Who
Said It
Couldn’t Be Done?
Denise Jones
Who
Said It
Couldn’t Be Done?
Who Said It Couldn’t Be Done? By Denise Jones
Author House Publishers
1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200
Bloomington, Indiana 47403
Editors:
Minnie Simpson
Marilyn Turner
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise – without the permission of the author and publishers, except as provided by The United States of America copyright law.
Diamond Photo courtesy of Israel Diamond Institute…www.israelidiamond.co.il
Karen Feldman
Israel Diamond Institute
576 Fifth
Avenue, Suite 301
New York, NY
10036
212-938-0888
KAREN@IDIUSA.NET
Cover Design
Ed Nightingale Photography
Iflash4u@msn.com
P.O. Box 1533
Calumet City, IL 60409
773-682-8510
CONTENTS
Dedication
Acknowledgment
Foreword
Prologue Pain
Annie Mae
Chapter 1 Prayer Changes Things
Chapter 2 Loss of Innocence
Chapter 3 The Conversation
Chapter 4 Coming of Age
NIECY BONE
Chapter 5 Bitter-Sweet Home
Chapter 6 Home Alone
Chapter 7 Introductions
Chapter 8 Initiations
DJ
Chapter 9 Descent
Chapter 10 Heroin Street
Chapter 11 Spiritual Awakening
DENISE
Chapter 12 Mercy’s Child
Chapter 13 Death To The Old Man
Chapter 14 Out Of The Belly Of The Whale
The Witness Program
Criminal History
Family Photo Gallery
DEDICATION
This published work is dedicated to my mother, Annie Mae Freeman, whose extraordinary spiritual victory is the inspiration and launching pad, which began my own spiritual and personal healing. It is so amazing how it all worked out. Reminiscing on some of the things we have overcome causes a wide range of emotions to stir within my soul, all of which can be summed up in one word – GRATITUDE. Mother, I am so grateful; grateful for each snag we encountered, for each boulder we avoided, for each boulder we were incapable of avoiding, for each hard time we managed to overcome, and for all of the difficult situations we have survived. Wow! Look how far He has carried us…Mother, I love you. You are my girl!
To my spiritual Father in the Lord, Presiding Elder Donald L. Mosley, who has guided me in the Word and been there for me down through the years. I love you, appreciate the time, and care you put into every correction, chastisement, reproof and most of all, your love and gentleness toward me. You are the only father figure that I have ever known. Truly, you have filled a void in my life. Thank you for being the father I never had.
A special Thank you to Evangelist Christine Mosley, for her listening ear that heard my cries through all of my ups and downs. I can still hear you saying, “what about Jesus? What about Job? You ain’t going through nothing!” You always encouraged me and offered your support when I needed you. I remember the day I finally allowed God to set me free. You came and hugged me so tightly then said, “Now stay free.” With God’s (and your) help, I endeavor to remain free. Thank you for everything.
To Elder Anthony Redmond and his lovely wife, Sister Donna Redmond (Baby): Thank you for your long-suffering and patience, right down to all the gray hairs for which I am personally responsible. You have been there for me through my difficulties. You have been a great source of strength. I can never forget your loyalty, the late night phone calls, the impromptu visits, the tears, the corrections, the rebukes and most of all your love.
To Jacquelyne Underwood and Bettye McGee: Thanks for being a shoulder during my school days. It’s a very rare gift in life to have friends like you. Your support helped me succeed in achieving my education. For the first time in my life, I accomplished a goal worthwhile: my GED (It was God!). Jacquelyne, I remember when I called myself dropping out of school and throwing in the towel; you literally took me by the hand and led me all the way to the classroom and stayed with me the entire time. Who could ask for anything more? What a wonderful friend!
To Jean Johnson, Thank you for being a part of my life and for not turning your back on me when I was in my folly. You were always confident that I was going to make it. When I wanted to give up this fight, you told me to “fight on!” Your encouragement is always very timely and straight to the point.
Special thanks to Evangelist Patricia Harper for allowing God to use you in song. Your anointed vocal lead on Stand Still Until His Will Is Clear and I Won’t Doubt Your Love continually inspires me to stand still and never doubt God’s Love.
Special thanks to Evangelist Patricia Walker: For the last 25 years, I have never known you to change. You have always exhibited love to me and for me. Thank you for allowing God to use you on your vocal lead on He Brought Joy Into My Life and I Surrender All.
To Evangelist Regina L. Patillo, thank you for inviting me into your environment of God’s True Holiness-Deliverance. One of the most important things I learned from you was to call my Annie Mother. I shall never forget your penetrating words to me, “I can’t wait to see you preaching in lace and bows.” Now my words to you are, All things are possible with GOD. Look how far we have come! I will always give thanks to JEHOVAH GOD for your support and unconditional love.
To everyone else who contributed to the publishing of this work . . . Thank you! Without all of you, my life would be a sad saga of tragedy. Your undying love and support have substantially contributed to my triumphant victory over mountains, which once seemed unconquerable.
REVIEWS
I congratulate and thank Denise for such a wonderful book. I think the book was very graphic and truthful. Most authors can’t be that open and honest especially about themselves. The book showed how we cannot despise humble beginnings. It personally showed me just how faithful God is. I have never read a book that captivated my attention from the beginning of the book to the end of the book. The book was great.
Rene F. RN
***
After reading Denise’s book, it only confirmed that people could change. It may not be an overnight transformation, but with a desire and an honest effort, it is possible; top that with trust in the Lord and you are guaranteed a change. Denise as a young child struggled with situations that an adult would have had great difficulty surviving. Then one day someone planted a seed, which gave her strength and acceptance of the Lord. With that she was off and running. I found the book easy to read; though quite graphic, it held my attention.
