It started young.

I was only seven.

I remember everything but nothing.

It’s like when you try to remember the day before yesterday but all you can recall is little snippets of miscellaneous actions.

Like finding two dollars.

Or eating vanilla ice cream.

Memories that I remember that day before yesterday. The day before my life fell to pieces.

It was six o’clock. My mother and father were in their bedroom still asleep. The sun was just reaching the peak of the buildings outside my foggy window. The television made colored shadows on the pink walls of my bedroom and I laid wide awake. My seven year old mind filled with thoughts and wonders. Thoughts about my first day of school and how excited I was to make new friends. Wondering at what time would my parents wake up and take me to school. I twisted and turned in bed for another ten minutes and finally couldn’t ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I jumped up and ran down the hall to my parents room.

“Mommy!” I yelled and jumped onto the plush white bed. Careful to avoid her bulging stomach filled with the life of my little sister. My mother groaned and yelled at my father to wake up and that it was his turn to take me to school. I giggled as my father got up and made faces discreetly.

Most people claimed I look like my father the most. The wide nose and smooth skin was a dead giveaway to our Jamaican descent. We also shared a strange need for quiet. Chaos and noise was a daily thing in my life but even as a child I always had valued the amount of peace that the quiet can give you.

Without being told, I ran to the bathroom and did all the morning duties that I normally wouldn’t do willingly. Took a nice long bath with bubbles and brushed my teeth. When I was done, my father laid out a dress on my bed for me to wear. The dress was pure white and had a baby pink sheer flower at the waist. I quickly got dressed and made my way downstairs to eat breakfast. I was ready to go to school before 6:30.

“Let’s go pumpkin.” My father smiled at me and I laughed at the nickname. He grabbed my book bag and handed me my favorite bear.

It was a cold spring morning and the wind was vicious. It tugged at my hair and the dress I had on made it hard for me to walk. The birds weren’t chirping their happy tunes and the trees took on a haunted forbidden look. Gripping hard onto my teddy bear I continued to walk behind my father who laughed at my pinched up face.

“Pumpkin you are so dramatic.” I shook my head at his comment and held my teddy bear even tighter. “No I’m not.” I whined while he laughed.

We were walking up the middle of the street and less than ten steps away was my father’s car.

What happened next started a chain of events.

When my father turned his head, three black cars with tinted windows came to a sudden stop in front of him.

My father was usually a very relaxed person. He never let anything bring him down and loved to laugh. Everything about him was easy and his face always held a faint trace of a smile. But in that moment, nothing could have prepared me for the amount of horror plastered to his face. His brown eyes were glazed over with fear and I could hear the beating of his heartbeat increase.

“Run!” He yelled and before I knew it, there were ten police officers chasing after my father. My young mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening. There were dogs chasing and gunshots happening all around me and I felt like I was in the middle of a battlefield. There was barking and somewhere in the distance was screaming, but I soon realized it was mines. My heart stopped as I felt the police officer push past me with a gun in his hand, aimed to shoot. I started to hyperventilate as the cold steel of the gun touched my face and I didn’t even realize I had tears coming down my eyes until I tasted them. The salt of my tears and the pulsing of my fear made my stomach turn and I dropped down to my knees. Closing my eyes I counted and tried to find that quiet space, the space I always went to when things became too much. The space I went to when my parents were arguing about money or when the children around the neighborhood were bullying me.

It was impossible. The shooting and yelling were hard to ignore and I yelled out as someone pushed me off my knees and I rolled down the street a couple times.

“Stop! Stop! I said enough! Let him go!” I heard my mother’s scream in the distance and I looked up, desperately hoping she would come take me somewhere safe but my hopes were squashed. Three policemen were holding my mother back as she screamed and kicked at them. Her pajamas were soaked with sweat and her feet were bleeding. I yelled her name hoping once again, she would gain some sanity back and come help me but she didn’t even glance my way.

I felt helpless as I gazed back at my father who was held to the ground by four policemen and watched as he gave up all struggles when one of them pulled a gun to the back of his head.

When we made eye contact I found that quiet place.

