Conclusion: My First Love (Beautiful Being)

  
Charlie never kept any promises. He didn’t call me that night, nor any night. I waited for weeks, but I received nothing. I had fallen for a man, but I wasn’t devastated because of him; I was pregnant. The one thing I never considered had happened.

I met with a doctor to understand my alternatives. Instead I received, “Miss Smith, if you play with fire, you get burnt. Now is it an abortion, or are you having it? I don’t have time for kids who fuck around, and the state always seems to pay for it!”
Tears were rolling down my eyes and I blurted out, “No abortion!” With that, he slammed the door and I wept for what seemed like hours.
My future was over. All the college work I’d done was for nothing. I spoke to my parents separately. I really thought my dad would understand and support me. I explained the love I seemed to have been searching for, and all he did was turn his back on the problem. He broke my heart. My mom, on the other hand, never let go of me.
Months went by, and I began to panic. I knew I couldn’t keep this blessing. I was alone a lot; I couldn’t eat, and kept dreading the day my baby would be leaving me. I also cried for Charlie. I still missed him and couldn’t understand why he let me go.
Baby Hannah was born. In the Bible, Hannah was a woman who prayed for years to have a child, and finally God gave her one. Yet this 20 year old was not going to be able to take care of Hannah. I just hoped she would forgive me.
A lot of thought had gone into my decision. Babies are conceived out of love. Love is a 4 letter word and doesn’t mean anything unless it is mutual. 

I held her for hours, cried over her, and tried to remember every scent on her. When I handed her over to the deserving couple, I asked them for one thing. “Can you please keep her name Hannah, so I know a part of me stayed with her?” We all cried and they promised me they would. With that, I gave away something more precious than life itself.
When I returned home my Mom said, “Joni, I have something to tell you. The next few weeks, even months, are going to be the hardest, but what you did was selfless.” I couldn’t stop crying. Mom continued. 

“Joni, Charlie sent you a letter. I hope you don’t mind, but I opened it. He said he’s been trying to get in touch with you for a while now. I don’t want to tell you what to do, but would you like me to contact him and tell him about Hannah?”
I thought about everything. I remembered the beautiful time we had. The promise he made, and broke: the love I thought we had, there were no excuses. “No Mom. We made a beautiful baby and now…” I broke down. “And now she has a wonderful mom and dad. He’s out of my life forever.” 

With that I ripped the letter in pieces, left the room and cried.

9/11: The terror I witnessed

I wrote this at midnight last night and wrote it down forgetting to post it. I hope it moves you as it did me just remembering, not the lives we lost but the lives that were impacted by them being on this earth for a short time…

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To write about 9/11 should be written by someone who was there, and I was. 

September 11, 2001 started out as probably the most beautiful day in NY for the second week of September that I can remember. There were no clouds in the sky, no usual humidity, and I honestly had no complaints walking to the train that day.

I lived in Allendale, NJ and was a the usual commuter to Manhattan. I worked at EXPO Design Center as a whole house designer. I had to be in at 8 am.

I said goodbye to my twins who were 7 years old and we’re just starting 2nd grade. I quickly made sure my kids in HS were all set with their lunches. As usual my oldest son, who never did a lick of homework, had a full backpack of books. I was always afraid to open his backpack, today was no exception, “Sean what are you eating today?” In his usual eye rolling act, he said, “I’ll grub” and with that he left. My other 2 girls managed to eat ‘something’, but I didn’t make it? I just sighed, kissed my husband and twins goodbye and walked briskly to the train.

It was a typical train ride, listening to my CD’s, and reading. I had my routine. Others read their newspapers, and I couldn’t care less about them. I could never figure out how to open them without getting ink on my fingers, nor folding it the right way? So a book was always easier. 

After getting off the train in Hoboken, NJ, I took my train to 33rd street. What I never realized at that moment were the thousands of commuters getting on the train to the World Trade Center, and what commuters actually came home that night.

I took the subway to 14th street, opened the gates to the store and was there promptly at 8 am. I was the most consensus employee and started working immediately. It was no different than any other day.

The store didn’t open until 9 am, I was thankful for the peace and quiet. I promised the manager I would come in every day first so that no one had to worry about opening since I had to leave exactly at 5 pm in order to make my train home.