Anita B. RN
***
I have read many inspirational books but none compare to this. This book is very thought provoking. It reveals truthfulness…and most of all it is very edifying. I found it to be an easy read and recommended it to be a best seller. I am glad to have met Denise and her book gives hope to the one that feels hopeless. Thanks for sharing your miracle with me.
Yvonne T. RN
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I thank Teresa Collins for all of her hard work and assistance to make this book what it is today. I don’t know what I would have done without your many years of labor. Teresa, you truly hung in there with me. You gave up countless hours working on my book. Your creative style of writing helped to develop the characters. I truly thank you for being as dedicated as I was in making this book a reality.
Much Love,
Denise
All scripture quotations are taken from
The Authorized King James Version of The Word of God.
FOREWORD
When I look back on how far Denise has come, it is truly amazing! Watching her overcome low self-esteem and blossom into the woman God is making her is absolutely God!
Imagine believing that it was impossible to achieve anything positive in life. Imagine thinking all you are good for is trying to prove to every man that you are a better man, when you are a woman. Imagine having a desire to go to school to become somebody, then reality tells you that you are incapable of staying focused long enough to learn anything. Then imagine that, against all odds, you overcome the impossible because God made all things possible. That is Denise.
The life Denise was handed seemed unfair. The hand dealt to her seemed unreasonable, but when life goes a certain way, God always has a plan that can redefine your reality.
I affectionately call Denise “Onion” because I never saw a person eat so many onions! She kept telling me, “Onions are good for you.” I would say, “Girl, that’s ridiculous! All onions do is make your breath stink!” Well, onions didn’t help Denise’s natural eyes, but her spiritual eyes have definitely been enlightened. I affectionately call her “Mercedes” (and that’s not her middle name) because I always knew behind the hard exterior of a Hummer she was indeed a Luxury Mercedes. Now I introduce to the world, my friend, the lady: Denise Jones.
Jacquelyne Underwood
PROLOGUE
PAIN
My earliest memory is of pain. I remember lying across my mother’s lap on the living room sofa very early one Saturday morning. She was wasted from the night before. I could smell a creepy odor climbing out of her mouth. Years later, I learned it was the tart tinge of alcohol, forged with cigarette smoke camouflaged by Big Red chewing gum. Mother and her cheap wine had become one. The sultry lure of the liquid spirit had a bewitching way of overtaking her, causing her to believe she possessed incredible abilities. The prolific impulses came sharply; this time in the form of surgical powers.
Mother rummaged through the house searching for a sewing needle. She found the small piece of metal in one of the kitchen drawers, between a stack of folded grocery receipts and unopened junk mail. She burned the tip on the blue flame coming from our stove and then dipped it in rubbing alcohol. I can still remember the hissing noise that broke the uneasy silence as the hot steel collided with the cool liquid. She returned to her same position on the sofa and put my head back on her lap. She looked down at me and smiled, then pressed a small piece of ice against my earlobe to deaden my nerves, but it did not work. I cringed in blinding pain as my chilled skin cracked open under the sharp blow of that needle, then the slow sliding of it through my flesh. I screamed powerlessly at the top of my lungs and struggled pointlessly to free myself from the ‘giant hand’ possessing the ‘evil dagger.’
Mother, still high and obviously oblivious to my mangled emotions and mounting agony, coldly immobilized my whirling head, then stabbed me a second time, ramming the ‘dagger’ clean through my other ear lobe. The nurturer who caressed my head upon her lap just moments earlier had grown fangs. My struggle was futile against her greedy assault. She seemed amused, pleased even, at the escalating level of my terror. I looked up at her again, but this time in stark confusion; she was still smiling, and then she started laughing. Her wicked laughter taunted my dizzy head, which was still pinned to her hard, collaborating knee. I shivered in fear; my teeth chattered. A quiet stream of blood flowed from my nose but no tears would follow. Suddenly I was more afraid than I had ever been, especially of my mother’s hand. Her hand had frightened me many times before; it had always been harsh, but that day it was harsher, colder, than I had ever seen it. Her hand seemed hungry somehow; salivating as if it wanted to kill me and swallow me whole. I felt a need to keep my mother’s hand back, but her teeth were still showing and that frightened me. I shut my eyes tightly, took in a deep breath…and screamed some more. At three years old, that was all I could do.
I suppose that ear piercing was an omen of the pattern of my early life: hurt and abuse often inflicted by my mother, and me unable to do anything about it. I became an unread paperback in my mother’s hand: she was bending me backward as if she were interested in the pages of my life, but line after line went unread. My preface, my forward, my contents, each chapter were all but mere shadows in her hand; jumbled messages of oddly constructed paragraphs of meaninglessness. She could not decipher the words of the script. They were left dangling on the pages of chance. I didn’t understand why she did not respond to the many times I reached for her. My love that I offered unconditionally, the smile upon my face that lit whatever room she entered, the interest I took in her walk, her smell, the sound of her voice, even her slap and the pain that it caused on the side of my face. I was attentive to every line she wrote, but my life was not translated. The late nights I stayed awake listening for her keys to jingle in the door, or to hear her cowboy boots scrape across the floor; the noise I made, the tears I cried and the tears I carried in my heart; the trouble I started, the fights I had, the mistakes I made; nothing I did seemed to matter. My emotional state went undetected, like an unsolved mystery.
