In The Waiting Room: A Novella

By Gina Johnson

Are you holding on to a past hurt? Do you have a hard time forgiving people? Are you in search of your purpose in life? Most people spend a lifetime trying to find a resolution to these situations. Sara Porter is one of those people. Sara had a life changing tragedy occur when she was 10 years old. The story made headlines all across the United States. It was not the kind of incident that most people would bounce back from. It was the kind of event that earned her the title “Survivor”, and for the first time she is publicly talking about the incident. She lived a relatively normal life until she began work with The Not Guilty Project. Sara regained national media attention when she proved the innocence of 4 men serving lengthy prison sentences for rape. Sara knew with the notoriety she was receiving, it was only a matter of time before the incident from years ago, would publicly resurface. Instead of having a TMZ affiliate catching her off guard leaving a coffee house, she decided to go public about the incident. Join Sara as she shares her journey of survival, purpose, heartbreak and forgiveness. Throughout her story, she experiences several “Aha” moments in life that will no doubt help you or someone you know live a better life. If you have been struggling with finding out your purpose in life, or forgiving someone, including yourself, then I invite you to enjoy the story of Sara Porter; In The Waiting room.
Her father was murdered and she is cared for by her step-father who is a popular internet preacher. Her mother owns her own hair salon and Sara is trying to find her niche in life. She meets this wonderful guy who changes her life in a way she never imagined. Enjoy your journey with Sara Porter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989630511

Book preview

Author

Introducing Sara Porter

I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me. (Philippians 4:13) I recited this scripture to myself over and over. I couldn’t shake the anxiety I felt as the time approached for me to tell my story. I’ve attended a few survivors meetings, but none this big and none where I spoke or shared my story, but here it goes! I heard the speaker say, This young lady is very special. She hails from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and here is her story. The room roared with applause. On the outside, I exuded confidence, but on the inside I was a nervous wreck. I tried to control the quiver in my voice. It was rough at first, but I eventually found my comfort zone and let it flow.

Hello everyone, my name is Sara Porter. I am the only child of Anthony Porter, Lexi Porter and Pastor Ray. I work for an organization called, The Not Guilty Project. My current position seems surreal. I didn’t imagine working in this field at all, but God had other plans.

I looked down at my index cards for guidance, but I must have grabbed the wrong pile. These were all blank! I felt a bead of sweat roll down my face and knew at that point I had to wing it.

The nervous feeling came back in the pit of my belly as I spoke. I felt hot, my mouth started to water. I felt like I was about to throw up. I didn’t know what to say next. I felt like I was about to be booed. I even looked to my left to see if The Sandman from Showtime at the Apollo was waiting to come and usher me off of the stage. Instead of seeing The Sandman, I saw Amanda patiently waiting. She smiled and gave an encouraging nod.

She whispered, You’re doing good, keep going.

I put my hand over the microphone and whispered, I picked up the wrong pile of notes. I don’t know where to begin.

Start from the beginning.

I readjusted the microphone. The audience knew I was having an issue. Instead of them booing me, they applauded again. An older woman in the front row shouted, Take your time. We’ve all been there. I closed my eyes and started from the beginning.

"I spent most of my life assisting my mother in her hair salon, and my dad in his barbershop. The salon was simply named, The Salon. It was located at 222 Market Street in Old City. The clientele was upscale. Some were the wives and girlfriends of professional athletes. Others were journalists, attorneys, radio personalities and local socialites. They were dropped off and picked up by their drivers. Those who drove themselves drove really expensive cars and had assistants tag along. They needed their assistants to put money in the parking meters and run other errands. All the ladies talked about were relationships. They talked about their personal relationships, the relationships their co-workers were in, the relationships of celebrities and reality show stars. No matter how the conversation started, it always ended up about a relationship. The salon is where I received most of my knowledge about relationships.

I’m what one would call a late bloomer. I didn’t start college until I was 20 years old. I couldn’t decide on a career. I was born and raised in Cosmetology, so it would make sense for me to follow in my parent’s footsteps. I was using professional hair color on my Barbie dolls when I was seven, and I was darn good. By the time I was 12, I was the back up receptionist and shampooer. Neither job was my favorite. I wanted to do something more important than being just a back up receptionist or the shampoo girl. I shared this with my mom one day while she was with a client. The receptionist was pregnant and experienced morning, noon and evening sickness. At any moment, she would go running to the ladies room to throw up. The phones couldn’t go unanswered, so I was appointed the back up receptionist. After I complained about my honorary appointment my mom spoke some words of wisdom that I will always carry with me.

She said, Do you know how important a receptionist is to your business? Your receptionist can make or break your business. Not just in a salon, but in any business. People don’t want to spend their money where they didn’t feel comfortable about the first encounter with a company. A receptionist can be responsible for putting someone in a really good mood, or putting them in a bad mood depending on the situation. In this salon, the job of the back up receptionist is especially important because we are an established salon. Angela has been with us for almost 10 years. The clients and our distributors are used to talking to her. She is very friendly and efficient. When they call, that’s the type of service they expect. The back up receptionist basically has to turn into a clone of Angela in order to do a good job. Think about all that Angela does for this salon.

