Girls From da Hood 9

by Amaleka McCall

  I walked into my new room and looked around. There were dolls, stuffed animals, my very own TV, and a selection of DVDs. I pulled back my purple curtain and peeped out the blinds. I noticed the farm filled with all sorts of animals. I didn’t even notice it when we first pulled up in the driveway. I took off my clothes and put on the overalls Mrs. Miller had laid out for me. A few minutes later she knocked on the door.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  I didn’t respond. I just followed her on to the barnyard.

  Not only did we milk the cows and feed the chickens, I also collected their eggs and fed the pigs.

  “A week ago, some piglets were just born. They were so cute,” Mrs. Miller told us as we fed the pigs. As we worked she told us funny stories of her growing up on the farm. Before you knew it, we were done.

  “You ladies, go get washed up for dinner,” Mrs. Miller instructed us.

  She had prepared tender roast beef with gravy, baby carrots, and melt-in-your-mouth mashed potatoes. The rolls were so buttery that I wanted another one but didn’t ask. I didn’t want her to think I was greedy. I had a great day. Helping out on the farm made me feel like I had done something good. As we were eating the front door opened.

  “Hello, everybody,” a man said.

  My heart was beating so fast. I wasted no time jumping from the table and running upstairs into the room I was to call my own. I hid in the closet and quickly closed the door.

  “Angela, come out,” Betty instructed.

  “No,” I yelled from behind the closet door.

  “Please, honey, he won’t hurt you. George is my husband. I’ve been married to him for over twenty years. He has a gentle soul,” Mrs. Miller pleaded.

  “All men will hurt me. That’s all they want to do!” I shouted between cries. When I called her Mrs. Miller, it didn’t occur to me till then that the title “Mrs.” was an indication she was married.

  The trio left the room and I cried myself to sleep. It felt like hours had passed. I woke up to them whispering outside of my bedroom door.

  “Joyce, maybe this isn’t a good idea. This girl may be damaged beyond what we can do to help. I didn’t retire to deal with this,” George stated.

  “No, we’re doing the right thing. Angela needs us. She needs love. Honey, you had to have known there was going to be some resistance at first,” Mrs. Miller explained.

  “She’s right,” Betty said.

  “I hope this works,” George said before opening the door. None of them came into the room. I cracked open the closet door. A teacup yorkie came running my way. I opened the door all the way. The dog started licking me.

  “Did you have an enjoyable nap?” Betty asked.

  “Yes. What’s the dog’s name?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Angela, you will have to decide that. She is all yours,” George said.

  “With that doggie comes responsibility,” Mrs. Miller urged.

  “By the way, it’s a girl,” Betty added.

  “I will pick up after her. I promise,” I said, holding my new puppy in my arms. “I will call her Fera.”

  I was starting to think maybe living with the Millers wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  As the days passed, I grew pretty fond of my new family. Before long it was time for Betty to part. She stayed over a week before she headed back home. I overheard her on the phone telling her sister that she used her vacation days to stay with me. I was grateful someone was finally starting to care about me.

  Chapter 4

  Self-discovery

  “So, tell me, how was your first day of high school?” Joyce eagerly asked me as I walked into the kitchen to grab an apple.

  “I made a lot of friends,” I said, smiling. I was attending Nansemond River High School in the ninth grade. This was my first day in high school. For the first time ever, I was properly prepared for school. Instead of being an outcast, I fit in with every other teenage girl in the school.

  “Glad to hear it. What about your studies? Do you like your teachers?”

  “I’ve got plenty of homework. I need . . .”

  “Honey, I already picked up your school supplies. I know the school said wait until the first day, but I wanted you to be ready and prepared for the enormous amount of homework those teachers give to you,” she said. We both started laughing.

  “Joyce, thank you for everything,” I expressed before Fera ran up to me, wanting me to pick her up.

  “You’re welcome,” she said as her eyes filled with tears.

