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Troubled Hearts by Leronia Rawls
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Rated "R" by the Author.
Troubled Hearts consists of short stories regarding the many facets some women have encountered.
Troubled Hearts
A Barren Woman
Helen was a barren woman who’d tried to hide her pain from everyone. She especially hid it well from her sisters, Laura and Kathy, who'd already given her parents five beautiful grandchildren. Her youngest sister, Kathy, had a son named, Aaron. Laura, her oldest sister, was very fertile and had four children Amy, Joan, Vivian, and Tony. She loved her nieces and nephews dearly and was considered their favorite aunt. She’d always remembered their birthdays and special occasions, and her sisters, parents, and closest friends, accused her of spoiling her them with expensive gifts.
All of her closest girlfriends were mothers. Karen, her best friend, was expecting a baby boy any day now. And her baby shower would have been the ninth baby shower Helen would have attended shielding her pain behind comforting smiles and beautiful baby gifts.
Though Helen was a proud aunt and invariably grateful to have such wonderful nieces and nephews, there were moments when she felt angry, envious, and sad. No one ever suspected that she lived with the pain of not having children of her own. She concealed it well and frequently made-up excuses why she hadn’t had children of her own. By doing so, she felt confident that she’d merely convinced others who might have suspected otherwise. However, she never sounded convincing to her mother, who, on several occasions, asked her if she was planning to have children after she married her fiancé Ron. It would have been devastating to tell her mother the truth so she politely responded each time that she would.
Once, she tried to hide her pain from God, but knew it was impossible since He’d heard her cries at night amid her steadfast prayers. At first, she’d blamed Him for making her a barren woman but would immediately repent and ask for His forgiveness. Afterwards, she’d continued praying for a prolific womb. She’d even asked God to bless her like He’d blessed Sara, Abraham’s wife in the bible but wanted her blessing while she was a young woman. She didn’t want her children to grow alone but wanted them to grow and play with her sisters’ children, and she also wanted to become a grandmother one day. Moreover, she wanted the seeds from her womb to spread upon the earth after her days were over. Sometimes, she’d wondered if she’d asked for too much.
Her world emerged desolate when Ron abruptly called off the wedding leaving her alone to explain her broken heart to everyone. Confronting her bride maids would be the most obscure task since she and Rod had dated for nearly six years, and they’d brought beautiful lavender gowns for her wedding. Although she’d tried to explain though avoidance of revealing the depths of the true reason why, she was too distraught with words that could not find their proper places for the moment. Seemingly, her friend’s had understood, and their silence through it all realized that she was truly heartbroken. And she was exceedingly grateful to have love ones that had spared her all the misery of explaining why Ron no longer wanted to marry her. She’d especially appreciated her mother’s silence but often turned from her mother’s solemn eyes that appeared to engulf her sorrow. No one had to know the bitter truth and Helen wasn’t going to ever cross that daring line again. She’d vowed to never tell another living soul of her inner pain, and she’d forgiven Ron’s discerning feelings realizing how much he too, had wanted children of his own.
Obtaining a Doctorate in Sociology, driving a beautiful green Mercedes, and living in a beautiful home in one of the most popular and elite suburban neighborhoods was not enough. Her void of having her own child remained empty. Her prayers of having more than one child had diminished. Time was beginning to deceive her as new lines beneath her solemn eyes began to looked worn, and her dropping chin now matched the new patches of silver hair that she wore brushed back in a pony tale to appear younger looking. And her optimistic feelings were strictly based upon her prayers that were forthcoming – a reason why she purchased a home in an exclusive neighborhood to raise her child. However, her pessimistic feelings grew overwhelming, and whenever she saw a woman embraced, or mothers pushing strollers through the park, she felt depressed. These were her worse times. No matter how hard she tried to feel optimistic during these depressing moments, her pain would not go away.
