200 Letters Read online

  I chose Tracy, though I wasn’t really choosing Tracy. I was choosing Devin. Deidra wouldn’t keep me away from Cierra if I disappointed her. But Tracy would do her best to keep me away from Devin. I sided with Tracy so that I could keep the peace and keep my son.

  I spoke with my mom and told her I wouldn’t be able to come. I could tell she was disappointed. I think that was the last straw for her because, after that, things weren’t the same between us.

  My family knew Tracy was the reason I kept my distance, and their disdain for Tracy grew. But, out of respect, they never told me how they felt about her. My view of Tracy also changed after that day.

  My home was hostile. I had no money. I had no peace. I didn’t want that lifestyle for me or my family. I was thirty-eight years old and my finances were worse than when I was an eighteen-year-old Navy recruit. Then, I didn’t know how to budget. But at thirty-eight, I should have been able to manage my money a lot better. But it was hard to keep us afloat and satisfy Tracy.

  I sent her a text:

  Me: We need to talk. The bills have been piling up for a while and I can’t manage like this much longer. You said you would get a job in the spring and it’ll be summer soon. What’s up?”

  Tracy: Get off my back about this working thing.

  Me: Well, you get child support. Maybe you can use that to help with the bills.

  Tracy: No, that is for my kids not for us.

  Me: Well, we gotta do something. This is not working.

  Tracy: You’ll figure it out.

  Usually, I dropped it when she told me to back off, but that time I decided not to give in. Her managing our money was not working. Under her watch, our debt continued to grow and there was no plan to pay it off.

  Once the kids were asleep, I sat down and spoke with her calmly about the bills. I laid everything out on the table. I showed her my pay stubs. Then I showed her all the bills. I did the math so that she could see that we lost money every month. I showed her that the credit cards were almost maxed out and I had no way to pay them off. I showed her all the loans we had. Then I laid out a plan how we could get out of that rut. We would have to cut out some luxury expenses. She and Madeline would have to give up their hair and nail appointments. The boys and I would have at-home haircuts. Eating out at restaurants would be limited to once a month. Our clothing allowance would have to be cut significantly. Half of the child support she received for Madeline and Malik would be put towards the rent and she could use the rest for whatever she or they needed. I planned to start a savings account and to also put some money towards our debt every month. She refused. She folded her arms and looked at me like “try me if you want”.

  I tried everything I could to connect with her, but she only wanted things her way—no exceptions. I’m not sure where the disconnect was. Why was it so hard for her to understand I needed help? Not only financially but emotionally, too. She needed to treat me better. I was desperate for her enlightenment. But the only thing she wanted was her way, and I was drowning.

  Chapter 4 – Angela

  The morning of my thirty-sixth birthday was the same as any other morning. I woke up, got the kids ready for school, and went to work. Terrell stayed in the basement.

  My mom was the first to wish me a happy birthday. She called on my way to work and reminded me to look for my gift in the mail. My mom lived two hours away in Baltimore, Maryland. She has always been an awesome mom. Strong, beautiful, smart, and very kind. She raised me on a teacher’s salary. I’m still not sure how she did it. I had a husband, I was a doctor, and I still lived paycheck to paycheck. She was retired, but I still hardly ever got to see her. She and Terrell got into a huge fight a few years back and Terrell made it his mission to isolate me from her. He told me that he never wanted to be in the same house as my mother, which made it very hard to plan events without inviting her. And, whenever I tried to plan trips to Baltimore, Terrell complained and made excuses as attempts to derail my plans. Usually, his attempts didn’t work and I’d still find ways to see my mother. But it sucked that I had to jump through so many hoops to do so.

  My coworkers were the second to wish me a happy birthday when they surprised me with a beautiful bouquet of balloons and a red velvet cup cake, my favorite. They sang happy birthday and I was very thankful.

  When I got home, I picked up the mail from the mailbox. A package from Janice, my mother-in-law, a card from my mother, and another letter from child support addressed to Terrell. I walked through the front door and Terrell was in the kitchen cooking some chicken and rice.

