Jamaica's Reign

By Jacqueline D. Wilson

J amaica is a young girl who encounters motherhood
early on but manages to turn her life around and
take the rode of fate that she believes has lead her
to the success shes obtained. With a vow of celibacy
she hopes this will land her to the one true love. Lifes
reality however suggested other wise throwing fiery
darts and falsehood, but with wisdom navigating and
morals as her guide they combat the core of unveiling
the ever so fashionable glitz and glam of temptations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469178356

Book preview

Chapter 1

Poor Little Rich Girl

After the shots were fired, I fell to the floor. Thanking the Lord above, What’s with all that, every other night, my mom said, coming through the house once the coast seemed clear. Growing up on the south side of St. Louis was just like growing up in any other neighborhood, everybody looking for a way out and trying to making it day by day. I was blessed enough to ride the bus to the central side of the town, attending a semi-higher-learning school called Magnates School, which focuses on math, science, and computer technology. To my mother, education was most important. Well, at least, it meant that we were out of sight for those hours; she was the first to graduate from high school from her immediate family and to go on to college, majoring in criminal justices, and I was thankful she did. We went to school every morning, even when she didn’t come home till after midnight some nights and not at all a few times during her flight-attendant-job years. She would be there, bright and early, picking us up from my grandmother’s and off to school we went. I was blessed to have had her as my mom, but at that time, I didn’t know it because I thought I needed a mother like other kids—at home with them every night and attending every school function. In our household, things were a little different; my mother made her own rules to motherhood as do every one else, and it doesn’t come with a manual, you know. An optimistic lady was she, I can remember ages eight through ten for me was a dream—dancing, singing, and making up routes with my sister and cousin, my mom telling us we could be anything we wanted. It was a full-time job some days taking care of my younger siblings because of necessary circumstances. I was by all means ready for what was ahead of me once the school bell rang. We walked just about two miles from our bus stop, mornings and afternoons; we usually talked about the same thing wondering what would be ahead. Is there something to eat besides the usual chill? The youngest of us would shout at her, the only question asking again, if she was even there at all; us all, my older sister, younger brother, baby sister, and I would drive, getting done whatever we needed; rather we went to friend’s house for different things or made mayo and bread sandwiches, and we survived. Other days, we were greeted by aunts and cousins with news that they would be living with us for a while; it was only a small apartment, with two families staying there crowded, I should say. Soon was the first time me, my brother, and older sister found ourselves moved with our daddy’s side, each of us our own. See, this is the part that made her unique. We all had dads with great careers; well, at least those three, but as for me, let’s just say I had everything I hoped or dare dream with my dad being the business man he was. My dad got out of jail when I was only in the fourth grade, and my life started to change; he had always been there, but I was too young to remember. I can only remember as far as writing him at a very young age and visiting him in this building that was hours away. I was attended to more, but days when the streets called, I ended up with my aunt or grandma and my little sister too because my mother was either working or doing her own thang. Aside from my life at home, every child has a social life at school, and there is where I found myself most challenged, not being able to adapt well with my female peers and, in most cases, female staff. I was an angry child, never understanding why I was hated on so badly. As a child, I was really misunderstood. I was, however, a talented young lady, engaged in all sports and also part of the dance team in my elementary years, cheerleading junior high and first year of high school, which is where my story really gets interesting, but for now, let’s stick to elementary. During gym, I was in dance practice, and it was freedom for me, finding escape through bodily expressions. Sometimes, though, it would be interrupted by my fellow hating peers, teachers’ pets who watched me throughout the day, just to let the dance teacher know how bad of an attitude I had in a math class, for instance, which would sometimes lead the dance teacher taking disciplinary action on me, and I would be forced to sit out of one of our performances; one time a few even got together because they were too heavy and couldn’t fit in to the uniform and made sure I wasn’t one of the leads in the biggest dance recitals. You have a bad attitude and can’t get alone with the other girls, my dance teacher said, looking me right in the face, crashing my world would be an understatement. To top it off, my fifth-grade graduation was the worst ever. I was dropped off by a family member; then looking upon the crowd to make sure my mother and father were witnessing my advance, my mood had begun to feel like it looked outside—damp, messy, and chilled, and it even started to pour down raining outside the building, once I realized that I didn’t have a single person show up at my fifth-grade graduation. I, at that point, was truly the poor little rich girl, a child who lacked nothing in apparel, talent, spunk, or personality, but attitude destroyed my beauty. Then, in walk my daddy’s girlfriend and my baby brother to pick me up. I just remember looking over out the window before her walking in, and indeed, it was still storming and raining harder by now; that was the moment I heard God loud and clear, I’m here cliché but really comforting and true. Now skip with me please to middle school years. It was, of course, only a few new students because we were in a higher learner program; only students that could attend were students who waited on the list to be accepted in the program. The hate followed, now so much that when anyone spoke well on me, I was surprised myself—a shame a child who had everything behaved so horribly. Being in so much trouble did take its toll on me. I started to believe the hate myself; back home, the stress of instability began to trouble me also, after we had to move