The Metamorphic Journey Read online

  I could tell Mommy was falling in love with Robert. She did not have to do anything. He treated her like a queen.

  If only she could quit working two jobs.

  I liked Robert but still wanted Mommy and Daddy to be together. Silly of me to think that would happen. I didn’t even know my daddy. But in my mind, they were the perfect couple. It was Mommy that pushed him away.

  Robert and Mommy planned to get married. The relationship moved along fast. But, what did I know at that young age?

  Neither of them had a lot of family or friends. Mommy had Aunt Helen, and Robert had his best friend Tommy. Aunt Helen helped plan a simple wedding at the park. Their coworkers wanted to share in their special day.

  Aunt Helen told Mommy to make sure all of the decorations matched. The napkins. The plates. The cups. The tablecloths. The forks, knives, and spoons. Mommy huffed and shook her head as she walked away.

  After six months of planning, Mommy and Robert finally got married. No more tears for her. She was even nicer to me and Dustin.

  Robert introduced us as his daughter and his son. I smiled. I’d never heard a man call me his daughter. I liked it so much, I began to call Robert, “Dad.” Robert smiled.

  The image of Daddy was pushed further and further out of my mind. I no longer kept the picture on my tall, wooden-like dresser. I moved it to the top drawer under clothes I rarely wore.

  Two years into their marriage, Mommy still worked two jobs. Robert still cooked dinner, helped us with our homework, and prepared us for bed.

  Why did Mommy work so much? I assumed she had not adjusted to having help from Robert. After all, Robert was not our daddy. Maybe she felt she had to do her part and Daddy’s part. I don’t know. I never asked.

  I missed Mommy when she wasn’t at home, especially at night when Robert came into my bedroom to lay beside me. We would talk about my day at school. Who argued or fought during recess. Who did not turn in their homework. He smiled and reminded me of how that could be us if he was not in our lives.

  I did not always want to talk to Robert about my day. He would not leave my room until I told him something, so I started making up stories about what happened at school. Some days, I liked the attention.

  Robert started sending Dustin to bed earlier than me. Dustin was not alarmed. Robert would say, “Okay, Dustin, it is time to go to bed.” Dustin took a nighttime shower and went to bed. Every night. Very predictable.

  Dustin needed things to follow the same order. If we veered from what was routine, Dustin became off balance. An eight o’clock bedtime, one hour earlier than our normal nine o’clock bedtime became normal for Dustin.

  Robert being in my bed was not how it all started. One day when I was washing dishes, Robert rubbed his body against mine as if he was reaching for something in the cabinet above my head.

  I didn’t know what to think. Then it became a regular occurrence. I tried to put it out of my mind. Until the next time. And the next time. And the very next time. I thought if I acted like it didn’t happen, it would not happen. That was how I coped. Thinking the molestation would end.

  Then, one night, later than normal, Robert got in my bed. I faked like I was asleep. He rubbed my breast. I had developed pretty fast. I froze.

  There was a time when he pulled his penis out and rubbed it against me. I heard Mommy’s keys in the front door. I thought Robert would finally get caught. He jumped out of my bed and greeted her in his loving way. Pretended like he was coming from the bathroom.

  Robert continued molesting me for about two years. He made sure he timed his advances just right. He never approached me when Mommy was around and made sure Dustin was sound asleep before he came into my bedroom.

  Mommy usually didn’t get home from her second job until after ten o’clock. This gave Robert plenty of time to do what he wanted while Dustin was asleep.

  I never said anything to Mommy about the molestation because I did not want to make her cry again. I had seen her cry for years before Robert came along and made her smile. Even after four years of marriage, she was still telling Aunt Helen how great he was. I knew different.

  She bragged about how helpful he was with us. Our homework. Dinner. Annual trips to the amusement park. Mommy loved him. Trusted him. Most importantly, he never struck her with his fist or any object like Daddy did. Mommy told Aunt Helen that life was so much better for all of us.