Annie Mae
1
PRAYER CHANGES THINGS
It is something of a miracle that I was even born. Back when my mother, Annie Mae Jones, was only eight years old, she and a friend decided to go bike riding through the neighborhood. Suddenly the car struck forty-eight pound Annie Mae, she was thrown from the bike and flung haphazardly into the air. The driver of the car panicked and swerved all over the street. When Annie Mae smashed to the ground, the massive car made a remarkable finish as well. Its tremendous front wheel plopped down for the last time, and Annie Mae didn’t move; she didn’t do anything, not even blink. A growing pool of blood oozed from beneath the resting wheel. Everyone thought Annie Mae was dead. She was so small that the huge tire seemed to cover her entire body, though it rested only on her stomach. Neighbors from all around gathered, squinting at the alarming sight as they watched the firefighters pry poor Annie Mae from beneath that killer wheel.
Matted in clunks of blood and dirt, lifeless Annie Mae was rushed by ambulance to Mary Thompson Hospital, where it was determined that she was hemorrhaging. The Hospital Director signed proxy for the surgery required to stop the bleeding. When Annie Mae’s parents arrived, they were told that, given the extent of Annie Mae’s injuries, the Director’s quick action probably saved Annie Mae’s life. She was losing so much blood that she would have certainly died if they had waited for her parents to arrive.
After twenty-three hours of pacing back and forth in the waiting room, Nathaniel and Annie Belle Jones were finally able to breathe a sigh of relief when the doctor told them that the surgery was successful and all signs of hemorrhaging had ceased. However, their short spurt of jubilation fizzled fast as the doctor continued his report. “We were able to stop the hemorrhaging, but it still doesn’t look good. Annie Mae is in a coma.”
Grandmother screamed out in agony and grabbed her chest, falling back clumsily into Grandfather. He caught her before she hit the floor and helped her to a nearby chair. The doctor brought Grandmother a cup of water and when she was able to compose herself, he delivered the worst part of the report. “Annie Mae’s reproductive organs were irreversibly damaged by the accident, which means she will never be able to bear children.”
“Oh my God. Lord Jesus! Oh my Sweet Jesus!!” Grandmother screamed out over and over, clutching her chest again. The doctor assured them that he and the rest of the hospital staff would do everything in their power to help Annie Mae recover, then he left them to themselves.
What followed could probably be noted as the first move of God in my life, or what would later become my life. God used a powerful, praying woman of deep spiritual faith: Evangelist Mattie B. Poole. Evangelist Poole was a regular visitor at Mary Thompson Hospital in those days. Often this Woman of God would march down the halls of the huge building, stopping at the bedside of patients, known and unknown, to dispense her straightforward knowledge of God’s Word, His loving care and healing power. Evangelist Poole knew that the Lord had given her the gift of healing, so her ministry largely involved prayer and the “laying on of hands” on the sick to aid their recovery.
During one of Evangelist Poole’s visits, she entered little Annie Mae’s room and marveled at the small, lifeless child lying there. Slowly she stretched for her hands, placing them firmly on the comatose child as my grandparents looked on silently. “Heavenly Father, in Jesus’ Name,” Evangelist Poole whispered, “bring this peculiar child back to life. Awaken her from this unusual sleep; this unnatural, comatose state. Grant this precious and innocent child an opportunity to tread the path that You have marked and chosen for her feet to travel. And Father, in Jesus’ Name, I humbly ask that You restore ten-fold, thirty-fold, sixty-fold, and even one hundred-fold, health and strength so that she may accomplish and complete her destined purpose; the purpose You have ordained for her life, even before this precious child was born. Father, in the Wonderful Name of Your Darling Son, Christ Jesus, I ask you to restore this child’s reproductive organs. Allow her womb to be fertile, that she may bear children, even children that will bring Thy Name glory and honor, both male and female alike in Jesus’ Name.”
Grandmother sat up straight in the chair and leaned forward as she witnessed Annie Mae’s eyelids begin to twitch for the first time since she was pulled from beneath the car. As Evangelist Poole continued praying, Annie Mae’s parents watched in amazement as Annie Mae began wiggling beneath the white cotton sheets. By the time Evangelist Poole concluded her prayer, Annie Mae was completely out of the coma.
Astonished, Grandmother and Grandfather looked at each other, then back at Annie Mae, unable to find words to express their amazement as well as their gratitude. Fully conscious and responsive now, Annie Mae questioned her whereabouts and expressed a desire for some of Grandmother’s red beans and rice. Grandmother was smiling as she turned around to thank Evangelist Poole for allowing God to use her in such a mighty way, but she was nowhere to be found.
2
LOSS OF INNOCENCE
Annie Mae had a mind of her own. She knew what she was doing and believed that George was in love with her. Why else would he let her help him build his bombs? George and Annie had been next-door neighbors for nearly six years and had become good friends. They, along with some of the other children in the neighborhood, often played games together. Catch a Girl, Get a Girl was one of the neighborhood favorites, as well as Hide-and-Seek and Spin the Bottle.
George always chased after Annie Mae when they played Catch a Girl, Get a Girl, and when they played Hide-and-Seek, he would always manage to hide in the same place as Annie Mae. George couldn’t control Spin the Bottle, but if he could, I imagine that bottle would have landed on Annie Mae every time.
One day during a game of Hide-and-Seek, Annie Mae was hiding in the gangway behind the building where they lived at 16th and Ridgeway on the West Side of Chicago. George walked up behind her and began pressing his body against hers, the way he always did. Annie Mae leaned on George and let her head fall backward until it rested on his chest. Forcefully, he thrust his pelvis forward and Annie Mae got caught up in the moment, enjoying the liberty of grinding back on George. Silently the two stood there, twelve and thirteen years of age, grinding away. When they heard footsteps approaching, they pushed apart in a hurry; Annie Mae ran her way and George ran his.
