THE
METAMORPHIC
JOURNEY
Section I – The Egg
Naomi’s Flutter
Isabella’s Flutter
Heather’s Flutter
Section II – The Caterpillar
Naomi’s Flutter
Isabella’s Flutter
Heather’s Flutter
Section III – The Chrysalis
Naomi’s Flutter
Isabella’s Flutter
Heather’s Flutter
Section IV – The Butterfly
Naomi’s Flutter
Isabella’s Flutter
Heather’s Flutter
DaNika’s Flutter
The
Metamorphic
Journey
Copyright © 2018 by DaNika Neblett Robinson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
First Edition: September 2018
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: [978-1-54-394919-3]
This book is dedicated to my parents, Larry and Roslyn Neblett,
for believing in me when it
seemed the odds were
stacked against me.
Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over,
it became a butterfly.
Author Unknown
Preface
From the day you were born until the day you die, you will undergo metamorphosis.
One blissful day, you were presented to this world as a no-name baby girl. From the very moment you were formed in your mother’s womb as an egg to the very moment you forged your way out of the cocoon, you began your metamorphic journey to greatness.
There is no one life experience that shapes who you will become. They are all valuable and necessary to display who you are to the world.
Your life will undergo many twists and turns. Life will take you on a journey that is unpredictable, but the benefit of the process will result in transformation that human eyes cannot see. This journey of a lifetime does not match anyone else’s.
Rejoice. You will live to tell your story so someone else’s life can be transformed. It is easy to get bogged down with who did not love you. Why this happened to you. Or what you are supposed to do next.
Do not fret or cry because things did not happen the way you intended. There is no beauty in dwelling on the circumstances. The beauty is in the ashes (Isaiah 61:3, KJV).
The beauty manifests itself in how you embrace your metamorphosis. The beauty is in the brilliance of your wings that fly high from place to place. The beauty is in the lives you change as you continue to move forward, not knowing how the story ends.
In this moment, the burden you are carrying may not feel like a little bump in the road. It may feel like Mount Everest.
Do not allow your emotions to deter you from achieving all that God has for you. It does not look like what it appears to be.
You CAN get through this.
You WILL get through this.
You SHALL get through this.
ONE day at a time.
ONE moment at a time.
ONE journey at a time.
In the Beginning
There is something growing inside of me.
I have no clue what the gender will be.
Should I keep it or abort it,
A lot of thoughts are clouding my mind.
If I abort it or put it up for adoption,
Will it take me out of this bind?
Decisions, decisions,
Too many of them to make.
I have to do what is best for us,
No matter what it takes.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. (Genesis 1:1, KJV)
Section I
The Egg
A butterfly’s metamorphic journey begins as an egg. Various colors, shapes, and sizes. Just like us.
Some of us are short. Tall. Round. Slender. Our diversity is what makes us beautiful.
We cannot change our skin color. What family we were born in. Or even where we were born. We must simply embrace it. All of it. Being grateful we have an opportunity to make the most of this metamorphic journey.
The female butterfly meticulously lays her eggs on a leaf. A protected area. No disturbances. No harm.
The caterpillar hatches from the egg and immediately feeds from the leaf where it was laid. It had no choice in the type of leaf. Location of the leaf. Or any other particulars. The egg must be resilient to persevere through what has been provided.
Just as the egg has been meticulously placed and protected, you have been meticulously placed and protected to emerge from the right place at the right time.
Right now, you may see devastation. Not beauty. A revealing time is coming. All will be amazed at who you have become.
You are covered.
You are protected.
You are beautiful.
Naomi’s Flutter
* * *
My name is Naomi, and my metamorphic journey to greatness began when I was eighteen years old. I was a high school graduate, entering my freshman year of college, when I left Promised Land, South Carolina. Only two miles long. There seemed to not be much promise in that land.
Everybody knew each other. If Ms. Lorraine saw you riding down the street on your bicycle at dusk, she would holler from her porch, “Baby, make sure you come right back now.” She had no clue where you were going, and it did not matter. Mr. Vernon would fuss about girls hanging around boys. “Fast tail girls,” he called them.
Promised Land was a community. Like family. Even if not blood-related, people had free rein to discipline you. When they told your blood-related family what you did or did not do, you would get disciplined again. No questions asked.
Your friends from elementary school were your friends through high school. Now, don’t get me wrong, those friends were not always your best friends. Some of them became your best frenemies.
Barbara Ann and Georgia Mae had been friends since kindergarten. For a long time, I thought they were twin sisters. Not because they looked alike. If one started an argument, the other would finish it. No matter how it all got started.
On the other hand, I was best friends with June from second grade to eighth grade. Best frenemies from ninth grade to eleventh grade. That’s when she started hanging out with Peaches and her crew. They would talk about my very dark skin and Coke bottle eyeglasses. Clowning me for being a nerd.
Little did they know, I was no nerd at all. I struggled in my classes. Almost failed third grade.