  I could not tell her about the horrible things Robert was doing to me. I just couldn’t.

  Robert knew I would not tell. He reminded me of what life was like before he came along. I did not want to return to the squeaky steps. No heat in the winter. No air conditioning in the summer. No hot water to take a bath. Dustin being bullied by others, not able to attend the school for autistic kids. The dingy white and chocolate trailer was no longer our home.

  I wanted Mommy to remain happy. Robert was the common denominator in making that happen.

  One day, Robert overheard Mommy and Aunt Helen talking about the period I missed. Mommy noticed that my new friend Jack and I would sit on the brick porch for hours on Saturdays and Sundays. I sat on the top step and he was on the lower. Jack would look up at me. I looked down on him. We chatted, giggled, and kept quiet when there was nothing left to talk about.

  Jack and I broke up our porch time by walking up and down the street. The street was only a block long, but it took us forever to walk. Back and forth we went. Then we seized an opportunity to take a break. Sat on my front porch again.

  Even at fourteen, Mommy only allowed me to walk that one block. Once to the freshly painted speedbump. Then turn back around and do it all over again.

  Every now and again, I walked five steps away from the speedbump to see if an alarm would go off. Mommy never said anything, and I kept doing it just to see. Jack begged me not to. He did not want Mommy to punish me, which would punish him, not having a friend to play with for over a month.

  Whenever we left the porch, I felt Mommy pulling the sheer, beige curtains back and peeking through the bay window. She acted like she was watering her running philodendron plant, but I knew she was checking on Jack and me. I caught her doing it a few times.

  I enjoyed having Jack over. He helped me get my mind off what Robert was doing to me. Jack and I were good friends. There was no need for sex. I was having enough of that with Robert.

  After I missed my period, Mommy questioned me about my relationship with Jack. How did she even know I missed my period? I did not tell her.

  There was nothing to talk about. Jack and I never hugged. Jack and I never kissed. We just walked up and down the street. Sat on the porch. Talked and giggled.

  When we were far away from my front porch, Jack talked about his crazy life. I told him about mine. I enjoyed talking with someone who seemed to understand what I was saying.

  I could not have those kind of conversations with Dustin, Aunt Helen, or Mommy. Definitely not Robert. I did not even like to be in the same room with Robert. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I heard his voice.

  Mommy would give Jack the evil eye, but Aunt Helen calmed her down. Distracted her by talking about something else. That look had Jack shaking in his boots. Jack and I had the most fun when Aunt Helen had Mommy distracted.

  Robert did not approach me at all the week Mommy and Aunt Helen talked about my missed period. I laid in the bed. Bracing myself. Dreading the sound of his footsteps at my door.

  If the TV in the living room was turned up loud, I knew I would not be touched. It still took me a long time to fall asleep because I did not know when or if Robert would enter my room. I would wake up the next morning looking under my bed and around my room wondering if I was dreaming. I made it through another night. Week number two. I did not have to deal with Robert forcing his penis into my vagina.

  I’m Covered

  I am in a place of protection.

  I need to be quiet so I can hear.

  What is the best decision in this circumstance?
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  The right answer will appear.

  No matter the struggles

  And obstacles ahead.

  This is a very important decision.

  I cannot be misled.

  There is no way I can continue

  This journey alone.

  My Savior give me

  What I need to run on.

  Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Psalm 32:1 (KJV)

  Section III

  The Chrysalis

  The chrysalis, sometimes referred to as the cocoon, is the hidden stage. The caterpillar has eaten all it can. Shed its outer skin numerous times as it has experienced growth. And one last shedding must take place to create the chrysalis. Then the time to rest.

  People may not think much is happening in the hidden stage. But this is where all the action transpires.

  You are using what you have learned in the ugly stage to transform into a better you. You must remain hidden and undisturbed so God can speak to you. Mold you. Develop you into the beautiful butterfly He designed you to be.

