Kimberly’s POV

Standing at the door is my mother, with a clenched jaw and a rigid shoulders. Fear spikes my spine and I stand and in attention. With an elongated red face and lips in the shape of an ‘o’ Becky is frozen. My mother stands firm examining the situation with spectacle and disappointed eyes. Cowering back I cover my skin. I can’t even think as a powerful rush of blood intoxicates my head. Dizzily I stare at her cold and dull brown eyes, they sink back as she approaches the two of us.

Picking Becky’s coat of the rack she throws it at her. “Becky, its cold out, you should probably put on a coat.” Absolutely disgusted and disappointed she stares daggers into Becky as she puts on her coat. Scared and dumbfounded Becky hurries to put on her clothes. Becky stands at the front door with glossy eyes begging me to come with her, but I shake her off.

“Kimberly you should put something on yourself.” She takes a seat looking away from me. I’m not worth her sight anymore.

“Yes mama.” Obediently I follow her command.  

Shaking her head she looks away from me. “I really hoped I didn’t have to find out this way.”

I want to apologize to her, but I don’t have the willpower. Keeping my head down I listen to what she has to say.

“After that Chinese girl I thought you grew out of.” her lips turn up unpleasantly. “this.” Humiliated, she turns her back to me.

“She was Korean and besides we were just friends.” Because of my self-defense shoots me one of the nastiest eyes one can ever imagine.

“The way you talked about her nonstop. Every time I called you she was there or you were going to meet her.” With a screwed up face she looks down at me. “I told your father something was wrong with you but he never listened to me.” She talks about me as if I have a disease. A horrible sickening incurable one, which am going to die as a result of.

Like bobble head I shake my head nonstop. “This isn’t what you think, mama.” On my knees I approach with hot tears rolling down my face. I reach out to touch her. If I touch her maybe she will feel my pain and forgive me. Without delay she snaps the furthest away from me as possible. 

“Do I look like a jackass to you Kimberly? YES! I AM OLD, BUT I AM NOT STUPID.” Her restraints are loosened and she explodes. “For Christ stakes I am a biology professor I know how faggots have sex! I have a nose, which works perfectly well. I also have eyes that can see. You-she-her hand-urgh-” she pulls at her salt and pepper hair.

“I’m sorry mama.” I plead. My sincere act inexplicably sets her into a sporadic frenzy.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” she hollers. “DO NOT CALL ME THAT EVER AGAIN” Her words slash my soul. Torn in half I fall to the floor. With arm and legs spread open on the floor I express my distress in tear after tear.

“After all I did for you. After everything I have done for you. For years I struggled to raise and this is what you are doing to me.” Grabbing at her clothes near her chest area she sobs. “I sacrificed so much for you.  I could have abandoned you like Donte’s mother. I didn’t have to care for you. I could have been like any other women and aborted so I could have pursued my career as doctor. I didn’t have to marry your father and content for the life of a plumbers wife’s.” she is unsteady, to stabilize herself she places her trembling hands on the arm of the chair. “I even gave up my love for you.”

“I’m sorry.” I whimper, feeling absolutely worthless.

She sniffles and she wipes her eyes. “So how did she possess you to fall in love with her?”

 “The exact same thing that made you fall in love in her father.” The manner in which she just spoke about my father and I makes me angry.

Her sobs turn to screams. “So that bitch taught you how to break in and enter too, huh. So she was the one you urged you to go through my things.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

 “Because I ‘m the only one who has the guts to tell that you’re making a serious mistake.” Am I making a mistake? I love Becky. Is that a mistake?

“This is how people fall out with each other.” Maybe if I threaten her she will have sympathy for me.

“Consider us fallen.” No. No she didn’t just cut me off. Please tell me she just didn’t say that. She is my mother she wouldn’t do this to me. “Don’t forget I have to sign off on the will.

Leaving to go to her part of the house she stops to tell me something, with her back turned to me. “The wedding is soon. I except that you will be there, with a date, a male one preferably.” She must great emphasis on the later part.

