I looked around the room slowly and didn’t stop my stare until I was looking at the poem above the mantel.
“Everyone said I was going to be something special when I was little—my mother, my friends, the people at my church. And when I got accepted into college, they kept saying it. Everyone was so excited about me going to Spelman. So excited about me getting a college education. They told me—told me—I was going to be a doctor or a lawyer. They said that to me. They said I was so smart that I had to be one of those things,” I said. “Looking back, I had no clue what they were talking about. I didn’t feel special. I didn’t feel smart. I had no desire to chase any of those opportunities they said were for me. And that was because I was just trying to get away from my past. I didn’t have the energy to care to know how special or smart I was. I had to just use those things to figure a way out of my circumstance. I only used Spelman to get out of the house. And then, once that happened, I signed up for the next step. The only thing that would ensure that I wouldn’t have to look back. I hate to think of my marriage that way. I loved my husband for the independent man he was. But I also know that independence was only used to make me more dependent. And, as a result, I don’t think I ever really sat and thought of anything beyond him. I went to grad school. I got a job at the library. But it’s just a job. It’s not a career. It’s not something I care to do. The worst part is that I can stand here and say it’s not what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I still don’t know.” I held up my résumé. “This sheet of paper has my name, my current job, and ‘mother’ on it. I wanted to fill it all in. Make it two pages and add a staple. But you told us not to lie.” I looked at the ringleader. “And I couldn’t. I don’t know what more I want out of life and I don’t know how long it’s going to take me being on my own to figure that out. It’s scary to think I can be so old and not really know myself enough to see my future . . . how I can contribute to the world . . . change it. All I have right now is my basic instinct, and that’s to take care of my children. Give them a home. And let them know that Mommy is not going to be beat. And I know that’s not as cool as saying I want to be the next Oprah, but we all know it’s not common to come out on the other side OK. And I think that’s a good enough goal for right now.”
Five other women spoke after me. We took turns standing in front of the mantel, sharing our stories and being open about what we hoped would come true. One woman took the week we had to do the assignment to get the ball rolling on a small business loan to start her own day-care center. Another woman was just like me. She had no idea what she wanted to do with her career. But she’d always wanted to take a hot air balloon ride. She got up one morning and did it.
The biggest shock of the five was when the old Star Jones, who was always quiet and sending text messages during the meeting and refusing to switch her name tag with me, got up and volunteered.
“I tried to kill my husband. I almost did.”
The ringleader got up to go and stand beside Star Jones to hold her hand, but she refused.
“I don’t regret it. I’ve always believed that people should pay for the crimes they commit. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. He gave me HIV. I slit his throat.”
“Oh, God!” some in the circle shrieked.
“I don’t expect anyone in here to feel sorry for me. In fact, please don’t. I don’t need sorries; I need prayers. This has rocked my soul. And if HIV doesn’t kill me in ten months or ten years, my anger will.” She went into her pocketbook and pulled out a piece of paper. “I was a high
school principal. That’s what this paper will tell you.” She held the résumé up. “I spent thirteen years in the same school system. Worked my way up alongside my husband. He taught math. I taught science. We were at the same school. He didn’t want to go into administration, but I wanted the thrill, the power. Soon, I was driving the ship and my husband was still a mate. I felt guilty. He started fucking my entire staff. He kept fucking me. I was angry about what was going on in closets and back rooms and offices, but I let him fuck me because I was afraid to lose him. I got HIV. He got a slash over the whole of his throat. There was blood everywhere.” She was crying, but still standing with the paper. “If you look above my job as a principal, you’ll see that my eventual goal was to be superintendent of Fulton County Schools. I’d never written that down before, but it was my dream. I thought I’d get there in ten more years. But now, I know that’ll never happen.”
“Don’t count yourself out, sister,” the old Madonna said.
“No, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen for me.” She paused. “I’ve decided to change my plea to guilty. My lawyer first suggested that I plead not guilty. I’m stopping that. I know what the truth is. And I figure that if I can just stand there and tell those people who I am and what happened, I don’t care about the result. I’m pretty sure I won’t be superintendent in Fulton County, but I’m also sure I won’t be a liar and that’s how I got into this situation—because of someone’s lies.”
“See, I don’t know,” the woman next to me said after we sat there looking at Star for a few minutes in silence. “I don’t think I would plead guilty. Even if I did it. And I know some of you all think that’s crazy, but I can’t take seeing another sister go down for some bullshit a brother put her through. It’s stupid. And this down-low, gay shit, infecting us black women with HIV has got to stop. I commend you for taking a stand.”
A few people actually clapped. Star didn’t even blink.
“I thank you for your support, but I assure you, this is no courageous mission,” she said. “And I’m sorry, but my husband is white. And I know he’s never slept with a man. He got this from my best friend.”
We walked like sheep to slaughter out of that meeting. Eyes forward. Hands at our sides. Silent. Sober and somber. There was nothing to say. I think it was because so much of Star’s story reminded us of the possibilities of scornful courses of action had we not found the Hell Hath No Fury House and been faced with the demons of our own hell. You know, I don’t think Star was talking about her husband when she said someone’s lies had gotten her into her situation. I think she was talking about herself.
I couldn’t see my mother’s car when I walked outside, so I took a seat in one of the rocking chairs and prayed for Star. She was right. She didn’t need more people feeling sorry for her. Only her God could help her now.
A white Range Rover pulled up in front of the house. Most of the women had already come out. The ringleader was inside counseling a woman privately, so I was sure the ride was for one of them.
The driver honked the horn several times, but no one came out.
“Are you going to act like you don’t see me forever?” I heard this clearly, but didn’t look up, knowing the driver was speaking to someone else. “OK, Dawn. This is your last chance for romance.”
“Last what?” I looked up.
A. J. was standing in front of the car in jeans and a buttoned-up shirt. He waved at me.
“What do you mean my last chance?”
“Come down off that porch and I’ll tell you,” he hollered.
A. J. was very proud to tell me how he’d broken down one of my lines of defense. He’d seen my mother sitting outside of the HHNFH with the twins in the backseat. He could tell from across the street they were getting on her nerves and got out of his car to offer my mother twenty dollars to take the twins out for ice cream. He said he was a friend of mine and he could drive me home.
“And she went for that?” I asked, surprised.
“She was pretty cool, actually. It was the little girl in the backseat that had the evil eyes routine locked down,” he said. “If looks could kill, I’d be having this conversation with you at my funeral.”
“That’s my daughter,” I said.
“Oh, that was easy to discern. She’s adorable. Looks just like you and your mother.”
I laughed at this.