PART FOUR: Chapter Four
Faced with eviction, I had to quickly locate another place to live, however, I feared that the eviction would hurt my chances of finding someplace nice. Thankfully, I was able to get a place on the North Providence-Smithfield border. It was a lovely luxury apartment complete with a clubhouse that boasted an indoor and outdoor swimming pool, a sauna, an indoor racketball court and a gym. The rent was only about ten dollars more than I was paying in Cranston. My credit check went through and I was "in" although I am not sure how because of the pending eviction. The apartment, itself, had vaulted ceilings and a gorgeous deck overlooking beautiful trees. I thought it was perfect. I began to plan my move.
Unfortunately, while I was preoccupied preparing to move, Eric decided to return and bring with him a black cloud that smothered every bit of joy I had within me. Why couldn't he just go away for good and not return? Why did he have to keep popping in and out of my life? His face was dry and the kinky hair that had sat upon his head like a overused, dirty SOS pad was gone. He looked like an African Mr. Clean, only Mr. Clean was far more "clean-looking". I never knew why he looked so grimy and "ashy". His skin was so dry and, because of his very dark complexion, the dryness made his skin look grey.
After I was moved and settled in the new place, Eric somehow convinced me he'd get a job and "behave himself". He said he was attending anger management classes and I dropped him off to make sure he was. Deep within my soul, I knew he hadn't changed and that I was only playing with fire. Nevertheless, I concentrated my efforts on trying to separate myself from my past and the ignorance that bred me in order to be successful at my career, to be something, to see the world and to learn, learn , learn.
Shortly after my move, my thoughts returned to my mother. I so desperately wanted for her to love me and, most importantly, for her to be proud of me. I did, however, have questions that I wanted her to answer. Why did she abandon me after she was granted full custody of me? Why did she return for my little brother and not me? Why did she let my father take us when she knew about his unfavorable reputation? I was not going to judge her, that was not my purpose. My purpose was to get answers, to have a heart-to-heart with her, to forgive her and to begin a loving mother-daughter relationship with her. I so needed her in my life at this point and I wanted her to need me, too.
My attempt at getting answers from my mother went sour immediately. I decided I would call the number I had kept since I was a child when she used to visit us every Sunday. I could feel a lump in my throat as I dialed the number. When she answered, I was speechless and actually had to grab my throat in an effort to force myself to speak.
"Ma," I said. "It's me, Candace." I could hear nothing but silence. "I graduated from college and am now a full-time English teacher in the Providence Public School Department. I teach 7th grade at Perry." Still nothing but the rustling of the phone in her hands. I bet she was waiting like I was for some clue as to where the phone call was leading. Finally, she spoke.
"Yes, we read it in the paper. Your graduation." Not even a "congratulations". Suddenly emotions took ahold of me. Everything I wanted to say flew out of my mouth like floodwaters bursting from a dam. All I remember saying is, "Why? Why did you leave me? WHY?" She began sobbing. She knew this day was coming. How could someone do something to their own child and not think that they would have to face it one day? Her sobs did not move me. I feel silent as she handed the phone to her new husband.
"You have always been a problem. Difficult." he said. WHAT?How the hell was I ever a "problem"? And when was I ever "difficult" and how did HE know what I was? I could not believe what I was hearing. That was a copout. I didn't think my mother was sorry for one minute for what she had done and the nerve of her to concoct some story about me being the "bad child", the "bad seed"! I was so annoyed that I hung up and promised myself that I would try again sometime soon. I felt I could make her see the truth and she'd love me and take me back with open arms and treat me as a mother who loved her daughter would. It would be a long time before I realized that in terms of family, I only had myself and that my own mother would have rather seen me dead than walking around being a successful and productive human being.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
PART FOUR: Chapter Three
PART FOUR: Chapter Three
I couldn't wait to tell the news of my job to my college mates. I began phoning a few of my friends to tell them the news and wondered why it had been a few months since they last called me. One of my female friends tiredly told me on the phone, "I did call you but someone --some guy--who picked up said you didn't live there anymore." Instantly, I knew who it was. That bastard! How dare he? Was he trying to separate me from my friends? Who would do such an stupid thing? I was too embarrassed to even explain to my friends what had happened. I was ashamed, yet I did nothing about it. It was as if there were some subconscious level of comfort being with a man who reminded me so much of my father.
I had a very beautiful female friend who had attended college with me. I remember many of the guys on campus were drawn to her and some even asked me to "hook them up" with her. I was always slightly annoyed because her beauty was something I so much wish I had. She was everything I wasn't. She was tall, slender, model-gorgeous, half-white and had big-doe eyes with the most flirtatious long eyelashes. She had long, soft brown hair, a beautiful smile and the sexiest voice, the kind men would love listening to over the phone. She knew she was gorgeous, too, and did not ignore the attention she received. She was well-known by the Warwick, Rhode Island police officers since one of their fellow officers fell for her hard and she continued to lead him on, toying with his heart. Her flirtatious manner sickened me but I enjoyed being in her company because it made me feel less significant. One evening, she had come to visit me, complaining of car problems and inquired about Eric trying to fix her problem. Like a fool, I sent Eric outside to assist her. I don't know what transpired between the two but, when Eric returned indoors about forty-five minutes later, he was grinning from ear to ear and asked me if "she had a man". I angrily asked him why he cared and he replied that he had a friend whom he like her to meet. He then accused me of being jealous of my own friend. I could feel the anger boiling within the pit of my stomach but I said nothing. I had work to do. I had a career, something those two didn't have.
Weeks into my teaching career, I received another call from my very attractive female friend. I had stopped calling her because I did began to despise her beauty. When I asked her why she had called, she said that she just wanted to see how "my job was going". I told her that it was great despite the fact that the students tested me every single day, that I taught at the worst school in the district and that there had been many days I left work holding back tears because the kids were such rude punks. Our conversation ended quickly and I returned to my work of correcting and grading papers. The work had become so much, that I was unable to enjoy my time alone when Eric was in the street with his friends. I decided that I would begin to go into work early, something which infuriated Eric. When I first told him this, his eyes swelled with tears and he said, "Why the fuck do you need to go into work early for? All you teachers do is sit at the desk and correct fucking papers!" Ignoring his vulgar outburst, I held firm to my decision. Home was not a good place for me to concentrate. Eric began to cause arguments nightly which often ended with the police visiting us because a neighbor overheard us. Eric also became more violent and destructive. When he'd come home way after dark, he'd have a wild look in his eyes and would accuse me of "fucking around" and would then begin to smash and throw things. He'd break anything that was in his path. I stopped buying nice things because it, eventually, it would only end up being destroyed. These times were just like those times when my father would come home and start an argument with my mother. Something was always broken, some gun or knife always came out and he had a stereotypical truck driver's filthy mouth. Eric was no different and I tolerated it. I hid it from people at work. Eric had conned his way into my work like so that he could just freely roam the building and put flowers outside my classroom door as a pathetic apology for an all-night fight. I usually threw them in the garbage at the end of the day so no one would ask me questions. I had dark circles beneath my eyes and bruises on my arms that I hid with the long sleeves of my dress jackets. I was afraid to tell my colleagues because I didn't want to lose my job or cause people to look at me unprofessionally. It didn't help that the married math teacher on my team made repeated suggestive remarks to me, sometimes asking me if I'd go out with him if he were not married. Was that all was, some toy to be played with? Darkness engulfed my soul once again and I often wondered how I could disappear without anyone knowing. I hated Eric. I hated my life. I hated being afraid. I wanted Eric to leave but he always told me he wasn't going anywhere.
Crying to myself one night after enduring more abuse from Eric who, as he would often do after an argument, took off in my car, I phoned my very attractive girlfriend. I didn't care that she couldn't be trusted. I didn't care that I hadn't spoken to her in months. I just needed an ear, any ear, even if that ear belonged to someone who could care less about me. I had no one. Eric had managed to separate me from everyone I knew. I had no more friends. My two older half-brothers who had managed to find me before I met Eric and who established a relationship with me were gone, too. I was alone, so alone and my heart felt as though it were going to explode from so much sorrow.