Some weeks later, Grandmother made pancakes for breakfast, but did not realize she was out of syrup until she was finished. “Annie Mae, go across the hall to Miss Smith’s apartment and ask if they have any syrup, if you don’t mind sweetheart; and ask her if she wants some of these cakes I flipped up. Tell her it’s a good batch, stacked tall.”
Annie knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer. She hoped to see George, but her growling stomach yearned more to see the bottle of syrup and feel the warm hotcakes slide down her throat. To her delight, George did answer. “Hey George,” Annie said, while brushing past him and walking right into the house, heading straight toward the kitchen.
“I know your big old gorilla-head, Martian-head-self didn’t just push past me and walk up in my momma house. Did I invite you in?” George said smiling, glad to see Annie.
“No,” said Annie while sucking her teeth, “but you ain’t never invited me in before. I always have to push my way up in here, ‘cause you’re always acting like a security guard, guarding that door. You barely even open it up, standing there talking to me through that little, bitty old crack. I can hardly see you. You might as well open it up, cuz I be in here anyway. Even when y’all ain’t home, I be in here. I be in the living room watching y’alls TV and eating up y’alls food,” Annie said laughing, while lightly muffing George on the side of his head. “My momma sent me over here to see if your mother will let us borrow some syrup. She made a big batch of pancakes, but we need some syrup. Y’all got some?”
“We probably do, but you know how my momma is. We can’t let nobody borrow nothing unless she’s home and she’s not here right now,” he said.
“Okay, I guess I’ll go then. We don’t need your nasty old syrup anyway. Besides, my momma’s pancakes taste better with jelly. They good like that too, huh? Have you ever had them like that, George?”
“Yeah, I eat them like that all the time,” said George. “I don’t even like syrup. I always put jelly on mine, and I like it on my sausage too. I make sandwiches out of my pancakes, eggs and sausage. I bet you never thought of doing that, have you smarty pants?”
Annie rolled her eyes, ignoring George’s teasing and asked, “You coming outside later?”
“I should,” said George, “once my momma gets home. But after you eat, why don’t you come back over?”
Annie smiled at the invitation, “Okay, as long as you open the door, with your big Martian-head, so I don’t have to be squeezing through that tiny little crack any more.”
George smiled. “Alright, I’ll see you when you get back, and hurry up, big head.” He closed the door and Annie went back to her apartment across the hall.
“Momma, George said his mother wasn’t home so he couldn’t lend nothing out. Looks like we’ll be having jelly on our pancakes today.” Grandmother heard but didn’t respond; she simply flipped the last few pancakes while softly singing Lord, Don’t Move My Mountain.
Annie was eager to dig into the fluffy pancakes. Almost before her mother finished setting her plate down, she grabbed her knife and began spreading grape jelly all over them. Then she made a sandwich with her sausage and cheesy eggs, the way George said he did. When she finished eating, she sped through her chores and asked to go outside to play. Grandmother said it was fine, as long as she stayed in the neighborhood and didn’t stay gone too long. Before leaving the house, Annie Mae changed her clothes, putting on her favorite plaid dress with the white collar and the two big pockets in the front. She liked that dress because it was wide and comfortable. She could run fast in it, which helped her get away when they played Catch a Girl, Get A Girl. She didn’t bother putting on socks; she just slipped on her white Converse tennis shoes. They were a little old, but they still fit and were in good shape. Annie then combed her hair in three ponytails, leaving a big bang in the front. Everyone always said how cute she looked with bangs, so she always wore them.
After saying goodbye to Grandmother, Annie made lots of noise as she stomped down the stairs from their third-floor apartment. She went down to the second floor and sat for a minute, acting like she was tying her shoe before stealthily tiptoeing back up the stairs and tapping lightly on George’s door. This time when George answered, he opened the door wide and was about to yell, “COME ON IN,” but Annie Mae quickly put her hand over his mouth and hurried inside, looking back at her apartment door to make sure nobody was watching. She quietly closed George’s door behind herself and pulled George into the living room.
“Girl, what is wrong with you?” George said.
“Fool!” she whispered. “Is you crazy? I don’t want my mother to know I’m in here. I asked her could I go outside, not could I be in here with you.” They both started laughing.
“Come on, Annie,” George said. “Let’s go in my room, so I can show you something.” Sure enough, it was another bomb. She was always intrigued with George’s inventions. It amazed and impressed her that he could build bombs that actually exploded. He had set the hallway of their apartment building on fire many times experimenting with them, but it never got too serious; they were always able to put the flames out themselves before any damage was done.
“Wow, George,” Annie Mae said, looking at George’s latest invention. “How do you know how to build bombs like that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just do. I like making stuff. I experiment with things, put some wires together, and BOOM!” Startled by George’s loud outburst, Annie Mae jumped.
“Why did you jump?” he asked, as he moved away from the dresser and walked over to the edge of his bed where she was sitting. He moved in on Annie Mae as much as he could, until his legs were straddling hers. Gently he placed his hands on her shoulder and leaned her backward until she was lying down on his bed. Placing his body on top of hers, he began slowly parting her legs with his knee.
“So, why you so jumpy?” he repeated, but in a quieter tone as he gently kissed her lips. Annie loved the way George’s lips felt, because they were full and soft.
