Natasha

By Jane Waters

About Natasha:

What else could go wrong for Natasha? She is twenty-three years old, a single parent of four young children, and is currently pregnant. She is on her own, no thanks to any of her babies fathers. She has no money, no motivation, and no dignity. Her family is the epitome of dysfunction and she has no friends other than the guys who want to use her. Left with nothing but her pain, her constant companions are loneliness, depression, and now addiction.

Just when it seems as though life could not possibly get any darker, Natasha meets Kayleen, a woman no stranger to pain. Yet, there is something different about Kayleen. Something hopeful. Something freeing.

Thoroughly cautious and distrustful, Natasha finds herself on a journey which visits the past, explains the present, and offers light to her future. She discovers that there is healing, redemption, and grace for the broken soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467868716

Jane Waters

Jane Waters is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist and former certified alcohol and drug counselor who has worked in the mental health field for over twenty-five years. A large part of her clientele has been teenage pregnant young women who are faced with making the most painful decisions of their lives - whether to parent the child or make an open adoption plan. Jane is a Christian and is married to Chris. She has four adult children and three grandchildren and lives in Owasso, Oklahoma.

Book preview

In Appreciation:

I want to thank the birth mothers and adoptive parents who have let me be a part of their experiences, pain, and healing.

I want to thank Cheryl Bauman, the director of Crisis Pregnancy Outreach, for inviting me to be involved with this outstanding non-profit, Christian agency. Thank you for your friendship and for trusting me with the care of our clients. May God bless you richly for all you have given and done for CPO.

Additionally, I want to thank all the hundreds of volunteers for CPO who give tirelessly of themselves, especially Delores, the housemother at the Transitional House. Your rewards are awaiting you in Heaven.

I especially want to thank my husband, Chris, for his editing, constant encouragement, and faith in me. Thank you for asking me to marry you.

Finally, I want to thank my Creator for trusting me with this book. This was Your inspiration and I hope I told it well. Thank You for this heavenly download. I pray that this will offer hope to someone in need of a miracle.

With much love,

Janey

Note: The characters in this book are completely fictional, though realistic. It is my desire to honor those whose pain I have heard in my twenty years’ experience as a therapist. All names are fictitious except for Cheryl Bauman, who is the director of Crisis Pregnancy Outreach in Jenks, OK, and Delores, the housemother at the Transition House. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locale is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

I SAID STOP IT! You guys better quit playin’ around. I’m not messin’ with you now. Are you listenin’ to me? Get down off the couch, both of you.

Natasha’s children were really getting on her last nerve that day. The two-year-old twins, Nehemiah and Nathaniel, were crawling all over the furniture and coffee table, not that her stuff was anything expensive. Her four-year-old son, Jeremiah, was quietly watching cartoons, but had the volume turned up too loud. And little Jenny, her six-year-old, drawing with bright, though used, stubbly markers at the kitchen table, was adding to the loud chaos by singing her heart out to nobody in particular using the black marker as a microphone. Natasha wasn’t even sure she recognized the tune, let alone the words, but Jenny seemed to be enjoying herself. Any other day, the noise would not have raised her blood pressure to this extent. But, Natasha was getting ready to blow.

The twins were obviously irritating Jenny. Quiet! I can’t even hear what I’m singin’, yelled this sweet, high-pitched voice. Her dark, oval eyes never left the paper.

Looking around the room, Natasha began to shake her head. The second floor apartment housed old furniture she had received from her older sisters. The couch had many holes in it, probably from someone’s cigarette ashes. She hated the lime green and beige colors, especially in its checked pattern, but it was functional. The cushions, which barely had any foam left, dipped toward the center. It was supposed to seat at least three people, but that function had worn away years ago. If three people tried to sit on the couch today, they would all end up on the middle person’s lap.

Several concentric water stains had made their mark on the dark brown coffee table. It might have been beautiful a few lifetimes ago, but it certainly wasn’t now.

Natasha was the youngest sibling in the family, so her furniture, which had been passed down through her two sisters and three brothers was barely functional. The lighter, blonde wood end tables didn’t match, but she was glad to have them. They held crayons, books, the TV remote control, some used tissues, and a set of cheap black-and-cork coasters which nobody used.

