How Did I Get Here?

By Anja Wright

Does anyone really know anyone? Do you ever understand or know what people are thinking? People usually make decisions based on the moment, not thinking of the future. What do you do when something happens in your life, one that you have no control over? How do you handle it? Just ask Artillia aka Arty. What happens when the one she loves and trusts has secrets, and what happens when the secrets and lies are discovered? How does she handle the hurt and betrayal?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662410352

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How Did I Get Here?

Anja Wright

Copyright © 2021 Anja Wright

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-1034-5 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-1035-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

How Did I Get Here!

The Money

The Boat Ride

Vacation

The Prenup

When He Touched Me

Vacation—After

Holiday

Coming To

How Did I Get Here!

Wait! Wait! Is all I remember yelling before waking up briefly and hearing someone saying, Doctor, we are losing her? I wonder how I got here. I guess what they say is true. Your life passes before you when you’re dying. Is that Ken looking at me from the glass window? My children! I have to be dreaming. I must be dreaming. Lord, please let this be a dream.

I remember the day we met. It was a Saturday afternoon, August 16, 1988. A longtime girlfriend Josepha and I decided to go on a boat ride to celebrate our passing of the New York State bar exam. We were down at Pier 17 on the west side of 34th Street and the West Side Highway. Josephina and I have been best friends for what would seem to be forever. We both lived in the same area in the East New York section of Brooklyn in the city of New York. As some would say, Ride or die, and that’s how most lived their lives.

Where we grew up, we weren’t able to go outside and play often. My parents would say the area was going through some changes. I always gave my parents a hard time to go because all I wanted to do was go outside and play like the other children. You know when you’re young, you really don’t or would never really understand why I can’t do things like other children.

I never really understood why I had to sleep on the floor until one day, a young lady was shot in the head while she was breastfeeding her baby. She was shot in the head, and the community was outraged. That was the first time I’ve ever seen people protest. They carried signs that said We are not safe while feeding our children in our own home. She lived in the next building next to us on the same floor. As a teen, I always said to myself, How does one get shot on the fourth floor? As a teenager, it just seemed like the area got worse.

I can recall when Josephina and I were children, we would have tea parties and make believe that we were lawyers getting ready for a big case. People in the area would tell us we lived in a make-believe world. They told us we would always be living right there. Josephina and I believed that we were more than just being the girls from around the way. It never felt like we belonged there.

When Joe and I became friends, she was like the sister I never had. At some point, my parents decided that they didn’t want any more children after me. I believe that God knew what he was doing when my parents only had me. Before meeting Joe, I was very lonely. When we met, everything changed. I was always told by these elder women that I knew, God has a plan and a purpose for your life. Every time I would see her, she would tell me the same thing. Over time, I really believed what she said because God knows what he is doing and he never makes a mistake.

Joe and I did almost everything together. Joe was the youngest of three daughters. So their house was always busy. I really enjoyed being at her house because there was always something to do there. Unlike my house, my mom would come home from work, sit at the kitchen table, cook, and watch TV. And her cup was never empty.

Joe’s older sisters were Kelly and Tammy. Kelly was married with a child on the way. She and her husband, Dewayne, were staying with Joe’s mom and dad because Kelly’s husband lost his job and was waiting for the NYPD to call him. As if we need another police officer in the family. Joe and I were hoping they would call him soon because they took over Joe’s room.

Tammy was leaving that November for the Air Force. That didn’t make her father happy at all, but her mom was proud that she was making her own way. During one of Joe and I’s tea parties, Tammy said, The two of you can do whatever you want. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Our families really weren’t that bad compared to others in the area.

Dewayne and Kelly seemed to be very happy even if Dewayne wasn’t working and they were living in Joe’s room. During the time they were there, Kelly decided to go to school to get a degree in paralegal studies. It just seemed as if everyone was moving forward. It really seemed as if no one allowed where we lived to get in their way of doing better and getting what they wanted in life.

At this time, my mother was working as a registered nurse (RN), and my dad worked for the New York City Police Department. Actually, Joe’s father worked for the New York City Police Department as well, and Joe’s mom was a stay-at-home mom. It’s funny because both of our fathers worked at the 75th Precinct on Sutter Avenue in Brooklyn, New York.

