Teenage Love Affair Page 19

  “Good morning, ladies.” The nurse walked into my hospital room with a goofy smile on her face. “The meeting will be held in room 411. The counselor’s name is Jona. She’s really nice, so be sure to introduce yourselves to her.”

  “Thank you, nurse,” my mother said as I sat there unfazed.

  “Take care,” the nurse said before turning to walk out of the room.

  The meeting room was only an elevator ride up to the next level.

  When my mom and I walked in the room, everyone smiled at us and said, “Welcome.” There were about two or three women who looked to be my mom’s age, and they were holding teenage girls’ hands. I assumed the pairs were mothers and daughters. The girls were every color and creed you could imagine—White, Black, Latin, and Asian.

  My mother’s face lit up like Christmas as we took our seats. I gave a small wave to everyone and my mother said, “Hello. I’m Jazmyn and this is Zsa-Zsa.”

  “Thanks for coming,” the counselor said as she introduced herself. “I’m Jona and I represent every girl and every woman in the world who wants to say ‘no more’ to domestic violence. We are a weekly group, and you can choose to share or not to share. We don’t push you to do anything”—Jona looked at me—“so you speak when you are ready to.”

  Don’t ask me why but tears filled my eyes. I did my best not to cry.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s begin with our opening prayer.”

  For a moment I laughed to myself, wondering if she would be thanking Jesus or Julio, like Cousin Shake had.

  Everyone stood up and held hands.

  “Let’s bow our heads,” Jona said. “Father on high,” she began, “we thank You for blessing each and every girl here with the will and the strength to say no more. We thank You for their courage and we ask You to bless us to continue to touch the lives of those who need to hear our stories and know they are not alone. We ask this as we ask all continued blessings in Your son Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  We all took our seats, which were placed in a circle. “Who would like to begin?” Jona asked.

  “I would.” A blond-haired, blue-eyed girl raised her hand.

  Jona nodded and the girl began to speak. “Hello, my name is Susan. I’m sixteen, and I represent every girl in the world who has to take a stand and say no to domestic violence.”

  Tears rolled down Susan’s face. “I never thought of myself as a victim—”

  Then why are you here? I shook my head and then looked her over. She looked like your average, everyday Valley Girl. Something I was not and could not relate to, leaving me certain that nothing she said or did would have an effect on me.

  “But then I realized that I was a victim,” Susan continued. “I ran away from home a few months back because I thought I found the man of my dreams. He was twenty-five and I was only sixteen. Past the age of consent so no one could do anything about it. Not even my parents. And I was happy, in love, and free…so I thought.

  “My love was charming and he filled a part of me that had been empty. All of my life I didn’t feel good enough. I mean, my sister was smart. And I thought she was prettier. She was always rewarded for doing well in school. While I was just…just…here. I was Susan. Average student, nothing to write home about, nothing to miss. Just there like a bump on a log.

  “So I attached myself to the first man that made me feel worthy. I did whatever he wanted me to do, and there was nothing my parents could do or say to me. He had the control. And when the first slap came because I didn’t know how to cook his favorite dinner the way he liked I accepted it—and tried to forget it. Especially since he apologized and swore he would never do it again. He was stressed, you know”—she hunched her shoulders and pushed her hair behind her ears—“and I knew I couldn’t stand to be without him and I didn’t want him to leave me. But that didn’t stop the next slap, or the next punch, kick…or rape. Me being silent only made things worse, and not until I said ‘no more,’ you will not do this to me anymore, was I able to call my parents and confess to them what was going on. I just wanted a way out. They came and got me. But he still haunted me, stalked me, and called me nonstop. I took out a restraining order, but that didn’t stop him. He caught me one night hanging out with my friends at a local club, and he dragged me from the club to his car, beating me all the way. I don’t remember what happened after that. All I know is that he’s in jail for a long time and I can’t walk now.” She lifted the blanket from her lap and revealed the wheelchair she sat in.

