Here is an excerpt from my new novel I Am Still Here. Meet Jensen Brick McCall the main Character in my novel. Let me know what you think?
Chapter 1 Lost and Found “What didn’t kill me only made me stronger and sharper.”- Jensen Brick McCall
Fear has never been apart of my make-up but today standing in front of my mother's house the feeling has taken control of my body. It is crawling through my skin, my hands are shaking, and my teeth are chattering. My skin feels clammy, my heart thumping through my chest and with each step I take I feel as if I am losing my breath. I want to turn around and run but I have to face her and let her see me. I observe the scenery, a white picket fence, a small garden, a two-story brick house with a porch. She is living the American dream, in the driveway are two vehicles, a mini van and a BMW. The total opposite of the lifestyle of rundown projects, streets filled with trash and gardens filled with crack vials and dirty needles. That what she decided I deserved the less of what she offers her other children.
I am only three steps away from my murderer’s house and my stomach is churning, my face drench with sweat from the California heat. Each step my feet feel like they are weighed down by lead boots, breathing heavy and my fingers are swollen. I push the doorbell button and wait to meet my murderer. The bells chimes three times before she peeks through the window glaring at me, her nose scrunched and her hand scratching her. She cracks open the door and raises her eyebrow, the sound of two children laughing and screaming. The woman in front of me was well aware I was alive but in her mind I was dead to her. She expected her baby boy to be born dead on arrival December 4th ,twenty-five years ago. She expected my cries to be silenced by the saline solution injected into her womb. I am the only person I know with a death and birth certificate. I am the only person I know who cheated death so many times that I have the devil scratching his head saying this boy is invincible. Or maybe just maybe God has covered me for a bigger purpose.
She stared at me for a long moment before opening the door. I stood as tall as a basketball player, my espresso complexion resemble hers and my steel gray eyes filled with unexpected tears stared her down. She slowly pulled the door open and she walks out and hands me a tissue. She is the woman I friend requested on Facebook and she deny me by blocking me from her page just the way she remove me from my life. I coughed to spit up the lump caught in my throat it was anger strangling me. Fear was cutting off my circulation. Several emotions picked at my broken heart. Love was beating at a fast rate, but hate was creeping in and causing a war with the most powerful emotion known by God.
“Can I help you, sir?” She finally had the courage to ask.
I pulled off my beat heads phone and ran my tongue across my teeth.
“Don't act you don't know who I am?”
"I don't who you are?"
I handed her the death certificate and she read each word. She became fixated by the name John Doe 3524. The cause of death was a simple code p96.4 (Termination of pregnancy. Gestational age 24 weeks.) Her name printed in bold times roman Gloria Simpson. A large size raindrop of tears fell from her eyes, her hand trembles, and she steps out and closes the door behind her. She takes a seat because the secret she hidden was standing in her face at 6 feet five, alive and breathing. She had a lot of explaining to do to her husband, two children, and most of all me.
“You are not suppose to be…” I took her hand and place it on my heart let her feel the beat of it.
“Here in front of your house alive? You owe me one thing in life and that is the reason why you didn’t want me. I don’t want shit from you like your love, your hugs, respect, or your embrace. I lived without it for twenty-five years. It is evident you don’t want me and real shit I've stopped desiring you in my life. The nurse Grace told you I was still alive and you told them to let me die. You looked at me lying on the table after eight hours in a cold, dark room fighting for my life and you didn't care. I reached out to you on several occasions and each time you deny me the opportunity to at least understand your decision. . So I traveled from Syracuse, N.Y. to California to get resolution because you have messed up my life and I can't go forward until I get an answer You have appeared in too many of my dreams and you have never gotten out of my mind. So, I am not leaving off your property until you give me an answer. It is all you owe me in this world and after that I can walk out of your life for good.
I sat in the seat, dropped my duffel bag on the ground, and folded my hands. She sat next to me and touched my hand. I jerked it away and turned my head because I could hear her sobbing. I wouldn’t look her in the eyes because then I would find understanding and forgiveness. I refuse to see it my anger blinded me. I glance at her and could see guilt eating at her inner core. It hurt me to stare at the woman who didn’t want me. It ate me up because the center of my core was hungry for her love but the anger inside of me deny the need to ever connect with her love. The war inside of me was a hell of a one because hate wanted to win but inside my core love was overruling hate.