from a home we’d known for so long, not knowing where I would be taken for the day, added the icing on the cake. I guess it’s safe to say I felt the pressures of my mother who then finally found our new home soon after. Now that the living situation was taken care of, the lingering of self-hate and doubt was still very real for me. They say every child deals with issues differently; mine was through attitude and anger so much to the point, it was so severe and extreme, my parents found me a boarding school to attend in Mexico, Missouri to be exact, three hours away. I wasn’t focused in school; grades were low, referrals left and right, mainly for insubordination, and suspensions for just about anything that consisted of attitude. I felt like I could do what I wanted to do. Really, I hated the world. There were times I wanted to die; just going through the notion of an identity crisis, perhaps, but mine to the third degree. No matter how much people told me I was beautiful and talented, it didn’t register because I didn’t believe it myself. Beauty on the outside could never measure up to having a beautiful inside and mine was corrupt. On the flip side, I had mad skills in dancing, singing, school work also came easy, but I wasn’t concerned with being told what to do. I loved art because it allowed me my freedom; even began thinking about a music career soon on. My eighth-grade consular made me head cheerleader; she was the only person in the world, besides my grandmother and males who spoke up for me and saw something other people didn’t, not to mention God who had given me the body of a goddess, with measurements of 32, 25, 36 at five feet three, made me eye candy in the school. My male peers and the complete male staff made sure I knew it, but I was empty on the inside, it reflected in an ugly way through my facial expression, making everybody always ask me, What’s wrong and me never knowing why because I wasn’t in a bad mood. I would look in the mirror often and thought I was fat because I had a body of an adult woman, and I just wanted to be thirteen. I guess that’s the way people really feel when they are destitute and living with self-hate, not being able to see their value and believing other people’s opinions of them, reacting to what they believe about you. It’s crazy to me now when I think about it, but it was my reality and maybe some of yours reading this now. I used to ask for larger sizes in the uniforms, and they would look at me as if I was crazy and would say, joking, You’re not fat. They would say with a slight laughter, but really y’all, I didn’t believe them; I just thought I wasn’t normal, not understanding my gift of difference and maybe they truly hated me because of the one thing I hated about myself—my curves, talent, and voice. My voice was raspy and heavy, not like my cousins and sisters and other young girls—soft and high pitched—no, God had to give me a man’s tone. I was often teased because of it, and people would always ask me, What you say or Are you sick? I hated everything about myself and question God that maybe he’d made a mistake on his very own creation. By the end of my eighth-grade year, I couldn’t participate in any eighth-grade activity or ceremony. I didn’t care; it was about some science-fair project that I failed to complete. I was just happy it was over, and I’d be going to high school but was shocked when they said I had to attend summer school in order to pass. So I did it, and over the summer was when I met him, the finest guy any woman could ever see; well, at least, I felt he was. I thought to myself, Full lips, body has each visible muscle, and brown skin. I was on cloud nine at the first glimpse of him. I was still a virgin until I met Ty, that is. I had kissed boys before but never had I kissed someone so charming like him; it was so passionate and experienced, and it aroused me with just the touch of his lips. He was a sophomore at one of the local high schools; all the ladies wanted him, and I came to find out a few had had him. I was head over heels for Ty. I gave him all of me. I never cheated, but sometimes, he would say I had. We fought some of the times about him and other girls, but I would take him back, and after that, we had the best makeup. Ty was a smart guy; he had a job and really stayed by himself since his mother worked all the time. My mother would be looking for me, but I would be with Ty at the mall, shopping, going to the movies, and eating great dinner at fine restaurants; he made me feel like his woman, instead of his girl. My daddy popped up a few times, but God was on my side because if he knew the entire truth behind this puppy love, he would’ve been a happy camper. To my advantage, my elder sister had finally moved back in after all those years and wound up at the same school as Ty, so I had the scoop, and indeed, he was a player. I got phone calls and stories of the worst thing you could ever find out about your man. I was still so young and hadn’t even made it to the first day of my freshman year knowing already that my first love had broken my heart, but I had a secret of my own I told him I was fifteen, but I was strongly in love with him. I felt it didn’t matter but never got around to tell him, I just rolled with the punches, hoping it would somehow work itself out. People would tell me, Jamaica, you’re only a girl. It’s puppy love. But I didn’t feel that way, plus Ty and I had been through a lot, and we were very mature for our age; he loved my body, voice, and everything, I felt; at least, he made me think twice about all the haters who hated on me and our relationship. My grandmother got wind of my romance after my dad found out, telling me he was too old and to be careful because men use girls for their body all the time in the nicest way he possibly could. Me, young and naive I thought to myself, Ty isn’t a man. He’s a teen, only a couple years older than me, completely taking her comment out of content. I know he’s the one. I would convince myself. My body related to the way grown women would explain their bedroom accouterments, not like girls my age explaining their inexperienced stories with adolescent boys; mine was different, and I couldn’t explain the feeling, but I thought if he can make my body do the things it was doing, then surely it can’t be wrong, like I said, we were mature, planning our future, knowing exactly how we wanted it, and then I knew for sure we were this special couple. My summer romance quickly came to an end when I had a sit-down with my mother two weeks before my freshman year. She basically said this, I’m moving to Texas, and if you ain’t coming, then call your daddy.

