The beginning

When Quisha Jackson left home at twenty, she wanted as far away from her former life as humanly possible. She wanted to make a name for herself—be somebody she could be proud of.

With an overburdened mother, her mother’s abusive boyfriend and four other siblings—a brother and three sisters all living in one house, Quisha felt it was best to leave before she ended up on the same path as her mother—stuck in a dead-end job, supporting grown ass men and going through them like Kleenex.

She was heading in that direction, but then the boys and men in her neighborhood made a beeline straight for her. An early pregnancy scare put her on the straight and narrow—something she never told her mother or the boy who could have been the father. She was messing with two boys at the time and vowed it would never happen again. That seemed to be life in her small corner of the world, as her friends got pregnant and moved in with boyfriends. She wanted to go to college and have a different life. The last conversation she had with her mother before leaving home the first time was,

“I’m going to college, Mama.”

“How are you going to pay for college? her mother asked then added, “College ain’t for everyone and with your fast ass, you won’t last,” she finished and went back to her soap opera, dismissing her daughter and her dreams.

Quisha was her mother’s oldest and the one she put a lot of responsibilities on. Taking care of her younger siblings often took its toll on her when she wanted to be out with her own friends and living her own life. She had plans and big dreams for the future.

She wanted to live in a mansion and drive a Bentley. She didn’t even know the significance of owning a Bentley—it just fit her dream. She smiled to herself at the far away dream and sighed as she prepared dinner for her brother Jayden, and her sisters Amiya, Ayanna and Janeen.

When she finished cooking she wasn’t hungry but nibbled on something as she cooked. After washing the dishes she went to her bedroom to study and then called her good friend, Tamla.

“Girl, I’m so tired of my mother. She shoots down everything positive that I tell her,” Quisha said.

“My mother is the same way,”Tamla said and sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with them.

“They’re old,” Quisha said and they laughed.

”Why don’t you come stay here a while,” Tamla suggested. “Mama likes you; she won’t mind.”

“Ok,” Quisha said, glad to have somewhere to go, even if it was temporary. Her mother’s negativity wasn’t the only thing that bothered her.

* * *

Alabama

Quisha grabbed up a few things and walked a few blocks to Tamla’s house. She left her siblings in Dennis’ charge. Dennis was Quisha’s mother’s touchy-feely boyfriend.

“Thank you for letting me stay tonight,” Quisha said when she got to her friend’s house.

“No problem,” Tamla said and ushered her to the basement where her bedroom was.

That night turned into a month. Quisha eventually got a part-time job to help her friend and it bought her some time. She didn’t want to go back home. Her plan was to work, save up enough money and move to Detroit. She had a cousin who was willing to let her stay with her until she was able to get on her own two feet.

“One more month and we graduate,” Tamla said a week later to Quisha as they listened to music in her room and talked about the cutest boy in class.

“I know. I can’t wait,” Quisha started. “My birthday is coming up in a couple of months too, so, I’m excited. I can do whatever I want; I’m moving to Detroit.”

Coming from a small southern town, Detroit always seemed like the big time to her. The Motor City… The Detroit Pistons… she couldn’t wait.

“Detroit!” Tamla exclaimed. “Don’t you watch the news? You need to go to New York, or Los Angeles,” her friend told her.

“Yeah, there’s no crime in New York or Los Angeles,” Quisha said sarcastically. “Besides— I’m going to Detroit because my cousin Bridget Matthews lives there and she told me I could stay with her. I plan to go to a community college and get my degree…in something. I don’t know what I want to do right now,”

“That’s great,” Tamla told her. “I’m just going to go to school here,” she pouted.

“It will be alright,” Quisha said. “When we graduate from college and get our dream jobs, maybe we can be roommates one day—driving our new cars, going home to a deluxe apartment in the sky. She did the little tune from The Jeffersons, which made Tamla laugh.

Three weeks later, Quisha had to go back home before her welcome ended with her friend. She kept herself busy with work and stayed out late to party with her friends to avoid home as much as possible until she could leave.

Dennis had started getting too close for comfort, but somehow she knew going to her mother for help or sympathy would do more harm than good.

* * *

Five years earlier

Her mother’s last boyfriend put his hand down her panties one night as her mother slept in the next room. A week after that incident Quisha was helping her mother in the kitchen when she said,

“Mama, Gary touched me.”

“What do you mean he touched you? Girl if you’re lying…” Her mother stopped what she was doing and glared at Quisha. The look on her mother’s face spoke volumes and Quisha backed off. The incident was never brought up again.

But her boyfriend never touched her again either. Quisha was relieved when he left her mother. She was twelve at the time. Old enough to know something wasn’t right in her home, but too young to get away and live on her own.

There were times she hated her mother. Her mother’s dependence on men at the risk of her safety bothered her. When she was seventeen she started to see the same pattern with Dennis.

One day he walked into the bathroom while she showered and pulled open the shower curtain.

“My bad—I didn’t know you were in here,” he said and left, but not until he got a good eye full of her young tender body. It was more than she was willing to deal with and she left that night.

For weeks he’d been saying inappropriate things to her under the guise of being a father figure. “Don’t let no man suck on your titties,” he told her. “You’ll let him do anything he wants after that.”

He looked at her with an expression she’d never seen on him before. He always made sure her mother was out of the house or out of ear shot.

It always made her feel uncomfortable and leery about what he would try if given the opportunity.

* * *

Two years later

“Girl, you got to get out of that situation. I’m surprised you’ve put up with Dennis for so long,” Tamla told her.

“I know. I don’t know what he is capable of. But he’s gotten worse with some of the things he says to me,” Quisha said.

“What about your sisters and brother?” Tamla asked sounding concerned.

“The last two are Dennis’. Quisha answered. “He doesn’t bother my other sister. At least that is what she told me.”

“You can stay with me again,” Tamla said.

“Thank you, but no, I need to stand on my own,” Quisha said. “I’ll be twenty soon and it’s about time I act like an adult.”

Thankfully she had a dead-end job that paid enough for a run-down motel room until she could do better. She wasn’t willing to take a chance with Dennis, knowing he was waiting to accidently walk in on her again or worse.

She didn’t bother to tell her mother she was moving out. Quisha took the opportunity while her mother was at work and Dennis was passed out drunk on the couch and packed her most important things. She took one last look at her small cramped bedroom and vowed it was the last time ever. She found a motel by her job with easy access to the bus line.

With her one suitcase in hand, Quisha unlocked the door to the motel room. It hadn’t been remodeled in at least a decade; it was musty, damp and made her skin crawl. She shuddered involuntarily but thought about the alternative—possible rape at the hands of Dennis.

This too shall pass, she thought to herself and put her suitcase on the bed. She tried not to think of all the germs and DNA that might be on the comforter. When she settled into motel living she called her mother to tell her she was alright.

“Where are you?” her mother asked.

“At Hazelton Motel,” Quisha, responded.

“Why the hell are you there?” her mother asked. You with some boy? You know I be needing someone to watch these kids.”

Quisha took a deep breath, but didn’t tell her mother what she really thought. Quisha wanted her freedom—not watching children she didn’t give birth to—but telling her mother that would have brought down the wrath of God.

“You need to bring your ass back home,” her mother warned.

“Mama, I’m not coming back,” Quisha replied.

“Well, we’ll see how far you get along without me,” her mother said.

All that did was put fire under Quisha to not prove her mother right. She couldn’t go back home… she just couldn’t.