Surprisingly, his eyes weren’t filled with fear but with regret and hope.

That was the last time I saw my father’s eyes.

The last time I ever had a father.

When they pulled the trigger, his eyes never closed. I watched as his life memories flash through them like a movie. I watched my kindergarten graduation. I watched my first sleepover.I watched my first steps. I watched my first temper tantrum. I watched my first smile. I watched the first time he held me. I watched my first friend die while I held my teddy bear tight and I felt my world break.

__________________________________________________________________

That was ten years ago.

The pain has faded and I barely remember what my father looks like.

The only thing I remember are his eyes and the memories.

Everything changed that day. My little sister was never to be born and my mother has become a bitter drunk. The little family that I had has been driven away by my mother.

My mother.

She caused the biggest change in my life.

I remember it like yesterday,

It was two-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday. I laid awake in bed worried sick about my mother, who has been gone for two days straight. No call, no text, no contact at all but I couldn’t call the police. Fear held me back. They would take me away and every since the day I lost my father I no longer trusted them.

Sudden banging on the glass door caused me to jump and I let out a breathe of relief when I heard my mother’s slurred yelling. I opened the door for her and she pushed past me, halfway tripping on her bare feet.

“Where’s my purse?” She mumbled to herself, eyes halfway closed. Her wig was sliding off her head, showcasing the black cap underneath. Sweat saturated her white dress and clung to her body like glue. Beneath black underwear could be made out and as far as I can tell, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

I felt a strange heat of disgust and shame go through me. Then hate for ever feeling those things towards my mother. Taking a deep breath, I slowly approached her like a scared animal.

“Mom, I think it’s time for bed.” I calmly suggested and her unfocused gaze harden.

“Why are you so selfish?” She yelled and I flinched at how close she had gotten to me. I could smell the alcohol on her breathe and see the yellow on her teeth. “I hate you.” The hatred in her voice made my heart skip a beat but I shook it off and forced a blank face.

“I hate people like you. You are never going to be anything important. No one will ever love you.” At this point, her hand was touching my neck and I felt her fingers twitch at the desire to squeeze. The only thing I could do was look in her eyes.

I felt my inner quiet place.

“You are a devil. You were never my child and it’s people like you I want to kill.” At those words, like some hidden joke was exchanged, she started to laugh. Her eyes were dead but her mind was alive with hate. A dangerous combination.

“I never wanted you. You were a mistake and I regret everything. You ruined me.” With that, she squeezed.

__________________________________________________________________

Eyes.

There is something about a person’s eyes that will tell you everything you need to know.

They tell stories, emotions.

They tell truth.

__________________________________________________________________

That was seven years ago.

I sit back in a black leather chair and look around my office. Two out of four walls are made up of glass windows and showcase the New York City skyline. The setting sun puts on a lightshow for the dark blue sky and I sighed peacefully. Twisting my chair around I face the wall filled with my memories. The wall showcases the steps in life I took despite the perilous journey I endured. There were pictures of  every stepping stone.

A picture of my first architectural draft.

A piece of wood from my first building.

A framed check from my first project.

A picture of me standing next to the president.

A picture of me on the red carpet.

A picture of me accepting my Nobel Peace Award.

A picture of me meeting the producers of BET.

A picture of me in Europe.

A picture of me donating 20,000 dollars to a charity.

A framed check of 50,000 dollars that was donated to The Children Hospital.

A picture of me helping to build The Eyes Project.

A picture of me donating towards foster homes so that those children have a chance at life.

I looked at every single moment and sighed peacefully.

Me. It felt good to say I did it.

Every step lead me here. To owning a multi-million dollar architectural firm and being the first black female to achieve big.

Getting up from my seat, I walked steadily to the wall of memories.

Eyes closed.

I was in no rush to reach the mirror.

The mirror was made of gold and silver and was rusted along the sides.

Slowly opening my eyes, I saw a reflection.

The browns and the blacks mixed together and the sparks of knowledge showed through my eyes. You could see the pain and memories hiding.

But most of all, you could see my inner quiet place as I took a deep breath and smiled.