Edge of Sanity

The door swings open. For a split second, I am reminded of my surroundings. I am alone in a white room with soft walls; enclosed from a world that at times forget I exist. I shudder.

“Jasmin. How are you feeling today?”
A tall figure walks in and closes the door behind it. It always does that. It gives me a glimpse of the world I’m missing and then snatches it away from me. I hate that stupid figure.

“How’s my girl?”
I rest my head on the wall and sigh.

“Good I hope,” it continues.
The subtle taps come back to the door. The tall figure rarely came too close to me. Some days I would jump up and bend over. Scared, the figure would brace itself, and then I’d chuckle and charge. Funny, chuckle and charge.

“I’ve got something for you,” it extends its arm and shakes a small cup of tablets. The rattling, the subtle tapping, the revolving clicking. I slowly feel my consciousness fading. Before I leave, I want to leave it with something. When I don’t move or show any signs of hostility, the figure comes closer. I twitch, it stops; I laugh.

I beat my head on the pillowed walls again. This part is always boring. The distant moment I have to experience. The short road between sanity and insanity. I rarely take the road less traveled; guess that’s why it’s called the road less traveled. I always shoot for my insanity. It’s the most stimulating place. When my body rumbles inside, I have the power to settle down, I just don’t want to. I want to act out; I want to free myself from my white prison. However, every time I try to break free I only imprison myself far worse than I was before. It’s almost pathetic. I hate myself some days and want to hurt myself the others.

“You ready?” it asks.

My eyes fall on a remote corner. I wish I were there instead of here. Before I knew it, I could feel a cold needle being pricked into my left arm. I look up and try to get a better look at the figure’s face, but it is much too late. My vision becomes cloudy. My thoughts are starting to slow down. Mouth…feels…like…cot…ton. I…keep…hear…ing…some…thing…ring…ing…

…“That a girl.”

Delve into my empire of sapience. Let go of all your belongings. You will have no use for your lackluster possessions in my home. I and I alone shall suffice. I shall be the queen of your acumen. Simply allow me to be. This will be my last request. My next move will be to dominate you. Take over your mind and make you bow down before me. Don’t you see that I am draped in the finest of silks, and preeminent of linens? Ignore the appearances of overbearing landlords and patronizing clinicians. I am the focal point; they have no dominion over me. You see, the rent man is but a figment of your imagination. An abstract creation of the boundaries and restraints that only you wish to place upon my life. But as I escaped his incessant poundings on the door of my existence, I will escape the shackles that you attempt to force upon me.

I have lost everything of the material world and have learned that my status exits primarily in the extent of your mentality. Don’t try to makes sense out of my words now. No, do not attempt to trouble your feeble mind before it is ready; before it is capable of comprehending a sovereign like myself. I will soon be master of all worlds including your own. Corrupting you and your scope from the inside out. Prepare yourself for my coming. It will surely be like no other. Ready yourself for me. A girl so desperately trying to make sense out of the myth I called my life. The reality that is nothing. The story that seems to be my own…

I, Immortal

“I don’t know what other way to explain all this to you Doctor.”

He kept his eyes down as he jotted scribble upon his notepad. I questioned whether he truly was listening. After six psychiatrists and a four-month bout at a mental institution trapped in a small white room hugging myself in a straight jacket, he’d better be listening.

“I mean, the more I try to re-explain myself to everyone, I find myself losing my grip with reality.” I swallowed the large lump in the middle of my throat. “What do you make of all this?”
He finished the last of his notes and looked up at me. His left index finger tapped his bottom lip as he struggled to respond. He couldn’t stay quiet. He had to make use of the doctoral degree boastfully hanging on the wall behind him. He took a deep breath. “What do you make of all this?” he asked.

I chuckled. He wasn’t listening. He didn’t care. With all the media-buzz around me, he just wanted the opportunity to sit with me. Is what everyone’s been saying true? Does she honestly believe that she’s discovered liquid gold; Ponce de Leon’s very own “fountain of youth.”

“What do you think you’re saying?” he asked.

“I thought that’s what I came to you to figure out,” I said, “Isn’t this your cue to chime in here?”

“I want to fully understand the scope of all this.”

“Isn’t that why I came to you? So you could tell me?”

