Southern Women
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The way I remember it, he was one of many. I wanted to please my adult figure, Egg Donor, and at the time I knew nothing else to be an option. I pleaded with her with my eyes but knew with a soaking fear better than to cross her. My tiny heart began to pound so hard, I just wanted him to go away. I saw every step as an echo rippling in the air. He sat on the couch. They offered him beer. He lounged with one shoulder resting on top of the couch, exposing the contents of the inside coat pocket. He was not going to leave; maybe they would be kind enough to not offer me to him. I must have stared at the back door that was in kitchen, leading into the garage, as an escape so many times. But, where would I really go and who was going to help me? I had no choice. I folded into a ball next to an end table that cornered a wall. I could hear my stomach rumbling as it often did. That was not going to be resolved today. The food in the refrigerator was cold and I could not reach that. What I could reach had already started to get fuzzy spots on it. They swarmed him so; I hoped they forgot about me. Every laugh was intense and took every horribly long moment from me even more. I had an itch. I refused to move. Please forget me, please forget me! The sexy dance has begun. They swoon and act abnormal while he sits back for the demonstration of women in fool’s land. It is one of the few occasions that I still remember in full. Then she paraded in front of me, grabbing my little arm like I was a load of dirty laundry. She had me and her glass that was always an extension of herself; they followed. There were so many scenarios combined with a blur of any random males that had happened before and after this one. But, for today, only she and he entered the room with me. He slurred to her, and she laughed as she reassured him. It was in the touches and things that often just made me curl. It was the bottom part of a bunk bed this time, and often times. I slowly scooted backward on the unmade crumpled blanket into the corner of the foot of the bed. I do not think I knew I could scream or if anyone would have cared if I had screamed. I always would hope they would forget me. Rarely would they forget me.
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About the Book
Southern Women is a unique look at life-changing events through the first-person accounts of a teen-ager, a mom and a Greek goddess. Yes, a Greek goddess. The book takes off right away with the teen, who is born to Egg Donor. It is a hard look at an abused child, the abuses are unimaginable acts upon the child and the description of them is hard and graphic. She details her struggles growing up, after being adopted by a loving “Mom” and the trials and tribulations of staying one or two steps ahead of Egg Donor, who is essentially selling the child to men for their sexual and abusive pleasure. The teen,who has a disability, and Mom also have a hard time finding schools and friends willing to accept her. It is an eye-opening chronicle of the failings and successes. Then, during the aftermath of the April 27th storms we are taken on a side trip visit with the Greek goddess Athena who shares a unique view of the world from Mount Olympus. Obviously, this isn’t a true “first person” experience but it is an entertaining and educational look at religion. Throughout it all there is an additional woven entanglement with political principles and also nationality. To close, although it was not expected to be shared, we are literally driven into the tornadoes that struck North Alabama on April 27, 2011. We experience the storm’s impact first-hand and the devastation it inflicted on people and property. We stay with this teen and her mother and all the other children together in a friend’s home because they could not reach their home because of the blocked roads and loss of utilities, including limited supplies of food and fuel. The stories are enthralling and personal. And, chances are, you may relate to the circumstances or know someone who does.
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