“Our heart holds hostage to what we fear of letting go, our past. It the blockage that causes us not to see what lies ahead. The past is our own worst enemy- Janae Morris
The broken glass slid across my skin, blood dripped on the cuff of my shirt, I close my eyes and winch. I crack a smile and release a moan of pleasure. I erase tears with slits to my skin, let the blood become my tears. Self-inflicted pain is my addiction but for me it was erasing my past wrongs. Good bye is easy when no one cares you are leaving. No one loved me at least here. Wivb news was playing and there I appeared alongside Council man Robert Walters, the news was buzzing about the alleged affair and drug bust where I was lying naked caught with my nose in the cocaine jar. They spoke about my trouble past, my addiction to drugs, and the countless of people who painted the picture of me as a horrible person.
Robert Walters and the media painted the picture of a man trying to help a young woman and set me on the right path. He claimed his only interest in me was my artwork. He was innocent and I was guilty. He was the humanitarian and I was the whore. I was the misfit and he is the master pulling the community strings with beautiful lies.
He announced during a press conference,
“My only relationship with Janae Morrison was business. I would never sleep with an obese woman, my love and loyalty for my wife is solid. I was trying to save this distorted soul broken in tiny pieces. It was the only reason I came to the hotel to give her other options. I was not aware of the drugs she indulged in. She tried to seduce me and I refused her advances."
He stares into the camera and tears drip from his eyes. He portray himself as the beauty saving the obese beast. Who wouldn’t believe him? Why would he slip his penis into a fat woman’s pussy when he was 5’11, looks like Morris Chestnut and a smile that sparkled like diamonds? I was 5’7 , 225lbs, gut that sow in her pants and no one a dignitary would be caught with. I was not his type compared to his wife who had a P.h.d, beautiful smile, light skin and the perfect size ten. The media asked why would he cheat on Dr. Elizabeth Mourning-Walters? The community and everyone in her presence loved her. It didn’t fit right and the math didn’t add up at all so instantly I was just some crazy broad with a vivid imagination.
The truth is we where lovers, we made love at least a hundred times and we indulged in drugs. He chose me while I was at an event trying to sell my artwork. He made the first initial call and reached out to me. He bought me art supplies, paid my tuition to take art classes and I painted the portrait that sits in his office. He picked me up and took me to New York to view the artwork of some of my favorite artists from the Harlem Renaissance like Aaron Douglas, Jacob Lawrence, Romare Beardan , Leslie Boiling and Augusta Savage. He sold me dreams of the future and told me that he loved big women. He told me over and over again I was beautiful and he couldn't live without me. It didn't matter that his wife befriended me, bought me clothes, shoes and introduced me to her high society clique. I walk away and he begged for me back. So how could he go on as if nothing ever happen? I am a bad apple and a twisted soul for sleeping with her husband. In the beginning, I was clueless to their marriage until one day at an event showing my art he walked in with her. I broke it off but he called, text and begged for my forgiveness.
In my youth of sixteen I ran wild, told lies and smoked marijuana. I was the girl you kept your daughters and sons away from. I indulged in risky behavior to the point my parents disowned me. Who would trust my ugly truth?
I had the video on my phone, every text, email and love letter of our ongoing affair he wrote to me because I may be young but I am far from dumb. He destroys me in the media and my mind is screaming an eye for an eye but my heart is saying don't destroy love. I watch the video of him sniffing coke, him begging me to fuck him in the ass with the dildo and make him my bitch for the night. I want to destroy him but love is deeper than the hate I feel. I attempt to reach out to him but he ignored me, deleted me as a friend on Facebook . His cell phone is changed so I go to his apartment and bang on his door. I am dressed in a hoodie, dark glasses, and sweats.
He opens the door and he snatches me by the arm pulling me in and for me it is the one chance to redeem what we shared. I want him still after all he has done and I am in the milk dud phase where I believe I can save a man. He pushes me away against the door and smacks me across the face. Stunned and confused to no point of return.
“Why did you hit me?” I whimper and he hands me an envelope marked $25,000.
“ You need to get the hell out of Buffalo and go. I don’t ever want to see you again.” I watch him take a scoop of the drug and sniff it up.
“ I love you and you can fix it. Tell the truth about everything. Tell them you love me.” He broke out in laughter and ran his hand across his nose. He took a large gulp of the wine.
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You are not the type of woman a man would be proud of. Your weight isn’t acceptable and yes I love you but society already hates you. I am a public figure and you are well, a nobody. The citizens of Buffalo hates that you tried to destroy a happy home and me. I love you enough to put some money in your pocket to start a new life. Take it and run! You and I have no future. I will never leave my wife for you. “ He took another drink of his wine and a sniff of his coke.
