Lundyn Bridges (19 page)

I woke the Resident Assistant and filed my fifteenth complaint. The following day I was moved to a single room. Although Melissa had
been my excuse, I continued to go home almost every weekend, even after I was moved. Being across the city was palatable because I still couldn't fathom being far from the Woodard's. Everyone else in my life was gone, and my emotional attachment to my 'Mom' and 'Dad' made it impossible to go away.

Until next time…

Just as I imagined, after my attempt to have an open conversation about her drinking, Afreeka refused to return my calls. Five weeks passed before she called me back. My anger was overshadowed by the fear of my sister giving up on life like our mother. When I mentioned this to Kathleen, she said the best thing I could do for my sister was to stay on my own path of healing.

"When the situation presents itself, you will need to be ready to help your sister." She sat back in her chair and re-directed the conversation back to my journaling.

My therapy sessions were winding to a close, and my emotions were mixed. It had become so easy to talk with Kathleen, and I would miss that. On the other hand, it was time for me to begin moving forward without any crutches. My life had been complex, but now that I understood two basic elements, I felt empowered to face the challenges that lie ahead. I knew for sure Jesus loved me and was my keeper.
'The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. He is my shield and the strength of my salvation, my stronghold. Psalm 18:2'
was framed above my bed. I also knew my placement at
the Woodard's had been pivotal in the direction of my life – love really does conquer a multitude of sin and hate and shame. So now it was my turn. I needed to do a better job at telling my siblings about Jesus. I needed to seek God's direction on how to help Afreeka and Kiarra. I also needed God to let me know if Jamel was the one for me.

 

 

On Tuesday, April 12, 2005, we celebrated Jamel's successful defense of his doctoral degree at Dowe's on Ninth. He surprised me with an airline ticket to Virginia Beach to celebrate the conferring of his Ph.D. in May.

"I always liked the beach and thought it would be a nice three day retreat."

"Oh, you just assumed I'd want to go?"

He sat back and smiled across the table. "Yeah."

"Well, I guess I better put in for a personal day. Since you already made the arrangements, I'll have to go."

"When are you going to admit your feelings? Don't you want to go?" His tone was joking but serious.

I felt put on the spot, and a little angry at myself for being so guarded. He deserved better. "Of course I want to go." I blushed. "I'd be a fool to turn down lying on the beach with such a gorgeous man."

Jamel was taken aback by my flirtatiousness, and he leaned forward to take my hand. I sat back and smiled at him across the table.

My relationship with Kiarra continued to be strained, and maintaining my composure during some of our conversations was increasingly difficult. She was
allowing Xavier to move in with her during the summer so he could work before entering law school in the fall.

"Lundyn, I need you to understand," she pleaded one day during lunch.

"I don't understand, and I never will. How am I supposed to be cordial to him?"

She paused. Then she bit her lip and looked at the floor. This had become her trademark when she was about to relay Xavier's message verbatim.

"It would be better if you waited until the right time to come around him."

"And what does that mean?" I was desperately trying to remain calm.

"I don't know. He said he would tell me when he was ready for you to come over."

My first reaction was to slap her because she had to be crazy, but then I wanted to hug her because her soul had been deflated. Xavier had done something horrific to my best friend, and I remained helpless. I sucked my teeth and sighed before I thought about it. Then I just shook my head.

"Ki, I'm here when you need me. You know you can call me anytime. Let's plan to have lunch every day so we can catch up."

Kiarra hugged me and began to cry.

Francine surprised me with lunch when I went to visit her at the end of April. She was giddy and seemed pleased to have my company. I still didn't trust her.

"To what do I owe this treat?" I asked, mindfully refraining from sarcasm.

"After all this time, I realized I never made you lunch."

"This isn't required."

"There you go with that professional crap again. I'm trying to be hospitable."

"I do appreciate it." I smiled as she sat across from me.

Without prompting, Francine proceeded to tell me about her training program and how she looked forward to being hired. She was willing to work the three to eleven shift if that was the only one available.

"Don't think I'm not afraid," she said after she slurped her coffee. "I'm scared as hell."

"Francine."

"Oh, sorry! But you know this is so different. But I like it."

"What do you like?"

"I like getting up in the morning, getting dressed and having somewhere to go. I like riding the bus downtown, walking in that building and taking the elevator."

Her excitement was like that of a high school girl who was anticipating her first day of work.

"And I feel good," she continued. "I can't explain it; I just feel good on the inside."

"What frightens you?"

"Every now and then I see one of my old partners. We used to look out for each other. Peggy lives in the garage on Liberty Avenue. She looks like she should be dead." Francine's demeanor became almost sullen. "That could have been me."

Francine's honesty was startling.

We sat silently – neither one of us knowing what to say. The moment was disquieting.

"You've made great progress," I finally said, trying to be therapeutic.

"So have you. I know this is about me, not you," she quickly stated. "But I need to tell you that I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me."

"I'm sorry your mother chose drugs. That's a terrible thing for a mother to do to her child."

I swallowed hard to fight the tears welling in my eyes. "Thank you, Francine."

As I left her apartment, I hoped she understood that my feelings were probably the same as those of her children.

While heating my left-over lasagna, I read the first chapter of Romans, which details God's wrath against those who choose to live unholy. After I ate, I sat down on the couch with my journal.

