Scar

by Margo

  As if something snapped in my mind, I could only think about how he knew that the abortion took place. Salena. I didn’t want to believe it. It made me think of how distant both Uncle Nathan and Salena had been acting. Since my parents died and I was living on my own, he would religiously keep money in my account for bills and a little to play with. But he hadn’t been checking on me or interacting with me at all.

  “Tineya. Bitch, you hear me?” I had forgot he was even on the phone.

  “Do I hear you? Yes, I hear you. I’m the ugly girl with the scar. Blah. Blah. Blah. You singing the same song. This is why I wouldn’t ever bring a kid into the world with you as his father. You just evil. But that’s neither here nor there. Fuck you. And have a nice life.”

  “Bitch, you bet’ not hang up. What you mean you wouldn’t have a baby with me? So you’ll have another nigga’s baby?”

  I gasped as I hung up the phone. “Fuck this.” I felt my body getting hot as I grabbed my keys and the letter for therapy, rushing out the door, fueled by anger.

  Taking a deep breath, I headed for Salena’s apartment building. The drive was made in half the time. I hoped that Dro’s ass was lying. I really wanted to give Salena the benefit of the doubt.

  I couldn’t stop the tears if I tried. If there was one thing I hated about myself, it was the inability to hide my emotions. Whenever I got worked up, I cried. I took the idiom “wearing your heart on your sleeve” to an all-new height. I expressed my emotions without restriction, without caution, for all to see. To hurt my feelings was an easy task. Sometimes people used it against me.

  Knock. Knock.

  I felt fear taking over. No, I wasn’t scared of Salena, or anybody else for that matter. It was the fear of knowing the truth. It wasn’t easy for anybody to feel like somebody they were close to would cross them.

  It wasn’t long before the locks could be heard clicking, and there stood Salena. Not surprising, she almost looked like she was waiting on somebody.

  “He told me you were probably coming here.” She smirked as she moved to the side, giving me room to enter the apartment.

  “So, you really did tell him?”

  “Come on now. You asking questions you already know the answer to,” Salena said in the same smug tone that I was used to seeing, just not toward me. It blew me back.

  “Damn. Like that huh? Why?”

  “Yeah, I told him. I think you was wrong for that. You took his choice away.”

  “Now you’re advocating for him?”

  “I mean you just selfish. You think the world revolves around you. I mean shit happened to you, but so what?”

  I stepped back, almost as if I were seeing Salena for the first time. The bitch was sitting in the same class with Dro. All this time, they really had been pulling the wool over my eyes.

  “I mean shit. You not all that. You went to school. So what? You’re about to graduate, and you have no family besides Nathan. Who gon’ be there for you? You really need us. You were wrong. Get over it.”

  I was furious. “You know what? Fuck you.” I attempted to leave but was snatched back by Salena.

  “Bitch!” I turned around, punching Salena dead in the mouth. The move caught Salena off guard. Hell, it caught me by surprise too, but Salena wouldn’t know it.

  “You fucking hit me!” Salena said in a tone of disbelief while dramatically holding her cheek.

  I hit her again, folding her like a pretzel. I felt some pressure falling off of me with each hit I landed.

  “Bitch, get out of my house. I’m calling the police.”

  I shook my head, never breaking my stride. I mirrored a pit bull the way my breathing was labored. I was so mad as I marched from the apartment. I reached back, shutting Salena’s door. Only my ass would fight somebody and make sure I shut their door behind me.

  My feelings were in an uproar. As I pulled out of the complex, I cried. Frustration seeped through my pores.

  Ring. Ring. Ring. Aaliyah called and called. I was late for the group therapy session.

  Damn. Twenty minutes! Can this day get any worse?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aaliyah

  “Wow,” Dr. Jennifer expressed just as Tineya slid into the back of the room. “These letters are powerful. I just want you guys to get out all of these ill-will emotions. The definition of resentment is a feeling of displeasure at having been treated unfairly. Sound familiar? This is your life, not the life of the person who wronged you! The beauty of this thing called life is that since you only get one you’re forced to live it! Now, we have two more letters to read.”

