I Am: The Story of Me

By Carissa Speed

A child is robbed of the right to remain innocent when she is sexually abused at an age children should only experience laughter and cartoons. At the age when children should be developing trust tendencies and feelings of security from those closest to them, this young child was being molded into deceit and sexual immortality. Fearful, she never reveals the tragic event and is unknowingly forced into an abyss of demonic forces designated to restrict her from reaching her destiny. Life becomes more complicated as she ages, living out the destructive path that is paved before her. They say life is about choices, but what happens when life makes a decision for you? How do you regain authority over the things that were granted to you from the makings of heaven and earth? How do you become who you were created to be when you have no knowledge of who you are? This child has to figure it out or life will become obsolete before its meaning can be revealed. She fights through a life of sex, lies, deceit, heartbreak, and tragedy. Yet the question is, who will win the fight?

Cover art made by: Sherelle Speed aka Artdoll

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886544565

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I Am

The Story of Me

Carissa Speed

Copyright © 2023 Carissa Speed

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88654-454-1 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-456-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

About the Author

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the glory and for the edification of the Father, who knew me before I was formed. There are no words of expression that would be great enough to describe all you have been for and to me. No amount of praise shall ever surpass the magnitudes of thy faithfulness. When you shaped and molded me from clay, you knew exactly what I would do and who I would become. I pray that as I continue this journey with you, my life will mimic all that you destined it to be!

To my beautiful, amazing mother, Shirley, thank you, Mom, for returning me to our creator. Had you not, I am sure that my existence would not be tangible. Thank you for loving me past all my flaws and indiscretions with unconditional love. You raised me with strength and with love. The best part is you married the only man who will always and forever be my Dad! I cherish every lesson you taught and teach, even the ones you allow/ed me to buy. Without you, I could not stand as the woman I am. I love you both with my whole heart!

To my husband, children, and entire family/extended family, who put up with my craziness and loved me through the pain and anguish of metamorphosis; I honor you, husband, and children because you all hurt the most. You lived and experienced the worst and will reap the best of what is yet to come! You are the force that pushes me beyond my capabilities and hold the deepest part of my heart!

To the Kerneys and the Nesbits, thank you for the spiritual guidance and leadership during this process and forevermore. Thank you for believing in me when I did not believe in myself. Thank you for not allowing me to wallow in my selfishness and pity. I appreciate your giving me the unadulterated truth and chin checks of correction with love. I love you guys with everything I have become!

To the women all over the world struggling to find their authentic selves, I want you to know that it does not matter where you are but where you have the potential to go. That is the good news! Please know to get there you must acknowledge and accept who you are now and that is where the hurt can sometimes lie, in the A & A part. Wounds are meant to teach, correct, and produce growth so that you become whole, lacking nothing. They were never intended to be picked or to cause infection. Get up girl from your sleep and slumber. Own yourself to become the trueness of your creation!

To all the people who taught me lifelong lessons, whether meant for bad or for good, baby; you assisted in helping me to grow and/or let go! I will remember all the growing pains from yesterday, today, and those yet to come. I realize that I needed you just the same!

With all my love,

Carissa ~The Butterfly

Chapter 1

Trained to Keep Secrets

Who can find a virtuous woman? What does it mean to be virtuous? Proverbs 31:10–31 describes her as priceless and above all pettiness. She is adorned and respected, giving respect and showing dignity. She works night and day, securing the safety and well-being of her family. Her children and husband call her blessed and praise her. Many daughters exercise the same duties, but none of them exceed her quality or nature. The chapter goes on to describe her virtuous nature, capturing everything about her, lacking in nothing. I will leave you to read about her in your spare time, but for now, let us talk about it. I remember when I was none of those things. Wait. Let me back up to say I saw as a child the characteristics of a virtuous woman as I watched my grandmother operate. I saw some of those same qualities in my mother and aunts. I wanted to be like them. I was like they were. Virtuosity was ordained in me. The enemy had different routes for me, but God had the rerouting system in the GPS. For all you extra sensitive Christians who cannot take reading truth as it is, you may not want to read this. Not everything in this book is holy nor is it befitting of a minister. If you're with me, let's roll. If you're not, the book is bought and paid for now. Do with it what you wish!