“Why you gotta make so much noise? You are too loud,” she said. “Anyway, what time is your mother coming back?” George got silent. Why she got to go and mention my mother? he thought. She has to know I’m trying to get me some. Thoughts began to race through George’s mind. He was upset that Annie tried to ruin the mood, but reality was beginning to set in. What if we get caught? What if I get her pregnant? I can’t be no daddy. Maybe I should just get up and stop fooling with this girl. However, those rational thoughts came and went. Overwhelmed by his teenage hormones, George promptly forgot about his what ifs and maybes and made another move.
“Shhhh,” he whispered in her ear. “Be quiet Annie Mae, with your pretty self. You know, I really like you Annie Mae, I really do. You’re the only girl for me.”
Annie Mae, like George, was having conflicting feelings as well. His sweet words were blinding her. She felt queasy in her stomach and light-headed, like when you climb up a big hill then run down real fast. She was inebriated by George’s sweetness. Wow, I really like you too, George, is what Annie thought, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Although she had wonderful feelings toward George, she was also having second thoughts about their passionate moment and was definitely uncomfortable about going all the way. Yeah, he’s cute and all, and we kissed and grinded before, she thought to herself, but having sex? Naw, I’m not doing that. Only a nasty girl would be sittin’ up here having sex with boys. Annie and some of the other girls in the neighborhood had talked about it, but she never envisioned she would be in a situation like this. I ain’t no nasty girl, she said to herself. What if we do it and he tells all his friends? Everybody will know we did it and they’ll be calling me nasty. And I ain’t nasty.
Annie’s heart raced as she continued to contemplate the situation in her mind. I’m scared, she thought. What if this is all he wants? Besides, I don’t know what to do. I never did it before, and I am afraid to do it. Will he still like me if I say no? Will he still play with me? Will he still let me help him with his bombs?
Annie did not know how to express all that she was feeling to George, and she did not want to hurt his feelings or lose him, so she laid there and allowed him to part her legs more. Besides, her concerns did not seem to be as important as the mounting pleasure she felt lying beneath George’s body. They laid there another moment, enjoying the warmth that came from being so close. Staring into each other’s eyes each thought and wondered about the possibilities of what could happen. As the air thickened in the room, Annie could not resist George’s touch, nor did she want to. George continued kissing Annie’s lips and her strength seemed to melt away with each juvenile press of his mouth against hers. She parted her watering lips a little more, to allow his tongue to slide easily inside. Caught in the heat of the moment, George began to sweat but Annie did not mind. She enjoyed their closeness. She took her hands and placed them on his damp back, then hesitantly slid them downward until they rested below his waist. Delicate parts of her body were awakening for the very first time. Good, tingly feelings were jumping inside her. These were feelings that only George had made her feel. I must love George, Annie thought. I wouldn’t feel this way if I didn’t. Annie noticed George reacting to her body and could tell he felt the same way. At that moment, all Annie knew was that she wanted George. However, at a naive twelve years of age, Annie was not capable of comprehending the door she was about to open.
George continued pressing against Annie more and more until finally he stood up, unzipped his pants, and drew his penis into full view. Annie’s eyes widened and her heart pounded frantically as she quickly turned her head to avoid looking at it. Oh no, she said to herself. I’m scared! Look at that thing! He’s not touching me with that ugly thing. No way! What am I doing? No, no! Don’t do it; don’t do it, Annie Mae, don’t do it. No, no, no! Don’t do it, don’t do it....
When George and Annie’s moment of foolish, adolescent indulgence ended, so did their friendship. George did not feel the same way Annie did after all. As Annie Mae laid on the bed staring at George, it was obvious that he was visibly avoiding all eye contact with her. However, she did observe him covertly taking pleasure in what seemed to be a long-awaited victory. She saw him smiling smugly as he dragged the zipper of his pants back up the track, eyeing her out of the corner of his eye then proudly swaggering back over to the dresser to toy with his bomb. Annie did not like that. It made her feel used and rejected, the same way her daddy made her feel. She closed her eyes as the memories began to flood her mind…
Every summer Annie and Mable, Annie Mae’s older sister, would spend many weekends with their biological father. Mable always slept in the bed with their father while a pallet was prepared on the floor for Annie. Feeling jealous, Annie always begged and pleaded to sleep with her father.
“Please, Daddy, please. Can I sleep with you tonight?”
“Naw, not tonight baby girl; maybe next time,” he would say, while glancing over at Mable. Mable would never respond to him or Annie, but she always listened intently.
Finally, on one of their visits, Annie’s wish came true. Mable was instructed to take the pallet and give Annie the bed. Seven year old Annie was so excited she could hardly wait. Attempting to taunt Mable, Annie began to bounce up and down on the bed while singing, “I’m gonna sleep with Daddy, I’m gonna sleep with Daddy!” Mable didn’t appear to be moved by Annie’s foolishness. She just continued watching television.
Annie rushed through her bath, put on her nightgown and jumped into bed. “Come on, Daddy!” she exclaimed. “When are you coming to bed?”
“In a little bit, baby girl, in a little bit,” he slurred, while resting one hand on his private part and turning up the bottle of cheap wine with the other. Their father lingered in the living room a long while, staring blankly at the television and drinking his wine, before he finally swaggered into the bedroom. Annie was already asleep, but her peaceful state was abruptly halted by a roving intruder: her father’s big hands fondling her little body.
“Oh no,” Annie gasped. “Stop, Daddy, don’t,” she said, trying to push his hand away.