  “What’s wrong? I didn’t want you crying. This is a happy time,” I said as I wrapped my arms around Joyce.

  “No, it’s not you. With everything you have been through, I’ve seen a positive change in such a short time. I’m happy to be a part of it. Angela, this is the fresh beginning of the rest of your life,” she announced.

  “Yes.” I nodded. I gave her a hug.

  “Here,” she said, handing me a cell phone, laptop, and a printer. My eyes started to get bigger.

  “Child, you need a cell phone for emergencies. Typewriters are outdated. You need this laptop for your homework. When I ran out to the bank this morning, I drove by Best Buy. A sale was going on and there you have it.”

  “Thank you,” I said, smiling.

  “Hush up, now, Fera. Angela has to do her homework. You’re coming outside to the barn with me,” Joyce said to Fera, who was constantly barking for attention.

  “I don’t mind working in the barn for an hour or so. Besides, it’s therapeutic to me. During lunch, I got half of my homework done,” I offered.

  “Okay, I will meet you there in a few minutes,” she said, carrying Fera with her. She loved that dog just as much as me.

  I went to my room and set up my laptop and printer on my wooden desk. Then I plugged up my new iPhone to the charger. I threw on my overalls and boots and headed to the barn to meet Joyce.

  It didn’t take long for us to finish up our work in the barn and get dinner prepared. By the time we were setting the table, George walked in from work.

  “Joyce, please stop feeding that dog rib eye steak. You’re going to kill her before she reaches two,” George commented as he headed toward his seat at the dinner table.

  I laughed. At times, these two were comical. Most of all, I saw the love they had for one another. I didn’t remember my father and my mother never spoke of him. The times when I did work up the nerve to ask her, she smacked me across the face. She told me I was messing up her fun time. But I knew what she really meant was I was blowing her high with my questions. I never could understand what was so terrible about my father, who was so disturbing for her to even discuss.

  After eating dinner I helped Joyce clear the table, and washed dishes; then I headed to my room. I turned on the radio and stumbled upon the group called TLC. Their song “Waterfalls” was playing. Meanwhile, I grabbed my laptop and hopped in the bed, researching a Web site that could potentially help a person locate any known relatives in the United States. I had always been curious about who my family was. My mother, with her evil ways, purposely left so many unanswered questions about our family and her past.

  With an unsuccessful attempt at trying to find a known relative, I quit researching. The singer R. Kelly’s song called “Your Body’s Callin’” began to play on the radio. I began to surf some pornography sites. It was my secret addiction. I slid my hands beneath the covers and into my panties to massage my clit. It gave me a feeling that I’d never experienced before. My head fell back onto my pillow as I moved my pelvis in motion with fingers around my clit.

  “You ready for bed?” Joyce asked, nearly scaring me to death. After knocking on my bedroom door she entered before I could say to come in.

  Lucky for me, my hands were hidden beneath the covers. “Almost. I’m doing a few review questions for my biology test tomorrow,” I lied. “By the way, tomorrow will you take me to get a library card? I was looking online earlier at a few books that I would like to r
ead,” I continued.

  “Sure, let’s go right after you get off the bus,” she agreed.

  “Good night,” I said.

  “Sleep well. You’re going to strike an A-plus on that biology test tomorrow,” Joyce said, then exited the room.

  I got out the bed and went to the bathroom to get prepared for a night’s sleep. As I brushed my teeth the images of the pornography site and me touching myself kept plaguing my thoughts. I tried to shake it as I turned on the shower and hopped in. But as I washed my body the temptation became so overwhelming. I could no longer control myself. I propped one leg on the side of the tub and began to massage my clit just as I’d seen the woman on the porno Web site perform with pleasure. The more I rubbed it, the better it felt. It got so extreme that I got a sudden euphoric rush all over my body. It was a feeling I’d never felt before. I was paralyzed in bliss. I took a few deep breaths as I gathered myself. As I washed up, I was starting to feel ashamed of what I’d done. It was a horrible act. Sex was terrible in my book. How could I actually enjoy something like that when I’d been raped so many times? I began fighting with myself. The timid little girl in me cried uncontrollably, the horny whore in me wanted more, and I hated that it happened. My mind was spinning and I felt like I was losing control.

