“Steven… Steven… Steven!!” Hector waited for his son to come back.
“Wake up, Hector.” That’s what he heard repeatedly until he woke up and found Heather standing in front of him.
“What happened?” Hector looked around frantically. “Where’s Steven?”
“He’s still in the bed,” she said, pointing at Steven lying peacefully, the machines still monitoring his progress.
“I had the weirdest dream. I saw Steven and we were talking like he was fine,” Hector explained excitedly, but his enthusiasm vanished when he noticed the tears forming in the corners of her eyes, flowing down her brown cheeks. “Baby, I’m sorry… I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done to this family. If it were up to me, I’d change everything. I want to make it right and get cleaned up, not just for my family but for me.”
She moved out of his reach. “I hear what you’re saying, but how can we go back to the way things were? Of course, you know that this will take some time. It’s not an overnight thing,” she said, running her hands up and down her thigh nervously.
“I know. That’s why I want to do counseling. Family counseling, anything I need to get my life together. I’ll be a hero and better father to my son, and a better husband to you,” Hector expressed, feeling revived, and willing to do anything to get his family back.
“Give me your hands and close your eyes,” Heather requested. Hector obeyed. “Now, I want you to pray.”
Hector sighed, hoping he was ready for the beginning of a new life. “Father, I come to You today to ask for forgiveness. Forgive me for every wrong that I have committed. I lay my life down to You because I’m lost. I need You to guide me along the way, to follow the path of righteousness. I would give anything to be with my family and to have my son back. Heal me; heal my son; heal my wife. I have done her wrong also. I pray that she forgives me, too. Help me to keep my promise to Steven. I don’t want to fail him again, or my wife. Help me to be a better man in Your word. A better father and husband. In Your name, I pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” Heather said, opening her eyes, hearing a noise.
Steven held out his hand to Michael, shook it firmly, and walked away. Heather and Hector both turned, facing Steven. They got up and went over to his bed. Steven’s eyes fluttered until they opened and he took in a deep breath. Steven’s mom had nearly fainted, but Hector caught her, encouraging him to return. Their son was awake. Whether Hector new it or not as he smiled at his son, he had saved Steven, by breaking the cycle.
J.L. Woodson is an eighteen-year-old native Chicagoan, and a freshman at Fisk University majoring in English and Theater. The Things I Could Tell You!, his first novel, was penned for an English assignment and published when he was only sixteen years old. A keynote speaker for several venues across the country and co-author of How to Win the Publishing Game, he has hosted writing seminars and workshops at Borders Books & Café, colleges, high schools and elementary schools. He is the winner of the State Farm, Coca-Cola and McDonald’s Youth Leadership Award; top winner of the Chicago Urban League’s Business Plan Competition and Stock Market Competition. J.L. currently resides on campus in Nashville, Tennessee where he is completing his next novel, Superwoman’s Child: Son of a Single Mother, a tribute to the “superhuman” efforts of women from all walks of life.
THE BREAK OF DAWN
COLLEN DIXON
Standing at the kitchen counter, Dawn heard the sound of water splashing in the bathroom. A warm smile crossed her full, honeybrown face. Her daughter, Asia, was in the claw-footed tub, and the thought of her playing with the soapy bubbles warmed Dawn’s soul. “Asia. Stop playing in there,” she said, barely able to keep the amusement from her voice. “I’ll be in there in a second to get you. And I hope you haven’t splashed bubbles all over the place.” It was always such a struggle for Dawn to balance her motherly control with the delight she always received from Asia’s antics.
With loving care, Dawn stirred the confectioner’s sugar and white powder into the chocolate sauce in a bowl. Fresh from the microwave, she tested it with her pinky, to make sure it wasn’t too hot. She added a dash more confectioner’s sugar and stirred until the fine white lumps disappeared into the gooey chocolate. She poured the topping over two healthy dips of frozen vanilla yogurt, and topped it off with a handful of colorful sprinkles. Grabbing the bowl, she called out over her shoulder. “Asia? Are you ready? Mommy’s coming.”
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird,” Dawn hummed on her way to the bathroom.
