Lundyn Bridges (17 page)

"I hope you don't have plans, Baby Sis," he said putting his bag in my room. "It's been eating at me, and we need to talk about how to help Afreeka."

Jamel was gracious about our plans being postponed. He said he would work on his defense and told me to enjoy the time with my brother.

Over lunch, Romen and I talked openly about Afreeka's alcoholism and how to begin helping her. The difficulty, we both knew, was in getting Afreeka to admit she had a problem. Addiction was very familiar to us, but we were neophytes at recovery. This was the first time Romen and I talked as adults. He wasn't giving me the answers or making all the decisions.

As Romen was packing to leave on Sunday morning, I convinced him to attend church with us. The morning scripture was John 6:35 and Rev. Morgan preached on Jesus as the Bread of Life. With all the faith I had I prayed for Romen's heart to be receptive to Rev. Morgan's words. During our phone calls I seized every opportunity to witness to my brother about God's healing. He always listened, but now I was grateful he was hearing this for himself.

After church service we took Romen to lunch at Applebee's. While we were waiting for our meal I attempted to make small talk about my job. I noticed Jamel smiling and when I asked him to tell Romen about the Adolescent Obesity Project he changed the subject. He told Romen that he really liked me and was looking forward to meeting and getting to know his family and Afreeka. Jamel smiled at me and extended his right hand to Romen. “I will make sure she's happy. I give you my word.”

"That's my baby sister," Romen said shaking his hand. "As long as she's happy, I'm happy."

Jamel had been patient through the interruption of our Saturday plans and I was determined we would still go to the movies on Sunday evening. I also really wanted to see Hitch. Although Jamel had planned to work on the defense for his dissertation, he willingly obliged my request. It was a much needed break for both of us. Jamel was getting frustrated with his research and life had me on an emotional roller coaster.

On our way home from the theater Jamel told me I was consuming his thoughts and interfering with his ability to complete his defense. I was unsure of how to take his comment and wondered if he was trying to nicely break up with me.

Before getting out of the car, after he parked on Negley Avenue, Jamel took my hand and said we needed to talk. My stomach knotted and the one block walk from the car to my apartment seemed to take forever. Jamel took my hand but said nothing as we rode the elevator and walked down the hall. As I opened the door, Jamel was standing close behind me and I was afraid he could hear my heart pounding. We entered my apartment together and Jamel turned me to face him. He rested against the door and gently pulled me into his arms.

"Lundyn Bridges, I am falling in love with you."

"I thought you wanted to break up with me," I said, fighting back tears.

Jamel kissed me, and before I knew it, our true feelings, the ones we were so desperately trying to conceal, exploded. I gave thought to breaking my vow
of celibacy as Jamel's hands made their way under my shirt.

Then the phone rang.

Kiarra was whimpering. “I'm sorry. Lundyn, I'm sorry.”

“Are you okay? What's the matter?”

“You're my best friend Lundyn. I'm sorry. Please help me.”

“Ki, I'm on my way.”

I knew the sound of her brokenness and my heart told me Xavier had hit her, again. There was no anger; my love for Kiarra wanted her to love herself more than sex with Xavier. I wanted Kiarra to be free of the pain she was holding so tightly. My mind raced and I couldn't find the words to pray.

When we arrived, I let myself in and found her curled up on the couch. Her arms were tightly wrapped around her knees, and her stare was blank. She never acknowledged our entrance. I joined her on the couch and held her, being careful not to touch her busted lip and bloodied nose. There were no words, we just cried together. Jamel suggested we leave her apartment, and after I packed a bag for Kiarra, he drove us back to my apartment. I thanked him and asked him to call me later.

Before going to bed, Kiarra agreed to call the Domestic Violence Hotline in the morning. I felt inept, unsure of what to say or how to comfort my best friend. My journal was the comfort I sought, allowing my tears to water the pages, as I continued to pen the pieces of my past.