June, Peaches, and the crew would carry on during school. But, on the bus ride home, June sat beside me as if nothing ever happened. We would walk from the school bus stop, kicking up rocks and dirt as we skipped home. Laughing and talking about our day. From friends to frenemies.
Promised Land, South Carolina. Yep, my hometown. I wanted to get away as fast as I could. College was my way out. I needed to get away. Needed new friends. Frenemies. Something different.
Fear of leaving my comfort zone made me want to stay in the land with no promise. Gerald was the real reason I wanted to stay. We had been best friends since he moved to South Carolina from Georgia when I was in the tenth grade. He, his mother, and his little brother were escaping the abuse of his alcoholic father.
They moved in with Ms. Audrey, his great aunt. It was their safe haven. Gerald complained there was nothing to do. I don’t think he liked Promised Land, South Carolina, but going back to Georgia was not an option. He had to make the best of his new life. Being with me made it all worth it, I’m sure. At le
ast I hoped.
Gerald made me smile. He was the only boy who would talk to me. Not tease me. He seemed to listen intently to every word I said. Sometimes silly conversations. Looking up at me and smiling. Rarely adding anything to the conversation.
From friends to going steady. My junior year in high school was filled with fireworks all because of Gerald. No more Peaches and her crew. No more June. No more frenemies. Just me and Gerald.
Going to college meant separation. No more me and Gerald. He had to finish his senior year in high school. They held him back one year when he moved from Georgia to South Carolina.
Despite my uneasiness about leaving, Gerald helped me make the final decision. Listened to me go back and forth. Stay home or leave. Leave or stay home. Back and forth. Over and over again. For months.
He was there when I opened my acceptance letter from South Carolina State University, a three-hour drive away. There when I decided on my roommate. A listening ear to hear it all. A true friend. A true boyfriend. My pinky promise in the land. Me and Gerald. Forever and ever.
Aside from Gerald, I loved Grandma Lulu. She had raised me since I was two years old. The best thing that happened to me. Sometimes, the worst. Her short stature and round body just made me want to cuddle with her all day. But her stern demeanor made me think twice. Over time, I learned that it was best to cuddle with Grandma Lulu right after church service. Every day around 10:00 PM. Right before bed.
I could see past Grandma Lulu’s hard exterior. Although her face was aged from years of working on the family farm, I could see her beautiful brown eyes through her weariness. She had curvy hips and voluptuous breasts. One would never know with the long flowing skirt. White t-shirt. Black long-sleeved shirt. Black and red flannel shirt. All worn as an ensemble. Hiding her beautiful shape. Even in the summer time. I never could understand it.
Staying in Promised Land meant picking collard greens or some other goodness from the field to sell at the farmers market every weekend. Or walking down the road to pick butterbeans. My other option was to sit on the porch with Ms. Lorraine. Watching everybody pass by and offering my opinion about their lives. Maybe I could have gotten paid for my thoughts. Like a psychologist.
I stopped fooling myself. Decided to spread my wings and fly away to higher education. Get away from the farm. Get away from the gossip. Get away from the old, religious people. I needed my freedom. Freedom to explore the big world. From Promised Land to South Carolina State University.
Isabella’s Flutter
* * *
My name is Isabella, and my metamorphic journey to greatness began when I was sixteen years old. It was January. New year. New beginning. New me.
I had my first period on my tenth birthday. Nothing like going to the bathroom, pulling down your white bloomers, and seeing a tinge of pink. Mom warned me that would happen. Down the road. Not at ten.
I peed. Wiped. Front to back. Yellow and pink. The toilet had yellow pee and pink squiggles that added background splash. Artwork that nobody could interpret but me. I was a woman now.
I sat back down. Wiped again. Nothing. I knew I had to throw my stained bloomers in the trash. I started my tenth birthday all over again. This time, I was protected. Panties layered with a pad.
From that day on, Little Red Riding Hood visited. Every month. On time. Like clockwork. For six years.
Little Red Riding Hood was one of my best friends. Carlos was my second. I depended on both of them. On that day, in January, one of them failed me. Both of them failed me. Unprotected. Unsafe. No pad needed. There was nothing there to drip onto the pad.
By day seven, I totally freaked out. Instead of having our normal walk around the block, talking about nothing, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes, Carlos and I strolled to the grocery store a half mile down the road. We talked about everything except why we were on this journey. Maybe not talking about buying a pregnancy test would make it not true. Not talking about a baby would equal no baby.
Could this really be happening to me…us?
Was I going to be a mom?
Was Carlos going to be a dad?
A junior in high school should not be having a baby. That was the last thing I should have had on my mind. Preparing for college, yes. Preparing for a baby, no.
Carlos and I went from aisle to aisle looking for a pregnancy test. No signs that read “pregnancy tests” hung above the aisles. We decided to stop going from aisle to aisle, peeking. Up and down we went. Looking for a pregnancy test. The one thing that could answer the haunting question.
