| It Has Been A Rough Year |
I am adding this additional chapter to my introduction, because after I initially wrote the introduction, it was very difficult to come back to it and try to make sense of all that I have experienced through the various stages of my life and the trials that I have endured or overcome. I wish ...
| The Birth of Charles Leonard Wiggins |
The story has already been written for awhile on my blog "From the heart of Praise, Prayer and Perseverance. 0; Here is a link to that posting, Below are the pictures of the blessed event.
http://fromthehea rt-dotwigg.blogsp ot.com/2008/03/an other-2-prayer-re quest-answered.ht ml
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YVONNE's Story > Chapters > HIGH SCHOOL AND BEYOND
| Date Range: 09/05/1980 To 07/06/1987 ||
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| | Let's see, where do I start? My High School that I attended had an annex building. The 1st year I attended the annex (where I kicked that monkeys ass) and then attended the main building the following years. High school was fun. I joined the gymnastics team and became somewhat of a sex symbol. I guess the guys watching thought that gymnasts were the bomb because of our flexibility. I wish to God I was in shape like that now. I really loved being apart of that team. I felt like I belonged somewhere and my team mates needed me. We traveled to different schools throughout the city and boroughs competing in tournaments. I loved everything about that. The traveling, the whole togetherness of it. Our leotards looked so nice on us. I remember taking a team picture and was so damn proud of myself I couldn' t stand it. Every chance I got I would make sure I passed by that photo near the gym doors to look at myself. I even imagined going to the olympics. I knew I wasn't olympic material but I dreamed anyway. Out of all of those meets we had my Mother attended once with my sister. I wonder what she was thinking seeing me perform. She hurried and left as soon as I performed. Oh well. I was in my own little world. I pictured Bela Caroyle (hope I spelled it right) standing on the side watching me and yelling like he used to do for Nadia Comaneci. I imagined getting 10's. I wonder where those pictures are? We also took individual photos in different poses. My pose was the one where you lay on your belly, and roll your legs forward up over your head, you point your toes and bend one leg and touch your head. Its a real nice pose. I stayed on the team until I graduated. During those school years I met alot of guys . I was always the life of the party so I guess thats why. They always started out calling me their "lil sis" but ended up wanting to date me. No sooner than the relationship went from friends to lovers it was over. I had a major problem dealing with boyfriends after my 1st boyfriend"C". No one could measure up to him. They all seemed too clingy, to jealous or just too something. I wondered if I thought that way because they weren't him. No I don't think so. I detached my feelings in many relationships. I'm sure it was partly because of me being molested. I just didn't view sex as a good thing. Part of the outcome of being molested so young is always trying to please a guy. you get sexually active at a young age but don't enjoy it. You believe that sex is all you have to offer and your choices in partners are soo "f'd" up. I think back to some of my male friends and I just bug out that I even dated some of them. Growing up , especially in the HS years I was the humping Queen of my neighborhood. Notice I said "humping" not "fucking". Some called me a tease but I didn't care. I felt I controlled guys with the promise of sex. I knew they were all attracted to me and I used that to my advantage. But, I didn't feel anything for them. I was never turned on. I tried to feel something but it never happened. I even got into an abusive relationship with a lunatic from the Bronx who would beat the hell outta me every chance he got. What the hell was that about? What was I looking for? He bought me whatever I wanted , spoiled me, seemed to worship the ground I walked on and kept me trapped in his apartment that he shared with his elderly Aunt and would not let me leave it without him. There were times when I thought he was actually going to kill me because I had threatened to leave him. He was so crazy but like many young women I thought I could fix his ass. The first time we had a fight we were out shopping. We were on 125th st in Harlem where I knew everybody. Where I'm from when you see a friend you hug and kiss them on the cheek, male or female. I noticed he was growing quiet and seemed a lil attitudy. I asked him several times what was wrong and he always answered "nothin". As soon as we got back to his apartment ALL HELL broke loose! Out of no where he slapped the livin shit out of me. I think I was in a state of shock because that slap took a moment to download into my brain. Again another slap and then a rainstorm of punches! Before I could even lift a pinky to tuck into a fist that lunatic was all over me! All he yelled was " who was them mutha fuckers"? "Did you fuck them"? " how come you didn't tell them I was your man"? He must've asked me 100 questions in 10 seconds flat. I couldn't answer any of them because he was swinging me around that