His Woman, His Wife, His Widow

by Janice Jones

Genres: African American; African American Christian

Synopsis

A woman struggles between her commitment to God and her love for a drug dealer in this heart-wrenching journey through life, love, and death.

Release date: April 24, 2012

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 566

Sample

March—1993

For the life of me I will never understand why my mama makes me walk all the way to this silly store to do her shopping instead of getting in her car and driving herself here. It takes me twenty to thirty minutes to walk there and back. In her car, the whole ordeal could be done and over in about five minutes. This is just an example of her laziness and a total abuse of power.

An even better idea would be for her to let me drive to the store. Her excuse for not doing that is I don’t have my driver’s license yet. Oh, big woo! I’m already sixteen, and I do have my learner’s permit. She knows I’m a good driver because she has been teaching me since I was fourteen. The only thing standing in the way of my being a legal driver is taking the actual road test, which I am scheduled to do in the next month. But she is sticking to her principles and not letting me drive alone until then. She always has to be so technical under the guise of being a good Christian.

I can’t wait to get my driver’s license. Once I get that little piece of paper in my hot little hands, I, Lindsay Renee Westbrook, will never walk anywhere again. Not unless I have to do so in an effort to lose weight or something like that. I mean, I’m not fat or anything right now, but looking at Mama, I know the genetic potential for middle-age spread is there. Heck, for that reason alone, her balloon butt should be the one walking to the store. Not me.

Mama and I argue all the time because she says I think that I am so cute and petite. “Beauty fades with time, Lil’ Miss Thang. As the years go by, gravity will grab a hold of that tight little butt of yours and send it north, south, east, and west. Mark my words, Nay-Nay, you are not always going to have that thin body and that cute face,” Mama says.

Then I constantly remind her that if a person takes care of themselves with exercise, they can outrun gravity for a long, long time. If I have my way, I’ll always be as fly as the legendary Dianne Carroll. It doesn’t seem as if she is the least bit afraid of gravity, so there is no need for her to run. I, like Ms. Carroll, will remain beautiful up to and through my seventies. Once I turn eighty, I don’t think I’ll care much about how I look anymore.

It’s not as if my mother is jealous of me or anything like that. She just thinks she knows everything because she has the advantage of age on her side. She also thinks her funk don’t stink because she is raising me and my little brother without the aid of a man or the welfare system. My mother is a homeowner, not a renter, and we don’t live in the ghetto. Now if you ask me, the neighborhood we live in is only a stone’s throw from the ghetto. But hey, that’s the type of stuff she likes to brag about.

Don’t get me wrong. For the most part, my mama and I are pretty tight. I love the fact that she is not always in my face about silly little things. Mama talks to me and not at me, and I appreciate that. We have a big sister-little sister type of relationship most of the time. But trust me, she can pull rank and become all Mama when she deems it necessary.

My mother was only seventeen and a senior in high school when she got pregnant with me. She and my so-called dad married the week after they graduated. I guess one could call their nuptials a reverse version of the shotgun wedding. My father’s mother forced him to do the “right” thing. I was born two months after the wedding.

My parents stayed together long enough to have me, then three years later, my little brother, Kevin Jr.; K.J. for short. Soon after Kevin started walking, my pops walked away, never to look back. We have not heard a word from him since he left over twelve years ago. I still speak to his mother sporadically throughout the year.

Mama was always the breadwinner in our family. She was blessed to obtain the job as an assembly worker at Ford Motor Company. My father was only able to secure odd jobs here and there, never staying at any one position for too long.

Once my father left, Granny, my mother’s mother, came to live with us for a little while. Mama needed someone to sit with us and help her around the house while she worked.

My granny is so cool. She has this special knack for being on the side of both the plaintiff, which is usually my mother, and the defendant, my brother or me, at the same time. I don’t know how she does it, but she always manages to make both sides in an argument feel good. Granny moved out and into a great senior’s complex when I became old enough to babysit my brother. During the time she lived with us, she was frequently on my mother’s case about finding herself another husband.