As time prevailed, Helen became a praying woman. She prayed from sunrise to sunset. She prayed at work. She prayed silently and secretly among her friends. She prayed for a child of her own. She desperately wanted a baby – her own baby. It didn’t make any difference if she’d had a boy or a girl. She wanted to feel her womanhood in full bloom. She wanted her body full with the life of her baby inside her body fluids. She wanted to feel her baby move and kick the sides of her stomach. She craved morning sickness and claimed labor pains. She wanted to have a connection, a bond with a child of her own blood. She wanted to see someone that resembled her or even looked just like her or her baby’s father. She’d also come to terms of being like Sara in the bible as long as she could have a child of her own.
Though looking away momentarily from her vicarious mind, she felt extremely selfish when thoughts of adopting and raising someone else’s child emerged within her mind. It would not be the same as having a baby of her won.
After having the hysterectomy, she wanted to die.
***
Inside Angie’s Mind
Most women starred at Angie’s breast with envy as they were naturally beautiful, they were full, round, and firm like many women wanted their breast to appear without the use of silicon or saline solutions. But she’d wished that they were small – small like the breasts on a man’s chest. She refused to wear bras anymore and she never allowed her cleavage to show, and her tube tops worn beneath men shirts hid her nipples well.
She’d also stopped lifting weights after noticing that her breasts began to appear fuller than her shoulders, and she began to run instead. She jogged every day – especially to prepare herself for the numerous marathons that she participated in. Some marathons she won and others she lost, but it didn’t matter to her one way or another – she just wanted to run. And she ran hard and fast. Many said that she was addicted to running but she knew that her running had become purely psychological, which is why she ran earnestly trying to release the woman from her mind. As a rule, she ran with the fellows wearing men running gear to enhance the masculine physique that she craved for.
On Saturdays she’d bowl with them and on Sundays she’d watch the NFL with a group of beer drinking, trash talking men, who made her feel like one of the boys. She especially enjoyed arguing with them and made it a point to disagree as often as possible without having them exclude her as one of the fellows, and they treated her like one of them knowing she’d have it no other way.
Monday through Friday, she’d worked in construction and eyeballed as many women as any of the men on the construction site. And she outwardly refused help from any of the guys when they felt that something was to heavy for her to lift. She hated for them to treat her like a lady on the job and she eventually proved that she could work as hard and as powerful as any one of them could. She felt strong and wanted to be considered as strong as any man.
On her twenty-sixth birthday, she changed her name to Andy but her mother continued calling her Angela. Her father didn’t call her anything and refused to listen to her when she’d told him of her name change. For years, he’d refused to talk to her and had ceased going to church after being a deacon for over twenty years. He’d felt he’d lost his only child – his only daughter to something in life that was too overwhelming for him to understand or accept. She’d felt bad about the way her family had changed once they became aware that she was who she was and on occasions, she felt her father’s stare, and hoped that one day he’ll come to grips with life, himself, and her. She wanted him to accept her for who she was, or at least who she wanted to be. In the past, she’d tried to assure her parents that it wasn’t anything that they’re done or hadn’t done in raising her. She wanted them to know that they had been wonderful parents, and wanted to be the first to tell them of her preference. She didn’t want them to hear of it from the streets, or from their friends or neighbors, whom she’d felt, her parents were afraid to face since they became aware of her lifestyle.
Seemingly, her parents had grown closer together in their home – away from all of their friends and family members. She hadn’t seen or heard of her parents socializing for some time now, and it bothered her that they were having such a difficult time accepting her choice – her lifestyle and she knew that she couldn’t change. Though her birth had claimed her physical gender, she didn’t know how to feel like a whole woman – like the woman her parents wanted her to be.