Where do I begin? How about from the beginning? When you are young, everything seems to be happy and unmovable. You are oblivious to the storms life can bring. I do not know about the struggles my family endured. All that I do know is that I lived to see my grandfather coming up the road riding on his John Deere tractor after being gone all day. I remember the chickens and the roosters. I remember the outhouse and the red barn behind the house that we children would walk all the way down the street and around another street to get to. It belonged to our family, and inside it were pigs. I do not remember how many pigs. I just remember the pigs! We were so retarded back then. We did not know that one slip-up messing with those animals could have caused us some serious damage.

The pigs did not seem to smell as bad then. I can ride beside or behind a trailer carrying pigs now and just about puke from the smell. I remember playing in my grandparents' car. Do not ask me what the make and model was; I cannot give you that. However, I do remember the color was a light blue. It never seemed to be hot back then. I played outside seemingly every day. This was my daily routine as I waited to see Granddaddy coming up the road on his tractor. My uncle was home during that time. He played college football. I recall watching him play a game once. It seemed it took Granddaddy forever to drive to the game that day. Once we arrived, I can only call to mind my uncle on the field. I heard the crowd going wild as the commentator repeated, "Hopkins has the ball. He's on the 50 (it goes blank), and…he scores!"

The crowd was screaming and shouting. I was so small. I could not see because of the people standing up in front of me. I was screaming, I can't see… Granddaddy, I can't see!

I loved my entire family very much. Nevertheless, my granddaddy and my uncle were my hearts. They both made me feel like a little princess. Watching Arthur Lee Hopkins preaching from the pulpit every Sunday was something I looked forward to. Seeing my uncle when he came home from college was another thing I looked forward to. Then my world changed.

The Thief

Uncle Ron (others called him Hop) met a girl. She was tall, of a light-skinned complexion, with long, thick, and beautiful hair, and the prettiest white teeth I had ever seen although they were a bit bucked like a horse. They were still pretty, straight, and white. I hated her! She was taking my uncle away from me. He brought her home from school with him one weekend, maybe around Christmas time. I can see a Christmas tree invading the corners of my mind. It was usually our time to spend together when he came home. Not this time. He was with her. I lay on the flat of my stomach with my face wedged between the two curtains (which separated the living room from the den and kitchen) watching him cuddle and coo her. Yuck! I could tell he liked her a lot, more than I did. It was not that she had done anything to me. No, it was solely because in my mind, Uncle Ron was mine and I did not want to share him with any other girl.

Escaping Death to Live

Not to mention, at that time, Granddaddy seemed to have disappeared, and I did not know why or to where he had gone. So all there was left was Uncle Ron. Granny was there, of course. She took me along with her most places she had to go. One time is vivid. We went to visit a friend of hers. She left me inside the car, but before arriving at the lady's house, we stopped by the store where Granny had bought me a package of colorful balloons. I was tiny then, barely enough air in my lungs to blow away a dandelion from its stalk. You know what I am talking about, right? The long stalks that grow from the ground with the florets on top. Yeah, those. I loved to collect a handful of them and blow them and watch the florets float in the air. Because I couldn't blow air into the deflated piece of rubber, I opened the door and shouted to Granny as she stood on the front porch with her friend, Granny, can you blow up my balloon?

She answered, Yeah, baby. Granny will blow it up when I get back in the car.

Excitedly, I closed the door and waited for her to return. It was a few minutes later my sweet grandmother returned to the car, and immediately, I handed her the balloon. Holding it between her lips, she began to blow it up as she drove away. Reaching the stop sign just a few feet away from her friend's home, I watched impatiently as she proceeded to complete my mission. As she began to pull away from the stop sign, after making a right turn, the door flung open, and I went out of it. I had fallen out of her moving car. I cannot say what immediate reaction Granny had. But given her hysteria at the hospital, it is safe to say that she screamed Oh my god! and came to a screeching halt. I know that to be true because as my eyes scanned my surroundings, the back tire was millimeters away from my head. At that moment, something inside me showed me of what significance my existence was and would be. The next thing I knew, I was lying on a table, watching this white substance being shaped around my arm and hearing the cries of my Granny. She was weeping from such a level of sorrow that I would not ever know until years later. She cried to the extent of making me cry. I did not feel the pain in my arm. I felt the pain of Granny's heart and heard it in her voice when she said, Granny didn't mean to hurt her baby! I knew that. The upside of the accident was that I had only broken my arm.

