The lady’s house I shared in Oakland was large, but unkept. She was on section eight, and renting the room gave her extra income. She was nice, but not very helpful, so I relied a lot on him. I told him I wanted to find my own place, enroll in school and find a daycare for my daughter. At that time I didn’t want much, I just wanted to get started. He said I was too ambitious and that I should focus on getting a section eight voucher first then think about everything else later. I disagreed and told him I was leaving, so he moved me in with him.
The house he lived in was beautiful. It was large and in a wealthy suburb of the bay area, Pleasanton. I remember standing in the same line as Alfre Woodard, in the Nob Hill grocery store. I was sure what ever dream I had, could come true in a place like this. That was until I found out the house we were living in was his mother’s.
His father lived in Georgia and worked for Synovus, and then later Georgia Power. Although still married, his mother lived in California and worked for Pacific Bell. She battled with lupus and wanted to remain close to her sisters. He told me he lived with his mother to take care of her since his father wasn’t there. I would later find out it was all a lie.
The more I talked about school, the more he would remind me that I had nothing and no man would want me. He insisted that I wear close two sizes larger than I wore and that I keep my hair pulled back so that no one knew it was curly. He would say, “No one wants to see that shit.” I spent months telling myself I should just leave, and in the same thought I would think, where would I go? That fear and insecurity kept me bound to him. But somehow, deep down, I knew I could do better. So one day, when he was away, I caught the bus and enrolled myself in college. He was pissed but I didn’t care. I knew school was my only hope.
S
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