Excerpt: Dangerously by Makenzi

CHAPTER 1
CHRISTIAN


The pleasures of life. Yeah right!!! Not for me. Ain’t shit pleasurable about the life I’m living, which only leaves me with the choice of deciding which will be more painful…the pain I will endure if I choose to continue living or the pain I may experience upon death. Which is worst? Decisions, decisions.

Should I take a bullet to the head, pump my body full of prescription drugs, lie down and never wake up, or slit my wrists and allow the life to slowly seep from my body? Or is it God’s will for me to stay and endure all this pain? Decisions, decisions.


Dear God,
I really don’t know where to start because I haven’t been the most faithful, praying person lately. See, I guess I never really felt I had a real reason to pray. For the most part, everything had been going pretty much the way I thought it was supposed to.
My daddy provided everything for me to make up for the absentee mother who birthed me. Although, it’s probably Daddy’s fault my mom didn’t stay around in the first place. The reason I say this is because he was and still is a womanizer. He messed around on her numerous times and yet she kept finding it in her heart to forgive him. That is, until she came home that fateful day and listened to the answering machine as Aunt Whitney fussed about someone coming to pick me up since she had to go to work and I’d been at her house all day. My trifling daddy had dropped me off so he could run be with Delores, his ex. By this point, my mom had taken all she could endure. She left that same day, with me still at Aunt Whit’s, and never returned.
I was very young when my mother left, so I don’t remember much about her. I do have pictures of her that I look at often, attempting to imagine what she would look in this present time. I can honestly say I am the spitting image of her and have been told this from relatives and close friends of the family more times than I can count. Sometimes when I look at her pictures, I have to do a double take, almost mistaking them for pictures of myself.
From the look of the photos, she appears to be the same height I am, about five foot one, and we’re both on the petite side. In this one picture in particular, she has a medium-length feather hairstyle, but I can tell her hair is thick, just like mine. I often daydream about the closeness we would share if she sat in my salon chair and allowed me to work my magic on her hair. Afterwards, she would leave…proud of her daughter’s talent, even though I disappointed her by dropping out of college
She has almond-shaped eyes, same as I do, except her eyes are a lighter brown than mine. Her hair is a bit sandier, also. I dye mine because of my dislike for brown hair. We both have pudgy noses and very thin lips. I have one dimple; she has two. I also have her to thank for my bushy-ass eyebrows. The only difference is I get mine waxed. I guess the picture was taken before waxing became popular.
In the photo, she is wearing something that resembles a one-piece purple jogging outfit, which I must admit is somewhat stylish. It was fitting her well, and yes, my mom has, or should I say had, a shape. I don’t know what she has now. She’s very cute and looks to be about eighteen, but there’s no date on the picture, so I can’t really be sure.
Oh, how I wish I could remember more about her. What I know of her are the basics. For instance, I know her name is Carmen and that she’s originally from DC. She met Daddy when he was there visiting some friends who were in medical school at Howard University. Daddy kept returning to the DC area so he could “run into her”. Finally, giving into his persistence, she agreed to date him and, from what I am told by Aunt Whit, got pregnant almost immediately. With Daddy not ready to be neither a father nor a husband, he abandoned her in DC and left no information on how he could be contacted. I still don’t want to believe my father, whom I adore with every bone in my body, could actually be that coldhearted toward someone, let alone the woman who was carrying his child.
Aunt Whit said that somehow my mom found out Dad’s phone number and kept calling and begging him to come back so they could be a family, but he didn’t want anything to do with her or her unborn child, especially since he had moved on and had plans of marrying Delores. Well, his decision didn’t flying well with Carmen’s dad, my grandfather, who was a sergeant in the U.S. Marines and hunted Daddy’s ass down. My mom’s family was successful in getting in contact with Aunt Whit, since it was Dad’s last known address. After talking to my grandfather, Aunt Whit was on the next bus to DC.
Supposedly, Aunt Whit called Daddy and cursed him out about leaving Carmen pregnant and alone. She told Daddy to get his shit together and meet her in DC that night or else she was going to call Delores and tell all. Needless to say, Daddy didn’t arrive in time, and Aunt Whit, who was there for my birth, got her gossipin’ tail on the phone and spilled the beans to Delores. After hearing what Aunt Whit had to say, Delores no longer wanted anything to do with Daddy…at least that’s what she said at the time. By the time Daddy made it to DC, their engagement was off.
Upon learning this, my grandfather put together a “short notice” wedding for Daddy and Carmen at the chapel on the base. Aunt Whit said there were about fifty people in attendance and that it actually turned out nice. After the ceremony, a small dinner reception was held at a restaurant on the base. The next day, Daddy, Carmen, Aunt Whit, and I left DC and headed home.
Once back home, it didn’t take long for Delores to fall for Daddy’s tricks again. Daddy started fucking around with Delores again right after speaking his vows at his shotgun marriage. He ran her some bullshit of how I was a mistake and that I might not even be his, but since he was an ‘honorable’ man, he had to do the right thing. Daddy did have one thing right, and that is, I didn’t look like him. If Carmen got pregnant as quickly as they said, then I guess he was right to feel like I could’ve been another man’s child.