“Child of mine, these children need a daddy and you need a man. You young modern-day women kill me. You all are always talking about how well you can take care of yourselves or about how you pay your own bills. Well, let me tell you something, Ms. I-Got-My-Own; money does not keep you warm when you are all alone in that big bed of yours. And no amount of money is going to teach your son how to be a man.” This was the speech I heard repeatedly while Granny lived with us.

My mother used to counter Granny’s complaint with, “Just because I don’t have a man smiling in my face twenty-four-seven, does not mean I don’t know where to go when I need the chill taken off, if you know what I mean.” That is what she would say before she became born again. Now she says, “When God is ready for me to have a man, He’ll send me one.”

Personally, I think things are cool just the way they are in our household. The last thing I need is for some man to invade our lives and start changing things in our home. I’m not crazy about all of my mother’s current rules, but I do realize things could be worse.

One of my mother’s rules includes my brother Kevin and me attending church every Sunday with her. During the services, I usually just sit there, bored out of my mind. However, every now and then something will be said or something will happen that catches my attention and I find myself enjoying my time in church. I definitely believe in God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, but from what I have learned thus far, I think the latter of the three has missed me.

In all honesty, going to church is not that bad. I actually enjoy the Lenten Journey and the Easter services. When I was younger, that time was always special because I could look forward to getting a pretty new outfit. Now it is about so much more. I get into church during this time because of how special I feel when I hear and learn about what Jesus did for me. I personalize Jesus’ death on the cross, realizing that He made such an extraordinary sacrifice for someone like me. That’s the kind of love I can get into.

There’s another rule of my mother’s that I don’t particularly enjoy. That rule is my midnight curfew. I constantly try to convince Mama that I’m old enough and responsible enough to stay out until 1:00 A.M., but she is not even trying to hear it. That’s a perfect example of when she is all Mama.

Another example of how my mother pulls rank is by making me walk to this store. This is no short little jaunt. We live on Pierson, just two blocks north of the infamous Seven Mile Road in Detroit. The grocery store is on Evergreen and Seven Mile. Evergreen is about one-half mile from Pierson. So to and from the store is at least a one-mile walk. Can you tell how much I hate having to do this?

Living near Seven Mile is the best part of our neighborhood for me. Hanging out on the “Mile” is an adventure all its own. Shyanne Kennedy, my best friend, and I have had some of the best times on Seven Mile.

Shyanne and I have been friends forever; nine years, actually. We met in school on our first day of second grade. Shyanne and her family had just moved into the neighborhood and this was her first day at McKinney Elementary School. She and her mom were at the school awaiting the doors to open so they could enter the building. I was with Granny who wanted to meet Mrs. Green, my new teacher. While standing and waiting for the morning bell to ring, Shyanne and I made eye contact. Then I looked down at her hands to find that she carried the exact same Barbie book bag that I owned. This girl had taste.

When we finally entered the building, I noticed that we all were headed in the same direction, and eventually to the same classroom. My grandmother and I entered the classroom first, and while Granny helped me to find a seat and make myself comfortable, Shyanne and her mom talked to Mrs. Green. When they were done talking, Shyanne sought me out and plopped into the seat next to mine, commenting on our identical book bags. We have been as thick as thieves since that moment. Shyanne lives four blocks from my home on Fielding Street. I know for a fact that no matter what goes down, she has my back and she knows that I have hers.

Whenever we end up outside of our neighborhood or around people we don’t know, we tell people that we are cousins. Folks usually believe us without too much convincing because we kind of look alike.

I am considered light-skinned by most people, and Shyanne is about two shades lighter than I am; her pigmentation courtesy of her Caucasian maternal grandmother. Shyanne has beautiful gray eyes and medium length reddish brown hair with natural blond highlights. I know females who would pay top dollar to have their hair streaked like that. Shyanne is about five feet seven inches tall and weighs approximately one hundred thirty pounds. She is an absolute beauty.

I’m not so bad either, even if I do say so myself. I own a caramel brown complexion, long jet black hair, and honey brown eyes. My eyes often change to hazel depending on the season. I am about five–foot–four inches in stature and also weigh in at one hundred thirty pounds. My hips and butt are thicker and rounder than Shyanne’s, courtesy of my big behind maternal grandmother.