  Aaliyah stuck her church finger up in an interruption. Come on now, I know you know what a church finger is. You know, the finger that the members put up if they have to excuse themselves during the church service.

  “Yes, Aaliyah?”

  “Can you please wait? I know Tineya is coming. I really . . . well, me and Dior—”

  “I’m here,” Tineya announced with a damp face. It was evident to the room that something had happened. There was something else that stood out, but not even Tineya noticed.

  “What’s wrong?” Aaliyah asked immediately.

  “Nothing. I’m here. Dr. Jenn, you can continue. I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  Dr. Jenn looked at Tineya. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Tineya clenched her teeth.

  “Okay, Dior, you have the floor. You are the latest member of this group. Your story is way too common.”

  “Okay.” Dior took a breath with her head down.

  “You got this,” Aaliyah encouraged her. Since she’d known Dior, she’d never seen her second-guess herself. She’d always worn her confidence on her sleeve like a badge of honor. And rightfully so. But anything she’d done she’d stood on.

  “Man, I have never put my head down about anything. So, I won’t start today.”

  Dear my brother Drew,

  Where do I start? You are the reason I am the way I am. You were the perfect brother. We grew up close. You protected me from everything and everybody. The five years between us, I always thought it was a good thing. The five years would allow you to be a teacher to me.

  A teacher is sort of a leadership role. It’s usually a positive role though. But you? You were everything but positive. You allowed one “drunken” night change the dynamics of our relationship.

  I was nine, and you were fourteen. You wanted to play a game. You wanted to play follow the leader. You were my brother, so I’m thinking that it was okay. You took something I could never get back. Now you’re in prison, where you were only sentenced to fifteen years. That’s it, when you were the reason our parents lost a son to the system and a daughter to promiscuity. I became this person who didn’t care. Since I’m grown now, I can no longer blame you about my adult decisions. I don’t want to. But I realized I have a problem. The ability to please a man, eliminating love from the equation, would allow me to never hurt. While I don’t regret the decisions I made, I still want one man and a family. I have yet to forgive you, but I am working toward it to become a better me.

  Dior looked up for the first time since she opened the letter. “How did I do?” she quizzed, causing a chuckle from the group.

  “You stupid.” Aaliyah shook her head with a smack to her forehead. It was all in fun. Dior had the ability to add some comic relief. She always found a joke in something. She was obviously deflecting.

  “You know, Dior, your spirit is infectious. First, let me go back. When Aaliyah first told her story, she drifted off into yours, and I was shocked. Like everybody else in the room, I wondered why she was telling your business.”

  Everybody laughed. Aaliyah put her head down.

  “Oh no! Y’all know now she ain’t tell y’all nothing I woudn’t say. Hell, I got some pictures in my phone if y’all want to see.” Dior’s crazy ass started to reach for her phone.

  “No, that will not be necessary.”

  “Shhhhhhiiiiddd! This one eye work. Y’
all got a nigga crying from his one good eye. Hell, make my rainy days sunny!” the guy said quickly. When he was three years old, his mother let who she thought was a good babysitter watch her son. The young girl had her boyfriend over, neglecting her job totally. The kid ended up getting run over by his neighbor. He was left with a permanent black eye that almost looked as if his eye were melting.

  “No! That won’t be necessary,” Dr. Jenn hurriedly countered with both hands in a stop gesture.

  “Well, I was serious. Let me see.”

  “Shit, me too.”

  Dior leaned over, showing the guy a picture in her phone.

  “Damn!”

  “I know, right,” Dior cockily said, flipping her hair dramatically.

  “Anyway . . . Damn. You made me forget what I was going to say,” Dr. Jenn went on. “I can’t believe you really just showed him a picture. But this is what makes you guys awesome. Y’all could joke about anything anytime. This is admirable. Come on, Aaliyah, you’re up.”

