This Can't be Life (8 page)

“I was just dreaming about the accident. That’s all.” I lied. “Did I wake you up? Where’s Talise and Stacey?” I asked him, wiping tears off my face.

“No, I was already up. Stacey left at about
6:00
. Talise left at around
7:00
. They didn’t want to wake you. Said they’d call you in a couple of hours or so. I was going to go home and take a shower and all that. I have a meeting at
1:00
,
so if it’s cool with you, I want to come back tonight at around
7:00
or 8:00…I don’t have to leave now if you need me to stay; I can leave at like
10:00
,” he said, looking at me intently. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Go ahead and do what you have to do,” I replied, trying to stop the tear that escaped my right eye.

“It’s no problem for me to stay,” he said, wiping the tear from my face. There was so much concern in his eyes that it scared me.

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you for being here. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“You don’t even need to. I’m surprised that I’m not tired as hell. We were up talking ‘til
4:00
in the morning while you were knocked out. I’ll call you after my meeting. Get some more sleep. You look beautiful, but tired.” He kissed me on my forehead and walked sluggishly out of the room.

I closed my eyes and let my tears flood down my cheeks as soon as the door closed behind him. I was so tired of having this damned nightmare and beyond frustrated because I was no closer to understanding why I was having it, or why this man was doing these awful things to this little girl.

There was a soft tap on the hospital door and then a petite Asian nurse walked in, carrying a beautiful bouquet of long stemmed, white tulips that were even larger than the ones Deon brought the night before.

“Looks like someone really cares about you a lot, young lady,” she said, smiling. “Are you feeling pain, sweetie? If so, I can bring you something for it.”

“No, I’m not in any pain. Thank you.”
At least not the kind of pain you think
, I thought, as I wiped away my tears.

“Shall I sit them here by the others?” she asked, handing me the card that came with the flowers.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Okay, sweetie. Give me a buzz if you need anything. Breakfast should be in soon,” she stated, as she walked out of the room, closing the door. I opened the card and it read:

As I sit here and watch you sleep

I ask myself, ‘what are you doing here?

I just met this woman a few days ago,

and yet I’m willing to sit here and keep

vigil with her friends to make sure that

she’s okay.’ I guess there are some situations

that I should not question, and this has

definitely got to be one of them.

I know that there was no place that

I would have rather been than spending

whatever time I could getting to know you

and getting to know the people closest to you.

Thank you

 Deon

I was wondering the same thing, but I didn’t want to question it either. I just knew that it felt good to have him here. I put the card down on the table beside the bed and closed my eyes. My sleep was tainted with perversion this morning, which left me completely drained. So, I decided to try again.

“Simone, wake up. It’s
12:00
in the afternoon,” I heard my mother demand.

“What, damn it?” I was sleeping good and here she comes, bringing her ass in here like someone requested her presence.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to see what’s going on here…and you better watch who you are cursing at, Simone.”

“First of all, you don’t have to do me any favors by coming here. Second, as you can see, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Now you can leave.”
No one could have more of a bitch for a mother than I do
, I thought, as she traipsed around my hospital room.

“I wish I wouldn’t have called you. What’s the real reason you came here, anyway?” I knew there had to be a reason for her coming here because she wasn’t here to check on me. She couldn’t be more insincere.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Simone Marie Johnson. I see that you’re fine and I’m sure you don’t need anything. Someone has already sent you flowers and you haven’t even been here a good 24 hours,” she said, in her annoyingly proper voice. “What you do need is some light in this room,” she said, as she opened the blinds. She must’ve lost her damned mind. I was fuming as I squinted from the sun’s rays.

All she’s ever done was make my life hell and she waltzes in here like I need her ass now. Hell, when I needed her, she was emotionally void. A deadbeat parent! I don’t know what made me call her in the first place. Maybe hitting my head in the accident impaired my judgment. Or maybe I thought that, for once, she would show that she loved me and cared about me like a mother should. After my father was killed, instead of growing up with a single parent, it was more like I grew up with no parents.

When I was a little girl, my father was everything to me. Julius “Juju” Johnson was gone at least four nights out of the week and whenever he came home, he was always bearing gifts. He would buy my mother beautiful jewelry and bring me the prettiest dresses any little girl could dream of. We lived in Pacific
Palisades
,
California
and I could walk to the beach from our house, which was something I loved to do with my father.

It seemed we always had a houseful of people: aunts, uncles, whoever wanted to come. And they all did, especially when my father was home. When my cousins were there to play with me, I could do something other than worry about my daddy. I don’t know why I worried about him so much. It wasn’t until much later that I found out that he was one of the biggest, most notorious dope dealers on the West Coast.