Looking around the dark living room, she realized that not one piece belonged to her. She never had enough money to buy furniture, old or nice. At one time, the dingy gold picture frames may have enhanced the photos of sunflowers they contained, but not anymore. And the lampshades were so dirty and dusty, light could barely escape.

The kitchen table in her apartment was actually a card table. The wobbly black legs looked like they had been scratched by everything that came within a foot of them. And the grey top, at one time, had been white. The brown folding chairs were probably the sturdiest household object in the bunch, though there were only three. It didn’t matter, though, they never ate meals together as a family anyway.

Meals were high stress times. Natasha never understood what the big deal was about eating together. Her family had never done it, so why should she? She couldn’t contain the twins, so why bother fighting them at the dinner table? They steamrolled everything. They were high energy bullets darting from room to room, with very short attention spans, so it was easier to just let them snack on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chips on the coffee table with the concentric water stains.

The older children were better behaved and able to sit longer, so received the privilege of sitting at the table with Mom.

Natasha had wanted to sleep in since it was Saturday morning, but the twins had opposite intentions. They were always up early. It was considered a good day if they slept until seven, but most of the time the twins bounded out of their bed by six. In their tiny two bedroom apartment, noise had no place else to go except directly into the ears of the sleep-deprived. Their mother called them walking, talking alarm clocks.

Natasha and Jenny slept in the same room on an old mattress which rested on the floor. The faded, plain yellow sheets wrapped snugly around the single mattress. And, though they had no top sheet, they at least had a thin, green blanket for cover. For Natasha, getting down on the bed was much easier than her attempts to get up. And it became more difficult with each ten pounds Natasha gained.

The boys slept in the other room on worn twin beds. The twins slept in one bed and Jeremiah in the other. Poor Jeremiah, she thought, always at the mercy of those two boys. Instead of letting him sleep, the twins, who had an immediate ON switch as soon as their eyes opened, would start bouncing on him.

Then, as the routine always went, Jeremiah would yell at them to get off and leave him alone, which was their cue to run in and jump on her bed. That’s how most days began. And that’s how this Saturday began – with everyone cranky.

With resignation, Natasha had climbed out of bed. She had a lot of things to do today: clean, do some laundry, and run to the store. Earlier in the week, Natasha had promised to take the kids to the library, but she didn’t know if she would have enough stamina to manage it.

Natasha was only twenty-three years old, but some days felt as though she was sixty. Exhaustion was her constant companion, and privacy was a distant memory. The kids always needed something from her. Mama, will you do my hair? Mama, Nathaniel put my toothbrush in the toilet. And, with the twins’ limited vocabulary, they just ran around grunting, Juice, juice, juice, juice. If she heard that word one more time this morning, she was going to pop one of them on his diaper.

It was only nine o’clock in the morning and she was already beyond exhaustion. Laundry was piled up in the corner of her bedroom. She hadn’t had the energy to do it for two weeks and, now, nobody had clean jeans, underwear, or socks. So, she gathered up energy from deep within and headed for the bedroom.

Jenny, I gotta do some laundry. You stay here with these boys. I’ll be back in a minute. How she wished there was a washer and dryer in their apartment. Some of the apartments on the other side of the complex had them, but they were too expensive - another twenty-five dollars each month. She certainly couldn’t afford that. Besides, the laundry room was just down the stairs and around the corner, so at least it wasn’t far. She despised going up and down the stairs, and looked forward to the day when her kids could do their own laundry, or, at least be a decent help. At times, Jenny helped sort the clothes into piles, but was too short to open the top-loading washing machine.

As Natasha made her way over to the door with the first of many loads, Nehemiah ran over and grabbed her leg as though he was hanging on for his life. Mama, Mama. I go. I go. And, of course, right on cue, his cohort in crime came running and grabbed the other leg. Mama, Mama. Go? Go?

Let go my legs, boys. I can’t even walk with y’all hangin’ on me like that. Go on now, let go.

I go. I go, Nehemiah pleaded.

No, no, no. Let go my leg. I’ll be right back. I’m just goin’ to the laundry room. You stay here with sissy.