He sat quietly. I asked a good question. All that left room for was a good answer. He pressed his index fingers together and stared blankly at me. He tried to determine the best way to approach all this without sounding like a moron. He wanted to help. He wanted me to confide in him so that he could be the guy that gets through to me. He yearned to be the person that can honestly say,

“Hey, I figured her all out.” Truthfully, I wanted him to be that person too. It’d be nice to have someone else rummaging through my brain. I’d be grateful. He smiled. “How about we start at the beginning.”

As I Wait...

“You scared of me?”

Langston popped his head back up and smirked.

“Excuse me?”

“If you are, I can understand that. It’s not that you don’t like me, you just fear me.”

“You must have lost your—

“As long as you at least respect me, I could care less if you fear me. I rather you feared me than—

“So because I choose not to kiss your ass and buy you coffee in the morning or a martini at night, I must fear you. You think that as a black man, I must feel some sort of intimidation from you because of what…you’re a white woman with some authority.”

“Oh, you finally did it! You pulled out the race card. I’ve been waiting for you to bring out that gun.”

“Look, I have a lot of work to do…”

“No, no, no. I want to get to the bottom of this. So, because you’re black and I’m white, there needs to be tension. Have times progressed that slowly.”

“There isn’t tension…”

“Please, Langston! Spare me the bull. Be a man. Be a strong black man and be real with me. If I weren’t white, if I were a black man that corporate hired to put in charge of your operation, you’d be fine. But since I somehow represent the systematic approach of the man trying to bring down the brothas you feel it necessary to try to prove your worth.”

Langston stood up and walked around his desk to face her. He didn’t appreciate the way this woman looked down on him trying to show him up.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you or anybody else. I’m a damn good employee. This place would crumble without me…”

“And I know that Langston! I see that. I’ve seen first hand the type of work you do for this company. I’ve seen it before I even got here. I never had any intention of letting you go. But for some damn reason since this is a black dominated business, as soon as someone white comes in with a little authority, everybody runs away scared.”

“Nobody ran away scared…”

“Then what the hell happened to Jody? He couldn’t even hack it one damn week.”

“I think it’s about time for you to go.”

“Everyone around here thinks that they have something to fear just because I’m here. Your employees will bring ruin on themselves if they continue to let their insecure little fears overpower what really needs to be done around here, and that does include you.”

Langston tensed his jaw and balled up his fist. He stepped back from her and walked towards his office door. There was a rage building inside of him and he wasn’t trying to act on it. Simply for the reason that it wasn’t a rage lit by anger but from an emotion he hadn’t felt in a while. He wasn’t comfortable with the fact that another woman could incite a rage like that. Lorelei could even feel it. She stood up and followed him to the door.

“Let’s go out for drinks, on me. You don’t have to kiss up to me, and get this; I’m not even a martini type of girl. We can just grab a couple of beers from my fridge and watch ESPN on my TV in my office when the day’s over.” Lorelei placed her hand gently on Langston’s elbow, “I just want us to get past whatever we just can’t seem to get past.”

Langston shook his head and opened his door.

“Like I said, I have to get home to my wife. I’ll see you later Lorelei.”

Lorelei sighed as she allowed her disappointment to read across her face.

“Don’t forget what I said, there’s nothing to fear.”

Langston nodded his head and stepped away from his door. Lorelei smiled slightly and walked off. Langston stood for a brief moment as she walked away. Then a vision of his wife came into mind and he sighed.

He said, “Lorelei.”

She turned around.

“Maybe just one beer.”

She smiled.

Edge of Sanity

Dear Friend:

To my sacred friend, my mysterious confidante who questioned the existence of my own sanity. Today is the first day of spring and I write to you today because I find myself having suffered through a number of unpleasant ordeals in my life that I can’t understand how I entered. I write to you because you are the only friend that didn’t seek out your own gain. Although you may not truly be my friend, only another diluted figure of my overactive imagination, if you find reason to read my story then you are more valuable than one can understand. You, like me, just want to know my legend. I am constantly poked and prodded and I just felt the need to write to a person whom I can trust. Now, I may not have all the answers, but I surely have majority of the questions. My life is more complex than I can comprehend, so I hope you can follow along. I’ll go from start to finish so you can fully understand my plight. Though I may go back and forth, I just need you to feel how I felt for quite some time.

I’d like to begin by giving you some nourishment for thought; this may help to cast you into my state of mind. So, I ask you, how often do we find ourselves plunged into the morbid chasm that is our souls? Constantly we tread these roads and walkways with brooding eyes and salivating jaws as our inner selves check out in an attempt to prowl around in our insides searching for new meaning within us. What senses do our essences contain? I suppose if I were to remove “senses” from the word all that would be left is es, which stands for “is” in Spanish. My soul is senseless if you will. Either that or my mind…no, no not my mind. See, for I am the goddess of wisdom reincarnated. Therefore, I am as mentally capable as they come. I am however, soulless.