After she dried the talkative little Asia, Dawn lovingly rubbed her daughter’s soft body with sweet-smelling lotion and sprinkled her bottom with baby powder. Dawn exhaled quietly as she prepared herself for the remainder of her evening ritual, amidst a flurry of questions from Asia’s probing little mind, like “Can I have a pony?” or “Where do flowers come from?” Dawn sat down with Asia in her lap, in a creaky old rocking chair that was beside Asia’s bed.
The room was neat and orderly, with a pretty, white princess canopy bed that had a matching nightstand and dresser. Dawn recalled the joy she had picking out the bedroom set at Huffman Koos, one of the best furniture retailers in New Jersey. She had outfitted the room with Little Mermaid accessories, down to the Ariel-shaped lamps. A fragrant mist sprayed from Asia’s humidifier, and Dawn dimmed the lights on the colorful Disney lamp.
Dawn Boyer softly hummed the age-old lullaby as she held her healthy four-year-old daughter Asia, and spoon-fed her frozen yogurt with colorful sprinkles on top. Dawn finished the chorus, and winced as she rubbed her baby’s nose with the index finger on her right hand. Dawn’s arm was in a sling, from a dislocated shoulder, and even a slight movement such as wiggling her fingers was painful. She fought through it, and bent over and kissed Asia’s soft face.
“You know, little girl, I’ve been doing this to you ever since you were just a dot in Mommy’s stomach.” Dawn took a long finger and carefully outlined Asia’s face. When Dawn discovered she was pregnant, she began forming the bond between her and her developing fetus by stroking her abdomen and reading aloud daily to it while she treated herself to a healthy portion of some fruit-enriched yogurt. This lasted for eight months, until Asia came prematurely screaming into the world. Every evening, Dawn would visit the pre-natal I.C.U., where she’d talk to her little one, until she was able to bring her home. Dawn performed this ritual as Asia breastfed, when she took her first bottle, with Asia’s first spoonful of Dawn’s homemade baby food, right up until today. Normally, Dawn would give Asia a small portion of yogurt with granola sprinkles, and for a special treat, she would give her frozen yogurt, with nuts and sprinkles. Every evening, as the sun went down and the moon filled the sky, Dawn would read Asia a bedtime story, and it was truly their special thing. A mother-daughter moment that was the foundation of a bond that held them tightly together.
Dawn took a spoonful of yogurt and placed it to Asia’s lips, but the little girl just yawned.
“I’m sleepy, Mommy,” Asia said, with a long stretch.
“Okay, Baby. No more for you tonight.” Dawn took the spoon, licked it, and gently placed it back inside Asia’s bowl, which was still about half full of soupy frozen yogurt, swirls of chocolate sauce, and a few melted sprinkles. Dawn made sure she gave her little girl most of the sprinkles. Asia loved those colorful little candy bits.
“I love you, Asia. Mommy really, really loves you. More than anything,” Dawn whispered, even though she was alone. Her husband, Todd, was out on one of his weekly “hang out with the fellas” forays. “You look so much like me. But you’re even more beautiful than I am. You have my eyes, my cheekbones, and your grandmother’s pointy nose.” Dawn playfully plucked Asia’s nose. “You have a little bit of your daddy right there on your lips. But you act just like me. You have my mannerisms. You remind me so much of myself.” In Asia’s spirited little nature, Dawn saw herself almost reincarnate. And until today, she was thrilled by her little “mi
ni-me.” Shards of a repressed memory shattered Dawn’s peaceful existence, to the point that she found herself gasping for air. Her knees had buckled, and her world faded to black as she felt herself retreating into a distant universe.
“You gonna tell me a story, Mommy?” the little girl asked, as she struggled to keep her eyes open.