  “So I’m here to talk about how it feels to be saddled with this for the rest of my life. If I could just change one girl’s life by telling her to listen to her parents, to her friends, just listen when they say something is not right. Hear them when they tell you they only want the best for you, because they mean it. Thank you for listening to my story.”

  I thought for sure she was going to fall apart, because I knew that my heart ached for her. The difference between us, though, is that I broke up with Ameen on my own and when he hit me, I hit him back.

  The group clapped for Susan, and then Jona said, “Who would like to share their story next?”

  A short and petite Asian girl raised her hand. It was obvious that someone had beaten her up pretty bad because her left eye was swollen shut. I thought for a moment that we had nothing in common…but then I remembered what my face looked like. So me and this girl must’ve resembled to everyone else in here.

  “Hello, my name is Kai-Ming, I’m seventeen, and I represent every girl in the world who has to take a stand and say no to domestic violence.”

  Everyone clapped and said, “Welcome, Kai-Ming.”

  “A lot of people think leaving is such a simple choice and that we can walk away one day and not look back, but it’s not true.” She shook her head. “I grew up with my mother being beaten by my father. Day after day after day, and night after night after night, he beat her. And if me or my brother got involved he would beat us.” She closed her eyes as if she were fighting off a bad memory. “We would beg my mom to leave my dad, but she never did and she never expressed a desire to. I felt so alone. I had no self-esteem, and because we lived in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey, we appeared perfect on the outside, but inside of our house was hell.

  “So when the first guy who promised to love me forever came along, I believed him. He was thirty and I was fourteen. He had his own place. He was always there when I needed him. I never had to call—he was always calling me. Shortly after we hooked up I was pregnant with my son. He promised to take care of me, and he said that he wanted to raise our son differently than I had been raised. So I ran away from home with a baby and a pocket full of dreams. My mother didn’t care and my father didn’t look for me. So when my boyfriend moved us hours away from everyone and everything and said he wanted me all to himself, I thought that was cool. He wouldn’t allow me to get a job, and when I told him that I couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to leave, he slapped me and I took it. I felt that if he hit me, then he had to love me, because hitting was the only type of love I knew.

  “By the time I was pregnant again, I was sixteen. My boyfriend beat me all through my pregnancy, and shortly after I had our daughter, the beatings got worse. But what made me leave was my son. He was three, and every time he got mad with me he would jump on me to fight me. And he would say to call him Daddy. I knew I had to go then. But I didn’t know if there was any place for teens. Because everybody thinks you have to be old, like in your thirties or something, to be beaten by your boyfriend. But it’s not true.

  “I saw the number for this program in the phone book. So I called and they came and got me when my boyfriend was at work, fleeing with nothing but my children and our lives. I went to a shelter that night and have been there ever since. He doesn’t know where we are, and I plan on moving far away so that he can’t ever get to us again. And I hope that wherever I go or wherever I land that I am able to change someone’s life by telling them you are beautiful, you are special, and you don’
t deserve his hands on you.”

  Why is a river of tears running down my face? I had to get out of there, and when I looked at my mother to tell her we needed to be ghost, she was holding and hugging the Chinese girl, thanking her for her story.

  “Anyone else?” the counselor asked.

  “Yes.” A Latino girl with thick, black curly hair stood up. “I would like to share. First, I want to begin by saying my name is Consuelo, I’m seventeen, and I represent every girl in the world who has to take a stand and say no to domestic violence. I hear a lot of people and girls, you know”—she hunched her shoulders—“speak about their boyfriends hitting them, and their boyfriends are like these old dudes. Or the girls say they ran away from home and lived with these men. So I never thought that this”—she pointed around the room—“was me or could be me. My boyfriend was seventeen, like me. A basketball star. We went to school together, but we didn’t live together. He started out perfect. We met in the hall every day for a quick kiss. We spent all of our free time together, and his parents gave him a lot of freedom. I was able to chill in his house and everything, no questions asked. I could even stay over some nights if I wanted to. He always had money and bought me anything I wanted. I accepted a lot of nonsense from him. He cheated on me, talked down to me and everything, but I thought I could love him enough to change him.”

