My Soul Cries Out Page 10

  Back when she was caught up in her causes, one of her main fights was against abortion. Not for religious reasons. She said no child asked to be here, and if they got here—from the point of conception—it was the parents’ responsibility to make sure they were loved. She said parents who didn’t love and properly raise their children were guilty of the worst criminal offense.

  “I know. I’m a hypocrite, right?” Tears streamed down her face. “Over two years later and I still cry about it. I hope God can forgive me one day.”

  “He can forgive you if you just ask. You have to be able to forgive yourself.”

  She rolled her eyes. “There you go with that Christianity stuff. You guys can commit any sin imaginable—rape, adultery, murder—and all you have to do is ask forgiveness and it’s gone, forgiven, forgotten. It’s like a license to do whatever you want. Commit any sin, then repent, say three Hail Marys and it never happened. Where’s the remorse?”

  “It’s not like that. Anybody who has a real relationship with God doesn’t want a license to sin. I love God with all my heart and would never do anything to offend Him. Even though I know He would forgive me, I don’t want to mess up our relationship.”

  “How do you get rid of the guilt?”

  “I feel guilty for a long time when I do something wrong. I think it’s a matter of realizing how much God loves me, and that Jesus died to get rid of the sin and the guilt.”

  Alaysia shook her head. “I couldn’t get rid of the guilt. It haunted me. I imagined what the baby would have looked like, dreamed about it, thought about it and talked to it. I decided it would have been a boy. I kept apologizing to him, but I would dream he was standing over me, pointing his finger at me, blaming me and accusing me for killing him. That’s when things got bad. I lived drunk for weeks. Khalil couldn’t understand what had happened. There was no way I could tell him. He had wanted to marry me. I finally had to tell him after he heard me calling the baby’s name out in a dream.”

  She answered my questioning look. “I had named him.” Her eyes went dreamy. “Savon. I always liked that name.”

  I placed a hand on her arm. I wanted to tell her to stop so she didn’t have to relive it.

  “Khalil heard me calling Savon’s name in my sleep and accused me of cheating on him. I had to tell him.”

  We listened to the waves swelling and crashing toward us. Seagulls flying overhead called to each other.

  “He left me. Left all his stuff—his clothes, furniture, television, computer, everything. As he was leaving, he said the abortion thing was hard enough to deal with, but the fact that I killed his baby without him ever knowing there was one . . . He couldn’t handle the lying. Me not being honest with him made him realize we could never have the relationship he wanted.”

  I could definitely relate, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

  “I haven’t heard from him since. I didn’t realize how much I loved him until he was gone. I sank to a dark place I didn’t know existed. I did everything I could do to help me escape my guilt and losing Khalil; drank, smoked pot, did acid, cocaine, heroin, everything.”

  My eyes widened. Alaysia had always been against anything stronger than pot.

  “Then one day, I woke up and decided I either needed to go ahead and kill myself all at once, or stop and try to find some absolution. So I quit. Everything. That same day. I haven’t touched a drop of liquor or even a cigarette since. I felt so good I started really caring for my body. Started exercising, doing yoga, meditating, gave up unhealthy foods, even caffeine. What is it you Christians say about the body being a temple? I realized there’s so much truth in that.”

  She sighed. “I’m discovering who I am and what I want. I haven’t quite gotten there yet, but I’m seeking inner peace.”

  I wanted to tell her there was no true peace outside of Jesus Christ, but I hadn’t been the glaring example of that.

  “I know, Monnie, I need Jesus if I want true peace.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to say it.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort.”

  “Yeah, but you were thinking it. You just didn’t want to say it because you feel like a hypocrite because you let a few curse words slip today and haven’t been to church in a month.”

  I laughed. “You got me.”