“Mama.” She leaves me.

I’m all alone.

I’m broke.

I’m broke and alone.

Nervously I push the ignition button.  Did I hear correctly all that my mother said to me? Did she just disown me? But am her daughter, her one and only, precious little girl. How can she do this to me? The tears blur the road in front of me. Cautiously I drive slower, whilst irritated cars behind me honk their horns.

I can’t believe my mother talked to me in such a disrespectful manner. This is the first time am ever hearing her curse. In all the 28 years I have lived on this planet she has never shown me anything, but love and compassion. Of course she was estranged from me a child, but that was because she was too busy studying for her next degree.

Do you think that my mother distanced herself away from me because she thought I was a mistake?  Maybe I was a mistake. Maybe she never loved me or my father. The only reason she married my father was because she didn’t want to raise me alone. The only reason she kept me alive was because she thought I was Mr. Applewhite’s own. 

Everything from the letter I found inside her ‘special’ box makes sense now. She must have gotten pregnant for my dad by mistake. It was probably a one night thing. She did have something in the bow about how Jamal comforted her after she found out about her best friend’s pregnancy for Mr. Applewhite.

 Wait let me get all of this straight. Donte is roughly six months older than us. So that means Donte’s mother and Mr. A have their drunken accidentally sex six months before Becky and I were born.  And after Donte was born he was abandoned by his mother and left to be taken care of by his grandmother, who coincidentally lived close by us, when we were living in my grandmother’s house. Therefore I’m guessing that our mothers were best friends from their childhood. Okay cool I got that figured out.

Now is where it gets complicated. My mother and Becky’s dad were dating for four years. He slipped up one night and when he was drunk he impregnated Donte’s mother. I gather by no nonsense mother dumped him, but he still had her heart. More than likely they continued to meet up. Being materialistic and greedy Becky’s dad went behind her back to marry a rich white woman, from a good family, Becky’s mother. In no time he impregnates her with Becky and they live an unhappy married life.

 Here is where things get real tied up. So my mother continued to see him even after he gets married? And she somehow saw my father at the same time. No she wouldn’t be that nasty. I remember reading one of their letters where it said that Jamal, my father, ‘comforted’ my mother. She had to have been heartbroken and my father being so caring tried to help her cope with her difficulties, they were best friends after all. On the back of the picture it said something at how Becky’s father DNA tested me to make sure I wasn’t his. So that means my mother was having sex with Mr. A. after he married Becky’s mother. How can she talk about what’s immoral! Ew! They were so nasty! And they lacked the use of contraception.

Basically we were all mistakes that were never supposed to happen. What if my mother never slipped up? I would never have been here. I would have never had life. This explains why my father did everything for me. She must blame me for stopping her from becoming a doctor. Even if Mr. A. cheated on her and left her she would have still been able to recover from the emotionally scars, but she was never able to recover from my conception. I bet you she never loved my father. She only married him out of convenience. 

I wish my daddy was here to comfort me. I need him so badly right now. The salty water droplets descend faster. Heaving I pull the car on the side of the road. I really wish my daddy was here to tell me that everything was alright and that I can make it through. If he was here he would have patted my head and rocked me. His soothing words would have squashed all my qualms.

I feel lifeless.

As if am I plastic bag floating aimlessly in the wind I sway to one of the park benches.  Sweet laughter from children fill me ears. They carelessly play with each other, expressing their imaginative creativity. Close to them are their gossiping mothers, rattling of the next good story. A track encircles them with speedy joggers who each go at their own specific speed. Illuminating all of this is the bright sun rays with clear skies, accompanied by a chilled breeze. Today should be a good day.

The housewives pull apart from their circle to examine something, rather someone. One of the ladies put her hand over her mouth. The next one to her left shakes her head. The last one bends over in a bought of laughter, until her face is red. From this angle I can’t see exactly what has caught their attention, but it must be something interesting.