What! I shouted. I can’t leave the team or Ty. My life is over. Why you are doing this to me? I finished with my dramatic show. She said, Oh, Jamaica, say it. I’m moving. Are you coming? As if she knew I was going to say, she said, Call your dad.

You already know, I said, with a smart mouth. Well, pack ya things. I’m leaving in two weeks. Heartbroken, I got all my things and moved with my daddy, and everyone else moved with their dads; all, so on different sides of St. Louis. It was a shame and a sad day, very sad day. I stayed in St. Louis only six months after my mom left because my dad was back in jail, and the hate at the high school was overwhelming. Not to mention some of the girls at the high school knew Ty very well and wouldn’t get over having to tell me about all the other women he was connect to. Fighting, skipping school, and not having my mom or dad, I had to move to Texas. Life was cool once I got there. I wanted to see sophomore year, so I picked my grades up, plus the town was smaller, and school was what everybody did. I kept my long-distance relationship with Ty until he got tired of me living so far away, telling me about a new girl and how nice she treated him. So I did the unthinkable after doing so well and moved back to St. Louis with my grandmother. I was fifteen years old now, in a full-blown relationship, totally sexually active, sharing gifts, money, and holidays, showing me just what it was like to be an adult. I didn’t have family, but I had Ty, I thought. Meanwhile, back at my granny’s house, it was a lot of people’s attitude and situation, so my time there was ending very soon. I got so used to being with Ty, my grades started to fall off again. I had made honor roll one semester, but the next I found myself in court with my sick grandmother, benign, kicked out of the St. Louis Public School District for truancy. I had two options: the judge gave me either to go to jail or back home with my mother, saying if I ever enlisted back in the school district, I was for sure going. I was fine with that because Ty was on his way to the military. Once again, I had to deal with someone dear to me leaving; back at my grandma’s, no one could get over me missing forty-eight days out of the school year, so I took the next flight back to Texas. With God, I managed to pick my grades up to be a junior once I made it back to Texas, and I was thankful. This time I even joined dance again, also honor roll. But just when I thought my life was finally stable, Ty flew to Texas and supposedly had a conversation with my mom about marrying me off just to get me out of her hair you now, for him to deal with me because he calimed she was tired. I’m still not sure if this is true or not, but it was something I wanted to do anyway. My mom was a very attractive woman, smart, giving, but please don’t get in her way of achieving her goals, most definitely don’t be around not doing anything with your life things like that didn’t sit too well her and my attitude was causing this conflict which meant I had to go. I chose to believe Ty; about this conversation he didn’t have a reason to lie and to bring it up meant to bring him in the middle, and I didn’t want that. I started to skip out on school again, just to be with him. Once Ty left Texas, a lot of things hit the fan; something went wrong with the house—locks were changed; me at school one day, and the next, packing our entire home, driving back to St. Louis, leaving my li’l sis with my grandmother, and me with my aunt on my dad side, and then she left back for Texas. I called Ty over and over; he never returned any of my calls. I thought, indeed, I was alone; my dad always keep in touch over the phone, so that was the only emotionally help I had. At that time, he was very supportive of me and made sure I had what he could afford even while still incarcerated. Finally, once Ty and I talked; he had allowed me to listen to his voice mail with countless women declaring their love for him. Why did he want to hurt me at a time like that? Just to be honest, he claimed. I was seventeen at this time, and my cousins’ girlfriends were very good to me; not having any parents around, they brought me clothes still with tags on them and always treated me nice. As for my family, only a few took to me at that time. I was lost, confused, hurt, alone, depressed, just about anything you could think. That was maybe the worst year of my life to date, but I have to give it its credit for the strength it gave me. I did start clubbing drinking and smoking, just really rebelling nobody could tell me what to do. I had a lot on my plate and most things girls my age didn’t have to think about, I did, so I didn’t appreciate the little help I was receiving; so I went to the streets. I moved from house to house, and even once slept outside with all my things until one of my cousins found me walking around in the middle of