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Xpress Yourself Publishing, March 10, 2009
ISBN-10: 0-9779398-6-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-9779398-6-2
5½ x 8½ inches
Trade Paperback
$14.95

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Allyson M. Deese

Baba Evans Moore

Bill Holmes

Chris Berman

Delorse A. Brown

Hazel Mills

Jessica Tilles

Kenda Bell

LaVerne Y. Adekunle

Linda R. Herman

Makenzi

Mia A. Moore

Michael J. Burt

Nathasha Brooks-Harris

Patricia A. Bridewell

Rekaya Gibson

Robin R Robinson

S.B. Redd

Sean XLG Mitchell

Stacey Covington-Lee

Tina Martin

Tinisha Nicole Johnson

Victoria Wells

Violette L. Reid

PATRICIA A. BRIDEWELL was born and raised in Los Angeles, California. A love for reading and writing began in early childhood. Three years ago, she started attending writers' workshops and creative writing classes, which influenced her decision to pursue the challenge of writing her first fiction novel, Reflections of a Quiet Storm. She is currently working on her second novel, The Revelation of a Lover, and has also written articles related to health education and nursing. An article entitled, Permission to Enter,  was recently published in Advance for Nurses Magazine, March 3, 2008 issue, and another article for future publication  is entitled "Different Doesn't Mean Odd" A Closer Look at Autism and Early Intervention in African American Children.

Patricia graduated from Los Angeles Southwest College with an Associate of Science Degree in Nursing; she earned a Bachelor of Science in Nursing—Cum Laude from Holy Names University, and a Master of Science in Nursing Education from Mount Saint Mary's College.  She is a member of Sigma Theta Tau International, Inc. Honor Society of Nursing  Nu Xi Chapter at Large, and the Zora Neale Hurston/Richard Wright Foundation. She had worked as a secretary and then in office management for over twenty years prior to becoming a nurse.  Her 11-year career in nursing has been multifaceted and includes: the emergency room, medical-surgical, home health, mental health, and education.  Aside from writing books, she also works as an adjunct professor of nursing for two universities in Los Angeles, CA. and is a nurse consultant and mental health nurse. Patricia is a member of West Angeles Church of God in Christ in Los Angeles; she resides in Lancaster, CA. and has two adult children and one grandchild.

Prologue

Hello, I’m Pauline. Trials, circumstances, and so much more, nearly shattered my life, my spirit, and my hope, but uplifted by God’s grace and healing, I courageously, valiantly, heroically, reversed the downward spiral that consumed my life. With my dream deeply sown, from that seed, I flourished. Now, I’m ready to share my memories─this is my story.

One Sunday morning, Pauline dialed Naman’s number, praying that he would answer. The dribble of water drops from the bathroom faucet echoed through the hallway, and the sound had become more than irritating. Thoughts of all that wasted water and visions of the next water bill were like drowning in a sea of despair.

“Hello,”  Pauline said.

“Hi. How are things going?” Naman asked.

“Pretty good. So, how are you doing?” Pauline asked, trying to ease into the conversation.

“I’m just trying to make it. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you might be over this way today. I’ve had a leaky faucet for weeks and its driving me crazy.”

“No problem. I’ll stop by before you leave for church. You’re planning to go to service this morning, right?”

“Yes, but I’ll be here until about 10:45.”

“I’ll be there before then.”

By the time Pauline and Naman left the hardware store, the weather had changed. Light droplets evolved into a full-blown storm as they zigzagged their way around parked cars until they finally found Pauline’s SUV. The asphalt was slick, and the raindrops so large that they splattered the windshield and distorted her clear view of the road.

“Where’d this rain come from?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s starting to come down pretty darned heavy.”

While approaching an intersection, Pauline realized that a gray minivan approaching the intersection from the opposite direction was gliding through the red light.

“I can’t stop!  They’re running the light!” she screamed, gripping the steering wheel and slamming the brakes to the floor.

“Oh no!” Naman said, bracing his arms against the dashboard.

Pauline’s SUV skidded into the side of the rusty gray minivan, and a white van struck her from behind, forcing her car to spin around and face in the opposite direction. All four air bags deployed instantly. The driver’s air bag crushed her chest like a bulldozer ramming into a cement wall, zapping the wind from her lungs, leaving her breathless and gasping for air. Within seconds, billowing clouds of smoke, fumes and debris devoured all oxygen. The acrid sting of smoke and fumes singed her nostrils, panic set in, and an adrenaline rush that followed briefly blocked the thought of pain right after the accident.

“Pauline, are you all right?” Naman asked, looking at Pauline and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, but we need to get out of here,” she replied, in a raspy tone. They quickly unbuckled their seat belts and scrambled out of the vehicle.

“Aw man!  That woman went right through the light,” Naman said, as he carefully inspected the mangled, accordion-shaped front-end. By this time, a middle-aged African-American woman was standing outside her gray minivan. He stormed toward the woman’s vehicle.

“What were you thinking about?  The light was red, and you should’ve stopped,” Naman barked.

“I’m sorry. I know it was red. I . . . I don’t know what happened,” the woman stammered nervously.

The Hispanic woman, who hit Pauline from the rear, walked over to Pauline and Naman. Her hands were shaking and she struggled with broken English, but her nineteen-year-old daughter stepped forth to inform the police that she and her mother agreed with Pauline and Naman’s side of the story. It was plain and simple; the woman driving the gray minivan ran the red light.