Daddy was a very handsome man. He stood about five foot eleven with the physique of a boxer—not buff, but very well built. His skin was the color of a Hershey Bar and he wore his haircut very low. He had a very strong presence about him. At home, he would laugh and tell jokes and run around playing with me, but he was a completely different man outside of the house. While my dad was in the streets conducting business, he had the intimidating presence of a pit bull. When he was angry, his teeth would clench so hard that his jawbone would flex and broaden, just like the vicious dog. His older brother, my Uncle Junior, was his right hand man. If you saw my father, you saw him. Uncle Junior didn’t only look mean, he was mean. He never played with me or even spoke to me. I don’t think he liked my mother and he took that out on me. He always kept his distance from me like he didn’t like little kids.

My father met my mother when she was in her second year of college. He was 22 and she was 20. She was impressed by his money and the nice clothes he wore. Since she came from money and grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, she couldn’t picture herself being with anyone who couldn’t take care of her as well as her parents. They married a year after they met, against her parent’s wishes. She dropped out of school and moved with him to a
San Francisco
suburb. They lived there for two years before she got pregnant with me. They decided to come back to LA before she gave birth because he wanted to be closer to his family. My mother’s family disowned her, so she only had my father’s family to count on throughout her pregnancy.

My mother was miserable when my father wasn’t around. She treated me like I wasn’t her child. I basically took care of myself, combing my own hair and getting myself dressed, all at the young age of five. At least when my aunts were around, I felt like someone other than my father loved and cared about me.

While I was growing up, my mother hardly ever said more than a few words to me unless she had to and, when she did, you could easily hear the dislike in her voice. I knew she couldn’t stand the sight of me. I remember, on my eighth birthday, my dad threw me a party and bought me the prettiest diamond earrings. I’m not sure if it was the diamonds or the two-karat weight that pissed my mother off, but she sure was mad. You could see the anger in her face and the jealousy in her eyes. I was beyond confused by her reaction, but I was totally shocked when she stormed away from the party and no one saw her for the rest of the day. She wasn’t even there when they sang happy birthday to me…and I didn’t miss her ass, either. As long as my daddy was there, I was good. That was the last birthday I had with my father and the last present he ever gave me. I cherish those diamond earrings to this day.

I remember waking up to chaos one Sunday morning. I heard my mother screaming and crying as I got out of my bed and ran out of my room to see what was going on. My mother was yelling and completely tripping out. When my Uncle Junior saw me, he picked me up and carried me back into my bedroom.

“What’s wrong with my mother?” I asked him.

“Your father was killed last night. He won’t be coming back home ever again,” he stated, looking directly in my eyes with no trace of emotion. I thought he was joking, but why else would my mother be crying like that? A few days later, we buried my father at
Inglewood
Cemetery
, amongst hundreds of people who came to pay their last respects.

We stayed in The
Palisades
for a couple more years until my mother decided that she didn’t want to be secluded in the suburbs any longer. My father left us a lot of money and had created a trust fund that I couldn’t touch until I turned 18. When we left the
Palisades
, we moved to a three-bedroom house in Windsor Hills. I never really saw any of my cousins anymore; my aunts and uncles didn’t come around now that my father was gone. I later found out he had been taking care of all of them and that they were mad at my mom because she wouldn’t share the money he’d left.

When we moved to
Windsor
, my mother was always gone. Either she was at one of her boyfriends’ houses or she was locked in her room with one. I was 11-years old and in the sixth grade, taking care of myself. My mother’s parents would come around every now and then but, other than that, I was on my own. Thank God, I never had to worry about money or food, there was plenty of that. She gave me whatever I wanted as long as I stayed out of her way. But if I needed someone to talk to or someone to comfort me when I woke up in the middle of the night, home alone and frightened because I thought I heard footsteps, I was shit out of luck.

Thankfully, when I got to middle school, I met Talise and my whole life changed. I spent the majority of my time at her house where her parents treated me as one of their own. Both Talise and I were the only children born to our parents. The big difference between her parents and mine was that she had a loving mom and dad, who doted on her, to go home to everyday. My circumstances were the complete opposite. God blessed me when he brought Talise and her family into my life. Without them, I don’t know how I would’ve turned out.

When I first met Talise, my self-confidence was nonexistent. I wanted to be invisible so much that, as a young girl, I never looked in the mirror. I didn’t want to see what I looked like. Since my mother barely said more than a couple of words to me while I was growing up, I rarely had a conversation with her like normal people do. So, to say that I had no self-esteem would be an understatement. I never felt pretty and can’t recall ever being told that I was. I knew that I was different than the other kids in my class. I was much taller, way skinnier, and the shade of my skin was always up for ridicule. Throughout elementary and most of middle school, I hated myself, especially my skin tone. During a time when dark skin was considered unattractive and light skin was adored, I was at my lowest. Kids made fun of me daily because my skin was the color of hot chocolate and my legs were bony. That was a painful time for me and, as a child, I had to face it alone.