room like Raggedy mutha f'kin Anne. I couldn't believe it! The only thing on my mind was trying to stop his windmill of slaps and punches. I had to convince him that I loved only him and that nobody else mattered to me. I was lying my ass off. I think I mistook jealousy for love. He always would start a fight if I spoke to another male or if he thought I was looking at someone else. I thought that was love. (thanks mom) I really did. I had to wear long sleeves and shades in the summer to hide all the bruises. Afterwards he would cry and beg for my forgiveness and of course I would fall for it. He'd always claim that he couldn't live without me. I think that was the hook. Yeah it had to be. But like Tina Turner, I got fed UP with that shit. One day a friend of his called him to his window. (he lived on the second floor). His friend wanted him to come downstairs to look at a motorcycle that they had stolen for parts. He ran downstairs immediately. As soon as he turned the corner my ass was in flight! I had on a Lee denim mini skirt , a terry cloth halter and a pair of open toe jellys. When I got down those stairs my heart began to pound because I knew if he saw me it would have been on and popping! I had to get to the train station before he got back. I was speed walking like a mutha f'ker, then that turned into a trot, the trot turned into a jog, the jog turned into a skip, the skip turned into a light run , the light run turned into a sprint, the sprint turned into a full out slave run down the longest hill in the Bronx that never seemed to end! I know those Puerto Ricans who saw me booking that day are still talking about "the black girl running like godzilla was coming". LOL! By the time I reached the train station I had imagined he was on my ass like a slave trader on a run-away-slave! The trainstaion in the Bronx was elevated so I had to stretch my damn legs and run up them steps 4-5 at a time! I didn't have no money on me so I had to hop the turnstile and hope no cops were laying in the cut watching me. By the time I made it to the platform my mini skirt was up around my waist, my halter top was under my breast and my feet slid thru my open toe jellys and the jellys slid up the back of my calfs due to the shear force of me running like Kunta Kinte. People were looking at me like I was crazy but I didn't give a flying f'k! I was not trying to ge a beat down from that crazy ass bastard in public! This sister was faster than Flo Jo! LOL! I got away and damn near had a heart attack! I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest it was beating so damn hard! I made it home and no one was there. I took a shower, changed my clothes and listened out for the door. I knew he would come looking for me and he would act real nice if anyone was around. I knew I'd have to watch myself when leaving the building because he could hide anywhere and jump out and start his bullshit once we were alone. We lived on the 4th floor and my room window faced the no.1 train on 125th st and broadway. We could see the train go by and wave at the people who were looking our way. I heard a whistle outside the window around 3am. It was him. That was how he called me. I kept the lights off and snuck over to the window to see if it was him. It was. He kept whistling and whistling and when I didn't answer he started calling my damn naaaaaaaame! Oh hell to the no! My grandmother would have gotten up and flipped the hell out! I turned on the light and went immediately to the window. I looked down towards the street and didn't see him. Where is the asshole? I looked to the left, to the right, nobody. I looked up for a second to ponder where he could possibly be and ended up looking dead in his mutha f'kin face. That crazy bastard was on THE TRAAAAACKS! THE TRAIN TRACKS! My eyes must have doubled in size. I couldn't believe it. All I thought was that this mutha f'ker is crazy. He yelled out " since its over watch this"! I watched him walk down the tracks towards an on-coming train. I whisper-screamed to my sister what was going on and she refused to watch. I jumped down from the window, got in my bed and covered my head! Then I heard the trains' horn blaring and a blood curdling scream! I cried myself to sleep. About 5 hours later I jumped up and looked out the window. There was no police tape, no indication that someone was killed on the tracks at all. I heard a knock at the door and my heart lerched in my chest! My Grandmother answered the door, I heard voices and in walks that crazy bastard like nothing ever happened! He was smiling and shit and acting all nice. What the hell is going on? That's all I could think to myself. He was standing there with a smile on his f'ing face. Now I knew I had to get away from that lunatic. My Grandmother liked him because he went to church with his Aunt. Little did she know what he was all about. I was too embarrassed to tell my family what was going on. I knew I wasn't going anywhere alone with his ass. I made up some excuse about visiting some family in New Jersey with my Grandmother and he fell for it. He kissed me on the forehead and left. What had I gotten myself into? Why me? Could I kill him? No, I wasn't going to nobody's jail. Maybe I could run away. No , I needed money for that. Damn ! What could I doooooo? stay tuned and you'll find out...........