“Ssssh,” he whispered. “Daddy loves his baby girl,” he said, as he took her hand and began to rub it up and down on his penis. “You’re growing up now, turning out to be real pretty. Feel how much Daddy loves his baby? Hush now, you don’t want to wake your sister.”
Lying three feet away on a pallet on the floor, Mable was wide-awake and listening to every word, tears silently rolling down her cheeks.
The next morning was somber; guilt and shame filled the tiny apartment. Shirtless, their father sat at the breakfast table, drinking coffee and staring out the window. After washing their faces, the girls took their seats around the table. “Hey there, how’s Daddy’s two little princesses?” their father asked, trying to perk things up a bit. Neither of them responded. Neither could bear to look at him. Mable was angry and didn’t mind showing it, but Annie was confused.
It’s my fault. I made Daddy mad, Annie Mae thought. I’m a bad girl. Does he do that to Mable too? Why did I make him let me sleep with him? Daddy must hate me. I’m afraid of Daddy. I want my mommy. These were the thoughts and questions bombarding Annie Mae’s mind, but she kept her thoughts and feelings inside.
He took his hand and stroked his chest a few times, and then asked Mable to fix him some breakfast. After they ate, he took them home. “Alright now, y’all give Daddy a big hug. Be good now. I’ll see y’all next weekend. And here you go, Annie, for being Daddy’s big girl.” He handed her fifty cents and gave Mable a dollar bill.
From that point on, Annie hated going to visit her father, but her mother forced her to go, unaware of the abuse that was taking place. Thus, the cycle of incest continued.
* * *
Now, feeling used and confused once again, Annie smacked her lips and jumped up from the bed. “Forget you then, George. I’m fixin’ to go,” she snapped. Slowly she began straightening her clothes and smoothing her hair down, hoping that George would look up and ask her to stay, but George never took his eyes off of that silly bomb. Angry now, Annie pranced out of the bedroom and proceeded through the living room toward the front door. Carefully she cracked the door and peeped into the hallway, to see if the coast was clear. When she saw it was safe, she tiptoed down the stairs to the second floor landing, then turned around and stomped back up the stairs, deliberately making lots of noise in case her mother was listening from the front room.
3
THE CONVERSATION
“Psst! Baby girl, don’t you hear me talking to you? Say, young lady. Hey gal, you pregnant, huh? Ain’t you? Why you just standing there? Why you standing out there in that hot morning sun, baking like that?” In the doorway of the storefront church directly in front of where Annie Mae was standing, stood a middle-aged woman, somewhat wide-hipped with graying temples. She had not asked for a conversation; she had gone outside to play, but it was still a bit early and none of her friends was outside yet. As she waited, she roamed around the neighborhood, block after block, with a large stick in her hand, letting her imagination flow. First, she dragged the stick leisurely on the ground, and then she pretended it was a cane, and finally she used it as a weed whacker, swinging at any tall grass and shrubbery that crossed her path.
“That baby ain’t even made it into the world yet and you already doing something you ain’t got no business doing. Come on gal; get yourself out that sun before both you and that baby turn into a pan of fresh-baked apple fritters. Come sit up here with me on this porch where it’s a little bit cooler. I’ll go fetch you some ice water. Don’t be afraid; come here gal.” The big metal church door was propped open with a steel-framed folding chair the woman had lodged beneath the doorknob. Resting beside her was a large, silver boiling pot. It appeared that pot had boiled many meals in its day; Annie spotted all of the dents and burn spots clearly from the sidewalk where she stood, pretending not to mind the woman or the old pot.
The woman sat down next to the pot and began snapping green beans. The blade of the paring knife flickered from the glare of the morning sun every time she snipped a tip. After a moment, the woman called to Annie once more. “Young lady, come here, baby; I’m not going to hurt you.” Annie still did not budge, she just stood there, hard as a rock on the sweating sidewalk, staring straight ahead, wondering about what the woman said.
Why would she say that? How could she know? Is it true? Am I really pregnant? I’m not showing or nothing. Huh, ain’t no baby inside me.
Like lint, Annie brushed the woman off and got back to her journey, however the woman was unrelenting. As Annie walked down the street away from the church porch, the woman continued calling after her. “Young lady,” she cried, “you’re very pretty; you’re a pretty lil’ thang. You’re going to have lots of lady friends around you, but you can’t trust any of them. You hear me, gal? You can’t trust none of them. They are going to be jealous of you. You watch yourself, you hear me? Hey, young lady! I’m trying to tell you something! Get yourself back here. Young lady!”
Annie was nearly two blocks away, but the woman’s unsettling words still rang in her ears, as though they were standing face to face. When the woman stood to her feet, she raised the hand holding the paring knife over her brow to block the glare of the sun as she observed Annie Mae vanishing in the growing distance. Her eyes watered as she wiped her other hand on her stained apron. Annie Mae was gone; she never answered the woman and never looked back.
When Annie Mae finally made it home, she reflected on her adventure. She could not shake the conversation from her mind. She knew she had missed some of her periods, but she didn’t look pregnant. She wasn’t showing at all. Besides, her parents told her that she could not have any children.
4
COMING OF AGE
Several months had passed and Annie Mae had forgotten about her encounter with the woman on the church porch. It was Aunt Rosa Mae’s wedding day and Grandmother was running around trying to hurry everyone out to the car. “Y’all gals hurry up,” her mother yelled. “You know we have got to be at the church. I don’t want to be late. Rosa Mae will never let me live it down, coming up in there late, with you two gals hanging on my arm. Oooh, Rosa Mae will act a fool, y’all know how she is. I’ll never hear the end of it, so come on now, before I leave both of you sitting right here!”
