BrookLyn's Journey, page 1
BrookLyn’s Journey
By
Coffey Brown
Copyright © 2012 by Stacey L. Pierce
EBook design by Bella Media Management
Cover by Firebird Media Management
Published in 2012 by Stacey Pierce
Book cover model: Rachael S. Ames
Edited by Lisa Dawn Martinez
ISBN: 978-0-9856756-1-5
Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales are entirely coincidental.
This book is also available in print from some online retailers.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission from the author and publisher.
Prologue
Five-year-old BrookLyn hid under her bed with her ears covered, her brother and sisters were at school and she was all alone, trying to hide from her mother’s loud screams. Her knees knocked with fear and she squeezed them together, hoping not to pee in her pants. Breathing in and out, trying to calm her heartbeat, she was shaking uncontrollably.
It sounded like her father was driving a nail into a board, like when he worked on the house, but it was his fist into her mother. The more he hit her, the louder she became. BrookLyn cringed with every blow.
After what felt like forever, the hitting and the screams, finally stopped, but then the whimpering started. She heard the door slam, thinking her father had left the house. Then without warning, she was whisked out from her hiding place. With the swiftness of a burglar, her mother pulled her by her ankles, snatching her from under the bed.
“Why did you write on his walls?”
“It was an accident.”
“No, you were an accident, BrookLyn.”
She didn’t know what it meant, but was sure it wasn’t good. “Mommy, I didn’t mean to.”
“You never do.”
BrookLyn squirmed, trying to break free. Her mother gripped her tighter each time she moved. “You’re hurting me, Mommy.” She begged her to let go, through the thick smell of her mother’s anger and fear.
“If it wasn’t for you children, I could leave him. I can’t—”
Her mother touched BrookLyn’s legs and then looked at her, confused. “Why are you wet?”
BrookLyn was ashamed and unable to move from her grasp. The fear had taken over her little body. She started crying when her mother finally loosened her grip, realizing that she had gone to the bathroom on herself. She rubbed her arms where her mother had squeezed.
Finally, she pulled away completely, running into her sister, Ebonee’s, room for safety. She hid in the closet, lying in a little ball, as small as she could get, hoping it would all be over when she woke up.
But for poor little BrookLyn, it was all just beginning...
Chapter One
BrookLyn Scott was looking for a small miracle. For many kids her age, the task she was bracing for would be nothing more than a question. One with a yes or no answer, perhaps a few counter questions first. But for BrookLyn it was so much more. It was just a party with her friend, Tiffany, from church. But being sentenced to a life filled with nothing more than school, church, and choir rehearsal—the only things her father felt she needed in her life—getting a positive answer would be a true miraculous event.
Stuck in a house that her older siblings were able to escape, she was impatiently waiting her turn. Having just turned eighteen, BrookLyn was only a few months away from graduating from Pine Bush High School.
She strode over to her mirror, pretending to have the confidence she was going to need to approach her parents about tonight’s party. Most of that fell away when she began to judge the image looking back at her. BrookLyn noticed an old scar on her neck. If her skin was darker—closer to cocoa than tapioca—the bruises wouldn’t need the little bit of makeup she sometimes used.
She looked at herself a few more seconds, brushed down her shoulder-length permed brown hair, and sighed. She had few friends at school, and wearing her older sister’s hand-me-down clothes in a time when the other kids were spending hundreds of dollars on a single pair of jeans, only further served to make her an outcast. Add her 4.2 GPA to the mix and she was the perfect verbal and physical punching bag.
Walking down the hall at school was a health hazard for BrookLyn. Being tossed into a garbage can was part of a daily ritual that she was forced to endure, generally after lunch, all because they thought she was different.
She’d never asked to go to a party before because no one had ever invited her. Her own cousins never even asked her to come to their parties. Maybe they knew her father would never let her go. She never did anything, and she wanted that to change.
She flopped down onto the bed, examined her fingernails and the chewing commenced. Then she jumped up just as quickly, remembering that she didn’t want to live this mundane life forever. BrookLyn peeked back into the mirror then straightened her sister’s old t-shirt, pulling it down to meet her frayed jeans.
BrookLyn had to gather her courage and ask, because Tiffany was the first person to ever attempt to include her in something—and she hung out with the popular kids. According to Tiffany, most of the kids that would be at the party weren’t from Pine Bush High anyway, although some of Tiffany’s cousins that BrookLyn sort of knew from church would be there.
This wasn’t about BrookLyn’s rank among the popular kids improving, however. She was confident that she’d remain at the bottom of the food chain. She just wanted a chance to be in the same place with these kids, outside of school. She wanted to stand with the people that everyone else wanted to be. If she could go, she could at least say that she’d gone to one party while in high school. Isn’t that normal?