We were located on 14th Street and Park Ave. 14th Street was always noted for its outdoor markets. Vendors from nearly every state that had farm fresh food. I loved this area.

September 11th was going to be a good day. I finished my designs for the bathroom and kitchen I was working on, and was looking at a huge commission. I had all my appointments scheduled for the final checks and my commission check in the next 2 weeks. 

For some reason I happened to look at my watch and noticed it was 8:50 am, I remember saying, “Oh crap I have to open in ten minutes!” At the same time as I was looking at my watch, I noticed people were frantically running towards the lower east side. 14th Street was about a 30 minute walk or more to the World Trade Center. I was a little more than just wondering what was going on. The typical New Yorker in me wants to look but at the same time ignore as well.

I unlocked the door and everyone was screaming pointing to the World Trade Center, “They’re trying to kill us, we’re going to die!” I was dumbfounded. What was going on? I didn’t have a radio and at that time, no smart phone. I looked outside and all I saw was smoke coming in the east direction, not a lot, so I just thought someone was over reacting.

I grabbed someone and said, “What’s going on?” With tears in their eyes they said, “An airplane has hit One World Trade!” Holy shit was all I remember thinking. I didn’t know at the time it was a terrorist act. I thought a plane hit the trade center by accident.

My manager rushed in, late as usual, and said, “Donna we have to get a radio in here, both World Trade One and Two have been hit and they’re sure it’s a terroristic attack!” At that time it was 9:05 am. I was beyond scared. My kids know I’m in the city, my co worker husband works there, and my twins best friends dad works there. I started shaking violently. David told me to sit and calm down, and wait to see what happens.

One by one everyone came in to work looking horrified, pale and were crying. Then in a split second they were hysterical. I knew I had to pray. I got into a corner and just like I would at church, started praying out loud. Then a small miracle happened, one by one grabbed my hand, lifted their hand to heaven and I prayed, “God, I ask you right now, that you give safety to the ones in the towers, I ask for peace with the families, and may your presence be with them.” The tears were rolling down my face, but I had peace in my heart.

I can’t tell you in detail what happened from there. I did hear my daughter had a friend whose brother was on the plane that was hijacked. He was one of many who knew they were going to die, so they overtook the hijackers and the plane crashed in Pennsylvania. They put their lives on the line to make sure the plane didn’t hit the next target.

I remember hearing another plane hit the pentagon. It was one, “Oh my God,” after another. Yet the one thing I do remember that will never leave my memory, was seeing those 2 beautiful larger than life buildings, crumbling to the ground, like a deck of cards. That will never leave my memory.

The rest was a blur. I heard my friends husband died in the tower. He had called her saying he was trying to get out and that he loved her, then the call was lost. I also heard my twins friends father also called his wife with the same results.

The day wasn’t over but I had to call my family with a lot of tears on the other end. I told them we closed the store none of us were staying, but I didn’t know when I would be home. All the trains to NJ were not running due to that day.

We were told we had to take a ferry to NJ and from there we were on our own. I managed to call my husband and somehow I was able to get the Ferry to Hoboken, NJ.

Mike was there to pick me up. When I saw him all I did was cry and looked at the now fallen towers with smoke everywhere in sight. We didn’t get home until midnight. I didn’t see anything on TV until the next day and many weeks after that which were replayed over and over.

The horror I saw was enough to remember a lifetime, but the one thing I just can’t forget to this day, was a single Asian man standing outside his window on the 50th floor, not wanting to die in flames so he jumped. That image, the towers falling, and knowing the ones lost, will be in my memory for the rest of my life. 

As I write, it’s September 11, 2015. The tears still flow each year. I still listen to the names each year. I still bow my head when I the bells toll at 8:46 and 9:02. and again when the towers fell. What I don’t do is watch the news from the many years ago and what happened that day. When someone goes through experiences like this, it’s hard to watch the despair, the trauma, and the lives needlessly lost in all the attacks. 

What I lovingly remember was hugging and kissing my kids with so much love. I wasn’t even close to loosing my life, but when you witness such horrible attacks, your family is your life.

The saddest thing in the weeks to come were noticing how the trains were empty and the people that sat in those seats would never again see their families.

