Dancing Love

By Melody Richard

This book tells about the struggles of my life and upbringing, meaning the way that I was brought up. I would like the book to be used as a part of a learning process for others who are facing or going through what I have experienced. Writing this book was the hardest thing for me to do because I had to relive the pain. And I hope this book will help someone in need of faith and strength.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503591653

Melody Richard

Melody Richard was born on the island of Jamaica and then migrated to the United States, where she has lived for more than thirty years. She loves every moment of her stay in America and is, in every way, proud to be an American. She loves the outdoors and loves to cook. Her real enjoyment comes from spending time with her family. She loves their laughter, most especially her brothers and sisters. Melody is a mother of two boys, and her children mean the world to her. They are her greatest achievement and her life. She is also a grandmother to seven—four girls and three boys.

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Copyright © 2015 by Melody Richard.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 08/03/2015

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B ASED ON A true story that gives the true meaning to a love that takes life to a new level. My name is Melody, and I was born to Milton and Rose. My mother left me with a lady; her name is May. I was only one week old, and my mother did not come back for me. After a month, May got in touch with my father and his family. Milton came immediately and took me to his mother, my grandma Covina, and her sons. They cared for me for one year, then my grandma Warren, my mother’s biological mother, heard what her daughter Rose had done. Grandma Warren got very upset and set off immediately to get me and take me home and raise me herself. I was her third grandchild but second granddaughter. So my grandma Warren arrived at my father’s family home and found me in the yard in front of their house, in a basket, alone. My grandma Covina was out shopping. My grandma Warren stole me away. Of course my grandma Covina was upset and angry, because she had stepped up to the plate when she was needed the most, but it was too late, because Grandma Warren was a rough lady, more aggressive; she gets what she wants.

I was at my new home with my grandma Warren and my uncle Fred. I don’t know if it was because I was the only child in the home, but I was so spoiled. I cried for everything, and I got it. I had my grandma and my uncle Fred wrapped around my little finger. They took very good care of me. I don’t remember a day when I did not have every little thing that I needed. So when I was eight years old, my mother asked Grandma Warren to let me babysit my brother. I got home from school, and my grandma told me, Tomorrow is Friday, school is half a day. You must come home and eat lunch. Remember, I had been with her and my uncle for seven years. My uncle was the only man and father figure around, so I did whatever I was told by them.

After having lunch, I was on my way to my mother’s house. Halfway there, I saw my mother, Rose, coming. The closer she got, the louder she became. She was swearing and shouting. I did not know it was about me because I would have ran back to my grandma, so I kept on going toward her. As I got closer, her face looked more like a monster, but I did not know she was upset with me. She grabbed me and started to punch me in my face and push me down, while her fingers were around my neck and she was screaming, shouting at me, I will kill you! I bring you in this world, I will take you out! You are testing my faith! All this because I stopped to eat my lunch like my grandma told me to do. Keep in mind I was only eight years old. The children from my school ran and called my uncle Fred, my mother’s younger brother. By the time my uncle got there, I was still on the ground, bleeding and knocked out. My mother, Rose, was trying to kill me. My uncle Fred pulled her away, trying to stop her from hurting me. They both began to fight. I was lying on the ground, powerless.

One would think a mother would try to get her child who had passed out up from the ground. Instead, she ran to the police station and lied about her brother, not telling the police what she had done. The police came and arrested Fred for trying to save my life. The police took her side, for the reason that it was just a mother disciplining her child. Rose then took it a little further and took her brother, Fred, to court, my uncle who tried to help me. It had gotten so bad everyone in the area was talking about it. Now it became the talk of the town, so to speak. I recalled I was only eight years old, and a mother did that to her child.

Rose asked her brother, Fred, and her mother, Warren, for a sum of money. It was so much at that time they could not afford it. My grandma and uncle did not have that kind of money to pay his sister, Rose. Fred could go to prison. Grandma Warren put all she had together and gave it to her daughter Rose. She refused it. Grandma did not want to go to court or trial; they were trying to end it by paying Rose what she had. My aunt Beverly, Rose’s older sister, and her husband, Josh, pooled all the money in order to pay Rose the amount of money she asked for to stop her from going to court. At that time, my aunt Beverly and her husband had just put a little pocket money together because he was on his way to England. Josh went with a couple of pounds in his pocket just to save his brother-in-law, Fred, from going to prison. My aunt Beverly was very worried about her husband, Josh, going so far away and not having enough money. She was crying. Josh told her God would provide, because he was going to London; nothing would stop him. He wanted to make a better life for Beverly and his seven children, so he went to England.

All that drama was going on, and no one took me to the hospital. I was pushed to the back burner. I suffered all the pain. Just when everyone thought all was well, I started to urinate on myself. I could not hold my urine. It had gotten so bad I could not feel when I wanted to go to the bathroom; I would wet myself. I remember I was in school, and I felt my legs were very warm. I looked down, and urine was going down my feet. I could not stop it. I ran behind the school and stood there, trembling and wondering if my brown uniform was still intact, because I was not sitting down. After the break, the school called us back into class. My underclothes were wet. I lifted my uniform up and sat down. I could feel the urine splashing on the floor while I sat down. One day, my friend (her name is Vie) and I were sitting together on one bench, and the urine went down and wet Vie’s uniform. She was so sweet; she asked, Melody, what happened? She used the leaf from her book to help me clean up the urine so it did not wet her uniform. She was so kind. One day, I went to school, and I don’t know what happened, but I wet myself. All day I began to smell, and the children that sat around me started to make fun of me. I felt so bad. I did not know not to drink water on a school day, but I was thirsty from running around all day, playing. I was eight years old. I did not know any better. I was just a kid, and I was soaking wet. I cried and I wet my bed. It was so funny, but I did not feel it going down until I felt my legs were warm. As I got older, I began to drink less and less water to stop the flow of urine, and all that time I was having that problem, no one took me to the doctor. But life took a dramatic turn, a very sinful turn. My life was never the same.

