Chapter Ten: A Spiritual Presence

Dominica reaches her breaking point.

When a person dies, his soul wears the same clothing as when he was alive. The same outfit can't look exactly the same. The tears are real, because the person feels pain, joy and all the things, all the emotions he or she had as a physical being, just as one felt when being alive. When I felt their hands on my back, I could swear I felt their bones. It was their energy. I wondered if that's all bones really are, energy covered with flesh. Even covered up under cloth or a blanket, I could see their fingers. The rose is symbolic of life. Red represents blood flowing through the veins of mankind, creating one entity to stabilize the world.

Upon returning home from the Summer 1995 Poetry Convention that was held in Washington, D. C., I revised my novel, bringing it down to 165 pages typed single space. I wrote several other manuscripts and journals that year, also, and did extensive artwork. July 13, 1995 was the start of my breaking point. It happened the night before Aunt Doris, Grandma Feldman and I were to leave for the Summer 1995 Poetry convention. I was falling apart emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually. When I attempted to drink facial astringent, there was a powerful force that knocked the bottle containing it out of my hand, sending it crashing to the floor. I decided at this point to hold off on my suicide attempt, because on the next attempt to swallow the astringent, the force knocked the bottle containing it out of my hand again. This was a repetious process.

At the Summer 1995 Poetry Convention, I had a mixture of emotions. I was happiest when I was a participant in the lectures. I gave my reading during my scheduled time. Although, I was gravely disappointed about not winning the Poet of the Year contest during the Summer 1994 Poetry Convention, I had the opposite feelings for the winner during the Summer 1995 Poetry Convention that was held in Washington, D. C. Actually, I didn't really care who won as long as somebody deserving won. Yet, at the same time, I was prould and deeply moved when a Scottish soldier was crowned Poet of the Year for his poem dealing with his military experiences and his deep pain he had in his heart, as a result of his experiences with combat and being on the frontline. I felt a special bond with him and with anyone who served in the military. My own battle ground was my household, because of the violence committed against me by Warren Moore, my terrible excuse of a father. I had my bouts with post traumatic stress syndrome. My nightmares got from bad to worse. In my dream state, demons continued to come after me. Whenever I was in my dream state, I often called out Jake's name, and asked him for help just like I did one time during my senior year of college at my college dormitory. I was laying in my bed, when I looked up and saw the demon standing in front of me, who wanted to kill me. I screamed, "Jake, help me."

"It's Jake." he responded in a voice that got deeper and deeper and deeper.

I looked over my right shoulder and saw Jake coming from behind me while entering my body. It was like a surge of electricity rushing through me. The demon disappeared. Jake came out of me through my left side and he looked like he did in his coffin, with his eyes closed and his hands folded over his chest. However, there was a golden light around him. His mouth was closed. Although he didn't open his mouth, I could hear his voice while he communicated with me telepathically. He said, "Tell mom I'm going on a long walk. Uncle Davis is sick."

On several occassions, from the spring of 1991 thru January of 1997, I often cried in my sleep and I would wake up finding myself screaming from fear, because in my dreams, my father was beating up on me, lifting me up in the air and throwing me from one end of the room to the other; thus slamming my body hard against the wall, just like he did for real during my awakened state when I was six years old. Although he was living in Florida and I was living in Kalamazoo, Michigan, there simply wasn't enough distance between us. Even if he were in a different galaxy, I'd still be haunted a strong sense of his presence, to the point of being tortured.

Throughout my stay in Washington, D. C., during July of 1995, there was a spiritual presence that followed me around constantly. I sensed that it was my brother Jake, Uncle Floyd, Lara Langston, Grandpa Feldman who died before I was born and never had an opportunity to get acquainted with, Great-Grandpa Roger who was my mother's maternal grandfather, Mary Stuart who was a fellow student who rode the school bus with me when she was a senior in high school and I was a 7th grader attending middle school, when she was run over by a hit and run driver, and fellow student Colette Freeman, who died in a car crash two years later when she was a senior in high school and I was a freshman. They would all sit at my bedside everynight to make me feel safe. Just about every night when I was in Washington, D. C., I'd lay in my bed crying in the hotel room, because I missed them all so very much. One evening, Grandma Feldman and Aunt Doris went downstairs of the hotel to the main floor to get something to eat. I chose to remain behind in our hotel room, because I wasn't feeling up to eating. When I was by myself, laying on my bed, Jake sat at my bedside, touching my back with his finger tips. I wailed, "Jake, I wish you were here in flesh and blood, instead of being here in spirit form. It's just not the same. I don't want you to be in between worlds. That's no way for anyone to be. I wouldn't wish such a thing not even on my worst enemy. You should be in this world the way I am, with all the other living realtives. I wish you weren't dead."

Mary Stuart placed her hand on my back. I could feel the vibrations of her words, when she said soothingly, "Dominica, we are here to save your life. All of us. We cannot allow you to continue with your suicide attempts. You are much too important. We know about the astringent, the perfume, and even the knives. I knocked the bottle of astringent out of your hands, days ago, when you attempted to drink it. Three days before that, Jake knocked the butcher knife out of your hand when you attempted to slit your wrist. You have so much to look forward to, Dominica. In times of trouble, don't lose hope. God is always with you. We all love you."