  With a real eye roll, Aaliyah stood up. “This will be short and sweet.”

  Dear the Green Explorer,

  I’ll never understand how my life turned from sugar to shit in a matter of minutes. You took an important, positive date and made it a negative situation. That day will never be the day I graduated. It will always be the day I got hit by the car. I was so embarrassed, lying on the ground as if I were a science experiment.

  I keep wondering what I could’ve done differently. If maybe I didn’t go out, would things be different? How does it feel to be old and young at the same time? I know. My body will never be the same. Physical therapy will always be a part of my life. The aches and pains will always be there. I have arthritis just like an older person. I shouldn’t be experiencing these things for at least forty or fifty more years. The pain I still feel around the clock is excessive. How am I forced to take the medicine that rappers are rapping about? They are taking it for play while my doctors are trying to explain to me the effects of medicine and when you need it versus when you don’t. I had to learn to do everything all over again. How could you hit someone with a car and keep going? I was planted to the front of your truck carrying me for about a half a block, and when my body fell to the ground, you rolled me over. How could you keep going?

  I’m not sure forgetting you will ever be an option, but I do forgive you. Not for you, but for me and the development of my relationships.

  “Thanks, Aaliyah. Amazing what you said there. Healing is not about the person who did you wrong. You have to, it is a must to, work through these emotions for you to heal. The goal is to be the best version of you. A reason you’re here on planet Earth is to evolve, improve, grow, and become the greatest version of yourself. It’s documented that being the best you improves different areas of your life, such as your emotions, spirit, body, mind, occupation, and all relationships. Now, last but not least, Ms. Tineya.”

  Tineya stood up, pushing her straggling hairs into her messy ponytail. It looked like she had her hair in a wrap originally, and that she finger combed it into a ponytail.

  Dear the Robbers,

  Nick and Tina were my parents. Are my parents. I still struggle with past tense and present tense when it comes to my parents. You took so many things from me. You took January 21, my parents, and my ability to be beautiful. On my birthday, a day when I should be happy, I never am. I saw everything play out. I was present to see the life leave their bodies. You didn’t have to do what you did to me. You broke the very mixing bowl that my mother just used to bake something with love. She put her heart into making that cake for my birthday. You used it to cut a child’s face. You told me, “Sorry, little mama, you was just a casualty of war.” You said it as if it were okay. As if I should be okay with that. As if I should have some understanding of your fucked-up logic. Now I’m struggling with my worth. Am I worthy of a man? Or do I have to settle for a piece of one? You know? The one who just wants to have sex with me but doesn’t want to take me out. All because of this scar that I have no control over. This scar has been a thorn in my side since I got it. It has made people stop and stare. Innocent children point and shit. The grown people try to figure out what happened. Some even having the gall to ask. This is all when I make the mistake of showing the scar. I’m always attempting to hide the scar as best I can. But that doesn’t work all the time.

  Anyway, I want to get over this. I am trying to forgive and forget. I am trying to have an air of confidence about myself. I want to demand respect from the opposite sex. I don’t want to feel as if I have to settle for somebody else’s man or that man’s secret. All because of this scar.

  Tineya sat down with her tears falling on her hands as she folded her paper.

  “I want to applaud you, Tineya. You have made so much progress, and you don’t even know it. All of you have. Tineya, this is the first time you’ve pulled your hair back in all of the weeks we’ve been here. Did you notice that?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Tineya admitted.

  “I know you didn’t. I do see that something pissed you off. But it’s clear that you don’t want to talk about it, and that’s fine.

  “Now this is our last session. This doesn’t mean we all can’t come together again. I’ll see anybody individually as well. Now that that’s out of the way, I want to leave you guys with something. Kind of a summary if you will. A breakdown of us as a whole.