“You told me you’d leave her. You promise and you are a liar.” I screamed.
“So are you and the difference is every one knows it. Every one knows you are a druggie, and a fat misfit. No one believes you and unless you have proof you can’t touch me. Now get the hell out of my apartment.” He grab my arm , opening the door and shoving me out. The door slamming in my face was my love turning to hate. Hate creeps in when I met with Jessica Brown, the executive producer at YNN news and ate lunch with her. Hate overruled love when I handed her the SD card with the truth. Love was erased when I emailed the videos of his illegal acts, the text messages and emails. Months and Months of truth that could have stayed hidden had he said those three little words, I love you.
Jessica Brown, black middle age woman, with fake boobs, hoop earrings and weave from a Brazilian. She was in a field where lately all of her stories was canned. This information would bring her back to her Number one spot. She stared at the video , the texts, the emails and the love notes on his stationary. The smile on her face and the pump fist in the air told me I gave her something wonderful.
“So you know you have to get the hell out of Buffalo, right?” She raised her eyebrow and folded her arms.
“I shouldn’t have to run after this proof!” she passed me the envelope with the cash and a bus ticket.
“Buffalo women stick together and the elite run in cliques, they hang together and when you hurt one of the elite like Dr. Elizabeth Mourning-Walters you hurt them all. You won’t ever get a job, sell a drop of your artwork or any thing else in this city. You are black ball like a motherfucker. The truth is honey, they hate you and though this will ruin him they have already deemed you as the worst person in Buffalo. Move on and start a new life on the West Coast, lose a hundred pounds, dye your hair and change your name. You are no longer welcome in Buffalo and I'm telling you this because I don't judge you. I know Robert is a drug addict creep who pursued you. Thanks for info and take care.” She stood, adjusted her suit, and put the SD Card in her purse. She patted me on the shoulder and walked away . Eyes glared at me, people whispered and pointed their fingers at me. One woman walked by and said,
“He couldn’t have fucked her she fat and ugly as ever. I hate women like her she is a disgrace.” Tears fell and Jessica was right I needed to get gone and renew my life. I went in the bathroom and pulled out the razor ran it across my skin, the pain felt so good and I hope it would erase the bad out of me. I hope it kill the ugly in me. The blood dripped on the floor cleansing me. I moaned and to me the only way I could get rid of the hurt was to cut until I no longer had bad blood.
I stuffed the envelopes in my breast and turned on the TV again because it was time to see his name filled with scandal. I watch as the woman showed the pictures of him putting the coke to his nose, pictures of him with blind fold, naked, and me spanking him. The words of the recording playing how he loved all the meat on her bones and would leave his wife for me and marry me. The phone ringing non-stop, threatening texts, Dr. Walters voice mail calling me an horrible, obese, grotesque Bitch.
The truth was freedom for me but I know I am neither safe nor wanted in Buffalo. I had a price on my head and it cost big time. I put my hoodie on my head and walk down to Liberty taxicab waiting for me. I get in and I decide that California is the place to be. I have no clue why I choose California but it is possibly where I need to be. I walk in and I see this man who is as tall as a basketball player, built like a wrestler from WWE, skin the color of milk chocolate and eyes the color of silver dollars. I sit across from him and pull out my sketchpad and began to draw him. He has on red beat headphones, The Game and Lil Wayne song My Life blares. I draw until it is done. It looks like him and for some reason though I don’t see a tears I put two drops on his cheeks. I see sadness and maybe because it is what I feel deep inside of me. I put the picture on his lap he looks at it, then me and my face is flashing on Ynn News. He takes two looks and smirks.
I stand on line at Gate 14 and he gets up and stands behind me. I look away from him and he is taps my shoulder. I turn around and he said,
“ Nice picture you drew of me. You a bad ass artist, Ma.” He smiled and I smiled back.
The driver looks over my ticket and punches it. I hand the gentleman my bag and I step up and walk to the two empty seats. I take the one by the window. I look out and goodbye to Buffalo. I see him walk towards me and he stuffs his duffel bag in the overhead. I continue staring out the window and then he said,
“The council man sent me.” I feel my heart palpitate, my handshakes and I take rapid breaths over and over again. I find the strength to say,
“I will pay you not to kill me.” He raises his eyebrow and I pull the envelope out of my breast and open the flap showing the green bills. He looks at it and smirked. He put on a Dmx classic Ruff Ryder’s Anthem.
“I will let you know. For now sit back and relax.”
©2013 Tamyara Brow
Author Tamyara Brown
My love for writing is unconditional. It is my sanity in this crazy world.