April 30, 2005

The holiday season of 1998 was consumed with multiple family festivities. Kristen was married the Saturday before Christmas, and I was a bridesmaid. Afreeka, Romen and Nina also attended the wedding. After the ceremony, Kristen and her husband, Larry, returned to Greece where they planned to live. Romen spent Christmas with Nina's family, and Afreeka spent Christmas with us.

Afreeka and I spent each night talking about our lives. Afreeka was a junior at Edinboro and having reservations about being a social worker. As much as she wanted to, she wasn't sure if she could really help people. We
talked about the irony of our occupational choice – in spite of our lives, we had both chosen to be social workers. We realized, and admitted to each other, we were seeking healing by helping others.

In February of 1999, I was informed of Barbara's death. No other information was available. Holy Family sent a letter to the Woodard's to inform me. The letter was sterile – I called Romen and Afreeka. Romen said nothing; Afreeka didn't return my call for three days. The pain of our life with Barbara had tainted any feelings of grief or remorse from my siblings. I was numb. Barbara was gone, and she would never know I loved her. I couldn't remember ever telling her that.

Romen completed his MBA in May of 1999 and announced his engagement to Nina while we celebrated with him in State College. He had been offered a job at her father's accounting firm in Erie. This was another step for Romen – he had his MBA, he had a job and he was in love.

Until next time…

Jamel's mother, grandparents and brothers joined us in Pittsburgh to celebrate the conferring of his doctoral degree. It was my first time meeting them, but they seemed to know about me. The dinner gathering was pleasurable, and his mother was very interested in Jamel's decisions about his future. He had secured interviews in Charlotte, North Carolina and Arlington, Virginia and remained open to his possibilities. While
he talked to his mother, he made sure to make eye contact with me.

Our trip to Virginia Beach the following weekend was perfect. Jamel and I discussed our celibacy agreement, and he graciously booked two adjoining rooms. Although the first night was difficult for both of us, keeping our promise was paramount.

We were snuggled in one bed listening to the night sounds on the beach. Lying in Jamel's arms was pure bliss. I relaxed against the warmth of his body and felt consumed by his arms so gently wrapped around me. It would have been so easy to give in to my desires, but I wanted to wait. We discussed several times that good sex doesn't make you love someone, and true love is not dependent upon sex. 'Sex is the ultimate consummation of the union of two people united in love by God's Holy ordinance of marriage,' Rev. Morgan stated during the Young Adult Revival in January. 'Make a New Year's resolution to live holy,' was the charge to everyone in attendance. I wanted to do this right and keep my commitment to God's divine plan. As Jamel pulled me closer to him, I exhaled.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Close your eyes and just enjoy this moment."

I slept peacefully and awoke the next morning with no idea of what time Jamel had gone to his room.

The weekend was surreal and tranquil. I was in love with Jamel and planned to tell him over a romantic dinner when he returned from his interview in Charlotte. My heart was willing to follow him anywhere. I called Romen, and he said he saw it in my eyes during his visit. Then I called the Woodard's and admitted I was in love.

There's something magical about coming into your own and suddenly recognizing you like yourself, and on top of that, having someone who loves you in spite of anything else. That's how I felt as I entered Kathleen's office for my final Thursday visit. Up until that moment I thought it would be difficult, but I was ready. Although many unresolved issues remained, looking back at my life had clarified my past. Drugs had taken the best of my mother and my siblings had been separated – these were my greatest heartaches. My happiness was a quilt of memories – Romen, Afreeka and I remained connected even when distance separated us; the Woodard's had come into my life and, in addition to their love and nurturing, they introduced me to Jesus; I had a best friend I was prepared to be strong for; and now I was in love with a wonderful man. Lundyn Bridges had not been destroyed, I had not fallen down. I had become fragile but was now rebuilt and fortified.

Kathleen let me talk during our visit. I felt good and I'm sure she was happy for me. Her only concern was my procrastination in finishing my life history. I promised her, and myself, I would.

Later that evening, I sat down with my homemade chicken salad – wing dings on top of the last of my lettuce, my last tomato and a half can of black olives. I had been thinking a lot about Kiarra and continued my life story, picking up where she and I met.

May 26, 2005

I met Kiarra Dillingham at the start of the fall semester of my sophomore year. As I awaited her arrival, my anxiety peaked at the
thought of meeting another roommate, especially after the catastrophe with Melissa. My application for a single had been denied and left me with thirty-five people in front of me on the off-campus housing list. When I thought about living alone, I didn't mind being so far down on the list – I really wasn't ready to live in my own apartment.

The night prior to Kiarra's arrival, I meticulously set up my side of the room, hoping to set an example. Kiarra arrived a little after ten the next morning. I was sitting on the bed staring at Denzel in
Courage Under Fire
. I had seen it at least ten times. I muted the movie and greeted Kiarra as she came in with her parents. She greeted me with a warm smile as I introduced myself.

"Yellow and red," she said looking around the room. "I like that – bright and bold."

"I was hoping it would match your things."

"My comforter is red – it's a match."

I helped her bring her bags into the room.

"I didn't bring my television or microwave," she said sitting on the unmade bed. "I assumed you already had one."