Читать книгу Ghetto Girls Too - Anthony Whyte - Страница 19

FOURTEEN

Rachel Harvey had resented being on the inside since the beginning. She, however, had learned to accept her fate through the encouragement of friends and counselors she had met while staying at the Green Acres Rehab Institute. She knew exploding in the group meeting would bring her demerits but it was something that was inevitable. It was born from a desperation to leave this place. Rachel sat and stewed as her thoughts brooded over the last time she had met one on one with the counselor.

“Have you told Coco anything about her father’s passing as yet?” Fatima Murray had asked.

“Why? Does it matter?” Rachel had responded indifferently.

“Yes, it does matter. She needs to know such things. It’s important.”

“I haven’t really told her. I guess I’m sorta waiting for the right time.”

“When is the right time, Rachel? It’s been over a week now and the guitar and the package he left for her are still here gathering dust in my office.”

“If you want, I could take them out. I mean, I didn’t mean for them to be there this long. Matter of fact, let me just get them right now.”

“Listen, Rachel, there is no reason for you to get upset.”

“I’m not upset, Mrs. Murray, I’m just trying to solve the problem right now.”

“The problem is not one of space. It is one of letting your daughter in on the secret you’re keeping from her.”

“Huh? What secret might that be, Mrs. Murray?” Rachel asked in anger.

“The one of not knowing that her father is dead and that he also left her a guitar along with a big brown envelope. These things might just be important to her,” Mrs. Murray said without any restraint. She had wanted to say this to Rachel Harvey before. The counselor knew it was not going to be easy and she was right. Ms Harvey tore into her.

“Y’all people need to mind y’all fucking business, you hear.” Rachel Harvey was near tantrum level. “All you people up in here be illing the fuck out. Y’all need to go and get a life and stop meddling in mine. Yes, yes, yes, I used to smoke crack and abused drugs like y’all say but that’s in the past now. I’ve been clean for six weeks now and I’m not a troublemaker but ever since I got up in here, it’s been like a curse. Y’all refuse to let me live in peace. I’ve obeyed y’all rules. I mean, I don’t even smoke cigarettes but y’all still won’t let me be. Y’all got to tell me how to live my life, how to talk to my daughter, and what to say. I mean, y’all must be the damn man. I better start praying to the counselors...”

Mrs. Murray couldn’t hold back. “Stop!” she shouted then closed the door to the many curious onlookers. Mrs. Murray started again slowly, “We’re not having a shouting war, Rachel. I simply wanted to remind you that the more you allow yourself to think that way, the less you’ll ever be able to move on and put a closure to that period of your life. You’re a good person and a good mother. Just maybe, maybe you should reconsider and tell your daughter about her father’s fate. You do that and you’ll also move on.”

The conversation loomed heavily over Rachel Harvey’s head. She had wanted her daughter to know but she wanted to tell her at the right time. When is the right time to tell someone that their father is dead? pondered Ms. Harvey. Fatima had been a friend and counselor. Maybe she was right. Coco would visit tonight. Ms. Harvey vowed to tell her daughter of her father’s demise.

“Do you want to redo the meeting, Rachel?” Fatima asked and Rachel thought for awhile before giving her answer.

“Yes, I’ll do it again,” she said and the counselor smiled.

As they left the office and began walking back to the meeting hall, doubt set in with each step that she took. Ms. Harvey stood at the top of a makeshift circle where twenty eager faces waited for her to get started.

“Good evening, sisters, mothers and all in attendance tonight. I am Rachel Harvey and I’ve abused drugs and alcohol.”

“God’s blessings and good evening all,” was the rhetorical reply.

“I’m on the road to recovery, God willing. As you know, this is the time when everyone gets to discuss any topic and tell, you know, tell what is bothering them or what’s keeping them here and giving ‘em faith and so on...”

“That’s right. It’s that time again,” a member of the support group uttered.

Without warning, Ms. Harvey became tongue-tied. She remained speechless for too long. Inquiring stares examined her aggrieved look. In hushed tones, Ms Harvey apologized as she took a seat. Her body heaved uncontrollably as she cried.

“You can’t run. You can’t hide. You must face the pain.” It was the collective voice of the support group. “Pray hard, my sister. There is no problem we can’t overcome,” the chorus continued. Their chant seemed to lend strength to her frail spirit. Ms. Harvey stood, cleared her throat and testified about her present fears.

“I appreciate all the concern. I’m trying to hold my head above my problems and worries.”

“God don’t give more than you can handle, my sister. Have courage.” The persistent effort of the support group gently guided Ms. Harvey past her emotional barrier.

“My daughter’s father, well he passed away.” She choked on her emotions. Her throat became dry and it became difficult for her to speak. Ms. Harvey braved the tears as she dabbed at her eyes and continued, “Couple weeks ago, he up and died of a stroke. I only found out when his probation officer sent me all his belongings, a damn guitar and a brown envelope with a letter to my daughter. I haven’t told her any of this yet because of my fear. I’ve been scared to tell her. I don’t know how she is gonna take it, you know…I don’t how she will react. Although this man has not lived with me, he is my child’s father. He brought me life and introduced me to drugs.”

“Amen,” came the chorus.

“His passing, I think, will make me and my daughter a little stronger. We’ve already learned strength through his weaknesses.” Ms. Harvey found it easier to speak. She wept a little when she heard the applause as she reminisced over Reggie Melody. “In the beginning, Reggie said he would be there for us. But in the end, I see he was never really there to do for me or for my daughter. I mean, he left me and us for his own reasons. He lived his life. Now, I gotta keep living mine.”

“Be strong. The strong will survive.” The support group cheered Ms. Harvey.

“I mean, I asked God, why me? Why I had to fall for crack, cocaine, and alcohol? I still don’t know the answer,” Ms. Harvey said.

The group did what was expected. They provided succor to another soul in distress. It was the kind of help that kept the alcohol and drugs off Ms. Harvey’s mind and was guiding her to the path of sobriety. A smile gathered around the corner of her mouth. Rachel Harvey was not completely free from the need but at this time, she was not in need. There were no tremors or fears. She walked away with a fresh perspective. Ms Harvey recognized that her existence was solely up to her.

After the meeting was over, Ms. Harvey hurried to the office of her counselor and knocked. When the door opened, Rachel Harvey flung herself into the arms of Mrs. Murray who held her ground as the thin lady draped her arms around her rotund figure.

“Thanks,” Ms. Harvey said. Fatima was taken aback by Ms. Harvey’s display but she knew that she had a hand in pushing the patient toward recovery. Fatima easily held Rachel’s shrunken frame against her and patted her back.

“Things will get easier, my dear. You’ll see. Everything will be all downhill soon enough. You’ll see, Rachel.” The counselor saw Rachel Harvey reaching out and she took her hand. “You’ve got to be strong,” she said as the Rachel wept in her embrace. Fatima Murray was confident that the counseling was making a difference. This was the first time she had seen Rachel Harvey, a person who had denied that she belonged in drug therapy, break down crying. Recovery would not be too far behind now, thought the counselor hopefully.