with his last words being, “Have some food for dinner, bitch.” And he would leave in a hurry.
I didn’t know what to do next in my life. I tried to get back in school, but I would have had to go through social services and apply for child-care benefits. I just didn’t want to go through that hassle again. They would require all kinds of paperwork and start dates and contracts and I didn’t want to deal with all of that. I wasn’t too good with paperwork. Besides, it was depressing going through the social services system. I felt those people’s eyes were looking down on me. Their eyes said, You are a project girl. You are not going to do anything with your life. I didn’t have any other options, but something in me just wouldn’t allow me to go back in there and face their looks anymore. I was beginning to feel hopeless. I no longer wanted to wake up in the same life that I went to sleep in. I wanted to wake up as someone else and be somewhere else. I just had to figure out who and where I wanted to be and how I would get there.
B. and I had one last fight. Of course, we were fighting over money. When he asked for my money I said no. I told him that I was standing up for myself and for our child. This time, he knocked me out with his fist. This time he went to jail.
I wasn’t going to call the police because I didn’t want him to get in trouble. It was just a “love lick,” and as much as it hurt, my ego mostly, I still loved him. When B. angrily left the apartment, I immediately called my mother. My eye was swelling and blackening. My lip was busted and bleeding badly. My mother came over and called the police. My mother made me tell the police what B. had done to me, just like she did for me when that guy raped me. She is always the person who defends me, even when I won’t defend myself.
A few hours later, B. went to the police department and turned himself in. Zion and I left our apartment and went to stay with my mama.
Mama had finally left my father and gotten her own apartment in Greensboro, a neighboring city that was only fifteen minutes away. Despite my father telling Mama that she was “useless” and “could never make it without him,” she was actually living on her own. My father said that she couldn’t do it, and she needed to prove him wrong. My mother found a job at a nursing home that was within walking distance from her apartment. She had no car, so she walked to work every single day.
The day after I arrived at my mama’s, I was sitting in the apartment when my little brother came in, looked at my battered face, and said with a child’s enthusiasm, “He messed you up!” He had a look on his face that I had never seen before. I jumped up, looked in the mirror, and crumbled at the sight. I was so ugly. My hair needed to be done. My eye was black and swollen. My lip was blue and black with trickles of blood crusted in the corners. I looked at myself and said out loud, “This ain’t Fantasia! This life ain’t for me! I ain’t supposed to be like this!” My life was messed up. “I have to raise up and respect myself.” I looked at Zion. She was so little and she was giving me these looks that were saying, Mama, you disgust me.
I didn’t want Zion ever to see me letting a man treat me that way again. My baby wasn’t going to go through it, too. My change finally was occurring. Sometimes for a change to hit you, it just takes looking in the mirror and saying what you really mean out loud.
B. was only in jail for two days. I called him when he got out and said it plain: “We have to let this relationship go or we are going to kill each other.” He agreed and never came around or did anything again for Zion. When I would get weak and call him, he would hang up. He did nothing to help us. Nothing. I guess that’s what finally gave me the eyes that I needed to see him.
Now I could see that I was in need of a better life. A couple of months after my relationship with B.
I didn’t know what to do next in my life. I tried to get back in school, but I would have had to go through social services and apply for child-care benefits. I just didn’t want to go through that hassle again. They would require all kinds of paperwork and start dates and contracts and I didn’t want to deal with all of that. I wasn’t too good with paperwork. Besides, it was depressing going through the social services system. I felt those people’s eyes were looking down on me. Their eyes said, You are a project girl. You are not going to do anything with your life. I didn’t have any other options, but something in me just wouldn’t allow me to go back in there and face their looks anymore. I was beginning to feel hopeless. I no longer wanted to wake up in the same life that I went to sleep in. I wanted to wake up as someone else and be somewhere else. I just had to figure out who and where I wanted to be and how I would get there.
B. and I had one last fight. Of course, we were fighting over money. When he asked for my money I said no. I told him that I was standing up for myself and for our child. This time, he knocked me out with his fist. This time he went to jail.
I wasn’t going to call the police because I didn’t want him to get in trouble. It was just a “love lick,” and as much as it hurt, my ego mostly, I still loved him. When B. angrily left the apartment, I immediately called my mother. My eye was swelling and blackening. My lip was busted and bleeding badly. My mother came over and called the police. My mother made me tell the police what B. had done to me, just like she did for me when that guy raped me. She is always the person who defends me, even when I won’t defend myself.
A few hours later, B. went to the police department and turned himself in. Zion and I left our apartment and went to stay with my mama.
Mama had finally left my father and gotten her own apartment in Greensboro, a neighboring city that was only fifteen minutes away. Despite my father telling Mama that she was “useless” and “could never make it without him,” she was actually living on her own. My father said that she couldn’t do it, and she needed to prove him wrong. My mother found a job at a nursing home that was within walking distance from her apartment. She had no car, so she walked to work every single day.
The day after I arrived at my mama’s, I was sitting in the apartment when my little brother came in, looked at my battered face, and said with a child’s enthusiasm, “He messed you up!” He had a look on his face that I had never seen before. I jumped up, looked in the mirror, and crumbled at the sight. I was so ugly. My hair needed to be done. My eye was black and swollen. My lip was blue and black with trickles of blood crusted in the corners. I looked at myself and said out loud, “This ain’t Fantasia! This life ain’t for me! I ain’t supposed to be like this!” My life was messed up. “I have to raise up and respect myself.” I looked at Zion. She was so little and she was giving me these looks that were saying, Mama, you disgust me.
I didn’t want Zion ever to see me letting a man treat me that way again. My baby wasn’t going to go through it, too. My change finally was occurring. Sometimes for a change to hit you, it just takes looking in the mirror and saying what you really mean out loud.
B. was only in jail for two days. I called him when he got out and said it plain: “We have to let this relationship go or we are going to kill each other.” He agreed and never came around or did anything again for Zion. When I would get weak and call him, he would hang up. He did nothing to help us. Nothing. I guess that’s what finally gave me the eyes that I needed to see him.
Now I could see that I was in need of a better life. A couple of months after my relationship with B.
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