As a child she’d enjoyed playing with the boys, climbing trees, wrestling, and riding her dirt bike, that she begged her father to get her for Christmas, over huge mud hills in the open fields near their home. She never enjoyed playing with dolls or being with the girls in her neighborhood. They appeared too delicate, boring, and too sensitive for her. In fact, she could count the times she’d cried as a little girl, and she could remember how she’d enjoyed secretly flirting and admiring some of the girls in school during puberty but was too afraid to share her feelings with anyone for fear of being called a freak, or some other horrible name that wasn’t true . For years, she lived within her female body fighting mentally trying to rid her mind of any masculine thoughts or ways. Once, she’d stopped fighting with her inner feelings, she felt a brisk of freedom that the majority of society couldn’t understand. It was terribly difficult for her to describe the way she felt to anyone, as she’d had problems coping with herself. And she’d felt good and bad about herself even though she’d met other women who’d shared her confusing feelings.
If anyone seemed to have understood her, it was her girlfriend, Faye, and nothing else seemed to matter. Faye didn’t seem to have been bothered when she’d changed her name to Andy and continued to call her honey, and loved her just like any other woman could ever love a man.
***
Without Consent
An unknown assailant who’d punched her face with huge wide fists and cut both her arms with something much sharper than a knife when she attempted to move, raped Tracy repeatedly. Darkness amid silent screams and pains was all she’d remembered since she’d refused to stare into his eyes for fear of being able to identify him in some future place or time. Her assailant had violated every conceivable concept she’d own as a woman and now she felt deceived of her womanhood, which had caused her shame to be a woman.
Haunting thoughts relentlessly revealed her lack of strength and courage that stronger women who’d fought back even if their assailant was larger and stronger had possessed. She felt angry with herself as she hadn’t tried to defend herself for fear that her assailant would surely kill her, or disfigure her for life if he felt she’d be able to identify him. Instead, she quietly endured his physical strength and allowed him to abuse her with such great force that seemed to have paralyzed her mentally and physically. Feeling the near death experience flowing through her veins caused her to hate herself, as she’d been a weak, defenseless woman who’d given in to her assailant, and she’d also regretted kicking, her former lover, Bob, out of her home two months ago because he didn’t have a job. She cried.
Her entire body ached excluding her hands that she’d refused to use to defend herself against her assailant’s huge dark, muscular body, who’ threatened to kill her if she told a soul. And she’d swore to herself to do exactly as the beast had threatened her for fear that he’ll come back to rape her again and eventually kill her. Her distraught mind prevented her from feeling clean as she obsessively washed her injured body to rid her flesh of her assailant’s filth thinking she didn’t want anyone to ever know what had happened to her. She’d believed that being vulnerable attracted her attacker to her and believed that her miniskirt had been too short, which she immediately threw in the trash where she now felt it belonged and commenced tearing at the blouse that he’d ripped from her shoulders. She washed again and vowed not to ever reveal her body to anyone even if it meant wearing jeans and long sleeve shirts buttoned to her neck for the rest of her life and began blaming herself as she felt others would do.
She hated herself because she was too weak and felt too afraid to ask for help fearing others would prejudge her because she wore short skirts, tall heels, and tight fitted blouses. It was impossible for her to go to work with bruises and scars on her face, body without others noticing and without there being too many questions that she’d avoid answering. She’d felt that everyone would ask questions – even the receptionist, who frequently complimented her each morning when she wore her high fashion clothing that she now despised with an extreme fervor. She began to hate everyone, who’d ever given her flattering remarks regarding her attire and wondered if her assailant had seen her somewhere in public wearing garments that she now felt were too provocative. She’d even wondered if she’d known her assailant -- if he’d been someone, she’d met in the club when she flirted openly to strange men, who winked an eye or bought her a drink. She felt cheap realizing how others or the police would perceive her if she’d report being raped and believed that her young, naïve, and free spirited personality had deceived her.
Tracy hadn’t slept without fear for nearly two weeks and relentlessly wondered if she’d use her hands if her assailant returned as her guilt, self-pity, and fear plagued her riddled mind that had lost its will to live.
Her pills placed her quietly to rest.
***
Once Cared
Cindy loved her husband, Bruce, and felt that he deeply loved her and their children, and he’d convinced her on numerous occasions that he did. He’d proved his love for them in ways that many other wives envied by providing her and the children with the material treasures desired within the average American home. And when she wanted a fireplace and a deep blue marbled Jacuzzi built in their bedroom, things that she’d felt was too expensive but a dream that she’d mentioned to him just the same, he immediately paid contractors to make her dream come true . He’d always done just as he’d promised her when she vowed to be his devoted soul mate forever.