My dear friend, I find myself confined to a room quilted with white walls. I at times discover myself losing where one corner ends and the doorway begins. You may ask what is the goddess of wisdom doing locked in a white, or maybe it’s an off-white bastille. Well, I ask my keeper Isis that many a day and she never responds. She is such a simple deity, so much where she can be so frustrating. Most of the time however, she cries. When the room is still, soft winds blow and if you listen closely, you can hear her docile moans and temperate whispers, “......” I’d tell you what they were if I knew the name she called out. I can tell you that her voice drips with lament. Yet, I wish she’d just shut up and get me the hell out of here. I am trapped dear friend, with no escape.

Be it all the same, I do enjoy the golden wreath that she rests atop my tangled locks. At night in the creases of my brain, I sit upon a glorious throne, capped in idolized gems and inestimable jewels. When I sit on my throne, I foresee the domination of all the worlds before me. Although gluttonous siblings lurk in the dark clouds around me, I shall reign supreme. However, what scares me most is the provoked asp that slithers around my fig baskets. The way he eyes me is unnerving. I grip my plush armrests as he gets closer and closer to my left breast. Hitherto, I have veered from the focal point, my soul; lost tragically in my wayward discernments, mislaid in my entrails. Woe truly is me…

Good Christian Girls

“Fayola.”

I gather my books quickly as to avoid any further conversation. She gently places the palm of her hand on my back. I tremble a bit. I hadn’t felt that type of comfort in what seemed like an eternity.

“Fayola, I’d like to finish our conversation in more depth, if you don’t mind.”

I knew what she wanted to hear. She wanted an explanation, a feasible one. It wouldn’t be long before others would catch on to my fabricated “fell down the stairs” stories. Either I was a major klutz or there was the possibility that someone else may have been pushing me down the stairs.

I sighed and shook my head. “Honestly Mrs. Bryan, I need to head home. I can’t be late.”

“Late for what?”

Why must she press so hard? I mean, I guess it was her right as my teacher to inquire about my bruises, Mama will have my head if she found out I took my coat off. I got hot, and I’ve grown so accustomed to the sight of my abraded self, I tend to forget that others have a general sense of concern for battered women.

I finally met her gaze, “I’m fine. Trust me, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I stared into her eyes as if to beg her to stand down. No good will come from her meddling. She stared back as if to challenge me. What kind of person would she be to ignore something as grave as this. I buttoned my jacket and tied it tighter. With my books loaded into my backpack and my assignment turned in, I was done here.

She fell back. “OK Fay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I wanted to say, “…if you call mama to query my appearance today, you may not see me tomorrow.” Instead I said, “Our phone’s been cut off, so mama likes me home right after school; just in case.”

Mrs. Bryan nodded and pulled in her lips. She stopped believing my stories after I attended school with a black eye caused by a swinging door. She never knew of too many doors that swung like fists. I knew she didn’t believe this story, but she got the hint.

Black Caesar

Black Caesar is a story about Vladimir who gets into the drug game. After the army discharged him, he realized that the workforce wasn't too kind. So, he got in business with an old friend, Khalil. Soon, like most drug dealers, he realizes that this life is certainly not for the faint at heart. With money, drugs, love, and betrayal at play, anything and everything is possible.

“What it look like, Vlad?” asked Kalil. His left brow slid up as he patted the back of my right shoulder and laughed. I sat on a park bench staring into the fading sun. I sat there asking myself if my life would soon fade into darkness just the same. Only difference with me was I probably won’t rise the next morning.

Kalil and I met while we were in basic training. I guess we bonded over the fact that we both came from the same hood, almost three blocks apart. We were both trying so hard to get out the hood that as soon as we turned eighteen, the army seemed like the only home we could have. We eventually realized that we were the type of guys that would never find a home. We had to make our happiness instead of finding it; we would’ve still been looking. Khalil knew the streets almost as well as it knew me. I guess you could say he was like my maternal brother ‘cause the same streets watching over me were the same streets that looked after him.

“Ain’t shit,” I said.