Remember earlier when I said it seemed as if my grandfather had disappeared, and I did not know where to or why? After the accident, I could see him again. He lifted me out of the car and carried me into the house. He entered his and Granny's room and laid me on their bed. There was a dangling object that hung from the ceiling that he put my arm inside of. Lord, I had to sleep in that sling for what felt like forever! I do not recall ever being in pain. However, I can relive how miserable that cast was due to the itching. My arm itched so bad. I took a homemade scratcher someone (cannot remember who) made and slid it between the cast and my arm and, figuratively speaking, scratched the skin off my arm! It does not ring a bell how long the cast stayed on. I was only five, but it brought me money and visits from my father's parents: Granddaddy Frank and his wife whose name I never knew.

I do not have a clear vision of Granddaddy Frank or his wife, but I know that he loved me and tried to be there for me in the absence of my father, his son. From that time to the present, I have never met the man who fathered me. I have never seen a picture of him to know what Franz Williams looks like. I have often wondered what part of myself is a replica of him. Do I have his smile, his eyes, or his skin complexion? What about my personality? Did I inherit it from him? I can say from what I have been told I have his temper along with that of my grandparents and great-great-grandmother—Old Lady Liza, they called her. My granny kept a picture of her that hung on the den's wall. She was a beautiful woman. She had dark skin and long, wavy, and silky hair with high cheekbones. Later, I learned she was 100 percent Cherokee. Mean. My father had committed a capital offense, resulting in his incarceration. Therefore, attitude came to me honestly. Today, my temper is better than I have known it to be in the past, and to God be the glory because I know it was God who kept me from committing some horrible acts out of anger. Nevertheless, I would not experience any of that until much later in life. For now, I just want to remain innocent. Unfortunately, it was not long after my broken arm had healed that I would experience my first encounter with the devil.

Bisexual Tendencies Birthed

Shhh…don't tell anybody. It's our secret, she said to me as she straddled between my little thighs, putting her vagina on mine. As she began rolling her private against mine, I felt two things: fear and what I know now to be pleasure. There was a silence that hovered over the house that day, absolute silence. There were no dripping faucets, no humming of the wood-burning fireplace, or any crackling of the old wooden floors. There was no sound throughout the entire house. I do not know how long the encounter had lasted. However, I do know that she never repeated the act after that day. I did what she had told me not to do. I never spoke of what happened to anyone, not Granny, Momma, Granddaddy, no one! It was not until I grew older and had children of my own that I even confronted her with what she had done. She was the first to sexually abuse me of more to come.

Sometime after the incident, Granddaddy had disappeared again. This time, I had been told of him being in the hospital. Still, I did not know why. All Granny said was He'll be home soon. And he was. There he lay on the couch in the den. My hero, my best friend, Reverend Arthur Lee Hopkins, was home. Only this time, he did not look the same. His skin looked to me as if someone had bleached it in spots. He looked much smaller than he had seemed to have been. He seemed weaker. He was. I overheard someone talking about him having a stroke out in the barn. I never knew that happened. I just happened to overhear it. But back then, as young as I was, I did not know what it meant to have a stroke. All I knew was that my once vibrant and outgoing hero had turned into a lifeless and exhausted shell of his former self. In addition to my slowly losing my grandfather, my uncle shocked my system by announcing that he was getting married! Oh no, he could not be! He was. He did. All the way to the wedding, I was blank. I wanted to see my uncle. I was excited about that, but I cannot say that I was too thrilled that he was getting married. The wedding was late fall, I believe. It was quite cool, and it was dark. Momma and I were late. I think she may have gotten lost. I do not know, but we finally made it.