The next person to put her fingers tips on my back was Lara Langston. She too spoke to me, and like with Mary Stuart, I sensed the vibrations of her voice when she spoke. "Dominica, I told you over a year ago, around the time of my funeral, that you need to give yourself a chance to heal, and I meant it then, and I mean it now. I will not allow you to take your own life. Unlike you, we lost our chance to fullfill our dreams and ambitions. We are here to make sure you follow through with your goals in life and bring them into fruition. I want you to revise your novel The Long Stretch. Don't give up hope for what you want in this world, Dominica. Keep the faith. I don't care how many rejections you keep getting. For you to have gotten your manuscript returned to you, so many times, it's because you still have work to do on it. Take the suggestions of the agents and publishers who rejected you to heart, and use them to your advantage."

As each one of my deceased loved ones took his or her place at my bedside, and spoke to me, the harder I cried. I suffered a nervous breakdown. For many days that followed, I had several nervous breakdowns. I cried for every day that passed, harder and harder, because the emotional pain was there in my heart like cement, almost like a cancer. The depression was bad to the point of becoming crippling, in that I didn't want to get out of bed. I was lost and not interested in socializing with my living relatives, because I felt so betrayed by many of them, and by those folks who I thought were my friends. I felt so alone in the world.

Avery and his Dee Dee had a falling out around Christmas of 1995. He started coming to Grandma Feldman's house every day to do some construction work around the house, and to paint my bedroom, so I could have a place of my very own. Shortly after that, he along with his friend Patrick, and Uncle Davis, brought me a bed from Uncle Davis's house, and they put it into the bedroom they repaired of which I was to sleep in. No matter what they did or tried to do, I couldn't be cheered up. No one could make me happy, because I hurt so bad inside. One day, Avery came over to Grandma Feldman's to find me laying on a broken bed in one of the other bedrooms, trembling and crying hard. He stroked me on the back and tried to offer some comforting words. "What's wrong, Dominica? Why are you so sad? You have a nice bed in the room Patrick, Uncle Davis and I fixed for you. We're going to fix this room next. Things can't be that bad that you cry so hard. You're going to make yourself sick. We already lost Jake. Why don't you tell me why you are crying." he said with tears in his eyes.

"Nobody likes me, Avery." I wailed while looking up at him with my puffy eyes and flushing the tears away with my hands.

"What do you mean, nobody likes you, Dominica? I like you. My friend Patrick likes you. In fact, he's waiting outside in the hall. Uncle Davis likes you, and so do Aunt Doris and Grandma Feldman. Lots of people do." he said while choking on his words, because he was crying.

"No. They don't. Everybody deserted me. All of my friends from high school and college. From Junior Burger. Even my cousins deserted me, along with the rest of the relatives. I don't want to be here anymore, Avery. I just want to be with Jake, my good friend Lara Langston, Uncle Floyd, and the rest of the deceased relatives. There is nothing out there for me in life." I said while wipe my tears and my nose on my sleeve.

At that moment, Avery pulled me close and hugged me tight. "Dominica, please don't ever take your own life. Jake already left me behind. I don't want to be by myself." he wailed while wiping his tears away with the sleeve of his army green sweatshirt.

In January of 1997, Aunt Doris and Grandma Feldman put me in counseling to help me cope with my burdens of grief, as a result of losing my loved ones to death, and as a result of the violence my father committed against me, from the time I was a child, all the way up to the day he and my mother moved down to Florida.

Author's Note

What do you think of the dialogue and prose?

Reviews

[Lyndie Bolt aka JustRac..]

drop the rose symbology here. You have jumped around in time so much I am a lost time traveler. When doing a memory, keep the reader in the present. It is also NOT important in a story like this to give the reader dates. You tend to get overy wordy. You need to mix prose and dialogue with decriptions up in a coherent pattern.

This paragraph edited:
Grandpa Feldman who died before I was born and never had an opportunity to get acquainted with, Great-Grandpa Roger who was my mother's maternal grandfather, Mary Stuart who was a fellow student who rode the school bus with me when she was a senior in high school and I was a 7th grader attending middle school, when she was run over by a hit and run driver, and fellow student Colette Freeman, who died in a car crash two years later when she was a senior in high school and I was a freshman.

now reads:
My retinue of ghostly spirits included: Grandpa Feldman- he died long before my birth, Great-Grandpa Roger-the whymsical grey haired ghost, Mary Stuart- the raven haired elfin girl I shared a seat with on the school bus in my senior had been shot by a hunter, Colette Freeman the pale faced, red haired, reed had died in a car crash after leaving Senior Prom. The last to join this motley group of my dedicated watchers was the ever composed and regal childhood friend, Lara.

These reassuring spirits would all sit at my bedside everynight to make me feel safe. Just about every night I was in Washington, I'd lay in my bed mourning. I wanted them not just at bed time, but to be able to see, smell and hear their coporeal bodies in my daylight world. The second evening of our trip, Grandma and Aunt Doris went downstairs to get something to eat. I chose to remain behind in our hotel room, because I just did not feel up to eating. When I was by myself, laying on my bed, Jake came to my bedside, touching my back with his finger tips. I sobbed, "Jake, I wish you were here in flesh and blood, instead of being here just in spirit. It's not the same!" I cried as tears soaked my pillow. I sniffed, "I don't want you in between worlds. That's no way for anyone to be. I wouldn't wish such a thing not even on my worst enemy. You should be in this world the way I am. I wish you weren't dead."

Where is the conflict with mom that I would expect to see in this trip at this time? Something has to be going on... Also what does this room look like? Use a conversation w/ grandma to have her show her concern for Dom. and excuse them to go eat w/ Dom staying behind, then having ghosts pop up. I would be a better read

get chronology fixed or remove time references. in one place you had Jake dead 6 years another 2. Are the demons supposed to be her father? If so it isn't becoming clear, nor is the anger/hatred she should feel towards the father...

Keep writing.
Lyn