  “Hi!” I said with a smile on my face.

  He did not smile, nor did he look at me. He mumbled something then turned off the burner and went downstairs. It was the same as most days. I was hoping he’d do something special for me considering it was my birthday; but no. I was getting tired of his routine. For months, I walked in the house smiling and tried to talk with him but he ignored me. For months, he did nothing more than a mumble under his breath. No smile. No hugs and, certainly, no kisses. I was hurt.

  My kids came running down the stairs, “Mom! Mom! Happy Birthday!” They each blessed me with hugs and kisses and funny little homemade birthday cards. I was still hurt, but I smiled and laughed with them, trying my best to mask the pain.

  “Babies, babies…” I said, “Can you guys go upstairs for a moment? I have to talk to dad. Oh, and here—take the mail up with you.”

  The boys immediately went upstairs, but my daughter lagged behind with a worried look on her face. “Mom,” she said, “don’t let daddy hurt you.”

  I kissed her and ushered her in the direction of the stairs.

  I descended into the basement. I always felt anxious when I went down there, like I was walking down into hell to meet the Devil. My heart pounded. I was hurt, angry, and scared; but I went.

  “Terrell, you did nothing for my birthday? Nothing?” Tears welled in my eyes but he never said a word. He just looked at me blankly.

  “After all I have done for you? Nothing? I threw you a surprise party on your birthday. Invited all your family, your friends. Bought you a new phone, cake, balloons. And you did nothing?” He didn’t reply.

  “You’re not going to say anything? Okay, okay, fine.” I walked back up the stairs slowly and the tears streamed down my face. I paused at the top of the steps trying to wipe my tears away and hide any evidence that I had been crying so my kids wouldn’t notice I was upset. I took a few deep breaths and called the kids to come back down.

  “Kids! Dinner!” I heard three sets of feet pounding on the stairs, and all three ran into the room smiling and saying how hungry they were. We ate dinner together, me and the kids. Terrell stayed in the basement. He still had nothing to say for himself. After we ate, I washed the dishes and watched a movie with the kids until it was time for bed. I proceeded with my usual bedtime routine—made sure everyone was bathed and teeth were brushed. I read my youngest two a bedtime story, tucked everyone in, and started getting myself ready for bed. I took a shower. When I got out, I wiped the steam off the mirror and took a long hard look at myself. I just cried. “Why? Why me, Lord?” I sat on the floor and cried. Then I prayed, “Lord, what do you want me to do? I am so miserable. Please, Lord, either change him or deliver me from this place. Help me find a way out. Guide me. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  I heard my phone ring in the other room. I rushed over and picked it up without looking. “Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday to you!” The oh so familiar voice chanted in a very cheerful tune.

  I giggled. “Thanks Ronda. I needed that.”

  “Oh, Lord. Terrell fucked up, didn’t he?” she moaned. Ronda always knew whenever something was wrong, even when I tried my best to try to hide it.

  “Yeah, he didn’t get me anything for my birthday.”

  “Nothing? Like nothing, nothing? He didn’t take you out to dinner, nothing?”
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  “He made me dinner,” I said with a sob.

  “That bastard! Well, that’s unacceptable. This weekend, it’s you and me. We are celebrating your birthday. Fucker can stay his ass at home. Lord have mercy.”

  I giggled, “Ronda, you the only one who can use fucker and Lord in the same breath and get away with it.”

  Ronda went on, “Oh, Terrell is so lucky. He is so lucky I’m saved now. You know the old me woulda punched that nigga right in the face.”

  I laughed some more. Ronda always had a way of cheering me up when I was sad. She was serious though. She really wanted to punch Terrell in the face.

  “I love you, girl,” I said.

  “I love you, too,” she replied.

  Then we said our goodbyes and hung up. I lay in bed, feeling a little better. Then Terrell walked into my room. He handed me a birthday card he had just picked up from Walmart. It was still in the bag.