When my friend picked up the phone, she was not eager to listen to me. She sounded irritated and sighed, cutting me off. "Your boyfriend has been calling me." she said. I suspected it but was not prepared for the sudden revelation. She continued, "He asked if I had a man and I asked him if Candace knew he was calling me. He hung up and called me again the next day." I cried into the phone. She asked me if I wanted her to come over and I informed her that I had moved. She didn't know my address, or so I thought. "I know where you live." she snapped and hung up. In about a half hour, I heard the buzzer and it was my friend who had brought along one of her girlfriends. By this time, Eric had called the house numerous times and I cussed him out each time asking him why he called my friend and how he had gotten her number. I asked him where he was and he said he had just ordered Chinese food for us at the Chinese restaurant down the street.
My body trembled as I asked my friend's friend to drive me to the restaurant. Was I crazy going after this fool like some ghetto chic in the hood? I tried so hard to move beyond the ghetto stereotypical angry Black woman and here I was affirming it. I sobbed in the car uncontrollably. I couldn't believe he'd mess with my own friend. I didn't even realize that my friend had been sleeping with him all along and, because of something gone wrong, had decided to reveal it to me. When I spotted Eric walking into the restaurant, I screamed , "There he is!" and the car screeched up to the curb retching me onto the sidewalk. Stumbling, I angrily asked Eric, "Why did you call my friend?" Eric looked stunned. I remember asking myself why I, a professional, dealt with such low-lives. My friend, was suddenly beside me, her face a granite slate. "We were just fucking with her!" Eric protested. I lost every bit of common sense that I had. I didn't care how late it was or who could hear me. I let out a pistol-hot stream of cuss words , unaware that my friend and her friend who drove the car were gone. The rest of the night was a blur. Somehow, I ended back in our apartment, Eric trying to convince me that he was just trying to get his friend hooked up with her, claiming he got her number when it fell out of my address book. For some reason, I believed him, just shook it off like a bad dream. Maybe it was too much for my mind to handle, so I forced myself to believe his stories. Deep in my heart, I knew he was a snake in the grass and that he would lie even if his own life depended upon him telling the truth. I just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to be seen as a failure, didn't want to prove to the world that no one could really love me for me.
Despite Eric's constant disappointments, I stayed in the relationship. When he'd pack up some of his belongings and say he was leaving, I no longer pleaded. He'd always return within a few days anyway. Where he went, I never knew. I stopped caring. I immersed myself in trying to be the best and most professional teacher I could be. I was gaining respect at my school. School was a place where I was important. I was a somebody I was smart. No one called me "Stupid American". I was "Ms. Cunningham" and students began to respect me as well. I had developed a survival tactic. I no longer had feelings for the students to hurt. I could make the "wanna-be" bad-ass students cry and, at times, it felt good. I felt in control. I was the drill sergeant in my classroom. My classroom was my world. In there, I inspired, taught, held court and disciplined. Some students said that I never smiled and, for the most part, I didn't. I even kicked in the second floor girls' bathroom door to collect eight of my best students who had decided to skip my class to stand on toilet seats and whisper over the stalls. What a sight they were when I called them out by name in front of the vice-principal! I surprised many of my colleagues who were waiting for me to walk away from the position just like eighteen others had done the year before I was hired. I needed the money. I wasn't going anywhere.
Home was what it was. Eric began to invite his relatives into our apartment without telling me they were coming. They made themselves at home, helping themselves to anything and everything that even resembled food in our refrigerator and cabinets. They would even eat the supper I had prepared for myself the night before! Eric would do nothing. When I approached the issue with him, he said, "That's how we are in my country. We treat everyone like family." What? Eating up all of the food and not leaving anything for me is not a family attitude! It's ignorant! I did all the grocery shopping only to see it gone within a day or so. Many times, I went to bed hungry because I was too tired from work to go back out shopping. While I was working, he had his family and who-knows-who-else over to eat up all of the food I had just purchased. I paid all the bills, did all the shopping and cooking and was the one who had any visible means of income yet I was the one treated like dirt! One evening, one of Eric's sisters opened the freezer and decided to open my new pint-size carton of vanilla ice cream, my favorite treat on the weekends. I'd only eat a few spoonfuls causing the ice cream to last for months. When I asker her to put it back, she rolled her eyes. Angrily, I snapped, "You don't just go into someone's refrigerator and start eating their food. I like MY ice cream and I bought it for ME!" Rolling her eyes yet another time, she mumbled something about how she couldn't even eat anything because I had to have it and I resisted the urge to slap her. She was already obese and had the nerve to try to squeeze her fat thighs into pants four sizes too small for her. They had no respect for me. While I tried to sleep after a long week of work, Eric and his gang would be in the living room alternately playing video games and watching loud, vulgar movies, the entire time loudly laughing and talking. No one cared about the "stupid American" who worked a difficult job all week and just wanted a little bit of sleep.
To make my living arrangements worse, we received an eviction notice. I came home and there it was on the door. I was furious. Surely, it had to have been a mistake as I gave Eric the checks before the first of every month to take across the street to the management office. The checks were being cashed and I did receive receipts. I could never go speak to them because, when I got home from work, they were closed and they did not open on weekends. I left numerous messages on their machines and my calls were never returned. When I prepared myself to ask Eric about it, he was gone. He didn't call, didn't take all of his things but was gone nonetheless. That night, three police officers knocked on my door. They had somehow gotten in without being buzzed in. I wondered if they were going to arrest me for the rental issue. Frightened about going to jail, I pulled my robe about myself and politely asked them how I could help them. One officer held up a paper saying they had a warrant for Eric's arrest. They asked if they could search the premises. I welcomed them in and watched them as they searched the entire apartment, including beneath the bed, beneath the sofa, in the shower, in the closets and even in the kitchen cabinets. They asked me if I knew where he was and I said that I hadn't seen him in a few days which was true. He had a habit of disappearing and returning when he felt like doing so. This was my chance to get Eric out of my life but I feared losing my job more than anything and, thus remained tight-lipped.
After the police officers left, I could not sleep and decided to organize my work wardrobe. Shocked, I realized that my brand-new suits I had recently purchase were gone. What was I going to wear to work? I had purchased them at Cherry and Webb with my new store card which made me feel like a sophisticated professional. I had never had nice clothes like those before and, finally, I could afford them. I stormed around the apartment, angrily cussing to myself. I called Eric everything but a child of God even though he was not there to hear it. I was getting evicted. Police came to my apartment. My suits were gone. And Eric was no where--NO WHERE--to be found!
I couldn't wait to tell the news of my job to my college mates. I began phoning a few of my friends to tell them the news and wondered why it had been a few months since they last called me. One of my female friends tiredly told me on the phone, "I did call you but someone --some guy--who picked up said you didn't live there anymore." Instantly, I knew who it was. That bastard! How dare he? Was he trying to separate me from my friends? Who would do such an stupid thing? I was too embarrassed to even explain to my friends what had happened. I was ashamed, yet I did nothing about it. It was as if there were some subconscious level of comfort being with a man who reminded me so much of my father.
I had a very beautiful female friend who had attended college with me. I remember many of the guys on campus were drawn to her and some even asked me to "hook them up" with her. I was always slightly annoyed because her beauty was something I so much wish I had. She was everything I wasn't. She was tall, slender, model-gorgeous, half-white and had big-doe eyes with the most flirtatious long eyelashes. She had long, soft brown hair, a beautiful smile and the sexiest voice, the kind men would love listening to over the phone. She knew she was gorgeous, too, and did not ignore the attention she received. She was well-known by the Warwick, Rhode Island police officers since one of their fellow officers fell for her hard and she continued to lead him on, toying with his heart. Her flirtatious manner sickened me but I enjoyed being in her company because it made me feel less significant. One evening, she had come to visit me, complaining of car problems and inquired about Eric trying to fix her problem. Like a fool, I sent Eric outside to assist her. I don't know what transpired between the two but, when Eric returned indoors about forty-five minutes later, he was grinning from ear to ear and asked me if "she had a man". I angrily asked him why he cared and he replied that he had a friend whom he like her to meet. He then accused me of being jealous of my own friend. I could feel the anger boiling within the pit of my stomach but I said nothing. I had work to do. I had a career, something those two didn't have.