  God knows, better than we do, the plans He has for us. He says, “I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for” (Jeremiah 29:11, MSG).

  While in the chrysalis, the caterpillar undergoes metamorphosis. Transformed from the creepy, pesky, crawling insect into a creature with beautiful wings that will take flight when it emerges.

  Naomi’s Flutter

  * * *

  With all of these memories swimming around in my head, I quivered at the thought of having to tell Grandma Lulu that I was pregnant. I did not need her judgmental stare. Looking me up and down. Shaking her head. Thinking I went to the city and became a “fast tail girl.”

  The city did not make me a “fast tail girl.” I had not had sex with anyone on my college campus. In fact, I only had sex one time. With Gerald. I knew the date. I knew the hour. I knew the moment we expressed our love for each other. I knew what he had on. I knew how he smelled. I knew the words he spoke in my ear. I had proven to him that I loved him. He was the only one for me. College would not change that.

  I missed my period in September. I tried not to think about the possibility of being pregnant. My period came back on in October. Later than usual and did not last as long. That did not matter to me. I smiled when I saw the tinge of blood on my panties. The smile turned into a frown when November was a repeat of September. Many sleepless nights after that did not send a gush of blood to the pad I wore just in case.

  My college roommate, Kesha, suggested I go to the free clinic a few blocks from campus. She heard they offered pregnancy tests.

  I wasn’t sure if she had heard or if she knew first-hand. Kesha’s choice in men was sketchy. Curiosity almost got the best of me. Her choices should not have mattered. I needed to focus on my choices. How did my choice in August lead me to this place?

  I could have bought an over-the-counter pregnancy test but the word “free” was music to my ears.

  Grandma Lulu did not send much money. What she sent had to last. Sometimes three meals a day was impossible. My college meal plan helped. And, when it fell short, I secretly went to my college’s food pantry for peanut butter and tuna fish.

  I got a busy signal each time I attempted to make contact with the free clinic. It was hard to handle things between classes. After a day and a half, I was finally able to connect with someone and scheduled for an appointment three days later. I wanted to go that Friday but I had to wait until Monday. Another weekend. Staring at the walls. Wondering about the possibilities.

  Kesha went with me. When we walked in, there were no empty seats. Crowded. Males. Females. People everywhere. This did not bother Kesha at all. She just talked, talked, talked. She talked about everything, but I could not comprehend a word she was saying. I was too focused on whether I was pregnant or not.

  A man wearing baby blue medical scrubs came to the waiting room door.

  “Naomi,” he shouted.

  I waited about ten seconds. He did not say my last name, and I wanted to make sure there were no other Naomis in the room. I trudged in his direction.

  He introduced himself as Jordan, a medical assistant at the clinic, and explained what would take place.

  Jordan took my blood pressure. Documented my height and weight. Took me into a room. Gave me a cup with my name and other information on it. Instructed me to go to the restroom down the hall and pee in the clear cup with the turquoise screw-on lid. I peed in the cup and left it at the laboratory station. Ready to hear the news, Kesha’s eyes were wide when I walked back into the waiting area. The process was rigid. Staged. Methodical.

  Fifteen minutes passed before Jordan shouted my name again. He guided me to the consultation room and instructed me to wait for the nurse. The nurse entered the room with a manila folder in hand and a blank facial expression. She extended her hand and introduced herself as Beth. Confirmed my name was Naomi Brown. Informed me that I was pregnant. Gave me a bottle of prenatal vitamins and additional information about finding an obstetrician to take care of me during my pregnancy.

  This free clinic saw a lot of people and operated as a well-oiled machine. In and out. Test, pregnant, NEXT. Test, not pregnant, NEXT. I graciously took the pamphlets and returned to the waiting area.

  Kesha jumped up and walked towards me. She kept looking at me, waiting for me to speak. She asked the same question in different ways. But I waited until we got back to our dorm.