  “To the wife I love so dear. May your Birthday be filled with cheer. Happy Birthday. Love Terrell.” I read the card out loud then said, “Aww, thank you, honey,” then gave him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled. I was disappointed but I wanted to show my gratitude that he made some sort of an effort.

  “I wanted to get you something really special but I didn’t have any money,” he shrugged, “I had to pay extra this month for clothes for Jordan and Jasmine.”

  Jordan and Jasmine were my stepchildren.

  “This card is all I could afford.” He turned and walked back downstairs.

  No money? That was always his excuse. He didn’t have money for Valentine’s day, our anniversary, or Mother’s Day this year, either. You would think I didn’t give him two thousand dollars a month. Yes, he sits on the couch all day and all night and for that he gets two thousand dollars of my hard-earned money. Half goes to child support for Jordan and Jasmine and the other half he spends on himself. I made the mistake of asking where the money went before, which brought on a horrible fight. He tried to get me arrested then, too. During the argument, he started falling on the ground and writhing around and screaming as if he were in pain. He went so far as to punch himself in the face, ran himself into walls, and repeatedly fell. Then he crawled out the front door yelling, “Help me! Help me!”

  I was scared at first and concerned that his self-inflicted bruises would get me arrested. Then I saw my kids staring at him. I smiled and reminded Terrell, “Hey, we have witnesses. The kids can clearly see I haven’t touched you.” He looked at me, looked at the kids, and then got up and walked away. My kids saved me that time, but it taught me not to stir the pot and risk going to jail. So, I didn’t stir it up this time either.

  I lay back down and looked over at my nightstand. I noticed the a letter from the Department of Child Support Enforcement sitting on top of the card and gift and figured it had to do with Terrell’s child support. I sat up, wondering if I should give it to Terrell or read it for myself.

  I was distracted by my phone’s ringtone, again. This time, the caller ID said, Janice Neves. I smiled, “Hey, mom!”

  “Hey beautiful! How’s my favorite daughter-in-law doing on her Birthday! Happy Birthday!”

  I giggled, “Mom, I’m your only daughter-in-law. And I am especially blessed now that you have called.”

  Janice is an awesome mother-in-law. We usually left the in-law part out and just called each other mom and daughter; and that’s what we act like, too. She was sixteen years old when she had Terrell and I know Terrell’s early years were hard for the whole family; but her and Terrell’s dad stayed together all those years and still loved each other very much.

  Terrell’s mom and dad are complete opposites. Janice Neves was free-spirited, social, open-minded and a Democrat. She is a Black American girl all the way, born and raised in South East D.C. in the late 70s, a time when the city was transitioning from chocolate city to crack pot city. Ernesto Neves, on the other hand, was an immigrant. Born in Cape Verde, a Portuguese colonized island off the coast of west Africa, he emigrated to the states by way of Boston, Massachusetts when he was three years old. He is big, stern, quiet and, oddly enough, a Republican.

  When they met, he didn’t speak English and she didn’t speak Kriolu, which is Cape Verde’s native language. It is a mix of Portuguese and African dialects. Nevertheless, they fell in love and learned each other’s languages. They worked well together and still do today. They are now settled on a five-acre plot in a small town in North Carolina where they had a big house built. They live a quiet peaceful life, now. Once upon a time, Terrell and I planned on a love and a life like theirs and thought that, in each other, we would have it. But that never happened.

  Janice responded, “Awesome, awesome. Dad says Happy Birthday, too.”

  “Thanks, Dad!” I said. I knew I was on speaker, so Ernesto was quietly sitting near Janice.

  “Mmm hmm,” I heard, Ernesto sweetly grumble.

  “Did you get the package I sent you?” Janice asked.

  “Oh, yes, but I haven’t had a chance to open it, yet.” I reached over and grabbed the package.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I know you’re busy. How my grandbabies doing?”

  “The crazy people?” That’s what I called my kids. “Oh, they are great. They miss you.” I said as I unwrapped the package.

  “Well, you guys are going to have to come and visit us, huh? Thanksgiving is coming up. You guys coming?”