He sucked his teeth slowly, “Aint shit ever is wit’ you.” Khalil was in the dope game. The same game I was trynna get into. When we got discharged, we both struggled to get into the labor force, tried to stay right. He gave up the search quicker than I did though. He became the streets’ foot soldier and now I wanted to enlist. five years later, I could tell this business was getting to ‘em though. It wasn’t meant to do for life. When you start knocking on 30, the younger cats start piling in—faster, hungrier; a good player knows when it’s time to get out. Still, he was getting’ paid. And although the look in his eyes was always dull and listless like the dark pavement that slowly sucked the life from him, I know I needed to feel the same rush he once felt on these streets. I needed it like a dopefiend itched for his next fix.

“You sho’ this the shit yo wanna get into?” he asked me.

I nodded my head and pulled the black ‘n mild I had hiding behind my left ear. I put it to my lips and took a deep breath. Khalil lit the end of it as I stood up to face him. I stood there sucking through the filter letting the smoke fill my lungs like oxygen.

Khalil smirked gripping the back of my neck, “Ight. Let’s get to work.”

Work huh? I snatched his hand away from my neck and stepped back. I inhaled another lump of smoke and then took a deep breath. I stood there assuring myself that this was the only way I could get to where I needed to be. Money, bitches, and mo money. Letting my black drop to the cement I said, “Let’s go.”

I, Immortal

Now she giggled. “I ask these questions because, if you’ve lived this life a million times over, emotions are still emotions. There is no cap to human emotion. Pain will always be pain. We just find new ways to channel it…or rather new ways to address it.” She picked up her steaming cup of tea, “So I ask you how’d it make you feel or what did you first think about to understand where in your emotions were you when this tragedy, if you can call that, occurred.”
I lifted my shoulders and sighed. “The first thing that came to mind was, “I wished I hadn’t cooked the roast tonight.”
“You’ve just discovered that your husband was having an affair and you thought about the roast?”
“Yes,” I smirked, I had no sorts of happy emotions, a smirk was the only expression my face could muster as the thought of that night came into mind…
“When did you start taking yoga?”
He stared up at me dumbfounded as I hovered above him at the dinner table. “Excuse me,” he said.
“When…did you start taking yoga?”
He folded his napkin three times over and then finally laid it upon his lap. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “I dunno…what exactly are you,” he lightly chuckled. “Where are you getting this all...”
I smirked as his words trailed off. “Your yoga instructor called.”
“Did she?”
I paused at his affirmation, “She did.”
“I mean…when did she, who are you talking…”
“Linda. Your yoga instructor called.”
“Are you sure—
“At first I thought she had the wrong number.” I refilled my husband’s glass with Chardonnay and stood there, gripping the nose of the bottle as I glared him down. “But she asked for you by name…but what was funniest to me was, she didn’t know my name.”
He sat quietly as his eyes darted back and forth while he fidgeted in his seat. “What did she want?”
“She wanted to reconfirm your appointment. But isn’t funny honey, she didn’t even know you were married.”
“Well honey I…I dunno how she could’ve forgotten—
“No, John. She didn’t’ forget. You never told her about me.” I gently placed the bottle of wine atop our glass countertop as I went back to the night my father discovered my mother’s affair. I took a deep breath and relaxed my shoulders. “Why would your yoga instructor not know you were married?”
“Honey—
“Rather, why would I not know that you had a yoga instructor to know that you weren’t married? When did you get into yoga? Why is she calling our home and—
“Helen, I understand—
“What struck out the most, I might add, wasn’t that she didn’t know who I was but really when she mentioned how easy it was talking to you the night before, you know, the night you were working late, and how she couldn’t wait to do that, and more, again...tonight.”
His silenced amused me. He slurped down half of his glass of wine. Wine that smooth should be sipped, never gulped.“Isn’t this supposed to be another late night for you?” I stepped back from the table and gazed into the kitchen. I shook my head and squeezed my fist. I stared at the slew of dirty dishes, cut up potato and carrot skins, along with spilled beef broth and baked in stains. I sighed and whispered, “I wish I hadn’t cooked the roast tonight.”

Edge of Sanity

I have a self published book entitled "Edge of Sanity." It's a story about two siblings, Jasmin and Herby, who both suffer from mental instabilities yet can't understand how they've reached their current states. The novel is written in epistolary format as if they were writing to each other at different points in their lives. The characters take the reader on a journey ofconfusion and uncertainty, unsure how to ever return to the reality that truly is.

