Dear Reader:
What if you were given the chance to start your life over? A chance to get rid of all of the emotional baggage, the fear of going home every night to an abusive husband, and an opportunity to do a complete reset on your total existence? Such is the case with Damita, a woman who made the mistake of marrying a man with a propensity for violence, a need to control, and one who is hell-bent on breaking her down to nothing and destroying her.
September 11, 2001 is a date in history that none of us will ever forget. Many families were never given the closure of being able to bury, or even confirm, the deaths of their loved ones. Have you ever wondered if some of those people may have simply seized the occasion and walked away? In On the Other Side, Michelle Janine Robinson gives a poignant and riveting account of a woman at her breaking point. The novel is both a catalyst for discussion and, hopefully, a wakeup call to women dealing with domestic abuse on a daily basis.
Robinson truly makes the pain, disappointment, and ultimately, redemption leap from the pages. She is a prolific novelist who has established a body of work that will transcend time. Readers in the 1910s could have walked away with a message just like readers of today, and readers of the future.
As always, I appreciate the love and support shown to Strebor Books, myself, and our efforts to bring you cutting-edge stories.
Blessings,
Publisher
Strebor Books
www.simonandschuster.com
For Justin And Stefan
“Mama Hold My Hand”
—Aloe Blacc
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Recently, I watched a film in which one of the characters asked, what are the principles upon which your life are built? I couldn’t resist taking a look at my own life and answered love, family and stability. Upon consideration, I realized that all of those principles were built on a foundation of my desire to enrich the lives of not only myself, but especially those two people who mean the most in my life and who have continued to enrich my existence with each passing day; my sons, Justin and Stefan. For them I will be eternally grateful.
The urban dictionary definition of ride or die chick is to be down with your husband or man, no matter what, through it all, the good and the bad. The term typically applies to a man and a woman, but I believe it can also apply to unbelievable friends. It seems as though I’ve spent most of my life searching—for something, I’m not sure what. Parents I know love me, family that will always be there or the true love of a wonderful man. However, when what I need and want sometimes falls short, I’ve been blessed enough to have incredible friends that are my ride or die chicks; there to fill the empty spaces. Thank you, Jacqui Charles, Marciala Remouns, Yvonne Landy, Joanne Schmidt, Christina Williams and Tarra Taylor for being my ride or die chicks—no matter what.
As human beings, we are intrinsically social creatures. From the moment we are born, our interactions with the outside world go a long way to mold and shape us into the adults we will one day be. Many believe that we are supremely in control of our own destiny. However, when I consider the helpless, dependent—and impressionable nature of a child, I must humbly disagree.
In a study of young adults who suffered abuse or neglect as a child, eighty percent met the criteria for at least one psychiatric disorder by the age of twenty-one, including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, and suicide attempts.
In a U.S. Department of Health and Human Services study of homeless youth, it found that forty-six percent of those surveyed had escaped a home where they suffered physical abuse and seventeen percent left because of sexual abuse.
Young people who were victims of child abuse and neglect are twenty-five percent more likely to experience teen pregnancies, delinquencies, and to suffer mental health problems. They are more likely to perform lower in school, to engage in high-risk sexual behavior, and to use alcohol and illicit drugs.
According to a National Institute of Justice study, abused and neglected children were eleven times more likely to engage in criminal behavior as teens, are close to three times more likely to be arrested for violent and criminal behavior as an adult, and are over three times more likely to be arrested for one of many forms of violent crime.
I have always held great empathy for those who are most helpless; especially children. When I decided to write On the Other Side, one statistic in particular resonated in my memory—without help, boys who witness domestic violence are far more likely to become abusers of their partners and/or children as adults, thus continuing the cycle of violence in the next generation.
Most of us hope that the legacy we leave behind is admirable and that of honor. Unfortunately, for many children, their legacy is wrought with pain, suffering and confusion; all remnants of a very vicious cycle. For far too long, the devastating effects of domestic violence have been cloaked in a cocoon of secrecy. However, the tide is turning and awareness is opening the door to healing.
Thanks to organizations like Battered Women’s Justice Project, Child Welfare League of America, Equality Now, INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence, Institute of Domestic Violence in the African American Community, and Futures Without Violence, the cries for help of countless men, women and children will be heard and will no longer be considered one of life’s dirty little secrets.
I would like to thank all of these organizations, and those like it, that have made great strides toward stamping out the short- and long-term effects of domestic violence in all of our communities.
In addition, I would like to thank all of the politicians and district leaders, who have a vision for healing, not only where the issues are the most popular concerns, but instead where growth, expansion and rehabilitation are tantamount to survival. Thank you, Mayor Bill de Blasio, Public Advocate Letitia James, Council Speaker Melissa Mark-Viverito, District Leader John Ruiz and a special thank you to Congressman Charles B. Rangel, for helping me and my family close to forty years ago, when I was a scared little girl, with no place else to turn.