What was I to do now? My uncle was married and no longer home. My grandfather was sick, in and out of the hospital. Granny was working, my mama was working, and I was left home with someone I was afraid to be with alone. Although she never touched me again, something just began to feel awkward. I just could not pinpoint what it was. It was a while later that it started becoming clear to me. My granddaddy was sick, and doctors did not know if he would get better. Now he was in the hospital again, and we were off to see him. Upon arrival with Granny, my mama, and I believe a couple of my aunts, Granny said, If they ask how old you are, you tell them you're twelve. I was only nine.

I replied, Okay, Granny. I will. No one ever did. The ride in the elevator was a quiet one, and the walk down the hallway to his room was too.

Gifted to See Death

Entering his room, there he lay quiet and motionless. I had never seen him that way before. My uncle was there too. I stood at the bottom left corner of his bed in disbelief and fear. He motioned for me to come closer with a half-lifted hand gesture. I moved closer and sat on the bed next to him. He could barely move, but I felt his light embrace. He could not speak at all, but I felt his breath on my face say to me that he loved me! Even as a child, God had given me the spirit of discernment, and I knew that visit would be the last I would ever make to see him alive. Suddenly, I began to cry hysterically and painfully. I knew that he was dying without anyone having to tell me. Someone within the room escorted me out. I vaguely remember who, but I did not want to leave him. I wanted to stay forever. Maybe if I could stick around, my presence could keep him alive. I am reliving the pain I felt that night even as I write.

It was darker than the midnight sky inside my aunt's apartment where I was after the hospital visit. The stillness of the environment was eerie. As I lay in bed in the dark listening for any sound, the phone rang. My heart dropped into my stomach. It kept ringing. Ring…ring…ring…louder and louder. Suddenly, it stopped. At that point, I realized that if my aunt were home, she would not have let it ring like that so many times. Oh my god, we were home alone. A nine-year-old and a baby. The phone started to ring again. Only this time, I rushed to answer it. Hello? Instead of someone speaking, they began to breathe heavily in the phone. Immediately, I dropped the phone, snatched my baby cousin up from her bed, and scrambled out of the door down the stairs and out to the walkway. Back then, three of my aunts all lived in an L shape within the same complex. The baby was heavy, and she started slipping out of my grasp by the time I could make it halfway up the sidewalk. From a distance, I could hear a familiar voice calling my name. Carissa, girl, what are you doing? Someone rushed to meet me and took the baby from me. Where is your aunt?

In tears, I replied, I don't know. I woke up and she was gone! I told them about the phone call and went inside to bed. I am glad they were sitting outside already to see me coming because I do not think I could have handled walking up the stairs carrying a half-sleeping baby. Thank you, Jesus. Coincidentally, all my aunts had an upstairs apartment. That was the last night I spent with that aunt until I was older.

The cousin under me was so irritating. She loved to pick fights with me anytime she could. One night, she aggravated me so much that I had gotten fed up. We argued intensely until it became physical. I kept telling her to leave me alone. She continued to taunt me until I got up and hit her. Immediately, my aunt's boyfriend's brother got in between us. It was too late. The fight was on. One adult was holding her, one was holding me, and then she spit on me! I could not reach around to hit her, so I kicked her directly in the chest. She reacted so dramatically, gasping for air as if she were dying, crying, and screaming, She kicked me! Well, you know who got the whooping, right? You guessed it! I did! That was the first time I can vividly remember my aunt whooping my butt.

I can hear her yelling, Y'all are cousins! You ain't supposed to be fighting, and you're the oldest—you should know better! I was thinking to myself, Yeah, Auntie, but your daughter is bad! You noticed how I said I was thinking it? It was not like it is now back then. You better not talk back. You are liable to get your teeth slapped out (figuratively speaking). Anyway, that was our first of a few more fights. For instance, the time she ran out and told our friends she beat me up and busted my nose. Supposedly, my blood was all over the bed. The truth was the alleged blood was ketchup stains. The things we lied about as kids (LOL)! I could not be fooling with her when there was someone else who caught my attention.