the night. I made the best and worst mistakes of my life that year, and I don’t regret any of it. I stayed in school even though I didn’t go every day. I even took honors classes in science; it came natural to me because of all the good schooling I had all my life. Right before graduation, I had to move out of one of my family members’ home, and I was forced to move with Ty’s mother; during that time I became stricken with illness, almost costing my life. I spent ten days in the hospital, third quarter of my senior year. With not one adult visitor and only three cousins, all under the age of eighteen, one time since I was hospitalized, my nurse had paperwork to send me to child-protect services. I planned to escape in the middle of the night. I planned to take the IV out of my arm and leave without prescriptions—only thing I thought was to keep my freedom, until in walked my grandmother to sign papers, releasing me into her care. God was on my side. The next morning, I had my things packed and ready to go. I wasn’t feeling sick. I was good, and I waited on the doctor to give me my meds and instructions so I could get the heck out of there. Next week, in school, I was 17lbs lighter and everyone was looking at me, strange and gossiping. I knew what they were saying, like how I wasn’t going to graduate and that I wasn’t really in the hospital. But my teachers were very understanding and took my doctor’s note, and we went on. I didn’t pay any mind to the hate; besides, I didn’t know any of them, and they all mostly treated me like a stepchild. Only three more weeks to graduation, I hadn’t heard from Ty since the hospital—some story about me living with another man and I didn’t support him once he was overseas. I didn’t really care what people said or thought about me, so I let it burn. I managed to pull all my grades to Ds, passed every final exam; then prom came, and I couldn’t go. I had no money, family, friends, nothing really, so my cousin and I were invite to a party at the WS downtown, St. Louis. One of the best nights we had, plus it was my prom night, so were all super jazzy. Next thing I know—senior dues rolled around—two hundred dollars were due, and I had not a dime. At one point of time, I had a job but quit and just made some really bad choices. All my classes I passed but couldn’t walk because I couldn’t afford cap and gown; then, out of nowhere, my mom popped back up in St. Louis with the money and was able to stay to see me walk. Nobody can or could tell me God isn’t real because in my senior year, I saw his hands surely protecting me through many sorrows. After graduation, I found a great-paying job and was able to help my family. It felt much better on that end of the stick, and I felt in place being the lender and not the borrower. Now after about six months after I had graduated, Ty finally called me out of the blue. Hey, baby, he said, as if he just knew I would expect him back with open arms, and I did. We went right back to loving each other like we hadn’t just been without one another for all that time. My grandmother really taught me a lot, basically everything during the times I stayed there, working; while she was talking, I only paid attention half the time or just didn’t ask for understanding on parts I couldn’t comprehend, so I had to hit my head a few times. I moved in to my first apartment downtown, St. Louis, with the view of the arch and skyscrapers, lovely for an eighteen-year-old, making over $1,200 weekly. Soon my grandmother’s battle for breast cancer took its toll and spread throughout her body, even her brain, so she lost the battle. We laid her to rest on March 16, 2006, and I quit my job, packed my apartment, and moved to California with Ty. Just a few months before she passed away, I had attended church with her one evening and accepted Jesus as my lord and savior and even received the Holy Spirit that night. I really didn’t know what that meant, but my grandmother called her sisters and told the whole family, so it had to be something amazing. Once she passed away, I felt connected to her through my spirit because I knew she was home without knowing. She also warned me about moving out of the town with Ty, saying, Never let anyone mistreat you. Maybe she knew something I didn’t at that time all along actually, but I didn’t listen; warning always comes before destruction. I never got to ask what she meant, so I left. Ty and I felt we stood the test of time because even though our families were crazy for not wanting us together, we still loved each other very much. Once I made it to California, I saw it all—Hollywood, Magic Mountain, sea world, the Disney land fireworks—we would pull over to watch in Orange County some nights. Life was great, so high on love, I married at the tender age of eighteen.

Chapter 2

I’ll Let You Know I Love You Tomorrow

I guess it started in high school, and I really wasn’t