Guarded Hearts

by L. A. Corvill

  formatted by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs

  Never guard your heart to the things that you truly love. Even if there’s pain along the way.

  This is for my nieces, dream big…

  -Love Tia Leli

  p.s. Also to Aimee aka A, glad I was able to do this with you

  This is for my husband, LeRoy, our love is crazy, thank you for loving me.

  To my kids, Brianna, Dylan and Mia, I love you and never give up on your dreams.

  To Leli, regardless of all our hardships we refuse to sink.

  -Love Always Aimee

  Death doesn’t give you a warning. It doesn’t send you an email or an alert letting you know that it’s coming for you. It doesn’t care if you’re old, young, rich, poor, male or female. When it reaches you it destroys you and grief consumes you. It doesn’t ask for permission to take a loved one. In the blink of an eye it shatters dreams and changes lives forever. Coldness enters your body like the ocean mist that sweeps the land. Sometimes it doesn’t go away even when the sun shines its brightest. If I had received any signal that my best friend was going to die, I would have done everything within my power to stop it.

  Kevin Skylar Addams

  January 8, 1993 – May 30, 2010

  Beloved Son and Brother

  May God Embrace you in His Arms for Eternity

  As I sit here and read the gravestone, I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that he is not here beside me anymore. When I woke up at the hospital, my mother told me Sky had died. I didn’t even shed a tear, because I didn’t accept it then and I sure don’t accept it now. Why God? Why him and not me? I was the one that was supposed to be driving that night. I was the one that brought the alcohol and drugs. I’m the bad guy, the reckless one. No matter how many times I screamed up at God, I never got an answer. It seems unreal to me that after all the fucked up shit I pulled, I’m the one walking away. I’m sorry, Sky, for not being the friend and brother you deserved. I’m sorry for not being the one that let you off the hook. Instead I persuaded you into doing all the dumb stunts I could come up with. You used to say I was born a leader. I wish I hadn’t led you into this. The guilt of this consumes every thought, every emotion that courses through my body. People say that it was an unavoidable accident, because when it’s your time it’s your time, but I know the truth.

  Sky’s death will always be the only mistake I cannot correct with my parent’s money.

  Why is it that when you are about to go through a major life change, you start thinking about specific moments in your past? Like right now that my life is about to make a 360, I am thinking about my mother. I am thinking about how love and hate became her only purpose in life; the love for herself and her hate towards me, a hate that shaped my life in the best and worst possible ways. I learned that you don’t need love to live your life, but you need love to see the light in life.

  Mi mama came to the United States illegally when she was around fifteen years old to chase the American Dream; to work and make enough money to help out her family of ten back in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico. Through life-changing circumstances she came to live in one of the largest cities in Texas, Houston, where she found the only job that would hire an illegal immigrant; a maid to a wealthy family. She loved where she worked. She had never seen so much grandeur and luxury. It was a place where her dreams and aspirations became a reality until they were shattered by the couple’s son, my father.

  In her young naïve mind, she gave her heart to a privileged young man who showed her in those few stolen moments what dreams were built on. But he also had dreams and aspirations of his own, which didn’t included marrying the help, and especially becoming a father at an age when he was still sowing his wild oats. The rich didn’t marry the help. The help didn’t get a 1.5 carat ring or a castle, they got a brass ring full of keys and, if lucky, Sunday’s off.

  So to say that my mother became bitter due to my father knocking her up at eighteen and not giving a shit was an understatement. She cried and threatened my father until his parents threatened her with deportation. She stopped her raging then only because she couldn’t go back home in disgrace since her parents were very religious and set in their old ways. She knew they would never accept her back while pregnant, and she had already tasted the American life.

  Homeless, pregnant, and alone, she ended up in a poor trailer park where other illegal immigrants were housed. She rented a small two bedroom trailer that had seen better days, where she thought she was only going to be there until she gave birth, but she became acquainted with all the vices America had to offer. And her pit stop became her cage.

  Once I was born I became her punching bag, her outlet to all the grief, hurt and anger towards my father and his family. She hated looking at me, hated that I reminded her of him, of his contempt. She believed getting pregnant would trap him into becoming hers, and that she would get her Cinderella-like happily ever after. It did the opposite; it pushed him away from her, so she regretted not having an abortion when the chance presented itself. She had assumed that once my father held me in his arms he would want us to become a family, but something that her naïve mind didn’t get was that she was one of many.

  During my infancy, her physical and verbal abuse became a norm in our house. She never missed an opportunity to hit me or curse at me, never once considering that I was her child, that I needed a mother’s love to nurture, and the warmth of a home. I was a child afraid of the one person that was supposed to guide me in life, the one to protect me from monsters in the dark, not become one of them. There were no rainbows or unicorns in my house, no cookie baking nights like the ones I saw at Mandy’s house, because I was nothing but an unwanted bastarda. She never cared if I was cold, hungry or scared. All she cared about was her next fix. As I got older, her drunken rages became worse, and the only thing that I had was Mandy, my best friend in the whole world, to help me through the darkest days. She gave me hope on the days where there was no food or light. When the parade of men passing through my mother’s thighs started wandering towards me, she gave me a place to stay. My mother blamed me for that too.