I have reached a moment of clarity. That far off instance in my reality where I understand things. I question if these things have understood me first. But, I wonder…where have you been? I sit here, on my throne, reigning over my own domain, daring you to step into a world that you really don’t know, and never will, asking myself…where have you been? The young boy that left our placenta filled encompassing was not the boy that returned home with me. If there ever was a home that I inhabited. Well, my body surely occupied the cramped dwellings of despair and treachery, but me, my spirit…not Cleo, as some may call her, but I never truly stayed there. I, myself, was out searching for you. Maybe you did go to that home and searched for me there. However, we must have kept missing each other.

You, the body that holds me captive in this white—maybe off white prison cell is not the he that I seek, however. No, the you that watches me tempt the electric razor off the edge of its sanity and join me in but another electric shock therapy, is not the you or rather the he that I want to stand beside me as I overlook the worlds of my true reality. All my life was but a bad dream that I tried to awake from yet you, not the he that I hunt for, but you continued to feed me sleeping pills. My twin would never submit me to such a pass. I soon grew tired of searching. You surely are a master of hide and seek.

My body, my lifeless, senseless physical presence certainly underwent a number of tragic ordeals and though I wanted to help, if I really could, I needed my brother. Some nights I did visit, I would hold you at night, hoping that you’d come to the feel of my warmth. The sun would often set up camp within me, calling your moon to cool me. You never returned the call. I left messages and stressed urgency. But…back to my moment of clarity.

I took those tablets that you attempted to force down my throat. I felt like a wicked show horse, punished for simply trying to break free. Yet, her captors never felt the desire to show her the world that she could have. They only painted imitations of the world that they were prisoners of; I wouldn’t succumb to that life. Maybe the world lived in one’s mind truly is no different than the world lived within the walls of my asylum. My reality is what I make it to be. Stuck in a prison with no bars, guarded by two men in white suits who don’t exist. Maybe there weren’t two captors, but certain days I’d receive a double dose of falsehood. I get so confused in this brain of mine. Sometimes, it gets so dark in here; I can hardly see where I’m going. But, yes, I took a glance in the mirror and saw myself. The me that is self, and I realized that the you that I had been searching for, doesn’t exist in this reality. The truth that I rummage around for is nothing but a fabrication of the tapestry of your imagined world. I must stop searching for fiction; I’ll only find more circles that will lead me to where I began. It can drive a person mad, surely. So, I must depart. I can no longer pretend to be here, when there is nothing here to keep me.

When you see my brother, tell him that I was looking for him, he’ll know where to find me. If he never returns, then at least my search was not in vein. He’s probably where I am going. Before I leave though, I’ll leave you with this. You must refine the lines of your reality. The truth is never what you imagine it to be.

Goodbye dear friend.

I, Immortal

"I, Immortal" is a story about a woman who discovers immortality. Unfortunately, upon discovering it, she realizes that she may have made a mistake. Is life really supposed to be lived eternally? She spends the rest of her life attempting to answer that question for herself.

The drive home was long. Much longer than usual. People on the sidewalks watched my powder blue 1990 Ford Focus linger down the road as my back bumper trailed across the pavement after it. I could hear their silent rumblings. If she’s so great, why is she driving that ugly thing? She’s not that great. What did she really do anyway? I could’ve done that. I sighed. This sure was a long drive home.
When I pulled into my driveway, I noticed my husband’s car parked outside. I sat in my car contemplating my next step. He never parked his car outside the garage. Not his precious ‘72 Thunderbird. There was something thick about the air too. It rested on my skin like a heavy winter coat in the summer. Something was about to happen. However, with everything that had transpired in my life over the past four months, this made me slightly indifferent.
I stepped out of my car and jingled my house keys as I walked toward the front door. I swallowed the extra lump in my throat as I stuck the key into the hole. Before I had the chance to turn my wrist, the door flew open and there he stood. I would’ve thrown my arms around his neck if it weren’t for the two suitcases in his hands. I looked down at them then up into his swollen eyes. I stepped back and took a deep breath.
“I have to go,” he whispered.
I stared at his suitcases attempting to organize my thoughts.
He continued, “This is all a bit too much for me and I feel it’s best if I just go.”
“Wait,” I said, “Are you talking about leaving me?”
He sucked in his lips and sighed. His eyes said sorry but the way he gripped his luggage told an entirely different story. I should’ve known this was coming. I should’ve known his late nights meant more time spent away from me. He wasn’t trying to make more money to provide for us; he was setting up a getaway fund. My success had emasculated him and he was through playing second fiddle. When he threatened to leave the night at the Christmas party, I should’ve taken heed. Nevertheless, he stood here holding his belongings prepared to find what he surely couldn’t locate within us.