My aunt and her seven children moved in with me and Grandma and Uncle Fred. Soon after, Aunt Beverly went to England to join her husband, Josh, leaving her seven children with our grandma. I was ten years old when my aunt’s son Donald began to rape me. I told him I was going to tell his sister Dawn. Donald told me, She is not going to believe you over me. I am her brother, and Grandma will beat you and Grandma’s not going to give you no more food, and she will let you sleep outside. I was so afraid. I didn’t know what to do. I remember standing there, crying and not knowing what was going on, and my nose was running. I recall my grandma telling me I had pink eyes, because both eyes were swollen, but I did not have pink eyes; it was from crying so much from being raped all the time, and I had no help.

Now I started to get my period, and one day, Donald tried to rape me. I was wearing a blue floral dress. My cousin Donald pulled me into the bushes at the back of the yard. I tried to get away, but Donald grabbed my dress and ripped the entire skirt off me, leaving the pad I used to catch the menstruation, because Donald was upset I was getting my monthly. His brother and sister saw my dress torn, and no one asked what happened. I don’t know if back then anyone cared, but that day Donald left me alone. I tried to keep up with his other brothers and sisters by trying to stay where they were, but he knew when to mope around, which was somewhat creepy. He had been raping me for a long time.

A month had passed, and I did not get my period. I started to get sick, feeling bad, vomiting, and getting very sleepy. I had gone to my grandma’s niece (her name is Victoria) and told her how I was feeling, because she was not living at my home. She had two children and was living with her children’s father, John. She found out I was pregnant, and she told me to come see her the next day because she would take care of it. The next day, I went back to her, my cousin Victoria. She gave me a pill, a white pill, and told me to take it. I asked Victoria what it would do, and she told me, It will wash the baby out of your belly. I asked her, What is the name of the pill? Victoria told me, It is called Premadust. I took it, and in less than a day, I was bleeding so bad. I put the pad I was using for my period, but it was not thick enough to absorb the amount of blood that was going down, so I told Donald’s sister Dawn I was bleeding very bad. She went into the house and took our uncle Fred’s jeans. She cut one of the legs of his old jeans and gave it to me with a piece of string and told me to put it on. I did what she told me because she was older. Her brother the rapist got me pregnant. I was in so much pain, and I was living far away from my cousin Victoria when the pain started, so I could not ask her what to do. I did not tell Donald’s sister I was pregnant. Only Victoria knew, but she did not ask the name of the man that got me pregnant. I could not tell Dawn. I was so afraid that I did not tell anyone, except my cousin Victoria, who lived far away from my home. I had no mother or father to go to. I felt like I was in this world all by myself. I didn’t know if anyone would believe me.

After bleeding so bad one night, I was shaking and having a headache and fever. I was very hot and sweating. It seemed like I was making a sound because my grandma got up and asked me if I was all right. What’s wrong with you? I answered, I don’t know, but that was a lie. I did know, but I couldn’t tell her. I remembered the rapist told me no one would believe me. My grandma Warren used rubbing alcohol and wet me from head to toe and gave me two Panadol pain pills. In Jamaica back then, people used it for their pain, like toothaches. It was a popular pain pill. I don’t know if it is still on the market, but it sure helped me with the pain. I was so afraid. I wanted to tell Grandma Warren, but what if she didn’t believe me? Donald, the rapist, told me I would get nothing to eat or no place to live and maybe I’d sleep outside. At that time, I thought and believed no one would be on my side, so what would I do? I was fourteen years old, and I lived in the country. There was no electricity; it was so dark. Where would I go? And Donald, the rapist, had already warned me. I was afraid of him. I felt like I had no one because it was seven of them brothers and sisters. I didn’t think I could win. I wondered what would happen to me if they all turned away from me. I was the only one; they were a group. I had shed so much tears in my young life. I felt like if I were saving it in all, it would be enough to cover an island.

Donald, the rapist, tried to kill me and his brother (his name is Tray). Donald, the rapist, was trying to hold me down on the ground in the kitchen. I was fighting with all the strength I had, but it was hard. He was bigger and taller in size. I made up my mind to do what I could for myself. Donald grabbed my hair. I was crying, and I heard his brother Tray calling me and asking me what was going on. Tray came to the door and saw his brother Donald holding me by my hair, trying to get me down on the ground. His brother Tray told him to stop. Donald pulled me over to the door, where his brother Tray was standing, and hit his brother Tray in his face. Tray fell to the ground, and Donald picked up a knife and told his brother to get up and to do what he told him to do, while he held the knife across my neck. Tray was so scared he urinated on himself and wet his pants. Tray was afraid, while I lay on the ground, frightened, lying there weak and helpless, with a knife at my neck, while Donald raped me in the presence of his brother Tray. Donald told Tray to sit on my chest. Tray sat, but he was crying, telling Donald to stop. Donald told Tray to shut up. He had a knife and he would use it. Tray tried to get up, but Donald held Tray by the back of his neck and pushed Tray down on my chest. After all these years, I still feel the pain and the pressure of Tray’s weight slamming down on my chest. I still cry, wondering what I had done to experience the thing that happened to me. Donald held the knife as if he were getting ready to kill a goat. Donald told me and Tray that if we told anyone, he would pour gas on us and light us on fire, and no one would know he did it. Tray must have blocked it out of his mind because he never talked to me or anyone about the ordeal, but the incident had brought