  As I got older, the harshness of my world, the neglect and the starvation, was what gave me the push that I needed to get out of there. I closed off my heart for protection. I just knew that I couldn’t let her destroy that, too. I was not going to become a victim of circumstance. I was going to prove that I could be more than the trailer park’s whore bastard daughter. My sole goal was to get out of the trailer park and never become my mother, never letting a man rule my life. When I was small I was scared of her; now I pitied her drunken, addicted ass because I knew I would be able to get out of this poverty stricken cage, somewhere where she was happy to be. Emotions had no place in my life.

  I was around four years old the last time I cried. I had fallen outside my friend Mandy’s house. I scrapped my knee and the blood was running down my legs and onto my new socks. I didn’t cry from the pain; I cried because my mother was going to be so upset that I ruined my new socks. She was either going to spank me or put me to bed without dinner. Mandy’s mom picked me up and sat me on her lap while she sent Jenny to get a wet paper towel and some band-aids. She told me to stop crying, that she knew it was going to sting, but it was going to feel better in a bit. She hugged me tight and cuddled me while we waited. I had never felt that kind of warmth before; my mother never hugged me and she certainly never cuddled me. Those were the best three minutes of my life, it felt so nice that I didn’t care if I went to bed without dinner for a whole week or got spanked.

  “Olivia! Where are you? Aye wuerca,” I heard my mother yell from the front yard. Mrs. Scott was just putting on my band-aid when my mother knocked on the door.

  “Vicki,
she’s here. She just fell and scraped her knee, but she is okay now,” Mrs. Scott told my mother. As she set me on the floor she kissed my head, I cried some more, but it was happy tears this time. Mandy was so lucky.

  “Well, thank you, Barbara, for taking care of my pumpkin,” she replied with her fake smile.

  She extended her hand towards me so that I could take it, and as soon I did she squeezed it hard and I started crying again, and we started to walk towards our trailer.

  “Olivia, I told you to stop crying. Do you want me to give a reason to cry? Only weak, pathetic people cry. If you keep crying La LLorona will come get you because she will think you are her niña. You won’t want to be taken by her, because even though you are afraid of me I would never kill you like she killed her children, so be grateful to me, bastardita,” she told me.

  I still didn’t know if I should have been grateful or not, because I still hadn’t seen the light in life.

  I hold the letter that I’ve had been waiting for weeks to arrive. I have been on the lookout for the mailman, rain or shine since turning in my application. I couldn’t let my mother get to it first because I know she would’ve destroyed it. I hold the letter tight in my hands, because I don’t want this to be a dream. This is my ticket to freedom. I can feel the elation running through my body, the excitement bubbling for release, and I can’t wait to tell Mandy. I just have to sneak out before my mother begins her morning ranting again.

  I slowly peek into her small bedroom, noticing her pasty, nude body spread across her small bed, a scene that doesn’t faze me anymore. I see her chest rise and fall as she takes even breaths. I know she’ll be passed out until later on this afternoon. Every night she heads to the local bar to get fucking drunk and brings home different men, who are as fucked up as she is. I slowly make my way back to my small bedroom, where I remove my pj’s and get dressed. I tip toe down the hallway of our small trailer trying not to wake her. Reaching the door, I open it very slowly and close it just as softly. I begin walking towards Mandy’s trailer across the street where she lives with her mother, sister, and nephews. Her so called father ran off with another woman back when Mandy was four months old. He didn’t feel that having a family was enough to tie him down with one woman, and in that way he was like my papi. The difference between Mandy and I is that her mother actually gives a shit about her. She feeds and bakes these awesome chocolate chip cookies that are to die for, but the best part is that Mrs. Scott actually is interested in every aspect of Mandy’s life, from grades to boys to dreams. She always gives the best advice and warmest hugs. She actually decided that being a mother was something beautiful, can’t say the same thing about my mother.

  I knock on the door and Jenny answers holding a pint of ice cream and biting into a pickle. Gross.

  “Nerdy pants is in her tower,” Jenny smirks.

  I know that there is no love lost between the two Scott sisters; they are as different as night and day. Jenny will open her legs for anyone that is willing; the only thing Mandy opens is her books.

  “Thanks. Hey, when’s the due date?” I ask, and it is not like I care, but I know it is the polite thing to say.

  “I think I still need two months to go.” How can she not know? Isn’t that important information she should know?

  “Well, I hope everything goes well for you,” I state as I continue down the hall. I walk in, and all I see are boxes with books everywhere. To say it is bordering on hoarding is an understatement, but Mandy likes her books, and she couldn’t afford an electronic reader. All her books are from the free pile that the local librarian needs to replace or have served their time.

  “Hey, Dee, what’s up?” I ask as I jump on the bed, the only clear spot in her tiny room.

  “Nothing,” she states gloomily.

  “Are you sure? You sound kind of sad,” I say.

  “It’s just that it’s almost time for me to leave for college and I think I’m already getting homesick,” she proclaims.

