God's Plan: We All Have a Purpose

Rochelle Buchanan

God’s Plan: We All Have a Purpose

September 6, 2019

“Candace, I’m sorry, but my mother said you have to go home. I asked her could you stay just one more night, but she said no. I wanted to tell her you did not have anywhere to go without going into detail”

Although she was 5 feet tall, she had a heart that stood ten feet tall. Betty was short, thin, and had big brown eyes that reminded you of a doe. Her hair was long and thick, and the color of autumn leaves.  She spoke so softly, if you did not know her you would think she was whispering.” I was the opposite. I was tall with hips that protruded and seemed odd considering my small waist. I had short dark hair that was curly. My voice wasn’t loud, but I could be heard when I spoke.  “Don’t be sorry, I said to my best friend Betty. It’s okay. I’ll thank her for the days she let me stay. I really appreciated it.”

“Where are you going to stay? I know you do not want to go back to your house, but I do not want you wandering the dangerous streets either” “I’ll find somewhere to go. There is a shelter for runaway teens on 54^th and Liberty Street. I can stay there for a few nights until I figure out my next move.”  “I hate you being out in the street like you’re homeless. You should not have to go to a runaway shelter, especially when you have a home.” “Well, you know I am not going back there. I am tired of being abused. What’s worse is my mother does not come to my rescue. My father comes home from work, get drunk, and beats me. If his day did not go right at work, I was beaten. If my mother didn’t have food on the table at 6 pm sharp, I was beaten, if the food was not season just right, I was beaten for that to. Heck, it seems like I was beaten just for being there!

 My mother just sits there as though she can’t see or hear anything. I hate my house, my family, and my life! Why was I born! It seems like I can’t do anything right. My life has not purpose, no meaning whatsoever. I need to leave Chicago; I need to get away.”

“I hope not, who will I tell all my secrets to? Who’s going to listen to me complain when my mother is getting on my nerves? Who’s going to listen to your secrets and your dreams? Who’s going to listen to your corny jokes? We both chuckled at this.  We’ve been best friends since we were four-years old.” “I know, but I have to go. If I do not go, I am afraid I will end of dead, or in jail. I can’t let him keep beating me.  I promise I will keep in touch, it’s not like we will not see each other again.” As I was saying those last words, deep inside I knew this would probably be the last time we saw each other.

I arrived at the runaway shelter around 9 pm. I carried my large blue, canvas Coach duffel bag. It was the color of deep blue water. It had one big pocket on the side, with Coach written all over it in big black bold letters. I packed all the clothes I could fit in it. I packed all my toiletries, and a few mementos of Betty and myself.

This is where I met Jarett. He was tall dark and handsome! His hair was cut short, with a part that looked like a Nike sign on the left side of his head. He was the color of a milk chocolate candy bar, and he had the voice of Barry White. His eyes were dark brown but had a little twinkle in them. They also had a slant to them that reminded me of almonds.

 As soon as I walked in, he introduced himself to me. He told me he had been at the shelter for about two weeks, and he would show me the ins and outs of the shelter. I introduced myself and shared a little of my background with him. We immediately hit it off, and we talked until 11 pm, which was when lights went out and everyone was expected to be in bed. The next day after breakfast, the conversation continued from the night before as if we never went to bed. Jarett and I became an item. He treated me like I wanted to be treated, like I was special. We stayed at the shelter two more weeks before Jarett convinced me I should not leave town but get an apartment with him.

From the first day we moved into the apartment Jarett became controlling. I was not allowed to leave the apartment without him. I was not allowed to use my phone, so I couldn’t talk to Betty to let her know I decided to stay. I had no contact with the outside world. When Jarett left for work, he locked me in the apartment. He told me I had no reason to go outside. In the apartment was everything I needed. He brainwashed me into believing what he told me. He told me I was the queen of the castle and I shouldn’t have to do anything but stay home and wait for the king to arrive; and be waited on hand and foot.

The first slap was when I asked him can I go out and visit Betty. “Oh, you’re getting bored with me! I am not good enough company for you anymore. You’re tired of hearing my voice! I don’t make you happy anymore?”  When he reached down to picked me up from the floor. He had tears in his eyes, and he apologized profusely. I immediately hugged him and told him I was sorry. I told him how much I love him and enjoy his company and hearing his voice. I explained I haven’t talked to Betty in months and I wanted to let her know I was okay. I told him Betty and I were friends since we were in Pre-K. Jarett convinced me no cared about me but him. He said if Betty cared about me, she would not have let me go to a runaway shelter.  He told me if I still wanted to talk to her, he would let me call her later. I thought about what he said and decided I did not want to talk to anyone.

The slaps became punches, and the compliments became insults. I became a punching bag when days at work weren’t good, or from the frustration of the long traffic lines. It was like living at home with my father again. I started to become depress and literally sick to my stomach. I hated to get out of bed in the morning. I was starting to feel worthless, again. I wanted my life to end. What reasons or reason did I have to go on? I couldn’t think of one single reason to live! I knew I needed to act fast.  

I needed an escape plan. I sat around trying to think of a plan that had little room for error. After several hours I had a plan. When Jarett went to sleep that night, I would sneak the key off his ring. After he left for work, I would wait for an hour, then I would leave. I had my clothes packed in the same Coach duffel bag I used to leave home. It was stashed in the top of the hall closet. I had blankets and winter coats stored in that closet.  Jarett had no reason to go in that closet.  

I woke up anxious that morning. I must have been nervous because I was feeling nauseous and started vomiting. I wasn’t going to let a little nervousness stop my plan because I knew it was now or never. I left the apartment without looking back. I bought a bus ticket with the money I was stealing from Jarett when he was drunk. I had stolen quite a bit, about a thousand dollars. I bought a ticket to New York City. My plan was to get a job, settle down, and start a new life for myself. My options for jobs were limited. I was twenty-years old and uneducated.  I promised myself I would return to school once I found a job and a place to live. Since my funds were limited, I would have to rent a room for now. Once I saved enough money, I would get an apartment.