I think he did grow to love my mother, though. I believe after a while he started to realize she didn’t try to “trap” him, and that they both just got caught up.
Aunt Whit said my mother was a very good wife. Although she proved to be such, he wouldn’t allow her to do things outside of the home, like work or hang out with her newfound friends. On top of that, she was only permitted to go home twice a year. It’s still hard for me to imagine Mel Johnson, my daddy, controlling some damn body. But it’s true. And because of his controlling ways and infidelity, my mom walked right out on both of our asses and NEVER came back.
I think this is why I tried desperately to hold on to Kory, my husband. I just couldn’t take the thought of being out here in this world alone. Hell, I grew up lonely. Why would I want to live my adult life the same exact way?
I know you’re asking why I’m praying to you now seeing as I haven’t prayed since the incident with Kory in the shop. Well, I am going to be honest with you, God. I stopped believing in you.
I mean, why would you take my mother and leave me to be raised alone by my doggish, philandering daddy? Sure, many women were in and out of our life, but none could take the place of my mother. I gave nothing but attitude to every woman he became involved with, especially that bitch Delores. I sent her ass steppin’ as soon as I could turn my lips up to say the words. Imagine that…me, Christian Alicia Johnson-Banks, giving someone hell.
Anyway, after praying faithfully each night and going to church with Aunt Whitney every Sunday morning, I decided prayer didn’t work since my mom never returned. Therefore, I stopped praying. I mean, here I am a little girl and my mother just up and abandoned me because of some stuff my father did. I could see her leaving him, but me? She could’ve at least taken me with her. She shouldn’t have left me behind like that. You shouldn’t have allowed that. That’s why I stopped praying.
But when I felt in danger that day with Kory whilin’ out on me over some jealous issues he was dealing with pertaining to my previous relationship with Doug, whom I had dated prior to marrying Kory, I stopped and prayed. And because you spared my life that night, God, I am praying to you again.
I joined church with Aunt Whit when I was six years old. I was baptized, attended Sunday School and Vacation Bible School, and was even on the Junior Usher Board for a while. I assume that from all of my involvement in the church I’m saved, and therefore believe there’s a part of me that still has remaining faith in you, which I suppose is the reason why I am writing you this letter now.
What I actually want to know is this, and I’ll get to the point, God. I have been reading the Bible all day. Hard to believe, huh? Yes, me, Christian Alicia Johnson-Banks, reading the Bible. But I didn’t know where else to turn to find the answers to my questions about suicide.
You see, Dear God, I am ready to go. I can’t take this anymore. I hate my life. I hate living. It’s a chore for me just to wake up in the morning. I’ve thought this decision through carefully, but haven’t decided on the way in which I will take my own life…shoot myself, overdose, or slit my wrists. None of these options are appealing to me, but I feel as though I have no other choice. I know I should consider the affects my demise will have on Kory and Kamryn, our daughter, but from the looks of it, I am not of any use to them in my current state of mind while living. It’s a constant mental battle…one of which I am slowly losing.
Which brings me to my pressing question: If I go through with this, can you show some mercy and allow me to enter the gates of heaven? I do NOT want to go to hell.
Speaking of death, Aunt Whit told me about four years ago that she heard through the grapevine that my mom had died and was buried somewhere out west. She could be right about this, because according to Daddy, Carmen lived dangerously her entire life. I never even looked up the death record to see if in fact my mother had died. I felt as long as I didn’t know for sure there would always be a chance Aunt Whit didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. I still want to believe the woman who gave birth to me, Carmen Jean Johnson, will one day return and make everything all right.
To this very day, Aunt Whit isn’t speaking to me because I treated her so badly when she delivered the news to me. I mean, how in the fuck, (pardon my language, God), are you supposed to react when someone calls you at work and says, “Baby, your good-for-nothin’ mama done died on them streets in California”?
Died on the streets? What is that supposed to mean, God? Carmen was from DC, so what was she doing out in California? If my grandfather used his rank to find Daddy way back when, why didn’t he use it to find Carmen? There are so many things that absolutely make no sense at all to me…especially the fact that Carmen Jean Johnson supposedly died on the streets in California and the only person who heard about it was Whitney Johnson.
Aunt Whit’s deliverance didn’t sit well with me and I let her know it, along with a few other choice words. She hasn’t spoken directly to me since, but Daddy said she did send me a card to the house to say how sorry she was. Fuck Whit! And if I could have it my way and die tonight, like I pray I do, we won’t speak again until she gets to wherever it is we go when we die.
But right now, I am not thinking about Whit or anyone else. All I know is that I’m in pain and I can’t take this anymore. So as I lay here in my pajamas, so damn funky from me not getting out of the bed for the last three days, I beg you, Dear Lord, to hear my prayer: If my mom is up there in heaven with you, I want to give her one more chance to come get me and take me home with her. Amen.