Immediately, the scene was flooded with tow truck drivers, business cards with attorneys’ names, and witnesses willing to testify. Police cars and paramedics arrived soon afterwards.

A squad car swerved into a nearby parking space. By then, the African-American woman had jabbed her way through the crowd and was standing by the curbside where the police officers had parked, with her arms folded. When they opened their car doors, she practically leaped on them, hand gesturing and head bobbing through every word that rolled from her tongue. Following her lengthy testimony, she swore the light was green when she crossed the intersection and that she was not at fault. Among all the chaos, Pauline heard a familiar voice.

“Pauline, what happened?”  She turned around and saw her long-time friend from nursing school.

“Ilona! Girl, I was just in an accident!”  Her friend embraced her as she crumbled. When the aftershock had settled, she noticed her totaled truck. A sharp pain grazed her chest and muscles and bones ached, but despite all that happened, her spirit could not be broken. Pauline realized her blessing of being alive and not seriously injured, and vowed from that day forward to make every moment count. After they gave statements for the accident report to the police officers, paramedics transported Naman and Pauline to the nearest hospital where physicians examined and then discharged them.

Shortly after the accident, Pauline Bridges decided it was time to practice what she strongly believed, which was to build a stronger faith in God. There were changes that definitely needed to be made. Goals set in the past had once been dismissed as being impossible due to her lack of self-confidence and fear. The old clichés “nothing ventured, nothing gained” and her mother’s old adage “nothing beats a failure but a try” were powerful reminders that goals can only be achieved through hard work, effort, and commitment. Each trial in her life had served as a test of her faith in God and brought forth renewed strength. As her faith in God deepened, her fears dissipated, empowering her to step outside of the box and try ideas that were once figments of her imagination and not considered attainable.

Within a couple of months, Pauline had made up her mind to sell her house in the inner city and move out of the war zone she called home to a quiet suburban neighborhood. She was  tired of being frightened out of her sleep on Saturday nights by the sound of police sirens, not to mention helicopters swarming overhead until the wee hours of the morning. The midday fatigue from all of the late night commotion would not be missed. Nor would she miss the trepidation of a bullet soaring through her window during a gun fight between rival gang members, or the multitude of hustles people tried to run, like the guy who showed up at a nearby shopping center parking lot with a broken key, claiming he needed money for a locksmith. Dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase, his story was he broke his key while trying to open his car door. His corporate image probably fooled even those who thought they knew all of the hustlers’ games, but Pauline didn’t fall for his scheme. Last, she wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder in fear when a car slowed down in front of her house, thinking it might be the local drug dealer ready to spray her house with bullets because of a debt for drugs owed by her former husband, Naman.

Finally, she would reclaim the limited space in her home. No more leeches, and no more free rides. Everybody had to go. All of the relatives who claimed “I just need a place to stay for a few weeks,” or “I just want to stay until I find another job,” would now have to find another hole to crawl into. Pauline had provided the last free ride, and she was convinced that selling her house and moving out of the inner city was one of the best decisions she’d made in a long time. Then something happened. Suddenly, a restful night had become a luxury and very rare, and her workdays were interrupted with these dreams and memories of the past. Several months had passed since the accident and she hadn’t experienced any physical problems, so she wasn’t sure of what was going on. All she knew was that something had to change, but she didn’t know what to do. So, she prayed and just waited for an answer.

While driving through the streets where she lived and glancing at the stuccoed homes and well- kept lawns, she felt a sudden sense of shame over her decision to leave the old neighborhood. Most of the people who lived in the close community worked hard to provide for their families and cared deeply about their neighborhood. Some of them were retired and others were young married couples with children. If these people could change anything, the first item on the list would be to reduce the high crime rate.

Pauline had worked overtime for several years in an effort to save enough money for a down payment on the quaint, three-bedroom corner house she was now selling. Shadowed doubts had once spiked fear and an uneasy feeling about purchasing property in that part of the inner city, but her choices were limited. She fell in love with a Spanish style, three-bedroom house in upscale Leimert Park, but it was a far cry from what she could afford to buy. Therefore, her options were to either purchase the house in the inner city, or remain in her apartment located in another part of the inner city that was named to match what resembled crowded, New Age projects─The Jungle.

Although the Crenshaw District where she grew up was renowned for preservation of African-American culture, the surrounding areas had become plagued with crime. So now, seven years later, it was time to leave and venture out to a new atmosphere. In addition, as an executive with a goal of building a successful career, she felt a new business and a new home would go hand-in-hand.

Pauline glanced in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw. She had pretty, medium brown, blemish-free skin, which gave her a somewhat youthful appearance. Her hair was shoulder length and colored auburn with red highlights to conceal sparse gray strands. She was 5’7” tall, and had a shapely figure that she attributed to her trips to the gym three days a week and daily floor exercises. While studying her figure in the mirror, her thoughts drifted to her brother, Jamahl, who had lived his life in the fast lane in an unsavory profession. That life-style nearly destroyed his life. Pauline stayed on her knees during those years, praying that God would open his eyes, help him rise above his obstacles and walk in His way. They hadn’t talked in over a month, so it was definitely time for a telephone call.