to me.

I couldn’t believe that I was finally going to be away from home and on my own.

Washington, DC. The nation’s capital. Once I stepped off the train and into Union Station, I realized that this was an entirely different world for me. I became anxious about all of the opportunities that awaited me on the other side of those doors. There was something about the unknown that made my heart race and my stomach quiver. It was as if my life was just beginning and I was the one in control of its destiny. I used some of the money that I’d secretly saved to take a taxi from the train station to the University. Once the Middle Eastern taxicab driver learned that I was new in town, he insisted on taking the scenic route through the city to get to Georgetown. I suspected that he was taking advantage of me but I didn’t care. I enjoyed the ride up Constitution Avenue, passing the U.S. Capitol and the Washington Monument. These were places I had only seen on television or read about in a book and it was well worth spending a few extra dollars just to see them in person. I closed my eyes and said a brief thank you to God for blessing me with this opportunity to set an example for my sisters. I promised not to waste it. I wanted them one day to feel the same safety and security I was feeling at that moment.

When I finally arrived on campus and checked into my dorm room, I fell on my bed and exhaled. I felt as if I had spent the last eighteen years running a marathon trying to find peace and now that I had found it, I was exhausted. My life now belonged to me. What choices I made from now on were also up to me. This was truly the time for me to grow up and become the woman I wanted to be.

Chapter 2

Ahmad Franklin Jacobs, Jr.

“So what, man? You think just ‘cause your black ass is gonna be ballin’ at Georgetown University, you can’t hang with us?”

When my homeboys made statements like that, it made me regret my decision to tell them the good news of my scholarship to play basketball at Georgetown. I thought it was a big deal and hoped they would be happy for me. Instead, whenever I had to do anything else besides hanging out on the neighborhood court with them, they would always throw college in my face.

“That don’t make you better than us, homie.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to be better than y’all; I just got things to do. Know what I’m sayin’?”

It didn’t matter what I said or how many times I said it, my boys were going to walk away spewing the same ignorant ass bullshit.

“Man, you changin’.”

I knew I couldn’t dwell on how they felt or even do anything about it. I had more important things to think about. I was going to play ball for Georgetown University
.
I had to make the most of this opportunity. Playing ball was all I had wanted to do all of my life. Like most athletes, I started playing on the streets using milk crates as goals and shooting with old beat up balls. In Junior high school, I began to hone my skills and navigating on a much better court. A real floor with a real ball. My mother almost flipped her wig when the coach from Xavier Prep in Manhattan began calling and coming to the house, trying to recruit me to play for their team.

“Mrs. Jacobs, I feel that Ahmad has a real future in basketball. Xavier’s exemplary academic program, along with our outstanding athletic department, can really help him develop into something special. Not to mention the fact that if he maintains good grades, Ahmad could get accepted and play ball for one of the top colleges in the country.”

The coach was right. I worked extra hard in high school to keep a decent G.P.A. and even harder at playing great ball. Xavier Prep was the state basketball champion for three of my four years there. When the opportunity came for me to play basketball for Georgetown University on a full scholarship, I was in the right position to grab it.

My mom worked full time for a dry cleaner and there was no way in hell she would be able to afford to send me to a private school like Xavier Prep or to Georgetown University. The child support payments she received about once every three or four months from my father were barely enough to pay for subway fare for one let alone feed four growing children. My father came around every now and then because he said that he wanted his kids to “know their father.” That was bullshit and I knew it. I was the oldest and had heard more of it than my siblings. He really came around for an occasional free hot meal and some needy pussy. My mom was always glad to see his broke ass and was more than willing to let him hit her sweet spot. Always true to form, he was gone again before the sun came up the next day. I begged my mother to leave this fool alone but she never listened. The subject of my father was an extremely sore spot for the two of us.

“Ma, we don’t need him for shit.”

“You watch your mouth, Ahmad,” she would yell in her deep Jamaican accent.

“I mean it, Ma. He ain’t worth shit. You let him bounce around here and play daddy for a minute, fuck you and leave. Then what? Huh? You’re right back where you were. Working like a goddamn dog and depressed as hell.”