  I grabbed my razor and began to slice my thigh over and over again. The sight of the blood made all the noise stop. There were no more voices in my head. The little girl was gone, the whore was gone; it was only me. I rinsed the blood from my leg and watched as the bloody lather went down the drain. Then I got out of the shower and put on my nightclothes and went to bed. It didn’t take long before I dosed off to sleep.

  It seemed as soon as I’d gotten into a deep sleep a noise coming from the living room woke me up. I opened my door with Fera in my arms. George had a golf club in his hand and motioned for me to be quiet. My heart started racing as I watched him quietly creep down the stairs. I went to see if Joyce was okay. She was hiding in a corner of her bedroom. I gave Fera to her.

  “Get the hell out of my house,” George commanded someone.

  I rushed downstairs to grab a knife out of the kitchen. Neither George nor the burglar dressed in black noticed me. I stood in a dark corner as I watched George hit the burglar across the back with the golf club. The burglar went down but got back up. George swung again with all his might but his next hit missed the burglar by a hair and landed the golf club on the hardwood floor instead. The burglar rushed George and they both tussled on the ground. That’s when I noticed the burglar had a gun. He hit George in the face with the butt of his gun.

  Without thinking I approached the burglar from behind, pulled back his head, and sliced him in the face with the butcher knife. I caught him right above his eyes. A few more milliliters and he’d been sliced from eye to eye. Blood instantly began to stream down his face. He yelled out in pain and struggled to his feet but he couldn’t see past the constant flow of blood. I picked up a lamp and started hammering down on the burglar’s head. I kept hitting him over and over again. George, Joyce, and Fera were my family. No one was taking them away from me!

  “Angela, stop,” Joyce begged as I continued to hit the burglar over and over again. By this time, the police had arrived. The police officer had to pry the lamp out of my hand.

  The paramedics took George to the hospital. He only had a concussion, but the burglar wasn’t so lucky. He was pronounced dead on arrival. My countless blows to the head had killed him. Once again, with my help, justice had been served. The police had been looking for that burglar for months. He had robbed at least ten other homes. I was cleared of any charges. The police immediately ruled it self-defense. Once again, this rush of adrenaline came over me so much I believed I could have lifted a car up. The feeling was so powerful and I craved more of it.

  The next day, Joyce had a security system installed in the house. We never spoke of that night. I made it clear that I couldn’t talk about it.

  Chapter 5

  Life Moving On

  Four years had passed since I moved in with Joyce and George and I turned into what our fucked-up society would call “the pretty little girl next door.” Joyce and George were so proud of me making honor roll every year, but they didn’t know it was because I’d screwed just as many people as I made A’s. Although I was labeled as the perfect kid, there were times I felt another person would take over my body and lead me into a sexual tantrum. Then, there were those times when I felt like a little child, afraid and alone. Nevertheless, I managed to flourish into a young adult and keep my peculiar behavior under wraps. At one point, I thought my parents had caught on to me. Out of nowhere one day, Joyce and George came to me and said they thought it would be a good idea for me to speak with a counselor about my past. Although I was reluctant, I agreed just to please them. I overheard Joyce explaining to George that she didn’t want my messed-up childhood to affect my adulthood. I knew Joyce was genuinely concerned about my well-being so I met with the counselor as she instructed.

  I walked downstairs and into the living room. Joyce was in the rocking chair with Fera in her lap, humming a song. Throughout the years she did this at times, always looking at a picture hanging on the wall. Once I asked who he was and she replied, “A younger version of George.” I never asked again.