What Shyanne is lacking in her lower region, also a gift of her granny, she more than makes up for it on the top half of her body. Shyanne carries a solid D-cup. I barely need my B-cup bra.

Shyanne and I are both juniors at Henry Ford High School. Though we may not be amongst the best dressed or the most liked females, we definitely rank in the top five of the prettiest girls in school. The fact that we don’t curse and we do our best to act like ladies also adds points to our appeal. It separates us from the females who want to act hard and tough.

Now we do have a reputation for getting ghetto when provoked by jealous females. We may be Christians, but people shouldn’t test us because they will lose. The guys find these multi facets to our personalities intriguing. They are on us like black on tar.

Neither of us have a man right now, but we are regrettably no longer virgins. I lost my virginity halfway through freshman year while I dated this knucklehead named Byron. We went together for six months before we had sex, and the relationship only lasted one month beyond that. I’ve had a few other boyfriends since then, but I have not been with anyone else sexually.

Shyanne’s initial sexual experience came during the first month of our sophomore year. Her lover’s name was Troy. She met him the summer before their sexual encounter at a backyard party we attended on the east side of town, which is a pretty jaunt from where we live. This is why it was easy for Shyanne to start and maintain another relationship that she began three months after she met Troy.

My girl had it going on for a while until Troy decided to surprise Shyanne with a visit and busted her kissing her secret lover good-bye on her front porch. Needless to say, she’s not with either of those guys anymore. Guys just aren’t as forgiving about infidelity as we girls are.

I don’t think that Shy will be single too much longer though. There is this senior named Antonio she is interested in and the brother is a cutie. He’s six–foot–three inches tall, has skin the color of a Hershey Bar, and short silky black hair. His brush waves are beautiful. He’s also the star forward for the Henry Ford Trojans’ basketball team. The problem is Antonio’s girlfriend.

What had happened was, Tony stepped to Shyanne about a week ago at McDonald’s trying to holla at her. Tony told Shyanne that he had seen her around school and he thought she was really pretty. He sounded as sweet and sincere as an aspiring politician. Couple that with the fact that brother man was fine, and Shyanne found herself almost duty bound to exchange phone numbers with him.

A couple of days later, Shyanne and Tony were standing in the hallway at school between classes talking and were accosted by this chick. Homegirl got between the two of them and started yelling at Shyanne.

“Who are you, smiling all up in my man’s face? I’ll whoop your skinny, high yellow tail like it ain’t ever been whooped before!” She screamed so loud that everyone in the hallway turned to see where the commotion came from.

I quickly made my way down the hall to make sure the tail being whooped that day did not belong to my girl. She had so little tail to spare. Shy has a very quick temper, so I knew it wouldn’t be long before blows were exchanged. When I arrived on the scene, Shyanne already had her finger wagging and her neck rolling.

“You better back up off me, and quit spitting in my face. I don’t know anything about this guy being your man. That’s between you and him. So if you have a problem, it’s with him, not me!”

“Who are you frontin’ on, tramp?” the girl yelled, and then took an open handed swing at Shyanne. She was unaware, however, that I was standing behind her, and before the blow could land, I was able to grab her arm. That gave Shyanne the opportunity to punch the girl square in the face. The fight was on.

We beat and dragged that girl up one side of the hallway and down the other until one of the teachers came to break it up. During the scuffle, not one person came to her aid, not even her so-called man.

All three of us received a three-day suspension for the fight. Shyanne and I also received a verbal warning that if we were involved in any more disciplinary incidents, we would be expelled for good. That was the second time this semester that we had beat a girl down. Jealousy can be very contagious.

After school that day, Tony stood outside waiting for Shyanne. He explained that Tracey—the cow we beat up—and he used to talk on occasion, but they were never boyfriend and girlfriend. He apologized to Shyanne for his part in the ugly incident and asked if he could still call her.

