Lundyn Bridges (15 page)

Two weeks later, I was still there. The Woodard's had taken me to see a doctor, but I ignored him just like I ignored them. He had too many questions, and I refused to indulge him with even a slight smile. Kristen continued to make attempts to talk to me, and although I wanted to answer her, I didn't.

One night, after she caught me crying, Kristen came into my room. I pretended to be asleep. She sat on the other twin bed, where Afreeka had slept – it still squeaked.

“Lundyn,” she whispered, “I know you're not sleeping.”

I tried to breath softer.

Kristen continued. “It's okay to be sad or afraid or whatever you're feeling. I just want you to know we're glad you're here.”

I kept waiting for her to leave so I could turn over. When I awoke the next morning, she was asleep in the bed. I got up slowly and tip toed to the bathroom. As I entered back into the room, I saw Kristen sitting on my bed.

“Hi!” She smiled.

I stood frozen in the doorway. I didn't know what to do. My mind wanted to smile and say hi, but all I could do was cry. Loneliness had defeated me after living in isolation for three weeks and I needed a hug.

My conversations with the Woodard's began, the second time with Kristen, then Mrs.
Woodard and finally Mr. Woodard. He wasn't so scary after all, more like a big teddy bear that told corny jokes, and the family indulged him by laughing. I was willing to talk about anything except me. My eleven year old vocabulary was insufficient to even begin trying to explain how I felt. I tucked those feelings away in a place called my past and tried to forget.

Navigating my new life in Franklin Park was often frightening and always a challenge. However, acclimating to the Woodard's was not as difficult as I had imagined. Although there was no preparation to my being placed with a Caucasian family, I had a small advantage because, as all African-Americans, I had been entrenched in their culture in my daily living. Still there were some things that I didn't understand and some things that took getting used to. Kristen played with her hair – running her fingers through it, pulling it back into a pony tail, shaking it out – her hands were always in her hair. I didn't understand that – I was never permitted to play in my hair. On the rare occasions when Barbara had bothered to comb it, I did my best to make it last, never knowing when she would comb it again. The Woodard's also stood very close when talking to me. I wanted to back up but never wanted to be rude. At first, I assumed they thought I was hard of hearing. It wasn't that I wanted them to yell, but, initially, I was uncomfortable with their closeness and didn't know how to politely ask them to move back. I also didn't
understand why Mom Woodard washed her hair everyday and then would sometimes let it air dry. I remembered Afreeka trying to wash my hair once when we still lived with Barbara. She let it air dry and then couldn't get a comb through it. She had to re-wash it before she could braid it.

Sometimes I would get irritated with Kristen always talking about everyone being equal. I didn't feel equal because there were no parallels. Living with Barbara had endorsed my insecurities and confirmed I was in the have nots.

Until next time…

Kathleen challenged me to re-read my journal from the beginning. On the one hand, my past could be paralyzing – on the other hand, it was glaringly apparent the love of the Woodard's were my reassurance during my quest for identity, the inconsistent and diminishing contact with my siblings, and my anger. In my world of ambiguities, the Woodard's were my stability. The Woodard's were also diligent in making sure I could define myself culturally. I had taken piano lessons at the Afro-American Music Institute and learned to play gospel and jazz. Going to see Langston Hughes'
Black Nativity
at the University of Pittsburgh's Kuntu Repertoire Theatre became a holiday tradition. I also started collecting postcards by Synthia St. James. Pop Woodard bought my first print,
The Color of Love
, for my sixteenth birthday.

I had to read a book each month for school, and the Woodard's made sure that at least half of them were by African-American authors. Sometimes the readings
left me with questions I couldn't answer, and I relied on the Woodard's who, when they didn't know, always made sure the information was made available. It was a lesson for all of us; most of the books I found in the library were also new to the Woodard's. Although they had heard of several of the well-known African-American authors like James Baldwin, Richard Wright and Alice Walker, they had not read any of their books. I fell in love with the poetry of Nikki Giovanni and gave a framed copy of
For Theresa
to Mom Woodard one Mother's Day. BeBe Moore Campbell became one of my favorite authors, and Mom Woodard bought me the hardcover editions of her novels.