Ooooh, look at him. He was so cute! I knew I should not be having thoughts like this; I was only nine years old. But dang, he was so cute, the boy from downstairs. He was of caramel complexion, wavy black hair, pretty white teeth, and gorgeous. I was too shy to ask him what his name was so, I asked my big-mouthed cousin. Aw, girl, that's [giving him a fictional name] Gerome Jenkins. Even as a child, I never thought I was cute enough for any boy to like me. I had always wanted to be thinner, prettier. Gerome made me feel as though I was pretty enough. There was never any inappropriate activity between us; I just liked being around him. However, I was feeling things in my body that had been introduced to me years earlier. I was too young for anything sexual, but I was curious. At the same time, I was too afraid to let the boy next door touch me in any other way besides holding my hand. I am very proud to say, no matter how fond of him I was, we were only children. Therefore, we remained innocent friends. I was elated to know that someone outside my family saw beauty in me. Time went on, and Gerome and I became great friends. I visited his apartment where he lived with his mother often. My social life (at nine years old) could not have been better. Little did I know my world would crash like the World Trade Center in a matter of time.

The World Crashed

One night, as my aunts were preparing to go out on the town and my cousins and I were in the kitchen preparing snacks, something seemed odd. There was a certain stillness in the night air that had not been noticeable before. I could not put my finger on it. I could have never been prepared for the news that I was moments away from receiving. The apartment was rather loud from the music we had going. Suddenly, there was a certain silence that fell in the apartment. I walked out on the balcony where I spotted my aunt who lived across the street being escorted in my direction. Her longtime boyfriend was holding her close in his arms as to comfort her. I did not realize that she was crying until they got closer, and I could hear her sobs. Immediately, fear consumed me. I did not know what was going on, but whatever it was, it had to be bad to make her cry. I turned back into the apartment. Here comes Aunt Jean with Uncle Brown holding her, and she's crying. One of my aunts met them at the door. As she was being helped inside by Uncle Brown, she muttered, Daddy just died!

Immediately, loud clabbers of sobbing fell out of the mouths of everyone in the room. It was as if my ears began to ring. I ran into the bathroom and hid myself under the sink. With my knees drawn into my chest, cuffing them with my arms, I cried. It was not long after I had retreated to the bathroom that my aunt came in to console me. It was true. My hero, my first love, was dead. It was the first heartbreak I had experienced. I thought I would die too. The thought of never being able to see his face, hear his voice, feel his embrace, or see him smile at me ever again gave me a pain I could not imagine overcoming. The pain seemed to intensify at the funeral. I recall the church being packed like a can of sardines from front to back and bereavement collapsing the walls. I can't let him go. I do not want to let him go. Please, Granddaddy, take me with you! As it was my turn to view his body, I literally attempted to climb inside with him until my uncle grabbed me around the waist. I cried so hard and so uncontrollably that I had to be removed from his body's view and taken out. It was then I realized my life would never be the same.

Just so you know, from that last sentence of the previous paragraph, it has taken me approximately forty-four days to resume writing. There is no doubt in my mind—and certainly in the mind of you readers—that was a hurtful and insuperable period in my life. From that day to this one, the death of my grandfather gives me pause. I often wonder if he had never died, would I had experienced any of the future endeavors that I faced? I am sure I will never know the answer to that. However, I knew that life must go on! Here I was, broken and confused as a nine-year-old girl trying to make my way through this period of my life without a tour guide. I know there were plenty of people in my world that I could have confided in: my aunts, cousins, mother, grandmother. But when you have already been programmed to keep silent and refrain from speaking on your emotions, everything else that is bothersome becomes an automatic shutdown. With that being said, I never spoke of the heartbreak seeing Granddaddy laid to rest caused me. I just moved on.