“If Tracey was not your woman, you should have said something before the fight started,” Shy told him. “I’ll call you if and when I decide you are worth the effort.”

I knew all along she would definitely call him again. Shyanne was just spitting game. I ended up grounded for an entire week. In addition, Mama made both Shyanne and I start attending the weekly Bible Study class for teens at our church. She said spending a little more time with the Lord would help us to calm our spirits and drive out the devilish, violent impulses.

My punishment probably also has something to do with my mother enforcing this slave labor on me. Now that I’ve finally made it to this funky store, I am in a hurry to get in, get her crap, and get back to my long hike home. I have a Donald Goines novel on my bed calling my name. But little did I know I’d find myself in no hurry at all once I saw what was waiting inside for me.

“Hello, sexy. Are you with your man, or are you roaming through this big old store all by your lonesome?”

I turned away from the shelf that housed the tomato sauce my mama sent me in search of and into the face of a totally stunning male. I swear ’foe cheese and biscuits—I cannot remember ever seeing anything more beautiful than this man in my whole entire life.

He was tall, about six–foot–two inches. His perfect skin was the color of melted caramel, and his curly jet black hair was flawlessly faded and tapered. In stark contrast, his eyes were emerald green. He smelled like an angel. His mother and father worked overtime putting this gorgeous brother together.

“What’s the matter, cutie? Can’t you talk?”

I miraculously found my voice. “I’m here by myself. Why do you ask?”

“May I ask your name?”

“My name is Lindsay, but everybody calls me Nay or Nay-Nay, short for Renee which is my middle name. I hate my first name.” I could not believe I actually told him my given name. I never divulge that information to anyone at an initial meeting other than school officials. This guy’s looks had me all discombobulated.

“Well, since everyone else calls you by a nickname, I think I will stick to calling you Lindsay. That way you will always think of me differently. My name is Shaun and everyone calls me Shaun. So if you want to be different on my behalf, you will have to think of your own manly nickname for me. How old are you, sexy?”

I was so focused on his beautiful, smooth lips that I barely heard his question. Eventually I regained my composure and uttered a barely audible answer. “I’m sixteen.”

“Sixteen! Wow! I thought you were a little older. No offense, but you have this maturity about yourself that betrays your actual age.”

I knew he was just spitting game. I hadn’t said enough to him for him to make that judgment. But I liked the fact he was interested. In an effort to live up to his impression of my maturity, I did my best to uphold my end of the conversation. “How old do I need to be, Shaun?”

This time before he answered, he rewarded me with a breathtaking smile. “Listen to you sounding like you’re about nineteen or twenty. I asked because I’m nineteen and I’m interested in you having dinner with me sometime. I just wanted to be sure that we were age compatible. Some might say there is a big difference between sixteen and nineteen. I think it depends on the individuals.”

He sounded very mature and intelligent, and I was becoming more and more impressed with this wonderfully handsome guy with each word he spoke. Heck, as fine as he was, I could fall in love with him if he just stood in front of me and never opened his mouth.

“Do you think we are age compatible?” I asked.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Aren’t you capable of answering my question directly? I hope you are not always so evasive.”

Shaun cocked his eyebrow in surprise, then said, “Evasive! That’s not a word I’ve heard anyone use to describe me before. Another sign of your maturity. In answer to your question, yes! I do think we are age compatible.”

“Then my answer is yes. I would like to have dinner with you.” I was so glad I loved to read. My mother says an avid reader is privy to words that non-readers may not normally use. She says a person never knows when they may have to put that knowledge to use.

“Cool. What day would be good for you? Since you are only sixteen, I’m sure you’re still in school. I’m guessing this weekend would be the first time you would have available.”

Now how do I tell this guy who thinks I am so mature that I am grounded this weekend? I hope being straightforward works. “I can’t go out with you this weekend. Being that I am only sixteen, I sometimes still find myself on punishment. This weekend happens to be one of those times.”

“Oh, I see. What did you do to cause your parents to ill out on you?” As he spoke this time, he moved closer to me and positioned his hand just above my head on the shelf in the aisle. I got another whiff of his cologne, and my knees almost buckled. To make sure I didn’t fall on my face, I stood a little straighter and folded my arms in front of me.