“Well leave then,” Mable said, mumbling under her breath. Annie and Mable were rushing around their room trying to get ready. Mable kept sassing back as her mother continued hurrying them. “We coming. Why you fussing so much? We can’t get ready with you always stopping us, talking to us and yelling, telling us to get ready, get ready, get ready. That’s what we doing. Leave us alone!”
Grandmother came into the room. “Mable, if you don’t shut your mouth, girl …” Annie could not stand the way Mable sassed back at their mother, but that’s how Mable was: no one could control her. You couldn’t tell her a thing. She had an answer for everybody and she knew everything. She was always getting in trouble with the teachers at school for talking back, and in their neighborhood, she was known as Big Mouth Mable.
Hurriedly, Annie was trying to get herself ready, but the dress she planned to wear to the wedding no longer fit. Most of her clothes had gotten tight, so she wore the same few tops over and over. Finally, she put on a skirt and a blouse and left the blouse outside of her skirt. Looking over herself one last time in the mirror, she smoothed down her bangs, then grabbed her sweater and ran out to the car.
Grandmother arrived at the church in plenty of time and the ceremony went well. At the reception, Aunt Rosa Mae’s husband kept staring at Annie Mae. She did not know why he was looking at her but it was awkward, as if he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he leaned over and nudged Aunt Rosa Mae, then whispered something in her ear. Aunt Rosa Mae immediately turned to Annie and began staring as well. Just then, Grandmother came and informed Annie and Mable she had arranged for them to be taken home, so the adults could get on with the party.
When they arrived home, Annie and Mable decided to lie down and take a nap. A few hours later, their mother arrived home and marched right into the bedroom where Mable and Annie Mae were napping. “Annie Mae! Get yo’ fast tail up, gal. Is you pregnant? You better not be cuz if you pregnant, you going right down there to the Audy Home with all them other fast-tail gals. Who you been lettin’ feel up under your clothes? Stand up! Let me see your stomach!”
Still groggy from her nap, Annie Mae sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. While she was trying to come into a coherent state and decipher what all the yelling was about, her mother took the back of her hand and struck Annie Mae across the face. “I told you to stand up, gal!” Grandmother snapped. “Let me look at your stomach. Is you pregnant?”
“Yeah!” teary-eyed Annie shouted as she jumped out of the bed, raising up her blouse and pulling her skirt below her belly. Grandmother struck her again across the face. “What is wrong with you, Annie Mae? How can you be pregnant? How could you embarrass this family like this? How could you be so stupid? You know better than this. Who you been letting feel up under your clothes? It bet not be that nappy-headed George. That boy ain’t sniffin’ around but for one thang. He been with every girl in this neighborhood, and here you is, silly like all the rest of them dumb girls. Now tell me, cuz it bet not be him!”
Mable could not sleep amid all the commotion. As she sat up and looked around, trying to take in all that was going on around her, Grandmother snatched Mable out of the bed and began thrashing her heartlessly with Grandfather’s good leather belt. “It’s your fault,” Grandmother screamed. “It’s your fault! You knew this girl was pregnant. Why didn’t you tell me?” Grandmother’s temper escalated more and more until she didn’t even notice that all the buttons on her dress had burst open. Her eyes were stretched wide, like they were ready to pop out of her skull; her teeth gnashed together; sweat ran down her forehead and covered her face and her hair sweated back and charged in all directions. Grandmother was swinging Grandfather’s belt so wildly she could have beaten off a bear. All Mable could do was bare the whipping, so she balled up in a knot on the floor and covered her face with both arms. For the first time in her life, Mable had nothing to say.
“Ahhhhh,” Annie screamed over and over. “Ahhhh, I don’t care. Do what you wanna do! I don’t give a care.” Annie was falling apart. So many thoughts were rushing through her mind; there was so much she needed to say. I try to be good. I’m a good girl, I really am. I’m not nasty, I made a mistake. Don’t be mad at me. Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry. I’m scared. What am I going to do? I don’t know what to do. Please stop yelling at me and don’t hit Mable no more! Why you saying it’s her fault? It’s not her fault. Stop saying you gonna put me out. I don’t wanna go, I want you to hold me and tell me it’s gonna be okay. Tell me; please tell me its okay. Please don’t hate me.
Those were Annie Mae’s thoughts, but not what came out of her mouth. She screamed at her mother at the top of her lungs, “I don’t care what you say, do what you wanna do! I don’t care no more!” Her mother was shocked. She had never seen Annie this angry before. Annie Mae had never talked back, had an outburst, or hardly given her parents any trouble at all. Startled by Annie Mae’s sharp reply, her mother dropped her father’s belt, wiped her brow with the top of her forearm and stood there quietly. By now, everybody had made it back home and began gathering into the bedroom. Everybody was screaming at everybody. No one knew what was going on or what caused all the chaos, but it was mad bedlam at 16th and Ridgeway that night. Finally, her Grandfather grabbed Grandmother and tried to calm her down. Annie Mae fell to the floor, crying uncontrollably and rocking back and forth.
Mable regained the use of her vocals and defended her honor. She stood to her feet and let Grandmother have it. “Why is you beating me?” she shouted. “Your precious Annie is the one with the big stomach, but you beat me. You just gotta blame me for everything. I didn’t lay up there and have sex with that nasty boy; Annie did that so beat her! Beat your baby, but don’t touch me. I don’t have nothing to do with it. I don’t be with Annie. How am I supposed to know she’s somewhere laying down letting some stupid boy do it with her? I always knew you loved her better than me anyway. All y’all treat her better than you treat me. I can’t stand y’all!” Grandmother did nothing. “Yeah, I thought so,” Mable said. “That’s why I hate y’all. Good for her,” she said, looking spitefully at Annie. “I’m glad she’s pregnant.” Mable looked at Grandmother, then at each person silently observing her tirade, and lastly at Annie Mae. With nothing left to say, she turned and pushed her way out of the room.