March 11, 2005

After living with the Woodard's for a few months, I began to understand Pop Woodard's desire to be a comedian. His jokes were the epitome of corny, but the more I liked him the easier it was to laugh. I also learned to appreciate the closeness of another person – it translated into love. Mom Woodard was learning to do my hair and, although it sometimes took her an hour to make the part straight, I appreciated her willingness to keep trying. She began showing me how to cook and set the table. Then she began teaching me how to wash clothes. She was just like a real mom, and by the end of the first year that's what I was calling her.

Although initially uncomfortable as the only brown skinned child with thick lips and a tight curl pattern in their upscale Franklin Park neighborhood, I quickly acclimated and gained acceptance with the other children in the community. The children were fascinated by me – the little black girl who was quick witted, played basketball and could out run most of the boys. They never asked where I came from, and I never volunteered the information. I knew they really weren't my friends because I was seldom invited to the parties and sleepovers. Afreeka was my friend; these children were my playmates. I used their curiosity about me to engage them – it was my first conquest in taking control of a situation.

By the end of middle school, I had come to realize my inquisitiveness and love for books
gave me an academic advantage over the kids who preferred playing Nintendo to reading. It made me feel special when the teachers were amazed by my academic ability. Sometimes I would intentionally ponder a question, and just when the teacher was about to call on someone else I would answer slowly – giving the perfect answer using perfect diction.

The one new thing I did learn was Tail Gating – I had no idea it was such a major event in Pittsburgh – it's like one big cookout and everyone wearing black and gold is invited. I had never heard of a Perogie, but after one year with the Woodard's they were among my favorite foods. It was always amazing to Pop Woodard that I ate a hotdog without a bun because I really didn't like bread.

Pop Woodard loved sports, and he made me learn all about baseball and his favorite - football. He grew up watching the Steelers play at Forbes Field, and he and his father went to the final game on December 1, 1963 to see the Steelers play the Eagles. Pop Woodard had fond memories of the days when he and his dad walked to Forbes Field during the demolition process. His dad would gather with his friends while Pop Woodard played with the kids imitating their favorite players. Five years later, in the spring of 1968, he and his dad began their Saturday outings to the Northside to watch the construction of Three Rivers Stadium. His dad, a steel worker, often criticized phases of the construction as if he
were an engineer. Just like a coach in the stands, his dad always had a better way than what the architect had planned. Although they had only been living in Lawrenceville for five years, the thought of having to go to the Northside to watch a game was insulting. For some reason, people in Pittsburgh have never liked crossing the river.

Pop Woodard fondly recalled the numerous conversations between his dad's friends and how they planned to boycott the new stadium. His favorite memory was when his dad surprised him with tickets to the opening game at Three Rivers Stadium.

These were the stories he shared with me during the construction of Heinz Field. Every time we were going somewhere remotely near the construction site, we always detoured to check on the progress. Pop Woodard talked about his attachment to Three Rivers Stadium – the memories of his dad were there. In spite of his disappointment, he expressed pride in the new stadium and anticipated going to the opening game. I often accompanied him to the home games and had grown to like football. I learned to pray for good weather because Pop Woodard had no sense of temperature when it came to football – I dreaded the days when I had planned to go and it rained or snowed.

Until next time…

Kiarra was sitting at the dining room table sipping hot tea through a straw when I turned over. As I stretched on the couch and mumbled good morning
through a yawn, she tried to smile. The sadness in her eyes confirmed what I already knew – she had not, and would not, call the Domestic Violence Hotline.

The room was silent and only faint traces of sunlight gleamed though the closed blinds. I let Kiarra sit quietly at the table as I contemplated the right thing to say. The phone interrupted the silence. After almost a month, Afreeka returned my call and I confronted her about her drinking.

"Who said I have a problem?" She was almost yelling. "You and Romen think you can figure out everybody's problems."

"Afreeka, you know that's not true. I just want to help you."

"I don't need help because I don't have a problem."

"We made a promise we wouldn't drink or use drugs," I reminded her.