  Donovan walked up with two trays. “You ladies didn’t come to dinner, so I brought it to you.” He put the trays down beside us. “For you, my dear, grilled Tilapia, steamed vegetables, and saffron rice. For you, my dear,” he nodded at Alaysia, “black bean pate with corn fritters, vegetables and saffron rice. Enjoy your meal. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. The food tasted vibrant and exotic—the spices awakened every taste bud in my mouth.

  Alaysia said, “I’ve been thinking about God lately. I’ve become a more spiritual person. I’m not ready for the whole church and rules thing, but I do want to try to find God for myself. I’ve always believed in a higher power. Now I need to know more about Him to decide what I believe.”

  I winced when she said “higher power.” I didn’t know what was worse, the partying Alaysia or New Age Alaysia. “I can respect that. No pressure, no preaching. Maybe we can try to figure it out together.”

  “What do you mean, Miss Model Christian? I thought you had God all figured out.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I’ll always believe in Jesus, but I’m having some challenges as far as church is concerned. I’m cool with God, but I don’t understand some of His people.”

  “You’re hurt because of what’s happened. You’ll come through this stronger than ever. Everything is for a reason. What was it you used to say all the time about all things working out for good?”

  I sat up on the side of my chaise lounge. Alaysia had quoted, or at least referred to, more scripture than I had today.

  “Yeah, I read the Bible. I also read the Koran, and stuff on Tibetan and Zen Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, New Age religions—all sorts of fascinating stuff. I guess you could say I’m on a quest for truth.”

  “Be careful with that stuff. You don’t want to end up in anything crazy.”

  “I figure whatever the truth is will win out, and nothing else has any power, so it can’t affect me.”

  “Oh, some of it has power all right—the wrong kind of power. You don’t want to dabble in the wrong stuff and end up with some spirits you don’t know how to deal with.”

  She waved her hand flippantly. “There you go with that demon stuff. I tell you what. Just pray God has me end up where I’m supposed to be. Tell Him to protect me from that demon stuff and guide me to the truth. If there is an objective truth.”

  She didn’t have to ask me to pray that prayer.

  15

  When I woke up the next morning, Alaysia was missing from her bed. I put on a T-shirt and stretch pants and went outside to find her. I noticed some of the other guests sitting on the beach, up on the rocks, and on the beanbags and futons on the large granite back patio. Was this sunrise meditation?

  I spotted Alaysia on the beach. She sat in that cross-legged yoga position with her eyes closed. I didn’t want to disturb her, so I sat down on the sand not too close to her. What was I supposed to do for this meditation thing? Close my eyes and go “Ohmmm, ohmmm”?

  Alaysia opened her eyes and motioned for me to come closer. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  The ocean rippled toward us. I couldn’t count the myriad of colors in the sky.

  I took a deep breath and stretched. “Awesome.”

  A little bell tinkled.

  “Yoga time.” Alaysia got up and brushed the sand off her shorts.

  “I think I’ll stay out here on the beach.”

  “Come on, Monnie, just try it. It’ll help you relax.”

  I followed Alaysia. Everyone pulled mats out of a bin and sat in a circle. There were only five other guests. I was glad Alaysia picked somewhere small.


  “I am Milana, your yoga instructor for the week. Do we have any beginners?”

  No one raised their hand but me.

  Great. Fat girl does yoga with a group of experienced contortionists.

  Milana smiled at me. “Welcome. The most important thing to remember is only do what you’re comfortable with. Don’t do anything that causes pain or stretches your muscles too much.”

  She proceeded to go through an explanation of what Hatha yoga was about. She talked about breath and energy and chakras and a lot of other babble that didn’t make much sense to me. She told us to get into the rest position, sitting on our heels with our knees bent and our legs under us. After ten seconds, I realized if this was rest position, I was in big trouble. I kept shifting from side to side or lifting my body up to take the pressure off my legs.

  Milana said, “If this is too uncomfortable for you, you can stretch your legs out in front of you.”

  I felt my face turn red, but it was too late to quit. I scowled at Alaysia, but it only made her laugh.