We participated in the Martin Luther King, Jr. Celebration at the church in January and every February I participated in the Black History Program. Initially, my presentations were, like those of the other children, about the most talked about African-Americans – Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King, Jr., Benjamin Banneker, Frederick Douglass, Thurgood Marshall and Rosa Parks. After my third year, I began to understand the need to teach the congregation about the significant contributions made by African-Americans throughout American history. My presentations in high school included Mary McLeod Bethune, Dr. Mae Jemison, Langston Hughes, George Washington Carver, Dr. Ben Carson, Madame CJ Walker, Otis Boykin, Arthur Ashe, Vivien Thomas and Dr. Patricia Bath. It became important to me that people were familiar with these major contributors to the history of our country. These were also critical lessons in African-American history that were not mentioned in my high school history classes.

Anything the Woodard's didn't know about African- American culture was over-compensated for by their love, especially their love for God. The multi-cultural congregation at Christian Tabernacle helped me understand how being a Christian was a life style not dictated by skin color. I grew to love Sunday school, learned to understand the parables in the Bible and memorized several scriptures. Although I had been mad at God for not helping me when I needed Him, the promises in the Bible still intrigued me.

The thought of being loved by Jesus and walking under His covering kept me yearning to clearly understand the requirements of these promises. It wasn't just love, but unconditional love – it was love that never went away or never stopped. That was the love I needed. As a young child I wasn't sure if the Woodard's could offer that. I always knew I was a foster child, which meant a knock on the door by a caseworker could take me away.

My experiences at church began to eat away at my anger with God. As much as I felt like an outsider, my church family included me; although I felt unlovable, they loved me. I joined the mime ministry because I liked the silent expression. It helped me, without words, communicate –that's what my poems had been, except mime was words in action. I began looking forward to attending church and would challenge myself to create moves for each of the songs.

I clearly remember when I began to pray. It was after I found out Afreeka and Romen would be going away. Although the Woodard's promised that my siblings were free to visit, I hadn't come to totally trust them. The pastor had been teaching on mustard seed faith, and I began to pay attention in church. I prayed
because I needed to believe Romen, Afreeka and I would always stay connected. That was the first prayer God answered for me.

February 18, 2005

Afreeka and Romen surprised me with a visit at our July 4th cook out. Mom Woodard had been busy in the kitchen all morning, Pop Woodard was at his grill, and Kristen kept me occupied with helping re-arrange her room. When the door bell rang I assumed it was someone for the Woodard's. I heard laughing, and when I went downstairs, Romen and Afreeka greeted me. We hugged and all I could do was cry. After introducing my brother and sister to Kristen, my siblings and I retreated to the gazebo in the back yard.

"I love you, Lundyn." Romen smiled at me. "It's been a while and I've missed saying that."

"Me, too!"

"Me, too!" Afreeka said holding my hand.

"I miss ya'll so much," I said through tears. "I always wanted us to be together."

"Stop it," Afreeka interrupted me. "I know I was angry when I left." Her voice softened. "I didn't want to leave you." She looked at Romen. "I promised him I would always take care of you."

"We can't always keep our promises." Romen sat between us. "It's hard to keep our promises right now because so much is out of our control." Romen seemed much older than sixteen. "But love is the promise we can keep
and no one can take that away from us. We can always love each other."

Afreeka began to cry. "This is a good place for you." She squeezed my hand. "These people can take good care of you – much better than I ever could. You behave and stop that silent treatment you always do when you're angry at the world."

By this time we were all crying.

"I want us all to be together. I keep asking God to let us be together!" My voice was pleading as I held the hands of my older brother and sister. "I don't want us to be separated. I'm so afraid we won't see Rah'Lee and Hustin again."