"That was a childhood promise, and there's nothing wrong with social drinking."

"It's not social if you do it every day!"

Afreeka hung up. My ten attempts to call her went unanswered. I called Romen, and he told me to let her cool off. My fear was that months would pass before Afreeka would call back.

"This thing called life is complicated," Kiarra said, as I stood redialing Afreeka's number for the eleventh time. "It's never what you expect, is it?"

"It hurts," I answered, turning to face her. "I want so much to help the people that I love."

Kiarra stayed with me for a few days and called off work to let the swelling in her lip go down. The other bruises were easily hid under her clothing. Despite my constant urging, Kiarra made excuses for not
following up at Women's Center and Shelter. I was mindful not to be angry because, therapeutically, I understood her denial.

On Wednesday, Kiarra returned to work and received a dozen red roses with an apology note from Xavier. After hearing about the roses, I went to her office only to find her engaged in a phone conversation with him. I sat across the desk from her while she finished her call.

"He said I should have known better than to bring up the past when he's working so hard to move toward our future."

"What?!"

"I wanted to talk about what I did to make him angry so I wouldn't do it again."

"Kiarra he punched you in the mouth."

"No he didn't. He only slapped me."

"Ki, listen to yourself! Do you hear what you're saying?"

"He said no one could ever love me like he does."

"He's dangerous!"

"I love him."

Kiarra was meeting Xavier after work and I was devastated. It was difficult getting through the day so I appreciated the paperwork to keep my mind occupied. At four-thirty, Jamel knocked on my door and reminded me it was time to leave. As he walked me to my car, I updated him on the ongoing saga.

"Lundyn, don't take this wrong, but this yo-yoing is unfair to you."

"Why can't I help her?" I whined. "What can I do to make her understand?"

"There's nothing you can do. Kiarra has to make some choices."

"I can't just let him kill her!"

"If he's that violent, then he might hurt you, too."

I had never thought about my own safety. In my mind, I didn't love Xavier and would have no reservations about running him over with my car if necessary.

"Lundyn, you need to walk away."

"I can't! And, how could you ask me to do that? I thought you understood friendship?" I got in my car and drove off, leaving Jamel standing on O'Hara Street.

My attempt to write in my journal only resulted in tears as I hugged my pillow. Life was hurting. I thought Jamel understood me, but his comment made it obvious he didn't. My best friend was a fool, and I couldn't help her. Afreeka was in denial about being an alcoholic. I contemplated cancelling my standing Thursday appointment with Kathleen, but went because I needed to talk. Instead of talking about my past, we discussed my current dilemma and the pain I couldn't seem to escape.

Jamel called Saturday morning and apologized. He came over with my favorite breakfast from McDonald's and confessed the abuse was very difficult for him because he watched his mother go through it.

"My mother's twin, my Aunt Sheila, almost divorced because of my mother being abused. She was always there for my mother, and we spent so much time at her house we left clothes there. My uncle got tired of it."

"Did they work it out?"

"My Uncle Leo loves my Aunt Sheila. He said he had to learn to understand Sheila's love for my mother instead of trying to understand why my mother wouldn't leave." Jamel hugged me. "I love you, and I'm here for you, Lundyn."

The following week yielded a major breakthrough with Francine. It was partly due to my detachment from her while dealing with my own turmoil. When I went to see Francine she seemed like a nurturing mother reaching out to a hurting child.

"You must be dealing with some deep crap," she said as I sat on her couch.

"We're here to talk about you," I reminded her.

"Oh, stop the professional bull – you ain't been professional in the last month. The pain has been all on your face and in your eyes."

Francine's ability to read me was intimidating. Usually I was unnerved – today I didn't care. As I re-focused the conversation on her, she openly admitted how much she appreciated the fact that I had not quit.

"You hung in there. You must be strong."

"What about you? Are you strong? Are you willing to hang in there?"

Francine indicated her willingness to get herself together. "I need to get this right before I die," she said. "I need to make sure I clear some things up with some people, before it's too late."