God Bless America..and may this never happen to us again…

  

Atticus and Me

I reblogged to dmgeorgewriter.wordpress.com 😎 Hope you get a chance to write mine! 👍🏻

Emily C. Heath

I read “To Kill a Mockingbird” the summer between 8th and 9th grade. It was a hot, Southern summer and my mom and I went into a bookstore to look for some indoor reading. She bought me the book, and I took it home and devoured it.

I was transformed, both in a moral and literary sense. I would never forget the idea that standing up for the right thing, even when you know you are going to lose, is noble.  And, in no small part due to that book, I became an English major. (I had entered college as a pre-law student, but once I realized that I couldn’t be Atticus Finch, I gave that up.) Even today, when I’m asked to list my favorite novels, Harper Lee’s book is on the shortlist.

We even have a cat named “Atticus”.

So when I heard about “Go Set a Watchman”…

View original post 712 more words

***A Glimpse in my Short Story…My First love..***

Love...

I’ve been walking in a dream since graduating HS in 1978. My wish: getting accepted at The School of Visual Arts in New York City.
I presented a portfolio of every piece of art work created on my own and in technical HS, where I majored in Graphic Design and Illustration. I accepted every critique from every teacher, and my special teacher, my dad.
My dad had always been my hero. He started as an artist, and saw my talent emerging at a young age. Dad believed art school was my dream, and now I didn’t want it anymore. I wanted a college away from home, with dorms and frat parties.
While at art school, I didn’t have the luxury of jumping out of bed to class. I had to commute from NJ to Manhattan. I spent more time traveling than having fun. ABeautifufter 2 years of commuting, art school lost its splendor. Although running away seemed a better excuse.
My growing discontent spread to other areas in my personal life, especially during my parents’ divorce. The haunting of my perceived failure wouldn’t go away, no matter how much pretending I did.
It was the start of the week; I was leaving SVA. East Carolina State had accepted me in their art program. Leaving home, living in a dorm, going in as a Junior, I was floating on a cloud.
It was just like any other day, except today felt different. I approached this spring morning as I counted down to the last day commuting into Manhattan. It seemed I had a smile that couldn’t be erased. I dressed in my favorite white denims, with my tan tank top to highlight my golden tan. I just wanted everyone who passed me to think, “looks like someone ate the canary.”
The day began in classes like any other day, except this was our last week and every project was due. In art school, you never have written finals; finals are projects and I procrastinated on every one.
All of my work had to be done by hand. I was unprepared for my Graphic Design piece. As usual I walked around, trying not to work on anything.
Then I met Charlie.
He was finishing his senior year and working on his final color print of the World Trade Center.
He took the photo from uptown during sunset. As an artist, sometimes you have to add things to make a beautiful scene, but Charlie didn’t need to add anything. He took a beautiful photo of a stunning building, and developed every single inch of it. I was in love.
Our eyes met and I wanted to know everything about him. I never spoke so much in my life. We both had to finish our finals, but no matter how much we got to know each other, we wanted to know more.
Charlie was a full Italian. He had beautiful brown eyes, eyelashes that any woman would pay for, and natural wavy brown hair. His olive skin was so amazing; no tan I had could ever match it. We were completely into each other. My friends always said, “Italian men are looking for more than a kiss.” I knew it in the back of my mind, but I didn’t care. I wanted to know everything about him, his life, what he would do after school, everything!
I met Charlie at 11am. After enjoying a drink, lunch, and then dinner, it was 8pm. We kept looking into each others eyes without words. Charlie said, “Joni, I’m completely attracted to you. Do you think we can get a bottle of wine and go somewhere?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s start walking.”
My mind was going in a million directions. Did I envision him coming home with me? If I did, then I didn’t know if I wanted a one night stand, or even a relationship, since I was leaving soon. I gave him an alternative: “Let’s go to Jersey, and you can sleep on the sofa?”
Charlie signaled a cab, “Let’s go! Oh and Joni, I know how much you loved my photo. I want to give it to you.” He knew I loved that photo and I took it knowing a lot of love was behind it.
Soon after we arrived at my house. I turned the lights down and opened the wine. The happiness I felt, I’d never had before. I felt wanted, and alluring, something that never existed before. I had so much anger in my life and hurtful moments from my family, this was my way of releasing my inner being. Allowing myself to focus.
I wanted to be with Charlie, I just didn’t want a one night stand, and I didn’t want to wake alone.
We had one candle burning and it was 3 am. He held out his hand and proposed, “Let’s walk up those stairs and not emerge until morning.” I didn’t think twice and took his hand.
“Don’t be scared Joni. I promise never to hurt you, now or ever. You’re beautiful.” I wasn’t scared about Charlie. His love was sweet, soft, caressing and gentle. We made love all night.
Charlie was still thrilled to be with me the next day. There were no notes left on my pillow. After breakfast, we walked hand in hand to the train. Arriving at school he said, “I know you told me you’re leaving for NC, but you’re not disappearing from me.”
I couldn’t look into his eyes. “Charlie, I’m already enrolled. I’m leaving in August. What we had was wonderful, but I’ll get too involved, and then what?”
Charlie responded, “Let’s take that one day at a time, okay? I’ll call you tonight.” With that he kissed me and ran off.