“Ahmad! I’m gonna slap the shit out of you if you don’t watch your goddamn mouth. Now, I am still your mother and I pay the bills all up and through here. I’ll have whoever the fuck I want up in this piece.”

“Ma, I can get a job and help out. You don’t have to kill yourself like this. Please, let me help you,” I softly begged.

“Ahmad, you need to be concentrating on school right now. Not working. I appreciate you wanting to help but baby, I got this. I don’t want nothing and nobody coming between you and your education. You’re going to college.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Anyway, your daddy is doing the best he can and I still love him.”

“You know what, Ma? Whatever,” I said as I threw up my hand in her face.

I was glad that I would be leaving for DC soon and would not have to put up with this shit. My sisters and brothers, on the other hand, were not so lucky. They would have to continue to watch this bullshit drama from time to time. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful to my mother, I just wanted better for her. That’s all.

But, I couldn’t worry about that right now. The list of things to do before I left for Georgetown was more than ten miles long. There was a lot of farewell pussy to get before I left town and I planned to take all that I could get my hands on. I also had to say tearful goodbyes to a lot of special people in my life. My grandmother made sure I had plenty of her bear hugs and sweet potato pie before I left town.

“Don’t forget about the old lady,” she said.

The main person that was going to be the hardest to leave was my girl, Corrie. She had been visibly sad ever since the day she learned that I would be going away to school. The sparkle that had always been present in her chestnut brown eyes was now gone.

“When will you be back?”

“Corrie, I promise to call you every day and to get home as much as I can to see you. When my team plays games nearby, you can come and watch me play. Wouldn’t you like that?” I asked, trying to make her feel better. It broke my heart to leave her behind. She was the main thing that kept me focused on my grades because I knew that if this basketball thing didn’t work out, I would need something solid to fall back on. I couldn’t let her down because, unlike most of the people in my life, Corrie really believed in me.

“Can I come to Washington to see you?”

“Well, maybe. I need to see how things are down there first.

I’ll let you know.”

I knew that what I was saying must have sounded to her like I was leaving her for good. I closed my eyes and savored the feeling of her soft skin as I stroked her delicate cheek.
Man, I am going to miss holding you in my arms.

“Corrie, you know how much I love you, right?”

I pulled her warm body closer to me and inhaled her sweet scent.

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

Corrie Samantha Jacobs was born on my fifteenth birthday. At first, I wasn’t sure how I would feel about becoming a teenaged father until Corrie was born and I saw my own reflection in her little innocent face. I had fallen deeply in love with someone I’d just met. Corrie’s mom, Kim, and I only went out twice. We had sex on our second date and boom, Kim was pregnant. At first, I tried to pretend like there was no way the baby could be mine.

“Ahmad! You know that I was a virgin when we got together,” Kim tearfully argued.

“How do I know that?”

“Ahmad!”

She was right and I knew it. I’d been having sex since I was twelve years old and I could damn well tell when a girl was a virgin. But, being told that I was going to be a daddy scared the shit out of me. How was I going to support a baby? I didn’t have two nickels to rub together. My own father wasn’t around to set a good example and I was worried about the kind of father I’d be.

Since the day she was born, I made it my business to see Corrie every day. I didn’t have a lot of money to offer but I gave her all of my love and a great deal of my attention. I was determined not to mirror my father’s trifling behavior. Even though Kim and I were no longer dating, I was still going to be there for my little princess. And that’s exactly the way I treated her each time we were together…like a princess. Luckily, Corrie’s mom and grandma were cool and not a couple of bitter, money hungry bitches. They allowed me to come by and see her whenever I wanted. Even when I was broke, which was most of the time. Sometimes, Mrs. Agnew would bring Corrie to basketball games in the city so she could watch her daddy play. I would take her for play dates in the park or for weekends at home whenever my mom had the time to help out. Corrie was the one person in the world that I knew I just couldn’t let down.

Georgetown was going to be the beginning of my plan to make a better life for her. I had a lot of work to do.