He’d frequently bought her beautiful flowers for her long black, wavy hair and brought beautiful dark colorful dresses that contrasted well with her bright skin tone and hugged her shapely body that still appeared youthful and firm though she’d had three children. But she wasn’t allowed to wear her beautiful dresses until he’d invited his friends to play cards, watch football, or barbeque outdoors in their half-acre backyard. She’d enjoyed seeing him entertain his friends but felt a sense of awe when he’d have her prance before his friends slowly in a sensuous, sexy way. She’d feel like a cheap whore in a sleazy nightclub serving a group of sex hungry eyed men but knew that it was only her husband’s egotistical manhood that proved he had control. Although she’d understood his ways, she was unable to withstand his abusive behavior of derogatory insults towards her in the presence of his friends and family members. However, she loved him and frequently made excuses for his behavior to anyone who’d asked or seemed suspicious of his behavior knowing how much he’d care for her and the children. And her family and friends, who’d seen her blacken eyes, nosebleeds, and swollen lips, ceased telling her to leave but placed ice on her swollen lips and listened to her in silence.
When he kicked her in the stomach and punched her in the back and sides, she refused to go to the hospital until he’d broken her arm and drove her to the hospital apologizing the whole way as though he really cared. She’d even understood his manic moods, his lows, highs, and his rage and never thought that he was just no good or violent but sick from the war in Vietnam. She’d felt he really didn’t mean to hurt her and forgave him each and every time and especially understood him when he wiped the tears from her swollen eyes showing his innocent compassion, or when he made passionate love to her being careful not to touch her injured wounds. But when he beat the children, she became afraid and went to her parents’ home who’d told her not worry—that in time, he’ll change and the pain inside her heart would heal.
Though they seemed to care, they opened the door gracefully when he came for her and the children and told her to go home as though they were ashamed of what the neighbors would think if he continued knocking, calling out her name, and threatening her if she and the children didn’t return home. Walking from her parent’s home she’d felt no other place to go when reminisces of her mother’s abuse seeped quietly in her mind and of how long her mother endured her father’s verbal and physical abuse until he’d had a stroke, which twisted his mouth and partially paralyzed him for the rest of his life. She’d also remembered her mother’s favorite words, “A half loaf is better than none”, -- words that confirmed or had possibly convinced her mother to stay with her father for so many years.
Attending church enhanced her faith and made it possible for her to cope with her disappointing marriage. She’d also begin to rely on the advice and spiritual guidance and love of her Minister, as he’d seemed to care. He’d convinced her that he cared when he’d told her that her faith and trust in God would pull her through and that God truly loved her and her children. And he’d told her that everything would be healed in the spirit as he’d rubbed her shoulders gently, softly to assure her that he cared. Then he pushed her hair from her swollen eyes and gently rubbed her bruised cheeks and kissed her forehead slightly before he softly kissed her swollen lips still carefully caressing her shoulders. She returned his kisses feeling that he cared. She trusted him and never doubted that a righteous man – a servant of the Lord would hurt her. He loved her gently; carefully avoiding her injured wounds and she felt like a newborn woman until she saw him one Sunday after church gently rubbing Sister Betty’s shoulders and gently smoothing her hair from her swollen eyes. She felt hurt and now realized that her Minister was no better than her husband, who never ceased to abuse her.
She’d become exceedingly worn from her husband’s abuse and one night after he brutally raped her, she shot him while he slept peacefully on their bed where she’d loved him in the past. When his eyes slowly opened and he called out her name, she pulled the trigger once more and didn’t feel insane.
Kimberly has gone from a well-paid female executive one minute to a desperate woman the next. Thinking her day can't possibly get any worse, she finds out how wrong she is when she goes home. The only way to set things straight is to get even.