Weeks into my teaching career, I received another call from my very attractive female friend. I had stopped calling her because I did began to despise her beauty. When I asked her why she had called, she said that she just wanted to see how "my job was going". I told her that it was great despite the fact that the students tested me every single day, that I taught at the worst school in the district and that there had been many days I left work holding back tears because the kids were such rude punks. Our conversation ended quickly and I returned to my work of correcting and grading papers. The work had become so much, that I was unable to enjoy my time alone when Eric was in the street with his friends. I decided that I would begin to go into work early, something which infuriated Eric. When I first told him this, his eyes swelled with tears and he said, "Why the fuck do you need to go into work early for? All you teachers do is sit at the desk and correct fucking papers!" Ignoring his vulgar outburst, I held firm to my decision. Home was not a good place for me to concentrate. Eric began to cause arguments nightly which often ended with the police visiting us because a neighbor overheard us. Eric also became more violent and destructive. When he'd come home way after dark, he'd have a wild look in his eyes and would accuse me of "fucking around" and would then begin to smash and throw things. He'd break anything that was in his path. I stopped buying nice things because it, eventually, it would only end up being destroyed. These times were just like those times when my father would come home and start an argument with my mother. Something was always broken, some gun or knife always came out and he had a stereotypical truck driver's filthy mouth. Eric was no different and I tolerated it. I hid it from people at work. Eric had conned his way into my work like so that he could just freely roam the building and put flowers outside my classroom door as a pathetic apology for an all-night fight. I usually threw them in the garbage at the end of the day so no one would ask me questions. I had dark circles beneath my eyes and bruises on my arms that I hid with the long sleeves of my dress jackets. I was afraid to tell my colleagues because I didn't want to lose my job or cause people to look at me unprofessionally. It didn't help that the married math teacher on my team made repeated suggestive remarks to me, sometimes asking me if I'd go out with him if he were not married. Was that all was, some toy to be played with? Darkness engulfed my soul once again and I often wondered how I could disappear without anyone knowing. I hated Eric. I hated my life. I hated being afraid. I wanted Eric to leave but he always told me he wasn't going anywhere.
Crying to myself one night after enduring more abuse from Eric who, as he would often do after an argument, took off in my car, I phoned my very attractive girlfriend. I didn't care that she couldn't be trusted. I didn't care that I hadn't spoken to her in months. I just needed an ear, any ear, even if that ear belonged to someone who could care less about me. I had no one. Eric had managed to separate me from everyone I knew. I had no more friends. My two older half-brothers who had managed to find me before I met Eric and who established a relationship with me were gone, too. I was alone, so alone and my heart felt as though it were going to explode from so much sorrow.
When my friend picked up the phone, she was not eager to listen to me. She sounded irritated and sighed, cutting me off. "Your boyfriend has been calling me." she said. I suspected it but was not prepared for the sudden revelation. She continued, "He asked if I had a man and I asked him if Candace knew he was calling me. He hung up and called me again the next day." I cried into the phone. She asked me if I wanted her to come over and I informed her that I had moved. She didn't know my address, or so I thought. "I know where you live." she snapped and hung up. In about a half hour, I heard the buzzer and it was my friend who had brought along one of her girlfriends. By this time, Eric had called the house numerous times and I cussed him out each time asking him why he called my friend and how he had gotten her number. I asked him where he was and he said he had just ordered Chinese food for us at the Chinese restaurant down the street.
My body trembled as I asked my friend's friend to drive me to the restaurant. Was I crazy going after this fool like some ghetto chic in the hood? I tried so hard to move beyond the ghetto stereotypical angry Black woman and here I was affirming it. I sobbed in the car uncontrollably. I couldn't believe he'd mess with my own friend. I didn't even realize that my friend had been sleeping with him all along and, because of something gone wrong, had decided to reveal it to me. When I spotted Eric walking into the restaurant, I screamed , "There he is!" and the car screeched up to the curb retching me onto the sidewalk. Stumbling, I angrily asked Eric, "Why did you call my friend?" Eric looked stunned. I remember asking myself why I, a professional, dealt with such low-lives. My friend, was suddenly beside me, her face a granite slate. "We were just fucking with her!" Eric protested. I lost every bit of common sense that I had. I didn't care how late it was or who could hear me. I let out a pistol-hot stream of cuss words , unaware that my friend and her friend who drove the car were gone. The rest of the night was a blur. Somehow, I ended back in our apartment, Eric trying to convince me that he was just trying to get his friend hooked up with her, claiming he got her number when it fell out of my address book. For some reason, I believed him, just shook it off like a bad dream. Maybe it was too much for my mind to handle, so I forced myself to believe his stories. Deep in my heart, I knew he was a snake in the grass and that he would lie even if his own life depended upon him telling the truth. I just didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to be seen as a failure, didn't want to prove to the world that no one could really love me for me.
Despite Eric's constant disappointments, I stayed in the relationship. When he'd pack up some of his belongings and say he was leaving, I no longer pleaded. He'd always return within a few days anyway. Where he went, I never knew. I stopped caring. I immersed myself in trying to be the best and most professional teacher I could be. I was gaining respect at my school. School was a place where I was important. I was a somebody I was smart. No one called me "Stupid American". I was "Ms. Cunningham" and students began to respect me as well. I had developed a survival tactic. I no longer had feelings for the students to hurt. I could make the "wanna-be" bad-ass students cry and, at times, it felt good. I felt in control. I was the drill sergeant in my classroom. My classroom was my world. In there, I inspired, taught, held court and disciplined. Some students said that I never smiled and, for the most part, I didn't. I even kicked in the second floor girls' bathroom door to collect eight of my best students who had decided to skip my class to stand on toilet seats and whisper over the stalls. What a sight they were when I called them out by name in front of the vice-principal! I surprised many of my colleagues who were waiting for me to walk away from the position just like eighteen others had done the year before I was hired. I needed the money. I wasn't going anywhere.
Home was what it was. Eric began to invite his relatives into our apartment without telling me they were coming. They made themselves at home, helping themselves to anything and everything that even resembled food in our refrigerator and cabinets. They would even eat the supper I had prepared for myself the night before! Eric would do nothing. When I approached the issue with him, he said, "That's how we are in my country. We treat everyone like family." What? Eating up all of the food and not leaving anything for me is not a family attitude! It's ignorant! I did all the grocery shopping only to see it gone within a day or so. Many times, I went to bed hungry because I was too tired from work to go back out shopping. While I was working, he had his family and who-knows-who-else over to eat up all of the food I had just purchased. I paid all the bills, did all the shopping and cooking and was the one who had any visible means of income yet I was the one treated like dirt! One evening, one of Eric's sisters opened the freezer and decided to open my new pint-size carton of vanilla ice cream, my favorite treat on the weekends. I'd only eat a few spoonfuls causing the ice cream to last for months. When I asker her to put it back, she rolled her eyes. Angrily, I snapped, "You don't just go into someone's refrigerator and start eating their food. I like MY ice cream and I bought it for ME!" Rolling her eyes yet another time, she mumbled something about how she couldn't even eat anything because I had to have it and I resisted the urge to slap her. She was already obese and had the nerve to try to squeeze her fat thighs into pants four sizes too small for her. They had no respect for me. While I tried to sleep after a long week of work, Eric and his gang would be in the living room alternately playing video games and watching loud, vulgar movies, the entire time loudly laughing and talking. No one cared about the "stupid American" who worked a difficult job all week and just wanted a little bit of sleep.