Dawn held Asia tightly, and the little girl sighed and nestled in her arms. “Yes, I am. I’m going to tell you a story tonight, Baby,” Dawn said, as Asia lifted her heavy eyelids. Her deep brown, almond-shaped eyes were full, and Asia again yawned softly. Dawn continued. “One I’ve never told you before. It’s about me, a little princess who grew up to meet a wonderful prince. I was young, just 23 years old when I met your daddy, and we both worked for the Newark Star-Ledger. I was a copy editor when Mr. Todd Saunders stepped into my life. Yes, Mr. Saunders was something else. He was the hotshot reporter who had been spirited away from our rival paper, The Newark Gazette, and he was taking the newsroom by storm. Your daddy was suave, confident, and although he wasn’t what we call ‘fine,’ he definitely had it going on. He had quite an air about him. His attitude made him extremely attractive. Immediately, every woman set her mark on him. After all, he was a B.M.W. Black man working,” Dawn said with a little snort, and tried not to wince from the pain in her arm. She reached into her pocket, pulled out two bottles, and placed them on the nightstand beside Asia’s bowl. One was Tylenol 3, and the other one, Dalmane, was to help her sleep. The emergency doctor had given her a 30-day prescription for both, and had looked at her with a very unsettling gleam in his eye.
“Are you sure you dislocated your shoulder by tripping on your stairs?” the doctor asked. He was a fairly handsome, medium tall, brown-skinned man, who appeared a little young. And a little too inquisitive. “I didn’t see a lot of bruising that would be consistent with this type of fall. Is there something else you’d like to share, Ms. Jones?”
Dawn had laughed nervously. She had made sure to use a fake name and had gone to another hospital. It was across town from the one down the street from her apartment, and she had made all of this effort just so she wouldn’t have to be questioned by or run into an emergency room doctor she had seen before. The level of the handsome doctor’s interest kind of unnerved her.
“I tried to break my fall. As I started falling down the stairs, I, uh, grabbed the railing and jerked my arm out of place. I was just trying to prevent myself from falling,” Dawn said. She had become a consummate liar. Something she had to become just to maintain her and Todd’s existence. She had to protect Todd. She couldn’t give up on him like everyone else in his life had. She had to stick by him. That was the least that she could do.
She understood him. He grew up in Queens, and was exposed to a number of things as a child; things even adults should not have been subjected to. Drugs, crime, murder, and prostitution. He truly came from the stereotypical difficult background. He never knew his father, and his mother worked several jobs to keep a roof over his and his three siblings’ heads. Unfortunately, she had died before he turned 16, and Todd was forced into several foster homes, none of which helped to nurture or improve his mentality. Todd managed to graduate from high school and went to Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey, on a dual wrestling and academic scholarship. He excelled there, and became a very high-strung and extremely driven young man. He majored in journalism, where he found his niche. He was exceptionally resourceful at researching and investigating, and wrote a number of award-winning articles for the local newspaper. Todd wanted to succeed, and made that clear to anyone whom he met. Helping him was the least Dawn could do to support him. He didn’t need her bringing him down, too.
She liked his virility, and his take-charge manner. His strength and disposition kind of reminded her of her father.
Todd was a short, medium-framed, light brown-skinned man, who always dressed well. His closet was filled with expensive, tailor-made shirts and suits. Italian, soft-leather shoes. He was almost obsessive about his appearance, and went to the barbershop twice a week for a shape-up and hot lather, straight razor shave. But he wasn’t a handsome man. He had small dark eyes, and didn’t have many outstanding features. He had large hands and even bigger feet. But he had the typical “Napoleon Complex.” The short man’s syndrome. He was confident, borderline conceited.
“He didn’t notice me from a can of paint. Not until the time I saved one of his articles from getting into the wrong hands. It was full of errors. He eventually confided in me that he suffered from dyslexia. He had a girlfriend who had always proofed his work, but they had broken up, so, that’s how the article slipped through. Todd had never learned to type, and wrote everything out in longhand. He would’ve been too through if anyone ever found out,” Dawn said. “Your daddy doesn’t like to be embarrassed. He’s a very proud man. Yeah, he’s really proud.”
Dawn had caught frightful glimpses of Todd’s arrogance on the job. Whenever something didn’t happen the way Todd thought it should, he would explode. He’d throw a tantrum and sometimes wreck his office in a fit of rage. He often said that the other reporters were “jealous of him,” or that his editor was “playing favorites,” or just plain “out to get him.” Whatever the case was, Dawn found herself sympathizing with him, and eventually falling for him.