But BrookLyn was afraid of her father, never knowing what he was going to hit her for next. The only thing she knew for sure was that she would get hit again. And again. She had the pleasure of being bullied in school only to come home and be treated even worse. BrookLyn shook her head. Who wouldn’t want my life? I don’t sometimes.
She stood in front of her bathroom mirror practicing to ask her mother if she could go. She’ll have to run it by him, she thought. It was something she wasn’t allowed to do. His rule was that she had to ask her mother and not bother him. Her father took the saying children should be seen and not heard to another level.
There was a time when BrookLyn would confide in her mother. She had felt, however briefly, she had at least one parent she could talk to. But not anymore.
“You can talk to me,” her mother had said countless times, “no matter what.”
Yeah, right.
Somehow after each mother-daughter talk, BrookLyn’s father would viciously beat her, telling her all the things her mother had said to him. Once she realized that her mother was betraying her, she started keeping everything to herself.
I used to dream that there was only one beast lurking behind the big wooden door in the house that the hands of my father built. But you’re one too, Mother. You always were.
BrookLyn had heard the story about her father building their house so many times that she practically knew the dimensions. She couldn’t care less how proud he was of himself. Sure, he built his family a house, but he never made it much of a home, did he?
She decided it wasn’t going to get any easier, no matter how many times she rehearsed it, so BrookLyn sucked in a breath and crept down the stairs to the kitchen to talk to her mother. Her stomach was twisted into a thousand tiny knots, each one competing for a grip on her emotions.
A wall of fear stopped BrookLyn outside the kitchen doorway. She paused, listening to the blood rush in her ears and her mother putter around. She was in the kitchen straightening up, and the smell of dinner still hung in the air.
BrookLyn’s father wanted everything in its place, or there was a price to pay. Dishes and pots belonged in the cabinets. Not in the sink. Every inanimate object had its own place, and BrookLyn had hers too—out of his view and in her room, alone.
Her mother was flitting around the kitchen, adhering to her father’s rules, when she glanced over her shoulder, almost as if she could feel BrookLyn outside the room. Seeing her walk toward the kitchen, in one swift move, she hit her with her island tongue. “You be standing out there all night or you got something to say, huh?”
BrookLyn was startled—she hadn’t realized her mother knew she was there—so she just blurted it out. “I want to go to Tiffany’s birthday party, remember we talked about it before?” She was quite sure that her mother did remember and was probably hoping that BrookLyn herself had forgotten. She balanced herself, putting her hands on the back of the chair, as her knees threatened to buckle and fear took over.
“What American boy you trying to go and see, huh, girl?” Her mother dried her hands with the dishrag and then waved it in BrookLyn’s face with the other hand placed annoyingly on her hip.
Her mother was from St. Lucia and thought the kids born in the United States behaved worse than the kids where she was from. She reminded BrookLyn of it with each accusation.
BrookLyn cringed no
t knowing what words would fall out of her mouth next. “There is no boy. I just want to spend time with my friends from church.” BrookLyn kept her tone soft and even.
Answering her mother’s ridiculous accusations with annoyance would not help her cause, but sometimes it felt like her mother lived under her skin. She never stopped agitating her with lies and accusations. No matter how many times BrookLyn tried to view her mother’s life at the hands of her father, she just couldn’t feel sorry for the woman—she was the vessel of his hate toward her.
“Lemme talk to your father. What him say, we do,” she said in her distinctive accent. She completely dried the sink with the dishrag, placed it on the counter, and walked out of the kitchen toward the office where BrookLyn’s father was.
BrookLyn peeked out into the hallway, watching her mother glide down it. She inhaled a few times, hoping to calm her nerves, as her mother slowed her pace, nearing the closed door. She called his name while knocking quietly on the door as if she were afraid to disturb him. It seemed the courage she used with BrookLyn was nowhere in the room whenever she approached him.
Even if BrookLyn couldn’t see her mother’s slumped shoulders as she spoke with him, she could always feel—practically smell—her mother’s fear. This always forced unwanted images of their interactions to flood her mind. She decided to sit down to wait for her mother to come back carrying the answer.
She tuned her hearing toward the office and her father’s booming voice, preparing herself for the expected reply.
“She can go.”
BrookLyn wasn’t sure she trusted her ears. He’d said yes. Either her prayers had worked for a change, or more likely, he had something he needed to do and didn’t want her around. Still, she tried to temper her excitement as her mother returned to the kitchen, the purpose back in her stride.
“Him said yes, but him drop you there. Understand?” She approached BrookLyn. “And don’t put on no short skirt neither.”
“Yes,” she said, almost unable to contain her excitement.
It was such a silly thing for her mother to say. BrookLyn didn’t even own a skirt that came above her ankle. Her mother’s comments never made any sense, so she just made a mental note to add it to the never-ending list.
She forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you.”
Her mother waved her off and BrookLyn scampered quickly to her room before her father changed his mind.