I thought about it. Angela schedules and confirms appointments, she electronically keeps a record of all clients and their services, she orders the hair care products for the salon and schedules towel pick ups. She is also the first and last person to leave the salon. So, I guess that job is pretty important. My mom went on to explain the importance of a shampooer.

The shampooer is the second most important person in the salon. Oftentimes women are coming from work and need to unwind. After getting her hair shampooed, the client should feel like you just washed away all of the stress of the day, all of the traffic, and any issues locating a parking space on the way in here. A good shampooer makes the client feel like it was worth all the trouble to get here. A good shampooer makes sure the client knows his or her name. You remember something about the client, so when they return to the salon, you have something to talk about. It also makes people feel like you care. They will tip well and return asking for you. I guarantee that.

The client in my mom’s chair nodded in agreement. I took my moms advice and gave each task 100% of my energy. I ended up loving being a shampooer. I made between fifty to seventy dollars a day and upwards to 175.00 on Saturdays alone. That was a lot of money for a pre-teen. I continued to work in the salon for so long that people would come in and say, Wow, I can’t believe you are still here. It hurt my feelings but it got my attention to realize that Cosmetology wasn’t my passion and I wanted more out of life, so I went to college.

My major was Christian Counseling. Despite never being in a real relationship, I wanted to be a marriage counselor. I always gave really good advice to the clients and my friends. Most of which I learned from listening to my parents clients, and watching television. Pastor Ray told me to always do something that comes easy. No matter how strange it is, that is your God given talent. Everyone is put on this earth to serve a purpose, it may not be something that you imagined, but it’s something that will always press on your heart until you fulfill your God given purpose. I didn’t disagree with his advice. As much as it was a bit cumbersome for Pastor Ray to quote the bible in every situation that arose, in hindsight I appreciate the knowledge. I chose Christian Counseling vs. Traditional counseling as my way of paying homage to Pastor Ray.

While I spent the majority of the time with my mom, every so often I would assist my dad in his barber shop. Working there was very different from working at my mom’s salon. My dads shop would be considered a hood shop. More Than Cuts was located at 27th and Dickinson Streets in South Philadelphia. It was a one-stop barber shop. The only place in town you could get a hair cut, a facial, purchase a cell phone, cable, internet, pay your bills, choose from an assortment of watches if you were interested, and buy the latest sneakers. My dads shop felt more like a family reunion each and every day. Everyone called each other fam (short for family) and everyone seemed to have known each other their entire lives. Even if folks weren’t coming in to get their hair cut or utilize one of the many services that were offered; they would stop in just to say, Hi.

My biological father was Anthony Porter. My mom was the only one I’ve ever heard call him Anthony. Everyone else either called him Ant or Tone. Prior to opening the barbershop, my dad was a hustler, at least that’s what I heard. The older gentlemen or old heads as they were affectionately called, would sit around and reminisce about the bad things my dad used to do. They would laugh about different instances where my dad narrowly escaped being arrested. They also talked about how my mom changed his life. He didn’t stop his illegal activities until he met her. They teased him about his nose being opened wide because he did everything for her. This usually led to a discussion about relationships. The same conversation would carry on for the next 10 clients at least. The men were as passionate about the subject as the women in the salon. The guys would listen to each other, and they all had opinions that needed to be heard. If you aren’t familiar with shop talk, you could mistake a friendly discussion for a near altercation. I didn’t get involved with many conversations, I just listened. The barbershop is where I learned wisdom.

The people in the neighborhood came to my dad for everything. Advice and money was what he gave out the most. He organized a few community events where he would collect can goods and hold coat drives around the holidays. He had a calming presence about him. You would know he was in the room, even if he didn’t say a word. I guess that’s why his murder was such a shock to me and everyone else. There were no witnesses to the crime and the case has long gone cold. I kept a journal of all of the people who were suspects, questioned then released. I’ve even tried to conduct my own investigation which kept me up most nights. I just wanted my father’s murderer to be brought to justice.

One night I got angry. I kept hitting dead ends on every lead. I sat quiet and tried to remember his voice, I couldn’t. Even the memory of his face was becoming cloudy. I got angry because I felt like no one cared anymore, not the detectives, not his friends, not even my mom. No one seemed to care that his killer was out there somewhere and I was determined to find the people who did this to him...to us. I sat on my bed with newspaper clippings from the incident. I created a board in my bedroom, like the ones you see on CSI and Law and Order when they are trying to find the suspects. I even had a time-line that I re-visited periodically. All dead-ends.

My prayer was almost the same every night.

"Heavenly Father, I thank you for all that you do for me and the people around me. Lord, please guide me to the person or people who kidnapped me and killed my father. Please God don’t let them get away