***This is just a glimpse into my short story. I would love some feedback. I didn’t post the whole thing, just a tease 😉***

Harper Lee and Truman Capote..their collaborating, or not?

Truman & Harper 1960

Truman & Harper 1960


Early days with Nelle and Tru

Early days with Nelle and Tru


**As a writer, blogger, artist I like to get away from what I truly know (my memoirs) and wanted to write about two authors. One that everyone knows about, and the other, about as private as one author could ever be. This is my little take on such a pair**

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Lee and Capote were not only authors but the closet of friends. They grew up together in Alabama. She would call him Tru and he would call her Nelle. She was a tomboy, and he was a basic book nerd, “Scout and Dill” to the tee. Their doors were always open to each other and their lives.

At the height of their careers Capote was struggling to finish “In Cold Blood” and Lee won the Pulitzer Prize for “To Kill a Mockingbird”. Imagine being a new writer and your one and only novel winning the Publizer Prize?! How did that make Truman feel? Inadequate as an author? As a person? At the very least, did he feel a sense of pressure to release the most talked about, the most gruesome, and the most violent crime novel of all time.

What was holding him behind. As we know, were the courts involvement the biggest delay concerning the crime duo of Smith and Hickcock, but were the courts the only block? Did his intense friendship with Perry Smith inadvertently hold him back from releasing the book? We are always led to believe the book had to have an ending, without a Capote ending, there probably wouldn’t have been a book. We had to wait for the duo to hang, but was that the only reason “In Cold Blood” couldn’t be released? I like to think there was more…

So many movies, books, and articles have been written about this flamboyant author. His photographic ability to take notes without writing a single word. Tru was not only an author, but a successful illustrator too.

His well known attachment towards Perry Smith in order to gain trust. Nothing new that any other author wouldn’t have done to finish a book, but what do we know about Harper Lee?

Nelle couldn’t have been more different than Capote. Quiet, reserved and not even close to hopping from party to party, as Capote was. Harper may have been a tomboy growing up, but her behavior became introverted as an author. She definitely helped Capote focus on his novel “In Cold Blood”, but many times she wanted to walk away. The world was looking for her next book after her prize winning novel “To Kill a Mockingbird”, yet it never happened in the 20th Century.

Then July 2015 it happened, her long awaited follow up to, “To Kill a Mockingbird.” How long was her continuation of Atticus Finch and his family really sitting in her personal files? Some say when she saw Phillip Seymour Hoffman portray “Capote” is when she decided to finish it. Miss Lee never gave complete interviews, we just have to believe this one. Did she want to really wait until 2015 for it to be published? How many innuendos will be made about Harper Lee and “Go Set a Watchman”?

In the early 60’s I was a mere child. I remember reading her famous book through out grade school and high school. I knew in high school that she had a special relationship with Truman Capote, I knew they were childhood friends and I always wanted to believe that 2 of the characters in the book, Scout and Dill, were based on Harper and Capote, even before I knew it.

It didn’t matter much to me, I would just dive into reading and my imagination would take over. The story of Atticus Finch & Scout were unlike any parent child relationship, I always wished I could have had that open relationship and love with my Dad. I remember running around my home in NJ calling my dad by his first name, it lasted one time only and after that I was being “disrespectful”.

At 14 years old books were always an escape for me, and still are. Yet you can be a character of any book for so long, until you’re asked to “stop” being that character, especially growing up. 