To make my living arrangements worse, we received an eviction notice. I came home and there it was on the door. I was furious. Surely, it had to have been a mistake as I gave Eric the checks before the first of every month to take across the street to the management office. The checks were being cashed and I did receive receipts. I could never go speak to them because, when I got home from work, they were closed and they did not open on weekends. I left numerous messages on their machines and my calls were never returned. When I prepared myself to ask Eric about it, he was gone. He didn't call, didn't take all of his things but was gone nonetheless. That night, three police officers knocked on my door. They had somehow gotten in without being buzzed in. I wondered if they were going to arrest me for the rental issue. Frightened about going to jail, I pulled my robe about myself and politely asked them how I could help them. One officer held up a paper saying they had a warrant for Eric's arrest. They asked if they could search the premises. I welcomed them in and watched them as they searched the entire apartment, including beneath the bed, beneath the sofa, in the shower, in the closets and even in the kitchen cabinets. They asked me if I knew where he was and I said that I hadn't seen him in a few days which was true. He had a habit of disappearing and returning when he felt like doing so. This was my chance to get Eric out of my life but I feared losing my job more than anything and, thus remained tight-lipped.
After the police officers left, I could not sleep and decided to organize my work wardrobe. Shocked, I realized that my brand-new suits I had recently purchase were gone. What was I going to wear to work? I had purchased them at Cherry and Webb with my new store card which made me feel like a sophisticated professional. I had never had nice clothes like those before and, finally, I could afford them. I stormed around the apartment, angrily cussing to myself. I called Eric everything but a child of God even though he was not there to hear it. I was getting evicted. Police came to my apartment. My suits were gone. And Eric was no where--NO WHERE--to be found!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
PART FOUR: Chapter Two
PART FOUR: Chapter Two
The days following my college graduation, I worried about landing a teaching job. I had job applications with the Providence, Lincoln and Coventry School Departments. During the summer of 1998, I worked at Cafe Luna in Cranston's Garden City. It was money in my pocket and I worked nearly every day. I worked from opening until just before the shift change for the dinner crowd. The customers love me and tipped me heavily I told my boss about my search for a teaching job. I didn't want to have worked so hard just to end up working in a cafe. I would work all morning and Eric would take my car to supposedly go to work as well. He got out before I did, so he was able to pick me up from work. I thought it would be fair to share instead of having him walk or take the bus.
One day at work, I grew very ill. I was dizzy and it was not good practice to have ill workers around food. I knew Eric was available so I called home to see if he would be able to pick me up. By this time, I had moved into a luxury apartment complex in Cranston and was foolish enough to take Eric along with me. It was I who paid for all of the moving expenses and the first few months of rent since Eric claimed he had court fines to pay due to being unfairly charged with assault from an old girlfriend who cheated on him. I was foolish to give him the benefit of the doubt.
On the day I was ill at work, I repeatedly called the house because he was usually home taking a nap after work or so he claimed. No answer. A guy who worked in the kitchen at my job offered to take me home. He was a really nice guy, a good friend, and I trusted him not to do anything bad. Upon arrival at my apartment complex, I spotted my car parked in the parking lot. After thanking my coworker, I rang the outside buzzer to be let in since I had forgotten my keys. I waited. No response. He could have been at the pool since it was definitely hot enough and he liked to swim. I pressed the buzzer again and waited. My back to the street, I began to cry. My coworker who wouldn't leave until I was inside, rolled down his window and asked if I wanted him to wait or if I'd like to be taken back to work. Forcing a smile, I turned to face him and said that it was ok, I'd be fine. He asked me if I were sure and I nodded, thanking him. He reluctantly drove away and I turned back to the door. Finally, someone from one of the other apartments came out and I was able to get into the building. I tiredly dragged my sick body up the flight of stairs to the third floor. Pressing my ear to the door of my apartment, I heard muffled voices which infuriated me. My head was whirling and I could feel my blood begin to boil. Clenching my fingers into a tight ball, I banged on the door like a police officer searching for a criminal. I heard a startled shriek , scrambling and movement. Who the hell else was in there? I could not think and I was beginning to lose my balance. Shortly, Eric opened the door, his teeth stretched into a Cheshire Cat grin. I screamed that I had called him and he said he didn't hear the phone. I told him that the apartment was small and that there was no way he didn't hear it! I suddenly felt as though I was going to vomit. I wanted to check the closet by the door as I suspected someone was hiding in there. He stood next to the closet, still grinning. I swayed on my heels. I had to get to the bedroom. Somehow, I managed to make it to the bedroom and the last image I saw before I lost consciousness, was the Cheshire Cat grin on Eric's face as he closed the bedroom door and he and whoever was hiding in the apartment creaked shut the apartment door.
When I was well enough to return to work, I told myself I'd focus on getting a teaching job. I saw that as my way away from Eric, Rhode Island and my old life. Eric had tried to apologize to me by buying me a dozen roses and giving them to me at work. I waited until we got home before I threw the roses on the floor, stomped on them and unleashed an angry , violent stream of curses. I was never a person to curse but somewhere from some deep cavern of my soul erupted a volcanic explosion of the most vile curses known to man. This was our first of many violent arguments. There was no peace in our relationship. I was so angry and hurt. Eric became angry as well. He took his motorcycle helmet and flung it at all of my beautiful figurines on the living room shelf, sending them crashing to the floor in a screeching shatter. Instantly, I was silent and he began to loudly curse at me. His hands in his head, he stormed to the bedroom with that irritating limp of his and cried. Silently standing in the kitchen alone, I simmered like the volcano after an eruption and promised myself that I would get away from him but I will have to be prepared first.
Shortly after my first argument with Eric, I was asked to teach short-term at my old high school. I was working at the cafe one day when one of my favorite high school teachers walked in and instantly recognized me. He was the new principal and when I told him of my graduation, he invited me to the school the following day to take a short-term position for a teacher who was having a baby. To me, a short-term position was better than a no-term position. Since I had forbade Eric to use my car after the argument and since he began not coming home, I was able to go meet my former teacher at the school the following day. My boss at work was so happy for me, she told me to go and not miss it for anything. I was given the position on the spot as well as lead across the street to the school department's administrative building in order to meet the women in charge of hiring the high school teachers. I was so excited and happy to have the position. I got right to work, pouring over the curriculum for the English department.
Despite my having graduated from the high school, I was very intimidated. I began to doubt myself and wondered if this were something I could really do. When Eric began to show up again, I excitedly told him the news wrongly assuming he'd be happy for me. He was cold. By this time, I had discovered that Eric graduated from Mount Pleasant High School at the age of 26 because he skipped classes and even whole years. He also couldn't read, something I could not comprehend. He had used some girls to do his work and somehow managed to earn enough credits to graduate. It was like my father all over again. How could I be with someone who couldn't read and who had no hunger to learn about the world? Oh, no, he had to go but how was I going to do it?
About a week after landing the temporary job at Classical, my old high school, I received a call from the principal of Oliver Hazard Perry Middle School. The principal asked me, "How would you like a full-time, permanent position at my school?" Full time? Heck, that was great! I couldn't believe my ears! In my selfish excitement, I did not thank God for opening this door for me and I almost did not get the position. I was supposed to go in for an interview the very next afternoon. Eric had asked to use my car for a medical appointment and I had already agreed but it was in the morning and surely, he'd be back in time so I could make it to my interview. I told him of my interview the night before and he agreed he would be back in time, only he wasn't. Dressed in my best suit, I waited and waited for him to show. Nothing. Maybe he was in an accident? I called the school telling them what was going on and the principal seemed to understand. Finally, an hour later, Eric showed and I shoved him out the door telling him I was late for my interview. He mumbled something about it just being a "stupid interview" and that I won't get the position anyway. I tried to ignore him because I knew he was just insecure since he never tried to do anything for himself besides play video games all afternoon. I was always helping him and trying to encourage him to do something for himself. He signed up for and went to his CDL classes but never attended class. He even signed up for and paid for his motorcycle license and stopped going after he was told he'd have to take a test. So, his situation was not my fault and I was not going to let him blow my chances at success.
Thankfully, I was given the position on the spot and given the keys to my classroom. I eagerly asked if I could go look at my room and what I saw horrified me. The room was dark, dusty and musty. It looked as if no one had been in the room since 1976. In fact, I thought found yellowed mimeographed papers in the draw of an old wooden cabinet that dated back to that year. I had a lot of work to do and I was going to do it. As I waited outside for Eric to return to pick me up, I contemplated my soon-to-be new life. It would be hard breaking the news to Classical but they'd understand.