Truthfully, I never did. For the next twenty years, I cried on the anniversary of his death. I would sit in solitude for days until the pain subsided. I bet you must be wondering, So nobody realized how sad you would get? Remember, I stated earlier, I was programmed to be a good actress. I was trained to act as if nothing was wrong. So no. No one noticed, or at least, no one confronted me. It would not be until years later that I would have to come face to face with realizing how holding that pain inside spawned other negative encounters. Until then, I would have to take the enemy as he was dealing his venomous bites to me. By the summer after Granddaddy died, at the age of ten, the enemy struck another venomous bite.

Walking home from the park one day, this strange man came from behind me and scooped me up on his shoulders and said to me, Keep quiet and don't scream. I'm only taking you to the store. There was a store at the end of the road entering into the projects we lived in that I would visit every day. In my mind, I was thinking, Okay, this will be short. The store is just down the street. Usually, there are kids everywhere—in the park, riding their bikes around in the neighborhood, cars up and down the road, adults sitting on the porch in front of their apartments or hanging clothes in the backyard, but strangely, this day, there was complete silence and total stillness. It was as if the entire world was paused. I could hear myself screaming in my head, but no sound was coming from my mouth. I was stiff as a board as the man passed the store, cutting across the back of the apartment building my mother's friend lived in. I hope she's home and can see me, I said in my head to no avail; she had not. She was not home. The last thing my eyes fixated on before dipping into the woods behind the projects was the white church we had visited across the field. Suddenly, my body was slammed to the ground, my shorts violently ripped off, and this man abruptly entered my vagina. I was so numb. I was terrified. So much so that the tears seemed to have frozen before falling from my eyes. He smelled like a mothball and dirt. He clinched my throat with his hand as he continued to force himself inside me. His breath reeked, and it was hot. As he was getting off me, he spoke into my ear, If you tell, I'm going to come back and kill you and your mother! What was a ten-year-old to believe? That he was lying? That he would not do it? I was ten, and I believed him.

Quickly, he ran off into the field toward the white church, pulling up his pants as I lay there watching him. I bet if I had to finger-point him today, I could. I will never forget that face. I rolled over and pulled my body off the ground, pulling up my shorts, and burst out of the woods running as fast as I could. Upon reaching our apartment, I could hear my mom and her friends inside, laughing and talking over the music that was playing. It was the perfect opportunity to move past her without her noticing me. Straight into the bathroom, I went and pulled my shorts off. As I sat on the toilet, looking down at the mess he had left behind, I could smell his odor seeping out. My ears rang with the words he spoke to me as he was about to leave me: If you tell, I'll come back and kill you and your mother! Fear struck me like lightning, and all I wanted to do was wash his filthy scent off me. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Knock-knock… Carissa, are you in there?

Oh my god, it was my mother! I had to respond but in a way that would not alert her of anything being wrong. Yes, ma'am, I'm in here!

Are you okay? she asked. Despite my knowing I was not, I told her that I was. She accepted my answer and walked away. Immediately, I showered, scrubbing myself over and over until I could no longer smell what he had done. Coincidentally, I believe that incident is the reason I cannot get out of the shower or tub today without having washed myself multiple times. I could hear Mama and her friends up front as I exited the bathroom. I balled up every article of clothing I had on and placed them inside a bag, slipped out the front door, and discarded the bag into the dumpster around the back of our building. I never told Mama.

Chapter 2

Jealousy Refused to Let Us Live

Seasons had passed, and my mama still did not know about the tragic experience that happened. I vowed in my mind to remain silent. I would rather do so than risk my assailant delivering the promise he had made. Of course, we would not be hard to find considering we yet lived in Apartment 72 of the projects, which was merely yards away from the direction he fled, somehow indicating to me that he must have lived in that direction. I never knew how I or if I could ever forget that moment in time, but I certainly gave it my best effort. It's darker than usual tonight in my room, I thought, as I lay in my bed listening to the music that was playing on the radio. My mom always seemed to have the radio on at night as we slept. Our dog, Trag, would always lie on the floor next to me wherever my head was positioned. If he was not lying in my room, he was in my mother's room. That night, I could not sleep as I often couldn't because demons would dance in the threshold of my bedroom door. They would taunt me as if they were angry with me and wanted to attack me, but for some reason, they never crossed over the threshold. Amazingly, I was never frightened even though I did not understand why it was happening. Of course, the more my relationship with God developed, the more I understood those things that were unexplainable to the carnal mind. Now I understand why the demons could never cross the threshold. God would not give them permission. Everything has to go through the Master for approval. Therefore, if God says no, the enemy cannot touch you!