I look at this photo below and want to think they were collaborating on “In Cold Blood”, or even “To Kill a Mockingbird”, we’ll never know, Harper Lee will probably never let us know, she’s now in a nursing home. I wished the question was asked before Truman Capote passed away.

In 1963 Lee and Capote drifted apart. Unfortunately Mr. Capote didn’t give her any credit for her work on “In Cold Blood” and it hurt her. Before that year, Capote was there for Lee during her award, but was he there in body, mind, and spirit? His book was not completed, his alcoholism was at its height, and whether or not they drifted apart because of other things, his alcoholism may have just been a part of it.

The one thing about Miss Lee was that she accepted Mr. Capote and his flamboyant behavior. I don’t believe she accepted his alcoholism and destroying his life in many ways, I believe her heart was broken when he didn’t credit her with collaborating “In Cold Blood”.

The one thing I want to believe is that 85 years ago Nelle and Tru met each other in Alabama and had a bond that couldn’t be broken. They knew each other so well that they probably could read each other’s thoughts, or finish each other’s sentences and that a little piece of each other were always somewhere in their great work….these thoughts are only thoughts of an artist who believes in the greatness of writers, artists, and wonderful stories. Stories that one day will be mine as well.

 

Life before e-mails, cell phones, and texting

 

Fast Food

 
“Hey Mom?”, one of my kids asked the other day, “What was your favorite fast food when you were growing up?

“We didn’t have fast food when I was growing up,” I informed him. “All the food was slow.”
“C’mon, seriously. Where did you eat?”
“It was a place called ‘at home,’ ” I explained.
 

A time when familys ate together

 
 “Your Grandmother cooked every day and if Grandad was home, dinner was at 5:30 sharp, plus we sat down together at the dining room table. And if I didn’t like what she put on my plate, I was allowed to sit there until I did like it.”
By this time, the kid was laughing so hard I was afraid she was going to suffer serious internal damage, so I didn’t tell her the part about how I had to have permission to leave the table.
But here are some other things I would have told her about my childhood if I figured her system could have handled it…
 

Some parents never owned their own house, wore Levi’s, set foot on a golf course, traveled out of the country, or had a credit card.
In their later years they had something called a revolving charge card. The card was good only at Sears Roebuck. Or maybe it was Sears AND Roebuck.
Either way, there is no Roebuck anymore. Maybe he died.
   

 
My parents never drove me to softball practice. Probably because I wasn’t on the softball team. I had a bicycle that weighed probably 50 pounds, and only had one speed: slow.
   

 

Banana Seat bike

 
 We didn’t have a television in our house until I was 11. It was, of course, black and white, but my parents bought a piece of colored plastic to cover the screen. The top third was blue, like the sky, and the bottom third was green, like grass. The middle third was red.
It was perfect for programs that had scenes of fire trucks riding across someone’s lawn on a sunny day.
Some people had a lens taped to the front of the TV to make the picture look larger.
   

The family television

 
I was 12 before I tasted my first pizza growing up in Brooklyn, It was called “pizza pie.”
When I bit into it, I burned the roof of my mouth and the cheese slid off, swung down, plastered itself against my chin and burned that, too.
It’s still the best pizza I ever had.

  
We didn’t have a car until I was 10. Before that, the only car in our family was our neighbors 1959 Chrysler. He would give us rides to places too far to walk to.

  
 

I never had a telephone in my room. The only phone in the house was in the living room and it was on a party line.
Before you could dial, you had to listen and make sure some people you didn’t know weren’t already using the line.
   

 Pizzas were not delivered to our home — but milk was in glass containers..and newspapers, too.
   

 
All newspapers were delivered by boys and all boys delivered newspapers.
I actually delivered a newspaper, 2 days a week, it was the bi-weekly area newspaper. It cost 10 cents a paper, of which I got to keep 5 cents. I had to deliver the paper after school on my bike and didn’t get home until after 9 pm just to collect $1.00
My favorite customers were the ones who gave me 50 cents and told me to keep the change.
My least favorite customers were the ones who seemed to never be home on collection day.
   

Delivering with a wagon

 
 

Doris Day & Rock Hudson never kissed & told

 
Movie stars kissed with their mouths shut. At least, they did in the movies.

Touching someone else’s tongue with yours was called French kissing and they didn’t do that in movies.