“I was excluded from school for fighting.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I was totally embarrassed. I felt like such a kid. He probably went from thinking I was mature to thinking I was some ghetto street fighter.

“Whoa! Hold up, sexy. I know you’re not telling me that you had an actual fistfight, are you? You are far too fine and sophisticated for that kind of stuff.”

My initial feelings of inadequacy flew right out the window at his words. Shaun had a way of making me feel special, and I found this fact both fascinating and intimidating. How could I let someone I’ve known for less than five minutes have any effect on me at all? Even though I felt less awkward about my fight, I still wanted Shaun to understand the circumstances.

“Well, I was actually helping my best friend. It was her fight. But our motto has always been if one of us is swinging, then both of us are swinging.”

“I know how that can be. I’ve been in that position on occasion myself, but we must work harder at avoiding those types of encounters at all cost. We have to make sure we keep that face beautiful. I would not be able to stand it if some crazy female intentionally set out to destroy your beauty. I’m sure there are a lot of jealous ladies out there just waiting for the opportunity to do something evil like that. Promise me you will be careful, okay?”

This brother was so cool that even M & M’s didn’t melt in his mouth. I didn’t even bother giving voice to his question. I was too busy standing there grinning.

The last thing Shaun had to worry about was me being taken down by some jealous female. I had never lost a fight in my life. Though I had not actually kept a record of the number of scuffles I had been in, I liked to brag that I was thirty and zero. My mother hates to hear me talk that way. She says that Christian young ladies should not be fighting. Jesus wants us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. I say she should tell that to all the haters in the world. Thinking about my mother brought me back to my appointed task.

“I really need to grab this stuff for my mom and get home so she can finish cooking. I have been gone a while now and the last thing I need is to make her any angrier at me than she already is.”

“I understand. Did you drive here to the grocery store or do you live in walking distance?” he asked as he followed me to the checkout counter.

“Neither! I don’t have my driver’s license so my mom won’t let me drive. I live about a half-mile away, but she still made me walk,” I whined, again hoping he had not reversed his initial opinion of me as I crooned about my predicament like a baby.

Shaun giggled a little. “Why don’t you let me drive you home? That way, I’ll know where you live when it’s time for me to pick you up for our dinner date. We can also get to know each other a little more during the ride.” He then flashed that perfect smile again. Was there no end to this guy’s great qualities?

I had to seriously think about riding home with him, beautiful face, smile and smell aside. Mama told me not to get in cars with guys I barely know. She knew I had a fascination for guys with nice rides. “I don’t know if that is a good idea. I really don’t know you, and riding in a car with a complete stranger could be hazardous to my health.”

“What do you think I’m going to do to you?” Shaun sounded a little offended.

“To be totally honest, it’s not you that I’m worried about. It’s my mother that would cause all the damage. She hates for me to get in cars with people I barely know.”

“Does your mother have to know we just met? You could tell her that I’m someone you have known for a while, and we ran into each other at the store.”

I was very tempted to go along with him and his lie for more than one reason. One, he was very interesting to talk to. Two, he was very fine, and three, I hated the idea of walking all the way back home very much. As if he read my mind, he spoke again.

“Come on, cutie, I know you don’t want to walk if you don’t have to. Besides, I want to get to know you better. Me driving you home, and I do mean straight home, will afford us the opportunity to talk a little more.” Then he smiled again, and my mind became very made up.

As we walked to the parking lot I couldn’t help smiling at the fact Shaun insisted on paying for my mother’s groceries.

She only had a few things, but I thought it was so cool of him to make the offer. I wonder if Mama would classify this as an unexpected blessing from God. Too bad she could never know about it.

Shaun led me to his beautiful, candy apple red convertible Trans Am. It was almost as gorgeous as he was. The leather interior and the drop top were both tan, and the tires housed an extraordinary set of silver rims. This car was stunning.

