S.C.A.R.S.

By C.L. Williams

The worst part of judgment is the amount of damage it leaves behind. Meet Damien, a spoiled, over-privileged worker for a moving company, and Laquiesha, a self-centered snob with a major identity crisis. Follow him behind the scenes and deep into the lives of the strangers he judges as he knocks on their doors to help them to move their belongings. Follow her as she tries to scar the people she should love in her efforts to prove to herself that she’s better than they are. But learn their lesson as they both discover that it is very possible to scar yourself as you try to hold others to your impossible standards!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781491826041

C.L. Williams

Looking to learn more about mental health? This book is for you. Learn about diagnosis, experience and perceptions, assessment and therapeutic skillsets, inlcuding several case studies. Plus free access to digital presentations.

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S.C.A.R.S.

C. L. WILLIAMS

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AuthorHouse™ LLC

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Phone: [phone]

© 2013 by C. L. Williams. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/17/2019

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2605-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2604-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013919050

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.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

To the loves of my life:

Janelle, Kyle, Misha, and Christian.

You guys make it all worth while

And you also make it fun!!!!

You’re my connection to everything

And that’s why I love you.

When looking in on someone else’s situation, it’s easy to be a bleeding heart. The bleeding is not so bad.

But when you judge someone else’s situation, especially if you draw the wrong conclusions, you will scar them for life.

The bleeding is not so bad. It’s the scars left behind that do all the damage . . .

ONE

Damien? What kind of name is that? Laquiesha thought. Who wants to date a guy named Damien? Sounds like that old movie, "The Omen," from the seventies. The boy probably has some issues I don’t even want to deal with. I’m not even going there!

Ha, she laughed out loud. I’ve got my nerve. With a name like Laquiesha, I shouldn’t talk about anybody. I don’t know why my mama named me that. Sounds like I’m skraight from the ghetto. But I’m not! Never have been; never will be as far as I’m concerned. At least not that anyone from around here will ever know about. That’s why I’m going by my middle name, Denise.

Ha, she laughed aloud again. With my luck, someone from around here will start calling me ‘Niecy’!

At that, she began unpacking the boxes the movers had stacked in the front room of her brand new house in the suburbs.

Damien was the name of one of the men who had moved her things in for her. He was tall, dark—not so handsome. He didn’t smell fresh, either, but there was something in his smile that did him some justice. Laquiesha—Denise—had come up from the ashes. Recently divorced, she’d moved on to start all over. Carl, the ex-husband, had had enough:

"All this black talk. I’m so tired of it. Why can’t she just be human? Why does everything have to be about being black? ‘Black this; black that.’ But the minute somebody white comes along, she tries to hide that blackness—as if the people won’t know that it’s there. That woman has some real issues. But they are her issues, not mine. Ten years of foul play and it’s all in her mind. I can’t let that ‘black’ stuff interfere with my life anymore. I’m done for real and this time there won’t be any coming back.

‘Denise.’ I really like that name, Laquiesha said as she flung her weave over her shoulders, swinging her hair a couple of times in the mirror before bringing it all back into a ponytail and continuing her conversation as if another person was in the room with her. "You look like a ‘Denise’. You ain’t no damned ‘Laquiesha’! Why he insists on calling you that you’ll never know, and as of now, it’s no longer your concern. Laquiesha? Why do people name their children that? Don’t they know it scars them for life? Everywhere you go, every place you call knows you’re black, and they assume you’re ghetto. Even if you ain’t, yo’ mama must have been to even name you something like that! Huh, I ain’t no Laquiesha. Damn, did I just say ‘ain’t? I’ve really got to stop that."

"I can’t believe our marriage is broken up over a name—her name! Her birth name. What is wrong with that girl? Carl asked himself out of frustration. I actually like the name Laquiesha. I’ve always liked it, even if it is a little ghetto. Okay, it’s a lot ghetto, but that doesn’t mean she is. Okay, she is, but I loved that about her. It was her style, her walk, her smile, and that ghetto finesse. That’s what I’m going to miss about her; that sweet, LOUD, ghetto finesse, he laughed to himself. But I ain’t going to miss her. She’s not the woman I married. Seems she’s becoming someone else. It’s like she’s trying to hide who she really is. Who can live like that? Not me. I refuse to do it, and she should do the same."

One down, four more to go, Damien thought as he contemplated kicking his feet up. He immediately thought better of it, as he knew sitting down would prove venomous to his workload. He had returned to the moving company where he worked to sign off on the last job and pick up keys and information for the next. Denise, he thought. Yeah, she’s hot, but so are most of them in that situation. She’s probably divorced and moving on to start fresh. It’s the same story, just a different face. Her real name is probably Laquiesha or LaQuana or something like that, he laughed to himself. She’s the uppity type who thinks we’re all fooled by her inflated ego and her false perception of herself. You can always tell the type who is not yet comfortable with their new money. They have a certain air about them that makes them walk and talk a certain way. As Moms would say, "It’s a spiritual thang. They have a spirit in them because they walk, talk, and act as if they are all the same person. Once you’ve met one, you know how all the others are going to act because they all have the same thoughts, feelings and beliefs, and they copy each other. Doesn’t matter what color or gender they are. And you can’t really blame them because they can’t help themselves. It’s rooted deeply in them from birth because of how they got here and what they’ve been taught about life. Some say it’s cultural thang; I say it’s a spiritual thang’.