***
Once BrookLyn was dressed in her best hand-me-downs—jeans and a t-shirt—she waited for her father in the living room. She picked up one of her mother’s boring magazines from the end table and flipped through it. She didn’t want to look eager, for fear her father would decide to be spiteful and change his mind.
She turned the pages without reading anything for at least forty-five minutes, while waiting for him. She was used to it. He did things his way and expected people to do what he wanted. An abnormally large man, her father frequently used his size to intimidate people.
Finally, he came down, wearing khaki pants that were too short, a short-sleeved, white button-down shirt and a thin black tie. He grabbed his tattered briefcase, jacket, and lunch in his big meaty hands. He paused on his way to the front door and peeked at his short-cropped hair in the mirror. He smiled arrogantly, almost lovingly, at the image that she despised and feared. She closed her eyes, uncomfortable with this silent exchange.
Without a word from him, BrookLyn dutifully followed her father out to the car. He snatched the piece of paper with the directions out of her hands, and they drove silently all the way to Tiffany’s house. The silence, too, was nothing new, but it was fine with BrookLyn. He usually only spoke to her when he was hitting her, so silence was a good thing.
When they arrived, they both stepped out of the car and approached Tiffany. She introduced BrookLyn’s father to her parents and BrookLyn’s stomach churned, unsure of how he’d respond. She’d never gone anywhere with him except church, and there he acted like a good and faithful servant.
Her father’s outstretched hand covered Tiffany’s father’s hand completely, and he towered over him like a giant. But surprisingly, he softened his tone in a way he’d never spoken at home. In fact, he barely resembled the monster he was, with his pretense masking the scorn that usually rested on his forehead.
BrookLyn kicked at the dirt, resting her eyes on it, unable to watch her father’s award-winning performance. She was nervous and unsure of his intent so she watched cautiously as Tiffany smiled at him and he smiled in return. Tiffany seemed to notice BrookLyn’s discomfort and touched her sympathetically on the shoulder.
“Thank you for having my daughter over,” he said.
“No problem. We’ll take good care of her,” Tiffany’s dad assured.
“I appreciate that. There’s no alcohol, right?”
“Of course not, they are underage.”
The longer the conversation went, the weaker BrookLyn’s knees became. She was just about to lose her balance when her father turned to leave.
“She needs to be home at eleven o’clock. No later.”
Tiffany’s dad nodded, confirming her curfew.
As her father walked back to his car, he looked at BrookLyn sternly, before motioning for her to walk over near him. She was stunned by his gentle demeanor a moment earlier, but knew he’d be different toward her. With her head bowed, she walked the short distance back to the car. Could he be so cruel to make me go home?
“Yes, sir?” She looked him in the eyes, as she knew he expected her to.
“Don’t make your first party your last one.” His words were cold, but low enough for only her ears, then without another word, he opened the car door.
“I won’t, and thank you.” She turned to walk back. There was no way she was going to blow this. Regardless of why he let her go, she was here all the same.
“See you at eleven,” he yelled back, as if he was just another friendly dad dropping off his cherished daughter. He waved toward the small group gathered out front.
“Okay,” she hollered, running up to Tiffany.
“We’ll get her home safely. Don’t worry,” Tiffany’s mother shouted to him.
“Ugh, parents.” Tiffany laughed.
“You’re telling me.” BrookLyn rolled her eyes and tried to sound like a regular disgruntled teenager. As she saw her father’s Volvo disappear, she giggled at her newfound freedom and ran toward the house with her friend.
“Let’s get this party started,” Tiffany’s mother yelled.
“Wow. Your mom is cool.” She was the exact opposite of BrookLyn’s mother, who was always ice cold and never produced anything other than a frown.
“Those aren’t my real parents.” Tiffany winked.
BrookLyn’s mind wandered back to the prison her parents kept her in, and she felt her cheeks getting warm. She must have been wearing the apprehension on her face, because Tiffany gave her a playful nudge. “Stop worrying about it and have fun, BrookLyn. You’ll be fine.” Then Tiffany smiled and ran off.
Chapter Two
Tiffany socialized all night so they didn’t spend too much time together. BrookLyn talked to some people that she knew from school and church. She had some fun and it was nice to be a kid not under the evil eye of her parents. Before she knew it, ten o’clock was screaming in her face. She wasn’t ready to leave but knew she had no choice. BrookLyn started looking for Tiffany for help with her ride home. She was giving herself an hour for anything to go wrong. She was determined to get home on time so she could attend another party. She was getting home on time no matter what.
“My cousin, Max, is going to drive you home, BrookLyn,” Tiffany said once she’d found her.
“Your fake dad is my ride home?”
Tiffany didn’t say anything she just bent over laughing.
“I’m glad this is funny to you. If my father finds out he isn’t your dad...”
“He’ll only find out if you tell him. You’ll be safe with Max. He doesn’t bite.”
