We do so much tearing down, and not enough praising. So, I'll start. Black woman, you're simply amazing...
Summer, Raychelle, and Tiffany have always been there for one another. Throughout all of the lies, hurt, and pain they've experienced from the men in their lives, they've always been able to count on one another. One tragic event tears the sacred bond of trust that the sisters share. Now they have to try and get it back before it's gone forever. Time waits for no one or anything. Not even a sister's love. Black Woman You Are...
Black Woman You Are
By Jerald HowardAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Jerald Howard
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4685-2884-8Chapter One
Beaten
Tiffany Diana Winters
I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock blaring as loudly as the volume will allow it to. I actually feel pretty rested considering the nightmare that was last night. If only it could have been a dream. The disaster of a room I'm looking at is probably the smallest reminder of how real last night was. Once again, my less than perfect love life knocks me down. Once again, I'm going to try my hardest to get back up.
I decide to first hit up the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. This headache that I have will no doubt escalate into a migraine if left untreated. The mirror to my medicine cabinet is the biggest reminder of how real last night was. Today, every mirror I look into and every person who looks at me will be a reminder of how real last night was. I'm not going to be able to stand looking at myself today, and I'm not going to be able to stand the way people will be looking at me today.
I let out a tired sigh as I stare into the mirror at the blue and black circle surrounding my eye.
"Just another night in paradise," I mumble to myself as I pop two Excedrin into my mouth.
I sigh again as I fill the glass on my bathroom sink with water. Not only do I have a killer headache and a busted eye, I have to swallow pills on top of it. I hate swallowing pills. I bring the glass to my lips and swallow some of the water. I gag on the pills, but somehow they still make it down. Hopefully, relief from the pounding will come soon.
I make my way to the kitchen and carefully tip-toe over the broken glass that I attempted to hit him with. I open the freezer and grab a bag of frozen peas to place over my eye, hoping it will help with the swelling. In the movies, I've only seen this done with a steak, but hopefully bagged vegetables will work just as well.
With my peas to my eye, I sit at the kitchen table in shock. I try to process this disaster of an apartment I live inside, and I try to process this disaster of a life I'm living. Well, I guess my life isn't too bad, but my love life ... it's a complete disaster. God knows I wish I could have a do over for last night. If I could, things never would have escalated to the point that they did. But of course, this is my life and things always seem to spiral out of control. So here I sit bruised, battered, and beaten as if my name were Tina Turner, but without the money. Fug. What's love got to do with it? Everything. I want love and everything that should come with it. I want a caring husband, a pretty little girl, a handsome little boy, a ...
My thoughts are interrupted by my personalized ring tone for him. I look towards my bedroom, contemplating if I should even answer my cell phone right now. I get up and take my time as I make my way back to my bedroom, hoping that I'll be too late to answer and the voicemail will pick up. The phone stops ringing, but just as quickly as it stops, it starts ringing again. I probably shouldn't answer it right now, but I have to. Besides, if I don't, he'll just keep on calling anyway. I might as well get this over with. I press the key to answer and place the phone to my ear. Before I say anything, his voice is in my ear.
"Are you okay, baby?" he asks in a tone that sounds like that of a child who just got caught doing something they had no right doing.
Sarcastically, I respond, "Oh, I'm just great! I have a headache that I went to bed with, woke up with, and more than likely will go to bed with again tonight. I have a black and blue eye that won't be completely healed for at least a week, and now I'm talking to you ... the cause of it all. I'm just fuggin' great! How are you? How are you feeling today?"
"Baby, I'm sooo sorry that I did that to you. I don't know what came over me, baby. I just snapped. I –"
"Listen, you," I say, interrupting, "I'm done." My voice and attitude are as cold as the bag of peas that is beginning to become very uncomfortable against my face. The discomfort just makes me even more irritable. I say, "This isn't for me. You aren't for me. I deserve better and I will have better. I thought we could make this work, but last night helped me realize my worth. I've given you chance after chance on so many different occasions, but you only get one chance to put your hands on me. I've allowed you to indirectly put my life at risk with all of your cheating. I was dumb for that. But when you hit me, the risk went from indirect to direct. Thank you for knocking some sense into me. I am dumb no more and I don't want you anymore!"
"Are you done yet?"
"Excuse me?!"
"You heard me. Are you done with your women's right empowerment and movement speech? If you are, then maybe we can talk about last night."
"You know something, you're just dumb. I am done. I am soooo done with you."
I press the end button on the phone, and hold it down until my thumb hurts. Once I'm sure that the phone has powered off, I set it on my dresser. I couldn't deal with the begging, pleading, and eventual nasty attitude that were sure to have come had I stayed on the phone with him. I take a deep breath in and let it slowly escape. I'm too young for this. There's nothing else to say, but a lot to do. It's time to clean.
After an hour of cleaning, I feel a little better about my surroundings. I still have the bedroom to clean, but knowing I can walk anyplace else without having to risk cutting my foot open is a good thing. I walk into my room and wish another room was mine. If another room were, I'd just let this one stay this way. It's going to take me longer to clean this one room than it did all the others together. Fug!
I scramble through the piles of clothes, trying to decide what's clean and what's dirty. I manage to piece together an outfit that will be suitable for my day at work. Other than my undershirt, which I'm almost sure I wore earlier in the week, everything else has been washed. I bring the undershirt to my nose and sniff. It passes the "sniff test". I grab my good bra, a pair of boy shorts, and I make my way to the shower.
Inside of my bathroom, I make sure to avoid looking into my mirror. The level of depression I'm experiencing is great enough as is without me seeing my eye. Looking into the mirror at this moment will send me over the edge. I'll take care of my eye after everything else is done. It's going to take a lot of work to cover up the damage, but I'll get it done.
I quickly wash and jump out of the shower. No time for pampering today. I've got to get out of this apartment asap. When I first stepped foot in this place, I was so proud to call it home. Now, not even a year later, it's become my own personal hell.
Naked, I plop down on my bed and begin my daily routine ... lotion, oil, powder, and body spray. I perform a self breast-examination, and once I'm okay with the way everything feels, I grab my bra from the bed. I spent sixty-five dollars for this Victoria's Secret bra and I absolutely hate it. It's so uncomfortable, but I'm in dire need of ways to take the attention off of the bruise that circles my eye. I need a little push-up action today. By overcompensating on my breasts, the attention paid to them should take away from the attention paid to my face. I snap my bra on and magically, my medium "B" cup instantly turns into a small "D" ... just one of the many tricks women have to keep a man's eye on our body. I layer my...