Crash… Glass was shattering around me as I lay sleeping in my bed. I awakened, freaked out, scared to death, and feeling as though my heart was going to pound out of my chest. My mother ran into my room, grabbed me up, and secured me into her bedroom. I could remember thinking, What just happened? Did someone try to break in? I had no idea. All I knew is that I was scared, and Mama seemed concerned. There had been a previous privacy violation before, only it was the kitchen window that had gotten broken. Who was breaking our windows? Why were they doing it? I discovered the answer to those questions a while later. One day, my mother and her girlfriend were in the kitchen. Suddenly, my mother bolted out of the back door, telling her friend to keep me inside. I did not know what was going on at the time, but whatever it was, my mama's friend was watching it from the kitchen window, the same window that had been previously knocked out. Later, I found out the culprit was an ex-boyfriend of mama's who was angry that she had broken up with him, and the festivities that were being watched from the window by her friend happened to be my mama going upside the ex-boyfriend's head with a bat (if memory serves me correctly) after having found out that it was he that had been slithering around in the dark, breaking out our windows with bricks. Man, I saw my mama in an entirely different light after that. She was my real live Superwoman, one that did not take any crap whether it came from a woman or a man!

She worked as an insurance agent with a company out of Memphis, Tennessee, that kept her traveling. I spent a lot of time with my cousins on the other side of town from us. I loved being over there with them. I would walk to their house almost every day. We got into quite a bit together. There was this old lady who lived behind them that had fruit trees in her yard. We would jump the fence every day to steal her fruit. She had apple trees, pear trees, a grape vine, and pecan trees. Every day, we jumped the fence, and she would run us away when she caught us. One day, she told us, The next time I catch you over here in my yard, I'm going to turn my dog loose on you! Shoot, we were so hard-headed. Do you think we listened to her? We were even told by my cousins' mother to stay out of that lady's yard! Did we listen? No, we did not. Back over the fence we went.

That day, I guess the lady was watching from her window for us because not long, after we'd crossed over into her yard, from a distance, I could hear my cousin yelling, Run, Carissa, run! I looked around; they were in trees, and there was this dog running at me full speed. I dropped every piece of fruit I had and took off back across the fence. I barely made it. My younger cousin, who was never allowed to tag along, came out and asked where everybody else was.

Simultaneously, they came running through the field, jumping the fence back into our yard. Immediately, his sister said, Ooooh, y'all been back over there in that woman's yard. Mama told y'all to stay away from over there. I'm telling!

Me, being who I was and not wanting to get in trouble, told her, If you do, I'm going to throw this match in your hair and set your hair on fire!

I dare you, she said. The next thing I knew, I threw it, and her hair caught fire! Of course, I was beating her senseless, trying to put the fire out. Now I knew I was in trouble because she was telling if she was not going to before!

She ran into the house, and the next thing I heard was Carissa, get your butt in here! Yep, I was in trouble. She whooped me like I was not her family!

And I'm telling Shirley when she gets here! Shirley is my Superwoman, my mother. I knew for certain she was going to kill me.

When Mama got there, she heard about the latest fiasco I was involved in. I do not know why she was riding a bike that day, but the whole time she was pulling me on the back of her 10-speed, she taunted me on how she was whooping me when we got home. I wanted to just fall off the back and break out running. But where was I going? She knew every place I would be. Might as well take it—I did set my cousin's hair on fire. I thought that was a well-deserved butt whooping. At the same time, I thought maybe I would be extended some grace. After all, she did pull me on the back of a 10-speed for three blocks. She would be too tired. Wrong. She opened the door to our apartment and went straight to the closet. I heard the belt buckle jingle. I knew it was on! That brown leather belt and her heavy hands could put pain on you that the strongest pain pill would not help. You know, I think the talk that comes along with the whooping makes it worse!

