While riding my bike, I became thirsty. I remembered the punch mama made and I went upstairs to get a drink. She would make it with lemons and sliced oranges. I use to love to swirl the frosty glass in a circular motion and hear the sound of the large ice cubes as they hit the glass…so mouth watering, cool and refreshing. Now that dad was gone, she’d picked up some of her motherly ways again…with baking and setting the table, just like old times.

It was about noon, I rushed upstairs to my apartment, opened the screen door and the big door was locked. That was weird because mom kept the door unlocked when we would play outside. So I began to knock on the door and call her, “Ma ! I’m thirsty! Open up!” I called several times. I then heard a loud thump from the other side of the door, like someone had run into it. I heard my mom screaming and crying at the same time, “Please stop! Oh God Help! Help me!” I ran to the window which was on the left side of the door. I pressed my left cheek against it so that I can try and see her from the corner of my eye…through the crack of the security bars and hanging window shade. Oh my God!…it was my dad in there beating her like a punching bag in her midsection, one blow after another, like a mad man! My Dad was at least 5′ 8″ 260 lbs., my mom about 5′ 5″ 170 lbs., nine months pregnant…no match at all.

I couldn’t scream or shout because I started to shake out of control. Even if I’d asked for help, no one would because they feared him. So I stayed in the doorway while crying in a fetal position, helplessly listening to my mom’s excruciating cry for help. I listened to her wounded heart begged to be saved from the hands of the man, who stole her heart and introduced her to his isolated dark and morbid world; “My First Perception of A Man.”

As I sat there between the doors, shaking and gripping my stomach, I listened to my mom’s moans slowly fade out. I realized it was finally over. I could hear her faint voice moaning, crying and praying. I visualized my mom, sliding down into the fetal position just as I was on the other side of the door…and there we were, both trapped in a world that appeared to be unable to escape. I placed the palms of my hands on the door, along with my cheek. I closed my tearful eyes and in my mind, I held her and rocked her in my arms while whispering in her ear, “If I was the mom, I would take you away.”

I didn’t understand this type of love. I couldn’t help but wonder, would he love me this way one day? I made myself a promise to always do the right thing and never upset him. I never wanted to feel that type of love. (The seed of abuse had now mentally been planted)

Later that night, my mom gave birth to a ten-pound baby boy. It was the happiest but the saddest day of my life. I couldn’t understand why a gracious God from Heaven would let a beautiful miracle be born in a place called “Hell.”

http://amzn.to/1LWCQCl ” A BLACK ROSE THRIVED”