First year teachers in Providence who had only a Bachelors made $25,000 a year but to me that was big money. I had never made that much before. I was so excited. Eric no longer fit into my world. The next two years would be difficult for me as I pursued my career and struggled to help Eric better himself so that he could become an academic equal to me. It was a battle that I would lose. Eric was stubborn, jealous and insecure. As the years progressed, he'd become angrier at me for being a professional and resorted to emotional and physical methods to make me pay for humiliating him with my success. He would even show up to my school, looking unkempt and angry to embarrass me. My colleagues thought so highly of me that I was too ashamed to tell them the truth of what was going on. I hid bruises with long sleeves and smiles. Being at school made me feel strong, respected and in control. Why couldn't I see what Eric was doing to me? Why was I so afraid of him?
The days following my college graduation, I worried about landing a teaching job. I had job applications with the Providence, Lincoln and Coventry School Departments. During the summer of 1998, I worked at Cafe Luna in Cranston's Garden City. It was money in my pocket and I worked nearly every day. I worked from opening until just before the shift change for the dinner crowd. The customers love me and tipped me heavily I told my boss about my search for a teaching job. I didn't want to have worked so hard just to end up working in a cafe. I would work all morning and Eric would take my car to supposedly go to work as well. He got out before I did, so he was able to pick me up from work. I thought it would be fair to share instead of having him walk or take the bus.
One day at work, I grew very ill. I was dizzy and it was not good practice to have ill workers around food. I knew Eric was available so I called home to see if he would be able to pick me up. By this time, I had moved into a luxury apartment complex in Cranston and was foolish enough to take Eric along with me. It was I who paid for all of the moving expenses and the first few months of rent since Eric claimed he had court fines to pay due to being unfairly charged with assault from an old girlfriend who cheated on him. I was foolish to give him the benefit of the doubt.
On the day I was ill at work, I repeatedly called the house because he was usually home taking a nap after work or so he claimed. No answer. A guy who worked in the kitchen at my job offered to take me home. He was a really nice guy, a good friend, and I trusted him not to do anything bad. Upon arrival at my apartment complex, I spotted my car parked in the parking lot. After thanking my coworker, I rang the outside buzzer to be let in since I had forgotten my keys. I waited. No response. He could have been at the pool since it was definitely hot enough and he liked to swim. I pressed the buzzer again and waited. My back to the street, I began to cry. My coworker who wouldn't leave until I was inside, rolled down his window and asked if I wanted him to wait or if I'd like to be taken back to work. Forcing a smile, I turned to face him and said that it was ok, I'd be fine. He asked me if I were sure and I nodded, thanking him. He reluctantly drove away and I turned back to the door. Finally, someone from one of the other apartments came out and I was able to get into the building. I tiredly dragged my sick body up the flight of stairs to the third floor. Pressing my ear to the door of my apartment, I heard muffled voices which infuriated me. My head was whirling and I could feel my blood begin to boil. Clenching my fingers into a tight ball, I banged on the door like a police officer searching for a criminal. I heard a startled shriek , scrambling and movement. Who the hell else was in there? I could not think and I was beginning to lose my balance. Shortly, Eric opened the door, his teeth stretched into a Cheshire Cat grin. I screamed that I had called him and he said he didn't hear the phone. I told him that the apartment was small and that there was no way he didn't hear it! I suddenly felt as though I was going to vomit. I wanted to check the closet by the door as I suspected someone was hiding in there. He stood next to the closet, still grinning. I swayed on my heels. I had to get to the bedroom. Somehow, I managed to make it to the bedroom and the last image I saw before I lost consciousness, was the Cheshire Cat grin on Eric's face as he closed the bedroom door and he and whoever was hiding in the apartment creaked shut the apartment door.
When I was well enough to return to work, I told myself I'd focus on getting a teaching job. I saw that as my way away from Eric, Rhode Island and my old life. Eric had tried to apologize to me by buying me a dozen roses and giving them to me at work. I waited until we got home before I threw the roses on the floor, stomped on them and unleashed an angry , violent stream of curses. I was never a person to curse but somewhere from some deep cavern of my soul erupted a volcanic explosion of the most vile curses known to man. This was our first of many violent arguments. There was no peace in our relationship. I was so angry and hurt. Eric became angry as well. He took his motorcycle helmet and flung it at all of my beautiful figurines on the living room shelf, sending them crashing to the floor in a screeching shatter. Instantly, I was silent and he began to loudly curse at me. His hands in his head, he stormed to the bedroom with that irritating limp of his and cried. Silently standing in the kitchen alone, I simmered like the volcano after an eruption and promised myself that I would get away from him but I will have to be prepared first.
Shortly after my first argument with Eric, I was asked to teach short-term at my old high school. I was working at the cafe one day when one of my favorite high school teachers walked in and instantly recognized me. He was the new principal and when I told him of my graduation, he invited me to the school the following day to take a short-term position for a teacher who was having a baby. To me, a short-term position was better than a no-term position. Since I had forbade Eric to use my car after the argument and since he began not coming home, I was able to go meet my former teacher at the school the following day. My boss at work was so happy for me, she told me to go and not miss it for anything. I was given the position on the spot as well as lead across the street to the school department's administrative building in order to meet the women in charge of hiring the high school teachers. I was so excited and happy to have the position. I got right to work, pouring over the curriculum for the English department.
Despite my having graduated from the high school, I was very intimidated. I began to doubt myself and wondered if this were something I could really do. When Eric began to show up again, I excitedly told him the news wrongly assuming he'd be happy for me. He was cold. By this time, I had discovered that Eric graduated from Mount Pleasant High School at the age of 26 because he skipped classes and even whole years. He also couldn't read, something I could not comprehend. He had used some girls to do his work and somehow managed to earn enough credits to graduate. It was like my father all over again. How could I be with someone who couldn't read and who had no hunger to learn about the world? Oh, no, he had to go but how was I going to do it?
About a week after landing the temporary job at Classical, my old high school, I received a call from the principal of Oliver Hazard Perry Middle School. The principal asked me, "How would you like a full-time, permanent position at my school?" Full time? Heck, that was great! I couldn't believe my ears! In my selfish excitement, I did not thank God for opening this door for me and I almost did not get the position. I was supposed to go in for an interview the very next afternoon. Eric had asked to use my car for a medical appointment and I had already agreed but it was in the morning and surely, he'd be back in time so I could make it to my interview. I told him of my interview the night before and he agreed he would be back in time, only he wasn't. Dressed in my best suit, I waited and waited for him to show. Nothing. Maybe he was in an accident? I called the school telling them what was going on and the principal seemed to understand. Finally, an hour later, Eric showed and I shoved him out the door telling him I was late for my interview. He mumbled something about it just being a "stupid interview" and that I won't get the position anyway. I tried to ignore him because I knew he was just insecure since he never tried to do anything for himself besides play video games all afternoon. I was always helping him and trying to encourage him to do something for himself. He signed up for and went to his CDL classes but never attended class. He even signed up for and paid for his motorcycle license and stopped going after he was told he'd have to take a test. So, his situation was not my fault and I was not going to let him blow my chances at success.
Thankfully, I was given the position on the spot and given the keys to my classroom. I eagerly asked if I could go look at my room and what I saw horrified me. The room was dark, dusty and musty. It looked as if no one had been in the room since 1976. In fact, I thought found yellowed mimeographed papers in the draw of an old wooden cabinet that dated back to that year. I had a lot of work to do and I was going to do it. As I waited outside for Eric to return to pick me up, I contemplated my soon-to-be new life. It would be hard breaking the news to Classical but they'd understand.
First year teachers in Providence who had only a Bachelors made $25,000 a year but to me that was big money. I had never made that much before. I was so excited. Eric no longer fit into my world. The next two years would be difficult for me as I pursued my career and struggled to help Eric better himself so that he could become an academic equal to me. It was a battle that I would lose. Eric was stubborn, jealous and insecure. As the years progressed, he'd become angrier at me for being a professional and resorted to emotional and physical methods to make me pay for humiliating him with my success. He would even show up to my school, looking unkempt and angry to embarrass me. My colleagues thought so highly of me that I was too ashamed to tell them the truth of what was going on. I hid bruises with long sleeves and smiles. Being at school made me feel strong, respected and in control. Why couldn't I see what Eric was doing to me? Why was I so afraid of him?