I don’t know what they did in French movies. French movies were dirty and we weren’t allowed to see them.
 

If you grew up in a generation before there was fast food, cell phones, e-mails and tweeting, video games and not much playing outside, you may want to share some of these memories with your children or grandchildren.
Just don’t blame me if they bust a gut laughing.

  
Growing up has changed..don’t you agree? 

 
  

Finally! Zoë Secrets and Lies published on Wordhaus!

http://www.wordhaus.com/2015/06/18/third-place-thriller-zoes-secrets-and-lies/

 

Joy, joy

Me being very happy, happy..

  

I want my blessings of divine interruptions

  

Rewrite, Rewrite & Rewrite MORE!!

 

Yes, I’m bragging I received 3rd place in Thriller genre for wordhaus.com short story contest, but then who wouldn’t?

I’ve been working on this short story for months. At first I wanted it to be a full book, but I remember all the ebooks, advice, and vast knowledge I’ve received from so many authors. Start writing a blog, take those stories from your blog, and make each blog a short story.

If any of you great readers look at my past stories, they are about every single event from my early days in England to the early days in the U.S. So at that point I thought I would take those stories and write a book.

Yet I had one short story that I never knew where to add it, part fiction and part non-fiction. The contest was to write a story that was fiction, none of my life is fiction, but I managed to make it work and I’m proud of what I did and I’m sure if you’ve read this story before, you’re seeing it again, but this time..I WON THIRD PLACE!! So now I acually have something to show that, “I’m a real writer”

Zoë Secrets and Lies Final Short Story Published! 

“I am inhibited by a cry

Nightly it flaps out..”

 March 1983

 

Zoë couldn’t move. Her body was stuck between the toilet and bathtub. Her hair was filled with cat litter and shit. She tasted blood, and felt the trickling of it from her head and mouth. Her sight was being impaired, she couldn’t see out of her right eye and it was nearly closed. When she touched it, she knew it was beyond swollen. Her brain was clearly telling her body that pain was everywhere.

 She knew this was more than just a fall as it caused her to become disoriented in her surroundings. She was unable to move as tears and blood streamed down her face. Zoë tried manipulating her body as best as she could from around the toilet. She felt as if she lost her mind.

Looking up she noticed a towel rack, then a towel that looked like her towel. With her one good eye she looked around before trying to get up and spotted kittens huddled with their Mom. Aren’t those my kittens? she thought. She saw the wall paper she had hung last year, her makeup and perfume on the counter. She began screaming in pain and horror, wanting to feel her baby move inside her.

Minutes went by that felt like hours, but Zoë was finally able to get on her knees. With every move she made the pain grew more intense, but she had to find out the truth: why had this happened to her, and why in her home? She had no memory about the events. She hid a lot of nasty secrets to make her life seem ideal, pushing reality away and living in a fantasy world.

Right now that wasn’t a real thought entering her mind, just surviving and crawling to safety was on her mind.

Still on her knees, Zoë put her hand on the towel rack as firmly as she could. Pulling her body from the floor to the toilet, she began to notice her breathing was becoming heavy laden. Then as if her memory clicked she started to slowly become engaged in the present. Weeping, shaking, and screaming out loud she said “I remember, goddamn it! I remember! NO!”

Her weeping and shaking continued, and without any warning a sharp pain began in her lower belly, radiating down her legs making it harder and harder to move. The pain grew intense with everything she did to get out of the bathroom.

Nearly hysterical and beyond scared, Zoë placed her hand on her belly and saw spots of blood on the toilet. Now she had a choice: fight or flight. Slowly she got to her feet to try and walk out of the bathroom. With each step attempted the pain grew stronger and the blood looked worse, but she had no choice, she had to walk.

Eventually, she found herself near the doorway, not knowing what was on the other side. Scared, she peered around the corner. Seeing nothing in either direction, she felt it was safe to proceed. Moving her body slowly towards the bedroom, her only thought was that she had to call 911. She needed an ambulance and the police to find him.

Suddenly, a steel stool crashed violently into her head, then ripped into her left side, pounding her wounded body and knocking her to the hard tiled floor. Whimpering she heard herself whisper “Oh dear God. God save my baby…I will not die..today.”