  We went through a variety of poses and stances with funny names like warrior pose, cat pose, and downward facing dog. Most of the positions I couldn’t do, so Milana showed me a modified version. She made me hold them, and it took a lot of strength from my legs and butt. I guess she figured I held the positions long enough when my legs quivered. By the time we finished, my face was flushed and I felt tingly all over, like I had electrified my body.

  Milana bowed when the class was over. “Namaste.”

  “Namaste,” the group said back collectively and bowed.

  “Nama what?” I whispered to Alaysia.

  “Namaste. It means ‘I bow to the divine in you’.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Lovely.”

  “It’s also like greeting, like peace, welcome, good day. Well, what’d ya think?”

  “It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty cool. I feel kinda . . . zingy.”

  “Zingy? I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “Yeah. I think it is.”

  After breakfast, everyone dispersed to their separate space to read or write in journals. The last thing I needed was a lot of quiet time to be alone with my thoughts. Alaysia beckoned for me to walk with her down to the beach.

  We walked in silence for a while with the water tickling our feet. Finally Alaysia said, “Ready to talk?”

  I let out a deep breath and nodded. “You were right about Kevin.”

  She nodded. Didn’t say anything else.

  “I walked right in on them.”

  “Oooooh, not good.”

  We kept walking.

  “What are you gonna do?” she asked me.

  I shrugged. “What can I do?”

  She nodded.

  We waded out to our ankles.

  Alaysia said, “Sorry. I didn’t want to be right.”

  “I know.” I kicked sand and water in the air.

  “You’re gonna be fine.”

  “I know. It just hurts right now. A lot.” I picked up a shell and examined it.

  “If you need to get away, you’ve always got a home in Atlanta.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  That was it.

  The rest of the week was pure bliss. I got better at the yoga thing. The tai chi relaxed me. The food tasted great. I could see why Alaysia had gotten into the whole natural, holistic, organic, yoga, energy thing. It felt good to take care of myself. I didn’t like the sunrise meditation. It gave me too much time to think about the mess of a life I had to go back to.

  The long walks and talks on the beach with Alaysia were therapeutic. It was just like old times. Alaysia had wonderful, exciting stories to tell of her new life in Atlanta, her new business, new friends.

  I needed a new life, but I didn’t know where to start. During one of the reflective times where people meditated and wrote in their journals, I decided to start one of my own. I divided my life up into compartments to see what I needed to change.

  For one, I had to proceed with a divorce. It was going to be painful, but what choice did I have?

  I also needed to stop eating myself to death. I enjoyed the food I ate here in Jamaica, and needed to eat like this when I got home. I vowed to get some healthy cookbooks and check out the health food store not too far from my house.

  And I had to start some sort of exercise program. I could walk every day. That’s how I lost weight before. Give me a Walkman and a bright sunny day, and I could power-walk at least two miles.

  I had to find me a yoga class. I wasn’t into the whole spiritual babble, but I liked the way it made me feel. The electric, zingy sensation was addictive.

  I also needed to find another church. Fellowshipping with other saints and hearing some good Word would help the healing process. There was no way I could go back to Love and Faith Christian Center.

  Then there was my career. Did I want to go back to Nurse Practitioner school? Did I want to stay in the health field at all? If I didn’t, what else would I do?

  On our last night in Jamaica, Alaysia and I took one last walk on the beach. “Promise me we’ll stay in touch.”

  I nodded. “Of course, silly. Best friends are forever, remember?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I mean it, Monnie. Your friendship means the world to me. You’re like the family I don’t have. I need you.”

  “And I need you, girl. I feel much better after this week. I think I can at least try to put the pieces back together now.”

  “Okay, we have to call at least once a week and email at least every other day, even if it’s only to say hi. Promise?”

  I nodded. “Promise. Cross my heart, all that good stuff.”

  Alaysia patted my back. “You’re gonna make it through this just fine. You’re stronger than you think.”

  “I hope so.”