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
PART FOUR: Chapter One
Lost touch with my soul
I had no where to turn
I had no where to go
Lost sight of my dream,
Thought it would be the end of me
I thought I’d never make it through
I had no hope to hold on to,
I thought I would break
I didn’t know my own strength
And I crashed down, and I tumbled
But I did not crumble
I got through all the pain
I didn’t know my own strength
Survived my darkest hour
My faith kept me alive
I picked myself back up
Hold my head up high
I was not built to break
I didn’t know my own strength
Found hope in my heart,
I found the light to life
My way out of the dark
Found all that I need
Here inside of me
I thought I’d never find my way
I thought I’d never lift that weight
I thought I would break
I didn’t know my own strength
And I crashed down, and I tumbled
But I did not crumble
I got through all the pain
I didn’t know my own strength
Survived my darkest hour
My faith kept me alive
I picked myself back up
Hold my head up high
I was not built to break
I didn’t know my own strength
There were so many times I
Wondered how I’d get through the night I
Thought took all I could take
I didn’t know my own strength
And I crashed down, and I tumbled
But I did not crumble
I got through all the pain
I didn’t know my own strength
Survived my darkest hour
My faith kept me alive
I picked myself back up
Hold my head up high
I was not built to break
I didn’t know my own strength
I had no where to turn
I had no where to go
Lost sight of my dream,
Thought it would be the end of me
I thought I’d never make it through
I had no hope to hold on to,
I thought I would break
I didn’t know my own strength
And I crashed down, and I tumbled
But I did not crumble
I got through all the pain
I didn’t know my own strength
Survived my darkest hour
My faith kept me alive
I picked myself back up
Hold my head up high
I was not built to break
I didn’t know my own strength
Found hope in my heart,
I found the light to life
My way out of the dark
Found all that I need
Here inside of me
I thought I’d never find my way
I thought I’d never lift that weight
I thought I would break
I didn’t know my own strength
And I crashed down, and I tumbled
But I did not crumble
I got through all the pain
I didn’t know my own strength
Survived my darkest hour
My faith kept me alive
I picked myself back up
Hold my head up high
I was not built to break
I didn’t know my own strength
There were so many times I
Wondered how I’d get through the night I
Thought took all I could take
I didn’t know my own strength
And I crashed down, and I tumbled
But I did not crumble
I got through all the pain
I didn’t know my own strength
Survived my darkest hour
My faith kept me alive
I picked myself back up
Hold my head up high
I was not built to break
I didn’t know my own strength
Whitney Houston (vocals), written by Diane Warren
"I Didn't Know My Own Strength"
I Look To You, 2009 , RCA/JIVE Label Group
Chapter One:
I don't remember how it happened but I was at the beginning of a roller coaster ride that would cause me to reach an all time low and would eventually cause me to lose myself and my close relationship with God. I no longer recognized myself when I looked in the mirror each morning. Gone were the dreams and ambitions I had for myself and my future. Gone was my world of peace and meditation. Gone were my friends. Who was I? What was happening to me and why couldn't I just run away?
Eric, the Prince Charming, who had captivated my soul at my college winter ball my senior year wasn't what or who I thought he was. When I slowly began to uncover evidence of his repeated deceptions, I continued to permit him in my life as if it were beyond my control.
Christmas Day of my senior year, one semester before I graduated, I had my first date with Eric. He took me to the movies and handed me a stuffed animal as a present. After the movie, he dropped me off at my apartment. We went on several more dates and, each time, he widened the circle of people he introduced me to. I didn't like the people in his circle and I didn't like being paraded in front of them. Something about them just didn't set right with me yet I fell full into the darkness of what was becoming my new world.
Eventually, Eric wormed his way into my apartment as a resident. It was a night he and his father had a big argument and, according to Eric, his father threw him out because he refused to help with the bills. After all, Eric was twenty-six years old and I assumed he worked because he wasn't in school. At first, I enjoyed his company and I loved cooking for him. Soon afterwards, he was borrowing my beat up car and not showing up on time to pick me up from work. A friend of mine told me I should have never allowed him to live with me. I assumed she was jealous because she didn't have a boyfriend. Someone liked me and wanted to be with me, or so I thought!
Physically, Eric began to turn into someone who was not the Prince Charming I met. His hair began to look unkempt and messy. It looked as though he never even tried to comb it. It was no longer smooth and clean. I realized that he was shorter than I and one of his legs were longer than the other which caused him to walk with a limp. He became so unattractive yet I settled on thinking that he was all I could or would ever get. My cat often hissed at him. On one occasion, I picked up my cat as usual but he turned toward my face, hissed and tried to scratch me. Confused, I dropped the cat and chose to ignore the my cat's warning. One day while I was working, Eric had his best friend over and informed me that the cat attacked his friend. My once friendly and loving cat Merlin had become vicious and angry and it was more than jealously. Instead of giving the boot to Eric, I gave my cat away to my supervisor at work. Eric sat on my couch and ignored me when I cried hysterically as I handed my cat over to my supervisor. He did not comfort me nor show any sign of compassion. Crying, I begged for sympathy but he just mumbled something about my cat being "just a dumb cat" and left me crying by myself. Why did I allow myself to be treated so horribly? Why did I give up my cat, the cat I loved so much? What was wrong with me?
Around this time, I began my final semester of college. My major was English and I was going to be a teacher at the secondary level. I had dreams of moving to Arizona to teach and just to get away from Rhode Island, the place of much pain for me. I dreamed of warm weather, tequila-colored sunlight and freedom. I had researched school systems in Arizona and found that there was a need for teachers there. I had planned to go but I suddenly became afraid. Never having lived in any other state on my own before, I was afraid to leave Rhode Island. I spent days second-guessing myself. Who was I kidding? I thought I'd never survive out there. I missed the teacher application date because I spent too much time pondering my fears. Nevertheless, I went through my student-teaching semester, enduring mistreatment from Eric just so I could get my degree. I was wiling to shed blood in order to get it. My supervising teacher knew something was wrong the one time he met Eric He he clearly see that Eric was not the man for me. He tried to encourage me to go out with another student teacher at the school who would be graduating with me but I felt a loyalty to Eric even though he had not moved fully into my apartment yet and was, thus, staying with his cousin. I also thought that the other student teacher was gay and wouldn't be interested in me anyway. If he weren't gay, he was too nice to be a boyfriend of mine.
Everyone could see the danger in my relationship with Eric but me. Eric would tell me that his cousin's pregnant girlfriend repeatedly made passes at him yet he gave her his sweaters to wear and would often be alone at his cousin's place with her. I was too focused on my coursework and my student-teaching to examiner the obvious: that I was being played for a fool and that Eric seemed to always have a lot of free time on his hands during the day, hands that should have been working a job.
Graduation Day had arrived. I had not invited any of my immediate family because I didn't think they deserved it. After all, why should they be a part of something I had worked hard for when all they did was hurt me? The graduation was in the newspaper, however, just as they always were. I was told via a friend of my father's that they had shown him my name in the paper and that my mother read it, too, on her own. I secretly felt a victory. They had tried so hard to ruin me but I was dead set on being someone important, come hell or high water. Although I had slipped away from God with the onset of my relationship with Eric, God had never let me fall and continued to watch over me.