I would also like to thank all of the brilliant writers and trailblazers, who offer stories of challenges, consequences and healing, while simultaneously stimulating and educating their readers; writers like Zane, Charmaine Roberts Parker, Shamara Ray, Nane Quartay and William Fredrick Cooper. Thank you all for sharing a bit of yourself as well as your unique world view, with not only myself but so many readers who are eager to be enthralled by your eloquence.
To all my family and friends who continue to support the vision I have for myself, I appreciate you in so many ways.
Thank you to all my readers, but especially, Johnathan Royal, for his tireless, enthusiastic support of so many writers, myself included.
Enjoy On The Other Side!
Love,
Michelle Janine Robinson
PROLOGUE
There it was again; that familiar pounding of her heart that only activated when she was in danger. It was like a gathering of pulse that started in her chest, then quickly consumed her being, until her ears, her gut, even the flat of her tongue felt it; pounding like a sledgehammer from the inside out. The first time she felt it was the night she got married. The only difference between that night and now was that, then, she sat cowering in a closet, more afraid to run than she was to stay. Yet, today, she was stronger than she had ever been. And, as she took the stairs three at a time, she wondered how the two compared and why she hadn’t been as strong all these years as she was now. Wasn’t this situation equally as threatening? Or, was it that she suddenly had a renewed will to live?
CHAPTER ONE
Sitting in the minimalist furnished, church bridal room, Damita couldn’t help but outwardly chuckle at the numerous makeup items Carmella had left sprawled
out not only on the long beige bench in front of her but also on the brown leather couch behind her. She looked in the large makeup mirror in front of her and the phrase less is more sprang to mind. Carmella had been her best friend since they were kids, but when it came to makeup and attire they were as different as night and day. Damita always assumed it was because Carmella was a hairstylist and she was an investment banker. She decided she would minimize some of the makeup Carmella had applied to her face.
As she thought of her life, Damita realized she was happier today than she had ever been. She was marrying her soul mate; the man she would spend the rest of her life with. She had always been blessed with the love of family and friends, but until now, she had never found that special man that would make her life complete. Through the years she had dated liars, cheaters and mama’s boys, that just wouldn’t grow up. On the rare occasions when she did meet someone that wasn’t textbook case dysfunctional, she found that they were in different places in their lives and often would most likely never be on the same level. There were times when she felt maybe she was too judgmental or too picky, but she remembered the advice her father had given her before he died; never settle. Neal was a successful architect, he was thoughtful and kind and he did something that most men she had known seldom did; he listened to her. They had been dating for little more than a year when he popped the question. They were having dinner one night at the Sea Grill at Rockefeller Center when he suddenly got down on one knee, in a restaurant full of people, and proposed. It was romantic and chivalrous; everything that Neal was. As far as Damita was concerned, it didn’t get much better than that.
The only thing that would have made this a happier occasion was if her mother, Karen, and Carmella were as elated as she was. Somehow, as charming as Neal was, he had gotten off on the wrong foot with both of them. They considered him to be pompous and a bit of a narcissist. They didn’t understand him the way that she did. He was gentle and kind and he cared for her, unlike anyone else ever had. He was all she had ever desired and he was hers.
On her wedding day, Karen stood in the doorway watching her. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”
Damita glanced at Karen’s reflection in the full-length mirror. Wearing the same wedding dress her mother had worn to marry her father thirty-six years ago, Damita couldn’t help but compare herself to her mom. At fifty-nine, Karen could have easily passed for forty. Her body was still in spectacular shape and her flawless mahogany complexion complemented her salt and pepper shoulder-length bob. She hoped to look as great as Karen when she was in her fifties. With the exception of Karen’s gray hair and Damita’s dark chestnut brown, the mother and daughter looked so similar to one another they were often mistaken for sisters.
“Oh, Mom, you startled me.”
“You know what your grandmother would say if she was here?”
“What would Grandma say?”
Karen walked over to help Damita adjust her veil. Instead of her usual long wavy hairstyle, Damita had opted for a classic updo to complement her veil, which included a dramatic headpiece on the top that skimmed just past her hairline. It was dramatic and the long elegant train enhanced her simple lace and satin stark white wedding dress.
“Well, first of all, she’d ask you whether or not the reason you were jumping was because you weren’t living right, and then she would probably ask you whether it was somebody else that wasn’t living right.”
“Mom, no, she wouldn’t.”
“How do you know she wouldn’t?”
Damita giggled. “Grandma wasn’t a busybody like you.”
“Hey, watch your mouth, girl. I’m still your mother.”
“You’re right. But, aren’t you the one that promised you would behave yourself today?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But, I wouldn’t be your mother if I didn’t ask you one more time whether you’re sure this is what you want to do.”
“I’m a hundred ten percent sure.”
Karen motioned toward the door with her eyes. “Mr. Brooks Brothers is outside barking orders to everybody. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a man take that much interest in a wedding in my entire life. He’s surveyed everything, including the doggone flowers. It ain’t natural, baby.”
“You should be happy he’s taking an interest. He’s only doing it because he loves me and he wants me to have the best wedding day ever. June second, two thousand one will be a day I will remember for the rest of my life.”