His thoughts were interrupted by a brief moment of intense sadness. I miss you, Mom. I really do; but enough of that, Dee, he said aloud. Back to work. At that, he picked up what he needed and headed toward the next job.

TWO

Marble Moving Company, Ma’am. We’re here to move your things, Damien said as his knock on the door was answered with a who is it? from the inside. Sounds like a sweet old lady, he thought to himself.

After what seemed to be about ten minutes, the door finally opened. Behind it stood an eighty-three year old grandmother, who showed the movers into the home that belonged to her son and his family. I’m going to miss this place, she said to anyone who was listening. Her eyes welled up with tears.

Foreclosure, Damien thought to himself as he pushed by her and nodded, acknowledging her presence as well as her comment. He tried to muster up some sympathy but couldn’t, due to the size of the home and the obvious wealth the family seemed to enjoy. They won’t suffer, he thought. They’ll just downsize to a lifestyle much larger and more luxurious than the average person will ever experience in a lifetime. Boo-hoo for them, he thought as the bias began to set in. Ma’am, we need you to sign right here before we move anything, he said.

Oh. Let me get my son for you, she said as she turned toward the empty foyer.

This might take a minute, he griped to himself. Thinking she was going to have to walk some distance to retrieve her son, he sighed with impatience and began to formulate judgments against her because of her age. To his surprise, she walked a short distance to what looked like a walkie-talkie, and radioed for her son. This released a new frustration in Damien that intensified his bias. He found himself glad they were being foreclosed on. The rest of the country is struggling while people like you throw away what most of us treasure. It’s high time you experienced some of the humility and the humiliation that bonds the rest of this country.

His thoughts were turning foul when Dr. Hubert Laws entered into the room. With his hand extended, he thanked the movers for showing up in such a timely fashion, then began to show them which things needed to be moved. As they entered deeper into the home, Damien realized they weren’t moving the whole house. He also noticed an elderly gentleman seated in an easy chair near a window.

Dad, the movers are here to take your things to your new house. DAD, Dr. Laws called in a louder tone.

Yeah, Son. Huh?

I SAID THE MOVERS ARE HERE, Dr. Laws said in a loud, clear, crisp, loving and patient way.

Oh, okay, Son.

Dad, are you sure you want to do this? I know this house is large, but I could hire a nurse for you and Mom. I could hire a team of nurses for you . . .

"You’re a good son, the mother who had been standing by said quietly as she cupped his chin inside her loving hands. We know you and Dorthea would give us the best. You always have, but your daddy and I don’t get around like we used to, and these old bones of ours can’t handle all this space and the stairs you have here. Baby, we gon’ be just fine. Besides, we can’t half hear anymore and all the things you’ve bought to accommodate us are just not enough, and we don’t want you to have to keep buying stuff like that for us. The old house is fine. There’s a real sense of family there . . ."

"But Mom, we are your family," he said pitifully.

I know, Baby. I guess it’s something you won’t understand until you get old. God has truly smiled on you and blessed you with a good spirit. Your daddy and I are so pleased with the way you turned out.

Begrudgingly, the doctor nodded and motioned to the movers to proceed.

New house. Old house. Which is it? Damien thought as he tried to distract himself from the much needed humility he was feeling. But it was both. It was the new house Dr. Laws had bought for his parents before moving them in with him. It was newer than the one he’d grown up in, but older than the one he’d purchased for his wife and their children. He’d bought a house for his parents before building the one he and his family now lived in. Dr. Laws and his family had lived with his mom and dad in the old-new house as theirs was being built. He loved his parents very much and wanted them to have the very best of everything. They’d been loving and supportive of him from the time he was a child and had sacrificed so much for him to become the well-known surgeon he was, and for that, he felt he was forever in their debt. His parents, on the other hand, didn’t agree with that. They did what loving parents do: made sacrifices to pave the way for the next generation. They never felt he owed them anything and it actually hurt them to see him work so hard to pay a debt he never owed. It was God who had decided their son would be a doctor, and it was God who had made every provision necessary to make that happen. As far as Hubert Laws, Sr. and his wife were concerned, that tab was paid in full at the cross, so their son owed them nothing. God had given them what He promised: a child who would be used for greatness—one who would be so selfless that he’d dedicate his life to helping others. Ironically, their prayer now was that he would stop trying so hard to help them!

Damien had had enough of the sentimentality that negated his judgment, and was too proud to admit that he was wrong about them. He immersed himself in his work and influenced the other movers to do the same. Within the hour, the truck was packed and ready to go.

Not