Paradise Lost

It took Zuri three years to plan her escape. 

Three years of working two full-time jobs, sticking to a strict monthly budget, coming up with creative excuses to avoid expensive social outings and group dinners with people who insisted on splitting the bill every time, and upcycling her wardrobe. Zuri couldn't remember the last time she bought a new pair of shoes - she preferred low-heeled mules but envied women who could confidently trot around in stilettos - or a dress just because she felt like it or because she needed yet another satin slip dress with a low back and invincible zip. 

On her first night in the one-bedroom studio she had secretly rented and paid for in cash two months ago, Zuri curled into a fetal position on the bare mattress, hugging her knees tightly to her chest, and wailed long and hard like a colicky baby desperate for sustenance and a parent’s touch. 

Zuri wept for her current self, for who she would have to be if she was going to survive her first forty-eight hours away from her manipulative and abusive stepmother and violent biological brother. Her sobs sounded more like the cries of a wounded lioness than an emotionally bruised and fatigued 27-year-old woman. The tears flowed without Zuri’s permission or interruption, staining her cheeks, soaking her uncovered pillow, reminding her that she was a soft shell of a human who had just survived a near-death experience and was still in shock.

Eventually, the tears dried, her sobs subsided into intermittent hiccups, and Zuri went into the kitchenette to consider her supper options: 

1. A pack of oatmeal that could only be cooked with water because she wasn’t in the position to shell out money for her usual almond milk
2. Or a bowl of white rice, lightly salted and paired with warm water. 

Buying a fridge was on her budget shopping list, but it would have to be small enough to squeeze into the kitchen space. The only window in the kitchen was covered by burglar-proof bars painted a sickly warm yellow. 

She opted for oatmeal.

Feeling stronger and calmer after her light meal, Zuri began to unpack and sort through two large suitcases, a small carry-on, and several plastic bags stuffed with her clothes, underwear, shoes, and beloved books. Zuri had to leave the house at least two hours before Amir and their stepmother returned from the wedding party, but leaving her books behind was out of the question.

Zuri did leave behind her La Mer cream jars, Chanel lipsticks, a row of Prada pumps in blood red, navy blue, and pitch black, tailored dresses and pantsuits, a walk-in closet, and several YSL bags hanging off shining gold hooks. 

She left behind her claw-foot bathtub, private living area, colorful potted plants that lined the hallway leading to her bedroom, and the feeling of never being good enough for Madam Nadia or Amir. 

Sure, Zuri would miss the family cook who always made her the perfect scrambled egg/avocado/mayo breakfast sandwich; however, she wouldn’t miss Amir banging on her locked door, calling her vile names, and accusing her of doing terrible things she could never dream of.

Zuri wouldn't miss Madam Nadia mocking her rich, dark complexion, curly afro, and sensitive nature. When Madam Nadia wasn’t mocking Zuri about her appearance and how she wore her hair, she would punish Zuri by hiding her car keys and laughing as she watched her stepdaughter spiral with anxiety. 

After Zuri unpacked what was left of her former life, she sat cross-legged on the mattress, now covered in a pale blue bed sheet, and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She had turned it off after she heard the foyer door click behind Amir and Madam Nadia. What followed were two rabid hours of running around the length of her bedroom, hurriedly shoving folded t-shirts into supermarket plastic bags, throwing socks, black panties, black bras, jeans, house slippers, two pairs of sneakers, everything and anything she could grab and remembered to grab went into open mouths of her suitcases and carry-on. 

Zuri's girl group already had a copy of her escape plan, so they knew why her phone was switched, but that wouldn’t have stopped them from texting pink heart emojis, words of affirmation, and desperate prayers to the gods and universe they served and worshiped. She made it out of the house in under an hour. 

Zuri’s phone flashed on, and she was greeted by a rush of messages, missed calls, voice messages, and notifications. As expected, her girl group was active with check-in messages and comforting words. Zuri typed a quick “got in okay, but need time to process” response to the group before returning her attention to her inbox. 

Amir had sent her a dozen texts, each new line more aggressive than the previous one, demanding to know where she was and whether she really thought she could survive in the real world without her family’s money and privilege. Did she also know she was a talentless nobody, an average dancer, and a delusional woman who would never find a man to love her? Amir’s words sank into the core of Zuri’s soul, piercing and suffocating her heart until she gasped for air and questioned her decision to leave home. 

Maybe she had overreacted and imagined the entire thing. Maybe Madam Nadia loved her and had a unique way of showing it. Maybe Amir’s words weren’t so bad, and perhaps she could endure another year or two of his rage outbursts and verbal assault. 

Maybe this was how all families worked, and her situation wasn’t so bad. Could she really leave behind the ocean view from the balcony attached to her bedroom or give up her access to a fleet of cars and respectful drivers who didn’t mind working overtime occasionally? 

Zuri sighed and placed her phone face down on the mattress. Walking away from the money and material things that Madam Nadia and Amir offered was a sacrifice Zuri didn’t think she would ever make until she had to make it. She had endured too much and had completely lost sight of herself in the process. The real Zuri, her true self, was hiding in plain sight, and she wanted so desperately to connect with her, to know her, and to see her for who she was, not who people wanted her to be. 

Going back was not an option. 

Zuri would find a way to create her own paradise out of the tiny kitchen and windowless bathroom in her new home.