There it was. Nestled beside the “feminine products.” I wished pads were what I really needed.
I picked up every pregnancy test. Read each one. Line by line. Carlos stood behind me. Waiting. Walking up and down the aisle as if he was on the lookout for anyone who might know us. I was not going to sneak the pregnancy test in my bra or my white bloomers. I was not a thief. Carlos continued to pace until I decided on the one I wanted. Seventeen dollars and ninety-nine cents.
We headed to the self-checkout line. Too embarrassed to have the cashier see why we were really there. Everyone looked at us. The deli clerk. The lady peering over her flowers, acting like she was trying to decide which ones would look best on her dining room table. The little girl who was wrapped around her mom’s leg, whining for a candy bar. Everyone knew why we were there. The self-checkout line was our best option. I was convinced of it.
I scanned the store. Looking for the bathroom. I was ready to take the test. Right then and there. No risk of Mom killing me and whatever may be growing inside of me. No evidence of a pregnancy test.
My eyes locked on the bathroom sign. I entered the lavatory looking for the largest stall. Taken. Uggghhh. Only three stalls. Two itty bitty ones and one large. Do I wait? I can’t wait. Got to get this over and done. No time to play games. I entered itty bitty stall number two.
I took my time to read the package. Twelve step program. Fine print. Can’t mess this up.
Remove the foil wrapped stick.
Use stick right away.
Remove cap.
Point stick downward.
Do not insert stick into vagina.
Pee on stick for five seconds.
Keep stick pointed downward.
Replace the cap onto the stick.
Place stick on flat surface.
Results will show in two minutes.
Do not touch the stick before two minutes.
Step twelve…wait.
I read the instructions. Thoroughly. Fidgeted with the foil wrapper. The toilet flushed. Should I move to the large stall? With my white bloomers to my knees? To my ankles?
No. Who has time for that?
Pee, pee, pee, pee, pee. Not more than five seconds or the pregnancy test will blow up.
I flushed the toilet. It almost sucked me and the pregnancy test right on in. Serious water pressure for such a small bathroom. I let the test rest on the back of the toilet. Stared at it. Arms folded. Waiting. As if it would speak to me. Hummed a tune to get my mind off of it.
Two minutes felt like two hours. Humming helped. Slightly. Then I heard a timer go “bing” in my brain. Two minutes was up.
I picked up the test. There were two lines. Well, one bold line. One faint line. Two lines.
I washed my hands. Dispensed the brown, rough paper from the paper towel machine. Dried my hands with one square. Wrapped the pregnancy test up in the other. Stuffed it in my coat pocket.
Carlos was standing at the door. Waiting. I walked out, looked at him, and shook my head from side to side. He smiled. I smiled. I clutched the pregnancy test in my pocket. We strolled back to my house. Talking about nothing, as usual.
Heather’s Flutter
* * *
My name is Heather, and my metamorphic journey to greatness began when I was twelve years old. For ten years, Mommy raised me and Dustin as a single parent. Daddy, who was a heroin addict, left us when I was two years old and Dustin was
a newborn.
I do not remember anything about Daddy, but Mommy had a Polaroid picture of me sitting on his lap that stayed in my bedroom on my tall, wooden-like dresser. I looked at that picture daily and often dreamed about what life would have been like if my parents were still together.
Daddy was tall and muscular. In the picture, he had on a pure white hat with a shiny black brim. The hat had an eagle emblem in the middle. His khaki, button-down collared shirt was wrinkle-free and matched his necktie. His pants were navy blue with red stripes from his waist to the bottom, neatly covering his shiny black shoes. His attire was well-coordinated, even down to the khaki belt that matched his shirt and tie.
I had on a canary yellow dress with a wide, white, satin belt that wrapped around my waist. I wore white lace, baby doll socks, and white shoes with a one-inch block heel. I smiled in the picture. Daddy smirked. We were both happy.
That was my only memory of Daddy and, despite the evil stories I heard Mommy and Aunt Helen talk about, I believed none of them. I could never comprehend how the man who appeared happy and loving in the picture could punch Mommy until he knocked her tooth out. It made no sense to me how this man could throw Mommy down the steps and break her arm. Mommy and Aunt Helen talked about how Daddy took a thick, wooden object and broke Mommy’s left, lower leg. According to them, all of these mean-spirited things happened when he was in a drug-induced rage.
Because it made no sense to me, I decided to hold on to my fantasy of the loving Daddy I saw in the picture. Although just a smirk, he seemed happy to have a pint-sized, two-year-old daughter on his lap with his arms wrapped snuggly around her waist. And, at two years old, I seemed proud he was my daddy.
Growing up, I remember hearing Mommy cry many nights. I never knew why. Did she miss Daddy? Or was it because she worked all the time? Maybe she was crying because there was little to no food in the refrigerator.
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