“I liked that he needed me and trusted me enough to share his vulnerabilities with me. We eventually grew very close.”
They shared everything. Dawn worked long hours to help Todd, and proof his work. Eventually, Todd’s thankfulness turned to love. Over Chinese food in Todd’s cramped little office, once Dawn placed the last key stroke on the third revision of Todd’s overdue article, he hugged her, and she heard his heart beating. The bear hug melted into passionate, urgent gropes and kisses.
With reckless regard, he shoved the contents of his crammed desk to the floor, and swung her on top of the desk. Papers, pens, and half-filled coffee mugs scattered across the crowded floor, and Todd tore at her clothes with his oversized hands.
“Wait, wait,” Dawn said, and reached for the lever to close the Venetian blinds. “You need to lock the door, too, Todd.”
“It’s locked,” he grunted, his words thick and hurried, as he nuzzled his face into her chest. Never had Dawn been taken so strongly. He yanked her argyle sweater over her head, and released her full breasts from her underwire bra.
His big hands ravaged her body, and even though Dawn had dated men much larger than Todd, the force in which he consumed her took her by surprise. He pinched her nipples and crammed her breasts into his mouth, sucking voraciously as he pinned her arms behind her back. He bent her head over the edge of the desk and ripped a hole in her expensive pantyhose.
Dawn felt captive and helpless. Swept away with Todd’s passion, she wasn’t sure if she was experiencing agony or ecstasy. She formed her lips to say no, but Todd covered them with his hand. He entered her and screwed her mercilessly, and she nearly gagged as his fingers slipped in and out of her mouth. Dawn moaned and wanted to scream, but eventually her body relented to his forceful will. Todd was a loud, aggressive lover, who grunted and nearly howled when he came. He collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of her, struggling to catch his breath.
“Damn, Girl. You are something else,” he said, and finally released his thick fingers from her mouth. He looked at her, with a curious expression on his face. “You really turned me on, Dawn.”
Dawn was almost too afraid to move. When Todd finally slid off her, she slowly sat up, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know what to say, Todd. I don’t want you to think I do this with every man I see, because I don’t.” She slowly collected herself, smoothed her clothes down, and thought about what a mess she must be.
Todd stood, and shook himself off, and Dawn caught a glimpse of his package. For a small guy, he was pretty well-endowed. “I got that feeling, Dawn. But damn, with what you got, I kind of don’t want to think of you with anyone else,” he said with a wink.
D
awn still didn’t know what to think or say. “What are you saying, Todd?”
“I’m saying, we obviously work well together. You know what I mean? Let’s just see where this goes.”
They started to spend more and more time together, and before long, Dawn and Todd were seeing each other exclusively. They had a near perfect routine. He would stay with her during the week at her apartment in Montclair, and they spent lazy weekends down at Dawn’s family house in Cape May. On Monday mornings, they’d rush back to town, commuting like suburban newlyweds. They had great conversations, and wonderful debates and discussions, and Dawn liked the way Todd’s mind worked. She loved his intelligence and bravado, and felt safe and secure when she was in his company. Their lovemaking was always too intense, borderline a little rough, but she eventually learned to like it. It was just his way, she had convinced herself.
She enjoyed working with Todd, and being with him, even though he was getting a little more uptight at work. It became more and more evident the one evening she and Todd were working late, and he found out that one of his fellow reporters had gotten a promotion. Todd went off.
“God-damned flunky. I swear that motherfucker must be sucking the old man’s dick,” Todd said as he stormed into his tiny office, where Dawn sat editing one of his articles. He was on a tight deadline for it, and it was full of errors. Dawn was straining her eyes to decipher Todd’s sloppy handwriting.
“Did you hear me, Dawn?”
“Huh? I’m sorry, Todd. What did you say?”
“I said, that sorry ass motherfucker got a promotion,” he said.
“Who?” Dawn asked, her eyes still scanning his rumpled pages.
“Aren’t you listening to me? Bob, that ‘bobbing his head’ Hodges. That ass-kissing son of a bitch.”
“Oh, really?” Dawn rubbed her tired eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Baby. I’m sure that things will work out for you, too.”