Clothed in my cap and gown, I held my head high as I walked with my other fellow college graduates. The weather was beautiful despite the very hot temperature. My friend in front of me in the processional line complained about the heat and, laughing, I helped her straighten out her robe. From the processional line next to me, I froze as I heard a familiar voice. "This heat sucks!" the voice said. When I turned to look, my eyes locked with those of the young man who had been my admirer for such a long time throughout my college years. I had wondered where he had gone my last year. After I had finally left my father's house, I felt it was too late to try to talk to him despite the fact that he still came into the library every week, always walked past me and made sure to shyly greet me. I'd always try to say something but all I could never get beyond, "Hi! How are you? Great! Have a great day!" I would panic when I'd see him coming in and I'd feel my throat tighten. Looking at him on graduation day, I felt a sudden, knowing sadness because because I didn't try hard enough and had therefore missed my chance. I could tell, too, there was a feeling of loss and hurt in his eyes. We both knew we had both missed our chance at being together but we were both not going to do anything about it I didn't mean to hurt him. All I could manage on this special day was a smile. I smiled and turned quickly before he could see the tears in my eyes. I would think of him for many, many years mentally kicking myself for letting him slip away. Here I was dating Eric, a guy of no comparison and there, just a few feet away from me, was this young man who had gone out on a limb for me and I let him down. I knew he knew I was dating Eric. Everyone knew and many disapproved.
Graduation had ended. I was surprised when a girl with whom I graduated high school, pushed her way through the crowd to hand me a white rose. "Congratulations, Candace! You did it!" she shouted. I had not expected to see her. I hugged her tightly. I was happy someone was there to hug me. Over her shoulder, I saw a limp I recognized as one belonging to Eric who walked up to me with balloons and flowers. The smile on his face reminded me of a smile satan might wear. Later that evening, he took me to a party at his parents' house. There was food, cake, music and alcohol. I had my first taste of alcohol. The wine cooler burned my throat and sent my mind into a daze. It was the beginning of my life's downward spiral.
Chapter One:
I don't remember how it happened but I was at the beginning of a roller coaster ride that would cause me to reach an all time low and would eventually cause me to lose myself and my close relationship with God. I no longer recognized myself when I looked in the mirror each morning. Gone were the dreams and ambitions I had for myself and my future. Gone was my world of peace and meditation. Gone were my friends. Who was I? What was happening to me and why couldn't I just run away?
Eric, the Prince Charming, who had captivated my soul at my college winter ball my senior year wasn't what or who I thought he was. When I slowly began to uncover evidence of his repeated deceptions, I continued to permit him in my life as if it were beyond my control.
Christmas Day of my senior year, one semester before I graduated, I had my first date with Eric. He took me to the movies and handed me a stuffed animal as a present. After the movie, he dropped me off at my apartment. We went on several more dates and, each time, he widened the circle of people he introduced me to. I didn't like the people in his circle and I didn't like being paraded in front of them. Something about them just didn't set right with me yet I fell full into the darkness of what was becoming my new world.
Eventually, Eric wormed his way into my apartment as a resident. It was a night he and his father had a big argument and, according to Eric, his father threw him out because he refused to help with the bills. After all, Eric was twenty-six years old and I assumed he worked because he wasn't in school. At first, I enjoyed his company and I loved cooking for him. Soon afterwards, he was borrowing my beat up car and not showing up on time to pick me up from work. A friend of mine told me I should have never allowed him to live with me. I assumed she was jealous because she didn't have a boyfriend. Someone liked me and wanted to be with me, or so I thought!
Physically, Eric began to turn into someone who was not the Prince Charming I met. His hair began to look unkempt and messy. It looked as though he never even tried to comb it. It was no longer smooth and clean. I realized that he was shorter than I and one of his legs were longer than the other which caused him to walk with a limp. He became so unattractive yet I settled on thinking that he was all I could or would ever get. My cat often hissed at him. On one occasion, I picked up my cat as usual but he turned toward my face, hissed and tried to scratch me. Confused, I dropped the cat and chose to ignore the my cat's warning. One day while I was working, Eric had his best friend over and informed me that the cat attacked his friend. My once friendly and loving cat Merlin had become vicious and angry and it was more than jealously. Instead of giving the boot to Eric, I gave my cat away to my supervisor at work. Eric sat on my couch and ignored me when I cried hysterically as I handed my cat over to my supervisor. He did not comfort me nor show any sign of compassion. Crying, I begged for sympathy but he just mumbled something about my cat being "just a dumb cat" and left me crying by myself. Why did I allow myself to be treated so horribly? Why did I give up my cat, the cat I loved so much? What was wrong with me?
Around this time, I began my final semester of college. My major was English and I was going to be a teacher at the secondary level. I had dreams of moving to Arizona to teach and just to get away from Rhode Island, the place of much pain for me. I dreamed of warm weather, tequila-colored sunlight and freedom. I had researched school systems in Arizona and found that there was a need for teachers there. I had planned to go but I suddenly became afraid. Never having lived in any other state on my own before, I was afraid to leave Rhode Island. I spent days second-guessing myself. Who was I kidding? I thought I'd never survive out there. I missed the teacher application date because I spent too much time pondering my fears. Nevertheless, I went through my student-teaching semester, enduring mistreatment from Eric just so I could get my degree. I was wiling to shed blood in order to get it. My supervising teacher knew something was wrong the one time he met Eric He he clearly see that Eric was not the man for me. He tried to encourage me to go out with another student teacher at the school who would be graduating with me but I felt a loyalty to Eric even though he had not moved fully into my apartment yet and was, thus, staying with his cousin. I also thought that the other student teacher was gay and wouldn't be interested in me anyway. If he weren't gay, he was too nice to be a boyfriend of mine.
Everyone could see the danger in my relationship with Eric but me. Eric would tell me that his cousin's pregnant girlfriend repeatedly made passes at him yet he gave her his sweaters to wear and would often be alone at his cousin's place with her. I was too focused on my coursework and my student-teaching to examiner the obvious: that I was being played for a fool and that Eric seemed to always have a lot of free time on his hands during the day, hands that should have been working a job.
Graduation Day had arrived. I had not invited any of my immediate family because I didn't think they deserved it. After all, why should they be a part of something I had worked hard for when all they did was hurt me? The graduation was in the newspaper, however, just as they always were. I was told via a friend of my father's that they had shown him my name in the paper and that my mother read it, too, on her own. I secretly felt a victory. They had tried so hard to ruin me but I was dead set on being someone important, come hell or high water. Although I had slipped away from God with the onset of my relationship with Eric, God had never let me fall and continued to watch over me.
Clothed in my cap and gown, I held my head high as I walked with my other fellow college graduates. The weather was beautiful despite the very hot temperature. My friend in front of me in the processional line complained about the heat and, laughing, I helped her straighten out her robe. From the processional line next to me, I froze as I heard a familiar voice. "This heat sucks!" the voice said. When I turned to look, my eyes locked with those of the young man who had been my admirer for such a long time throughout my college years. I had wondered where he had gone my last year. After I had finally left my father's house, I felt it was too late to try to talk to him despite the fact that he still came into the library every week, always walked past me and made sure to shyly greet me. I'd always try to say something but all I could never get beyond, "Hi! How are you? Great! Have a great day!" I would panic when I'd see him coming in and I'd feel my throat tighten. Looking at him on graduation day, I felt a sudden, knowing sadness because because I didn't try hard enough and had therefore missed my chance. I could tell, too, there was a feeling of loss and hurt in his eyes. We both knew we had both missed our chance at being together but we were both not going to do anything about it I didn't mean to hurt him. All I could manage on this special day was a smile. I smiled and turned quickly before he could see the tears in my eyes. I would think of him for many, many years mentally kicking myself for letting him slip away. Here I was dating Eric, a guy of no comparison and there, just a few feet away from me, was this young man who had gone out on a limb for me and I let him down. I knew he knew I was dating Eric. Everyone knew and many disapproved.
Graduation had ended. I was surprised when a girl with whom I graduated high school, pushed her way through the crowd to hand me a white rose. "Congratulations, Candace! You did it!" she shouted. I had not expected to see her. I hugged her tightly. I was happy someone was there to hug me. Over her shoulder, I saw a limp I recognized as one belonging to Eric who walked up to me with balloons and flowers. The smile on his face reminded me of a smile satan might wear. Later that evening, he took me to a party at his parents' house. There was food, cake, music and alcohol. I had my first taste of alcohol. The wine cooler burned my throat and sent my mind into a daze. It was the beginning of my life's downward spiral.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
PART THREE: Chapter Three
Chapter Three:
December 1997. Winter Ball at Rhode Island College, my senior year. I decided to go alone and just have fun. I wore a spaghetti-strapped red dress that had to be taken in because I was so skinny. I had worked hard in college and just wanted to dance and have fun before I graduated. A female friend who had recently parted ways with her husband-to-be arrived at my apartment to pick me up and brought her older brother along as her date. She was Liberian and was very proud of it. In my opinion, part of the reason why she didn't want to stay with her husband-to-be was because he was African-American and I would soon learn the intense hatred her family had for African Americans once I became deeply involved with them.