Seemed as though I was getting a lot of whoopings during that time. There was one time I wished she had whooped me instead of letting me suffer. The park used to flood after big rains. It looked like a giant, oversized swimming pool. We kids would go out and wade in the water. It was fun. This day, we went out into the water, but I did not wear shoes. I left them on the porch. Our parents were out in the yard watching us. Suddenly, I heard my mom call for me to come put my shoes on before I cut my foot. I waved her off. Aw, Mama! I'll be all right! Immediately, I screamed! It happened. I cut my foot!

Mama ran out to me. She took me inside, wrapped a torn sheet around my foot, and we went home. Once we made it home, she unwrapped my foot. It was more blood than I had ever seen. I wanted to faint. She put pressure on it while saying, See, I told your hard-headed tail. I'm not taking you to the doctor either! She held pressure on it until the blood flow slowed down. Then she did something that I would not do this very day. She poured raw alcohol on it! It burned like crazy! To say the least, it worked. I still have the scar today! I guess, you could say that I see why my children are so hard-headed!

Those were the simpler times in life. There were not many days that I did not feel happy even though I had already experienced some terrible things at a young age. I learned to suppress the bad and access the better things of life. It would be safe to say that the enemy did not want to allow me to do that. No, he had to keep injecting more venom into me. Jealousy and being downcast began to rear its ugly head. At this point in my life, I saw nothing special or beautiful about myself. I saw nothing that I had that others should have been jealous of. Apparently, they did. There was this set of project girls, and for better acts of privacy, we will name them the O'Conners. Now these girls were not the ugliest girls; as a matter of fact, a couple of them were decent-looking even if they were bald. Well, they had hair short as the hair on a monkey's head. Anyway, for some strange reason, they always seemed to want to fight me. I was not and still am not one who specializes in fighting. But do not get it twisted—I will and have shoved some elbows in my time. I have taken some beat downs, and I have given a few as well. One day, on our porch, I had to show one of the O'Conner girls that I was no punk. I gave her what she kept bullying me for…a good, old-fashioned country butt whooping. I thought that would suffice. To my surprise, later down the road, I found that my beating the brakes off her only led to her wanting to pick on me the more.

Months passed, and now it was time to say goodbye to Apartment 72. I had some good times and some not-so-pleasant memories to leave behind in that apartment. I did not think there would be even more disturbing encounters lying ahead of us in the new apartment. Unfortunately, there were. New demons arose the day Mama met her first husband. Let us call him Bobby. From the start, there was something I did not like about this man, but I could not put my finger on it. He was tall, dark, and had the ugliest skin I had ever seen on a person. He had what my aunt calls crater face. Let me explain in case some of you have no idea what type of skin that is. It is the kind of skin that looks like gravel. Have you ever found a phosphorous rock, the rocks with the little holes inside? That's crater face! My mom seemed to like him, so when she asked me what I thought, who was I to say, I don't like him? I probably should have, had I known he would take us through the things he did. Instead, I told her the opposite of what I really felt. He's okay, Mama. He seems nice. When what I really wanted to say is, He's ugly, and he seems like he's the devil! I do not remember much about the ceremony except they were married at his parents' house.

Afterward, my visits to my cousin's house across the park seemed to dwindle. I stopped going as frequently, and my pants-wearing days ceased as well. His family were Pentecost, so I guess that meant we were too. There were days that I would sneak clothes to school with me and change into them before class started and change back into the clothes, I left home in. It worked for a while until…the manly girl from the O'Conners family threw a monkey wrench in my game plan. Paula was, let us just say, not girlie. She played on the boys' football team for Christ's sake, and she was twice the size I was, with muscles! Well, she had this boyfriend whom I thought was handsome and thought it an honor that he wrote a letter to me. He was a jock for crying out loud. Every girl in the eighth-grade class wanted to be his girlfriend. So when I received a letter from him, what did I do? Yep, that is right—I wrote him back. What I did not expect was that the letter would end up in the hands of his Shercules, that Hercules in female form.

One day, during the last period of school, she approached me about the