  Head down, eyes cast to the floor, I told Kesha I was pregnant. She sat still. I sat still. Motionless. Emotionless. She was feeding off my response. I am sure if I had jumped up and down, she would have jumped up and down.

  I didn’t know how to feel. I knew I had to tell Gerald and then Grandma Lulu. That, in and of itself, would leave any sane person stiff.

  I tried to get through the week and three days, knowing that I would be returning home Wednesday afternoon for Thanksgiving break. It was my first visit since August.

  I should have been elated, but I was numb. And I was pregnant. I felt like a zombie. Walking aimlessly around. Trying to find where I fit in on campus. Pregnant. Convinced everyone could see my belly protruding through my clothes. There was a pudge but no real protrusion. In my mind, I was huge.

  Going home should have been an exciting time. I had passed all of my midterm exams. The football team, the Bulldogs of South Carolina State University, was undefeated. I connected well with my college roommate. I had lots to share. More than I wanted. I was pregnant.

  The bus ride back to Promised Land was long. I pondered discussing my pregnancy with Gerald and Grandma Lulu. I had no worries about telling Momma. She was never around.

  I tossed and turned. Plumped my pillow just right so I could catch a snooze. When I lifted my head, I saw every branch on the trees as we passed by. Every bug that met its fate against the window. Guts splattered from the impact. I felt every bump in the road. Counted them all. Each bump the front and back tires rolled over as we entered Promised Land.

  I walked in the door and Grandma Lulu was cooking. The aroma of collard greens, cornbread, and fried fish filled the house. This smell used to make me race to the kitchen. A home cooked meal, nothing processed. How I had missed Grandma Lulu’s cooking. On that day, the aroma made me nauseated. I had to hide my growing belly and the urge to puke all over the place. I convinced myself I could do it.

  Grandma Lulu greeted me in her usual, somber way. I wanted to believe she missed me and was excited that I made it home safely, even though she did not say. She gave me a side kiss as I wrapped my arms around her neck. Hugging her but standing back enough for her not to feel my belly. She instructed me to put my bags in the room and start peeling potatoes for the potato salad we would have for Thanksgiving dinner. I was thrusted back into reality.

  Not much had changed. Ms. Lorraine was still sitting on the porch, hollering at anyone who passed by. M
r. Vernon was still fussing about “fast tail girls.” Maybe he was right. Maybe I was one of them. I was pregnant. I knew the truth. Gerald knew the truth. It was only one time. With him. City life hadn’t changed me. But I was pregnant.

  I could not wait to see Gerald. Three months had passed since I kissed his full brown lips or felt his muscular arms around my waist. I wanted to tell him the news before he wrapped his arms around my waist this time.

  Because of the holidays, I was not able to see Gerald until Saturday. We met at our favorite restaurant for dinner. I had borrowed money from my Uncle James to help pay for my meal. Gerald was still in high school so he could not afford to take us both out to eat. He could barely afford to pay for himself. I always made sure I had a little extra just in case he needed it.

  I saw him. He wrapped his muscular arms around my waist and didn’t let go. I needed to be free. I pushed back and kept giggling. Hoping he would get the hint that he was in my personal space. Too close.

  We sat down and started catching up. Talking about so much more than we could on our weekly phone calls. Just like it used to be. Only one difference. Gerald was doing most of the talking. He talked so much, I could not interrupt to tell him the news.

  The waitress brought us the bill, and we both pieced together our money for the meal and a two-dollar tip. I grabbed Gerald’s hands. Gazed in his eyes and told him how much I missed him. How much I loved him. The waitress interrupted my flow when she came to take our money. Gerald rose from the table and reached out for my hand. I could not move. My thighs were glued to the seat. I begged him to sit back down. His facial expression changed from giddy to a frown.

  His eyebrows bent, forming wrinkles in his forehead. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I told him I was pregnant. His eyes widened as if I had three heads. Then his faced balled up.