"I spoke to my caseworker," Romen said wiping his face. "Mr. & Mrs. Teague will bring the twins to Holy Family for a monthly visit. Mr. & Mrs. Woodard said they will bring you." Romen squeezed my hand. "Afreeka is already there, and I'll just take the bus."

Afreeka put her head on Romen's shoulder. "Who's gonna take care of you?"

"I'm okay." Romen stood to face us. "I'm going to be okay. Remember my basketball coach, Mr. Jackson?"

We both nodded.

"He's going to take me as a foster kid and help me get into Kiski Prep to play basketball. That way I can go to a good college and get a good job."

"Kiski Prep?" Afreeka gave him that head cocked to the side look. "Where is that?"

"Are you going away?" I asked.

"It's not that far,” Romen assured us. "You can even come to some of the games, if I get in."

We sat silently.

"Look," Romen's voice was firm. "Mommy is not coming back for us. We have to make it for ourselves. We have to look out for each other and hold on to each other the best way we know how. If I make it, I'll make sure we all make it."

"Is it further than Girls Hope?" Afreeka asked.

"What's Girls Hope?" I asked looking at Afreeka.

Romen sat across from us. "Lundyn, we have to do whatever it takes to make it. You gotta believe we'll make it."

"What's Girls Hope?" I repeated my question, ignoring Romen and looking at Afreeka.

"It's a school where I can have a chance to make it." Afreeka spoke softly, avoiding eye contact with me and looking at Romen. "I'll be leaving at the end of August."

I began to cry. "You're all leaving me!"

Afreeka put her arm around me. "I wish I could have stayed here with you. I told them I would stay away from the cat, but the caseworker said no."

Romen joined us and sat on the other side of me.

"Girls Hope is a boarding school that will give me a chance to have a future," Afreeka continued. "It's not that far, and I'll come back to Holy Family for all the visits." Afreeka lifted
my chin so our eyes met. "And Mrs. Woodard said I can come here to visit you." She smiled with raised eyebrows waiting for me to smile back at her.

"It's going to be okay," Romen said. "We have to make sure we stay connected, and we have to promise each other we'll make it."

Afreeka and I agreed.

"We also must promise to never take drugs or drink." Romen added.

Romen extended his right hand, Afreeka covered his hand, and I put my hand on top of hers. Then Romen put his left hand on top.

"The Bridges children will make it," he said.

"These Bridges are not falling down. We will be okay."

I hugged my brother and sister.

We spent the afternoon with the Woodard's, and it became a memory that engraved itself in my heart. It was the first of many visits. My heart was overwhelmed by the Woodard's kindness to welcome Romen and Afreeka into their home so they could stay connected to my life.

Romen and Afreeka joined us the following Thanksgiving and the Woodard's gave them an open invitation to join us every year. Kristen and I cried. She never liked being an only child and said how much she enjoyed having everyone at the house when she came home. This was what I imagined family should be like.

Until next time…

 

 

Towards the end of February I began to feel emotionally stronger and empowered through my therapy sessions. My healing was on the inside. The Women's Ministry had also begun a study group on how Satan uses our thoughts to defeat us and how we must maintain control over what we allow our minds to ponder. It was all apropos to my healing. The thoughts of my childhood could be defeating, if I allowed them. I consciously made every effort to focus on the blessings in my life – my relationship with Romen and Afreeka, the Woodard's, my best friend Kiarra, and my budding relationship with Jamel.

On the last Saturday in February, our class finished a powerful discussion on the sabotaging techniques of Satan and how he uses loneliness to ensnare women. As Kiarra and I walked to our cars in the parking lot, I decided against bringing up Xavier. This lesson seemed to be specifically for Kiarra, and I hoped it would help her see the waving fluorescent flags of danger. For her own well–being she needed to admit the relationship with Xavier was detrimental.