The next morning things were calm, but thick tension filled the house. It was evident that another angry outburst was standing nearby, awaiting the opportunity to launch another full-fledged attack. The horrible events of the previous evening had turned Annie Mae’s passionate heart cold. She could not handle all the pressure that her actions brought upon the family and could not push past all of the unkind things Grandmother had said. Annie Mae was always a sensitive child, everyone knew it, and so they always spoke kindly to her. No one knew about all the hurt and abuse Annie Mae kept hidden deep inside her. The incestuous molestation by her father and being used and rejected by George had created a black hole inside her, wide and deep. Thirteen year old Annie Mae abandoned her hopes and dreams of a joyful, happy future and climbed inside that hole, where she would dwell many years, lost and in great pain.
Annie Mae never saw George again, except from her bedroom window, but George did not seem to mind. Annie Mae’s heart ached as she watched him chasing all the other girls in the neighborhood, and spending more and more time with her sister, Mable. Mable and George were becoming good friends. George enjoyed grabbing and touching Mable in the same way he had touched Annie; and as rumors did tell, the two were soon the neighborhood’s next piece of raunchy gossip.
Annie Mae was a prisoner, doing hard time in the confines of her bedroom, exercising freedom only for meals, bathroom privileges and doctor visits. She could not endure her embarrassing shame. Further and further she sank, disappearing into a cavity of deep depression, isolation and acute loneliness, nurturing hatred for her world and everyone in it, especially Mable.
Eventually George was sent away to live with relatives in another state. The day before he left, Annie Mae watched him from her window all day long. Though George knew she was in the window, he never looked up. Annie missed playing with all her friends, but she especially missed George. She missed playing Hide-and-Seek and Catch a Girl, Get a Girl. She wanted so much to be with him. She missed his touch, his body, his kiss. She missed watching him build his bombs while they talked about their future and what they wanted to be when they grew up. Oooh, what Annie wouldn’t give to be with George once again!
Feeling lost and in total despair, Annie placed both hands on the window, laid her face against them and began to cry. “Oh George,” she whispered, “what about me?” She wanted George to catch her and kiss her again, remembering their very first time. They were playing a game of Catch a Girl, Get a Girl. The usual group was there.
“Uh, I got you,” George said to Annie, as he seized her and pulled her close to him. “Now gimmie my kiss.”
“No,” Annie said, turning her head back and forth teasingly. “I ain’t giving you nothing,” she said, while trying to pull away, but his grip was strong.
“Uh-uh Annie, I caught you fair and square,” George said, with a hint of agitation in his voice. Then he let her go and started singing the song, “I Got You” by Joe Tex.
“You thought I couldn’t get you, uh-huh huh. But I got you, uh-huh huh. You thought I couldn’t get you, uh-huh huh. But I got you, uh-huh huh…”
Annie Mae looked down from the window in time to see George disappear into the gangway with one of the neighborhood girls. Annie Mae pressed hard and angrily against her swelling stomach, “I hate this baby. Do you hear me, you stupid, nasty thing? I hate you!” Crying harder now, she walked to the closet and removed a hanger. She slid the cardboard rod from between the wire hinges, and then threw the hanger to the floor, walking back toward the window. A rapid flow of tears streamed down her face as she stared blankly out of the window, as if the sidewalk beneath was a distant land, though it was just three stories below. After a few minutes, she walked over to her bedroom door and jammed it shut, so no one could enter, then she laid in the bed and silently cried herself to sleep.
When Annie awakened an hour later, she still could not shake her thoughts of George and how he had used and abandoned her. Being pregnant was overwhelming enough, but the father of her child didn’t want anything to do with her, let alone the child she was carrying. She couldn’t take the pressure anymore. Annie turned from her side to lie flat on her back and removed her panties. She raised her left leg, the way the doctor did when he examined her, then the right leg and slid the cardboard stick inside her vagina. Then she breathed in deeply and rammed it as hard as she could.
At age thirteen, when most young girls are just beginning to blossom into womanhood, Annie Mae was pregnant with me.
* * *
“That girl ain’t old enough to be bringing up nobody’s baby!” Grandmother protested adamantly. “But I know what to do.” Grandmother began to concoct various potions and elixirs for Annie to drink, that supposedly would bring on premature labor. For several months, Grandmother brewed her liquid cure-alls and presented them to Annie. “Here, Annie, drink this; it will make you feel better.” Each time it was the same story.
“Eww, that stinks,” Annie would say. “What is it?”
“Don’t worry about all that,” Grandmother would snap back. “Just drink it, it’s good for you. It’s medicine. Something that’ll fix everything and put things back on track, the way they supposed to be. Now drink up!”
Annie would drink Grandmother’s concoctions, each time, just a few moments after the first sip, the elixir would do a wild dance in her belly and find itself leaping out of her stomach, making its way through her esophagus to dance all over the floor in front of her. All of Grandmother’s intentions were to no avail. On November 10, 1960 (a full week overdue), at Rush Presbyterian Hospital, thirteen year old Annie Mae Jones gave birth to her first-born child: a curly-topped, bright-eyed baby girl weighing eight pounds and seven ounces. She named her Denise Jones.