  Alaysia’s last words to me when she dropped me off at the airport were, “Remember, if things get too bad, you have a home in Atlanta. All it takes is a phone call.”

  I hugged her good-bye, wondering if I would need to take her up on that offer.

  16

  When I stepped off out of the airport, the contrast between the sunny, breezy air in Jamaica, and the gray, freezing cold in D.C. depressed me. The clouds were pregnant and angry, as if it might even snow. God, couldn’t You have at least had the sun shining when I got back here?

  It was as if I was being welcomed back to my life. Glad you had a great time in Jamaica, but let’s get back to reality. I refused to be moved. I took a deep yoga breath, flexed my thigh and butt muscles and felt a tinge of zing. I will not be discouraged.

  When I got to the house, I went straight to my bedroom. I dug in my dresser and pulled out my exercise clothes. If I kept them lined up on the chaise at the foot of the bed, I would be reminded every day I needed to walk. I put my tennis shoes right by them. Where was my Walkman?

  I went down to the kitchen, got a big trash bag, and threw away all the fattening food: potato chips, toaster pastries, cookies, mixed nuts, cupcakes. God, did I really buy this stuff? What was I thinking? I braced myself and opened the freezer. Thank God there were only two pints of Tom & Larry’s to throw out. I shut out my thoughts of the starving children dying in Africa and dropped the bag in the trashcan. Sorry, Tom and Larry. I can’t hang wit’ y’all no more. I know you guys have been there for me through some rough times, but I gotta let you go. Try to understand, ’kay?

  I felt empowered. I was going to take control of my health and my life and turn things around. I decided I would give myself a week before I contacted Kevin or called a lawyer.

  Alaysia and I kept our promise. We emailed or called each other every few days. Two weeks went by, and I still hadn’t called Kevin. I didn’t want to mess up my flow.

  I decided to go ahead and find a lawyer. I wasn’t quite sure how to do that, so I searched the Internet. Most of them had fancy web pages with articles explaining important facts about divorce. It was more information than I ever wan
ted to know.

  I settled on Attorney Renee Hart. She’d graduated from Howard’s law school about the same time I graduated from nursing school. I thought she would be able to relate to me better. Her picture looked like she could be a friend of mine.

  My hands shook as I dialed the phone number listed for her.

  “Attorney Hart’s office,” a soft, pleasant voice answered.

  “Yes, I’d like to talk to someone, to a lawyer about, uh, I need some information about getting, uh . . . I need to get a divorce.”

  “Of course, ma’am. Ms. Hart is out of the office, but I’ll direct you to her voice mail.”

  The lawyer ’s voice sounded calm and soothing on her message.

  I tried to be calm when I left my message. “My name is Monica Harris-Day. I’d like to speak with you about starting divorce proceedings against my husband.” Duh, who else would they be against? I left my contact information and hung up the phone.

  After about a week of playing phone tag, I got an appointment with Attorney Hart. Her office wasn’t too far from my job, and I took off early one afternoon to go.

  When I pulled up to her office, I got the trembles. Walking through the door, I got the sweats. When her receptionist greeted me, I got the stutters. And when she led me back to Attorney Hart’s office and introduced us, I got the goofies. I kept repeating everything she said.

  “Hello, I’m Renee Hart.” She stood and came around her desk to shake my hand.

  “You’re Renee Hart.”

  “And you’re Monica Harris-Day?”

  “I’m Monica Harris-Day.”

  “You called about a divorce?”

  “I called about a divorce.”

  She smiled and gestured for me to have a seat. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

  I tried to make myself relax. I wondered if the soothing, pale blue walls and the plush armchair I was sitting in were designed to calm frazzled women like me.

  “I’ve been married for two years, and I caught my husband cheating on me. I put him out, and now I want a divorce. That’s about it.” And then the stupid tears started falling. I had planned to be succinct and professional. Instead, I was bawling. “Excuse me, I—”