  Consuelo twisted her lips as tears rolled down her face. “But that was such a joke. He started out grabbing me by my collar when he would get mad or I didn’t answer my phone. Then the grabbing went to pushing me, and then the pushing went to slapping, and slapping turned into getting beat down on the regular. I would always lie to my parents or people who asked and tell them that I was jumped, or in an accident at school. I would never tell the truth, because I loved him and he was always soooo sorry.

  “Eventually though I got tired and couldn’t take it anymore so I broke up with him. I thought it would be simple. Leave him and he would be free to cheat and do his thing. But he started stalking me, and calling me all the time. Things got worse after we broke up and one day he cornered me on my way home, and he beat me so bad that I woke up in the hospital with no memory of how I got there. He was arrested and went to jail, where he is now.

  “But I feel guilty, like I brought this on myself, and my mind keeps playing the what-if game—what if this, what if that. I don’t know. All I know is that I’m here and I’ma keep coming back until I get it. Until I understand what made me take the abuse. And once I know what is it, I’ma deal with it, and then maybe I’ll be able to feel like myself again.”

  My heart sank in the middle of my chest. These stories were driving me crazy. I wanted to feel like none of these stories reminded me of my life or the choices I’d made, but they did.

  I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want to be one and the same as these girls because then what would that say about me? What would that say?

  I was not this weak. No. I shook my head. I looked at my mother and said, “I’m done. The doctor can decide he doesn’t want to give me my discharge papers, but I’m leaving.”

  I got up from my seat and hurried into the hall. I could hear my mother on my heels. “Zsa,” she called, but I was trying to get away. I wanted to be far away from that place.

  My mother ran over to me and blocked my path. “Stop.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “Where are you going?”

  I started to tell her to hell but I couldn’t get any words to form. Then I started to tell her that those girls weren’t me although it felt like it, but that wouldn’t come out either. I didn’t know what I could say. All I knew is that this had to end, and it had to end that day.

  “Ma, please,” I managed to get out of my mouth while wiping my tears away. “I just want this all to go away. Just let me make it go away.”

  “Zsa-Zsa, it doesn’t happen like that.”

  “But it can for me. I can’t do this right now. Please.”

  My mother stared at me and I begged her again. “Please.”

  “I only want the best for you, Zsa. You didn’t deserve what Ameen did to you.”

  “Ma, I can’t wallow in that. At least not right now. I’m begging you. Please, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want to go on. There’s no more me and Ameen, I won’t even let him speak to me. He can’t come around. I won’t take any of his calls. I will act as if he doesn’t exist. But allow me to do that. That group”—I pointed toward the room—“is not for me. Those are not my stories.”

  “Okay.” My mother nodded reluctantly in agreement. “If this is how you need to handle things, I’ll respect that.”

  “Thank you, now can we leave?”

  “Yes, yes we can,” she said with no sincerity. We went back to the hospital room, where the doctor was waiting for us.

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  Neither one of us answered, so the doctor continued on with signing my discharge forms. “Within a week you should be back to yourself.”

  Thank God, finally a date when I will be better.

  “Take care of yourself,” the doctor said as I walked into the hall with my mother behind me.

  17

  Me, myself and I…gon’ be my own best friend…

  —BEYONCÉ, “ME, MYSELF AND I”

  It had been a week since everything had jumped off with Ameen, and I felt like…like I’d lost myself. Everywhere I looked for myself there was no Zsa-Zsa. Instead there was this girl dealing with a buncha bullshit that belonged to other people—my father, my mother, Ameen, the girls at Say No More—but had been dumped on my doorstep. I was tired of being this person that I’d warped into. Although the bruises were mostly healed and by the next week I’d be back in school, I didn’t feel like myself. Instead I felt like someone who’d gone to space, gotten lost, and happen to stumble across home again.