  “Call me after your session. I want to know if you’re going to feel comfortable with this counselor,” she instructed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied, giving her a hug and then petting Fera on her head.

  On my first visit, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I had already decided I would not tell her about my sexual cravings or my self-induced torture afterward. I’d cut myself so much that I could not wear short skirts or shorts without using Dermablend concealer to cover my scars. Surprising enough, my first session with my counselor was a piece of cake. From that point on I had no worries. I met with my counselor once a week.

  My sessions with her consisted of conversations about my anger, bitterness, resentment, and pain. She had classified me as having severe anxiety when I felt as though my life was threatened. Funny thing was, even after all those sessions I still had not forgiven my mother for what she did to me. What mother would allow their child to live through recurring torment? The things my mother said and did to me constantly haunted my mind. I could remember telling Joyce that I didn’t know how to forgive. I never asked to be born. Many times I felt I was better off being left at the front entrance of any hospital than raised by my mother. Anytime Joyce thought I was feeling down she continued to let me know that God had a plan for me and I was here for a reason. Even though I still hadn’t decided whether I truly trusted and believed this “God” most people seemed to worship, I accepted what Joyce said.

  When the night of my eleventh-grade ring dance arrived, Joyce was more excited than I was. That night, I realized that I rejuvenated Joyce’s life. Before I arrived she had all the complaints of old age: forgetfulness, fatigue, aches, pain. With my companionship, she had a vibrant glow and was lively like a young adult. Fera and I kept her busy.

  While Joyce thought of how exquisite I would looked dressed like a young queen of Jordan, I rehearsed in my mind all the different sexual tricks I was gonna do later into the night. Joyce bought me the dress three months prior to the date of the ring dance. She was definitely a planner and always taught me to start early and never be late for nothing.

  “Close your eyes,” Joyce suggested after she entered into my room.

  “What is it? Do I have a bug on me or something?” I asked.

  “Child, hush up. You look just like—”

  “Like who?” I asked, cutting her off.

  “Umm, the cartoon character from the Disney movie, The Princess and the Frog. Green is definitely your color. You’re truly a queen in the making. Tonight is your night, so, Angela, please enjoy it.”

  “All right.” I nodded my head.

  “Now, you have made me lose my train of thought. Back to what I was s
aying: close your eyes, for the second time,” Joyce instructed.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, you can open your eyes.” After I opened my eyes, George came in with Fera dressed in a dog version of my dress. She looked so cute as she rushed toward me and hopped into my arms. In her mouth was a key.

  “Go ahead, grab the key, baby,” George said.

  “What’s this key for?”

  “Think about it,” Joyce said, grinning.

  Immediately, I started screaming. “Where is it?” I yelled, full of excitement.

  “In the garage,” George said.

  They followed me as I ran full speed down the stairs. Inside the garage was a brand new Toyota Corolla. I literally jumped with joy.

  “Thank you so much,” I said, giving them both hugs.

  “You’re welcome,” Joyce said.

  “No more carpooling with Julie and Becca,” I said.

  “Plus, you can go to the store, bank, and run all my other errands for me. I’m getting too old to run the streets all the time,” Joyce added and we began laughing.

  “I need to finish getting ready. Karl will be here in less than twenty minutes,” I said, then headed back to my room.

  Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang. George greeted Karl at the door. Then, he led him into the living room. Seconds later, I made a grand entrance. All eyes were on me as I came down the stairs. I took my time walking in the four-inch heels I had on. I wasn’t accustomed to walking in heels, plus Joyce was nearly blinding me with the constant flash of her camera. She was worse than the paparazzi.

  “Just a few more pictures,” Joyce said as we continued to hear the sound of her flash from the camera. She had old-school cameras and refused to upgrade.

  My mouth was beginning to get sore from smiling so much. I was used to sore cheeks from giving head but holding a constant smile triggered some serious pain. It’s unreal what a male will do for just a little bit of head.