Where we lived, everyone knew our dads, and they were 5-0 (meaning everyone knew they were the police). So Joe and I were off-limits, and that made it hard for us to make friends or even date. My mom would say, You girls can date when you’re in college. That never made me feel any better.

I really can’t recall if I ever told my parents what my educational plans were for my education. I’m not sure what Joe said if anything to her parents? All we knew was we wanted out. We could do anything as long as we were together. We were on our way. When Josephina and I graduated from Fordham University in the Bronx, New York, everyone was very surprised. We both graduated with honors.

When we got into Harvard Law School, we cried and just held each other. Massachusetts, here we come! We are leaving. Massachusetts was very different from where we grew up at. When it got cold, it was cold—nothing like Brooklyn. Every time it snowed, the school would be shut down. The great thing was we had underground tunnels that connected the buildings. It would rain for a while, then it would be hot for a while. The weather was just crazy. Coming from New York, we got snow, but it was nothing like Massachusetts.

It was very different for us being there, but we worked and helped each other through the bad times. And when the good times came, we shared them together. Like when a professor said something about my height and skin tone and what slave ship I would’ve come on and the role I would’ve played. I couldn’t believe that the professor would say anything like that. I realized that as much as things change, things stay the same.

We had to be about eleven years old when we decided to change our names. Josephina and I were laughing really hard about our names one evening. Artillia and Josephina what was our parents were thinking, so we decided on Arty and Joe. Even at that age, we had our own minds. Those sounded very sexy to us, and at that age, what did we know about being sexy? Our birthdays weren’t that far apart either. I’m a September baby, and Joe’s a December baby.

My name is Artillia. I was named after my great-great-grandmother. Everyone called her Great Nana. When she would come to visit, we had to make sure we had everything she needed and liked. She didn’t speak English, but everyone understood what she was saying with no confusion. Great Nana’s hair was white, and she was wrinkled up. She was just old.

Josephina was named after her great aunt on her father’s side. I remember saying to her my father’s auntie had the same name. I guess that was just one of those names everyone had in the Midwest. Going to visit my family in Missouri was always a little different. Coming from the city, some people felt that we must be rich. There was never anything to do there.

When Joe and I were kids, people always made fun of us because we were the tallest girls anyone had ever seen. By the time we were in the seventh grade, we both stood at about five feet, nine inches. Being female, we were taller than most of the boys in the area, so that was no fun. The icing on the cake was when I found out I had to wear glasses. I couldn’t believe it. Joe never made fun of me. She would just say, Sister girl, we have to see, don’t we? and we would just laugh.

By the time we reached college, we really started looking like girls, and the funny thing was we were starting to feel like girls. I guess my mom was right after all. That never made me feels better, when she was right. As I got older, I realized that I really love my mommy, but I also understood that we wouldn’t agree on everything.

When we would go out, it seemed as if everyone would stop and stare at us as if they had never seen tall women before. By the time we were in the tenth grade, we both stood at about six feet. To be honest, maybe six feet, one inch. We would fight about who was taller. We both weighed no more than 130 pounds. Our hair colors were different. My hair is blonde, and Joe’s is jet black.

One day, I asked my mom how I had blond hair when she and dad had black hair. She gave me this long story about when we were slaves. My mom was no taller than five feet, two inches, and she could pass for Spanish. She grew up in the south, so I know it was very hard for her. She would drink a lot, and I never realized it until I was in my midteens. Whatever my mom would do just seemed to be all right. She worked every day at the hospital and came home to take care of her family. She wasn’t that great of a housecleaner, but her food wasn’t too bad.

Come to think of it, my mom would remind you of Julia Childs. She never cooked without a glass of wine in her hand. I realized later that if you grow up seeing something all the time, you don’t ever think anything is wrong with it. I didn’t understand some of the things my mother said or did.

She never really spoke about her family. I never really understood why. My grandfather and grandmother did very well for themselves. They owned a three-story brownstone in Brooklyn. My two cousins and I loved going over there. They had a grapevine in the back along with a stone BBQ grill and the most beautiful dog you’ll ever see, named Beauty. She was all black.

My father, on the other hand, was caramel tone, and I guess I got that from him. But he was only five feet, ten inches. Asking my father something was another story in itself. The only time he opened his mouth was to ask if dinner was ready—oh, and when you’re doing something wrong. Again he never spoke about his family either. He grew up in Saint Louis, Missouri. The dirty, dirty—and when I mean