STRINGS of COLOR
Page 17
I forgave, I survived, and I moved on.
It has been a long journey for me, but finally here I am with something I never thought I would ever have, family.
Yes, we still have our battles to fight and our mountains to climb; I'm not going to lie about that. But, what family doesn't?
In a few months the world will read about my journey. They will see my pain, enter inside my heart, and understand all that I've been through.
I decided to let Jake finish the book about me, only after I gave him a piece of my mind for trying to do it without my consent. In some ways, it has been good therapy for me.
My CD is scheduled to release the same day as the book; I am calling it…For the Love of Jazzmyne. It is dedicated to my Chris.
Next week, Simone and Carl are getting married right here in my home. I suspect that sometime soon, there will be another one.
As I think about my daughter, my son and even my sister, I find sheer happiness and laughter that bounces off my walls and slips joy up into my heart.
It's going to be a better day.
Is the story I heard the other day.
For me, it's no longer a fairytale and finally no longer a dream.
My name is Naya Monà Wesley, the world has called me Jazzmyne but here I am… smiling, living, breathing and thankful, ever so thankful.
Naya placed her pen down and stared at her own words. She let out a long sigh and placed her diary inside the drawer of her nightstand.
That's when her eyes caught site of it. Lying in between the bed and her nightstand was a picture that she had taken from a box she had found in JK's closet many months ago.
Look at me with my high yellow dress on, and that huge pink flower attached to the side of my ponytail. I still remember those shoes. Those white shoes that were covered with pink and yellow polka dots. There is J.K., standing right behind me with a dingy pair of jeans on, a semi-ironed striped shirt and a smile bigger than the sun.
Man, look at my smile. Those were the days. Those were real days. I was seven then, young and still full of innocence.
Thank goodness, I still have these memories.
She opened up the bottom drawer of her nightstand to place the picture inside.
Naya stopped. She felt a slight tremble in her hands. She reached in, pulled it out, and placed it on her lap.
Her fingers slid across the top of it.
She had forgotten all about it, her father's journal.
Naya curled up in her bed and allowed her eyes to follow the pen of the man she once called daddy, the beast, and now—father.
She decided to start from the beginning…..
When I was born, two people stared into my blue eyes; but only one wanted me. It's a hard truth to accept growing up as a boy, but I learned to not only accept it but to live with it.
My mother's name was Sarah Ann Creek and my father's name was Kenneth Creek. I was given the name Jonathan Kenneth Creek, but grew up to prefer being called JK.
Growing up in the midst of both of them, I learned, lived, and experienced the definitions to many things, some things way before I should have.
When I was five years old I learned the definition of the word hate. It's not something a child should ever have for the actions of his mother. A part of me is ashamed to even admit it. When I think about that day, I honestly can't find another word to describe how I felt. I've tried, over and over again.
I remember that it was rather cold on that day. My father had taken me, for the first time, all by himself to the toy store, just him and I. There was no assistant of his rushing me along because they didn't really want to be there. For the first time, I was no different than any other boy going to the toy store, and holding his father's hand.
Eagerness, anticipation, and joy were on my face. Although, I didn't know what any of those words meant at the time, I sure knew how they felt.
Father had been trying to cheer me up. You see, I had been crying for her the night prior. For three years, it seems I had been doing so. You will understand why after I say what I have to say about that day. I need to get this off my chest. It has been like a memory burning inside my head. Where was I? Oh yes, talking about the weather and the toy store.
I remember that my toes had felt like ice cubes as father and I stepped out of the car. I had grabbed his hand and wore the biggest smile on my face. It was a sight worthy of a photographer, I guess. I don't think I smiled like that ever again.
She was sitting across the street in a coffee shop with dark glasses on. I recognized her before he did and called out, "Mama." My father's head turned toward the direction of which my tiny finger pointed as I kept calling out her name. I grasped at my father's hand and I tried to pull him toward her. He wouldn't move.
It seemed like hours had passed by as each of us stood staring at each other that day. I didn't understand why she didn't come to us. I didn't understand why we weren't going to her. I was five years old. A child should never have to explain a situation like that, but here I am doing just that.
I remember my father pulling me into the toy store. I could see the anger on his face and I had wondered if it was toward me, deep down I knew that wasn't the case. We shopped without saying much to each other and when we got ready to leave, I remember staring at the window of the coffee house across the street, hoping she would still be there. She wasn't.
When I caught my father staring in that direction as well and saw a tear fall from the tip of his eyes, it was at that moment that I felt an emotion that, to this day, I wish I had never felt for anyone.
You see, my mother had been gone for three years. She left us because she didn't want me, just him. That I realized was the plain and simple truth.
You (who ever you are reading this) are probably wondering how I remember all of this. As I write this, it was fifteen years ago. I am now twenty.
I will probably never know all the details of what happened between them and, to be honest, I can't remember the day she left all too well. I was around two years old then. I do, however, remember crying. I remember my father always trying to console me, always trying to buy me things. I didn't want things; I wanted her. Doesn't every child? As I sit here looking back on my childhood I wonder if she was ever really there.
Naya closed the book. She leaned her head up against the headboard.
Do I really want to do this?
Five minutes later, she opened it back up again.
"Yes."
The End...
Colors that Bloom
The Journey and Life of JK.
Coming Spring of 2013!
About the Author
Marian L. Thomas
I am a woman, wife, and author who resides in Atlanta by way of Chicago. I gave my heart to a man over fourteen years ago, who has supported me and given me the strength to do what inspires me.
My favorite food is popcorn and pizza, although I admit that I can't rule out chips and salsa when it comes to my favorites list.
I am grateful for my mother. I have a deep love for my sister and I am thankful to my step-father for all his support. He has read all my books.
My friends have kept me grounded.
My dog has showered me with kisses.
“When you feel that you have nothing else, remember that you always have the power of the pen. Make it write for you”