Nehemiah let go, but Nathaniel persisted, which really angered Natasha.

Nate, LET GO! she yelled. She lost her temper so quickly these days. It didn’t take much to set her off. Her yelling always made them cry. Big crocodile tears came pouring out of their little eyes and onto their dirty shirts and diapers.

Now, don’t go cryin’. I said I’d be right back. Now, LET GO! Sissy, come here and get these boys. I can’t move an inch, and I gotta get this laundry started.

Okay-ay, was the long drawn out reply, dangerously resembling a whine.

Natasha got out the door but not before distributing a few spankings to the ones who were nearby. As she shut and locked the door to her apartment, the crying children’s voices lingered and didn’t diminish until she rounded the corner.

Managing her way down the steps and around the corner, she found two open machines. Setting the whites in one machine, Natasha dug into her pockets for the correct change. She placed the coins in the slots, selected the settings, and hot water flooded into the machine. Only then did she realize that she had forgotten to bring detergent, which meant she had to risk life and limb to go back into the chaotic kids’ world again.

I can’t do this, she muttered aloud to no one. It was only nine-thirty and she already felt defeated.

Dissolving into tears and the dark abyss, Natasha mumbled, I can’t do this. I can’t manage four children. How am I ever going to raise this one? she groaned as she rubbed her very pregnant belly.

Chapter Two

Little Jenny left the kitchen table and her color-splattered drawings in an attempt to corral the twins. Though she was irritated with them, she responded to their tears with compassion. It’s okay. Mama’s gonna be right back. I promise. Let’s go over and I’ll read you a book. The twins heard the word, book, and raced over to find their favorites in the stack on the dust-covered floor.

Jenny sat on the floor with a twin on either side and began reading. They soon stopped crying, and though their noses needed wiping, become lost in the world of Goodnight Moon.

Jenny had heard her mother read it so often that she had memorized all the words. She turned the worn pages as she read aloud. … and two little kittens and a pair of mittens. And a little toy house and a young mouse. Jenny tried to mimic her mother’s voice as she read the words, being sure to soften when saying, And a quiet old lady who was whispering ‘Hush’. To further lighten their moods and extend their reading time, and in keeping with the tradition of the book, she began to say goodnight to things in their own apartment.

Goodnight, refrigerator. Goodnight, couch. Goodnight, remote control. The twins began to giggle and grunt while pointing at objects for sissy to say goodnight to next. Goodnight, cheerios. Goodnight, broom. Goodnight dust bunny. More laughter.

The creak on the stairs outside their apartment door startled Jenny. The twins were laughing so hard, though, that they were unable to hear the noises which captured Jenny’s attention. Jenny was not so easily distracted. She had learned long ago to be keenly aware of foreign sounds for they might signal danger. At times, Jenny was scared when she heard strange noises, especially when her mama was gone, but she had learned not to show fear in front of the children. Too upsetting for them.

Upon swallowing hard, Jenny suddenly jumped up off the floor and ran to the back bedroom. She purposefully laughed hoping the boys would see it as a game. She knew they would follow, especially if it appeared fun. From the back room, she would feel safer and it would be harder for the boys to hear any foreign and unwelcome noises. But, while keeping an ear towards the door, Jenny continued with their game, pointing out every object in the room she could see.

Hearing the laughter from the back room caught the attention of Jeremiah who quickly dropped the remote and headed toward their voices. What are you doin’, guys?

We’re playin’ a game. Wanna play?

Sure, the little voice said while waiting to see what to do.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jenny had no idea how long they had been playing games but it had felt like a long time, and her mother should have returned well before now. The twins were hungry and wanted their juice. Slowly creeping out of the bedroom and seeing that they were safe for the time, they all marched into the kitchen, playing follow-the-leader. She hoped her mother wasn’t going to be gone as long as the last time. She always said, I’ll be back in a minute, but she never was. Jenny just assumed that her mother’s chores just took longer than her mother expected.

Glancing at the television, Jenny noticed that the cartoons which Jeremiah was watching weren’t on anymore. It was another show, only this time it wasn’t cartoons, but noon news. No wonder the twins were hungry. They usually ate lunch when the news was on. Casually, Jenny went to the pantry and retrieved potato chips, slices of white bread, and Twinkies. You guys wanna eat? Here. Come and get some of these. Jeremiah, do you want some?