  “Seriously, Mandy, I would be jumping for joy and probably would’ve left already to the dorms instead of waiting all summer.”

  “I’m going to miss my mom, Livi. I know you don’t understand that feeling, but I’m even going to miss Jenny and her creatures,” she says. “And most definitely you.”

  I start to laugh, because Jenny’s creatures are in fact her five and three year old boys, Jean and Jet. I have been here when Mandy would babysit when her mother couldn’t and Jenny was around the block. They are hyperactive and loud and don’t know the meaning of clean and non-sticky.

  “So, anyway, I have the best of the greatest news ever… I got in, too!” I exclaim.

  “Holy shit, no way!” She jumps on the bed.

  “Yes way!” We hug each other and continue to jump on the bed, which makes the trailer rock.

  “Hey, lesbos, stop the racket! I could go into labor with all this rocking!” Jenny yells from the living room. She thinks we are lesbians because we don’t have boyfriends, and we’re not interested in having any. All the boys from school think we would put out just because I am the daughter of the town slut and Mandy is the sister to a slut in training. Since I didn’t want to be sixteen and pregnant I concentrated on my studies, which so far have paid off. I am this year’s class Valedictorian and also got a four year scholarship to a university of my choice. I always knew that the ticket out of here would be my hard work. Nobody cares about my dreams and ambitions. If I want to be more than the daughter of the town’s whore I had to study my ass off.

  “And can you guess something even better?” I ask. Mandy looks at me with confusion.

  “There’s more?”

  “Yep. Dean, you know, my sperm donor of a father, decided that even though he has not in any way contributed to my life in all my eighteen years, he is actually proud of my hard work. He decided that he will pick up the rest of my expenses that my scholarship doesn’t pay; food, bus fares and, gets this, clothes. With the condition that I never ever tell anyone that he is my father. He is going to tell his wife that it was a new charity tax deduction thing. I can go to the mall and spend it on a whole new wardrobe. I’m so excited! I know shouldn’t care, but I need to create a new identity. It’s a fresh start, and I need a makeover for that,” I tell her.

  I need to take my place in this world. I want to belong and have clothes that fit, to not have people look at me with pity in their eyes like they do here, especially the teachers. “So as soon as we get the travel arrangements done I’m leaving this shit hole of a trailer park and never coming back. I’ll die first,” I state.

  “Why are you leaving so early? We just started the summer,” Mandy asks.

  “I want to get a feel of the place and see if I can join a sorority. I need to continue to build my resume and the best way is to be in the center of the social network. I need to belong to the most prestigious sorority and have access to all the events and charities. So when I join the corporate world they will see how diverse I am,” I tell her.

  “So when are you leaving?”

  “I think Dean said I could leave in two weeks. I can fly out of Bush International.”

  “You’re flying? My mother bought me a Grey Hound ticket one way, just to make sure I don’t come back after a week.”

  “Well, bye girl. Remember this weekend we are getting our tattoos, and no chickening out,” I tell her. I have been saving for ages from the money I got tutoring the jocks at school.

  “Why are we even getting tattoos? Do you know the statics of getting Hepatitis or some other disease? Ugh, I’m sorry, mijita, but I’m not getting one.” It’s funny when Mandy tries to say Mexican endearments. The little Spanish she knows is what she has learned from me. She might not always know the meaning of what she is saying, but she sure knows how to use them in context.

  “I want us to always have something together, something uniquely ours. You’re the only family I have and I want to brand you.” I’m laughing now because I know how silly this
sounds, but it’s a small piece of me that I’m willing to sacrifice to symbolize our friendship, our sisterhood. “I want to know that there is someone out there that loves me enough to do this with me, something permanent. Please. So what if we get a disease? We will get it together. You will take care of me and I will you.”

  “Okay, promise,” she says, still sounding doubtful. I want something that will remind me of where I never want to be again. Words that will give me the courage to continue to fight for a future. I have spent days on the computer in the library searching for the perfect piece, and then one day I found it. I knew those four words would give me the ability to push further no matter the hardship I might face. They say blood is thicker than water, but in my case that isn’t true. Dee might not share my DNA, but she has been my mother, sister, and friend throughout the years. She is my loudest cheerleader. My world would’ve crumbled a long time ago if not for Dee.

  I packed all my stuff in one hour since I don’t have much. Most of the clothes are staying here since I am going to go shopping as soon as I arrive in South Carolina. I am taking the pictures that Mandy has given me over the years. I only have one picture of my mother, taken before I was born, before she turned into an addict. She was beautiful. When the beatings used to get worse I would take out that picture and remember that she was once beautiful and nice, but more importantly happy. I have not seen her the last couple of days, and even though I want to escape and never come back, I worry about her. What is going to become of her when I leave? Will she care? Or will she get completely lost in the darkness? No, I have to stop thinking about her, because if not I will never leave this cage. I wish my life would have been different, but then I start to think if it would have still led me to this. Being able to get a full ride scholarship to the university I have chosen. But then again I would rather experience being loved.