I lived in New York for about a year before I was on the move again. I felt I needed to start my life over again. That feeling of sadness, depression, and not having a purpose resurfaced. I had a feeling of emptiness inside me.  I thought back to when I tried to commit suicide a few months earlier and woke up in the hospital. I told the doctor I had no family or friends. Before I was released an appointment with a psychiatrist was made for the following week. I was handed a card with contact information for the psychiatrist, and a prescription. I was told to contact Mr. Heathcliff, the psychiatrist, if I felt I needed to talk to someone before my appointment. I immediately thought of the Cosby Show, and smiled to myself.    

I left the hospital, went home retrieved my belongings, and went to the bus station.  I moved to Washington, D.C., and lived there for the next twenty-five years. Although I lived there for twenty-five years, I still did not feel complete. I keep feeling this emptiness inside me.  I felt as if I was missing something. I had a good paying job, but it was not enough. I still felt like I wasn’t serving a purpose. I handed my job a two week notice of resignation. I had no idea as to what I wanted or where I was going.   I did not totally lose my faith in God, so I ask him to direct my path. Next thing you know, I was boarding a bus heading to Green Bay, Wisconsin. Why there, I do not know, but I was.

 I arrived in Green Bay early one June morning.  The weather was about 79 degrees with a slight breeze blowing. There were plenty of people out and about. I wasn’t shocked when I didn’t see too many faces that looked like mine. I was okay with it because the people didn’t look at me like I didn’t belong, in fact, the people seemed friendly. I asked where I can buy a newspaper so I could look for a job. I was told where to get a paper, also about a board in the bus station that had jobs posted. I looked on the board and saw there was a babysitting job posted. I also saw an advertisement for a room.  I called the number, and an elderly lady with a raspy voice answered. I told her my name and let her know I was calling about the position. She gave me her address and told me to be there at 5 pm. It left me little time to get ready because it was three o’clock, and I was not sure how far she lived from the bus station. I asked a young girl about the address. She was dressed in stripped blue and white pants. She had on a white shirt; black sneakers that had red shoestrings. She had blonde shoulder length hair that had pink streaks. The girl said I was only thirty minutes away by bus. Then I called the number about the boarding house, which was only two blocks away.  I arrived at the boarding house, paid the lady, took a shower and headed out the door for my interview.

When I arrived Ms., Baxter invited me in. She had a friendly face you could see was once beautiful but now filled with wrinkles.  She was a tall thick lady with reddish hair. You could tell it wasn’t her natural color because of her roots. She was dressed in a yellow dress that had big colorful flowers on it. Ms. Baxter had on flat yellow sandals, which revealed neatly polished toes. They were red with Cherry Blossoms painted on them.  They were pretty.

The interview lasted about thirty minutes before Ms. Baxter told me the position was mine. The baby’s name is Jewel. Ms. Baxter told me she was a Jewel. She is the joy of her life and she was happy to have her, but she is also saddened because she knows she will not be around to see Jewel grow up. She told me she was eighty-five years old, and not in the best of health. There is no other family to care for her. Mr. Baxter died last year from a stroke and they had no children.  I could hear the sadness in her raspy voice as she spoke. While I held the baby, I noticed she looked as though she was of a mixed race. She was a beautiful baby.

There was a picture on the mantle piece of a woman and a handsome young man with almond shaped eyes. I asked her about the picture, and she told me it was her son and his wife. I was taken aback because the young man was Black. I guess she noticed the look on my face because she told me he was adopted. Her son and his wife were killed in a car accident three years ago. Since her and Mr. Baxter were the only family custody was granted to them. Ms. Baxter told me she and Mr. Baxter, Harry as she called him, lived in Chicago about thirty ago.  They had no children, which they desperately wanted. One-night Ms. Baxter became ill and had to be taken to the hospital. While there she heard doctors talking about an abandoned baby that was found at the hospital door. There was a note attached to the baby’s blanket explaining the mother was unwed, and young. She had no education, so she knew she could not care for the baby properly. She felt the best thing to do was give the baby up. She knew she couldn’t go through with the process of keeping the baby until someone adopted it.  In the end she would get attached, become selfish and keep the baby. She would not have thought about what kind of life they would have had. So, the best thing would be for her to drop the baby off at the hospital.

 She inquired about the baby. She was told the procedures she had to follow. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Baxter were awarded custody of the baby. They moved back to their hometown of Wisconsin and bought the house she now lives in and raised her son.  At the time her son and her daughter-in-law were killed, they were living with them waiting to close on their new house.

Candace stared at the picture at eyes that were so familiar to her. She asked her what hospital the baby was dropped off, and what was the date. Ms. Baxter, Gertie, I was now told to call her told her the hospital and date. Candace told Gertie about the sad and freezing day when she dropped her son off to the hospital praying someone nice would adopt her son. She explained to her how she was abused by her father, then by her boyfriend, who is the father of her son. She said she never stopped thinking of the day she left her son. She always wondered how he was doing, and was he properly cared for. Candace said she will always feel bad about giving her son up, but she will never regret it. In her heart she believes this was the best thing for her son. She couldn’t offer him the type of life a child deserved.

Gertie said she understood, and she was glad she got to be part of his life. She asked me if I could care for Jewel after she was gone. I told her I would be happy to. Now, I understood my purpose in life. God brought me through tough times, a suicide attempt, and many years of searching for myself to bring me to this little girl who would need me to care for her, my granddaughter.

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