Shaun walked me to the passenger side door and held it open for me. Once I was seated, he reached inside, pulled my seat belt into place and snapped it. He lingered there, staring as if he noticed something disturbing about me for the very first time. Before I knew what was happening, he leaned into the car and kissed me on my nose. He smiled, closed my door, then sauntered over to the driver’s side. As soon as he was settled into his seat, I questioned him.

“So why are we stealing kisses? I rarely let anybody kiss me, especially someone I have known for all of ten minutes.”

“I was wrong for that, Lindsay. I apologize. I got caught up staring into those beautiful eyes and I was unable to resist. Actually, you should consider yourself lucky I only landed one on the tip of your nose. I should have aimed straight for your lips,” he replied smoothly.

“Well then I guess you should be glad you went with your better judgment. My natural reflexes would have probably led me to smack you.”

Shaun laughed hard and long. I thought he would never stop, and I became very irritated. It was as if he didn’t believe I would hit him. Believe you me I would have. I don’t care how fine he is. Kissing is reserved only for guys I am really into.

Once the laughter finally died down, Shaun looked at me and noticed I was a little upset. “You were serious, weren’t you? Oh, I forgot. You’re a fighter.” Before I had a chance to respond, he continued. “Okay, Ms. Mike Tyson, which way to your house?”

My annoyance subsided with his joke, and I even smiled a little when I gave him directions.

“So Lindsay, when can we go out? How long has your mother got you on lock down?” Hearing him continuously call me by my first name grated on my nerves, even from lips as sexy as his.

“I’m only grounded until the end of this week, so anytime next week will be cool. Shaun, can I please get you to call me Nay? I really hate my first name.”

“Does anybody else call you Lindsay?”

“Only my grandmother on my father’s side, but I only see her once or twice a year, so it doesn’t bother me as much.”

“Then I’m sorry, but I have to decline your request. Just think about it this way; whenever you hear your name, you will always know it’s me speaking even if you don’t see me.”

I didn’t know whether to be mad or flattered. I guess I was actually grateful because I took what he said to mean he planned on seeing me often. I decided to give up my fight for preserving the right to be called what I wanted and got used to the fact that I’ll have to hear my ugly name coming from such beautiful lips.

“So tell me something about yourself. I know you’re sixteen, you hate your name, and you like to hit people. What else makes up Miss Lindsay Renee?”

Okay! Now enough is enough. Just as I make up my mind to allow this fool to call me by my first name, he goes and gets all kinds of crazy on me.

“Oh no you didn’t use both my first and middle names together? Now that is taking it too far. My mother is the only person who gets away with that. And even she only does it when she’s upset with me,” I told him a little loudly.

Shaun looked at me as if I had lost all my marbles. He threw up his hands in mock surrender and began pleading for my pardon. “Okay! Okay! Calm down! I apologize. Please don’t hit me. If you forgive me, I promise I’ll never call you anything but Lindsay from here on.”

He looked so sorry that I felt bad for going off the way I did, so I gave him a smile. “All right, you’re forgiven this time, but watch it, buddy,” I said pointing my index finger in his face. Then I proceeded to give him some info. “I go to Henry Ford High School, I have a little brother named Kevin, and we both live at home with our mother. No father to speak of anymore. I don’t have any sisters, but my friend Shyanne and I are closer than most biological sisters I know.”

“Do you have a man right now?”

“Nope.” Then a thought ran rapidly through my mind. A guy this fine probably has about six or seven girls laying claim to him. “What about you? Do you have a woman?”

Shaun didn’t say anything right away, and his hesitation made me a little nervous. The last thing I needed was to be seen hanging out with somebody’s man and end up in a situation like the one I just went through with Shyanne. I had always made it my policy to never step to someone else’s man because I wouldn’t want anyone stepping to mine. Granny always says what goes around comes around. I try never to intentionally hurt anyone. I want people to treat me with respect; therefore, I go out of my way to treat others in the same manner. I’m no Bible scholar, but I’m pretty sure that concept is in there.

“Well, to be totally honest with you, Lindsay, I just got out of a relationship a few weeks ago. My ex is still having a hard time dealing with the fact that it’s over between us. We were together