  “Sure, mom, we’ll be there.” I had received a beautiful scented candle with a picture of Terrell, the kids, and I that she took of us the last time we visited them. Written on it was “To my beautiful daughter. Have a very happy birthday.”

  “Oh, mom; it’s beautiful! I love it. Thank you so much.”

  “You are so welcome. Alright, now, I’m not going to keep you long. You have a blessed night. And kiss the kids for me. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom.” I said and then ended the call. I smiled, truly feeling special. At least I married into a good family.

  I opened my mom’s card next. A fifty-dollar gift card to Bath & Body Works fell out. “To my Daughter on her Birthday. I know you have been through a lot over the last few years, but I stand in awe of how well you conquer all obstacles that have been placed in your path. It has truly been a gift to watch you grow year after year. Stay strong. And use this gift card to get something for YOURSELF! Love you and have a blessed birthday. Love, Mom.”

  I took a breath, picked up the letter from DCSE and opened it.

  “Dear Terrell Neves,

  This is the third attempt to reach you regarding your outstanding child support. As of [date], you are $14,000 in arrears. DCSE demands this balance be paid immediately. Should we not hear from you within fourteen days, we will request the courts issue a warrant for your arrest.”

  I was in shock. I read the letter over and over, as if the words were going to magically change.

  The following day was Friday and work was hectic. During my lunch break, I called DCSE and confirmed that the letter was not a mistake. After work, I had the task of picking up my two stepkids from their mother, Erica’s house. They also lived an hour away, only a few miles from Ronda. We usually got them every other weekend and I’d fight through Friday evening rush hour traffic after work to get them and Terrell would take them back on Sunday, when the roads were clear and free. This was the deal Terrell thought was fair. I, of course, did not agree but I learned how to pick my battles. This was not one I decided to pick.

  Jordan and Jasmine are thirteen-year-old fraternal twins. Terrell and Erica only had a brief sexual affair when she became pregnant with them. They were born premature, at thirty-two weeks. Jasmine was the first born. She was strong, healthy, and big for her gestational age. She had always been too smart for her own good. She started walking, talking, and reading early. Even though she was extremely smart, she had problems in school and had been diagnosed with ADHD in the third grade. She was not wild and all over the place. She j
ust had problems paying attention and staying on task. She could focus when she danced, though. She loved to dance and was involved in cheerleading, poms, and ballet. That was something we had in common. I loved to dance, too. I took dance—ballet and contemporary—in grade school and college. As an adult, I danced for our church.

  Jordan was not as healthy when he was born. He was nearly two pounds smaller than Jasmine and he struggled during his first few weeks of life. He was severely jaundiced and had problems with his lung development. He also had a lot of seizures, which he still occasionally had from time to time. By 2017, he was a typical, fast growing and curious thirteen-year-old boy. He was starting to care more about his physique because of his new-found interest in girls. It was entertaining, watching him lift weights in an attempt to build his chest and arms. His work outs were starting to pay off. He was finally showing a little definition.

  Erica and I were opposites in appearance. She was short, I was tall. She had a smooth, black-coffee complexion and my skin was an acne-ridden French vanilla. She wore her hair in a straight bob and mine was long and curly. She had large breasts and a tiny waist. I had curvy hips and bite-sized breasts. She had deep dimples in both cheeks and I had none. She wore glasses and I had perfect vision, but our kids all looked alike.

  Erica and I got along great. It was challenging, at first, trying to blend our families together, but we were able to talk and work through all the little challenges and negative feelings. I remember when I first met her. I asked, “How do you feel? You know, about me and Terrell getting married? About me being your kids’ stepmother?”

  I’ll never forget her response, “I don’t care. That’s just more people who are going to love Jordan and Jasmine.” That really hit home for me. Mom, stepmom, kids, stepkids, baby-daddies and husbands. Blended families can be drama free. It was simple; we were all family and families—blended or traditional—should just love. I loved Jordan and Jasmine like they were my own. And over the years, I grew to love Erica, too.