“Are you sure it’s not because he’s controlling as hell and he’s paying for the wedding? He wants to make sure he gets exactly what he paid for?”
“So, what’s wrong with that? Neal didn’t get where he is by squandering his money. That’s one of the things I love about him. He’s responsible and intelligent. He’s also a man, not some sniveling boy or a man who wants to behave like a woman. I feel safe with him; like I can count on a secure future.”
“Security comes from within, baby, not from a man or from money. Don’t let bad relationships of the past guide you out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
Damita was so wrapped up in her impending nuptials she couldn’t be bothered to truly pay attention to the importance of what her mother was saying.
“Yes, Mom, I realize that. You don’t have to keep telling me these things. You and Daddy raised me to be a strong, independent young woman. Falling in love doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten everything you both taught me.”
“It’s your choice of words, Damita. Words like security and falling in love. Words like that have always been red flags for me when it comes to relationships. Somehow the world has embraced the theory that love is something you fall into. That’s not love. That’s a temporary distraction and once the distraction is gone, what’s left?”
“I’m not you, Mom. You and Daddy were married for forty-two years before he died. Things have changed quite a bit since the days when you got married.”
“I’m a dinosaur, but I’m not so much of a relic that I don’t see you possibly giving up the better part of what makes you unique.”
“I promise you that’ll never happen.”
“I hope not.”
“Come on, Mom. This is supposed to be a happy occasion. I want you to walk with me down the aisle and I want you to be happy for me. Okay?
“Neal is everything I’ve always wanted in a man. I’ve got a great job and so does he and we both want the same things. You know my history with men; the narcissists, the unemployed, the cheaters. For a while there I was beginning to think there was a sign on my back that read ‘single black female seeks dysfunctional male.’
“I’m healthy and, dare I say, not unattractive, and I’ve got this perfect man so in love with me. Mom, I’m sitting on top of the world.”
“Just don’t forget that you’re still all of those things, with or without a man.”
“I won’t.”
Her mother didn’t want to point out her use of one of those red flag words: perfect. Instead, she decided to drop the subject.
The minister’s secretary opened the door. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, I am,” Damita responded emphatically.
Her mother wanted to be excited for her. She could see how blissful her daughter was. But, Karen knew within every fiber of her being that Neal was not the right man for Damita. But, oftentimes, the most any parent could do was tread softly in explaining their viewpoint. There were certain things that their children had to learn on their own. She hoped the lesson wouldn’t come with too great a cost. But, no matter what, she would be there to cushion her daughter if she fell.
The moment Damita heard the soulful sound of “You for Me” playing she knew she had chosen the perfect song to walk down the aisle. She thought of the words to the song: “It seems like forever that I have waited for you.” She had waited for a man like Neal her entire life. Now, it was finally happening. She glanced at Karen and smiled. As much as she missed her father, she was happy that her mother could be there. W
hen she was making wedding plans she considered accepting her lifelong friend, Brandon’s, offer to walk her down the aisle, but the only person that could take her father’s place was her mother.
The familiar scent of African Violets greeted Damita as soon as she entered the church. As she walked toward Neal, the vibrant beauty of the purple flowers filled the room and reminded her of their first date. She could remember being impressed with his unique choice. Ever since she told him how much she preferred the sensuously purple flower to roses, he bought her nothing else. Everyone she cared about was in attendance. Carmella and her coworker and friend, Wendy, were her bridesmaids. They were wearing simple, royal blue, satin sheath dresses. She wanted both of her friends to be able to wear the dresses again, so she had chosen something subtle. Despite the fact that Carmella and Wendy’s complexions couldn’t have been more different, they both were equally vivacious in their dresses. Carmella’s reddish-brown color against the blue hibiscus flowers in her hair brought out the rich bronze tones of her skin. Damita looked at her and smile. Carmella was such a small girl, at only five-foot-two, but she had a body that wouldn’t quit. Even in the understated dress, her thirty-eighty D-cups and more than ample hips could not be concealed. Wendy, on the other hand, was at least seven inches taller than Carmella and was as flat as a pancake, both in the front and the back. Although Wendy identified herself as Black, she was biracial. Her olive skin and dark eyes were due to the combination of her African-American father and Italian mother and what their union had produced.
While she walked, Damita surveyed the guests and the church with a smile. Once they were at the altar, Karen turned to her daughter and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you, too.”
Damita couldn’t help but realize that it was moments like these when you missed your loved ones the most. Despite the fact that the church was packed with family, friends and coworkers, the absence of her father was ever-present in her mind. However, the moment she looked at Neal, she forgot about what she was missing. He was unbelievably handsome in his black tuxedo. The great care he took of his body could be easily seen, even through the tux. Once she joined him, his lips spread into a smile, revealing his deep-set dimples and the quiet intensity of his darkly mysterious eyes. At six-foot-five, Damita still had to look up to him, even in her four-inch heels. She stood there gazing into his eyes, hoping the moment would never end.
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