  “Scars. Scars are what we all have in common. We all have them. Some of our scars are physical, but all of them are mental. Deep-rooted mental scars. We need to acknowledge, accept, and believe that early childhood fears and events deeply impact us as adults. Rape, hit-and-run accidents, promiscuity, accidents, domestic violence, and the list goes on and on. These things that happened to us way back when shape the way we move around in society. We all want acceptance, but we fear rejection. I read an article once, based on a study, that said our personalities can change depending on our experiences as children. Sometimes, rejection can make us try to be perfect. And we all know that’s an impossible goal. If that doesn’t sum up this group, I don’t know what does.”

  “You better preach!” Dior yelled out, causing everybody to laugh.

  “But y’all don’t hear me, though!” Dr. Jenn came back with.

  “Man, y’all silly as fuck!” Tineya announced.

  “Damn. You cuss?” Aaliyah questioned, mocking in fake surprise.

  “Fuck you!” Tineya rolled her eyes, joking.

  “Hmmmm. You a cutie. Fat ass, too. Wait, let me call Eron and see if I can bring you home.” Aaliyah grabbed at her phone, making the room crack the fuck up.

  “Oh my gosh! Shut up, idiot.”

  “You mad ’cause I’ll make you my sister wife. Heyyyyy, sis!”

  Even Dr. Jenn was laughing and holding her side. “Okay, y’all. I’m trying to wrap up. I just have a little more to leave you crazy people with.”

  “Dammmn, Dr. Jenn. Tell a nigga how you really feel.” The one guy feigned being hurt.

  “Poor, poor choice of words.” Dr. Jenn shook her head while everybody else laughed.

  “Umm hmm!” The group was giving Dr. Jenn a hard time.

  “Ohhhh hush.”

  “Well, at least we ain’t sensitive.” Dior winked at Dr. Jenn.

  “I’ll leave you guys with this: a scar comes from your body trying to repair itself. Scars are a natural part of the body’s healing process. The point is the body takes time to heal, and so does your mental!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Aaliyah

  “Can you get the door?” Aaliyah yelled from upstairs in the bedroom.

  “Hell nah!” Eron shouted back, making his way to the front door. Aaliyah never gave him a response.

  “Who the fuck is it?” Eron yanked the door open, causing Tineya to jump.

  “Well hello!”

  “What up? What up? Come on in.” Eron ushered Tineya to the den. “Aaliyah, yo’ homegirl down here!” he hollered. “Okay, Tineya,
you know where everything is. Make yourself at home. I’m going back in basement with my brother.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Tineya went in the direction of the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. In the short time they’d all known each other she felt comfortable. Almost as if they were brothers and sisters.

  Tineya stood in the kitchen and leaned on the island, taking the newly renovated house. It was a beauty. The kitchen was stainless steel and black themed. All of the appliances were black with stainless finishes. The gray tile floor extended throughout the first level of the house. There were accent colors periodically through the house. The house wasn’t overly girly. The house held both a pop of colors that a woman would like with the gray undertones that a man would appreciate. It wasn’t a massive colonial-style house. The house was airy with tons of light.

  Tineya plopped on the sectional in the living room, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back on the couch.

  “Wakey, wakey!”

  Aaliyah poked Tineya in the side of her neck. “Wake up! Okay, you not that damn tired!”

  Tineya opened her eyes to a wineglass in her face. Dior moved the glass back and forth in her face like in the movie Friday After Next.

  “Man, y’all play too much!”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

  Tineya grabbed her wine. “Shit, I needed this.”

  “I see.” Dior lay back on the other end of the couch while Aaliyah sat on the floor with a throw blanket draped over her feet.

  “I gave you some time. What happened to you on the last day of therapy?” Aaliyah questioned.

  Tineya smacked her lips, pulling her side-parted bangs over her right eye.

  “Come on now. You knew this was coming. I know we became friends fast. Even you and Aaliyah are more friends than you and I, but even I was concerned. You seemed out of it. Like you had fucking Mount Rushmore on your shoulders.”

  “Hold up. Dior, roll this up.”

  “Nigga, no. I did it last time.”