As the jogger turns around the bend I realize what all the commotion is about. Briskly jogging is a wo-man. Her flat chest and tone muscle excuse her from all feminine characters. As her feet hit the track she pushing out her chest the same way men do. She is dresses down in men’s clothing. There is not one identifying feature about her that lets one know that she was born a woman. She has perfectly mastered the traits of men adding to her manly persona. The only thing that makes her look lady like is her soft baby cute baby face. It contrasts her whole demeanor making her a laughing stock.

“What is that?”

“What do you call it?”

“How does he well she, I think, walk around with so much pride? I would be so embarrassed.” They all criticize and laugh.

The spectacle approaches me. Nervously I cower, putting my head in between knees-in an attempt to avert the housewives’ calculating stares. In front of me she does knee kicks to cool down. From the corner of my eye I gaze at the way she flexes her muscles. So aerobically and captivating. A bead of sweat falls from her face. It slides sleekly down her body and I twitch. She wipes of her hand and reaches it out to me. Flustered I look at the housewives embarrassed. This dike needs to leave me alone. 

“I’m Chase.” I stare at her hand and she pulls back. “Oh okay.” I’ve made a fool out of her like everyone else.  

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you like that.” I whisper looking away from her. I just don’t want to be seen by others in the company of this spectacle.

“No its cool! I happened to be joking and I noticed you here. I don’t know if you remember me, but Becky introduced me to you, awhile back.” With fraudulent words she hides her disappointment. She must be used to getting shot down in public.

“Yes I remember you.” Still I look away from her.

“Good were having a big gay pride party and I wanted to invite you and your girl.” For the first time I look her way. She finally gets the point that I don’t want her to be around me. Keeping a brave face she walks away.

 The way I treated her makes me sick with myself. It hurts to see the image of her sadden face replaying over and over in my head. The way I treated was low. It wasn’t the way humans should treat each other. However no one treats people like them humane. It’s sickening, but its life.

‘Your girl’ these words click a reactive button. To think that I was in a relationship with a woman again. How did I let down my guard? It must have been because I was depressed over the death of my father. I felt sorry for Becky she could have lost her father. I never should have done any of those disgusting things. I was out of my mind. Becky corrupted me with her sexual tactics and I fell. However I will get up. I am not like them.  There is no way under the sun I’m a lesbian.

Inputting into my speech, a housewife says. “To think like that a sensible looking girl like her is one of them.”  She is wrong I am not like them.

Uncontrollable my head twitches, “I AM NOT A LESBIAN.” I draw all the unnecessary attention I was trying to avoid. The gossiping witches scatter with their annoying bundles of joy.

 I am not a lesbian.

I am not one of those disgusting things, who that one can love someone of the same gender. I will be a successful black women. I will have a family, four kids and a husband who loves me. We’ll have a two story house in the suburbs with lots of yard space for the dogs. They’ll go to a nice private school and they won’t be bullied because they don’t have the nicest clothes. I will work hard until I get partner, wherever it is I’m working. We they fall down I will be there to kiss the pain away.

Every day my robust husband will take me in his arms, and he’ll swing me around telling me how much loves me. When the kids are off to school to become doctors, lawyers and engineers, we would have already retired in the country, on an acreage of land farming and hunting. The grandkids will come during the summer and we will all have a blast.

I am not a dike who dies only in her home after years of investing time in relationships that never amounted to anything. I have never ever seen in my life a successful black lesbian and I doubt I’ll ever see it in my life. I can’t be one of them. My life will be over. Currently I have too much crosses against me. First of all I’m a woman, a black woman at that. I am educated, I don’t come from and influent family. I’m not married to a successful man. I have no worth to society.

This lifestyle is not for me. This is the way Becky and those other people like her live. This is not the life I want to live. Constantly dealing with the stares and the whispers, like am an animal on display. I can’t battle with these stereotypes and the discrimination. This is not the life for me.

 “Hey Frank, its Kimberly. I would like to accept your offer to move with you to Switzerland as one of your team members.” As the phone closes so does my heart.

I am Kimberly Jones and I am not a lesbian.