  I was also upset that my mother didn’t keep her promise and ended up giving the police Ameen’s information.

  “Zsa.” My mother called my name and knocked on my bedroom door at the same time. “I’m on my way to work.” She cracked the door open before I could say “come in.” “Cousin Shake and Ms. Minnie went to visit with some of Ms. Minnie’s relatives in upstate New York. And Hadiah is having a sleepover with her friend, so you’ll be here by yourself for a while.”

  “You’re working late?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we need the money so I may pull a double.”

  “Oh.” I frowned. I’m sure I’ll be great company for myself.

  “Are you still upset?” my mother asked me, opening my door completely. “I had to tell the police something, Zsa. I know you may not understand it now, but when you become a mother I promise you will.”

  “As long as you know I’m not getting involved with anything. I don’t want to press charges and I’m tired of talking about it—”

  “No, you’d rather run from it. But you know what? Like Kenneth said, I need to give you enough space to be yourself.”

  “Kenneth? Why are you still seeing this man? You really don’t get it, do you? We don’t like him, we will never accept him. And don’t talk about my business with him! What’s next? You coming home to announce that he’s your husband?”

  “Look,” my mother said sternly, “I will not have you speaking to me like this. All of that energy you need to save for Ameen.”

  “Oh, that’s great advice.” I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “How understanding of you.”

  “Zsa”—my mother gave a heavy sigh—“I can’t continue to do this with you. You are old enough to understand that I am a woman as well as your mother. I’m sorry about the way I brought Kenneth into your life. That’s why I didn’t invite him back over here. So for the introduction I will apologize for the way I did that. But for wanting someone in my life, for wanting Kenneth in my life, I will not apologize for that.”

  “Whatever, Ma, I’m not beat for it. I’m cold on it anyway. Do you.”

  “I don’t know what any of that means.�
�� She arched her eyebrows to let me know she wasn’t asking for a translation. “But I think if you stopped being so resistant and started going to counseling with me—”

  “You go to counseling now?” I couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes. After that meeting I realized that I needed to deal with some things. And hopefully it will help you too.”

  “Please. Me and counseling. Not. I am not crazy.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, I don’t want to discuss it, and please don’t bring up that sad behind and pathetic group again.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” she snapped. “This conversation is finished. I have to go. Love you and goodbye.” She walked away from my doorway and a few seconds later I heard the front door close behind her.

  Heck with it. I walked over to the mirror, and as I looked at the fading bruises on my face the doorbell rang.

  “Ma,” I said, walking toward the front door, “you forgot your keys?”

  “I am nobody’s mama!” That was Courtney, and he was screaming from behind the door like a fool. I opened the door and Courtney continued, “Just because I wanna be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader when I grow up doesn’t make me somebody’s mother.”

  “Courtney, please,” Asha said as she and Samaad walked behind Courtney. They carried three Pathmark bags and balloons.

  “What’s in the bags?” I said smiling, happy to see my friends. “And what’s with the balloons?”

  “Food,” Samaad said as if he were exhausted.

  “And streamers.” Courtney smacked his lips. “And let’s not forget the sparkling cider, girlfriend.” Courtney swung his hot pink boa to the back of his shoulder with one hand and swung the bottle with the other. “We need to celebrate.”

  “What are we celebrating?” I asked, confused.

  “You,” Asha said. “We love you.”

  “We sure do.”

  Courtney smacked his lips. “And we noticed that you hadn’t been yourself since all of this stuff jumped off. So we decided to throw a party.” Courtney sang, “This way we can blame it on the trone that got you in a zone and not Ameen like to beat womeen—Oh, wait,” Courtney said, as if he had just realized what he was singing. “I was just trying to rhyme. My fault. Bad Courtney.” He slapped himself in the mouth. “Bad—bad—Courtney.”