Quietly, he came over and took some bread. Peanut Butter? he asked.

Okay, I’ll get you some, Jenny responded as if she was talking to a doll. Want some jelly, too? She hoped her mother wouldn’t be angry with her for letting them have something to eat – at least not as angry as last time. Those whippings hurt. But, what was she to do? The kids had been so hungry. She had hated having to look into their big eyes and listening to their rumbling stomachs, faces pleading for food. So, she fed them whatever she could find. But, when Mama had finally come home and had seen the kitchen mess, she was furious. Jenny didn’t want that to happen ever again.

A noise startled her back to reality. Stairs creaked. Sounded like the third step down from the top. Jenny held her breath and waited for the sound of her mother’s key in the lock. Nothing. Must be the neighbor, she thought. She didn’t really like any of their neighbors except the one directly across the hall from them. He was friendly, and not mean.

More time passed. Jeremiah finished his lunch first while the twins continued snacking and smearing their faces with the white, fluffy filling inside the Twinkies. Jenny made herself a sandwich, too, and was just finishing when she heard another creak. Then, keys in the lock. The door opened and Natasha strolled in without the laundry.

Mom-meeeeee, the twins yelled as they jumped over the couch and ran to her. Jeremiah disconnected his stare from the television and searched her face for any trace of anger or irritation, as did Jenny. Seeing none, Jeremiah returned to his show without saying a word, but Jenny continued her research.

What are y’all doin’ with these chips and Twinkies out? Natasha asked in a calm manner. You know they’re not good for you. Couldn’t you have waited ‘til I got back to get you a snack?

But, Mama, they were hungry and the news was on, which means lunchtime, right? Jenny pleaded. She knew if anyone was going to get in trouble, it would be she.

Well, what time is it, baby? Natasha said in a lilting fashion. Well, my gosh, it’s nearly twelve-thirty. Where has the time gone?

Jenny observed that her mother was acting peculiarly. She had seen this mood before many times when her mother had been with neighbor friends. Though her mother’s mood was strange, at least she knew it was not dangerous. Jenny could relax now knowing that there wasn’t going to be any yelling from her mom – or worse. If she were to predict accurately, based on her mother’s history, her mother would snack on munchies, and then probably take a long nap.

Angel-baby, hand me that bag of chips. I guess I’m a little hungry, too.

Jenny handed over the chips, but chose not to sit next to her because of the way her mother smelled. It wasn’t cigarette smoke, but something sweeter. Jenny didn’t like the smell of it on her mama’s clothes, but mostly objected to how the odor seemed to affect her every time. Her mama’s eyes always looked weird whenever she smelled like this, and always took long naps after eating, which was Jenny’s cue to monitor the children.

True to history, Natasha ate stale potato chips and gulped down two fully caffeinated cans of pop before drifting off for a long afternoon nap.

* * * * * * * * * *

Natasha awakened to the sound of someone pounding on the door to her apartment. Groggily, she managed her way through the maze of toys, thrown couch pillows, and children’s books strewn about the floor.

WHO’S KNOCKING AT MY DOOR SO LOUDLY? Natasha growled at the intruder.

It’s me, Sam, your neighbor. Everythin’ okay in there? Those babies are crying again – been crying now for awhile now.

Oh, great, Natasha thought. Yes, Sam, everything is fine. Go on back inside and do whatever it is you do in there. And, mind your own business!

Natasha thought that Sam was a good enough guy, for a skinny, old man of thirty-eight, but he was always butting into her life. He has no kids of his own, so why is he telling me what to do? She had often wondered if he spent his time standing on the second floor landing just outside her apartment door waiting to catch her doing something wrong.

And, she did, of course, make a few mistakes. Maybe, she thought, he was the one who had called the social worker on her a few weeks ago. Natasha had stopped by a friend’s party, but it wasn’t like she had actually planned to stay as long as she did. However, a really good-looking guy showed up. He had walked across the room solely to talk with her, so she certainly hadn’t wanted