As I Wait...

"As I Wait" is a story that chronicles the lives of two couples. The reader enjoys the ability to ride the journey that leads the couples through different interwoven scenarios that catapult them into new and unchartered territories.

“I miss you Kaiser. Do you ever miss me? Do you ever miss the things we used to do together? Do you at least think about me?”

“Try not to.”

His answers were short. She knew he didn’t want to say any more than he had to. She hoped it was to conceal what he really felt for her, among other things.

“Is it because of this new woman you’ve been seeing?”

Kaiser paused. With a woman like Mae, he knew he had to choose his words carefully.

“How do you know about the women I’m dating?”

“Women? There’s more?”

Kaiser shook his head and put his hand on the doorknob.

“I have to get going. I’ll call you.”

“Who is she Kaiser? Is she the new replacement?” Mae’s voice began to get cold and glimmered with bitterness.

“Let it go. I’m leaving.”

“She won’t last. Your heart won’t let her; it still belongs to me.”

Kaiser looked at her and then walked out the door. Before he got far enough, Mae grabbed his arm and pulled him into her embrace. Kaiser reluctantly pulled away.

“Why do you do this every time I come here?” he asked.

“Reassurance.”

“In what?”

“Us.”

“There is no ‘us’ anymore. You messed that up, not me…”

“And I’m trying to fix things. We can get back what we had Kaiser if you’d just let go”

“There’s nothing to fix. There’s nothing to get back to. You’re trying to make this harder then it needs to be. We’re not getting back what we had. You need to let go.”

“We need to be together Kaiser. Don’t you see that we—”

“There’s no we anymore. That’s why this whole situation is so hard because you won’t let go of the idea of there ever being a we. I love you, yes, but we have to move on from this. I’m beginning to hate coming over here and constantly dealing with this.”

“You didn’t have a problem three months ago when you had my legs up on your shoulders and my breasts in your mouth. There was a ‘we’ that existed then?”

Kaiser shook his head and exhaled.

“That was my fault…”

“You didn’t feel the need to let go then.”

“It was a mistake! It was late, I was horny, you had me come over here thinking that something was up with Siran to find out that you let her stay the night with some other friend and then answered the door practically naked, what was I supposed to do. I mean,” he paused, “I knew better, I just…”

“You wanted me then, what makes you think you don’t want me now.”

“Because I don’t. It’s not like after that night I came to the sudden realization that I can’t live without you. I still felt the same way. I still agree with the divorce. I still don’t see a future with us. Nothing changed after that night.”

She paused. “You fucking this new woman?”

Kaiser clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He thought, I wish I were. He looked at his watch and freed himself from Mae’s grasp.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Should that answer my question?”

Kaiser turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction.

“She’ll never love you like I did,” she yelled after him.

He stopped and turned to face her.

He said, “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

They stared at each for a moment and with that, Mae turned around and walked back in her home. Kaiser looked down at the concrete and then headed back towards his destination, questioning in the back of his mind whether it was the right place for him to be.

Good Christian Girls

Good Christian Girls is a story about a young girl who struggles to identify with her spirituality while living in an abusive and destructive environment. To deal with her conflicting personas, Fay develops an alter ego. Soon she realizes the consequences of of her actions.

Momma always told me, “Good Christians girls don’t do things like that.” Like what? Well, when I wore that new mini skirt I bought, momma said, “Good Christian girls don’t show off their knees.” And when I put a second piercing in my left earlobe, she said, “Good Christian girls don’t need holes in their body.” Then there was the time when she saw me kissing little Jake form down the block, she said, “Good Christian girls…” her left palm roughly slapped across my glossy lips, she cleared her throat and tightened her jaw. Then she continued, “…don’t kiss little big headed boys who spend their days standing on damn street corners.” What can I say, I didn’t say momma was a good Christian woman.

What did daddy say? Daddy didn’t say much. He would simply sit in his rickety rocking chair and face the corner window watching the cars go by. When momma pounded my face into our brand new plush carpeting, daddy took another sip of his brandy. I’d wail and he’d watch and sip. Well, there was that one time daddy turned to us and said, “Mind taking this into another room?” You see daddy became so used to being momma’s punching bag for such long years, he’d grown tired of objecting. Rather he chose to let momma abuse me, instead of him, away from his quiet time. Maybe daddy isn’t that good of a Christian man either.