He was a stranger. He was charming, well-dressed and had nice, white teeth. He was quiet as he drove his sister and me to the ball. From the backseat of the car, I watched as he and his sister calmly navigated their way through memorized directions to get us to the ball. Finally, my friend introduced us and when he spoke, his deep voice and the way he bit into his words made my toes curl. He was bad and I knew it. He smelled of badness but his mere presence was hypnotic. I had had only one boyfriend and, thanks to my father's rules and regulations while I lived at home, I had insufficient experience in regards to the entire concept of dating. When I was on my own and free to date, I was actually too busy working and going to school which is why I had that one brief summer romance. My very first kiss was in college from my first boyfriend and, although to me the kiss was magical, it paled in comparison to the experiences of some of my peers. I was still a little girl trapped in the fairy tale world of dating and wanted nothing to do with anything other than hand-holding, hugging and an occasional romantic kiss.
We arrived at the Winter Ball and I was eager to dance even if it meant dancing alone. A female student who was the sister of a girl with whom I worked at the college library seated herself next to my friend's brother and began chatting his ear off with a flood of questions. I temporarily lost interest and raced onto the dance floor alone as soon as the meal was over. I was there to have fun for once and that is what I did. When I returned to the table to rest my feet, I noticed my friend's brother sitting alone and I instantly felt I should involve him in the fun. I asked him to dance and he replied politely, "Wait for a slow song." I agreed and sat down for the remainder of the fast songs. I became a little annoyed when the girl who had chatted off his ear earlier, dragged him onto the floor to dance to a fast song. She was very persistent which astonished me because, according to her sister her family forbade both of them to date guys who were not Cambodian. It was apparent that she wanted whom she wanted. I was exhausted and decided to remain seated until a slow song played for my chance to dance with Prince Charming.
While I rested my feet that were clad in red heels that matched my red dress, I chatted up some of the other people from college whom I either had classes with or whom I recognized from campus. Suddenly, a slow song began to play and Prince Charming was no where to be found. Just as I was growing impatient, he waltzed in, stood in the middle of the floor, extended his hand and motioned for me to dance with him. It was just like something from a fairy tale. All the heads at the tables in front of me turned to look , mouths agape. On the other side of the dance floor, the girl he had danced the fast song with earlier, glared at me as I rose and seemingly floated to meet him. It seemed as if there were no one else but us on the dance floor. He wore a stunning suit that consisted of a white jacket and black pants. His cologne was intoxicating and I could feel myself sinking deeper into his eyes. I heard the word "run" in my mind but I so wanted him to like me. I had such a great need to be liked. I had a void that needed to be filled completely and I was willing to take anyone who even glanced my way despite what I knew in my heart.
Once the night was over, the magical dance ended and I was safely back into my apartment, I felt as though I had been to the Royal Ball and actually danced with a real prince. Kicking off my shoes, I grabbed my cat and twirled around in the middle of my living room floor with him held above my head. I twirled through the dining area, down the hall and into my bedroom where I plopped onto my bed exhausted. My cat, confused, bolted back into the living room where I had initially snatched him, disturbing his nap. I dreamed of the dance repeatedly and how it felt to be held. I replayed him beckoning me onto the dance floor and smiled at all the people who turned to look at me in awe. Yes! I was someone special! I was important! It was as tough I were Cinderella at the ball. I told myself that I would call my friend tomorrow and inquire about her brother. I didn't know that my friend had intended to call me anyway and ask me what I thought of her brother.
If only I had not been so desperate I could have avoided what would later become the scariest four years of my life. Why was I so hungry for love? Why wasn't I satisfied with just being alone and learning to love myself?
December 1997. Winter Ball at Rhode Island College, my senior year. I decided to go alone and just have fun. I wore a spaghetti-strapped red dress that had to be taken in because I was so skinny. I had worked hard in college and just wanted to dance and have fun before I graduated. A female friend who had recently parted ways with her husband-to-be arrived at my apartment to pick me up and brought her older brother along as her date. She was Liberian and was very proud of it. In my opinion, part of the reason why she didn't want to stay with her husband-to-be was because he was African-American and I would soon learn the intense hatred her family had for African Americans once I became deeply involved with them.
He was a stranger. He was charming, well-dressed and had nice, white teeth. He was quiet as he drove his sister and me to the ball. From the backseat of the car, I watched as he and his sister calmly navigated their way through memorized directions to get us to the ball. Finally, my friend introduced us and when he spoke, his deep voice and the way he bit into his words made my toes curl. He was bad and I knew it. He smelled of badness but his mere presence was hypnotic. I had had only one boyfriend and, thanks to my father's rules and regulations while I lived at home, I had insufficient experience in regards to the entire concept of dating. When I was on my own and free to date, I was actually too busy working and going to school which is why I had that one brief summer romance. My very first kiss was in college from my first boyfriend and, although to me the kiss was magical, it paled in comparison to the experiences of some of my peers. I was still a little girl trapped in the fairy tale world of dating and wanted nothing to do with anything other than hand-holding, hugging and an occasional romantic kiss.
We arrived at the Winter Ball and I was eager to dance even if it meant dancing alone. A female student who was the sister of a girl with whom I worked at the college library seated herself next to my friend's brother and began chatting his ear off with a flood of questions. I temporarily lost interest and raced onto the dance floor alone as soon as the meal was over. I was there to have fun for once and that is what I did. When I returned to the table to rest my feet, I noticed my friend's brother sitting alone and I instantly felt I should involve him in the fun. I asked him to dance and he replied politely, "Wait for a slow song." I agreed and sat down for the remainder of the fast songs. I became a little annoyed when the girl who had chatted off his ear earlier, dragged him onto the floor to dance to a fast song. She was very persistent which astonished me because, according to her sister her family forbade both of them to date guys who were not Cambodian. It was apparent that she wanted whom she wanted. I was exhausted and decided to remain seated until a slow song played for my chance to dance with Prince Charming.
While I rested my feet that were clad in red heels that matched my red dress, I chatted up some of the other people from college whom I either had classes with or whom I recognized from campus. Suddenly, a slow song began to play and Prince Charming was no where to be found. Just as I was growing impatient, he waltzed in, stood in the middle of the floor, extended his hand and motioned for me to dance with him. It was just like something from a fairy tale. All the heads at the tables in front of me turned to look , mouths agape. On the other side of the dance floor, the girl he had danced the fast song with earlier, glared at me as I rose and seemingly floated to meet him. It seemed as if there were no one else but us on the dance floor. He wore a stunning suit that consisted of a white jacket and black pants. His cologne was intoxicating and I could feel myself sinking deeper into his eyes. I heard the word "run" in my mind but I so wanted him to like me. I had such a great need to be liked. I had a void that needed to be filled completely and I was willing to take anyone who even glanced my way despite what I knew in my heart.
Once the night was over, the magical dance ended and I was safely back into my apartment, I felt as though I had been to the Royal Ball and actually danced with a real prince. Kicking off my shoes, I grabbed my cat and twirled around in the middle of my living room floor with him held above my head. I twirled through the dining area, down the hall and into my bedroom where I plopped onto my bed exhausted. My cat, confused, bolted back into the living room where I had initially snatched him, disturbing his nap. I dreamed of the dance repeatedly and how it felt to be held. I replayed him beckoning me onto the dance floor and smiled at all the people who turned to look at me in awe. Yes! I was someone special! I was important! It was as tough I were Cinderella at the ball. I told myself that I would call my friend tomorrow and inquire about her brother. I didn't know that my friend had intended to call me anyway and ask me what I thought of her brother.
If only I had not been so desperate I could have avoided what would later become the scariest four years of my life. Why was I so hungry for love? Why wasn't I satisfied with just being alone and learning to love myself?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)