Zoë amazingly woke up, she thought she was dead, she couldn’t speak, she only saw bright hazes and dim lights in front of her eyes. Her only thoughts were that this was the end, she would never see the baby she so desired. The mother that she had wanted to be, to touch the baby boy she knew was due soon. She had sat on his baby blue, hand-made rugs just to feel his presence. The cradle, the touch of his soft blankets he’ll never be wrapped in. The pictures in her mind of the family she would never have.

She had secrets that were hidden, and now she won’t be able to tell anyone the truth. The truth about her hidden past; the abuse she endured everyday, the beatings from a man she called her husband when HE was upset!

Zoë wasn’t dead. She was momentarily knocked out again, and this time she knew the truth.

She laid there shaking on the bathroom floor, waiting for the next thing that was going to happen; but this time she softly said, “I’m not going to wait, I have to live for myself and my baby, I can’t live in secrets and lies anymore!”

This time she was angry, no more tears. She looked at her side where the steel stool had hit her already beaten body. A crimson bruise spread all the way down to her thighs. She was in agony, but the bleeding had stopped, thank God. All she wanted now was to feel her baby moving, then Zoë would know if he was alive. She couldn’t wait any longer, she knew what she had thought earlier, “fight or flight,” and she was not fleeing!

There was no way to get up, but Zoë could crawl. She looked outside the bathroom door again. There he was, laid out in the hallway, drunk as usual. “He’ll probably cry when he sees me,” she thought, but this time was it, she wasn’t waiting for him to wake up or apologize.

She crawled, ever so quietly over his stinky, alcoholic, infested body. The smell from him made her sick. She knew this smell, she had experienced it many times in the past. It penetrated throughout the house and lingered in the air. She momentarily set her sights on him for a brief instant, but her only thoughts were disgust!

She had finally crawled over him, and now she could see the phone, and bedroom at the end of the hallway. “I’ve just got to get to the phone” she quietly said. Suddenly he started stirring, groaning like a sick dog. Zoë had to move quicker, now she had other things on her mind besides calling the cops, she’d be dead before they would arrive.

Somehow she had to get up, but the pain in her legs, and throughout her body was excruciating. She had to put that behind her; she saw the sofa table right in front of her and knew she had to pull herself up so she could walk. Grabbing the handle of the drawer with both of her hands, she pulled herself up as much as she could, feeling every part of her body crying out. It was as if her body was falling apart before her. Tears were rolling down her face. Her baby still hadn’t moved, but Zoë had to get to the bedroom, this was the only place where it could be.

Zoë stumbled into the bedroom listening to him moving, she couldn’t rest or stop. Hastily she reached under the mattress. With fear in her voice, she said “Where is it?!” She couldn’t stop searching. Her hand was trembling, searching with each feel of the mattress. Suddenly she found it.

In an instant he was behind her. She hadn’t paid attention to him and didn’t know he had managed to wake up and find her. “You fucking bitch,” he spat, still drunk. “This time you’re dead,” he said, stumbling with his fist ready to hit her again, but this time his fist was aiming at her belly.

In an instant Zoë jumped up and said out loud, “No! This time you’re dead, you piece of shit.”

She aimed the knife that she found, the knife she had always hidden for fear of her life, and thrust it into his stomach.

In that moment of time, the man she had called her husband, the man who had said years ago “For better or worse, through sickness or death,” looked at her in terror. “I didn’t mean it!” he cried out. He fell down with blood flowing out from his belly onto the thick shag carpet.

“You didn’t mean it, but I did!” She yelled at him. “No more secrets, no more lies! Through sickness or DEATH!” she spat out.

With that, Zoë stepped over his body and picked up the phone.

Short Blog entry cause I need support

Hi to my blogging friends at WordPress! I need some support here & a little encouragement…I give private art lessons in the Atlanta area. Whether you want to learn drawing, painting in any medium, drawing, whatever you want. I have a site that I will give you the link

It will take you to my page, show you my art and experience, etc. Now if you don’t need any lessons I would really appreciate if you could give someone you may know that would be interested. If you’re a beginner or an advanced, special needs are especially welcome. Okay that’s what I wanted to post today and I will continue my journey through from Brooklyn to where I am today. Thank you my special followers & those who may not follow but like my site.

https://takelessons.com/profile/donna-m7